Political scientists should reject Richard Rose's advice in PS (1991) to abandon the use of swing, in favor of his own alternative measures of electoral change, in three or multiparty electoral contests. Given the ubiquity of such electoral contests, this advice has a great potential influence on future election studies. However, a balanced judgment requires subjecting alternative measures to equal scrutiny. This note will do this by bringing relevant evidence to bear on the actual performance of swing and Rose's alternative, as a measure of variations in electoral movements between different areas. The findings are most revealing and in the final section of this note reasons for them will be put forward.

Rose maintains, in his critique of David Butler and Stephen D. Van Beek (1990), that swing can only be meaningfully used as a measure of electoral change between elections where virtually the entire vote is split between two parties. On this basis he claims that “swing is not applicable in nine-tenths of competitive party systems because two parties do not monopolize the vote.” As Rose shows, reliance on swing can ignore important changes in third party votes, which may often be an important determinant of the swing between the two main parties.

In announcing his nomination of Clarence Thomas to the United States Supreme Court on July 2, 1991, George Bush described him as “a fiercely independent thinker with an excellent legal mind,” and proclaimed his belief that Thomas would “be a great Justice.” While many legal and political commentators had predicted that Clarence Thomas stood an excellent chance of being Bush's nominee to replace the retiring Thurgood Marshall, few were quick to echo Bush's assessment that Thomas was:

… the best qualified at this time …. Clarence Thomas … fits my description of the best man at the right time. … I kept my word to the American people and to the Senate by picking the best man for the job on the merits. (New York Times, 2 July 1991)

Even as Bush offered Thomas's name in nomination, the skeptics were muttering about the hyperbole that surrounded the announcement. Thomas's total lack of courtroom experience and his generally undistinguished record as a jurist led many to question his qualifications to serve on the High Court. Concern with his general absence of legal credentials prompted the American Bar Association's Standing Committee on the Federal Judiciary to rate Thomas merely as “Qualified”—making him the only nominee with such a low rating to serve on the Supreme Court.

The authority and prestige of the United States Supreme Court have always rested on its support from the other branches of government and, perhaps even more importantly, on the support of the American public.

Political science has been slow to address the political and policy issues of AIDS. It was not until 1987—six years after recognition of the epidemic by the Centers for Disease Control—that the American Political Science Association first sponsored a panel on AIDS policy at its annual convention. A second panel, on comparative public policy issues and AIDS, was not held until 1989, but that panel was sponsored by the Gay and Lesbian Caucus for Political Science, not the APSA. A 1987 special issue on health policy of PS: Political Science & Politics contained not a single reference to AIDS. When it comes to using its accumulated wisdom to help society understand the phenomenon of AIDS, professional political science lags far behind psychology, anthropology, sociology, and other social science disciplines.

By downplaying AIDS, political science has not only acquiesced in trivializing this deadly disease and in marginalizing groups initially identified with it, but it also has squandered an important opportunity for itself. To what degree might the study of AIDS test the breadth of current explanatory theory? What testable hypotheses might be generated from studies of AIDS policies? What does AIDS tell us about processes of political mobilization, policy making, the creation of political networks or alternative power maps?

The decade of the 1980s began with a former naval officer and Southern peanut farmer, a deeply religious, Sunday-school teaching president being unseated by a former sportscaster and union leader, a divorced and remarried Hollywood movie star-turned-politician. The religious right claimed credit for the defeat of that born-again Baptist, convinced that Ronald Reagan and his Republican party would restore the social and moral values that had crumbled, especially under liberal Democratic administrations. It was a heady period for evangelical leaders, quiescent on the public scene, some say since the 1920s, others say the 1950s. They were concerned again not simply with the salvation of souls but the transformation of society. Mastering the new instruments of television and direct marketing appeals, evangelical leaders had money, organizational moxie, and mass followings. They put their moral agenda into the national legislative arena—and came up with few victories.

The decade ended as ironically as it began. First, “The Fall”: televangelists Bakker and Swaggart were discredited for their moral peccadillos; faith-healer Oral Roberts, for his lack of business acumen. Televangelist Pat Robertson tried for the presidency but discovered that he could not even gain the support of evangelical leaders. Jerry Falwell, who endorsed George Bush rather than pentecostalist Robertson, chose to disband his Moral Majority and emerged with a much weaker, seldom noticed organization.

It is an enduring myth that heads of state and other international leaders are often more admired abroad than at home. The prophet is not without honor, save in his own country. It has been argued, for example, that Richard Nixon's popularity in other countries continued to grow during the Watergate crisis almost in inverse proportion to its decline in the United States. In fact, there has been no systematic study of the popularity of political leaders outside of their own countries. The little evidence that exists suggests that, although important leaders are often admired by foreign political elites when they are unpopular at home, the reaction of mass publics is less clear. Thus, European political leaders were often sympathetic to the plight of Richard Nixon as the Watergate affair evolved between 1973 and 1975, but mass public opinion was far more negative.

Charles de Gaulle did not fit the pattern, at least not in the United States. His 30 years of world prominence, 1940-70, may have produced a roller-coaster pattern of popularity in France, but the limited data we have indicate that in the United States, he became increasingly unpopular as he consolidated his power during the Fifth Republic, and, in the process, challenged the “hegemony” of the United States. Among American political elites, he seems to have been consistently unpopular, and revisions in that assessment were not to come before his second retreat to Colombey in 1969.

