The Trespassers (27 page)

One of the newspapermen turned to his companion and slowly winked.

The quota. The same old quota. The same tight, restricted idea.

England’s representative rose to speak. He stood there for a moment, tall and chill and correct. He was the sixth Earl of Winterton, a Member of Parliament, from the Duchy of Lancaster. Many people had called him an open anti-Semite; others had charged him with being as eager as Prime Minister Chamberlain to avoid unpleasant and unreasonable challenge to the Nazis.

“This meeting has been convened to consider the question of emigration from Germany and Austria, and not”—the rebuking negative whipped out over the audience like a lash—“and not to deal with the problem of emigration from other countries.”

Heads nodded here and there about the long tables. Practical heads. Diplomatic heads, too wise to see any merit in irritating the governments of Poland, of Rumania, of Hungary, even though these countries already stirred deep with the clamor of new emigration.

Even the limited problem of German and Austrian immigration

To other lands, Lord Winterton went To other lands, Lord Winterton went on, would “tax to the full…the good will of the states represented here and it will only raise false expectations if it is believed that pressure on minorities of race and religion can force other countries to open their doors.”

He spoke of the problems of the British Isles, of the Dominions, of Palestine, though he made no mention of the fact that while he was speaking ten thousand British troops were landing in Palestine to put down the uprisings there, while a British commission worked feverishly on the Peel plan for partition.

“If the countries of immigration are to do their best to facilitate admission of emigrants, then they are entitled to expect the country of origin on its side will equally assist in creating conditions in which the emigrants are able to start life anew in other countries with some prospects of success.”

Now two of Berlin’s exiles exchanged glances. They did not wink; they stared at each other for long, unbelieving seconds. “The country of origin.” “Entitled to expect.” “Will equally assist.”

Expect help from the Nazi? Expect Hitler to reverse his decrees, to quit his seizures of property, money, personal possessions, and help the refugees to start a new life elsewhere? This must be some monstrous, ill-timed joke. As if the physician were to appeal to the spirochete, for collaboration in the cure!

The sonorous, decorous speech went on, as Lord Winterton told of Britain’s past generosity in the matter of refugees and promised that she would continue “surveying the prospects of admission of refugees” to her “vast colonial and overseas territories.” His own country, of course, was clearly not suitable for much immigration.

Some of the newspapermen made quick, angry notes. “The hypocritical maundering of Winterton.” “The deliberate sabotage of the British delegate.” “Inhuman superiority to reality.” “Going to fight the U.S. proposals.”

Now M. Henri Bérenger spoke for France. He, too was statesmanlike, polished, the trained and wary diplomat. His country had “reached if not already passed the extreme point of saturation.” Politely he defied any government to match France’s humanitarian record—she had already admitted (not always of her own accord) some 200,000 refugees from Spain, Italy, Germany. This was an incomprehensible burden and France bore it as well as might be. He suggested that the permanent committee to be set up should consider a program of “territorial, shipping, financial, monetary, and social measures.” But of France’s own colonial possessions, he made no mention.

The first session of the humane conference was at last over. The newspapermen wrote their stories, went to the cable office, and filed them. The Nazi newspaperman went too, with his.

Outside the cable office, one of the American writers, he of the derisive wink, suggested to his companion that they drop in at the famous Casino and drink or gamble.

“God damn all of them,” he said suddenly. “They act as if this was some kind of cagy game of poker. Nobody trusts the other guy a dime’s worth.”

“Sure not. They’re all going to talk big, and fold before the call.”

“Taylor wasn’t so bad. Maybe something will come out of it yet.”

“Could be.”

The second session elected Myron C. Taylor Permanent President of The Intergovernmental Committee for Refugees. Further speeches of national policy were made.

For Australia Colonel T. W. White, the Minister of Trade, said many graceful things about how much Australia owed to immigrants. But it had been mostly British immigration. “As we have no real racial problem,” he added, “we are not desirous of importing one by encouraging any scheme of large-scale foreign immigration.”

Canada spoke through Hume Wrong. He defended Canada’s general prohibition of entry since 1930. There was unemployment. There was economic distress. Nevertheless, his government, “equally and generously sympathizing…is ready to consider as part of any general settlement the application of its negotiations in the most sympathetic and friendliest manner which may be practicable.”

Beucher Andreae spoke for the Netherlands. His country could scarcely absorb the 25,000 refugees still on its territory…His country was in no position to admit any new refugees except in the most extraordinary cases. As for the Dutch colonies—they were clearly unsuitable for any immigration, because of the climate. His government, however, would be ready to assist with agricultural and industrial training schemes for settlement elsewhere.

Belgium’s representative refused to assume any new international obligations except in per capita proportions to what other, larger nations did. He stressed “the impressive figure of 15,150 refugees my country has received in the last twenty years and the heavy burden this involves.”

The heavy burden. The Christlike charity. The nobility of men. A singular honor was reserved for the Argentine Ambassador to Paris, for Tomas Albert Le Breton was the first in all that conference to speak of immigrants as people not to be dreaded. “Our wide and fortunate experience in immigration enables us to contemplate the future with tranquillity.” When emigrants “chose our country, we regard this as proof of their faith in its future—a faith we firmly share.”

But even Ambassador Le Breton declared that Argentina had already received more than twice as many refugees as all the rest of South America, and any further influx would be economically harmful. Thus it was impossible to loosen the restrictions just now.

That day two major committees were formed. One, headed by Minister White of Australia, would deal with all the private refugee organizations; the other, under Michael Hannson of Norway, would be a technical group to compile all the immigration laws and practices of all member governments.

Behind the scenes, private conferences constantly went on. In these the crosscurrents deepened and the schism widened on two main issues. Britain and France lined up together and the United States faced them, with all the smaller countries ranging themselves behind one side or the other.

