Untitled

Problems of Democratic
Transition and Consolidation

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PROBLEMS OF
DEMOCRATIC
TRANSITION AND
CONSOLIDATION
Southern Europe,
South America, and
Post-Communist Europe
Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan
The Johns Hopkins University Press

Baltimore and London
© 1996 The Johns Hopkins University Press
All rights reserved. Published 1996
Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper
897
The Johns Hopkins University Press

2715 North Charles Street
Baltimore, Maryland 21218-4363
www.press.jhu.edu
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

will be found at the end of this book.
A catalog record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 0-8018-5157-2 ISBN 0-8018-5158-0 (pbk.)

Contents
List of Figures, Tables, and Exhibits vii

Preface and Acknowledgments xiii
PART I
Theoretical Overview
1. Democracy and Its Arenas 3

2. "Stateness," Nationalism, and Democratization 16
3. Modern Nondemocratic Regimes 38
4. The Implications of Prior Regime Type for
Transition Paths and Consolidation Tasks 55
5. Actors and Contexts 66
PART II
Southern Europe: Completed Consolidations
6. The Paradigmatic Case of Reforma Pactada—Ruptura Pactada: Spain 87

7. From Interim Government to Simultaneous
Transition and Consolidation: Portugal 116
8. Crisis of a Nonhierarchical Military Regime: Greece 130
9. Southern Europe: Concluding Reflections 139
PART III
South America: Constrained Transitions
10. A Risk-Prone Consolidated Democracy: Uruguay 151

11. Crises of Efficacy, Legitimacy, and Democratic State "Presence": Brazil 166
vi Contents
12. From an Impossible to a Possible Democratic Game: Argentina 190

13. Incomplete Transition/Near Consolidation? Chile 205
14. South America: Concluding Reflections 219
PART IV
Post-Communist Europe: The Most
Complex Paths and Tasks
15. Post-Communism's Prehistories 235

16. Authoritarian Communism, Ethical Civil Society,
and Ambivalent Political Society: Poland 255
17. Varieties of Post-Totalitarian Regimes:
Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Bulgaria 293
18. The Effects of Totalitarianism-cum-Sultanism on
Democratic Transition: Romania 344
19. The Problems of "Stateness" and Transitions: The USSR and Russia 366
20. When Democracy and the Nation-State Are
Conflicting Logics: Estonia and Latvia 401
21. Post-Communist Europe: Concluding Comparative Reflections 434
Index 459
Figures, Tables, and Exhibits
FIGURES
6.1 Percentage of the Population Wanting Independence in Catalonia and

País Vasco-Navarra before and after the 1979 Referendum 104
14.1 Confident and Worried Democrats in Southern Europe in 1985 and in
the Southern Cone of South America in 1995 229
15.1 Defense Expenditures as a Percentage of GDP/GNP, 1983-1989 241
18.1 Number of Independent Movements in Eastern Europe, June 1989
352
21.1 Percentage of People Giving a Positive Rating to the Economic System
and to the Political Regime in the Communist System, the Current
System, and in Five Years: Six East Central European Countries 444
21.2 Percentage of People Giving a Positive Rating to the Economic System
and to the Political System in the Communist Regime, the Current
Regime, and in Five Years: Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus 446
TABLES
1.1 The Five Major Arenas of a Modern Consolidated Democracy: Inter-re-

lated Principles and Mediating Fields 14
2.1 The Inter-relationship between State, Nation(s), and Democratization
(Assuming No Irredenta) 36
3.1 Major Modern Regime Ideal Types and Their Defining Character-
istics 44
4.1 The Implications of Prior Nondemocratic Regime Type for the Tasks
of Democratic Consolidation 56
4.2 The Implications of Prior Nondemocratic Regime Type for Paths to
Democratic Transition 57
4.3 The Implications of Nondemocratic Regime Type for the Minimal
Tasks of Completing Transition to and Consolidation of a Demo-
cratic Regime from that Regime Type 62
6.1 Multiple Identities in Catalonia: 1982 102
viii Figures, Tables, and Exhibits
6.2 National Identities in Catalonia 102

6.3 National Identities in the Basque Country 103
6.4 "Democracy Is the Best Political System for a Country Like Ours," Spain
1978-1983 108
6.5 "At This Time, What do You Think is Best?" Spain 1981 109
8.1 Evaluation of Authoritarian Regimes of Greece, Spain, and Portugal
135
8.2 Comparison of Attitudinal Support for Democracy in Greece, Spain,
and Portugal (1985) 136
9.1 Increases of Tax Revenue, Public Expenditures, and Public Employ-
ment: Spain, Portugal, and Greece (1976,1984,1988) 140
9.2 Respondents Affirming That "Democracy Is Preferable to Any Other
Form of Government" in Spain, Portugal, and Greece and Com-
pared with Average of European Union States, 1992 (Legitimacy
Indicator) 142
9.3 Percentage of Respondents Who Are "Very Satisfied" or "Fairly Satis-
fied with the Way Democracy Works" in Spain, Portugal, and
Greece Compared with Average of European Union States, 1985-
1993 (Efficacy Indicator) 143
9.4 The Compatibility of a Strong Affirmation of the Desirability of a
Democractic Present and Future with a Weak Rejection of the Non-
democratic Past: Spain and Portugal 145
10.1 Comparison of Attitudinal Support for Democracy in Uruguay and
Three Consolidated Democracies in Southern Europe: Spain, Por-
tugal, and Greece 160
10.2 Attitudes in Uruguay toward Democracy According to Geographic
Region and Respondents' Ideological Self-identification (December
1991) 161
11.1 Comparison of Attitudinal Support for Democracy in Brazil versus
the Four Consolidated Democracies of Uruguay, Spain, Portugal,
and Greece 172
11.2 Evolving Attitudes toward Democracy in Brazil, 1988-1992 173
11.3 Citizen Satisfaction with Brazil's Performance in the Military Regime
of 1964-1985 and the First Four Years of Civilian-led Democracy
(New Republic) 174
11.4 Correlation between Respondents' Attitudes toward the Adequacy of
Their Income and Their Attitude toward Democracy, Brazil 175
11.5 Degree of Agreement or Disagreement with Statements about the
Fairness of the Justice System and the Police in Brazil: 1989 176
11.6 A Laakso/Taagepera Index of "Effective" Political Parties in the Leg-
islatures of the Parliamentary, Semipresidential, and Presidential
Continuous Democracies (1979-1989) 182
Figures, Tables, and Exhibits ix
13.1 Legitimacy and Efficacy in Chile and Spain 214

13.2 Citizens' Perceptions of Governmental Efficacy on the Second Anni-
versary of Democratic Rule under Freely Elected Presidents ( Alywin
in Chile, Collor in Brazil) 215
14.1 Attitudes toward the Legitimacy and Efficacy of Democracy and Ex-
pectations about the Future: Uruguay, Argentina, Chile, and Brazil,
1995 222
14.2 Attitudes toward the Power of and Confidence in the Military in
Argentina, Uruguay, Brazil, and Chile, 1995 224
14.3 Attitudes toward Political Liberties and Trust in Chile, Brazil, Argen-
tina, and Uruguay, 1995 226
14.4 Perceptions of Capacity of Democracy to Solve the Problems of the
Country and Attitude toward Democracy in Uruguay, Argentina,
Chile, and Brazil 227
14.5 Typology of Democratic "Legitimacy" and "Efficacy" 228
14.6 Empirical Placement of Uruguay, Argentina, Chile, and Brazil on a
Typology of Legitimacy and Efficacy, 1995 228
15.1 "Do you believe that Gorbachev's leadership is good or bad for [re-
spondent's own country]?" 243
16.1 The Contrasting Language of "Ethical Civil Society in Opposition"
and "Political Society in Consolidated Democracy" 272
16.2 Effective Number of Political Parties in Poland's Sejm after the Octo-
ber 1991 Elections 276
16.3 A Laakso/Taagepera Index of "Effective" Political Parties in the Polish
Legislature (1991) Contrasted with the Legislatures of Parliamen-
tary, Semipresidential, and Presidential Continuous Democracies
in the World (1979—1989) 277
16.4 Party Identification in Five Eastern European Countries: 1990—1991
283
16.5 Disapproval Rate of Major Political Institutions: February 1990, Octo-
ber 1991, May 1992 284
16.6 Support for a Range of Emergency Measures in Poland, May 1-3,1992
284
16.7 Percentage of Respondents Approving Authoritarian Antipolitical
Options in Poland, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, and
Austria: 1991-1993 285
16.8 Comparison of Attitudinal Support for Democracy in Poland and Bra-
zil versus the Four Consolidated Democracies of Uruguay, Spain,
Portugal, and Greece 286
16.9 Respondents' Approval Rating of the Economic System and Their
Level of Trust in the Government and the President: Six Countries
of East Central Europe, November 1993 to March 1994 286
x Figures, Tables, and Exhibits
16.10 Votes versus Seats: Parties that Crossed and Did Not Cross Poland's
Electoral Threshold in the September 1993 Parliamentary Elections
to the Sejm (Lower House) 289
16.11 Lijphart Index of Disproportionality for Polish Election to the Sejm
(Lower House) in September 1993 and the Average for the Twenty-
one Continuous Democracies in the World, Classified by Electoral
System, 1945-1980 290
17.1 Hungarian Assessment of Their Declining Quality of Life, Equality,
and Personal Political Efficacy: A Five-Country Comparison, 1985
and 1989 303
17.2 Erosion of the GDR Coercive Staff's Belief in the Right to Use Force
against State-declared Illegal Protests 324
17.3 Response of the GDR Coercive Staff Members to the Question: "What
Was Your Opinion at the Time about the Most Important Les-
sons to be Derived from the Events on Tiananmen Square in June
1989?" 325
17.4 Preferred State Arrangements (November i99i-July 1992) in Czech-
lands (CR) and Slovakia (SR) (in percentages) 329
17.5 The "Terminating" Election of Czechoslovakia in 1992: Party Vote and
Seats for the Chamber of People (Statewide PR) and Chamber of
Nations, Compared with Votes Needed in Chamber of Nations to
Veto any Significant Federal-related Legislation Passed by the Cham-
ber of People 334
18.1 Evaluation of the Most Important Factors Influencing Public Opinion
in the Period before the Overthrow of the Ceausescu Regime 358
20.1 Baltic Demography: The 19205 and 19305 versus the 19805 403
20.2 Identities of Estonians, Latvians, and Non-Estonians and Non-
Latvians (Russian Speaking) in the Two Baltic Republics When
They Were Part of the USSR (June-August 1990) and after Inde-
pendence (1992) 411
20.3 "How much Pride Do You Feel in Being a Resident of the Republic?"
Responses of Nationality Groups in the Baltics, 1990 412
20.4 Attitudes among Different Nationalities in the Baltics toward a Future
Political Relationship with the USSR: July-August 1990 413
20.5 Language Knowledge in the Baltic Republics (Reported in 1992 Inter-
view) by Language Used in the Interview 414
20.6 Attitudes toward the System of Government Previously, Now, and in
Five Years: Estonians, Latvians, and non-Baits in 1993 419
20.7 "Would You Say That Our Current System Is Better, Much the Same,
or Worse than the Old Soviet System in Allowing People to:" 421
20.8 "Which of These Statements Best Fits Your Views of Who Should
Figures, Tables, and Exhibits xi
Have the Right to Vote in Elections to Parliament?" Differential

Responses of Baltic Nationalities 422
20.9 A Typology of State-, Nation-, and Democracy-building Strategies in
Multinational Polities 429
21.1 GDP, Industrial Output, and Peak Inflation Rates in Post-Communist
Countries: 1989-1995 440
21.2 Percentages Expressing Positive Attitudes toward Communist versus
Post-Communist Economic Systems and Political Systems: Re-
sponses from Six East Central European Countries 442
21.3 Incongruent Perceptions of the Economic Basket of Goods versus the
Political Basket of Goods in the Communist System and the Cur-
rent System: Six East Central European Countries 443
21.4 Rating of Twenty-six Countries of Post-Communist Europe on the
Freedom House Scale of Political Rights and Civil Liberties for the
Year 1993 447
21.5 Comparative Democratic Threshold Rating of Post-Communist
Europe: The Countries of East Central Europe, the Former Soviet
Union, and the Former Yugoslavia (1993) 448
21.6 Russian Attitudes in 1994 about the Dissolution of the USSR in 1991
451
21.7 Preferences for Old and New Political Systems in Russia and Poland in
January-February 1992 452
21.8 Russian Attitudes toward Restoring the Former Communist System,
April 1994 452
EXHIBITS
19.1 Preperestroika Soviet Federalism: The Coexistence of Contradictory

Structures, Principles, and Incentives 371
19.2 Mikhail Gorbachev's Statements on Competitive Democracy: 1987-
1991 380
Preface and Acknowledgments
IN THE PENULTIMATE paragraph of the preface to the multivolume work

we edited, The Breakdown of Democratic Regimes, we wrote that "high priority for
further work along these lines should now be given to the analysis of the condi-
tions that lead to the breakdown of authoritarian regimes, to the process of tran-
sition from authoritarian to democratic regimes, and especially to the political
dynamics of the consolidation of postauthoritarian democracies."1 The book in
your hands represents our effort to contribute to that research agenda.
A caveat about the title of the book is first in order. As comparativists we are
painfully aware that most political transformations away from a once-stable non-
democratic regime do not end in "completed democratic transitions." Fewer still
become consolidated democracies.2 And, as our 1978 volume makes clear, even
once-consolidated democracies can break down.3
Yet, precisely because we believe completed democratic transitions are an em-
pirical minority of all major political transformations and because we adhere to
the normative position that completed democratic transitions and democratic
consolidations are desirable, this book is explicitly devoted to the analysis of the
conditions and practices that make such outcomes possible. Completed demo-
cratic transitions, and consolidated democracies, are the key dependent variables
of this book. While we try to call attention in the book to "possibilist" strategies,
1. Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, eds., The Breakdown of Democratic Regimes (Baltimore: Johns Hop-
kins University Press, 1978), ix-x. Emphasis added.
2. Indeed, much of our work has been devoted to the analysis of political transformations that do not
result in completed democratic transitions. A prominent group of such countries includes Iran after the fall
of the Shah, Haiti after the fall of "Papa Doc," and Nicaragua after the fall of Somoza. In all these countries,
a sultanistic form of what Weber would call extreme "patrimonialism" was present. These cases will be an-
alyzed separately in a volume on sultanistic regimes and their legacies being edited by H. E. Chehabi and
Juan J. Linz. A related, but analytically distinct, problem of noncompleted democratic transitions emerges
when a nondemocratic regime breaks down or is overthrown and an "emergency interim regime" created,
which postpones democratic elections sine die, in order to make fundamental changes. See Yossi Shain and
Juan J. Linz, Between States: Interim Governments and Democratic Transitions (New York: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, 1995). Alfred Stepan, as a member of the human rights group American Watch, constantly had
to urge U.S. government administration officials not to debase the word democratization by equating it
with the mere electoralism found in countries such as El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras, where the
military exercised their large undemocratic prerogatives even after elections.
3. An extensive discussion of our definitions of completed democratic transitions and consolidated
democracies will be found in chapter i.
xiv Preface and Acknowledgments
we will also call attention to problems and to how successful outcomes are heavily
conditioned—and in some cases precluded—by socioeconomic factors or even
the crisis or absence of a state.
Our book develops the following line of exploration and argumentation. Part i
is devoted to general theoretical considerations, which while of direct relevance
for the rest of the book, can be read as a set of freestanding theoretical arguments.
In chapter i we begin by defining and discussing our two dependent variables,
completed democratic transitions and consolidated democracies. We then develop
an argument as to why and how democracies need five interacting arenas to be-
come consolidated. These arenas, which interact with and reinforce each other,
are: a lively civil society, a relatively autonomous political society, a rule of law, a
usable state, and an economic society (note, «oí just a capitalist market).4 In the
remainder of part i we explore seven independent generic variables that we argue
are particularly important for analyzing processes of democratic transition and
consolidation, and we advance propositions concerning these variables.5 Two of
our variables are so important that we will call them macro variables and give
them chapter-length status.
In chapter 2 we discuss our first macro independent variable, one that has to
date been seriously underanalyzed in the literature on democratic transition and
consolidation, namely the complex relationship between state, nation(s), and
democratization. We call this variable stateness. We show why the existence of a
sovereign state is a prerequisite for democracy, and indeed citizenship. We then
assess the implications for democracy of different strategies of state-building and
nation-building when state and nation do not coincide, or indeed when the
nation-state and democracy have conflicting logics, as they all too often have.
In chapters 3 and 4 we discuss our other macro variable, namely the character
of the prior regime type. Since we argue for a modified "path-dependent" ap-
proach to democracy, it seemed to us important to reanalyze the major types of
modern nondemocratic regimes from which different transition attempts begin.
To do so, in chapter 3, we first create a revised typology of modern nondemocratic
regimes: totalitarian, post-totalitarian, authoritarian, and sultanistic. In chapter
4, we then attempt to make as explicit as possible what paths to democratic tran-
sition are available, or unavailable, from each of these four regime types. We also
discuss what predictable tasks must be accomplished within each of the five are-
4. While we argue in support of a definition of democracy that includes these minimalist requirements
of a consolidated democracy, we do not have a ideological end-state in mind because a quite distinctive in-
terplay of the five arenas inevitably emerges in each consolidated democracy. Even consolidated democra-
cies can differ significantly as to their quality and the degree to which they do, or do not, deepen to include
greater equality and more intense participation.
5. For better or worse we will not restrict ourselves to the procrustean bed of this framework. The speci-
ficities of history are also important, and thus we will discuss the contributions, where appropriate, of some
variables (such as leadership and timing), that do not lend themselves to generic propositions but are crit-
ical to the historical analysis of any particular case.
Preface and Acknowledgments xv
nas of a consolidated democracy, before a polity, starting from a position approx-

imating one of these four ideal type regimes, could possibly become a consoli-
dated democracy.
In chapter 5 we discuss our five remaining independent variables. Two are
actor-centered and three are context-centered. The two actor-centered variables
concern the question of the specific leadership base of the prior nondemocratic
regime and the question of who initiates and controls the transition. The three
context variables relate to international influences, the political-economy of legit-
imacy and coercion, and constitution-making environments.
In parts 2, 3, and 4 we apply the framework developed in part i to fourteen
countries, using both cross-regional and infra-regional analysis. In the process of
our research for this book, one or both of us made multiple visits to each of the
thirteen countries (not including successor states) considered. One or both of us
also studied extensively a number of relevant countries that we do not include,
such as South Korea, Peru, Bolivia, and Indonesia. Why so many countries? Why
the exclusion of potentially relevant cases? Why a single authorial voice instead
of an edited volume, with country specialists who inevitably would know much
more than we about particular countries? Our response to all of these valid ques-
tions is that, at this stage of the development of knowledge about democratic (and
nondemocratic) politics, one of the critical tasks is to explore, using a fairly rig-
orous cross-regional comparative analysis, major differences and similarities be-
tween democratization problems in various regions of the world. We believe this
is best done from a single authorial perspective. Moreover, we also believe that
contextualized, intra-regional comparative analysis will allow us to call attention
to, and hopefully explain, major differences that might have been overlooked in
the single-country monographic literature.
To combine the advantages of cross-regional and intraregional analysis, we de-
cided to select and directly observe countries that belong to three distinctive re-
gions in the world. This makes sense only if most of the region had made a recent
and significant effort at democratic transition. This limited the possible range of re-
gions.6 We chose southern Europe, which in the 19705 had been on the periphery
of the democratic core of the European Community; we chose the southern cone
of South America, capitalist and part of the West ideologically, but not sociolog-
ically, politically, or economically a part of the advanced democratic market com-
munity; and finally, we chose post-Communist Europe, until recently under a sys-
tem that was not ideologically part of the West and where, we assumed, "real
6. In the early 19905 these criteria excluded African and Islamic regions. South Korea and Taiwan would
have made an interesting small set. However, the region would have had to include countries such as North
Korea and China that are not even liberalizing, much less democratizing. We believe that the South Korean
and Taiwanese transitions could have been studied using our framework, notwithstanding their Confucian
legacy. One of the most important problems for South Korea and especially Taiwan was in fact one of our
macro-variables, stateness.
xvi Preface and Acknowledgments
existing socialism" produced a persisting legacy of interests in tension with the

newly expressed goals of a democratic market future.
Within these three different regions we decided to work with entire sets of
countries, so that we did not select countries that would privilege or prejudge
certain conclusions. The easiest set to choose was Southern Europe. Only three
southern European countries began a transition in the last thirty years—Spain,
Portugal, and Greece—so we included all of them.
In South America, a regional set was chosen for us by modern history and
modern scholarship. Four relatively developed countries—Brazil, Argentina,
Chile, and Uruguay—all had democratic breakdowns in the 19605 and early 19705
and, in Guillermo O'Donnell's famous analysis, had all established "bureaucratic
authoritarian regimes." These regimes demobilized popular organizations, re-
pressed civil societies, were (unlike the countries in Southern Europe) led by
hierarchical military regimes, and were "presidential" instead of "parliamentary"
in their institutional and cultural legacies.7 As late as 1987 the outcome in three
of these four countries was highly uncertain, so we had the chance to observe
directly possible transitions and possible failures.8
In post-Communist Europe we decided to include all the countries that were
a clear part of the Soviet subsystem in that they belonged to the Warsaw Pact
security zone and the COMECON economic zone. Our set, therefore, includes
the former Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), Poland, Hungary,
Czechoslovakia, Romania, and Bulgaria.9 The task for a comparativist is to iden-
7. See Guillermo O'Donnell, Modernization and Bureaucratic Authoritarianism: Studies in South Amer-
ican Politics (Berkeley: Institute of International Studies, Politics of Modernization Series, 1973) and David
Collier, ed., The New Authoritarianism in Latin America (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979). To
have chosen the more than thirty countries in Latin America and the Caribbean as one set would have made
little analytical sense and in any case would have been unmanageable. We acknowledge that at least three
different sets in the region could have been chosen, each one with a slightly different socioeconomic,
political, and geopolitical mix. These are an Andean regional set, which would have been less developed
sodoeconomically and would have introduced a strong component of indigenous cultures; a Central
American regional set, where civil wars and U.S. involvement would have been more prominent; or the
Caribbean microstates that were formerly British colonies and most of which are long-standing parlia-
mentary democracies.
8. In 1987, Chile was in the midst of an economic boom, the hierarchically led military were united
behind Pinochet, and the democratic opposition was divided. In Argentina, democracy in 1989 looked
extremely perilous as the first democratically elected president, Raúl Alfonsín, had been subject to five
uprisings led by junior officers and twelve general strikes since his inauguration, the economy was experi-
encing a hyperinflation, and Alfonsín was forced to leave office early due to the chaos. In 1989 in Brazil, a
country with one of the most unequal distributions of income in the world, the hierarchically led military
were still influential, a direct presidential election had still not been held, and a populist presidential can-
didate with virtually no organized party behind him was on the horizon. Brazil as of this writing is still not
close to full democratic consolidation.
9. The only country that met this criterion that we excluded was East Germany, which, due to its situ-
ation of "two states, one nation," voted to subsume itself into the ready-made democratic state of the Fed-
eral Republic of Germany; thus, East Germany is not really a case of sovereign democratic state transition
except for the period of March 18 to October 3,1990. In some ways the loss of East Germany to the book is
especially unfortunate because Linz was born in Germany and spent 1990-91 at the Wissenschaftskolleg zu
Berlin. We will refer to East Germany in passing when we discuss the stateness problem, cases of regime
Preface and Acknowledgments xvii
tify and evaluate elements of commonality and diversity. Only by so doing can
we evaluate some problems that all the European post-Communist countries we
explore share because for so long they were the targets of the effort of the former
Soviet Union to impose a common political, economic, and ideological system on
them. But, despite this shared legacy, there was, and is, great diversity in the region.
In the process of analyzing and explaining these elements of commonality and
diversity, we hope to contribute to the task of incorporating post-Communist
politics into comparative politics, so we end the book by trying to put the great
problems and diversity of post-Communist Europe into a full comparative and
theoretical perspective.10 In the process we were forced to recast and rethink
much of the transition and consolidation literature that we have been so involved
with since the mid-1970s. This explains our dangerous, and seemingly illogical,
choice of making the post-Communist part of the book (the area where our ex-
pertise and linguistic ability is weakest) the longest. Even if not for all the readers,
at least for the authors the journey has been worthwhile.
As befits a book of this scope, we employ a variety of methods: typological
analysis, survey analysis, content analysis, neo-institutional and path-dependent
analysis; some game theory; and extensive interviews with key actors, to name the
most prominent. We believe that this is the first conceptually oriented, empirical,
cross-regional and intra-regional study of modern democratization, written with
a single authorial voice. Precisely because of this, as we put the volume to press,
we are acutely conscious of its inherent limitations. There is no doubt that it
would be a better book if we had five more years to study and think about post-
Communist Europe and to read the fundamental historical studies that are only
now in progress. However, as scholars who are committed to interactive research
in our broad international community, we believe that this book will probably be
more useful if released now, so that the new generation of social scientists, histo-
rians, and political thinkers and activists, who in many cases are writing their first
monographs, can have access to our tentative arguments. We hope our successors
will refine and, if necessary, refute our arguments in the interest of a better under-
standing of one of the most exciting and difficult processes in modern history.
Let us acknowledge another limitation of this book. The type of social science
"collapse," and what we call the informer-lustration syndrome. By our criteria, Yugoslavia had to be left out.
But Yugoslavia analytically shares some important features with the USSR, such as the sequence of liberal-
ization without democratization, an extreme federal constitution that took on a new life after contested
multiparty elections were held in the republics before they were held in the center, and the subsequent dis-
integration of the state and (with the major exception of Slovenia) the emergence of ethnocrades. As an
extension of our analysis of the USSR, we explore the consequences of this form of state disintegration for
Russia and the successor states of Estonia and Latvia, where issues of citizenship and nationalizing states
versus homeland states became a central problem. Albania is left out because, not only was it not in the
Warsaw Pact or COMECON, but also it did not start a democratic transition until much of our research
was complete.
10. The theoretical framework we explicate in part i, especially our typology of modern nondemocratic
regimes, provides a new analytic perspective on the variance in post-Communist Europe.
xviii Preface and Acknowledgments
in which we are engaged, and which excites us, will, a century from now, be ma-
terial for historians and might not be very relevant to a theory of democracy or
democratization. This is perhaps unfortunate for those who dream of social
physics or of models of social change like that offered in economic theory by the
students of capitalist market economies. But, we surmise that these models will
also become historicized. That is the fate of social science. The events we are
studying took place in historical time, in particular social spaces, and in particu-
lar states and nations that we know are not eternal. We gladly accept this inherent
limitation of our effort. We believe, however, that to gain some understanding
now of the events between the 19705 and the twenty-first century is a worthwhile
and exciting goal. Whatever our success or failure, to try to analyze the events in
thirteen countries, in three different regions, in which at least 500 million people
live (and in one of which one of the authors is a citizen) is a worthwhile endeavor
for social scientists.11
A book such as this not only has many limitations but also incurs extremely
high debts of gratitude. There is hardly a country or a problem we write about
that one of our former or current students at Yale University (where, shortly after
writing the 1978 preface to The Breakdown of Democracy, we created and occa-
sionally co-taught what may have been the first course on democratic transition
and consolidation), Columbia University, the Juan March Institute, or the Central
European University has not informed us about and helpfully criticized our ear-
lier analysis. We are grateful to our student-colleagues from around the world
who read the classic works on democracy with us and shared their critical insights
not only on Southern Europe and South America, but also on what they saw as
the potential for major transformative changes, the final direction of which was
of course never fully certain, in such countries as South Korea, the Philippines,
Iran, and Poland. A few of the many to whom we owe gratitude are Nancy
Bermeo, H. E. Chehabi, Paloma Aguilar, Ed Gibson, Robert Fishman, Daniel V.
Friedheim, Charles Gillespie, Jan T. Gross, Luis Eduardo González, Jonathan
Hartlyn, Mimi Keck, Robert Martínez, Guillermo O'Donnell, Velio Pettie, Oleg
Protsyk, Cindy Skach, Brian Smith, Hector Shamis, Evelyn Huber Stevens, John
Stevens, and Mark Thompson. They have enriched our work and our lives.
We want to thank the Wissenschaftskolleg zu Berlin, where Linz had a fellow-
ship in 1990-91 and which hosted a small international conference on an early
draft of the book. Early work leading to the book was also encouraged by the in-
11. An unfortunate, but we believe necessary, limitation of the book is that, to fit our analysis into the
compass of one book, we greatly compressed the "democratic transition phase" of southern Europe and
South America because, as our notes to each chapter make clear, we and other scholars have published
extensive monographs on these topics elsewhere. We also under-report and indeed underanalyze some argu-
ments that have been central to our scholarly production in the last twenty years, such as timing, leader-
ship, religion, and corporatism. We do, of course, integrate our approaches to these themes into this book.
Preface and Acknowledgments xix
vitation to Linz to be Max Weber Visiting Professor at Heidelberg University. Both

authors are also happy to acknowledge their fellowships at the Juan March Insti-
tute of Advanced Social Science in Madrid. Our temerity to write such a wide-
ranging book was encouraged by the colleagueship and advice we received as
participants in the multivolume project Politics of Democratic Consolidation in
Southern Europe, edited by Richard Günther, P. Nikiforos Diamandouros, and
Hans Jürgen Puhle, and the multivolume project Linz co-edited with Larry Dia-
mond and Seymour Martin Lipset, Democracy in Developing Countries. Stepan
wants to thank his colleagues in two multiyear, multivolume projects, one on
East-West transformation coordinated by Adam Przeworski, published as Sus-
tainable Democracy, and the other a project edited by Guillermo O'Donnell,
Philippe C. Schmitter, and Laurence Whitehead, which resulted in their Transi-
tions from Authoritarian Rule.
Alfred Stepan also wants to thank St. Antony's College, Oxford, where he was
a Senior Associate Member, for its hospitality in 1993 and Timothy Carton Ash,
Archie Brown, and Alex Pravda, who gave us the benefit of close readings of early
drafts of this book. Other readers from around the world who helped us greatly
were Yitzhak M. Brudny, László Bruszt, Richard Günther, János Kis, Wiktor Osi-
atynski, Paulo Sergio Pinheiro, Anna Seleny, and Samuel Valenzuela.
Richard Rose deserves our special thanks for having produced with the Paul
Lazarsfeld Society of Vienna a unique database for the study of political and eco-
nomic change and public response to those changes in the former Communist
countries. Our analysis relies heavily on those surveys—although the responsibil-
ity for their interpretation is only ours—from which he gracefully has allowed us
to quote extensively. The same is true for the data made available to us by Hans-
Dieter Klingemann on the Baltic countries and those from surveys in other coun-
tries whose authors are acknowledged in different chapters. We are especially
grateful to Marta Lagos for making available to us the pre-publication data of the
first ever Latino Barometer. Public opinion research in our view is essential to the
study of democracies, and we acknowledge here the importance of the work in
this area for efforts like ours and our hope that we might have in the future a
World-Barometer of Democracy.
Numerous presidents, prime ministers, ministers, and opposition leaders and
hundreds of key opponents and proponents of democratic transition submitted
to long interviews, for which we are grateful. These included opposition labor
leaders who became presidents or presidential candidates of their countries, such
as Lech Walesa of Poland and Luís Ignacio da Silva ("Lula") of Brazil; members of
the ruling nomenklatura or the ruling military who advocated and designed the
initial liberalization of their countries, such as Aleksandr Yakovlev of the former
Soviet Union and General Golbery do Couto e Silva of Brazil; political leaders
who crafted historic pacts, such as the former prime minister of Spain, Adolfo
Suárez, and the president of Uruguay, Julio Maria Sanguinetti; major scholars
xx Preface and Acknowledgments
who became theoreticians of civil society opposition and eventually political

leaders in the new democracies, such as Bronislaw Geremek of Poland and Fer-
nando Henrique Cardoso of Brazil; and leaders who tried to settle democratically
the legacy of the past by holding trials, such as those of the military responsible
for the "disappeared," organized by the former president of Argentina, Raúl
Alfonsín. Where appropriate and authorized we acknowledge the particulars of
these and other interviews specifically in the text of the book.
Alfred Stepan would very much like to thank the Ford Foundation and the
Carnegie Corporation of New York, whose generous research grants allowed
him to carry out extensive field research in all three regions, especially in post-
communist Europe, in 1991-93. He would also like to thank Columbia University
and the Central European University, which encouraged him to teach, research,
and write while carrying out major university administrative duties. Once again
we are fortunate to be working with Henry Tom of the Johns Hopkins University
Press. We thank Ken Eaton for his painstaking index.
The writing and rewriting of the book involved long days and especially nights
of work together in Berlin, Brasilia, Budapest, New Haven, New York, Madrid,
Taipei, and Warsaw.
We dedicate this book to Rocío de Terán and Nancy Leys Stepan, colleagues
and collaborators in intellectual and other adventures.
Parti
Theoretical Overview
l
Democracy and Its Arenas
IN PART i, we explore how the character of different nondemocratic regimes

affects, or does not affect, the paths that can be taken to complete a transition to
a democratic regime. We also explore what implications prior nondemocratic
regime types have for the probable tasks that must be undertaken before such
fledgling democratic regimes could be considered consolidated.
Having structured our question thus, our argument cries out for definitions of
completed democratic transition and consolidated democracy. In this book, when-
ever we attempt to establish how far any given country has gone toward completing
a transition to democracy, the definitional standard we will use is the following:
A democratic transition is complete when sufficient agreement has been reached about politi-
cal procedures to produce an elected government, when a government comes to power that is
the direct result of a free and popular vote, when this government defacto has the authority to
generate new policies, and when the executive, legislative and judicial power generated by the
new democracy does not have to share power with other bodies de jure.
With this working definition, it should be clear why democratic activists and
theorists insist on distinguishing between liberalization and democratization. In
a nondemocratic setting, liberalization may entail a mix of policy and social
changes, such as less censorship of the media, somewhat greater space for the
organization of autonomous working-class activities, the introduction of some
legal safeguards for individuals such as habeas corpus, the releasing of most polit-
ical prisoners, the return of exiles, perhaps measures for improving the distribu-
tion of income, and most important, the toleration of opposition.
Democratization entails liberalization but is a wider and more specifically po-
litical concept. Democratization requires open contestation over the right to win
control of the government, and this in turn requires free competitive elections,
the results of which determine who governs. Using these definitions, it is obvious
that there can be liberalization without democratization.1
i. Much of the conceptual confusion about what Gorbachev was and was not doing with glasnost and
perestroika could have been avoided by a clearer understanding of these two concepts. The above discus-
sion of the difference between liberalization and democratization is drawn from Alfred Stepan, Rethinking
Military Politics: Brazil and the Southern Cone (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988), chap. i. Also
see Guillermo O' Donnell and Philippe C. Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Con-
4 Theoretical Overview
Our discussion of what constitutes a completed democratic transition helps

highlight two further issues. First, transitions may begin that are never completed,
even though a new authoritarian regime does not assume power. Our definition
helps guard against the "electoralist fallacy," that is, that a necessary condition of
democracy, free elections, is seen as a sufficient condition of democracy.2 Some
of the most common examples of electoralist nontransitions are found in those
cases where a previously ruling military (e.g., in Guatemala in the 19805), though
relinquishing direct control of government, retains such extensive prerogatives
that the democratically elected government is not even de jure sovereign. Second,
by including in our definition the need to reach an agreement on the specific in-
stitutional arrangement for producing democratic government, we are alerted to
decision-making within the democratic political arena. Disagreements among
democrats over such issues as a unitary versus a federal state, a monarchical or re-
publican form of government, or the type of electoral system may create ques-
tions about the legitimacy of the emerging democratic government, the decision-
making process, and indeed the future of the political system. Such institutional
indeterminacy about core procedures necessary for producing democracy may
not only leave the transition incomplete, but also postpone any consolidation of
democracy. We do not mean that there cannot be disagreement about the most
desirable democratic institutions early in the transition and in the constitution-
making process. Such disagreement is normal. But a deep and continuous con-
frontation and ambivalence about democratic institutions among the political
elites and the majority of the population, with no sign of accommodation to the
enacted institutions, is certainly not conducive to consolidation. It is, therefore,
disagreement not only about the value of democracy but also about the specific
institutions of a democracy that might make consolidation difficult.
There is a further political and intellectual advantage to being clear about what
is required before a transition can be considered complete. Nondemocratic power
holders frequently argue that certain liberalizing changes they have introduced
are sufficient in themselves for democracy. Introducing a clear standard of what
is actually necessary for a completed transition makes it easier for the democratic
elusions about Uncertain Democracies (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), 7-11, Adam Prze-
worski, Democracy and the Market: Political and Economic Reforms in Eastern Europe and Latin America
(New York: Cambridge University Press, 1991), chap. 2, Guiseppe di Palma, To Craft Democracies: An Essay
on Democratic Transitions (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), esp. 81-89, and Samuel P. Hunt-
ington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century (Norman: University of Oklahoma
Press, 1991), 9.
2. "Electoralism," or what we call the "electoralist fallacy," figured prominently in recent debates about
Central America. See Terry Karl, "Imposing Consent? Electoralism vs. Democratization in El Salvador," in
Paul W. Drake and Eduardo Silva, eds., Elections and Democratization in Latin America, 1980-1985 (San
Diego: Center for Iberian and Latin American Studies, University of California, San Diego, 1986), 9-36. See
also Abraham F. Lowenthal, éd., Exporting Democracy: The United States and Latin America (Baltimore:
Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991) and Thomas Carothers, In the Name of Democracy: U.S. Policy toward
Latin America in the Reagan Years (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991).
Democracy and Its Arenas 5
opposition to point out (to their national and international allies as well as to the
nondemocratic regime) what additional, if any, indispensable changes remain to
be done. Such a standard is also extremely useful in circumstances where the old
nondemocratic regime has collapsed or been overthrown and an interim govern-
ment is in power. Such moments are normally replete with elation, sweeping re-
forms, and decrees. However, unless there is a rapid commitment to completing
all the steps required for a democratic transition, the "temporary" interim gov-
ernment may become permanent.3
In most cases after a democratic transition has been completed, there are still
many tasks that need to be accomplished, conditions that must be established,
and attitudes and habits that must be cultivated before democracy could be con-
sidered consolidated. What then are the characteristics of a consolidated democ-
racy? Many scholars, in advancing definitions of consolidated democracy, enu-
merate all the regime characteristics that would improve the overall quality of
democracy. We favor, instead, a narrower definition of democratic consolidation,
but one that nonetheless combines behavioral, attitudinal, and constitutional di-
mensions. Essentially, we mean by a consolidated democracy a political situation
in which, in a phrase, democracy has become "the only game in town."4
Behaviorally, democracy becomes the only game in town when no significant
political groups seriously attempt to overthrow the democratic regime or secede
from the state. When this situation obtains, the behavior of the newly elected gov-
ernment that has emerged from the democratic transition is no longer dominated
by the problem of how to avoid democratic breakdown. Attitudinally, democracy
becomes the only game in town when, even in the face of severe political and eco-
nomic crises, the overwhelming majority of the people believe that any further
political change must emerge from within the parameters of democratic formulas.
Constitutionally, democracy becomes the only game in town when all the actors
in the polity become habituated to the fact that political conflict will be resolved
according to the established norms and that violations of these norms are likely
to be both ineffective and costly. In short, with consolidation, democracy be-
comes routinized and deeply internalized in social, institutional, and even psy-
chological life, as well as in calculations for achieving success.
Our working definition of a consolidated democracy then follows:
3. We discuss interim governments in more detail in chapter 5. For an extensive discussion of such gov-
ernments, see Yossi Shain and Juan J. Linz, Between States: Interim Governments and Democratic Transitions
(New York: Cambridge University Press, 1995), esp. 28-40.
4. For other discussions about the concept of democratic consolidation, see Scott Mainwaring, Guillermo
O'Donnell, and J. Samuel Valenzuela, eds., Issues in Democratic Consolidation: The New South American
Democracies in Comparative Perspective (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1992). For an
especially rigorous discussion of the concept, see in that volume J. Samuel Valenzuela, "Democratic Con-
solidation in Post-Transitional Settings: Notion, Process, and Facilitating Conditions," 57-104. Also see di
Palma, To Craft Democracies, 137-55. We owe the telling expression "only game in town" to Guiseppe di Palma.
— Behaviorally, a democratic regime in a territory is consolidated when no sig-

nificant national, social, economic, political, or institutional actors spend signifi-
cant resources attempting to achieve their objectives by creating a nondemocratic
regime or turning to violence or foreign intervention to secede from the state.
— Attitudinally, a democratic regime is consolidated when a strong majority
of public opinion holds the belief that democratic procedures and institutions are
the most appropriate way to govern collective life in a society such as theirs and
when the support for antisystem alternatives is quite small or more or less isolated
from the pro-democratic forces.
— Constitutionally, a democratic regime is consolidated when governmental
and nongovernmental forces alike, throughout the territory of the state, become
subjected to, and habituated to, the resolution of conflict within the specific laws,
procedures, and institutions sanctioned by the new democratic process.
Two important caveats. First, when we say a regime is a consolidated democ-
racy, we do not preclude the possibility that at some future time it could break
down. But we do mean to assert that such a breakdown would not be related to
weaknesses or problems specific to the historic process of democratic consolida-
tion per se, but to a new dynamic in which the democratic regime cannot solve a
set of problems, a nondemocratic alternative gains significant supporters, and
former democratic regime loyalists begin to behave in a constitutionally disloyal
or semiloyal manner.5
Our second caveat is that we obviously do not want to imply that there is only
one type of consolidated democracy. An exciting new area of research is precisely
on the variety of consolidated democracies. We also do not want to imply that
consolidated democracies could not continue to improve their quality by raising
the minimal economic plateau upon which all citizens stand and by deepening
political and social participation in the life of the country. Within the category of
consolidated democracies there is a continuum from low to high quality democ-
racies; an urgent political and intellectual task is to think about how to improve
the quality of most consolidated democracies. Our goal in this book is related but
distinct. Since we are living in a period in which an unprecedented number of
countries have completed democratic transitions and are attempting to consoli-
date democracies, it is politically and conceptually important that the specific
tasks of crafting democratic consolidation be understood. Unfortunately, too
5. In essence this means that the literature on democratic breakdown, such as that found in John J. Linz
and Alfred Stepan, eds., The Breakdown of Democratic Regimes (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press,
¡978), would be much more directly relevant to analyzing such a phenomenon than this current book or
other books on democratic transition and consolidation. We obviously do not mean this as a criticism of
the transition literature. Rather, our point is that the democratic transition and democratic breakdown lit-
eratures need to be integrated into the overall literature on modern democratic theory. From the perspec-
tive of such an integrated theory, the "breakdown of a consolidated democracy" is not an oxymoron.
much of the popular and ideological discussion of the current "wave" of democ-
ratization is dominated by electoralism per se and/or the assumed democratizing
potential of market mechanisms per se. But democratic consolidation requires
much more than elections and markets.
THE FIVE A R E N A S OF A C O N S O L I D A T E D D E M O C R A C Y
We believe that consolidated democracies need to have in place five interact-

ing arenas to reinforce one another in order for such consolidation to exist. There
is an additional factor involved.
Democracy is a form of governance of a state. Thus, no modern polity can be-
come democratically consolidated unless it is first a state. Therefore, the inexis-
tence of a state or such an intense lack of identification with the state that large
groups of individuals in the territory want to join a different state or create an in-
dependent state raises fundamental and often unsolvable problems. Because such
"stateness" problems are so basic, and so underanalyzed, we devote the next chap-
ter to examining this topic. For our argument here, however, it is enough to say
that, without the existence of a state, there cannot be a consolidated modern dem-
ocratic regime.
If a functioning state exists, five other interconnected and mutually reinforc-
ing conditions must also exist or be crafted for a democracy to be consolidated.
First, the conditions must exist for the development of a free and lively civil soci-
ety. Second, there must be a relatively autonomous and valued political society.
Third, there must be a rule of law to ensure legal guarantees for citizens' freedoms
and independent associational life. Fourth, there must be a state bureaucracy that
is usable by the new democratic government. Fifth, there must be an institution-
alized economic society. Let us explicate what is involved in crafting this inter-
related set of arenas.
By civil society we refer to that arena of the polity where self-organizing groups,
movements, and individuals, relatively autonomous from the state, attempt to
articulate values, create associations and solidarities, and advance their interests.
Civil society can include manifold social movements (women's groups, neigh-
borhood associations, religious groupings, and intellectual organizations) and
civic associations from all social strata (such as trade unions, entrepreneurial
groups, journalists, or lawyers). The idea of civil society, as a normative aspiration
and as a style of organization, had great capacity to mobilize the opposition to the
military-led bureaucratic-authoritarian regimes in South America, most notably
in Brazil, and was crucial in Eastern Europe as a vehicle for asserting the auton-
omy of those who wanted to act "as if they were free," especially in Poland.
In addition to the whole range of organizations, such as illegal or alegal trade
unions, religious communities, bar associations, associations of students and pro-
fessors, which constitute the complex web of civil society, we should not forget
another part of society: ordinary citizens who are not a part of any organization.
Such citizens are often of critical importance in shifting the regime/opposition
balance because they turn up in the streets in protest marches, heckle the police
and the authorities, express their opposition first to specific measures, support
broader demands, and ultimately challenge the regime. Normally they are initially
small in numbers and later more numerous and can, in some cases, overwhelm
the representatives of the regime, forcing them to consider a growing liberaliza-
tion and ultimately a regime change. However important, numerous, and heroic
such relatively unorganized groups may be, they would not be able to overthrow
the regime and establish a democratic regime if there were not the processes we
focus upon in this book. The fact that none of the regimes included in our work,
in the transition periods we analyze, was ready to use massive force, to give orders
to shoot on the crowds and thus provoke a massacre, as in Tiananmen Square, has
led us to give relatively little attention to the possibility that these nondemocratic
regimes could have been maintained by force. There is evidence that some lead-
ers considered that possibility. They occasionally alerted their security forces for
combat readiness (e.g., in Berlin the day after the wall was breached). Ultimately,
however, such repression did not happen. The cost ofthat scale of repression was
too high, and the belief in the legitimacy of such a response too weak. Nondemo-
cratic regimes, at least in southern Europe, the southern cone of South America,
and most of Communist Europe, did not enjoy that kind of legitimacy, and many
ordinary, unorganized people in civil society often discovered it, almost before the
rulers themselves. The most dramatic area where this was so was in parts of Com-
munist Europe, such as East Germany and Czechoslovakia.
By political society in a democratizing setting we mean that arena in which the
polity specifically arranges itself to contest the legitimate right to exercise control
over public power and the state apparatus. At best, civil society can destroy a non-
democratic regime. However, a full democratic transition, and especially demo-
cratic consolidation, must involve political society. The composition and consol-
idation of a democratic polity must entail serious thought and action concerning
the development of a normatively positive appreciation of those core institutions
of a democratic political society—political parties, elections, electoral rules,
political leadership, interparty alliances, and legislatures—by which society con-
stitutes itself politically to select and monitor democratic government.6
For modern democratic theory, especially for questions about how to consol-
idate democracy, it is important to stress not only the distinctiveness of civil soci-
ety and political society, but also their complementarity. This complementarity is
6. For an earlier discussion of the need to distinguish between the civil society arena and the political
society arena, see Stepan, Rethinking Military Politics, chap. i. For an adroit use of the concepts in a concrete
historical analysis, see Paolo Farneti, "Social Conflict, Parliamentary Fragmentation, Institutional Shift,
and the Rise of Facism: Italy," in Linz and Stepan, eds., The Breakdown of Democratic Regimes, 3-33.
not always recognized. As we document throughout the book, one of these two
dimensions is frequently neglected in favor of the other. Worse, within the demo-
cratic community, champions of either civil or political society all too often adopt
a discourse and a set of practices that are implicitly inimical to the normal devel-
opment of the other. Since this opposition is seldom explicit, let us discuss the
forms this implicit opposition may take and how and why such discourse and
practice impede democratic consolidation.
In the recent struggles against the nondemocratic regimes of Eastern Europe
and Latin America, a discourse was constructed that emphasized "civil society
versus the state." This dichotomy, of course, has a long philosophical genealogy.7
More importantly for our purposes, this philosophical tradition was politically
useful to those democratic movements that emerged in recent contexts where ex-
plicitly political organizations were forbidden or extremely weak. A conception of
a civil society in opposition to the state was also politically useful as the opposi-
tion attempted to isolate the nondemocratic regime and its state by creating an
"us" versus "them" ethical politics. Civil society in many countries was rightly
considered the celebrity of democratic resistance and transition.
The problem arises at the moment of democratic transition. Quite often dem-
ocratic leaders of political society argue that civil society, having played its his-
toric role, should be demobilized so as to allow for the development of normal
democratic politics.8 Such an argument is bad democratic theory and bad demo-
cratic politics. A robust civil society, with the capacity to generate political alter-
natives and to monitor government and state can help transitions get started, help
resist reversals, help push transitions to their completion, help consolidate, and
help deepen democracy. At all stages of the democratization process, therefore, a
lively and independent civil society is invaluable.
But we should also consider how to recognize conceptually, and thus help
overcome, the false contradictions some set up between civil society and political
society. The danger that democratic groups primarily located in civil society
7. For the contemporary revival of civil society (especially in Eastern Europe and South America), see
the chapter by that name in Jean Cohen and Andrew Arato, Civil Society and Political Theory (Cambridge:
MIT Press, 1992), 29-82. This invaluable book adroitly combines political philosophy with comparative po-
litical analysis. Also see the introduction to John Keane, ed., Civil Society and the State: New European Per-
spectives (London: Verso, 1988), 1-31. The Cohen-Arato book is also valuable because it does not subsume
political society into civil society. János Kis, an important political philosopher, dissident, and former pres-
ident of the Free Democrats of Hungary, was one of the first thinker-activists to discuss the distinctive arenas
of civil and political society. See Kis, Politics in Hungary: For a Democratic Alternative (Boulder, Colo.: Social
Science Monographs, 1989).
8. In some transitions the apparent crisis of civil society merely reflects the fact that some of the move-
ments called civil society had, to a great extent, been created and directed by previously illegal political par-
ties. When these political parties were able to participate legally in politics, they shifted their efforts away
from the mobilization of civil society and, in some cases, consciously demobilized society. This phenome-
non was particularly noticeable in Spain concerning those civil society organizations controlled by the
Communist Party. Many civil society movements in Chile were analogously controlled by Christian Dem-
ocratic or Socialist Party leaders.
might occasionally present for the development of political society is that norma-
tive preferences and styles of organization, perfectly appropriate to civil society,
might be taken to be desirable or, indeed, the only legitimate style of organization
for political society. For example, many civil society leaders view with moral
antipathy "internal conflict" and "division" within the democratic forces. Insti-
tutional routinization, intermediaries, and compromise within politics are often
spoken of pejoratively.9 But each of the above terms refers to an indispensable
practice of political society in a consolidated democracy. Democratic consolida-
tion requires parties, one of whose primary tasks is precisely to aggregate and rep-
resent differences between democrats. Consolidation requires that habituation to
the norms and procedures of democratic conflict regulation be developed. A high
degree of institutional routinization is a key part of such a process. Intermediation
between the state and civil society and the structuring of compromise are likewise
legitimate and necessary tasks of political society. In short, political society,
informed, pressured, and periodically renewed by civil society, must somehow
achieve a workable agreement on the myriad ways in which democratic power
will be crafted and exercised.
To achieve a consolidated democracy, the necessary degree of autonomy and
independence of civil and political society must further be embedded in and sup-
ported by the rule of law, our third arena. All significant actors—especially the
democratic government and the state—must respect and uphold the rule of law.
For the types of civil society and political society we have just described, a rule of
law embodied in a spirit of constitutionalism is an indispensible condition. A
spirit of constitutionalism requires more than rule by majoritarianism. It entails
a relatively strong consensus over the constitution and especially a commitment
to "self-binding" procedures of governance that require exceptional majorities to
change. It also requires a clear hierarchy of laws, interpreted by an independent
judicial system and supported by a strong legal culture in civil society.10
The above three conditions—a lively and independent civil society, a political
society with sufficient autonomy and a working consensus about procedures of
governance, and constitutionalism and a rule of law—are virtually definitional
prerequisites of a consolidated democracy. However, these conditions are much
more likely to be satisfied if a bureaucracy usable by democratic leaders and an
institutionalized economic society exist.
Democracy is a form of governance of life in a polis in which citizens have
9. We discuss at length the question of antipolitics in our chapter on Poland and in our discussion of
Czechoslovakia. For an example of how the language of "ethical civil society" and "normal political society"
can at times emerge as normative opposites, see our chapter on Poland and especially table 15.1. Antipolitics
also created problems in post-transition Brazil.
10. For an excellent volume that discusses the relationships between constitutionalism, democracy, legal
culture, and "self-bindingness," see Jon Elster and Rune Slagstad, eds., Constitutionalism and Democracy
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), esp. 1-18.
rights that are guaranteed and protected. To protect the rights of its citizens and
to deliver the other basic services that citizens demand, a democratic government
needs to be able to exercise effectively its claim to the monopoly of the legitimate
use of force in the territory. Even if the state had no other functions than these, it
would have to tax compulsorily in order to pay for police, judges, and basic ser-
vices. Modern democracy, therefore, needs the effective capacity to command,
regulate, and extract. For this it needs a functioning state and a state bureaucracy
considered usable by the new democratic government. As we shall see in chap-
ter 2, there are many reasons why in many territories of the world no such state
exists. In this book the question of state disintegration is particularly important
in parts of the former Soviet Union. But, insufficient state taxing capacity or a
weak normative and bureaucratic presence in much of the territory, such that cit-
izens cannot effectively demand that their rights be respected or receive any basic
entitlements, is a great problem in many countries in Latin America, such as
Brazil. The question of the usability of the state bureaucracy by the new demo-
cratic regime also emerges in countries where the outgoing, nondemocratic re-
gime has given tenure (as in Chile) to many key members of the state bureaucracy
carrying out politically sensitive functions in justice and education. Important
questions about the usability of the state bureaucracy by new democrats in-
evitably emerge in cases (as in much of post-Communist Europe) where the dis-
tinction between the party and the state had been virtually obliterated and the
party went out of power, disintegrated, or was deligitimized.
The final supportive condition for a consolidated democracy concerns the
economy, or rather an arena we believe should be called economic society. We use
the phrase "economic society" to call attention to two claims that we believe are
theoretically and empirically sound. First, there has never been and there cannot
be a non-wartime consolidated democracy in a command economy. Second, there
has never been and almost certainly there never will be a modern consolidated
democracy in a pure market economy. If both of these claims are demonstrated to
be sound, modern consolidated democracies require a set of socio-politically
crafted and sociopolitically accepted norms, institutions, and regulations, which
we call economic society, that mediates between state and market.
Empirically, no evidence has ever been adduced to indicate that a polity that
would meet our definition of a consolidated democracy has ever existed in a com-
mand economy. But the question persists. Is there a theoretical reason to explain
such a universal empirical outcome? We think so. On theoretical grounds, our as-
sumption is that at least a nontrivial degree of market autonomy and ownership
diversity in the economy is necessary to produce the independence and liveliness
of civil society so that it can make its contribution to a democracy. Likewise, if all
property is in the hands of the state and all price, labor, supply, and distributional
decisions are the exclusive purview of the state in control of the command econ-
omy, the relative autonomy of political society required in a consolidated democ-

racy could not exist.11
But why do completely free markets not coexist with modern consolidated de-
mocracies? Empirically, serious studies of modern polities again and again verify
the existence of significant degrees of market intervention and state ownership in
all consolidated democracies.12 Theoretically, there are at least three reasons why
this should be so. First, notwithstanding the ideologically extreme but surpris-
ingly prevalent and influential neoliberal claims about the self-sufficiency of the
market, pure market economies could neither come into being nor be maintained
without a degree of state regulation. Markets require corporation laws; the regu-
lation of stock markets; regulated standards for weight, measurement, and ingre-
dients; and the protection of property, both public and private. All of these re-
quire a role for the state in the economy. Second, even the best of markets have
market failures that must be corrected if the market is to function well.13 No less
an advocate of the "invisible hand" of the market than Adam Smith acknowledged
that the state is necessary to perform certain functions. In fact, in a neglected but
important passage in The Wealth of Nations, Adam Smith assigned three indis-
pensable tasks to the modern state.
First, the duty of protecting the society from the violence and invasion of other independent
societies; secondly, the duty of protecting, as far as possible, every member of the society from
the injustice or oppression of every other member of it, or the duty of establishing an exact ad-
ministration of justice; and, thirdly, the duty of erecting and maintaining certain public works
and certain public institutions which it can never be for the interest of any individual, or small
number of individuals, to erect and maintain; because the profit could never repay the expense
to any individual or small number of individuals, though it may frequently do much more than
repay it to a great society.14
The third reason for market intervention in consolidated democracies is that

democracy entails free public contestation concerning governmental priorities
and policies. If a democracy never produced policies that generated government-
mandated public goods in the areas of education, health, and transportation,
11. Robert A. Dahl in a similar argument talks about two arrows of causation that produce this result.
Concerning the political arrow of causation (e.g., in the case of Leninism in power), the party-state's ide-
ology goes explicitly against the autonomy of civil society and political society. Or, in the case of a state con-
trolled command economy, the economic arrow of causation goes against certain material needs of a con-
solidated democracy, such as freedom of the press, because paper and printing materials could be denied.
See Dahl, "Why All Democratic Countries Have Mixed Economies," in John Chapman and Ian Shapiro,
eds., Democratic Community (New York: New York University Press, 1993), 35:259-82.
12. See, for example, the ample documentation concerning fourteen advanced democracies contained
in John R. Freeman, Democracies and Market: The Politics of Mixed Economies (Ithaca, N. Y: Cornell Uni-
versity Press, 1989).
13. For an excellent analysis of inevitable market failures, see Peter Murrell, "Can Neoclassical Economics
Underpin the Reform of Centrally Planned Economies?" Journal of Economic Perspectives 5, no. 4 (1991): 59-76.
14. Adam Smith, The Wealth of Nations (London: J. M. Dent and Sons, Everyman's Library Edition,
1910), 2:180-81.
some safety net for its citizens hurt by major market swings, and some alleviation
of gross inequality, democracy would not be sustainable.15 Theoretically, of
course, it would be antidemocratic to rule such public policies off the agenda of
legitimate public contestation. Thus, even in the extreme hypothetical case of a
democracy that began with a pure market economy, the very working of a mod-
ern democracy (and a modern advanced capitalist economy) would lead to the
transformation of that pure market economy into a mixed economy, or a set of
norms, regulations, policies, and institutions we have called an economic society.16
Any way we analyze the problem, democratic consolidation requires the insti-
tutionalization of a socially and politically regulated market. This requires an eco-
nomic society, which in turn requires an effective state. Even such a neoliberal
goal as narrowing the scope of public ownership (privatization) in an orderly and
legal way is almost certainly carried out more effectively by a stronger state (in
terms of capacity) than by a weaker state. A severe breakdown of the existing levels
of the economy because of state incapacity to carry out any regulatory functions
greatly compounds the problems of economic reform and of democratization.17
In summary, a modern consolidated democracy can be conceived of as being
composed of five major inter-relating arenas, each of which, to function properly,
has its own primary organizing principle. Properly understood, democracy is
more than a regime; it is an interacting system. No single arena in such a system
can function properly without some support from one, or often all, of the other
15. The working of a modern democracy will normally also result in the legal exclusion of some activi-
ties from the market, such as the sale of human organs and the sale of children for sexual services.
16. Robert Dahl's line of reasoning follows a similar development. "Democracy would almost certainly
lead to the destruction of certain economic orders [including] not only a capitalist command economy but
also a strictly free market economy.... If people who are harmed by the market have the freedom, power,
and opportunity to do so they will attempt to regulate the market so as to eliminate, or at least limit, the
damage they perceive . . . Political competition provides elected leaders with incentives for responding to
the views and votes of any organized or unorganized aggregate of people.... One way or the other, then,
over time the victims of free markets are likely to influence the government—or some government, whether
local, state, provincial, or regional—to adopt interventionist policies intended to mitigate the harm— The
upshot is, then, that every democratic country has rejected the practice, if not always the ideology, of un-
regulated competitive markets. Although it is true that a market economy exists in all democratic coun-
tries, it is also true that what exists in every democratic country is a market economy modified by govern-
ment intervention." See his "Why All Democratic Countries Have Mixed Economies," 259-82.
17. In post-Communist Europe, the Czech Republic and Hungary are well on the way to becoming in-
stitutionalized economic societies. In sharp contrast, in the Ukraine and Russia the writ of the state does
not extend far enough for us to speak of an economic society. The consequences of the lack of an economic
society are manifest everywhere. For example Russia, with a population fifteen times larger than Hungary's
and with vastly more raw materials, received only 3.6 billion dollars of direct foreign investment in 1992-93,
whereas Hungary received 9 billion dollars of direct foreign investment in the same two years. Much of the
explanation for this variance was that Hungary had a strong economic society in the area of a law, contracts,
and regulatory regime, whereas Russia had virtually no economic society and its command economy had
ceased to exist. The direct foreign investment figures are from the Wall Street Journal publication, Central
European Economic Review (Summer 1994), 6. The most cited example of market success, the Czech Re-
public, is in fact one of the clearest examples of the political crafting of a new economic society. Indeed,
Stephen Holmes argues that "Prime Minister Vaclav Klaus, far from being the antistatist he pretends to be,
is the most talented state-builder of postcommunist Europe." See Holmes, "The Politics of Economics in
the Czech Republic," East European Constitutional Review 4, no. 2 (1995): 52-55, quote from p. 52.
Table 1.1. The Five Major Arenas of a Modern Consolidated Democracy: Inter-related Principles and Mediating Fields
Primary Organizing Necessary Support Primary Mediation

