Hate?

Should the U.S. people be made to hate? And if so, whom--the enemy people or merely the enemy Governments?

This was the dire question that exercised the broadcasting industry's biggest bull session, the Institute for Education by Radio. Held annually at Columbus, Ohio, since 1930 under the sponsorship of Ohio State University, the conference's first twelve meetings served mainly as occasions for bestowing honors, discussing knacks and know-how, airing pet peeves.

Hate was not on the Institute agenda. It was not introduced by mild-mannered Writer-Director Norman Corwin, though Corwin, at what was supposed to be a routine discussion of radio drama, lit into the namby-pamby traditions of radio educators. Speaking before 600 highly placed radiomen in the gilt ballroom of Columbus' Deshler-Walleck Hotel Corwin declared that the convention was clogged with "platitudinous generalizations" and "hush-hush talk." Corwin asked, "Why have there not been names named? . . . Lindbergh, Coughlin, Patterson, McCormick, Hearst? ... I trust that no commercial sponsor will be so venal as to . . . prohibit any attack on the Fascist within . . . because the Christian Fronter also buys soap." Next he smacked the lordly commentators. "Four destroyers went down the ways a couple of days ago. They weren't built by radio commentators. . . ." Corwin said radio's big job was to "indoctrinate the people" with a knowledge of what they are fighting, and why.

The subject of hate came before the Institute when Hollywood's boy wonder, Writer-Director Arch Oboler (Plays for Americans) slouched up to the speaking table, mumbled a compliment for Corwin, and cut loose with the other barrel. "Anger is what people want, and they want hate, the hate of a determined people who are going to kill. . . . The public says: make us angry. We like it."

Irene Wicker, NBC's "Singing Lady," added her voice. "You men are writers," she said, "you know what you are talking about. Write. Write. And write for the children as well. . . . Children, too, must know for what men are dying." Her 19-year-old son had just been killed in action with the Royal Canadian Air Force.

Up from the audience popped Stephen Fry, research director for British Broadcasting Corp., to speak a reflective word. Hatred sowed by radio, he said, might yield a hateful harvest. He was just as warmly applauded as Oboler had been.

Final say went to Edward J. Flanagan--Father Flanagan of Boys Town--who spoke at the conference's closing sessions on religious radio programs. Said he: "...We must not permit ourselves to be smeared with the same moral filth we are criticizing in our enemies." Who won the argument only coming broadcasts can tell.

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