Oswald Garrison Villard
Victor Navasky
[1990]
In 1881, when the railroad magnate Henry Villard purchased the New
York Evening Post and offered him a job, Godkin built an editorially
independent Nation into the deal. Villard, by the account of his son
Oswald Garrison Villard, "gave his majority stockholding to my
mother [a daughter of Lloyd Garrison] and then trusteed it, giving
complete power to three trustees" in order that no one should say
that the Post or The Nation "was dominated by a Wall Street man
and also to assure to the editors their complete independence."
Godkin turned over The Nation's daily editorial chores to Wendell
Phillips Garrison, Villard's brother-in-law. Oswald Garrison Villard,
who had begun writing for The Nation in 1894, became a Nation
editorial writer and president of The Nation Company in 1908, and took
over as editor in 1918.
From 1881 to 1918, The Nation was an insert in or a weekly supplement
to the New York Evening Post, and like Rip Van Winkle, it went to
sleep. While the arrangement guaranteed the magazine's survival and
Henry Villard's trust protected its editorial independence, it snoozed
in the shadow of the daily paper. It reprinted Godkin's Post
editorials, and became more a book review than anything else. Its
subscriber circulation shrank to a few thousand, and after the
retirement of Wendell Phillips Garrison it had a quick succession of
editors.
When Garrison was ready to retire, his idea was that The Nation
should die because he could think of nobody "fit to carry it on
who would respect it and its traditions." When Villard mentioned
the name of Hammond Lamont, Garrison changed his mind -- but, alas,
the talented Lamont died, during what had been expected to be a minor
operation on his jaw, less than three years after becoming The
Nation's editor. His successor, beginning in May 1909, was Paul Elmer
More. Under More (1909-1914), a Sanskrit scholar, The Nation described
itself as an "organ of thinking people, the exponent of sane
progress, of wise conservatism." But even in these years of
confused political identity, the editors cherished the magazine's high
standards. Paul Elmer More's biographer, Arthur Dakin, wrote that "his
intellectual conscience was as formidable a thing as were the
religious consciences of his New England ancestors." He seemed,
however, more interested in his own literary essays than in the
magazine -- but not so much that he didn't find time to write a
trusted friend, "I am very much afraid (this, of course, is
entirely entre nous) that Villard's influence will cheapen The Nation
and deprive it of its unique quality."
After More came Harold deWolf Fuller, whom Oswald Garrison Villard
considered a "very dull person . . . stubbornly narrow [and]
utterly unyielding in his prejudices." H.L. Mencken captured this
interlude in the magazine's history best when he wrote in the
Baltimore Sun that "The Nation, since the passing of Godkin, had
been gradually dying. It was, perhaps, the dullest publication of any
sort ever printed in the world. Its content consisted on the one hand,
of long editorials reprinted from the Evening Post, and on the other
hand, of appalling literary essays by such pundits as Paul Elmer More.
Villard, when he took it over, threw out the garbage and started
printing the truth. The effect was instantaneous. His circulation
increased four or five-fold in a few months." Actually,
circulation jumped from 7,200 in 1918 to 38,087 by 1920. As editor, of
course, Villard was able to finesse any potential editor-owner tension
by inheriting the thing. As he wrote some years later in 1937, "if
the ownership and editorship of a journal can be combined it is by all
odds the best arrangement. That was my fortunate situation from 1918
to 1932. Indeed, I have been favored beyond most journalists in that
in all my forty years in newspapers I have never had to take orders
from anybody. . . . "
Even Villard had to buttress his financial resources, diminished by
the post-World War I depression, so he created a Nation Foundation,
asking influential friends to help underwrite expenses, hoping the
magazine would break even in three years -- the perpetual optimist.
Actually, life for Villard the editor-publisher wasn't all that
tranquil. One scholar observed that had Villard -- one part patrician,
one part social reformer, by conviction a pacifist, by temperament a
fighter -- been less divided against himself, "The Nation from
1918 to 1933 might have been more consistent; but it is difficult to
believe that it would have been equally interesting." As the
irrepressible Heywood Broun put it in his weekly column, "Oswald
Garrison Villard is the product of an interesting experiment. His
grandfather was an abolitionist and his father a railroad magnate.
