FOR US IT IS ENTIRELY NATURAL TO ASSUME THAT THE paramount political question of our time is whether to move in the direction of a socialist or capitalist organization of the economy, or to decide what manner of welfarist compromise between them ought to be struck. But merely to make this assumption is already to be committed to a particular view about what defines politics, the political priorities of our society, the nature of the relationship between state and society, and so on.

This article approaches the puzzle of how parties can strategically anticipate coalition formation and make themselves more attractive coalition partners in their electoral strategies. It argues that parties can strategically adjust the salience of issues that are secondary to them in pursuit of increased ‘coalitionability’. It tests the argument through analysis of the salience of secondary policy dimensions of up to 232 European parties between 1970 and 2019, finding evidence that parties adjust the levels of salience of their secondary dimension in response to the probability of their being included in a coalition government and their distance from the coalition in which they are most likely to be included.

When a non-violent resistance campaign does not have leverage to challenge powerful opponents, third-party intervention has been shown to assist. While the role of external third-party interveners – foreign activists – has been documented, less attention has been given to intervention from members of the dominant population. Drawing from the literature on civil resistance and through the study of Israeli Jews who intervene in Palestinian resistance campaigns against the Israeli military occupation, I argue that intervention from members of the dominant population is strategically desirable. Through an analysis of three Palestinian campaigns, this article identifies that the physical presence of Israeli Jews was needed to ensure the Palestinians could maintain their resistance efforts and presence on the land, despite the repression they faced. Furthermore, the skills and knowledge of the Israelis were needed to help the Palestinians achieve some of their goals, at least in the short term.

ECONOMIC HISTORY IS FAR REMOVED FROM PRECISE SCIENCE and cannot offer an unambiguous explanation of the initiation, pace and causes of rapid industrial growth. Nevertheless, few economic historians would disagree that the pattern of growth is not random; and that in evaluating it, technological innovation must be a central element.

The landmarks of industrial development are conventionally thought of in terms of science and technology. From the adoption of the stirrup and the plough, which heralded the feudal age in Europe; to the spread of the silicon chip and the microprocessor, which lie at the core of the emergent IT economy, the development of society can be charted in terms of technological change. And just as the analysis of technological change has become one of the dominant tools of the economic historian, so ‘futurology’ is centred around trajectories of innovation. Over the next century changes are projected which are just as profound as those experienced since 1890. The world of 2090 will be different, and while the fundamental political differences may be unpredictable, there is a presumption that it will be technologically very different from the present. It is appropriate that popular speculation about future society is termed not ‘future fiction’ but ‘science fiction’.

It is an attempt at moral regeneration, at expiation, at the purging of guilt;
a would-be effort at performing a Wirtschaftswunder (so far without visible success);
a political reorganization, the establishment of democracy, from above;
an intellectual liberalization; a partial abandonment of pretensions at a monopoly of truth;
the withering away, or at least conspicuous routinization of a secular faith;
a reincorporation of the Soviet Union in a wider civilization, an international idiom;
a recovery of traditional Russian culture (and of others), including ‘spiritual’ values, a much used phrase;
the establishment of the rule of law;
the re-creation of civil society;
a re-orientation in foreign relations and policy.

The legitimacy and the appeal of the perestroika regime has a curious double basis. It says, in effect: we claim your support because we are changing everything; and we also claim your support because we are preserving our established order, our Soviet, revolutionary, Leninist heritage and tradition. This may or may not be contradictory; but it is unquestionably the case and this is the manner in which the great restructuring is presented, advocated and defended.

There Was Something Odd About The Order in which S. E. Finer published on so many unrelated subjects. This must have had something to do with the gifts of penetration, precision, concision and clarity manifested in his way of writing, as well as, from a different point of view, with his innate talents as a conversationalist, let alone a teacher. (Be it recalled in passing that he was the most brilliant English-speaking teacher of politics in his generation.) Hence his facility and success in tackling any subject.

