Through the 1980s and early 1990s, the course of American health research was increasingly shaped by politically-aggressive activism for two particular diseases, breast cancer and AIDS (Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome). Even as national stakes rose, both in dollars spent and growing demands on the medical system, breast cancer and AIDS advocates made government policy-making for research ever more public and controversial. Through skillful cultivation of political strength, interest groups transformed individual health problems into collective demands, winning notable policy influence in federal agencies such as the National Institutes of Health (NIH) and Food and Drug Administration (FDA). Activists directly challenged fundamental principles of both government and medical systems, fighting to affect distribution of research funds and questioning well-established scientific methods and professional values. In the contest for decision-making power, those players achieved remarkable success in influencing and infiltrating (some critics said, undermining) both the politics and science of medical research. Between 1990 and 1995, federal appropriations for breast cancer study rose from $90 million to $465 million, while in that same period, NIH AIDS research rose from $743.53 million to $1,338 billion.

Histories of American welfare have been stories about the state. Like Walter Trattner's widely read From Poor Law to Welfare State, now in its sixth edition, they have offered a narrative about the slow but steady expansion and elaboration of state and federal protections granted to poor and working people, and have usually done so by charting increases in government expenditures, by documenting the institutionalization of welfare bureaucracies, and by tracing rises or declines in poverty, unemployment, and other aggregate measures of well-being. This has been the case even in more critical accounts that emphasize that American social welfare history is not a story just of progress, such as Michael Katz's In the Shadow of the Poorhouse. These narratives have emphasized programs, not people (whether it is the poorhouse, the asylum, and mother's pensions, or the more recent innovations of national unemployment insurance, Social Security, AFDC and TANF, and Medicare and Medicaid). In the investigations of the welfare state that dominate academic research, the content and timing of government policy itself has served as the dependent variable, while the independent variables have been a congeries of interests, institutions, and policy entrepreneurs. Our attention has been focused upon what government has done, why it was done, and what the effects were as measured in official data.

Not long ago, a 43-year-old Wonder Bread deliveryman named John Dugger logged on to eBay and, as people sometimes do these days, bought himself a house. Not a shabby one, either. Nine rooms, three stories, rooftop patio, walls of solid stonework—it wasn't quite a castle, but it put to shame the modest redbrick ranch house Dugger came home to every weeknight after a long day stocking the supermarket shelves of Stillwater, Oklahoma. Excellent location, too; nestled at the foot of a quiet coastal hillside, the house was just a hike away from a quaint seaside village and a quick commute from two bustling cosmopolitan cities. It was perfect, in short, except for one detail: The house was imaginary.

In November 1990 voters in the District of Columbia elected two “shadow” United States senators (one of whom is former presidential candidate Jesse Jackson) and one “shadow” representative to lobby for statehood. Statehood bills have been introduced in Congress regularly since 1982 and committee hearings on statehood were held in the fall of 1991 and the spring of 1992. Although only recently has there been serious discussion about District statehood, the issue of the proper relationship of the national government to the federal city has been a matter of debate since 1787. This article provides a historical analysis of statehood and alternative policy options and aruges that the relationship between the federal government and the District has always mirrored national polit.

A number of American cities experienced urban renewal in the 1950s and 1960s. Historians and others who have chronicled the urban changes of those decades have cited economic redevelopment as the motivating factor in the rebuilding of the downtown and the relocation of the black population from that area. For example, Carl Abbott in his analysis of Sunbelt cities noted that “the rebuilding of downtown districts was intended to secure two related economic goals.” The first was to make the city more appealing as a center of investment and business activity as opposed to competing cities; the second was to enhance the downtown area in light of suburban development which might attract business away from the central city. Clarence Stone-in his study of Atlanta's renewal also indicates the primacy of economic factors as the motivation for rebuilding the city's downtown and uprooting the black population.

The drug problem in the United States and elsewhere has historically received intermittent attention, most often when the problem has reached crisis proportions in a certain locale. In such times, one of the natural focal points of discussion has been the role that other nations play in supplying drugs. It has not been unusual for foreign states to be accused of being the source of the problem, while others have been identified, in varying degrees of culpability, as accessories. This often has created conflict, especially when an accused nation has viewed the issue differently. Under these circumstances, states have frequently attempted negotiations in hopes of reaching some sort of agreement that will accommodate all the affected parties.

