First World War Centennial

CHAPTER II

DEMOCRACIES AS FIGHTING MACHINES

THERE is no reason for us to be ashamed that we do not know how to fight. Free peoples never are pre­pared for war. The last great struggle between de­mocracies was our Civil War. And it was well on into the third year before either side really settled down to it. Lincoln's "expert" military advisers did not think it would last long, so they be­gan by asking for ninety-day volunteers. Since then there have been no wars waged by democracies except the Anglo-Boer struggle and our conflict with Spain. In neither of these cases did popular government gain any military laurels. Overwhelming resources were used with wanton wastefulness. And so the tradi­tion arose that democracies cannot fight.

Suddenly in 1914 the two great de­mocracies of Europe were faced by what the Germans call Absolute War. There was no meeting the danger half-way. It was do or die. It was bring up every ounce of energy or go under.

France was much better prepared than Britain. But if we rank German pre­paredness at 100 per cent., France was little more than half ready. This seems to be an inevitable condition of those who would be free. Militarism is essentially oligarchic. The Liberals the world over are primarily interested in improving conditions at home. Where the people rule, the emphasis is put on internal affairs to the neglect of foreign rela­tions.

So War, Absolute War, caught Brit­ain and France by surprise. It was necessary to improvise a new national frame of mind. To be sure the older Frenchmen remembered 1870, and all the present generation had grown up under the menace of a new invasion. But "Wolf! Wolf!" had been called so often. Public opinion was unprepared. The people had to forget their habitual hobbies, their personal interests and get together. In France they called the new spirit l'Union sacrée. The British, at first, were content with a "Party Truce."

There was no political machinery to meet the crisis. Statesmen, who had scarcely thought of danger, found them­selves faced with the duties of a Com­mittee of Public Safety. Deputies and Members of Parliament, who had been elected in times of peace because of their views on Old Age Pensions and Tariff Schedules, had to decide questions of war polity for which they had no training.

Our imagination has been caught by some of the more picturesque extempo­risations of the soldiers. The Army be­hind Paris being hurled at Von Kluck's flank—in taxi-cabs. Auto-busses, fresh from the London streets—their theater posters intact—rushing food up to the British front. But all the changing ministries, Coalition Governments, War Cabinets, etc., were at first no less clumsy extemporisations of political machinery. And even after two years and more, no satisfactory solution of the parliamen­tary problem has been found.

Preparedness, however, is only rela­tive. Even the Germans, docile and dis­ciplined, were not sufficiently prepared. They tried to be. They thought they were. But they were not—not quite. For to be really prepared it is necessary to understand your enemies, and Ger­many's programme was marred by one great miscalculation—Britain. They love to call themselves "realists," but they took account only of "actualities," paying no heed to potential power. The possibility of the British becoming effi­cient soldiers was beyond the range of their imagination.

The British contribution to this strug­gle may be judged from two points of view. You may base your critique on what sober judgment in 1914 thought Britain could do. Or you may compare their accomplishments with what some of their misguided spokesmen have said they were doing or would do.

It is rather easy wit to work the "deadly parallel" between what Sir Edward Grey said Britain would do in defence of Servia and the unhappy fate of the Serbs. It is rather hard not to jibe when some over-enthusiastic Britisher talks about how "we saved Paris" or claims that the Battles of Ypres were "the greatest of history."

But of course the only sound point of view for estimating the British effort is to compare what they have done with what their friends and enemies expected them to do. It is imposing. The Ger­mans thought the English Army was neg­ligible, but to-day their land forces are as great a factor in the war as their Navy.

Free nations may be slow to start, wasteful and inefficient by nature. They are normally pacific and never regard war as the chief end of man. But France and Britain have proved that de­mocracies can conquer themselves, they can triumph over their weaknesses. No one can ever say again that democracies cannot fight. There are endless lessons for us in the experiences of France and Britain. For nearly three years they have been strug­gling with the same problems we now have to face. They have had some stupendous successes, and have made some monu­mental blunders. In their adventures and misadventures we will find the sign­posts towards safety, and also the dan­ger signals, on the road before us.

The first and most outstanding polit­ical lesson of this war is that in times of crisis, democracies will trust their gov­ernments and will be lavish with money and men and effort in their defence. Imperial Germany, where "duty to the state" has been taught for a generation while liberty-loving nations were empha­sising "the Rights of Man and Citizen," has not secured greater sacrifices from its people than Republican France and Liberal Britain.

The Lesson of Europe is explicit in this matter. And it should be of great comfort to Mr. Wilson and his advisers. No request from the democratic govern­ments has been refused by the people.

There is only one qualification. The Call must be clear.

This point was illustrated by the long-drawn-out and distressing controversy in England over conscription. Parlia­ment never refused to vote any measure demanded by the Ministry, and the peo­ple never resisted any sacrifice called for by Parliament. The unrest was caused by lack of clarity. If Kitchener had calmly said that Universal Service was necessary the nation would have con­sented at any time. But he made no such definite statement. Was it a ser­ious demand of the General Staff or did the Tories consider agitation on the sub­ject good tactics to drive the Liberals from power? Such mystification still ex­ists. Very many people in England have told me that they are uncertain whether the final passage of the Conscription Bill was based on military necessity or party expediency, whether its advocates were attacking the Kaiser or Mr. Asquith.

