FINANCIAL DIFFICULTIES
The expulsion of the rich and thrifty Spaniards, the costs of civil wars, in which the nation paid for both sides, unwise and unstable fiscal systems, borrowing at such rates as four per cent a month, incredibly bad management,[4] and methods of accounting that made it impossible for the minister of the treasury to know the actual state of things, were enough to complete the edifice; but they were supplemented with peculation, embezzlement, multiplication of offices, collusion between importers and customhouses, and systematic smuggling winked at by half-starved officials. Revenue after revenue was mortgaged, and by 1845 the government found itself entitled to only about thirteen per cent of what entered the treasury.[5]
Since the beginning of hostilities our blockade, assisted by new methods of wholesale smuggling, had greatly reduced the income from duties, which had always been the principal reliance; the adoption of the federal system had given the best part of the internal revenue to the states; and the residue was almost wholly eaten up by the officials. The foreign debt amounted now to more than fifty millions and the domestic debt was nearly twice as great. Every known source of income had been anticipated. Freewill offerings had proved illusory. By ceasing to make payments on account of the debt in May, 1846, the government had largely increased its income, of course, but it had forfeited all title to financial sympathy; and the high officials, who robbed the treasury still in this time of supreme distress, had stripped it of all title to respect.[5]
The government, therefore, had no real credit. Men who made this kind of gambling their business would now and then furnish a little money for a brief term at an exorbitant rate. In February, 1846, for example, a loan was placed at a total sacrifice of about thirty-seven per cent. But when the treasury was authorized to borrow fifteen millions in a regular way, nobody cared to furnish any part of the sum. New taxes were equally vain. In October, 1846, the government imposed a special war “contribution” in order to save the Mexicans, it explained, from becoming foreigners in their own country, like the Spaniards of Florida; and the chief result was to enrage a handful of persons, who found they had been silly enough to pay while almost everybody else had laughed. In November a forced loan was demanded of the clergy, but the project aroused such opposition that substantially it had to be given up. The whole gamut of methods, even violence, has been tried in vain, said the ministry in December. Business was dead, confidence gone, capital in hiding or sojourning abroad; and if by good luck a bag of silver dropped into the treasury, it seemed to evaporate instantly. Financially, reported the Spanish minister, the situation of the country was “truly frightful.”[5]
To make it more, not less, frightful, there did exist one vast accumulation of riches. This was the property belonging to the Church. No one could seriously deny that the nation had authority to use, in a time of dire need, funds that had been given to the organization in days of plenty, for this was a principle of Spanish law, and the Crown had exercised the right without so good an excuse. There was also a particular reason in the present instance, for the wealth of the Church, aside from articles used in worship, consisted mainly of land, and, as virtually no land tax existed in Mexico, it was escaping the common burden—a burden, too, that was peculiarly for its advantage, since in the case of American conquest it was bound to lose its exclusive privileges. Besides, there was the saying of its Founder, “Freely ye have received, freely give.”[5]
THE POLICY OF FARÍAS
Very naturally, then, people had been casting their eyes for some time at the riches of the Church. In June, 1844, El Siglo XIX, the most thoughtful newspaper of Mexico, had suggested raising funds for the Texas war by mortgaging some of its property; and a few months later Duff Green, then on the ground, had expressed the opinion that Mexico would have to choose between that resource and forced loans. In July, 1845, the correspondent of the London Times dropped a similar hint in that journal, and in the course of the year it became a popular idea, that the Church could perform a great public service, and at the same time vastly strengthen its own position, by providing means for the anticipated war against the United States. In October, 1846, the Monitor Republicano suggested once more a mortgage of ecclesiastical property; and at one time the government actually decided upon the measure. Bankhead admitted that he could see no other resource. These hints were not, however, acted upon by the clergy; and after many long discussions they would only agree to advance $10,000 or $20,000 a month for a limited period. This was to insult the nation, exclaimed the Monitor Republicano.[5]
Charged now with full responsibility, Farías met the issue squarely. Not only was he determined to carry on the war, but the letters of Santa Anna had been, and were, most urgent. November 7 the General demanded that “no step” should be neglected, if it could “help to prevent the name of Mexican from soon becoming the object of ridicule and contempt for the whole world.” “Do not reply that the government cannot obtain funds,” he wrote later; “This would be saying that the nation has ceased to exist ... so rich a nation cannot lack money enough to support its independence, nor can the government say that it has no authority to look for the money.” These letters evidently referred to ecclesiastical property, and they were followed up at New Year’s with almost daily communications of the same tenor. Such fearful urgency had a good excuse, for the government was now sending him no funds.[6]
It had none. Although Farías kept faith with Escudero, the Moderados as a party showed the radical chief no mercy; the Centralists loathed the apostle of federalism; all conservatives detested the typical democrat, and the clericals abominated the extinguisher of titles. All the old ladies thought him worse than Luther, and many of every kind and condition rebelled at his brusque and tactless ways. No person of substance would lift a finger to support his measures. A cloud of distrust, passion, hostility and mortal hatred—mostly an emanation from the whole wretched past of the country—grew thicker about him each day. Raise money he could not. Moreover he probably felt little desire to do so by any of the ordinary methods. One of his cardinal principles was the necessity of destroying the fuero, the political strength and the intellectual domination of the Church by reducing its wealth; and now the demand of Santa Anna, the army and the nation that funds be provided for the war, appeared to make this policy opportune and even irresistible.[6]
A committee of Congress reported against the plan of borrowing on the security of Church property; but that signified little, for no practical substitute was offered. There were fears that the army would break up. There were fears that for self-protection it would proclaim a dictatorship or march upon the capital. Santa Anna’s warning and threatening communications were shown to Congress. The legislators tried to evade the issue, but they were told that all the responsibility rested upon their shoulders; that it was for them to choose between the salvation and the ruin of the fatherland; and on January 7 they grappled with the problem. Behind them—tireless, uncompromising, inexorable—the Executive insisted upon action; and behind him stood Santa Anna, demanding the same thing and promising to support it.[9]