The Power and the Money

Magersfontein, December 11th

  Eighty-five years and one-day ago, on December 11th, 1924, the Republic of Finland celebrated a very special anniversary.  The state and the military establishment hosted it at the Officers’ Casino Building in the Katajanokka neighborhood of Helsinki. The celebration commemorated the 25th anniversary of the Battle of Magersfontein, part of the Anglo-Boer War of 1899-1902.

The conservative newspaper Uusi Suomi (New Finland) advertised the event on its front page, and the periodicals of the Finnish Civil Guard published articles on the conflict between the Boer republics and the British Empire.  The celebration opened with the the Finnish Naval Orchestra’s performance of “Kent gij dat volk,” the South African anthem. Among the guests of honor were Lauri Malmberg, the minister of defense, and Per Zilliacus, the chief of staff of the Civil Guard. The Finnish Civil Guard also sent a wreath tied with blue-white ribbons to South Africa, where it was laid at the monument on the battlefield of Magersfontein. 

Why did independent Finland celebrate a battle fought in a British colonial conflict in South Africa?  Simple:  Finnish volunteers had fought in the battle as soldiers of the Scandinavian Corps of the Boer forces.  The Scandinavian Corps was founded in Pretoria on September 23rd, 1899, supposedly as a testimony of loyalty felt by the Scandinavian immigrants towards the South African Republic. It included 118 men; 48 Swedes, 24 Danes, 19 Finns, 13 Norwegians and 14 other miscellaneous nationalities, mainly Germans and Dutch. In addition, three Swedish women served as nurses in a separate ambulance unit. The Scandinavians fought in the siege of Mafeking and the battles of Magersfontein and Paardeberg; of these, Magersfontein was the most significant.

After the war, a special Scandinavian monument was constructed on the battlefield. The monument consisted of four cornerstones, representing the four Nordic countries, each decorated with the Scandinavian valkyrie and national symbols of each country. The verse is from Johan Ludvig Runeberg’s March of the Pori Regiment, these days the ofificial Finnish presidential march: “On valiant men the faces of their fathers smile.”

The names of the fallen soldiers are engraved on the shield. Emil Mattsson died in Magersfontein; he’s buried in the field. The British captured Henrik Hägglöf, who died from his wounds at an infirmary near the Orange River. Johan Jakob Johansson — whose name is mistakenly written “Jakobsson” — died at the prison camp on St. Helena and is buried in grave number 18 at the Knollcombe cemetery. The name of Matts Laggnäs, another Finnish volunteer who died in captivity on St. Helena, is missing.

My very first peer-reviewed academic article concerned this very topic, and it was published in the Finnish Journal of History a few years ago. Afterwards, I was delighted to note that an Afrikaner fluent in Finnish had read my article and discussed it in his own blog. Reading my own text translated in Afrikaans was an interesting experience. The term “Boer War” was translated as Tweede Vryheidsoorlog, the “Second War for Freedom.”  The official term in the Afrikaner historiography for the wars against the British Empire in 1880-1881 and 1899-1901 were the First and Second War for Freedom, and the terms seem to still be in use.  Non-Afrikaner South Africans do not seem to use the phrase, understandably enough.

The history leaves us with three obvious questions.  What significance does the Anglo-Boer War have today, eleven decades after the war broke out?  What is the significance of the Finnish Republic’s 1924 commemoration of its citizens’ participation in that war?  And what are we to make of the fact that an event considered highly significant in 1924 has been almost forgotten in 2009?

Beer, banks, and revolution

  Doug Muir observes that breweries and banks seem to survive civil wars.  Now, Doug would never tell you, because he’s modest, but it so happens that he has a friend who’s a little bit knowledgeable about the effects of political violence and instability on economic activity.  His friend has even written an entire book about banking and instability. 

So, is Doug correct that banks and breweries tend to make it through political instability?  Short answer:  yes. 

Long answer:  well, let’s examine the data from one of the worst bouts of political instability to afflict any country with a substantial financial sector and developed manufacturing, at least outside the benighted continent of Europe.  Between 1910 and 1929, Mexico suffered a revolution, two insurgencies against the winner of the revolution, a counter-revolution, a counter-counter revolution, a civil war among the winners of the counter-counter-revolution, a military coup, another bout of civil war after an attempted coup by the Secretary of the Treasury, a presidential assasination, three more attempted coups, and a third civil war fought by angry Catholic guerrillas with a penchant for dynamiting passenger trains.  Among all that, what happened to the banks and breweries? 

Let’s start with the breweries.  Mexico’s domestic industry was created almost overnight during the last decade of the 19th century, with local monopolies established in virtually every major city by the 1900.  One of the industry’s leading firms (the Cervecería Cuauhtémoc of Monterrey, Nuevo León) came to control 28 percent of the national market.  It went on to spin off a glass bottle making company (Vidriera Monterrey) that quickly established itself as a domestic glass monopoly.  The other two major breweries were the Cervecería Moctezuma (of Orizaba, Veracruz) and the Compañía Cervecera de Toluca y México near Mexico City.  

During the civil wars, armed factions viewed factories as strategic assets that could be used to generate income for the army.  What typically occurred in occupied areas was that a faction would seize the factories and run them for its own benefit, or it would threaten to do so unless the management made a “loan” to the revolutionaries.  In April 1914 the forces of Pablo González took control of Monterrey.  For most of the year González occupied and ran the Cervecería Cuauhtémoc, where he continued to employ the brewery’s workforce.  By November the company’s stocks of raw materials had been used up. 

At that point, having extracted what he could from the operation, González returned the factory, apparently undamaged, to its owners.   

The upshot is that while production dropped during periods of generalized violence — 1914-19 and to a lesser extent 1922-24 — the breweries themselves pretty much came through intact.  In fact, beer was such a good market that the Cervecería Modelo started up in 1925, while the country was still rather unstable. 

So what about the banks?  Well, the banks didn’t fare that well during the civil wars.  They were where the money was. Governments and revolutionary factions plundered their cash reserves, forced them to make loans, and engaged in the unrestricted printing of currency.  It did not do good things for the banking system, which by 1916 ended up in government receivership — although in many cases the Carranza government wound up with little more than a Mexico City branch office and some papers.  On the other hand, the governments that came to power after 1916, however, regardless of their stated ideologies, all recognized that they needed a source of credit in order to restore political order.  

    

It took a while to put humpty-dumpty back together again.  A private banking system came back to life, but a December 1920 banking panic caused most of them to fail.  In 1921, President Álvaro Obregón announced that twelve banks would be returned to their owners; only five were able to reopen.  The government tried to regain access to foreign capital markets by restarting payments on the foreign debt, but the civil war triggered by Treasury Secretary Adolfo de la Huerta’s revolt put paid to that.  On the same day the revolt began, Banamex (the largest private bank, and one that existed before the Revolution) transferred $13.5 million to the International Bankers Committee.   The government simultaneously borrowed $5 million from the Huasteca Petroleum Company against future oil tax liabilities, with the intention of using the funds to make additional payments on the foreign debt.   Instead, the funds went to fight De la Huerta.  The diversion of funds meant that the government had to borrow from Banamex to pay foreign creditors ... on July 2nd, 1924, the government gave up and defaulted once again, this time for good.

In other words, this was not a healthy banking system.  A snapshot in 1917 would have showed it as pretty much dead ... but no matter how you put it, five banks did survive (including the two largest) and the system schlumped along despite the occasional civil war.  The government needed the bankers too much to kill the system dead.  In fact, it went out of its way to reactivate bank lending in 1925.

So how did they reactivate the banking system in 1925?  That’s another story.  The moral of this story is that Doug is right:  banks and breweries can survive even extreme levels of violence. 

Doug in Congo, first days

   My good friend Doug Muir is in Congo, and as usual he has some interesting things to say.  So I’ll post some links below.  The fact that it never ever ever occurs to Doug to do likewise on either of the blogs that he regularly posts on, regarding either this blog or serious academic work, is not relevant.  

Here is a brief discussion of Congo’s bizarre borders, or at least the poor country’s lack of an Atlantic coast.  Congo is effectively land-locked, what with the eponymous river being impassable in its lower reaches.  I am surprised to hear that the railroad from Mabadi still works at all.  Doug tells you why the border was drawn so that Congo cuts the Cabinda enclave off from the rest of Angola, and how this weird geography sparked a long secessionist battle against Luanda. 

The unmentioned wrinkle is that Cabinda rests on a sea of oil, first discovered in 1962, late in the colonial era.  (It says something about the Portuguese desire to get the hell out of Africa that they didn’t set up Cabinda as a separate neocolonial enclave; it’s what Charles de Gaulle would have done.)   Cabinda’s Block Zero produces about 22% of the country’s production.  Block 14 produces another 3%, but it’s production is set to rise from 55,000 bdp to 340,000 by 2010.  Onshore exploration in the portion of Cabinda labeled “CN” on the map is underway. 

Currently the provincial government gets 10% of the oil revenues from its territory, which has done a lot to en ... uh ... lower the intensity of the insurgency.  Or at least get it down to a level where government ministers can credibly declare an end to the organized rebellion.  A Chinese company is supposedly developing a highway-bridge combo that will provide a direct link over Congo to the rest of Angola; I have my doubts, but it will be cool if it gets built.  (Note:  the article at the other end of the link was paid for by the government of Angola; it is not a real news report.) 

