Although vote fraud is an acknowledged component of American political culture, scholarship on the inner workings of stealing elections is rather thin. Despite popular exposés by nineteenth-century muckrakers, the functioning dynamics of vote stealing remains somewhere beneath the visible layer of political analysis. The Gilded Age has been the recipient of some extensive studies of ballot corruption, but scholars have generally concluded that the extent of fraud in changing the actual outcome of a specific race was exaggerated, and with the advent of the Australian, or secret, ballot in the early 1890s, American elections took on a decidedly freer and fairer tone. The scholarship surrounding vote fraud has also tended to focus on a secondary issue: Did the secret ballot diminish fraud to the point where earlier turnout levels could be seen as inflated? Following the lead of Walter Dean Burnham, numerous scholars have answered decidedly in the negative—the level of fraud was so insignificant as not to change turnout totals in any meaningful way.

This article examines the views of Britain's organized railway, mining, and engineering workers (machinists) and their union leaders about state involvement in workplace accident prevention (1876–97), accident compensation (1876–1911), and the 1911 National Insurance Act. The miners and the railwaymen left numerous comments on these topics because they labored in unusually hazardous trades. (Their unions were large and were relatively democratic.) After 1880, leaders of the miners and railwaymen concluded that it was problematic to rely solely on trade union workplace bargaining power to protect worker life and limb and to compensate injured workers for their economic losses. Faced with what was initially seen as a Hobson's choice between employer compulsion and state compulsion, after the mid-1880s these trade unionists began to lean toward the latter. Historical experience led the trade union leaders whose views are discussed in this article to trust increasingly the Labor Department of the Board of Trade and to endorse Liberal welfare-state programs proposed in 1908 and thereafter. In 1911 the rank-and-file machinists who expressed their views about National Insurance in letters to the labor press were suspicious of augmenting the power of the state, but they were unwilling to scuttle National Insurance, preferring to agitate to expand union rights of participation. Worker opposition to some features of state-mandated income maintenance programs, especially those with compulsory payroll deductions, should not be interpreted as rejection of the welfare state in principle.

The purpose of this issue is to explore the possible political futures of parties and movements of the “democratic left” in the United States, the United Kingdom, France, Germany, the European Union, Poland, and Russia. The task could not proceed without clear definition, or definitions, of the “democratic left” because of national variations. There is “liberalism” or “progressivism” in the United States of many hues, but with no “social democracy” or politically viable socialism to the left. Socialism, in the old sense, of ownership of the means of production, has died in Britain, and the present government of “New Labour” refers to itself as the “Third Way” between capitalism and socialism. But there is much controversy at home whether “social democracy” has been also jettisoned in favor of a kind of “neoliberalism” that has embraced markets and trimmed social security. The large, democratic parties of the left in France and Germany derive from traditions of “social democracy” that have challenged many capitalist values and institutions, whether from Marxist or non-Marxist perspectives, and sought to establish a state and society organized around principles of social justice. These parties may win national elections but are torn between old left politics and the need to form larger coalitions in order to win. One might ask, Why include Poland and Russia? The purpose was to ask if new democratic forms of “social democracy” could be discerned in the ashes of defunct communist systems that might bear some resemblance to the politics of Western Europe.

The FDA has dramatically decreased the regulatory review time for new drugs since the early 1990s. For example, according to the Tufts University Center for the Study of Drug Development (CSDD), which conducts triennial analyses of new drug approvals in the United States, the average FDA review time for approved New Chemical Entities (NCEs) decreased from 35.6 months in 1984–86 to 16.8 months in 1996–98. Thus, in a little more than a decade, the FDA has essentially cut its average review time in half. In addition to the declining review times, the agency's workload, as measured in terms of the number of drugs approved each year, also rose considerably in the 1990s. Specifically, the agency approved a total of 232 NCEs between 1993 and 1999, compared to just 163 approvals during the previous seven-year span—a 42 percent increase. Figures 1 and 2 illustrate the agency's decreased review times and increased workload, respectively. Thus, over the past decade the FDA has approved more drugs and done so in less time than at any other period in history. Simply stated, this change in regulatory performance, especially the declining review times, has been absolutely stunning.

When the Newlands Reclamation Act was passed in 1902, it inaugurated an ambitious program of federal dam-and canal-building aimed at opening public land in the West to homesteading through irrigation. Ordinary Americans from all walks of life were to be given the opportunity to take out homesteads on land where the Reclamation Service had made water available; the land was free, but the cost of building the dams and canals was to be repaid to the federal government over a ten-year period. The overriding goal of federal Reclamation in the early years was to reinvigorate the agrarian tradition of America by making usable otherwise useless public land.

Historians historicize. They attempt to understand the present and make educated guesses about the future by looking to the past. This attempt at prognosticating “the future of the democratic left” primarily in the United States begins with a broad-brush history of “the left” as equalitarian idea and political movement in the modern world, examines its development in the United States within a context of “American exceptionalism,” discusses its transformation in the 1960s, and assays its struggles in the “present day” of the last three decades. A once-revolutionary impulse, it suggests, has surrendered to the necessity of incremental entitlement politics. As a result, it has subjected itself to the hazards of the pragmatic test, the awkwardness of interest-group politics, and the distinct possibility that even success in the quest for universal social provision would fail to alter existing patterns of inequality.

