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MEDICARE AND
MEDICAID AT 50
President Lyndon B. Johnson signing Medicare and Medicaid into law on July 30,
1965 at the Harry S. Truman Library in the presence of former President Truman,
former First Lady Bess Truman, Vice President Hubert H. Humphrey (right), and
First Lady “Lady Bird” Johnson (left).
 M EDICAR E AND
M EDICAID AT 5 0
AMERICA’S ENTI TL EM ENT PR O GR AM S I N

TH E A G E OF A F F ORD AB L E C AR E

EDITED BY

ALAN B. COHEN
DAVID C. COLBY
KEITH A. WAILOO
JULIAN E. ZELIZER

1
 1
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Medicare and Medicaid at 50 : America’s entitlement programs in the age of affordable care / edited by
Alan B. Cohen, David C. Colby, Keith A. Wailoo, and Julian E. Zelizer.
p. ; cm.
Includes index.
ISBN 978–0–19–023154–5
I. Cohen, Alan B., editor. II. Colby, David C., editor. III. Wailoo, Keith, editor.
IV. Zelizer, Julian E., editor.
[DNLM: 1. Medicaid—history. 2. Medicare—history. 3. Health Policy—history—United
States. 4. History, 20th Century—United States. 5. History, 21st Century—United States.
W 250 AA1]
RA412.4
368.4′200973—dc23
2014042846

1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Printed in the United States of America
on acid-free paper
 Rashi Fein
1926–2014

This volume is dedicated to the memory of Rashi Fein, PhD, Professor of the
Economics of Medicine, Emeritus, at the Harvard Medical School. Rashi, our
longtime friend and colleague, passed away on September 8, 2014.
He was closely affiliated with the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation Scholars in
Health Policy Research Program for more than 20 years, serving as chair of the
National Advisory Committee for eight years (1994–2002). He cared deeply
about fostering the development of young scholars.
For more than six decades, from positions in the public, private, and academic
sectors, he was a prominent participant in health policy efforts, including
the development and early implementation of the Medicare and Medicaid
programs. His chapter in this volume is a fitting capstone to a stellar career
in academia and public service, and we are grateful to have his wisdom grace
these pages.
 CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION: MEDICARE, MEDICAID, AND THE MORAL TEST OF

GOVERNMENT XI
Alan B. Cohen, David C. Colby, Keith A. Wailoo, & Julian E. Zelizer

PART I
ORIGINS, VISION, AND THE CHALLENGE TO IMPLEMENTATION

1
THE CONTENTIOUS ORIGINS OF MEDICARE AND MEDICAID 3
Julian E. Zelizer

2
CIVIL RIGHTS AND MEDICARE: HISTORICAL CONVERGENCE
AND CONTINUING LEGACY 21
David Barton Smith

3
THE EARLY DAYS OF MEDICARE AND
MEDICAID: A PERSONAL REFLECTION 39
Rashi Fein

4
THE ROAD NOT TAKEN: WHAT HAPPENED TO MEDICARE
FOR ALL? 55
Jonathan Oberlander and Theodore R. Marmor
v i i i • C ontents

PART II
THE REMAKING OF VALUES, RELATIONSHIPS, AND SOCIETY

5
THE TRANSFORMATION OF MEDICAID FROM POOR LAW LEGACY
TO MIDDLE-CLASS ENTITLEMENT? 77
Jill Quadagno

6
HOW THE COURTS CREATED THE MEDICAID ENTITLEMENT 95
Sara Rosenbaum

7
MEDICARE AND THE SOCIAL TRANSFORMATIONS OF
AMERICAN ELDERS 119
Mark Schlesinger

PART III
RETRENCHMENT, REFORM, AND REACTION

8
THIRD RAIL OF POLITICS: THE RISE AND FALL OF MEDICARE’S
UNTOUCHABILITY 147
Mark A. Peterson

9
MEDICARE INNOVATIONS IN THE WAR OVER THE KEY
TO THE US TREASURY 169
Uwe E. Reinhardt

10
MEDICAID RISING: THE PERILS AND POTENTIAL OF
FEDERALISM 191
Frank J. Thompson
 C ontents • i x

11
INDEPENDENCE AND FREEDOM: PUBLIC OPINION AND
THE POLITICS OF MEDICARE AND MEDICAID 213
Andrea Louise Campbell

PART IV
THE ROAD TO AFFORDABLE CARE

12
THE ERA OF BIG GOVERNMENT: WHY IT NEVER ENDED 233
Keith A. Wailoo

13
THE MISSING PIECE: MEDICARE, MEDICAID, AND
LONG-TERM CARE 253
Judith Feder

14
FROM SERVANT TO MASTER TO PARTNER?: MEDICARE, COST
CONTROL, AND THE FUTURE OF AMERICAN HEALTH CARE 273
Jacob S. Hacker

PART V
LOOKING AHEAD

15
MEDICARE IN AMERICAN POLITICAL HISTORY: THE RISE AND
FALL OF SOCIAL INSURANCE 297
James Morone and Elisabeth Fauquert

16
BUILT TO LAST?: POLICY ENTRENCHMENT AND REGRET IN
MEDICARE, MEDICAID, AND THE AFFORDABLE CARE ACT 319
Paul Starr
x • C ontents

CONCLUSION: THE WORLD THAT MEDICARE AND

MEDICAID MADE 333
Alan B. Cohen, David C. Colby, Keith A. Wailoo, and Julian E. Zelizer

List of Abbreviations and Acronyms 341

A Few Facts About Medicare and Medicaid 345
Acknowledgments 349
About the Contributors 351
Index 355
 I N TR O D U C TI ON
ME DIC A R E, M ED I C A I D , A N D TH E M O R A L
T ES T OF G OV ER N M E N T
ALAN B. COHEN, DAVID C. COLBY, KEITH A. WAILOO,
AND JULIAN E. ZELIZER

The political struggles over President Obama’s 2010 healthcare reform law,
the Affordable Care Act (ACA), opened a contentious new chapter in the
already tumultuous 50-year history of Medicaid and Medicare. The ACA’s
promise to overhaul American health care, expanding health insurance to 48
million uninsured Americans who lacked private health insurance and were
not eligible for Medicare or Medicaid, angered some as a “government take-
over of medicine,” even as it excited others about progress in improving the
public’s health. The law promised to create a new system of health insurance
exchanges to provide citizens with the best coverage options available. But
because the ACA was also built into a pre-existing system of programs and
policies, the law cast a large and worrisome shadow. By proposing to compel
states to expand Medicaid coverage dramatically and mandating that indi-
viduals pay a penalty if they did not purchase insurance, the law worried
many Americans—among them governors and attorneys general (prompt-
ing 28 states to file lawsuits to strike down portions of the law). For many of
America’s elderly, these intense political and legal debates surrounding the
ACA created confusion and sowed seeds of anxiety about the future of the
other government program they had grown to depend upon—Medicare.
From the moment that President Obama proposed to take on health-
care reform, his opponents insisted that the initiative posed a grave threat
to Medicare beneficiaries. Medicare would be cut, they said, as part of the
x i i • introduction

new program. Supporters of the ACA (from Congressional Democrats

to AARP) and the White House rebutted the charge, aware of the politi-
cal damage carried by the accusation. Separating myth from fact, the U.S.
News and World Report reassured seniors that Medicare was not being
replaced by “Obamacare.” Any changes would be modest; for example, some
higher-income Medicare beneficiaries should expect to pay more for medi-
cations after the ACA was implemented.1 Calming anxious Medicare ben-
eficiaries about Medicaid expansion, the Medicare.gov website explained,
“Medicare isn’t part of the Health Insurance Marketplace established by
ACA . . . you’ll still have your same benefits and security you have now.”2
Seniors could still expect the same security they had come to cherish.
But their worries, stoked certainly by ACA opponents but also by the
very talk of reform, spoke volumes about the powerful role of Medicare
and Medicaid in American life, as well as the anxieties generated about how
these two programs would interact with each other and with whatever new
ACA programs were developed. Nothing symbolized the complexities,
stakes, and confusions of the moment better than when, in 2009, a South
Carolina man insisted to Republican Congressman Robert Inglis, “Keep
your government hands off my Medicare!” Inglis tried to explain that his
Medicare health care was government health care, “but he was having none
of it”—a sign of the intensity of individual ownership that many people
associate with the benefit.3 Both Medicare and Medicaid were iconic parts
of the American social insurance system, but both were vulnerable, albeit
in different ways. The assertion that the ACA and its Medicaid expansion
would harm Medicare beneficiaries played one group against the other, and
one set of vulnerabilities (lack of health insurance) against the other (health
security of the elderly). Why this claim had such charged resonance is one
among the many themes in this volume.
The two signature programs were born as part of the Great Society in
1965, but with different origins, evolutions, and philosophies guiding them.
Medicaid began as a welfare program for a segment of the poor—highly
stigmatized and contentious. Most policymakers saw the program as an
inconsequential development, added to the Social Security Amendments of
1965 by House Ways and Means Chairman Wilbur Mills only as a stratagem
to stifle conservatives’ proposing it as their alternative to Medicare. As a pro-
gram where each state matched its own dollars with federal funds in order to
provide care for poor women and their children, governors and legislators
 I ntroduction • x i i i

