Empires, Exceptions, and Anglo-Saxons: Race and Rule between the British and United States Empires, 1880–1910

Setting out to address The Problem of Asia and Its Effect upon International Policies in 1900, the year of the joint expedition against the Boxers and one year into the Philippine-American War, the American navalist Alfred Thayer Mahan observed that “it would be an interesting study . . . to trace the genesis and evolution in the American people of the impulse towards expansion which has recently taken so decisive a stride.” That study, he warned, “would be very imperfect if it failed clearly to recognize . . . that it is but one phase of a sentiment that has swept over the whole civilized European world within the last few decades.” [1] Other builders of the U.S. empire would have agreed. Along different timelines, pursuing varied agendas, and mobilizing diverse discourses to defend them, Americans from varied political backgrounds came to recognize that the United States’ new colonial empire—part of its much vaster commercial, territorial, and military empires—operated within a larger network of imperial thought and practice.

The factors that encouraged the overlap of empires were similar to those linking together the contemporary “Atlantic crossings” of welfare state ideas and institutions recently described by Daniel T. Rodgers. Foremost was the growing productive and geographic scale of industrial capitalism in the Atlantic world and its imperial outposts. Intensifying transportation technologies did not simply make possible the aggressive military expansion of European and U.S. power in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. They also made the consolidating colonial regimes in Africa and Asia stages for interacting and overlapping empires of commerce and evangelism, which drew “inter-imperial” communities together around both common and competitive projects.2 But even within the formal limits of imperial state building, colonial empires penetrated each other. Despite multiple pressures forcing empires conceptually apart, inter-imperial crossings played a central role in state building throughout the colonial world. In organization, policy making, and legitimation, the architects of colonial rule often turned to rival powers as allies, foils, mirrors, models, and exceptions.[3]

If many U.S. empire builders would have endorsed Mahan’s antiexceptionalism, most of that empire’s historians have not. To be sure, there is enough that is truly different—if not exceptional—in the history of the United States to warrant contrasts between the U.S. empire and the British, French, Dutch, and German empires of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. First and foremost, there was the first U.S. empire, the long and contested incorporation of continental territory based on settlement colonialism. There was the commercial-industrial dominion that began with that first empire and, on its resources, projected itself as an informal empire of capital and goods throughout the world, especially Europe, Latin America, the Pacific islands, and East Asia. In land, population, and trade—if not in military and strategic terms—the U.S. overseas colonial empire would remain small, an annex to the informal empire.[4] But actual differences between the U.S. and European colonial empires do not explain the complete denial of U.S. colonialism in American culture or Americans’ understanding of the United States not only as a nonempire, but as an antiempire.[5] Those actual differences inspired exceptionalist enthusiasms that were virtually absolute, erasing what the empires had in common, including the exchanges they engaged in.[6]

Some of the erasures are by-products of the structure of historiography. Emerging from diplomatic history, the historiography of the U.S. empire has been notably state-centered and nation-bounded, its inter-imperial history exploring the interactions between bounded states but not the ideas and practices they circulated, borrowed, and shared.[7] New historiographies have added methodological breadth, especially toward social and cultural history, and widened the range of actors recognized as engaged in U.S. “foreign relations.” Recent works have done much to bring empire toward the center of U.S. history, providing rich and novel accounts of U.S. imperialism.[8] But most nonetheless remain locked in metropole-colony dyads that neglect inter-imperial dynamics and connections. Ironically, while the emerging study of U.S. colonialism draws on theoretical insights developed in the critical study of other empires—notably postcolonial theory and history—the field has not yet explored the interconnections between empires.[9]

This essay is an effort to chart one of the most significant intercolonial connections: the complex invocations of the British Empire and of racial “Anglo-Saxonism” in the effort to legitimate U.S. colonialism during and after 1898. It takes as its focus debates regarding the Philippines, their annexation, conquest, and administration, partly because the British exerted influence in the Philippines and the surrounding region, partly because the Philippine annexation sparked debates over U.S. colonialism in which the British Empire was most commonly invoked. The first section argues that “Anglo-Saxon” racism developed as a self-conscious bond connecting Britons and Americans in the late nineteenth century, forged on their violent imperial frontiers and solidifying at points of elite Anglo-American social and intellectual contact. During and after 1898, American and British advocates of U.S. overseas colonialism enlisted Anglo-Saxonism as a racial-exceptionalist argument, leveled against claims of national exceptionalism. The second section explores the tensions within, and challenges to, Anglo-Saxonist racial exceptionalism emerging in the United States among national-exceptionalist “anti-imperialist” critics of the Philippine-American War, who opposed acquisition of overseas colonies but not all other forms of empire. Those tensions were exposed most sharply during the Anglo-Boer War, when many Americans came to identify with the enemies of their would-be Anglo-Saxon racial kin. The third section discusses the decline of the Anglo-Saxonist argument for colonialism and the triumph of a national-exceptionalist colonialism more suited to changing geopolitics, the increasing “racial” diversity of the United States, and the political realities of the postwar Philippines. It also describes the simultaneous development of intercolonial policy dialogues that ran counter to the national-exceptionalist discourse.[10]

This story is only part of the broader story of Anglo-American connections, along with rapprochement, geopolitical rivalry, economic nationalism, wartime alliances, and decolonization. Aspects of the present essay, for example, were well explored by Stuart Anderson in Race and Rapprochement, which foregrounds the role of Anglo-Saxonist racial ideology in organizing Anglo-American diplomatic and military cooperation at the turn of the century. Anderson’s goal was to revisit diplomatic-historical questions with the tools of intellectual and cultural history, to show that ideas such as Anglo-Saxonism mattered in American geopolitics.[11]

The present essay draws on the literature of Anglo-American connections but approaches its themes from two different angles. First, it centers on the problem of empire, rather than that of rapprochement, looking at how Anglo-Saxonism legitimated U.S. overseas colonialism rather than how it consolidated Anglo-American ties. The enlistment of race in turn-of-the-century Anglo-American geopolitics, I argue, involved not only recognizing racial identity and fashioning diplomatic cooperation from it but also debating the boundaries and characteristics of racial identities in relation to empire.

Second, this essay revisits the role of racial ideology in the history of U.S. foreign policy with an eye to its historical dynamism, contextual dependence, political contingency, and internal tensions. In traditional accounts of race and rapprochement, for example, racial systems such as Anglo-Saxonism are stable, coherent, and consensual tools of foreign policy. This essay, by contrast, explores tensions within Anglo-Saxonist ideology and its dynamic construction and reconstruction in light of specifically colonial politics. If race mattered for empire, empire also mattered for race. While empire is often represented as a mere outlet for metropolitan racial tensions, a screen onto which prior, homegrown racial anxieties are projected, a well-defined crucible in which domestic racial identities are forged, none of those representations can fully account for the imperial dynamics of race making. This essay argues that both U.S. debates over empire and forces at work in colonial settings had a decisive impact on American racial ideology itself. More broadly, it argues that histories of U.S. race making, like histories of the United States in general, belong in a transnational frame from which they have long been isolated.[12]

Race Patriotism and Empire

“England has suddenly become a guiding star to many of the American people,” the “anti-imperialist” J. W. Martin noted with dismay in 1900. “Conquest, extension of territory, subjugation of semi-barbarous peoples, establishment of a Roman peace—all these have been common in the British experience. But to the United States they are fresh problems, perplexing and irritating, and already bringing battles in their train.” The British Empire was not the only European empire that Americans imagined in seeking their place in the world in the late nineteenth century. Its predominance in American thinking was determined both by common language and deep and long-standing social and intellectual connections and by the vast, world-spanning scope of British commercial, naval, and colonial power. An empire with the sun perpetually over its shoulder could cast a long shadow across the imperial borders of its rivals. Even the architects of empires with a far longer history of anti-British antagonism and far fewer ties of language and culture to Britain than the U.S. empire had (such as the Spanish) set out in pursuit of the secrets of British imperial might.[13]

But American enthusiasm for the British Empire often took a racial, Anglo-Saxon form that lent the weight of racial history and destiny to the controversial U.S. annexation of the Philippines. Anglo-Saxonism was, of course, far from the only racism to develop in the context of empire building. For the liberal English parliamentarian and political observer James Bryce, the aggressive, competitive racisms of the fin de siècle were themselves the product of geopolitical rivalries. Bryce wrote of the “race consciousness which the rivalry of other great races has produced, that . . . pride in the occupation and development of the earth’s surface which has grown with the keener competition of recent years.” Others similarly identified dynamic, reciprocal connections between race making and empire. John Fleming had noted in 1891 that Anglo-Saxonism was merely the self-serving attempt by Great Britain to guarantee its hold on a fabricated “cousin” of increasing international power. “In proportion as the North American republic grows powerful and overshadowing,” he wrote, “grows the anxiety of Englishmen to have it understood that this potent factor in the world’s affairs is what they term Anglo-Saxon . . . in race, feeling, and literature.”[14]

Anglo-Saxonism would reach the height of its explanatory power in foreign policy arenas in the years immediately after 1898, when it helped to cement an Anglo-American accord and to provide a historical and political rationale for a U.S. overseas colonial empire in the Philippines and the Caribbean Sea. The Anglo-Saxonist defense of U.S. overseas colonialism emerged from both England and the United States. The Liberal politician and future secretary of state for foreign affairs Sir Edward Grey confirmed Bryce’s connections between empire building and race making when he hailed the Spanish-Cuban-American War: “the struggle in which the United States is engaged must be one to stir up our blood, and makes us conscious of the ties of language, origin, and race.” With the aid of British Anglo-Saxonists such as Grey, American colonialists folded the controversial annexations into deep structures of history and destiny. “The entry of our country upon what appears to be a new policy of foreign conquest and colonization,” wrote Frederick Chapman, “must evidently impart a doubled impetus to that active extension of Anglo-Saxon civilization for which the mother country alone has been in modern times so conspicuous.”[15]

As a discourse, Anglo-Saxonism was an echoing cavern of banalities out of which even a well-lit historian might never emerge. By the late nineteenth century, it was a racism built against a multitude of opponents on innumerable violent frontiers. British Anglo-Saxons had contended with Normans, colonized Celts, enslaved Africans, conquered Indians, and challenged Latins for world dominance. American Anglo-Saxons had defended African slavery, conquered Native Americans, confronted Latin empires, wrenched land away from Mexicans, and struggled to fend off waves of immigrants. Having begun as a British defense of the superiority of the Anglican Church and having early confronted Catholic “others”—the “Celtic” race in Ireland and the “Latin” in Spain—Anglo-Saxonism was closely allied to Protestantism and was often said to share its virtues.[16]

Anglo-Saxonism was a nested or branching racism: Anglo-Saxons were frequently depicted as having split off from older racial groups, usually “Teutons”; Teutons themselves were sometimes traced back to a still larger and more ancient group of “Aryans.” Anglo-Saxonism was also directional, its historical development moving in space. Its rise in England was identified as only one stage in a relentless Western movement that had begun in India, had stretched into the German forests, and was playing itself out in the United States and in the British Empire’s settlement colonies. While Anglo-Saxonism hailed ancient Aryan ancestors, its rhetorical age was youthful and vigorous; while women could claim its virtues, its gender was often distinctly masculine, tied to tasks of struggle and conquest. While used as a shorthand for racial purity, Anglo-Saxonism featured a contained hybridity. No other late-nineteenth-century racism wore so prominent a hyphen. Anglo-Saxonism represented the alloy of superior but distinct racial elements. While sharply delimited, that hybridity—and the theoretical possibility of future assimilations—lent porousness to Anglo-Saxonism’s boundaries in race, culture, and destiny.

But if, as Alexander Saxton observed, racism is a theory of history, it is also a theory of politics. [17] Anglo-Saxons were said to be the possessors and progenitors of unique, “free” political values and institutions. At their most inward-looking, Anglo-Saxons were a consistently liberated people, although the sources of oppression that had bound them varied; when they looked outward, Anglo-Saxons often liberated others. Throughout much of its history, Anglo-Saxon freedom radiated from racial diaspora itself: only Anglo-Saxon bodies could carry the germs of liberty across space and time. But, especially from the mid-nineteenth century onward—with the Mexican War and the midcentury British imperial crises in India and Jamaica—Anglo-Saxons were also described in a language of order, force, and power. Uniquely adept at extending and sustaining vast empires, they efficiently exploited the lands they overtook, inevitably extirpated the weaker races with whom they came into contact, or administered over them with stern but evenhanded law. Even here, however, the language of liberty flourished, with lands freed from neglect, trade emancipated from tariff barriers, conquered peoples liberated from ignorance and savagery. Wherever and however they conquered, Anglo-Saxons were racially destined to spread empires of liberty.

Much of Anglo-Saxonism resonated powerfully with American republican, destinarian nationalism. Like Anglo-Saxons, Americans had a special mission in the world, to transform and redeem other nations, especially through the example of their republican institutions. American destiny, like Anglo-Saxon history, was unfolding westward in space. Those defined as outside the sacred realm of Anglo-Saxon dominion or American republican virtue were equally subject to just war. Anglo-Saxonism and U.S. nationalism were congruent enough that in the mid-nineteenth century, in discussions of the white conquest of Native Americans and Mexicans, Anglo-Saxons were proclaimed the racial embodiments and shock troops of American Manifest Destiny. But there were tensions here. If Anglo-Saxons carried freedom with them and imposed it on others, it was not necessarily American republican freedom. And how special and separate could the American mission be if Anglo-Saxonism connected it backward in racial time to Britain, to Germany’s forests, and ultimately to Aryan ancestors— Anglo-Saxon racial exceptionalism and U.S. national exceptionalism might lend each other rhetorical momentum, but they could rarely be identical.[18]

There was also division on whether Anglo-Saxonism was a matter of blood or of culture. Anglo-Saxons had always been known by their language, laws, religion, and institutions; some Britons and Americans (including Theodore Roosevelt) referred to the “English-speaking peoples,” rather than the “Anglo-Saxon race.” Emphasis on culture or language did not negate race; linguistic racialism had a long history, and the traits of the English-speaking people were often seen as expressed by and traveling with Anglo-Saxon blood. But some authors sought to separate blood and culture and to redefine Anglo-Saxonism by the latter.[19] The immediate impulse behind such disembodiment of Anglo-Saxonism was to preserve its viability in an Anglo-American world being transformed by immigration. Frederick Chapman noted that the racial diversification of Anglo-Saxonism was a by-product of British imperialism itself. “The accelerating extension of the British empire beyond the seas to all quarters of the globe, over its continents and islands, its civilizations old and wilds newly broken to human habitation, its varied populations,—Aryan, Semitic, Mongolian, white, brown, black—has had its undoubted reflex action upon the ethnic character of the conquerors.” This “shifting and interchange of population” had been “facilitated by modern methods of conveyance . . . [and] toward the seat of empire, from whence the streams of conquest have gone forth, tend ever-returning currents, representative of all its outlying tributaries.” As increasingly wide-ranging groups are brought under Anglo-Saxon dominion, “the term ‘Anglo-Saxon’ practically ceases to be a race designation. . . . It stands rather for a civilization; for ideals and institutions, originating indeed with a certain ethnic type of mankind, but no longer its exclusive property.” Chapman had met people “bearing unquestionably English names and English (using the term in its broadest sense) in their language, their ideas, ideals and general mental culture” whose “swarthy complexion, raven hair, deep dark irides and general aquilinity of physiognomy” suggested “Italian, Levantine or Oriental blood.” Such people illustrated how cultural Anglo-Saxonism had become. “Any rational being brought up under the dominance of these ideals and identified therewith,” he wrote, “whatever his ancestral life currents,—Teutonic, Celtic, Semitic, Mongolian, Malay or African—is an Anglo-Saxon.”[20]

As Anglo-Saxonism was becoming less embodied, assertive immigrants were gradually and partially “de-Saxonizing” U.S. nationalism. In 1891 John Fleming noted that Anglo-Saxonism was “an idea received with enthusiasm by some here in America, with indifference by others, but by a large section of our people with dislike, because it is false and because it is offensive.” He cited the Irish, who were forced to “tacitly admit the Anglo-Saxon to be something like a proprietor of these United States and representative of a race aristocracy.”

