Everything Old Is New Again

Italy appears poised to have fascists in their ruling coalition, almost exactly one century after the National Fascist Party came to power the first time.

"What's It All About in Italy" by John Knott in Galveston Daily News, Oct. 30, 1922

Mussolini's March on Rome came right at the end of October, 1922, when most U.S. editorial cartoonists were preoccupied with their local elections for Congress and/or governorships. Not John Knott, in spite of a senate race in Texas pitting a Ku Klux Klansman against a last-ditch candidate suing in court to get on the ballot.

Between a couple gaps in the on-line record of the Galveston Daily News in October and a few days when it doesn't appear to have run Knott's cartoons, I'll concede the possibility that Knott drew something about the candidates running for office in Texas. I just haven't found it.

"A Perfect Fit" by Dorman H. Smith for Newspaper Enterprise Assn., ca. Nov. 4, 1922

I have come across a couple other early cartoons about the fascist victory in Italy, however. Dorman J. Smith was drawing for a national audience rather than a local one, so he wasn't as preoccupied as most cartoonists were with politics close to home. And unless I'm missing something here in an allusion that's older than Caligula, it seems to me that Smith actually approved of the fascists coming to power.

Conservatives today would never make such a mistake, would they? Would they?

"The Open Season for Politics" by John McCutcheon in Chicago Tribune, Oct. 31, 1922

To be fair, Americans of the 1920's had no experience with fascism yet. As far as our cartoonists a century ago were concerned, this was just another change of government in a land far away. 

Nowadays, you'd think people would know better.

"The Big Four" by Grover Page in Louisville Courier-Journal, Oct. 20, 1922

If Italian fascists didn't yet catch the interest of editorial cartoonists in the U.S., more of them took note of the break-up of Great Britain's coalition behind Prime Minister David Lloyd George. Grover Page depicts Lloyd George joining the former leaders of the other Entente powers, U.S. President Woodrow Wilson, Italian Prime Minister Vittorio Orlando, and French Prime Minister Georges Clemenceau in involuntary retirement.

"A Dangerous Bookworm" by Harry Murphy for Star Publications, ca. Oct. 3, 1922

Joining Italian fascists in the repetition of history, we have this cartoon decrying wokeness in our schools. The newspaper empire of Anglophobe William Randolph Hearst was worried that impressionable schoolboys were being terrorized by textbooks infested with "propaganda belittling American Revolution."

"Still Teaching Treason" by Harry Murphy for Star Company, ca. Oct. 11, 1922

The textbooks weren't reminding them that many of our Founding Fathers were slave-owners, of course. Perhaps some textbook had the temerity to suggest that King George wasn't entirely wrong to expect the American colonists to help pay for the redcoats defending them from the French and Indians. 

Turn we now from America's leading Anglophobe to one of its leading Anglophiles.

"According to Ambassador Harvey" by John Knott in Galveston Daily News, Oct. 28, 1922

Faithful followers of these Saturday History Tours may remember John Cassel having caricatured U.S. Ambassador to the Court of St. James, George Brinton McClellan Harvey with typographical symbols during a photoengravers' strike. Reported in the London Daily Telegraph, Ambassador Harvey gave an address to the Authors Club of London on the theme "Have Women Souls?"

At the start, Ambassador Harvey gave that "[O]ur preceptors in religion... would declare with concordant impatience, if pressed, that of course women have souls, and it is absurd, if not indeed positively sacrilegious, to suggest a doubt to the contrary."

Foolishly, he continued.

"And yet, they teach with like unanimity that woman is not the equal of man in the possession of inherent rights, but is and was designed by God to be his subordinate and subject."

Going on, Harvey observed that the Ten Commandments were written "exclusively for men": the fourth commandment lists who must not work in the home on the sabbath without mentioning wives; while the tenth forbids coveting one's neighbor's wife, but not one's neighbor's wife returning the coveting.

