New details of the sinking of the Lusitania aren't mere
footnotes to history. They can teach us how people make decisions in times of
conflict
Saul David Guardian/UK 1 May 2014
One
of the great mysteries of the first world war – whether or not the passenger
ship Lusitania was carrying munitions and therefore a legitimate target when it
was sunk by a German submarine in May 1915 –has been solved in the affirmative by newly released
government papers. They contain Foreign Office concerns that a 1982 salvage
operation might "literally blow up on us" and that "there is a
large amount of ammunition in the wreck, some of which is highly
dangerous".
Yet
the truth was kept hidden in 1915 because the British government wanted to use
the sinking of a non-military ship, and the loss of 1,198 lives, as an example
of German ruthlessness. It was also a useful means of swaying American opinion
in favour of entering the war. It eventually had the desired effect – the US
declared war on Germany in April 1917 – but the lie continued as successive
governments, worried about their ongoing relations with America, denied there
were munitions on board.
These
wartime lies are inevitable. The perpetrators – politicians, civil servants and
soldiers – would argue that the end justifies the means, and that information
that assists the enemy must remain secret. After the conflict, however, it's
all about protecting reputations.
Take
the case of the Sèvres protocol, the secret deal between the governments of
Israel, France and the UK to topple President Nasser of Egypt by launching a
two-step invasion in 1956 (otherwise known as "the Suez crisis").
Although reports of the deal leaked out within days, Sir Anthony Eden, the
British prime minister, always denied its existence and even sent a civil
servant to France to collect all copies and leave no trace. Yet the proof of
Eden's engineered war remained buried until 1996 when a BBC documentary on the
50th anniversary of the Suez crisis obtained a copy from a former head of the
Mossad (Israel's foreign intelligence service).
My
own research into the case of the Salerno
mutineers – 191 veterans of the Eighth Army who were convicted of
mutiny for refusing to join unfamiliar units at the Salerno beachhead in 1943 –
turned up documents that proved they had been lied to and were probably victims
of a miscarriage of justice.
Of
course many, if not most, "smoking guns" have yet to be discovered.
The two Australian officers – lieutenants "Breaker" Morant and
Handcock – executed by the British for shooting unarmed Boer prisoners during
the South African war of 1899-1902 always claimed they were following verbal orders
approved by their commander-in-chief, Sir Herbert Kitchener. Those orders, they
said, were to execute any Boers captured in British khaki. But when a member of
Kitchener's staff denied this at their trial, their fate was sealed. Did he lie
because peace talks with the Boers were under way? It is possible, but
documentary evidence will be hard to find (as Australian campaigners know to
their cost).
Does all this matter? Do we need
to know the truth? The answer is yes. We can forgive the lies at the time –
many are often told without malice and, at least in theory, in the national
interest – but they must at some point be publicly acknowledged. We need to
know why governments (and individuals) take the decisions they do. That, to me,
is the point of history.
http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/may/01/lusitania-secrets-of-war-revealed-sinking
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