 The Columbia Broadcasting System presents Norman Corwin's one-world flight. Said United States Ambassador McNutt. I feel that democracy is firmly rooted in the Philippines. They honestly believe it. Said the Filipino scientist Dr. Lava. On the contrary, what's happening is that there is actually no democracy in the Philippines in spite of Mr. McNutt. You have just heard two among several voices and sounds recorded inside the Philippine Islands. To be heard tonight on this 10th of a series of 13 broadcasts based on Norman Corwin's recent 37,000 global tour as first winner of the Wendell Wilkie One-World Flight Award. This is Norman Corwin. The plane from Tokyo to Manila lands at Naha Okinawa around midnight for fuel and passengers and it stays on the ground for two hours. To thousands of American boys it had been a last stop but there was nothing around the airport now to indicate that a war had blown through here. It seemed in the dead of night like any wayside fueling stop on a long flight. A shack or two with a radio range, a small control tower, nothing for the traveler to do but sit or stroll. The moon was bright overhead but off on the horizon lightning jabbed the sky with silent flashings like the ghost of some bygone battle. I ambled around the field, found a ping-pong table on its last three legs, long ago abandoned to the weather. I stretched out on it. The night was calm and cool and quiet and I thought as I watched the distant electrical storm or some of the hot and turbulent countries we had visited in the course of the One World Flight, the peace was now 13 months old and men were still killing each other over political differences. In Poland, Italy, India, China, there was violence ranging from throat slitting in a back alley through pogroms, riots and civil war. I wondered about dispatches which had been coming out of our next stop, reports of attacks by Philippine military police against a peasant movement in central Luzon. When I had left New York three months earlier, I was under the impression that the Filipinos were rebuilding their country as fast as they could, that they were delighted with the independence granted them by the United States and were well started on their new nationhood. Whether or not this assumption was naive and uninformed, I would soon find out because our C-54 was all gassed up now and ready to take off for Manila 900 miles away. We landed at Nichols Field at 5.30 in the morning. The sun had barely edged over the horizon and it was already hot. There was no provision at the terminal to handle passengers or baggage, no transportation into the city, no telephone service. We hailed a truck finally, we hopped on it and rode in. It was a ragged entrance and it turned out to be fairly representative of the state of Manila, both on the surface and inwardly. For one thing, the city is next to Warsaw among national capitals, the worst shambles of the war. Its government buildings, once reminiscent of the solid, conservative and dignified architecture of Washington, D.C., are now heaps of rubble, gutted, twisted, sprawling. We drove in a jeep one day to see the damage. Bill Sanford of the State Department was with us and he explained why the work of rehabilitation was going so slowly. Beneath these ruins, I think there are still many, many Japanese debt which have been unable to be removed simply because of this terrific destruction. I imagine it will be many years before they can tear all of this down as I understand the cost of tearing it down is even greater now than the original cost of construction. The devastation was wider spread than I had imagined. From somewhere I'd gotten a notion that the fighting had been localized within the city, but Sanford straightened me out on this. I doubt very much if you can find a semblance of construction any place that is still standing. We passed a number of shattered churches and I asked Frank Trinidad, a Filipino, whether any churches were left standing after the city was liberated. Well, they're not charred churches anymore in the sense that you can defold masses in them. All that are left are walls. As we approached the Pasig River, which bisects Minima, traffic thickened by the yard. The American Army forces of the Western Pacific, at Westback for short, had released for sale thousands of jeeps and these had been converted into vehicles called jeepneys. They were the main transportation of the city and did the work of street cars, buses and taxis. But there were so many of them trying to cross the river and so few bridges that congestion was almost as bad as in Shanghai. The recording you're about to hear was made while moving on the Santa Cruz Bridge over the Pasig. You will hear the whistle of a traffic cop, a newsboy selling papers and the bells of a cathedral nearby. In two unfortunate respects, Manila resembled Warsaw. First, the city is a total wreck. Second, it is being rebuilt slowly and painfully and by hand. We saw no modern construction equipment anywhere. At the Hotel Manila, which was the wall office story of the Philippines until it was smashed in the fighting, repairs went on at snail's pace. It also went on at all hours as we found out at 6.45 in the morning. That's when workmen showed up beneath our window to begin hammering. Lee Bland, who was operating the CBS wire recorder, flipped on the machine to give you an idea of what a sleeper has to compete with in the steaming morning of Manila. That sound last fall was characteristic of the whole city, wherever you went, men were hammering. I did not once see a riveting machine, a steam shovel, a bulldozer, a tractor. Consequently, as with Warsaw, the prospect of rebuilding Manila is one that must be thought of not in terms of a year or two, but of a generation. One of the best descriptions of conditions in the