Crime reflects social values, for it indicates what is viewed as abnormal or deviant behavior (and conversely what is acceptable behavior), and the degree to which that behavior is abhorrent to society in general. In addition to reflecting general values, crime as it involves one racial, sexual or social group can shed light on the attitude of the ruling elite toward a specific group, and the social position of that group within a larger context. Lastly, crime reflects class and power relations by allowing us to study the relationship of the criminal to the victim and their relationship to the legal mechanism. The study of crime as a valid field for historical research has been well explored by European historians but, within the field of Latin American history, it is relatively new.1 It is, nevertheless, an area deserving of study in our attempt to understand more fully colonial Spanish society.

This article explores the relationship between civil-military relations and political change. Transitions to democracy in Latin America have led scholars to focus attention on the legacy of military rule and those efforts aimed at securing democratic control of the military. The article examines the foundations of civilian supremacy in Mexico, established within the context of a hegemonic party system. Changes brought about in the civil-military balance as a result of shifts in the division of labour between civilians and soldiers, as well as the impact of political liberalisation, are also analysed. Drawing on the experience of other transitions to democracy, the article discusses some of the issues raised by the dismantling of hegemonic rule for civil-military relations in Mexico.

Beginning with Brazil's origins as a nation, and continuing to the present, the relationship between race and politics in that country has been a close and integral one. Portuguese state policy made black slavery the very foundation of Brazil's social and economic order during three centuries of colonial rule. That foundation remained in place even after independence, with the paradoxical result that Brazil became ‘the last Christian country to abolish slavery, and the first to declare itself a racial democracy’. Indeed, perhaps nowhere is the connection between race and politics in Brazil more evident than in the concept of ‘racial democracy’, which characterises race relations in that country in explicitly political terminology.

This article explores some of the connections between race and politics in Brazil by examining four moments in the history of black political mobilisation in that country. Geographically, it focuses on the south-eastern state of São Paulo, which by the time of emancipation, in 1888, housed the third-largest slave population in Brazil (after neighbouring Minas Gerais and Rio de Janeiro), and which has formed a centre of black political action from the 1880s through to the present. Chronologically, it focuses on: the struggle for the final abolition of slavery in the 1880s; the rise and fall of the Frente Negra Brasileira in the 1930s; the black organisations of the Second Republic; and the most recent wave of black protest, from the mid-1970s to 1988.

The purpose of such an exercise is twofold. First, placing these moments of black mobilisation in a century-long time-frame makes it possible for us to see them not as isolated episodes, but as chapters in a long-term, ongoing history of black protest and struggle in Brazil.

After decades of authoritarianism and a twelve-year civil war ended by a negotiated peace agreement in 1992, El Salvador is a markedly different country. Despite important changes, however, public institutions have remained largely unresponsive, acute social exclusion persists and violent crime has soared. Rather than the possibly inevitable by-products of a post-conflict situation, these and other developments are the consequences of a regression from an incipient electoral democracy to electoral authoritarianism. The elite-controlled Alianza Republicana Nacionalista (ARENA) party had more to gain from the preservation of the status quo than from democratic changes and only accepted a politically inclusive system to restore the oligarchy's dominant position through electoral politics. Uncommitted to democratic consolidation, successive ARENA administrations maintained an institutional façade of democracy to reproduce authoritarian governance and defend elite interests.

Argentina's history has been profoundly influenced by the development of its agriculture. It was through the exportation of beef and grain that the country experienced spectacular economic growth between 1880 and 1930. Historically, agricultural and agro-industrial production have made up between 70 and 80% of export earnings.1 As a consequence, the sector's dominant interest group during that period, the Argentine Rural Society (Sociedad Rural Argentina – SRA) acquired enormous economic power, which led to political clout as many of its members went on to become presidents of the republic and to staff the most important ministries. Because of the political influence so attained the SRA was soon referred to as one of the key factores de poder, or power holders, along with the military, the Church and, later on, labour. This hegemony came to an end in the mid-1940s when industrialisation replaced agriculture as the main contributor to the nation's Gross Domestic Product (GDP), and when Peronism removed the landowning elite from control of the levers of power. The agricultural sector continued to take a backseat among the priorities of most of the administrations following Perón's downfall in 1955, because the future of Argentina was perceived to rest upon the promotion of import substitution industrialisation. Agricultural interest groups were never again able to gain the same kind of access to economic policy-making as they had once enjoyed. To make matters worse, the whole rural sector was forced to finance the state-led industrialisation process through a variety of direct and indirect government taxes.

