Franklin D. Roosevelt Says to Moneyed Interests (EG Bankers) in 1936: “I Welcome Their Hatred!”

In 1936 Franklin D. Roo­sevelt was seek­ing a sec­ond term as pres­i­dent of the Unit­ed States. Hav­ing assum­ing the office in the depths of the Great Depres­sion, Roo­sevelt had sta­bi­lized and reformed the bank­ing sys­tem, put mil­lions of unem­ployed peo­ple to work build­ing pub­lic infra­struc­ture, and cre­at­ed Social Secu­ri­ty to bring mil­lions of elder­ly cit­i­zens out of pover­ty.

The reforms, known col­lec­tive­ly as the New Deal, were pop­u­lar with the major­i­ty of cit­i­zens. But by the next pres­i­den­tial elec­tion year the bankers and busi­ness­men were push­ing back hard. Although Roo­sevelt came from a priv­i­leged back­ground, he was despised by many in his social class. Unfazed, Roo­sevelt bold­ly pro­claimed in his famous cam­paign speech of Octo­ber 31, 1936: “I wel­come their hatred!”

With Pres­i­dent Barack Oba­ma prepar­ing to address the Demo­c­ra­t­ic Nation­al Con­ven­tion tomor­row night it might be an inter­est­ing time to lis­ten to a lit­tle of Roo­sevelt’s speech, which he deliv­ered at Madi­son Square Gar­den in New York City three days before the elec­tion. In the audio clip above he talks about how things were in Amer­i­ca before he took office, and about the forces seek­ing to drag the coun­try back:

For twelve years this nation was afflict­ed with hear-noth­ing, see-noth­ing, do-noth­ing gov­ern­ment. The nation looked to gov­ern­ment but the gov­ern­ment looked away. Nine mock­ing years with the gold­en calf and three long years of the scourge! Nine crazy years at the tick­er and three long years in the bread­lines! Nine mad years of mirage and three long years of despair! And, my friends, pow­er­ful influ­ences strive today to restore that kind of gov­ern­ment with its doc­trine that that gov­ern­ment is best which is most indif­fer­ent to mankind.

Roo­sevelt defeat­ed his oppo­nent Alf Lan­don, the Repub­li­can gov­er­nor of Kansas, by a his­toric land­slide, tak­ing more than 60 per­cent of the pop­u­lar vote and all but eight of the 531 elec­toral votes. To read the full text of Roo­sevelt’s speech, click here.

Relat­ed con­tent:

‘The Right of the Peo­ple to Rule’: Hear Theodore Roo­sevelt Speak

Hollywood by Helicopter, 1958

“This movie is going to be pret­ty obvi­ous.” That’s not the best way to get the view­er’s atten­tion. And the rest of the script, read by Bob Crane, is not much bet­ter: “Hey Kit­ty, look … Kit­ty, you did­n’t look hard enough … See the thing that looks like a build­ing? That’s a build­ing!” Nor is the premise of the film very good: Kit­ty is a novice actress, and, before appear­ing in her first movie, she gets an aer­i­al tour of Hol­ly­wood and its land­marks.

But from a his­tor­i­cal per­spec­tive, this 1950s footage of the Los Ange­les movie indus­try has its intrigu­ing moments. It’s par­tic­u­lar­ly inter­est­ing to see how much space there still was around some of the stu­dios and movie the­aters. Just com­pare the image of Grau­man’s Chi­nese The­ater on Hol­ly­wood Boule­vard tak­en from the film with a Google Earth shot from today:

By pro­fes­sion, Matthias Rasch­er teach­es Eng­lish and His­to­ry at a High School in north­ern Bavaria, Ger­many. In his free time he scours the web for good links and posts the best finds on Twit­ter.

