63 pages • 2 hours read
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Prequel investigates the interplay of American isolationism, antisemitism, and fascism, three movements that became increasingly intertwined in the lead-up to World War II. The text shows that isolationism became an acceptable cloak for extremist ideologies, merging with anti-Roosevelt sentiments to sway moderate US citizens toward policies that mirrored Nazi Germany’s interests. As the story unfolds, Maddow meticulously reveals that isolationism transcended a mere reluctance to engage in global conflicts; instead, it evolved into a vessel for explicitly antisemitic and fascist ideologies, which challenges the conventional understanding of this historical period in the US.
Leading up to World War II and in the initial years of the war, isolationism, coupled with anti-Roosevelt sentiments, became a more palatable way for extremists to express their views and convince more moderate US citizens to support policies that aligned with Nazi Germany’s agenda. Figures like Lawrence Dennis exercised a degree of plausible deniability as they professed to hold their isolationist views as separate from their support of fascism. Dennis even portrayed his isolationism as deeply American:
Lawrence Dennis was both an outspoken proponent of Hitler-style authoritarianism and an avowed isolationist, opposed to American involvement in foreign wars, especially any war in Europe against Hitler. Simultaneous advocacy of these two copacetic positions was clearly no coincidence, but Dennis portrayed it as if it were. ‘I took my isolationism from George Washington’s Farewell Address and from a long line of classics,’ he would say. He counted among his friends the most committed isolationists in the U.S. Congress (44-45).
During the 1930s, such arguments seemed acceptable to many Americans. Maddow gradually reveals that isolationism, antisemitism, and fascism became increasingly inextricable. Isolationism did not just represent a desire to avoid repeating the trauma and devastation experienced by soldiers and their families during World War I. Rather, it served as a vehicle for explicitly antisemitic and fascist sentiments. In analyzing 1941 speeches by Charles Lindbergh and Senator Burton K. Wheeler, Maddow notes, “The anti-Roosevelt polemic was […] a natural part of American politics whenever momentous questions of war and peace arose. However, the threads of isolationism, antisemitism, and fascism were becoming an ominously tight weave” (219). Following Wheeler’s and Lindbergh’s speeches, an antifascist committee observed how closely the isolationist Lindbergh had become involved with violent fascists: “‘Today, street rioters have merged with big-time [Hitler] appeasers and an air of respectability cloaks the Fascist front,’ the coordinating committee reported. ‘Unanimously Lindbergh is acclaimed the leader’” (219). Maddow comments that as the summer of 1941 wore on, Lindbergh began to “slough off any ambiguity or coyness about his real views. And it came with a none-too-subtle threat […] To Lindbergh, the Jews were not only alien to America, they ought to be afraid about it” (219-20). The text illustrates how isolationism exceeded political caution, serving as a conduit for the proliferation of extremist beliefs that threatened democratic ideals in the US.
Prequel navigates the nuanced landscape of US isolationism, antisemitism, and fascism, unraveling a story in which isolationism, entwined with anti-Roosevelt sentiments, became a strategic tool for extremists. Maddow’s exploration challenges preconceived notions, illustrating how isolationism transformed into a vehicle for explicitly antisemitic and fascist ideologies. This nuanced perspective invites readers to critically engage with historical complexities, prompting a deeper understanding of the interplay between political ideologies during this pivotal era.
Prequel portrays a nuanced exploration of individuals whose actions and beliefs either aligned with or diverged from the fundamental principles that purportedly define the US. Epitomizing this theme are figures such as Henry Ford, Charles Lindbergh, and the less-recognized yet principled Leon Lewis, each offering a unique perspective on the interplay between personal prominence and adherence to American ideals.
Henry Ford, an iconic industrialist, personifies this complex interplay. While celebrated for revolutionizing the automotive industry and pioneering assembly line production, Ford’s darker legacy emerges in Prequel as Maddow recounts his antisemitic views and his publication of anti-Jewish articles in his newspaper, The Dearborn Independent. Maddow asserts that Ford blatantly espoused his strongly antisemitic views:
Henry Ford’s antisemitism was rank, and it was unchecked. He spewed it freely in private tirades among friends, family, close business cohorts, newspaper reporters, or pretty much anybody within earshot. He lectured his sometimes-weary auditors in the Ford Motor Company offices, in private chats, in interviews, at dinners, even on camping trips. Ford ‘attributes all evil to Jews or to the Jewish capitalists,’ a close friend wrote in his diary after witnessing a late-night, round-the-campfire diatribe (80).