It has been quite the same in France. No sacrifice which was clearly asked for has been refused. But the people have been deeply suspicious of partisan in­trigue during the war. They say to the politicians: "Tell us clearly what you need to win. We, who are ready to for­get our personal interests and give our lives in defence of our country, ask you to sacrifice your passion for getting or keeping your party in power."

This is the great heartening lesson for us. The citizens of democratic countries stand ready for any sacrifice to defend their political faith. Our Administra­tion can get from us anything it really needs. We are not more craven than the peoples of France and Britain. Let the need be made evident and we will meet it.

There are two errors into which France and Britain fell at first and from which they have only slowly recovered. It would be well for us to avoid them.

The first and most pernicious was "The Short War Fallacy." No one ex­pected the struggle to last many months. Every one thought Kitchener was bluff­ing when he said, "Three years." And so at first every proposal which would take more than a few months to mature was rejected. Those who tried to be far-sighted were laughed down.

France, as much as Britain, was a vic­tim of this Short War Fallacy. There has of late been hot criticism of Joffre for not having built a railroad to Ver­dun. For although the motor trucks managed to save the city, the lack of bet­ter communications cost France thou­sands of lives. But it takes time to build a railroad and nobody thought the war would last as long.

Very early in 1915 it became evident that the volunteer system in England was missing many men who might well go and was taking in their stead irreplaceable workers from the mines and factories. It was obvious that a military and in­dustrial census was desirable. But it was postponed and postponed because it would take time and no one thought there would be time enough. At last, when the need was pressing, the work was done by amateurs, hurriedly and in­accurately.

The French thought the war would be over so quickly that there would be no time to manufacture munitions, so they rushed too many men into uniform and let the factory fires go out. For two years they were sending men back from the front to resuscitate their industries. In a hundred and one ways—in their efforts to reorganise their political ma­chinery to meet the crisis, in their fiscal arrangements, in their diplomacy, and even in their strategy—France and Britain were handicapped by this Short War Fallacy.

The second great constant source of trouble, noticeable all through the strug­gle to get France and Britain fully mo­bilised, has been the difficulty in finding a formula to differentiate temporary emer­gency proposals from permanent meas­ures.

Everywhere individuals and parties have attempted to use the war as a pre­text to fasten permanently on the nation measures in which they were interested. Prohibitionists in France and England have tried to utilise this crisis to put through their reforms; but the liquor in­terests, fearing permanent interference with their profits, have successfully re­sisted. As an emergency measure—for the duration of the war—it might have been accepted.

In the financing of the war, the Eng­lish have been more adroit in this regard than the French. They have enacted ex­ceedingly heavy war taxes, under which many people in England are paying more than a quarter of their income. But there has been little opposition, for few people of wealth are so selfish as to fight against emergency taxes in times of cri­sis. The French Chambre des Deputés, however, was already discussing an in­come tax law before hostilities broke out. Its partisans tried to use the war as a pretext to force it through as a perma­nent fiscal reform. As a result all the peace-time opponents of the bill resisted fiercely and an unnecessary strain was put on the "Union sacred."

But on the other hand, in their efforts to reorganise their political practice, the British have had more trouble than the French. The Members of Parliament at Westminster have not made it clear that their attempts to adapt the governmen­tal machinery to this temporary emer­gency of war are not permanent assaults on democracy. The present govern­ment of France is more of a dictatorship than that of Britain. But one hears frightened cries of "Dictatorship" more often from English Liberals than from the French Republicans. In the last Cabinet Reorganisation in France the Chambre gave the Ministry power to make laws, without consulting them, by executive edict. And the French people have not only readily consented to this radical centralisation of power but have actively demanded it. Why? Because it is so obviously a temporary arrange­ment.

Everywhere—in finance, in political organisation and in industrial intensi­fication—mobilisation has been greatly; facilitated by assurances that emergency war measures are only temporary.

There is for us one other general les­son in this spectacle of the mustering of Europe. Back of all the outward, ma­terial mobilisation there must be an in­ward, spiritual mobilisation.

In modern war, if there is anything like equality in population and resources, that nation, the greatest proportion of whose citizens feel that victory is more important than their private affairs, will win. The "Business as usual" frame of mind is the absolute anti-thesis of ef­fective mobilisation. The Res Publica must come before individual gain. The more people, who realise that we are at war, who are disturbed by it, the more hearty will be the unanimity we will have in support of an energetic policy which will bring hostilities to a speedy end. Every citizen of the Republic who is in­different to the war is dead weight. And those who win profit from it are more dangerous than enemy soldiers.

Here again we have the example of Britain. As her interest grew, as more and more of her people felt the war, her power grew.

First, last and all the time, the ef­fectiveness of our warfare will depend on the amount of ardor we throw into it. So the prime duty of our Government, the first step in any mobilisation, must be the awakening of our interest. There must be some loud, clear Call to Arms, which will electrify Public Opinion.