In the last three decades, the economic history of Paraguay has been subject to an intense reexamination. It has been claimed that the state in Paraguay led a ‘spectacular industrialisation effort’ in the second half of the nineteenth century and that this effort was prematurely truncated by war. One author, for example, has stated that

From 1852 on, free circulation on the river Paraná permitted a rapid increase of exports, mostly under state control. The resources thus freed were devoted to the development of the modern manufacture of industrial goods and plant: iron and steel, engineering, shipbuilding, brickmaking, etc. A railway and a telegraph were installed without incurring an external debt. The experiment was nevertheless spoiled by the war with the ‘Triple Alliance’ (1864–1870), which opposed Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay to Paraguay, and resulted in the demographic and economic collapse of the country.

The distinction between ethnic and racial categories in social analysis is finely drawn, and rarely clear. In the case of Latin American societies, ‘race’ and ‘ethnicity’ are sometimes synonymous, and far more often deployed as if they were. Researchers are familiar with the ways in which processes of deracination, acculturation and miscegenation iron out the cultural edges that demarcate social groups, one from another; perhaps the classic example is the gradual loss of indigenous characteristics attendant upon native American migration to cities. Yet, even in the complete absence of rural-to-urban migration, such processes have been at work moulding present-day indigenous communities, which once recognised numerous ethnic distinctions within ‘Indian’ society, distinctions that were progressively diluted – though not wholly extinguished – during some three centuries of colonial rule. To draw attention to the protean nature of ethnicity in Latin American societies, however, is not to say that researchers are necessarily unaware of the problem, but rather that they often follow research agendas that may be inconvenienced by attention to such nuances. Thus, for example, a number of broad-brush racial cum ethnic classifications provided the basis for the fiscal demands of Crown and Church alike during the colonial period, and as such provide the essential pillars for much of the quantitative fiscal and demographic database that we possess.

The growth of a transportation system in Minas Gerais, especially the construction of a rail network in the province's booming coffee region, the Zona da Mata (the Forest Zone) in the late Empire, is an important chapter in the state's history. A close look at railroads in the Mata and in Minas tells us much about politics and the power and influence of certain groups, particularly planters and planter-politicians. Conflicts over railroad concessions provoked much rivalry within the Mata, but all mineiros agreed that transportation was the most important issue of the day. Meanwhile, flumimnses and paulistas were more preoccupied with the labour crisis. Hindsight permits us to say that transportation is not the key to understanding the development of Minas, at least not to the extent that contemporaries thought it was. Ecological factors, labour conditions and the onset of the national overproduction crisis in 1896 had more to do with the rise and fall of coffee exports than did railroads. However, coffee planters from the wealthy Mata and other mineiros from the province's less prosperous regions always credited railroads with the good things that went with economic development.

Over the last decade or so, North American and European scholars have popularised a research focus on new social movements, or so-called autonomous and democratic struggles generated from within civil society against the state. The underlying theoretical premise of this approach is that challenges to the state from social movements are a principal driving force of political change in modern society. Despite its grounding in the advanced capitalist context, many Latin American scholars have found elective affinity with the argument, as evidenced in the recent tidal wave of studies on social movements by Latin Americanists. Basing their work primarily on analyses of Brazil, Argentina and Chile, scholars have argued that social movements help challenge the legitimacy and political power of strong and centralised governments in Latin America, at the same time creating from the grassroots a political culture suggestive of democratic transformation. In sort, there is growing consensus that social movements play a central role in bringing democracy to Latin America.

On 30 July 1989 Chileans cast ballots in an historic but unheralded plebiscite, and approved a massive revision of the Constitution that in 1980 the Pinochet regime had crafted to institutionalise its rule. Some observers had doubted that it would be possible to change Pinochet's prized ‘Constitution of Liberty’, while others have since questioned the significance of the reforms that were achieved. In fact, as a result of the July referendum, 54 modifications involving 12 of the document's 14 chapters were enacted before the Constitution even went fully into effect. Moreover, since the reestablishment of democracy in Chile, the coalition government of Patricio Aylwin has won passage of still other constitutional reforms involving administrative decentralisation, and has introduced draft legislation designed to bring about changes in the judicial and electoral systems. His successor, Christian Democrat Eduardo Frei, is also committed to reform.

One of the research issues which FLACSO (Facultad Latinoamericana de Ciencias Sociales) has been most interested in is that of the heterogeneity found in the informal world. In a previous study we tried to clarify its presence in the metropolitan cities of Central America and we concluded that, although dynamic economic units orientated towards a logic of accumulation existed, activities orientated towards a logic of subsistence predominated. Thus, a central feature of informality became clear: its inner heterogeneity. This characteristic was previously deemphasised by an improper identification of informality with microenterprise.

Among the most outstanding changes that occurred in Spanish America during the first half of the twentieth century is the transformation in the area of education. Two salient features deserve emphasis. First, this change was quantitative: many more children came to attend school, and a greater proportion of the inhabitants became literate. Second, this increase in schooling came about within a homogeneous institutional framework. It was the Estado Docente – personified in national and provincial governments – which was the principal vehicle for educational services and which determined the contents of the curricula. The purpose of this article is to present a brief sketch of the most significant characteristics of this transformation.

Andrew Thompson's review of the long-running debate on informal empire will be welcomed both by specialists, who need to be reminded from time to time that many trees do sometimes make a forest, and by teachers, who need help in guiding their students through both. The comments that follow are therefore offered in a constructive spirit that is wholly in accord with Thompson's purpose in trying to take hold of a notoriously slippery concept. My aim in citing his work is to identify the batch of established arguments that his essay faithfully represents. The intention is to move the debate forward: the temptation to readvertise familiar positions will be avoided as far as is possible; the risk of drowning the argument in an excess of detail is removed by limitations of space.