132: The US Enters WWI (RMS Lusitania, Black Tom Island, & The Zimmermann Telegram) 57:41

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near you. That's the letter K, the number 12.com slash HTDS. K12.com slash HTDS. Advisory. This episode contains the account of a mass drowning that includes young children. Listener discretion is advised. It's an early foggy morning, May 7th, 1915, and life is brimming aboard the RMS Lusitania.

1,959 souls to give the official figure, though its complete accuracy is contested by some. Nearly one in three are members of the crew, while the rest are passengers on this voyage from New York City to Liverpool, England. Everywhere we look, families and friends are chatting, mingling, and enjoying breakfast. That's particularly true of the vessel's hundreds of first-class passengers eating in the glass-domed, white-and-gold-decorated, Louis XVI-style dining salons.

You know, it's true what they say. Even after 201 Atlantic crossings and almost a decade at sea, the nine-deck, 30,296-ton Lusitania remains not only one of the world's fastest and biggest ocean liners, but also one of the most luxurious. Meanwhile, far away from the hubbub of the passengers, Captain William Turner is on his far quieter bridge. That's how he likes it.

William, or Bowler Bill as the 59-year-old stocky Liverpool native and long-time seaman is known due to his love of bowler hats, likes to describe passengers as "a load of bloody monkeys who are constantly chattering." The bridge then is his sanctuary even when navigating thick fog, as is the case now as the ship approaches the southwest side of Ireland. But as mid-morning comes, it's starting to lift.

Thank goodness. Intending to reach Liverpool early in the morning, Bowler-Bill sets a more immediate course for Queenstown, Ireland, as he increases the Lusitania's speed to 18 knots. 11:52 AM, an incoming message warns that Unterseboots, that is, Imperial Germany's militarized submarines, often abbreviated as U-boats, are, quote, "active in southern part of Irish Channel," close quote.

Ah, that's alarming news and another message soon follows citing activity off Ireland's southwest coast. Our serious-minded Lusitania captain will stay alert. It's now early afternoon. Not far off Ireland's southern coast, German Captain Walther Schwege of U-boat 20 has just given the order to bring the submarine up to periscope depth.

Grasping its handles, the fair featured broad-shouldered 30 year old commander looks into the periscope's eyepiece and gazes across green-hued waters. He sees a column of dark smoke. He soon spies for distinct smokestacks too. His U-boat is low on fuel and only has three torpedoes left after yesterday's two successful sinkings, but this looks promising.

The captain must be careful though. He asks his assistant merchant marine officer to confirm this is a military target. The officer looks and is sure the vessel is either the Lusitania or its sister ship, the Mauritania, both of which can be converted into armed cruisers and are available to Britain's Royal Navy for the transportation of war material and soldiers. For Walter, that settles it. He considers this a legitimate target, time to pursue and attack.

It's now about two o'clock in the afternoon. The Lusitania is 12 miles out from the old head of Kinsale, an Irish headland jetting out into the Celtic Sea. Several passengers are enjoying a post-lunch walk on deck near the ship's bridge, and this includes Mr. Michael G. Byrne. A 44-year-old Irishman by birth, Michael's now married to a German woman, resides in New York City, and is making this transatlantic voyage to visit old friends in his native Ireland. It's about this time that Michael lights a cigar.

As he does, he takes in the view from this high up deck and takes note of a porpoise swimming along the surface. No, hold on. Is that a periscope rising from the creature? Oh God, that's no porpoise. That's a German U-boat. Everyone on deck squints down at the submarine's location. To their horror, the passengers then watch as the sub releases a smooth cylinder that starts cutting its way through the water and straight toward them. It's a torpedo. Michael doesn't waste a moment.

He dashes back to his cabin, B-64, to grab his luggage and life belt. Meanwhile, a mere 15 seconds after the torpedo strikes, a second explosion rocks the ship. What on earth was that? Another torpedo? An exploding boiler? Charging back out on deck, Michael finds that his fellow passenger's initial calm has given way to panic as the ship lists to starboard. It's a struggle to load and lower the lifeboats at this sharp angle.

Many drop on one side suddenly, dumping women and children into the cold water 70 feet below. Meanwhile, one ship deck after another is rapidly disappearing. She's going down fast. A strong swimmer, Michael sees but one option as his deck reaches sea level. He leaps overboard into the Atlantic. The Irish American swims hard.

As he does, the Lusitania's stern rises and four 78-foot funnels crash down as the Celtic Sea roars and garbles, gobbling the vessel bow first. It's only been 18 minutes since the torpedo first struck, and the Lusitania has completely disappeared, well on her way to the sea floor 300 feet below the surface. Michael swims on. He has no choice. Only six of the Lusitania's 48 lifeboats made it.

As he does, he and the other strong swimmers become unwilling witnesses as hundreds of men, women, and children flail about, waging their losing fight against the cold waters. As young babies, saved from the nursery and now floating in wicker baskets, pierce the air with their high-pitched cries. But these baskets are no match for the sea. The cries are soon gone, and all of this is seared into Michael's memory.