Arena Principle from other Arenas upon other Arenas
Civil Freedom of Rule of law which establishes legal guarantees Interests and values of civil society are the major generators of
society association and State apparatus to enforce rights of civil society to organize if political society
communication these rights are violated Civil society generates ideas and helps monitor the state
Economic society with sufficient pluralism to support the apparatus and economic society
necessary degree of autonomy and liveliness of civil society
Political Free and inclusive Needs legitimacy in eyes of civil society Crafts constitution and major laws
society electoral contestation Needs legal guarantees anchored in rule of law and maintained Manages state apparatus
by impartial state apparatus Produces overall regulatory framework for economic society
Rule Constitutionalism A legal culture with strong roots in civil society and respected Establishes a hierarchy of norms that make actions by, and
of law by political society and the state apparatus upon, other arenas legitimate and predictable
State Rational-legal Normative support from civil society for rational-legal authority Imperative enforcement on civil, political, and economic societies
apparatus bureaucratic norms and its attendant monopoly of legitimate force of democratically sanctioned laws and procedures established by
Monetary support levied by political society and produced and political society
rendered to the state by a functioning economic society, which
has produced a sufficient taxable surplus
Economic Institutionalized Legal and regulatory framework produced by political society, Produces the indispensable surplus to allow the state to carry
society market respected by civil society, and enforced by the state apparatus out its collective good functions and provides a material base
for the pluralism and autonomy of civil and political societies
arenas. For example, civil society in a democracy needs the support of a rule of
law that guarantees the right of association and needs the support of a state ap-
paratus that will effectively impose legal sanctions on those who would attempt
to use illegal means to stop groups from exercising their democratic right to or-
ganize. Furthermore, each arena in the democratic system has an effect on other
arenas. For example, political society crafts the constitution and major laws,
manages the state apparatus, and produces the overall regulatory framework for
economic society. In a consolidated democracy, therefore, there are constant
mediations between the arenas, each of which is correctly in the "field" of forces
emanating from the other arenas (table 1.1).
2
"Stateness," Nationalism, and

Democratization
IN THIS C H A P T E R we turn to the issue of stateness, a variable so undertheo-

rized but so critical to democracy as to require a full analysis before we proceed.
Our focus is on the relationship between state, nation(s), and democracy.1 A
modern democratic state is based on the participation of the demos (the popula-
tion), and nationalism provides one possible definition of the demos, which may
or may not coincide with the demos of the state. A number of the problems we
shall analyze derive from this.
When thinking about transitions to democracy, many people tend to assume
that what is challenged is the nondemocratic regime and that with democracy a
new legitimate system is established. However, in many countries the crisis of the
nondemocratic regime is also intermixed with profound differences about what
should actually constitute the polity (or political community) and which demos
or dernoi (population or populations) should be members of that political com-
munity. When there are profound differences about the territorial boundaries of
the political community's state and profound differences as to who has the right
of citizenship in that state, there is what we call a "stateness" problem. Aspirant
modern democracies can vary immensely on this variable from those polities that
have no stateness problems to those where democracy is impossible until the
stateness problem is resolved.
The original and now classic work on democratic transitions did not give much
thought or attention to "stateness" problems because most of that literature fo-
cused on transitions in Southern Europe and Latin America, where the challenge
of competing nationalisms within one territorial state, or the question of who was
a citizen of the new democratic polity, was on the whole not a salient issue.2 Even
1. Our point about undertheorization concerns in particular the triadic inter-relationship between the
modern state, modern nationalism, and modern democracy. There have, of course, been some excellent re-
cent works on the history of the state. See, in particular, Michael Mann, The Sources of Social Power, Vol.
Two: The Rise of Classes and Nation-States, 1760-1914 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1993).
2. For example, the most influential study of democratic transitions is the four-volume work edited by
Guillermo O'Donnell, Phillipe C. Schmitter, and Laurence Whitehead, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule
(Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), which is devoted to southern Europe and Latin Amer-
ica and which contains virtually no discussion of stateness problems or even of nationalism.
Stateness, Nationalism, and Democratization 17
the competing Catalan and Basque nationalisms in Spain barely entered the theo-
retical literature because the legitimacy of Spanish stateness was managed with
reasonable success. What follows is our effort to incorporate a systematic approach
to stateness into the theory of democratic transition and consolidation. We will ap-
proach our task by exploring three different questions. Why is the existence of a
sovereign state a prerequisite for a modern democracy? Why are state-building and
nation-building conceptually and historically different processes? And, most im-
portantly, when are nation-states and democracy complementary or conflicting
logics, and what can be done to craft democracy if they are conflicting logics?
A SOVEREIGN STATE AS A P R E R E Q U I S I T E TO DEMOCRACY
Democracy is a form of governance of a modern state. Thus, without a state,

no modern democracy is possible.3 These assertions hold true both theoretically
and empirically. Let us look at some of the basic definitions of the state to see why
this is so. Max Weber provides a classic and clearly focused discussion of the cen-
tral attributes of the state in modern societies.
The primary formal characteristics of the modern state are as follows: It possesses an adminis-
trative and legal order subject to change by legislation, to which the organized corporate activ-
ity of the administrative staff, which is also regulated by legislation, is oriented. This system of
order claims binding authority, not only over the members of the state, the citizens, most of
whom have obtained membership by birth, but also to a very large extent, over all action tak-
ing place in the area of its jurisdiction. It is thus a compulsory association with a territorial
basis. Furthermore, today, the use offeree is regarded as legitimate only so far as it is either per-
mitted by the state or prescribed by it The claim of the modern state to monopolize the use
of force is as essential to it as its character of compulsory jurisdiction and of continuous orga-
nization.4
Charles Tilly offers a more recent formulation, which also calls attention to the
state's ability to control the population in the territory. For Tilly, "an organization
which controls the population occupying a definite territory is a state in so far as
(1) it is differentiated from other organizations operating in the same territory;
(2) it is autonomous [and] (3) its divisions are formally coordinated with one an-
other."5
3. To be sure, other forms of social organization than a modern state, including préstate (or even state-
less) forms of political organizations, might—as anthropologists have correctly noted—use democratic
procedures to reach decisions. Such forms of decision making are, however, fundamentally different from
our use of the term political democracy as a form of authority creation in a modern state.
4. Max Weber, "The Fundamental Concepts of Sociology," in Talcott Parsons, ed., The Theory of Social
and Economic Organization (New York: Free Press, 1964), 156.
5. Charles Tilly, "Reflections on the History of European Statemaking," in Charles Tilly, ed., The For-
mation of National States in Western Europe (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1975), 70. In the same
definition, Tilly also says that states should be "centralized." We omit this so as not to introduce confusion
about federal states, which, as long as they are "formally coordinated," in Tilly's sense, can of course be
i8 Theoretical Overview
Unless an organization with these statelike attributes exists in a territory, a gov-

ernment (even if "democratically elected") could not effectively exercise its claim
to the monopoly of the legitimate use of force in the territory, could not collect
taxes (and thus provide any public services), and could not implement a judicial
system. As our discussion of the five arenas of a consolidated democracy made
clear, without these capacities there can be no democratic governance. Logically
and empirically, therefore, the argument leads to the same conclusion, that the
absence of an organization with the attributes of a modern state (as in Somalia in
1992-94) precludes democratic governance over the whole territory of the state,
although it might not preclude areas of segmented political authority.
If one accepts (as we do) Weber's injunction about an organization needing to
claim binding authority successfully in a territory before it is a state and Tilly's re-
quirement that a state be "autonomous," it should also be clear that these are
severe (and we believe insurmountable) limits to democracy unless the territorial
entity is recognized as a sovereign state. We will develop this argument via an ex-
cursus on Hong Kong. The basic agreement between the United Kingdom and the
People's Republic of China (PRC) in 1984 accords fundamental constitutional
prerogatives to the People's Republic of China; until the latter becomes democratic
or cedes independence to Hong Kong, Hong Kong cannot become a democracy,
despite the growing scope and strength of democratic movements there.
The initial 1984 formulation, "One Country, Two Systems," and the agreement
promising the preservation of the existing legal, economic, social and political
systems of Hong Kong for fifty years from July i, 1997, illustrate very well the limits
of democratization without statehood. If we substitute the expression "one coun-
try" by "one state," it becomes evident that the decision about what kind of polit-
ical system should prevail is ultimately in the hands ofthat state. The People's Re-
public, for its own reasons, particularly its plans for the reunification of Macao
and above all Taiwan with the PRC, might be willing to grant more or less auton-
omy and self-government to the special administrative region of Hong Kong. But
that decision will ultimately be in the hands of the Chinese government. Only
those institutions guaranteed by the agreement between the United Kingdom
(UK) and China would have some likelihood of persisting as part of an interna-
tional treaty, and that is the reason why the government in Beijing has consistently
rejected any institutional reforms that would even approach what we would call
political democracy in Hong Kong.6
states. For an excellent short analysis of the emergence of the modern state, see the historically and con-
ceptually well-grounded book by Gianfranco Poggi, The Developement of the Modern State: A Sociological
Introduction (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1978).
6. For example, a careful reader of the proposed constitutional structure after 1997 will note that the po-
litical system in Hong Kong, as presently envisioned by the 1984 agreement, would not meet our criteria for a
democracy because the government of Hong Kong would not be elected but would be appointed by Beijing from
a list of three people jointly proposed by representatives of Hong Kong and the People's Republic of China.
The case of Hong Kong illustrates a problem not discussed in the literature on
democratization. Is it possible to create and have a functioning democratic polit-
ical subsystem within a nondemocratic state? Can a democratic political sub-
system exist within the overall framework of a totalitarian or post-totalitarian
state? Politically, probably not—because of the example that it would provide for
the citizens of the larger unit to see one region enjoying freedoms to which they
would not have access. This dissonance would generate a persistent temptation
for the sovereign state to subvert those democratic institutions. But there is a
more serious and principled constitutional difficulty. The state would still have
the right to modify the political status of any component unit. Certainly, to do so
might generate a serious political conflict, and a Dahlian calculus of the cost of re-
pression, compared to the cost of toleration, might incline the sovereign state to
tolerate democratic institutions in part of the country. Even so, the delimitation
of areas of decision-making reserved to what we would call a federal subunit, and
other areas of decision-making to the nondemocratic central government would
leave important decisions totally outside of democratic control. In any democratic
federal state, the citizens of a subunit obviously have their share in the decision-
making process in the center through democratic participation in the federal rep-
resentative bodies. But in a system that is nondemocratic at the center, they would
have no share, and the nondemocratic system would make the most important
decisions. Thus, a Hong Kong-like unit would not meet either of Robert A. Dahl's
two necessary criteria for a democratic federation, his requirement that "in a fed-
eral system a national majority cannot prevail over a minority that happens to
constitute a majority in one of the local units that is constitutionally privileged"
(because Hong Kong has no constitutionally guaranteed privileged status) or his
requirement that all units in the federation must be democratic and thus that all
political rights of individual citizens must be respected.7
In a nondemocratic system, like the colonial rule of Britain over India, there
may be extremely important democratic developments and there may be some
form of power sharing and significant consultation with democratic elected rep-
resentatives, but any such system, by our definition of political democracy, could
not have been a democracy in view of the reserved powers held by Westminster
until the United Kingdom recognized the independence of India. Democracy re-
quires statehood. Without a sovereign state, there can be no secure democracy.8
7. For Dahl's short but classic discussion of democratic federalism and the inherent (but acceptable)
limits that a federal system implies for some categories of democratic decisions by some of the citizens of
the state, see Robert A. Dahl, Democracy, Liberty, and Equality (Oslo: Norwegian University Press, 1986),
114-26. Quote from 115.
8. Divided but independent and sovereign states such as North and South Korea and Taiwan and the
People's Republic of China can produce democracy in one component, but elite perceptions of security
threats may privilege military or intelligence organizations and add special complications to the process of
democratization. For example, democratization in Taiwan was gravely complicated by the legal fiction that
the Republic of China (controlling defacto only Taiwan and some nearby islands) claimed to represent all
STATES AND STATE-BUILDING, NATIONS AND NATION-BUILDING
Having established the indispensability of a modern state for democracy, we

next examine why state-building and nation-building are two overlapping but
conceptually and historically different processes. To the extent that state-building
and nation-building are not tightly overlapping and largely inseparable pro-
cesses—and we show they often are not—the interaction of the two processes can
produce problems for both stateness and democratization.
State-building accelerated with the crisis of feudalism and the development of
the Renaissance and the Reformation.9 It was the result of the crisis of the Chris-
tian empire and the rivalries between emerging monarchies in Western and later
Northern Europe. The state, as the great historian Burckhardt noted, was a "work
of art" and since its beginnings has had an artificial quality.10 It is no accident
that, in describing that process, architectonic images were invoked. The state-
building process did not have the connotations of an organic growth that would
prevail in the later discussions of nationalism. The state was not associated with
the idea of nature, of organic birth, but with the ideas of creation and craft.
The state-building process went on for several centuries before the idea of the
nation—and especially the "nation-state"—fired the imaginations of intellectu-
als and the people. In fact, the state-building process contributed decisively to the
slow reduction of the hundreds of political entities on the historical map of Eu-
rope in 1500 to only about 25 by 1900.n Until the French Revolution, the support
by the French Republic of republican independence in its periphery, and later the
support by Napoleon of some nationalist movements, and the nationalist re-
sponse to Napoleonic domination, the state-building process went on without
being based on a national sentiment, identity, or consciousness.12 States as they
Chinese people and that therefore seats were reserved for "representatives" from the mainland who were
not continuously subject to election. They had "prolonged mandates," and after their deaths substitutes
were appointed. Furthermore, to argue for separate statehood for Taiwan was illegal. The fiction of return
to China was one of the rationales for continued authoritarian rule. Significantly, the transition to democ-
racy in progress in Taiwan has led to the abandonment of the reserved seats and the prolonged mandates
and to an open debate about independence for Taiwan. For the recent changes in Taiwan, see Chia-lung Lin,
"Political Elites and Democratic Consolidation in Taiwan: Institutional Connection in a Divided Society"
(paper presented at the First Annual Taiwan Studies Conference in North America, Yale University, June 2-4,
1995).
9. For a more detailed and documented discussion (from which we will draw heavily), see Juan J. Linz,
"State Building and Nation Building," European Review i (1993): 355-69. We are grateful to the publishers
of European Review for giving us permission to draw from that article in this chaper. Also see Juan J. Linz,
"Plurinazionalismo e democrazia," Revista Italiana di scienza política 25, no. i (1995): 21-50.
10. J. Burckhardt, Die Kultur der Renaissance in Italien (Bern: Hallwag, 1943). The book opens with a sec-
tion entitled "Der Staat als Kunstwerk," 11-144. The book was first published in 1860 and remains a key text.
11. See, for example, the map depicting the 300 small petty states and free cities in existence in 1648 in
what is now the single state of Germany in Geoffry Barraclough, The Times Concise Atlas of World History
(London: Times Books, 1982), 79.
12. Often the literature on nationalism explicitly or implicitly draws a strong line of causal connection
between the French Revolution and nationalism. Historically and conceptually, the relationship was much
emerged after the fifteenth century did not require intense identification of their
subjects with territorial boundaries, history, culture, or language. Indeed, state
identification and loyalty were often expected to be transferable merely by virtue
of dynastic marriages. That is, loyalty belonged to the dynasty, not to the nation
(which in many cases had not yet been "invented").
However, there can be little doubt that the identification with a state by the
subjects or the loyalty to a common king of people living in the different units
making up the modern monarchies was accompanied by a protonational senti-
ment.13 Sooner or later, in many of the states, the state generated a state nation-
building process and eventually, with democratization, a nation-building process.
This brings us to the difficult terms of nation and nation-state.14
For Weber the concept of nation belongs to the sphere of values; it "means
above all that it is proper to expect from certain groups a specific sentiment of sol-
idarity in the face of other groups."15 As Weber also notes, there is no agreement
on how these groups should be delimited or about what concerted action should
result from such solidarity. In ordinary language, a nation is not necessarily iden-
tical with the people of the state, that is, with the membership in a given polity.
This does not mean that it cannot be identical, but it does not have to be. The
situation before the recent German unification illustrates the difference quite
clearly. There were two states, although there was a claim shared by many people,
finally expressed in the breakdown of the German Democratic Republic (GDR)
and in the expression Wir sind ein Volk, that there was a German nation divided
between two states.16
more complex. The French Revolution did not export nationalism, since the republics it created in Batavia
and Helvetia were an instrument of exploitative armies and the French occupation. If there is a relation be-
tween nationalism and the French Revolution, it is the arousal of counter-revolutionary popular responses
sometime after the failure of the dynastic rulers, politicians, and diplomats to defend the people, who then
took sovereignty into their own hands (as in the Spanish resistance to Napoleon). Nor was the aim of gain-
ing the French "natural borders" in any way based on modern conceptions of the nation but rather on the
interests of the French state. Napoleon I, in redrawing the map of Europe, did not endeavor to create nation-
states to be ruled by his brothers and generals, but assigned to them old states—kingdoms—like Spain and
Naples or created states, like Westphalia.
13. See the important work by Liah Greenfeld, Nationalism: Five Roads to Modernity (Cambridge: Har-
vard University Press, 1992).
14. Although we speak of the United Nations of the world, we are really dealing with the united states
of the world. The UN, if the trademark US had not been pre-empted by the United States of America,
should have been called the US.
15. For his discussion of nationalism, see Max Weber, "Political Communities," in Guenther Roth and
Klaus Wittich, eds., Economy and Society (New York: Bedminster Press, 1968), 11: 921-26.
16. M. Rainer Lepsius, "Ethnos and Demos," in Interessen, Ideen und Institutionen (Opladen: West-
deutscher Verlag, 1990), 250-51,232-46. The constituent assembly in Austria in 1919, in article i of their draft
constitution, voted, with only one dissenting vote, to merge with Germany, but the merger was forbidden,
for geopolitical reasons, by the victors of World War I. This left a legacy of stateness problems that weak-
ened democracy in both interwar Austria and Germany. See Walter B. Simon, "Democracy in the Shadow
of Imposed Sovereignty: The First Republic of Austria," in Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, eds., The Break-
down of Democratic Regimes: Europe (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978), 80-121; for the vote
see 83.
Let us now turn to some of the more significant differences between states and
nations. A nation does not have officials, and there are no defined leadership roles,
although there are individuals who act as carriers, in the Weberian sense of Träger,
of the national sentiment in movements or nationalistic organizations. There are
no clear rules about membership in a nation and no defined rights and duties that
can be legitimately enforced (although nationalists often attempt to enforce be-
havior on the part of those who identify with the nation or who they claim should
identify with it). However, without control of the state, the desired behaviors can-
not be legally or even legitimately enforced. A nation and nationalist leaders in its
name do not have resources like coercive powers or taxes to demand obedience;
only a state can provide those resources to achieve national goals in a binding way.
The nation as such, therefore, does not have any organizational characteristics
comparable with those of the state. It has no autonomy, no agents, no rules, but
only the resources derived from the psychological identification of the people
who constitute it. Whereas a state can exist on the basis of external conformity
with its rules, a nation requires some internal identification. Benedict Anderson
is quite right. Without "imagined communities" there are no nations.17
It can, of course, be argued that a nation crystallizing out of a nationalist move-
ment, even when it does not control a state, can exercise power, use violence, or
exact contributions without having yet gained statehood. But in a world system
of states this means that the movement is taking over some of the functions of an-
other state, subverting its order, so that a state is breaking down in the process.
Nationalists can create private armies to enforce their aspirations and challenge
the authority of the state, which in some cases can lose control over a territory. In
that case we are talking of the development of a civil war or a national liberation
struggle, which might end in the creation of a new state.
Whereas we date the emergence of the modern state to the fifteenth century,
modern ideas of the nation and modern nationalism did not emerge until the late
eighteenth century, and nation-states became major forces only in the second half
of the nineteenth century.18 But although historically "nations" started appearing
in the nineteenth century, mostly in the second half of the nineteenth century,
17. See his excellent book, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism
(London: Verso, 1991), revised and expanded edition, 141.
18. For somewhat different reasons, Benedict Anderson and Ernest Gellner concurred in 1983, when
their major books on nationalism were both first published, that nationalism as we define it emerged in the
late eighteenth century. For Anderson, "nationality... as well as nationalism, are cultural artifacts of a par-
ticular kind I will be trying to argue that the creation of these artifacts towards the end of the eighteenth
century was the spontaneous distillation of a complex 'crossing' of discrete historical forces." Anderson,
Imagined Communities, 4. He gives particular attention to the diffusion of print-language: "Print-language
is what invents nationalism, not a particular language per se." Ibid., 134. His analysis of the emergence of
nationalism, before industrialization, and where language differences were not important, in North and
South America, is original and convincing. Ibid., 47-66. For Gellner it was the emergence of industrializa-
tion that required a high and literate culture, a division of labor, and especially a complex educational sys-
tem to socialize people beyond their immediate locales. For Gellner, "the imperatives of exo-socialization
only a few of them served as a basis for state-building processes; they included
Italy, Germany, Greece, and, in a unique way, Hungary within the dual monarchy.
Belgium is a particularly interesting case: a state gaining independence from the
Netherlands in 1830 (although with a political distinctiveness since the sixteenth
century) might, at some point, have seemed to engage in a nation-state-building
process, but in the twentieth century, challenged by Flemish nationalism, it cre-
ated political institutions and practices that made it a democratic multinational
state. Hungarian nationalism was among the strongest of the nineteenth century,
but the crown of St. Stephen extended its authority over a multinational state.
Historians of Italy disagree to what extent the Risorgimento and unification were
more a process of state-building under the leadership of Cavour than of nation-
building led by Mazzini and Garibaldi.19 Although in Germany there was a strong
nationalist movement behind the unification process, the German Reich was
more the product of state-building by Bismarck than by the nationalists.
The peace treaties after World War I represented a high point of nation-building,
with the proclamation by Wilson of the principle of self-determination. But the
new states that emerged after 1918 were not in fact all nation-states. In Czechoslo-
vakia, Czechs and Slovaks accounted for 64.8 percent of the population in the new
republic, the Germans 23.6 percent, Ruthenians 3.5 percent, Jews 1.4 percent and
"other" 6.7 percent. In Poland, the Poles were 69.2 percent, the Ukrainians 14.3
percent, the Jews 7.8 percent, the Germans 3.9 percent and the Russians 3.9 per-
cent. In Latvia, the "titular nationality" was 73.4 percent, in Lithuania 80.1 percent,
in Estonia 87.6 percent. The disintegration of three empires into a number of new
states and the redrawing of boundaries between states were not directly the result
of the efforts of nation-building movements. Of the new states emerging from the
Paris peace treaties or those whose territories were expanded, it is difficult to
argue that most were nation-states for significant parts of their population were
not part of the dominant nationality. Listing some of the states makes it obvious:
Yugoslavia, Czechoslovakia, Poland, the enlarged Romania, Lithuania, and Latvia.
The dominant "nations" (or populations) in those new states, namely Serbs,
Czechs, Poles, Lithuanians or Latvians, could feel "liberated," but not those peoples
is the main clue to why state and culture must now be linked, whereas in the past their connection was thin,
fortuitous, varied, loose, and often minimal. Now it is unavoidable. That is what nationalism is about, and
why we live in an age of nationalism." See Ernest Gellner, Nations and Nationalism (Ithaca: Cornell Uni-
versity Press, 1983), 38.
For an important analysis that acknowledges that most modern scholarship dates nationalism as a
movement and ideology of the late eighteenth century but argues for the vitality of "greater continuity be-
tween pre-modern ethnies and ethnocentrism and more modern nations and nationalism," see Anthony D.
Smith, National Identity (London: Penguin Books, 1991), 43-70. Quotation from 52. Also see the previously
cited book by Liah Greenfeld, Nationalism: Five Roads to Modernity. For a pioneering theoretical and em-
pirical work on nationalism in Europe, see Guy Hermet, Les nationalismes en Europe (Paris: Editions du
Seuil, 1996).
19. H. Ullrich, "Bürgertum und Nationale Bewegung im Italien des Risorgimentos," in O. Dann, ed., Na-
tionalismus und Sozialer Wandel (Hamburg: Hoffman und Cape, 1978).
subjected to them, if they had or later developed a separate national conscious-

ness, like the Croats and Slovenians in Yugoslavia, Sudeten Germans in Czecho-
slovakia, Germans and Ukrainians in Poland, or even the different minorities in
the Baltic countries. The degree of respect for or repression of the minorities varied
in the different states. The idea of multinational states was sometimes advocated,
although rarely implemented, due to the appeal of the idea of "nation-building."
Indeed, the difficulty faced by the new states was that of successful state-building.
One could historically analyze how, in a number of cases, the priority given to
nation-building in the state contributed to democratic instability, crisis, and
sometimes demise in later decades of the state itself. Of the eight new states
formed in Europe after World War I, only three—Finland, Czechoslovakia and
Ireland—were stable democracies. In contrast, of the fifteen older states, nine re-
mained stable democracies. None of the successor states of the defeated Ottoman
or Romanov empires, with the exception of Finland, became a stable democracy.20
This rather sad record of the link between the emergence of modern nation-
building states and consolidated democracy leads us to our central concern in this
chapter. Neither of the two brilliant books by the most influential scholars of
modern nationalism, Ernest Gellner or Benedict Anderson, is centrally concerned
with the links among nationalism, states, and democracy.21 The rest of this chap-
ter will be devoted to this subject.
N A T I O N - S T A T E S A N D D E M O C R A T I Z A T I O N : I N C O N V E N I E N T FACTS
Under what empirical conditions do "nation-states" and "democratization" form

complementary logics? Under what conditions do they form conflicting logics? If
they form conflicting logics, what types of practices and institutions will make
democratic consolidation most or least likely?
Many political thinkers and activists assume that Weberian states, nation-
states, and democracy cohere as part of the very grammar of modern polities. And
20. See J. Linz, "La crisis de las democracias," in Mercedes Cabrera et al., eds., Europa en crisis, 1919-1939
(Madrid: Editorial Pablo Iglesias, 1991), 231-80. For our purposes Finland is especially interesting. Finland
was close to being a homogeneous nation-state. However, Finland had a Swedish-speaking minority. In the
successful effort to craft state loyalty, Finland made Swedish one of the two national languages and granted
broad citizenship rights. In this context the Swedish minority easily developed loyalty to the democratic
state of Finland while retaining important Swedish cultural institutions, which were recognized as legiti-
mate by the Finnish state.
21. Indeed, neither even mentions democracy in his extensive index. Gellner, in some of his other works,
most particularly, Conditions of Liberty: Civil Society and Its Rivals (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1994), is
concerned with democratic practices. However, his central intellectual preoccupation in Nations and Na-
tionalism is with the emergence of industrialization and nationalism. In the overall corpus of his work, he
sees nationalism (and democracy) as complicated offshoots of industrialization. We believe that Gellner's
explanation, especially for an empirically based analysis of the actual emergence and variety of democra-
cies in the world, is excessively functionalist. It neglects among other things the international diffusion ef-
fect of democracy to polities such as India or many countries in the British Caribbean that subsequently
became long-standing democracies without undergoing extensive industrialization.
in a world where France, Germany, Portugal, Greece, Japan, and Sweden are all
Weberian states, nation-states, and democracies, such an assumption may seem
justified. Yet in many countries that are not yet consolidated democracies, a
nation-state policy often has a different logic than a democratic policy. By a
nation-state policy we mean one in which the leaders of the state pursue what
Rogers Brubaker calls "nationalizing state policies" aimed at increasing cultural
homogeneity. Consciously or unconsciously, the leaders send messages that the
state should be "of and for" the nation.22 In the constitutions they write, there-
fore, and in the politics they practice, the dominant nation's language becomes
the only official language and occasionally the only acceptable language for state
business and for public (and possibly private) schooling, the religion of the
nation is privileged (even if it is not necessarily made the official religion), and the
cultural symbols of the dominant nation are also privileged in all state symbols
(such as the flag, the national anthem, and even eligibility for some types of mil-
itary service) and in all of the state-controlled means of socialization such as
radio, television and textbooks. By contrast, democratic policies in the state-
making process are those that emphasize a broad and inclusive citizenship where
all citizens are accorded equal individual rights.
Under what empirical conditions are the logics of state policies aimed at nation-
building and the logics of state policies aimed at crafting democracy congruent?
Conflicts between these different policies are reduced when empirically almost all
the residents of a state identify with one subjective idea of the nation, and that
nation is virtually contiguous with the state. These conditions are met only if
there is no significant irredenta outside the state's boundaries, if there is only one
nation existing (or awakened) in the state, and if there is low cultural diversity
within the state. Virtually only in these circumstances can leaders of the govern-
ment simultaneously pursue democratization policies and nation-state policies.
Such congruence between the polity and the demos would facilitate the creation
of a democratic nation-state. This congruence empirically eliminates most state-
ness problems and thus should be considered supportive conditions for demo-
cratic consolidation. However, under modern circumstances, very few states that
are nondemocratic will begin a possible democratic transition with a very high
degree of nation-state homogeneity.23 This inconvenient fact for nation-state
proponents is insufficiently recognized and/or taken into serious consideration
and tends to exacerbate problems of stateness.
22. See Rogers Brubaker, "National Minorities, Nationalizing States, and External Homelands in the
New Europe: Notes toward a Relational Analysis" (May 1994, unpublished manuscript), which we received
after completing an earlier draft of this chapter.
23. For example, of the set of states we consider in this book, only Portugal, Greece, Poland, Chile,
Uruguay, and Argentina began their transitions anywhere near to the position of ideal typical "nation-
state" homogeneity. The former USSR, Yugoslavia, and Czechoslovakia now constitute 22 states. In Spain,
Romania, and Bulgaria, more than one nation resided in the state. In Hungary many Hungarian "nation-
als" live beyond the border of the state in Romania, Slovakia and Serbia. Brazil is a special case, given its
great racial and socioeconomic diversity.
Very often, the nationalist aspirations of political leaders are incongruent with
the empirical realities of the demoi (populations) in their state. There are many
sorts of polis/demos incongruence, and all of them create problems for demo-
cratic consolidation unless carefully addressed. There are in fact many states (not
merely governments) whose legitimacy is questioned. One of the main reasons
for questioning the legitimacy of a state is when there are nationality groups that
claim the right of national self-determination and where dominant or (to use the
Soviet phrase) "titular nationality" groups deny the de facto, multinational char-
acter of the state, reject any compromise with other groups, and exclude them
from full citizenship. Another reason to question the state is when a large major-
ity of citizens of one state want to join another state, normally because—like Aus-
trians in 1919 or East Germans in 1989—they consider themselves a part of that
state, a state that is conceived of as embodying the nation-state.
A further complication for democracy and occasionally even for interstate
peace arises when a large minority in a country is, or could be, considered by a
neighboring state as an irredenta. The potential for exacerbation of this latent con-
flict is increased if the leaders of the titular nation try to pursue an aggressive na-
tion-building policy that alienates the minorities, who then turn to the neighbor-
ing country for support. Such a nation-building policy in turn may fan extremist
nationalism in the neighboring country, which in a vicious cycle could delegit-
imize the government for not defending the interests of their "co-nationals" or for
not militantly pursuing an irredentist policy. However it starts, when irredentist
politics become dominant they represent a serious strain on democracy in both the
external "homeland" of the minority and the neighboring nation-building state.24
The neglect in the literature on democratic transition and consolidation of the
question of the legitimacy of the state is unfortunate because this variable, while
not always of great importance for nondemocratic polities, is of fundamental the-
oretical and political importance for democracy. In fact, agreements about state-
ness are logically prior to the creation o/democratic institutions. The classic state-
ment of this problem is by Robert A. Dahl: "We cannot solve the problems of the
proper scope and domain of democratic units from within democratic theory.
Like the majority principle, the democratic process presupposes a unit. The crite-
ria of the democratic process presuppose the rightfulness of the unit itself. If the unit
itself is not [considered] proper or rightful—if its scope or domain is not justifi-
able—then it cannot be made rightful simply by democratic procedures."25
24. This sets into motion a contested field of forces between the triad of "nationalizing states, national
minorities and external homelands" so well discussed in the previously cited article by Rogers Brubaker.
For example, the Armenian irredenta in Nagorno-Karabagh gravely complicated the democratization
process in Armenia. If Yasir Arafat convinces the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) to democratize
Gaza and Jericho as the nucleus of a Palestinian state, he will face the challenge of those who consider the
West Bank an irredenta.
25. See Robert A. Dahl, Democracy and Its Critics (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), 207. Em-
phasis in the original. After a visit to the Soviet Union, Dahl amplified his thoughts on this theme in
"Democracy, Majority Rule, and Gorbachev's Referendum," Dissent, (Fall 1991): 491-96.
We do not believe that Dahl's important observation would mean that state-
ness problems are always unsolvable. Rather, complex negotiations, pacts, and
possibly territorial realignments and consociational agreements are often neces-
sary before the majority formula will be accepted as legitimately binding. But, as
Dahl argues, simple insistence on the majority formula per se will not do anything
until the appropriateness of the unit is established.
Here democratic regimes contrast particularly sharply with any nondemocratic
regime whether it is "authoritarian," "sultanistic," "totalitarian," or "post-totali-
tarian."26 Agreements about the territorial domain of the state are not necessarily
prior for a nondemocratic regime. A nondemocratic regime may be able to im-
pose acquiescence over large groups of people for a long period of time without
threatening the coherence of the state. In a nondemocratic regime, the fact that
central authority is not derived and maintained by free electoral competition
means that separatist or irredentist aspirations, if they exist, are not routinely ap-
pealed to in the course of normal politics and can possibly be simply suppressed.
In sharp contrast, the very definition of a democracy involves agreement by the
citizens of a territory, however specified, on the procedures to be used to generate
a government that can make legitimate claims on their obedience. Therefore, if a
significant group of people does not accept claims on its obedience as legitimate,
because the people do not want to be a part of the political unit, however demo-
cratically it is constituted, this presents a serious problem for democratic transi-
tion and even more serious problems for democratic consolidation.27
The degree to which inhabitants accept the domain and scope of a territorial
unit as an appropriate entity to make legitimate decisions about its possible future
restructuring is thus a key variable for democratic theory. A hypothesis that de-
rives from this therefore is that the greater the percentage of people in a given ter-
ritory who feel that they do not want to be members ofthat territorial unit, how-
ever it may be reconstituted, the more difficult it will be to consolidate a single
democracy within that unit.
Agreements about the citizenship in the state are also not necessarily essential
in a nondemocratic regime. A national majority—linguistic, religious, ethnic, or
cultural—often imposes its rule or conception of the state on minorities. The
government, "claiming to represent the people," cannot be challenged through
potentially authoritative and binding institutional channels (e.g., courts and open
and free elections) because in a nondemocracy such appeal channels do not exist.
The problems of "exclusion" of minorities from the electoral franchise or the
26. Each of these nondemocratic regime types is defined and analyzed in chapter 3.
27. In fact, even in democratic regimes, when faced with a majority or a significant minority that ques-
tions the legitimacy of the state, the response of the central democratic government has often been the sup-
pression of democratic process in the territory, the establishment of nondemocratic direct rule, and some-
times serious violations of civil liberties and even human rights. We only have to mention Northern Ireland
or Kashmir to make this point.
rights of full citizenship are also less politically salient in the nondemocratic con-
text because everyone is normally excluded from such rights.
But in a democratic transition, two potentially explosive questions are un-
avoidable: Who is a citizen in the state? And how are the rules of citizenship de-
fined? A democracy requires a definition of the demos. Already the notion of
demos as "the people" raises a question: Who are the people? The German word
for people, Volk, makes obvious that the definition of the demos presents prob-
lems. We would feel easier if we could say that the demos is the citizens—with its
individualistic connotation—rather than the collectivistic people, Volk, or Nation.
But it is only a partial solution, since we must then ask: Who defines citizenship,
and how? Traditionally two main principles have been used: ius sanguinis (citi-
zenship by descent) or ius soli (citizenship by the singular virtue of having been
born in the country). There is also a third principle, which involves the doubly
voluntaristic acts of asking for and being granted citizenship. Citizenship in any
of these three ways relates to the state: desceñí normally refers to descent from cit-
izens of the state, sometimes for generations immemorial, without asking ques-
tions about language, religion, race, or subjective identity. The relation to the state
is even more obvious in the case of the ius soli, to be born within the territorial
limits of a state. Citizenship based on petition is of course the most closely linked
to the state because those who want to be citizens have to be granted it, by law or
concession, by the state.
This brings us back to our basic affirmation: modern democratic governance
is inevitably linked to stateness. Without a state, there can be no citizenship; with-
out citizenship, there can be no democracy. This assertion is not to be confused
with the Hobbesian notion that no form of organized society can exist without a
state. As anthropologists have repeatedly shown, many kinds of belonging, of
membership, in a community do not entail formal citizenship. Our contention,
however, is that there can be no complex modern democracy without voting, no
voting without citizenship, and no official membership in the community of cit-
izens without a state to certify membership. In the Latin American and Southern
European transitions, questions about the definition of citizenship in the state did
not arise. Citizenship had been defined by the citizenship (nationality) laws be-
fore the emergence of nondemocratic rule, maintained under authoritarian rule
(except for some cassados who were deprived of their political rights under the
Brazilian dictatorship), and did not change fundamentally in the process of de-
mocratization. Even in Spain, where some extreme nationalists in the Basque
country and Catalonia denied legitimacy to the state, the question of demos, of
who was a citizen in the Spanish state, never became for the Spanish state an issue.
The legal status of being a Spanish citizen was never denied to any Basque or
Catalan armed militant or separatist. Unlike the USSR, there never was a place for
nationality on the identification card of the Spanish state. Any Spanish citizen,
whatever his or her language, national self-identification, or area of birth had and
has equal political and civil rights in all territorial units of the Spanish state.
The starting situation in some of the states of Eastern Europe and the former
Soviet Union was radically different, however. The twentieth-century history of
the demise of the Austro-Hungarian and Soviet empires, the ebb and flow of Nazi
and Soviet expansionism, the attendant brutal expulsions and marches of peo-
ples, and the massive redrawing of borders have made the question of stateness
and nation especially problematic. Many individuals in this part of the world have
been citizens or subjects of three or more states in the course of their lifetimes
without ever moving from their birthplaces. Post-Communist Europe therefore
is a region where, for reasons of recent history and not merely "primordial senti-
ments," there are disagreements about who is the demos, what is the polis, and,
most of all, what, in Robert Dahl's sense, are the proper units for decision-making
and state sovereignty. Let us quote again another of Robert A. Dahl's sobering re-
flections:
It is particularly important that the domain—the persons who comprise the unit—be clearly
bounded. This is doubtless one reason why territorial boundaries, although not strictly essen-
tial, are so often used to specify the domain of a unit, particularly if they reflect obvious his-
torical or geophysical factors. Conversely, the more indeterminate the domain and scope, the
more likely that the unit would, if established, become embroiled in jurisdictional squabbles or even
civil wars.28
Democracy is characterized not by subjects but by citizens, so a democratic

transition often puts the polis/demos questions at the center of politics. From all
that has been said thus far, three assertions can be made:
1. The more the population of the territory of the state is composed of pluri-
national, lingual, religious, or cultural societies, the more complex politics be-
comes because an agreement on the fundamentals of a democracy will be more
difficult.
2. Although this does not mean that democracy cannot be consolidated in
multinational or multicultural states, it does mean that considerable political
crafting of democratic norms, practices, and institutions must take place.
3. Some ways of dealing with the problems of stateness are inherently incom-
patible with democracy.29
Probably the first thing clear thinking demands on this subject is that we de-
liberately problematize some facile assumptions. One of the most dangerous
28. Dahl, Democracy and Its Critics, 207. Emphasis added.

29. Obviously, for purposes of this book, the problems confronted by Eastern Europe and especially the
former Soviet Union and Yugoslavia were understandably much greater than the political problems of any
of the Southern European, South American, or even Central European cases we consider.
ideas for democracy can be summed in the maxim that "every state should strive
to become a nation-state and every nation should become a state." In fact, in our
judgment it is probably impossible that half the territories in the world that are
not now democratic could ever simultaneously become nation-states and consol-
idated democracies as we have defined these terms.
One of the reasons for this inconvenient fact is that many of the existing states
in the world are multinational, multilingual, and multicultural.30 To make them
nation-states by democratic means is extremely difficult. In structurally embedded
multicultural settings, almost the only democratic possibilities for the creation of
a homogeneous nation-state are voluntary cultural assimilation, voluntary exit,
or peaceful creation of new territorial boundaries, financially supported and
monitored by the international community, and accepted by all the political
leaders. These are truly heroic (and empirically and democratically difficult) as-
sumptions.31
The other possibilities for creating a homogeneous nation-state in discongruent
settings involve subtle or not so subtle sanctions against those not speaking the
language, wearing the national attire, or practicing the religion of the titular na-
tion. Eugene Weber, in his classic study, Peasants into Frenchmen, analyzes in ex-
tensive detail the wide repertoire of nation-state-mandated policies in the
schools, civil service, and military that were systematically designed to repress
and eliminate multilingualism and multiculturalism.32 The French state, inspired
by the Jacobin idea of the nation unie et indivisible, eventually succeeded in over-
coming the cultural and linguistic heterogeneity of France. The purposeful
process of nation-building by the French state was an incredible success, which
contrasts with the more limited success of the Spanish nineteenth-century lib-
eral centralist state in the same endeavor, although we should not ignore how far
Spain and the Spanish state succeeded in its effort to create a Spanish identity
30. In the early 19705, Walker Connor calculated that only 12 of the world's 132 states that were then in
existence were "essentially homogeneous from an ethnic viewpoint." See Connor, "Nation-Building or
Nation-Destroying," World Politics 24 (1972): 320. For later discussions using somewhat different criteria
that also arrived at very low estimates of the number of true nation-states in the world, see Hakan Wiberg,
"Self-determination as an International Issue," in laonn M. Lewis, ed., Nationalism and Self-determination
in the Horn of Africa (London: Ithaca Press, 1983), George Thomas Kurian, The New Book of World Ranking
(New York: Facts on File, 1991), and the various articles brought together in Walker Connor, Ethnonation-
alism: The Quest for Understanding (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994). Connor's work is partic-
ularly revealing in that he documents that all too often in modern political science the words nation-state
and state are used interchangeably by important authors within the same article. See Connor, "Termino-
logical Chaos ('A Nation Is a Nation, Is a State, Is an Ethnic Group, Is a ...')," in Ethnonationalism, esp. 8.
31. Exceptionally a national community controlling democratically the state—or one of its subunits—
might engage in a nation-building process using a wealth of resources, incentives, and limited discrimination
and have a partial success. The closest example we can think of is the linguistic "normalization" policies of
the government in Catalonia (the Generalität), which discriminate against Spanish in primary schools.
However, we should note that constitutional and political challenges to these normalization policies are
emerging.
32. See the outstanding monograph by Eugene Weber, Peasants into Frenchmen: The Modernization of
Rural France, 1870-1914 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1976).
over the centuries, particularly in the first seventy-five years of the nineteenth
century. From today's perspective those endeavors of modern states appear as far
from admirable and represent a cost that many of us would not like to pay. How-
ever, it is not just a question of how we evaluate such efforts of state-based na-
tion building but how feasible they are in the contemporary context. Our answer
on the basis of a sociological analysis is that, independent of the desirability of
such a process (which involves a value judgment), such an effort is today
doomed to failure in most societies and certainly in liberal democratic societies.
We could go into an analysis of why this is so, but we have to limit ourselves to a
few points. In the modern world, even in the less developed peripheral or mar-
ginal ethnic, cultural, linguistic minorities, every society produces an intellectual
elite which, for emotional reasons and (let us not forget) self-interest, will defend
the "primordial" values and characteristics. Such elites did not exist, as Gellner
has rightly stressed, in agrarian preindustrial societies. Today they exist even in
such agrarian societies. Under modern circumstances, where all significant
groups have writers and intellectuals who disseminate national cultures, where
communication systems have greatly increased the possibility for migrants to re-
main continuously connected to their home cultures, and where modern demo-
cratic norms accept a degree of multiculturalism, homogenizing policies, even
if not formally antidemocratic, would probably not be conducive to democratic
crafting. If the titular nation actually wants a truly homogeneous nation-state
population, a variant of the "ethnic cleansing" formula is too often a tempting
method.
Our inquiry about the impossibility of building nation-states and democracies
in some types of polities is also based on how humanity is spatially distributed in
the world. One building block for nations is possibly language. But as Ernest Gell-
ner has observed, there are perhaps as many as 8,000 languages (not counting
important dialects) in the world.33 Maybe "national communities" could be the
building block; if, however, for the sake of argument we assume that only one out
of every ten languages is a base for a "reasonably effective" nationalism, there
could be as many as 800 viable national communities.34 But the most important
inconvenient fact is not quantitative, but the existential reality that cultural, lin-
guistic, and religious groups are not neatly segmented into 8,000 or 800 nation-
alities, each occupying reasonably well-defined territories, but are profoundly
inter-mixed and overlapping. The appropriate metaphor is not the demarcated
squares of the chess board, but the inextricably blended hues and modulations of
tie-dyed cloth.
Let us review some of the spatial patterns of language and ethnicity in some
aspirant nation-states. We are not against democratically crafted "velvet divorces."
33. See Gellner, Nations and Nationalism, 44.

34. This conjecture is developed by Gellner, ibid., 44-45.
However, we should note that relatively clear cultural boundaries facilitate such
territorial separations. Latvia would like to be a nation-state. But in none of the
seven most populous cities in Latvia is Latvian spoken by a majority of the resi-
dents. In the capital of Estonia, Tallinn, quite far from the border with Russia,
barely half the people of the aspirant nation-state of Estonia speak Estonian. For
these and many other countries no simple territorial division or "velvet divorce"
is available.35
Some analysts were happy when the separate nationalities of the former USSR
became fifteen republics, all based on "titular nationalities," on the assumption
that democratic nation-states might emerge. In fact, many of the incumbents in
the republics sounded extreme nationalist (rather than democratic) themes in
the first elections. One of the possible formulas for diminishing conflict among
titular nationalities and "migrants" is what David Laitin calls the "competitive as-
similation game." That is, it becomes in the interests of many working class mi-
grants to begin to assimilate competitively to enhance the life chances of their
children in the new environment. This can potentially happen to Spanish work-
ing-class migrants in culturally and economically vibrant Catalonia. But is it
likely among Russians in Central Asia? In 1989 in Alma-Ata, the capital of Kazakh-
stan, Russians constituted 59 percent of the population and the Kazakhs, the tit-
ular nationality, 22.5 percent. Less than i percent of the Russians spoke the titular
language. In Bishkek, the capital of Kyrgyzstan, the percentages were virtually
identical. No voluntary nation-state, through a competitive assimilation process,
is plausible in this "settler colonialism" context. In these circumstances, if there
ever is to be a nation-state, it will not be achieved by democratic means. In fact,
even the effort to achieve a nation-state would only further encourage "colonial
settlers" to appeal to Zhirinovsky-type extreme nationalist leaders in Russia for
support.36
There is another inconvenient fact for nation-state advocates in multinational
settings. Many people, if they have been living in multinational states, might, for
reasons of identity (or to maintain their portfolio of multiple access points in the
economy), enjoy having multiple identities and might resist the movement to-
35. See the excellent and sobering book by Anatol Lieven, The Baltic Revolution: Estonia, Latvia, Lithua-
nia and the Path to Independence (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993), 434. Even if there is a relatively
clear cultural demarcation, as in the Russian-speaking part of Crimea, which was given to the Ukraine by
Khrushchev in 1954, or in dominantly Russian areas of northeast Kazakhstan, it is normally extremely dif-
ficult for politicians from the state-bearing nationalities to allow "secession." Prime Minister Klaus's ability
to convince his party and most Czechs that they would be economically better off without the Slovaks is
quite untypical.
36. For David Laitin's analysis of what he calls a "migrant competitive assimilation game" in Catalonia
and his analysis of a possible "colonial settler game" in the Central Asian republics of the former Soviet
Union, see Laitin, "The Four Nationality Games and Soviet Politics," Journal of Soviet Nationalities (Spring
1991): 1-37. In fact, Kazakhstan could present a particularly complicated case of conflicts between state-
bearing nationalists, Russian minorities, and political elites in the Russian "homeland." See Martha Brill
Olcott, "Kazakhstan: A Republic of Minorities," in Ian Bremmer and Ray Taras, eds., Nations and Politics in
the Soviet Successor States (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 313-30.
ward ethnic-state homogenization. Such people are normally the first targets of
coercion by ethnic-state entrepreneurs. The empirical and emotional fact is that
many human beings in the contemporary world have for a long time identified
with more than one culture and history, have intermarried, have friends of dif-
ferent nationalitites, and have moved back and forth within the state. Therefore,
it is not surprising that they may have dual identities. Nationalists, representing
both the dominant nationality in the state and the oppressed nationality, want
people to abandon such dual identities and make either-or choices. Indeed, they
often invent or structure dichotomies where none existed before. This is one of
the reasons why plebescites can be so divisive and can destroy real social bonds.
M U L T I N A T I O N A L STATES A N D D E M O C R A T I Z A T I O N :
B E Y O N D C O N F L I C T I N G LOGICS
So how can democracy possibly be achieved in multinational states? We cer-

tainly have a strong hypothesis on how not to consolidate democracy in multi-
national settings. The greater the percentage of people in a given state who were
born there or who had not arrived perceiving themselves as foreign citizens, who
are denied citizenship in the state and whose life chances are hurt by such denial,
the more unlikely it is that this state will consolidate democracy.
Phrased more positively, our hypothesis is that, in a multinational setting, the
chances to consolidate democracy are increased by state policies that grant inclu-
sive and equal citizenship and that give all citizens a common "roof" of state-
mandated and enforced individual rights.
Such multinational states also have an even greater need than other polities to
explore a variety of nonmajoritarian, nonplebiscitarian formulas. For example, if
there are relatively strong spatial differences between groups within the state, fed-
eralism could be explored. The state and the society might also allow a variety of
publicly supported communal institutions, such as media and schools in differ-
ent languages, symbolic recognition of cultural diversity, a variety of legally
accepted marriage codes, legal and political tolerance for parties representing dif-
ferent communities, and a whole array of political procedures and devices that
Arend Lijphart has described as "consociational democracy."37 Typically, propor-
tional representation (rather than large single-member districts, with first-past-
the-post elections) can facilitate representation of spatially dispersed minorities.
Some strict adherents to the tradition of political liberalism, with its focus on the
rights of individuals and universalism, are against any form of collective rights.
But we believe that the combination of collective rights of nationalities or minori-
ties in a multinational, multicultural society and state, with the rights ofindividu-
37. See his seminal article, "Consociational Democracy," World Politics 21 (January 1969): 207-25, and
his Democracy in Plural Societies: A Comparative Exploration (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1977).
ah fully protected by the state, is probably the least conflictual way of articulating
such a democratic non-nation-state policy.38
In cases where transitions start in a context of a nondemocratic multinational
federal system, a strategy of crafting democratic federalism should probably fol-
low an electoral sequence of elections at the statewide level first, so as to generate
a legitimate framework for later deliberations as to how to decentralize the polity
democratically. If the first competitive elections are regional, the elections will
tend to privilege regional nationalists, and ethnocracies, rather than democracies,
may well emerge.39 However, the specific ways of structuring political life in mul-
tinational settings needs to be contextualized in each country. Along these lines
we believe that it is time to re-evaluate some of the rich experiments with nonterri-
torial autonomy that relate, for example, to the self-government of corporate ethnic
or religious communities such as the Jewish Kabal in the Polish-Lithuanian Com-
monwealth, the millets in the Ottoman Empire, or the "national curias" in the late
Hapbsburg Empire.40 These mechanisms will not eliminate conflict in multina-
tional states, but they may moderate conflict and help make both the state and
democracy more viable.
We also believe some conceptual, political, and normative attention should be
given to the possibility of "state-nations." The states we would like to call state-
nations are multicultural, or even multinational states, which nonetheless still man-
age to engender strong identification and loyalty from their citizens, an identifi-
cation and loyalty that proponents of homogeneous nation-states perceive that
only nation-states can engender. The United States of America is such a multi-
cultural and increasingly multilingual country, as is Switzerland. Neither country
is strictly speaking a "nation-state," but we believe both could now be called
"state-nations." Under Jawaharlal Nehru, India made significant gains in manag-
ing multinational tensions through the skillful and consensual usage of numer-
ous consociational practices. Through this process India became in the 19505 and
early 19605 a democratic "state-nation." But if Hindu nationalists win power in
the 19905 and attempt to turn India, with its no million Muslims, into a Hindu na-
38. For interesting arguments that some notion of group rights is in fact necessary to the very defini-
tion of some types of individual rights and to the advancement of universal norms in rights, see the work
by the Oxford philosopher Joseph Raz, The Morality of Freedom (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986),
esp. 165-216, and Kim Lane Scheppele, "Rethinking Group Rights," paper prepared for a conference on The
Meaning of Rights in the Former Soviet Bloc Countries, July 4-5,1994, Institute for Constitutional and Leg-
islative Policy, Central European University, Budapest. Also see the rigorous book by the philosopher Will
Kymlicka, Multicultural Citizenship: A Liberal Theory of Minority Rights (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1995), esp. chap. 3, "Individual Rights and Collective Rights"; chap. 4, "Rethinking the Liberal Tradition"; and
chap. 6, "Justice and Minority Rights."
39. We develop this point in greater detail in our "Political Identities and Electoral Sequences: Spain, the
Soviet Union and Yugoslavia," Daedalus 121 (Spring 1992): 123-39, and in this book in our chapter on Spain
and our chapter on stateness in the USSR.
40. For an analytic and bibliographic introduction to these important but neglected experiments, see
John Coakley, "Approaches to the Resolution of Ethnic Conflict: The Strategy of Non-territorial Auton-
omy," International Political Science Review, 15, no. 3 (1994): 297-314.
tion-state, almost certainly communal violence would increase and Indian

democracy would be threatened gravely.41
Let us conclude with a word about political identities. Many writings on
nationalism have focused on "primordial" identities and the need for people to
choose between mutually exclusive identities. However, our research into politi-
cal identities has shown two things. First, political identities are not fixed or pri-
mordial in the Oxford English Dictionary sense of "pertaining to, or existing at
(or from) the very beginning; first in time, earliest, original, primitive, primeval."
Rather, they are highly changeable and socially constructed. Second, if national-
ist politicians, by the atmosphere they create (or social scientists and census-
takers with crude dichotomous categories) do not force polarization, many peo-
ple may prefer to self-identify themselves as having multiple and complementary
identities.42 In fact, along with a common political "roof" of state-protected
rights for inclusive and equal citizenship, the human capacity for multiple and
complementary identities is precisely one of the key factors that makes democ-
racy in multinational states possible. Because political identities are not fixed and
permanent, the quality of democratic leadership is particularly important. Mul-
tiple and complementary political identities can be nurtured by political leader-
ship. So can polar and conflictual political identities.43 Before the conscious use
of ethnic cleansing as a strategy to construct nation-states in Bosnia-Herzegovina,
Sarajevo was a multinational urban area, whose citizens had multiple identities
and one of the highest rates of interfaith marriages of any city in the world.
The central proposition of this chapter has been that, if successful democratic
consolidation is the goal, then would-be democracy crafters in charge of the state
apparatus must take into careful consideration the particular mix of nations, cul-
tures, and awakened political identities present in the territory. Holding socio-
economic levels of development equal, some types of democracy are possible
with one type of polity, but virtually impossible if elites in charge of the state at-
tempt to build another type of polity. If a territory is culturally multinational, po-
litical elites in control of the state could initiate "nationalizing policies" that might
not violate human rights or Council of Europe norms for democracy, but that
would have the combined effect, in each of the five arenas of the polity, of greatly
diminishing the chances of democratic consolidation. An example of such ma-
41. Two pioneering works on this theme are Arend Lijphart, "The Puzzle of Indian Democracy: A Re-
interpretation," unpublished manuscript, 1994, and Ashutosh Varshney, "Contested Meanings: India's
National Identity, Hindu Nationalism and the Politics of Anxiety," Daedalus 122 (Summer 1993): 227-61.
42. For example, in 1982 in Catalonia, when respondents were given the opportunity to classify them-
selves on a questionnaire offering five possibilities: "Spanish," "more Spanish than Catalan," "equally Span-
ish and Catalan," "more Catalan than Spanish," or "Catalan," 40 percent (the largest single group) identi-
fied themselves as "equally Spanish and Catalan." See Juan J. Linz, "De la crisis de un Estado Unitario al
Estado de las Autonomías" in Fernando Fernández Rodríguez, ed., La España de las Autonomías (Madrid:
Instituto de Estudios de Administración Local, 1985), 527-672 (above data on 560).
43. See Linz and Stepan, "Political Identities and Electoral Sequences: Spain, the Soviet Union and Yugo-
slavia," 123-39.
Table 2.1. The inter-relationship between State, Nation(s), and Democratization (Assuming No Irredenta)
Policies and Actions of State-leaders of "Titular Nation"
Degree of Presence of Other Extends Some Recognition to Crafts Some Federal or Quasi- Accepts in Principle Possibility No Clear, or
"Nations" besides Titular Drives toward Goal Legitimacy of Cultural federal Institutions and/or of Peaceful and Democratic Extremely Weak
Nation in State Territory of Nation-State Diversity Quasi-consociational Practices Negotiated Secession State Leaders
No other nation exists and Democratic nation-state Mononational democratic

there is little cultural and/ can easily consolidate and state can easily exist
or ethnic differentiation. be strong
No other nation exists but Democratic state-nation Mononational democratic
extensive cultural diversity can easily exist state can easily exist
Other nation(s) present but Democratic nation-state Democratic state-nation
not awakened. possible. can easily exist
Other nation(s) present and Generates conflict, making Democratic state-nation Multinational state is only If a clearly demarcated
awakened. democracy difficult but not can exist but will be under democratic possibility. If territorial base exists,
impossible. pressure to move toward crafted carefully, peaceful secession is
democracy can be possible with democracy in
^
consolidated. 4 both new states.
Other nation(s) present and Generates so much conflict Democratic state-nation Multinational state is only / If no territorial base exists,
militant. or repression that can exist but to be democratic possibility but / "velvet divorce" is
democratic consolidation consolidated should move prospect for consolidation impossible and if militancy
is highly implausible. toward >- difficult. Pressures toward persists democracy cannot
be consolidated.
No group has sufficient No State possible
cohesion and identity to so democracy is
be a nation-builder impossible
Note: The concept of property space as used here was originally formulated by Paul Lazarsfeld. See The Language of Social Research: A Reader in the Methodology of: Social Research IGlencoe, III: Free Press, 1951)
40-62.
joritarian "nationalizing policies" in each of five arenas would be the following. In

