Latinforme

by Nathalia Goetz M.A. History

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  • The ‘Black Legend’ and the Development of American Historiography on Spanish Colonialism

    Perhaps in the spirit of patriotism, American historiographers of colonialism are most accustomed to discussing is Great Britian. The American Revolution no doubt influenced this feeling of superiority over European powers, with American historians echoing the major grievance of ‘taxation without representation’ as a reason for our rebellion against British colonial tyranny. British colonialism itself, however, has notably been omitted from the grievance list. Spanish colonial efforts predate those of Great Britain, yet there is undoubtedly a different tone historiographers take when discussing Spain’s effects on the Americas. American historians’ evaluations of Spanish colonization of the Americas have undoubtedly evolved through the nineteenth to twenty-first century from viewing Imperial Spain as a righteous colonizer, to focusing on its inefficiency as an imperial force due to the inherent failure of Catholicism, to criticizing Spain for its cruelty against indigenous peoples. Further, these evaluations reflect cultural attitudes such as nationalism and anti-Catholic sentiments and presently question America’s own colonization efforts and relationships with indigenous Americans. Only recently has American historiography shifted away from the ‘Black Legend,’ aiming to capture a more nuanced understanding of Spanish colonialism and how it altered the development of Latin America. By analyzing how Americans’ historical evaluations of Spanish colonialism in the Americas have changed over time, we can further understand how American historians have crafted exceptions to colonialism and the religious and racial standards for its acceptability.

    Columbus and Las Casas: Flawed Primary Sources

    Two of the most cited Spanish colonial accounts are those of Christopher Columbus and Bartolomeo de Las Casas, whose writings are pointed to as cornerstone works to understanding Spanish colonialism as a whole. Reviewing the correspondence of Christopher Columbus to the Spanish crown during his first voyage, it is apparent that his initial impression of the native Hispaniola people has had a great deal of influence on the western historiography of European colonialism in the Americas. He describes the people as “well-formed” but “timid” and observes their seeming lack of private property and nudity as strange curiosities, essentially painting them as blank canvases ripe for his stated purpose of Catholic proselytization.[1] It is evident Columbus views them with a paternalistic attitude, calling them “idiots” for bartering poorly by not understanding his Eurasian conception of value and remarking how they viewed him as descended from the heavens. Columbus presents himself as a generous diplomat, freely giving goods to the natives to earn their goodwill; however, he admits to forcing several into his custody upon his arrival to teach them Spanish and use them as translators. At face value, Columbus may give the impression he is simply a benevolent voyager engaging in cultural exchange on a royally sponsored expedition, but his language displays a clear self-superiority and objectifies the Hispaniola people into potential conversions for Catholicism with a hint towards their value as laborers, given his emphatic admiration for their bodies. In addition, Columbus reports of the island’s many natural resources, heralding the eventual establishment of slave labor colonies to harvest and extract those same resources for Spanish merchants and European markets.

    In stark contrast to Columbus, Dominican friar Bartolome de Las Casas offers a harrowing account of the cruelties inflicted upon the indigenous populations of Latin America by the Spaniards. Writing on Hispaniola, the first island Columbus had visited, Las Casas speaks to how the Spanish took women and children as slaves when the goods those same people had offered did not “satisfy their own base appetites.”[2] Instead of the generosity and grace Columbus described himself in his dealings with the natives, Las Casas tells of brutal massacres and rapes perpetrated by the Spaniards. He goes into disturbing detail, telling of infants being torn from their mothers and dashed against rocks and of people being butchered as though they were playthings. It is due to Las Casas that history has an alternate eyewitness perspective from the Spanish side concerning the administration of their colonies, a perspective that often went dismissed or unaddressed by earlier historians in favor of praising Columbus’s intrepidness as an explorer and reinforcing beliefs that the natives were savages needing European civilization to tame them. However, Las Casas’ accounts are arguably too heavily relied on in past and contemporary historiographies alike. Coming from the perspective of a friar, Las Casas never takes the position that the Christianization of Caribbean natives is wrong – he only condemns the physical violence inflicted upon them by Columbus and his conquering crew. He begs contemporary and future readers to feel pity for their plight, and not to question whether they should be Christianized, and thereby civilized, in the first place. Las Casas further shares a similar mythologization of the ‘New World,’ a land once untouched by civilization and in need of social and spiritual salvation. Neither of these accounts, despite their undeniable importance, should continue to be depicted in future historiography as solely representative of Spanish colonial perceptions.

    Early American Historical Perceptions

    American historical opinion of Spanish conquest began on particularly unstable foundations. Benjamin Keen identifies historiographical trends within American writings on colonial Spanish America, particularly the stereotypes and bad-faithed analyses of nineteenth and early twentieth century American historians. He identifies two prejudices which are prevalent in American scholarship on Spanish conquest: a categorization of Indigenous Americans as inferior obstacle to Anglo-American civilization, and an image of Spaniards as romantic and backwards Saint-worshippers.[3] He offers a holistic understanding of a century of historical writings on Spanish America beginning in 1820 and to what extent these historians were influenced by the political, cultural, and economic conditions of their respective eras. Keen writes that William H. Prescott’s History of the Conquest of Mexico (1843) epitomizes pre-Civil War thought on Spanish colonization, as Prescott notably describes Spain as an “inferior variant of white civilization” that humbled themselves by mingling with “lesser breeds” in their efforts to civilize indigenous Mexico.[4] Post-Civil War era historiography embodied the Social Darwinist fervor of scholars like Lewis Morgan and Hubert H. Bancroft, who write to absolve Spanish colonizers of their destruction of pure, untouched civilizations by painting its natives as lesser civilizations that needed European and Christian salvation. Tall tales of Aztec and Mayan cannibalism and sacrifices were especially cited in the defense of Spanish colonialism.  Between 1880 to 1890, Keen describes a notable historiographical shift towards “Pan-Americanism,” bolstered by depressions that reoriented North American businessmen towards economic partnerships in Latin America, particularly Cuba.[5]

    Early twentieth century historiography saw a rise in anti-Spanish sentiment (importantly, not anti-colonial, just anti-Spanish), idealizing the civilizing of the Americas but depicting the Spanish as inefficient rulers, doomed by their romanticized dedication to Catholicism and the mixing of races. Keen most highly praises the recent revisionist historiography of the 1950s through 1970s, describing them as having significantly improved the scholarship on Spanish colonialism by rigorously correcting oversimplified, anti-Spanish literature of their predecessors.[6] However, he laments their partiality towards Spanish elites, and faults them for still not being proactive enough in centering black, indigenous, and mixed-race voices. He concludes that his contemporaries, especially younger scholars, provide hope in giving more attention to the often forgotten, non-white ‘masses’ that continue to deal with the effects of Spanish colonialism. Relying on secondary sources from the 1820s to the 1970s to draw his analyses from, he proves his credibility through his professional commitment to critically examining the history of colonialism in Latin America. His analyses would be improved, however, with more attention towards how American Evangelicalism may have altered the evolving historiographical analyses on Spain, choosing instead to prioritize how these movements responded to political and economic changes in the United States.

    Historical discourse from the turn of the twentieth century reveals a significant disconnect between the Latin American and American and European understanding of colonial Latin America. H. D. Money’s article from the North American Review provides a rather crude example of the nationalism that plagues much of pre-twentieth century American historiography, especially as his article is published close to the beginning of the Spanish-American War. He responds to an article of the same year by Mexican diplomat to America M. Romero, who recounts the history of the Latin American independence movements from Spain and argues that the United States did not offer enough support to the Latin American revolutionaries.[7] Romero cites the American Revolution as the catalyst for proving to the Latin Americans that colonies could secede from their European empires. He further marks several moments where the United States refused and delayed meetings with Latin American representatives, believing this to be proof of U.S. preference towards Spain as a European power. In response, H. D. Money passionately argues for the United States as an inspirational force of freedom in the Atlantic, not unlike President Theodore Roosevelt’s brotherly approach to the Americas. Money makes his own evaluation of Latin American independence by describing Latin Americans as having suffered under so much Spanish cruelty that revolution was inevitable.[8] In this same vein, he dismisses the enslaved black people of La Plata and Venezuela as being unfit for self-government.

