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The Inevitable Trend in Mexico

By DAVID LAWRENCE

MEXICO is to-day a state almost dis

solved, sans ruler, sans legislature, and sans judiciary-an outlaw in the family of nations. Sixteen million people yesterday governed in peace after the fashion of democracy are to-day in the grip of anarchy. Is Mexico the victim. of its Cæsars, the little emperors who for personal ambition would stir the people to fratricide, or is the struggle only another chapter in the evolution of a nation, its advance arrested by the strife of mixed races and the incapacity of chosen leaders to effect a permanent reconciliation between the many liberal, radical, and socialistic elements and the few but powerful groups opposed to political progressthe allies of the foreign concessionnaire? And what may we expect as the inevitable outcome of this long debauch of military power?

Were it not for the Monroe Doctrine, the barrier between the greed of Europe and the maintenance of independent sovereignties on this hemisphere, there would now be no reason to make these inquiries. The sword of the foreign invader long ago would have severed the Gordian knot of internal politics without temporizing. The relentless partitions of Poland, the example of Persia, and the African possessions of Turkey, and most convincingly the French invasion of Mexico in 1862all bear testimony to this natural tendency in political history; for the experience of mankind marks out as the certain prey of the foreign power those helpless. states perennially torn asunder by civil.

war.

The vital problem before President Wilson by reason of the peculiar responsibilities imposed upon the United States has been whether, not for the purpose of conquest, but for the beneficent cause of humanity and neighborliness in the Western Hemisphere, the time was approaching when the political or the physical intervention of other states in the American family of nations would become an imperative necessity; when the Mexican people, threatened with further devastations of marauding armies and continued anarchy, would only feebly reject, if not welcome, indeed, the helping hand of friends.

Admittedly there have been only two practicable courses of policy open to President Wilson or his predecessor, Mr. Taft, since the revolutionary spirit upset Mexico's equilibrium in 1910; one, the physical intervention by our army and navy to restore order, and the other, political intervention, which is, briefly, the employment of the influence of the United States Government by diplomacy to attain the same object. The latter method includes either a refusal by declaration or otherwise to recognize any de facto authorities until an internal pacification is effected, or the extension of formal recognition to that party or element which would seem to be most capable of restoring tranquillity and giving the requisite guaranties for the safety of the lives and property of foreigners and nationals alike.

The traditional policy of the United States has been opposed to intervention by force in the domestic affairs of other

American nations. President Wilson has followed with patient restraint the path of a long line of predecessors in this respect. His forbearance, no doubt, has been due to an appreciation of the principle, aptly phrased by an eminent American authority thirty years ago, that it is necessary always for a nation "to be cautious that its aid be interposed at a time and under circumstances which do not in any way prejudge the issue of a struggle yet undetermined, and which ought in the interests of the state concerned to be decided by the real and internal and not by the factitious and external elements of victory."

President Wilson became convinced after his own investigation of the subject that recognition of Victoriano Huerta as the legal executive of Mexico, implying a moral support to his title by the United States Government, would have constituted a political intervention that would prejudge the issue as between the reactionary forces and those striving for free government and agrarian reform. Mr. Wilson believed, moreover, that the surging tide of liberalism eventually would conquer. To have intervened by force beyond the act of reprisal at Vera Cruz would have meant war between the United States and Mexico. It would be the same to-day. On the other hand, formal recognition of the victorious element in a military campaign or such a coalition of political leaders or groups as seemed to give promise of popular support would assist materially in establishing a central government that rapidly would would grow strong enough to crush armed opposition. Before such a point is reached where the United States Government is prepared in effect to stand sponsor to the world for the government it recognizes, however, there must be some assurance that no deliberate violation of international rights will occur which could compel physical intervention. One thing has been clearly defined, indeed, by recent developments in our foreign policy: whatever might be the ultimate character of the foreign assistance given Mexico, it would most surely

take the form of a united policy of the Pan-American family of nations.

