In late 1930, as the Great Depression deepened, the Cotton Textile Institute unveiled a plan for eliminating the employment of women and minors at night. The intent behind the national trade association's measure was to discourage cotton textile mills from operating at night, thereby breaking a cycle of overproduction and price-cutting that had beset the industry through the 1920s. Although this fact was not emphasized in public, the measure's particular target was southern mills, which, less restrained than northeastern mills by unions or state labor laws, comprised a disproportionate share of the industry's nightrunners. The Cotton Textile Institute (CTI) anticipated that ending night work for women would reduce night operation because mill tasks historically done by women were interdependent with men's tasks, and replacing women night workers with men would be expensive. Targeting women and children, rather than all employees, enabled the institute to publicize the measure as a “humanitarian” effort, rather than as a move to limit production. CTI leaders hoped that this approach would appeal to the public and—especially important—that it would head off antitrust prosecution by the Justice Department.

Scholarship on the political development of the United States since the 1960s is dominated, not surprisingly, by social scientists. Such recent events fall within the penumbra of “contemporary history,” the standard research domain of social scientists but treacherous terrain for historians. Social scientists studying American government and society generally enjoy prompt access to evidence of the policy-making process–documents from the elected and judicial branches of government, interviews with policy elites, voting returns, survey research. Historians of the recent past, on the other hand, generally lack two crucial ingredients–temporal perspective and archival evidence–that distinguish historical analysis from social science research. For these reasons, social scientists (and journalists) customarily define the initial terms of policy debate and shape the conventional wisdom. Historians weigh in later, when memories fade, archives open, and the clock adds a relentless and inherently revisionist accumulation of hindsight.

Both the legal definition of rape and the social responses to it have changed dramatically over the last twenty-five years. The sorts of assaults classified as criminal, the willingness of women who have been raped to turn to the criminal justice system, the rules of prosecution, and the penalties imposed on those found guilty have all been the explicit subjects of public debates initiated in the early 1970s by activists who broke the silence of earlier decades. Activists' engagement with the policy process throughout the 1970s altered institutions and policy at the local, state, and federal levels, and also affected the development and claims of the broader women's movement.

In the early 1970s, President Richard Nixon referred to Aid to Families with Dependent Children as “the program we all normally think of when we think of ‘welfare.’” When President Bill Clinton promised to “end welfare as we know it” in the early 1990s, everyone knew that he meant AFDC. “Welfare” had become a code word for public assistance given mainly to unmarried mothers, mostly young women of color. Few terms evoked as much hostility among Americans as “welfare.” No other public benefits carried its stigma. The political left, right, and center all attacked it.

In a world increasingly dominated by high technology and esoteric scientific knowledge it is not surprising that political scientists and sociologists have begun to ask what role experts and specialists play in the policymaking process. Inaugurated almost a century ago by Weber's seminal essay on bureaucracy and the rationalization of authority, this issue was subsequently developed out of neo-Marxist debates over the relative autonomy of the state into a more explicitly state-centered perspective. Though state-centered theorists have not abandoned pluralism altogether, bureaucrats and policy experts have increasingly taken center stage in policy analyses. These state actors are portrayed as “policy experts,” free from political pressure, focused on making policy recommendations based on the most up-to-date knowledge of the field. Instead of pursuing votes and campaign money, policy experts seek the most efficient answers to social problems, a rationalized process of positivistic scientific inquiry and experiential learning. In most areas of public policymaking, this boils down to the reductive analysis of prior, presumably analogous, policy outcomes, drawing lessons for the future from the successes and failures of the past. Seen from this perspective, policymaking is portrayed as “a deliberate attempt to adjust the goals or techniques of policy in response to past experience and new information.” History thus not only transforms state capacities (as in historical institutionalist accounts) but also directly effects the ways in which policymakers think about social problems. Political scientists refer to this as a “social learning” process.

