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BY COLIN ROSS

From Die Neue Rundschau, July (BERLIN LIBERAL LITERARY MONTHLY)

Ir is January, the South American dogdays. But on the puna — the the Bolivian plateau- snow lies on either snow lies on either side the railway. The station elevations never fall below twelve thousand feet. Not until we pass the Chilean boundary, does the real descent begin. Then we fairly dive down in dizzy curves toward the sea.

Soon the snow is left behind. The cliffs above us are baking in the sunlight. A noble desert country spreads before us, absolutely without vegetation. Compared with these rocky solitudes, the nitrate deserts farther south seem almost cozy and habitable; for though the latter also are destitute of vegetation and animal life, they bear a rich harvest of glittering salt which fructifies many broad acres elsewhere.

So we speed downward in a constant spiral; mountains, ridges, hills, valleys, stone, and sand alternating in quick succession. There is absolutely nothing here that man can use. This is Tacna, formerly a province of Peru, now part of Chile. Much blood has been shed for it, and much blood promises to be shed for it in the future; perhaps it will kindle even a world war.

I stare out of the windows. They remain closed because the hot reddishyellow dust sifts through and covers everything. So this is Tacna, a name familiar to all the world! And for these sandy deserts two nations stand ever under arms, and a continent trembles on the verge of war!

The more important republics of South America have emerged from the

era of border warfare. Argentina and Chile have arbitrated their frontier disputes. Brazil has done the same. Other territorial questions between Bolivia and Paraguay, Peru and Ecuador, Colombia and Venezuela, are not important enough to fight about.

The latter nations are not excessively friendly; but they are separated by no vital issue. Gradually the idea of South American solidarity and community of interest is gaining ground. Unless a wave of Red agitation sweeps through this part of the world, its people might well look forward to an age of political quiet, of unhampered progress, of growing economic prosperity, did not this unsolved problem of Tacna-Arica ever lurk like the ghost of discord in the background.

The history of the controversy is familiar. Peru lost these provinces, as well as Tarapaca, still farther south, during the Pacific war. But while that country ceded unconditionally the incomparably more valuable southern province, with its saltpetre deposits, — as its ally Bolivia ceded Antofagasta, the ownership of Tacna and Arica remained unsettled. A vote of their people was to decide whether they should belong to Peru or to Chile.

No such vote was ever taken. The Peruvians insist that Chile has prevented this, in order to colonize the country with her own people before an election is held. The Chileans insist that Peru has delayed action, convinced that a great majority would vote for Chile.

However that may be, whether Chile is right or not, the Peruvians have talked of Tacna when they meant Tarapaca. Undoubtedly Peru has suffered a certain prejudice through this delay. And it is probably true that Chile might have settled the whole Pacific controversy by a timely renunciation of her claim to these two worthless provinces, and by granting Bolivia a port on the Pacific. But to-day the situation has become more acute, and every year that passes lessens the probability of its peaceful solution.

Worthless provinces, did I say? As the train approaches the coast, it crosses Lluta Valley, where the irrigated lands are green with corn and clover up to the very verge of the yellow sand; and around Tacna and Arica, the only towns in this district, there are olive orchards of some size. But that is all; and the Chileans with whom I talked in Arica told me frankly that the administration of this province costs that government several millions annually.

Why not give up Tacna-Arica? To ask a patriotic Chilean this question is almost to imperil one's life. He will point angrily to the fort which crowns the steep cliff south of the town, and say: 'Chilean blood bought that. Our national honor is at stake. We shall never yield. Tacna and Arica must belong to Chile.'

And the fort itself? Certainly it was no trifling enterprise to capture it. I clambered around the lower approaches of the precipice on which it stands, and narrowly escaped arrest as a spy. The whole vicinity is a carefully guarded fortified area. Why this is so is not apparent; for from the sea it is easy to pick out with the naked eye every armored turret, every great gun. More than that, this fortress, to which the Chileans attach such strategic importance that they sometimes base their whole claim

to Tacna-Arica upon it, is to-day practically valueless for military purposes. Any modern fleet could blow it to pieces in a few hours; while a mobile battery of heavy guns concealed among the sand-dunes, and able to change its position at will, could easily keep hostile warships at a distance.

But if the retention of this fortress is a matter of national honor on the one side, it is a breeder of national hatred on the other. Peruvian accounts relate that the Chileans threw their helpless Peruvian prisoners over the cliffs; and a cross is still pointed out which the Peruvians have erected to their memory in the neighboring cemetery.

