Preserve and Protect (44 page)

“Now, Mr. Presider, what kind of antidemocratic, anti-Constitutional stuff is that! Where’s our right of peaceable assembly gone to, there, Mr. Presider, sir! Who’s to decide ‘intent to create civil disturbance and/or riot?’ We all been writing legislation here for years, now, some of us for
many
years, and we
know
‘intent’ is the hardest thing in the world to prove. We know ‘intent’ is the bugaboo of legislation. We
know
that, now!”

“I suspect, Mr. Temporary Speaker, I suspect this is just a little ol’ scare tactic, that’s what it is, this whole bill, and particularly these two clauses. I don’t think our sweet old President wants to do something like that to this great free country, any more than he wants to fly to Mars, now. But I suspect there’s some as does, Mr. Temporary Speaker. I suspect there’s one in particular does, and he’s not OK, Mr. Temporary, he—is—not—OK. He wants to do things to this grand old Republic that we just can’t stand, Mr. Temporary, we just surely cannot stand. We all been watching on the television screens out there in the Members’ Reading Room just how things going over there across the Plaza in the Court, and we just hopin’, Mr. Presider, we’re just hopin’ they’re not goin’ to go in the direction of dictatorship and disaster to our democracy, like this bill which comes here initialed ‘O.K.’ but is
not
OK, my dear friends, it is
not
OK.”

SWARTHMAN CHARGES KNOX AUTHORED GAG BILL AS PART OF DICTATORSHIP DRIVE, the headlines said. “Good
God,”
the Secretary of State said with an absolute weary disgust when they were brought him in his office a few minutes later.

“Your Honor,” George Harrison Wattersill said in a tone of patient forbearance, “this Court and the world have been treated here this afternoon to a rather extraordinary legal—or should I say, quasi-legal—or parti-legal—or rusti-legal”—Bob Leffingwell grinned amicably and gave him an ironic little bow—“tergiversation on the issues involved with, and pertinent to, this appeal.

“Now, my friend across seems to have the idea that the circumstance in which we meet can be completely ignored. He talks much of context, but the most important context of all—the context of peace or war, democracy or dictatorship, he ignores completely.

“We submit, Your Honor, that quasi-legal niceties must not be allowed to confuse the basic and overriding issue—and that is the issue of the kind of country we are, and want to be. It is all very well to talk of National Committee rules and regulations, and practices hallowed by centuries, and necessities without precedents, and all the rest of it. But the essential thing to talk about is the choices the Committee confronts.

“And contrary to my distinguished and able, if somewhat rusty, friend, the choices are not between methods of procedure, but between men.”

(“How’s that?” the UPI whispered. “Don’t interrupt the flow,” the AP whispered back. “It always gets better. It’s guaranteed.”)

“If it were simply a matter of method, Your Honor,” George Wattersill said, “we on our side might very well find ourselves in agreement, or at least willing to waive any contention. It is clear enough that in one way or another the Committee must, and will, select a candidate to take the place of the late, tragically fallen, President of the United States. This is so apparent that I am a trifle surprised”—and he paused and looked down with a quizzical, slightly pitying air at Bob Leffingwell and Bob Munson, the latter chin-on-hand with an aspect of absolutely rapt attention belied by the elaborate wink he now gave George Wattersill—“that counsel,” George Wattersill continued with dignity, “should consider it so important that he must waste the time of the Court with a labored explanation of the obvious. In this—but in this only,” he said graciously, “does he reveal that he has, indeed, been some time away from the law.

“But he has not been, Your Honor, away from the mainstream of American life and American politics; the whole world knows how intimately he has been involved with them. Therefore it is somewhat puzzling to find him concentrating on issues which can only be considered ancillary, instead of discussing what all know to be at the heart of this dispute, namely which method of choice of candidate will result in choice of the best candidate.

“There, I think, can be found legitimate ground on which to stand and contend. If we were to accept the position of counsel for the opposing side, we should presuppose a method by which this choice is left, not to the great, open, free, democratic considerations of a convention numbering well over 1,000 souls, but to a very small, very select, very—shall I say?—impressionable—”

(“Better not,” the President remarked with a smile to the Secretary of Defense as they watched in the Oval Room. “They won’t like it.”)

