by Frank McLynn
Once in Mexico City, Villa was incarcerated in the Federal District Penitentiary, where he commenced a seven-month struggle for freedom. At first he pinned his hopes on the restoration of Abraham Gonzalez, and Gonzalez cannot be faulted for the strenuous efforts he made on Villa's behalf. In his representations to Madero, Gonzalez reiterated four points: Villa had remained loyal at a crucial stage in the rebellion, even after Orozco offered him large sums to turn his coat; his three-day defence of Parral had given Huerta the vital breathing-space to form up around Torreon; any confiscations Villa carried out in Parral were fully in accord with revolutionary practice; and Orozco had anyway destroyed Villa's four butchers' shops and arrested Villa's two brothers. However, Madero remained deaf both to Gonzalez's pleas and Villa's direct appeals. He refused to intervene, grant Villa an audience or answer his letters, except briefly and coldly. Again and again he made it clear to all petitioners that he would not intervene in a matter where the military had jurisdiction.
Madero's attitude is puzzling. He was an ingrate, since Villa's loyalty was the hinge on which the successful outcome (for Madero) of the Orozco rebellion hinged. His harsh attitude towards Villa contrasts startlingly with the misguided mercy he had shown to General Navarro at Ciudad Juarez the year before, which entailed defying the letter of the law. One obvious conclusion would be that he disliked Villa, either because he thought him an unprincipled loose cannon, or because he still harboured a grudge over the gun-toting incident at Ciudad Juarez. A more likely explanation, however, is that he was now so deeply in thrall to the military that he thought it too risky to overrule Huerta again. Besides, he was under enormous pressure from Henry Lane Wilson, the crazed US ambassador. Wilson's insane hatred for Madero extended to, and was exceeded by, his hatred for Villa. He had tried to bully Madero into executing Villa, and was furious that his intended victim had escaped with his life. When the State Department reprimanded Wilson for pursuing a private vendetta over Villa and the Tlahualilo affair, and not acting in concert with the British (who owned the lion's share of the company), Wilson had the impudence to say he had not acted hand in glove with his colleague because the British ambassador was too lazy.
As Villa languished in jail, he became more and more despondent. The news he heard from Chihuahua seemed preposterous and he had to pinch himself to be reminded that he had been on the winning side and Orozco the losing. Huerta, with the aid of Madero's reactionary uncle Rafael Hernandez, was pitching hard to have Abraham Gonzalez removed in favour of a stooge of the Terrazas. After so many unsatisfactory ad hoc alliances with unreliable revolutionaries like Orozco, the Creel-Terrazas clique had finally found their solid rock in Huerta. Madero drew the line at ousting the faithful Gonzalez, but he bypassed his authority by conniving at Huerta's outrageous actions, including the granting of an amnesty to the orozquistas so generous that their fortunes were everywhere restored. The height of absurdity was reached when Madero amnestied Luis Terrazas, Orozco's paymaster, who had absented himself in the USA during the actual fighting. The Army, under Huerta's direction, then turned the screws on Gonzalez, persecuting his followers and making common cause with yesterday's enemies.
It soon became clear to Villa that Huerta would never allow him to walk free, to be the possible focus for another rising in Chihuahua. Despairing of political solutions to his plight, Villa tried a twin-track strategy: concentrating on building a powerful legal defence to the Army's charges while making ever more far-fetched proposals to Madero. He asked to be freed from military jurisdiction; Madero refused. He asked to be sent into exile in Spain; again Madero refused. Finally, he offered to fight Zapata in Morelos; this time Madero did not think the offer worthy of a reply. The confrontation of Villa and Zapata on the battlefield remains one of those intriguing historical might-have-beens, but the suggestion was not intrinsically absurd: after all, Zapata had publicly declared his support for the Orozco rising.