the arena of civil society, schooling and mass media could be restricted to the
official language. In the arena of political society, nationalizing citizenship laws
could lead to a significant over-representation of the dominant nationality in
elected political offices. In the arena of the state bureaucracy, a rapid changeover
to one official language could defacto decrease other nationalities' participation
in and access to the services of the state. In the arena of the rule of law, the legal
system could subtly privilege a whole range of customs, practices, and institutions
of the would-be nation-state. Finally, in the arena of economic society, the state-
bearing nationality, as the presumed "owner" of the nation-state, could be given
special (or even exclusive) rights to land redistribution or voucher distribution, if
there was privatization. In contrast, if the real goal is democratic consolidation, a
democratizing strategy would require that less majoritarian and more consensual
policies be crafted in each of the above arenas.
A final policy point to stress concerns timing. Potentially difficult democratic
outcomes maybe made manageable only if some type of pre-emptive policies and
decisions are argued for, negotiated, and implemented by political leaders. If the
opportunity for such ameliorative policies is lost, the range of available space for
maneuver will be narrowed and a dynamic of societal conflict will probably
intensify until democratic consolidation becomes increasingly difficult and even-
tually impossible.
To summarize the possibilities and limits of reconciling nation-states and
democratization and to call attention to where and when a repertoire of pre-
emptive policies are politically possible and democratically indicated, we con-
clude with Table 2.i.44
44. Table 2.1 does not include the effect of an irredenta on democracy in both the claimed area and in
neighboring states. Depiction of this would call for an even more complicated table.
3
Modern Nondemocratic Regimes
.DEMOCRATIC transition and consolidation involve the movement from a

nondemocratic to a democratic regime. However, specific polities may vary im-
mensely in the paths available for transition and the unfinished tasks the new de-
mocracy must face before it is consolidated. Our central endeavor in the next two
chapters is to show how and why much—though of course not all—of such vari-
ation can be explained by prior regime type.
For over a quarter of a century the dominant conceptual framework among
analysts interested in classifying the different political systems in the world has
been the tripartite distinction between democratic, authoritarian, and totalitar-
ian regimes. New paradigms emerge because they help analysts see commonali-
ties and implications they had previously overlooked. When Juan Linz wrote his
1964 article "An Authoritarian Regime: Spain," he wanted to call attention to the
fact that between what then were seen as the two major stable political poles—the
democratic pole and the totalitarian pole—there existed a form of polity that had
its own internal logic and was a steady regime type. Though this type was non-
democratic, Linz argued that it was fundamentally different from a totalitarian
regime on four key dimensions—pluralism, ideology, leadership, and mobiliza-
tion. This was of course what he termed an authoritarian regime. He defined them
as: "political systems with limited, not responsible, political pluralism, without
elaborate and guiding ideology, but with distinctive mentalities, without exten-
sive nor intensive political mobilization, except at some points in their develop-
ment, and in which a leader or occasionally a small group exercises power within
formally ill-defined limits but actually quite predictable ones."1
In the 19605, as analysts attempted to construct categories with which to com-
pare and contrast all the systems in the world, the authoritarian category proved
useful. As the new paradigm took hold among comparativists, two somewhat sur-
prising conclusions emerged. First, it became increasingly apparent that more
regimes were "authoritarian" than were "totalitarian" or "democratic" combined.2
1. Juan J. Linz, "An Authoritarian Regime: The Case of Spain," in Erik Allardt and Yrjö Littunen, eds.,
Cleavages, Ideologies and Party Systems (Helsinki: Transactions of the Westermarck Society, 1964), 291-342.
Reprinted in Erik Allardt and Stein Rokkan, eds., Mass Politics: Studies in Political Sociology (New York: Free
Press, 1970), 251-83,374-81. Page citations will refer to the 1970 volume. The definition is found on 255.
2. See, for example, the data contained in footnotes 4 and 5 in this chapter.
Modern Nondemocratic Regimes 39
Authoritarian regimes were thus the modal category of regime type in the modern
world. Second, authoritarian regimes were not necessarily in transition to a differ-
ent type of regime. As Linz's studies of Spain in the 19505 and early 19605 showed,
the four distinctive dimensions of an authoritarian regime—limited pluralism,
mentality, somewhat constrained leadership, and weak mobilization—could cohere
for a long period as a reinforcing and integrated system that was relatively stable.3
Typologies rise or fall according to their analytic usefulness to researchers. In
our judgment, the existing tripartite regime classification has not only become
less useful to democratic theorists and practitioners than it once was, it has also
become an obstacle. Part of the case for typology change proceeds from the im-
plications of the empirical universe we need to analyze. Very roughly, if we were
looking at the world of the mid-1980s, how many countries could conceivably be
called "democracies" of ten years' duration? And how many countries were very
close to the totalitarian pole for that entire period? Answers have, of course, an in-
herently subjective dimension, particularly as regards the evaluation of the evi-
dence used to classify countries along the different criteria used in the typology.
Fortunately, however, two independently organized studies attempt to measure
most of the countries in the world as to their political rights and civil liberties.4
The criteria used in the studies are explicit, and there is a very high degree of
agreement in the results. If we use these studies and the traditional tripartite
regime type distinction, it turns out that more than 90 percent of modern non-
democratic regimes would have to share the same typological space—"author-
itarian."5 Obviously, with so many heterogeneous countries sharing the same
3. See Juan J. Linz, "From Falange to Movimiento-Organización: The Spanish Single Party and the
Franco Regime, 1936-1968," in Samuel P. Huntington and Clement H. Moore, eds., Authoritarian Politics in
Modern Society: The Dynamics of Established One-Party Systems (New York: Basic Books, 1970), 128-203.
Also see Linz, "Opposition in and under an Authoritarian Regime: The Case of Spain," in Robert A. Dahl,
ed., Regimes and Oppositions (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1973), 171-259.
4. One effort was by Michael Coppedge and Wolfgang Reinicke, who attempted to operationalize the
eight "institutional guarantees" that Robert Dahl argued were required for a polyarchy. They assigned val-
ues to 137 countries on a polyarchy scale, based on their assessment of political conditions as of mid-1985.
The results are available in "A Measure of Polyarchy," paper prepared for the Conference on Measuring De-
mocracy, Hoover Institution, Stanford University, May 27-28,1988; and their "A Scale of Polyarchy," in Ray-
mond D. Gastil, ed., Freedom in the World: Political Rights and Civil Liberties, 1987-1988 (New York: Free-
dom House, 1990), 101-28. Robert A. Dahl's seminal discussion of the "institutional guarantees" needed for
polyarchy is found in Dahl, Polyarchy: Participation and Opposition (New Haven: Yale University Press,
1971), 1-16.
The other major effort to operationalize a scale of democracy is the annual Freedom House evaluation
of virtually all the countries of the world. The advisory panel has included in recent years such scholars as
Seymour Martin Lipset, Giovanni Sartori, and Lucían W. Pye. The value they assigned on their scale for
each year from 1978-1987 can be found in Gastil, Freedom in the World, 54-65.
5. We arrive at this conclusion in the following fashion. The annual survey coordinated by Raymond D.
Gastil employs a 7-point scale of the political rights and civil liberties dimensions of democracy. With the
help of a panel of scholars, Gastil, from 1978 to 1987, classified annually 167 countries on this scale. For our
purposes if we call the universe of democracies those countries that from 1978 to 1987 never received a score
of lower than 2 on the Gastil scale for political rights and 3 for civil liberty, we come up with 42 countries.
This is very close to the number of countries that Coppedge and Reinicke classify as "full polyarchies" in
their independent study of the year 1985. Since our interest is in how countries become democracies we will
typological "starting place," this typology of regime type cannot tell us much
about the extremely significant range of variation in possible transition paths and
consolidation tasks that we believe in fact exists. Our purpose in the rest of this
chapter is to reformulate the tripartite paradigm of regime type so as to make it
more helpful in the analysis of transition paths and consolidation tasks. We pro-
pose therefore a revised typology, consisting of "democratic," "authoritarian," "to-
talitarian," "post-totalitarian," and "sultanistic" regimes.
DEMOCRACY
To start with the democratic type of regime, there are of course significant
variations within democracy. However, we believe that such important categories
as "consociational democracy" and "majoritarian democracy" are subtypes of de-
mocracy and not different regime types.6 Democracy as a regime type seems to
us to be of sufficient value to be retained and not to need further elaboration at
this point in the book.
TOTALITARIANISM
We also believe that the concept of a totalitarian regime as an ideal type, with
some close historical approximations, has enduring value. If a regime has elimi-
nated almost all pre-existing political, economic, and social pluralism, has a uni-
fied, articulated, guiding, Utopian ideology, has intensive and extensive mobiliza-
tion, and has a leadership that rules, often charismatically, with undefined limits
and great unpredictability and vulnerability for elites and nonelites alike, then it
seems to us that it still makes historical and conceptual sense to call this a regime
with strong totalitarian tendencies.
If we accept the continued conceptual utility of the democratic and totalitar-
ian regime types, the area in which further typological revision is needed con-
cerns the regimes that are clearly neither democratic nor totalitarian. By the early
exclude those 42 countries from our universe of analysis. This would leave us with 125 countries in the uni-
verse we want to explore.
If we then decide to call long-standing "totalitarian" regimes those regimes that received the lowest pos-
sible score on political rights and civil liberties on the Gastil scale for each year in the 1978-1987 period, we
would have a total of nine countries that fall into the totalitarian classification. Thus, if one used the tradi-
tional typology, the Gastil scale would imply that 116 of 125 countries, or 92.8 percent of the universe under
analysis, would have to be placed in the same typological space. See Gastil, Freedom in the World, 54-65.
6. For discussions of variations within democracy, see Arendt Lijphart, Democracies: Patterns of Ma-
joritarian and Consensus Government in Twenty-one Countries (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984),
esp. 1-36; Philippe C. Schmitter and Terry Lynn Karl, "What Democracy I s . . . and Is Not," Journal of De-
mocracy 2, no. 2 (Summer 1991): 75-88; and Juan J. Linz, "Change and Continuity in the Nature of Con-
temporary Democracies," in Gary Marks and Larry Diamond, eds., Reexamining Democracy (Newbury
Park, N.J.: Sage Publications, 1992), 182-207.
19805, the number of countries that were clearly totalitarian or were attempting
to create such regimes had in fact been declining for some time. As many Soviet-
type regimes began to change after Stalin's death in 1953, they no longer con-
formed to the totalitarian model, as research showed. This change created con-
ceptual confusion. Some scholars argued that the totalitarian category itself was
wrong. Others wanted to call post-Stalinist regimes authoritarian. Neither of
these approaches seems to us fully satisfactory. Empirically, of course, most of the
Soviet-type systems in the 19805 were not totalitarian. However, the "Soviet type"
regimes, with the exception of Poland (see chap. 12), could not be understood in
their distinctiveness by including them in the category of an authoritarian regime.
The literature on Soviet-type regimes correctly drew attention to regime char-
acteristics that were no longer totalitarian and opened up promising new studies
of policy-making. One of these perspectives was "institutional pluralism."7 How-
ever, in our judgment, to call these post-Stalinist polities pluralistic missed some
extremely important features that could hardly be called pluralistic. Pluralist
democratic theory, especially the "group theory" variant explored by such writers
as Arthur Bentley and David Truman, starts with individuals in civil society who
enter into numerous freely formed interest groups that are relatively autonomous
and often criss-crossing. The many groups in civil society attempt to aggregate
their interests and compete against each other in political society to influence
state policies. However, the "institutional pluralism" that some writers discerned
in the Soviet Union was radically different, in that almost all the pluralistic con-
flict occurred in regime-created organizations within the party-state itself. Con-
ceptually, therefore, this form of competition and conflict is actually closer to
what political theorists call bureaucratic politics than it is to pluralistic politics.3
Rather than forcing these Soviet-type regimes into the existing typology of to-
talitarian, authoritarian, and democratic regimes, we believe we should expand
that typology by explicating a distinctive regime type that we will call post-totali-
tarian.9 Methodologically, we believe this category is justified because on each of
the four dimensions of regime type—pluralism, ideology, leadership, and mobi-
7. The strongest advocate of an institutional pluralist perspective for the analysis of Soviet politics was
Jerry F. Hough, especially in his The Soviet Union and Social Science Theory (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard
University Press, 1977).
8. The pioneering critique of the institutional pluralist approach to Soviet politics is Archie Brown,
"Pluralism, Power and the Soviet Political System: A Comparative Perspective," in Susan Gross Solomon,
ed., Pluralism in the Soviet Union (London: Macmillan, 1983), 61-107. A useful review of the literature, with
attention to authors such as Gordon Skilling, Archie Brown, and ferry Hough, is found in Gabriel Almond
(with Laura Roselle), "Model-Fitting in Communism Studies," in his A Discipline Divided: Schools and Sects
in Political Science (Newbury Park, Calif.: Sage Publications, 1990), 157-72.
9. Juan Linz, in his "Totalitarian and Authoritarian Regimes," in Fred I. Greenstein and Nelson W.
Polsby, eds., Handbook of Political Science (Reading, Mass.: Addison-Wesley Publishing Co., 1975), 3:175-411,
analyzed what he called "post-totalitarian authoritarian regimes," see 336-50. Here, with our focus on the
available paths to democratic transition and the tasks of democratic consolidation, it seems to both of us
that it is more useful to treat post-totalitarian regimes not as a subtype of authoritarianism, but as an ideal
type in its own right.
lization—there can be a post-totalitarian ideal type that is different from a totali-

tarian, authoritarian, or democratic ideal type. Later in this chapter we will also re-
articulate the argument for considering sultanism as a separate ideal-type regime.10
To state our argument in bold terms, we first present a schematic presentation
of how the five ideal-type regimes we propose—democratic, totalitarian, post-
totalitarian, authoritarian, and sultanistic—differ from each other on each one of
the four constituent characteristics of regime type (table 3.1). In the following
chapter we make explicit what we believe are the implications of each regime type
for democratic transition paths and the tasks of democratic consolidation.
POST-TOTALITARIANISM
Our task here is to explore how, on each of the four dimensions of regime type,
post-totalitarianism is different from totalitarianism, as well as different from au-
thoritarianism.11 Where appropriate we will also call attention to some under-
theorized characteristics of both totalitarian and post-totalitarian regimes that
produce dynamic pressures for out-of-type change. We do not subscribe to the
view that either type is static.
Post-totalitarianism, as table 3.1 implies, can encompass a continuum varying
from "early post-totalitarianism," to "frozen post-totalitarianism," to "mature post-
totalitarianism." Early post-totalitarianism is very close to the totalitarian ideal
type but differs from it on at least one key dimension, normally some constraints
on the leader. There can be frozen post-totalitarianism in which, despite the per-
sistent tolerance of some civil society critics of the regime, almost all the other
control mechanisms of the party-state stay in place for a long period and do not
evolve (e.g., Czechoslovakia, from 1977 to 1989). Or there can be mature post-
totalitarianism in which there has been significant change in all the dimensions
of the post-totalitarian regime except that politically the leading role of the offi-
cial party is still sacrosanct (e.g., Hungary from 1982 to 1988, which eventually
evolved by late 1988 very close to an out-of-type change).
Concerning pluralism, the defining characteristic of totalitarianism is that
there is no political, economic, or social pluralism in the polity and that pre-
10. For Juan Linz's first discussion of sultanism, see ibid, 259-63. For a more complete discussion of sul-
tanism, see H. E. Chehabi and Juan J. Linz, "Sultanistic Regimes," paper prepared for a conference on
sultanistic regimes at Harvard University in November 1990. The results of the conference, which included
papers on such countries as Iran, the Philippines, the Dominican Republic, and Romania, will be published
in a volume edited by H. E. Chehabi and Juan J. Linz.
11. We believe that readers can readily see for themselves how post-totalitarian regimes are not demo-
cratic regimes, so we will not discuss this point separately. We want to make clear that for our analytic pur-
poses in this book that the term post-totalitarian refers to a type of nondemocratic regime before the tran-
sition to democracy. In this chapter our main concern is with ideal types. However, in chapter 15,
"Post-Communism's Prehistories," we provide ample empirical evidence of what a totalitarian or post-
totalitarian (in contrast to an authoritarian) legacy means for each of the five arenas necessary for a con-
solidated democracy that we analyzed in table 1.1 in this book.
existing sources of pluralism have been uprooted or systematically repressed. In

an authoritarian regime there is some limited political pluralism and often quite
extensive economic and social pluralism. In an authoritarian regime, many of the
manifestations of the limited political pluralism and the more extensive social
and economic pluralism predate the authoritarian regime. How does pluralism in
post-totalitarian regimes contrast with the near absence of pluralism in totalitar-
ian regimes and the limited pluralism of authoritarian regimes?
In mature post-totalitarianism, there is a much more important and complex
play of institutional pluralism within the state than in totalitarianism. Also, in
contrast to totalitarianism, post-totalitarianism normally has a much more sig-
nificant degree of social pluralism, and in mature post-totalitarian there is often
discussion of a "second culture" or a "parallel culture." Evidence of this is found in
such things as a robust underground samizdat literature with multi-issue journals
of the sort not possible under totalitarianism.12 This growing pluralism is simul-
taneously a dynamic source of vulnerability for the post-totalitarian regime and
a dynamic source of strength for an emerging democratic opposition. For exam-
ple, this "second culture" can be sufficiently powerful that, even though leaders of
the second culture will frequently be imprisoned, in a mature post-totalitarian
regime opposition leaders can generate substantial followings and create endur-
ing oppositional organizations in civil society. At moments of crisis, therefore,
a mature post-totalitarian regime can have a cadre of a democratic opposition
based in civil society with much greater potential to form a democratic political
opposition than would be available in a totalitarian regime. A mature post-total-
itarian regime can also feature the coexistence of a state-planned economy with
extensive partial market experiments in the state sector that can generate a "red
bourgeoisie" of state sector managers and a growing but subordinate private sec-
tor, especially in agriculture, commerce and services.
However, in a post-totalitarian regime this social and economic pluralism is
different in degree and kind from that found in an authoritarian regime. It is dif-
ferent in degree because there is normally more social and economic pluralism in
an authoritarian regime (in particular there is normally a more autonomous pri-
vate sector, somewhat greater religious freedom, and a greater amount of above-
ground cultural production). The difference in kind is typologically even more
important. In a post-totalitarian society, the historical reference both for the
power holders of the regime and the opposition is the previous totalitarian
regime. By definition, the existence of a previous totalitarian regime means that
most of the pre-existing sources of responsible and organized pluralism have
been eliminated or repressed and a totalitarian order has been established. There
is therefore an active effort at "detotalitarianization" on the part of oppositional
12. For example, in mature post-totalitarian Hungary the most influential samizííflípublication, Beszélo,
from 1982 to 1989, was issued as a quarterly with publication runs of 20,000. Information supplied to Al-
fred Stepan by the publisher and editorial board member, Miklós Haraszti, Budapest, August 1994.
Table 3.1. Major Modern Regime Ideal Types and Their Defining Characteristics
Characteristic Democracy Authoritarianism Totalitarianism Post-totalitarianism Sultanism
Pluralism Responsible political Political system with No significant economic, Limited, but not responsible Economic and social pluralism
pluralism reinforced by limited, not responsible social, or political social, economic, and does not disappear but is
extensive areas of political pluralism. Often pluralism. Official party institutional pluralism. Almost subject to unpredictable and
pluralist autonomy in guite extensive social has de jure and de facto no political pluralism because despotic intervention. No group
economy, society, and and economic pluralism. monopoly of power. Party party still formally has or individual in civil society,
internal life of In authoritarian regimes has eliminated almost all monopoly of power. May have political society, or the state is
organizations. Legally most of pluralism had pretotalitarian pluralism. "second economy," but state free from sultan's exercise of
protected pluralism roots in society before No space for second still the overwhelming despotic power. No rule of law.
consistent with "societal the establishment of the economy or parallel presence. Most manifestations Low institutionalization. High
corporatism" but not regime. Often some society. of pluralism in "flattened fusion of private and public.
"state corporatism." space for semiopposition. polity" grew out of tolerated
state structures or dissident
groups consciously formed in
opposition to totalitarian
regime. In mature post-
totalitarianism opposition often
creates "second culture" or
"parallel society."
Ideology Extensive intellectual Political system without Elaborate and guiding Guiding ideology still officially Highly arbitrary manipulation of
commitment to elaborate and guiding ideology that articulates exists and is part of the social symbols. Extreme glorification
citizenship and procedural ideology but with a reachable utopia. reality. But weakened of ruler. No elaborate or guiding
rules of contestation. distinctive mentalities. Leaders, individuals, and commitment to or faith in ideology or even distinctive
Not teleological. Respect groups derive most of utopia. Shift of emphasis from mentalities outside of despotic
for rights of minorities, their sense of mission, ideology to programmatic personalism. No attempt to
state of law, and value legitimation, and often consensus that presumably is justify major initiatives on the
of individualism. specific policies from based on rational decision- basis of ideology. Pseudo-
their commitment to making and limited debate ideology not believed by staff,
some holistic conception without too much reference to subjects, or outside world.
of humanity and society. ideology.
Table 3.1. (continued)
Characteristic Democracy Authoritarianism Totalitarianism Post-totalitarianism Sultanism
Mobilization Participation via Political system without Extensive mobilization Progressive loss of interest by Low but occasional
autonomously generated extensive or intensive into a vast array of leaders and nonleaders involved manipulative mobilization of a
organization of civil political mobilization regime-created obligatory in organizing mobilization. ceremonial type by coercive or
society and competing except at some points in organizations. Emphasis Routine mobilization of clientelistic methods without
parties of political society their development. on activism of cadres and population within state- permanent organization.
guaranteed by a system militants. Effort at sponsored organizations to Periodic mobilization of
of law. Value is on low mobilization of achieve a minimum degree of parastate groups who use
regime mobilization but enthusiasm. Private life is conformity and compliance. violence against groups
high citizen participation. decried. Many "cadres" and "militants" targeted by sultan.
Diffuse effort by regime are mere careerists and
to induce good opportunists. Boredom,
citizenship and withdrawal, and ultimately
patriotism. Toleration of privatization of population's
peaceful and orderly values become an accepted
opposition. fact.
Leadership Top leadership produced Political system in which Totalitarian leadership Growing emphasis by post- Highly personalistic and
by free elections and a leader or occasionally a rules with undefined totalitarian political elite on arbitrary. No rational-legal
must be exercised within small group exercises limits and great unpre- personal security. Checks on top constraints. Strong dynastic
constitutional limits and power within formally ill- dictability for members leadership via party structures, tendency. No autonomy in state
state of law. Leadership defined but actually quite and nonmembers. Often procedures, and "internal careers. Leader unencumbered
must be periodically predictable norms. Effort charismatic. Recruitment democracy." Top leaders are by ideology. Compliance to
subjected to and at cooptation of old elite to top leadership highly seldom charismatic. Recruitment leaders based on intense fear
produced by free groups. Some autonomy dependent on success to top leadership restricted to and personal rewards. Staff of
elections. in state careers and in and commitment in party official party but less dependent leader drawn from members of
military. organization. upon building a career within his family, friends, business
party's organization. Top leaders associates, or men directly
can come from party involved in use of violence to
technocrats in state apparatus. sustain the regime. Staff's
position derives from their
purely personal submission to
the ruler.
currents in civil society. Much of the emotional and organizational drive of the
opposition in civil society is thus consciously crafted to forge alternatives to the
political, economic, and social structures created by the totalitarian regime, struc-
tures that still play a major role in the post-totalitarian society. Much of the sec-
ond culture therefore is not traditional in form but is found in new movements
that arise out of the totalitarian experience. There can also be a state-led detotal-
itarianization in which the regime itself begins to eliminate some of the most ex-
treme features of the monist experience. Thus, if there is growing "institutional
pluralism," or a growing respect for procedure and law, or a newly tolerated pri-
vate sector, it should be understood as a kind of pluralism that emerges out of the
previous totalitarian regime.
However, it is typologically and politically important to stress that there are
significant limits to pluralism in post-totalitarian societies. In contrast to an au-
thoritarian regime, there is no limited and relatively autonomous pluralism in the
explicitly political realm. The official party in all post-totalitarian regimes is still
legally accorded the leading role in the polity. The institutional pluralism of a
post-totalitarian regime should not be confused with political pluralism; rather,
institutional pluralism is exercised within the party-state or within the newly tol-
erated second economy or parallel culture. The pluralism of the parallel culture
or the second culture should be seen as a social pluralism that may have political
implications. But we must insist that the party and the regime leaders in post-
totalitarian regimes, unless they experience out-of-type change, accord no legiti-
macy or responsibility to nonofficial political pluralism.13 Even the formal plu-
ralism of satellite parties becomes politically relevant only in the final stages of the
regime after the transition is in progress.
When we turn to the dimension of leadership, we also see central tendencies
that distinguish totalitarian from authoritarian leadership. Totalitarian leader-
ship is unconstrained by laws and procedures and is often charismatic. The
leadership can come from the revolutionary party or movement, but members
of this core are as vulnerable to the sharp policy and ideological changes enun-
ciated by the leader (even more so in terms of the possibility of losing their
lives) as the rest of the population.14 By contrast, in the Linzian scheme, au-
thoritarian leadership is characterized by a political system in which a leader or
occasionally a small group exercises power within formally ill-defined but ac-
tually quite predictable norms. There are often extensive efforts to co-opt old
elite groups into leadership roles, and there is some autonomy in state careers
and in the military.
13. Hungary in 1988-89 represents a mature post-totalitarian regime which, by engaging in extensive
detotalitarianization and by increasingly recognizing the legitimacy of other parties, had experienced sig-
nificant out-of-type changes even before the Communist Party lost power. See chapter 17.
14. For example, under Stalin, of the nine members of the Politburo in 1930, five had disappeared or
been shot by 1937. See George K. Schueller, The Politburo (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1951), 5-6.
As in a totalitarian regime, post-totalitarian leadership is still exclusively re-

stricted to the revolutionary party or movement. However, in contrast to a total-
itarian regime, post-totalitarian leaders tend to be more bureaucratic and state
technocratic than charismatic. The central core of a post-totalitarian regime nor-
mally strives successfully to enhance its security and lessen its fear by reducing the
range of arbitrary discretion allowed to the top leadership.
In contrast to those who say that the totalitarian regime concept is static, we
believe that, when an opportunity presents itself (such as the death of the maxi-
mum leader), the top elite's desire to reduce the future leader's absolute discretion
is predictably a dynamic source of pressure for out-of-type regime change from
totalitarianism to post-totalitarianism. The post-totalitarian leadership is thus
typologically closer in this respect to authoritarian leadership, in that the leader
rules within unspecified but in reality reasonably predictable limits. However, the
leadership in these two regime types still differs fundamentally. Post-totalitarian
leadership is exclusively recruited from party members who develop their careers
in the party organization itself, the bureaucracy, or the technocratic apparatus of
the state. They all are thus recruited from the structures created by the regime. In
sharp contrast, in most authoritarian regimes, the norm is for the regime to co-opt
much of the leadership from groups that have some power, presence, and legiti-
macy that does not derive directly from the regime itself. Indeed, the authoritarian
regime has often been captured by powerful fragments of the pre-existing society.
In some authoritarian regimes, even access to top positions can be established not
by political loyalties as much as by some degree of professional and technical ex-
pertise and some degree of competition through examinations that are open to
the society as a whole. In mature post-totalitarian regimes, technical competence
becomes increasingly important, but we should remember that the original access
to professional training was controlled by political criteria. Also, the competences
that are accepted or recognized in post-totalitarian systems are technical or man-
agerial but do not include skills developed in a broader range of fields such as the
law, religious organizations, or independent business or labor.
The limited party-bureaucratic-technocratic pluralism under post-totalitari-
anism does not give the regime the flexibility for change within the regime that
co-optation of nonregime elites can give to many authoritarian regimes. The de-
sire to resist the personalized leadership of the First Secretary-ideologue can be a
source of change from totalitarian to post-totalitarian, but it can also lead even-
tually to the oligarchic leadership of aging men supported by the nomenklatura.
Attempts at rejuvenation at the top by including or co-opting new men and
women from the outside are normally very limited. In extreme cases (i.e., the
GDR and post-1968 Czechoslovakia), frozen post-totalitarianism shows geriatric
tendencies. Under crisis circumstances, the inability to renovate leadership, not so
paradoxically, is a potential source of dynamic change in that a frozen post-total-
itarian regime, with its old and narrow leadership base, has a very limited capac-
ity to negotiate. Such a leadership structure, if it is not able to repress opponents

in a crisis, is particularly vulnerable to collapse. One of the reasons why midlevel
cadres in the once all-powerful coercive apparatus might, in time of crisis, let the
regime collapse rather than fire upon the democratic opposition has to do with
the role of ideology in post-totalitarianism.
The contrast between the role of ideology in a totalitarian system and in a post-
totalitarian system is sharp, but it is more one of behavior and belief than one of
official canon. In the area of ideology, the dynamic potential for change from a to-
talitarian to a post-totalitarian regime, both on the part of the cadres and on the
part of the society, is the growing empirical disjunction between official ideolog-
ical claims and reality. This disjunction produces lessened ideological commit-
ment on the part of the cadres and growing criticism of the regime by groups in
civil society. In fact, many of the new critics in civil society emerge out of the
ranks of former true believers, who argue that the regime does not—or, worse,
cannot—advance its own goals. The pressures created by this tension between
doctrine and reality often contributes to an out-of-type shift from a totalitarian
regime effort to mobilize enthusiasm to a post-totalitarian effort to maintain ac-
quiescence. In the post-totalitarian phase, the elaborate and guiding ideology cre-
ated under the totalitarian regime still exists as the official state canon, but among
many leaders there is a weakened commitment to and faith in utopia. Among
much of the population, the official canon is seen as an obligatory ritual, and
among groups in the "parallel society" or "second culture," there is constant ref-
erence to the first culture as a "living lie."15 This is another source of weakness, of
the "hollowing out" of the post-totalitarian regime's apparent strength.
The role of ideology in a post-totalitarian regime is thus diminished from its
role under totalitarianism, but it is still quite different from the role of ideology
in an authoritarian regime. Most authoritarian regimes have diffuse nondemo-
cratic mentalities, but they do not have highly articulated ideologies concerning
the leading role of the party, interest groups, religion, and many other aspects of
civil society, political society, the economy, and the state that still exist in a
regime we would call post-totalitarian. Therefore, a fundamental contrast be-
tween a post-totalitarian and authoritarian regime is that in a post-totalitarian
regime there is an important ideological legacy that cannot be ignored and that
cannot be questioned officially. The state-sanctioned ideology has a social pres-
ence in the organizational life of the post-totalitarian polity. Whether it expresses
itself in the extensive array of state-sponsored organizations or in the domain of
incipient but still officially controlled organizations, ideology is part of the so-
cial reality of a post-totalitarian regime to a greater degree than in most author-
itarian regimes.
15. Extensive discussions and references about "parallel society," "second culture," and the "living lie" are
found in our chapter on post-totalitarianism in Hungary and Czechoslovakia (chap. 17).
The relative de-ideologization of post-totalitarian regimes and the weakening

of the belief in utopia as a foundation of legitimacy mean that, as in many au-
thoritarian regimes, there is a growing effort in a post-totalitarian polity to legit-
imate the regime on the basis of performance criteria. The gap between the orig-
inal Utopian elements of the ideology and the increasing legitimation efforts on
the basis of efficacy, particularly when the latter fails, is one of the sources of
weakness in post-totalitarian regimes. Since democracies base their claim to obe-
dience on the procedural foundations of democratic citizenship, as well as per-
formance, they have a layer of insulation against weak performance not available
to most post-totalitarian or authoritarian regimes. The weakening of Utopian ide-
ology that is a characteristic of post-totalitarianism thus opens up a new dynamic
of regime vulnerabilities—or, from the perspective of democratic transition, new
opportunities—that can be exploited by the democratic opposition. For example,
the discrepancy between the constant reiteration of the importance of ideology
and the ideology's growing irrelevance to policymaking or, worse, its transparent
contradiction with social reality contribute to undermining the commitment and
faith of the middle and lower cadres in the regime. Such a situation can help con-
tribute to the rapid collapse of the regime if midlevel functionaries of the coercive
apparatus have grave doubts about their right to shoot citizens who are protest-
ing against the regime and its ideology, as we shall see when we discuss events in
1989 in East Germany and Czechoslovakia.16
The final typological difference we need to explore concerns mobilization.
Most authoritarian regimes never develop complex, all-inclusive networks of as-
sociation whose purpose is the mobilization of the population. They may have
brief periods of intensive mobilization, but these are normally less intensive than
in a totalitarian regime and less extensive than in a post-totalitarian regime. In to-
talitarian regimes, however, there is extensive and intensive mobilization of so-
ciety into a vast array of regime-created organizations and activities. Because
Utopian goals are intrinsic to the regime, there is a great effort to mobilize enthu-
siasm to activate cadres, and most leaders emerge out of these cadres. In the to-
talitarian system, "privatized" bourgeois individuals at home with their family
and friends and enjoying life in the small circle of their own choosing are decried.
In post-totalitarian regimes, the extensive array of institutions of regime-
created mobilization vehicles still dominate associational life. However, they have
lost their intensity. Membership is still generalized and obligatory but tends to
generate more boredom than enthusiasm. State-technocratic employment is an
alternative to cadre activism as a successful career path, as long as there is "cor-
rect" participation in official organizations. Instead of the mobilization of enthu-
16. Daniel V. Friedheim is conducting major research on the question of collapse in such frozen post-
totalitarian regimes. See Friedheim, "Regime Collapse in the Peaceful East German Revolution: The Role
of Middle-Level Officials," German Politics (April 1993): 97-112, and his forthcoming Yale University doc-
toral dissertation in which he discusses East Germany.
siasm that can be so functional in a totalitarian regime, the networks of ritualized

mobilization in a post-totalitarian regime can produce a "cost" of time away from
technocratic tasks for professionals and a cost of boredom and flight into private
life by many other people. When there is no structural crisis and especially when
there is no perception of an available alternative, such privatization is not neces-
sarily a problem for a post-totalitarian regime. Thus, Kadar's famous saying,
"Those who are not against us are for us," is a saying that is conceivable only in a
post-totalitarian regime, not in a totalitarian one. However, if the performance of
a post-totalitarian as opposed to a totalitarian regime is so poor that the personal
rewards of private life are eroded, then privatization and apathy may contribute
to a new dynamic—especially if alternatives are seen as possible—of crises of
"exit," "voice," and "loyalty."17
Let us conclude our discussion of post-totalitarianism with a summary of its
political and ideological weaknesses. We do this to help enrich the discussion of
why these regimes collapsed so rapidly once they entered into prolonged stagna-
tion and the USSR withdrew its extensive coercive support. Indeed in chapter 17,
"Varieties of Post-totalitarian Regimes," we develop a theoretical and empirical
argument about why frozen post-totalitarian regimes are more vulnerable to col-
lapse than are authoritarian or totalitarian regimes.
Totalitarianism, democracy, and even many authoritarian regimes begin with
"genetic" legitimacy among their core supporters, given the historical circum-
stances that led to the establishment of these regimes. By contrast, post-totalitari-
anism regimes do not have such a founding genetic legitimacy because they emerge
out of the routinization, decay, or elite fears of the totalitarian regime. Post-total-
itarian regimes, because of coercive resources they inherit and the related weak-
nesses of organized opposition, can give the appearance of as much or more sta-
bility than authoritarian regimes; if external support is withdrawn, however, their
inner loss of purpose and commitment make them vulnerable to collapse.
Post-totalitarian politics was a result in part of the moving away from Stalin-
ism, but also of social changes in Communist societies. Post-totalitarian regimes
did away with the worst aspects of repression but at the same time maintained
most mechanisms of control. Although less bloody than under Stalinism, the
presence of security services—like the Stasi in the GDR—sometimes became
more pervasive. Post-totalitarianism could have led to moderate reforms in the
economy, like those discussed at the time of the Prague Spring, but the Brezhnev
restoration stopped dynamic adaptation in the USSR and in most other Soviet-
type systems, except for Hungary and Poland.
17. The reference, of course, is to Albert Hirschman, Exit, Voice and Loyalty (Cambridge: Harvard Uni-
versity Press, 1970), 59. For a fascinating discussion of this dynamic in relation to the collapse of the GDR,
see Hirschman, "Exit, Voice and the Fate of the German Democratic Republic: An Essay on Conceptual His-
tory," World Politics 41 (January 1993): 173-202. We discuss the Kadar quote in greater detail in the chapter
on varieties of post-totalitarianism (chap. 17).
Post-totalitarianism had probably less legitimacy for the ruling elites and
above all the middle-level cadres than had a more totalitarian system. The loss of
the Utopian component of the ideology and the greater reliance on performance
(which after some initial success did not continue) left the regimes vulnerable and
ultimately made the use of massive repression less justifiable. Passive compliance
and careerism opened the door to withdrawal into private life, weakening the
regime so that the opposition could ultimately force it to negotiate or to collapse
when it could not rely on coercion.
The weakness of post-totalitarian regimes has not yet been fully analyzed and
explained but probably can be understood only by keeping in mind the enormous
hopes and energies initially associated with Marxism-Leninism that in the past
explained the emergence of totalitarianism and its appeal.18 Many distinguished
and influential Western intellectuals admired or excused Leninism and in the
19305 even Stalinism, but few Western intellectuals on the left could muster enthu-
siasm for post-totalitarianism in the USSR or even for perestroika and glasnost.
As we shall see in part 4, the emergence and evolution of post-totalitarianism can
be the result of three distinct but often interconnected processes: (i) deliberate poli-
cies of the rulers to soften or reform the totalitarian system (detotalitarianism by
choice), (2) the internal "hollowing out" of the totalitarian regimes' structures and
an internal erosion of the cadres' ideological belief in the system (detotalitarianism
by decay), and (3) the creation of social, cultural, and even economic spaces that re-
sist or escape totalitarian control (detotalitarianism by societal conquest).
"SULTANISM"
A large group of polities, such as Haiti under the Duvaliers, the Dominican
Republic under Trujillo, the Central African Republic under Bokassa, the Philip-
pines under Marcos, Iran under the Shah, Romania under Ceaus, escu, and North
Korea under Kim II Sung, have had strong tendencies toward an extreme form of
patrimonialism that Weber called sultanism. For Weber,
patrimonialism and, in the extreme case, sultanism tend to arise whenever traditional domina-
tion develops an administration and a military force which are purely personal instruments of
the master. . . . Where domination . . . operates primarily on the basis of discretion, it will be
called sultanism . . . The non-traditional element is not, however, rationalized in impersonal
terms, but consists only in the extreme development of the ruler's discretion. It is this which
distinguishes it from every form of rational authority.19
18. On the ideological and moral attractiveness of revolutionary Marxist-Leninism as a total system and
the "vacuum" left in the wake of its collapse, see Ernest Gellner, "Homeland of the Unrevolution," Daedalus
(Summer 1993): 141-54.
19. Max Weber, Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology, ed. Guenther Roth and Glaus
Wittich (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), 1:231, 232. Italics in the original.
Weber did not intend the word sultanism to imply religious claims to obedi-
ence. In fact, under Ottoman rule, the ruler held two distinct offices and titles,
that of sultan and that of caliph. Initially, the Ottoman ruler was a sultan, and only
after the conquest of Damascus did he assume the title of caliph, which entailed
religious authority. After the defeat of Turkey in World War I and the proclama-
tion of the republic, the former ruler lost his title of sultan but retained his reli-
gious title of caliph until Atatürk eventually forced him to relinquish even that
title. Our point is that the secular and religious dimensions of his authority were
conceptually and historically distinguished. Furthermore, the term sultan should
not be analytically bound to the Middle East. Just as there are mandarins in New
Delhi and Paris as well as in Peking and there is a macho style of politics in the
Pentagon as well as in Buenos Aires, there are sultanistic rulers in Africa and the
Caribbean as well as in the Middle East. What we do want the term sultanism to
connote is a generic style of domination and regime rulership that is, as Weber
says, an extreme form of patrimonialism. In sultanism, the private and the public
are fused, there is a strong tendency toward familial power and dynastic succes-
sion, there is no distinction between a state career and personal service to the
ruler, there is a lack of rationalized impersonal ideology, economic success de-
pends on a personal relationship to the ruler, and, most of all, the ruler acts only
according to his own unchecked discretion, with no larger, impersonal goals.
Table 3.1 gives substantial details on what a sultanistic type is in relation to plu-
ralism, ideology, mobilization, and leadership. In this section we attempt to high-
light differences between sultanism, totalitarianism, and authoritarianism be-
cause, while we believe they are distinct ideal types, in any concrete case a specific
polity could have a mix of some sultanistic and some authoritarian tendencies (a
combination that might open up a variety of transition options) or a mix of sul-
tanistic and totalitarian tendencies (a combination that would tend to eliminate
numerous transition options).
In his long essay, "Totalitarian and Authoritarian Regimes," Juan Linz discussed
the special features that make sultanism a distinctive type of nondemocratic
regime.20 Since the sultanistic regime type has not been widely accepted in the lit-
erature, we believe it will be useful for us to highlight systematically its distinctive
qualities so as to make more clear the implications of this type of regime for the
patterns of democratic resistance and the problems of democratic consolidation.
In sultanism, there is a high fusion by the ruler of the private and the public.
The sultanistic polity becomes the personal domain of the sultan. In this domain
there is no rule of law and there is low institutionalization. In sultanism there may
be extensive social and economic pluralism, but almost never political pluralism,
because political power is so directly related to the ruler's person. However, the
essential reality in a sultanistic regime is that all individuals, groups, and institu-
20. Linz, "Totalitarian and Authoritarian Regimes," 259-63.

tions are permanently subject to the unpredictable and despotic intervention of

the sultan, and thus all pluralism is precarious.
In authoritarianism there may or may not be a rule of law, space for a semi-
opposition, or space for regime moderates who might establish links with oppo-
sition moderates, and there are normally extensive social and economic activities
that function within a secure framework of relative autonomy. Under sultanism,
however, there is no rule of law, no space for a semiopposition, no space for re-
gime moderates who might negotiate with democratic moderates, and no sphere
of the economy or civil society that is not subject to the despotic exercise of the
sultan's will. As we demonstrate in the next chapter, this critical difference be-
tween pluralism in authoritarian and sultanistic regimes has immense implica-
tions for the types of transition that are available in an authoritarian regime but
unavailable in a sultanistic regime.
There is also a sharp contrast in the function and consequences of ideology
between totalitarian and sultanistic regimes. In a totalitarian regime not only is
there an elaborate and guiding ideology, but ideology has the function of legitimat-
ing the regime, and rulers are often somewhat constrained by their own value sys-
tem and ideology. They or their followers, or both, believe in that ideology as a point
of reference and justification for their actions. In contrast, a sultanistic ruler char-
acteristically has no elaborate and guiding ideology. There may be highly personal-
istic statements with pretensions of being an ideology, often named after the sultan,
but this ideology is elaborated after the ruler has assumed power, is subject to ex-
treme manipulation, and, most importantly, is not believed to be constraining on
the ruler and is relevant only as long as he practices it. Thus, there could be ques-
tions raised as to whether Stalin's practices and statements were consistent with
Marxism-Leninism, but there would be no reason for anyone to debate whether
Trujillo's statements were consistent with Trujilloism. The contrast between au-
thoritarian and sultanistic regimes is less stark over ideology; however, the distinc-
tive mentalities that are a part of most authoritarian alliances are normally more
constraining on rulers than is the sultan's idiosyncratic and personal ideology.
The extensive and intensive mobilization that is a feature of totalitarianism is
seldom found in a sultanistic regime because of its low degree of institutionaliza-
tion and its low commitment to an overarching ideology. The low degree of or-
ganization means that any mobilization that does occur is uneven and sporadic.
Probably the biggest difference between sultanistic mobilization and authoritar-
ian mobilization is the tendency within sultanism (most dramatic in the case of
the Duvalier's Tonton Macoutes in Haiti) to use para-state groups linked to the
sultan to wield violence and terror against anyone who opposes the ruler's will.
These para-state groups are not modern bureaucracies with generalized norms
and procedures; rather, they are direct extensions of the sultan's will. They have
no significant institutional autonomy. As Weber stressed, they are purely "personal
instruments of the master."
Finally, how does leadership differ in sultanism, totalitarianism, and authori-

tarianism? The essence of sultanism is unrestrained personal rulership. This per-
sonal rulership is, as we have seen, unconstrained by ideology, rational-legal
norms, or any balance of power. "Support is based not on a coincidence of inter-
est between preexisting privileged social groups and the ruler but on interests cre-
ated by his rule, rewards he offers for loyalty, and the fear of his vengeance."21
In one key respect leadership under sultanism and totalitarianism is similar.
In both regimes the leader rules with undefined limits on his power and there is
great unpredictability for elites and nonelites alike. In this respect, a Stalin and a
Somoza are alike. However, there are important differences. The elaborate ideol-
ogy, with its sense of nonpersonal and public mission, is meant to play an impor-
tant legitimating function in totalitarian regimes. The ideological pronounce-
ments of a totalitarian leader are taken seriously not only by his followers and
cadres, but also by the society and intellectuals, including—in the cases of Lenin-
ism, Stalinism, and Marxism (and even fascism)—by intellectuals outside the
state in which the leader exercises control. This places a degree of organizational,
social, and ideological constraint on totalitarian leadership that is not present in
sultanistic leadership. Most importantly, the intense degree to which rulership is
personal in sultanism makes the dynastic dimension of rulership normatively ac-
ceptable and empirically common, whereas the public claims of totalitarianism
make dynastic ambition, if not unprecedented, at least aberrant.
The leadership dimension shows an even stronger contrast between authoritar-
ianism and sultanism. As Linz stated in his discussion of authoritarianism, leader-
ship is exercised in an authoritarian regime "with formally ill-defined but actually
quite predictable" norms.22 In most authoritarian regimes some bureaucratic enti-
ties play an important part. These bureaucratic entities often retain or generate their
own norms, which imply that there are procedural and normative limits on what
leaders can ask them to do in their capacity as, for example, military officers, judges,
tax officials, or police officers. However, a sultanistic leader simply "demands un-
conditional administrative compliance, for the official's loyalty to his office is not an
impersonal commitment to impersonal tasks that define the extent and content of
his office, but rather a servant's loyalty based on a strictly personal relationship to
the ruler and an obligation that in principle permits no limitation."23
We have now spelled out the central tendencies of five ideal-type regimes in the
modern world, four of which are nondemocratic. We are ready for the next step,
which is to explore why and how the type of prior nondemocratic regime has an
important effect on the democratic transition paths available and the tasks to be
addressed before democracy can be consolidated.
21. Ibid., 260.

22. Ibid., 255.
23. Ibid., 260.
4
The Implications of Prior

Regime Type for Transition Paths
and Consolidation Tasks
riAviNG A N A L Y Z E D the necessary conditions for a consolidated democ-

racy and then spelled out the key differences among the four ideal-typical non-
democratic regimes, it should be clear that the characteristics of the previous
nondemocratic regime have profound implications for the transition paths avail-
able and the tasks different countries face when they begin their struggles to de-
velop consolidated democracies. Within the logic of our ideal types, it is conceiv-
able that a particular authoritarian regime in its late stages might have a robust
civil society, a legal culture supportive of constitutionalism and rule of law, a us-
able state bureaucracy that operates within professional norms, and a reasonably
well-institutionalized economic society. For such a polity, the first and only nec-
essary item on the initial democratization agenda would relate to political soci-
ety—that is, the creation of the autonomy, authority, power, and legitimacy of
democratic institutions. We argue in chapter 6 that Spain, in the early 19705, ap-
proximated this position. However, if the starting point were from a totalitarian
regime of the communist subtype, democratic consolidation would entail the
task of simultaneously crafting not only political society and economic society,
but also every single arena of a democracy as well. The full implications of these
arguments are spelled out in a more systematic and detailed manner in tables 4.2
and 4.3, but here let us first depict the argument in its most stark form, table 4.1.
The analytic utility of distinguishing between post-totalitarian and totalitarian
regimes should now be clear. As table 4.1 demonstrates, it is conceivable that a
post-totalitarian regime could begin a transition to democracy with a combina-
tion of low-medium or medium scores on each condition necessary for a consol-
idated democracy except for the autonomy of political society. Hungary in early
and mid-1989 came closest to approximating this position. While the tasks facing
democrats starting from a mature post-totalitarian regime are challenging, they
are substantially less than those facing democrats starting from a totalitarian
regime. However, it should also be clear that, precisely because post-
totalitarian regimes have a prior totalitarian period, there will be legacies to over-
Table 4.1. The Implications of Prior Nondemocratic Regime Type for the Tasks of Democratic
Consolidation
Arena Characteristics Authoritarian Totalitarian Post-totalitarian Sultanistic
Civil society autonomy Medium to high Low Low to medium Low to
medium
Political society autonomy Low to medium Low Low Low
Constitutionalism and rule of law Low to high Low Medium Low
Professional norms and autonomy Low to high Low Low to medium Low
of state bureaucracy
Economic society with a degree of Medium to high Low Low to Low to
market autonomy and plurality of (Communist) low-medium medium
ownership forms or medium
(Fascist)
Note: The character of the arenas in the prior nondemocratic regime in the period relatively close to the start of the transition
is of the greatest importance for the tasks democratic leaders will face. The less developed the arena, the greater the tasks
democratic leaders will have to accomplish before the new regime can be a consolidated democracy.
come that are simply not found in an authoritarian regime that has never been to-
talitarian.
Sharp differences between authoritarian and sultanistic regimes in our typol-
ogy also help direct attention to the fact that the immediate implications of a sul-
tanistic regime for democracy-crafters (as in Haiti) are that they will have to begin
the construction of civil society, constitutionalism and a rule of law, professional
norms of the bureaucracy, economic society, and political institutions from a very
low base.
The delineation of the different regime types also allows us to be more specific
about the possibilities and limits of "pacts" as a transition option available or not
available in any particular nondemocratic regime type. Before discussing under
what conditions pacts are possible, three general analytic points about pacts must
be stressed. First, neither theoretically nor historically do democratic transitions
necessarily involve pacts. Indeed, of the eight distinctive paths to redemocrati-
zation Stepan analyzed elsewhere, only three involved pacts.1 Second, pacts can
range from very democratic to very nondemocratic in their intention and conse-
quences. A pact might be specifically crafted to provide for the rapid dismantling
of a nondemocratic regime and the setting of an early and specific date for free
elections. Such a pact would be clearly democratic in its intention and, if imple-
mented, its consequences. Or a pact may explicitly entail some nondemocratic
constraints for a short period before and after the first foundational election. In
contrast, a consociational pact that is not initially undemocratic, if maintained
too long, might preclude the entry into politics of new groups and eventually
i. See Alfred Stepan, "Paths toward Redemocratization: Theoretical and Comparative Considerations,"
in Guillermo O'Donnell, Philippe C. Schmitter, and Laurence Whitehead, eds., Transitions from Authori-
tarian Rule: Comparative Perspectives (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), 64-84,170-74.
Table 4.2. The Implications of Prior Nondemocratic Regime Type for Paths to Democratic Transition
Path Authoritarianism Totalitarianism Post-totalitarianism Sultanism
1. Reforma-pactada, ruptura- Given that civil society can be No space for organized In mature post-totalitarianism, Given a lack of rule of law and
pactada reasonably well developed and democratic opposition or for there can be collective civil liberties on the one hand
that some moderate political regime moderates.Thus leadership and a moderate and personalistic penetration of
opposition with a national reforma-pactada path is wing. Likewise, the democratic the entire polity by the sultan
constituency can exist, unavailable. opposition could have a well- on the other, the two
reforma-pactada, ruptura- developed "second culture" prerequisites for a four-player
pactada between regime and incipient political pacted reform, an organized
moderates and democratic groupings. If leaders of a nonviolent democratic
opposition moderates is mature post-totalitarian regime opposition and regime
possible. Either regime leaders believe that elections are moderates with sufficient
or the opposition could win fair necessary and they have a authority to negotiate a pact,
elections and complete a chance to win, reforma-pactada do not exist, leaving the
transition. with the leaders of the second reforma-pactada virtually
culture or incipient opposition impossible.
leading to free elections is
possible.
2. Defeat in War Defeat in war or war-related Virtually the only path in which In early post-totalitarianism Given absence of the rule of
collapse could lead to a totalitarianism defeated in war democratic prospects could law and widespread para-state
democratic transition with could lead rapidly to a resemble totalitarianism. In violence, the democratic path
weak negotiating power by democratic regime is by mature post-totalitarianism, is virtually not available
prior nondemocratic regime if occupation by a democratic assumption of government by a without external monitoring
representatives of democratic regime and externally democratic opposition and the and guarantees.
forces in civil and political monitored democratic early holding of elections are
society are available and installation. possible.
demand an electoral path.
Table 4.2. (continued/
Path Authoritarianism Totalitarianism Post-Totalitarianism Sultanism
3. Interim government after In an authoritarian regime, it is An interim government is Early elections are only the High chance that "interim
regime termination not possible that an organized unlikely. However, should a most likely path in mature government" will claim to act
initiated by regime (coup by democratic opposition in civil deep crisis lead to a successor post-totalitarianism where in the name of the people and
nonhierarchical military, society and even political government, given flattened opposition activists might form will postpone elections in order
armed insurgents, or mass society exists. If they demand civil society and the absence government and proceed to to carry out reforms. Given
uprising and regime early elections, this transition of organized democratic democratization. In early or previous lack of autonomy of
collapse) path is quite possible. political society, successful frozen post-totalitarianism, the civil or political society, there
However, in the absence of pressure for the holding of most likely regime transition is is a high chance that groups
effective demand for elections, free elections is unlikely. mass uprising which, if not associated with the sultan but
the interim government will be The successors might search repressed, could lead to regime claiming legitimacy for having
tempted to exercise for electoral legitimation, but collapse and an interim supported the uprising will
revolutionary power in policy this does not ensure government. The interim achieve nondemocratic power.
areas and to postpone or democratization. government may well be The best chance for democratic
cancel elections, thus delaying formed by elites connected transition is if revolutionary
the transition or leading to a with the old regime who are upheaval is led by interna-
new nondemocratic regime. able to consolidate their power tionally supported, democrati-
electorally in the still cally inclined leaders who set
"flattened society." a date for elections and allow
free contestation of power.
4. Extrication from rule by If a regime is led by a Path not available to this Path not available to this type Path not available to this
hierarchically led military hierarchical military, the regime type. Primacy of given leading role of the party. regime type. Sultanism implies
"military as institution," if it revolutionary party and a degree of fusion of private
feels under internal or external unconstrained role of leaders and public, and the sultan's
threat, may play a role in make rule by hierarchical interference with bureaucratic
pressuring the "military as military impossible. norms is incompatible with rule
government" to withdraw from by a hierarchical military.
direct rule and to hold
"extrication elections." The
length of transition and the
extent of the "reserve domains
of power" the military can
impose as the price of
extrication decrease with the
severity of the internal or
external threat to the military
as institution and the strength
of democratic forces in civil
and political society.
Some regime-specific If nondemocratic authoritarian Leadership of totalitarian A post-totalitarian regime, Given dynastic tendencies of
possible transition paths and regime is led by nonhierar- regime could split, opening the confronted with a serious sultanism, if sultan dies of
likely outcomes chical military and this regime way for popular mobilization, crisis, could collapse if the natural causes family members
collapses or is overthrown, it liberalization, and possibly option of repression is will attempt to continue
will be easier to impose even an interim government unavailable. Collapse could sultanistic regime; thus,
civilian democratic control and that holds elections. Given the lead to non-democratic normally no regime-led
trials on the military than if level of control prior to the takeover by alternative elites, liberalization will take place.
the regime had been led by a mobilization of protest, a more democratization, or chaos.
hierarchical military. probable outcome is that the
dynamic of mobilization leads
to re-imposition by force of
totalitarian controls or to shift
to post-totalitarianism. See
transition paths open to post-
totalitarianism.
Table 4.2. (continued!
6. Other regime-specific paths If a civilian-led authoritarian If totalitarian regime is If post-totalitarian regime is If the sultan is dependent on a
regime initiates a democratic supported by an external supported by external foreign patron, a continuation
transition, whatever hegemon, withdrawal of hegemon, it could collapse if of a crisis and pressure by the
agreements have been made hegemon's support could alter hegemon removes coercive patron might lead to the ruler
will only tend to have the all power relationships. Cost of guarantee. If it is an early holding snap elections which
power the electorate and repression increases. post-totalitarian regime, the he thinks he can control.
elected officials give to them. Opposition and mobilization successor regime is likely to be Defeat in elections is a
The emerging democracy will increase, and collapse authoritarian or controlled by possibility, especially if an
therefore normally be less becomes a possible outcome. leaders emerging out of the external patron supports the
constrained than if the prior If regime falls, chaos or previous regime. If it ¡s a late opposition. But democratic
nondemocratic regime had provisional government is most post-totalitarian regime, civil governance will be greatly
been led by a hierarchical likely. Given the absence of society leaders of the aided by continued
military. organized democratic provisional government could engagement of the patron in
opposition, even if provisional call early and completely free the democratization process.
government begins a transition, elections. Foreign patron can sometimes
control by people emerging out force the sultan to step down.
of the old regime is most
likely.
7. Other regime-specific paths Totalitarian regime could shift Most likely domestic cause for
to post-totalitarianism. See the defeat of the sultan is
transition options for post- assassination or revolutionary
totalitarianism. upheaval by armed groups or
civil society. Upheaval could be
supported even by business
groups because of their dislike
of the sultan's extreme use of
arbitrary power. Provisional
government is most likely. See
no. 3 above.
become a form of "exclusionary consociational authoritarianism."2 Finally, a pact

that is designed to exclude some groups permanently and vastly to over-represent
other groups is clearly undemocratic in its intention and, as long as it is sustained,
in its consequences. Third, as Stepan has argued elsewhere, "pact creation does not
necessarily mean pact maintenance—pacts can fall apart— Pacts—with or with-
out consociational elements—cannot be created in all political systems. Party
pacts have two requirements: first, leaders with the organizational and ideologi-
cal capacity to negotiate a grand coalition among themselves; second, the alle-
giance of their political followers to the terms of the pact."3
Much of the transition literature on pacts contains references to "hard-liners"
and "moderates." Transitions are frequently seen as involving a pact between the
regime moderates and the opposition moderates who are both able to "use" and
"contain" their respective hard-liners. This is, in essence, a four-player game theory
model.4 However, two conditions must be satisfied for it to be a true four-player
game. The moderate players in the regime must have sufficient autonomy so that
they can, over time, conduct strategic as well as tactical negotiations with the play-
ers from the moderate opposition. Conversely, the moderates in the opposition
need a degree of continued organizational presence, power, and followers in the
polity to play their part in the negotiation pacts. For many writers on transitions,
the locus classicus of such a pact occurred in Spain.5 In Spain, as we shall see in
chapter 6, regime and opposition moderates initially crafted a pacted reform.
Eventually, negotiations led to a pacted rupture that allowed the dismantling of
the nondemocratic elements of the Franco state and the creation of new demo-
cratic structures. This overall process is called reforma pactada-ruptura pactada.
While there are often references to the possibility of pacts being a key part of
most transitions, full four-player pacts are possible only in two of our four ideal-
typical nondemocratic regimes. A regime that approximates the sultanistic ideal
type does not have the reforma pactada-ruptura pactada available as a transition
path because the two moderate players are absent. The essence of the sultanistic
ideal type is that the sultan fuses personal and public power. Important figures in
the regime are significant not because of any bureaucratic or professional posi-
tion they hold, but because of their presence on the personal staff of the sultan.
2. Jonathan Hartlyn discusses consociational exclusion in The Politics of Coalition Rule in Colombia
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988).
3. Stepan, "Paths toward Redemocratization," 80. Stress in original. For an excellent analysis of the dif-
ficulties of pact maintenance, see Eric Nordlinger, Conflict Regulation and Divided Societies (Cambridge:
Center for International Affairs, Harvard University Press, 1972).
4. See, for example, Adam Przeworski, "The Games of Transition," in Scott Mainwaring, Guillermo
O'Donnell, and Samuel Valenzuela, eds., Issues in Democratic Consolidation (Notre Dame, Indiana: Uni-
versity of Notre Dame Press, 1992), 105-53.
5. For a rigorous and appropriate application of the game theory approach to the Spanish case, see Josep
M. Colomer, Game Theory and the Transition to Democracy: The Spanish Model (Aldershot, England: Ed-
ward Elgar Publishing, 1995), and "Transitions by Agreement: Modeling the Spanish Way," American Polit-
ical Science Review (December 1991): 1283-1302.
Table 4.3. The Implications of Nondemocratic Regime Type for the Minimal Tasks of Completing Transition to and Consolidation of a Democratic Regime from that
Regime Type
Necessary Conditions Authoritarianism Totalitarianism Post-totalitarianism Sultanism
1. Rule of law and civil society In some authoritarian regimes Rule of law did not exist. An extensive reform of the Given the legacy of the fusion
freedom there is a tradition of rule of Much of the legal code, to the legal system to assure civil of public and private and the
law and civil society that might extent that it existed, was rights and rule of law will be extreme personalization of
be guite lively, but civil liber- highly politicized and instru- needed. power, the establishment of a
ties will need to be extended mental for the party-state but rule of law and guarantees for
and protected. Laws giving not for its citizens and there- citizens have a high priority
autonomy to trade unions, fore was incompatible with and will be a difficult task.
media, etc., may need to be democracy. Civil liberties are
enacted and implemented. minimal and need to be legal-
ized, developed, and protected.
The "flattened" nature of civil
society requires fundamental
changes that are difficult to
generate in a short time.
2. Political society autonomy All the normal conditions The party's dominant position The dismantling of the privi- The suppression of semiprivate
and trust and legal condition ensuring the free electoral in all areas of society and its leged status, legal and other- violence and the creation of a
for it competition between parties privileged status and resources wise, of the dominant party modicum of trust are require-
need to be created. In some must be dismantled, its pres- will be needed. Legal reform ments for the development of
cases, party competition has ence in all institutions will also be needed to assure political parties, free contesta-
only been suspended and can removed, and almost all of its the free formation and compe- tion for power, and sufficient
easily be revitalized. In other property transferred to the tition of political parties. While autonomy for the working of
cases, the formation of parties state. However, if citizens want society may not be as "flat- democratic procedures and
needs to be legalized and to recreate the party they tened" as under totalitaria- institutions.
restrictions on specific parties should be allowed to do so, nism, the relative lack of
lifted. In some cases the politi- and its support and power economic and political differen-
cal rights of key political actors should depend on the votes tiation makes political "repre-
need to be re-established. In people might want to give to sentation" of interests difficult
exceptional cases an authori- it. Given the flattened social and complicates the develop-
tarian state party may have to landscape the representation of ment of a normal spectrum of
be dismantled. interests will be particularly democratic parties.
difficult.
3. Constitutional rules to In some cases, there can be an A paper constitution may exist Given the fictive character of A universalisée legal culture
allocate power democrat- immediate declaration that a that, when filled with demo- the constitution, there are will have to be developed.
ically previous democratic consti- cratic content, might lead to serious costs to using these Even while there may be a
tution has been reinstated; in perverse consequences, since it institutions, and the making of usable constitution, given the
other cases amendments to a was not designed for a demo- a democratic constitution recent abuse of constitutional
nondemocratic constitution may cratic society. The making of a should be a high priority. rules, a spirit of trust and
be viable; in still others a full new democratic constitution respect for constitutionalism
democratic constituent will be necessary but difficult does not exist at the end of a
assembly and constitution- due to an inchoate political sultanistic period.
making process are needed. society, the lack of a constitu-
tional culture, and the legacy
created by the verbal
commitments of the previous
constitution.
4. State bureaucracy To the extent that the The delegation of major tasks The fact that many functions of The clientelistic penetration
acceptable and serviceable bureaucracy has not been of the state to the party and the state, including judiciary and corruption of bureaucratic
to democratic government politicized and has maintained the penetration of the party functions, were performed by institutions limit their efficiency
professional standards, there into all bureaucratic and social party bureaucrats makes and legitimacy and put
may be no immediate need for institutions make the creation purges and reform of the state extensive reform on the
bureaucratic reform. In some of a nonpoliticized bureaucracy bureaucracy a widespread agenda. Even democratically
cases, a more or less limited an imperative and difficult demand but a complex and elected leaders may perpetuate
purge of bureaucrats, including task. The dismantling of the contentious issue to resolve. clientelistic practices rather
the judiciary and the military, party within the state might The skills of the former than rational administration.
might be desirable. But if a seriously reduce the efficiency bureaucratic elite and the lack
hierarchical military played a and coordination of the state of experience of the opposition
major role in the previous apparatus and open the door may well give the former elite
nondemocratic regime, such for a clientelistic take-over by a privileged position.
purges may be quite difficult. the new democrats or by
opportunists. The experience of
the party state leaves a legacy
of popular distrust of the state.
Table 4.3. (continued!
5. Sufficient autonomy for If the economy has been a In communist totalitarianism Ultimate control by the state of Dismantling of the patrimonial
economy and economic ac- functioning mixed economy, the almost total public all economic activity does not and clientelistic structures of
tors to assure pluralism of there may be no immediate ownership of property and the seem conducive to the minimal the ruler and his allies will be
civil society, political society, changes necessary to facilitate linkages between the party and degree of civil and political necessary to allow the normal
and economic society the transition and consolidation the economy make the growth society robustness necessary development of civil, political,
of democracy. Whatever further of autonomy of civil and for a democratic polity. Some and economic society.
reforms are desired or needed political society particularly reforms are necessary to
will be part of normal political difficult. Fundamental reform of create an institutionalized
processes that could include the economy is imperative, but economic society. A full-blown
more socialization or more the absence of a legal market economy is not a
privatization of property and institutional framework for a requirement for democracy.
more or less social and/or market economy and the
economic regulation of the weakness of legal culture
market. make the creation of an
"economic society" difficult
and facilitate the emergence of
illegal or alegal practices.
But there is absolutely no room on the "household" staff of the sultan for a mod-
erate player who publicly negotiates the demise of his employer. The other play-
ers who never exist in an ideal typical sultanistic regime are moderates from the
organized democratic opposition. Neither civil society nor political society has
enough autonomy to enable a publicly organized democratic opposition to develop
sufficient negotiating capacity for it to be a full player in any pacted transition.6
A similar logic would preclude the ideal-typical totalitarian regime from even
a full two-player game. There is a big player (the totalitarian hard-line maximum
leader and his party-state staff) and a small underground opposition (half a
player?) that can struggle to exist and possibly resist but that has absolutely no
capacity to negotiate a pacted transition.
Even early post-totalitarian regimes do not have sufficient diversity and au-
tonomy in the ruling party-state leadership or sufficient strength and autonomy
within the democratic opposition really to produce all the players needed to con-
clude successfully a four-player democratic transition game. Indeed, as we argued
in chapter 3, if an early or a "frozen" post-totalitarian regime faces a crisis of
opposition, it is particularly vulnerable to collapse if it is not able to repress that
opposition, given its limited negotiating capability. But a mature post-totalitarian
regime (such as Hungary in the mid-1980s) and a wide range of authoritarian
regimes (such as Spain and Brazil in the mid-1970s) can produce four-player
games. Thus although "pacted transitions" figure prominently in the literature,
the classic four-player pacted transitions are in fact available as a transition path
only in some authoritarian and mature post-totalitarian regimes.
A transition path that would seem available to most nondemocratic regimes
but that, upon closer scrutiny, is in fact available only to the authoritarian regime
type concerns the military. If the costs of rule by the "military as government" are
considered too great for the "military as institution," a free election may become
part of the extrication formula for the hierarchical military in charge of an au-
thoritarian regime.7 However, the control of the government by a hierarchical
military bureaucracy is completely inconsistent with the logics of sultanism or
totalitarianism or of the leading role of the party in post-totalitarianism.
We are now ready to present for analysis a resume of the implications of non-
democratic regime types for paths to democratic transition (table 4.2), and of the
implications of nondemocratic regime type for the minimal tasks of completing
the transition to and consolidation of a democratic regime (table 4.3).
6. For example, the only Warsaw Pact country in 1988 not to have one opposition samizdat journal pub-
lished in the country was Romania, a country that combined under Ceauçescu strong sultanistic and total-
itarian tendencies. For the special difficulties of a successful democratic transition from a sultanistic
regime, see the introductory chapter by H. E. Chehabi and Juan J. Linz in their edited volume in progress,
Sultanistic Regimes, and Richard Snyder, "Explaining Transitions from Neopatrimonial Dictatorships,"
Comparative Politics 24 (July 1992): 379-99. Also see Michael Bratton and Nicholas van de Walle, "Neopat-
rimonial Regimes and Political Transition in Africa," World Politics (July 1994): 453-89.
7. An extensive conceptual and political analysis of the distinction between the "military as govern-
ment" and the "military as institution" is developed in chapter 5.
5
Actors and Contexts
IN A D D I T I O N to our "macrovariables" of prior regime type and stateness,

we call attention to some other important variables that affect democratic transi-
tion and consolidation and that lend themselves to middle range propositions.
Two actor-centered variables concern the leadership base of the prior nondemo-
cratic regime and the question of who initiates and who controls the transition.
Three context variables relate to international influences, the political economy of
legitimacy and coercion, and constitution-making environments.
THE I N S T I T U T I O N A L COMPOSITION AND LEADERSHIP

