This Week's Sneak Peek

Before putting last Saturday's Graphical History Tour together, I had never heard the song "Aquarela do Brasil" sung with words.

What I found when looking up its lyrics were what someone wrote for Frank Sinatra to sing; Ary Barroso's original lyrics in Portuguese have nothing to do with S.K. Russell's lyrics about kissing under an amber moon. 

Brasil, meu Brasil Brasileiro,

Meu mulato inzoneiro,

Vou cantar-te nos meus versos:

O Brasil, samba que dá,

Bamboleio, que faz gingar;

O Brasil do meu amor,

Terra de Nosso Senhor. ...

Ô! Esse Brasil lindo e trigueiro,

É o meu Brasil Brasileiro!

Granted, a direct translation would never have sold in the States. I can't quite imagine Sinatra crooning of "This Brazil, beautiful and swarthy."

Then, Tomorrow Was Another Day

Today's Graphical History Tour checks out the international scene in March of 1926, which means that we won't be seeing much from U.S. cartoonists. The Yanks weren't particularly interested in the outside world just then, although that doesn't mean that there was nothing going on. 

"Was Haben Wir von dem Grösser Mannern" by Werner Hahmann in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, March 7, 1926

For one thing, world leaders were still trying to hammer out arms reduction agreements, in accoradance with the Treaty of Versailles that ended World War I. Werner Hahmann here anticipated how the leaders of Italy, France, the U.S., Great Britain, U.S.S.R., and Germany would approach the summit (to use a term that came into use much later) about to get underway.

You should be familiar with Benito Mussolini and Calvin Coolidge, but Americans may not be familiar with the rest of these faces. Aristide Briand was Prime Minister of France off and on from 1909 to 1929; nobody warmed that seat for very long at a time in the 1920's. Austen Chamberlain was British Foreign Secretary, and Nobel Peace Prize laureate with Briand and Germany's Gustav Stresemann for negotiating the Locarno Treaty settling Germany's western border.

Georgy Chicherin was the U.S.S.R. People's Commissar for Foreign Affairs, and I have no clue what Hahmann's reference to whistling was about. Chicherin, having been arrested in England for antiwar activity when Russia's October Revolution took place, promoted a pro-German, anti-British foreign policy; so I imagine that in spite of Kladderadatsch's opposition to communism, Hahmann regarded Chicherin as a relatively benign presence.

Hans Luther was Chancellor of Germany from January, 1925 to May, 1926. Kladderadatsch's cartoonists must not have found him particularly inspiring, since time and time again, all they could come up with for cartoons about him was to have him quote Martin Luther's famous "Here I stand" statement.

"That's a Good Idee" by Wm. A. Rogers in Washington [DC] Post, March 24, 1926

I'm including one U.S. cartoonist here, isolationist W.A. Rogers, depicting U.S. participation in disarmament talks as something eagerly sought by European powers. His Uncle Sam would consider coming along strictly as a favor. Why, his "national defense" was merely a toy!

"You Can't Always Tell by the Picture on the Packet" by Sidney Strube in London Daily Express, ca. Mar. 21, 1926

London cartoonist Sidney Strube drew Uncle Sam kibitzing over the fence at Europe, whose packet of Locarno lily seeds has produced some strange flowers. "Say! Bo! That's funny stuff you are growing!"

"Der Gute Bruder aus dem Westen" by Werner Hahmann in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, March 7, 1926

U.S. interest in the disarmament conference was disingenuous, in Hahmann's view. In this cartoon, Uncle Same brings to the table "Huge strengthening of the American air fleet" and "new travel loans for America's navy."

"Deutschland im Võlkerbund" by Ernst Schilling in Simplicissimus, Stuttgart, March 1, 1926

Over at Simplicissimus, Ernst Schilling saw plenty of disingenuousness to go around among the disarmament negotiators. I don't believe any of the characters on the right side of the cartoon are caricatures of actual delegates (with the possible exception of the very British looking chap in the foreground), but I think that the presumably German man on the left looking askance at the rest must be.

"Umtriebe" by Arthur Krüger in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, March 7, 1926

The fellow in the foreground of Kruger's cartoon represented Poland, as identified by the czapka on his head. The cap became a symbol of Polish independence after the war, and was adopted as cartooning shorthand for that country, as Michel and Marianne were for Germany and France.

