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Pretty Harsh Things. If statesmen should be tried retroactively for their past mistakes, and perhaps shot—they are, in other countries—Mrs. Roosevelt should certainly not get off scot free. As the semiofficial advance woman for the New Deal, she consorted with Communists, she was an enthusiastic member of many Communist-steered organizations, for years she must have been regarded by the Communists as one of their most prominent and influential cat's-paws.
Like many Americans, she was so preoccupied with the evils of Hitlerism that she naively failed to ask herself whether the allies were as evil as the enemy—or more so. Asked the difference between Communism and Fascism, she would say things like: "Though Mr. Stalin is a dictator, his efforts have been to help the people prepare themselves for greater power." In the late '30s she became a godmother to the American Youth Congress, lent it her name and gave it money. Then, hearing that it was Communist-inspired, she called some of its leaders to her White House sitting room, and told them "If any of them were Communists I would quite understand, for I felt they had grown up at a time of such difficulty . . . However, I felt it essential that I should know the truth." Everyone present of course denied Communist connections. "I decided to accept their word, realizing that sooner or later the truth would come out."
Even after "I was fairly sure that they were becoming Communist-dominated," she sponsored their convention in February 1940, at a time when Hitler and Stalin were buddies, and the A.Y.C. was denouncing her husband as an imperialist warmonger. Even at this late date, she invited the leaders to stay at the White House, begged Cabinet wives to take others in, got the Army to provide cots for the rest at Fort Myer, Va., and asked Franklin to address them from the south portico of the White House. "Franklin's intent to be kind and understanding was evident, but he felt obliged to say some pretty harsh things." They booed. She later wrote: "Although I could see how the young people felt on this occasion, I was indignant at their bad manners and lack of respect for the ... President." Later that year, she summoned a few of the leaders to Hyde Park for a night and "told them plainly that I was no longer able to work with their organization. I promised, however, to give them a small monthly contribution for their work among dispossessed sharecroppers."
It is characteristic of Mrs. Roosevelt that, eight disillusioning years later, she could write in This I Remember: "I have never felt the slightest bitterness towards any of them," and with her unflagging ability to see the brighter side, would regard the whole episode as "of infinite value to me in understanding some of the tactics I have had to meet in the U.N."
It is an indication, however, of the peculiar hold she has on the U.S. heart that not even Joe McCarthy has suggested that Congress investigate Mrs. Roosevelt. The congressional imagination, indeed, would pale at such a possibility.