I still think I see the struggling of poor passengers in the water. Poor little children in the arms of their mothers, tightly grasped in death, floating on the surface of the sea. The dying cries are still in my ears and the sight of the struggle for life through the deep sea will remain forever in my memory. Weak and exhausted, Michael's pulled from the waters after two hours. He'll live, but he's in the minority.

Close to 1,200 of the Lusitania's passengers and crew of various ages and stations of life have met their end in a watery grave. Among them are 128 Americans. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. History That Doesn't Suck

Only three years after the sinking of the unsinkable RMS Titanic, the Lusitania's plunge to the ocean floor likewise shakes the world. Of course, while the Titanic was a tragic accident, the Lusitania was an intentional tragedy of war and one that will contribute to the United States' ultimate decision to join the Great War. That's right. Today, we've come to the United States' journey from neutral juggernaut to allied power. And as you might have guessed, the sinking of the Lusitania is just one of several causes.

To get the whole picture, we'll start as the war does in 1914 with President Woodrow Wilson's call for neutrality. But in a world of globe-trotting steamships and Americans, the president faces unprecedented challenges as the British Navy blockades Germany, as Germany answers with unrestricted submarine warfare, and each accuses the other of breaking international law.

We'll see Germany dial back its submarine warfare in the aftermath of their subs sinking the RMS Lusitania and the SS Arabic. But is the neutral U.S. showing favoritism as it sells munitions to the Allied powers? Are those sales the motive behind a German-suspected act of sabotage in New York Harbor?

Finally, as we enter 1917, we'll find Woodrow's shocked to learn that Germany is returning to unrestricted submarine warfare and that the Brits have intercepted and decoded a German telegram seeking to entice Mexico to make war on the U.S. These developments will prove the final straw. In the name of protecting democracy from German autocracy and aggression, peace-loving Woodrow will finally ask Congress to declare war. Yet, some will wonder.

Are American investments in the Allied powers factoring into this decision? From capturing various perspectives to observing Woodrow Wilson's many efforts to keep the peace, we have plenty to do. So let's head back to the summer of 1914 and get right to it. Rewind. August 4th, 1914.

As the clock strikes 11 p.m. in London and midnight in Berlin, the British government cites Germany's invasion of Belgium as a violation of the Treaty of London in 1839 and declares war. We know this from episode 128, but Britain wasn't alone in making declarations that day. Across the Atlantic, U.S. President Woodrow Wilson made one too, a proclamation of neutrality.

It clarifies that neither American waters nor ports will offer a safe haven to belligerent warships and that U.S. citizens may not serve in a warring nation's military. Nor is Woodrow done speaking on the matter, working through the devastating pain of his wife Ellen passing.

He calls on the American people two weeks later on August 18th, asking them to maintain a spirit of neutrality among themselves, specifically not to let their personal ancestry tied to opposing belligerent nations sow division here in America. To quote Woodrow in part, "The people of the United States are drawn from many nations and chiefly from the nations now at war. It is natural and inevitable that there should be the utmost variety of sympathy.

I venture, therefore, my fellow countrymen, to speak a solemn word of warning to you against that deepest, most subtle, most essential breach of neutrality which may spring out of partisanship, out of passionately taking sides. The United States must be neutral in fact, as well as in name, during these days that are to try men's souls. We must be impartial in thought as well as in action.

While I can't help but note the professor's skillful use of Thomas Paine's tri-men's souls catchphrase, the far more important historical takeaway is that Woodrow's wish to avoid a European war follows an American precedent set by the first president himself. In his farewell address, George Washington urged the nation to neither make permanent alliances nor get sucked into European affairs. Thomas Jefferson reiterated this as president, promising, quote,

honest friendship with all nations, entangling alliances with none. Close quote. That isn't to say America has never fought a war abroad. There was the Spanish-American War a little more than a decade back, and Monroe-doctrine-loving Uncle Sam's long considered the Western Hemisphere his turf. But when it comes to alliances and Europe, the U.S. has largely held to this isolationist course. Woodrow adamantly wants to stick to this, and an overwhelming majority of Americans agree.

Easy enough if this war is as short as European leaders expect in summer 1914. But what if it drags on?

Nearly 118 years after George Washington's exhortation, the United States is a sea to shining sea industrial power. The world's number one producer of steel, coal, wheat, and petroleum. A nation responsible for 11% of world trade with massive vessels crossing oceans and as of this very month, traveling the Panama Canal, which the US also built and controls. Can this modern United States avoid a large and long lasting war?

Or might the mere transportation of American goods and citizens on steamships eventually entangle the nation in this largely European war? The answer to that may lie in whether the warring powers are willing to listen to the Department of State as it asks them to respect the 1909 Declaration of London. The work of several European powers, Japan, and the United States, the Declaration of London is the latest and greatest on international laws regarding naval warfare.

