A Shade of Difference

by Allen Drury

  “The Chair recognizes the gentleman from California,” the new presiding officer said as the Speaker came down off the dais and took a seat near the committee table.

  “Well, what do you know?” AP muttered to UPI as they hurried out to file a “BULLETIN: Swarthman jumps traces, leads House revolt against Hamilton Resolution.” “Maybe this thing isn’t going through, after all.”

  “Could be,” the UPI said. “Chalk one up for Seab Cooley.”

  “There’s life in the old boy yet,” AP agreed.

  Thus hurtled unexpectedly into control of the battle for his own resolution, the Congressman from California found himself forced to think fast and think shrewdly as he left the committee table and came slowly down the aisle to turn and face his colleagues at the microphone-cluttered lectern in the well of the House. At first his hands gripped the edges of the lectern with an obvious tension, then relaxed until they lay quietly, long and supple, upon the old worn wood.

  An unusual silence fell upon the House, and after a long moment he began to speak. This was not the General Assembly, temporarily dominated by those he considered intolerant and impatient half-illiterates from the bush who had to be addressed as though they were a revival meeting; this was his own House, his own colleagues of the American Congress. His tone was calmer, his words more polished and graceful, than they had been in New York.

  “Mr. Chairman,” he said, “I suppose the extraordinary performance we have witnessed just now on the part of my good friend from South Carolina is indicative of the attitude of some toward my resolution. As for me personally, he has left me in a surprising but not entirely unwelcome predicament. He has left me without a leader. Indeed, he has made me the leader. It is a responsibility I willingly accept.”

  There was a murmur of amusement and scattered applause. He permitted himself a smile and went on.

  “Mr. Chairman, I will not attempt to fool anyone here by trying to maintain that this is not a very controversial matter. It is. I will not attempt to fool anyone here by trying to maintain that I like personally, or approve of the visitor from Africa who has caused all this uproar both here and in the United Nations. I have known Terence Ajkaje the M’Bulu of Mbuele for quite some time. He is an obnoxious and self-interested fellow who fools few people in Africa and only the most naively and determinedly self-deluded here. But he is nonetheless a symbol, Mr. Chairman. It is as a symbol that we must consider him, and it is with a sense of national symbolism, I believe, that this House must address itself to the resolution now before it.”

  He paused and took a deep breath.

  “I do not believe in keeping little children out of school.” There was a stirring among Southern members, a sudden uneasy restlessness in the packed chamber before him, but he went firmly on. “I do not believe in medieval and inexcusable restrictions upon my race. I do not believe these things to be worthy of America in the eyes of the world. But, far more importantly, I do not believe these things to be worthy of America in the judgment of her own heart. Partly, if you like, I am concerned, as I think we all must be concerned, with America as the world sees her. Far more profoundly, I am concerned, as I think we all must be concerned, with America being true to herself.

  “I am not one of those Negroes, Mr. Chairman, who tries to pretend that America has made no progress in the relations between the races. Nor am I one who condemns all of our southern friends, or who denies that many of them have tried and are trying, sincerely and genuinely, to help find decent solutions for a problem that sometimes seems almost insoluble. Nor do I maintain that all of my own people are perfect, or that all of us are ready for, or deserving of, the rights we are demanding.

  “But, as with all things in this imperfect but, thank God, still-growing democracy, I believe a judgment finally has to be reached and a decision made on the basis of what seems best for all concerned. I think there comes a time when you have to stop balancing everything, or else you find yourself paralyzed forever between alternatives. There comes a time when judgment has to come down on the side of what is humanly and honorably and decently best—on the side of what is right. When I reach that point, I come down on the side of progress for my people and better treatment for my people and a full and fair exercise of their civil rights for my people. And for that, Mr. Chairman, I make no apologies.”

  There was again the uneasy stir from the floor. The Congressman from California went on in a quieter, more conversational tone.

