Aftermath: Woodrow Wilson and the Spanish Flu

Annamaria on Monday

My blogs so far on Aftermath have dwelt on general information about sweeping changes that have followed pandemics in the past.  There is no way of knowing, if—among those dead—there was a person who might have made great art, written great literature, or found a way, once and for all, to protect human beings from harmful viruses.  The potential of the lost died with them.

When it comes to the Spanish Flu, however, we have some inklings of how two very influential men, both of whom survived, may have been changed by their bout of the Spanish Flu.  For today, I take up the first of those two: President of the United States, Woodrow Wilson.

Wilson’s flaws were many: He was a for one thing a despicable racist.  Also, as President, he presided over a nation undergoing the worst pandemic since the Black Death.  He was absolutely silent about how his country might deal with the disease that was killing people in their thousands. He focused completely and exclusively on the US role in World War I.  He was also generally vindictive and vicious in attacking anyone who opposed him.  If a lot of this sounds familiar, here are two huge differences between President Wilson and the current denizen of his old stomping grounds in Washington, DC.  Wilson was a great orator.  And he had and faithfully promoted one brilliant and potentially world changing idea: The League of Nations, the precursor of the United Nations.

He devoted himself to and surrounded himself with men who supported the formation of a body bent on achieving world peace though cooperation and mutual support among the nations.  After the November armistice, in January of 1919, Wilson went to France intent on influencing in this direction the heads of state who met to negotiate the treaty of Versailles.  Crowds greeted him as if he were a conquering hero.

To achieve his end, Wilson took a firm stand: that the Allies must not impose heavy penalties on the Germans.  Wilson argued strongly that over taxing the Germans would throw them into such dire straights that the populace would rise up, creating trouble that could spill over into the world at large.  Wilson preferred that the Germans be set up for prosperity, not for suffering—as the surest way to secure peace for the generations to come. 

The other participants did not agree.  Particularly Clemenceau, the Prime Minister of France, who demanded harsh punishment for the Germans.  After all, Germany had started a war that killed more than 1.3 Million French soldiers (not counting civilians). Scores of French towns had been obliterated.  Clemenceau insisted that Germany had to pay reparations and cede territory.

Through January, February, and March, the heads of state battled it out, sometimes heatedly.  Tempers rose to the point were Clemenceau accused Wilson of being “pro-German.”

They then adjourned for lunch.

That afternoon, Wilson uncharacteristically stood when he spoke.  His physician who was in the room, describes the scene like this:

Turning to M. Clemenceau, with his eyes ablaze, he (Wilson)said: “And yet you this morning told me that I should be wearing the kaiser’s helmet. And why? Because I have protested against laying a taxation upon Germany which will make life so unattractive to the little children and the children yet unborn that existence would be a running sore and dreams of vengeance an obsession. I am not thinking only of Germany. I am thinking about the future of the world. (Quoted in The Atlantic in August 2008) 

That was April 1.

Then on April 3, Wilson began to cough, ran a high fever, had trouble breathing, and gastric upset—all symptoms of Spanish flu, which had been circulating in Paris at the time.  Wilson’s doctor and others in his entourage described him as deathly ill, and also reported that he began to exhibit another behavior also typical of that pernicious flu—mental distress.  Wilson became delusional!  He babbled about issues in completely different ways from those his staff were used to.  Some of his aides resigned, because they saw in Wilson’s mental state a reversal of his previous passion for international cooperation.  (Note: we have no way to prove scientifically that what Woodrow Wilson had was Spanish Flu, but now, in the 21^st Century, all concerned with the question think it is a very safe assumption.)

When, weakened and tentative, he returned to the negotiations, he completely capitulated to all the harsh punishments the British and the French demanded be imposed on Germany.

We all know the upshot of that!

In 1940—just twenty-one years later—those little children and yet unborn children from 1919 marched into France again.

WWII took the lives of 80 million people.

Suppose Woodrow Wilson had not gotten the flu.