"Not a Woman Here" by John Cassel in New York Evening World, Oct. 26, 1922

"There is no recognition in the decalogue of the possession of souls or inherent rights by women. The fact of course is that women are not only not bound by but freed at last by inference of any obligation to observe the requirements of our fundamental religious law. ...

"[E]ither the commandments should be revised to meet the requirements of modern conditions, or a specific decalogue should be constructed exclusively for women." 

Harvey, it must be noted, was not being completely serious, and his audience received his talk in the light-hearted manner in which it was intended. Yet the ambassador had earned a reputation for shooting his mouth off, and his remarks rankled feminists and clergy on both sides of the Atlantic.

"Aren't They Going to Offer the Lady a Chair" by John Knott in Galveston Daily News, Oct. 18,1922

Senate-appointee Rebecca Felton (D-GA, pictured here by John Knott) had a few words to say when reporters showed her Ambassador Harvey's remarks. 

"Ambassador Harvey is at home in politics — and he seems to be at a banquet table — but he is all wrong and away out of his element in commenting on the Ten Commandments and their application to women. ... That's the most amusing thing I've seen today. Isn't it funny how so many men try to change things that have been in existence for thousands and thousands of years.

"I'm glad I saw that dispatch, though. It does one so much good to be amused when suffering from a bad cold. I feel a great deal better already."

"She May Come" by Clifford Berryman in Washington (DC) Evening Star, Oct. 5, 1922

Rebecca Felton has the distinction of being the first woman to serve as United States Senator, although it was only for one day. Appointed by the governor in an effort to appeal to women voters (in a state that resisted women's suffrage) after the death of Sen. Thomas Watson, she was named with the understanding that she wouldn't stand in the way of the men running for the seat in November.

As these two cartoons suggest, there was the distinct possibility that the Senate would not be in session to seat the 87-year-old Felton at all. Senate leadership did, however, call the body into session on November 21 just so she could be sworn in and give a speech. 

In that speech, Felton, an advocate of both Prohibition and women's suffrage predicted, "When the women of the country come in and sit with you…you will get ability, you will get integrity of purpose, you will get exalted patriotism, and you will get unstinted usefulness."

She might be a heroine to the feminist movement today if she weren't also an outspoken white supremacist and erstwhile slave owner.

You have to like Clifford Berryman's awkward attempt to address "Mrs. Senator Felton," though.

Night at the Rapallo

We were discussing the Genoa Convention last week: a meeting of European and Japanese leaders (plus those of various British commonwealths) in April of 1922 with the goal of reintegrating Germany and Russia into their number.

"Weltfrühling" by Arthur Johnson in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, April 30, 1922

Compared to the very successful recent naval conference in Washington D.C., things in Genoa were not going so well. France demanded continued heavy reparations from Germany which Germany protested it could not possibly afford. 

"None So Blind" by Winsor McCay for Star Company, by April 12, 1922

As for Soviet Russia, other European leaders were eager to resume commercial activity, and Russia, having finally vanquished the country's royalists, was eager to get Japan out of Siberia. But the allies' made normalization of relations conditional upon Russia paying back the tsarist national debt, compensating other nations for property confiscated by the Soviets, and abandoning its communist form of government.

"The Russian Reply to Allies' Demands" by Elmer Bushnell for Central Press Assn., by April 26, 1922

While they felt that the debt issue could be negotiated, abandoning Marxism was unacceptable to the Russian delegation led by Soviet Foreign Minister Georgy Chicherin. The allies believed, however, that they held the upper hand against both Russia and Germany.

"Deutschland und Russland" by Ernst Schilling in Simplicissimus, Munich, May 10, 1922

What the allies hadn't counted on was Germany and Russia signing a mutual agreement in nearby Rapallo, renouncing all territorial, financial, and legal claims against each other. The two countries resumed normal diplomatic and consular relations. Germany found a way to play East against West, and Russia found itself a friend beyond its borders.