  “Into this situation, the M’Bulu, urged on by some who are not friends of the United States, saw fit to inject himself, for purposes of his own aggrandizement and to embarrass the United States. You all know what happened. You know what happened here, when this government, through the President and Secretary of State, sought to make amends. You know what happened at the United Nations, where the amends were summarily brushed aside and it was decided, by all those who are not friends of the United States, to make the most of it for no other purpose than simply to embarrass this country.

  “You also know,” he said somberly, “and I make no apologies for sounding immodest, because this is no time for false modesty—that I and I alone stopped the vote of censure against us in the General Assembly and secured a reprieve for us to consider the matter here.”

  “You and a few American dollars and some very fast diplomatic footwork,” the Baltimore Sun murmured and the New Orleans Times-Picayune said, “He knows what he’s doing. He’ll come out all right.”

  “Now, Mr. Chairman,” Cullee said. “What do we do with the time we have? We have before us my resolution, which I believe makes a fair redress to the M’Bulu for whatever he may have suffered. It also provides some genuine and needed assistance to his backward country of Gorotoland. I also believe it proves the good faith of this Congress and this government to the world. I think, and I believe other members of the U.S. delegation to the United Nations would bear me out if they were privileged to speak here, that it is the minimum that we can do and still expect the General Assembly to vote negatively on the move to censure the United States and interfere most drastically with our internal affairs.

  “For all these reasons, Mr. Chairman, I urge the House to consider favorably H. J. Res. 23.”

  “In other words,” the Wall Street Journal murmured to the Chicago Tribune as Cullee sat down amid strong and genuine applause from many of his colleagues, “it’s a wonderful combination of altruism and self-interest.” “At least we have the altruism along with the self-interest,” the Chicago Trib responded. “Not every nation,” he added cheerfully, “can make this claim.”

  “The gentleman from South Carolina is recognized for such time as he may desire,” the Chair said, and the House settled back to hear the other side of it. Jawbone was ready for them.

  “Mr. Chairman, my good friend, my very good friend from California has spoken eloquently on behalf of his resolution. Indeed he has. He has even been kind enough not to tell you that it was reported out by my committee by a vote of 15 to 13. He was even kind enough not to tell you that the chairman voted for it, under some persuasion from able gentlemen”—and he looked, with a puckish glance, at the Speaker, now sitting back among his colleagues on the majority side—“whose arguments seemed, temporarily at least, persuasive.

  “Mr. Chairman, I want to confess right now that Jawbone Swarthman never made a bigger mistake in his life than to allow himself to be persuaded to vote for this little ole yellow-dog, tail-between-his-legs resolution. I was wrong, Mr. Chairman. I admit it freely, Mr. Chairman. How I could be so stupid, Mr. Chairman, escapes me. Except, as so many of my good friends kindly say, Jawbone is rather stupid, when you come right down to it.

  “Well, sir, Mr. Chairman, no more! No, sir. Not on this resolution. Not on this let-the-world-kick-you resolution. No, sir, not on this little ole peewee look-at-us-aren’t-we-humble resolution. That’s not for Jawbone any more. I hope it won’t be for this honorable House, either!”

  For him, too, there came the
burst of applause, the amiable congratulations to an old practitioner. They could always count on Jawbone for a good show and many of them were with him, anyway. It lent a warmth that Cullee had not received, and he was aware of it as he sat back at the committee table and listened attentively to his opponent.

  “Now, Mr. Chairman, sir, my good friend from California chose to go off into matters concerning internal problems in this country and he chose to say his resolution and this annoying little old fellow from Africa were somehow related to those problems. Conversely, he chose to say that those problems were related to the United Nations and the rest of the world.

  “Well, Mr. Chairman, could be. I don’t deny every little Sneaky Pete in this whole wide world is out to get us, Mr. Chairman. That’s common knowledge. What I want to know is, when are we going to stand, up like men and tell ’em they can’t do it? When are we going to stand up and tell ’em to go to hell, Mr. Chairman? When are we going—yes, now, Mr. Chairman, you needn’t rap your gavel at me, I know that’s unparliamentary language; and if there’s any member of this House who never heard it or never used it, well, I apologize to that member, Mr. Chairman—but what I want to know is, Mr. Chairman, When is it going to stop? When are we going to act like Americans, Mr. Chairman?