Pink Floyd Provides the Soundtrack for the BBC’s Broadcast of the 1969 Moon Landing

Did the Unit­ed States of Amer­i­ca lose much of its will to explore out­er space when the Sovi­et Union’s col­lapse shut off the engine of com­pe­ti­tion? Crit­i­cal observers some­times make that point, but I have an alter­na­tive the­o­ry: maybe the decline of pro­gres­sive rock had just as much to do with it. Both that musi­cal sub­genre and Amer­i­can space explo­ration proud­ly pos­sessed their dis­tinc­tive aes­thet­ics, the poten­tial for great cul­tur­al impact, and ambi­tion bor­der­ing on the ridicu­lous. Though we did­n’t have mash-ups in the years when shut­tle launch­es and four-side con­cept albums alike cap­tured the pub­lic imag­i­na­tion, we can now use mod­ern tech­nol­o­gy to dou­ble back and direct­ly unite these two late-twen­ti­eth-cen­tu­ry phe­nom­e­na. Behold, above, Pink Floy­d’s jam “Moon­head” lined up with footage of Apol­lo 17, NASA’s last moon land­ing.

But giv­en the recent pass­ing of astro­naut Neil Arm­strong, none of us have been think­ing as much about the last moon land­ing as we have about the first. Pink Floyd actu­al­ly laid down “Moon­head” at a BBC TV stu­dio dur­ing the descent of Apol­lo 11, the mis­sion on which Arm­strong would take that one giant leap for mankind. The band’s impro­vi­sa­tion made it to the ears of Eng­land’s moon-land­ing view­ers: “The pro­gram­ming was a lit­tle loos­er in those days,” remem­bers gui­tarist David Gilmour, “and if a pro­duc­er of a late-night pro­gramme felt like it, they would do some­thing a bit off the wall.” British rock­’s fas­ci­na­tion with space proved fruit­ful. David Bowie put out the immor­tal “Space Odd­i­ty” mere days before Apol­lo 11’s land­ing (to say noth­ing of “Life on Mars?” two years lat­er), and the BBC played it, too, in its live cov­er­age. Even as late as the ear­ly eight­ies, no less a rock inno­va­tor than Bri­an Eno, charmed by Amer­i­can astro­nauts’ enthu­si­asm for coun­try-west­ern music, would craft the album Apol­lo: Atmos­pheres and Sound­tracks. If we want more inter­est­ing pop­u­lar music, per­haps we just need to get into space more often.

via NYTimes and Boing­Bo­ing

Relat­ed con­tent:

Remem­ber­ing Neil Arm­strong, the First Man on the Moon, with His­toric Footage and a BBC Bio Film

Mankind’s First Steps on the Moon: The Ultra High Res Pho­tos

Dark Side of the Moon: A Mock­u­men­tary on Stan­ley Kubrick and the Moon Land­ing Hoax

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Rudolf Brazda, Last Man to Wear the Pink Triangle During the Holocaust, Tells His Story

Accord­ing to esti­mates by the Unit­ed States Holo­caust Muse­um, any­where from 5,000 to 15,000 gay men were impris­oned in con­cen­tra­tion camps under the Third Reich, where they were some­times the sub­jects of grue­some exper­i­ments. Pri­or to this mass per­se­cu­tion, homo­sex­u­al­i­ty was crim­i­nal­ized under the so-called Para­graph 175 of the crim­i­nal code, and the Gestapo was charged with “reg­is­ter­ing” gays, who could be sen­tenced to prison terms of up to ten years for violations–in addi­tion to per­ma­nent loss of many civ­il rights–and even worse penal­ties, like cas­tra­tion. Gay men con­vict­ed under these laws had to wear a pink tri­an­gle to iden­ti­fy them­selves. The short doc­u­men­tary above tells the sto­ry of Rudolf Braz­da, the last camp sur­vivor to have worn the pink tri­an­gle. Braz­da died last year at the age of 98.

Braz­da, who lived as an open­ly gay man in the thir­ties, was con­vict­ed under Para­graph 175 in 1937 and served a term of six months. He thought this might be the extent of his harass­ment by the Nazis, but ulti­mate­ly, he was arrest­ed and sent to Buchen­wald in 1942, where he would spend three years. In the video above, Braz­da most­ly tells his own sto­ry, in Ger­man with Eng­lish sub­ti­tles. It’s not the first time he has done so. Brazda’s sto­ry was promi­nent­ly fea­tured in a book by author Jean-Luc Schwab (who also appears above), Itin­er­ary of the Pink Tri­an­gle (Itin­eraire d’un Tri­an­gle rose), which recounts the dehu­man­iz­ing expe­ri­ences of gay men dur­ing the Holo­caust. Schwab’s book and the brief inter­view above pre­serve impor­tant tes­ti­mo­ny from a man who was “very like­ly the last vic­tim and the last wit­ness” of the Nazi per­se­cu­tion of homo­sex­u­al men in the 30s and 40s. Braz­da’s will­ing­ness to tell his sto­ry has been invalu­able to schol­ars and activists seek­ing to doc­u­ment this lit­tle-known (and often denied) his­to­ry.