What about the descendants of Frenchmen, of Germans, of Slavs, and
of Scandinavians, who do not admit Anglo-Saxon superiority— When,
overpowered by his emotions, the average Fourth-of-July orator
eulogizes the Anglo-Saxon, he does not pause to consider that the
Celts and Germans among his audience may inquire of one another if
there is any room on this continent for them.

Such a speaker might be indulging in the vanity that his entire audience was “allied in blood to the Anglo-Saxon on the other side of the Atlantic who rules so mighty an empire,” or “he may imagine that every white man is an Anglo-Saxon.” Either way, Americans should reject Anglo-Saxonism and instead “be content with our Caucasian origin and American citizenship,” affirming “a type developing itself which is destined to pass into the future as essentially American, as different from Celtic as from Latin, as different from Anglo-Saxon as from either.” But as early as 1891, the imperial destiny of that American type was clear. The American, rather than the Anglo-Saxon, would “so spread . . . as to render impossible a Cossack or Chinese destruction of the world’s civilization.” [21]

Despite such challenges, the virtues attributed to racial Anglo-Saxonism—extraordinary purity and continuity, raging outward movement, and transformative power over land and people—made it a persuasive form of racial exceptionalism. Analytically, it cut deeply across the boundaries of national politics, pride, and history, calling forth visions of a heroic racial diaspora that snaked through the borders of states and broke fearlessly through frontiers. Its chief British ethnographer, whose work set the template for later accounts in both Britain and the United States, was the parliamentarian Charles Dilke, who in 1866—1867 made a racial grand tour through “English-speaking or . . . English-governed lands,” a territory Dilke called “Greater Britain.” The trip centered on the United States, Australia, and India. To his great satisfaction, Dilke found that if “climate, soil, manners of life, that mixture with other people had modified the blood, . . . in essentials the race was always one.” Even in the United States, where “the peoples of the world are being fused together,” they were being “run into an English mould.” Indeed, the United States was a kind of British megaphone: “Through America,” he wrote famously, “England is speaking to the world.”[22]

One of the most articulate racial exceptionalists on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean was the historian Theodore Roosevelt who, in his best Dilkean style, began his 1889 epic, The Winning of the West, with a chapter on “The Spread of the English-Speaking Peoples.” For Roosevelt, the spread of the “English-speaking race” across “the world’s waste spaces” over the previous three centuries was “the most striking feature in the world’s history.” That race, into which he easily folded Americans, was unique along many dimensions in a world of clashing races. There was the sheer scope of its diaspora: many other races “had their great periods of race expansion—as distinguished from mere conquest,” he wrote, “but there has never been another whose expansion has been either so broad or so rapid.” Furthermore, the race had not blended its racial stock with that of the conquered. Most European countries, he wrote, “derive portions of their governmental system and general policy from one race, most of their blood from another, and their language, law, and culture from a third.” The “English race, on the contrary, has a perfectly continuous history,” taking “neither creed nor custom, neither law nor speech, from their beaten foes.” That purity had relevance for the “average English, American, or Australian of to-day who wishes to recall the feats of power with which his race should be credited in the shadowy dawn of its history.” Having introduced its racial protagonists, the book set them in motion. “In obedience to the instincts working half blindly within their breasts,” Roosevelt wrote, “they made in the wilderness homes for their children, and by so doing wrought out the destinies of a continental nation.” [23]

For some Britons, this vision of the Anglo-Saxon colonization of North America held important lessons for imperial Britain itself. Facing external and internal threats—from Continental rivalries to working-class revolt to colonial nationalist movements—British imperialists in the late nineteenth century sought to give the empire greater efficiency, coherence, and stability. Many called for a federation in which the white settlement colonies would receive tariff protection and broader self-government in exchange for continued loyalty and colonial troops for Britain’s imperial wars. Federation schemes and societies proliferated in the 1880s and 1890s on both sides of the Atlantic; one of the most influential plans was that of Sir John Seeley at Oxford University, who in his 1882 book, The Expansion of England, articulated what he, following Dilke, called “Greater Britain.” For Seeley, the problem was how to unify the far-flung “English-speaking” settlement colonies, “how to give moral unity to vast countries separated from each other by half the globe, even when they are inhabited in the main by one nation.” Telegraphs and steamships would help, but Seeley also called for the abandonment of nonwhite colonies and greater centralization of what remained, making Greater Britain less an empire than “a vast English nation.” In search of an exemplary “English nation” upon which to remodel the empire, Seeley turned confidently to North America. “Instead of comparing [Greater Britain] to that which it resembles in no degree, some Turkish or Persian congeries of nations forced together by a conquering horde,” Seeley wrote, “let us compare it to the United States.” The United States, he observed, had sent migrants out beyond existing settlements, colonized territory with them, and consolidated a racially homogeneous state. (Neither sectionalism nor the Civil War applied much brake to his enthusiasm.) The American past might be the British future: Once Britons learned to “contemplate the whole Empire together and call it England,” he wrote, “we shall see that here too is a United States. . . . a great homogeneous people, one in blood, language, religion and laws, but dispersed over a boundless space.” [24]

The similarity of the accounts of Dilke, Seeley, and Roosevelt suggests the density of Anglo-American connections in the late nineteenth century. Indeed, the success of Anglo-Saxonism as a racial-exceptionalist bridge between the United States and the British Empire was due in part to the social, familial, intellectual, and literary networks that tied elite Americans and Britons together. Such complex and long-standing exchanges widened and deepened as accelerating travel and communication enabled greater contacts between the British and American upper classes; middle-class tourists; business, professional, and academic elites; and abolitionist, temperance, civil service, and Progressive reformers.[25] Anglo-American dialogue and Anglo-Saxonist racism were also given life by a publishing revolution in the 1890s. Many of Anglo-Saxonism’s chief literary exponents published through transatlantic houses with joint centers in New York and London; genteel Anglo-American literary-political magazines—the Atlantic Monthly, the North American Review, the Fortnightly Review, Scribner’s, Century Magazine, Nineteenth Century—burdened late-Victorian tabletops on both sides of the Atlantic. The new publishing circuits helped create an “imagined community” of literate, English-speaking Americans and Britons with common affiliations and reference points, even among the less traveled. The title of one short-lived publication, the Anglo-Saxon Review, suggests the role of journals in establishing self-consciously racist solidarities.[26]

Anglo-Saxonism was also employed to describe proliferating strategic marriages between American and British elites, often between American heiresses and British diplomats, military officers, or imperial officials. Through the unions and their offspring, a language of Anglo-Saxon blood and cultural “kinship” crystallized around actual genealogy. One editor foresaw “a day when a considerable proportion of the head men in England will be the sons of American mothers.” Anglo-American alliance itself was frequently figured as a harmonious marriage. The Wall Street lawyer and writer John R. Dos Passos (father of the novelist) stated in his 1903 book, The Anglo-Saxon Century and the Unification of the English-Speaking People, that an alliance between England and the United States would be “as natural as marriage between man and woman” because it “consummates the purposes of the creation of the race.” The British journalist W. T. Stead asked “what would be the net effect upon India if America and Britain amalgamated their forces, and bore the White Man’s burden in Asia between them.” Without an actual imperial alliance to examine, Stead turned to the marriage of Mary Leiter, a Chicago heiress, to George Nathaniel Curzon, who would go on to become viceroy of India. The union suggested promising joint imperial ventures: “it may be that in the marriage which made a Chicago girl Vice-Empress of India we see a foreshadowing of things to come, when Britain and America, happily united in the permanent ties of a race alliance, may pool their resources and devote their united energies to the work of the amelioration of the lot of the impoverished myriads of Asia.”[27]

But if Anglo-Saxonism was sparked and recognized at moments of Atlantic Anglo-American convergence, it was reinforced by the more and more frequent rendezvous between Americans and Britons in the colonial world. As late-nineteenth-century American merchants, missionaries, tourists, naval officers, and writers widened their geographic reach, they found themselves on imperial pathways already charted and inhabited by the English. It was unsurprising that Anglo-Saxons came to recognize each other where their empires coincided and cooperated. Take Anglo-Saxonism’s chief origin myth, frequently recounted in clubs and social gatherings on both sides of the Atlantic in the late nineteenth century. In 1858 an American naval vessel under Commodore Josiah Tattnall, traveling the Pei-ho River near Peking, encountered a British ship under Chinese attack. As the New York editor Whitelaw Reid told the story in a toast to Queen Victoria at her 1897 Diamond Jubilee in London, upon seeing the English sailors “entrapped and slaughtered on an Asiatic sea,” Tattnall had “without any possible warrant rushed to the rescue with the sole excuse: ‘I can’t stand that; blood is thicker than water!'” This latter phrase—Dilke expressed in liquids—was resonant enough to become a central metaphor of racial nationalism, leaving its specific Anglo-American origins in obscurity.[28]

Anglo-American imperial contacts often took the shape of inter-imperial subcontracting, as American actors directed the colossal industrial force of the United States toward British colonial projects. On the one hand, this was inter-imperial competition, with U.S. companies beating out British ones for imperial state contracts, but on the other, it fostered intensive contacts between Americans and Britons throughout the colonial world. Bridge building between Americans and the British Empire became literal in 1898 when the Pennsylvania Steel Company received a contract from the Indian government for the construction of a 2,260-foot-long railway viaduct across the Gokteik Gorge in the Shan Hills of Burma, apparently the longest such construction in the world, “about as high as the towers of the new Brooklyn Bridge.” For the editors of the World’s Work, the bridge signified a new era of U.S. industrial power and Anglo-American cooperation: “Ten years ago an American bridge in India would have seemed an impossibility; today the globe-trotter can stand on the rocks at the bottom of the Gokteik Gorge and see the Mandalay-Kunlon train shoot by eight hundred and twenty feet above him, drawn by an American locomotive across an American bridge.”[29]

Anglo-American solidarity still had to meet the tests of economic interest and imperial protectionism. In the Gokteik case the American company had won the contract by underbidding British competitors on both time and cost, “much to the chagrin of their rivals, whose patriotism rallied vociferously around the flag at this stab through the pocket.” Later, at the construction site, the American team was visited by “a few subordinate [British] engineers disgruntled at seeing foreigners encroaching on their formerly exclusive ground.” But the project allowed American engineers to observe the empire up close from the vantage point of their British partners. The chief engineer on the project, John C. Turk, traveled to the site with his wife via London, Marseilles, and Rangoon, enjoying the “delightful Anglo-Indian hospitality” of the Burma Railways’ general manager. En route he noted admiringly that although the region had been part of the Indian empire for only fifteen years, “the country has already been reduced to systematic order,” with collaborating Burmese soldiers “now building better roads than I have ever seen in my native State in New England.” [30]

Turk also seems to have embraced British imperial custom as part of a growing Anglo-American solidarity. Arriving at the site with British overseers, Turk watched as indigenous laborers dropped their picks and shovels to genuflect before the party. “At first it gave me a shock of surprise,” he noted, but “later I became used to such performances.” Turk noted that the government and railway officials who frequently visited “impressed [him] strongly with their splendid training and great ability, their friendliness to our undertaking, and their amicable attitude toward the United States.” By the end of 1901, the company boasted of having completed the one entirely American piece of the British imperial edifice: a bridge designed by Americans, all its parts manufactured in Pennsylvania mills by American workmen, shipped to Burma, hauled 150 miles inland to the site by Burmese laborers, and assembled under American overseers. The technological means to an empire in the American West were equally needed in the British East. “It is an intensely dramatic bit of modern business enterprise,” noted one writer of the Gokteik Gorge viaduct, “typical to the last degree of the true American ‘expansion.'” [31]

On other occasions, Americans found themselves a minority community in Britain’s informal empire. Take the future U.S. colony in the Philippines, where Americans were the smallest foreign merchant community, declining to just a few dozen in the 1890s. According to Joseph Earle Stevens, representative of the only remaining U.S. hemp firm: “these fair islands are no place for the permanent residence of an American. We seem to be like fish out of water here in the Far East, and as few in numbers. The Englishmen and the Germans are everywhere.” Stevens’s Philippines was a strikingly British place. Within short shipping, telegraph, and naval distance of some of the British Empire’s most important Asian possessions, the Philippines were encircled by Anglo-Saxonism, with roughly 70 percent of their foreign trade in British hands. Economically, by 1898 the British had dominated the Philippines for twenty years, running the islands’ three major banks, investing in large-scale infrastructure projects, and commanding export commerce and much internal commerce via Chinese intermediaries. Hong Kong, which Stevens called an “interesting stronghold of Old England in the Far East,” was most Americans’ gateway to Asia.[32]

Isolated Americans such as Stevens found solace in joining the British merchant community on Anglo-Saxon terms. After a hectic first morning in Manila purchasing white cotton suits, Stevens was “introduced to the members of the English Club, and began to feel more at home stretched out in one of the long chairs in the cool library.” When space became available, he moved into a guest room there. In the racially exclusive and homosocial hallways of “‘the little foreign colony of Anglo-Saxons,'” trade figures, news, and gossip circulated freely, while “small serving boys in bare feet rushed hither and thither with meat and drink.” In mid-1898 this node in Britain’s informal empire would give way to a formal American one, with curious English clubmen watching the battle between the Spanish and American navies at Cavite from the clubhouse roof.[33]

The Anglo-Saxonism that emerged from points of Anglo-American contact was pressed vigorously into use in the American defense of overseas colonialism during and after 1898. Advocates of overseas colonialism found in Anglo-Saxon racial exceptionalism a formidable argument against national-exceptionalist “anti-imperialists.” Both the 1898 war and the U.S. annexation of the Philippines could be read as expressions of Anglo-Saxonism: Through England, it seemed, America was speaking to the world.

