I have already spoken of the dog-in-the-manger attitude of the Dominicans on the subject of immigration. Their complaints on this score have become less acute since the military government promulgated the recent decree of registration and proof of self-support for alien laborers. There is still some grumbling, however. Native law forbids the bringing in of negro or Oriental workmen “except in cases of emergency.” The Americans, they assert, have permitted too many blacks from the neighboring islands to take employment in the great cane-fields of the South. Yet surely the harvesting of sugar is an “emergency” to the unsweetened world of to-day. Also, the American steamship line that monopolizes the carrying of goods to and from Santo Domingo brings stevedores from Turk’s Island and other points to work the cargoes, dropping them again at their homes, and the Dominicans complain that this lowers their standard of living. The fact is that the native laborers are not merely indolent; they are distressingly independent. About Thursday a bunch of them get together and say, “We have enough to live on until Tuesday. Why should we work?” So off goes the bunch on a dance-fiesta-cockfight spree and the canes wither in the field or cargoes lie untouched in the hold or on the dock. The workmen of the South, in particular, have the reputation of being the best time-killers in the world. The great sugar centrals of that region could not exist without the privilege of bringing in Haitian or British West Indian laborers.
Abhorring steady labor as he does, the Dominican has been quick to catch the drift of modern trade unionism in demanding exorbitant wages for indifferent work. At the recent labor conference in Washington Santo Domingo was represented by the mulatto son of a German, formerly governor of Puerto Plata, and a man who could not but have chuckled at his own humor in addressing the conference as “my fellow workmen.” Denied the privilege of holding office in the old style under American rule, these professional politicians are attempting to get a strangle-hold on the public purse by forming labor unions and appealing to the American Federation of Labor to bring its powerful influence to bear on the military government. The parade of a score of gremios during our stay in the Dominican capital, nearly all of them formed within six months, shows what success is attending their efforts. The labor dictator of America seems to have fallen into the trap. He requests that the laborers of Santo Domingo be given “full liberty of action,” which sounds to those of us who have been there like permission to take a gun and turn bandit. Measured in dollars and cents the wages of the Dominican laborer are not high; balanced against the work he actually accomplishes they show him rather the exploiter than the victim. No one on earth, least of all the occupation, is hindering him from doing a good day’s work and getting reasonably well paid for it—except his own indolence, which in the end is apt to leave him swamped beneath foreign immigration in spite of any political manipulations.
Among those I talked with about their country’s “wrongs” was Deciderio Arias, the former war minister who added the last straw to American patience. He runs a pathetic little cigar factory in Santiago now, sleeping on a cot in one corner of it, and professes, I hesitate to report, a great friendship for “Big George.” A proud, rather ignorant mulatto, with perhaps a touch of Indian blood, a commanding manner still despite his reverses and the high degree of outward courtesy of all his people, he is, or pretends to be, fairly well satisfied with American occupation. All he wanted, he asserts, was internal peace for his beloved native land, and the marines have brought that, or nearly so. But he regrets that the Americans do not study the customs and “psychology” of the Dominican people, rather than jumping to the conclusion that what is good for themselves is unquestionably good for all other races.
Then there was Santo Domingo’s chief novelist and literary light, the pride of La Vega. He is perhaps the most outspoken opponent of the occupation in the country. “Cuba and Porto Rico have always been colonies,” he frothed, “and are used to having a rule of force thrust upon them. But Santo Domingo won her own independence single-handed and what we want, what we must have, is LIBERTY!” He did not add that the meaning of the word in this particular case was the right of continual revolution, but it was easy to supply that footnote for him. His wrath was scornful toward those of his fellow-countrymen who had “debased themselves” to accept office under the occupation, and he asserted that all who had done so were “the dregs of our national life.” The novelist’s testimony was somewhat discounted, however, by “Mac’s” characterization of him as a “one-cylinder crook,” who had been removed from public office for selling cancelled revenue stamps.
The parish priest of Seibo was far more favorable to the occupation. A native Dominican, without a hint of the asceticism of the French priests in Haiti, with a generous waist-line and the face of one who enjoys to the full all the good things of life, he had the ripe judgment of a man of the world, rather than the view-point of the cloister. All intellectual Dominicans, he explained, are ashamed that it was necessary, yet they know it is for their own good, that the Americans have “annexed” the country. The lesson has been hard to bear, but it was unavoidable, and now they have learned it so well that they “will never do it again”—it sounded like the cry of a bad boy under the paternal strap—if only we will let them govern themselves and still hold a menacing hand over them. It is the old Latin-American cry for protection without responsibility. Every Dominican would bless the United States if the marines were withdrawn and an advisory governor left. They would never again steal public office or government funds. They have been taught that continual revolutions are not a mere pastime, but a crime. The intellectual Americans of the occupation had done much good, he asserted, but their works had been largely offset by those of the other class. For all the violence he had reported, he seemed to have no hard feelings against us, but he felt that the time had come for us to go away. He “had heard it said” that the gavilleros would return to their canucos and settle down again as soon as the Americans leave. Many of them were simple rascals who had no sense of patriotism whatever, but only a desire to live by robbery and plunder. They were as apt to kill their own countrymen as Americans, rather more so, in fact, for the latter went armed and the Dominicans could not. Yet many of them had been driven to the hills by force of circumstances—by threats from the real bandits, by the marines mistaking an innocent family for gavillero sympathizers, or a man was falsely given a bad name and dared not come in and give himself up, for fear of suffering the fate of Vicentico. Once these unwilling outlaws abandoned the fight the rest would have no choice but to disband.
