On January 18, the first post-war session of the Paris Peace Conference was held in the French capital.
The heads of government of the three principal Allied powers gathered for formal negotiations.
At this meeting, French Prime Minister Georges Clemenceau bitterly ridiculed the German Empire as "born in injustice and ended in disgrace." He presented the French government's uncompromising demands: sanctions against Germany, the trial of Kaiser Wilhelm II and leading war criminals, and, most controversially, the partition of Germany into separate states.
Though France had already taken a hard line, the fact that Clemenceau raised such a radical proposal openly at the peace conference shocked the delegates.
Yet after the initial stir, many realized that France was not motivated solely by justice. Clemenceau's plan aimed not only to eliminate the German threat permanently but also to clear the way for French dominance on the European continent.
As for the French proposal, the British delegation had not yet declared its position. It remained unclear whether London would support or oppose it.
But U.S. President Woodrow Wilson wasted no time in stating his government's position.
"Gentlemen," Wilson declared firmly, "I believe all of us here represent civilized nations, and none of us should act against the principles of humanity. I do not oppose punishing the defeated, but to disregard the lives of millions out of selfish ambition—I cannot agree to such a policy!"
He continued: "I am certain that the eighty million citizens of the United States will not sanction such a shameful act."
Wilson's words cut like steel. The French delegation flushed with anger, but other representatives nodded in approval. Clearly, most agreed with the American president. Clemenceau's proposal to carve up Germany was not only morally dubious but also impractical.
Germany was still home to nearly seventy million people. To attempt to dismember such a nation in the twentieth century—an age not of medieval conquest but of industrial and national awakening—would ignite a humanitarian disaster.
Thanks to the Second Industrial Revolution, Europe had entered a new era: agriculture had been transformed by synthetic fertilizers, industries by chemical innovation, and living standards were rising. In such a world, if millions of Germans were displaced, starved, or massacred, the catastrophe could not be concealed. Unlike distant tragedies in Africa, Asia, or Latin America, such suffering in the very heart of Western Europe would be impossible to ignore—and impossible for governments to justify to their own citizens.
Moreover, nationalism was surging across the globe. If Germany were truly broken apart, its seventy million people would never accept foreign rule passively. Resistance—whether in the form of riots, underground movements, or open insurgency—was inevitable. To suppress it would demand vast armies, immense funds, and perhaps decades of occupation. No nation wished to shoulder such a burden.
If German territory were empty land, the victors might eagerly divide it. But it was not empty—it was filled with Germans. In such a case, it was far easier, and far more profitable, to impose reparations than to attempt colonization.
Thus, the delegates swiftly turned away from Clemenceau's proposal and began haggling over reparations and the seizure of Germany's overseas assets.
"If the aim is to weaken Germany," suggested the Belgian representative, "then let us strip their factories bare—remove their machinery, their equipment, their products. That will cripple them just as surely."
Belgium, once a neutral state like the Netherlands, had been invaded in 1914 despite its neutrality. German armies had stormed through Liège and Brussels in their execution of the Schlieffen Plan, aiming to bypass French fortifications and strike Paris through the Low Countries. Belgium had been dragged into the war against its will, its cities ravaged.
Now, still under French influence, Belgium's leaders were determined not only to punish Germany but to enrich themselves. To the east lay the Ruhr Valley, the industrial heart of Germany, filled with coal mines, steelworks, and machinery. To seize the Ruhr would not only compensate Belgium's losses but vastly enhance its own industrial power.
Indeed, history would later prove their intent. In 1923, just three years after the Treaty of Versailles, French and Belgian troops occupied the Ruhr in pursuit of reparations, stripping the region bare once more.
Thus, though they posed as victims, the smaller nations of the Low Countries were not innocent spectators. In the brutal logic of war, even the weakest states sought their share of spoils.
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