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The Suffragist Peace
•
The Suffragist
Peace
•
HOW WOMEN SHAPE
THE POLITICS OF WAR
Joslyn N. Barnhart
Robert F. Trager
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Barnhart, Joslyn, author. | Trager, Robert F., author.
Title: The suffragist peace : / how women shape the politics of war Joslyn
N. Barnhart, University of California, Santa Barbara, Robert F. Trager,
University of California, Los Angeles.
Description: New York : Oxford University Press, [2022] | Includes
bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2022027327 (print) | LCCN 2022027328 (ebook) | ISBN
9780197629758 (hardback) | ISBN 9780197629765 (ebook) | ISBN
9780197629772 (epub)
Subjects: LCSH: Women—Suffrage—History—20th century. | Women and
war—History—20th century. | Women—Political
participation—History—20th century.
Classification: LCC JF851 .B37 2022 (print) | LCC JF851 (ebook) | DDC
324.6/230973—dc23/eng/20220811
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022027327
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022027328
1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Sheridan Books, Inc., United States of America
cont en ts
List of Figures vii

List of Tables ix
Introduction xi
1. The Hope for Democracy 1

2. The Hope for Suffrage and Peace in the New Century 22
3. Gender and Aggression: Nature or Nurture? 40
4. Suffrage, Democracy, and War 66
5. Women’s Votes and the World Wars 87
6. Do Women Leaders Spell the End of War? 115
7. Women and War in the Modern Era 135
8. The Future 157
Appendix 168
Notes 179
References 219
Acknowledgements 238
Index 239
list of fig ures
1. Campaign flyer for the Pennsylvania Woman Suffrage

Association. 34
2. National Woman Suffrage Association poster, 1915. 37
3. Homicides in the United States by sex. 46
4. Women and men’s preferences in foreign affairs trend together,
almost always. 46
5. The pace of suffrage and democracy. 77
6. The effects of women’s votes as democratic institutions expand. 78
7. How likely two countries are to have military disputes. 80
8. The spread of women’s suffrage in the United States. 88
9. Partisan voting maps showing the shift in the West (states with women’s
suffrage are marked in white). 95
10. Reagan foreign policy approval by sex. 110
11. Whether to use force to defend a NATO ally. 113
12. The (slow) growth of women leaders in the modern era. 116
13. Pitch range for the 116th United States Congress by sex. 129
14–15. University of Tokyo Asahi-Shimbun surveys. 153
16. The polity scores of all states with female suffrage. 171
list of ta bles
1. All states granting suffrage in waves. 169

2. Regression table for monadic analysis. 172
3. Regression table for dyadic analysis. 174
4. Percentage change in frequency of disputes. 176
introd uc tio n
Not all radical social changes are revolutionary and not all revolutionary
changes are noticed. Profound changes sometimes unfold over time;
they may even remain invisible for centuries. When the printing press
was invented, no one understood that a half millennium later printed
material would create a new form of political allegiance: nationalism.
And yet, that seems to be what happened as the prevalence of printed
material spurred literacy, creating common political narratives across
expanding realms. National identities eventually covered the globe,
redrawing political maps and recasting the social order. At the dawn
of the industrial revolution, many recognized the impacts of the “dark
Satanic mills” on human life.1 But no one understood that the resulting
expansion of the human population would disrupt planetary systems
leading to the sixth mass extinction since the birth of life on earth. And
yet, that now appears likely too.
The year 1893 witnessed the dawn of another era—one in which
women around the world entered the political realm. At first, this era
seemed to have little in common with those earlier transformations.
People expected profound social change to follow. They spoke in revo-
lutionary terms—with exultancy or fear—of the coming fundamental
reordering of society. Women voting en masse would bring a “grand
era of moral reform,” The Atlantic wrote in 1890.2 Their votes would
xii introduction
give rise to “a new evangel of womanhood, to exalt purity, virtue,

morality . . . to lift man up into higher realms of thought and action.”3
Political parties centered solely around women’s issues would emerge
over night, pundits predicted, as formidable, unified forces on the
political scene, enabling women to dramatically remodel the world in
their more virtuous guise.
But this understanding of the meaning of women’s suffrage did not
last. As women became voters and leaders, no powerful women’s parties
emerged. Women’s politics looked much like men’s politics. Change
seemed so distant that women’s periodicals questioned whether the
suffrage movement had ultimately failed in its objectives.4 And this view
persists today. Writing of the early expectations in the New York Times,
Gail Collins went so far as to call women’s suffrage a “big flop.”5 A
1999 Gallup poll named women’s suffrage as the second most important
event of the twentieth century (World War II was first), tied with the
dropping of the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. But many
would be hard pressed to identify a lasting and significant social or
political change brought about by women’s votes. Suffrage is viewed
narrowly, as a major step in women’s long march toward equality, but
not a source of fundamental political and social change. The advocates
of women’s suffrage saw it as a means; we have come to see it as an end.
And yet, could it be that radical change has gone unnoticed and
unappreciated? Perhaps women’s entrance into political life has some-
thing in common with these long-run processes whose impacts were
profound but difficult to detect at first. Perhaps the changing political
status of women—a process which is ongoing—has created the modern
world more than we realize.
In this book, we ask whether women’s political influence is changing
politics between nations. While it is too soon to characterize the full
extent, and impossible to know for sure, we find that the historical
facts are strikingly consistent with the idea that women’s inclusion in
democratic electorates has been a cause of peace in the modern era.
From the early days of the suffrage movement, the pursuit of peace
was seen by many to be one and the same with the pursuit of the
vote. Julia Ward Howe, author of the Civil War song “The Battle
Hymn of the Republic” and eventual leader of the American Women
Suffrage Association, anticipated that once women freed themselves
introduction xiii
from their almost military subjection to men, they would exercise their
superior moral force in pursuit of global cooperation and compromise.6
Elizabeth Cady Stanton predicted in 1872 that women’s suffrage would
bring not only prosperity but a “golden age of peace.” Such expectations
were common, as we will see. Excessive optimism is indeed a useful trait
for any activist and, alas, we do not live in an era of global peace. But,
the evidence now—over one hundred years later—suggests that these
early suffragists were on to something.
Deciphering the levers of war and peace, conflict and cooperation,
has arguably never been more important. With the number of nuclear
weapons on the planet on the rise again, after declining by over 75%
from their Cold War peak, and new technologies of violence made
possible by advances in artificial intelligence no doubt on the horizon,
war between great powers today could very well pose an existential
threat to the planet.7 The magnitude of this threat may inspire caution
among world leaders, but any resulting peace is a devil’s bargain, struck
only through the always-present risk of catastrophic war. A “suffragist
peace” provides a firmer foundation for futures of human flourishing.
Democracy itself is also at a crossroads. Signs of disaffection with
democratic rule are everywhere, especially amongst the young. Two-
thirds of Americans born in the 1930s believe that it is essential to
live in a democracy. Less than one-third of those born half a century
later agree.8 The trend is similarly acute in other democracies around
the world. More than half of respondents in Argentina, South Korea,
Colombia, Mexico, South Africa, Taiwan, India, and Romania, to name
a few, believe that having a strong leader who is unconstrained by
parliaments or elections would be a “good way” to run a country.9 Yet,
in some places where democracy does not exist, people remain willing to
take immense risks in the hope that they might one day be able to cast
a ballot of their own. As many people in long-standing democracies
believe their vote too valueless to be worth casting, people elsewhere
hazard their lives for the same privilege. This book shows us part of
what such people are fighting for and what those in existing democracies
would be giving up in the tradeoff for the supposed efficiencies of more
streamlined, less democratic leadership.
Since 1950, seventy-four countries have elected or appointed a
woman as head of state. This sounds like a lot, but it implies that
xiv introduction
over 110 countries have not. As of January 2021, the UN reported

that women were serving as head of state in only twenty-two countries
of the 193 countries around the world. Given the recent annual rate
of increase, gender parity in the world’s highest offices would not be
reached until the year 2150.10 But there are signs that the rate of
change is itself changing. In 2020, six women ran for president of the
United States, the highest number ever. One of them, Kamala Harris,
became the highest-ranked woman in U.S. history. Roughly 25% of
all parliamentarians in the world were women in 2020, more than
double the number in 1995.11 This book helps us understand what these
changes might mean for the future of democracy and the future of the
international conflict.
You would be right at this point to feel skeptical about some of

the core concepts explored in this book. Such skepticism should be
embraced when approaching any new explanation of complex social
phenomena. You might argue that the world does not look all that
peaceful. According to the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists, the world
is more vulnerable to existential danger than at any time in the last
seventy-five years, a period which includes the extreme perils of the
Cold War. The organization’s Doomsday Clock was set to only 100
seconds to midnight in 2020, down from a far more comfortable setting
of seventeen minutes in 1991 at the end of the Cold War.12 The
current danger stems in large part from the threat of nuclear war in
an international atmosphere of increasing mistrust and competition. If
this current outlook is the product of a world created by women’s votes,
one might argue that such votes have not gotten us very far.
There is spirited debate about if and how the rate and deadliness
of wars have declined in the modern era. Some like Steven Pinker
and John Lewis Gaddis argue that international violence is lower at
present than in any prior period in history, though they disagree among
themselves about the time scales.13 Others argue that the absence of
great power war since 1945 is simply a statistical artifact explained by
random chance.14 In this book, we will not settle this debate. What
seems certain, regardless of broader global trends, is that individuals in
certain parts of the world have been far less likely to die in war in the
twenty-first century than in any century in the past. The continents
introduction xv
of North and South America have also experienced prolonged periods

without major war. This book will not suggest that major war is unlikely
to happen in the future. In fact, it will provide insight into why war
may emerge along the lines that it does. But the book does provide one
reason why war is so rare where it is so.
You might accept that you are living in a more peaceful era but
direct your skepticism at the idea that this peace is in part a product
of the preferences of women. To speak so bluntly about gendered
preference today is to invite immediate reaction. And such reaction
makes sense, given the insensitive and inaccurate wholesale assignment
of characteristics or traits to groups defined by sex or race throughout
much of human history. As we will see in Chapter 3, and as we all
know from experienced reality, those who self-identify as women are not
monolithic in their preferences and traits—just as those who identify as
men or as part of other large ethnic or religious groups are not. But
the acknowledged complexities of sex and gender should not prevent
us from recognizing differences in the average preferences between
groups. Such differences can provide key insights into understanding
the preferences of democratic electorates more broadly and the political
outcomes these electorates produce.
You may even accept that it makes sense to talk about average
differences between men and women on certain traits, but doubt that
attitudes about war and peace is one of them. Many early suffragists
certainly viewed women as inherently peaceful, but how do we square
such a view with the historical record? When Elizabeth Cady Stanton
and Julia Ward Howe were writing in the 1870s, imperialism had not
yet reached its zenith. Great powers would soon forcefully occupy whole
continents and prominent women on both sides of the Atlantic would
vocally support the necessity to spread civilization abroad by force.
Susan B. Anthony condemned the U.S. Congress for embarking on
war in the Philippines in 1898 but at the same time viewed the violent
suppression of the Filipino people as a necessity. To her, it made no sense
to give the barbaric “guerillas in the Philippines” liberty, for they would
only “murder and pillage every which person on the island.”15 As World
War I approached, many prominent activists in Britain immediately put
aside their campaigns for peace and voting and volunteered to make the
munitions to supply the frontlines.
xvi introduction
The record of women’s leadership might also give idealists pause.