OF THE PRECEDING NONDEMOCRATIC REGIME
Our central question here concerns the core group that is in day-by-day con-
trol of the state apparatus. What is the institutional character of this state elite?
Does its character favorably or unfavorably affect democratic transition and con-
solidation? The organizational base is necessarily analytically distinct from the
variable of regime type because, within some regime types (especially authoritar-
ian), there can be dramatically different types of state elites, each with quite dif-
ferent implications for democratic transition and consolidation. Without being
exhaustive, four different types of state elites can be distinguished: (i) a hierar-
chical military, (2) a nonhierarchical military, (3) a civilian elite, and (4) the dis-
tinctive category of sultanistic elites.
Hierarchical Military
As shown in chapter 4 on the consequences of prior nondemocratic regime
types, only an authoritarian regime has the possibility of being controlled by a hi-
erarchical military organization. Control by such an organization is against the
logics of a totalitarian, post-totalitarian, or sultanistic regime.1 All hierarchical
i. In some cases, such as Chile and Uruguay, and especially the "dirty war" in Argentina, the military de-
veloped a definition of the enemy in their national security doctrine that gave to the repression a totalitar-
ian dimension. See, for example, Alexandra Barahona de Brito, "Truth or Amnesty—Human Rights and
Democratization in Latin America: Uruguay and Chile" (Ph.D. diss., University of Oxford, 1993), 28-61.
Actors and Contexts 67
military regimes share one characteristic that is potentially favorable to demo-

cratic transition. The officer corps, taken as a whole, sees itself as a permanent
part of the state apparatus, with enduring interests and permanent functions that
transcend the interests of the government of the day. This means that there is al-
ways the possibility that the hierarchical leaders of the military-as-institution will
come to the decision that the costs of direct involvement in nondemocratic rule
are greater than the costs of extrication. Thus, the reassertion of hierarchical au-
thority in the name of the military-as-institution is a permanent danger faced by
the military-as-government. Furthermore, as members of a situational elite who
derive their power and status from the existence of a functioning state apparatus,
the military-as-institution have an interest in a stable state, and this requires a
government.2 This often means that, if a democratic regime is an available ruling
formula in the polity, the military may decide to solve their internal organiza-
tional problems and their need for a government by devolving the exercise of gov-
ernment to civilians. Paradoxically but predictably, democratic elections are thus
often part of the extrication strategy of military institutions that feel threatened
by their prominent role in nondemocratic regimes.
We can make parsimonious and much less optimistic statements about hierar-
chical military regimes in relation to democratic consolidation. Precisely because
the military (short of their elimination by foreign powers or by revolution) is a
permanent part of the state apparatus and as such has privileged access to coer-
cive resources, members of the military will be an integral part of the machinery
that the new democratic government has to manage. Theoretically and practi-
cally, therefore, the more the military hierarchy directly manages the state and
their own organization on a day-by-day basis before the transition, the more
salient the issue of the successful democratic management of the military will be
to the task of democratic consolidation. Furthermore, the more hierarchically led
the military, the less they are forced to extricate themselves from a nondemocratic
regime due to internal contradictions, and the weaker the coalition that is forcing
them from office, the more the military will be in a position to negotiate their
withdrawal on terms where they retain nondemocratic prerogatives or impose
very confining conditions on the political processes that lead to democratic con-
solidation. More than any of the three other kinds of organizational bases found
in nondemocratic regimes, a hierarchical military possesses the greatest ability to
impose "reserve domains" on the newly elected government, and this by defini-
tion precludes democratic consolidation. This is a particularly acute problem if
2. For a more discursive argument about the analytical and historical utility of the distinction between
military-as-government and military-as-institution, see Stepan, "Paths toward Redemocratization," 75-78,
172-73. For the concept of the military as a "situational elite" with a special relationship to the state, see Al-
fred Stepan, "Inclusionary and Exclusionary Military Responses to Radicalism with Special Attention to
Peru," in Seweryn Bialer, ed., Radicalism in the Contemporary Age (Boulder: Westview Press, 1977), 3:221-39,
344-50.
the hierarchical military have been involved in widespread human rights viola-
tions and condition their loyalty, as a part of the state apparatus, upon not being
punished by the new democratic government. Such a legacy of human rights vi-
olations presented severe problems for democratic consolidation in Argentina
and Chile.
This is not meant to imply a static situation. Power is always and everywhere
relational. We simply mean that, if a relatively unified, hierarchically led military
has just left the direct exercise of rule, the complex dialectical tasks of democratic
power creation and the reduction of the domains of nondemocratic prerogatives
of the military must become two of the most important tasks for new democratic
leaders.
Nonhierarchical Military
A nonhierarchical, military-led nondemocratic regime, on the other hand,
has some characteristics that make it less of a potential obstacle to democratic
transition and especially democratic consolidation. Concerning democratic
transition, if a nonhierarchically led military-as-government (e.g., of colonels
and majors) enters into difficulties, the incentive for the military-as-institution
to re-establish hierarchy by supporting an extrication coup is even higher than it
would be if the military-as-government were hierarchically led. The fundamen-
tal political and theoretical distinction, however, concerns democratic consoli-
dation. The chances that the military-as-institution will tolerate punishment
and trials of members of the outgoing nondemocratic government are signifi-
cantly greater if the group being punished is not seen to be the military institu-
tion itself, but a group within the military which has violated hierarchical norms.
Likewise, if the colonels have established para-state intelligence operations that
are perceived as threats even to the organizational military, the hierarchical mil-
itary is much more likely to acquiesce (or even insist) that their reserve domains
of power be eliminated.
Civilian Leadership
In comparative terms, civilian-led regimes (even mature post-totalitarian
civilian-led regimes in which Communist parties are essential components) will
characteristically have greater institutional, symbolic, and absorptive capacities
than either military or sultanistic leaders to initiate, direct, and manage a demo-
cratic transition. Civilian leaders are often more motivated to initiate and more
capable of negotiating a complicated reform pact than are the military. They often
have more links to society than do military or para-military sultanistic leaders.
Civilians also can see themselves as potential winners and rulers in a future dem-
ocratic regime. This option is much less likely for military or sultanistic rulers.
There are, of course, potential problems for full democratic transition and
consolidation in such civilian-led political change. Civilian-led liberalization may

re-equilibrate the system short of democratic transition or allow groups to win
elections by skillful but nondemocratic means because of their privileged access
to levers of power. When we consider democratic consolidation, however, it seems
to us that the capacity of civilian leaders in a previously nondemocratic regime to
create obstacles to democratic consolidation, such as constitutionally sanctioned
reserve domains of power, is significantly less than that of a military organization.
An exception to the above assertion might seem to be the case of a civilian-led,
nondemocratic regime based on a monopoly party—especially a ruling Commu-
nist Party. Should this kind of organizational base be considered an obstacle to
democratic consolidation comparable to a hierarchical military organization that
has just left power? Some political activists in Eastern Europe feared that a de-
feated ruling Communist Party and a defeated ruling hierarchical military were
functional equivalents in terms of their ability to impede the consolidation of de-
mocracy. However, we believe that, in those cases where the Communist Party has
been defeated in free and competitive elections (as in Hungary in 1990), this anal-
ogy is fundamentally misleading on two grounds: (i) organizational relationships
to the state apparatus and (2) incentives. The hierarchical military, unless it has
been militarily defeated and dissolved by the new democratic incumbents, will, as
an organization, withdraw as a unit into the state apparatus where it still has
extensive state missions and state-allocated resources (as in Chile in 1989). A de-
feated Communist Party, in contrast, while it may well retain control of many re-
sources and loyalties that help it compete in later elections, has no comparable in-
stitutional base in the state apparatus, has no continuing claim on new state
resources, and has no continuing state mission. Organizationally, it is a defeated
party out of office and, though it may win open elections in the future (as in Hun-
gary in 1994), it has less collective resources to impose "reserve domains" than do
the military out of office. Our argument here is restricted only to those cases
where the democratic opposition wins open and contested elections and then as-
sumes control of the government. However, in some societies, normally close to
the totalitarian pole, with no legacies of liberal or democratic politics, top
nomenklatura figures are able to put on nationalist garb and engage not in de-
mocracy building but ethnocracy building. In such contexts civil society is too
weak to generate a competitive political society and members of the nomen-
klatura are able to appropriate power and "legitimate" themselves via elections.
In relation to behavioral incentives, Communists (or ex-Communists) from
the former nomenklatura after defeat in free and contested elections will still oc-
cupy numerous important positions within the state apparatus, especially in state
enterprises. The members of the former nomenklatura through their networks
extending over management, administration, and even security services can as-
sure themselves a privileged position in the emerging capitalist economy and with
it substantial political influence. However, they normally act for their own indi-
vidual self-interest. In most post-Communist countries the former nomenklatura

do not attempt to overthrow or directly challenge the new regime but to profit by
it. In some cases, particularly in the former Soviet Union, this leads to a confusion
between the public and the private and with it considerable room for corruption.
The more the members of the former nomenklatura act as individuals or demo-
craticstate managers, the better their chances of survival as officials. This is par-
ticularly so for managers of state production, trading, and banking enterprises,
who can use their organizational resources profitably to restructure new forms
of recombined public-private property.3 The incentive system for the former
nomenklatura thus has strong individualist or network components, which in-
volve working for advantages by manipulating the new political context more
than opposing it per se. The incentive system for the military is fundamentally
different. With few exceptions, incentives to the military are collective and derive
from the struggles to retain group prerogatives to avoid collective negative ac-
tions, such as trials. Therefore, unlike the nomenklatura out of office, for the mil-
itary out of office there may be significant incentives for acting together in open
contestation against the new democratic government.
Sultanistic Leadership
Last, we should briefly consider what the institutional composition of sul-
tanistic rule implies for democratic transitions and consolidation. A sultanistic
regime is one in which the ruler personalizes the government and the regime and,
in an uninstitutionalized but erratically pervasive way, penetrates the state, polit-
ical society, and civil society. Fused are not only the private and the public, but
also the civilian and the military. Theoretically, it is hard to classify sultanship as
either a military- or a civilian-led regime. Sultanistic regimes present an oppor-
tunity for democratic transition because, should the ruler (and his or her family)
be overthrown or assassinated, the sultanistic regime collapses. However, the very
nature of a sultanistic regime means that there is very little space for the organi-
zation of a democratic opposition. Therefore, short of death by natural causes,
sultanistic dictators are characteristically overthrown by quick, massive move-
ments of civil society, by assassination, or by armed revolt (see table 4.2). This
manner of regime termination often leads to the dynamics of a provisional gov-
ernment which, unless there is a decision to hold rapid elections, normally pre-
sents dangers for democratic consolidation.4 Also, the very personalization of
power around the dictator may allow close associates of the regime to assume
power. Or, even when the group or armed movement leading the revolt eliminates
3. Pioneering work on new network formation and the associated phenomenon of "recombinant prop-
erty" that is not really private and no longer public is being done by David Stark, "Recombinant Property
in East European Capitalism," Working Paper, Collegium Budapest, 1994.
4. We will discuss interim governments in our analysis of the next variable.
those most associated with the sultanistic regime, they may appoint themselves as
the "sovereign" representatives of the people and rule in the name of democracy
without passing through the free contestation and free election phases that are
necessary for full democratic transition and consolidation.
T R A N S I T I O N I N I T I A T I O N : WHO STARTS AND WHO CONTROLS?
Transitions initiated by an uprising of civil society, by the sudden collapse of

the nondemocratic regime, by an armed revolution, or by a nonhierarchically led
military coup all tend toward situations in which the instruments of rule will be
assumed by an interim or provisional government.5 Transitions initiated by hier-
archical state-led or regime-led forces do not.
Interim governments are highly fluid situations and can lead to diametrically
opposite outcomes depending on which groups are most powerful, and especially
on whether elections or sweeping decree reforms are considered to be the first pri-
ority. If the interim government quickly sets a date for elections and rules as a rel-
atively neutral caretaker for these elections, this can be a very rapid and effica-
cious route toward a democratic transition. However, if the interim government
claims that its actions in overthrowing the government give it a legitimate man-
date to make fundamental changes that it defines as preconditions to democratic
elections, the interim government can set into motion a dangerous dynamic in
which the democratic transition is put at peril, even including the postponement
of elections sine die.
Elections are crucial because without them there is no easy way to evaluate
whether the interim government is or is not actually representing the majority.
Without elections, actors who did not play a central role in eliminating the old
regime will find it very difficult to emerge and assert that they have a democratic
mandate. And without elections the full array of institutions that constitute a new
democratic political society—such as legislatures, constituent assemblies, and
competitive political parties—simply cannot develop sufficient autonomy, legal-
ity, and legitimacy.
Elections are most likely to be held quickly in cases of collapse where demo-
cratic party leaders (as in Greece in 1974) almost immediately emerge as the core
of the interim government or where leaders of civil society who are committed to
creating a political democracy as the first order of business (as in Czechoslovakia
in 1989) are the core of the interim government. Frequently, however, especially in
cases where armed force has brought them into power, interim governments de-
velop a dynamic that moves them away from fully free contestation. Claiming
5. For a more detailed discussion of interim governments, see Yossi Shain and Juan J. Linz, eds., Between
States: Interim Governments and Democratic Transitions (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1995).
revolutionary legitimacy, the provisional government may substitute occasional

plebiscites or referenda for multiparty elections. A provisional government that
begins with a nonhierarchical coup may open up an explosive situation because
it may involve part of the state apparatus attacking another part of the state ap-
paratus, in which outcomes can vary from massive state repression to revolution.
The least likely outcome in such a conflict is procedural democracy.
What can we say about state-led or regime-initiated and regime-controlled
transitions? For one thing the potential for the emergence of an interim govern-
ment is virtually absent when the regime controls the transfer of government
until elections decide who should govern. This fundamental point made, we need
to be aware that regime-controlled transfers can be placed along a continuum
ranging from democratically disloyal to loyal. A democratically disloyal transfer
is one in which, for whatever reasons, the outgoing regime attempts to put strong
constraints on the incoming, democratically elected government by placing sup-
porters of the nondemocratic regime in key state positions and by successfully in-
sisting on the retention of many nondemocratic features in the new political sys-
tem. A disloyal transfer is most likely to happen when the leaders of the outgoing
nondemocratic regime are reluctant to transfer power to democratic institutions
and the correlation of forces between the nondemocratic regime and the demo-
cratic opposition is one where the nondemocratic leaders retain substantial coer-
cive and political resources. For reasons we have already discussed, this is most
likely to happen if the prior nondemocratic government was a hierarchically con-
trolled military regime with strong allies in civil and political society, as we shall
see in the case of Chile.
INTERNATIONAL INFLUENCE
The most influential and widely read publication on democratic transitions is

the four-volume work edited by Guillermo O'Donnell, Philippe C. Schmitter, and
Laurence Whitehead, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule. The cases in this study
all concerned Southern Europe and Latin America and, with the exception of
Italy, the decade of the mid-1970s to the mid-1980s. Generalizing from the expe-
riences within these spatial and temporal confines, O'Donnell and Schmitter in
the concluding volume argue that "domestic factors play a predominant role in
the transition. More precisely, we assert that there is no transition whose begin-
ning is not the consequence—direct or indirect—of important divisions within
the authoritarian regime itself."6 Laurence Whitehead, in his valuable chapter on
6. Guillermo O'Donnell and Philippe C. Schmitter, Tentative Conclusions about Uncertain Democracies
(Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), 19.
international influence, offers a more qualified generalization: "In all the peace-
time cases considered here internal forces were of primary importance in deter-
mining the course and outcome of the transition attempt, and international fac-
tors played only a secondary role."7
However, if one considers the entire world and all major actual (or potential)
cases of democratization in modern times, the analysis of international influences
can be pushed much further and a series of nuanced hypotheses can be advanced.
To do so, we distinguish between the foreign policy, Zeitgeist, and diffusion effects.
Foreign Policies
Conceptually, foreign policies can have an influence on domestic contexts in
very different ways. To begin with, there are in fact three categories of situations
in which the use of force in foreign policy actually determines outcomes that re-
late to democracy. First, a nondemocratic country can use force to overthrow a
less militarily powerful democracy and either annex or occupy the country or in-
stall a nondemocratic puppet regime (e.g., Germany in Czechoslovakia in 1938).
Second, a nondemocratic regional hegemon (which can be a single country or a
community of countries acting collectively) can in its "outer empire" use military
force to reverse a successful democratizing revolutionary effort to overthrow a
nondemocratic regime (e.g., Hungary in 1956) or to reverse a liberalizing process
(e.g., Czechoslovakia in 1968). Third, a democratic country that is a victor in a war
against a nondemocratic regime can occupy the defeated country and initiate a
democratic transition by installation (e.g., Germany and Japan in 1945). However,
although foreign policies can have determinative force in the democratic transi-
tion phase, democratic consolidation in an independent country is ultimately de-
termined by domestic forces.
Another influence of foreign policy on democratic transition and consolida-
tion concerns what we might call gate opening to democratic efforts. Formal or in-
formal empires, largely responding to their own internal and geopolitical needs,
may open a previously closed gate to democratization efforts in subordinate re-
gimes. Whether there will be a democratic transition or not and whether this will
lead to democratic consolidation or not is predominantly domestically deter-
mined (e.g., most of the British Empire after World War II, the Soviet bloc in East-
ern Europe in 1989).
7. Laurence Whitehead, "International Aspects of Democratization," in O'Donnell, Schmitter, and

Whitehead, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Comparative Perspectives, 4. In the body of the article
Whitehead gives detailed information about how the European Community played a strongly supportive
role in democratic consolidation in southern Europe. In later works, Whitehead, O'Donnell, and Schmit-
ter correctly acknowledged that international influence played a central role in Eastern Europe. Also see the
two-volume work edited by Abraham F. Lowenthal, Exporting Democracy: The United States and Latin
America (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991); and Geoffrey Pridham, ed., Securing Democ-
racy: The International Context of Regime Transition in Southern Europe (London: Routledge, 1990).
Subversion is another kind of policy effect. Regional hegemons (democratic or

nondemocratic) can play an important contributing, though seldom determina-
tive, role in helping to subvert a nondemocratic regime (e.g., U.S. foreign policies
toward the Philippines in 1987) or in helping to subvert democracy that is oppos-
ing the hegemon's policy preferences (e.g., U.S foreign policy toward Chile in
1973). A democratic hegemon may also use its geopolitical and economic power
to thwart nondemocratic forces trying to impede a democratic transition process
(e.g., President Carter's role in reversing electoral fraud in the Dominican Re-
public in 1978).
Finally, a regional hegemon may, by a consistent policy package of meaningful
incentives and disincentives, play a major supportive (but not determinative) role
in helping a fledgling democracy in the region complete a democratic transition
and consolidate democracy (e.g., the collective foreign policy of the European
Economic Community [EEC] and especially of West Germany toward Portugal
in 1974).
Zeitgeist
The concept of Zeitgeist is taken from the German tradition of intellectual his-
tory and refers to the "spirit of the times." We do not believe in any variant of the
"end of history" thesis—the thesis, namely, that one ideology, such as the demo-
cratic ideology, can or will stop human efforts to respond to problems by creat-
ing alternative political visions and ideologies.8 But we do maintain that, when a
country is part of an international ideological community where democracy is
only one of many strongly contested ideologies, the chances of transiting to and
consolidating democracy are substantially less than if the spirit of the times is one
where democratic ideologies have no powerful contenders. The effect of a demo-
cratically hostile or a democratically supportive Zeitgeist can readily be seen when
we contrast interwar Europe with the Europe of the mid-1970s and the 19805. In
interwar Europe, in the aftermath of the break-up of the Austro-Hungarian Em-
pire, boundary changes emerging out of the Treaty of Versailles, and various po-
litical experiments, eleven states with little or no prior experience of an indepen-
dent democratic regime made some effort to establish democracies.9 However,
the spirit of the times was one in which the democratic ideal competed with four
8. See, for example, Francis Fukuyama, "The End of History," National Interest 16 (Summer 1989): 3-18.
The return to power in Lithuania, Poland, and Hungary of reform communists as social democrats is but
one example of how history can evolve in new and unexpected ways. Another example is the resurgence, in
the name of "democratic majoritarianism," of ethnic nationalist dictatorships in parts of the former Soviet
Union and Yugoslavia.
9. These states were Spain, Italy, Poland, Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Bulgaria,
Yugoslavia, and Romania. For a discussion of their demise, see Juan J. Linz, "La crisis de las democracias,"
in Mercedes Cabrera, Santos Julia, and Pablo Martín Aceña, eds., Europa en crisis, 1919-1939 (Madrid: Edi-
torial Pablo Iglesias, 1992), 231-80.
other contesting ideologies in Europe, none of them democratic. Communism in

the Soviet Union was a novel experiment that many felt offered great promise.
Fascism in Italy was seen by many others as a powerful contestant to both com-
munism and democracy. Catholicism, after the papal encyclical, Rerum Novarum,
was the basis of novel forms of corporatist and integralist movements. Finally, in
the midst of this intense ideological struggle, many conservatives still remem-
bered positively the political formula of a predemocratic, authoritarian constitu-
tional monarchy, of which Imperial Germany was the esteemed exemplar. All of
Europe was influenced in some degree by these nondemocratic ideas. Latin Amer-
ica too was strongly influenced by these European intellectual and ideological
currents, as the experience of the Estado Novo under Vargas in Brazil and of Per-
onism in Argentina shows.
Though democracy is never "overdetermined," even in the context of the most
supportive Zeitgeist, by the late 19705 the Zeitgeist in southern Europe—indeed in
most of the world (with the important exception of a reinvigorated fundamental-
ism in the Islamic cultural community)—was such that there were no major ide-
ological contestants to democracy as a political system. To be sure, Communism
was entrenched in the Soviet Union and by extension in the subordinate regimes
of Eastern Europe, but the pronouncement by an eminent Polish philosopher that
the 1968 Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia represented the "clinical death" of
Marxist revisionism in Central and Eastern Europe proved prophetic.10 By 1977,
the issue of human rights had acquired such pan-European support that most of
the East European regimes became signatories to the Helsinki Accords.11 Fascism
and Nazism were thoroughly discredited after World War II, and no longer repre-
sented a pole of attraction. After Vatican II (1961-63) Catholicism developed an
ideological and institutional position more amenable to democracy (if not to cap-
italism) than ever before.12 In the modern era most of the secure and successful
monarchs are now constitutional heads of state in parliamentary democracies. The
Egyptian and Peruvian military option so intriguing in the 19605 had few adher-
ents in the world by the mid-1970s. On the other hand, the Latin American left's
experience with a new type of modern military-led bureaucratic-authoritarian
regime had contributed to a deep revalorization of democracy, not merely as a tac-
tical instrument but as a value in itself.13 The hopes that some democrats had in
Yugoslav worker self-management as a school for democracy have been thor-
10. Leszek Kolakowski, Main Currents of Marxism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978), 3: 465.
11. For the effects on the domestic politics of East European countries and the Soviet Union of having
signed the Helsinki Accords, see Samuel P. Huntington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Twentieth
Century (Norman: Oklahoma University Press, 1991), esp. 85-100.
12. For Vatican II and how it enhanced the status of democracy in Roman Catholic theology, see George
Weigel, The Final Revolution: The Resistance Church and the Collapse of Communism (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1992), esp. 67-74.
13. The revalorization of democracy by the left produced a rich new genre of writings. For one such ex-
ample see Francisco Weffort, "Why Democracy?" in Alfred Stepan, ed., Democratizing Brazil: Problems of
Transition and Consolidation (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989), 327-50.
oughly disappointed. In Africa, "one-party" states by the early 19905 had lost al-
most all their original credibility as "mobilizing regimes" and were increasingly
disdained as "rent-seeking" formulas exploited by nondemocratic elites.
Diffusion
Zeitgeist in the world of politics refers to historical eras. But the diffusion effect
in an international political community, especially in a community tightly coupled
by culture, coercive systems, and/or communication, can refer to weeks or even
days. Law-like statements about human creations such as democracies are inher-
ently different from law-like statements in the physical sciences because no two
moments in history can be exactly alike. Human beings reflect upon previous
events and, where the events seem directly relevant to them, often consciously or
unconsciously attempt to adjust their behavior so as to achieve or avoid a com-
parable outcome. Political learning is possible. For example, after the Portuguese
revolution had exploded, a Spanish conservative leader, Manuel Fraga, expressed
some interest in playing a role in leading democratic change because he "did not
want to become the Caetano of Spain."14 Likewise Prince Juan Carlos in Spain
was undoubtedly influenced by the Greek case, where his brother-in-law, King
Constantine, lost his throne due to his ambivalence about democracy.
More generally, we posit that the more tightly coupled a group of countries
are, the more a successful transition in any country in the group will tend to
transform the range of perceived political alternatives for the rest of the group.
Indeed, as we shall see when we examine Central and Eastern Europe in 1989, in-
ternational diffusion effects can change elite political expectations, crowd be-
havior, and relations of power within the regime almost overnight. For practi-
tioners and theorists alike, diffusion effects have obviously gained in salience in
the modern world owing to the revolution in communications. Today, the dra-
matic collapse of a nondemocratic regime is immediately experienced by virtu-
ally the entire population of the neighboring countries through radio and televi-
sion. This experience in turn instantly becomes a powerful new component of
domestic politics.15
THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF L E G I T I M A C Y AND OF COERCION
What is the relationship between citizens' perception of the socioeconomic

efficacy of a regime and their perception of the legitimacy of the regime itself?
14. Fraga was referring to the overthrow of the post-Salazar leader of Portugal, Marcello Caetano, who
failed to initiate a transition. The diffusion effect here is that Spanish conservatives rapidly began to recal-
culate the costs and benefits of initiating a democratic transition.
15. All countries discussed in this volume experienced some diffusion effects, but none more dramati-
cally than the countries of Central and Eastern Europe.
How does the economy affect the prospects of a transition away from a nondem-
ocratic regime? If a transition has begun, how does the economy affect the
chances of democratic consolidation? Are democratic and nondemocratic regimes
equally helped by sustained growth? Are democratic and nondemocratic re-
gimes equally hurt by economic decline?
We accept the well-documented correlation that there are few democracies at
very low levels of socioeconomic development and that most polities at a high
level of socioeconomic development are democracies.16 Most of the major mod-
ern transition attempts thus take place in countries at medium levels of develop-
ment. However, this relationship between development and the probability of de-
mocracy does not tell us much about when, how, and if a transition will take place
and be successfully completed. Indeed, within this critical context of intermedi-
ate levels of development we contend that it is often difficult or impossible to
make systematic statements about the effect of economics on democratization
processes.17 However, if one uses an analytical framework that combines politics
and economics and focuses on legitimacy, one can make much more meaningful
statements. Certainly for transition theory, economic trends in themselves are less
important than is the perception of alternatives, system blame, and the legitimacy
beliefs of significant segments of the population or major institutional actors.
Why?
For theoreticians and practitioners who posit a tightly coupled relationship
between the economy and regime stability, robust economic conditions would
appear supportive of any type of regime. We would argue, however, that the
proposition is theoretically and empirically indefensible. We see good theoretical
reasons why sustained economic growth could erode a nondemocratic regime.
We see no theoretical reason why sustained economic growth would erode a dem-
ocratic regime. Regime type can make a great difference. From the perspective of
political economy, we absolutely cannot formulate any valid propositions that
take the form, "under conditions of great economic prosperity there will be no in-
centives for a transition from a nondemocratic to democratic regime." This is so
precisely because many nondemocratic regimes, especially those of the statistical
16. The classic initial formulation of this argument was Seymour Martin Lipset, "Some Social Requi-
sites of Democracy: Economic Development and Political Legitimacy," American Political Science Review
(March 1959): 69-105. Larry Diamond reviewed three decades of literature relevant to the development/de-
mocracy debate and concluded that the evidence broadly supports the Lipset theory. See Diamond, "Eco-
nomic Development and Democracy Reconsidered," in Gary Marks and Larry Diamond, eds., Reexamin-
ing Democracy (Newbury Park: Sage, 1992), 93-139.
17. The specific relationship between economic growth or economic crisis and the initiation of a tran-
sition out of a nondemocratic regime has been the object of considerable debate. José María Maravall, in
an outstanding and well-researched work, has analyzed this problem in great detail, with particular refer-
ence to southern and Eastern Europe. We find that his analysis converges with our brief analysis, which we
had written independently. We are happy to refer the reader to his book for the relevant evidence. See José
María Maravall, Los resultados de la democracia: Un estudio del sur y el este de Europa (Madrid: Alianza
Editorial, 1995).
mode, authoritarian regimes, are originally defended by the state elite and their
core socioeconomic allies as necessary given the exceptional difficulties (often
economic) the polity faces. Thus, prolonged economic prosperity, especially in an
authoritarian regime, may erode the basis of the regime's justification based on
exceptional circumstances. Prolonged economic success can contribute to the
perception that the exceptional coercive measures of the nondemocratic regime
are no longer necessary and may possibly erode the soundness of the new eco-
nomic prosperity.
Prolonged economic growth may also contribute to social changes that raise
the cost of repression and thus indirectly facilitate a transition to democracy. Pro-
longed economic expansion normally contributes to the growth of a middle class;
a more important and needed skilled labor force; an expansion of education;
greater contacts with other societies via television, radio, and travel; and a more
diverse range of possible protests. There is even strong evidence to indicate that,
within a territory, increases in regional wealth increase citizens' expectations that
they should be well treated by the police.18
Empirically, there are a number of cases where sustained prosperity altered re-
lations of power in favor of democratic forces. In fact, three cases in our study,
Pinochet's Chile, Brazil in the early 19705, and Franco's Spain in its last twenty
years (as well as South Korea), had some of the world's highest rates of economic
growth. Spain's growth contributed to the belief of some of the core constituents
of the authoritarian regime and among the industrial elite that they could man-
age equally well in the future in a more democratic environment. The times had
changed and so did the regime.19 In Brazil, the soft-line military wing announced
its liberalization program in September 1973, after five years of unprecedented
growth and before the oil crisis, soaring interest rates, and its attendant debt cri-
sis. In September 1973 the military felt that the economy was in excellent condi-
tion and no significant political threat existed. In the absence of the "exceptional
circumstances" that had legitimated their coup in their own eyes, they came to be-
lieve that continued authoritarian rule not only was not necessary but might con-
tribute to the autonomy of the security forces and the "Argentinization of
Brazil."20 In Chile many of the key industrialists who had believed that Pinochet
18. For example, seven occupational groups in Franco's Spain, ranging from manual laborers to those
in liberal professions, were asked if they expected "equal," "better," or "worse" treatment by the police than
other citizens. The data were broken down according to the level of economic development of the respon-
dents' place of residence. In 19 of 21 of the possible comparisons, the greater the regional economic devel-
opment, the greater the expectation of equal treatment by the police. See Juan J. Linz, "Ecological Analysis
and Survey Research," in Mattei Dogan and Stein Rokkan, eds., Quantitative Ecological Analysis in the So-
cial Sciences (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1969), 91-131, esp. table i, p. 113.
19. As Adolfo Suárez said before he became prime minister of Spain, "Our people who at the beginning
of his (Franco's) government had asked simply for bread, today ask for quality consumption, and in the
same fashion, whereas at the beginning they wanted order, today they ask for freedom—freedom of polit-
ical association." Speech in the Cortes on June 9,1976.
20. Stepan, Rethinking Military Politics, 32-33.
was indispensable in 1980, by 1988 had come to believe that the risk of fair elec-
tions to the economic model was less than the risk of supporting Pinochet in un-
fair elections.21 In all three cases, the political economy of prosperity contributed
to new perceptions about alternative futures and to lessening resistance to demo-
cratic alternatives.
In sharp contrast, when we consider democratizing regimes or consolidated
democracies, there are no theoretical reasons or empirical evidence to support an
argument that economic growth contributes to regime erosion. Of course, a "rev-
olution of rising expectations" may create new demands on democratic govern-
ments, but it cannot attack their raison d'être. Indeed, if a regime is based on
the double legitimacy of democratic procedures and socioeconomic efficacy, the
chances of a fundamental regime alternative (given the absence of a "stateness"
problem) being raised by a significant group in society is empirically negligible.
Severe economic problems affect democratic and nondemocratic regimes, es-
pecially authoritarian ones, very differently. There are good theoretical reasons
why sharp economic decline (say five years of continuous negative growth) will
adversely affect stability in both democratic and nondemocratic regimes, but it
will affect the latter substantially more. Modern nondemocratic (especially au-
thoritarian) regimes are often heavily dependent on their performance claims but
are not bolstered by procedural claims deriving from their democratic status.
Theory leads us to posit therefore that a democratic regime has two valuable
sources of insulation from sustained economic downturn not available to a non-
democratic regime: its claim to legitimacy based on its origin and the fact that
elections are always on the horizon and hold the prospect of producing an alter-
native socioeconomic program and an alternative government without a regime
change. This means that most new democracies have about eight years of breath-
ing space—four years or so for the initial government and four years or so for an
alternative government.
This theory-based assumption gains strong empirical support from data com-
piled by Fernando Limongi and Adam Przeworski. In their study of South Amer-
ica between 1945 and 1988, they found that the probability that a nondemocratic
regime would survive three consecutive years of negative growth was 33 percent,
whereas the probability that a democratic regime would survive three years of neg-
ative growth was 73 percent. More dramatically, their data show that no nondem-
ocratic regime survived more than three years of consecutive negative growth,
whereas the probability that a democratic regime would survive four or five years
of consecutive negative growth was 57 percent and 50 percent respectively.22
Let us return to our argument concerning economics and the politics of alter-
21. See the interview with one of the leaders of a major business interest group in Chile, in Alfred
Stepan, "The Last Days of Pinochet?" New York Review of Books (June 2,1988): 33.
22. Fernando Limongi and Adam Przeworski, "Democracy and Development in South America,
1945-1988" (University of Chicago, October 27,1993, unpublished manuscript).
8o Theoretical Overview
natives and system blame in nondemocracies and in democracies. If the political

situation is such that there is no strong perception of a possible alternative, a non-
democratic regime can often continue to rule by coercion. However, when the be-
lief grows that other alternatives are possible (as well as preferable), the political
economy of legitimacy and coercion changes sharply. If the coercive capacity of
the nondemocratic regime decreases (due say to internal dissent or the with-
drawal of vital external guarantees), then the political economy of prolonged
stagnation can contribute to the erosion of the regime. It is not changes in the
economy, but changes in politics, that trigger regime erosion—that is, the effects
of a poor economy often have to be mediated by political change.
The question of system blame is also crucial for the fate of democracies. As we
have discussed elsewhere, the economic crisis of interwar Europe was as intense
in countries such as the Netherlands and Norway (which did not break down)
as in Germany and Austria (which did break down). Indeed, 30,000 Dutch work-
ers in 1936 went to work in Germany because the Dutch economy was in worse
condition than the German economy. What made the crisis of the economy a cri-
sis of the political system in Germany and Austria was that strong groups on the
right and the left had regime alternatives in mind and thus attacked the regime.
Politically motivated system blame, more than the economic crisis per se, caused
the German and Austrian breakdowns.23
The key question for the democracies is whether their citizens believe that, in
the circumstances, the democratic government is a doing a credible job in trying
to overcome economic problems. It is important to stress that the political econ-
omy of legitimacy will produce severe and perhaps insoluble challenges to dem-
ocratic consolidation in those cases where the democratic system itself is judged
to be incapable of producing a program to overcome the economic crisis.
To summarize, what can and cannot we say about transition theory and the
political economy of legitimacy? Theory and the Limongi-Przeworski data indi-
cate that consecutive years of negative growth lessen the chance of either a non-
democratic or a democratic regime's surviving. Thus, a country that is experi-
encing positive growth, other things being equal, has a better chance to
consolidate democracy than a country that is experiencing negative growth. This
said, the theory and the data also indicate that a democratic regime has more in-
sulation from economic difficulty than does a nondemocratic regime. The ques-
23. For a more detailed development of this argument with supporting data, see Juan J. Linz and Alfred
Stepan, "Political Crafting of Democratic Consolidation or Destruction: European and South American
Comparisons," in Robert A. Pastor, ed., Democracy in the Americas: Stopping the Pendulum (New York:
Holmes and Meyer, 1989), 41-61. We are indebted to Ekkart Zimmerman for his pioneering studies of in-
terwar Europe. See Zimmerman, "Government Stability in Six European Countries during the World Eco-
nomic Crisis of the 19305: Some Preliminary Considerations," European Journal of Political Research 15, no.
l (1987): 23-52 and Zimmerman, "Economic and Political Reactions to the World Economic Crises of the
19305: Six European Countries," paper presented for the Mid-West Political Science Association Conven-
tion, Chicago, April 10-12,1986.
tion of whether an aspiring democracy can withstand economic difficulties, as the

German-Dutch comparison showed, depends to a great extent on the degree of
noneconomic system blame and mass-elite perceptions about the desirability of
other political alternatives. The question is thus one of relationships. It is theo-
retically possible, and indeed has occurred, that a newly democratizing regime
suffers a decline in citizen perceptions of democracy's socioeconomic efficacy at
the same time that their belief that "democracy is the best possible political system
for a country like ours" increases.24
In those cases, however, where the citizens come to believe that the democratic
system itself Is compounding the economic problem or is incapable of defining
and implementing a credible strategy of economic reform, system blame will
greatly aggravate the political effect of economic hard times. More importantly,
economic crises will tend to lead to democratic breakdown in those cases where
powerful groups outside or—more fatally—inside the government increasingly
argue that nondemocratic alternatives of rule are the only solution to the eco-
nomic crisis.
In a situation where the crisis is permanent, after at least one democratic al-
ternation of government, and where a reasonable argument can be made that the
democratic political actors are incapable or unwilling to search for solutions and
even compound the problems by such actions as infighting and corruption, key
actors will search for alternatives. But alternatives might not be available. Key ac-
tors' previous experience with alternatives might have been equally or more un-
attractive. In such circumstances, many of these actors might resign themselves to
a poorly performing democracy. Such resignation may not prevent crises, up-
heavals, and attempted local coups but is not conducive to regime change. But it
certainly makes consolidation difficult and can even deconsolidate a democracy.
CONSTITUTION-MAKING ENVIRONMENTS
A neglected aspect of democratic transition and consolidation concerns the

comparative analysis of the contexts in which constitutional formulas are
adopted or retained. Without attempting to review all possible variations, let us
simply mention six very different possible constitution-making contexts and/or
formulas and indicate what problems they present for democratic transition and
democratic consolidation. We move from those contexts and formulas that pre-
24. In Linz and Stepan, "Political Crafting of Democratic Consolidation or Destruction," 44, we note
that, during a period (1978-1981) of rising unemployment, inflation, recession, and terrorism the Spanish
citizen's belief in the efficacy of democracy declined^ 25 percentage points in national polls while the be-
lief that democracy was the best political system for a country like Spain increased by 5 percentage points
in the same period. The key implication is that the citizenry did not believe, despite the economic prob-
lems, that any alternative political system was preferable.
sent the most confining conditions for democratic consolidation in an existing

state to those that present the least.25
1. The retention of a constitution created by an nondemocratic regime with
reserve domains and difficult amendment procedures. These confining condi-
tions may be the price the outgoing nondemocratic regime is able to extract for
yielding formal control of the state apparatus. However, if this constitution de jure
enshrines nondemocratic "reserve domains" insisted upon by the outgoing non-
democratic power-holders, then the transition by our definition cannot be com-
pleted until these powers are removed. If the constitution has very difficult
amendment procedures this will further complicate the process of democratic
transition and consolidation. In this book Chile is the clearest case.
2. The retention of a "paper" constitution which has unexpected destabilizing
and paralyzing consequences when used under more electorally competitive con-
ditions. Some nondemocratic constitutions may enshrine a very elaborate set of
decision-rules, procedures, and rights that had no effect on the operation of the
nondemocratic regime because the constitution was a fiction. However, in more
electorally competitive circumstances, this constitution can take on a life of its own
that may make it almost impossible to arrive at democratically binding decisions.
In such cases, the constitution can help destroy the state and should be changed ex-
tremely quickly before its perverse consequences have this paralyzing effect. The
most important instances of this type of constitution are found in the Soviet-type,
federal constitutions in the former USSR, Yugoslavia, and Czechoslovakia.
3. The creation by a provisional government of a constitution with some de
jure nondemocratic powers. Even when the old nondemocratic regime is de-
stroyed and many new policies are passed, a democratic transition itself cannot
be completed unless the nondemocratic components of the constitution crafted
by the provisional government are eliminated, as we shall see in the case of Por-
tugal. Even when these nondemocratic clauses are eliminated, the origin of the
constitution in a provisional government may hurt democratic consolidation be-
cause of its inappropriateness or weak societal acceptance.
4. The use of constitution created under highly constraining circumstances
reflecting the de facto power of nondemocratic institutions and forces. Such a
constitution may be formally democratic and thus consistent with a transition
25. Some indispensable sources on constitutions and democracy are Jon Elster and Rune Slagstad, eds.,
Constitutionalism and Democracy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988); Douglas Greenberg,
Stanley N. Katz, Melanie Beth Oliveira, and Steven C. Wheatly, eds., Constitutionalism and Democracy:
Transitions in the Contemporary World (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993); Bruce Ackerman, The
Future of Liberal Revolution (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992); A. E. Dick Howard, ed., Constitution
Making in Eastern Europe (Washington: Woodrow Wilson Center Press, 1993); and the East European Con-
stitutional Review, published quarterly since 1992 by the Center for the Study of Constitutionalism in East-
ern Europe at the University of Chicago Law School in partnership with the Central European University.
being completed, but democratic consolidation may be hampered because a con-

strained constituent assembly, while believing that other institutional arrange-
ments are more appropriate for the creation and consolidation of democratic
politics, may be de facto prevented from selecting them. To some extent Brazil is
such a example.
5. The restoration of a previous democratic constitution. This formula pre-
cludes a potentially divisive debate about constitutional alternatives and is often
selected by redemocratizing polities for reasons of speed, conflict avoidance, and
the desire to call upon some legacies of historic legitimacy. It should be pointed
out, however, that simple restoration presents two potential problems for demo-
cratic consolidation. First, when the polity has undergone great changes during
the authoritarian interlude, it is possible that a new constitutional arrangement
would in fact be more appropriate for democratic consolidation. Second, restora-
tion also assumes that the political procedures and institutions of the old consti-
tution have played no role whatsoever in the democratic breakdown. When the
old democratic arrangements have in fact contributed to democratic breakdown,
restoration precludes an historic opportunity to construct new and improved
arrangements with different procedures and symbols. Uruguay and Argentina are
cases worth analyzing from this perspective.
6. Free and consensual constitution-making. This occurs when democrati-
cally elected representatives come together to deliberate freely and to forge the
new constitutional arrangements they consider most appropriate for the consol-
idation of democracy in their polity. The constituent assembly ideally should
avoid a partisan constitution approved only by a "temporary majority" that leads
a large minority to put constitutional revisions on the agenda, thereby making
consolidation of democratic institutions more difficult. The optimal formula is
one in which decisions about issues of potentially great divisiveness and intensity
are arrived at in a consensual rather than a majoritarian manner and in which the
work of the constituent assembly gains further legitimacy by being approved in a
popular referendum that sets the democratic context in which further changes,
such as devolution (if these are to be considered), take place.26 In this book only
Spain fits this pattern.
In the rest of this book we examine how the interplay of our arenas, such as po-
litical society, rule of law, and economic society, and our variables, such as regime
type, stateness, and those discussed in this chapter, affected the processes of tran-
sition to democracy and the consolidation of democracy in three different so-
ciopolitical (and geographic) regions of the world—southern Europe, the South-
ern Core of Latin America, and post-Communist Europe.
26. For an argument in favor of consensual constitutions produced and ratified by nationwide debates,
see Ackerman, The Future of Liberal Revolution, 46-68.
Part II
Southern Europe: Completed

Consolidations
Although we believe that democratic transition and democratic consolidation
are closely interconnected processes, we also believe that social scientists can and
should strive to be as explicit as possible as to whether a transition is complete and
whether a particular political system is or is not a consolidated democracy. In part
2 we argue that not only have Spain, Portugal, and Greece completed democratic
transitions, all three have become consolidated democracies. Since there are many
studies of the southern European transitions, but relatively few of consolidation
per se, we pay particular attention in our studies of southern European countries
to how uncertain and even difficult transitions became consolidated democracies.
6
The Paradigmatic Case of

