The Popular Will: Reformism, Radicalism, Republicanism & Unionism in Britain 1815-1960

Part 5, Chapter XLVII
  • V, XLVII: Republicanism
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    George Lansbury, Social Democratic Federation MP for Stockport (1893 - 1940)


    The law on unintended consequences is a powerful thing. In this vein, the cosmetic changes from Salisbury were not lost on Republicans, who saw them as restoration by stealth, plain and simple. A broader realisation began to emerge. Without a more significant change to the constitution, every attempt to break the power of the aristocracy would be fruitless. They had the Regency and the Senate, and in many cities and counties, they had Alderman who thwarted attempts at Radical reform. The odds would be stacked against progress, many thought, after symbolic restoration, until levers of power were used to break the monopoly aristocracy had always held on Britain.

    After the news of the pronouncements filtered their way through the Union, Republicans were incensed by the blatant power grab. Meanwhile, amidst the grand halls of power, where polished floors reflected the glint of chandeliers, the aristocracy celebrated. After Salisbury's appointment, the rechristened Lord Knutsford spoke of the jubilant atmosphere in the Carlton Club. “The Regent arrived,” he wrote in his diary, “and roused the assembled gentleman in a rendition of God Save the Queen. One figure, I believe it was the Earl of Onslow, ordered a servant to rip the Union flag, that bastardised banner of compromise, from the flag pole and have it brought in, whereupon it was burnt. Joe [Chamberlain] looked gruff and left soon after Salisbury had called for calm among the members.”

    Their laughter echoed off the walls, starkly contrasting the sober discussions of the Republicans in shadowed corners of bustling coffee houses. The former, draped in finery reminiscent of a bygone era, spoke of restoring glory and order. At the same time, the latter, a diverse group of determined faces, argued passionately for progress and equality.

    Chamberlain was incensed by the manoeuvres. “It is a fool's errand,” he wrote in a letter to his son, Austen, “to claw back the gains made by the Republicans in the last decade. The aggrandising, the pageantry, and the restoration of chivalric honours will do nothing but inflame the Republican side and undo the good work done by Unionists since the creation of the movement. It will aggravate the party at the local level and further the divisions we have sought to avoid. It could bring us to ruin. Have they forgotten the events of last March? Would they wish the horror repeated?”

    The Prime Minister was, at this moment, more isolated than ever during his premiership. While he could not publicly disavow the decisions made by the Regent, he was privately gravely concerned by them. He even admitted privately to Randolph Churchill, who refused to reacquaint himself with the ‘Lord’ at the beginning of his title, that the moves to restore the appearance of Monarchy in Britain had convinced him of the need to declare a Republic.

    While Churchill disagreed - he remained a staunch advocate of Unionist doctrine - he acknowledged in his diary, “Joe has lost hope for the great Unionist project. While I do not share his pessimism - I believe that passions will calm - if I were formerly a Republican, then a Unionist, I admit I would feel betrayed by the Tories in the party. The election of Cecil was nothing more than a Trojan horse.”

    The disenchantment of the Prime Minister against the President-Regent did have some upsides. While around half the party could have been counted as active supporters of the policy of symbolic restoration, the other half, comprising Chamberlain’s core support and the Progressives, unofficially led by Jesse Collings, began to coalesce. Two weeks after the Grand Committee, Collings, Primrose and Chamberlain met face to face. It was said, although no concrete proof has ever been provided, that an invitation was extended to Dilke to join the meeting, although he declined. In secret, the three men began to meet, dine, and discuss the machinations of allowing themselves to allow the Tories back in by the back door. These meetings would foster the beginning of the split that would engulf the Unionist Party in just under two years over the Jameson Affair.

    In the industrial heartlands, amidst the soot and clatter of machinery, the working class viewed the aristocratic resurgence with deepening distrust. Calloused from labour, their hands held newspapers that spoke of a world seemingly slipping backwards. In contrast, the emerging middle class engaged in heated debates in their modest parlours adorned with the first fruits of their hard-earned prosperity. Some saw an opportunity for stability in the return to traditional values, while others feared the loss of the hard-won freedoms of a more egalitarian society.

    Protests, a nervous pursuit given the violence a year ago, occurred up and down the country, mainly peacefully. Several senior state figures, including Premier of Ireland Michael Davitt, Premier of Scotland Edward McHugh, and most concerningly for the Unionist Party, former Premier of Mercia Jesse Collings, participated in peaceful demonstrations - with the tacit support of Joseph Chamberlain.

    The demonstrations drew support from across the political spectrum, including many Progressive Unionists, Liberal Democrats, and members of the (amazingly) still outlawed Social Democratic Federation. Many flew the Red, White, and Green Republican flag, and a minority burned Union Jacks. In the landmark 2008 study of the Republican movement in Great Britain, Peter Wilson described the aftermath of Lord Salisbury’s appointment as “the seminal moment in the creation of a unified, multi-party, multi-ideological Republican movement.”

    For instance, the air during a demonstration on April 13th was charged with palpable tension on the streets of Manchester. The clatter of horse-drawn carriages blended with the murmur of agitated conversations. At a meeting in St Peter’s Square, the site of Peterloo, the fervour was almost tangible, with voices rising and falling like a tumultuous sea, each wave of rhetoric colliding with the next. The Chancellor of the Free City of Manchester, Herbert Gladstone, rallied a crowd of nearly 25,000, meandering through the surrounding streets, against Salisbury's actions. “It is not by turning to the past that we will progress this nation but condemn her to slow disintegration,” he exclaimed to the masses.

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    Herbert Gladstone, Republican and Chancellor of Manchester

    Despite the criticism of Salisbury and the decisions of the Unionist Party, it should be noted these demonstrations were policed with remarkable restraint across the country. No arrests were made, and no attempt at coercion was employed. While counter-demonstrations by former Teal Guards and militant Monarchists, now coalescing in the National Unionist movement, were conducted, these too were held in check by a robust police presence, seeking to prevent a repeat of the horrors of March 1892. Holding the superficial united front together, Chamberlain gave a speech in Birmingham, during which he was heckled and booed by the crowd, in which he emphasised the “practical gains of the revolution” and stated the need to “continue to stride confidently into the future.” He was, however, now waiting for an opportunity for the Regent to slip up.

    A unique opportunity was afforded to Republicans in the form of a by-election on May 4th in Stockport, triggered by the death of Louis John Jennings, a Unionist Party MP. Local Liberal Democratic Party members, rather than organising a party meeting to select a candidate, issued an appeal to “those of Republican persuasion, of all political creeds, to select a unity candidate to demonstrate this constituency’s distaste at the actions of the Tory attempts to subvert the hard-won freedoms of the Union.” They selected a socialist, George Lansbury, as a ‘United Republican’ candidate for the election and were supported by the LDP, Independent Labour Party, Trade Unions, and a number of local dissenting Unionists.

    Despite much ridicule from the Unionists and major press, Lansbury, campaigning for the disestablishment of the Regency and popular election of the Senate, among other pro-Republican policies, won the election. The Sunday Republic ran the victory on its front page with the headline, “Lansbury shocks the Union in a stunning victory for the Republican cause.” The victory demonstrated the popular appeal of Republicanism and secured its revival. While a unified party advocating Republicanism was not on the agenda, the campaign fermented goodwill between differing strands of the movement and concentrated minds in pursuit of the common goal.

    Still, some Liberals were unhappy with the cooperation with the outlawed SDF, with Farrer Herschell, a senior anti-Socialist Liberal, writing in The Times before the election, “It is regrettable to see the electors of Stockport given no opportunity between a godless Socialist and a Tory. I truly pity their electoral dilemma.”

    Despite the isolated opposition, the Republican movement developed at pace after Salisbury’s symbolic restoration. This desire for cooperation also fostered, perhaps for the first time, a coherent Republicanism policy. One broader realisation by Republicans was that the best way to prevent a takeover of the state by one man would be to not entrust one man to the executive power of the state.

    The publication of the second edition of The Constitutional Documents of the First Revolution, 1628–1660, by Samuel Rawson Gardiner in 1893 did much to inform this debate. His preface, written a month after the death of President-Regent Stanley, informed Liberal debate on the issue. Gardiner presented two hypotheses in the book. The first - that Charles wanted to conserve and protect the past and caused friction between Parliament and the Crown - rang true and spoke to Republicans who believed Lord Salisbury was a reactionary blockade to the natural progress towards the Republic. The second - that the revolutionaries benefitted from collective leadership, and the Commonwealth only collapsed once power was centralised under Cromwell (a claim historians now dispute) - left a great impression on the movement.

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    Samuel Rawson Gardiner, Author of The Constitutional Documents of the First Revolution, 1628–1660

    Especially among the SDF, Salisbury’s rejection of the apparatus of Republican rule fostered a feeling that we wouldn’t always find the right man to act as custodian of the order, like Charles and Salisbury, but a small group could wield the same influence with less room for centralisation. As SDF organiser George Bernard Shaw noted in a letter to Annie Besant’s The Sunday Republic on May 11th, “The weakness of delivering temporary royalty is that sometimes, the head is not large enough to carry the crown. We, in our organisation, believe that the weight should be carried collectively.”

    Following the revival of Republicanism the previous year, Republicans began to discuss openly the drawbacks of the 1875 Constitutional Laws and proposed improvements in publications like The Sunday Republic. One stood out in its clarity and conviction among the voices of dissent. Published in 'The Sunday Republic,' a letter penned by the revered MP from Wales, David Lloyd-George, in support of Lansbury, captured the nation's attention.

    “We stand today at a most pivotal juncture in the chronicles of our great nation, a nation that has withstood the tempests of time and emerged resplendent. Yet, we find ourselves amidst a swirling maelstrom of political machinations that threaten to steer us away from the glorious path of progress and enlightenment back into the shadows of an archaic and feudal past.

    It has become distressingly apparent that the recent reforms proposed by Lord Salisbury are not but a thinly veiled attempt to drag this proud nation back to the dark days of aristocratic dominance and elitism. These reforms, I fear, are a siren song, alluring in their melody of tradition and heritage yet perilous in their intent.

    Under the guise of preserving our cherished traditions, what we witness is a subversion of the very essence of our 1875 Constitutional Laws. This, I must assert, is an affront to the spirit of republicanism – a spirit that breathes life into the ethos of our constitution. We are, I submit, duty-bound to raise our voices against such regression.

    I urge us to ponder deeply on the proposition of concentrating vast executive powers in the hands of a single Regent. This is a dangerous vestige of an age best left behind. The unchecked authority wielded by Lord Salisbury, under the cloak of regal prerogative, stands testament to the inherent vulnerabilities of such a system. The gravitation back towards hierarchical governance and the consolidation of power within select aristocratic circles is a stark reminder of a feudalistic past we have striven to transcend.

    Might we embrace the dream of a true republic? If so, we must question the necessity of entrusting such immense power to one individual. Would it not be more prudent, more reflective of our democratic ideals, to have a council – diverse in thought, representing the myriad voices of our great nation? Such a council would serve as a bulwark against the whims of any one person, ensuring that the path we tread is one of balance, fairness, and representative of the collective will.

    Moreover, our current Constitutional Laws, while groundbreaking at their inception, lack the robust fortifications necessary to safeguard against the erosion of our democratic values. It is incumbent upon us to establish clearer demarcations of executive powers, institute mechanisms for greater accountability, and perhaps even consider term limits to prevent the ossification of power within a select few hands.

    The recent manipulation of the Union Council by Lord Salisbury and the subsequent curtailment of its intended role is indicative of loopholes that must be addressed posthaste. It is a grotesque perversion of democratic principles for a Regent to diminish the influence of duly elected representatives.

    Furthermore, the composition of our Senate and its susceptibility to the machinations of influential cliques pose a significant impediment to the enactment of meaningful reform. This situation demands our immediate attention and warrants a thorough reassessment and possible reconstitution.

    In conclusion, let all Republican-minded Patriots heed this clarion call to action. We must evolve our constitution, fortify it against the ambitions of the few, and ensure it remains a bastion of the people’s will. Let us not allow the hard-fought progress towards republicanism to be relegated to mere footnotes in our history. For if we fail to act, we risk being ensnared once again in the fetters of a bygone era.”


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    David Lloyd George MP, Prominent Republican

    Symbolic restoration, while nostalgic for some, served as a unifying moment for many others, hitherto contented with the Constitutional Laws. The spectre of one man's overarching influence raised grave concerns among Republicans and reformists alike. The very essence of their democratic ideals seemed under threat. With the aristocracy subtly reasserting their influence and traditional structures being revived, there was a palpable unease among the public about the trajectory of their nation.

    It was in this atmosphere that voices of dissent and reform grew louder. Publications like The Sunday Republic served as platforms for debates on the very fabric of the nation's governance. Among them, David Lloyd-George's compelling argument for a collective council resonated deeply. His vision of decentralising executive power, ensuring shared responsibility, and mitigating the risk of unilateral decisions underscored a shift in the public discourse. Finally, in June, Republicans across the country formed The Spence Society, named after early Republican Thomas Spence. This organisation, still functioning today, is one of the key foundations of the Republican movement.

    The Regency Era thus marked a pivotal era in British political history, teetering between traditions of the past and visions for the future. The tension between monarchic nostalgia and the clamour for a more democratised governance would continue to shape the political landscape, with the legacy of Lord Salisbury's 'Regency Era' casting a long shadow on the years to come. Tellingly, Salisbury’s Regency wouldn’t end with the abolition of the institution itself but would set the wheels in motion for the ultimate victory of the Republicans in 1908.
     
    Part 5, Chapter XLVIII
  • V, XLVIII: National Democracy in Action
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    Pro-National Democracy Cartoon, featuring crowds with the Shamrock Banner, a common NDP flag, and the Green-White-Green Tricolour, another common NDP flag

    Amongst the furour of symbolic restoration, Ireland was one area striving confidently into the new area, free from interference. The nation from 1892 under the Premiership of Michael Davitt stands as a pivotal era marked by transformative economic and social policies alongside a growing wave of united Irish nationalism. Appointed as Premier of Ireland and leading the National Democratic Party (NDP), Davitt's administration was driven by a strong ideological commitment to Georgism, which shaped its approach to land reform, taxation, and the broader economic landscape of Ireland. Upon the return of the NDP to Government in 1892, Davitt and his Ministers works incredibly fast, with significant reforms passed in the first 18 months of the term.

    Davitt's economic policies furthered the defining goal of National Democracy: addressing the disparities created by the unequal ownership of land. Central to this was the continued implementation of the Land Value Tax as part of the Plunkett-Sexton Plan. This plan introduced a tax on the unimproved value of land, shifting the economic burden from labour and capital to landowners. The tax ranged from 2d in the pound for smaller estates to 6d in the pound for larger estates, with the wealthiest landlords paying up to 8d in the pound. Such a progressive taxation system aimed to alleviate the burden on tenant farmers and the working class, who had long been subject to the whims of absentee landlords. It also wished to diversify and spread land ownership, by pressuring large landed estates through taxation into selling small plots to put economic power in collective Irish hands.

    The Plunkett-Sexton Plan also involved the transfer of former Crown Lands to tenant farmers and the establishment of a 'Congested Land Board' to regulate fair rents and manage absentee lands. This initiative significantly redistributed land ownership and aligned with Davitt's vision of "Free Land, Free Trade, Free People." The plan notably included exemptions for land used for religious purposes, government buildings, common land, and, crucially, for land pooled into cooperatives. These cooperatives were integral to Davitt's vision of empowering Irish farmers. They provided a framework for collective ownership and management of agricultural land, promoting self-sufficiency and resilience among the rural populace. This was a radical departure from the traditional landlord-tenant system and was seen as a step towards a more equitable and sustainable agricultural sector.

    The Davitt government introduced the Cooperative Farming Act of 1892 on July 22, 1892. This act passed with a strong majority of 75 votes in favour and 41 against in the Legislative Assembly and passed with a majority of six in the Legislative Council three weeks later. The legislation was crucial in promoting the cooperative movement in Irish agriculture. It provided legal and financial frameworks for establishing farming cooperatives, thus empowering tenant farmers to own and manage agricultural land collectively. The implementation of these reforms had profound economic effects. The redistribution of land ownership through the Land Value Tax and cooperative movement led to a more equitable distribution of wealth. Absentee landlords, burdened by the new tax regime, sold their lands, which were then redistributed to Irish tenant farmers.

    Managed by Horace Plunkett, a key NDP loyalist who was made Minister of Agriculture in Davitt’s Government, the implementation of the cooperative elements of the Plunkett-Sexton Plan meant that by 1892, 54% of the land in Ireland was managed in cooperatives: mostly as planned agricultural communities with small plots, voluntarily collectively bargaining with importers on the mainland and for export abroad. Ireland produced surpluses that allowed the cooperatives to invest in new machinery, and amazingly, by 1892, Ireland produced more goods for export than any other state in the Union.

    Moreover, Davitt's government took significant steps to revitalize the Irish language, recognizing its role as a unifying cultural and nationalistic force. A report in 1891, the catalyst for the legislation, had drawn stark warnings for the Irish nation. In 1881, analysis showed that of those born in the first decade of the century, 45% of the population had been raised with Irish, and in 1891, just 10% were raised in the national language. The findings summoned a sense of deep questioning of the nature of Irish statehood, particularly among National Democrats. While O’Connell’s Catholic Liberalism of the Repeal Movement was lukewarm to the status of the language, believing it was an inhibitor to progress, to the new generation of politicians emerging through the NDP, the Irish language was a key element of state-building. The Unionists also preempted the crisis with the Union State Language Act of 1892, introduced within two weeks of the beginning of the new Parliamentary term, which indicated that English should be the sole language for administration. This was a direct attack on linguistic minorities: the Welsh, Irish, and Scots Gaelic, and (however limited) Cornish.

    The Gaelic League, founded in 1893, played a crucial role in this effort, organizing classes, immersion experiences in Gaeltacht areas, and publishing materials in Irish. The revival of the language was intertwined with the broader political project of unifying Ireland under the banner of a shared heritage and identity. Davitt announced at the NDP Congress in 1893 that the party’s name would change from the National Democratic Party to its Irish language translation, An Páirti Daonlathaithe Náisiúnta na hÉireann. Davitt himself would sign letters from this date as Mícheál Dáibhéad, the translation of his name in Irish.

    The Irish government took a decisive step towards cultural resurgence with the landmark Irish Language Act, or Acht na Gaeilge, of 1893. Passed on June 5, 1893, the Act was a bold affirmation of the Irish language as the national language of Ireland. One of the Act's key provisions was the significant increase in funding allocated to the Gaeltacht areas - regions where Irish remained the predominant language. This infusion of resources was aimed at bolstering educational facilities, supporting local economies, and promoting cultural activities that fostered the use and preservation of the Irish language. The Act recognized the Gaeltacht regions as vital bastions of Irish culture and language, deserving of special attention and support to ensure their vitality and growth.

    Perhaps the most transformative aspect of the Act was the introduction of language requirements for civil service, education, and other government positions. Under this new mandate, proficiency in the Irish language became a prerequisite for employment in various government roles. This policy was not merely about filling positions with Irish-speaking individuals; it was a strategic move to ensure that the language regained its stature and became a living, breathing part of the nation's administrative and educational systems.

    The Act also paved the way for the Irish language to be taught as a compulsory subject in schools across Ireland, not just in the Gaeltacht regions. This educational policy aimed to foster a new generation of Irish speakers, ensuring that the language was not relegated to the past but was a dynamic and integral part of Ireland's future. In the realm of public service, the Act mandated that all official government communications and documentation be available in both Irish and English. This bilingual approach was a significant step towards normalizing the use of Irish in everyday governance and public life. Davitt also encouraged the use of Irish on the mainland, also, encouraging Irish workers in the Northern States, like Yorkshire and Scotland, to keep up the language. One of his initiatives was becoming a club patron of Celtic Football Club in 1891. The club invited Davitt to the ground-breaking ceremony of Celtic Park, a football club for the Irish Community in Glasgow.

    In Yorkshire, he is remembered as one of the founding fathers of the movement that eventually gave the State the Tykegaelg creole of Irish - a unique mix of the Irish Language and Yorkshire dialect, spoken by 150,000 residents in Yorkshire and Lancashire. Télefis Foer, the Tykegalg-language television station based in Leeds, is based at Teak na tDabhet in his honor.

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    Davitt breaks ground at Celtic Park, 1892.

    Elsewhere, the movement to revive Gaelic encouraged further movements across the Celtic states. Cornwall created a commission for revitalising Kernow the next year, the new Welsh Government enacted similar legislation in 1895, and the Scottish Government, under fellow National Democrat Edward McHugh, unveiled reforms designed to promote the use of native languages in the Highlands. McHugh also established Comhairle nan Eilean Siar (Council of the Western Isles), which was predominantly Gaelic speaking, to safeguard the language on the Islands and protect its unique interests. With 20 years of the "Celtic Revival," as it became known in the Union, the number of monolingual speakers would increase by 15% in Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, and the number of bilingual speakers would increase by 40%.

