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And lastly, there is burly, mustached Prince Souphanouvong. the tough boss of the Communist-backed Pathet Lao rebels who have kept all Laos in turmoil for the past seven years. There is nothing enigmatic about Souphanouvong: he wants to take over Laos with Communist backing.
General Phoumi Nosavan, the one Laotian resolved to keep Communists out of the government at all costs, believes that the prince means what he says. Prince Souvanna Phouma doesn't believe him—on the ground that Souphanouvong is his half brother and therefore couldn't possibly be proCommunist.
Presiding over all three is King Savang Vatthana, who towers above most of his subjects at 5 ft. 8 in. Savang Vatthana is recognized by all Laotians and both Russia and the U.S. as the chief of state.
His most striking characteristic politically is a lethargy so profound that it is almost spectacular. Since the crisis began, he has taken two notable steps to safeguard his domain. He has kept close watch over an ancient golden statue of Buddha, on the theory that "as long as the Buddha is in our hands, the country is safe." He has preserved the body of his late father in formaldehyde for the past 17 months in a gilded sandalwood urn at the entrance to the palace in the royal capital of Luangprabang, on the ground that the powerful phis (spirits) that surround the corpse of a king will ward off all invaders.
Flat World. The kingdom of Laos* is about the size of Great-Britain, but is landlocked, lackadaisical, and so primitive that the currently favored adjective, "underdeveloped," would be an unwarranted compliment. A recent U.S. survey disclosed that 90% of all Laotians think the world is flat—and populated mainly by Laotians.
It is less a single country than an archipelago of small, lush river valleys, cut off from each other by sharp mountains and limestone plateaus where roam the elephant, tiger and gaur. In winter, the hills of Laos are alight with opium poppies, and in summer the floods brought by the monsoon rains lap under the stilted houses and over the 500 miles of meandering dirt roads. Years ago, someone built a railroad station in Savannakhet, but never got around to building a railroad. The Me kong River, crashing down from a canyon in China's Yunnan province, then slowed by silt and sewage on its 1,600-mile run to the South China Sea, is the principal means of transportation and is known as "the soul of Laos." In normal times, the principal exports are illegal opium and a little tin, but in 1960, the main export was words — the $300,000 charged at the cable office to newsmen covering the "war."
The Chop. Laos lies, by historical accident, in the shape of a lean lamb chop among six quarreling neighbors. To the Communist countries beyond the mists and granite-blue mountains to the north, Laos in anarchy provides the vital corridor through which to fuel an incessant guerrilla warfare against South Viet Nam.
To Cambodia, Laos is the buffer that permits it a capricious neutralism. To firmly anti-Communist Thailand on the west, Laos is a geographic and ethnic neighbor and, if the Communists should take it over, a potential threat. To the U.S., Laos is primarily something to deny to the Communists, and just about as inconvenient a testing ground as can be found.