Opinion

Poor Elijah’s Almanack: Road to ruin

I ordinarily bristle at claims that we’re living in extraordinary times. All times are uncertain in their details and explosive at moments. All times contribute characters, deeds and benefits to our common story.

But there are times, whether I bristle or not, when the human world does change, suffer or progress extraordinarily. Sometimes, we can see it coming. Other times, we wake up when we’re in the middle of it. Most often, we don’t recognize it until it’s over.

World War II was one of those historic times, not because history is regarded as the story of wars, but because it was a time of extraordinary menace to centuries of progress, particularly in Europe, where unspeakable barbarism threatened to become the norm.

On Sept. 3, 1939, as that barbarism crossed the Polish frontier, Britain’s Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain addressed his nation on the radio. Chamberlain had served in the government during World War I. Having labored in the 1930s to avoid another war by appeasing Hitler’s appetite for other people’s land, Chamberlain confessed that, despite his intentions, “all my long struggle to win peace has failed.” He described his failure as a “bitter blow.”

He explained that the British ambassador had delivered a note informing the German government that, unless Germany agreed to withdraw from Poland by 11 o’clock, a state of war would exist between Britain and Hitler’s Germany. “I have to tell you now,” he continued, “that no such undertaking has been received and that consequently, this country is at war with Germany.”

You can listen to the recording of his message to his people. It’s heart-breaking. I’m among the many who condemn Chamberlain’s policy of appeasement as plainly wrong, but I cannot fault the man’s intention, his dread of war, or how seriously and sincerely he took his responsibility.

In 1916, when Europe was halfway through the First World War, another leader, U.S. President Woodrow Wilson, ran successfully for re-election on the slogan, “He kept us out of war.” On April 2, 1917, one month after his inauguration, Wilson responded to Germany’s repeated attacks on American merchant ships, and a secret German proposal that Mexico invade the United States, by asking Congress to declare war on Germany.

He assured Americans and the world “we desire no conquest, no dominion,” that we were acting as “but one of the champions of the rights of mankind” and fighting for what “we have always carried nearest our hearts — for democracy,” for a world where people “have a voice in their own governments,” and for “peace and safety” for all nations, “civilization itself seeming to be in the balance.”

His address is most often remembered for his stated purpose, that “the world must be made safe for democracy.” But I find this more personal reflection equally telling and memorable: “It is a fearful thing to lead this great peaceful people into war.”

“Fearful” here means “full of awe and reverence,” in much the same way that we’d talk about an awesome responsibility.

Given the particulars of our four 19th-century wars and our military campaigns against Indigenous North American nations, some might reasonably dispute Wilson’s characterization of Americans as peaceful. The reality of his day, though, was that a sizable portion of Americans in 1917 resisted involvement in a European war. Wilson faced the task of convincing them of this war’s necessity.

At the same time, what Wilson understood, what he was grappling with, was the responsibility that comes with waging war, as well as with failing to wage a necessary war, and the stark burden that comes of sending men to kill and die — the same burdens that sent Mr. Lincoln to pray unnoticed in the back row of St. John’s Church, across Lafayette Park near the White House.

That, by the way, is the same church where Donald Trump posed as noticed as possible with a Bible.

Chamberlain failed to avert his war. Wilson failed to convince his generation to join the postwar League of Nations. Lincoln gave his life to reunite the United States.

All were serious leaders. Each knew and felt his responsibility. Each struggled to meet that responsibility.

Each lived at one of those extraordinary times.

So do we.

Many nations are rising to meet the challenge and share the hazard presented by Putin’s invasion of Ukraine. Many Americans appear to recognize the peril to freedom itself posed by one of the world’s chief tyrants.

I say one of the world’s chief tyrants because there are agents of tyranny here in the United States. Some are elected, and others are self-appointed mouths. Some are human cancers, some are just stupid, and some are both.

These pernicious actors seek their own personal and political advantage. They duck questions that demand answers. They grovel when the times call for valor. They provoke and exploit our disagreements. They aren’t serious, responsible leaders. They have no sense of the fearful thing.

Too many of us who claim to love America hate too many of our fellow Americans. People who think they have nothing in common aren’t a people and can’t work toward a common purpose.

Would even another Pearl Harbor be enough to unite us?

Would today’s self-proclaimed patriots who wouldn’t wear masks to save their neighbors’ lives, be willing to ration gasoline?

No, Ron Johnson. Nancy Pelosi didn’t make Putin invade Ukraine.

No, Lauren Boebert. Justin Trudeau isn’t an autocrat.

Yes, Donald Trump. Stupid leaders are a problem. Except a man who recommends drinking bleach probably shouldn’t call other people stupid. A president who stands beside Putin in Helsinki like a ventriloquist’s dummy shouldn’t call other presidents weak. And an American who incites an insurrection so he can selfishly cling to power after he’s lost an election isn’t trying to make America great.

He’s trying to make himself great at America’s expense.

That would be a bitter disappointment for our founders.

It would betray the dream we carry nearest our hearts.

That’s why we need to meet the threat wherever it appears, whether that’s on the road to Kyiv or the road from Mar-a-Lago.

Because both roads lead to the same ruinous place.

Peter Berger has taught English and history for 30 years. Poor Elijah would be pleased to answer letters addressed to him in care of the editor.

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