Returning to Part II of the book, this chapter revisits the underlying metapsychology of victimhood. Exploring Freud’s account of mourning and melancholia, it considers the psychological need to mourn and the danger of melancholia. Mourning involves absorbing the loss of a loved identification and the need thereafter to return to an evolved sense of wholeness. This links it metapsychologically to guilt and the need to be at one again after violation. Melancholia is a way of internalising an external trauma and judging from it that one lacks worth. The case study is Patricio Guzmán’s film Nostalgia for the Light (2010) on the aftermath of Chile’s dictatorship (1973–90). The film focuses on women who search the Atacama Desert for remains of murdered family members or reflect on the loss of ‘disappeared’ parents. In a film that is the director’s own act of mourning, the women insist on their right to mourn and reject the state’s melancholia-inducing implication that their loss does not matter. The film’s metaphysical and aesthetic beauty places it on the victims’ side. ‘Nostalgia’ in its title reflects loving memory of the past as a means of anchoring engagement in the present rather than escaping it.

Chapter 6 investigates a setting with a narrow policy scope and low expectations. Unlike their Brazilian counterparts, Chilean mayors are not expected to implement important policies; the national government controls most public goods provision. Consistent with the book’s theory regarding settings with low expectations, mayors in Chile enjoy an incumbency advantage. The chapter also establishes that the ayors’ ability to obtain a return from holding office hinges on fiscal transfers and public goods spending. Chile also offers a natural experiment for examining theoretical expectations about the sources of personal versus partisan incumbency bias. During the most recent electoral cycle, some mayors were subject to term limits, while others were allowed to seek reelection. The chapter analyzes the impact of this institutional change using a differences-in-differences design. The results suggest that Chilean mayors’ incumbency advantage is strictly personal, as the theory predicts for settings with personalistic parties.

This chapter analyzes the ideological roots of social medicine in Latin America, its diffusion through institutional and interpersonal networks, and how they translated into social policy. It argues that Latin American social medicine was a movement with two distinct waves, bridged by a mid-century hiatus. First-wave social medicine – whose protagonists included figures such as Salvador Allende of Chile and Ramón Carrillo in Argentina – had its roots in the scientific hygiene movement, gained strength in the interwar period, and left its imprint on Latin American welfare states by the 1940s. Second-wave social medicine, marked by more explicitly Marxist analytical frameworks, took shape in the early 1970s amidst authoritarian pressures and crystallized institutionally in Latin American Social Medicine Association (ALAMES) (regionally) and Brazilian Association of Collective Health (in Brazil, ABRASCO). A dialectical process links these two waves into a single story: early social medicine demands, once institutionalized in welfare states and the international health-and-development apparatus, led to ineffective bureaucratic routines, which in turn sparked critical reflection, agitation for change, and a new wave of social medicine activism.

In 2018, baijiu giant Jiangsu Yanghe Distillery Co., Ltd. acquired 12.5% of one of the largest global wine conglomerates in Chile, VSPT Wine Group, for US$65 million. The transaction was the first of its kind in the South American country, in which a Chinese baijiu producer purchased a stake in a Chilean wine company. The transaction involved considerable strategic and business planning and the support of experienced legal and financial advisors. This case study first analyzes how a change in alcohol consumption habits in China was a critical factor for Yanghe in deciding to carry out the transaction and the rationale behind choosing a target from the “new wine world.” It then explores how the Chile-China Free Trade Agreement has increased the amount of wine exported to China and how Chilean wine is perceived as “value for money” among Chinese consumers. Finally, it discusses how this transaction is an example of how Chinese state-owned enterprises have learned rapidly from their outward foreign direct investments and how Chinese investors are increasingly using experienced advisors to help inform their overseas investments.

Chile’s regulation of fake news dates back nearly a century. The initial instance occurred in 1925 during a constitutional crisis that resulted in the drafting of a new constitution. At that time, a de facto government issued a decree making it illegal to publish and distribute fake news. The second regulatory milestone occurred during the dictatorship of General Augusto Pinochet with the inclusion of provisions related to defamation in the 1980 constitution. Defamation involved spreading false information through mass media to unjustly tarnish someone’s reputation. Upon the restoration of democracy in Chile in 1990, these stipulations were permanently abolished from the legal system. Since 2001, the judicial pursuit of disinformation in Chile has been limited to exceptional means such as the State Security Law or, indirectly, through the right to rectification.

When refracted through California, the story of US naval expansion in the 1880s – the creation of a small but respectable force of steel cruisers and gunboats – becomes a form of naval racing against Pacific newly made navies. Californians and their national allies argued for a New Navy, citing fears of Chile, China, and eventually Japan. These fears were not only material, stemming from the technical inferiority of the US Old Navy, but also cultural, as naval programs in the Pacific threatened assumptions about US racial and civilizational superiority. Physically, advanced navies in the Pacific stoked fear in Californian cities about raids from the sea. Technologically, Pacific newly made navies (and especially the Chilean cruiser Esmeralda) served as yardsticks to measure US Navy progress. Culturally, the sophistication of Pacific navies undermined beliefs about the position of the United States as the most advanced nation in the hemisphere. These threats allowed navalists to make an effective argument for funding a small, cruiser-dominated New Navy in the 1880s that could in the near term compete with its Pacific rivals.

