“One of the most remarkable things about the strip is that there are no perceivable ideologies,” Charles Schulz, the creator of the popular Peanuts, said during a 1987 interview, adding that a “sort of wishy-washiness” was present instead.
In his 2021 book, Charlie Brown’s America: The Popular Politics of Peanuts, Blake Scott Ball argues that this “wishy-washiness” was itself an ideology, one that may not have advocated a particular philosophy but addressed the social issues of the 1950s, ’60s and ’70s nonetheless, serving as “a rallying point around which people of diverse opinions could gather and debate.”
On October 2, 1950 – the day that Peanuts premiered – newspapers across the country were filled with articles about the growing Cold War. American troops in South Korea, for instance, were forcing the invading North Koreans back to the 38th parallel that divided the two countries, the French had achieved a major victory against the rebel Viet Minh in Vietnam, and fourteen hundred communist agitators were arrested in West Germany over the preceding weekend.
It didn’t take long before Peanuts began displaying these Cold War roots, as well as tap into the fear and anxiety felt by many Americans during the 1950s. When Charles Schultz noticed that three of his children continually dragged a blanket with them as they walked through the house, he gave a similar item to the character of Linus Van Pelt. Blake Scott Ball believes this “security blanket” served as a coping mechanism “for dealing with the social anxieties of a world of alienation” that many readers felt at the time.
Lucy Van Pelt’s psychiatry booth, meanwhile, appeared at the same time that Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev was threatening military action in Berlin. “I have deep feelings of depression,” Charlie Brown – Lucy’s first patient – confesses. “What can I do about it?” Lucy simply replies, “Snap out of it,” reflecting the uselessness of worrying about something outside of one’s control. She then demands her five cents for the consultation.
On June 18, 1954, Charles Schulz was less subtle about the Cold War. As Charlie Brown kneels in front a detonation box, he says, “We’re playing H-bomb test.” When he pushes the plunger, Lucy – on the other end of a rope connected to the box – lets out an ear-piercing “BWHAM!”
Four years later, Linus spots white flakes falling from the sky. “It’s happening!” he shouts. “It’s happening just like they said it would!” A confused Charlie Brown replies that there’s nothing unusual about snow during the winter. “Good grief!” a relieved Linus exhales. “I thought it was fallout.”
The brief exchange is an example of the double-edged meaning that Blake Scott Ball considers a mainstay of the “wishy-washiness” of Peanuts – the strip represented the fear of a nuclear attack exhibited by many Americans during the 1950s, as well as the often hysterical overreaction that accompanied that fear.
On April 4, 1968, Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee. A few days later, a California housewife named Harriet Glickman wrote a letter to Charles Schulz. “I’ve been asking myself what I can do to help change those conditions in our society which led to the assassination and which contribute to the vast sea of misunderstanding, fear, hate, and violence,” it said. “It occurred to me today that the introduction of Negro children into the group of Schulz characters could happen with minimal impact” given “the gentleness of the kids” in Peanuts.
Schulz replied that he and other cartoonists often struggled with the question of introducing African American characters into their strips, “afraid that it would look like we were patronizing our Negro friends.” He likewise confessed, “I don’t know what the solution is.” Glickman refused to admit defeat, and asked if she could show Schulz’s response to African American parents and solicit their thoughts. Charles Schultz was receptive to the idea, although he did caution that his mind might not change regardless of the results.
When Senator Robert F. Kennedy was assassinated a few weeks later, Harriet Glickman decided to forward the two letters she had already received instead of waiting for additional responses. “The inclusion of a Negro character even occasionally in your comics would help these young people to feel it is a natural thing for Caucasian and Negro children to engage in dialogue,” an African American mother explained to Charles Schultz. “The message in your comic strip applies to all people, so why not include a member of a minority group in the strip!” The second letter was from an African American father who held similar a belief.
Schultz didn’t need any more convincing. On July 31, 1968, an African American boy named Franklin approached Charlie Brown while carrying a beach ball. The Brown family was on vacation, and sister Sally had thrown the ball into the ocean, where Franklin retrieved it and returned it to its owner. Charlie Brown and Franklin built sandcastles together for the next three days, talking about baseball and how Franklin’s dad was in Vietnam.
“I hate to go,” Franklin says when the vacation comes to an end. “This has been a good day.” Charlie Brown simply replies, “Ask your mom if you can come over some time and spend the night.” With that small exchange, a nationally syndicated comic strip that was read by over one hundred million people had been integrated.
The first allusion to the Vietnam War in Peanuts appeared over the summer of 1965, shortly after U.S. combat troops arrived at Dan Nang. Charlie Brown was being sent to summer camp against his will, and as he sits on the bus, says to himself, “I feel like I’m being drafted.” A few months later, Snoopy donned a leather pilot’s cap, goggles, and a scarf wrapped around his neck. “Here’s the World War I flying ace posing beside his ‘Sopwith Camel,” his inner monologue explains. “It’s the dawn patrol. We’re out to hunt down the Red Baron!”
While Snoopy’s battles against the Red Baron originally took place in his head, eventually Charles Schultz started drawing the comic strip as if they were real, showing bullet holes in the doghouse that doubled as Snoopy’s plane and smoke billowing out the back. When Snoopy was later shot down behind enemy lines, he traveled through literal trenches, mud, and barbed wire to find safety.
In 1967, Snoopy was even captured by the enemy and briefly became a prisoner of war. Just as the Vietnam War was getting more vivid in the minds of Americans, the same was happening with “Snoopy’s War” against the Red Baron.
On Christmas Eve in 1968, the panels of Peanuts were filled with artillery explosions and barbed wire instead of holiday cheer. The next day, Snoopy wailed, “Will this stupid war never end!” and, “I’m tired of this war!” By June 1, 1969, Snoopy had finally had enough. At first, he simply sat on top of his “Sopwith Camel” doghouse, wondering if this could be his final mission. Then in the last panel, he jumps to the ground and says, “Forget it.” Snoopy would never again battle the Red Baron until after the Vietnam War ended.
In Vietnam, American soldiers inevitably embraced Snoopy as their mascot. As a result, Charles Schulz – whose support for soldiers was unwavering no matter how he might have personally felt about the war – allowed the character’s likeness to be appear on the noses of military aircraft and the helmets of helicopter pilots.
Back in the United States, meanwhile, college students opposed to the war had posters of the “World War I Flying Ace” on their walls, replete with the words “Curse you Red Baron!” Schultz’s “wishy-washiness” had connected with American readers on both sides of the conflict.
In April 1965, Time magazine featured Peanuts on its cover. “More and more, the strips are offering political satire, psychology, and comments of varying subtlety on the rages and outrages of everyday,” the article noted about comics in general before turning specifically to Peanuts. “Religion, psychiatry, education – indeed all the complexities of the modern world – seem more amusing than menacing when they are seen through the clear, uncompromising eyes of the comic strip kids from Peanuts.”
Blake Scott Ball sets out to prove that statement in Charlie Brown’s America: The Popular Politics of Peanuts, and ultimately succeeds in his task. Charlie Brown may have been an imaginary kid, but he was a man of his times nonetheless.
Anthony Letizia