There exists in the Latin-American’s character a combination of inefficiency and pride which induces the inferiority complex. His inefficiency sometimes leads him into a muddle from which he is unable to extricate himself. He invites the foreigner to help him out. Then his pride asserts itself. He resents the fact that he has been obliged to call upon the foreigner. He proceeds thereupon to damn him.
During my stay in Managua, the rumor circulated about—an ever recurrent rumor there—that the marines were to be withdrawn. Inside of an hour the American Legation was filled with diplomats from foreign countries, and merchants who owned property in Nicaragua, all anxious to know if the rumor were true, all fearful of the destructive revolution that would follow overnight, all eager to protest against the withdrawal of the much-abused gringos.
In the crowd were many Nicaraguans who had been loudest in their condemnation of the United States.
XIII
Like most persons with the inferiority complex, the Latin-American is extremely sensitive. He resents, even more than the humiliation of gringo assistance, the assumption of loftier worth which usually characterizes the Anglo-Saxon.
This assumption, to us, is often quite unconscious. If we are aware of our national self-satisfaction, most of us try to hide it when traveling in the southern republics. Our diplomats and business men seek valiantly to proclaim our great admiration of our neighbors. It has become the fashion in our writing to promote an entente cordiale by flattering the people of these countries. The charming woman writer in particular—who makes a brief trip to the more modern cities of Chile and the Argentine, meets only the aristocracy, and completes her book as a bread-and-butter letter to the delightful people who fed her tea and cakes—is inclined nowadays, in her impulse to jolt out of his complacency the reader at home, to picture all the Latin-Americans as infinitely superior to our own crude selves.
Yet all of us, even though we may have acquired a strong affection for our friends of the southland, still consider ourselves their peers. We know that every gringo is not to be ranked above every Latin-American. But we are confident that man for man—lawyer for lawyer, doctor for doctor, soldier for soldier, farmer for farmer—the Anglo-Saxon usually surpasses his counterpart in physique, intelligence, education, ability and character, if not in refinement. The Latin-American himself is aware of the contrast. He may, and sometimes does, voluntarily admit it. But he is naturally a trifle resentful when the gringo, by word or action, reminds him of it.
We remind him quite frequently. The most considerate traveler will lapse unintentionally at times into an attitude of condescension. Our kindly church-goers at home contribute their pennies to missionary enterprises in order that he may be educated and uplifted. And as though this were not the supreme height of international insult, however much he may actually need education and uplift, we appoint ourselves the policemen of the continent, take him under our paternal wing, and threaten to spank him if he misbehaves.
We assume that he should appreciate our kindliness and love us as the big brother we consider ourselves to be. On the contrary, he not only dislikes us as a nation, but distrusts our motives. He looks upon us—and frequently with good cause—as hypocrites who pat him upon the back as a prelude to selling him American products. In our missionary efforts he sees only a colossal national vanity. In the application of our Monroe Doctrine he scents an ambition for the conquest of his country.
To the average American this last statement may sound ridiculous. When we promulgated that doctrine, we thought only of Europe. It was later, when we realized that European nations might disregard it unless their citizens or property were protected in Latin America that we undertook to supervise the conduct of our neighbors’ wars and revolutions. Our ambitions for conquest at present are purely commercial. But there are several incidents in our past history which these little republics remember with foreboding. They remember, for instance, that we fought with Mexico about Texas, and emerged victorious with Arizona, Utah, Nevada, and California. They feel that there is something a little funny in the way Panama started its revolution against Colombia just about the time we wished to build the Panama Canal. They question our philanthropic motives in Nicaragua. They are always wondering where the lightning may strike next.