Today I’m thinking about the time I spent in 1918.
(I wasn’t alive then, but spent years steeping in the era, seeing it through the eyes of its dreamers.)
War in Europe, chaos at home—especially the flu. (1/6)
Hopes were so high in 1912. Disillusion so bitter in 1919.
What happened in between? Everything. And it happened fast.
“We were children reared in a kindergarten, and now the real thing was coming.” – one radical describing the shock of American life in those years (2/6)
Dreamers fought for different dreams but they shared a belief in democracy.
Suffragists fought for the vote. But it wasn't just the vote.
Radicals insisted that workers decide how they work.
Even more: True democracy could be a way of life. Adhesive, social, communal (3/6)
And then it blew apart. Viciously. Spectacularly.
Domestic terror, race riots, the first red scare, the pandemic.
The dreamers kept fighting anyway. Sometimes at the cost of their lives.
Like Randolph Bourne, a young prophet lost to the flu. (4/6)
God knows there are reasons to be sad and angry today. But hopefully not surprised. Because the country has been here before.
In fact, bad as things are, 1919 shows they can get worse.
And the legacy of what the dreamers did amid that terror? It’s still up to us (5/6)
It's been a few years since I wrote about those dreamers. Somehow it feels like today: bit.ly/3mna2wd
I wanted to tell a story, not argue a brief. But if you ask me to distill a lesson, here goes:
Nobody gets free alone.
(/end)
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