In Boston

For a few moments, at the beginning of last Saturday's SANE rally even steeped in the tradition of American meetings for social protest must be wondered what was happening. A broken-down organ played a wavering barely recognizable version of Star Spangled Banner. Instead of at attention, members of the at the Boston Arena turned each other, snickered, and a few sat down.

the Committee for a SANE Policy, attempting to impress its on the United States Government, this misfortune must have seem ominous. A great many people inside the Arena, were prone to any efforts at disarmament with conciliations to the Soviet Union; and a purblind witch-hunter, at uncovering symbols as was as likely to head the same into an off-key version of the Spangled Banner as he would continuing partnership with the Amendment.

Three hours later, after many and a few songs, Pete Seeger the situation; the symbolism, those who cared, was reversed. dismay at a society where controlled machines descrate even Star Spangled Banner he request that the audience stand and, without companiment, sing the anthem's verse. "Think particularly," he "of the last lines: 'O say does that Spangled Banner still wave o'er land of the free and the home of brave." For a few minutes this dressed man, his seasick-green and red socks eminently his left hand moving up and down to control the collective voice, 5,000--including a state governor, participant in the Manhattan and an outstanding social thinker chorusing the first verse of their them.

One could have reflected, as some that the contrast between the beginning and its conclusion something vitally significant. The lowing sounds of the down organ might seem to represent America today, heedlessly toward destruction, blindly the products of its own machines rather than responding to the emotional wants of its citizens. chorus of voices, by the same could be construed to represent America after it had assimilated the message of groups like SANE.

these reflections suggest what was lacking in the SANE . No germ of commitment the audience. Instead, the began to wonder about symbols, underlying meanings. The audiance came to the rally curious but committed, interested but not middle aged people seeking a more fortunate version of their team of the thirties, high school and college students genuinely worried out about the problems they sensed, to be led to solution. The audiance left in the same tentative, mood.

Only twice was there a feeling of excitement, and neither time it spring from an idea or suggestion central to the question of . The excitement was not intellectual--as perhaps it be in a meeting of this nature. manifested itself first in a feeling sheer anger when a man threw an at Charles Coryell, who had just in defense of Linus Pauling; in exultant release when Seeger up to lead the group through a of folk-songs.

Even these moments were tinged with unreality. The egg-thrower, despicable as his act was (he hurled the missile and then dashed out an exit) is not the real enemy of disarmament--nor are his parent right-wing organizations. These people are easy to spot and easy to dislike, but they exert little direct influence over national policy and their mood scarcely reflects the temper of the nation.

Apathy, perhaps, a subliminal militarism, that doesn't come right out and say "we want war" but persistently indicates that war is highly likely and America had better mobilize all its resources in preparation--these are the enemies of groups like SANE. The Civil Defense Commissioner who hires a team of interior decorators to plan comfortable, airy rooms for the inevitable underground New York City presents, in the long run, a far more serious threat than those men who spend their time haranguing in front of the Overseas Press Club because Nikita Khrushchev was invited to speak there.

Neither did the enthusiasm created by songs inspire the audience to work for disarmament. As a device for solidifying a group music, particularly folk music, is matchless. But it is best used for sustaining a mood of focussed activism; rarely, if ever, can music by itself ignite such a mood. On picket lines, song kept emotions taut; but hatred of management--and desire to unionize--was present long before the strikers learned their union songs.

None of the speakers elicited much enthusiasm from the audience; perhaps none intended to. Charles Coryell, professor of Chemistry at M.I.T., and Gov. G. Mennen Williams of Michigan seemed to provoke the audience most. But Coryell's defense of Linus Pauling was, in context, peripheral to the main topic, and Williams' six-point program for "what you can do" turned out to be largely a program for what a Democratic Administration might do. Save for his emphasis on "arms to parley," though, Williams' speech seemed to encourage the audience, to show them that there are important politicians on their side.

In no speech were the potential horrors of nuclear war presented in concrete terms. Erich Fromm and Dr. Harold DeWolfe, professor of Theology at B. U., submitted general ideas on the subject. Governor Williams discussed the possibility of forming a Peace Agency as an important department in the federal government. But neither general proposals nor concrete plans for disarmament acquire full meaning until the facts behind them are made clear.

Stockpiled in the four nations with nuclear weapons is the equivalent of 10,000 tons of T.N.T. for every man, woman, and child on earth; the United States alone has sufficient nuclear power to wipe out the Soviet Union two-and-one-half times over. There is talk of a Doomsday Machine, powerful enough to destroy the entire world, which would be detonated the moment the United States is attacked. These facts are terrifying; they make the arms race a real and immediate concern of every American citizen. It is essential that they be presented and discussed, but the SANE rally ignored them entirely.

Most members of the audience wanted to know what they could do about disarmament. Some of the speakers presented specific suggestions--although none was close to a concrete program.

But the question was given greatest emphasis when Steve Allen launched into a protracted fund-raising "rou- tine." "Who will give one hundred dollars for peace?" Allen asked, "those people willing to contribute please raise their hands." Then, attempting to collect donations from $50 to $1.00, he teased the crowd with such phrases eas "a city of this affluence," "an audience as intelligent as this," and "show your interest in peace."

That the interlude of commercialism disturbed most of the audience is unquestionably true. Whether one condemned it or relaxed and deemed it necessary depended on his own notion of this sort of meeting. Possibly no disarmament rally, however eloquent the speakers and however stark the facts they present, can inspire an audience to immediate action. Possibly no such rally in itself can crystallize the issue in people's minds. If this is the case, it might be best to provide a fair amount of information (much more, however, than the crowd received Saturday night), and try to raise a great deal of money.

Certainly Allen's antics would remain near the surface of most spectators' memories. Some would even harbor a few non-political suspicions about the organization itself. Afterwards, some would wonder what they could do for SANE: the group's proposal for action were almost lost in the shuffle of bills. It could only be hoped that the quasi-committed would become slightly more interested, would take time to investigate further the possibilities for individual action.

As a result of the issue in question, disarmament rallics are vastly different from comparable social protest meeting in the '30's and early '40's. When Bob Hope, in 1937, led a rally for unemployed longshoremen, spectators were immediately able to go out and do something. If they contributed money, as they must have, the results were easily imaginable: instead of one grubby meal a day, some longshoreman would have three squares and a decent place to sleep. If public pressures were strong enough, management would have to allow the long-shoremen to unionize: the machinations of a ship company are far less complex than those of the federal government, the ruthlessness of Big Business is an issue far less hazy than disarmament.

