The Uncrowned King: The Sensational Rise of William Randolph Hearst (74 page)

BOOK: The Uncrowned King: The Sensational Rise of William Randolph Hearst
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In addition to affecting the political process indirectly through public opinion, the yellow papers directly influenced Congress. Representatives and senators relied heavily on the press for what they knew of Cuba and Spain and all related issues. They had few other sources. The administration wasn’t forthcoming. Seeking to lower the temperature around the conflict and negotiate quietly with Spain, it offered only infrequent presidential addresses or public statements and the odd leaked diplomatic letter. With minimal expertise and research capacity, the administration had trouble assembling reliable data even for its own purposes. McKinley is said to have followed the movements of his fleet in these months on a page ripped from a school geography text.
93
Consular reports from Cuba were fitful, not always reliable, and limited in circulation. Newspapers with correspondents in Havana had better access to the views of consul staffers than all but the highest-ranking officials in Washington. Not always satiated by what it read, Congress routinely summoned journalists for briefings. A series of reporters with first-hand experience of Cuba, including at least two from the
Journal,
were interviewed by the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. Scovel briefed the secretary of war on the progress of the U.S. official inquiry into the
Maine
explosion. As previously noted, the number of congressional resolutions dealing with Cuba ebbed and flowed with atrocity stories in the yellow newspapers.
94
 
It would be an overstatement to say newspapers drove congressional debate. The relationship between the politicians and the press was, as per usual, symbiotic. Each viewed the other as a barometer of public sentiment. Each took the other’s leadership. Politicians were influenced by editorial commentary (far more so than today); editors adjusted their views in light of political opinion and of the passage or defeat of congressional resolutions. The endless debates, speeches, petitions, and resolutions out of Congress were welcome fodder for the dailies; representatives loved to be seen working for a cherished cause by a vast newspaper audience. It must also be said that a lot of bad information and rash opinion washed back and forth between Congress and the papers.
 
Expert testimony as to the influence of the press on the U.S. political process comes from none other than Enrique Dupuy de Lôme. He firmly believed that the yellow papers influenced the temperature in the Capitol, and that the best way to hold the House in check was to avoid making headlines. He considered the
Journal
his most dangerous enemy and cursed its influence in the letter that brought about his resignation.
95
While Dupuy de Lôme railed against Hearst in Washington, Weyler blamed American newspapers for all his problems—“the poison everything with falsehood”—and made
Journal
correspondents his favorite targets for expulsion from Havana.
96
Prime Minister Cánovas marveled to the
Journal
’s James Creelman that “the newspapers in your country seem to be more powerful than the government.”
97
About the only thing Spanish officials and the Junta could agree upon was that the insurgency had important allies in the yellow press. The rebel generals relied on steady coverage in the yellows to raise funds in America and to keep pressure on Congress. They gave interviews and stories to the papers and showed New York correspondents elaborate courtesy in their travels through Cuba, offering them security details to rival those of their own generals.
98
The Junta, knowing it had a bombshell in the Dupuy de Lôme letter, released it not to a politician but to the press. General Garcia would soon present his battle flag to Hearst because he considered the publisher a critical ally and, even after the declaration of war, a more reliable one than McKinley.
 
Newspaper influence on the public and Congress mattered because the men in charge—the president and his cabinet—were sincere in their regard for the voice of the people. McKinley mentioned the agitations of the American people and their elected representatives in his instructions to his envoy, Woodford, as well as his first annual address to Congress and again in his war message. All of McKinley’s biographers acknowledge his reverence for and keen sense of the public will.
 
The motives behind McKinley’s ultimate decision to force Spain from Cuba are still hotly debated. Some historians argue that public and congressional opinion forced the president’s hand: with midterm elections looming, he “made war on Spain in order to keep control of Washington.”
99
Others see the president as master of the whole Spanish-American affair, dampening public enthusiasms and fending off congressional jingoes until such time as he himself was convinced of the advisability of a fight.
100
The latter would be an easier argument to make if McKinley had not made such a large and public display of trust in Spain and of his hopes for a negotiated settlement. The more important point, however, is that even those historians who credit McKinley with making his own decision agree that he believed the sentiments of Congress and the American people to be highly relevant.
 
Hearst and the yellow newspapers can not be purged from the Cuban story. As advocates, narrators and weathervanes, they played a significant role in shaping public opinion, congressional sentiment, and the domestic political environment of 1898—all of which influenced McKinley’s decision to make war.
101
The
New York Journal
was the leading pro-Cuban paper in America and its vigorous coverage of all aspects of the story encouraged its major competitors to devote more attention and resources to it. In the end, Hearst’s voice was not decisive in America’s decision to fight, but it was certainly instrumental. The
Journal
probably exerted as much influence in those decisive months as a newspaper can exert.
 
In dismissing Hearst and the yellow papers as jingoes or circulation-hungry cynics, and in underestimating the role of the American people in forcing action against Spain, historians have obscured an interesting angle to the story. In her 2002 book,
A Problem from Hell: America and the Age of Genocide,
Samantha Powers reviews the twentieth century ’s horrible record of mass killings—non-Serbs by Bosnian Serbs, the Ottoman attempts to eradicate Armenians, the Nazi Holocaust, Pol Pot’s murderous regime in Cambodia, Saddam Hussein’s attempted extermination of Iraq’s Kurds, the Hutus’ slaughter of Tutsis in Rwanda—and discerns a pattern of U.S. reaction to these monstrous events. Early warnings go unheeded, reports of violence are rejected as exaggerations by impartial sources, or rationalized as typical of warfare, or dismissed as none of America’s business. The United States, writes Powers, has “never in its history intervened to stop genocide” and has “rarely even made a point of condemning it as it occurred.”
102
American policy makers, journalists, and citizens have been “extremely slow to muster the imagination needed to reckon with evil. Ahead of the killings, they assume rational actors will not inflict seemingly gratuitous violence. They trust in good-faith negotiations and traditional diplomacy.”
103
Politicians read the silence of their constituents as “public indifference” and the battle to stop genocide is repeatedly lost.
104
 
