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Michael Wühle

Making
Sustainability
Measurable
A Practical Book for Sustainable
Living and Working
Making Sustainability Measurable
 Michael Wühle

Making
Sustainability
Measurable
A Practical Book for
Sustainable Living and
Working
Michael Wühle
Hohenlinden, Bayern, Germany

ISBN 978-3-662-66714-9 ISBN 978-3-662-66715-6 (eBook)

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-662-66715-6

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer-­
Verlag GmbH, DE, part of Springer Nature 2023
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by
the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically
the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting,
reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or
information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by
similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks,
etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement,
that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and
therefore free for general use.
The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice
and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of
publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty,
expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors
or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard
to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations.

This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer-Verlag

GmbH, DE, part of Springer Nature.
The registered company address is: Heidelberger Platz 3, 14197 Berlin, Germany
To all who face sustainable decisions
 Preface

The creation of this book has a prehistory that began in

2013 with my becoming self-employed and ended provi-
sionally, but not finally, with the first publication under
the title ‘Oh je, Herr Carlowitz’ in June 2016. The book
was the result of my finding phase as a self-employed per-
son in matters of sustainability. In it, I describe the topics,
experiences, insights, tools and tricks that I use to be pro-
fessionally successful.
However, especially at the beginning, it can easily hap-
pen that the aspiring sustainability manager wants to cover
too many fields of activity and acquires an unmanageable
belly shop that is anything but effective. That's exactly
what happened to me back then. When I became aware
of this, I sorted out and threw overboard a lot of things.
This is how the structure of this book came about. I also
received valuable tips in this regard from my readers and
seminar participants.

vii
viii   Preface

The parts that I wanted to continue using professionally

had to be sensibly summarized again. The result is what
you have in your hand or on your screen right now. Some
things from the first edition, such as the topic of cooper-
atives, which has lost some importance in the meantime,
fell victim to the restructuring or were greatly shortened.
Other contents such as resource efficiency, energy effi-
ciency, life cycle assessment, carbon footprint and many
more found their way into the book—topics that play a
bigger role in my professional everyday life as a sustaina-
bility manager today than a few years ago.
I expanded the topic complex of sustainability report-
ing and the EU-wide “non-financial reporting” or also
included it for the first time. The previous non-binding
nature for companies and organizations is gradually disap-
pearing and I wanted to react to that, as this is a clear sign
of the steering hand of politics towards sustainability.
In 2020, I thoroughly revised the book and published
it anew in the Springer-Nature-Verlag. Now another two
years have passed and I thought that another revision
(maybe the last one?) would make sense. Again, I short-
ened and deleted passages that were no longer relevant,
but also added new and very important content such as
key figures and values.
However, I was also concerned to preserve the ‘spirit’ of
the book, which had filled me when I wrote the first edi-
tion in 2016.
I would like to thank my family and friends at this
point, who have always supported me over the years to
continue writing about sustainability and to constantly
hone and improve my book on it. I am well aware that I
will never finish it and that is a good thing.
 Preface   ix

I wish you a lot of fun reading and trying out my vari-

ous exercises, as well as the tips and look forward to your
feedback.

Hohenlinden Michael Wühle

July 15, 2022
 Contents

1 Definition Sustainability—My Version 1

Source Reference and Notes 14

2 A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words 17

Source Reference and Notes 29

3 Adaptation to Climate Change and Its

Consequences Require Sustainability 31
Source Reference and Notes 36

4 A Change in Consumer Behavior Leads

to Sustainability 39
Source Reference and Notes 45

5 Finding Ways to the Best Sustainability

Strategy 47
5.1 Transformation Through
Efficiency and Sufficiency 48

xi
xii   Contents

5.2 Resource Efficiency Saves Material

and Energy 49
5.3 Unique Selling Proposition
Sustainability 50
Source Reference and Notes 60

6 The Challenge Sustainability Management 61

6.1 Sustainable Leadership and
Corporate Culture 65
6.2 Strategic Guidelines and Objectives 67
6.3 Concept for Economic Behavior 68
6.4 Concept for Social Behavior 73
6.5 Concept for Ecological Behavior 77
6.6 Supply Chain Management—
Sustainability in the Supply Chain 86
6.7 Sustainability Management in
Municipalities 97
6.8 Sustainability Management in
Companies 112
6.9 Sustainability in the (Air)
Transport Sector 116
6.10 Certification of the Sustainability
of Organizations 125
Source Reference and Notes 130

7 Making Sustainability Measurable 131

8 Life Cycle Assessment and CO2

Footprint—Two Sides of the Same Coin? 139
8.1 Life Cycle Assessment 139
8.2 CO2-Footprint 143
Source Reference and Notes 148
 Contents   xiii

