The Pittsburgh Press (October 30, 1944)
I DARE SAY —
The dead dodos
By Florence Fisher Parry
Words come up fast and they die fast. The topical words, I mean. The political words.
The impartial, the just words, are immortal.
Now of the words coined to the circumstances I am thinking of three which, when first used, had dignity and fire. But because they have been manhandled by the opportunists, carrying no value. I am speaking of the words “appeaser,” “interventionist,” “isolationist.” Like cold dead embers they have been raked back into the furnace of the presidential campaign.
Let’s have done with them! They have no further place in our philosophy.
There was a time when these words stood for something honest. Yes, honest. No shame attached to President Monroe when he issued his great doctrine of splendid Isolationism. It matched our national need.
In the early days of this war, before America entered in, the word “interventionist” was not ignoble. It was the name we called those men of vision, who, although not more sincere than others, had the gift of prophecy.
There were at that time isolationists, strong and sincere in their patriotism, granite in their convictions. But that was long before their nationalism was corrupted and debased by the infiltration of fascist interlopers into their honest, if short-sighted, ranks.
Remember?
Thursday night on The American Forum of the Air over the radio, the listening audience was insulted by one of the lowest political debates of radio history. A veritable capsule of all the dirt which has smeared this campaign was pushed down our throats by the Secretary of the Interior, Harold Ickes; and in his speech, this mangled, manhandled political football word “isolationist” was tarred and feathered and lynched again, and in a lynch-mob mood. You would have thought that only arch fiends, dedicated to the destruction of every human decency, had ever been isolationists!
Even the Republican presidential candidate, in a regrettable moment of indulgence, accused President Roosevelt of being an isolationist.
The whole thing has become so preposterous! Have we no memories? Is there no place on the record for day-before-yesterday, when we were all isolationists? Yes, all! All the people of all the countries of all the earth.
How long ago was day-before-yesterday? Why, 1938. Do you remember? I remember listening to The March of Time, which was recreating a little scene which had just taken place on Sept. 28, on the eve of the day Hitler marched into Czechoslovakia.
The scene was the private study of President Beneš. His visitors were the British and French Ministers. It was 2:00 a.m. They aroused him to announce the result of the Munich Conference. They were there to tell him he must accept Hitler’s terms regardless of the dissolution of Czechoslovakia which would inevitably follow.
The ritual
Who were the isolationists then? Great Britain, France only? Who were the appeasers then? Great Britain, France only? Who, then, moved his finger to help Czechoslovakia?
Let’s face ourselves. We may lie to others, but we can’t lie to ourselves. We were ALL isolationists. All. Everyone.
Why shall we then dig up those old cadavers to stench the air already polluted by the ill-smelling gases of this political campaign?
On Thursday, I went to the luncheon dedicated to the American relief for Czechoslovakia. A native food was offered us to eat. It was called Boží milosti, meaning “God’s blessing on you,” or “Food from Heaven.” As I saw, the people of Czechoslovakia eating as one family and sharing with us their guests this native pastry, the picture came back strong of that night only six years ago when Czechoslovakia met her ordeal and gave up her existence as a nation.
There was something about this little sharing with us this celestial pastry that took on something of the ritual of communion. They were willing to forget how the world had betrayed them, they were willing to forgive our isolationism, our appeasement. This was another day.
It offered us a beautiful example. Would that we could be worthy of it!