At issue here was whether to admit Germany into the League of Nations (Völkerbund in German), which Poland and France opposed.

"Der Taufbeken in Genf" by Arthur Johnson in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, March 7, 1926

The feeling was mutual: Arthur Johnson was among Germans who were also highly skeptical of joining the League, especially if despised Poland were a member as well.

"Auf in den Völkerbund" by Wilhelm Schulz in Simplicissimus, Stuttgart, March 15, 1926

Wilhelm Schulz's cartoon depicts Mussolini and Poland (ach du lieber! a drunkard, too!) conspiring to sabotage Germany's seat at the League of Nations table.

"Polen Beansprucht einen Festen Sitz im Völkerbund" by Richter in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, March 21, 1926

The Polish position, rather, was that if Germany were to have a permanent seat in the League, so should Poland.

"Versuchtes, aber Mißglücktes Falschspiel in Genf" by Oskar Garvens in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, March 21, 1926

Poland had the support of both Great Britain (you'll notice that Chamberlain's King of Spades is wearing a czapka) and France, with treaties obliging both to come to its aid if attacked.  

"Mißglücktes Experiment" by Arthur Johnson in Kladderadatsch, March 28, 1926

Poland was not the only country lobbying for a permanent League of Nations Seat. So were Brazil and Spain, the former of which was adamantly opposed to admitting Germany, earning it an especially grotesque characterization from Artie Johnson in this cover cartoon.

"Vorverkauf an der Kaffe in Genf" by Oskar Garvens in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, March 28, 1926

Oskar Garvens added China (and "War") to the waiting list in his cartoon. 

Cartoonists must have had little upon which to draw Brazilian stereotypes, in case the fourth fellow in line appears Mexican to you. Mexico repeatedly refused invitations to join the League of Nations until 1931.

"She Will Have to Get a New Canary Now" by Arthur Racey in Montreal Star, March 19, 1926

The Brazilian government would be gravely disappointed that Germany was admitted to the League and Brazil was not granted a permanent seat. Brazil quit the League later that year.

In A.G. Racey's cartoon, "European Peace" holds an empty birdcage bereft of its former occupant, "the Locarno Concord Canary." The Locarno Concord had been hailed as a great success at its December 1, 1925 signing by the great powers of western Europe (see the Graphic History Tour post here). I think that by asking "Whose cat are you, anyway?", Racey was taking into account that Brazil was not a party to the Locarno Concord.

"Endresultat" by Werner Hahmann in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, March 28, 1926

Agreeing with Racey's pessimism, Hahmann's cartoon quotes from the final stanzas of "Des Sängers Fluch" (The Singer's Curse) by Ludwig Uhland, set to music by Robert Schumann.

In the poem, a pair of minstrels entertain a cruel king and his court, pleasing the queen but enraging the king, who kills the younger of the minstrels. The older minstrel levels a curse at the king which comes true: in the end, the king's once beautiful castle lies in ruins but for one lone, crumbling column, its king forgotten.

Everyone was not ready to write off the Locarno Treaties as a failure just yet, but they ultimately did prove inadequate to ensuring a lasting peace in Europe.

The treaties delineated Germany's western border, ceding Alsace-Lorraine to France, but did not settle disputed territories on Germany's eastern border with Poland. There were Polish enclaves on the west side of the Oder-Neisse line and Germans living on the east side of the rivers. Danzig/Gdansk was a further bone of contention: as part of Poland, it separated East Prussia from the rest of Germany; without it, Poland would be landlocked.

"Powerful Brazil" by Billy Ireland in Columbus Dispatch, March, 1926

But sure, you can just blame Brazil if you'd rather.

Or the bossa nova.

World News

 Come with me on a quick world tour in 1921, won't you?

"St. Patrick's Day Dream of Tomorrow" by Bob Satterfield for Newspaper Enterprise Assn., March 17, 1921

Since we've just made it past another St. Patrick's Day, we'll start with Ireland; where their British overlords celebrated the holiday by hanging six Irish Republicans convicted of killing British intelligence officers.

"Peace and Permanent Settlement" by David Low in London Star, Jan./Feb., 1921

Sir Edward Carson was the Conservative MP given the task of finding a peaceful settlement to Britain's Irish problem. His was the novel observation that if Irish Catholics and Protestants would just stop killing each other, they wouldn't have to live in fear of each other. 