third month of the Philippine Republic was given by its president, Manuel Rojas, whom we interviewed in his office in the Malacanan Palace. Right numbers of people are unemployed. Homes, mills, shops, stores and factories are in shambles. Our public buildings are, as you can see by looking out this window, in utter ruin. The job of reconstruction and rehabilitation is a gigantic job. Mr. Rojas received us in an immense wood-paneled, air-conditioned room. He wore a plain, undecorated, khaki uniform. In the center of his desk, flanked by miniature flags of the United States in the Philippine Republic, was a statuette of Franklin D. Roosevelt. It was cool and comfortable in the president's office, but outside it was hot and humid. Thunderheads were piling up east of the city. Also piling up inside and outside of the country was public opinion. Opinion, pro and con, the man who sat across the desk from us. By his enemies, he had been called a quizzling who collaborated with the Japanese, a dictator who was using fascist tactics against his own people. By his admirers, he had been called a democratic, patriotic, heroic and wise leader. Paul V. McNutt, the last governor of the Philippines as a territory of the United States, and, after its independence, our first ambassador, was outspoken in his support of the president. In an interview of which you will hear more later, Ambassador McNutt said, I've dealt with many public officials in my life. I have never dealt with one on a more satisfactory basis than with President Rojas. He is a dynamic and a wise leader. His people are accustomed to following leadership. They will do well to follow his. But not long before our visit, former Secretary of the Interior Harold Ickes had publicly attacked the Rojas government as, quote, a fascist dictatorship under which a newly liberated people was being shackled, end of quote. He charged that the Rojas administration in refusing to seat eight opposition congressmen who had been elected in Central Luzon had given what he called proof of its anti-democratic character, and he went on to charge that the undemocratic aims and program of Rojas had the sympathetic support of American army and government representatives. Whether or not this was true, there was no question about the shooting in Central Luzon. An organization of peasants named the Hukbalahaps, who had fought as guerrillas against the Japanese, had made demands for land reform and expressed generally sharp opposition to Rojas. They were in possession of small arms which they had kept after the anti-Japanese fighting, and Rojas demanded that these be surrendered. The demand was resisted on the grounds that armed bands allegedly subsidized by Philippine landlords were terrorizing the peasants. In any case, there had been some nasty fighting north of Manila between government MPs and the Hukbalahaps, and it was still going on. I asked President Rojas about these disturbances. People today are more conscious of their right to a decent livelihood. They're also more impatient. The actual disturbances to which you refer are indicative of their impatience, as well as of certain political currents of thought which have found some root here. We do have problems of law and order. They are not, except for a very few individuals, protests against the government or the democratic form of government, rather uninformed and violent protests against economic conditions. We have had to meet this situation directly, and I think we have solved it in the best interests of all concerned. I had heard criticism to the effect that Rojas had surrendered Philippine independence to the United States through special economic concessions called parity. I asked the President about this, whether the independence was real. Of course our independence is as real as that of any other nation in the world. Certainly more than that of most other small nations. We are free to make all the decisions and take all the actions that we desire, within the framework of the necessities and imperatives which every people in the world face today. I asked him whether he had any special recommendations for the achievement of international peace and security. I do not know of any short and easy road to peace and to world understanding. Did he think we had learned anything out of the last war? If I did not have some hope that this war has taught us many things, I would have no hope in anything. Several Philippine congressmen were waiting outside to see the President and so we left, driving out of the palace grounds and back to the drab city over ragged muddy roads. The Republic was still an infant, the youngest in the world, and its problems were many and sore. Apart from Civil War and Central Luzon, the unemployment of which the President had spoken was clearly apparent on the streets of Manila and in the depressed condition of the people. A crime wave was sweeping the city. That very morning Bill Sanford told us that two jeeps belonging to the State Department had been stolen from a parking lot. Filipino veterans were charging that they had been badly let down by Washington on a matter of veterans' rights. The morale of American troops was the subject of deep concern. Relations between them and the Filipinos having suffered to the extent that General MacArthur soon afterward issued a statement pointing to what he called the irresponsibilities of a few American soldiers and the nationalistic feeling of the Filipinos. General Carlos Romulo, Philippine delegate to the United Nations, said publicly that he was grieved to observe the extent to which Filipino-American relations have deteriorated. As I went about querying people at random, I found that some Filipinos had misgivings about independence and blamed it for rather the growing unemployment. In the suburb of Pase, I