As far as the researches of science have gone, the rule seems to be
that when you cross abolitionist blood and railroad stock you get a
liberal." But Villard was no ordinary liberal. If Godkin's legacy
was the politics of mugwumpery and the journalism of social and moral
responsibility, Villard's was the politics of lost causes and the
journalism of the crusader. Villard was a believer in non-violence,
but was the sort of militant pacifist who could write that "President
McKinley ought to have been shot with his entire cabinet for putting
us into an unnecessary war with Spain." He was a founder of the
anti-imperialist league and a friend of civil rights; his Nation
fought for the formation of the N.A.A.C.P. in the summer of 1905, the
release of conscientious objectors after World War I, an executive
pardon for the unjustly jailed labor organizer, Tom Mooney, and a new
trial for Sacco and Vanzetti; and his 1927 editorial ("A Decent
Respect for the Opinions of Mankind") helped radicalize a young
Bostonian named James Storrow Jr. who thirty-eight years later became
publisher of The Nation.
Under Villard The Nation was staunch in its attack on the extension
of the Monroe Doctrine to justify U.S. imperialism in Latin America,
opposed the "theft" of the Panama Canal and the plan to
annex Hawaii, and supported independence for the Philippines and
self-determination for the Irish. It was against conscription on the
eve of World War I, which Villard regarded as a war between rival
imperial powers, and "The Madness at Versailles" in the
war's aftermath. The thousands of cancellations which came in the wake
of The Nation's anti-war stance were recouped only when the postmaster
seized as seditious the September 14, 1918 issue of the magazine
because he objected to an editorial by Albert J. Nock criticizing the
government's choice of American Federation of Labor president Samuel
Gompers -- who had "held labor in line" in deference to
wartime patriotism -- to report on labor conditions abroad. (Villard
put the advertising value of the seizure at over $100,000.)
One of Villard's most successful innovations was a fortnightly
sixteen-page "International Relations Section," which would
print original documents. As Managing Editor Lewis Gannett recalled, "the
[New York] Times and the other papers were killing off Lenin and
Trotsky and crushing the Russian revolution three times a week,"
but The Nation had its own reports. It was, for example, the first to
print the new Soviet Constitution, among other scoops. Of the
Bolsheviks, however, Villard had few illusions, writing that "with
all their desire for peace, justice, liberty, and equality for a
nation of workers, [they] offer side by side with tremendous benefits,
the methods of a Caesar, a Cromwell, a Franz Joseph, a Nicholas, a
Mussolini." He came to regard Stalin and Hitler as rival
dictators and thought we should butt out.
Villard's improvisory style and willingness to back up his editorial
instincts with his pocketbook -- albeit in the non-extravagant style
that has become The Nation's trademark -- may be gathered from his
January 5, 1928 wire to Carleton Beals:
"CAN YOU PROCEED IMMEDIATELY NICARAGUA FOR NATION SENDING
EXCLUSIVE STORIES AMERICAN POLICY MARINE RULE POPULAR FEELING
ETCETERA, REACHING SANDINO IF POSSIBLE. TRIP POSSIBLY OCCUPY A MONTH.
CAN OFFER A HUNDRED A WEEK AND EXPENSES. WIRE COLLECT."
The exclusive interview with Sandino, leader of the revolt against
U.S. domination in that small country, and the series which grew out
of it was reprinted worldwide (although not in Nicaragua). And
reviewing The Nation's lonely battle for justice in Haiti from 1915
on, Villard wrote: "I look back upon these crusades on behalf of
our Caribbean neighbors with unbounded satisfaction. They also seem to
me to have justified all the time and money I put into The Nation."
As we have already seen, in the peculiar economics of The Nation, even
owners have backers, and since these backers are not in it for the
money, they will periodically erupt over a matter of social policy.
Thus it was that Francis Neilson -- a former Canadian M.P., the
husband of a meat-packing heiress, and a longtime patron of The Nation
-- came to feel that he had a call on its economics editorials.
In addition to putting up $30,000 a year, Neilson was paying the
salary of one of the magazine's more creative editors, Albert J. Nock.
Not coincidentally, both of them were single-taxers. When Villard
declined to endorse the single-tax -- a formula aimed at eliminating
land speculation and promoting economic equality -- as the solution to
the country's economic woes, Neilson withdrew his support and founded
a new magazine, The Freeman, with Nock as its editor. The first issue
appeared in the spring of 1920 and Villard welcomed it to the ranks of
liberal journalism in an editorial, to which Nock quickly replied, "You
make your appeal to the liberals; we make ours to the radicals."
In 1932, after nearly fifteen years, Villard retired as editor and
put a committee of four (including Freda Kirchwey, thirty-nine years
old) in charge, although he stayed on as majority owner and publisher.
