President and the Press

The president I have long admired as the greatest in American history would have agreed with the federal judge’s order yesterday requiring the White House to restore the press credentials of CNN, MS NOW and Politico.

I wrote my college thesis about Abraham Lincoln’s relations with the press during the Civil War.  Lincoln was not a First Amendment absolutist. He shut down presses and authorized arrests of journalists in response to specific incidents. But even when confronted with provocations that genuinely threatened military operations and public order, he remained committed to the principle of press freedom as a foundation of democracy.

 

 

I chose my thesis topic in the wake of the Watergate scandal, when President Richard Nixon placed journalists on an enemies list, tapped their phones and tried to block the release of the Pentagon Papers. I opposed these actions but wondered whether a president might ever be justified in curtailing press freedom. The Civil War seemed like the perfect “stress test” to explore this question.

Little did I imagine that my research would remain pertinent more than half a century later.

My thesis won a prize from Brown University and professors encouraged me to publish it. Instead, I put it in a box, backpacked around the world with a friend, joined the Peace Corps in Nepal and forgot about it until I discovered it in our attic a few days ago. It was revelatory to reread it and be reminded of a president who confronted threats to his administration with extraordinary power, but also knew when to step back.

 

 

False reports and fabricated stories were common in newspapers during the Civil War. Press reports falsely claimed that Northern generals were drunk on the battlefield or that Confederate General Robert E. Lee was leaving his army in disgust. The falls of Richmond, Atlanta and other cities were described before they occurred. Many of these abuses were perpetrated to make a stock market killing or to foment dissent. 

One incident illustrates how bad things were and how Lincoln responded. On May 18, 1864, the New York World and Journal of Commerce published a proclamation signed by Lincoln and Secretary of State William Seward. Its words captured Lincoln’s familiar blend of the poetic and the practical, imploring God for wisdom and guidance. It praised General Grant’s recent military successes in Virginia. Finally, it said the tremendous casualties suffered in that campaign required the government to launch a new military draft for an additional 400,000 troops.

A presidential call for so many troops was explosive. The country was already reeling. Less than a year earlier, draft riots in New York claimed 119 lives and caused extensive property damage (top illustration). The reaction to a major new draft would surely be worse.

The proclamation was a hoax that went far beyond the usual criticism of Lincoln as a “hairy baboon” or his advisers as butchers. Lincoln initially ordered the newspapers suppressed and their editors imprisoned. 

 

 

A quick investigation revealed that the editors had been duped. They thought the proclamation was a legitimate dispatch from the Associated Press, which they received on the AP’s official paper just minutes before their deadlines.The actual instigators were the city editor of The Brooklyn Eagle and his colleague, who exploited their familiarity with Lincoln’s literary mannerisms and the workings of the AP system to trigger a crisis. Both men confessed and spent several months in prison. Once the facts emerged, Lincoln released the editors of the two papers, despite pressure from members of his cabinet to keep them imprisoned.

The incident illustrates an important pattern in how Lincoln responded to press provocations. Like other presidents, he thought the media criticized his administration unfairly and failed to give it appropriate recognition for its achievements. When forced by circumstances, such as this incident or others in which papers published sensitive military details, he told his team to respond. But Lincoln generally resisted pressure for broader crackdowns. The newspapers tested his patience but he remained dedicated to his vision of a government of the people, by the people and for the people, grounded in basic rights such as freedom of the press.

 

 

The contrast with today’s White House is striking. Our current president has repeatedly treated critical coverage as a personal affront. He has publicly mocked reporters and acted to undermine news organizations whose coverage he considers unfair.

I ended my thesis with these words: “In the various personal and emotional ways in which Lincoln limited his own government’s eventual policy, he displayed deep personal kindness and generosity. Nowhere was his basic benevolence better demonstrated than in his personal discomfort and lenience towards disloyalty and the press. He authorized an essentially dangerous Constitutional policy, but he managed it with the grace and simple human kindness which have helped to mark his final place in history.”

Bottom line: Lincoln’s restraint toward the press was the best possible approach under extraordinary circumstances. His “grace and simple human kindness” proved to be what the country needed. 

That was my conclusion when I wrote my thesis in the shadow of the Nixon administration and it feels even more relevant today. The enduring issue isn’t whether a president should ever be angry with the press. Lincoln certainly was. It’s whether a president is using his immense power to protect legitimate national interests or to punish journalists for being journalists.

 

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The Vasa’s Lessons

 

Experts knew their leader’s military plan had a high risk of failure but they muted their concerns because he didn’t want to hear any opposition. Sure enough, disaster ensued.

Sound familiar?

When I traveled to Sweden last month and visited the Vasa, a glorious warship that sank ignominiously more than three centuries ago, its parallels to our own situation were striking. It felt like a nautical metaphor for the folly we Americans are witnessing today.

Now displayed in one of Stockholm’s leading tourist attractions, the Vasa set sail on her maiden voyage on August 10, 1628. With her 64 bronze cannons and ornate carvings, she was a symbol of national strength.

It was a Sunday afternoon, the seas were calm and a crowd cheered from the shore. The Vasa’s gun ports were open to fire a salute.

 

 

Then a wind gust blew the ship onto her side. Water rushed into the open ports and began filling the hold. The Vasa sank less than an hour after she’d departed. Most of the crew were able to swim to shore or cling to debris until they were rescued, but 30 people died.

The crowd watched in horror and immediately began asking how this great ship could sink without a shot being fired at it.

Vasa’s designer, Henrik Hybertsson, was an experienced master shipwright but his design in this case had an inadequate hull below the waterline, making the Vasa top-heavy and unstable.

Hybertsson fell ill and died during construction, leaving incomplete instructions for his team even as Sweden’s King Gustav II Adolf began pushing for changes. The king ruled Sweden from 1611 to 1632 and guided its rise to European prominence. He told the ship’s builders he wanted more firepower, so they added a second gun deck and elaborate ornamentation with extensive gold leaf. These changes raised the ship’s center of gravity even further.

 

 

A stability test before the launch showed how dangerous the ship had become. Yet no one dared to clearly warn the king, who was pressing for the ship to be completed. He had approved all of the measurements and armaments even though he was not a naval architect. An inquest after the disaster searched for scapegoats but, as historians now agree, much of the blame lay with the king. He insisted he knew best. No one held enough authority, or was willing to use what authority they had, to stop him from proceeding. An inquest ended with no one being punished or found legally guilty.

The Vasa was salvaged in 1961 and restored beautifully. The museum created to display it does an excellent job of telling its tragic story, which felt eerily familiar to me.

 

 

Our own leader was reportedly told by experts that attacking Iran could lead to a military quagmire and economic disaster, but he chose to “follow his gut” and attack anyway.

He has also asked the Navy to redesign aircraft carriers to better resemble his aesthetic ideal, a change that would cost billions, worsen chronic delays and make the ships operate less smoothly.

Similarly, he has created chaos with projects ranging from the White House ballroom to the Reflecting Pool, then blamed others for vandalism or interference when things go wrong.

 

 

Across the centuries, we see a powerful leader overriding expert judgment and creating a culture that deters others from flagging serious problems. Indeed, historians now point to the Vasa as an early case study in groupthink, highlighting the danger of “yes cultures” around authority. Courses in engineering ethics and organizational behavior use it as an example.

I loved the museum and encourage readers to visit it if they ever have the opportunity. But you don’t need to travel to Stockholm to appreciate the symbolism of this mighty ship that set sail with such great fanfare and then sank to a watery grave. Its ghosts are alive and its lessons remain with us.

 

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