    In Cornwall, Henry Jenner founded the Pentreath Society, a group named after the presumed last native speaker of the language, and led a successful campaign to research and map out the language with the help of the Charter Fragment from the British Museum - a fragment of Middle Cornish text. With funds from the Gaelic League, comprehensive classes were taught as early as 1896. The Cornish Language Act of 1906, passed during the Republican Revolution along with the reforms to rename the Cornish Legislature as the Stannary Parliament, increased its usage in national bodies, furthered literature and culture, and was regarded as the beginning of the long revival, which culminated in Cornwall declaring itself officially bilingual in 1999. Similar efforts, while not as wide-reaching given the multi-national composition of the island, were conducted in Ellan Vannin, which changed its name from the English translation, Isle of Man, upon gaining statehood in 1903. Today, the revival of the Manx Language is considered complete, and around 17% of the population, or around 800,000 people, claim to speak some of the language mostly; Manx speakers are confined to those who attend the sixteen Bunscoillí Ghaelgagh, and any of the eight Manx-medium secondary schools.

    On the economic side, the establishment of the Irish National Bank (INB) during Davitt's Premiership was a landmark event in the economic history of Ireland. It was a visionary move aimed at transforming the financial landscape of rural Ireland, which was predominantly agrarian and heavily dependent on agriculture. On October 9, 1892, the Irish National Bank Establishment Act was passed by a vote of 78 to 38 in the Legislative Assembly. This act laid the foundation for the Irish National Bank, providing an initial endowment and outlining its role in offering accessible credit to the agricultural sector. This act faced significant opposition from banking interests but ultimately succeeded due to its promise of economic independence and growth.

    The primary objective of the Bank was to offer accessible and affordable credit to farmers, thereby promoting agriculture, commerce, and industry within Ireland. The initial endowment of £300,000 to set the bank up. This money was raised by a bond issue and an endowment from the sale of lands managed by the Congested Districts Board. This funding was intended to be used to provide low-interest loans to farmers for crop cultivation, livestock breeding, and the purchase of farm equipment.

    The Irish economy was primarily based on farming, with a significant portion of the population engaged in agriculture, especially in the cultivation of potatoes and grains. The farmers of Ireland faced numerous challenges, including fluctuating market prices, exploitation by intermediaries, and exorbitant interest rates charged by urban-based banks. Davitt, understanding the plight of the Irish farmers and their vulnerability to the volatile market and predatory lending practices, proposed the establishment of the INB. This institution was designed as a credit union-style entity aimed to liberate Irish farmers from the grip of high-interest loans from banks located in major cities on the mainland.

    The proposal, however, faced significant opposition from various quarters. The banking trusts, which had a stronghold over the country's financial affairs, saw the Bank as a direct threat to their interests. They feared that the establishment of a state-backed financial institution offering low-interest loans would diminish their market share and influence. Similarly, the grain and railroad trusts, which had long profited from the struggles of the rural populace, opposed the Bank, fearing it would empower farmers and reduce their dependence on these trusts.

    In response to Davitt's proposal, these entities undertook a series of actions to thwart the establishment of the Bank. They funded political opposition, engaged in legal battles to challenge the Credit Union's formation, and boycotted the sale of its bonds. The Catholic Church, through the General League, also ramped up its opposition to the plan.

    Despite these obstacles, the determination of Davitt and the NDP, along with widespread public support, eventually led to the successful establishment of the Irish National Bank. The Bank quickly became a lifeline for Irish farmers, offering them a viable alternative to the exploitative lending practices they had endured for years. It provided much-needed financial support, enabling farmers to invest in their land and livestock, thereby improving their yields and livelihoods.

    Recognizing the importance of robust infrastructure in industrial development, Davitt's government continued to invest heavily in improving transportation networks, including railways, roads, and ports. A public work scheme, paid for by a mix of national and municipal bonds, known as “Patriot Bonds,” help foster a sense of economic pride in the country, and many of the projects, like the Dublin to Dundalk Canal, the Cork to Galway Railway, and the Drogheda Shipping Port, are still in use today. This facilitated easier movement of goods and resources, reducing costs and improving efficiency for industrial operations.

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    Drogheda Shipping Port, 1892

    Davitt's government established research and development grants for industries, particularly in sectors like textiles, shipbuilding, and food processing. Partnerships with universities and technical institutes were encouraged to facilitate knowledge transfer and to develop a skilled workforce tailored to the needs of the evolving industrial landscape.

    The economic policies of the Davitt government, particularly its implementation of Georgist principles, faced criticism and resistance from various quarters. The LVT, while redistributing wealth and breaking up large estates, also sparked concerns among the landowning class and those wary of too drastic an economic transformation. However, the popularity of these policies among the tenant farmers and the working class provided a solid base of support for the NDP.

    In addition to these economic reforms, the Davitt government also focused on social welfare. The Irish Public Health and Welfare Act, passed on January 12, 1893, with an overwhelming majority of 89 to 27, was a landmark piece of legislation. It mandated improvements in sanitation and clean water supply and introduced rudimentary healthcare services, particularly in rural areas. It also laid the groundwork for the construction of hospitals and the development of a district nursing system.

    The period also saw the expansion of public services, including developing a rudimentary district nursing system and constructing hospitals for working-class mothers, signaling a commitment to public health and the well-being of the most vulnerable. Improvements to the Department of Public Health were notable, focusing on sanitation, clean water, and sewage disposal.

    In education, Davitt's government expanded technical education and built new schools, reducing class sizes and making education more accessible. The introduction of free textbooks and assistance with transport costs further democratized education, reflecting the government's belief in the transformative power of learning. The Irish Education Reform Act of 1893, passed on February 18, 1893 brought sweeping changes. It expanded technical education, reduced class sizes, and introduced free textbooks, marking a significant step in making education accessible to all Irish children.

    Despite these successes, the Davitt government faced formidable challenges. The opposition, comprising various factions including traditionalist elements and those aligned with the Orange Movement, continually challenged the NDP's policies. The issue of reunification with the Orange State remained contentious, with debates often centered around questions of identity, sovereignty, and economic interests. Much of this debate concerned the status of Catholics in the Orange State. While the Irish economy was improving, much of the midlands of the country were still overwhelmingly poor, and with agricultural production becoming more efficient, more young men and women were attempting to make it in cities. For much of the North of the Island, Belfast retained significant pull as a metropolis with jobs and better standards of living.

    Thousands poured in to both sides of the city, but Catholics were routinely forced into a position of so-called “ghetto labour.” This practice saw workers from outside the O.S. employed by Belfast factories, but forced to live in West Belfast, which remained in the State of Ireland after the declaration of Orange Statehood. The population of Belfast’s Western Suburbs swelled, and poor wages and conditions exacerbated poor living conditions. The Orange State Government, under the Unionist Party of the Orange State (UPOS), aided by groups like the Orange Order, Legitimist Church, and National Unionists, wished to protect the status of its citizens, fight attempts to force down wages for Loyalist and Protestant workers, and discourage Catholics from settling in the City, so used influence over housing to keep the unsatisfactory arrangement going and Catholic workers locked “over the wall,” as West Belfast was known,

    The presence of Orange groups in suburbs around West Belfast further complicated the situation. Living in the State of Ireland but working in the Orange State, these communities were fiercely pro-Unionist, and regarded the Catholics of West Belfast to have stolen their citadel for themselves. The Orange Order lodge in West Belfast was heavily linked to pro-terror groups, and some of the worst fighting in the March Massacres in Ireland took place in the city. Similarly, in West Derry, militant Legitimists purposefully moved to the area to attempt to seize it for the Orange State. While Sir Thomas Russell, Premier of the Orange State, and Davitt had cordial relations, junior government members on both sides were engaged in a campaign to arm and protect their communities from the other side. A catalyst, it was thought, would explode the situation.

    The Irish Language Act proved just the catalyst. Upon its passing, the City of West Belfast Council decided to honorarily change its name to the Irish Comhairle Cathrach Bhéal Feirste Thiar on July 1, 1893. Legitimists reacted strongly against the move, targeting the ramshackle council chambers with bricks and attempting to storm the building. More from Belfast City came “over the wall,” and a riot ensued. When Irish Minister for Internal Affairs, Thomas Brennan, attempted to contact his opposite number in the Orange State, Edward James Saunderson, about the affair, he was stonewalled. It was later revealed this was because Saunderson had attended one of the protests. Irish State Police were left to protect the building alone, 3 were killed, and 1 injured in the fighting.

    Davitt went to the Irish Legislature and provided a stunning rebuke of the Orange State:

    "The recent events in West Belfast are not just a stain upon the fabric of our society; they are a glaring testament to the abject failure of the State in Belfast to uphold the principles of justice, equality, and human dignity. The heinous actions of these groups, the insidious practices of some within the community, and the deliberate segregation and mistreatment of our Catholic brethren in West Belfast are a flagrant violation of every tenet of civil society.

    The State to the North has not only turned a blind eye to these atrocities but has, in fact, been complicit in perpetuating this cycle of violence and discrimination. Their actions are a deliberate attempt to marginalize and disenfranchise a significant section of our populace. The brazen attack on the City of West Belfast Council is a blatant assault on the democratic rights of our citizens.

    Let it be known that we, the people of Ireland, will not stand idly by as our fellow citizens are subjected to such barbarism and injustice. We demand that the State to the North take immediate and decisive action to quell the violence, to disband these militant groups, and to ensure the safety and rights of all its residents and those within its employment. Let us raise our voices against tyranny and oppression. Let us strive for a future where tolerance, understanding, and mutual respect are the cornerstones of our society."


    In summary, Michael Davitt's tenure as Premier of Ireland marked a significant period of economic, social, and cultural transformation. His administration, underpinned by Georgist principles, successfully implemented sweeping land reforms and introduced innovative financial mechanisms like the Irish National Bank, profoundly impacting Ireland's agrarian economy. The Cooperative Farming Act and the Land Value Tax reshaped Ireland's agricultural landscape, empowering tenant farmers and challenging the traditional landlord system.

    Additionally, Davitt's commitment to cultural revival, particularly through the Irish Language Act, not only preserved the Irish language but also instilled a strong sense of national identity and unity. His efforts in improving public health, education, and infrastructure further demonstrated a comprehensive approach to nation-building. However, Davitt's reforms and policies were not without challenges, facing opposition from various quarters and stirring tensions in the North, notably in West Belfast. These challenges underscore the complex interplay of politics, economics, and culture in Ireland's journey towards self-determination and national identity during this pivotal era.
     
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    Part 5, Chapter XLIX
  • V, XLIX: Not A Fit of Absence of Mind

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    Sir Robert Herbert, Colonial Secretary
    While colonial matters had been central to the ideological glue that held the Unionist Party together, in reality, the first full term of its government had neglected it somewhat. While Australasia had gained Union status in 1891, other colonies were left largely untouched. This chapter examines two cases of significant imperial weight for Britain - India and Greater Southern Africa.

    Part 1 - Killing Nationalism with Kindness​

    A key part of the early Unionist reforms, changes to India’s governance, including the creation of the High Commission, which acted as a coordinating government across the newly created Union of India, was regarded as a success in Britain, with the railways, in particular, providing a feather in the cap for the Unionist Government’s ‘civilising mission’ on the subcontinent.

    Others, including prominent figures in British politics, disagreed. Dadabhai Naoroji, often referred to as the Grand Old Man of India was such a figure. Naoroji’s work and dedication to the economic plight of India under British rule established him as an intellectual force in this period that could not be easily dismissed. Naoroji's meticulous approach in delineating the economic drain from India laid a substantial foundation for the argument for Indian self-governance.

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    Dadabhai Naoroji MP, Liberal Democratic Party (1893-1908)

    Naoroji's early work in economics was marked by an unyielding commitment to unveil the true extent of Britain's exploitation of India's wealth. His Drain Theory, which detailed the systematic transfer of wealth from India to Britain, was groundbreaking when he first presented it to the Oxford Union in 1891. By demonstrating how India's wealth funded British infrastructure both within and outside of India, Naoroji presented a compelling case for the economic emancipation of his homeland. He astutely highlighted the imbalance in trade relations and the suppression of Indian industry in favour of British economic interests.

    This shared struggle against imperial economic practices formed a bridge between Naoroji and Michael Davitt of Ireland. Davitt, a staunch advocate of land reform in Ireland and a member of the National Democratic Party (NDP) saw in Naoroji's advocacy a parallel to the successful Irish quest for self-determination and control over their resources. The National Democracy movement, which Davitt championed, was inspired by Georgist principles and sought to end economic exploitation by absentee landlords, much like Naoroji’s battle against imperial extraction.

    The synergy between the Indian home rule movement and the Irish National Democracy was not coincidental. Both movements sought to reclaim control over local resources and governance. Naoroji and Davitt shared a mutual admiration for each other's work; both saw the importance of a self-sustaining economy as the backbone of national freedom. Their correspondence and shared platforms at various international gatherings helped to foster a spirit of solidarity between Indian and Irish nationalists.

    Naoroji's election to the British Parliament in August 1893 as a Liberal Democrat Party (LDP) MP for Finsbury was a watershed moment for the Indian home rule movement. It was a victory not only for Naoroji himself but also for the broader struggle against colonialism. His narrow win by a margin of eight votes was emblematic of the fierce contest between imperial hegemony and the rising tide of nationalist sentiment - the Unionist candidate, Frederick Thomas Penton, had been stationed in India and spoke prominently about the desire for Imperial unity that Naoroji’s election would threaten. In Parliament, Naoroji's voice became an instrument for the Indian cause, and his first speech solidified his stance that India's relationship with Britain needed to be redefined – from that of a subject people to equal partners within the Empire.

    Naoroji's advocacy for Indian home rule was buttressed by his position as an MP, which allowed him to bring the struggles of India into the political mainstream of Britain. His insistence on equal opportunities for Indian professionals and his calls for Britain to invest in Indian industries mirrored the NDP's aspirations for Ireland. The shared ideologies and strategies between Naoroji and the Irish National Democracy movement highlighted the interconnectedness of the global struggle against colonial exploitation and for national self-determination.

    In the months leading up to his election, Naoroji worked tirelessly, not only to raise awareness about the plight of India but also to build alliances with other colonized nations, including Ireland. His engagement with the NDP and figures like Davitt marked a growing awareness of the global nature of the fight against imperialism. This period of Naoroji's life, culminating in his election as an MP, was marked by the convergence of his economic theories with political action, setting a precedent for future generations of Indian nationalists and creating a blueprint for collaborative resistance that transcended national boundaries.

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    Joseph Chamberlain in 1893

    Chamberlain had some sympathy with the Indian home-rule movement and the INC, as he had with Davitt’s National Democracy, but believed that India could and should be controlled and managed in a different way to the white colonies. While Unionism had an international flavour, it was highly centred on the idea of Britain expanding its influence and highly connected to the Imperial concept.

    Chamberlain had noted in the Highbury Hall conference his desire to further the process of Unionisation, whereby colonies would be slowly prepared to be integrated into a union of entities with similar governance structures - mainly parliamentary democracy and federalism. India was considered a mix of so-called category two and three statuses, which considered territories “incapable” of running themselves. According to Chamberlain’s schedule, India would expect to receive self-government way down the line.

    Naoroji's election, along with important work by senior SDF figures, like The Sunday Republic’s editor-in-chief Annie Besant, brought Indian home rule to the forefront and demanded a rethink of Unionist colonial policy. To Chamberlain, his ongoing political alienation from the core of the Unionist Party, now increasingly guided by Lord Salisbury, India, and the colonies, presented a method of regaining some control.

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    Annie Besant, Editor of The Sunday Republic

    Salisbury was little interested in the minutiae of colonial management but rather in grandiose objectives of prestige and power. His disinterest would allow Chamberlain to further his ideological plans, informed by Seeley and the Imperial Federation League. India and the other colonies not involved in Unionisation efforts could present a first step to regaining an ideological steer for the party.

    In the wake of heightened calls for Indian home rule, Prime Minister Joseph Chamberlain and Colonial Secretary Sir Robert Herbert unveiled a legislative program aimed at pacifying the Indian nationalist aspirations by addressing the systemic issues plaguing India under British rule. This program, while not granting full autonomy, sought to alleviate the critical points of contention by instituting a set of reforms to redress certain issues.

    The central piece of legislation was the Indian Council Act of 1894. This act aimed at redressing the imbalance of power and intiating the process of transitioning India closer to self-governance within the Union framework. The Act established an appointed Central Legislative Council, including a number of native members, introducing a higher degree of representation and a move towards more inclusive governance. The council was to consist of twelve ex-officio members, including the Governor-General and High Commissioner and other members of the High Commission. It also included eighteen additional members, with a balanced mix of official and non-official Indian members, ensuring a platform for Indian voices.

    The timeline for the passage of these bills was swift and decisive, demonstrating the Unionist Party's commitment to stemming the tide of nationalism through proactive reforms. The Indian Council Act of 1894 was introduced in Parliament in early December and, after vigorous debates and some resistance, was passed by April 1894.

    Subsequent legislation aimed to address the lack of internal investment and the absence of immigrants bringing capital and labour for economic growth. Passed in January 1894, this act authorized the allocation of funds for the construction of railways, canals, and roads and established incentives for industries that employed a predominantly Indian workforce. To counter the drain of wealth from India, the Indian Financial Reforms Act of 1894 was introduced, requiring that a portion of the minimum amount of revenue generated from India's resources and industries be reinvested within the country. This act, passed in May 1894, aimed to curtail the outflow of capital and ensure that the principal income earners in India reinvested their wealth domestically.

    Chamberlain, speaking in the Commons, boldly stated, "We seek not to rule over India, but to empower her people to rule alongside us. The legislation we have passed is a testament to our belief in India's potential and our commitment to the Empire's overall prosperity." Colonial Secretary Sir Robert Herbert described the actions collectively as “Killing Nationalism with Kindness.”

    However, opposition to these policies was significant. Critics argued that the reforms were superficial and failed to address the core issue of Indian autonomy. Nationalist leaders, including Davitt, Besant, and Naoroji, while acknowledging the reforms as a step in the right direction, continued to advocate for complete self-governance. The opposition of senior state leaders, like Thomas Farrer and Edward McHugh, and young parliamentarians like Herbert Asquith, who spoke with increasing confidence about the Empire, helped develop a sense of pro-imperial reform within the Liberal Democratic Party.

    The Unionist Party's legislative program, while extensive and impactful, was thus the beginning, not the end, of India's journey towards self-rule. It represented a shift in British policy, from overt control to a more subtle and calculated approach, aiming to quell the rising tide of nationalism not with brute force but with the promise of progressive reform and the gradual inclusion of Indian participation in the governance of their own land.

    Part 2 - Greater Southern Africa​

    Elsewhere, the late 19th century was a period of profound transformation in Southern Africa, marked by political manoeuvres and aspirations for greater unification under British influence. The region, consisting of the Cape Colony, Natal, the Orange Free State, and the Transvaal, while politically disparate, was bound by intricate socio-economic ties. The discovery of diamonds and gold had particularly altered the region's economic landscape, with the Transvaal, bolstered by the Witwatersrand Gold Rush, emerging as a potential powerhouse. The influx of Uitlanders, primarily British, into the gold-rich territory, introduced new complexities into the already intricate political dynamic, setting the stage for conflict and the eventual push for consolidation under British dominion.

    At the forefront of this push for unification was Cecil Rhodes, Prime Minister of the Cape Colony and Governor under the auspices of the British South Africa Company. Rhodes, a man of expansive ambitions, envisaged a Southern Africa unified under British control—a vision that extended beyond mere economic dominance to encompass a political federation that would consolidate British influence from the Cape to Cairo.

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    Cecil Rhodes, Prime Minister of the Cape Colony

    Rhodes's strategy was underpinned by the principles of Unionism, an ideology that sought to amalgamate disparate territories into a federated structure, mirroring the successes of the Union of Australasia. His proposal, presented to Lord Salisbury and Joseph Chamberlain in September 1893, delineated the territories of the Cape and Natal as Category 1 colonies, akin to self-governing dominions within the British Empire. The Transvaal and the Orange Free State, despite their established republics, were to be reclassified similarly, incorporating them into the envisioned federation. The remaining British holdings, largely under the control of the British South Africa Company, were to be governed as Category 3 territories, effectively placing them under the new state's jurisdiction. The new federation, Rhodes proposed, would be called the “Union of Greater Southern Africa.”

    This grand scheme, however, was not without its challenges and detractors. The conflation of commercial interests, particularly the control over the burgeoning gold mining industry by Rhodes and his business partner Alfred Beit, with political governance further complicated the ethical considerations of such unification. Similar wrangles, like the extent of suffrage and the role of non-Europeans in the political process, continued to be a sticking point between the colonies.

    Rhodes favoured a hardline strategy and the leadership of the new federation to be placed firmly in British hands, undermining the Boers and non-Europeans alike: the Cape was to host the Parliament of the proposed state, more seats would initially be given to the Cape Colony, and more profits from the British South Africa Company diverted to its projects. Once they learned of the plans, in November 1893, Paul Kruger, President of the South African Republic (ZAR), said, “it is a plan made by fools for the purposes of making fools of all of us.”

