'THE SOCIAL FUNCTIONS OF FUTEBOL' AMERICAN UNIVERSITIES FIELD STAFF REPORT, EAST COAST SOUTH AMERICAN SERIES, JULY 1970

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• Collection: General CIA Records
• Document Number (FOIA) /ESDN (CREST): CIA-RDP88-01314R000300550001-2
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• Document Creation Date: December 16, 2016
• Document Release Date: October 26, 2004
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• Publication Date: January 1, 1970
• Content Type: MAGAZINE

"The Social Functions of Futebol"
American Universities Field Staff
Report, East Coast South American
Series, July 1970
"The Frustration of National Power"
World Affairs, September 1969
"Rojismo: The Resurgence of
Colombian Populism"
American University Field Staff
Reports, April 1970
"Relations Between the United States
and Latin America"
International Affairs, July 1970
"Machismo or the Unromantic Latins"
"The New Latins", by Georgie Anne
Geyer
"U.S.-Panamanian Relations Since
194111
Journal of Inter-American Studies
on World Affairs, July 1970
Vol. 1 No. 2
Winter, 1970
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Editors' Note 3
"The Social Functions of Futebol" 6
American Universities Field Staff
Report, East Coast South American
Series, July 1970
"The Frustration of National Power" 13
World Affairs, September 1969
"Rojismo: The Resurgence of 21
Colombian Populism"
American University Field Staff
Reports, April 1970
"Relations Between the United States 28
and Latin America"
International Affairs, July 1970
"Machismo or the Unromantic Latins" 45
"The New Latins", by Georgie Anne
Geyer
"U.S.-Panamanian Relations Since 63
1941"
Journal of Inter-American Studies
on World Affairs, July 1970
Vol. 1 No. 2
Winter, 1970
No editorial approval is implied in the selection of these
reprints, which are meant to stimulate thought, not channel it.
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Contributions to this second installment in ;
our experiment in private circulation publications
4. were selected individually with the intent of X*
supplying varied but pertinent coverage on US -
Latin American relations and Latin American :_,?.
cultural, economic and political realities in this
decade. Each article deals with those relations
and realities in a different way, but read together
they paint a prospect of US - Latin American =
futures for the 1970's which is perhaps too bleak.
We did not intend to play Cassandra, and can
X only assert that our search for suitable articles
did not uncover more optimistic texts. Pessi- g?
t mistic though it may be, we hope that this
second issue of LATIN AMERICA will stimulate
inquiry and discussion among field colleagues
as to where Latin America is going, or may go,
in the 1970's .
`i":`S???i` i?S? :` i??S'~ti :? i?`?P :? i S?? i?S i`i"?? i ?:?`:". `i i`i`??:` :???i`i`?:..:? The Editors SSJ~OSS.?y..:? .~ ~.SS.~. ~..~..~? `.
NEW WORLD REALITIES IN THE 1970's
1. The Social Functions of Futebol (Thomas G. Sanders; "AUFS Report",
July 1970) Most Americans, especially those who have never been abroad,
have little conception of the effect of football (soccer) on the other peoples
of the world. Here is a perceptive and sympathetic commentary on the
game and its significance to Brazil. A nation with almost unmanageable
stresses in the areas of race, economics, education, politics, physical
development and cultural identity, Brazil is truly united in only one
aspect of her national life: "futebol".
2. In The Frustration of National Power ('World Affairs ", September 1969)
Walter F. Hahn, Deputy Director of the International and Social Studies
Division of the Institute for Defense Analysis, examines the paradox of
national power in a nuclear age - the frustrations of the superpowers in
trying to bring their massive economic, technological, and military
capabilities to bear on world problems and to serve their national interests.
Confronted with a world undergoing rapid revolutionary change, he argues,
power alone is becoming irrelevant to our goals. To maintain our dynamism
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as a civilization, he concludes, national power must be reharnessed to
a unified national purpose.
3. Rojismo: The Resurgence of Colombian Populism ("AUFS Reports",
April 1970) In the aftermath of Colombia's 1970 presidential elections the
author of the contribution on Brazil and football, foresees two possible
courses of political development for Colombia during the 1970's. Thomas
G. Sanders believes that Colombia may develop a new governmental
alignment of political parties more consistent with Colombian realities
than the 13 year old National Front. However, he offers the equally
possible alternative that "...Colombia's controlling groups, fearing
the people and populism, will follow the path of Brazil and turn to
stronger measures to secure their position". Sanders finds that the
broad mass of the Colombian populace did not share in the definite
economic and socio-political progress achieved by the National Front
and so is turning increasingly toward populist and left of center leadership
for representation.
4. In Relations Between the United States and Latin America ("International
Affairs", July 1970) David Bronheim, Director of the Center for Inter-
American Relations in New York and former Deputy US Co-ordinator
of the Alliance for Progress, discusses the psychological hang-ups and
the cultural differences which have shaped the way Americans and
Latin Americans think about each other. He analyzes the military,
political, and economic "realities" of Latin America in an international
context and concludes "there is little in Latin America that vitally affects
the US national interest. " His brief (and somewhat dated) assessment
of individual countries confirms in his mind the low esteem to which
Latin America has fallen in the eyes of US policy makers. Many readers
will take issue with at least a few of Bronheim's conclusions. Among the
conclusions: It is inadvisable to develop a foreign policy on Latin America
during the next few years. The Panama Canal is no longer essential to
the US.
5. Machismo or the Unromantic Latins_("The New Latins", by Georgie
Anne Geyer) In her delightful chapter on "machismo" in her recent book
on Latin America, Geyer (the interlocutor of Fidel Castro and others)
goes beyond the usual treatment of this subject to relate it to the problems
of national development in Latin America. Along with specific, sometimes
racy comments qn the practice of "machismo", she argues that the mental
attitudes engendered by "machismo" (e.g., emphasis on style over substance)
make it so hard for Latin Americans to attain a degree of impersonal
cooperation needed for national growth.
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6. In US-Panamanian Relations Since 1941 ("Journal of Inter-American
Studies and World Affairs", July 1970) Lester D. Langley of Central
Washington State College describes in considerable, but very readable,
detail the course of negotiations, political maneuvering, and violent
clashes between the US and Panama over the Canal treaty issue during
the past 30 years. Special emphasis is given to the nationalistic
pressures which have fed Panamanian discontent and led to successive
treaty revisions. This historical background adds a useful in-depth
perspective to current jockying between the US and the Torrijos regime
over a resumption of treaty talks, and the probable futures of Latin
American nations in this and the next decade.
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AUFS Report/July 1970
EAST COAST SOUTH AMERICA voSERIES IES
('Brazil)
THE SOCIAL FUNCTIONS OF FUTEBOL
by Thomas G. Sanders
To the majority of urban Brazilians, the most
important date in their national history is not that
of Independence or the Founding of the Republic,
the Revolution of 1930 which brought Getulio
Vargas to power, or the military coup of 1964, but
June 21, 1970, the day Brazil became the first
country to win the world 'soccer championship
three times and gain permanent possession of the
Jules Rimet Cup. During the twenty days of the
tournament, normal activities moved at half-pace
in Brazil, as popular- attention focused over-
whelmingly on the six games that produced the
championship. Futebol (pronounced FOOcheebol)
dominated everything. Citizens read and discussed
interminably the exploits of their heroes, the plots
and insults of their adversaries, and the inter-
national reaction to their team. When Brazil
clinched the title with a convincing 4-1 victory
over Italy, they poured into the streets with joy,
enthusiasm, and firecVackers, from Belem in the
North to Porto Alegre in the South. Many cities
came to a standstill far two days, and in Rio de
Janeiro,, when the conquering heroes disembarked
at Galeao Airport and made their way through the
streets, a rare off-season carnaval was proclaimed
to celebrate.
An observer who d :als with Brazilian economics
and politics may feel :himself in contact with issues
relevant to history, but he who neglects futebol
overlooks what is important for the Brazilian
people. The average Brazilian, who does not
understand the complexities of his country's
economic and social problems and ignores his
political leaders, is far More interested in his
futebol team. He knows intimately the playing
styles and personal lives of stars like Pele, Gerson,
July 1970
Tostao, and Jairzinho. For weeks after the tourna-
ment, he joined others to crowd around store
windows and stare silently and admiringly at the
pictures of the national heroes exhibited there.
Americans are usually brought up to regard
futebol as a somewhat boring "minor" sport and
do not understand the mania it excites in many
Latin American and European countries. (A month
before the futebol tournament, Brazil's basketball
team finished second in a world competition in
Belgrade, but this fact attracted scant attention
amid the preoccupation over the training problems
of the futebol team.) When played poorly, futebol
is painful to follow, and this partly accounts for
the emotion and wrath of the fans; but when
played well, which is difficult and uncommon, it
demands exceptional speed, endurance, teamwork,
and individual skill. On a lengthy field, with rare
pauses in the game, the players must run con-
stantly back and forth. The large ball, which can be
propelled by the feet or head, is easily intercepted,
and this can only be avoided by speed, accuracy in
passing, team coordination, and deception. Each
encounter between attacker and defenseman be-
comes an all-out struggle for the ball which may
lead to contact and violence. The referee decides
the narrow line between sportsmanlike effort and
intent to injure, and fans who disagree may resort
to fighting anyone who gets in their way. Though
the players' inability to use their hands diminishes
control over the ball, the freedom of their hands
adds to their speed, balance, and deception. Scores
are low, and a clever goal or gross misplay is often
decisive and clearly visible to all the spectators.
Rarely do more blunt or brutal public insults fall
on anyone than those on a hapless player who has
had a bad day.
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In Brazil, futebol is more than a sport and
lucrative occupation for the players and numerous
hangers-on. It is even more than a psychological
experience by which individuals detach themselves
from their unexciting lives to participate collec-
tively in the thrill of victory, to share the prestige
of the nation, or to identify mystically with the
players. Futebol serves clear social functions in a
large and potentially powerful country that suffers
from national disorientation, confusion about its
image, and the pangs of overcoming underdevelop-
ment.
Brazil did not always have its present stature in
international futebol. Although it is the only
country to participate in all eight tournaments
which have been held every four years since 1932
(except during World War II), it was not until 1950
that Brazil reached the finals. Heavily favored and
playing before a home crowd in Rio de Janeiro,
Brazil was upset by Uruguay 2-1 in what is still
regarded as a national disaster.
Brazilian supremacy really began in the 1958
championship in Stockholm and coincided with
the entrance into the third game, against Russia, of
a seventeen-year-old substitute, Pete'. In the subse-
quent three games, Pete gave an exhibition that
foreshadowed his career as the greatest player the
sport has ever produced and the Brazilian who is
best known within his country and abroad. In a
stubborn defensive contest against Wales, he scored
the only goal; in the semi-finals against France, he
made three; and in the final against Sweden, he
marked two. This first futebol title put the stamp
on Brazil's surge toward national and international
significance, during an epoch of pride associated
with the nationalistic government of President
Juscelino Kubitschek, the construction of a new
capital, and the implantation of heavy industry.
Pete' has continued for twelve years as the
supreme symbol of Brazilian futebol. Born as
Edson Arantes do Nascimento in a small city in
Minas Gerais, he was "discovered" at sixteen
playing in Bauru, deep in the interior of Sao Paulo
State, and hired by Santos, one of the giant teams
of Paulista futebol. In the multiterminological
racial classification of Brazil, Pete' is a preto
(Black), but because of his attainments is politely
described as a moreno (mulatto) or escurinho (dark
mulatto). The name Pele, along with other nick-
names like The Black Pearl and Negao, refer to his
color, but his title, The King, defines his standing
in international futebol as the only player ever to
sLtae over a thousand goals professionally. Pete' has
always been a model of simplicity and social
responsibility, even though he is now a millionaire.
Modest, friendly, devoutly Catholic, and attached
to his wife and child, he can always be counted on
to visit an orphanage or sign an autograph.
In 1962 Brazil again won the title in Santiago,
Chile. In the first game, against Mexico, Pete scored
a goal and made a perfect assist in a 2-0 victory. In
the second game, however, a 0-0 tie with Czecho-
slovakia, PeI6 was injured and did not play again in
the tournament. Other Brazilian aces took up the
slack and crunched through Spain, England, and
Chile before defeating Czechoslovakia in the final,
3-1. Winner of two straight world championships,
Brazil could now claim pre-eminence not only for
its players, but for its style, which emphasizes
attack and innovation. Even though the country
was going through hard times-increasing inflation,
a slowdown in economic growth, political polar-
ization, strikes, inept presidential leadership, and
an Army anxious to take over-these had sec-
ondary significance for the average Brazilian to the
premier ranking of the nation's futebol team.
Brazil's standing did not last long. In Europe,
led by England, a new concept of "scientific"futebol began to dominate, based on defense,
conditioning, and team discipline rather than im-
provisation and individual brilliance. The scoreless
tie and 1-0 games became more common. Brazil
arrived as world champion for the competition in
England in 1966, but was ignominiously eliminated
by Hungary and Portugal. Not only was Pete
injured once again, but the Brazilian performance
was handicapped by inept defense, lack of coordin-
ation, and poor conditioning. The team never got
on the track, and Brazilians had to look on while
England's clever defense overcame Germany for
the title. After the loss to Portugal, Brazilians cried
in the streets, and the coach prudently decided to
take a long vacation in Italy before returning
home. From the role of champion Brazil fell to the
level of an also-ran that was no longer regarded as a
serious contender. Its style of futebol was now
considered quaintly out-of-date, as not only the
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Europeans but Latin Americans like Uruguay (also
with a proud futebol tradition) rushed to imitate
the English.
The preparation for 1970! was even less auspi-
cious. After the disaster in England, the public
(and the government) expected a turnover. To save
himself, Joao Havelange, czar of the Brazilian
Sports Commission, -,ppointed a new technical
committee for futebol and dusted off a former
coach, Aimore Moreira, who had led the Brazilians
to victory in 1962. Throughout 1967 and 1968
Moreira worked with the team, producing mixed
results. Despite some wins, the team lost to some
unimpressive opposition, and in December 1968,
after ties with Germany and Yugoslavia, Moreira
and his technical committee were fired.
The next coach, Joao Saldanha, was a complete
surprise. A professional radio, television, and news-
paper commentator specializing in futebol,
Saldanha had coached only one year (winning the
Guanabara title for the lotafogo Club). Since
hostile journalists had played a major role in the
criticism and lack of confidence in the team, it was
expected that the intelligent and articulate
Saldanha would be able to counteract them. The
professional coaches, however, looked on Saldanha
as an interloper, and the newspapers of Sao Paulo
did not view kindly the selection of a Carioca.
Saldanha lasted a -gull year, during which Brazil
swept triumphantly through the elimination, scor-
ing twenty-three goals and allowing only two
against the pushover- teams of Colombia, Vene-
zuela, and Paraguay. As the World Cup scheduled
for Mexico City drew near, things became worse.
F'utebol is so important to Brazilian national
prestige that it provokes; conflicts more serious
than those of politics in other countries. The
rivalry among the magnates of futebol (called
cartolas-top hats) was reflected in pressures on the
team. The four chief centers of Brazilian profes-
sional futebol-Sao Paula, Rio de Janeiro, Belo
Horizonte, and Porto Alegre--complained of dis-
crimination in the selection of players. The news-
papers never let up in their criticism of the
antiquated playing style of the team, the mistakes
of the players, their disorganization and lack of
physical preparation. Tost"o, who had been the
leading scorer in the eliminations, suffered an eye
injury, underwent an operation in the United
States, and was feared unavailable. Pele' was not
playing well, and it was charged that he was past
his prime and should not even be placed on the
national selection. Tension increased in a series of
undistinguished contests that were billed as pre-
liminaries to the tournament. Neither the attack
nor the defense was functioning effectively, and a
loss to Argentina, which had not survived the
eliminations, augured disaster in Mexico City.
Finally Saldanha cracked. He appeared one day
waving a pistol and hunting for Yustrich, coach of
Rio's Flamengo Club and one of his most contemp-
tuous critics. The Brazilian Sports Commission,
doubting that Saldanha had the emotional stability
to survive further heckling, replaced him less than
three months before the departure for Mexico
City.
The new choice was thirty-eight-year-old Mario
Lbbo Jorge Zagalo, coach of Rio's Botafogo Club,
in what was regarded by most experts as a poor
decision. He lacked experience for the awesome
responsibility of upholding national dignity; he
knew little about the European styles he would
have to face; and worst of all, he was considered
stubborn and inflexible, an advocate of the 4-4-3
formation that had won for Brazil in 1958 and
1962, but was now sneeringly regarded as out-
moded. With only a few weeks to prepare a team
that had shown no signs of championship calibre,
Zagalo was widely discounted. Two unimpressive
wins over Chile and ties with weak Paraguay and
Bulgaria confirmed the worst apprehensions, and
Zagalo's lack of flexibility seemed verified when he
announced that Tostao would not be on the first
team since he played the same position as Pele.
Critics predicted that Brazil would not win a single
game in Mexico City, and intelligent gamblers put
their money on England, Germany, and Italy.
Zagalo had only one thing going for him-he
was regarded as legendarily lucky. Small and slow
as a player, he had nevertheless been a standout on
the championship teams of 19:58 and 1962. As
coach of Botafogo, he used an old-fashioned,
formation, but he won two straight titles in the
tough Guanabara League. For the common Brazil.?
ian, whose religious and metaphysical views begin
with a belief in spirits, Zagalo's success could only
be explained as a supernatural power watching over
him. And this was more important than anything
else.
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Zagalo also responded to the problems. He
modified his style, teaching the defensemen to
move up when the team was attacking, and his
forwards to drop back for defense. He discovered
that Tost"ao, the most intellectual of his players,
was highly adaptable and could play alongside Pele
in a different position. Recognizing that defense
was the team's weakness, he shuffled players in and
out until he found a combination that would at
least hold the line while the attack scored goals,
and as goalie he chose the little-regarded Felix
because he had experience. Perhaps most impor-
tant, he made the players run more than they ever
had in their lives, so that they reached a peak of
conditioning just as they departed for Mexico.
The 1970 triumph was the most impressive of
all. Brazil defeated the best Eastern Europe had to
offer? Czechoslovakia and Romania, and defending
champion, England, to qualify for the quarter-
finals. Looking stronger as it went along, the team
eliminated Peru, 4-2, and Uruguay, 3-1, before
overwhelming Italy in the final game. Every oppo-
nent boasted that it would defeat Brazil by
penetrating its defense. The defense did indeed
look inept at times (for example, Italy scored its
goal into an empty net, the goalie having been
sucked a good fifteen feet out to cover the mistake
of a defenseman), but it benefited from Brazil's
constant control of the ball and attack. Senti-
mental Brazilians felt their hearts swell as their
team conquered the fans by their clean play,
modesty, and friendliness. The front four estab-
lished itself not only as the world's best attack, but
in the view of many observers has saved futebol
from the tedium of defensive playing by turning
the tide in favor of offensive tactics. The goals in
the final game were scored by all the right players:
Pele' and mid-fielder Gerson, whose age will prob-
ably preclude them from playing in another World
Cup; Carlos Alberto, the team captain; and
Jairzinho, the twenty-five-year-old surprise whose
seven goals in the series suggest that he may
succeed Pele as Brazil's outstanding star. Pele
himself scored only four goals in the six games, but
was unanimously chosen the best player in the
tourney, as his experience, determination to win,
and deceptive passes to his teammates made him
the pivot of the Brazilian attack. Whereas the
defeat of 1966 seemed to have relegated 1958 and
1962 to past history, with the future to be
dominated by England and other defensive teams,
one can now argue that 1966 was an interlude in a
Brazilian traditon of futebol that has dominated
the sport for fifteen years.
Futebol in Brazil helps bolster myths that
contribute to national unity and self-definition. All
societies create interpretations of what they are,
what distinguishes them from other peoples, why
they are significant. In this process they often
resort to exaltation of traditions and characteristics
that are partly mythological or to symbols with
which the citizenry only imperfectly identifies.
Futebol helps gloss over such myths as the follow-
ing: (1) Brazil is a nation unified by an effective set
of political symbols. (2) It is a mixed society which
provides equal opportunity for all races, including
Blacks. (3) Through economic development the
standard of living of Brazilians is becoming better.
Just as in much of its history, Brazilian political
unity today is extremely fragile. In the colonial
period, the Empire in the nineteenth century, and
the so-called First Republic (1890-1930), the
Portuguese crown, the Emperor, and a lackluster
series of elected presidents could not hide the
regionalism that made of each state an entity in
itself, separated from the others by lack of internal
communication. The Vargas dictatorship
(1930-1945) coincided with a movement toward
unity, molding a genuine nation for the first time.
In literature, music, and popular culture, thought-
ful Brazilians began to express themselves in ways
that were distinctive and no longer imported from
Europe, or more recently, the United States.
Beginning in the 1950's and continuing until
today, Brazil has reached an industrial level which
suggests that in time it may achieve an economic
autonomy commensurate with its vast size.
If regionalism helped undermine political unity
in the past, the present problem is indifference and
lack of a popular sense of identification with the
government. The military dictatorship that has
governed Brazil since 1964 maintains a facade of
national unity by paternalism and force with little
popularity. The three military presidents,
Humberto Castelo Branco, Arthur da Costa e Silva,
and Emilio Garrastazu Medici, all projected an
image of severity and authority that had little
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appeal to the average Brazilian. By eliminating or
weakening popular electoral processes and inter-
mediate organizations, the government has created
a vacuum between itself and the people. Few
Brazilians pay attention to the federal government,
located as it is in the far-off city of Brasilia, and
many do not know th,,- name of their president.
When asked to cite what is significant about their
country, Brazilians often point to its size, the
beauty and modernity of cities like Rio de Janeiro,
music, racial tolerance, the beauty of their women,
or the amiable Brazilian personality. Rarely do
they express pride in their political institutions.
They know, if they are educated, that many of
their outstanding citizens live abroad as enforced
or voluntary exiles, that much of the publicity
outside concerns torture of political prisoners, and
that a well-organized urban resistance movement is
active robbing banks and kidnapping foreign diplo-
mats.
The government recognizes this problem, but in
a heavy-handed military way tries to solve it by
counterproductive mea>ures. A course in "civic and
moral education" which is required on all school
levels, even university, is so trivial and boring in its
orientation that any thoughtful pupil would be-
come less patriotic from enduring it. Military
parades to commemorate historical holidays, such
as the intervention of April 1, 1964, are quietly
ignored by the citizens. Reiterated claims by high
officials that the government is "revolutionary,"
"democratic," and "constitutional," reveal by their
frantic insistence how questionable these terms are
when applied to the present Brazilian political
situation.
Political leaders have not hesitated to capitalize
on futebol power. General Medici, an austere and
somber professional soldier who was practically
unknown when military leaders circumvented the
constitution to name him president, aroused the
first signs of genuine popular interest in himself
when he proclaimed himself an ardent fan of
futebol, and especially of one player, Dario (who
spent the tournament on the bench). The arrival of
the winning team in Brasilia brought out a crowd
which was unprecedented for a presidential recep-
tion. Cabinet officials went to great efforts to be
photographed with futebol players in the hope that
some of the popularity would transfer itself.
President Medici unquestionably was thinking of
applying the enthusiasm for futebol to other
sectors of national life when he congratulated the
team in the following words:
I identify, in the victory conquered in
this fraternal sports dispute, the existence
of principles with which we must arm
ourselves for the struggle in favor of
national development. I identify in the
success of our futebol team the victory of
unity and the coordination of forces, the
victory of intelligence and bravery, of
confidence and humility, of constancy and
serenity, of technical capacity, of physical
preparation, and moral consistency. But it
is necessary to say, above all, that our
players won because they knew how to
have a harmonious team in which, higher
than individual genius, the collective will
was affirmed.
The current futebol success has promoted a
pride in being Brazilian and a unifying symbol
without precedent. E,ren the lower classes of the
cities, thanks to television, felt a sense of partici-
pating in something representing national life.
They know that Brazil is now internationally
significant, not necessarily for reasons of interest
to the scholar or public figure, but of importance
to the common man. It is estimated that over 700
million soccer fans throughout the world watched
Brazil defeat England and Italy. The Englishman in
his pub, the French worker, the German with a
Volkswagen all know that Brazil is not just another
large "tropical country," but the homeland of the
world's best futebol and a legend named Pele.
As a vehicle of national prestige without equal and
a catalyst of popular support, futebol has political
power which Brazil's leaders hope to use for
achieving a sense of unity and participation which
is presently lacking.
The second myth which futebol helps validate is
that of equal opportunity for all races. Brazilians
often point to themselves as having created the
most nearly perfect racial democracy in the world,
a country which has mixed White, Black, Indian,
and Oriental without rancor and discrimination.
Perceptive analysts like Florestan Fernandes and.
Charles Wagley have pointed out the flaws in this
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image. Brazil does have an easy-going acceptance of
different races, visible friendships, respect for the
educated Black, and extensive interracial courtship
and marriage. But as former slaves in a country
with restricted social mobility and at least half the
population functional illiterates, Blacks occupy a
disproportionate role in such low-prestige occupa-
tions as sugar-cane workers, common laborers,
maids, and as dwellers in urban slums. A recent
article in the Jornal do Brasil, based on interviews
with a major Rio employment agency, confirms
what anyone who looks beneath the surface well
knows, that "racial prejudice is the principal factor
[in employment], and it exists on a large scale
presently because there is a large supply of
applicants. It always happens that, between a Black
and a White, with the same professional qualifi-
cations, the firms always choose the White." Far
less than the United States has BraziLprovided the
descendents of slaves with opportunities to over-
come their economic and educational handicap.
Power is overwhelmingly in the hands of the
Whites, and the total number of Black university
graduates is estimated at a few thousand in a
country of nearly 100 million. The Brazilian
national consciousness is permeated by the assump-
tion that Caucasian characteristics are attractive
and Negroid characteristics unattractive. Popular
culture exalts the beauty and charm of the morena,
but beauty queens are consistently White, often
blonde, and a Black female model almost un-
known.