To determine the moment for, and the nature of, any intervention in Mexico, it has been most essential that conditions in the troubled country south of the Rio Grande should be surveyed in the light of two considerations. First, would the interposition of our influence in an active manner prejudge the issue of an undetermined struggle, or had the disintegration begun which not infrequently attends the dissolution of a democracy into a state of anarchy, and was, therefore, a forceful hand from without its only salvation?

Many a state has approached the verge of dissolution only to be saved by itself in the hour of compelling necessity. If Mexico is to be considered as passing through such a stage in its development, the pages of medieval history are vividly recalled to us to-day in the violence practised against priests and nuns by the Mexican revolutionists, in the barbaric acts of the armed bands in the field, the execution of civilians, and the frequent disregard of the foreigner and his rights under the laws of nations. All political liberty, it will be remembered, was destroyed in the rival town-states of Italy in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, when the tyrant taught intrigue and assassination, and deadly feuds led to the introduction of the condottieri, the mercenaries who made of war a game, "with no interest in the quarrels beyond their individual ambitions, ever ready to change sides at the dictates of self-interest or for higher pay. Also there came the invader from Austria, Spain, and France, until at length the nation acquired self-possession and unity. Nor must it be forgotten that the agrarian and religious problems that menace Mexico to-day once also imperilled the social fabric of Germany and France. The Peasants' Wars, the revolt against feudalism, heavy services and dues, and the special attack on the higher clergy who sought to enforce their exactions by threats of excommunication to the impenitent, were the travails in which greater nations were born.

Until the year 1910 we had regarded Mexico as having attained by a thirty years' peace almost the adult age of political life; but the last administration of Porfirio Diaz belied this assumption, for it crumpled like paper under the supreme

test.

The causes, indeed, lay in those "things that weaken the commonwealth" which Thomas Hobbes describes as ensuing "when the treasure of the commonwealth, flowing out of its due course, is gathered together in too much abundance in one or a few private men, by monopolies or by farms of the public revenues.'

It was the fear of a public opinion, untutored in political experience, yet enraged against the profligate waste of the country's natural resources, the boundless grants to the foreigner, and the concentration of landed estates in the hands of the select few, that compelled the advisers of Diaz to recognize the necessity for compromise with the rising masses. Many Mexican students of the political development of their country believe this capitulation to what seemed to them an incipient radicalism which sooner or later might have been soothed by careful and quiet reorganization of the government, was the first of a series of unfortunate errors. The radical elements, however, were given complete possession of the administrative machinery at a time when they were fitted neither by political wisdom nor by capacity to reconcile tactfully their own extremists with the so-called reactionary, or conservative, party, from which power had suddenly been wrested.

It was an inopportune moment for the experimental idealism of Francisco Madero. Generous and gentle by nature, he was ill adapted to deal firmly with the tremendous problem of reconstruction that confronted him. He was troubled by the elements who fought to regain their strangle-hold on Mexico's resources, assisted to some extent by the selfish concessionnaire, and he was embarrassed from within his own party by those friends who were so radical as to be socialistic, and often so unscrupulous as to deceive the ever-trusting, guileless president.

It was a severe test for democracy. Small wonder that Victoriano Huerta, alert and shrewd, was able by the coup d'état of February, 1913, to seize the executive power, knowing full well that the powerful group which had surrounded Diaz would muster about him, too, an enthusiastic and unswerving support. That the world had misjudged the capacity of Mexico for self-government was proved all too soon. The nation had not acquired the political habit of discussion without recourse to arms.

"Democracy," wrote Woodrow Wilson in the early nineties, "is the heritage of races purged alike of hasty barbaric passions and of patient servility to rulers, and schooled in temperate common counsel. It is an institution of political noonday, not of the half-light of political dawn. It can never be made to sit easily on first generations, but strengthens through long heredity. It is poison to the infant, but tonic to the man. Monarchies may be made, but democracies must grow."

