The initial thrust of Spanish conquest and colonization in Northwest Mexico, as throughout the great Chichimec frontier, was centered in the mission. Under the terms of the patronato real, the mission served as an instrument of Spanish imperial policy, aimed to accomplish the pacification and acculturation to Christian and Hispanic norms of society, of the semi-nomadic peoples who occupied the vast regions of mountain barrancas, mesas and valleys, coastal plains and desert lands to the north of the Mesoamerican civilizations.

The mission communities were designed to place the Indians in fixed settlements, thereby preparing the way for civil colonization and further exploitation of the potential riches of these remote dominions of the Kingdom of Castile. The Indians gathered into the missions represented to the Crown a force for productivity as field and mine laborers. Although mission Indians were exempt from tribute, in the Northwest, the surplus produce from mission lands contributed to the economy of the region; and, as early as the seventeenth century, mission Indians appeared in the mines of Sonora and Chihuahua.

The Holy Office of the Inquisition in colonial Mexico had as its purpose the defense of Spanish religion and Spanish-Catholic culture against individuals who held heretical views and people who showed lack of respect for religious principles. Inquisition trials of Indians suggest that a prime concern of the Mexican Church in the sixteenth century was recurrent idolatry and religious syncretism. During the remainder of the colonial period and until 1818, the Holy Office of the Inquisition continued to investigate Indian transgressions against orthodoxy, and to provide the modern researcher with unique documentation for the study of mixture of religious beliefs. The “Procesos de Indios” and other subsidiary documentation from Inquisition archives present crucial data for the ethnologist and ethnohistorian, preserving for him a view of native religion at the time of Spanish contact, eyewitness accounts of post-conquest idolatry and sacrifice, burial rites, native dances and ceremonies as well as data on genealogy, social organization, political intrigues, and cultural dislocation as the Iberian and Mesoamerican civilizations collided. As “culture shock” continued to reverberate across the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Inquisition manuscripts reveal the extent of Indian resistance or accommodation to Spanish Catholic culture.

Between 1791 when the Haitian revolution began, and the death of Henri Christophe in 1820, important economic changes occurred in Haiti which transformed one of the most prosperous plantation economies in the New World into a republic of peasant proprietors. While the political history of the revolution has received a moderate amount of attention, the economic and social changes which accompanied it have been poorly understood. It is the purpose of this study to focus on the internal developments which were occurring in an irresistible way to bring about a peasant economy and to delineate the responses of a variety of governments, both French and Haitian, to try to halt these changes.

The appearance of no less than four books in English marked 1971 as a banner year for Black Legend studies, especially for their colonial side. As in the past discussion emphasized the sixteenth century, dominated by the commanding and controversial Dominican, Bartolomé de Las Casas on one hand, and the grim Indian demographic catastrophe on the other. This was no less so during the Enlightenment's passionate debates on the subject. Modern research gives greater credence to mortality rates suggested by Las Casas, but centers on the dire effects of disease as the main agent causing mass death. As this essay will suggest, eighteenth century discussants were somewhat betwixt and between concerning the American experience and the Hispanic impact. Clearly much of the ongoing appeal of Las Casas' interpretation of the Indians' calamity, which stressed the conquerors' brutality, comes from its foreshadowing of modern agonies over race relations and western treatment of other colonialized peoples.

Seldom has a literary device had such international political resonance as the famous Ariel-Caliban contraposition of José Enrique Rodó's essay. In the decades immediately following its publication in 1900 Ariel was an exceptionally valued credo for Spanish American youth, not only for its intrinsic grace, but also because it provided a timely answer to a widespread need. To a generation depressed by the frequently pessimistic conclusions of racist doctrines and an uneasy sense of inferiority, and irked by the admonitions of ninteenthcentury “Nordomaniacs,” Ariel offered in sonorous periods a set of values assumed to be peculiarly Latin and therefore the patrimony of Latin America. As Alberto Zum Felde says, “It was the longed-for reply of this weak backward America to the Titanic potentiality of the North: its self-justification, its compensation, its retaliation.” Luis Alberto Sánchez's generation must have derived, as he says he did, its primary image of the United States from Ariel. Arturo Torres-Ríoseco describes it as “the ethical gospel of the Spanish-speaking world.”

