“We are still almost in a state of seige from the operations of the armed bands who rob and plunder almost daily, on the great thoroughfare between this city [Lima] and its port-town, Callao, and, amongst others, some of our countrymen have been attacked and wounded,” wrote Samuel Larned, United States Chargé d' Affaires at Lima on November 16, 1835. Lima and its environs were indeed in an uproar, made so by the revolt of the impetuous twenty-eight year old General Felipe Santiago de Salaverry against the government. While Salaverry the usurper was prosecuting his campaign in the interior, bands of soldiers prowled about the capital area, discipline and order loosened by a quicksilver political situation. Furthermore, Salaverry's attitudes were anti-foreign and his campaign “worthy of the times of Attila or Genghis Kan” to the mind of the American chargé. Little wonder that on December 10, 1835, a few Marines were landed at Callao to protect American interests and property. It was an unprecedented act, the first time United States Marines had ever been landed to protect American diplomatic missions. Next month they packed up and reboarded the U.S.S. Brandywine, only to put ashore once more in August to continue their vigil. On December 2, 1836, less than a year after first setting ashore, the Marines once more withdrew, but the landing, although modest in proportion to the violent maneuvers of the warring factions, symbolized the nature and extent of United States-Peruvian relations.

In this essay I describe some often ignored North American modes of perceiving Latin Americans; and I suggest that a change in these modes contributed to the Good Neighbor era (1933-1945). I do not presume to argue that shifting attitudes and perceptions should be seen as the principal factors in shaping the Good Neighbor policy. Anyone concerned with the primary determinants of that policy must turn to security and economic considerations. Still, an intellectual—and, really, a psychological—phenomenon of shifting perceptions and stereotypes among North Americans accounted for some of the enthusiasm with which they greeted what they took to be a new approach to Latin America.

In its central thrust this essay suggests that in hemispheric relations, seen from the north-of-the-Rio-Grande perspective, the United States stands generally for culture and Latin America for nature. Symbolizing the capitalist culture of the Yankees, shaped by their struggle to subdue wilderness and nature, has been the white male, often portrayed by Uncle Sam. In contrast, Latin America has been symbolized by Indians, blacks, women, children, and also the idle poor: people assumed to lack the capitalist urge constantly to tame, dominate, and uplift nature.

The history of the Church in Mexico has seen an ongoing confrontation between the secular and the regular clergy. During various periods one or the other side would achieve ascendency, only to decline at a later date. The religious orders have chronicled the exploits of their brothers and friars, yet to this day the activities of the secular clergy have remained largely unknown. One critical period in the development and expansion of the secular clergy occurred between the promulgation of the Ordenanza del Patronazgo in 1574 and the end of the sixteenth century. In this quarter century many of the basic institutions of the diocesan establishment came into being, and in general the whole ecclesiastical hierarchy felt the changes. This essay specifically will focus on the implementation of the Ordenanza del Patronazgo and its effect on the secular clergy.

Economic considerations all but dominate recent historical writing in this country about the railroads of Mexico. Technical matters of construction and operation, as well as the role of the state in both, are touched upon, but economic interpretation, whether of the development of a railway system or of its impact on the nation, is the watchword if not catchword of most writing. Probably the leading example of the dominant approach is Growth against Development: The Economic Impact of Railroads in Porfirian Mexico (Northern Illinois University Press, 1981), by John H. Coatsworth, in which the author concludes that, while “the short run contribution of railroads to economic growth was large,” their longrun impact helped “to create the underdeveloped country Mexico has become.” Applying economic theory and measuring, Coatsworth in essence proves with numbers a case argued more elegantly in straight prose early in this century: that the application of a modern transportation network to a staple producing economy will do little more than extend and intensify the production system so as to increase the staple output.

Interest in the nature of Brazilian slavery has increased dramatically during the last ten years. In part this interest has been stimulated by the desire of North American social scientists to examine what was initially viewed to be the striking differences between patterns of race relations and slavery as they developed in the United States and Brazil. Among Brazilians the interest in slavery is older, beginning as an aspect of the larger evolution of cultural nationalism which sought to demonstrate the unique nature of the Brazilian solution to a multiracial society. Among both North American and Brazilian writers the initial tendency was to emphasize the more “humane” nature of slavery in Brazil. This was attributed to a number of factors of which the Portuguese concept of the slave as a human being based on cultural and religious traits was paramount. Increasingly this view has been subjected to intense criticism and recent works have focused on the harshness of Brazilian slavery and have sought to stress the similarities between the two systems.

