six
ciudad juárez
A Terrible Mess
They say that Pancho spent the entire advance on Ciudad Juárez in the saddle without sleeping for twenty-four hours, as did, not to be outdone, Martín López, both covered in dirt from the roads. A photograph attributed to Jim Alexander shows Villa’s fierce expression, his face caked in dust, his horse drenched in sweat. However, there are two photos that narrate more effectively this strange revolution for the observer, a revolution that moved from the border to Chihuahua and back, in which the government was on the defensive, but the Maderistas weren’t certain about just what they had started or what it’s exact purpose might be.
One explores a wide panorama, it’s an astonishing shot snapped by an anonymous photographer when the Maderistas had occupied the edge of the Río Bravo. Curious onlookers from El Paso had come out to see the rebels, elegant women clutching parasols, children with toys, dogs, whole families. But the most surprising thing is that a large part of the Maderistas are standing around watching the spectators on the opposite bank, without having brought their horses to drink from the water separating the two crowds.
A second photo shows a large party of gentlemen in hats contemplating Ciudad Juárez from the terrace, the roof garden, of the Paso del Norte Hotel in El Paso. Some are holding binoculars, others have climbed on benches or placed chairs on top of tables to get a better view of the battle to come. The caption reads, “The only hotel in the world that offers its guests a safe and comfortable spot from which to watch the Mexican Revolution.” It was reported that access to the roof cost twenty-five cents but came with a lemonade included in the price.
Another observatory was located in the tour of the El Paso post office.
David Romo reproduced five other photos of onlookers, one of them taken by Hoffman. They provide great candor, but as in all things, also demonstrate that there were class divisions amongst the revolutionary gawkers; while Mexicans on the El Paso side regard the Revolution from the roof of a railcar parked on the tracks, the gringo petty bourgeois are perched on their comfortable observatories, the men adorned in Stetsons, the women in wide-brimmed Pamela- straw hats.
Raúl Madero made the first approach to encircle the Federales. Villa arrived on April 16 by train, after the incident with the Magonistas. By April 20, the rebels had finally established their camp to the north of Ciudad Juárez, set beside the river, so they could water their horses. Their general headquarters was located to the south of the Smelter foundry (which was on the US side of the river) near a boundary marker denoting the border.
The encirclement was completed without any sign of hostilities on the part of the Federales, who confined themselves to waiting for the inevitable. Madero sent a letter to Gen. Juan J. Navarro, demanding that he surrender the city’s central plaza filled with friendly expressions and stylish circumlocutions, very much in the style of the insurrection’s leader. Please take note that we will be attacking . . . accept this expression of my respect and regard. . ..
Ciudad Juárez’s defensive forces were inadequate, barely more than 800 Federales (Navarro would report only 675 military men) with two mortars and one machinegun. The city was protected by a shallow system of trenches and some barricades sealing off the side streets. The Federales did have the advantage of being on the defense as well as being able to take cover in houses and controlling the rooftops.
They were facing off against 3,000 Maderistas, organized in three groups (Navarro inflated their numbers to 3,500), irregularly armed, the majority carrying Winchesters .30-30s with a shorter range than the Federales’ Mauser rifles. The assailants’ morale was riding high because they had lost all respect for the army after five months of combat. However, the rebels suffered all the deficiencies of being organized in informal, tribal bands, led by small chiefs who were difficult to coordinate.
The novelist Francisco Urquizo, then a young Maderista, offered a description of Francisco Villa: “Robust, ruddy complexion, with a broad mouth and thick lips who was always smiling, showing off large, yellowed teeth that looked like corn kernels [. . .] he wore his Stetson hat off to the side, pushed back on his head. Two cartridge belts wrapped around his belt and two more slung across his chest like a bandolero.” The description closely coincides with the photographs. The Villistas look like human armories with two cartridge belts crossing their chests, another hung on their belts, sometimes doubled up, the pockets of their jackets stuffed with ammunition, their saddle bags filled with bullets. They were creating their own independence. They didn’t count on anyone else to deliver what they themselves couldn’t carry to the battlefront, their famous huaripa straw hats perched on their heads. Each carried a bolt-action Mauser rifle and remembered the dead federal soldier they snatched it from. In one photograph, Villa is wearing a cowboy hat flanked by a light-skinned man who looks like an arms dealer. Manuel Ochoa is by his side and the young kid next to him, carrying so many bullets that he looks pregnant, is Martín López. Miguel Saavedra is standing between Villa and Martín. The head sticking out over Martín’s hat belongs to Darío W. Silva (the future inventor of sylvanite gunpowder who became Villa’s secretary) with Casimiro Cázares on the extreme right and Telésforo Terrazas on the extreme left.