Meanwhile, here and here are some of Doug’s early impressions of Kinshasa; the place seems to make Tegucigalpa seem lively, Caracas seem safe, Maputo feel orderly, and Jalalabad seem ... well, it is probably better than Jalalabad.  Maybe.  That secret police story creeps me out, more so since they don’t seem to be a very effective secret police at creating a, you know, police state.  I eagerly await more reports.  Even if the jerk never bothers to link to me.

Failure modes of the United States, part 1a, a counterfactual

  Gah.  Still can’t sleep, but my concentration keeps coming in-and-out.  Here goes a short post on a random topic.

The story of how the Supreme Court tried to hold up much of the New Deal is well known.  Roosevelt tried to appoint six new justices, which thankfully failed, and the Supreme Court reversed itself.  In an earlier post, I argued that it would have made little difference had the Court stuck to its initial rulings.  All that would have happened would have been a constitutional amendment reading something like the following:

Congress shall have the power to legislate in all cases for the general interests of the union, and also in those in which the states are separately incompetent, or in which the harmony of the United States may be interrupted by the exercise of individual legislation.

A less poetic version listed an economic laundry list (wages, health and safety, etcetera) and then said:

The due process of law clauses of the fifth and fourteenth amendment shall be construed to impose no limitations upon legislation by Congress or the several states with respect to any of the subjects referred to in Section 1, except as to the methods or the procedure for the enforcement of such legislation.

Such amendments would have changed pretty much nothing.  The Gun-Free School Zones Act of 1990 would have been upheld, and that’s about it.  So not a very big change.

That said, there was another very different amendment in play at the same time, proposed by Senators Burton Wheeler (D-Montana) and Homer Bone (D-Washington).  It had a lot of support, and since Wheeler was one of the biggest opponents of FDR’s court-packing plans, it was probably the most likely amendment to pass.  (Or so I take away from Bruce Ackerman’s book.)  It read:

In case the Supreme Court renders any judgment holding any act of Congress or any provision of any such act unconstitutional, the question with respect to the constitutionality of such act or provision shall be promptly submitted to the Congress for its action at the earliest practical date that Congress is in session, but no action shall be taken by the Congress upon such question until an election shall have been held at which members of the House of Representatives are regularly by law to be chosen.  If such act or provision is re-enacted by two-thirds of each House of the Congress to which such members are elected at such election, such act or provision shall be deemed to be constitutional and effective from the date of such re-enactment.

That is a bit like Canada’s “notwithstanding” clause.  Congress would have been able to override the Supreme Court with a two-thirds vote.  Unlike Canada’s clause, which requires a notwithstanding declaration to be re-authorized every five years, a Congressional override would have been permanent.  It also would have required a Congressional re-vote, rather than merely authorizing one.  On the other-hand, two-thirds is a rather high bar to jump over. 

Unlike the more concrete economic amendments, which would have changed very little, it is not unreasonable to conclude that the Wheeler-Bone Amendment might have had very significant effects on American history.  The question is how significant, and in what direction.  Could a removal of a veto point create a failure mode?   

Immigration and assimilation in Venezuela

  Still beat down under the weather.  Ugh.  This is awful.  The congestion.  The congestion.  This is not a recent picture.

 
But Randy McDonald asked me about immigration to Venezuela, so I’ll talk a little about immigration to Venezuela.  Venezuela has experienced several waves of immigration, but the big ones from Europe came in the 1950s and the 1970s.  In the 1950s, Europeans migrated because of the oil boom.  Roughly 450,000 people acquired legal permanent residence during this wave.  The new democratic government in 1958 restricted migration (not unsurprisingly) and net migration turned negative during the period.  Then in 1973, with the second oil boom, immigration again spiked upwards.  By 1976, Venezuela had 270,000 resident Spaniards, 223,000 Italians, and 107,000 Portuguese.  Now, these numbers have to be interpreted carefully:  they also include, for example, 79,672 Americans, most of whom did not settle down permanently.  Nor are the figures comparable with the permanent residency figures also presented above.  But they are what we have. 

In 1976, at its peak, the various European nationalities (counting only those born overseas, not their Venezuelan-born children) made up about 3 percent of Venezuela’s then-population of 13.1 million.  It was a large migration, but it wasn’t transformative.  On the other hand, it did transform the nature of the country’s elites.  The European migrants were remarkably successful, going on to found myriads of small businesses.  In fact, it has been the descendents of those migrants, mostly Italian, who suffered the most from the government’s recent nationalization of the oil service companies.  (More on that in another post, when I’m feeling better.) 

One interesting question about immigration is:  how quickly (if at all) do the children of immigrants lose the cultural predilections of their parents?  Jewish-Americans, for example, continue to vote Democratic at far higher numbers than their income or occupational status would predict.  Does this apply to Venezuelans? 

Francisco Rodríguez of Wesleyan and Rodrigo Wagner, a grad student here at Harvard, have used the Maisanta list to ask just that question.  Maisanta, you’ll recall, was a list published by the Venezuelan government containing the names of everyone who had signed a 2004 recall petition against Hugo Chávez.  The list contained ID numbers, which can be cross-referenced against income data in the Venezuelan Social Security Institute database.  They then used people’s surnames to trace them back to various Italian regions.  They had to eliminate non-regionally-specific surnbames like Rossi, Russo, Ferrari, Esposito, Bianchi, Romano, and Colombo.  So, given all the potential objections to the methodology, what did they find?

Nothing.  There is no relationship between the political predilections of their parents’ region-of-origin in Italy and the predilections of Italian-Venezuelan voters today.  Inasmuch as Italian-Venezuelans have overwhelmingly achieved middle and upper-class status in Venezuela, they have also assimilated to the political predilections of those groups. 

The fall of the Soviet empire

   Kevin Drum repeats a claim that I’ve heard elsewhere:

“By 1989, the Soviet Union was so far in hock to western banks that they basically had Gorbachev by the balls.  He couldn't afford a repeat of 1956 or 1968, and when that became clear the jig was up.  Hungary went first, Berlin followed, and within a few months the Iron Curtain was on the ash heap of history.  In the end, it was hard currency, not ICBMs, that brought down the empire.”

 
I don’t understand this claim.  There are two premises behind it which do not make sense to me.  The first is that Western creditors would care if the Soviet Union cracked down in eastern Europe.  Why would they?  The only reason that I can think of would be if they believed that a crackdown made it more likely that Warsaw Pact regimes would default on their debts.  But why would a Soviet crackdown make default more likely? 

In fact, there seems to be some circular reasoning involved regarding Soviet debt.  The USSR had a reasonable debt burden until April 1989, when perestroika allowed Soviet enterprises to borrow in hard currency.  As a result, debt exploded.  But Moscow stopped taking Budapest’s calls in March!  The timing is off.

In 1990, the collapse of Comecon led to a collapse of Soviet trade with eastern Europe, worsening the problem.  Except ... if the tanks had rolled, then Comecon would not have collapsed.  See here and here for contemporary discussions of the debt problem. 

Nor do I buy the possibility that creditors would have moral qualms.  They didn’t care about Georgia last year; would they really have cared about Hungary in 1989? 

But let us grant that creditors might have been upset at a crackdown.  Violence in Eastern Europe might have been unsettling, I can imagine that.  Only that brings us to the second premise of the “bankers killed Communism” argument, which is that western creditors held some sort of special leverage over the Soviet Union. 

Considering the frequency of sovereign default, and the willingness to restart lending afterwards, I have trouble understanding what exactly that leverage would be.  Say the Warsaw Pact countries defaulted in 1990.  Why would regimes capable of using tanks against their own people have found the consequences so unpalatable?  Perhaps they would fear economic sanctions ... but that gets us to a version of an argument in which Western governments killed Communism by their implied economic threats, not one in which bankers did it.

Truth be told, I tend to think that neither creditors nor Western governments had all that much to do with the fall of the Wall.  (I did not always believe the latter, as some readers of this blog can attest.)  But I could easily be wrong.  I have, after all, heard the “bankers did it” story elsewhere. Is there a more sophisticated version that addresses my concerns?

Alexander Hamilton, O.G.

   I'm sure many of you have seen this, but if not, enjoy.  I present to you the early life of the greatest Treasury Secretary in the history of the United States.  Word. 

I still think Madison was right about the soldiers and farmers, though.  Hamilton was too hard sometimes, you feel me?

This blog’s intellectual foundations

  A friend in the Philippines, looking over the blog, concluded that it seemed all over the map.  And that’s true!  I put up plenty of personal stuff and random musings.  But there is a core set of interests that parallels the evolution of my academic work over the past few years.  The geographic focus is on Latin America, of course, but it goes beyond that.

(1)  Instability.  This is what I started out studying.  I was intrigued that Mexico had a pretty well-developed banking system by the 1930s, despite having gone from a dictatorship to bodies-bloating-in-the-sun chaos and back to dictatorship.  It also had steel mills and copper mines and produced a boatload of oil.  How did that happen?  You might say that most historians who get interested in Latin America start by asking the following:  “This place is much poorer than the United States!  Let’s look for the malfunctioning institutions and ask why they’re malfunctioning.”  I took the opposite approach.  “Man, stuff doesn’t work well here at all.  Property rights are all messed up. Why then is it so much richer than the DRC?”  In other words, how did businesses work around the lack of functioning political institutions?