Women in positions of political power, though historically few in
number, have often failed to exemplify unusual levels of restraint
or serenity. In response to Roman assaults upon her land and her
daughters, Queen Boudica of the Celtic Iceni tribe in England in the
first century ad raised an army of a hundred thousand and led it in
a scorched-earth campaign against prominent Roman towns, burning
them to the ground and torturing and slaughtering an estimated
seventy-five thousand inhabitants, in her quest to drive the Romans out
of Britain.16
The Russian Empress Catherine the Great was certainly no paragon
of international compromise, restraint, or calm. Half of her thirty-four-
year reign was marked by war—with the Ottomans, the Persians, the
Swedes. She relentlessly sought the expansion of her empire, violently
suppressing uprisings among the people she conquered, including the
people of Poland after she led the charge to carve up and erase their
country from the map.17 When a Prussian prince visiting the Russian
court commented that to take land, “it seems that in Poland one only
has to stoop and help oneself,” Empress Catherine smugly responded,
“Why shouldn’t we both take our share?”
Catherine’s contemporary Maria Theresa, eventual Holy Roman
Empress, Queen of Bohemia, Austria, and Hungary, certainly showed
no reservations about raising an army to fight against the European
forces encroaching upon her empire when she ascended to the throne
as a young and inexperienced queen in 1740. Far into pregnancy and
facing internal challengers as well as external predators, Maria spared
nothing to keep her kingdom intact. “My mind is made up,” she wrote
to the Bohemian chancellor. “We must put everything at stake to save
Bohemia.” But she was also not above external predation herself. Her
annexation of Galicia in 1772 paved the way for the total destruction
of Poland. While Catherine the Great carved up Poland, Maria Theresa
was by her side. “She wept,” Frederick the Great snidely commented,
“but she took nonetheless,” and the map of Eastern Europe was redrawn
to Austria’s advantage.
Such cases suggest the latter half of the eighteenth century was no
more peaceful because half of the major continental European powers
were ruled by women. What then are we to expect from any expansion
introduction xvii
of women’s political leadership that might take place in the twenty-first

century?
Finally, you might question the value of democracy itself. Women’s
preferences would, after all, have little effect on our world without
democratic institutions to give them voice. Democracy itself has been
the target of sustained skepticism in recent years. Why put faith in
voting when those who get elected don’t appear to share your priorities?
Ample data shows that democratic alignment does not always work.
Sometimes the will of the people goes one way and their leaders go
the other on all sorts of domestic and international issues. But as we
will see, issues of war and peace can take on unusually high salience
among voters and when they do, politicians who fail to pay attention
risk electoral defeat.
Each of these reasonable skepticisms suggest that we have our work

cut out for us. We must convince you that it makes sense to even
talk about gender differences in preferences for war and peace. We
must also convince you that individual cases of women’s votes causing
peaceful outcomes were representative of a broader trend, one that
cannot be explained with other factors. And we must convince you that
democracy, as ineffective as it might sometimes seem, has the potential
to bind national leaders to the will of the people, just as early advocates
of democracy had hoped.
This book presents evidence from our own research on the effects of
women on world affairs, while also drawing extensively on the work of
others in international relations, political science, biology, psychology,
gender studies, economics, and history. Ultimately, we cannot be 100%
certain that this evidence is getting at the truth. The world as it is
simply does not allow for such certainty on this issue. We cannot
randomly assign democratic institutions and women’s suffrage to only
some countries around the world and then watch to see what happens.
Alas, we do not have that kind of power. But we can explore life
before and after suffrage to outline the important ways they differ.
We can examine systematic trends that define when men and women’s
attitudes about war and peace are most likely to differ and when they
are most likely to be the same. And we can put together the pieces of
how such differences may trickle up to affect government policy at the
xviii introduction
highest level. Much can be gained from exploring the evidence the world
presents to us.
The twentieth century witnessed some of the most radical techno-
logical, economic, and political change in history. Nuclear weapons
dramatically increased the scale and speed with which countries could
inflict pain. Capitalism spread in unprecedented ways in the aftermaths
of World War II and the Cold War and international organizations
emerged which emphasized openness, diplomacy, and compromise.
People around the world replaced centuries of arbitrary monarchical
rule with democratic institutions aimed at aligning the will of the people
with their leaders. Each of these extraordinary changes has been perhaps
rightfully credited with reordering international affairs and fostering
international peace in the twentieth century. But these accounts have
long overlooked one of the most dramatic transformations of the twen-
tieth century as a potential source of peace: the massive redistribution
of political power as millions of women around the world gained a say
in national politics. The persistent decline in war between nations, we
argue, is a world made in part by women. Understanding the story
of how and why is a window onto gender differences, the sources of
conflict, and the nature of democracy itself.
•
The Hope for Democracy
1
The spirit of monarchy is war and enlargement of dominion . . . peace

and moderation are the spirit of a republic.
Montesquieu, 1748
Nor do I say, with some, that peace is wholly bad. Even amid the
horrors of peace you will find little shoots of character fed by the
gentle and timely rains of plague and famine.
“A [British] Patriot,” 1900
The impact of women’s participation in political life can best be under-

stood against the backdrop of what came before. Until the twentieth
century, most people who had ever lived on earth had lived under
monarchy or tyranny.1 The United States constitution in 1787, with
its affirmation of “we the people,” was the first glimmer of radical
political change—peoples seeking to overthrow arbitrary rulers and
establish majority rule by men. Revolutionary uprisings spanned the
globe throughout the nineteenth century. But women would in many
ways be excluded from these original acts of liberation. They would be
freed of monarchic rule, but would remain under the economic and
legal dominion of their husbands, unable to own property, keep their
own wages, or have a say in the laws or leaders who governed them.2
The optimism that surrounded the first democratic revolution was
nevertheless intense. Like the women suffragists who came after them,
early liberal theorists like Thomas Paine believed that voting would
bring fundamental social, economic, and political change. Monarchy
The Suffragist Peace: How Women Shape the Politics of War. Joslyn N. Barnhart and Robert F. Trager,
Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780197629758.003.0001
2 the suffragist peace
had sated the interests of the few, he believed. But democracies would
pursue the good of all. Monarchs had stymied commerce and purloined
the people’s wealth to maintain a grip on power. Democratic leaders
would redistribute wealth and bring widespread prosperity to the
people.
Above all, monarchs waged wars—endless wars—for the spoils that
would enhance royal coffers, for the pride of victory and for the plea-
sure of revenge. According to Paine’s contemporary Immanuel Kant,
monarchs did not “lose a whit by war.” Rather, they chose war “for
the most trivial reasons,” as a sort of diversion or pleasure. Commoners
faced the consequences on the battlefield while those they fought for
continued to revel in the delights of “their table, their sport, and their
palaces.”3 According to the growing liberal faith, once the people held
sway over international affairs, wars would cease. Governments of the
people would think long and hard before “decreeing for themselves all
the calamities of war.”4 Those who bore the brunt of war would relish
punishing war-mongering leaders at the polls. And with commerce and
trade no longer hamstrung by greedy monarchs, people would be lifted
from poverty and the feelings of pride, revenge, hatred, and jealousy that
fostered war would simply fade away. Before there were kings, there
were no wars, Paine argued. The same would be true after kings no
longer ruled the earth.5
Paine’s ideas about the virtues of democracy were not just the subject
of scholarly debate. His pamphlet Common Sense was read by hundreds
of thousands of American colonists—potentially 20% of the entire
colonial population—in the year after it was published in 1776.6 His
writings in defense of the revolution in France a decade later would
make him so beloved among the French that he would be elected a
member to the first National Convention despite not speaking French.
By the time Paine and Kant died—in 1809 and 1804 respectively—
both had lived long enough to witness the first manifestations of
democracy, however bloody they might have been. But they did not
live long enough for their faith in democratic institutions to be truly
tested. They would die optimists, steadfast in the belief that democracy
would bring prosperity and perpetual peace. But as democracy among
men began to spread in fits and starts, would their optimism prove
warranted? Would cool reason counsel peace out of self interest or
the hope for democracy 3
would inflamed passions mean war? Over the next century, as male
democratic electorates expanded, this question would be put to the test
time and again.
Britain and the Fate of the Ottoman Empire

For those seeking to assess the true effects of democracy on war and
peace, the case of British democratization is a fascinating one.7 While
in some countries like France, dramatic political transformation took
place over night, in Britain, democracy came in piecemeal fashion—
in incremental waves of electoral expansion that spanned centuries.
With each successive expansion of the electorate, Britain increased the
number of people involved in governing matters of war and peace. How
many voters would be enough to check elites’ hunger for expansion and
power? Would the votes of the working class—those most likely to end
up on the frontlines—be required to achieve the promise of peace or
would the votes of the wealthiest and best educated be enough? The
course of Britain’s democracy provides a first window onto answers.
The origins of democracy in Britain are rooted in the Glorious
Revolution of 1688 when the concept of “constitutional monarchy” was
first introduced—a transformative shift in the distribution of political
power. Although the king would maintain considerable influence, an
elected parliament would make the laws. But who was now responsible
for electing the parliament? For over one hundred and fifty years,
an incredibly narrow slice of the public—roughly 400,000 men of
property and wealth, or less than 2% of the British population—shaped
and controlled parliament. By the early 1800s, change was inevitable.
The working and middle classes, ignited by the economic inequalities
brought on by the Napoleonic Wars and the industrial revolution,
began to demand a voice.
In 1831, political tension came to a head. Parliament refused to
expand suffrage, resulting in the bloodiest and costliest political event
of the century in England. Fearing full-scale revolution, parliament
begrudgingly passed the first of three major reform bills, increasing the
number of parliamentary seats and expanding the size of the electorate
by roughly 250,000 men. All British men with over ten pounds to
their name—roughly one in five—could now vote. Given the scale of
citizens’ demands, the act was paltry and unsatisfying. But for those men
who did meet the new criteria, the law provided them with their first
opportunity to have a say in governmental affairs. Would their inclusion
be enough to tip the scales towards peace?
Their first serious test came in the aftermath of this limited elec-
toral reform. By the mid-1800s, repeated military defeats, unrelenting
financial insolvency, a successful push for independence by the Greeks,
and violent uprisings by the Serbs had left the Ottoman Empire weak
and fragile. British democrats believed that Britain’s interests would
best be maintained by the preservation of the autocratic empire—or
at the very least, a demise from which no other European power would
benefit disproportionately. These interests were threatened when Russia
invaded Ottoman territory. After success gaining much of the eastern
shore of the Black Sea and the mouth of the Danube River in 1829,
Tsar Nicholas I appeared in 1853 to be going for more. British leaders
were forced to decide if and how to respond. With reelection always a
looming prospect, voting-eligible Brits would play a role in shaping that
choice.
Debate on how to respond to Russian assertiveness was full-throated