The anti-fascist rallies of the early 40's were, in philosophical implication, far closer to meetings protesting the arms race. In both cases the obvious danger was widespread destruction, the explicit question was war. But a man attending meetings of the Committee to Defend America by Aiding the Allies was ready to fight not abstain; it was clear what the government should do. Horrified by Nazi conquests, he knew that neutrality was an impossible position, that Lend-Lease was essential to prevent Europe from being altogether crushed. In this case, the desire was to lash out at a nation of criminals, not to refrain from using a criminal weapon. The decision to fight is always easier than the decision not to.

And it is nothing less than the eventual abolition of war that groups such as SANE are advocating. Not only abolition of war but efforts to deal with an enemy more dangerous and octopal than any we have ever known. Whether or not the audience was conscious of the enormous social changes peace would bring, the problem was surely on the surface of their unconscious. If the immense complexities involved in disarmament was the primary reason for the absence of spontaneous excitement, the still greater difficulties of envisioning a peaceful society ran a close second.

Certainly neither SANE nor any of the disarmament splinter groups has a clear idea of what they should do, although most think they know what should be done. What new techniques for activism can be used to meet this new situation? What are the implications of the necessarily unsubtle techniques now used? One can feel great sympathy, for example, with the pacifist who pickets missle bases until he realizes that this sort of action bears no direct relation to the situation (a technician here is by no means a scab if he crosses the picket line) and that the symbolism behind this movement, if carried to its extreme, augurs extreme danger for the United States. To protest the manufacture of missiles is to harbor a hopelessly unrealistic vision of the present day world.

Obviously, SANE is more likely than the pacifist groups to change society's attitude toward disarmament. It doesn't yet seem to know how. Even "commitment"--the most recurrent word in the lexicon of those who speak on the problem--becomes irrelevant when one realizes what it has meant in the past. For commitment to labor or to anti-fascism meant, in most cases, little reflection and a great deal of action.

Commitment to disarmament means enormous expenditure of intellectual energy, a sustained attempt to understand the ever-spiralling problem and piece together solutions. It means also a dedication to persuasion, to convincing friends and strangers that they must face the horrors of the arms race and themselves work for disarmament.

Because of the nature of the problem, the vast renovation of society which its solution entails, the committed must realize that perceptible success lies far in the future--there is no utopia next door. The road is difficult, sometimes barren, and extremely lonely

the Committee for a SANE Policy, attempting to impress its on the United States Government, this misfortune must have seem ominous. A great many people inside the Arena, were prone to any efforts at disarmament with conciliations to the Soviet Union; and a purblind witch-hunter, at uncovering symbols as was as likely to head the same into an off-key version of the Spangled Banner as he would continuing partnership with the Amendment.

Three hours later, after many and a few songs, Pete Seeger the situation; the symbolism, those who cared, was reversed. dismay at a society where controlled machines descrate even Star Spangled Banner he request that the audience stand and, without companiment, sing the anthem's verse. "Think particularly," he "of the last lines: 'O say does that Spangled Banner still wave o'er land of the free and the home of brave." For a few minutes this dressed man, his seasick-green and red socks eminently his left hand moving up and down to control the collective voice, 5,000--including a state governor, participant in the Manhattan and an outstanding social thinker chorusing the first verse of their them.

One could have reflected, as some that the contrast between the beginning and its conclusion something vitally significant. The lowing sounds of the down organ might seem to represent America today, heedlessly toward destruction, blindly the products of its own machines rather than responding to the emotional wants of its citizens. chorus of voices, by the same could be construed to represent America after it had assimilated the message of groups like SANE.

these reflections suggest what was lacking in the SANE . No germ of commitment the audience. Instead, the began to wonder about symbols, underlying meanings. The audiance came to the rally curious but committed, interested but not middle aged people seeking a more fortunate version of their team of the thirties, high school and college students genuinely worried out about the problems they sensed, to be led to solution. The audiance left in the same tentative, mood.

Only twice was there a feeling of excitement, and neither time it spring from an idea or suggestion central to the question of . The excitement was not intellectual--as perhaps it be in a meeting of this nature. manifested itself first in a feeling sheer anger when a man threw an at Charles Coryell, who had just in defense of Linus Pauling; in exultant release when Seeger up to lead the group through a of folk-songs.

Even these moments were tinged with unreality. The egg-thrower, despicable as his act was (he hurled the missile and then dashed out an exit) is not the real enemy of disarmament--nor are his parent right-wing organizations. These people are easy to spot and easy to dislike, but they exert little direct influence over national policy and their mood scarcely reflects the temper of the nation.

Apathy, perhaps, a subliminal militarism, that doesn't come right out and say "we want war" but persistently indicates that war is highly likely and America had better mobilize all its resources in preparation--these are the enemies of groups like SANE. The Civil Defense Commissioner who hires a team of interior decorators to plan comfortable, airy rooms for the inevitable underground New York City presents, in the long run, a far more serious threat than those men who spend their time haranguing in front of the Overseas Press Club because Nikita Khrushchev was invited to speak there.

Neither did the enthusiasm created by songs inspire the audience to work for disarmament. As a device for solidifying a group music, particularly folk music, is matchless. But it is best used for sustaining a mood of focussed activism; rarely, if ever, can music by itself ignite such a mood. On picket lines, song kept emotions taut; but hatred of management--and desire to unionize--was present long before the strikers learned their union songs.

None of the speakers elicited much enthusiasm from the audience; perhaps none intended to. Charles Coryell, professor of Chemistry at M.I.T., and Gov. G. Mennen Williams of Michigan seemed to provoke the audience most. But Coryell's defense of Linus Pauling was, in context, peripheral to the main topic, and Williams' six-point program for "what you can do" turned out to be largely a program for what a Democratic Administration might do. Save for his emphasis on "arms to parley," though, Williams' speech seemed to encourage the audience, to show them that there are important politicians on their side.

In no speech were the potential horrors of nuclear war presented in concrete terms. Erich Fromm and Dr. Harold DeWolfe, professor of Theology at B. U., submitted general ideas on the subject. Governor Williams discussed the possibility of forming a Peace Agency as an important department in the federal government. But neither general proposals nor concrete plans for disarmament acquire full meaning until the facts behind them are made clear.

Stockpiled in the four nations with nuclear weapons is the equivalent of 10,000 tons of T.N.T. for every man, woman, and child on earth; the United States alone has sufficient nuclear power to wipe out the Soviet Union two-and-one-half times over. There is talk of a Doomsday Machine, powerful enough to destroy the entire world, which would be detonated the moment the United States is attacked. These facts are terrifying; they make the arms race a real and immediate concern of every American citizen. It is essential that they be presented and discussed, but the SANE rally ignored them entirely.

Most members of the audience wanted to know what they could do about disarmament. Some of the speakers presented specific suggestions--although none was close to a concrete program.

But the question was given greatest emphasis when Steve Allen launched into a protracted fund-raising "rou- tine." "Who will give one hundred dollars for peace?" Allen asked, "those people willing to contribute please raise their hands." Then, attempting to collect donations from $50 to $1.00, he teased the crowd with such phrases eas "a city of this affluence," "an audience as intelligent as this," and "show your interest in peace."