Futebol, however, provides the clearest proof of
the myth. Even though it is very difficult for the
poor and relatively uneducated Black to improve
his status by working within the system, through
futebol he can acquire both wealth and fame.
Every humble child in Brazil with a flair for
futebol hopes that he can make the leap from
misery to affluence by becoming a star. In June of
1970, prosperous and powerful Brazilians were
screaming hysterically for Blacks from poor back-
grounds, like Pele', Paulo Cesar, and Evaraldo, and
light-colored mulattos like Carlos Alberto and
Jairzin;ho. In fact, they would have been flattered
to shake their hands. Brazil's racially mixed team
which was observed by millions of spectators, the
ascendance of Black stars in futebol, and the
popular idolatry surrounding them nourish the
myth and obscure for the average Brazilian the
tough reality of racial discrimination. And this is
more comforting and easier than providing educa-
tional facilities and decent jobs, or expunging from
the national consciousness the bias for Caucasian
characteristics.
A final social function that futebol seems to
serve is enabling the poor to forget partially the
harshness of their life amid the optimistic aura of
development. In the past two years, Brazil has
begun to repeat the phenomenal economic growth
records of the 1950's-in 1969, for example, the
Gross National Product increased 9 per cent, one
of the highest figures of any country. On the
public level and among businessmen one finds a
new attitude of confidence that Brazil's population
and economic growth will project it by the year
2000 into a position among the "giants," but this
picture of development appears different to the
masses.
Development has actually led to a reduction of
the standard of living in the poorer sectors of the
population. The austerity measures undertaken by
the government to check inflation since 1964 have
fallen heavily upon them. For example, between
1966 and 1969, the cost of living increased 117 per
cent, while the minimum salary, and predominant
workers' wage, increased only 86 per cent. In
effect, real wages declined, and this in a country,
which, according to a study by the Economic
Commission for Latin America of the United
Nations, has the most inequitable distribution of
income in Latin America. Even in regions of special
emphasis on industrialization and creation of em-
ployment, such as the Northeast, progress com-
bined with inflation has reduced the percentage of
participation among the lower income categories in
the total product. The Bank of the Northeast
recently published a study showing that in the
cities of that region, income had become even
more concentrated in the past decade. In Recife,
for example, the recipient of most Northeastern
industrial investment, the upper 20 per cent of the
population in 1960 received 47.1 per cent of the
income, while the lower 40 per cent received 16.5
per cent. In 1969, the share of the upper 20 per
cent had increased to 56.4 per cent, while the
lower 40 per cent was reduced to 11.5 per cent.
CONTINUED
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This inequity is not new, and observers have
often noted the capacity of the Brazilian lower
classes to maintain a charm and tolerance amid
their poverty. Carnaval, a four-day long outburst of
dancing, music, costumes, and parades, and passion
over futebol are usually cited as "safety valves" for
releasing popular tensions.
With the victory in Mexico, an even more
intense popular interest in futebol may be ex-
pected. Sitting in his bleacher seat or listening to
his transistor radio, the worker lives in another
world and can forget that in the midst of develop-
ment his life is hard and his salary, if he has a
regular one, scarcely provides for his family.
Underneath he knows that ' he is watching the
world's best futebol and that the players are
himself. Later in a bar with his friends he can
discuss the high points of the game and the
accomplishments of his favorite players. Because
he finds in futebol meaning and orientation,
society can go on developing: more highways,
electrical power, university cities, automobiles,
color TV, computers.
Not all Brazilians have this consolation, how-
ever. It is often said that Brazil has ninety-five
million fans (the entirepopulation of the country).
The nation's number one fan discovered that this
was still another myth. Visiting the interior of the
Northeast, devastated by one of its periodic
droughts, President Medici asked a group of peas-
ants who Pele was. Only one of the men knew, and
when asked what position' he played, replied:
"Goalie."
THOMAS G. SANDERS,
who reports on several coun-
tries of Latin America, was
formerly an Associate Profes-
sor of Religious Studies at
Brown University. He re-
ceived his A.B. in history from
Duke University in 1952, and
after studies at Union Theo-
logical Seminary in New York and the University of
Copenhagen (as a Fulbright Scholar), he received
his Ph.D. in religion from Columbia University in
1958. Dr. Sanders is the author of Protestant Concepts
of Church and State and numerous articles on church-
state theory and problems, and he contributed a chap-
ter on Brazil to Churches and States: The Religious
Institution and Modernization. In 1966 he became a
Fellow of the Institute for Current World Affairs to
work on various aspects of the relationship between
Catholicism and development in Latin America. For
the Field Staff he writes principally on Chile, Brazil
and Colombia.
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World Affairs/September 1969
THE FRUSTRATION OF
NATIONAL POWER
By WALTER F. HAHN
N oT long after the installation of the Nixon Administration, the story
made the rounds in Washington of the encounter between a
highly-placed member of the New Team and a predecessor in the
same sensitive job two administrations removed. They compared notes
and they argued. The new appointee had the last word. "After all," he
asserted, "our situations are different: for the first time, we are forced
to construct a foreign policy for the United States."
The new policy-maker was not simply trying to score a debating point.
The full interpretation of his remark runs something like this: "In past
years, the United States did not really have to chart a comprehensive and
logically consistent approach to world affairs. Relying, rightly or wrong-
ly, on its massive and largely unchallenged power, it took the luxury of
asserting and of reacting to global events. But today the situation is
changed. We can no longer rely on sheer power. We must shape
meaningful foreign policy."
What the policy-maker was endeavoring to articulate reflects in a
significant way upon the central dilemma of our times-a dilemma which
bedevils our policies and underlies in good measure the mood of con-
fusion and somber frustration with which the United States is entering
the 1970s.
The manifestations of the dilemma are clear. Here is the United States
by all yardsticks the most powerful nation in world history, frustrated in
Asia in a conflict with a small country, North Vietnam, which in many
ways has not even made the turn into the modern industrial age. Here we
are in the North Pacific, suffering such mosquito stings as the capture of
an intelligence ship and the downing of an American plane without even
slapping at the mosquito. Here we are in Europe, unable to maintain
cohesion with our closest allies. Here we are in our own hemisphere,
frustrated for almost a decade in trying to cope with an adversary on a
tiny island nation 90 miles from our shores. Enough said: if a master of
old-time power politics, like the 19th Century German Chancellor Otto
von Bismarck, were to return to earth today and witness the spectacle,
quite probably he would shake his head in total disbelief.
Not only has preponderance of power failed to contribute to its
wielders political control, but it has not braked the frequency of
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old-fashioned warfare. In fact, the case can be made that the pace of
conflict is accelerating. In a new edition of his book, Limited War and
American Dc f ense Policy, Seymour Deitschman catalogues 32 limited wars
(including civil conflicts) that were waged between 1945 and 1964. By
conservative calculation, one can add nine more to that list since 1964,
making a tptal of 41. Moreover, the ferocity of conflict seems to be
increasing as well: witness Vietnam and the Arab-Israeli war of 1968. A
particularly depressing fact about this list of 41 conflicts is that all but
four have flared in the Free World: the notable exceptions are the
Hungarian revolt of 1956, the Tibetan rebellion of 1959, the Warsaw Pact
invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968, and the Soviet-Chinese border war of
more recent vintage.
Measured by this catalogue, the dilemma has victimized primarily the
United States in pursuit of its global interests. This is not to say, however,
that the Soviets have escaped unscathed. The mountains of megatons in
the Soviet Union did not prevent communist China from bolting the
Soviet embrace, challenging Moscow's preeminence in the world Com-
munist movement, and actually engaging Soviet military force in border
skirmishes. In August 1968, the Soviets moved brutally in Czechoslova-
kia when they deemed their vital interests at stake, yet the mountains
of megatons in the Soviet Union had not prevented the ideological
challenge in Prague from arising in the first place. According to all
evidence, massive Soviet power has not exacted loyalty from the commu-
nist leadership in Rumania. Nor, for that matter, have Soviet megatons
prevented some setbacks in Soviet policy outside the communist world:
in Iraq in 1963, in Indonesia, in Guinea, and more recently in the abject
defeat of the Soviet Union's Arab clients in the 1967 Arab-Israeli war.
The vleasurement of Power
W,,- face, thus, a phenomenon which might be described as the
"paradox of power in the nuclear age." But before we grapple with this
phenomenon, it is essential first to describe the concept of national power
itself.
A common and persuasive definition of national power is "the degree
of influence which a country is able to bring to bear in the international
arena in pursuit of its objectives." If one accepts this definition, one
quickly comes face-to-face with an obvious qualification-namely, that
national power is not an absolute phenomenon, but a very relative one.
Consider the simple analogy of the man who buys an automobile which
boasts a 300-horsepower engine and a top speed of 150 miles per hour.
Unless he enters the Indianapolis 500 race, he is not likely ever to
experience :the thrill of getting his full power's worth. He has to observe
speed limits and he has to weave his way through traffic in order to avoid
collision.
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In international relations, there are no enforced speed limits, nor for
that matter are there other clearly defined traffic laws. There is a vague
body of rules under the heading of international law, but even the most
dedicated international lawyer will confess that international law resem-
bles, at this stage of global evolution, more an Emily Post code of
international etiquette than a compelling order of conduct. Yet, even if
there are few, if any, enforced traffic rules in international relations, there
is a traffic problem. And as has happened on our congested streets and
highways, the traffic problem in international relations has become
horrendous. More vehicles are o.. the road in the form of a proliferation
of new and unstable countries. The rate of collisions seems to be
increasing. More important, the potential cost of collision has soared to
the point where safety measures have become urgent.
In any event, if national power is, in essence, the degree of relative
influence exerted (or exertable) in the competitive arena of international
relations, how is it measurable? In bygone days, the problem was
simplified by the implicit measurement of national power in terms of
military power. After all, a nation's war making capacity represented the
ultimate expression of influence which a nation could wield on the
international stage-it was, and remains, the "punch line" of power.
Military power could be conveniently measured in terms of men under
arms, seaborne armadas, tanks, guns, and planes. Moreover, military
power, supported as it was by a nation's "mobilization base," was a
reasonable mirror of the relative strength or weakness of a given society.
Thus, the standard sources of national power listed in textbooks on
international relations-sources such as the size of a nation, geographical
location, possession of national resources, and population-invariably are
treated in the context of their contribution to a nation's war-making
capability.
The measurement, however, is no longer so convenient or relevant.
Two developments have taken their toll. First the stampede of technolo-
gy has altered some of the traditional criteria of power, downgrading
some and elevating others. And more specifically, the advent of nuclear
weapons has distorted, at least subjectively, the relationship between real
power and its military "punch line."
The Impact of the Technological Revolution
The impact of the revolution in technology upon the traditional
yardsticks of national power has been real, but to some extent it has been
exaggerated. Consider, for example, the factor of the physical endow-
ments of a nation: its size and its geographical location.
Physical mass has always been a salient element of power. Thus, Russia
in modern times owes its survival, let alone its status of superpower, to
sheer size: it was often invaded and defeated in battle but never
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conquered. The armies of Napoleon and Hitler sliced deeply into the
Russian land mass. But eventually exhausted, frozen and cut off from
supply lines, they had to give up the game and to beat a bloody retreat.
Nuclear warfare has discounted to some extent the value of old-
fashioned invading armies-at least in the confrontation between .the two
superpowers. At the same time, however, intercontinental ballistic mis-
siles can conquer the sp "e that was previously denied to marching
legions. American missiles can reach any target in the Soviet Union, and
Soviet projectiles can span the North American continent.
Yat, eve} in the age of devastating intercontinental warfare, size and
space have not lost their meaning. Its new vulnerability notwithstanding,
a spacious country like the United States or the Soviet Union could
conceivably disperse its population and resources in order to survive and
grope back from a nuclear attack. It could conceivably devise an anti-
missile acense for this purpose. Assumptions regarding nuclear survival
are admittedly debatable, and neither the United States nor the Soviet
Union is likely to focus strategy upon these assumptions. The point is,
nevertheless, that the two superpowers, by dint of spaciousness, can
speculate about their chances of surviving a nuclear holocaust; the more
diminutive, more densely populated countries cannot.
Physical size thus continues to cast its weight upon the scales of
national power. More important, size relates even more meaningfully
today to economic and technological predominance. It is no accident of
history that two of the most sizeable nations in the world, the United
States and the Soviet Union, became the world's first two superpowers,
and that another massive country, Communist China, is beginning to
make; its weight felt. Increasingly in modern competition, first-rate
technology means technology of scale-the command over vast resources
and manpower. The demands of scale technology explain why some of
the more technologically proficient countries in the world, such as the
nations of Western Europe, have reached the agonizing conclusion that
they cannot in the longer run compete by relying on their own national
resources, prodigious though these may seem by momentary standards.
Acting upon this conclusion, they have taken the first tentative steps to
merge their respective capabilities into continental combines. Their
cone. usion may be rewarded in the long run. In the more foreseeable
future, however, the outcome of the race seems, according to qualified
prognosticators, to be predetermined. The dizzying pace of the technolog-
ical revolution is such that it has assumed its own momentum. If
anything, the gap between the front-runners in the technological race
and their challengers is likely to widen. In terms of overall technological
supremacy, the positions of thetwo superpowers are quite secure.
In addition to sheer size as a criterion of national power, there is the
connected factor of geographical "situation," relating to a country's
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location and to other dimensions of nature's blessings. To what extent
have these been revolutio;:;zed by events and by technology?
Before the advent of the nuclear age, the factor of geography loomed
large among analysts trying to fathom the reasons for national success or
failure. Indeed, during the first half of the 20th Century, geography
became almost a preoccupation, giving rise to the pseudo-science of
geopolitics. The founder of geopolitics, Sir Halford Mackinder, at the
turn of the century originated the "heartland" concept of global power
politics. Mackinder's "heartland" embraced the territory in which most of
history ostensibly had been made: the Eurasian land mass from the Volga
to the Yangtze, and from the Himalayas to the Arctic Ocean. Beyond this
"heartland" (covering primarily the territory then governed by Russia),
Mackinder saw a larger "world island" composed of the continents of
Europe, Asia, and Africa. In terms of power, this world island was the
pivot around which the rest of the earth's political surface revolved.
Mackinder capsuled his concept in his famous formula: "Who rules East
Europe commands the heartland; who rules the heartland commands the
world island; who rules the world island commands the world." The
concept to a large extent shaped history: it is prominently credited with
influencing the strategy of Adolf Hitler and his advisers, particularly his
fateful decision to invade the Soviet Union.
The theory of geopolitics clearly was illusory-or what Professor Hans
Morgenthau terms the "single-factor fallacy," the abortive attempt to
attribute national power to a sole source. Exaggerated or not, however,
geographical location was a crucial factor in the power politics of the
world before 1945. In the days when everything hinged on the thrust of
armies, a country's success or failure depended on whether it enjoyed the
natural protection of mountain ranges or ocean moats. Spain dominated a
good part of the world centuries ago because it operated from a relatively
secure base in the southwestern peninsula of Europe, protected by the
Pyrenees. Great Britain became a world power largely because the
English Channel secured it from attack from the continent. The United
States could develop its robust power because no adversary could dream
of crossing 3,000 miles of Atlantic Ocean or 5,000 miles of Pacific waters.
Technology obviously has changed this picture drastically. Long-range
weaponry, sophisticated means of airlift and sealift, modern logistics and
instant communications have shrunken the world. Mountains and oceans
no longer assure protection. Nevertheless, geography still asserts its
influence.
In some cases, that influence continues to be real. The abiding
insecurity of the European members of NATO is a case in point. The
' 1;anners of the Alliance have been bedevilled by the inescapable fact
that the geography of Western Europe renders a defense in depth
extremely difficult against potential invading armies from the east. At
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one point the distance between the Iron Curtain and the Rhine is a mere
90 or so miles. In the event of conflict and assuming an initial break-
through of communist forces, where between the Rhine and the English
Channel would NATO forces regroup in order to muster a second line of
defense? It is this palpable prospect which has made Europeans, espe-
cially West. Germans, abidingly nervous regarding American notions of a
conventional or "flexible" defense of Western Europe.
n other cases, while geography has lost its cutting edge, it nevertheless
continues to condition national outlook and policy. Consider the example
of the Soviet Union. The leaders of the Kremlin, in their wildest
nightmares, should not really expect a massive NATO army of invasion,
let alone a new German army, sweeping across the European plain into
Russia. Nevertheless, the Soviets still seem to be impelled by this fear,
which strongly influences their policies in Eastern Europe.
Consider another example: Great Britain. Only 22 miles of Channel or
a few minutes' flying time separate the British Isles from the European
continent, but psychologically the distance might as well be a thousand
miles. Great Britain is just now trying to decide whether politically or
economically she will "join Europe." In the meantime, when an English-
mart takes off on a holiday to Paris, he still announces to his friends that
he is "going to Europe."
Even if national attitudes and policies have not kept pace with the
technologi=cal revolution, therefore, the impact of that revolution upon
power relationships on the international stage has been profound. The
impact, however, does not in itself explain the paradox of power. If
anything, as we have seen, the thrust of technology not only has created
the phenomenon of superpower, but it is constantly widening the gap
between the have and have-not nations. Technology in itself does not
explain why, in an age of superpowers, that power appears to be
increasingly untranslatable into the ability to control, let alone to domi-
nate. It does not explain why, with all of its massive power, the United
States seems incapable of coping with tiny North Vietnam. Nor does it
explain why the Soviet Union has difficulty in grappling with the
problems of Eastern Europe or with the challenge of Communist China.
One obvious reason for the paradox is the standoff between the two
superpowers. In the poker game of international power politics, the
principal players have become understandably cautious. The reason is
clear: under the shadow of the mushroom cloud, the dimensions of bluff
and of "gamesmanship" more generally have narrowed. The destructive
power available to the two superpowers, and the diversity of that power
have become so enormous that the small, calculated risk has become
monstrous in its implications.
Not only has the arena of direct competition between the two
superpowers become constrained, but the general terrain has become
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increasingly dangerous. Mention was made earlier of the fact that nuclear
technology has distorted the relationship between overall national power
and the military expression of that power. The nuclear genie, having
been released from his bottle by the two superpowers, now beckons to
others. He promises a short-cut to disproportionate power and prestige.
France and Communist China have succumbed to that promise, and
other "nuclear threshold nations"-countries like Israel, India, and Japan-
eventually may follow suit. The incentives that are pushing toward the
nuclear option do not necessarily reside in sinister global ambitions or
aspirations for superpower status-although the leadership in Peking may
be swayed by such grandiose goals. Rather, the motives of would-be
nuclear powers focus essentially on perceived requirements of self-
protection and preservation of national identity in an increasingly dan-
gerous world. To that extent, the trend of nuclear proliferation mirrors in
itself the paradox of superpower-the inability of the United States and
the Soviet Union, respectively or mutually, to provide the kinds of solid
pillars of security that would relieve their allies, friends, and clients of the
need to find purely national, and often dangerous, solutions to their
security problems. Thus, if Israel or India should choose the nuclear
route, it will be largely out of despair over superpower protection.
In any event, nuclear proliferation holds out the prospect to the
superpowers that, in moving in an already complex and risk-strewn
world, they will confront increasingly the tripwires of nuclear con-
flagration. Yet, the increase in danger, although ominous, would be
essentially marginal. The tripwires of conflict already are ubiquitous.
Perhaps one of the salient causes of the growing "impotence of power"
in the nuclear age is that, to a large extent, power is no longer taken
seriously. This is so partly because military might has become so
monstrous as to render incredible any notions of its actual use. Thus, the
leaders in Hanoi have been able to steep their strategies against the
United States in Vietnam fairly confidently in the assumption that
American nuclear power will not be unleashed upon them.
At the same time, also, the impact of power is waning because of the
blinders of ideology and emotion. The world today is in the throes of
what has been aptly termed a "systemic revolution." The old regulating
systems of international order, like the chandelier balance and the
colonial empires of the 19th Century, have crumbled and no new
embracive systems have emerged to take their place. In the process, in
broad expanses of the world, new and impatient forces have been
spawned. They are spurred by the revolution of rising expectations, the
convenience of modem communications, by the vulnerabilities of the
industrial societies which they challenge, and not least by the examples of
success. They are in a real sense irrational forces, unmindful and even
contemptuous of existing and predominant power.
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Indeed, the revolutionary momentum of these forces is such that it may
be questioned whether unchallenged power could control them-whether
the United States could cope with them even if the Soviet Union were
suddenly to disappear from the globe. Quite probably our moral scruples-
especially the American conscience steeped in Hiroshima-and our sensi-
tivity to the judgments of history would render the United States even
more constrained in invoking its immense power for political benefit.
The Need for Purposeful Policy
The paradox of power is thus explicable in its major outlines. Yet,
understanding the dilemma does not resolve it, nor does it relieve the
burgeoning frustration in American society. As has been suggested
earlier, the ifrustration is sponsored not least by the growing recognition
that some 24 years of unprecedented American power, combined with
righteous ideals, have not produced the "American age?"-that, indeed,
the rest of the world either is challenging us or turning its back upon us.
We :sense, on the one hand, that in our confrontation with our principal
adversary our massive power may not be enough in the long run. We
sense, on the other hand, that in trying to influence global evolution-and,
indeed, the evolution of our own society-our power may have become to
some extent irrelevant.
Is there no way out of the dilemma? Perhaps in the long (hopefully not
too long) run, the vagaries of power in the nuclear age will confirm an
old but neglected lesson of history. The lesson, simply expressed is this:
Foreign policy is the harnessing of national power to national purpose.
The implements donated by nature and human resourcefulness are
necessary to national power. Yet, power is not a substitute for purpose or
for ;?olicy.
Purpose, moreover, does not spring full-blown from policy-making
wisdom. Especially in democratic systems, purpose expresses the values
of harmonious society. The stark lesson of history is that great civiliza-
tions, empires and nations succumbed not on the battlefield, but because
their dynamism was dimmed by internal conflict and confusion.
Perhaps it was this basic thought which the member of the new
Administration was endeavoring to convey in his remarks regarding the
need to construct a foreign policy for the United States. Not only is power
not a substitute for policy in the nuclear age, but in many ways power is
becoming somewhat irrelevant in the business of winning friends and
influencing people on the international stage. Under the nuclear cloud,
the emphasis increasingly is not so much on what we play the game with,
but on how we play it. And how we play the game will depend not only
on the cogency of American foreign policy, but perhaps more meaning-
fully on our unity of purpose as a society.
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AUFS Reports/April 1970
ROJISMO: THE RESURGENCE OF COLOMBIAN POPULISM
by Thomas G. Sanders
April 1970
"It is easy for a prosperous, contented oligarchy to assume the existence
of democracy, as long as it averts its gaze from the condition of others. Such
groups develop an easy, unconscious social arrogance that they are the
people. What is good for them is good for the people."'
"Todos los pobres con Rojas" (All the poor with Rojas-a campaign
slogan written on a wall in Colombia)
On April 19, 1970, the citizens of Colombia,
normally one of Latin America's most stable and
predictable countries, cast approximately 39 per
cent of their vote in a four-man race for former
dictator, Gustavo Rojas Pinilla. The elections,
instead of providing an expected easy victory for
Misael Pastrana, candidate of the governing Na-
tional Front, resulted in demonstrations, a state of
seige, and the imposition of a curfew, as Rojas
took an early lead, then succumbed, under protest,
by only 66,000 out of the four million votes cast.
The impressive support for Rojas, which surprised
both Colombian and foreign observers, reflected an
overt protest by dissatisfied groups and may well
permanently reshape Colombia's political climate.
"Rojismo" is an example of what is commonly
called in Latin America "populism"-a political
movement of great, diversity which usually includes
the following characteristics:
(1) A leader who provides a unifying symbol,
such as Argentina's Peron, Brazil's Vargas, Peru's
Haya de la Torre, or the Dominican Republic's
Bosch. In some cases the populist leader comes
from the armed forces and bears the image of a
reformist strong man. Gustavo Rojas Pinilla was
commander-in-chief of the Colombian Armed
Forces when he was thrust into power in 1953
with enthusiastic popular support to counteract
the Fascist tendencies of President Laureano
G6mez. Today at seventy, his blunt and vigorous
oratory makes up for a somewhat tired and
stooped appearance, so that more than any of his
three opponents, he projected a personal, even
charismatic image with which ordinary people
could identify.
(2) Populist movements commonly depend on
the personal attraction of their leader rather than a
coherent social and economic program. Their
"ideology" often consists of disparate and basically
unachievable promises aimed at attracting the
support of as many groups as possible. Just as
critics sneered at Perbn's "Justicialismo" and
Vargas' "Estado N6vo," they criticized Rojas'
platform for ignorance of economics and lack of
coherence. Rojas' claim that he would make the
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Colombia peso (currently worth about 5 cents)
equivalent to the dollar led observers to dismiss
him as demagogic or senile.
(3) Populist movements, on the whole, at-
tempt to build new political coalitions in countries
where power continues largely in the hands of
traditional groups. Colombia's National Front is a
unique political arrangement between two parties,
the Liberals and Conservatives, whose historical
differences over laissezfaire and the church-state
question have become less important than their
common concern for defending the interests of the
country's upper class. The National Front govern-
ments have been accurately described as an at-
tempt by the traditional elites to modernize the
country while avoiding social revolution and main-
taining their hegemony and privileges. It is not
surprising that eventually widespread resentment
should develop against this paternalism and feed on
the failures of the government. While another
candidate, Belisario Betancur, also tried to exploit
this resentment, Rojas was better known and
untainted by cooperation with the National Front.
(A campaign slogan scrawled on walls argued that
"Belisarlo no es el pueblo"-Belisario is not the
people).
