I. THE PROBLEM

Ever since the first regularly scheduled public radio-broadcast in 1920, Congress has played a unique and central rôle in the control of radio-broadcasting. As an agency for legislation, it has created the regulatory mechanisms under which the radio industry functions, and it has written the laws which govern this important area of communications. Congress, in fact, has set the pattern within which the various groups and interests operate, subject, of course, to the working rules of the capitalist order. In doing so, Congressmen have been at the beck and call of millions of constituents interested in radio as listeners or broadcasters, as educators or clergymen, as big or little business men. In caring for all of these varying interests, Congress has concerned itself with a few broad problems: what is heard on the radio, who shall control what is heard, who is able to hear what goes over the air, and who profits from radio. But Senators and Representatives are not merely the puppets of various pressures; they have a distinct political interest in programming, profits, and control. They have in radio a potent molder of public opinion—a powerful instrument which can help them to victory or defeat in the next election—and they have used it and will continue to use it to serve their personal fortunes, their parties, and their platforms.

Among the numerous recent clashes between the Chief Executive and Congress, only one poses fundamental constitutional issues. This conflict has arisen from the efforts of Congress to drive three well-known liberals out of the federal service. On September 14, President Roosevelt submitted a special message to Congress, as forecast in his press conference of July 13, recording his view that the action in question was “not only unwise and discriminatory, but unconstitutional” as an “unwarranted encroachment upon the authority of both the executive and the judicial branches,” and hence not binding upon them. The following commentary is offered by a participant observer in the hope that it may help to clarify the climate of Congressional opinion and explain in some degree why defense of the Constitution and subversion of the Constitution have become confused in the national legislature.

Anti-Comintern on Capitol Hill. On February 1, 1943, Martin Dies of Texas arose on the floor of the House on a question of personal privilege to defend himself against allegations by the National Lawyers' Guild and The New Republic that he was giving aid and comfort to the Axis Powers. In the course of his two-hour address (Cong. Record, 78th Cong., 1st Sess., Vol. 89, pp. 504–516), he assailed 39 named officials in various executive agencies as “irresponsible, unrepresentative, radical, and crackpot.”

Permanent registration for Philadelphia voters was instituted in 1937 by a state act applicable to the city exclusively. The administration of the act has been under fire almost continuously since 1938. Criticisms have emanated from the local political parties, the press, and civic organizations. Two governors have appointed investigating committees: Governor Earle in 1938 and Governor James late in 1940. The report of the latter committee was made in June, 1941. Two federal investigations were conducted during the period of the James inquiry. A federal grand jury undertook to determine whether a conspiracy to deprive persons of their right to vote in a national election existed. An abortive investigation was made by the Gillette Elections Committee of the United States Senate following charges of wholesale disfranchisement of Democratic voters.

The Philadelphia registration system is administered by a commission of five members with majority and minority representation, the commissioners being appointed by the governor with senate approval. The charges made against the Commission run the gamut from lax administration to deliberate fraud, although the latter has never been made to stick. The findings of Governor James' committee, whose investigation was the most thorough of any undertaken, show a considerable administrative failure.

I

Distinguished American and foreign scholars are studying in this symposium various aspects of the weighty problem of international reconstruction. All of the other writers have chosen problems that are essentially political, and on that account it has seemed to me appropriate that I discuss a topic of a more broadly moral nature, i.e., the issue of freedom of opinion and press in the world of tomorrow. The fact that I have spent my life in diplomacy and politics may make up for my lack of personal importance if I can demonstrate that cynics and profiteers will prevail in politics unless we comprehend that in any sphere of international relations only those solutions will be adequate that are grounded upon the most complete security of opinion and press.

II

Exiled pretenders to thrones nearly always exhibit a liberalism both promising and reassuring. But this was not true in the case of Prince Victor-Napoleon, whom I knew quite well because of his ties with Italy—ties that consisted more in his vast estates in the Po valley than in his dynastic alliances. Faithful to the princely rule according to which the son has to affect views different from those of his father, Prince Victor was a dyed-in-the-wool conservative. His father had acquired a well-known reputation for liberalism (or even Jacobinism?) during the Second Empire—and afterwards. But Prince Victor-Napoleon had assumed the habit of speaking to me in frankness. And I did not doubt for a moment his sincerity on that evening when, listening under plane trees to an open air concert in Constantinople, he made the following remark on the founder of his family: “There is one thing about the Emperor (like all the Bonapartes, he said “Emperor” only when referring to the first; the one of December 2, he called Napoleon III) which is more inexplicable to me than anything else: that with his wonderful perspicacity, with his mistrust of men, whether flatterers or not, he should have attributed so much importance, at a certain moment, to the manifestation of lyrical enthusiasm of which he read summaries.

One of the issues likely to become more acute than many others as we move into the period of post-war international reorganization in the next few months is that of regionalism versus universalism. This is the conflict between the view that international organization should proceed upon a regional basis—leaving definition of the proper region or regions aside for the moment—and the view that it should proceed upon a world-wide basis. The partisans of these two views are vigorous in their support, and the problem in itself is extremely important from both a theoretical and a practical standpoint. It has so far not received anything like the attention it deserves.

The problem is, of course, not unknown in the national and local spheres of government. Here it is formulated as the question of the proper area of government, or even the ideal size of the state, and this slightly different formulation carries its own implication concerning the treatment of the problem. The issue also arises on the border-line between national and international political problems when the formation of federal unions is under consideration, together with the question of the proper allocation of powers to the central government. We shall later draw upon experience in all of these matters for aid in solving our own problem.