"The Russo-German Cherubs" by Clifford Berryman in Washington (DC) Evening Star, April 18, 1922

I usually find Clifford Berryman's cartoons somewhat pedestrian, if generally useful for following events at our nation's capital; but I love this parody of the Two Cherubs in Raphael's Sistine Madonna.

"The Same Old Game" by John Knott in Dallas Morning News, April 20, 1922

John Knott reflects the commonly held belief among Americans that European governments couldn't be trusted to deal fairly. That the U.S. intercepted on cables sent home and received by other countries' negotiators at the Washington D.C. Naval Conference proves that underhanded dealing was not limited to those wily Europeans.

"The Rival Attraction" by John T. McCutcheon in Chicago Tribune, April 19, 1922

And what Rapallo proved was that perhaps the British and French were just too clever for their own good.

"The Burning Question" by Gustavo Bronstrup in San Francisco Chronicle, April 19

A cartoonist's aside here: Gustavo Bronstrup's cartoons in the San Francisco Chronicle always had to accommodate the top of the paper's "The Morning's Morning" column, a collection of quick opinions and brief observances. I would be so annoyed if I had to allow for a print column to cover up the lower right corner of my cartoon day after every fricking day.

"Rockin' the Boat" by Dorman H. Smith for Newspaper Enterprise Assn., by April 25, 1922

At any rate, the Genoa Conference, thanks to the Rapallo Pact, has gone down in history as a colossal diplomatic failure.

"Mon Dieu! The Cook's Gone Off with the Butler" by Art Young in The Nation, May, 1922

Ladies' Home Rule Journal

Splitback Saturday tackles two topics today!

With St. Patrick's Day just around the corner, it's time to check in on events at the Emerald Isle a century ago. I realize that this makes a poor substitute for a cancelled parade, but I'm afraid it will have to do.

"Fer th' Love av Mike" by Elmer Bushnell for Central Press Association, February, 1920

With the Easter Rising and Irish wartime collaboration with Germany in the rearview mirror, the government of David Lloyd George proposed a Home Rule bill for Ireland. It established Northern Ireland and Southern Ireland, which were to be governed by separate parliaments and judicial systems, but a common Lord Lieutenant, Council of Ireland, and High Court of Appeal. Both would still be part of the United Kingdom, with no authority over foreign policy, currency, or defense.

"Cruel to Be Kind" by George White in The Passing Show, February, 1920 or earlier

"Home Rule" was hardly a new idea. It had been the main goal of Irish nationalists since 1870, and proposed by Liberal governments in Great Britain as early as 1886. Parliament had finally passed a Home Rule bill just as World War I broke out, but did so simultaneously with a Suspensory Act preventing Home Rule from going into effect as long as the war lasted.

Which should have been fine and dandy now that the war was over, right?

Detail from "Cartoons of the Day" by John T. McCutcheon in Chicago Tribune, March 17, 1920

Wrong.

To begin with, Ulster Unionists — Ireland's Protestant minority— were dead set against Home Rule and literally up in arms to prevent it. Furthermore, after British execution of Easter Rising leaders, followed by Lloyd George's institution of wartime conscription in Ireland, Irish nationalists decided that "Home Rule" was too little, too late. The more radical Sinn Fein swept Irish elections in 1918 and demanded full independence.

"En ik heb vijf lange jaren naast je gevochten..." in De Notenkraker, Amsterdam, ca. February, 1920

After the war, Woodrow Wilson's idealistic talk of self-determination of small nations was more appealing to the Irish separatists than to the government of the Empire On Which The Sun Never Set.

"The Great Postponement" by Bernard Partridge in Punch, March, 1920 or earlier

The trick pig was a frequent, and intentionally insulting, representation of Ireland in British cartoons, tracing back to an 1840 cartoon in Punch. History Ireland reports, "The pig represented Ireland’s status as an agricultural, rustic and backward nation, as well as the Irish peasantry’s supposed indifference to filth and muck."

