VI
The story of the American coöperation—which the Nicaraguans themselves describe by a less pleasant word—dates back to 1909.
At that time Nicaragua had a Dictator. José Santos Zelaya had been reëlecting himself president for seventeen years. He had commenced his reign, stern though it was, with fairness and justice toward his countrymen and friendliness toward foreigners. In his later years, overwhelmed with conceit at his success, he came to regard his Dictatorship as a right that carried with it the privilege to amuse himself as he saw fit. If he needed money, he horsewhipped the wealthier merchants until they offered a “voluntary” contribution. If he saw a woman he desired, he sent for her to come to the palace. Presently he commenced to meddle in his neighbor’s affairs, fomenting revolutions in the adjoining countries, and thumbing his nose at the United States.
In 1909 a revolution started in his own country, over at the isolated port of Bluefields on the Caribbean coast. There are rumors that it had the backing of American capitalists. These rumors arise from the fact that Adolfo Diaz, then the treasurer of the revolution—and later the leading actor in the drama—was an humble employee of an American concern. Diaz denies these rumors. “Every penny,” he told me in Managua, “was contributed by Nicaraguans.” But certain it is that the revolution had the sympathy of the United States government.
President Taft, at the time, frankly described Zelaya in a message to Congress as “an international nuisance.” And when, during the fighting, the Zelayistas executed two American soldiers of fortune caught red-handed attempting to dynamite troopships on the San Juan River, the American government made this trivial incident the pretext for hinting broadly that it was time for Zelaya to resign. Zelaya did resign, leaving the presidency in the hands of an excellent man backed by all the old lieutenants of the Zelayista party. The United States was not satisfied. And when the Zelayistas, having licked the revolutionists to a frazzle, were about to take their stronghold at Bluefields, an American gunboat intervened on the ground that further fighting might destroy American property.
From some mysterious source—which all Latin America believes to be the United States—the revolutionists obtained new ammunition. They sallied out from Bluefields again, thrashed the Zelayistas, and overturned the government. One General Estrada, the leader of the insurrection, became president, but he soon gave way to Adolfo Diaz. Now enters upon the scene the American banker.
President Diaz found the country bankrupt. There is much controversy as to how the debt originated, each party blaming it on the other. The truth is that Zelaya had left several millions in the treasury because he had just negotiated a loan with British bankers and had not had time to spend it. He also left a long list of claims because of his high-handed confiscation of property. The revolutionists had doubled the bill by their own destruction of property during the warfare. Wherefore blame is divided. The important fact is that Don Adolfo found his country in debt to the extent of over thirty-two million dollars, a staggering sum to a small republic. He called upon a firm of New York bankers for a loan of fifteen million.
This transaction was arranged through the American State Department by a treaty which the Senate—newly turned democratic when Wilson replaced Taft—refused to ratify. Nicaragua, however, regarded it as an agreement. As security for the loan, the bankers took over the collection of the customs, and arranged to look after the whole business of the national debt. They never advanced the loan. They did advance a million and a half, followed by comparatively trifling sums, to stabilize the currency and reorganize the national bank, but they also took over the bank. Later, when another million was advanced, they took over the operation of the Nicaraguan railway.
President Diaz, now retired to civil life, assumes full responsibility for these transactions. He is a pleasant little gentleman with graying hair and a frank, boyish smile.
“I asked the bankers to do it. I was taking the only means I had to bring my country out of financial chaos. But I became, as a result, the most hated man in Nicaragua.”
In fact, all Nicaragua called him a traitor, accused him of selling the republic to the American capitalists, and rose to overthrow him. For three days, in 1912, the rest of the country poured cannon balls into Managua, until President Diaz asked the United States for protection. Two thousand American marines were promptly landed. Having suppressed the revolution, they left a “legation guard” in Managua as an intimation that the United States stood ready to suppress any further uprisings.
Indirectly these marines make presidents to-day.
Elections in Nicaragua are as much a farce as in Mexico. Whoever controls the polls wins the verdict. Wherefore the Conservative party, which first invited the American bankers, has remained steadily in power. It can be defeated only by revolution, which the marines prevent.
“You ought to be here at election time,” said an old American resident, “and see them run their voters from one booth to another by the truckload. They number about one-tenth of the population, but they always win.”
If the marines were withdrawn—even the Conservatives themselves admitted to me—the present government would be overthrown within twenty-four hours. Nicaragua, as a whole, never endorsed the invitation to the American capitalists. When the Conservatives invited them, the entire country turned Liberal. If Zelaya were to come to life and return to Managua, he would find the republic waiting with open arms. But while the marines are present, the Liberals are helpless.
IF THE AMERICAN MARINES WERE WITHDRAWN FROM NICARAGUA A REVOLUTION WOULD TRANSPIRE OVER-NIGHT
At the time of my visit another election campaign was starting. Realizing their dependence upon Washington, the Liberals had affected a change of heart, announcing that they would support the bankers as ardently as the Conservatives, and asking for a new election law which would keep their opponents from stuffing the ballot boxes. A new law had been drafted by a New York lawyer. The Liberals were hopeful, but uncertain.
“Who will be your candidate?” I asked one of their leaders.
“We do not know yet,” he said. “We have not heard who will be most acceptable to Washington.”
During my several weeks in Managua, I talked with most of the actors who had played leading rôles in the international drama. I do not believe that the United States was guilty of a deep-laid plot to gain possession of the little republic. I believe that the American government acted for the best interests of the Nicaraguans. But when one reviews the train of events since 1909, one sees at a glance that they can very easily be misinterpreted until they look decidedly nasty. First came a revolution, assisted by an American gunboat, which doubled the already-overwhelming national debt. Then came American bankers, taking charge of the national debt, and exacting as security everything of value in the republic. Then came the American marines, keeping in power the minority party that invited the bankers, against the will of Nicaragua itself. And all Latin America chooses to regard these events as part of a deep-laid program of intrigue.