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This is the short tale of the height of Central America; the bridge between two worlds. A slither of land that mothered a great civilization into the immortality of history. The bottleneck of an empire whose glittering treasure fleets were outshone by the golden shore. After achieving independence, Central America was considered the most troubled region of the New World, whose idealism and determination of liberty, equality, and unity surpassed its capacity of deliverance. What began as a democratic experiment sparked into a wild fire of ambition and thirst for power. In a few short decades, the region, former colonies united under a federal republic, went from a country that teatered on the brink of dissolution to a respected power. But just as its altruistic drive for solidarity and victory helped forge this federation, so to did it cause its tragic downfall. Corruption, political division and manipulation, and poverty proved foils to liberalism, pluralism, and free democracy. Despite its short life and questionable history, its footprint in the history of Central America continues to inspire Central Americans and Latin Americans. For a short while, these poor nations stood united against countries many times its size, and for a while appeared victorious. Perhaps one day, the dream of Simón Bolívar will manifest itself...but not today.
This is being played with Victoria: Revolutions with the latest patch and latest version of VIP. I will be playing this very realistically but, for the sake of creativity, not 100% historically. The goal of this AAR is to survive and strive realistic prosperity while taking into account the impulsive and fractional state of Central American politics. Thus, this AAR will focus mostly on domestic affairs and run-ins with neighbors, including the mighty United Kingdom. Also, I realize i the game Central America is referred to as the United States of Central America, but in its constitution the country was officially called the Federal Republic of Central America. Central America will therefore be referred to as the FRCA throughout the AAR, if not just as Central America.
By the way, this is the 1000th thread in the Victoria AAR forums. Let us hope this is a good sign!
It was early and morning breeze brushed against the branches of palm leaves. The orange glow of the sun beamed through a small hole in the stone ceiling. From the rectangular opening above the sunlight illuminated the centre of the cell where a dirty bowl of rainwater stood. The reflection on the water stabbed my sleep-depraved eyes as I awoke. Brownish swirls of filth moved around over the water’s surface. I never thought I could feel so sickened so early in the morning, yet so tempted. I was so thirsty, I didn’t care. I approached the bowl, on my knees, and extended my hands. Small black masses fell from the sky and splashed into the water. I blinked and stared in wonder at the things floating on the water’s surface.
Chirp, chirp!
I looked up at the bird standing on the edge of the hole. My face of wonder turned an expression of disgust and disappointment. I fell on by butt and sighed.
I couldn’t believe it all came down to this. This wasn’t the first time I was arrested. The secret police caught me in anti-government activity many times. They always released me because of my age at the time, but this last one wasn’t just any protest or demonstration. This was it. This was the end of the revolution that I, so young, fought for. The Supreme Tribunal itself sentenced me and my compatriots to death. In a few hours, we were to be hanged in the Plaza Federal for all to see. I waited, sitting on the dirty floor with all the others to take our last breathes. I looked around at all the faces of the brave men in the cell who stood up against tyranny. Some were soldiers, well-tested in many victorious campaigns. Some were labourers and farmers who wore the clothes of the campesino proudly. But most were thinkers; scholars, artists, and professionals of many political backgrounds. They all gave their talent and strength to the leadership of one man. This man inspired us inspired to fight for the federation that united all of our people. For the country that was once uplifted from oppression. For the country that was once Central America the Free.
The iron door of the prison entrance opened. Two soldiers grunted as they dragged a man in a torn-up suit into the cell. A group of guards stood by the gate and watched over us with their rifles and bayonets. I quickly crawled back to my spot as they threw the man by the bowl of water and locked the cell. The soldiers took out a couple of cigars from their pockets and passed them out among the guards. A guard lit a lantern brought in from the warden’s office. They enjoyed the Habana tobacco as they waited by the cell.
The new prisoner’s face was purple from mutilation. He struggled to pull himself to the bowl of water. Without lifting his head, he pulled himself above the bowl and dipped inside. I looked on, squinting and sticking my tongue out as the contaminated water engulfed his head into the bowl. His arms began wailing. He was too weak to pull himself out. A group of men rushed over and pulled him out as the guards turned and laughed.
“Que pringao!” one of them said while blowing a sweet puff of smoke.
The men laid him gently on the ground as the others looked on lazily as they sat by the walls of the cell. The man must have been someone important. Few have the money to afford a nice suite like that; well, a once nice suite. One of the prisoners supported his head on a rock as the man coughed out the brown water. The prisoner kneeled by him while the others returned to their spots.