"The Dove of Peace" by Jon Cottrell in Chronicle, Manchester, ca. March, 1921

Coming to England from Australia, David Low saw the issue of Irish independence (and Indian independence as well) differently than most of the other cartoonists on that Blessed Isle. According to his memoir, Low's Autobiography, he received some strongly worded pushback from other newspapers and their readers.

"When Are You Going to Pay This Bill?" in London Opinion, ca. March, 1921

Meanwhile, London (and Paris) were insisting upon steep war indemnity from Germany, and had no patience for Germany's protestations that it couldn't afford to pay. 

"The Island of Yap" by Frederick Opper for Star Publishing, ca. Feb. 16, 1921

William Randolph Hearst and his newspapers were eager for the U.S. to call in debts supposedly owed by the major Entente powers and a smattering of other countries around the world. The issue has nothing to do with dispute between the U.S. and Japan over the Micronesian island of Yap, but that didn't stop Hearst cartoonist Frederick Opper from drawing a series of cartoons in which Yap features prominently in merry songs about how nobody is in a rush to repay loans from Uncle Sam.

(I have to apologize for his characterization of Liberia, which appears in all of Opper's "Island of Yap" cartoons. Crude caricatures of Blacks, and, for that matter, foreigners, were the rule in this era, and nowhere moreso than in Mr. Opper's work.)

"Where He Will Be Waiting for Us" by Carey Orr in Chicago Tribune, March 17, 1921

Not every cartoonist thought that Japan staking a claim on the island of Yap was a joke.

"The Sick Man Sees a Silver Lining" by Fred Morgan in Philadelphia Inquirer, March, 1921

Meanwhile, since the Harding administration wasn't interested in governing a mandate over Armenia, the allies decided to let the Ottomans retain control there, in spite of the Turkish genocide of civilians. Between 1915 and 1923, Turkey literally decimated its Armenian population through deportation, forced conversion to Islam, death marches, and outright execution.

"La Civiltà È Finalmente Nelle Nostre Mani," in Pasquino, Torino, ca. March, 1921

Turkey found a new ally in its former adversary Russia. The Bolsheviks, discarding the Romanovs' concern for defending Christianity south of the Black Sea, shared the Ottomans' interest in subjugating their Armenian citizens.

"Who Will Suffer Most?" by Winsor McCay, December, 1920

Any time there was an uprising somewhere in Russia, cartoonists in the U.S. and elsewhere rushed to their drawing boards to proclaim the imminent demise of the Soviet Socialist Republic. March, 1921 witnessed a flurry of such cartoons. What I find more interesting, however, are cartoons like this one in support of Western capitalists who saw financial opportunity in Communist Russia. Winsor McCay was not the only cartoonist who thought the U.S. was losing a potentially valuable market to other countries (especially Great Britain).

Speaking of the class struggle of the proletariat...

"Polonia ha Ordinato Trecento Aeroplani.." in Pasquino, Torino, ca. February, 1921

I have to respect Cartoon Magazine's translation, awkward as it is, of this cartoon by someone whose signature I can't read. (Why, moreover, does the Italian agitator who doesn't bear the slightest resemblance to the Russian leader have "W. Lenin" tattooed on his belly?)

Translating these cartoons isn't as easy as typing words into Google Translate, and here are a couple of cartoons that exemplify that.

"Die Seindlichen Schwestern" by Oskar Theuer in Ulk, Berlin, March 4, 1921

I include this cartoon as one of the earliest cartoons I have come across featuring the Nazi party — the sister seated on the left of her rival, the Deutsche Volkspartei (German People's Party). Both parties were anti-socialist, no matter what that uncle of yours who watches Fox News all night tells you that Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei means.

The caption on this cartoon doesn't seem to translate well; "Die seindlichen Schwestern" is literally "The Enemy Sisters." For all my searching, "Extratour" seems only to translate to English exactly as it looks. I'm only guessing that Oskar Theuer was making some sarcastic allusion to these "enemy sisters" returning to the dance floor in the final panel.

"Desafinação no Continente" by José Carlos de Brito e Cunha in Careta, Rio de Janeiro, March, 1921

I'm similarly stymied by the last word in this Brazilian cartoon, which may mean goals or ends, or, judging from Tio Sam's left hand, it could be a slang term for money and influence.

