For a good while now, feminist scholars have illuminated the complicated gendered processes that accompanied modern state-building and development policies in twentieth-century Latin America. Just as modernizing a European nation's devised social policies to cope with an emerging mass society pressing new political claims and bringing social ills into close proximity of urban educated elites, so too did Latin America's liberal and populist states develop educational, immigration, and eugenic plans to manage their explosive demographic, social, and political problems associated with all the opportunities and ills of modernity. In the era of World War I, government reformers drew from biomedical and social ideas articulated in a transnational professional milieu and adapted them to suit their definition of national need or racial heritage. Latin America's varied postcolonial contexts therefore shaped and mediated the political and social significance, and outcome, of those reform efforts in the interwar era. According to Nancy Stepan, Brazil's reformism proved to be the vanguard of tropical medicine policies and sanitation sciences, whereas Argentina cast its fate with the eugenic process of whitening through aggressive immigration policies and military violence against its interior indian population (1991). The Mexican Revolution, by contrast, made its development policies progressive compared with those of Argentina and Brazil. The revolutionary rupture of its oligarchic liberal state permanently altered the ideological landscape and transformed the national state, making it more beholden to the country's laboring classes and anxious to bring them into the ambit of the populist state. This it largely accomplished through federal agencies of education, agrarian reform, and health under Cárdenas during the 1930s (Stepan 1991; Vaughan 1997). In the Andes, modernizing and reformist elites confronted a more difficult task. On the one hand, they lacked the institutional or ideological resources that neighboring nations enjoyed-Chile's relatively stable political system, Brazil's biomedical establishment, Argentina's immigration option, or Mexico's unifying revolutionary state apparatus-in order to mobilize their own societies for purposes of social control and economic development in an increasingly competitive global economy. On the other, Bolivia's creole reformers (that is, Spanish-speaking Bolivians of European descent who considered themselves to be progressive nationalists) were deeply preoccupied with the "dead weight" that their own racially heterogeneous, poor, and illiterate populations had placed on their modernizing and culturally homogenizing projects. As they gazed upon their interior landscapes of mountains, provincial potentates, and indians mired in feudal servitude or else erupting in episodic upheaval, creole elites often turned pessimistic about their nation's racial unfitness or diseased body politic (Arguedas 1909). Anxiety about the future progress of Andean society might then provoke deeper unease about modernity itself. Was Mexico's postrevolutionary paradigm of mestizaje (that is, racial- cultural fusion) to serve as the Andean template of integration, or did race mixture hasten nineteenth-century "degenerative processes" of racial and republican decline? How might the Andean nation-state uplift and integrate its indigenous populations while preempting a Mexican-styled social revolution? Might Andean scientists and health workers manage to engineer sanitary cities and healthy bodies, purged of disease, alcoholism, and other vices, without the kind of public health campaigns that Brazil boasted? No less urgent, if attempts to attract white European immigration to the Andes were proving to be a colossal failure, how might public education be made to civilize, moralize, and uplift the Andean nations? These questions vexed and divided creole elites (see de la Cadena 2000). Furthermore, as Nancy Stepan notes, tropes of economic and cultural progress could easily be reversed as "degeneration [became] the major metaphor of the day, with vice, crime, immigration, women's work, and the urban environment variously blamed as its cause" (1991:24). At any historical moment or place, social policy making might be motivated by a fragile calculus of optimism and pessimism, hope and fear-and never more so than in the Andes, where weak states and fractured elites competed with each other over regional/racial projects (as in the polarizing Lima/ Cuzco struggle in Peru), or where international conflicts or internal rural uprisings suddenly altered internal political balances (as in Bolivia after the 1899 indigenous uprisings or the Chaco War in the early 1930s). But sooner or later, modernizing states began to expand the notion of "public interest" to encompass realms once thought of as "private." As the old patriarchal and seigneurial order crumbled, peasants flooded into the cities, and urban laboring groups mounted all sorts of democratizing challenges, Latin America states and social reformers sought new modes of "population management," which could burrow into the intimate interior of the family. Nationalist ideologies quickly fastened on family, as they did on race, to promote cultural reforms designed to reproduce healthy, efficient, patriotic citizen-workers or peasants. Brazil and Mexico offer striking historical examples of strong corporatist states taking aggressive measures to "rationalize domesticity" in the service of broader political, economic, and eugenic projects. As Mary Kay Vaughan writes, "Public appropriation of reproductive activities such as education, hygiene and health care demanded new interactions between households and the public sphere: [and] the appointed household actor was the woman, the mother" (Vaughan 2000:196). State policies therefore fastened onto gender as both a precept and a tool in their attempts to subordinate popular households to the interests of national development, social order, and patriarchal power (see also Besse 1996; Dore 1997; Dore and Molyneux 2000; Klubock 1998; Mayer 2002; Rosemblatt 2000; Stephenson 1999; Weinstein 1996). There is no doubt that the new gendered policies had tangible, often beneficial, effects. Public health programs of disease control, the introduction of rural schools, and the regulation of work did improve living standards for certain social sectors and did empower women and children in new ways. But feminist scholarship has shown that the states' efforts to rationalize the household and, in Eileen Findlay's words, "impose decency" on the gendered body politic were hardly driven by emancipatory aims (Findlay 1999). On the contrary, progressive social reforms hoped to reconfigure gender inequality during Latin America's turbulent passage to industrial capitalism and corporatist state building. This paper explores the Bolivian state's halting efforts to burrow into the intimate spaces of the rural Aymara world in order to remake indians into productive peasants over the course of the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s. Although the Bolivian state was riddled by partisan and ideological conflicts, and singularly impoverished and ineffectual in comparison to Mexico or Brazil, it managed to mount an extraordinary project of rural education, which ultimately came to target el hogar campesino (variously connoting peasant hearth, household, family) as the terminal point of the state's evolving "cultural revolution" in the countryside (the term "cultural revolution," although most often associated with Maoist reform is, here, borrowed from Philip Corrigan and Derek Sayer's [1985] idea of the slow, contested process by which the modernizing state imposed a normative [hegemonic] order). Rural school reform was aimed at the cultural production of Bolivia's modern campesino class, but it was not simply about "incorporating indians into the national culture." It was equally driven by the need to fix racial, class, and gender hierarchies in ways that subordinated the indian peasantry to the state, especially as rural insurgents pounded on the gates of Bolivian cities in the 1930s and 1940s. Paying close attention to shifting social fields, I examine how the changing calculus of elite needs, aspirations, and fears shaped rural school reform, which became a crucial site for rearticulating gender and race categories in the process of educating campesinos.