    To Money and nationalists like him, the United States was a liberating force in the Atlantic world that inspired the lesser American nations to rebel against European tyranny, akin to the American Revolution, yet still in-need of a white savior to relinquish them from native barbary (and even worse, Catholicism, the less-white version of Christianity.) He makes no citation nor evidence of his credibility as a historian other than his appeal to the readers of the North American Review to discount the Spaniard-sympathizing Romero. This American perspective points to an evolution of hypocrisy within U.S. foreign policy and societal perceptions of Spain. Money’s opinionated historical evaluation reflects nationalist feelings of the United States leading up to the Spanish-American War and how that climate influenced the writings and interpretations of American historians to take a more derisive view of Spain and its former colonies.

    The American historiography of colonial Spain had a noticeably anti-Spanish slant by the turn of the twentieth century, emphasizing and often over-exaggerating the failures of Spanish colonial rule to make English colonialism appear masterful by proxy. Blackmar gives a critical account of Spain’s colonial history, defining the crown as an imperialist oppressor and infringing on the civil liberties of its people with the church augmenting its arbitrary power.[9] In keeping with the definition of colonial Spain as overly centralized, he labels the economic system as monopolist and selfish, leading to self-destruction and debt. In contrast, the nations of the United States and Britain are compared favorably as having more freedoms and autonomous governance, being of the “enlightened” type. The date and context of writing, during the Industrial Revolution era of the United States and its espousal for laissez-faire economics informs the angle of criticism the author employs. Spain’s biggest vices are in the trade interference and oppressive mismanagement of its colonies, according to Blackmar. He especially laments the tariffs Spain placed on foreign goods, leading to foreign merchants from America and Britain shipping their products with a Spanish label to skirt the tax.[10] This source demonstrates a clear bias in American historiography at the turn of the twentieth century for viewing Spanish colonization as a failure compared to British colonization, but the way in which the failure is measured is in Spain’s excess of metropolitan management and inability to take advantage of America’s vast natural resources. Blackmar explicitly endorses Christianity, he sees the Catholic Church of Spain as being a sprawling institution with far too much involvement that cannibalized colonial Spain’s economic potential through burdensome taxes. He frequently labels Spanish administration as evil, but in the sense that it was evil for restricting the economic rights of its colonists and foreign merchants. The plight of enslaved people and indigenous people are a footnote in the author’s writing on the economic development of America.

    Modern Historiography: Combatting the ‘Black Legend’

    Misinterpreted accounts from Spanish conquistadors in the Americas have been the predominant resource for historians who followed Keen’s aforementioned trend of dehumanizing natives to justify their genocide. Columbus’ words, however, are becoming of less value to more recent historians of the late twentieth century like Patricia Seed. Seed analyzes the prevailing historiographical trend of painting indigenous Americans as being both susceptible to Spanish colonization and in-need of Western civilization to save them from their native-ness. She begins with the analysis of first-hand accounts from the early sixteenth century, such as the words of Dominican Fray Antonio Montesinos, who advocated for the humane treatment of indigenous peoples who were subject to Spanish “cruel and horrible servitude.”[11] While she praises the contemporary trend of Hispanist historians combatting the ‘Black Legend,’ a trend which exaggerates Spanish cruelty towards their colonies, she criticizes their tendency to oversimplify stories of colonial violence by acquitting ‘most’ Spaniards of being nonviolent offenders. This sort of “Rose Legend” both treats Spanish violence against natives as a rare exception to their colonial pursuits and fails to critically examine the words of Las Casas, who is often cited as proof of their claims of exceptional violence.[12] Most prevalent in the historiography, she writes, are colonial Spanish narratives of indigenous peoples being animalistic enough to be distinct from whites, but human enough to be Christianized and civilized. She concludes that indigenous Latin Americans continue to suffer from the effects of Spanish colonialism, as contemporary narratives surrounding the necessity for their assimilation prevail in Latin American countries. Similar to Keen, she adds to a burgeoning scholarship that aims to provide a more nuanced understanding of how American opinions on Spanish colonialism have changed for the better over time.

    Archaeological evidence in historical Latin America is displaying the ways in which indigenous America culture influenced the development of Spanish American communities. Deagan writes about the several ways in which Spanish colonization of the Americas transformed indigenous society, contextualizing Spain’s own imperial origins in the history of the Iberian Peninsula as once ruled by Muslims and a great deal more tolerant and diverse before the domination of Catholic monarchs instituted a project of religious zeal.[13] She covers the evangelization goal of colonization as the crown’s official justification and points out the conflict between the Catholic Church that the indigenous had rights and were souls for conversion and colonists who viewed them as subhuman laborers. Throughout, Deagan cites archaeological evidence of Spanish colonial life, finding class and religion dictated social structure more than race and that intermarriage was common as per crown policy desiring better assimilation to Spanish culture.[14] Deagan’s work demonstrates the value of interdisciplinary studies contributing to the historical understanding of Spanish American colonization and European colonization in general.

    By examining archaeological evidence like the predominance of American elements over Spanish ones in Spanish American households among women, Deagan constructs an understanding of Spanish colonization as one uniquely interwoven with indigenous culture. In rural areas further away from the reach of metropolitan Madrid, indigenous American cultural artifacts were even more prevalent. Outnumbered and deeper into the countryside, Spaniards adjusted their approach to accommodating the natives and did so in an effectively peaceful manner. Still, she acknowledges the hypocrisy of Spain’s Catholic-based justifications, identifying that the same justification used to proselytize and prevent enslaving the Indians was used to enslave Africans who were viewed as lesser due to the perception of the continent as Islamic. Bringing to light the ways in which Spanish Catholic missionaries adjusted their approach to better integrate native sensibilities disputes the anti-Catholic association brought forth by Protestant historians of the Anglo-world subscribing to the ‘Black Legend’ and elucidates why modern Catholic rituals in the Latin American world are a unique fusion of indigenous American culture and imported Catholic practices.

    To better understand how American historians have both praised and condemned Spanish colonialism over the Americas, it is necessary to understand the structures the Spanish imposed in order to solidify cultural domination over indigenous Americans. Tamar Herzog takes a balanced view of the Spanish colonization of America, finding that the imposition of Spanish-style administration simultaneously granted natives many new rights and removed many of their previously held rights pre-contact. Herzog argues that through the recognition of indigenous land rights, native communities were not completely erased at the hands of Spanish colonialists, contrary to the ‘Black Legend’ trend in American historiography.[15] Oftentimes, the Spanish recognized the natives’ land rights, but they also required the natives abandon their indigenous names and adopt Christian ones. The repartimiento is defined as a redistribution of native land that led to displacements of groups onto other groups’ ancestral territories, land grants that could be revoked if not paid, and stipulations that the crown could requisition land “not properly worked.”[16] Herzog’s work represents the advancement of colonial Spain historiographies, avoiding the twentieth century tendency to hyperbolize Spain’s shortcomings but still critiquing its erasure of native culture and coercion from indigenous to Spanish entitlements. She gives the natives proper consideration as their own peoples having existed in America with their own system of rights pre-colonization, using that foundation to examine how Spain re-ordered their society by introducing its own system.

    Recent Historiography: Revisiting and Redefining Colonialism

    The historiographical assumption of the Spanish territories in the Americas as being colonial is one that is often ascribed without much interrogation, especially so amongst historians from the English-speaking world. Hispanist historians like Rafael D. Gracia Pérez are helping re-write this understanding with critical re-examinations of the assumption of Latin America’s colonial status under Spain. Pérez traces the historiographical discourse in the Spanish speaking world about whether the status of the Spanish American colonies should remain as “colonies” or be re-interpreted as “provinces” of the Spanish monarchy proper, a debate that originates from Argentinian historian Ricardo Levene’s 1948 argument that Spanish America should be treated as the latter.[17] He cautions that such a re-framing should not be mistaken as an endorsement or whitewashing of the Spaniards’ abuses of the indigenous peoples of the Americas. Giving his own evaluation of the evidence, Perez recalls Philip II’s Ordinances of the Council of the Indies that ordained Spanish America be governed with Castilian laws as they were part of the Crown; what followed was the division and provincialization of the territories.[18] In action, this process socially homogenized the diverse indigenous groups into “Indians” and resembled more of a Roman Empire approach to incorporating new lands rather than that of Spain’s European contemporaries. Pérez’s work builds on the existing body of Latin American historians seeking to re-define their histories not as helpless victims of Spanish imperialism, but as integral to the creation of Spanish American laws and culture. This is a distinction that, as Pérez notes, has largely gone unacknowledged in the Anglo-Saxon sphere of historians.