The Anglo-Saxonist argument for overseas colonialism operated on two principal levels. The first, meant to answer the charge that colonial annexations were contrary to U.S. political traditions, was historical. “Anti-imperialists” had claimed that overseas colonies would violate and undermine American republican traditions and had distinguished between the annexation of the Philippines and the conquest of the continental West, which for most represented the legitimate unfolding of republican institutions across space and time. Colonialists answered this national-exceptional challenge with a racial-exceptional one, arguing that overseas colonies represented the very essence of Anglo-Saxon politics. “The people of our blood never pause midway in the syllogism of events, but go on to its conclusion,” wrote Sen. Albert Beveridge of Indiana. “And so in our present and future colonial expansion, we shall only be working out the logic of history.”[34]

Connecting Philippine annexation to the “logic of history” meant, in turn, making the process the furthest extension of Anglo-Saxonist westward expansion. In his preface to the 1900 edition of The Winning of the West, Theodore Roosevelt attached the controversial Caribbean and Pacific annexations to the long history of continental conquest by the “English-speaking race.” “In the year 1898,” he began, “the United States finished the work begun over a century before by the backwoodsman, and drove the Spaniard outright from the western world.” Roosevelt specifically addressed “anti-imperialist” critics in connecting the ultimately futile opposition movements sparked by different stages of expansion. Opposition to “expansion” had been “fundamentally the same, whether these wars were campaigns in the old West against the Shawnees and the Miamis, in the new West against the Sioux and the Apaches, or [in] Luzon against the Tagals.” Similarly, the Spanish-Cuban-American War and the Philippine-American War had been natural outgrowths of American continental conquest, historically indisputable expressions of Anglo-Saxon power. “At bottom,” he wrote, “the question of expansion in 1898 was but a variant of the problem we had to solve at every stage of the great western movement.” [35]

If the first level of Anglo-Saxonist colonial argument was historical, its second level was political, relating Anglo-Saxons’ peculiar political and moral talents to Philippine annexation. Evidence of Anglo-Saxon virtue was often found in the American conduct of the Spanish-Cuban-American War itself. If the war had technically been won by Americans, had not the victors demonstrated qualities said to characterize Anglo-Saxons— The decisiveness of the land battles and the crushing superiority of the U.S. Navy had demonstrated America’s Anglo-Saxon vigor and manhood, particularly when contrasted with the decadent, feminized, Latin, Spanish empire against which so much British Anglo-Saxonism had been forged. The Caribbean campaign scrambled the Anglo-Saxon compass but the battle of Manila Bay had given the war a decisive, westerly orientation. The war had also been waged in the name of liberty, which Anglo-Saxons were known to spread. All those features—manly vigor, a westward thrust, crusading battles for liberty—would also be made to characterize the Philippine-American War to come.

But often Anglo-Saxonist political claims were aimed beyond war toward successful colonial state building. Political Anglo-Saxonism explained how the United States might successfully construct a functioning overseas colonial state without any prior history in doing so and might avoid exporting its weak, inefficient, and corruptible state of courts and parties. Here again the British Empire was rhetorically invoked, its impressive organizational capacities infused into the United States by racial blood. “The sovereign tendencies of our race are organization and government,” wrote Beveridge. “We organize by instinct. Under the flag of England our race builds an empire out of the ends of the earth. In Australia it is to-day erecting a nation out of fragments. In America it wove out of segregated settlements that complex and wonderful organization called the American Republic.” The Spanish had lost their colonies because they were, as Beveridge put it, “no longer a successful administrative race as the English are, or the Germans, or as the American people are coming to be,” citing, in the latter case, the “amazing and honest managements of some of our mighty corporations.” A vote against annexation, he thundered from the Senate, would deny “that ours is the blood of government; ours the heart of dominion; ours the brain and genius of administration.” Beveridge offered those who raised a constitutional protest against colonialism a racial substructure for American institutions. “Let them study the history, purposes and instincts of our race,” he wrote, “and then read again the Constitution, which is but an expression of the development of that race.” [36]

American colonialist voices gained legitimacy from their resonance with the ringing racial endorsements of many prominent British interlocutors, arguably the primary arbiters of Anglo-Saxon standing. British diplomatic support for the United States against Spain had forestalled Continental engagement and provided the most immediate political grounds for Anglo-Saxon enthusiasm by prominent Britons. In a widely reported May 13, 1898, address at Birmingham, Colonial Secretary Joseph Chamberlain explicitly defended U.S. actions in the Caribbean and employed Anglo-Saxonist terms to call for an Anglo-American alliance. “Our first duty is to draw all parts of the empire into close unity,” he stated, “and our next to maintain the bonds of permanent unity with our kinsmen across the Atlantic.” The United States was a “powerful and generous nation, speaking our language, bred of our race, and having interests identical with ours.” Chamberlain’s speech and other Anglo-Saxonist salutations from England were broadly and favorably received in the United States. The Chicago Tribune interpreted the speech as a signal that “the two great branches of the Anglo-Saxon race are drawing nearer and nearer together for cooperation in peace, and, in logical sequence, in war as well.” By July parallel Anglo-American Leagues made up of British and American political, business, civic, and religious leaders had formed in London and New York to exchange greetings and vague hopes for, as the American league put it, “an intimate and enduring friendship between these kindred peoples.” [37]

The Anglo-Saxon defense of U.S. imperialism culminated in imaginings of a joint Anglo-American empire, especially directed against the “Slavic” threat of Russian expansion in Asia. This meant surrendering English and U.S. nationalism for a deeper “patriotism of race” that cut across them. Such dreams had been indulged in as early as the mid-nineteenth century, but in the wake of the Spanish-Cuban-American War, “race patriots” on both sides of the Atlantic argued that the United States and Britain should learn the lessons of Dilke’s, Seeley’s, and Roosevelt’s settlers and turn races into imaginary countries. “Let us pool the resources of the Empire and the Republic,” proposed Stead, “and regard them with all their fleets, armies, and industrial resources as a political, or, if you like, an Imperial unit.” Some Anglo-Saxonists mapped their Anglo-American race patriotism as a maritime rather than a territorial empire. The Special Gospel leader Josiah Strong, who had been beating the drum for Anglo-Saxonism since the 1880s, read in the U.S. rush into the Pacific and annexation of the Philippines divine providence and the fulfillment of an Anglo-Saxon duty to the world at large. “To abandon them,” he wrote, “would be treason to ourselves, to the Anglo-Saxon race, to humanity, and to Western civilization.” As Strong observed, four out of the six “Anglo-Saxon families”—the United States, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand—rimmed the Pacific Ocean, while “scattered over its broad surface at strategic points are many hundreds of islands under the British or American flag.” Here, indeed, was an “Anglo-Saxon Sea,” destined in the twentieth century to be “the center of the world’s population and the seat of its power.”[38]

Between Briton and Boer

The success of Anglo-Saxon racial exceptionalism as a conceptual frame encompassing the British and U.S. empires was vividly illustrated by the seemingly unlikely entanglement of the Anglo-Boer War and the Philippine-American War. Ironically, what the newly connected Anglo-Saxon imperial powers had most in common by 1899 was colonial revolt. To be sure, the two conflicts differed wildly in their structures and causes. The former was a defense of English mining interests and an attempt to anchor the southern end of an emerging British African empire. The latter was the first territorial push of a long-growing commercial Pacific empire and an outgrowth of the Spanish-Cuban-American War and the first Philippine revolution.[39]

Yet in testament to the emerging inter-imperial dialogue, numerous commentators on both sides of each conflict turned simultaneity into identity, observing between the two, in the words of an October 1899 London Times report, “a curious resemblance.” Hugh Clifford, the former official British “resident” of Pahang in Malaya, observed that “unless the Filipinos are convinced, as the Boers are now convinced, that the idol of Independence is never to be set up in their midst, no finality can be hoped for in those troubled islands.” In a justificatory essay entitled “The Transvaal and the Philippines,” Mahan claimed that the British Empire and the United States had the right to remove the territories in question from inhabitants equally “incapable of statehood.” “The annexation of the Boer republics was a measure forced upon Great Britain,” he wrote elsewhere, “as the annexation of the Philippines has been upon ourselves.” Mahan assured a friend that “a short experience of the comforts of peace and good government,” along with “vivid recollection of the miseries of being ever on the run,” would make “both Boers and Filipinos careful about quarreling.” [40]

For some the wars were comparable enough to be traded literally and imaginatively. On the literal end, the British lieutenant G. J. Younghusband, sent from Singapore to the Philippines to report on conditions during the Philippine-American War, met a U.S. Army private who revealed privately that he was in fact English, an Oxford University man who, after fighting in South Africa, had “pocketed [his] nationality,” traveled to New York as a ship’s cook, and eventually enlisted in a Montana infantry unit to fight in the Philippines. More figuratively, an American editor noted that “we have listened to impromptu debate . . . as to how the English would have managed the Philippine problem had it been theirs, and how we Americans would have managed the Boer War had it been ours.” Speculating on this interchange of “responsibility,” he concluded that each imperial power would have handled the other’s colonial uprising with greater finesse: After initial defeats American military might would have pushed back the Boers, although the United States would probably not have gone to war with the Boers in the first place. The British would have won the hypothetical Anglo-Philippine War, not by force, but by prowess. The editor claimed to have overheard an American say:

“The Philippines— Why if the English had had our contract, the place
by this time would have been a little Egypt. There wouldn’t be any
war at all. Just a beautiful, holy peace. Aguinaldo would be Governor
of Something-or-Other, with a K. C. B. after his name. All the rest of
his gang would have offices and good salaries, and it would look as
though they were running everything in sight; while . . . if you looked
into the thing you’d see that England owned the whole bag of

In the wartime Philippines Americans and Britons compared the two wars. News from South Africa was easily had there. During the fighting, both the pro-American Manila Times and the pro-Filipino La Independencia published regular war news from South Africa, the American paper nearly always above war reports from the Philippine archipelago itself. As a result, trading wars may have become something of an Anglo-American conversational pastime. In his memoir of the Philippine-American War, Capt. Jacob Isselhard, an American officer, noted that the tendency to “make comparisons of the relative qualities of their countries and people, between Americans and Englishmen,” was “proverbial.” Isselhard (himself of Dutch ancestry) had overheard a dialogue “typical of its kind” on the island of Cebu between a “Lieut. D.” in the U.S. Signal Corps who was supervising the construction of a telephone line and “Mr. W.,” “a typical Englishman” and manager of a highland plantation. “W. being one of the few white men encountered in that region,” Isselhard recalled, “and furthermore, speaking the same language, it was an easy matter to strike an acquaintance, or better to say, the most natural thing for humans to do under such conditions.” W. noted that “if England had been warring with the Filipinos for two years” as the Americans had, “the insurrection in the Islands would have been completely quelled.” D. rejoined “somewhat sarcastically, ‘I suppose it is due to this inferred superiority of your English soldiers that 200,000 of them have been fighting a handful of Boers for months without getting as much as the first “kopje” or whatever they call their hills over there.'” [42]

But even as many were comparing, fusing, and trading the U.S. and British colonial empires, a vocal “anti-imperialist” movement arose to combat U.S. colonial annexation. Opponents of U.S. colonialism, some of whom organized the Anti-Imperialist League, were drawn from diverse and otherwise conflicting political factions, from New England Mugwumps to southern white supremacists. Their arguments ranged from the fear of domestic corruption through imperial tyranny to terror at the racial implications of colonial immigration to, in far fewer cases, a sense that Filipinos had the right and capacity to govern themselves. What nearly all shared was a commitment to U.S. national exceptionalism. Their name itself—”anti-imperialist”—was a declaration of virtuous distance from a homogenized imperial Europe. In diplomatic terms, they argued, by acquiring colonies the United States would become involved in European power politics; in historical terms, it would become more like Europe, surrendering its republican mission. [43]

Among the ideological weapons in the arsenal of “anti-imperial” national exceptionalism, few were more venerable than anglophobia. The fear of British imperial tyranny was older than the United States and still audible at any Fourth of July address in the late nineteenth century. American suspicion of England rose and fell with the issues to which it was attached. In the 1890s diplomatic tensions supplied some of the driest tinder, as U.S. military and economic ambitions ranged over the Caribbean and the U.S. Navy struck up against British spheres of influence. The Venezuela boundary dispute of 1895–1896 had raised American anglophobia to fever pitch, almost to war. By the late nineteenth century, the United States also had growing immigrant constituencies willing and able to drive wedges between the United States and Britain, especially among the Irish—many of them fiercely anti-British—and Germans, whose suspicions of Britain were extensions of geopolitical rivalry. [44]

For the “anti-imperialists,” therefore, the invocation of British methods to condemn American imperial actions proved irresistible.[45] The commonest strategy was to draw unfavorable analogies between U.S. imperialism and the abuses of the late-eighteenth-century British Empire that had sparked the American Revolution: the United States, in this telling, had been born as—and ought to remain—the British Empire’s essential opposite. But American fears of British imperialism also drew on more recent history. Rudyard Kipling, after attending a Fourth of July banquet in San Francisco in 1889, noted sardonically that the after-dinner speakers “hurled defiance at ‘our natural enemy’ (England, so please you!) ‘with her chain of fortresses across the world.'” The American anglophile George Herbert Adams decried Americans’ “belief in the domineering and monopolizing character of England’s policy everywhere in the world.” Sen. Augustus Bacon of Georgia, an “anti-imperialist,” while noting proudly that “all the blood that I have in me comes from English ancestry,” had grown up with a vision of the British Empire as unspeakably cruel and violent. “I was a school-boy at the time [of the Sepoy revolt],” he recalled,

and I shall never forget the impression made upon me in looking at
the pictorial newspapers, Harper’s Weekly I recollect particularly, with
the pictures of the sepoys bound to the mouths of cannon and blown
to pieces. And, if we are to maintain dominion over these millions of
people in the Philippine Islands, nothing but the strong hand, nothing
but cruelty, nothing but the iron rule will enable us to maintain that
dominion. I do not want any such transactions under the American

Like Bacon, other critics of U.S. overseas colonialism on both sides of the Atlantic made concerted efforts to peel apart Anglo-Saxon racial solidarity and colonial empire, themes that their opponents had successfully fused. Critics such as James Bryce and Carl Schurz took advantage of the cultural Anglo-Saxonism described above, holding up the superiority of Anglo-Saxon institutions even as they cautioned against war and colonialism as racial imperatives and as the only methods for extending them. Common geopolitical interests, including imperial projects, they maintained, did not flow directly from shared Anglo-Saxon blood or cultural heritage. Schurz acknowledged Anglo-American kinship in “language, literature, and principles of government” but believed Anglo-Saxonists “touch[ed] doubtful ground” in their invocation of “‘common interests in many parts of the world.'” Might not the Anglo-Saxon mission of the United States be separate from Britain’s— “We are in the habit of speaking of the Americans and the English as two branches of the Anglo-Saxon stock,” he wrote. “But . . . it does not follow that . . . they have exactly the same kind of work to do in and for the world; that in order to fulfill her duty, the American republic must imitate the example of England.”[47]

Most forcefully, “anti-imperialists” identified America’s work in providential, republican terms: in radical distinction to the British, Americans had been chosen to spread republican institutions across the globe. Acquiring overseas colonies meant tumbling into a corrupt world from which the United States had heretofore removed itself. In an 1899 address, “America’s Mission,” William Jennings Bryan acknowledged the momentum of racial-exceptionalist argument in defense of colonialism even as he sought to assert the national-exceptionalist virtues of “anti-imperialism.” “Much has been said of late about Anglo-Saxon civilization,” he stated. Bryan did not wish “to detract from the service rendered to the world by the sturdy race whose language we speak,” but he employed Anglo-Saxonism’s contained hybridity and nested structure to depict the United States as a fusion of great civilizations, only one of them Anglo-Saxon.