questioned waitress about it. Are you happy about independence? Yes, I am happy, but not very much. Why? Because some people are unemployed. You think that's because the country is now independent? Maybe. I see. What do you think about the government? A little bit alright, but not very much. A chauffeur standing nearby was in agreement with the waitress. Why do you think there is so much unemployment today? Because of the independence. Do you think, then, that independence wasn't such a good idea? I don't like independence because some of the people here, how would the Filipinos here, don't like independence, especially I? I see. And you think there's a direct connection between independence and your unemployment? I think so, sir. The young student explained the connection. You may have trouble making out the phrase sovereignty over the islands. Right after the independence, because when America took away the sovereignty over the islands, most of the people who were employed by the United States Army were thrown out of war. But we are maintaining quite a number of military installations here. I know, but they employ only part of what they used to do. I found that English came hard to most of the average Filipinos whom we met, and in the answer of a laundry man to a question about the world situation, you get a sense of this sometimes painful groping for expression. This situation in the world is still unstable. What do you think is making it unstable? Well, there are still nations that used to... they want to get more power by themselves, see? This man was staunchly pro-American and pro-Rohas. When I asked what he would recommend as a means of stabilizing the world, he answered... I would uphold the democratic principle of government. As a matter of fact, I have adopted the American life. Other than that, I could not accept anything else. You are satisfied with the Rohas administration? I'm satisfied. That burst of music you heard in the last pause there was coming from a radio across the street from this man's laundry shop. The radio stations of the city, there were four of them, followed the American pattern closely. Some of their daily programs were named Early Bird, Health Club, Shopping Guide, Philippine Homemakers Club, True Confessions with Aunt Patricia, and Bridge to Dreamland. I heard very little Spanish or Tagalog spoken except on occasional news broadcasts. The cultural life of the city seemed to be pretty much confined to radio, press, and films, and in this respect, it was little different from that of any medium-sized American city. The same movies were playing, the newspapers used American wire services, the dance bands played pop tunes current in New York. There was, however, great individuality in the press. Political criticism was as violent as in America, but it was sometimes more colorful. For example, in The Star Reporter, a columnist named Carlos Cisson was running a series of columns under the bold heading People of the Philippines versus Manuel Rojas for the Crime of Treason. The columns consisted of an imaginary trial in which the president submitted to cross-examination with satirically self-incriminating answers. Ambassador McNutt was the number two target of the anti-Rojas factions, and he was constantly figuring in political columns and editorials. We went to see Mr. McNutt at the American Embassy one day. The Ambassador is a big man, handsome, prematurely white-haired. He tilted back in his chair as he spoke, and he looked out through a window over a vista of ruins. I feel that democracy is firmly rooted in the Philippines. They honestly believe it. They are not merely giving lip-harmage or an idea, fundamentally democratic. I asked Mr. McNutt whether he thought unity could be achieved soon within the Philippines. Yes, there is nothing basic in the way of achievement of unity in the Philippines today. We see some manifestations of disorder, a disorder which has existed for many years, coming out of a feudal system of land-holding, growing out of an increase in population. Few people, he continued, realized that in central Luzon the population had quadrupled while the arable land had not increased. He said there was other land in the Philippines, that the government had a program for bringing about migration, and that this would solve at least part of the difficulty. I asked about Filipino goodwill toward America. There are certain obligations on us. Waitment of the Filipino veteran who fought that obligation given to our own veteran. Under the GI Bill of Rights, we took most of those rights away from them. Following our interview with Ambassador McNutt, we took our microphone around the city to meet more of the people and to ask them what they thought of the chances of peace. In most of the war-shattered cities we had visited, there was great weariness with war and a powerful reaction against the suggestion of another one at any time. But here, in this city which had been savagely attacked by a fascist power and cruelly treated under Japanese occupation, I found stray Filipinos thirsting for another war, not against their old enemies, but against a former ally. This housewife and mother, for example. I'm going to finish Russia right now There will be no long preparation on the part of the Russians. You're afraid of the Russians? Yeah, I'm afraid of the Russians. Why? Because it is big enough, it is a big nation to be afraid of. Russia is the atomic bomb right now. How do you know? Oh, it is in newspaper. What newspaper? Every newspaper. I haven't seen it in any newspaper. Every newspaper says that the Russian has discovered the secret of the atomic bomb. There were several views along that order and based on that level of information, one of the more moderate responses was from a young clerk. You think we're going to have