It states that neutral nations may trade with all and belligerents may blockade. It also clarifies what a blockading Navy can seize by dividing cargo into three categories. One, absolute contraband. Goods clearly intended for war, like munitions, and absolutely seizable. Two, conditional contraband. Goods in the gray area and therefore subject to seizure, but also contestable in court. And three, non-contraband. Goods civilians need, like foodstuffs.

These cannot be seized. If respected, the Declaration of London would let Americans travel, sell their wares, and avoid war. Too bad it isn't binding. That's right. Britain may have hosted the drafting process, but the House of Lords saw the Declaration of London as little more than negating Britain's naval supremacy. The Lords refused to ratify, so other nations followed suit, leaving the Declaration non-binding. London therefore pays no heed to the U.S. Department of State's appeal.

Instead, the Royal Navy moves quickly to establish a distant naval blockade that cuts off Germany's trade, even with neutral nations, via the English Channel, the North Sea, and the Baltic Sea. The blockade's severity quickly escalates to include what the Declaration of London called non-contraband, even foodstuffs from neutral trading partners. A horrific situation for Germany, but it soon finds an answer in submarine warfare. In the Unterseepolt,

Measuring about 200 feet long and equipped with four torpedo tubes, two at the bow and two at the stern, the Unterseboot, or U-boat, is what the top-notch historians behind the textbook Liberty, Equality, Power call, quote, the first militarily effective submarine, close quote.

I know the submarine has been around for a while and had a moment in the American Civil War, but frankly, pre-World War submarines were about as useful as incandescent lighting before Thomas Alva Edison. Even at the Great War's start, none of the major belligerents have much faith in the small, slow, and limited range subs. The Second Reich assumes that submarines will serve a defensive role at best, but they soon prove their value.

On September 5th, 1914, U-boat 21 fires a self-propelled torpedo at the HMS Pathfinder. Only four minutes after contact, the British Scout cruiser and half of her unsuspecting crew disappear into the deep of Scotland's cold northern waters. Whoa, militarily effective indeed.

The world's never seen anything like this, and in the following months, German U-boats continue to prove their worth as they navigate around mines and sink more of the Royal Navy's unsuspecting warships. By early 1915, Germany sees the U-boat less as delicate and incapable and more as a nimble and sly vessel able to take the fight on the waters to the Brits. On February 4th, the Second Reich declares that all waters around Great Britain constitute a war zone.

U-boats will now give the Brits a taste of their own medicine as they stop merchant ships and seize cargo. But Germany soon realizes this won't work if U-boats adhere to traditional blockade practices. They are, after all, still fragile vessels, only militarily effective when striking stealthily, and that singular advantage is lost the second a U-boat hails a merchant ship.

This is further complicated by British merchant vessels falsely flying the Stars and Stripes or having concealed firepower that may exceed a delicate U-boat's one or two four-inch deck guns. Given these realities then, should U-boats use surprise attacks on non-military ships? Is that ethical? Germany says yes.

How's that? It calls Britain's declaration of London flouting foodstuff stopping naval blockade illegal and argues that if the Royal Navy can starve German citizens, including children, with this quote-unquote hunger blockade, as they dub it, then U-boats striking without warning is merely fighting fire with fire.

On February 18th, German Vizeadmiral Hugo von Pohl makes it known that enemy merchant ships in war zones just might meet a torpedo without warning. Woodrow Wilson is flabbergasted. This newly proclaimed massive war zone, submarines attacking merchant vessels flying allied colors without warning, this is all unprecedented and puts American civilians at risk.

Secretary of State William Jennings Bryan tells Germany that, "To declare or exercise a right to attack and destroy any vessel would be an act so unprecedented in naval warfare that this government is reluctant to believe that the imperial government of Germany in this case contemplates it as possible." WJB further clarifies that the United States must hold Germany accountable.

Germany's handsomely bearded Chancellor, Theobald von Bietmann-Hollweg, answers the Wilson administration by implying that Germany will gladly give up this unrestricted submarine warfare if Britain will adhere to the Declaration of London. Yeah, not happening. We're at an impasse. Most Americans aren't seeing Germany's perspective. The role of Britain's naval blockade in starving German children to death is indirect and abstract. You know what isn't abstract though?

reading in the newspaper that Germany has killed an American, which it does when U-boat 29 sinks the RMS Fallaba on March 28th. Now, the U-boat did give warning, and that calmed some in the U.S., but much of the United States' goodwill for Germany evaporates after May 7th. That's the day U-boat 20 sinks the Lusitania and kills roughly 1,200 people, including 128 Americans.

We know this gut-wrenching tale from today's opening, but hopefully we can better contextualize it now that we know what led Germany to unrestricted submarine warfare. I think we're also ready for further details. For instance, the Lusitania was carrying what the Declaration of London classifies as absolute contraband.

According to Robert Massey's Great War Naval History, Castles of Steel, this included, quote, 1,248 cases of three-inch artillery shells and 4,927 boxes of rifle ammunition, each case containing 1,000 rounds, close quote. In fact, some believe the torpedo ignited these munitions, thus causing the Lusitania's second explosion.