No statue of Juan Nepomuceno Moreno stands today in Bogotá. Most Colombians have never heard of him, and probably only a few scholars could identify him as a Llanero patriot who fought in the battles of Boyacá and Carabobo. Yet it is not too much to say that in May 1831, the action of this obscure caudillo from Casanare might have changed the course of Colombian history. Already in Venezuela and Argentina, José Antonio Páez and Juan Manuel de Rosas had used the plains as a springboard to unseat the urban elite and take command of their nations. Now Moreno, fresh from a stunning defeat of the forces of Rafael Urdaneta at Cerinza and poised in Zipaquirá with an army of fierce Llaneros, threatened to invade Bogotá, overthrow Bolívar's successor, and impose his own dictatorship. While historians agree that the events of 1831 mark a turning point in the evolution of Colombian politics, they have yet to analyze the role played by Moreno. An examination of his career suggests that his failure to seize control stemmed not only from his own personal limitations as a leader, but was also conditioned by two important trends of nineteenth century Colombian history—the subordination of the Llanos frontier to the highlands, and the emergence of a political system dominated by civilian caudillos.

Research on women in colonial Latin America is a complex and often frustrating task, in part because the data base is narrow, especially as one descends the social ladder, which often restricts the subject to women from the elite sectors in urban settings. Too often writing on colonial women is based on a “Great Woman” approach to history in which modern concerns about feminism and women's liberation are imposed on traditional, patriarchical historical epochs where these precepts have little meaning or application. There are indications, however, that this orientation is changing. A recent collection of studies about women in colonial societies, for example, compares the economic, political, and social roles of women in twelve different colonial situations, including Peru and New Spain, and considers the changes wrought by European civilization. From an anthropological and historical perspective, the authors compare the position of women in various premodern societies prior to the emergence of the world capitalist system in an effort to determine the historic origins of inequality and subordination.

Yerba mate, a primitive forest industry, demonstrates the interaction of private and state enterprise in nineteenth century Paraguay. A low capital investment industry based upon utilizing seasonal and unskilled labor, yerba mate was financed, collected, and sold by the private entrepreneur and the state. Demand for yerba in both internal and external markets assured satisfactory profits for businessmen, above average wages for laborers, and necessary revenues for government. As a major export of Paraguay from the end of the seventeenth century until the War of the Triple Alliance, The Great War of 1864-1870, yerba mate provides insight into government regulations, taxation, price controls, and foreign trade policies. Because of the significance of yerba mate for the Paraguayan economy, the state was involved in both production and trade, although government interest primarily assured revenues rather than state control. A description of the organization of the yerba mate industry and an analysis of government policies supports revisionist studies that the governments of José Gaspar de Francia, 1811-1840, Carlos Antonio López, 1844-1862, and Francisco Solano López, 1862-1870 were pragmatic and rational rather than dictatorial and monopolistic.

French royal officials, speculators such as John Law, and the French Crown itself had placed great hopes in the development of the tobacco industry in French Louisiana. Some officials even anticipated that Louisiana tobacco might someday be grown in sufficient quantities to supply all the needs of the French Tobacco Monopoly. These lofty expectations were never realized although tobacco production did reach 400,000 pounds in 1740.

By the time of the transfer of the colony to Spain in 1766 the perils of war and erratic shipping had almost killed the industry. Most planters had switched to the more profitable production of indigo. Historian Jacob Price claims that the failure of the French government's efforts to develop the tobacco trade resulted from a misunderstanding about costs. In Louisiana, he writes, labor was expensive and freight dear, yet French authorities expected Louisiana tobacco to be competitive in price in the French market with Virginia tobacco, grown in an established market, with abundant labor, and much closer to Europe. Fortunately, the Spanish officials had no such illusions.

As usual the new year was ushered in by the words of the President, broadcast to the nation via radio and television. They were the same words Chileans had heard for the past decade. The regime would not give way in its campaign to create a new Chile, to bar forever a resurgence of the left, to purify democracy of its inherent weaknesses, to structure the government so that politiquería never again would menace Chileans, to strengthen the economy. And on the president went, calling on all Chileans to make sacrifices, for the international recession had caused problems for them all. His own economic planners, Los Chicago Boys and their recent variants, were innocent victims of a situation beyond their control. The fact that unemployment pushed 25% (a conservative figure), that Chile was $25 billion in debt, (with interest on the debt consuming 80% of export earnings), that there had been 1600 bankruptcies since 1980—that Chile's boom was over—did not mean the government would radically change its plans for the future. The president sounded steadfast.