No English reformer of the early nineteenth century was so much admired by his Latin American contemporaries as was Jeremy Bentham, the prolific author of utilitarian treatises on government, economics, and law. The fundamental reasons for the Colombian liberators' interest in Bentham were undoubtedly the attractive manner in which he treated the explosive question of sovereignty, and his demand for a complete reconstruction of all legal systems upon utilitarian principles. It is even more certain that Bentham's most important entrée to the Spanish-American world was afforded by the popularity of his works, many of them published first on the Continent and in the French language, among the Spanish liberals. Yet the story of Bentham's personal contacts with a number of the próceres of Gran Colombia formed a noteworthy chapter in the history of the Bentham vogue in South America, as they sought him out during their journeys to Europe and the British Isles. Bentham himself was more than a passive partner in this exchange. Especially in the case of Bolívar, he pursued his acquaintances rather relentlessly by correspondence in his high-minded efforts to provide men in positions of power with the models for introducing utilitarian reforms.

Interpretations of Juan Domingo Perón and his movement have been and will continue to be a recurring and highly controversial theme in Argentine history. Studies of the nature of Peronism indicate that there is a wide diversity of viewpoints regarding its origin, its structure, its grassroots appeal and its mode of recruiting. Peronism has been analyzed within the framework of Argentine national developments, and it has been compared with foreign models—Fascism, Bonapartism, Nasserism—with which it shares some important characteristics. An analysis of Peronism and the reality of Argentina under Perón from a comparative viewpoint, is useful. But the search for the causes that brought Perón and Peronism to power in 1946 and shaped them until 1955, should be focused primarily on Argentina's own historical experience. Eldon Kenworthy has aptly questioned the approach followed by some American scholars in explaining Peronism, because in general, Kenworthy notes, they “have tended to interpret Peronism in terms of global trends salient to the United States rather than as a stage in Argentina's historical evolution.”

On November 14, 1904, the eve of the fifteenth anniversary of the founding of the Brazilian Republic, General Silvestre Travassos, leading a corps of several hundred cadets from Rio de Janeiro's military school, fell fatally wounded before the forces loyal to the constitutional government he had pledged to overthrow. His loss came only hours after the uprising had begun, but in those early moments the revolt had already foundered. This brief armed movement climaxed nearly a year of unrest, a month of agitation and almost a week of running clashes between working-class groups and local government forces. Although the revolt continued sporadically for two days more, the death of its leader in the early hours of fighting signalled its failure.

One of the most provocative questions about the process of Spanish American independence is why Spain was not able during the period of the so-called “first absolutist restoration”— 1814 to 1820—to capitalize on its massive military victories in America and restore royal power to its fullest. In 1814 and 1815 royal armies in America destroyed the rebel governments and suppressed the rebel armies in Mexico, New Granada, Venezuela, Quito, Peru and Chile. Only in the Río de la Plata did an independent government continue to exist. It was clear that independence was not the inevitable destiny of the Spanish kingdoms in America. In Spain itself the king, Ferdinand VII, crossed the Spanish border after six years of captivity in France at the hands of Napoleon and on May 4, 1814, restored the absolute power of the throne by a coup d'etat, annulling the Constitution of 1812 and the liberal Cortes. Throughout the empire loyalists rejoiced. In both Spain and America the forces of conservatism had overcome the threat of radical political and social reforms. Few great imperial states in world history have been granted such a second chance, such an opportunity for rebuilding and reconciliation.

For nearly three decades after the turn of the twentieth century, the United States took upon itself the policing of the Caribbean and Central America. Under an expanded interpretation of the Monroe Doctrine known as the Roosevelt Corollary, American policymakers justified numerous military interventions in those small republics until Monroeism became a synonym in Latin America for imperialism and expansionism. By 1930, this policy of attempted hegemony by force was a failure: Public opinion at home and abroad had opposed the “big stick” concept of hemispheric relations almost from the beginning; the interventions seldom achieved their nebulous goals.

On May 9, 1913 the California State Legislature passed an alien land bill designed to prohibit Japanese ownership of land in California. Based on prejudice and clearly discriminatory, the California Alien Land Act embarrassed Washington and provoked a controversy with Japan. Relations with that country rapidly approached the point of tension verging on war because Japan viewed the act as an affront to her national dignity. Many notes passed between the two governments during the remainder of 1913 and the first half of 1914, however, Washington's efforts to conciliate the Japanese failed. From the California viewpoint the passage of the alien land bill was strictly a domestic issue but it caused a serious break in the friendly relations between Japan and America and just as important it had serious implications for American diplomatic relations with another country. That country was America's neighbor to the south, revolutionary Mexico.