“—group of only 106 men and women. Now, Your Honor: if we were to accept the theory, obviously held by my distinguished opponent, that democracy improves as it is restricted, and that the fewer you extend the franchise to, the purer and finer and more effective the franchise becomes, then that would be one thing. But that is not the concept of democracy upon which the United States of America has grown great. That is the Athenian concept of democracy restricted to the few who know best for the many; and here I would say, if Your Honor would indulge me, beware of Greeks.”

(“Better not,” the President said again. “Anotis Spirotis of Pennsylvania won’t like it.”)

George Harrison Wattersill looked straight into the television camera and a stern disapproval appeared upon his handsome face.

“That concept, if I may use the strong language it deserves, Your Honor, is repugnant, unworthy and downright evil. It would place an almost unthinkable, an almost omnipotent power in the hands of 106 men and women—highly intelligent men and women, yes—highly qualified men and women, yes—highly trustworthy men and women, yes—but still only 106 men and women. And that, I submit, Your Honor, is not enough for a decision so grave, upon which the fate of great states and nations, yea the great globe itself, may well depend.”

(“Yea!” the
Boston Herald
whispered with a cheerful grin at the
Arkansas Gazette.
“Swing it, baby!”)

“I venture to state, Your Honor,” George Harrison Wattersill said solemnly, “that if we could bring them before us here today, place them before this camera and the world, put them under oath in this Court, a majority of these fateful 106 would cry out, ‘Nay! Torture us not! Let this dreadful cup pass from our lips! We are worthy of your trust but we wish it not! We wish to share it with our brothers and sisters of the convention! Let us recall them to aid us in this dread task!’”

“You really think they would say that,” Justice Davis observed gently, and for a moment George Harrison Wattersill’s mouth literally hung open. But only for a moment. Then it closed firmly, regrouped itself, and reopened for more of the same. But it was obvious that he was shaken by the Justice’s intervention, nor was he the only one. In many clever minds Tommy’s quiet little comment was interpreted as a warning signal. George Wattersill took a deep breath and swiftly rearranged his strategy.

“They would, Your Honor. They would! Because they would know, as we know”—and he went into another of his famous soaring cadenzas—“as the nation knows—as the world knows—that by so doing they would be opening the door not only for a truly democratic procedure, but they would also be increasing the possibility that the man the majority of them clearly want—the man the nation clearly wants—the man the world clearly wants—could win the nomination free from the pressures which presently surround the proceedings of the 106.

“Why, Your Honor!” George Harrison Wattersill cried, and a fine, fervent indignation suffused his words. “Who anywhere on this globe who had access yesterday to television screen or radio set does not recall the tragic—the frightening—the un-American spectacle, if you please, that occurred at the Committee’s opening session?

“Military troops with bayonets drawn and ammunition ready against their fellow citizens! The Kennedy Center, that lovely memorial filled with grace and culture, turned into an armed camp! The Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces, deploying his janizaries with all the shrewd skill and ruthless power of a Caesar about to conquer Rome!”

(“Oh, my, Georgie,” the President said. “Oh, my, oh,
my!”)

“There was your Committee, counsel!” he cried, turning suddenly upon Bob Leffingwell and flinging out an accusing finger within an inch of his nose, which of course made him visibly flinch. “There was
your
method of selecting a nominee! There was the fine, democratic atmosphere that surrounded that fine, democratic group—
cowed into submission by the show of military force!

“Your Honor,” he said, abruptly solemn, “I think that never in my lifetime have I felt that America was so close to military dictatorship as I felt yesterday when the world was shown this sad spectacle—and as I shall feel tomorrow—and the day after—and the day after—and the day after, until the sorry tale is done—unless Your Honor’s ruling frees the Committee from its bondage—shows it that, yes, it has a friend, the most powerful friend that liberty has, this great Supreme Court—shows it that it need not be afraid to do what a majority of its members want—reconvene the convention so that there may be nominated the man of peace and hope whom America and the world desire!”

“Is there anything,” Tommy inquired in the same quiet voice, “which prevents the Committee from making that decision of its own uninstructed will? Does it not now have that authority? Why are the injunction and the suit pending below necessary? Could this not be regarded as an attempt, as Mr. Leffingwell says, to narrow its options, foreclose its choices, restrict its freedom rather than expand it? Could you respond to that point?”