During the 1930s Argentina's two railroad unions were the dominant labor organizations in the country. Their members considered themselves the elite of the working class. Through collective contracts and the efforts of the unions, the workers had gained favorable conditions for themselves, so that they were in many ways an elite, despite the harsh reality that the industry in which they worked was in decay.

Why were they able to do this? Not because they all possessed special skills. Groups of skilled workers have often been able to secure for themselves a strong position, as have the engineers and firemen who make up La Fraternidad. In countries in which the position of labor unions is not protected by law the ability of widely differentiated groups to organize successfully is unusual. Therefore, this paper will concentrate on the members of the Unión Ferroviaria. Membership in the Unión Ferroviaria was extended all along the far-flung railroad network and ranged from craftsmen in the repair shops to poorly paid and unskilled crews that maintained the tracks.

Colombia's 1875 election was one of the most intensely fought and pivotal political contests in the nation's history. It has attracted well-deserved attention because it delineated factionalism within the Liberal party to the point of no return, and it marked the sudden emergence of Rafael Núñez to national prominence as leader of one of the two contending Liberal factions. The Nuñista Liberals in that election posed the most serious challenge the Radical Liberals had sustained since they established their political ascendancy in 1867. Victory by the Radicals in 1875 ushered in the final, brief phase of their political hegemony. The bitter factionalism within the Liberal party revealed by the election directly contributed to the costly civil war of 1876-1877 by leading Conservatives to the mistaken assumption that the defeated Nuñistas would tacitly support an insurrection against the Radicals. The Nuñistas, however, supported the Radicals during the crisis of that partisan war and thereby gained access to power.

Upon the fall of the long-time Mexican dictator Porfirio Díaz in May 1911, the Madero-ledrevolutionary movement found itself with the first opportunity in more than thirty-five years to create a broad-based democratic movement in Mexico. Although his victory was made possible by wide support from the lower class and parts of the middle, Madero proved himself to be philosophically unable to accede to the substantive socio-economic and political reforms they demanded. This attitude, clearly demonstrated during the 1911 interim, led to great dissatisfaction and even outright rebellion. The resulting disillusionment with Madero during these few months severely undermined the viability of his presidency which was eventually cut short by Victoriano Huerta.

The letter sent by Ruy González, a councilman of Mexico City, to the Spanish monarch, Charles I (Emperor Charles V of the Holy Roman Empire), in April 1553 constitutes an excellent example of the genre of correspondence sent by the conquerors and early settlers of the colonies back to Spain. These men, self-assured and successful, proud of their achievements and unbothered by moral doubt, though now generally well off and powerful, were nonetheless greatly perturbed in their old age by a growing governmental reluctance to allow them to pass on their status and wealth undisturbed to the next generation. To them there appeared to be a great influx of royal and ecclesiastical officials, characteristically accompanied by dependents and sycophants seeking favor and grants, as well as an unjustified questioning of the moral probity of the actions of the conquerors themselves. In this climate, feeling that his wisdom and deeds were unappreciated, Ruy González sent his several-page letter to the king, justifying his life, arguing his point of view, and advising changes in royal policies towards the colony that he had helped to found.

The majority of leaders who participated in the 1910 Mexican Revolution agreed that educational reform was essential if the laboring classes were to be assimilated into Mexican society. Despite these deepfelt concerns, in the arena of social reform, education during the years 1910-1920 played a tertiary role behind agrarian and labor reform, issues which received the greatest national attention. Thus, at the national level education failed to attract serious reform until the 1920s. There were, however, other reasons that explain the lack of support for educational change. The political instability that existed due to revolutionary internecine warfare, the shortage of revenues, and the lack of a national education policy further obstructed an educational reform movement. The shortcomings in governmental direction were compounded even more because in 1914 the central government adopted an educational policy of decentralization that gave the states control over education. This experiment in decentralization, lasting from 1914 to 1920, was a fiasco and left little doubt that the national government should assume control over education.