Recently, the story of President Richard M. Nixon's “southern strategy” and its relationship to school desegregation has become a ripe topic for historical revision. Ever wary of the shifty-eyed Nixon, contemporary critics argued that the president had retreated from civil rights to win the votes of conservative white southerners. Modifying this thesis, recent scholars have concluded that the president was neither a segregationist nor a conservative on the race question. These writers have shown that Nixon desegregated more schools than previous presidents, approved a strengthened Voting Rights Act, developed policies to aid minority businesses, and supported affirmative action.

The 1970s had at least as powerful an impact on the course of American public policy as the decade that preceded it. Polls showed that confidence in large institutions—including government—was wearing down under the burden of crisis, complexity, scandal, and doubt. Inflation, economic stagnation, and severe oil shortages directly disrupted individual lives. Faith in the future of the nation, its economy, its institutions, and its government eroded.

This article assesses recent studies of the history of welfare states and proposes an alternative interpretation of the history of policy for health services. Health policy, like policy for retirement income, job security and unemployment, social services and housing, has been profoundly influenced by the politics of economic productivity, social justice, and demographic change in each country. However, health policy has also been guided by perceptions of the nature and course of disease and opinions about the probability that particular medical interventions, organized and distributed in particular ways, would ameliorate its effects.

The Founding Fathers warned about the dangers of an “excess of democracy” and designed the Constitution in large part with a view toward preventing it. Judging from most commentary on American politics, with respect to most of the intervening two hundred years, they need't have worried: The mass public has only occasionally been a dominant force in national policy making. Elites, although often responding to broad public concerns, have usually defined the specific directions of policy change.

State-building in America is a tortuous process. Policy entrepreneurs who seek to establish new state capacities face significant ideological and institutional constraints. These constraints often limit the scope of their entrepreneurship and typically force them to compromise or adapt their ideals to fit political circumstances. Yet, although its path of development has been convoluted, there is an American state and not a trivial one at that. Indeed, the same features of the polity that constrain state-building can also motivate and support it.

Ira Katznelson seems to like a lot of things about Grand Expectations. I thank him for his words of praise and for giving the book a careful, thoughtful reading. Although he says little about my many specific judgments and interpretations, he helps readers grasp my main themes. As he points out, I argue that Americans between 1945 and the late 1960s developed ever-grander expectations about their capacity to create a better world abroad and a happier society at home.

The founding fathers laid down a number of principles for successful governance in the new republic. Among these, in the formal sense, were written constitutions, the division of power among three branches of government, checks and balances to prevent abuse of power, the rule of law, and equality before the law. Most of these ideas were English in origin and had been practiced, in varying degrees, in the colonies. The failure of the colonial polity, the founders believed, had occurred because at times British power in North America had been exercised in opposition to notions of sound governance. In addition, the founders heeded public opinion and accepted, somewhat reluctantly, broad participation by white males in the political process. Having experienced British tyranny, they embraced free speech and a free press. While these various principles, the founders agreed, were ingredients that could produce a republic, such a republic would be viable only if the people and their political leaders possessed virtue.

Interpreting the 1970s is a difficult business. On the one hand, reformers struggled earnestly and effectively to codify the exalted vision of a good society that was celebrated during the 1960s. And yet in doing so, they appeared to routinize rather than resolve the virulent conflicts of the previous decade. Scholars tend to agree that the reforms of the 1960s and 1970s marked a transformation of political life no less important than the Progressive Era and the New Deal. Unlike these earlier reform periods, however, the 1960s and 1970s did not embrace national administrative power as an agent of social and economic justice. Instead, reformers of the 1960s and 1970s championed “participatory democracy” and viewed the very concept of national governmental authority with deep suspicion. Indeed, Hugh Heclo characterizes the reform legacy of the 1960s and 1970s as one of intractable fractiousness, as a “postmodern” assault on the modern state forged on the anvil of reforms carried out during the Progressive and New Deal eras. “In the end, it appears that a great deal of postmodern policymaking is not really concerned with ‘making policy’ in the sense of finding a settled course of public action that people can live with,” he writes. “It is aimed at crusading for a cause by confronting power with power.”