were wary from the start about the federal bargain. Medicaid’s fate would
depend heavily on how debates over welfare and poverty unfolded between
states and the federal government. In 1969, 12 states had not yet joined the
program. But by 1977, only one held out—Arizona. In 1982, more than
a decade after the law was passed, it too would adopt the program, with a
waiver of some federal requirements.
Medicare began very differently; from the start, it was a federal entitle-
ment program through and through. If Medicaid was considered a minor
program, legislators celebrated Medicare as the single most important expan-
sion of health care in the twentieth century. Funded in large part by payroll
taxes designated specifically for the program in the paychecks of working
Americans, this healthcare plan was not stigmatized as a welfare giveaway.
As with Social Security, Americans came to see the benefits as earned—as
government returning to them contributions they had made through their
Social Security taxes. Some saw this as a right to health care. From the start,
then, what each program symbolized to Americans differed dramatically.
For the 50 years since their creation, the question of what each reflected
about the nation’s commitments to its citizens, and what beneficiaries in
each might win or lose under any new reforms, had sweeping implications.
In many ways, the debates surrounding the ACA clarified Americans’
understanding of its complex healthcare system; but in many ways, the ACA
debates spread confusion about Medicare, Medicaid, and how they affected
one another. The pages ahead help to explain this complicated landscape
by telling the story of Medicare and Medicaid together—their inception in
the 1960s, their 50-year evolution and expansion, their wide impact on the
states and the country, and how the changing fortunes of these two signa-
ture programs, in turn, changed the nation. These stories are often told sepa-
rately, as if insuring the elderly as a social commitment stands apart from
insuring people in poverty; yet 50 years ago, the elderly were a major part
of the face of poverty in America. The volume, therefore, brings together
leading scholars, writers, and policymakers from multiple disciplinary per-
spectives to analyze the questions that have long shadowed these programs,
and to clarify many of the lingering confusions about whether reform in
one realm helps or harms the other. In the pages ahead, we ask these ques-
tions: What was the original Medicare and Medicaid vision, and how did
it change? What have been their key accomplishments and failures? How
and why have both programs expanded in the five decades since their
x i v • introduction

creation—and with what political, social, financial, and legal ramifications?

And why, despite their growth, did there remain a pressing need for new
reforms to extend health insurance to those lacking private health insurance
and not eligible for Medicare or Medicaid? Apart from clarifying confusions
in the wake of the ACA and Medicaid expansion, the fiftieth anniversary
of both programs in 2015 provides an additional reason to take a deep and
studied breath—and to look critically at their history and development, and
to gather lessons for the future.
When the two programs are pitted against each other in today’s ACA
debates, one irony stands out about healthcare reform in our time. In earlier
decades, advocates for healthcare reform and expanding health insurance
saw Medicare, not Medicaid, as the model to follow in reaching universal
health coverage. Medicare was to be the building block for future expan-
sions, with health insurance for the elderly only a first step toward that
larger goal. By 1972, Medicare had expanded to include disabled individu-
als and individuals with kidney failure. For advocates of national reform,
these were steps two and three: a natural progression, extending the ben-
efits of Medicare outward to other populations. But Medicare reform in later
decades shifted course—leaning heavily toward preserving the program as
a program for the elderly, rather than extending its generous commitment
to others. This trend, as well as the new climate of budget-cutting and fis-
cal conservatism, as we shall see, has had the effect of sealing off Medicare
beneficiaries from other groups, making them protective of their own ben-
efits, wary of expansion to other groups, and creating expectations that both
advanced and hindered later reform efforts.
In the meantime, Medicaid (which was in 1965 the “poor person’s pro-
gram”) was also being transformed—its coverage slowly expanding in ways
the early architects never imagined. As Lawrence Brown and Michael Sparer
wrote a decade ago, “Medicare is the preferred reform model because, so the
axiom held, poor people’s programs [like Medicaid] are poor programs—not
only inequitable but also politically precarious.”4 Yet they found that it was
Medicaid—a program that began as a meager anti-poverty measure and still
carried the “weighty cultural burden of welfare medicine”—that had grown
incrementally over the decades, increasing eligibility and inching toward a
middle-class entitlement in the face of America’s stubborn resistance to uni-
versal healthcare coverage. In 2014, Medicaid had become the largest sin-
gle source of healthcare coverage in the United States, covering 66 million
 I ntroduction • x v

people,5 including low-income children, pregnant women, and adults;

Medicare, by comparison, covered 52 million Americans.6 With ACA imple-
mentation and new enrollments, Medicaid’s numbers could grow by tens of
millions in 2015 and 2016, particularly if hesitant states choose to adopt
the law’s Medicaid expansion.7 Whether or not this will be the new path to
universal coverage only time will tell.
What is it that seniors were afraid of losing? Medicare, like Medicaid, had
enlarged well beyond the early 1965 vision, creating an expansive blanket
of health security. Traditional Medicare (Parts A and B, signed into law by
President Lyndon Johnson over strong Republican opposition) covered
hospital stays and home health visits (A), and doctors’ office visits and out-
patient visits (B). Thirty years later, Part C, Medicare+Choice, was added
as a conservative spin to the program as part of a balanced budget deal in
1997. Reflecting a new political environment friendly to privatization,
Medicare+Choice gave beneficiaries the option of enrolling in private insur-
ance plans with some enhanced benefits and savings, but also with some
constraints. Then in 2003 came Medicare Part D, supported by Republican
President George W. Bush and passed by a Republican Congress that estab-
lished a new prescription drug benefit for the elderly and restructured
Part C as “Medicare Advantage.” Beneficiaries worried about losing all of
these benefits built up over the years as the ACA was implemented and as
Medicaid expanded.
In this fraught and contentious environment filled with myth, confu-
sion, vulnerability, and political accusations, it becomes especially crucial to
understand the relationship between these two programs—their disparate
philosophies, their distinct historical trajectories, their dramatic changes
over time, and the underlying social commitments they reflect.
Divided into five parts, the volume begins by examining the original vision
and actors and events shaping the march to enactment in an era when—much
like today—partisanship dominated Washington, D.C. Examining the
intentions of the planners, the political and social underpinnings of these
programs in Lyndon Johnson’s Great Society, and the role of the president,
Congress, and other forces in shaping the trajectory of both programs, Julian
Zelizer exposes a political contentiousness that bears some resemblance to
our current fractious political environment. In this case, the contentiousness
produced programs that proved to be remarkably durable rather than frag-
ile. David Barton Smith explores how the civil rights movement impacted
x v i • introduction

the implementation of Medicare and its commitment to the ideal of equal

health opportunity. Rashi Fein offers reflections on the challenges of imple-
mentation based on his experience in federal government—serving on the
staff of President Kennedy’s Council of Economic Advisers, working with
the Acting Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare (Wilbur Cohen) as
chair of the Medical Assistance Advisory Council to secure resources for
and to mold the Medicaid program, and sitting on the boards of trustees of
two different healthcare organizations observing these programs from a dis-
tance. Jonathan Oberlander and Theodore Marmor (who also had worked
with Wilbur Cohen) examine why Medicare did not expand into universal
coverage as its architects had wanted and anticipated, and how Medicare
became separated from the goal of national health insurance as Medicare
spending rose, as the political environment shifted rightward, and as bud-
getary politics grew heated in the 1980s and 1990s.
Part II focuses on the early years of program implementation, and
how (despite ongoing controversy) the programs became integral to
the nation’s political fabric, remaking societal values and relationships,
altering individuals’ expectations about government, and influencing the
political environment more broadly. Between 1965 and 1980, issues of
race, aging, shifting demographics, rising costs, and shifting public opin-
ion about health and social welfare reshaped the programs. Jill Quadagno
reveals how Medicaid began as a program for the very poor and gradually
became a benefit reaching into the middle class and became the fourth
largest program in the federal budget, even as the program retained aspects
of its poor law legacy. The chapter explores how this transformation came
about—as the benefits of the program expanded to cover 20 percent of
the population today, it also became the primary payer for 63 percent of
skilled nursing facility residents. Sara Rosenbaum next argues that the
courts were a major player in this transformation. She examines how the
rise and fall of a liberal judiciary, and not Congress, buttressed the idea
of Medicaid as an entitlement, driven by litigation around the very mean-
ing of “entitlement.” A close analysis of judicial intervention, the chapter
explains how judicial decisions effectively created the modern legal under-
standing of the Medicaid program. Mark Schlesinger concludes with
insight on Medicare’s social impact over five decades—that is, how the
program changed elders’ self-perceptions, empowering them to become
a potent constituency with a unitary social identity. With these changes
 I ntroduction • x v i i