  “My good friend from California says if we pass his resolution humbling ourselves to this fly-by-night from the jungles of Africa, and if we give some money to his little ole bitty worthless country, the United Nations won’t pass this amendment of censure offered by the great Ambassador of Panama who is a brother-in-law of the great Governor of California who aspires to such great things in this country. Well, now, I’m not against giving every little pinch of sand on the face of the globe just as many millions as it wants, Mr. Chairman, and I’m sure Gorotoland can be taken care of in the regular foreign aid program or some other means they’ll think up down there at the White House. But supposing, Mr. Chairman, now just supposing we go ahead and pass this resolution and then, Mr. Chairman, suppose the United Nations goes right ahead and passes Señor Labaiya’s amendment anyway, Mr. Chairman; then what? Can my good friend from California give me any assurance on that, Mr. Chairman? I pause for him to reply, Mr. Chairman, if he kindly will.”

  “Mr. Chairman,” Cullee said, “certainly I cannot give any such assurance; nor can anyone. The chances are excellent that if we pass this resolution the Labaiya amendment will fail to receive the two-thirds vote it must have in the General Assembly to succeed. But I can’t guarantee it; nobody can. I am interested in the honor of the United States, not in what somebody else may do.”

  “Well, now, Mr. Chairman,” Jawbone said, “that doesn’t sound like what the gentleman was telling us here a few moments ago. Then we were to trade our honor for the United Nations’ agreement to refrain from telling us we were dishonorable, Mr. Chairman. Leastways, that’s how ole Jawbone heard it. I’m interested in the honor of the United States, Mr. Chairman. I say there’s only one way to uphold it, and that’s to defeat this humiliating resolution and tell our delegation at the United Nations to fight it through up there; and if we get beaten, well, we get beaten. At least we won’t have to be ashamed of ourselves. At least we’ll be proud in our own hearts, and not have to feel that we’re living on somebody else’s sufferance if we act real sweet and humble and beat ourselves over the head to suit the Africans. That’s my position, Mr. Chairman!”

  And he sat down amid applause judged by the Press Gallery to be equal to, and possibly a shade greater, than that accorded the Congressman from California.

  From that point the debate proceeded just about as expected. Cullee spoke briefly in rebuttal, Jawbone returned in re-rebuttal, other members of the Foreign Affairs Committee spoke briefly on one side or the other. The general debate ended around 8 p.m., and the time came for amendments. Three were offered, one by a Negro member from New York to expand the powers of the Civil Rights Commission, one by a white member from Mississippi to abolish the Civil Rights Commission, and one by a white member from Minnesota to establish an African Aid Fund to distribute aid to Africa. All but the last were defeated by comfortable margins after short but heated debates, and by 9 p.m. it began to appear that the final vote was approaching. The Committee of the Whole House on the State of the Union dissolved back into the House, and once this parliamentary sleight-of-hand was accomplished, the member who had been presiding as chairman of the Committee on the Whole reported to the Speaker that the committee had concluded discussion of H. J. Res. 23, and under agreement by both sides, was ready to vote on one amendment—that of the gentleman from Minnesota—and the resolution itself.

  The amendment of the gentleman from Minnesota lost 229-110, and the Speaker announced:

  “The vote now occurs on H. J. Res. 23. The Yeas and Nays are in order, and the Clerk will call the roll.”

  “Mr. Aldridge!” the Clerk said in his pontifical tones, and when Mr. Aldridge said No, he repeated, “Nnnnnnnnn—oh.”

  “Mr. Althouse!”

  “Yes.”

  “Yyyyyyyyyyeeeeee—ssss!”

