TIME: Almanac of the 20th Century

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<text> <title> (1982) Four Who Also Shaped Events </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1982 Highlights </history> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> January 3, 1983 MACHINE OF THE YEAR Four Who Also Shaped Events </hdr> <body> Paying a High Price for Questionable Gains If a single idea has dominated the thinking of Menachem Begin, it is his longstanding dream of restoring Eretz Yisrael, the biblical land that takes in not only the present-day Jewish state but also the Israeli-occupied West Bank of the Jordan River. In the pursuit of that dream, Begin got Israel into the most controversial war in its history and raised tensions between the U.S. and Israeli governments to a level unprecedented in more than a quarter of a century. Yet that did not diminish the stubborn Prime Minister's resolve. "No one will set for us the borders of Eretz Yisrael," he shouted in the Knesset after President Reagan proposed in September that the West Bank should in the future be linked to Jordan. Using the biblical names for the occupied territory, as he always does, Begin thundered: "Judea and Samaria belong to the Jewish people for all generations." The Israeli leader, who is a product of Nazi persecution, Soviet imprisonment as well as the Zionist struggle for an independent homeland, demonstrated in 1982 that he is both a man of peace and a man of war. In April, fulfilling one of its obligations under the Egyptian-Israeli peace treaty, Israel removed its soldiers and settlers from the Sinai and returned the last of the territory to Egyptian sovereignty. Scarcely six weeks later, Begin and his Defense Minister, Ariel Sharon, sent the Israeli army into southern Lebanon, supposedly with the limited aim of dealing a fast, deadly blow to Palestine Liberation Organization guerrillas who were in a position to shell villages in northern Israel. Had Begin held to his initial, publicly stated objective of removing the P.L.O. from a 28-mile zone along the Israeli-Lebanese border, the invasion would have been hailed at home, and among Israel's remaining friends, as a great success. Instead, he carried the war to the Lebanese capital. Israeli forces moved into the Christian sector of Beirut. They bombed Muslim-dominated West Beirut for most of the summer, contending that they were merely trying to flush P.L.O. guerrillas out of densely populated civilian areas. In what Begin called a "great, huge blow" to the P.L.O., the Israelis succeeded in driving more than 11,000 Palestinian fighters out of Lebanon, but a terrible price: 462 Israeli soldiers had been killed, 2,218 had been wounded, and Israel remained caught in a military adventure that was tarnishing the nation's image around the world. Obsessed as he is with the righteousness of his cause, Begin did not see it that way. In September, when Israelis learned about the massacre by Lebanese Christians of an estimated 800 Palestinians in two Beirut refugee camps, they reacted with anger and astonishment. Political leaders, including President Yitzhak Navon, demanded a formal investigation of the role that the Israeli army had played in allowing the Christian militiamen into the camps. In Tel Aviv, a mass rally of 400,000 Israelis, an extraordinarily large crowd for so small a country, protested Begin's refusal to launch an official inquiry. In his defense, the Prime Minister accused his country's critics abroad of committing a "blood libel" against Israel, and added, "Goyim kill goyim, and they come to hang the Jews." At times, Begin, 69, seemed surprisingly out of touch. Although he finally gave in to pressure to appoint a commission of inquiry, he said that he did not learn of the Beirut massacre until almost 48 hours after the killing had begun. But he appears to be as tough and stubborn as ever; neither his chronic poor health nor the death in November of his beloved wife, Aliza, has led him toward any public thoughts of retirement. Nor does the Israeli electorate want him to retire. According to the latest polls, Begin still enjoys the support of 47.8% of his countrymen. This is down from 54% last August, but far ahead of the standing of any prospective challenger. Putting the "Great" Back in Britain For Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, the year began inauspiciously. She had achieved the dubious distinction of being Britain's least popular national leader on record and her Conservative government had dropped to a humiliating 29% approval rating in opinion polls. The newly formed Social Democratic Party was running strong, and within her own Conservative Party there was considerable grumbling about her hard-line economic policies, which had brought high unemployment and an ever increasing number of bankruptcies. But Thatcher wraps up her year a stunning winner, her iron-lady image polished to a high luster abroad, her stature as a political leader restored at home. It was a year that, thanks to a war 8,000 miles away, she