Suppose for a moment that some non-Christian nation was very much richer than the United States and very much more advanced in civilization. Suppose its missionaries came to our country and here established schools and hospitals which offered our people advantages far beyond anything we could give them. Suppose these missionaries were actuated by a sincere desire to convert us to a religion which was shared by only small racial minorities in our country. Would there not be considerable friction between such foreigners and, say, the Ku Klux Klan?

There is another important question between the United States and Turkey. It hinges on divergent views on naturalization. It was not possible to settle it at Lausanne, even by the tentative method of exchange of notes employed in the case of our schools and hospitals.

In the old days of the Capitulations a foreigner in Turkey enjoyed many advantages over a Turkish subject. He was not called for military service, paid no direct taxes, and could not be tried by Turkish courts. He was protected in his commercial dealings by his consul- an official far more powerful than is a foreign consul in our country. Those were also the days of unrestricted immigration into the United States. The natural result was that many Turkish subjects, mostly Greeks, Armenians, and Jews, came to America. In a few years they went back to Turkey and lived there under the protection of our citizenship and the Capitulations.

The Ottoman Government countered by refusing to recognize foreign naturalization in the case of Ottoman subjects. This was a move well within the sovereign rights of Turkey and one which could not be challenged successfully save by force. It brought about a situation of dual nationality, and resulted in an impasse that has continued

to the present day. Recently there has been some indication that the present Turkish Government would recognize American naturalization provided we should recognize their right to exclude from Turkey American citizens of Turkish origin― a proviso which we are naturally unwilling to accept.

So the matter stands, a difficult question still, though much easier of solution now that we have practically closed our doors to Turkish immigration and the Capitulations are no more.

The situation is, then, this: - We have negotiated two treaties which are in the nature of fundamental bases for amical relations and for further negotiation and adjustment of differences. We have also established modi vivendi for the solution of the questions of our schools and hospitals in Turkey and of our monetary claims against Turkey. The question of naturalization is still outstanding, and it will undoubtedly be followed by other important questions arising in the future. Our decision to ratify or not to ratify the Lausanne Treaties really comes down to a decision as to whether we want to establish a basis of contact and from that point work toward complete agreement, or whether, on the other hand, we prefer to break relations altogether with the present Turkish Government, and begin again on a more favorable basis at some more favorable time. In this decision a very important consideration should be the record of the Turkish Government since the signature of the treaties in August of last year.

V

In considering this record there are two touchstones by which it should be tested stability and fair play. A foreign government worthy of treaty relations with us should be able to convince us that it is reasonably stable and

that it means to play fair, at least so far as we are concerned.

It so happens that the past year in Turkey has seen phenomenal changes. In October 1923, the last of the Allied troops were withdrawn from Constantinople, Thrace, and the shores of the Dardanelles, and the whole zone came into the hands of the Turks. In that same month the National Assembly at Angora, at the instigation of Mustapha Kemal, voted in the 'Republic of Turkey,' a step which involved fundamental changes in the form of government. In March of this year the Caliphate was abolished. All members of the old imperial House of Osmanli were banished from the country. Church and State were completely separated. Church property was expropriated to the use of the State, the civil jurisdiction of religious courts was abolished, and. practically the whole of the publicschool system was transferred from religious to secular control. In April came the climax in political metamorphoses, the adoption of the new Constitution. This reorganized the whole fabric of government, and incidentally granted a limited form of woman suffrage. And throughout the year a vast exchange of populations was being effected, and brigandage, which had prospered exceedingly for several decades, was being effectively stamped out.

Had these startling changes not been imposed by a small group upon a people singularly subservient to authority, they would be even more remarkable. But there is no disguising the fact that the Republic of Turkey is an oligarchy. Popular elections have so far been only the form by which candidates chosen by the ruling group are instated in office. In the Constitutional debates the Assembly may have shown unexpected firmness in the defense of its rights and limited in some degree the powers of the President that does not alter the

matter. The cavalier manner in which the Constitution was finally adopted (the half of it after only a few hours' debate) and the almost complete indifference to its provisions shown by the country at large clearly indicate that constitutional government in Turkey is not yet taken seriously, if indeed the meaning of it is understood.

