[1865 – 1916] The Second Republic: Caudillos, Crisis, and Foreign Debt

We find ourselves in 1865. The Dominican Republic, a young nation bruised but defiant, has just shrugged off Spanish re-annexation. The air in Santo Domingo, thick with the scent of sea salt and tropical blooms, also carries the metallic tang of recent gunpowder. A fragile hope flutters through the narrow, cobblestone streets, where colonial-era stone buildings, some still pockmarked from battle, stand as silent witnesses. But this hard-won sovereignty would prove a restless beast, for the era we now enter, the Second Republic, stretching to 1916, was one of strongmen – caudillos – perpetual crisis, and the ever-tightening grip of foreign debt. Imagine the political landscape: a chessboard where the pieces were charismatic, often ruthless, military leaders. Power wasn't typically won at the ballot box; it was seized on horseback, backed by loyal regional militias. Men like Buenaventura Báez, who would hold the presidency a staggering five times, dominated these early years. Báez, ever the opportunist, saw salvation not in national strength, but in annexation – first to the United States, then to others. His infamous 1869 Hartmont Loan, ostensibly for £420,000, saw the nation receive barely a pittance, yet saddled it with crippling debt. This pattern of ruinous loans, often enriching the lenders and a select few locals more than the national treasury, became a recurring nightmare. Life for the average Dominican, the *campesino* tilling his small *conuco* (plot of land) for yucca, plantains, and beans, remained largely unchanged by the lofty pronouncements from the capital. He wore simple cotton, perhaps a straw hat to shield him from the relentless sun, and his concerns were rain, harvest, and the local strongman. In towns, artisans and small merchants formed a modest middle class. The elite, however, landowners and import-export magnates, lived a different reality, their homes sometimes graced with imported European furniture, their attire mimicking Parisian fashions. Then, a figure emerged who would define the era's latter half: Ulises Heureaux, known as Lilís. A charismatic, intelligent, and utterly ruthless general from Puerto Plata, Lilís seized power in 1882 and, with a brief interlude, ruled until his assassination in 1899. His regime was a study in contrasts. On one hand, he brought a semblance of order, a "paz de Lilís" – the peace of the graveyard for his opponents. He was a modernizer. The first telegraph line crackled to life in 1884, connecting Santo Domingo to Puerto Plata. The first public railway, linking Sánchez to La Vega, began chugging through the fertile Cibao valley in 1887, carrying cocoa and tobacco to port. Sugar production boomed, especially in the south, with new *ingenios* (sugar mills) belching smoke, their machinery a marvel of the industrial age. Some towns even saw the flickering glow of early electric lights. But this progress came at a terrifying cost. Lilís maintained power through a vast network of spies, bribery, and brutal repression. His personal charm could turn to deadly menace in an instant. "Pan y palo" – bread and the club – was his method. He showered supporters with favors and money, much of it borrowed. And borrow he did, voraciously. Loans from European and American financiers, like the Dutch Westendorp Company and later the San Domingo Improvement Company of New York (SDIC), piled up. By the time of his death, the national debt had ballooned to an astronomical $35 million, an impossible sum for a small, agrarian nation. The customs houses, the nation's primary source of revenue, were mortgaged to the hilt. Imagine the anxiety, the whispers in cafes, the fear of the knock on the door in the dead of night. His assassination in Moca in July 1899, by a group of young conspirators, was meant to liberate the nation. Instead, it unleashed chaos. A succession of short-lived governments, "caudillos de petate" (straw-mat caudillos), rose and fell. The country teetered on the brink of civil war, often tipping over. Regional leaders, no longer held in check by Lilís’s iron fist, vied for supremacy. All the while, the foreign creditors grew more impatient. The United States, increasingly assertive in the Caribbean under its "Roosevelt Corollary," watched with alarm. The Dominican Republic's inability to pay its debts, particularly to European powers, raised the specter of foreign intervention – something Washington was keen to prevent, by intervening itself. In 1905, a temporary customs receivership was imposed, with the US effectively taking control of Dominican customs houses to manage debt repayment. By 1907, this arrangement was formalized in a treaty. A significant portion of customs revenue – often over 50% – was now diverted to service the foreign debt. While this brought a degree of fiscal order, it was a profound erosion of sovereignty. President Ramón Cáceres (1906-1911) managed to bring some stability and even began to pay down the debt, but his assassination in 1911 plunged the country back into turmoil. The ensuing years were a blur of collapsing presidencies and mounting unrest. The taste of coffee, the scent of tobacco, the sweetness of sugar – these defined the agricultural economy, but the profits rarely reached the hands that toiled. For the common Dominican, life was a struggle for survival amidst political storms. The vibrant pulse of *merengue* might offer fleeting joy, but the underlying rhythm was one of uncertainty. By 1916, the situation had become untenable in the eyes of the United States. The Second Republic, born in hope, was about to breathe its last under the shadow of foreign occupation, its fate inextricably linked to the debts incurred by its ambitious and often reckless leaders.