In 1534 Ulrich Schmidl set sail for South America where he participated in the Spanish conquest of the River Plate region. He remained there twenty years, after which he returned to his native town Straubing and wrote a diary of his adventures. This account represents one of the oldest and most important sources of information about the Spanish conquest of the River Plate region and the first settlements in Argentina. Although it is often difficult to identify tribes and villages due to his distorted spellings of the Indian names, historians regard the account as generally reliable. The text is preserved in three manuscripts in Stuttgart, Munich, and Hamburg. The Stuttgart manuscripts stems from Ulrich Schmidl himself. It is located in the Hautstaatsarchiv Stuttgart, where it is identified as Cod. hist. 4° 153. It was edited in 1893 by Johannes Mondschein, who, in the preface to his edition, characterized the manuscript as “die erste Niederschrift von der ungeübten Hand des eben von einem langen und wilden Kriegsund Abenteuerleben heimgekehrten Kriegsmannes.” The two other manuscripts are later copies, although the Munich manuscript does contain Schmidl's signature in his own hand.

Royal officials of the Indies found the contraband trade one of the most critical and debilitating problems in their administration of Spanish America. Contraband existed throughout the colonial period, despite occasional strenuous efforts to stamp it out. Various ideas have been advanced to explain the failure of Spanish counter-contraband in America, and these largely reflect on the quality of Spanish administration of the Indies. The implication is that governors and royal officials were generally guilty of corruption, of passive or active connivance in the contraband trade, or, at the very least, of incompetence or inefficiency in preventing it.

This article is divided into two parts. The first deals with Alcedo and his collaborators; the second treats his correspondence with the Scottish historian, William Robertson.

When Antonio de Alcedo y Bexerano published his valuable five-volume Diccionario geográfico-histórico de … América … (Madrid: 1786-1789), he was painfully aware that, given its magnitude, it inevitably contained errors and omissions. To remedy these deficiencies in a revised edition that he planned to bring out later but never did, he requested in his prologue that readers inform him about mistakes and shortcomings they might detect. Exactly how many heeded his call, we do not know; but prominent among those who offered assistance and whose correspondence has been found were three: two expatriated Spanish American Jesuits, the Mexican, Agustín Pablo de Castro, and the Argentinian, Francisco Javier Iturri, and the former Spanish governor and commander-general of Guayana, Colonel Manuel Centurión. Only the letters of Castro and Centurión to Alcedo are published here. Those of Iturri, one of which has already appeared, will be published later.

Some contemporary historians maintain that the administrative reforms of Charles III (1759-1788), bear a substantial part of the blame for the disruption of the Spanish empire. These reforms, they argue, alienated the American population. By ending the corrupt practices that had allowed Creoles to control their own affairs, the crown sowed the seeds of independence. Implicit in this view is the thesis that Charles' Minister of the Indies, José de Gálvez (1776-1787), carried out a “revolution in government” which permanently altered the behavior of the high colonial bureaucracy. Presumably, whereas Hapsburg administrators had been chiefly occupied with the pragmatic achievement of tasks, regardless of the means employed, Bourbon administrators became increasingly concerned with the mindless enforcement of rules devised in the Peninsula. In this fashion the autonomy of the bureaucracy was eroded, and the colonial population was deprived of its traditional means of influencing policy formation.

A study of the capitation tax of 1735 in Minas Gerais is interesting since it illustrates the way in which the Crown of Portugal succeeded in enforcing its will through the machinery of colonial administration in a newly incorporated, frontier society. It also tells something about the men of that administration and the political process in which they were involved.

The collection of the tax on mineral wealth known as the quinto was one of the most enduring problems confronting Crown officials in Brazil during the eighteenth century. The king permitted his subjects to mine precious metals in his dominions in return for the payment of one fifth of the annual production. Rich alluvial gold deposits discovered in the closing years of the seventeenth century, lay beyond the territory effectively controlled by the governors of the littoral captaincies. Hidden in the shadows of Sabarabuçú, the shining mountain of Indian legends, the isolation of the mines and the tenuous control of the region by the royal administration made collection of the tax haphazard. As the eighteenth century progressed, the production of the gold mines increased, however the king's share failed to grow accordingly. The need for added revenue and the realization that the full amount due the Crown was not arriving at the customs house in Lisbon convinced the king that payment of the quinto should be rigorously enforced.

