Arthur Miller's Socks

Arthur Miller's Socks 

Arthur Miller and I landed at Istanbul airport on March 17, 1985. We were visiting Turkey on behalf of International P.E.N., to investigate allegations of the torture and persecution of Turkish writers. The trip got off to a bad start. I had two suitcases. One hadn't made it. Apart from other things, this left me with no socks. So Arthur lent me his. Bloody good ones they were too. Made to last.

We met dozens of writers. Those who had been tortured in prison were still trembling but they insisted on giving us a drink, pouring the shaking bottle into our glasses. One of the writer's wives was mute. She had fainted and lost her power of speech when she had seen her husband in prison. He was now out. His face was like a permanent tear. (I don't mean tear as in tears but tear as in being torn.)

Turkey at this time was a military dictatorship, fully endorsed by the United States.

The US Ambassador, hearing of our presence and thinking he was playing a clever card, gave a dinner party at the US embassy in Ankara in honour of Arthur. As I was Arthur's running mate they had to invite me too.

I had hardly taken my first bite at the hors d'oeuvres when I found myself in the middle of a ferocious row with the US political counsellor about the existence of torture in Turkish prisons.

This rattled on merrily throughout the dinner until, finally, Arthur rose to speak. Since he was the guest of honour the floor was his and he made it his in no uncertain terms. 

He discussed the term democracy and asked why, as the United States was a democracy, it supported military dictatorships throughout the world, including the country we were now in? "In Turkey", he said, "hundreds of people are in prison for their thoughts. This persecution is supported and subsidised by the United States. Where", he asked, "does that leave our understanding of democratic values?" 

He was as clear as a bell. The Ambassador thanked him for his speech.

After dinner I thought I'd keep out of trouble for a while and went to look at the paintings. Suddenly I saw the Ambassador and his aides bearing down on me. Why they weren't bearing down on Arthur I don't know. Perhaps he was too tall. The Ambassador said to me: 

"Mr. Pinter, you don't seem to understand the realities of the situation here. Don't forget, the Russians are just over the border. You have to bear in mind the political reality, the diplomatic reality, the military reality."
"The reality I've been referring to", I said, "is that of electric current on your genitals." 

The Ambassador drew himself, as they say, up to his full height and glared at me. "Sir, he said, "you are a guest in my house." He turned, as they also say, on his heel and his aides turned too. Arthur suddenly loomed up.

"I think I've been thrown out", I said. "I'll come with you", Arthur said, without hesitation. Being thrown out of the US embassy in Ankara with Arthur Miller -- a voluntary exile - was one of the proudest moments in my life.

(Written as a tribute to Arthur Miller, on the occasion of his 80th birthday)