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    [1924 – 1930] The Third Republic: Paving the Road to Dictatorship

    We find ourselves in the Dominican Republic, the year is 1924. A palpable sigh of relief sweeps across the island. After eight long years, the last of the United States Marines are finally sailing away from Dominican shores, their warships receding into the azure Caribbean horizon. The U.S. occupation, a period that had stripped the nation of its sovereignty, was over. In its place, a wave of optimism washed over the Dominican people. They had a new, democratically elected president: Horacio Vásquez, a seasoned politician, a familiar face who had held the presidency briefly decades before. This was to be the Third Republic, a fresh start. President Vásquez, taking office in July, inherited a country eager for progress. And for a time, it seemed that progress was indeed arriving. The 1920s, even in this tropical nation, felt the stirrings of modernity. Money, much of it from American loans, flowed into public works. Imagine the sounds: the clang of hammers, the shouts of workers, the groan of machinery as roads, real paved roads, began to snake across the mountainous terrain, connecting previously isolated towns. Where once a journey from Santo Domingo, the ancient capital, to Santiago de los Caballeros in the fertile Cibao Valley might take days by horse or mule, new highways promised to shrink that distance. By 1928, the government boasted of nearly 1,000 kilometers of new roads and numerous bridges. Picture the change: a few more automobiles, sputtering along these new routes, kicking up dust, a novel sight alongside traditional ox-carts. In cities like Santo Domingo and Santiago, the architectural landscape was subtly shifting. While the venerable colonial stonework, centuries old, still dominated the heart of the capital, new government buildings and homes for the burgeoning middle class adopted more contemporary, sometimes even early Art Deco, stylings. Daily life, for some, was improving. The hum of small industries, the expansion of port facilities in places like San Pedro de Macorís to handle the lucrative sugar exports, provided jobs. Sugar remained king, its fortunes dictating the nation's economic pulse, with Dominican sugar accounting for a significant portion of the world market. Yet, this reliance was a double-edged sword, making the economy acutely vulnerable to global price swings. Socially, the nation was a tapestry of contrasts. In the cities, men in light-colored linen suits and straw hats discussed politics in bustling cafes, while women, perhaps in slightly more modern dress than their mothers, managed households and participated in limited social spheres. In the vast rural interior, life moved at a slower, more traditional pace. Campesinos, the peasant farmers, toiled on small plots or worked the large sugar plantations, their lives bound to the rhythms of the harvest. Their clothing was simple, practical cotton. Music, especially the infectious beat of merengue, was a constant, a vibrant thread in the fabric of daily existence. But beneath this veneer of progress and hopeful activity, deeper currents were stirring. President Vásquez, despite his democratic mandate, harbored ambitions that began to trouble the political waters. His initial four-year term was due to end in 1928. However, citing the need for stability and continuity to complete his public works program, Vásquez maneuvered to extend his presidency. Through a questionable interpretation of a new constitution adopted in 1927, his term was prolonged until 1930. This act, seen by many as a betrayal of democratic principles, fractured the political landscape and sowed seeds of dissent. Discontent, once a low murmur, began to grow louder. And watching from the wings, meticulously, patiently, was a figure who would soon cast a long, dark shadow over the entire nation: Rafael Leónidas Trujillo Molina. As head of the National Guard – the very force trained and equipped by the US Marines during the occupation – Trujillo was building a formidable power base. He was a man of imposing presence, always impeccably uniformed, known for his discipline and, increasingly, his ruthlessness. The Guard, under his command, became the most organized and powerful institution in the country, its loyalty more to its commander than to the state. He expanded its numbers, from around 1,800 men in the mid-1920s to over 2,500 by the decade's end, ensuring its reach into every corner of Dominican life. As 1929 rolled in, the world was teetering on the brink of economic catastrophe. The Wall Street Crash sent shockwaves across the globe, and the Dominican Republic, so dependent on its sugar exports, was hit hard. The price of sugar plummeted. The government's revenues dried up. Public works projects stalled. Unemployment rose. The optimism of 1924 began to curdle into frustration and fear. The political crisis ignited by Vásquez’s term extension now merged with a devastating economic crisis, creating a volatile cocktail. In this climate of instability, Trujillo saw his opportunity. In February 1930, a rebellion, ostensibly led by a lawyer named Rafael Estrella Ureña and styled as a "civic movement," marched on Santo Domingo. President Vásquez, aging and in ill health, found his support crumbling. Crucially, Trujillo, whose National Guard was sworn to defend the government, declared his forces would remain "neutral," effectively sealing Vásquez's fate. It was a thinly veiled coup. Vásquez resigned. What followed was a carefully orchestrated charade of democracy. Estrella Ureña became provisional president, but the real power, everyone knew, lay with Trujillo. An election was called for May 1930. Trujillo, shedding any pretense of mere military leadership, declared himself a candidate for president. The campaign was a study in intimidation and violence. Opponents were harassed, jailed, or worse. On election day, the results were a foregone conclusion: Rafael Trujillo was declared the winner with an impossibly high margin, some records claiming over 95% of the vote. The Third Republic, born with such hope just six years earlier, was gasping its last breath. The roads paved under Vásquez, meant to connect and modernize the nation, had, in a grim irony, also facilitated the swift movements of Trujillo's forces and the consolidation of his control. On August 16, 1930, Rafael Trujillo was sworn in as President of the Dominican Republic. The era of one of the twentieth century's most enduring and brutal dictatorships had begun. The road ahead was not one of progress, but of fear, repression, and the absolute power of one man. The Dominican people, who had celebrated the departure of foreign occupiers, now found themselves under the heel of one of their own. The air, once filled with the sounds of construction and optimism, would soon carry a different, more chilling, set of sounds.

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