Germany had intel on this cargo and likewise knew that the Lusitania wasn't just an ocean liner but an auxiliary cruiser for the Royal Navy. All of this factored into U-Boat 20 firing that deadly torpedo. Now, Germany doesn't want to upset the United States by killing its citizens. That's why the German embassy in Washington, D.C. had previously taken to placing ads in U.S. newspapers warning Americans against Atlantic crossings on British ships.

Ominously, the very day that the Lusitania departed New York Harbor, May 1st, 1915, 49 U.S. newspapers carried the embassy's black-bordered warning, stating that, quote, vessels flying the flag of Great Britain or any of her allies are liable to destruction. Travelers sailing in the war zone on ships of Great Britain or her allies do so at their own risk, close quote. Several passengers read the warning. They just didn't take it seriously.

But neither the Lusitania's munitions nor Germany's warnings are winning over the American public. These nuances are completely lost as photos of drowned, lifeless, innocent children are published in newspapers. Nor does the news of the Lusitania's deadly sinking feel like an isolated act of cruelty. Added to Germany's other recent actions, like sending zeppelins to bomb cities or attacking with chlorine gas at Ypres, many Americans are coming to see Germany as the aggressor.

as a monster. William Jennings Bryan calls out both Germany's unrestricted submarine warfare and Britain's illegal blockade. But the American public is so outraged that WJB points to the British at all that he steps down as Secretary of State in early June. Meanwhile, Woodrow Wilson replaces him with pro-British Robert Lansing. They declare American citizens have the right to travel and demand that Germany stop its practice of unrestricted submarine warfare.

Germany caves when, a few weeks later, on August 19th, U-boat 24 sinks the SS Arabic, killing two more Americans. The Second Reich still feels it's in the right, but won't risk bringing the U.S. into the war. Not before building up its naval strength, at least. The Second Reich pledges that submarine commanders will give non-military vessels a 30-minute warning prior to striking.

German leadership backpedals on this pledge the next year though, which leads to U-boat 29 torpedoing France's SS Sussex on March 24th, 1916. The merchant vessel doesn't sink, and though Americans are injured, none are among the ship's 50 dead. Still, Woodrow is livid. He tells Germany that these U-boat attacks must again stop or the US will break off diplomatic relations. Again, Germany concedes. Its restricted subs will not attack passenger ships.

Merchant ships will only be struck after proper warning and the evacuation of those on board. So, is the neutral United States starting to lean pro-allies by 1916? Perhaps, but that doesn't mean Americans want to enter the war. Democrats certainly don't. They'll make that clear during this summer's convention. It's a cloudy, humid late morning, June 14th, 1916, and thousands of men are walking through the streets of St. Louis, Missouri.

They're party delegates heading to the city's three-story red brick coliseum for the Democratic National Convention. At the same time, 3,000 women are out protesting, hoping to grow Democratic support for women's suffrage. The St. Louis Dispatch will later describe this as the quote-unquote golden lane, nodding to the white-clad women's yellow parasols and sashes that read, votes for women. They form a mile-long procession and walk without saying a word. Some of the men cheer.

The women answer with appreciative glances, but never break their silence. Reaching the Coliseum at the corner of Washington and Jefferson Avenues, the delegates file into its decorated meeting. A brass band welcomes them as they take their seats. At 12:31 p.m., Chairman William F. McCombs opens the convention. Reverend James W. Lee then offers a prayer, and soon it's time for the keynote speaker, the clean-cut, bespectacled 44-year-old former New York governor of Irish descent, Martin Henry Glenn.

Dressed in a smart black suit, Martin takes his place at the podium. He plans to get these delegates excited to re-elect Woodrow Wilson by counting the professor in a long line of presidents who've kept the nation out of war. No nation ever inflicted upon another nation a more damnable or more maddening wrong than England inflicted upon the United States and the Alabama outrage.

But we didn't go to war. Lincoln settled our troubles by negotiation, just as the President of the United States is trying to do today. The crowd loves it. They beg Martin to continue with cries of, "Go on! Go on! Hit 'em again and give it to 'em!" All right, I'll hit them again, and I'll hit them fair, and I'll hit them hard! Now you want some more of it, do you? Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!

Alright. Now, when Pierce was president, the British minister in this country and three of his consuls violated our neutrality during the Crimean War. We gave these representatives of Great Britain their passports and sent them home. But we didn't go to war. Pierce settled our troubles by negotiation just as the President of the United States is trying to do today. Do you want some more of them? Yes, yes, yes, yes. Give us some more.

John Adams, George Washington, Thomas Jefferson. Martin lines Woodrow up with all the presidential greats. All great for not taking up the sword unnecessarily. The New Yorker qualifies all of this with the willingness to fight if absolutely necessary. But he set such a pacifist tone that even the recently resigned former Secretary of State William Jennings Bryan agrees in his speech later that day. A new Woodrow Wilson slogan takes hold.

He kept us out of war. It feels like a meaningful message as the war approaches its second anniversary. But will the message hold? Or will American sentiment shift as German spies and sabotage come to the fore? This message is sponsored by Greenlight.