9 Sustainability Report—Compulsory or
Freestyle? 149
9.1 Procedure and Structure 150
9.2 Basic Principles of Content and
Quality 153
9.3 Compilation of the Standard
Disclosures According to GRI 154
9.4 GRI Standards 165
9.5 Non-Financial Reporting—CSR
Directive 169
Source Reference and Notes 173

10 Make your Dream Come True:

Sustainability Manager 175
10.1 Living Values 176
10.2 The Power of Creeds 178
10.3 The Role of the Sustainability
Manager 181
10.4 Dealing with Human Behavior 182
10.5 NLP and the Power of Questions 186
10.6 Investing in Networking 196
10.7 Innovations are Promoted 197
10.8 Project Management 199
10.9 Outfit and Communication Style 200
10.10 Self-Realization Requires Discipline 202
10.11 Making Money is not a Shame 207
Source Reference and Notes 210

11 The Key to Your Success 211

12 In the Right Place at the Right Time 217

References and Notes 219
xiv   Contents

13 Sustainability—The Future is Waiting

for you 221

Appendix 225
 About the Author

Michael Wühle, is an experienced engineer and entrepre-

neur. In his professional career, he has successfully imple-
mented many large technical projects, until he came into
contact with the topics of environment, climate and sus-
tainability. Since then, Michael Wühle has made sustaina-
bility management his professional focus. As a freelancer,
he supports companies and municipalities in the

xv
xvi   About the Author

introduction and implementation of sustainability pro-

jects. He likes to share his knowledge in the field of sus-
tainability through seminars, workshops and publications.
 1
Definition Sustainability—My
Version

What does sustainability mean? The term sustainability

has been quite abused and worn out by now and often
stands for everything and nothing. We hear statements
about our sustainable policy, the sustainable pursuit of
peace in the world, a sustainable diet, the great sustainabil-
ity in the cultural memory, the sustainable development in
rural areas, the necessity of a sustainable energy transition,
etc. But all this does not explain what sustainability really
stands for.

Sustainability is the balanced interaction of different

dimensions, which in the classical, business-oriented
world stand for themselves alone.
In 1987, the United Nations World Commission on
Environment and Development, the so-called Brundtland
Commission, published a modern definition of the term
sustainability. The name was derived from the chairperson

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer-Verlag 1

GmbH, DE, part of Springer Nature 2023
M. Wühle, Making Sustainability Measurable,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-662-66715-6_1
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
condemnation of his waterfall. Naturally, the deal fell through. That
one miserable word cost me just three hundred thousand dollars. I
never have used it since then until now; it is too expensive for
ordinary conversation.
In the latter part of 1895 Crespo was asked to revive the concession
which Guzman Blanco had granted to the old Manoa Company, and
which had subsequently been annulled. This concession, which had
passed through several hands and was then held by the Orinoco
Company, Limited, took in the entire delta of the Orinoco and
covered eight million acres of land, an empire that was wonderfully
rich in a variety of resources. Crespo, believing that here was an
unusual opportunity for me to rebuild my fortunes and for him to
prove his gratitude, notified the Orinoco Co. that he would restore
the concession provided I was made manager of it. They were quite
willing to employ me in this capacity for, without any regard to what
ability I might have as a manager, they were assured of having the
government with them, which is a consideration of first importance
throughout South and Central America. I was by no means anxious
to go with them but I finally yielded to Crespo’s advice and accepted
the appointment, though without binding myself to stay more than
six months. Crespo gave me, in effect, the power of life and death
over every one on the concession, and put me above the law. He
instructed the Governor of the Delta Territorio that whatever I did
was well done, and that I was not to be held to account for it. I left
for Santa Catalina, the headquarters of the concession, on December
17, 1895, the day that President Cleveland sent to Congress his
message on the Venezuelan boundary question.
 CHAPTER XVI
AT WAR WITH CASTRO