The photos expose a notable difference between Villa and Orozco’s general staffs. The Orozquistas are carrying rifles and do not sport cartridge belts, appearing notably more elegant, with jackets and even ties (Orozco himself wears a black suit), and the biggest difference of all: their Texan hats.
Madero at first receives visits from his staff in a nearby cave, subsequently in what was called the Casa de Adobe, later the “white house” or the “grey house,” a couple of kilometers from El Paso and Ciudad Juárez. The little adobe house, a two-room shack, surrounded by four or five stalls and a few bushes, functioned “as a National Palace,” according to Terrazas, and an excessive number of pictures were taken in front of it. An awning covered one of the two entrances and was soon adorned with Mexican flags. The heat was terrible.
Jimmy Hare, Collier’s magazine star photographer, slipped across the border and took photos of Orozco and Villa, who, for lack of a better word, he dubbed “notorious.” He was one of the many US photographers who covered the battle and the personalities who fought it out. Others were drawn to the folkloric image of a revolution taking place just yards from the border, including D. W. Hoffman, Walter H. Horne, a twenty-eight-year-old El Paso resident with no previous photographic experience, and Homer Scott, proprietor of the Scott Photo Company along with his collaborator Otis Aultman. It is said, without it being necessarily true, that when Aultman tried to photograph Villa, he stopped him and told him that only Mexican photographers could take his picture and that no damn gringo was going to take money out of his pockets. Aultman convinced a Mexican photographer to take pictures of Villa using his camera. If the story is right, this is probably the photo taken by Ignacio Herrerías in which Villa peers into the camera, his eyes squinting in the sun with a double band of cartridges across his chest, his back to the adobe house which we can just make out.
Many of the Maderista troops’ uniforms were in a disastrous state. A letter from Máximo Castillo to Madero makes this plain: “I direct this letter to you on behalf of my humbel [sic] soldiers who have suffered so much since the beggining [sic] of this revolution principally from going practically unclothed [. . .] waiting for the oferings [sic] that you all have promised many times to with respect to providing us uniforms [. . .]. It’s been two days sinc [sic] you ordered them to deliver clothes, but it hasn’t worked out ntil [sic] now and we haven’t received anything [. . .]. I did receive twenty dollars for clothing but I haven’t bought any because I didn’t want clothing only for myself.” Several days later, Madero purchased shirts in El Paso in a store named La Ciudad de Mexico. Villa got a black one, Reyes Robinson and Cuco Herrera got red ones. Villa told them that color would turn them into targets.
Villa’s troops seemed to be an exception; his men were badly uniformed but replete with ammunition. Villa sometimes appeared to be the only commander who was permanently preoccupied with details, foraging for the horses, bullets, and boots for his men.
During the early days, when the border was closed to the belligerents, Villa organized four convoys of twenty-five horses to keep the camp supplied with flour, sugar, coffee, corn, and cows, all while avoiding the Federales. “If it had not been for the one hundred horses I had brought, our column would have been obliged to break camp and we would have had to give up on taking the plaza.” His patrols made their way to the Bauche station to bring back livestock.
On April 20, two representatives for the government, Oscar Braniff and Toribio Esquivel Obregón arrived, having been sent by Finance Minister Limantour, who had been tasked by Porfirio Díaz to open negotiations with Madero. Díaz, a firm believer in the philosophy that everything must change in order to remain the same, was always open to conciliation. The two envoys spoke to Gen. Juan Navarro, hard and despotic, a veteran of the previous century’s war against the Empire. Indicating the sorry state of the federal forces, Navarro, who had only spent a couple months in Ciudad Juárez, did not have a guide and, thus, had no idea where Madero’s camp was situated. So, he sent the negotiators to Bauche instead of to Casa de Adobe.
Madero, a hesitant man predisposed to negotiate, accepted a brief cease-fire in the zone from Ciudad Juárez to Chihuahua that was signed in the early hours of April 23. The cease-fire provided a respite for the besieged Federales but gave the revolutionaries a break as they were free to cross over to El Paso to purchase arms (that would later be smuggled across the border, like the pistols discovered in bales of alfalfa), haul over wooden barrels of potable water (the river was filthy because of sewage drains), and acquire medicines, food, and hay for the horses.
