Welsh Journals

WALES-ITS POLITICS AND NO POLITICS. By D. J. Williams. WALES has never taken its politics seriously. The day it will do so will, be a sad day. For politics in the modem sense is a sorry business at best. Men have been usually moved to it by two causes, namely, when they have nothing else in particular to do, as with the leisured classes in England, or, as in the tragic case of Ireland, when they cannot very well do any other thing. Wales is an anomaly to both, having neither a leisured class which can capture her votes, nor a national ideal to captivate her heart. Hence the poverty of our political stock, and the com- parative meagreness of its record. For England and for Ireland, however, the professional and the amateur, the result has been equally sad,-a human blunder gathering momentum down the centuries, and not in- frequently, as at the late juncture, threatening destruc- tion to more than all concerned,-to an Empire. The under-dog, of course, would go under first, and the British mastiff might continue to snarl and sniff for some time longer. But its days would be numbered, and civilization would mark their number. Wales has so far, then, steered clear of the real whirlpool of politics, though having to its credit, or discredit, the tale of many a heated polling contest. The issues, as a rule, were extraneous to the vital interests of the nation itself, being largely manufactured beyond the borders for the diversion of the community during election campaigns. They only served to indicate how completely the Welsh nation had identi- fied its interests in all political affairs with those of the predominant partner. The question of Disestab- lishment, now, happily, already nearly forgotten, was the only question wherein the mass of the Welsh nation ever did interest itself full-heartedly. With the passing of Thomas Gee and Tom Ellis, and the gradual secession of the present Premier to grapple with matters of Empire, there passed away the last genuine interest of the Welsh people in their own politics as such. Politically, one might say of the Welsh genius, as was said of the good and faithful servant, Buost ffyddlawn ar ychydig." In the meantime Wales has by no means been idle. In fact, it has been more truly active, perhaps, than at any other period in its history. Its activities have only been changed. During this period two secret yet powerful forces have been at work leavening the soul of the nation-the one more particularly in the truly Welsh-speaking community in Wales, and the other in the mixed industrial areas. I allude to the spirit of Nationalism, with culture as its expression, and the spirit of Socialism or Nationalism and Internationalism as some would have them distinguished. Taking the two in order, it is but safe to say that in spite of the many criticisms, just and unjust, levelled against it these days, the Welsh University has had a great deal to do with the rise of a national ideal in Wales. This ideal, for some reason or other, has refrained from expressing itself politically, but in the last generation of all has concentrated its powers very effectively upon one particular phase of art, viz., poetry, with the result that any person competent to judge will admit that Welsh lyric poetry of to-day has reached a higher standard of excellence than at any other period since the days of Dafydd ab Gwilym in the fourteenth century, and does n)ore than hold its own with the current English school since the death of Swinburne. This is doubtless due to the fact that the Welsh peasant folk, through sacrifice and supplication, has willed its wjv to a tragwydd 01 heol," to a contact with the great literatures of the world, and feels the intoxicating effects very much, as the men of the early Renaissance in Europe were moved by the re-discovery of Greek models after the dispersion from Constantinople. Wales has travelled in the realms of gold and the wild surmise of Cortez has finally burst into a triumphant lyric song. The drama, also, with its scope for pas- sion and the spiritual imagination of the Celt, is be- ginning to claim real attention. But politically, Wales has so far been very silent. Llewelyn's voice, husky with the emotion of a flouted Cassandra, was drowned by the noise of the whirring chariots from Downing Street at the late Cardiganshire bye-election, and E. '1'. John's sterling integrity falls foul in the meshes of his own rhetorical periods. And still the nation, but gradually recovering from the moral giddiness of the great war, and not yet quite certain of itself, feels some vague want of a national lead. There is also a band of young men in South WaJes at the present time, men to be revered for their honesty and admired for their courage, who care but little for poetry or for any of the other arts associated, and even less for the aspirations of any one nation. what- ever aspect those may assume. These men are as suspicious of Nationalism as the Nationalists are of Imperialism. Their line of thinking is hard, fast, and Ipgical-a kind of spirit-level with the mercury de- parted. Everything in life is reducible to economic solutions. History must be read accordingly, or not read at all for all things outside and beyond are at best but some useless or romantic trappings, and, as such, encumbrances to human progress. Their opinions pn all things are shadowed by the gospel of Saint Marx to the extent of an obsession, as all honest and single-minded people are apt to be obsessed by some one idea which they regard as greater than themselves. The ablest among that class are daring and uncon- ventional in their criticisms. They serve no creed and obey no tradition. In view of the comparative failure of the churches to adjust themselves efficiently to the social tasks of the day, they regard Christianity as a mere hollow pretence to something good and fine, and nationalism either as the cry of the man with an axe to grind, or, worse still, of the madman, who should on no account be entrusted with any such weapon, all equally futile and helplless when applied to current life and its problems. I happen to have in my posses- sion a letter from an eminent member of this class wherein he hazards the following criticFsm of the Telyn y Dydd school of poetry :—" We are," says he, not yet big enough to produce big poetry, and there is not a great man among us, much less a great poet. We sing our little ditties and our adult nursery