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It's approximately 2 o'clock in the still dark morning, July 30th, 1916. We're in New York Harbor, about half a mile to the west of the Statue of Liberty, which, after 30 years, is still standing tall and proud on Bedloe's Island. As for you and me, we're on a small man-made isle known as Black Tom Island. Black Tom is connected to the nearby New Jersey mainland by a railway bridge, and notably is home to a sizable munitions depot.

In fact, those with us on the island or its tied off vessels are here to keep an eye on the island's 69 railroad cars and barges, all brimming with ammunition and TNT awaiting shipment to the allied nations of Britain and France. Of course, some are getting a little shut-eye, like the handsome trim captain of one of the tied-off flat bottom barges, Peter Acera, but he won't for long. A deafening explosion rips the island apart.

The blast is so powerful it shatters windows on Ellis Island, throughout lower Manhattan and Brooklyn and is felt as far as 90 miles away. But back at ground zero, Peter is launched from his bunk and damaged barge high, high into the air and crashes down in the harbor's waters. The barge captain emerges on the surface, gasping for breath, bleeding from his head only to see Black Tom Island covered in flames. And where are his two sailors? Are they dead?

With no answers and Black Tom now a war zone, Peter sees only one option. He swims toward Bedloe's Island. Meanwhile, back on Black Tom, some surviving guards try to fight the fire. Others just get the hell out of there as all sorts of munitions continue to explode and fire off in every direction. Within 20 minutes, the Jersey City Fire Department arrives, but amidst the flying shells and bullets, they can't do anything to stop the raging inferno. Lady Liberty is among the casualties.

Large pieces of shrapnel embed themselves in her right side while a shockwave pushes her torch-bearing right arm in until it presses up against her crown. The Black Tom Explosion, as this event comes to be called, required the evacuation of Ellis Island and Bedloe's Island. It killed four, injured many, and caused a great deal of property damage around the harbor. Repairs to the roof of Ellis Island's main building will lead to gorgeous tile work on its ceiling. But Lady Liberty isn't so lucky.

Her right arm will never be the same. And her torch will never again open to the public. And of course, Black Tom Island is reduced to little more than cinders and ash. As the American people take all of this in, speculation begins. Was this an accident? Or perhaps an act of German sabotage? Let's take a step back. While we know Germany's submarine attacks and other actions in Europe have many Americans leaning pro-allies by this point,

We also know that the United States is trying to win a competition for the most uses of the word neutral in a sentence. So why, then, is the United States sending munitions to Britain and France? Well, let's also recall that the U.S. claims the right to trade with everyone. It would trade with Germany if not for Britain's arguably illegal blockade, which American businesses find frustrating but more forgivable than Germany's U-boats killing Americans right up to the SS Arabic sinking.

Britain also finds forgiveness because trading with the Allied powers is more than making up for the few hundred million dollars lost from not trading with the Central Powers. Consider this. In 1913, the U.S. was a debtor nation in a recession doing $2 billion a year in exports. Now in mid-1916, trade with the Allied powers has ended the recession and made the U.S. a creditor nation. By the year's end, U.S. exports will hit $6 billion. Whew!

So that's why the U.S. is sending munitions to Britain and France. It doesn't want to enter the war and would trade with Germany if it could. But either way, doing business with the Allies is a huge financial boon. But financial gains aside, watching the neutral United States arm the Allies is infuriating to German-Americans supporting the ancestral fatherland. For a few, it's cause to act.

That's what pushed three immigrants from Germany, Austria, and even Poland to sneak onto Black Tom Island that night and plant some ingenious time-delayed cigar bombs. Designed by German immigrant and chemist Dr. Walter Schiele, these bombs disappear in the heat of the very explosion they create, leaving no trace. The saboteurs on Black Tom Island aren't caught immediately.

Many of the details will stay hidden until the 1930s. And right now, other anti-British groups, like Irish Americans, will also fall under suspicion while the explosion is officially dubbed an accident. But Black Tom isn't an isolated act either.

Germany's suave, debonair, New York-based spy, Franz Rintelen, aka the Dark Invader, is fronting as a businessman while spying and overseeing other acts of sabotage, be that blowing up bridges, poisoning horses and mules, or destroying other munition depots. Taken together, it's obvious that these are targeted attacks.

For most Americans, all of this further paints the Germans as the bad guys, and that in turn raises a question as the 1916 presidential election approaches. Do the American people still want a pacifist in the White House? Or will the new he-kept-us-out-of-war slogan that this summer's Democratic National Convention gave Woodrow Wilson actually hurt his chances of re-election? I'll start with a little electoral background. ♪

Things looked good for Republicans early on in 1916's presidential throwdown, particularly as the Progressive Party, aka the Bull Moose Party, fell apart. The Progressives nominated their founder and champion, Theodore Roosevelt, for the presidency, but the Rough Rider galloped away, back to his old Republican party, to endorse the GOP nominee, the heavily-balling but impeccably-bearded former New York governor and resigned Supreme Court Justice Charles Evan Hughes.