(2)  Empire.  Now that’s a loaded word!  Let’s just define as the violation of one state’s Westphalian sovereignty by another.  In extremis, the violating state can end the sovereignty of the other. If it doesn’t then proceed to make the conquered population full citizens and create a legitimate shared political community, then you’ve got an empire.  In the other extremis, one government can tell key political actors in another, “Do this thing here and we’ll bribe you, otherwise we’ll sanction you.”  My interest in empire, thus defined, grew right out of the aforementioned interest in political instability.  The U.S. mucked around in Mexico for some time.  In some industries, U.S. mucking was key to compensating for the negative effects of domestic instability and political violence.  The general questions, then, became impossible to avoid.  Can foreign governments (or other supranational authorities) substitute for poorly-functioning domestic institutions?  When and why will they try?  What effects will they have?   Others have developed interest in empires and imperialism from a very different direction, of course.  The serious ones write good books about the rise and decline and collapse of empires.  The unserious ones wind up writing strange novels about worlds where meteor showers wiped out civilization in the 1870s, or some such.   Me, I come at the same interest from another direction:  curiousity about the economic causes and economic effects of the widespread phenomenon of strong states violating the sovereignty of weaker states. 

(3)  Energy.  Whaa? you may ask.  Well, what industries are most affected by political instability?  Oil and gas:  the resources are where they are.  When institutions fall apart, they remain viable.  (This applies to other hard-rock mineral resources as well, of course, but they tend to be less profitable.)  What industry has prompted (over the last century, at least) the most violations of sovereignty?  Once again, oil and gas.  (No, I am not suggesting that most such violations are over resources.  They are clearly not.  But if you limit yourself to economic motivations, you wind up again and again looking at the energy business.)  In the course of writing about issues (1) and (2), I got more and more interested in (3) ... and not just how it related to questions of instability or empire.  It is a fascinating business!  The economics of energy are just so weird, the politics are weirder, and it affects everyone’s life.  Moreover, the future of the planet is tied up in the future of the energy business.  Can we move away from fossil fuels?  What will we need to do?  Can it be done politically?   In short, my growing interest in the energy business came naturally, ever since that article on Mexico in the 1920s. 

Thus the progression:  Latin America --> Instability --> Empire --> Energy.  And thus the big theme tying together much, if not all, of this blog.  Even much of the random travelblogging falls into those categories.  Not all, of course.  I enjoy posting random political blather, talking about New York or Miami or elsewhere, and putting up pictures of my wonderful wife.  But here, at least, you have the three big themes of the blog, and why I believe that they fit together.

Was conquering the Philippines worth it?

  When you're a recreational blogger (procrastinational is more accurate) every so often an issue that you know a lot about is raised among the Big Dogs of the blogosphere, and for a moment you're annoyed that they didn't bother to check you out.

That's universal, I'm sure.  In my case, though, it's immediately followed by relief.  I don't want this place to be well known.  I mostly use it to establish a public record of my ideas, most of which will go into the book(s) I'm working on.  I've had a few bad experiences with tossing out such ideas sans public record.  Truth is, most of them are between silly and wrong, but every so often there's something good buried in there.

This applies to links to other people's ideas.  The linking makes me think about them, and how they apply to the stuff I work on.  It's why I don't see the point in link dumps, as opposed to specific links.

Which is why I'll link here to Matt Yglesias's question:  “Was conquering the Philippines worth it?”  In it, he suggests the following:

I mean, suppose the Philippines had obtained independence from the United States in the 1890s rather than the 1940s. How would my life be worse? How would any American’s life be worse? What “long-term benefits” actually accrued to us as a result of the counterinsurgency effort?  It seems to me that unless you look at victory and conquest as being their own reward, it’s hard to see any. Anti-American rebels lost, but we didn’t really win anything of note. We spent a lot of money, suffered some casualties, killed a lot of people and in exchange got some military bases that were overrun by the Japanese as soon as it looked like they might be strategically useful.

I have my own opinion, of course.  I might even give it later, although some of my thinking can be found here and here.  And I do think that one should take into account a counterfactual view of the Philippines before issuing judgment.  “Fifty years of Hollywood” might have improved the lot of the Filipinos, and it seems reasonable for a retrospective to seriously examine that possibility rather than reject it out of hand.   

So, before I give my own opinion (which is, as so often, changeable), what are your thoughts?

The economic history blog

  Some interesting stuff, some boring stuff, according to taste, but all good stuff.  Found here.

The Philippine legislature, corrected

  I while back, I ran a post about upper legislative houses in the Americas, including the Philippines, and a later one on Bolivia.  It turns out that I got the history of the Philippine legislature wrong.

The Constitution of 1935 established a unicameral National Assembly.  The reason was not that the drafters wanted a unicameral legislature.  (Although I'll be damned to understand why they didn't want one.)  Rather, the drafters wanted an upper house, but couldn’t decide on how it should be apportioned.  Delegates from underpopulated provinces wanted equal representation for each province.  Progressives proposed a Senate elected by proportional representation.  Conservatives wanted to keep the existing 12 senate districts, each with equal representation.  Each proposal lost in a vote.  Unicameralism emerged by default.  (See here, p. 144.) 

In 1937, President Quezon started to raise the bicameralism issue.  Publicly, he claimed that he feared that a unicameral legislature could create an “oligarchy.”  Privately ... well, who knows?  Ricardo Jose of the University of the Philippines believes that Quezon worried that a unicameral legislature could more easily challenge presidential authority, especially if a political enemy controlled it. 

Whatever the reason, Quezon got the Assembly to approve the change to bicameralism on September 15th, 1939.  (The amendment also changed the presidential term from six years to four and allowed re-election.)  How was the new chamber to be elected?  Article 4, Section 2:  “The Senate shall be composed of 24 Senators who shall be chosen at large by the qualified electors of the Philippines, as may be provided by law.” 

In other words, every three years Filipinos picked twelve names off a list of Senate candidates.  The top twelve vote-getters became Senators.  Sort of like proportional representation, only not.  The amendment passed the required popular referendum on June 18th, and President Roosevelt approved them on December 2nd.

As so often, however, the devil is in the details.  The 1941 election introduced “block voting,” in which a voter could check a box next to the name of a party, thereby automatically giving each of that party’s candidates one vote.  Under that system, a party that could muster a plurality would sweep all the Senate seats.  Unsurprisingly, Quezon’s Nacionalista Party managed to pull off just such a feat. 

For reasons unknown, the Philippine senate is still selected by at-large elections.  Yet another inexplicable upper house, out of so many that America has given the world.

Happy Moon Landing Day!

  That is all.  Oh, and Brian Kilmeade apologized. 

OK, that isn't all.  The truth is that while I can see absolutely no good reason for there to be a permanent human presence on the Moon, a small irrational part of me finds it both depressing and ridiculous that there isn't one four decades after humanity first set foot on its surface.  Where's my Pan Am ticket?  It's 2009 already, for crying out loud!

So I'd be happy if somebody could figure out a reason to settle the Moon.  Which I kinda doubt they will.  I mean, you'd have to live in a tube or a cave or something unpleasant like that.  And what would you sell to the people back on Earth to get the money to pay off the other people back on Earth who put up the cash to build that tube you're living in? 

But you never know.  Something might turn up.

That is all.

Ain’t gonna study war no more?

  John Mueller repeats in this month’s Political Science Quarterly an argument that he’s made before:  war is becoming rare.  Developed countries no longer fight.  Underdeveloped countries rarely fight.  Imperial wars have disappeared with empires.  And civil wars are becoming rarer. 

Even if you want to quibble with Mueller’s typology (maybe Gulf War 2 and Chechnya are imperial wars, the Rwanda-Congo interventions could be called interstate wars instead of civil ones, perhaps you want to call the Caucasian countries developed), the data are pretty incontrovertible. 

The world has become steadily more peaceful since 1989, probably since the mid-1960s.  Mueller has some ideas about the causes of this decline in bellicosity.  I hope Mueller is right.  For while honesty compels me to admit that I would like to add a third (and fourth and fifth) picture to the sequence shown above, I must also admit that I do not want any of those additions to see anything even resembling combat. 

Therefore I ask you:  in the case of war, does the performance of the past two decades predict future results?

An admonition to Micheletti supporters and an admonition to his opponents

  In a previous post, I mentioned Mexico in 1936 and Argentina in 1945 as possible parallels for what the Honduran military was thinking when it exiled President Zelaya instead of simply arresting him.  Steven Taylor mentions a third parallel, a cautionary tale:  Colombia in 1953. 

He raises a good point:  breaking the law in order to save it is always risky and often stupid.  But the specific parallel doesn't apply.  General Gustavo Rojas Pinilla took power in 1953 and established a dictatorship that lasted four years; Roberto Micheletti ascended to the interim presidency with a vote of Congress and seems to be waiting until the November election to hand over power to either Elvin Santos or Porfirio Lobo. 

In other words, the typical historical parallels really don't apply in this situation.  An inability to recognize that is the main reason why the OAS is botching the diplomacy.  (As opposed to the U.S., which is playing it very well ...  but very much in the national interests of the United States and nothing else.)  They keep seeing Pinochet when what they've really got is an unelected Liberal government marking time until they can hand over to an elected government ... preferably also Liberal.  If the OAS diplomats can recognize that, then they can get inside the other guy's head (and his decision loop) and start brokering compromises that will allow everyone to win.

But I have my doubts that insisting on constitutional purity and making absolute demands will accomplish anything.  Demanding that some soldiers be punished, or agreeing that Zelaya should be tried while remaining titular president, those could get somewhere.  But so far that isn't the tack the OAS is taking. 

See also my comment and Steven's response here.  The short version below the fold.

