It would take decades for this inchoate world outlook—noncolonial imperialism based on unparalleled military and economic power and mixed with an underlying humanitarianism—to ripen into a coherent and resonant geopolitical philosophy and guide America into its coming era of global ascendancy. But when it did, it would become clear to discerning thinkers that its early stirrings emerged in the McKinley foreign policy and its underlying rationale. As the New York Times put it in an editorial at the height of the China drama, America was the only country to apply “anti-imperialistic . . . sentiments,” not allowing the effort to go “from an alliance for rescue to an alliance for revenge.” Whatever America intended to do with its burgeoning power in coming decades, that power now was indeed a global reality. Sir Robert Giffen, a well-known British statistician and expert on global trends, told the New York Times that America had become “the most powerful State in the world, so far as population and resources were concerned.” He suggested the world now had only four global powers: Great Britain, Russia, Germany, and the United States.
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Reelection
“I AM NOW THE PRESIDENT OF THE WHOLE PEOPLE”
At the dawn of the 1900 presidential campaign year, the Chicago Tribune hailed McKinley’s commanding political position. So secure was the president as head of his party that he faced no opposition when Republicans gathered in Philadelphia in June to select their presidential candidate. “It is settled,” announced the Tribune, “that he is to be nominated by acclamation.” This gave the president a huge general election advantage. To get nominated, a candidate must treat with other politicians and often cut deals that voters dislike. Thus the wooing of politicians in the nomination process often complicated the wooing of voters in the fall. But no such complications confronted McKinley. “He has only the people to deal with,” said the Tribune. “He is absolutely his own master.” Further, with the economy expanding, money abundant, and the country’s global stature growing, the president’s prospects looked bright. “He is, indeed,” stated the Tribune, “a happy man.”
But Arkansas senator James Jones, chairman of the Democratic National Committee, planned a political ambush. He told reporters in St. Louis that the Democrats would continue the fight on bimetallism but also add two potent issues to the mix: McKinley’s imperialist adventurism and those increasingly brazen monopolistic trusts grabbing more and more economic power. These issues, he said, “are demanding attention from the people of the United States.”
Bimetallism didn’t represent much of a threat to McKinley. The Bryanites’ 1896 cry for liquidity through silver coinage lost relevance as rising gold prices and new mining technologies expanded gold extraction and brought more gold to the U.S. Mint, thus increasing the country’s money stock by about 10 percent a year. And by loosening capital requirements for bank start-ups in rural areas, the president’s currency legislation of early 1900 had spurred the creation of small banks in the West and South. This, explained the New York Mail and Express, “helped to provide currency for local needs and lessen the demand for Eastern funds.” The pro-silver populists no longer mustered the kind of frenzied political energy they had unleashed in 1896.
But McKinley’s foreign policy expansionism threatened his ability to maintain party unity. In Speaker Reed’s valedictory speech in Maine, he expressed confidence that his beloved First District would “always be true to the principles of liberty, self-government, and the rights of man.” This was interpreted by many as a slap at the president. No doubt Reed wanted to agitate those Republicans who agreed with him that McKinley’s Philippine policy violated fundamental constitutional principles.
Related issues such as the Puerto Rican tariff, the isthmian canal, and the Hay-Pauncefote Treaty also threatened to divide Republicans. The Nation argued that the GOP “is now rent in so many different places and on so many different questions that it cannot possibly go into the coming Presidential campaign presenting a solid front to the enemy.” Though clearly an overstatement, this perception reflected a political reality that the president could ill afford to ignore. Certainly any issue as emotion-laden as the Philippines presented political dangers. Illinois senator William Mason demonstrated those emotions—and dangers—when he declared, “I shall continue my opposition to the war upon the Filipinos. I would sooner resign my seat than treat a dog the way we are treating those poor people. I am ashamed of my country.”
The incendiary trust issue posed further challenges, particularly since McKinley hadn’t managed to stay ahead of public opinion on the matter. True to his assurance to Dawes that he would attack the trusts, the president had devoted considerable attention to the problem in his Third Annual Message of December 1899. He declared “obnoxious . . . to the public welfare” those combinations “which engross or control the market of any particular kind of merchandise or commodity necessary to the general community, by suppressing natural and ordinary competition, whereby prices are unduly enhanced to the general consumer.” But he signaled his reluctance to lead on the issue when he added, “Whatever power the Congress possesses over this most important subject should be promptly ascertained and asserted.”
Digressing on the Supreme Court’s insistence that federal jurisdiction over trusts didn’t extend beyond matters of interstate commerce, the president conceded that “the decision of our highest court . . . renders it quite doubtful whether the evils of trusts and monopolies may be adequately treated through Federal action.” He urged legislation consistent with the Court’s limitation and suggested state legislatures should take the lead in curbing monopolistic practices. Constitutionally he stood upon solid ground. Politically he seemed feeble. Congressional Republicans sought to buck up their position by pushing legislation in early 1900 to enhance enforcement of the 1890 Sherman Antitrust Act. It passed the House by a vote of 273 to 1, demonstrating public anger on the issue. But the measure’s impact on enforcement was modest, and Democrats quickly accused Republicans of merely going through the motions “for party and political considerations and not with any real purpose of dealing with the trust subject.” Some Republicans advocated a constitutional amendment to supersede Supreme Court constrictions, but nobody saw much chance of ratification. Republicans remained ill-positioned on the issue.
