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The Perpetual Alibi:Mythology and Mythomaniain the Discourse of '98Ambrosio FornetPublished online: 03 Aug 2010.

To cite this article: Ambrosio Fornet (2000) The Perpetual Alibi: Mythology andMythomania in the Discourse of '98, Journal of Latin American Cultural Studies:Travesia, 9:1, 15-25, DOI: 10.1080/135693200112827

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Journal of Latin American Cultural Studies, Vol. 9, No. 1, 2000

The Perpetual Alibi: Mythology and Mythomania in the

Discourse of `98

AMBROSIO FORNET

I

I originally set myself the task of studying the mutations that occurred in theepic discourse of the so-called literatura de campanÄ a’ as I have named, inaccordance with military journals and reports, the body of narrative texts thatdraw together experiences related to our wars of freedom. The ® rst example ofthis literature published in book form is Episodios de la Revolucio n cubana (1891),by Manuel de la Cruz. `Literatura de campanÄ a’ (campaign literature) originatedfrom the swamp and is reintroduced into the context of colonialism as anattempt to preserve the nation’s epic memory whilst linking the deeds of thepast (the Ten Years’ War of 1868± 1878) to contemporary emancipation projects(the War of Independence of 1895± 1898). I upheld the theory that, from 1898onwards, and especially from the time of the second North American interven-tion in 1906, barely four years after the declaration of the Republic, the linkbetween myth and history had gradually become less legitimate. Consequentlyepic discourse began to undergo a transformation, ending up weakened intostereotyped, sensationalist forms. On a super® cial level, I identi® ed campaignnarrative with myths on the grounds of its allusion to originsÐ in this instance,to those of the nation. In addition, it exalts the actions of heroes, men of ¯ eshand blood suddenly made into archetypes on the basis of their civic virtues andthe ease with which contemporary chroniclers ® tted them into the codes of theepic.1 However, on a deeper level I was interested in the implications for literaryanalysis contained in the fact, pointed out by Barthes, that myth, in commonwith all sign systems, is historic and consequently subject to change. Double-sided, it simultaneously suggests and hides what it wishes to express. Barthesstresses that myth is a value, its legitimacy lying not in its veracity but in itsability to signify, which is why it can come to be a `perpetual alibi’ (1980,pp. 200, 215± 216). In this sense it always suggests manipulation, and often theexpression of a guilty conscience.

Convinced of a secret link between the structures of society and the nature oftheir symbolic expression, I associated the vicissitudes of the epic with theinstitutional and moral crisis of the era (1898± 1923) in which the collectiveconscious seemed to be completely dominated by feelings of frustration, pessi-mism and decadence. To me it was obvious that there were various causes forthis premature decline. However, there was one important external oneÐ the

1356-9325 print/1469-9575 online/00/010015-11 Ó 2000 Taylor & Francis Ltd

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16 A. Fornet

famous Platt Amendment,2 an appendix added to the Constitution upon forma-tion of the Republic; and an internal cause, the increasing deterioration of thecountry’s politics at the hands of the `generales y doctores’ who gave their nameto one of the novels representative of the era. So far, everything ® tted into myplan. The dif® culties began when I tried to prove my hypothesis practically, onlyto discover that the nature of the body of work I was analysing depended moreupon the talent of individual authors than on extra-literary factors. On the otherhand, in an area distant from the body of work but not separate from it Idiscovered an imageÐ the classic one of the shipwrecked man hopelessly wav-ing from the beach of desert islandÐ that could well be named genitor, as it gaverise to the theme I now intend to sketch for you.