"A Test of Sagacity" by Bernard Partridge in Punch, February 18, 1920

The politicians in the next cartoon are Irish Unionist leader Edward Carson on the left and Prime Minister David Lloyd George on the right. I'm not positive who the fellow in the center is; it can't be Eamon Valera.

"The Pudding That Was to Have Been" by F.C. Gould in Saturday Westminster Gazette, ca. March, 1920

Lloyd George's bill, "The Government of Ireland Act 1920," was presented in parliament on February 26. The bill ultimately did pass, but never took effect in what is now the independent country of Ireland.

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Given that we've just passed International Women's Day and are in the middle of Women's History Month, I would be remiss if I didn't take note of a centennial this week.

Detail from "The Tiny Tribune" by Carey Orr in Chicago Tribune, March 12, 1920

100 years ago this past Wednesday, West Virginia became the 34th state to ratify the Nineteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, to extend the vote in federal elections to women over the age of 21.

The measure almost failed to pass a special session of the West Virginia State Senate, where ratification came up one vote short. But two senators were absent: one had resigned the previous year; and the other, Jesse Bloch of Wheeling, was golfing in California.

"Now Straight Ahead" by Bill Sykes in Philadelphia Evening Ledger, March 12, 1920

The Senate leadership kept the vote open until the pro-suffrage Bloch could get back home, arriving by a specially arranged train in the wee hours of March 10.

"The Grand Rush of the Reception Committee" by Jay "Ding" Darling in New York Tribune, March 15, 1920

Just two more states were needed to complete the ratification process; as you can see, proponents were very optimistic at the amendment's chances.

Ach! Was Für ein Schöner Krieg

Sturmback Saturday returns yet again to the final summer of World War I. Looking back on history from today's point of view, reinforced by the sort of gung-ho American and allied cartoons which have tended to show up in these posts, it's easy to think that allied victory was in sight in the summer of 1918.

German editorial cartoonists, however, were presenting a completely different picture to their readers.

"Der Trum auf der Flucht" by Richter in Ulk, Berlin, July 12, 1918

Two things I need to state right off the bat: first, some of these cartoons include racist content. It's not at all uncommon in cartoons anywhere in the last century (e.g., Dr. Seuss's wartime cartoons about the Japanese), and I have avoided using several cartoons that might otherwise have illustrated a point I was making. But they are integral to how people saw foreigners of any sort in those days, and I've let a few slip through today.

Second, my conversational German is limited to "gesundheit," "nach zweimal, bitte," and "langsam mit empfindung," so there are some puns and idioms here that I needed help to figure out. So, with that out of the way: the first cartoon above turns on a play on the words "Eiffel" and "zweifelhaft" (meaning "doubtful").

"Die Kunst im Keller" by M. Richter in Ulk, Berlin, July 26, 1918

In July, the German army was still lobbing shells toward Paris from their huge "Paris-Geschütz" in the hills some 75 miles to the northeast, the longest-range weapon to date. German cartoonists fancied every Parisian having to scuttle from cellar to cellar all day, every day. Yet while the missiles certainly did cause considerable damage, the destructive power of the shells was limited by the relatively small amount of explosive material that could be packed into the thick, heavy shells; and by the fact that they couldn't be targeted to specific locations. 

Come August, the German army would be in retreat, hauling their Paris-Geschütz with them and destroying it and the plans of its construction.

"In der New-Yorker City" by Erich Schilling in Simplicissimus, Munich, August 4, 1918

German shells couldn't reach New York, and U.S. law enforcement was effectively cracking down on German-American saboteurs. Accordingly, the two-pronged propaganda line from German media against America was that American troops were suffering heavy casualties, and that they weren't a significant addition to the war anyway.