This article analyses the gang policies of the first years of the Funes administration in El Salvador, from June 2009 until July 2012. Using securitisation theory, it explains why the administration returned to an emphasis on extraordinary measures, most of them repressive, to deal with gangs. It argues that these measures were the product of an ongoing and dynamic process in which the government was but one of the players in a complex field constituted by numerous actors. The return to repressive measures as well as the support and facilitation of a ‘gang truce’ were not the result of a rational design or a predetermined agenda, but should be seen as a series of moves in a political conjuncture, in which the Salvadorean government needed to communicate to different audiences messages of being in control.

Lying at the heart of the problem in analyzing Colombian violence is the relative poverty of conceptual frameworks not only for dealing with violence but with the institutions and processes and traditions which form the social environment of the society. In the following pages I shall argue that a dialectic between violence and patron-client relations offers a useful analytical framework. The first part will deal with the historical dynamics of Colombian politics. In part two, patron-client politics will be looked at in a small town setting.

The private sector plays a fundamental role in peace negotiations and in the implementation of agreements, as comparison between El Salvador, Guatemala and Colombia indicates. However, private sector involvement in peace negotiations varies: Conflict cost perceptions, degrees of unity of the pro-peace business faction, and varied access to the peace policymaking process account for important differences across the cases. Thus this article points to the need to fine-tune our understanding of private sector behaviour in the context of armed conflict and peace and underscores how private sector characteristics and business-state relations affect the emergence of peace negotiations and shape resultant outcomes.

This paper offers a historical examination of the ways in which advocacy strategies and tactics have shifted in relation to political opportunities, using a case study of a hydroelectric dam project in the Brazilian Amazon, known as the Belo Monte Dam. Drawing on over three decades of resistance by transnational activist coalitions, the paper looks at how new tactics and political alignments have altered the dynamics of activism and norm diffusion in Brazilian domestic environmental, human rights and development policies. The paper argues that current theories of norm diffusion inadequately explain backslides and tend to underestimate the complexity of domestic political alignments. The case adds political insight to our understanding of the relationship of transnational advocacy strategy to environmental and human rights political realities in Brazil.

The main argument of this article is that in order to assess accurately the impact of a market liberalisation programme such as the one Argentina has undergone, one must look beneath the aggregate statistics and analyse underlying changes in critical market structure and organisational variables. While aggregate trade figures imply that the country has been successful at reintegrating itself into the world economy, two underlying trends reveal potential threats to the country's long-term development. These trends relate to the level of value added being created in the country, particularly with regard to its exports, and to changes in the composition of its trading partners.

In the struggle against racism in Brazil there is a new political actor on the scene: the evangelical black movement. Since the mid-1990s, groups committed to uniting black identity, anti-racism and evangelical theology have rapidly proliferated. This article, applying the analytical terms of political process theory, identifies several key social and political forces that have combined in the past decade to help foster the growth of the movement. The article concludes that the movement has risen on the back of deep and enduring social forces, and argues that it will therefore be increasingly important in the years to come to pay attention to the role evangelical activists play in anti-racist politics in Brazil.

This article examines how Fulgencio Batista y Zaldívar emerged as the ‘strong man’ of Cuba. Historians have pointed out that from 1934 to 1940 Batista's primary support came from the army and the police. We also know that, like many other Latin American leaders at the time, Batista went through a ‘populist phase’. Populists acknowledged the reality that ‘the masses’ were a new force in society and that ‘the people’ were at the centre of the nation and the state. Populist discourse functioned to construct a ‘people’ out of fragmented and scattered populations. Batista was very aware that in order to rule Cuba he had to appeal to ‘the people’ and to the revolutionary sentiments of 1933. But we need more information about exactly what Batista's political ideas were and how he put them into practice. This article shows how Batista became, in his own words, the ‘architect’ of the post-revolutionary state between 1937 and 1940. Batista supervised Cuba's transition from a military dictatorship in 1934 to a nominal constitutional democracy in 1940. The aim is to shed some light on how this remarkable transition took place.

Personal dictators remain a key feature of contemporary regimes termed ‘authoritarian’ or ‘totalitarian’, particularly in their early consolidating phases. But there is still disagreement over the seemingly ideological, polemical and indiscriminate use of the term totalitarian dictatorship as an analytic concept and tool to guide foreign policy formulation. Jeane Kirkpatrick elevated the taxonomy to a vociferous level of debate with a 1979 Commentary article. Entitled ‘Dictatorships and Double Standards’, the work raised anew semantic hairsplitting concerning the qualitative differences between all previous tyrannies and those bearing organisational similarities with the Nazi, Fascist or Stalinist prototypes.

