Depoliticalization in Europe

As we stood in. the queue at London’s glittering new airlines terminal, we were surrounded by the lavish shops and display cases that nowadays tempt international air travelers with tax-free perfumes, silks, liquors, cameras and jewels. The multiple screens of a closed-circuit TV system alternated between flight announcements and ads for Rolls Royces, chocolates and holidays in the Mediterranean sunshine. A long bar nearby and an expensive glass-walled restaurant were crowded with customers. A few places ahead of me in the line I noticed two Chinese men of thirty or so. I felt certain they were junior representatives of some sort from Peking, perhaps involved in the negotiations currently in course in most European nations for more Sino-European trade. They wore overcoats of drab cloth cut with no attempt at style. Their shoes were ugly, their briefcases worn. Their faces were not the round, moonfaced Chinese stereotype, but handsome, lean and bone-showing, with tight skin. They looked proud, very intelligent and very hard; and in their eyes as they interrupted their soft talking to glance now and then at the scene around them there was, I could not help feeling, a cold contempt. Their eyes seemed tometobe saying: “So you soft people of the West are far enough gone to throw away your birthright for the sake of this trash!”

Doubtless it was all no more than a passing mood on my part. Probably the two Chinese were partners in a London laundry off to visit relatives in Paris. That contempt I thought I saw was quite likely envy or longing. But still, my momentary fancy was not altogether idle.

JB

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James Burnham

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As we stood in. the queue at London’s glittering new airlines terminal, we were surrounded by the lavish shops and display cases that nowadays tempt international air travelers with tax-free perfumes, silks, liquors, cameras and jewels. The multiple screens of a closed-circuit TV system alternated between flight announcements and ads for Rolls Royces, chocolates and holidays in the Mediterranean sunshine. A long bar nearby and an expensive glass-walled restaurant were crowded with customers. A few places ahead of me in the line I noticed two Chinese men of thirty or so. I felt certain they were junior representatives of some sort from Peking, perhaps involved in the negotiations currently in course in most European nations for more Sino-European trade. They wore overcoats of drab cloth cut with no attempt at style. Their shoes were ugly, their briefcases worn. Their faces were not the round, moonfaced Chinese stereotype, but handsome, lean and bone-showing, with tight skin. They looked proud, very intelligent and very hard; and in their eyes as they interrupted their soft talking to glance now and then at the scene around them there was, I could not help feeling, a cold contempt. Their eyes seemed tometobe saying: “So you soft people of the West are far enough gone to throw away your birthright for the sake of this trash!”

Doubtless it was all no more than a passing mood on my part. Probably the two Chinese were partners in a London laundry off to visit relatives in Paris. That contempt I thought I saw was quite likely envy or longing. But still, my momentary fancy was not altogether idle.