In his legal battle with the Army, Villa had the aid of some good lawyers, provided by the sympathetic Gustavo Madero. It soon became clear that the Army had nothing conclusive to pin on him but would seek to exhaust the possibilities inherent in one charge, before moving on to another, thus dragging proceedings out interminably and keeping Villa in jail. The desertion line of enquiry proved an unrewarding one for the military advocates, and their cause was not helped by Army bureaucracy. The provost-marshal's office deluged Huerta with lengthy questionnaires, hoping to find the `smoking gun' that would convict Villa, but Huerta was too arrogant, lazy or drunk to answer. It is possible that he knew only too well how wafer-thin the case against Villa was, and feared a public airing would damage his own credibility; in the meantime Villa's limbo position suited him very well. Most likely, he was already plotting Madero's downfall and reckoned he could take care of the monkey once he had disposed of the organ-grinder.
The principal weakness of Huerta's initial charge was his assertion that the rules of engagement in 1912 were different from those in 1911, for it was only in terms of the `new' rules that Villa could be said to have deserted. However, there he faced the difficulty that the new rules had not been promulgated, and it is one of the oldest legal principles that no law can command obedience if it has not been promulgated. Realising that the charges of rebellion or desertion would not stick, as there were no credible witnesses and Huerta's assertions were obvious nonsense, the prosecution lawyers shifted their attention to the more promising area of theft, concentrating on the exactions from businessmen in Parral. Scraping the barrel, they soon had the bank manager of the Banco Minero and all who had been roughed up or threatened during the villista occupation trooping up to Mexico City to make their depositions. When the defence made mincemeat of these flimsy claims, the prosecution in desperation began trawling through provincial archives to find some proof that Villa was wanted for other crimes, but once again came up empty-handed.
Villa's lawyers also found a defence that the prosecution knew it could not shake. Basing its case on the fact that Villa was under the orders of the governor of Chihuahua when he occupied Parral, not Huerta's or the Army's, the defence was able to show that the Army had no jurisdiction. Had Huerta made his elevation of Villa to `honorary general' official, the Army might have been on firmer ground, but once again Huerto had been too lazy or too drunk. Villa's lawyers ran rings round the Army by innocently asking for Villa's back pay as a general. The War Department refused, on the grounds that they had no record of Francisco Villa as a general. The defence pounced: if Villa was not a general, but only a colonel of the Chihuahua state militia, by definition the Army had no jurisdiction.
Since the Army could not make any of its charges stick, and it was increasingly clear that Villa was being detained for purely political reasons, the warden at the Federal Penitentiary gradually eased the conditions of his confinement. Originally held in solitary, Villa won the right to be with other prisoners, where his reputation and money won him friends. He struck up a particular rapport with Juan Banderas, the revolutionary leader from Sinaloa and with two zapatista intellectuals, Giraldo Magana and Abraham Martinez, formerly Zapata's secretary and chief of staff. The two zapatistas certainly coached Villa through an understanding of the Plan of Ayala. It is further alleged that Martinez taught Villa to read and write, but this can hardly be so, since Villa had written letters to Madero, albeit with primitive spelling, from the very beginning of his captivity. We may well believe, though, that Magana and Martinez improved his literacy skills, for we learn that Villa read a history of Mexico, Don Quixote and The Three Musketeers.
By the beginning of October 1912, Villa's conditions had eased to the point where he was allowed to have a typewriter in his cell and even to have `conjugal visits'; this time the object of his affections was a girl named Rosita Palacios whom Villa archly describes as `a great comfort in those lonely days'. Meanwhile he and Magana set to work to plan a prison break. Villa bribed the guards for information on the prison layout, the shift system and the number of w
arders on duty at any one time, and fashioned and perfected a duplicate key by taking a wax impression of the original. However, the escape bid was a fiasco. Villa and Magana found their would-be exit route barred by guards who should not have been there, according to the information Villa had paid for, and the two men retreated disconsolately to their cells. Magana lost all confidence in Villa and told him it would be better if he made his next break alone.