"Französische Abwehr-Reklame" by T.M. Leonhardt in Ulk, Berlin, July 5, 1918

The signs posted between the trenches in Leonhardt's cartoon promise that 500,000 Americans are on their way to the front, that Sioux Indians are coming, and more. I am told that Gustav's trenchmate is speaking with a Berlin accent, and that "Die mir!" translates to "They! Me!" in the sense of a dismissive "So they think they can impress me?!" A reputation Berliners have for being rather snooty is also at play here.

"Tin Soldiers" by Johannes Bahr in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, July 14, 1918

Johannes Bahr depicts Italian King Victor Emmanuel III (always shown as a tiny man in German cartoons), British Prime Minister David Lloyd George, and French Prime Minister Georges Clemenceau rejoicing at the impending arrival of the Americans, only to be disappointed by Woodrow Wilson's "tin soldiers."

An explanatory note atop Bahr's cartoon alleges that "American troops are called tin soldiers by their allies." From the fact that the cartoon title is in English, I would assume the epithet to have origins somewhere in the British Empire, but I haven't found any confirmation to support the claim. The common nicknames for American soldiers were Yanks, Sammies, and doughboys. It is nevertheless true that the first American soldiers and airmen to arrive in Europe lacked adequate training and supplies, insofar as the U.S. did not have a standing army at the time.

"Die 'Enten'ritter" by Arthur Johnson in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, July 7, 1918

Arthur Johnson's cartoon above plays with the German word "enten" (ducks) as a pun on "Entente" by depicting Woodrow Wilson as a ludicrous Lohengrin — the legendary hero who arrives on a boat pulled by swans to protect a fair young duchess whom he forbids to ask him his name. (Marianne, of course, is the traditional personification of France.)

"Zur 'Einschränkung des Fremdenverkerhs'" by Arthur Johnson in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, July 14, 1918

Perhaps seeking to drive a wedge between the French and their allies, Johnson depicts the Americans and British as the guests who have overstayed their welcome, rather than the Germans whom the "tourists" were seeking to drive out of Marianne's parloir. Native Americans had been commonly used in European cartoons since colonial days to represent the U.S. (especially to imply it were a nation of savages). Taking this cartoon along with T.M. Leonhardt's above, I have to marvel that our Navajo "code talkers" ploy still baffled German intelligence a quarter century later.

As for any new restrictions on tourism which Johnson appears to be referencing, I suppose that must have been a German thing. Paris wouldn't seem to be an attractive tourist destination with German shells falling haphazardly from the sky. German cities were not being shelled, but were suffering food, fuel, and material shortages thanks to the Entente blockade

The Sammies were not the only troops whose participation in the war was belittled by German cartoonists.

"Wieter Können Wir Nicht, Kinder..." by Gustav Brandt in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, August 4, 1918

The note of explanation with this Gustav Brandt cartoon of hapless Canadian, Australian and South African unicorn riders says, "According to Swiss reports, British dominions no longer have confidence in a final victory." Certainly there was opposition, most notably in Quebec, to Canada's involvement in hostilities, and among Afrikaners to South Africa's. The cost of the war in Australian lives surely dampened the Diggers' initial gung-ho enthusiasm, too.

But the failure of the Central Powers' Spring Offensive to end the war sapped German popular support as well. And as Kladderadatsch's August 4 edition hit the streets, Entente forces were poised to counter with their 100 Days Offensive. All of the above allied countries and territories were deeply committed, and the offensive ultimately turned the tide of the war in favor of the Entente.

"Auch Haiti!" by Johannes Bahr in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, July 28, 1918

Still, if German media were dismissive of U.S., Canadian, Australian and South African participation in the war, they found Haiti's July 12 declaration of war utterly laughable. Occupied by the U.S. since 1915, Haiti had protested German U-boat activity in the Atlantic and Caribbean, particularly after the 1917 sinking of a French steamer with Haitian passengers and crew.

One of the panels in Bahr's cartoon comes close to being subversive, however, in that he notes how inflation was a serious problem in Germany, exacerbated by even the most insignificant bit of bad news.