    Alfred Milner, former editor of The Union, disgraced by the March Massacres, played a crucial role in the negotiations. His diplomatic skill and understanding of Unionist politics were instrumental in navigating the complex interplay of interests that characterized the discussions. The plan for unification under Unionism was a bold one, reflective of the era's imperialist ethos and the belief in the civilizing mission of the British Empire. It was a plan that sought not only to secure economic resources but also to assert political control to bring order to what was perceived as a fragmented and untamed landscape.

    Yet, the path to such unification was fraught with obstacles. The Boer Republics valued their independence and were wary of British intentions, particularly in light of the Uitlander issue and the imposition of taxes on the gold industry. The political machinations required to bring these republics into the fold would necessitate a delicate balance of diplomacy and, perhaps, a measure of coercion. Chamberlain was unconvinced that such a peaceful unification could take place and was reluctant, with the precarious nature of European peace, to undertake a war with the Boer Republics to gain the territories. Equally, the Germans, a key ally, were fiercely against military action on the Boers. Salisbury, however, was more malleable to the idea.

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    Alfred Milner and British Officers in Cape Town, 1893

    In the shadowed halls of power, where the fate of nations was often decided far from the public eye, a covert military strategy was taking shape that would dramatically alter the geopolitical landscape of Southern Africa. This plan, conceived with the tacit approval of Lord Salisbury, the Regent, aimed to forcibly advance the Unionisation of Southern Africa—a project of political amalgamation to extend British hegemony over the region.

    Prime Minister Joseph Chamberlain, a man whose political acumen was matched by his imperial ambitions, was curiously left out of the loop regarding these clandestine maneuvers. Whether by design or oversight, the true extent of the military machinations was concealed from him, a testament to the complex interplay of personal rivalries and political stratagems within the upper echelons of British governance.

    At the heart of this shadow campaign was Major-General Charles George Gordon, a figure of near-mythic reputation who had, in another reality, met his end in Sudan. Yet here, Gordon remained a pivotal figure, the Governor-General of the British colonies in Southern Africa, whose military prowess and imperial vision found resonance with Lord Salisbury's broader objectives. Gordon, alongside Salisbury, Alfred Milner, and Cecil Rhodes, formed a clandestine quartet, each driven by their own motivations but united in their commitment to the Unionisation plan. Salisbury, wary of Chamberlain's potential reservations and cognizant of the need for discretion, sought to leverage Gordon's military expertise to execute a plan reminiscent of the historical Jameson Raid.

    The plan was audacious in its scope and simplicity: a rapid, decisive military action that would topple the existing structures of the Transvaal and the Orange Free State, replacing them with a British-controlled federation. This swift strike would be justified as a necessary measure to protect British citizens and interests, particularly in light of the increasing tensions surrounding the Uitlander predicament and the economic allure of the gold mines.

    Gordon, ever the soldier, understood the risks but was invigorated by the prospect of a united Southern Africa under the Union Jack. His support for the plan, however, was not merely about military conquest; it was about securing a lasting peace and order in a land he believed was destined for greater unity. Milner, the astute diplomat, played a vital role in shaping the political narrative that would accompany the military endeavour. His influence ensured that the operation, while aggressive in nature, would be cloaked in the language of liberation and progress, aligning it with the civilizing rhetoric that underpinned so much of British imperial ideology. He began to use his contacts at The Union to launch political attacks on Kruger and the Boer Republics. Rhodes, the final piece of this conspiratorial puzzle, brought to the table not only his considerable economic clout but also a charismatic zeal for imperial expansion. His involvement was crucial, providing both the financial resources and the strategic connections necessary to stage such an operation from within the Cape Colony.

    As the plan took shape, it became a spectre hanging over the future of Southern Africa—a gambit that, if successful, would dramatically shift the balance of power in favour of the British Empire. Yet, such schemes are fraught with unpredictability, and the spectre of failure loomed large. The impending action, though hidden from Chamberlain and the wider world, would soon reveal itself on the stage of history, its consequences reverberating through the annals of imperial legacy.

    Part 3 - Conclusion​

    Joseph Chamberlain's strategy toward India and Greater Southern Africa was characterized by its nuanced approach to colonial administration and its intention to foster stability through reform. Chamberlain's support for incrementally integrating the colonies into a federal union highlighted his belief in a structured yet flexible approach to empire-building. His understanding of the complexities of colonial governance was underscored by his willingness to implement changes that addressed the specific needs and aspirations of the colonial subjects, albeit within the limits of British imperial interests.

    However, Chamberlain's strategies were not without their problems. In India, while the establishment of the passage of the Indian Council Act of 1894 was seen as a progressive step, it was criticized for falling short of granting genuine autonomy. The measures, though extensive, were perceived as superficial by Indian nationalists who continued to clamour for complete self-governance. The Unionist reforms, despite their intent to 'kill nationalism with kindness,' were met with skepticism by figures like Dadabhai Naoroji, whose advocacy for Indian home rule persisted unabated, highlighting the limitations of Chamberlain's reformist agenda.

    In Greater Southern Africa, Chamberlain's reluctance to embrace Cecil Rhodes's push for unification under a British-controlled federation stemmed from a cautious approach to colonial expansion. The divergence of views between Chamberlain and Salisbury on the use of military intervention to achieve political objectives in the region further complicated the situation. The secret military plans, resembling the historical Jameson Raid and orchestrated without Chamberlain's explicit knowledge, underscored the contentious nature of colonial policy and the potential for discord within the highest ranks of British political leadership.

    The strategy for Southern Africa, while ambitious, was fraught with challenges, including the need to navigate the political aspirations of the Boer Republics and manage the tensions wrought by economic exploitation and racial politics. The envisioned unification under British rule was not just a quest for economic dominance but also a pursuit of political control over a region marked by its diversity and its potential for conflict.

    The clandestine military plans, initiated with Salisbury's support and Gordon's advocacy, were emblematic of the era's imperialist ethos and reflected a willingness to employ force to achieve political ends. The involvement of figures like Milner and Rhodes in these plans indicated a convergence of commercial interests with political ambitions, raising ethical considerations about the justifications for such intervention.

    In conclusion, Chamberlain's strategy towards the colonies was a delicate balancing act between the desire for political control and the recognition of the growing nationalist sentiments within the colonies. The problems that emerged from this strategy were indicative of the inherent tensions in British imperial policy—a policy that sought to reconcile the ideals of progress and civilizing mission with the realities of economic exploitation and the quest for political hegemony. Chamberlain's legacy in colonial affairs, thus, remained a complex tapestry of reformist aspirations, political pragmatism, and the unyielding realities of imperial ambition.
     
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    Supplemental: 1893 German Election
  • From Blood and Iron: Germany between the February Constitution and the Revolution by Katya Hoyer;
    “The election of 1893 was set against a backdrop of shifting political landscapes, both domestically and internationally. This period was characterized by a conservative turn in German politics, a reassertion of imperial authority, and heightened tensions with neighbouring powers, particularly France.

    The 1893 election came on the heels of the termination of the conservative government of Rudolf von Bennigsen in 1890 and the subsequent appointment of Leo von Caprivi as Chancellor by Kaiser Wilhelm II. Caprivi's government, though initially promising, struggled to maintain a majority in the Reichstag, leading to an increasing intervention by Kaiser Wilhelm II. Wilhelm pressed ahead with a budget that funnelled more money to the Army in 1892 without the Reichstag’s approval, a sign of the loosening grip on power Caprivi had. The failure to counteract the revolution in France, embarrassing climbdowns for the Imperial Army on the French border, and a perceived lack of respect from European states in comparison to Britain were blamed on Caprivi.

    In addition, a relentless campaign of the right involving newspapers, organisations, and Parliamentarians undermined confidence in the Chancellor. Criticism came particularly from two upstart German nationalists, Carl Peters and Alfred Hugenberg, who formed the General German League, affiliated with senior Conservative and chairman of the DKP Reichstag Group, Otto von Manteuffel, primarily to smear Caprivi. The League received extensive press coverage, criticising the Chancellor over Germany’s support for Iberia, which it described as a “godless, dangerous, and mutant form of society.” Peters, in particular, was scathing towards Caprivi for avoiding confrontation with Britain to secure more colonial holdings, describing “the policy of turning the fatherland into a patient lapdog of the English.”

    Wilhelm resonated with the belief that Caprivi was not forceful enough in expanding German territory abroad, and the smears caused reputational damage with influential echelons of society. As his unpopularity grew, members of the Reichstag flaked away from the DFP and withdrew their support for his government. Caprivi, struggling to assert his authority on the Diet, was dismissed after a failure to pass yet another budget in May 1893 and replaced with Botho zu Eugenburg, who was supported by the Conservative Party (DKP).

    Botho zu Eulenburg, born into the influential Eulenburg family, carried a legacy that was deeply intertwined with the Prussian aristocracy and the German imperial court. His family connections placed him in a unique position within the upper echelons of German society. His elder brother, August zu Eulenburg, served as the Marshal of the Prussian royal court, a role that underscored the family's close ties to the monarchy. This position granted the Eulenburgs significant influence and access to the highest levels of power in Germany.

    Additionally, Botho was a second cousin to Prince Philip of Eulenburg, a figure of considerable importance in the late 19th-century German political landscape. Prince Philip was not only a close personal friend of Kaiser Wilhelm II but also a pivotal behind-the-scenes player in German politics. His intimate relationship with the Kaiser allowed him to exert significant influence over key decisions and policies, often acting as an informal advisor to Wilhelm II.

    Botho zu Eulenburg's proximity to these powerful figures undeniably shaped his political career. His aristocratic background, combined with his family's close connections to the royal court and the Kaiser, played a crucial role in his ascent to the position of Chancellor. These relationships provided him with insights into the inner workings of the German Empire and access to the Kaiser's inner circle, positioning him as a trusted and influential figure. At the time of the election, Eugenburg was a Prussian delegate in the Reichsrat, not the Reichstag, as the convention proposed, marking the stark departure from the more liberal approach of Friedrich III and his successor, Wilhelm II, who sought to centralize power and reassert Germany's position on the world stage.

    The central issue in the 1893 election was the future direction of Germany—whether it would continue along the path of liberal democracy as envisaged in the February Constitution of 1881 or revert to a more authoritarian model preferred by Kaiser Wilhelm II. The election campaign was dominated by these two visions for Germany's future. The DKP, supporting Eulenburg, campaigned on a platform of strong nationalistic and authoritarian governance, advocating for increased military spending and a tougher stance against the SPD, Jewish, and Actionist movements (nearly nonexistent in Germany and opposed to other two) and a firm hand against the aggrandising of France.

    Meanwhile, the German Free-minded Party (DFP), Zentrum, and the Social Democratic Party (SPD) sought to uphold the liberal democratic values enshrined in the February Constitution, emphasizing the need for social reforms and protection of civil liberties. They also advocated for a more measured approach to foreign policy, against the will of Wilhelm.

    The Kaiser's growing influence was evident in the election, with his support for Eulenburg and the Conservatives. This support was rooted in Wilhelm II's personal desire for a more assertive, expansionist foreign policy and a domestic agenda that curtailed the powers of the Reichstag, favouring rule by decree. This approach, however, was fraught with risks, as it alienated the liberals and social democrats who had been gaining strength in the Reichstag.

    As the election results came in, it was clear that no single party had gained a majority. The Reichstag's composition reflected the deep divisions within German society. The SPD emerged as a significant force, capturing the most votes for the first time, winning 45 seats, an increase of 10. This result reflected the growing discontent among the working class and the impact of industrialization. The Zentrum Party, representing political Catholicism, was punished for its role in the government and won only 68 seats. The DKP controlled 126 seats, well short of a majority, but good enough for a plurality of seats. The DFP was reduced to 77 seats, and a slew of regionalist parties, ideological fringes, and single-interest groups returned a record of 81 seats collectively.

    The fragmented nature of the Reichstag made forming a government a complex task. Kaiser Wilhelm II, exerting his influence, refused the resignation of Botho zu Eulenburg as Chancellor. Eulenburg, a reactionary figure, was more aligned with the Kaiser's vision of a strong, assertive Germany. The Kaiser's assertion that Eulenburg continue signalled the end of Caprivi's more moderate policies and a return to a more authoritarian style of governance.

    Seventy seats short of a majority, Eulenburg searched through disaffected DFP members, Zentrum members, and a large number of minor parties to construct a working majority, but it was a difficult task. One of the groups he courted was Peters and Hugenberg’s General German League, which folded into the Conservative Party soon after the election.

    Under Eulenburg, the government took a hardline stance against the SPD and other socialist and Actionist groups. Repressive measures were instituted, forcing a conciliation between these groups, which had previously been at odds. Eulenburg still lacked a majority in the Reichstag but circumnavigated this with the so-called "Prussian Coup" in 1894, where the government began to rule largely by decree. These actions were justified by the heightened diplomatic tensions, particularly with France, but they incensed liberals and further polarized German politics.

    Internationally, Germany's foreign policy under Eulenburg saw a retreat from the Accord Powers and a reassertion on the world stage. The Kaiser's ambition to transform Germany into a world power led to a more hostile stance towards France and a distancing from Russia, with a pivot towards maintaining relations with Britain and the United States, isolating France, and refraining from the wider Accord Powers’ diplomatic ties, especially Japan. This shift was part of Wilhelm II's broader strategy of expanding German influence globally, and both Eulenburg and Wilhelm would seek increased colonial expansion and increased involvement in international affairs. Eulenburg would also seek a great expansion in the German Army, which returned to a prominent role in political affairs.

    The 1893 German election and the programme of the Eulenburg government marked a pivotal moment in German history. It represented a conservative turn in German politics, a challenge to the liberal democratic principles established in the February Constitution, and a reassertion of imperial authority. The impact of these developments was profound, setting the stage for the complex interplay of domestic and foreign policies that would define the last years of the 19th century and the early 20th century in Germany.”
     
    Part 5, Chapter LX
  • This is a bit of a doooozy, but this should fill us in on pretty much everything we need to know about France until the end of 1894, and this allows us to get back to Britain by just writing everything about France in one go. It's split into sections, so hopefully that helps!

    V, LX: The Dream State - France under Auguste Keufer

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    Keufer on the front page of a pro-CGT Newspaper
    Few in Europe knew, in 1893, where power actually lay in France. The emergence of the Federative Popular Union of the Francophones (Federative Union, or France) brought with it many institutions, groups, and factions vying for power. Still, until the new constitution had bedded in, it was unclear how the new constitution would work.

    There was an executive, the Dictator Généralissme Georges Boulanger, a legislature, the Federative Congress, and a series of courts established. Despite this, the Dictator was enumerated with extensive powers, and the question arose of how the dictator, who overruled every other branch, would work with others, given his aloofness during his last period of power. A devolution of power was expected.

    The expected devolution of power to the legislative and executive branches planned in the constitution put one man in the pathway of power - Auguste Keufer. The leader of the CGT faction of the Boulangists had done most to align himself with the legislative and executive branches, had been a key organiser of the labour unions during the revolution, and was genuinely popular among most of the working class.

    Part 1 - From Typographer to Premier​

    Keufer was born into poverty in Alsace and was orphaned early in life before moving to Paris. His journey from a typographer to a leader was marked by his deep involvement in the labor movement. His leadership within the trade union movement, particularly in the French Federation of Book Workers (FFTL), positioned him as a prominent figure in the workers' struggle. His advocacy for mutual aid and solidarity, underpinned by his positivist beliefs, resonated with the workers he represented in the Third Republic as he took his first steps into political life.

    Keufer's rise to prominence was catalyzed by the political upheavals following the annexation of Alsace and Lorraine, which instilled in him a strong sense of national and class identity. His involvement in forming the Federative Popular Union of the Francophones (FPUF) further solidified his stature.

    On May 1st, International Workers Day, Boulanger finally put the debate over governmental structure to bed when he issued the “Decree on Governmental Organization.”. This proclaimed that while ultimately all power would rest with Boulanger, the Federative Congress would be elected and an Executive Committee appointed, responsible to the Congress and the Dictator. Boulanger reserved some matters to his own administration, most notably internal and security, and foreign affairs, but in general, civilian government and economic affairs, otherwise known as bits of government Boulanger had found himself bored by during his last spell in charge, were given back to the new institutions of government.

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    Workers in Paris, 1893

    When the election arrived for the Federative Congress in May 1893, around 800 members of the 1500-man body (both chambers had 750 members) aligned with the trade union movement: nominated by syndicates, workers cooperatives, or other associated movements.

    Keufer's leadership within the Federative Congress was challenged by a multifaceted opposition characterized by diverse ideologies and strategic objectives. On one hand, the veterans, military commanders, and rightists within the Congress, though less ideologically cohesive, shared a common skepticism towards Keufer's labor-centric approach. Their apprehensions were rooted in a desire to maintain traditional power structures and a fear of radical social transformation. This group, often influenced by nationalist sentiments, sought to preserve France's historical identity and resist what they perceived as excessive democratization of the economy and society.

    The nationalist faction, in particular, emerged as a formidable force under the leadership of figures like Charles Maurras and George Sorel. Their advocacy for an exclusive Actionist vision of France was in stark contrast to Keufer's inclusive and progressive policies. Maurras and his followers aimed to reshape the FPUF into a state that prioritized traditional values, strong centralized authority, and a clear French identity, often at the expense of minority groups and progressive ideals. This internal ideological battle within Congress and the government at large significantly shaped the political landscape Keufer navigated, creating a constant tension between revolutionary progressivism and conservative nationalism. Boulanger flittered between both sides, advocating patriotism but learning from his mistakes, keeping the working class on his side.

    After the election, it was a nearly ubiquitous opinion among the candidates that Keufer would lead the Executive Committee of the Congress and, therefore, the executive government. Individual parties weren’t organised, or recognised, in the first election to the Congress. Still, a large number were members of the CGT, labour unions, or worker’s militias and held their loyalty to Keufer. The 42-year-old, the modern face of French politics, was nominated by the Congress on May 2nd, 1893, as Chairman of the Executive Committee and held considerable power within his hands upon appointment.

    Part 2 - Reconstructing the Economy​

    Keufer’s tenure marked a period of significant domestic policy initiatives and reconstruction efforts aimed at healing a fractured nation and rebuilding its economic foundations. Keufer's leadership was characterized by a dual focus on national reconciliation and economic revitalization, underpinned by innovative strategies that sought to balance the diverse interests of a newly unified France under the Federative Popular Union of the Francophones (FPUF).

    One of Keufer's first major policy initiatives was the nationalisation of emigré holdings. This bold move aimed to redistribute wealth more evenly across the nation and fund the massive reconstruction efforts required. The nationalization was not merely an economic measure but a symbolic act of reclaiming French assets for the benefit of all its citizens, particularly those who had suffered the most during the preceding conflicts. By redirecting these resources towards rebuilding the nation, Keufer sought to foster a sense of collective ownership and responsibility among the populace, laying the groundwork for a more equitable society.

    The formation of the Fédération Interalliée Des Anciens Combattants (FIDAC) marked another cornerstone of Keufer's reconstruction strategy. Initially envisioned as a means to prevent the mass unemployment associated typically with the demobilization of soldiers and utilize their skills in the reconstruction process, FIDAC evolved into a more complex entity.

    While it played a critical role in clearing rubble, repairing infrastructure, and revitalizing communities, over the course of its time, FIDAC transformed into a conservative and nationalist body under the influence of Charles Maurras' brand of Actionism. FIDAC’s ideology metamorphosis revealed the underlying tensions within the French polity. This shift underscored the challenges Keufer faced in balancing the demands and aspirations of various factions within the nation. The emergence of divisions between urban workers and rural veterans, particularly around the August reconstruction campaign, highlighted the difficulties in reconciling the diverse interests and visions for France's future.

    Keufer's economic strategies were perhaps the most ambitious aspect of his leadership. The introduction of the FPUF “New Model” represented a radical departure from traditional economic practices. By creating worker-run cooperatives for each industry, managed through collective decision-making and represented by a body in the Council of Syndicates, Keufer aimed to democratize economic production and ensure that the benefits of labor were equitably shared. This model sought to empower workers and foster a sense of collective enterprise, challenging the hierarchical structures that had previously dominated French industry.

    The Commission économique (Coméc) was established as the main planning and management body for the French economy, tasked with overseeing the transition to the new cooperative model. Coméc's role was crucial in coordinating the economic reconstruction of France, from the revitalization of industrial material production to the transformation of the agricultural sector. Under Keufer's guidance, Coméc implemented policies that returned the country to approximately 60% of its pre-war economic levels within 18 months—a remarkable achievement given the devastation wrought by the civil war.

    The agricultural sector, in particular, underwent significant transformation. With 62% of French land cooperatively owned by December 1893, the shift towards collectivization was marked by both voluntary participation and coercion, as lands were seized from emigrés and deserting landowners. This period saw a fierce struggle for control between religious communes, aligning with conservative nationalist Comités and secular communes over the apportionment of land. These challenges would grow in the coming years as Gallocatholicism grew in France. Despite the challenges, the move towards collectivization represented a significant step towards realizing Keufer's vision of a society based on mutual aid and solidarity.