Meanwhile, the forces behind the rise of Hitler in Germany and the
election of Franklin Delano Roosevelt in the U.S. had lent strength to
The Nation as circulation hit 36,000. "Ironically, this brief and
unwonted solvency almost wrecked the new set-up," Kirchwey later
wrote in an unpublished memoir. "For Mr. Villard, who retained
ownership, came within an ace of selling The Nation -- with no warning
to the board -- to Raymond Moley who was looking for a political
organ. The result was the resignation of two key editors . . . who
concluded that if the penalty of success was the probable loss of
one's job, it would be better to leave under one's own steam."
In 1934 Maurice Wertheim, an investment banker and longtime generous
and non-interfering patron of the magazine, offered to buy it for
$50,000, and Villard said no thanks. A year later, he was faced with a
deficit, sons who had no interest in taking over, and estrangement
from his editors over such matters as the extent of America's
neutrality. When Wertheim again offered to buy the magazine -- this
time for $25,000 -- Villard accepted, with the understanding that
Kirchwey would become the new editor and Villard would continue to
write his weekly column, "Issues and Men." Freda Kirchwey
had spent virtually her entire working life at The Nation. She was a
recent Barnard graduate (who had been voted "Most Famous in
Future," "Best Looking" and "Most Militant")
when she heard from a friend that there was an opening in the new
International Relations Section, and wrote to her old economics
professor Henry Raymond Mussey, a Nation editor, "If you think
I'm the man for the job, will you put in a word for me?" She went
on to become managing editor, literary editor, editor and, ultimately,
publisher. She took a leadership role on issues such as sexual
freedom, birth control, democracy vs. Fascism and Nazism, the Spanish
civil war, pacifism and collective security, refugees, McCarthyism and
censorship, the peaceful employment of atomic energy, and Zionism.
(After the war she went to Palestine as The Nation's correspondent and
her visit to Ein Hashofed, a kibbutz founded by Americans, turned up
forty Nation readers.)
... "I have never been able to work happily with men or women
who are incapable of hot indignation at something or other,"
Villard wrote in his memoir. "To minimize every evil is to my
mind to condone it and in time to destroy one's influence."
Villard, ever faithful to his credo, did not go gently. On June 13,
1940, he wrote a letter to Freda Kirchwey: After reading your last two
issues and particularly your coming out for universal military
service, I want to notify you at once that I cannot continue to write
for The Nation and I will wind up my connection of 46 years with a
valedictory next week. It is, as you know, a complete and absolute
break with all the traditions of The Nation, of which there is nothing
left now but the name. Some day perhaps I shall have some explanation
as to how Freda Kirchwey, a pacifist in the last war, keen to see
through shams and hypocrisies, militant for the rights of minorities
and the downtrodden, has now struck hands with all the forces of
reaction against which The Nation has battled so strongly.
There is now, of course, no reason for buying The Nation when one can
read Walter Lippmann, Dorothy Thompson, The New York Times or The New
York Herald Tribune. . . . You have, according to my beliefs,
prostituted The Nation, and I hope honestly that it will die very soon
or fall into other hands. After Villard's departure, Freda Kirchwey's
Nation was deeply involved in the effort to rescue refugees, believed
that a Jewish "homeland" was the best hope for democracy in
the Middle East, and saw Jewish emigration to Palestine as a mater of
"elementary Justice." It sided with the Loyalists in the
Spanish civil war, supported the Free French against the U.S.
pro-Vichy policy, opposed the China lobby and the backers of Chiang
Kai-shek's mainland recovery schemes, and came to see the issue of
collective security as critical. On the eve of World War II, Kirchwey
saw the battle as between democracy and fascism. When the Nazi-Soviet
pact was signed she called it "menacing," and correctly
predicted that "the long range ambitions of Stalin and Hitler
were bound to clash." Although she published criticism of the
purge trails in the Soviet Union, the Spanish Loyalists' conduct of
their cause, and the brutal Soviet invasion of Finland, and wrote, "To
my mind the effort to promote unity on the left will fail if it is
predicated on a categorical declaration of faith in the virtues of the
Soviet Union," her biographer, Sara Alpern, concludes that she
was a "moralist against fascism," but a relativist where the
Soviet Union was concerned -- probably a fair judgment. Her fierce
anti-fascism, further fueled by the exigencies of war, even led her to
suspend The Nation's traditional preference for the First Amendment
absolutism when she demanded within months of our entry into World War
II that the government "Curb the Fascist Press!" It was, she
wrote, "a menace to freedom and an obstacle to winning the war."
She resigned her membership in the American Civil Liberties Union. Yet
after the war, as Carey McWilliams has written, "Nothing in its
history does The Nation more credit than its resolute refusal, under
Freda Kirchwey's editorship, to join the cold war or to chorus in on
the domestic witch hunt." She was an unrelenting critic of
McCarthyism. Because of its anti-cold war stance, the magazine's
financial problems became more acute.