    Scholarship on the link between development levels and the extent to which imperial Spain was involved with a colony is encouraging a more multi-faceted understanding of colonial Spanish America as a whole. The experience of one Latin American country compared to another could differ greatly depending on the systems and structures put in place by Spaniards, especially in places where those systems helped facilitate greater economic gain for Spain. James Mahoney analyzes the development of Spain’s different colonies, finding that the economic and colonial importance of each territory to Spain inversely influenced how developed they would become. Mexico and Paraguay are recognized as outliers of this system, and the author uses various scales like GDP and democratic indices to measure development. He finds that the emergence of industrial capitalism and Spain’s efforts to introduce liberal reforms during the 1700s and early 1800s reversed the development of the colonies, leading to coastal regions like Costa Rica succeeding but central regions like Bolivia had tougher fates due to market uncertainty.[19] Mahomey provides evidence of the more nuanced historiography that has emerged as of recent, incorporating more sociological and economic factors into explaining the histories of Spanish America. Mahoney gives a logical, well-supported case for the positive impact freer markets and greater liberalization had in places that were further outside the Spanish Empire’s moderation, signaling an indictment of Spain’s colonial legacy having disrupted many Latin American nations’ development. This is especially so as Mahoney found in his analysis that a greater density of indigenous populations led to more ethnic stratification on the part of colonial governments that impeded later economic and political reform.

    Most recent to the scholarship, and undervalued, is the critique of a gender hierarchy over the early Spanish colonies. Through a more thorough analysis of the writings of Columbus, Montaigne and Arthur Barlowe, Michael Householder explains how the language of these Spanish colonizers sought to justify the colonization of the Americas by characterizing its inhabitants as primitive, pure, and simple-minded beings, the inspiring fetish for cultural domination.[20] He further critiques the Hispanist historiographical trends that have allowed these myths to prevail, especially in their continuation of promoting passive images of indigenous women at the hands of brutish, sexually frustrated Spaniards. The language these conquerors used to describe this antiquated paradise often constrained Indigenous women to two categorizations: sexually pure and naïve, or promiscuous temptress.[21] In both categories, indigenous women are likened to Eve-innocent upon naked conception, but giving way to a sinful temptress that led to the downfall of Man.

    These historiographical narratives of indigenous women needed to be saved from their original sin and tamed by the paternal & sexually dominant European man were prevalent in the late-nineteenth century response to rising American nationalism. Rape was a tool European conquerors relied on most to build the foundations for cultural and literal genocide, and intermarriage and acts of sexual dominance over indigenous women undoubtedly altered the racial and gender hierarchy in the Hispanic Americas. Householder further combats passive images of indigenous women by analyzing the writings of Italian chronicler Pietro Martire d’Anghiera, a contemporary critic of Columbus that depicted detailed portraits of indigenous cultures and offered complex descriptions of indigenous women as humans capable of rationality, heroism, and most importantly, becoming Christian.[22] Householder’s analysis exemplifies a historiographical shift from relying purely on Spanish accounts to understand Spanish colonialism, breaking away from the flaws of revisionists that accept Spanish accounts as if they were law, as described by Seed.

    Conclusion

    American historiographical perceptions of Spanish colonization have undoubtedly changed over time, with only recent scholarship truly taking aim at deconstructing narratives that both overembellish and dismiss Spanish cruelty against the indigenous inhabitants of its colonies. Incorporating the perspectives of Latin American historians, re-examining the definition of the Spanish American ‘colony’, and taking a multidisciplinary approach with archaeology and economics are some of the important ways the literature around Spanish colonization is evolving. However, there is still significant work to be done. Recent scholarship has recentered indigenous voices by challenging narratives of indigenous passivity, particularly viewing how Spanish hierarchies affected and interacted with indigenous femininity, a significant improvement from early American historiographical conclusions. A lens that requires further exercise is that of religion, specifically the extent to which American perceptions of Spanish colonization have been affected by Evangelical Christianity and the ways it has associated Catholicism with a distance from whiteness. The middle ground between the ‘Black Legend’ and the ‘Rose Legend,’ as described by Seed, still needs further support to better the understanding of Latin America’s Spanish colonial foundations, how indigenous Americans and enslaved Africans influenced those foundations, and how American historiography of the subject can ultimately reflect the nuances of Spanish colonization.

    Regarding the future of this study, Bartolome de las Casas offers an important starting point, but he cannot speak for the natives themselves. The indigenous people were not just victims but active role players in the development of Latin America, and historians must continue to expand on these perspectives. To do this, it is imperative that scholarly voices from the Caribbean and Hispaniola are consulted, as much of Western historiography fails to consult Dominican, Haitian, and Puerto Rican historians, who would offer a significantly more well-rounded American perspective that included all of the former Spanish American colonies. With the growth of the internet as a tool to better connect with scholars from all around the world, there should be no excuse for the continuation of Eurocentric historiography in the modern era that upholds colonialist perspectives over indigenous experiences.

    [1] Columbus, Christopher, Select Letters of Christopher Columbus, with other Original Documents relating to this Four Voyages to the New World, Edited & translated by R. H. Major, London: Hakluyt Society, 1847, 10.

    [2] Las Casas, Bartolomé de, A Short Account of the Destruction of the Indies, Edited & translated by Nigel Griffin, London: Penguin Group, 1992. https://web.as.uky.edu/history/faculty/myrup/his208/Casas,%20Bartolome%20de%20las%20-%20Short%20Account%20(1992,%20excerpts).pdf, 14.

    [3] Keen, Benjamin, “Main Currents in United States Writings on Colonial Spanish America, 1884-1984,” The Hispanic American Historical Review 65, no. 4 (1985): 657–82, https://doi.org/10.2307/2514891, 658.

    [4] Ibid.

    [5] Keen, 660.

    [6] Keen, 669.

    [7] Romero, M, “The United States and the Liberation of the Spanish-American Colonies,” The North American Review, vol. 165, no. 488, 1897, pp. 70–86. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/25118849, 73.

    [8] Money, H. D., “The United States and the Spanish American Colonies. A Reply,” The North American Review 165, no. 490 (1897): 356–63, http://www.jstor.org/stable/25118883, 358.

    [9] Blackmar, Frank W., “Spanish Colonial Policy,” Publications of the American Economic Association 1, no. 3 (1900): 114, http://www.jstor.org/stable/2485793.

    [10] Blackmar, 139.

    [11] Seed, Patricia, “‘Are These Not Also Men?’: The Indians’ Humanity and Capacity for Spanish Civilisation,” Journal of Latin American Studies 25, no. 3 (1993): 629–52, http://www.jstor.org/stable/158270, 629.

    [12] Seed, 630.

    [13] Deagan, Kathleen, “Colonial Origins and Colonial Transformations in Spanish America,” Historical Archaeology 37, no. 4 (2003): 4, http://www.jstor.org/stable/25617091.

    [14] Deagan, 8.

    [15] Herzog, Tamar. “Colonial Law and ‘Native Customs’: Indigenous Land Rights in Colonial Spanish America.” The Americas 69, no. 3 (2013): 303–21. http://www.jstor.org/stable/43188904, 305.

    [16] Herzog, 313.