Reforma Pactada-Ruptura Pactada:
Spain
1 HERE is G R O W I N G consensus that the Spanish transition is in many ways

the paradigmatic case for the study of pacted democratic transition and rapid
democratic consolidation, much as the Weimar Republic became paradigmatic
for the study of democratic breakdown. ' A number of factors contribute to the
special (if not actually always paradigmatic) status of Spain in the transition lit-
erature. Foremost is the fact that it was one of the first in the cycle of what Samuel
Huntington calls the "third wave" of democratic transitions, and it therefore in-
fluenced thinking in many countries that would later undertake similar difficult
tasks. It was also, in contrast to many transitions, one in which the authoritarian
regime had not faced defeat or near-defeat in war, as was the case in Portugal and
i. The bibliography on the Spanish transition is the most extensive of any of the cases we consider in
this book. An essential source is José Félix Tezanos, Ramón Cotarelo, and Andrés de Blas, eds., La transición
democrática española (Madrid: Sistema, 1989). This volume includes outstanding articles by Spanish social
scientists, a very complete bibliography, an essay reviewing the different analyses of the transition, and a
chronology of the process. Also see the special issue of Sistema 68-69 (Nov. 1985), which includes a biblio-
graphic essay, several outstanding articles, and the responses to a questionaire by politicians and intellec-
tuals on their views of the transition process. An indispensible selection of articles is contained in Ramón
Cotarelo, ed., Transición política y consolidación democrática: España (1975-1986) (Madrid: Centro de In-
vestigaciones Sociológicas, 1992). Other valuable overviews are José María Maravall and Julián Santamaría,
"Political Change in Spain and the Prospects for Democracy," in Guillermo O'Donnell, Philippe C. Schmit-
ter, and Laurence Whitehead, eds., Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Southern Europe (Baltimore: Johns
Hopkins University Press, 1986), 70-108; José María Maravall, La política de la transición 1975-80 (Madrid:
Taurus, 1981), which is available in English as The Transition to Democracy in Spain (London: Croom Helm,
1982); Carlos Huneeus, La Unión de Centro Democrático y la transición a la democracia en España (Madrid:
Centro de Investigaciones Sociológicas-SigloXXI de España, 1985); and Donald Share, The Making of Span-
ish Democracy (Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 1986). A well-documented study of the period immediately be-
fore and after the transition which pays particular attention to why key activists in the late Franco regime
came to accept a democratic transition is Charles T. Powell, "Reform versus 'Ruptura' in Spain's Transition
to Democracy" (Ph.D. diss., Faculty of Modern History, Oxford University, 1989). For parties and elections
see Richard Günther, Giacomo Sani, and Goldie Shabad, eds., Spain after Franco: The Making of a Compet-
itive Party System (Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1988). For the role of labor, see Robert Fish-
man, Working Class Organization and the Return to Democracy in Spain (Ithaca: Cornell University Press,
1990). A basic source on the political attitudes of Spaniards during the transition and the first election is
Juan J. Linz, Francisco Andrés Orizo, Manuel Gómez-Reino, and Darío Vila, Informe sociológico sobre el
cambio político en España 1975-1981 (Madrid: Fundación FOESSA, Euramérica, 1982).
88 Southern Europe: Completed Consolidations
Greece. Likewise, its rulers did not confront a deep economic crisis, as in Latin
America and the Communist countries of Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union.
Nor was it a case in which an external factor, like the withdrawal of the support
by a hegemonic power, influenced the rulers. Rather, it was a case in which those
in power thought they could not stay in power without, given the Western Euro-
pean context, excessive repression, while those challenging the regime could not
marshal, at least immediately, enough force to overthrow it, particularly in view
of the loyalty of the Armed Forces to the regime.2 In this sense Spain was a
"regime-initiated transition," although under the pressure of society.
Another reason for the admiration of many observers of the Spanish transition
to democracy has been that Spain appeared to outsiders as a highly conflictual and
potentially violent society, owing to the legacy of the civil war. However, the out-
sider's view did not correspond to the facts of Spanish society in the 19705. Rather,
through the "cultural work" of civil society before the transition and the continued
cultural work of civil society and almost all elements of political society during the
transition, Spain had transformed the lessons of the civil war into a positive factor
that aided the transition. The contrast with the historical meaning of the Croatian-
Serbian civil wars of the 19405 could not be more dramatic.3 To this it should be
added that Spain was the first of our examples of an attempted transition to de-
mocracy in which problems of a multilingual and multinational state intensified
at the same time as the transition process was being initiated.
2. Ten years after the death of Franco, a public opinion poll captured this sense of deadlock. On the one
hand only 13 percent of those polled felt that the regime could have continued without change after the
death of Franco. On the other hand, only 18 percent of those polled said that "the opposition groups were
very strong and could have overthrown the regime."See "Actitudes y opiniones de los españoles ante la con-
stitución y las instituciones democráticas" (Madrid: Centro de Investigaciones Sociológicas, 1985), 105. For
the changing calculations of regime forces in the 1969-75 period, see Powell, "Reform versus 'Ruptura',"
15-54. For an excellent analysis of the role of the military in the same period, see Fernando Rodrigo Rod-
ríguez, "El camino hacia la democracia: Militares y política en la transición española" (Ph.D diss., Facultad
de Ciencias Políticas y Sociológicas, Universidad Complutense, 1989), 21-72.
3. As Víctor M. Perez-Diaz argues so well, Spain's new democratic political culture "is to a certain degree
a deliberate institutional and cultural construct— This institutional effort has been considerably helped by
a cultural collective attempt, partly conscious and partly unconscious.... Looming large in our collective
memory of that experience we find a crucial experiment that failed: our II Republic and the Civil War of
1936-1939 The moral implications of that tragic account were: the share of guilt and responsibility was
more or less evenly distributed among the contenders, since they were all to blame." See Perez-Diaz, "The
Emergence of Democratic Spain and the 'Invention' of a Democratic Tradition" (Madrid: Instituto Juan
March, June 1990, Working Paper #1), quotes from 19, 20, 21, 23. Also see his magisterial The Return of Civil
Society: The Emergence of Democratic Spain (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1993). Paloma
Aguilar Fernández, in her excellent study of Spanish textbooks, newsreels, theater, and general discourse,
documents how, in the twenty years before the death of Franco, the historical memory of the civil war had
been culturally reconstructed so that it became a building block for the effort to consolidate democracy. See
her La memoria histórica de la guerra civil española (1936-1939): Un proceso de aprendizaje político (Madrid:
Centro de Estudios Avanzados en Ciencias Sociales, 1995). Despite the passage of more than forty years, the
most commonly used descriptions by Croats of their Serbian enemies, and vice versa, are the names of the
major contending factions in the civil war, the Croatian Ustasas and the predominantly Serbian Chetniks. See
Ivo Banac, "Post-Communism as Post-Yugoslavism: The Yugoslav Non-revolutions of 1989-1990," in Ivo
Banac, ed., Eastern Europe in Revolution (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992), 168-87.
Spain 89
Another circumstance that makes the Spanish case particularly interesting is

that the authoritarian regime had lasted thirty-six years and had created a complex
institutional structure. It was not possible to use the existing institutions by filling
them with democratic content or proceeding to a restoration of the pre-dictator-
ship democratic institutions, as in some Latin American cases. There was finally
a unique factor that appeared to complicate the transition, Franco's installation of
a monarchy that had a low historical legitimacy and that could easily be contested
by democrats. Today the king is often referred to as el piloto del cambio (the pilot
of change). However, it is useful to remember that, in Spain, the king by his ac-
tions legitimated the monarchy more than the monarchy legitimated the king.4
The relatively smooth process of the Spanish transition has, a posteriori, led
many people to consider the Spanish model of political engineering as an "over-
determined" success. Indeed, if we reduce the messy historical process, with all its
complexities, frustrations, delays and doubts, to a theoretical model, it appears to
be an elegant process, even susceptible to a game theoretical analysis.5 In fact, the
comparison between our contemporary theoretical modeling and the inevitably
more complex experience of the process should be a warning to those who ana-
lyze similar changes while they are still going on. It is well to remember that even
the easiest and most successful transition was lived as a precarious process con-
stantly requiring innovative political action.6 It is doubtful that the Spaniards
would have responded in the period 1975-77 with as great a pride about how the
transition was made as they did ten years later. Certainly, the so-called desencanto,
the disappointment or the démystification of the process and its leaders (partic-
ularly of Prime Minister Adolfo Suárez in the late 19705 and early 19805) is by now
largely forgotten, but it finds a parallel in most of the transitions in other parts of
the world. The potential threat to the transition caused by the attempted military
coup on February 23,1981 tends also to be underestimated in retrospect.7
4. For a valuable book-length treatment of the role of the king in the transition, a book that won the
Premio Espejo de España, see Charles T. Powell, El piloto del cambio: El rey, la monarquía y la transición a la
democracia (Barcelona: Editorial Planeta, 1991). For a discussion of the role of the king, see also Juan J. Linz,
"Innovative Leadership in the Transition to Democracy and a New Democracy: The Case of Spain," in
Gabriel Sheffer, ed., Innovative Leadership in International Politics (Albany: State University of New York
Press, 1993), 141-86.
5. See, for example, Josep M. Colomer, El arte de la manipulación política: Votaciones y teoría de juegos
en la política española (Barcelona: Editorial Anagrama, 1990), which is an original and intelligent applica-
tion of game theory to the transition. An article based on the book is "Transitions by Agreement: Model-
ing the Spanish Way," American Political Science Review (Dec. 1991): 1283-1302.
6. See, for example, Juan J. Linz, "Spain and Portugal: Critical Choices," in David S. Landes, ed., Critical
Choices for Americans: Western Europe (Lexington, Mass.: Lexington Books, 1977), 237-96. This essay, which
was written in 1974 and slightly revised in February 1976, reflects the uncertainties and fears at the start of
the reign of Juan Carlos I. A rereading serves to correct the image of transition as a smooth and predeter-
mined process that a theoretical model developed ex post facto might suggest. On the critical role leader-
ship played in transforming the possible into reality, see Linz, "Innovative Leadership in the Transition."
7. There is an extensive literature on the military in the transition and on the failed coup of the 23rd of
February 1981. The Revista de investigaciones sociológicas 36 (Oct.-Dec. 1986) is devoted to civil-military re-
lations and includes an article by Agustín Rodríguez Sahagun, the first civilian minister of defense under
Finally, the Moncloa Pact has become a standard reference in discussions of the
role of pacts in stabilizing transition processes. All too often, however, it is for-
gotten that the pact constructed in the prime minister's residence called Moncloa,
was not a social pact between trade unions and employers' organizations, but a
political pact. Adolfo Suárez called the Moncloa meetings, because he wanted to
involve political society, and in particular all the parties who after the first free
elections had representatives in the Spanish legislature, in negotiations among
themselves. Between the Moncloa meetings, the parties consulted with their key
constituents in civil society. (Suárez considered this link between political society
and civil society particularly crucial in the case of the Communist Party and the
trade unions.) Only after these extensive negotiations was the Moncloa political
pact formally voted upon in a solemn session of the Cortes.8 The resolution ap-
proving the Moncloa Pact was passed with one vote against by the lower house
and with three votes against and two abstentions in the Senate.
We have emphasized these facts before entering into an analysis of our vari-
ables because, while we believe our variables to be extremely important, we do not
want ourselves or the reader to fall into the trap of believing that the Spanish tran-
sition was overdetermined to be successful or that the political engineers at all
times followed a rational model. With these important caveats in mind, how does
Spain relate to the variables we discussed in Part 1?
From the perspective of the tasks a country must address before it can com-
plete a transition and consolidate democracy, Spain began in a comparatively
privileged position. Indeed, from the perspective of Table 4.3, the only task that
was immediately urgent in November 1975, when Franco died, was the creation of
political institutions with autonomy and support. Given this situation, it is now
becoming fashionable to see the Spanish consolidation as being almost inevitable,
given its supportive socioeconomic and geopolitical context. We believe that such
an unexamined opinion not only leads to a serious misinterpretation of the ac-
tual process of democratic transition and consolidation in Spain but also con-
tributes to the dangerous lack of attention to how the transition was actually pre-
pared and how the successful execution of this plan later made it easier to handle
Suárez, another by the first socialist defense minister, Narcis Serra, as well as papers by social scientists, pub-
lic opinion data, and book reviews. The complexity and psychology underlying desencanto is beautifully ex-
plored in Albert O. Hirschman's chapter, "On Disappointment," in his book Shifting Involvements: Private
Interest and Public Action (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982), 9-24.
8. This account of the political process of the Moncloa Pact is based largely on an interview carried out
by Alfred Stepan with Adolfo Suárez on May 24,1990. Suárez says he initially considered making the stabi-
lization plan an executive decision but rapidly realized it would be more legitimate and more effective if he
could arrive at an agreement with the political parties. This complex consensual process within political so-
ciety, which was a hallmark of the Spanish transition, was, as we shall see, virtually completely absent in the
major Argentine and pre-Plan Real Brazilian stabilization plans, which were drawn up in secret by the pres-
ident and his closest advisors and announced to a shocked nation on television without ever having been
discussed in the legislatures. For the relationship between the Communist and Socialist parties, the unions,
and the Moncloa Pact, see Fishman, Working Class Organization and Democracy, 17,180,215-26.
Spain 91
Spain's stateness problem and in fact to consolidate democracy. Let us turn, there-
fore, to how the transition was actually crafted.
CRAFTING THE SPANISH TRANSITION
The Spanish transition had to deal with a problem recurrent in other later
transitions: how to dismantle the nondemocratic regime and its institutions and
to gain democratic legitimacy based in elections in order to confront the many
problems faced by the society. In contrast to the military regimes in Greece and
Latin America (with the partial exception of Chile and Brazil), Franco's civilian
and authoritarian regime had built a complete institutional and constitutional
structure. The Francoite institutions, with their official single party and their cor-
poratist Cortes (parliament), could by no stretch of the imagination be made ser-
viceable to democracy by filling them with democratically elected personnel, as
many believed could be done with the formally ultrademocratic constitutions of
the Eastern European Communist regimes. Those Francoite institutions had to
go, but the option of a revolutionary overthrow—the rupture demanded by the
opposition—was not really feasible (as the Spanish Communist Party leadership
acknowledged later), given the overall climate of public opinion and in particular
the support the regime had in the armed forces.9 An unconstitutional declaration
by the king to abrogate the Franco constitution, with the support of some radical
groups in the armed forces (the small minority inspired by the Portuguese golpe-
revolution), was out of the question. So, from the beginning, within the regime,
there was thought given to the possibility of using the legality of the Franco Fun-
damental Laws and the corporatist Cortes to change the regime constitutionally,
against the spirit and intent of those laws. A lot of thinking and debate and some
unsuccessful starts went into the efforts that finally yielded the Law for Political
Reform. The need for legal "backward legitimation," to use Guiseppe di Palma's
9. The first thesis of the Spanish Communist Party (PCE) at its IX Party Congress in February 1978 was
devoted to explaining why the combination of reformist pressures emanating from the regime and the op-
position, as well as international pressures, "obliged the PCE to nuance its ruptural theses." For the full text
see Mundo Obrero, Madrid (Feb. 2,1978), i.
However, as late as 1981, according to the Fishman study, not an insignificant number of the working
class leaders at the plant level in Madrid and Barcelona believed that "because of indecision and the errors
of many leaders of the opposition, a historic opportunity was lost to create a more advanced democracy on
the basis of popular mobilizations and a political ruptura." In Barcelona 68 percent of the leaders identi-
fied with Comisiones Obreras (the Communist Union) felt that way compared to 40 percent in Madrid.
Among those of the socialist UGT (Unión General de Trabajadores), there were 31 percent and 23 percent
in Barcelona and Madrid, respectively, who believed that ruptura would have been possible. Among all the
324 workers' representatives interviewed, 39 percent believed in the possibility of the ruptura, while 57 per-
cent felt that "the balance of forces at the time of the political transition did not permit the step to democ-
racy by ruptura, and the leaders of the left did well in changing strategy to facilitate the reforma which led
to democracy." This was the opinion of the majority of UGT representatives in Barcelona (66 percent),
Madrid (72 percent), and the Comisiones Obreras in Madrid (55 percent) and only 30 percent in Barcelona.
The above data are from Fishman, Working Class Organization and Democracy, 144.
phrase, was based on the fact that the king had sworn to defend those laws, that
his authority was derived from them, that the government in charge had been ap-
pointed according to them, and that the obedience of the armed forces could only
be assured if the change took place in that way.10 The fear of a vacuum of au-
thority, of a sudden transfer of power to the then quite radical opposition
forces—foremost the nationalists in the periphery and the Spanish Communist
Party and the trade union movements controlled by it—was unthinkable without
the risk of involution or political repression. The reformers thus had to act cau-
tiously, and their instrument was legal reform, making possible a democratically
elected body that could deal with the many problems on the horizon, including
stateness problems and an incipient economic crisis. It also was essential to avoid
a separate and open debate about the monarchy, which did not enjoy particularly
strong legitimacy.
The way chosen was to convince the Cortes—the legislature created and partly
appointed by Franco—to allow the creation of a fundamentally different type of
legislative body after open and free elections with the participation of political
parties. That is what was achieved by the Law for Political Reform and its subse-
quent approval by referendum.11 The equivalent in the USSR would have in-
volved Gorbachev convincing the Communist Party and the legislative organs of
the complex constitutional structure of the Soviet Union to allow multiparty,
freely contested elections for a parliament of the union which would then have
the duty and power to form the government. Failing this, there should at least be
a union-wide, direct multiparty competitive election for a president of the Soviet
Union. As we shall see, as long as the Soviet Union existed, nothing close to such
elections ever happened. How was it actually accomplished in Spain? No one can
ignore the structurally favorable conditions in Spain, but there can be no doubt
that this particularly successful transition owes much to agency.
A more detailed analysis of leadership during the democratic transition would
pay considerable attention to the moderating role of the king, the constructive
leadership of Santiago Carrillo (the leader of the Spanish Communist Party), the
10. The concept of backward legitimation was first developed by Giuseppe di Palma in his "Founding
Coalitions in Southern Europe: Legitimacy and Hegemony," Government and Opposition 15 (1980): 162-89.
11. On the "law for political reform," see Pablo Lucas Verdú, La octava ley fundamental, with a foreword
by Enrique Tierno (Madrid: Tecnos, 1976), and Antonio Hernández Gil, El cambio político español y la con-
stitución (Barcelona: Planeta, 1981). Some readers might feel that we unfairly privilege in our analysis the
role of the main actors in the regime or the opposition. We want to emphasize here the important role of
ordinary citizens in generating a crisis of the regime. They often take risks in their opposition and struggle
against the regime. They also generate pressures on regime actors to initiate a transition (sometimes
thereby avoiding regime collapse). However, in the case of Spain, in support of our approach we have data
from a survey shortly after the approval of the Law for Political Reform asking respondents to whom they
attributed the positive aspects of the change: 26 percent chose the government, 23 percent the king, 20 per-
cent Prime Minister Suárez, 8 percent the parties of the opposition, 3 percent the Cortes, 21 percent the peo-
ple and the citizens in general, while 6 percent said there was nothing good and 9 percent did not answer.
See Linz et. al., Informe sociológico sobre el cambio político, p. 119.
Spain 93
prudence of Cardinal Tarancón (the leader of the Spanish Catholic Church), the
support and courage of General Gutiérrez Mellado (the chief of staff to the Span-
ish Army), the political astuteness of Josep Tarradellas (the exiled leader of the
Catalan regional government), the parliamentary negotiating abilities of Torcu-
ato Fernández Miranda, and the cooperation of the conservative leader Manuel
Fraga, to mention just a few of the figures involved. In the short space available,
we cannot do justice to all these actors and organizations. We would, however, like
to call particular attention to the innovative leadership of Adolfo Suárez. We will
pay particular attention to how he formulated the key issues of democracy in two
of his most politically influential speeches (which, unfortunately, have never been
translated into English). As we shall see, for Suárez, the holding of elections was
the essence of his task. He was right. Elections are crucial to the democratizing
process of dismantling and disempowering the old regime. They are even more
crucial to the installation, legitimation, and empowerment of a new democratic
regime. While the specificities of this process will vary from polity to polity, we
believe that in some of the countries we discuss later—most dramatically the USSR
and later Russia—leaders missed opportunities to advance this power erosion/power
creation process, with deleterious results for democracy and state capacity.
In the first of two influential speeches, Adolfo Suárez, then speaking as the
minister-secretary general of the almost defunct official single party, the Movi-
miento, in the first royal cabinet, made a complex appeal to the corporatist Franco-
controlled Cortes that liberalization and eventually democratization was neces-
sary.12 It was the beginning of five months of argumentation. Suárez began by
referring to "the democratic monarch's" support for reform. He went on to argue
that, given the socioeconomic developments under Franco, the government
should take the next step in political reform by allowing free political association.
"I think that our historic task . . . is very simple: to finish the work [started by
Franco] The government, the legitimate manager of this historic moment, has
the responsibility to put into motion the mechanism necessary for the definite
consolidation of a modern democracy." He stressed that changes in Spanish soci-
ety had contributed to a new pluralism, a pluralism which had already assumed,
de facto, political forms.
The point of departure [of the proposed political reform of a law legalizing political associa-
tion] is the recognition of the pluralism of our society. If this society is plural, we cannot allow
ourselves the luxury of ignoring it.... If we contemplate the national reality with a minimum
of sincerity, we have to acknowledge that in addition to this theoretical pluralism, there already
exist organized forces. We would entrench ourselves into an absurd blindness if we refuse to see
this. These forces, call them parties or not, now exist as a public fact— The aims of parties are
12. Many analysts of the Spanish transition believe that this speech was instrumental in the king's
selection of the young Adolfo Suárez to succeed the floundering Arias Navarro as prime minister. Maravall
and Santamaría argue that Arias "never accepted the idea of transforming the inherited regime into a plu-
ralist democracy." See Maravall and Santamaría, "Political Change in Spain," 81.
specific and not the least of them is to assume power. So, if the road is not opened by the legality
which is being proposed by the state itself, there will only be an apparent peace, below which
will germinate the seeds of subversion.
Suárez went on to say that political pacts were being discussed, but he astutely
raised the question as to how democratic political representatives could be cre-
ated to participate in such pacts: "With whom should they [the government]
make the pact?" Suárez immediately gave his answer: "Only after elections will
there be valid interlocutors and legitimated agents."13 On July i, 1976 Prime Min-
ister Arias Navarro was forced to resign and Adolfo Suárez was appointed Prime
Minister.
The institutionalization of a democratic process was still very much in doubt
at the time of the appointment of Suárez. In many democratic transitions the
constitution of the old regime remains in force and inhibits or delays democratic
renewal. In Spain the Cortes could have been such a structure. Suarez's seemingly
impossible task was to convince the Cortes to vote for a Law for Political Reform
that in essence would result in the Cortes' own disappearance. If he could not
convince the Cortes, he would have to risk a constitutional confrontation of un-
certain consequences for democratic legitimacy (as occurred with Yeltsin's con-
flict with the Russian parliament in 1993) or accept the Cortes' ability to paralyze
the changes needed for democratic transition.
Suárez approached this problem by carefully drafting and negotiating a text of
the democratizing Law for Political Reform. Before he submitted the text to the
Cortes for the process of legal approval, he went on national television and made
his second historic speech. In this speech to the nation, Suárez implicitly warned
the Cortes that without new constitutional norms there could be social conflict:
"The absence of rules leads to 'ad-hockery' and can lead to anarchy." He also urged
the Cortes to avoid conflict by letting the people express their will. He told the na-
tion he was confident that the Cortes would perform this historic task. He then
made the crucial step from liberalization to democratization. He advocated free
and open elections and set a date. "I have said the word elections and in essence
this is the key to the proposal. The [proposed] constitutional modification will
permit the [new] Cortes to be elected by direct, secret, and universal suffrage as
soon as possible and, in all events, before June of 1977. In this manner the people
will participate in the construction of their own future since they will express
themselves, they will elect their representatives, and these representatives will
make the decisions over the questions that affect the national community." For
Adolfo Suárez the fundamental task was to manage to make the forces present on
13. All of these quotations are our translations from the speech Adolfo Suárez made to the Cortes on
June 9,1976, in defense of the Law for Political Association. The full text of his speech and the law are found
in the pamphlet released by Ediciones del Movimiento in Madrid (1976), entitled "El Derecho de Aso-
ciación Política," 9-28.
Spain 95
the street and in civil society participate in the political system without his abdi-
cation of his own powers until after the elections. While acknowledging the pres-
tige of opposition groups and leaders, he reiterated his argument that only elec-
tions would determine with whom to negotiate. For Suárez it would be via
elections that "political groups that today voluntarily present themselves publicly
as protagonists (and they are significant and respectable but lack a popular man-
date) will come to be representatives of the people."
Suárez made an indirect appeal to the corporatist Cortes that it would be eth-
ically and historically correct to vote themselves out of existence by allowing free
elections. He also assured the nation there would be no power vacuum and that
the rule of law would prevail. "The government is convinced that the institutions
[of the Franco regime] will understand the need for this reform and will support
the direct appeal to the people whom these institutions themselves serve. There
cannot be and there will not be a constitutional vacuum, and even less a vacuum
of legality. Such a vacuum cannot emerge because Spain is a State of Law which is
based on the primacy of the law."
Suárez then went on to argue that only if the state was restructured and filled
with a new democratic power would it be strong enough to address the country's
social and economic agenda and its looming stateness problem. For Suárez, the
sequence of reform thus had to start with political reform. "When the people have
made their voice heard, then there can be resolved other great political problems
with the authority which will come from electoral representation. Then issues like
institutionalization of the regions, within the permanent unity of Spain, can be
approached." For Suárez, political reform was a precondition of economic re-
form. "As long as political unknowns [incognitas] hang over the country, there
cannot be either economic reactivation or stability." He concluded by conveying
a sense of hope and implying that the Cortes should allow the people to decide.
"The future is not written because only the people can write it."14
On the day before the vote, many close observers were not certain that the Law
for Political Reform would be passed. However, Suárez and the movement toward
democratization had gained such momentum that the Cortes passed the law by a
margin of 425 affirmative votes against 59 negative votes.15 Subsequently, the Law
for Political Reform was submitted to a referendum on December 15,1978. With a
strong 77% turnout, it was approved by 94% of those voting.
After the referendum's overwhelming endorsement of the Law for Political Re-
form, the process of dismantling the authoritarian structure and allowing demo-
cratic power gains accelerated. The referendum increased Suarez's power and his
14. See Pablo Lucas Verdú, La octava ley fundamental, which contains the full texts of the law (103-8)
and of the speech by Suárez to the nation (109-19), from which we have translated excerpts.
15. Juan J. Linz was present in the Cortes for the entire debate and the first vote. This 366-vote margin
on November 18,1976 represented a ill-vote increase over the favorable vote for the much less controver-
sial liberalizing Law for Political Association, held on June 9,1976.
ability to enter into negotiations to create an inclusive political society. Suárez first
met the opposition formally on December 23,1976, only eight days after the ref-
erendum, although in the summer of 1976 he had informally met twice with the
Socialist Party leader, Felipe González, and other opposition leaders. Suárez met
informally with the leader of the Communist Party, Santiago Carrillo, in January
1977, soon after Carrillo left jail. On April 9,1977, Suárez successfully took the dan-
gerous step, considering hard-line resistence, of legalizing the Communist Party.
The first parliamentary election was held on June 15,1977. The parliament pro-
duced by the election drafted a constitution, which was approved in a referendum
on December 6,1978. The process we have just described illustrates the complex
interaction between legality, legitimacy, and power and the importance of timing
in transitions.16
THE L E G A L I Z A T I O N OF THE C O M M U N I S T PARTY:

AN E X C U R S U S ON I N C L U S I O N A R Y C H O I C E S
Once the general principle of a freely elected legislature had been accepted,
the most difficult and dangerous decision Suárez faced was whether to legalize the
Communist Party of Spain (PCE). Decades of anti-Communist propaganda, sus-
picions about the Communists' ambitions, and worries about the party's diffuse
strength throughout society provided a context in which the right, and especially
the military, might well have been mobilized against the transition. Even among
the reformers there were those who argued for postponing the legalization of the
Communist Party until after the first free elections.
The question of legalization was, however, an issue affecting the inclusiveness
of contestation, an essential element of democracy, and therefore the credibility
of the Spanish regime's democratizing effort. In addition, the obvious presence of
a strong Communist Party, in terms of activists and sympathizers, inevitably cre-
ated the dilemmas of the cost of repression versus the cost of toleration. In his
television address justifying the legalization, Suárez put the issue clearly before
the people:
The rejection [of the request of legalization] would not be consistent with the reality that the
Communist Party exists and is organized. The struggle against it could only be carried out by
repression.
Not only am I not Communist, but I reject strongly its ideology, as it is rejected by the other
members of my cabinet. But I am a democrat, and sincerely democratic. Therefore I think that
our people are sufficiently mature ... to assimilate their own pluralism.
16. On the role of timing in regime changes, see Juan J. Linz, "111 fattore tempo nei mutamenti di
regime," Teoría política u, no. i (1986): 3-47.
Spain 97
I do not think that our people want to find itself fatally obliged to see our jails full of people for
ideological reasons. I think that in a democracy we must all be vigilant of ourselves, we must all
be witnesses and judges of our public actions. We have to instore the respect for legal minori-
ties. Among the rights and duties of living together is the acceptance of the opponent (adver-
sario). If one has to confront him, one has to do it in civilized competition. Sincerely, is it not
preferable to count in the ballot boxes what otherwise we would have to measure on the poor
basis of unrest in the streets?17
This crucial decision ended any doubts about the sincerity of Suárez's personal
commitment to democracy, and Suárez seized the occasion of his television ad-
dress to announce his candidacy in the elections. The decision to legalize the
Communist Party was extremely dangerous, as was shown by the hostile responses
of some key military leaders and even of some of the important politicians who
had supported the transition. For example, Suárez's announcement provoked the
resignation of the minister of the navy, who had to be replaced by a retired admi-
ral because no active duty admiral would assume the post. Suárez's announce-
ment also spurred a unanimous declaration of the Army Supreme Council that
"legalization of the Communist Party has produced general repugnance in all the
units of the army." However, despite a more intemperate earlier document that
had been leaked, they also concluded that, "in consideration of higher national
interests, the [council] accepts with discipline the fait accompli [hecho con-
sumado]"18 Suárez's difficult choice proved decisive in assuring the moderate
Euro-Communist posture of the Spanish Communist Party and its leader Santi-
ago Carrillo and thus made a vital contribution to the eventual success of the
Spanish transition.
We will not enter into a lengthy argument, but obviously for democracy it is a
critical choice whether to make an inclusionary decision to allow all political
forces to participate in the political process or to make an exclusionary decision
to exact rules against parties that might, in the view of one or another important
sector of the regime or society, be perceived as threatening to them or to democ-
racy. We shall also not enter into the important normative debate as to whether
democracy has the right to limit participation in the "democratic game" only to
those committed to playing by democratic rules. We would like, however, to be ex-
plicit about two empirical implications of an inclusionary choice. Both were
adeptly alluded to in the above speech by Suárez. First, the decision to allow par-
ticipation allows the objective counting in votes of a possible extremist move-
ment's support which would weaken any excess claims to diffuse societal support
which could be made if it were prohibited. Second, if extremist parties are out-
17. This and other Suárez speeches in the critical 1976-78 period are found in Adolfo Suárez González,
Un nuevo horizonte para España: Discursos del Presidente del Gobierno 1976-1978 (Madrid: Imprenta del Bo-
letín Oficial del Estado, 1978).
18. For an excellent discussion of the tense situation in the military after the legalization of the Com-
munist Party, see Rodrigo, "El camino hacia la democracia," 185-94, quote from p. 191.
lawed, the democratic regime is involved in jailing, on potential ideological as op-

posed to actual behavioral grounds, citizens who belong to state-declared illegal
organizations.
This does not mean that democrats should be passive against antidemocratic
forces. Democrats can oppose and attempt politically to isolate ideological ex-
tremists and to jail them if they actually use violence to advance their ideas. Above
all, democrats must avoid any semiloyal collaboration with antidemocratic forces.
The Communist Party of Spain loyally contributed to the transition to and
consolidation of democracy in Spain. However, the normative and empirical is-
sues raised in 1977 were still salient in Spain in the 19905. The Herri Batasuna
(HB), a party that advocates independence and revolutionary change in the
Basque Country, does not hide its sympathy and even indirect support for ETA
terrorists. However, rightly in our view, given the theoretical and empirical argu-
ments we have advanced, HB has not been outlawed. Indeed, HB has been suc-
cessful in electing some representatives and officials. But, fundamentally, it has
been politically isolated.
Empirically, for the effort to consolidate democracy, the advantage to Spain of
having allowed even explicitly antidemocratic extremists to participate in elec-
tions becomes apparent when we analyze some key cases. For example, in the 1979
second general elections in Spain, Fuerza Nueva, a neofascist group, campaigned
actively throughout the country, claiming to speak for the values of the past and
attempting to agglutinate antiregime forces. But, Fuerza Nueva won only 2.1 per-
cent of the total vote, elected only one deputy, and disintegrated as a political
force soon after the 1979 election. Even more dramatically, the courts allowed
Lieutenant Colonel Antonio Tejero Molina, one of the February 1981 coup orga-
nizers, to run the party Solidaridad Española from his jail cell in the 1982 general
elections. Once again the claim was that he was representing strong currents of
opposition against the direction of the transition. Tejero's party received less than
30,000 (0.13 percent) of the total votes, thereby objectively "counting," to use
Suárez's word, the absolute rejection of the putschists by the electorate.
Democracy does not mean that every citizen supports democracy, nor that
antidemocrats should not enjoy democratic freedoms for legal and nonviolent
acitivities. Violent activities should certainly be punished using legal means (al-
though even some democrats may, in their frustration with terrorism, condone
illegal reprisals). The defense of democracy is the duty of democratic parties and
leaders and ultimately of the voters, making possible government by democrats.
STATENESS PROBLEMS AND THEIR DEMOCRATIC R E S T R U C T U R I N G
If Spain had been a relatively homogeneous nation-state, like Portugal, Greece,

and the Latin American cases we will discuss, the Spanish transition to democracy
Spain 99
would probably have been completed with the approval of the constitution. How-
ever, the strong nationalist feelings in Catalonia and the Basque Country raised
problems of stateness. The Catalan and Basque nationalisms were not perceived
as central to most of those who wrote about the Spanish transition process. How-
ever, the crisis of other multinational states highlights the significance of the steps
Spain took to manage its stateness problem, steps which deserve separate atten-
tion. It is our contention that Spain was able to manage its stateness problem by
successful devolution only because it had first created, by the process we have just
analyzed, legitimate state power with the authority and capacity to restructure the
polity.
In our judgment, when Spain began its transition, the variable that potentially
presented the most dangerous complication for both democratic transition and
democratic consolidation was stateness. Because stateness was so critical and be-
cause, unlike Yugoslavia and the Soviet Union, it was handled so well in Spain, we
will analyze it in particular detail, both for the light it sheds on the Spanish tran-
sition and also for the theoretical implications it has for transitions in hetero-
geneous states with important regional, cultural and national differences, such as
Yugoslavia, the Soviet Union, Czechoslovakia, Indonesia, and Nigeria.
When Spain began the process of democratization, the potential for a danger-
ous stateness problem indeed existed. The most important indicator was that ter-
rorist violence of the nationalist Basque organization ETA (Euskadi ta Askata-
suna—Euskadi and Freedom) between 1960 and the year of Franco's death, 1975,
had caused forty-three deaths. In 1978, the year the constitution was approved,
deaths had escalated to sixty-five. There were seventy-eight deaths in 1979 and
ninety-six in 1980, the year of the first new regional elections that led to a major
devolution of power.19 This armed violence created the very real potential of mil-
itary opposition to the democratic transition and consolidation because, while
not one army officer was killed during the Basque insurgency in 1968-75 under
Franco, or in the 1975-77 transition period, in the postelectoral period of demo-
cratic rule between 1978 and 1983, thirty-seven army officers died due to Basque
nationalist violence.20
Yet, surprisingly, despite the deaths of military officers and the inevitable dif-
ficulties of creating Spain's quasi-federal state, none of the important statewide
interest groups or parties engaged in system blame. Adversity was not deliberately
used to delegitimate either the fledgling democratic regime or the new constitu-
tional structures that departed from Spain's traditional unitary state organiza-
tion. In our judgment the main reason for this lack of system blame was Spain's
19. See Fernando Reinares, "Sociogénesis y evolución del terrorismo en España," in Salvador Giner, ed.,
España sociedad y política (Madrid: Espasa Calpe, 1990), 353-96. See especially the table on p. 390, with bib-
liographic references.
20. Ibid. Also see Francisco J. Llera, Los vascos y la política. El proceso político vasco: Elecciones, partidos
y opinión pública y legitimación en el País Vasco, 1977-1992 (Bilbao: Universidad del País Vasco, 1994).
loo Southern Europe: Completed Consolidations
successful handling of its potentially grave problem of stateness via state wide
elections.
Elections, especially founding elections, help create agendas, actors, and orga-
nizations, and, most importantly, legitimacy and power. One of our major argu-
ments is that, if a country has a stateness problem, it makes a critical difference
whether the first elections are statewide or regional. In Spain the first elections
were statewide, and we believe that they helped transcend Spain's stateness prob-
lem. The first post-Franco vote, as we have seen, was the referendum to approve a
"law for political reform." This law committed the government not to any details
of political reform, but to a process of clear democratization, not just liberalization.
The second key vote, on June 15,1977, was also not merely about liberalization,
but about democratization; it was a statewide general election to select deputies
who would create a government and draft a new constitution. Because of the
statewide stakes involved, four statewide parties conducted a campaign in all of
Spain around statewide themes, winning 319 of the 350 seats. Just as importantly,
the statewide parties campaigned very hard in areas where the potential for se-
cession was greatest and the history of antisystem sentiment was most deeply
rooted—the Catalan and Basque regions. While strong Catalan and Basque nation-
alist parties did emerge, the four statewide parties and their regional affiliates won
67.7% of the vote in Catalonia, and 51.4% of the vote in the Basque Country.21
The deputies and government produced by these statewide elections engaged
in prolonged public and private negotiations over the constitution and over how
to proceed on the stateness issue. A consensual constitution was finally supported
in parliament by the four major parties and the major Catalan nationalist party;
258 of the 274 members voting gave it their approval. Spain's third general appeal
to the voters then followed, namely a referendum on the constitution, which was
approved by 87.8% of the voters on December i, 1978. In Catalonia the constitu-
tion was approved by 90.4 percent of the voters. In the Basque Country 68.8 per-
cent of those who voted approved the constitution, but voter turnout was only
45.5 percent, which was below the Spanish and Catalan level of 67 percent.22
Strengthened and legitimated by these three convocations of its electorate,
Spain's government and parliament began negotiations in earnest over the devolu-
tion of power to the Catalan and Basque Country provincial representatives, who
themselves had been constituted in the aftermath of the general elections. Sur-
rounded by intense controversy the negotiators eventually crafted a system by
which Spain would change its historically centralized state structure for a new de-
centralized one characterized by an unprecedented devolution of power to the
21. For the organization of statewide parties and the importance of the general election in transform-
ing the agendas of these parties, see Günther, Sani, and Shabad, Spain after Franco, 37-177. The results of the
1977 election are found on pp. 38 and 311.
22. For details about constitutional votes see Andrea Bonime-Blanc, Spain's Transition to Democracy:
The Politics of Constitution-Making (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1987).
Spain loi
peripheral nationalist constituencies. These negotiated agreements over regional

autonomy (the Statutes of Autonomy) were submitted to Basque and Catalan
voters in October, 1979. The Catalan statute was approved by 87.9 percent and the
Basque statute by 90.3 percent of those who voted in the regions.23 The largest
and oldest Basque nationalist party (PNV), which had urged abstention on the
earlier referendum on the constitution, adjusted to the new political situation and
urged approval of the Statutes of Autonomy.24
Had the first elections in Spain been regional rather than statewide, the incen-
tives for the creation of Spain-wide parties and a Spain-wide agenda would have
been greatly reduced. Consequently, the statewide parties and their affiliates
would have received fewer votes.25 We also believe that, if the first elections had
been on the regional level, issues raised by nationalities would have assumed a
much more substantial and divisive role in the electoral campaign than they ac-
tually did and the nationalist parties and their affiliates would have been more ex-
treme. Indeed, there is a good chance that peripheral nationalist parties and
groups would have been able to shift the discourse of the electoral campaign so
that calls for ruptura and mobilization for independence would have become pre-
dominant.26 Strengthened nationalist parties would have gravely complicated the
stateness problem in Spain. Relations between the military and the democratiz-
ing forces of the central government would almost certainly have been put under
greater strain. In a context of heightened stateness conflict, the coup coalition—
defeated by the king's personal intervention on February 23,1981—would proba-
bly have emerged earlier and with greater force against a divided and less legiti-
mate government.
The democratic transition in Spain certainly began under favorable conditions,
but the clear commitment to democratization and countrywide elections strength-
ened the legitimacy claims of the central government, helped forge links between
23. See Juan J. Linz, "De la crisis de un Estado unitario al Estado de las autonomías," in Fernando Fer-
nández Rodríguez, ed., La España de las autonomías (Madrid: Instituto de Estudios de Administración
Local, 1985), 527-672, and Juan J. Linz, Conflicto en Euskadi (Madrid: Espasa Calpe, 1986). On the negotia-
tion of the Basque Autonomy Statute, see the account by two journalists, Kepa Bordegarai and Robert Pas-
tor, Estatuto vasco (San Sebastian: Ediciones Vascas, 1979).
24. Some extreme separatist groups continued to boycott the vote on autonomy, and the overall voter
turnout was 13 percent lower than the Spanish average in the constitutional referendum; nevertheless, the
voter turnout of 54 percent was still politically significant.
25. Even when stateness issues are not salient, regional parties in Spain tend to poll 15-25 percent better
in regional elections than they do in general elections.
26. One example of such a potential discourse was the fact that the Consejo de Fuerzas Políticas de
Cataluña in March 1976 publicly demanded the "establishment of a provisional government of the Gener-
alität that would assume power in Catalonia from the moment of the 'ruptura democrática' with the com-
mitment to announce and hold in the shortest time possible elections to the Catalan parliament; that gov-
ernment would constitute itself on the basis of the principles that shaped the Estatuto of 1932 and as a first
step in the concrete exercise of the right of self determination." As the former exiled leader of the Catalan
regional govenment, Josep Tarradellas, comments in his memoirs, "political verbalism was at its height."
Jose Tarradellas, Ja Sóc Aquí: Recuerdo de un retorno (Barcelona: Planeta, 1990), diary entry of March 15,
1976, p. 4.
Table 6.1. Multiple Identities in Catalonia: 1982
Population
Both Parents Neither Parent Entire

Identity Born in Catalonia Born in Catalonia Immigrants Sample
Catalan 13.7 10.7 2.3 9.0

More Catalan than Spanish 26.5 12.0 4.2 16.9
Equally Catalan and Spanish 48.2 37.5 25.9 40.1
More Spanish than Catalan 5.7 10.5 12.6 8.2
Spanish 5.1 23.7 51.3 23.5
No answer 0.8 5.7 3.8 2.4
(414) (69) (317) (885)
Source: Juan J. Linz, "De la crisis de un estado unitario al estado de las autonomías," in Fernando Fernández Rodríguez, ed., La
España de las autonomías (Msinú: Instituto de Estudios de Administración Local, 1985)560.
Table 6.2. National Identities in Catalonia

Percentage
Survey Answer Catalans All Spain
"Proud to be Spanish" 73% 85%

"Proud to be Catalan" 82% N/A
a
In favor of the unification of Europe via the European Community 83% 76%
Source: The questions on pride are from Francisco Andrés drizo and Alejandro Sánchez Fernández, El sistema de valors dels
Catalans (Barcelona: Institut Cátala d'Estudis Mediterranis, 1991), 207. The question on European unification is from "Los
Españoles ante el Segundo aniversario de la firma del Tratado de Adhesión de España a la Comunidad Europa" (Madrid: Centra
de Investigaciones Sociológicas, Abril 1988}, 53. This table is reproduced with permission from Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan,
"Political Identities and Electoral Sequences: Spain, the Soviet Union, and Yugoslavia," Daedalus 121 (Spring 1992): 128.
a
N/A, not available.
political society and civil society, and contributed to a new, constitutionally sanc-
tioned relationship between Spain's peripheral nationalisms and the central gov-
ernment. Most importantly, countrywide elections restructured stateness identi-
ties in ways that were supportive of multiple identities and democracy in Spain.
In the new democratic Spain, complementary multiple identities persist. Dual
identities in Catalonia are the norm and have never been in question (table 6.1)
Catalans now have political and cultural control over education, television and
radio, and indeed over most of the areas where Catalan nationalism had been
most repressed in the past. Catalans also participate as a regional group in the Eu-
ropean Community (now the European Union), a body that in some important
respects is a community of regions as much as a community of states. Finally, in
this new context, Catalans, to a greater extent than ever before, accepted their
identity as members of the Spanish state. The sequence of elections in Spain helped
constitute these mutually supportive legal and affective memberships in national
(Catalan), state (Spanish), and suprastate (European Community) polities. The
Spain 103
Table 6.3. National Identities in the Basque Country
Percentage
Survey Answer Basque Country All Spain
"Proud to be Spanish" 44% 85%

"Proud to be Basque 69% N/Aa
In favor of the unification of Europe via the European Community 74% 76%
Source: Reprinted, with permission, from Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, "Political Identities and Electoral Sequences: Spain,
the Soviet Union, and Yugoslavia," Daedalus 121 (spring 1992): 129.
8
N/A, not available.
overwhelming percentage of all Catalans are proud to be Catalan, proud to be

Spanish, and very supportive of joining an integrated European political com-
munity. Table 6.2 shows these complementary multiple identities very clearly.
The Basque Country presents a more difficult political situation. While the sup-
port for membership in a unified Europe is high, the citizenry in the Basque Coun-
try are 40 percent less proud to be Spanish than the national average and about 30
percent less proud to be Spanish than the Catalans (table 6.3). There is still routine
separatist violence in the Basque Country, but we believe that the overall political
situation has been ameliorated by the sequence of elections we have described. In-
deed, the Basque Country is a particularly dramatic example of how elections can
structure identities and delegitimate certain types of antistate violence.
Let us now focus explicitly on the question of how identities can be con-
structed by political processes. Between 1977 and 1979 the most heated question in
Spanish politics concerned the relationship of peripheral nationalisms to the uni-
tary Spanish state. In this two-year period the percentage of the population in the
Basque Country who said they wanted to be independent doubled, to represent
virtually a third of the entire population. Starting from a smaller base, pro-inde-
pendence sentiment tripled in Catalonia in the same period. Obviously, if these
trends had continued for a few more years, there would have been a severe crisis
of stateness in Spain. However, once there had been a referendum on the Statutes
of Autonomy and governments had been established with Basque and Catalan
nationalist parties in office, sentiment for independence declined and later stabi-
lized at lower levels (figure 6.1).
Assassinations, kidnapping and terrorism by pro-independence groups in the
Basque Country still continued after the referendum, but their political signifi-
cance changed dramatically. The terrorism of the ETA was a central factor in the
course of the democratic transition, the constitution-making period, the negoti-
ation and approval of the autonomy statutes, the election of the Basque parlia-
ment, the formation of a Basque government, and the transfer of functions to the
government. At each of those points in time, it was argued that those steps would
lead to the end of terrorism; however, more often than not they coincided with an
Caulorua
País Vasco - Navarra
Fig. 6.1. Percentage of the Population Wanting Independence in Catalonia and

País Vasco-Navarra before and after the 1979 Referendum on Devolution of
Power to the Automonias.
Source: Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, "Political Identities and Electoral Sequences: Spain, the Soviet
Union, and Yugoslavia," Daedalus 121, no. 2 (Spring 1992): 130. Reprinted with permission from
Daedalus. This table is based on the data originally produced in Juan J. Linz, "De la crisis de un Estado
unitario al Estado de las autonomías," in Fernando Fernández Rodríguez, ed., La España de las
autonomías (Madrid: Instituto de Estudios de Administración Local, 1985), 587.
upsurge of terrorist casualties. Terrorism has not disappeared with the consolida-
tion of Spanish democracy and the consolidation of Basque institutions and self-
government.
Does this mean that the steps in the solution of the stateness problem—the ex-
istence of peripheral nationalisms—have failed? There is evidence (which we can-
not discuss here in full detail) that this is not the case. Terrorism, from having a
central importance, has become a tragic aspect of life, mostly in the Basque coun-
try, but that cannot destabilize Spanish democracy. The attempt on the life of the
leader of the opposition Partido Popular, José María Aznar, in 1995 provoked
Spain 105
unanimous condemnation. Terrorism has today its own dynamics, with only mi-
nority support in the Basque population.
The public opinion data show basic changes in the attitudes of the Basque pop-
ulation toward ETA, but the comparison of attitudes over time is complicated by
some changes in question formulation and the different proportions of "no opin-
ion" and "don't know" (due probably to the practices of the different polling or-
ganizations). With this in mind we want to note that in 1979 only 5 percent saw
ETA as "criminals"; by 1989,16 percent did so. In 1979,17.1 percent saw ETA as pa-
triots; by 1989, only 5 percent saw them as patriots. In the course of a decade of
democracy, the proportion saying that ETA were "idealists" dropped from 33 per-
cent to 18 percent; the ambiguous answer "manipulated" dropped from 29 percent
to 11 percent; while that of "madmen" increased from 8 percent to 16 percent.
Many of those changes were due to larger numbers of don't know and no answers,
from 8 percent to 34 percent—reflecting perhaps a tiredness of the whole issue—
but that does deflect from the fact that the number of those expressing support
by defining ETA as "patriots" and those condemning them as "criminals" have
changed.
Another set of data covering several years from 1981 to 1989 shows that, in 1981,
8 percent gave ETA their "full support"; in 1989 the figure was 3 percent. Those
agreeing with ETA goals but not the means went from 3 percent in 1981 to 9 per-
cent in 1989. Most importantly, the percentage of respondents expressing "total
rejection" went from 23 percent in 1981 to 45 percent in 1989, with 48 percent "don't
know, no answer" in 1981 and only 16 percent "don't know, no answer" in 1989.27
The comparison of data by party voted between 1979 and 1986 shows that,
among those supporting the Socialists (PSOE) the percentage answering "patriots"
or "idealists" dropped from 46 percent to 10 percent and the percentage giving
negative answers ("madmen" or "criminals") rose from 47 percent to 74 percent.
Most significantly, this "identity delegitimization" occurred even among the vot-
ers of the main nationalist party, the Partido Nacionalista Vasco (PNV), where the
percentage of positive answers dropped from 40 percent to 16 percent. Even
among the voters of Herri Batasuna, the positive responses weakened, from 60
percent saying "patriots" to 31 percent, while more said "idealists," 25 percent in
1979 and 40 percent in 1986.28
27. For an analysis of the Basque data and a more extensive discussion of democratic politics in the con-
text of political violence, see Goldie Shabad and Francisco J. Llera, "Political Violence in a Democratic State:
Basque Terrorism in Spain," in Martha Crenshaw, ed. Terrorism in Context (University Park, Penn.: Penn-
sylvania State University Press, 1995), 410-69; Liera, loi vascos y la política and Linz, Conflicto en Euskadi, 698.
28. Shabad and Liera, "Political Violence." Unfortunately, the comparison of attitudes concerning inde-
pendence between 1979 and 1989 is not fully possible, since the alternative answer "indifferent" was introduced
in 1989. However, those expressing "great desire" or "fairly large desire" for independence constituted 36 per-
cent in 1979 and 31 percent in 1989. Those reporting a desire that was "fairly small," respectively, 15 percent and
8 percent; "very small" were 12 percent and 7 percent; and "none," 29 percent and 19 percent. Offering the al-
ternative "indifferent"allowed 19 percent not to make a choice. In addition, the number of "no answers" in-
creased from 7 percent to 18 percent (probably because of the different practices of the survey organizations).
io6 Southern Europe: Completed Consolidations
For Basque nationalists (probably like most nationalists throughout the world),
the goal of an independent nation-state will never disappear. But the intensity of
that desire and the political means used to advance that desire can and have
changed. Accommodation to a democratic multinational state is possible, as the
pattern of Spanish-Basque politics of the last two decades shows.
These developments have largely stabilized the multiple levels of identity (the
important number of those who feel their Basque identity as well as a Spanish
identity) and limited the polarization of the two communities. They also have sta-
bilized the initially strong and growing desire for independence. Not that such a
desire has disappeared, although it is increasingly stated as a symbolic long-term
goal, while politics, government, and elections take place within the redefined
Spanish state. Those developments have also made possible in the Basque coun-
try the delegitimation and political isolation of the ETA terrorists. Although
Basque political killings continue, they no longer threaten to bring down the
democratic government.
The crisis of Spanish stateness has been contained, initially due to the choice
of electoral sequence. As we shall see when we discuss the stateness issue in the So-
viet Union and Yugoslavia, the electoral sequence in these two countries was pro-
foundly different, and it exacerbated the stateness problem that both countries al-
ready had due to their Soviet-style federal constitutions and historical memories.
We do not want to overstate the significance of holding first a general election—
in which statewide parties competed in the whole country and which also gave a
democratic legitimation to the nationalist parties—in the successful resolution of
the problem of Spanish stateness in a critical moment. Without all of the subse-
quent steps taken (the decrees on the pre-autonomias in the fall of 1977, the 1978
constitution, and the approval of the Estatutos in 1979), the problem could have
continued being an obstacle to full consolidation of Spanish democracy. We do
not say either that the nation-building efforts in the periphery are not problem-
atic, in the sense we have already discussed in chapter 2, in the multilingual Cata-
lan and Basque societies. What we do say is that the postponement of full devo-
lution until after the approval of a Spanish constitution in 1978, the negotiation of
the Autonomy Statutes, and their popular legitimation in a referendum allowed a
much less conflictual and more institutional recognition of nationalist aspira-
tions and the creation of a new and different state.
Using the definition of democratic transition advanced earlier, we maintain
that the Spanish transition began with the death of Franco on November 20,1975,
and was completed at the latest on October 25,1979, when the Basque and Catalan
referendums on regional autonomy were held. A case could, of course, be made
that the transition was completed when the principle of government accountabil-
ity to the parliament was established formally in November 1977 or when the new
democratic constitution was approved in the referendum on December 6,1978.
However, we believe that only after the Basque and Catalan regional autonomy for-
Spain 107
muía had been negotiated and voted upon did Spain meet our three requirements
for a completed transition: a government was in office that was the result of a free
and popular vote, the government had sovereign authority to generate policies,
and the government did not de jure have to share power with other bodies. Until
this point there had been some doubt about whether the military would success-
fully challenge the government's sovereign right to negotiate and generate new
policies in the highly controversial area of regional politics. Furthermore, the le-
gitimacy of a democratically elected government, if it had not solved these prob-
lems of regionalization, might have been questioned because the government
could have been seen as displaying excessive continuity with the Franquist regime.
EXCURSUS ON VIOLENCE AND DEMOCRATIZATION
It is difficult to assess the importance of political violence in the struggle for

democracy. In the cases included in our work, the regimes were not overthrown
by armed popular movements, guerrillas, or terrorists, if we ignore the confusing
events in Romania. The "liberation by golpe" of the Portuguese Captains is an al-
together different case. However, the case of Spain involves the violence of the
ETA, which certainly did not lead to the Spanish transition but contributed to the
crisis of Franco's regime. The assassination of his premier, Luis Carrero Blanco, in
December 1973 was an important event whose political implications for the
regime and change after the death of Franco will continue to be debated. It has
been argued that, if Luis Carrero Blanco had been prime minister when Franco
died, the resistance of the "bunker" [the hard line] would have been greater and
the transition probably would have been much different and more difficult. Some
facts are clear. ETA violence was a serious problem. Its repression contributed to
the international delegitimation of the Franco regime. But the scale of violence
reached its height in 1978—80 during the approval of the Constitution, the second
free election, the negotiation of Basque autonomy with Basque moderate politi-
cians, and the first election for the Basque regional parliament.
However, the sympathy for or tolerant attitude toward the ETA of much of the
opposition during this whole period and the ambiguous attitude of the French
government toward ETA members operating in France allowed the ETA to play a
disturbing and frustrating role in the new democracy. Although politically in-
creasingly isolated, ETA violence led the Socialist democratic government to con-
done—we do not know exactly to what extent—illegal actions against the ETA.
This is a case in which a democratic government acted in ways that blemished its
civil rights record.29 This has, years later in 1995, contributed to a serious crisis of
confidence in the government.
29. As Linz has pointed out, democratic governments are most likely to violate the law and commit
human rights abuses in cases where terrorism is combined with nationalistic, linguistic, or religious de-
io8 Southern Europe: Completed Consolidations
Table 6.4. "Democracy Is the Best Political System for a Country Like Ours," Spain 1978-1993.
Survey Answer 1978 1980 1981 1982-83 1983 1988 1993
"Yes" 77 69 81 74 85 87 79
"No" 15 20 13 6 10
"Depends" 12
"Other, N/A" 8 11 6 7 5
N (5,898) N/A (1,703) (5,463) (3,952) (4,548) (1,448)
Source: This table is reproduced, with permission, from Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, "Political Crafting of Democratic
Consolidation or Destruction: European and South American Comparisons," in Robert A. Pastor, ed., Democracy in the Americas:
Stopping the Pendulum (New York: Holmes and Meier, 1989), 44. National surveys by Data S.A., Madrid. For 1978 (July) and
1980 see J. J. Linz, M. Gómez-Reino, D. Vila, and F. A. Drizo, Informe sociológico sobre el cambio político en España, 1975-
1981 (IV Informe FOESSA, Vol. I, Fundación FOESSA), (Madrid: Euramérica, 1981), 627-29. For 1981, March 4 to 21 (after the
February 23 attempted coup), Cambio 16, no. 488 (April 6, 1981): 42-45: for 1982-83, November-January, postelection survey
with the support of the Volkswagen-Stiftung, unpublished. For the study see Juan J. Linz and J. R. Montero, Crisis y cambio:
Electores y partidos en la España de los años ochenta (Madrid: Centro de Estudios Constitucionales, 1986). For 1983 (Fall), see
J. J. Linz, "La sociedad española: presente, pasado y futuro," in J. J. Linz, ed., España, un presente para el futuro, I: La
sociedad {Madrid'. Instituto de Estudios Económicos, 1984), 57-95, and J. J. Linz, "Legitimacy of Democracy and the
Socioeconomic System," in Mattei Dogan, ed., Comparing Pluralist Democracies: Strains on Legitimacy (Boulder, Colo.:
Westview Press, 1988), 65-113. Data for 1988 and 1993 from the Centra de Documentación de Data, S.A., Madrid. For an
important conceptual and empirical analysis, see José Ramon Montero and Richard Günther, "Democratic Legitimacy in Spain,"
paper prepared for the International Political Science Association (IPSA), IVI World Congress, Berlin, August 21-25, 1994.
Here we want only to note that the terrorist struggle against a nondemocratic
government may leave a difficult legacy for a new democracy, since the terrorists
may pursue other goals than democratization and, therefore, not stop their ac-
tions when democracy has been achieved. The assassination of one of the intel-
lectual leaders of the right, Senator Jaime Guzman, in Chile after a democratic
government assumed office is another example of how such a legacy complicates
the democratic political process.
D E M O C R A T I C CONSOLIDATION
There is broad scholarly consensus that Spanish democracy was consolidated

no later than the peaceful transfer of power to the socialist opposition after the
October 1982 general elections. We accept this date. However, a case could be
made that democracy was consolidated even earlier, with the completion of the
successful trials and imprisonment of the military leaders involved in the Febru-
ary 23,1981 coup attempt. It is very significant (and a startling contrast to Ar-
gentina) that the two major leaders of the coup attempt, Colonel Tejero and Gen-
eral Milans del Bosch, were sent to jail and that there was never a politically
significant movement in the military or in civil society to grant them clemency.
In our theoretical discussion of democratic consolidation, we distinguished the
mands. See his "Types of Political Regimes and Respect for Human Rights: Historical and Cross-National
Perspectives," in Asbj0rn Eide and Bernt Hagtvet, eds., Human Rights in Perspective: A Global Assessment
(Oxford: Blackwell, 1992), 177-222, 299-310, esp. 190-93.
Spain 109
Table 6.5. "At This Time, What Do You Think Is Best: Government Only of the UCD (The Unión de
Centra Democrático, Then the Ruling Party), a Political Party Coalition, a Civil-Military Government,
or a Military Government?" Spain 1981
Survey Answer Percentage
UCD government 27%

Coalition government 52%
Civil-military government 5%
Military government 2%
Others (no response, don't know, hard to classify) 14%
100%
(A/=1,703)
Note: The question in Spanish was: "En estos momentos, ¿qué cree usted que es el mejor: un gobierno sólo de UCD, un
gobierno de coalición entre partidos políticos, un gobierno cívico-militar, o un gobierno militar?"
Source: This table is reproduced, with permission, from Linz and Stepan, "Political Crafting of Democratic Consolidation or
Destruction," 45. Data are from a special poll carried out by Data, S.A., Madrid, Spain, between March 4 and 21, 1981, after
the putsch attempt of February 23, 1981.
attitudes of the general citizenry from the behavior of nationally significant groups
and the constitutional reality of whether the democratic government was de jure
sovereign in the policy sphere. In the Spanish case, the first component to become
fully congruent with consolidation was public opinion. By 1978 Spanish public
opinion was strongly democratic, and it has remained so ever since (table 6.4).
Not only was Spanish public opinion strongly prodemocratic in the abstract
sense, it also overwhelmingly rejected the major possible alternative to democ-
racy, a military government (table 6.5).
Ten years after the death of Franco, 76 percent of the population felt pride in
the transition and only 9 percent said that the transition was not a source of pride.
This sense of pride was particularly strong on the left, where 82 percent of those
who said they would vote Communist and 88 percent of those who said they
would vote Socialist expressed pride in the transition.30
In terms of the behavior of nationally significant groups, parts of the military
spent significant resources attempting to impose conditions, by pressure and if
necessary by military force, on democratically elected governments, at least until
the failed coup in February 1981. Some scholars, such as Paul Preston, argue that
some party activists were in sufficient contact with coup conspirators to be called,
in effect, a semiloyal opposition. However, the overwhelmingly negative reaction
to the coup expressed by the king, public opinion, and party leaders helped to es-
tablish very clearly that the only game in town after February 1981 was a demo-
cratic game.31
30. "Actitudes y opiniones de los españoles ante la constitución y las instituciones democráticas," 32.
31. Before the coup attempt prominent politicians from a range of parties, including the Socialist Party,
engaged in semiloyal discussions with the military about a possible civil-military caretaker coalitional gov-
ernment. All such ambivalent actions on the part of party activists stopped after the coup. For a discussion
of the semiloyal behavior of some politicians, see Paul Preston, The Triumph of Democracy in Spain (Lon-
don: Methuen, 1986), 160-88, esp. 181-84.
no Southern Europe: Completed Consolidations
The final component of democratic consolidation to be put in place was the

successful exercise by the democratic government of its right not to have its pol-
icy power constrained by non-democratic institutions. The trials and imprison-
ment of the military were complete by 1982. The trials helped to consolidate de-
mocracy because they showed how divided and without an agenda the military
"alternative" really was. The most important hard-liners were defeated, disgraced,
and jailed. After the trials there was a "steady realization among large numbers of
officers that democracy was there to stay and that the military ought to accom-
modate itself within it."32 Finally, after they were faced with the solid parliamen-
tary majority achieved by the Socialists in October 1982, "military contestation
shifted from politics to more strictly corporate concerns, and from resistance to
accommodation."33 From December 1982 until March 1991 the defense minister
of the Socialist government, Narcis Serra, the former mayor of Barcelona, de-
signed and implemented an imaginative and sweeping restructuring of the mili-
tary, which had begun with UCD goverments and their civilian ministers of de-
fense. When he left office "the once feared Poder Militar was now, in many
respects, one more branch of the state administration."34 In terms of civil-mili-
tary theory, a democratic pattern of civil-military relations is one in which there
is low contestation by the military of the policies of the democratically elected
government and where the military accepts that they have low "prerogatives" or
reserve domains.35 For more than a decade, Spain has been in this position.
A review of the basic background variables that facilitate or impede a demo-
cratic consolidation shows that Spain, with the important exception of the state-
ness variable we have examined, began its transformation under facilitating con-
ditions on all the other variables. The organizational base of the authoritarian
regime was civilian or civilianized pro regime officers. Some may think of the
Franco regime as a military regime, but Franco exercised power as head of the
party as well as generalísimo of the armed forces and predominantly as chief of
state. Numerous studies of decision making in the last twenty-five years of the
Franco regime support Felipe Agiiero's judgment that "although the military in
Spain was highly present in the Franquist structures, it did not delineate or mon-
itor government policy or control its leader," and that "the military in Spain did
not participate in the elite nucleus that made the core decisions for the transi-
tion."36 In our judgment it is appropriate, therefore, to call the regime base in the
32. Felipe Agüero, "The Assertion of Civilian Supremacy in Post-authoritarian Contexts: Spain in Com-
parative Perspective" (Ph.D. diss., Duke University, 1991), 300.
33. Ibid., 309.
34. For an excellent discussion of the socialist reform, see ibid., 309-56. This quote is from p. 356.
35. For a more extensive conceptual discussion of "military prerogatives" and "military contestation"
and a comparative analysis of Spain, Chile, Uruguay, Argentina, and Brazil, see Stepan, Rethinking Military
Politics, 93-127, esp. figure 7.3 on p. 122.
36. Both quotes from Felipe Agüero, "The Military in the Processes of Political Democratization in
South America and South Europe: Outcomes and Initial Conditions," paper presented at the XV Interna-
Spain in
years preceding the transition a "civilianized-authoritarian regime." As we have

argued, such a base presents fewer potential obstacles to democratic transition
and consolidation than does a sultanistic base or a hierarchical military.
In Spain there were, of course, important social and political pressures for
change when Franco died. Our emphasis on the formally developed part of civil
society in Spain that in part served as a basis, cover, and support for an emerging
political society should not lead us to neglect the less organized forms of dissent
by people in demonstrations, rallies, and sympathy strikes. Some of those actions
were quite spontaneous, and certainly many of those participating did not belong
to any of the organizations initiating them.
There is, however, a very important difference between authoritarian Spain
and those regimes in Communist Europe with strong totalitarian or frozen post-
totalitarian features, such as the GDR, Czechoslovakia, Bulgaria, Romania, and
the Baltic republics. There the weakness of civil society and political society be-
fore the transition started and during the course of the transition made the more
spontaneous actions of citizens congregating in squares, churches, and streets
(like those in Leipzig, Dresden, Berlin, Prague, Sofia, and finally in Timisoara and
Bucharest) play a much greater role in the crisis of those regimes and their col-
lapse or the initiation of a transformation from above. In some of those cases,
there was a serious possibility of a violent Tiananmen Square denouement, an
outcome less likely in Spain (except perhaps in the Basque Country) due to the
mediating role of civil organizations and the leaders of an incipient political so-
ciety. The massive demonstration in Spain in February 1977, after the murder of
Communist labor lawyers—the Atocha murders—is one example; their lying-in-
state at the bar association offices in the Supreme Court building, the authorized
character of the mass demonstration, and the control of the militants by the PCE
made this an important but orderly event. In this context of heightened societal
pressure for and expectations of change, the regime's political leaders, especially
Adolfo Suárez, initiated the law for political reform and were in charge when the
first elections were held and when the constitution was drafted. Popular pressure
kept the transition going forward and contributed to the dialectic captured by the
well-known Spanish phrase reforma pactada-ruptura pactada. Nonetheless, since
the regime played a key role at all stages of the transition, it is appropriate to call
Spain a case of negotiated transition, which, consistent with our argument, is a
format that avoids most of the problems of a "provisional government."
Concerning the implication of the character of the previous nondemocratic
regime, we argued in table 4.3 that it is conceivable that in the later stages of an
authoritarian regime a country could arrive at a set of conditions vis-à-vis civil
tional Congress of the Latin American Studies Association, San Juan, Puerto Rico, September 21-23,19&9>
22 and 27. For a similar argument with supporting documentation, see Rodrigo, "El camino hacia la demo-
cracia," 21-32, and Stepan, Rethinking Military Politics, 118-21.
society, constitutionalism and rule of law, the state bureaucracy, and economic
society that would be quite supportive of democratic consolidation, if there was
a democratic transition. Spain is the clearest example of the phenomenon. In the
words of Victor Perez-Diaz, "by the time we get to the mid-7os the economic, so-
cial and cultural institutions of Spain were already quite close to those of Western
Europe, and the cultural beliefs, normative orientation and attitudes that go with
the workings of these institutions were also close to European ones. This is one of
the reasons why the political change to democracy worked so swiftly."37 He fur-
ther notes that, by the mid-jos (just before the transition), "Spain's economy was
a modern economy, ranking tenth among capitalist economies throughout the
world, with a large industrial sector, a booming service sector and its agriculture
undergoing rapid transformation."38 Indeed, the Spanish economy had benefited
from the overall development of Western Europe, and between 1961 and 1970 it
had a growth rate of 7.3 percent, one of the highest in the world.39 The Spanish
transition is particularly relevant to the debates about economic factors in tran-
sitions and consolidations of new democracies. The robust economic develop-
ment in Spain in the 19605 contributed indirectly to the transition by generating
a more complex and free society in which there were considerable working class
protests and strikes, first on economic issues and later on solidarity demands. In
the moment of transition, Spain's close network of organizations limited anomic
and violent action, possibly because everybody had something to lose in disorder.
However, there was no direct relationship between prolonged economic growth
and the onset of the transition nor to the specific political processes leading to de-
mocracy. Spain had reached a level of development that should have led to de-
mocratization quite a few years before Franco's death in 1975. The business class
did not press for change by articulating arguments that the regime had served its
function or that further development required democratization. Business did not
oppose democratization and might have even privately supported it, but business
played no active public role bringing about democracy.
Of the five arenas that were crucial for the consolidation of democracy, as ar-
gued in chapter one, Spain began its transition with reasonable supportive con-
37. Perez-Diaz, "Emergence of a Democratic Spain," 14. This is true even in the area of political prefer-
ences. For example, although, until shortly before the 1977 elections, the public recognition of leaders and
the large number of emerging parties were small, the Spaniards, even before the death of Franco and espe-
cially after the transition began, could clearly place themselves on the left-right dimension and express their
preference for one or another of the ideological tendencies in the European political spectrum. Most
Spaniards from the daily news were quite familiar with European politics and parties. In this respect Spain
was very different from most post-totalitarian societies and particularly from the former USSR.
38. Ibid.
39. See}. M. Maravall, "Economic Reforms in New Democracies: The Southern European Experience,"
East South System Transformations, Working Paper #3 (Oct. 1990), Department of Political Science, Uni-
versity of Chicago, 3. For a more detailed evaluation of areas of economic strength and weakness of the
Franco regime in 1960-75, see José María Maravall, Los resultados de la democracia: Un estudio del sur y el
este de Europa (Madrid: Alianza Editorial, 1995), 61-104.
Spain 113
ditions in all of the arenas except political society. Democratic crafters and sup-
porters inherited a civil society already robust and reasonably differentiated, an
economic society that needed restructuring but was already institutionalized, a
state apparatus tainted with authoritarianism but usable (and certainly so by the
first democratically elected government, which came from its ranks), and a rea-
sonably strong recent tradition of rule of law.
Given this situation we do not feel that international influence was critical for
Spain's transition and consolidation (as we will argue it was for Portugal), but it
certainly was systematically supportive. Democracy in Spain, in fact, was already
consolidated before Spain entered the European Economic Community in 1986.
However, the fact that the EEC was solidly democratic, and had "set up a stable
pattern of rewards and disincentives" for would-be members was helpful to
Spain's transition and consolidation.40 As the former Socialist Minister, José M.
Maravall, has noted, "Adolfo Suárez presented Spain's request for membership to
the EEC in 1977 and the totality of parliamentary parties supported him. It was
widely believed that international isolation and the dictatorship had been closely
connected in recent Spanish history. The European Community was seen as a
symbol of democracy and development; this symbol had been very important in
the struggle against Francoism. Joining the EEC was believed to be a decisive step
for the consolidation of democracy."41 Foreign policies toward Spain and the pre-
vailing Zeitgeist in Western Europe were thus very supportive of democratic tran-
sition and consolidation. The diffusion effect was also helpful for Spain. The 1974
Portuguese Revolution encouraged some Spanish proregime leaders to push the
democratic transition forward rather than wait for a reaction from below, and the
loss of the king's throne in Greece probably encouraged King Juan Carlos to sup-
port a regime-led democratic transition.
The political economy of legitimacy is extremely interesting because there is ab-
solutely no doubt that the economic situation of Spain deteriorated sharply dur-
ing the transition and did not improve until three years after consolidation in 1982.
Spanish unemployment in the early 19705 under Franco was one of the lowest in
Europe, hovering around 3 percent. With the transition to democracy, unemploy-
ment rose dramatically—in fact, Spain's 20 percent unemployment rate in the
mid-1980s was the highest in Western Europe. Economic growth rates, which av-
eraged over 7 percent from 1960 to 1974 and were among the highest in the world,
averaged only 1.7 percent between 1975 and 1985.42 The hypothesis of a tightly cou-
pled relationship between economic efficiency and political legitimacy would lead
40. Whitehead, "International Aspects of Democratization," 22.