and intense. Stratford Canning, the British ambassador to the Ottoman
Empire, and Home Secretary Lord Palmerston were, on the one hand,
“bent on war.” They sought an assertive, if not aggressive, response
to defend Turkish sovereignty and to keep Russia out of the Middle
East, away from British trade routes, and far away from India, the so-
called crown jewel of the British Empire.8 The prime minister Lord
Aberdeen and Secretary for Foreign Affairs Clarendon, on the other
hand, professed an “unabated desire for peace.” They saw no immediate
demand for British military involvement in the conflict. Consistent
diplomatic efforts would be sufficient to restrain Russian ambitions.
A war to prevent a Russian expansion that they believed would never
occur was, in Bismarck’s later phrase, akin to suicide for fear of death.
The Russians also sought to avoid an unnecessary fight. Tsar Nicholas
wrote personal appeals to Queen Victoria professing a commitment
to peace and a willingness to compromise.9 The Sultan, meanwhile,
revealed himself to be a particularly unreliable and disingenuous ally
who was not above instigating conflict in the hopes of obtaining
full British military involvement.10 But British leaders continued to

negotiate with Russia, while still making their support for the Turks
clear. Despite these diplomatic overtures, they would not be able to
keep their countries out of war.
The reasons for this may be varied. What is clear and consistent across
essentially all major historical accounts of the war, however, is that
the British public played a pivotal role.11 And it was not the role that
Paine and his optimistic contemporaries had envisioned. Enfranchised
Brits were not sentinels of peace, but rather a hindrance to it. Their
“indisputably warlike” mood, as Prime Minister Aberdeen called it,
thwarted peaceful compromise.12 Had he been properly supported by
the public during the course of negotiations, Aberdeen argued, “peace
might have been honourably and advantageously secured.”13 But fear
of the public’s intense patriotism and enthusiasm for war forced him to
abandon a more peaceful approach.14
Certainly, the Battle of Sinope—during which armed Russian ships
chased down and sunk or grounded thirteen Turkish ships and killed
nearly three thousand Turkish troops in a matter of hours—did little
to help Aberdeen’s case.15 For the Sultan, Sinope was but one in a
long line of military disasters in his endless wars against Russia. But
for the British public, Russian action amounted to callous butchery.
British leaders perceived that, as a result, a declaration of war was the
only option.16
What exactly made British voters so bent on war? For starters, these
new voters seemed ready to embrace a fight against an autocratic bully.17
To many British, Tsar Nicholas represented monarchy’s vile nature.
He was ambitious, greedy, and indifferent to human suffering. “The
first blow has probably been struck by oppressive absolutism against
the peace and liberty of Europe,” the Daily News decried as the Tsar’s
forces entered the Danubian provinces in 1853.18 Armed struggle to
“defend right against might, and justice against oppression” was noble,
Palmerston argued. The British people deserved credit for waging war
not out of self-interest or a desire to oppress, but for the higher cause of
liberty.19 In this episode, Nicholas was the clear villain, booed at public
rallies, and the Sultan, whose name few could probably pronounce,
himself no champion of liberty, was the noble leader, revered and
greeted with cheers usually reserved for favorite athletes.20
But beyond this pure nobility of spirit, the British public was
also influenced by the visceral draw of war. “We have been so long
without having experienced the horrors and miseries of war,” Aberdeen
observed, that it was all too common to look upon it as a source of
“pleasurable excitement.”21 British soldiers had not fought in a serious
and protracted major war since 1815 and “the long, long canker of
peace,” as Tennyson called it, had eroded British men’s energy and
had degraded their morals.22 Many in the public sphere encouraged
the passion and militant gallantry of war if, for nothing else, the sake
of British civilization.23 War would renew patriotism, chivalry, and
innovation.24 It would break down political divides and restore courage
and heroism while removing the “curse of prosperity” brought about by
modernity and industrialization. The Church of England even preached
that war could be a source of salvation. God would obviously grant
honor and glory to those who violently defended the moral order against
absolutism.25
British men who set off to war in 1854 were also motivated by a desire
to gain personal honor in an epic struggle against the forces of evil, while
also fighting for the honor of their beloved nation. Lord John Russell,
who became Foreign Secretary in 1859, wrote to Clarendon in late 1853
of the essentiality of national honor. “I know something of the English
people,” he wrote, “and feel sure that they would fight to the stumps for
the honour of England.”26 The Times editorial page agreed: “We have
thought it our duty to uphold and defend the cause of peace as long
as peace was compatible with the honour and dignity of our country.
But now, war must begin in earnest.” Three months later, the public
indeed seemed ready to stand for the honor of queen and country, even
as many in the British government who had hoped to remain on the
sidelines were mocked in the press and the House of Commons. Over
100,000 British men were sent to fight for British honor and the stability
of a faraway empire. Over more than two years of fighting, more than
20,000 of them lost their lives, sent off to battle not by monarchs but
by an uproar among the British public and the elected representatives
of the wealthier fraction of it.
The Crimean War did not resolve the fate of the Ottoman Empire. The
war managed to prop up an ailing ally and ward off the Tsar. But these
feats were temporary. If anything, the humiliation wrought by the war’s

aftermath likely redoubled Russia’s commitment to its original cause.27
The voices of the people had failed to stop war—on the contrary,
political leaders believed that public sentiment had actively encouraged
the fight. Perhaps the issue was not democracy itself, but rather that too
few Brits had been allowed to vote. A small, relatively wealthy minority
still held sway over the political process—not, as Paine had envisioned,
those who shouldered the heaviest burdens of war and would, as a result,
be the most zealous advocated for peace.
Following the Crimean War, the liberal faith that true democracy
would bring peace received a stricter test when more Brits gained the
right to vote. In 1867, the British electorate more than doubled to
include all male heads of household over 21 within townships—roughly
two out of every five British men. Surely some of these men, who
would be among those on the frontlines, would go to great lengths
to pursue peace. Their appetite for war would be put to the test in
1871, when Napoleon III was captured on the battlefield by Prussian
forces during the Franco-Prussian War. Napoleon’s surrender signaled
the demise of the French Empire and the rise of the new government
that cared far less about joining Britain to check the Tsar’s plans for
extended domination in Eastern Europe. Within a decade, Russia and
the Ottoman Empire were at war again, except this time with the
independence of Bulgaria, Romania, Serbia, and Montenegro at stake.
As Russian forces advanced on Constantinople—a fate feared by so
many Brits just a few decades prior—Britain did nothing. While Russia
blatantly flouted Britain’s grounds for peace, British soldiers stayed
home. Had these more working-class voters succeeded in curbing the
bellicose impulses of prior British voters? Had Brits lost their appetite
for war altogether?28
No, the British public was not quite ready to accept the canker of
peace. Public reaction to Russia’s decision to remilitarize the Black Sea
in 1870 showed that if national bellicosity and strong anti-Russian
sentiment had retreated at all in the aftermath of the Crimean War,
it hadn’t receded very far.29 The Tsar’s decision was met with near
unanimous outrage in the press.30 The Saturday Review was sure that
England would do the right thing and declare war, given the unanimity
of popularity of support for war.31 “England, if challenged by a direct,
deliberate insult, means prompt earnest resolute fighting,” its editors

argued.32 Editors at the Daily News were more measured in their
assessment: Britain would likely drift into war, not because of the
government but “through the madness of a nation whose pugnacious
instinct is so easy for fanatics and intriguers to arouse. . . . We are in
danger as a nation of losing our heads, our sense and even our national
character for phlegmatic calmness. . . .”33
Calmness, it seemed, was difficult to maintain in the face of such
an affront to the nation. Once again, more vital than British national
interest in the East was the question, as The Standard argued, of
“[British] honour—our very existence as a great Power.”34 The Morning
Post argued that a “manly policy—what used to be called, and what
we trust may still be called, an English policy,” would also be a safe
policy.35 Indeed, a firm policy would be the only policy that would
prevent an Englishman from “blush[ing] at the name which he bears.”36
A small but vocal group of peace-mongers like John Stuart Mill pleaded
with the British people that they not allow journalists to push the
nation into a war “under the plea of honour.” “Let the [English people]
cast away the clap-trap about honour and prestige, and do right,”
one implored.37 England should do all it could, they argued, to avoid
another Crimean War.
What, then, kept the British out of war? Although many among the
British people had quickly forgotten the horrors of war, many of their
leaders had not. Like Aberdeen, Prime Minister William Gladstone’s
natural predilection was for peace. Another war with Russia would be
devastating for Britain’s people and threaten the country’s place in the
world. William Gladstone was determined to pursue a peaceful solution
even in the face of a “highly inflammable and susceptible state of the
public mind.”38 Many of his ministers implored William Gladstone to
be“strong for peace,” even as men enlisted for the fight and the public
demand for military action grew. Unlike his predecessor in 1854, Prime
Minister William Gladstone managed to withstand the demands of the
war-hungry public and, in doing so, he kept Britain out of war.
The Sun Never Sets

If the liberal thinkers heralding the promise of democracy had been
alive during the latter half of the nineteenth century, they might have
concluded that Britain still didn’t have enough democracy. Perhaps the
franchise was still too restricted to bring peace. While more men than
ever could vote in the latter part of the nineteenth century, still less than
half of all British men had a say in politics. In 1884, following a long
and persistent popular campaign, the British government adopted the
most wide-sweeping electoral reforms yet to extend suffrage to all British
men paying rents of ten pounds or possessing equivalently valued
land anywhere in the country. With this bill, electoral power shifted
from towns to countryside, from aristocrats to rural mineworkers and
those working in the fields. For the first time in history, more than
50% of British men could vote in parliamentary elections.39 Joseph
Chamberlain called it the “greatest revolution the country has ever
undergone.”
These new voters brought renewed faith and optimism that they—
the working-class men who would most likely find themselves on the
frontlines of any significant war—would exhibit the pacific qualities
foreseen by early liberal optimists. Remarking upon the prevalence of
this hope in 1885, one journal predicted that the largest democratic
infusion Britain had ever seen would bring about a foreign policy
based more on ethics and altruism and less on “national security and
dignity.”40
Around the same time, democracy faced a new challenge: how would
white, male democracies interact with different people and cultures
encountered through the accelerated quest for empire? To liberals’
dismay, these new voters would prove no more fundamentally opposed
to war and violence. The end of the nineteenth century witnessed
relative peace in Europe, though sometimes against the will of the
British people. And abroad, a form of rapacious and often violent
imperialism brought conflict to far-flung corners of the world.
Between 1875 and 1900, British forces fought in no fewer than eight
wars with non-European peoples. In 1878, British troops, for example,
established dominance over the Zulu kingdom in South Africa when the
Zulus refused to disband their army and abandon their tribal customs,
killing roughly 10,000 Zulus in the process. In 1885, British troops
succeeded in dismantling the Konbuang dynasty, wiping independent
Burma off the map. In 1896, equipped with the most modern machined
guns and artillery of the time and backed by a flotilla of gunboats on
the Nile, Herbert Kitchener, newly named commander of the Anglo-

