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Theodore Roosevelt; An Intimate Biography
Chapter XXVII - Neutrality
by Thayer, William Roscoe
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While President Wilson was giving his whole thought and effort to the
solution of exacting domestic tasks, the European war broke upon him and
thus turned his attention and study to the age-long and complicated
political struggle between Germany, France, and England.
Fully conscious from the very beginning of the difficulties that lay in
his path, he was aware of the eventualities the war now beginning might
lead to. As a profound student of history he saw with a clear vision the
necessity of neutrality and of America remaining disentangled in every way
from the embroilments of Europe. To the people of the country it at first
appeared that the war was one more in a long series of European quarrels
and that we must play our part in the great conflict as mere spectators
and strictly adhere to the American policy of traditional aloofness and
isolation, which had been our immemorial custom and habit. Although we
were bound to maintain a policy of isolation, Woodrow Wilson from the
beginning foresaw its futility, and afterward gave expression to this
conviction in a campaign speech in 1916, when he said:
This is the last war [meaning the World War] of its kind or of any
kind that involves the world that the United States can keep out of. I
say that because I believe that the business of neutrality is over;
not because I want it to be over, but I mean this, that war now has
such a scale that the position of neutrals sooner or later becomes
intolerable.
He knew how difficult it would be to keep a people so variously
constituted strictly neutral. No sooner was his proclamation of neutrality
announced than the differences in points of view in racial stocks began to
manifest themselves in language both intemperate and passionate, until his
advice to his country "to be neutral in fact as well as in name" became a
dead and spiritless thing.
I have often been asked if the policy of neutrality which the President
announced, and which brought a fire of criticism upon him, represented his
own personal feelings toward the European war, and whether if he had been
a private citizen, he would have derided it as now his critics were
engaged in doing.
As an intimate associate of Woodrow Wilson during the whole of the
European war, and witnessing from day to day the play of his feelings,
especially after the violation of the neutrality of Belgium, I am certain
that had he been free to do so he would have yielded to the impulse of
championing a cause that in his heart of hearts he felt involved the
civilization of the world. But it was his devotion to the idea of
trusteeship that held him in check, and the consciousness that in carrying
out that trusteeship he had no right to permit his own passionate feelings
to govern his public acts.
It would have been a dramatic adventure to accept Germany's assault on
Belgium as a challenge to the humane interest of America, but the
acceptance would have been only a gesture, for we were unable to transport
armies to the theatre of war in time to check the outrage. Such action
would have pleased some people in the East, but the President knew that
this quixotic knight errantry would not appeal to the country at large,
particularly the West, still strongly grounded in the Washingtonian
tradition of non-interference in European quarrels.
Colonel Roosevelt himself, who subsequently attacked so strongly the
"pusillanimity" of the Administration's course, said on September 23,
1914:
A deputation of Belgians has arrived in this country to invoke our
assistance in the time of their dreadful need. What action our
government can or will take I know not. It has been announced that no
action can be taken that will interfere with our entire neutrality. It
is certainly eminently desirable that we should remain entirely
neutral and nothing but urgent need would warrant breaking our
neutrality and taking sides one way or the other.
It was not the policy of a weakling or a timid man. It was the policy of a
prudent leader and statesman, who was feeling his way amid dangers and who
as an historian himself knew the difficulties of an imprudent or
incautious move.
I recall the day he prepared his neutrality proclamation. At the end of
one of the most strenuous days of his life in Washington, he left the
Executive offices where he was engaged in meeting and conferring with
senators and congressmen, and I found him comfortably seated under an elm
tree, serenely engaged with pad and pencil in preparing his neutrality
proclamation, which was soon to loose a fierce storm of opposition and
ridicule upon him. He and I had often discussed the war and its effect
upon our own country, and one day in August, 1914, just after the Great
War had begun, he said to me: "We are going through deep waters in the
days to come. The passions now lying dormant will soon be aroused and my
motives and purposes at every turn will soon be challenged until there
will be left but few friends to justify my course. It does not seem clear
now, but as this war grows in intensity it will soon resolve itself into a
war between autocracy and democracy. Various racial groups in America will
seek to lead us now one way and then another. We must sit steady in the
boat and bow our heads to meet the storm."
Bound as he was by the responsibilities of trusteeship to adhere to a
policy of neutrality, personally he saw that the inevitable results would
be only bitter disappointment. "We cannot remain isolated in this war," he
said, "for soon the contagion of it will spread until it reaches our own
shores. On the one side Mr. Bryan will censure the Administration for
being too militaristic, and on the other we will find Mr. Roosevelt
criticizing us because we are too pacifist in our tendencies."
