One of the best pupils Dancing Teacher Arthur Murray ever had was wry-faced little Manuel Luis Quezon (pronounced kay-son'), President of the Commonwealth of the Philippines. Gay, nimble Mr. Quezon, who one night took out 16 Murray instructresses all at once, quickly became a tango expert. To the U. S. State Department, and to U. S. citizens with large investments in the Philippines, Mr. Quezon has been a tango expert ever since—and his dizzying cavortings have given them more than one headache. Last week, as Japan went into new and ominous activity the eyes of the U. S. were on nimble Mr. Quezon.
Mr. Quezon first bobbed into view in 1909—a small, nervous, sallow man with bushy eyebrows, who had gone to Washington as Resident Commissioner of the newly acquired Philippines. A Spanish-Malay mestizo, born of schoolteaching par ents on the island of Luzon, he had fought in the insurrectionist army against Spain, afterwards against the U. S. invaders. Full of energy, brilliant, brittle, as unpredictable as a hummingbird, he spent seven years reminding the U. S. Government of its promises to set the islands free. When he left Washington he had in his pocket the Jones Act, which did not give the Filipinos independence but granted them more voice in their Government. Back in Manila, he got himself elected President of the Senate which the Jones Act set up.
From that sounding board Quezon began to talk. He clashed with U. S. Governors General over prerogatives. Once he cried: "I would rather live under a government run like hell by Filipinos than one run like heaven by Americans." His feud with Governor General Leonard Wood was said to have hastened Wood's death; it laid fiery Quezon low with tuberculosis. Recovered, he got his political machete out again. By this time his campaign for Philippine independence had won support in parts of the U. S. A powerful sugar lobby and many a U. S. producer wanted competitive Philippine products put on the foreign list, subjected to tariff. The Philippines had become an expensive experiment in imperialism. Public desire to be rid of the Islands was finally reflected in the Tydings-McDuffie Act, creating a unicameral Assembly with broad domestic powers, granting full independence in 1946.
Little Mr. Quezon should have been pleased. He was—until he began to think what it would be like to be cast into a world full of wolves. After Japan began its invasion of China, Quezon made a hurried trip to Tokyo. A year later, intimates reported that Quezon was in favor of a re-examination (politicalingo for postponement) of independence.
Francis B. Sayre, appointed High Commissioner last year, arrived in Manila and flatly declared that the Tydings-McDuffie Act meant what it said: the Philippines were to be cut loose in 1946. Wiggling Mr. Quezon suggested an international conference to guarantee the neutrality of his defenseless islands. This summer it was reported that he intended to visit Washington to complain that Commissioner Sayre had trespassed on his rights. Last week he had his resident commissioner in Washington issue a statement that his Government intends to buy at least $2,000,000 worth of commodities in the U. S. every year.