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Many thanks to my guter Freund Winfried Schmidtpott for help unpacking such words as "Miessmacherstammtisch," which is the table at a neighborhood bar around which a bunch of populist, Gloomy Gus regulars traditionally gather to discuss weighty issues of politics and society.

But you already knew that.

German Cartoonists and the War

After last week's display of Louis Raemaekers cartoons, Spottenback Saturday now grants a few German cartoonists of World War I a chance to give their say. Except for the Gulbransson cartoon, these cartoons were reprinted in contemporary issues of Cartoons Magazine, published out of Chicago, which means they must have had to get past both German and U.S. wartime censors. As such, it is possible that they may not necessarily be the best examples of German wartime satire.

"The Blood Bath," From Der Brummer, Berlin, 1917

American troops joined the fighting in Europe in August of 1917, and patriotic fervor in the U.S. was at a peak, so the above cartoon very much misrepresents American popular feeling. The nations wading in the blood bath do not include Germany or its allies, which would have gotten this cartoon (and possibly its cartoonist) spiked.

German government dismissed "America's worthless assistance" to the Entente powers. Gustav Brandt here offers one idea to buttress the official government line, a fine example of the jugendstil of bold, flat areas of solid color that became popular among German cartoonists of the early 20th Century.

by Gustav Brandt in Kladderadatsch, Berlin

Better known west of the Maginot Line as art nouveau, jugendstil gets its name from Jugend, a cultural magazine published in Munich. Brandt himself (1861-1919) was at this time a long-established cartoonist whose earlier cartoons conformed to 19th Century tastes for greater detail and verisimilitude.

Here's another example of jugendstil, with a similar jab at Wilson as a money-grubbing capitalist, this time from a Simplicissimus cartoonist about Pope Benedict XV's peace proposal.

"Wilson's Answer" by Olaf Gulbransson in Simplicissimus, Munich, September 18, 1917

Another Kladderadatsich cartoonist lampoons the refusal of England's Lloyd George, the U.S.'s Wilson and France's Poincaré to consider German armistice proposals; each had declared that an end to Hohenzollern rule of Germany was a prerequisite condition for peace.

"We Will Never Negotiate" by unidentified cartoonist (Arthur Johnson?) in Kladderadatsch, Berlin

Speaking of Russia, Wilhelm Schulz in the brash satirical magazine Simplicissimus portrays Germany proffering a helping hand to its eastern neighbor. Russia, however, is threatened by its erstwhile allies.

"Helpless Russia" by Wilhelm Schulz in Simplicissimus, Munich, July 17, 1917

The U.S. was not the only Johnny-come-marching-lately into the Great War. In spite of its recent history with England and Russia, and the fact that its rival Japan had also sided with the Entente, China declared war on Germany in August, 1917.

"China" by W. A. Wellner in Lustige Blätter,  Berlin, January 1917

Given British and Russian imperialist designs on China, there was significant support in military and government circles for an alliance with Germany; one such supporter was former President/future Premier Sun Yat-sen. But the government of Duan Qirui viewed an Entente victory as more likely than a victory by the Central powers and hoped to gain territory at any post-war bargaining table. (They would be bitterly disappointed.)

"Tremble, Germania!" by Carl Olof Petersen in Lustige Blätter, Berlin, July 23, 1917

The sinking of the Athos I with 900 Chinese workers aboard by a German U-boat off the coast of Malta in February, 1917, furthermore, served as China's Lusitania moment. Yet if Germany was officially unconcerned with America's entry into the war, it was hardly any more worried about the Chinese navy.

1916: Eggs, Dachshunds, Horses and Lions, Oh, My

I've still got a few more cartoons from my December 13, 1916 copy of The Outlook magazine, so here are some almost random cartoons from a century ago. I'll even throw in a couple other cartoons as a bonus.

Prompted by a Chicago alderman, a women's group called the Political Equality League announced a protest against the price of eggs on November 26, 1916. Unless the price were lowered from 50 cents per dozen, the PEL pledged to boycott eggs entirely.

