In 1910, the Uruguayan Public Assistance Law established the concept of universal poor relief, declaring that “anyone … indigent or lacking resources has the right to free assistance at the expense of the state.” Nothing better than this law qualifies Uruguay for its distinction as the ‘first welfare state’ in Latin America. As in other countries, much of the first social assistance legislation targeted poor women and children and relied on elite women for much of its implementation. In the Uruguayan case, the primary intersections between public assistance and private philanthropy were the secular “ladies’ committees” (comités de damas), charitable organizations without direct ties to the Catholic Church. These organizations were also an important catalyst for liberal feminism in Uruguay, whose chronology—from the foundation of the National Women's Council in 1916 through the women's suffrage law of 1932—closely parallels the history of the early Uruguayan welfare state. Following a discussion of the formation of the National Public Assistance and its significance for class and gender politics in Uruguay, this article will summarize the evolving relationship between the Uruguayan social assistance bureaucracy and one of these groups, the Sociedad “La Bonne Garde,” an organization that worked with young unmarried mothers. It then discusses how a formal and direct relationship with the state helped make the Bonne Garde and other groups like it a principal point of entry for many elite women in the early phases of Uruguayan liberal feminism. Finally, this article shows how processes set in motion in the 1910s resulted in a relative marginalization of elite women from both state welfare and organized liberal feminism in the 1920s. Through an examination of the history of these ladies’ committees, we gain new insight into both welfare state formation in its earliest Latin American example as well as some of the elements and circumstances which helped shape liberal feminism in Uruguay.

On November 20, 1681 the cathedral bell of Lima announced the official arrival of the new Viceroy of Peru, Don Melchor de Navarra y Rocafull, Duque de la Palata. The streets were decked with bunting and flowers and many people crowded windows and balconies to catch a glimpse of the new Viceroy. Palata, astride a white horse, led a procession of town councilmen, lancers, footmen, and coaches through the capital to the main plaza. There he was greeted by an artillery salute that shook the entire city. Thanking the officials who had accompanied him, Palata entered the viceregal palace and appeared at a window to the acclamation of the multitude.

The American republics, for the sake of their own reputation and credit—if not for other humanitarian and altruistic considerations —“ought to intervene indirectly in the internal dissensions of the continent. Such intervention might consist, at the least, in the denial of recognition to de facto governments springing from revolution against the constitutional order.” Carlos Tobar, ex-foreign minister of Ecuador and the author of these views, thus expressed his concern over the problem of political instability in early twentieth-century Latin America. Constant revolutions and civil warfare he considered the curse of the region and the principal barrier to economic and social progress. His remedy was to put the combined diplomatic weight of all American nations against revolutionary governments, believing that such intervention would remove new, unconstitutional governments from power, and that, eventually, dissatisfied political factions in Latin America would give up their customary resort to violence. This pre-Wilsonian doctrine of legitimacy—known as the Tobar Doctrine—elicited little favorable response from Latin America’s leaders, already wary of any precept which could be used as justification for foreign interference in internal matters. Because Tobar’s anti-revolutionary entreaty ran directly counter to Latin American thought, it appeared headed for oblivion, except for a desperate situation in Central America in the first years of the twentieth century.

In an anonymous circa 1754 portrait (Figure 1), fray Francisco de Santa Ana stands in a flowered crown and the brown and white habit of the Carmelite first order. The image commemorates the occasion of his final vows as a mendicant friar, and he is a rare if not unique example of a monk within the genre of the so-called crowned nuns. With eyes cast down, fray Francisco appears next to a table bearing an hourglass, skull, and book, symbols of his devotion and of his meditation on his own mortality. Painted as if tacked to the wall beside him is a print of the Virgin Mary, representing the Carmelite order's fervent Marian devotion. While she seems to gaze down at her follower, fray Francisco humbly looks away.

Juan, a literate black slave born and raised in the Spanish town of Cáceres, labored for at least five years during the 1560s in the Honduran gold mines of Guayape. Finally, growing tired of the arduous work of placer mining and taking advantage of his isolation, he made a bid for freedom. Upon hearing of Juan's flight, his owner, a wealthy Santiago-based merchant named Santos de Figueroa, immediately began the process of securing Juan's recovery. Eventually Juan made his way to Santo Domingo where unfortunately he was captured and Figueroa notified of his whereabouts. It remains unknown if Juan was actually returned to Santiago or if Figueroa instead preferred to sell him, a rather common occurrence in cases of runaway slaves.