Nevertheless, the record of Turkey for the past year, considered as a feat in political transformation, is almost without parallel. And it was all done without the slightest internal disorder of any kind. A Government which can 'get away with' such things without opposition from its people, even though they be by nature subservient, which can change its form of government, separate a hitherto inseparable Church and State, cast off the spiritual head of a great religion, and draw up and adopt a new Constitution, all within a twelvemonth, certainly exhibits strength and, by inference at least, stability.

Whether the Turks will run their country into the ground, as many foreigners predict, is another matter. Financially they are having their difficulties, and they are going to have more of them. It is of course obvious that their administrative ability is by no means equal to their ambitions or to their nominal progress toward democracy. But it must always be remembered that Turkey is an agricultural State whose people are largely illiterate and content with very little. Administrative inefficiency which would set our people by the ears leaves the Turk cold. He asks only that his taxes and his military service be light, that he be protected from brigandage and from foreign spoliation, that he be let alone. And that is exactly what he is getting. Angora's feverish zeal for political transformation passes over his head almost unnoticed. An Englishman who knows the people well was

recently asked whether Mustapha Kemal is still popular among the Turkish peasants. 'I should not say popular,' he replied, 'but rather accepted and forgotten.' Not at all a bad position, that, for an Oriental potentate!

In deciding whether or not we shall establish relations with a foreign government we often have to judge the stability of that government by existing facts, and not by the true test of time. Under present conditions we should have few treaties with foreign governments were we to insist on their stability being proved to the hilt. We believe that a democracy is more stable and in other ways preferable to an oligarchy rendering only lip service to popular government. But we also have to recognize that some people, not yet advanced beyond the forms of democracy, must perforce content themselves with autocratic rule. We have more than once established normal diplomatic relations with a new government which had won its sovereignty by success in arms over external enemies, and which was fortified by the moral force of that victory. We have made rather a point of doing this when the new government followed at least the forms of democracy, when it appeared to have the support of at least the majority of its people, and when it could not be charged with usurpation of power rightfully belonging to its own people or to us.

This is the case with Turkey of today. We cannot be sure that the Angora Government will endure. Like all revolutionary movements it is being run on unfamiliar lines by men of no great administrative experience. The times are unsettled and the future dim; but at least we are sure that there is now no open opposition among the Turks to their present government. Whatever secret opposition exists probably tends largely toward the reëstablishment of the Sultanate. The record

of the Turkish Empire was not one which should incline us toward sympathy for that form of government.

To a large extent predictions of the early failure and dissolution of the Angora Government should be discounted because they come from foreigners who have lost their special privileges under the old régime and the Interallied occupation, and also from thousands of ex-subjects of Turkey now in America and Europe who are racially and fanatically opposed to the success of any Turkish Government.

On the head of stability, therefore, we have little reason to throw the Government at Angora out of court. Fair play is another matter. To some extent it is a question of what we should reasonably expect from a Government hardly beyond the revolutionary stage, from a State so very new in all its form and functions, from a country torn by eleven years of almost continual war, from a people who have long suffered from foreign spoliation, and who have recently been embittered to the point of intense chauvinism and xenophobia. However, American firms do continue to do business in Turkey, American institutions (at least the more important of them) do continue to function, and American citizens do travel all over the interior without let or hindrance.

Against this must be balanced the petty annoyances of governmental red tape and inefficiency, and the far more serious attitude assumed toward certain of our interests. The crux of the matter is that our delay in ratifying the Treaties of Lausanne has given us an opportunity of judging the vital issue of Turkish fair play. On the manner in which the Government at Angora has met and is meeting that issue should depend our decision to ratify or not to ratify the Treaties. But let us also show fair play, and not blind prejudice, in making that decision.

'I SHOULD therefore suspend my congratulations on the new liberty of France,' wrote Edmund Burke in 1790, 'until I was informed how it had been combined with government, with public force, with the discipline and obedience of armies, with the collection of an effective and well-distributed revenue, with morality and religion, with solidity and property, with peace and order, with civil and social manners. All these things (in their way) are good things, too, and without them liberty is not a benefit while it lasts, and is not likely to continue long.'