    However, Keufer's strategies were not without their drawbacks. The emphasis on collectivization and nationalization alienated certain segments of the population, particularly among the rural peasantry, who found themselves caught between the ideological battles of religious and secular communes. Moreover, the rapid implementation of the FPUF “New Model” and the extensive powers granted to Coméc raised concerns about centralizing economic authority and the potential for bureaucratic overreach.

    The economic and social impact of Keufer's ambitious FPUF “New Model” and nationalization efforts was profound and far-reaching. The nationalization of emigré holdings, while symbolizing a break from the past, faced criticism for potentially stifling individual enterprise and discouraging foreign investment. The redistribution of wealth, though beneficial for societal equity, raised questions about the long-term sustainability of the economy and the government's ability to efficiently manage these vast resources. Patronage played a part in this - Boulanger rewarded loyalty with appointments to some key positions across major industries and often used his role as dictator to shield some of the effects of the reforms on allies. Allowances for some private enterprises, combined with Keufer’s soft line on the press, meant individuals exerted significant influence on the media and funnelled their funds into groups like FIDAC, influencing them to take a more nationalist line.

    The implementation of worker-run cooperatives marked a radical shift in the industrial landscape. While it empowered workers and promoted a sense of collective responsibility, it also encountered practical challenges. The transition to cooperative management required significant reorganization, training, and a cultural shift in work practices. Some industries adapted more successfully than others, leading to disparities in productivity and efficiency. Furthermore, the extensive powers granted to Coméc, though instrumental in coordinating economic activities, were critiqued for centralizing economic control, potentially leading to bureaucratic inefficiencies and a lack of responsiveness to local needs.

    Agriculturally, the collectivization efforts saw mixed results. The initial increase in cooperative ownership of land was a significant achievement, but it was not without its difficulties. The struggle between religious communities, which formed communes around churches, and larger, secular communes in the orbit of towns and cities over land control reflected deeper societal divisions. In some regions, the transition to cooperative farming was met with resistance from traditional landowners and farmers accustomed to individual ownership. These divisions brought many sectors of agricultural society together into the Comités, as they felt through them, they had the best chance of survival. The balance between voluntary and coercive collectivization through the Comités and Keuferists remained a contentious issue, illustrating the complexity of implementing revolutionary ideals in a diverse and historically rooted agricultural sector.

    Part 3 - Challenges to Keufer's Leadership​

    Auguste Keufer's tenure as the leader of the Federative Popular Union of the Francophones (FPUF) was marked by significant achievements in reconstructing and reorganizing France post-revolution. However, his leadership also faced formidable challenges that tested the resilience and unity of the new government. These challenges stemmed not only from the inherent difficulties of post-war reconstruction but also from deep internal divisions, the rising influence of nationalist ideologies, and diplomatic crises that threatened to undermine France's standing on the international stage.

    One of the first major tests of Keufer's leadership came from within the movement itself, particularly concerning the policy on colonial holdings, known as the "territories" policy, implemented in June 1893. This policy was designed as an interim step towards the full integration of colonial territories into the FPUF, granting them a degree of local decision-making while retaining control of foreign policy at the Union level. The intention was to eventually extend citizenship rights to colonial citizens, a progressive move aimed at solidifying Francophone unity across the empire.

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    Algeria, 1893

    However, this policy quickly became a point of contention within the Federative Congress. Many members, even within Keufer's own supporters, fiercely opposed the idea of extending citizenship and autonomy to colonial territories. The opposition was not merely ideological but also reflected deeper anxieties about preserving French identity and the potential dilution of the metropolitan political and cultural dominance. Despite Keufer's efforts to rally support, the law faced a deadlock in Congress, leading Boulanger to issue a decree to pass the law unilaterally, highlighting a significant rift within the movement and casting doubt on the consensus-building capabilities of Keufer's leadership.

    The internal divisions were further exacerbated by the rising influence of nationalist ideologies within the government. A pivotal moment came on July 31, 1893, when Charles Maurras, a fervent nationalist and advocate of an exclusive brand of Actionism, was appointed as Boulanger's personal secretary. This appointment signified a shift in the power dynamics within the FPUF, as Maurras wielded his position to push for policies that aligned with his nationalist and conservative agenda, often at odds with Keufer's more inclusive and progressive vision.

    Maurras's influence rapidly extended beyond the confines of his official role as he became a key figure in rallying nationalist sentiments across the country. His appointment marked a clear departure from the initial principles of the revolution, steering the government towards a more authoritarian and exclusionary stance. This ideological shift not only undermined Keufer's authority but also signaled the growing chasm between the revolutionary ideals and the pragmatic realities of governing a nation in turmoil.

    Part 4 - The Siege of Rouen​

    The most glaring manifestation of the challenges to Keufer's leadership, however, was the diplomatic disaster known as the Rouen Hostage Crisis. The lead-up to the crisis began with the strategic importance of Rouen, which had become a pivotal battleground in the ongoing conflict between the FPUF forces and the remaining Royalist strongholds. Royalists had established a corridor between Rouen and the coast, enabling the influx of supplies and reinforcements from sympathetic foreign powers, particularly Germany and Britain.

    On May 18th, 1893, Boulanger ordered a siege to cut off Rouen from external support, which was executed with such efficiency that it inadvertently trapped foreign diplomats, including Americans, British, and German senior officials within the city, all of whom had fled when the city was overrun with rebels to safety. The Popular Army's decision not to release those diplomats led to widespread international condemnation and placed France in a precarious diplomatic position.

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    Joan of Arc Statue, Rouen. The Statue was destroyed during the Siege

    As has been alluded to in previous chapters, The Popular Army was a skilled organisation, but not a well-disciplined one. Many were still hastily convened; structures were not yet totally formalised, and routinely, the different regional commands, which despite notionally having been abolished still operated on an ad-hoc basis. The Western Command drew heavily from Catholic areas, and armies in this command were more nationalistic, less inclined to syndicalism, and more religious. Scores of priests were among the cadre that travelled with the troops. For the men in this command, Actionism meant service to God and country. At Rouen, the final resting place of Joan of Arc, the presence of, to them, a foreign King was nothing short of the devil’s work.

    A heroic “final push” was orchestrated through a mastery of the press. “Evidence” of the complicity in plots by the remaining bureaucrats and clerks left in Rouen whipped up hysteria, and thanks to a near worldwide blockade, outside information was scarce. It was easy to believe this was the case - it is exactly why the diplomats were there in the first place - but the remaining staff, although senior, were not decision-makers nor plotters. What remained of the battered Royal Army in Rouen, around 5,000 men gathered on leave in the town, of which 1,500 were gathered from a hospital, injured before the battle began. Despite this, the city was well stocked and had ammunition, so they were gathered and dug in on the banks of the Seine in the South and throughout a forest to the North of the City.

    Most defended a perimeter of the city itself, with guard points, a hastily constructed wall, and, in one of the sadder ironies of the conflict, barricades in pathways led by enthusiastic civilians keen to defend a king. Another of the sad ironies was that the King was one of the last to escape through the grasp of the Popular Army, heading down the Seine to sail to Africa. France’s last King fled on a barge before hitching a ride with a merchant from the region, who made arrangements for the monarch to seek refuge in Equatoria - the small but rapidly growing settlement of ex-monarchs and their followers, led by Isabel, Countess of Girgenti, uncrowned Queen of Spain (in Equatoria, but that is a story for another time).

    The Royalist Army fared well and defended the city resolutely, making it much harder than expected for the Actionists. Expected to last around two days, the siege went on for weeks. The Popular Army resorted to artillery, cannon fire, and attempting to start fires in Rouen to smoke the Royalists out. To their credit, they wouldn’t budge. The two sides ravaged it out for weeks on end, with the situation in the city getting worse and worse.

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    General Ferdinand Foch, senior official in the Popular Army

    General Foch, in charge of the operation, routinely disregarded the opinions of the Executive Committee, especially Keufer, to reduce the damage to the city and to prevent unnecessary loss of life. Foch agreed with the notions of Keufer, but the passion of their troops towards the city, and the fragile and fluid times they lived in made Foch believe he had to continue with the assault for fear of mutiny among these hyper-motivated Popular Army. They threw everything at the Royalists, who defended with absolute steel. A recipe for large-scale loss of human life. Adding to the energy of the troops, Boulanger visited Rouen four times in the first month of the operation, each without Keufer’s knowledge. Each time, he encouraged the fight and said, “Spare no effort to liberate the last vestiges of monarchy!”

    Keufer, who had been sidelined in the decision-making process leading to the siege, found himself powerless to the decisions of the Army and felt emasculated not only abroad but at home. The public, whipped in revolutionary fever, cheered on the Popular Army. Chants of “Kill the traitors and their allies” and “Death to the Germans” became commonplace as patriotism swelled through the country once again. The euphoria of victory, combined with nationalism and the fragility and hyper state of the Popular Army at the height of its powers, made France a dangerous place to be insufficiently French during the crisis.

    While guillotines weren’t erected, the Popular Army’s military police and auxiliary units continued covert operations. While the situation in cities was calmer, as the National Guard generally patrolled the streets, in the countryside, and in newly acquired territory, the Popular Army cracked down on dissent. Much of the country, almost all of it under the control of the Popular Army, had exceedingly low turnout rates due to the fear of reprisal and repression. In these areas, the Comité, a group allowing individuals to show their loyalty to the regime, and FIDAC, the organisation responsible for representing veterans with strong links to the Popular Army, were the only way out from repression.

    The Siege of Rouen would eventually last three months. Around 15,000 were killed in the city; it was reduced to ashes by constant artillery and only fell when the last battalion standing, a group of bankers and their clerks given rifles by the remaining Generals of the sinking Royalist Army, were wiped out when a Popular Army unit burned out their last stronghold, a local bank. The town’s remaining 12,000 or so were herded into train cars. Under pressure from international actors, including Austrian Emperor Franz Joseph, and facing pressure from Keufer and the Congress, Boulanger finally ordered the release of the diplomats. However, the damage to France’s image was enormous. The handling of the Rouen Hostage Crisis exposed the fragility of the new government's international standing and, for Keufer, highlighted the limitations of his control over the military and foreign policy decisions.

    After the battle was declared won, Keufer regained the upper hand. The Federative Congress’ Defense Committee, at Keufer’s covert request, conducted a full investigation into the failures of Rouen, which had cost thousands of lives and millions of Francs and resulted in nothing more than a few trains full of prisoners the state was sure to release.

    Foch was earnest about the failings in a private debrief and was willing to file a full report. Still, before the hearings could begin, a group of nationalists in the Congress persuaded Boulanger to intervene. No hearings would be held. Keufer, learning the game of power in the new France, arranged a fake robbery with one of his staff, leading to the files being “released” to the Paris press. Among the more respectable classes and the working class in the city alike, public pressure forced Boulanger to act, and two other senior officers from the Western Command were dismissed. Foch, thanks to Keufer’s intervention, was saved. In the West, the move was taken as a punishment for doing their duty to France - Keufer attracted severe criticism from the Comités. Abroad, Keufer’s reputation as a statesman was enhanced.

    Part 5 - The Belgian Crisis​

    Keufer's approach to foreign policy was characterized by a nuanced understanding of the geopolitical dynamics that had isolated France. Recognizing the importance of re-establishing France as a responsible member of the international community, Keufer embarked on a series of diplomatic overtures aimed at softening the image of the FPUF and dispelling fears of revolutionary exportation. His strategy was two-pronged: internally, it involved tempering the radical elements within the government that pushed for aggressive expansionism; externally, it focused on engaging in dialogue and building bridges with European powers, many of which were wary of the revolutionary government in Paris.

    The Belgian Crisis of August 1893, coming fresh from the Siege of Rouen, which had finished a week prior, presented a critical test of this diplomatic strategy. The crisis erupted when French-speaking trade unions in Wallonia, inspired by the revolutionary fervor emanating from France, initiated protests demanding the unification of French-speaking Belgian areas with the FPUF. The situation quickly escalated into a general strike, posing a direct challenge to the stability of the region and threatening to draw France into a direct confrontation with Belgium.

    A careful balancing act marked Keufer's response to the crisis. While nationalist factions within the government saw an opportunity to expand France's territorial reach, Keufer understood the broader implications of such aggression. He sought to distance the FPUF from the unrest, publicly denying any plans to annex Belgian territory and emphasizing France's desire for a peaceful resolution to the conflict. This stance, however, was complicated by covert actions taken by elements within the military, who, without Keufer's knowledge, funneled weapons and support to the rebels.

    Despite these challenges, Keufer managed to maintain a facade of diplomatic restraint, engaging in unofficial contacts with representatives from Britain and the Netherlands. These efforts underscored his commitment to a diplomatic solution and highlighted the complexities of navigating internal divisions within the government while managing external perceptions of the FPUF.

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    Un soir de grève (1893) by Eugène Laermans

    Still, forces within the country demanded action on the matter, and some began to hark for a return to a larger, stronger France, akin to French Revolutionary times. On the left and the right, the issue of France’s ‘natural borders’ once again began to creep into conversation. Ultraradical Syndico-Actionists on the left wanted to spread the worker's revolution; on the right, the march of the Francophone, as promised by Boulanger, would begin in Brussels. Holding the centre wasn’t easy, but Keufer, for the most part, managed to keep the Federative Union out of the war. That didn’t mean that these groups were fuelling the conflict, but it did mean that the upper echelons of the Executive Committee weren’t directly complicit. Beginning to understand the situation, one British diplomat who met Keufer said, “he is the only nanny in a room full of infants.”

    Throughout the early Belgian Crisis, Keufer reemerged from the diplomatic wilderness and found the potential for a seat at the Great Power table once again available for France. A growing cadre around Boulanger wanted to undercut that effort and plunge France into yet more conflict. By October 1893, Belgium looked to have calmed, but large-scale protests continued, and it wouldn’t be the last time countries discussed Belgium in the coming years. Keufer had emerged on the foreign policy stage with credit, and the civilian government in France was looking serious.

    Part 6 - Lobbying the Brighton Conference​

    Perhaps the most significant of Keufer's foreign policy initiatives was his lobbying of the Brighton Conference in September. This international gathering of European powers, including the Accord Powers and new additions, Russia and Austria, represented an opportunity for France to argue for its recognition and the normalization of international relations. Keufer understood the importance of presenting the FPUF as a legitimate and stable government capable of constructive engagement in the international system.

    In preparation for the conference, Keufer orchestrated a comprehensive campaign to lobby for France's inclusion in future diplomatic discussions. He leveraged the presence of Russia and Austria at the conference, nations with which France had shared complex relationships, to advocate for a broader understanding of the FPUF's goals and the mutual benefits of cooperation. Keufer's efforts culminated in a speech, cabled to the conference, in which he called for peace among European powers and cooperation to revive the global economy.

    The lobbying campaign was a testament to Keufer's diplomatic acumen. While Germany remained fiercely opposed to any concessions to France, Keufer's overtures found a more receptive audience in Britain and Spain. The British, under Prime Minister Salisbury, were open to the idea of meetings to explore the scope of future relations, indicating a softening of their stance towards the FPUF. Spain, impressed by Keufer's diplomatic efforts, began to warm to the idea of improved bilateral relations.

    The foreign policy initiatives and diplomatic maneuvers of Auguste Keufer during his leadership of France were instrumental in beginning the process of reintegrating the country into the European community. Through a combination of strategic restraint, careful diplomacy, and proactive engagement, Keufer managed to mitigate some of the international fallout from the revolutionary period. Through these efforts, Keufer's tenure is remembered as a crucial, if ultimately fruitless, period of reorientation in French foreign policy, highlighting the complex interplay between domestic politics and international diplomacy in the aftermath of the revolution.

    Part 7 - The World Figure​

    During this tumultuous period, Auguste Keufer's leadership of the Federative Popular Union of the Francophones in these early years after the revolution stands as a compelling study of the complexities inherent in reconciling revolutionary ideals with the pragmatic demands of governance and international diplomacy. Keufer's tenure was a period of significant transition, marked by efforts to reconstruct a nation ravaged by conflict and to redefine its place within the international order. By analyzing Keufer's policies, challenges, and foreign policy initiatives, we can illuminate the intricate dynamics of leading a revolutionary state through a period of profound transformation to try and understand what comes next.

    A visionary approach to economic reconstruction and societal reorganization characterized Keufer's leadership. His efforts to redistribute wealth through the nationalization of emigré holdings, the establishment of the Fédération Interalliée Des Anciens Combattants (FIDAC), and the implementation of the FPUF “New Model” were ambitious attempts to lay the foundations for a more equitable and cooperative society. These initiatives, while groundbreaking, were not without their challenges. The transformation of FIDAC into a conservative and nationalist entity, the internal divisions sparked by the "territories" policy, and the ascent of nationalist ideologies under the influence of figures like Charles Maurras underscored the tension between revolutionary aspirations and the realities of power.

    The Rouen Hostage Crisis epitomized the limitations of Keufer's control over military and foreign affairs, revealing the constraints on his leadership and the fragility of France's international standing. Yet, in the realm of foreign policy, Keufer demonstrated a remarkable capacity for strategic diplomacy. His efforts to mend relations with neighboring countries, navigate the complexities of the Belgian Crisis, and lobby the Brighton Conference for recognition highlighted his commitment to restoring France's dignity on the world stage. The softening of relations with Britain and Spain, in particular, underscored the potential for constructive engagement and the reintegration of France into the European community.

    However, the challenges Keufer faced—from internal divisions and ideological rifts to diplomatic crises—underscore the inherent difficulties of steering a revolutionary government toward stability and legitimacy. The ideological battles within the FPUF, the pushback against progressive policies, and the tensions between revolutionary zeal and diplomatic pragmatism presented obstacles that Keufer navigated with varying degrees of success. The seeds of Keufer’s downfall and its implications on the politics of the world are sown in these initial weeks and months. Keufer presented the ‘positive’ side of Actionism to the world and was able, therefore, to excuse himself of the horrors that were to follow and establish himself and his ideology as a counter-culture to the prevailing moods in France.

    Over the course of 1893, the global press warmed to Keufer. The reasonable face of the regime, his policies, and his governmental program had a large-scale influence on global socialist thought. Progressives around the world looked with intrigue at the Federative Union, seeing a different economic model in practice was a fascinating experiment. The Worker’s International even allowed Keufer’s ministers and advisors to speak at events, and research and studies on the New Model exploded in the winter of 1893. The managerial aspect, especially the establishment of Coméc, furthered Keufer’s reputation among the left worldwide.

    This link between the French and various socialist groups would also bring about a red scare of sorts - arrests in Germany, Italy, and the Balkan Realm shot up as paranoid nations rounded up trade union leaders and leftists. In Britain, the freshness of the March Massacres served to calm nerves over a fifth column, but the middle classes feared the philosophy after the horrors of the Siege of Rouen. The influx of refugees soured the feelings of towards Boulanger and Keufer in some areas, notably England, which took the vast majority. In northern cities, concepts and ideas were circling among workers, and economic debates fascinated academia. The SDF conference and SPD conference both adopted some form of the New Model to their programme in 1894. It seemed for a time that Actionism could have united the worker's movement.

    Finally, Engels issued his opinion on the matter in January 1894 with his Comparisons of the Zorrilla & Keufer Program, which said: “The programme of economic reform and structuring in the New Model, while not definitive, represent development in the stages of economic development towards the classless society and Communism.”

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    Meeting in Paris of pro-Keufer Worker's International members, who would later form the Communist Party of Italy

    Keufer's leadership during this critical period in French history represents a nuanced case study in the art of political leadership in times of upheaval. His tenure illuminates the challenges of reconciling the ideals of revolution with the exigencies of statecraft, balancing internal demands with external pressures, and forging a new identity for a nation reborn through revolution. While Keufer's efforts to reconstruct France and reposition it within the international order were met with mixed outcomes, his tenure remains a testament to the complexities of post-revolutionary governance and the enduring struggle to realize the ideals of liberty, equality, and fraternity in the face of profound political and social transformation. Keufer emerged from the period as an ideological figure, the eventual father of the Communist Party of France.
     
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    Supplemental: 1893 World Parliament of Religions
  • Supplemental: World Parliament of Religions​

    From The New York Times, September 11, 2023 - World Parliament of Religions: 130 Years On
    “In September 1893, amidst the architectural splendor and cultural showcase of the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago, an unprecedented gathering took place that would mark the dawn of the modern interfaith movement: the Parliament of the World’s Religions. Over seventeen days, from September 11th to the 27th, the Parliament convened, bringing together voices from ten distinct religious traditions in a spirited dialogue that aimed to bridge the vast divides of belief and practice.

    Organized by Charles C. Bonney, a visionary Chicago judge with a passion for unity and understanding, the Parliament stood as a bold experiment in religious pluralism. At a time when the world was largely segmented along religious lines, the event's mere conception was a radical departure from the norm. Reverend John Henry Barrows, a Chicago-based Presbyterian minister, chaired the Parliament, compiling its proceedings into a seminal two-volume account that remains a critical resource for scholars and enthusiasts of religious studies.

