In the early days of the colony there were, besides the Governor-General, the sub-governors, known as Encomiendoros, who rented their provinces at so much per annum, called Encomiendas, from the General Government. These Encomiendoros were usually men of wealth, that entered into politics as a speculation. More properly, I should say, as a peculation; for it became their policy to fleece the natives and to extort as much money as possible during the term of their incumbency. Few, indeed, left the scene of their civil brigandage without full coffers; and as enormous fortunes were to be made during a few years sojourn in the islands, no wonder that this office was eagerly sought after in Spain.

This imitation of the methods of the Roman tax-payers, however, became so demoralizing to the morale of the Spaniards themselves, and so ruinous to the colony and to the natives, that a more equitable policy was introduced. The Encomiendoros were succeeded by Judicial Governors, called Alcaldes, to whom was paid a small salary, from $300 upward a year, according to the prominence of the province.

This office, however, proved almost equally remunerative to the holders; for, by means of a Government license to trade, they were able to create, to their own advantage, monopolies in every line of industry, thus freezing out all competitors. Though each was responsible to the Central Government for the taxes of his provinces, yet this did not prevent the shrewd and unprincipled from finding profit here also. For, by a system of false weights and measures, the native, who, in lieu of silver, brought his produce in payment for taxes, was shamefully defrauded, the Alcalde sending the indebted amount to the Government storehouse and selling the rest to his own profit. In addition, many of these Alcaldes, by arbitrary decrees and despotic methods, conducted a system of public robbery that in a few years enriched them at the expense of the long-suffering natives; for them there was no redress, inasmuch as each Alcalde was also the head of the Legal Tribunal in his own province. These abuses, however, became so flagrant that the Alcaldes were finally forbidden to trade; but as this measure was not as effectual as had been expected, sweeping reforms were instituted.

To recount what these were; to mention in detail what malignant opposition was manifested by a large body of natives and resident Spaniards toward the purposed overthrow of the old system, would be only to reiterate well-known characteristics and abnormalities of the Spanish nature; placed, too, in but a slightly different setting.

I will merely add that these Alcaldes, these perpetrators and beneficiaries of wholesale misrule and dishonor, yielded finally to the reform-wave, and, accordingly, fell away before their own judicial perversion. And the new system, it must be confessed, is a great improvement upon the old.

But the evil wrought upon the Filipino mind and character was deep-planted. For, by the despotic and summary disposing of his labor and chattels, in the name of the King,—abetted frequently, too, by seemingly supernatural means,—respect for the Spaniard and the white man in general had fled, fear and distrust supplanting it.

In the new order of things,—instituted by a decree from the Queen-Regent Maria Cristina, the 26th of February, 1886,—18 Civil Governorships were created, and the Alcaldes’ functions were confined to their Judgeships. And thus the former frightful distortion of justice was overcome and banished.

So, too, under this law of 1886 each Civil Governor has a Secretary, who serves as a check upon his chief, if he be illegally inclined.

Accordingly, two new official safeguards were thus erected in the fabric of Colonial Administration in these 18 different provinces.

The colony was then divided into 19 civil provinces, including Sulu, and into 3 grand military divisions.

As before, at the head was the Governor-General,—the supervising and executive officer of the province,—directly responsible to Spain. His salary is $40,000 a year. He is assisted by an Executive Cabinet and by an Administrative Council. The Provincial Governor, the successor to the Alcalde, must be a Spaniard, and at least 30 years old. He is the direct representative of the Governor-General and it is his duty to execute his decrees and to maintain order. He also has the power of appointment and removal, presides over provincial elections, controls the civil and local guard, interprets the laws,—usually to suit his own profit or convenience,—supervises the balloting for military conscription, can assess fines to the amount of $50, or imprison for 30 days, is Superintendent of Public Instruction, issues licenses and collects taxes. It is his duty also to furnish statistics and to control the Postal and Telegraph service. He is the Superintendent of health, prisons, charities, agriculture, forestry, and of manufactures. It will thus be seen that his duties are as diverse as they are important. He is now allowed no percentage, nor other emolument than his salary. At the same time, a shrewd Governor is yet able to reap a golden harvest. This, however, can be done only in conjunction with other Government officers.

Owing to the extreme shortness of his term of office—three years only—there is no incentive for the improvement of his province, as his successors would reap the results as well as the credit of his industry. Besides, he has no reason to hope that a good work begun will be a good work continued; for the next Governor may be averse to exertion, or may be at variance with his policy.

Most of the Governors live in good style; as a rule they spend about two hours a day in Government employ. Is it to be wondered at, then, that this office is so eagerly sought after in Spain?

There are about 750 towns in the colony; each governed by a Gobernadorcillo, “Little Governor,” called Capitan; usually a native or half-caste. This office is elected every two years, and is to the Provincial Governor what the latter is to the Governor-General. He is the tax-collector of his district, and is, furthermore, responsible for the amount apportioned to his district. If he fails to collect this, he must make the deficit good out of his own pocket. Under him are a number of deputies, called Cabezas, each likewise responsible for another division of the population called a Barangay,—a collection of forty or fifty families. If the individuals of this group are unable to pay, the property is distrained and sold by the deputy, who would otherwise have to make good the amount himself. If the proceeds of the sale fail to equal the indebtedness of the delinquent, he is cast into prison.