AS THE TWENTIETH CENTURY DRAWS TO ITS END, TWO MEN, Hitler and Stalin, appear to stand out even in its violent history for the scale of the suffering and destruction which they inflicted on millions of innocent people. But at once, the question arises: how far have the roles of Hitler and Stalin been exaggerated? Is it any longer possible, in the twentieth century, to hold individuals responsible for events on this scale? Should the responsibility rest not with these men but with the movements and regimes with which they are identified? This is the question which I want to discuss.

BRITISH READERS MAY RECOLLECT MARTIN'S POIGNANT expression of regret, in Voltaire's Candide, that the French and English had felt it necessary to go to war in North America over ‘quelques arpents de neige vers le Canada’. Martin captures the sense of an enduring European perception of Canada — an indeterminate expanse of ice and snow held firmly in winter's Arctic grip throughout much of the year. His sardonic utterance reminds us of the overseas rivalries of Canada's European parents out of which were born its historic ‘two solitudes’, its distinct linguistic and cultural communities, one proudly French, the other British in descent, their entwined affairs remaining persistently refractory long after the eventual emergence from its colonial past of present-day Canada.

It Was An Honour To Be Invited To contribute to this special issue, yet I hesitated to take up the invitation. A learned journal is no place for expressions of wifely tribute, had such ever been my style, and I am not a political scientist. In the end, however, it was precisely the lack of specialist qualification which persuaded me. Sam's influence and appeal, as both scholar and teacher, were after all never confined to the realms of political science per se – any more than were his sources of reference and inspiration.

Perhaps the allusions and references contained in the first part of this article might not be readily intelligible to someone whose childhood was not spent listening to stories from Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland or to someone not presently involved in the current debates about the finance of United Kingdom universities. Let me therefore offer a few words of explanation.

Alice in Wonderland, and its companion Alice Through the Looking Glass, are children's stories which explore the limits of reason in most creative ways. Their author, the Reverend C. L. Dodgson, a nineteenth-century mathematician at Christchurch, Oxford who wrote under the name of Lewis Carroll, used the stories to discuss the nature of limit processes in mathematics, the phenomenon of relative size and aspects of the absurd. In the stories animals speak, playing cards come to life and the heroine, Alice, undergoes many transformations of bodily size. Since I regard the recent research selectivity exercise of the Universities Funding Council (UFC) as beyond the limits of reason, I have drawn upon the Alice stories by way of satire and I have tried to use some typical Carroll literary devices — plays on words, accounts of physical transformations and the like — to emphasize the relevant points.

MY DOMINANT INTELLECTUAL CONCERNS HAVE BEEN WORLD politics and history, with strong but subsidiary passions – engaging the mind not less than the body – for watching wild creatures, looking at paintings and buildings and walking and (in my younger days) climbing on mountains. These are not gregarious pursuits; and though I have been a fiercely, and perhaps parochially, loyal member of various small groups at various times I have mostly been a lone magpie, picking up small things from many places.

I used to think the word ‘scholar’ pompous and pretentious, but now I would accept it as a description, using it in the sense prevalent in the Middle Ages, when scholars travelled, in space and time, in pursuit of learning. A learner at least I have been and am. I once believed that I was learning in order to prepare myself for some special service to society: I long ago discovered that I could best serve, inadequately of course but still serve, by going on trying to learn. I have much of which to be ashamed in my life, but of this discovery I am not ashamed.

WE ALL APPROACH THE POST-WAR PERIOD THROUGH THE PERspective of our own pre-war experience and, for those who lived through it, of the war itself. We approach it, with a country as a starting point, on the basis of the experiences and books which formed our vision of Europe and the world and made us aware of the problems facing contemporary societies. For me, the country is Switzerland: a federal state which has remained fundamentally a confederation of sovereign states, linked by an alliance, the framework of which has been filled in by the successive adaptations imposed upon it, but which have not led to anything which could be called integration. The political structure has been built by delegation from the grass roots, through crises which, although they have sometimes been violent, have never called into question the fundamental principle of cantonal sovereignty. Each canton has preserved its originality which, although it may not immediate1 strike the passers-by, is expressed in the different shades of accent and in the variations in daily life, even more than in the folklore, touching and sometimes almost a caricature, which surrounds it.

