in the matter, because of her engage ment to protect the Canal. To raise this great outcry about imperialism over what is simply an embodiment in fuller specifications of the terms of a general contract is sheer stupidity. If it is intentional, it is done in bad faith; if it is not intentional, it is due to ig


The United States is no more imperialist in its relations with Panama, Nicaragua, or Mexico than we are in our relations with Morocco. Like France, that country represents civilization that is to say, security of life and property, and law and order in the relations between private parties and between governments. America may be compelled to fight to enforce respect

for solemn contracts. Let us salute her as she takes up her share of this burden, as we saluted her when she came to our aid, likewise to enforce respect for treaties and faith in the written word.

Let there be no misunderstandingand I say this to America as well as to France: these pacifist effusions, these silly mutual accusations of imperialism, are inspired at the bottom by more or less avowed Bolshevism. In order to recruit its Red ranks and pave the way for an easy victory, that movement strives by every means in its power to discredit national armies, which stand equally ready to defend their countries against foreign enemies and civilization against domestic enemies.



MOST Porto Rican towns, no matter how small, have at least one Protestant church. But Protestantism has not struck deep roots among the people. It is regarded with distrust as one more invasion of North-Americanism. Local patriotism strengthens allegiance to Catholicism, and religion becomes a function of political hostility. Porto Rican Catholicism thus resembles that of Ireland, where the Church was one of the most efficacious weapons in the battle for autonomy.

Therefore the pulpits of Porto Rico are the boldest and most persistent tribunes of independence. A few Spanish priests remain, but most parishes are now in charge of natives of the country, who have received their From El Universal (Mexican Independent daily), January 28

clerical education in the United States, and who are men of cultivation and character.

I became acquainted with a parish priest at Humacao, in the southeastern end of the Island, who was a gentleman of broad information and liberal opinions, charitable to the poor and exacting of the rich, and in every way an excellent example of what a person in his position ought to be. He regretted deeply that the Spanish books which reached his parishioners were seldom of a kind to elevate their morals. Indeed, they mostly worked precisely the other way. 'I don't think I am oversensitive about such matters,' he said. 'I read all kinds of books myself, provided they are good literature and stimulate thought. Renan is one of my favorites. But this gross Spanish litera

ture of the present age is so dirty and depraved that it has not a trace of beauty.'

During our conversation one evening the inferiority complex was mentioned -a new idea that the young people of Porto Rico have picked up in the United States. The good father used it to explain why a friar, Tirso Molina, was the literary creator of Don Juan. This led us off into various Freudian themes. I had to look at the father's cassock occasionally to convince myself that I was listening to a Catholic priest. Later he asked me if the clergy in Spain were abreast of the times intellectually. I had to answer that some individuals among them were eager to keep in touch with contemporary culture, but that they were hampered by their professional environment and their ecclesiastical superiors. I related an instance known to me where a priest was disciplined for having expressed his admiration for the French Revolution in a private letter which happened to get into a newspaper; and the case of a Franciscan friar at Bilbao who was exiled to a missionary station in Asia because he had spoken too kindly of certain contemporary Spanish writers in an article printed in the review published by his order.

Yet this priest, and many others like him, who do honor to the intellectual standing of the Porto Rican clergy, are sturdy defenders of Nationalism notwithstanding their North American education - or perhaps precisely on account of it. Culture conduces to all forms of independence, political as well as mental.

Notwithstanding this, the Protestant churches show the extent to which religious toleration prevails in Porto Rico. The people of that island are certainly no less Catholic than the Mexicans, but that has not interfered with excellent relations between Church and

State in a country where the two are completely independent of each other. I believe the inconveniences we anticipate from the separation of the two powers are vastly exaggerated. Porto Rico, which has been Catholic for centuries, is a proof of this. One need only glance around the plaza of any town there for an illustration. On one side will stand a venerable Catholic church, not far from it a Protestant church, and on another corner a Masonic hall, for the Masons are very strong in Porto Rico, and there is even a Masonic bank at San Juan, and next to this the headquarters of the Knights of Columbus. I have in mind particularly, as I write this, the Plaza of Arecibo on the north coast of the Island.

Except for a political domination which wounds the patriotic sensibilities of the people and violates their sacred right of self-determination, and an economic invasion which makes the masses a permanent proletariat, the North Americans, it is only fair to say, have brought the Island many blessings. One may not like either their methods or their aims, but one cannot refuse to recognize the tremendous work they have done for public education. They have made notable improvements in sanitation. They have retained the Spanish civil code after purging it of some of its anachronisms, and have modernized the Spanish penal code. They have introduced their own commercial methods, which are more flexible and efficient than those of Europe. But, above all, they have transformed the methods of justice by completely emancipating courts from politics. I heard some complaint, to be sure, of irregularities and corruption. Probably they exist here and there - no administration is absolutely impeccable. But the system of selecting jurors, and the independence of the judges, guarantee equal-handed justice to a degree at

tained only among the freest and most highly civilized nations.

I had an opportunity at San Juan to attend a session of the Federal Court, where a case involving about half a million dollars was being tried. The local court had decided in favor of one of the parties, a Spanish commercial house. The other party, a North American, denied the jurisdiction of the Porto Rican court and wanted to appeal the case to a United States tribunal. The little courtroom, in which Mr. Wells, the American judge, presided, was of modest dimensions. To see him sitting there surrounded by a group of attorneys and witnesses reminded me of a family council more than of a court. There were no formalities. The judge listened attentively to each in turn, conversed familiarly with the lawyers, and gave his decision immediately, confirming the decision of the local court.