II

In his iconography The Splendid Little War, John Freidel maintains that at thebreak of day on 22 July 1898, the date planned for the disembarkation of NorthAmerican troops in the hamlet of Daiquirõ , to the east of Santiago de Cuba, the® gure of a solitary man could be seen from out at sea against the hazy coastline`energetically waving a white cloth to signal that the Spaniards were gone’ (1958,p. 83). This curious moment soon acquired the character of a revelation for me:that of a deserted world or one populated by invisible beings. Bloch observessomewhere that lack of information creates voids in history, which are similar todeserted worlds. I suspect that the lone man from the deserted hamlet was justa Mambi soldier who, carrying out orders dispatched shortly before by Cubanand North American leaders, was gladly telling his allies that they coulddisembark safely, following the establishment of a beachhead. Behind thegesticulating ® gure it was not hard to imagine a parade formed of numerousMambis lost in obscurity, such as Carlos Gonza lez Clavel, who had occupied thehamlet and the heights of Daiquirõ with 500 men. Nor was it hard to imagine theimpressive deployment of auxiliary troops being carried out on the outskirts:4000 men ready to stop the arrival of reinforcements, dig trenches, support thesiege of Santiago, and if necessary to participate directly in the taking of thecity.3 In Freidel’s account they all disappeared as if by magic. I do not discardthe possibility that the author was aware of this information but rejected it. Infact, at one point he admits that the Cubans had promised to remove the fewenemy forces guarding the hamlet, but not without ® rst referring, as if inpassing, to the inef® ciency’ of the Mambi troops (1958, p. 81). However, theaforementioned author writes 60 years after the event, probably using third-party opinions and reports as a basis. In addition, his opinion con¯ icts with thatof eyewitnesses. In effect, two days before the disembarkation in Daiquirõ ,General William R. Shafter, leader of the expeditionary force, had landedtogether with Admiral William T. Sampson and some of his of® cials, in order tointerview General Calixto Garcõ a, the high chief of the Cuban forces in theregion. The interview, during which the details of the operation were agreed,was carried out in a Mambi camp set up shortly before in hills nearby.Lieutenant Colonel John D. Miley, an aide to General Shafter, reported thefollowing:

While the interview was going on the troops were being assembled todo honor to the General [Shafter] on his departure. Several companies

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The Perpetual Alibi 17

were drawn up in front of the tent to present arms as he came out, anda regiment escorted him to the beach down the winding path, whichwas now lined on both sides by Cuban soldiers standing about a yardapart and presenting arms. The scene made a strong impression on allthe party, there seemed to be such an earnestness and ® xedness ofpurpose displayed that all felt these soldiers to be a power. About ® ftyper cent were blacks, and the rest mulattoes, with a small number ofwhites. They were very poor clad, many without shirts or shows, butevery man had his gun and a belt full of ammunition. (Miley, 1899,pp. 58± 59)

To my mind, what comes between these men and the ragged, starving,ine® ciente’ army as some correspondents and of® cials insist on describing it(Hulme, 1996, pp. 26± 28; Pe rez, 1983, pp. 196± 227) is not dissimilar to the imageof the man on the beach. One may talk of extreme prejudice or an absence of it,of ignorance or knowledge of the way in which the struggle against colonialismdeveloped. It may be held that Miley is a witness free of prejudice, for whom anarmy’s strength does not lie in skin colour, shirt buttons or the soles of its shoes.However, I wish to stress (and here I think of Said’s Orientalism) the coherencewith which dominant discourse operates and the way in which it constantlycovers the most clashing aspects of reality with its veneer. In other words,Freidel’s condemnation of the Mambis and the man on the beach respond to thesame mechanism of ideological control; namely the production of myths in thecontext of deserted worlds. Myth is, of course, equivalent to alibi in this instanceand having clari® ed this point I wish to alter the theme of my article, which Ibelieve to have hinted at from the title.

It has been established that discursive devices that bear a colonialist orimperialist slant are based upon the rudimentary premise of racial superiority.This instance concerns Anglo-Saxon superiority, as although the title in questionrefers merely to the discourse of `98’, here I wish to address, in a very super® cialway, US-based discourse. Like an enthusiastic choir, it can be heard singing itsdiscordant tune when and wherever it can. It is not the case that everyonefollows Gobineau’s old score based on racial inequality but that they all answer,whether consciously or unconsciously, to power structures that generate acertain type of social consensus. It is impressive to see how this network ofdiscourses and channels works, with the perfection of a spider’s web thoughwithout its subtlety. Various modes of expression are covered, such as literature,journalism and teaching; each with its own speci® c function, be it aesthetic,informative, recreational or didactic, and each with its corresponding supportmaterial, such as newspapers, magazines, books, lea¯ ets or documentary ® lms.The fact that this attitude may be observed not only in public spheres but alsoin private, in personal letters and restricted-circulation documents, proves thatthis is not a case of conspiracy or one of mindless repetition. The prejudices, orrather ideologies of white supremacy have been internalised to such an extentthat they have ended up becoming part of people’s emotional make-up, lockeddeep within the individual’s personality. To attract people from the entire socialstrata, many of whom would reject a cruel form of racism on grounds such asthose of religious belief, there exists the two-sided option of paternalistic,