Egyptian Army, led 11,000 British men into Khartoum, Sudan to fight
60,000 Mahdist warriors and regain possession of the city, killing or
wounding over 25,000. Kitchener was celebrated throughout Britain for
avenging the death of Charles Gordon, the national hero taken down
by Mahdists forces after a 313-day siege in 1885.41
To be sure, the British people did not always express active support
for each act of violent conquest. The public was sometimes indifferent
and disinterested in colonial affairs, having little knowledge about
whom British troops were fighting or where.42 The Empire was a project
of vast complexity, the details of which could be lost on those not paying
close attention. What was certain, however, was that the popularity
of the imperial project—which was often explicitly intertwined with
violent conquest—ballooned just as the electorate expanded to include
a broad swathe of male voters.43
Toward the end of the nineteenth century, Empire came to “infuse
and be propagated by every organ of British life,” as British imperial
historian John Mackenzie wrote.44 Imperial enthusiasm reached its peak
in 1897 with Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee, which doubled as a “Festival
of the British Empire” replete with a naval and military parade. The
streets of London were resplendent with colorful displays of patriotism,
beaming faces, and ceaseless cheers. At this point, the Empire governed
land in every continent and over 20% of all peoples on earth.45
Much like conflicts of the past, “the pretexts” for Britain’s imperial
wars were “always found in some specious appearance of a real good,” as
Edmund Burke once wrote. In these cases, religion, morality, humani-
tarianism, and the rights of men were all invoked as just cause. It was,
after all, the responsibility of the civilized to “liberate” and educate those
beyond civilization.46 But it would be liberation achieved through war.
And, for many in the British public, war continued to hold attractions
of its own.
“We don’t want to fight but by jingo if we do. . . . We’ve got the
ships, we’ve got the men, and got the money too!,” declared a popular
song written in 1878. In the late 1900s, many Brits came to self-
consciously embrace the label of “jingo,” first used in this song, as an
indication of their unimpeachable patriotism and their preference for
war over compromise. A high tolerance for the use of force and violence
enabled popular support for imperialism. War brings about “nothing

but a chuckle of savage satisfaction in the common man,” J. A. Hobson
observed at the time.47
In this context, war was viewed as both necessary and glorified.48 The
idea of using brute force to destroy hated and contemptible foreigners
was portrayed as a “theatrical event of sombre magnificence”—one
which provided young men the ability to prove themselves and their
love of country. Militarism and patriotism came to be viewed as essential
characteristics to be instilled in grade school.49 The extension of empire
came to be seen not only as essential to British preeminence but also as
a patriotic duty requiring sacrifice and supported by a “general ethos of
force . . . and almost hysterical antagonism” to states that dared to defy
Britain.50
France was one such state that flouted Britain’s perceived preemi-
nence and imperial ambitions. In 1898, French Captain Jean-Baptiste
Marchand and his forces set off on an epic fourteen-month trek through
the jungles of the Congo and the deserts of the Sudan to seize the
territory around Fashoda, a small town at the neck of the Upper Nile.
The expedition arrived on July 10, 1898, planted a French flag in the
ground near the desolate fort, and set up camp. Two months later,
fresh off of victory against Mahdist forces in Khartoum, Lord Kitchener
arrived with 1,500 British and Egyptian troops, set up camp, and
raised an Egyptian flag at some distance from the Tricolour. Those who
controlled the Upper Nile, it was said, would control Egypt and, along
with it, a coveted base for further conquest throughout Africa.
News of Marchand’s bold act reached London quickly, where it was
met with national outrage, resentment, jingoism, and a call for war in
the streets.51 “National or acquisitional feeling has been aroused,” Prime
Minister Salisbury observed. “It has tasted the flesh pots and will not
let them go.”52 The diplomatically minded Salisbury had managed to
outmaneuver martially spirited colleagues for years. This time, he feared,
would be different. He dismayed that the public’s determination to go
to war with France might constrain his ability to negotiate Britain’s way
out of the crisis.53 Upon receiving word of Queen Victoria’s concerns
about possible war, Salisbury wrote to her: “I deeply sympathize with
your Majesty’s dissatisfaction at the present deadlock, but no offer of
territorial concession on our part would be endured by public opinion
here.”54 In this case, peace and moderation were the spirit of the
monarchy, war the mood of the republic.
Salisbury had once argued that leaders should never simply allow the
bellicose sentiment of the people to drive foreign policy. But in late
1898, he thought he had little choice but to follow through with their
demands if he wanted to remain in his post.55 As the Royal Navy drafted
war orders and mobilized its reserves, he warned the French to leave
Sudan or else face consequences.56 Luckily for those on both sides of
the Channel, the Dreyfus Affair—a domestic scandal that implicated
a 35-year-old French Jew in the dissemenation of military secrets to
Germany—pivoted public attention, allowing French leaders to quietly
pull Marchand from the region, thereby ending the crisis.57
Just as the cries for war over Fashoda were fading, another imperial crisis
emerged in modern-day South Africa, where since 1814, Britain had
held land around the Cape of Good Hope. Throughout the nineteenth
century, the British army had slowly expanded their control in the
region until they pushed against the Boer Republics in the east. The
Boers were descendants of Dutch farmers who had originally settled
around the Cape of Good Hope but had continued to move east to
escape British rule, forming the Orange Free State and the Transvaal.
Tension between Britain and the two independent states had been
growing for decades as British citizens—“uitlanders” to the Boers—
had sought jobs in the Boers’ new mining industry but had been
met with significant discrimination. Tensions boiled over in 1899
after the Secretary of Colonial Affairs Joseph Chamberlain, arrogant
and generally ruthless in his imperial ambitions, demanded that all
uitlanders be granted equal rights. The crusty Boer leader Kruger refused
to abide by these terms. In what would be the deadliest of their imperial
encounters, the British would eventually commit over 350,000 British
soldiers to the fight.
In the lead up to war, the attitude of the British public regarding the
situation in South Africa underscored the challenges that British leaders
faced as they attempted to conduct a steady and predictable foreign
policy during this period. South Africa was distant and circumstances
on the ground were constantly evolving. The plight of the uitlanders
was forced to compete for public attention with domestic and other
imperial affairs. As tensions grew between Boer and British leaders,

many in the British public remained uninformed and indifferent to
South African affairs.58 But as British leaders who defended the causes
of imperialism and expansion educated the masses about the treatment
of British citizens by the Boers, indifference quickly turned to righteous
and fanatical enthusiasm for war.
Backed by pro-war imperial enthusiasts like Sir Alfred Milner, the
Governor of the Cape Colony, Chamberlain worked to focus the British
public’s attention on the harsh discrimination against British citizens
by the Boers, eventually succeeding in arousing the vengeful spirit
of jingoes at home.59 Pacifists who gathered in London to protest a
possible war were shouted down and violently disbanded throughout
London.60 British citizens rallied around a demand for revenge—
a desire stemming from the perceived humiliation experienced by
colonists after they lost the first small and short war against the Boers
in 1881. “The root-passion of sheer brutality,” Hobson observed of the
era, was blended with “admiration of courage and adroitness” fed by
“the wildest rumours and the most violent appeals to hate.”61 The war
in South Africa would come to be viewed as a sport, “something of
a magnificent game” in which young and old felt they wanted to be
a part.62
The Church once again portrayed war as admirable. The Boer War
was one of God’s wars, the clergy argued. In particular, it offered a
spiritual opportunity to develop “hardier and manly virtues” such as
endurance, self-control, and contempt for danger and death, the “origin
of every fountainhead of honour.” Christian principles and “manliness”
converged in the act of war, it was argued. The loss of war-like deeds
was a symptom of the degeneracy of the race.63 One letter published
in the Manchester Guardian in August of 1900, however, exposed the
hypocrisy behind the Church’s belligerence:
For a year the heads of our Church have been telling us what
war is and does—that it is a school of character, that it sobers
men, cleans them, strengthens them, knits their hearts, makes them
brave. . . . Man’s moral nature cannot . . . live by war alone. Nor do
I say, with some, that peace is wholly bad. Even amid the horrors
of peace you will find little shoots of character fed by the gentle and
timely rains of plague and famine. . . . But these are second bests, the
halting substitute for war. . . . Every year thousands of women and
children must go their way bereft of the rich spiritual experience of
the widow and the orphan. Signed “A Patriot”.64
Salisbury, in his thirteenth non-consecutive year as prime minister

blamed the jingoes, including Milner, for simplifying complex inter-
national issues with the purpose of igniting tensions and necessitating
the “considerable military effort” which was to come on behalf of
“people whom we despise and for territory which will bring no profit
and no power to England.”65 However, in igniting the passions of the
voting public, Chamberlain had conjured a straitjacket—a public ire
that undermined Salisbury’s ability to flexibly maneuver out of war.66
Three months into the Boer War, the world marked the arrival of a
new century. Peace did not greet British efforts in the new year. But
by September 1900, Boer political leaders relented, allowing British
officials to declare victory over both republics, with the exception of
the northern parts of the Transvaal. Boer military commanders were
not willing to relinquish their sovereignty so easily and they would
continue to fight for another year and a half, using guerrilla tactics
to attack rail lines and British camps. The British responded with a
scorched-earth policy—the destruction of crops and the burning of
homesteads. They forced Boer women and children into concentration
camps, where over 27,000 perished from starvation or disease. It was
the first time in modern history that a concentration camp system was
used to systematically target a whole nation—an outcome at least tacitly
sanctioned by the fervor of a British electorate in favor of war.
In Another Democracy Far, Far Away . . .

