For the Survival of Democracy'

For the Survival of Democracy'

By ALONZO HAMBY
arch 4, 1933. The thirty-second president of the United States, the latest in an unbroken line stretching from George Washington, took the oath of office amidst pomp and circumstance and crowds that braved a bleak, cold day to cheer him. Just four years earlier, his predecessor Herbert Hoover had told a far more optimistic and celebratory gathering: "We are steadily building a new race, a new civilization great in its own attainments." Hoover had taken office in a time of unmatched prosperity and mass affluence, which seemed likely to continue into the indefinite future. He had delivered only hard times and mass unemployment. He had not been primarily to blame for a worldwide economic catastrophe, but he undeniably had failed to cope with it. As he left office a dour, bitter man, the nation seemed in a state of collapse. In many other countries, contenders for power might have been fighting in the streets.

Instead, the east front of the Capitol was clogged with 100,000 people listening hopefully to the inaugural address of Franklin D. Roosevelt. The new president repeated the oath of office in a strong, even voice, then turned to the lectern on the crowded inaugural platform and began to speak, not simply to the huge crowd in front of him but also to tens of millions of Americans at their radios. Many of these millions would see him a few days later in movie newsreels, speaking vigorously and decisively, hands firmly grasping the lectern, head bobbing from side to side: "This is a day of national consecration.... This great nation will endure as it has endured, will revive and will prosper.... The only thing we have to fear is fear itself."

Roosevelt's first inaugural electrified a nation yearning for strong leadership and new directions. Crisis times produce charismatic leaders; the Depression either brought forth or gave new importance not just to Roosevelt, but to Adolf Hitler, Benito Mussolini, and Josef Stalin. Of these, Roosevelt was the premier figure. He led the most important country, made the greatest cross-national impact, and ultimately won international recognition as democracy's dynamic leader. The question for a majority of Americans was not whether he was great but to what extent his greatness might be qualified.

Any history in which Roosevelt looms large must consider him as more than just a Depression fighter. He also assumed roles as the magnetic leader of the people and tribune of democracy; the champion politician; the manager of a multifaceted policy initiative (the New Deal) without precedent in American history; and the chief diplomat entrusted with guarding American security in a menacing age. As leader of the people he was the all-time great communicator of American politics, capable of projecting his authority and personality across the air waves, onto newsreel screens, and into the print press. His personal presence eclipsed that of any challenger. As champion politician, he produced consecutive electoral victories that no previous president in an era of mass politics going back a century could match. Yet, given the American system of decentralized parties, even he was incapable of dominant party leadership. As manager of the New Deal, he faced a task akin to that of the conductor of a symphony orchestra filled with strong-willed performers who had their own ideas about the score and tempo, and could not be perfunctorily dismissed. Relief, recovery, various types of reform, countless egos - all contended for attention. The resulting performance was unsurprisingly dissonant. As chief diplomat, he maneuvered cautiously and indirectly in mostly futile attempts to redirect American attention to threats across the seas.

Ideologically, he affirmed the traditional Democratic party suspicion of big business and finance that could be traced back to Jefferson and Jackson. Temperamentally, he enjoyed the exercise of power, took criticism personally, and wanted to humble a Republican business-financial elite. He captured the imagination not only of a majority of Americans, but of many Europeans. Much more than a Depression fighter, he met the material and emotional needs of his supporters in numerous ways.

The paramount issue of the 1930s was the future of democracy, not in the United States, but in other parts of the world where it was less entrenched. In 1933, Great Britain and the members of the British Commonwealth, the Scandinavian states, much of Western Europe, and Czechoslovakia were all democracies. But no nation attached so expansive a meaning to the idea as did the United States. In some other countries - foremost among them Germany - democracy was a new and struggling institution on the verge of collapse. In most nations, it simply did not exist. The world economic crisis endangered the existence of free government everywhere it was not solidly imbedded. Even France displayed worrisome symptoms of instability; in 1933 the Third Republic was just sixty-two years old.

The Depression presented established democracies with a long-term test - not the prospect of a coup d'etat from within, but an enhanced threat from without made formidable by withering morale and declining economic strength. The danger was less dramatic than the left's nightmare of a fascist surge to power, but nonetheless real. Varieties of fascism spread like ugly cancers across the map; a vicious Stalinist communism consolidated its grip on the Soviet Union and sought to extend its influence by infiltrating the non-Communist "progressive forces" of the West. Democracy appeared to be in retreat. What the liberal democratic nations needed was a democratic front - a relatively united coalition facing and fighting the Depression, demonstrating the superiority of their form of government, and allied to contain the hostile powers arrayed against them. Roosevelt understood that the president of the United States was the natural leader of the world's democratic forces in times of crisis. He instinctively and articulately embraced the role, but never found practical means of implementing it. Instead, economic distress gave life and vitality to the totalitarians while weakening the forces of freedom and majority rule.

The international economic crisis of the thirties had international causes. Yet with a few notable exceptions historians have generally written about it as if it were confined to the nation of their choice. This tendency possesses the dubious virtue of emulating the behavior of the time. Countries responded with distinctive national policies that were incapable of providing a general solution and frequently made things worse. The dominance of the nation-state in world politics, the instinctive turn of individuals to their governments for relief, a surge in nationalistic sentiment - these were all common responses that prevented any general international agreement and left the democratic powers divided. In some nations, notably Germany, nationalism led directly into authoritarian militarism. More often it simply mandated self-concern, tariff protectionism, competitive currency devaluations, and beggar-thy-neighbor policies.

Nationalism in policy reflected a misunderstanding of the Great Depression, which was an international problem that begged for international solutions. Nationalism in historical writing perpetuates the misunderstanding. The decade of the 1930s was the pivot of the twentieth century. The world experienced the rise of totalitarianism, the destruction of the post-World War order, and the beginning of a second World War. Economically, and arguably politically, the three most important nations in the world were the United States, Great Britain, and Germany. A look at the way in which all three faced the Depression provides a deeper understanding of the thirties than is possible with any single national story. It also provides a much better background against which to gauge Roosevelt's achievement.