As a publisher without independent resources, Kirchwey depended on
fundraising to make up the annual deficit. In 1943 she had transferred
title of ownership of The Nation to a non-profit entity, the Nation
Associates, in which subscribers were asked to enroll as members at
from ten to one hundred dollars a year. The Nation Associates
supported the magazine through fundraising but also ran conferences
and conducted research. (For example, it commissioned twelve studies
on the Middle East, some documenting collaboration between the Nazis
and the Mufti of Jerusalem.) Now, because of the cold war atmosphere,
traditional-cause fundraising became almost impossible. In the late
forties and early fifties, two serious rounds of merger negotiations
actually took place with the magazine's friendly competitor, The New
Republic -- but they bogged down over the question of where the merged
publication would be located, and who would be in charge of what.
Kirchwey described The Nation during her tenure as a "propaganda
journal" -- not in the sense that it omitted the inconvenient
fact to make its point, but rather that it openly espoused many
causes. Unlike Villard, she was not a particular champion of lost
causes. Indeed, when the magazine described Henry Wallace's 1948
Progressive Party campaign as "Quixotic," J.W. Gitt, the
publisher of the York Pennsylvania Gazette and Daily, wrote, "My
God, woman, all my life I have been engaged in what some people have
called 'Quixotic endeavors,' and if I may be pardoned for saying so, I
fear that you have been too. At least I thought so." Anti-fascism
was her overarching cause to the end and it undoubtedly contributed to
the mindset which led her to sue The New Leader magazine when it
published former Nation art critic Clement Greenberg's letter accusing
her friend and Nation political editor J. Alvarez Del Vayo, former
foreign minister of the Spanish Republic from 1936 to 1939, of being
an instrument of Stalin. Declining to publish Greenberg's attack in
The Nation, she had written him that "if the letter is published
or circulated anywhere, we will immediately bring suit for libel
against you . . . [a periodical] has a public as well as a private
duty not to spread untrue and malicious statements." Kirchwey
obviously didn't subscribe to The Nation's current view that such
suits constitute an infringement on political speech, contribute to a
general chilling effect, and set a dangerous precedent.
More pressing in her mind was Del Vayo's refugee status, which
rendered him vulnerable to deportation. She also calculated --
wrongly, as it turned out -- that the lawsuit would stop the endless
debate about whether The Nation should have printed Greenberg's letter
in the first place, which she considered a diversion from more urgent
matters. On advice of counsel, other letters in the case (including
one from the embattled young historian Arthur Schlesinger Jr.,
accusing the magazine of printing "wretched apologies for Soviet
despotism") also went unpublished; Robert Bendiner and Reinhold
Niebuhr asked to have their names removed from the magazine's
masthead; and the dispute festered for four years. The lawsuit was not
dropped until Carey McWilliams -- whom Kirchwey had recruited to come
east and edit a special civil liberties issue ("How Free is Free?")
-- agreed to replace Freda as editor only on condition that the case
be abandoned. He had arrived in New York in 1951 and by 1955, in debt
and exhausted and confident that McWilliams was "the right man
for the job," Kirchwey retired. McWilliams recruited his own
publisher before he took the job -- George Kirstein, a recently
retired health insurance executive with Nation politics, a modest
family inheritance, and few illusions about Nation economics.
"Without exception," McWilliams would later write, "every
publisher has regarded the responsibility as a public trust. Any
publisher who thought of the magazine as a possible profit-making
venture could not have been familiar with its history."
McWilliams had been privy to The Nation's financial problems ever
since late 1950, when Kirchwey had summoned him to New York for an
emergency conference. The overheated political atmosphere of the cold
war had suddenly made it virtually impossible to raise funds through
the sort of public functions that Lillie Shultz, who directed the
activities of the Nation Associates, had made something of an art. One
of the most prominent of these had been a 1946 conference in Los
Angeles on "The Challenge of the Postwar World to the Liberal
Movement." (Among other speakers was a young actor, Ronald
Reagan.) But by 1948-49, many left liberals and radicals were upset
with The Nation for not having supported the independent candidacy of
Henry Wallace, and anti-Communist cold war intellectuals, some of them
former Communists themselves, had targeted The Nation as un-American
and pro-Soviet for its criticism of cold war policies (which, as
McWilliams would later point out, led directly to the Vietnam
disaster). This, of course, was not the first time The Nation was in
the eye of the political storm. ...
Victor Navasky (Editor, 1978 - 1994)
New York City April, 1990
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