Unity

Under the impression that the election was over, citizens of the U. S. last week prepared to give their ears a rest, prop up their feet, pay overdue attention to comic strips, football scores, fashion advertisements. But another campaign was on. A great shout was heard from leaders in both parties: "Unity!" Blared on the radio, blazoned in headlines were appeals, some frantic, some cool--praying that the U. S. should unite behind the President in order that the perils of the future be met in strength. "Good losers'' clubs were formed, meetings were held, petitions urging this-&-that were sent here-&-there.

Franklin D. Roosevelt had made no postelection appeal for unity in his support, perhaps reserving his views for a major occasion. In a telegram to Also-Ran Roger W. Babson, he had welcomed "cooperation" of all citizens. Also-Ran Wendell Willkie now urged unity, but also alert and vigilant opposition (see p. 18).

Democrats feared a sit-down strike by political-minded industrialists; Republicans feared edicts from a political-minded President. Upshot of concern over the spread and depth of these fears was a public meeting at New York's Carnegie Hall, staged by the non-partisan Council for Democracy. In stage-Lincoln voice, Actor Raymond Massey read a unity plea by Poet Stephen Vincent Benet. Unity speeches were made by Attorney General Robert H. Jackson, Selective Service Director Clarence A. Dykstra, Columnist Dorothy Thompson, Labor Leader George M. Harrison, Industrialist Howard Coonley, Newscaster Raymond Gram Swing, Citizen Alfred Mossman Landon.

("Only non-unity note of the evening," said the New York Times, "was struck by the audience, a section of which booed when a telegram was read . . . signed by General Hugh S. Johnson.")

To one great segment of the U. S., all this to-do undoubtedly seemed as unnecessary and embarrassing as French generals kissing. Many U. S. citizens, perhaps more than belong to any other group, are of a kind whom everyone has encountered: they do not protest their faith in democracy; they take it for granted. They vote, pay taxes and, if need be, march. For a week or two before elections they may get politically het up. But after an election is past, they quickly return to their normal attitude, which is both affectionate and aloof. Sure, they are for the President--he is their President, isn't he?--and of course they will still make up their own minds whether they like him and what he does.

Doubtless with these citizens in mind.General John J. Pershing last week said clearly and simply: "That the people will now unite behind the new President does not admit of doubt. It is the American way."

But people who had fears for national unity were obviously not talking sheer fantasy. The citizens whose undemonstrative loyalty to the President can be taken for granted are those who do not take their politics hard. Franklin Roosevelt is among those who in recent years have inspired citizens to take their politics hard.And among several groups who have taken their politics harder than Americans did formerly are those who distrust the course set by the New Deal and the temperament of Franklin Roosevelt.

Campaign bitterness can still be easily put aside by an effort of good sportsmanship, as was shown four years ago when anti-Roosevelt businessmen rallied generally to pledge cooperation to the man elected by the Democratic majority. That pledge did not prove lasting, and for a good reason: good sportsmanship may banish bitterness engendered in the brief heat of a campaign, but it cannot make men believe in things which they have come to distrust progressively over a period of years.

The success of U. S. defense preparations may depend on more than loyalty--on the enthusiastic support and initiative of businessmen. The problem of national unity in 1940 may require that many a loyal citizen somehow be given a new faith in the Roosevelt administration.

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