The fundamental political base of Rojas came
from the marginal lower class: nonunionized
workers, many of them victims of the country's
serious unemployment problem, and the poorest
class of peasants, who have not benefited from the
agrarian reform. In the Rojista demonstrations in
Bogota following the elections, the mestizo facial
characteristics and shabby sport coats of the
marchers identified them overwhelmingly as lower
class. The electoral results in Bogota also reflected
the sources of Rojista support. The northern part
of the city, which is middle and upper class, voted
heavily for Pastrana, the official candidate. The
south, which is lower class, went for Rojas,
overwhelmingly so in the poorest barrios.
In addition, Rojas attracted many people from
the lower-middle class, whose monthly salaries of
$50 to $150 do not enable them to live in a style
befitting their white-collar status. One such person
with whom I spoke, a camera repairman, explained
in detail how his own desire to study in a
university had been frustrated when his father
died, leaving his mother with inadequate means.
Now with three children of his own for whom he
has similar aspirations, he voted for Rojas as the
only means of breaking the monopoly of the upper
and upper-middle class on the better secondary
schools and universities.
Rojas promised these two groups-the lower and
the lower-middle class-direct assistance in the vital
areas of cost of living, health, and education. He
argued that it was possible to reduce the price of
transportation, industrial goods, and food by grad-
ually nationalizing imports and eliminating the
profits of intermediaries. In his previous adminis-
tration, Rojas had curried the support of the poor
by low-cost housing programs, free education, and
by sending trucks into their neighborhoods with
food and other items to sell at cost. He reminded
his audiences of these programs and proposed
administrative austerity, free education at all levels,
housing without large initial down payments, and
free medical services. Demagoguery perhaps. But
the poor and lower middle class have nothing to
lose because they do not enjoy these benefits at
present.
Rojas also tried to attract the following ele-
ments to his coalition:
(a) Conservatives who have always opposed
the National Front as a dilution of traditional
Conservatism, and who suspected that Pastrana was
linked too intimately with Liberal :President Carlos
Lleras. For this group Rojas emphasized the
"Christian" character of his movement, questioned
the use of birth control for dealing with the
population problem, and offered himself as a
strong military figure rooted in the Conservative
past.
(b) Retired military officers and reservists,
some of whom had served in the Rcjas regime from
1953 to 1957, and who believe that Colombia
should join most of the other South American
countries in giving the armed forces a major role in
government.
(c) Women. Colombia, like: most Latin
American countries, continues by law and custom
to maintain women in a subordinate and some-
times tragic position. Rojas' principal adviser and
spokesman is his daughter, Senator Maria Eugenia
Rojas de Moreno, a symbol of female emancipation
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who repeatedly pointed out that her father first
extended suffrage to women and who circulated
campaign posters featuring herself and her two
children.
(d) The left. Colombia's Communist Party,
which adheres to the nonrevolutionary Moscow
line and seems chiefly interested in electing its
candidates to lower office, urged its followers to
abstain in the presidential elections. Colombia,
however, also has many intellectuals, students, and
some workers who believe in class struggle as the
key interpretive concept of the country's problems
and propose a social and political "revolution" as a
solution. Rojas appealed to this group by calling
his movement "revolutionary," and suggesting that
he would restrict the polders of the "oligarchy,"
restore relations with Cuba, and nationalize the
Bank of the Republic.
Rojas also made extremely strong inroads into
the left wing of the Liberal Party, which, like some
Conservatives, questions the National, Front.
Leading Liberal politicians openly departed from
their party's commitment to Pastrana, throwing
their support to Rojas, not only because they
objected to supporting an establishment Conserv-
ative like Pastrana, but also because they are
populists, inheritors of a tradition in their party
dating back to the nineteen forties and the late
Jorge Eliecer Gaitan.
The attempt to satisfy such a diverse constit-
uency with often contradictory promises con-
tributes to the negative image of Latin American
populists like Rojas. North Americans are often
shocked because populists, use, among other
themes, nationalism with anti-American overtones,
a more "independent" foreign policy, and nation-
alization of foreign-owned property. (In this
respect Rojas must be classed as a moderate. In his
previous government and in his comments during
the recent campaign he adopted a positive attitude
toward the role of foreign capital in development.)
Most frightening for outsiders is the emotional
appeal populists direct toward the lower class,
whose spontaneity and unpredictability contrast
with the elegance and culture of the elites who
own the newspapers, control groups like Colom-
bia's National Front, and have the means to travel
abroad and spread the word about how terrible
populist leaders are.
We cannot understand the strength of Rojismo,
however, without recognizing the failures of
Colombia's recent history. Colombia is usually
considered one of Latin America's most "tradi-
tional" countries precisely because it has not
undergone an extended period of populism,
through which new groups might become awak-
ened and participate more effectively in political,
economic, and social power. In some aspects
Colombia has modernized greatly in recent years.
The National Front has provided twelve years of
stability, thoughtful economic planning, expansion
of industry, and continued attempts to diversify
and increase agricultural production. Colombia's
traditionalism, however, appears most clearly in
the total lack of popular participation in significant
political decisions, despite a facade of democratic
institutions. The relative passivity of the masses
during these years seemed to suggest their content-
ment with National Front policies. In actuality,
before Rojas ran for president in 1970, the
discontented had no clear symbol for asserting
themselves.
The year, 1930, is usually considered a water-
shed in Colombian political and economic history.
It marked the end of a long Conservative monop-
oly on the presidency and the beginning of a series
of Liberals: Enrique Olaya Herrera (1930-1934),
Alfonso Lopez (1934-1938, 1942-1945), and
Eduardo Santos (1938-1942). Lopez especially was
a strong reformer who introduced changes in
education, taxation, land ownership, and church-
state relations, and who promoted labor organ-
ization and social security. The Liberals, who had
traditionally been an anticlerical and pro-laissez-
faire party, became associated with these reforms
and drew on the popular support engendered by
them to replace the Conservatives as Colombia's
dominant political group.
The adoption of reformism in a party led by the
upper class divided the Liberals. One segment
preferred to retrench and stabilize; the other, led
by populist Jorge Eliecer Gaitan, wanted to expand
the reforms. In the elections of 1946, the two
wings presented different candidates, Gabriel
Turbay and Gaitan, and the Conservatives, with
Mariano Ospina Perez, regained the presidency. It
was clear, nevertheless, that the Liberals remained
the largest party, and Gaitan, an eloquent orator
with mass appeal, seemed a sure winner for 1950.
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On April 9, 1948, everything changed when
Gaitan was assassinated on a Bogota street. His
murder kindled a senseless violence which dis-
rupted the nation for a decade and cost the lives of
perhaps 200,000 people. Although Gaitan had
represented reformism and populism, the violence
did not entail significant political options. On the
surface, it pitted Liberal against Conservative,
chiefly in the countryside, but it had the charac-
teristics of feudal rather than ideological strife.
According to Colombia's best-known sociologist,
Orlando Fals-Borda, it was "formless, becoming a
confused expression of predominantly personal
conflicts: an irrational weapon of distorted pol-
itics."' Three Conservative presidents-Mariano
Ospina P6rez, Laureano Gomez, and Roberto
Urdaneta-used the power of their high office to
persecute Liberals systematically and to dismantle
the facade of Columbian democracy. Gdmez was a
great admirer of Francisco Franco and intended to
institute a Catholic corporativist model based on
Fascist Spain and Colombian tradition.
As revulsion against the Gomez policies grew
and the violence continued, the Army, in 1953,
put Rojas into power. It is geperally acknowledged
that he did not seek the post. His credentials as a
military man capable of bringing about order and
his own affirmation that he'', was a Conservative
seemed to suggest his fitness for restoring the
status quo ante the assassination of Gaitan. Rojas
enjoyed the confidence of the Armed Forces, the
establishment-including the Liberals and former
President Ospina Perez-and the masses, who
poured joyfully into the streets when he assumed
office.
Rojas' honeymoon with the establishment was
brief. In his first speech as president he said, "The
Fatherland cannot live in peace while it has
children who are hungry or without clothing," and
to their surprise he began to act like a populist,
appealing to Gaitan's followers and listening to
certain socialist intellectuals. He did not conceal
his distaste for the politicking of the Liberal and
Conservative Parties and restricted their activities.
When Colombia's 100 per cent partisan newspapers
failed to heed his appeal for self-discipline, he shut
down the two major Liberal organs, El Tiempo and
El Espectador, for a time. Although Rojas assumed
the style of a dictator, a perceptive North
American writing at the time pointed out that he
"did not destroy democracy in Colombia, for it
never existed."3
Economically, Rojas followed a policy of open-
ness to private investment and committed the
government to unprecedented public works (espe-
cially roads), established a government petroleum
company, and instituted the TVA-like Cauca
Valley Project. Like many populists he did little to
shake the real economic and social control of the
upper classes. In fact, as high coffee prices pro-
vided a bonanza of foreign exchange, he allowed
them to import large quantities of luxury goods.
But he gained their enmity by increasing taxes in
the upper brackets and on banks and insurance
companies, while taxing for the first time earnings
from stocks and bonds.
It was Rojas' populist measures that provoked
fear among the country's traditional ruling groups
that they might not be able to regain political
power. Alongside paternalistic measures providing
free education and cheap food and housing, he
began to sound like a Peronist as he deliberately
cultivated a base in the non-Catholic labor union
confederation and made plans for a populist-type
political movement to maintain himself in power.
By early 1956, the movement against Rojas
began to gain momentum. The restrictions on civil
liberties (which were actually less severe than those
under Gdmez) and the closing of newspapers
intensified his image as a mere dictator in the
United States, where populists are rarely under-
stood. This negative image was assiduously ferti-
lized by Colombia's upper classes in their frequent
trips abroad. On February 5, 1956, the nation was
shocked by the death of eight people at a bullfight
during riots which were instigated by some of
Rojas' followers, and-it was suspected-by Rojas
himself. The Catholic Church, recently emerged
from a major role in the overthrow of Juan Peron
in Argentina, now interpreted Rojas as a similar
and dangerous phenomenon. The violence which
Rojas had largely pacified by a combination of
amnesty and strong-arm tactics, continued spo-
radically. Most significant, the traditional ruling
groups decided that the populist threat to their
control was more serious than their own political
differences and made peace. In a pact signed in
Spain between the Liberal Alberto Lleras Camargo
and the Conservative leader, Laureano Gomez, it
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was agreed that Rojas must go. On May 10, 1957,
military sympathizers with this plan forced Rojas
out and established a caretaker government until
the traditional parties could agree on a president.
The National Front that emerged provided that
the Liberals and Conservatives would alternate the
presidency, with secondary appointed offices-
governors, mayors, the judiciary, and the public
admiinistration-being divided equally between the
two parties. After considerable negotiation it was
agreed that the Liberal leader, Alberto Lleras
Camargo, would be first president under the new
structure, from 1958 to 1962. He was followed by
Conservative Guillermo Le6n Valencia
(1962-1966) and Liberal Carlos Lleras Restrepo
(1966-1970). The National Front was initially
written into the Constitution for twelve years, then
extendea to sixteen. (The fact that many politi-
cians now favor a further extension obviously
reflects a desire by the privileged parties and classes
to keep power in their hands.) Other parties cannot
compete for the presidency, so that all candidates
in the recent elections, including Rojas, had to be
Conservatives, just as in 1966 they had to be
Liberals.
The National Front has given considerable
stability and surface progress to Colombia. Presi-
dent Alberto Lleras Camargo put an end to
practically all the violence and helped restore the
country's image abroad. The National Planning
Department has gradually assumed a central role in
development as Colombia became one of the first
and most enthusiastic supporters of the Alliance
for Progress, often referred to as a "showcase."
Gross national product grew at just under 5 per
cent annually during the 1960's, although a yearly
population increase of 3.2 per cent has bitten
deeply into this figure.
Probably the toughest and most effective of the
three chief executives is the present one, Carlos
Lleras Restrepo, an economist and banker by
profession. When he entered office in 1966, infla-
tion was about 15 per cent, and low coffee prices,
liberal import policies, and an overevaluated ex-
change rate had greatly reduced the nation's
foreign reserves. By 1968, he reduced inflation to a
respectable 7.5 per cent. He introduced stricter
controls on imports and gave special attention to
promoting nontraditional exports to supplement
the nation's old standbys, coffee and petroleum.
As these new exports expanded by about 25 per
cent a year, he was able gradually to increase
imports and accumulate a reserve of over $ 170
million. The growth trend in the national product
rose to 6.5 per cent in 1969.
During these same four years, government in-
come increased substantially through sales and
travel taxes, combined with more effective col-
lection. The government has thus augmented its
total investments and its proportion of investment
in relation to private sources. The two chief
beneficiaries are agriculture and education. The
Agrarian Reform Institute has expanded its long
limited resources. Teachers' salaries were increased,
and by 1968, 19.3 per cent of the relevant age
group was attending secondary schools and 3.5 per
cent universities (as against 14.0 per cent and 2.5
per cent respectively in 1965). Credit and tax
benefits are available to private industry, which has
been growing recently chiefly in technology and
capital intensive areas. Construction has increased
at very high rates (20.7 per cent in 1967 and 11.4
per cent in 1968), while agriculture has escaped
from a tendency toward fluctuation to correspond
to the rest of the economy in growth.
President Lleras Restrepo was also the person
who initially proposed integration of the Andean
countries to overcome the doldrums of the Latin
American Free Trade Association, and together
with Chile's President Frei, continues to be its
strongest advocate. Colombia holds an advanta-
geous position in the Andean group; it has the
largest population of the constituent nations, a
strategic geographic location on both the Pacific
and Caribbean coasts, and along with Chile, the
most advanced industry.
Perhaps the most important contribution of the
National Front has been its maintenance of steady
growth and social stability along with elections and
civil government, at a time when country after
country in Latin America has succumbed to
military rule.
Observing economic indicators does not help,
however, to understand the upsurge of Rojismo.
Progress or growth does not necessarily mean a
better life for' everyone who votes. Inadequate
internal savings, aggravated by massive flights of
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capital abroad by the wealthy, and a shortage of
foreign exchange led the National Front to con-
t ra c t loans which by 1967 totalled
$1,600,000,000. Continued inflation and the
weakness of interest groups among the middle and
lower classes provided a context for the small
wealthy class to absorb most of the productive
increase, leaving the lower class in much the same
condition as before, if not worse. Recent studies of
several major Colombian cities reveal that 10 per
cent of the population receives 50 per cent of the
income, while the other 90 per cent share the
remaining 50 per cent. Educational advances can-
not hide the fact that Colombia's tuition-charging
secondary schools and universities continue to be
preserves of the privileged that exclude most of the
population. Construction of housing meets the
needs of limited groups who can save the sub-
stantial down payments required and pay quotas
far beyond the means of the poor. Industrial
growth has not provided jobs for the waves of
people moving into the cities. It is estimated that
currently 13.5 per cent of the urban working force
is unemployed, and the country faces a bleak
future of increases in this figure. Many peasants
continued unaffected by agrarian programs.
Until Rojas ran for the presidency, the most
obvious expression of discontent under the
National Front was the high rate of electoral
abstention. In 1957, 72 per cent of those eligible
voted in a referendum to approve the National
Front, but subsequently this percentage steadily
declined, with only 40 per cent voting in the
presidential election of 1966. It was assumed that
the electorate lacked interest, given the prede-
termined outcome. Attempts to present options
within the structure failed. In 1958 and 1962
anti-National Front Conservatives led by Jorge
Leiva made little impact against the official candi-
dates. Similarly unsuccessful was the Revolu-
tionary Liberal Movement of Alfonso Lopez
Michelsen within the Liberal Party. Labor and
student strikes pointed to sporadic unrest; and
Colombia's staid Catholic Church spawned a
"revolutionary" movement initiated by Father
Camilo Torres and continued by the Golconda
Group.
Enter Rojas again. Aftr r deposing him, the
National Front unleashed a campaign of vilification
aimed at blackening his aldministration totally.
Newspapers like El Tiempo and El Espectador,
which cultivate an image abroad of objectivity and
responsibility, vied in accusing him of a variety of
political and economic crimes. The ex-dictator
refused to take this lying down--when he was
removed in 1957, he seems genuinely to have been
surprised because he thought he was doing a good
job. He returned from exile in October 1958, to
face trial by the Senate for bringing indignity to
the presidential office and for enriching himself
and his friends. As a result he was sentenced to
perpetual loss of his political rights, deprived of his
honors as a retired military officer, and forbidden
the pensions due him as an officer and president.
After years of disgrace and litigation, however, the
nation's Supreme Court exonerated him of all
charges and restored his political rights.
Rojas' strength in 1970 is only understandable
by referring to this process. Consistently those who
voted for him cited his mistreatment by the
"oligarchs" who control the National Front and
the press. For many Colombians the General
became an underdog who successfully cleared his
name from a malicious attack by the country's
controlling groups.
Already in 1964, Rojas began his comeback,
when his followers received 27 per cent of the
Conservative and 1.4 per cent of the Liberal vote in
congressional elections. In 1966, 16.7 per cent of
the senators elected claimed to be Rojistas, and
734,000 voters (28.3 per cent) cast their presi-
dential ballots for Jose Jaramillo Giraldo on the
indication of Rojas. With the establishment of an
organization called Anapo (Alianza Nacional
Popular-Peoples' National Alliance), Rojas
announced his candidacy for 1970 and began to
attract attention by the surprisingly large crowds
that attended his rallies. Few people, however,
expected him to come through as he did. On the
day before the elections El Tiempo confidently
published the results of an independent survey
showing that Pastrana would get 40 per cent of the
vote and Rojas 24.3 per cent.
The narrowness of the final results reveals that:
(1) Dissatisfaction with the National Front among
many segments of the Colombian population is far
greater than suspected. (2) For the first time since
1958 the dissatisfaction found a political symbol
around which to gather. (3) Popular interest in
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politics, long assumed to be dormant, is now
awakened. (4) The dissatisfaction has chosen
"pot ulism" as a means of expression.
Colombia's era of National Front stability may
now be at an end, and three questions without
answers becloud the future.
What is the future of Rojismo? There is some
doubt whether Rojas will run again in 1974. When
I pointed out to a prominent Rojista leader that
seventy-four-year-old Jorge Alessandri was vigor-
ously campaigning for Chile's presidency, he made
the following negatively-toned comment:
"Alessandri is Alessandri, and Rojas is Rojas." The
General looks tired and suffers from diabetes. His
political movement, Arlapo, will continue even
without him, but the ongoing question is whether
it can continue to control 39 per cent of the vote.
Many of the major participants in the Rojista
movement were basically Liberals and Conserva-
tives who supported Rojas, but do not care to
subject themselves to the erratic counselors who
direct Anapo.
Can Misael Pastrana govern? Whether it is true
or not, the Rojistas generally believe that the
government defrauded them of a victory, and they
will hardly remain quiet for four years. One third
of the Senate will be Rojista, and largely because
of the Rojista upheaval 70 per cent of the new
House of Representatives is composed of new
facets. Sr. Pastrana will undoubtedly give special
attention to social programs, but the question is
whether paternalism as conceived by the National
Front will work. However worthy its inception,
with four years to go the National Front is already
outmoded, and the opposition is unlikely to let it
carry out its programs in peace.
the insurrection, and let us take power to realize
what the Colombian people require and need." At
its best, Colombia will develop a new political
alignment more consistent with reality than the
National Front, by which new segments of the
population will have an effective voice. A more
ominous possibility is that Colombia's controlling
groups, fearing the people and populism, will
follow the path of Brazil and turn to stronger
measures to secure their position. Despite President
Lleras' assurances to the contrary, it is most
unlikely that if Rojas had won, he would have been
allowed to take office.
1. Vernon Lee Fluharty, Dance of the Millions: Military
Rule and the Social Revolution in Colombia, 1930-1956
(Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1957), p. 145.
2. Orlando Fals-Borda in Claudio Vbliz, Obstacles to
Change in Latin America (Oxford University Press, 1965),
p. 197.
3. Fluharty, op. cit., p. 158.
Note on author, p. 12
What will be the effect on politics of the new
political consciousness among the urban masses?
Rojas outpolled Pastrana in every major Colombian
city, and it is the cities that are growing and
bearing burdens like poor housing and unemploy-
ment. Even though Rojismo is populist, its Marxist
segment was especially prominent in the demon-
strations and violence following the elections. One
leaflet handed out urged the formation of popular
political organisms on all levels, the nationalization
of :large industries without compensation, and
called on "all the popular sectors ... to organize
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International Affairs/July 1970
RELATIONS BETWEEN THE UNITED STATES
AND LATIN AMERICA
r-1HERE is in the United States a great tendency among those con-
cerned with Inter-American affairs to talk of the 'brotherhood'
in the Western Hemisphere, and of our `neighbours' to the south
of us, and to make believe that generally everything is rosy, and that we
are really very friendly with the Latin Americans. That is becoming
increasingly less true. I think it is important to understand that in the
United States most people neither know very much about Latin America
nor care very much. I suspect that Marlon Brando playing 'Zapata',
Wallace Beery playing `Pancho Villa', or Carmen Miranda, have done
more to shape the image of what people in the United States think about
Latin, America than any educational institution.
Nevertheless, I suspect that many people in the United States believe
that the Latin Americans like us. We have something of a sentimental
attachment to them. We probably feel that they are a little ungrateful
for what has been in recent years a fairly significant amount of assis-
tance. They are somewhat chaotic. They have a tendency periodically
to run towards military governments. And, aside from a Brazilian unit
which fought in the Italian campaign during the Second World War,
and i Colombian unit that fought in the Korean War, they have not
really stood alongside of us in any of the causes that we felt were
important.
From the other side, how do the Latin Americans view the United
States today? I think the attitude changes as one gets further from the
United States. Obviously our nearer neighbours, in the Caribbean,
Mexico, and Central America, see us in one way, and have strong feel-
ings about us. As one moves south, these feelings tend to become
somewhat diluted. I think that at one time the United States stood for,
and was an example of, the type of democratic system that many of the
Latin. American countries aspired to. Thatday is long past. Today the
Latin, Americans feel that we exercise too great an influence in their
countries; that our private sector exerts too great an influence over our
public policy. We appear to be reluctant to lend them a significant
hand in their development. In those countries nearest to us, we have
been casual users of military force. In some ways we are probably an
incomprehensible giant to them. Increasingly, their students see us as
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imperialists. Yet amongst the majority of their uneducated inhabitants,
I suspect the United States is still held in very substantial awe. I travel-
led with Governor Rockefeller of New York on his mission through
Latin America last year. That was at the time of the moon launchings,
and many people were listening to their transistor radios day and night.
They were not listening to Radio Havana, nor to the broadcasts run by
the Church which teach them morality and agricultural modernisation :
they were listening to the transmissions from the Apollo capsules, and
they listened day and night. But in terms of the educated people in the
hemisphere, I think that as they become more and more frustrated so
does their resentment of the United States grow.
We in the United States, especially those of us who grew up in the
period of the Second World War, and even for those generations which
drew their morality from Woodrow Wilson, have a tendency to
forget that we have always been casual users of military force. Especi-
ally has this been so in connection with our neighbours. They have
` profited ' most from this neighbourly characteristic, and it affects the
way they look at us. We have taken more than half the territory of
Mexico. When I was in the government, I used to watch our Foreign
Service officers trying to explain to serious Mexican officials the dangers
of the Communist threat. The Mexicans were very polite, and you
could see them trying to work out how they could possibly make us
believe they were worried about the Russians. Yet it is not the Russians
who bother them. We have at various times invaded Haiti, Nicaragua,
the Dominican Republic, and Cuba. We provoked the secession of
Panama, and we have arranged for armed invasions of Guatemala, and
again recently, Cuba. Our troops sit astride the Panama Canal. This is
something that, as I say, we in the United States, do not keep before
us. The Latin Americans do. Their memories of these things are much
better than ours, and those memories do shape their view of us.
There is also the question of the economic policies adopted by the
United States towards Latin America since the Second World War.
The Latin Americans joined the Allied cause, some rather late, as soon
as they saw who was definitely going to win, but in any event they all
became allies before the war ended. Having done so, I think they
expected economic assistance in accelerating the rate of their develop-
ment. Although it is hard for people in the United States to understand
this, the Latin Americans were very disappointed when the major recon-
struction effort of the United States was directed towards Western
Europe and later to Greece and Turkey. Then, after our effort in
Europe, we turned our attention to Asia. We made a major effort with
the Japanese, and then we became involved in the Korean War. The
attitude towards the Latin Americans was that if they could just arrange
the climate in their countries so that private investors, especially foreign
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private investors, could find it attractive, their development problems
would be dealt with, and they would not need substantial amounts of
public funds.
As the Fifties wore on, it became quite clear in the United States
to those who watched what was going on in Latin America that perhaps
we had made a mistake. The Latin Americans. led by former President
Lleras Camargo of Colombia, and former President Kubitschek of Brazil,
took the lead in trying to create a hemispheric scheme, Operation Pan
America. for their development. By late in the Eisenhower years, we
began to see a change in U.S. policy. To some degree, this was
influenced by the experience of the then Vice-President Nixon, who, it
was felt, almost lost his life in his trip through Latin America in 1955,
and by what was happening in Cuba when Castro took over. So,
towards the end of the Eisenhower years, we began to see acceptance
on the part of the United States of the need for U.S. public assistance
to help Latin American economic development, and also the need to
help them in what was then called `social development '-schools,
hospitals, housing. The United States had previously been unwilling to
provide that kind of aid.
With the coming of John F. Kennedy, there was a drastic change in
U.S. policy towards Latin America, and, especially, in the public declara-
tion:, that accompanied that policy. What was envisioned, in a phrase
that he used in a speech in the spring of 1961, was an `alliance for
progress '-a vast co-operative economic and political development effort
which would be financed in part by the United States, but in the main
by Latin America itself. It foresaw rapid economic development and
rapid political change, with an increasing democratisation of the political
systems. It was really an extraordinary undertaking. The document
that sets forth the goals of the Alliance for Progress is known as the
Charter of the Punte del Este, signed in the summer of 1961, in
Uru ;uay.