War and remembrance, American version

  The story of the Finnish Guard has been fascinating.  And it has one excellent modern parallel.  In the South End of Boston, in a formerly Puerto Rican area (now filled with native-born Americans pushing baby carriages) you can find the following monument:

Monument to the memory of the 65th Infantry of Puerto Rico

This monument is dedicated to the heroic Puerto Rican soldiers who made up the glorious 65th Infantry Regiment, whose actions on the battlefield surpassed the standards of bravery and determination. 

They said to us, “We will have peace even though we have to fight for it,” and so we fought in the mountains of Heartbreak Ridge and marched from Inchon.  We froze in the winter and broiled in the summer.  There were moments when we were completely outnumbered but we kept fighting and many of us gave our lives for liberty, justice, and peace.

The 65th Infantry Regiment played a key role in the most heroic episodes ever seen, showing the courage, valiance, and heart of the Puerto Rican soldier in the person of Ángel Luis García Ledesma, the most decorated Puerto Rican soldier in history.  This brave fighter sacrificed his life to cover an enemy grenade with his body, absorbing all its explosive power, thereby saving his compatriots.  For this heroic deed, he was decorated with the Congressional Medal of Honor, the Purple Heart, and monuments have been erected in memory of this transcendental moment of contemporary history.  Today we honor with pride the 65th Infantry Regiment, an example of valor and determination in defense of liberty.

What words aren’t in the monument? 

Guest post #6: War and Remembrance

  These images show the medal that the Russian army minted to commemorate the 1831 conquest of Warsaw. You can occasionally still find these in Finnish antique shops; this one was provided courtesy of Jani Tiainen’s Finnmedals in Helsinki. 

Before we leave behind the Finnish soldiers who fought on behalf of Russia in Poland back in 1831, there are a few questions left to be answered.  What were the consequences of the war for Finland? What were its effects on Poland?  In the short term, the Polish campaign of 1831 undoubtedly strengthened the Grand-Duchy of Finland. In the context of the politically incendiary situation in 1830-1831, the Finnish Guard’s participation in the Polish campaign played an important role in securing Imperial favor for the Grand-Duchy’s autonomous status. At a  time of crisis, Finland demonstrated to the Russian Empire that (unlike Poland) she could be trusted.

For the Finnish officers who had distinguished themselves on the front, the campaign marked the beginning of some splendid careers. Adolf Aminoff, the young lieutenant from the painting in the fourth part of the story, rose to the rank of General of Infantry and ended his career as an adjutant of Alexander III. Henrik Lyra, whom the Poles captured at Długosiodło, became a General Major. The young Casimir von Kothen became the adjutant for Governor-General Aleksandr Sergeyevich Menshikov, and later the governor of the province of Viipuri. And finally, Colonel Ramsay, the commander of the Guard, became General of Infantry and a member of the Russian Imperial War Council.  In short, over the decades preceding the Crimean War, the government of the Grand-Duchy of Finland was in the hands of officers who had earned their ranks on the battlefields of Poland.

For the common people of the Grand-Duchy, the Guard’s campaign of the became the first concrete example of a developing Finnish patriotism that put love for the Finnish fatherland and loyalty towards the Russian Emperor into one and the same breath with no sense of contradiction. A belief in the virtues of the Finnish soldier instilled a special sense of devotion and enthusiasm, celebrated in popular broadside ballads that proclaimed the willingness of the younger generations to follow the example of their predecessors and take up arms under the banner of the Finnish Guard in defense of Finland and the Empire:

Observatorio Argentino 12: Flag of protest?

  The annual protests against the Botnia paper plant on the Argentine-Uruguayan border have started.   Of course, the annual protests don’t mean much, in the sense that the nearby bridge has been shut to traffic since November 2006.  But the protestors did two new things (AFAIK) in this demonstration.  The first was to hang an 80-foot banner proclaiming, “Botnia go home.”  (Mercopress did not get the translation right.)  I kind of like that, along with the Finnish flags adorned with a skull-and-crossbones.  Piracy and poison from our Finnish overlords!  Very slick. 

The second was to wave flags like this one with the red stripe:

Which caused me a bit of startled recognition.  You see, that flag doesn't proclaim “Stop Argentina,” which is what an uninformed observer might think.  Rather, it’s the banner of the Federal League (also known as the League of Free Peoples), an insurgency led by José Artigas that waged a long war against Buenos Aires between 1813 and 1820.  (The Wikipedia entry is essentially unreadable.) 

For a while the League ruled both modern Uruguay and several littoral provinces of northern Argentina.  As usual for the period, it wasn’t always clear what the fighting was about.  Artigas’s early demands were for federalism, although he was a bit vague on commercial issues.  He rejected secession, even when Buenos Aires offered it, but he also rejected a federal compromise with Buenos Aires that would have met most of his early demands. 

Artigas became more radical as time went on, and in 1815 he redistributed land from political enemies (whom he amusingly called “bad Americans”) to “free blacks, mixed-race of this class, Indians, and poor creoles.”  

Artigas also later became the symbolic founding father of Uruguay ... even though he rejected the idea of Uruguayan independence.  What I did not know was that the Federal League still possessed enough historical resonance that angry Argentines would carry its flag in a protest against the Uruguayan government’s decision to approve a big paper mill on the other side of the river. 

It must mean something, but my pop sociology is failing me.  Surely our Canadian and Kiwi readers must see some parallels, no?

On the edge of the French energy empire

  In 1965, the French discovered uranium in Niger.  Here is what the New York Times had to say about it in 1969, right before production began.  It makes for fascinating reading.  

The paved road comes to an end in this isolated, dust-colored market town on the southern shore of the sand sea known as the Sahara.  About 300 miles farther north, along an ill-defined track, lies the town of Agadez.  About 150 miles beyond that, near the jumbled boulders of the Air Mountains, the village of Arlit is rising.  Where nothing more than tumbledown mud huts stood two years ago, French and African workmen are building cement-block houses, shops, an electrical generating plant big enough for a city of 40,000 — and two uranium processing plants. 

The uranium will be produced by a company in which the government of Niger holds 20 percent, German groups 10 percent, and the French Atomic Energy Commission and two French mining companies 70 percent ...

In a country where the per capita income runs about $75 a year ($351 in 2008 dollars), peanuts and bony steers constitute the only significant exports, where fuel is so scarce that technicians once tried and failed to make a power plant run on peanut husks, the discovery of uranium was an extraordinary event.

Niger will receive about 40 percent of the company’s profits ... Niger is counting on only $4 million a year in revenues by 1975 — about a tenth of the current national budget.  “Even with this strike,” said a local economist this week, “this is never going to be a rich country—unless they find a market for sand.” 

To my old master, Colonel P.H. Anderson

  It is pretty nice to be at a major research university.  You can easily do a lot of, well, research.  Of course, you can also easily engage in a lot of procrastination that has the disadvantage of feeling like research when it isn't, or at least not the research you're being paid to produce.  Like looking up the below when you should really be learning more about the details of the Messmer Plan.

You can click on the picture to see a larger version.  That is true for most of the pix on this blog.

Trust, but verify

  Every so often you come across something that just makes your day.  The following letter has made my week.   It even made up for running into monuments like the below while driving around Alabama, southwestern Georgia, and the Florida panhandle.

Dayton, Ohio, August 7, 1865

To My Old Master, Colonel P.H. Anderson
Big Spring, Tennessee

Sir: I got your letter and was glad to find you had not forgotten Jourdon, and that you wanted me to come back and live with you again, promising to do better for me than anybody else can. I have often felt uneasy about you. I thought the Yankees would have hung you long before this for harboring Rebs they found at your house. I suppose they never heard about your going to Col. Martin’s to kill the Union soldier that was left by his company in their stable. Although you shot at me twice before I left you, I did not want to hear of your being hurt, and am glad you are still living. It would do me good to go back to the dear old home again and see Miss Mary and Miss Martha and Allen, Esther, Green, and Lee. Give my love to them all, and tell them I hope we will meet in the better world, if not in this. I would have gone back to see you all when I was working in the Nashville hospital, but one of the neighbors told me Henry intended to shoot me if he ever got a chance.

I want to know particularly what the good chance is you propose to give me. I am doing tolerably well here; I get $25 a month, with victuals and clothing; have a comfortable home for Mandy (the folks here call her Mrs. Anderson), and the children, Milly, Jane and Grundy, go to school and are learning well; the teacher says Grundy has a head for a preacher. They go to Sunday School, and Mandy and me attend church regularly. We are kindly treated; sometimes we overhear others saying, “Them colored people were slaves down in Tennessee.” The children feel hurt when they hear such remarks, but I tell them it was no disgrace in Tennessee to belong to Col. Anderson. Many darkies would have been proud, as I used to was, to call you master. Now, if you will write and say what wages you will give me, I will be better able to decide whether it would be to my advantage to move back again.

As to my freedom, which you say I can have, there is nothing to be gained on that score, as I got my free papers in 1864 from the Provost Marshal General of the Department of Nashville. Mandy says she would be afraid to go back without some proof that you are sincerely disposed to treat us justly and kindly—and we have concluded to test your sincerity by asking you to send us our wages for the time we served you. This will make us forget and forgive old scores, and rely on your justice and friendship in the future.