THE CANADIAN POLICE SYSTEM IS VERY MUCH A LAW UNTO ITSELF. It does not have the authoritarian traditions of European countries and their successors in Communist regimes. It does not have the same societal involvement of the Japanese and Chinese arrangements. Since Canadians, unlike their southern neighbours, believe it is possible to be whole without being powerful, it does not have the American style cop. It shares many of the attitudes and disciplines of the British, but in institutional terms they are vastly different from each other.

To some extent these institutional peculiarities are matters of history, although not all of them are. Before Confederation each area had its own specific policing characteristics depending upon the time of settlement, the racial origin of the settlers and the characteristics of the country. In the cast the Maritime provinces (as they were to become) largely relicd upon military and naval patrols with provost marshals in the garrison towns, with some nightwatchmen on the civilian side. The countryside was little policed, although some local militias existed who could be called out if neccssary.

READING PROFESSOR INOGUCHI'S SPLENDIDLY COMPREHENSIVE and suggestive account of Japan's external policies as modes of coping with/balancing/sustaining interdependence, I was irresistibly reminded of a phrase I learned in 1950 at the first meeting I attended of our local Tokyo neighbourhood council — the committee of the 300-household precinct where I lodged. I think the issue was the smoke coming out of the chimney of our one and only factory. We did not know then about NOx and SOx, but it ruined the housewives' washing when the wind was in the wrong place, and that was bad enough. In a circumspect speech which reminded us that the factory owner was, also, far and away the largest contributor to the annual shrine festival, a particularly articulate ex-leader of the Imperial Rule Assistance Association preached a little homily on the principle of neighbourliness in a country of densely-packed, cheek-by-jowl communities. Mochitsu motaretsu was his key phrase; the slightly archaic grammar gave it a somewhat venerable weight; support and be supported. And it did not just mean ‘support in order to be supported’. It meant also: ‘don't be deterred from accepting support by a sense of the irksome constraints of dependence. We are all dependent on the community; others too, as much as you. Accept it. It is the community which is your security, not just the indebtedness, or the goodwill, of individual others.’

This Rather Cumbersome Title Might Be Easier to understand if it was first explained in which sense the two concepts which it contains are taken here. Thus ‘information revolution’ is taken to mean not only the scientific and technological revolution, which has culminated in the microelectronic revolution, but also the two major geopolitical consequences of the information revolution: ‘interdependence’ and ‘globalization’. The question posed here is how this vast complex influences and changes the functioning, some would say, even the existence of parliamentary sovereignties.

THE AMERICAN PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION JUST HELD APPEARS to have been a momentous event. It was the greatest repudiation of an incumbent president and party in America since that of Hoover and the Republicans in 1931. Predicted by no one — by neither political scientist, pollster nor politician — this was as much a surprise to joyful Republicans as to luckless Democrats. The voters had not discussed the matter much, except in deprecatory terms borrowed from the media, and on the morning after they too looked around among themselves with wonder and satisfaction.

It could hardly be believed, as Carter's pollster asserted, that everyone turned to Reagan on the last day when the hostages held in Iran failed to appear. Something so considerable must have been meditated, or at least prepared; and this misfortune for Carter does not explain why the Democratic Senators, who were not involved with Iran, were voted out. Perhaps the large number of ‘undecideds’ were Reagan voters, too embarrassed to confess their decision to callers they suspected were unsympathetic. Or perhaps — a wishful fantasy of mine — the voters deliberately did not disclose their intention to the pollsters since they knew that sovereignty stays alive only with an occasional surprise. The voters may have sensed that they can be exploited if they can be predicted.

IN NOVEMBER 1979 THE GOVERNMENT ABANDONED ITS PROtection of Official Information Bill within a fortnight of its second reading in the Lords. That it should have failed to survive its first encounter outside the departmental world in which it was conceived, came as no surprise to those familiar with what Dick Crossman, in reference to excessive secrecy, once described as the real English disease.