    [17] Pérez, Rafael D. García, “Revisiting the America’s Colonial Status under the Spanish Monarchy,” In New Horizons in Spanish Colonial Law: Contributions to Transnational Early Modern Legal History, edited by Thomas Duve and Heikki Pihlajamäki, 3:31, Max Planck Institute for Legal History and Legal Theory, 2015, http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctvqhtsd.5.

    [18] Pérez, 51.

    [19] Mahoney, James, “Long‐Run Development and the Legacy of Colonialism in Spanish America,” American Journal of Sociology 109, no. 1 (2003): 70, https://doi.org/10.1086/378454.

    [20] Householder, Michael. 2007. “Eden’s Translations: Women and Temptation in Early America.” The Huntington Library Quarterly 70 (1): 11-VII. https://www.proquest.com/scholarly-journals/edens-translations-women-temptation-early-america/docview/215265981/se-2, 13.

    [21] Householder, 14.

    [22] Householder, 25.

  • Book Review: Nuclear Folly: A History of the Cuban Missile Crisis, by Serhii Plokhy

    Among the most positively remembered presidents of the United States is John F. Kennedy, whose youthful term was abruptly cut short by an assassination. Praised for his support of the Civil Rights movement and popularly mythologized through Jackie Kennedy’s characterization of his time in office as “Camelot,” collective historical memory views him with a nostalgic fondness. Kennedy’s handling of the Cuban Missile Crisis is often hailed as a defining moment of his presidency, where the young leader rose to the occasion and stood up to the Soviet threat. Much of this sweeps over President Kennedy’s failed Bay of Pigs invasion of 1961 and the foreign policy stumbles he suffered leading up to the October 1962 climax. To dispel the oversimplified myth of Kennedy’s flawless heroism, historian Serhii Plokhy invites us to explore a more nuanced, detailed understanding of the Cuban Missile Crisis and its actors. By discussing the Cuban conflict as more than Kennedy’s triumph, Plokhy’s Nuclear Folly provides an important analysis of the complex diplomatic and personal communications between the Kennedy, Khruschev, and Castro administrations. Although not free from his own subtle narrative interpretations and biases, particularly in his descriptions of Fidel Castro and Nikita Khruschev, Plokhy’s book is a timely revisiting of the diplomatic and military decisions that significantly shaped the postmodern world’s relationship to nuclear weapons.

    Plokhy’s main interpretation of the Cuban Missile Crisis is that it was not averted because of diplomacy alone – it was Kennedy and Khruschev’s shared fear of nuclear war.[1] By introducing this fact in his prologue, he reminds us that these larger-than-life historical leaders were humans. In this process, however, subtle biases towards the three main leaders of the Cuban crisis. He describes the president as charismatic and well-intentioned, but unprepared and clueless to deal with Cuban and Soviet diplomacy. Cuba is “a symbol of America’s failure,” a representation of the nation’s inability to fulfill its lofty promises of anti-imperialism and anti-colonialism in stark contrast to Kennedy’s American idealism.[2] Khruschev plays the part of Kennedy’s opposite, a veteran politician wielding bombast and bluff looking to dominate the young president. Castro is a stubborn wildcard, throwing a wrench into the earnest American and Soviet peace efforts.

    Plokhy gives Kennedy his flowers, praising his refusal to capitulate to Khruschev while prioritizing peace. This respect Plokhy has comes not from nostalgia, as he is still guarded in his trust for official U.S. narratives, but from an appreciation for learning from his mistakes, particularly regarding the failed Bay of Pigs invasion. Plokhy has the most to say about Khruschev’s character, hardly missing any chance to describe him as a clever, but idealistic elder statesman that believed himself to be the hero to put out each diplomatic fire, even if he was the one to have stoked them. Though employing many colorful descriptions of his anger, stubbornness and pride, these analyses are heavily based on U.S. and Soviet accounts, from diplomats and leaders themselves, who tend to label Khruschev as quick to anger. Plokhy also shares a similar opinion to Polyansky, who openly criticized Khruschev for his risk-taking to be the cause of a scuffle that not only embarrassed the Soviet Union, but risked nuclear war with the United States. Importantly, while Plokhy acknowledges the Politburo’s assessment of the Cuban Missile Crisis damaging the Soviet Union’s international image and Cuba-Soviet relations, he does not get lost in politics and reminds readers of the Soviet soldiers that experienced that humiliating retreat on the ground and in-person.[3] Despite his many flaws in handling Cuba, Plokhy argues that Khruschev is not credited enough for his and Soviet diplomat Anastas Mikoyan’s role in preventing nuclear war.

    Plokhy adds to the greater Cold War historiography by frequently comparing what diplomats and leaders would say to each other in public versus private. Using both American and Soviet sources, including memoirs, newspapers and government databases, he invites readers to question just how committed these leaders were to their ideology by discussing their contradictions. Most American sources he uses are from official government websites and presidential foundations. Plokhy challenges government narratives on both the Soviet and American sides. He does not shy away from criticism, basing the majority of his conclusions in his comparative analyses of private and public statements to find a more truthful chronology. This can be seen most especially in his criticism of Khruschev, a figure which he interestingly divides into two ‘sides.’ Though Khruschev’s inconsistency during the crisis is criticized by Plokhy, he also writes that Khruschev is a salient memoirist, agreeing with the late Soviet leader’s laying of the blame crisis at Castro. Plokhy distinguishes the ‘memoirist’ side of Khruschev as being more honest than the ‘politician,’ remaining critical of his diplomatic choices while also divulging much of Khruschev’s own private writings. Addressing Robert Kennedy’s 1969 Thirteen Days: A Memoir of the Cuban Missile Crisis as a highly influential but biased account of events that knowingly omitted information counter to the myth, Plokhy makes use of the decades of work and recent uncovering of the ExCom debate tapes to produce a more wholesale narrative rife with human mistakes by both the American and Soviet leadership.[4]

    Despite his compelling critiques of administrative narratives and diplomatic decisions, he leaves a notable gap in the relationship between Castro and internal Cuban opinion. Castro’s descriptions are limited to the ways in which he reacted to the superpowers of the United States and Soviet Union. He is painted as an opportunist, reacting to the Bay of Pigs invasion with a desperate declaration that his revolution was socialist to court Soviet support.[5] Though these characterizations are based on documented interactions of his contemporaries, friend and foe, one must wonder what else could have been said about Castro’s domestic reputation and how it influenced his decision-making. Beyond an early mention of the Castro regime’s disregard for international opinion, Plokhy seldom touches on Castro within a Cuban context.[6]

    More than sixty years have passed since the Cuban Missile Crisis, a near-fatal mistake that Plokhy writes is quickly being forgotten. His revisiting of the Cuban Missile Crisis does not editorialize the actions of leaders who set aside ideological beliefs and risked their international image to the ends of preserving peace. He argues that we continue to live in the shadow of the Cuban Missile Crisis, primarily because the power of nuclear weapons is still in the hands of a select few leaders, while their citizens must anxiously depend on their “leadership and political skills, the soundness of their judgment, and the strength of their nerves” to prevent a nuclear war.[7] Plokhy calls for us to proactively meet the nuclear problem head-on, to come to the negotiating table with Russia and China to get ahead of the next Cuban Missile Crisis as the world’s collective memory of it fades.[8] He calls for citizens to relearn this fading Cold War history and urge their elected officials to push for renewed arms-controls, placing power ultimately in the reader to act. His calls especially ring louder amidst the United States’ bombing of Iran and the ongoing Russia-Ukraine War.

    Plokhy’s writing is clear and concise, and an excellent introduction into a complex and controversial event in history that aims to be critical of world leaders and the information they hide from their citizens. In light of these familiar dangers, now more than ever should historians be encouraging others to learn about their world beyond the classroom. College education is unfortunately not accessible to all, and for many young learners, social media is now the most widely used source of news, and most concerning of all, historical facts. Though historians should always contribute to the greater academic advancement of the field, we should also reach beyond our colleagues by having conversations with all people, be it by social media, local clubs, or simply earnest talks with those we know.

    [1] Plokhy, Serhii. Nuclear Folly: A History of the Cuban Missile Crisis. New York: W. W. Norton & Company (2021,) xix.