“Indeed I could, Your Honor!” George Wattersill cried. “Indeed I could! The Committee
does
have that option now, true enough, but”—and his voice came with a low, confidential rush, and his eyes were fixed upon the Justice’s in a stark, hypnotic stare—
“it is a frightened Committee.
It is not a truly free Committee, happy and glorious in its democratic right—
it is a frightened Committee.

“It dares not move because it knows that over it stands the Commander-in-Chief, his troops surrounding it, his military might brooding ominously over its deliberations.

“True, the bayonets are fixed—outward.

“True, the guns are pointed—outward.

“But, Your Honor”—and his voice became husky with emotion—“bayonets that are fixed outward—
can be turned inward.
Guns that are pointed outward—
can he turned inward.

“Who knows, Your Honor”—and now he was down almost to a whisper, ominous and nerve-tingling—
“who knows when the order may be given?”

(“To use a word I practically never use,” the President said slowly in the Oval Room, “what—utter—crap.”)

But, WATTERSILL CHARGES PRESIDENT’S ARMED MIGHT MAY FORCE COMMITTEE TO TAKE KNOX, the headlines cried; and all over the nation, yea the great globe itself, many sincerely worried people were frightened and dismayed by the specter he had so adroitly created.

“Your Honor,” George Harrison Wattersill said solemnly, “we too will reserve the balance of our time. I defer now to my distinguished friends across the table.”

“Are you actually going to vote for this damned thing?” Lafe murmured to Claude Maudulayne as the Ambassador of Cymru polled the Council on the Soviet-French resolution to condemn U.S. aggression in Gorotoland and urge dispatch of a UN force to reopen the fighting.

“Abstain!” the British Ambassador said clearly.

“Very well,” Lafe snapped with an equal clarity that rang across the crowded room. “The United States votes No.”

“On this vote,” Cymru said, “there are eleven votes Yes, one abstention and one No. Since the No is cast by the United States, the resolution is defeated, is it?”

“Is it,” Lafe agreed. “What further surprises do you have for America this afternoon, Mr. President?”

“The Ambassador of Panama,” Cymru announced, not without a certain relish, as Felix Labaiya-Sofra came soberly down the aisle to take his seat, his small, trim presence and dark, perfectly tailored business suit forming a nice contrast to giant Obifumatta, glittering and coruscating in the light beside him.

“The Council is now seized of SC/128,” Cymru said, “introduced by Britain, France and the Soviet Union, to protest the proposed blockade of Panama by the Government of the United States and to pledge all efforts of the United Nations and of individual member states to exercise their rights upon the seas with respect to said proposed blockade. The Ambassador of Panama and President of the Government of the Panamanian People’s Liberation Movement has requested permission to address the Council. If agreeable he will do so, is it?”

“No objections here,” Cullee said as there was a general nodding around the circle. “What must be,” he added with a wink at the Ambassador of South Africa, who winked back, “must be, is it?”

“Mr. President,” Stanley Danta said, and the emotion in his voice brought an instant hush to the crowded Senate and galleries, “it is, as you know, with a special interest that I rise to speak on the pending bill.

“Normally, I might regard with some misgivings a bill ‘to further curb acts against the public order and welfare.’ But, Mr. President”—and he passed a hand that visibly trembled across his forehead in a slow, bone-weary gesture—“I have had more occasion than most to appreciate the vicious things that are alive in this country today.

“I will not,” he said, while his colleagues listened intently, “burden the Senate at this point with a recapitulation of recent events. Suffice it to say that you all know what my”—his voice threatened to break for a second, but he went on—“what my daughter has been through. Nothing could more clearly indicate the necessity for any and all measures that will curb once and for all the beast which has been let loose out of the gutters of America to prey upon decent, innocent people.

“Mr. President, the pending measure is, perhaps, drawn too broadly in some sections, and it may well be that the Senate will wish to examine the bill, as introduced, very closely, and perhaps amend it. We may wish to do the same thing with the House version when it is passed and reaches us. But the essential purpose, I think, is something we must come to grips with, and something we must take action upon.