Unraveling Freedom: The Battle for Democracy on the Homefront During World War I. Ann Bausum

of other German-Americans were less fortunate. Almost overnight, the language they spoke by birth, the relatives they retained ties to from their past, the books they read, the schools they attended, even the food and drink they found most familiar and enjoyable, all became associated with the enemy: Germany.

      Immigrants and descendants from other places bore ties to competing nations, too, from Great Britain to France to Italy to Russia. U.S. residents who shared backgrounds and beliefs with these countries found themselves taking sides in the conflict at home even as President Woodrow Wilson tried to steer the United States away from joining the conflict abroad. Finally, on April 2, 1917, the President addressed Congress and made a dramatic appeal for the nation to enter the fight. In words that continue to be quoted for their eloquence and passion, Wilson asserted that “the world must be made safe for democracy.”

      Yet, in one of the greatest ironies of 20th century U.S. history, the President so committed to securing democracy and freedom abroad failed to prevent the unraveling of freedom in his own country. Even as millions of Americans put on military uniforms and as the nation expended billions of dollars to fund the fight, freedom came under siege in the United States.

      Dogs in the fight. Even though the United States remained neutral after fighting broke out in Europe in 1914, Americans followed the conflict between the continent’s leading nations with concern. Dogs became symbols for competing countries, with dachshunds representing Germany. The American bull terrier personified a confident and fearless stand by the United States.

      New laws tested the rights of individuals to question and criticize the government. Leaders who spoke from the edges of the political spectrum found themselves ridiculed, harassed, even jailed. A government-sponsored propaganda effort built public support for the war by fanning anti-immigrant feelings within the nation. At a time when Americans fought abroad in the name of freedom and democracy, Americans at home burned German-language books, put German-language newspapers out of business, condemned German foods and drinks, and spied on fellow citizens, especially those with ancestral ties to Germany.

      Some of these wrongs took decades to right. Others forever altered the nature of American life—from the nation’s commitment to teaching foreign languages to its tolerance of differences in people from foreign lands. What happens when a segment of the population can be charged with disloyalty simply because of its heritage? Why may democracy go off track when national security seems at risk? How can a nation of immigrants, whose strength comes in part from its diversity, survive the internal conflicts that follow when wars develop with old homelands?

      One needs only to look back at history to find questions—and answers—that echo from the past into events of modern times.

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      “The ship was sinking with unbelievable rapidity. There was a terrible panic on her deck. It was the most terrible sight I have ever seen…. The scene was too horrible to watch.”

      CAPTAIN WALTHER SCHWIEGER, OF U-BOAT 20, AFTER FIRING A TORPEDO AT THE LUSITANIA

      SUNK

      It TOOK ONLY 18 MINUTES for the great ship to sink. Even the Titanic had lingered on the ocean surface for more than two hours before sliding to the bottom of the Atlantic in 1912. But, on a sunny spring afternoon just three years later, the Lusitania began to list toward her starboard side almost immediately after being struck by a single submarine-fired torpedo. Minutes later she was gone.

      The British ship had been within sight of the Irish coast when U-boat Captain Walther Schwieger commanded his German crew to launch a torpedo at the ocean liner as it steamed past, perhaps 2,300 feet away. It was 2:10 in the afternoon on May 7, 1915. Germany, England, and other European powers had been at war for nine months. Most of the Lusitania’s 1,257 passengers, having eaten their last lunch of the journey, were anticipating their arrival in England the next morning when the 20-foot-long torpedo struck their ship broadside, punching a large hole in the giant vessel’s midsection.

      Going down! As the Lusitania sank, the surrounding water became filled with “waving hands and arms belonging to struggling men and frantic women and children,” according to one survivor. The sea “was black with people," observed another.

       CAPTAIN SCHWIEGER, HIS CREW OF 34 MEN, and their adopted litter of dachshund puppies had been at sea a week when the Lusitania appeared in the sights of the submarine’s periscope. By then the crew had already attacked several smaller ships, sinking three and expending four of the sub’s seven torpedoes. Two of the remaining three weapons were to be held in emergency reserve for the return trip to Germany, leaving one torpedo available for an attack.

      The Lusitania proved to be an easy target. Despite assurances that she would be greeted in home waters by an armed escort, no such protection materialized as she approached her destination of Liverpool, England, either because none had been requested or because none could be spared by the British Navy. At full speed the Lusitania could easily have outrun any German submarine, but wartime economies had closed one of her four boiler rooms, and the ship’s captain had further reduced her speed for navigation purposes.

      Captain William Turner had commanded the Lusitania for only a few months of the ship’s eight-year history, but he had sailed for more than three decades with the vessel’s Cunard Line owner. The 30,000-ton ocean liner had made her maiden voyage in 1907, five years ahead of the Titanic’s single journey. Like the Titanic, the Lusitania promised passengers a swift passage across the Atlantic under luxurious conditions. A crew of more than 700 men and women tended to the needs of passengers during the five to seven days required for a transatlantic crossing. Many crew members on this voyage were new to the service and relatively inexperienced in shipboard safety; they occupied posts held by seamen called up recently for military service.

      Battles on the seas. The Lusitania (anchored at New York City in 1907) was one of the world’s fastest ships and symbolized Great Britain’s sea savvy.

      When World War I broke out, Great Britain had the largest fleet of military submarines (75 boats). Germany had only 28 U-boats, short for Unterseeboot or underwater boat, but her subs were of more modern design. (U-boat 14).

      Early in the war Walther Schwieger, captain of U-boat 20, attacked and sank the Lusitania.

      Setting off. Some passengers decided not to sail on the Lusitania after Germany printed warnings in American newspapers of attacks on ships.

      Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt had cancelled travel on the Titanic’s maiden voyage three years earlier but sailed as planned on the Lusitania.

      Passengers who traveled in first class enjoyed gourmet meals in plush, gilded surroundings. Some suites even had their own wood-burning fireplaces. Facilities in second class were almost as luxurious. Even third-class passengers received courteous service and feasted on a bountiful assortment of specially prepared food. Those who embarked on their trip from the harbor in New York City on May 1, 1915, included the usual complement of celebrities and millionaires. Most notable, perhaps, was Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt, descendant of the railroad magnate; he was one of about 200 other Americans bound for England on the Lusitania. Most of the