Fray Bernardino de Sahagún's account of the process by which the Aztec rulers edited their past indicates the magnitude of bias that we may expect to find in historical accounts of pre-Columbian Mexico. Even if this holocaust, and later official manipulation, did produce a single, authorized version of Aztec history, there are many conflicting accounts of events extant today. This is the result of several processes. First and foremost, all of the surviving histories were written in the Roman alphabet after the Conquest. None were direct “translations” of pre-Conquest books; rather, they were new versions of the inherently flexible oral traditions that accompanied these books. Second, different accounts reflect differing regional biases. Itzcoatl may have destroyed conflicting Mexica views of their own past, but many of the chroniclers were from places that were historic enemies of the Mexica, or at best uneasy friends, such as Tlatelolco, Tetzcoco, and Chalco. Each of these accounts preserves some local bias. Third, “history” was consciously recast to reflect current needs. This happens in all cultures, even the Western European tradition, which has traditionally claimed to seek objectivity in the recording of past events. Yet even if exact events are recorded, it is never possible to eliminate all selective bias: at the very least, one cannot record everything that happened. The historian's job is to record what he judges to be important, and structure it within a coherent narrative. In Mesoamerica, this narrative reflected the present as much as it did the past. Because of the cyclical nature of time, future events were bound to reflect past ones. Therefore, written histories were structured so that this was so. Exactly what happened and what should have happened blended into each other, and no need was felt to distinguish between the two.

The years following World War Two produced a strong resurgence of U.S. intervention in Central America and the Caribbean couched in Cold War terms. Although the U.S. intervention in Guatemala to overthrow the government of Jacobo Arbenz in 1954 has generally been seen as the first case of Cold War covert anti-Communist intervention in Latin America, several scholars have raised questions about U.S. involvement in a 1948 Costa Rican civil war in which Communism played a critical role. In a 1993 article in The Americas, Kyle Longley argued that “the U.S. response to the Costa Rican Revolution of 1948, not the Guatemalan affair, marked the origins of the Cold War in Latin America.” The U.S. “actively interfered,” and achieved “comparable results in Costa Rica as in Guatemala: the removal of a perceived Communist threat.” Other authors have argued, even, that the U.S. had prepared an invasion force in the Panama Canal Zone to pacify the country. The fifty years of Cold War anti-Communism entitles one to be skeptical of U.S. non-intervention in a Central American conflict involving Communism. Costa Ricans, aware of a long tradition of U.S. intervention in the region, also assumed that the U.S. would intervene. Most, if not all, were expecting intervention and one key government figure described U.S. pressure as like “the air, which is felt, even if it cannot be seen.” Yet, historians must do more than just “feel” intervention. Subsequent Cold War intervention may make it difficult to appraise the 1948 events in Costa Rica objectively. Statements like Longley's that “it is hard to believe that in early 1948 … Washington would not favor policies that ensured the removal of the [Communist Party] Vanguard,” although logical, do not coincide with the facts of the U.S. role in the conflict.

“Unlike some Latin American mainland societies which still contain large numbers of indigenous peoples,” Jorge Duany observed, “Caribbean societies are immigrant societies almost from the moment of their conception.” Médéric-Louis-Élie Moreau de Saint- Méry likened the latter to “shapeless mixtures subject to diverse influences.” Their population, Dawn I. Marshall reminds us, “is to a large extent the result of immigration—from initial settlement, forced immigration during slavery, indentured immigration, to the present outward movement to metropolitan countries.” Throughout their history, David Lowenthal noted, limited resources and opportunities kept West Indian societies in a constant state of flux, impelling continuous transfers of people, technology, and institutions within the area. Despite the frequency and importance of these population movements, the bulk of scholarship on American migration history has traditionally concentrated on areas favored by European settlement. Moreover, the overwhelming quantity of research on immigration to the United States, Canada, Argentina, and Brazil has tended to overshadow the study of similar processes in other American regions. Due to its historical association with the arrival of involuntary settlers, migratory currents in the Caribbean have been too narrowly identified with bondage, penal labor and indentured workers. Nowhere is the imbalance more conspicuous than in the study of trans-Caribbean migratory streams during slavery. Discussions on pre-1838 population shifts have centered largely on inter-island slave trading and the exodus prompted by Franco-Haitian revolutionary activity in the Caribbean. The parallel legacy of motion hinted by Neville N.A.T. Hall's “maritime” maroons and Julius S. Scott's “masterless” migrants has attracted noticeably less attention.

In considering acts of military intervention by foreign powers which occurred in Mexico during the Mexican Revolution, one is apt to think of the years 1914, 1916 and 1919, when U.S. forces invaded or occupied portions of Mexican territory. There was, however, one case of intervention of this sort during the revolution in which U.S. military personnel were not involved–the landing of a small party of British marines belonging to the H.M.S. “Shearwater” at the port of San Quintín on the northwest coast of the Baja Californian peninsula in April 1911.

The British landing at San Quintm constituted a vestige or remnant of "gunboat diplomacy", an aspect of English foreign policy that had originated in the age of Palmerston and which reflected the unrivaled naval supremacy enjoyed by Great Britain during the period extending from the defeat of Napoleon in 1815 to the end of the Second World War. The episode represented, in a rather overt way, the hard-nosed attitude characteristic of British foreign policy at that time with regards to Latin America in general and other so-called "backward" regions of the globe.