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18 A. Fornet

missionary racism, closely connected both to the civilisation/barbarism dialecticand to the moral imperatives of Christian faith. The task of the Anglo-Saxonconqueror from his wondrous insular empireÐ those `grandes y hermosas islastropicales’ in the words of Roosevelt, only just free from Spanish dominance,was simply to imponer orden en el caos’ (impose order on chaos).4 This act,albeit compulsive, was morally justi® ed, as tradition called for a higher type ofcivilisation, progressive in all aspects of economic, political and social activity.Such a responsibility had to be taken on magnanimously, with no hesitation orambiguity. These were the words of Rudyard Kipling, the banjo-player of theBritish Empire’, in a poem he sent to his friend Teddy Roosevelt, later publishedin a New York revue in early 1899. He stated that this civilising mission was the`burden’ , which white man must take on and for which he would eventually bejudged by the silent, sullen peoples’ he was to save. Examined hermeneutically,the reception of `The White Man’s Burden’ represents the poetic birth certi® cateof North American imperialism, as Kipling wrote and published the work in themidst of an intense debate on the advisability and inadmissibility of the total,de® nitive occupation of the Philippines archipelago.5 If President McKinley readthe poem he must have felt moved, although not entirely convinced as at onepoint he saw ® t to test God’s will directly. In effect, he told various Protestantministers who visited him in late 1899 that he had appealed to God forillumination on the thorny matter of the Islands and that one night he had hadthe following revelation:

Que no podõ amos hacer otra cosa que tomarlas y educar a los ® lipinos,instruirlos y cristianizarlos, Dios mediante, y portarnos lo mejor posiblecon ellos, porque son nuestro pro jimo, por quien murio Cristo.6

We could do nothing but take the Filipinos and educate them, instructand convert them, God willing, and behave towards them as well as wecan, for they are our neighbour, for whom Christ died.

It is clear (and here I digress) that those who translate Kipling’s `burden’ asresponsabilidad’ have not read McKinley’s pious confession. `Responsabilidad’is a clinical term, lacking in emotional implications, implying instead some formof contract or mutual obligation. The meanings associated with fardo’, however,immediately suggest the idea of sacri® ce: in order to redeem the part of thehuman race that lives in darkness and backwardness, the White Man must bededicated to his mission and bear the burden stoically, just as Christ bore thecross. The scale of public opinion provoked by Kipling’s claim sometimes givesthe impression that we are moving within a restricted semantic ® eld, wherecertain terms are perpetually reiterated. Carl Schurz, a representative one of theera’s more modest trends towards expansion, presented to McKinley his opinionthat the vast majority of American citizens were against the de® nitive occu-pation of the Philippines, only wishing to exert `a civilizing in¯ uence’ as hestates, as well as to `open up new markets’ for national products. However, thisshould all be done without having to take on the excessive burdens of politicalcolonialism’ (Boylen 1960, pp. 61± 62).7

This type of focus actually robbed the concept of `civilizacio n’ of a large partof its content, as everyone who took for granted that the `civilizing in¯ uence’

