Among students of Latin America, the existence of sizable Indian communities within the region has provoked a lively debate about the relationship between ethnicity and social class. Such communities have failed to become part of class society, it is often said, because they retain those customs and traditions which arose under colonialism, because in some sense they remain encapsulated to this day within the feudal social order. A few experts even claim that these customs have themselves become the primary agent of economic and political exploitation in various rural areas.1 According to this view, native people have accepted more or less passively a culture which was designed for them by Spanish missionaries and administrators, a culture which emphasized ethnic difference at the expense of class solidarity.2 In contrast to these ideas, contemporary events provide us with many indications that such people did not simply resign themselves to the fate which colonial authorities elected for them, Of primary importance, native uprisings and rebellions, messianic movements and religious heresies occurred in Latin America with astonishing frequency throughout the centuries which preceded Independence. By analyzing these movements, then, and particularly the convictions which moved their participants to action, we may formulate a more coherent view of Spanish colonialism — a view which also helps us to understand the question of ethnicity among Indians today.

Charles IV's rule over the Spanish empire has often been decried as neglectful and reactionary. In a recent article, however, I argued that such descriptions were not accurate, maintaining that the early years of the reign pushed forward many institutional innovations and showed a marked concern for colonial affairs. This is not to say, of course, that the death of Charles III produced no change; but the critical facts were that economic policy-making continued to be based on the colonial compact and that the crown remained as committed to providing economic benefits to Spanish agriculture and manufacturing as to securing relief for the Peninsular treasury.1 Although 1788–9 may properly be characterized as a moment of truth for Spain, one which brought to the surface conflicting interests and ideologies, the Peninsula's transformation by the Bourbon Reforms was not so deep nor the government's circumstances so dire as to upset the political balance.

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.

Consensus politics delayed the achievement of Mexican independence. The numerically small, but variegated elites, regrouped in a common stand against Hidalgo's revolutionary movement in 1810. Themselves fragmented, mutually antagonistic on central issues, they sank their differencesfor the duration of the counter-revolutionary struggle. This re-forged unity proved, needless to say, temporary. A tactical alliance concealed far-reaching divisions: ultimately, the removal of the revolutionary challenge created a new set of circumstances.

The ground covered by recent studies on Brazil between 1930 and 1945 has fallen into two main schools of interest: one has concentrated on the political history of this period; the other on the background to Brazilian industrialization. With the exception of coffee and rice, Brazilian agriculture has remained relatively neglected as an area of research. Yet the importance of Brazilian agriculture both as a source for domestic consumption requirements and also as an export earner has constantly been presented as the explanation for the political evolution of Brazil in these years and the concomitant increased interest shown in the development of Brazilian manufacturing industries. This paper will concentrate on the Brazilian agricultural sector and will consider the nature of Vargas's agricultural autarquias — that is, the semi-autonomous administrative units Vargas established to supervise and direct the activities of selected areas of the economy and of society. It is hoped that, in so doing, it will contribute to a deeper understanding of how Getúlio Vargas governed Brazil between 1930 and 1945.

On 1 April 1980, Brazil concluded sixteen years of military-dominated government. While political scientists have taken the lead in examining the origins and methods of the regime in terms of civil-military relations, the role of the military in society, and what might be called military politics, historians have lagged behind in providing analysis from an institutional perspective.1 While the Revolution of 1964 might have occurred even if Brazil had never entered World War II, the Brazilian army's involvement in that conflict and its readjustments to the post-war situation gave shape and substance to that revolution.

By the time Evita* died on 26 July 1952, she had become the source of two widely contradictory myths coexisting side by side as if their subject were two different persons. In one, she was the beloved saint who had sacrificed her life for the poor; in the other, the ambitious parvenue who used her power to satisfy her insatiable thirst for revenge.

…the record would seem to suggest that Latin American political studies have more often than not been unimaginative in concept and pedestrian in approach. A certain healthy eclecticism has been diluted by a Pavlovian tendency to respond to passing fads within the discipline. Political scientists committed to Latin American studies have in recent years rushed to follow the the comparative pack. They have distinctly been trend-followers rather than trend-setters.

The initial interest in womens studies arose in the sixties from a desire to rectify the fact that women, whether as actors or subjects, had been ignored in the evolution of knowledge. It soon became clear, however, that this had been more than a fault of omission for, because of lack of information, women had often been misunderstood and misrepresented. Several modernisation studies, for example, have concentrated on interviewing men and yet produced generalisations about levels of modernisation for the population as a whole. Joseph Kahi in The Measurement of Modernism made numerous statements about modernisation in Brazil and Mexico and its relationship to institutions in society, but his 1,300 interviews were all with men.1 The few studies which do include women show that they lag behind men in educational achievement and social mobility.2 This suggests that had Kahi included women in his samples his results might have been rather different.