In Lillian Hellman’s memoir entitled Scoundrel Time, the renowned playwright addresses the subject of the House Committee on Un-American Activities and its investigations into alleged Communist infiltration of the entertainment industry in the 1940s and 50s from the perspective of her own personal experience as a subpoenaed witness. Hellman opens with a brief summation of the anti-Communist hysteria of the period – which began in earnest after the end of World War II with increasing tensions between the U.S. and the U.S.S.R., and gained momentum with the rise of publicity-seeking, red-baiting Wisconsin Senator Joseph McCarthy – as well as the progressive movement and her involvement in it, including some of the events that likely contributed to the Committee’s interest in her. She relates having attended a couple of Communist Party meetings with her long-term partner, mystery writer Dashiell Hammett (who actually became a member), as well as her involvement in various progressive causes from loyalist support in the Spanish Civil War to the civil rights movement. In 1952, shortly after the Committee (usually referred by the acronym HUAC) begins their show business hearings, Hellman is visited in her New York City townhouse by a process server with an order to appear before them to give testimony regarding her affiliations with the Party and its members. Following a period of uncertainty, not only about what she will or will not say in court, but regarding her continuing ability to make a living as a writer at a time when blacklisting is commonplace, Hellman posts a letter to the chairman of the Committee two days before she is scheduled to appear. In it, she states flatly that she is willing to answer any questions about herself but will say nothing about others. The hearing itself, after a nail-biting buildup, turns out to be anticlimactic as she is dismissed after little more than an hour for no apparent reason, although her attorney suggests that the Committee made a legal error by reading her letter into the record. Hellman closes by illustrating how, though she was not prosecuted, the event impacted her career and finances, forcing her to sell her beloved farm and making employment difficult to find for the next several years.
Lillian Hellman describes her perceptions of and interaction with HUAC in terms which may be characterized as direct and to the point. The Committee itself is dismissed as nothing more than the latest in a long, historical line of “cheap baddies who, upon hearing a few bars of popular notes, made them into an opera of public disorder, staged and sung, as much of the congressional testimony shows, in the wards of an insane asylum.” The actual Communists she has known impress her as people who want to make the world a better place, although “many of them were silly . . . and a few of them were genuine nuts,” adding quickly that “that doesn't make for denunciation or furnish enough reason for turning them over for punishment to men who wanted nothing more than newspaper headlines that could help their own careers.” She asserts her disinclination to write about her own “historical conclusions” in telling her story, but goes on to enunciate her overriding take on the whole HUAC experience and the aspect of it that affected her most profoundly in witnessing the many instances of fellow artists who, when faced with “the loss of a swimming pool, a tennis court, a picture collection, future deprivation,” caved in to the red-hunters: that, when forced into a corner by circumstances, intellectuals and progressives are no more likely than anyone else to “do the right thing” if it means having to sacrifice their livelihood. “Simply, then and now,” she says, “I feel betrayed by the nonsense I had believed. I had no right to think that American intellectuals were people who would fight for anything if doing so would injure them; they have very little history that would lead to that conclusion.” The realization exacts a heavy toll for Hellman as she loses faith in liberalism, concluding that the people with whom she’d always identified and who she’d imagined to operate above the fray are just people, with the same fears and foibles as everyone else.
Hellman’s greatest eloquence in Scoundrel Time may be seen in the reproduction of her letter to HUAC, the one which may have resulted in her exoneration and in which she expresses her abhorrence regarding what the Committee might expect from her, reading in part:
"But I am advised by counsel that if I answer the Committee’s questions about myself, I must also answer questions about other people and that if I refuse to do so, I can be cited for contempt. My counsel tells me that if I answer questions about myself, I will have waived my rights under the Fifth Amendment and could be forced legally to answer questions about others. This is very difficult for a layman to understand. But there is one principal that I do understand: I am not willing, now or in the future, to bring bad trouble to people who, in my past association with them, were completely innocent of any talk or any action that was disloyal or subversive. I do not like subversion or disloyalty in any form and if I had every seen any I would have considered it my duty to have reported it to the proper authorities. But to hurt innocent people whom I knew many years ago in order to save myself is, to me, inhuman and indecent and dishonorable. I cannot and will not cut my conscience to fit this year’s fashions…"
Although Hellman’s primary goal in writing Scoundrel Time appears to have been the deflation of the myth of liberal superiority, to which she once subscribed, this letter stands as a testament to the potential for heroism that transcends the circumstances of the particular moment in history in which one happens to find one’s self – and even of one’s own personal history and prior beliefs. It emphasizes the underlying nobility of man and the importance of his retrieving it from within himself when it becomes incumbent upon him to do so.
Scoundrel Time is an important work that reflects the nation’s experience of McCarthyism, the anti-Communist “witch hunts” of the 1950s, even though it is quite uncomplicated in its approach and viewed from such an individual perspective. Lillian Hellman does not speak for everyone in her story, but only for herself, as a witness to the time, and in doing so provides a very human angle on a period fraught with weighty historical significance, and an extremely inspirational perspective on a dark and disheartening era in American history. While some have questioned the veracity of Hellman’s approach to autobiography, including novelist Mary McCarthy, who famously said of Hellman when interviewed on television in 1980 that “every word she writes is a lie, including ‘and’ and ‘the’,” it may be observed that the greatest and most compelling truth in Hellman’s narrative lies not in adherence to precise historical detail, but in the spirit of what she has to relate to the reader.