I served you faithfully for thirty-two years and Mandy twenty years. At $25 a month for me, and $2 a week for Mandy, our earnings would amount to $11,680. Add to this the interest for the time our wages has been kept back and deduct what you paid for our clothing and three doctor’s visits to me, and pulling a tooth for Mandy, and the balance will show what we are in justice entitled to. Please send the money by Adams Express, in care of V. Winters, esq, Dayton, Ohio. If you fail to pay us for faithful labors in the past we can have little faith in your promises in the future. We trust the good Maker has opened your eyes to the wrongs which you and your fathers have done to me and my fathers, in making us toil for you for generations without recompense. Here I draw my wages every Saturday night, but in Tennessee there was never any pay day for the Negroes any more than for the horses and cows. Surely there will be a day of reckoning for those who defraud the laborer of his hire.

In answering this letter please state if there would be any safety for my Milly and Jane, who are now grown up and both good-looking girls. You know how it was with Matilda and Catherine. I would rather stay here and starve—and die if it comes to that—than have my girls brought to shame by the violence and wickedness of their young masters. You will also please state if there has been any schools opened for the colored children in your neighborhood. The great desire of my life now is to give my children an education, and have them form virtuous habits.

Say howdy to George Carter, and thank him for taking the pistol from you when you were shooting at me.

From your old servant,

Jourdon Anderson

The other Castro

  Cipriano Castro managed to make a bit of a hash of Venezuela during his brief regime.  He gained power in 1899, at the head of a revolutionary army.  His army mobilized resources by confiscating property; sometimes of opponents, sometimes not.  Eventually he provoked a bunch of European navies into blockading him.  The resulting diplomatic mess eventually dragged in the United States, who was worried that Germany intended to, say, scarfle off some Venezuelan islands and establish a naval base.  Or something.

So it isn't really clear to me why Hugo Chávez would want to replace a bust of Rómulo Gallegos with one of Cipriano Castro in the presidential palace. 

And then Leticia Arroyo sent me this speech by Castro made on December 9th, 1902, just as the European navies started sinking Venezuelan ships in the harbor of La Guaira:

Venezuelans!

The insolent foot of the foreigner has profaned the sacred soil of the Fatherland!  An extraordinary act in the history of the civilized nations, without precedent, without possible justification, a barbarous act because it is an attack on the most rudimentary principles of international law, an ignoble act because it is the fruit of an immoral and cowardly collusion of force and betrayal, it is something that the English and German squadrons have just done in the harbor of La Guaira just a few moments ago:  in a simultaneous and coordinated action they surprised and captured three undefended ships of our navy that had entered dock for repairs. 

The battle is unequal because two of the most powerful nations of Europe have conducted an attack against our country, which has barely made it out of a  long and painful convalescence ... But justice is on our side, as is the God of the Nations who inspired Bolívar and the constellation of heroes who accompanied him in the great work of bringing us, at the cost of great sacrifice, our Fatherland free and independent ... For my part I am prepared to sacrifice everything on the altar of the Fatherland, everything, including what one might call my anguish over our internal differences.  I have no memory of what disagreements may have occurred in the past.  Erased in my thoughts are the politics and fighting of all who were opposed to my aims, of all who have been able to leave a trace of pain in my heart.  In front of me lies no less than the luminous vision of the Fatherland, of which Bolívar dreamed, of which I dream.

... I open the doors of the Republic’s jails for the political prisoners who still remain in them; I also open the doors of the Fatherland for those Venezuelans who remain abroad for similar reasons and return to them under the constitution the properties of all the revolutionaries who lost them for reasons of public order.  Further still, if I survive these events ... I am prepared to return to private life, leaving behind my sword, of course, at the service of the Republic, and you can be sure that I will retire sans nostalgia for power, because my greatest aspiration is to see my great Fatherland prosperous and happy.

Now I see exactly what Hugo sees in this guy.  I can imagine him giving this speech on Aló Presidente, word for word.  Some things never change indeed.

From Russia, without love? Or a Greek tragedy?

  There is no official definition of “depression.”  Tim Kehoe says a 20% deviation from trend growth over a decade.  Richard Sylla says double-digit unemployment for a period of months.  Brad Delong says unemployment staying in double-digits for three years, or peaking above 12%.  Michael Bordo says a two-year continuous output decline of at least 10%.  By any of those definitions, Finland suffered a depression in 1991-93, or even 1991-96. 

So what caused it?  Well, there was a discussion about that somewhere, but I can't find it.  Anyway, you can sum up the evolution of the conventional wisdom as follows:  “We thought it was the collapse of the Soviet Union, but then we figured out that it was actually caused by a banking crisis.”  Blaming it on the Soviet collapse exculpates Finns:  it all came from Russia.  Blaming it on the banks turns the episode into a Greek tragedy, which Finns unknowingly brought upon themselves. 

Evidence for the banking-crisis hypothesis can be found here and here.  (Another hypothesis holds that Finnish workers decided to take an extended vacation because managers forgot how to run their firms and the government raised taxes.  No, seriously.  I don't have a whole lot to say about that.) 

Now, however, a Ukrainian, a Mexican, and an American have entered the fray to argue that, no, it was indeed the sudden collapse of trade with the Soviet Union what caused the Finnish depression of 1991-96.  Their paper is here.  The argument is pretty simple.  (1) Yeah, there were some signs of financial weakness before 1991, but let's not get crazy.  (2)  Trade shock.  Huuuuuge.  Plus, when you look at the industries that went under first and fastest, it was the ones that relied on the Soviet trade.  (3)  The banking system didn't fall apart until after the trade shock.  Absolutely, it was a weak system, but few systems could have handled a shock that big.

Basically, they argue that you don't have to assume a lot of friction in the real economy to get a slow recovery from a trade shock of the magnitude that hit Finland in 1991. 

But there is that nagging question:  why did Sweden go into a (much less serious) recession around the same time?  Could the Soviet trade shock have precipitated the Swedish crisis somehow?  Or is all just a coincidence, kind of like a man getting hit head-on by a truck and then having a bicycle ride over his hand? 

It's an interesting paper, even if it turns out to be wrong.  Thoughts?

Guest post #5: The Home Front on the edge of Empire

  In Finland, as we saw yesterday, the participation of local soldiers in the campaign against Poland ignited patriotic sentiments, at least among those who had served in combat:  “May our banner call the sons of Finland to perform the highest civic virtues still in the future, to fulfill their obligations and loyalty towards their sovereign.” 

Elsewhere in Europe, the bloody suppression of the November Insurrection aroused, well, different feelings. The Polish independence struggle became an immediate cause célèbre for European liberals. Casimir Delavigne, for example, celebrated the old Napoleonic brotherhood in arms between France and Poland in his exhilarating song La Varsovienne.  In the German-speaking countries, August von Platen’s 1831 sonet collection Polenlieder topped what later generations would call the charts.  

West European sympathy towards Poland, however, hardened Russian attitudes; even the Russian intelligentsia abandoned its criticism of the Tsarist régime and supported Imperial policy in Poland. The anti-European backlash culminated in Aleksandr Pushkin’s legendary (if somewhat unsubtlely-titled) poem, “To the Slanderers of Russia.”  Pushkin’s diatribe, in particular, should be familiar to a modern reader. 

(Uh, Jussi, you give us too much credit.  I’ve never heard of any of the works of music or literature that you’ve cited in here.  Then again, I hope nobody criticizes people in 2145 for their ignorance of, say, “Eve of Destruction” or “Bad Moon Rising.” Right?  Or am I excusing my ignornance?  —ed.) 

Russian officials still reference “To the Slanderers of Russia” in times of conflict.  During the 1999 Kosovo War, for example, the Russian foreign minister, Igor Ivanov, cited the poem in order to give a stern warning to the NATO countries.  Eight years later, in 2007, the Russians once again used the poem for propaganda purposes during the Bronze Warrior crisis between Estonia and Russia. 

Guest post #4: Heroes of the Empire

  The work of art that you see below is a painting by Robert Wilhelm Ekman, a pioneer of early national romantic art in Finland. Ekman is perhaps best remembered for his early attempts at the illustration of Kalevala, but this work, finished in 1848, invokes the memory of the Finnish soldiers who had fought and died in Poland seventeen years before. You won’t find this work on display in any museum; it is part of a private collection, and the owner prefers to keep it that way.

The painting depicts the young lieutenant Adolf Aminoff wounded on the ramparts of Tykocin on May 21st 1831. As you can see, the painting captures two ideals.  First, an officer who leads his men from the front, even at the risk of his own personal safety.  Second, his soldiers, equally ready to risk their lives by rushing to the aid of their wounded comrade. During the following decades, national romanticism claimed these universal ideals as quintessentially Finnish military virtues.  Emphasizing the importance of solidarity and camaraderie is always a natural choice.  After all, it doesn’t really matter what you’re theoretically fighting for, because putting your life on the line for your comrade is always a virtue.  

Raisuli my ass

  Who's the biggest pirate-fighter in the last century of American presidents?

From Big Crush, via  Mojo.

Word.

When lawyers declare war!

  You know, the more I learn, the more I think that President Correa of Ecuador is really playing with fire in defaulting on his debts.  Brazil is mad at him, and you don't want to get the new imperial rulers of South America mad at you.  But more importantly, he's got his American creditors mad at you ... and it seems as though those creditors may have a rather powerful legal recourse.  It'll all depend on the definition of a “central bank.”

But let's start at the beginning.  What happens when lawyers declare war on a country?  Well, remember this post, on the U.S. sanctions against Manuel “La Piña” Noriega ?  Turns out that the sanctions weren't really Elliot Abrams' idea.  Rather, the credit goes to a lawyer, William Rogers, acting on behalf of his client, former President Eric Delvalle of Panama. 