    [2] Plokhy, 7.

    [3] Plokhy, 357.

    [4] Plokhy, xvii.

    [5] Plokhy, 42.

    [6] Plokhy, 10.

    [7] Plokhy, 362.

    [8] Plokhy, 363.

  • A Near-Perfect Colony: The American Empire and Venezuela during the Cold War

    Many Cold War historiographers mistakenly view Betancourt as the ‘father of Venezuelan democracy,’ citing his apparent pragmatic centrism in his Accion Democratica and liberal reforms having helped Venezuela succeed amidst the Cold War tensions in Latin America. However, it is more productive to examine Venezuela under Betancourt and Pérez Jimenez as the most successful outcome the U.S. could have asked for in the Cold War: A Latin American ally that, by suppressing its own democracy and relying purely on foreign investment in oil, served American economic and political interests more than their own. Examining the case of Venezuelan-American diplomacy in the Cold War provides the perfect example of the ‘American Market Empire’ working just as intended with a willing participant.

    Betancourt’s ‘nationalization through taxation’ approach to the oil industry saw him negotiate to quietly grandfather in existing American oil companies while selling an image of an independent Venezuela at home. Pérez Jimenez’s dictatorship provided Venezuela with an oil-boom fueled modernization project, helped by greater deference to U.S. oil. In Betancourt’s return, he consolidated power domestically by suppressing armed communist rebellions, courted the U.S. with economic partnership and an open commitment to opposing communism worldwide, and helped found OPEC to give the increasingly oil-reliant nation leverage with the U.S. While this gave Venezuela a foothold in the Cold War, it also tied the nation’s fortunes to the volatile price of oil and American consumption, paving the way for future economic and political instability. The case of Venezuelan-American diplomacy proves that the United States’ goal in Latin America was intended to prioritize American economic profit and power more than to preserve an ideology of democratic capitalism that opposed Soviet communism.

    Defining ‘American Empire’ as a ‘Market Empire’

    To better understand Venezuela as a successful implementation of the U.S.’ goals in South America, it is necessary to define the form American Empire took as a Market Empire. American Empire in the Cold War adopted a markedly different form from the European colonial empires of the previous centuries, shifting from territories under imperial control to satellite allies acting as sites for U.S. military bases and business investment. In the wake of WWII and a rebuilding Europe, the U.S. wielded significant cultural and ideological influence. The Marshall Plan deployed American values and culture in Europe. Michael E. Latham discusses the Alliance for Progress as a kind of “Latin American Marshall Plan,” reflecting a Kennedy administration belief in fostering economic independence and development through investment.[1] The U.S. offered aid in exchange for alliance against the Soviet Union.

    In Latin American, the Alliance for Progress represented a manifestation of the containment policy by seeking to economically develop Latin America to prevent communism.[2] It echoes the rationale of FDR’s domestic New Deal programs as labor concessions to address working class concerns just enough to stop them from seeking out more radical solutions in communism. In discussing the political climate of Cold War Latin America, however, Latham overemphasizes the influence of the Soviet Union and an amorphous international Marxist threat by way of Cuba’s revolution.[3] The U.S. had a significant advantage over the Soviet Union in Latin American through proximity, familiarity, and history, and Latin American nations and peoples were not impressionable pawns for American or Soviet control. Romulo Betancourt, president of Venezuela in both 1945 and 1960, was involved in communist and socialist movements in Chile prior to WWII, stating in in 1941 that he rejected the Communist Party for “its dependence on Moscow”.[4]

    The U.S.’s flexed of its economic might with the idealist trappings of the Kennedy administration to develop Latin America into a reliable ally dependent on American investment. While it launched with enthusiasm, as Latham identifies with excerpts from Time magazine calling it “a dream to be realized,” the actual results of funneling of hundreds of millions of dollars to Latin American oligarchies without a well-structured development plan left much to be desired.[5] Though the project did not meet its lofty goals, the investment allowed its Market Empire greater access to Latin American economies. The O.A.S., through U.S. State Department persuasion, voted overwhelmingly to embargo arms trade with Cuba and fourteen of the twenty-one states voted for expulsion.[6] Latin America was the U.S.’s battle to lose.

    Cold War Foreign Policy – Based on Economic Goals or Ideology?

    Despite the superficial depiction of the Cold War as a battle of liberal democracy vs. communism, the U.S.’s actions in the UN show ideology as a tool to further economic interests with the veil of righteousness. Mary Ann Heiss’s “Exposing ‘Red Colonialism’: U.S. Propaganda at the United Nations, 1953–1963” discusses the U.S.’s international efforts to depict the Soviet Union as an imperialist colonizer at the UN. Facing a Soviet Union that was employing decades of western colonialism in its rhetoric, the U.S. sought to re-define empire. Western colonialism was downplayed as transitory due to the many former colonies achieving independence, and the Soviet Union’s annexation of East Europe was decried as the “new colonialism” that would never allow for “natural evolution and development” through free markets.[7] As Heiss notes, this paternalistic approach failed to convince nonaligned and newly autonomous states who did not buy the U.S.’s red fearmongering and only found support in American allies. However, it did successfully influence the UN into condemning the Soviets.

    The U.S.’s support of antidemocratic regimes, as explained by Heiss, hurt its international credibility when making public commitments to liberal democracy and capitalism as an antithesis to Soviet-style communism.[8] She continues to state that the history of segregation was a weakness for the U.S., though the positive international response to the highly publicized federally-enforced desegregation of a Little Rock high school despite the continuation of segregation de facto in many southern states mitigates the extent of this weakness.[9] The international credibility of the U.S. was somewhat threatened by Soviet rhetoric, but not so much to pressure the U.S. to make substantial domestic change. In the Cold War, a symbolic gesture of progress was enough. Ideology was for the U.S. a way to dress up its capitalist decisions like the Alliance for Progress as a means of ‘spreading liberal values’ and preventing communism.

    As the U.S. sought to reinforce its foothold in Latin America amidst Cuba’s alliance with the Soviet Union, it found a reliable partner in Venezuela. U.S. oil companies, present during the rise of Romulo Betancourt and the AD (Accion Democratica), negotiated with the newly anointed government to maintain control of the country’s oil acting as informal actors for U.S. interests. Miguel Tinker Salas’s “Staying the Course: U.S. Oil Companies in Venezuela, 1945-1958” highlights the unsung influence of the American oil companies in Venezuela during the AD’s initial rule and Pérez Jimenez’s reign. Salas argues these companies pushed for moderation of political views to attract U.S. support, citing a 1953 statement from the U.S. National Security Council portraying oil companies as instruments of U.S. foreign policy in Latin America.[10] He critiques contemporary scholarship that sees the dictatorships as the only periods partial to U.S. oil firms, with the firms being challenged during the Trienio of the AD. Due to Mexico nationalizing its oil in 1938, Venezuela became an important source for oil to the U.S. Betancourt promised not to nationalize the oil industry despite popular support; he prioritized foreign capital but sought to do so subtly.[11] Venezuela’s new government understood the image of an independent Venezuela negotiating with the U.S. as equal peers would appease nationalist pride. Nationalization would cause a steep drop in oil revenues and empower domestic opponents with an economic crisis just months into the AD’s rule.

    AD and U.S. oil worked in tandem to stop Communists in labor movements; Betancourt made assurances to have no Communists in his cabinet and in 1948 the CIA reported the administration was aligned with the U.S. in seeing the Soviet Union as a threat.[12] Salas describes the AD government as vulnerable and the U.S. attempted to help it discover coup attempts before they happened, finding several plots but refusing to prosecute them to avoid the public appearance of American meddling in Latin American affairs. Venezuela’s control of its domestic labor movement and efforts to support it while simultaneously excluding Communist involvement mirror the sentiments of the AFL-CIO’s later deployment in Latin America under Kennedy in fostering anti-communism among laborers.[13] In the Cold War’s Truman and Eisenhower years, Venezuela represented both an important source of energy and investment for the U.S. and a friendly government with a liberal democratic sheen that could negotiate subtle agreements to maintain U.S. economic interests. Salas’s writing adds valuable nuance to the ways American companies could act effectively as representatives of the U.S. during the Cold War, a distinct foreign policy advantage its capitalism afforded compared to the Soviet Union.