The first response to AIDS in Ireland emerged from within a radical, socialist, and predominantly nationalist wing of the gay rights movement in 1985. At a time when homosexual acts were criminalized, the Irish state operated a policy of protracted nonengagement with Gay Health Action, while covertly supporting selected health-promotion activities. As international momentum unified around a response to the AIDS crisis characterized by value-neutral public health principles, the Irish State, and particularly the statutory health sector, was compelled to balance the views of a conservative voting majority at home with the liberal consensus that was defining the response internationally. AIDS was a catalyst for change throughout the world and Gay Health Action was at the forefront of that transformative movement in Ireland. At the outbreak of AIDS, the gay community was an “invisible minority” that by 1990 had pushed the boundaries of sexual health discourse to herald a more liberal age.

Given our current preoccupation with conducting a war on drugs, we run the danger of forgetting that, once upon a time, the sale of opium was widely condoned and, in some Asian societies under colonial rule, even monopolized by the state. While this clearly encouraged the widespread use of opium in these societies, some have claimed that it at least served to keep more dangerous and addictive drugs at bay. Within Asia there is no question that the postwar era has seen a dramatic shift away from opium to other addictive drugs, in particular heroin, and that this has coincided with the introduction of anti-opium laws. Are we then justified in concluding that the success of the anti-opium movement in prohibiting opium has served to encourage the spread of heroin?

Almost all affirmative-action plans cover women and minorities. Who are affirmative action's sanctioned minorities? According to the U.S. Bureau of the Census, there are at least 630 ethnic groups large enough to be counted. Indeed it is doubtful if there are any countries in the world that have not contributed at least one citizen to the United States. Language defines culture and status for many people, but no one knows how many tongues are spoken in America. Students in New York City School District 24 alone converse in some 83 different languages. For some persons, religion is the core of their identity. The Yearbook of American Churches lists 250 different religious groups. Finally, many Americans are most invested in their vocations or avocations and each of those activities is a minority of the total.

Canadian policy on the protection of refugees has evolved through three distinct traditions. During the first era, refugee protection was constructed as a matter of immigration control. Indeed, until the middle of the twentieth century, Canada had no law or policy specifically oriented to the admission of refugees. Refugees simply applied for permission to enter Canada under the auspices of the general immigration scheme, the primary purpose of which was to promote domestic economic interests. The erosion of this historical view of refugees as immigrants has occurred only gradually, such that even today most refugees protected by Canada must meet immigration selection criteria, in addition to showing that they are at risk in their home country.

This article addresses the origins of the immigration restriction movement in the late 19th century United States, a movement that realized its aims in the early 20th. It critiques the dominant scholarly interpretation, which holds that the movement sprang from a racism that viewed the new immigrants of this period as biologically inferior. It argues first that activists did not have at hand a biological theory sufficient to this characterization and did not employ one. It argues second that the movement arose as an adroit political response to labor market competition. The Republican Party recognized the discontent of resident workers (including those of older immigrant origin) with competition from new immigrants. The Party discerned ethnic differences among new and old immigrants and capitalized on these conditions in order to win elections. Ethnocentrism and middle-class anxiety over mass immigrant added to a movement that depended on bringing working class voters into the Party.

In January 1937, President Franklin Roosevelt submitted an ambitious plan for administrative reform of the national government to Congress. Roosevelt's reorganization bill was based on a report produced by the President's Committee on Administrative Management–a panel of three “specialists in public administration” appointed by Roosevelt in March 1936 and led by Louis Brownlow, who was perhaps the best-known expert in the field. The Brownlow recommendations produced intense debate in Congress; and the reorganization proposals were ultimately defeated in March 1938 in what historian William Leuchtenburg has described as “the worst rebuff Roosevelt was ever to suffer” in his twelve years as president. The public aspects of the battle over the Brownlow proposals have already received extensive scholarly attention. Some of the most important skirmishes in this battle, however, were not fought in public, and even after half a century they remain largely obscured from public view. One such skirmish was the contest within the academic community about the recommendations on administrative reform that were to be put before Congress.

In 1890, Congress passed the Second Morrill Land-Grant Act, which provided federal resources to support the creation of nineteen Black land-grant colleges. At a historical and political moment when Black Americans faced a violently repressive backlash against what progress they had achieved during Reconstruction, the successful passage and implementation of this legislation was unlikely. How did congressional lawmakers successfully pass the Morrill Land-Grant Act of 1890, and was the expansion of educational opportunity for African Americans a clearly expressed objective? Using historical analysis of primary sources, this analysis suggests that the 1890 legislation’s investment in Black colleges reflected a politically expedient compromise between northern Radical Republicans who supported greater educational access for Black citizens and Southern Democrats who wished to expand higher educational opportunity in their region while also maintaining the segregated racial order of southern educational institutions.

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.