At any rate, a border conflict between Panama and Costa Rica over the latter's incursion into Almirante presented the Harding administration with its inaugural foreign crisis. Bound by treaty to protect Panama's sovereignty (and because we had seized the isthmus from Columbia in order to build a canal through it), the U.S. did indeed step in to mediate the conflict, and the matter was settled fairly quickly.

This Week's Sneak Peek

Didn't I just draw about R.G. & G.R. Harris Funeral Homes Inc. v. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission last week?

Well, yes.

But David Rowe has already drawn Bolsonaro fiddling while the Amazon burns (and threw in a couple genius touches I hadn't thought of), and I'm already tired of Greenland jokes. 

And I started drawing before Trump tried to sell the idea this morning that he wouldn't benefit financially by having the G7+Russian Empire confab at Mar-a-Lago next year.

Versailles of Relief

The world commemorates November 11 as the day in 1918 when the fighting stopped in World War I, but today's Surrenderback Saturday marks an equally important centennial coming up next week. On June 28, 1919, the German government finally officially accepted the Entente's terms and signed the Paris peace accord.

Remembering Paul von Hindenburg's reply, to reports of food shortages in Berlin, that he would be in Paris by April 1, 1918, the St. Louis Republic's Sidney Chapin produced this gem:

"Sire, Your Paris Dinner Is Served" by Sid Chapin in St. Louis Republic, June, 1919

The punishment imposed on Germany was harsh, and intentionally so. The industrial Alsace-Lorraine region was given to France, and East Prussia was separated from the rest of Germany by the recreation of Poland. England, France and Italy demanded reparations from Germany as further punishment.

"Das Festmahl" by Johannes Bahr in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, June 15, 1919

Johannes Bahr's cartoon portrays Michel (Germany's Uncle Sam/John Bull/Marianne) having to sacrifice his own cow and to do all the hard work of butchering and roasting it all for the benefit of others. The final panel is labeled "This is called 'League of Nations.'"

"The Next Patient" by Wm. C. Morris for George Matthew Adams Service, ca. June, 1919

The German Empire's territorial losses paled next to those imposed on Austria, which lost Bohemia, Moravia, Silesia, Galicia, Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia, Hungary, Bukavina, Transylvania, and parts of what are now Serbia and Italy. Given these losses, the Entente powers recognized that what was left of Austria was in no position to pay the huge reparations expected of Germany.

The victors helped themselves to portions of the junior Central Powers of the Ottoman Empire and Bulgaria as well, while granting Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia freedom from Russia as punishment for the Bolsheviks quitting the war in 1917. And for being commies.

"Der Schwertertanz" by Hans Gabriel Jentzsch in Wahre Jakob, Stuttgart, June 20, 1919

The humiliation of the Central Powers was not received particularly well in Germany; cartoons of the victorious Entente, and President Wilson in particular, drip with sarcasm. In Hans Jentsch's cartoon, Wilson's sheet music is "Wilson's 14 Points."

"Höher Geht's Nimmer" by Willi Steinert in Wahre Jakob, Stuttgart, March 14, 1919

Nor were the Germans alone in ridiculing the American president.

"O Ovo de Colombo" by José Carlos de Brito e Cunha in La Careta, Rio de Janeiro, May 24, 1919

Some of the sharpest barbs came from our allies. Gabriele Galanta depicts Wilson's 14 Points as a bunch of toy rubber clowns.

"14 Articoli Americani di Gomma Elastica de Vendere" by Gabriele "Rata Langa" Galanta in l'Asino, May 18, 1919

As we've discussed before, part of Wilson's problem stemmed from the competing appetites the erstwhile allies of the Entente had for the territory of their vanquished foes. Italy thought the Italian majority of residents of the city of Fiume (Rijeka) entitled it to more of the Croatian coast than Wilson thought appropriate, and Japan wasn't about to return German-leased territory on the Shandong peninsula to China.

"At the Peace Table" by Cy Hungerford in Pittsburgh Sun, May/June, 1919

Australian cartoonist David Low enjoyed embarrassing the American president over Mr. Wilson's opposition to Japanese demands to include language guaranteeing that the League's members "equal and just treatment" of aliens within their borders from other member states.

