Simon Bolivar

by John Lynch

  Supreme power was made absolute by the Organic Decree of 27 August 1828.49 The Liberator President, as he was now called, justified the decree as flowing from ‘the essential rights which the people always preserve to free themselves from the ravages of anarchy’, and which they had now placed in his hands to exercise until a national assembly could be convoked. The decree was a measure to institutionalize his power, proof ‘of my most ardent desire to unburden myself of the intolerable weight of unlimited authority and to see the Republic reconstituted by its representatives’.50 But his options were reduced by two events: the attempt on his life and the invasion by Peru. So the power of the Liberator President was a personal power, exercised by decrees that had the force of law and through appointments that were under his control. The Organic Decree eliminated the office of vice–president and Santander was appointed minister to the United States, an appointment which he was ready to accept though he made no move to leave. Bolívar established a council of state, with an advisory function only, consisting of all five ministers, regional representatives, and military and clerical personnel. He had always believed in the separation of the judicial power but not in its total independence, which in practice had hindered legitimate government; therefore, in increasing the influence of the executive in law enforcement as well as law–making through a series of judicial changes, he was not abandoning his principles. He had long regarded the military as vulnerable to civilian liberals, and he now confirmed and even extended the traditional military fuero inherited from Spain, and in the interests of defence it was reasonable to increase the size of the armed forces. None of these measures made the presidency a military dictatorship. He regarded the regime as temporary, until the assembly of a congress on 2 January 1830.51 In other respects Bolívar still revealed liberal instincts. His government had already declared its opposition to any attempt to by–pass the prohibition of the slave trade. A decree of 5 January 1828 prohibited trade in slaves for domestic service and freed those thus enslaved since 1821.52

  What was the truth of the supreme power? Was it the final proof of Bolívar’s loss of political purity and the erosion of his principles? Interpretations of his rule in 1828–30 have been influenced by his previous reputation as well as subsequent actions. It is contrasted with the great avowals of liberty, equality and even occasionally of democracy, and therefore judged as a decline from his own standards. Alternatively it has been seen as the culmination of his absolutist tendencies already present in the Bolivian Constitution, with its life president, and in the extraordinary powers he had invoked under the Colombian constitution. Yet it was not a deviation. Bolívar had always been ill at ease with democracy, which in Spanish America was too close to anarchy for his liking. And from the beginning he had advocated strong government: as early as the Jamaica Letter he was speculating that Colombia might have an executive, though not hereditary, power elected for life. Moreover, his political thought and policy statements record a remarkable continuity in his commitment to liberal republicanism. Even at Angostura, when he recommended to the legislators the study of the British constitution, he did so not in servile imitation of monarchy but in defence of republicanism. ‘When I speak of the British government I refer only to its republican features; and indeed, can a political system be called a pure monarchy when it recognizes popular sovereignty, division and balance of powers, civil liberty, freedom of conscience and of the press, and all that is sublime in politics? Can there be greater freedom in any other form of republic? Can more be expected of any social order?’53

  The essential features of independence and freedom, his permanent objectives, were best guaranteed by strong government and, if necessary, until they could be secured in a constitution, by his personal rule. Yet the policy and practice of his personal rule have been exaggerated. Even when he exercised absolute power in 1828–30 Bolívar did not rule like a caudillo or a despot; his rule responded to no particular social or regional interest, his use of patronage was not extravagant, and his respect for the rule of law did not desert him. It is true that there were some Bolivarians who were extremists, some who genuinely frightened liberals, ultras who tried to stir up social unrest by appealing to popular passions, even to religious instincts, and this ‘by men who normally believe nothing’.54 But there were others, such as the interior minister Restrepo, who were politically moderate and were qualified for office whatever the regime. And there was one to raise eyebrows.

  While Bolívar resided in the presidential palace of San Carlos, Manuela had taken a house nearby in the Plazuela de San Carlos, where she lived her own life, riding out by day in military uniform and entertaining in the evening with the help of port wine and the adulation of visitors. On 24 July, Bolívar’s birthday, she gave a party at his villa outside Bogotá where she suggested that an effigy be made of Santander; this was then positioned sitting on a bench and shot in the back by a detachment of Grenadiers. Bolívar was not present, but according to General Córdova, who reported the scandal to him, there was much talk of a kind embarrassing to his reputation and critical of a lady who ‘meddles in government affairs’. Bolívar’s reply revealed some embarrassment but not too much; he dismissed the incident as vulgar nonsense and not criminal. He would suspend the commanding officer of the Grenadiers and send the men to serve elsewhere. ‘As for the lovable Loca, what can I say? You have known her from way back. I have tried to leave her, but one can do nothing against a resistance such as hers; nevertheless, as soon as this episode is past, I intend to make the most determined effort to send her to her country, or wherever she will go. But let me say that she has never meddled except in pleading [for favours for others?]. So do not worry. I am not weak, nor do I fear to be told the truth.’55 Within weeks he was begging her to come to him and revive his spirits with her love. ‘I see you even when I am parted from you. Come, come, come quickly.’ Bolívar would not offend his soldiers, but equally he would never betray Manuela.