IT was in vexed Venezuela that I was destined to end my days of

deviltry, but not until after a protracted warfare, none the less bitter
because it was conducted at long range, with Castro the
Contemptible, who came into power two years after I had finally
settled down at Santa Catalina as manager for the Orinoco
Company. Cipriano Castro had been in Congress as Diputado, or
Member of the House, from one of the Andean districts while I was
in Caracas with President Crespo, and though he was regarded as a
good fighter and a disturbing element he was never considered as a
presidential possibility. Had that unhappy prospect ever been
suggested it could easily have been imagined that he would, as he
abundantly did, prove himself the “Vulture of Venezuela,” the most
despotic and dishonest ruler with which that unfortunate country has
ever been cursed, and the most cunning.
With all of my hatred for Castro and everything pertaining to him it
must be admitted that he was an exceedingly shrewd scoundrel; had
he been half as honest he could have made himself the greatest
man in South America. He supported Anduesa Palacio, the deposed
President who had betrayed Guzman Blanco, in his final campaign
against Crespo, before the latter was recognized as Dictator, and
defeated General Morales in the battle of Tariba on May 15, 1892.
For some time after that he was in full control of that section of the
country, but with the firm establishment of the new regime he gave
up the fight. In recognition of the military ability he had displayed,
Crespo offered to make him Collector of Customs at Puerto Cabello.
He declined the position but, egotistically exaggerating the purpose
of the proffer, he pompously promised Crespo that he would not
attempt to overthrow his government. He then came to Congress,
where he would have been almost unnoticed but for the amusement
he created by solemnly removing his shoes and putting on black kid
gloves every time he sat down to the, to him, herculean task of
drafting a bill. He was as rough and uncouth as the rest of the
mountaineers; short of stature, secretive of mind, and suspicious of
every one, excepting only a few of his brother brigands from the
Andes. At the expiration of his term he returned to the hills and
bought a farm just across the Colombian border. He posed as a
cattle-raiser, but all of the reports that reached Caracas said he was
much more of a cattle-rustler, or stealer. He was a persistent tax-
dodger and his herd, which was said to show fifty different brands
that represented as many thefts, was driven back and forth across
the border to avoid the Venezuelan and Colombian collectors. He
was engaged in this profitable pastime when I left Caracas, and had
disappeared from all political and revolutionary calculations.
I first arrived at Santa Catalina, whither I had gone on the urgent
advice of Crespo, early in 1896. It was a straggling little town, with
the company’s headquarters, a large wooden building containing
forty rooms, which was used for both residential and administrative
purposes, standing close to the bank of the Piacoa River, a branch of
the Orinoco, opposite the lower end of the Island of Tortola—the
Iwana of Sir Walter Raleigh. The building contained a store, with a
large supply of goods adapted to the needs of colonists in a new and
tropical country, and around it were carpenter, blacksmith, and
machine shops. The company also owned three small steamers,
which were used to bring supplies from Trinidad and run back and
forth to Barrancas, thirty miles upstream at the head of the Macareo
River, the main estuary of the Orinoco, through which all of the
commerce passes. The Atlantic Ocean was one hundred and fifty
miles below us and Ciudad Bolivar, the principal city on the Orinoco
and the head of all-the-year navigation, was one hundred and eighty
miles above.
Tradition says that Santa Catalina was named by Raleigh who,
according to the native story, camped there when he was pushing
his way up the Orinoco in search of the fabled El Dorado, with its
golden city of Manoa. Just above Barrancas are the ruins of a strong
fort that he built as a safe abiding place for a part of his force while
he went farther on up the river. It is, perhaps, the irony of an unkind
fate which pursued the great adventurer, that near this fort, from
which searching parties were sent out, is the rich mine of El Callao,
whose gold probably gave rise to the stories that started Raleigh on
his heroic hunt for the shining city that was the objective point of all
of the Argonauts who followed Columbus and Ojeda. If Raleigh had
been looking for gold by the pound instead of by the ton and had
searched more carefully he probably would have found enough to
satisfy him.
Stretching away to unmeasured lengths from the pin prick which the
headquarters village made in it, was the virgin forest, with its wealth
of gold and iron, rubber and asphalt, and its square miles of
mahogany, Spanish cedar, rosewood, carapo, greenheart, and mora
wood, all within the confines of our concession. Far off to the
southwest, in a region which I never could find time to explore, was
the mythical dwelling place of the people whom Raleigh described,
though only on the word of the natives, as having no heads but with
eyes in their shoulders and mouths in their chests, with a long mane
trailing out from their spines. Down the Orinoco, half-way to the
coast, was Imitaca Mountain, a great hill of iron ore, which is said to
be one of the largest and richest deposits in the world.
The letters which Crespo had given me to the Territorial Governor
and to the “Jefe Civile,” who had immediate jurisdiction over the
headquarters of our concession, gave me a high standing and I
proceeded to conciliate the people, who had become disaffected
toward the old management, and lay plans for the development of
the property. The real boss of the people of Venezuela is the “Jefe
Civile.” He has complete jurisdiction over the people of his district,
which generally embraces a county, and is consulted on all matters