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

‘The Right of the People to Rule’: Listen to Theodore Roosevelt Speaking 100 Years Ago Today

On this day 100 years ago, Theodore Roo­sevelt record­ed his great speech, “The Right of the Peo­ple to Rule.” The polit­i­cal cir­cum­stances sur­round­ing the speech bear some resem­blance to those of today: 1912 was a pres­i­den­tial elec­tion year, and the coun­try was divid­ed.

The Repub­li­can Par­ty, though, was espe­cial­ly divid­ed. Roo­sevelt had already served two terms as pres­i­dent under the Repub­li­can ban­ner, but by 1912 he had become deeply dis­ap­point­ed in what he saw as the reac­tionary drift of his suc­ces­sor and one-time friend, William Howard Taft. He decid­ed to chal­lenge Taft for the Repub­li­can nom­i­na­tion. When Roo­sevelt lost at the con­ven­tion he pressed ahead any­way, form­ing the Pro­gres­sive (“Bull Moose”) Par­ty.

Taft knew he was no match for the charis­mat­ic Roo­sevelt in a pop­u­lar elec­tion, but he saw his role in the sit­u­a­tion as being the guardian of the con­ser­v­a­tive char­ac­ter of the Repub­li­can Par­ty. With only 24% of the vote, Taft came in third place in the Novem­ber elec­tion, behind the Demo­c­rat Woodrow Wil­son (41%) and Roo­sevelt (27%). It was an embar­rass­ing out­come for a sit­ting pres­i­dent, but in one sense Taft won: The Repub­li­can par­ty took a con­ser­v­a­tive turn, and stayed on that course.

Roo­sevelt’s speech was record­ed on an Edi­son cylin­der at his Sag­amore Hill Estate in Oys­ter Bay, New York on August 16, 1912, dur­ing a brief lull in the cam­paign fol­low­ing the Pro­gres­sive Par­ty Con­ven­tion. It was one of sev­er­al cam­paign speech­es that were record­ed and then dis­trib­uted around the coun­try before the gen­er­al elec­tion. It’s based part­ly on a speech he gave on March 20, 1912 at Carnegie Hall.

In the record­ed ver­sion, Roo­sevelt speaks for the need to find a polit­i­cal mid­dle ground, warn­ing against the dan­ger of ultra-con­ser­vatism. “It would be well,” he says, “if our peo­ple would study the his­to­ry of a sis­ter repub­lic. All the woes of France for a cen­tu­ry and a quar­ter have been due to the fol­ly of her peo­ple in split­ting into the two camps of unrea­son­able con­ser­vatism and unrea­son­able rad­i­cal­ism. Had pre-Rev­o­lu­tion­ary France lis­tened to men like Tur­got, and backed them up, all would have gone well. But the ben­e­fi­cia­ries of priv­i­lege, the Bour­bon reac­tionar­ies, the short­sight­ed ultra-con­ser­v­a­tives, turned down Tur­got; and found that instead of him they had obtained Robe­spierre.”

Near the end, Roo­sevelt sounds an impas­sioned call:

Friends, our task as Amer­i­cans is to strive for social and indus­tri­al jus­tice, achieved through the gen­uine rule of the peo­ple. This is our end, our pur­pose. The meth­ods for achiev­ing the end are mere­ly expe­di­ents, to be final­ly accept­ed or reject­ed accord­ing as actu­al expe­ri­ence shows that they work well or ill. But in our hearts we must have this lofty pur­pose, and we must strive for it in all earnest­ness and sin­cer­i­ty, or our work will come to noth­ing. In order to suc­ceed we need lead­ers of inspired ide­al­ism, lead­ers to whom are grant­ed great visions, who dream great­ly and strive to make their dreams come true; who can kin­dle the peo­ple with the fire from their own burn­ing souls.