  The Assassins

  Bolívar was not a dictator by nature, and he did not regard absolute power as a permanent settlement, much less as a step towards monarchy. In practice he did not substantially extend his extraordinary powers. There was a decree on conspiracy (20 February 1828) already in existence, but it was not effectively applied, even against opponents who were denouncing ‘the execrable triumvirate of Bolívar, Urdaneta, and Castillo’.56 Bolívar himself was first in the firing line. Extremists targeted him in the early months of the regime and plotted to remove him. The conspiracy was not a caudillo–type action, much less a mass revolt, but a projected coup designed to overthrow Bolívar, whom the conspirators identified as the supreme enemy of freedom. They consulted Santander, who agreed on the criminality of Bolívar but declined to participate in violence; when specifically sounded he expressed his disapproval, though he did not rule out some future collaboration in a peaceful movement.57 The conspirators were army officers, together with a number of professors and students ‘allegedly liberals’, meeting in a so–called Philological Society.58 They were young men, of a generation for whom the revolution of 1810 was past history and Bolívar a man who had not moved on. The leader was Pedro Carujo, a twenty–six–year–old Venezuelan staff officer with literary aspirations, aided by Ramón Guerra, chief of the general staff in Bogotá, and Luis Vargas Tejada, a liberal politician; the civilian coodinator was Florentino González, an admirer and subsequently husband of Bernardina Ibáñez, whom Bolívar had pursued in the years after Boyacá. Although the leaders had ideas of extending the movement to the provinces, the conspiracy had little resonance in the country; as Santander himself admitted, the army and the people were with Bolívar.

  The conspirators were opportunists, and after a false start they decided to murder Bolívar on the night of Thursday 25 September 1828 as he slept in the palace of San Carlos. There were rumours of trouble, but Bolívar did not take them seriously. He had sent for Manuela earlier in the evening and remarked to her that there was going to be a revolut
ion. She too was casual: ‘There may be ten as far as you are concerned, for all the notice you take.’ ‘Don’t worry,’ he replied, ‘nothing is going to happen.’ She read to him while he was taking a bath, and then he retired and slept soundly, with only his sword and pistols to hand. At midnight, thirty conspirators attacked in three groups: one, headed by Carujo and Agustín Horment, a Navarrese, planned to attack the presidential palace and kill Bolívar; a second would attack the barracks of the Vargas Battalion and free Padilla from jail; and a third would attack the Grenadiers in their barracks. At the entrance to the palace the conspirators killed the three sentries and the guard dogs and made their way indoors, wounding Andrés Ibarra, one of Bolívar’s aides, on the way. Wakened by the commotion, Bolívar was for confronting the intruders, sword in hand, but Manuela saw the danger and persuaded him to dress and escape from the window, holding him back until some passers–by had gone. Then he jumped from the balcony and ran four or five blocks away, followed by one of his servants who, seeing his master turn with a pistol ready, announced himself, ’soy Trinidad, mi general!’59

  The door burst open and Manuela, armed with a sword, confronted Carujo, who marched her roughly through the palace in a vain search for Bolívar, and beat her in frustration when her directions proved false. She ministered to Ibarra and tried to warn off Colonel Ferguson, who rushed in to help. A survivor of many campaigns, he was shot and killed by Carujo. José Palacio, Bolívar’s mayordomo, was only saved because at the time he was ill in another bedroom. At the Vargas barracks Padilla was freed and his guard killed, but the battalion reacted quickly and put the aggressors to flight. The Grenadiers repulsed the third group. Urdaneta took command, restored order and dispatched squads to find Bolívar and capture the conspirators. Bolívar had spent three hours shivering under the Bridge of Carmen in the murky waters of the small San Agustín River, listening to rival shouts for Santander and for Bolívar. When he heard ‘ Viva el Libertador’ and no reply he judged it safe to emerge from his vile refuge at three o’clock in the morning. Exposure to danger and the elements had left the Liberator drained and convinced that Manuela was truly ‘la libertadora del Libertador’. As for the emotional scars, he would carry them for the rest of his life.60