The union of the Angle and the Saxon formed a new and valuable
type, but the process of race evolution was not completed when the
Angle and the Saxon met. A still later type has appeared which is
superior to any which has existed heretofore; and with this new type
will come a higher civilization than any which has preceded it. Great
has been the Greek, the Latin, the Slav, the Celt, the Teuton and the
Anglo-Saxon, but greater than any of these is the American, in whom
are blended the virtues of them all.[48]

Against the outward similarities between Anglo-Saxonism and Americanism, Bryan proceeded with a catechism of political contrast, pitting Anglo-Saxon racial exceptionalism against U.S. national exceptionalism. Anglo-Saxons built colonial empires while Americans did not. Anglo-Saxonism had “by force of arms, applied the art of government to other races for the benefit of Anglo-Saxons”; Americanism would “by the influence of example, excite in other races a desire for self-government and a determination to secure it.” Anglo-Saxon civilization had “carried its flag to every clime and defended it with forts and garrisons”; American civilization would “imprint its flag upon the hearts of all who long for freedom.” For Bryan and many other “anti-imperialists,” Anglo-Saxonism and U.S. republican nationalism were not racial, historical, or political extensions of each other, but complete antitheses.[49]

The sometimes fierce debate over the boundary between Anglo-Saxonism and Americanism and its meaning for overseas colonialism hinged, ironically, on a point of consensus: the legitimacy of the U.S. colonization of the West. The question was whether the new island annexations were extensions of the West or not. While some “anti-imperialists” included criticisms of the treatment of Indians in their warnings against overseas colonial rule over additional “backward races,” for most the conquest of the West represented the peaceful and natural outpouring of “civilization,” the pushing back of the frontier of liberty. Some were willing to credit continental conquest to Anglo-Saxon instincts and to reserve criticism for overseas colonialism. But because the racial exceptionalists had used Anglo-Saxonism to identify the United States with the British Empire as a whole—including its Crown colonies without large white settlements—”anti-imperialists” tended to make the West an “American,” rather than an explicitly “Anglo-Saxon,” accomplishment, something that set the United States apart from Britain. They also identified a sharp discontinuity between continental and overseas colonialism. “Those who advocate the annexation of the Philippines call themselves expansionists but they are really imperialists,” wrote Bryan. “The word expansion would describe the acquisition of territory to be populated by homogeneous people and to be carved into states like those now in existence. An empire suggests variety in race and diversity in government.”[50]

Tensions between racial and national exceptionalism and between settlement and administrative colonialism became clear in U.S. responses to the Anglo-Boer War. Early in the conflict, many Americans assumed that the U.S. would support the British imperial cause, not least because of British backing in the Spanish-Cuban-American War. American interests in South Africa were long-standing, with approximately 1,000 Americans among the white non-Boer, or Outlander, population, and American mining engineers—contracting with British interests as Turk had done in Burma—had been a powerful lobby for a British conquest since the 1880s.[51] American banks and exporters stood to profit from wartime loans and trade with Britain, the Republican party in power was stocked with influential East Coast Anglo-Americans, and the United States was looking for powerful allies in its own drawn-out imperial war in the Philippines. Throughout the fighting, the McKinley and Roosevelt administrations pursued a policy of formal neutrality that favored British goals in the interest of U.S. investment. U.S. economic interests and geopolitical considerations appeared to line up with the emerging logic of Anglo-Saxon destiny and inter-imperial solidarity.

But in the wake of stunning Boer victories, American opinion began to shift and pro-Boers were able to seize much of the traditional idiom of American Anglo-Saxonism from the British Empire. The Boers seemed every bit as Anglo-Saxon as Roosevelt’s settler colonialists who had conquered North America. They had trekked north (rather than west) in search of liberty from British colonial rule; they had extirpated inferior races they had encountered and manfully challenged the imperial tyrannies that stood in their path. One American journalist’s rhapsodic account of the Boers could almost have described the Anglo-Saxon diasporas of Dilke, Seeley, and Roosevelt. “These sturdy colonists went out in the wilds of Africa,” he wrote, and began “small political communities which represented everything they desired—freedom, isolation, independence, and a life of rural simplicity.” Like the United States’ own founders, the Boers had flaunted their “defiance of the British Empire.” Britain’s initial failures, reliance on massive reinforcements, and a strutting arrogance among its politicians and in its press dredged up volatile American anglophobia. The British were not the exemplars of Anglo-Saxon civilization, it seemed, but “a bully among nations, speaking softly to the powerful and browbeating with intolerable insolence the weak and helpless.” Not surprisingly, this also challenged their racial integrity. The Outlanders, for example, were nothing more than “sleek Jews and dapper diamond gamblers.”[52]

The Boers’ cause found a political home in the Democratic party, which became a strange mirror of the Boer campaign. The Boers’ struggle against the British drew the party’s anglophobic Irish and German immigrants; its southern and western agrarian wings were attracted to a hazy vision of Boer yeoman culture, squeezed between bankers and blacks, in which they saw their own fates reflected. While the war was not a significant issue in the 1900 presidential campaign, state platforms often included pro-Boer planks; Democrats brought Boer envoys to Washington to try to mediate a settlement, although they were snubbed by the Republican administration. Implicit links between American and Boer settler colonialism were made explicit when, after the failed negotiations, some American pro-Boers suggested relocating “these God-fearing, liberty-loving descendants of Old Holland” onto unoccupied lands in the South or West. Some Americans even adopted the Boers as racial kin against the grain of Anglo-Saxonism, stating that “they are people of our own stock; they are a small people; their cause is just.” In frank admiration for Boer tenacity, Roosevelt noted that, like Americans and the English, they were “Teutons,” but one branch further back on the racial family tree.[53]

The tensions between Anglo-Saxonism and Americanism and between settler and administrative colonialism were explored in a 1900 boys’ novel by the American writer Edward Stratemeyer entitled Between Boer and Briton; or, Two Boys’ Adventures in South Africa. The story centers on two young Anglo-Saxon cousins scattered in a Dilkean diaspora: Dave Nelson is the son of a Texas rancher, Will Nelson the son of a South African Outlander farmer and mineowner. Dave and his father lose their ranch and join their relatives in South Africa. Stratemeyer writes:

“Surely, though he was American and they were English, blood was a good deal thicker than water.” Arriving at the Pretoria train platform on the eve of the Anglo-Boer War, Dave meets his cousin Will with an embrace “and in less than five minutes the two cousins felt as though they had known each other for years.” When Dave expresses surprise at his South African uncle’s use of American rather than English mining equipment, the uncle chuckles: “You know better than that, Dave. . . . Time was when both Americans and Englishmen were very much prejudiced in favor of their own country. But that time is passing away swiftly, and I think that now each great branch of the Anglo-Saxon race thinks a good deal of its brother across the ocean.” [54]

Dave and Will’s Anglo-Saxon friendship develops on a manly big game hunting expedition, where they are aided by Roko, the obligatory “Kafir” servant. But (inevitably) they become dangerously tangled in world events when war erupts and Dave finds himself “between Boer and Briton.” Will’s blood is stirred by the British call to arms, Dave by Boer aspirations for liberty. Tensions subside when the boys are captured by the Boers and thrown into a filthy prison, where they force several Hottentots to stay on the other side of the cell. But once free, the boys again divide in their loyalties. Dave argues that the Boers “are fighting for what they consider their natural right—Liberty. You must remember that we Americans fought for the same thing during the Revolution.” Will, by contrast, follows his “blood.” “In a person of real backbone blood will always tell,” writes Stratemeyer, “and to him England was his country.” But in a vaguely sketched surprise finish, blood does not tell: Dave’s solidly Anglo-Saxon father is found recovering in a Boer hospital, having fought briefly on the Boer side in an effort to find his son. “The Boers are not as bad as some folks make them out to be,” he concludes.[55]

Anglo-Saxon racial exceptionalism had framed the U.S. and British empires so persuasively that their respective colonial wars in the Philippines and South Africa had been compared, fused, and exchanged. But the Anglo-Boer War had pitted the Anglo-Saxon’s two principal historical tasks—white settlement and colonial administration—directly against each other. For many Americans, the former task trumped racial Anglo-Saxonism: blood may have been thicker than water, but republicanism was thicker than both, especially when brewed with American anglophobia. That outcome suggested that, while Anglo-Saxonism had served its function in making continental and insular expansion continuous historically and politically, it remained fragile along multiple axes.

Remaking Exceptions

While decisive during and immediately after 1898, the racial-exceptionalist argument for U.S. colonialism lost momentum in the first years of the twentieth century, and national-exceptionalist claims became dominant in American colonial discourse. Before 1900 the “Slavic threat” of Russian expansion had helped forge Anglo-Saxonism. Russian incursions into northern China had been perceived as a fundamental threat to U.S. and British commercial interests, and Americans and Britons eager to defend the Open Door had proposed Anglo-Saxon military cooperation against the Slavic menace. After 1904–1905, with the defeat of the Russians by Japan, that threat imploded. Japan emerged as the chief imagined obstacle to U.S. interests in Asia, while the British alliance with Japan, begun in 1902, made the notion of the Pacific as an “Anglo-Saxon sea” increasingly problematic.[56]

More important, perhaps, was the de-Saxonization of U.S. colonialism in both the metropole and the Philippine colony. To be sure, Anglo-Saxonism had a long and insidious career ahead in diverse cultural and political arenas in the United States. But by 1900 the constituencies for and stakeholders in U.S. colonialism had become far more diverse than a tight circle of self-conscious Anglo-Americans. While appeals to Anglo-Saxonism had been employed to connect apparently novel actions to racially justified histories, they were retracted when confronted with increasingly vocal immigrants. One could see glimmers of de-Saxonization even during the exchange of resolutions by the Anglo-American Leagues at the Anglo-Saxonist fever point of 1898. The British league had emphasized that Britons and Americans were “closely allied by blood”; the American league (with several prominent non-Saxons among its officers) de-emphasized blood ties, reciprocating with claims about common language and institutions. While some immigrants had opposed Anglo-Saxon imperialism on anglophobic grounds, as Matthew Frye Jacobson has shown, at least some immigrant editors supported the Philippine-American War, giving U.S. colonialism a far more diverse, cosmopolitan flavor.[57]

More significant still was the de-Saxonization of colonialism in the Philippines. If immigrants contributed to the debate on colonialism in the United States, they also figured among the soldiers who fought in the Philippines and remained there as adventurers, entrepreneurs, or colonial officials. It seems likely that such immigrants—perhaps especially the Irish—had little investment in an Anglo-Saxon sense of self and mission. Filipinos, who filled the lower ranks of the bureaucracy, had an even smaller stake in Anglo-Saxonism. While many among the urban ilustrado elites had ties to Britain through trade, travel, and study—either in England itself or Hong Kong—their own struggles within the American colonial state flew in the face of a racially Anglo-Saxon government. The racial formation of the colonial bureaucracy traded in a language of childhood, evolution, tutelage, and eventual self-government, but the formal rhetoric of Anglo-Saxonism was notably absent: it was difficult to imagine simultaneously having Sir Edward Grey as an “Anglo-Saxon cousin” and Emilio Aguinaldo as a “little brown brother.” The tension between metropolitan and colonial discourses on race and the limited Philippine relevance of Anglo-Saxonism manifested themselves in a ceremony described by Mrs. Campbell Dauncey, a caustic British travel writer. A U.S. senator visiting the Philippines delivered a speech invoking the contained hybridity of the Anglo-Saxon as an argument against “race-distinction” in the Philippines. Dauncey found the analogy discordant:

An old Senator with a venerable beard was making a long speech [to
Filipinos] on the subject of freedom and the folly of race-distinction.
In defence of the latter theory, he rather rashly quoted Tennyson,
repeating the lines about ‘Saxon and Norman and Dane are we,’
which could not be applied in the remotest way to either Americans or
Filipinos and came out pure gibberish.[58]

The turn from Anglo-Saxonism was also influenced by colonial sociology on the spot. While British merchants remained the dominant economic power in the islands until after World War I, the center of political and social gravity between Britons and Americans shifted after 1898. British merchants and other residents were folded into a rapidly expanding American official, military, and commercial community, some receiving positions in the new colonial state. Colonial Americans quickly organized racially exclusionist social institutions as a bulwark against the ambitious Filipino elite, but Anglo-Saxonism was not their organizing principle. Both the American immigrants and the existing European expatriate community were too diverse. While smaller cities such as Iloilo saw the emergence of such associations as the Anglo-American Society, a more typical racial invention was the awkward novelty “American-European” attached to the segregated Manila Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA) inaugurated in 1909. But the American side of the hyphen was far heavier than it had been in Stevens’s Manila. The still powerful British investors would seek licenses, contracts, patronage, and equal tariffs from the American newcomers, and British importers and merchants would jockey with American rivals. Manila’s English Club would remain, but it would compete for membership and prestige with the Americans’ Army-Navy Club and University Club.[59]

If tensions loosened connections between racial Anglo-Saxonism, Americanism, and overseas colonialism, the breakdown of imperialist racial exceptionalism was triggered by debates over the Philippine colonial service and the Americans’ insecure status as an “administrative race.” As we have seen, Anglo-Saxons were supposed to have a unique capacity for establishing efficient, orderly, and just governments. That particular political feature was most likely relatively new to Anglo-Saxonism, probably tied to the expansion of the British imperial state and the reform of the civil service in the late nineteenth century. By 1900 the virtues of the British imperial civil service were among the touchstones of elite British manhood and national and imperial identity; it was little surprise, then, that Anglo-Saxons were redefined as the race of bureaucracy.