It is difficult to admit, however, that Santo Domingo is now ready to govern itself, not because there are no educated and honest men in the country, but because these cannot get into power. Force rules; just elections are impossible. As in all Latin-America, with few exceptions, parties depend upon and take the name of their leader. Principles do not interest the rank and file in the least. In the old days the president always appointed a military man as provincial leader, that his “party” might not assert any signs of independence. Every district had its little local cacique, or tribal chief. Elections were two-day affairs. Woolly countrymen were brought in from the hills and voted at once. The cacique got them shaved and voted them again; got them a hair-cut and voted them again; gave them a new shirt and voted them again. On the second day a half-dozen more disguises preceded their repeated visits to the polls. It is hard to believe that a bare four years of occupation have completely cured the Dominicans of such habits. The Americans, in fact, have never yet attempted to hold an election, hence there has been no new ideal held up to them in this matter. Under the old régime judges divided fines among themselves, and it cost much effort to get them to give up this privilege. Now they are apt to give ludicrously light fines, because it all goes to the internal revenue, in which they are not personally interested. Like a wayward boy who was never taught to govern himself, but was merely exploited by a heartless stepfather, from whom he finally ran away, Santo Domingo has no real conception of how to conduct itself in political matters, and up to the present occupation no one has ever attempted to teach it what it never learned from Spain or experience.
Some Dominicans would be satisfied with an American protectorate, provided they could have their own congress and a certain show of autonomy. Many thoughtful citizens want us to remain until a new generation has been trained to administer their affairs. So far little such training has been done, and it will take a long time to break them of their “Spig” habits. Cuba and Porto Rico have always been used to obeying the law, yet they have scarcely yet approached proper self-government. Santo Domingo has always run more or less wild; she needs a complete new standard of honor and morals. Among other things this will require at least twenty-five years of good elementary schooling. Nor should it be a hesitant, over-kindly schooling. The textbooks adopted should contain such pertinent queries as: “What are the chief faults of Dominicans (of Latin-Americans in general) which it is necessary to correct before they can take their proper place in the modern world? Answer: We must get rid of Caudillismo, of personal instead of political parties”—and so on, with what may seem offensive frankness. Not only should Americans remain long enough in Santo Domingo to train a new generation, but we should tell them at once that such is our firm intention. The rumor that our troops are about to be withdrawn is always going around the country, leaving no one a certain peg on which to hang his hat. Remember how we hate the uncertainty of a presidential year. There should be a proclamation by our own federal government to the effect that we are going to remain for many years—I should say fifty, until all the present generation has disappeared—and that there is no use kicking meanwhile against the inevitable. Instead of that the present governor tells them that he will do all in his power to get them a civil government soon and to have the troops withdrawn, remaining perhaps as a civil governor. I do not believe they are ready for any such move, certainly not to handle their own finances, which is what they wish above all to do. Bit by bit they should be initiated into the mysteries of real self-government, but we should avoid the error we made in Cuba, and to some extent in Porto Rico, of graduating them before they have finished the grammar grades. If the unborn generation can be reared without political pollution from the living, there is promise even in such a race as the Dominican. However, have you ever set out on a journey astride a mongrel native horse and expected him to keep up with a thoroughbred?
The military occupation has made mistakes; all military governments do. But they are by no means so many nor so serious as those the Dominicans made themselves. There have been cases of arbitrariness, snap judgments, and injustice, but on the whole American rule is just, justifiable, and well done. Some of the trouble comes from the fact that navy youths of no experience are given important secretarías that require men of exceedingly mature judgment—though, to be sure, the governing of Santo Domingo, with its bare 750,000 inhabitants, is little more than a mayor’s job, except in extent of territory. A second drawback is that the most important posts are in the hands of men who know not a word of Spanish and must do all their work through interpreters, usually of the politician stripe, with results easily imagined. There is no reason whatever why graduates of Annapolis or West Point should not know what has become so important a language to their calling. Did anyone ever hear of a German professional officer who did not speak at least English and French fluently? Some of the time that is now given to “social functions” and the learning of afternoon-tea manners could easily be sacrificed to our new requirements. Lastly, there should be more knowledge and interest in our scattered wards among our higher officials at home. It is not particularly helpful to a naval officer suddenly appointed governor of such a place as Santo Domingo to have the secretary who should outline his policy turn from the map on which he has just looked up that unknown spot and make some such reply as, “Orders? Don’t bother me with details. I have more important matters requiring my attention. Go down there and sit on the lid.”