The term “genocide” was not available in the nineteenth century and it is beyond the scope of this book to determine if what Spain inflicted on Cubans in the 1890s meets the United Nations criteria for genocide (it appears to, but the related terms “democide” or “policide” might fit better). Journalists who visited the island, and Spanish and American officials—not least of all McKinley—found the word “extermination” adequate to describe policies they believed would lead to the eradication of a subject people (“extermination” also sufficed, at the time, for the Turkish massacre of Armenians, the opening act of the Armenian genocide). Hundreds of thousands of Cubans died as a result of Spain’s policies, and many more might have perished had the outside world not protested and, ultimately, interceded. As with most of the genocides cited by Powers, there were many ways for the United States to rationalize a hands-off approach to Cuba: the rebels were contributing to the humanitarian crisis; Spain had a sovereign right to pursue a counterinsurgent strategy; reports of atrocities were often exaggerated and inseparable from Junta propaganda. Yet the American people, with leadership from their newspapers, did in this instance “muster the imagination needed to reckon with evil,” prompting the intervention.
 
Hearst celebrated the congressional declaration of hostilities with a volley of fireworks from the roof of the
Journal
’s offices on Park Row. Spain severed diplomatic relations with Washington on April 21. The next day, on McKinley’s orders, the U.S. Navy began a blockade of Cuban ports. On April 24, 1898, Spain declared war on the United States, and on April 25 Congress passed a resolution declaring that a state of war had existed since April 21.
105
Hearst turned his mind to what role he would play in the Spanish-American War.
 
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
 
As I Write, Ambulance Trains Are Bringing the Wounded
 
I
n April, everywhere over this good, fair land, flags were flying. Trains carrying soldiers were hurrying from the North, from the East, from the West, to the Southland; and as they sped over the green prairies and the brown mountains, little children on fences greeted the soldiers with flapping scarves and handkerchiefs and flags; and at the stations, crowds gathered to hurrah for the soldiers, and to throw hats in to the air, and to unfurl flags. Everywhere it was flags: tattered, smoke-grimed flags in engine cabs; flags in button-holes; flags on proud poles; flags fluttering everywhere.
—WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE
1
 
 
 
 
T
he Spanish-American War may well have been the most popular in U.S. history. Over a million men, far in excess of requirements, offered their services. It was the best chance for adventure and honor at arms available to young American men since the Civil War, and everyone wanted in on the action. William Jennings Bryan signed up with a Nebraska militia. Five hundred Westchester businessmen volunteered en masse. William F. “Buffalo Bill” Cody proposed to sweep the Spanish out of Cuba with a force of thirty thousand Indian braves. A Colorado matron named Martha Shute bid to organize an all-female cavalry unit. Frank James, brother of Jesse, mused about assembling a cowboy regiment (two such organizations actually materialized, under the leadership of Melvin Grigsby and Jay Torrey). Hearst’s
Journal
suggested a fighting team of America’s finest athletes, including boxers Bob Fitzsimmons and Jim Corbett, football great Red Waters, and baseball hero Cap Anson, men who would “overawe the Spanish by their mere appearance.”
2
It seems a silly notion, but the most famous regiment of the war turned out to be Teddy Roosevelt ’s Rough Riders, a mélange of frontiersmen, Indian fighters, and some of the best football, polo, golf, and tennis players from Ivy League clubs in Manhattan.
 
McKinley and his Secretary of War, Russell Alger, more than doubled the size of the regular army to 58,688 and backed it with 200,000 volunteers. Combined with the navy’s 26,000 crew and officers, America’s fighting force weighed in at 290,000 men.
3
It was more than enough to handle a Spanish army estimated to have less than 100,000 healthy regulars and volunteers in Cuba, but hardly sufficient to satisfy the fighting ardor of the American male: hundreds of thousands of volunteers were turned away, and only a very small proportion of those accepted got anywhere near the action. There was even more disappointment among those seeking high command: the White House appointed and commissioned roughly 1,000 officers from a pool of 25,000 applications.
4
 
Hearst was among the snubbed. At the declaration of war, he wrote the White House offering to fully outfit a cavalry regiment, modestly requesting for himself a position “in the ranks.” McKinley politely rebuffed him. Hearst next offered the navy the use of his yacht,
Buccaneer.
He wanted a command on the boat and promised to write all necessary qualifying examinations. The yacht was accepted; Hearst’s commission did not arrive until several weeks after the fighting had ended, and even then the navy appointed him an ensign, its humblest rank, which had to be a calculated insult.
5
Spurned as a combatant, Hearst would take his place in the conflict, more fittingly, as a journalist.
 
 
 
THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR was as big an opportunity for newspapermen as it was for soldiers. Willis Abbott reports that everyone with any influence on Hearst’s staff became a war correspondent—“The office was depopulated.”
6
A
Journal
editorial boasted of the “journalistic army” the paper had assembled to cover the war: it featured Langdon Smith, George Eugene Bryson, Alfred Henry Lewis, Frederic Remington, James Creelman, and Walter Howard, among many others. These correspondents, artists, and photographers would travel about on the
Journal
’s own “navy of dispatch boats,” including the
Anita,
the
Buccaneer,
the
Ely,
the
Simpson,
the
Baracoa,
the
Diamante,
and two or three tugs.
7

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