41. Maravall, "Economic Reforms in New Democracies," 16.
42. The Spanish unemployment data are from Banco de Bilbao, Economic Research Department,
Situación: Review of the Spanish Economy, International Edition, no. 10-11,1986. The Spanish growth rates
are derived from United Nations Statistical Yearbook, 1976,1982, and Economic Intelligence Unit, Quarterly
Reports: Spain (ind quarter 1986).
us to predict a corresponding decline in the legitimacy of democracy. Although

the polls showed a sharp decline in the belief in the socioeconomic efficacy of the
regime, there was a significant increase in the number of citizens who answered
affirmatively to the question "Is democracy the best political system for a country
like ours?"43 As with the Dutch in the mid-i93os, the Spanish in the 19805, despite
economic decline, struggled all the harder to make the democratic regime work
because no alternative seemed more appropriate. Helped by the fact that Spain
had started with a reasonably good economy, the sequence of reform actually fol-
lowed was first political, second social, and only third, economic.44
Our final conditioning variable is the constitution-adoption formula. In the
absence of a sultanistic background or an armed conflict within the state, a con-
stitution imposed by a provisional government was precluded. The relative ab-
sence of the military in the day-to-day governing process of the old authoritarian
regime and the fact that the transition was being led by the regime's civilian lead-
ers meant that the military did not attempt to impose authoritarian prerogatives
or confining conditions on the constituent assembly.45 The civil war legacy, the
great socioeconomic changes since the 19305, and the fact that the Franco gov-
ernment had been in power for forty years virtually precluded a restoration.
These factors, together with the constant pressure of the democratic opposition,
led the regime's leaders to adopt the free constitution-making formula. Within
this formula, Spain elected the consensual as opposed to the majoritarian style of
constitution making. The issue of consensus underlying the political process of
the transition and above all the constitution-making process was emphasized by
Suárez in a speech before the Congress of Deputies on April 5,1978 in these terms:
During a constituent process, the Government must limit the reach of its options, maintaining
the level of dissensus at levels which are not substantial, because that is the only way to avoid
what would be the most grave danger to the body politic: the nonexistence of a concord located
in the country at its roots, concerning the basic elements of national coexistence. This transi-
tory situation, characteristic of all constituent periods, conditions all aspects of political ac-
tion. . . . the Constitution, as an expression of national concord, must be obtained by consen-
sus, for which it is necessary to take into account the diverse political forces now present."46
43. We develop this argument at greater length in Stepan and Linz, "Political Crafting of Democratic Con-
solidation or Destruction: European and South American Comparisons," in Robert A. Pastor, ed., Democracy
in the Americas: Stopping the Pendulum (New York: Holmes and Meier, 1989), 42-48; the quote is from p. 43.
44. The seminal work on the sequencing of reform in southern Europe is Maravall, "Economic Reforms
in New Democracies." Given the "simultaneity" problem that all post-Communist polities faced, this se-
quencing was (unfortunately) not considered seriously in that region. Even in the South American coun-
tries, the choice, everywhere but Chile, has been to address deep debt-related problems and political prob-
lems simultaneously.
45. On this key point see the excellent dissertation by Rodrigo, "El camino hacia la democracia," 273-77.
46. The distinction between the consensual and the majoritarian styles of democratic policy making is
developed in Arend Lijphart, Democracies: Patterns of Majoritarianism and Consensus in Twenty-one Coun-
tries (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984), 1-36.
Spain 115
The result of the consensual approach to constitution drafting was that the
constitution was approved in the lower house by 325, with only 6 votes against and
8 abstentions. To get maximum legitimacy for the new constitution, the Spanish
leaders chose to have their collective work submitted to a constitutional referen-
dum where, as we saw, it obtained about 88 percent approval.47 None of the other
twelve countries we consider in this volume carried out all of these steps. Proba-
bly the most significant consequence of the consensual process is that, ten years
after the death of Franco, 65 percent of those polled felt that the constitution "was
an accord among almost all political parties," whereas only 10 percent felt it was
"imposition by one party on the other." In answer to the question, "Whose ideas
prevailed in the constitution—'right,' 'left,' 'center', 'everyone' or 'no one in par-
ticular'?" the answer "everyone" was agreed to by 57 percent, whereas the next
highest was the "center" with 7 percent.48 The constitution, therefore, was and is
an element of popular consensus in the new democracy.
We do not want to leave the impression that democratic consolidation in Spain
was overdetermined by our variables. We have acknowledged the delicacy of the
question of stateness, the severity of the military threat to Spanish democracy in
February 1981, and the indispensability of the skill and imagination of party leaders
and the king for success. Nevertheless, in comparative terms, Spain began the tran-
sition with very favorable conditions. This would not have been the case had Spain
begun the transition from a totalitarian, post-totalitarian, or sultanistic base. How-
ever, as we shall see when we examine Portugal, a transition that begins with a coup
by a nonhierarchical military confronts vastly more complicated circumstances,
even though it shares the same typological origin as an authoritarian regime.
At the time of making final revisions to our book, the Spanish government is
in the midst of a serious crisis unrelated to the transition. This crisis is due to rev-
elations of corruption on the part of the head of the Bank of Spain and the first
civilian and socialist head of the Guardia Civil, tolerance or support for the anti-
ETA terrorism of the clandestine organization called GAL (Grupos Anti-terroris-
tas de Liberación), the cover-up of the death of an ETA member at the hands of
the police, and widespread telephone tapping.
A mixture of complexities derived from the constructive vote of no confidence
and the interests of the Catalan party—Convergencia i Unió—delayed dissolu-
tion and new elections. However, no one questioned the democratic institutions,
and the response was the calling of early elections for March, 1996. In this case, the
quality of democracy does not jeopardize the consolidation of democracy; in fact,
in this and other cases, one could argue that the relative invulnerability of demo-
cratic institutions to bad government is proof of consolidation.
47. For the votes see Linz, "Innovative Leadership in the Transitions," 185. On the constitution-making
process see Bonime-Blanc, Spain's Transition to Democracy.
48. "Actitudes y opiniones de los españoles ante la constitución," 50-51.
7
From Interim Government to

Simultaneous Transition and
Consolidation: Portugal
I H E P O R T U G U E S E transition to democracy presents characteristics that

are directly relevant to our theoretical framework. It exemplifies in a particularly
dramatic way the problems stemming from a transition initiated by a nonhierar-
chical military. In Portugal this led to rule by interim governments and a consti-
tution-making process heavily conditioned by nondemocratic pressures. The re-
sult was the creation of "reserve domains" of power that precluded, as long they
were in place, the completion of democratic transition and therefore democratic
consolidation. The Portuguese case also boldly highlights how elections can be an
independent factor in transition and consolidation, since elections can sociolog-
ically, as well as legally, alter relations of power. Without the formal written com-
mitment of the Armed Forces Movement (MFA) to hold elections within one year
(a decision later regretted by some of the revolutionary officers and their allies),
the uncertainty and difficulty of the Portuguese transition could well have been
much greater than they were.
Why was the Portuguese transition so fundamentally different from the Span-
ish transition? Regime type does not really help us because the Salazar regime in
Portugal was not significantly different from the Franco regime in Spain. To be
sure, the regime was at times described as totalitarian, but most scholars now con-
cur that the regime never was totalitarian, even in the worst period of Salazar.1
The regime did of course have a fascist-style structure of mass organizations, but
these structures were actually less important than in Spain, and the official party
was not strongly organized. The regime had a nondemocratic constitutional sys-
tem with strong corporatist features, but more than in Spain it had certain insti-
tutions of a liberal origin such as regular elections to a parliament and even a
i. For an analysis of the corporatist but not totalitarian nature of the Salazar regime, see Manuel de Lu-
cena, "Interpretaçoes do Salazarismo: Notas de leitura crítica," Análise social 20 (1984): 423-51. For an ex-
cellent review of the literature, see Antonio Costa Pinto, Salazar's Dictatorship and European Fascism: Prob-
lems of Interpretation (Boulder: Social Science Monographs, 1995). For a comparison of the regimes of
Franco and Salazar, which concludes that neither was totalitarian, see Javier Tusell, La dictadura de Franco
(Madrid: Alianza Editorial, 1988), 272-305.
Portugal 117
short period of tolerated political contestation before the elections.2 For

a while there was even a direct election of the president—in fact, in 1958 the
regime's candidate almost lost. The weakness of the single official party and the
lesser weight of fascist ideological influences brought the regime even further
from the totalitarian model than in Spain. The military were more unruly and
politicized than in Spain. Military revolts were routine and both the regime and
the opposition attempted to bolster themselves by having military officers as their
presidential standard bearers. In fact, all presidents of Portugal from 1926 to 1986
were military men.3 But the regime was by no means a military regime. Ulti-
mately, like Spain, Portugal's nondemocratic regime can be characterized as a
civilianized authoritarian regime with a weak party. Salazar was a university pro-
fessor who was surrounded by academics, and his successor was a distinguished
university professor. Finally, Salazar as the long-time head of government was,
like Franco, committed to sustaining the nondemocratic regime he had created.
With such similar regimes in Portugal and Spain, why did Portugal have revo-
lutionary rupture with its past while Spain had a "transition by transaction"?
Writing today about the Portuguese upheavals, we all too often tend to see them
in the framework set by later transition processes, forgetting that in 1974 Portugal
was the first of the transitions in contemporary southern Europe. Thus there was
no "Spanish model" available for emulation or reflection, as it was later for gov-
ernment and opposition elites alike in Hungary, Brazil, Uruguay, and South
Korea. Portugal as the first transition was also not helped by a diffusion effect. The
model of reforma pactada-ruptura pactada had not been invented. However, with
our interest in assessing the importance of diffusion and political learning, our
discussion of Spain opens up the very real possibility that part of the reason why
the Spanish transition was so fundamentally different from the Portuguese tran-
sition is that the Portuguese upheavals were occurring as Franco died and served
for some of the key regime activists in Spain as a point of reference of how not to
make a transition. This important point aside, one can still speculate counterfac-
tually whether a "transition by transaction" would have been possible in Portugal.
Theorists of these "transitions by transaction," such as Mainwaring and Share,
generalizing from Spain and Brazil, have posited that such a transition is most
likely if there is (i) a reasonably well-established regime, (2) a low subversive
threat, (3) a cooperative opposition, (4) low mobilization, and (5) innovative
leadership.4 With the exception of a small but Stalinist Communist Party, Portu-
2. See Philippe C. Schmitter, "The 'Régime d'Exception' That Became the Rule: Forty-eight Years of Au-
thoritarian Domination in Portugal," in Graham and Makler, Contemporary Portugal, 3-46.
3. For the Portuguese military under Salazar and an analysis of twenty-one different cases of insurrec-
tion, see Douglas L. Wheeler, "The Military and the Portuguese Dictatorship, 1926-1974: 'The Honor of the
Army'," in Graham and Makler, Contemporary Portugal, 221-56. Despite these acts of insurrection, Wheeler
is clear that the Salazar government was not a military government. "The armed forces leadership after 1933,
and especially after World War II, was increasingly controlled by the state" (p. 199).
4. See Scott Mainwaring and Donald Share, "Transition through Transaction: Democratization in
n8 Southern Europe: Completed Consolidations
gal at the death of Salazar in 1970 shared great similarities with Spain and Brazil
on the first four conditions. What Portugal lacked was an innovative leader who
took a major role in initiating a transition.5 In the end, midlevel professional of-
ficers whose status and morale were being destroyed, and many junior officers
who were being radicalized by the colonial wars in Angola and most importantly
in Mozambique and Guinea, terminated the government that could not or would
not terminate the wars. On April 25,1974, Western Europe's oldest dictatorship
was overthrown by junior officers.6
Almost immediately, massive crowds filled the streets, supporting the junior
officers, crowds that put carnations in their guns, thus helping legitimate and
make irreversible the "revolution of the carnations." The success of the liberation
by "golpe" rapidly led to the freeing of political prisoners.7 The liberation opened
a period of febrile activity, social protests, more or less spontaneous takeovers of
factories and large agricultural units, purges of all kinds of institutions if they
were seen as closely related to the previous regime, and constant assembleasto de-
cide everything. Parties seen as representing continuity with the old regime were
outlawed. The Portuguese Communist Party emerged out of many of the assem-
blies with key positions of power. Nationalization of the banks put the country on
the road to socialism, given the banks' traditional control of much of industry.
It was a revolutionary process that attracted worldwide attention, enthusiasm,
and fears.
TRANSITION I N I T I A T E D BY A R E V O L U T I O N A R Y
NONHIERARCHICAL MILITARY
Analytically, how did such a revolutionary process begin, and especially how
and why did such a process lead to representative parliamentary democracy? Ob-
Brazil and Spain," in Wayne Selcher, ed., Political Liberalization in Brazil (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press,
1986), 175-215.
5. For a systematic analysis of how Marcello Caetano, in sharp contrast to the "innovative leadership"
of Suárez in Spain, did not take advantage of these favorable conditions for a transacted transition, see
Daniel V. Friedheim, "Innovative Leadership: The Failure to Democratize Pre-revolutionary Portugal" (Yale
University, July 1990, mimeo). For early comparisons of the Spanish and Portuguese transitions, see Juan J.
Linz, "Some Comparative Thoughts on the Transition to Democracy in Portugual and Spain," in Jorge
Braga de Macedo and Simon Serfaty, eds., Portugal since the Revolution: Economic and Political Perspectives
(Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1981), 25-45.
6. The crisis in the military is shown by the fact that, for the 1971 class at the military academy, there
were 550 openings, but only 169 candidates applied to take the admissions test; 103 were admitted. See the
massively documented book by Maria Carrilho, Forças armadas e mudança política em Portugal no sec. XX:
Para uma explicaçâo sociológica do papel dos militares (Lisbon: Estudos Gerais Série Universitaria, 1985), 385.
The commissioning of drafted university students infuriated the professional officers, many of whom
wanted the colonial wars to end. The professionals were worried that, if they lost the wars, they would re-
ceive the same humiliating treatment from the government that had been received by the commanders of
the Portuguese garrisons who surrendered in Goa.
7. The classic study is by Philippe C. Schmitter, "Liberation by Golpe: Retrospective Thoughts on the
Demise of Authoritarian Rule in Portugal," Armed Forces and Society 2 (Nov. i975):5-33.
Portugal 119
viously, when we consult the variables discussed in part i, the revolutionary

process had most to do with our variable "who initiates and controls the transi-
tion." The character of those who initiated the transition also introduced strong
nondemocratic elements into the variable we called "the constitution-making en-
vironment."8
In Portugal the transition was started to a great extent by captains. Thus, un-
like the Greek case we shall explore next, the Portuguese revolution was not initi-
ated by the state. This made for a crisis of normal military structures and also led
to a general crisis of the state. Consistent with our analytical framework, this
opened up a period of "interim governments" in which the possibilities for full
democratic transition, not to speak of democratic consolidation, were very much
in doubt. For a while the junior military, pulled along by extensive mass mobi-
lization in Lisbon and in the South, were in essence in alliance with a Stalinist
Communist Party and various revolutionary groups in an effort to transform the
country.9 Between 1974 and 1976 the country lived through a turbulent period of
provisional governments and a near disintegrating state. Indeed, Kenneth Max-
well alludes to the fact that, on a number of accounts, Portugal was closer in this
period to Nicaragua than it was to any southern European or South American
transition.10
During the period of revolutionary upheavals, the military became deeply in-
volved in all phases of political activity. After April 1974, the Junta of National Sal-
vation, headed by seven officers, assumed sovereign power, elected a new presi-
dent from its members, and appointed the government. Another revolutionary
organ of the new regime, the Council of State, exercised legislative power until the
election of the Constituent Assembly; it was composed of twenty-one members,
only five of whom were civilians, all appointed by the military. The last five in-
terim governments were all presided over by military men. Forty of the ninety
cabinet positions were held by military officers.1: In addition, in the course of
1974-75, the military jurisdiction was not only not abolished or restricted, but was
extended to cover all "counter-revolutionary" crimes, including those exercised
by the mass media. The military gave themselves the power to arrest, to carry out
police inquiries, and to submit to military jurisdiction any civilians they deemed
were involved in offenses concerning the military. ' 2 The military assumed unilat-
8. See chapter 5 for our discussion of these variables.

9. The high degree of autonomous popular mobilization and land seizures is important to stress and is
well documented in Nancy Gina Bermeo, The Revolution within the Revolution: Workers' Control in Rural
Portugal (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986).
10. Kenneth Maxwell, "Regime Overthrow and the Prospects for Democratic Transition in Portugal," in
O'Donnell, Schmitter, and Whitehead, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Southern Europe, 113.
11. All of these figures were obtained from the extremely informative article by José Sánchez Cervelle,
"El processo democrático portugués (1974-1975)," in Hipólito de la Torre, ed., Portugal y España en el cam-
bio político (1958-1978) (Mérida: Universidad Nacional de Educación a Distancia, Centro Regional de Ex-
tremadura, 1989), 155-63.
12. Ibid.
eral control of key foreign policy issues. In the words of one of the most radical
military leaders of the provisional government, Vasco Gonçalves, "the MFA was
the only, and exclusive, group in charge of decolonialization."13 The military also
took over an important role in the mass media. Their Bulletin of the MFA had a
circulation of 100,000, and the MFA, through the unit called Dinamizaçao Cul-
tural, carried out extensive political mobilization efforts in support of the revolu-
tionary process. Even the winner of the competition to participate in the first Eu-
ropean Eurovision Music Festival was an officer.14
Given the extraordinary political roles played by a nonhierarchical military,
the Moscow-line Communist Party, and popular revolutionary actions, how, by
our criteria, did Portugal on August 12,1982, simultaneously complete its demo-
cratic transition and its democratic consolidation?
INTERIM GOVERNMENTS AND ELECTIONS
Theoretically and empirically we believe that the strongest democratic coun-

tervailing power to the nondemocratic dynamic of an interim government is free
elections with a set date. Only such elections can constitute political society. This
is so because elections can (i) create new democratic political actors, (2) fill the
newly opened political space with institutions associated with democracy, (3) give
a claim of democratic legitimacy to forces that have not necessarily played a role
in the destruction of the nondemocratic regime, and (4) provide the first oppor-
tunity for all the citizens of the country to render a positive or negative judgment
on the provisional government.
The Portuguese case supports this general argument. For reasons that still have
to be studied, the initial program of the Armed Forces Movements explicitly com-
mitted them to holding Constituent Assembly elections within a year.15 There was
the further additional commitment to elections for a parliament and a president,
under a framework to be determined by the Constituent Assembly within another
year.16 Let us remember that there are two options in the writing of new constitu-
tions. One is the election of a constituent assembly with no other function and to
which the government would not be accountable, and the other is the election of
a regular parliament to which a government will be accountable that will engage in
law making at the same time that it drafts and approves a constitution. The first al-
ternative may serve, as it did in Portugal, to delay the formation of a parliament-
13. Ibid., 162.

14. Ibid., 162-63. The indispensable chronology that reproduces most of the important decrees, mani-
festos, and speeches of the 1974-75 revolutionary period is the multivolume series, Henrique Barrilaro
Ruas, ed., A revoluçao das flores; Do 25 de Abril ao Governo Provisorio (Lisbon: Editorial Aster, n.d.).
15. See article 4 of the "Disposiçoes Constitucionaís Transitorias" (May 14, 1974). The entire text is
reprinted in Barrilaro Ruas, A revoluçao das flores, 308-14.
16. Ibid., 118.
Portugal 121
based government until after the approval of a constitution and new elections. It
allows the prolongation of a possibly authoritarian interim government. Another
consequence might be that the real political leaders might prefer not to be in the
constituent assembly, whose product will therefore be more abstract and theoret-
ical than it probably would have been if it had been the result of compromises be-
tween the most powerful leaders interested in being in a legislature or the execu-
tive while the constituent assembly meets. In comparison, in Nicaragua the broad
coalition supporting the Sandinistas did not demand or get such a clear statement
concerning the adoption of a constitution by a democratically elected constituent
assembly nor a date for the end of the interim government.
The Portuguese Constituent Assembly elections were held on schedule on
April 25,1975. In these statewide elections, a center-left party, a center-right party,
and a conservative party, all of which were in favor of procedural democracy, won
72 percent of the vote. In 1976, in the first free parliamentary elections since the
19205, these same three parties won 75 percent of the vote and 222 of the 263 seats
in the assembly.17
The crucial analytical point about interim governments is that, after a long au-
thoritarian period, groups who destroy a nondemocratic regime and who form
an interim government can always make the claim that they legitimately represent
the wishes and needs of the people. It is virtually impossible to verify or dispute
their claim without elections. Elections create new democratic claimants. The
monopolistic claims of the leaders of an interim government are thus contested,
and an important part of the newly created political space is occupied by actors
whose origin is in democratic procedures.
The holding of elections does not mean that the struggle over the democratic
or nondemocratic direction of the transition is over. In a highly fluid environ-
ment, such as existed in Portugal in 1974-75, f ree elections meant only that a dem-
ocratic discourse and democratic power resources had been created to contest the
discourse and resources held by the forces associated with the interim govern-
ment. That these two discourses and power bases can be radically different, even
following elections, was made strikingly clear in the remarks made by the leader
of the Portuguese Communist Party, Alvaro Cunhal, in an interview with the Ital-
ian journalist Oriana Fallacci in 1975: "If you think the Socialist Party with its 40
percent and the Popular Democrats with its 27 percent constitute the majority...
you're the victim of a misunderstanding. . . . I'm telling you the elections have
nothing or very little to do with the dynamics of a revolution.... I promise you
there will be no parliament in Portugal."18
17. On elections, see David B. Goldey, "Elections and the Consolidation of Portuguese Democracy:
1974-1983," Electoral Studies 2, no. 3 (Dec. 1983): 229-40, and Thomas C. Bruneau and Alex Macleod, Poli-
tics in Contemporary Portugal: Parties and the Consolidation of Democracy (Boulder, Colo.: Lynne Rienner
Publishers, 1986), esp. chap. 2.
18. Maxwell, "Regime Overthrow and Transition in Portugal," 127.
THE REASSERTION OF M I L I T A R Y HIERARCHY
Why then did a democratic parliament in fact get established in 1976? Here we
must go back to the origins of the revolution in the junior officers. In chapter 5
we advanced the argument that a nonhierarchically led military regime perpetu-
ally risks being checked by the assertion of control by the officers associated with
the military hierarchy. Here we differ somewhat from the important work of
Felipe Agüero. He asserts that, if the previous authoritarian regime is civilianized
and the transition is begun by a military coup, the relative power position of the
military will be "strong."19 We believe this is correct only when the coup is led by
a hierarchical military. When the coup is led by the nonhierarchical military, they
are, as we have argued, always vulnerable to a hierarchical countercoup.
In Portugal, politics during the provisional governments increasingly threat-
ened the military chain of command. In some cases, parallel operational com-
mand units were set up which refused to comply with orders from their nominal
superiors. Mixed groups of officers and enlisted men occasionally met in debat-
ing forums. Finally, the solidarity of the self-proclaimed "motor of the revolu-
tion" cracked, and this generated sharp intramilitary conflicts about future policy
directions and alliance strategies. As Laurence S. Graham has noted, by late 1975
the political involvement of the Portuguese military had reached a point where
the "political alignments on the left, the right, and the center all represented dif-
ferent constellations of civilian and military leaders. Seen in organizational terms,
by this point the military as an identifiable institution distinct from civilian soci-
ety had largely ceased to exist. The pre-revolutionary divisions between the ser-
vices and within them between officers and enlisted men had disintegrated fur-
ther into warring factions."20 Indeed, documentation exists to show that at least
three strikingly different political tendencies had emerged within the military by
August 1975-21
Under these circumstances a group of senior officers concerned with institu-
tional matters of unity and discipline began to form around Colonel Ramalho
19. Felipe Agüero, "The Military and Democracy in South America and Southern Europe: Outcomes
and Initial Conditions" (paper presented at the XV International Congress of the Latin American Studies
Association, Miami, December 4 to 6,1989). Also see the important book by Felipe Agüero, Soldiers, Civil-
ians, and Democracy: Post-Franco Spain in Comparative Perspective (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University
Press, 1995).
20. Laurence S. Graham, "The Military: Modernization and Changing Perspectives," in Kenneth
Maxwell, ed., Portuguese Defense and Foreign Policy Since Democratization (New York: Camöes Center, Re-
search Institute on International Change, Columbia University, Special Report No. 3,1991), 16.
21. Three completely incompatible political documents were written by competing military factions in
July and August of 1975. See in particular the vanguardist prorevolutionary document issued by a group
called COPCON and a democratic socialist document signed by officers explicitly condemning the anti-
democratic politics of COPCON in Hipólito de la Torre and Josep Sánchez Cervelle, Portugal en el siglo XX
(Madrid: Ediciones Istmo, 1992), 325-34. Paul Christopher Manuel, Uncertain Outcome: The Politics of the
Portuguese Transition to Democracy (Lanham, N.Y.: University Press of America, 1995), gives a detailed and
documented account of the politics and factions in the MFA from 1974 to 1976.
Portugal 123
Eanes. When an officerless group of paratroopers was involved in what appeared

to be a leftist putsch on November 25,1975, it was put down by Colonel Eanes and
backed by a strong political coalition of national and international forces. A long
process of the reassertion of hierarchical control within the military as organiza-
tion had begun. Respecting electoral results became a part of the military hier-
archy's own depoliticization strategy. As Maxwell says, "The army, which in 1975
talked of itself as a 'revolutionary vanguard' and a 'movement of national libera-
tion' by 1976 praised 'hierarchy' and 'discipline.'"22
CONSTITUTION-MAKING ENVIRONMENT:
THE N O N D E M O C R A T I C C O N S T I T U T I O N OF 1976
However, the interlude of interim governments and extremely high involve-

ment of the military in politics had left its legacy, especially concerning the vari-
able we call the constitution-making environment. In terms of democratic theory
and democratic institutions, the price was that, unlike Spain, the Constituent As-
sembly was not really "sovereign" and able to draft the constitution its members
liked. For the 1975 election to the Constituent Assembly to go forward, the parties
bowed to revolutionary military power and signed a formal written pact with the
MFA (Armed Forces Movement), agreeing to a supervisory role for the MFA even
after the election. A second MFA-political parties pact signed on February 26,
1976, while the Constituent Assembly was in process, further constrained the
elected officials.23
As a result of these pacts, the 1976 constitution contained some clearly non-
democratic features. The predominantly military Council of the Revolution was
given the power to pass their own laws and to judge the constitutionality of all
laws passed by the assembly. Article 149, paragraph 3, of the 1976 Portuguese Con-
stitution asserted flatly that "decree-laws of the Council of the Revolution shall
have the same validity as laws of the Assembly of the Republic."24 Article 148
stated that the Council of the Revolution would have the competence to "make
laws concerning the organizational functioning, and discipline of the Armed
Forces." It also stated that "the powers referred to in ... the foregoing paragraph
shall be vested in the Council of the Revolution alone."25
22. Maxwell, "Regime Overthrow and Transition in Portugal," 133.

23. The complete text of the first pact is reprinted in "Plataforma Constitucional Partidos—M.F.A.," in
Fernando Ribeiro de Mello, ed., Dossier 2a República (Lisbon: Ediçôes Afrodite, 1976), 1:235-41. The complète
text of the second pact is reprinted in "Segundo Pacto dos Partidos com o M.F.A.," in Reinaldo Caldeira and
Maria da Céu Silva, Constituiçâo política da República Portuguesa 1976: Projectos, votacoes e posiçoes dos
partidos (Lisbon: Livraria Bertrand, 1976), 343-52.
24. This power simply reaffirmed the concessions agreed to in article 3, section 2 of the previously cited
"Plataforma Constitucional Partidos—M.F.A."
25. This extraordinary "right" of military self-government had also been "pacted" previously in article
3, section 14, of the "Segundo Pacto dos Partidos com o M.F.A."
As long as the Constitution gave these de jure prerogatives to an institution

whose power did not derive from democratic procedures, Portugal did not meet
our criteria of a completed democratic transition. In addition, the Council of the
Revolution defacto exercised its de jure powers. According to Bruneau and Macleod,
"the Council adopted an activist stance which upset many civilian politicians, re-
jecting no fewer than thirty-five of the seventy-four bills that were submitted to
it."26 In the end it took six years of action by the democratic political parties and
the acquiescence and at times active support of President Eanes before a Consti-
tutional Revision of 1982 could occur that abolished the Council of the Revolu-
tion and established a legal framework for democratic control of the military.27
SIMULTANEOUS TRANSITION COMPLETION

AND DEMOCRATIC CONSOLIDATION
Democratic transition and democratic consolidation are normally separate

processes that follow each other in temporal sequence. However, under some
circumstances they can occur simultaneously. We believe such simultaneity oc-
curred in Portugal on August 12,1982. Why?
Concerning the attitudinal dimension of democratic consolidation, we unfor-
tunately do not have much relevant and/or methodologically sound public opin-
ion data on Portuguese attitudes toward democracy until after 1982, but we be-
lieve the surprising stability of party preferences in Portugal from 1975 to 1985
indicates that the vast majority of the voting public consistently expressed a pref-
erence for prodemocratic, proregime parties. Based on their study of public opin-
ion and their analysis of voting patterns, Bruneau and Macleod assert that "party
loyalty was defined early, in 1975, and continued with very little movement of the
voters from one party to another between 1976 and 1983."28 The "founding elec-
tion" of 1975 is particularly illustrative in this respect. The 1975 election became a
contest between a revolutionary military that campaigned openly for abstention
or a null vote and the democratic political parties who urged a high turnout. The
military's campaign had virtually no effect. Participation was over 90 percent—
one of the very highest participation rates of all the founding elections considered
in this book—and only 2 percent more of the voters cast null votes than they had
in the 1976 elections, when no one campaigned for null votes.29
26. Bruneau and Macleod, Politics in Contemporary Portugal, 40.

27. For details of the vote abolishing the Council of the Revolution, see Facts on File, 41 (1982): 638,867.
By November 1982 the important Law on National Defense, which specified the institutional details of civil-
ian control, was passed. For this gradual process of civilian empowerment and democratic control, see the
valuable accounts contained in Bruneau and Macleod, Politics in Contemporary Portugal, 12-25, and Gra-
ham, "The Military," 14-28.
28. Bruneau and Macleod, Politics in Contemporary Portugal, 40.
29. For details of the founding election of 1975, the best source is Jorge Gaspar and Ñuño Vitorino, As
eleicoesde2¡ de Abril: Geografía e imagem dos partidos (Lisbon: Livras Horizonte, 1976).
Portugal 125
Even in the absence of conclusive pre-1982 surveys, this voting pattern sup-
ports the argument that, attitudinally, Portugal had crossed our threshold for
democratic consolidation by 1982. A public opinion study administered in 1985 in
Portugal revealed a public opinion profile not unlike that of other consolidated
democracies.30 In a 1988 poll, 90.2 percent of the population were generally fa-
vorable to democracy. Actively supporting democracy were 38.9 percent. Passively
accepting democracy were 51.3 percent. Significantly, of the 24.6 percent of the
population polled who said they were "dissatisfied" with how democracy had
functioned in the last ten years, only 5.1 answered that they were against, while 19.1
percent said they were for, democracy.31 By 1990 prodemocratic sentiment in Por-
tugal was above the Western European norm. In answer to the standard Euro-
barometer question, "Hqjv satisfied are you with the way democracy works?" an
average of 62 percent of respondents in the European Community answered "very
satisfied" or "satisfied." In Portugal the figure was 71 percent.32
Behaviorallywe believe that after and perhaps even before 1982 no organization
or movement of national importance was spending significant resources to at-
tempt to achieve their goals by nondemocratic means. The authors of an im-
portant comparative article on the new southern European democracies give
Portugal the same "regime support" rating they gave on this dimension to the
consolidated democracies of France, Italy, and Finland.33
30. For the 1985 poll and Western and southern European comparisons and analyses, see Leonardo Mor-
lino and José R. Montero, "Legitimacy and Democracy in Southern Europe," in Richard Günther, P. Niki-
foros Diamandouros, and Hans-Jürgen Puhle, eds., The Politics of Democratic Consolidation: Southern Eu-
rope in Comparative Perspective (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995), 230-60.
31. These results are reported in Franz-Wilhelm Heimer, Jorge Vala-Salvador, and José Manuel Leite
Vargas, "Attitudes toward Democracy in Contemporary Portugal" (paper presented to the European Con-
sortium for Political Research, Paris, April 10-15,1989). Also see Bruneau and Macleod, Politics in Contem-
porary Portugal, for a comparative analysis of polls administered in 1978 and 1984. For a review of Por-
tuguese public opinion data, also see Mario Bacalhau, "Transition of the Political System and Political
Attitudes in Portugal," International Journal of Public Opinion Research 2, no. 2 (1990): 141-54.
32. Eurobarometer (1991): 18-31. Indeed, in the 1987 Eurobarometer, of all the members of the European
Community, only Luxembourg was more content with the way democracy functioned than was Portugal.
See Philippe C. Schmitter, "Public Opinion and the 'Quality' of Democracy in Portugal," in H. E. Chehabi
and Alfred Stepan, eds., Politics, Society and Democracy: Comparative Essays (Boulder, Colo.: Westview
Press, 1995), 345-59. In Schmitter's article he calls attention to the quite low percentage of those polled who
feel that they could influence the government and to the much higher marks given to the nondemocratic
government of Caetano than to any of the democratic governments before 1984. However, Schmitter con-
cludes with the judgment, "From the perspective of normative theory, and even more from that of the ex-
halted aspirations embodied in the Movimento do 23 do Abril and its immediate aftermath, the quality of
democracy in contemporary Portugal would have to be judged 'disappointing'. However, from the per-
spective of the actual practice of democracy in Western Europe and North America, it should be judged
'normal'. This may not seem very exciting, but it is a considerable accomplishment when one reflects back
on where the country was prior to the overthrow of authoritarian rule" (pp. 358-59). For the most com-
prehensive collection and analysis of survey data for the first twenty years of the Portuguese transition, see
Mario Balcalhau, Atitudes, opinióes e comportamentos políticos dos Portugueses: 1973-1993 (Lisbon: Edicao
Mario Balcalhau-Thomas Bruneau, 1994).
33. Arend Lijphart, Thomas C. Bruneau, P. Nikiforos Diamandouros, and Richard Günther, "A Mediter-
ranean Model of Democracy? The Southern European Democracies in Comparative Perspective," West Eu-
ropean Politics 11 (Jan. 1988): 19.
Finally, the constitutional dimension in the polity of "reserve domains" of

nonaccountable power in the Council of the Revolution were still so great in early
1982 that Portugal had not completed its democratic transition. However, when
the military accepted the constitutional changes of August 12,1982, not only was
the transition complete, but attitudinally, behaviorally, and constitutionally de-
mocracy was consolidated in Portugal.34
We believe that the most salient of our seven variables for analyzing the course
of the Portuguese transition and consolidation concerns the characteristics of
those who initiated the transition. The fact that the transition began with a liber-
ation by a nonhierarchical golpe rapidly opened up the dynamic of interim gov-
ernments in which revolution was as much an option as parliamentary democ-
racy. The second most influential variable, the constitution-making environment,
is closely related to the first. The extraordinarily powerful role played by the non-
hierarchical military (backed by the Portuguese Communist Party and by im-
pressive societal mobilization in the capital and its southern environs) led to a
highly constricted constitution-making process. None of the other variables were
as salient in the transition and consolidation process. However, all, if understood
in their dialectic relationship to other forces, can be seen as ultimately supportive
of democratic consolidation.
Unlike the Spanish case or, even more, most post-Communist cases, "state-
ness" was not a problem because Portugal is virtually as close as any country in
Europe to being an ideal typical nation-state. Portugal is a monolingual nation-
state whose borders have been fixed for hundreds of years. The only possible ir-
redenta is a town of 25,000 bordering Spain. The only potential stateness problem
could have been separatism in the Azores islands, perhaps supported by the
United States because of their air bases there, should the Portuguese mainland
have become Communist, but this in fact never became a salient issue.
Concerning our variable of international influence, foreign policies were ulti-
mately supportive of democratic transition and consolidation in Portugal. In-
deed, they were more critical than in the Spanish case and require more research.
Though certain knowledge will have to await the opening of archives and more
complete memoirs, even at this stage there is some evidence to indicate that the
United States was so concerned about the revolutionary dynamic in Portugal that
they considered a range of covert and even paramilitary operations.35 Given the
34. A conceptualization of the phases of the Portuguese process from April 25,1974, until democratic
consolidation can be found in an article by Antonio Vitorino, a Socialist Party deputy to the European Par-
liament, a law professor, and a former member of the Constitutional Court, "A democracia representativa,"
in Adriano Moreira et al., Portugal hoje (Lisbon: Instituto Nacional de Administracäo, 1995), 328-50. Vi-
torino writes, "The full consolidation of the democratic political system flowed from the first constitutional
revision, approved in 1982, which eliminated the Council of the Revolution, thus leading to the redefinition
of the political system [so that] popular suffrage became the only source of public power" (p. 329). This
essay provides excellent bibliographical references for the literature on the revision of the consitution.
35. Kenneth Maxwell writes that, "as events in Lisbon turned leftward, for a time U.S. policy, dominated
Portugal 127
degree of Portuguese mobilization in 1975, if U.S. covert military operations (as in

Guatemala in 1954), instead of elections, had been responsible for defeating the
revolutionary forces, it is hard to believe that the ensuing atmosphere would have
been conducive to democratic consolidation. However, the European Commu-
nity urged the United States to follow a political and not a military strategy. Fur-
thermore, the European Socialist parties, especially the West German Socialist
Party, by funds, organizational links, and moral support, bolstered the most im-
portant democratic party in Portugal, the Socialists led by Mario Scares. Once
past the founding election of 1975 and especially the 1976 election that produced
a government, the European Community became a valuable and steady pole of
attraction for Portuguese democratic governments.36 Foreign policy relation-
ships between Spain and Portugal during the transition also deserve much more
attention than they have received to date. In fact, key politicians in Spain and in
Portugal worked hard to avoid Spanish-Portuguese conflicts during the 1974-75
revolutionary process. Surprisingly, Spain, ruled by Franco next door, recognized
the revolutionary government in Portugal four days after it took power. The
Franco government and the succession of revolutionary interim governments in
Portugal made meticulous efforts to maintain correct relations between the coun-
tries. In September 1975, after the coming to power in Portugal of the more mod-
erate government of Pinheiro de Azevedo following the fall of the pro-Commu-
nist government of Colonel Vasco Gonçalves, an obscure but dangerous situation
developed. After the execution by the Spanish state of five revolutionaries con-
victed of committing political murders, the residences of the Spanish ambassador
in Lisbon and the Spanish consulate in Porto were burned. False reports of the
movement of Spanish tanks to the Portuguese border were widely circulated in
Portugal. By omission or commission, radical Portuguese military factions such
as COPCON seem to have been involved in the incidents. Only quick and mod-
erate diplomatic activity by the Portuguese and Spanish governments calmed the
crisis.37
Though it is not one of our generic variables, we would be remiss if we did not
discuss the issue of mobilization. There was no significant mobilization before the
by Henry Kissinger, abandoned hope for a democratic outcome and toyed with various counter-revolu-
tionary options—some paramilitary, some involving separatism in the Azores." See Maxwell, "Portuguese
Defense and Foreign Policy: An Overview," in Maxwell, Portuguese Defense and Foreign Policy, 6.
36. Rainer Eisfeld, a German scholar, cites documents concerning aid from the German Social Demo-
cratic Party to the Socialist Party in Portugal in his "Portugal and Western Europe," in Kenneth Maxwell,
ed., Portugal in the 19805: Dilemmas of Democratic Consolidation (New York: Greenwood Press, 1986), 29-62,
esp. 55. Also see Thomas C. Bruneau, Politics and Nationhood (New York: Praeger, 1984), 52-54.
37. See the well-researched and well-documented book by Josep Sánchez Cervelló, A revoluçào Por-
tuguesa e a sua influencia na transiçào española (1961-1976) (Lisbon: Assirio e Alvin, 1993), 353-57. What is
still not certain is whether or not the burning of the Spanish diplomatic buildings in Portugal was a delib-
erate effort by COPCON or others to encourage Spanish intervention, as a way to inflame Portuguese na-
tionalist sentiment and therefore radicalize Portuguese politics, analogous to the radicalization that oc-
curred in Iran after the takeover of the U.S. embassy.
"liberation by golpe."38 But the immediate mass support in the streets that
greeted the liberation certainly helped reduce the chances of a successful coun-
terattack by the supporters of the Salazar-Caetano regime. Within a matter of
days the members of the dreaded security forces were in disorganized flight, the
state was dissolving, and the most extensive purges of all our cases were under
way.39 However, there was another face of mobilization. If we call a phenomenon
where millions of people by their own actions play a role in dictating events a
form of mobilization, then the fact that millions of Portuguese citizens refused to
answer the call for a null vote in the 1975 election was a critical form of mobiliza-
tion. By their massive revealed preferences the Portuguese citizens played a criti-
cal role.
The last variable to evaluate is the political economy of legitimacy and coer-
cion. Between the incapacitation of Salazar in 1968 and the revolution by golpe in
1974, the Portuguese economy averaged 6.5 percent annual economic growth.40
Thus, economic crisis per se cannot be said to have contributed to the start of the
transition. What did contribute to the start of the transition was that a key part of
the coercive apparatus, the military, became convinced that the regime could not
solve the colonial wars and that this would create a profound crisis for them. They
thus became antiregime. Further, many of the regime-associated politicians who
had urged liberalization in the 19605 had, by 1974, become convinced that the
regime would not lead the transition. They were thus "available" to support the
antiregime actions of the military. Politics, not economics, caused the breakdown
of the regime and started the transition.
Let us now consider the role of the economy in democratic consolidation. We
have argued that democracy was consolidated in Portugal in October 1982. It is
38. As J. M. Maravall shows, "although workers' strikes had increased before the transition, the explo-
sion of demands followed, rather than preceded, the end of dictatorship. It was democracy that liberated
demands. There were seventeen strikes in the first week of democracy, thirty-one in the second, eighty-
seven in the third and ninety-three in the fourth week." See Maravall, "Economic Reforms in New Democ-
racies,'^, cited in chap. 6, n. 39.
39. Antonio Costa Pinto, in an excellent article, correctly calls attention to the critical role mobilization
played in helping dissolve the coercive apparatus of the old regime. He argues that "the State crisis of legit-
imacy after the coup and the political and social mobilization following it led to great changes in Portugal's
society and economy.... On the first days after the military coup there emerged from Portugal's three main
cities a powerful atmosphere of liberation followed by demonstrations. Action preceded legislation: the po-
litical prisons were surrounded; the headquarters of the previous single party, the censorship offices and
the corporative unions were all occupied.... The pressure of left-wing political movements and the effect
of 'liberation' prevented any action from the institutions and the national political elite of the dissolved
regime." See Costa Pinto, "Dealing with the Legacy of Authoritarianism: Political Purge and Radical Right
Movements in Portugal's Transition to Democracy (1974-1976)," in Stein U. Larsen et al., eds., Modern Eu-
rope after Fascism: 1945-1980's (Bergen: Norwegian University Press, forthcoming).
40. See Maravall, "Economic Reforms in New Democracies," 2-3. Diana Smith, the Financial Times cor-
respondent in Portugal for a decade, states that "between 1972 and 1974 economic growth boomed at over
eight percent a year." See Smith, "Portugal and the Challenge of 1992" (New York: Camöes Center, Research
Institute on International Change, Columbia University, 1990), 6. Due to the colonial wars, however, there
was a growing financial crisis of the state as the regime devoted between 30 and 50 percent of its budget to
its wars in Africa.
Portugal 129
important to stress that, due to the oil shocks, the recession in Europe, the return
of an overseas population proportionately five times greater than France had to
absorb after Algeria, and the economic disarray in the aftermath of the 1974-75
aborted revolution, the Portuguese economy was in severe straits until well after
democratic consolidation.41 The major stabilization plan of 1983-84 further in-
creased economic hardships for most people. However, on the basis of his exten-
sive polling, Thomas Bruneau documented that there was very little system blame
of the democratic regime due to this economic decline. Ninety-three percent of
the people in a 1984 poll said that there was an economic crisis. But, as Bruneau
noted, "the survey then asked the causes for the economic crisis and found that
the respondents saw little relationship between it and any particular government;
rather it was due to the world economic crisis. None of the responses to the ques-
tion in the survey gave indications of serious alienation from the present re-
gime."42 Between 1989 and 1991 Portugal had one of the fastest growing econo-
mies in Europe.43 However, since this economic boom occurred after democracy
was consolidated, it is more accurate to say that economic growth strengthened
democratic consolidation rather than contributed per se to its initial consolida-
tion. What the Portuguese case reveals clearly is that democracy became consoli-
dated during a period of deep economic hardship but not of political despair or
of system blame.
41. As Diana Smith indicates, "By December 1982 Portugal had a budget deficit worth 15 percent of the
GDP, a 5.6 billion trade deficit, a 3.2 billion balance-of-payments deficit (the worst in its history, equal to
13.5 percent of GDP) and a foreign debt of 14.5 billion—72 percent of the GDP." Ibid., 9.
42. Thomas C. Bruneau, "Portugal's Unexpected Transition," in Kenneth Maxwell and Michael H.
Haltzel, ed., Portugal: Ancient Country, Young Democracy (Washington, D.C.: Wilson Center Press, 1990), 15.
43. For the boom of 1986-90, see Smith, "Portugal and the Challenge of 1992." By 1989 budget deficits
were down to 4.7 percent of GDP, there was an overall trade surplus of two billion dollars, and for 1989-90
Portugal had the highest economic growth rate of the twenty-four OECD countries. For these and other
data, see Portugal Outlook i (1990): 6-9.
8
Crisis of a Nonhierarchical Military

Regime: Greece
A STRONG CASE can be made that the Greek transition began on July 21,
1974, and was concluded on December 9,1974. This 142-day transition is by far the
most rapid in our southern European-South American set.1 What accounts for
the rapidity of the Greek transition?
Much is explained by our variable concerning the institutional base of the
Greek authoritarian regime. The 1967 military takeover in Greece occurred via a
nonhierarchical colonels' coup led by George Papadopoulos. The nonhierarchical
nature of the coup is underscored by the fact that the junior officers in the army
purged approximately 400 of their senior officers in 19Ó7.2 They also staged the
coup without the active support of the Navy or the Air Force. Of all the non-
democratic regimes whose transition we are studying, the Greek junta had the
narrowest base within the state. As Diamandouros states so well, the crown's
opposition was "latent from the start, open during the ill-planned and ill-
executed countercoup of 13 December 1967, and muted but continuous after that."
This "clash between crown and colonels resulted in a sharp split within the Greek
officer corps, pitting the vast majority of the Navy officers and a large number of
the Air Force counterparts against their army colleagues."3
In political society, Diamandouros refers to the "quasi-unanimous refusal of
the parliamentary right to cooperate with the military."4 This contrasts markedly
with the military regimes in Brazil and Chile, which for many years received the
very strong support of the traditional parliamentary right. Finally, the growing
mobilization of civil society had been one of the reasons for the 1967 coup. These
mobilizations began to pick up again in 1973 and culminated in the student up-
1. Brazil is the longest; the transition there began with the March 16, 1974, inauguration speech of
Ernesto Geisel and ended sixteen years later with the inauguration of the first freely and directly elected
president.
2. Constantine Danopoulos, "Farewell to the Man on Horseback—Intervention and Civilian Rule in
Modern Greece" (paper presented for a conference on democratic consolidation organized by the Centro
de la Realidad Contemporánea, Santiago, Chile, August 10-11,1989), 6.
3. P. Nikiforos Diamandouros, "Regime Change and the Prospects for Democracy in Greece: 1974-1983,"
in O'Donnell, Schmitter, and Whitehead, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Southern Europe, 146-47.
4. Ibid., 147.
Greece 131
risings at the National Polytechnic in November. The fact that the army colonels
had such a narrow base in the state and political society meant that student up-
risings received widespread national and international support, which further
isolated and divided the military. This contributed to a hard line coup by
Brigadier General loannides and those of his supporters within the military po-
lice and the lower ranks of the army.5 But this new military coup only led to even
deeper divisions and purges in the officer corps and further accentuated the non-
hierarchical base of the regime.
This military fragmentation and politically hostile context made the Greek
junta operationally incapable vis-à-vis Turkey and unable to respond adequately
to the crisis of Cyprus on July 20,1974. The crisis was precipitated by the junta's
clumsy involvement in a Greek-inspired coup against the government of Cyprus,
led by Archibishop Makarios, and the junta's inept military response to the Turk-
ish invasion of Cyprus. It was under these conditions, as Diamondouros suc-
cinctly says, that "the Joint Chiefs, invoking the threat of war, reasserted the hier-
archical lines of command within the armed forces and effectively neutralized the
power base sustaining loannides and the hard-liners. This move signalled the dis-
tancing of the armed forces from the disintegrating regime and made easier the
search for a transfer-of-power formula under their initial aegis."6
We would like to highlight four key institutional dimensions of the Greek tran-
sition that directly relate to our conceptual framework. First, the transfer of power
was made by groups acting more as a part of the state than of the regime. Within
seventy-two hours of the Turkish invasion of Cyprus, the regime-appointed pres-
ident, General Ghizikis, backed by the heirarchical military, had deposed the non-
hierarchical military and, aided by civilian politicians with contacts in the junta,
negotiated the return of the conservative political leader, Constantine Karaman-
lis. The enthusiastic popular response to Karamanlis' return to Athens further
strengthened Karamanlis' hand with the military and led to his rapid swearing in
as prime minister.7 Second, because of the military urgency of immediate extri-
cation from government, the "military as institution" was not able to impose any
confining conditions on civilians as a precondition for extrication. Indeed, the
Greek scholar and civil-military specialist, Thanos Veremis, argues that the mili-
tary's incapacity in the face of war increased Karamanlis' bargaining power. The
hierarchical military wanted him to assume power immediately, but "a condition
of Karamanlis' acceptance of office was a pledge that the armed forces should re-
5. Ibid., 156.
6. Ibid., 157.
7. For a discussion of the exact sequence of events in these seventy-four hours, see P. Nikiforos Dia-
mandouros, "Transition to, and Consolidation of, Democratic Politics in Greece, 1974-1983: A Tentative As-
sessment," in Geoffrey Pridham, ed., The New Mediterranean Democracies: Regime Transitions in Spain,
Greece and Portugal (London: Frank Cass, 1984), 53-56. We also owe much to the meticulous attention to
detail and sequence in Demitras Pappas, "Greece: July 24-November 17,1974" (Yale University, 1988, un-
published manuscript).
turn to their former military duties, and desist from further interference in gov-
ernment."8 Third, this transfer of power by a state institution to a caretaker gov-
ernment precluded a revolutionary "interim government," as in Portugal. Fourth,
the hierarchical military, who had been purged by the nonhierarchical military,
were called back to active duty and assigned to the top positions in the military
chain of command of the new civilian government. Constantine Danopoulos
estimates that approximately 75 percent of the senior officers purged in 1967-68
were returned to key positions in 1974.9 The cumulative effect of these four im-
portant dimensions of the Greek transition go a long way to explain why in
Greece in 1975 many officers were convicted of crimes and the sentences were not
resisted by the "military-as-institution."
In comparative terms we can say that in the Spanish case there were strong ini-
tiatives within the regime that contributed to the democratization process and the
regime was able to carry the state with it. In complete contrast, in Portugal, the
regime showed weak will and capacity to transform itself, and a nonhierarchical
military revolution, which rapidly was supported by mobilization in civil society,
destroyed the regime and much of the state. In Greece the outcome was more con-
trolled because part of the state (the hierarchical military) overthrew the regime
and transferred power immediately to a conservative but prodemocratic gov-
ernment.10
We believe that the Greek transition was completed on December 9, 1974,
when, as a result of free elections and a referendum that abolished the monarchy
on December 8,1974, Parliament opened and Prime Minister Karamanlis became
accountable to Parliament. In the 142-day period between the military stepdown
and the opening of Parliament, impediments to full democratic transition were
removed. Karamanlis, who had been actively complicitous in the restrictive legis-
lation that had marred Greek politics ever since the Civil War, "specifically put an
end to Law 509/1948, the last major piece of civil-war discriminatory legisla-
tion."11 He announced that an elected parliament would revise the Constitution;
he restored many civil liberties that had been absent since the Civil War and, most
significantly, he ended the proscription of the Communist Party. Thus, when Par-
liament opened the Greek transition was complete.
The question of when (or for some observers even if) Greek democracy be-
8. Thanos Veremis, "Greece: Veto and Impasse, 1967-1974," in Christopher Clapham and George Philip,
eds., The Political Dilemmas of Military Regimes (London: Groom Helm, 1985), 41. For civil-military rela-
tions during the crisis, see Takis Pappas, "The Making of Party Democracy in Greece" (Ph. D. diss., De-
partment of Sociology, Yale University, 1995).
9. Oral exchange between Stepan and Danopoulos during the discussion after Danopoulos presented
his previously cited paper in Santiago, Chile, August 10,1989.
10. For the formulation and significance of the distinction (often overlooked) between state and regime,
see the important review article by Robert M. Fishman, "Rethinking State and Regime: Southern Europe's
Transition to Democracy," World Politics 42 (April 1990): 422-40.
11. Diamandouros, "Transition to Democratic Politics in Greece," 60.
Greece 133
came consolidated is more difficult to answer. However, we would argue that, at

the very latest, democracy was consolidated when the party of the socialist oppo-
sition won the 1981 elections and assumed power.
Constitutionally, largely due to the process we have just examined, the hier-
archical military neither insisted on "reserve domains" nor contested the newly
elected government's decision to go forward with widespread military trials. In
Greece in 1975 many officers were convicted of crimes, the sentences were not re-
sisted by the "military-as-institution," and the successful conclusion of the trials
within a year of elections made a positive contribution politically and militarily
to democratic consolidation. Thanos Veremis makes the following judgment
about Greece:
No doubt the trials and imprisonment of leading members of the dictatorship, and some of
their henchmen, left much to be desired in terms of a clean sweep of the armed forces of Junta
sympathizers. Yet governments since 1975 felt no threat from the army nor were they in any way
obstructed by it. ... Officers . . . possibly shaken by the disastrous outcome of military rule,
choose to abide by the rules of professionalism which had been the hallmark of officer corps in
the West.12
The aftermath of the military trials enabled a series of constitutional and leg-
islative reforms that restricted areas of military authority within democratic
boundaries. Before 1975 ended, a new constitution had been installed (democrat-
ically but, as we shall see, over strong opposition) and there were no laws, proce-
dures, or prerogatives that constrained the sovereignty of democratic politics and
procedures. In complete contrast to Portugal, constitutional structures in Greece
were the first dimension of democracy to be consolidated.
Behaviorally, especially in terms of the acceptance by all major players of each
other's right to contest and, if victorious, to exercise power, the institutions and
values of Greek democracy had become the "only game in town" with the 1981
election. We do not say 1974, because even after the election of 1974 the major con-
testants in democratic politics still had important adjustments to make.
The two most important semiloyal or even nondemocratic groups between the
Civil War and the 1967 breakdown had been rightist groups, who normally in-
sisted upon "controlled democracy" in which they would deny citizenship rights
to those on the left they deemed "non-nationally minded" and the communist
parties, which (especially the pro-Moscow KKE) intermittently committed them-
selves to nondemocratic oppositional tactics.13 Even the Pan-hellenic Socialist
12. Thanos Veremis, "The Military," in Kevin Featherstone and Dimitrios K. Katsoudas, eds., Political
Change in Greece before and after the Colonels (London: Groom Helm, 1987), 225. Constantine Danopoulou-
los, in his "Farewell to the Man on Horseback," makes similar arguments.
13. On the antidemocratic para-constitutional features of Greek political life before the 1967 break-
down, see P. Nikiforos Diamandouros, "The Politics of Constitution-Making in Postauthoritarian Greece:
A Macrohistorical Perspective" (paper presented at the 1987 Annual Meeting of the American Political Sci-
ence Association).
Movement (PASOK), which had been created by Andreas Papandreou in 1968

after he was released from prison, had antisystem overtones. During the 1974 elec-
tions the leading group within PASOK were former members of the resistance or-
ganizations. This wing of PASOK was more "maximalist" than the Communists.
They deeply distrusted the right and were in turn deeply distrusted by the right.14
Two key aspects of the new political system were not readily accepted by PASOK
and the main Communist Party, the KKE. The major parties of the left were
sharply critical of the electoral system, which they argued was constructed to
over-represent the largest party in the rapidly held election and to under-represent
the opposition. In fact the New Democracy Party, created by Karamanlis and sup-
ported by most conservatives, won 54.4 percent of the vote but 73.3 percent of the
seats. In sharp contrast, PASOK and the Electoral Alliance of the United Left won
23.1 percent of the vote but only 6.7 percent of the seats.15 This meant that the
New Democracy Party had a large majority with which to structure the constitu-
tion in 1975 as they wanted. In fact, New Democracy, in telling contrast to the non-
majoritarian government in Spain, devoted very little effort to arriving at a con-
stitutional consensus. Karamanlis used his overwhelming majority to get the
constitution he wanted. Only limited concessions were negotiated with the oppo-
sition. The opposition in particular objected to strong presidential emergency
powers. According to Nikos Alivizatos, the "debate led to a major clash, all oppo-
sition parties finally withdrawing from the Assembly in May 1975, denouncing the
new Constitution as authoritarian. As a consequence, at the final vote on 9 June
1975, the Constitution was approved only by the New Democracy deputies."16
Over the next five years, however, all the major players made substantial ad-
justments in accepting democratic practices and the specific institutions of Greek
democracy. For the 1977 election, PASOK, after advancing a less maximalist and
more electorally oriented program, emerged as the major opposition party. New
Democracy, in turn, did not continue to abuse their majoritarian prerogatives.
New Democracy and PASOK each entered the 1981 election accepting the demo-
cratic loyalty of the other party and increasingly arriving at a series of tacit un-
derstandings on how democratic parliamentary politics should be conducted.17
14. On the political evolution of PASOK and their early maximalism, see P. Nikiforos Diamandouros,
"PASOK and State-Society Relations in Postauthoritarian Greece (1974-1988)," in Speros Vryonis, Jr., ed.,
Greece on the Road to Democracy: From the Junta to PASOK, 19/4-1986 (New Rochelle, N.Y.: Garateas Publish-
ers, 1991), 15-35. An important work on PASOK is George Th. Mavrogordatos, Rise of the Greek Sun: The Greek
Elections 0/1981 (London: Kings' College, Center for Contemporary Greek Studies, 1983, occasional paper i).
15. See Richard Clogg, Parties and Elections in Greece: The Search for Legitimacy (London: C. Hurst and
Co., 1987), 60.
16. Nikos Alivizatos, "The Difficulties of 'Rationalization' in a Polarized Political System: The Greek
Chamber of Deputies," in Ulrike Liebert and Maurizio Cotta, eds., Parliament and Democratic Consolida-
tion in Southern Europe (London: Pinter Publishers, 1990), 134.
17. Alivizatos writes that, "over the years, although not openly admitted, a kind of consensus seems to
prevail between PASOK and New Democracy on how the parliamentary game should be played, a consen-
sus which is more amazing if one takes into consideration the apparently incompatible socio-economic
projects of the two parties." Ibid., 146.
Greece 135
Table 8.1. Evaluation of Authoritarian Regimes of Greece, Spain, and Portugal