Heartbroken progressives called T.R. a "apostate" but also accepted that the party was over. Some followed T.R. back to the GOP. Others look at Woodrow Wilson's progressive agenda and decide their new political home is the Democratic Party. So the death of the Bull Moose Party is a nice shot in the arm for Charles. But even now, in mid-1916, he's struggling to find a meaningful platform.

The U-boat attack on the SS Sussex and active sabotage on Black Tom Island may have hurt Germany's popularity, but Americans still are not clamoring for war. Frankly, Charles isn't pro-war either. Running on the economy doesn't look like a strong play either. Woodrow might not be as pro-business as Charles, but how can the GOP play the pro-business card when exports to the Allied powers have positioned Woodrow Wilson as the president who ended a recession with a new era of economic growth?

Fact is, there's little difference in policy between the GOP's Charles Evan Hughes and the Democratic incumbent Woodrow Wilson. Some Republicans are even referring to their bearded candidate as a "whiskered Wilson." Yet, as good as that sounds for Woodrow, their similarities are making this election come down to the wire. Approaching Election Day that November 7th, even Woodrow's new wife, Edith, fears he'll lose as newspapers call the election in favor of Charles. And yet,

Woodrow pulls it off. Turns out the, he kept us out of war slogan was right on point. Even after the Black Tom explosion, most Americans don't want to go to war. Woodrow has kept them out of it. And although Charles agrees, he's painted as the pro-war candidate. He can thank Teddy Roosevelt for that. The Bull Moose has wanted the U.S. in the Great War from the start. And while campaigning for Charles during the election's final weeks, he said that,

President Wilson's ignoble shirking of responsibility has been misclothed in an utterly misleading phrase. The phrase of a coward. He kept us out of war. In actual reality, war has been creeping mirror and mirror, and we face it without policy, plan, purpose, or preparation. Yeah, it's hard to call yourself pro-neutrality when your biggest supporter is a former president and loudly calling for war.

Thus, Charles becomes the war candidate, and with the particularly strong support of German-Americans who don't want to fight Germany, Irish-Americans who don't want to help Britain, and reformers, particularly women who have the vote in Western states, the professor ekes out a second term: 277 electoral votes to 254.

But happy as Woodrow is to be the first two-term Democratic president in the White House since Andrew Jackson, let's note that he didn't care for this "keep us out of war" slogan. Woodrow knows that's not really in his control. He laments to his Secretary of the Navy, Josephus Daniels: "I can't keep the country out of war. They talk of me as though I were a god. Any little German lieutenant can put us into the war at any time by some calculated outrage.

Indeed, and such outrage is coming. It's a little past 10 a.m., January 17th, 1917. We are in room 40 of the Admiralty's red brick and white stone old building, located among Whitehall's several government buildings in London, England. In this space, Captain William Reginald Hall, or Blinker as he's known, because of his tendency to blink rapidly when excited, is at his desk, attending to paperwork,

He may not be much of a looker with his bushy eyebrows and hook nose, but Blinker is a brilliant lifelong Navy man, the Admiralty's director of the intelligence division, or DID for short. In brief, that means he oversees the still relatively new Naval Intelligence Division's team working on cryptanalysis or code breaking, and his men are damn good at what they do.

It's at this moment that one of Blinker's talented codebreakers, Nigel de Grey, comes to his office. Nigel's been working with Alfred Dilley Knox on something all morning, and his excitement is apparent as he addresses Blinker. Did. Do you want to bring America into the war? Yes, my boy. Why? I've got something here which... Well, it's a rather astonishing message which might do the trick if we could use it. It isn't very clear, I'm afraid, but...

I'm sure I've got most of the important points right. It's from the German Foreign Office to Bernstorff. Blinker looks at the partially decrypted and translated telegram. It's from the German Foreign Office, all right. Specifically, from the German Foreign Minister, Arthur Zimmerman, sent just yesterday to the German ambassador in Washington, D.C., Johann Bernstorff. It reads, Most secret for Your Excellency's personal information and to be handed on to the Imperial Minister in Mexico.

We propose to begin on the 1st February unrestricted submarine warfare. In doing so, however, we shall endeavor to keep America neutral. If we should not succeed, we propose an alliance. An alliance between Mexico and Germany aimed at hitting the United States?

This statement alone can be considered a signal of the intent of making war, especially when we recall the last few years of tension between the US and its southern neighbor, which we learned about in episode 127. American troops are still in Mexico right now hunting Pancho Villa. And what's this? The telegram also suggests a possible alliance with Japan. All this in talk of resuming unrestricted submarine warfare. Good God, this is huge.

But Blinker knows he must proceed with caution. Looking up from the message, the did gives Nigel very specific instructions. All copies of this message, both those in cipher and your own transcripts are to be brought straight to me. Nothing is to be put on the files. This may be a very big thing, possibly the biggest thing of the war. For the present, not a soul outside this room is to be told anything at all.