Not only did Ford share his views in interpersonal settings, but he also publicized them in a far-reaching and highly strategic manner, publishing anti-Jewish sentiments for nearly two years in his newspaper and making his beliefs so widely known that he even became a personal inspiration to Hitler. Maddow acknowledges that while Ford is often celebrated for his industrial accomplishments, “Of all the contributions Henry Ford made to this world, one of them was this oeuvre, the most prolific, most sustained published attack on Jews the world had ever known” (82). Ford’s prominence and contributions to American industry starkly contrast with his perpetuation of prejudiced ideologies, underscoring the tension between his achievements and the erosion of the democratic ideals outlined in America’s founding documents, particularly in matters of equality.
Charles Lindbergh, a renowned aviator, adds another dimension to the theme, exemplifying how an admired American can spread views incongruent with seemingly American principles. Lindbergh’s vocal support for isolationism and his alignment with antisemitic beliefs, as evident in his speeches and writings, reflect a departure from the inclusive and democratic ideals that America aspires to represent. Despite Lindbergh’s acclaim for his pioneering achievements in aviation, the dichotomy between his prominence and his divergence from supposedly American principles raises important questions about the nature of influence and responsibility.
In contrast to Ford and Lindbergh, Leon Lewis, though less celebrated, embodies a commitment to American democracy that went largely unrecognized. As an anti-fascist activist and spy, Lewis worked tirelessly to counter Nazi influence on American soil. The text shows that Lewis’s dedication to democracy, religious tolerance, and anti-fascism remained steadfast, yet he operated in relative obscurity. Maddow suggests that Lewis’s story underscores the poignant reality that upholding American democracy does not always translate to widespread recognition or influence. Thus, she highlights how the subtle heroism of individuals who do not seek the spotlight is often overshadowed by the prominence of figures who gravitate toward social interaction and fame yet deviate from their society’s founding ideals.
In the early chapters of Prequel, the allure of power comes to the forefront as Maddow unravels the intricate relationships between individuals and the magnetism of authority. This theme is portrayed through figures like Philip Johnson, George Sylvester Viereck, and Huey Long, each of whom exemplifies the allure of powerful Übermensch figures, particularly those akin to Hitler.
Philip Johnson emerges as a figure drawn to power, particularly the power embodied by Hitler’s regime. Johnson’s fascination with authoritarian figures was exemplified by his overt sympathy for the Nazis and his yearning for a Hitler-like figure to take over the US. Maddow describes Johnson as enamored with power, dazzled by a Hitler Youth rally he attended in Potsdam, Germany. This spectacle roused him to action: “[I]n 1932, on his return to New York from the Hitler Youth rally that stirred his soul, young Philip Johnson’s dream was to bring Hitler-style fascism to America” (5). Johnson’s support for the fascist regime underscores the potent allure that powerful leaders like Hitler held, even in a democratic country like the US.
Similarly, in the book’s opening chapters, George Sylvester Viereck is a prime example of the allure of power and its impact on individuals. Viereck’s close association with Hitler and the Nazi regime, highlighted by his role as a Nazi agent who orchestrated propaganda efforts in the US, unveils the magnetic pull that powerful figures exerted on those seeking influence. Maddow reveals Viereck as a figure who consistently sought out influential figures: “After World War I, as he neared his forties and came to realize he was unlikely to ever scale the tiers of fame he desired, Viereck began, vampirically one could say, to cultivate relations with more celebrated men” (xxi). As Maddow shows, Viereck saw himself as powerful, too, situating himself as an instrument through which other men could amplify their reach: “I am the spectroscope that reveals the stuff of which they are made, or, translating colour into sound, I am the trumpet through which they convey their message” (xxii). Fittingly, he went on to “become what he so wanted to be: a reliable servant to his father figure from the fatherland” (xxv). During World War II, he “positioned himself as the mastermind of one of Hitler’s crucial plans for America; he was the center wheel of a propaganda campaign, funded by the German government and its agents in the United States” (xxv). Viereck was so drawn to power that he achieved his dream of amplifying the fascist, authoritarian message of Hitler.
Huey Long, a charismatic politician, provides another layer to the theme, portraying how the allure of power can manifest domestically. Long’s authoritarian tendencies and the cult of personality he cultivated drew parallels with figures like Hitler, exemplifying the influence that powerful leaders held, even within the confines of US politics. Shortly after Long’s death, a newspaper noted just how close Long’s reign came to paralleling the extent of Hitler’s authoritarianism, and Maddow includes this excerpt:
‘That Huey built roads and bridges and provided free schoolbooks nobody will deny, but nobody knows how much they cost or how much money was stolen in the process,’ wrote one nationally syndicated columnist. ‘Huey was gradually copying the Hitler state, but Louisiana was not quite ready for blood purges and internment camps’ (40).
Long’s pursuit of an unchecked, centralized authority echoes the charismatic draw of the Übermensch figure whom fascists like Johnson sought to idolize.
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