Fray Bernardino de Sahagún's account of the process by which the Aztec rulers edited their past indicates the magnitude of bias that we may expect to find in historical accounts of pre-Columbian Mexico. Even if this holocaust, and later official manipulation, did produce a single, authorized version of Aztec history, there are many conflicting accounts of events extant today. This is the result of several processes. First and foremost, all of the surviving histories were written in the Roman alphabet after the Conquest. None were direct “translations” of pre-Conquest books; rather, they were new versions of the inherently flexible oral traditions that accompanied these books. Second, different accounts reflect differing regional biases. Itzcoatl may have destroyed conflicting Mexica views of their own past, but many of the chroniclers were from places that were historic enemies of the Mexica, or at best uneasy friends, such as Tlatelolco, Tetzcoco, and Chalco. Each of these accounts preserves some local bias. Third, “history” was consciously recast to reflect current needs. This happens in all cultures, even the Western European tradition, which has traditionally claimed to seek objectivity in the recording of past events. Yet even if exact events are recorded, it is never possible to eliminate all selective bias: at the very least, one cannot record everything that happened. The historian's job is to record what he judges to be important, and structure it within a coherent narrative. In Mesoamerica, this narrative reflected the present as much as it did the past. Because of the cyclical nature of time, future events were bound to reflect past ones. Therefore, written histories were structured so that this was so. Exactly what happened and what should have happened blended into each other, and no need was felt to distinguish between the two.

This article is about the relationship between the early labor movement of the Andean town of Cuzco and a local student movement that emerged during the first two decades of the twentieth century and which produced some of Peru's most distinguished indigenistas. At the turn of the century signs of “progress” and “modernity” made their appearance in the city of Cuzco and both indigenistas and labor leaders were fascinated by these vague liberal concepts. The article seeks to explore the role these two groups played in local urban society and to analyze forms of cooperation and conflicts that characterized relations between them. Indigenistas of the earlytwentieth century did not invent what frequently has been called Peru's “Indian Question,” but they pushed the issue to the forefront of regional and even national debates contending that solving this key problem could help unify the country and develop a more solid sense of national identity.

The same year (1565) in which the territory north of the Holy Gospel Province was made a separate Province, the Central American countries were separated from the Yucatan Province and organized into a new Province, that of the Most Holy Name. Ten years later, the latter was further divided, and the province of St. George was erected including Honduras, El Salvador, Nicaragua, and Costa Rica. Honduras, which was made a Custody of St. George Province in 1587, was subsequently reunited with the Guatemala Province.

Among all the zoological species, birds are the easiest to observe and study. Their diurnal habits, the songs, and visual features make them conspicuous. These characteristics have made birds one of the bestknown animal groups even though ornithologists do not make up a large community among zoologists. For Ernst Mayr, an ornithologist who has made significant contributions that go beyond his own field, the accessibility of birds to research has allowed ornithologists to make important discoveries in several new fields of biology, ranging “from new systematics and speciation research to endocrinology and behavioral biology.”

Julio Roca and the Generation of 1880 are best characterized by their liberalism. Indeed Argentine politics ever since the fall of Juan Manuel de Rosas had adopted an increasing liberal tone. These beliefs included the encouragement of constitutionalism, federalism, freedom, and democracy. The last two points were rather vague; and democracy, especially, was interpreted in a more theoretical than practical way by the aristocracy that remained in charge of political, economic, and social affairs. However, efforts to stress the immigration of workers and capital from Europe, a relatively free trade policy, and public education for all were more clear and determined. On most of these points, the leaders of the nation seemed to agree. But on another point, that of the role of the Roman Catholic Church in Argentine life, there was sharp disagreement. At no time was this more evident than during Roca's first administration, 1880-1886.

In October of 1958, amidst the guerrilla war to topple Fulgencio Batista, Fidel Castro's Rebel Army passed an Agrarian Reform Law that would serve as an embryo for the Cuban Revolution's 1959 land reform. Relying on rare documents from the insurgency, this paper reanimates the debate over the role of peasants during the war, arguing that peasants not only helped shape the movement to topple Batista, but that their mobilization led to the articulation of important guerrilla agrarian policies—including land reform. As the liberated territories became a laboratory in which rebels experimented with how to run a state, peasants took part in civil projects, simultaneously bestowing legitimacy on the movement and harnessing its organizational apparatus for the achievement of the peasants’ own goals. In highlighting the political subjectivity of Cuban peasants, this paper also gives new insight into everyday life during the rebel insurgency.

Within a framework of overlapping jurisdictions and responsibilities, the city councils (cabildos) were one of the institutions which performed various functions to protect and further public health in the Spanish American Indies. The seventeenth century records of the cabildo in Santiago, Chile, reveal that the councilmen (capitulares) not only conformed to royal law and custom but also employed the scientific knowledge available to them as they struggled against sickness and disease. Their public-spirited endeavors did not, however, preclude the occasional intrusion of selfish motives into the council proceedings. These several characteristics are discernible in the records pertaining to the prevention and control of disease, registry and review of credentials belonging to members of the medical profession, contracts negotiated with physicians, steps to inhibit malpractice, and surveillance of the local apothecary shops and the municipal hospital.