It was doomed to fail. The level of aspirations that it set out for
the hemisphere was far beyond the capacity of the Latin American
political systems to achieve. The one thing that it did do was raise
expectations, and, as a result, in the years that followed, it probably
also raised frustrations. It could not foresee that President Kennedy
would be killed two years later, nor that the United States would be
increasingly involved in a war in South-East Asia. In any event, I think
that Lyndon Johnson tried to meet the U.S. obligations under the
Alliance for Progress and the Charter of Punte del Este. In the main
he was not unsuccessful. But Latin America kept falling further and
further behind on its share in the plan, and the spirit was gone from
the United' States effort. Frustratingly, the United States was changing
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faster than Latin America. The `development gap' was not narrowing.
It was growing.
Although some very significant economic development has taken
place in Latin America, it has not been enough. For thinking people in
Latin America, who are working hard on development problems, it is
increasingly frustrating to see that the developed countries of the world,
Europe, Japan, the United States, Russia, are pulling away from them.
How this development gap can be bridged becomes increasingly difficult
to determine.
Against that background, a new Administration came to office in the
United States in 1969. At this point, let me turn for a minute from
Latin America and look at what might be called `the current interna-
tional reality '. This reality, as I see it, tends to highlight some of the
difficulties in formulating meaningful U.S. policy towards the rest of
the world, and especially the Western Hemisphere.
First, let me consider what I will term the `military reality'. There
are a great many people in the United States who, as in other countries,
are always preparing to fight the wrong war. They remember that in the
Second World War Latin America was of some significance in the
search for German U-boats in the South Atlantic, and as a source of
vital supplies of food and raw materials. For them it is too easy to
believe that Latin America continues to have vital military significance
for the United States. I would argue that, given the present state of the
art of waging war in the world today, Latin America has no vital con-
nection with any war in which the national security of any major Power
in the world is likely to be involved. It is very difficult for the Latin
Americans, and for many people in the United States, to understand that
Latin America could not make a vital, and I stress the word vital,
military contribution in any serious war that is likely to occur which will
threaten the national security of the United States.
The `economic reality' is, for Latin America, equally distressing.
Mexico and Canada aside for the moment, the statistics tend to show
that east-west trade (and by east-west I mean from any place in the
globe) and east-west investment relations are developing faster than
those north-south. That means that in terms of U.S. trade interests,
investment interests, or business interests, our relations with Western
Europe or Japan, and probably eventually with Eastern Europe and
Russia, will become more important to the United States than its
relations with Latin America and the Caribbean. The rapid economic
growth in Europe and Japan-the northern tier of the globe-is creating
trading and investment demands that far outstrip anything that is
happening in the rest of the world.
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In the third place we have something much more difficult to assess-
the `political reality' of Latin America. This involves very curious
psyct;ological phenomena. Latin America is an area that most of the
work. sees as being under U.S. dominance, and the United States is
supposed to, be embarrassed when things 'go wrong' in Latin America.
There is also talk about our need for Latin American votes in the U.N.,
or the effect on our image if Latin America `goes down the drain'.
My view is that there is very little in Latin America that vitally
affects the U.S. national interest. This is not to say that Latin America
is no-: very important for certain U.S. companies. I do not mean that
it would not be embarrassing or difficult for the United States if the
whole Western Hemisphere, excluding Canada, went into a rouble
trading bloc. A major change of that kind would certainly create serious
problems, but otherwise, in a more piecemeal fashion, the vital import-
ance of Latin America to the United States is by no means clear.
There are three groups that tend to want to concentrate on Latin
America's ` vital ' importance to the United States, and they are very
strange bedfellows. The Marxists in Latin America, and I think that
includes a large percentage of the educated class, are determined to
persist in their belief that the strength of the United States is directly
connected with its continued exploitation of Latin America. I do not
know of any empirical way of proving them correct; I do not agree
with them, but I think it is very important to them to continue to
believe it. It may indeed be psychologically important for the Latin
Americans in general to overstress their own importance to us. They are
joined in that belief by the U.S. business community that has investments
in Latin America. They constantly stress the vital importance of Latin
America to the United States-clearly because they are trying to keep
the U.S. Government interested in protecting them and their investments.
This is not reprehensible. It is a standard technique by which you try
to kesp your government involved.
T:iere is another group in my country that believes in the vital
importance of Latin America to the United States. It is a small group,
very sentimental, and very vocal. It contains some of those I mentioned
earlier. These people have a sentimental connection with Latin America.
They were involved in getting the Germans out of the Latin American
airlines, and in getting the German military missions out of Latin
America, during the Second World War. They remember the problems
of getting the German spies out of Buenos Aires-very serious problems
whit}:: I do not belittle. Many of these people have lived in Latin
America, they have very good friends in Latin America, and they have
deep-seated love and affection for the area. Most of their feelings about
the vital, strategic importance of Latin America to the United States, I
maintain, are sentimental. These three groups do add up to a very
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vocal, high-decibel level of opinion about the vital importance of Latin
America. But in fact they constantly distort the issue. The issue turns
out to be people arguing whether or not Latin America is vital to the
United States, with the assumption that if you prove it is vital, one set
of actions would follow, while if you prove it is not vital, then no
action at all is required. I would argue that this is the wrong way of
approaching the problem. It is the wrong issue.
Latin America is philosophically important to the European/North
Atlantic community. It is the last area that is an off-shoot, a direct
off-shoot, of Western Europe which has not managed to accelerate its
technological progress and its economic development. If Latin America
cannot do this, then the Atlantic Community really has nothing philo-
sophically relevant to offer to the rest of the Third World. Culturally,
Latin America is very interesting at the present time. Their cultural
production, especially in the sphere of the novel, is fascinating. Historic-
ally, Latin America is also interesting. There are important things that
all of us can learn from Latin America, but that is not the same as
saying it is vitally important to our national security.
One other point that I would like to touch on is the use of the
words `Latin America'. I have noticed increasingly in the United States
that the use of that phrase tends to hide an unconscious effort to reduce
all of the problems in the hemisphere to a least common denominator
so that it can be dealt with more easily. Thin I think, is a very
harmful habit. When we think about Western Europe we generally
have enough sophistication to understand that we must have a Ger-
man policy, a policy for dealing with the United Kingdom, and for
dealing with the French. In other words, the phrase ` Western Europe ' is
not used to cloak real difficulties. Yet when the words `Latin America'
are used, and you hear people talking about `our Latin American
policy', we are, in effect, asked to believe that the problems of Brazil,
a country with a population of about a hundred million inhabitants, are
the equivalent of the problems of Honduras, a country with only about
two million inhabitants. The differences between countries in the hemi-
sphere, and their real national issues, thus tend to be ignored.
Let me, therefore, mention some of these differences and these issues.
Mexico, to the south of the United States, is a country of about fifty
million people. It has one of the fastest-growing populations in the
world. It has a rapidly-developing modern economy. It shares a two
thousand mile undefended border with the United States. It is ruled
by a civilian government which is not a representative democratic
government; indeed, it can sometimes be a quite repressive government.
It is a serious country which studies the United States very carefully. It
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sends its young technicians to be trained in the United States. As I
said earlier, we preoccupy Mexican thinking. Before long Mexico will
be a country of sixty-five to seventy million inhabitants, with a modern
industrial complex-altogether a fairly significant country. Already it
stands high in the ranks of key secondary Powers. That is the way the
Mexicans are beginning to think of themselves.
South of Mexico are the Central American countries. Their most
recent exercise in statesmanship was the efforts of the Hondurans and
the Salvaddrians to kill each other off in the so-called `football war'.
That affair raised, in a very acute form, the key question that plagues
us ir; many areas of the world today. What is to become of countries
of teat size and of that economic capability? These are countries that
rang; in population from one to four million, with less than half that
number really participating in the economic life, and with even a
smaller percentage engaged in the political life of the country. In Central
America only Costa Rica has made any serious effort to develop demo-
erati-a institutions.
Southwards again, there is a piece of real estate, Panama, that owes
its existence to us, and to our desire to have an inter-ocean canal, and
whose continued existence depends on such a canal. In my view the
importance: of the Canal to Panama should not be likened to that of
the Suez Canal to Egypt. Without the Canal there would be no
republic of Panama.
There is also the Caribbean. For reasons that I sometimes understand
and sometimes do not, when Britain thinks about Latin America, she
tends to think about the Caribbean. I was once invited to a conference
there which was supposed to deal with British and United States attitudes
and policies toward Latin America. We spent most of the time talking
about bits and pieces of territory in the Caribbean that I had never heard
of, but where apparently they speak English: and, everybody at the
conference was obviously vitally concerned about them. Since that
conference, I have been to quite a few of those places in the Caribbean,
and they all have a couple of things in common. They are poor, and
their people want to emigrate. Their economies are subsidised in one
way or another, whether it be through sugar subsidies or Commonwealth
pref.-rences, either by the United States or by some European Power,
and they are increasingly dependent on tourism. Along the northern
tier in the Caribbean, there are the larger countries in the area-Cuba,
Haig:i, the Dominican Republic, and Puerto Rico. Of these there is only
one country that is truly independent and that is Haiti. It is a brutal,
repressive, dictatorship with a decaying economy. It may be that the
realistic lesson here is that the future of the Caribbean requires a certain
kind of obviously dependent relationship with a metropolitan Power.
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Today that is a very unfashionable view. I would say that the reason
for this is that the word ` satellite ' has become a dirty word.
In South America three countries, Venezuela, Colombia, and Chile,
are making what I consider to be a serious effort at developing demo-
cratic institutions. They have had the opportunities in recent years to
transfer national power through the use of elective procedures, and they
are seriously trying to broaden the base of democratic participation in
their society. Both Venezuela and Chile depend on the export of a
primary commodity, the first oil and the second copper. Historically,
this is always a very unstable situation, especially when a large propor-
tion of those exports depend on the United States as a buyer. Colombia,
which until very recently has been thought of in the same category,
through her dependence on coffee, has managed in the last four or five
years to achieve a rather miraculous diversification of her exports. The
Colombians are now selling abroad substantial amounts of what they
call `minor exports '-products other than coffee.
Uruguay, once a democracy, has deteriorated into chaos. It is now
ruled under a state of seige. Perhaps Uruguay became jealous of
Argentina. Argentina has the unique distinction of being the only
modern developed country to try to become an underdeveloped country.
The Uruguayans, not to be outdone, are now, it seems, trying to follow
that example. Apparently the Uruguayans' long-term development plan
went wrong. It seemed to be based on there being a world war every
twenty-five years; but for some reason that is not quite clear to them,
we and the Russians did not co-operate. So their economy collapsed. I
make light of it, but in fact it is a very serious problem..
Argentina and Brazil, the two largest, and by far the strongest and
most important, countries in South America, are today ruled by military
dictatorships, with various degrees of repression and various degrees of
freedom. They are either deliberately, or just by the necessity of military
rule, rapidly destroying what little civilian political party structure they
had. The frightening thing, too, is that the longer the military stay in
power, the less chance either country will have to evolve smoothly to
anything vaguely resembling a representative system. This is a con-
siderable problem which I think troubles many Argentines and
Brazilians, even those who were prepared to accept a military govern-
ment as an interim measure. I do not see now how they are going to be
able to abandon such a system. In both countries the military are no
longer talking in terms of a timetable by which they would eventually
relinquish power.
Argentina is a remarkable country. I have always said to the
Argentines that the thing that saves them is that they do not have the
administrative or managerial capacity necessary to destroy their country.
In the late twenties and early thirties, Argentina had a standard of living
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that was probably above that of the French, the Italians, and certainly of
the Spaniaitds. They were probably ahead of the Australians and the
Canadians by almost any indicator that could have been used. But their
political system fell apart. Nevertheless, I think it is a country to be
reckoned with, because its apparent wealth is so vast.
Brazil, also, is in some ways a unique country. It is a country that we
always talk about-' if the Brazilians develop it '. But it is a big ` if '.
I think the, statistics tend to be misleading. I do not know of any easy
analogies. Perhaps Brazil should be compared with Italy after the
Second World War, Northern Italy being the equivalent of Southern
Brazil. The southern part of Brazil is a developed country; Sao Paulo,
Rio de Janeiro, Belo Horizonte, Curitiba, Porto Alegre-these are
modern European cities, by any standards. The region has a modem
industrial complex and is developing rapidly. It is only when you
include the population in the north that the statistics show Brazil to be
an L.nderdeveloped country.
Paraguay, Bolivia, and Uruguay constitute a buffer ring between
Brazil and Argentina. Paraguay and Bolivia today are also military
dictatorships. They are, by Latin American standards, small countries,
with substantl Indian populations which really do not participate in
the political life of the country.
There are also, of course, Peru, Ecuador, and one country that is
probably dyer-reported in the British press, Guyana. At present Peru
is a source~of great interest to the military everywhere in Latin America.
They are waiting to see whether Peru, once again being governed by a
military dictatorship, has developed a form of military rule that will
really carry out a populist programme. But the important question is
whether the Peruvian military will turn out to be different from what
the military have been over the last two thousand years. I think they
are being watched very carefully. They appear to be following Peron's
path.
Ecuador is a country that is ruled sometimes by civilians, sometimes
by the army. I do not myself think it is very important. I doubt
whether Ecuador has a very bright future, unless the oilfields now being
ope;ied upi in the northern part of the country prove to be valuable.
Guyana has a serious frontier problem with Venezuela which claims
about two-thirds of its territory. I suspect that the political situation in
Guyana is such that there is a very good chance that its political
institutions may break down. If anything could prevent that, it is the
realisation that that is what the Venezuelans are waiting for. The
Guyanese have no allies in South America. Because they are English-
speaking, they tend to look to the Caribbean for friends. But countries
like Trinidad and Tobago, Barbados, and. Jamaica are trying to become
active members of the Organisation of American States, and thus the
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support that they might give a country like Guyana could interfere with
their future relations with their Spanish and Portuguese-speaking friends
of the OAS.
Let me now turn to what President Nixon has said about Latin
America, and what we have done about it. An adviser to the President,
Mr. Patrick Moynahan, has recalled an apt phrase first used by an
Englishman in describing Canada. The phrase is `benign neglect'. Mr.
Moynahan offered it as a policy description of how President Nixon
should treat our black problem in the United States, but it has been
increasingly used to describe other areas of our policy. I would argue
that for the past year it has been a perfect description of the Nixon
Administration's policy toward Latin America.
Too often, in my country, there is a tendency to equate a low-
priority area with the absence of any policy for it. It is very difficult
for the Latin Americans to realise that they are an area that is being
given a low priority by the United States. Those in the United States
who like to think of themselves as international activists, and who have a
strong feeling about Latin America, do not like to see such a low
priority given to Latin America either. The argument tends to be
formulated in the question 'do we have a policy for Latin America,
or don't we?' when it should really be over the level of priority such a
policy should have. I would urge that we do have a policy; and that
the discussion should be about the fact that it is based on a low priority
being assigned to the area.
A key part of this `benign neglect ' has been the development of the
phrase `low profile'. I have looked into the origins of the phrase; I am
not completely sure from whence it comes, but I think it is a phrase used
by designers of armoured vehicles to indicate the effort made to make a
smaller target. When the most powerful country in the world, which
has very deep psychological, political, and economic connections with
what is essentially an underdeveloped area, announces that it is going to
lower its profile, it is being a little nonsensical. We may be planning
to make available less aid. We may be planning to restrict the conditions
on the assistance we make available. We may be planning to increase
Latin American access to U.S. markets, or to decrease that access. We
may even be planning to stop dabbling as much in the future as we have
in the past in political matters which have only tangential importance
to the United States. Many of these policies would be good policies,
but certainly the adoption of some or all of them should not remove the
responsibility from the United States of trying to be an intelligent leader
in the hemisphere. Intelligent leadership means innovation and co-opera-
tion, and I would argue that they are what is needed.
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RELATIONS BETWEEN THE UNITED STATES AND LATIN AMERICA
Another phrase now current in Washington is `the dumb-bell theory'.
I am tempted to say that the phrase be reserved as a label for those who
use it. It is used to conjure up an image of a Latin American bloc
on one side of the dumb-bell and the United States on the other. The
great worry then becomes how should the United States deal with this
bloc? What the U.S. Government is doing is trying to mould the
problem of the hemisphere into a shape with which it can deal. Rather
than ;'acing the actual national and regional. problems of Latin America,
we are encouraging the creation of a bloc just because we know how
to deal with a bloc. So the U.S. Government is now seriously concerned
about whether it should be in, favour of a bloc, or against a bloc. This
to me is a very suspicious business, because it amounts to an effort to
get all your adversaries into a room together in the hope of reducing
their complaints to the basis of a least common denominator so that
even though the Ecuadorians may be deeply concerned about bananas,
the Bolivians about tin, and the Chileans about copper, they all come
out of the room talking about 'trade'. Then the United States can
deal with them at the same level of generality. I have argued in the
United States that this is an effort to distract attention from the real
problems in the hemisphere.
Let me outline a few of those problems that intelligent policy should
be dealing with now, or at least planning for. This is why I feel that,
even if she decides that Latin America is of low priority, there is really
no excuse for the United States not to try to prepare solutions for, or at
least try to foresee, the problems that will arise in the very near future.
First, I think we have to look at North America. By North America
I mean at its minimum Canada, United States and Mexico. This is an
area that is becoming increasingly linked economically, and, sooner or
later,, it will have to face the problem of whether it should begin joint
planning for the solution of economic and environmental problems.
In South America there are other problems. Brazil and Argentina
are separated by that buffer ring I mentioned earlier, Uruguay, Bolivia,
and Paraguay. As Brazil and Argentina develop more rapidly, the
buffer nature of those three countries will become clearer. In fact,
Argentina is now very quietly beginning to make very substantial invest-
menis in Uruguay, Paraguay, and Bolivia. I am not sure whether that
kind of buffer situation has any long-term viable future. It is the kind
of situation that nobody likes to talk about. The Bolivians admit that
they would rather have us as the imperialists than the Argentines,
because we are farther away. But no one else wants to face that prob-
lem, and I think it will be an increasingly serious one. The rest of South
America, leaving aside Guyana, and except for some reservations by
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Venezuela, is already organising itself in the shape of the Andean
Group-theoretically designed as an Andean common market, although
any analyst of European trade and European alliances would identify
it as an effort to balance power. For, in reality, Venezuela, Ecuador,
Colombia, Peru, Chile and Bolivia are joining together in a system
clearly designed to enable them to deal more adequately with Brazil
and Argentina.
There is also the problem of the Panama Canal. The Canal is a very
emotional issue in the United States for reasons that I think are primarily
related to the U.S. citizens who live in the Canal Zone. They have very
strong feelings about the vital character of the Canal, and about its
necessity to the United States. I would argue that the Canal is less
important to us than it is to the countries on the Pacific coast of South
America. The reason why the Canal is of economic value to the United
States is because neither our rail system running west nor our port
system on the west coast are really adequate to handle the industrial
production of the east coast. Coal can only be shipped to Japan
economically through the Canal, out of either Atlantic ports or Gulf
ports. The Canal also has a peculiar value in times of limited warfare in
Asia. For a combination of coincidental circumstances, we do not have a
large number of munitions handling ports on the west coast. Dry cargo
for wars in Korea, Vietnam, and for the Pacific War in the Second
World War, in large measure has moved out of the east coast and the
Gulf coast through the Canal. But these are shortcomings that we have
the wealth to overcome, so I would argue that the Canal is not vital to
us. For Chile and its copper, for Peruvian copper and fishmeal, and for
Ecuadorian bananas, the income from all of which is vital to the survival
of these countries-for those products to be saleable in the European
market, there must be a canal and there must be low toll rates. This
is one of the reasons why they do not support their Panamanian brothers
in their claims to ownership of the Canal. In fact they are probably
delighted that the United States is running the Canal and subsidising the
tolls.
As to whether the United States should undertake further respon-
sibilities in the Isthmus, either in the form of a new sea-level canal,
or the widening of the present Canal to take larger sea vessels, I would
argue against both. I do not see the advantage to the United States in
buying the political headache that would result from either course. Some
people argue that the big tankers need a new canal. I would urge
that somebody should study the economics of the big tankers. It is
precisely the big tankers that do not need a new canal.
39
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:2ELATIONS BETWEEN THE UNITED STATES AND LATIN AMERICA
It took the Nixon Administration ten months in office before the
President enunciated his Latin American policy. This, I claim, is related
to the low priority given to Latin America, not to the difficulties
involved. During that ten months, the key position in the U.S. Govern-
ment relating to Latin America, that of Assistant Secretary for Latin
American Affairs, was vacant for over four months, and all policy
formulation was delayed so that Governor Rockefeller could make
his tour of the hemisphere and report to the President. Mr. Rockefeller
did not complete his tour until the first week in July; his report went
to the President in August; the President made his long-awaited Latin
American policy speech at the end of October, and then added sub-
stantially to it in a press conference in November.
The first thing to look at in analysing U.S. relations with Latin
America is the use made by the President of Governor Nelson Rocke-
feller, Latin America, apparently, is one of the regions that the United
State;; regularly treats to Presidential emissaries. Vice-President Nixon
himself was one. Adlai Stevenson was another. Robert Kennedy went,
and now, in this Administration, Nelson Rockefeller. I would argue
that this is part of the general circus atmosphere in which U.S. policy
toward Latin America is made. The Latin Americans are fairly
sophisticated people. They understand that when the U.S. Government
is ini:erested in talking seriously to the Japanese, it sends the Secretary
of State, and that if they want to do serious business with the Germans,
or the British, it is the Secretary of State who does it. The sending of
Presidential emissaries has a large public relations factor built into it,
for none of them has a continuing responsibility for the problem under
review.
Apart from these general considerations, there was the matter of the
actual choice of Governor Rockefeller. There are, I think it fair to
say, quite a few people in the United States who do not connect this
Roc:{efeller with the attitudes that were connected with the first Rocke-
feller. The link just is not recognised. You can either like or dislike this
generation of Rockefellers, based on who they are and what they are.
Those who dislike them relate their dislike to the present generation.
The Latin Americans, however, have a different kind of memory. To
them the name of Rockefeller is the symbol of everything the Latin
American Left opposes. I do not subscribe to the theory that the
President's choice of the Governor was some kind of a dark conspiracy
on she part of Mr. Nixon to get Mr. Rockefeller in trouble, for the
theory does not do credit to the high level of incompetence that goes
into decision-making in every government. The fact is that Mr. Nixon
accepted a proposal on the part of Senor Galo Plaza, the Secretary-
General of the Organisation of American States, that Mr. Rockefeller
should go. Mr. Rockefeller accepted because such acceptance was con-
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sistent with his image of himself as a good, regular, party-line Re-
publican, and because he feels deeply, warmly and strongly about Latin
America. I think he believed that Latin America felt the same way
about him.
What have been the results, so far, of Mr. Rockefeller's trip and of
Mr. Nixon's policy? To me the most interesting thing is that we no
longer hear about aggregate amounts of public assistance. Ten years
ago, the figure of two billion dollars a year of public assistance to Latin
America was almost an accepted statistic. It was generally agreed that
the United States, through public and private sources, would have to
provide about half of that amount. There is no mention, either in Mr.
Rockefeller's report or in any statements made by the President to date,
of any aggregate amount of public assistance. This situation will neces-
sarily change when the President submits the next Foreign Assistance
Bill to Congress, but, at least in terms of general policy concepts, these
figures are no longer involved. There are a few things that the President
has done for which I think he deserves credit. For example, two main
irritants have been removed from the public assistance programme. He
did away with the 'additionality requirement' and he allowed hemi-
spheric procurement rather than tied procurement. `Additionality' and
`tied procurement' required the Latin Americans to use aid funds to
purchase more goods in the U.S. than they would have had there been
no aid programme. `Hemispheric procurement' permits them to use
aid funds for purchase in both Latin America and the U.S. These con-
cessions are of little substantive value and they are of little cost to the
United States, but they are pleasant gestures to the Latin Americans,
for they are things that they have been complaining about for at least
five years.
On trade, the President made the usual observations on the import-
ance of expanded Latin American trade to Latin American development.
He went further. He repeated what has become a standard U.S.
Government position. We will work to get the Europeans to set up
what are known as `generalised non-reciprocal trade preferences'. The
United States says this pretty regularly. The European reaction is that
they already have such a policy and do not discriminate against the
Latin Americans, and so the discussion goes on. I do not know what
will become of it. Then the President said something which is much
more significant. He said that if these arrangements cannot be worked
out with the Europeans in a suitable period of time the United States
would be prepared to move towards what would be essentially a system
of hemispheric preferences. Now this is a very important proposition
because it could lead to a Western Hemisphere trading system-an
economic counterpart of the Monroe Doctrine. Some Latin Americans
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RELATIONS BETWEEN THE UNITED STATES AND LATIN AMERICA
have been arguing in favour of such a system for some time, and now,
clearly, their bluff has been called.
In some ways it is an insidious position for the U.S. to adopt,
because one effect of it is to split the Latin Americans, although they
cannot admit it. The Argentines and the Brazilians are not really
interested in a Western Hemisphere trading system. Some of the Central
American republics, and maybe the Colombians, would opt for it, but it
is a very divisive element to introduce at a time when the United States
and' Latin America appear to be trying to encourage the creation of a
Latin American political bloc. I do not think that the United States
did-it deliberately to divide the Latin Americans. For some time there
has been considerable discussion on the idea inside the U.S. Govern-
ment, and the sentimentalists in the Administration have always been
in favour of it. However, the spontaneity of the statement of the theory
probably exceeded the political means available to translate it into
practice. But it is an interesting proposal, and one should not make
light of it.
Another interesting point that came out of the Rockefeller report,
and the President's subsequent speech, is that Rockefeller saw Com-
muni;ts everywhere, and put a very heavy emphasis on the security
element in the hemisphere. I think he was very substantially influenced
by his experience in the forties, when he personally was responsible
.for much of the task of getting the Germans out of the hemisphere.
He is therefore very conscious of the effect of sinister external forces.
