The Martyrdom of Ferrer/Chapter III
CHAPTER III.
THE POLITICAL SYSTEM OF SPAIN
We have in English a very ample literature of travel in Spain and description of Spanish customs. It is chiefly remarkable for the number of important and unique features which these travellers have failed to see. Their periodical re-description of fans and mantillas, of bullfights and flirting, of cathedrals and vineyards, has merely succeeded in conveying to English readers a most inaccurate impression of the country. The unique things of Spain that it is useful to know are those features of the ecclesiastical world which I have described, and the complexion of its political world, which I am about to describe. One cannot wholly wonder at the perplexity of English men and women in regard to the execution of Ferrer. One must know Spain first.
It must not be imagined, however, that I am now about to describe features of Spanish life that are so obscure as to be open to different interpretations, or that I am about to retail the partisan charges of Anarchists. What I say in this chapter is based entirely on Spanish literature of the weightiest character, and is admitted by the foremost politicians of the country. It is the "open sore" of Spanish life, and is discussed in terms of scorn, anger, or despair by scores of recent Spanish writers who are far removed from either Anarchism or Socialism. One does not love to lay bare the shame of a neighbour nation. But when those who control this political system dip their hands in the blood of an innocent and noble-spirited man, it is time to tell the truth.
Let me introduce the matter with a glance at the recent work of a Catholic writer of undoubted culture and strict loyalty to his Church—Ramon de Torre-Isunza.[1] He calls his book "The truth for His Majesty the King," and prefaces it with a personal letter to Alfonso XIII. As he looks for the revivification of his "dead country" through a combination of education and a regenerated Church, he will not be suspected of bias.
In his letter to the King he uses plain, agonised language. The country, he says, consists of "a corrupt society and corrupting authority"; the political system "exhibits an essential and inevitable corruption," and "is based on immorality and ignorance." Señor de Torre-Isunza does not lack courage, but if he thinks this language will pass the cordon of Jesuits and servants of the Government round the King he is over-trustful. He quotes with approval Macias Picavea's statement that there is "no such deep immorality in any other State in the world" in the political and administrative life. But I must content myself with stringing together a few of the conclusions that the writer reaches in the course of his analysis.
"We are not far removed," he says, "from a veritable savagery, which is barely modified externally by traditional habits and imitation of foreign Customs" (p. 163) "Our religion is a pharisaic formalism, the more immoral as it is hypocritical" (p. 168). There are "few men of honour" in the political world; all offices are obtained by corruption and intrigue, and the whole State is characterised by "a profound immorality and congenital debility" (p. 176). The Government is an "oligarchy," or "a number of gentlemen who take office for the purpose of exploitation" (p. 192). They are "bound by no law, and have respect neither for God nor man" (p. 197). The superficial opposition of Liberals and Conservatives has "no real significance" (p. 198); Parliamentary deputies are not elected, but fraudulently imposed on their districts; education is controlled by this "monstrous" system in its own corrupt interest, and the whole system of law and legal education is vicious and demoralising.
It would be a profound mistake to take this language as the exceptional outpouring of a writer with an aversion to politics. I have chosen to begin with Ramon de Torre-Isunza because he is a cultured and fervent Roman Catholic and Monarchist. But twenty other writers, nearly all Monarchists, use precisely the same language. In order to dispel at once the last trace of scepticism, I will now take a very weighty work, recently issued by the Madrid Ateneo Cientifico y Literario.[2]
The Athenæum of Science and Letters at Madrid is one of the most weighty cultural institutions in Spain. Most of the scholars and professional men of Madrid belong to it, and its publications have the highest authority. In 1902 its President, Señor Costa, opened a debate in the Section of Historical Sciences on the theme: "Oligarchy and Tammany are the actual form of government in Spain." I have ventured to insert the word "Tammany" for the untranslatable Spanish word "Caciquismo," because, as will appear, it is the only word familiar to English readers which approximately conveys the meaning. Hundreds of distinguished men were invited to this momentous debate, and a large number of the leading scholars and politicians responded, by letter or presence. The whole proceedings were then officially published, and the shame of Spain laid bare as it had never been before.