    The Parliament's roster featured a diverse array of speakers and representatives, including such luminaries as Swami Vivekananda, Anagarika Dharmapala, Virchand Gandhi, and Soyen Shaku, among others. Vivekananda’s opening address, calling for an end to "sectarianism, bigotry, and its horrible descendant, fanaticism," resonated deeply, setting a tone of tolerance and mutual respect that permeated the event. Among the attendees was Michael Davitt, Premier of Ireland and one of the forbears of the world Georgist and National Democratic movements.

    Despite its groundbreaking inclusivity, the Parliament was not without its shortcomings. It predominantly reflected a white Christian perspective, with the Lord’s Prayer recited daily, underscoring the event's Eurocentric underpinnings. Moreover, while it made strides in bringing non-Western traditions to the fore, there were notable gaps in representation. African American Christian leaders were underrepresented, Native American and Indigenous perspectives were entirely absent, and certain groups, like the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, were purposefully excluded.

    Yet, the Parliament's legacy is not diminished by these imperfections. Rather, it is seen as a pivotal moment in the journey towards a more inclusive understanding of faith and spirituality. The gathering served as a catalyst for the interfaith movement, inspiring subsequent generations to pursue dialogue and cooperation among the world’s diverse religious traditions. Today, looking back on the Parliament of the World’s Religions of 1893, we appreciate it not only for its historical significance but also for its enduring message of peace and unity. It reminds us of the power of coming together in conversation, of the beauty inherent in our diversity, and of the common aspirations that bind us across cultural and religious lines.

    In the 130 years since the Parliament, the interfaith movement has evolved and expanded, reflecting the changing dynamics of global religion and spirituality. Modern iterations of the Parliament, held in the United States in 2023, Union of Great Britain in 2013, Iberia in 2003, and the Union of Democratic States in 1993, continue to draw inspiration from the 1893 gathering, striving to address the complexities of contemporary religious life while upholding the original spirit of inclusivity and mutual respect. As we navigate the challenges and opportunities of the 21st century, the Parliament of the World’s Religions stands as a beacon of hope, a testament to the possibility of harmony in a pluralistic world.”
     
    Part 5, Chapter LXI
  • V, LXI: New Britannia
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    New Jerusalem in Winter - S.C. Smith drawing, 1894
    In the wake of the Monarchy's fall, the Anglican Church was thrown into disarray, resulting in the emergence of the Legitimist Church. Centred on the belief that the monarch was divinely ordained, this church held a deep conviction, drawing on the zeal of revivalist movements of the time. The death of Queen Victoria was regarded as a calamity in Legitimist circles, remembered annually as a day of disaster – a stark reminder of the loss of the divine mandate that had once protected the English Crown.

    Thomas Strange, a Unionist, English Nationalist, State Legislator, ex-Army officer, and staunch Legitimist, claimed that God had revealed a new promise to him in a vivid dream. In his vision, he saw a new land, a new Britannia, where the godly could live in harmony under the sovereign rule of the legitimate English monarch. Using the increased recognition he had gained through the English Nationalist movement, he published a pamphlet with his thoughts called “New Jerusalem,” advocating for the creation of a new nation somewhere for Legitimists.

    The spark that Thomas Strange’s vision ignited was not easily extinguished. Each week, in parish churches where the Legitimist cause ran strong, his sermon was read aloud. The words resonated in the hearts of those who heard them, sparking lively discussions in homes and on the streets. Initially, he proposed a place within the British Isles and suggested the Isle of Man may well be the best place for this new colony of Legitimists.

    “My brothers and sisters," Strange preached one Sunday morning, "the Lord has revealed our path to salvation. A new Britannia, where our traditions and our faith can live, untouched by the taint of godless republicanism and papal rule. We shall embark on a holy journey guided by God's hand."

    The churches became not only places of worship but also hubs of organised support for this divine mission. Reverends and congregants alike gathered after services, their conversations filled with passionate talk of prophecy and destiny. Together, they envisioned a new life in a promised land, free from the turmoil that plagued their current existence. But the homeland they were so desperate to preserve was unravelling fast. The March Massacres were a brutal turning point. As clashes between groups grew more and more violent, the Teal Guards, acting under the tacit approval of the Unionist Party, were mobilised.

    In a grim parade, the Teal Guards and fervent Legitimists swept through the cities, executing those who stood against the monarchy in the name of protecting the country from radicals. A glut of reasons for the violence existed. The London General Strike of 1889, the growing influence of mass media on the electorate, and the frustration on both sides after the monarchy’s disestablishment created an atmosphere ripe for a mob mentality. Socialists and Republicans, who had once been considered fellow countrymen, were now enemies in the eyes of this frenzied mob. The streets ran red, a stark contrast to the grey March sky. The Massacres, initially celebrated in some Legitimist circles as a divine reckoning, soon became a poisoned chalice. The violent actions of that fateful March brought a wave of horror and condemnation that crashed back upon them tenfold.

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    Thomas Strange, Leader of the Exodus to Nova Scotia/New Britannia

    The backlash was swift and severe. Legitimist Churches, once tolerated institutions despite their connections to the Orange Coup and the subsequent violence, were now seen by the public as breeding grounds for sedition. The clergy were arrested, and their congregants were shunned in the markets and public squares. Legitimist outlets within Parliament, like Conservative Unionists and the Teal Movement, which supported the Unionist agenda, were weakened or disassociated themselves from the religion. After the March Massacres, most conservative members of the Unionist Party began to advocate for a reunion of the sects of Anglicanism to prevent the radicalisation of minority groups in the Union.

    In the political arena, the storm was no less forgiving. The Orange State, a stronghold of monarchist sentiment, formally expelled all Legitimists in the wake of the Massacres, a move followed by England and six other states. Their lands were seized, and businesses were boycotted. It was in this climate of persecution and social alienation that Strange’s revelation transformed from a spiritual vision into a tangible lifeline. For the Legitimists, leaving for new lands was no longer a matter of divine calling alone; it was a desperate bid for survival. Strange, recognising the gravity of the moment, became a beacon of hope for his beleaguered followers.

    A considerable proportion of the Anglican churches across the Union, under the leadership of the official Archbishop of Canterbury, George Wilkinson, absorbed into what was being called Continuity Anglicanism. The more ritualistic communion eventually found solace in the Catholic Church, particularly in Northern England. The Legitimist Church, however, remained staunch and unyielding. In many congregations, the lamentation for the Union, seen as now filled with godless and secular threats to the social fabric, was a common sentiment.

    “They abandon their faith and their king,” wrote an elderly woman, Margaret, to her friend after a Legitimist service one cold morning. “But we remain steadfast. The Lord will guide us.”

    In this period of uncertainty, Lord Salisbury's election as Regent injected new life into the cause of unifying the Anglican Churches. He called a conference in August 1893 between dissenters and Continuity Anglicans weeks after his election, hoping to create a United Church of England from the remaining sects of Anglicanism. Lord Salisbury personally chaired this conference, believing it would be the only way to reunify the various Anglican populations under the Union.

    Success was had with independent and moderate branches of Legitimist Churches, which agreed to cede authority to the Archbishop of Canterbury’s demands. This new, consolidated church body, dubbed the United Anglican Church, would be governed by a General Synod tasked with approving directives, managing the remaining church lands, mainly concentrated in England, and appointing bishops.

    The United Church would be considered the State Church of the English states, and much of the populous of the largely Anglican Southern States, the Unionist stronghold, welcomed its creation. In the Northern States, where Anglicanism was more diluted, the welcome was less warm for a new state church. To Unionists, the synthesis was Unity, Patriotism, and Centrism in action. Individual Legitimist congregations would be permitted to continue service in a style of their own choosing and would be able to continue to recognise the Monarchy as legitimate. They would not, however, endorse terrorism or sedition as a method of attaining that goal. Much like the SDF, tolerance in exchange for moderation was agreed upon between the authorities and the organisation.

    However, this union marginalised the remaining Legitimist sects, whose members were fiercely loyal to the crown and opposed to the union with the Continuity Anglicans. Many Legitimists believed that all hope was lost. Strange believed this was not so. He gathered the leading figures of the Legitimist Church in September 1893, including the Legitimist Bishop of London, Mandell Creighton, and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Edward White Benson. “We are the remnants of a noble cause,” he declared. “Our enemies wish to see us broken and scattered, but we have been granted a divine path. We must gather the faithful and set sail for the New Britannia that awaits us, where we will live under the grace of God and the rightful monarch.” After significant discussion, the two patriarchs of the church agreed to endorse his message.

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    Mandell Creighton (left) and Edward White Benson (right), Legitimist Archbishops of New Jerusalem and Victoria

    The call was heeded. Throughout October, in small groups, families planned to flee in secret what little they could carry and, under the cover of night, made their way to the ports. There, ships acquired through the connections of sympathetic nobles awaited to carry them across the ocean. As they looked back at the receding shoreline, many were filled with a blend of sorrow for what they were leaving behind and hope for the divine promise that lay ahead. They were not merely fleeing; they were embarking on a sacred exodus to fulfil what they saw as their God-ordained destiny in a land where they could once again stand tall as guardians of their faith and the monarchy they held so dear.

    The Legitimists’ political and theological convictions made them suspicious of government figures and their supposed compromises. The more radical among them began to view themselves as defenders of a sacred lineage under threat. This sentiment was exacerbated by a growing association with underground political movements, the most significant being the Orangists. The tension became so fraught that a moratorium on new Legitimist Churches was imposed in some regions, leading to a movement of Legitimists, numbering around 750,000 in the British Isles, searching for a new place to call home where they could practice Monarchical Government and their religion freely. They had funds from sympathetic aristocrats, but no clear destination until Strange’s revelation offered a divine solution. The group anointed Benson and Creighton as Archbishop of New Jerusalem and Victoria, respectively.

    After initially exploring emigration to the Isle of Man and finding an extremely hostile local populous, the first immigrant ship, organised by Strange, left from the Port of Peel in November of 1893, carrying 3,000 Legitimists to Ireland before a journey across the island to board a further ship to Nova Scotia, Canada. They arrived in mid-December and chose Nova Scotia, recognising its history as a loyalist stronghold following the American Revolution. Their arrival was fraught with hardship. The freezing winter claimed many lives. Still, they were fueled by the funds provided by the newly rechristened Marquess of Londonderry, which enabled them to purchase land and establish a settlement.

    “God tests our resolve,” Strange assured his struggling followers as they huddled for warmth in makeshift shelters as they arrived in December 1894. “Our suffering today is the crucible that will forge the holy society of tomorrow.” Within the local population, reactions to this influx of fervent settlers were mixed. Many Canadians, including indigenous groups, viewed the newcomers with suspicion and concern, their rapid acquisition of land and resources sparking tension.

    The settlers' first winter was catastrophic, leading to a loss of life that tested their resolve. Diseases like tuberculosis took hold, exacerbated by poor nutrition and inadequate shelter. Conflicts with local Canadians and Mi'kmaq peoples over land and resources led to tense standoffs, sometimes erupting into violence. Furthermore, internal disputes arose as the harsh reality of their situation set in, with some questioning Strange's leadership and the viability of their endeavour.

    The British government's response to the Legitimist exodus was a complex interplay of diplomatic concern and clandestine relief. Officially, the Foreign Office maintained a stance of dispassionate oversight, citing the autonomy of its citizens to emigrate. Yet, in the shadowed corridors of Westminster, there was an unspoken gratitude that a potentially seditious element had self-exiled, reducing domestic tensions. Internationally, the reaction was mixed. Monarchist sympathisers in France and the exiled royal families of Europe expressed vocal support for the Legitimists, seeing in them a reflection of their struggles against republicanism. Meanwhile, the United States viewed the settlement cautiously, wary of any monarchist resurgence on the continent that could unsettle the balance of power.

    By early March, the Legitimists, now largely situated around what they declared as New Jerusalem, had established a provisional government with Strange at its head. The Legitimists’ economic survival hinged on swift adaptation to the harsh Nova Scotian environment. With funds from aristocratic donors drying up, they turned to agriculture, fishing, and small-scale manufacturing to sustain themselves. Trade with the local Canadians was tentative but grew steadily as the Legitimists proved themselves hardworking and reliable. However, the lack of a structured economic plan meant that the community often faced shortages.

    In April 1894, Prince George, who resided in the constructed settlement of Victoria, Nova Scotia, made a grand visit to the fledgling community. He had begun to court the exile community, the 75ers, to Strange’s sect, and the synthesis between the 75ers and Legitimists was quickly achieved. Alongside New Jerusalem, Legitimist Churches sprang up across the Victoria. In his speech to the adoring Legitimists at the town’s church, he infused them with a renewed sense of mission.

    “The eyes of God are upon us,” Prince George proclaimed, “as we forge a realm of righteousness in this New Britannia. We shall preserve the true spirit of our homeland here, across the ocean, until England herself is ready to return to her rightful state under God and Crown.”

    As their community grew, they created a distinct societal structure reminiscent of tight-knit religious communities, but as the Legitimist presence became more entrenched, Canadian authorities grew wary. Land disputes were frequent, and local Canadians and Catholics were uneasy about the Legitimists’ growing presence and their seeming disregard for existing borders and laws. Trouble brewed, especially as the Legitimists were partnered with a fearsome militia to protect them.

    In New Jerusalem, the Legitimists sought to recreate a society that mirrored the structured hierarchy of the homeland they had left behind. Gender roles were traditional, with men taking the lead in governance and women in charge of education and healthcare. The community established a school system centred around religious and monarchical teachings, instilling in the young a fervent loyalty to their cause. A rudimentary legal system was put into place, blending British common law with biblical precepts.

    As winter gave way to spring, the air in New Jerusalem was tinged not just with the scent of blossoming apple orchards but with a palpable tension that weighed heavy on the community. Word had reached the Legitimists that the Canadian government was preparing to dispatch a delegation of officials to investigate the matters of land ownership and assess the new settlements.

    Thomas Strange felt it deeply; a storm was indeed gathering. The night was cold and clear when he sat down in his modest, candlelit study to pen the letter to Prince George on May 3rd, 1894. His hand, steady but filled with a fervour that mirrored his words, moved diligently across the paper. "We are not merely settlers in a new land," Strange wrote in his urgent, sprawling script. "We are guardians of a divine legacy, and we must stand ready to defend it. Every inch of this soil, every stone, and every tree bears the mark of our sacred duty.”

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    Prince George, future King George I of New Britannia

    Outside his window, the settlers were finishing their day’s work — children were helping their parents in the fields, the sound of hymns rose from the evening church service, and the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer echoed in the air. It was a budding society filled with devout men and women whose lives were deeply intertwined with their faith and their commitment to the cause. Strange continued, "They will brand us as intruders, rebels, or worse. But we must hold steadfast. Our claim is righteous, and our resolve must be unbreakable. I beseech you, Your Highness, to use your influence and resources to ready our people for what lies ahead. We may be called upon to fight, not just with words but with brimstone and fire, for the Kingdom of New Britannia.”

    Finishing the letter with a heavy heart, Strange sealed it with wax, the royal emblem pressed firmly, symbolising the union of faith and crown that was at the core of their movement. He knew that what he was suggesting was grave — that it could ignite a conflict that would ripple through the entirety of Canada and beyond. As Strange handed the letter to a trusted messenger the next morning, the sun was just beginning to cast a golden light on New Jerusalem. He looked out over the thriving settlement, where the devoted were breaking their fast in preparation for a day of labour and worship. “Godspeed,” he whispered to the messenger, clasping his shoulder firmly. “And may God protect us all.”

    The messenger nodded, a determined look in his eyes, and mounted his horse. As he rode off towards the coastal road that led to Prince George’s residence in Victoria, Strange couldn't help but feel the weight of the path they were on. It was a path that, he sensed, would define the very essence of their community and challenge the depths of their faith and loyalty.

    With the departing figure of the messenger growing smaller on the horizon, Strange turned to face New Jerusalem, his home and the beacon of their holy endeavour. The once-foreign land had become the soil of their future, a future that was now uncertain and fraught with peril. He clasped his hands together as if in prayer and made a solemn vow. “For King and Faith,” he whispered, his voice steady and resolute. “We shall stand as one.”
     
    Part 5, Chapter LXII
  • V, LXII: Do you see the Cat?
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    LDP cartoon espousing Georgist ideals entitled - "Do you see the Cat?" The LDP would adopt the cat as its symbol at the 1894 LDP Congress.

    The 1890s in the Union was a period of significant political flux, marked by the emergence of new ideological currents and the reconfiguration of old ones. The era was a mix of trepidation, fear, and new ideas and ideologies emerging in the public consciousness. Debates about the merits of Actionism, Georgism, Unionism, Republicanism, and National Democracy became more prominent as a growing political consciousness emerged throughout the country. The politics of mass movements, unleashed with the emergence of the monster meetings, Rally for the Union, and eventually the Unionist Party and Social Democratic Federation, ensured that the future of power would be bedded not in smoky backrooms, but in the open, at congresses, political meetings, and rallies.

    The Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) leader Henry Campbell-Bannerman, was in a unique position, as a broad, mass party, to take advantage of this growing movement. While the Unionists had scoffed at the mass element of decision-making within the LDP, preferring its guiding lights to be drawn from elite Parliamentarians, the LDP embraced the federal nature (along with the SDF) of its forebearer, the Democratic Federation. Still, it had an issue. Despite its nine principles, it did not have the crystalised or enumerated ideology shared by its rivals, the Unionists to the right and Feds to the left.

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    Henry Campbell-Bannerman, Prime Minister 1896-97, 1903-1906

    The party felt as though it was in a great position to take advantage of the lethargy and division of the Unionists. It was considered the most mainstream republican party, controlled a number of state governments, introduced popular and effective policies at the state level, and held the second-highest number of seats aside from the rapidly fracturing Unionists. It didn’t have a unifying philosophy, however, and no one was really aware of what an LDP Union would look like.

    To remedy this situation, LDP leader, Henry Campbell-Bannerman, an old-school Radical, called a congress at the Free Trade Hall, Manchester in January 1894 to establish a party platform different from his predecessor, William Harcourt. His contribution to the debate would be to propose the party unite its disparate strands through a new doctrine, one he termed “Solidarism.”

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    Émile Durkheim

    Solidarism, introduced by Henry Campbell-Bannerman in his keynote speech to the LDP Congress in January 1894, sought to integrate a number of popular strains of policy within the progressive bloc. Chief among them was French sociologist Émile Durkheim’s concept of organic social solidarity, which argued for a society where cultural and social attributes were collectively shared, and conflicts between employers and trade unions were mediated through a moral obligation to achieve social cohesion.

    Having fled France during the rise of Boulanger, Durkheim was a member of the Spencean Club, and contributed to many journals and periodicals popular with LDP members, and his beliefs achieved a following in Britain in the aftermath of the Second French Revolution. His approach to evolve the industrial capitalist society from mechanical to organic solidarity gained the attention of CB in mid-1893, and he met with the philosopher in August at a meeting of the Oxford Union and was taken by his approach. The Solidarist philosophy, adapted from his teaching, thus became the ninth principle of the “Nine Principles of Liberal Democracy,” which symbolised the LDP’s commitment to creating a fair and equitable society where labour had a voice equal to capital.

    The adoption of Solidarism as part of the LDP’s platform was a move to bridge the growing chasm within the party, particularly between the Solidarists and the Liberal Imperialists, or Republican Imperialists, who advocated for a synthesis between the Imperialist doctrine of the Unionist Party and the Liberal Democratic Party. This faction, critical of the LDP's direction under William Harcourt, believed in a nationalistic and imperialist approach, emphasising the need for the party to appeal to the centre vote and embrace the new popular Imperial spirit.

    While the National Democratic wing, primarily from the Celtic Bloc, influenced the Congress, it was the synthesis of Solidarism and the established principles of the party that ultimately defined the LDP’s stance. National Democracy was an extremely popular doctrine in the party and indeed worldwide, where versions of its programme were being adopted in some form by advocates in the United States and (as we will talk about soon) in Iberia. Georgism, the collective ownership of land, was a unifying factor for a significant proportion of the party. Solidarism, therefore, included the socialisation of the land and the just taxation of land ownership union-wide.

    “Rather than undermine the principle of Free Land, Free Trade, Free People, Solidarism enhances and increases the ability of the party to impress a radical redistribution of power and economic opportunity away from the Regent and his class of carpetbaggers and towards the free people of the Union,” CB said in the speech. Ultimately, CB brought the Congress to a vote on a package of measures to update the Newcastle Programme.

    To address the chronic confrontations between employers and trade unions, Campbell-Bannerman proposed the establishment of National Labor Councils. These councils would serve as forums for dialogue and negotiation between workers' representatives, employers, and government officials. The objective would be to create a more harmonious labor market, prevent strikes, and ensure fair wages and working conditions through consensus and cooperation rather than conflict. Significantly, the LDP leader also proposed an addendum to the electoral reform element of the party’s platform to include a measure to introduce responsible government or a “pathway toward such a government” for the colonies not yet elevated to Union status and India. Campbell-Bannerman called upon Dadabhai Naoroji MP to take the stage to endorse the reforms. Finally, to ensure that professions contribute positively to the moral organic solidarity of society, Campbell-Bannerman proposed the creation of a National Council for Professional Ethics. This council would develop ethical guidelines for various professions and oversee their implementation, promoting professional conduct that aligns with the broader social good.

