World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Washington winters are always damp and cold. A cold snap at the end of January 1917, like some ominous sign, rose from the Potomac River and seeped into every crevice of Capitol Hill. But on this day, the cold could not dampen the enthusiasm of the crowd—or more accurately, the enthusiasm of anger.

By 10 a.m., more than 5,000 people had gathered in front of the east steps of the Capitol Building. They held up signs with bold, dark lettering that read: "Punish the German murderers!" "Avenge NY-107!" "Merica can no longer remain silent!" Several young people who looked like college students climbed onto the base of a lamppost and led the crowd in chanting slogans. Their faces were red from the cold, and their breath condensed into mist in the frigid air.

Reporters crowded into the reserved area, camera lenses pointed at the building entrance. Associated Press senior reporter Tom Hudson rubbed his frozen fingers and said to his young assistant, "Write this down—a historic moment. Congress hasn't been this outraged since the Civil War."

"Will Wilson declare war?" the assistant asked.

"He must." Hudson stared at the building's heavy oak doors. "Forty-three lives, all taken on the high seas. If the president talks about peace now, the New York Times will call him a coward tomorrow."

Inside the building, the atmosphere in the House chambers was even more somber than outside.

Almost all 535 members of parliament were present. The usually empty gallery was packed to the brim today—cabinet members, Supreme Court justices, foreign diplomats, and senior military officers. British Ambassador Cecil Spring-Rice sat in the front row of the diplomatic section, his expression calm, but his hands on his knees were slightly clenched. The Japanese ambassador sat diagonally behind him, his expression focused as if attending a ceremony concerning the fate of his nation.

Li Weimin, the Minister of the Lanfang government stationed in the United States, sat in the third row. He was dressed today in a dark gray Zhongshan suit, making him stand out among the group of diplomats in suits and ties. The French ambassador next to him leaned in and whispered, "How did President Chen Feng's talks in Hawaii go?"

"I've said everything I needed to say," Li Weimin replied in fluent French, his tone calm. "The rest is up to history."

The French ambassador wanted to ask another question, but the chamber suddenly fell silent.

The Speaker struck the gavel: "Rise, all. Welcome Mr. Woodrow Wilson, President of the United States of America."

All eyes turned to the entrance.

Wilson walked into the chamber a little slower than usual. He was wearing a dark black suit today, his white shirt collar neatly buttoned, but his tie was dark red—"It was the color of blood, or the color of anger, depending on how you looked at it," the fashion editor of The Washington Post later wrote.

The president was pale, and the bags under his eyes were more pronounced than a month ago. He walked to the podium, placed his speech on the tilted lectern, and adjusted the microphone—the first time Congress had used electronic amplification equipment for an important speech. Technicians had just installed it last week, supposedly ensuring that everyone in the last row could hear every word.

"Mr. Speaker, members of parliament, distinguished guests," Wilson's voice, calm and even somewhat somber, resonated through the loudspeaker throughout the hall, "I stand here with a heavy heart."

He paused. The only sounds in the council chamber were the clicking of camera shutters and the faint hissing of the heating pipes.

"Four days ago, in the mid-Atlantic, at 45 degrees 12 minutes north latitude and 35 degrees 08 minutes west longitude, two merchant ships flying the Merica flag—the 'Ocean Merchant' and the 'Atlantic Glory'—were attacked by torpedoes from a German submarine without warning."

Wilson took a piece of paper from his inside suit pocket and unfolded it. His hand was steady.

"Captain Thomas Miller, 57, from New Jersey, has two sons and a daughter; his eldest son is a junior at Princeton University. Hull engineer Robert Chen, 42, is a Chinese American from San Francisco who became a citizen ten years ago; his wife is pregnant with their third child. Sailor James Colt, 19, is making his first transatlantic voyage; before setting sail, he wrote to his mother from Brooklyn saying, 'I'll be able to save enough money to buy a refrigerator when I get back.'"

He read out twelve names. Each name was followed by age, place of origin, and family situation. With each name read out, the air in the council chamber grew heavier.

After reading the twelfth word, Wilson looked up. His glasses reflected the light, obscuring his eyes.

"We have recovered the bodies of these twelve people. The whereabouts of the other thirty-one people remain unknown. In the North Atlantic in January, the survival time for someone who falls into the water is no more than thirty minutes. Therefore, we can be fairly certain that forty-three citizens of America perished in the NY-107 ferry incident."

He paused again. This pause was long, unsettlingly long.

"Forty-three lives." Wilson repeated the word, his voice finally showing emotion, not excitement, but a kind of suppressed pain. "They weren't soldiers, they weren't going to war. They were merchants, sailors, engineers—ordinary citizens engaged in legitimate international trade on the high seas. According to international law, the high seas are the common property of all nations, and citizens of any country have the right to navigate freely there."

He took off his glasses and wiped them with a soft cloth. This action gave him a few seconds to compose himself.

"When the German government announced its 'unrestricted submarine warfare' last year, we lodged a strong protest. We pointed out that this practice of indiscriminately attacking all ships violated the Hague Convention and the most basic principles of civilization. The German response was: it is a military necessity."

Wilson put his glasses back on. Now his eyes were visible—bloodshot, but sharp.

"So today I want to ask: What is military necessity? Is launching torpedoes at unarmed merchant ships military necessity? Is killing forty-three civilians military necessity? Is turning the Atlantic into a graveyard for merchant ships military necessity?"

His voice didn't rise, but each word struck the silent air like a hammer blow.

"If this is a military necessity, then what's the difference between humans and beasts? If war means abandoning all rules, all morality, all humanity, then what are we fighting for? To prove who is more barbaric?"

In the gallery, the British ambassador nodded slightly. The French ambassador took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. Li Weimin took notes expressionlessly.

"I have always believed in reason and law," Wilson continued, his tone returning to a scholarly calm. "I believe that disputes between nations can be resolved through negotiation, and that humanity has progressed to the point where it can transcend violence. But what has happened in Europe over the past two and a half years is destroying that belief. And now, the flames of war have reached our own citizens."

He braced himself on the podium with both hands and leaned forward. This posture made his words more powerful.

"Today, I stand here not to declare war. War is a last resort, the worst option. But I also want to make it clear to you all, to the whole world: Merica will not stand idly by while its citizens are slaughtered, will not tolerate the trampling of freedom of navigation on the high seas, and will not accept a dog-eat-dog international order."