San Francisco Town Hall, San Francisco, California, 7th March 1836
In a small ante-room, apart from the main assembly hall, the leaders of California were in conference with the soldier of Santa Anna.
“Alejandro,” argued the soldier’s brother, “
you are a Californian! As much as I, or these gentlemen, or any of those soldiers you have brought with you! We are all Californians, it is madness to set one against the other!”
“Your loyalty, Don Alejandro,” added Don Rafael Montero, “is with your family, and your friends, and your people. We are your side, not Santa Anna. He is just another Mexican, he is not like you Don Alejandro. You and he are foreigners to each other. You are better than him.”
The argument had gone round in circles for almost an hour. Every one of the leaders of California, save one, had tried to persuade Don Alejandro, after his own fashion, of the justness of their cause. Alejandro’s brother, Diego, had invoked the ties of blood and family that they shared, and called upon his brother to fight for the del Serrano clan, if not for the notion of California. Don Rafael had attacked the name of Santa Anna, in the end no more than a bourgeois middle-class upstart, dismissing his ever having had the right to govern the Dons and people of California. Jose Castro and Matthew Paris had both made efforts to kindle in Don Alejandro’s heart some kind of revolutionary fervour- to impart their yearning for the abstract concepts of freedom, justice and liberty to him- with little success. Hector Montgomery, Treasurer of the Club, had pointed out that the Anglo-Saxon settlers had undertaken no agreement to serve Santa Anna and Mexico, and had decried the foolishness of adhering to his authority purely for the sake of it. Don Alejandro had rebuffed all with his entrenched values- loyalty, duty, honour, respect for authority, legitimacy- none of which he esteemed this venture as possessing. No counter-argument had influenced him to the extent that he was likely to disband his militia, still less to lead it in defence of the Republic, against Santa Anna.
Only one man had not spoken throughout the interview. Juan Bautista Alvarado had sat at the desk that the ante-room provided, watching the proceedings with contemplative eyes.
Alejandro began again: “No words and no justifications can make this wrong action right. You have subverted the laws of government and society, and you are standing against the rule of law and order. Nothing can justify this. It is against all concepts of honour, of duty, of principle!”
“Heavy terms, indeed.” Said a slow, measured voice, that seemed to consider every word it pronounced as it offered it up. “Honour, duty, principle. I wonder if you truly know of what you are talking, when you invoke such great gods.” It was Juan Bautista Alvarado, and as he began to speak he stood slowly.
“Because if the truth be known, Don Alejandro, I don’t think you do. Your brother here, and Don Rafael, and others, have called you an honourable man, a principled man, but I’m not sure you know what honour and principle are. You have ridden here, without rest, all the way from Tejas, at the behest of a man you had never met before, with a reputation for unconstitutional and despotic behaviour, in order to dissolve an assembly that he deemed unlawful. You have not questioned that order even once. You have not stopped to consider the order. In attempting to justify your presence here today, you have argued only that you have been presented with that order, which you must then enact. And this, in your mind, is honour. Because you are doing as you are told. Don Alejandro, I would like to ask you- but do not answer me yet- what you would have done, had General Santa Anna ordered you to raise an army and protect at all cost this Californian Republic. Would the republic then have been honourable to you? Don Alejandro, no man can dictate to you what honour is, what your duty is. Your duty is to what is right, not what is ordered, and that is honour, that is principle. Your judgements, Don Alejandro, should guide your principles, and not the other way around.”
“This meeting,” interjected the young soldier, though sounding now a lot less sure of himself, “is against the constitution of Mexico and against the laws of government and society. That you cannot change.”
“And so you will dissolve it by force.” Replied Alvarado, in a tone that made it seem as though he had never been interrupted- as though Alejandro’s voice had been his own. “Because the great Santa Anna has dictated such an order to you- the Californians may not meet according to the law of the land, so you must prevent them. Well Don Alejandro, if that is the case then there are many strange things afoot in the great Republic of Mexico. I find it odd that Santa Anna is passing judgement on the basis of a constitution that he himself has suspended, or that he is invoking laws that he himself has broken. Indeed I find it strange that he declares this assembly to be in revolt against a Republic that he himself has subverted. They tell me recently that that most excellent and just republican has called himself Dictator For Life, and that he has declared that there be no more need for subsequent Mexican elections. Do you understand the significance of this, Don Alejandro? There is no state of Mexico left, it is the state of General Antonio de Santa Anna. Do you still consider serving the laws of a state that no longer exists just? Do you still believe that for the whim of one man the spirit of an entire people should be crushed and broken? Do you not see that the more unconstitutional, the more unlawful, of us is not the Republic of California but the person of Santa Anna? If one of us is rebelling against justice, principle, honour, those concepts you so cherish- it is the great General, and not the assembly of San Francisco.”
There was a silence. Alejandro opened his mouth to reply, but closed it. He was trying hard, his mind racing, to think of something he could say to refute the eloquence of Alvarado, but for a whole minute, two, nothing came. “But…” he stuttered. “But there is…”
“Don Alejandro,” pronounced Alvarado, with the authoritative tone of someone who knows they have won, “if you are forced to try that hard to justify something, it is probably because you know it is unjustifiable.” Alejandro was silent. He glanced sidelong at his brother, who was watching him closely. “So then, take your 2,000 soldiers- an admirable feat to gather them- and defend what can be defended. Fight for what is truly right, not what you have been ordered is right. None of what your brother, or Don Rafael, or Senor Castro, Paris or Montogomery has tried to tell you has been false. Set what you have learned today against the whim of one man, one tyrant, and do what is right. I believe you know already where the honourable, the principled, course lies. Take it, Don Alejandro.”
“You are a Californian, Don Alejandro, not a Mexican.” Added Castro.
“You are a free man, Don Alejandro, not Santa Anna’s slave.” Added Paris.
“You belong with us here, brother. I always knew it, and I know it now.” Said Diego, and Alejandro felt unquestionably, his eyes fixed on Alvarado who stared back, that he knew it too.
Juan Bautista Alvarado, Provisional Governor of the Californian Republic