That the interlude of commercialism disturbed most of the audience is unquestionably true. Whether one condemned it or relaxed and deemed it necessary depended on his own notion of this sort of meeting. Possibly no disarmament rally, however eloquent the speakers and however stark the facts they present, can inspire an audience to immediate action. Possibly no such rally in itself can crystallize the issue in people's minds. If this is the case, it might be best to provide a fair amount of information (much more, however, than the crowd received Saturday night), and try to raise a great deal of money.

Certainly Allen's antics would remain near the surface of most spectators' memories. Some would even harbor a few non-political suspicions about the organization itself. Afterwards, some would wonder what they could do for SANE: the group's proposal for action were almost lost in the shuffle of bills. It could only be hoped that the quasi-committed would become slightly more interested, would take time to investigate further the possibilities for individual action.

As a result of the issue in question, disarmament rallics are vastly different from comparable social protest meeting in the '30's and early '40's. When Bob Hope, in 1937, led a rally for unemployed longshoremen, spectators were immediately able to go out and do something. If they contributed money, as they must have, the results were easily imaginable: instead of one grubby meal a day, some longshoreman would have three squares and a decent place to sleep. If public pressures were strong enough, management would have to allow the long-shoremen to unionize: the machinations of a ship company are far less complex than those of the federal government, the ruthlessness of Big Business is an issue far less hazy than disarmament.

The anti-fascist rallies of the early 40's were, in philosophical implication, far closer to meetings protesting the arms race. In both cases the obvious danger was widespread destruction, the explicit question was war. But a man attending meetings of the Committee to Defend America by Aiding the Allies was ready to fight not abstain; it was clear what the government should do. Horrified by Nazi conquests, he knew that neutrality was an impossible position, that Lend-Lease was essential to prevent Europe from being altogether crushed. In this case, the desire was to lash out at a nation of criminals, not to refrain from using a criminal weapon. The decision to fight is always easier than the decision not to.

And it is nothing less than the eventual abolition of war that groups such as SANE are advocating. Not only abolition of war but efforts to deal with an enemy more dangerous and octopal than any we have ever known. Whether or not the audience was conscious of the enormous social changes peace would bring, the problem was surely on the surface of their unconscious. If the immense complexities involved in disarmament was the primary reason for the absence of spontaneous excitement, the still greater difficulties of envisioning a peaceful society ran a close second.

Certainly neither SANE nor any of the disarmament splinter groups has a clear idea of what they should do, although most think they know what should be done. What new techniques for activism can be used to meet this new situation? What are the implications of the necessarily unsubtle techniques now used? One can feel great sympathy, for example, with the pacifist who pickets missle bases until he realizes that this sort of action bears no direct relation to the situation (a technician here is by no means a scab if he crosses the picket line) and that the symbolism behind this movement, if carried to its extreme, augurs extreme danger for the United States. To protest the manufacture of missiles is to harbor a hopelessly unrealistic vision of the present day world.

Obviously, SANE is more likely than the pacifist groups to change society's attitude toward disarmament. It doesn't yet seem to know how. Even "commitment"--the most recurrent word in the lexicon of those who speak on the problem--becomes irrelevant when one realizes what it has meant in the past. For commitment to labor or to anti-fascism meant, in most cases, little reflection and a great deal of action.

Commitment to disarmament means enormous expenditure of intellectual energy, a sustained attempt to understand the ever-spiralling problem and piece together solutions. It means also a dedication to persuasion, to convincing friends and strangers that they must face the horrors of the arms race and themselves work for disarmament.

Because of the nature of the problem, the vast renovation of society which its solution entails, the committed must realize that perceptible success lies far in the future--there is no utopia next door. The road is difficult, sometimes barren, and extremely lonely

Three hours later, after many and a few songs, Pete Seeger the situation; the symbolism, those who cared, was reversed. dismay at a society where controlled machines descrate even Star Spangled Banner he request that the audience stand and, without companiment, sing the anthem's verse. "Think particularly," he "of the last lines: 'O say does that Spangled Banner still wave o'er land of the free and the home of brave." For a few minutes this dressed man, his seasick-green and red socks eminently his left hand moving up and down to control the collective voice, 5,000--including a state governor, participant in the Manhattan and an outstanding social thinker chorusing the first verse of their them.

One could have reflected, as some that the contrast between the beginning and its conclusion something vitally significant. The lowing sounds of the down organ might seem to represent America today, heedlessly toward destruction, blindly the products of its own machines rather than responding to the emotional wants of its citizens. chorus of voices, by the same could be construed to represent America after it had assimilated the message of groups like SANE.

these reflections suggest what was lacking in the SANE . No germ of commitment the audience. Instead, the began to wonder about symbols, underlying meanings. The audiance came to the rally curious but committed, interested but not middle aged people seeking a more fortunate version of their team of the thirties, high school and college students genuinely worried out about the problems they sensed, to be led to solution. The audiance left in the same tentative, mood.

Only twice was there a feeling of excitement, and neither time it spring from an idea or suggestion central to the question of . The excitement was not intellectual--as perhaps it be in a meeting of this nature. manifested itself first in a feeling sheer anger when a man threw an at Charles Coryell, who had just in defense of Linus Pauling; in exultant release when Seeger up to lead the group through a of folk-songs.

Even these moments were tinged with unreality. The egg-thrower, despicable as his act was (he hurled the missile and then dashed out an exit) is not the real enemy of disarmament--nor are his parent right-wing organizations. These people are easy to spot and easy to dislike, but they exert little direct influence over national policy and their mood scarcely reflects the temper of the nation.

Apathy, perhaps, a subliminal militarism, that doesn't come right out and say "we want war" but persistently indicates that war is highly likely and America had better mobilize all its resources in preparation--these are the enemies of groups like SANE. The Civil Defense Commissioner who hires a team of interior decorators to plan comfortable, airy rooms for the inevitable underground New York City presents, in the long run, a far more serious threat than those men who spend their time haranguing in front of the Overseas Press Club because Nikita Khrushchev was invited to speak there.

Neither did the enthusiasm created by songs inspire the audience to work for disarmament. As a device for solidifying a group music, particularly folk music, is matchless. But it is best used for sustaining a mood of focussed activism; rarely, if ever, can music by itself ignite such a mood. On picket lines, song kept emotions taut; but hatred of management--and desire to unionize--was present long before the strikers learned their union songs.