Zapatistas enjoy the unusual luxury of a meal in Sanborn's restaurant, Mexico City, December 1914
The meeting in the Presidential Palace, Mexico City, December 1914. On both occasions Zapata looks suspiciously at the camera, as if it contains a hidden weapon
The American forces occupying Veracruz, 1914
Dramatic irony: Villa with his two most implacable enemies, Alvaro Obregon (left) and General John `Blackjack' Pershing (right), in happier times before the storm
Villa in happy mood
Zapata also in happy mood (for him)
Felix Diaz: a thorn in the side of all Mexico's leaders for an entire decade
Orozco, not long before death at the hands of the Texas Rangers
`The bearded one': Venustiano Carranza, president, autocrat and control freak
At the battle of Celaya the one-armed Obregon was king
The women of the Revolution: soldaderas ready for action
The last authentic image of Zapata
Villa putting on a brave face in adversity
By this time Villa had heard that Felix Diaz, the dictator's nephew, had launched an unsuccessful rebellion and that Madero had dismissed Huerta. On 24 October he wrote to Madero to congratulate him on these two events and to request a transfer to the military prison at Santiago Tlatelolco, where Bernardo Reyes and other important political prisoners were lodged. This time Madero replied to Villa in a more friendly way and agreed to the transfer. Three factors seemed to have weighed with Madero. For some time he had been lobbied by a group of conservative lawyers, mysteriously acting for Villa. In reality these were agents of Felix Diaz, who had been hoping to spring Villa from the less securityconscious Tlatelolco jail, so that he could lead a diversionary rising against Madero in Chihuahua. Madero knew nothing of the motivation, but always tended to sit up and take notice when lobbied by representatives of the Right.
In any case, by the end of October Madero felt more confident than at any time in his presidency. He had defeated Orozco, vanquished Felix Diaz and humbled Huerta. Villa no longer seemed a figure of much consequence and Madero no longer had to fear alienating the Army if he released him. Additionally, he was influenced by the many pro-Villa interventions of his brother Gustavo, who still feared Huerta and thought that Villa was valuable as a counterweight. So assiduous was Gustavo Madero that he visited Villa every day or sent his secretary along. By the end of October Madero might even have been disposed to release Villa as a final snub to Huerta, had not his other brother Raul advised him that the Terrazases would take a dim view of this and might again raise Chihuahua in revolt.
At Tlatelolco Villa was made much of by imprisoned felicistas (supporters of Felix Diaz) and by the followers of Bernardo Reyes, but he was now determined to escape and found a willing accomplice in Carlos Juaregui, a magistrate's clerk in the prison administration. A lower middle-class nonentity, underpaid, sex-starved and venal, Juaregui was soon bound to Villa by the lavish gifts of money and clothes - suits, hats, shoes, ties - he received from him. Juaregui so far fell under Villa's spell that he proved an enthusiastic, dependable and even ingenious assistant. When Juaregui outlined a detailed escape plot, the planning seemed so meticulous that Villa at first suspected he was being set up for a leyfuga police double-cross. Juaregui's scheme involved sawing through the bars in Villa's cell while a band played mariachi music in the yard below, drowning the sound.
On Christmas Day 1912, wearing the city suit, hat, dark glasses and two pistols with which Juaregui had provided him, Villa simply walked out of the prison, strolling across the courtyard with his assistant as if they were two city lawyers, fresh from visiting their clients and absorbed in discussing the minutiae of a case. Villa partly hid his face with a cravat, but there was no need, for the guards were all drunk or engaged in Christmas revelry. They then found the getaway car exactly where Juaregui had said it would be and drove off - somewhat to Villa's chagrin, as he had wanted to make the romantic outlaw's time-honoured escape by horse. Together they drove to the city of Toluca in the next state, and took a train to the Pacific port of Manzanillo, where they took ship for Mazatlan. By this time the hue and cry had been raised all over Mexico. On the ship to Mazatlan Villa came close to being recognised by a former paymaster in the Division del Norte, who knew him. Alarmed by this narrow escape, Villa stayed in his cabin, bribed the purser heavily, and left in a specially chartered boat before the customs officials boarded the ship in Mazatlan. Still with Juaregui, he made his way overland from Mazatlan to El. Paso in Texas, travelling via Hermosillo and Nogales.