In his report he stressed military assistance very heavily, with the idea
that we should make such assistance available to all governments in
Latin America regardless of their political complexion. Yet, interestingly
enough for a Republican administration in the United States, the
President himself has not talked about the Communist threat in Latin
America, nor has he talked about any military assistance programme.
Very shortly he will have to introduce his political strategy to Congress
and list both the economic assistance and military assistance that he
would hope to provide. But, at least so far, there has been no full
statement by the President on the question of military assistance.
On one political question the President and the Governor appeared
to be in complete agreement. They both indicated that the United States
should deal with Latin American countries regardless of the kind of
political system those countries have-in other words, that whether the
country is a dictatorship or a democracy, the official U.S. attitude
towards it should be the same. Either this is an abstract intellectual
exercise about which nobody really cares very much, or it represents
a very substantial change in U.S. policy. If the President is talking
only about diplomatic relations, if, in fact, public assistance will be
reduced, and if there is not going to be any military assistance, then as
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a diplomatic doctrine it is not very startling. In fact, it does not repre-
sent any change from U.S. policy in recent years. On the other hand,
if the President has in mind the provision of economic assistance and
of military assistance to whatever kind of government is in power at a
particular ti,ae to enable it to fight a real or imagined Communist
threat, then that amounts to an extraordinarily pernicious policy. It is
too early to say at this point what the effects of the President's statement
will actually be. I suspect that given a reduction in economic assistance,
and the fact that the political reality in our Congress makes the provision
of military assistance very unlikely, it will indeed prove to have been
an abstract intellectual exercise.
A final point that has become clear is that U.S. policy on Cuba
will remain unchanged. In his speech the President said the only thing
that we had against the Cubans was that they were exporting revolution.
Superficially that statement appeared to reflect a very substantial change
in our policy, because previously we had two complaints against
Cuba; export of revolution and her connection with the Russian bloc.
But having talked to people in the State Department I have concluded
that there is not in fact to be any change in U.S. policy toward Cuba.
The reason is fairly simple. This Administration does not put a very
high priority on achieving any change in our relationship with Cuba,
and I do not think that the Cubans themselves are greatly interested in
any change at this point.
Although it seems to be slightly disappointing, that appears to be the
sum total of current U.S. policy towards Latin America. I do not think
that it is very heady stuff. However, I would suggest that it should be
seen in terms of an Administration that is trying to extricate the United
States from a war in South-East Asia; that is trying to deal with a
combatant situation in the Middle East; that is trying to develop a
more constructive relationship with Russia and with Peking; and that
will have to deal again with Germany, and evolve a longer range rela-
tionship with the Japanese. At home we have inflation, an urban prob-
lem, a pollution problem, a racial problem, and a student problem. This
is really a full plate for even the most talented of men. As a consequence
I am led to believe that the making of a Latin American policy, and
innovation in that field, will really be a part-time job, and not high on
the list of priorities.
Davicj Bronheim is Director of the Center for Inter-American
Relations in New York. He was Deputy U.S. Co-ordinator of the
Alliance for Progress from 1965-69, and Assistant General Counsel
to the Bureau for Latin America from 1963-65.
Based on a talk given at Chatham House in March 1970.
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Letter :fromManuela Saenz,
mistress of'Simon Bolivar,
announcing the break with
her English husband, 1825.
"Sir, you are excellent, you are inimitable.
But, my friend, it is no small matter that I leave
you for General Bolivar; to leave a husband without
your qualities would be nothing. Do you think for
a moment that, after being beloved of this General
for years, and with the security that I possessed
his heart, J would choose to be the wife even of
the FatherSon, or the Holy Ghost, or of all three?
I know very well that I cannot be united with him
under the laws of honor, as you call them, but do
you believe that I feel less or more honored because
he is my lover and not my husband? I do not live
for the prejudices of society, which were invented
only that we might torture each other.
"Let me be, my dear Englishman, let me be. Let
us instead do something else. We should marry when
we get to heaven; but on this earth--No!--In our
heavenly home we shall lead entirely spiritual lives.
There everything will be quite British, for monotony
is reserved for your nation in love, that is, for
they are much more avid in business. You love with-
out pleasure. You converse without grace, you walk
unhurried, you sit down with caution, you do not
laugh even at your own jokes. These are divine
attributes, but I, miserable mortal who can laugh
at myselfI I laugh at you too, with all this English
seriousness...."
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"The New Latins", by
Georgie Anne Geye:r
(CHAPTER 5
Machismo or The Unromantic Latin
"A Latin man is a man who expects not only his wife
to be faithful, but his mistress too." A Latin man.
The Latin man enjoys the world's most extravagant reputation
for romance. His image on the world stage is an infinitely enviable
one and when many American men go to Latin America they feel
obliged to imitate him almost to the point of exhaustion. The
Latin's elegant posturing, his tireless and single-minded pursuit
of women, his sure manliness-all these are the apparent hand-
maidens of the man who is the romantic male of the world.
Underneath this reputation for romance, there lies a curious
concept, barely known in the rest of the world yet affecting and
permeating every fiber of Latin American life. It is the concept
of machismo and it is perhaps the prime reason why Latin Amer-
ica has not progressed more rapidly.
Machismo is present in all the Latin American countries to one
extent or another, but it is more prevalent, for instance, in Mexico
than in Chile and far more predominant in the Spanish countries
than among Latins of Portuguese descent. In Brazil, it is over-
shadowed by the irresistible urge to compromise, something the
macho man looks on with about the enthusiasm he would have
for being castrated.
Macho is used to refer to anything very, very male in certain
45
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Machismo or The Unromantic Latin
obvious and often vulgar ways. When its values are imposed on
the rest of society, the concept of machismo comes into play.
In the Hispanic view of the ideal man, which is greatly influ-
enced by the Moorish sense of exclusivity and dominance of the
male and: the extreme dependency and public scarcity of the fe-
male, male virtues revolve around intense activity, competition,
domination of other men and sexual prowess with women. It is
not the truth of what the macho says that is important but the
brilliance with which he says it (the form over the substance
ag.-;in). It is not the quality of the love he feels for a woman that
is important but the number of conquests he can claim. It is not
the substance of his political program but the power of his
presence.
There must be a zest for physical action, which means a cor-
responding down-playing of the day-to-day, time-consuming, self-
effacing work of experiment, scientific inquiry and intellectual
investigation. This should be accompanied by daring speculation,
which means a public disregard for the plodding businessman who
seeks the kind of long-term investment that causes countries to
progress rationally and steadily. In intellectual life, it is the bril-
liant speaker rather than the substantive man of knowledge who
gains attention. In every sphere it is forcefulness and conquest
which are most admired. They become ends rather than means.
It is part of the reason why Latin Americans have over and
over again been able to harness their obstreperous energies to build
great and dramatic projects (Brasilia, for instance), only to let
them fall apart once they have been built. It is one of the reasons
why they have at crucial times been able to rise to the solutions
of great problems (the Uruguayan welfare state, the Mexican
ore-party "solution," Costa Rica's democratic paternalism), only
to lack the flexibility to change them again when these answers
grew stale. It is partly why there is no institutionalization of
change. As Jaime Benitez, the wise rector of the University of
Puerto Rico, said of his Latin brothers, "How grand to die for a
principle, how tiresome to live for it."
If you look for the typical assertive and theatrical macho in
Latin American history, he is not hard to find. The brother of
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PART I: TILE OLD LATINS
the Mexican president Manuel Avila Camacho was noted for
keeping fifty-one mistresses at one time. When a nude statue was
found missing one day in Mexico City, his brother remarked
wryly, "Ask brother Max, lie might have built a house around
her."
The brutal Bolivian dictator Mariano Melgarejo, a presump-
tuous cholo looked down upon by the upper classes who ruled
in the i86os, flew into murderous drunken rages, lost, vast ex-
panses of land to Bolivia's neighbors and left his country in bank-
ruptcy. Nonetheless he is still held up as a kind of macho hero.
Though Melgarejoism is used as a generic term for completely
wanton, selfish and brutish behavior, he is also begrudgingly ad-
mired. To vow allegiance to him, his followers were required to
kiss the bare bottom of Melgarejo's mistress.
That is the ultimate in vulgar machismo, but Melgarejo's life
exemplified the term. At one point, the Queen of England X-ed
Bolivia off her map, symbolically banishing it from the sight of
the world. The Bolivian dictator had seized her representative
in La Paz, tied him to a donkey and beat him.
But it is not only among the ruling classes, whether upstart
cholos like Melgarejo or aristocrats, that machismo is indulged.
In Mexico City I once was driving with a lower-class cabdriver-
unshaven, husky, in good spirits-who wanted to talk. "I have
eleven children by my wife and two others," be began. And then
he added sadly, "But I've never been in love." I sympathized with
him as best I could, and he went on, "I never really could say
I know what it is-to `love' a woman."
Then he reminisced. A voluble sort. "When I was young, I
was nuts about dancing," he said. "My whole life was dancing.
Every night I was in the caf6. If I didn't go dancing one night,
I couldn't sleep. Even now, I listen to Pedro Infante-you know
Pedro Infante?" I said, yes, I knew the famous singer. "Well, every
song he sings reminds me of another girl. And you know how
many songs Pedro Infante sings?" I nodded.
"Now I go every eight to fifteen days to see the mother of my
other two children . . ." Why, I asked him, did he need so many
women? "It is natural," he answered, shrugging.
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Machismo or The Unromantic Latin
1\'] exico produces its share of machos-perhaps it ranks first in
the continent. And they are indestructible. One Mexican busi-
nessman of Lebanese descent has a very elegant bedroom atop
one of the office buildings he owns. All the floors in the bedroom
slop toward the bed. The imaginative macho.
An accessory of machismo, almost as indispensable as his lust-
ing after women, is his weapon. Machos fight not with fists but
with. knives or pistols. It is common, particularly in Mexico but
also elsewhere, to carry pistols to answer insults, giving rise to
the Mexican saying that pistols are "pointed with hands but the
triggers are pulled with the testicles." Machismo has a grim humor
about it. Another Mexicanism is the joke about the macho curing
his friend's headache by emptying his pistol into his head.
All of the elements of machismo-and honor is one, despite
"vulgar machos" like Melgarejo-are intertwined and interrelated.
Machismo is not simply power; the macho is not the Ameri-
can he-man. Machismo is very subtle. Sometimes men who are
perceived by their societies as muy macho are physically unim-
pressive, even puny. Occasionally they are even homosexuals. Ma-
chismo is an elusive thing, having to do with a kind of life force
inside the man or with a courage that makes him stand out among
his fellows. Usually, too, there must be an element of cabal-
lerismo or gentlemanly behavior, or else the macho is simply an
unseemly boor.
Of all the attributes of machismo, the most spoken of-and
probably the most important for his public image-is the macho's
sexual prowess. It can mean political success or failure. Yet it is
complex and tied up with other factors. The ideal macho is char-
acberized by ceaseless sexual activity, intense attention to
women, and the idea that any woman outside his own family
group is fair prey. He is characterized, on the one hand, by a pu-
ritanical and obsessively vigilant attitude toward his wife, mother
and daughters, and, on the other, by a totally predatory attitude
toward all other women. The wife and mother is perceived in the
role of the Virgin Mary and even most "modern" young Latin
men today say they insist their wives be virgins at marriage. The
wife is also supposed to be sexually undemonstrative. Studies
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have indicated that Latin couples own to less sexual intercourse
than their Anglo-Saxon counterparts, and Latin doctors have ac-
cused Latin men of bcing basically disinterested in sex-only in-
terested in the appearance of it. It is from his mistress that the
Latin man expects professional sexual behavior.
Latin Americans tend to be honest about sex, however, (they
can afford to be honest about it since it is so carefully regulated)
and Latin American history is filled with stories of famous mis-
tresses and lovers that are considered part of the national heritage.
Dom Pedro I, the emperor of Brazil in the beginning of the
nineteenth century, took as his mistress a high-spirited woman
of determined temper, the Marquesa de Santos from Sao Paulo,
and built for her a beautiful little white house down the street
from his palace at Sao Cristovao outside Rio de Janeiro. On the
walls he had painted the marquesa in the role of various women,
including a bare-breasted Brazilian Indian woman. The marquesa
became so involved politically that she eventually was obliged to
retire from politics. In true Latin style, Dom Pedro decided to
marry-not the marquesa, of course-and, the perfect Latin roman-
tic, swooned when he saw the delicate young virgin princess
Amelia whom he would take as his bride. Recently the Brazilian
government decided to restore the marquesa's house, which tra-
dition insists had a tunnel running to it from the palace, and
workers from the National Trust on Historic Monuments started
eagerly peeling off the layers of paper trying to find the bare-
breasted Indian girl-marquesa. And they did.
There has always been a great deal of flair in relations between
the sexes in Latin America, and the sheer size and openness of the
continent sometimes added to it. President Jose Manuel Bal-
maceda began the greatest sheep-raising industry in remote and
lonely Tierra del Fuego, the southern tip of Chile, on February
19, 1893, when he gave a million acres of land to the husband of
a Sarah Brown. It seems that the president had taken a fancy to
Sarah, daughter of a Russian Jew who made good in Chile. The
land was a payment to Sarah's husband for her ample favors.
Although it differs from country to country, and also from class
to class, and although this is changing radically with the younger
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generation, it is permissible-and in many countries considered
far Yore natural than monogamy-for the traditional Latin man
who can afford it to keep a mistress or even two or three. Often
he is in love with her and often they have children-his "second
family." She lives in a casa chica (literally little house) which
he provides for her. To know a man's mistress and to spend time
with them is to know the man intimately and to be considered
his dearest,' most special friend.
Or,.e Central American president, Anastasio "Tachito" Somoza
of Nicaragua, is said to be madly in love with his mistress, though
he has several children by his wife. His enemies applaud this, say-
ing, "It is the only proof we have he is human."
In Bolivia the late President Rene Barrientos in the beginning
lived openly with two wives-one in the capital, one in the second
city. For a long time it was common knowledge. Both had the
same number of children of the same ages, and when the second
wife (second in influence) needed money she phoned the first
wife. Eventually, however, it all became too open (machismo is
a very delicate thing) and the public gossip became noticeably
unfriendly toward the "arrangement." He divorced the second
wife, and all was well. But every time he traveled around the
coun try, he managed to spend a day-or a night-with her.
TI-,at the traditional patterns are breaking down is one of the
most important things occurring in Latin American life today, as
Latin men begin to observe more conventional sexual patterns.
Today men have begun divorcing their original wives, as divorce
becomes legalized in the countries which are undergoing intense
revolutionary experiences. In Bolivia, for instance, divorce came
into being with the 1952 revolution, which also disgorged from
the lowest depths of society and flung to its apex an entire new
class of Indian and mestizo leaders. Almost without exception,
these leaders divorced their original wives and married women of
a higher social class-a class whose status coincided with their
newly acquired importance.
In the winter of 1967 there occurred another case symptomatic
of tae new thought. Puerto Rican governor Roberto Sanchez
Vilella announced his intention to divorce his wife of thirty
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PART I: THE OLD LATINS
years. He wanted to marry his judicial assistant, a young woman
many years his junior. Under old macho rules, this would have
been as unnecessary as it was impossible. Even if the macho man
got involved emotionally, he would never consider upsetting his
marital arrangement or, moreover, feel any need to legitimize any
other romantic entanglement.
Nor did the old-style Latin American woman, no matter how
much she suffered from society's "arrangements"-and psychia-
trists tell us that contrary to popular myth, she suffered a great
deal-demand that anything change. She was wisely counseled by
her mother and aunts to accept "the way men are," with such
advice always having a strong tinge of woman's-superior-and-
spiritual-nature-versus-man's-weakness-and-carnal-nature about it.
It was only an insult to the wife if her husband chose a mistress
less attractive than she. It is probably true that many women pre-
ferred and today prefer the ordered, stable life of Latin society,
in which the family is sacrosanct and indissolvable and where they
know they will always be the respected, virginal wives and mothers,
no matter what other women their husbands enjoy.
As in all Latin society, in the world of love and privilege that the
macho has set up there are precise and rigid forms, and love is
generally spontaneous only within these forms. Almost always, he
observes the exigencies of social class, for it tells a man-and a
woman-where he or she belongs, how to act and how, when and
whom to love. Latin Americans don't need to be loved in the often
desperate way that Americans need to be loved. Security is gained
rather by obedience to traditional forms, to class and to the historic
prerogatives or non-prerogatives of sex. Latins don't depend upon
the approval of persons outside their family groups to the extent
that the atomized American does.
Love comes usually within the already-established forms. A
certain kind of love-with marriage, say-can almost never come if
you are not of the proper class. So people gain security through
performing well the accepted actions of their group, adhering to
their class and their sex, and through celebration of the unchange-
able "place."
Just as "place" is important in the forms of love, there are places
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for love-physical places-which comply with the kind of society
the macho has created. They serve him and his desires and his
image of his world. These are places that tell a great deal about
Latin American society; they show how specialized love is; they
show how unromantically structured Latin society is. In North
America, the places for love are fluid-any kind of love can take
place anywhere-and motels, apartment houses, hotels, cars are
interchangeable. The kinds of lnve are egalitarian, like the society.
It is not like that in Latin An,"ica.
In addition to his home and his casa chica, the Latin American
will often patronize the black nightclubs-those lightless, curtained
places which proliferate from Mexico to Tierra del Fuego, but
particularly in the "macho belt" that stretches from Mexico to
the borders of Chile and Brazil. These "black nightclubs" are
disconcerting at first to the North American who may innocently
warner into them for a typical evening out and who considers
that courting and lovemaking are more wisely done in a car or a
bed.
These nightclubs are pitch black. Generally the headwaiter has
a tiny flashlight which he uses to lead people to a table-that way
they cannot see the others and the others cannot see them. In one
of them, in Bolivia, the bottoms of the glasses glow so you can
find your drink in the darkness. There is a certain surrealistic feel-
ing ::n seeing the darkness pitted by floating, glowing glass bottoms.
In Lima there is a club used largely by military officers and their
mistresses where, when one opens the door to the bathroom, the
light inside momentarily goes out.
One of the rules of machismo is that a man never takes his mis-
tress to places where he might expose his wife to meeting her or
even hearing about her. The dark nightclubs serve this specialized
purpose. But there is a club in Mexico City which carries the ritual
of the macho a step further. When you enter you first see a large,
rather typical nightclub, with couples sitting at tables and a dance
band playing. But there are seven rooms. In the second the lights
are dimmer and there are open booths with low stools. In each
subsequent room the lights grow lower, the darkness becomes
more pervasive, the stools merge into couches and the couches into
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beds, the booths become curtained and finally closed. It is the
specialization of love-the stations of love-carried to its ultimate
degree.
Latin strongmen have always made their lovelife public and
prominent, and none more so than the Venezuelan dictator
Marcos Perez Jimenez. He built a huge, stolid "hotel" in the
mountains surrounding Caracas, each floor with a great circular
suite, for the sole purpose of entertaining the Cuban prostitutes
whom he and his men particularly liked. But in addition to these
peculiarly specialized places, the exploration would not be com-
plete without a look at the posadas, as they are called in some
countries (although it should be noted that posadas is the common
name for perfectly reputable hostelries in many places). In Cuba
these are actually motels, sometimes low and sometimes in apart-
ment complexes, which rent by the hour. They are the common
place for a man to take a woman, they cost a few dollars for a
couple of hours and drinks are served through a rotating shelf that
provides for complete privacy.
After the 1959 revolution in Cuba, the government planned
to close down the posadas. But there was such a display of civic
indignation that the Communist government retained them,
spruced them up and now runs them. How does socialist morality
jibe with lovemaking motels, with mirrors on the walls? No one
says.
Implicit in the world of the traditional macho is a double view
of women that divides them with admirable simplicity into good
and bad. A man marries the good women and the bad women
he enjoys. This, of course, imposes upon the woman a definition
that originates in man's desires and psyche and which Latin
women no longer accept with docility. Latin men also often con-
sider that it is all woman's fault-a projection of the primordial
idea that original sexual sin is lodged in some dark corner within
the woman's being.
As Juan Lechin Oquendo, the former Bolivian vice president,
leader of the volatile tin miners and a macho par excellence, said
one day in his laconic way: "I was seduced for the first time by a
servant girl when I was five, again when eight by a girl fifteen, a
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Macl-,ismo or The Unromantic Latin
virgin. I am: a man who was corrupted by women." Though Lechin
is known for his success with women (he once refused to join an
insurrection because he was with a woman he likcd-something
that gained him admiration from all sectors), he is typically
macho: he is not above insisting that the women maintain "stand-
ards." "If the West falls, it will be because of the degeneration
of t4? standards of women," the tall, handsome, sloe-eyed Lechin
told me once. "Women can't have the sexual freedom of a man.
Russia started, and went back to strict morality." As to his own
responsibility, he answered simply, "I only do what any man would
do who has my chances."
The macho's relations with women, however, are not so simple
as tlr,.y may at first seem to the outsider. For although in society's
terms, the man dominates his woman, he himself is most often
dominated by his mother. The brutal Dominican dictator General-
issilm Rafael Leonidas Trujillo, who ruled bestially from 1931
to 1S6r in the Dominican Republic, used women as cynically as
any man in Latin American history. He had mistress after mistress
and was pathologically incapable of keeping up any real relation-
ship -with any one woman. It was considered an honor for Domini-
can families to take their daughters to el jefe to be deflowered; and
his sexuality seemed to know no bounds. "Nice girls"-semi-
sefioritas, they called them-who had fallen some hot Dominican
night were kept in government jobs and given on a nightly basis
to visiting American congressmen, a good number of whom were
on Trujillo's payroll.
But like all real machos, the little, squat, squint-eyed dictator
who tortured men casually in his dungeons across the Ozama River,
had one woman in his life he adored: his mother. She was a
wizened little woman who had been abysmally mistreated by his
father, an 0 1 rrant sexual roamer. As is typical with traditional Latin
men, the first thing Trujillo would do after work was visit his
mother. When he was assassinated in 1961, he was busily erecting
a statue to her on the spot where he was born in the town of San
Cristobal. The thirty-foot-high pedestal on which she was to be
enth:;oned still stands, now defaced with vulgar scrawlings.
I recall once in Lima watching a young newspaper editor who
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was the soul of machismo. In his office he ordered people here and
there with that special peremptoriness of the Latin man. Then one
day he told me why he had not gone to Bolivia to cover what
would have been that active country's i8oth revolution.
"I was dying to go," he said. Then he added, with both disgust
and admiration blended in his voice, "My mother!" I must have
looked puzzled. "I was all packed," he continued, "and she carried
on something terrible. She cried and cried. She said, 'Do you want
to kill me? Do you want to kill me? Then go!"' I must have looked
a little bemused, for he said then, irately, "Well, did you want
me to kill her?"
But if the key element to understanding the macho is his sexual
behavior and his attitude toward women-mother, wife, mistress
-another, and closely related, is his attitude toward power. For
if we seek what the macho's attitudes do to politics in Latin Amer-
ica, we find the innermost core of the entire problem of political
instability in that wildly mercurial continent.
There is a saying in Spanish, Hay gobierno? Yo soy contra. It
means literally, "Is there a government? (Or: Is there authority?)
I am against it." In Mexico, one of Benito Juarez's closest asso-
ciates, a loyal general who had fought beside him, suddenly van-
ished when Juarez became president. When Juarez asked about
him, his secretary informed him, "I'm sorry to have to tell you this,
Citizen President; the general has just come out against you be-
cause you're in the government now."
In Latin American politics, it has been not the man who seeks
to unite and to compromise and to heal wounds who was ad-
mired but rather the man who wielded total power-that classic
Spanish type, the caudillo or strongman. Power could not be
shared; it could not be dissolved in that curious Anglo-Saxonism,
compromise. "It is not considered macho to heed the council of
others," Dr. Alfonso Millan, probably Mexico's most respected
psychiatrist, has explained. "In politics, as in the family, the father
is not criticized openly." He sees machismo as "an almost neurotic
compensation" for feelings of inferiority, personal and national.
He further classifies it as "the admiration of power" and says that
as a result "men often receive admiration not in proportion to
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Machismo or The Unromantic Latin
what: they deserve as individuals but in proportion to the power
they wield. When they lose power, they lose admiration."
With political machismo, to oppose is to fight to the death, and
to lose is to begin, at that very moment, plans to annihilate the
winner. Latin Americans do not lose gracefully. Neither in sports
nor in politics do they accept defeat, saying, "The best man
won ... Latin men, indeed, are incapable of losing, for loss
means diminution as a man; every contest is an attempt to justify
one's existence and one's power in the world.
Jr. the United States, at various crucial times in its existence,
men of both political parties have linked together to put through
the legislation and reforms needed to enable the country to sur-
vive. Because of political machismo, this is not possible in Latin
America. It is typical that today with the masses of people in every
Latin country having expressed over and over, with the vote, their
desire for representative government and social reform, change is
stymied because of Hay gobierno? Yo soy contra.
If this were the only principle at play, of course, the continent
would be forever locked in a clash of absolute wills. There have to
be ways to get around it, and there are. Part of the ritual of
machismo: is for a man's friends to plead with him in moments of
intense confrontation and to beg him "for our sakes, for your
children's sake, for your mother's sake, for your country's sake not
to go the whole way." It is common to see two men about to fight,
and each one finally led away by his friends. His macho comes out
intact, for' he has done something greater than rise to a confron-
tation: he' has responded to the cries of friendship.
I recall a dinner table conversation in the Hotel Sucre Palace
in La Paz, Bolivia, after Victor Paz Estenssoro had been deposed
from the presidency in 1964. Three men were drinking heavily,
and one, a former Paz politician, was saying drunkenly, "And I
still say Victor Paz was the best president this country ever
had ..." He was becoming unruly when the other man started
appealing to him: "If you weren't such a good friend, I would feel
obliged to do something, but you are such a good friend . . . the
ties of friendship are the only thing that keep me from taking
action but you are a friend, a real friend." Everyone was
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saved, and the three walked out with their arms around one an-
other's shoulders.
