The Foreign Service Journal, July-August 2008

became increasingly chaotic, with crew members frantically donning parachutes, it was Davies who finally broke “the impasse of general fear” by being the first to jump, followed immediately by Duncan Lee and five others. The disabled plane then bare- ly cleared the ridgeline constituting the Burma-India border, and the remaining passengers, including Sevareid, jumped just in time to avoid being trapped as it spun out of control (the co-pilot was the sole fatality). The survivors now found them- selves in one of the most remote and dangerous regions in Asia. Only six years had transpired since the first Western expedition had reached Pangsha, the Naga tribal village near which the survivors ultimately gath- ered. (Ponyo, the village on the Burma side where Davies had landed, had never been visited by Europeans.) Christoph von Fuerer-Haimen- dorf, an Austrian anthropologist who took part in that first expedition, explained the reasons why the area was so little known. “The long seclu- sion of the Naga Hills has been due to … the inhospitality of the country … and the warlike character of the Naga tribes. … Headhunting and frequent wars made … traveling alone or even in small groups …a venture little short of suicide.” Indeed, the purpose of the British expedition on which he had been an observer had been punitive — Pangsha warriors had been among the most feared in the area (“thick bundles of human heads” were found), and the village was burned as a warning. As it turned out, during the two weeks that the survivors remained in Pangsha the villagers, despite their reputation, were generally helpful, even dutifully delivering the weapons that were airdropped to the party as a precaution. One factor that helped cement relations was the arrival on the afternoon of the day of the crash of Lt. Col. Donald Flickinger, a flight sur- geon who, on learning there was an injured member of the party, para- chuted in with two other volunteers. After seeing to the needs of the injured survivors, Flickinger set up a clinic for the villagers, earning their gratitude. He also asked Davies to continue as the principal intermediary with the villagers. As Sevareid later wrote, “He was the one we chose, for common sense and discretion, to deal with the touchy and dangerous Naga headhunters, our undecided hosts.” In the absence of landing strips or roads, walking out of the area was the only option, and that was especially hazardous in August. Speaking before the Royal Geographical Society in 1938, von Fuerer-Haimendorf noted that “Traveling in the Naga Hills dur- ing the rains, which last from April to the end of September, is most unpleasant and can become extremely difficult when one leaves administered territory.” Leaving Pangsha on Aug. 18, escorted by a party of armed na- tives led by the British deputy com- missioner of the Naga Hills, Philip Adams, the survivors struggled through a brutal six-day trek that taxed everyone to the limit. While Flickinger did yeoman ser- vice on the medical front, Sevareid credits Davies’ unflagging steadiness and humor with keeping up morale. “On the toughest parts of hills … he will do loud, very funny variations on natives’ chants, which amuses them greatly.” Summing up his view of Davies’ contribution throughout the ordeal, Sevareid later wrote, “If ever again I were in deep trouble, one man I would want to be with would be this particular man.” For Sevareid, Davies had defined grace under pressure. “A Vicious Line Squall” Dean Acheson used this phrase to describe the impact of Patrick J. Hurley, an Oklahoman who had served as Secretary of War under Herbert Hoover. Sent by Pres. Roosevelt in August 1944 to try to mediate the growing hostility between Gen. Stilwell and Chiang Kai-shek, he eventually sided with Chiang and was named ambassador to China three months later, shortly after Washing- ton’s decision to withdraw Stilwell. Acheson found it hard to conceal his dislike of Hurley: “Trouble moved with him like a cloud of flies around a steer.” Although his tenure as ambassador lasted only one year, Hurley managed to inflict enormous damage on China policy, on the Truman administration, on the Foreign Service and on the careers and lives of Davies and the other “China hands,” whose reporting and policy assessments provoked his wrath. On Jan. 9, 1945, Hurley ac- cused Davies to his face of being a communist and “roared at the top of his lungs that he was going to have him thrown out of the State Department” — a bitter foretaste of the McCarthy era to come. The long, sad, tangled story of the inquisition Davies and the others endured over the next decade has often been told. Readers are encour- aged to visit the very helpful Web site of the Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training (www.usdiplo macy.org/history/service/chinahands. php) for an excellent summary with links to other sources. The classic book by New Yorker writer E.J. Kahn, The China Hands: America’s Foreign 48 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / J U LY- A U G U S T 2 0 0 8 “If ever again I were in deep trouble, one man I would want to be with would be [Davies].” — Eric Sevareid