In November 1981 the oldest political party in Mexico, the Mexican Communist Party (partido Comunista Mexicano or PCM) dissolved itself and together with four other left parties established the United Socialist Party of Mexico (PSUM). This was the culmination of more than ten years of debate and internal transformation during which the PCM had come to reject many of the traditional assumptions of Latin American communist parties. The most important change within the PCM in the 1970s was a new openness to the broad left seen in the creation of the Left Coalition (Coalición de Izquierda) in 1977 and in the establishment of electoral alliances with Trotskyist parties like the Revolutionary Workers Party (PRT).

During the 1990s a wave of major structural reforms that changed the distributional principles underpinning pension policies spread across Latin America. Outcomes were not always as expected. The implementation of new pension rules in the socio-economic, political and institutional context of Latin America has resulted in a number of inequalities which affect pension system performance and the gains that different income groups and generations may obtain. In order to overcome the distributional drawbacks of reform, Latin American governments may need to afford a new role to non-contributive pensions, as well as consider the application of specific regulatory adjustments to reduce the risks and inequalities involved in the private pillar. Cross-border policy learning may provide useful tools to achieve these aims.

This article examines the civic festivals held in nineteenth-century Spanish America to commemorate independence from Spain. Through such festivals political leaders hoped, in Hobsbawm's words, ‘to inculcate certain values and norms of behaviour by repetition, which automatically implies continuity with the past’. But when did the ‘past’ begin? If in nineteenth-century France the French Revolution was the time of history, in Spanish America there was no consensus on when history began. The debates about national origins embedded within the nineteenth-century civic festival not only suggest how political elites viewed their Patrias but also shed light on the position of indigenous culture (usually separated hygienically from indigenous peoples themselves) within the developing national histories of post-independence Spanish America.

Few thinly populated regions of the world represent genuine frontiers of settlement. The tendency to describe almost any area of sparse population as a settlement ‘frontier’ is not uncommon, especially in studies of Latin America. What matters, however, is what is going on within such sparsely populated zones, or indeed within more densely populated zones which are in an active frontier stage.

Under his administration (1994–2000), President Ernesto Zedillo replaced Pronasol, the targeted poverty alleviation programme created by his predecessor, with his own programme, Progresa. Pronasol had come under severe attack as a politicised federal welfare programme intended to generate votes for the PRI. In contrast, the Zedillo administration insisted that Progresa was a genuine poverty-alleviation programme devoid of any political agenda. The purpose of this article is to assess whether Zedillo's claim is valid. To do so, I build a statistical model with the aim of identifying the factors that may have influenced the reach of Progresa in 1999, an important year of electoral preparation for the July 2000 elections. The picture that emerges is not entirely clear-cut. On the one hand, poverty indicators played a key role in determining who should benefit from the programme. On the other hand, Progresa also displayed a political edge, revealing that, in certain respects, the executive and the PRI continued to resort to old tricks in an attempt to alter electoral results.

For most of the Latin American countries the five years between 1885 and 1890 were a period of rapid economic expansion. European investors sank their money there as the trade of the area increased. To take one example, imports to Britain from Argentina expanded from under a million pounds in 1880 to over four million in 1890, while British exports to Argentina grew from two and a half million to eight and a half million pounds.1 Exports of Chilean nitrate rose from 275,000 tons in 1880 to 1,000,000 tons in 1890, as foreign capitalists invested heavily in the newly-conquered northern territories of Chile.2 Most Latin American countries borrowed increasing amounts of capital on the London market as their trade grew rapidly, and the boom only came to an end with the Baring crisis of 1890.

This article examines the record of the Peruvian human rights ombudsman between 1996 and 2001, seeking to explain its relative effectiveness under conditions of semi-authoritarian government. It suggests that this can be attributed to three factors: (1) the robustness of the institution's foundations; (2) the capacity of the first appointee and personnel, and; (3) the ability of the institution to build alliances which were able to enhance accountability. Drawing on O'Donnell's theory of a new generation of horizontal accountability mechanisms – that is, appointed, as opposed to elected, institutions – it argues that the human rights ombudsman occupied a distinct position in the Peruvian political system during this period that allowed it to interconnect different actors and arenas of accountability.