Kahn mentioned that, among other things, Herbert Hoover's federal food regulations were a “joke” that warranted no heed, and went on grousing about the “rich man's war.”
“We have no business in it,” Kahn said. “They talk about Hooverism - it's a joke. Nobody pays any attention to it. It don't amount to anything.”
While jailed, Kahn joined the prison band and even marched in two Armistice Day parades to celebrate the war's end. He also began petitioning for his pardon.
Nearly three years passed before Lt. Gov. W.W. McDowell commuted Kahn's sentence and he was immediately paroled.
Now, 85 years later, a group of University of Montana law and journalism students are seeking to pardon the 77 other men and women convicted of sedition under the now-defunct Montana law.
The Montana Sedition Act applied to anyone who in wartime spoke or published any “disloyal, profane, violent, scurrilous, contemptuous, slurring or abusive language about the form of government of the United States.” The accused could then be convicted of sedition at trial, sent to prison for up to 20 years and fined up to $20,000. Of those convicted, 41 were imprisoned.
The prisoners served a collective sentence of more than 65 years in prison, averaging 19 months apiece. The others were either fined or bailed out.
The impetus behind the “Montana Pardon Project” is Clemens P. Work, a UM journalism professor and First Amendment scholar.
Work's book, “Darkest Before Dawn: Sedition and Free Speech in the American West,” inspired the 14 students to research the lives of men and women who were jailed for criticizing the government.
Unearthing ancient trial transcripts and enlisting the help of amateur genealogists, the group's research has earned national attention and, most recently, a spot on Gov. Brian Schweitzer's desk.
With the drafted clemency petitions in hand, Schweitzer and his staff now must decide whether to grant the posthumous pardons, restoring the reputations of 77 Montanans.
And while Schweitzer said he won't prejudge the future, he's “anxiously awaiting looking at all of these cases.”
“I don't like it when people say rotten things about me,” Schweitzer said, “but I will defend their right to say those rotten things with every ounce of my being.”
But the unprecedented pardons will pose some problems for Montana's Board of Pardons and Parole, which can't recommend clemency for the deceased.
“This is kind of like trying to get a round peg through a square hole, but has that stopped me before?” Schweitzer said. “This is the right thing to do, and that's the important thing to remember.”
One of Work's amateur genealogists, who he deemed a “star detective,” helped track down Ben Kahn's son in Florida on March 31.
“He was thrilled,” said Jeanne Swick, who lives near Billings. “He had no idea his father had been in prison. These were times when people observed very strict social mores, and being in prison was not something you bragged about to your neighbors, or even your family.”
Work had nearly given up on finding Kahn's family when he stumbled across the man's commutation file while rummaging through a storage warehouse in Helena.
“With a name like Kahn, it's sort of like John Smith,” Work said. “We just thought it was impossible.”
But with a stroke of luck, Work found six commutation files that had resulted in five sentence reductions for Montanans convicted of sedition.
“I go into this sub-basement, and it was like a scene out of ‘Indiana Jones,' ” Work said. “There were boxes and boxes, and somehow I found three more files, and one of them was Ben Kahn's. I really had no idea that his sentence had been commuted.”
Work jotted down a few clues, and traced a vague sketch of Kahn's travels through the man's parole vouchers - forms parolees mailed intermittently to vouch for their whereabouts.
Kahn's final voucher indicated he had lived in Akron, Ohio.
That's when Swick caught the scent and “jumped in with both feet,” Work said. “I mean, she put a lot of reporters I know to shame.”
Swick said she placed dozens of blind phone calls, searching for anyone who'd heard of Ben Kahn. Finally, Swick got in touch with Hal Kahn, Ben's grandson, who said his father, Ben Kahn's son, was wintering in Florida.
On March 31, Work and Swick contacted Lee Kahn, 82, and his family.
“They were just blown away,” Work said. “His father had lived with them for a couple of years. He was a very quiet man who never said anything about being in prison.”
Swick is just one bee in a thronging, hive-like network of genealogists, academics, scholars and junior detectives clinging to their constitutional freedoms.
“Somehow we cobbled together this network of people, some of whom are relatives of those convicted, and enlisted them to do research,” Work said.
Hakan Bergstrom, of Brussels, Belgium, has assisted the project in tracking down the family histories of prisoners with Scandinavian roots.
Tracing the family backgrounds of the accused has helped emphasize the human tragedy inherent in the sedition law, which Work writes is “possibly the harshest anti-speech law passed by any state in the history of the United States.”
“In many cases, their stories have helped underline the human dimension and tragedy of these people,” Work said.
And according to the project's Web site, tragedy could strike again “if we cave in to fear and hysteria.”
Certain provisions of the USA Patriot Act show a stark resemblance to the sedition laws, the Web site points out, and were enacted at the expense of civil liberties and constitutional freedoms.
Schweitzer, whose German-speaking ancestors immigrated to eastern Montana and were denied the right to speak their native language, said he won't stand to see those constitutional freedoms denied again.
“We will not go there,” he said.
Reporter Tristan Scott can be reached at 523-5264 or at tscott@missoulian.com
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