of argument, whether domestic, political, or religious. His decision is
usually final, although an appeal may be taken to the Court of First
Instance in which his district is situated. His authority closely
resembles that of a French prefect, and admits of an intimate
knowledge of the private life of the people. Practically, there are no
secrets in Venezuela. If two people stop in the street and talk for a
moment they are surrounded by an inquisitive crowd. If a woman
complains to the Jefe Civile of her husband’s ill treatment, it is done
with the windows and doors open, in a room more or less filled with
idle spectators.
The Jefe Civile at Catalina assisted me in my effort to open up the
country and active operations were soon under way. The natives,
who were living just as when Columbus discovered them, and
wearing no more clothes than could be noticed, were attracted by
the prosperity which it was presumed would follow our development
work, and little pueblos sprang up along the river on both sides of
us. These people, working directly for the company or under a
license on a royalty basis, were employed chiefly in cutting timber
and collecting balata gum, which has many of the qualities of rubber
without its elasticity and is caught by tapping the trees. The native
labor was not very satisfactory at the best, as judged by American
standards, and we imported some negroes from Trinidad, who were
little better.
Our concession covered a territory larger than the State of
Massachusetts, nearly all of which was terra incognita. It was out of
the question to think of trying to go all over it, but, to gain an
intelligent idea as to the nature of the inland country and its
resources, I made one trip into the interior, toward the disputed
border of British Guiana, which was our eastern limit. But for the
boundary dispute between Venezuela and England the Orinoco
Company never would have secured its concession, for the shrewd
Guzman granted it with the idea that the Americans would colonize
the territory and effectively resist the British invasion, which he was
powerless to do. In their progressive search for gold—the continued
pursuit of Raleigh’s will-o’-the-wisp—the Englishmen in Guiana were
advancing farther and farther into Venezuela and carrying the
boundary with them, or claiming that it was always just ahead of
them, which, so far as Venezuela’s protests went, amounted to the
same thing. It was, in fact, the sweet siren song of gold that caused
the establishment of the three Guianas, so that the British, French,
and Dutch might prosecute the search under the most favorable
conditions.
My expedition Guianaward was the hardest trip I have ever
undertaken and yet one of the most interesting. We had to make our
own trail and though I had a dozen men with me it was a
tremendous task to cut our way through the thick underbrush, never
before disturbed, which often barred our progress. We could carry
few supplies, but it was easy to live off the country, for there was
enough game to feed an army. Not knowing what to make of us, the
jaguar, puma, tapir, and ocelot came so close that they were easily
shot, while overhead were millions of monkeys, parrots, and
macaws, to say nothing of great snakes that would have made the
fortune of a menagerie manager. At long intervals, living on the
banks of rivers, we encountered a few wild Indians, who were
terrified until they found we were not tax collectors sent out by the
government to take them into slavery on account of their inability to
pay extortionate taxes, which are levied for no other purpose than to
compel them to work for years without pay. When they became
convinced that we meant them no harm they were very friendly and
generously offered us things to eat, which I was afraid to touch.
They never had seen a white man before, and I regretted that some
of my friends were not hidden in the bushes to witness the
reverence they showed me. They were armed with bows and
arrows, which they used with wonderful accuracy, and crudely
fashioned spears, and wore nothing much but feathers in their hair.
They lived on fish and game, with yams and plantains, and
sometimes corn, as side dishes, and native fruits for dessert, and
they were the healthiest looking people I have ever seen. I pushed
into this veritable paradise for all of a hundred miles, which carried
me close to the border, and discovered one outcropping of gold
which will some day be developed into a rich property. Our progress
was so slow that it was two months before we were back in Catalina.
After getting the development work well started I left it in charge of
the superintendent and returned to Caracas. I was not yet ready to
bury myself on the concession, for that, I thought, was what it
would mean to become a fixture there, and, besides, I was curious
to know how things were going at the capital. I stopped at Trinidad
on the way to attend to some business for the company and enjoy a
taste of real civilization, so it was early in 1897 before I resumed my
old confidential position with President Crespo. The restoration was
to be only temporary, he declared, for he insisted that a fortune
awaited me in the Orinoco delta and wished me to become
established there. His term expired the following February and I
found that he had already decided on General Ignacio Andrade as
his successor. He had planned to continue as Dictator of the country,
à la Guzman, and spend much of his idle time, and money, abroad,
and he wanted a man who could be relied on to keep his
organization intact and turn the office back to him at the end of his
term, for the Venezuelan constitution prohibits a President from
succeeding himself.
Donna Crespo, who besides being the greatest smuggler in the
country was a shrewd judge of men, had taken a pronounced dislike
to Andrade and advised strongly against his selection. Without
knowing how truly she spoke she predicted that if Andrade were
made President, Crespo would be dead within six months. I added
my advice to the Donna’s, for I knew Andrade was a weak man and
one who could not be trusted to hold the country with the tight rein