in the political identity of seniors came new challenges, from policymak-

ers struggling to harness their proposals and plans to Medicare’s growing
influence on its beneficiaries’ social identities.
Part III turns to the 1970s and 1980s, when rising costs and the right-
ward turn in American politics pushed Medicare and Medicaid in new
directions. Surprising developments emerged during this period, even as
the programs continued to expand. By the 1980s, Mark Peterson observes,
Medicare had become American “bedrock,” so precious and important to
its elderly constituency that it was considered the new “third rail” of poli-
tics (a phrase previously reserved only for Social Security). His chapter
explores how the Republican takeover of Congress in the 1990s and the
“Gingrich revolution” that followed, with new concerns about fiscal sol-
vency, altered the “untouchability” of Medicare. Uwe Reinhardt examines
another response to Medicare’s fiscal growth: how the program revolution-
ized payment to healthcare providers, beginning in 1984 with prospective
payment for hospitals using DRGs (diagnosis-related groups), followed by
prospective payment for physicians using RBRVS (resource-based relative
value scale) methods in 1992, and more recently with other experiments
in cost containment. It was Medicare, he argues, not the private sector that
proved capable of innovative reform. Frank Thompson then tells the story
of how governance of Medicaid changed in this era, as entrenchment forced
changes in the power of the states to shape the program. Although Congress
had designed the program, now congressional entrepreneurship, and a
trend toward executive branch federalism in the Clinton administration and
waivers giving latitude to the states were transforming Medicaid programs
in new directions. Yet, despite these retrenchment efforts, the embattled
program saw four periods of growth. Andrea Campbell concludes this part
of the volume by tracking public opinion and examining how US citizens
retained broad support for Medicare and Medicaid from 1965 to 1994, even
as they expressed waning confidence in some of the programs’ features.
Those attitudes, Campbell argues, bolstered and stabilized the programs
through tumultuous times.
Part IV returns to the question of how the programs relate to each other
in the context of the ACA and examines how an expansive array of stake-
holders (from nursing homes to pharmaceutical companies and hospitals)
has come to depend on the programs. But even with the passage of the ACA,
new challenges appear on the horizon. Keith Wailoo argues that the history
x v i i i • introduction

of Medicare and Medicaid expansion suggests an enduring appeal of “big

government,” and that, beneath the rhetoric, there have been overwhelm-
ing forces driving Republicans and Democrats alike to embrace expansion.
From the 1970s to the 1990s, and up to the current ACA era, the private sec-
tor has come to depend on Medicare and Medicaid funds—a fact that points
to future expansion. Judith Feder sees long-term care coverage as the “miss-
ing piece” in the Social Security Amendments of 1965, and argues that its
exclusion from national reforms has led to Medicaid becoming (by default)
the primary funding source for long-term care. As a result, middle-class indi-
viduals today must spend down their private assets in order to qualify for
Medicaid long-term care coverage. Jacob Hacker concludes this part of the
volume by considering the relationship between Medicare and the medical-
industrial complex that it helped to build over the past 50 years, and how
Medicare’s initial passive pricing (which made the program a “servant” to
this complex) shifted so that today Medicare (through greater assertiveness
regarding cost) has become the “master.” As cost control becomes increas-
ingly important in US health care, Hacker explores the implications of this
“master-servant” relationship for the future of American healthcare costs,
health care, and healthcare politics.
Part V takes a retrospective look at Medicare and Medicaid in the age
of the ACA, drawing lessons from the 50-year history. Seeing Medicare
as a major reference point in American political history, James Morone
and Elisabeth Fauquert contrast the very brief “Medicare moment” of
1965 (with its embrace of massive social and political change, pressing
concern about inequality, and values of egalitarianism) against the politi-
cal, economic, and social ideals of later eras as neoliberal concerns about
the functioning of markets and economic growth predominated. Only
this shift could explain how two Democratic presidents, Bill Clinton
and Barack Obama, promoted the market-based expansions at the cen-
ter of ACA health insurance reforms. Paul Starr looks back at this sweep
of history as well, exploring how policies become entrenched, enabling
them to resist attempts to change or undo them and to survive transfers
of congressional or executive power. His observations help explain the
resistance of Medicare beneficiaries to further reforms, for he argues that
what becomes entrenched may undermine, as well as advance, the origi-
nal goals of a policy, becoming a matter more of regret than of satisfac-
tion. Starr asks: Will the ACA become entrenched in the same way? Will
 I ntroduction • x i x

it become an object of regret? Or will the ACA become entrenched in a

degraded form?
A final chapter by the editors Alan Cohen, David Colby, Keith Wailoo,
and Julian Zelizer reviews this history but also looks ahead, asking: What
parts of this history are most important for charting the course ahead?
At the entrance lobby to the Hubert H. Humphrey Building in
Washington, visitors are welcomed by the words of the former Vice
President:

The moral test of a government is how that government treats those who
are in the dawn of life—the children; the twilight of life—the elderly; and
the shadows of life—the sick, the needy, and the handicapped.8

When those words were uttered at the building’s dedication in 1977, more
than a decade had passed since Medicare and Medicaid enactment, but
debate about their high cost had already grown intense, testing the nation’s
commitment to continue on the same path. Our goal in the pages ahead is
to provide a richer portrait covering the birth of the programs, the politics
behind their creation and development, their place in US health care over
time, and analysis of the moral and political commitments that underpin
them. Our chapters focus on the diverse viewpoints that combined to create
policy, the evolving challenges, and the people affected by reform debates.
Looking back, we ask whether Medicare and Medicaid today, greatly
altered since the 1970s, still meet the moral test of government articulated
by Hubert Humphrey. Looking ahead, we ask: What does the future hold
for Medicare and Medicaid in a dynamically changing healthcare system
undergoing major reform? Should the nation’s commitment to each pro-
gram, both politically and financially, be expanded or reduced? And what
should policymakers, citizens, beneficiaries, and others bear in mind about
the values and commitments undergirding these programs as they chart a
course for the future? A close look at the fraught and contentious past can,
and should, guide the way forward.
x x • introduction

Notes
1. Andrea Adleman, “Will Obamacare Affect Medicare? Myths and Facts,” US News
and World Report, August 13, 2013, http://health.usnews.com/health-news/
health-insurance/articles/2013/08/19/will-obamacare-affect-medicare-my
ths-and-facts.
2. Medicare.gov (The Official U.S. Government Site for Medicare), http://www.medi-
care.gov/about-us/affordable-care-act/affordable-care-act.html.
3. As Inglis later noted, “I had to politely explain that ‘Actually sir, your health care is
being provided by the government. . . . But he wasn’t having any of it.” Philip Rucker,
“Sen. DeMint of S.C. is Voice of Opposition to Health-Care Reform,” Washington
Post, July 28, 2009, http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/
article/2009/07/27/AR2009072703066.html?sid=ST2009072703107.
4. Lawrence D. Brown and Michael S. Sparer, “Poor Progress: The Unanticipated
Politics of Medicaid Policy,” Journal of Health Politics, Policy and Law (2003) 22,
no. 1: 41.
5. http://www.medicaid.gov/AffordableCareAct/Medicaid-Moving-Forward-2014/
Downloads/April-2014-Enrollment-Report.pdf.
6. http://www.cms.gov/Research-Statistics-Data-and-Systems/Statistics-Trends-
and-Reports/MedicareEnrpts/index.html?redirect=/medicareenrpts/.
7. “Medicaid Moving Forward,” Henry J. Kaiser Family Foundation, http://kff.org/
medicaid/fact-sheet/the-medicaid-program-at-a-glance-update/. By the end of
calendar year 2014, a Congressional Budget Office report estimated that another
7 million people more would be “enrolled in Medicaid and CHIP than would
have been the case in the absence of the ACA.” They predicted that 11 million
more people (both those who had been eligible before for Medicaid and CHIP
but also those newly eligible under the law) would sign on in 2015, bringing
the total covered to nearly 25 million. They based their estimate on the premise
that “more states will expand Medicaid eligibility.” Congressional Budget Office,
“Updated Estimates of the Insurance Coverage Provisions of the Affordable Care
Act, April 2014,” p. 11, https://www.cbo.gov/publication/45231.
8. Remarks at the dedication of the Hubert H. Humphrey Building, November 1,
1977, Congressional Record, November 4, 1977, vol. 123, p. 37287.
MEDICARE AND
MEDICAID AT 50
 PART I

