Nation: SURVIVAL AT THE STOCKYARDS

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SCHISM, bitterness, demands for violent solution, disenchantment with the way things are, fear of what may be—these are the forces, some would say the demons, that are loose in the U.S. in 1968. The demons accompanied the Democrats to Chicago. A deeply divided party met amid paroxysms of violence in the city and obsessive security measures that surrounded a major function of U.S. democracy with the air of a police state. A bitter but rational argument about the Vietnamese war was traumatically translated into street battles between protesters and police. Nominees and other speakers spent valuable time condemning or justifying the conduct of Mayor Richard Daley's heavy-handed cops.

The images of Chicago will haunt the Democrats during the campaign. Even if they can hang together through November (they did, after all, avoid a major walkout of factions, as happened in 1948), large groups within the party remain deeply and ideologically, disaffected. Facing a confident and smoothly organized G.O.P., the Democrats must shoulder the voters' discontent with the incumbents.

Welcome Reforms. Despite the obviously gloomy prospect, the outcome at the stockyards was not totally grim for the Democrats. Hubert Humphrey, desperately appealing for party unity, made what on the whole must be considered an excellent acceptance speech, and his selection of Maine Senator Edmund Muskie was generally well received. The convention may have picked a candidate opposed by a big segment of the party and backed by an alliance of old-line political bosses, but there is little doubt that the choice represented a majority view among Democrats. It is regrettable, perhaps, that the American political system did not cast up two more modern and exciting candidates than Hubert Humphrey and Richard Nixon. But the decision in Chicago, as in Miami Beach, does in a rough sort of way reflect the popular mood. Despite the deep disillusionment of many Americans with the Old Politics, the majority seems to have no strong appetite for radical solutions.

In a larger sense, the Chicago production showed a remarkable degree of vitality in the party—and in the political machinery on display. The symbols of ward politics waved like Bourbon banners against a tide of reform, but the party did stage a convention that was more open and more deliberative than any in memory. The passionless play put on by the Republicans in Miami Beach, by comparison, was a mere ratification process. Admittedly, the presidential nomination was never in serious question last week. But the party did engage in a candid, spirited debate on the Viet Nam question, and 40% of the votes went for the relatively soft plank recommended by a minority of the Platform Committee: even some pro-Humphrey delegates voted against the Administration on this issue.

Moreover, the convention produced some welcome reforms. The venerable unit rule, often used to smother dissent in party affairs, was summarily scrapped. A standing measure to encourage minority representation at future conventions was strengthened. Rebels challenging the regular delegations from Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi got full or partial satisfaction. Said one disgruntled Georgian: "The white conservative vote in the South is not wanted by the present party leaders."