None of the speakers elicited much enthusiasm from the audience; perhaps none intended to. Charles Coryell, professor of Chemistry at M.I.T., and Gov. G. Mennen Williams of Michigan seemed to provoke the audience most. But Coryell's defense of Linus Pauling was, in context, peripheral to the main topic, and Williams' six-point program for "what you can do" turned out to be largely a program for what a Democratic Administration might do. Save for his emphasis on "arms to parley," though, Williams' speech seemed to encourage the audience, to show them that there are important politicians on their side.

In no speech were the potential horrors of nuclear war presented in concrete terms. Erich Fromm and Dr. Harold DeWolfe, professor of Theology at B. U., submitted general ideas on the subject. Governor Williams discussed the possibility of forming a Peace Agency as an important department in the federal government. But neither general proposals nor concrete plans for disarmament acquire full meaning until the facts behind them are made clear.

Stockpiled in the four nations with nuclear weapons is the equivalent of 10,000 tons of T.N.T. for every man, woman, and child on earth; the United States alone has sufficient nuclear power to wipe out the Soviet Union two-and-one-half times over. There is talk of a Doomsday Machine, powerful enough to destroy the entire world, which would be detonated the moment the United States is attacked. These facts are terrifying; they make the arms race a real and immediate concern of every American citizen. It is essential that they be presented and discussed, but the SANE rally ignored them entirely.

Most members of the audience wanted to know what they could do about disarmament. Some of the speakers presented specific suggestions--although none was close to a concrete program.

But the question was given greatest emphasis when Steve Allen launched into a protracted fund-raising "rou- tine." "Who will give one hundred dollars for peace?" Allen asked, "those people willing to contribute please raise their hands." Then, attempting to collect donations from $50 to $1.00, he teased the crowd with such phrases eas "a city of this affluence," "an audience as intelligent as this," and "show your interest in peace."

That the interlude of commercialism disturbed most of the audience is unquestionably true. Whether one condemned it or relaxed and deemed it necessary depended on his own notion of this sort of meeting. Possibly no disarmament rally, however eloquent the speakers and however stark the facts they present, can inspire an audience to immediate action. Possibly no such rally in itself can crystallize the issue in people's minds. If this is the case, it might be best to provide a fair amount of information (much more, however, than the crowd received Saturday night), and try to raise a great deal of money.

Certainly Allen's antics would remain near the surface of most spectators' memories. Some would even harbor a few non-political suspicions about the organization itself. Afterwards, some would wonder what they could do for SANE: the group's proposal for action were almost lost in the shuffle of bills. It could only be hoped that the quasi-committed would become slightly more interested, would take time to investigate further the possibilities for individual action.

As a result of the issue in question, disarmament rallics are vastly different from comparable social protest meeting in the '30's and early '40's. When Bob Hope, in 1937, led a rally for unemployed longshoremen, spectators were immediately able to go out and do something. If they contributed money, as they must have, the results were easily imaginable: instead of one grubby meal a day, some longshoreman would have three squares and a decent place to sleep. If public pressures were strong enough, management would have to allow the long-shoremen to unionize: the machinations of a ship company are far less complex than those of the federal government, the ruthlessness of Big Business is an issue far less hazy than disarmament.

The anti-fascist rallies of the early 40's were, in philosophical implication, far closer to meetings protesting the arms race. In both cases the obvious danger was widespread destruction, the explicit question was war. But a man attending meetings of the Committee to Defend America by Aiding the Allies was ready to fight not abstain; it was clear what the government should do. Horrified by Nazi conquests, he knew that neutrality was an impossible position, that Lend-Lease was essential to prevent Europe from being altogether crushed. In this case, the desire was to lash out at a nation of criminals, not to refrain from using a criminal weapon. The decision to fight is always easier than the decision not to.

And it is nothing less than the eventual abolition of war that groups such as SANE are advocating. Not only abolition of war but efforts to deal with an enemy more dangerous and octopal than any we have ever known. Whether or not the audience was conscious of the enormous social changes peace would bring, the problem was surely on the surface of their unconscious. If the immense complexities involved in disarmament was the primary reason for the absence of spontaneous excitement, the still greater difficulties of envisioning a peaceful society ran a close second.

Certainly neither SANE nor any of the disarmament splinter groups has a clear idea of what they should do, although most think they know what should be done. What new techniques for activism can be used to meet this new situation? What are the implications of the necessarily unsubtle techniques now used? One can feel great sympathy, for example, with the pacifist who pickets missle bases until he realizes that this sort of action bears no direct relation to the situation (a technician here is by no means a scab if he crosses the picket line) and that the symbolism behind this movement, if carried to its extreme, augurs extreme danger for the United States. To protest the manufacture of missiles is to harbor a hopelessly unrealistic vision of the present day world.

Obviously, SANE is more likely than the pacifist groups to change society's attitude toward disarmament. It doesn't yet seem to know how. Even "commitment"--the most recurrent word in the lexicon of those who speak on the problem--becomes irrelevant when one realizes what it has meant in the past. For commitment to labor or to anti-fascism meant, in most cases, little reflection and a great deal of action.

Commitment to disarmament means enormous expenditure of intellectual energy, a sustained attempt to understand the ever-spiralling problem and piece together solutions. It means also a dedication to persuasion, to convincing friends and strangers that they must face the horrors of the arms race and themselves work for disarmament.

Because of the nature of the problem, the vast renovation of society which its solution entails, the committed must realize that perceptible success lies far in the future--there is no utopia next door. The road is difficult, sometimes barren, and extremely lonely

One could have reflected, as some that the contrast between the beginning and its conclusion something vitally significant. The lowing sounds of the down organ might seem to represent America today, heedlessly toward destruction, blindly the products of its own machines rather than responding to the emotional wants of its citizens. chorus of voices, by the same could be construed to represent America after it had assimilated the message of groups like SANE.

these reflections suggest what was lacking in the SANE . No germ of commitment the audience. Instead, the began to wonder about symbols, underlying meanings. The audiance came to the rally curious but committed, interested but not middle aged people seeking a more fortunate version of their team of the thirties, high school and college students genuinely worried out about the problems they sensed, to be led to solution. The audiance left in the same tentative, mood.

Only twice was there a feeling of excitement, and neither time it spring from an idea or suggestion central to the question of . The excitement was not intellectual--as perhaps it be in a meeting of this nature. manifested itself first in a feeling sheer anger when a man threw an at Charles Coryell, who had just in defense of Linus Pauling; in exultant release when Seeger up to lead the group through a of folk-songs.

Even these moments were tinged with unreality. The egg-thrower, despicable as his act was (he hurled the missile and then dashed out an exit) is not the real enemy of disarmament--nor are his parent right-wing organizations. These people are easy to spot and easy to dislike, but they exert little direct influence over national policy and their mood scarcely reflects the temper of the nation.

