Of all the Communist parties, both in the East and West, none is in such a peculiar and paradoxical position as die Austrian. Though backed by Red guns and money, it has been unable to obtain more than a steady five percent of the total vote in a country whose unemployment problem among its youth is phenomenal, and whose living standard during the last twenty years has suffered one of the greatest declines of any nation in Europe. Indeed so inept have Communist Efforts become that during the last elections they could find no better campaign issue than increased pensions for the aged.
Most Americans were shocked when they read, in the newspapers on May 27 and 28, that Nobel Peace Prize winner Ralph Bunche was being subjected to a long and arduous loyalty probe by the International Organizations' Employees Loyalty Board, created by President Eisenhower to examine the loyalty of American citizens employed by the United Nations. It was a closed hearing; the evidence remains secret. The New York Times and other newspapers, however, disclosed the names of his accusers: Manning Johnson and Leonard Patterson. Of the latter I have nothing to say.
The President’s Remarkable Firmness The Tennessee Valley Authority needs a new plant—^with an installed capacity of 600,000 kilowatts—if it is to meet the demands of the Atomic Energy Commission: about 50 percent of TVA power goes to the AEC and another 25 percent to defense plants.
BILLINGS, MONTANA Mr. Evans Houghton, of New York and Towaco, N. J., is one of the promising employees in the Selvage, Lee & Chase advertising stables, currently much occupied with the promotion of 86-proof Old Crow. Granted, Houghton did not know, when he retained the Crow Indians to plug his bourbon, that they had voted to retain prohibition. Not until the very last moment did he learn of it. But whatever doubts and fears assailed him then, he vanquished—had vanquished years ago, on the playing fields of Hearst.
Fear is the dominant mood of Christopher Isherwood's earlier novels. To understand the situation Isherwood dramatizes think of a young man trying to write a lyric poem about Identity or Love or Life in the midst of a demolition squad busily destroying his house, his home, his country. What does history have to do with me, the composite hero ponders, and I with history? In such a world as this what meaning can be attached to private acts of art and love.' InThe Memorial the fearful mood of England after the first World War is presented through the breakdown of a family.
Some West German film producers are talking about making movies especially for the American market—another sign of industrial vitality, we may suppose. A few interesting German films have tried to buck the post-war indifference towards things German here: The Blum Affair, and Die Pledermaus, for example. But like most of the British, French and Italian films whose US success the Germans envy, these were made first and most of all for audiences in their own country.
Even months ago, the leaders-of the Grand Alliance met at Bermuda. Little was accomplished, perhaps because US spokesmen grandly assumed that "the initiative" in the Cold War had in fact been "seized" by the Alliance, or certainly by the US. Whatever the cause, Bermuda was hardly a meeting between equals, rather between the leader and his subordinates.
WASHINGTON, D.C. The present British attitude toward the United States seems to me jittery and touchy beyond any thing I can remember in past visits and protracted stays in England. The American attitude on the other hand seems to me almost arrogantly complacent. The atmosphere, broodingly explosive as a July sky before a storm, has brought Churchill and Eden to Washington. Take a concrete illustration. The State Department asked the right to search foreign ships to block aid to Guatemala.
Thomas Mann is now in his' seventy sixth year, and it is only natural that his latest work—a brief novella called in German Die Betrogene (The Deceived)—should turn to a typical crisis of old age for its central symbol. In contemporary English literature, this crisis has also preoccupied the later poetry of W.B. Yeats, another great writer whose genius has waxed rather than waned with advancing age.
PARIS Seldom if ever has the National Assembly of the Fourth French Republic given to a candidate aspiring to the office of Premier the kind of enthusiastic ovation accorded to Pierre Mendes-France when he re fused what then seemed the necessary support of the French Communist Party. It was this refusal—dearly and firmly stated—that more than anything else he said won for him what practically no one (except himself) in French political life had expected him to get; and he won by the largest majority in the history of the Fourth Republic.