La Piña, you see, had an anger-management problem.  He decapitated Hugo Spadafora, one of his political opponents.  When the President of Panama, Nicolás Barletta, made the mistake of thinking that he, you know, ran the country, and decided to investigate the head-chopping, Noriega locked him in his office and threatened his family.  At 3am, President Barletta appeared on national television and offered his resignation, which the National Assemby accepted in a late-night emergency session.  Eric Delvalle, the education minister, then became President.  A little while later, Delvalle decided to pass on to La Piña an American offer to let him peacefully resign with all his ill-gotten gains.  In response, Pineapple-face ejected Delvalle from the presidency.  Delvalle got word that he was going to be arrested the next day, and managed to make it to an American military base.  His ambassador-at-large hired Rogers, and then ...

Things could be worse

  A while ago I posted a chart that seemed to show that employment losses in this recession rivalled the early stages of the Great Depression.  That chart is true.  By the measure of “total employment,” things don't look all that out of line. 

But the U.S. economy was much more agricultural back then.  In fact, a full 36% of all employment in 1929 was agricultural.  (That figure still startles me, as much as I know that it shouldn't.)  Agricultural employment was far more resistant to the ravages of the Depression, even if agricultural incomes were not. 

If you restrict yourself to nonfarm employment, which is what Justin Fox did, you get a somewhat more reassuring figure.  We don't seem to be tracking the Depression, and the many interventions of 2008 and 2009 have done more than a little good:

I suspect that the 1929 data are seasonally-adjusted, since the NBER cites the source as:  “For raw data: Survey of Current Business, March and August 1941; For adjusted data:  Federal Reserve Bulletin, June 1941.”  But since that is ambiguous, I included the unadjusted modern data in green.  It doesn't really change anything ... except inasmuch as all the people laid off after the Christmas rush in 2007 slowly went back to work over the next few months (as is standard), whereas that is not happening in 2008-09. 

So, yes, we're now officially worse than 1981-82.  By this point then, recovery had set in.  But we aren't close to a second Great Depression.

In this country.  Worldwide, not so clear.

Guest post #3: Battle for the Empire

  The soldiers of the Finnish Guard joined the other units of the Russian Imperial Life-Guard in Białystok on April 11th, 1831. By this time, the Polish-Russian war had been raging for two months, and the insurrection was spreading, with violence and mayhem escalating on daily basis. On the same day as the Finnish soldiers listened Colonel Ramsay’s lecture on the Russian War Articles and the letters of protection issued to the Polish civilian population, one Russian cossack regiment massacred civilians in the small Lithuanian village of Oszmiana. The event was subsequently commemorated in Adam Mickiewicz’s epic poems.  

The Polish-Russian war was fought on two fronts.  In the south, on the eastern side of the Vistula, the main 100,000-man Russian army (under a Baltic German field-marshal, Hans Karl Friedrich Anton von Diebitsch) advanced directly towards Warsaw.  Meanwhile, in the north, Grand-Duke Mikhail Pavlovich’s units of the Russian Imperial Life-Guard (the Finnish Battalion included) approached the Polish capital from the northeast, through the dismal woodlands between the Narew and Bug rivers in Mazovia. You can get a rough view of the surroundings from the map.   (Click on it for a larger image in a new window.)

Diebitsch’s army crossed the frontier on February 5th, fully prepared to crush the Polish rebellion. Resistance, however, proved to be a good deal tougher than anticipated; as mentioned before, the Congress Kingdom had a large, professional standing army, which now proved its mettle. On February 25th, the Poles halted the Russian advance in the bloody battle of Grochów.  The Poles then began a counteroffensive. Lieutenant-General Ignacy Prądzyński, the Polish chief of staff, defeated the Russians at Dębe Wielkie on March 31st, and again at Iganie on April 10th. 

But wars, like baseball games, aren’t over until they’re over. 

Guest post #2: The Guardsmen of the Empire

   We continue the story from December 14th, 1830, when the Finnish Guard received its mobilization orders and started to prepare for a long and arduous journey to the Polish battlefields, on behalf of the Emperor and the Fatherland. [The “Fatherland” would be Finland, not the Russian Empire, right? In our hemisphere, we’re not used to those distinctions, except maybe the Canadians.  And the West Indians. And the Puerto Ricans.  And the Colombians.  And … oh, never mind.   —ed.]  However, before we describe the Finnish participation in the suppression of the Polish independence struggle in any further detail, it’s perhaps best to describe those men who ended up serving as tools of the Imperial Russian war machine in the said campaign. What kind of a unit was the Finnish Guard, and what do we know of its officers and soldiers?   

Guest post #1: Empires and nationalities

  Hello, everyone. For those who don’t know me, and for those who are wondering why I’m posting here, it’s perhaps best to start with some details.  [No pix of you with a dangling cigarette and sunglasses? —ed.]

Who am I? My full name is Jussi Olavi Jalonen. I’m a single man on my thirties, and after a long residence in the city of Tampere, I now live on the Western Seaboard of Finland. Why am I posting here? Well, because Noel suggested it. I’ve done all sorts of things for living, but these days I’m basically a free-lance researcher and writer. Guest posts on a high-quality weblog are just as good a way to kill time as anything else.  [We’re high quality! —ed.] 

I write about history. As said, I’m single, but Clio is a very demanding mistress. [My wife is very understanding of that, and it's one of the many reasons I love her. —ed.]  As for my field of study, you could probably say that I’m more interested in Power than Money.  [One often begats the other. —ed.]  I specialize in military history, in a very broad sense. Two months ago, an article that I wrote on the interned Polish soldiers in Finland in 1940-41 appeared in a publication of the Finnish National Archives, and just recently, Studia Historica Septentrionalia published another article that I wrote on the theme of comradeship-in-arms. In particular, however, I’m interested in soldiers who have, for one reason or another, ended up serving in the military establishments of foreign powers — usually, in the service of their Imperial master, occasionally in the service of its enemy, or sometimes even in conflicts where there appears to be no vested national or ideological interest whatsoever. I’ve written articles on the Finnish volunteers in the Boer War, Finnish volunteers in the Waffen-SS, and also a biography of jäger colonel Eino Polón, Knight of the Mannerheim Cross. For those who don’t know, the term “jäger” refers to the Finnish independence activists and volunteers who served in the Imperial German Army against Tsarist Russia in 1915-17.

One particular thing that I find fascinating is the historical contrast between Finland and Poland in their relations towards Russia; as the most recent example, you may remember that during the South Ossetian war last August, Poland sided openly with Georgia, while Finland, as the head of the OSCE, attempted to mediate the conflict and maintain communications with Russia. These contrasts between Finland and Poland have very deep roots. Consider the Finnish Guard’s participation in the 1831 Polish campaign. (Last year, I wrote an article on this topic for the Polish weekly Tygodnik Powszechny.) 

But what was this so-called “Finnish Guard?”  What exactly happened in Poland in 1831?  And how did it create such long-standing differences between the two border countries?

Department of WTF, once more

  These are not like things.  The data do not say what the people making the connection seem to think that they say. 

Observatorio Argentino 9: A tale of two depressions

  Argentina seems to be slipping into its third major economic contraction in less than two decades.  (Actually, this may be the fourth.)  Leticia Arroyo asks:  what happened the last two times?

You can blame Mexico (not Canada, sadly) for the 1994 contraction.  Investors dumped their Argentine holdings in response to the mess in Mexico and as a result Argentine interest rates spiked and economic activity fell.  Argentina pegged its peso to the dollar at the time.  The peg survived the contraction, but recovery was slow and halting.   

The 2001-02 collapse was a different animal. 

It is harder to assign blame than one might think.  Argentina's internal and external accounts didn't look that bad in 1999 or 2000 or 2001.  (They didn't look that good either, but nothing to justify the scale of the calamity that followed.)  Investors, foreign and domestic, started to worry about a devaluation, charging the Argentine government higher and higher interest rates every time it had to refinance.  Why did they start worrying?  I am honestly not sure.

That said, what was clear by 2001 was that the currency peg had become too restrictive, but the government had no clear plan to transition out of it.   Fully dollarize, in order to end speculation of a future devaluation?  Devalue early?  Devalue, then dollarize?  The government punted.  People became more and more convinced that there would be a devaluation.  Speculation became widespread, and I mean crazily widespread, unimaginably widespread:  nobody wanted to accept pesos that could lose two-thirds of their value at any moment, and nobody wanted to spend dollars that might jump by two-thirds in local terms at any moment.  Call it hedging, call it speculation, call it crazy, but do the math:  by the time December 2001 rolled around, huge chunks of the Argentine economy had been reduced to barter. 

This sort of thing seems like a real fear in several Eastern European countries right now. 

Cars of Februaries past

  After World War 2 ended, pent-up consumer demand meant that the auto manufacturers could pretty much sell whatever crap their factories could churn out.  It took, in fact, four years for the carmakers to start selling new products incorporating all the technological advances of the Depression and war years. 

Oldsmobile kicked it off with the restyled Futuramic Rocket 88.  It included the Hydramatic automatic transmission and a brand-new V-8 engine.  Now, neither was new.  Olds introduced the automatic transmission in 1940 and it had been building V-8’s since 1932, but the two things hadn’t been put together in a designed-from-the-chassis up vehicle.  In addition, the Rocket V-8 was the first overhead-valve design, allowing the engine to take up much less space and producing less vibration when accelerating.  It also had an AM radio that could sorta kinda be heard with the top down at cruising speed maybe if you had lots of imagination. 