In 1900, all women and more than 40% of men in Britain remained
unable to vote. Although the recurring fear of total revolt had coerced
reluctant Lords and aristocrats to slowly hand over increasing political
power in pieces throughout the nineteenth century, Britain’s demo-
cratic project was far from complete. Perhaps, then, Britain at the end
of the nineteenth century still did not provide an adequate test of
the effects of democratic institutions on international affairs. Could a
country truly be labeled a democracy if such a large segment of the

population remained excluded from the voter rolls?
As the oldest democracy in the world, the United States’ democratic
institutions were relatively well established. The Fifteenth Amendment,
ratified in 1870, had prevented states from denying the right to vote
on the basis of “race, color, or previous condition of servitude,” but not
on the basis of gender. All males over 21 therefore held a constitutional
right to vote, even though some states continued their quest to raise
barriers to minority voting. Perhaps the United States at the turn of
the century provides a better test of the pacifying effects of democratic
institutions.
On March 30, 1898, President William McKinley began to cry.67 He

did not want war with Spain, he told an associate. He had served as an
enlisted soldier throughout the Civil War, witnessing the deaths of over
23,000 in a single day at the Battle of Antietam. “I have been through
one war,” he wrote, “I have seen the dead piled up, and I do not want
to see another.”68
Theodore Roosevelt could not have viewed the prospects of war more
differently. “No triumph of peace is quite so great as the supreme
triumphs of war,” he declared in a speech to the War College in 1897,
before concluding, “Cowardice in a race . . . is the unpardonable sin.”
“I should welcome almost any war, for I think the country needs one,”
he proclaimed a year later.69 “Personally, I rather hope the fight will
come soon,” he had written to his college companion and life-long
friend Henry Cabot Lodge. Both Lodge and Roosevelt scoffed at the
“cult of non-virility,” whose members supported the avoidance of war
and the arbitration of disputes, a cult of which, they often implied,
President McKinley was a member.70 McKinley had all the backbone
of a chocolate eclair, Roosevelt had once famously mocked.
By early 1898, McKinley had come to realize that such pro-war
attitudes were not limited to a small, but powerful, few. As tensions
with Spain built, a martial spirit had become palpable throughout
the country. “The whole country thrills with war fever,” the Journal
reported on February 18, 1898. “Hurray for War!” opponents of
a prospective treaty shouted in New York, and not just war with
Spain, one commentator noted, but “war with anybody anywhere.”71
Republicans, having recently lost in municipal elections, feared losses

at the national level if they did not adopt an aggressive policy towards
Spain.72 Democrats dared not allow their opponents to adopt the
mantle of sole defenders of national self-respect and honor.
With midterm and upcoming presidential elections in mind, McKin-
ley confronted his reality. A significant majority in Congress supported
war with Spain largely because they feared unemployment if they did
not.73 In the face of such public unanimity, any attempt McKinley
made to maintain peace left him open to public disparagement. One
newspaper infamously portrayed him as an old woman, donning a
house dress and bonnet, attempting fecklessly to sweep back the sea—
its waves comprised of pro-war sentiment seeded by the rain clouds
of public opinion.74 “I can no longer hold back the Senate,” Vice
President Garret Hobart wrote to McKinley. “They will act without
you if you do not act at once.”75 “Fruitless attempts to hold back or
retard the enormous momentum of the people bent upon war would
result in the destruction of the President’s power and influence,” the
U.S. ambassador to Spain Elihu Root wrote at the time.76 Even then,
McKinley declined to request war powers for himself, leaving the matter
in the hands of the Congress, which promptly voted for war.77
For some voters, the desire for war against Spain stemmed from depic-
tions of Cuban plight under Spanish colonial rule. Depictions in the
American press of the “barbarities, bloodshed, starvation and horrible
miseries” at the hands of the Spanish motivated some Americans to
advocate for U.S. forces to assist in the Cuban people’s liberation from
their colonial overlords.78 As in Britain, outrage at the atrocious crimes
of autocrats was easy to conjure in democratic publics.79
Humanitarian goals, however, were only part of the story. The
Cubans had long rebelled against Spain and previous American gov-
ernments had actually tried, at times, to prevent aid from reaching
Cuba.80 Support for Cuban freedom also did not mandate an American
declaration of war, especially since Spain had already more or less given
in to U.S. and Cuban demands by the time of the war authorization.
These facts, among others, have led many historians of the era to
conclude that the United States went to war not because it wanted
freedom for the Cuban people but because it wanted a war. Whether
the Cuban people were freed as a result was of secondary concern.81
What made war such an attractive option to the American public?
Spain did not represent a clear security threat to the United States and
Cuba offered few economic advantages.82 Echoing sentiments expressed
in Britain at the time, war was seen by many in the American public
as a way for men to escape their fate in a newly industrialized world
of material and social progress. War would keep men out of brothels
and reduce crime. It would restore moral order and the “sturdy virtues”
of a generation of men that had been enervated by easy riches and
materialism, men who had become entranced by “the ignoble and
in the inglorious,” as one Denver newspaper put it.83 For Admiral
Stephen Luce, war was “one of the great agencies by which human
progress is effected.” The philosopher William James agreed, arguing
that militarism was the “great preserver of our ideals of hardihood.”84
Peace to Alfred Mahan was an “alluring, albeit somewhat ignoble, ideal”
which could “not be allowed to sap American men of their manhood.”85
“No greater danger could befall civilization,” Mahan concluded, “than
the disappearance of the warlike spirit (I daresay war) among civilized
men.”86
Pro-war sentiment did not exist solely within the intellectual sphere.
Such views were openly expressed within Congress. “I think a little
blood-letting would be an admirably good thing about this time for
the people of the United States,” said one congressmen.87 “War is a bad
thing no doubt,” argued Massachusetts Senator Henry Cabot Lodge,
“but there are worse things both for nations and for men.” Senator
Hernando de Soto Money, a Democrat from Mississippi, praised war
for teaching sacrifice. “Any sort of war,” he proclaimed to Congress to
wide applause, was better “than a rotting peace that eats out the core
and heart of the manhood of this country.” War with Spain would have
a purgatorial effect upon the nation, he concluded, and national honor
would rise again from it “like the Phoenix from its ashes renewed with
glory.”88 Some congressmen were so fervent in their support of war that
they personally promised to join the fight. As in Britain, the honor
of men and the honor of the nation were often depicted as sharing
a common fate. Male honor was achieved through competition and
combat—through demonstrations that one was prepared to assume the

common male role of physical defender of family, tribe, and state.
On February 15, 1898, the U.S. battleship Maine exploded in
the harbor off of Havana, killing over 250 American seamen. Naval
commanders were quick to convey that the explosion was most likely an
accident. But an alternative narrative, actively promoted by journalists,
quickly and easily took root in the American psyche. This narrative
blamed Spain for the death of innocent American men and portrayed
the explosion as a blatant attack on American honor.89 The situa-
tion demanded, many congressmen argued, a full-fledged defense—a
demonstration of the bravery of American men and their unwillingness
to suffer such blatant insult of their nation, no matter the cost. Senator
James Norton of Ohio hated war, he said, but it would be “better far that
this war should come through at the cost of untold treasure of countless
wealth and human life, than the degradation of the country’s honor.”90
“There is a crucifixion of the soul when honor dies,” Senator Turner
argued. He equated life under such conditions to a horrid nightmare in
which “men shun their fellows and the laugh of little children becomes
a taunt and a mockery.” Men could exist without national honor, “like
worms in a muck heap” he descriptively argued, but the fate of their
nation would be grave as a result. The unprecedented number of men
who tried to enlist in the lead up to war must have, in some part, agreed.
Some have blamed overactive yellow journalists of the era for con-
juring up the Spanish-American War. If editors had not doubled down
a narrative of Spanish barbarism, deceit, and aggression, the public
would have likely not been so keen on war. The newspapers of the
day, including William Randolph Hearst’s New York Morning Journal
and Joseph Pulitzer’s New York World, did compete for the attention
of readers by offering salacious details of Cuba’s fate.91 And even after
investigators were brought in to assess whether the downing of the
Maine had resulted from accident, newspapers continued to suggest the
evidence against Spain was definitive.92 Though there is no polling data
from the period, it is hard to imagine that the graphic attention paid to
the fate of the Cuban people did not affect American public opinion.93
But newspaper editors know their audience. The editors of the day
must have known that they were tapping into the existing propensities
and prejudices of the American public just as much as they were
creating and shaping them.94 Pro-war editorials found an instantaneous

audience, illustrating, as Mahan wrote, the “readiness with which a seed
of thought germinates when it falls upon mental soil prepared already
to receive it.”95
The war with Spain was not, it turned out, a one-off for the U.S.
military, but just the first step in a brief period of American imperial
expansion. After defeating the Spanish in just four short months, the
United States turned its attention towards another former Spanish
colony—the Philippines. The Philippine-American War, typically far
less known but far more costly in terms of lives, money, and time, began
on February 4, 1899. After fighting for the supposed liberation of the
Cuban people, over 125,000 American soldiers were sent to violently
subdue the Filipinos’ quest for independence after Spain had transferred
control of the islands to the United States.
For many, the war with Spain had only briefly sated the thirst for
war. “There is not a man here who does not feel four hundred percent
bigger in 1900 than he did in 1896,” Senator Depew argued as part
of McKinley’s reelection bid, in part because the United States was
now, for the first time, an imperial power.96 The pursuit of empire
would help in the continued quest to stave off degeneracy and national
softness while simultaneously invigorating American manhood. As they
had in the lead up to the war with Spain, jingoes argued that those
who opposed expansion in the Philippines were tainted by effeminacy—
“old women with trousers on,” they were called.97 Militancy served as
a mark of manliness. Peaceniks were likened to nagging wives. One
congressman from Minnesota equated withdrawal from the fight in the
Philippines to a “confession of impotence,” a renouncing of manly duty.
War in the Philippines would eventually lead to American victory,
but at the cost of over 7,000 American and over 215,000 Filipino
lives. McKinley, a convert to the imperial project, campaigned on the
issue alongside Roosevelt, his new running mate who had been chosen
in part because some thought his “barbarian ways,” as he referred to
them, could strengthen the ticket in the West.98 McKinley’s opponent,
William Jennings Bryan, deemed imperialism the “paramount issue” of
the campaign early on, hoping to sway voters with a platform of anti-
militarism and anti-imperialism. Midway through the short campaign,
he realized peace was a losing issue with American voters and started
campaigning on the issue of free silver. He lost the election by over six
percentage points.99
Conclusion
Contrary to early and modern faith in democratic pacifism, it was often
the all-men voting publics that pushed reluctant leaders to promote
policies of violence and conquest in the latter half of the nineteenth
century. Lord Salisbury, who served as leader of the British people for
much of the 1880s and 1890s, offered a concise prediction in 1879.
Early theories predicting that the decline of monarchs would mean
peace had it exactly wrong, he argued. “If there is any possible danger
in the future,” he concluded, “it rather arises from another cause—from
possible gusts of passionate and often ill-informed feeling arising from
great masses of population.”100
Great powers largely avoided fighting each other during this period.
But great power democracies were anything but serene and satisfied.
The slow march towards universal manhood suffrage coincided with
the most significant period of colonial subjugation the world has ever
seen. And support for the pursuit of honor and prestige by rabid voting
publics was by no means limited to the United States and Britain. France
acquired much of what would become one the largest empires in history
only in the aftermath of the emergence of the Third Republic, the
democratic government that rose in the wake of Emperor Napoleon
III’s capture.101 In the early twentieth century, nominally democratic
Belgium steamrolled over indigenous interests in the Congo, enacting
one of the most violent and exploitative systems of colonial rule in
history. Voters within these democratic states did not expressly consent
to each act of often violent expansion. But they did not actively protest
them either.
These stories of conquest and war cannot tell us if democracies were
any more or less war-prone than their autocratic contemporaries. We
address that question in later chapters. But these stories do provide
evidence that Salisbury’s view about democracy’s effects hewed closer
to the truth than Paine’s—at least for democracy as it stood in the
late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Male voters could be
unpredictable, urging peace at times and sometimes supporting wars

