MORAL REARMAMENT

Evening Star, Issue 23147, 22 December 1938, Page 15

MORAL REARMAMENT

THE INFLUENCE OF THE PRESS (Contributed.) Recent events have shown once more that the Press is the great educator of the people in national and international affairs. Moreover it is increasingly undertaking another function —that of presenting 'Britain abroad. The comment even of individual newspapers is being taken as the view of the whole nation, and is second only to speeches of responsible Ministers in its effect for peace or war. In this dual capacity of educator and Interpreter of the people, the Press has great opportunities, as well as great responsibilities. It can prepare a united, fair-minded, and pamc-proof public opinion. It can also do much to build bridges of international understanding. But if these high services are to be performed, diagnosis of present ills must be fearless and deal not with symptoms only, but with the root causes of national disunity and international tension. _No merely partisan or doctrinaire interpretation is adequate, for such would tend to deepen present rifts at home and abroad rather than to bring agreement. In this diagnosis we must face squarely, even if our own nation or party should be at fault, and, by admitting such faults, win from the other party the respect and understanding necessary for agreement in any sphere. In the correspondence columns of many national and provincial papers, men of all parties and in varied positions of leadership have recently stated their belief that the root cause of world unrest is moral and calls for a moral eoldtion. They have expressed their conviction that the primary condition of national service is a programme of moral rearmament. In this we in the Press, who set so high a store by our traditions of responsible freedom, have a special part to play. This requires of us not only a discipline of expression in our professional dealings equal to that which we expect from a Minister of the Crown, however he may be provoked; but also that we deliberately set ourselves to create and inspire through our newspapers the will to unity and active reconstruction in the nation. This is a practical contribution which we can ail make at this time as well as the best defence of our professional freedom.

(Signed): Edmund S. Bardsley (president of the National Union of Journalists). H. A. Taylor (president of the Institute of Journalists). Andrew F. Richardson (president of the Scottish Newspaper Proprietors’ Association). 0. A. Taylor (president of the Newspaper Society). - 0. Felix Clay (master of the Stationers and Newspaper Makers’ Company). B. D. Blumenfield (chairman of #The Daily Express’). ■ _ Harry Brittain (founder of the Empire Press Union). Philip Gibbs (author and' war correspondent). ~ . H. A. Gwynne (ex-editor of The Morning Post ’). Henry Martin (editor-in-chief of the Press Association). H. Brent Grotrian (chairman, Provincial Newspapers Ltd.). J. A. Spender (Liberal publicist, was 30 years editor of ‘ The Westminster Gazette J ). _ Evelyn Wrench (chairman" of ‘The Spectator ’). THE TOPIC OF THE HOUR Moral rearmament —the theme of recent statements by Lord Baldwin and other statesmen, by leaders of Labour, and well-known sportsmen—is becoming the topic of the hour. In factories and offices, over counters and breakfast tables, people are eagerly asking whether this is the germ of an idea — a new idea on which, to quote Lord Baldwin, “ a new world may be built.” In this and following articles, men who have made practical experiments in their everyday life will explain frankly what moral rearmament means to them. “ Bunny ” Austin, who has again been officially rated as England’s No. 1 tennis player, here describes the task he has set himself in bringing a new spirit into Britain. WHAT MORAL REARMAMENT , MEANS TO ME [By “ Bunny ” Austin.] The recent crisis was a turning point in my life. It can never be quite the same again. For me life has always been full of fascination. 1 have, perhaps, been more fortunate than most. My father, himself a keen sportsman, was always anxious that i should follow a sporting career, in consequence nearly all my most exciting memories are connected with games, i look back over 26 years closely connected with hitting some sort of ball, of running about on some sort of ground or court. I remember the thrill of my first game of tennis . . . the hours 1 spent in practice without ever getting bored . . . my first tournament at the ago of 14, •when to everybody’s surprise, and especially my own, 1 beat the reigfaing schoolboy champion. That victory was the one that set me on my tennis career. I remember it as a dream. The excitement made me ill. Later came Wimbledon . . . tours around the world . . . the Davis Cup . . . the mad excitement in Paris when we won tho Cup . . . dramatic days in England when we defended it.

