Balance on Resurrection City

Churning through the trash-strewn gumbo that had once been a manicured meadow, a federal bulldozer last week interred the last traces of Resurrection City. Its few remaining inhabitants scattered or imprisoned, the shantytown capital and symbol of the Poor People's Campaign had long since become an ugly, anarchic embarrassment to their cause.

The encampment's six-week tenure afforded ample time to pressure a patently willing Administration to do what it could to help the poor. The Department of Agriculture reacted by beefing up its food-stamp program by $20 million and pressuring 256 counties to distribute more surplus food to the poor. The U.S. welfare bureaucracy guardedly promised to hedge restrictive eligibility requirements, even though Congress would not have stood for their outright repeal. The omnibus housing bill moved closer to eventual passage. From all quarters, Government and business moved to provide more jobs.

The campaign could have demanded such conciliatory measures, then taken credit for them when they came. But it did not, scorning Bayard Rustin's earlier list of reasonable, attainable goals. Instead, the Southern Christian Leadership Council's inner circle running the campaign demanded drastic change in America's economic system, including blanket income guarantees to the poor. No such metamorphosis in the welfare system could occur without long, acrimonious debate. To the end, S.C.L.C. leaders refused to demand anything the Government could give under present circumstances. Instead, they snapped at any outstretched Administration hand. By week's end, they had tried to sue the Agriculture Department.

Back to the Indians. The campaign's aim of dramatizing the plight of the poor was defeated in part by the forbearance of the Government. When the Rev. Ralph Abernathy led his flock to trespass on Capitol Hill, Washington police arrested 261 of them almost gently. Another 124 were picked up in the dying shantytown, and their belongings were meticulously catalogued for later retrieval. Even the mules, finally arriving in their 13-wagon train from Mississippi, went to pasture donated by a Washingtonian. There was an abortive riot in the Washington ghetto. But the authorities--particularly Mayor Walter Washington--stuck to their restraint. Resurrection City's cost to Washington: $532,000, mostly for extra police.

Campaign leaders vow the movement will not die. Economic boycotts are planned for 40 cities in an effort to force merchants to help the poor. From his jail cell, Abernathy vowed to fast through his 20-day sentence and pledged that "Resurrection Cities will spring up all over the country." One did, briefly, in Olympia, Wash., on a corner of the state capitol grounds. "Resurrection City II" (three Indian tepees and four tents) and its counterparts may continue to prod the nation's conscience--and occasionally test its patience.

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