  And so the hour was here for his first testing, and in his seat at the committee table, keeping a penciled tally in disgruntled but re-established amity with Jawbone, the Congressman from California felt tension tightening through his body. See what you think of me now, little Sue-Dan, he thought, and you, too, ’Gage, damn you. And you, fancy Terry, and you, sly little Felix, and you, smart boy from Kenya, and you, tired old unhappy S.-G., and all the rest of you smart, sneering blacks who don’t know my country and what it means and don’t have the heart or the intelligence to understand even if you did. Call me names now, damn you, and see if I care. I’m going to win on this vote because I’m Cullee Hamilton of California and I don’t give a damn for any of you anyhow.

  But it was not, as he had known, as easy as that. During the first roll call Jawbone’s excited intakes of breath as the tally seesawed back and forth indicated well enough that it was a real battle.

  “I told you!” the Congressman from South Carolina cried excitedly when the first run-through ended and the vote stood 198 for the resolution, 199 against. “I told you!”

  “Wait and see,” Cullee said with a calmness he did not feel. Oh, God, he prayed, don’t let me down now; if I’ve done all this against the shouters of my own race and failed, God help me— “Wait and see.”

  And presently, as the Clerk droned through the roll for the second time and the absentees on the first call came forward to stand in the well of the House and identify themselves to the Speaker and cast their votes, he began to sense that God had heard and helped, though not by very much.

  The moment came when the last name had been called, the last member had voted. A tense silence held the House, and though many knew from tallies they had been keeping what the outcome was, there was still that mysterious moment, stretching far back into history to the first awkward beginnings of Parliament itself, that always comes when men pause and await the word of Mr. Speaker that makes it true.

  “On this vote,” he announced slowly into the hush, “the Yeas are 219, the Nays are 214, and the resolution is passed.”

  “Ya-hoo!” shouted someone from over on the minority side, and with a great explosive release of breath the House let go, men stood and began to talk. Excitement welled up from the floor, the galleries, the busy regions of the press. The word went out to the United Nations and around the world that Cullee Hamilton had passed the first stage on his road to wherever it was he felt he had to go.

  And later that night, on all the radio and television programs, in all the smooth and knowledgeable commentaries, his victory was recorded, his integrity was analyzed and there was endless speculation on what the outcome would be when his resolution went on to the Senate and when, thereafter, the United Nations returned again to its consideration of the Labaiya Amendment in the General Assembly.

  Of the Congressman himself, much was seen that evening, always the same shot, just off the floor, where
the television cameras had caught him immediately following his victory, looking pleased and excited and saying defiantly, “This is the first battle. The second will come in the Senate, and then we’ll have won the war.”

  And following close upon this, a shot of the senior Senator from South Carolina, saying coldly, “Mr. Hamilton has himself a fight in the Senate. In the Senate we don’t take American honor so lightly as they do in some other places. No, sir, we—do—not.”

  And close upon that a brief clip of Terence Ajkaje, standing on the UN Plaza with his gorgeous robes blowing about him against a backdrop of Brooklyn, saying calmly in his most British accent, “It was an interesting vote, but of course the United Nations must make its own decisions on things irrespective of what purely local parliaments do, must it not?”

  5

  “Well, it worked,” the Secretary of State remarked, dropping into a leather armchair across from the mammoth desk in the oval office by the Rose Garden. The occupant of the chair on the other side of the desk responded with an air of amusement that did not conceal the underlying tiredness that so often shows through the outward urbanity of those who sit in that particular chair at that particular desk.

  “It worked for the House,” the President said. “What will happen in our old homestead the Senate may be another matter. Don’t you agree?”

  “We’ll see,” Orrin Knox said. “You look tired.”

  “Presidents always look tired. Presidents always are tired. But I had my regular checkup last week and everything is in great shape, so they tell me. I still plan to get away for some fishing as soon as we’re safely past His Royal Highness the M’Bothersome M’Bulu. Have you talked to Cullee?”

  “He called me at home last night, triumphant but not very happy underneath. His wife and LeGage have been giving him hell on this, as I told you. Riding this stooge-of-Orrin-Knox bit pretty heavily, I gather, plus stooge-of-the-white-man. It’s quite a load for him to bear.”