I will summarise presently the fearful indictment which Señor Costa brought against the politicians of his country, but will first quote a few of the better-known politicians. The most important of these is Maura himself, the ex-Premier, the arch-murderer. This man, who endeavoured to throw dust in the eyes of Europe by issuing to the press (through his Home Secretary) the forged documents against Ferrer before he was tried, and by confusing him with revolutionary Anarchists, admits genially enough the corruption of the system which sacrificed Ferrer. Señor Costa quotes a passage from a speech he delivered in the Spanish Parliament on November 29, 1901. Eloquently surveying "the great and cruel sacrifices" which Spain had made in fighting for progress during the nineteenth century, he said that they had ended in "an immense imposture." "We have," he said, "no electoral institutions, nor the results of such institutions, nor public liberty......we have absolutely not a single thing the inner nature of which is in accord with its external appearance." In his letter to the Athenæum on the thesis of the debate, he said that it was "superfluous" to run over, after Señor Costa, "the virulence of their social and political malady" (p. 115). "It is," he said, "traditional that public power is not sought or used in Spain to uphold the law, secure justice, protect culture, enhance prosperity, or direct the life of the people" (p. 116). But one reaches the lowest depth of repugnance when this man, who sacrifices "Anarchists" to defend such a system, observes that Spain is "really in a state of anarchy [his italics], in the full sense of the word, since all the legitimate organs of its political life are atrophied and inert" (p. 118).
After Señor Maura's candid description of the system, in the defence of which (and the Church) he allowed Ferrer to be murdered, we will turn to the present Cabinet. Señor Moret did not take part in the debate, but a speech of his, delivered in the Cortes (January 27, 1888), is quoted as one that "paints with a master-hand" the corruption of Spain's form of government. The praise is not too high, but I cannot reproduce it at length. Suffice it to say that he denounces "this civilisation of which we are so proud" in unmeasured terms. He has no pity for the "burdens and corruptions"—of the machine over which he presides to-day. He draws a vivid picture of the repellent corruption of an election to Parliament, in which it does not matter how the elector votes, as the whole thing turns on the success of the candidate in buying one or the other local cacique at the lowest price.
Then we have quoted another, and perhaps the most distinguished, member of the present Cabinet, Count Romanones. He deplores (in the work, Biologia de los partidos politicos, p. 128) "all the evils of our public administration, stupefying the working of the Parliamentary function, all the vices which warp the efficacy of the army and the suffrage and thwart the course of justice." The "whole atmosphere of our political life" is tainted by cacique [Tammany]: "like microbes, they make the regions where they are found uninhabitable." But Count Romanones is inhabiting that region to-day.
It must be well understood that these politicians are not denouncing the rival party. They are describing the system which flourishes to-day, and is employed by each party when it comes to power—the system which the Marquis de Riscal scourged in the same terms twenty years before, and that the Marquis de Torre Hermosa described in 1899 as "not a Parliamentary system with corruption, but what we call its corruptions are the system." However, I need not now fill the chapter with quotations. A few more responsible strictures, and I pass on to describe the system.
"All is rotten in our unfortunate country. It has no government, no electoral body, no parties, army, or navy. All is fiction, decadence, and ruin" (El Correo, February 7, 1901). "We are now more or less at the level of a kabila of the Rif, though we seem in constitution and laws to be a civilised people" (April 19, 1901).
"Every citizen has a vote, but few use it; and if they do so to the detriment of the Government, it is falsified in the urn" (El Imparcial, January 26, 1901).
Señor Sanchez de Toca (in El problema cubano) not only roundly denounces the whole system as corrupt, but traces the corruption to "the demoralisation of those who hold the highest political offices" (p. 234). It is "a government by the worst": honest men hold aloof from politics. Dr. Madrazo (El pueblo Español ha muerto?) tells us that "all the institutions of Spain are framed to put abilities at the service of the oligarchs," that the Liberals and Conservatives are "branches of one tree," and that the Church "shrinks from no means, however unjust, to attain its end." But these authorities will suffice. Further dozens will be found in the work issued by the Madrid Athenæum.