                Domestically, the U.S.’s increasing reliance on Venezuela created issues for American-based independent oil companies who were threatened by the cheap, abundant supply of Venezuelan petroleum. Thomas W. Zeiler’s “Kennedy, Oil Imports, and the Fair Trade Doctrine” documents the domestic considerations President Kennedy had to balance with the Trade Expansion Act (TEA) of 1962. In the middle ground, Kennedy allowed for protectionism to guard domestic sectors and regulate imports.[14] Cold War security concerns and booming industry necessitated expanded importation of petroleum to conserve U.S. deposits. This had the consequence of waylaying domestic U.S. oil producers and led to President Eisenhower’s Mandatory Quota Program of 1959. However, this prompted the formation of OPEC in 1960, with Venezuela as a founding member. Venezuela was the world’s top oil exporting country and was the sixth largest market for U.S. goods; jeopardizing this relationship would have significant economic consequences. However, Zeiler’s suggestion Venezuela was in danger of falling to communism overexaggerates the influence and threat of Castro. The Trienio government under Betancourt was overthrown not by Communist militants but by a military dictatorship in Pérez Jimenez. Betancourt himself was a staunch anti-Communist and worked to suppress Communist uprisings and root out Communists from labor organizations. Nonetheless, Kennedy took steps to maintain good relations with Venezuela, doubling loans to Caracas in 1961, permitting Latin American limits on imports from the U.S., and promising Betancourt to consult him first before changing the oil quota program.[15] Betancourt and Venezuela accepted the conditions, ensuring oil trade would continue between the two countries.

    Cold War Policy in Latin America

                Inter-Latin American politics and conflicts undeniably factored into the U.S.’s foreign policy in the region. Stephen G. Rabe’s “The Caribbean Triangle: Betancourt, Castro, and Trujillo and U.S. Foreign Policy, 1958–1963” argues that Betancourt’s rivalry with Dominican Republic dictator Rafael Trujillo was a significant factor in Betancourt aligning with the U.S. and his interest in participating in the Caribbean Triangle to prevent Communist dictatorships in the region. Kennedy openly stated that the U.S., while aiming for liberal democracy as a replacement to Trujillo in the wake of his assassination, should not rule out another dictator succeeding him if it meant preventing communism.[16] Further, Kennedy confessed that U.S. policy towards Latin American dictators would soften if it proved they were more effective opponents of communism and maintained the regional economic order of U.S. domination. This belief was a continuation of Eisenhower’s; the 1950s saw many Latin American dictators receive open support from Eisenhower due to his evaluation that these leaders were reliable allies.[17] Eisenhower’s support of oppressive regimes put the U.S. in a precarious position with the people of Latin America, most evident in Vice President Richard Nixon’s tour of South America where he was harassed and assaulted in Montevideo, Lima, and Caracas. The administration could only react by blaming the Communists for the uprisings that were bringing down the strongmen dictators it had once championed, a policy Kennedy would attempt to distance himself from with the Alliance for Progress and American financial aid to Latin America.

                Venezuela and the Dominican Republic were bitter rivals during 1958, with each country harboring the other’s exiles. At the same time, the Eisenhower administration was skeptical of Betancourt’s social democracy and taxation of U.S. oil. Kennedy embraced Betancourt as the antithesis to Castro, a model of success which other Latin American nations should follow. Betancourt rewarded the U.S.’s support and, unfettered by the absence of Trujillo, backed the Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba and led the charge to remove Cuba from the O.A.S.[18] However, Betancourt’s “model of success” would not be replicated by neighbors; instead, the U.S. continued to support anti-Communist dictatorships as liberal reformers failed to implement the goals of the Alliance for Progress. The Kennedy administration saw this as a greenlight to resume Eisenhower’s policy, albeit with the caveat that anti-Communist democratic leaders like Betancourt would be championed to give the U.S. a cleaner record of allyship.

    Given the wide influence the U.S. had on Latin America, its countries often found themselves either aligning or opposing the U.S. Jeanne A.K. Hey’s “Three Building Blocks of a Theory of Latin American Foreign Policy” finds that reviewing the literature of Latin American foreign policy research reveals U.S. influence, lack of economic resources, regime ideology, and global distribution of power were the foremost factors affecting policy.[19] Hey criticizes existing research that overlooks internal and domestic Latin American politics and their effect on foreign policy. She details pro-core and anti-core as competing foreign policy paths taken by Latin American countries and regimes during the Cold War. Hey ascribes the label of “anti-core” to Pérez Jimenez, but this conflicts with his record of deregulation and relying on American investment. Betancourt is described as pro-core, which aligns with his political views, but by her own definition involvement in OPEC would make Venezuela anti-core, an organization created during his presidency.[20] Still, Hey’s assertion that Latin American foreign policy was about American dependence is compelling, given her statement that the U.S. was less interested in maintaining these economically dependent trading partners post-Cold War.

    The U.S. in Venezuela – High Economic Output with Little Military Intervention

    A declassified 1950 foreign policy statement from the Department of State discusses the U.S.’ diplomatic and economic objectives in Venezuela prior to the creation of OPEC. Under President Truman, the U.S.’ general outline of goals in Venezuela are to “assure an adequate supply of petroleum” for the use of wartime, to encourage the development of iron ore deposits to “supplement US reserves,” to “foster” economic stability and development, construct a foundation for democracy and a system of “free enterprise.”  The State Department justifies intervention by describing it as necessary in defending the economic interests of the Caribbean-Canal Zone. It is evident that the U.S. had every intention to “safeguard” Venezuela as a strategic spot in the Caribbean and South America, even competing with British oil companies, as the document describes Venezuelan resources as “of greater importance to us” than of those in the Middle East. Nonetheless, the policy of the U.S.’s loans and technical assistance to Venezuela show the country’s reliance not only on the American demand for oil but for its financial support. In the case of potential war, the document notes the Venezuela Armed Forces are expected to protect shipping and oil extraction installations to maintain a steady, guaranteed supply to the U.S., especially with the military equipment the country acquired during the Lend and Lease program of WWII.

    The U.S. foreign policy in Venezuela was not unilaterally top-down as the complicity of American non-state actors a military coup in 1948 prove. Bethany Aram’s “Exporting Rhetoric, Importing Oil: U.S. Relations with Venezuela, 1945-1948” discusses the relationship between the U.S. and Venezuela during the Trienio and Betancourt’s first term as president. After fellow AD member Romulo Gallegos was elected in 1948 to succeed Betancourt, Gallegos was overthrown in November 1948 by a military coup that Betancourt accused of receiving counsel from the U.S. military and backing from oil companies.[21] This accusation revealed a discrepancy in the U.S.’s own foreign policy due to the Army and the CIA’s differing views on AD; the U.S. Army regarded AD as sympathetic to Communists and unable to maintain order, whereas the CIA regarded AD as a liberal democratic beacon against communism and an important pro-American force in the region. Due to the U.S.’s public pledge of non-interventionism at Bogota months prior, the Truman administration did little to prevent the military coup.[22] However, the Army disregarded this and had talks with the Venezuelan military which painted a picture of growing communist influence and planted worries over oil.

