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Gorbachev had another idea. Within hours of the U.S. announcement, he declared the Soviet Union would launch a five-month moratorium on nuclear testing. It would begin on Aug. 6, the 40th anniversary of the atom-bomb detonation over Hiroshima, and would be extended indefinitely if Washington joined in. The U.S. rejected the offer. For one thing, Shultz noted as he arrived in Helsinki, the Soviets had proclaimed such a unilateral moratorium before, in the late '50s and early '60s, and then had abruptly begun what he described as "the largest nuclear-testing program ever undertaken." Nonetheless, the Gorbachev proposal's simplicity and emotional appeal had distinct propaganda advantages, particularly in Western Europe. The Soviet offer also came at a time when the Kremlin has given intriguing, if nebulous, hints that it might be willing to propose a variety of new across-the-board reductions in the strategic-missile stockpiles of the superpowers.
By the end of the three-day conference, the 266 participants would see Soviet p.r. skills raised to new heights. Not that either the U.S. or the Soviet Union broke fresh ground on issues of substance; neither side departed from long-held positions on disarmament, human rights and various regional conflicts. But both Shultz and Shevardnadze seemed intent on moderating superpower rhetoric, even as each side blamed the other for weakening the Helsinki Accords, once considered a milestone of détente (see box). In their private conversations, they moved easily into a rapport that, as a senior Administration official later put it, "expressed the will" to make progress at the November summit, the first such U.S.-Soviet meeting since 1979. That accomplishment, said Shultz afterward, helped to make the meeting "productive." The Soviets were a bit more cautious: the private session, they said, had been "interesting," "useful" and "frank."
However the Helsinki conversations were described, they amounted to a successful, if initially hesitant, debut for Shevardnadze. The silver-haired, outgoing former Communist Party boss from the southern republic of Georgia had few evident credentials for the Foreign Minister's job beyond close ties with Gorbachev. Shevardnadze's expertise lies in public administration, where he made his mark with boldness, incorruptibility and a flair for public relations during a 20-year career in Georgia as minister of public order and eventually party secretary.
At first in Helsinki, he appeared nervous and ill at ease. When he entered Finlandia Hall's blue-and-white main auditorium, he looked so diffident that some onlookers mistook him for a diplomatic aide. One who did not make that error was Shultz, who strode purposefully from his front-row seat to shake hands with the Foreign Minister and introduce himself. When a journalist asked Shevardnadze to stop and answer questions, the Foreign Minister shrugged, grinned and replied, "They won't let me," apparently a reference to his aides.