THE IDEOLOGY OF FED-UPNESS

IT is not classical conservatism, though high taxes and government spending are involved. It is not simple bigotry, but racial tension is a large part of the equation. Indeed, the political mood of 1969 defies traditional definition. Yet one thing is clear: millions of Americans are prepared to vote their fear and anger rather than their hope and compassion. The words "law and order" have become an irresistible incantation, and what Political Analyst Richard Scammon calls the "anti-dissent dissent" is, for the moment, the strongest political force in the country.

Supposedly the most liberal city in the country, New York, proved susceptible to the chant. Mayor John Lindsay, a progressive who only four years ago was one of the most attractive figures in the Republican Party, lost his party's primary last week to a political nobody, State Senator John Marchi. On the Democratic side, Robert Wagner, Lindsay's predecessor for twelve years, lost to City Comptroller Mario Procaccino, an emotional performer whose politics are not merely old but primordial. Though neither could be called racist or bigot, the victors had based their campaigns on one theme: public apprehension over violence and disorder.

Some Northern Writer. The results, to be sure, were not so conclusive as they had been in the recent mayoral elections in Los Angeles and Minneapolis. Lindsay lost by only 1.5%, and even in defeat has a good chance of re-election in November on the tickets of New York's Liberal Party and his newly formed coalition, tentatively called the Urban Party. Many voters, too, unquestionably felt that they had ample reason, apart from race or ideology, to oppose the mayor on his record, which has had more than its share of disasters. At the same time, more than two-thirds of the Democrats voted for moderates and liberals, but those were split up among four rival candidates in the primary. Procaccino, the one Democratic law-and-order candidate, gained nomination with a bare 33%. A swing of a couple of percentage points the other way--or even the least modicum of unity among the liberals--would have changed the outcome.

Two years ago, black mayoral candidates were elected in Cleveland and Gary, Ind., by small margins while Boston voters chose a moderate over a hardliner. The shift in popular sentiment has not been overwhelming, but just enough to make the difference.

Still, elections are won by pluralities, as Richard Nixon can testify, and the fact is that today the Marchis and the Procaccinos are in almost every instance beating the Lindsays and the Wagners. "I didn't make this up, now," George Wallace told TIME Correspondent Kenneth Danforth, shortly after the New York election. "Some Northern writer did. This man wrote that what we're hearing now is 'Wallaceism with a Yankee accent.' That's pretty good, I think."

At his press conference, the President had his own analysis. He enunciated a kind of current ideology in American politics, though it is more emotional than political--an ideology of fed-upness. "This is the message," he said, "that comes through rather loud and clear from these elections: the American people in our cities, in our small towns and in this country are fed up to here with violence and lawlessness. And they want candidates who will take a strong stand against it." To illustrate what he meant by "up to here," a frequent Nixon expression, the President brought his hand up to his Adam's apple. The gesture symbolized the prevalent mood.

Out of Fashion. Mayoralty contests are not the only signs of change. In Denver, voters defeated, by 21 to 1, two school board candidates who had advocated bussing to achieve school integration. Local school bond issues are now turned down with regularity, while state legislatures are increasingly chary of spending for social programs. More alarming still is the contagion of fear that drives ordinary citizens to the desperate resort of arming themselves.

Some view the scene with a gloom that approaches despair. John Seigenthaler, editor of the Nashville Tennessean, plainly exaggerates when he says: "We are headed toward a police state. We may not arrive there, but that's where we are headed." Those who take Seigenthaler's line, however, overlook the fact that in relation to the more ferocious forms of dissent, the response of authorities generally has been restrained. Jerome Cavanagh, the mayor of Detroit, adds: "People are striking out for simplistic approaches. Any guy who talks about some of the real problems isn't in fashion today."

Yet the more disturbing answer may be that the malaise has a different origin--the failure of political leaders to talk convincingly about what many people believe are their own real problems. George Wallace demonstrated last year that millions of Americans are deeply dissatisfied with the course of American society. Increasingly there is a realization that the members of the discontented middle, like the blacks, may have good reason for their anger.

Giant Con Game. In recent years, in fact, the people that sociologists call the lower middle class have begun to think that the affluent society is one giant con game. Hardest hit by inflation and the chief victims of rising sales and property taxes, they find their real incomes growing pinched even as officialdom, or so it often seems, tells them that they must do more and more for the poor. The black riots left them angry and bewildered. The student disorders now make them bitter and eager for retaliation. Al Yanco, a small businessman from Bellingham, Wash., muses: "What would happen if all the middle-class people got together and refused to pay taxes until some of this was straightened out? They couldn't put us all in jail."

To Lawrence O'Brien, one of the most astute political minds in Washington, the results of the recent elections are less than shocking. "It's something that has been developing for a long time," he says. "I think you can say of both parties--and of our system of government and politics in general--that we've lost contact with the average American. He is becoming alienated just as other more vocal and visible groups become alienated."

That is a truth that moderate and liberal leaders must recognize. Even so, it is equally true that the "underclass"--the blacks, the Mexican Americans and others--have even more reason to feel left out. They too are fed uo, with justice delayed and promises deferred--a fact that Cartoonist John Fischetti expressed in a drawing of an anonymous black imitating the President's "up to here" gesture. Yet viewed rationally, the long-range interests (if not the short-term problems) of the two sides coincide. The slums suffer more from crime and disorder than the suburbs, and blacks, even more than whites, need protection from the lawless. Difficult as it may be for many to believe, the lower middle class and the middle class have as much of a stake as the poor in ending poverty and discrimination.

Reconciliation will probably be the nation's greatest task for decades. The tragic fact of 1969 is that many voters apparently do not recognize the challenge and that so few leaders are able to point it out to them. What is the prognosis? "Only a crazy man would feel very hopeful," says Sociologist David Riesman. "But only a self-indulgent man would give up."

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