Historians focusing on the state of Puebla in the postrevolutionary period face fairly daunting challenges. The three decades after 1920 were uncommonly tumultuous, and governors routinely covered their tracks by destroying their official documents. Yet another pitfall threatens the historian who focuses on Maximino Ávila Camacho, a man so renowned for brutality and corruption that one is tempted to treat him as an anomaly, the sort of character who invites the cliché “larger than life.” Anomalies are by definition unrepresentative and presumably have little to teach us about the time and place of which they were a part.Alejandro Quintana rises to these challenges by utilizing a creative variety of sources and refusing to portray Maximino as an anomaly. Without denying that he was more colorful, ambitious, and talented than most of his contemporaries, Quintana presents us with a politician who, he argues, was fairly typical of his milieu. Quintana is clearly less interested in the scandalous details of Maximino’s life than in the political culture in which he operated. Few politicians were more ambitious than Maximino or more willing to use the tools at hand — wanton violence, media manipulation, exploitation of existing rivalries, cultivation of useful clients, and massive graft — to gain and keep power. Prior to becoming governor of Puebla in 1937, Maximino had spent years honing his skills, learning how to use his military positions for self-aggrandizement and self-enrichment, with a seemingly instinctive feel for how much improbity higher-ups would tolerate in the interest of securing the loyalty of subordinates. He also revealed a flare for electoral fraud and malfeasance, most spectacularly when he allegedly ordered the massacre of 60 followers of opposition candidate José Vasconcelos in 1930.Maximino’s political skills came in handy after the Partido Nacional Revolucionario (PNR) was created in 1929. The PNR was designed to channel and contain the ambitions of revolutionary generals like Maximino, preventing them from challenging the political dominance of the “revolutionary family.” To this end, the state tolerated or even encouraged party officials to engage in various forms of impropriety. The PNR institutionalized a game that Maximino had already mastered, making him the very model of what Quintana calls “a new breed of caudillo” — a leader with a near pitch-perfect sense of how to be at once self-serving freelancer and loyal company man.Maximino used all his skills to dominate the notoriously fractious state of Puebla. His methods included co-opting or destroying his enemies, pitting factions of organized workers and agrarians against one another, controlling the media, placing relatives in key posts, using state resources to enrich himself and to buy the compliance of elites — all the while remaining scrupulously loyal to the PNR. Lázaro Cárdenas, who is generally thought to represent the antithesis of Maximino’s far-right authoritarianism, maintained a thoroughly cordial relationship with the governor. This, Quintana argues persuasively, is because Maximino’s methods were effective, and Cárdenas often privileged stability over social justice.In what is perhaps the most fascinating section of the book, Quintana argues that Maximino’s overpowering ambition to wield national power caused him to forget how the game was played. He was so enraged when his younger brother Manuel — Mexico’s president from 1940 to 1946 — refused to appoint him Secretary of Communications and Public Works (SCOP) that he engineered an armed takeover of that ministry. SCOP offered ample opportunities for graft, and Maximino was unrestrained in availing himself of those opportunities. He hoped and expected to be named the PNR’s official candidate for president in 1946, but Manuel and other party officials were leery of his volatile temperament and loath to create a dynasty. (Interestingly, his proclivity for corruption was not an issue; the official candidate, Maximino’s sworn enemy Miguel Alemán, more than held his own in that area.) When Maximino realized that he would not get the nod, he took the dangerous step of backing a rival candidate, something that might have proved interesting had Maximino not been felled by a heart attack at the same time.The book has some minor shortcomings. While Quintana has excellent reason to avoid peppering his narrative with lurid anecdotes, I must confess that I would have welcomed a few more such anecdotes, which might have livened up the book without necessarily undercutting its central argument. The book’s worst flaw is that it appears not to have been proofread. It contains numerous typos and a few glaring errors. For example, Quintana has “de la Huerta” mounting a coup in 1913 (p. 33), and he conflates Bernardo Reyes and Félix Díaz to create a hybrid, “Bernardo Díaz” (p. 35).Those shortcomings by no means prevent this book from being an important contribution to the literature on the formation of Mexico’s postrevolutionary state.
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