    The Venezuelan military appealed to U.S. concerns over Soviet influence in Latin America and the U.S.’s tacit approval of the ensuing military coup in the country showed the Venezuelan military’s efforts bore fruit.[23] Colonel Edward F. Adams and American national and lawyer Robert T. Brinsmade collaborated with the coup, acting outside State Department boundaries to transform one of the greatest allies of the U.S. into a dictatorship in the hopes it would secure American oil interests and prevent the spread of communism. Aram estimates that U.S. representatives were too readily eager to accept any regurgitation of pro-American rhetoric as validation and that American oil companies and military officers were thus manipulated by the Venezuelan armed forces.[24] Given the U.S.’s track record of supporting dictators in the 1950s, this notion that the U.S. was manipulated and would have made a different decision had it possessed better intelligence ignores the possibility the oil companies and military preferred a military dictatorship ruling Venezuela with strict order. It benefited the U.S. oil industry to have Pérez Jimenez who was the most deregulatory Venezuelan leader in the Cold War era.[25]

    Though the U.S. economically preferred military dictatorships in Venezuela for oil access as opposed to liberal democracies, it was not opposed to negotiating with democracies. Silvia Pedraza and Carlos A. Romero’s “Venezuela’s Foreign Policy: Large Presence, Excessive Resources” traces the history of American relations with Venezuela during the twentieth century. Military dictator Juan Vicente Gomez’s reign during 1908-35 and Pérez Jimenez’s later rule during the 1950s saw the U.S. have its easiest access to Venezuelan oil.[26] However, even with the democratic rule of Venezuela from 1945-48 and post-1958, the U.S. and Venezuela still maintained a mutually beneficial relationship as the U.S. was Venezuela’s top oil buyer and developed into an ideological pro-American attack dog in Latin America under Betancourt during the early 1960s. At home, Betancourt and his successor Raul Leoni dealt with Cuba-sponsored Communist guerillas and multiple coup attempts from both political flanks.[27] Betancourt’s anti-communism was so far-reaching that he outflanked the U.S. with the Betancourt Doctrine, a strict stance to not recognize any military regimes that overthrow democratically elected governments. Venezuela held itself as a democratic nation and important ally for exporting oil to the U.S.

    Betancourt’s Venezuela – A ‘Colony’ in America’s Market Empire

    Damas and Lowe write in their book Rómulo Betancourt: His Historical Personality and the Genesis of Modern Democracy in Venezuela that the overthrow of the military dictatorship in 1958 cannot be separated from the greater Cold War diplomatic machinations, as the reinstatement of the AD relied heavily on U.S. support.[28] The foremost concern was the security of oil supplies, which was “guaranteed” under Pérez Jimenez’s military dictatorship. The U.S. State Department’s apparent “complacency” to dictatorship was well-known amongst Venezuelans, and Betancourt knew that U.S. support was critical.[29] Betancourt, while critical of the U.S., also made it clear that he and the AD would support the U.S. in its fight against communism in Latin America. Damas and Lowe tend to exaggerate the influence that President Kennedy and Betancourt’s relationship had in their coalition against Cuba, citing their “personal friendship” as a significant factor.[30] They emphasize the impact of Fidelista armed attacks in Venezuela, however, resulting in the exclusion of Cuba from the O.A.S. and directly participating in the U.S.’s blockade against Castro. Damas and Lowe’s characterization of Betancourt represents an extreme, but not uncommon flaw in the historiography of U.S.-Venezuelan relations during the Cold War. The authors refer to Betancourt as the “Father of Modern Venezuelan Democracy,” providing few examples of how he promoted democracy other than his promotion of capitalism tied to the oil industry.[31] Rather than describing him as an opportunist, like many other Cold War historians, Damas and Lowe praise his creativity in diplomatic objectives and paint him as an exemplary patriotic leader that was interested in the “democratic well-being” of Venezuela.

    C.A. Hauberg’s article “Venezuela under Betancourt” is a timely political opinion piece published in 1961, not long after Betancourt reclaimed control over Venezuela. By 1930, Hauberg writes that Venezuela solidified itself as a nation that excelled in the export of natural resources but lacked in government organization under the cruel dictator General Gómez. Hauberg is critical of Pérez Jimenez, sharing a common historiographical critique against the U.S.’s support for Latin American dictators. Wary of Venezuela’s pattern, Hauberg examines Betancourt with a hesitant hopefulness for a democratic pivot from despotism. He particularly expresses hope for Betancourt to keep his word on refraining from nationalizing the Venezuelan oil industry and maintaining friendly relations with “foreign businessmen and countries,” namely the U.S..[32] Hauberg pushes the State Department’s justification for intervention in Latin America, stating that communism is “knocking at our very doorstep,” and that the U.S. should place significant importance on good relations with Venezuela to further prevent Soviet expansion.[33] If the U.S. and the O.A.S. fail to support Betancourt, the Caribbean would fall to Communist dictatorship. He reiterates a hopefulness in good relations, citing the success of American culture – “American tires, autos, movies, toothpaste,” American phrases like “O.K.” and “all right,” and baseball – and thereby, highlighting the necessity of the expansion of a ‘Market Empire’ that should dominate the hemisphere.[34] This influence, as had happened with the Marshall Plan, sold the idea of America in ways that penetrated the cultural zeitgeist.

    Steven Schwartzberg’s “Rómulo Betancourt: From a Communist Anti-Imperialist to a Social Democrat with US Support” traces the pragmatic evolution of Venezuelan leader Romulo Betancourt from his origins as an anti-democratic member of the Costa Rican Community Party to publicly welcoming the U.S. and liberalism.[35] Betancourt astutely understood that homages to U.S. political leaders like FDR and the Founding Fathers would help win over U.S. support. Betancourt’s Accion Democratica handily won the nation’s first free elections in 1947, electing successor Romulo Gallegos to the presidency. The State Department and CIA were thrilled with the budding success of the anti-Communist Latin American democracy. Schwartzberg argues U.S. policy was too passive with Venezuela, that a minor intervention could have prevented democracy from collapsing to a military coup. He takes paints a flattering picture of Romulo Betancourt, one worth interrogating given the relatively quick collapse of democracy after his departure from office. He places much importance on the ability of U.S. intervention to sway a nation, downplaying the domestic historical factors that made Venezuela’s democratic prospects fragile like its long history of dictatorships. Though Schwartzberg’s analysis and critique of U.S. policy focuses too much on individual failure rather than the failure of CIA intelligence, he does astutely identify the failures of U.S. foreign policy in being overly passive. This mistake helped paint Truman’s Cold War approach as weak – a perception that Eisenhower and more hardline anti-Communists would successfully run on.

    America’s Preference for ‘Friendly’ Dictators

    Enrique A. Baloyra’s article “Oil Policies and Budgets in Venezuela, 1938-1968,” provides an economic analysis of Venezuelan oil policies and how they were uniquely molded to the U.S.. In congruence with the historiography on the matter, Baloyra summarizes the Pérez Jimenez’s regime as marked by corruption and a “laissez-faire attitude” towards the oil industry and foreign capital investment.[36] This earned Pérez Jimenez favor with President Eisenhower, proving that the U.S. was less concerned with that safeguarding of democracy in Latin America – it was capitalism they wished to protect, supporting dictators like Pérez Jimenez for inexpensive access to natural resources. Baloyra describes the beginning of the Betancourt regime in 1958 as a continuation of Pérez Jimenez. Venezuelan oil policy under Betancourt responded primarily to a decline in prices for Venezuelan and Middle Eastern crude companies, pushed further by Eisenhower’s proclamation in March 1969 that established “mandatory controls” of U.S. oil imports.[37] In response, Betancourt and Venezuelan Minister Pérez Alfonso negotiated revised oil policies with the U.S., resulting in a $300 million loan from the U.S. to help the oil economy recover. Baloyra argues that the primary reason why Pérez Jimenez failed was because he failed to control the “oil bonanza” of 1956-1957, not because the U.S. underwent a change of heart against ‘friendly’ dictatorships.[38] Dictatorship or democracy, the U.S. made clear that its priority was to expand a ‘Market Empire,’ not promote legitimate democracy and societal improvement. Baloyra concludes that Venezuela was an exceptionally reliable oil supplier to the U.S., and that U.S. oil companies were confident in adapting to any leader as they leveraged the fate of Venezuela’s U.S.-reliant oil economy to keep them as an ally.[39]

    Michael Derham’s “Undemocratic Democracy: Venezuela and the Distorting of History” covers the contentious relationship with democracy in Venezuela throughout the 20th century. Derham is critical of the “mythmaking” of a popular democratic Venezuela by American scholars ignoring that people could want centralized rule.[40] He views the democratic years of Venezuela as fragmented and anti-nationalist. Where Schwartzberg viewed Betancourt’s political evolution as pragmatism, Derham criticizes it as a lack of principles in deference to power. He justifies the military coup stating it defended national interests for wider representation. Given the large margins by which Gallegos was freely elected, Derham’s argument that the AD administration did not reflect the will of the Venezuelan people is questionable. Nonetheless, he covers the ways Pérez Jimenez improved infrastructure using U.S. oil profits and addressed rural agricultural concerns and formalized many government functions, and points to his later election to Congress in Caracas in 1968 as proof of his popular appeal.[41] Importantly, Derham compares Pérez Jimenez’s policy of continuous economic growth to later Venezuelan leaders’ reliance on riding the highs (and suffering the lows) of the infrequent oil booms, showcasing his foresight and foreshadowing the eventual economic disaster of modern Venezuela.

