I’m taking a couple of weeks vacation and no one can make me feel guilty about it. Well, maybe a little guilty. I was raised and Irish-Catholic, so always have a free-floating background static of guilt. With the uninvited Miss Delta Corona crashing our summer clambakes, I thought I’d cheer us all up by re-posting a blog from last year about the Ghost of Past Pandemic.

I’ve written three novels all set during a pandemic. I advertise them as “WWI and 1920s,” but that includes the “Spanish flu” pandemic of 1918 to 1920. This strain of H1NI avian influenza didn’t originate in Spain, but even incorrect labels tend to stick.

Missing My Pandemic Opportunity

I didn’t prominently feature the flu pandemic in my books, but it does get a mention in two of them. In my third novel, No Hero’s Welcome, influenza explains why a young British officer who’d only come of age to join the fight in 1918 never made it to the front:

“His mother’s family had an ancestral heap in County Tyrone where he’d been dragooned into spending summers as a boy. As a result of this unenthusiastic connection to Ulster, he’d been commissioned in the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers in September 1918, just in time to contract the Spanish influenza. Out of consideration for his family’s feelings, he’d decided not to die, but instead endured a six-week convalescence, finally joining his battalion in France on the 14th day of November, 1918.”

Never Waste a Useful Pandemic

In my second book, Truly Are the Free, the flu pandemic provided a convenient deus ex machina for killing off a supporting character. This was the oldest brother of my protagonist, a strapping boxer beneath whose shadow the protagonist had long wilted. Here’s what Ned Tobin thought about the flu and his big brother, Bobby:

“He couldn’t bear to imagine Bobby dying the way he saw those men in France, gasping and starving for air as they drowned in their own overflowing lungs. So the great Bobby Tobin, felled by no man in the ring, was carried away on the 12th of October, 1918 in an overcrowded New Jersey Army hospital by a little bug he couldn’t see, let alone fight.”

So a useful tool to deal with inconvenient minor characters. In hindsight, I should’ve made the Spanish flu a main character, given our current unpleasantness. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.

Plus C’est Le Meme Pandemic

But here’s something else I found out in my meanderings around last century’s pandemic. Besides the obvious similarities to our present coronavirus troubles, there was an eerily similar confluence of infectious disease and violence stoked by racism.

With mass protests triggered by the on-camera murder of George Floyd by a Minneapolis cop, white America is getting an overdue history lesson. For many, this included a first encounter with the deadly 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre. (Flashback scenes from this horrible event feature in the hit HBO series, Watchmen.) 24 hours of violence were triggered by a dubious allegation of assault by a white woman elevator operator against a black shoeshiner. As many as 200 black and 50 white Tulsans were killed and a prosperous African-American community was burned to the ground. However, Tulsa came two years after a much more widespread and deadly horror known as the Red Summer of 1919.

My Take on Discrimination 

Let me set the scene—it seems impossible from our vantage point a century later. When the United States declared war on Germany in March 1917, there was vigorous debate within the African-American community. Should they  support the war effort? Some considered it a white man’s war fought for white men’s interests. But the majority, led by W.E.B. Du Bois and others, chose to support the mobilization. The belief among many African-Americans was “if we fight a man’s war, we’ll be treated as men when we return.” They could not have been more wrong.

I based a pivotal scene in my second book on an actual event from the Red Summer. A main character, Chester Dawkins, returns to the United States after serving in a “colored” regiment in France. The commander of the American Expeditionary Force, General John J. “Black Jack” Pershing, wouldn’t allow black troops to fight within his white infantry divisions, Instead, he sent four colored regiments to the French Army.

After four years of catastrophic losses, the French were ecstatic to have them. The rest of the American forces weren’t ready for combat when the Germans launched their final massive Spring Offensive of 1918. It was these Black Americans with the French Fourth Army who found themselves in combat longer than any other Americans.

Stranger than Fiction

It was with one of these regiments that my fictitious Lieutenant Dawkins covered himself with glory, winning the Croix de guerre. When he finally returns home, he lands at the port of Norfolk, Virginia. He finds himself in a parade arranged by the Black population to welcome home their returning heroes. This well-deserved celebration is set upon by white Marines and sailors with clubs and rifle butts. The white police force looks on and does nothing.

My young hero is rescued from this violence by a cook who pulls him into the safety of his café. He sits Chester down and pours him some coffee:

“Chester stared down into the blackness in his coffee cup. He was startled by the hot tears pushing against the back of his eyes. He’d seen men die, beat the Germans, made the world safe for democracy. And nothing had changed here. Nothing. He gave a sharp sniff, raising the coffee to his lips to camouflage his bitterness.”

The Red Summer Raged

The violence raged across the country from early spring to late summer. But it represented something new in the centuries-long oppression of black Americans. They fought back. The 350,000 African-American doughboys returned from France were in no mood to accept their assigned subservient and servile roles. In the end, more than 25 violent riots took the lives of hundreds of African-Americans.

As these mass eruptions of violence were occurring, America was still struggling with an influenza pandemic. The Spanish flu ravaged America in three waves. The first hit the US from March through July 1918. This was the mildest wave, in a population of 100 million resulting in about 75,000 deaths. (One of the more notable of these was a grandfather of President Trump.) The more deadly second wave emerged in August 1918 and ran through January 1919, killing 200,000 more Americans. A third wave began two months later in March 1919. This flared into the summer, overlapping with about half the violence of the Red Summer.

There are significant differences between what America faced during 1918 to 1920 and what we’re facing now. By the time the Spanish flu emerged in 1918, millions had been slaughtered in the carnage of the First World War. The widespread mortality of the pandemic exported some mass production of death from the battlefield to the home front. All people—soldier and civilian—were exposed to death on a colossal scale.

Viruses and Social Change

Historically, these rapid and widespread moments of tragic death have had significant effects on social outlook, cultural norms, and even economic systems. The 14th-century Black Death killed between one-quarter and one-third the population of Europe in just a few years. Colossally tragic on a scale we can hardly imagine, the plague made an end of the perniciously unequal system of land ownership and wealth distribution known as feudalism. Labor is worth much more, after all, when they’re just not as many laborers. Although it was not the sole catalyst for the Renaissance, the Black Death was certainly a necessary factor. The omnipresence and capriciousness of death led to more interest in enjoying this life rather than worrying about what came after. Many wanted nothing better than to surrounded themselves with beauty.

Likewise, the widespread and unpredictable death from both the carnage on the Western Front and from the Spanish flu uncorked runaway innovation. Breaking all the rules in the artistic, musical, literary, design, and fashion worlds characterized the Roaring Twenties. History suggests we might not have had jazz or Art Deco or modern literature without the suffering of the Great War and the Spanish flu pandemic.

Facing the Unknown

It’s too soon to predict what will emerge from the suffering and death and confusion surrounding us now. Certainly our short-term focus must remain flattening the curve and caring for the infected. But we can already see inklings of what may lie ahead in the Black Lives Matter protests, changing attitudes toward universal healthcare, and serious debate about income inequality in the United States.

It’s a curious thing with humans. It often takes catastrophe to spur us into doing the right thing.