OPINION:
Donald Trump isn’t the first businessman to think he could take on American foreign policy and make it productive for the nation and world. A century ago this week, automaker and pacifist Henry Ford (1863-1947) arrived back in Detroit after attempting to end World War I with a Peace Ship expedition to Europe he devised and paid for beginning in late 1915. Chartering the Scandinavian-American Line ship, Oskar II, Ford was confident that he could apply his no-nonsense business skills to diplomacy. “If I can make automobiles run,” he said to a skeptical reporter, “why can’t I steer these people clear of war?”
Ford’s intention was to invite about a hundred noted like-minded Americans to join him and leaders of non-belligerent European nations “to establish an international conference,” in his words, “dedicated to negotiations leading to a just settlement of the war.” Although the United States had not entered the war as yet, Ford had enormous difficulty procuring attendees (except for the 57 reporters), failing to lure government notables such as former President William Howard Taft, former Secretary of State William Jennings Bryan and state governors (only the governor of North Dakota signed on).
Rumor had it that Thomas Edison turned down a million-dollar request to come on board. Eventually, Ford had to fill empty slots by inviting 30 college students and what Brooklyn Eagle reporter and passenger Burnet Hershey called “every crackpot and nut in the country who wanted to get on that boat.” And, not surprisingly, the administration of President Woodrow Wilson was opposed to the endeavor.
On Dec. 4, the Oskar II left New York bound for Christiana, Norway, with the slogan, “Out of the trenches by Christmas, never to go back.” On the high seas the ship of “peace pilgrims” was duly stopped and searched by British gunboats, which may have been the most respect accorded the expedition.
In Norway, Ford had absolutely no success in arranging meetings with government leaders. And harsh words were heard elsewhere, as in the case of Danish critic Georg Brandes. “I regard the Ford party,” Brandes said in an interview with the Washington Herald, “as a voyaging lunatic asylum.” He went on: “I always believed American millionaires were clever and understood human nature, otherwise they would be deceived by their lieutenants, but Ford puzzles me. If a premium were to be awarded for stupidity, Denmark could secure it, but we have no men so naive as Ford.”
The American press was no less critical of Ford, and associates of the automaker, recognizing the impact the expedition might have on business, urged him to return home. So, allegedly falling ill and leaving his Oslo hotel at 4 a.m. without notifying other members of his party, Ford took a train to Bergen, Norway, and caught the first ship home on Christmas Eve. His final statement as he boarded was that he hoped to return. “Peace has been given publicity,” he noted, “newspapers have the power to end the war, for it is through publicity that the gospel of peace is spread.”
Arriving in New York, Ford appeared totally recovered from any illness and contended he was not a “deserter” from the expedition, as some in the press reported. But he had a changed view of the war. “When I left the United States,” he said, “I was of the opinion that bankers and manufacturers of war munitions held it in their power to end the terrible struggle. Since I have carefully looked into the matter, however, I find it is the people themselves — those who are being slaughtered — who hold that power.”
Without the leadership of Ford, who never rejoined the party abroad, the peace pilgrims had little clout, and most, after a storm-tossed voyage filled with rancorous debate over their mission, returned home on Jan. 29. However, Ford made one more attempt during the era of World War I to make a political mark. At the urging of President Wilson, who needed more supporters in Congress to bring into effect his vision of a postwar world, Ford ran for the U.S. Senate as a Democrat from his home state of Michigan in 1918. He lost in a close, bitterly contested election.
• Thomas V. DiBacco is professor emeritus at American University.
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