The Evening Star (January 18, 1946)
ON THE RECORD —
Curtain of secrecy brings new censorship
By Dorothy Thompson
In connection with the preceding column, regarding the paucity of information reaching us about the policies of the American occupation forces in Germany, there is also something to be said about censorship.
Censorship can exist, even if not directly “exercised,” by killing information at the source, and thus preventing access to essential facts.
The American press is not censored, but neither are the American people well informed in crucial matters of foreign policy. The facts necessary to the formation of judgment, while not unknown to departments of our government, are so “privileged” that only certain journalists and only such of them as are willing to break confidences can bring them before the people.
Thus, the “iron curtain” which hides Europe east of the Elbe River is a curtain only before the eyes of the people. American diplomatic and intelligence services know pretty accurately what is going on. Mark Ethridge, for instance, who went to Romania and Bulgaria on a special mission for the President, reported on conditions there, but the report was never released. Since the human mind tends to draw conclusions even from a single fact, such as the suppression of the report, the presumption is that it was of such nature as might disturb our relations with the Russians. If that is the government’s reason, it would have been better diplomacy never to have revealed the fact of Mr. Ethridge’s mission; the people are bound, under the circumstance, to suspect things to be worse than perhaps they are.
When essential information is not accessible even to Congress, fragments get out in the form of leaks. But this is irresponsible journalism, dangerous to the ultimate existence of a free press. Government officials, themselves remaining anonymous, use certain journalists as mouthpieces. Often such officials have axes to grind – for themselves or against someone else – and the journalist, hungry for news, becomes, as it were, an agent in return for special privilege.
In Britain, members of Parliament can force information into the light through their right publicly to question cabinet members. We have no adequate substitute for this. The judgment of American legislative bodies must be formed on information wrung by individuals or committees through contacts with cabinet members or department officials, also not always uncolored and also not under public scrutiny.
The press itself, reporting from countries with rigid censorship, cannot present candid reports. Not only are the dispatches of foreign correspondents rigidly censored in the Soviet Union and its satellites, but a self-censorship arises when newspapermen work under such conditions. If their reports fail to please their hosts they become persona non grata, and are given their passports, or if they go home on leave, they cannot obtain return visas. If too many of them from a single paper continue to try to assault the ring of propaganda, the paper may be barred from sending correspondents at all.
Most foreign correspondents are assigned to areas because of special qualifications, such as knowledge of the country and its language. If the correspondent loses his usefulness in that place where he is most fitted to serve, he may be out of a job.
Truth may get out, but in a second-hand way. Journalists tell other journalists outside the things they know and cannot write; the outsider writes them, but cannot prove them, nor reveal his source. Journalism then becomes, to an extent, an underground movement. And if the outside journalist boldly comes out with facts slipped him by his para-imprisoned colleagues they may be called upon to denounce him as a condition for continued permission to stay where they are. This is what happened in the case of William L. White.
All this is pertinent to major policies. All agree that Big Three unity should be maintained. But if it can be maintained only by a conspiracy of silence, at what point is the price too high for a free people to pay? At what point do the people become mere subjects of foreign policy, as helpless as any living under a rigid dictatorship?
Any policy which cannot endure the searchlight of truth is dangerous, presuming that the chief end of all our policies is to preserve the freedom and welfare of the people and their civilization.
Perhaps that is no longer the aim; perhaps the only aim is to preserve peace at any price. If it is, one wonders why we fought this war; even then, the people might better be clear regarding the price; and further, we may question whether the aim of peace at any price has ever succeeded in keeping peace. Certainly it cannot succeed unless those nations strong enough to make war are willing to pay equally. If the price is to be paid only by some, the end will either be war – for even worms usually turn at some point – or the most ignominious capitulation which war itself could force.
These are observations of general application, directed at no one, unless at our own officials, who, locking secrets in their bosoms and making policies which they apparently dare not explain, are creating a public fear that things may be worse even than they obviously are.