Universal feeling seems to converge upon the postulate that after this war an International Government shall be formed to control war and peace of the world, and that the United States shall take full share in it. This dual demand is considered a fundamental platform on which all men of good-will can meet. There is a far-spread tendency, however, to postpone inquiries into its exact meaning and implications. This vagueness may have merits for winning popular support. It has none in preparing for final action. It may even defeat the movement's purpose, because little may come from the longing for International Government, unless details are well prepared in advance. Or, built with a marble façade on shaky foundations, International Government may lead to disaster rather than avert it.

None of the United Nations—at least none of the “Big Four”—has thus far given up its sovereignty. For this very reason, no insurmountable difficulty may lie in the way of continuing their alliance to some good purpose after the war, and gradually extending it to other nations. That is still a far cry, however, from the establishment of an International Government which, distinct from the governments of its constituent members, should have the power to take consequential steps independently. If we stake our hopes on this latter type, we must answer the question of how shall the powers be divided between the International Government and the governments of the national states? In passing through the immense flood of discussions on International Government, it is amazing to see how scant are the contributions to this question.

The time has come to prepare in advance everything that can legitimately be prepared for the revival of international activities after the present catastrophe. Since there are too many unknown factors, it is impossible to envisage the international machinery of the future in all of its details. We cannot as yet foresee the shape that the agency or agencies eventually superseding the League of Nations will assume. The international organization-to-be will certainly assume a striking difference in character, dependent on whether the League is reconstructed or a different type of international agency is created. From an administrative point of view, however, the problems will not be so different from what they were before; it will therefore be fruitful to discuss some of these problems in the light of the Geneva experience.

The area of small nations between the Baltic and the Mediterranean has always been exposed to the rivalries and pressures of the Great Powers, due to its strategic and commercial importance, and because of its location on crossroads of conflicting cultures, religions, political and economic systems. A like situation might again arise at the end of the present war when the peasant peoples of these regions find themselves faced with the growing strength of the Soviet socialism and an expanding Western capitalism, whose application of the principles of the Atlantic Charter and of the Four Freedoms might widely differ. The problem of reconstruction of this part of Europe should be examined, therefore, from the point of view of the possibility of reorganizing this zone of perennial friction and insecurity into a politically and economically balanced and stabilized unit, and into a constructive link between the two diverse worlds of ideas and of institutional practices.

The internal political difficulties of these countries, from Poland to Greece, have in the main resulted from the incompatibility of the feudal-like régimes with the growing political activation of the people. The states formed on the ruins of the Austro-Hungarian Empire inherited many of its feudal characteristics. In Poland, a military group, landed gentry, and state officials, supported by the Church hierarchy, ruled the country, while the parliament and the written constitution existed only nominally. In Hungary, the landed magnates and gentry were the actual ruling classes, and in Austria medieval scholasticism and clericalism were the ideological and political agents behind the authoritarian régime. Of all succession states, Czechoslovakia alone seemed superficially free of feudal remnants, because this industrially advanced country had an independent and liberal bourgeois class.

It is right that post-war planning should be made the subject of popular discussion. It is, on the whole, a healthy sign that so many books and articles are devoted to the winning of the peace, although some of them indubitably create a smoke screen of confusion. The same applies to committees and other organizations for the same purpose. These committees and their statements have two things in common: innumerable and inconclusive quotations from democratic leaders and illustrations drawn from the “success” of, or “failure” of, the League of Nations.

The “Four Freedoms,” the “Atlantic Charter,” the “Declaration of the United Nations,” as well as other speeches, articles, and statements of all sorts are vague and all-comprising. They give ample scope for divergent interpretations. It should also be remembered that President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Churchill, important though their utterances are, speak for themselves. They cannot bind Congress or Parliament, although it is true that the British Parliament feels a strong loyalty to the leader of the nation.

These two characteristics of the declarations of program give great scope to the professors, diplomats, politicians, journalists, and other prophets who dream of the future. Those of the soberer cast of mind try not to indulge in the luxury of day dreams. They realize that the future must be built on the experience of the past. They ask searching questions about the League.

The future of South Eastern Asia and the Philippines is one of the most complicated problems with which the peace settlement will have to grapple. There is a certain broad similarity between the countries concerned which is likely to be a trap for the unwary. It seems so simple to set up free and democratic governments, to equip and train citizen armies to defend their independence, and to raise the standard of living. It also seems reasonable to assume that if the 145,000,000 people of South Eastern Asia and the Philippines could be federated, their combined resources would go a long way towards enabling them to maintain their independence.

Unfortunately, deep-seated differences based on race, religion, and history are the dominating influences, and overshadow the similarities of strategic and economic weakness and lack of independence. Disunion bids fair to increase as a result of the nationalism which is beginning to appear. The Burmese regard themselves as a master race, and have an inflated sense of their own power and superiority because of their former conquests in Thailand and Assam. The Thais have something of the same feelings towards the Malays and the Cambodians of Indo-China. One reason why the Malays asked the British to establish a protectorate over the peninsula was to safeguard their independence against Thai ambitions. This fear and hostility have been strengthened by Thai annexation in 1943 of four of the nine Malay States, and a claim to most of the others. The Malays, Indonesians, and Filipinos come from the same racial stock, but so far as the latter are concerned, centuries of divergent development have made the differences more important than the similarity in racial characteristics which is noticeable among the three peoples.