"If James E. Wetz, the Egg King, carries out his threat," [Alderman George Pretzel told the group], "I may be in jail soon for conspiring to boycott him; but I am willing to take this chance to break the egg trust. There are about eight men in the trust, who sell to one another in order to keep the price up."

As egg prices continued to rise, others joined the fight against Mr. Egg over the next year, such as the National Housewives League and the Kansas City Restaurant Association. Prices hit a high of 65 cents per dozen before being cut in half in 1917.

"Boycotted" by Rollin Kirby in New York World, December, 1916

It may be unintentional, but the posters on the wall in Kirby's background are reminiscent of those that would be festooned all over the background of the typical Thomas Nast cartoon (especially the question "What are you going to do about it?"). The lower one refers to a Chicago Commissioner of Weights and Measures, who persuaded local theaters to display a notice on their screens reading,

"Smash the egg gamblers—Join the egg boycott. It's the man higher up—not the retailer. Practice economy in use of eggs. Buy only for aged, infirm and children. Decrease demand and watch price come down. It's up to you."

At The Outlook, the editors attribute the rise in egg prices to the seasonal fact that hens lay fewer eggs in cold weather. The editors recommend "cold storage":

"It requires only the foresight to purchase fresh eggs in the spring, when they are cheap and plentiful, and to preserve these same eggs until the following winter, when they are scarce and dear. Eggs can be preserved for a much longer time than this in crocks filled with a solution of water-glass or silicate of soda."

Nelson Harding finds a clever pun for a cartoon critical of a bill by a Rep. Fitzgerald (D-NY), Chair of the House Committee on Appropriations, enacting an embargo on the exportation of foodstuffs for one year, to be enforced by the U.S. Army and Navy.

"The Dog in the Measure" by Nelson Harding in Brooklyn Daily Eagle, December, 1916

The aim of the bill, opposed by farmers and others in the food industry, was to drive down the cost of groceries. Harding here opines that the bill would benefit Germany by cutting off American exports to Great Britain. (England was already blockading American exports to Germany, as we've noted before.) The bill was also opposed by Rep. Adamson of Georgia, Chair of the Committee on Interstate and Foreign Commerce, whom we have met previously in his bill regarding the railway workers' strike.

Let's give some attention to a few cartoonists from outside the United States, shall we? Turning a cliché back in on itself in this cartoon featuring British Prime Minister David Lloyd George, Canadian cartoonist Sam Hunter is skeptical of the latest peace proposal from the Kaiser:

"Looking the Gift Horse in the Mouth" by Sam Hunter for Toronto World, December 21, 1916

So is this Parisian cartoonist, I suppose. At least I'm guessing the speaker in the cartoon is a French soldier; the Western front had been fought on French soil, not German soil. for two years and counting. Besides, the uniform seems consistent with that interpretation. If so, then the other two men must be German citizens, unless the soldier is German and the two with the plank are from a neutral country.

"Peace?" by cartoonist in Le Rire, Paris, December, 1916

What's with that P? Are they Privates from Prussia? Peaceniks from Pays Bas? Damn that French cartoonist for not putting one of those helmets with the pointy spire on top on somebody's head so we historically illiterate 21st Century Americans can tell who's who!

There's no ambiguity in this British cartoon featuring Kaiser Wilhelm and Chancellor Theobold von Bethmann-Hollweg.

"The Lion that Grew" by F. Carruthers Gould in Westiminster Gazette, London, December, 1916

A full-page cartoon in the Canadian bi-weekly La Bataille offers a much less smug view of the war. As Europa grimly packs half the seed of Europe, one by one as cannon fodder, the U.S. appears as the light ("la lumiere") on the horizon. (I'm sure I don't need to remind you that Canada, as part of the United Kingdom, was already at war.)

Untitled cartoon by Phyl (LaFerrière?) in La Bataille, Montreal, December 14, 1916