If you would like to read along as you lis­ten to Roo­sevelt’s voice, click here to open the full text in a new win­dow.

 

New Archive Showcases Dr. Seuss’s Early Work as an Advertising Illustrator and Political Cartoonist

Most peo­ple know Dr. Seuss (Theodor Seuss Geisel) as a writer and illus­tra­tor of some of the world’s most-beloved children’s books. And while it’s true that some of his char­ac­ters have not fared well since his death in 1991, his lega­cy as a play­ful moral­ist is secure with par­ents and teach­ers every­where. But few peo­ple know that Geisel got his start as a satirist and illus­tra­tor for adults, pub­lish­ing arti­cles and illus­tra­tions in Judge, Life, Van­i­ty Fair, and the Sat­ur­day Evening Post. He went on to promi­nence as an adver­tis­ing illus­tra­tor dur­ing the Depres­sion, most famous­ly with a 17-year cam­paign for a bug-repel­lant called Flit—made by Stan­dard Oil—whose slo­gan, “Quick, Hen­ry, the Flit!” became a pop­u­lar catch phrase in the 30s.

The Uni­ver­si­ty of Cal­i­for­nia, San Diego, has a spe­cial col­lec­tion of Geisel’s adver­tis­ing work from the 30s and 40s (such as the image above) for clients like Stan­dard, NBC, and Ford. The images show Geisel the illus­tra­tor devel­op­ing visu­al themes that char­ac­ter­ize his children’s books—the cir­cus imagery, ele­phants, daz­zling phys­i­cal stunts, wide-eyed, fur­ry crea­tures, com­plex Rube Gold­berg machines, and the sig­na­ture dis­em­bod­ied point­ing gloves. Dur­ing World War II, Geisel shift­ed his focus from adver­tis­ing to pol­i­tics and con­tributed week­ly car­toons to PM mag­a­zine, a lib­er­al pub­li­ca­tion. UCSD also has an online cat­a­log of Geisel’s polit­i­cal car­toons, such as the 1941 ad for U.S. Sav­ings Bonds below.

 

via Coudal

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

“The Ducktators”: Loony Tunes Turns Animation into Wartime Propaganda (1942)

George Orwell pub­lished his satir­i­cal alle­go­ry Ani­mal Farm in 1945 at the tail end of World War II. While Orwell claimed his inspi­ra­tion for the farm set­ting was a bucol­ic vil­lage scene, it’s tempt­ing to imag­ine that he also drew some of his ideas from Amer­i­can pro­pa­gan­da car­toons made dur­ing WWII by Dis­ney (see below) and Warn­er Broth­ers. One par­tic­u­lar­ly strik­ing exam­ple from 1942 is Loony Tunes’ “The Duck­ta­tors,” set on a farm that becomes Europe under a new­ly-hatched Adolf Hitler duck­ling, sport­ing the fore­lock and mus­tache and shout­ing “sieg heil” as soon as he emerges from his jet-black egg. Hitler-duck’s pos­tur­ing appeals to a strut­ting, broad­ly stereo­typ­i­cal Ital­ian goose (Mus­soli­ni), and many of the ducks and geese on the farm, who line to up salute and, um… goos­es­tep. There are plen­ty of lit­tle gags thrown in—it’s all played for comedy—but of course, there is a mes­sage (or two) here.

First, cut to the sim­per­ing “Dove of Peace,” an androg­y­nous crea­ture who wrings its hands and says, “Have they for­got? ‘Tis love that’s right, and naught is gained by show of might.” This is clear­ly a car­i­ca­ture of Neville Cham­ber­lain, whose inef­fec­tu­al poli­cies enabled and embold­ened Hitler.

Cham­ber­lain is remem­bered for pre­ma­ture­ly declar­ing that his appease­ment of Hitler in the 1938 Munich Pact (here rep­re­sent­ed by a barn­yard “Peace Con­fer­ence”) had secured “peace for our time.” The ref­er­ence is an inter­est­ing exam­ple of a wartime dig at the U.S.’s British allies.