My father, therefore, wanted one.  But they were hard to find in February of 1949.  Yet the above pic from 1949 shows that he got one.  (Well, actually the Rocket 76 with the Big Six engine.) Only wanting is not having.  How did he make that leap? 

How bad is it?

  We really need a labor economist.  Anyone?  Anyone?  Kaplan?

Calculated risk produced a chart based on a chart published by Barry Ritholtz.   It shows the peak-to-recovery job losses for the recessions back to 1948.  So far, it's been about as bad as 1981-82.  I thought it would be interesting to add 1929 and 1937.  How does the situation look compared to the opening months of the Great Depression and the so-called “Roosevelt recession” of 1937? 

To do that, I had to use the “total employment” series from the BLS Current Population Survey in order to make the post-1939 numbers comparable to the Depression-era data.  What I got looked somewhat different from the charts currently running around the internets. 

The big red line is the current downturn.

Qualitatively, the above picture gives the same picture as the other charts.  The current downturn is more-or-less tracking 1981, 1974, 1957, and 1948, all pretty bad recessions.  And since past performance does not predict future results, we are not promised the same sort of rapid recovery we saw from those four.

But two things surprised me, and are very different from the other data. 

Barbados, Jamaica, institutions, and a great reason for a research trip

  There is a debate inside the economics profession about the importance of institutions, broadly defined.  One side of the battle holds that institutions are everything.  Countries can institute all sorts of bad policies and still prosper over the long run if they have “good” institutions — France is a common example.  A subset of this group likes to argue that a particular set of legal institutions is very important.  You can sum their argument up as “Common law good, civil law bad.” 

The “institutions as epiphenomena” side of the debate has mostly given up, with the valiant exception of Greg Clark.  That said, strong opposition still exists in the form of two arguments: “institutions aren't everything” and its subset, “legal origin theory is total b@ll$#/t.”

One obvious experimental laboratory is the British West Indies.  Not a whole lot of good came out of the collapse of the West Indian Federation, but one bit of lemonade coming out of that lemon was that it left us with a collection of independent and quasi-independent states with a similar institutional background.  Now come two authors with a comparative paper on Barbados and Jamaica, arguing that it is macroeconomic policy, not the legacy of history, that explains the different paths of the two nations since independence. 

Are their arguments convincing?  More below the fold.

Senates

  There is a debate going on downblog over the United States Senate. 

Let's take a brief tour of Senates around the hemisphere.  (To which we'll include the Philippines, due to its political history.)  The American example set in 1787 proved very influential, particularly for the larger nations of América.  Did their adoption of an upper house with equal representation for federal subunits make sense?  Did they keep it? 

Argentina:  The Argentine senate gives each province three senators.  That's obviously undemocratic.  Argentina, however, has a historical justification for the practice.  Like the United States, the Argentine Republic began as a federation of independent states.  Unlike the United States, the states that formed the Argentine Republic had very little autonomous political history; most had been created from city councils that simply declared independence in the wake of the political chaos that enveloped South America after 1808.  After a great deal of civil war, including the loss of Bolivia, Paraguay, and Uruguay, provincial forces decisively defeated Buenos Aires in 1852.  A convention that excluded representatives of Buenos Aires hammered out a constitution the next year.  That same constitution has remained in effect since then, at least juridically. 

The convention accepted equal provincial representation in the Senate in order to limit Buenos Aires's dominance.  It also had senators elected for nine-year terms by state legislatures and required them to be able to show a minimum annual income of 2,000 pesos.  (That's approximately US$67,000 today in terms of purchasing power.)  Thankfully, later amendments got rid of those latter features, but equal representation remains.  In short, while there isn't really any good reason to keep the apportionment of the Argentine senate, the institution has deep roots in Argentine political history.  The resemblance to the U.S. case is quite strong.

Brazil:  The senate of the Federal Republic of Brazil gives three senators to each state.  The historical roots of this institution, however, are rather shallower than in Argentina or the United States.  The 19th-century Imperial senate did not provide equal representation for the provinces.  When the empire fell to a military coup in 1889, the new leaders had to find ways to convince provincial elites to support the new government.  One of the ways that they did so was to provide the provincial governments with equal representation in the upper house, in open imitation of the American example.  (In fact, the constitution of 1891 named the country the United States of Brazil.)  Brazil has gone through multiple constitutions since then, but the institution of the Senate has remained.  Unfortunately. 

Mexico:  The constitutions of 1824, 1857, and 1917 all granted equal senate representation to each state.  There was never much historical justification for doing so, other than imitation of the United States.  (Mexican states gained much autonomy during the 19th century, and several declared independence, but that came about after the end of Spanish rule.)  Since the country's governments rarely ruled by the constitution, however, legal stipulations didn't matter.  Under Porfirio Díaz, for example, all legislative votes were unanimous after 1893.  Nor did senators necessarily come from their putative state.  Under those circumstances, the number of senators per state didn't make a difference.  The Revolution didn't change that.  Under President Álvaro Obregón, for example, recalcitrant legislators were often shot.  Then came the creation of the PRI, with its iron-lock over politics, and ‘nuff said.  Constitutional stipulations didn't become more important than party rules until the 1997 midterm election. 

Mexico, however, is now ruled by a democratic government, and the constitutional rules matter a lot.  As part of the transition to democracy, Mexican politicians amended the constitution in 1993 and 1996.  In theory, the reforms granted each state four senators, up from two.  In practice, the reforms created an upper house selected by a weak form of proportional representation.  The winning party in each state receives two seats.  The runner-up receives one.  The remaining 25% of senate seats are then allocated to each party in proportion to their popular vote share.  In effect, the Mexico's current senate keeps the form of equal representation for each state while abandoning much (but not quite all) of the substance. 

The Philippines:  The Philippine Autonomy Act of 1916 created a 24-person senate.  The act grouped the country's 50 provinces into 12 districts, each of which received two senators.  The 1935 constitution of the Philippine Commonwealth dumped that crazy system, but selected something even crazier in its place:   at-large Senate elections.  That is, every voter writes in 12 names.  The top 12 vote-getters then become senators for six years.  The exercise is repeated every three years, making for a total of 24 senators.  The 1987 constitution of the Philippine Republic retains the feature.

The only polity that I can imagine justifiably imitating the United States, Argentine Republic, and Federal Republic of Brazil in the 21st century is the European Union.  Then again, I may suffer from a lack of imagination.

Taking the C-levels

  Peter asks, was a sea-level canal possible in Panama?  The answer is yes. 

The French initially planned a sea-level canal.  Of course, they failed.  But the American government also considered a sea-level plan.  They rejected it only when a group of consultants presented a report that killed the idea on something other than cost.

First, they calculated the rate at which dirt could be moved away from the excavation, and figured that a sea-level canal would take at least 15 years to build.  (The actual canal took 11 until the first transit and 17 until full commercial operation, but it was planned to take only 8½.)  Second, because a sea-level canal would be pretty narrow for most of its length, transit times would be longer.  (Narrow is a relative term:  the above and below pictures show one of the narrowest parts of the Canal.)    Third, it would be shallow for long stretches.  (41 feet, in fact.)  Finally, it would require locks anyway:  the Pacific tides are twenty feet higher than the Atlantic tides.  Without locks, there would be a 4.5 knot current ... on average.  In fact, it would vary quite a lot, making navigation much tougher. 

In addition, it would be just as vulnerable to sabotage (lots of talk of dynamite-laden vessels in the 1906 report) and require a 180-foot masonry dam on the Chagres, rather than the 135-foot earthen dam actually constructed.  Which would look cool, but be vulnerable.

Later plans were much more grandiose. 

The Panamanian flag

  Panama's flag flies from myriad vessels around the world.  The crews may be predominantly Filipino, and the owners quite likely to be Greek, but 20 percent of all registered merchant vessels fly a Panamanian flag.

The roots go back to 1916.  In that year, Panama's government allowed foreign-owned Panamanian corporations to register their ships under the Panamanian flag. It also enacted a law requiring the recognition of English language contracts. It took until the 1920s to become popular, by which point Panama had created a global network of consuls who, as part of their duties, could transfer and register ships under the Panamanian flag.  Better still, the U.S. cooperated with Panama:  if no Panamanian consul were available, American consuls would serve. 

Why did shippers like to use the Panamanian flag?  I'll turn the floor over to W. Leslie Comyn, a corporate officer of Pacific Freighters:

A ditch not dug

In 1911, U.S.-Latin American relations almost took a dramatic turn for the different.

In October of that year, the head of the Panama Canal Zone's civil administration, Maurice Thatcher, told a U.S. Senate committee, “We must have courts ...  I would like to see an American civil population here ... These Americans would come here to live, make their homes here, and they would prefer to live under the dominion of the American government, under American laws.” 

George Goethals, the rather un-Brooklyn-like Brooklynite in charge of construction thought differently.  “Introduce the franchise, and we’d go to pieces.”  The Taft administration agreed with Goethals.  The Canal Zone was not to receive elected government, civil courts, or even private property.  The Zonians remained a population of transients.  (Vocal, obnoxious, and slightly-crazy transients, but transients.)

But what if Thatcher had won the argument?  The Zonians would have owned farms and businesses.  They would set their own tax rates.  They would elect their governor.  The strange monopoly that the federal government held over ancilliary businesses would not last.  The Zonians would not all work for the federal government.  They would be a settled population, certainly larger than the actual Canal Zone population, which bounced around 50,000 in the 1950s and '60s.  And it is hard to imagine them lacking a non-voting representative in Congress.