    CB told the Congress, “These national policies, enacted through the cooperation between States and the Union Government, will create a harmonious society that promotes organic and healthy governance. I believe our advocacy for such policies will see that the 20th century will be the Liberal Democratic century.” After it was called to a vote, the reforms passed with support from significant elements of every faction within the party. Opposition was contained to the right of the party, which opposed the interventionist line of the proposed reforms. Twenty senators were counted as voting against the reforms, ominously.

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    Campbell-Bannerman speaks to the LDP Congress in 1894

    A memorable conflict arose when Senator Alfred Hopkinson, a stalwart of traditional liberalism, launched a vehement opposition against Solidarism. Hopkinson's critique painted Solidarism as an unrealistic utopia, too far removed from the pragmatic concerns of governance and imperial policy.

    A defining moment unfolded, encapsulating the ideological tensions brewing within the Liberal Democratic Party. The assembly, already charged with anticipation over Henry Campbell-Bannerman's proposal of Solidarism, was set for a dramatic confrontation. Hopkinson rose to address the congress. His presence commanded attention, and as he began to speak, a hush fell over the room.

    Hopkinson's speech was a fervent critique of Solidarism. He questioned the practicality of integrating such an idealistic doctrine into the party's platform, arguing it strayed too far from the party's core liberal principles. "Solidarism," he declared, "is a mirage, leading us away from the tried and true path of individual liberty and free-market principles that have long been our party's hallmark." His voice, laden with years of political battles, echoed through the hall, articulating a deep-seated fear that Solidarism might alienate the party's base and undermine its electoral viability.

    The tension in the room was palpable as Hopkinson's words hung in the air, a challenge not just to Campbell-Bannerman but to the very direction of the party. Attendees shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the moment not lost on them. It was then that Henry Campbell-Bannerman rose to respond, his demeanor calm yet resolute.

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    Senator Alfred Hopkinson

    Campbell-Bannerman's rebuttal was a masterclass in political oratory. He acknowledged the deep respect he held for Hopkinson, yet he did not shy away from defending Solidarism with fervor and conviction. "My esteemed colleague speaks of mirages," Campbell-Bannerman began, "yet it is the mirage of unfettered individualism that has led to the social dislocations we witness today. Solidarism is not a departure from our principles but an evolution, a moral imperative to address the injustices wrought by unchecked capitalism."

    With each sentence, Campbell-Bannerman's voice grew stronger, his belief in Solidarism's potential to foster social cohesion and resolve the chronic confrontations between employers and trade unions evident. He painted a vision of a society where organic solidarity could thrive, where the division of labour evolved to benefit all members of society, not just the privileged few.

    As Campbell-Bannerman concluded, asserting that Solidarism was the path forward for the LDP and the Union, a mix of applause and murmurs filled the room. The ideological divide within the party had been laid bare, but so too had the passion and commitment of its members to navigate these complex waters. This confrontation, emblematic of the broader ideological battle within the LDP, underscored the challenge of reconciling differing visions for the party's future. Yet, it also highlighted the party's vibrancy and the critical role of debate in shaping its path forward. Ultimately, though, the congress was a testament to the party’s ability to unify various factions under a common banner, signified by the adoption of the Georgist symbol, the cat – a metaphor for the clear perception of Henry George’s land reform ideas once understood. It remains the symbol of the party to this day.

    The adoption of Solidarism into the LDP’s doctrine was met with both internal and external challenges. Internally, the party had to navigate the delicate balance of appeasing both the traditional liberal wing and the newer Solidarist advocates. This was evident in the negotiations that led to the “Nine Principles of Liberal Democracy,” which had to cater to various interests within the party while maintaining a coherent ideological stance.

    Within the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP), the introduction of Solidarism by Henry Campbell-Bannerman stirred a cauldron of ideological dissent, most vocally from the Liberal Imperialists. This opposition brought H.H. Asquith, a junior MP, to the fore, as he critiqued Solidarism for its perceived departure from the party's imperial ambitions and its emphasis on social cohesion over economic and military strength.

    Asquith articulated that Solidarism, with its focus on resolving employer-trade union conflicts and promoting social solidarity, neglected the Union's need for a robust imperial policy and a strong, centralized government capable of projecting power abroad. He argued that such internal focus could potentially weaken the Union's stature on the global stage. The debates at the congress crescendoed with Asquith’s challenge to Campbell-Bannerman, demanding a reconciliation of Solidarism with the Union's imperial imperatives.

    Externally, the LDP faced the scorn of the Unionist Party, which dismissed the new program as a “conglomerate” of unpractical and faddish ideas. Yet, despite the Unionist mockery depicted vividly in contemporary cartoons, the LDP's adoption of Solidarism marked a profound shift toward a more inclusive and socially responsive political agenda. The LDP, along with the SDF, had the benefit of the development of a natural constituency - Republicans. The majority of Republicans believed that an LDP government would be the primary vehicle for delivering a Republic supported by the wider Republican movement.

    The ideological pivot was a direct response to the socio-economic challenges of the time. The end of the 19th century was marked by rapid industrialisation, urbanisation, and the widening gap between the wealthy elite and the working class. The LDP's Solidarism, with its emphasis on social solidarity and functional representation, aimed to address the growing disparities and social dislocations that were becoming increasingly apparent in the Union.

    The commitment to Solidarism complimented the LDP’s structural reforms and policy proposals. For instance, the party's advocacy for the separation of church and state and the disestablishment of the Unified Church of England reflected a broader move toward secular governance and the equal treatment of all religious groups under the law. This was a progressive stance that sought to diminish the institutional power of the United Anglican Church and promote religious pluralism.

    The LDP's commitment to republicanism was another cornerstone of its platform. Campbell-Bannerman reiterated the party’s clear stance on the abolition of the regency and the establishment of a republic resonated with the party's base, which saw the monarchy as an anachronistic institution out of step with the principles of liberal democracy. Different groups proposed different models for a Republic, with many believing a simple replacement of the position of Regent with a President preferable, and others, like radical David Lloyd-George and the Fusionists, believing that a collective presidency would be the best way forward.

    Economic reforms were central to the LDP's agenda. The party's push for compulsory powers for States to acquire lands for smallholdings and the national land value tax reflected its commitment to addressing rural poverty and the inequities of land ownership. Such policies were designed to empower rural workers and promote a more equitable distribution of land and resources.

    The LDP's advocacy for educational reforms, such as linguistic reform to allow for national languages to be taught in schools, reflected its commitment to cultural pluralism. This was particularly important in the Celtic nations, where the promotion of native languages was seen as essential to preserving cultural identity. The LDP also pushed for electoral reforms, such as the direct election of the Senate, aimed to democratise the political process and make it more accessible to the working class. This was a radical departure from the traditional elitist approach to governance and reflected the party's commitment to populist principles.

    In the aftermath of the LDP Congress, state governments under LDP control embarked on an ambitious implementation of Solidarist-inspired policies. In Lancashire, Herbert Gladstone initiated the establishment of Community Labor Boards in May 1894. Thie marked a pioneering move towards mediating labor disputes, significantly reducing industrial unrest. Scotland, under Edward McHugh, saw the introduction of educational reforms embedding social solidarity into curricula, aiming to foster a community-conscious youth. These policies exemplified the practical application of Solidarism, showcasing the LDP's commitment to translating ideological principles into tangible reforms that addressed the Union's socio-economic challenges.

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    Edward McHugh, Premier of Scotland

    Despite the ambitious nature of the Solidarist platform, the LDP's reforms were not without their detractors. The Unionist Party's criticisms hinged on the belief that the LDP's platform was too disparate and lacked coherence. The Unionists contended that Solidarism was nothing more than an attempt to appease the various factions within the LDP rather than a genuine effort to address the Union's challenges. This critique was encapsulated in Chamberlain's description of the Newcastle Programme in 1892 as 'capsules made up in gelatine,' suggesting that the reforms were superficial coverings for unpalatable policies.

    However, the LDP's commitment to an economy incorporating both liberal and solidarist ideals stood as a direct challenge to the laissez-faire capitalism that had led to social dislocations. The party’s promotion of capital-labour cooperation and economic democracy sought to bring about a more just and equitable society. The liberal corporatist approach, with its roots in the economic philosophies of figures like John Stuart Mill, provided a blueprint for the LDP's economic vision.

    The LDP's policies on agricultural affairs and judicial reform showcased a forward-thinking approach to social and economic issues. The emphasis on cooperative tenant farming, a national land value tax, and the simplification of the Union courts spoke to a broader vision of a society where fairness and efficiency were not mutually exclusive. Campbell-Bannerman’s commitment to Georgism, a popular doctrine within the party.

    However, the LDP's platform and the implementation of Solidarism would not be without obstacles. The party would have to navigate the complexities of translating its principles into actionable policies, facing opposition not just from the Unionist Party but also from within its ranks. The balance between maintaining party unity and pushing for reform would be a recurring theme in the LDP's history. The integration of Solidarism into the LDP’s platform was more than a mere political manoeuvre; it represented a philosophical realignment with the potential to transform society. The LDP recognised the emerging complexities of an industrialising nation and sought to preempt the social strife that could arise from unchecked capitalism and entrenched class divides.

    The LDP's Solidarist approach did not exist in a vacuum. It drew from a rich tapestry of contemporary social thought, aiming to synthesise these ideas into a cohesive political platform. The party's commitment to social solidarity and functional representation was a nod to Durkheim's vision of a society where individuals were integrated into a cohesive whole through the division of labour.

    Moreover, the LDP's Solidarism was a direct response to the Union’s socio-political climate. The late 19th century was a time of significant change, with new social movements emerging and traditional structures being questioned. The LDP's policies sought to harness these changes, channelling the energy of mass movements into a structured political program that could appeal to a wide cross-section of society.

    One of the most significant challenges for the LDP was translating its Solidarist philosophy into practical governance. The Unionist criticisms that the program lacked coherence were not entirely unfounded. The LDP's platform was ambitious and wide-ranging, encompassing everything from church-state separation to land reform to linguistic and judicial changes. The party had to ensure that these various elements could be integrated into a workable policy framework that would not collapse under its own weight.

    The party’s efforts to democratise the political process and make governance more inclusive were particularly noteworthy. The LDP sought to break down the barriers that had traditionally excluded the working class and other marginalised groups from political participation. By advocating for state-funded elections and the direct election of the Senate, the party was pushing for a more participatory democracy.

    The LDP's Solidarist platform also had an international dimension. The party's advocacy for peace and its opposition to war aligned with the broader international movement towards pacifism and conflict resolution. The LDP's vision of a society based on social solidarity extended beyond the Union’s borders, reflecting a desire for a more peaceful and cooperative international order. Its ideological evolution through the adoption of Solidarism did not occur in isolation but was part of a larger political narrative that included interactions with the Unionist Party and the Social Democratic Federation (SDF). The Unionists, led by Salisbury, derided the LDP's shift as a naive surrender to idealism, lacking in practicality for governance.

    Meanwhile, the SDF criticized the LDP for not going far enough, advocating for a more radical overhaul of society that would dismantle the existing capitalist structures. The chapter should explore a series of public engagements, debates, and rallies where LDP leaders, faced with opposition from both the right and the left, defended Solidarism as a balanced approach to social reform, aiming to carve a distinct political identity for the party amid the Union's turbulent political waters. This section should highlight the LDP's navigational challenges and successes in positioning itself as a viable alternative to both the conservative Unionist stance and the radical socialist proposals of the SDF, underscoring the competitive yet occasionally cooperative dynamics that defined the era's political landscape.

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    Free Trade Hall, Manchester, site of the LDP Congress 1894

    In conclusion, the LDP's adoption of Solidarism at its 1894 Congress was a seminal event that reflected the party's commitment to progressive reform and social cohesion. It marked a shift from the politics of pure liberalism towards an approach that sought to integrate the working classes and address the societal impacts of industrialisation and capitalism. The LDP's Solidarist doctrine acknowledged the importance of community and collective responsibility, challenging the individualistic ethos that had dominated the political narrative.

    Solidarism was, in many ways, ahead of its time. It anticipated the social welfare policies and corporatist structures that would become more common in the 20th century. The party's efforts to create a moral solidarity based on professions organised into a single public institution were an early attempt to reconcile the interests of labour and capital. This issue would continue to be a central theme in social and economic policy.

    The LDP’s platform also indicated an early recognition of the importance of diversity and pluralism within a democratic society. By advocating for linguistic reforms and the rights of different nationalities to co-exist within the Union, the LDP laid the groundwork for what would become a multi-culturalist policy approach. However, the LDP's vision was not without its flaws. The challenge of implementing such a comprehensive platform was significant, and the party struggled with internal divisions and external opposition. The need to maintain party unity while pursuing a progressive agenda would remain a delicate balancing act for the LDP leadership.

    Furthermore, the LDP's Solidarist platform faced the inevitable tension between idealism and pragmatism. While the party's principles were laudable, the realities of political power and the resistance from entrenched interests meant that the LDP's reforms would be hard-fought. The Solidarist vision required not just political will but also a societal willingness to embrace change.

    The 1894 LDP Congress can be seen as a critical juncture that set the stage for future debates on social policy, governance, and the role of the state in regulating the economy. The Solidarism espoused by the LDP highlighted the evolving nature of liberalism and its capacity to adapt to the demands of a changing society. Within 18 months, CB would have the chance to enact his policies but would be hampered in his effective deployment of the philosophy with the outbreak of conflagration on the continent.
     
    Part 5, Chapter LXIII
  • V, LXIII: The Exiled Empire

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    Santa Isabel in 1894

    Under the relentless blaze of the Equatorial sun, 40-year-old naval officer Nicolás Franco Salgado-Araújo stood on the bustling docks of Santa Isabel, the heart of what was once an obscure island, now the beacon of Spain-Equatoria. Clutching his three-year-old son close, his gaze fixed on the horizon as the royal vessel approached, Nicolás felt the weight of history and hope merge in a single moment.

    “In the suffocating heat, our spirits soared with the arrival of Her Majesty,” he later penned in a diary, worn and faded by time. “Exhaustion gave way to exhilaration; despair turned into determination. Here, in this uncharted land, we were to forge a new Spain, a testament to our resilience and enduring spirit. The Queen, our phoenix, arose from the ashes of a fallen empire, promising rebirth and guiding us into an uncertain but hopeful future.”

    Few stories capture the imagination of the Western world more than the flight of the Spanish Empire. To call the expulsion of the Spanish Crown from Iberia an expulsion wouldn’t quite be right. It was a series of expulsions that sent loyalists to the regime around the world and back again, touring the globe in search of a safe refuge. It took approximately four years and saw fleeing loyalists head to the Americas, to Asia, and finally to Africa.

    In 1890, the last key figures of the Spanish Empire, Queen-Regent Maria Christina and the young King Alfonso headed out to an uncertain future as they were chased out of the peninsular. First to Portugal, they then found themselves seeking refuge in Paris by 1891. They witnessed the declaration of the new French monarchy and its fall before heading to Rouen upon the French Civil War reaching the gates of the capital. In 1893, seeing the safe corridor closing, Maria Christina attempted to find a route for herself and the six-year-old Spanish Monarch to return to safety. Despite escaping Rouen, the two were found by Fédérés and arrested while crossing into Brittany. Both were caught smuggling various valuables, including a sceptre, a present of Rudolf II to King Felipe II, which confirmed their guilt.

    The Popular Army took Maria Christina to a prison in Lorient. At the same time, the King of Spain was “re-integrated,” and given a home somewhere in France, eventually ending up in Toulouse. He grew up only partially aware of his royal lineage: one school report by an unsuspecting teacher in 1897 when he was 12, said Alfonso, then given the name Andre Durand, was “a fantasist and a dreamer, continually telling his fellow schoolmates that he was destined for greatness.” Durand would finally receive the confirmation of his lineage and return to Spain-Equatoria in 1903, but that is very much a story for another time.

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    Queen-Regent Maria Christina of Spain

    With Alfonso gone, Maria Christina disappeared, and the Spanish Crown smashed, Royalists seemed a spent force. A Spanish writer described them as “Una Pluma en el Viento,” or A Feather in the Wind. With their leadership decapitated, there was no coordinated response. Exiles travelled to the former Empire - to Morocco, Cuba, and the Philippines. In each of these territories, the exiles were essentially delivered to hell. The rejection in mainland Spain of the Crown was timed perfectly with attempted uprisings in colonial outposts, as Spanish soldiers found their command structures running silent.

    In Morocco, Berbers launched a campaign to rid colonialists of its land under the banner, with a helpless Sultan Abdelaziz caught between three forces - Spanish exiles, the Rifians, and after the Second French Revolution, Actionists entering from Tunisia and Algeria. With dwindling supplies, they were an ineffective force by 1893. In Cuba, they had faced a ferocious anti-Spanish force, fuelled by American aid, with a similar phenomenon in the Philippines. All over the world, the Spanish Empire was sailing into the sunset in a sea of apathy. While the Royalists were still in nominal control of Cuba and Puerto Rico, their hold was tenuous - patronage was held through a constitution and nationalist and pro-American sentiment (and a well organised and armed resistance against Spanish control) was a huge force.

    The totals vary from analysis to analysis, but by 1894, there were an estimated 1,300,000 refugees from the wars on the peninsula plotting a nomadic existence around the world. Many settled in Europe, especially Italy, but the vast majority were bound by a sense of duty to continue the Spanish Crown somewhere. More importantly, the wealth of the Spanish state, including a large amount of gold, literature, and historical artifacts, needed a safe deposit space free from the risk of looting or plunder by opposing forces.

    Once again, the Second French Revolution set a course - although this was a different course to the typical path around the world. In Guinea, an old Spanish holding comprising the island of Fernando Po and insular territories on the African continent, the Spanish Royalists were better armed, more secure, and escorted the Countess of Girgenti, Isabel, with the riches of the regime. It was decided that Isabel would be the best custodian of the riches - she headed straight out of Spain after the end of the conflict and did not travel to France for fear of the French taking the state's wealth as plunder - and they decided on the island of Fernando Po as a destination.

    The area now comprising the mainland portion of Spain-Equatoria was occupied partly by the Germans, but mostly by the French, who were themselves divided into factions mirroring the dividing lines of their own Civil War. Throughout the territory, the French were in retreat and in the Gabon and the Congo Valley, their authority had been fatally weakened. By 1894, the French were in complete disarray, and although a number of holdout outposts remained, mostly loyal to the Federative Union, they could not claim to be in control of the territory. The Accord Powers were concerned about the administration of the region, and wished to see a settlement that was acceptable to all parties. The Germans had established a colony in the Cameroons surrounding the previous Spanish claim, but were in agreement with the British that a strong neutral presence, in this case the Exiled Spanish, would be preferable to a French force in the region.

    Therefore, both parties met with representatives from the Spanish Army secretly in 1893 and gave consent for the Spanish, should they be able to establish an effective occupation of the region, to establish an exile colony, expelling the French. This gave the Spanish the wiggle room to expand their holdings and create more room for settlements in the area. They were allocated a region to the Campo River in the North, and the Gabon River in the South. The rest, it was decided, would be divided between the Germans and British.

    Initially, in 1890, around 25,000 people, including Isabel, fled to Fernando Po. After the expulsion of the Spaniards from Morocco in 1893, and the beginning of the defeat of the remaining Spanish Armies in Cuba in 1895 (which would be completed as an opening act of the Turbulence), the numbers began to grow. Cuba’s politicians began to encourage independence, furthering decline of the hold of the Spanish Crown, fuelling further immigration around the remaining outposts.

    Finally, in April 1894, with the King missing, Regent presumed dead, and holdings collapsing, Isabel decreed that the Spanish Council of State should meet in Santa Isabel to discuss the future of the monarchy. Isabel believed that a new monarch would need to be proclaimed for there to be any chance for the institution to survive anywhere in the world. For Isabel, this was not an attempt to grab power for herself, far from it - she was reported to have said “The crown is heavy, and I do not have the shoulders for it,” but an attempt to restore the crown to some kind of respectability through someone else.

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    Santa Isabel in 1890 before the relocation of the Spanish Empire to the Island

    The issue for Isabel was, frankly, no one wanted the job. Various branches of the royal family who had survived were touted, all declined the advances. As early as 1891, Isabel was in contact with many other dynasties to donate a son or a cousin to the cause but found radio silence. Isabel decided that the only course of action was to call all Spaniards in defence of the crown to Guinea to rally and decide the next steps.