“You must have been pretty desperate to drink that,” he told the scarred man. The man looked at him.
“How are you, my old friend?” he said.
The prisoner squinted and tried to decipher his identity. His voice was barely audible, but I recognized it. I jumped from my spot as if bitten by a mad dog and ran towards the man.
“It’s Morazán, el Director!”
The men immediately looked up, astounded. The prisoner looked into the man’s eyes surrounded by the dark ruptured veins under his skin. He gave a great gasp.
“José? Is that you? But...” said as he looked down his crippled body. His face was destroyed and totally unrecognizable.
“Yes, it’s him. It’s him!” I exclaimed.
“Cipote”, he called me, “Why are you here? I told you this wasn’t a game. This is real life.”
“The Revolution is my life,” I told him.
The other prisoners rushed over to the mutilated man, to their leader with hushed screams of “It’s el Director!”, “Is it really him?”, and “Yes, he’s alive!”
while the soldiers and guards banged their rifles against the iron gate.
“He’s alive! Viva el Director! Viva el Presidente Morazán!” the men cheered over the calls of silence.
“ ‘Presidente’ Morazán?” a deep voice echoed down the hall of cells. A soldier entered.
“Attention!” he yelled out. The guards and soldiers by the cell quickly lit-out their cigars and saved them in their pockets and under their sleeves. A group of soldiers entered and lined the sides of the hall, rifles and bayonets armed across their chests. A tall man stepped into the dark jail, his shadow stretching down to the end of the hall. The war medals clanged across his chest with every powerful step he made with his heavy, leather boots. I could not see his face; only his attire. The bright colours of his decorations stood out from the darkness of the jail. I could only guess who it was. The executioner? They are executing us early? Why?
As he reached the gate of our cell he stopped.
“Open it” he commanded the guards, who quickly got out the keys and opened the gate. The prisoners including myself stepped away from the man on the ground and scattered to the sides of the cell. A dozen soldiers entered with the large man. He looked at the prisoners from one end of the cell to the other as he made his way to our leader. The sunlight through the opening in the ceiling revealed the man’s face. He looked down as he stood over the injured man on the ground.
“Calderón...” the man said from below. We looked on, helpless.
The man in uniform knelt down, his leather boots squeaking as they stretched. His sweaty, balding head shined under the light.
“ ‘Presidente,’ eh? ‘Presidente Morazán’” the general said. He was José Miguel Calderón, President and Commander-in-chief of the federation.
“It sounds so sweet, doesn’t it?” he asked. “To put your filthy name next to an honourable title like that. How proud it must make you feel. How accomplished you must feel.”
“It felt sweet, once” director Morazán said. “But now, I only feel shame in claiming your rightful and God-given title.” The general nodded, surprised at the words of confession of his mortal enemy.
“Because...” Morazán coughed and gestured for the general to come closer. The man leaned down towards Morazán’s unrecognizable face.
“Because...” he continued, “the seat of President is only fit for a madman.” He laughed in Calderón’s face. Calderón pulled himself away quickly and stood up, his face red and his arms poised to strangle the bit of life left in the man. He restrained himself and cleared his throat as he looked at his men. He looked back down at Morazán.
“You will never know how sane I am,” he said. “He looked at the prisoners until he reached my face and stopped.
“This is no place for a child.” With a nod to one of his soldiers, he overturned my execution order. A soldier grabbed me out of my spot and I struggled to get free.
“Get off me! I will die with all the others!” I yelled.
“Cipote,” Morazán called. The soldier and I looked at him and then at the general. Calderón nodded his approval, and the soldier pulled me near the man. Morazán pulled me close.
“The Revolution is not over. Don’t let it be.” he and whispered into my ear as my tears dropped on his skinless cheek.
“I’m sorry,” were my last words to him.
“Don’t let it be” he whispered one last time as the soldier pulled me away. The general looked away without turning back. The soldiers left and once again locked the cell. That was the last time I saw him, José Francisco Morazán, second true President of the Federal Republic of Central America, and leader of the Revolution against the evil that had crippled it.
At the same time the next morning, a band of crows covered the Plaza Federal, picking off the flesh of courageous men.
Great update. The narrative sucked me right in. The revolution may have failed, but as long as one person is willing to carry on the fight, it's not truly dead.