What more could anybody ask? Surely here, if anywhere, were the ingredients of happiness. I travelled; there was continuous change and variety in my life. I had the good fortune to be successful and well known. I was playing the game f liked- And yet, underneath it all lurked a baffling sense of futility which I could not explain. Ever more repeatedly came the question, “ What was the good?” Where was all this energy and effort and the training needed for it leading to? What good was'it doing me or anybody else? At the age of 35 I would be finished. What then?

I could not answer. I satisfied myself by telling myself that perhaps 1 was doing something to help Britain’s reputation in the _ tennis world, and evaded the real issue by going on exactly as before. Then came the crisis. We were all of us faced with the possible destruction of civilisation It threatened my wife and daughter, my parents, and all I cared about. It seemed uncanny to think of putting my baby daughter in a gas-proof tent. Tennis did not help much now. One was prepared to do all one could if it came to the worst. But war seemed to throw everything worth while overboard. There was no hope of it deciding anything. I felt there must he some aim to go for which would have all the adventure and comradeship of war without the wastage : some aim which would give my whole life meaning, some cause by which tho

youth of Britain could create a new chivalry in the world. Then I saw the ’ letter on ‘ Moral Rearmament,’ which Lord Baldwin and other national leaders sent to the Press. “Policy, foreign as well as domestic,” it stated, “ is for every nation ultimately determined by the character of her people and the inspiration of her leaders, by the acceptance in their lives and in their policy of honesty,, faith, and love as the foundation on which a new world may be built.” Here, then, was something worth going out for. It came clearer and clearer that the trouble in the world must Ho in people: and if people could become different, the world would be different. Fear, hate, greed, and self-seeking in individuals lead to fear, hate, greed, and self-seeking in nations. These are the things against which the nation needs to rearm. An East End boy of 10 put it this way: “If you want to stop war in the world stop war in the home.” Moral rearmament, I realised, meant first setting my own house in order—getting rid of my own weaknesses so that 1 in turn could help others to get free of theirs. If the world was to be rid of fear I must get rid of my own—the kind which would give me “ nerves ”, before a big match, and a more subtle one, fear of the opinion of others. So I decided that the cause of moral rearmament must be my cause, for only through the moral rearmament of individuals could there ever be peace in the word. A great many others seemed to be thinking much the same. A few days ago, 36 prominent sportsmen joined in an appeal for “ Moral Rearmament Through Sport.” They represented sport of all kinds. There was George Eyston for racing. Len Harvey, who is training now for the heavy-weight championship, Gordon Richards, the jockey, and Len Hutton. But well-known people can’t do it all alone. Supposing there was in every club and organisation a “ live wire ” who was out to set before all his friends an absolutely new level of physical and moral fitness. Supposing every Soccer, cricket, or sports club was putting into action the words of the sportsmen’s appeal, “ We believe it to be the task of sportsmen to assert the principle of sport —fitness, discipline,, and team work —so that they may become dominant in the life of a nation.” I believe that this would be the new enlistment for youth for which we are looking j that it would mean for Britain the birth of a new chivalry. That old feeling of futility just has no part in the programme. It is a colossal task—a great race against time and against the forces of destruction. It calls for everything a man has to give. Twenty years ago in the greatest war of all time a whole generation was wiped out. Last Friday, in the two minutes silence, I was thinking of those who died, of those who gave their lives that we might live and that war might never come again. And I thought of the debt we owe them, of how we of the younger generation could repay that debt, of how we could build a glorious future for the world, if only we in our turn would sacrifice enough. And the words of the wreaths laid on the Cenotaph when Mr Chamberlain returned witn peace came back to me: “ After all, they have not died in vain.” And, in the silence I determined they should not be betrayed. These words for me proclaim an irrevocable commitment.