    On April 17, 1894, she issued a proclamation called “To The Loyal Subjects of the Empire” to meet in Santa Isabel in a year to decide on the future of the Spanish State. A curiosity at the time, the proclamation received significant attention from the global press, including in Iberia, where it was met with ridicule and derision. In Britain, it was seen as a romantic last crusade against the turning tide against Monarchy by some, and an attempt to restart the war by others. In the shadowy halls of European diplomacy, the exodus to Equatoria was met with a maelstrom of suspicion and intrigue. The Vatican, seeing an opportunity to support a Catholic monarchy in exile, covertly dispatched resources and spiritual support, strengthening Isabel's position. Meanwhile, traditional monarchies, quietly unnerved by the republicanism sweeping Europe, offered clandestine aid, hoping to preserve a bastion of royalism.

    The response was far beyond what Isabel could have expected. Over the next 4 years, nearly 350,000 answered the call and travelled to Africa. These included nearly 40,000 from Iberia, who embarked on a strenuous trek through mainland Africa, through the conflict-ridden territories of French Africa and Cameroon, wilfully allowed passage by several different authorities. Remarkably, 34,000 arrived in the Spanish holdings on the mainland, ready to contribute to the new venture in Africa.

    To facilitate the relocation, Isabel and her council successfully negotiated support from sympathetic nations, notably the Vatican. This network provided logistical support, funds, and resources, enabling the migration. Additionally, a clandestine organization, the “Order of the Exiled Crown,” formed by affluent Royalists, played a pivotal role in coordinating the exodus, leveraging their wealth and international connections to secure safe passage and initial settlement needs. Private merchants from Italy and Austria paid for ships to take exiles to the territory, and support came from all over the Catholic world to help the Spanish establish their exile kingdom. Thanks to the support and safe passage, Santa Isabel, the capital of the island Fernando Po, swelled from a population of around 20,000 to 100,000, led by Isabel, and became the centre of the new Spanish Empire. While not thrilled about the destruction of the monarchy and the relocation to a remote island in Africa, Isabel saw an excellent opportunity to build a new empire on the continent.

    To do this, Spanish settlers arriving on the island, already struggling with the new influx of persons, were diverted to settlements in mainland Africa, and in the early 1890s, Cabo Santa Clara, Cabo Lopez, Corsico, Cabo San Juan, Rio Benito, and Rio Del Campo saw significant population growths in concurrence with the Fernando Po demographic shift. Informal understandings with Great Britain (who could not yet sign a formal treaty with the territory due to its commitments with Iberia) and Brazil-Nova Lusitânia, the ongoing Turbulence in France, and increased funds from private investment saw the Spanish push inland, expanding at the expense mainly of the French. The tacit acknowledgement from the Germans and British allowed the Spanish Army to conduct a war to expel French settlers from the region and settle large numbers of the immigrants from Spain and its former empire into the mainland.

    Across its newfound territory, the pulse of a community celebrated the throes of creation. Spanish architecture, with its grand facades and tiled roofs, rises alongside traditional African structures, a testament to a merging of worlds. Marketplaces bustle with the exchange of goods, Spanish olives, and wines laid next to exotic fruits and spices, while the air carries a blend of chatter and music, a melody of newfound coexistence. The exodus to Equatoria, while offering a lifeline to Spanish Royalists, imposed significant logistical challenges. The sudden population surge in Santa Isabel and mainland settlements necessitated immediate expansion of infrastructure—roads, housing, and sanitation facilities were rapidly constructed, often with rudimentary methods.

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    Cacao Plantations in Spanish territory, 1894.

    Upon arrival, the settlers faced daunting challenges: diseases such as malaria and yellow fever were rampant; the dense Equatorial forest and unfamiliar climate demanded significant adaptation; and initial relations with local populations were tense, leading to conflicts. Trade dislocation and a lack of infrastructure caused two serious malaria outbreaks, in 1893 and 1895, ravaging the population and leaving serious scars.

    On September 12, 1894, a settler, Ana Garcia, wrote “Malaria has taken hold. It spreads like wildfire, sparing no one. Our dreams of a new beginning are now marred by feverish nights and the lamentations of the ill. The outbreak has decimated our numbers, and the joy of our arrival turned to mourning. In this darkest hour, our resolve is tested.” Garcia died two weeks later, along with 14,000 others unable to get access to Quinine thanks to a shortage. Despite these hurdles, the settlers' resilience, underpinned by their shared purpose and unity, saw them through. Efforts to understand and adapt to the local environment, coupled with medical knowledge brought by the exiles, gradually mitigated health issues.

    The settlers brought with them as much as they could of Spanish culture and society. In Santa Isabel, the settlers reestablished Universities, the Universidad Complutense de Madrid, University of Salamanca, and University of Valladolid were each established, the Royal Academy of Sciences relocated to the Island alongside the Royal Spanish Academy, the Royal Archdiocese of Madrid claimed Santa Isabel as its seat of authority, and various other institutions declared the island its home. Finally, when the Council of State, comprising a few minor nobles and experts, met, it declared that Santa Isabel was the capital of Spain and the seat of the Crown.

    They also endeavoured to recreate a microcosm of Spanish society, establishing schools, universities, and cultural institutions. Paired with this desire to assimilate the local infrastructure was the need to evacuate local populations. This process saw up to 45,000 of the native population evicted from their homes and sent on boats to the mainland. A significant proportion were retained as servants and workers on the coffee and cocoa plantations - creating significant wealth in the export trade for the colony and helping them gain currency and raw materials to build the outpost.

    Economic sustenance initially relied heavily on this agriculture, with crops suitable for the climate, such as cocoa, coffee, and sugarcane, being cultivated. Trade relations were slowly established with neighbouring territories and, clandestinely, with German, British, Brazilian, and Belgian traders, providing the necessary income to sustain the settlement and begin economic expansion. Artisanal industries, particularly in textiles and metalwork, incorporating both Spanish techniques and local materials, also emerged.

    The influx both strained local resources and invigorated the economy. It led to the creation of new agricultural projects and trade pathways, although there was an initial dependence on imported essentials. This era was characterized by the contrasting experiences of adversity and possibility, as pioneers struggled with the challenges of founding a new community. However, those calling the territory home learned lessons quickly. On May 15, 1894, Rodrigo Alvarez wrote in his diary, “The land here is unlike anything we knew back in Spain or Cuba. Our first attempts at planting crops we knew—wheat, olives—were met with failure. The soil, the climate, it conspires against us. We've had to turn to the local flora, learning from indigenous practices. It's a humbling experience, realizing our survival depends on embracing this new world, not imposing the old.”

    Maria Torres, a missionary from Valencia wrote, “Today, we bartered with a local tribe for seeds of plants we cannot name but they assure us will flourish here. Our reliance on our supplies is a looming spectre over our colony; we must become self-sufficient. The challenge of adapting our traditional Spanish dishes to the local produce has been unexpected but rewarding." Throughout the new venture, settlers began to adapt and acclimatise to the reality of living 4,500 km from home.

    A settler, Isabel López, wrote “Our days are a blend of the familiar and the utterly foreign. We hold mass in a makeshift chapel, our prayers mingling with the unfamiliar sounds of the jungle. Yet, in the evenings, we gather to share stories of home, the memory of Spain alive in our laughter and tears.” Yet life in the colony was oppressive and hard for the settlers, many of whom were not rich and did not arrive with vast wealth. Isabel’s husband, Carlos, wrote to a friend who settled in Italy, saying “The heat here is oppressive, unyielding. Our clothes cling, soaked with sweat, as we labour to build roads, homes, and a future. Yet, in the cool of the evening, when the air is filled with the scent of blooming flowers unknown in our homeland, there is a sense of peace, of belonging."

    It seemed obvious to most in the Council of State the next steps to restore the Monarchy. Initially apprehensive, Isabel was urged by many of the relocated aristocracy to accept the throne and was finally turned on June 17, 1895, when a crowd of nearly 45,000 travelled to Santa Isabel to support a pronunciamiento to make Isabel the Queen of Spain. Upon seeing the crowds, she was said to have wept, overwhelmed with the love of her subjects. She accepted that day, and the Council of State declared that the government on the island was now the sole legal and representative government of Spain. The territory would become known as the Kingdom of Spain in Equatoria, a nod to an eventual return to the mainland, but would eventually become known to most as Spain-Equatoria.

    Joseph Maria von Radowitz Jr., the German Ambassador to Iberia, visited the island after the proclamation, wrote to the Foreign Office in Berlin and said, “It seems this endeavour is here to stay - from the ashes of the old, the Spanish Empire is alive thousands of leagues away.”

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    Painting of Queen Isabel's proclamation as Queen of Spain in Santa Isabel.

    As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the skies of Spain-Equatoria with streaks of blood and gold, a palpable tension settled over the burgeoning empire. It was an empire born from desperation, thriving against all odds, yet at its heart lay an unresolved question: could this grand experiment in sovereignty and survival endure?

    Amidst the celebrations of newfound stability and the flourishing of Spanish culture in an African heartland, whispers of unease threaded through the jubilant crowds. The world watched, as did those who had sacrificed everything for this dream, wondering if the tides of history might yet turn against this last bastion of a bygone era. As men like Nicolás Franco Salgado-Araújo closed their diaries, the ink still wet on the page, foreboding feelings were ubiquitous that their greatest challenges lay not behind them, but ahead, hidden in the shadows of an unpredictable future.

    By 1898 and the beginning of the Franco-British Colonial War, the Spanish were a key ally against the French and Russians, and were rewarded with acceptance of their expanded claims along the Bight of Biafra in the Treaties of London. This treaty would be significant, as it would also see Iberia recognise the state, in exchange for it assuming a share of the inherited debt of the old Monarchy. The Germans, British and Spanish expelled and expunged all French settlements and the Germans and British divided the remaining lands between the Spanish, Germans, and a third party to the Treaty, the exiled King of Belgium, Leopold. Leopold would eventually take control of the remainder of the Gabon and French Congo, the Germans of all of Cameroon, and the British would gain control of territory in the African Great Lakes, claimed by the Germans, as compensation.

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    Eventual borders of Spain-Equatoria in 1898, as agreed between Britain, Germany, and King Leopold after the collapse of French authority in the region*

    *Map making isn't my skill, and this is therefore overlayed on a map from the time - so ignore the rest of the borders,. Unless someone wants to help me make a more accurate map, this is the best I can do unfortunately!
     
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    Part 5, Chapter LXIV
  • V, LXIV: The Regeneration: Iberia 1894-1895​

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    Manuel Zorrilla, the first President of the Iberian Federation (1894-1895)

    The concept of “Great Man Theory” is a discredited and disliked concept amongst historians, but there are a few exceptions, a few times in which one figure seizes a nation and pulls it in the direction of their choosing. Manuel Ruiz Zorrilla is one such exception. A man who decided to change the direction of a nation and pull it in the direction of his choosing.

    Upon the winds of change, throughout 1894, Iberia embarked on a journey from the ashes of its tumultuous past toward the promise of a rejuvenated future. A nation of nations, once fragmented by civil unrest and marred by the scars of external invasion, stood on the precipice of transformation, its destiny unwritten, teetering between the legacy of turmoil and the dream of renewal. It was a time when the spirit of Iberia, resilient and defiant, sought not just to heal but to reimagine itself under the banner of regenerationalism.

    This reimagination was spurred in near totality by Zorrilla. His party, the Democratic Party, remains a giant in the Federation; his constitution remains the structure of the state; his commitment to ideology encapsulating plurinationalism and civic patriotism remains a key facet of the mood of the Iberian state. His death was a body blow to Iberia, but his greatest legacy was that his creed remained after he left, carried out by the party he created.

    The federation went through that journey and emerged with a renewed sense of self, an organisation that has lasted to this day, and a spirit of plurinationalism that transcended borders. Marked by conflict and dislocation, Manuel Zorrilla stood above the parapet of consensus in the Federation and dared to make a significant pitch to Iberia: I will reconstitute the Federation, and make it work.

    "Out of the shadows of our strife, we carve the path to our renaissance," Manuel Zorrilla once proclaimed, his voice echoing through the hearts of Iberians far and wide. This declaration became the anthem of a movement that envisioned an Iberia reborn, a federation united not just by borders but by a shared aspiration for prosperity, justice, and harmony.

    Part 1 - The Need for Recovery​

    At the end of a long and brutal two decades, marked by civil war and invasion, Iberia was a landscape marred by the ravages of relentless societal upheaval. Once a vibrant tapestry of cultures and traditions, the peninsular found itself weathered by the storms of war and migration.

    By 1893, the scars of nearly two decades of turmoil had profoundly altered the essence of this proud region. Spain and Portugal, nations that had together boasted a population of 21 million souls in the year 1873, now cradled only 19 million within their borders. The exodus was stark, with waves of emigration bleeding the peninsula dry of its lifeblood, leaving behind a realm shadowed by loss and uncertainty. The peninsular had lost its colonies, lost its pride, and lost its sense of direction. Seeing the ruin of the conflict, many begun asking whether it was all worth it.

    The French invasion had exacted a heavy toll, claiming the lives of 65,000 of the country’s citizens. Following the tumultuous overthrow of the monarchy, Portugal mourned the departure of the O Expulsos, 90,000 in total, to the distant shores of Brazil, a number which swelled by a further 100,000 in the ensuing years. The monarchist flight to Equatoria, a desperate bid for a new beginning, further syphoned the wealth and expertise that once flowed through Iberia. Financially ruined, politically chaotic, the writer Herman Melville travelled to Iberia in 1892 and witnessed the destruction, talking of Madrid as “a city half built, a people half dead.”

    Prior to the war, Catalonia stood as a solitary hub of industrialisation, but its factories and foundries too were dimmed by the shadows of conflict. Positioned on the very frontlines of the Spanish Civil War and the subsequent Franco-Iberian War, the region bore the brunt of devastation, its output crippled to a mere 45% of its pre-war output. The blockade of traditional trade routes, particularly with France, forced a reliance on the export of agricultural goods to nations like Italy and Britain, a meagre substitute for the emerging commerce of yesteryears.

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    Rope and basket weavers, Cordoba, 1895

    In search of a solution, the government of Spain, then Iberia, attempted to build self-sufficiency in the face of its status cut off from the world and its own colonies. The Iberian government's attempt at Autarky was thwarted by an undeniable dependence on British imports. The vital streams of gold and foreign currency, once the lifeblood of the economy, had been depleted, spirited away amidst the chaos of war, looting, and extraction by the retreating Monarchists. British banks, with Barings leading the charge, extended loans in a gesture of support, but the tightening noose of a global economic downturn caused by the Second French Revolution made repayment an Herculean task.

    Agriculture, the ancient backbone of the Iberian economy, thrived anew under the stewardship of these collectives. Teams of five to ten tended the land with a care born of collective ownership. Their voices, melded in democratic chorus, shaped the decisions that guided their labour. Management committees, elected with the solemn gravity of general assemblies, orchestrated the daily symphony of agricultural life, from the procurement of materials to the distribution of the harvest.

    Yet, even as these communities strove to forge a path of self-reliance, the spectre of dependency loomed large. Catalonia's urban centres, once the heart of Iberian industry, now mirrored the communal ethos of the rural collectives in their management of goods and services. However, the dream of autonomy was tempered by the reality of a nation still tethered to the imports that flowed from Britain's shores. Throughout this period, the challenges of rebuilding Iberia spilled into the political arena, heralding an era where the battle for the nation's soul would be fought not just in the fields but within the hallowed halls of power.

    Part 2 - The Ideological Maelstrom​

    This political battle emerged from the undercurrents of economic turmoil, manifesting as a deadlock that threatened to paralyse the Federation's resurgence. As Iberia emerged, battered and bruised from the fires of revolution, its corridors of power became the stage for a fierce battle of ideologies. The birth of the Democratic Federation of Spain (FDE) marked a new chapter, yet the ink was barely dry before the nation found itself ensnared in political deadlock. The halls of the Federal Congress, where the future of Iberia was to be forged, echoed not with unity but with the discord of divided factions.

    The era, optimistically dubbed the "Era of Good Feelings" for its brief respite between Republican unification and the Civil War's end, belied the simmering tensions beneath. The Pact of Pamplona, intended as a cornerstone of unity, instead became a symbol of the unresolved fissures within the coalition, leading to a political stasis that permeated the air like a dense fog.

    At the heart of this deadlock was a pivotal disagreement over the nation's economic future. The Anarchist FRE-AIT faction, fervent in their pursuit of collectivization and worker control, stood in stark opposition to the Federal Republican Democratic Party (FDRP), of which Manuel Zorrilla, the outlying element within the ruling Junta, was a prominent member.

    Zorrilla was a tolerated, respected, opposing political figure to the anarchist and socialist founders of the Federation. He had grown concerned with the state's direction. More accurately, both were concerned about the directionless nature of the state since the retreat of the French. He had felt the pain of loss during the war - his wife had been killed in 1891 during the defence of Catalonia, and this had spurred his passion for the Republican project. Some called him a broken man after the loss of his wife, but his loss had allocated his full attention to the health of the Federation.

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    Emilio Castelar, Second President of the Democratic Party

    Zorrilla, advocating for a synthesis of market-based economics within the new framework, found himself at a crossroads, his voice a lone call for moderation in a sea of extremism. Time was of the essence for the 61 year old in 1894 - his health had been deteriorating, but that didn’t stop his vigour. He was determined to leave a better peninsular than the backward, declining power he was born into.

    "The path to prosperity lies not in the extremes but in balance," Zorrilla argued, his words resonating in the hallowed halls of Congress, yet falling on ears divided by ideology.

    Zorrilla also advocated for policies that recognised the intrinsic value of individual religious beliefs while firmly supporting the separation of church and state. He envisioned a federation where the free exercise of faith went hand in hand with liberal governance, echoing his personal stance as a critical Catholic dedicated to the marriage of liberal and religious principles. Zorrilla, thus, sought to reduce the Church's overt political power but not its spiritual presence in the individual's private life.

    The emergence of the Federation of Spanish Workers (FTE), later renamed the Federation of Iberian Workers (FTI) following Portugal's integration, introduced a new actor to the political theatre. It provided a platform for more nuanced debate, though the shadow of the FRE-AIT loomed large, especially in the rural heartlands and the industrial bastions where memories of the revolution and the struggle against foreign domination were still fresh.

    The debates extended into the realm of agriculture, where the future of Iberia's breadbasket hung in balance. The insistence on decentralisation by the FRE-AIT clashed with calls for a semblance of central oversight, a debate that mirrored the broader ideological chasm and threatened to undermine the very fabric of Iberian economy. The FRE-AIT remained a formidable force thanks to its support among rural peasants and militant industrial workers, many of whom had fought the Centralised Republic and the French, who hailed it for the transfer of land after the revolution.

    Amidst these turbulent debates, the Turno Pacífico system, a mechanism designed to rotate leadership among the Federation's key figures, became a symbol of the political inertia gripping the nation. As Commissioner Pi and General Llunas took their turns at the helm, the absence of fresh ideas and solutions became increasingly apparent, leaving the populace yearning for change. Zorrilla was a beneficiary of this system, but felt it was stifling the natural creativity of the peninsular and its inhabitants. His work with the Junta brought him back into contact with an old friend and fellow traveller of the Republican movement, Emilio Castelar.

    Castelar was a product of Revolution and has been a stalwart of the revolutionary movement, present since the radical movements of the 1860s. He had taken a backseat in the current government, but was a keen member of the Federal Congress. A fan of Byron, he was considered an outstanding orator, and one of the key members of the moderate republican movement. A liberal democrat, he was ostracised by much of the Federation’s elite during the early days of the conflict, mainly for his association with the centralised republic, but as the years passed, he became influential and critical of the nature of the structure of the Federation.

    A key factor of the state was its decentralised nature, but many now believed it was too disorganised, too decentralised, and too weak to protect itself. The unorganised and chaotic administration of the state meant there were many different classifications of subdivisions in the Federation. Three republics - Catalonia, the Basque Regions, and Portugal - held additional power and were fiercely autonomous. While each province, city, and region had its own junta, the jurisdiction and scope of each varied, and their powers were undefined. Some were well organised, like Madrid and the nations, while some were less so, like many primarily rural cantons.

    The Universal, the governing document of the Federation, outlined the relationship between the Federation, cantons, and juntas, but not the respective jurisdictions of each layer of government. The only principle, subsidiarity, meant that the most local functional layer of government should deal with any issue. With a weak court, the Commission of Common Justice, which had little enforcing power in disputes, arguments between local, cantonal, and federal politicians were common. All these issues with the founding principles of the state were to be remedied, the two saw, and this could not be done with the help of the Anarchists.

    It was in this climate of stagnation that Manuel Zorrilla and Emilio Castelar, two figures once on the peripheries of Iberian politics, began to emerge as voices of reason. Zorrilla, with his history as Prime Minister of the Centralised Republic, and Castelar, whose defection marked a pivotal moment of unity, shared a vision of a more organised, centralised federation capable of defending itself and charting a course toward stability.

    "Iberia stands as a state of great metropolises and vast wilderness engulfed in chaos," Castelar lamented in a speech in 1893, encapsulating the sense of disarray that plagued the Federation.

