VIII
Guatemala has had its revolutions from time to time, yet its history—as compared with that of its immediate neighbors—has been fairly peaceful.
If it has not had a succession of good rulers, it has at least had a succession of strong rulers. Its Indians are a docile race, a race much more easily conquered by the Spaniards than were the Indians of Mexico, and much more easily dominated by the white landlords of to-day. And the army, if not impressive when on dress parade, is one of the most dependable armies in Central America.
In recruiting its soldiers, the government resorts to the selective draft. The Jefe Politico—the all-powerful local official—visits each coffee planter, and secures a list of the pickers who have picked the least coffee during the past year. These, provided his soldiers can catch them, are enlisted in the army. Once enrolled, the little peons are equipped with uniform, not very elaborately or neatly, but sufficiently to distinguish them from civilians. In the Capital, they are also equipped with shoes, not for efficiency but for the sake of appearances. Unaccustomed to footwear, they have to be trained to its use, and nothing is more amusing than the sight of a new battalion thus shod and stumbling awkwardly over the rough streets. They look uncomfortable and self-conscious, and at each halt will pick up their feet and glare at the shoes much as milady’s poodle glares at a pink ribbon tied around its tail.
Yet these little Indians, stupid and illiterate, make better soldiers than the more intelligent mestizos, or mixed-bloods. They are more susceptible to discipline. In most of these countries, virtue goes with ignorance, to such an extent that the mixed-bloods are called ladinos in Guatemala—a word that originally meant “tricksters.” The little Indians are far more loyal to the president in office than are the mestizo soldiers of the neighboring republics, and are less apt to desert the existing government when an insurrection threatens.
Guatemala’s several Dictators, also, have been artists at the business of discouraging opposition.
Of them all, Estrada Cabrera stands out head and shoulders above other despots not only of Guatemala but of all Latin America. Until a very few years ago he reigned for term after term, proclaiming himself re-elected when necessary, and quietly murdering any politician who gave the slightest indication of opposing him.
Why he clung to the presidency is a mystery. He was so fearful of assassination that he scarcely ever showed himself outside the palace. He slept usually in a house across the street, reached by a secret passageway. He ate nothing except what his own mother prepared for him. He would have a dozen beds made up each night, and only one or two of his most trusted guardians knew which one he occupied. He seriously handicapped the country’s mining interests by placing a ban on the importation of blasting powder, lest it be used to blow him up. On the one occasion when he attended a public ceremony, a bomb killed his carriage-driver and the horses, barely missing the Dictator himself. Since it was exploded by an electrical device, he thereafter placed a ban on all electric contrivances, and visitors to the country were relieved even of such things as pocket flashlights.
But from his isolation within the palace, he manipulated all the strings of government, and all Guatemala felt his power. He personally blue-penciled every foreign news dispatch that left the country, and sometimes even the personal cablegrams. He maintained an elaborate spy system, with one agent watching another agent, until every man in the republic was under survey. He permitted no public gatherings where people might discuss politics. He forbade the organization of any kind of society, and once suppressed a chess club.
Quite possibly, he believed that these measures were justified. It is affirmed by many that Guatemala made more progress under his rule than at any period of brief presidencies. Certainly he did not follow the course of enriching himself sufficiently in one term to spend the rest of his life in Paris—a course extremely popular among Central-American executives. And many an Old-Timer will say, “The old devil was never so bad as they pictured him.”
But those who opposed his will used to die quite silently and suddenly, and his enemies affirm that Cabrera used poison. One hears strange stories about his political methods:
He is said on one occasion to have decreed the death of an American who had incurred his enmity. To avoid international complications he dispatched a second American to do the dirty work. The second American went to the first, warned him, and advised him to leave the country. Then he returned to inform Cabrera that the other man had escaped. He did not know that a native spy, having followed him, had already reported the meeting. Cabrera smiled. “That is too bad! But you could not help it, so have a cocktail with me, and forget all about it.” Three hours later, the American did forget all about it. He dropped dead.
One hesitates to believe all the stories, for Old-Timers love to shock the itinerant journalist. But certain it is that he kept all Guatemala in terror of his authority, until many of the more ignorant believed him gifted with supernatural powers.
In his later days, as in the history of most despots, he lost his grip upon the country. He had made too many enemies. Every one hated him, yet hesitated through fear of spies to be the first to proclaim opposition. But the inevitable revolution finally materialized, and Cabrera fled the capital. He surrendered on condition that his life and property be respected. It is to the credit of the Guatemalans that they observed their agreement, although lynch-law might have been more justifiable.
One Carlos Herrera, a wealthy landlord, took his place, but he did not relish the job as did Cabrera. After a few months, when some one else started a revolution, he made no objection. It was comparatively bloodless. A few policemen were the only casualties. They had not been informed that a revolution was scheduled, and when they saw the mobs surging up the street, undertook to quell what they considered a disorderly scene. One completely organized government went out overnight, and another completely organized government came in. Shooting was by way of celebration. An American who had an engagement with Herrera the next day went to the palace, and inquired, “Is Herrera in?” and received the answer, “Herrera’s out; Orellana’s in.” Only one man was arrested. He landed in Puerto Barrios, the north coast port, with a cheerful jag, and cabled Herrera, “On arriving in your beautiful country, I hasten to salute you and to wish you a long life and a merry one.” The new government arrested him for treason, but released him as soon as he proved his ignorance that a revolution had transpired.
WHEN ORELLANA STARTED A REVOLUTION, PRESIDENT HERRERA MADE NO STRENUOUS OBJECTION
THE ONLY CASUALTIES WERE A FEW POLICEMEN WHO MISTOOK THE REVOLUTION FOR A DISORDERLY DEMONSTRATION
Orellana, who held office at the time of my visit, was a former lieutenant of Cabrera’s. He had occupied the seat beside Cabrera when the bomb blew up coachman and horses. There were rumors afloat that Cabrera’s brain still directed the government, but they received little credence. Another story, purely humorous, was that on the night when Orellana overthrew Herrera, the ex-Dictator started to pile all his furniture against the door of his room.
“But, sir,” protested a servant, “these are your own friends coming back into power.”
“That’s why I’m doing this,” said Cabrera. “I know those fellows!”
Cabrera’s house was a fortress-like structure of unassuming exterior. An old man now, he was still following his life-long policy of retirement from the public gaze, and a guard of soldiers was present to see that he remained in retirement. The family came and went freely, but the ex-Dictator never showed his face. If he had done so, some one might have taken a shot at it. He probably welcomed the guard for its protection.
Orellana, despite his former connection with Cabrera, was proving a more lenient president. Clubs were now thriving, and the people might congregate where they pleased. Poison had been abolished as a function of government. And men might discuss politics without being shot. Few, however, publicly suggested a change of president. With all its comparative liberality, the new régime was ruling with an iron hand characteristic of Guatemalan governments. Shortly before my visit, Orellana had chased home a party of Mexican bolshevik agitators attempting to spread their propaganda among the Indians of his republic. A few years earlier, when his railway employees threatened a strike unless permitted to select their own officials and to discharge all foreigners from the service, the American superintendent had told them to go to Hades, and Orellana had sent them back to work by threatening to draft them all into the army.
These countries always thrive best under a stern dictator. Even under the tyrannical Cabrera, Guatemala enjoyed more prosperity than it would have enjoyed under a rapidly-changing series of get-rich-quick presidents. For a land of illiterate peons, a dictatorship, if exercised with justice, is always the most satisfactory form of government, except to politicians out of office.