The comic opera of Edward Holton James and his Red Shirts is moving creakily into the third act. Mr. James has been playing Hitler for three months, and he has sung the second act finale with all the finesse of one who has read deep in "Mein Kampf", which Mr. James has told his supporters is "the greatest human document ever written." But Mr. James's singing is flat, his song trite, and his supporting cast a handful of hams.

The first act began last September, when James' organization began its Sunday afternoon "discussion groups". The Yankee-American Action quickly evolved upon a sickeningly fascist pattern. Attracting members with the homespun slogan of "Yankee traditions", the YAA was soon busy disseminating thinly disguised anti-Catholic propaganda. Once they were in, Mr. James gave them arm bands, had them buy red shirts, and revealed to them the deeper aim of the organization: founding a totalitarian, one-party state in which Catholics would have no part. Pamphlets were publicly distributed, for example, in which James railed against "this Mick pestilence" and said, "Rome, the Italian International, must pack up its baggage and go." But privately, James went even farther; at a recent meeting he told Lyford that when his Yankee totalitarianism is established, "there won't be any Catholics". In his platform, James left an absurdly obvious loophole: "Freedom for religious worship is guaranteed for all groups." The doubtful logic of this statement he now supports by stressing that he is opposed only to certain vicious practices of Catholics, and not to their religion as a whole. Yet actually he went on, identifying a part with the whole, playing upon prejudices, and building an organization to smash all Catholics.

The second act opened three days ago, when the true aims of "YANKEE American Action" were exposed.

Mr. James retired into the wings to put the finishing touches on the aria which he sang to the United Press last night. "We are a very small group of people who are not anti-Catholic," James protests, adding that he opposes only "political priestcraft". Hitler and Coughlin have used the same trick: "We don't hate all Jews, only scheming, Communist Jews." Again, James admits, "We do wear red shirts as a picturesque touch." Picturesque fellow Hitler.

"We're not bloodthirsty, but good, true Americans, who believe in freedom of all races, colors, and creeds, but want to see changes in the social, political, and economic life of the country." Freedom for all: but not for Catholics; not bloodthirsty, yet he admits that "it may take a revolution, peaceful or otherwise, to bring this about."

The third act is yet to be played. Mr. James says that he would welcome an investigation by the Dies Committee. Naturally. It would elevate his two-bit outfit into national significance, and give James a sounding-board for his fuzzy ideas. And the Dies Committee may not be at all averse to the idea of exploiting the publicity angles of a fascist movement with a Harvard backdrop. To prove impartiality, the Committee would point with pride to the fact that they had "exposed" another rightist group, as evidence of its impartiality. But they would have set up a straw man and knocked him down; while powerful and significant reactionary forces--for example, Father Coughlin's group and the National Association of Manufacturers--are left alone.

Gracting that Mr. James is a clown and comparatively harmless himself, nevertheless he provides a dramatic lesson in the basic techniques of modern dictatorship, and a reminder of the economic sickness of American democracy. It can happen here. Social inequality, economic insecurity--these are the breeding ground of bigger Hitlers than Mr. James. Saddest commentary of all is the perfectly evident fact that one of Mr. Dies' customary floor shows would only serve to inflate such a penny-ante movement as "Yankee-American Action" to grotesque proportions. The body politic, racked with internal disorder, requires as never before a scientific, dispassionate diagnosis; instead we get the tom-toms and dreadful incantations of the political medicine men. All right, it's great to be an American. Then what?