"Washington's New Found Brother" by David Low in Sydney Bulletin, 1919

The European powers opposed that provision, too. Donald Trump would have been so pleased that the Just Treatment of Aliens clause didn't make it into the charter.

"Say, John, There's Some Dirt on Your Face" by Alfred Lewis in The World, London, 1919

American senators pushed to have consideration for Irish independence included in the Paris peace negotiations. British cartoonist Alfred Lewis, noting the renewed raids of Pancho Villa off our southwestern border, would have none of it.

"The Embarrassment of Arranging a Match..." by John T. McCutcheon in Chicago Tribune, June 13, 1919

The Irish question would prove to be hardly the limit of senatorial second guessing of the peace treaty.

A Brazilian Reasons

Last week, Brazil elected a new president, Jair Bolsonaro, who has been called the Brazilian Trump.

Like Trump, Bolsonaro was dismissed as a fascist fringe candidate with no real chance of getting elected when he first declared his candidacy. During his 30-year career in politics, he has praised Brazil's 1964-1985 military dictatorship and advocated the use of torture and murder against dissidents. He advocates loosening gun controls as the answer to Brazil's shockingly high murder rate (175 per day in 2017).

At issue in my cartoon this week is a 2011 interview Bolsonaro gave to Playboy magazine in which he said,

“I would be incapable of loving a homosexual son. I won’t be a hypocrite: I prefer a son to die in an accident than show up with a mustachioed guy. He’d be dead to me anyway.”

On an appearance with Bolsonaro on Brazilian television, Preta Gil, daughter of Gilberto Gil, asked Bolsonaro how he'd feel if one of his sons fell in love with a black woman, and he snapped that "my sons were brought up very well and they haven't lived in environments such as is, unfortunately, yours." He later claimed that he had misheard the question as having suggested that his son fall in love with a black man.

Bolsonaro's election has to be seen as part of a trend favoring fascists here in the U.S. as well as in the Philippines, Italy, Hungary and Poland. In Bolsonaro's case, he benefited from public weariness with corruption allegations against the previous administration, coupled with the hangover that has followed the sugar rush of some phenomenal economic growth in the first half of this decade.

But as experience has shown throughout history, fascists may make the trains run on time, but there is absolutely nothing mutually exclusive about fascism and corruption.

South of the Border

Trump's racist ranting against Latinos occasioned last Saturday's post about the U.S. crackdown on Germans during World War I; today, let's catch up on the news south of the Rio Grande at this point in 1918.

When last we checked in on U.S.-Latin American relations, it was coming to light that reports of Pancho Villa's death were greatly exaggerated, but U.S. expeditionary forces were being withdrawn from Mexico in exchange for promises by Mexican President Venustiano Carranza to do more to stop Villa's border raids.

"Gulliver en la Tierra de los Liliputienses" in El Momo, Mexico City, before February, 1918

The above cartoon depicts Carranza tied down by members of his own political party, the Partido Liberal Constitucionalista. I regret that that I cannot credit the Latin-American cartoonists in this blog post by name; they were not credited in Cartoons magazine and each of the cartoons appear to have been unsigned. (Given the autocratic tendencies and instability of many Latin American governments, signing one's name to a political cartoon could be hazardous to one's health.)

Pancho Villa was not the only issue dividing Mexico and the U.S. The American occupation of Veracruz in the Tampico Oil Fields affair of 1914 had led to the downfall of Carranza's predecessor and was a continued irritant to the Mexican government. By 1917, the Tampico oil fields were under the control of Manuel Pelaez, whose sympathies toward the Allies did not come without a cost. Cartoons magazine's Latin America correspondent, Harry H. Dunn, described Pelaez's modus operandi:

"These fields, in which are more than 50 wells which flow an average of 100,000 barrels a day, are policed and protected by Manuel Pelaez, better known in the 200 square miles which he controls as "King Pelaez." For this protection, which is real and thoroughly carried out against Mexicans and foreign intruders impartially, Pelaez receives $20,000 a month from the owners of the wells. ... Britishers, Americans and Frenchmen come and go freely in the territory Pelaez controls, but anyone of Teutonic tendencies or anyone against whom the oil well owners have the slightest suspicion is held for examination, or unceremoniously hustled out of that region."