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The Perpetual Alibi 19

would extend to political institutions. The coloniser sees himself mirrored in thecolonised as an inverted image; the de® nitive success of his mission wouldconsist in turning the colonised into a poor imitation of him: the Uncle Toms andGunga Dins and black men `con alma blanca’ (with white souls) who populatethe imaginary of paternalistic racism. Forms of government, however, cannot beimitated in the way codes of conduct can be. Poor imitations may sometimes beestablished, but the master’s political system, as a whole, always remains aninaccessible model. The reason is obvious: advanced political systems areexclusive to superior races, and the settlers of overseas territories did not fallinto this category. As Professor Draper, President of the University of Illinois,explains in a book he wrote for students shortly after the end of the war,North American soldiers `were worthy representatives of a republic where thepeople govern themselves, and they exempli® ed the virtue and the heroism ofthe Anglo-Saxon race’ (1899, pp. 147± 148). In Cuba they intervened not throughfaith in our civic virtues but through compassion. With regards to the Philip-pines, it seems unlikely that they would bestow leadership upon the nativepopulation, who were ignorant, undisciplined, and as yet altogether un® t forself-government’ (1899, p. 139). The Spanish had their turn when the topic ofwar was debated in Congress, shortly after the blowing-up of the Maine. Spaininsisted that this was an accident, but Senator Perkins, a member of Congress,convinced that the Spanish suffered from an innate cruelty, insinuated that anation that had given birth to such monsters as the Duke of Alba and GeneralValeriano Weyler would not be lacking in `hombres capaces de mandar al otromundo a 266 marinos en momentos en que se hallaban entregados al suenÄ o’(men capable of ® nishing off 266 sailors during their sleep) (Roig de Leuchen-sring, 1959, I, p. 275). Months later, when the war was already over, Draperexplained to his young readers that such a resounding victory was not reachedthrough superiority of numbers or of arms, but through the strangely differentcharacters of the two races that fought’, which could be observed in the favouritesport of each. On the American side was the baseball diamond and the footballgridiron’, which required `physical endurance and manly spirit’ ; on the Spanishside, the bull-ring, with its frilled professionals, its butchery, and its depravedtastes’ (1899, p. 6). If one adds to all this that, in the aforementioned debate,Senator Clay stated that the Cuban people `era, y es, si se le deja quieto, una razado cil, alegre, pacõ ® ca e inofensiva’ (if left alone, was and is a quiet, cheerful,peaceful and inoffensive race) (Roig de Leuchensring, 1982, I, p. 256), we are leftwith the classic plot of the traditional folk tale, just as analysed by Propp andreproduced in chivalresque literature. On one side is the terrorised Maiden inthe shape of Cuba, with an Avenger ready to rescue her at all costs in the NorthAmerican people. On the other is an evil RogueÐ the Spanish government. In hisrevealing study on the subject, Peter Hulme (to whom I obviously owe a greatdeal) has noted that the mechanism on which average `98 discourse is based isthat of identi® cation, and in particular the exacerbated character it adopts in theprocess of reception of melodrama. Super® cial identi® cation requires, for a start,dramatic action: mystery, incidents, con¯ icts, and above all, one-dimensionalgoodies and baddies. With these ingredients it is easy to produce tension andpluck at the heartstrings of the audience.8 In this instance, drama was alreadypresent. All that was missing for a show to be produced was a capable stagemanager.

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20 A. Fornet

III

The genius of William Randolph Hearst, owner of the New York Journal, lay inmaking life imitate art, turning both real events and real living people intosimple dramatic units. History, thus freed from its painful burden of truth, wastransformed into a performance for the entertainment of the public, and also,needless to say, for that of the great impresario who saw his income multiplyovernight. A case in point is the week following the blowing-up of the Maine,when the Journal’s circulation doubled to over a million copies. Such unscrupu-lousness is usually regarded as manipulation; however, the case was `drama-tised’, making Hearst and his colleagues of the sensationalist press forerunnersof what is now known as New Journalism. I will not stop to discuss Hearst’smasterpiece, the rescue’ of Evangelina CossõÂ o executed by a reporter of his, asit has been covered in detail by Hulme. In a way, the adventure served as anintroduction to the scandal engendered by the blowing-up of the Maine, barelyfour months later, which the Journal reported as the most romantic and daringepisode of modern times’ (Hulme, 1996, p. 15). Popular sectors of society, whichhad always sympathised with the Cuban cause9 and were now endlesslybombarded with propaganda including patriotic exhortations, demands forrevenge and emotional appeals, were not slow in showing themselves to be infavour of the war. In addition, the cunning arguments of Hearst and hiscompetitors created expectation regarding the Cuban situation, which had to besatis® ed at all costs. Horatio Rubens, lawyer of the New York Junta Revolu-cionaria, tells how before long the press was not satis® ed with of® cial newsreports and decided to enlist top reporters to send information and ® rst-handaccounts from Cuba (1932, p. 202).10 However, not all sources were reliable.Some journalists, comfortably accommodated in Tampa, Cayo Hueso and NewOrleans, let their imagination run riot, basing their reports on real or inventedwitnesses. This explains the origin of the most unusual rumours, such as `a corpsof Cuban Amazons that had taken the ® eld and were terrorizing their adver-saries’(Rubens, 1932, p. 204). Rubens observes, with admirable honesty, that`perhaps the tale was due to the correspondent’s ignorance that the Spanishword for ª woman riderº is the word Amazon’. However, the fact that `somewomen did accompany their husbands to the ® eld’, on their own mounts, didnot justify reports of `a corps of Amazons charging over the battle® eld, blood-thirsty, and spreading a terrible and savage torture and even death’ among theirenemies (Rubens, 1932, p. 204). Hearst’s actions back® red on him when acorrespondent of his led him to believe that he was reporting the situation fromthe rebel camp. In reality, he spent most of his time in the bar of the HotelInglaterra in Havana, drinking cocktails and picking up stories of atrocities fedhim by insurgent sympathizers’ (Hulme, 1996). Even the members of the JuntaRevolucionaria in the USA did not escape suspicion: their detractors accusedthem of waging paper war, reporting dubious ® ghts and imaginary Mambivictories.