which his agreement required. Powerful friends of Crespo in Trinidad
also urged him to select a stronger man, but he could not be moved.
He credited Andrade with having saved his life, on the occasion
when I sent a galloping warning of the plot to murder him, and, as a
monument to him and an evidence of his friendship, he planned that
he should be made President by the first “popular election” in the
history of Venezuela. The peons idolized Crespo because they felt
that he was more nearly one of their own class, as compared with
aristocrats of the Guzman Blanco type. He was so well liked by the
common people and had such a strong grip on the country that he
was able to carry out the idea which his loyal friendship inspired, but
with disastrous results in the end, to himself, to Andrade, and to
Venezuela.
On election day the soldiers at Guatira, Guarenas, and Petare,
surrounding towns which I visited from Caracas to get a close view
of the unique proceeding, doffed their uniforms and donned blouses,
with their revolvers strapped on underneath, marched to the polls
and voted as often as was required. Other towns throughout the
country witnessed the same performance. The peons also voted for
Andrade, either because they knew Crespo wanted them to or
because the soldiers so instructed them, and they kept at it until the
designated number of votes had been deposited. For a popular
election it was the weirdest thing that could be imagined, yet it was
so proclaimed. As though to disprove this boast it was immediately
followed by mutterings of discontent from the better class of
citizens, and on the night of Andrade’s inauguration General
Hernandez, the famed “El Mocho,” who was Minister of Public
Improvements in Crespo’s Cabinet but an opponent of the new
President, took to the hills at the head of three thousand troops and
raised the standard of revolt. Crespo really was responsible for the
curse of Castro, for had he selected a strong man as his successor
the mountain brigand never could have commanded a force
sufficiently powerful to overthrow him.
Within a month Andrade went through the form of appointing
Crespo Commander-in-Chief of the Army, in order that he might
clinch his dictatorship. For a while Crespo contented himself with
enjoying his new title and directing operations from the capital, but
the Hernandez revolution finally assumed such proportions that he
took the field in person to stamp it out. The two armies met in the
mountains near Victoria on June 12, 1898. Hernandez was led into a
trap, given a drubbing, and captured. After the battle Crespo walked
across the field and was leaning over a wounded man when he was
shot from behind and instantly killed. It was claimed that the shot
was fired from the bush by one of the escaped rebels, and it was so
reported, but no one who was at all on the inside accepted this
explanation. The bullet that killed Crespo was of a peculiar pattern
and exactly fitted the pistol of one of his own officers, who was not
a Venezuelano. I doubt if there was another weapon exactly like it in
the whole country. The responsibility for the murder, for such it
undoubtedly was, could easily have been fixed, but the cowardly
Andrade refused to order a real investigation and, of course, there
was no prosecution. Crespo’s body was packed in a barrel of rum
and brought to Caracas for burial.
The capture of “El Mocho” checked the spirit of revolt, but not for
long. Andrade had nothing to commend him but his honesty, which
quality was so little understood in Venezuela that it counted for
nothing, and he became more and more unpopular. He was
surrounded by plotters, even within his official family, and only their
inability to agree on his successor prevented his speedy overthrow.
Some few months after Crespo’s death, Castro, who had made
himself Governor of the State of Los Andes, visited Caracas and
called on Andrade with the demand that he be appointed to an
important position in the new administration as the price of peace.
Andrade, to his credit be it said, not only refused to appoint him to
any office but flouted him, and Castro left the Yellow House in a
rage. He sought the councils of Andrade’s enemies and, after many
conferences, it was arranged that there should be a general
insurrection early in the following Summer. The question of filling the
presidency was left open, with the understanding that it should go to
the leader who developed the greatest strength during the
campaign.
Castro went back to his mountain home, to discover that his cattle
had been seized and a warrant issued for his arrest, at the instance
of Andrade’s friends, for cattle stealing. He resorted to his old trick of
dodging across the border, but a similar warrant was secured from
the Colombian Government, which had no more love for the Indian
upstart than had the one at Caracas. In fact, Castro at one time
seriously had considered starting a revolt in Colombia in the hope of
gaining the presidency. With officers of both countries searching for
him he went into hiding and remained under cover until May 23,
1899, when he invaded Venezuela with a force of sixty peinilleros, so
called from the fact that they were armed with the peinilla, a sword
shaped like a scimitar. They were of the lowest type of Indian, but
brave and hard fighters. His old cattle-rustling neighbors hailed him
with joy, for until then they never had dreamed that any man from
the mountains could become a really important factor in Venezuelan
affairs, and more than a thousand of them flocked to his standard.
Supposing that the other parties to the revolutionary agreement
would carry out their part of the programme, and that he would join
forces with them as he neared the capital, Castro set out on his
march toward Caracas. Andrade had become so unpopular by this
time that he encountered little opposition, and as he captured
successive towns he opened the prisons and the freed convicts fell in
behind him. When he reached Valencia, less than one hundred miles
from Caracas, he had an undisciplined but effective force of three