O RIGIN S , VIS ION, A ND

T HE CHAL L E NGE T O
I MP L E ME N TAT ION

Crafted during the tumultuous 1960s, Medicare legislation had been long
debated and long planned; by contrast, Medicaid was a last-minute legis-
lative concoction by Democrats, a small expansion of a pre-existing pov-
erty program meant to ward off support for a watered down Republican
alternative. Medicare was a national healthcare entitlement for the elderly;
Medicaid was a federal-state partnership to aid a small segment of the poor.
Advocates for the programs saw them as setting the stage for a broader array
of national health insurance plans; detractors saw a nation moving peril-
ously toward socialism.
The chapters in this section examine the vision, origins, and early imple-
mentation of these two programs in an era when-much like today-political
fractiousness dominated. In Chapter 1, Julian Zelizer describes how and
why these programs emerged from contentious times, and how the lack of
consensus in Congress forced lawmakers to design programs that proved
to be resilient and capable of dramatic expansion. David Barton Smith, in
Chapter 2, examines how their passage at the height of the Civil Rights era
meant the incorporation of civil rights ideals in their implementation, and
how this convergence left a continuing legacy. Rashi Fein, in Chapter 3,
2 • M edicare and M edicaid at 5 0

offers the perspective of a policymaker who participated in the early design

and implementation years. His analysis focuses on the pitched battles over
Medicaid fees paid to physicians and the ways in which the politics of the
poverty program diverged from that of the federal entitlement, Medicare.
Finally, in Chapter 4, Jonathan Oberlander and Theodore Marmor examine
just how different Medicare’s trajectory has been from what its architects
imagined in 1965, and how the ensuing political calculations and economic
battles of the 1970s and 1980s undermined the view that Medicare would
be a first step toward universal health coverage.
 1

T H E CO NT ENT I O U S O R I G I N S O F
MED I C AR E AND M E D I CA I D
JULIAN E. ZELIZER

Recent discussions about the passage of the Affordable Care Act (ACA) dis-
played a marked nostalgia in comparing the political battle over President
Obama’s signature program to the struggle over Medicare and Medicaid in
1965. Pundits have pointed to a variety of aspects of modern politics—from
the polarization of the political parties to the visceral anger among Tea Party
Republicans toward anything that President Obama does—to explain why
the president had so much trouble passing what looks like, in historical per-
spective, a moderate program. “The current debate,” noted Brookings econ-
omist Henry Aaron, “is an order of magnitude more intense, dishonest, and
verging on indictable than was the case with either of those two programs.”1
The same factors have been said to account for the ACA’s difficult path to
implementation, compared to the speedy one-year rollout of Medicare.
These claims about the origins of these programs have important impli-
cations for their futures. Some have expressed fear that the contentious ori-
gins of the ACA make it less likely that the program will survive over time.
According to this outlook, programs with thin political support at the outset
4 • M edicare and M edicaid at 5 0

will encounter only stronger opposition in the years to come.2 Yet the history
of Medicare and Medicaid suggests a story with a different ending. The con-
ventional wisdom gives a mistaken impression of the politics of the 1960s
and the political foundation of our two largest national healthcare programs.
Although it is true that the Social Security Amendments of 1965—the
legislation that created both of these healthcare programs—passed on a
bipartisan vote, the political struggle in these years was equally, if not more,
contentious.
The argument that Medicare and Medicaid were built in a calmer
atmosphere rests on two myths about this earlier period.3 The first is that
Washington once worked much better than it does today. Leaders from the
more functional Congresses of the 1960s understood how to produce bipar-
tisan compromise, while those of today do not. The second myth is of the
strength of liberalism in the 1960s. The political marginalization of conser-
vatives meant that liberals—whose ideas shaped the polity and whose lead-
ers shaped the political world—could obtain support for the programs they
desired.
It turns out that neither of these myths is accurate. Uncovering what’s
wrong with them goes a long way toward explaining how and why the fed-
eral government took on responsibility for health care in the 1960s after
several false starts in previous decades. It also explains why that respon-
sibility was, and remains, limited, even after the passage of the Affordable
Care Act.
The first myth, about the way that Washington worked, doesn’t make
sense from the perspective of the period. The years leading up to the pas-
sage of Medicare and Medicaid saw the publication of a vast literature in the
social sciences and journalism about the dysfunctional state of Washington.
Then, too, Congress was the broken branch of government.
Whereas the problem today centers on the divisions between the politi-
cal parties, bipartisanship itself posed a threat in the early 1960s. Bipartisan
alliances between Southern Democrats and Midwestern Republicans on
the key committees lay at the root of what one liberal senator, Joseph Clark,
called the “Sapless Branch” of government. Since the late 1930s, Southerners
had controlled a disproportionate number of committee chairmanships. In
the House, these committee chairs formed a conservative coalition with
Midwestern Republicans that blocked liberal legislation from ever reaching
a vote on the floor. In the Senate, conservatives could rely on the filibuster
 T he C ontentious O rigins • 5

(which then required 67 votes to end) if liberals somehow succeeded in

sneaking a bill to the upper chamber. Liberals had watched bills such as
anti-lynching legislation persistently die a procedural death at the hands of
conservatives who used these tactics.
The Southern Democrats held this coalition together. Their power in
Congress had forced liberalism to make huge compromises from the very
start of the New Deal. Programs that would potentially tamper with the
racial structure of Dixie were off limits. As a result, federal programs either
delegated administration to state and local governments, which could be
more tightly controlled by local Southerners sensitive to race relations, or
omitted residents of the South altogether.4
The other relevant myth holds that healthcare legislation had a relatively
easy pass through the supposed high point of a liberal era in American poli-
tics. But a recent generation of historians has rediscovered the immense
power of conservatism in national politics after the New Deal and through
the 1970s. Influential businessmen, for instance, devoted an enormous
amount of resources to conservative political organizations and elected
officials throughout this time period. Grass-roots conservatism, revolv-
ing around anti-communism, gained a strong foothold throughout the
nation. The nomination of Barry Goldwater as the Republican presidential
candidate in 1964 revealed the strong foothold that the Right was gaining
within the GOP, even if the time was not quite right for a national candidate
like him.5
Most important, the combination of the committee process and the dom-
inant role of Southern Democrats turned Congress into a bastion of conser-
vatism. The resurgence of conservatism on Capitol Hill had started after the
1936 Democratic landslide, in response to President Roosevelt’s proposal
to pack the Supreme Court and reorganize the executive branch. The result-
ing conservative coalition would continue to gain strength through the next
two decades.6 During the early 1960s, liberals found themselves continually
frustrated with the coalition’s ability to block their proposals—ranging from
federal aid to education, to civil rights, to health care.
This was the political context in which liberal Democrats had tried, and
failed, to pass a national healthcare plan for almost a generation. The struggle
leading up to the passage of Medicare and Medicaid had been nothing short
of explosive. Before cutting Social Security became the “third rail” of politics
in the 1980s and 1990s, proposing health insurance had been the third rail
6 • M edicare and M edicaid at 5 0