These wars of words, where the only real thing was the endless ¯ ux of debate,were like magic hats that make their wearer invisible: as if by magic, the realhistory of Cuba disappeared beneath them. It was to be expected that thisshould happen in the realm of the ephimeral, represented by the press, but notin historiography. What remains true is the fact that North American historians

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The Perpetual Alibi 21

always allowed themselves the luxury of not using the extensive bibliographywritten in Spanish11 about this con¯ ict whose traditional name (Spanish± Amer-ican War) reveals, as Foner states, crass ignorance or, worse still, completedisregard for the Cubans and their long struggle for independence. Whentopography is affected by ideology, a curious conceptual shift takes place, which,in this instance, may be called anglocentrism. Even Cuban residents of the USAwere involved: according to Foner, a reading of Cuban historians leads to theconclusion that war was waged not by the Mambis but by the members of theJunta Revolucionaria in the USA, led by Toma s Estrada Palma, who wasinvolved in intense political activity and constant propaganda. In conclusion,`algunos historiadores destacados escriben como si ni siquiera hubiese habidoguerra en Cuba antes de que interveniese Estados Unidos’ (some distinguishedhistorians write as if there hadn’t even been a war in Cuba until the UnitedStates intervened) (Foner, 1978, p. 7). This is carried out using a technique,which, in method, is closer to art than historiography: fragments of reality areisolated and subsequently juxtaposed. In order to do this, context must beremoved, or as Bakhtin would say, the chronotopical elements that governprinciples of temporality and causality on which realist narration is based. Theresult is thus the historiography of deserted worlds, which, seen from this pointof view is not the historiography of memory, but that of oblivion. This modusoperandi, whose most shocking feature is its usually subconscious nature, may beillustrated by what I shall call the Rowan Myth.

IV

In April 1898, with war against Spain looming, the US Congress had just passedthe famous Teller Amendment, which recognised Cuba’s right to independence.General Nelson A. Miles, War Secretary, considered the advisability of orderinga disembarkation of troops in the area surrounding Santiago de Cuba. In orderto carry out the operation as quickly and with as few casualties as possible, itwas necessary to enlist the support of the Eje rcito Libertador de Cuba, repre-sented in this area by General Calixto Garcõ a. Miles decided to request hiscollaboration directly, with the knowledge that Toma s Estrada Palma hadpromised President McKinley that he would instruct General Garcõ a and otherhigh Mambi chiefs, at the correct moment, to support and carry out los planesde los generales americanos en campanÄ a’ (the campaign plans of Americangenerals) (Martõ nez Arango, 1950, pp. 203± 204). The person chosen to secretlymove to the island, establish contact with the General and rapidly return toWashington with a response was a subordinate of Miles, Lieutenant Andrew S.Rowan, whose name entered went down in history both in the USA and Cuba.Freidel gives little detail about this operation, merely stating that Rowan`crossed Cuba to locate the insurgent general, Calixto Garcõ a, an exploit which[the journalist] Elbert Hubbard hailed in a tract distributed by the millions,glorifying blind obedience of orders’ (1958, p. 46). Draper is more explicit,although equally restrained. He reports, in essence, that when war was declaredagainst Spain it was considered necessary to establish contact with the leadersof the uprising, who were in constant movement around inaccessible areas of theisland. To reach these people, in Cuba, they had to risk their lives crossing`hundreds of miles through an enemy’s country’. Rowan sailed into Kingston in