Dr. William E. Dodd, in his book "Woodrow Wilson and His Work," has sensed
the complicated situation in which the President found himself: "The
British blockade, becoming more effective every day, barred the way of
American goods to Germany and even neutral countries. Hoke Smith and a
score of southern senators and representatives urged him to protest
against the blockade. Representatives of the packers of Chicago and the
farmers of the Northwest urged him to open the way to hungry markets for
their goods. He made his fight during the autumn of 1914 and 1915 against
all the more drastic phases of the British blockade, against British
interference with our cargoes for neutral ports." Every artificial device
for increasing our trade with neutral countries was suggested by those who
sought his aid and counsel in the matter. Cotton of all the commodities
was the hardest hit. When a friend from Georgia urged action by the
President to help in the matter of cotton, the President tried to impress
upon him that, with the World War in progress, the law of supply and
demand was deeply affected and that the sales of cotton were necessarily
restricted by reason of the closure of certain markets to our goods. This
friend, in urging his views upon the President, said: "But you, Mr.
President, can suspend the law of supply and demand." The President
responded fey saying: "If I did, Judge, and you ran your head up against
it, you might get hurt."
Every sympathizer with Germany pursued the President relentlessly with
insistent demand that England should be brought to book for the
unreasonable character of the blockade which she was carrying on against
our commerce on the high seas. The President in every diplomatic way
possible pressed America's claims against England, but these demands did
not satisfy the German sympathizers throughout the country who covertly
sought to bring about a real breach between the two countries. Even I felt
that we should go further in our demands upon England than the President
seemed willing to go.
The pressure upon us at the White House for satisfaction at the hands of
England grew more intense with each day. I recall a conversation I had
with the President shortly before the Congressional elections when the
President's political enemies were decrying his kind treatment of England
and excoriating him for the stern manner in which he was holding Germany
to strict accountability for her actions. This conversation was held while
we were on board the President's train on our way to the West. After
dinner one evening I tactfully broached the subject of the British
blockade and laid before the President the use our enemies were making of
his patient action toward England. My frank criticism deeply aroused him.
Replying to me he pitilessly attacked those who were criticizing him for
"letting up on Great Britain." Looking across the table at me he said: "I
am aware of the demands that are daily being made upon me by my friends
for more vigorous action against England in the matter of the blockade; I
am aware also of the sinister political purpose that lies back of many of
these demands. Many senators and congressmen who urge radical action
against England are thinking only of German votes in their districts and
are not thinking of the world crisis that would inevitably occur should
there be an actual breach at this time between England and America over
the blockade." Then looking squarely at me, he said: "I have gone to the
very limit in pressing our claims upon England and in urging the British
Foreign Office to modify the blockade. Walter Page, our Ambassador to
England, has placed every emphasis upon our insistence that something be
done, and something will be done, but England, now in the throes of a
great war crisis, must at least be given a chance to adjust these matters.
Only a few days ago Mr. Page wrote me a most interesting letter,
describing the details of a conference he had had with Sir Edward Grey,
the British Foreign Secretary, to discuss our protests against the British
blockade. Mr. Page described the room in which the conference was held, on
the wall of which was hung as a memorial the fifteen-million-dollar check
with which Great Britain paid the Alabama claims in the Civil War. Mr.
Page pointed to this Alabama check and said: 'If you don't stop these
seizures, Sir Edward, some day you will have your entire room papered with
things like that.' Sir Edward replied: 'That may be so, but we will pay
every cent. Of course, many of the restrictions we have laid down and
which seriously interfere with your trade are unreasonable. But America
must remember that we are fighting her fight, as well as our own, to save
the civilization of the world. You dare not press us too far!'" Turning to
me, the President said: "He was right. England is fighting our fight and
you may well understand that I shall not, in the present state of the
world's affairs, place obstacles in her way. Many of our critics suggest
war with England in order to force reparation in these matters. War with
England would result in a German triumph. No matter what may happen to me
personally in the next election, I will not take any action to embarrass
England when she is fighting for her life and the life of the world. Let
those who clamour for radical action against England understand this!"