Availing themselves of the truce, the parties opened negotiations. On April 22, the government’s envoys made an opening offer: Vice President Corral’s resignation, interim governments in states where there had been uprisings, the withdrawal of the army from Coahuila, Sonora, and Chihuahua, and four cabinet ministers named by the Maderistas. And, of course, Porfirio Díaz would remain in power.
Toribio Ortega, one of the rebel chiefs, contended that the military commanders such as José de la Luz Blanco, Orozco, and Villa distrusted the negotiations. Rumors circulated through El Paso that there wouldn’t be a fight, that “everything would be worked out by agreements.”
Silvestre Terrazas, editor of the El Correo de Chihuahua, who had sometimes written about Villa but had never met him until Madero introduced him, served as a witness to a conversation between the two revolutionaries. Villa was passing by with “a regular cavalry unit” and Madero stopped him to talk. Villa requested ammunition and provisions for his people and assured him that if he were allowed to close in on Ciudad Juárez, the Federales would not be able to escape. Madero said to him that everything would soon be ready but did not speak about an attack or set a date. Soon after, a telephone line crossing the river connecting Casa de Adobe with El Paso was set up for Madero.
The armistice was renewed six days later, from April 22 to 27. Mauricio Magdaleno would recall, “The truth is that everything that took place in Ciudad Juárez between April and May turned into a terrible mess that, when its main causes were discovered many years later, would provide fuel for many heated arguments and controversies.” We have to ask ourselves why, with such a prolonged truce, the Federales were not able to bring up reinforcements from the South or other parts of the border. Díaz wagered on negotiations and knew that if he moved any troops, the shooting would start.
While the negotiators were talking, Madero made public a letter dated April 24 that was published the following day in the El Paso Morning Times that stated, “Col. Francisco Villa has been erroneously identified as a bandit in the past.” Madero explained why Villa had become a gunslinger (his sister’s honor was in danger), suggesting that, if there were any justice in Mexico, Villa would not have been persecuted, and that “he had to flee and, on many occasions, had to defend himself from the Rurales who attacked him and that it was legitimate self-defense when he had to kill some of them.” He ended by pointing out that the people of Chihuahua held Villa in high esteem and that he had been named a colonel by the provisional government because he deserved it, “because he is worthy of the rank.” There is no doubt that Madero was responding to private criticisms over the presence of such a notorious bandit in his circle.
Gustavo Madero informed Pancho Madero that the Maderista bank account was empty and that there were limited resources available in either Orozco or Villa’s encampments. There was a very real danger that the revolutionary army might disperse. On April 26, a musical group led by Trinidad Concha, a Mexican army deserter who had taken up residence in El Paso, crossed the river to give a concert in front of the Casa de Adobe for a large crowd.
Still, the fighting had not started. Did Madero believe it was possible to defeat the dictator without winning a single military victory? According to a report from a US agent, a declaration surfaced on April 25 from Orozco José de la Luz and Villa where they denied that they had acted in an insubordinate manner with respect to Madero. The very fact that they felt it necessary to deny the charge of insubordination seemed to indicate subterranean tensions within the Maderista camp. And it should not be forgotten that the chief of the federal garrison, Gen. Navarro, had made himself the revolutionaries’ villain after he ordered the executions by firing squad at Cerro Prieto.
On April 27, perhaps hoping to reduce the tension between his civilian advisors and military commanders, Madero awarded a round of new titles and military ranks in the revolutionary army: Pascual Orozco, brigadier general; José Garibaldi, Raúl Madero, Francisco Villa, José de la Luz Blanco, Agustín Estrada, and Marcelo Caraveo, colonels; Roque González Garza, lieutenant colonel; Abelardo Amaya and Juan Dozal, majors. There is a photograph that testifies to the ceremony in which Madero, from the running board of an automobile, addressed a group of men, all of whom had removed their hats, and among whom were Villa, Dozal, and Raúl Madero. Curiously, they are not looking at him, instead, they are staring at the ground with lost looks. However, among the characters we can recognize (Villa, Federico González Garza, Pascual Orozco), there are anonymous figures whose eyes are fixed on Madero with almost religious expressions of fascination.