In latin american relations, Woodrow Wilson sought to revolutionize United States policy by supplanting the “Big Stick ”diplomacy of Theodore Roosevelt and the “Dollar Diplomacy ”of William H. Taft with a new Pan Americanism. He not only reiterated his desire to be a good neighbor in numerous speeches, particularly his famous Mobile address of October, 1913, but he even formulated a Pan American Pact to promote hemispheric unity by providing for mutual sovereign and territorial respect. His pact failed largely because of the nationalistic opposition of Chile, and his grand design, though cropping up later in the League of Nations idea, ultimately went the way of all Utopian dreams. Then, since Wilson turned his attention to European and domestic affairs, it remained for his three successive secretaries of state, William Jennings Bryan, Robert Lansing, and Bainbridge Colby, to face the realities of Latin American relations and to apply their own policies in dealing with the immediate problems, especially of the smaller republics. Though each man predicated his policies upon Wilson’s promises of friendship as far as possible, and referred critical problems to the president, each generally left the imprint of his own beliefs and personality on hemispheric relations.

Bryan was sympathetic with the president’s goal of the brotherhood of nations, but he conceived his own plan for resolving international conflicts by proposing that all nations sign bilateral arbitration treaties and then submit their differences for at least a year’s consideration to an international arbitral board. He believed that if nations could be deterred from a hasty resort to arms, they would either “cool off ”while awaiting the decision or have their problem solved. But, Bryan, like Wilson, was not to achieve his larger objective because of nationalistic opposition, and he had to do what he could as a “Good Samaritan ”to help all nations become, like the United States, constitutionally sound republics.

ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT EVENTS of the Mexican Revolution was the Constitutional Convention that met at Querétaro from December, 1916, to February, 1917. To a Mexico that had been racked since 1910 by the forces of revolution, counterrevolution, and defection, the Constituent Congress called into session by Venustiano Carranza was the fulfillment of numerous promises that had been made in various declarations and decrees issued since the promulgation of the Plan de Guadalupe.

Between 1802 and 1849, cholera and influenza pandemics killed hundreds of thousands from Shanghai to Seville to New York, but these diseases did not dip below the South American portion of the equator. As a result, Brazil gained a reputation of good health, an opinion confirmed by European travelers and some provincial authorities. This rosy reputation wilted in 1849 when a yellow fever epidemic devastated several seaports, including the imperial capital of Rio de Janeiro. Following this outbreak, waves of epidemics swept the nation with unfamiliar and terrifying virulence. Brazilians were struck again and again by cholera, smallpox, yellow fever, and bubonic plague until the early 1900s.

Spaniards introduced into the New World a custom called godparenthood, compadrazgo, which had both formal and informal connotations. The more formal, ritual ties were usually established at baptism, confirmation, or marriage ceremonies between the parents and coparents (comadres and compadres), and the godchildren (ahijados) and godparents (padrinos and madrinos). The terms comadre and compadre also connote an informal reference to adults in a relationship of mutual respect and friendship which differed from the ritual forms of godparentage. Godparental relations established formally or informally among Spaniards and Indians, as well as between the two races pervaded colonial society.

Were one to sit down to compile a list of the great cities of the African diaspora, Montevideo, Uruguay, would not be one of the first names to come to mind. Yet during the period of Spanish colonial rule, thousands of Africans arrived in the city, brought on slaving vessels from Africa and Brazil. By 1810, the population both of Montevideo (9,400) and the larger colony of the Banda Oriental (an estimated 30,000) was one-third black and mulatto. Two centuries later, as a result of large-scale European immigration during the 1800s and early 1900s that proportion had fallen to 6 percent, with Afro-Uruguayans numbering approximately 180,000 people in a national population of 3 million.

There is probably no more controversial issue in the United States today than that which is being debated, quite inaccurately, under the heading of “socialized medicine.” Public interest in the question has been crystallized by the introduction in the Congress of the United States of the Wagner-Murray-Dingell bill. At the same time, the champions of State sovereignty have prepared legislation aiming to provide medical care as well as hospitalization for low-income groups, without excessive extension of Federal power in a domain that touches intimately upon personal rights and local liberties.

As regards the slave societies of the Americas, it is hard to imagine a more palpable example of social mobility than manumissions. The fact that exslaves were able to carve out a space for themselves within the larger slave societies attests to their resilience—a resilience that must have played a role in obtaining freedom in the first place—and demonstrates that a considerable measure of social and racial flux existed in at least some of those societies. Manumission and miscegenation, independendy or in association with one another, decisively contributed to the sometimes explosive growth of colored and mestizo populations, which came to characterize large parts of Latin America. Few better examples exist than Brazil, where it was not at all uncommon for ex-slaves to become slaveholders in their own right.