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22 A. Fornet

late April, and, having had a tiring journey to the coast, following instructionsfrom Washington, set off to cover the 100 miles to Cuba in a small sailboat’ , inwhich he escaped the vigilance of the Spanish navy. He disembarked with nofurther incidents and then, guided by Cuban of® cers, made his way through thethicket, sleeping in the bush, living on sweet potatoes and water from the greencocoanuts’, until arriving at his destination, in the very midst of the jungle’,where he delivered his message. On his return he had to travel another hundredmiles to reach the north coast of the island, where he was helped by sympathis-ers of the Cuban cause who obtained a rowing boat with improvised sails forhim. Together with ® ve Cubans he crossed the 200 miles of choppy water toNassau, in the Bahamas, and ® nished the journey by steamboat to Cayo Huesoand train to Washington. His mission was complete. General Miles recom-mended that he be promoted to the position of lieutenant-colonel: `LieutenantRowan’, he stated, `performed an act of heroism and cool daring that has rarelybeen excelled in the annals of warfare’ (Draper, 1899, pp. 152± 154).

Despite its realism in all but a few details, this picture is technically imperfect,lacking in depth. People and places that serve or could serve as models havebeen omitted or blurred. The Cuban characters, such as the Mambi of® cials whomet Rowan; the sympathisers’ who obtained a boat for him; the men who leftfor Nassau with him; are all completely one-dimensional. They are the eternalnatives, mere reference points who help the main character to stand out vividlyagainst the hazy backdrop of the landscape. However, what Rowan’s expeditionshows perfectly clearly is the extent to which revolutionary forces, both civil andmilitary, were organised and coherent. Only the existence of an amazingnetwork of auxiliary communications and back-up services could guarantee thatthe journey of that curious messenger, who did not speak a word of Spanish orknow an inch of the rough terrain he had to cross, could be carried out withoutproblems in such a short period of time. Let us examine the expedition map,viewed from a Cuban perspective (Escalante Beato n, 1978, pp. 432± 464).12 Rowanarrived in Kingston with a recommendation from Estrada Palma, which allowedhim to rapidly establish contact with Gervasio Savio, a veteran from the war of`68 whose mission was to maintain clandestine maritime communication be-tween Cuba and Jamaica. He disembarked at the Ensenada de Mora, at theextreme west of the Sierra Maestra where he was led across the mountains byMambi sentries who were keeping watch on the coasts, until coming close to thecamp of the chief of the Manzanillo Division, General Herna ndez Rõ os. Here, hewas taken care of by Cavalry Lieutenant Ferna ndez Barrot, an aide of theGeneral, who, having been educated in the USA was ¯ uent in English. Thefollowing day, they both set out with an escort to cover the distance ofapproximately 100 kilometres separating them from where General Garcõ a wasapparently camped along the banks of the River Contramaestre, near the villageof Jiguanõ . Passing through almost impenetrable routes, often having to cut theirway through the swamp with machetes, they approached the settlement ofBueycito, in the foothills of the Sierra Maestra. The next day, they resumed theirtrek towards the valley of Bayamo, where locals informed them that GeneralGarcõ a had occupied the town with his troops. At midday, right in the middleof Bayamo, Rowan delivered his message.13 The very same night, he attended abanquet in his honour given by General Garcõ a, followed by a charity ball.Hours later, in the early morning of the 2nd, he set off on his way back,

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The Perpetual Alibi 23

accompanied by three high-ranking Mambi of® cials. Among them was GeneralEnrique Collazo, who, on account of his knowledge of English, was sent as aspecial envoy to Washington to establish a detailed account. They set offtowards Nassau via the region of Banes, along the north coast, in a small vessel.At the helm was Nicola s Balbuena, a skilled sailor and of® cial of the Eje rcitoLibertador.