thousand bloodthirsty brigands. General Ferrer was stationed there
with six thousand well-equipped regulars, and though he was by no
means enthusiastic in his loyalty to Andrade he did his duty as a
soldier, according to the quaint standards of the country. He
marched his men out and surrounded Castro, with the exception of a
conspicuous hole through which the latter could escape, and then
went into camp for the night. This proceeding was in strict accord
with the ethics of that strange land. Except in extreme cases it is the
unwritten law that when a rebel leader is encountered by a superior
government force, the regulars must surround him with a great
show, but be careful to leave a wide hole in their line through which
he can run away during the night. Invariably he takes advantage of
his opportunity and it is officially announced that he “escaped.” Of
course, after a rebel chieftain has made several escapes of this kind
and still continues in revolt he is surrounded in earnest, but harsh
measures are not resorted to until he has had ample opportunity to
escape or come into camp and be good.
Castro violated all the precedents of his plundering profession by
failing to run through the hole that had been left for him. When
Ferrer saw him the next morning, in the middle of the ring calmly
waiting for the fight to begin, he was nonplussed. He could not
understand that method of warfare and, concluding that Castro must
be a real hero and perhaps, as he even then claimed to be, a
genuine “man of destiny,” he solved the problem by joining forces
with him, for which he was subsequently rewarded by being made
Minister of War. Castro learned from Ferrer that he was alone in the
revolution, his promised partners having failed to take the field on
account of bickerings and jealousies among themselves. This
discovery and the addition of Ferrer’s forces gave him his first really
serious notion that he might become President, and he marched
forward in a frenzy of bombastic joy. He picked out a star as his own
and ceremoniously worshipped it. Clearly his star was in the
ascendant, figuratively at least, for at Victoria, only thirty-five miles
outside of the capital, he made terms with General Mendoza, who
was disgruntled with Andrade, and picked up another army. When
the tottering President heard of this final evidence of disloyalty he
boarded a gunboat at La Guaira, taking with him a well-filled
treasure chest, and went to Trinidad. The alleged warship leaked
badly and Andrade, who had a sense of humor, sent word back to
Castro by her commander to have her repaired at once so that she
might be in better shape for a hurried departure when it should
come his turn to be deposed.
By this time the people of Venezuela, ripe for a change of
administration and believing that no one could be worse than
Andrade, had begun to find out, as had Castro himself, what a
powerful person he really was, and they accepted him as their
master. He entered Caracas without opposition on October 21, 1900,
and, rejecting the modest title of Provisional President, which his
predecessors had used, proclaimed himself “Jefe Supremo” or
“Supreme Military Leader.” He filled all important posts with men
from the mountains, on whose loyalty he could rely, and as they
were able to secure plenty of graft, not one penny of which was
overlooked, he very soon had a tight hold on the country. One of his
first acts was to release Gen. Hernandez. He soon found that the old
warrior was too patriotic and too dangerous to be at large, so he
slapped him back into San Carlos, on the pretence that he was
planning an insurrection, and kept him there for years. On March 30,
1901, Castro was elected by Congress to fill out the unexpired part
of Andrade’s term and in the following February he was elected
Constitutional President. Then began in earnest his reign of robbery,
through the establishment of monopolies whose profits went to his
private purse, and his vicious anti-foreign policy which, through the
murders and injustices that were committed in its name, made the
Boxer uprising in China look like a soft-spoken protest.
I was not in Caracas to witness the advent of Castro, as I had
returned to Catalina more than two years before, immediately after
Crespo’s funeral. During my stay at the capital I had come into
possession of a block of stock in the Orinoco Company which made
it better worth my while to stay with it, and I had become infected
with the idea that if we were let alone the concession could be
developed into a very valuable property. It was soon apparent,
however, that we were not to remain undisturbed. So long as Crespo
was alive I was all-powerful at Catalina, but with his death my
influence began to wane and the rights of the company to be
trespassed upon. The natives could not see how our concession, an
integral part of Venezuela, could ever be anything but their own
property; they could not, or would not, understand that the
government had given away territory from which they could be
debarred. It was only the influence of the Jefe Civile that had kept
them in bounds before and with the death of my friend Crespo, that
official suddenly became at least lukewarm in his loyalty to the law
and to me. It naturally followed that the natives overran the
concession and did more and more as they pleased. They refused to
pay royalty on the balata gum, which they carried off in enormous
quantities, and stole everything except the headquarters building
and the iron ore, which was too heavy and not worth while. The Jefe
Civile himself violated the terms of our concession and extortions of
all sorts were winked at or openly approved. As Andrade’s
unpopularity increased my troubles grew, for the natives took sides
and began to spy on each other, with the result that false and
malicious reports were sent to Caracas as to the company’s attitude.
When the threatened revolution became a fact and Castro took the
field, Andrade assumed a much more friendly air, but it was too late
to be of any value. He sent General Marina up the Orinoco to try to