    Conclusion

    Historical scholarship on the Cold War has shifted over time to view the United States as an empire that achieved varying success and influence in the countries it intervened in. Vietnam is the most discussed example of that empire in action, cited particularly to highlight the U.S. fallibility in its containment strategy. Just as worthy of study, however, is how the U.S. operated as a successful empire in Latin America, particularly Venezuela until the 1990s. Ultimately, the U.S. ‘won’ the Cold War in Latin America – the majority of Latin America today has friendly economic and diplomatic relations with the U.S., and American culture has undoubtedly changed Latin American consumer and political culture for the proliferation of capitalism. Venezuela, however, severed diplomatic ties with the U.S. under Hugo Chávezin the late 1990s, with relations between the two countries worsening under the current ‘communist’ dictator, Nicolas Maduro. Historiographical consensus on why Venezuela turned to communism after the Cold War relies on the examination of U.S. domestic and economic policy with Venezuela. There are two prevalent opinions as to why the relationship fell apart: the first faults the intense interventionism from the U.S. and dedication to supporting dictators, so long as they allowed U.S. companies access to inexpensive oil and land; the second faults Venezuelan leaders, particularly Betancourt, for his purely opportunistic diplomacy with the U.S. and failure to expand the economy beyond oil production. The least satisfying answer, though most accurate, is a mix of both. American economic and political imperialism in Venezuela was a temporary success that proved unsustainable coupled with a ‘Dutch problem’ made worse by Venezuela’s interest in quick financial gain. The future research on this topic can be enhanced by looking more into the actions non-state actors, such as the private dealings of U.S. oil companies and unofficial military actions, which can offer a better understanding of the complex gears within the machine of America’s ‘empire.’ It would also benefit from the inclusion of more Latin American perspectives, as U.S. foreign policy was often misinformed by misunderstandings of Latin American politics and culture.

    [1] Latham, Michael E. “Ideology, Social Science, and Destiny: Modernization and the Kennedy-Era Alliance for Progress.” Diplomatic History 22, no. 2 (1998): 199–229. http://www.jstor.org/stable/24913658, 199.

    [2] Latham, 200.

    [3] Latham, 208.

    [4] Schwartzberg, Steven. “Rómulo Betancourt: From a Communist Anti-Imperialist to a Social Democrat with US Support.” Journal of Latin American Studies 29, no. 3 (1997): 613–65. http://www.jstor.org/stable/158354, 633.

    [5] Latham, 223.

    [6] Latham, 216.

    [7] Heiss, Mary Ann. “Exposing ‘Red Colonialism’: U.S. Propaganda at the United Nations, 1953–1963.” Journal of Cold War Studies 17, no. 3 (2015): 82–115. https://www.jstor.org/stable/26926208, 86.

    [8] Heiss, 114.

    [9] Romano, Renee. “No Diplomatic Immunity: African Diplomats, the State Department, and Civil Rights, 1961-1964.” The Journal of American History 87, no. 2 (09, 2000): 546-579. https://www.proquest.com/scholarly-journals/no-diplomatic-immunity-african-diplomats-state/docview/224887618/se-2, 578.

    [10] Salas, Miguel Tinker. “Staying the Course: U.S. Oil Companies in Venezuela, 1945-1958.” Latin American Perspectives 32, no. 2 (2005): 148.

    [11] Salas, 151.

    [12] Salas, 154.

    [13] Field, Thomas C. “Transnationalism Meets Empire: The AFL-CIO, Development, and the Private Origins of Kennedy’s Latin American Labor Program.” Diplomatic History 42, no. 2 (2018): 305–34. https://www.jstor.org/stable/26499586, 307.

    [14] Zeiler, Thomas W. “Kennedy, Oil Imports, and the Fair Trade Doctrine.” The Business History Review 64, no. 2 (1990): 286–310. https://doi.org/10.2307/3115584, 287.

    [15] Zeiler, 293.

    [16] Rabe, Stephen G. “The Caribbean Triangle: Betancourt, Castro, and Trujillo and U.S. Foreign Policy, 1958–1963.” Diplomatic History 20, no. 1 (1996): 55–78. http://www.jstor.org/stable/24913445, 55.

    [17] Rabe, 56.

    [18] Rabe, 76.

    [19] Hey, Jeanne A. K. “Three Building Blocks of a Theory of Latin American Foreign Policy.” Third World Quarterly 18, no. 4 (1997): 631–57. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3993209, 631.

    [20] Hey, 635.

    [21] Aram, Bethany. “Exporting Rhetoric, Importing Oil: U.S. Relations with Venezuela, 1945-1948.” World Affairs 154, no. 3 (1992): 94–106. http://www.jstor.org/stable/20672311, 94.

    [22] Aram, 96.

    [23] Aram, 100.

    [24] Aram, 102.

    [25] Baloyra, Enrique A. “Oil Policies and Budgets in Venezuela, 1938-1968.” Latin American Research Review 9, no. 2 (1974): 28–72. http://www.jstor.org/stable/2502722, 49.

    [26] Pedraza, Silvia, and Carlos A. Romero. “Venezuela’s Foreign Policy: Large Presence, Excessive Resources.” In Revolutions in Cuba and Venezuela: One Hope, Two Realities, 1st ed., 128–50. University Press of Florida, 2023. https://doi.org/10.2307/jj.1614177.11, 128.

    [27] Pedraza and Romero, 130.

    [28] Damas, Germán Carrera, and Elizabeth Lowe. Rómulo Betancourt: His Historical Personality and the Genesis of Modern Democracy in Venezuela. 1st ed. University Press of Florida, 2021. https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv1mvw939, 183.

    [29] Damas and Lowe, 186.

    [30] Damas and Lowe, 220.

    [31] Damas and Lowe, 303.

    [32] Hauberg, C. A. “Venezuela under Betancourt.” Current History 40, no. 236 (1961): 232–40. http://www.jstor.org/stable/45310524, 237.

    [33] Hauberg, 239.

    [34] Hauberg, 240.

    [35] Schwartzberg, Steven. “Rómulo Betancourt: From a Communist Anti-Imperialist to a Social Democrat with US Support.” Journal of Latin American Studies 29, no. 3 (1997): 613–65. http://www.jstor.org/stable/158354, 614.

    [36] Baloyra, 49.

    [37] Baloyra, 48-49.

    [38] Baloyra, 52.

    [39] Baloyra, 55.

    [40] Derham, Michael. “Undemocratic Democracy: Venezuela and the Distorting of History.” Bulletin of Latin American Research 21, no. 2 (2002): 270–89. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3339456, 271.

    [41] Derham, 280.

  • “The U.S. Census and the Hispanic Question: A History of Being ‘Some Other Race’” – My Published Master’s Thesis

    I am honored to have earned my degree through Southern New Hampshire University’s phenomenal History Department. In the completion of my graduate program, I researched the history of the U.S. Census and how Latinos/Hispanics have historically been racially and ethnically categorized, and the challenges that come with these Panethnic labels. I intend to take my research on Latinx racial identity to the doctoral level, and I look forward to using what I learn to advocate for stronger and more accurate legal protections for Latinx citizens and migrants. 

    I am incredibly excited to have published my first historiographical work. You can read my published thesis through ProQuest!