I do not know whether this and the other reports of Chilean atrocities, which the Peruvians relate, are as exaggerated as those of the German atrocities in Belgium. But the evil lies here: such stories have the same effect upon the human mind as if they were true.

They are believed, and therefore these nations hate each other. TacnaArica is a promoter of war in South America, as Alsace-Lorraine was in Europe. And the question is complicated by the fact that it affects more countries than Chile and Peru.

First comes Bolivia. When that republic lost Antofagasta, she was deprived not only of valuable saltpetremines, but also of access to the sea. This country's government has ceded territory right and left throughout its history. All its neighbors — Chile, Peru, Brazil, Argentina, and even little Paraguay - have annexed parts of its domain, until to-day it has but a third its former area. At the time Antofagasta was ceded by the Treaty of Ancón, Bolivia was so backward that her rulers failed to realize the importance of free access to the sea. Since then conditions in that country have changed radically. Not only have her people learned the necessity of an ocean out

let; but all its neighbors likewise recognize this necessity.

Bolivia seemed about to obtain what she desired, through a peaceful agreement with Chile, although at although at the cost of a future dispute with Peru,

when her recent revolution upset those plans, and ranged her again on the side of her ancient ally.

Both Peru and Bolivia thereupon decided to appeal to the League of Nations for the enforcement of the Treaty of Ancón. But that appeal was predestined to prove fruitless. No league of nations can settle a purely American question so long as the United States is absent. In the nature of the case one of the parties will be dissatisfied with any decision which may be made. I have discussed the subject with a number of South American statesmen. Saavadia, President of Bolivia, believes that no stone will be left unturned to settle the harbor problem; but a war does not appeal to him as a likely way to accomplish this. Alessandri, President of Chile, believes that it is a purely business proposition. Irigoyen, Argentina's shrewd, far-sighted executive, refused to commit himself, since Argentina has avoided taking sides in the Pacific issue. If any country can arbitrate this dispute, it is Argentina - on the assumption, of course, that she confers with Brazil and the United States before giving her decision. Unless we have some such adjudication, there is little hope of avoiding a second Pacific war. The negotiations at Geneva merely revived old antagonisms, exciting hopes here and fears there, and passions everywhere.

This controversy, even if it culminates in war, would hardly interest. Europe, did it not threaten to involve all South America. The first gun fired on the Pacific may become a second Serajevo incident.

Argentina and Brazil will in this case

hold the fate of South America in their hands. The former country sympathizes strongly with Peru. There is a society in Buenos Aires called by the significant name: 'For the Peace of South America and the Rights of Peru.' Moreover, in spite of their constant professions of friendship, many conflicts of interest exist between Argentina and Chile.

On the other hand, Brazil is Chile's ally, and Argentina's keenest rival. Each seeks to become the leading power in South America. Differences of race and language increase their antagonism. The citizen of Rio never forgives his neighbor of Buenos Aires for the insulting term caboclo, which the latter applies to him as a monkey-like halfbreed.

Consequently, were either of these two governments to become involved in a Pacific conflict, the other one would immediately range itself upon the opposite side. If Argentina and Brazil fight, Uruguay and Paraguay cannot remain neutral. The first is hostile to Argentina; the latter is already involved in boundary controversies with Bolivia.

More important yet would be the attitude of the Great Powers. Let me say in advance, that I am very skeptical as to a war between America and Japan, with or without England's participation. Nevertheless, in appraising the situation in South America we cannot leave out of sight these sources of friction.

Not only has the United States important economic interests in Peru, but she is the outspoken protector of that country. On the other hand, Chile is hostile to the North American Republic. Not long ago she definitely and courageously rejected any intervention of Washington in the Pacific conflict. The common people hate the Yankees so bitterly, that the visit of an American

warship is dreaded at Santiago and Valparaiso, lest it cause bloody riots between the populace and the American sailors.

On the other hand, England is a strong supporter of Chile, and has assisted the latter country very recently to strengthen her navy and its aeroplane service. Furthermore, Chile is paying court to Japan, as the enthusiastic reception recently given to the Mikado's naval vessels indicated.

Not only do we face the possibility that the Great Powers may be drawn into a South American war involuntarily, but we must bear in mind the chance that they will intentionally employ Peru and Chile as pawns upon the world's political chessboard, as the Balkan states were used in Europe.