arouse enthusiasm for his cause in the east, which section furnishes
the only soldiers that can cope with the hardy mountaineers of the
west. Marina came to Catalina and asked me to do my best to hold
my district in line for Andrade, and gave me his word that if I did so
the President would grant me anything I asked for as soon as the
revolt was suppressed. At just about the moment this request was
made Andrade was fleeing from La Guaira and Castro was assuming
full control at Caracas.
Almost the first thing he did was to annul our concession, on the
ground that its terms had not been complied with, along with a
dozen others, as the beginning of his war on all foreigners. I denied
his right to cancel our grant, especially as it contained a clause
which stipulated that any disagreement between the government
and the concessionaire should be referred to the Alta Carte Federale,
or Supreme Court, for adjustment. As the case had not been
brought before that court I held there could be no legal annulment,
even if that power did rest in the executive, which I denied. This
contention was subsequently upheld by the International Court of
Arbitration, following the blockade and bombardment of the allied
powers, which decided that our concession was still in full force.
When Castro saw that we did not propose to submit to his arbitrary
annulment he undertook to drive me out of the country. He realized
that so long as I remained on the concession we could claim to be in
full possession of it, and he proceeded to harass me in every
conceivable way in the hope of making it too hot for me. Under our
contract we were to nominate and pay all of the officers within our
territory and the government was to appoint them. My old chief of
police, Abreu, was arrested and taken away on some false charge,
and a new man, Tinoco, in whose selection I had no voice, was sent
to take his place. He was, I learned, a spy and had orders to send in
reports which would make it appear that the company was stirring
up revolts and otherwise violating the terms of its concession. This I
discovered in time to induce Tinoco, with the aid of a pistol, to sign a
statement in which he denied all of his dishonest reports and gave
the company a clean bill of health. He died soon afterward.
Castro created a military district known as the Territorio Delta-
Amacuro, which took in all of our property, and made Catalina the
capital, so that the Governor and the other officials could keep me
under their eyes. They all had instructions to make the place so
uncomfortable for me that I would leave. Fortunately, when it
received its concession the company had bought the land on which
its buildings were erected. Only the fact that I was an American
citizen and held the deeds to the property restrained them from
expelling me by main force. However, I could see trouble coming, so
I dug rifle pits under the porches on the two sides of the house from
which we could be attacked. I had plenty of arms and ammunition
and about twenty men of whose bravery and loyalty I was sure.
I was prohibited from buying anything at the pulperia, or
commissary, and we were hard put to it at times for enough to eat.
We caught fish in the river and my men stole out into the woods to
hunt at every favorable opportunity, but the moment they left our
property they exposed themselves to arrest on some trumped-up
charge. Sometimes we were able to surreptitiously buy supplies from
the natives, and we managed to get along. I filed protests at
Caracas, with the Governor and with my company, but they
accomplished nothing. I was told by the officials of the company that
they were doing the best they could, with representations to the
State Department at Washington, and that I would have to do the
best I could, and I did it. The troops were continually spying on us
and annoying us with fictitious charges, but it was a year or more
before the government, angered by its failure to get rid of me,
resorted to extreme measures. A new Governor was sent down with
strict orders to remove me, by force if necessary. He advanced
toward the house with about seventy-five soldiers. I ordered my
men into the rifle pits and met the General at the gate.
“What do you want?” I demanded fiercely.
“I beg your pardon,” replied the commander, with all the treacherous
suavity of his race, “but I have orders to take you under my care and
escort you to Trinidad in order that no injury may come to you. Our
country is troubled and the government is anxious as to your safety.”
“My compliments to President Castro,” I told him, “and assure him
that I feel perfectly secure here, and quite comfortable. You can also
tell him that I propose to stay here.”
“That is much to be regretted,” responded the still overly polite
general, “for in that case I have to inform you that my orders are to
arrest you and take you to Trinidad.”
“In that case,” I said, imitatively, “I have to inform you that you will
find it impossible to carry out your orders, and I advise you not to
attempt it.”
“You mean that you will resist arrest?” he exclaimed in surprise.
“Most assuredly,” I replied. “This is my property. You have no right to
invade it, for I have violated no law of Venezuela. If you enter on it I
will fire on you.”
“But,” he almost shouted, as he waved his arms excitedly toward his
enervated patriots, “my men are here to enforce my orders. You
would be insane to resist. You do not know the Venezuelan Army,
sir.”
“You are mistaken,” I told him. “I do know the Venezuelan Army. It is
you who is ignorant. You do not know my army. It is because I know
both that I have no fear. You have not a shadow of right for seeking
to arrest me and your blood will be on your own head if you
advance.”
With this declaration which, in keeping with the comic opera custom
of the country, was delivered with all of the dramatic effect I could
throw into it, in order that it might carry greater weight, I retired to
the house.
The General could see my rifle pits, but he did not know how many
men they held nor how well those men could shoot. After a short