of politics since the 1930s. President Franklin Roosevelt, who proved to be

extremely bold in pursuing a number of social and economic policies, chose
to leave health insurance for another time when he pushed for the creation
of Social Security, fearing that dealing with the issue of medical care would
stifle support for his other programs, given the positions of the American
Medical Association (AMA). “It was my original belief,” Edwin Witte, direc-
tor of the President’s Committee on Economic Security explained, “that
it would probably be impossible to do anything about health insurance
in a legislative way, due to the expected strong opposition of the medical
profession.”7
The first major effort by a president to push for national health care had
disastrous results for liberals. When President Harry Truman proposed such
a plan in 1949 in an attempt to capitalize on his upset re-election victory
against Thomas Dewey, he suffered a devastating defeat at the hands of a
Congress that included a significant Democratic majority in both the House
and the Senate. Truman’s proposal drew the ire of the AMA, which con-
ducted a fierce lobbying campaign that equated universal health care with
socialized medicine. In the heat of the Cold War, AMA officials warned that
congressional passage of a national health insurance program would destroy
American medicine—allowing government bureaucrats, rather than doc-
tors, to dictate what decisions were made in the examination room—
and would open the door to other kinds of programs that would quickly
undermine the free market. The AMA’s counteroffensive dwarfed the typi-
cal response of a professional association: its Washington-based lobbying
campaign cost more than any similar effort by other organizations until that
point in history. The leadership hired the public relations firm Whittaker
and Baxter to put together a state-of-the-art advertising campaign against
the bill. Michigan Congressman John Dingell blasted the multi-million dol-
lar campaign of “misrepresentation” and “slander” and “untruth” which he
said will “reach proportions which may well prove dangerous not only to the
cause of Health Insurance, but to every liberal committed to the idea and
may even have a detrimental affect upon the Democratic Party.”8 Dingell was
right.
The association also worked at the grass-roots level, flooding districts
with propaganda about the proposal’s dangers. The campaign popularized
the term “socialized medicine” into American political dialogue, warning
that the proposal would bring “medical Soviets” into the United States.
Another random document with
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that can be produced; when he makes a signal, at which the lodge is
opened, and he darts forth with the speed of a frightened deer, and
plunges headlong into the river, from which he instantly escapes
again, wraps his robe around him, and makes as fast as possible for
home. Here his limbs are wiped dry and wrapped close and tight
within the fur of the buffalo robes, in which he takes his nap, with his
feet to the fire, then oils his limbs and hair with bear’s-grease,
dresses and plumes himself for a visit, a feast, a parade, or a
council.
During Mr. Bruce’s travels through Abyssinia, and while he was
sojourning in the dominions of her Majesty of Sennaar, one
afternoon he was sent for to the palace, when the king told him that
several of his wives were ill, and desired that he would give them his
advice, which he promised to do. He was admitted into a large
square apartment, very ill-lighted, in which were about fifty women,
all perfectly black, without any covering but a very narrow piece of
cotton rag about their waist. While he was musing whether or not all
these might be queens, or whether there was any queen among
them, one of them seized him by the hand and led him into another
apartment; this was much better lighted than the first. Upon a large
bench, or sofa, covered with blue Surat cloth, sat three persons
clothed from the neck to the feet with blue cotton shirts.
One of these, whom Mr. Bruce found to be the favourite, was
about six feet high, and corpulent beyond all proportion. She seemed
to him, next to the elephant and rhinoceros, to be the largest living
creature he had ever met with. Her features were perfectly like those
of a negro; a ring of gold passed through her under lip, and weighed
it down, till, like a flap, it covered her chin, and left her teeth bare,
which were very small and fine. The inside of her lip she had made
black with antimony. Her ears reached down to her shoulders, and
had the appearance of wings; she had in each of them a large ring of
gold, somewhat smaller than a man’s little finger, and about five
inches in diameter. The weight of these had drawn down the hole
where the ear was pierced so much that three fingers might easily
pass above the ring. She had a gold necklace of several rows, one
above another, to which were hung rows of sequins pierced. She
had on her ancles two manacles of gold, larger than any our traveller
had ever seen upon the feet of felons, with which he could not
conceive it was possible for her to walk; but afterwards he found they
were hollow. The others were dressed pretty much in the same
manner; only there was one who had chains which came from her
ears to the outside of each nostril, where they were fastened. There
was also a ring put through the gristle of her nose, and which hung
down to the opening of her mouth. It had altogether something of the
appearance of a horse’s bridle. Upon his coming near them, the
eldest put her hand to her mouth and kissed it, saying at the same
time, in very vulgar Arabic, “Kif-halek howajah?” How do you do,
merchant? Mr. Bruce never in his life was more pleased with distant
salutations than at this time. He answered, “Peace be among you! I
am a physician, and not a merchant.” There was not one part of their
whole bodies, inside and outside, in which some of them had not
ailments. The three queens insisted upon being blooded, which
desire Mr. Bruce complied with, as it was an operation that required
short attendance; but, upon producing the lancets, their hearts failed
them. They then all called out for the Tabange, which, in Arabic,
means a pistol; but what they meant by this word was the cupping-
instrument, which goes off with a spring like the snap of a pistol. He
had two of these, but not then in his pocket. He sent his servant
home, however, to bring one, and, that same evening, performed the
operations upon the three queens with great success. The room was
overflowed with an effusion of royal blood, and the whole ended with
their insisting upon his giving them the instrument itself, which he
was obliged to do, after cupping two of their slaves before them, who
had no complaints, merely to shew them how the operation was to
be performed.
On another occasion there was recommended to his care a
certain Welled Amlac. He had with him two servants, one of whom,
as well as his master, was ill with an intermitting fever. As our
traveller was abundantly supplied with every necessary, the only
inconvenience he suffered by this was, that of bringing a stranger
and a disease into his family. Being, however, in a strange country
himself, and daily standing in need of the assistance of its
inhabitants, he perceived the policy of rendering services whenever
opportunity offered; and, accordingly, received his two patients with
the best possible grace. To this he was the more induced as he was
informed that Welled Amlac was of the most powerful, resolute, and
best attended robbers in all Maitsha; that this man’s country lay
directly in his way to the source of the Nile; and that under his
protection he might bid defiance to Woodage Asahel, who was
considered as the great obstacle to that journey. After several weeks’
illness the patient recovered. When he first came to Mr. Bruce’s
house, he was but indifferently clothed; and having no change, his
apparel naturally grew worse, so that when his disease had entirely
left him he made a very beggarly appearance indeed. One evening
Mr. Bruce remarked that he could not go home to his own country
without kissing the ground before the Iteghe, by whose bounty he
had been all this time supported. He replied, “Surely not;” adding that
he was ready to go whenever Mr. Bruce should think proper to give
him his clothes. The latter imagined that Welled Amlac might have
brought with him some change of apparel, and delivered it into the