I wish to stress two points by way of this detailed account. Firstly, althoughRowan was doubtlessly extremely brave and had limitless self-con® dence, theexecution of his mission posed no risk to him.14 Secondly, the people scatteredabout the landscape had clear-cut names, identities and aims. In addition, theperson to whom the message was addressed was a legendary character. At thispoint in time he was nearly 60 years old, and following the death in combat ofAntonio Maceo, had become Deputy General of the Eje rcito Libertador, secondonly to Ma ximo Go mez in Mambi military hierarchy. It was precisely in Bayamathat he joined the Revolution 30 years earlier, along with 60 other young men.In 1898 he was the only one of these men who, in his own words, had notcommitted la gran tonterõ a de morirse’ (the foolishness of dying). However, thiswas not for lack of opportunity. His service record, over the course of threeuprisings, included every type of military action: skirmishes, combats and thecapture of villages and towns. In 1874 he was ambushed, and to avoid beingtaken prisoner, ® red a bullet through his chin which exited through his fore-head.15 He was one of the ® rst Mambi strategists to combine guerrilla tacticswith the use of artillery. When Rowan visited him, he was chief of theDepartamento Militar de Oriente, a vast territory that had become a bastion of thestruggle for independence. Barely two months later, he carried out his task, ashas already been examined, stationing in the outskirts of Santiago de Cuba 4000men ready to support the disembarkation of North American troops andsubsequent capture of the town.

In short, the swamp was far from being an uninhabited area or one populatedby phantasmagorical natives. In the depths of the thicket, just as on the beachwhere the man with the white cloth shouted with jubilation, was a communitycommitted to their ® ght for independence and to their ambitious plans for socialjustice. It may be this that Escalante Beato n meant when he expressed the fearthat, relating to Rowan’s imaginary expeditions, there could be hidden `el deseopreconcebido de crear un mito’ (the preconceived desire to create a myth); amyth that would deaden Creole conscience (1978, p. 438). For him, such anintention was incompatible with the normal development of a national identity,for a people who had not even been a republic for 50 years, and where theultimate symbol of power was still the American Embassy. Could Escalanteperhaps be thinking of the Superman Myth, or what would now be called theRambo Myth?16 Therein lies the topic of another paper.

Translated by Chris Williams

Notes

1. For information on this process of mysti® cation, in Cuba’s case, see Agnes I. Lugo-Ortiz:`Discurso revolucionario y estructuras miti® cadoras: para una lectura de la biografõÂ a de guerra

en la Cuba del siglo XIX’, La Torre, n. e., a. VII, no. 25.2. The article gave the USA the right to invervene with Cuba as and when it saw ® t. Proposed by

Senator Orville H.J. Platt, it was strongly opposed in Congress, as it was to be imposed upon

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24 A. Fornet

Cubans as an indispensable condition for the withdrawal of North American troops from Cuba.The text of the debate was not known of in Cuba until 1935, when Emilio Roig de Leuchensring

included it in his Historia de la Enmienda Platt. In the author’s opinion, these were the mostsensational pages in the history of republican Cuba’ (`las pa ginas ma s sensacionales de la

historia de Cuba republicana’). This may be read in his Los Estados Unidos contra Cuba Libre(1959), 2nd edn. Santiago de Cuba, Editorial Oriente, Tomo I, appendices 1 and 2, and the

quotation in Tomo II, p. 263.3. In Cuban history, the names of half a dozen generals are associated with this vast back-up

operation; especially those of the Divisio n de Bayamo.4. Theodore Roosevelt, The Strenuous Life; Essays and Addresses (1901), p. 7. cited by C. Douglas

Dillon in his documented PhD thesis.5. On Kipling’s popularity in the USA and the distribution and in¯ uence of `The White

Man’s Burden’, see Dillon (1997, pp. 127± 128) where the original text of the poem is alsoreproduced.

6. Charl Olcott, The Life of William McKinley, Vol. 2 (1916), pp. 110± 111, cited by Dillon (1997,p. 127). Henry Cabot Lodge, `The Retention of the Philippine Islands’ (1900), cited by Dillon

(1997, p. 125).7. From a personal letter from Schurz to President McKinley, September 1898 (emphases are mine).