While the critics of the President were busily engaged in embarrassing and
"hazing" him at every point and insisting upon a "show-down" with Great
Britain over the blockade, the world was startled on May 7, 1915, by the
news of the sinking of the Lusitania, off the coast of Ireland,
resulting in the loss of many American lives. A few days later came the
news that the German people were rejoicing at the fine stroke of the
submarine commander in consummating this horrible tragedy.
The President's critics who, a few days before, were assailing him for his
supposed surrender to England, were now demanding an immediate declaration
of war against Germany, but not for a moment did the President waver
before these clamorous demands. To such an extent did he carry this
attitude of calmness and steadiness of purpose that on "the outside" the
people felt that there was in him a heartlessness and an indifference to
the deep tragedy of the Lusitania. At my first meeting with him I tried
to call to his attention many of the tragic details of the sinking of the
great ship in an effort to force his hands, so to speak, but he quickly
checked what appeared to be my youthful impetuosity and said: "Tumulty, it
would be much wiser for us not to dwell too much upon these matters." When
he uttered this admonition there was no suggestion of coldness about him.
In fact, he seemed to be deeply moved as I adverted to some of the facts
surrounding this regrettable and tragic affair. At times tears stood in
his eyes, and turning to me he said: "If I pondered over those tragic
items that daily appear in the newspapers about the Lusitania, I should
see red in everything, and I am afraid that when I am called upon to act
with reference to this situation I could not be just to any one. I dare
not act unjustly and cannot indulge my own passionate feelings."
Evidently he saw that his turning away from the topic in this apparently
indifferent way did not sit well with me. Quickly he understood my
dissatisfaction and said: "I suppose you think I am cold and indifferent
and little less than human, but, my dear fellow, you are mistaken, for I
have spent many sleepless hours thinking about this tragedy. It has hung
over me like a terrible nightmare. In God's name, how could any nation
calling itself civilized purpose so horrible a thing?"
At the time we were discussing this grave matter we were seated in the
President's study in the White House. I had never seen him more serious or
careworn. I was aware that he was suffering under the criticism that had
been heaped upon him for his apparent inaction in the matter of the
Lusitania. Turning to me he said: "Let me try to make my attitude in
this matter plain to you, so that you at least will try to understand what
lies in my thoughts. I am bound to consider in the most careful and
cautious way the first step I shall take, because once having taken it I
cannot withdraw from it. I am bound to consider beforehand all the facts
and circumstances surrounding the sinking of the Lusitania and to
calculate the effect upon the country of every incautious or unwise move.
I am keenly aware that the feeling of the country is now at fever heat and
that it is ready to move with me in any direction I shall suggest, but I
am bound to weigh carefully the effect of radical action now based upon
the present emotionalism of the people. I am not sure whether the present
emotionalism of the country would last long enough to sustain any action I
would suggest to Congress, and thus in case of failure we should be left
without that fine backing and support so necessary to maintain a great
cause. I could go to Congress to-morrow and advocate war with Germany and
I feel certain that Congress would support me, but what would the country
say when war was declared, and finally came, and we were witnessing all of
its horrors and bloody aftermath. As the people pored over the casualty
lists, would they not say: 'Why did Wilson move so fast in this matter?
Why didn't he try peaceably to settle this question with Germany? Why
could he not have waited a little longer? Why was he so anxious to go to
war with Germany, yet at the same time why was he so tender of the
feelings of Great Britain in the matter of the blockade?' Were I to advise
radical action now, we should have nothing, I am afraid, but regrets and
heartbreaks. The vastness of this country; its variegated elements; the
conflicting cross-currents of national feelings bid us wait and withhold
ourselves from hasty or precipitate action. When we move against Germany
we must be certain that the whole country not only moves with us but is
willing to go forward to the end with enthusiasm. I know that we shall be
condemned for waiting, but in the last analysis I am the trustee of this
nation, and the cost of it all must be considered in the reckoning before
we go forward."
Then leaning closer to me, he said: "It will not do for me to act as if I
had been hurried into precipitate action against Germany. I must answer
for the consequences of my action. What is the picture that lies before
me? All the great nations of Europe at war, engaged in a death grapple
that may involve civilization. My earnest hope and fervent prayer has been
that America could withhold herself and remain out of this terrible mess
and steer clear of European embroilments, and at the right time offer
herself as the only mediating influence to bring about peace. We are the
only great nation now free to do this. If we should go in, then the whole
civilized world will become involved. What a pretty mess it would be!
