Scholars assessing Richard Nixon's contribution to the desegregation of Southern schools have often been unimpressed. His biographer Stephen Ambrose concedes that there was some White House contribution, but observes that “Nixon had to be hauled kicking and screaming into desegregation on a meaningful scale, and he did what he did not because it was right but because he had no choice.” The political scientist Michael Genovese concurs, telling us that Nixon sought to “withdraw the federal government from its efforts at desegregation.” A recent civil rights dictionary concludes that this was “the first successful presidential candidate to be opposed to civil rights enforcement,” adding that “many of his tactics thwarted the furthering of school desegregation.” The noted civil rights historian, William Chafe, meanwhile, contends that “Nixon repeatedly demonstrated his commitment to the politics of polarization”; “continued to embrace” southern evasions that “had been invalidated by the Supreme Court”; and used “the power of the presidency to delay, if not halt completely, federally imposed school desegregation.” And Kevin O'Reilly, in an overview of presidential leadership on civil rights, finds the 37th president to have been essentially indistinguishable from the race-baiting George Wallace. Nixon resented the Alabamian, he reveals, because “he wanted the gutter all to himself.” Considering a number of contenders, he concludes that “school desegregation emerged as the administration's most important and enduring (anti)civil rights crusade.”

It seems to be generally accepted that school meals played a small but important role in the creation of conceptual and practical space for the first green shoots of the modern welfare state, and that their provision, no matter how modest at the outset, therefore represented a major departure in the history of social policy. As Bentley Gilbert notes: “The passage of the Education (Provision of Meals) Act of 1906, and the Education (Administrative Provisions) Act of 1907, establishing medical inspection in State schools, marked the beginning of the construction of the welfare state. For the historian, feeding was the more important measure, not because it was wider in scope or more beneficial, but simply because it occurred first.” Thus the Liberal party's reforming administration of 1906–14 began with legislation on free school meals and school medical inspection. According to Pat Thane, this “was the first extension from the field of schooling into that of welfare of the principle that a publicly financed benefit could be granted to those in need, free both of charge and of the disabilities associated with the Poor Law,” and Charles Webster suggests that “the foundations were laid for the principle of providing publicly funded welfare benefits for an entire class of recipient without the imposition of the kind of limitations traditionally imposed under the Poor Law.” In more general terms, Ulla Gustafsson has asserted that school meals “inform our understanding of the relationship between the state, the family and children.”

From modest beginnings in the systematic analysis of social insurance programs of advanced, industrialized countries, the scope of social policy studies has expanded to encompass myriad programs that seek to mitigate potential risks to employment, income, and economic security.1 At the same time, historical interest on policy development has extended back further in time to contextualize the otherwise excessive concentration on social policy developments of the twentieth century.2 Yet, as the boundaries of epistemology broaden, there remains a curious tendency among policy historians to maintain that what they are studying are the origins of modern social policies.3 Perhaps this focus on modernity is the outgrowth of a perceived need to have such research remain relevant to contemporary social policy debates. Whatever the reason, it does raise the question–What makes a social policy modern?4 To assume that particular social policies are modern suggests that there may be social policies that are not. Do there indeed exist social policies that might be thought of as premodern? If so, do such premodern social policies differ from modern ones not only in terms of particular historical epochs but also in terms of more-substantive distinctions?

With the 2008 Democratic National Convention slated for Denver, the libertarian concerns of Western voters, denizens of the so-called purple states, are suddenly of high interest. Pundits and commentators see in the “live and let live” ethos of the West a chance for the Democracy to reshape its faltering coalition and enter the twenty-first century rejuvenated and strong. Ryan Sager, a critic from the right, notes that from the Democratic perspective, “the West looks abundant with opportunities. And the same might be said of a long-neglected, long-suffering political demographic: libertarians.” This optimism in part underlay the party's choice of Denver over the traditional Democratic bastion of New York. Colorado is often identified as a libertarian-leaning state, and it was where the Libertarian Party was founded. But what exactly is libertarianism?