The Most Beautiful Girl in Cuba(83)
“Stop. Who goes there?”
I turn slowly, hoping that I will somehow escape this, that they will let me go with only a couple questions.
My heart sinks.
A group of Spanish soldiers stands before me, pointing their guns at me.
Thirty-Six
Grace
In March, our answer as to what happened to the Maine comes in the form of the naval court’s investigation that is presented to Congress and their opinion that the Maine was destroyed by a submarine mine that exploded, a conclusion that in no way exonerates Spain. There have been rumors of damning evidence against the Spanish being held by the revolutionaries, but if it exists, none has materialized.
We’re in Brooklyn at a fundraiser for Maine survivors, and Hearst has even secured Evangelina Cisneros’s presence, but for once she is hardly the star attraction. The impending war is all anyone can speak of. War fever—and speculating—has ensnared the country, and Hearst could not be more in his element.
“Congress is calling for war. After everything, how can we ignore what the Spanish are doing? We look weak if we do not act,” Hearst says. “Teddy Roosevelt wasn’t wrong when he said that we need a war to bolster the country, to define who we are as a nation.”
“Is that a reason to wage war, though?” one of the other guests asks. “What should our national identity have to do with Cuban independence?”
“It gives people something to get behind. A cause to believe in.”
“And what, a distraction from the problems plaguing us at home?” I interject. “We don’t want to face our society’s ills, so instead, let’s direct their attention elsewhere?”
“Perhaps there’s a bit of that, too,” Hearst concedes. “Regardless, I imagine Senator Proctor’s speech in Congress last month has swayed them considerably. Our critics claim that we have invented the situation in Cuba, that we are swayed by the Junta, that we have sensationalized the news there, but the words of a man who has no such ties, no interest in exaggerating the truth, who has seen the conditions in which the Cuban people live with his own two eyes is powerful indeed. Proctor’s Cuba tour confirms the stories we’ve run. The situation is dire. McKinley’s attempts to pursue a diplomatic solution have been unsuccessful. We must act.”
I remember how my father spoke of war the few times he was willing to talk of his experiences, the ghosts that lived in him frequently plaguing him. I wonder if men like Hearst would be more reluctant to call for war if they saw the havoc it has wrought. There are no easy answers here, though.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Evangelina standing nearby, and I excuse myself from the group and walk over to greet her.
In a way, she feels like an old friend given how much of her life she has shared with me. We’ve kept in touch, exchanging letters throughout the months.
“It’s lovely to see you again,” I say. “Although, I’d rather it be under happier circumstances.”
“Yes. It is a tragic thing that happened to those men.” Her gaze drifts from me to the circle of reporters where Hearst holds court. “I overheard what you were all talking about. Do you really think this will bring about the war?”
“I don’t know. Hearst certainly does.”
“A war between the United States and Spain is beginning to feel like the only way I will be able to go home.”
I can’t imagine what it must be like to be in exile, to have your entire life on hold while you wait to see what will happen to your country, while you wonder if your family is safe, if they are alive.
She spoke less of those things when I interviewed her for the book, but it was clear from her manner that she carried a great deal of worry on her shoulders. The story we told was one of triumph over Spain, a rallying cry of vindication, but as obvious as it is that she’s relieved to be out of Recogidas, it’s clear that for Evangelina and so many of the other Cuban exiles, there is still another battle to be won.
After the fundraiser, the war discussion rages on with everyone placing their bets on whether or not we will enter the fray. The Journal does its part with endless coverage of the Maine and congressional debate, many newspapers doing the same, until finally, McKinley addresses Congress, asking for authorization to use military force if necessary.
For a week, the government debates the merits and potential pitfalls of such an action, until ultimately, they reach the same conclusion Hearst arrived at two years ago. He announces it jubilantly from the newsroom:
“We’ve declared war against Spain.”
* * *
—
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hearst so happy as he is when war is declared. I never thought of conflict as something to celebrate, especially after the tales my father carried about his experiences, but the Journal does so in its own inimitable fashion. Rockets are purchased and launched over the building. Hearst offers a thousand-dollar reward to any reader who supplies useful ideas on how to conduct the war. Of course, war means increased circulation, the need for people to stay informed. It was the Civil War that gave rise to the prominence of the newspaper in American society in the first place; people had to look somewhere to learn if their loved ones off fighting were alive or dead.
There are those who lay blame in our corner for leading the United States into war with Spain by stoking the fires and sensationalizing our coverage. One New York paper—the Evening Post—has gone so far as to call this the Journal’s war, an allegation Hearst scoffs at even as I worry that maybe we are partly responsible, that the stories I’ve written about Evangelina and Spanish atrocities have led us to the precipice of this point from which there is no return. Whatever our intentions, it is undeniable that we have written our articles from a certain perspective, pushing Hearst’s agenda to pull the United States into the conflict.