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current that has whirled the young airman up into brown stuff to imitate the hues of autumn leaves
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the sky and keeps him circling there among the guns are concealed. Now they all fire at once. On
clouds. Down here, with a roof to cover us and a the nine o’clock radio we shall be told “Forty-four
gas-mask handy, it is our business to puncture enemy planes were shot down during the night,
gas-bags and discover seeds of truth. It is not true ten of them by anti-aircraft fire.” And one of the
that we are free. We are both prisoners terms of peace, the loudspeakers say, is to be
tonight — he boxed up in his machine with a gun disarmament. There are to be no more guns, no
handy; we lying in the dark with a gas-mask army, no navy, no air force in the future. No more
Changing the World
handy. If we were free we should be out in the young men will be trained to fight with arms. That
open, dancing, at the play, or sitting at the window rouses another mind-hornet in the chambers of
talking together. What is it that prevents us? the brain — another quotation. “To fight against a
“Hitler!” the loudspeakers cry with one voice. Who real enemy, to earn undying honour and glory by
is Hitler? What is he? Aggressiveness, tyranny, the shooting total strangers, and to come home with
insane love of power made manifest, they reply. my breast covered with medals and decorations,
Destroy that, and you will be free. that was the summit of my hope. . . .. It was for this
The drone of the planes is now like the 5 that my whole life so far had been dedicated, my
sawing of a branch overhead. Round and round education, training, everything. . . .”
it goes, sawing and sawing at a branch directly Those were the words of a young Englishman
above the house. Another sound begins sawing who fought in the last war. In the face of them, do
its way in the brain. “Women of ability” — it was the current thinkers honestly believe that by
1
Lady Astor speaking in The Times this writing “Disarmament” on a sheet of paper at a
morning — “are held down because of a conference table they will have done all that is
subconscious Hitlerism in the hearts of men.” needful? Othello’s occupation will be gone; but he
2
Certainly we are held down. We are equally will remain Othello . The young airman up in the
prisoners tonight — the Englishmen in their sky is driven not only by the voices of
planes, the Englishwomen in their beds. But if loudspeakers; he is driven by voices in
he stops to think he may be killed; and we too. himself — ancient instincts, instincts fostered and
So let us think for him. Let us try to drag up into cherished by education and tradition. Is he to be
consciousness the subconscious Hitlerism that blamed for those instincts? Could we switch off
holds us down. It is the desire for aggression; the the maternal instinct at the command of a table
desire to dominate and enslave. Even in the full of politicians? Suppose that imperative among
darkness we can see that made visible. We can the peace terms was: “Child-bearing is to be
see shop windows blazing; and women gazing; restricted to a very small class of specially selected
painted women; dressed-up women; women women,” would we submit? Should we not say,
with crimson lips and crimson fingernails. They “The maternal instinct is a woman’s glory. It was
are slaves who are trying to enslave. If we could for this that my whole life has been dedicated, my
free ourselves from slavery we should free men education, training, everything. . . .” But if it were
from tyranny. Hitlers are bred by slaves. necessary, for the sake of humanity, for the peace
A bomb drops. All the windows rattle. The of the world, that child-bearing should be
anti-aircraft guns are getting active. Up there on restricted, the maternal instinct subdued; women
the hill under a net tagged with strips of green and would attempt it. Men would help them. They

1 Nancy Witcher Astor (1879–1964), Viscountess Astor, first woman 2 Venetian general, title character in Othello by William
to serve in the British House of Commons. — Eds. Shakespeare. — Eds.
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