Politically, too, "ways out" have been found for the absolute
confrontations of machismo. Attempt after attempt has been
made to curb this destructive, runaway horn-locking through de-
vising "solutions" that will control it, by imposing, usually after
times of bloodshed and tribulation, rules that will control the ex-
cesses of individualism and male ego.
The most successful "solution" of this sort was Mexican, arrived
at after the bloody revolution which began in igio in which more
than a million people lost their lives. It was the one-party solution
that other countries have tried to copy and in which one party
expresses the will of the revolution and, therefore, the will of the
people. A president rules for only one term and he is chosen from
the bowels of the party, by horse trading and negotiation; the
power plays are not in public, so destruction need not be the ego's
revenge for losing.
Before the election, the candidate is coughed up from the in-
sides of the party and presented full-blown to the people, which
gives its approval ceremonially to the new interpreter of the revo-
lution and of the people. He is the father of the people and he is
never criticized, for that would bring the destructive needs back
into play. But he cannot keep himself in power; his power is rela-
tive. He is not permitted, under any circumstances, to see himself
as the indispensable man, for he has accepted the solution of the
revolution which says that only the revolution is indispensable.
After one term, another man is suddenly coughed up; they have
molded machismo to a new idea-machismo serving the ideals and
the solution of the revolution.
Uruguay is another country which, at a crucial time in its history,
rose above and out of itself to find a "solution" to Latin underde-
velopment, backwardness and machismo. Uruguay, which came
to be considered a model of order and progress, was traditionally a
country of frontier gaucho brawling and political instability. Then
in 1903 there came to the presidency a highly unusual man, Josr
Battle y Ord6iiez. Battle, a staunch democrat and constitution-
alist, traveled to Europe and looked at Switzerland, where he got
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Machismo: or The Unromantic Latin
the idea that subordinating the president in the political structure
would be the panacea for Uruguay's ills-caudillismo, which is
simply another word for machismo. He urged that Uruguay do
away with the office of president and substitute a "collegiate exec-
utive,," in effect, that Uruguay be ruled by committee instead of
strongman.
The full transition from the one-man presidency to a nine-man
ruling council did not come until 1951, but Bathe did succeed in
dim::nishing the president's powers, and he created the famed
Uruguayan welfare state, where workers retired at full pay at age
fifty and there was no illiteracy or real poverty. Women could get
pensions after a few years' work, if they had children. Unemploy-
ment was taken up by massive public employment.
By the 196os, however, the "solution" began to sour, drained
by its inflexibility and by the burdensome mass of unproductive
social welfare laws. Of 380,000 on the public payroll, many simply
did :iot show up for work, and the Uruguayans joked that a govern-
ment worker had to get to work early to get a seat. "Uruguay is
the 'largest office in the world that qualifies as a republic," the wags
said. Once I met a charming young middle-class couple, both high-
schcol educated, who were living in a rude board house with a dirt
floor on the outskirts of Montevideo. They had built it them-
selves and had moved out from their city apartment house. With
half of the husband's salary taken for welfare benefits, they had no
money left to pay rent.
Tere was no flexibility built into the Uruguayan "solution." It
signified again the Latins' enormous ability to rise to great occa-
sion,; and find answers to complex problems; and it signified the
inability to build the kinds of institutions, with intrinsic flexibility,
that allow them to evolve. In the '6os the Uruguayans voted for
the ;return of the presidential system, in a desperate effort to put
the economy-riddled by a "benefits only" socialism, with little
state planning to continue a sound economy-back on its feet.
Both the Uruguayan and the Mexican solutions were and are
only temporary solutions, yet they creak on. The solution that
turned out to be the most tragic was Bolivia's, for that was a
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country that had a total social and political revolution in 1952 and
then allowed itself to fall back into the abyss.
There were four men who made the revolution of 1952, the
second (next to Mexico) great social revolution in Latin America
-Victor Paz Estcnssoro, Juan Lechin Oquendo, IIernan Silas
Suazo and Walter Guevara Arze. They were brilliant men, as
attractive as you will find in recent Latin American history and
idealistic to the extent one can be idealistic in a country as brutal
as Bolivia. Under them the world changed. The Indians, descend-
ants of the Incas, who had lived the most slavish lives in Latin
America (they mined the great silver mountain at Potosi), took
over the lands from the big landowners and began to get fat on
their own crops. The tin mines were nationalized, the govern-
ment became openly a people's government, and massive settle-
ment of the eastern regions was begun. And there was an under-
standing, a "solution." "We were going to go the Mexican way,"
Walter Guevara told me fifteen years later, when it had all col-
lapsed from the sheer imperatives of Latin ego. "Each of us was
to rotate the presidency."
Under the party, the Nationalist Revolutionary Movement or
MNR, they began taking their turns. First Paz, a bespectacled,
deceptively scholarly looking man who had been the intellectual
leader of the revolution. Things were going well. Then Silas, an
emotional, dedicated man, for he was second-in-line.
Things were still going well when in 1960 political machismo
began reasserting itself. It was Guevara's turn, but Paz said,
"No." He himself must be president again. He was the only one
to lead the country, the indispensable man. Paz's men trailed
Guevara's men and left them hanging from light fixtures; Guevara
himself was hounded from attic to attic. The "solution" was broken
at that moment, but it took four more years for the men of the
revolution to devour each other. For Paz was not satisfied with
just one more term, he wanted still more. He changed the con-
stitution so he could be elected once more, and he got himself
in again in 1964, which was to have been Lechin's period to serve.
One of the things Latin Americans will not stand for-and an-
other example of the basically democratic reaction of Latin Ameri-
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Machismo or The Unromantic Latin
cans-is prorroguismo or continuismo, a man's continuing himself
in power after his time. And this time it was all over. In the fall of
1964, the three he had double-crossed united to throw Paz out.
And the country sank back into the bottomless abyss of political
savagery, with each leader vying for absolute power for himself.
This is macho politics and Latin America is rife with monuments
to it. One of the most dramatic is in the cemetery of Guatemala
City, where barefoot little boys suffr: the cost of the political
savagery with no schools, no future: all they can do is sell water to
mourners at five centavos a can. If you walk through the cemetery,
you see the monument to Colonel F. Javier Arana, hero of the right,
assassinated in the 1940S (assassin never apprehended), another
to Mario Mendez Montenegro, hope of the democratic left in
the 196os, found mysteriously killed in 1965 (case never solved)
.. . Others were luckier-they escaped into exile. One of them,
General Miguel Ydigoras Fuentes (president of Guatemala from
1953-63),. sat in his exile house in neighboring San Salvador one
day going down the list of Guatemalan presidents in this century.
"Not one was not either exiled or shot:," he said, smiling a bitter-
swe.-t smile. "Being president of Guatemala, being president in
these countries-it is not a very good job."
The macho man who looks so romantic to much of the outside
world is not looked upon as romantic by his most intelligent fellow
Latins, who more brilliantly than anyone-and more devastatingly
-have analyzed him. The Mexican poet-philosopher Octavio Paz,
wrote: "One word sums up the aggressiveness, insensitivity, invul-
nerability and other attributes of the macho: power. It is force
without the discipline of any notion of order; arbitrary power, the
will without reins and without a set course."
To Paz, as to most of the others who have studied the macho-
style man and written about him, the macho engenders hostility
and hatred in his sons, who then turn to the mother and, embar-
rassed and confused by her humiliation, become machos-
authoritarians-themselves and complete the cycle. "The essential
attribute of the macho-power-almost always reveals itself as a
capacity for wounding, humiliating, annihilating," Paz says.
"Nothing is more natural, therefore, than his indifference toward
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PART I: TIID OLD LATINS.
the offspring he spawns . . . Ile is power isolated in its own
potency, without relationship or compromise with the outside
world. He is pure incommunication, a solitude that devours itself
and everything it touches."
To Paz, the woman is to the macho the humiliated one, the
creature the macho splits open-and anyone who opens himself
to others, sexually, emotionally, politically, is despised. Life and
the human being must be closed and safe. The verb chingar in
Spanish is used to denote the woman's despised state. Chingar,
he says, "is to do violence to another. The verb is masculine, active,
cruel; it stings, wounds, gashes, stains. And it provokes a bitter,
resentful satisfaction . . . To the Mexican there are only two pos-
sibilities in life; either he inflicts the actions implied by chingar
on others or else he suffers them himself at the hands of others.
This conception of social life as combat fatally divides society into
the strong and the weak."
The background of machismo is not only in the Hispanic tradi-
tion but also in the New World experience, for it was here that the
conquistadores came, in effect, to rape the land in their predatory
lust. They literally did rape the Indian women, thus producing the
new race of Latin American men who so often feel themselves the
consequence of such raping. They lust after the figure of the father,
the rapacious conquistador, yet they also hate and abhor him. For
the figure of the mother there is sympathy and love, yet also the
image of the victim, the figure of powerlessness. The man desires
her largely as a mother to his children, and the more children he
can have, the more a man he considers himself.
Dr. Humberto Rotundo of Peru, one of the most distinguished
psychiatrists in Latin America, insists that Latin women do not like
their role and that it causes them deep problems. "What the double
standard does is it creates in women the devaluation of men,"
he says. A Latin American university woman insists that the
"typical macho likes politics and sports better than sex, which
probably he fears though he talks women all day. Machismo is
the attitude of an incomplete man. It is the pampered boy who
has never grown up. It is a form of immaturity, of underdevelop-
ment. Our whole culture suffers from it. Perhaps that is why it is
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Machismo or The Unromantic Latin
so hard for us to develop stable political and social institutions."
Where, then, is the "romance" of the Latin American man?
Where the romantic Latin of pictures, songs and poems? Where
the man who appears so sure of himself, so elegant, so proud?
If we take "romantic" to mean the extravagantly ideal, the
macho is the most unromantic man in the world. He has ordered
his lift in the most cynical way possible, in the way least responsive
to man and man's possibilities. He is driven not to love but to con-
quest; oriented not to the drive for unity and community among
men, but, to predatory apartness. Totally uncontrolled in physi-
cal passion, when it comes to spiritual love he is as coldly calculat-
ing as the most parsimonious Prussian burgher balancing his
accounts. j When it comes to marriage he weighs class, status and
gain on a careful scale.
There is the wife for child-bearing and raising, and there are the
women outside the family for carnal pleasures, for the symbolic
ripping open. He is the ultimate man of appetite-but ironically
he probably is a man who rarely enjoys that appetite because it
always must serve his own ego.
In the past the macho has been the Latin American ideal, and
he is one of the major reasons why Latin America has never
amounted to anything. Machos do not work together. Machos
are not real patriots because they use instead of help. Machos
are incapable of selfless dedication, of sharing power, of political
gallantry. When they lose, their instinct is to kill. When they con-
quer, their instinct is to gloat. When they love, their instinct is to
use. They are incapable of long-term work, of scientific experiment,
of the patient investigation that builds civilizations. They cannot
acknowledge defeat, and they spend their days crying "fraud"
about the winner and plotting the downfall of those who do suc-
ceed. They are incapable of anything not immediately rewarded by
sexual pleasure, unfettered power or social adulation.
They can be charming, but they are men who inflict and hurt
and humiliate. Perhaps worst of all, they are men who are incapable
of creating modern societies.
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Journal of Inter-American Studies
and World Affairs/July 1970
LESTER D. LANGLEY
Department of History
Central Washington State College
Ellensburg
U. S.-PANAMANIAN
RELATIONS SINCE 1941*
Cl ince 1941 United States relations with Latin American countries have
fluctuated between the official cordiality of wartime cooperation,
which provided the basis for the Organization of American States
and the Rio Treaty, and deep-seated hostility and malaise, which erupted
in the Nixon visit and in Castro's revolution, as well as in more recent un-
pleasant incidents. Latin American leaders have contended that the United
States violated its wartime commitments, particularly in the economic
sphere, by concentrating on the recovery of Europe in the first postwar
decade and on Asian upheaval in the second. The history of U.S.-Panama-
nian relations since 1941 provides an excellent case study in order to test
the validity of these contentions.'
I
During the 1930s, relations between the United States and Panama
* The author appreciates the aid of the following organizations and persons in
his research for this article: the Dwight D. Eisenhower Library, Abilene, Kansas; the
Canal Zone Library Museum, Balboa, Canal Zone; Frank Baldwin, director, Panama
Canal Information Office; the Biblioteca Nacional of Panama; the National Univer-
sity Library of Panama; and Rafael Moscote, Decano General of the University of
Panama.
1 The historian of recent United States-Panamanian relations must rely large-
ly on the public record, for Department of State material on the years since 1945 is
closed to the researcher. However, the Panamanian government's Memorias extend
into the 1960s and provide an official view, albeit a biased one. The complete story
cannot be told until State Department unpublished material is made available, but a
partial summary can be obtained in official government publications, particularly
Congressional hearings, and public statements of the presidents. In addition, the
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JOURNAL OF INTER-AMERICAN STUDIES AND WORLD AFFAIRS
improved considerably.2 In 1931-1932 a nationalistic movement in the
republic paled the way to power for Harmodio Arias, Jr., an international
lawyer and author of a 1911 treatise on the Panama Canal who pledged
honesty in government and a greater share of canal benefits. In October
1933 Arias visited Washington in order to impress upon Franklin D.
Roosevelt the rectitude of Panamanian claims. From the discussions Arias
emer, ed with a commitment to alter the 1903 canal treaty, which had re-
duced Panama to the status of a protectorate. Following 110 sessions
in 1534-1936, the two nations signed the treaty of 1936 (Hull-Alfaro
Treaty), which abrogated the Panamanian protectorate, adjusted the canal
annuity, and promised Panamanians greater economic opportunities in
Zone business.
Although the treaty remained unratified until mid-1939, the promise
of a better deal for Panama produced a significant improvement in diplo-
matic relations. The cordiality was marred somewhat in 1939-1941 by an
insistent American military, which demanded long-term defense leases in
the republic, and the equally insistent Panamanian administration of Arnul-
fo Arias (Harmodio's brother), who refused to approve the lease agree-
ment3 until the United States pledged extensive economic assistance to
Panama. Arias, who became president in October 1940, was ousted in a
coup d'etat a year later. His successor was more tractable, and the defense
leases were finally signed in May 1942.
The wartime defense sites agreement was never satisfactorily worked
out. As conceived, the compact signed on 18 May 1942 was a temporary
lease of national domain to the United States in the interest of canal and
hemi>pheric defense. In order to protect future military necessities, how-
ever, the American negotiators had insisted all along that the termination of
the leases would occur "one year after the date on which the definitive
treaty of peace which brings about the end of the present war shall have
entered into effect."
Although article IV asserted the Panamanian retention of sovereignty
over the bases and article V reiterated the temporary character of the
lease,3 the wording implied commitments and obligations that future Pana-
manian governments found reason to regret. This was especially true of the
Eisenhower Library provided on microfilm a substantial amount of unpublished ma-
terial dealing with the "flag" issue.
2 For the history of U.S.-Panamanian affairs in the 1930s see Lester D. Lang-
ley, "Negotiating New Treaties with Panama, 1936," Hispanic American Historical
Review 48 (may 1968): 220-233; and "The World Crisis and the Good Neighbor
Policy in Panama, 1936-1941," The Americas 24 (October 1967): 137-152.
3 Defense Sites Agreement, 18 May 1942, in Di6genes A. Arosemena, ed.,
Documentary Diplomatic History of the Panama Canal (Panama, 1961), pp. 453-
467.
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words "definitive treaty of peace," which meant something more than a
mere cessation of hostilities. During the original negotiations, the Panama-
nian commissioner, Victor F. Goytia, had taken the position that the army
might occupy the Bases only for the duration of the emergency, which
would end automatically with. demobilization. When this stipulation was
broached, Ambassador Edwin Wilson had acknowledged it as advanta-
geous for the United States, which would not demobilize until after the
wartime danger passed.4
Thus, while granting defense cooperation, the Panamanian govern-
ment continued throughout the war to advance its own interpretation of the
original lease and to press for the economic assistance demanded by Arnul-
fo Arias. A second agreement of 18 May 1942 had stipulated that the
United States would transfer control of water and sewage facilities of Pana-
ma City to the republic, relinquish real estate owned by the Panama Rail-
road Company, and pay for Panama's share of the Rio Hato highway. As a
rebuke to what had been decried as "blackmailing" tactics by Arias, the
Department of State offered this aid not as an official promise for the de-
fense sites but in consideration of Panamanian cooperation in the protec-
tion of the canal. Like the defense sites, these promises constituted an
executive agreement. Interpretations of the second agreement varied as
widely as those of the first, for the Panamanian government refused to dis-
tinguish between executive agreement and treaty, looking upon the 18 May
accords as solemnly binding as a treaty.6
Eventually, the commitments were honored, but never to Panamanian
satisfaction. The United States appeared to be much more concerned with
canal defense than isthmian economic development. The stationing of
thousands of American troops scattered across the nation gave credence
to fears that Panama had been transformed into an occupied state. When
the republic's ambassador, E. Jaen Guardia, objected to the construction
of a Canal Zone airport for a commercial aviation company, arguing that
such facilities had little to do with canal defense and that Panama needed
air traffic, he was informed that the new airport was indeed a wartime
emergency and, in any case, Panama was ill-suited for commercial avia-
tion.6
The Japanese surrender of September 1945 served merely to intensify
4 Victor F. Goytia to Edwin Wilson, 5 February 1942, Department of State,
Foreign Relations of the United States: 1942, 6: 579-580; Wilson to Secretary of
State, 9 March 1942, ibid., pp. 584-591.
6 H. W. Briggs, "Treaties, Executive Agreements, and the Panama Joint Reso-
lution of 1943," American Political Science Review 37 (August 1943): 691.
6 Goytia, Funci6n geogrdfica del istmo (Panama, n.d.), pp. 135-136; E. Ja6n
Guardia to Secretary of State, 23 March 1942, FR, 1942, 6: 619-622; Wilson to
Secretary of State, 21 April 1942, ibid., pp. 622-626.
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the defense sites controversy. During hostilities, Panamanian officials had
purposely toned down the harsher language of their dispatches, partly be-
,.:ausc of wartime camaraderie and partly because of the realization that
the American government would not budge from its stated diplomatic posi-
tion. News of the Missouri capitulation now brought angry demands from
the Panamanians that the war was over and therefore American troops
were obligated to evacuate the bases within one year. It appeared to make
little difference to Panamanian negotiators that the Japanese surrender
was technically not the "definitive treaty of peace" prescribed in the 18
May 1942 accord. From Panama City came a request for American evac-
uation. Instead of complying immediately, writes a Panamanian diplomatic
historian, t4e Department of State waited for eleven months to send an
official reply. When the American rejection arrived, the isthmian govern-
ment was shocked to discover in it a proposal for a new defense sites con-
vention.7
The president of Panama, Enrique Jimenez, was inclined to accept
the new American offer, which reiterated the theme of isthmian defense,
the temporary character of the agreement, joint jurisdiction over the bases,
and a restatement of national sovereignty. While negotiations over the new
agreement continued, however, Jimenez announced that the continued oc-
cupation of the sites after the "termination" of the 1942 lease (2 Septem-
ber 1946) would be in violation of Panamanian sovereignty. On Septem-
ber 4. he demanded the return of the bases. Though obviously annoyed,
the U.S. Army began the laborious process of compliance, and by mid-
September approximately 100 installations were being evacuated.8
Once signed, the new defense sites agreement encountered almost
overwhelming opposition in the National Assembly and in the Panamanian
national press. On 3 September the Assembly had passed unanimously a
resolution demanding the immediate evacuation of the bases by the Ameri-
can military. As the government negotiated, the press launched its attack,
decrying the new accords as a sell-out and as an illegal cession of national
territory. As the legislators debated, Ricardo Alfaro, a former member of
the Panamanian Treaty Commission, resigned his post as foreign minister
as a protest against the administration. Students threatened a nationwide
strike if the National Assembly voted favorably.9
7 Ernesto Castillero P., Panamd y los Estados Unidos (Panama, 1964), p.
302 passim.
8 Enrique Jimenez, Para la historic; breves capitulos de la gesti6n politica y
administrativa de un gobernante liberal (Panama, 1951), pp. 25-27; the New York
Times, 4 September, 10:3; 13 September, 16:8.
9 Ibid.,,3 September, 8:2; 11 December 1947, 28:3; Goytia, Funci6n geogrd-
fica, p. 243.
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On 22 December the Assembly unanimously rejected the defense sites
arrangement with the United States. Years later, Jimenez wrote sarcastical-
ly that the legislative body would have approved it had the members been
less fearful of offending public opinion and inciting a street eruption.10 The
opposition, however, acted less from fear than from the conviction, shared
by most Panamanians, that the agreements violated the 1936 treaty, effec-
tively denied Panamanian control over the bases, and laid the foundation
for an occupation army and the creation of "little Canal Zones" thi ough-
out the republic.1'
II
The political scene, which had shown little political violence since the
ouster of Arias in October 1941, erupted once more in a coup. In Novem-
ber 1949 ex-President Arnulfo Arias, with the assistance of Jose Antonio
Rem6n, chief of the National Police, successfully regained office. The
former executive maintained that he was rightfully claiming the seat that
had been denied him by the 1948 election. His enemies quickly fled. Two of
them, former Presidents Adolfo de la Guardia and Enrique Jimenez, found
sanctuary in the Canal Zone before Arias' police closed in.12
Once safely reinstalled, Arias was considerably less anti-American in
his utterances than he had been in 1940-1941. He swore to defend the ca-
nal in wars "hot or cold," and he later averred his fidelity to U.S. policies in
Korea. At the same time, the new president resurrected economic griev-
ances that had lain dormant since the war. In 1950 the Panamanian govern-
ment presented a list of disputed points, which included:
1. Studies for a bridge over, or a tunnel under, the canal at
Balboa, the Pacific terminus.
2. Completion of the study authorized in 1940 to investigate the
contraband trade between the Canal Zone and Panama.
3. Fulfillment of a 1942 American commitment to pay one third
of the maintenance costs of those Panamanian roads used often
by the army.
The last point dealt with the heated question of equality of employment for
Panamanians in Zone labor. President Roosevelt had stated that the 1936
treaty would remove discriminatory practices, but employment procedures
in the Zone remained unfavorable to Panama. The military command, the
note said, has stated that the employment stipulations did not apply to civil-
10 Jimenez, Para la historia, p. 30.
11 Castillero P., Panama y los EE. UU., p. 302 passim. Final withdrawal of
troops was not completed until February 1948. The New York Times, 21 February
1948, 3:7.
12 The New York Times, 25 November 1949, 1:5; 27 November, 1:4.
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ians who worked for the army. Panama contended that all who labored in
the Zone should have equal employment opportunity.13
The overthrow of Arias two years after he had seized power failed to
interrupt the Panamanian quest for solution of the 1950 demands. The un-
seating of Arias came after he arbitrarily annulled the Constitution of 1946
by executive decree. Possibly he wished to reinstall the fundamental law of
1941, which had been his own creation. In any event, he agreed to resign
only after a pitched battle in the streets between his opponents and the
arnulfistas, an affray that left three dead and forty wounded. Arias might
have won in the power struggle had it not been for the decision of the na-
tional police, Panama's army, to throw in their lot with the demonstrators.
On 11 May 1951 the president and his wife were incarcerated in the same
jail Arias had occupied in 1941.14
After a year of interim executives, the electorate went to the polls and
chose Jose Antonio Remon as president for four years. "Chichi" Remon,
the power behind the throne since 1947, would never serve out those years,
for an assassin's bullet would cut him down in 1955. He would, however,
obtain a new canal treaty with the United States.
Remon seemed determined to make a new treaty the grand triumph of
his administration, as Harmodio Arias had done in 1933-1936. In October
1953 Remon arrived in Washington on an official visit. He gradually over-
earn,- White House hesitancy by presenting to President Dwight D. Eisen-
howar a lucid, dignified plea for Panama's case. Eisenhower emerged from
the interview with Remon convinced of the latter's sincerity and of his
republic's economic rights in the Canal Zone. In a White House press re-
lease:, Eisenhower announced that the two executives had agreed on the
principles of 1933 (a reference to the Roosevelt-Arias accord on Zone
employment) and of 1936 (the Hull-Alfaro Treaty) as a basis for adjust-
men'. The stipulations of those previous arrangements, the press release
stated, must be strengthened "to the end that there should be an equitable
benefitting of the two nations which made possible the construction of the
canal as well as the enabling of Panama to take advantage of the market
offered by the Canal Zone and the ships transiting the Canal." Moreover,
the two executives announced that "the principle of equality of opportunity
and treatment must have full effect in regard to the citizens of Panama and
the United States employed in the Canal Zone .... "15
13 Ibid., 22 May 1950; Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores, in Arias, Mensaje
1 ? de Octubre de 1950 (Panama, 1950), p. 19; Memorandum, Ministerio de
Relaciones Exteriores, Memoria, 1950, Anexos (Panama, 1950), L/1-L/5.
14 The New York Times, 10 May 1951, 1:4; 11 May, 1:4.
15 Vision, 30 October 1953; White House Press Releases, 1 October 1953, Copy
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The resulting Treaty of 19551, was as significant in its economic bene-
fits as the one of 1936. In the Hull-Alfaro Treaty, the annuity payment had
been changed from 250,000 to 436,000 dollars (or balboas) in order to
compensate Panama for the depreciation in American currency after 1934.
Thus, in effect, there had been no annuity increase in 1936. The 1955
treaty, however, added a substantial supplement to the canal rental by rais-
ing the figure to 1,930,000 balboas (or dollars). Article II allowed the re-
public to impose some taxes on the income of persons working in the, Canal
Zone, excepting American military personnel, U.S. citizens, and other resi-
dents in the Zone who were not citizens of Panama. This excluded, of
course, a large number of people, but it did permit the Panamanian govern-
ment to tax its own citizens who worked for the American government. It
also represented a step forward in the republic's assertion of authority in
the Zone.