"Moses" in El Momo, Mexico City, before January, 1918

The Mexican government collected its taxes on oil exports on top of the protection payments charged by King Pelaez, but in a move to more effectively control Mexico's most important natural resource,  Carranza ordered Pelaez and his soldiers driven out of the district in November, 1917. This did not result in any savings to Mexico's petroleum customers; Carranza simply raised the petroleum export tax.

"Von Rin Rin y Su Mundo" in El Momo, Mexico City, before January, 1918

Rafael Martinez, the editor of Mexico City's El Demócrata newspaper, was a German sympathizer described by Mr. Dunn, as "right-hand man" to Mexico's Ambassador to Germany, Rafael Zubaran. In 1917, Martinez also acquired rival newspaper El Mundo (which, of course, translates to "The World"). El Momo, a Mexico City satirical magazine, skewered the two, referring to Martinez by the nickname Von Rin Rin ("Von Laugh Laugh") and portraying the ambassador as a bloviating academic.

"Dr. Zubaran" in El Momo, Mexico City, before January, 1918

By now, you may have detected that El Momo (The Mimic) had Yanquí sympathies. Here is a fairly flattering caricature of the American Ambassador to Mexico at this time, Henry P. Fletcher.

There's a lot to unpack in this next cartoon, in which the central characters are El Demócrata's Rafael Martinez and Jose Pavalicini, the pro-American editor of El Universal. The caped figure in black on the far right is germanófilo General Obregón, who despite his German sympathies was on a U.S. tour in early 1918 to promote "friendship between the two nations." Appearing as his nemesis on the far left is aliadófilo General Gonzales.

"En el Signo del Laurel" in El Momo, Mexico City, before February, 1918

For the most part, Latin American countries tried to steer a neutral course in the war, but after three Brazilian ships were torpedoed by the Germans, Brazil declared war on Germany in October, 1917. Brazilian troops would not be significantly involved in the fighting, however; perhaps they would have been if the war had lasted longer. Instead, Brazil's primary contribution to the Allies was its naval patrols of the southern Atlantic, and its exports of beef, beans and sugar.

"Come Over Here, Kid" (possibly by J. Carlos?) in A Careta, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, February, 1918 or earlier

The Allies' interception of a note from German chargé d'affaires at Buenos Aires Karl von Luxburg via the Swedish legation to German Foreign Minister Alfred Zimmerman after the sinking of two Argentine ships sparked protests in Argentina, but Argentine President Hipólyto Yrigoyen still refused to be drawn into the conflict.

It was poor psychology, Luxburg wrote, to allow news of such maritime losses to be circulated, therefore Argentine ships should either be left alone altogether or else sunk without a trace, which involved gunning the survivors in lifeboats. Luxburg went on to sneer at the Indianism of South America, make disparaging remarks about Yrigoyen and Foreign Minister Honorio Puerrydon whom he characterized as "a notorious ass and Anglophile." These coldblooded remarks as well as the insults aroused public feeling and German-owned businesses and clubs were wrecked by angry mobs. Luxburg was expelled and in September, 1917 the Argentine Congress voted 76-19 to sever relations with Germany. Yrigoyen, however, was amazingly patient and ignored the clamor of the "best people," continuing diplomatic relations.

"Now Get Out," (possibly by J. Carlos?) in A Careta, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, probably September, 1917.
Contemporary American sources spell the president's name with an "I" instead of a "Y."

Immediately following the U.S. declaration of war, Yrigoyen proposed a conference to be attended by only the Spanish-American states. His plan was to isolate the United States and possibly Brazil from the other American republics and to assert a dominant influence over Latin American affairs. Although most of the invited governments at first accepted the invitation, their enthusiasm soon cooled when they realized how unwise it was to exclude the United States. In the end only Mexico sent delegates, who arrived in Buenos Aires to find that the congress had been postponed indefinitely.

Luxburg's "bundle" in the above cartoon is wrapped in the Swedish flag. Incidentally, instead of Berlin, Luxburg went to Uruguay to represent the German government in Montevideo.

Cartoons magazine thought that his cover illustration from the Argentine magazine Sucesos is complimentary to the American President, but it doesn't appear so to me. Perhaps it was more flattering in color. You decide.

From Sucesos, Buenos Aires, February, 1918 or before.