Jean Lacouture is a mild-mannered reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper. And for him, that is enough. But since his arrival at Harvard from Paris six weeks ago, reporters, pacifists, Radcliffe girls, even Senators have tried to make him something more--their champion of truth, justice, and the anti-administration way.

Quite deliberately, these groups have sought to use Lacouture's articulate, respected voice to bolster their own fledging protests against the Vietnamese war. After all, Lacouture is uniquely qualified by both historical precedent and personal experience to criticize the U.S. position there. He's been to Vietnam seven times, written three books on the subject, knows Ho Chi Minh, and was press attache in 1946 to General Leclerc in Saigon. Since then, he has become a Grand Reporter for Le Monde--a sort of French James Reston. And he has been Le Monde's man-on-the-spot at numerous major crises: the abduction of Ben Bella; the assassination of Diem; the 1960 conference of heads of state at the UN.

But Lacouture has proved to be a reluctant critic. True, he was flattered when Senator Fulbright read his New York Review of Books article into the record of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. But more often, he displays an almost overcautious sensitivity about his role here. "I don't want to shock or antagonize anyone," he says, pushing his bushy eyebrows together. "I don't agree with everything, but I'm a guest in this country, and not a foreigner here to give lessons."

After twenty years of exposure to the complexities of world politics, he instinctively avoids extreme stances of public posture. He'll caution a student "not to be so severe" or appeal to a reporter "not to paint me too critical." When a CRIMSON headline nevertheless had him "attack" General Maxwell Taylor, the word disturbed him by its agressiveness. And when SDS and SNCC asked him to appear with Julian Bond in a meeting entitled. "The Dirty Little War," he refused outright.

If he could, Lacouture would quite probably remain personally detached from America's internal squabbles over Vietnam. He's an observer not a combatant, and he feels uncomfortable if forced into the fray. So long as his name is only in the by-line, Lacouture is a forceful and persuasive critic. But when his name is shoved into the headlines, his sharpness turns to shyness, his dynamism dissolves into hesitancy.

Part of his reserve results from the language problem. He speaks fluent but heavily accented English (Harvard comes out Ar-VAR), and when his mind races ahead of his vocabulary, he has to throw in a French word and sculpt the idea with his hands. In private conversation, Lacouture listens with intense concentration, ignoring the steak before him; then leaning forward to hear, he pulls his Dick Tracy nose, and nods emphatically as he understands the point. A smile breaks easily and often across his narrow face, accentuating the deep wrinkles of a Chet Huntley. Girls find him lovable, and judging from the way he rolled his eyes as a Cliffie brushed past the table, it's reciprocal.

When Lacouture warms to a topic, he shows a flair for the aphorism. The relationship between France and Indochina, according to Lacouture, had all the psychological complexity of love and hate at the same time. "It was something very troubled, like an old liaison of a man and his mistress."

During the war, Lacouture twice met Ho Chi Minh (whom he calls "a shrewd comedian") and subsequently wrote the biography of this "pictureque and peculiar personality." When Ho dies Lacouture expects a bitter power struggle among his four lieutenants.

If and when DeGaulle dies, France will face a similar power shake-up. Lacouture can hardly wait. "The regime is out of purpose; the time for heroes is over, the time for classic democracy has come." He voted for Metternand in the recent election, and doesn't suppress his sense of the fatigue France suffers under le Grand Charles. Lacouture has also written a biography of De Gaulle, scheduled to appear in English translation next September.

Lacouture's current project at Harvard is to study the personalization of power--in Ben Bella, Nkrumah, Nassar, and Bourguibba. Lacouture suspects that such men are necessary to the "take off" of underdeveloped countries.

It's unfortunate that most of the Harvard community won't ever meet Jean Lacouture here. He is not scheduling any lectures and is usually cloistered in his Dunster House suite or Middle Eastern Studies office. But those interested can meet him at his critical best -- secure behind his by-line -- in articles soon to appear in the New Republic and the New York Times Magazine.