The next article, as significant psychologically as economically, ter-
minated the monopoly in perpetuity that the Panama Railroad held on
transisthmian communication. In article IV the U.S. government gave up its
treaty right to administer sanitation codes in Panama City and Colon; in
article V it relinquished certain lands within the republic. Articles VI, VII,
and VIII redefined boundary lines between the Canal Zone and Panama
and marked out lands to be used for military maneuvers by the United
States Army. In consideration of the abrogation of the monopoly held by
the railroad, Panama agreed to waive its own rights under. article XIX of
the 1903 treaty, by which the republic had free transportation on the rail-
road for its troops.
More importantly, articles XI and XII severely restricted the opera-
tions of the commissaries. Beginning in 1957, the Zone commissaries were
to cease the sale of goods (except for such minor items as tobacco, meals,
or candy) to persons who were not U.S. citizens and did not reside in the
Zone. Subject to the above modifications, of course, the treaties of 1903
and 1936 remained in force.
Although the Treaty of 1955 required less than a year of ratification
(compared to three years for its predecessor), it encountered formidable
U.S. opposition. Many congressmen had always been of the opinion that
only American citizens should occupy technical or administrative posts in
the Zone. Both Congress and the president received numerous petitions op-
posing concessions to Panama. The most persistent opponent to the treaty
was the United States Citizens Association, which represented the 3,800
in Office Files 52, Dwight D. Eisenhower Library, Abilene, Kansas (hereinafter
cited as DDE).
16 Treaties and Other International Acts Series 3297.
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Americans employed in the Zone. Citing the higher costs of living brought
on by the 1951 decision to economize canal operations through higher rents
and :axes, the U.S.C.A. bemoaned the low morale of employees. The canal,
it proclaimed, should be run by "loyal and efficient Americans." More
strident in his analysis of the Panamanian situation was Earl Harding, a
frequent citic of canal policy, who warned in the National Economic
Council Bulletin that relinquishment of "American sovereign rights in the
Canal Zone is unthinkable." 17
As a matter of fact, the Eisenhower administration emphasized that
the treaty merely granted Panama deserved economic privileges or trans-
ferred to Panamanian jurisdiction certain functions, such as sanitary activ-
ities in Panama City and Colon, that were no longer considered necessary
for canal maintenance. Beginning in July 1953 Panama had already started
to manage Ihose public services relating to water supply, plumbing inspec-
tion, garbage collection, and street cleaning. For clarification of those items
relating to employment, the two governments had attached a "Memoran-
dum of Understanding" to the text of the treaty. A portion of it read as
follows:
Subject to the enactment of the necessary legislation by the
Congress, the following precepts are set forth in item I to
govern the labor practices of all United States agencies in the
Canal Zone:
(a) All positions will have a basic wage scale, the same for all
employees eligible for appointment thereto without regard to
United States or Panamanian citizenship....
(b) Legislation will be sought for uniform application to the
Civil Service Retirement Act to all United States and Panama-
nian citizen employees of this Government in the Canal Zone.
(c)' Equality of opportunity will be afforded to Panamanian
citizens for employment in all United States Government posi-
tions in the Canal Zone for which they are qualified except
where security factors serve to make undesirable the employ-
ment of non-United States citizens....
(d) Panamanian citizens will be afforded opportunity to par-
ticipate in such training programs as may be conducted for
employees by United States agencies in the Canal Zone.18
What the Senate really wanted was reassurance that the treaty stipu-
lations did not impair the military interests of the United States in the Canal
17 United States Citizens Association to the President, "R6sum6 of the States
of the United States Citizen Employee of the Panama Canal," n.d., in DDE, OF
52; Earl Herding, in National Economic Council Bulletin (15 August 1954), p. 1.
18 SeOate, Committee on Foreign Relations, Hearings on the Panama Treaty
(Washington, 1955), pp. 6, 12-13.
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Zone. The definition of such interests was itself a debatable subject, for
United States citizen employees contended that the treaty clauses eroded
"the sovereignty of the United States over the Canal." In denying advan-
tages to the Americans in the Zone, representatives of the U.S.C.A. de-
clared, the Congress seemed to be inviting the less efficient and less indus-
trious employee, who could not compete in the United States, to operate
"such a vital and complex installation as the Panama Canal." The Metal
Trades Department of the American Federation of Labor objected to the
language of particular clauses because interpretation might lead to a dimi-
nution of American employees and an impairment of job security.19 Even-
tually, of course, one senator resurrected the familiar question about "sov-
ereignty" in the Zone. Assistant Secretary of State Henry Holland erased
any doubts regarding that issue, as the following colloquy revealed:
QUESTION: As I [Senator Wiley] understood from you, Sec-
retary Holland, there is nothing in this treaty that would in the
slightest degree depreciate all the attributes of sovereignty that
we possess.
ANSWER: That is true; and so true is it, that in the course of
the negotiations the Panamanians advanced several small re-
quests which, one by one, had considerable appeal, but all of
which we refused, because we did not want to leave one grain
of evidence that could a hundred years hence be interpreted
as implying any admission by the United States that we possess
and exercise anything less than 100 percent of the rights of
sovereignty in this area.20
Nevertheless, despite Secretary Holland's strong reiteration of the
hallowed "attributes of sovereignty," the 1955 treaty provided significant
economic goals that, when fulfilled, would be as meaningful as the Taft
Agreement of 1904 and the Hull-Alfaro Treaty of 1936.21 The annuity was
increased by $1,500,000; Panama was to receive property valued at
$4,400,000 and gain greater access to the Canal Zone market. The bridge
over the canal, promised in 1942, was still in the future, but the 1955 esti-
mated cost amounted to $20,000,000, and the span would be infinitely
more important to Panamanians than Americans.22 Whether or not the
treaty would dispel all the fears, both American and Panamanian, was a
question also for the future.
19 Statements of L. R. Dilweg, Counsel, U.S.C.A., and of J. A. Brownlow,
president, Metal Trades, A.F. of L., in ibid., pp. 78-79; 97-98, respectively.
20 Quoted in ibid., p. 164.
21 Such is the opinion of Isaias Batista Ballesteros, El Drama de Panamd y
America (Panama, 1961), p. 81.
22 Senate, Foreign Relations Committee, Hearings on the Panama Treaty, p.
56.
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III
In several ways the Eisenhower administration facilitated Panama's
economic' opportunities in the Canal Zone following the ratification of the
19:15 treaty. Under pressure to terminate unnecessary functions in the op-
eration of the canal, the company closed down several businesses of mar-
ginal utility, including some meat-processing plants, an industrial labora-
tory, and an ice-making enterprise.23 The Panamanian government, of
course, wanted the discontinuance of a host of other activities considered
unessential, but here the company won out in its bid to keep them open. In
other areas the administration began to fulfill old promises. In July 1956
the Senate finally passed a measure authorizing funds for the construction
of a bridge over the canal at Balboa. Congress generally disregarded the
spirit of the 1955 treaty by inserting into the appropriations acts certain
stipulations that only American citizens must be employed in particular
tyres of Zone employment. Usually the president suspended these sections
of the acts in order to comply with the treaty.24
The Suez crisis of 1956 gave Panama an opportunity to strengthen its
position vis-a-vis the United States. The abrupt Egyptian seizure of the
Suez Canal prompted many Panamanians to believe that a similar struggle
against "colonialism" on the isthmus was unfolding and that under pressure
the American government mic' clease its firm grip on canal supervision.
Indeed, those who had championed the Panamanian cause now could argue
that it was in the interests of the United States and Egypt to surrender their
power over canals in the promotion of world peace and commerce. Already
isthmian nationalists were employing the example of Suez as a weapon
against the Canal Zone establishment. In October 1956 President Ernesto
de la Guardia, Jr., appeared before the National Assembly and bluntly de-
clared that the treaties and accords signed with the United States from
1936, including the Eisenhower-Rem6n Treaty, failed to satisfy national
aspirations. He vowed to assure Panamanian workers equality of employ-
ment with Americans in the Zone.
Almost two months later, as the United Nations debated the Middle
East crisis, the Panamanian delegate to the United Nations, Aquilino Boyd,
challenged the American government to prove that it dealt fairly with Pan-
ama in canal business. Citing statistics from the office of the Canal Zone
governor; William Potter, Boyd strove to illustrate that the net receipts of
23 Mgrcer D. Tate, "Panama Canal and Political Partnership," Journal of
Politics 25 ';(February 1963) : 126-127.
24 A~sistant Secretary of State, Department of State, to Bureau of the Budget,
20 July 1956, 30 October 1956; Panama Canal Company to Bureau of the Budget,
17 June 1957; DDE.
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the canal in the previous five years had amounted to almost $18,000,000,
whereas the annuity paid to Panama during the same time had been
$2,150,000. Proclaiming that Panama must enjoy the benefits from the
canal in equal measure with the United States, Boyd condemned the Zone
practice of using the geographic origin of the worker as a criterion for sal-
aries and wages. "The only difference of salary that we accept as fair and
non-discriminatory," Boyd went on, "was that of the skill or experience of
the worker for each assignment."25
In delivering its criticism of canal policy, the Panamanian Foreign
Ministry usually distinguished between Washington and its subordinates
in the Canal Zone. The latter, claimed the minister of foreign affairs, were
particularly loath to comply with prior restrictions and agreements. In
1958, the minister charged, the Canal Zone government purchased Ecua-
dorean rice, Danish dairy products, German and Dutch beer, and Austral-
ian meat in violation of stipulations that products bought for Zone con-
sumption must be obtained in the United States and Panama. In the opinion
of isthmian observers, the Canal Zone authorities interpreted the 1955
treaty provisions unilaterally in order to give them a prejudicial character.
The purchase of "luxury" items from third countries was damaging to the
national market that depended on Zone buying. Failure to implement the
Treaty of 1955 produced increasing discontent within the republic, espe-
cially in Panama City and Colon, two cities that have always depended
heavily on transisthmian trade and traffic. The Canal Zone, said President
de la Guardia in October 1959, remained Panama's major problem.26
The next month witnessed the outbreak of serious rioting along the
Canal Zone-Panamanian boundary. Ironically, the immediate cause of the
disturbance was not the issue of employment so much as the Panamanian
demand to fly the national flag in the Zone as a symbolic gesture of "titular
sovereignty." During the 1955 treaty discussions Panama's negotiators,
notably Dr. Octavio Fabrega, had tried unsuccessfully to obtain American
approval to fly.the Panamanian flag on ships transiting the canal (warships
excepted) and at specified places in the Canal Zone. The designation of
Spanish and English as official languages in the Zone was requested also to
2r, Ernesto de la Guardia, Jr., Speech, 1 October 1956, in de la Guardia, Teoria
y prdctica de la democracia: conversaciones con el pueblo, 1955-60 (Panama
1960), p. 42; Aquilino Boyd, speech, 23 November 1956, in Ministerio de Relaciones
Exteriores, Discursos pronunciados ... Boyd (Panama, 1956), 26 Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores, Memoria, 1958: pp.15-17.
y
Anexos (Panama, 1958), pp. viii-ix, Miguel Moreno, Speech, 23 September 1959, in
Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores. Discurso pronunciado ... Moreno (Panama,
1959), pp. 20-21; "Panama Canal Troubles," The Economist 180 (September 1,
1956): 724; Ernesto de la Guardia, Jr., Message to National Assembly, 1 October
1959, in Teoria y prdctica, pp. 222-228.
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lend support to the claim of sovereignty. For fear of opening a Pandora's
box of related questions, the Department of State refused the request. The
treaty contained no reference to the matter, and for several years the issue
aroused only periodical grumbling from the Panamanian side.
In 1959, however, Boyd and Professor Ernesto Castillero Reyes, a
well-known historian and author of a standard text on the republic's his-
torv, resurrected the flag-flying scheme as a. device to revive the sovereignty
problem once more. Boyd was no street agitator. Trained as a lawyer, he
had occupied important posts in the national government-assemblyman,
ambassador to Mexico, delegate to the United Nations, and minister of
Foreign Relations. His family pedigree was even more impressive, for he
descended from Don Federico Boyd, one of the nation's founding fathers,
and Dr. Augusto Boyd, a former chief executive. His enemies described
him as a fanatic on canal disputes, and once he had sponsored a measure
to extend territorial waters to twelve miles as a means of asserting domina-
tio.a over the approaching sea entrances to the canal. Boyd and Castillero
R. chose 3 November for an announcedpeaceful march into the Zone to
fly the flag. Zonians immediately decried the march as a cheap ruse to
attract international attention, for Panama's colors had always flown
throughout the American strip on 3 November, the republic's day of inde-
pe.adenceZ7
Once the demonstrators arrived at Zone entrances, unfortunately, the
situation quickly degenerated into a brawl. Each side blamed the other for
initiating hostilities. Panamanian marchers charged that a Zone policeman
trampled on the national flag that the students intended to hoist. In retalia-
tion for this alleged misdeed, a crowd raced to the American embassy,
pilled down the flag, and promptly tore it to shreds. Convinced that Boyd
and his cohorts could not control their followers, Governor Potter ordered
the sealing of Zone entrances. When the police attempted to repel the "in-
va.ders" with riot sticks, tear gas, and fire hoses, the demonstrators, now a
mob, retaliated by hurling rocks and burning cars. It was soon apparent
that the regular police could not hope to contain the Panamanians, and
Potter requested army troops to guard the boundary. That night Panama
was declared off limits to servicemen, and American civilians were warned
by Potter not to enter the republic. The count of wounded at day's end was
120.28
Eisenhower was dismayed at the disappointing turn of events on the
27 Thelma King, El problema de la soberania en las relaciones entre Panamd
y los EE, UU. (Panama, 1961), p. 133; Vision, 20 November 1959,_p. 18; the Pana-
ma American, 2 November 1959, p. 1.
28 The New York Times, 4 November 1959, 1:3; 5 November 1:2; the Panama
American, 4 November 1959, p. 1.
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isthmus and stated in a press conference on 4 November that U.S.-
Panamanian relations had been a "model" of cordiality. De la Guardia
linked the outbreak to the failure of the United States to answer satisfacto-
rily Panama's claims for a greater share of canal trade. In addition, the Pan-
amanian executive ,maintained that two months before the riots occurred
his government had warned the Department of State of dangerous "emo-
tional reactions" among his countrymen because of frustrations in dealing
with the Zone. Whatever the reason for the riots, editorialized the Panama
Star and Herald, the results would only worsen American-Panamanian re-
lations and bring untold economic loss.20
In the aftermath of violence, rational voices found few receptive ears.
For practical reasons, Canal Zone officials momentarily stopped the pur-
chase of foods processed in the republic, and this was immediately inter-
preted by Panamanians as economic reprisal for the 3 November dem-
onstrations. The English-language Star and Herald blamed the riots on
"Red-inspired troublemakers"; the Panamanian press indicted Governor
Potter for careless inefficiency and callous indifference to the plight of Pan-
ama.30 Several of the Panamanian newspapers were singularly irresponsible
and incendiary in their handling of the incidents. One ran a vicious cartoon
that portrayed dogs dressed as U.S. soldiers and holding signs that read:
"Kill, Kill, the Panamanian Patriots!" Still another cartoon (pub-
lished on 11 November) of the same newspaper presented a caricature of
Eisenhower, complete with horns and spouting fire, informing Potter that
the White House was sending the plans of the "Hungary Operation" to the
isthmus as a guideline for dealing with the Panamanians. Another news-
paper on 17 November ran a cartoon that revealed a row of American ar-
tillery and missiles poised along the boundary. At their command was
Potter, his head drawn above the body of a gorilla, proclaiming the "New
Good Neighbor Policy: Panamanians, Communists, I dare you!"31 In the
National Assembly, the Panama American reported, Potter was denounced
as a "bird of prey" and an "agent of American imperialism." Although the
Panamanian press called for his ouster, the government made no official re-
quest for Potter's remova1.32
In late November the violence was renewed when more demonstrators
29 The New York Times, 5 November 1959, 3:1; the Panama Star and Herald,
5 November 1959, pp. 1, 4.
30 Star and Herald, 6 November, p. 1; 7 November, p. 4; the Panama Ameri-
can, 6 November, p. 8.
31 La Hora, 5 and 11 November 1959; La Nacidn, 17 November; clippings
in DDE, OF 52.
32 The Panama American, 10 November 1959, p. 1; Bryce Harlow Memo-
randum, 17 November 1959, DDE, OF 52.
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arrived at Zone gates and attempted to NO the flag-flying mission. This
time they were stopped by troops and members of the Panamanian Nation-
al Police. The mobs, rebuffed, returned to the city but began looting stores
and destroying foreign-owned businesses. For four ho ~ during the eve-
ning of 29 November the Panamanian police battled the rioters and finally
subdued them, but not until the mobs had crashed the heavy plate windows
of the Chase Manhattan Bank.83
These violent incidents occurred when Eisenhower was on the verge
of making what was in fact a courageous decision. During the month the
president had been labelled a satanic fiend by several Panamanian news-
papers, yet he was now preparing to make some concession to the national-
istii: yearnings to fly the Panamanian flag in the Canal Zone as a symbol of
the republic's "titular sovereignty." The subject was not new to the presi-
dent, for in the summer of 1958 his brother, Dr. Milton Eisenhower, on a
fac -finding tour of the hemisphere for the White House, had been informed
in :Panama that the flag question was an important one.34 Evidently, the
rio is of November proved to be a catalyst, for on 1 December, in his weekly
press conference, Eisenhower said that Panama deserved some "visual evi-
dence of titular sovereignty." At the time he did not state specifically that
the. Panamanian flag would be flown.35 In any event, this interpretation was
assumed, and for the next several months the president grappled with the
issue. The fears of many Americans that the erection of Panama's flag
would be the initial step to a complete takeover of the Canal Zone and the
canal were not dispelled by the editorials of La Estrella:
As, recently stated by President Ernesto de la Guardia, Jr., in an
excellent speech we qualify as historic, the Panamanian flag
should arrive at the Canal Zone with all the honors it deserves
by right. We therefore do not doubt that when the moment ar-
rives in which to give compliance to this national yearning, the
flag of our country shall be received and saluted in the form
already said. The extraordinary symbolism of this act, which
will initiate a new era in the friendly relations of our country
with the United States, demands that it be undertaken with
supreme dignity.
Instead, many were angered at other editorials from the Panamanian press:
La Hora: For the first time we agree with Public Enemy No. 2
of Panama (Congressman [Daniel] Flood) that if Panamanians
gained their point in having the Panamanian flag fly in the Canal
Zone, they would never stop in their demands.
33 The New York Times, 29 November 1959, 1:2; 30 November, 1:6.
34 Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores, Memoria, 1958, p. xiii.
35 The Panama American, 2 December 1959.
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La Nation: November 3 and 28 have passed and will go down
in history as two dates of patriotism when the people launched
themselves to plant the Panamanian flag in Panamanian terri-
tory.... Now there will be December 12, followed by Decem-
ber 22, and so on until all the Yankees are driven out of the
Canal Zone and the Canal is nationalized.36
Eisenhower received a considerable amount of congressional and pub-
lic opposition in 1960 to any proposal allowing Panamanians to fly the flag
in the Zone. Generally, the Congress and the public believed that such an
act, even as a gesture of good will, had legal consequences that would out-
weigh any possible advantage.37 The president was asked to delay his de-
cision pending an investigation of United States-Panamanian relations by
the Subcommittee on Inter-American Affairs of the House Committee on
Foreign Affairs. Eisenhower did wait until September to authorize the an-
nouncement that the Panamanian and American flags would be flown to-
gether in Shaler Triangle, a plot of ground along the Zone boundary.38
Obviously annoyed, Congress attached an amendment to the annual
appropriation act denying use of federal funds to pay for the erection of the
new flagpole, but the costs were paid from the Emergency Fund of the
President. Eisenhower's decision to allow the Panamanian flag to fly in one
place in the Zone, a concession that he believed might satisfy the isthmian
nationalists, failed to satisfy either Americans or Panamanians. The latter
believed that the republic must assert ever stronger claims to running Zone
affairs, and Americans (both in the Zone and in the States) were hostile to
the grant. Out of 183 pieces of mail received by the White House in one
period, only 3 favored the president's decision.39
Meanwhile, the House Committee on Foreign Affairs had been busily
calling witnesses and conducting its own research of the events of the pre-
vious November. The published report of the inquiry attempted to answer
critics of American policy and, above all, reassert the paramount strategic
and economic utility of the canal. In reply to those who charged that the
waterway was indefensible in a nuclear war, the committee called naval
officers who testified that the canal might survive the first attack in a ther-
monuclear conflct and continue to be extremely useful in subsequent phases
of the war. Some of the nation's aircraft carriers were too large for the
locks, the report noted, but the Polaris and similar submarines could still
transit the canal.
36 La Estrella de Panama, 12 December 1959; La Hora, 7 December 1959; La
Naci6n, 3 December 1959; clippings in DDE, OF 52.
37 This passage is based on contemporary letters in DDE, OF 52.
33 White House Press Release, 17 September 1960, copy in DDE, OF 52.
39 Mail Room Reports, DDE, OF 72-A-12.
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In its, rebuttal to Panamanian accusations that the canal did not pay a
fair share to the republic's economy and actually caused the "distortion" of
Panama's interior by attracting people to the terminal cities, the committee
was quick to point out that in 1958, a year before the riots, Panama re-
ceived one-sixth of its national income from the Zone. As for the second
criticism, the report concluded that "long before the construction of the
canal Panama's geographical setting favored activities connected with in-
ternational trade, with the consequent concentration of population and
political power in the terminal cities ... and the virtual isolation and neglect
of rural areas." Panama's economic imbalance was the fault of inadequate
government planning. The United States had assisted the republic by grant-
ing almost $40,000,000 from 1945 to 1960 in the form of technical aid,
special appropriations for sanitation, voluntary relief, and two-thirds of the
construction costs of the inter-American highway. In summary, the com-
miiaec believed that Panama's economic problems might be solved by
grcatcr attention to "that proper utilization of the resources which Panama
does possess...."
And the committee concluded that, although psychologically import-
ant: to many Panamanians, the flying of the flag in the Canal Zone was an
act "charged with dangers that could explode beyond Panama-United
States relations" and "would constitute a major departure from established
policy...:' 40
IV
Despite the fact that the sovereignty issue remained a subject of heated
debate, the isthmian situation in 1960 seemed to be improving. The House
Committee on Foreign Affairs observed that restricted commissary activ-
ities since 1955 had not produced the serious consequences predicted by
Canal Zone residents. The United States had also curtailed sharply its pur-
chases of items from third countries in accordance with the 1955 treaty.
Complete and full employment equality in Zone jobs had not yet material-
ized, but the committee noted with satisfaction that more Panamanians
were now occupying trained positions (259 of 3,702) and that the upward
trend would continue. Moreover, the president was initiating a special-
point program for isthmian economic development in an effort to improve
political relations. Wages paid to Panamanians were increased; the appren-
ticeship plan expanded; and 500 new housing units for Panamanian em-
ployees living in the Zone had been planned."
40 House Committee on Foreign Affairs (86th Cong., 2d sess.), Report on
United States Relations with Panama (House Report No. 2218), pp. 12-15, 38-40.
41 Ibid., pp. 16-31; assistant secretary of the army, Memorandum, 7 July
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Still, these measures appeared insufficient and tardy to many Pan-
amanians. The 1960 isthmian elections showed that the opposition parties,
if united, could triumph. The government-sponsored candidate, Ricardo
Arias, was defeated by Roberto Chiari, leader of a coalition of four of the
eight opposition factions. To a large degree, isthmian politics had always
represented family feuding more than political principles or programs. The
election of Harmodio Arias in 1932 was an exception, and the nomination
of Chiari was supposed to constitute a change, for the president-elect had
followed a tough line in American-Panamanian relations. Students believed
that Chiari would lead the rising tide of nationalism towards greater con-
cessions from the United States and, if necessary, personally command a
crusade to assert Panamanian sovereignty in the Canal Zone.42 The older
families, usually eager to exploit anti-Americanism, feared that renewed
violence might precipitate social-economic upheaval in Panama, and thus
they looked to Chiari to maintain the status quo.
Chiari found himself wedged between two formidable forces-the
aristocracy, .which possessed the republic's wealth, and the students, who
wielded political power in far larger proportion than their counterparts in
neighboring Central American nations. The demands of the students that
the Yankees get out of the Zone altogether were not lost on political leaders.
In 1961 three parties-the National Liberal (then in power), the Patriotic
Coalition, and the Civil Resistance-signed the famous Carta de San Jose
which asserted that the United States must relinquish its commercial mo-
nopoly in the Zone and share political jurisdiction with Panama. Writers
complained bitterly that the "dual" salary scale remained and that workers
were still segregated in labor assignments.
But the Panamanian government, reporting in 1964 on economic
trends, saw that conditions were improving. From 1950 to 1962, the num-
ber of Panamanians employed by the Zone increased from 11,000 to
13,000, and the wages paid to them rose from 15,000,000 to 31,000,000
balboas. The result was a gradual rise in the per capita monthly salary of
these same employees from 98 balboas in 1950 to 212 balboas in 1962.
These signficant alterations were due, the government report wrote, to
changes in the composition of workers and to revisions in the salary or wage
rate, as the treaty of 1955 had forecast.43
1960, DDE; administrative assistant to the president to Theodore Green, senator
from Rhode Island, 13 August 1960, DDE, OF 209.
42 "Canal Politics," The Economist 195 (21 May 1960): 733; Daniel Gold-
rich, "Requests for Political Legitimacy in Panama," Public Opinion Quarterly 26
(Winter 1962) : 664-668.