America, the only nation disconnected from this thing and now she is
surrendering the leadership she occupies and becomes involved as other
nations have. Think of the tragedy! I am not afraid to go to war. No man
fit to be President of this nation, knowing the way its people would
respond to any demand that might be made upon them, need have fears or
doubts as to what stand it would finally take. But what I fear more than
anything else is the possibility of world bankruptcy that will inevitably
follow our getting into this thing, Not only world chaos and bankruptcy,
but all of the distempers, social, moral, and industrial, that will flow
from this world cataclysm. No sane man, therefore, who knows the dangerous
elements that are abroad in the world would, without feeling out every
move, seek to lead his people without counting the cost and
dispassionately deliberating upon every move."
In a speech delivered at Helena, Montana, he frankly spoke of the "break
down" of neutrality in these words:
In the Providence of God, the leadership of this nation was intrusted
to me during those early years of the war when we were not in it. I
was aware through many subtle channels of the movements of opinion in
this country, and I know that the thing that this country chiefly
desired, the thing that you men out here in the West chiefly desired
and the thing that of course every loving woman had at her heart, was
that we should keep out of the war, and we tried to persuade ourselves
that the European business was not our business. We tried to convince
ourselves that no matter what happened on the other side of the sea,
no obligation of duty rested upon us, and finally we found the
currents of humanity too strong for us. We found that a great
consciousness was welling up in us that this was not a local cause,
that this was not a struggle which was to be confined to Europe, or
confined to Asia, to which it had spread, but that it was something
that involved the very fate of civilization; and there was one great
nation in the world that could not afford to stay out of it. There are
gentlemen opposing the ratification of this treaty who at that time
taunted the Administration of the United States that it had lost touch
with its international conscience. They were eager to go in, and now
that they have got in, and are caught in the whole network of human
conscience, they want to break out and stay out. We were caught in
this thing by the action of a nation utterly unlike ourselves. What I
mean to say is that the German nation, the German people, had no
choice whatever as to whether it was to go into that war or not, did
not know that it was going into it until its men were summoned to the
colours. I remember, not once, but often, that while sitting at the
Cabinet table in Washington I asked my colleagues what their
impression was of the opinion of the country before we went into the
war, and I remember one day one of my colleagues said to me: "Mr.
President, I think the people of the country would take your advice
and do what you suggested." "Why," I said, "that is not what I am
waiting for; that is not enough. If they cannot go in with a whoop
there is no use of their going in at all. I do not want them to wait
on me. I am waiting on them. I want to know what the conscience of
this country is speaking. I want to know what purpose is arising in
the minds of the people of this country with regard to this world
situation." When I thought I heard that voice, it was then that I
proposed to the Congress of the United States that we should include
ourselves in the challenge that Germany was giving to mankind.
On May 10, 1915, he made a speech in Philadelphia, which contained the
regrettable and much-criticized phrase, "Too proud to fight."
Unfortunately, the headlines of the papers carried only the phrase, "Too
proud to fight," and little or no attention was paid to the context of the
speech in which the phrase was lodged. As a matter of fact, there was
nothing unusual about the character of this speech. The phrase, "Too proud
to fight," was simply expressive of the President's policy since the
outbreak of the war. It was not a new thought with him. Some weeks before
he had said the same thing, only in different words, in a speech delivered
at a banquet of the Associated Press in New York: "My interest in the
neutrality of the United States is not a petty desire to keep out of
trouble. I am interested in neutrality because there is something so much
greater to do than fight. There is a distinction awaiting this nation that
no nation has ever yet got. That is the distinction of absolute self-
control and mastery." The phrase, "Too proud to fight," was simply
expressive of the idea that was close to his heart: a reliance upon means
of settling our difficulties with Germany other than a resort to war. On
our way to Philadelphia on the day of the delivery of this speech I read a
copy of it which the President handed to me, and when I ran across the
phrase, "Too proud to fight," I scented the political danger in it and
warned him, but he declined to be admonished because he was confident in
the moral strength of his position, namely, that self-mastery is sometimes
more heroic than fighting, or as the Bible states it, "He that ruleth his
own spirit is greater than he that taketh a city," and trusted the people
to understand his full meaning. The President himself was so above the
petty tricks by which politicians wrest words from their context and force
upon them unfavourable meaning that he sometimes incautiously played into
the hands of this type of foe. Nor did he fully realize that his gift for
making striking and quotable phrases added to the danger. It was an
unfortunate phrase, "Too proud to fight," but none who thoughtfully read
the context with unprejudiced mind could fail to see the moral grandeur of
the President's position.
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