Although the Americans had demonstrated their Anglo-Saxonism through the conquest of the continent, that status was seriously undermined by the way they governed it. The critique of American democracy was a British intellectual cottage industry by the last decades of the nineteenth century. Even to the United States’ sincerest British admirers, such as Bryce, the organization and execution of government, especially in U.S. cities, appeared a scandalous failure. As the English writer George Boxall commented in 1902, “the people of America believe in the necessity for the existence of their rings and bosses almost as religiously as the English believe in the necessity for their princes, dukes, and lords.” But where political capacity and racial identity were inseparable, this political failing had inevitable racial implications. The attribution of “corruption” to immigrant voters and proposals for disenfranchisement were the principal and predictable results. But another was doubt about the racial capacities of “Americans” themselves. Boxall determined that the United States was not so Anglo-Saxon, but was deeply inflected with a “Latin” political mode, its polar opposite. Anglo-Saxons ruled in the name of reason, fairness, and the public good; Latins ruled through passion, intolerance, and private gain. “The American boss appears to me to be the modern representative of the class which founded the Latin aristocracy,” he wrote, representing “the Latin spirit among us in its worst form—that of the greedy self-seeker for wealth and power.”[60]

The annexation of colonies after 1898 raised the problem of administration with special urgency. For many Americans and Britons, the “Philippine question” was almost a corollary to debates on American corruption and administration. Would colonies contribute to domestic reform or would they merely be a new, open, and less supervised field for the sinister entanglement of public and private interest? Annexationists held that colonial state building would lead, by “reflex action,” to reform at home, citing the British example. But many Americans and Britons, even among the defenders of U.S. colonialism, were pessimistic. “If the U.S. were to acquire an empire,” Julian Hawthorne had lamented in 1897, “a pack of ward-heelers and other political hucksters and hangers-on would be sent out to administer them, instead of the good blood, honest hearts, and clear brains of the country.” Archibald Colquhoun, one of the Philippine regime’s most strident British critics, observed in his book-length critique Greater America (its title, the author noted, “challenges comparison with a far more important, studied, and weighty work”) that the spoils system was “the cornerstone of governmental power in the United States” and prophesied that in the new colonies, “the whole internal government of each dependency, as well as the policy of the federal power toward it, will take its color from party conflicts.”[61]

In the eyes of many Britons, Americans definitively proved that they were insufficient Anglo-Saxons by their promise of eventual self-government and rapid and extensive employment of Filipinos in the colonial bureaucracy. British criticism of U.S. colonial state building in the Philippines flooded Anglo-American journals, dialogue, and correspondence. “Englishmen have been very free with advice and criticism about the Filipinos since 1898,” complained James LeRoy, secretary of the Philippine Commission, in 1905. Not the least of these was Kipling himself, whose cautionary February 1899 poem, “The White Man’s Burden,” was addressed and dedicated, not to the British Empire, but to the U.S. struggle in the Philippines. Looking back from 1914, the American journalist Carl Crow noted that early “mistakes and failures” in colonial rule had

proved vastly amusing to our English cousins, especially those
connected with the British Colonial Service, who offered advice with
that patronizing air which the professional reserves for the amateur.
Many well-meaning persons kindly pointed out how much better
things were being done in Java and the Federated Malay States and
other nearby places.[62]

Some Britons mistakenly criticized Americans for insufficiently harsh, hierarchical, or public racism against Filipinos, revealing tin ears for the dark subtleties of American colonial paternalism. Dauncey filled her Philippine travelogue with tirades against the racially leveling rhetoric of the American regime. “I am told that the United States does not pose as either ‘white’ or ‘ruling’ in these islands,” she remarked, “preferring, instead, to proclaim Equality, which seems a very strange way to treat Malays.” Hugh Clifford, eager to lend advice derived from his own colonial service in Malaya, cautioned that “those Englishmen who know the East intimately, and are most anxious to see the Americans succeed in the task which they have undertaken,” read of emerging American colonial policy “with great misgivings.” Filipinos must, “in common with other brown peoples . . . be ruled by a paternal government for their own good, not led to cherish a vain hope that the power they would only misuse will some day be placed in their hands.” Even as he urged the Americans toward reform, Clifford cautioned them that their very Anglo-Saxonism was at stake.

The Americans have failed conspicuously in a field of activity which
their fellow Anglo-Saxons have made their especial province. Are they
prepared to accept failure as final? Are they ready to confess to all
the world that, in spite of all the fine talk with which they have
inundated us during the past decade, they are incapable of doing
their share of the white man’s work in Asia, and of lifting on to their
broad shoulders their proper portion of the white man’s heavy

Americans tended to respond against the British Empire, rather than through it. The most significant factor in undermining imperial racial exceptionalism was the consolidation of an American colonial state. American colonialists had invoked the British Empire between 1898 and 1902 in part because they had no colonial state of their own to point to. The glories of the British imperial past and present had to stand in for a hypothetical American colonial future to which it was connected by Anglo-Saxon racial destiny. But after the war, the promotional and informational machinery of the American colonial state made possible arguments based, not on Anglo-Saxon empire in the abstract, but on actually existing American colonialism. American civil engineers were busy deepening Manila’s harbor; botanists and mineralogists were classifying the islands’ exploitable resources; anthropologists were studying the islands’ peoples; constabulary patrols were eyeing their neighborhoods. Colonial departments and bureaus advertised their success and rights to expanded appropriations in the annual report of the Philippine Commission, published and distributed annually by the Bureau of Insular Affairs. A new class of American colonial experts stepped forward to engage the press and public.[64]

Those American colonial experts and their metropolitan allies responded to British skeptics with outrage and data. “The whole tribe of British critics gets little patience from me,” wrote the colonial educator David Barrows. In short order, they actively displaced the English-language authorities of the pre-1898 era. For example, a 1890 travelogue by John Foreman, a British agent of a machinery company and a longtime Philippine resident, had been the principal English-language account of the islands in circulation in 1898. Like Clifford and Dauncey, Foreman had roundly criticized the American regime for its inexperience and naïve assumptions about self-government, earning the ire of American colonial officials in the process. Barrows privately attacked Foreman’s “intense jealousy of anything that does not conform to the precise British colonial pattern.” Barrows’s friend and confidant James LeRoy attacked Foreman’s book, reissued with a critical preface in 1904, in a review in the Boston Evening Transcript entitled “A Disputed ‘Authority.'” The book was “Malicious and Untrustworthy,” motivated by pettiness, greed, and economic frustration. “The most reckless critics of the present administration,” LeRoy wrote, were British merchants angered at the end of their profiteering. LeRoy did not condemn British critics wholesale: he praised Colquhoun as “a very good spokesman.” But, in general, he declared, “one would not go to the English Club of Manila for broad-minded or well-informed views about the Philippine situation.” The transition from Joseph Earle Stevens, an American eager for membership in that club just ten years earlier, was complete.[65]

American colonialists answered British authorities in explicitly national-exceptionalist terms. It was the consolidation of a colonial state that made possible such terms, suited less to British sympathizers than to Filipino nationalist and American “anti-imperialist” oppositions. The standards held up by British critics, it was claimed, simply did not apply to the American colonial Philippines. The United States was attempting something entirely new to human history: not “empire,” but “expansive republicanism”; not colonial rule, but “tutelage in self-government”; not oppression, but “benevolent assimilation.” Reviewing critical British books in 1905, LeRoy wrote that “it is entirely impracticable and undesirable to set up the British colonial civil service as a pattern for the Philippines.” William S. Washburn, chairman of the Philippine Civil Service Board, dramatically agreed.

In their criticisms of American methods in the Orient both Mr. Ireland
and Mr. Colquhoun fail to realize that they have no standard by which
to judge fairly of the success or the failure of the American system of
government in the Philippines, from the fact that never before has
there been instituted a scheme of colonial government so beneficent
and humanitarian. . . . There is no precedent in history to which they
can point as an example.[66]

U.S. colonialists sometimes accommodated Anglo-Saxonism even as they articulated national exceptionalism. Senator Beveridge, for example, nested national within racial exceptionalism, calling the United States “the most merciful of the world’s great race of administrators.” But a recast providential republicanism often carried the day. It was not so much that Americans had a unique anticolonial mission to the world, as the “anti-imperialists” had maintained. Rather, Americans had a mission to teach the world how to govern “dependencies” on the basis of unprecedented selflessness, uplift, benevolence, assimilation, and the promise of eventual self-government. British critics noted the tendency toward U.S. national exceptionalism with both bemusement and alarm. Colquhoun wrote that Americans were attempting to bring “good government” and democracy to the Philippines “without following any precedent laid down by other nations.” Dauncey charged that “America with this funny little possession of hers is like a mother with her first child . . . and thinks her own bantling something without parallel or precedent.”[67]

National-exceptionalist depictions of American colonialism did not, however, prevent Americans from scouring the European colonies of Southeast Asia in search of practical models of colonial state building. Both Anglo-Saxonism and U.S. national exceptionalism were historical and political abstractions. If they did not know it beforehand, American colonialists soon realized that neither brain knots of Anglo-Saxon imperial expertise nor U.S. republican genius could tell them what Islam was, how high to set the sugar tariff, or how much rubber could be planted on a hectare of Southeast Asian lowland. Soon enough, American colonial officials took their place in a network of imperial policy tours and exchanges with colonial officials from the American Philippines, Dutch Java and the East Indies, and the British Straits Settlements and Federated Malay States. On such tours, officials discussed regime organization, schooling, public health, plantation agriculture, opium and vice control, among other immediate problems. Transits of this kind were aided by developments in commercial steamship travel in the region. In 1899 a voyage between Manila and Hong Kong lasted just under three days; one between Singapore and Batavia lasted about two days. By the middle of that year, the British India Steam Navigation Company was advertising in American military newspapers regular circuits between Manila and Calcutta every three weeks that called at Singapore, Peking, and Rangoon on every voyage.[68]

Crossings between Southeast Asian colonies began even before the declared end of the Philippine-American War. The Philippine commissioner Jacob Gould Schurman made an inspection tour of Sandakan in British North Borneo on the USS Bennington just five months into the Philippine-American War. It was conducted, according to a Hong Kong newspaper, “with the object of studying the manner in which our Government proceeds in governing so many races.” Schurman had been able to interview “three of our commissioners and obtained extremely good and valuable information” and came away “expressing his admiration for the form of government England provided for administering no small territory with so few official personnel.” The warm feeling had been mutual, with Schurman leaving behind him “an agreeable impression on the officialdom of the colony.”[69]

These exchanges appear to have been densest where questions of science, technology, agriculture, and trade were concerned. In 1900, for example, American botanists in the insular government’s new Bureau of Science picked up correspondence and plant-sample exchanges with the British Empire’s Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew more or less where their Spanish equivalents had left off. In mid-August 1910, the U.S. consul in Singapore invited Agricultural Secretary A. W. Prautch to display Philippine abaca, maguey, pineapple, and piña and jusi cloth and wood samples at an agricultural exposition in the British colony. Upon arrival, Prautch was given a tour of the interior, where he observed British colonial systems of production and labor in the colony’s rubber and tapioca plantations. The report he filed on his return to the Philippines suggested that both crops could be profitably exploited there.[70]

Such intercolonial exchanges suggest a world of inter-imperial contacts, dialogues, and exchanges still largely unexplored by historians. During a crucial period in the metropolitan debate over annexation, Anglo-Saxon racial exceptionalism had been an essential argument for American colonialists and their British supporters, constructing a racial history for U.S. overseas colonialism where no other was available. But Anglo-Saxonism had not been entirely functional to their cause. It was not entirely clear whether Americans were Anglo-Saxons, or whether one measured Anglo-Saxonism by blood or culture, or whether Anglo-Saxons were inherently empire builders, or whether settler colonialism and administrative state building were equally legitimate Anglo-Saxon missions. “Anti-imperialists” had forced national-exceptionalist terms into these points of vulnerability, arguing that Americans, even if they were Anglo-Saxons, did not necessarily share Britain’s imperial destiny; the special mission of the United States was to serve as a republican and “anti-imperial” beacon to the world. Ironically, perhaps, “anti-imperialists” lost their battle at the turn of the century but won the rhetorical war, as their national exceptionalism came to dominate representations of U.S. colonialism, especially those generated by the colonial state. In those accounts, Americans were again building an empire of liberty that was both Anglo-Saxon and scarcely an empire at all. Through both racial exceptionalism and its nationalist undermining, the United States remained the empire upon which the sun never shone.


