Well might Spain urge upon other nations, as an argument against the recognition of those countries, that the South Americans were unfit for a state of independence. She knew the full extent of moral degradation to which her own policy had reduced them; but it was futile to allege it, when it had become manifest to all the world that her own power to reduce them again to subjection was gone for ever, and that the people of South America had not only achieved their complete independence, but were resolved and fully able to maintain it. The notoriety of those facts left no alternative to foreign governments whose subjects had any real interest in the question, whatever might be the speculative opinions of some parties as to the eventual prospects of the New States.
In this country our ignorance of the real condition of the people of South America naturally led us to look back to what had taken place in our own North American colonies, and with but little discrimination perhaps, to anticipate the same results, whereas nothing in reality could be more dissimilar than the circumstances of the colonial subjects of Great Britain and Spain when their political emancipation took place.
In the British colonies all the foundations of good government were already laid: the principles of civil administration were perfectly understood, and the transition was almost imperceptible.
On the other hand, in the Spanish colonies the whole policy, as well as the power of the mother country, seems to have been based on perpetuating the servile state and ignorance of the natives: branded as an inferior race, they were systematically excluded from all share in the government, from commerce, and every other pursuit which might tend to the development of native talent or industry. The very history of their own unfortunate country was forbidden them, no doubt lest it should open their eyes to the reality of their own debased condition.
When the struggle came, the question of their independence was soon settled irrevocably; but as to the elements for the construction at once of anything like a good government of their own, they certainly did not exist.
Under these circumstances, what was perfectly natural took place. In the absence of any other real power, that of military command, which had grown out of the war, obtained an ascendency, the influence of which in all the New States became soon apparent. They fell, in fact, all of them more or less under military despotism. The people dazzled with the victories and martial achievements of their leaders, imperceptibly passed from one yoke to another.
It is true that national Congresses and legislative Assemblies were everywhere convoked; but, generally aiming at more than was practicable or compatible with their circumstances, they in most instances failed, and by their failure rather confirmed the absolute power of the military chiefs. They, however, abolished the slave-trade, put an end to the forced service of the mita, so grievous to the Indians, and nominally sanctioned more or less the liberty of the press,—measures which gained them popularity and support amongst men of liberal principles in Europe, who fancied they saw in them expressions of public opinion, and evidences of a fitness amongst the people at large for free institutions; but this was an error.
The people of South America, with the Laws of the Indies still hanging about their necks, shouted indeed with their leaders, "Independence and Liberty," and gallantly fought for and established the first; but as to liberty, in our sense of the word at least, they knew very little about it:—how could they?
They have yet practically to learn that true liberty in a civilized state of society can only really exist where the powers of the ruling authorities are duly defined and balanced; and where the laws—not the colonial laws of Old Spain—are so administered as to ensure to every citizen a prompt redress for wrongs, entire personal security, and the right of freely expressing his political opinions. The working of such laws makes men habitually free and fit for the enjoyment of free institutions. But such a state of things is not brought about in a day or in a generation, nor can it be produced by any parchment constitution, however perfect in theory. The experiment has been tried of late years in some of the oldest states of Europe, and has invariably failed. Is it then reasonable that we should expect it to be more successful in such infant states as these new republics? Time—and we, of all people in the world, ought best to know how long a time—is requisite to bring such good fruit to maturity.
Education, the press, a daily intercourse with the rest of the world, and experience not the less valuable because dearly bought, are all tending gradually to enlighten the inhabitants of these new countries, and to prepare them for their future destinies. And, although from a variety of causes, their advancement may appear slow, and their present state fall far short of what has been expected of them, the truth is, they have made immense progress, compared with their old condition under the colonial yoke of Spain;—and especially, I will say so, of Buenos Ayres.