I have often seen respectable men deported to the penal settlements; and for no other offense than inability to pay the oppressive tax laid upon their shoulders, regardless of the season,—whether productive or not. Their families, meanwhile, left without a head, were thrown into the most woeful destitution.

The Gobernadorcillo gets the munificent salary of $200 a year, though his expenses, for clerk-hire, for presents to his chief, and for entertainments in his honor, are often many times greater. A shrewd Gobernadorcillo, however, manages to make something out of the place, which, in some districts, is eagerly sought after by rich planters. The official dress of this worthy is a short black jacket, the tail worn over the trousers. He also carries a stick as a sign of authority. To him is entrusted the apprehension of criminals, and he has command of the local guards, or cuadrilleros, the police of the towns.

It can easily be guessed that the taxes are not inconsiderable, when I simply mention a few things that are assessed: There is a tax on the ownership and sale of live-stock and vehicles, on realty, and on all private industries and manufactures. Opium, liquors, stamps, tobacco, and lotteries yield an immense revenue. Then there is a Community-fund, which is usually several hundred thousand dollars a year in each province, and is supposed to be spent in the interest of the community. The Chinese Capitation tax also brings in a large amount. But the most common and onerous tax of all is that arising from the Government sale of CÉdulas, or documents of identity, which is a poll-tax from $25 down. The individual paying less than $3.50 is subject to 15 days’ hard labor each year and to a fine of 50 cents for each day that he shall fail to work. Those whose cÉdulas have cost more than $3.50 must also pay a municipal tax of $1.50. The cÉdula is also used as a passport, and must be brought into court to render legal instruments effective.

From this brief and imperfect survey of the system of provincial taxation, it can easily be gathered that the revenues are considerable; and yet, of the hundreds of thousands of dollars extorted from the natives in each province, under the plausible pretexts of an avaricious policy, it is safe to say that not a dollar is expended for any local improvements. No building of bridges, no constructing of highways, no public schools, nor halls of justice must mar the stagnant serenity of provincial life. Nothing is ever repaired; a system of “let alone” blights every aspiration, and is fatal to the extension of commerce and industry. Consequently, in the wet season, for vehicles, the public roads are impassable, and, in many parts of the country, for months transportation is practically at a stand-still. As if effectually to close every door to progress, private individuals, too, are forbidden by law to repair the highways.

Did any government ever foster a more imbecile and iniquitous policy for its own damnation?

Although the speculations in the colony are not so enormous as formerly, yet there is no doubt that they still amount to several millions annually; mostly, however, at the seat of Government in Manila. It is indeed notorious that General Weyler, during his brief incumbency of the office, succeeded in placing several millions of dollars to his credit—I should have said to his dishonor!

Perhaps no feature of Colonial life is fraught with more evil and is so disgusting, as the process of the courts. The Supreme Court of the early years of the colony was modeled after the one in Majorca, and on several occasions when the Governorship has been left vacant, it has assumed the functions of the executive—pro-tem.

There are two Supreme Law Courts in the colony: one in Manila; the other in CebÚ. The President of the one in Manila has a salary of $7,000 a year; that of CebÚ, $6,000. There are also 41 Superior Courts, of various degrees of importance, the salary of the judges ranging from $2,000 to $4,000 per annum. The department of Justice alone costs the colony about $350,000 a year.

The dilatoriness of the courts has become proverbial. It is, in fact, years before a case can be brought to a close. Meantime, the litigant has been fleeced out of an amount perhaps a hundred times the value of the article under litigation. The islands are full of native pettifoggers from the law schools of Manila, who have learned too well the meaning of the Spanish maÑana. A suit can never be considered as disposed of; for another judge, scenting the faint possibility of a fee, may again have it retried. Thus I have seen the lives of acquitted persons again brought into jeopardy by the meddlesome officiousness and the grasping greed of a new judge. He that goes to court in the Philippines must not do so without reckoning the cost.

Commenting on this, a recent English traveler says: “Availing one self of the dilatoriness of the Spanish law, it is possible for a man to occupy a house, pay no rent, and refuse to quit on legal grounds during a couple of years or more.” A person who has not a cent to lose can persecute another by means of a trumped up accusation, until he is ruined by an “informacion de pobreza”—a declaration of poverty—which enables the persecutor to keep the case going as long as he chooses, without needing money for fees.

The following experience of an American friend of mine, whom I knew very well in Manila, will bring out in a graphic way the course of justice in the Philippines. Nor is his experience uncommon. It is, in fact, the usual one of the stranger or the native who goes to the fountain of Justice for the redress of a grievance.

I quote part of his letter written to a common friend:

Mr. Collins was never able to get justice, though he tried frequently. His experience is no uncommon one. The establishment of a pure judiciary and the purification of the courts should be one of the first reforms undertaken by the Americans.