The negotiators signed off on another armistice extension, this time for eight days. No one liked the Maderista negotiators, or the politicians grouped around them who included Pino Suárez, Madero’s father, Venustiano Carranza, and Vázquez Gómez. None of whom were connected to the armed movement. Garibaldi said that “everything tasted bad.” Unexpectedly, the mother of the leader of the Revolution expressed the most radical position on April 30 when she telegraphed her son, “Allowing Díaz to continue in power will provoke general disappointment. Revolution must continue. Concessions useless. Remain firm.”
Neither official histories nor the traditional stories portray a spiritualist and timid version of Madero, tormented by ghoulish nightmares, and riddled with doubt; instead, they prefer a somewhat hapless version, in which Madero is kind-hearted, paternal, and conciliatory. If both versions contain grains of truth, it’s also clear that his personality must have encompassed other elements as well; after all, if these versions told the whole story, how could Madero have controlled three thousand armed men who followed a hundred famously raucous local commanders? Clearly, this diminutive character—along with an undeniable tendency to listen to too many advisors and to doubt himself too often—also had an enormous capacity to convince others and a speaking style that dug deep into his audience. Perhaps this doesn’t come through when reading his speeches, which are so lacking in the rhetoric popular at the time and are excessively well-mannered. However, let there be no doubt, if one carefully studies the photographs of his audience’s faces, the magnetic effect of his words becomes obvious.
Yet, the impact of his sermons didn’t last long.
The impasse dragged on eternally, this was a revolution that wasn’t making a revolution. The negotiators came and went from the store set up in front of the Casa de Adobe, exchanging telegrams with Mexico via El Paso. Three weeks had passed since the revolutionaries had encircled Ciudad Juárez.
On May 5, the rebels organized a large celebration, parading in ranks to celebrate the Mexican army’s victory in Puebla when it thwarted an invasion by French troops in the nineteenth century. There is a marvelous photo taken by Jimmy Hare in which Juan Dozal, José de la Luz Blanco, Pascual Orozco, Pancho Villa, Emilio Madero, and Roque González are attentively listening to a speech by Madero, who stands outside the picture. The figures are, surprisingly, bareheaded (these were men who rarely went anywhere without a hat on their head), unarmed (no cartridge belts, no rifles, no pistols), and standing in the mud, leaning on one knee bent up an incline, giving an impression more of a Sunday mass than a meeting. These are the officers in the Maderista campesino war. Two thousand revolutionaries, blurred out of focus, surround them in a double-file square formation. Villa’s mouth is slightly open in a gesture of placid fascination, of unease. Hundreds of El Paso citizens went to watch the ceremony from both sides of the river, crossing the old suspension bridge. “It was very impressive,” said one.
Another curious photo centers on the older Raúl Madero digging his spurs into his horse to rear up, clearly posing for the picture even though he is not looking at the camera. In the distance, far off in the background, Pancho Villa rides away, hardly distinguishable and the photographer doesn’t seem to notice. That was Villa in those days, still someone who the photographers might ignore.
The inaction produced all kinds of tensions. One, very serious sort, affected colonels Villa and Garibaldi. The only foreign high-ranking officer amongst the insurrectionists (despite the fact that many internationals joined the Maderistas) was Giuseppe Garibaldi, the nephew of the Garibaldi who had led the Redshirts in the Italian wars of unification. He was thirty-one years old and had been born in Austria, he was a soldier of fortune who had fought in countries covering half the planet before joining up with Maderismo. A few days before the clash, a photo was taken, all in good faith, with Orozco, Herrerías the journalist, Pancho Villa (with crisscrossed cartridge belts and a furrowed brow), and Garibaldi (who wore a swanky hat with a drooping brim and a wide band).
The day after the May 5 ceremony, a Villista soldier walked through Col. Garibaldi’s camp to relieve himself in front of one hundred men belonging to the Division’s foreign legion. The colonel became upset and disarmed the soldier who reported it to Villa. Villa accused Garibaldi’s gringos of selling arms and ammunition. Tensions had been rising between the two groups after a French volunteer named Jules Mueller was found dead in the river at sunrise. Mueller had started with the Italian troops but had then joined Villa’s men and both sides exchanged accusations over responsibility for the murder.