Apathy, perhaps, a subliminal militarism, that doesn't come right out and say "we want war" but persistently indicates that war is highly likely and America had better mobilize all its resources in preparation--these are the enemies of groups like SANE. The Civil Defense Commissioner who hires a team of interior decorators to plan comfortable, airy rooms for the inevitable underground New York City presents, in the long run, a far more serious threat than those men who spend their time haranguing in front of the Overseas Press Club because Nikita Khrushchev was invited to speak there.

Neither did the enthusiasm created by songs inspire the audience to work for disarmament. As a device for solidifying a group music, particularly folk music, is matchless. But it is best used for sustaining a mood of focussed activism; rarely, if ever, can music by itself ignite such a mood. On picket lines, song kept emotions taut; but hatred of management--and desire to unionize--was present long before the strikers learned their union songs.

None of the speakers elicited much enthusiasm from the audience; perhaps none intended to. Charles Coryell, professor of Chemistry at M.I.T., and Gov. G. Mennen Williams of Michigan seemed to provoke the audience most. But Coryell's defense of Linus Pauling was, in context, peripheral to the main topic, and Williams' six-point program for "what you can do" turned out to be largely a program for what a Democratic Administration might do. Save for his emphasis on "arms to parley," though, Williams' speech seemed to encourage the audience, to show them that there are important politicians on their side.

In no speech were the potential horrors of nuclear war presented in concrete terms. Erich Fromm and Dr. Harold DeWolfe, professor of Theology at B. U., submitted general ideas on the subject. Governor Williams discussed the possibility of forming a Peace Agency as an important department in the federal government. But neither general proposals nor concrete plans for disarmament acquire full meaning until the facts behind them are made clear.

Stockpiled in the four nations with nuclear weapons is the equivalent of 10,000 tons of T.N.T. for every man, woman, and child on earth; the United States alone has sufficient nuclear power to wipe out the Soviet Union two-and-one-half times over. There is talk of a Doomsday Machine, powerful enough to destroy the entire world, which would be detonated the moment the United States is attacked. These facts are terrifying; they make the arms race a real and immediate concern of every American citizen. It is essential that they be presented and discussed, but the SANE rally ignored them entirely.

Most members of the audience wanted to know what they could do about disarmament. Some of the speakers presented specific suggestions--although none was close to a concrete program.

But the question was given greatest emphasis when Steve Allen launched into a protracted fund-raising "rou- tine." "Who will give one hundred dollars for peace?" Allen asked, "those people willing to contribute please raise their hands." Then, attempting to collect donations from $50 to $1.00, he teased the crowd with such phrases eas "a city of this affluence," "an audience as intelligent as this," and "show your interest in peace."

That the interlude of commercialism disturbed most of the audience is unquestionably true. Whether one condemned it or relaxed and deemed it necessary depended on his own notion of this sort of meeting. Possibly no disarmament rally, however eloquent the speakers and however stark the facts they present, can inspire an audience to immediate action. Possibly no such rally in itself can crystallize the issue in people's minds. If this is the case, it might be best to provide a fair amount of information (much more, however, than the crowd received Saturday night), and try to raise a great deal of money.

Certainly Allen's antics would remain near the surface of most spectators' memories. Some would even harbor a few non-political suspicions about the organization itself. Afterwards, some would wonder what they could do for SANE: the group's proposal for action were almost lost in the shuffle of bills. It could only be hoped that the quasi-committed would become slightly more interested, would take time to investigate further the possibilities for individual action.

As a result of the issue in question, disarmament rallics are vastly different from comparable social protest meeting in the '30's and early '40's. When Bob Hope, in 1937, led a rally for unemployed longshoremen, spectators were immediately able to go out and do something. If they contributed money, as they must have, the results were easily imaginable: instead of one grubby meal a day, some longshoreman would have three squares and a decent place to sleep. If public pressures were strong enough, management would have to allow the long-shoremen to unionize: the machinations of a ship company are far less complex than those of the federal government, the ruthlessness of Big Business is an issue far less hazy than disarmament.

The anti-fascist rallies of the early 40's were, in philosophical implication, far closer to meetings protesting the arms race. In both cases the obvious danger was widespread destruction, the explicit question was war. But a man attending meetings of the Committee to Defend America by Aiding the Allies was ready to fight not abstain; it was clear what the government should do. Horrified by Nazi conquests, he knew that neutrality was an impossible position, that Lend-Lease was essential to prevent Europe from being altogether crushed. In this case, the desire was to lash out at a nation of criminals, not to refrain from using a criminal weapon. The decision to fight is always easier than the decision not to.

And it is nothing less than the eventual abolition of war that groups such as SANE are advocating. Not only abolition of war but efforts to deal with an enemy more dangerous and octopal than any we have ever known. Whether or not the audience was conscious of the enormous social changes peace would bring, the problem was surely on the surface of their unconscious. If the immense complexities involved in disarmament was the primary reason for the absence of spontaneous excitement, the still greater difficulties of envisioning a peaceful society ran a close second.

Certainly neither SANE nor any of the disarmament splinter groups has a clear idea of what they should do, although most think they know what should be done. What new techniques for activism can be used to meet this new situation? What are the implications of the necessarily unsubtle techniques now used? One can feel great sympathy, for example, with the pacifist who pickets missle bases until he realizes that this sort of action bears no direct relation to the situation (a technician here is by no means a scab if he crosses the picket line) and that the symbolism behind this movement, if carried to its extreme, augurs extreme danger for the United States. To protest the manufacture of missiles is to harbor a hopelessly unrealistic vision of the present day world.

Obviously, SANE is more likely than the pacifist groups to change society's attitude toward disarmament. It doesn't yet seem to know how. Even "commitment"--the most recurrent word in the lexicon of those who speak on the problem--becomes irrelevant when one realizes what it has meant in the past. For commitment to labor or to anti-fascism meant, in most cases, little reflection and a great deal of action.

Commitment to disarmament means enormous expenditure of intellectual energy, a sustained attempt to understand the ever-spiralling problem and piece together solutions. It means also a dedication to persuasion, to convincing friends and strangers that they must face the horrors of the arms race and themselves work for disarmament.

Because of the nature of the problem, the vast renovation of society which its solution entails, the committed must realize that perceptible success lies far in the future--there is no utopia next door. The road is difficult, sometimes barren, and extremely lonely

these reflections suggest what was lacking in the SANE . No germ of commitment the audience. Instead, the began to wonder about symbols, underlying meanings. The audiance came to the rally curious but committed, interested but not middle aged people seeking a more fortunate version of their team of the thirties, high school and college students genuinely worried out about the problems they sensed, to be led to solution. The audiance left in the same tentative, mood.

Only twice was there a feeling of excitement, and neither time it spring from an idea or suggestion central to the question of . The excitement was not intellectual--as perhaps it be in a meeting of this nature. manifested itself first in a feeling sheer anger when a man threw an at Charles Coryell, who had just in defense of Linus Pauling; in exultant release when Seeger up to lead the group through a of folk-songs.

