This essay seeks to expand our understanding of state formation in Venezuela by examining the business enterprises established by Juan Vicente Gómez and his political allies to exploit the agrarian economy, especially the cattle trade. It argues that these enterprises were critical both in cementing the allegiance of officials to Gómez, and in establishing the regime's authority over society. Venezuelans engaged in a variety of forms of protest against officials' profiteering and occasionally won concessions from the regime, signaling that corruption constituted an issue around which the terms of state control were negotiated. Relying on Gómez's correspondence, as well as British and U.S. diplomatic records, this essay argues that business networks among members of the regime fundamentally shaped not only the internal dynamics of the state, but also its relationship to society, a topic usually neglected in studies of Venezuelan state formation.

Uno de los libros más comprensivos (y comprensibles) acerca de la revolución mexicana, el de Lorenzo Meyer y Héctor Aguilar Camín (A la sombra de la revolución mexicana) comienza con esta frase enigmática: “No esperaban que llegara” (11). Lo que llega es obviamente la revolución. ¿Pero quiénes son los que quedan sobrecogidos por ese advenimiento? La respuesta es obvia: aquéllos que ejercen la tarea de ver y por lo tanto de preveer, esperar e incluso alumbrar lo nuevo: los intelectuales. La revolución mexicana, por el contrario, se caracteriza por la espontaneidad y por la prescindencia de idearios generales de dirección los cuales (a pesar de los múltiples programas y “planes”) sólo cristalizan y se encarnan en las masas revolucionarias a posteriori y actúan, por lo tanto, retrospectivamente.

This article examines gender struggles surrounding two women's collectives in a Sandinista village as a way to illuminate microprocesses of gender transformation during the Sandinista period and its aftermath. It argues for an analytical approach sensitive to the specificity of gender relations in particular contexts and the ways these were affected by state policies. It demonstrates that men's opposition to women's participation was enabled by ambiguities in Sandinista gender ideology that allowed men to interpret the meanings of revolutionary masculinity in their own terms. By examining these ambiguities, the article shows that, while the revolution failed to dismantle structures of gender inequality, as critics have pointed out, its incorporation of women as class and national subjects into the nation-building project could destabilize local patriarchies.

In contrast to the rest of Latin America, where most forests belong to the state, in Mexico, village communities legally possess most of the country's remaining forests. Despite this, Mexican forest-management policies frequently empowered business interests and the state at the expense of rural communities. These policies marginalized campesinos and squandered opportunities for environmentally sound development. Nevertheless, following a fitful process of land reform, sporadic support for village communities from reformers in the agrarian reform and forestry departments, and the organized demands of villagers, Mexico now has the most advanced community forestry sector in Latin America. Today, hundreds of villages own and operate their own forest management businesses. They generate rural economic benefits while conserving forests, and they represent an important model for sustainable development in Latin America. In the 1990s, neoliberalism brought changes to agrarian and forestry law that initially benefited business interests while abandoning the forest communities best situated to integrate forest conservation and rural development. Campesino groups and their supporters, however, struggled to maintain and extend community forestry in Mexico, with some recent policy victories. Community forestry remains an important part of Mexican forest policy. Mexican forest conservation and the well-being of the ampesinos who inhabit those forests depend on strengthening and extending the model, which has implications for forest policy elsewhere in Latin America.

The recent release of over four hundred telephone conversations recorded in the Lyndon Baines Johnson White House from April to December 1965 provide historians with exciting new evidence on the U.S. intervention in the Dominican Republic. The role of the president in that civil conflict has been up to now mysterious since Johnson rarely committed himself to paper. Critics and scholars since have somewhat exonerated him as simply another decision maker misled by a panicky country team spreading rumors of an imminent communist takeover. The tapes suggest, however, that Johnson was both aware that evidence of a takeover was insufficient and perhaps more concerned with domestic politics than with the situation in Santo Domingo. Repeatedly, close advisors attempted to dissuade him from overplaying an anti-communist rationale. But everywhere he looked in Washington Johnson saw enemies who would exploit any hesitation on his part. Soon after committing 23,000 troops, he admitted his lapses in judgment while he simultaneously sought scapegoats for them. The tapes place Johnson once and for all at the center of one of the most serious crises in the history of U.S.-Latin American relations and reveal the darker side of his foreign policy instincts.