Then there was the Dewey question. The hero of Manila Bay, initially resistant to a presidential run, now succumbed to the adulatory pressure to go for it. In announcing his availability, however, the admiral demonstrated his own limitations in this challenging new arena. In an interview with the New York World, Dewey mused, “The office of the President is not such a very difficult one to fill, his duties being mainly to execute the laws of Congress.” He could do that, he said, as faithfully as he had executed the orders of his superiors over a long naval career. Asked about the platform he would run on, he replied, “I think I have said enough at this time, and possibly too much.”
Indeed. Many Americans felt mystified at his comment about the unchallenging duties of the presidency. Such a blithe attitude toward the office seemed to be a sign of political bewilderment. The New York Times suggested the admiral’s cogitation had generated “a general inclination to be amused” and that Dewey’s candidacy “was considered to be quite as much of a joke as his references to the simplicity of the task imposed upon the occupant of the White House.”
At the White House itself, McKinley was equally amused. He told Cortelyou and Dawes that the admiral could have emerged as a formidable figure and a threat to his presidency had he taken a strong stand against retention of the Philippines immediately after his return from Manila. That would have galvanized Democrats while splitting Republicans. But he had missed that opportunity. The next day, after Dewey identified himself as a Democrat, the president dismissed his prospective candidacy with some compassion, lamenting that, while people were laughing at his stumbles, there was also “an undercurrent of pity.” Although ripples of support for a Dewey presidency would continue for months
, the president was correct in perceiving that he wouldn’t be a factor in the race.
A bigger question was what to expect from young Theodore Roosevelt. Would the restless New York governor vie for the vice presidential position on the McKinley ticket? “The Governor is very popular all over the country,” reported the New York Times. “The people like him for his vigor and his honesty. They like a stirring man, and he is always astir.” The paper anticipated “a considerable demand that his name be on the ticket.” The Times was right. Aside from Dewey, no war veteran from 1898 had amassed a more fervent national following than Roosevelt.
But he didn’t want the job. “In view of the continued statements in the press that I may be urged as a candidate for Vice-President,” he announced in February, “it is proper for me to state definitely that under no circumstances could I or would I accept the nomination for the Vice-Presidency.” He hinted at a reelection bid in New York and said, disingenuously, that he was “happy to state that Senator Platt cordially acquiesces in my views in the matter.”
In fact, Platt had developed a strong antipathy toward the reform-minded governor, who predictably refused to knuckle under to Platt’s demands on patronage and other matters. Since the New York boss controlled the state’s legislature, and hence the power to confirm TR nominees for government jobs, Roosevelt had to work with Platt—and tried to. But Platt, accustomed to complete fealty from mere governors, demanded from Roosevelt more than he could comfortably deliver. Worse for Roosevelt, Platt dominated the state corporations that controlled the money spigot for Republican candidates. Journalist Lincoln Steffens revealed in a provocative piece that, while the corporations couldn’t come out publicly against an incumbent Republican governor, “they have simply served notice on the organization that if he is renominated they will not contribute to campaign funds.” Steffens said the “obvious solution” was promotion of TR to the vice presidency, and prominent GOP committeemen from the state warned the governor that he would be “tempting Providence” should he try for a second gubernatorial term.
But if Platt’s dislike of Roosevelt spawned a desire to get him on the McKinley ticket, another prominent politician harbored an equal dislike that produced an opposite resolve. Mark Hanna considered Roosevelt a spoiled child of a politician, erratic, out of control, “unsafe.” Now he set about to keep Roosevelt off the McKinley ticket.
Hanna also had other worries. Expecting McKinley to appoint him once again as Republican National Committee chairman—and hence manager of the presidential campaign—the senator stewed as the president remained silent on the matter well past the appropriate decision-making time. The relationship between the Major and his longtime strategist had undergone a transformation during McKinley’s presidency and Hanna’s years as a rising senatorial heavyweight. McKinley intimates sensed that the president chafed a bit now as Hanna expressed himself around town in ways suggesting he enjoyed a special pipeline to the White House and traded on his presidential ties in seeking special treatment from government bureaus and agencies. Later speculation centered also on a post office scandal in Havana involving a Hanna crony named Estes Rathbone. Conscious that such things could undermine his presidential image, McKinley distanced himself from Hanna with “a kind of quiet discipline,” signaling that the senator should exercise greater restraint.