with a passion “reminiscent of the worst years of the Wars of Religion,”
as the historian Michael Howard put it, even if it might cost them their
lives.102 Voters did in fact constrain their leaders—not always in the way
that Kant and Paine predicted, but by cornering their worst instincts.
Popular demands for war even in far-flung, unknown places could make
the path to diplomacy and international compromise more difficult.
By the end of the nineteenth century, the number of democratic
countries in the world had expanded to ten.103 In only one country—
New Zealand—were women able to vote in national elections. In all
others, democratic or not, public life largely remained a male affair.
This did not mean that all women around the world were idle or
silent on political issues, including war and peace. Many of the most
prominent women of the day—women like Elizabeth Cady Stan-
ton, Carrie Chapman Catt, Emmeline Pethick-Lawrence, and many
others—took on male and female gender roles more durable than
monarchy itself, making a name for themselves through their activism
and their outspoken views of the world governed by men. As we will
see, their reports were not good.
•
The Hope for Suffrage and Peace in the
2
New Century
Why we oppose votes for men. . . . Because men are too emotional
to vote. Their conduct at baseball games and political conventions
shows this, while their innate tendency to appeal to force renders
them particularly unfit for the task of government.
Alice Duer Miller, 1915
The “male element is a destructive force, stern, selfish, aggrandizing,

loving war, violence, conquest, acquisition, breeding in the material
and moral world alike discord, disorder, slaughter, disease and death,”
founder of the suffrage movement Elizabeth Cady Stanton lamented in
her self-titled speech “The Destructive Male” in the aftermath of the
Civil War. Carrie Chapman Catt often disagreed with Stanton about
many things, but on this point wholeheartedly agreed that war was a
product of men’s priorities, selfishness, and immorality. “The politics
of men have embroiled the world in the most wholesale slaughter of
the sons of mothers the world has ever known,” Catt wrote in 1915
before concluding that “when war murders the husbands and sons of
women, destroys their homes, desolates their country and makes them
refugees and paupers, it becomes the undeniable business of women.”1
Some, like American writer Charlotte Perkins Gilman, located the
“destructive belligerence” of men within their innate tendencies. Men’s
“all too-natural instinct to wander, kill and rob” would still run
rampant, Gilman cheekily observed, if it had not been subdued by the
The Suffragist Peace: How Women Shape the Politics of War. Joslyn N. Barnhart and Robert F. Trager,
Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780197629758.003.0002
the hope for suffrage and peace in the new century 23
attractions of the home created by women.2 Others, Gilman included,

blamed the entrenched culture of masculinity and masculine honor.
“In warfare, we find maleness in its absurdist extremes,” Gilman wrote
in her book, The Man-Made World. “Here is . . . the whole gamut of
basic masculinity, from the initial instinct of combat, through every
form of glorious ostentation with the loudest possible accompaniment
of noise.”3 Young men were praised for a rationality and aggression that
would enable success within business or on the battlefield. A notion
of masculine honor, which Elizabeth Ward defined as “killing or being
killed,” was imbued in them on multiple fronts, from national myths
that celebrated military heroes and past victories to children’s toys that
normalized violence, revenge, and military glory.4
Regardless of the exact source of men’s belligerence, the prescription
for peace was clear—involve women in decisions about war and peace.5
Men might be able, for whatever reason, to tolerate the “battle fields
sodden with the blood of our human fellow beings . . . those mothers
stifling the wailing of their children in their arms . . . those trains bearing
back to their homes the dead to be buried on the refuse heaps,”
Emmeline Pethick-Lawrence decried in 1915, but women could not!6
For this reason, men had proven themselves unfit to have control “of
the human family” solely in their hands. Stanton stated the expectation
clearly: a woman’s love, “if permitted to assert itself as it naturally would
in freedom against oppression, violence and war, would hold all these
destructive forces in check.”7
Stanton’s statement locates women’s opposition to war in natural
differences. In this, Stanton was not alone. The writings of renowned
pacifist and Nobel Prize winner Jane Addams at times also pointed to
nature as a source of women’s relative pacifism. She wrote of women
being dominated “by one of those overwhelming impulses belonging
to women as such, irrespective of their mental training, in their revolt
against war.”8 Similarly, Pethick-Lawrence argued that within every
woman is a “rooted revolt against the destruction of the blossoming
manhood of the race,” regardless of the social role they played.9
Plenty of other accounts cited women’s unique social roles and their
upbringing as the dominant if not sole source of women’s relative
pacifism. Young men were trained for competition—in business, pol-
itics, and on the battlefield. Women were trained for selflessness and
sentimentality, nurturing qualities that best suited their expected roles

of wives and mothers.10 Women brought life into the world whereas
men destroyed it. Their experiences and obligations as caregivers and
mothers made women uniquely sensitive to the loss of human life
and served as a powerful source of women’s moral authority in their
opposition to war.11
Stanton, Catt, Addams and others were far from alone in their belief that
war was the purview of men and peace the purview of women, as we will
see. Such essentialized views of the sexes might sound odd to modern
eras, but they pervaded public thought in the late nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries, despite the obvious empirical inconsistencies. Some
men, of course, strongly opposed war.12 Many of these women joined
the ranks in pacifist organizations founded by men at one time or
another. And clearly not all women, prominent or otherwise, were
equally committed to peace. Stanton herself acknowledged in 1898 that
though she hated war, she hoped to see Spain “swept from the face
of the earth.”13 Women of the British Women’s Social and Political
Union blew up the Chancellor of the Exchequer’s house in one of many
bombings intended to terrorize the British government into granting
women the vote, though they took care to avoid any injury or death.14
But on the whole, such inconsistencies were downplayed. Some men
might oppose war, they argued, but women’s opposition differed in
its nature and intensity. Women possess a “peculiar moral passion of
revolt against both the cruelty and the waste of war,” declared the
preamble of the Woman’s Peace Party written in 1915. Hannah Bailey,
head of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union’s Department of
Peace and International Arbitration, also pointed to women’s distinctive
enthusiasm for peace. “Many a man has not the moral courage to plead
for peace, for fear he shall be accused of effeminacy and cowardice.
Woman has no such fear; to be the advocate of peace is congenial
to her character.”15 The challenge, of course, would be how to make
men listen.
They had their work cut out for them. Just as women had begun to make
strident demands—for political voice, for financial independence, for
freedoms more broadly—idealized conceptions of masculinity seemed
the hope for suffrage and peace in the new century 25
to intensify in response. Traditional gender roles reasserted themselves

and existing notions of masculinity were thrown into high relief. The
brazen Teddy Roosevelt on horseback, displaying virility, energy, and
even enthusiasm to engage in brutality and violence in the name of
honor and country, epitomized American manliness at the turn of the
twentieth century.16 The image would have been familiar to those who
revered images of the honorable and inspiring British colonial soldier,
heading off for adventure in the wild unknowns of Africa on behalf of
queen and country, but with perhaps a bit more cowboy flair.
Little was new about this construction of masculinity. Through their
great epics of war and sacrifice, the ancient Greek and Romans—also
some of the first to experiment with ideas of democracy—provided
the natural archetypes to emulate. For women, honor has historically
been achieved through restraint. For men in the era of Thucydides,
moderation was but a “cloak for unmanliness” and “prudent hesitation”
was a mere demonstration of cowardice. The Homeric hero Achilles
embodied what was to be admired in a man: physical strength, daring,
bravery, and the willingness to trade away a long life in exchange
for honor achieved through success on the battlefield.17 “By nature,
we yearn and hunger for honor,” Cicero wrote, “and once we have
glimpsed, as it were, some part of its radiance, there is nothing we are
not prepared to bear and suffer in order to secure it.”
The sense of excitement and the romantic draw of war that were felt
in the towns and cities of Britain before the Crimean War or of France
in August 1914, as young men cheerfully made their way to the front,
would have been familiar to Cicero. Men forced to remain home, away
from the battlefield and unable to glimpse the “radiance” of honor,
were deemed unpatriotic and unmanly—a more dire outcome, some
thought, than the horrors and glory of the front.
Eliminating war would be a lofty goal that would require, some
women concluded, fundamentally reshaping the ideal character of
men.18 Peace will emerge only upon a “rising tide of moral feeling . . .
slowly engulfing all pride of conquest and making war impossible,”
Jane Addams believed.19 To alter the status quo, the culture in which
the tin soldier was a popular toy would have to give way to ideals of
reconciliation and compromise if the prospect of war were to decrease,
Charlotte Gilman argued. The honor of a nation would have to be
judged by a state’s success at compelling peace rather than war, Laura