Paul A. Kramer is assistant professor in the Department of History of the Johns Hopkins University. Earlier drafts of this paper were presented at the Anthropology Colloquium of Johns Hopkins University (March 1999), the joint Johns Hopkins–University of Maryland Departmental Seminar (April 1999), the Organization of American Historians meeting (April 2000), the “Pairing Empires” conference at Johns Hopkins (November 2000), and the Atlantic Seminar at the University of Pittsburgh (December 2000).
I would like to thank Dirk Bönker, Daniel Rodgers, Emily Rosenberg, Joanne Meyerowitz, Thomas Borstelmann, Kristin Hoganson, Dorothy Ross, Ian Tyrrell, Judith Walkowitz, Antoinette Burton, David Roediger, and Wigan Salazar for their careful readings, comments, and support; Susan Armeny for her energetic copyediting; and the anonymous readers at the Journal of American History for their helpful criticism. My thanks also to the Newberry Library, the Fulbright program, and the Philippine-American Educational Foundation for travel and research grants that made research for this essay possible. Any errors are my own.
Readers may contact Kramer at <[email protected]>.
1 A. T. Mahan, The Problem of Asia and Its Effect upon International Policy (Cambridge, Mass., 1900), 4.
2 Daniel T. Rodgers, Atlantic Crossings: Social Politics in a Progressive Age (Cambridge, Mass., 1998). For a framework useful for discussing global integration, see Michael Geyer and Charles Bright, “World History in a Global Age,” American Historical Review, 100 (Oct. 1995), 1034–60.
3 On the need to integrate metropolitan and colonial historiography, in part by analysis of inter-imperial connections, see Ann Laura Stoler and Frederick Cooper, “Between Metropole and Colony: Rethinking a Research Agenda,” in Tensions of Empire: Colonial Cultures in a Bourgeois World, ed. Ann Laura Stoler and Frederick Cooper (Berkeley, 1997), 1–56.
4 On the informal U.S. empire in the late nineteenth century, see Walter LaFeber, The New Empire: An Interpretation of American Expansionism, 1860–1898 (Ithaca, 1963). For the twentieth century, see Emily Rosenberg, Spreading the American Dream: American Economic and Cultural Expansion, 1890–1945 (Toronto, 1982); and Emily Rosenberg, Financial Missionaries to the World: The Politics and Culture of Dollar Diplomacy, 1900–1930 (Cambridge, Mass., 1999).
5 Amy Kaplan, “‘Left Alone with America’: The Absence of Empire in the Study of American Culture,” in Cultures of United States Imperialism, ed. Amy Kaplan and Donald E. Pease (Durham, 1993), 3–21; Robin Winks, “The American Struggle with ‘Imperialism’: How Words Frighten,” in The American Identity: Fusion and Fragmentation, ed. Rob Kroes (Amsterdam, 1980), 143–77; Louis A. Pérez Jr., The War of 1898: The United States and Cuba in History and Historiography (Chapel Hill, 1998).
6 On the historiography of exceptionalism, see Daniel T. Rodgers, “Exceptionalism,” in Imagined Histories: American Historians Interpret the Past, ed. Anthony Molho and Gordon S. Wood (Princeton, 1998), 21–40; George M. Fredrickson, “From Exceptionalism to Variability: Recent Developments in Cross-National Comparative History,” Journal of American History, 82 (Sept. 1995), 587–604; and Mary Nolan, “Against Exceptionalisms,” American Historical Review, 102 (June 1997), 769–74. Michael Adas, “From Settler Colony to Global Hegemon: Integrating the Exceptionalist Narrative of the American Experience into World History,” American Historical Review, 106 (Dec. 2001), 1692–1720; Serge Ricard, “The Exceptionalist Syndrome in U.S. Continental and Overseas Expansion,” in Reflections on American Exceptionalism, ed. David K. Adams and Cornelis A. van Minnen (Staffordshire, 1994), 73–82. On the intellectual roots of U.S. national exceptionalism, see Dorothy Ross, The Origins of American Social Science (Cambridge, Eng., 1991). On the relationship between transnational history and exceptionalism, see Ian Tyrrell, “American Exceptionalism in an Age of International History,” American Historical Review, 96 (Oct. 1991), 1031–55; Michael McGerr, “The Price of the ‘New Transnational History,'” ibid., 1056–67; Ian Tyrrell, “Ian Tyrrell Responds,” ibid., 1068–72; and Robert Gregg, Inside Out, Outside In: Essays in Comparative History (New York, 1999), 1–26.
7 On the historiography of U.S. foreign relations in this period, see Edward P. Crapol, “Coming to Terms with Empire: The Historiography of Late Nineteenth-Century American Foreign Relations,” Diplomatic History, 16 (Fall 1992), 573–97; and Robert Beisner, From the Old Diplomacy to the New, 1865–1900 (Arlington Heights, 1986).
8 Mary A. Renda, Taking Haiti: Military Occupation and the Culture of U.S. Imperialism, 1915–1940 (Chapel Hill, 2001); Eileen Findlay, Imposing Decency: The Politics of Sexuality and Race in Puerto Rico, 1870–1920 (Durham, 1999); Kristin Hoganson, Fighting for American Manhood: How Gender Politics Provoked the Spanish-American and Philippine-American Wars (New Haven, 1998); Vicente L. Rafael, White Love and Other Events in Filipino History (Durham, 2000); Michael Salman, The Embarrassment of Slavery: Controversies over Bondage and Nationalism in the American Colonial Philippines (Berkeley, 2001); Gilbert M. Joseph, Catherine C. LeGrand, and Ricardo D. Salvatore, eds., Close Encounters of Empire: Writing the History of U.S.–Latin American Relations (Durham, 1998); Kelvin A. Santiago-Valles, “Subject People” and Colonial Discourses: Economic Transformation and Social Disorder in Puerto Rico, 1898–1947 (Albany, 1994); Laura Wexler, Tender Violence: Domestic Visions in an Age of U.S. Imperialism (Chapel Hill, 2000); Eileen Scully, “Taking the Low Road to Sino-U.S. Relations: ‘Open Door’ Expansionists and the Two China Markets,” Journal of American History, 82 (June 1995), 62–83; Gervasio Luis García, “I Am the Other: Puerto Rico in the Eyes of North Americans, 1898,” ibid., 87 (June 2000), 39–64.
9 On ways to integrate U.S. history into colonial studies, see the round table “Empires and Intimacies: Lessons from (Post) Colonial Studies,” Journal of American History, 88 (Dec. 2001), 829–97. For inter-imperial histories, see Ian R. Tyrrell, Woman’s World / Woman’s Empire: The Woman’s Christian Temperance Union in International Perspective, 1880–1930 (Chapel Hill, 1991); Dirk Bönker, “Admiration, Enmity, and Cooperation: U.S. Navalism and the British and German Empires before the Great War,” Journal of Colonialism and Colonial History, 2 (Spring 2001) <http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/cch/v002/2.1bonker.html> (Jan. 14, 2002); Catherine Candy, “The Inscrutable Irish-Indian Feminist Management of Anglo-American Hegemony, 1917–1947,” ibid. <http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/cch/v002/2.1candy.html (Jan. 14, 2002); S. B. Cook, Imperial Affinities: Nineteenth-Century Analogies and Exchanges between India and Ireland (New Delhi, 1993); and Anne MacPherson, “Colonial Reform, Colonial Hegemony: Gender and Labor in Belize and Puerto Rico, 1932–1945,” paper delivered at the “Pairing Empires: Britain and the United States, 1857–1947,” conference, Johns Hopkins University, Nov. 2000 (in Paul A. Kramer’s possession). For early attempts to situate U.S. imperialism in an international context, see Ernest R. May, American Imperialism: A Speculative Essay (New York, 1968), esp. chaps. 6–8; and Robin Winks, “American Imperialism in Comparative Perspective,” in The Comparative Approach to American History, ed. C. Vann Woodward (New York, 1968), 253–70. For a comparison within the U.S. empire, see Julian Go, “Chains of Empire, Projects of State: Political Education and U.S. Colonial Rule in Puerto Rico and the Philippines,” Comparative Studies in Society and History, 42 (April 2000), 333–62. On transnational U.S. historiography, see David Thelen, “The Nation and Beyond: Transnational Perspectives on United States History,” Journal of American History, 86 (Dec. 1999), 965–75.
10 In this essay the terms “anti-imperialism” and “anti-imperialist” appear in quotation marks because the making of those terms—and their proponents’ limited definition of empire as overseas territorial annexation—are critical to the story of the national-exceptionalist engagement with overseas colonialism. On Anglo-Saxonism and U.S. imperialism, see Anna Maria Martellone, “In the Name of Anglo-Saxondom, for Empire and for Democracy: The Anglo-American Discourse, 1880–1920,” in Reflections on American Exceptionalism, ed. Adams and van Minnen, 83–96. See also Thomas F. Gossett, Race: The History of an Idea in America (Dallas, 1963), 310–38. For an early attempt to describe American perceptions of the British Empire, see Peter Henry King, “The White Man’s Burden: British Imperialism and Its Lessons for America As Seen by American Publicists, from the Venezuela Crisis to the Boer War” (Ph.D. diss., University of California, Los Angeles, 1959). On the need to connect the history of the U.S. colonial state in the Philippines with global and inter-imperial history, see Julian Go, “Global Perspectives on the U.S. Colonial State in the Philippines,” in The U.S. Colonial State in the Philippines in Comparative Perspective, ed. Julian Go and Anne Foster (Durham, forthcoming); and Michael Adas, “Improving on the Civilizing Mission?: Assumptions of United States Exceptionalism in the Colonisation of the Philippines,” Itinerario, 22 (no. 4, 1998), 44–66. On inter-imperial policy exchanges, see Paul A. Kramer, “The World’s Work: The Uses of European Colonialism in the American Colonial Philippines,” paper delivered at the European Southeast Asian Studies Conference, School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, Sept. 2001 (in Kramer’s possession).
11 On Anglo-American diplomatic rapprochement, see Bradford Perkins, The Great Rapprochement: England and the United States, 1895–1914 (New York, 1968); R. G. Neale, Great Britain and United States Expansion, 1898–1900 (East Lansing, 1966); Alexander E. Campbell, Great Britain and the United States, 1895–1903 (London, 1960); Charles S. Campbell Jr., Anglo-American Understanding, 1898–1903 (Baltimore, 1957); and Richard Heathcote Heindel, The American Impact on Great Britain, 1898–1914 (Philadelphia, 1940), esp. chaps. 4–5. On economic rivalry and the limits of rapprochement, see Edward P. Crapol, America for Americans: Economic Nationalism and Anglophobia in the Late Nineteenth Century (Westport, 1973); and Edward P. Crapol, “From Anglophobia to Fragile Rapprochement: Anglo-American Relations in the Early Twentieth Century,” in Confrontation and Cooperation: Germany and the United States in the Era of World War I, 1900–1924, ed. Hans-Jürgen Schröder (Providence, 1993), 13–32. Stuart Anderson, Race and Rapprochement: Anglo-Saxonism and Anglo-American Relations, 1895–1904 (Rutherford, 1981).
12 On racial ideology and the making of U.S. foreign policy, see Michael Hunt, Ideology and U.S. Foreign Policy (New Haven, 1987); Hazel M. McFerson, The Racial Dimensions of American Overseas Colonial Policy (Westport, 1997); and Rubin Francis Weston, Racism in U.S. Imperialism: The Influence of Racial Assumptions on American Foreign Policy, 1893–1946 (Columbia, S.C., 1972). On empire, race, and popular culture, see Robert Rydell, All the World’s a Fair: Visions of Empire at American International Expositions, 1876–1916 (Chicago, 1984). On the political dynamism of race, see Michael Omi and Howard Winant, Racial Formation in the United States from the 1960s to the 1990s (New York, 1994), esp. chaps. 1–5; Thomas C. Holt, “Marking: Race, Race-Making, and the Writing of History,” American Historical Review, 100 (Feb. 1995), 1–20; Barbara J. Fields, “Ideology and Race in American History,” in Region, Race, and Reconstruction: Essays in Honor of C. Vann Woodward, ed. J. Morgan Kousser and James M. McPherson (New York, 1982), 143–78; Ann Laura Stoler, “Racial Histories and Their Regimes of Truth,” Political Power and Social Theory, 11 (1997), 183–206; Virginia R. Domínguez, “Implications: A Commentary on Stoler,” ibid., 207–16; David Roediger, “A Response to Stoler,” ibid., 217–18; Loïc J. D. Wacquant, “For an Analytic of Racial Domination,” ibid., 221–34; Uday Singh Mehta, “The Essential Ambiguities of Race and Racism,” ibid., 235–46; and Ann Laura Stoler, “On the Politics of Epistemologies,” ibid., 247–55. On the imperial dynamics of race making, see Nicholas Thomas, Colonialism’s Culture: Anthropology, Travel, and Government (Princeton, 1994). On the tensions of race within U.S. foreign policy and empire building, see Gerald Horne, “Race from Power: U.S. Foreign Policy and the General Crisis of ‘White Supremacy,'” Diplomatic History, 23 (Summer 1999), 437–61; Harvey Neptune, “White Lies: Race and Sexuality in Occupied Trinidad,” Journal of Colonialism and Colonial History, 2 (Spring 2001) <http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/cch/v002/2.1neptune.html> (Jan. 14, 2002); and Paul Kramer, “Making Concessions: Race and Empire Revisited at the Philippine Exposition, St. Louis, 1901–5,” Radical History Review, 73 (Winter 1999), 74–114. For transnational histories of race see, for example, Virginia Domínguez, “Exporting U.S. Concepts of Race: Are There Limits to the U.S. Model?,” Social Research, 65 (Summer 1998), 369–99; Martha Hodes, “Mutable Racial Identities in the 19th-Century U.S. and British Caribbean,” paper delivered at the “Pairing Empires” conference; and Carl Nightingale, “The World Travels of Racial Urbanism (Or, Some New Ways of Asking Whether American Ghettos Are Colonies),” ibid. See also Paul A. Kramer, The Blood of Government: Racial Politics in the American Colonial Philippines (forthcoming).
13 J. W. Martin, English Lessons on Territorial Expansion (New York, 1902), 3; Josep Fradera, “Els principios generales del arte de la colonización segons Joaquín Maldonado Macanaz: Idees victorianes en un context Hispánic” (The general principles of the art of colonization according to Joaquín Maldonado Macanaz: Victorian ideas in a Hispanic context), Illes i Imperis (Barcelona) (no. 3, Spring 2000), 61–86.
14 For James Bryce’s statement, see Philip Kennedy, “Race, Strategy, and American Imperialism in the Pacific, 1895–1905,” Duquesne Review, 15 (no. 2, 1970), 259. John Fleming, “Are We Anglo-Saxons?,” North American Review, 153 (Aug. 1891), 253.
15 Edward Grey, quoted in Heindel, American Impact on Great Britain, 70; Frederick William Chapman, “The Changed Significance of ‘Anglo-Saxon,'” Education, 20 (Feb. 1900), 364.