Even these moments were tinged with unreality. The egg-thrower, despicable as his act was (he hurled the missile and then dashed out an exit) is not the real enemy of disarmament--nor are his parent right-wing organizations. These people are easy to spot and easy to dislike, but they exert little direct influence over national policy and their mood scarcely reflects the temper of the nation.

Apathy, perhaps, a subliminal militarism, that doesn't come right out and say "we want war" but persistently indicates that war is highly likely and America had better mobilize all its resources in preparation--these are the enemies of groups like SANE. The Civil Defense Commissioner who hires a team of interior decorators to plan comfortable, airy rooms for the inevitable underground New York City presents, in the long run, a far more serious threat than those men who spend their time haranguing in front of the Overseas Press Club because Nikita Khrushchev was invited to speak there.

Neither did the enthusiasm created by songs inspire the audience to work for disarmament. As a device for solidifying a group music, particularly folk music, is matchless. But it is best used for sustaining a mood of focussed activism; rarely, if ever, can music by itself ignite such a mood. On picket lines, song kept emotions taut; but hatred of management--and desire to unionize--was present long before the strikers learned their union songs.

None of the speakers elicited much enthusiasm from the audience; perhaps none intended to. Charles Coryell, professor of Chemistry at M.I.T., and Gov. G. Mennen Williams of Michigan seemed to provoke the audience most. But Coryell's defense of Linus Pauling was, in context, peripheral to the main topic, and Williams' six-point program for "what you can do" turned out to be largely a program for what a Democratic Administration might do. Save for his emphasis on "arms to parley," though, Williams' speech seemed to encourage the audience, to show them that there are important politicians on their side.

In no speech were the potential horrors of nuclear war presented in concrete terms. Erich Fromm and Dr. Harold DeWolfe, professor of Theology at B. U., submitted general ideas on the subject. Governor Williams discussed the possibility of forming a Peace Agency as an important department in the federal government. But neither general proposals nor concrete plans for disarmament acquire full meaning until the facts behind them are made clear.

Stockpiled in the four nations with nuclear weapons is the equivalent of 10,000 tons of T.N.T. for every man, woman, and child on earth; the United States alone has sufficient nuclear power to wipe out the Soviet Union two-and-one-half times over. There is talk of a Doomsday Machine, powerful enough to destroy the entire world, which would be detonated the moment the United States is attacked. These facts are terrifying; they make the arms race a real and immediate concern of every American citizen. It is essential that they be presented and discussed, but the SANE rally ignored them entirely.

Most members of the audience wanted to know what they could do about disarmament. Some of the speakers presented specific suggestions--although none was close to a concrete program.

But the question was given greatest emphasis when Steve Allen launched into a protracted fund-raising "rou- tine." "Who will give one hundred dollars for peace?" Allen asked, "those people willing to contribute please raise their hands." Then, attempting to collect donations from $50 to $1.00, he teased the crowd with such phrases eas "a city of this affluence," "an audience as intelligent as this," and "show your interest in peace."

That the interlude of commercialism disturbed most of the audience is unquestionably true. Whether one condemned it or relaxed and deemed it necessary depended on his own notion of this sort of meeting. Possibly no disarmament rally, however eloquent the speakers and however stark the facts they present, can inspire an audience to immediate action. Possibly no such rally in itself can crystallize the issue in people's minds. If this is the case, it might be best to provide a fair amount of information (much more, however, than the crowd received Saturday night), and try to raise a great deal of money.

Certainly Allen's antics would remain near the surface of most spectators' memories. Some would even harbor a few non-political suspicions about the organization itself. Afterwards, some would wonder what they could do for SANE: the group's proposal for action were almost lost in the shuffle of bills. It could only be hoped that the quasi-committed would become slightly more interested, would take time to investigate further the possibilities for individual action.

As a result of the issue in question, disarmament rallics are vastly different from comparable social protest meeting in the '30's and early '40's. When Bob Hope, in 1937, led a rally for unemployed longshoremen, spectators were immediately able to go out and do something. If they contributed money, as they must have, the results were easily imaginable: instead of one grubby meal a day, some longshoreman would have three squares and a decent place to sleep. If public pressures were strong enough, management would have to allow the long-shoremen to unionize: the machinations of a ship company are far less complex than those of the federal government, the ruthlessness of Big Business is an issue far less hazy than disarmament.

The anti-fascist rallies of the early 40's were, in philosophical implication, far closer to meetings protesting the arms race. In both cases the obvious danger was widespread destruction, the explicit question was war. But a man attending meetings of the Committee to Defend America by Aiding the Allies was ready to fight not abstain; it was clear what the government should do. Horrified by Nazi conquests, he knew that neutrality was an impossible position, that Lend-Lease was essential to prevent Europe from being altogether crushed. In this case, the desire was to lash out at a nation of criminals, not to refrain from using a criminal weapon. The decision to fight is always easier than the decision not to.

And it is nothing less than the eventual abolition of war that groups such as SANE are advocating. Not only abolition of war but efforts to deal with an enemy more dangerous and octopal than any we have ever known. Whether or not the audience was conscious of the enormous social changes peace would bring, the problem was surely on the surface of their unconscious. If the immense complexities involved in disarmament was the primary reason for the absence of spontaneous excitement, the still greater difficulties of envisioning a peaceful society ran a close second.

Certainly neither SANE nor any of the disarmament splinter groups has a clear idea of what they should do, although most think they know what should be done. What new techniques for activism can be used to meet this new situation? What are the implications of the necessarily unsubtle techniques now used? One can feel great sympathy, for example, with the pacifist who pickets missle bases until he realizes that this sort of action bears no direct relation to the situation (a technician here is by no means a scab if he crosses the picket line) and that the symbolism behind this movement, if carried to its extreme, augurs extreme danger for the United States. To protest the manufacture of missiles is to harbor a hopelessly unrealistic vision of the present day world.

Obviously, SANE is more likely than the pacifist groups to change society's attitude toward disarmament. It doesn't yet seem to know how. Even "commitment"--the most recurrent word in the lexicon of those who speak on the problem--becomes irrelevant when one realizes what it has meant in the past. For commitment to labor or to anti-fascism meant, in most cases, little reflection and a great deal of action.

Commitment to disarmament means enormous expenditure of intellectual energy, a sustained attempt to understand the ever-spiralling problem and piece together solutions. It means also a dedication to persuasion, to convincing friends and strangers that they must face the horrors of the arms race and themselves work for disarmament.