Villa wrote a note to Garibaldi demanding that he return his soldier’s gun. They say that Garibaldi wrote the following message on the back of Villa’s note: “I won’t return the rifle. If you’re a man, so am I. Come and get it.” Garibaldi didn’t know he had hit a sore spot; Villa had survived by never letting anyone challenge his image. Garibaldi requested a meeting with Madero to resolve the matter, but before any such discussion could take place, Villa showed up in Garibaldi’s camp with several armed men. Villa reportedly rode his horse over Garibaldi, pistol-whipped him while cursing him out, and then disarmed him and his men, telling him he was lucky he didn’t shoot him.
Madero called for Villa and demanded an explanation for the attack and Pancho showed him the note. Nonetheless, Madero compelled Villa to apologize and ordered Garibaldi to appear. Both commanders embraced and then Villa returned to Garibaldi’s camp and handed over the guns he had taken.
This would not be the only tense moment between the Mexican guerrillas and Madero’s foreign advisors. Acting as an advisor and based on his military experience, Benjamin V. Viljoen was put in charge of planning the insurrection. Viljoen was a forty-three-year-old South African who had emigrated to Chihuahua after the Second Boer War, joining a colony of his compatriots in Julimes, Chihuahua, until he established himself as a cattleman in Las Cruces, New Mexico, where he then joined the revolution three months prior. Viljoen argued in camp that it would be impossible to take Ciudad Juárez with the troops at their disposal, thereby clashing with Pascual Orozco and Villa who favored an attack.
What better way to spare further confrontations than a new, and conciliatory, family photo? This time taken in front of the Casa de Adobe with all the protagonists in Madero’s northern revolt lined up in two rows. On foot we see Villa, Gustavo Madero, Francisco Madero (the father), Garibaldi, Federico González Garza, José de la Luz Blanco (fighting back a yawn), Sánchez Azcona, Alfonso Madero, and four onlookers, one of them craning his neck to get into the photo. Seated are Venustiano Carranza, Vázquez Gómez, Madero, Abraham González, Maytorena, Fuentes Dávila, and Pascual Orozco. Various figures filling out the ranks of political advisors and military commanders were absent, including Raúl Madero, Viljoen, and Roque González Garza. There is a second version of the photo in which Villa has disappeared, replaced by Juan N. Medina who appears to the right of Carranza, Madero the father has turned to talk to someone, and Federico González Garza has lost his bowler hat.
Perhaps this photograph was celebrating a reunification between the guerrillas and the politicos because some hours later on May 6, the Heraldo Mexicano published an extra edition titled, “Madero declares an end to the armistice.” Villa was already seen as a leading figure by the national press, which recorded that his men, along with those of José de la Luz Blanco and Garibaldi, were waiting for Orozco’s order to attack.
But where to attack? Madero decided to continue the war. However, to avoid pressure from the United States that demanded he not open fire so close to the border, he decided to do so elsewhere. In the south, in Chihuahua? Maybe they should abandon the region around Juárez and move towards Sonora? Madero ordered the first movements of a march southward. Too many indecisions, too many contradictory orders. News then arrived announcing that Díaz was going to step down, but in the manner and at the time of his choosing. By employing such an ill-defined process, the fox of a dictator had turned Madero into a bundle of nerves. José C. Valadés neatly summed up the sentiments prevailing in the Maderista camp, “So many hesitations and absurdities!”
On May 7, Porfirio Díaz issued his manifesto. He sent it to Carbajal, the chief of the Supreme Court, in a spirit of harmony, noting that “the government’s good faith was interpreted as weakness by the rebels.” He said nothing about stepping down as this would leave the nation without a recognized leader, although he was willing to go, but only when “it was suitable for a respectful nation.” Finally, if they didn’t like it, then the government, with the help of the army, “will redouble its efforts to subjugate the rebellion.” Some read it as Díaz announcing his resignation, others understood it to be the opposite. In the rebel’s camp, in El Paso’s hotels, it was interpreted in a thousand and one ways.
On May 7, Sonoran rebels under the command of Samaniego, an ex-seminarian who usually fought alongside Villa, received orders to disperse his troops and return to Sonora. Villa’s people intercepted them and called on them to return to fight against the Federales’ troops (who traditionally wore crew cuts). Who gave this order? It appears that it was Guillermo Valencia, Madero’s personal assistant. Garibaldi also received orders to move his troops towards Sonora. This set off various actions. Orozco assured Sommerfeld that he would attack the city on May 8.
Madero ordered the few rebel artillery pieces to be withdrawn and, that same night, began to write a manifesto in which we can read, “Ciudad Juárez will not be attacked.”