At his trial Socrates described himself as attached to Athens “as a gadfly to a horse.” In Sixteenth Century Spain the Order of Preachers played a similar role. Dominican friars freely criticized royal officials, conquistadors and fellow churchmen. At times their meddling in affairs of state drew down on them the wrath of the authorities. Charles V, though favorably disposed toward the Indians, more than once angrily rebuked their defenders, the friars, for letting zeal outrun prudence. One of the most effective of these critics was Francisco de Vitoria. Vitoria was renowned as the founder of the Salamanca Thomist school. Not content with the elaboration of scholastic doctrines, he carried them into the political forum, delivering public lectures on the problems of his time.

Students of late nineteenth century history have long dismissed the world industrial expositions as glittering, but not highly significant reflections of the gilded age. What emerges from the literature of the period, however, is a sense of the overriding commercial importance of these exhibitions. Nineteenth-century observers consistently linked the fairs to the general growth of world trade and to the expanding commercial hegemony of the United States. More specifically, contemporaries agreed that the expositions served to develop trade and investment ties with Latin America. Among the Latin American countries represented in the expositions, Mexico was the most important and consistent participant.

The Mexican Constitutional Congress of 1916-1917 represents in many respects a culmination of the struggle begun before 1910 against the dictatorship of Porfirio Díaz. The Constitutional Congress was not only a culmination of the violent phase of the Mexican Revolution. It also involved a codification, if not a crystallization, of goals and perspectives that either pre-date 1910 or emerged during the struggles of 1910-1917. These struggles involved competing mobilizations within the Revolutionary coalition and, finally, a civil war within the Revolution between the forces of the Convention (the unstable coalition between the Zapatistas and the Villistas) and those of the Constitutionalists. The Constitutional Congress takes place after the military victory of the Constitutionalists and delegate eligibility was restricted to those who had actively supported the Constitutionalists. The radical economic nationalism and other innovative features of the Constitution have captured the attention of commentators. While the interpretation of the economic nationalism and other features remains the subject of considerable dispute, the notion that the Constitutionalists had a democratizing thrust in the political realm has remained unchallenged. Our analysis of both the articles and, more importantly, the debates at the Constitutional Congress leads us to challenge the premise of a democratizing impulse. This is not to say that the Constitutionalist delegates were for dictatorship, but it is to suggest that compared to the Constitution of 1857, the Constitutionalists do not emerge as radical democrats but as elitists that are fearful of mass participation as well as fearful of the possibility of a new dictatorship. We will examine the debates on four issues for this purpose: (A) suffrage; (B) literacy requirements to serve as a Deputy (member of Congress); (C) directness of electing officials; (D) no re-election.

On January 8, 1917 Bogotanos who glanced at the morning newspapers were startled to learn of a rebellion in the Llanos. Ten days before Humberto Gómez and a band of armed men had seized the town of Arauca. Ordinarily such an event would excite little concern in the capital. A small village on the Venezuelan border, Arauca was surrounded by vast tropical plains and lacked even a telegraph connection with Bogotá. It was a favorite refuge for Colombian and Venezuelan outlaws who routinely defied with impunity the laws of both countries. Yet Humberto, by killing the principal Colombian authority, the Comisario Especial and proclaiming himself Civil and Military Chief of the “Republic of Arauca” sounded a challenge that could not be ignored. Anxious to safeguard precarious treaty negotiations then in progress with Venezuela, President José Vicente Concha took swift action. He declared a state of siege and ordered two separate military expeditions commanded by General Jeśus García to Arauca. The daily periodicals gave full coverage to the ensuing drama. Their interest continued even after Humberto's capture in Venezuela on February 9, when eye-witness reports of atrocities committed in the Llanos by García's soldiers brought demands for an investigation. Between May and September, the editor of El Diario Nacional and future president, Enrique Olaya Herrera fanned the border incident into a major scandal by attacking the government in the columns of his newspaper and on the floor of the Chamber of Representatives. An analysis of what came to be called “The Arauca Affair” brings to light a little-known aspect of Concha's administration and explores a neglected theme of Colombian history—the interrelationship between the Andean interior and the Llanos frontier.