This chapter looks at the right-wing landscape in Chile, in particular the four parties present in it. To better understand the similarities and differences between these four parties, this chapter analyzes novel survey data that allows for a detailed description of those who identify with the right in contemporary Chile. By mapping out the right-wing electorate, the authors show that the formation of a stable electoral coalition between these four right-wing parties is anything but simple because of the important ideological differences between their voters.

After the US Civil War, technology, expertise, and surplus materiel flowed out into the Pacific World where it was adopted by “self-strengthening” movements in Peru, Chile, China, and Japan. As leaders in the Pacific faced the threat of North Atlantic maritime power, they sought to leverage technological and tactical advances pioneered in the US Civil War. In doing so, these four states transformed in a matter of years from “navies to construct” into “newly made navies”: industrial fleets, built from little or no naval infrastructure, leveraging recent technological innovations. This chapter also explores how newly made Pacific navies performed in the War against Spain (1864–1866), the Boshin War (1868–1869), and the Japanese Expedition to Taiwan (1874). Contemporaneously, US postwar demobilization created moments of parity between the US “Old Steam Navy” and Pacific states. Most histories frame the post-Civil War period as one of US naval retrenchment and stagnation, but when framed in a transwar context, the Pacific becomes a laboratory of US-inspired innovation.

The proliferation of advanced weapons in the 1860s catalyzed intraregional naval races between Chile/Peru and Japan/China. What began as efforts to accrue defensive capabilities in China and Peru against North Atlantic power soon morphed into spiraling naval races with Japan and Chile, respectively. Though smaller in scale, these races were every bit as dynamic as their better-studied analogs like the late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Anglo-French and Anglo-German naval races. For US politicians and naval leaders looking out from San Francisco, the Pacific’s naval races offered a contrast with the relative deterioration of the “Old Steam Navy.” Even as it continued to perform useful missions as a constabulary force, the US Old Navy relied on ships built in the 1850s. By maintaining a status quo, the United States was, in practice, falling behind Pacific newly made navies, stimulating calls for naval reform and investment as a result.

This chapter explains how the Chilean right has been reconfigured due to the multidimensional crisis that has shaken Chile since the end of 2019. The authors analyze how tensions regarding competition and identity have affected relevant actors and structured their perceptions, calculations, and behaviors. They examine the ideational changes and continuities of the Chilean right’s road to moderation. They argue that the joint processes of liberalization and democratization gave rise to a gattopardista strategy of “changing so that things may remain the same.” This was characterized by the programmatic moderation of coalition candidates until the 2017 campaign, with traditional right-wing parties moving to the center to the extent that they did not threaten the pillars of the neoliberal model. However, when centrist and left-wing parties aimed to significantly reform the institutional core, the traditional right did react, and moved further to the right on the ideological continuum.

Confederate naval building during the US Civil War (1861–1865) was a form of “self-strengthening” that had much in common with similar efforts across the Pacific World in the 1860s and 1870s. To overcome structural limitations (a lack of industrial capacity or existing warships), Confederate navy builders relied on foreign acquisitions and local innovations such as the torpedo to compete with the materially superior United States. The US Civil War was, in this sense, a vast practical experiment for small or industrially weak states confronting North Atlantic power. Beginning in the 1860s, the template set by the Confederacy – local adaptation with cheap asymmetric weapons and the overseas acquisition of qualitatively advanced systems – found numerous adopters in Pacific newly made navies. Reciprocally, many industrial producers in Europe were stimulated by demand from the Confederacy to produce novel weapons for Pacific states.

The Pacific not only inspired early investments in the New Navy but the region also offered a series of crises in which the United States could deploy naval assets. As of 1890, the New Navy could muster only five modern warships into its model “Squadron of Evolution.” As a collective, it was a force that mattered little to the North Atlantic balance of power. In the Pacific, by contrast, New Navy ships were sufficient to force Chile – a longtime antagonist – into diplomatic settlements during the Chase of the Itata (1891) and the Baltimore Incident (1891–1892). These successful acts of “cruiser diplomacy” delivered political results. Naval proponents cited operations in the Pacific as evidence of the New Navy’s efficacy and necessity. By 1893, as its sailors and marines intervened in the Hawaiian Coup, the New Navy already had a record of coercion in the Pacific. Such results undergirded celebrations and naval reviews from Astoria, Oregon to New York City, as officials displayed the New Navy and its achievements to the public and the world.