will mark as a turning point in her fortunes. As a British businessman puts it: "In 1982 Prime Minister Thatcher restored our national pride." Her rating in the polls is up to 44%, and many Britons confidently predict that she would win an election handily if she chose to call one in 1983. It was on April 2 that Argentine troops invade the Falkland Islands, a remote and irrelevant British colony 400 miles off the Argentine coast. The House of Commons reverberated with cries of "Resign!" Thatcher boldly dispatched a task force, which grew to more than 100 vessels, to the windswept South Atlantic. It was a 19th century show of force against "a tinpot dictator," as the British haughtily described Argentine President Leopoldo Fortunato Galtieri. Few, least of all the 8,000 troops who sailed to the sound of brass bands and cheering, anticipated the bloody battles that lay ahead. But all attempts at a diplomatic settlement failed, and war it was. It was an impressive late 20th century display of fighting for a principle--that a nation must defend its sovereign territory. Catastrophe was always only a Exocet missile away, but Thatcher never wavered. "Failure?" she once asked derisively. "The possibilities do not exist." Seventy-four days later, the white flags of surrender were fluttering over the Falklands and victory belonged to Her Majesty's forces. Never mind that 255 British lives had been lost (750 to 1,000 for Argentina) or that six British navy ships and a merchant vessel had been destroyed. The triumph upheld both pride and principle, and with it came the so-called "Falklands factor" that lifted British spirits as well as Mrs. Thatcher's standing in public opinion surveys. For the first time in the Thatcher years, a major poll found more Britons optimistic than pessimistic about their country's immediate future. As the Falklands factor wanes, Thatcher remains her self-assured self. Unemployment is 13.2% the industrial base continues to shrivel and growth may not exceed 1.5% in 1983; still she boasts that her policies have brought the inflation rate down to 6.3%, the lowest in ten years. She continues to promise that she will "put the 'Great' back in Britain." Thatcher has taken on the powerful trade unions and thus far has not come a cropper. At the same time, she has staunchly resisted industry's pleas to soften her austere monetarism. She has also been luck. The Labor Party opposition is a shambles, split by left-right fratricide, and the Social Democratic Party's momentum has faded as fractious Britain united behind its resolute leader in the Falklands war. A Thatcher associate, suggesting that the next election could turn on the contrast in leadership, observes: "This Prime Minister leads from the front, with her chin out." The man on the street puts it plainly: "She's gutsy." Even many of her numerous enemies acknowledge that the lady is a leader, even as they despair over where she is leading them. Meanwhile, Thatcher, 57, looks ahead with a confidence she could not command twelve months ago. At the Tories' annual convention in Brighton this year, the slogan was THE RESOLUTE APPROACH, and no one doubts that in any election campaign Thatcher will trumpet her readiness to battle any comers, whether they be crusty trade union chiefs, Argentine generals or hectoring Commons members. And, as ever, she plans to prevail. When a close friend recently asked her, "Who will come after you?" she replied insouciantly, "After me--there's me!" No one thinks she is joking. Bringing Inflation Under Control No figure loomed larger over the world economy in 1982 than that of the 6-ft. 7-in. cigar-smoking chairman of the U.S. Federal Reserve Board, Paul A. Volcker. It was he who fought unflinchingly to bring down the U.S. consumer price spiral, but in the process he helped drive interest rates and unemployment up throughout the industrialized societies. In the U.S., his policies surprised skeptics by limiting the rise in the nation's consumer price index to roughly 5% in 1982, but his policies also helped push unemployment stunningly into double digits. By year's end joblessness was closing in on 11% of the nation's labor force, or 12 million individuals, a level that would have seemed almost unthinkable last January. Although the Reagan Administration has been vocally committed to bringing inflation under control, waging this fight has fallen pretty much to Volcker, a 1979 appointee of Jimmy Carter's. Often erroneously characterized as a "tight money" policy, Volckernomics amounted to an ongoing effort by the Fed to slow the rate of growth of the nation's money supply, thereby choking off inflation at its monetary source. As the economic slump that began in 1981 deepened during 1982, Volcker had to perform a delicate balancing act. The problem became how to ease up on the money supply, which the Federal Reserve had targeted to grow at a rate of about 2 1/2% to 5 1/2% during 1982, without frightening investors into thinking that the central bank was repeating an old mistake and reinflating the