another war? As for me, I believe so, but many years more to come. But he thought that the longer we go without war, the better the chances of avoiding one altogether. Once you can forestall a war, there is much probability that it would forestall forever. As in other countries, we were at no time attempting to poll opinion. But from those whom we did interview in Manila, I gathered that they were vaguely afraid of communism growing up inside their country. They seemed about evenly divided in their sympathies for the Hukbalahaps. They professed to be largely pro-American, but not that largely pro-Rohas. There were deviations from this, of course, such as the estimate of conditions in the Philippines made by Mrs. Benedict Orrell, wife of an American businessman. I think that for the first time I've seen what imperialism means and what fascism means as far as disturbing the day-to-day living of the people. We in the United States have it easy. When we attend a meeting at night, we don't attend it with a pistol. To protect ourselves, we don't have to be sharp-browned. The girls aren't afraid to go out in the evening and aren't afraid to return home on the street. But here it's different. When you leave your home, you don't know if you're returning to your home. And then there was Dr. Vincente Lava, a prominent scientist, degree of doctor of philosophy from Columbia University. We interviewed him at his home in the countryside. He was deeply disturbed about the state of both the Philippines and the world. Of the situation at home, he said. All I know is that certain things are done in the Philippines, or semi-fascist lines. They have apparently the backing or the support of the ambassador or the high commissioner. I asked what he meant by things being done along fascist lines. Lack of civil rights. People cannot meet. People are driven away from their homes. People are tortured. They are imprisoned without warrants of arrest. Many have been killed. He charged that the Hukbalahab fighting in Central Luzon was essentially due to the landholders and their agents with the help of government military police. He said the MPs had been raiding villages and destroying crops. There is nowhere out for the people to accept the fight and defend themselves. On the subject of peace and war, he said that he had prophesied the last war, even to the point of its being started in the Pacific by the Japanese, but that he did not believe there would be a third world war. I asked whether he thought it possible that we might achieve the one world of Wendell Wookiee's ideal within four or five generations. Four or five generations would mean around about 120 to 150 years, sir. I think we can have it. Do you think we're going to have to fight our way through some terrible wars before then? Not if the American people now take a very clear-cut stand on their foreign policy. Do you feel that America holds the key to world peace? Very definitely so. I asked whether he believed in the talk of a possible future war with Russia. No, I don't. I have enough confidence in the good sense of the American people as a whole, and I know that the American people do not want war. And with such a feeling, with such an attitude towards war, I do not believe we can have, in fact, war right now. And I do not believe that the Russian people would want to start a war of their own, unless they are attacked. We left the home of Dr. Lava and drove back toward the bay. Out over the South China Sea, the nightly thunderstorm was flickering. We drove through poor districts which were poor even before the shells hit them, along modern boulevards, past the shattered and gaping legislative and agriculture buildings, the fire-blackened post office, the crumbled Elks Club, past the monument of the Philippine hero José Rizal, who was executed by Spaniards 50 years ago for his patriotism, out in the bay, beyond view, was Corregidor, and just north of that, Bataan. The blood of many an American and Filipino had been given in these places in the name of the freedom and democracy of the islands. The war against a common enemy had been won. But the country was unhappy. It was divided. It was restless. There were bad feelings between the former allies, between liberators and liberated, between father and son. Who was responsible for it and what to do about it were questions that I certainly was in no position to answer with any authority. All I knew was that from the standpoint of a traveler looking for signs of unity and peace, these were pits and roadblocks in the way of one world. Unlike other countries we had visited, the Philippines was an entirely American problem. We had built the country, raised it as a commonwealth in our image, had fought alongside its people, and had given it independence. Both sides of Philippine politics agree that independence did not mean the end of American economic and military interest in the islands. Hence, the question that seemed to me as yet unanswered and worth watching was whether the presence of our culture, our men, and our money can create a condition of unity and tranquility. Whether in the exertion of our influence and power in an independent state we can build or help to build upon the best traditions of American democracy, traditions upon which we, as a young and small republic, were established. I've been listening to Norman Corwin, first winner of the Wendell Wilkie One World Flight Award, in the tenth of a series of broadcasts based on his recent 37,000 mile global tour. All recorded voices heard on this broadcast were transcribed in the Philippine Republic. Next week at the same time, One World Flight visits Australia. Tonight's musical score was composed and directed by Alexander Semmler. Guy Dela Chopper was associate director. This is CBS The Columbia Broadcasting System.