Data concerning the existence, size, and significance of an anti-Nazi opposition within Germany are forthcoming from two primary sources. The first source is the direct testimony of opposition leaders still surviving after the occupation; the second source consists of official German intelligence reports or interrogations of interned Gestapo and Sicherheitsdienst officials. The direct testimony of opposition leaders is, of course, subject to the qualification that it is to the interest of the leader and his group to represent the activities of his movement during the war years in the best possible light. Estimates of the size and scope of activities provided by such leaders may be viewed as more or less exaggerated. However the experience of Bombing Survey Field Teams also suggests that such estimates may in some cases be low rather than high because of the extreme secrecy in which such movements were forced to operate. For example, a number of Communist leaders knew in general terms that other Communist groups and cells were operating in their area, but because of the absence of any connection they were unable to estimate the size of the group. Throughout the opposition movement it was an elementary principle of safety, confirmed by repeated experience with Gestapo terror and torture, never to know more about the personnel and activities of the movement than was absolutely essential. In evaluating the information from this source it is also necessary to keep in mind that the best informants in a great many cases had been executed in the last wave of terror. Frequently the knowledge of the survivors was fragmentary; many of those who had occupied central points in the organization had fallen.

The U.S. House of Representatives is in the midst of its second operational transformation in five years. Compared to the post-1994 “Gingrich-led revolution” (Drew 1996), Republican leadership strategies are considerably different in the 106th Congress under the direction of Speaker J. Dennis Hastert and his team.

This essay outlines five strategies the new House leadership team has implemented to correct past problems, shape members' behavioral norms (Weingast 1979), and manage their razor-thin majority. While it's still too early to gauge the ultimate success of these strategies, my conversations with members of the House Republican leadership, other members of Congress, House staffers, and political operatives involved with the day-to-day functioning of the U.S. House, reveal a pattern of strategic changes and accompanying modifications in member norms aimed at managing the legislative majority in the 106th Congress.

The study of AIDS, as a disease, a social problem, or, in my case, as a political phenomenon is necessarily difficult and invasive. Learning about AIDS requires invasion of the most private spheres of peoples' lives, involves watching people at their most vulnerable, and often requires becoming closely involved with people whose lives and circumstances are far away from the researcher's own comfort zone. As the title of this essay suggests, my research has led me to take on a variety of roles; first, in order to gather the information I sought and, later, because of the information I had gathered. Roughly speaking, these roles can be characterized with respect to the distance of the researcher from the subject matter. As a scholar, I endeavored, particularly in the early stages of my research, to hold myself apart from what I saw and to compare my findings against those of other researchers. However, as time moved on, I found myself increasingly playing two other roles, roles I have come to characterize as witness and activist. My efforts to lessen the distance between the subjects of my research and myself resulted from both practical and personal motivations. As a practical matter, like many other social scientists, I quickly discovered that I had far greater access to information—in the form of written documents, interviews, and observation opportunities—as an insider. Personally I found myself wanting to contribute what I could to help solve, or at least lessen the severity of, the problems unfolding all around me.

As I have moved closer to the subjects of my research, and to the perspectives they hold, I have been forced to confront head-on a perennial dilemma of scholars: objectivity. How does one study an issue “objectively,” particularly when the issue is fraught with controversy? Does taking a side render future observations invalid? Is there some magic line between researcher and subject that is not to be crossed? If so, where is it?

The findings presented below represent what I have discovered about interest organizing and political activism in the context of AIDS.

In the early stages of my study of the political movements surrounding the advent of AIDS and HIV, my first concern was not maintaining, or even achieving, objectivity. Rather, I found myself exploring many of the same questions as other scholars who focused on the human side of the emerging pandemic. Many of us puzzled over why AIDS had been such a strong mobilizing force. An intriguing political science question was why certain subgroups of AIDS activists enjoyed such success once the larger affected communities mobilized. Many of the people at the forefront of AIDS activism seemed to have been remarkably successful both in having their policy demands met and in incorporating themselves into the decision-making bodies that would formulate future policies. These successes seemed all the more amazing when one considered that a majority of Americans associated the epidemic with groups of people they perceived as, at best, marginally parts of American society—the diseased (hemophiliacs), the unwelcome (Haitian immigrants), and, most especially, the morally suspect (gay men and injection drug users).

This paradox of unprecedented success for disempowered actors has spawned a vast literature spanning a variety of disciplines. Early books on the subject, beginning with Randy Shilts's unequaled classic, And the Band Played On, focused on the manifold obstacles facing early activists and government officials attempting to deal with the impending crisis.

The number of black elected officials has increased steadily since the passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965. Prior to that time, less than 150 blacks had been elected to public office. By 1993, there were over 8,000 black elected officials. Of these 8,000, over 300 were mayors (Joint Center for Political and Economic Studies 1993). By contrast, blacks have not experienced the same kind of success at the state level. The number of blacks who have been elected to statewide office is a mere one-tenth of the number elected to mayorships. The number of black high-profile statewide office holders, those being governors and U.S. senators, is even smaller. Only three blacks have been elected to these offices since Reconstruction.

Holding high-profile statewide office is important for a number of reasons. First, issues such as funding for education, health care, housing, and social services are decided at the state level and these resources have traditionally been distributed disproportionately. Second, blacks elected to high-profile statewide offices would have the ability to bring other blacks into government through appointments and hiring. Third, blacks holding these positions would serve as symbols and role models for all of a states' citizens. It is important that whites see blacks as capable of governing and making intelligent decisions that affect white people's lives. It is equally important for young blacks to see people with faces like their own in positions of power. Finally, holding a high-profile statewide office is an important step on the career path of those wishing to occupy a national office. Candidates who are fortunate enough to win their party's nomination for president are usually former governors or U.S. senators, as are many vice presidents (Schlesinger 1966, 1991).