It is now more than forty years since Ronald Coase's seminal article on the Federal Communications Commission first appeared in the pages of the Journal of Law and Economics. The article remains important for a number of reasons, not least of which is that it offered his first articulation of the Coase Theorem. Of even greater importance for our purposes, the article literally redefined the terms of debate over American broadcast regulation, in both historical and contemporary treatments of the subject.

The recruitment of about seven thousand Italian migrant workers by the postwar British Labour government is an interesting study in the use of foreign labor recruitment as a diplomatic policy. Foreign labor recruitment has generally been regarded as primarily an economic policy, with political ramifications entering into the picture in the form of domestic issues around integration, racism, labor relations and so on. However, the various British schemes to recruit Italian migrant workers from 1945 to 1951, and the discussion around the movement of migrant workers in postwar Europe carried on in various inter-European bodies, illustrate that foreign labor recruitment can be a much more complex phenomenon.

During the presidencies of Lyndon Johnson and Richard Nixon, Mexican American civil rights went from being an addendum to civil rights for African Americans to a stand-alone policy with a bureaucracy, federal programs, and an independent rationale. Ever since President Harry Truman accepted civil rights in the Democratic platform in 1948, federal policymakers and politicians tried to fit Mexican Americans, and other minority groups, into the civil rights mold they had carved out for blacks in the South. While subject to severe discrimination and disadvantage, Mexican Americans did not face the consistent statutory segregation and discrimination faced by blacks. Federal civil rights policy for Mexican Americans through the mid-1960s consisted of New Frontier and Great Society funding programs to which Mexican American organizations could apply for money to develop and carry out projects in their communities. By the end of Richard Nixon's first term, a federal bilingual education program was established, agencies and committees existed whose sole function was to coordinate Mexican American programs, and Mexican Americans were recognized by policymakers as a distinct minority group with unique needs that required particular federal remedies.

In 1944, Robert Kuczynski, a demographer working with the Colonial Office, wrote a memo discussing plans for a postwar census of the British Empire. He called for the creation of a Colonial Demographic Service, arguing that Colonial Office programs “offer no guarantee of a decisive improvement unless there is an expert on the spot to make an effective use of these means.” Kuczynski's firm belief in the need for expert knowledge matched the growing willingness of the Colonial Office to call upon experts in a variety of fields to assist in the reshaping of colonial government. This article examines why demography came to be seen as useful for colonial governance in the interwar years and how officials attempted to make use of demographers and demographic information in the final years of the British Empire. At present, this topic falls between several existing literatures. Works by Richard Soloway, Daniel Kelves, and others document the domestic history of demography in Great Britain, particularly its involvement in debates over hereditarian views of population. At the international level, most recent studies deal with the United States and trace the origins of American support for programs of population control after 1945. Still another body of literature chronicles the unique nature of policy formation in Britain and its relationship with social science in the twentieth century. This article seeks to connect these literatures by focusing on the colonial and international role of British demography from the end of World War I to the postcolonial era of the 1960s.

On the evening of 21 November 1918, more than one hundred people gathered at Sullivan's Hall in Denver, Colorado, to celebrate voters’ recent approval of the Act for the Relief of the Adult Blind, a statewide initiative commonly referred to as blind benefits or blind pensions or blind aid. The new law guaranteed up to $300 annually in cash relief for each impoverished blind resident. The evening's entertainment included piano, violin, and vocal solos and duets as well as readings of poetry and literature. While people listened, they enjoyed a simple assortment of sandwiches, pies, and doughnuts. The electoral victory capped years of hard work by a small group of dedicated activists, most of whom were themselves blind. One leader of the local blind community, Mrs. Jennie Jackson, addressed the gathering to thank those who had helped to secure the initiative's approval and to proclaim joyously that “the adoption of this bill will be a great benefit to many of the blind of this state.”

On 9 April 1992, the British Labour party lost its fourth successive general election. The outcome, coming after prolonged economic difficulties, led many commentators to call into question altogether the viability of the reformist project in the United Kingdom. For Labour's leaders, the result was bitterly disappointing. To lose any general election is, of course, evidence of failure. But, given the extent of the radical transformation the party appeared to have undergone in the late 1980s and early 1990s, to lose in the propitious circumstances of 1992 was especially frustrating. Just over five years later, however, much of the period under a new leader, Tony Blair, and having undergone further dramatic adaptation, including a comprehensive rebranding as “New Labour,” the party not only took office at the general election of 1 May 1997 but won a landslide victory of 179 seats. A little over four years later it won a second landslide victory with a majority just 12 seats fewer at 167: it was an unparalleled achievement in the party's history.

In 1997 the French Socialist party, in alliance with the small parties of the Communists, Verts (left-wing ecologists), Citizens' Movement, and Radical Socialists (the so-called plural left), won a narrow victory defeating the President's party, the failing government and its beleaguered prime minister. In June, the left formed a government under its leader, Lionel Jospin, and included ministers from all of the formations. Its victory was unexpected as in 1993 the Socialist party had suffered a near obliteration and the conservative right had won a landslide, but it had revived at the 1995 presidential elections, when it ran Lionel Jospin, and steadily—though not spectacularly—revived after that. However, the victory in 1997 was more the result of the conservative right's divisions, an unpopular government, the hostility of the Front National, and the spectacular miscalculations of the neo-Gaullist President Jacques Chirac than to the prowess of the renewed Socialist party.