Because of the nature of the problem, the vast renovation of society which its solution entails, the committed must realize that perceptible success lies far in the future--there is no utopia next door. The road is difficult, sometimes barren, and extremely lonely

Only twice was there a feeling of excitement, and neither time it spring from an idea or suggestion central to the question of . The excitement was not intellectual--as perhaps it be in a meeting of this nature. manifested itself first in a feeling sheer anger when a man threw an at Charles Coryell, who had just in defense of Linus Pauling; in exultant release when Seeger up to lead the group through a of folk-songs.

Even these moments were tinged with unreality. The egg-thrower, despicable as his act was (he hurled the missile and then dashed out an exit) is not the real enemy of disarmament--nor are his parent right-wing organizations. These people are easy to spot and easy to dislike, but they exert little direct influence over national policy and their mood scarcely reflects the temper of the nation.

Apathy, perhaps, a subliminal militarism, that doesn't come right out and say "we want war" but persistently indicates that war is highly likely and America had better mobilize all its resources in preparation--these are the enemies of groups like SANE. The Civil Defense Commissioner who hires a team of interior decorators to plan comfortable, airy rooms for the inevitable underground New York City presents, in the long run, a far more serious threat than those men who spend their time haranguing in front of the Overseas Press Club because Nikita Khrushchev was invited to speak there.

Neither did the enthusiasm created by songs inspire the audience to work for disarmament. As a device for solidifying a group music, particularly folk music, is matchless. But it is best used for sustaining a mood of focussed activism; rarely, if ever, can music by itself ignite such a mood. On picket lines, song kept emotions taut; but hatred of management--and desire to unionize--was present long before the strikers learned their union songs.

None of the speakers elicited much enthusiasm from the audience; perhaps none intended to. Charles Coryell, professor of Chemistry at M.I.T., and Gov. G. Mennen Williams of Michigan seemed to provoke the audience most. But Coryell's defense of Linus Pauling was, in context, peripheral to the main topic, and Williams' six-point program for "what you can do" turned out to be largely a program for what a Democratic Administration might do. Save for his emphasis on "arms to parley," though, Williams' speech seemed to encourage the audience, to show them that there are important politicians on their side.

In no speech were the potential horrors of nuclear war presented in concrete terms. Erich Fromm and Dr. Harold DeWolfe, professor of Theology at B. U., submitted general ideas on the subject. Governor Williams discussed the possibility of forming a Peace Agency as an important department in the federal government. But neither general proposals nor concrete plans for disarmament acquire full meaning until the facts behind them are made clear.

Stockpiled in the four nations with nuclear weapons is the equivalent of 10,000 tons of T.N.T. for every man, woman, and child on earth; the United States alone has sufficient nuclear power to wipe out the Soviet Union two-and-one-half times over. There is talk of a Doomsday Machine, powerful enough to destroy the entire world, which would be detonated the moment the United States is attacked. These facts are terrifying; they make the arms race a real and immediate concern of every American citizen. It is essential that they be presented and discussed, but the SANE rally ignored them entirely.

Most members of the audience wanted to know what they could do about disarmament. Some of the speakers presented specific suggestions--although none was close to a concrete program.

But the question was given greatest emphasis when Steve Allen launched into a protracted fund-raising "rou- tine." "Who will give one hundred dollars for peace?" Allen asked, "those people willing to contribute please raise their hands." Then, attempting to collect donations from $50 to $1.00, he teased the crowd with such phrases eas "a city of this affluence," "an audience as intelligent as this," and "show your interest in peace."

That the interlude of commercialism disturbed most of the audience is unquestionably true. Whether one condemned it or relaxed and deemed it necessary depended on his own notion of this sort of meeting. Possibly no disarmament rally, however eloquent the speakers and however stark the facts they present, can inspire an audience to immediate action. Possibly no such rally in itself can crystallize the issue in people's minds. If this is the case, it might be best to provide a fair amount of information (much more, however, than the crowd received Saturday night), and try to raise a great deal of money.

Certainly Allen's antics would remain near the surface of most spectators' memories. Some would even harbor a few non-political suspicions about the organization itself. Afterwards, some would wonder what they could do for SANE: the group's proposal for action were almost lost in the shuffle of bills. It could only be hoped that the quasi-committed would become slightly more interested, would take time to investigate further the possibilities for individual action.

As a result of the issue in question, disarmament rallics are vastly different from comparable social protest meeting in the '30's and early '40's. When Bob Hope, in 1937, led a rally for unemployed longshoremen, spectators were immediately able to go out and do something. If they contributed money, as they must have, the results were easily imaginable: instead of one grubby meal a day, some longshoreman would have three squares and a decent place to sleep. If public pressures were strong enough, management would have to allow the long-shoremen to unionize: the machinations of a ship company are far less complex than those of the federal government, the ruthlessness of Big Business is an issue far less hazy than disarmament.

The anti-fascist rallies of the early 40's were, in philosophical implication, far closer to meetings protesting the arms race. In both cases the obvious danger was widespread destruction, the explicit question was war. But a man attending meetings of the Committee to Defend America by Aiding the Allies was ready to fight not abstain; it was clear what the government should do. Horrified by Nazi conquests, he knew that neutrality was an impossible position, that Lend-Lease was essential to prevent Europe from being altogether crushed. In this case, the desire was to lash out at a nation of criminals, not to refrain from using a criminal weapon. The decision to fight is always easier than the decision not to.

And it is nothing less than the eventual abolition of war that groups such as SANE are advocating. Not only abolition of war but efforts to deal with an enemy more dangerous and octopal than any we have ever known. Whether or not the audience was conscious of the enormous social changes peace would bring, the problem was surely on the surface of their unconscious. If the immense complexities involved in disarmament was the primary reason for the absence of spontaneous excitement, the still greater difficulties of envisioning a peaceful society ran a close second.

Certainly neither SANE nor any of the disarmament splinter groups has a clear idea of what they should do, although most think they know what should be done. What new techniques for activism can be used to meet this new situation? What are the implications of the necessarily unsubtle techniques now used? One can feel great sympathy, for example, with the pacifist who pickets missle bases until he realizes that this sort of action bears no direct relation to the situation (a technician here is by no means a scab if he crosses the picket line) and that the symbolism behind this movement, if carried to its extreme, augurs extreme danger for the United States. To protest the manufacture of missiles is to harbor a hopelessly unrealistic vision of the present day world.

Obviously, SANE is more likely than the pacifist groups to change society's attitude toward disarmament. It doesn't yet seem to know how. Even "commitment"--the most recurrent word in the lexicon of those who speak on the problem--becomes irrelevant when one realizes what it has meant in the past. For commitment to labor or to anti-fascism meant, in most cases, little reflection and a great deal of action.

Commitment to disarmament means enormous expenditure of intellectual energy, a sustained attempt to understand the ever-spiralling problem and piece together solutions. It means also a dedication to persuasion, to convincing friends and strangers that they must face the horrors of the arms race and themselves work for disarmament.