The reign of terror in the last two years has disclosed in vivid detail that Mexico was not yet "purged of hasty barbaric passions," while its "servility to rulers" was all too patient. Huerta's spectacular administration, first with its pretense to constitutional legality and later with an open repudiation of the same by the dissolution of Congress and the assumption of all legislative and judicial powers in a personal dictatorship, was a striking example of what Rousseau denotes "the state of anarchy." It was, indeed, "an abuse of government, a usurpation of sovereignty by which the social compact is broken, and all the ordinary citizens rightfully regain their natural liberty."

The utter disregard of civil law has continued under Villa, Carranza, Zapata, Obregon, and the lesser military chiefs. Whether or not the moral assistance of the United States Government by opportune recognition of the Huerta administration in the first instance would have averted the chaos that followed will long

be a moot point in examining the Mexican problem in retrospect. If the capacity for revolt possessed by some of the principal leaders in the liberal movement were insignificant and could be completely disregarded or ignored, the recognition of Huerta might have brought peace. was difficult then, as now, to assess the strength of the antagonism which would have been kindled at once among the Constitutionalist forces operating near the international boundary, furnishing a potential cause for border troubles and outbursts of resentment over what would have seemed to them partizan assistance. Our friction with Huerta because of nonrecognition might as well have occurred with the Constitutionalists in the north of Mexico, and nearer home.

Nor was it altogether certain that the Constitutionalists would so easily have been crushed had Huerta been recognized, for they acquired quickly a considerable momentum by the response of thousands to the cause of the ill-fated Madero. It is pertinent to remember that even with the recognition of Great Britain, France, and Germany, and the uninterrupted importation of arms through seaports from Europe while the Constitutionalists for six months possessed no ports and were unable legally to get munitions of war in the United States before the embargo was finally raised, the Huerta administration could not check the southward march of the Constitutionalist army.

Unfortunately, the leaders of the triumphant Constitutionalist movement lacked sufficient breadth to interpret correctly either, the will of the people or to handle the problem of dissolving the immense army that had overrun the country. Military chiefs, thrilled with the success of their arms, fell victim, as in the primitive state, to the lust of power. No civil administration was provided. The very thing against which the liberals in Mexico had repeatedly pledged themselvesmilitarism-returned to plague them in the hour of victory. When the military. and not the civil elements of the nation attempted to dictate the choice of a pro

visional president in the conventions at Mexico City and Aguas Calientes, failure was inevitable.

The struggle between the various branches of the Constitutionalist party has since become so confused as to render hardly traceable the real sympathies of the Mexican people. In a country the popu lation of which comprises so large a number of Indians, it seems incongruous to suggest the existence of popular sympathies. There can be little popular support for the acts of outlawry of even the major chiefs, but while personalities are most emphasized in Mexican politics, they are at best the exponents of certain grievances or movements, at times indistinguishable because of their native and complex character, but often expressive of a popular feeling, though handicapped by a narrowness of vision.

The more thoughtful and learned Mexicans aspire to the achievement for their country of the ideals of democracy. In the midst of the anarchy and confusion of recent months, the sympathy of the United States Government with those aspirations has not cooled. This may be read in the lines of a pronouncement from the Department of State, but penned by PresiIdent Wilson himself. It is indicative of the policy he will follow when the question of recognition is to be decided. The declaration is carefully phrased. It is in part as follows:

There can be no permanent pacification in Mexico, no stable settlement of her political troubles, until the land question is justly and wisely settled and the land made the basis of the independence of her citizens, rank and file, and the foundation of her family life.

A democracy must be sustained by education, by the education of her people, and her schools will be as valuable to Mexico as her acres of fertile land. It will be as necessary that she shall have them as that she break the monopoly that has controlled them.

The Administration is, of course, the servant of the American people. It seeks to be governed by their convictions and by the

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