Chile’s return to democratic rule with sustained economic growth provided the opportunity for some much-welcomed political space that, it was hoped, would permit the country to attend, at long last, to a number of pressing issues which had been long deferred, if not ignored, by the previous military government. Some of those issues, such as the consolidation of democracy, poverty, and human rights, had been the subject of considerable study by scholars. Much less studied, however, although also on the agenda, was the promise to address Chile’s environmental problems, which had become much exacerbated under the laissez-faire economic model favored by the military regime. Because the new democratic administrations have followed through on that promise, the Chilean example lends support to that hypothesis which holds that environmental concerns in developing countries can be addressed more effectively under economically stable democratic regimes than by authoritarian political systems.

In December 1942, the Dutch Queen Wilhelmina announced, in a radio address, that the Netherlands was revising its relationship with its colonies, employing the famous words: “Relying on one’s own strength, with the will to support each other” [Steunend op eigen kracht, metde wil elkander bij te staan] (Schenk and spaan, 1945: 56). Some 52 years later, her granddaughter, Queen Beatrix, returned to this theme in a televised speech delivered to mark the occasion of the 40th anniversary of the Charter of the Kingdom of the Netherlands, when she referred to relations betweenThe Netherlands and its Caribbean partners as one of “a genuine relationship and mutual commitment” (een echte verwantschap en onderlinge betrokkenheid). This Charter, signed in 1954, had been drawn up to establish that henceforth the Kingdom of the Netherlands would be comprised of three equal partners: the Netherlands itself, Suriname, and the Netherlands Antilles. Back in 1954, when it was signed, the Charter was widely viewed as constituting a first, major step towards eventual independence for the Dutch partners in the Caribbean. Nor could anyone have foreseen that, 40 years later, only Suriname would have achieved independence, while the islands of the Netherlands Antilles were renouncing that option and expressing a desire to remain Dutch.

A few weeks before the April 1995 elections, President Alberto Fujimori paid yet another visit to Puno, the southernmost department in Peru’s highlands. On the agenda of this visit, the 20th trip that the president had scheduled to this region in less than a year, was a series of events designed to remind skeptical Puneños of the tremendous scope and variety of public works and infrastructural projects which the Presidential Ministry was coordinating throughout the department. By this time, every comer of the department had witnessed the construction of a new school or clinic, the repair of some strip of highway, or the renovation of some municipal park. Evidence of new construction was everywhere, along with the black-and-orange signs announcing each project as another initiative sponsored by the main social development agencies linked to the Presidential Ministry. During the visit, the president would inaugurate a few large-scale projects for good measure: a hydroelectric dam, a social security hospital, an ambitious scheme to pipe drinking water from Lake Titicaca, and a project, in partnership with Russian investors, for extracting the region’s untapped oil reserves.

For 40 years, the United States was so fearful of a thermonuclear bang that it barely noticed the whimper when the Cold War ended. There was not even any agreement on the date of the war’s end. Still, the people of the United States sensed its eagle had completed a great adventure and was returning to its nest, and that’s where they wanted it.

President George Bush was more sensitive to the shift in the balance of power in the Persian Gulf than to the swing in US mood. His quick success in the Persian Gulf lifted his popularity to a zenith, making his reelection defeat the next year all the more painful and seemingly inexplicable.

On 20 December 1994, the newly inaugurated government of President Ernesto Zedillo shattered Mexico’s façade of modernity by finding itself, first, forced to devalue the currency by 14% (in real terms), and then, only a few days later and under intense pressure from speculators (sacadolares), to allow the peso to float freely against the dollar. By the end of December, the value of the peso vis-à-vis the dollar had dropped by more than 30%, and the country had lost between $7 and $8 billion in foreign exchange reserves.