Naturally the possibility exists that an American war, eventually developing into a world war, may start in Central America. When I was last in the United States, in the spring of 1914, the imperialists of that country were already talking of carrying the starry banner as far south as the Panama Canal. I am inclined to think that such designs are likely to be strengthened by world war and the recent Republican victory. The whole history of the Union is one continuous record of expansion southward into former Spanish territories, which are now completely assimilated; and I predict that this process may continue through what is left of independent Mexico and Central America.

It would be no task at all for the United States to seize these territories. Its army would have to fight a protracted guerrilla war in the Mexican mountains; but the outcome would be merely a question of time and money. The real obstacle lies elsewhere. During the late war the popularity of the Yankees in South America was not increased. Were they to invade the

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So the United States can hardly afford to invade Mexico until conditions in that country become so chaotic that such action will be generally commended as promoting order and liberty. Now the Americans have taken the greatest pains, since the overthrow of Porfirio Diaz, to bring about just such a situation. No revolution has occurred in Mexico which cannot be traced to its northern neighbor, or where at least the trail of the dollar is not found. The last time I was in Washington, an American journalist said to me frankly: 'It is merely a question of cost whether a Mexican government is overthrown or not.' When Huerta did not prove plastic enough to please the Yankees, they substituted Carranza for him. When the latter gentleman was recalcitrant in the matter of oil-concessions, they set up Obregon in his place.

Despite these successful manœuvres, however, an American invasion would be a risky thing. In fact, there is only one situation which would justify Washington's aggression in the eyes of South America - the rise in Mexico of a soviet government.

Beyond question every recent Mexican revolution has had Bolsheviki behind it, or at least forces which could plausibly be described as Bolshevist. Now, should the Mexicans set up a dictatorship of the proletariat, whether of their own accord or in response to Yankee intrigue, it would give the Americans a splendid excuse to seize the country without protest from Latin America; for if there is anything which is intensely feared in Rio, in Buenos Aires, in Santiago, and in Lima, it is the Bolshevist infection. Those capi

tals would readily reconcile themselves to letting the Yankees quarantine them against it.

However, this would be playing with fire, in view of the fact that there is already so much Bolshevist agitation among American workers. Moreover, such an invasion might prejudice Japanese and English interests. The latter are particularly strong at Tampico. This would be all the more likely if the American forces were to receive some unexpected check, as the British did in the Boer War.

So, in scanning the political horizon of America, as well as of Europe, we find every foreign and domestic problem interwoven with the social problem. It is quite possible that an international conflict will be precipitated in Spanish America by some great labor uprising, and it is also possible that a war in America will be the cause of a class insurrection there.

No sooner had the Spanish won their independence than political power fell into the hands of little oligarchies. A small number of old native families parceled out the government jobs among themselves; or rather, being unable to do thisamicably, they fell to fighting over public offices, so that revolts and revolutions followed each other in quick succession.

This is the basis upon which the political structure of South America was erected. Public life and public offices were the monopoly of a limited class. For the masses of the people it was a matter of utter indifference which party was in power. In Latin America these parties are for the most part personal. Even in the most modern and advanced governments, parties based on programmes are in their infancy. Every Argentine radical, though he may live in a garret or a cellar and be unable to read and write, knows that Hipolito Irigoyen is his party chief. But were

you to inquire the ideals and objects of the party, of even the more intelligent members, many would be at a loss for

an answer.

A voter's loyalty to his party and to his candidates is based on the hope of securing a job. For the victors to take the spoils is such a universal custom that it has almost become a legal précedent. A tremendous sensation was caused when Arturo Alessandri, after his election as President of Chile, refused to observe it. A party supporter who had labored actively for his election demanded a job as payment for his services. Alessandri refused him in a letter which was published in Mercurio, in which he vigorously denounced this custom.

The old oligarchy was able to rule under the forms of a democracy by the following devices: restricted suffrage, corrupting election officials, intimidation, cheating, and buying votes. These methods still prevail in many South American countries. Argentina alone has universal suffrage and pure elections, and it has had them only a few years. It owes them to the efforts of Sainz Peña, Irigoyen's predecessor in the presidential chair. His new electoral law put his own party, the Conservatives, out of office; but it saved his country from a revolution.

The oligarchical system of government in South America inevitably has a second outcome: periodical revolutions. There is an eternal rotation of similar episodes: the misgovernment of the party in power becomes unendurable, and popular discontent explodes in a revolution which overthrows the government. The victorious insurgents, who are often only an aggregation of the discontented elements, put new men in office and correct the worst abuses. For a time everybody is satisfied except the ousted officials, who are shot, imprisoned, or exiled. As time

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