The Pittsburgh Press (February 27, 1946)
I DARE SAY —
We, here in America
By Florence Fisher Parry
Justice Jackson’s statement at the Nuernberg trials belongs to the ages along with the most august pronouncements of all time.
The execution of General Yamashita came only after his crimes were reviewed by a duly constituted military court, by our own Supreme Court of the United States and General MacArthur himself.
What more in justice can be done?
And in the trial of the Nazi criminals at Nuernberg is being enacted another great act in the solemn drama of justice. What mercy would we have received at the hands of these criminals? Yet burying our hatred and disgust and with infinite patience and precision we pursue the pure abstract course of justice.
Many weak and shameful things have followed our victory. We are not proud of our performance, our behavior, but in our pursuit of justice in the trials of the War criminals we have shown ourselves at our best. And it will be chronicled to our credit that even a Japanese sadist, in desperate last recourse to be spared the extreme penalty, demanded the intercession of the Supreme Court of the United States and was granted his petition.
What a paradox, that we can be so noble on the one hand and so foolish on the other! So punctilious and fair in our trials of War criminals, and so disorderly and ignorant in the management of our own problems!
Could it happen to us?
How many Americans, I wonder, are interested in what’s going on in Argentina? Colonel Juan Peron moves still closer to approximating the very image of Hitler. The current “Life” magazine devotes seven full pages to a coverage of Argentina’s steady rise to Fascism.
If 15 years ago “Life” had given equal space to Adolf Hitler’s ascension to power, we would have questioned the editor’s judgment in devoting so much space to such a ridiculous little figure. Yet here we are still licking the wounds that he inflicted on the world, wounds that will never heal, that will always fester, and casting not an eye southward to our neighbor, Argentina, whose not too little fuehrer is more and more boldly playing his Nazi hand.
It is lightening how easily the people will prostrate themselves before a public idol. It is frightening to consider what hysteria one man can evoke.
We in America like to think of ourselves as immune to such persuasions. No man could rise among us and proclaim himself our fuehrer. No? Fourteen years ago, long before this terrible war had whipped our nerves raw, long before the terrible fissure between capital and labor had widened into its present chasm, the people of America were caught up on a wave of benignant hysteria, but none the less hysteria.
Do you remember? – I remember – how we sat spellbound before our radios and listened as we would to one of the Apostles saying, “My Friends.” Do you remember? – I remember – when six years ago, only six, a shaggy unknown with a Wall Street address and a western accent, rose in his simple might and shook our hearts with his voice, “Fellow Amurrrricuns.”
Ambrosio for bread
Oh yes, it could happen to us. It could happen to us overnight. A Messiah could spring upon a soap box a platform, a pulpit, and seize upon our uncertainties and hates, our jealousies and greeds, our despairs and divisions, and make us his – his.
Crouching deep within us in the terrible beast, hero worship; hero worship, waiting to spring. There happens to be no one now, even remotely fit. We have no prophet. We have no Messiah. No Fuehrer stands however far in the offing.
Maybe this is just as well, maybe this is our salvation, I don’t know. Better far be cursed with little men than coerced by dangerous prophets.
It has been our unhappy history that since after the time of Lincoln, whenever we have had a strong personality to lead us, however noble his leadership, it has led us down blind alleys. Woodrow Wilson was a man of prophecy and vision, but he was not great enough he preached a dream but failed to show us how it could be realized Franklin D. Roosevelt was a born leader, a man of infinite persuasion, but he fed us ambrosia when we needed bread. He painted us rainbows on arithmetic boards. He led us into the land of Promises instead of the land of Promise.
Wendell Willkie rose, was heard, was shouted down, was silenced. We will never know how very great he could have been.
All we know now is that we are a flock without a shepherd, a people without a leader.
But the great potential within us to follow the leader is still there.
God help us when he rises from our midst!
God pray he will be great enough, this time, to see us through!