The British and French were holding hard for limiting the objective to German and Austrian refugees, and for working through existing refugee services of the League of Nations. But the Americans, ardently supported by the non-League Latin-American countries, wanted an independent body—and wanted, too, the larger approach for the ominous future.

The third day went by in private hearings for the forty relief organizations. Most of the newspapermen were hard pressed for copy, but found their lead finally in a statement by a Catholic relief group: in Germany alone, some 500,000 Catholics were Nazi-classified as non-Aryans. The sense of danger was increasing fast among them. Many thousands were already visiting the crowded consulates of every land, asking for visas or entry permits. Each week, in Germany and Austria, Catholics and Protestants were being questioned, arrested, jailed. During the first fortnight after
Anschluss,
12,000 Catholics had been arrested in Austria alone. The streams of the persecuted were swelling and thickening with a surging momentum now. The Jewish migration was only the beginning.

That evening there was another story for the press. A tentative Anglo-U.S. agreement had been reached. The British and French were the victors on the issue of the committee’s scope and only German and Austrian refugees would be the business of the new committee. The Americans, defeated on this, were victorious on the other, and the new committee, while welcoming co-operation from various League agencies, would be an independent body for all time.

On Saturday, the session was again a public one. Sir Neill Malcolm, President of the League of Nations Committee for Refugees from Germany, conceded that the new committee “might in time be able to undertake schemes of large-scale immigration and settlement such as would presently appear impossible.” But he said that everywhere throughout the British Dominions the answer to his own questions had been the same. “With the present conditions of the labor markets in the countries of the world, any large-scale scheme of migration could only arouse hostility. Secondly, there is in none of these countries any anti-Jewish feeling, but such hostility might easily be aroused if the governments were to introduce solid blocks of foreign immigrants who would almost necessarily build up an alien element inside the state concerned…”

That day ten more countries made their speeches through their duly authorized spokesmen. And only twice did a man rise to speak and speak not as a cautious delegate, but as a man, speak in words that were warm and angry. Each time some stubborn hearts in the room felt hope rise again, each time some bodies tensed forward once more in belief and expectation. Perhaps
this
speech would be a turning point.

Primo Villa Michel was forthright for Mexico. She had already received many refugees from Spain and Germany, comparatively many, at least. “Mexico offers asylum to foreigners who are afraid for their lives. Mexico will give them opportunities to work.”

Jesu María Yepes of Colombia looked into the months and years ahead. “The way things are going in Europe today, tomorrow we shall no longer be facing Jewish refugees but Catholics or Protestants, Fascists or anti-Fascists, liberals or conservatives, Communists or anti-Communists, Spanish Republicans or Nationalists, and who knows whom else. The worst of it is that the bad example of the old World can spread to other continents and make the planet uninhabitable.”

Stubborn hope, stubborn faith that maybe after all, maybe in spite of the watchful words, the stealthy condolences, there might yet come out of this conference anger, revolt, action.

But as the next hours and days passed, as each country stated its position, the stanchest faith wavered, the sturdiest hope fell.

W.B. Burbeden of New Zealand warned against the false hope that his country could accept any large number of refugees.

Denmark’s delegate echoed M. Beucher Andreae of Holland. His country clearly was unable to absorb the refugees, already there, but shared the willingness to help in agricultural and industrial training schemes for final settlement elsewhere, admitting some new refugees whenever some of her present ones permanently departed.

Sweden’s turn came and she spoke in the same voice.

Switzerland, like all of Germany’s neighbors, insisted that the most she could do was to provide temporary refuge, prior to permanent immigration elsewhere. In early April she had had to clamp down completely on immigration from Austria, so unrestrained had been the rush into her territory.

Chile seconded Argentina. Before she could be expected to loosen her immigration restrictions, she had to expand her foreign markets.

The delegates from the small Central and South American countries provided another brief-lived note of encouragement. Though they were “already saturated with intellectuals and businessmen,” they would consider accepting a limited number of refugee farmers. But they followed this offer with a joint statement—they would do this only if the large nations received a number proportionate to their greater territories.

And all the while, the subcommittees were meeting, men clustered together, lunched together, dined together and talked, discussed, planned, each day resolutions were drafted and redrafted. Bylaws, schedules of meetings, intricate matters of relationship between the new committee and the old refugee services—all these occupied men’s minds. All, all were arranged.

By Monday, July 11, only five days after the opening session, the final agreement was drafted and sent off for ratification to London, Paris, and Washington. The technical committee completed its work also. The relief organizations had all been heard.

That night, Myron Taylor tendered a lavish dinner to all the delegates who had come so far to share in this unique meeting. The delegates rose in a rousing toast to President Roosevelt. Many speeches were made…“Only a beginning”…“happy augury for the future”…“Love of humanity in travail” …and many another phrase floated out over the tables.

The Nazi press correspondent filed his copy. The next day’s
Deutsche Dipolmatische Korrespondenz
triumphed, “Since in many foreign countries it was recently regarded as wholly incomprehensible why Germany did not wish to preserve in its population an element like the Jews because of their accomplishments, it appears astounding that these very countries seem in no way particularly anxious to make use of this element themselves now that the opportunity offers. On the contrary, scarcely one of the countries…at Evian…asserted that immigration—that is, fellow citizenship—with the present German Jews was particularly wished.”

The remaining hours passed. And then, eight days after the first session, the final one came. Lord Winterton spoke again. “The idea of throwing open the gates of Palestine is wholly untenable.” But a limited number of “selected families” might be accepted in British East Africa.

Myron Taylor also made a final address. If his heart knew chagrin, disappointment, anger, his voice did not betray him. It was still low and quiet.