16 On the history of Anglo-Saxonism through the mid-nineteenth century, see Reginald Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny: The Origins of American Racial Anglo-Saxonism (Cambridge, Mass., 1981); and J. R. Hall, “Mid-Nineteenth-Century American Anglo-Saxonism: The Question of Language,” in Anglo-Saxonism and the Construction of Social Identity, ed. Allen J. Frantzen and John D. Niles (Gainesville, 1997). Anglo-Saxonism was a variant of British and U.S. “whiteness.” On American “whiteness,” see David R. Roediger, The Wages of Whiteness: Race and the Making of the American Working Class (London, 1991); Matthew Frye Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color: European Immigrants and the Alchemy of Race (Cambridge, Mass., 1998); Grace Elizabeth Hale, Making Whiteness: The Culture of Segregation in the South, 1890–1940 (New York, 1998); Alexander Saxton, The Rise and Fall of the White Republic: Class Politics and Mass Culture in Nineteenth-Century America (London, 1990); and Noel Ignatiev, How the Irish Became White (New York, 1995). Anglo-Saxonism was not shaped entirely within Britain and the United States but also by its critics, opponents, and rivals elsewhere. See, for example, Alan Pitt, “A Changing Anglo-Saxon Myth: Its Development and Function in French Political Thought, 1860–1914,” French History, 14 (June 2000), 150–73. On British racial ideology, especially regarding slavery, abolition, and colonialism, see Thomas C. Holt, The Problem of Freedom: Race, Labor, and Politics in Jamaica and Britain, 1832–1938 (Baltimore, 1992); Antoinette Burton, Burdens of History: British Feminists, Indian Women, and Imperial Culture, 1865–1915 (Chapel Hill, 1994); Catherine Hall, Keith McClelland, and Jane Rendall, eds., Defining the Victorian Nation: Class, Race, Gender, and the Reform Act of 1867 (Cambridge, Eng., 2000); Shearer West, ed., The Victorians and Race (Brookfield, 1996); and D. A. Lorimer, Colour, Class, and the Victorians: English Attitudes to the Negro in the Mid-Nineteenth Century (Leicester, 1978). On the making of British identity in dialogue with imperial “others,” see Linda Colley, “Britishness and Otherness: An Argument,” Journal of British Studies, 31 (Oct. 1992), 309–29. On Anglo-Saxonism directed against the Irish in Britain and the United States, see L. P. Curtis Jr., Anglo-Saxons and Celts: A Study of Anti-Irish Prejudice in Victorian England (Bridgeport, 1968). On colonial racism and immigration, see R. A. Huttenback, Racism and Empire: White Settlers and Colored Immigrants in British Self-Governing Colonies, 1830–1910 (Ithaca, 1976). On late-nineteenth-century and early-twentieth-century U.S. racial ideologies see, for example, John Higham, Strangers in the Land: Patterns of American Nativism, 1860–1925 (New Brunswick, 1955); Matthew Frye Jacobson, Barbarian Virtues: The United States Encounters Foreign Peoples at Home and Abroad, 1876–1917 (New York, 2000); Gail Bederman, Manliness and Civilization: A Cultural History of Gender and Race in the United States, 1880–1917 (Chicago, 1995); George M. Frederickson, The Black Image in the White Mind: The Debate on Afro-American Character and Destiny, 1817–1914 (Hanover, 1971); Brian Dippie, The Vanishing Indian: White Attitudes and U.S. Indian Policy (Middletown, 1982); Ronald T. Takaki, Iron Cages: Race and Culture in Nineteenth-Century America (New York, 1990); Richard Drinnon, Facing West: The Metaphysics of Indian-Hating and Empire Building (Minneapolis, 1980); Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny; and Gossett, Race.
17 Saxton, Rise and Fall of the White Republic, 14.
18 On U.S. millennial nationalism and national exceptionalism, see Ernest Lee Tuveson, Redeemer Nation: The Idea of America’s Millennial Role (Chicago, 1968). On the intersections of destinarianism and empire, see Anders Stefanson, Manifest Destiny: American Expansion and the Empire of Right (New York, 1996); Frederick Merk, Manifest Destiny and Mission in American History: A Reinterpretation (New York, 1963); and Albert K. Weinberg, Manifest Destiny: A Study of Nationalist Expansion in American History (Chicago, 1935). Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, chaps. 10–12.
19 See Thomas G. Dyer, Theodore Roosevelt and the Idea of Race (Baton Rouge, 1980); and Frank Ninkovich, “Theodore Roosevelt: Civilization as Ideology,” Diplomatic History, 10 (Summer 1986), 221–45. On linguistically oriented Anglo-Saxonism, for example, see C. J. W. Parker, “The Failure of Liberal Racialism: The Racial Ideas of E. A. Freeman,” Historical Journal, 24 (Dec. 1981), 825–46. On Mugwump “anti-imperialists” as cosmopolitan liberals, see Leslie Butler, “New World, Old Empire: The Response of Anglo-American Liberals to 1890’s Imperialism,” paper delivered at the “Pairing Empires” conference (in Kramer’s possession).
20 Chapman, “Changed Significance of ‘Anglo-Saxon,'” 368, 369, 367.
21 On the transformation of “whiteness” under pressure from European immigration in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, see Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color. Fleming, “Are We Anglo-Saxons?,” 253, 254, 256.
22 Charles Dilke, Greater Britain: A Record of Travel in English-Speaking Countries (1869; London, 1890), xvii, vii, viii.
23 Theodore Roosevelt, The Winning of the West (4 vols., New York, 1900), I, 3, 4, 6–7, 25.
24 On the British imperial federation movement, see Carl Adolf Bodelsen, Studies in Mid-Victorian Imperialism (Copenhagen, 1924). For the work of the most prominent imperial federationist intellectual other than John Robert Seeley and Charles Dilke, see James Anthony Froude, Oceana; or, England and Her Colonies (New York, 1886). John Robert Seeley, The Expansion of England: Two Courses of Lectures (Boston, 1883), 141, 63, 236, 62. See also Deborah Wormell, Sir John Seeley and the Uses of History (Cambridge, Eng., 1980); and Raymond F. Betts, “Immense Dimensions: The Impact of the American West on Late Nineteenth-Century European Thought about Expansion,” Western Historical Quarterly, 10 (no. 2, 1979), 149–66. On triangulations between British, German, and American historians of imperial frontiers, see Benedikt Stuchtey, “‘Westward the Course of Empire Takes Its Way’: Imperialism and the Frontier in British and German Historical Writing around 1900,” in British and German Historiography, 1750–1950: Traditions, Perceptions, and Transfers, ed. Benedikt Stuchtey and Peter Wende (Oxford, Eng., 2000), 289–334.
25 On Anglo-American political exchanges in the nineteenth century, see Robert Kelley, The Transatlantic Persuasion: The Liberal-Democratic Mind in the Age of Gladstone (New York, 1969). On Anglo-American liberalism and civil service reform, see John G. Sproat, The Best Men: Liberal Reformers in the Gilded Age (New York, 1968). On Anglo-American Progressive links, see Rodgers, Atlantic Crossings; and Kenneth O. Morgan, “The Future at Work: Anglo-American Progressivism, 1890–1917,” in Contrast and Connection: Bicentennial Essays in Anglo-American History, ed. H. C. Allen and Roger Thompson (Athens, Ohio, 1976), 245–71. On the role of travel in U.S. foreign relations, see Christopher Endy, “Travel and World Power: Americans in Europe, 1890–1917,” Diplomatic History, 22 (Fall 1998), 565–94. On Theodore Roosevelt’s Anglo-American social and intellectual connections, see H. A. Tulloch, “Theodore Roosevelt and His English Correspondents: The Intellectual Roots of the Anglo-American Alliance,” Mid-America, 53 (no. 1, 1971), 12–34. See also H. A. Tulloch, “Changing British Attitudes toward the United States in the 1880s,” Historical Journal, 20 (Dec. 1977), 825–40.
26 On the “magazine revolution” of the turn of the twentieth century, see Frank Luther Mott, “The Magazine Revolution and Popular Ideas in the Nineties,” Proceedings of the American Antiquarian Society, 64 (April 1954), 195–214. On Anglo-American literary connections through new magazines, see Frank Luther Mott, A History of American Magazines, vol. IV: 1885–1905 (Cambridge, Mass., 1957), 131–34, 225–30. On one of the most influential of those magazines, see Ellery Sedgwick, The Atlantic Monthly, 1857–1909: Yankee Humanism at High Tide and Ebb (Amherst, 1994). Anglo-Saxon Review, 1–10 (June 1899–Sept. 1901). Anglo-Saxonism was enough of an intellectual growth industry during the early twentieth century to result in the commission of a Library of Congress bibliography: A. P. C. Griffin, Select List of References on Anglo-Saxon Interests (Washington, 1903). For racialization of post offices and telegraph lines, see Katie-Louise Thomas, “Racial Alliance and Postal Networks in Conan Doyle’s ‘A Study in Scarlet,'” Journal of Colonialism and Colonial History, 2 (Spring 2001) <http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/cch/v002/2.1thomas.html> (Jan. 14, 2002).
27 “A Futile Resolution,” Harper’s Weekly, May 11, 1895, p. 433. John Dos Passos, quoted in Gossett, Race, 326. W. T. Stead, The Americanization of the World; or, The Trend of the Twentieth Century (New York, 1902), 213.
28 Whitelaw Reid, Two Speeches at the Queen’s Jubilee, London, 1897 (New York, 1897), 9.
29 J. C. Turk, “Building an American Bridge in Burma,” World’s Work, 2 (Sept. 1901), 1148. Such technological innovations both justified and enforced imperial power. See Michael Adas, Machines as the Measure of Men: Science, Technology, and Ideologies of Western Dominance (Ithaca, 1989); and Daniel R. Headrick, The Tools of Empire: Technology and European Imperialism in the Nineteenth Century (New York, 1981).
30 Turk, “Building an American Bridge in Burma,” 1148, 1166, 1149, 1152.
31 Ibid., 1153, 1166–67, 1148.
32 See Rhoda Hackler, “The United States Presence in the Northern Philippines Prior to 1898, Part I,” Bulletin of the American Historical Collection, 27 (Oct.–Dec. 1989), 22–49; and Rhoda Hackler, “The United States Presence in the Northern Philippines Prior to 1898, Part II,” ibid., 28 (Jan.–March 1990), 49–72. Joseph Earle Stevens, Yesterdays in the Philippines (New York, 1898), 219. On the British in the Philippines, see a series of five articles: Ifor B. Powell, “The Nineteenth Century and the Years of Transition: The Origins of the Firms,” Bulletin of the American Historical Collection, 9 (no. 2, 1981), 7–25; Ifor B. Powell, “The Banks,” ibid. (no. 3, 1981), 39–52; Ifor B. Powell, “The Brokers,” ibid., 10 (no. 1, 1982), 60–81; Ifor B. Powell, “Non-Business Britishers: Government Servants,” ibid. (no. 2, 1982), 43–59; and Ifor B. Powell, “The Social Round,” ibid. (no. 3, 1982), 36–62. On Germans in the Philippines, see Wigan Salazar, “German Economic Involvement in the Philippines, 1871–1918” (Ph.D. diss., School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, 2000). On British, German, and Spanish commercial competition in this period, see Maria Dolores Elizalde Pérez-Grueso, “De Nación a imperio: La expansión de los EEUU por el Pacifico durante la Guerra Hispano-Norteamericana del 1898” (From nation to empire: The U.S. expansion in the Pacific during the Spanish-American War), Hispania (Madrid), 57 (May–Aug. 1997), 551–88; Maria Dolores Elizalde Pérez-Grueso, “Valor internacional de Filipinas en 1898: La perspectiva Norteamericana” (The international value of the Philippines in 1898: The North American perspective), in La Nación Soñada: Cuba, Puerto Rico, y Filipinas ante el 98: Actas del congreso internacional celebrada en Aranjuez del 24 al 28 de abril de 1995 (The dreamed nation: Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Philippines: Proceedings of the international congress convened in Aranjuez, April 24–28, 1995), ed. Consuelo Naranjo Orovio, Miguel Angel Puig-Samper, and Luis Miguel García Mora (Aranjuez, 1996), 767–84; and Wigan Salazar, “British and German Passivity in the Face of Spanish Neo-Mercantilist Resurgence in the Philippines, c.1883–1898,” Itinerario, 21 (no. 2, 1997), 125–53. Stevens, Yesterdays in the Philippines, 5, 16.
33 Stevens, Yesterdays in the Philippines, 16. See Angus L. Campbell, The Manila Club: A Social History of the British in Manila (Manila, 1993). Joseph Earle Stevens, “Life of Manila,” New York Evening Post, May 21, 1898; Stevens, Yesterdays in the Philippines, 20. G. J. Younghusband, The Philippines and Round About (New York, 1899), 64. On British reactions to the Philippine revolution, see Nicholas P. Cushner, “British Consular Dispatches and the Philippine Independence Movement, 1872–1901,” Philippine Studies, 16 (July 1968), 501–34.
34 “Anti-imperialist” arguments were aided by the assumption that whites degenerated in the tropics in racial, medical, and moral terms as they confronted harsh physical climates and “densely settled” populations. See Warwick Anderson, “Immunities of Empire: Race, Disease, and the New Tropical Medicine, 1900–1920,” Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 70 (Spring 1996), 94–118. Albert Beveridge, “The Development of a Colonial Policy for the United States,” Supplement to the Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science (May 1899), 5.
35 Roosevelt, Winning of the West, I, vii. See Walter Williams, “United States Indian Policy and the Debate over Philippine Annexation: Implications for the Origins of American Imperialism,” Journal of American History, 66 (March 1980), 810–31.
36 On the transformation of the weak state of courts and parties into an administrative state, see Stephen Skowronek, Building a New American State: The Expansion of National Administrative Capacities, 1877–1920 (Cambridge, Eng., 1982). Albert Beveridge, For the Greater Republic Not for Imperialism, An Address at Union League of Philadelphia, February 15, 1899 ([Philadelphia], 1899), 5; Beveridge, “Development of a Colonial Policy for the United States,” 9; Beveridge, quoted in Weston, Racism in U.S. Imperialism, 46; Beveridge, For the Greater Republic, 12.
37 Chamberlain, quoted in Gossett, Race, 324. See Wolfgang Mock, “The Function of ‘Race’ in Imperialist Ideologies: The Example of Joseph Chamberlain,” in Nationalist and Racialist Movements in Britain and Germany before 1914, ed. Paul Kennedy and Anthony Nicholls (London, 1981), 190–203. Chicago Tribune, quoted ibid., 325. For the English petition and its American answer, see Anglo-American Committee, An American Response to Expressions of English Sympathy (New York, 1899).
38 Stead, Americanization of the World, 6. Josiah Strong, Expansion under New World-Conditions (New York, 1900), 204, 205.
39 See Stuart Creighton Miller, “Benevolent Assimilation”: The American Conquest of the Philippines,1899–1903 (New Haven, 1982); Brian M. Linn, The Philippine War, 1899–1902 (Lawrence, 2000); Angel Velasco Shaw and Luis Francia, eds., Vestiges of War: The Philippine-American War and the Aftermath of an Imperial Dream, 1899–1999 (New York, 2000); and Paul A. Kramer, “Invincible Ignorance: Knowledge and the Philippine-American War, 1899–1902,” paper presented at the Philippine Social Science Council Conference, Quezon City, July 2000 (in Kramer’s possession).