Many a reader will begin to wonder, not that there are revolutionaries in Spain, but why there are not more, and those more effective. The story we have to tell presently may throw some light on that; but it must not be supposed that cultivated Spaniards who are not working in the system, and living on it, are silent. I repeat that the whole of recent Spanish literature is full of fierce strictures and pathetic demands for reform. But I must now explain more in detail what is meant by this extraordinary corruption.
Those writers are correct who say that there is no political system in the civilised world—I do not include Russia—so depraved as that of Spain and demand its "Europeanisation." Its combination of "oligarchy" and "Tammany"—the two features on which all agree—is unique, and the depravity is increased by the subservience to the priest. By oligarchy Spanish writers mean that Spain is wholly ruled, not in its own interest, by the group of its highest politicians, without representation of the will of the people. It does not matter whether these politicians are in office or not; there is a persistent mutual understanding between the apparently hostile groups, and the rhetoric flung from bench to bench in the Cortes has an element of comedy. Even Major Hume observes disdainfully that "there is no sincerity or reality in the pretended antagonism of the political parties." They change office by mutual agreement. The spoils must not be retained too long in the hands of one set, or, as has happened recently, the opposition will paralyse its efforts to pass laws.
This is the consistent teaching of the critics I have quoted, and I will make only one reserve. That some of the abler Liberal politicians have convictions differing far from those of the Conservatives cannot be doubted. We shall see how far the convictions of Señor Moret and Count Romanones will find expression in legislation. The respectable link between Liberals and Conservatives is, of course, that both are "dynastic," and hold the Republicans, Socialists, and Anarchists at bay.
But how do the ministers return to power after a General Election? Is there not a very wide suffrage in Spain? I have quoted half-a-dozen writers of great weight to the effect that there is "no electoral system" in Spain, and that the elections are largely comedies. Incredible as it seems to English voters, the "oligarchs" settle by agreement how many deputies of each party are to be returned, and manipulate the electoral results accordingly. The procedure is a commonplace in Spain, and is fully described in the work published by the Athenæum.
Here the "caciquismo," or Tammany, comes into play. Imagine Tammany spread over the whole of the United States, and embracing Washington in its corrupt network, and you have an idea of Spain's "political system." All the officials of the country are in it. When we come to examine the evidence against Ferrer, it will be essential to remember this. The alcalde (head official) of a small town is not a free agent, deposing out of conviction. He is "appointed," and owes his place to what the Spaniards genially call "His Majesty Recommendation." The Civil Governors are "recommended"; the posts in the army and navy are secured by "recommendation"; from college upward one dreams of "recommendation"—and the price of recommendation is loyalty to the recommender. The whole set of officials in a district is the "cacique," or clique of appointed men depending on the central "oligarchs." This is the most notorious part of the "immorality" and "corruption" which we have heard denounced. And as an "eloquent example" of such a structure Señor Costa instances (p. 53) the "cacique at Barcelona"!
The link between the central power and the local body of dependents is the "Civil Governor," an official whom we shall find at work later. I pretend to no knowledge of him, but consult the Athenæum's work on his position. The Civil Governor, Señor Costa says, is "the link between the central oligarchy and the peripheral caciquismo." One may add, "and the dutiful servant of the local bishop." Sanchez de Toca says that he is sent down by the central power "on the juridical fiction" that he is merely an agent for the supervision of public order and fiscal matters. This, he says, is a fiction, because he is the absolute tool of the oligarchs and is their "electoral agent." So the system is bound together, and the manipulation of the elections secured. In the large towns such electoral corruption can no longer be practised with impunity, and they send Republican deputies to the Cortes. Perez Galdos, the greatest writer in Spain, is Republican deputy for Madrid; Alejandro Lerroux for Barcelona.
