Voice from the Mountain

Good, grey Cordell Hull had worked over his speech with the patience of a thorough man. He had dictated it to a battery of secretaries, revised and corrected it in his laborious, Victorian longhand. Now, sitting at his desk before twelve microphones, he carefully took his hornrimmed pince-nez from the breast pocket of his grey suit, carefully shook out the anchoring length of black ribbon, carefully spoke to the world about World War II.

Said Secretary Hull:

"This latest assault on human freedom is, in a profound sense, a searching test for nations and for individuals. There is no surer way for men and for nations to show themselves unworthy of liberty than, by supine submission and refusal to fight, to render more difficult the task of those who are fighting for the preservation of human freedom. There is no surer way for men and for nations to show themselves worthy of liberty than to fight for its preservation, in any way that is open to them, against those who would destroy it for all.

"We have always believed--and we believe today--that all peoples, without distinction of race, color or religion, who are prepared and willing to accept the responsibilities of liberty, are entitled to its enjoyment. We have always sought--and we seek today--to encourage and aid all who aspire to freedom to establish their right to it by preparing themselves to assume its obligations.

"It is plain that some international agency must be created which can--by force if necessary--keep the peace among nations in the future. [Then] with peace among nations reasonably assured, with political stability established, with economic shackles removed, a vast fund of resources will be released in each nation to meet the needs of progress, to make possible for all of its citizens an advancement toward higher living standards, to invigorate the constructive forces of initiative and enterprise.

"No nation will find this easy. Neither victory nor any form of post-war settlement will of itself create a millennium. Rather, we shall be offered an opportunity. The manifold tasks that lie ahead will not be accomplished overnight."

To the man in the street, who had been hoping for a realistic report on the war or a red-blooded pep talk, the good, grey Secretary's speech was also good and grey: another of Judge Hull's careful, cautious discussions of war aims and the post-war world. The rich, quiet, mauve-decade style was lost in his plodding delivery, the vaultlike acoustics of his office. Nevertheless Secretary Hull had made two great propositions clear.

He had told the world's remaining neutrals--particularly those like India who blocked the United Nations' plan--that freedom was not to be given but earned. And he had injected a little hard Tennessee muscle into the milk-and-honey promises of men like Henry Wallace. The postwar world was not all a matter of social-worker theory; it would also involve harsh duties, hard work, and economic sense.

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