custody of our traveller’s servant; but, on farther explanation, he
found that his patient had not a rag but what was on his back, and he
plainly told Mr. Bruce, that he would rather stay in his house all his
life than be so disgraced before the world as to leave it after so long
a stay, without his clothing him from head to foot; asking with much
confidence: “What signifies your curing me, if you turn me out of your
house like a beggar?” Mr. Bruce still thought there was something of
jest in this, and meeting Ayto Aylo, told him, laughing, of the
conversation that had passed. “There is do doubt,” answered he very
gravely, “that you must clothe him; it is the custom.” “And his servant
too?” asked Mr. Bruce. “Certainly, his servant too: and if he had ten
servants that eat and drank in your house, you must clothe them
all.”—“I think,” rejoined our traveller, “that a physician, at this rate,
had much better let his patients die than recover them at his own
expense.”—“Yagoube,” said his friend, “I see this is not a custom in
your country, but here it invariably is, and if you would pass for a
man of consequence you cannot avoid complying with it, unless you
would make Welled Amlac your enemy. The man is opulent, it is not
for the value of the clothes, but he thinks his importance among his
neighbours is measured by the respect shewn him by the people
afar off. Never fear, he will make you some kind of return; and as for
his clothes, I shall pay for them.” “By no means,” replied Mr. Bruce; “I
think the custom so curious that the knowledge of it is worth the price
of the clothes, and I assure you that, intending as I do to go through
the Maitsha, I consider it as a piece of friendship in you to have
brought me under this obligation.” After this explanation Mr. Bruce
immediately procured the clothes; a girdle, and a pair of sandals,
amounting in the whole to about two guineas, which Welled Amlac
received with the same indifference as if he had been purchasing
them for ready money. He then asked for his servants’ clothes, which
he observed were too good, and that he should take them for his
own use when he arrived at Maitsha.
In his capacity of physician Mr. Bruce lays down certain simple
rules to be observed by persons about to travel into far eastern
countries; and though a hundred years old, and more, the said
advice is still wholesome, and may be used with advantage by
whomsoever it may concern.
Mr. Bruce’s first general advice to a traveller, is to remember well
what was the state of his constitution before he visited these
countries, and what his complaints were, if he had any; for fear
frequently seizes upon the first sight of the many and sudden deaths
we see upon our first arrival; and our spirits are so lowered by
perpetual perspiration, and our nerves so relaxed, that we are apt to
mistake the ordinary symptoms of a disease, familiar to us in our
own country, for the approach of one of those terrible distempers that
are to hurry us in a few hours into eternity. This has a bad effect in
the very slightest disorders; so that it has become proverbial—If you
think you shall die you shall die.
If a traveller finds that he is as well after having been some time in
this country as he was before entering it, his best way is to make no
innovation in his regimen, further than abating something in the
quantity. But if he is of a tender constitution, he cannot act more
wisely than to follow implicitly the regimen of sober healthy people of
the country, without arguing upon European notions, or substituting
what we consider succedaneums to what we see used upon the
spot. All spirits are to be avoided; even bark is better in water than in
wine. The stomach being relaxed by profuse perspiration, needs
something to strengthen, not to inflame, and enable it to perform
digestion. For this reason (instinct we should call it, if speaking of
beasts) the natives of all eastern countries season every species of
food, even the simplest and mildest rice, so much with spices,
especially with pepper, as absolutely to blister a European palate.
These powerful antiseptics providence has planted in these
countries for this use; and the natives have, from the earliest time,
had recourse to them. And hence, in these dangerous climates, the
natives are as healthy as we are in our northern ones.
Our author lays it down, then, as a positive rule of health, that the
warmest dishes the natives delight in are the most wholesome
strangers can use in the putrid climates of Lower Arabia, Abyssinia,
Sennaar, and Egypt itself; and that spirits, and all fermented liquors,
should be regarded as poisons; and, for fear of temptation, not so
much as be carried along with you, unless as a menstruum for
outward applications. Spring or running water, if you can find it, is to
be your only drink. You cannot be too nice in procuring this article.
But as, on both coasts of the Red Sea, you scarcely find any but
stagnant water, the way which our traveller practised, when at any
place that allowed time and opportunity, was always this: he took a
quantity of fine sand, washed it from the salt quality with which it was
impregnated, and spread it upon a sheet to dry; he then nearly filled
an oil-jar with water, and poured into it as much from a boiling kettle
as would serve to kill all the animalcula and eggs that were in it. He
then sifted the dried sand, as slowly as possible, upon the surface of
the water in the jar, till the sand stood half a foot at the bottom of it;
after letting it settle at night, he drew it off by a hole in the jar with a
spigot in it, about an inch above the sand; then threw the remaining
sand out upon the cloth, and dried and washed it again. This process
is sooner performed than described. The water is as limpid as the
purest spring, and little inferior to the finest Spa. Drink largely of this
without fear, according as your appetite requires. By violent
perspiration the aqueous part of your blood is thrown off; and it is not
spirituous liquor that can restore this, whatever momentary strength
it may give you from another cause. When hot and almost fainting
with weakness from continual perspiration, Mr. Bruce has gone into a
warm bath, and been immediately restored to strength, as upon first
rising in the morning.
In Nubia, never scruple to throw yourself into the coldest river or
spring you can find, in whatever degree of heat you are. The reason
of the difference in Europe is that when, by violence, you have raised
yourself to an extraordinary degree of heat, the cold water in which
you plunge yourself checks your perspiration, and shuts your pores
suddenly; the medium is itself too cold, and you do not use force
sufficient to bring back the perspiration, which nought but action
occasioned: whereas, in these warm countries, your perspiration is
natural and constant, though no action be used, only from the
temperature of the medium; therefore, though your pores are shut
the moment you plunge yourself into the cold water, the simple
condition of the outward air again covers you with pearls of sweat
the moment you emerge; and you begin the expanse of the aqueous
part of your blood afresh from the new stock that you have laid in by
your immersion. For this reason, if you are well, deluge yourself from
head to foot, even in the house, where the water is plentiful, by
directing a servant to throw buckets upon you at least once a day,
when you are hottest; not from any imagination that the water braces
you, as it is called, for your bracings will last only for a very few
minutes: inundations will carry watery particles into your blood,
though not equal to bathing in running streams, where the total
immersion, the motion of the water, and the action of the limbs, all
conspire to the benefit you are in quest of.
Do not fatigue yourself if possible. Exercise is not either so
necessary or so salutary here as in Europe. Use fruits sparingly,
especially if too ripe. The musa, or banana, in Arabia Felix, are
rotten-ripe when they are brought to you. Avoid all sorts of fruits
exposed for sale in the markets, as it has probably been gathered in
the sun, and carried miles in it, and all its juices are in a state of
fermentation. Lay it first upon a table covered with a coarse cloth,
and throw frequently a quantity of water upon it; and, if you have an
opportunity, gather it in the dew of the morning before dawn of day,
for then it is far better.
War Dance of the New Zealanders.
 PART IX.
SAVAGE WARFARE.