Under such circumstances, could Congress have agreed to give the Canal Zone back to Panama?   

Imperialism can really pay

So there's Panama.  Well, what about Suez?

The Suez Canal started under very different political conditions, inasmuch as the Egyptian government was on-board with the project.  So on board, in fact, that it not only put in 45 percent of the initial capital (£1.5 million), it promised the Compagnie de Suez the free use of forced labor to build the thing. 

That wasn't nada.  In 2007 pound sterling, the Egyptians put in £149 million.  But as I've mentioned elsewhere, the world was poorer then:  relative to the growth of the British economy since then, that would be equivalent of plonking in £4.3 billion today.  That would be a lot of scratch for the current Egyptian government; it was an amazing amount of scratch for 1854's. 

So far, so non-imperialistic.  Awful for the poor people who had to live under Cairo's despotism, but that'd be like blaming Russia for the shortcomings of the Kazakh government.  (Wait ... no, I'll leave that to those who know more.)

The story gets better, though.  It's an amazing bit of imperial skullduggery ... and perhaps the coolest thing about it is that it could easily happen today.  I mean, it's not like world powers scarf off strategic parts of nearby states for strategic gain these days.

So, with the caveat that what I'm about to tell you is pieced together from primary sources and could well be wrong, the story is below.

Imperialism can pay

There's a debate out there about imperialism.  Did it pay?  The consensus answer is:  no, it did not.  The British spent far more in defense than they earned from imperial investments; in fact, by the 1880s, the profitability of imperial investments had fallen below domestic and non-imperial ones.  The French believed that their empire after WW2 helped them maintain their balance-of-payments; the numbers don't support that idea either.  The big counterexamples involve the Nazi conquest of France, and the Soviet occupation of Eastern Europe after 1945 ... but after 1970 or so the balance on the Soviet empire hinges on how much you believe control of the Warsaw Pact armies was worth to Moscow. 

But there is a case of imperialism paying, and paying quite well:  Panama in 1903. 

Canals and Costa Rica

Peter asks about past Nicaragua canal plans; Randy asks about the environment and Costa Rica.

Nicaragua was in fact considered for a trans-Isthmian canal.  Only one project got past vaporware:  between 1887 and 1893, the Maritime Canal Company excavated 1½ miles of canal and built 11½ miles of railroad in pursuit of the project.  Their planned route to the Atlantic followed the dashed line above.  Meanwhile, their plan to avoid the rapids and shallows of the San Juan River east of its junction with the San Carlos River was brilliant in its simplicity, if not in its feasibility:  build a giant dam at Ochoa and flood everything all the way to Lake Nicaragua.

Inequality and history

I present to you new never-before-known knowledge about Latin America:

This simple chart masks a heroic effort at data collection that took the author to at least seven different countries and ate up a year of her life tirelessly searching through badly-organized archives.  We now have systematic data on nominal wages and land rents in Latin America where before we had just conjecture and guesswork.  More importantly, we now have more understanding as to why Latin America developed such high and persistent levels of inequality.   

More here.  Questions and comments?  The author reads this blog.

Policy of Attraction, part 2

  The Philippines came under American military rule in 1898.  In 1902, Congress authorized a civilian government known as the Philippine Commission, which ruled the place until the Philippine Autonomy Act of 1916. 

 

By the admittedly low standards of colonial governments, the Philippine Commission ran the islands rather well.  It spent heavily on infrastructure and education.  It purchased rice overseas during shortages and sold it at subsidized prices.  It ran a wide array of public enterprises, including a credit system.  It even ran an agricultural research program that managed to double crop yields. 

How did it pay for this?  By taxing the Philippines quite highly by contemporary standards.  Strangely, an entire literature has developed around the idea that the Commission government undertaxed the Philippines.  That literature simply happens to be wrong.    

Doug leaves Burundi

Doug should be back in Germany by now.  He spent his last day in Burundi by the shores of Lake Tanganyika, thinking about tourist potential and the mind-boggling idiocy of the Belgian empire.

I wish him an easy trip home and a wonderful time with his growing family.

Doug in Burundi, parts 3 and 4

Looks like it's rainy in Bujumbura.  It's been weirdly tropical in Massachusetts this summer:  black downpours so heavy that you can't see across the street followed by bright actinic sunshine.  Thankfully, that seems to have ended here; let's hope it ends soon in Burundi.

Over here, Doug explains why there's a Greek deli in the middle of Bujunbura.  It seems as though there was a small community that came down the Nile from Alexandria with the British; some kept going and wound up in Burundi, where they helped administer the place and played a role in commerce.  The messiness of independence, though, drove most of them back to Europe (I assume), leaving a big consulate and what seems to be a very nice deli.

Policy of Attraction, part 1

Here's something I didn't realize:  in 1932, Manuel Quezon and Sergio Osmeña privately asked a rather surprised President Hoover to veto an independence bill that they had publicly supported. 

As best as I can reconstruct it, it was a combination of the nativist reaction to the Watsonville Riots of 1930 and pressure from the sugar and dairy lobbies what led to the approval of the Philippine Independence Act of 1934.  Quezon got Hoover to veto the first independence bill, but Congress overrode him.  Quezon then managed to get the Philippine legislature to reject the bill, but Congress (and FDR) made it clear that independence was barrelling down the pike no matter what.  Quezon succeeded in convincing Congress to rewrite the provisions involving the retention of military bases, which gave him enough political cover to cut his losses and declare victory.  The Commonwealth of the Philippines came into existence the next year, with the Republic of the Philippines followed along in 1946.

Congress immediately cut the number of Filipinos allowed to come to the United States from unlimited to 50 per year.  (That's right, fifty.)  It also started offering Filipinos free passage home in 1935, but that wasn't very successful.  You've got to love the reason given in the linked article. 

Ironically, the U.S. reconsidered the Act's trade provisions (allowing Philippine products tariff-free entry until 1954 instead of 1939, albeit subject to a quota, and giving them preferential access until 1974) and the Philippines changed its mind on U.S. bases. (which infamously remained a huge presence on Luzon until 1991). 

I can shake the suspiscion that it's too bad that the U.S. couldn't decide on a permanent form of what both sides called "dominion status" back in the 1920s.  A permanent relationship along the lines of the Compacts of Free Association would, I think, have served both countries well, much better than the temporary and unequal arrangements that actually emerged, and then faded away.

Counterarguments and commentary are, of course, welcome.

Chillaxing on the volcano, or, the end of empires

Another repost from the HDTD archives, this one from 2006:

I am sitting on a cliff overlooking a volcano sticking out of a lake, and contemplating the end of empires.

One of the reasons for that is the fact that I am being serenaded by a three-man band in mariachi suits singing an off-key rendition of “La Bamba.” Is there an image that better captures the colonial history of the Philippine Islands?

Why yes, there is:

The United States is probably the only other country on the planet in which you might find an “eatería.”

Anyway, I am contemplating the end of empires, in this case America’s empire in the Philippines.

A birthday endorsement

Was the American Revolution a good thing?  After all, Canada didn't turn out so badly.  Without the American Revolution, neither World War would have lasted as long, if they even happened at all.  North American slavery likely would have ended earlier and without the bloodshed — considering the damage of the Civil War and the horrors that followed Reconstruction it hardly could have ended worse.  And then there's the possibility that the retention of the First British Empire might have prevented the pointless expansion of the Second.  Any one of those things marks a whole lot of hurt stemming from from annoyance at a couple of badly-placed taxes, and I haven't even mentioned Napoleon.

But there is a silly case for the defense.  And here, Brad Delong makes the serious one:

I, however, firmly endorse and support the American Revolution, in the sense that it looked like the right thing to do at the time. Remember that the political evolution of Britain toward democracy was not foreordained as of 1775. (Indeed, the pressure exerted by the example of the United States was a powerful democratizing force in Britain throughout the whole of the nineteenth century.) Britain in 1775 was a corrupt monarchical oligarchy — albeit one with much softer rule, a much more effective state, and a much broader and more open system of political competition within the oligarchy than has been standard in human empires. It is quite likely that — absent the American Revolution and the Great Democratic Example across the seas, and absent the long reign of Victoria — the political evolution of nineteenth-century Britain would have stuck where it was at the accession of George III, or even moved backward away from democracy to some degree.

It is one thing to be a Dominion in close alliance with and owing some degree of allegiance to a rapidly-democratizing Britain. It is another thing to be a colony of a superpower ruled by a corrupt coterie of landlords.

Happy birthday, America!  See you at the party tomorrow. 

Happy Canada Day!

Happy birthday, nation to the north!

For a very interesting post on some of the political developments that preceeded Confederation, see Randy McDonald. 

At times, I wondered if there was a reason other than political inertia why the British didn't make the obvious concession to Canada, and grant representation in Parliament.  Randy's post raises the possibility that the result of such a move would have been another Ireland.

Or not.  I don't pretend to fully understand the dynamics of Irish independence, either.  Can anyone explain why the British never moved to better integrate their remaining North American holdings with the British Isles?  Was such a thing even considered before the first Imperial Federation proposals in 1884?

Still, Britain's loss was America's gain, in that we have a solid, strong, and very admirable neighbor to the north.  So here's to the objectively fairest, justest, and best-managed polity on the North American continent.  The only thing wrong with it (beside the weather) is that she just plain ain't my own.

Which is why, emotionally, I'll be celebrating the birth of the bestestest polity in North America three days from now.  And one even better for the great example across the northern frontier.  So, from a patriotic American, with all my heart, ¡Viva Canadá, viva!