As a historian of Mexican history who studies Middle Eastern immigrants to Mexico in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries, I have approached the topic of ethnic film with both trepidation and great interest. Attuned to the historiography of what and who is Mexican, I view the films El baisano Jalil and Novia que te vea for their representations of ethnic difference and suggestions of a multicultural Mexico. Here, I wish to explore how these films not only show the presence of immigrant groups in the cultural fabric of Mexico, but also how the films demonstrate that public discourses (via film) can enhance scholarly understanding of multiculturalism. My purpose is to make a discrete intervention in Mexican historiography by underscoring the importance of film in conceptualizing the dimensions of ethnic identity. I suggest that these films are rooted in a particular Mexican social context in which both Arab and Jewish immigrants have been able to manipulate the ambiguities of what it means to be Mexican.

It is generally recognized that the grave military reverses of 1762 impelled Charles III “to place his American Empire on a competitive military footing.” A crucial element in this process was the “expansion of the regular, or veteran garrisons. . . .” This is not to say, of course, that there were no military establishments in the Indies before the Seven Years War. Indeed, as Allan J. Kuethe points out:

Yet, how different was this “promising defense system” from that put into place after 1762?

As a Part of the Centennial celebration of the death of José de San Martín, the year 1950 was designated by the Congress of Argentina as the “Year of San Martin.” Article 2 of Law 13,661 reads as follows: “From the first day of January until the thirty-first of December of the year 1950, all official documents of national, provincial and municipal authorities; the titles and diplomas granted by institutions of learning of all ranks and jurisdictions, be they of the State or incorporated; diplomatic dispatches and the notations and colophons of books, periodicals, dailies, reviews and every other class of publications whether they be official or private, national or foreign, shall be preceded by the denomination of ‘Year of the Liberator General San Martin’ to indicate the year 1950.”

José Francisco de San Martín is best known as the military genius on whose successes was founded the political independence of Argentina, Chile and Peru. In writing the account of his life, biographers have used such titles as “Captain of the Andes” and “Saint of the Sword.” Born of Spanish parents on the Argentinian frontier at Yapeyu, February 25, 1778, he accompanied them to Spain at the age of seven and was educated for a military career. Joining the Spanish army, he fought in Africa and defended the mother country against Republican France, England, Portugal and Napoleon Bonaparte.

The Renowned Tertiary of St. Francis, Christopher Columbus, aided by another tertiary, Queen Isabel of Castile, and the Franciscans of La Rábida, discovered the New World on October 12, 1492. It is not established whether or not on his first journey he was accompanied by a priest, although there are several statements to this effect; but it is now historically certain, with the investigations of Father Angel Ortega, O.F.M., that on his second voyage (1493) the Admiral was accompanied by the Franciscans, Fray Rodrigo Pérez, Fray Juan Bermejo and Fray Juan Tisín, and, quite probably, Fray Juan Pérez also (the Guardian of La Rábida, who was the first to recognize and patronize his genius), as well as Fray Antonio de Marchena, cosmographer, Provincial and his counsellor at the Court. Of the latter the Admiral later wrote to the Catholic Kings: “To him Your Majesties owe the possession of the Indies.” These were the auspicious beginnings of the Seraphic Order in the New World.

The fall of Nicaraguan strongman Anastasio Somoza in July 1979 contributed to the publication of an abundance of literature on United States-Central American relations and, like the literature before it, focused largely upon the crisis at hand. Two historical surveys appeared. Walter LaFeber's Inevitable Revolutions: The United States and Central America represented a revisionist approach, charging that United States economic imperialism is responsible for the present crisis. John Finding's Close Neighbors, Distant Friends: United States-Central American Relations is a straightforward account describing Washington's response to various crisis. Still an analysis of the literature is absent. In an effort to address that issue, this article examines the literature on United States-Central American relations in the twentieth century and concludes that the United States acted on behalf of its own security interests, whether or not the threat of foreign intervention had been real or imagined. In effect, the United States maintained the status quo and failed to deal with the structural problems responsible for the contemporary crisis.

In recent years, most historians have abandoned the idea that the revolutions that shook the Atlantic world between 1776 and 1848 were the work of a single social class. A number of studies on the social composition of the groups that ignited and propelled the different revolutionary processes demonstrate the diversity of conditions and social backgrounds of the revolutionaries. However, this revisionism is posing new questions as to why these contingencies in Europe and the Americas decided to mobilize, to construct new liberal national states, and how they carried it out.