Hitler-duck tears up the “Peace Con­fer­ence” treaty and beats up the British and French ducks. Then a (painful­ly racist) Japan­ese duck rows ashore singing “I’m a Japan­ese Sandman”—a stand in for Tojo Hide­ki or Emper­or Hiro­hi­to. The three “Duck­ta­tors” rule the roost and tram­ple the Dove of Peace under­foot. His­tor­i­cal alle­go­ry gives way to slap­stick, and the wimpy Dove morphs into a pudgy, vic­to­ri­ous Churchill with the Duck­ta­tors’ heads mount­ed on his wall. Then, mes­sage num­ber two appears with fan­fare: “If you’d like to make this true, here’s all you have to do: For Vic­to­ry Buy Unit­ed States Sav­ings Bonds and Stamps.” Over­all, The Duck­ta­tors is a fas­ci­nat­ing exam­ple of wartime adver­tis­ing, and of con­tem­po­rary U.S. feel­ings towards its Euro­pean allies. You can down­load The Duck­ta­tors here.

Find Dis­ney Pro­pa­gan­da Films Here:

The Mak­ing of a Nazi: Disney’s 1943 Ani­mat­ed Short

Don­ald Duck’s Bad Nazi Dream (1942)

Don­ald Duck Wants You to Pay Your Tax­es (1943)

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

 

Too Big for Any Museum, AIDS Quilt Goes Digital Thanks to Microsoft

Twen­ty-five years ago a group of friends gath­ered in a San Fran­cis­co apart­ment to memo­ri­al­ize com­pan­ions who had died of AIDS. They used one of the old­est tech­niques around to hon­or their loved ones: they made a quilt, the now-famous AIDS Memo­r­i­al Quilt, with unique pan­els for each per­son felled by the dis­ease. Now includ­ing some 48,000 pan­els, the quilt has grown into a mas­sive, pub­lic expres­sion of grief. Its pan­els come from around the world. It was even nom­i­nat­ed for the Nobel Peace Prize in 1989. (Find more on the his­to­ry of the quilt here.)

Like any good archive—and the quilt is an archive of life and loss—the AIDS Memo­r­i­al Quilt serves as a his­tor­i­cal repos­i­to­ry, a store­house of sen­ti­men­tal infor­ma­tion for scores of peo­ple. But beyond that the quilt is a piece of polit­i­cal folk art. AIDS, after all, is a unique­ly polit­i­cal dis­ease, at least in the Unit­ed States. The idea for the quilt was con­ceived dur­ing a can­dle­light march for assas­si­nat­ed San Fran­cis­co May­or George Moscone and Super­vi­sor Har­vey Milk. Efforts to lift the stig­ma of AIDS are close­ly linked to gay rights activism.

While the quilt is on view in Wash­ing­ton, D.C. this sum­mer, Microsoft offers the world up close and per­son­al access. Even if the Mall is too small to hold the entire quilt, the Inter­net isn’t. All 48,000 pan­els are new­ly dig­i­tized through a col­lab­o­ra­tion between Microsoft and the Uni­ver­si­ty of Iowa, the Uni­ver­si­ty of South­ern Cal­i­for­nia and the Names Quilt Foun­da­tion.

You can fly like a bird over the whole, beau­ti­ful piece. You can zoom in to read the thou­sands of names—some in block let­ters, oth­ers stitched in cur­sive. You can count the rain­bows, too.

You can also search the quilt by name or, if you know it, by the block num­ber of a par­tic­u­lar pan­el through the AIDS Quilt Touch inter­face. The site allows unique search­es for each time the quilt has been dis­played. This is impor­tant because the quilt is so mas­sive that the Mall in Wash­ing­ton can’t hold it all. It’s always dis­played in sec­tions, so if you want to know where a spe­cial pan­el has been on view, recent­ly, it’s now pos­si­ble to find out.

Kate Rix is a free­lance writer based in Oak­land. See more of her work at .

« Go Back — More in this category... »
Quantcast