Elizabeth Ward believed. And British voters would need to be taught
that rights were not bestowed “on the virtue of strength,” well-known
British activist Priscilla Peckover claimed.20
But how does one, or even many, begin to challenge deeply entrenched
norms? One strategy was to mobilize women to speak up about the
cause of peace. Julia Ward Howe, eventual leader of the American
Women Suffrage Association and author of the “The Battle Hymn
of the Republic,” was among the first in the United States to try her
hand.21 The Franco-Prussian War in 1870 appalled Howe and led her
to pen an “Appeal to Womanhood,” later called the “Mother’s Day
Proclamation.” In it, she claimed that men would continue to forsake
the “domestic life for the bloody exchanges of the battle field.” But
women “need no longer be made party” to such grief and horror. They
could use their moral authority as wives and mothers to say firmly to
their husbands and sons: “[do] not come to us, reeking with carnage, for
caresses and applause. The sword of murder is not the balance of justice.
Disarm, disarm! . . . Blood does not wipe out dishonor, nor violence
vindicate possession.”22 Howe called for an annual day to be held on
June 2nd on which women would speak out at regional “Women’s Peace
Festivals” on the unique sufferings wrought on mothers by war. Howe’s
“Mother’s Day,” as she would call it, failed to take root in the 1870s, but
would later serve as inspiration for Mother’s Day as we know it today.23
Over the decades that followed, peace organizations organized by
women increased in prominence. The Women’s Christian Temperance
Union—founded in 1874 to advocate for a wide-reaching policy plat-
form that promoted abstinence, temperance, as well as international
peace—by 1890 had become the largest women’s group in the world.
Events in Europe in 1914 motivated even greater commitment and
effort to organize women for peace. At the Women’s Peace Parade in
1914, fifteen hundred women dressed in black or black arm bands
marched in dead silence behind the banner of a dove down Fifth
Avenue. After the parade, organizers Fanny Garrison Villard and Carrie
Chapman Catt founded the Woman’s Peace Party (WPP), convened on
a platform of the limitation of armaments and opposition to militarism.
The party’s founding documents described women, as “custodians of the
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22. Phalanger celebensis (Gr.)
Ta f e l X V F i g u r 1 (c. ⅓ n. Gr.)
Nachdem J e n t i n k 1885 (Notes Leyden Mus. VII, 104) in seiner

klärenden Monographie der Gattung Cuscus Licht in die Verwirrung
gebracht, die über Phalanger celebensis bis dahin geherrscht hatte,
und O. T h o m a s 1888 (Cat. Mars. p. 206) weiterhin darüber, mit
ausreichender Synonymie, gehandelt, bleibt vorerst wenig über die
Art zu sagen. J e n t i n k (p. 91 und 106) stellte das Vorkommen in
Süd-Celebes noch etwas in Frage, allein ich selbst erhielt 1871 in
Makassar ein Junges (B 391), W e b e r (Zool. Erg. I, 114 1890) fand
die Art in Goa und neuerdings sah ich aus E v e r e t t s Sammlungen
(vom October 1895) von Indrulaman, 2300′ hoch am Pik von
Bonthain, ein Exemplar 1 und erwarb daraus ein Junges ebendaher
für das Museum. Dieses besitzt ausserdem Exemplare von
Kakaskassen, Kali und Manado in der Minahassa und von
Gorontalo, im Ganzen 7. H i c k s o n (Nat. N. Cel. 1889, 83) nennt
die Art auf der Insel Talisse, nahe der Nordspitze von Celebes,
häufig. T h o m a s (p. 207) führt sie auch von Sangi auf, und zwar
nach einem von mir gesammelten Exemplar; allein die Sangi Form
ist, wie wir gleich sehen werden, abzutrennen. Die Celebes Art
wurde noch nicht abgebildet (s. bei T h o m a s pl. XXI, 4 nur das
Ohr). Wie J e n t i n k (p. 106 Anm. 2) schon wahrscheinlich machte,
hatte G r a y (P. Z. S. 1858 pl. LXII) nicht celebensis, sondern
Exemplare von San Cristoval, Salomo Inseln, abgebildet, und
T h o m a s (p. 204) stellte klar, dass es Exemplare von Ph. orientalis
breviceps gewesen waren. Figur 1 Tafel XV ist ein Männchen von
Kakaskassen (B 2841), das grösste der in Dresden vorhandenen
Exemplare in c. ⅓ n. Gr.
Über die Schwanzschuppen mit centraler Papille, die besonders an
der Schwanzbasis auftreten, handelte d e M e i j e r e (Haren
Zoogd., Diss. 1893, 10 u. 54), sowie R e h (Jena Zeitschr. 29, 166,
1894). Die Tastlinien des Schwanzes erforderten vielleicht noch eine
specielle mikroskopische Untersuchung.
Die Eingeborenen der Minahassa nennen das Thier kussi, die

Maleiisch Sprechenden kussu. Ich sah einmal im März 1871 in der
Nähe von Manado um 11 Uhr Mittags zwei sich Paarende auf einem
hohen Baume. Das Weibchen hielt sich aufrecht, indem es mit den
Vorderfüssen einen Zweig umklammerte. Beim ersten Schusse
trennten sie sich, aber erst nach mehreren Schüssen fiel einer von
etwa 80 Fuss Höhe mit gespreizten Beinen herab und lebte noch.
Die Eingeborenen fangen sie, wenn sie sich auf einem einzeln
stehenden Baum aufhalten, indem einer hinaufklettert, worauf das
Thier sich herabfallen lässt, und ein Anderer fängt es dann unten
ein. Auf bergigem Terrain soll es sich, verfolgt, wie eine Kugel
[34]zusammenballen und herabrollen, was nicht gerade
wahrscheinlich klingt. Bei Tage sieht es schlecht, aber kriecht doch
umher. Es frisst allerlei Früchte. Die Eingebornen sagen, wenn man
Einen sieht, müsse man schnell die Zahl 11 aussprechen, wenn
zwei, die Zahl 12, sonst gelinge der Fang nicht. Das Fleisch wird
gern gegessen und soll wie Wildschwein schmecken.
1 Vgl. auch E v e r e t t bei H a r t e r t : Nov. Zool. III, 150 1896. ↑

[Inhalt]
23. Phalanger sangirensis n. sp.
Ta f e l X V F i g u r 2 u n d 3 (c. ⅓ n. G r . )
Phalanger Ph. celebensi (Gr.) similis, sed

subaureo-flavescens et facie albescenti.
H a b . In insulis Sangi.
L o n g . corp. c. 40, caud. c. 25 cm.
Es liegen mir 5 Exemplare von den Sangi Inseln vor, und zwar 3 von
Gross Sangi (2 aus meinen Sammlungen und ein kürzlich
erhaltenes) und zwei von Siao (1893 erhalten). Sie unterscheiden
sich leicht von den Celebes Exemplaren durch ihre goldigen Töne,
sind farbiger und heller im Ganzen und haben auch mehr oder
weniger ein helles Gesicht. Die Abbildung ergiebt die Unterschiede,
bei deren zweifellosem Vorhandensein ich nicht zögere, die Sangi
Form als insulare abzutrennen. Bemerkenswerth ist vielleicht, dass 2
Junge von Ph. celebensis eine gewisse Ähnlichkeit mit sangirensis
in der Färbung zeigen (jedoch ohne helle Gesichtzeichnung). Kommt
diese Annäherung stets vor 1, so könnte sie bedeuten, dass die
Sangi Form die ältere ist, indem die celebische nur noch im
Jugendkleide die Färbung der Stammform bewahrt hat. Figur 2 und
3 Tafel XV sind zwei Männchen von Gross Sangi in c. ⅓ n. Gr. (2085
und 2239, von mir mitgebracht). In der Grösse kommen sangirensis
und celebensis einander gleich. Bei den mir vorliegenden 5
Exemplaren von Sangi ist ebensowenig eine Spur eines
Rückenstreifens vorhanden. In der Färbung differiren sie mehr oder
weniger untereinander, sie sind dunkler und heller; ein Exemplar von
Siao nähert sich selbst celebensis, allein differirt doch genügend, um
bei einem Gesammtvergleiche der 5 Sangi Exemplare einerseits mit
den 7 von Celebes andrerseits keinen Zweifel über die Berechtigung
von sangirensis aufkommen zu lassen.
1 W e b e r (Zool. Erg. I, 114 1890) sagt von einem Jungen von Ph. celebensis
von Goa in Süd Celebes, dass es ganz verschieden von der Mutter gefärbt sei,
kastanienfarben und oben dunkel. Dies scheint sich also nicht Ph. sangirensis
anzunähern. ↑
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24. Phalanger ursinus (Temm.)
Diese Art ist bis jetzt nur von Nord Celebes mit Sicherheit nachgewiesen.
J e n t i n k (Notes Leyden Mus. VII, 91 1885) hielt es sogar für möglich, dass sie
vielleicht überhaupt auf Nord Celebes beschränkt sei. O. T h o m a s (Cat. Mars.
1888, 197) führt auch kein Exemplar von Süd Celebes auf. Das Museum besitzt
17, davon 7 aus der Minahassa, 3 von der Insel Lembeh bei Kema, 3 von
Tjamba in Süd Celebes (1882 1), 3 von Tonkean in Nordost Celebes und 1 von
der Insel Peling. Im August 1871 erlegte ich bei Poso an der Tominibucht
mehrere Exemplare, von denen eins im Berliner Museum ist, wie auch ein von
mir im Gorontaloschen erhaltenes. Es beweist dies das Vorkommen über ganz
Celebes; Te i j s m a n n (Natuurk. Tijdschr. Nederl. Ind. 38, 77 1879) behauptete
dies schon; ohne Exemplare als Unterlage kann man aber auf solche
allgemeine Angaben nicht viel Gewicht legen. Die Tonkean Exemplare zeichnen
sich durch ihre, besonders auf der hinteren Körperhälfte lebhaft gelbgraue
Färbung vor allen obigen und auch sonst beschriebenen aus, sie machen daher
nicht den schwärzlichen Eindruck wie die anderen; 2 von der Insel Lembeh
nähern sich ihnen in dieser Beziehung etwas, das 3. ist jedoch sehr dunkel. Das
von Peling ist das hellste von allen, es ist sehr gelblichgrau. Ob auf die
Färbungsdifferenzen der Tonkean und Peling Exemplare etwas zu geben sei, d.
h. ob sie locale Abänderungen repräsentiren, oder ob dort auch dunkle
Exemplare vorkommen, lässt sich erst bei mehr Material beurtheilen. Der Name
des Thieres im Buginesischen und Makassarischen ist memu, s. auch
Te i j s m a n n l. c.; in der Minahassa, sagt er (l. c. 23, 368 1861), heisse das
Männchen lokkon, das Weibchen kuseh. Es existirt noch keine genügende
Abbildung der Art, denn die L e s s o n sche (Cent. Zool. I, 10 1830) ist den
heutigen Anforderungen nicht entsprechend. Ph. ursinus lässt sich jedoch
gegenüber allen anderen Phalanger Arten keinen Augenblick verkennen. [35]
1 S. auch E v e r e t t und H a r t e r t : Nov. Zool. III, 150 1896. ↑
[Inhalt]
Index.
albayensis Elera, Phlœomys 29.
alfurus Less., Babirusa 15.
Anoa depressicornis 12. 13. 14. 15.
Anoa mindorensis 12. 13.
Antilope depressicornis 12.
arctoides Js. Geoffr., Macacus 5.
Babirusa alfurus Less. 15.
Bos mindorensis 13.
brachyceros Gr., Bubalus 15.
breviceps Thos., Phalanger orientalis 33.
Bubalus brachyceros Gr. 15.
Bubalus bubalus 13.
bubalus, Bubalus 13.
Bubalus indicus 12.
Bubalus mainitensis Heude 13.
Bubalus mindorensis Heude 12. 13.
Bubalus moellendorffi Nehring 13.
cagsi A. B. Meyer, Sciurus 28. 29.
candida Gthr., Gymnura 32.
celebensis (Gr.), Phalanger 33. 34.
ceramicus Gr., Sus 18.
civetta Schreb., Viverra 12.
Crateromys schadenbergi (A. B. Meyer) 32.

