Recognizing that the traditional five-state subregion of Central America departed from European colonialism as a federated entity, Ralph Lee Woodward subtitled his seminal history of Central America 'A Nation Divided.“ In his view, ”the social and economic history of the isthmus suggests that its peoples share considerably in their problems and circumstances, even though their political experience has been diverse. But it is also clear that their social and economic unity has been limited by their political disunity“ (Woodward 1985, vii). Following a period of colonial tutelage equal to that of Hispanic Central America, the Commonwealth Caribbean or English-speaking Caribbean also began to edge away from colonization as a federation of ten nations: Jamaica, Trinidad and Tobago, Barbados, Antigua, Dominica, Grenada, St. Kitts–Nevis–Anguilla, St. Lucia, St. Vincent, and Montserrat. Applying Woodward's criteria, these former British colonies in the West Indies appear to have an even stronger claim than Hispanic Central America to substantial past and future national integration. According to Jamaican-American historian Franklin Knight and theorist Gordon Lewis, this subregion demonstrates more cultural and physical commonalities than differences (Knight 1978, x–xi; G. Lewis 1983). Despite the frictions induced by negotiations for independence, substantial regional integration of the nation-states of the English-speaking Caribbean was achieved during the late 1960s and early 1970s. These efforts atrophied in the years prior to 1987, however, because of internal divisions and external pressures.

Mexican politics has long been regarded as a closed system, with policy-making dominated by the reigning president and his circle and presidential succession (with all its possibilities for change of course) managed by an only slightly larger “Revolutionary Family” of top figures in the Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI). So intertwined are the Mexican state and the dominant party that scholars and opposition leaders alike have begun to speak of the “PRI state.” E. E. Schattschneider observed that in the U.S. system, 90 percent of the population never has access to the “pressure system” that directs policy choice. The percentage of the excluded is undoubtedly even larger in Mexico because the system is more decidedly “closed.” Yet in both countries, policy innovation is not uncommon. Marked changes of course have occurred at times, and opposition forces external to the system have occasionally managed to block presidential decisions and force reevaluation and sometimes painful adjustments. This article will examine the “agrarian question” in Mexico and will argue that its persistence and the ways in which it has been framed have constrained policymakers while encouraging and sustaining the development of an independent peasant movement during the 1970s and 1980s.

In the early 1970s, Wayne Cornelius asked, “Are the migrant masses revolutionary? Definitely not, at least in Latin America and many other parts of the developing world.” These words summarized an emerging revisionist view of the political character of Latin America's new urban poor. Careful empirical research had proved wrong previous scholars and observers who had expected the new migrant populations in Latin America's cities to become sources of support for revolutionary political movements. A new picture of the inhabitants of Latin America's burgeoning shantytowns came into focus, showing these populations to be either passive or loyally engaged in the surrounding political system. According to this picture, squatters held considerable hope for individual advancement, forged clientelistic ties with government officials, and showed few signs of joining radicalized, class-conscious social movements.

Until the 1970s, Paraguay's eastern frontier was known primarily for its vast virgin forests and its domination by semifeudal enterprises engaged in extracting yerba maté and timber. After the 1970s, however, the extension of transportation networks, construction of the massive binational Itaipú hydroelectric works, and the release of state lands for private purchase paved the way for large-scale in-migration, settlement, and transformation of the region into a zone for commercial agriculture. In less than two decades, the rapid expansion of soybean production into this area has catapulted Paraguay into the ranks of the world's major exporters of soybeans.

The majority of the working classes are divided into various factions that display a host of views and attitudes. As E. P. Thompson has portrayed the concept of class, it is at best not a permanent structure or category but something that emerges from time to time when workers band together for one reason or another. The complexity of this phenomenon has been compounded by the growth of various sectors of the working class, adding to its heterogeneity and amorphousness. Marx himself perceived that capitalism had “converted the physician, the lawyer, the priest, the poet, the man of science into its paid wage labourers.”

Scholars and journalists have devoted considerable attention to analyzing the three military rebellions that rocked Argentine democracy in 1987 and 1988 (Boron 1987; Fontana 1988; López 1988; Stepan 1988). In addition to considering whether these revolts threatened the stability of the new political regime, academic and political interpretations have pointed to another issue stemming from the revolts: the emergence of a new generation of army officers with political goals and ideological values that differ from those prevailing in the upper levels of the Argentine military hierarchy. According to some observers, the experiences of middle-ranking officers during the last authoritarian regime produced a breach within the army that led, in the extreme view, to “two opposing armies.” This argument asserts that the Argentine Army currently appears divided between the high command (“oficiales superiores” made up of colonels and generals) and middle-ranking officers, who encompass “subalternos” (lieutenants and captains) and “jefes” (majors and lieutenant colonels). The split seems to have stemmed from differing political goals and ideological affiliations. The question, however, has remained speculative rather than being subjected to analytical research.