Spain is a good sample case for this historiographical inquiry. At present, few historians accept the idea that the series of upheavals that brought about a new liberal state during the 19th century resulted from the exclusive pressure of a national bourgeoisie. Recent scholarship has revisited the classic bourgeois revolution paradigm by presenting liberalism as an ideology that captivated the imagination of Spaniards of a variety of social ranks, with special impact among urban middle and popular groups. But if Spanish scholars are providing better explanations regarding who embraced liberal ideas and facilitated their spread, the answers for the “why” and “how” this process occurred are, in my opinion, less convincing.

Whatever history may record about his personal life, there is no denying that Pope Alexander VI was among the most efficient and far-sighted of the Church’s long list of vicars. Perhaps nowhere is this fact more obvious than in the pontiff’s concern and zeal for the missions. In a decree addressed to Ferdinand and Isabella, issued at Rome on May 4, 1493, the pope stated, in part:

With this and subsequent papal mandates, the Spanish monarchs inaugurated the Christianization and colonization of the New World.

The Great Seal of the United States, designed in the early days of the Republic, has on it symbolism whose significance is often overlooked. On one side is an eagle which grasps with one talon a branch and with the other a sheaf of arrows. Above its head are “E Pluribus Unum” and thirteen stars for the original states bound together in one nation. The other side has on it an unfinished pyramid. The foundation bears the number MDCCLXXVI. Above the pyramid is the eye of God flanked by the words “Annuit Coeptis,” namely, “He smiles on the undertakings.” Underneath is the phrase “Novus Ordo Seculorum,” meaning “New Order of the Ages.” Here succinctly is the vision which inspired the founding fathers of the new nation. The thirteen colonies had become one, prepared to face together the exigencies of the future, whether for preservation in self-defense or for cooperation in the arts of peace. Here was an attempt at building something novel in the history of mankind—a new and ordered structure. That structure, as yet incomplete, was based upon the Declaration of Independence, with its best-remembered phrases: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness—that to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.” Here is “the American dream.” As “four score and seven years” later Abraham Lincoln even more briefly described it, the new nation was “conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal” and its success or failure was a test whether “government of the people, by the people, for the people” could “long endure.” To that dream faith in God, in His creative activity, and in His sovereignty was basic.

Many studies have been written concerning the mission. Generally, these choose the areas where the mission was relatively successful. This article is interested in one area, where the mission was not successful: eastern Peru. Neither Spain nor the Catholic Church was able to gain the permanent allegiance of the natives of that region. Certainly the failure cannot be totally ascribed to a lack of effort. Members of every religious order, Augustinian, Dominican, Franciscan, Jesuit, and Mercedarian, were employed by the crown. None reported more than the most modest and temporary successes. The Franciscans tried most of all and lost more than seventy-eight priests at the hands of the natives. For that reason, they are singled out in this study. Failures sometimes can teach as much as successes.

Scholars are in substantial agreement that Latin American constitutionalism leaves much to be desired.

First, there is the wide gap between constitutional formulations and actual political practice. No one would contend that any constitution, Latin American or otherwise, corresponds exactly to reality. There are provisions in the United States Constitution which are no better observed than are those of the Latin American documents. Even so, there can be little doubt that the gulf between theory and reality is far wider in much of Latin America than it is in many other parts of the world. Though many provisions of other constitutions do not correspond to actual political practice, Latin American stipulations on significant principles of government are often so much at variance with reality as to be totally misleading for the description of their political systems. Professor Martin C. Needler puts it quite bluntly:

The changing status of the Indian population in postindependence Spanish America has been a major theme of historical research and writing, with primary emphasis for obvious reasons on the cases of Mexico and Peru. Bolivia and Guatemala have received a secondary share of attention, but other countries have been relatively ignored. Certainly the case of Argentina is seldom cited save in connection with the ebb and flow of the frontier between Creole settlements and semiautonomous native peoples of the Pampa and Patagonia. The latter story, of course, has more in common with that of westward expansion in the United States than with the situation of settled Indian communities in Mexico or the central Andes. But there are some exceptions even in Argentina, involving native communities more akin to those of Cuzco or Chiapas than to the original inhabitants of Kansas and Wyoming or of the Argentine Pampa.