Percentage
Opinion of the Previous Nondemocratic Regime Greece (1985) Spain (1985) Portugal (1985)
Only bad 59% 28% 30%

In part good, in part bad 31% 44% 42%
It was good 6% 17% 13%
Don't know/no answer 4% 11% 15%
A/ 1,998 2,488 2,000
Source: Data from Leonardo Moruno and José Ramón Montero, "Legitimacy and Democracy in Southern Europe." in Richard
Günther, P. Nikiforos Diamandouros, and Hans-Jürgen Puhle, eds., The Politics of Democratic Consolidation: Southern Europe in
Comparative Perspective (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995), 236.
PASOK grew to accept most of the specific electoral and constitutional provisions
and was able to get Parliament to make revisions to the constitution in 1986. Both
communist parties increasingly eschewed antisystem behavior and attempted to
achieve their goals within the framework of a democratic regime. Therefore, one
could argue that, behaviorally, democracy was consolidated at the latest in 1981.
Indeed, some specialists argue that, behaviorally, it was consolidated as early
as 1977.
Attitudinolly, the colonels' regime never had the kind of support of a signifi-
cant segment of the population that the long-term dictatorships of Salazar and
Franco (and Pinochet) had, nor did it have any comparable achievements in any
area to its credit. Therefore, when democratic alternatives were available the
colonels encountered the massive rejection of civil society. The legacy of the
colonels' junta presented fewer obstacles to democratic consolidation than any of
the southern European or South American cases we consider in our study. Un-
fortunately, we have public opinion data only since the mid-ipSos to confirm this,
but those data support our conclusion. We believe that the creation by Karaman-
lis of a new conservative party called, significantly, New Democracy; the legaliza-
tion and participation of both communist parties, the pro-Moscow KKE and the
Eurocommunist KKI (interior); and the evolutionary changes in PASOK helped
create attitudes within these critical party groupings and among their mass fol-
lowing that were strongly supportive of democratic consolidation by 1981. Indeed,
when public opinion polls for all of southern Europe became available for the first
time in 1985, two points emerged clearly. First, the Greeks had a much more neg-
ative opinion about the military dictatorship than the Spanish had of the Franco
period or the Portuguese had of the Salazar period. In a poll, two times more
Greeks than Spaniards or Portuguese answered that the previous authoritarian
regime was "only bad" (table 8.1).
Second, possibly because of the above, Greeks, by a greater percentage than the
Spanish or Portuguese, expressed a preference for democracy over authoritarian-
ism (table 8.2). These and subsequent polls by other organizations confirm, in our
Table 8.2. Comparison of Attitudinal Support for Democracy in Greece, Spain, and Portugal (1985)
Percentage
Opinion about Preferred Polity Greece Spain Portugal
"Democracy is preferable to any other regime." 87% 70% 61%

"In some cases an authoritarian regime, a dictatorship is preferable." 5% 10% 9%
"For people like me it is all the same." 6% 9% 7%
DK/NA 2% 11% 23%
Source: Data from Leonardo Moruno and José Ramón Montero, "Legitimacy and Democracy in Southern Europe" in Richard
Günther, P. Nikiforos Diamandouros, and Hans-Jürgen Puhle, eds., The Politics of Democratic Consolidation: Southern Europe in
Comparative Perspective (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995), 236.
judgment, that, with the change of government in 1981, Greece had become a con-
solidated democracy.
We will not labor our discussion of all the other variables, but on balance they
did not present a major problem for democratic consolidation. The "interna-
tional influence" variable indeed facilitated democratic consolidation in that the
EEC applied both sticks (after the colonel's coup Greece's application was shelved)
and carrots (the EEC acted very quickly on the Karamanlis government's mem-
bership request and Greece was admitted to the EEC in 1981). Concerning the
political economy of legitimacy, as in most of Western Europe, 1975-81 were not
good years for the economy, but for Greeks this was less important than the very
tangible political gains.
Stateness is a more complex issue. Although Greece is a nation-state, Greece
since ancient times has had a major diaspora and in recent times irredentist sen-
timents have colored much of Greek political life. Nationalist feelings interject
themselves more into politics than in Portugal or Spain. The memories of a long
struggle for independence, the slow incorporation of territories in different wars,
the devastating military defeat suffered by the Greek military in the Greek-Turkish
war of 1919-22 (known in Greek history as "the catastrophe"), which led to the re-
turn of over one million destitute Greek-speakers from the Ottoman diaspora in
less than a year, and the Greek state's dependency on international power con-
stellations during the cold war led to an exacerbation of nationalist feelings and
politics in Greece. The idea of Enosis (unification) with Cyprus, the presence of a
Greek minority in Albania, and the sense that Macedonia should not assume a
"historic Greek name" are issues in Greek and Balkan politics and reflect the dis-
turbing effect of "irredentist" feelings. This feeling did not prevent the consolida-
tion of democracy by 1981 but contributed to the "quality" problem of Greek de-
mocracy to which we now turn.18
18. An introduction to the extensive literature on "the catastrophe" and nationalist and irredentist pol-
itics that complicate Greece's stateness problem can be found in Diamandouros, "Regime Change and the
Prospects for Democracy in Greece."
Greece 137
The theme of the quality of consolidated democracies is one that is really be-
yond the scope of this book but cries out for a brief discussion. When we circu-
lated earlier drafts of this book in 1991, colleagues frequently expressed reserva-
tions about our calling Greek democracy consolidated. They correctly pointed out
that former Prime Minister Andreas Papandreau and other leaders of his govern-
ment were under indictment for corruption, that Greece's budget deficit was the
highest in the EEC and that no government of any stripe could bring it under
control, that the style of political discourse seemed dangerously acrimonious, and
that two general elections in a row (June 1989 and November 1989) had produced
hung parliaments. However, the fact that these multiple crises did not lead to a
major threat to democratic institutions could in our judgment also be interpreted
as a sign of democratic consolidation. We believe that it is more accurate to see
the above problems as indicative of the poor quality of a consolidated democ-
racy.19 Within the category of consolidated democracy some democracies deepen
and some do not. Some are of relatively high quality and some are of relatively low
quality. We consider Greek democracy to be of relatively low quality, and low
quality democracies have fewer degrees of freedom than those of high quality and
might breakdown more easily. This said, it is probably useful to point out that, de-
spite these problems, Greek democracy has displayed some impressive qualities of
flexibility and adaptability.
The "historical memory" of the civil war has now become more like that in
Spain (and completely unlike the historical memory of the World War II civil
wars between Croatians and Serbians). Significantly, in a public opinion poll, the
largest single group (41 percent) blamed both the Communists and the govern-
ment forces for the civil war, and the next largest group (32 percent) did not even
offer an opinion.20 Despite the acrimonious party partisanship of public debate,
citizens in private show an increasing propensity to say that they would consider
voting for a party of the opposite camp in the future. This indicates that there is
less "cultural difference" between the parties and that the realm of democratically
acceptable alternatives is broadening.21
Finally, we consider the fact of two hung parliaments of less significance than
the processes by which political parties responded to their common problem.
19. For the debate in Greece about whether the 19805 was a "lost decade" and a good discussion of the
"quality of democracy" problem, see P. Nikiforos Diamandouros, "Politics and Culture, 1974-91: An Inter-
pretation," in Richard Clogg, ed., Greece, 1981-1989: The Populist Decade (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1993),
1-25.
20. See the interesting review of Greek public opinion polls by Panayote Elias Dimitras, "Greek Public
Attitudes: Continuity and Change," International Journal of Public Opinion Research 2 (Summer 1990):
92-115, esp. 103.
21. For example, in the 1985 election in greater Athens the Communist parties won 17 percent of the vote
but 30 percent of those polled said they might consider voting for such parties in the future. In 1989 the fig-
ures were 15 percent and 44 percent respectively. Both PASOK and New Democracy experienced a similar
(but less dramatic) increase in voters who considered themselves willing to consider voting for them in the
future. Ibid., 99.
After the indecisive election of June 1989, from June until November 1989, the two
"descendents" of the warring sides of the 1946-49 civil war, the pro-Moscow
Communist Party and the New Democracy, formed a coalition government. This
coalition would have been unthinkable at the start of the transition in 1974. In-
deed, if 1949 can be seen as the military end of the Greek civil war and the elec-
tion of 1974 as the political end, then the 1989 Communist-New Democracy coali-
tion was the cultural end of the civil war. When the November 1989 elections
again failed to produce a winner, extensive inter- and intraparty negotiations pro-
duced an all-party government that ruled until the April 1990 election that
yielded a slender majority for New Democracy.22
Despite the very real "quality problems" of Greek democracy, if democracy
ever breaks down in Greece, in our judgment it will not be because Greek de-
mocracy was never consolidated but because democratic politicians respond to
problems in ways that actively exacerbate the crisis. The way to avoid and to analyze
any possible crisis of Greek democracy has less to do with the theory and praxis
of democratic transition and consolidation than with the theory and praxis of
"breakdown."23
22. Diamandouros, "Politics and Culture." An interesting indicator of the increasing capacity of civil so-
ciety to attempt to solve problems is that, in the face of the growing fiscal crisis of the state, the two peak
organizations, the Greek Federation of Industries and the General Confederation of Greek Workers, signed
a broad-ranging two-year collective bargaining agreement in 1990.
23. We are alluding here to patterns that were analyzed in Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, eds., The Break-
down of Democratic Regimes (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978).
9
Southern Europe: Concluding Reflections
WE ARE NOW in a position to summarize our conclusions about southern

Europe. Some of them are no doubt obvious, yet it is clear that, taking the entire
range of democratic transitions and democratic consolidations in the world,
these southern European cases occurred within a relatively limited range of pos-
sible initial conditions.
— No southern European transition had a sultanistic origin.
— No southern European transition had a totalitarian or post-totalitarian
origin.
— No southern European transition began from an authoritarian regime led
by the hierarchical military.
— No southern European transition began from a base of a strong single au-
thoritarian party.
Cumulatively, this means that many of the most salient initial confining condi-
tions present in other parts of the world were absent in southern Europe.
Another major point that we would like to stress concerns sequence. The south-
ern European countries were structurally able and consciously chose to concen-
trate first on politics, second on social welfare policies, and only later on structural
economic reforms. We consider this the optimal sequence if it is at all possible.
Democracy in any given country entails understandings concerning decision-
rules, the creation of institutional arrangements, the removal of barriers to par-
ticipation, the indispensable element of elections, and the creation of political so-
ciety. Ideally socioeconomic policies are produced by and flow out of this setting.
In an era when "state-shrinking" is advanced as an imperative for the strug-
gling new democracies of Latin America and post-Communist Europe, we want
to record a cautionary historical note. All three of the southern European new
democracies strengthened their states by increasing tax revenues. All used this
revenue to increase significantly social welfare expenditures and state employ-
ment (table 9.1).
All three southern European countries also became consolidated before their
economies improved and even before economic restructuring began. Spain did
Table 9.1. Increases of Tax Revenue, Public Expenditures, and Public Employment: Spain, Portugal,
and Greece (1976,1984,1988)
Percentage of Gross Domestic Product
Spain Portugal Greece
Revenue and Expenditure 1976 1984 1988 1976 1984 1988 1976 1984 1988
Revenue from taxes 25.0 33.2 36.7 31.0 34.6 36.6 29.2 34.2 35.9
Total public expenditure 26.0 38.7 41.7 37.3 41.6 43.7 20.9 44.2 51.3
Public employment expenditure 8.5 12.8 13.8 8.8 13.3 13.8 8.5 9.4 10.1
Source: Data from José Maria Maravall, "Politics and Policy: Economic Reforms in Southern Europe," in Luiz Carlos Bresser
Pereira, José María Maravall, and Adam Przeworski, Economic Reforms in New Democracies: A Social Democratic Approach
(New York: Cambridge University Press, 1993), table 2.4, p. 103.
not begin major structural economic reform until 1982, Portugal until 1985, and
Greece's first unsuccessful effort was in 1985-87.: As a corollary of the above, in
the critical period between elected governments assuming office and democratic
consolidation, in none of the southern European countries were issues concern-
ing the design or functioning of the economy as salient as debates about the de-
sign and functioning of political power.
Stateness was never a problem for democratic transition and consolidation in
Portugal. In Greece stateness was also not a significant problem during the period
of its democratic transition and consolidation but has emerged as a problem in
the 19905 as Greek nationalism became intertwined with Balkan, especially Mace-
donian, politics. Stateness could have caused a breakdown of the Spanish transi-
tion, but the success of Spanish leaders in handling the transformation of the uni-
tary state into the multilingual and multinational estado de las autonomías shows
that even new democracies can deal with such problems.
A word about the international environment is also in order. All three coun-
tries opted to try to join the European Economic community and to live by the
norms of the community. All became full members, but only after their demo-
cratic consolidation. The Treaty of Rome's procedures provide for subsidies to the
poorest regions within the community. These provisions eventually generated
substantial subsidies to Greece, Spain, and Portugal. After thinking about the re-
lationship of these three new democracies to the EEC, we agree with Laurence
Whitehead's conclusions that the community itself had set up a stable pattern of
rewards and incentives, that the community had a deep and abiding concern with
i. This comes through clearly in José María Maravall, "Politics and Policy: Economic Reforms in South-
ern Europe," in Luiz Bresser Pereira, José María Maravall, and Adam Przeworski, Economic Reforms in New
Democracies: A Social Democratic Approach (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 77-131. Also see
the important work by José María Maravall, Los resultados de la democracia. Un estudio del sur y el este de
Europa (Madrid: Alianza Editorial, 1995).
Southern Europe: Concluding Reflections 141
consolidating democracy in its immediate region, and that the prospect of mem-
bership in the European Community "produced a substantial long-term pressure
for democratization."2
Finally, we believe that the specific contribution of political institutions de-
serves more attention than it has received in the democratic transitions and con-
solidation literature. Specifically, we believe that the southern European choice of
parliamentary or semipresidential (which have turned increasingly parliamen-
tary) constitutional frameworks gave them greater degrees of freedom than if
they had chosen U.S.-style presidentialism as their constitutional framework. The
fact that no new democracy in southern Europe chose the U.S. style of presiden-
tialism in our judgment increased their degrees of freedom. In Spain, parliamen-
tarianism allowed Suárez, when he had exhausted his support, to step down; it
allowed his successor, Calvo Sotelo, to lead the efforts to jail the coup-makers,
and it allowed the early calling of elections, which led to the Socialists assuming
power. In Greece, the parliamentary framework allowed the formal coalition of
New Democracy and the Communists. In Portugal, the semipresidential frame-
work allowed a military president and an increasingly powerful civilian prime
minister to coexist, although what are called the three "presidential cabinets" gen-
erated considerable tension. None of this would have been possible in a pure pres-
idential system.
The general empirical and theoretical argument in favor of parliamentarian-
ism as a constitutional framework that favors democratic consolidation can be
advanced further. Of the forty-one countries in the world that experienced unin-
terrupted democracies for ten consecutive years between 1981 and 1990, thirty
were pure parliamentary systems and only four of them were pure presidential
systems. Of the ninety-three countries in the world that became independent be-
tween 1945 and 1979, only fifteen were uninterrupted democracies in the 1980-89
period, but all began as parliamentary democracies. We do not believe that these
numbers occur by chance.3 We have argued elsewhere that the parliamentary or-
ganizational form gives the political system significant advantages over presiden-
tialism in terms of three capacities useful for democratic consolidation: efficacy,
the capacity to construct majorities, and the ability to terminate a crisis of gov-

Whitehead, eds., Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Comparative Perspectives, 23. By the mid-1990s some
of the European Union's rules generated substantial bitterness and protest, particularly among Spanish
fishermen, farmers, and cattle-raisers.
3. The breakdown of the ninety-three countries as to their initial constitutional framework and their
later democratic consolidation is as follows. In the universe of ninety-three countries, thirteen began their
independence as ruling monarchies, three as semipresidential systems, thirty-six as presidential systems,
and forty-one as parliamentary systems. The results of a Pearson's chi-squared test of the complete data by
Stepan and Cindy Skach allowed them to reject the null hypothesis that the above distribution is random.
The chances of observing this distribution randomly are less than one in a thousand. These and other data
are presented and analyzed in Stepan and Skach, "Constitutional Frameworks and Democratic Consolida-
tion: Parliamentarianism versus Presidentialism," World Politics 45 (October 1993), 1-22, esp. 5-15.
Table 9.2. Respondents Affirming That "Democracy is Preferable to Any Other Form of
Government" in Spain, Portugal, and Greece and Compared with Average of European Union
States, 1992 (Legitimacy Indicator)
Respondent's Location Percentage
Spain 78%
Portugal 83%
Greece 90%
European Union Average 78%
Source: Data from Eurobarometer, 37 (1992).
ernment without it becoming a crisis of the regime.4 Spain and Greece are purely
parliamentary systems. Portugal is a semipresidential system but since 1988 has
increasingly functioned as a parliamentary system.5 No new Latin American,
Asian, or post-Communist democracy (with the exception of Hungary) initially
selected and crafted a pure parliamentary form. Czechoslovakia was close, but
neither the prime minister nor the president could dissolve the Parliament and
call for new elections. As of 1995 it is perhaps no accident that Hungary, the Czech
Republic (where the president is indirectly elected), and Slovenia, (which has a di-
rectly elected president with few powers) should be closer to consolidation than
any post-communist country with a directly elected president with significant
powers. We believe that the arguments in favor of parliamentarianism as an insti-
tutional framework that facilitates democratic consolidation deserve more seri-
ous consideration by practicioners and theorists alike.
Finally, how do citizens' opinions about the legitimacy and efficacy of the new
democracies of southern Europe compare with the rest of the states in the Euro-
pean Union? The answer is quite well (tables 9.2 and 9.3).
In summation, all southern European countries are democratically consoli-
dated, no consolidation took longer than eight years, and the new southern Eu-
ropean democracies are becoming increasingly comparable in their political pat-
terns to other West European parliamentary democracies.6 Although the three
4. See Linz, "Excursus on Presidential and Parliamentary Democracy," in Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan,
eds., The Breakdown of Democratic Regimes (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978), 7i~74> and
Linz, "Presidential or Parliamentary Democracy: Does It Make a Difference?" in Juan J. Linz and Arturo
Valenzuela, eds., The Failure of Presidential Democracy: Comparative Perspectives (Baltimore: Johns Hop-
kins University Press, 1994), 3-87, and Alfred Stepan, "Parliamentarismo X Presidencialismo no mundo
moderno: Revisâo de um debate atual," Estudos Ayancados (Sao Paulo, Janeiro/Abril 1990): 96-107.
5. Spain, as a constitutional monarchy, never had any semipresidential features. In Greece there was
much talk about adopting a Fifth Republic style semipresidentialism but legislation providing for the di-
rect election of the president was never passed and the strong presidential prerogatives provided in the 1975
constitution were weakened significantly by constitutional changes introduced by the Socialists after they
came to power in 1981. Portugal in 1995 is still semiparliamentary in form but after 1982 the president's pow-
ers were weakened by constitutional changes. Political practice became even more parliamentary once the
first civilian, who also happened to be a former prime minister, assumed that office in 1986.
6. This is the central argument of the previously cited article by Lijphart, Bruneau, Diamandouros, and
Günther, "A Mediterranean Model of Democracy?"
Table 9.3. Respondents Who Are "Very Satisfied" or "Fairly Satisfied with the Way Democracy
Works" in Spain, Portugal, and Greece Compared with Average of European Union States, 1985-
1993 (Efficacy Indicator)
Percentage
Respondent's Location 1985 1987 1989 1991 1993
Spain 51 55 60 57 40
Portugal 34 70 60 75 51
Greece 51 49 52 34 39
European Union 49 51 57 50 43
Source: Eurobarometer Trend Variables, 1974-1993 (May 1994).
southern European democratic consolidations seem today to have been accom-

plished relatively easily, one should not forget that the Spanish and Portuguese
transitions began only after extremely long periods of nondemocratic rule and
that, in Greece, postwar democracy was questioned by many Greeks, given the
legacies of the civil war. Furthermore, all of the southern European transitions
started at the beginning of the "third wave" of democratizations and could not
benefit from the lessons of other countries.7
EXCURSUS ON WHY N E G A T I V E EVALUATION OF THE

PAST N O N D E M O C R A T I C R E G I M E Is NOT A R E Q U I R E M E N T
FOR DEMOCRATIC CONSOLIDATION
Now that we have finished our analysis of democratic consolidation in what once
were Western Europe's two longest standing nondemocratic polities, Portugal and
Spain, we would like to address a conceptual point that frequently emerges in the de-
mocratization literature. There are students of the transition and consolidation of
new democracies who link both processes with the rejection and negative evaluation
of the preceding nondemocratic regime. It is even argued that such a rejection is nec-
essary for democratic consolidation, and sometimes rankings of the quality of new
democracies include indicators of the evaluation of the previous nondemocratic
regime. We reject such arguments on conceptual, historical, and empirical grounds.
Conceptually, we reject such arguments because our definition of consolida-
tion is present and future oriented. Thus, a key indicator for us is whether or not
a strong majority of the citizens is in agreement with such phrases as "for a coun-
try like ours democracy is better than any other alternative." Analytically, a posi-
tive attitude toward democracy as the best alternative for now, and the future does
7. For Samuel P. Huntington, the "third wave" of democratization in the world (1974- ) began with Por-
tugal. See Huntington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Twentieth Century (Norman: Oklahoma
University Press, 1991), chap. i.
not require a negative attitude toward the past. People can make an independent
evaluation and affirm that the preceding regime had achievements or a least was
not all bad and still support democracy as their preferred form of government.
Historically, we reject such arguments because in our judgment the over-
whelming majority of consolidated democracies did not actually begin their tran-
sition to democracy with a majority of members of the polity or even many of the
key agents of the transition being either convinced democrats or citizens who re-
jected everything about the past regime. Rather, a democratic majority emerges
when elites and ordinary citizens alike begin to evaluate, for the societal problems
they then face and the overall world within which they then live, that democratic
procedures of conflict regulation are better or less dangerous than any other form
of governance. Thus, for many key elites democratic behavior emerges before
democratic attitudes because elites may make the calculation that breaking the
democratic rules of the game—whether they like them or not—will not yield a
positive outcome for their interests. Democracy becomes the "only game in town"
partly by belief and partly by elite calculation of the cost of compliance versus the
cost of mobilization for other governing alternatives.
Empirically, we reject such arguments because for recent transitions we have
conclusive documentation showing that it is possible for democracy to become
consolidated while only a minority of the public completely rejects the past. Proof
of this is that, in 1985 in Portugal and Spain, when according to our criteria de-
mocracy had already been consolidated in both countries, less than 30 percent of
those polled said that the Franco or Salazar regimes were "only bad," but a strong
majority said that "democracy is preferable to any other regime" (table 9.4).
Table 9.4 shows that, if we combine the answers that the Franco regime "was
good" and was "in part good, in part bad," of those polled in 1985 61 percent in
Spain and 57 percent in Portugal did not completely reject the past and indeed felt
that it had some good qualities. In the same poll, however, 70 percent of respon-
dents in Spain and 61 percent in Portugal also answered that "democracy is prefer-
able to any other regime." The first answer was an assessment of the past; the sec-
ond was a statement of preference for the present and future. The two answers
were not incompatible.8 By 1992 in Portugal, 83 percent of respondents (com-
pared to 61 percent in 1985) preferred democracy to any other regime. The in-
crease in support for democracy was partly due to the fact that people who re-
fused to answer or who said "don't know" had dropped from 23 percent in 1985
8. Indeed, analysis of a 1978 Spanish poll shows that, of the respondents who answered both a question
about Franco and a question about democracy, 83.5 percent said that "democracy is the best political sys-
tem for a country like ours." Of these, only 28.1 percent totally disapproved of "the actions of Franco," and
23.2 percent said there were "many errors that could have been avoided," whereas 32.0 percent approved
Franco's action in some form (5.9 percent "totally approved," 15.6 thought the actions were "in general
good," and 10.5 felt that they were "mediocre without too many mistakes"). See Juan J. Linz, "El legado de
Franco y la democracia," ¡n Juan J. Linz et al., Informe sociológico sobre el cambio político en España, 1975-1981
(Madrid: Euramérica, 1981), 587-618.
Table 9.4. The Compatibility of a Strong Affirmation of the Desirability of a Democratic Present and
Future with a Weak Rejection of the Nondemocratic Past: Spain and Portugal
Percentage of Respondents
Spain Portugal
Survey Response 1985 1992 1985 1992
Strong Affirmation of Democracy as Preferred Polity

"Democracy is preferable to any other regime." 70 78 61 83
" I n some cases a n authoritarian regime, a dictatorship i s preferable." 1 0 9 9 9
"For people like me it is all the same." 97 74
"Don't know/no answer" 11 B 23 4
Opinion of the Previous Nondemocratic Regime
"It was good." 17 13
"In part good, in part bad" 44 44
"Only bad" 29 29
Don't know/no answer" 10 14
A/ (2,488) (2,000)
Source: For 1985 data the source is the same as for tables 8.1 and 8.2. The 1992 data are from the Eurobammeter 37 (1992).
to only 4 percent in 1992. We do not have data, but we doubt that there was a sig-
nificant movement in Portugal toward assessing the past as "only bad."
Let us speculate about what sort of psychological and historical processes can
combine to allow individuals simultaneously to assess the nondemocratic past as
not all bad and still prefer a democratic regime in the present and future. The
evaluation of any regime involves a wide range of criteria, dimensions, and ex-
periences of the members of a society, and it would be unrealistic to assume that
people who have lived under a nondemocratic regime for decades, who have
made their lives in it, and who have seen their success in life linked with partici-
pation in the regime's institutions should suddenly reject everything about the
regime. In addition, some nondemocratic regimes (Taiwan and South Korea in
the 1980s, Spain in the 1960s and early 1970s, Hungary for the middle part of the
Kádár period) have to their credit considerable achievements in one or another
realm of societal life—achievements that it would be foolish for an objective ob-
server to deny, that reasonable people know were there, and that only ideological
rigidity and blindess might deny. That does not mean that the same people will
not (correctly) perceive the negative dimensions of the previous regime, which
might have affected them or about which they may be knowledgeable. It would be
difficult to conceive a society, especially in such regimes as we mentioned above,
in which large numbers of people would have only negative or positive experi-
ences, especially if the regime had experienced a prolonged evolution and some-
times a deliberate liberalization process that allowed many people to pursue their
own lives within the limits established by the regime. Indeed, more specific ques-
tions than are normally asked in surveys show a large number of people saying
bad things about certain aspects of the regime, such as the amount of oppression
and the limits of freedom, while at the same time many people note positive as-
pects of the regime, as in the area of economic and social development.9
There is a story of a Spanish exile who returned after many years to Franco's
Spain, was impressed with the positive changes in Spanish society associated with
economic development that made it so different from the one before the civil war,
and asked the question, "Was I on the wrong side fighting in the war when all this
would be achieved under Franco?" One answer was that much of what he saw as
positive would have been achieved under any regime in the European context in
the 19505 and 19605, and it might have been achieved even earlier if the regime had
not been there. But why and how it was achieved is not what people think of when
they evaluate the performance of the past regime.
Does the simple fact that many people may have some positive assessments of
the past constitute an obstacle to their positive commitment to a new democratic
regime? The empirical data show that this is not the case. People who do not have
a negative opinion of the previous regime, particularly those who have a mixed
opinion ("in part good, in part bad"), can be fully supportive of a new democratic
regime. Such people's evaluations are based on the added positive dimensions
that democracy brings to political life and to the society and, above all, to their ba-
sically positive response to the values associated with freedom, participation, con-
trol of who shall govern, accountability of those in power, and a certain certitude
about political processes. Let us not forget that one of the great worries of people
under nondemocratic regimes, particularly when it is personalized, is what will
happen when the ruler dies. All maximum leaders disappear from the scene.
Thus, all Spaniards lived under Franco with an uneasy feeling that sooner or later
the country would have to face the fact that Franco would die and that then new
decisions would have to be made for which there were no clear rules and which
opened doors to incertitude and possibly even violent conflict. With all the incer-
titude that Adam Przeworski has correctly emphasized as characterizing democ-
racy, one of democracy's characteristics is also that there are predictable mecha-
nisms by which to change governments and to adapt to a changing society. In
democracies there is a constitutional framework, guaranteed by many rules and
procedures, that limits the unpredictability of political change and guarantees
rights to individuals and groups as no nondemocratic regime can effectively do.
The underlying assumption of linking the consolidation of democracy to the
overall negative evaluation of the previous regime often starts from the mistaken
idea that such nondemocratic regimes never had much support except from
small, privileged, and oppressive minorities. Some people think that, in southern
Europe and South America, right-wing authoritarian regimes were supported
only by large land owners, the bishops, the generals, the bankers, and a minority
9. Ibid.
of ideological activists, forgetting that there were many nonelites who might have
seen their future positively affected by the previous regime.
The same is true for the former Communist societies. "Real existing socialism"
created interests and constituencies. Many people were upwardly mobile by con-
formity with the regime; got fellowships for higher education, medals for their
sports achievements, funds for their cultural activities, and careers in the nomen-
klatura; became successful plant managers, and what not. Those people, whatever
their feelings about the ultimate desirability of the regime, their hostility to its So-
viet dependence when they were nationalist, and their displeasure about the many
small, bureaucratic chicaneries, cannot deny that they had a moderately good life
and sometimes even a fairly good life and that the changes that are happening in
their societies endanger those achievements. What is most disturbing for many of
the old supporters of the nondemocratic regime is that new democrats often deny
their personal legitimacy by assuming that, if they had been successful in the past
regime, they must have been evil.
Once again we stress our point that most democracies must craft a majority of
convinced democrats. To insist that only people with impeccable democratic op-
position credentials can be loyal democrats may actually weaken democracy.
We are interested in attitudes toward the past regime but only in a nuanced
way. For example, in Greece many more people than in Spain or Portugal evalu-
ate the previous nondemocratic regime as "only bad." But we do not believe that
this necessarily makes Greeks more convinced democrats than Spaniards or Por-
tuguese. We see the Greek survey results as a correct empirical statement that the
short regime of the colonels had no significant achievements to its credit and
much to its discredit. What is true, however, is that the intense rejection of the
Greek dictatorship facilitated punishment of the previous leaders of the military
regime for human rights offences. As we shall see, the case of Chile is like those of
Spain and Portugal in one respect, that a relatively high degree of people believe
that the nondemocratic regime was "in part good and in part bad." The key dif-
ference that we will document later is that a disturbing number of Chilean re-
spondents support a continued role in the present of some of the nondemocratic
institutions created by the Pinochet regime. In this respect Chile is fundamentally
different from Spain or Portugal. As will also become apparent later, citizens in
most Central European post-Communist countries are able to make complex and
independent judgments about the past and the present. Overwhelmingly, re-
spondents in Central Europe (but not in the former Soviet Union) five years after
the collapse of Communism simultaneously said that the economy was better
under the Communist regime but that the political system was better under the
new democratizing regime. Thus, they were able to differentiate between an "eco-
nomic basket of goods" and a "political basket of goods," between a past that for
them as individuals was not all bad and a different political future they aspired to
even though they knew they would lose elements of the past they valued.
Part III
South America:
Constrained Transitions
Like the three southern European countries we have considered, none of the
four Latin American countries in our set (Brazil, Uruguay, Argentina, and Chile—
hereafter referred to as the Southern Cone countries) began from a base of a sul-
tanistic regime, a post-totalitarian regime, or a strong civilianized authoritarian
party regime. However, while none of the new southern European democracies
began from a base of a hierarchical military regime, all of the Southern Cone
transitions were preceded by a hierarchically controlled military regime. In our
opening conceptual discussion we asserted that such a military, unless eliminated
by foreign powers or by revolution, would still be a permanent part of the state
apparatus during and after the transition and thus an integral part of the ma-
chinery that the new democratic government must attempt to manage. We fur-
ther stated that "the more hierarchically led the military, the less it is being forced
to extricate due to internal contradictions, and the weaker the coalition that is
forcing them from office, the more the military will be in a position to negotiate
their withdrawal on terms where they retain nondemocratic prerogatives or im-
pose very confining conditions on the political processes that should lead to
democratic consolidation."
To what extent are these general propositions borne out in the four Southern
Cone countries? Further, to what extent did the variable of a hierarchical military,
taken by itself, complicate the task of democratic consolidation when we compare
the Southern Cone countries to those of southern Europe?
In part 3 we demonstrate that the transitions in all four countries were indeed
immensely constrained by hierarchical militaries. However, we will also show that
great variation exists within our four countries. In Chile, despite the most favor-
able economic conditions, to this day military prerogatives are so great that the
democratic government will probably not meet our perhaps demanding defini-
tion of a completed transition until the end of the 19905. Uruguay, on the other
hand, despite continuing economic problems, has become the only country in
our South America set to become consolidated but has such problems of gover-
nance (especially efficacy) that we consider it a "risk-prone" consolidated democ-
racy. Until things began to improve in mid-1994, Brazil was further from consol-
idation in 1992-94 than it was in 1985, at the end of direct military rule. Argentina
was in a dangerous state of regime decomposition and military recomposition
during the last few years of the first democratically elected government under Al-
fonsin but reversed both these processes under Menem, yet certain aspects of the
role of Menem make us reluctant to consider Argentina a consolidated democ-
racy. Obviously, to explain such variation among these countries we will have to
explore other variables besides their common origins in hierarchically controlled
military regimes, especially that of the political economy of legitimacy. The are-
nas of political society and the rule of law also bear extensive analysis due to their
very different quality in the four countries.
10
A Risk-Prone Consolidated
Democracy: Uruguay
OUR TASK IN this chapter is twofold. First, we will develop the no doubt
controversial argument that Uruguay is a consolidated democracy and will assess
what conditions enabled it to become the only one of the four former "bureau-
cratic-authoritarian" regimes of South America to attain this status.1 Second, we
will explain why we judge Uruguay, like Greece, to be risk-prone, and why the
question of risk-proneness is better analyzed by the literature and politics on the
breakdown of democracies than by the literature and politics of the "transitions
to democracy."2
Conceptually, Uruguay conforms very closely to our theoretical framework.
Uruguay was an authoritarian regime from 1973 to 1985, always dominated de
facto by the military and ruled de jure by a hierarchically led military from 1976
until a united military organization handed over power to a democratically
elected president in 1985.3 Consistent with our analysis, the fact that the military
remained in office throughout the transition ruled out a provisional government.
In our framework we also argued that hierarchically led military authoritarian
regimes normally present a potential advantage for transition (the military-as-
institution may come to believe that their interests are best served by an extrica-
tion from the military-as-government) but a potential obstacle for democratic
consolidation (the military-as-institution, as the price of extrication, maybe able
1. For the concept of a "bureaucratic-authoritarian" regime, see Guillermo O'Donnell, Modernization

and Bureaucratic-Authoritarianism: Studies in South American Politics (Berkeley: Institute of International
Studies, University of California, 1973), and David Collier, ed., The New Authoritarianism in Latin America
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979).
2. That is, it would be better analyzed by using the framework found in Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan,
eds., The Breakdown of Democratic Regimes (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978) than by clas-
sics of the transition literature such as the four-volume study of O'Donnell, Schmitter, and Whitehead,
Transitions from Authoritarian Rule.
3. We will be quite schematic with our analysis of Uruguay because readers interested in the details of
the Uruguayan transition and the problems it presented for consolidation have two excellent recent mono-
graphs dedicated precisely to these issues. We refer to Charles Guy Gillespie, Negotiating Democracy: Politi-
cians and Generals in Uruguay (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), and Luis E. González, Polit-
ical Structures and Democracy in Uruguay (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1991). We were
fortunate to work with both of these talented scholars when they wrote these dissertation books at Yale
University.
152 South America: Constrained Transitions
to impose strong constraints on the incoming democratic government). Uruguay

illustrates both of these predicted tendencies.
Why did a democratic transition start? What caused the division between the
military-as-institution and the military-as-government? Initially, from 1978 to
1980, there were few military officers in Uruguay who favored a return to liberal
democracy, but also few who were ready to attempt to institutionalize an author-
itarian regime. In terms of systematic repression (but not deaths), Uruguay was
the most deeply repressive of the four South American bureaucratic-authoritarian
regimes.4 Civil society and political society were also less powerful loci of resistance
than in Brazil or Chile. Nonetheless, in the twentieth century, the Uruguayan mil-
itary had never directly ruled, the country had lived more years under democratic
regimes than any other country in Latin America, and the two traditional catch-
all parties (the Colorados and the Blancos) had never received less than 75 percent
of the total vote in any presidential election. Uruguayan voters, even by West Eu-
ropean standards, had a tradition of high party identification and a clear sense of
a left-right index.5 Most military officers also identified with one of Uruguay's
two traditional party "families."
This context helps to explain why, although the military repressed political
parties, they did not dare try to displace them. Indeed, in 1976, when they finally
overthrew the civilian figurehead president, they were at pains to issue a declara-
tion that they did not "want to share historical responsibility for abolishing the
parties" and that "sovereignty resides in the nation ... as expressed... in the pop-
ular vote."6 By 1977 the military announced that they would draw up a new con-
stitution for "strengthening democracy." The new constitution would be submit-
ted to a plebiscite in 1980 and, if ratified, elections with a single presidential
candidate, nominated by the two traditional parties and approved by the military,
would be held in 1981.
The democratic transition in Uruguay began when, to the surprise of most ob-
servers, but especially the military, the democratic opposition won the plebiscite.
Legitimacy and power relationships began to change immediately. As we saw in
Portugal, elections refute or reinforce legitimacy claims of power contestants. For
some prominent military officers, the results of the plebiscite weakened their be-
lief in their right to rule. Indeed, the transcripts of the constitutional working
group that met the day after the plebiscite reveal that some of the top military of-
4. For example, Amnesty International estimates that Uruguayan citizens were jailed during the early
years of the regime at a ratio of l per 600 citizens; the corresponding ratios for Argentina were i in 1,200
and for Chile i in 2,000. See Gillespie, Negotiating Democracy, 50-87.
5. González advances extensive evidence to back his argument that Uruguay, before its breakdown, had
the strongest democratic tradition in Latin America, in Political Structures and Democracy in Uruguay, 1-7.
Indeed, Robert A. Dahl goes as far as to say that Uruguay is probably the most striking case "in which a rel-
atively long-standing democratic system has been replaced by an internally imposed authoritarian regime,"
in A Preface to Economic Democracy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985), 40.
6. Quoted in Gillespie, Negotiating Democracy, 54.
Uruguay 153
ficials, for the first time ever, began to refer to the military government simply as
the "gobierno de facto" (the de facto government).7 For their part, the traditional
political parties emerged from the plebiscite energized, less frightened, and newly
self-confident in their legitimacy.8
It was the military's defeat in the plebiscite and the fact that the traditional par-
ties presented a newly strengthened alternative that produced the split between
the military-as-government (which experimented with a variety of ways to stay in
power) and the military-as-institution (which began discussing transitional for-
mulas with part of the democratic opposition). In our conceptual introduction
we said that, while the control of the outgoing government by a hierarchical mil-
itary always presents the threat that they can constrain the transition, the degree
to which they are able to do so will depend on the changing dynamics of power
relationships. Why were the parties strong enough, vis-à-vis the military, to make
the transition and consolidate democracy?
By 1980 the military did not have a defensive project against guerrillas. The
guerrillas had in fact been defeated even before the military assumed power in
1973 and had no significant presence in Uruguay by 1980. The military also had no
clear economic project, no "foundational" or offensive agenda. Finally, the two
major traditional parties presented a nonthreatening alternative. In a revealing
public opinion poll taken six months before the plebiscite, by a margin of 2 to i,
upper-class respondents believed that a political opening would speed rather than
slow economic recuperation. Even more significantly, by a margin of 7 to i, upper-
class respondents believed that a political opening would improve rather than
worsen tranquility and public order. Significantly, not one single business group
took out an advertisement supporting the military in the 1980 plebiscite.9 In a
particularly damaging blow to military pretensions to rule, the president of the
normally conservative Rural Association went on television and rather contemp-
tuously dismissed the idea of Uruguay's need for a military drafted constitution.
With no internal threat, without significant powerful alliances in civil or political
society, and with their loss in the plebiscite, whose results they said they would
respect, the military-as-institution's bargaining power with the politicians eroded
7. Diario de sesiones de la Constituente, 1980. This was brought to our attention by Juan Rial and Ca-
rina Perelli.
8. For an excellent analysis of the plebiscite and its consequences, see Luis E. González, "Uruguay
1980-81: An Unexpected Opening," Latin American Research Review 18, no. 3 (1983): 63-76. González calls
this vote a military effort to found a plebiscitary nondemocratic regime. Also see Howard Handelman,
"Prelude to Elections: The Military's Legitimacy Crisis and the 1980 Constitutional Plebiscite in Uruguay,"
in Paul W. Drake and Eduardo Silva, eds., Elections and Democratization in Latin America, 1980-85 (San
Diego: Center for Iberian and Latin American Studies, Center for U.S-Mexican Studies, Institute of the
Americas, University of California, San Diego, 1986), 201-14.
9. For these polls and an analysis of the military's absence of either a defensive or an offensive project,
see Alfred Stepan, "State Power and Civil Society in the Southern Cone of Latin America," in Peter Evans,
Dietrich Rueschemeyer, and Theda Skocpol, eds., Bringing the State Back In (New York: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, 1985), 325-31.
significantly. As in Greece, the civilian politicians refused to continue negotiations

about assuming the responsibility of rule until the military softened their de-
mands.10
This is not to imply that the military-as-organization was not able to extract a
price; they were. The fact that a hierarchically controlled military held power until
after the first elections meant that the military was in a position to negotiate the
transfer of power in a way that constrained the transition. The most important
constraint, negotiated in the party-military Naval Club Pact, was that elections
could be held only on the condition that the charismatic leader of one of the two
major parties, Wilson Ferreira of the Blanco Party, would not stand as a presi-
dential candidate. Ferreira had won more individual votes than any other candi-
date in the 1971 election, the last election before the military coup. Due to the pe-
culiarities of the Uruguayan electoral system, he did not win the presidency in
1971. Ferreira would have been a leading contender to win in 1984 if the military
had not vetoed him. The first postmilitary election was thus, for some key voters,
tarnished. However, the facts that the Blanco Party fielded other candidates and
the left-wing coalition (Frente Amplio) agreed to participate in the elections less-
ened the illegitimacy of the election. The military were also able to extract guar-
antees concerning the National Security Council and their own autonomy.
Nonetheless, the parties' bargaining power was sufficiently strong that the mili-
tary agreed that these prerogatives would expire at the end of the first year of
democratic rule.
The most politically damaging curtailment of the elected government's sover-
eignty by the military occurred in December 1986. Though no written documen-
tation exists for confirmation, it is widely believed that, by an informal interpre-
tation of the Naval Club Pact, it was tacitly agreed by some key political party and
military negotiators that there would be no trials of military officers for human
rights abuses committed immediately before and during military rule. In Decem-
ber 1986, some military officers were issued a subpoena to appear in court. On a
Friday, the defense minister ordered the officers not to appear in court on the
following Monday. For forty-eight hours Uruguayan politicians struggled with a
legitimacy-eroding dilemma. If they insisted on the officers appearing in court,
they would face a military refusal and therefore a crisis of their own authority. As
an alternative, they could hastily pass an amnesty law and avoid the immediate
crisis at the cost of the lowered prestige of democratic institutions.11 After many
10. When confronted with hard-line military demands at the initial negotiations in Parque Hotel, the
civilian negotiators walked out and returned only for the more successful Naval Club Pact discussions after
the military had softened their terms. For a sophisticated analysis of these negotiations, see chapters 6-8 in
Gillespie, Negotiating Democracy.
11. This assessment of the dilemma was presented during an interview by Stepan shortly after the event
with then President Sanguinetti and Senator Jorge Battle in Montevideo, February 3,1987. Also see Julio
Maria Sanguinetti, El temor y la impaciencia: Ensayo sobre la transición democrática en America Latina
(Buenos Aires: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1991), 63-68.
Uruguay 155
agonized discussions, they elected the latter course of action, to the widespread
dismay of the majority of the population. Eventually, enough signatures (25 per-
cent of the electorate) were gathered to force a referendum on the amnesty. In an
April 1989 referendum, 57 percent of those voting agreed to let the amnesty stand.
However, public opinion polls indicated that significant sections of the electorate
voted to let the amnesty stand, more to avoid a crisis than because they believed
it was just.12 They were almost certainly right to believe there would have been a
military crisis. The Uruguayan general who played the most important and con-
structive role in negotiating the extrication of the military-as-institution, General
Hugo Medina, in a 1991 interview, when asked what would have happened if the
citizens had voted for military trials, made the following unequivocal assertion:
"If I had not assumed the responsibility for a coup, it would have been assumed
by the next officer in the hierarchy, if not by him, the next. This is so because this
was the thinking of the Armed Forces."13 Notwithstanding this chilling assess-
ment, once the citizens had voted, this seemed the last major item of contestation
concerning the party-military agenda. In December 1989, free elections were held
in which all candidates were allowed to participate, and in fact the left coalition,
Frente Amplio, won the mayorship of Montevideo, which comprises about half of
Uruguay's population.
With the referendum and the election of December 1989, Uruguay fulfilled all
our conditions for a completed transition.14 However, the "transfer price" that the
hierarchical military extracted from the new democracy, while low by Brazilian
or Chilean standards, was real both in terms of policy sovereignty and political
legitimacy.
Despite the constraints the hierarchical military was able to impose on the
transition, we believe that Uruguay had become consolidated by 1992, a judgment
that may be controversial. Let us first examine the behavioral dimension of con-
solidation. In the 1968—73 period leading to the coup, Uruguay's Tupamaros were
Latin America's best organized urban guerrilla force. The dominant faction of the
ruling political party, the Colorados, was led by a president who utilized the guer-
rilla threat, says González, "to impose . . . a kind of siege which he used to cir-
cumvent parliament." González adds that, after 1968, "the already semi-loyal left
12. For example, in a March 1989 Equipos poll, only 27 percent of those polled believed that the military
would respect the decision. The most cited reason for people voting to uphold the amnesty was their de-
sire to consolidate democracy. The official title of the law that was supported was "Ley de Caducidad de la
Pretensión Punitiva del Estado" (Law Abrogating the Punitive Claim of the State).
13. The first major published interview with General Hugo Medina appeared in Búsqueda (March 7,
1991): 32-37. This quote is from p. 37. For an account of the debates concerning the referendum over what
was called the "law of impunity," see Lawrence Weschler, A Miracle, a Universe: Settling Accounts with Tor-
turers (New York: Random House, 1990), 173-236.
14. For this election see Carina Perelli and Juan Rial, "El fin de la restauración: La elección del 26 de
noviembre de 1989," Cuadernos de orientación electoral,'no. 10, (Montevideo: Peitho, April 1990). Also see
the excellent work by Alexandra Barahona de Brito, "Truth or Amnesty: Human Rights and Democratiza-
tion in Latin America: Uruguay and Chile (Ph.D. diss., St. Antony's College, University of Oxford, 1993).
was openly pushed to plain disloyalty by the government and most of the leader-
ship of the major parties—with the significant exception of the Blanco majority.
Besides, by 1971 the very idea of loyalty was unclear: the government itself did not
abide by the existing rules."15 And of course, well before the July 1973 coup, the
military had unilaterally assumed control of the dirty war against the guerrillas
and, as Gillespie correctly wrote, "tragically, the most important catalyst to the
military intervention was the secretive courting of Generals by politicians on all
sides."16 In essence, Uruguay in 1968-73 was a system in which most nationally
important political actors were "disloyal" or at best "semiloyal" to the democratic
regime.17
Political learning can help consolidate democracy. For one thing, citizens can
learn from previous breakdowns and change the composition of parliament by
their voting behavior. In Uruguay all the major rightist and leftist political fac-
tions most associated with the 1968-73 breakdown have been "punished" by the
electorate. Both the traditional parties had extreme rightist factions that were
clearly disloyal or semiloyal in 1968-73. The right-wing Colorado faction that
acted disloyally before the breakdown received 56 percent of the vote in 1971,
31 percent in the internal party election in 1982, and 24 percent in 1984. An even
more dramatic trend occurred in the Blanco Party, where the faction that sup-
ported authoritarian behavior received 34 percent in 1971,26 percent in 1982, and
only 3 percent in 1984. Finally, in the coalition of left-wing parties, the Frente
Amplio, the winners in the 1984 elections were the centripetal forces in each party
(the opposite of Sartori's model of dangerous "centrifugal polarization"). As
González summed up, the "process of displacement toward the center . . . weak-
ened all the antisystem forces of the political spectrum."18
For the consolidation of democracy the loyal democratic behavior of parties is
important, but it is as important that all the major political parties perceive that
the other major parties are loyal to the process. If all the major parties perceive
each other as loyal this decreases the cost for losers (because they will have an-
other chance to contest elections and the rights of the minority will be respected)
and it increases the cost of "intertemporal" disengagement from the democratic
process (because of the perception that democracy is the most important politi-
cal game being played).19 Gillespie constructed a survey question to identify po-
15. The citations are from González, Political Structures and Democracy in Uruguay, 42,41.
16. Gillespie, Negotiating Democracy, 44.
17. For the importance of the categories of "semiloyalty" and "disloyalty" for the analysis of democratic
breakdown, see Juan J. Linz, The Breakdown of Democratic Regimes: Crisis, Breakdown and Reequilibration
(Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978), 28-45.
18. All the electoral percentages and the citation are from González, Political Structures and Democracy
in Uruguay, 70-71. Also see Juan Rial, "The Uruguayan Election of 1984: A Triumph of the Center," in Drake
and Silva, eds., Elections and Democratization, 245-72.
19. Adam Przeworkski makes a related point when he talks of the importance for consolidation of in-
creasing the "intertemporal" benefits of playing the democratic game. Given that this game generates both
winners and losers, Przeworski asks, "Why would those who suffer as the result of the democratic interplay
Uruguay 157
litical factions' perceptions of the loyalty, semiloyalty and disloyalty of their party
opponents. On a ten-point scale in which four to six is semiloyal and above seven
is disloyal, in 1985 not one of the twelve major factions of the three leading parties
was judged by its rivals as disloyal. In contrast, using the same procedure, four of
the nine major factions for the 1968-73 period were judged retrospectively as dis-
loyal by at least one opposition party.20
Another critical piece of evidence concerning political behavior and consoli-
dation is whether parties that were once treated as unacceptable power-holders
come to be treated as "acceptable." In 1971, important groups of the Colorados and
Blancos considered the left-wing coalition (Frente Amplio) unacceptable. But
ever since the Frente Amplio's important participation in the Naval Club Pact of
1985, its members have been increasingly seen as normal and accepted partici-
pants in the democratic system. In 1989 a socialist, Tabaré Vásquez, from the
Frente Amplio coalition, was elected mayor of Montevideo. There were no signif-
icant arguments about his right to run or to assume office. His behavior as mayor
of Montevideo was seen as even-handed. Indeed, in 1990, whereas only 22 percent
of polled Montevideo residents believed President Lacalle of the traditional
Blanco Party paid attention to the needs and demands of all the voters, 63 percent
of polled Montevideo residents believed Vásquez did. More significantly, voters
for President Lacalle judged Vázquez, by 17 percentage points, to be more atten-
tive to all the voters' demands and issues than was Lacalle himself.21 By mid-1992
most analysts began to see Tabaré Vásquez as a major challenger whom former
president lorge Sanguinetti and his Blancos rivals would have to face in the 1994
presidential elections. In an interview with one of the authors, Vásquez stated, "I
have absolute confidence that whoever wins the election in 1994 will assume the
government. Our military are not antidemocratic."22 The mere fact that Vásquez
was considered a possible president of Uruguay increased his power to moderate
not seek to subvert the system that generates such results?" He goes on to argue that the losers "comply with
present defeats because they believe that the institutional framework that organizes the democratic com-
petition will permit them to advance their interests in the future." See Przeworkski, Democracy and the Mar-
ket: Political and Economic Reforms in Eastern Europe and Latin America (New York: Cambridge University
Press, 1991), esp. 18-19.
20. This is computed from tables 3.6 and 10.5 in Gillespie, Negotiating Democracy.
21. Surveys done by Equipos Consultores Asociados in June 1990.
22. Interview with Alfred Stepan, Montevideo, March 25,1992. Vásquez went on to add that, after as-
suming the office of mayor, he made courtesy calls to all the commanders of the Armed Forces garrisons in
Montevideo. Since then he has given out awards at the graduation of the Naval Academy and the Police
Academy and attended an Air Force graduation. He said he would like to attend an army graduation but to
date had not been invited. When Stepan asked one of Uruguay's top generals what the army would do if
Vásquez won the election, he said the army would be "correct but nothing more." For a pioneering analy-
sis of political space and how the discourse of Tabaré Vásquez allowed him to emerge as a new democratic
leader in Uruguay, see Carina Perelli, "Un líder transgresor: Tabaré Vásquez o la intendencia como espacio
político," in Carina Perelli, Fernando Filgueira, and Silvana Rubino, Gobierno y política en Montevideo: La
intendencia municipal de Montevideo y la formación de un nuevo liderazgo a comienzos de los años '90 (Mon-
tevideo: Peitho, 1991), 109-51.
the behavior of his coalitional allies. In 1992 the Frente Amplio had been inte-
grated into the Uruguayan democratic political system by all significant parties.
Indeed, Tabaré Vásquez was almost elected president in the November 1994 elec-
tion when he polled more than any other single candidate. He did not win the
presidency because, in the Uruguayan election system, total party votes accumu-
late. In the near three-way tie, his coalition, the Encuentro Progresista (EP), came
in third place, 36,005 votes behind the Colorados and 13,206 behind the Blancos.
However, in all the pre-election and post-election talks about the need for coop-
eration to make Uruguay governable, the Frente Amplio were considered legiti-
mate participants in the political system. Senator Danilo Astori, leader of the
group that won the most votes in the EP, played a particularly active role in
governability discussions after the 1994 elections.23
What about the military? After the 1989 referendum on the decision by the Con-
gress not to prosecute the military, the military made no explicit or implicit threats
or demands on the democratic political system. In terms of prerogatives, they al-
most reverted back to the pre-authoritarian regime pattern of civil-military rela-
tions. In 1990, they certainly had fewer prerogatives than the military had in Chile,
Argentina, or Brazil.24 One of the reasons that the military was not very powerful
in Uruguayan politics after free elections was that they had virtually no allies. In
poll after poll, business elites, politicians, and mass publics alike rejected military
involvement in politics. For example, in answer to the question, "If similar cir-
cumstances to 1973 occurred in Uruguay would you think it good if the military as-
sumed power?" 92 percent of executives and technical specialists said "no." Also, the
inevitable "desencanto" (disenchantment) with democracy has not contributed to
any nostalgia for the nondemocratic past. Uruguay in essence had been ruled by
five authoritarian presidents from 1968 to 1985 and then by the democratically
elected Sanguinetti. In a December 1988 poll respondents were asked to evaluate
under which president the country was better off in each of seven different cate-
gories. In every single category the democratic president Jorge Sanguinetti was
given the highest marks.25 In August 1985, of nine institutions evaluated in terms
of trust, political parties ranked highest, with a net score of plus 57, and the armed
forces ranked lowest, with a net score of minus 73. Only 5 percent of the popula-
tion viewed the armed forces "sympathetically" and 7 percent "neutrally," in con-
trast to those 78 percent who viewed the military with "antipathy."26 In no coun-
23. For the final results of the 1994 election, see "Uruguay; Sanguinetti Seeks All-round Accords," Latin
American Regional Reports: Southern Cone Report (Feb. 9,1995): 7. In the Senate the Colorados received
eleven seats, the Blancos ten, the Frente Amplio nine, and Nuevo Espacio one. In the Chamber of Deputies
the Colorados won thirty-two seats, the Blancos thirty-one, the Frente Amplio thirty-one, and Nuevo Es-
pacio five.
24. For documentation and analysis of military perogatives in Uruguay, Chile, Argentina, and Brazil, see
Stepan, Rethinking Military Politics, 93-125, esp. 116-18.
25. Equipos, December 1988 poll.
26. Equipos, August 1985 poll.
Uruguay 159
try in our thirteen-country sample, with the possible exception of Greece, did de-
mocracy start with such a complete rejection of the political role of the military.
In a context with no violent enemies (there was only one significant act of
violence associated with the left in the first seven years of democratic rule), a
virtual elimination of disloyal opposition among political parties, and the popu-
lar rejection of the military as a political ally, it would have been extremely risky
for the military as an institution to attempt to assume power or to block the in-
auguration of a possible victorious Frente Amplio presidential candidate in 1994.
In 1992, Stepan asked a top ranking active-duty general what would happen to
Uruguay politically if Tabaré Vásquez were elected president in 1994. The general's
answer implied that he, too, accepted that the system was already a consolidated
democracy. In the event of a 1994 victory of Tabaré Vásquez, the general saw the
task of ensuring political order not as something that would emerge out of mili-
tary action, but rather out of the normal functioning of politics. He quoted ap-
provingly a remark by a senior Uruguayan politician to the effect that "the Frente
Amplio, like all other parties, will need to make accords with parties to rule ef-
fectively. In Uruguay the office of the presidency in itself is not power. For power,
accords are necessary and accords depend on acceptable behavior."27
In March 1992, after one of our many research visits to Uruguay, we arrived at
the conclusion that Uruguay was consolidated. Shortly thereafter, an office occa-
sionally used by ex-President Sanguinetti was bombed by a group claiming to be
composed of retired midlevel officers with the help of some active-duty officers.
Naturally, we thought about whether our judgment was still valid. We decided
that the best way to evaluate the meaning of the bombing was to examine politi-
cal reactions. After all, Spain routinely experiences terrorist bombing, but Spain
is consolidated because after 1981 there has been no significant semiloyal or dis-
loyal behavior by parties and institutions of statewide significance. In Uruguay, all
major political groups explicitly condemned the bombing. The hierarchical mil-
itary also condemned the bombing in forceful terms. Despite this worrisome ter-
rorist act, our judgment concerning the behavioral dimension of Uruguay's con-
solidation was ratified. By 1992, there was no semiloyal or disloyal behavior by any
major party or organization in Uruguay.28
Uruguay is also consolidated institutionally; with the agreed-upon lapse of the
Naval Club Pact, one year to the day after the inauguration of a democratic par-
liament, there were no de jure constraints on the policy freedom of the demo-
cratic government. The de facto limit on the democratic government from 1985 to
1989 stemming from military refusal to be tried for human rights abuses was of
course a serious constraint. But, for better or worse, the results of the 1989 refer-
27. Interview, March 25,1992, in Montevideo. Not for direct attribution.

