Great Britain: Philosopher in Jail

Either we must have a war against Russia before she has the atom, and win it, or lie down and say, “Come and govern us.”

—Bertrand Russell, Nov. 20, 1948

Shortly after Russia did get “the atom,” by exploding its first bomb in 1949, the great philosopher began pleading with the West to lie down before world Communism. One day last week, Lord Russell, 89, walked into London’s Bow Street Magistrates’ Court accompanied by Lady Russell, 61, and three dozen fellow members of Britain’s ban-the-bomb movement, which advocates unilateral Western dis armament. Together, they stood charged* of planning a giant sitdown demonstration in Parliament Square, of “inciting members of the public” to attend even after the Ministry of Works declined permission for the rally, and of being “likely to persist in such unlawful conduct.” Asked the court clerk: “Are any of you willing to be bound over to be of good behavior and keep the peace?” Philosopher Russell shouted his answer: “No!”

Having prudently brought along an overnight bag, Russell obviously hoped to go to jail (“If you condemn us,” said he, “you’ll be helping our cause”), and Magistrate Bertram Reece obliged. Amid gallery cries of “Fascist!” and “Shame!”, he imposed a two-month sentence, later reduced to one week for health reasons. Then the frail old man was whisked un ceremoniously away (unknown hands had written three hasty words in the dust on his Black Maria: “Ban the bomb”) to Brixton jail. It was a homecoming: Russell had spent six months of World War I there for his pacifist views.

Confined to the prison hospital on a liquid diet prescribed by his physician, Russell issued a gloomy statement: “I am to be silenced for a time, perhaps forever, for who can tell how soon the great massacre will take place?” Fellow Prisoner Arnold Wesker, one of Britain’s more promising and depressing new playwrights (Roots, Chicken Soup with Barley), was less pessimistic. Sentenced to one month, Wesker asked for and received pencils, paper and a partly finished manuscript. His request for a typewriter and secretary as well was turned down.

The jailing of Bertrand Russell, together with Anglican Missionary Michael Scott, a leading spokesman for Negro rights, only gave further momentum to the giant sitdown demonstration still scheduled for the weekend. Despite the underlying grimness, the whole affair took on a sort of gaiety. Among the latest eager ban-the-bombers were Angry Young Man John Osborne (“I shall be happy to go to gaol for six months”), Actresses Wendy Hiller and Vanessa Redgrave, Playwright Shelagh Delaney (Taste of Honey), Jazz Singer George Melly, Poet

Sir Herbert Read. As the list of celebrities grew to cocktail-party proportions, the Spectator observed wryly that “to spend a month in prison in the company of Reverend Michael Scott—and soon perhaps of Mr. John Osborne and Miss Shelagh Delaney—would make many of the campaign’s humbler supporters feel they can die happy.”

* Under the seldom used Justices of the Peace Act of 1361, passed at the end of the long war with France to keep armed men wandering about England from committing violence.