Greeted as a hero by the American press, Villa considered his options. Although now very bitter towards Madero, he wrote him a letter asking that he be given the post of military commander in Chihuahua. When he received no reply, Villa wrote a second, stiffer letter, on 20 January 1913, warning that his patience was running out. He also asked Abraham Gonzalez to come and discuss his future with him. Gonzalez judged it politically expedient not to go in person, but sent an aide to El Paso, who reported on Villa's continuing personal commitment. Gonzalez advised Madero to amnesty Villa and give him an important post in Chihuahua, pointing out that Villa might otherwise throw in his lot with the political Right. In fact reactionary elements were already trying to engineer a permanent rift between Villa and Madero, some urging Villa to raise the standard of revolt while others urged Madero to snub Villa publicly.
Gonzalez, always a staunch ally of Villa, offered him his old post as honorary general with full salary, but Villa insisted on official clearance from Madero first. Again Gonzalez warned Madero of the danger that an unamnestied Villa might raise the north in insurrection. Madero, influenced by this and by Villa's letter of 20 January, finally saw the light, amnestied Villa and, to show his good faith, also released Tomas Urbina, in some ways the first cause of all the trouble between Villa and Huerta. The Centaur of the North was about to move south of the border when dramatic news came in that both Madero and Gonzalez had been assassinated. Villa, it seemed, had got out of jail just in time - a further six weeks and he would certainly have been executed, for the murderer of Madero, it now turned out, was the Mexican monster himself, Victoriano Huerta.
Madero's tightrope act, balancing between Right (in the shape of Reyes, Huerta and Felix Diaz) and Left (Zapata, Orozco, Banderas, Contreras, Navarro), finally collapsed in the autumn of 1912. In some ways, though, it was never much of a balancing act, since he consistently favoured Right over Left. Madero lifted not a finger in favour of land reform and shamelessly connived at the brutal suppression of rural revolts by the Army. He would indulge in hand-wringing over atrocities when the peasants were being bloodily put in their place, but without agrarian reform, repression had to be employed. There was no middle way, and in expressing distaste for the razing and burning of villages Madero was being the typical liberal - willing the ends without willing the means. Given that Madero offered the villages, Indians and peons nothing, how else, other than with the bullet and the bayonet, did he think insurrections in the countryside could be suppressed?
By contrast, Madero let the Right have its head. Most of the old poifi'ristas retained their places and privileges, and Madero seemed disinclined to make the most elementary administrative changes. He turned a blind eye to all the old abuses from the Diaz years. Conniving at private armies, vigilantes and personal retainers by porfirista caciques simply meant that the proportion of the population in arms rose steadily. Militarisation would have been augmented by the plethora of rebels, revolutionaries, bandit gangs, city mobs and private armies, even if
the Army muster roll had not risen from 20,000 in igio to an astonishing 70,000 by 1912. The rise of the Army meant that Madero had continually to truckle to the military, to defer to its pomps and delusions of grandeur, and to endure the brutal whims of men like Huerta. Any revolutionary or indeed any halfway sagacious political leader would have tried to build up the revolutionary forces as a counterweight to the Army, but Madero foolishly thought he need take no precautions as he was the will of the people personified. `There is nothing to fear while the people applaud me' was just one of his many fatuous utterances.
A true politician would have realised that in fact the people were not with him. In June 1912, elections for the 26th National Congress gave Madero's party a small majority in the Chamber of Deputies, but not in the Senate. Even that result would not have happened had not Madero deprived the Catholic PCN party of seats by barefaced fraud. Madero was already coming under serious electoral threat from the Catholics, even though Catholicism itself - split between a reforming `new' Church based on the papal encyclical Rerum Novarum (and in some ways more progressive than Maderismo) and an `old' Church of benighted conservatism - was by no means a monolithic force. Fraud and low turnout rates - less than i o per cent outside Mexico City - seemed to suggest that the Madero programme of `Free elections and no re-election' was either meaningless or perceived as such.