43 Victor F. Goytia, La tragedia del Canal (Panama, 1966), p. 5; Batista B.,
El drama de Panamd, p. 85; Republica de Panama, Direcci6n de Estadistica y
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Under pressure from the more strident nationalists, Chiari asked Pres-
ident John F. Kennedy in late 1961 to consider another revision of the
canal treaty. But Kennedy refused because of possible adverse political re-
actions in the United States and in the Canal Zone and, more importantly,
because the likelihood of a sea-level waterway would necessitate a new
canal treaty. Given this prospect, renegotiation of the 1903 treaty would be
a moot question. The discussions would revive animosities over the "sov-
ereignity" issue and perhaps impair plans for the new canal. In June 1962
Kennedy greed to appoint negotiators to discuss U.S.-Panamanian differ-
ences and further promised to facilitate the entrance of Panamanian private
business in the Canal Zone market. The president was willing also to help
solve the persistent wage disputes and employment opportunities for Pan-
amanians. Finally, Kennedy and Chiari arranged for the display of the re-
public's flag in the Zone.44
The Eisenhower solution of 1960-the flying of Panama's colors in
Shaler Triangle, a small plot overlooking downtownPanama City-had
since proved unacceptable to Panamanians. Following the Kennedy-Chiari
communique, both flags were to be raised over the Bridge of the Americas
(called Thatcher Ferry Bridge by American residents), completed in 1962,
and at the canal administration buildings in Balboa Heights and Cristobal.
The terms of the agreement stipulated that wherever civilian officials raised
the U.S. flag in the Zone, they should also fly the Panamanian flag. Ameri-
can authorities sought to appeal the "dual flag" question to the courts in
order to test its constitutionality. Legalaction brought inevitable delay, and
the. Kennedy-Chiari statement, which might have mitigated much of the
ris:ang hostility, was not immediately put into effect.
Instead, in January 1963, the governor of the Canal Zone decided to
fly both flags in seventeen different places in the Zone. By his orders of 30
December the American flag was removed from other spots where pre-
viously it had been displayed. Many of the Zone's residents considered the
hauling down of the Stars and Stripes an unwarranted retreat, and they
were as determined as the Panamanians to fly their flag in conspicuous
places. One of these places was on the flag-pole of Balboa High School.45
It was the removal of the American flag that precipitated most of the
Censo, Algunos aspectos de las transacciones en bienes y servicios entre Panamd
y 'a Zona del Canal de Panamd y de las operaciones generadas dentro de dicha
Zcna (Panama, 1964),p. 3.
44 The Center for Strategic Studies, Georgetown University, Panama: Canal
Issues and Treaty Talks, Special Report Series no. 3 (Washington, 1967), p. 17;
Kennedy-Chiari Joint Statement, 13 June 1962, in Public Papers of the Presidents
of the United States: John F. Kennedy, 1962 (Washington, 1963), pp. 481-482.
45 Investigating Committee, International Commission of Jurists, Report on
Events in Panama, 9-12 January 1964 (Geneva, 1964), pp. 12-13.
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Zonian antagonism. In some areas, such as the Gamboa War Memorial,
the governor's command to take down the colors met with refusal. In other
parts of the Zone, it encountered defiance. When the students returned
from their holiday vacations, they found that the flags were not to be raised
again in front of the schools. More than 400 of Balboa High's students sent
a letter of protest to President Lyndon B. Johnson.
On 7 January 1964 five Canal Zone Junior College students hoisted
the U.S. flag in front of the high school in violation of the governors orders.
Despite the angry protests from bystanders, school officials lowered the
flag and confiscated it an hour later. The first period over, the students re-
turned, raised their emblem once more, and this time left guards to prevent
school authorities from removing it again. Through the night of 7-8 Janu-
ary, about twenty-five students guarded the flagpole while sympathizing
residents and parents supplied them with food and blankets. Although offi-
cials did not intervene, the governor issued a statement calling on the citi-
zenry to obey the flag decrees. The flag-raising in front of Zone schools,
however, was repeated at eight different locations, and a motorcade pick-
eted the governor's residence. Following still another appeal, the governor
departed for the United States in the afternoon of 9 January.46
Meanwhile, news of the Balboa High School flag incident became
known to students at the Panamanian National Institute. They in turn
decided to carry their own flag into the Zone, and on 8 January institute
leaders met with the principal of Balboa High and the Panama Canal Infor-
mation Officer, Mr. Frank Baldwin. The Panamanian students gave no in-
dication that they planned a march the next day, and at 4:45 P.m. on 9
January approximately 200 institute students paraded into the Zone carry-
ing the national flag, placards, and banners. The intention of the students
was to raise the flag in front of the high school, but the policeman in charge
refused. Apparently, from later accounts, he agreed to allow the students
to place the flag at the foot of the pole and sing the national anthem. Un-
fortunately, the policeman spoke through a translator, and the Panama-
nians may have thought that he had indeed granted their original request.
As the students debated what to do, the crowd of Zonians surrounding the
flagpole grew to about 450. When protests and exchanges became more in-
tense, the officer in charge ordered the demonstration cancelled. Six of the
institute representatives nearest the flagpole suddenly found themselves
completely segregated from the main body of Panamanians. The Zonians
began pushing forward, and in the ensuing scuffle the police employed their
46 The Panama American, 3 January 1964, p. 1; 7 January, p. 1; and 8 Janu-
ary, p. 1; Panama Star and Herald, 8 January, p. 1; Report on Events in Panama,
pp. 13-14.
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riot sticks in, the Panamanians contended later, an unnecessarily aggressive
fashion. At this critical moment, the Panamanian flag was torn. In their re-
treat from the Zone, the institute students smashed windows and street
lights and upturned garbage cans. By 7 P.M. the majority had departed.47
The fleeing students found larger crowds already gathered at the bor-
der, demanding entrance into the Zone. A call to the Guardia Nacional of
Panama met with no success, and the Canal Zone police, undermanned,
now readied tear gas and drew their revolvers in a show of force, but the
size of the crowd multiplied by such proportions that officials requested
army troops. Attempts to calm the Panamanians by statements from a cir-
cling aircraft proved unrewarding. The Panamanian government seemed to
be making little effort to deal with the threatening situation, and the local
radio and television stations made matters worse by highly inflammatory
broadcasts. Some Panamanians ransacked the besieged Panama Railroad
station. Zone police began firing, at first over the heads of the people, then,
allegedly, point-blank into the shouting Panamanian crowd. The mob, re-
pulsed at the boundary, proceeded to destroy foreign symbols within their
reach: cars were overturned and set ablaze, the Pan American Airways
building was encircled and attacked with stones and bricks and then gutted
by are.
On the Canal Zone side, the looters, who rushed into the area through
a ripped-out gap in the fence, stormed the Hotel Tivoli, an impressive old
Victorian structure where Theodore Roosevelt had once slept. Troops sent
to the Tivoli were sniped at from the Panamanian side. General O'Meary,
in command of the regular soldiers, ordered his men to return the fire and,
after failing to obtain Panamanian government cooperation to stop the
sniping, brought in marksmen. Throughout the tenth the snipers and
marksmen fired at one another. The firing and destruction subsided the
next two days, but the scene obviously remained tense and critical. On the
morning of 13 January, the Guardia Nacional, following a long delay,
finally appeared.48
When news of the Panama City riots reached Colon on the opposite
side of the isthmus, Panamanian demonstrators gathered and proceeded
into the Zone town of Cristobal, where they were allowed to raise their flag
and sing their anthem. Zone officials here proved cooperative and under-
standing, but as the crowd moved back to the Panamanian side several cars
wore damaged. Joined by a larger group, the Panamanians broke windows
in the Masonic Temple and YMCA, and at 10:30 P.M., 9 January, U.S.
47 Report on Events, pp. 15-19; National Institute Student Guillermo Guevara
P., in Panama Star and Herald, 14 January 1964, p. 1.
48 Report on Events in Panama, pp. 20-28.
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troops arrived to restore order. Members of the mob grabbed at bayonets
as the soldiers formed a barrier along the boundary, and desultory firing
continued throughout the night and for the next three days. By the time
Panamanian guardsmen appeared on 13 January, three American soldiers
had been killed by sniper fire.411
The bitterness and hostility of the streets were not erased by diplo-
matic appeals. When President Johnson received news of the fighting, he
ordered General O'Meara to guard the Zone boundary and sent Thomas
Mann, assistant secretary of state, to the isthmus to investigate. On 10
January the Inter-American Peace Commission of the Organization of
American States heard Panama's contentions of United States aggression
and agreed to study the case and recommend measures of settlement. While
U.N. Ambassador Adlai Stevenson deplored the eruption in Panama and
castigated the mobs for destroying American property, President Chiari
prepared to break all diplomatic relations with the United States. Simul-
taneously the Panamanian government denounced all treaties with the
United States and announced that the charge of aggression would be pre-
sented to the United Nations. Chiari's conditions for negotiations were (a)
an indemnity for damages caused during the rioting, (b) the flying of the
Panamanian and American flags in the Canal Zone, (c) removal of barri-
cades between Panama City and the Zone, and (d) withdrawal of Ameri-
can troops.5?
The favorable responses of both governments to pleas from the O.A.S.
and other Latin American states to discuss their differences proved pre-
mature. Much of the difficulty was a matter of semantics, especially varying
interpretations of the Spanish verbs negociar and discuitir. Chiari's gov-
ernment swore that the Johnson administration had conceded to negotiate
and not merely discuss a new treaty. This interpretation was denied by
Washington. At last, Ellsworth Bunker and Miguel Moreno, representa-
tives to the O.A.S. from the United States and Panama respectively, were
able to overcome the problem of semantics, and thus it was the O.A.S.
rather than the United Nations that provided the forum for discussion and
debate of the riot. Subsequently, President Johnson became more flexible
49 Ibid., pp. 29-32, 33-34; on I I January, when most of the fighting was over,
the Star and Herald listed the casualties: dead: 17 Panamanians, 3 U.S. soldiers;
wounded: 293 in Panama City, 46 in the Canal Zone, and 45 in Collin.
60 "The Situation in Panama," Department of State Bulletin 50 (3 February
1964): 152-157; the Panama American, 11 January 1964, p. 1; 12 January, p. 1;
Panama Star and Herald, 11 January, p. 1. Charles Fenwick denies the Panamanian
charges of aggression in "Legal Aspects of the Panama Case," American Journal of
International Law 58 (April 1964): 436-441; and Joseph Alsop blames two Com-
munists for the destruction of any early settlement in mid-January 1964. See the
New York Herald Tribune, 22 January 1964.
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to Panamanian demands for settlement and agreed to review all matters re-
lating to the riots, the canal, and canal treaties. Had the president not taken
this step, matters might have worsened considerably, for Panama threat-
ened to carry the republic's case to the General Assembly of the United
Nalions.51
The tense atmosphere spilled over into February and March. Bunker
accused the Chiari administration and Communist agitators of fomenting
discord. Proprietors of the downtown Panama City cafes nailed up signs
warning gringos to keep out. On walls, electric posts, and even billboards
appeared placards denouncing the Zonistas in slanderous terms. The ill
feeling afforded ample opportunity for the publication of leftist tracts,
which excoriated Yankee imperialism and demanded the neutralization of
the canal, nationalization of the Canal Zone, and advocated formal judi-
cial appeals to the United Nations and the International Court of Justice. 52
One international legal body, the International Commission of Jurists,
investigated the riots after a formal request by the National Bar Associa-
tion of Panama. Specifically, the Panamanian legal organization charged
the Zonepolice and military with violations of articles three, five, and twen-
ty of the Universal Declarations of Human Rights of the United Nations.
These articles dealt with rights to personal security, protection against cruel,
inhuman or degrading punishment, and the freedom of peaceful assembly
an l association. The commission dispatched a three-man team, composed
of a Swedish judge, an Indian arbiter, and a Dutch professor, which left
Geneva for Panama on 1 March.r,3
The conclusions of the investigating team rejected the harsher accu-
sa :ions of the Panamanian Bar Association and blamed both governments
fo::- their actions during the riots. In the judgment of the investigators, the
discord of 9-12 January, 1964 had constituted a "real threat to life and
se,;urity, which could only be met with strong measures." The investigating
trio, however, indicted the American policeand military for the degree of
force employed to contain the rioters. In particular -the group cited in-
stances where Zone police fired into the crowd rather than employing
water jets to accomplish the task, or where army marksmen used high
velocity rifles to return sniping fire. The final report of the commission
blamed the Panamanian government for a three-day delay in sending
si Panama Star and Herald, 15 January 1964, p. 1; Donald Allan and George
Sharman, "Panama: Distrust and Delay," The Reporter, 27 February 1964, p. 29.
52 "QAS Council Moves to Assist in Solving U.S.-Panamanian Dispute," De-
partment of State Bulletin 50 (24 February 1964): 300-304; Vision, 7 February 1964,
p. 12; Humberto Ricord, La cuesti6n del Canal de Panama (Panamaa, 1964), pp.
V's-16.
53 Report on Events in Panama, pp. 5-6.
84
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National Guardsmen to riot areas and for its failure to curtail the incendi-
ary radio and television broadcasts. Finally, the investigators regretted that
Zone police had not extended sufficient protection to the National Institute
students on the afternoon of 9 January.64
V
Throughout the hectic months of February and March 1964 Pan-
amanian spokesmen insisted that diplomatic relations would be restored
only if the United States agreed to discuss the entire range of canal issues.
It was 3 April before relations were resumed by a joint declaration in which
the two governments announced that they would appoint special represen-
tatives to seek the solution to current difficulties. On this basis President
Johnson appointed former Secretary of the Treasury Robert Anderson
and Panamanian President Chiari named Jorge Illueca as delegates to the
special conferences.
At the outset of the talks everything went wrong. Principally this was
due to the fact that the two governments had not yet settled the debate be-
tween discutir (to discuss) and negociar (to negotiate) : the Panamanian
spokesman contended that the United States had promised to negotiate a
new treaty in the 3 April agreement restoring diplomatic relations. More-
over, President Chiari, and his successor, Marco Robles, continued to
search for third party assistance, primarily from other Latin American
republics, to build another canal. For more than six months the United
States delayed before finally accepting in December the Panamanian argu-
ment that there must be a new canal treaty and a new canal.66
Whatever its demerits, the old Treaty of 1903, modified in 1936 and
1955, contained numerous provisions that protected American security in-
terests, and to replace it completely with a new instrument was a formid-
able task. Debate on this issue centered on the following points:
1. Jurisdiction of the United States in the Canal Area (a euphe-
mistic term more palatable than Canal Zone).
2. Definition of "sovereignty."
3. Statement on criminal and civil jurisdiction.
4. Determination of the annuity, tolls, taxing authority, and
costs of the canal.
5. Powers of the canal authority.
6. Life of the new treaty.
An added burden was the separate but related problem of American
64 Ibid., pp. 36, 37, 40.
66 "Panama-Nationalism and the Canal," On Record 2 (1964): 41-42;
Georgetown University, Panama, pp. 20-21.
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military bases in Panama. The present military establishment had been
erected at a cost of $760 million and included several air fields and army
bases, training grounds, jungle warfare school, facilities for instruction in
guerrilla subversion, and a hemispheric command-center.56
The military question proved to be less crucial to Panamanian negotia-
tor; than the more fundamental issues of politics and economics. Illueca
sot.ght a settlement that would erase forever the colonial image of the Canal
Zo:ie, restrict American operations to the basic necessities of operation and
maintenance of the canal, provide greater economic opportunities for Pan-
ama in canal trade, and allow Panamanian participation in the new canal
authority. This would mean a termination of several Zone auxiliary ser-
vices, such as the sale of commercial products to residents, thus creating a
lar, er market for Panamanian merchants. Under the new arrangement,
Panama believed, the Zone would become an integral part of the republic.
Panamanian stamps would be used; Americans would be taxed by Panama;
Spanish would be the official. language; and the national flag would replace
the Stars and Stripes in the Canal Area. As for the canal itself, Illueca stated
that his government wanted joint administration of the waterway and pay-
ment of a percentage of the transit fee collected from each ship.57
The formal acceptance of Panama's plan came in a statement by
President Johnson on 18 December 1964 in a national television address.
Briefly, the president said that the United States intended to construct a
new sea-level canal presumably in Panama but possibly in Colombia or
Costa Rica-Nicaragua and to negotiate a new canal treaty. Stressing that the
American government was not yielding to threats of violence, Johnson add-
ed that the new canal treaty would effectively recognize Panamanian sov-
ereignty in the Canal Zone. The United States would retain the necessary
me ans tooperate and defend the canal.
At the time of the announcement (issued simultaneously in Panama
by Robles) the details apparently had not yet been worked out. During the
en-wing months the public learned that the negotiators were working on
three treaties, not one. In late September 1965 Johnson and Robles re-
ported on the progress of these conventions, stating that the Treaty of 1903
would be': abrogated and replaced by another canal treaty that would ter-
minate either on a specified date or on the opening of a new sea-level canal,
whichever occurred first. The new canal treaty would enlarge Panamanian
jutisdictie}n over the Zone establishment, but the economic interests of the
Americans already living and working there would be protected.cs
56 Ibid., pp. 26, 28.
57 Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores, Memoria, 1965, pp. 10-11, 25-27.
68 Ibid., pp. 13-14; Lyndon Johnson, speech, 18 December, Department of
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U.S.-PANAMANIAN RELATIONS SINCE 1941
News of the discussions, the details of which were reported in the
press, immediately provoked a storm of harsh criticism from several mem-
bers of Congress, notably Representatives Daniel Flood of Pennsylvania
and Mrs. Leonor Sullivan of Missouri. For years Flood had made the canal
his favorite specialty, and he was quick to point out that any deviation from
full control of the canal or Zone was tantamount to appeasement. He traced
the Panamanian campaign to achieve full sovereignty over the Zone di-
rectly "to the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917 . . . and the international
Communist conspiracy." 50 Mrs. Sullivan's arguments rested on more
credible grounds, namely, that
the establishment of a joint authority for canal operation would
only serve to satisfy the aspirations of a few families who have
controlled the Republic since its beginnings. In fact, if we were
to turn the canal over to the Republic of Panama, lock, stock,
and barrel, I am convinced that it would not benefit the masses,
and it clearly would not be sufficient to meet the needs of the
people of that Republic for more jobs and general improvement
in its economy .... 80
The negotiation and completion of the drawing-up of the three new
treaties in mid-1967, however, brought favorable public response. A few
newspapers concurred with Representatives Flood and Mrs. Sullivan that
the prospective treaties were in fact a sell-out to Panamanian demands.81
But a greater number believed that the concessions of the United States
were a prerequisite for American-Panamanian harmony-in the "spirit of
the Good Neighbor"-and served the interests of the nation. In a stroke,
these newspapers said, the Johnson administration had helped to eradicate
a long-standing economic and political injustice on the isthmus and had
promoted American prestige throughout the hemisphere. In Panama the
United States had an old canal and an old treaty; now was the time for a
new treaty and a new canal.62
State Bulletin 52 (4 January 1965): 5-6; Georgetown University, Panama, pp. 22-
23.
60 Daniel Flood, Isthmian Canal Policy Questions (Washington, 1966), p. 519.
60 Mrs. Leonor Sullivan, 23 September 1965, in Congressional Record, 111:
24942.
01 James J. Kilpatrick in the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, 4 October 1965;
editorials in the Chicago Tribune, 28 June 1967; San Diego Union, 30 June 1967;
and New York Daily News, 8 July 1967; clippings in Panama Canal Information
Office Files, Balboa Heights, Canal Zone: hereinafter cited as PCIO Files.
02 Editorials in the Washington Daily News, 25 September 1965; New 'Haven
Register, 27 September 1965; Houston Chronicle, 27 September 1965; Des Moines
Tribune, 27 September 1965; Dallas Times-Herald, 28 September 1965; Wichita
Eagle, 28 September 1965; Detroit News, 28 September 1965; Arizona Republic,
29 September 1965; St. Louis Post-Dispatch, 30 September 1965; Seattle Post-In-
87
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JOURNAL OF INTER-AMERICAN STUDIES AND WORLD AFFAIRS
As predicted, the new treaties granted extensive powers to Panama.
For the operation of the Canal Area, the two countries named a Joint Ad-
mi:.listration of five Americans and four Panamanians. The Administration
would follow employment policies based on the principles that the Canal
was a primary source of Panamanian employment and that equality of
treatment; regardless of nationality, should be the rule in distributing jobs.
The administration would also give permits to live in the Canal Area, super-
vise the servicing of ships, operate the Panama Railroad as a public carrier,
and continue to provide public services, such as education and health; but
within five years it would discontinue the various department stores, gro-
ceries, cafeterias, hotels, laundries, gasoline stations, and related services.
W.erever, possible, however, the administration would promote business
ac ivities in the Canal Area. In the critical area of education and public
order, the new canal treaty allowed the continued operation of the one
school system (except that Panamanians living in the Canal Area might be
transferred to Panamanian schools) and, by a special grant of authority
from the 'republic, permitted the maintenance of law and order by the Joint
Administration.
The Panamanian negotiators also won out in their struggle to receive
compensation based on the tonnage shipped through the canal. Under
treaty provisions the Joint Administration would pay to the republic an an-
nual payment of $0.22 per long ton of commercial cargo of yearly transits.
(The amount would be $0.17 at first, then would be increased in five years
to $0.22.) The United States would retain $0.10 per long ton, the remain-
der being used for canal expenses. In accordance with the principles of
1914, the canal should remain neutral, with both Panama and the United
States responsible for its protection. The new canal treaty should remain
in force until 31 December 1999 or one year following the opening of the
new sea-level canal, whichever occurs first. At that time the old canal be-
comes the property of the Republic of Panama. 63
Similarly, Panamanian aspirations found fulfillment of long-standing
goals in another proposed treaty providing for canal defense. The defense
pact stipulates that both countries must aid in the security of the canal, and
Panama is obligated to render available defense areas to the American mili-
tary. Such commitments will be applied mutatis mutandis to any new
sea-level:waterway in Panama. Unlike previous arrangements; the future
telligencer, 30 September 1965; Los Angeles Herald-Examiner, 6 July 1967; Florida
Times-Union, 28 June 1967; Boston Globe, 28 June 1967; Chicago Daily News,
19 June 1967; and Cincinnati Post, 3 July 1967; clippings PCIO files.
63 This is an unofficial digest of the treaty's contents as it appeared in the
Panama tribune, 15 July 1967, pp. 1, 8, 12.
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defense area will be under the Panamanian flag with Panamanian laws ex-
tended to the area, although American authorities may have concurrent
jurisdiction over those cases involving violation of the laws of both nations.
In these situations, Panama will enjoy primary jurisdiction, unless the act
involves treason, sabotage, or espionage. The United States would not
exercise jurisdiction over any Panamanian unless he is a member of the
American armed forces. The Defense Treaty was designed to lapse in five
years after the expiration of the new canal treaty or when the United,States
would be no longer responsible to defend an interoceanic canal in Panama,
whichever occurred later.84
Although ratification of the 1967 treaties would doubtless mitigate
much of the suspicion and antagonism, relations between Panama and the
United States will be deeply troubled for several years. In the first place,
the 1967 treaties have encountered serious opposition in the Panamanian
National Assembly and in the United States Senate. Nationalistic Panama-
nians now contend that the Americans should get out of the isthmus al-
together. Their counterparts in Washington view the new accords as sym-
bols of appeasement. Secondly, the 1968 Panamanian presidential elec-
tions demonstrated the persistence of political instability. Arnulfo Arias
emerged victorious after a vigorous campaign, but, a few days following
his assumption of power on 1 October, he was ousted by the National
Guard. The military may prove more tractable in its dealings with the
United States, but the coup could be employed as an excellent argument by
anti-treaty senators who are convinced that major concessions to a country
with such internal political turmoil would be patently unwise.
The major issues of contention-questions of "sovereignty" in the
Canal Zone, economic benefits of the canal, jurisdiction of the Canal Zone
government, and canal defense-have a long and troubled history. With
the possible exception of defense sites inside the republic, a crucial ques-
tion since the late 1930s, all of the remaining points of dispute are trace-
able to the original canal treaty of 1903. The flag issue of the 1950s and
1960s was really a logical corollary of the more complex debate over sov-
ereignty. While the United States agreed to discussions of substantive issues
in the 1930s and 1950s, which produced the 1936 and 1955 treaties,
American negotiators clung steadfastly to the fundamental prerogatives of
64 Ibid., pp. 1, 14, 16. For a discussion of a new canal see Immanuel J. Klette,
From Atlantic to Pacific: A New Interocean Canal (New York: Council on Foreign
Relations, 1967). The future of the canal treaties is uncertain. The Panamanian Na-
tional Assembly has not approved the documents and, according to a Department of
State official, the Panamanian government is considering renewed negotiations on
new treaties. Attorney Advisor, Department of State, to author, 8 May 1970.
89
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the 1903 pact. Lyndon Johnson's acquiescence to a new canal treaty was
thus a major concession, although he skillfully linked the new canal treaty
with plans for a new canal.
The prospect of getting rid of the hated Treaty of 1903, however, has
more immediate importance in Panamanian politics, and National Assem-
blymen are under great pressure to reject the 1967 treaties and demand a
complete American evacuation. Since 1941, when Panama demanded eco-
nomic assistance as the price of wartime defense cooperation, the repub-
li,-.'s share in the canal economy has increased substantially, but progress
has been overshadowed by such political legacies as the sovereignty ques-
tiDn. Thus, the optimistic view-Americans and Panamanians should for-
get past :grievances and labor together in the building of a new sea-level
waterway-may now give way to angry cries about settling old scores.
90
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LATIN AMERICA
(Independent Opinions on Latin American
Realities & Problems in the 1970's)
This second issue of the in-house review was
produced in the home office with the assistance of
interested components. The magazine is intended to
be circulated among field colleagues, who should
feel free to read it almost anywhere, but certainly at
home. Individual articles in the review may be passed
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Any comments or suggestions regarding LATIN
AMERICA will be most welcome. In particular we
solicit contributions of articles from local publications
and excerpts of locally published books (often not
available at Headquarters) which you feel may merit
translation and reproduction in this review.
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