consultation with his staff he gave the order to advance, while he
bravely directed operations from the rear. As his men crossed the
line we fired, and eight of them fell. They continued to advance and
we fired again, dropping nine more of them, while several others
were hit. That was too much for them and they broke and ran,
leaving seven dead and ten badly wounded. They did not fire a shot,
perhaps because our men were so well concealed that Venezuelan
marksmanship would have accomplished nothing against them. The
General and his staff returned in an hour and asked permission to
remove the fallen warriors. After burying their dead they returned to
their steamer and went on up the river. In three or four days they
came back, with their force slightly increased, and the General again
called on me to surrender, under penalty of being arrested as a
disturbing factor. I gave him the same reply as before and after
thinking it over for a while he marched his troops away again.
That little encounter produced pronounced respect for the Americans
among Castro’s soldiers and they did not give us much trouble
afterward, though they continued to annoy us for a time. With the
establishment of the blockade of Venezuelan ports by the allies—
England, Germany, and Italy—in the latter part of 1902, and the
signing of the peace protocols at Washington early in the following
year, there came a cessation of hostilities against us. So far as
driving us off the concession was concerned, Castro seemed to have
given up the fight, but on account of the disturbed condition of the
country and the fact that the government was known to be inimical
to us, it was impossible to do anything of consequence toward the
development of the property. This enforced idleness eventually
became intolerable and early in 1906, the company in the meantime
having sent one of its officers to Caracas to protect its interests, I
returned to New York, after having held the fort for ten years. I
came back much poorer in pocket, but with a fund of information
regarding Venezuela and its people.
I have been in every country in South America and have studied all
of them and there is no possibility of doubt that Venezuela is beyond
comparison the richest in its natural resources. With the setting up
of a firm and civilized government, which must come in the end,
under an American protectorate if by no other means, all of the fairy
stories that were told of it centuries ago will come true, and its
development will eclipse all of the dreams that have been realized in
our own country. It is a strange fact that Cumana in Venezuela (their
respective names then being New Toledo and New Grenada), which
was the first European settlement in South America of which there is
authentic record, was founded one hundred years, less one, before
the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock. In each case there was a
fervent prayer for divine aid in establishing a Christian colony and
building up a great country. Why one prayer was answered and the
other was not is a matter I will not attempt to explain.
Like her West Indian neighbors, of which beautiful isles Americans
now know so little, but of which they will know much more when
their flag flies over all of them, as it must within the life of the
present generation, Venezuela has been treated most bountifully by
nature and most brutally by man. Cursed they all may have been by
the seas of innocent blood in which they were barbarously bathed
during their extended infancy and their prolonged childhood, from
which they have not yet emerged. It seems that all the powers of
darkness have conspired to retard their growth and hold them slaves
to savagery. Accustomed from the days of the Spanish
conquistadores, and the pirates who followed them, to being
plundered and persecuted in every way that the mercenary mind of
man could devise, the Venezuelanos have grown so hardened to
turmoil and torture that it has become second nature to them to live
in an atmosphere which generates riot and robbery. Their blood is
an unholy mixture of Indian, Carib, and Spanish, with other and
more recent strains of all sorts. They are the most inconsequential,
emotional, ungrateful, and treacherous people on the face of the
earth—and yet I love them. The ambition of their leaders runs only
to graft, while the underlings yearn for war as a child cries for a
plaything. At the behest of some self-constituted chieftain, who has
strutted in front of a mirror until he imagines himself a second Simon
Bolivar, they rise in rebellion, because it gives them a chance to prey
on the country, and, if their revolt is successful, to continue and
extend their preying. But some day a real man will rise up among
them and lead them out of their blackness and butchery into peace
and prosperity, and Venezuela, with her wild wastes of wealth, will
become great beyond the imaginings of her discoverers.
This is not the full story of my life but it tells of some of the incidents
which I have enjoyed the most. My best fight was with old Moy Sen,
the pirate king, in the China Sea, and my closest call was when I
was sentenced to be shot at sunrise in Santo Domingo. These events
supplied the most delightful feasts of the excitement which my
nature has ever craved, yet I have lived well, in that respect, all
along. I have no disappointments and no regrets, except that this
existence is too short. If I had my life to live over again it would be
lived in the same way, though, I would hope, with a still greater
share of excitement, because it was for just such a life that I was
created. What the purpose of it was I neither know nor care, nor am
I in the least concerned as to what my destiny next holds in store for
me. I hope, however, that in some land with opportunity for wide
activity, I will be reincarnated as a filibuster and a buccaneer, and
that I will so continue until my identity is merged into a composite
mass of kindred souls.
THE END
 TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
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