economy in response to political pressure. By midsummer, business failures had escalated alarmingly, the stock market had slumped to its lowest level in more than two years and fears of international financial collapse were spreading. Against this backdrop, Volcker hinted that he was prepared to act more flexibly, to permit monetary growth "somewhat above" the announced targets. Several quick cuts by the Fed in its discount rate to member banks drove home the point. As the money supply expanded and interest rates fell. Wall Street bought Volcker's act. Beginning in August, the Dow Jones industrial average stages a 288-point rally that peaked in early November, and the bond market boomed with it. Toward year's end, with the money supply growing at a super-heated annual rate of more than 16%, critics argued that Volcker should slow the pace. When a Congressman tried to pin him down on what course he would take in 1983, the Fed chief made it clear he was no dogmatist: "You're saying, `For God's sake, give us a simple rule that you can follow!' And I'm afraid I'm suspicious of any rule that is that simple." It is not even certain that Volcker will be chairman of the Fed beyond next August, when his term expires. Should Reagan choose to reappoint him. Volcker would be faced with a big decision. The chairman of the world's richest central bank makes only $60,663 a years; he could doubtless command at least $500,000 if he left. It is almost ironic, but the banker who moves billions could use the money. A man of limited personal means, he lives in spartan $394-a-month bachelor digs in Washington during the week. On weekends he shuttles to New York City, where his arthritic wife Barbara lives with their son James, 24, a victim of cerebral palsy. She supplements the family budget by working as a bookkeeper. Despite the personal sacrifice, many hope that President Reagan will ask Volcker to stay on the job another four years, and that the 55-year-old Fed chairman will accept. Making the Everyday Seem Unique He is 3-ft. 6-in. tall and 3 million light-years from home. His face looks like a cross between Carl Sandburg and a Galapagos turtle. He snacks on Reese's Pieces, and after a hard day he enjoys relaxing in front of the TV with a few cans of Coors. He walks like Charlie Chaplin in slow motion and, when excited, breathes like an asthmatic piglet. He wants nothing more in this world than a faithful pal, unless it is to return to his out-of-this-world home. Cynics will insist he is made of aluminum, steel, fiber glass, polyurethane and foam rubber, but this is a small matter. The larger truth is that E.T. emerged from a sweet communal dream: of fellowship, loyalty, ordinary heroism, unfettered fun. He is every child's secret best friend, every adult's reverie of the innocence that was, once upon our time. He is also a magical money machines. As the unbilled star of Steven Spielberg's E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial, the little botanist from outer space has beguiled $310 million worth of U.S. movie-goers since June, easily outpacing the previous front runner, Star Wars. With December openings in foreign capitals, he is starting to duplicate that triumph around the globe. A novelization of Melissa Mathison's script has sold more than 3 million copies, an illustrated storybook another million. Heartlight, Neil Diamond's musical homage to E.T., has sold more than a million albums since September. And, even in this recession-blitzed Christmas season, E.T. dolls were whisked off department-store shelves as fast as they could be flown in from Taiwan and Korea. Virtually every blockbuster movie is a powerful fable of resilience. The audience finds vicarious strength watching Scarlett rebuilt Tara, or Maria von Trapp spirit her brood out of Hitler's Austria, or Don Corleone take his cold-dish revenge. E.T. gives its viewers more, from less. Here is a fairy tale set in the most mundane of contemporary realities: a typical California suburb. The creature appears to his friend Eliott in a pizza-strewn backyard: he lives in a child's closet. As E.T. built his "phone home" device from old toys and household castaways, so Spielberg fashioned a dream world from the Formica-and-vinyl tatters of the American dream. It is important to remember that E.T. is also a movie, crafted as expertly as if it had come off the NASA assembly line. Every character has his own quirky resonance; each scene is energized by grace notes that reward all those subsequent viewings. But Spielberg had proved his directorial skill before--with Jaws, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Raiders of the Lost Ark--while tapping the moviegoer's sense of fear and excitement. This time, though, he touched something more than a nerve ending. With E.T. he proved that the everyday could be unique, and that the science fiction of movie technology could show us all the way home. Inside this runty extraterrestrial was the idealized heart of America, pulsing bright with humor and humanity. </body> </article> </text>