Because of the nature of the problem, the vast renovation of society which its solution entails, the committed must realize that perceptible success lies far in the future--there is no utopia next door. The road is difficult, sometimes barren, and extremely lonely

Even these moments were tinged with unreality. The egg-thrower, despicable as his act was (he hurled the missile and then dashed out an exit) is not the real enemy of disarmament--nor are his parent right-wing organizations. These people are easy to spot and easy to dislike, but they exert little direct influence over national policy and their mood scarcely reflects the temper of the nation.

Apathy, perhaps, a subliminal militarism, that doesn't come right out and say "we want war" but persistently indicates that war is highly likely and America had better mobilize all its resources in preparation--these are the enemies of groups like SANE. The Civil Defense Commissioner who hires a team of interior decorators to plan comfortable, airy rooms for the inevitable underground New York City presents, in the long run, a far more serious threat than those men who spend their time haranguing in front of the Overseas Press Club because Nikita Khrushchev was invited to speak there.

Neither did the enthusiasm created by songs inspire the audience to work for disarmament. As a device for solidifying a group music, particularly folk music, is matchless. But it is best used for sustaining a mood of focussed activism; rarely, if ever, can music by itself ignite such a mood. On picket lines, song kept emotions taut; but hatred of management--and desire to unionize--was present long before the strikers learned their union songs.

None of the speakers elicited much enthusiasm from the audience; perhaps none intended to. Charles Coryell, professor of Chemistry at M.I.T., and Gov. G. Mennen Williams of Michigan seemed to provoke the audience most. But Coryell's defense of Linus Pauling was, in context, peripheral to the main topic, and Williams' six-point program for "what you can do" turned out to be largely a program for what a Democratic Administration might do. Save for his emphasis on "arms to parley," though, Williams' speech seemed to encourage the audience, to show them that there are important politicians on their side.

In no speech were the potential horrors of nuclear war presented in concrete terms. Erich Fromm and Dr. Harold DeWolfe, professor of Theology at B. U., submitted general ideas on the subject. Governor Williams discussed the possibility of forming a Peace Agency as an important department in the federal government. But neither general proposals nor concrete plans for disarmament acquire full meaning until the facts behind them are made clear.

Stockpiled in the four nations with nuclear weapons is the equivalent of 10,000 tons of T.N.T. for every man, woman, and child on earth; the United States alone has sufficient nuclear power to wipe out the Soviet Union two-and-one-half times over. There is talk of a Doomsday Machine, powerful enough to destroy the entire world, which would be detonated the moment the United States is attacked. These facts are terrifying; they make the arms race a real and immediate concern of every American citizen. It is essential that they be presented and discussed, but the SANE rally ignored them entirely.

Most members of the audience wanted to know what they could do about disarmament. Some of the speakers presented specific suggestions--although none was close to a concrete program.

But the question was given greatest emphasis when Steve Allen launched into a protracted fund-raising "rou- tine." "Who will give one hundred dollars for peace?" Allen asked, "those people willing to contribute please raise their hands." Then, attempting to collect donations from $50 to $1.00, he teased the crowd with such phrases eas "a city of this affluence," "an audience as intelligent as this," and "show your interest in peace."

That the interlude of commercialism disturbed most of the audience is unquestionably true. Whether one condemned it or relaxed and deemed it necessary depended on his own notion of this sort of meeting. Possibly no disarmament rally, however eloquent the speakers and however stark the facts they present, can inspire an audience to immediate action. Possibly no such rally in itself can crystallize the issue in people's minds. If this is the case, it might be best to provide a fair amount of information (much more, however, than the crowd received Saturday night), and try to raise a great deal of money.

Certainly Allen's antics would remain near the surface of most spectators' memories. Some would even harbor a few non-political suspicions about the organization itself. Afterwards, some would wonder what they could do for SANE: the group's proposal for action were almost lost in the shuffle of bills. It could only be hoped that the quasi-committed would become slightly more interested, would take time to investigate further the possibilities for individual action.

As a result of the issue in question, disarmament rallics are vastly different from comparable social protest meeting in the '30's and early '40's. When Bob Hope, in 1937, led a rally for unemployed longshoremen, spectators were immediately able to go out and do something. If they contributed money, as they must have, the results were easily imaginable: instead of one grubby meal a day, some longshoreman would have three squares and a decent place to sleep. If public pressures were strong enough, management would have to allow the long-shoremen to unionize: the machinations of a ship company are far less complex than those of the federal government, the ruthlessness of Big Business is an issue far less hazy than disarmament.

The anti-fascist rallies of the early 40's were, in philosophical implication, far closer to meetings protesting the arms race. In both cases the obvious danger was widespread destruction, the explicit question was war. But a man attending meetings of the Committee to Defend America by Aiding the Allies was ready to fight not abstain; it was clear what the government should do. Horrified by Nazi conquests, he knew that neutrality was an impossible position, that Lend-Lease was essential to prevent Europe from being altogether crushed. In this case, the desire was to lash out at a nation of criminals, not to refrain from using a criminal weapon. The decision to fight is always easier than the decision not to.

And it is nothing less than the eventual abolition of war that groups such as SANE are advocating. Not only abolition of war but efforts to deal with an enemy more dangerous and octopal than any we have ever known. Whether or not the audience was conscious of the enormous social changes peace would bring, the problem was surely on the surface of their unconscious. If the immense complexities involved in disarmament was the primary reason for the absence of spontaneous excitement, the still greater difficulties of envisioning a peaceful society ran a close second.

Certainly neither SANE nor any of the disarmament splinter groups has a clear idea of what they should do, although most think they know what should be done. What new techniques for activism can be used to meet this new situation? What are the implications of the necessarily unsubtle techniques now used? One can feel great sympathy, for example, with the pacifist who pickets missle bases until he realizes that this sort of action bears no direct relation to the situation (a technician here is by no means a scab if he crosses the picket line) and that the symbolism behind this movement, if carried to its extreme, augurs extreme danger for the United States. To protest the manufacture of missiles is to harbor a hopelessly unrealistic vision of the present day world.

Obviously, SANE is more likely than the pacifist groups to change society's attitude toward disarmament. It doesn't yet seem to know how. Even "commitment"--the most recurrent word in the lexicon of those who speak on the problem--becomes irrelevant when one realizes what it has meant in the past. For commitment to labor or to anti-fascism meant, in most cases, little reflection and a great deal of action.

Commitment to disarmament means enormous expenditure of intellectual energy, a sustained attempt to understand the ever-spiralling problem and piece together solutions. It means also a dedication to persuasion, to convincing friends and strangers that they must face the horrors of the arms race and themselves work for disarmament.

Because of the nature of the problem, the vast renovation of society which its solution entails, the committed must realize that perceptible success lies far in the future--there is no utopia next door. The road is difficult, sometimes barren, and extremely lonely