Protocol would have Blinker send German Foreign Minister Arthur Zimmerman's intercepted telegram, soon to be known as the Zimmerman Telegram, to the Foreign Office immediately. But he doesn't. Instead, the director stands by his initial instructions to Nigel de Grey and holds the intel close. See, Blinker knows that if word of this gets to the Americans right away, Germany will know that the British have cracked their codes.

Worse still, the Americans will likely think that the Brits have tapped their telegraph lines. And they'd be right. That's how Blinker's codecrackers intercepted this message in the first place. So, the sage-hooked-nose director will wait until the telegram reaches its destination in Mexico to spill the beans. That way, he can claim British intelligence only intercepted the telegram there, not by its secret tap on American communications. Well played, Blinker.

I can see why you're a leader in the burgeoning intel community. And so, President Woodrow Wilson remains blissfully unaware of the Zimmerman telegram for the time being. Ironically, that bliss means he's not only hoping to maintain American neutrality, but to facilitate an end to the Great War.

Buoyed by his second term win, the lanky, square-jawed president sent a message to the warring nations last month on December 18, 1916, calling for them to clarify their objectives and move toward peace talks. This peace note, as it comes to be known, doesn't move the needle, but Woodrow hasn't given up hope. On January 22, 1917, only days after the Brits intercepted the Zimmerman telegram, Woodrow gives a speech in the U.S. Capitol's Senate chamber.

He calls for peace without victory. He argues this is the only way to build an enduring peace, that if a victor imposes peace upon a vanquished foe, quote, it would be accepted in humiliation, under duress, at an intolerable sacrifice, and would leave a sting, a resentment, a bitter memory upon which terms of peace would rest, not permanently, but only as upon quicksand. Wow.

Could this war really end on such terms? Without one alliance vanquishing the other? Peace without victory is a beautiful and much praised idea, as is his call for all nations to enjoy self-determination. But Woodrow's blissful hopes for a world at peace is about to end. A week and a half later, January 31st, Germany declares that, with the exception of a brief grace period for neutral ships, the second hike will resume unrestricted submarine warfare tomorrow, February 1st.

Germany's ambassador to the US, Count Johann von Bernstorff, sends a note to the White House informing the president. The color disappears from Woodrow's face as he reads. This feels like a sucker punch, and the square-jawed president mutters, "This means war. The break that we have tried so hard to prevent now seems inevitable." Frustrated himself, the German ambassador isn't surprised at all when Woodrow effectively expels him from the US a few days later.

The U.S. ambassador to Germany is coming home too. Diplomatic relations between the nations have effectively ended. And yet, Woodrow still clings to the hope that both sides might yet accept his call for peace without victory. But that hope dies as the British Admiralty's Director of the Intelligence Division, Reginald Blinker Hall, moves to, as he puts it, rouse the whole of the United States and force the President to declare war.

On February 10th, a British agent, ahem, procures the Zimmerman telegram from Mexico in a covert manner. By the evening of February 24th, Acting Secretary of State Frank L. Polk has the displeasure of delivering that message to the president. Woodrow can't believe it. He fumes as he yells out, good Lord, good Lord. From his perspective, how could Germany stoop to such a low?

to pursue a secret alliance with Mexico and Japan for the purpose of making war on a country that has worked so hard to stay neutral. Ah, and the enticement. In the telegram, Germany offers to help Mexico take back some of the territory annexed by the United States over half a century ago. New Mexico, Arizona, and Texas. Worse still, the Germans sent this message through American cables.

Yes, that's how the Second Reich repays the United States' kindness for offering its telegraph lines after the British cut Germany's. Woodrow shares the Zimmerman telegram with the federal government. And a week later, by March 1st, newspapers are spreading word like wildfire across the country. Some, including those in Congress, think this is just too outlandish. It must be a hoax. But then the telegram's own author, Arthur Zimmerman, announces that it's real. What?!

Americans of all stripes are outraged by this secret attempt to induce war and rip three stars from the flag. Even German-Americans consider this a step too far. Meanwhile, Germany's unrestricted U-boats sink four American ships before the end of March. The Algonquin, the Vigilancia, the City of Memphis, and an oil tanker, the Illinois.

Ugh! Woodrow might have been re-elected as the man who kept the nation out of the war for more than two years now, but between the acts of sabotage, these renewed submarine attacks, and the Zimmerman telegram, what choice does he have? At least, that's how the bespectacled president feels. On March 30th, the former professor sits at his Hammond typewriter, not to write history, but to make it, as he prepares a speech too important to be trusted to another.

He works through the weekend, not yet aware that as he types, German U-boat 46 is sinking yet another American vessel, the SS Aztec, just off the French coast. Finally, late Sunday night, April 1st, Woodrow's words are ready. Tomorrow, he'll deliver this speech on grave matters of national policy to a joint session of the U.S. Congress. It's just after 8.30 p.m., April 2nd, 1917.

We're in Washington, DC, at the US Capitol in the chamber of the House of Representatives. Senators, representatives, every member of the Supreme Court, and foreign diplomats fill the semi-circle seating on the floor. The gallery seats found on every side of the rectangular chamber are likewise packed. And yet, this massive audience sits with such bated breath. First Lady Edith Wilson will later report that you can hear people breathing.