Very dramatic! I was expecting the youngster to be rescued in some way or another, but not Morazán's inclusion. I still don't understand the political situation completely, but I'm hoping that'll change with the next updates. Wonderful spanish too; not sure if you're a native speaker.
Will this be primarily a story driven AAR, or will there be history book or gameplay elements?
I'll keep a close eye on this, in part due to the realism that you're striving for, and which I'd like to learn as well.
Thanks for the response! To clear any confusion, this opening takes place about 25 years after the start of the Grand Campaign in which many important in-game events take place. The next chapters and several others will consist of the retelling of those past events by the narrator you just heard. The narrator was a child during the events but is retelling them as an adult. This is an AAR based on game events (in-game wars, in-game economic developments, in-game random events, etc.) but narrated and portrayed mostly by characters that I have made up. Morazán is an exception, he was in real-life the second President of united Central America. I don't want to give anything more away. I will be posting ingame screenshots and historical pictures.
Yes, I am a Spanish speaker (I'm Spanish-American). I doubt they said "pringao" back then, but "cipote" is a word hondureños use to refer to little kids, or naughty little kids in both a playful and a serious manner. At least, according to Central American friends I have Also, Morazán was a hondureño in real life.
Ah, muy bien. Que tiengas buena suerte con tu AAR . I can't wait to see how the story unfolds. It certainly sounds like there's been a whole lot of trouble and unrest in those 25 years.
Also, regarding your next AAR, I hereby cast my vote for Portugal
Centuries ago, conquistadores explored this impervious land. They awed at the ruins of an ancient civilization that once thrived here. Canals that flowed up mountains, temples that defied the sky, and cities that mothered astronomers. They asked for the creators of this magnificence. Surely, these must be the remnants of Greek colonists or Egyptian traders, or the lost cities of Atlantis or Tartessos. But what they saw before them were the creators themselves. Not one people, but many groups of people. They told them that they were all once one people, which had fallen from the grace of their gods. They were now disorganized, hungry, and easily conquerable.
Conquest was swift, subjugation brutal, and oppression widespread. Pedro de Alvarado, brother and soldier of Hernán Cortés, conquered large swaths of Central America in the 1520s and 1530s and ruled personally as governor of the new possession named Guatemala. Called Tonatiuh, meaning “sun” in the native Nahuatl language, Alvarado was infamous for his brutality. Missionaries were disgusted by his love of throwing alleged criminals and pagans into the cages of war dogs. They protested to the Spanish Crown and the Catholic Church at the burning of slaves to quench his thirst of cruelty. Priests and shamans alike predicted his fate and of those around him. Following a battle against native rebels in 1541, the Sun Conqueror was crushed under his horse and died. His wife, Beatriz de la Cueva, succeeded him as governor, but she died soon after along with much of her family and servants in a volcanic landslide. The office of governance was forever cursed.
For three-hundred years, Central America struggled under rigid colonial rule. During of Spain’s own War of Independence, revolution finally took root in the Spanish Empire. Spain’s costly victory over Napoleonic France in 1814 dried the empire of blood and gold and inspired anti-colonial leaders to rise up for the freedom of the Americas. All throughout the empire, predominantly liberal leaders united in the colonial juntas to voice their grievances of Spain. Following the end of war with France, King Ferdinand VII of Spain agreed to follow the Spanish Constitution of 1812; a liberal document that addressed many of these grievances. The Constitution granted the colonies greater economic and political liberties. Finally, the future of Latin America seemed brighter. But foolishly, upon gaining the throne, Ferdinand revoked the Constitution. He immediately ordered the purge of liberal leaders in the military and government. Within weeks, those leaders were rounded up in the centre of Madrid and executed. Ferdinand called for a new reconquista to preserve the crown’s absolute control over the colonies. The King vowed that all who resist will meet same fate of the famed Spanish liberal Rafael del Riego. But the juntas defied the King. The Wars of Independence for the Americas had begun.
The State of Independence
Francisco Morazán once wrote that for a nation to be “born,” it must be forged by the hearts and strength of the people. One requires a revolution. In 1821, the leaders within the Captaincy-General of Guatemala agreed to the independence of Central America. And after a short Mexican administration, the Federal Republic of Central America was formed, but not truly “born.” As you will now see, there was no revolution when Central America needed it most. The new government became a step of convenience for the avaricious to further strengthen despotic rule.