Ultimately Hanna got the RNC job and promptly directed to the campaign his usual energy and organizational skill (though diminished somewhat by infirmities that included heart problems and increasingly severe rheumatism). He quietly maneuvered to keep Roosevelt off the ticket and promoted instead Cornelius Bliss, the New York financier and party bigwig who had served as McKinley’s Interior secretary. Other names mentioned were General Leonard Wood, serving in Cuba; Elihu Root; New York lieutenant governor Timothy Woodruff; Navy Secretary Long; and Indiana senator Charles Fairbanks. Bliss emerged as the frontrunner in the minds of many when he spent two hours with Hanna in Room 952 of the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. Asked about it by reporters, Bliss maintained a studied coyness.
“The report is, Mr. Bliss,” said a reporter, “that you had a conference to-day with Senator Hanna relative to your acceptance of the Vice Presidential nomination?”
“I always see Mr. Hanna when he comes to town,” replied Bliss with a smile.
“Did you see him to-day?”
“I always see him when he is here. I would see him to-night if he were in town, but I understand he went away this afternoon.”
McKinley, who seemed to share Hanna’s misgivings about Roosevelt and his good feelings about Bliss, sought to nudge TR away from the vice presidency when the governor traveled to Washington to issue a frank declaration to McKinley that he didn’t want the job. He was taken aback when the president readily agreed. “He did not even have a chance to launch his nolo episcopari at the Major,” wrote Hay afterward with a certain glee. “That statesman said he did not want him on the ticket—that he would be far more valuable in New York.” Then Secretary Root added, “Of course not—you’re not fit for it.” The ego-driven Roosevelt was more stung than relieved, and the president hoped that would settle the matter.
In the meantime McKinley took satisfaction in Hanna’s dominance of the Ohio state convention in late April. The senator’s favored ticket for state offices and his slate on delegates and alternates to the national convention “went through without any break,” reported the New York Times, and his keynote address generated thunderous acclamation. “It was very much a Hanna day,” said the Times, “without dissenting or discordant notes.” After years of bitter strife, the McKinley-Hanna forces finally held complete sway over the state’s Republican Party.
* * *
AS THE CAMPAIGN year progressed, the president pondered the interaction between the Philippine war and his election prospects. Much depended on Will Taft and his commission. Upon arriving in the Philippines in June, Governor-general Taft reported to the president that the military effort was succeeding, although slowly; that Arthur MacArthur was cooperating nicely; and that a steady commitment to current policy would succeed—but required, of course, McKinley’s reelection. “The backbone of the revolt seems to be entirely broken,” he wrote, “and its ostensible leaders are seriously contemplating a surrender relying on the work of the Commission to secure in a civil government much though not all of that which they have hoped to bring about.”
That month the president promulgated an amnesty offer. Although Aguinaldo promptly declared that “the war must be continued,” he didn’t try to stop other rebel officers from surrendering. One top general named Aquino did so on June 30, and other officers followed suit. Meanwhile MacArthur’s army continued to exact heavy losses on insurgents when opportunities emerged—200 rebels killed, for example, and 160 captured during a single June week.
After the president on August 17 requested a report from the Taft Commission on what it had discovered over ten months in country, the commission responded with a generally optimistic overview. Much of the archipelago had been pacified, the commissioners reported, and most Filipinos now perceived that U.S. designs were largely benign. The policy of leniency, marked by the amnesty program, had induced many insurgents to lay down their arms. But many others refused to surrender in hopes that a Democrat would win the U.S. presidency and withdraw from the islands. That was Aguinaldo’s constant refrain. The war now was generally a guerrilla war, confined to particular regions of the various islands, and conducted mostly by Tagalogs. As soon as the rebels saw that McKinley would be in office another four years, the resistance would fade away. But a report from the islands by a New York Herald reporter painted a more complex picture, with Filipino commanders in districts everywhere, muster rolls maintained, some 20,000 rifles hidden away by insurgents, and guerrilla resistance lying in wait here and there in anticipation of a cue from Aguinaldo.
For McKinley’s political purposes, the Taft Commission report served nicely to convey the message that the insurgency was largely under
control, at least sufficiently to prevent this difficult imperial project from upending McKinley’s reelection prospects. But as the Herald report also made clear, an end to the war wasn’t likely anytime soon.
* * *
ON JUNE 11, Republican leaders began assembling in Philadelphia for a political convention that would be heavy on ceremony and light on drama. The city sparkled with bunting, evening torchlights, and enthusiasm. The only question of intrigue was the vice presidential selection, and even that didn’t seem to generate much emotion. Bliss remained a favorite of many, and attention now focused also on Iowa’s William Allison, a Senate graybeard and financial expert who had served in the chamber for twenty-eight years and in the House for eight years before that. A convention subcommittee, seeking to diminish disruptive maneuverings, issued a statement on June 11: “Either Mr. Allison or Mr. Bliss would be satisfactory to the President, and his wishes alone, and not the ambitions of the several other notables who have been prominently mentioned for the office, are now being consulted by the leaders.”
But the president refused to name his own choice. On June 13, reporters accosted Hanna about reports the president soon would announce his favored vice presidential candidate.
“There is no truth in that report, none whatever,” replied the senator. “The President will not interfere; he has no candidate.”
“Then, who is your candidate?”
President McKinley Page 51