    Their critique was not just of the present but of the very foundations upon which the Federation was built. The Universal, the document meant to guide the Federation, was silent on the intricate balance of power between its constituents, leading to a labyrinth of jurisdictional disputes and inefficiencies.

    As Zorrilla and Castelar navigated the complex political landscape, their resolve hardened. The Federation's salvation, they believed, would not come from the anarchistic principles that had birthed it but from a new vision of governance, one that embraced the necessity of strong leadership and a unified direction. Amidst the cacophony of voices and the clash of ideologies, their mission was clear: to forge a new path for Iberia, one that would lead it out of the shadows of conflict and into the light of a promising future. The political impasse, ripe with discord, laid bare the need for a new vision, a unifying force that could rise above the fragmented discourse and chart a course for Iberia's regeneration.

    Part 3 - The Birth of Regenerationalism​

    Enter regenerationalism, the philosophy championed by Castelar, Zorrilla, and their contemporaries, poised to infuse the Federation with the vitality it desperately needed. In the wake of a tumultuous era, as Iberia steadied itself on the path to recovery, a profound dialogue about its future began to unfold. The call to arms for this new chapter was sounded by none other than Emilio Castelar, whose late 1893 proclamation of "self-organisation" and "regenerationalism" reverberated through the corridors of power in the burgeoning Iberian state. It was a clarion call to fortify the nation against the spectre of foreign domination, to weave the fabric of a resilient and self-sufficient Iberia.

    Castelar, a visionary with his gaze firmly fixed on the horizon, understood that while the Federation had been shaped by the fires of rebellion and conflict, its institutional framework remained a patchwork quilt of reactionary measures. "We have built a state in the image of defiance," he mused, "yet now, in the absence of a common enemy, we find ourselves at a crossroads. Must we not endeavour to sculpt a lasting edifice from the clay of our collective aspirations?"

    The waning threat of French aggression, under the more conciliatory Keufer premiership, provided a much-needed respite, a moment of calm that Castelar, alongside Manuel Zorrilla and José Francos Rodríguez, seized to advocate for sweeping reforms. Through the editorial pages of Zorrilla’s popular newspaper, El Globo, they championed a vision of Iberia renewed, shedding the oppressive legacies of land inequality, ecclesiastical dominance, and oligarchic governance. Yet, they contended, such transformation necessitated a departure from the anarchy of decentralisation towards a more unified, centralised governance model.

    "This Federation, this remarkable construct of our collective will, stands as a beacon of hope," Zorrilla penned in a passionate editorial. "Yet, to navigate the tempests of the coming century, we must anchor ourselves in principles that transcend the mere absence of conflict. Self-sufficiency, neutrality, respect for the myriad voices that compose our nation, and a commitment to strength — these are the pillars upon which our future must be built."

    Zorrilla's reflections struck a chord, resonating deeply with an emerging middle class and a new generation of thinkers disillusioned with the dogmas of the past. They envisioned Iberia not as a singular, monolithic entity but as a vibrant mosaic of identities — a "nation of nations." This ethos of pluranationalism formed the core of Zorrilla's regenerationalist philosophy.

    The battle-scarred landscape of Iberia, having endured over a decade of internal strife, yearned for unity and purpose. The regenerationalist movement, therefore, did not seek to erase the distinctions between Catalans, Basques, Portuguese, and Castilians but to celebrate them within the cohesive framework of a reimagined Federation. "In our diversity lies our greatest strength," proclaimed Lucas Mallada, echoing the sentiments of fellow supporters like the Portugese Republican, Teófilo Braga, Joaquín Costa and Ángel Ganivet.

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    Teófilo Braga, leading member of the Democratic Party of Iberia

    This vision of reform and renewal found international admirers as well. Notably, the Liberal Democracy Party (LDP) in Britain saw in Zorrilla and his movement a reflection of their own aspirations. Herbert Gladstone, upon visiting Iberia, lauded the regenerationalists: "Here lies a patriotic endeavour not to dismantle but to build, to foster institutions that will stand as a testament to the resilience of the Iberian spirit." Such endorsements only underscored the universal appeal of the ideals that Zorrilla and his compatriots espoused.

    As the Federation stood on the cusp of monumental change, its architects — driven by a shared vision of progress, unity, and resilience — embarked on a journey to redefine the very essence of Iberia. In their words and deeds, they laid the foundation for a new era, one rooted in the lessons of the past but reaching boldly into the future. As the regenerationalist movement gained momentum, its ideals would soon be put to the test in the crucible of public opinion: the impending elections."

    Part 4 - The Defining Election of 1894​

    The year 1894 was not just another notch on the timeline; it was the moment when the ideals of regenerationalism would face the ultimate trial by fire—the judgment of the people in a defining election. The dissolution of the Federal Congress set the stage for an election that promised to be the most defining moment since the Federation's inception. Across the sprawling landscape of Iberia, from the bustling streets of Madrid to the tranquil villages dotting the countryside, the air was thick with speculation and hope. Manuel Zorrilla, embodying the call for radical reform, stood poised against the established order represented by the FTI, signalling a pivotal showdown that would chart the course of the nation's future.

    "The atmosphere in Madrid is electric, almost chaotic," observed a New York Times correspondent, painting a vivid picture of the pre-election scene. "The city's squares teem with passionate orators, their voices merging into a cacophony of ideals and aspirations, while the ground is littered with the remnants of fervent pleas for progress."

    In response to the overwhelming clamour of public discourse, Zorrilla and his allies embarked on a strategic campaign to engage the populace directly. They wove through the dense fabric of Iberian society, from the heart of bustling metropolises to the serene solitude of rural hamlets, sharing their vision of a rejuvenated Federation. "Our journey is not just through the streets of Iberia but into the hearts of its people," Zorrilla declared, as he rallied his supporters to disseminate their message of reform.

    Faced with the challenge of widespread illiteracy, Zorrilla embraced the symbol of the cat, a nod to the broader movement toward moderate democracy that was gaining momentum worldwide. "In this emblem, we find our shared identity—a creature known for its independence, yet part of a greater community," he mused, symbolising the delicate balance between individual freedoms and collective responsibility that he envisioned for the Federation.

    As the election unfolded over the span of four weeks, a wave of anticipation swept across Iberia. The people's verdict was resoundingly clear—a mandate for change, for an end to the old ways and the dawn of a new era under the banner of regenerationalism. As the citizens of the cantons and nations headed to the poll, one thing became clear - Zorrilla and the moderates had secured an unassailable faction in both houses of the Federal Congress. The victory of Zorrilla's faction was not just a political triumph but a seismic shift in the ideological landscape of the Federation.

    In the wake of this electoral landslide, Zorrilla addressed the newly convened Federal Congress with a resolve that echoed through the annals of Iberian history. "Today, we stand at the threshold of a new epoch. With your support, we embark on the noble task of rebuilding the Federation," he proclaimed, his voice resonating with the weight of the moment. While Zorrilla was expected to attempt to govern with the other members of the Pactist Coalition, with the wind blowing firmly in his direction, at the first meeting of the Federal Congress, he made a firm attempt to seize control.

    After it was clear that support for his unilateral reforms would be enough to secure a majority in both houses, he told the joint session that he intended to withdraw from the Pactist Coalition, seek a motion to dissolve both the JEC and CCS and elect a new, pro-reform slate of candidates on both bodies. The JEC and CCS would be given the powers to propose a new constitution and pass economic reforms to fulfil the promise of regenerationalism. His supporters cheered him on, while opponents of his reforms and supporters of the current system, including Commissioner Pi, were incredulous. Zorrilla pleaded for Congress to pass his reforms as quickly as possible, believing his ministry would not be eternal, and the window for reform would eventually close.

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    Cartoon of Zorrilla in a Spanish-language newspaper

    When the Supervisors brought Zorrilla's motion to a vote, it was passed by a margin of 138-67. Thunderous cheers filled the congress hall. Later that day, the members who voted in favour met on the steps of the Congress. Led by Zorrilla, Braga, Castelar, Mallada, Costa, and Ganivet, they declared the formation of a new political party in Iberia: The Democratic Party.

    As a broad-based political movement, the Democratic Party represented a coalition of moderates, reformists, and progressives united under the banner of regenerationalism. This new political force aimed to transcend the ideological divisions that had previously fragmented Iberian politics. "Let this party be the crucible in which we forge a brighter future for all Iberians," Castelar stated, encapsulating the spirit of the movement. "Our program will be the foundation upon which we build a society that honours our past while boldly stepping into the future," he declared, setting the stage for a transformative era in Iberian history.

    This period of reform and renewal, marked by the emergence of the Democratic Party and the leadership of visionaries like Zorrilla, Castelar, and their compatriots, heralded a new dawn for Iberia. A dawn where the ideals of regenerationalism would illuminate the path towards a unified, prosperous, and equitable Federation. With the election concluded and the people’s mandate clear, the true work of regeneration lay ahead, ready to transform political success into tangible progress.

    Part 5 - Crafting the New Constitution​

    The electoral triumph was the catalyst that unleashed a cascade of reforms, initiating a period of intense transformation across the fabric of Iberian society. Following the election, sweeping reforms were initiated by Manuel Zorrilla and his Democratic allies. Iberia underwent a period of profound transformation that reshaped its political, economic, and social landscape. These changes, while controversial, marked a significant departure from the anarchic and decentralised system that had characterised the Federation in the wake of the French invasion and subsequent conflicts. The focus on economic revitalisation, political restructuring, and international engagement set the stage for a new era in Iberian history.

    Zorrilla's first task was rewriting the federal constitution. Completed in December 1894 and ratified by referendum in January 1895, the new constitution established a new legislature, the Central Council, a President elected by the legislature, and an Executive composed of legislative members. This streamlined governance model aimed to reduce the political deadlock and foster more efficient decision-making.

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    Supporters celebrate the passage of the Constitution

    Cantons would provide input on federal legislation by sending a member to the Federation Council, which would be given the power of review and a suspensive veto on all legislation passed by the Central Council. These members wouldn't have permanent mandates but would consist of a delegation which could be changed between meetings.

    For legislation to become law, the Central Council and President would need to consent to its passage, while the Federation Council could only delay legislation, and if the Central Council rejected amendments made by the Federation Council, the Central Council could pass the legislation unamended again. Despite this, the body would have an absolute veto on constitutional changes and legislation that affected the power of the cantons. One of the pivotal aspects of the constitution was, for the first time, a clearly delineated sphere of powers for cantons and juntas - ending the practice of implied powers and subsidiarity.

    The constitution also reformed and strengthened the judicial branch, enumerated civil rights across the Federation, and gave the newly established Supreme Court of Iberia the power of judicial review, appointed by the President on the recommendation of the Central Council. It also redefined the roles of cantons and juntas, providing a clearer delineation of powers and responsibilities across different levels of government. Three levels of government were established: the Juntas at the base level, the cantons at the state level, and the Federation. Some Cantons were structured differently, mainly to incorporate nationalities or major cities.

    Cantons comprising one city or locality were dubbed "Cantons and Juntas," essentially merging the two levels of government into one. These were Asturias, Baleares, Madrid, La Rioja, Murcia, Cartagena, and Navarre, uniquely named the Chartered Canton and Junta of Navarre. The second difference was the national republics, known as "Republics and Cantons," these were Catalonia, Euskal Kantonamendua (Basque Community), Andalucia, Galicia, Valencia, and Portugal, which was reunited under a single government. However, the reforms retained referendums and initiatives within the constitutional framework to continue public participation in the political process. The new constitutional framework was only the beginning; the regeneration of Iberia would demand a bold economic realignment to bring prosperity back to its people.

    Part 6 - A New Prosperity​

    As Zorrilla’s government turned its focus from the laws of the land to the livelihoods of its citizens, the landscape of Iberia's economy braced for groundbreaking changes. Zorrilla's government furthered the development of Iberia by implementing policies allowing private enterprises to resume operations, marking a shift towards a mixed economy. He loosened the restrictions on cooperative industries by allowing private individuals to own multiple businesses, provided the board contained worker representatives on the board. This move, coupled with the Investment Plan of Autumn 1894, aimed to attract foreign investment, signalling Iberia's openness to global economic participation after agreeing to loans from German and British banks.

    Zorrilla’s reforms extended to the realm of education, deeply informed by his conviction that an enlightened populace was the bedrock of a vibrant democracy. His government prioritised the establishment of secular educational systems that empowered citizens with knowledge, while permitting religious institutions to participate in the educational landscape under liberal standards. It was a delicate balance, reflective of Zorrilla's commitment to nurturing an informed society that could uphold the tenets of a progressive republic.

    The establishment of the Bank of Iberia in January 1895, a federal mint, and the introduction of the Unidad/Unidade in January 1895 as the new federal currency was a critical step in economic normalisation. Pivotally, Castelar organised a gold purchase to back the currency with gold in exchange for a share of future exports. It eased trade, increased confidence, and stimulated investment within and beyond Iberia's borders.

    The Infrastructure Plan launched in March 1895 focused on rebuilding and expanding transportation networks, utilities, and public services, laying the groundwork for sustained economic growth and integration into the global economy. Mallada and Castelar worked to make the Iberian treasury viable and looked to raise revenues to invest in the economy. This included trade deals with Italy, Britain, and Germany in 1895, opening up foreign investment in the country. Castelar also established a state monopoly on alcohol sales to raise funds and export wines and spirits for export, used foreign loans to increase the country's railway network and allowed the federal government and cantons to cooperate to launch irrigation schemes and canal improvements to stimulate agriculture.

    The transition towards Zorrilla's reforms was fraught with contention. At the municipal and cantonal levels, debates raged between those advocating for preserving communal farming practices and proponents of economic liberalisation. In rural areas, the shift away from collectivised agriculture was met with resistance, particularly from communities that had flourished under the previous system. Stories of heated town hall meetings, where farmers clashed with reformist officials, encapsulate the human dimension of this ideological struggle. The path to modernisation, it became clear, was paved with disputes over the soul of Iberian society.

    The public's reception to Zorrilla's reforms was a tapestry of support, scepticism, and outright opposition. The FTI's eventual endorsement of the reforms came after intense internal deliberations, reflective of a broader societal debate over the direction of the Federation. Despite his initial misgivings, Pi came to understand and appreciate the reforms, for instance. The radical left, including the FRE-AIT and radical FTI members, viewed the reforms as a betrayal, organising protests that underscored the deep divisions within Iberian society. This opposition was not merely political but also a reflection of a society grappling with its identity and future in the wake of upheaval.

    Still, the economic reforms, while ambitious, had mixed outcomes. In rural areas, the transition from collectivised to mixed economies led to an initial increase in unemployment as the market adjusted to new dynamics. However, by 1896, as the world stepped into the onset of the Turbulence, agricultural output stabilised, growing at an annual rate of 2.7% as diversification efforts took root. Introducing private enterprise spurred innovation and highlighted the disparities between urban and rural areas. Inflation, a looming spectre in the initial years, was gradually tamed by the stabilisation of the Uni, named as an abbreviation of Unidad and Unidade, meaning unit, leading to a more predictable economic environment.

    With economic strategies taking shape, Zorrilla understood that enduring change also needed a stable political environment—one that would emerge from yet another realignment.

    Part 7 - Political Landscape Transformed​

    The aftermath of economic restructuring set the stage for another significant shift: a political realignment that would secure Zorrilla’s vision and pave the way for the Federation's future. With the new constitution passed, Zorrilla announced the dissolution of the Federal Congress and all cantonal and municipal bodies for a further election on April 3rd, 1895. The election saw a victory for the Democratic Party and after the Central Council met, Zorrilla was elected as the first President of the Iberian Federation.

    Seeking to entrench the cooperative spirit of the revolutionary period, prior to the election Zorrilla approached Pi and senior members of the Federation of Iberian Workers about forming a "Grand Coalition" after the election. With the results confirmed, Zorrilla was able to convince a number of the members of the FTI to go along with his plan, and to sweeten the deal, former-commissioner Pi became the first President of the Council of Ministers, akin to the Prime Minister, and the new government featured an even split between Democratic Party and FTI members.

    When the Central Committee of the FTI refused to back the coalition agreement, Pi led the parliamentary members of the group out of the FTI and, in May 1895, founded the Workers Party of Iberia, which brought with it moderate trade unions and left the radical workers, most notably the mining unions in the north of the country and industrial workers in Catalonia, outside the governing coalition. The trade unions that allied with the government formed the UGT (Unión General de Trabajadores/União Geral dos Trabalhadores), which those opposed to the government formed the Federació Local de Societats Obreres (FLSO), emerging from the reconstitution of the FRE-AIT.

    The FLSO adopted a focus on direct action and community organising outside the parliamentary framework and did not sponsor Central Council candidates until 1898. Since Keufer's takeover of France, the FLSO began to ally itself with the growing Left-Actionist movement and eventually formed the Communist Party of Spain in 1900. While some members continued the AIT as a group opposed to the reforms, the appetite for outright stateless anarchism fell as an era of cooperation reigned supreme.

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    Zorrilla just before his death in 1895

    It was under Zorrilla's stewardship that the Federation witnessed an opening towards a more inclusive approach to religion in public life. He spearheaded legislative initiatives that ensured the protection of religious freedoms, offering reassurance to the devout that regenerationalism did not equate to a denial of faith. This approach aimed to dismantle fears and build a bridge between progressive state policies and the diverse spiritual tapestry of Iberia.

    The period of reform also catalysed a cultural renaissance in Iberia. As political and economic landscapes shifted, so too did the realms of art, literature, and public discourse. A surge of creative expression reflected the redefinition of national identity, emphasising inclusivity and diversity. Artists and writers, inspired by the tumult of recent history, explored themes of resilience, unity, and hope.

    The cultural renaissance under Zorrilla’s era also reflected his liberal yet conciliatory approach to religion. His administration fostered an atmosphere where religious and secular voices alike could contribute to the burgeoning public discourse. This was emblematic of Zorrilla’s broader vision for a Federation that championed both the advancement of secular ideologies and the respect for religious diversity, aiming to sculpt a societal ethos that was enlightened yet inclusive.

    The church's role, diminished in public life, gave way to a secular society more reflective of Iberia's pluralistic reality, but the new government attempted to court the Catholic Church with less restrictions and a softer line of secularisation. The integration of Portugal expanded the Federation's cultural tapestry and reinforced the notion of Iberia as a "nation of nations," celebrating its regional identities while forging a unified national narrative.

    With his power base secure and the country modernised and reformed, Zorrilla would now seek to secure the federation's borders by approaching the old enemy of the Federation, France, with a peace treaty. To his surprise, Zorrilla found Keufer willing to entertain such a suggestion, and the two would meet in December 1894, although the consequences of the peace treaty would have profound ramifications for Keufer, Iberia, and the world - as we will examine in the next chapter. As the new political landscape solidified, the era of regeneration entered its maturity, bringing forth a blossoming of Iberian culture and identity.

    Part 8 - The Regenerated Iberia​

    The regeneration of Iberia was now a vivid reality, its multifaceted transformation resonating in every aspect of national life—from governance to the everyday lives of its people. The adoption of a new constitution marked the cornerstone of this era, ushering in a governance model poised to bridge the divides that had long fragmented the federation. It was a testament to the collective will of a people determined to forge a future that honoured the diversity of their identities while navigating the complexities of the modern world.

    The strides toward economic revitalization, underscored by the strategic embrace of a mixed economy and the establishment of the Bank of Iberia, signalled a departure from the shadows of autarky. This economic renaissance, bolstered by international investment and a renewed focus on infrastructure, promised a future where prosperity was not just a vision but a tangible reality for Iberians from all walks of life. Yet, it was perhaps in the realm of culture that the true essence of Iberia's regeneration was most vividly realised. A cultural renaissance, fueled by the spirit of reform and the vibrancy of Iberia's diverse communities, blossomed. Artists, writers, and thinkers, inspired by the tumult and triumphs of their times, wove a narrative of resilience and hope, crafting a tapestry of creativity that reflected the soul of a nation reborn.

    "In every stroke of the brush, every word penned, lies the heartbeat of our federation," mused Zorrilla, reflecting on the cultural awakening that paralleled the political and economic transformation of Iberia. It was a reminder that the journey of regeneration was not just about rewriting laws or revitalising economies but about nurturing the spirit and identity of a people united in their diversity.

    As the fledgling dawn of a new Iberia broke, its chief architect, Manuel Ruiz Zorrilla, was suddenly snatched away by the relentless hand of mortality. His untimely demise in June 1895 sent shockwaves throughout the federation. The nation mourned, not merely for the loss of a leader but for the visionary spirit that had rekindled the flames of hope in a land long shrouded in uncertainty. Yet, even as sorrow cast its pall, the indomitable will of Zorrilla—etched in the very fabric of the Federation’s rebirth—promised that his dreams for Iberia would endure beyond the grave, his legacy immortalised in the march towards progress and unity. A new election was arranged upon his death and Pi was elected as the second President of the Federation, with Teófilo Braga becoming Prime Minister.

    As Iberia stood at the dawn of this new era, its future remained a canvas of possibility, shaped by the hands of those who dare to dream. A canvas that would be impacted, but not destroyed, by the Turbulence.
     
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