But in the small towns the electoral returns are a mockery. Señor Moret describes the candidate hypocritically seeking votes. "It does not matter," he says, "whether they vote for him or not." His real work is the secret and corrupt negotiation with the local cacique. Cases have been put before me in which votes have been cast somewhat in the proportion of 300 for the dynastic candidate and 3,000 for the Republican; but the result was announced the other way round. The whole system is one of deliberate, self-seeking corruption of the most repellent character. Isern writes of it: "All provincial administration is in the hands of caciques and their representatives, and is profoundly immoral in eighty cases out of every hundred. Yet, of the immoralities which we find in families which pay little or no taxation, in alcaldes and councillors who fill no office, yet live magnificently at the public expense, in politicians who receive more or less considerable bribes from these families and alcaldes—of these the provincial authorities and tribunals take notice only on the eve of elections, and prosecute only when the culprits have given some cause of offence to the Ministry, such as failing to give beforehand to the governor the forms, signed and blank, to be filled up on the day of the election with the number of votes which it is thought fit to assign to the 'pigeon-holed' candidate, as they say."[3]
The elections in the majority of constituencies are what J. R. Lowell pronounced them in 1877—"a sham." I am told by a Spanish journalist that less than 200 out of 400 deputies are genuinely elected. The stolid English voter probably wonders why the voters do not violently rebel, as he would, against such a system. And so we come back to the recent trouble in Barcelona. They do violently rebel sometimes. Then English people are informed that they are all "Anarchists," and half the English press commends Spain for promptly suspending the constitutional guarantees, and shooting, or condemning to twenty years in prison without trial, whomever it chooses to represent as the fomenter or the leader of the "revolution."
We may agree with Señor Maura—before he took office—that the great fight which enlightened Spain fought during the nineteenth century has ended in "an immense imposture." Two things only need be added to complete the situation. One is that the system, though checked in the large towns by the growth of enlightenment, has steadily deteriorated from an accidental cause. A large number of Spaniards were, before the American War, accommodated with real or lazy or nominal offices in the Colonies. They came back to Spain with their fortunes made—out of the Cubans or Filipinos. All these are now thrown on the "system" and the Church.
The other element to be noted is that these two comfortable dynastic parties now see their power menaced by the rise of Republicanism, Socialism, and Anarchism. Socialism is not a power in Spain. It proposes a new and more concentrated form of central government, and long experience has made the Spanish worker hate the idea of central government. Some of us can understand it, though we do not despair of the Spanish middle class. Republicanism is described by many political writers as "the force of the future." It is already a very powerful movement, openly advocating a new form of government. The point in the indictment which laid stress on Ferrer's aspirations towards a Republic was one of the most shameless pieces of hypocrisy in that unspeakable collection. On the one hand, Ferrer was not a Republican, and was not on very good terms with the Republicans of Barcelona, precisely because he gave them no aid. On the other hand, many of the finest men in Spain, from Salmeron and Perez Galdos downward, are open and insistent Republicans. They form a recognised group in the Cortes, and it is only by the scandalous manipulation of the election returns that their number in the Cortes is kept down. Anarchism the oligarchs fight by the weapons we shall have presently to consider.
The rapid spread of these parties, which menace the sacred system, has an effect on the dynastic politicians which needs no emphasis. The oligarchy-Tammany combination is beginning to rock on its foundations. The State finds itself in exactly the same position as the Church. New ideas sprout in the minds of the Spanish people, as they do in the minds of civilised nations. In civilised communities, with no more than a normal and incidental corruption to conceal, we agree to let the new ideas vent themselves and fight their intellectual battle. But in Spain the two systems, Church and State, with which these new ideas would wage war, are essentially, fundamentally, and incurably corrupt. Hundreds of thousands of men, drafted into or dependent on the two great corporations, clerical and political, see the very bases of their economic life threatened. They have, from their youth upward, on the confession of their own leaders, been taught to deal in intrigue, deceit, and corruption. They have been forced to lay aside moral principles, and press unscrupulously in the struggle for "recommendation."
Let the reader ask himself candidly if the leaders and agents of these menaced systems are likely to be scrupulous in their methods of removing the danger from their path. Let him reflect that one of the most formidable opponents of these systems is the man who would open the eyes of Spain and teach the workers to think. I have grave facts to relate of the agents of these systems, graver than any that this or the preceding chapter contains. The most adequate proof will be given of them, but I felt that it was necessary to describe the systems, in their own language, before I proceeded further. We are now ready to return to the noble-spirited man who is passing from Paris to Barcelona to dissipate the ignorance of Spain. Assuredly Francisco Ferrer is bringing dynamite with him; but the dynamite of Spain is a gift of the gods in any honest and civilised community.