On the centenary of de Gaulle's birth (and the 20th anniversary of his death), we undertook a reevaluation of the current public status of de Gaulle in America through a survey of a select group of opinion leaders whose preoccupations would enable them to form considered judgments about him as a political leader, and whose judgments would be transmitted to succeeding generations of university students.

Ronald Moe's lucid article, “Political Science and the Savings and Loan Crisis” (1991), considered what the political scientist's role might have been in regard to that crisis (had not our profession given up its expertise in that area). His comments led me to reflect on the role of the political scientist in relation to another national crisis—the Gulf War of 1991. During the war, and in the months preceding it, it seemed that political science—or at least my specialty, international relations (IR)—had no role to play. This strange fact results from certain paradoxes that actually encourage us to foster a separation between academic expertise in international relations, and public knowledge of how foreign policy decisions are made.

Within hours of the war's beginning, I called several IR colleagues to get their opinions as to why the United States had taken the plunge. I got appropriate, you might say textbook, answers. One colleague went right for the military rationale: “to save us from the Peace Dividend,” “to give us the chance to test new weapons,” and—one that I wouldn't have thought of myself—“to deplete inventory.” Another mentioned the more abstract balance-of-power principle, expressed in this case as “to keep our little brothers (i.e., the Third World) in their place,” while others thought of domestic factors, such as “to divert attention from the S&L crisis,” or economic advantages, such as “Saudi is footing the bill.”

Racism has been a part of black American heritage for over three centuries. Across the centuries, the systematic discrimination and oppression of blacks has raised barriers to opportunity as well as normality. Racism can take several forms including individual racism, institutional racism and cultural racism. Individual racism is fostered by individuals who categorize blacks as inferior. Even interracial contact under favorable conditions may not reduce this racist outlook. Institutional racism consists of institutions which are conceived as mechanisms to systematically oppress and limit the opportunities of black people. Cultural racism is exhibited by those who would like to homogenize black Americans—making them more white (Jones 1988: 127–31). We expect these forms of racism to have an impact on the political success of black candidates for office.

During the late 1960s and early 1970s, efforts were made at the national level in particular to eliminate barriers to equal opportunity for black Americans. Many whites were unwilling to support full racial equality. The turbulent riots in predominantly black ghettos and the formation of black groups, such as the Black Panthers, spawned fear among some white populations.

Shortly after the demolition of the Berlin Wall, PS: Political Science & Politics published an article, “Socialism and Militarism,” which purported to demonstrate a positive causal relationship between socialism and militarism. Authors Thomas R. Dye and Harmon Zeigler (1989, 801) presented data and analysis leading them to conclude that “militarism is a much more pervasive characteristic of socialist nations than capitalist nations.” This finding is supportive of Payne (1989, 110) who, in Why Nations Arm stated, “the Marxist regimes are considerably more militaristic [than non-Marxist countries].”

For their examination Dye and Zeigler employed the resource allocation measures of military spending as a percentage of gross national product and the number of military personnel per 1000 population as indicators of militarism, and the classification system of Gastil (cited in Dye and Zeigler 1989) in defining national political economy types. Using this information Dye and Zeigler generated four tables that ostensibly demonstrate that socialist countries are more militaristic than capitalist countries. It is arguable, however, that Dye and Zeigler's conclusions are dubious because of the definitions and measures they have chosen to use for both socialism and militarism.

Humankind is in the midst of largescale transition marked by telling differences but profound similarities. Throughout this world, political systems are becoming more participatory and less authoritarian. For want of better or more accurate terminology, this worldwide phenomenon generally is termed the process of “democratization,” which may be defined as the process of moving from an authoritarian to a democratic political system.

We political scientists in the United States have taken U.S. democracy for granted. We have also observed the difficulties and many failed attempts over time in achieving democracy in other parts of the world. Now, given the worldwide democratization movement, we are increasingly being asked—rightly or wrongly—for our advice. And so we are called upon to be reflective, analytical, and introspective about democracy.

Thirty years ago, political activity in the Latino community was relatively unknown at the national level. While there were Hispanic elected officials (HEOs) and Latino community activism, no one spoke of “Latino” politics or the “Hispanic” vote in national politics (Moore and Pachon 1985, chap. 10; Jennings and Rivera 1984). When analysts examined Latino politics, study was confined to the Southwestern states, New York City and perhaps Dade County, Florida. Now, however, Hispanics are one of this country's largest ethnic groups. Hispanics will be the largest ethnic minority group in the nation early in the 21st century (Edmonston and Passel 1991). Consequently, the political life of this community is coming under increasing attention. As examples, see May 1987; Didion 1987.

This overview examines one facet of the increasing Latino political presence—the growing number of Hispanics elected to office at all levels of government. Because the reapportionment and redistricting that will take place in the next two years will increase the number of districts containing a majority Latino population, this discussion is particularly timely. Many newly apportioned districts will elect Latinos to office for the first time. Thus, this overview may be used to assess Latino office holding in 1990 and will serve as a baseline for measuring the impact of post-1990 redistricting on Latino public-officeholding.