CHAPTER XXI.
Hereditary pirates—A Bornean pirate fleet—Rajah Brooke and the
pirates—A tough job against the prahus—No quarter with the
Dayaks—A freebooter captain—Dayak arms—Bornean fighting
tactics—Advance of Sir J. Brooke’s troops—A debate about
fighting—Poisoned arrows—Weapons of the Amazonian Indians
—The blow-gun—A Bornean war dance—War trophies—Heads,
scalps, and brains—Horrible festivity—The Savages of North
America.

mongst the most warlike savages on the face of the

earth must be counted the natives of the coast of
Borneo. It would have been more correct, however, to
have alluded to these redoubtable barbarians as the
most warlike on the face of the sea rather than the
earth; for the majority of their conflicts take place in their “prahus”
and “sampans,” and in pursuit of their regular and hereditary calling
of pirates. Nor are they insignificant in point of number; there are the
Sarebus, the Sakarran, the Illanun, the Balagnini, each comprising a
tribe many thousands strong, and sea-robbers to a man, woman,
and child; and, besides these, a whole host of ragamuffin fellows, not
respectable enough for the society of the great pirate community,
and who, being joint-stock owners of a prahu, prowl round the coast,
and snap up any trifle too insignificant for the commanders of the
various fleets; for fleets they are beyond question. The prahus of
which the fleets are composed are long, commodious vessels,
propelled by rowers, and carrying sometimes as many as a hundred
men each. Sir J. Brooke, the celebrated “Rajah of Sarawak,” once
had an opportunity of counting ninety-eight boats about to start on a
piratical cruise, the crews of which, reckoned at the low computation
of twenty-five men each, gave a grand total of nearly two thousand
five hundred men. On the same authority, the internal constitution of
these rowers may be stated as follows:—Commanding each fleet is
one man, who holds his high post either by virtue of high birth or
riches; under any circumstances, however, he must possess bravery
and cunning, otherwise, whatever his station or right conferred by
birth, he would very soon be put down, and a proper leader elected
in his place. To each prahu there is a captain and half a dozen petty
officers, generally the captain’s relations, while all the rest—
comprising about four-fifths of the whole—are slaves. Although,
however, these latter are more or less compelled to serve, they are
not without their privileges. They have the right of plunder, which is
indiscriminate, with certain exemptions—viz., slaves, guns, money,
or any other heavy articles, together with the very finest descriptions
of silks and cloths, belong to the chiefs and free portion of the crew;
with the rest the rule is first come first served.
These worthies are indifferent to blood-shedding, fond of plunder,
but fonder than all of slaves; they despise trade, although its profits
may be shown to be greater than those of sea-plunder, and look on
their calling as the noblest occupation of chiefs and free men. Their
swords they show with boasts, as having belonged to their
ancestors, who were pirates, renowned and terrible in their day.
Without doubt the chief support of the system are the slaves they
capture on the different coasts. If they attack an island, the women
and children and as many men as they require, are carried off. Every
boat they take furnishes its quota of slaves; and when they have
collected a full cargo they visit another coast and dispose of it to the
best advantage. For instance, a cargo of slaves captured on the east
coast of Borneo is sold in the west, and the slaves of the south find
ready purchasers in the north. As the woolly-haired Papuas are
generally prized by the natives, constant visits are made to New
Guinea and the easternmost islands where they are procured and
afterwards sold at high prices amongst any Malay community. On
one occasion Rajah Brooke met eighteen boats belonging to the
Illanun pirates, and learned from their chiefs that they had been two
years absent from home; and from the Papuan negro slaves on
board, it was evident that their cruise had extended from the most
eastern islands of the Archipelago to the north-western coast of
Borneo.
 Here is a picture of a pirate fleet drawn by Governor Brooke
himself:
“At this time it was hinted that a large pirate fleet had been seen in
the vicinity of the coast, and in a day or two afterwards we had
certain news of their having taken the Sadung boats bound from
Singapore; and Datu Pangeran was in consequence despatched to
communicate with them. He returned, bringing the fleet along with
him to the mouth of the river, whence they requested permission to
visit Sarawak, and pay their respects to the Rajah. I was consulted
on the subject, whether I would meet them, and as I preferred a
pacific to a hostile rencontre, and had, moreover, a considerable
curiosity to see these roving gentry, I consented without hesitation.
Report stated that their intention was to attack the Royalist (a war
ship of the English navy), as they had, it was averred, received
positive accounts of her having fifty lacs of rupees on board, and that
her figure-head was of solid gold. As, however, we had no such
treasure, and the meeting was unavoidable and might be hostile, I
put myself into a complete posture of defence, with a determination
neither to show backwardness nor suspicion. The day arrived, and
the pirates swept up the river; eighteen prahus, one following the
other, decorated with flags and streamers, and firing both cannon
and musketry; the sight was interesting and curious, and heightened
by the conviction that these friends of the moment might be enemies
the next. Having taken their stations the chief men proceeded to an
interview with the Rajah, which I attended to witness. Some distrust
and much ceremony marked the meeting; and both parties had
numerous followers, who filled the hall of audience and the avenues
leading to it. The pirates consisted of Illanuns and Malukus from
Gillolo. The Illanuns are fine athletic men with haughty and reserved
bearing, and evidently quite ready to be friends or foes as best
suited their purpose.
“Beyond the usual formalities the meeting had nothing to
distinguish it; one party retired to their boats while the other went to
their respective houses, and everything betokened quiet. In the
evening I pulled through the fleet and inspected several of their
largest prahus. The entire force consisted of eighteen boats, three
Malukus and fifteen Illanuns; the smallest of these boats carried
twenty men, the largest (they are mostly large), upwards of a
hundred. These larger prahus are too heavy to pull well, though they
carry twenty, forty, and even fifty oars; their armament consists of
one or two six pounders in the bow, one four pounder, stern-chaser,
and a number of swivels, besides musketry, spears, and swords.
The boat is divided into three sections and fortified by strong planks,
one behind the bow, one amidship, and one astern to protect the
steersman. The women and children are crammed down below, as
are the unlucky prisoners taken in the course of an action.
“Their principal plan is boarding a vessel if possible, and carrying
her by numbers; and certainly if a merchantman fired ill, she would
inevitably be taken, but with grape and canister fairly directed the
slaughter would be so great that they would be glad to steer off
before they had neared a vessel.”
Having given a description, though a necessarily brief one, of
these savage sea-lions, as well as of their laws and government, it
may be worth while to devote a little space to the narration of one of
the very many fights that took place between them and the forces
under Sir J. Brooke, whose chief business, be it understood, was to
check and to do all in his power to suppress the predatory operations
of the swarm of piratical prahus infesting the Malayan Archipelago,
to the great danger not only of peaceful native and Chinese traders,
but also of European merchantmen trading to Singapore and other
Chinese ports.
To support Sir J. Brooke in his difficult task, our government in
1843 despatched the “Dido” man-of-war, Captain Henry Keppel,
commander. The “Dido” had been cruising about for a considerable
time, and had performed many toughish jobs in the way of
subjugating pirates, when the time came for the arrival of the English
mail at Singapore, which also included the Bornean letter bags.
These were to be forwarded by a small schooner, but knowing that
the said schooner would probably be anxiously looked for by the
pirates, Captain Keppel agreed with Sir J. Brooke, that it might be as
well to send out some assistance to cruise about the road the
schooner must come. It was scarcely worth while for the “Dido”
herself to set out on such an errand, and the “Dido’s” pinnace was
under repair, so it was resolved to man a large native-built boat,
belonging to Sir J. Brooke, and called the “Jolly Bachelor.” She was
fitted with a brass six-pounder long gun, and a volunteer crew of a
mate, two midshipmen, six marines, and twelve seamen, with a
fortnight’s provisions, the whole being under the command of Mr.
Hunt, the “Dido’s” second lieutenant.
After proceeding on her leisurely course for some time, the “Jolly
Bachelor” made out three boats a long way in the offing, to which
they gave chase, but soon lost sight of them owing to their superior
sailing. They, however, appeared a second and a third time after
dark, but without the “Jolly Bachelor” being able to get near them,
and it now being late and the crew being both fatigued and hungry,
they pulled in shore, lighted a fire, cooked their provisions, and then
hauled the boat out to her grapnel near some rocks, for the night;
lying down to rest with their arms by their sides and their muskets
round the mast ready loaded. Having also placed sentries and look-
outs near, and appointed an officer of the watch, they one and all
(including the watch and the look-out it seems), fell fast asleep.
Lieutenant Hunt was the first to awake, and a very considerable
surprise greeted his still sleepy eyes. It was about three o’clock, and
the moon had just risen; the lieutenant disturbed by a slight noise,
raised his head, and lo! there was a savage brandishing his kris and
performing a war dance on the bit of a deck, in an ecstasy of delight,
thinking, in all probability, of the ease with which he had got
possession of a fine trading boat, and calculating the cargo of slaves
he had to sell, but little dreaming of the hornet’s nest into which he
had fallen.
 Dayak and Malay Weapons.
Lieutenant Hunt’s face meeting the light of the moon was the first
intimation conveyed to the pirate that he had made a mistake. He
immediately plunged overboard, and before the officer had
sufficiently recovered his astonishment to know whether he was
dreaming or waking, or to rouse his crew, a discharge from three or
four cannon within a few yards, and the cutting through the rigging
by the various missiles with which the guns were loaded, soon
convinced him that it was stern reality. It was well that the men were
lying down when this discharge took place, as not one of them was
hurt; but on jumping to their legs they found themselves closely
pressed by two large war prahus, one on either side.
To return the fire, cut the cable, man the oars, and back astern to
gain room, was the work of a minute; but now came the tug of war; it
was a case of life and death. The crew of the “Bachelor” fought, says
Captain Keppel quaintly, “as they ought.” Quarter was not expected
on either side; and the quick deadly aim of the marines prevented
the pirates reloading their guns. The Illanun pirate vessels were built
in the peculiar fashion already noticed, that is with partitions through
which ports are bored for working the guns, and these barriers had
to be cut away by round shot before the musketry could be brought
to bear effectually. This done, the grape and canister of the “Jolly
Bachelor” told with fearful execution. In the meantime the prahus had
been pressing forward to board, while the English boat backed
astern; but as soon as this service was achieved, the men of the
latter dropped their oars and seizing their muskets dashed on. The
work was sharp, but short, and the slaughter great. While one pirate
boat was sinking and an effort made to secure her the other escaped
by rounding a point of rocks, where a third and larger prahu, hitherto
unseen, came to her assistance, and putting fresh hands on board