8. In the case of Puerto Rico, the absence of certain such ingredients may explain the crude tonetaken on by discourse concerning the island, previously considered as war plunderings.

9. See Philip. S. Foner (1978), chap. VIII, on this vast movement of solidarity.10. With regard to correspondents, Rubens expressly mentions Sylvester Scovil of the New York

Herald, Crosby of the Chicago Tribune, Summer® eld of the New York Herald, Karl Decker of theNew York Journal and also Richard Harding Davis, Charles Michelson and Grover Flint. In

addition the names of some people who disembarked with the troops in `98 should bementioned, such as Steven Crane and Winston Churchill. The Cuban Jose de Armas y Cardenas

was also present, as correspondent for The Sun.11. On the subject of the war as a whole, see the exhaustive bibliography of Araceli GarcõÂ a-Car-

ranza. For a detailed view of events from a Cuban perspective, see Felipe Martõ nez Arango’schronolgogy. For an overview from a Spanish perspective, see Pablo Azca rate (1968).

12. For the lesser known details I have used as a basis the account of Anõ bal Escalante Beato n, anaide of General Garcõ a who met Rowan in Bayamo. Eugenio Ferna ndez Barrot, the of® cial who

accompanied Garcõ a told Escalante Beato n the details of the journey.13. This was on 1 May, when, thousands of miles away, imperial power began to change hands

with the destruction of the Spanish squadron in the naval base of Cavite, near Manila.14. At sea, because having predicted what was about to happen, the Spanish ships patrolling the

south coast were concentrated in Santiago de Cuba. On land, because the scene of the action, therural areas of the Provincia de Oriente, was in Mambi hands.

15. The deep scar left on his brow was a permanent source of pride both to Cuban patriots and tothe Spanish military doctors who saved his life.

16. The connection with cinema heroes is not arbitrary. Concerning the `mensaje a GarcõÂ a’ (`messageto GarcõÂ a’) two ® lms were made of the same name: one in 1916 and the other 20 years later.

Escalante Beato n saw the second one, directed by George Marshall and was alarmed at seeingthe character of Rowan staunchly ® ghting off crocodiles in the rivers of Cuba.

References

Pablo de Azca rate, La guerra del 98 (Madrid: Alianza Editorial, 1968).Roland Barthes, Mitologõ as trans. by He ctor Schmucler (Mexico City: Siglo XXI, 1980).

Michael E. Boylen (ed.), `The Spanish American War: business recovery and the China market.Selected documents and commentary’, Studies on the Left, 1 (Winter 1960) , no. 2.

Andrew S. Draper, The Rescue of Cuba. An Episode in the Growth of Free Government (New York: Silver,Burdett and Company, 1899).

Anõ bal Escalante Beato n, Calixto Garcõ a y su campanÄ a del 95, 2nd edn (La Habana: Editorial de CienciasSociales, 1978) .

Philip S. Foner, La guerra hispano-cubano-norteamericana y el surgimiento del imperialismo yanqui, trans.by Lidia Pedreira (La Habana: Editorial de Ciencias Sociales, 1978), t. 1.

Frank Freidel, The Splendid Little War (Boston/Toronto: Little, Brown & Company, 1958).

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The Perpetual Alibi 25

Peter Hulme, Recuing Cuba: Adventure and Masculinity in the 1890’s (University of Maryland at

College Park: Latin American Studies Center Series, no. 11, 1996).Felipe MartõÂ nez Arango, CronologõÂ a de la guerra hispano-cubanoamericana, 2nd edn (La Habana:

Editorial de Ciencias Sociales, 1950).John D. Miley, In Cuba with Shafter (New York: Charles Scribner & Sons, 1899).

Louis A. Pe rez Jr, Cuba Between Empires (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1983).Emilio Roig de Leuchsenring, Los Estados Unidos contra Cuba Libre, t. 1 and t. 2 (Santiago de Cuba:

Editorial Orbe, 1959).Horatio S. Rubens, Liberty. The Story of Cuba (New York: Brewer, Warren & Putnam, 1932).

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