All are anxious to hear what President Woodrow Wilson has to say. Finally, the voice of Speaker of the House James Clark cuts through the silence. "Gentlemen of the 65th Congress, I present the President of the United States." Woodrow takes his place before the wooden podium, peering through his iconic hansone eyewear. He nervously takes in the huge audience in front of him. And then,

He begins, "I have called the Congress into extraordinary session because there are serious choices of policy to be made." Serious choices indeed. Briefly, Woodrow recounts the history of Germany's submarine warfare over the last two years, from its early 1915 attacks that put aside all restraints of law or humanity, to its new policy that has swept every restriction aside.

These attacks, Woodrow clarifies, are horrific not because of the financial cost of losing merchant vessels. They're horrific because Germany is killing noncombatants. He continues, Property can be paid for. The lives of peaceful and innocent people cannot be. The present German submarine warfare against commerce is a warfare against mankind. It is a war against all nations. Woodrow's made a powerful assertion.

If Germany is waging war against mankind, then the United States can hardly stay on the sidelines and remain neutral. Standing behind that logic, the bespectacled president now makes his big move, telling Congress to declare war. We will not choose the path of submission and suffer the most sacred rights of our nation and our people to be ignored or violated.

I advise that the Congress declare the recent course of the imperial German government to be in fact nothing less than war against the government and people of the United States. Let us make very clear to all the world what our motives and our objects are. To vindicate the principles of peace and justice in the life of the world as against selfish and autocratic power. Woodrow further elaborates on German autocracy.

He hints at the underhanded Zimmerman telegram, citing the effort to coax Mexico into making war against the United States as evidence of Germany's malice. But the president does have one final point to make. In the wake of the recent Russian revolution ending the Tsar's autocratic rule in Russia, the only functioning governments among the dominant allied powers are those embracing some form of democracy. Britain is a constitutional monarchy. France is a republic.

Aligning with them, the American Republic won't only be fighting against German autocracy then. It will be fighting, the president proclaims, because the world must be made safe for democracy. And he closes on that point. It is a fearful thing to lead this great peaceful people into war, into the most terrible and disastrous of all wars. Civilization itself seeming to be in the balance, but the right is more precious than peace.

And we shall fight for the things which we have always carried nearest our hearts: for democracy, for the right of those who submit to authority to have a voice in their own governments, for the rights and liberties of small nations, for a universal dominion of right by such a concert of free peoples as shall bring peace and safety to all nations and make the world itself at last free,

To such a task, we can dedicate our eves and our fortunes, everything that we are and everything that we have, with the pride of those who know that the day has come when America is privileged to spend her blood and her might for the principles that gave her birth and happiness and the peace which she has treasured. God helping her, she can do no other.

Lawmakers, the press, distinguished guests, perhaps everyone save Senator Robert La Follette, explode in cheers and applause. Woodrow now leads Congress to debate whether or not to declare war. What should the men and one woman of Congress do?

After more than two years of Germany's off and on submarine warfare, after enduring German sabotage on US soil, and learning of Germany's ignoble attempt to convince Mexico to attack the United States, and all of this on top of Germany's other despicable acts such as introducing gas to the battlefield, bombing civilians, and executing British nurse Edith Cavill, is the United States justified in going to war?

More than that, is it obligated to do so, to join the peace and justice-loving allies in defending democracy against the aggression of the autocratic Second Reich? Or has the United States turned too much of a blind eye to the domino effect of the British Navy's blockade? Should Americans be as enraged that Britain is okay letting German children starve and die as they are that Germany was okay with letting children drown as the Lusitania sank?

Can't the members of Congress be sure they're voting to fight evil and not because the allies have become vital trading partners that have borrowed a staggering $2.3 billion from American bankers at this point? Perhaps the real truth is that these noble and base reasons for war all exist together. And the burden of sifting through this messy reality now falls on every individual member of Congress. On April 4th, two nights after Woodrow's historic speech,

The U.S. Senate votes, voting 82-6. This august body overwhelmingly approves of going to war. The House of Representatives is not far behind. After a long debate, the representatives vote early that Friday, Good Friday, April 6th. They likewise show strong support with a favorable vote of 373-50. Among the nays is the nation's first and sole congresswoman, Jeanette Rankin.

Women's suffrage organizations, both for and against the war, lobby her. And Jeanette knows the nation will judge all women and their fitness for office by her vote. Ultimately, she stands by her convictions, stating that, "'I want to stand by my country, but I cannot vote for war.'" The same day that the House votes, Woodrow's lunch with Edith is interrupted as word arrives that the war resolution is on its way, ready for his signature.

He quickly finishes and soon is in White House usher Ike Hoover's office with the document. Handed a gold pen by his wife, Woodrow solemnly affixes his distinctive signature to the paper. It's done, and the movement now is swift. The ink from Woodrow's signature hasn't even dried on the resolution before the wireless naval station at Arlington is informing the U.S. Navy's commanders of their new and deadly reality. America is at war.