and taking her in tow, succeeded in getting off, although chased by
the “Jolly Bachelor,” after setting fire to the crippled prize which blew
up and sank before the conquerors got back to the scene of action.
The sight that presented itself to the victors on boarding the
captured prahu must indeed have been a frightful one; none of the
pirates waited on board for even the chance of receiving either
quarter or mercy, but all those capable of moving had thrown
themselves into the water. In addition to the killed, some lying across
the thwarts with their oars in their hands at the bottom of the prahu,
in which there was about three feet of blood and water, were seen
protruding the mangled remains of eighteen or twenty bodies.
Detestable, however, as is the trade of war, especially when
carried on from mercenary motives, it is hard for us, with so much of
the salt of the sea in our blood, to regard these savage Dayak rovers
without something very like sympathy. Certain it is that they possess
the chief elements of a great people, perseverance, courage, and a
restless yearning for adventure—much the same sort of folks, dear
reader, as those from which you and I sprang. But our freebooting
ancestors were heroes and led by heroes, say you. Well, here is a
Dayak hero, pictured by one who is himself a hero—a true British
man of war and one little likely to over estimate valour, or to mistake
it on the score of sentimentality.
“Among the mortally wounded lay the young commander of the
prahu, one of the most noble forms of the human race; his
countenance handsome as the hero of oriental romance, and his
bearing wonderfully impressive and touching. He was shot in front
and through the lungs, and his end was rapidly approaching. He
endeavoured to speak, but could not. He looked as if he had
something of importance to communicate, and a shade of
disappointment and regret passed over his brow when he felt that
every effort was unavailing and that his manly strength and daring
spirit were dissolving into the dark night of annihilation. The pitying
conquerors raised him gently up and he was seated in comparative
ease, for the welling out of the blood was less distressing, but the
end speedily came; he folded his arms heroically across his
wounded breast, fixed his eyes on the British seamen around, and
casting one long glance at the ocean—the theatre of his daring
exploits, on which he had so often fought and triumphed—expired
without a sigh.”
It is not a little singular, however, that although they display so
much courage and indifference to death in naval warfare, their
military tactics are of the very meanest order and are executed with
such lukewarmness that to see them as soldiers and nothing else
would be to conceive them to be the greatest curs on the face of the
earth. Of this Rajah Brooke had most rueful yet ludicrous
experience. Thanks to his own indomitable pluck and the assistance
(sparse enough at best) granted him by the British government,
together with that of the various Bornean tribes whom Brooke had
won over to his interest, the marauding Dayaks were very
considerably lessened in numbers and, better still, damped in
piratical ardour; still there were a few very formidable bodies
inhabiting forts along the coast whose interest it was to favour piracy
and who were known to do their earnest best to thwart the
endeavours of the European Rajah. Therefore a grand council of war
was held, at which were present various Malay, Chinese, and Dayak
leaders, and Sir J. Brooke, and it was formally resolved to combine
the various forces and to proceed to storm and carry the obnoxious
forts in a regular way.
All were willing enough to give their word; but our countryman
seems from the very onset to have had a dismal foreboding of what
would be the result. “To judge,” says he, “by the sample of the
council, I should form a very unfavourable expectation of their
conduct in action. Macota (a chief, as are the rest whose names are
here mentioned) is lively and active, but, either from indisposition or
want of authority, undecided. The Capitan China is lazy and silent;
Abong Mia and Datu Naraja stupid.... I may here state my motives
for being a spectator of, or participator (as may turn out) in, this
scene. In the first place, I must confess that curiosity strongly
prompted me; since to witness the Malays, Chinese, and Dayaks in
warfare was so new that the novelty alone might plead an excuse for
this desire. But it was not the only motive, for my presence is a
stimulus to our own party, and will probably depress the others in
proportion.”
Besides swords and spears and muskets and some sort of
artillery, both parties availed themselves of other favorite Bornean
arms, including the ranjow; “these ranjows are made of bamboo
pointed fine and stuck in the ground; and there are, besides, holes
about three feet deep filled with these spikes and afterwards lightly
covered, which are called patabong. Another obstacle consists of a
spring formed by bending back a stiff cane, with a sharp bamboo
attached to it, which, fastened by a slight twine, flies forcibly against
any object passing through the bush and brushing against it: they
resemble the mole traps in England. The Borneans have a great
dread of these snares; and the way they deal with them is by
sending out parties of Dayaks during the night to clear the path of
such dangers. “The Sambas Chinese (adherents of the Brooke
party) were wretchedly armed, having no guns and scarcely any
muskets; but swords, spears, and shields, together with forty long
thin iron tubes with the bore of a musket and carrying a slug. These
primitive weapons were each managed by two men, one being the
carrier of the ordnance, the other the gunner; for whilst one holds the
tube on his shoulder the other takes aim, turns away his head,
applies his match, and is pleased with the sound. Their mode of
loading is as curious as the piece and its mode of discharge. Powder
is poured in, the end knocked on the ground, and the slug with
another knock sent on the powder without either ramming or
cartridge. Indeed it is difficult to imagine any weapon more rude,
awkward, or inefficient. The Borneans in fighting wear a quilted
jacket or spenser which reaches over the hips, and from its size has
a most unserviceable appearance, the bare legs and arms sticking
out from under this puffed-out coat like the sticks which support the
garments of a scarecrow.”
Setting sail with a fleet of vessels containing his gallant army, in
course of time the enemy’s neighbourhood was reached and a fort
built about a mile from the stronghold of their foes. It should be
stated that to supply themselves with materials for this fort another
near home was taken down and the timbers loaded into spare boats.
No opposition was offered. The ground was cleared of jungle; piles
driven in a square about fifteen yards to each face; and the earth
from the centre, scooped out and intermixed with reeds, was heaped
up about five feet high inside the piles. At the four corners were
small watch-houses, and along the parapet of earth a narrow walk
connecting them. While some of the army was thus employed
another portion of it surrounded this the main body of the defence by
an outer work made by slight sticks run into the ground, with cross
binding of split bamboos, and bristling with a chevaux de frise of
sharpened bamboos about breast high. The fastenings of the entire
work were of ratan, which is found in plenty. The entire fortress was
commenced and finished within eight hours.
Knowing the weakness of the enemy, Sir J. Brooke now proposed
that they should sally out and attack them, and in case of pursuit or
severe repulse it was only a matter of ten minutes’ run to regain the
fort, where they could defy further molestation. But the proposition
took the army aghast. What! walk right up to the brass guns? Surely
the English Rajah must be mad. The attack must be made from
behind a wall, or not at all; and why not, when to build forts was so
easy? and it was only a matter of so many seven hours’ labour to
build fort after fort as they advanced and until they had arrived within
convenient musket range of the enemy. So the Grand Army retired to
bed.
Next morning they were up and doing, hammering and tinkering at
the new stockade. In the midst of the work, however, there was a
tremendous commotion—the enemy was advancing. There could be
no mistake about it: you could hear their shouts and the banging of
their war gongs approaching nearer and nearer. The Brooke army,
nothing daunted replied with yells just as furious and defiant, and by
way of refreshing their courage, several charges of powder and shot
were expended in the air. The enemy approach within hail, and the
excitement is grand. “We are coming! we are coming!” shouted the
rebels; “lay aside your muskets, and come out and fight us with
swords.”—“Come on,” replied the others; “we are building a stockade
and want to fight you.” Things having arrived at this critical pass,
there is no knowing what might have been the result, when merciful
nature, to avert the horrors of blood and carnage, interposed with a
heavy shower of rain, before which the rebels retreated, followed by
the derisive shouts of the Borneans, who were under cover, and
whose leaders immediately proceeded to offer a fervent thanksgiving
for the victory gained, the soldiers responding with edifying
earnestness, and then all retired to rest calmly as on the preceding
night.
Next morning, however, Sir J. Brooke, whose curiosity was long
since satisfied, and who began to grow tired of witnessing this novel
mode of warfare, encouraged the troops to make an advance, to
proceed indeed to within three hundred yards of the enemy’s
stronghold, and there to erect a new stockade, backing his urging
with the promise to send aboard for two six-pounder carronades with
which to mount it. During the progress of this work Sir J. Brooke took
occasion to inquire of the Dayak commander, Macota, if this was the
way a battle was always conducted in these parts. Macota was very
eager to set our countryman right on a point that so closely affected
the honour of his nation. The enemy, he declared, during his last
campaign were much more courageous than now. Stockade was
opposed to stockade, and the fighting constant and severe; and so
ably had Macota generalled his troops, that during two months he
had not lost a single man, while five of the enemy were stretched
upon the field.
By the time the fort was finished and the guns arrived, the Brooke
army had been reinforced, so that it numbered five hundred men of
one sort and another. While the guns were being fixed the enemy
opened fire, but were speedily checked, and in a quarter of an hour
had to bewail a breach in the walls of their fortress large enough to
admit several men together. “Seeing the effect,” says Rajah Brooke,
“I proposed to Macota to storm the place with one hundred and fifty
Chinese and Malays. The way from one fort to the other was
protected. The enemy dared not shew themselves, for the fire of the
grape and canister, and nothing could have been easier; but my
proposition caused a commotion as difficult to describe as forget.
The Chinese consented, and Macota, the commander-in-chief, was
willing; but his inferiors were backward, and there arose a scene
which shewed me the full violence of Malay passions, and their
infuriated madness when once roused. Pangeran Houseman (one of
the leaders) urged with energy the advantage of the proposal, and in
the course of a speech lashed himself into a state of fury; he jumped
to his feet, and with demoniac gestures stamped round and round,
dancing a war dance after the most approved fashion. His
countenance grew livid, his eyes glared, his features inflamed, and
for my part, not being able to interpret the torrent of his oratory, I
thought the man possessed of a devil, and about to ‘run a muck.’ But
after a minute or two of this dance he resumed his seat, furious and
panting, but silent. In reply, Subtu urged some objections to my plan,
which was warmly supported by Illudeen, who apparently hurt
Subtu’s feelings; for the indolent, the placid Subtu leapt to his feet,
seized his spear, and rushed to the entrance of the stockade with his
passions desperately aroused. I never saw finer action than when,
with spear raised and pointing to the enemy’s fort, he challenged any
one to rush on with him. Houseman and Surrudeen (the bravest of
the brave) like madmen seized their swords to inflame the courage