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But to some SDI was a bargaining chip for getting real agreements; for others it was an excuse to militarize space before the Soviets could; for still others it was a plausible pretext for breaking the antiballistic-missile treaty. Hardly anyone believed the pure-and-simple defensive-shield story that had been sold to the American people in, appropriately, a television cartoon. Hardly anyone, that is, but Reagan. To the horror of those around him, Reagan -- with the amiable way he has of thinking he can sell anything so obviously good as his own intentions -- began to bargain away all ballistic missiles (perhaps all nuclear weapons; it is impossible to get the story straight). Reagan, the roseate accommodator, had believed his own cover story. So his helpers had to scurry around, trying to touch down again on some reality after the nightmare love-in of Reykjavik.
That was not an easy assignment. Those around Reagan had entered his world of pretense over the preceding months. They had pretended to agree with him while working for their own goals, working often against others who were also pretending to be following Reagan's vision, each claiming to have the Reagan stamp of approval, each trying to make it work for them, while Reagan serenely believed the cover story that they were only feigning to believe.
The attempt to use the Reagan magic involved a compromising entry into his world of pretense. Aides defended the Reagan fairy tales; editors treated his errors with restraint; the public punished those who were too critical of his whoppers. It was a vast communal exercise in make-believe. There had to be more to Reagan than shallowness and deception, since he was so clearly sincere and his sincerity impressed others so indelibly. He became invulnerable in his personal appeal and winsomeness, and others had to summon up more and more of their own credulity along with expressions of respect. The very fabric of our politics was shot through with unreality. The Secretary of State pretended to be following a strong President while he was yielding to shadowy figures in the Executive Office Building, contributing to the surreal nature of this whole presidency. The love-in at Dallas had moved to the banks of the Potomac.
Reagan's was a government run against government. Government is the problem, not the solution, in his formula. Admittedly, Reagan loves government as ceremony and majesty. The rituals of his office, so irksome to other Presidents, were the things he liked best and did best. He gave out medals and awards enthusiastically (and generously: the military granted more medals for % Grenada than actual troops landed there). Heroic government, on the epic scale, was his favorite movie -- the happy Nuremberg rally.
Reagan also loved government as the derring-do of secret agents. Private heroics by the CIA, the FBI -- the kind of mission he felt he had participated in when informing on fellow actors during the Communist hunt in Hollywood -- appealed to his storytelling sense, to his belief in the lone individual's ability to save a situation. The rescue of hostages by such heroes would be a perfect blend of government as private heroics and government as glittery ceremony: the photo opportunity for the returning hostages was an image almost irresistible to Reagan.