40 For the London Times report, see Heindel, American Impact on Great Britain, 89. See Keith Wilson, ed., The International Impact of the Boer War (New York, 2001). Hugh Charles Clifford, “The Destiny of the Philippines,” Macmillan’s Magazine, 87 (1902), 154. On Clifford, see Kathryn Tidrick, Empire and the English Character (London, 1990), chap. 3. Alfred Thayer Mahan, “The Transvaal and the Philippine Islands,” Independent, 52 (Feb. 1900), 289–91; Mahan, Problem of Asia, 190; Alfred Thayer Mahan to Bouverie F. Clark, May 3, 1901, in Letters and Papers of Alfred Thayer Mahan, vol. II: 1890–1901, ed. Robert Seager II and Doris D. Maguire (Annapolis, 1975), 721–22.
41 Younghusband, Philippines and Round About, 115. “British Irony and the Spanish-American War,” Bookman, 11 (March 1900), 10. A tendency to switch the wars appeared in boys’ fiction: the American boy–protagonist begins as a volunteer in the Philippine-American War and finishes fighting for the British in South Africa in Elbridge Streeter Brooks, With Lawton and Roberts: A Boy’s Adventure in the Philippines and the Transvaal (Boston, 1900).
42 The Spanish-Cuban-American War had also been reported upon in South Africa. See M. Boucher, “Imperialism, the Transvaal Press, and the Spanish-American War of 1898,” Kleio, 5 (no. 2, 1973), 1–32. Jacob Isselhard, The Filipino in Every-day Life: An Interesting and Instructive Narrative of the Personal Observations of an American Soldier during the Late Philippine Insurrection (Chicago, 1904), 116.117.
43 On U.S. “anti-imperialism,” see Richard E. Welch Jr., Response to Imperialism: The United States and the Philippine-American War, 1899–1902 (Chapel Hill, 1979); Daniel Schirmer, Republic or Empire: American Resistance to the Philippine War (Cambridge, Mass., 1972); Robert L. Beisner, Twelve against Empire: The Anti-Imperialists, 1898–1900 (New York, 1968); Jim Zwick, ed., Sentenaryo/Centennial <http://www.boondocksnet.com/centennial/index.html> (Dec. 17, 2001); E. Berkeley Thompkins, Anti-Imperialism in the United States: The Great Debate, 1890–1920 (Philadelphia, 1970); Jim Zwick, “The Anti-Imperialist League and the Origins of Filipino-American Oppositional Solidarity,” Amerasia Journal, 24 (Summer 1998), 64–85; and James A. Zimmerman, “Who Were the Anti-Imperialists and the Expansionists of 1898 and 1899? A Chicago Perspective,” Pacific Historical Review, 46 (Nov. 1977), 589–601. On the “anti-imperialists'” sense of history, including national exceptionalism, see Fabian Filfrich, “Falling Back into History: Conflicting Visions of National Decline and Destruction in the Imperialism Debate around the Turn of the Century,” in The American Nation, National Identity, Nationalism, ed. Knud Krakau (Münster, 1997), 149–66. On gender and “anti-imperialism,” see Hoganson, Fighting for American Manhood. On the importance of “anti-imperialism” to twentieth-century foreign policy, see Frank Ninkovich, The United States and Imperialism (Malden, 2001). For “anti-imperialist” arguments, see Philip Foner and Richard C. Winchester, The Anti-Imperialist Reader: A Documentary History of Anti-Imperialism in the United States (New York, 1984); Roger Bresnahan, ed., In Time of Hesitation: American Anti-Imperialists and the Philippine-American War (Quezon City, 1981); and Zwick, ed., Sentenaryo / Centennial. On racist “anti-imperialism,” see Christopher Lasch, “The Anti-Imperialists, the Philippines, and the Inequality of Man,” Journal of Southern History, 24 (Aug. 1958), 319–31; and Eric Tyrone Lowery Love, “Race over Empire: Racism and United States Imperialism, 1865–1900” (Ph.D. diss., Princeton University, 1997).
44 William C. Reuter, “The Anatomy of Political Anglophobia in the United States, 1865–1900,” Mid-America, 61 (April–July 1979), 117–32. On anglophobia and tariff politics, see Crapol, America for Americans. On early-nineteenth-century American fears of British imperial expansion, see Kinley Brauer, “The United States and British Imperial Expansion, 1815–1860,” Diplomatic History, 12 (Winter 1988), 19–37.
45 Although they directed their arguments primarily against U.S. colonialism, U.S. “anti-imperialists” also criticized the British Empire. See Alan Raucher, “American Anti-Imperialists and the Pro-India Movement, 1900–1932,” Pacific Historical Review, 43 (no. 1, 1974), 83–110.
46 Rudyard Kipling, quoted in Gossett, Race, 322; George Herbert Adams, Why Americans Dislike England (Philadelphia, 1896), 17; Augustus O. Bacon, “Independence for the Philippines,” in William Jennings Bryan et al., Republic or Empire: The Philippine Question (Chicago, 1899), 545.
47 Carl Schurz, “The Anglo-American Friendship,” Atlantic Monthly, 82 (Oct. 1898), 437, 438.
48 William Jennings Bryan, “America’s Mission,” in Bryan et al., Republic or Empire, 37–38.
49 Ibid., 38–39.
50 On debates about the closing of the continental frontier and its relationship to U.S. national exceptionalism, see David Wrobel, The End of American Exceptionalism: Frontier Anxiety from the Old West to the New Deal (Lawrence, 1993). William Jennings Bryan, “Imperialism, not Expansion,” in Chicago Record’s Debate on “Our Duty to the Philippines” (Chicago, 1901), Ayer Collection (Newberry Library, Chicago, Ill.).
51 On U.S. interests and the development of U.S. South African policy, see Thomas J. Noer, Briton, Boer, and Yankee: The United States and South Africa, 1870–1914 (Kent, 1978); and Stuart E. Knee, “Anglo-American Understanding and the Boer War,” Australian Journal of Politics and History, 30 (no. 2, 1984), 196–208.
52 On Richard Harding Davis’s shift from English to Boer sympathies, for example, see Todd Uhlman, “Dispatching Anglo-Saxonism: Richard Harding Davis Reports from South Africa,” paper delivered at the “Pairing Empires” conference (in Kramer’s possession). Harry Thurston Peck, “American Opinion on the South African War,” Bookman, 10 (Feb. 1900), 530, 531.
53 On the global dimensions of Progressive Era racism in the U.S. South, as illustrated by Boer–white supremacist solidarity, see Jack Temple Kirby, Darkness at the Dawning: Race and Reform in the Progressive South (Philadelphia, 1972), chap. 6. African American critics argued against U.S.-Boer solidarity. See Willard Gatewood Jr., “Black Americans and the Boer War, 1899–1902,” South Atlantic Quarterly, 75 (Spring 1976), 226–44. New York World, quoted in Literary Digest (June 6, 1900). Peck, “American Opinion on the South African War,” 531–32.
54 Edward Stratemeyer, Between Boer and Briton; or, Two Boys’ Adventures in South Africa (Boston, 1900), 50–51, 134, 104–5. Stratemeyer’s Old Glory Series opportunistically took place in the land and sea campaigns of the new colonial empire of the United States. He would write and profit from the syndicate production of children’s series including the Bobbsey Twins (1904), Tom Swift (1910), the Hardy Boys (1927), and Nancy Drew (1930). See Carol Billman, The Secret of the Stratemeyer Syndicate: Nancy Drew, the Hardy Boys, and the Million Dollar Fiction Factory (New York, 1986). On the gender of imperial popular fiction in the 1890s, see Amy Kaplan, “Romancing the Empire: The Embodiment of American Masculinity in the Popular Historical Novel of the 1890s,” American Literary History, 2 (no. 4, 1990), 659–90.
55 Stratemeyer, Between Boer and Briton, 140, 292–93, 330, 352.
56 Anderson, Race and Rapprochement, chap. 8.
57 Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, chap. 6.
58 On Filipino-American collaboration politics within the U.S. colonial state, see Ruby Paredes, ed., Philippine Colonial Democracy (Manila, 1989); Paul Hutchcroft, “Colonial Masters, National Politicos, and Provincial Lords: Central Authority and Local Autonomy in the American Philippines, 1900–1913,” Journal of Asian Studies, 59 (May 2000), 277–306; Julian Go, “Colonial Reception and Cultural Reproduction: Filipino Elites and United States Tutelary Rule,” Journal of Historical Sociology, 12 (Dec. 1999), 337–68; Norman G. Owen, ed., Compadre Colonialism: Studies on the Philippines under American Rule (Ann Arbor, 1971); and Bonifacio Salamanca, The Filipino Reaction to American Rule, 1901–1913 (Hamden, 1968). Filipinos traveling and studying in European capitals in the late nineteenth century and advocating colonial reform in the Propaganda Movement sometimes praised the British Empire over the Spanish, arguing for its superior economic development and political liberalism, a critique sharpened by Hong Kong’s status as a political refuge. Arguments of this kind frequently appeared in the Filipino journal La Solidaridad (1889–1896). For example, José Ramos distributed secret pamphlet literature from his Manila-based store, La Gran Bretaña, after he studied business in London. E. Arsenio Manuel, ed., Dictionary of Philippine Biography, s.v. “Ramos, José A.” (Quezon City, 1955–1970), 353–61. See John Schumacher, The Propaganda Movement, 1880–1895 (Manila, 1973). On Manuel Quezon’s use of the British Empire as a nationalist lever, see Nicholas Tarling, “Quezon and the British Commonwealth,” Australian Journal of Politics and History, 23 (no. 2, 1977), 182–206. On Filipino connections to Australia, see Reynaldo Ileto and Rodney J. Sullivan, eds., Discovering Australasia: Essays on Philippine-Australian Interactions (Townsville, 1993). Mrs. Campbell Dauncey, An Englishwoman in the Philippines (London, 1906), 333.
59 By 1916, for example, the Iloilo American-British Community was roughly equally divided between Britons (mostly merchants, commercial agents, and bank officials) and Americans (nearly all local government functionaries). That March the society gave a farewell party for two British members leaving the Philippines “to join the British Army” and an American member, a constabulary officer, “who was leaving to join the Standard Oil Co. in India.” Photo caption, Folder: “Iloilo American-British Community (1916),” Events and Features File, American Historical Collection (Rizal Library, Ateneo de Manila University, Quezon City, Philippines). The photo itself apparently no longer exists. On American colonial social and institutional life in Manila, including club life, see Lewis Gleeck, Manila Americans, 1901–1965 (Manila, 1977); and Lewis Gleeck, Over Seventy-Five Years of Philippine-American History: The Army-Navy Club (Manila, 1976).
60 George Boxall, The Anglo-Saxon: A Study in Evolution (London, 1902), 220, 221.
61 On the intersections between colonialism and Progressive reform movements in the United States, see Patricio Abinales, “Progressive-Machine Conflict in Early Twentieth Century American Politics and Colonial State-Building in the Philippines,” in U.S. Colonial State in the Philippines, ed. Go and Foster; and Paul A. Kramer, “Reflex Actions: Toward a Transnational History of U.S. Imperial Progressivism,” paper presented at the University of Bielefeld, Germany, July 2001 (in Kramer’s possession). Julian Hawthorne, “A Side Issue of Expansion,” Forum, 27 (June 1899), 443; Archibald Colquhoun, Greater America (New York, 1904), iii, 277.
62 James LeRoy, “A Disputed ‘Authority,'” Boston Evening Transcript, Oct. 22, 1904. On British opinion of U.S. foreign policy between 1898 and 1902, see Geoffrey Seed, “British Views of American Policy in the Philippines Reflected in Journals of Opinion, 1898–1907,” Journal of American Studies, 2 (no. 1, 1968), 49–64; and Geoffrey Seed, “British Reactions to American Imperialism Reflected in Journals of Opinion, 1898–1900,” Political Science Quarterly, 73 (June 1958), 254–72. On “The White Man’s Burden” and its reception, see Jim Zwick, “‘The White Man’s Burden’ and Its Critics” <http://www.boondocksnet.com/kipling/>, in Anti-Imperialism in the United States, 1898–1935, ed. Jim Zwick <http://www.boondocksnet.com/ail98-35.html> (Dec. 17, 2001). Carl Crow, America and the Philippines (Garden City, 1914), 65.
63 Dauncey, Englishwoman in the Philippines, 13; Clifford, “Destiny of the Philippines,” 155, 159; Hugh Charles Clifford, “America’s Problem in the Philippines,” Living Age, 251 (1906), 80.
64 On the projects of the early U.S. colonial state in the Philippines, see Glenn May, Social Engineering in the Philippines: The Aims, Execution, and Impact of American Colonial Policy, 1900–1913 (Westport, 1980); and Vicente L. Rafael, “White Love: Surveillance and Nationalist Resistance in the U.S. Colonization of the Philippines,” in Cultures of United States Imperialism, ed. Kaplan and Pease, 185–218. On urban planning, see Thomas Hines, “The Imperial Facade: Daniel H. Burnham and American Architectural Planning in the Philippines,” Pacific Historical Review, 41 (no. 1, 1972), 33–53. On the medical state, see Reynaldo Ileto, “Cholera and the Origins of the American Sanitary Order in the Philippines,” in Imperial Medicine and Indigenous Societies, ed. David Arnold (Manchester, 1992), 125–48; Ken De Bevoise, Agents of Apocalypse: Epidemic Disease in the Colonial Philippines (Princeton, 1995); and Warwick Anderson, “‘Where Every Prospect Pleases and Only Man Is Vile’: Laboratory Medicine as Colonial Discourse,” Critical Inquiry, 18 (Spring 1992), 502–29. On the Bureau of Insular Affairs, see Romeo Victorino Cruz, America’s Colonial Desk and the Philippines, 1898–1934 (Quezon City, 1974).
65 David P. Barrows to James LeRoy, Dec. 10, 1904, Folder “Jan.–Dec. 1904,” David P. Barrows Papers (Bancroft Library, University of California, Berkeley); LeRoy, “Disputed ‘Authority.'”
66 James LeRoy, “The Philippines and the Filipinos,” Bulletin of the American Historical Collection, 26 (July–Sept. 1998), 10; William S. Washburn, “Civil Service Reform and the Evolution of Good Government,” in “Exhibit D: 5th Annual Report of the Philippine Civil Service Board,” Report of the Philippine Commission to the Secretary of War for 1905, 1906, I, 711. Alleyne Ireland was a British critic of the American colonial state in the Philippines. See, for example, Alleyne Ireland, Tropical Colonization: An Introduction to the Study of the Subject (New York, 1899).
67 Beveridge, For the Greater Republic, 14; Colquhoun, Greater America, 68; Dauncey, Englishwoman in the Philippines, 134.
68 See Report of the Philippine Commission to the Secretary of War, 1901–1916. Younghusband, Philippines and Round About, 217–22. Advertisement for the British India Steam Navigation Co., Manila Times, June 13, 1899, p. 1 (Lopez Memorial Museum, Manila, Philippines).
69 “El Comisionado Schurman en Borneo” (Commissioner Schurman in Borneo), La Independencia (Malabon), Aug. 11, 1899. Translation from Spanish by the author. The original article was in the Hong-Kong Telegraph, July 15, 1899.
70 Spanish botanists in the Philippines had exchanged specimens and publications with British botanists in the 1870s and 1880s. “Kew Gardens Memos and Correspondence about the Philippines,” microfilm 1936 (Filipiniana Collections, University of the Philippines, Manila, Philippines). “La exhibición de productos agrículos en Singapore” (The exhibition of agricultural products in Singapore), El Renacimiento Filipino (Manila), Oct. 14, 1910, p. 10.

By Paul A. Kramer