José Cecilio del Valle became the first President of the Federal Republic of Central America. Del Valle, referred to as El sabio, or the Wise One, was the most respected leader in the young nation. Illness and ultimately death stalked him through his short rule. Nonetheless, his incorruptibility and neutrality in party politics provided a rare peace in Central America. A philosopher, del Valle helped draft the federation’s constitution in 1824. The constitution was based on the liberal Constitution of 1812 and established a fair representative-democratic government, abolished slavery, and separated the Church and the State. He made serious efforts to develop the nation. Del Valle was the first to propose an inter-ocean canal through Central America to realize the dream of Simón Bolívar that Central America, with its blessed location, could be the “centre of the universe.” Unfortunately for del Valle, the Federation did not progress much further. His enemies and his friends alike would not allow it. A successful federation of Central America would be the end of a tradition of oppression, and the “way of things” in Central America.
Following independence, the criollo aristocracy – Spaniards born in the west – assumed control. The criollos carved-out their own kingdoms from the federation: Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Panamá. Criollo families reigned from their lavish estates and employed men-at-arms for protection and for enforcing the repartimiento. The repartimiento was the law of the land; the "way of things." Mayas, mestizos, and mulatos were forced to toil under the tropical sun in harsh labour under the command of the criollos. The mayas, descendants of the Mayan civilization, mined in the north and mastered the harvesting of corn; an ancient art that saved many Europeans from starvation. They were forcibly secluded from society and isolated in Guatemala. Their towns were exhibitions where the mayas could be observed and studied from afar. This way, the criollos knew when a rebellion would take place and how to swiftly crush them. The mulatos were people of mixed Spanish and African ancestry. They were put to work by the repartimiento on the banana and coffee plantations on the Atlantic coast. Finally, the mestizos, those of mixed Spanish and native descent, were bound to the plantations along the Pacific coast. Those that did not lived dangerously in the rainforests and mountains inland, where the people were terrorised by bandits and colonial police. The majority of Central Americans were mestizo, but treated no better by the criollos, who saw anyone without the pureza de sangre, or pureness of blood, as inferior beings. Although the colonial period had ended, the “way of things” did not. Those who did not obey the repartimiento were punished severely. Men, women, and children continued to be hanged for breaking the repartimiento. For those that followed it, conditions on the plantations, or haciendias, were harsh. The workers lived in mud and stick huts that dotted around the immense palaces of the criollos.
The new Federal Republic of Central America aimed at terminating this way of life for good. Upon his death, the Wise One was casted aside. Few took his abolition of the repartimiento seriously. Wealthy criollo families and the Catholic Church formed a conservative coalition, the partido conservador, to ensure that his successors would not follow the same liberal path. The second president, Manuel José Arce, a once liberal follower of del Valle, betrayed his former mentor and became a tool of the conservadores. He expelled several liberal politicians from office and angered the original founders of the Federal Republic of Central America; the writers of the Constitution and admirers of del Valle. The liberales. They saw the end of the federation near. The end of their great dream to flower democracy in Latin America. The dissolution of something they worked so hard to achieve. Something that drove the Wise One to his death.
With the hopes and dreams of the Central American federation on the edge of a precipice, the liberales founded the partido liberal. The partido liberal quickly consolidated power in congress and launched a ferocious campaign of words against the partido conservador. The educated class of criollos were convinced by one charismatic man who led the liberal charge; the general Francisco Morazán Quesada. An orator, lawmaker, and soldier, Morazán became a shining star in a dark sky of pessimism and despair. They were convinced by Morazán that the liberales were the true successors of the Wise One, a man that aligned himself with neither the liberales nor the conservadores. The Wise One, who had brought peace and respect to Central America. The Wise One, who wrote a constitution that was overwhelmingly liberal. The Wise One, who believed in one Central America, one President, for one people. These criollos were convinced; the first victory of Morazán towards a true revolution.
After the betrayal of the Wise One, the now liberal congress voted in Morazán as third President of the Federation in 1830. Manuel José Arce, second holder of the office of governance, would die soon after, in absolute poverty. The road was now open for Morazán and the liberales. Now, as Morazán wrote, the Federal Republic of Central America could truly be “born.” But this road was not unchallenged. All around the new president, armies lined the horizon. Behind them, the shadows of priests and swollen men pushed towards Morazán, whom gazed up at the star-lit sky, dreaming.
Intriguing look at Central American politics. You have the same old affect as ever there, the middle overthrow the high with the pretences of being 'for the low', but they merely replace the high and destroy the low. Sad, but now Morazan can do at least something. You have one incorruptable leader, make use of him