When I was introduced to the judge after the case was over, and congratulated him upon the promptness of the proceedings, he remarked sententiously: 'Slow justice is only half justice.' I thought to myself that if the future of Porto Rico depended entirely on the North American courts, and not upon Congress at Washington, which is too easily influenced by the great sugar and tobacco corporations, the people of the Island would have little reason to complain. The misfortune is that you cannot enforce justice between nations by the same methods by which you can enforce justice between individuals.

I went from San Juan to Mayagüez at the west end of the Island, where I was to embark for Santo Domingo. The road, which was excellently paved with asphalt, like most of those in Porto Rico, follows the coast, making a right angle at Aguadilla, not far from the place where Christopher Columbus


landed. The country here is not as mountainous as in the centre of the Island, but contains some of the largest sugar plantations in Porto Rico. Nature and man together have made the country a vast garden. Indeed, it would be a paradise except that dwellers in this garden are not happy. They do not suffer from original sin, — I imagine they bear that burden without much affliction of spirit, from foreign domination. Few people are as melancholy as the Porto Ricans. They have almost no social life outside of labor. At the clubs one rarely finds more than a dozen or so men playing poker. The streets are deserted after eight o'clock. There is no café life, and, except for the movie houses, the theatres are closed practically throughout the year, and even when they are open they are poorly patronized. In fact, Porto Rico has an unhappy reputation as the place where theatrical troupes, after struggling through the Central American republics on the ragged edge, finally go bankrupt.

Conditions used to be different. People who can still remember Spanish rule have little good to say of it politically, but frankly regret its vanished social gayety. Their quarrel with Spain was a sort of family row which has not destroyed a lively sense of kinship and common social tastes. The Americans, while they have doubtless given the Island a good government, have not won the sympathy of the people. This conscious difference of taste and sentiment, which ranges from mere dislike to political disaffection, does not favor progress in the sciences and arts. Everybody is absorbed in politics. Comparatively few occupy themselves with the finer things of life.

What would be the result of a plebiscite in Porto Rico? That would

depend upon the way the question was put. If a choice were given between independence and the present form of government, that of a colony with a liberal degree of autonomy, probably a majority would vote for independence. If the choice were between independence and admission to the Union with the same rights as other states, the decision would be more doubtful: pecuniary considerations would weigh heavily with local business men and planters, because the Island's inclusion within the American tariff wall has benefited its industries enormously, though without much advantage to the working classes. Indeed, the common people are worse off than before, on account of the great concentration of wealth in foreign hands. Organized labor, how ever, would hesitate to vote for independence, because the Federal Constitution guarantees the workers' rights of association, meeting, and free speech, which are indispensable for the growth of their movement, and which they might lose if the Island had an independent government.

But no likelihood exists that such a plebiscite will be held, and thinking people for the most part dismiss that possibility. Practical politicians are not inclined to ask more than they think the United States will ultimately grant.

They advocate neither in

dependence nor admission to the Union, because they think both equally impossible, but do the best they can with the present institutions. If they could elect their own Governor they would be fairly well satisfied. A constitution like that of the English Dominions or of Ireland, with complete political autonomy and partial union with the United States for certain purposes, might fully satisfy a majority of the people. If it had not been for the language question raised when the North Americans stupidly tried to dragoon the country into using English, it is doubtful if they would even now seriously resent American control.

Whatever the political destiny of Porto Rico may be, however, I think she will preserve her cultural individuality through the medium of the Spanish language. The newspapers, which include some excellent modern dailies, publish many articles by Spanish writers, although their regular service is supplied by North American syndicates and news agencies. The bookstores sell almost exclusively Spanish books and periodicals not in large numbers, but in greater quantities than in some South American republics. In general the level of Spanish culture in Porto Rico is fairly high, with a tendency to rise rather than to decline.




[WE print below translations of representative passages from the editorials of four Turkish newspapers in Constantinople upon our Senate's rejection of the Lausanne Treaty. These papers are, in the order of the quotations, Vakit of January 21, Djoumhouriet of January 21, Ikdam of January 22, and L'Echo de Turquie, a French-language daily conducted by Turks, of January 23.1


THE failure of the American Senate to ratify the Treaty of Lausanne has been received here with calm. In connection with this incident, we should bear in mind, first, that the Americans residing in Turkey, including those valued friends of our country, Admiral and Mrs. Bristol, deeply regret this action, and, second, that the treaty was rejected by a minority vote, simply because the two-thirds majority required by the Constitution was not obtained. These two points mitigate the otherwise bad impression produced by the nonratification.


Since the Treaty of Lausanne, which the American Senate has not seen fit to ratify, did not have the character of an act destined to end a state of war between the United States and Turkey, hostilities between our two countries

are of course not to be expected. We have never been at war with the United States. . . nor has there ever been a declaration of war by either country against the other. It is not less true, however, that Turkey, having taken on an entirely new physiognomy among the peoples of the world, and having wound up the affairs of the defunct Ottoman Empire at Lausanne, naturally wishes to enter into treaty relations with the United States, as she has with the other Powers.

In any case, it is to be understood that the treaty we wished to conclude with America has a rather theoretical bearing on our relations, and its ratification is not absolutely and imperatively necessary. We therefore need not be unduly affected by the rebuff we have received. . . . We may simply cite here the familiar Turkish proverb, which is quite appropriate to the case: 'Reason always triumphs over error in the long run.'

We have never been at war with America, we are not so at this moment, and we shall never be so in the future. Now, when two countries live at peace with each other, we have every reason to believe that they will sooner or later seal their peaceful relations by a treaty in good and due form. We may even push our conjectures so far as to hope that our present bizarre and rare situation may perhaps serve to make us

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