The standards Burke here establishes for testing a nation's liberty commend themselves to the judgment and common sense of thoughtful men. Liberty is not liberty at all unless it conforms to these requirements; and a government, whatever name it bears, is of no benefit to a people if it does not perform those essential functions for which in the last analysis every government exists and upon which all organized society depends for its very life.

For over a hundred years, with a few brief exceptions, the liberty of the Mexican people has been a fictitious liberty, and the government of that country has failed to meet the tests either of a free government or a successful government. It has not maintained order, except at irregular and widely separated intervals. It has not afforded industry the security it re

quires, nor protected labor against the evils of a violent and disorganized society. It has not been able to keep its treasury in funds or pay its debts or direct its revenues to the genuine upbuilding of its citizens. It has failed lamentably to educate its people or give them a decent standard of living or teach them the rudiments of health and sanitation. It has built almost no highways, developed almost none of the country's great resources, and allowed itself to become the economic vassal of other nations. It has frequently ignored its solemn treaty obligations, violated the established principles of international law, and invited the intervention of other nations because of its utter helplessness in the face of domestic turmoil and confusion.

This indictment of self-government in Mexico is not born of hostility or prejudice, but of that same impartial desire to arrive at the truth which leads a physician to record a patient's symptoms, no matter how serious they may be, when he attempts to diagnose the disease from which the patient suffers. And if my criticisms of Mexican liberty and of the Mexican government appear to be harsh or exaggerated, I can only plead that they are no harsher nor more exaggerated than the facts of Mexican history themselves. Let us see if this statement is

not correct.

Mexico became independent of Spain

in the year 1821. From that date to 1876, when Porfirio Diaz first came into power, the nation enjoyed the rule of two regencies, two emperors, sundry dictators, nearly twenty provisional presidents, twenty-three regular presidents, and one or two extraconstitutional bodies known by various names. Altogether, in the course of these first fifty-five years of independence, the government thus changed hands on an average of at least once a year (or perhaps a little oftener) and almost never were these changes accomplished without bloodshed or in accordance with the methods prescribed by the Mexican Constitution.

Under such conditions it is obvious that the government of the country could not perform even the simplest of its duties toward its citizens, and that the liberty which had been won from Spain was in no way combined with 'solidity and property, with peace and order,' or with any other of the virtues that make for a nation's progress and enlightenment.

The rule of Diaz began in 1876 and with the exception of a four-year interval, from 1880 to 1884, extended to 1911. In all the history of Mexican independence this is the only period in which the country has enjoyed as much as five years of continuous tranquillity and peace. This relief from political confusion and the turmoil of revolution enabled Mexico not only to make surprising progress along economic lines but also to reestablish her international position and to some degree to improve the condition of the common people.

But the government of Diaz, though an efficient and successful government, possessed two fatal elements of weakness. It was neither a free government nor a constitutional government, and it had no power to pass its virtues on to a successor. Here lies one of the

features of Mexican politics which needs to be clearly pointed out. Many people, both foreigners and nativeborn, who have despaired of selfgovernment in Mexico, propose as a sort of guaranteed alternative to the nominal democracy now in effect the restoration of a benevolent despotism, such as Diaz established and so long maintained. But in addition to all the theoretical objections that might be offered to this plan, there is a practical difficulty which renders its operation quite impossible. This difficulty is to find the man of sufficient capacity and strength to establish and maintain the proposed despotism. Virtually every president before Diaz, as well as after him, has attempted to do the very thing he did that is, to make himself absolute master of the government; but none as yet has had any long-continued success in this attempt.

The explanation of the single generation of peace which Mexico has known in the last hundred years lies, then, not in the type of government Diaz established, for this was already old when he came into power, nor in the methods he adopted, though these were eminently practical and efficient, but in the personality, genius, and consummate ability of the man himself. Thus those who advocate the establishment of a dictatorship in Mexico, modeled after that of Diaz, as a solution of the nation's political perplexities, are advocating a delusive and visionary plan unless they can discover somewhere a leader comparable to Diaz in ability and statesmanship, and also can devise some method by which this man can pass his government on to a successor of no less ability than himself. But when in the past, with the possible exception of Benito Juarez, has Mexico brought forth a man like Diaz, and when will she again produce his equal?