  The next day Santander, Padilla and several others were arrested. General Urdaneta, the presiding judge of the trials, was a known enemy of Santander. He was for a hard line, convinced that this was a wider conspiracy, inspired by Santander, ‘el alma del negocio’, and that he himself was one of seven others targeted for assassination. ‘My line is that it’s either them or us.’61 Of the fifty–nine named as principal participants, eight were acquitted, fourteen condemned to death, five sentenced to internal exile, three escaped and the rest were imprisoned or barred from teaching. Padilla, Guerra, Horment and ten others were found guilty of conspiracy and executed. Padilla, rebel if not conspirator, faced the firing squad shouting ‘cobardes’ and refusing a blindfold. Carujo bargained for his life by testifying against Santander and others, but was still sentenced to death, and only saved by a pardon from the council of ministers; after arguing his way through various prisons he escaped in August 1829 and was eventually amnestied by Páez, a lucky exit from a supposedly ruthless dictatorship. A wider net was cast against the fringe conspirators, but the response to what had been an act of extreme violence at the heart of government was hardly a bloodbath. Removal of teaching licences and academic degrees, the imposition of travel restrictions and the prohibition of secret societies completed the official action. Santander was convicted of giving counsel and aid to the conspirators, though no direct evidence of participation was presented. Urdaneta was convinced of his guilt and sentenced him to be executed, but the council of ministers was not satisfied with the proof and on the wider grounds of public interest recommended that the sentence be commuted to banishment.62 On this advice, which he said he bitterly resented but may have welcomed as a reprieve for himself, Bolívar spared the life of his enemy.

  The conspiracy against Bolívar’s life was a shock to his glory, an affront to his pride. Now he underwent an inner struggle, conscious of the resentment of the pardos. Piar, Padilla and others had died for the crime of rebellion, so why should Santander, a public enemy whose conduct could only lead to anarchy, escape? ‘Those of the same class as Piar and Padilla will say, and justifiably, that I have shown weakness only in favour of this infamous white, whose services do not compare with those of these famous patriots.’63 Santander added his own gloss. ‘We do not know the real reason why Bolívar commuted the death sentence,’ he wrote. ‘He has said that his glory demanded it. The only thing we can say with certainty is that public opinion pronounced strongly in favour of Santander and against the terror inspiring the government.’64 In many other cases, however, Bolívar also advised clemency. Eventually he was exasperated by the whole protracted process: ‘I’ve got conspiracy up to the eyeballs,’ he said. After it was over, to escape from ‘this chamber of horrors’, he took a break in the country, spending a few weeks in the Indian villages of Chia north of Bogotá, one of his favourite places for relaxation. Urdaneta too went through tortuous procedures to get to the truth and became convinced that Santander was guilty of having advance knowledge of the conspiracy and not denouncing it, and therefore of high treason. Santander left Colombia in 1829 for exile in Europe and the United States, returning in 1832 to serve as the first elected president of New Granada.

  The Liberator President had the support of office–holders in Church and state, most of the military, the higher ranks of the caudillos, and Bolivarians in all sectors. Urdaneta, minister of war and army commander, was closely associated with the regime from the beginning. Sucre had no doubts that more authority was needed at the centre; in his view the people were disillusioned with written guarantees and theoretical liberty, and only wanted protection for their persons and property by a strong government. A year later he added: ‘I will always be sorry that in order to obtain this internal peace and stability you have not made use of your dictatorial power to give Colombia a constitution, which would have been sustained by the army…. What the people want is peace and guarantees; as for the rest, I do not believe that they dispute for principles or political theories, which have caused so much damage to their right of property and security.’65 Páez stood firm against the ‘enemy’ convencionistas as they returned from Ocaña; he recognized the regime promptly and considered it the best solution against the factionalism of the military and the mischief of the liberals, of whom there were more than a few in Venezuela. He expressed some reservations on religious policy, alleging that Venezuela was less clerical than Bogotá and confined religion to doctrine not jurisdiction, and he advised the Liberator to proceed ‘with all the discretion demanded by the age of enlightenment’.66 To receive a lecture on the Enlightenment from Páez of all people must have tried the patience, and the credulity, of Bolívar. Politically, the President and caudillo both wanted the same thing, strong government and stability. But Páez also wanted the independence of Venezuela, though peacefully and without another revolution, because, as Soublette reported, ‘He does not have the will to start another revolution, nor does he dare to break his often–repeated oaths of allegiance to you.’67 Bolívar seemed to accept that Venezuela, with its military fiefdoms so unlike the rest of Colombia, might have to go its own way. He recognized that Colombia suffered from its size and its geography: the centre was too remote from the outlying districts, government authority was dissipated by distance, and distance increased by the terrain. ‘There is no prefect, no governor, who does not invest himself with supreme authority, principally as a matter of absolute necessity. It might be said that each department is a government, distinct from the national, modified by local conditions or circumstances peculiar to the area, or even personal in nature.’68 These were the conditions that bred independent regions and their caudillos. Ecuador, too, was sensitive to over–centralization, and the presidency allowed Flores, like Páez,
some immunity from the strictest degree of absolutism demanded by Bogotá.