Cryptoprocta ferox Th. Benn. 10.
cumingi Wtrh., Phlœomys 29. 31. 32. 33.
Cuscus 33.
Cynocephalus 5.
cynomolgus L., Macacus 4.
Cynopithecus niger (Desm.) 1. 5. 7. 8.
Cynopithecus nigrescens (Temm.) 2. 5. 7.
depressicornis, Anoa 12. 13. 14. 15.
depressicornis, Antilope 12.
Elephas primigenius 19.
fasciatus Desm., Paradoxurus 12.
ferox Th. Benn., Cryptoprocta 10.
fur Slark, Macacus 4.
fuscomanus Fisch.-Waldh., Tarsius 8.
fuscus Fisch.-Waldh., Tarsius 8. 9.
Gymnura candida Gthr. 32.
imhausi A. M.-E., Lophiomys 33.
indicus, Bubalus 12.
inornatus Gr., Macacus 2.
leucomus Müll. Schl., Sciurus 25.
leucomystax Gr., Paradoxurus 10. 12.
Lophiomys imhausi A. M.-E. 33.
Macacus arctoides Js. Geoffr. 5.
Macacus cynomolgus L. 4.
Macacus fur Slark 4.
Macacus inornatus Gr. 2.

Macacus maurus F. Cuv. 1. 2. 4. 5. 6. 7.
Macacus melanotus Ogilb. 5.
Macacus ocreatus Ogilb. 1. 2. 4.
Macacus philippinensis Js. Geoffr. 4.
Macroxus philippensis Wtrh. 29.
mainitensis Heude, Bubalus 13.
maurus F. Cuv., Macacus 1. 2. 4. 5. 6. 7.
melanotus, Ogilb., Macacus 5.
mindanensis Steere, Sciurus 28. 29.
mindorensis, Anoa 12. 13.
mindorensis, Bos 13.
mindorensis Heude, Bubalus 12. 13.
mindorensis, Probubalus 12.
moellendorffi Nehring, Bubalus 13.
musanga Gr., Paradoxurus 11. 12.
musschenbroeki Schl., Paradoxurus 10. 11. 12.
niger (Desm.), Cynopithecus 1. 5. 7. 8.
niger (Desm.), Paradoxurus 12.
niger Finsch, Sus 18. 19.
nigrescens (Temm.), Cynopithecus 2. 5. 7.
ocreatus Ogilb., Macacus 1. 2. 4.
Paguma 11.
pallidus Nehring, Phlœomys 29. 30.
papuensis Less., Sus 18.
Paradoxurus fasciatus Desm. 12.
Paradoxurus leucomystax Gr. 10. 12.

Paradoxurus musanga Gr. 11. 12.
Paradoxurus musschenbroeki Schl. 10. 11. 12.
Paradoxurus niger (Desm.) 12.
Paradoxurus philippensis Jourd. 12.
Paradoxurus philippinensis Temm. 29. [36]
Paradoxurus typus 12.
Phalanger celebensis (Gr.) 33. 34.
Phalanger orientalis breviceps Thos. 33.
Phalanger sangirensis A. B. Meyer 34.
Phalanger ursinus (Temm.) 34.
philippensis Wtrh., Macroxus 29.
philippensis Jourd., Paradoxurus 12.
philippensis Wtrh., Sciurus 29.
philippensis A. B. Meyer, Tarsius 8. 9.
philippinensis Js. Geoffr., Macacus 4.
philippinensis Temm., Paradoxurus 29.
Phlœomys albayensis Elera 29.
Phlœomys cumingi Wtrh. 29. 31. 32. 33.
Phlœomys pallidus Nehring 29. 30.
Phlœomys (?) schadenbergi A. B. Meyer 32.
Porcula salvania Hdgs. 15.
primigenius, Elephas 19.
Probubalus mindorensis 12.
rosenbergi Jent., Sciurus 26.
salvania Hdgs., Porcula 15.
samarensis Steere, Sciurus 28. 29.

sangirensis A. B. Meyer, Phalanger 34.
sangirensis A. B. Meyer. Tarsius 8. 9.
schadenbergi (A. B. Meyer), Crateromys 32.
schadenbergi A. B. Meyer, Phlœomys (?) 32.
Sciurus cagsi A. B. Meyer 28. 29.
Sciurus leucomus Müll. Schl. 25.
Sciurus mindanensis Steere 28. 29.
Sciurus philippensis Wtrh. 29.
Sciurus rosenbergi Jent. 26.
Sciurus samarensis Steere 28. 29.
Sciurus steeri Gthr. 27.
Sciurus tingahi A. B. Meyer 27.
Sciurus tonkeanus A. B. Meyer 25.
Sciurus weberi Jent. 25.
spectrum (Pall.), Tarsius 8. 9. 10.
steeri Gthr., Sciurus 27.
Sus ceramicus Gr. 18.
Sus niger Finsch 18. 19.
Sus papuensis Less. 18.
tangalunga Gr., Viverra 12.
Tarsius fuscomanus Fisch.-Waldh. 8.
Tarsius fuscus Fisch.-Waldh. 8. 9.
Tarsius philippensis A. B. Meyer 8. 9.
Tarsius sangirensis A. B. Meyer 8. 9.
Tarsius spectrum (Pall.) 8. 9. 10.
tingahi A. B. Meyer, Sciurus 27.

tonkeanus A. B. Meyer, Sciurus 25.
Trilophomys 33.
typus, Paradoxurus 12.
ursinus (Temm.), Phalanger 34.
Viverra civetta Schreb. 12.
Viverra tangalunga Gr. 12.
weberi Jent., Sciurus 25.
[Inhalt]
Abh. Ber. K. Zool. Anthr. Ethn. Mus. Dresden 1896/7 Nr. 6

Meyer, Säugethiere Celebes-Philippinen Taf. I
M a c a c u s m a u r u s F. Cuv.
c. ⅙ n. Gr.

Meyer, Säugethiere Celebes-Philippinen Taf. II
1–2 Macacus maurus F. Cuv. 3–4 Cynopithecus niger (Desm.)
¾ n. Gr.
Meyer, Säugethiere Celebes-Philippinen Taf. III
1–2 M a c a c u s m a u r u s F. Cuv. 3–4 C y n o p i t h e c u s n i g e r

(Desm.)
¾ n. Gr.
Meyer, Säugethiere Celebes-Philippinen Taf. IV
T a r s i u s p h i l i p p e n s i s A. B. Meyer
n. Gr.

Meyer, Säugethiere Celebes-Philippinen Taf. V
P a r a d o x u r u s m u s s c h e n b r o e k i Schl.
⅕–⅙ n. Gr.
Abh. Ber. K. Zool. Anthr. Ethn. Mus. Dresden 1896/7 Nr. 6: Meyer, Säugethiere Celebes-
Philippinen
Taf. VI
P a r a d o x u r u s m u s s c h e n b r o e k i Schl.

Meyer, Säugethiere Celebes-Philippinen Taf. VII
B u b a l u s m i n d o r e n s i s Heude
c. 1⁄12 n. Gr.

Meyer, Säugethiere Celebes-Philippinen Taf. VIII

The Suffragist Peace How Women Shape The Politics of War Robert F Trager Full Chapter

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The Suffragist Peace: How Women

Shape the Politics of War Robert F.

List of Figures vii

1. The Hope for Democracy 1

1. Campaign flyer for the Pennsylvania Woman Suffrage

1. All states granting suffrage in waves. 169

give rise to “a new evangel of womanhood, to exalt purity, virtue,

over 110 countries have not. As of January 2021, the UN reported

You would be right at this point to feel skeptical about some of

of North and South America have also experienced prolonged periods

The record of women’s leadership might also give idealists pause.

of women’s political leadership that might take place in the twenty-first

Each of these reasonable skepticisms suggest that we have our work

The spirit of monarchy is war and enlargement of dominion . . . peace

The impact of women’s participation in political life can best be under-

Britain and the Fate of the Ottoman Empire

Debate on how to respond to Russian assertiveness was full-throated

full British military involvement.10 But British leaders continued to

feats were temporary. If anything, the humiliation wrought by the war’s

deliberate insult, means prompt earnest resolute fighting,” its editors

The Sun Never Sets

the Nile, Herbert Kitchener, newly named commander of the Anglo-

enabled popular support for imperialism. War brings about “nothing

imperial affairs. As tensions grew between Boer and British leaders,

Salisbury, in his thirteenth non-consecutive year as prime minister

In Another Democracy Far, Far Away . . .

country truly be labeled a democracy if such a large segment of the

On March 30, 1898, President William McKinley began to cry.67 He

Republicans, having recently lost in municipal elections, feared losses

combat—through demonstrations that one was prepared to assume the

creating and shaping them.94 Pro-war editorials found an instantaneous

unpredictable, urging peace at times and sometimes supporting wars

The “male element is a destructive force, stern, selfish, aggrandizing,

attractions of the home created by women.2 Others, Gilman included,

sentimentality, nurturing qualities that best suited their expected roles

to intensify in response. Traditional gender roles reasserted themselves

judged by a state’s success at compelling peace rather than war, Laura

Nachdem J e n t i n k 1885 (Notes Leyden Mus. VII, 104) in seiner

Die Eingeborenen der Minahassa nennen das Thier kussi, die

1 Vgl. auch E v e r e t t bei H a r t e r t : Nov. Zool. III, 150 1896. ↑

Phalanger Ph. celebensi (Gr.) similis, sed

L o n g . corp. c. 40, caud. c. 25 cm.

1 S. auch E v e r e t t und H a r t e r t : Nov. Zool. III, 150 1896. ↑

alfurus Less., Babirusa 15.

Anoa depressicornis 12. 13. 14. 15.

Anoa mindorensis 12. 13.

Antilope depressicornis 12.

arctoides Js. Geoffr., Macacus 5.

Babirusa alfurus Less. 15.

Bos mindorensis 13.

brachyceros Gr., Bubalus 15.

breviceps Thos., Phalanger orientalis 33.

Bubalus brachyceros Gr. 15.

Bubalus bubalus 13.

bubalus, Bubalus 13.

Bubalus indicus 12.

Bubalus mainitensis Heude 13.

Bubalus mindorensis Heude 12. 13.

Bubalus moellendorffi Nehring 13.

cagsi A. B. Meyer, Sciurus 28. 29.

candida Gthr., Gymnura 32.

celebensis (Gr.), Phalanger 33. 34.

ceramicus Gr., Sus 18.