28. However, the military said there was no evidence to show that the military was actively involved. Of
course our final judgment will have to wait until we are able to determine whether the military cooperates
fully with the investigation and supports the court's decision if the perpetrators are tried and found guilty.
i6o South America: Constrained Transitions
Table 10.1. Comparison of Attitudinal Support for Democracy in Uruguay and Three Consolidated
Democracies in Southern Europe: Spain, Portugal, and Greece
Percentage of Respondents:
Uruguay Spain Portugal Greece

Opinion about Preferred Policy 119911 (1985) (1985) (1985)
"Democracy is preferable to any other form 73 70 61 87

of government."
"In some cases, a nondemocratic government 10 10 9 5
could be preferable to a democracy."
"For people like me, a democratic and a 8 9 7 6
nondemocratic regime are the same."
DK/NAa 9 11 23 2
Source: For Uruguay, data supplied by Equipos, Consultores Asociados, Montevideo. For Spain, Portugal, and Greece, data from
Leonardo Moruno and José Ramón Montero, "Legitimacy and Democracy in Southern Europe," in Richard Günther, P Nikiforos
Diamandouros, and Hans-Jürgen Punie, eds., The Politics of Democratic Consolidation: Southern Europe in Comparative
Perspective (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995), 236.
B
DK/NA, don't know or no answer
endum on the amnesty have removed this item from the agenda. Parliament re-
views military budgets, there is a civilian (but relatively weak) minister of defense,
and the president has a free hand in selecting the commander-in-chief of the
three services. To be sure, there are certainly civil-military problems in Uruguay.
There is still no serious analysis by the president, Parliament, or the minister of
defense as to what type of armed forces Uruguay really wants. The interview with
Medina also revealed a still disturbing difference between civilian and military
opinion about human rights. Other incidents, like the confusion and conflict in
1993 surrounding the harboring of a Chilean military intelligence agent in Uru-
guay without the government's approval, lead us to the opinion that the quality
of civil-military relations in Uruguay in 1993-94 was still not really high.
Nevertheless, given the overall balance of power in Uruguay, the military is no
longer a threat to the consolidation of democracy. In this respect it is useful to re-
member that the quality of civil-military relations in Spain was still poor in 1982
when Felipe González assumed the prime ministership. Spain, like Uruguay, be-
came a consolidated democracy with relatively poor civil-military relations. Im-
proving the quality of these relations was the work of another decade under the
inspired leadership and strategy of Narcis Serra. Whether Uruguay will have com-
parable leadership and strategies and the necessary fiscal strength to implement
new programs is still very much in doubt. But Uruguay in 1992, like Spain in 1982,
had crossed a threshold.
Finally, is the attitudinal support for democracy consistent with calling Uruguay
consolidated? If we compare citizens' attitudes toward democracy in Uruguay with
those in the three consolidated democracies of southern Europe, we see that the at-
titudinal dimension of consolidation is similar in all four countries (table 10.1).
Uruguay 161
Table 10.2. Attitudes in Uruguay toward Democracy According to Geographic Region and
Respondents' Ideological Self-identification (December 1991)
Percentage of Respondents by
Percentage of Respondents by Region Ideological Self-identification
Opinion about Montevideo Center Center Not

Preferred Polity (1988) Montevideo Interurban Nation Left Left Center Right Right Defined
"Democracy is 79 78 69 73 74 81 80 75 69 57
preferable to any
other form of
government."
"In some cases, a 9 10 10 10 11 11 11 10 11 6
nondemocratic
government could
be preferable to a
democracy."
"For people like me, a 6 6 9 8 8 4 6 11 9 10
democratic and non-
democratic regime
are the same."
DK/NA3 6 6 12 9 7 4 3 4 11 27
Source: Data from Equipos, Consultores Asociados, Montevideo.

a
DK/NA, don't know or no answer.
These data suggest a high level of overall general attitudinal support for de-
mocracy in Uruguay. However, since our analysis is concerned with democratic
consolidation, we must disaggregate and examine these attitudes more closely. If
any substantial group, on either the left or the right or within specific geographic
regions, were to remain attitudinally unsupportive of democracy, this would con-
stitute an obstacle to consolidation. Yet in Uruguay, as table 10.2 demonstrates,
support for the democratic system is fairly strong across the entire country and
the political spectrum.
Let us turn to the final conceptual and political issue that the Uruguayan case
raises—the question of the quality of a consolidated democracy. Obviously,
within the world of consolidated democracies there are three very different logi-
cal possibilities: (i) some can deepen and improve their degrees of equity, partic-
ipation, and support; (2) others may have serious problems (such as high degrees
of social conflict or the persistence of an underclass) that hurt the quality of, but
may not contribute to a breakdown of, a democracy; and (3) a consolidated de-
mocracy may live with a series of problems that it does not solve—or a new set of
problems may emerge—which finally contribute to a qualitatively and quantita-
tively new level of semiloyal and disloyal behavior that leads to the progressive de-
consolidation of the regime and eventually to its breakdown. In Linz's 1978 dis-
cussion of the breakdown of democratic regimes, he remarked that, "In the last
analysis, breakdown is a result of processes initiated by the government's in-
i62 South America: Constrained Transitions
capacity to solve problems for which disloyal oppositions offer themselves as a

solution."29
Although we consider Uruguay to be a consolidated democracy, in our judgment
democracy in Uruguay has a more "risk-prone configuration" than it does in Spain
or Portugal.30 If the democratic political system cannot address critical problems,
then there is a risk that significant political actors—the chief executive, political par-
ties, opinion makers or social movements—might begin to pose antisystem alter-
natives. The quality and quantity of semiloyal and disloyal behavior could begin to
increase. At this critical juncture, in our judgment, the intellectual and political cat-
egories of most relevance to examine have more to do with "the breakdown of de-
mocracy" literature than they have to do with "transitions" literature.31
Writing in 1995, the three key elements of the risk-prone configuration of
Uruguay's political system are the perceived crisis of efficacy, the growing per-
ception that this crisis of efficacy is directly related to the specific institutional
arrangements that are long-standing features of democratic competition in
Uruguay, and a military that, while not opposing democracy, has not, as in Spain,
been organizationally and ideologically reconfigured and incorporated into the
political system on a more secure basis. The third component could gain in-
creased relevance precisely because of its potential to interact with the other two
elements in Uruguay's risk-prone configuration in ways prejudicial to democracy.
While Uruguay in 1980 had a gross national product (GNP) per capita income
of $2,820 (higher than that in Argentina, Brazil, or Chile), the highest literacy rate
(94 percent) of the four countries, and probably Latin America's best income dis-
tribution, the country has been in a relative decline since the mid-1950s.32 A well-
documented empirical pattern is that democratic political systems are normally
seen as more legitimate than their economic systems, be they market oriented or
not.33 Also, citizens' belief in the "appropriateness" (or legitimacy) of democracy
can for a time increase even though their belief in the capacity (efficacy) of de-
mocracy to resolve their economic problems is decreasing. Spain in 1976-82 exem-
plifies such a case. We will call this distinction legitimacy versus efficacy. In Spain,
for a brief period in the dangerous year of the failed coup (1981), 81 percent of the
population believed that democracy was the best political system for a country like
29. Linz and Stepan, The Breakdown of Democratic Regimes, 50.

30. González applies this phrase to Uruguay in Political Structures and Democracy in Uruguay, 161. We
find his argument convincing and the concept worthy of incorporation into the general scholarly analysis
of consolidation. As we have seen, the way in which Greek democratic politics embroiled itself in Balkan
politics made it more risk-prone in the mid-1990s than it had been in the mid-igSos.
31. Of course, some types of transitions may directly contribute to the creation of a democracy that, al-
though consolidated, has features that make it risk-prone.
32. For a discussion of these comparative data, see González, Political Structures and Democracy in
Uruguay, 2-4.
33. This literature is analyzed in Juan J. Linz, "Legitimacy of Democracy and the Socioeconomic Sys-
tem," in Mattel Dogan, ed., Comparing Pluralist Democracies: Strains on Legitimacy (Boulder, Colo.: West-
view Press, 1988), 65-113.
Uruguay 163
theirs, but only 43 percent felt that democracy allowed the resolution of problems
that they as Spaniards faced. By 1983 this 38 percent gap between Spain's legitimacy
and efficacy indicators had been reduced to 24 percent.34 In Montevideo, the cap-
ital of Uruguay, however, the gap between legitimacy and efficacy in 1988 was 41
percent. In 1990 the gap had grown to 43 percent. Furthermore, in December 1988
only 13 percent of those polled in Montevideo said the country was progressing,
while 31 percent said the country was declining. Three years later these figures had
deteriorated further to 9 percent and 39 percent, respectively.35
Uruguay's prolonged efficacy-legitimacy gap alone would make democracy
"risk-prone." However, the configuration would become even more risk-prone if
Uruguay's institutions of democracy themselves were perceived as contributing to
policy inefficacy. As we argued in chapter 5, economic problems become particu-
larly acute for a democracy when nondemocratic alternatives are proposed as
the solution and when the existing democratic institutions are perceived as con-
tributing to the economic problems. In Uruguay there is at the moment no non-
democratic alternative being proposed as a solution. Up until recently there was
also relatively little system blame because politicians blamed themselves or the in-
ternational system for their country's stagnation. This could change.
During Uruguay's golden age (1918-1956) the norm was a two-party system with
a dominant party that produced presidents with a double majority—a personal
majority and a legislative majority. There was a party system that was analogous to
another presidential system where democracy worked (i.e., the United States), in
that there was low fragmentation and low polarization. Uruguay's long-standing
and unusual electoral system (known as the double simultaneous vote) allows all
parties to run multiple candidates for the presidency and for all the votes for a
party's label (whether for the extreme left candidate or the extreme right candidate)
to accrue to the party.36 Until the late 19505, this electoral system did not present sig-
nificant problems. But the number of parties, intraparty factions, and presidential
candidates per party have grown considerably since 1960.37 Presidents are now rou-
tinely elected with less than 25 percent of the popular vote because winning parties
have had 2 to 4 factions. From this fragmented base presidents can count on leg-
islative support of less than a quarter of the legislature. This party-institutional con-
text makes the creation of a coherent policy majority to address Uruguay's stagna-
34. See the discussion about this in chapter 6.

35. Equipos, Informe de Coyuntura, June 1990, and Equipos, December 1991.
36. See Oscar A. Bottinelli, "El sistema electoral uruguayo: descripción y análisis," Peitho, Documentos
de Trabajo, no. 83,1991.
37. A classic study of these issues is Giacomo Sani and Giovanni Sartori, "Polarization, Fragmentation
and Competition in Western Democracies," in Hans Daalder and Peter Mair, eds., Western European Party
Systems: Continuity and Change (London: Sage, 1983), 307-40. González replicates much of their analysis to
show that from 1954 to 1984 Uruguay has changed, in comparative terms, from near the bottom of their
fragmentation scale to near the top of their scale. González, Political Structures and Democracy in Uruguay,
pp. 85-112.
tion extremely difficult. Many of Uruguay's most distinguished analysts and politi-
cians are now making the case that it is precisely Uruguay's combination of party
fragmentation, the electoral system, and presidentialism that has created legislative
impasse and short-lived policy coalitions.38 From a game theory perspective, the
only groups that can change this system are the Parliament and the party leaders,
yet it is precisely these groups that have been the "winners" with the system. It will
thus be difficult to get a majority to change the system until there is a clear percep-
tion of crisis. However, if the institutions of Uruguay's political system are increas-
ingly seen as contributing directly to Uruguay's stagnation, there could be growing
system blame of the democratic regime itself. The fact that Uruguay chose to restore
both the constitution and electoral system that were in effect before military rule,
notwithstanding their contribution to the breakdown, means that an opportunity
for constitutional and institutional innovation after the dictatorship was missed.
This brings us to the third component of Uruguay's risk-prone configura-
tion—the military. As we have argued, the Uruguayan military has yielded their
nondemocratic prerogatives and is not currently a plausible coalition partner for
any nondemocratic group. However, Uruguay's prolonged economic stagnation
has contributed to a fiscal crisis of the state that exacerbates civil-military rela-
tions. The Uruguayan military since 1985 have been in a double crisis—an "exis-
tential crisis" concerning their mission and a resource crisis brought about by ex-
tensive budgetary cuts.39 Democratic governments have cut military budgets, but
unlike in Spain they have not yet played a role in rethinking military organization,
mission, and force-structure or in rethinking how to reincorpórate the military
socially and ideologically back into the democratic polity. Such a situation, if it is
not altered, could make Uruguay's democracy even more risk-prone should dis-
loyal and semiloyal behavior among politicians begin to emerge and the military
suddenly find the allies that they have not had during the period 1980—1995.
We want to stress that such semiloyal and disloyal behavior does not now exist
and that we see no credible "coup" coalition on the horizon.40 Such antidemo-
38. In various political fora in Uruguay, Juan Rial and Luiz Eduardo González have increasingly argued
this point. For their writing on this subject, see González, Political Structures and Democracy in Uruguay,
161-64, and Juan Rial, "Reforma constitucional: Invitación a una discusión necesaria," text of a speech given
to young Uruguayan politicians, November 1991. A major Colorado political party leader, Jorge Batlle, in a
self-criticism of what he calls "Uruguayan nomenklatura," argues that "a government that is born without
majorities, as a consequence of our electoral system, not only creates problems for government, but worse
the system consecrates the irresponsibility of everyone," public speech, July 15,1990.
39. For an excellent analysis, especially of the existential crisis, see Carina Perelli, "El nuevo ethos mili-
tar en America Latina: Las crisis existenciales de las fuerzas armadas de la región en los 90," Peitho, Docu-
mentos de Trabajo, no. 8o, 1991.
40. In fact, we see the opposite. As the economies of Argentina, and even Brazil, grew robustly in 1994
and as the government was able to negotiate what was seen as better terms for Uruguay's role in the
MERCOSUR (the new common market of Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay, and Paraguay), confidence in the fu-
ture experienced a significant upturn for the first time since 1988. According to a poll conducted by Equipos
in August 1990, 66 percent of those polled in a national survey said that they believed the economy was
"bad" or "very bad." In October 1994 those who felt the economy was "bad" or "very bad" had declined to
below 40 percent. Furthermore, the presidential approval rating, which had hit a new historic low of 11 per-
Uruguay 165
cratic behavior and such a correlation of forces supportive of breakdown would

be the result of a future unresolved crisis of democracy.41 We also want to stress
that Uruguay's configuration of democratic institutions, practices, and values dis-
courages the syndrome that Guillermo O'Donnell calls "delegative democracy"
that plagues so many presidential systems and that we will discuss in the Argen-
tinian and Brazilian cases.42 However, if democratic politicians cannot or will
not realign Uruguay's risk-prone configuration, they could—as in most historical
cases of breakdown—be direct contributors to such an outcome.
cent in August 1992, had risen to 29 percent by October 1994. Indeed, in contrast to all 1992-93 political pre-
dictions, the Blanco ruling party, as we have seen, almost won the November 1994 presidential elections.
These and other Equipos polls were published in El Observador on October 24,1994.
41. Many party leaders expressed concern after the November 1994 election that Uruguay's traditional
two-party system could become an even weaker base of government support as Uruguay became a three-
party system. In an effort to overcome problems of governability, all parties with representatives in the
legislature agreed to open negotiations on important electoral and socioeconomic reforms. See "Uruguay:
Congress Seeks to Update its Image," Latin American Regional Report: Southern Cone Report (April 20,
1995): 7-
42. For a discussion of these positive aspects of Uruguayan democracy, see Juan J. Linz, "Presidential or
Parliamentary Democracy: Does It Make a Difference?" in Juan J. Linz and Arturo Valenzuela, eds., The
Failure of Presidential Democracy (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994), 36-37, and Guillermo
O'Donnell, "Delegative Democracy," Journal of Democracy 5, no. i (January 1994): 55-69, esp 64.
11
Crises of Efficacy, Legitimacy,
and Democratic State "Presence":
Brazil
OF THE SEVEN southern European and South American countries we an-

alyze in this book, Brazil has experienced the most difficulty in consolidating de-
mocracy. Brazil shares with the other six countries the same previous regime
type—authoritarian—so this cannot explain the variation. Unlike Spain and
many of the East European countries, it had no significant stateness problem, so
this variable also is of no explanatory use for the crisis of consolidation.1 It shared
with Uruguay, Chile, and Argentina the extremely unfortunate consequences of
the international debt crisis, but although it had the largest total debt of all coun-
tries in the world outside of the United States, its per capita debt throughout the
19805 was substantially less than that of Chile or Argentina, both of which by the
early 19905 had managed their debt crises better.2 The Brazilian transition's ori-
gins in a hierarchically controlled military regime did, of course, have numerous
deleterious consequences for the democratization process, which we will evalu-
ate. However, Brazil is not as constrained by the military as is Chile, and, as we
shall see, Chile is not experiencing such multiple crises of the polity.
The major distinctive problem in Brazil concerns our variable of the political
economy of legitimacy. Brazil has by far the most unequal distribution of income
and the worst social welfare and educational standards of any of the southern
European or South American or, for that matter, Central European countries in
our set, and this certainly has not helped the effort to consolidate democracy.3
1. However, it is true that, in the midst of a prolonged fiscal (and political) crisis of the state, Brazil in
1992-93 saw numerous movements in the North and West demanding that some states be subdivided to
form new ones, and a secessionist movement with strong racist overtones emerged in the relatively ho-
mogenously developed and predominantly white states of Rio Grande do Sul, Santa Catarina, and Paraná.
A forthcoming book by Aspásia Alcántara de Camargo will review the growing problems of Brazilian fed-
eralism.
2. See, for example, the frequent publications of the World Bank in the 19805 called the World Bank Debt
Table.
3. For example, the World Bank has data on income distribution for forty-one countries. In this group
Brazil has the highest percentage of gross domestic product (GDP) per capita going to the top decile of the
population and the lowest percentage going to the poorest two deciles of the population. See World Devel-
Brazil 167
Furthermore, Brazil has historically had the least structured system of political
parties of the four South American countries we analyze in this book. In this
context, between 1985 and 1993, seven different reform packages were launched,
failed, and were abandoned by a political society unable to craft together a sus-
tainable policy coalition.4 Like some post-Communist countries we will examine
later, such as Russia, this political inefficacy had an erosive effect on each of the
basic dimensions of a democratic polity. Constitutionalism and rule of law—
never strong in Brazil's highly unequal society—weakened further. The pro-
longed economic crisis diminished the state's fiscal and moral capacity to play an
integrating role in society and to provide basic services to citizens. The autonomy
and value attached to the institutions of political society became more and more
tenuous. As the state withdrew and political society was not able to craft sustained
support around any policy alternatives, society became more anomic and the
value of citizenship declined.
Our analysis of Brazil is divided into six parts. First, we briefly place Brazil's ini-
tial transition in comparative context. Second, we document how the hierarchical
Brazilian military imposed severe constraints on the first democratic government.
Third, we explore the nature of the crisis of the political economy of legitimacy.
Fourth, we document how this crisis of the political economy of legitimacy has
contributed to a degree of ambivalence about democracy that was not found in any
other of our southern European or South American cases. Fifth, we explore some
of the darker and more difficult problems this prolonged crisis had on citizenship,
the state, and the polity and analyze some necessary and plausible reforms. Sixth,
we briefly assess how Brazilians, facing the abyss in 1993, began in 1994 to piece to-
gether and support more promising plans to address Brazil's multiple crises.
A LONG, C O N S T R A I N E D T R A N S I T I O N
The Brazilian transition from authoritarianism began with the inauguration of

General Ernesto Geisel as president on March 15,1974. From their base in govern-
ment, Geisel and his closest political adviser, General Golbery do Couto e Silva,
opinent Report 1990: Poverty (World Bank, 1990), 236-37. Also see Bolivar Lamounier, "Brazil: Inequality
against Democracy," in Larry Diamond, Juan J. Linz, and Seymour Martin Lipset, eds., Democracy in De-
veloping Areas: Latin America (Boulder, Colo.: Lynne Rienner, 1989), 111-58.
4. Luis Carlos Bresser Pereira, a well-known Brazilian economist and former finance minister, reviews
why each one of these failed in "The Failure to Stabilize," his keynote speech to the conference "Brazil's Eco-
nomic, Political and Social Reform," Institute of Latin American Studies of the University of London, Feb-
ruary 16-17,1993- Although he argued that some plans were weak technically because they did not address
the specificities of Brazil's "inertia inflation," all plans, even those that were in his judgment technically cor-
rect, were aborted because of the inability to sustain political support once they encountered difficulties.
Also see Albert Fishlow, "The State of Economics in Brazil and Latin America: Is the Past Prologue to the
Future?" in Alfred Stepan, ed., Americas: New Interpretive Essays (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992),
58-79. An eighth and more successful plan, the Plan Real, was launched on July i, 1994, with broader nego-
tiated political support than the other plans. We will discuss the Plan Real at the end of this chapter.
began a complex process of seeking out allies in civil society in order to check the
growing autonomy of the security community, which they considered dangerous
for the military-as-institution and unnecessary because all guerrilla movements
from the left had been destroyed. They initiated a controlled liberalization but
soon there began a long process of what Stepan has analyzed as a dynamic of
"regime concession and societal conquest."5 The democratic transition in Brazil
was not completed until the directly elected president, Fernando Collor de Mello,
assumed office on March 15,1990. This sixteen-year transition is almost twice as
long as the Portuguese transition (which is the longest in our southern Europe set).
The length of the Brazilian transition appears even more dramatic when we con-
sider that the Brazilian authoritarian regime only began on March 31,1964.
Both the extraordinary length of the Brazilian transition and the fact that the
military "opening" (abertura) was six years longer than the military "closure"
seem to us directly related to the fact that the authoritarian regime, although
it never fully institutionalized, was hierarchically led by a military organization
that had sufficient power to control the pace of the transition and extract a high
price for extrication.6
From February to June 1984, Brazil experienced the most sustained and mas-
sive political movement in its history—the campaign for Diretas Ja, or Direct
Elections Now. The most significant forces in political and civil society wanted
direct elections. In fact, no major group in civil society, including business, spoke
out against direct elections.7 However, the military insisted on indirect elections
and the first civilian government since 1964 thus came into being in 1985 via indi-
rect elections. To make matters worse, the popular but indirectly elected Tancredo
Neves died before assuming office, and the compromise vice-presidential choice,
José Sarney, who had been president of the proregime party, served for the next
five years as president, even though by 1988 three out of four Brazilians wanted
his term to be cut short.8 The constraining conditions imposed by the outgoing
5. For interviews with Golbery and Geisel about why they began this process, see Stepan, Rethinking
Military Politics: Brazil and the Southern Cone (Princeton University Press, 1988), 30-44. For the conquest
dynamic within civil society that eventually pushed the military liberalization plans toward democratiza-
tion, see Alfred Stepan, "State Power and the Strength of Civil Society in the Southern Cone of Latin Amer-
ica," in Peter B. Evans, Dietrich Rueschemeyer, and Theda Skocpol, eds., Bringing the State Back In (Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 331-43.
6. For articles by two key social theorists and party leaders (Fernando Henrique Cardoso and Francisco
Weffort) about the Brazilian transition; on civil society resistance by Ralph della Cava, Margaret E. Crahan,
and Scott Mainwaring; and on the evolution of the political system by Bolivar Lamounier and Maria do
Carmo Campello de Souza, see Alfred Stepan, ed., Democratizing Brazil: Problems of Transition and Con-
solidation (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989).
7. See the special issue of Veja (January 16,1985). Also see Alfred Stepan, "State Power and the Strength
of Civil Society in the Southern Cone of Latin America," in Evans, Rueschemeyer, and Skocpol, eds., Bring-
ing the State Back In, 331-343.
8. For documentation of Sarney's lack of support, see Bolivar Lamounier and Alexandre H. Marques,
"A democracia brasileira no final da 'década perdida,'" in Bolívar Lamounier, ed., Ouvindo o Brasil: Unta
Análise da Opiniáo Pública Brasileira Hoje (Sao Paulo: Editora Sumaré, 1992), 143.
Brazil 169
hierarchically controlled military regime affected not only the origins of the new
civilian government but its performance. On a whole range of key policy issues,
the civilian government, at best, shared sovereignty with the military. Through-
out the entire government of the first civilian president, José Sarney (1985-90),
there were six military ministers in the cabinet. On numerous occasions the mil-
itary unilaterally decided whether or not to send military units to quell strikes.
Active duty army officers continued in control of the National Intelligence Ser-
vice. None of Brazil's controversial nuclear projects were discussed in Congress.
The military played a major role in setting the boundaries to agrarian reform.9
Military influence on the Constituent Assembly was significantly strong to
warrant placing Brazil's constitution in our category of a "constitution created
under highly constraining circumstances reflecting the de facto power of non-
democratic institutions and forces." The military, via a skillful combination of
threats and lobbying, succeeded in eliminating, softening, or subverting most of
the proposed constitutional clauses that would have curtailed military autonomy.10
The most dramatic instance of military involvement in constitution-making con-
cerned their maneuvering with the president to forestall Latin America's first ex-
periment in parliamentarianism or, more likely, "semi-presidentialism," along
the lines of the French Fifth Republic. Support among the members of the Con-
stituent Assembly for a more parliamentary form of government was such that
the first seventy-seven articles were drawn up and approved in final form in a lan-
guage that supposed that the basic form of the government would be parliamen-
tary and not presidential. However, just before the crucial vote on article 78 that
would have explicitly established a parliamentary form of government in Brazil,
the military helped alter the balance of power. The indirectly elected president,
José Sarney, who did not want his term or his powers to be curtailed, and the
army, which did not want to be subject to parliamentary votes of no confidence
and which wanted to retain their direct relationship to the president, joined
forces. President Sarney and the military launched a powerful counterattack of
pork-barrel payoffs and threats, and presidentialism triumphed in a last-minute
vote change in the Constituent Assembly.11
COMBINED CONSTITUTIONAL,
P O L I T I C A L , A N D ECONOMIC F R A G I L I T Y
This sudden use of military-backed presidential power contributed to Brazil's

constitutional, political, and economic fragility as it attempted to consolidate
9. For extensive documentation see Stepan, Rethinking Military Politics, 103-14.

10. See Eliézer Rizzo de Oliveira, "O papel das forças armadas na nova constituiçâo e no futuro da
democracia no Brasil," Vozes 82, no. 2 (July-Dec. 1988): 21-27.
11. The above discussion is based on extensive interviews by Alfred Stepan conducted in Brasilia in De-
cember 1989.
i/o South America: Constrained Transitions
democracy in the 19905. In fact, the members of the Constituent Assembly never
altered the first seventy-seven "parliamentary" articles. The 1988 constitution thus
featured greatly enhanced legislative powers consistent with a parliamentary con-
stitution so that the president, especially in budgetary areas, cannot—except by
decree—rule with any efficacy without strong legislative support.12 However,
President Collor, a classic example of the antipolitics and antiparty politician that
presidentialism and television can produce, began his presidency backed by a
party that controlled less than 5 percent of the seats in congress.
The first major policy initiative of the Collor presidency, the stabilization or
"Collor plan," quickly revealed the threats such a weak congressional base present
for democratic consolidation. In dramatic contrast to Spain, where the stabiliza-
tion agreement, the Moncloa Pact, was the result of complex party negotiations
and was formally ratified in Parliament, in Brazil President Collor's plan was an-
nounced on television to a shocked nation with absolutely no prior consultation
with political parties or congress. A dangerous game of policy deadlock or presi-
dential intimidation had begun.13 Two key "provisional decrees" were quickly
challenged as unconstitutional by the courts and withdrawn. But the president
threatened Congress that he would mobilize the masses to support his plan.
"There is no doubt that I have an intimate deep relation with the poor masses,"
he announced. He warned Congress that it "must respect me because I am the
center of power."14 Even one of President Collor's strongest supporters, the in-
fluential conservative former minister of finance, Senator Roberto Campos, la-
mented, "This is juridical butchery, which dashes confidence in the Collor plan."15
Unlike President Fujimori in Peru, President Collor did not attempt an "auto-
coup," but less than halfway through his presidency his isolation from civil and
political society contributed to the fact that he had tried and failed with two dif-
ferent drastic stabilization plans.16 He was also personally mired in corruption
scandals.17 In any democratic regime there is always the risk of a "crisis of gov-
12. For an analysis by an important economist who became Minister of Planning in 1995, see José Serra,
"A constituiçâo e o gasto público," Planejamento e Políticas Públicas no. i (June 1989): 93-106.
13. For a pioneering comparative account of the politics of policy planning in Spain and Brazil, see Luis
Carlos Bresser Pereira, José María Maravall, and Adam Przeworski, Economic Reforms in New Democracies:
A Social Democratic Approach (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1993).
14. Latin American Regional Reports: Brazil, May 3,1990,6. This is, of course, the type of discourse that
Guillermo O'Donnell so deftly analyzes in his "Delegative Democracy," Journal of Democracy 5, no. i (Jan.
1994): 55-69-
15. See "Mounting Criticism of'Authoritarian Governments' Novo Brasil Plan," Latin American Regional
Reports: Brazil, June 7,1990,1-3; Campos quote on p. 2.
16. See Luiz Carlos Bresser Pereira, Os tempos heroicos de Collor. Adventuras da modernidade e desven-
turas da ortodoxia (Sao Paulo: Nobel, 1991).
17. The best source on the breadth and depth of the corruption that surrounded Collor's presidency is
the 371-page congressional report, Brazil, Congresso Nacional, "Relatório Final da Comissäo Mista de In-
quérito" (August 1992). For an analysis of this report, see Luiz Felipe de Alencantro, "O Relatório da CPI:
Urn Retrato do Brasil," Novas Estudos CEBRAP no. 34 (Nov. 1992): 3-7. Also see the cover page article by
James Brooke, "Looting Brazil," New York Times Magazine, November 8,1992,30-33,42-45,70-71.
Brazil 171
ernment." By June 1992, Brazil faced an acute crisis of government. The key issue
for democracy is that a crisis of government be resolved reasonably quickly before
it becomes a "crisis of regime" so that a new political coalition can be reconsti-
tuted to attempt anew to combine policy efficacy with democratic legitimacy. In
a parliamentary system without direct elections for the chief executive, Collor
would not normally have been selected prime minister since his party controlled
less than 5 percent of the votes in Congress. Even if a majority had passively sup-
ported him in the beginning, faced with the crisis of government by mid-1992 he
would almost certainly have been peacefully and quietly replaced by someone
who could command at least a temporary majority. In Brazil's presidential sys-
tem, however, the only way to get a new government was to impeach President
Collor, a process which all key political players initially felt would be extremely
difficult and dangerous.18 The constitutional crisis created a setting where key
politicians toyed with the dangerous precedent of hastily moving up the sched-
uled date for a referendum on parliamentarianism, influential commentators and
a near majority of public opinion wanted the president to resign, but the presi-
dent insisted on filling out his "mandate." '9 While the military was not directly to
blame for this turn of events, without their key supportive role in vetoing the par-
liamentary plans of the Constituent Assembly, Brazil's democratic consolidation
would not have been threatened by such an intense legislative-executive conflict
in the 1990-94 presidential term. Fortunately, when faced with the crisis, both
Brazilian civil society and political society rallied forces and were successfully able
to carry out South America's first impeachment in the twentieth century. But the
weak vice-president, Itamar Franco, who became acting president and eventually
president, was initially just as incapable as President Collor of implementing a
coherent economic policy.
A M B I V A L E N T A T T I T U D E S TOWARD D E M O C R A C Y
Given this context it would be surprising if the Brazilian public had attitudes
that were as strongly supportive of democracy as in the consolidated democracies
of Spain, Portugal, Greece, or Uruguay. Indeed, on the eve of President Collor's
second aniversary in power, and thus two months before the corruption and im-
18. Constituçao República Federativa do Brasil, 1988 (article 86) stipulates that the removal of a presi-
dent requires a two-thirds vote in the House of Representatives and then a trial by the Senate (for a politi-
cal crime) or by the Supreme Court (for ordinary penal crimes). Impeachment was further complicated by
the fact that the implementing legislation, spelling out procedures, had not yet been passed (article 85).
19. Much of President Collor's support in the 1989 presidential election had come from his pledge that
he would fight corruption. By June 1992, only 19 percent of those polled felt he was innocent of the crimi-
nal charges of corruption, but 71 percent felt he would not be convicted. Nonetheless, 47 percent wanted
him to resign or take a temporary leave of absence from the presidency as legal processes advanced. See
Folha de Sao Paulo, June 25,1992, i. For military and political calls for Collor's resignation, see James Brooke,
"Brazil's President Damaged by Corruption Inquiry," New York Times, June 28,1992, A-9.
1/2 South America: Constrained Transitions
Table 11.1. Comparison of Attitudinal Support for Democracy in Brazil versus the Four Consolidated
Democracies of Uruguay, Spain, Portugal, and Greece
Brazit Uruguay Spain Portugal Greece

Opinion about Preferred Polity (1992) (1991) (1985) (1985) (1985)
"Democracy is preferable to any other form of 42 73 70 61 87

government."
"In some cases, a nondemocratic government could be 22 10 10 9 5
preferable to a democracy."
"For people like me, a democratic and a nondemocratic 24 8 9 7 6
regime are the same."
DK/l\IAa 12 9 11 23 2
Source: For Uruguay, same as table 10.1. For Spain, Portugal, and Greece, same as table 8.2. For Brazil, data from "Avaliaçâo
do Governo Collor apos dois años de mandato," Datafolha (Sao Paulo: Feb. 1992I, national sample of 2,500.
a
peachment crisis we have just been discussing, a national opinion poll revealed
that Brazilian citizens had attitudes that were strikingly more ambivalent about
democracy than in the four consolidated democracies we have discussed (Spain,
Portugal, Greece, and Uruguay) (Table 11.1).
These 1992 results were so stark that we inventoried all the polls given in Brazil
on these questions to see if the March 1992 results were anomalous or part of a
more persistent pattern. Fortunately for our research these identical questions
had been asked six times in Brazil between 1988 and 1992, by four different orga-
nizations using somewhat different samples and polling techniques. Unfortu-
nately for Brazilian politics, in every single poll, Brazil scored lower than Spain,
Uruguay, Portugal, or Greece on each of the three core questions (table 11.2).
In the 1986-92 period, the high point of support for democracy was in De-
cember 1989, immediately after Brazil's first direct presidential election in twenty-
nine years.20 By 1991 and 1992, however, this support had declined to new lows.
The results of Tables 11.1 and 11.2 are so clear that, taken by themselves, one would
have to render the judgment that Brazilian democracy is far from consolidated.
We have argued that support for democracy must always be assessed in compar-
ison to other alternatives. In the case of Uruguay we saw that there was a severe
efficacy-legitimacy gap. However, this gap was rendered less dangerous for de-
mocracy in Uruguay because the political parties filled most of the political space
and the military was not accepted as an alternative. Indeed, we saw that the dem-
ocratic government of President Sanguinetti, despite its difficulties, was judged to
be more effective than the military on all seven policy areas where their perfor-
20. For an analysis of how increased participation during the election increased support for democracy,
see the forthcoming book by José Alvaro Moisés, Cultura Política, as well as his "Democratization and Mass
Political Culture in Brazil" (St. Antony's College, Oxford University, March 1992, unpublished manuscript).
Brazil 173
Table 11.2. Evolving Attitudes toward Democracy in Brazil, 1988-1992

December September December March April April

Opinion about Preferred Polity 1988 1989 1989 1990 1991 1992
"Democracy is preferable to any 43 43 55 56 39 42

other form of government."
"In some cases, a nondemocratic 21 18 15 17 17 22
government could be preferable
to a democracy."
"For people like me, a democratic 26 22 16 17 28 24
and nondemocratic regime are the
same."
DK/NA/other 10 17 14 10 14 12
Sample size 800 2,083 2,510 2,480 3,650 2,500
(Sao Paulo) (National) (National) (National) (National) (National)
Organizer of poll IDESP CEDEC CEDEC CEDEC IBOPE Datafolha
Source: The December 1988 poll was organized by two researchers from IDESP and reported In Judith Muszynski and Antonio
Manuel Teixera Mendes, "Democratizaçâo e opinât) pública no Brasil," in Bolívar Lamounier, ed., De Geisel a Co/tor: 0 balanço
da transiçào (Sào Paulo: Editora Sumaré, 19901. 61-80, esp. 70. The September 1989, December 1989, and March 1990 studies
came from a multiyear research project on political culture organized by José Alvaro Moisés from CEDEC and will be reported
in a forthcoming book. The April 1991 results are by IBOPE, Brazil's largest commercial polling organization which uses
telephone interviewing. The IBOPE results are reported in Bolivar Lamounier, ed., Ouvindo o Brasil: Urna análise da opiniâo
pública brasileira hoje (Sao Paulo: Editora Sumaré, 1992), 137-58, esp. 150-51. The April 1992 survey was conducted by
Datafolha, the public opinion polling organization of the newspaper Folha da Sao Paulo.
manees were compared. The situation in Brazil was substantially more danger-
ous. Both efficacy and legitimacy were quite low and a significant proportion of
the population judged the military government to have been more efficacious
than civilian government. In 1989, on five out of seven items, citizens believed that
the situation was better under the military regime of 1964-85 than under the first
four years of civilian democratic rule (table 11.3).
Even more dangerous than a high valuation of the past performance of the mil-
itary is the question of future preference. In dramatic contrast to Uruguay or even
Argentina, a significant percentage of Brazil's citizens have persistently seen the
return of the military as a desired future alternative. For example, in a December
1988 comparative study of new democracies in Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay,
only 6 percent of the Montevideo residents polled felt a return of the military
would make things better, only 15 percent in Argentina felt so, but 40 percent of
the inhabitants polled in Sao Paulo felt so.21 In a national poll a year later, in re-
sponse to the statement, "The country would be better off if the military returned
to power," 38 percent concurred and only 45 percent disagreed.22
21. See Judith Muszynski and Antonio Manuel Teixeira Mendes, "Democratizaçâo e opiniäo pública no
Brasil," in Bolívar Lamounier, ed., De Geisel a Collar. O balanço da transiçào (Sâo Paulo: Editora Sumaré,
1990), 71.
22. This poll is discussed in Cultura Política, no. i (Sept. 1989).
Table 11.3. Citizen Satisfaction with Brazil's Performance in the Military Regime of 1964-1985 and
the First Four Years of Civilian-led Democracy (New Republic)
Better in the Better in the Equal in Don't Know or

Item Evaluated Military Regime New Republic Both Periods No Answer
Overall situation 46 17 28 9
Economic situation 52 13 26 9
Inflation 56 14 21 9
Foreign debt 37 18 30 15
Corruption 35 18 32 15
Political liberties 19 48 18 15
Freedom of expression 16 50 17 17
Source: Data from Ibope (April 1989), W=2,750, national poll. Cited in Bolivar Lamounier and Alexandre H. Marques, "A
democracia brasileira no final da 'década perdida,'" in Bolívar Lamounier, ed., Ouvindo o Brasil: Urna análise da opinad pública
brasiieira hoje (Sao Paulo: Editora Sumaré, 1992), 149.
Why do so many Brazilians feel ambivalent about democracy? One possible

hypothesis is that, in a country with possibly the worst income distribution in the
world, the poorest citizens feel that the combination of inefficacious government
and prolonged politics of austerity has meant that democracy has made no positive
impact on the economic quality of their life. In fact, when we run the three clas-
sic questions about support for democracy against citizens' statements concern-
ing their economic situation, we see a mixed picture. On two of the three ques-
tions, the poorest citizens were indeed the least supportive of democracy.
However, on one key question, "in some circumstances a dictatorship is better
than a democracy," they were the most supportive of democracy. The general pic-
ture that emerges is that in inequality-ridden Brazil, support for democracy is rel-
atively low in all groups (table 11.4).
When we explore further citizens' ambivalence about democracy in Brazil, we
find ourselves confronting disturbing information concerning three of the arenas
of consolidated democracies—rule of law, a usable state, and a strong political
society—we discussed in chapter i. In Spain, Portugal, Greece, and Uruguay, these
three arenas were not problematical for the consolidation of democracy, so we did
not devote much attention to them. Brazil, however, forces us to explore these
arenas of democracy in greater detail.
Democracy is less a normative utopia than an agreement about arrangements
for regulating conflict. The state itself must respect the law and be a resource for
citizens in the regulation of conflict. For the state (under the direction of a dem-
ocratic government and shaped by democratic institutions) to carry out its con-
flict regulation and social integration tasks, two things are necessary. First, the
state must be normatively and institutionally present throughout the territory.
Brazil 175
Table 11.4. Correlation between Respondents' Attitudes toward the Adequacy of Their Income and
Their Attitude toward Democracy: Brazil
"My income is
"My income is "My income is very small and
Entire more than precisely what "My income is this creates
Opinion about Preferred Polity Sample sufficient." I need." not sufficient." difficulties."
"Democracy is preferable to any 42 52 49 49 35

other form of government."
"In some cases, a dictatorship 22 26 24 23 21
could be preferable to a
democracy."
"For people like me, a 24 16 23 21 27
democratic and a nondemocratic
DK/NAa 12 7 5 7 16
A/ 2,500 55 11 864 1,247
Source: Data from Datafolha, Brazilian National Survey, February 1992.

a
OK/NA, don't know or no answer.
Second, the state must be seen as a relatively usable and fair vehicle for settling
conflicts in the polity. We are living in a period when there are cries for shrinking
the role of the state in all areas. But one of the normative promises of democracy
is that citizens will have their rights respected. If one group in civil society, be-
cause of its superior economic or coercive resources, denies the rights of other
groups in civil society, then, if democracy is indeed to be a vehicle for regulating
conflict and providing rights to its citizens, the state must be effectively present. It
is in this basic sense that citizenship and democracy assume the normative and
institutional presence of the state. Modern citizenship and modern democracy
require a state. Even before the auto-coup by President Fujimori, the Peruvian
state had shrunk so much that citizenship and democracy had already lost most
of their meaning. Brazil too is a country with great problems concerning the
normative and institutional presence of the state. Study after study reveals that the
over-riding majority of Brazil's citizens do not believe that the state attempts to
enforce laws on all its citizens impartially. In particular, citizens believe that the
justice system fundamentally exists to protect the powerful and that the police are
not to be trusted (table 11.5).
The police and the legal system are virtually not present concerning detection
and prosecution of rural violence against the poor. Between 1964 and 1989,1,566
citizens (rural workers, indigenous people, and some lawyers and religious peo-
ple) were killed in conflicts involving land disputes. Only 17 people were ever tried
for these killings. Only 8 were convicted. The absence of access of ordinary citi-
Table 11.5. Degree of Agreement or Disagreement with Statements about the Fairness of the
Justice System and the Police in Brazil, 1989
Completely Partially Partially Completely

Assertion Agree Agree Disagree Disagree
"In Brazil the justice system only functions to help the powerful." 58 26 7 6
"The police arrest and kill innocent people. 39 39 9 9
Source: Data from CEPAC-IBOPE national poll of eighty questions administered in April 1991 to a national sample of 3,600
respondents. The results are partially reported by the director of CEPAC; Rubens Figuiredo, "Verdades e mitos sobre a cultura
brasileira," in Lamounier, Ouvindo o Brasil, 95-115. In May 1989 the Sao Paulo Commission on Peace and Justice did focus
group analysis on citizen perceptions of the justice system, the police, and the fairness of the state. The qualitative results
strongly support the quantitative findings of CEPAC-IBOPE. See Pesquisa direitos humanos: Primeira fase relatarlo final (Sao
Paulo: Comisao Justiça e Paz, Maio, 1989).
zens to the law is demonstrated graphically by the fact that, of the eight convic-
tions, three cases involved priests, three involved lawyers, and two involved inter-
national organizations coming to the defense of indigenous peoples.23
In urban areas the state is present in the form of police but the use of deadly
force is extremely high by world standards for a democracy. For example, one
measure of estimating whether deadly force is excessive is the ratio of police killed
to citizens killed in gun fire exchanges in the line of duty. In 1990 in New York City,
7.8 citizens were killed in such exchanges for every policeman. In 1990 in the city
of Sao Paulo, the ratio was 28 to i. In greater Sao Paulo, where much of the poorer
population lives, the ratio was closer to 40 to i. Another key indicator to explore
is wounded to killed ratios, that is, the number of citizens wounded in encounters
with police in relation to the number of citizens killed in such encounters. In
Chicago from 1971 to 1974, the ratio was three people wounded by the police to
every one killed by the police (393 citizens were wounded and 131 citizens were
killed). In Sao Paulo in 1990 however, 251 citizens were wounded and 588 citizens
were killed by the police. That is, the killed to wounded ratio was 7 times that of
Chicago. Such a killed to wounded ratio indicates that many citizens were proba-
bly not so much killed in gun fights with the police as executed by the police.24
These indicators help explain why many reports in Brazil show that people are
23. See Paulo Sergio Pinheiro, "Democracia, derechos humanos y desarrollo económico y social: Ob-
stáculos y resistancias. El caso de Brasil," Núcleo de estudios da violencia, (Dec. 1991): u.
24. For a pioneering study of these and other indicators, see Paul G. Chevigny, "Police Deadly Force as
Social Control: Jamaica, Brazil and Argentina," Núcleo de estudos da violencia, (1991). These questions are
brilliantly reviewed and documented in Wanderley Guilherme dos Santos, "Fronteiras do Estado Mínimo:
Indicaçàes sobre o híbrido institucional brasileiro," in Razôes da desorden! (Rio de Janeiro: Rocco, 1993),
77-116. For an excellent and disturbing analysis of a cycle of public sector nonperformance in the areas of
justice, which helps generate civil society vigilantism and hostility toward defenders of human rights,
which in turn feeds indiscriminate police violence, see the chapter, "Police Violence and the Failure of the
Rule of Law," in Teresa Pires do Rio Caldeira, "City of Walls: Crime, Segregation and Citizenship in Sâo
Paulo" (Ph.D. diss. Department of Anthropology, University of California at Berkeley, 1992), 159-223.
Brazil 177
so afraid of the police that they seldom will ask for their help in regulating con-
flict. As we shall see, this contrasts sharply with Chile, where 76 percent of the total
population, and even 72 percent of those who identify themselves as being on the
left, believe they would receive favorable treatment if they went to the police with
a problem.25
The fiscal crises of the state in Brazil exacerbates many of these problems. For
example, the National Police Academy, which could possibly have become the
source of new research, socialization, and training by the new democratic gov-
ernment, has been closed since 1985 due to fiscal constraints.26
Guillermo O'Donnell has made a fundamental observation about the theme
we have just been discussing. He argues that if one could color a map green where
the state and the democratic government are effectively present, grey where they
are only intermittently present, and blank where their services, laws, and norms
are not felt, a consolidating democracy should be getting greener. Unfortunately,
the combination of low efficacy, high corruption, indiscriminate neoliberal state
bashing, and fiscal crisis has meant that from 1985 to 1993 the grey and blank areas
of Brazil expanded more than the green areas.27
In late April 1993, six months after President Collor's impeachment and the
assumption of office by President Itamar Franco, Brazil continued with inflation
at near 30 percent a month. Many analysts expressed their doubts that any serious
constructive change could happen until a new president was inaugurated in Jan-
uary 1995. Numerous politicians and citizens alike voiced their fear that the pres-
idential election would polarize the country and produce another minority gov-
ernment. Commentators even worried at the time that, if hyperinflation hit
Brazil, President Itamar Franco might resign and this could produce a political
and constitutional crisis.28
25. The Chilean data are contained in "Estudio social y de opinión pública," Centro de Estudios Públi-
cos, Documento de Trabajo, no. 173 (Santiago, Chile, Feb. 1992), 65. The wariness of the Brazilian population
about the police is captured by the song by Chico Buarque de Holanda, "Help! Call the Thief!" (instead of
"Help! Call the Police!")
26. Interview of Stepan with Celio Borja, Minister of Justice, Brasilia, April 7,1992. In the same interview,
when asked to comment on why Brazilians had doubts about the justice and police systems, he answered
"they are right to have such doubts." But he went on to lament that he had virtually no financial resources to
allocate to improve the situation.
27. Guillermo O'Donnell, "Notes on State, Regime and Crisis—or how I am finding it useful to think
about countries that are not moving at all toward a consolidated democratic regime" (paper prepared for
a conference of the East-South System Transformation Project, Toledo, Jan. 1991). We have, for stylistic rea-
sons, taken the liberty of changing some of O'Donnell's colors, but his fundamental observation remains.
A somewhat revised version of O'Donnell's seminal work was published as "On the State, Democratization
and Some Conceptual Problems (a Latin American View with Glances at some Post-Communist Coun-
tries)," World Development 21 (1993): 1355-69.
Also see dos Santos, "Fronteiras do Estado Mínimo," in the book Razöes da desordem. In the same book
also see "Primeiro, terceiro e outros mundos possíveis, ou como se tornar um país mais pobre e predar o
planeta," 117-48.
28. One of Brazil's leading newsletters, "Carta Política," in its April 5-11,1993, issue, actually ran an elite
poll on who should succeed President Franco if he resigned. In conversations with Stepan in April 1993,
some deputies said that, before President Itamar Franco could be encouraged to resign, the next official in
In this context, one of Brazil's most influential journalists wrote the following
editorial in Brazil's largest newsweekly:
"The March Towards a Coup"
Below follows a small list of assumptions about which it is reasonable to suppose that there ex-
ists a form of consensus in Brazil.
1. The country is without a currency.
2. The Brazilian economy is passing through the worst crisis of this century and there is no hope
of recuperation in the next two years. Much less recuperation within the current rules of the game.
3. The crisis of the public security services of the great cities has made the citizens frightened
to go out into the street.
4. The executive power entered into a collapse ten years ago.
5. The legislative power is without prestige.
It is possible to live with some of these plagues for a long time, or even with all five for a short
time, but it is impossible to endure all indefinitely.
Brazil is on the road to a coup d'etat. This situation cannot last two more years. How the
coup will come is difficult to say. Depending on the results of the presidential elections next
year, and the conduct of the winner, it could be more similar to 1937 (a coup with the president)
than to 1964 (against the president).
... To say that there is no danger of a coup because the armed forces are out of politics is non-
sense. The people who make coups in Brazil are the fat cats of civilian life. . . . There is not a
coup in march. What there is, is a situation that will bring the middle class and the empresarios
to march in the direction of a coup.29
Even without the above editorial we believe that we have given more than enough
evidence to demonstrate that Brazil in 1993 was far from a consolidated democracy.
Indeed, the central questions to conclude with are what could be done to avoid a
further erosion of Brazil's fragile democracy or, more positively, to improve the
quality of Brazil's democracy. These questions of course merit many full-length eco-
nomic, social, and political studies. We will limit ourselves to a few observations that
flow directly out of our initial theoretical framework concerning the five arenas of
a consolidated democracy we discussed in table 1.1: a lively civil society, a relatively
autonomous and valued political society, a rule of law, a usable state, and an insti-
tutionalized economic society. Is democracy in Brazil an overdetermined failure or,
in the Hirschmanian sense, are there some possibilistic opportunities?
DEMOCRATIC ARENAS IN BRAZIL: POSSIBILISTIC RESTRUCTURING?
Let us first address the question of a rule of law. The concept of "accountability"
is central to the modern theory and practice of democratic control of the state.
the constitutional line of succession, the president of the Chamber of Deputies, who also was involved in
corruption charges, should be forced out of office.
29. Elio Gaspari, Veja (April 28,1993): 23.
Brazil 179
Unfortunately, there is no word for accountability in Portuguese. The closest

word is responsabilidade, which conveys the idea that, if something goes excep-
tionally wrong, the person in charge will assume responsibility. In modern dem-
ocratic practice, however, accountability carries broader connotations. It implies
that all financial records will be routinely subject to inspection and that it is the
obligation of the officials who use public funds to follow transparent procedures.
Increasingly, the concept is used to help draw boundaries between acceptable use
of public funds for public purposes and the unacceptable use of public funds for
private purposes. Bureaucrats and officials who treat state resources as their "pat-
rimony" are held accountable and can be put in jail.30
As we have seen, a major reason why the rule of law is so weak in Brazil is that
state officials are perceived by citizens not to be even-handed in the administra-
tion of justice. Worse, state officials often violate the law with impunity. In this re-
spect the impeachment of President Collor was a victory for democratic proce-
dures and the first major victory against "impunity." From a theoretical point of
view, what was impressive about the impeachment proceedings is that, in the
midst of the multiple crises of democracy, every major component of the Brazil-
ian polity carried out its fundamental democratic tasks. The charges of corrup-
tion in the Collor administration were first fully aired by civil society in a series
of excellent magazine and newspaper stories. Then, instead of downplaying the
charges or seeking extraconstitutional help from the military, the relevant part of
political society—the Brazilian Congress—correctly assumed the responsibility
to carry out a full investigation. The state also played its appropriate role. The
newly redefined office of the attorney general conducted an independent inquiry,
and the lustice Ministry allowed the federal police to carry out certain indispens-
able investigations. As the results of the multiple investigations became public,
civil society, this time through numerous mass public demonstrations, urged po-
litical society to vote for impeachment and against impunity. At no time did any
significant force outside or inside the military attempt to involve the military in
decelerating or accelerating the working of democratic procedures.31 It is too
30. For a succinct comparison of Max Weber's classic distinction between a modern bureaucracy and
the system of administration under patrimonial rule, see Reinhard Bendix, Max Weber: An Intellectual Por-
trait (New York: Anchor Books, 1960), 423-25. The six key principles of bureaucratic rule, all of which con-
trast with patrimonial practice and all of which the democratizing champions are still attempting to
achieve in Brazil, are the following: (i) "Official business is conducted on a continuous basis." (2) "It is con-
ducted in accordance with stipulated rules." (3) "Each official's responsibilities and authority are part of a
hierarchy of authority." (4) "Officials and other administrative employees do not own the resources neces-
sary for the performance of their assigned functions but they are accountable for their use of these re-
sources. Official business and private affairs, official revenue and private income are strictly separated."
(emphasis added) (5) "Offices cannot be appropriated by their incumbents." (6) "Official business is con-
ducted on the basis of written documents." Ibid., 424.
31. No full-blown academic studies of the impeachment have yet been published. However, an impor-
tant start is Maria D'Alva Gil Kinzo, "The Political Process of Collor's Impeachment" (paper prepared for
the conference, "Brazil: The Struggle for Modernization," Institute of Latin American Studies, University of
London, Feb. 18-19,1993> to be published in the conference proceedings by the institute). For the political
i8o South America: Constrained Transitions
early to make any judgments, but it is possible that the impeachment of Collor
has helped the rule of law more generally in Brazil by at least putting the issue of
impunity of state officials and legislators on the democratic agenda.32
Let us turn to the question of Brazil's "political society" and its relationship to
the economy. One of the principal tasks that a democratic political society must
perform is the aggregation of interests in such a way that elected governments can
develop sufficient democratic power to address effectively many of the major
problems society faces. As we have documented, the failure of seven different
stabilization plans between 1985 and 1992 was one of the many signs of the lack of
efficacy and democratic power in Brazil.
Brazil was not an economy in complete ruins in this period. For example, in
1992, while Mexico had a trade deficit of 22.8 billion dollars, Brazil had a trade sur-
plus of more than 15 billion dollars and reserves of more than 20 billion dollars.
But, largely due to its political crisis, the first three civilian presidents were unable
to gain support for any stabilization policy, the real income of workers deterio-
rated, and eventually the state faced such a fiscal crisis (defined as virtually no
credit so that the state can only borrow at very short term and at very high interest
rates) that real interest rates in 1992 approximated 30 percent. This high real inter-
est rate made new private sector investment prohibitively costly for those who
needed to go to capital markets and made the Brazilian government's internal debt
service so burdensome that the state could deliver fewer and fewer collective goods
to its citizens. Weak governments in Brazil from 1985 to 1993 would not or could not
address the fiscal crisis and stabilize the economy. The price of legislative support
was almost always an agreement not to put fiscal reform on the agenda or to give
special subsidies to constituents of congressmen and governors.
Many things contributed to this situation, but certainly a major role has been
played by Brazil's combination of a fragmented party system and populist, vol-
untarist presidents. Fragmented multiparty systems and presidentialism make an
extremely unsupportive combination for an enduring democracy.33 This is one of
process of impeachment, also see Marcos Nobre, "Pensando o Impeachment," Novos Estudos CEBRAP, no.
34 (Nov. 1992): 15-20.
32. For example, Veja (March 24,1993), 16-25, ran two articles contrasting impunity for corruption in
Brazil with imprisonment in Italy. Among other things, Veja pointed out that 31988 census of the 8,700 pris-
oners in the state of Rio de Janeiro did not unearth one person who was in jail for abuse of political funds
or influence peddling. The Ministry of Justice in April 1993 was replicating the study for the 126,000 pris-
oners in Brazil's jails and had tentatively found virtually no white-collar criminals or former high state of-
ficials in prison for any of Brazil's well publicized corruption scandals. Another sign of the new climate
were the serious investigations and unprecedented number of indictments that resulted from the massacre
of 111 prisoners by the state police following a prison riot in Sào Paulo. The riot occurred shortly after the
impeachment of Collor.
On a more cautionary note, almost no one went to jail for any of the Collorgate scandals or the Sao
Paulo massacre. The reforming attorney general of the republic, Aristides Junqueira, has argued that, un-
less the penal system and the judicial system are reformed so as to help yield convictions in cases of proven
wrong-doing, the new public consensus against impunity could turn to deepened cynicism.
33. See the powerfully argued article by Scott Mainwaring, "Presidentialism, Multipartism, and De-
Brazil 181
the many reasons we believed that the adoption of parliamentarianism in the

Brazilian plebiscite of April 21,1993, would have given valuable degrees of free-
dom to the country's fragile democratic system. Let us elaborate why we believe
the defeat of parliamentarianism in April 1993 was unfortunate.
Governments in a parliamentary system cannot form and cannot endure with-
out at least the compliance of a majority. Therefore, parliamentarianism over
time develops many incentives to produce coalitional majorities. Presidentialism
has far fewer coalition-inducing incentives.34 Because of parliamentarianism's
greater facility in creating enduring majorities out of multiparty coalitions, it has
a greater capacity to endure with a large number of parties in the legislature than
does presidentialism. In fact, between 1979 and 1989 as many as eleven consoli-
dated parliamentary democracies had—using the Laakso/Taagepera index to
count "effective" parties—between three and seven "effective" political parties in
their legislatures.35 In sharp contrast, none of the long-standing presidential
democracies had more than 2.7 "effective" political parties in their legislatures.
Using the same index, Brazil in 1992 had 8.5 parties in the lower house, making it
three times more fragmented (or less aggregated) than any long-standing, consol-
idated presidential democracy in the world (table 11.6). Parliamentarism, with its
mocracy: The Difficult Combination," Comparative Political Studies 26, no. 2 (July 1993): 198-228. He will
develop this argument in greater detail for the case of Brazil in "Dilemmas of Multiparty Presidential De-
mocracy: The Case of Brazil," in Scott Mainwaring and Matthew Shugart, eds., Presidentialism and Democ-
racy in Latin America (forthcoming).
34. The general argument for parliamentarism first appeared in print in Juan Linz's brief "Excursus on
Presidential and Parliamentary Democracy," in Linz and Stepan, The Breakdown of Democratic Regimes,
71-74. There is a growing literature regarding the comparative advantages of presidentialism and parlia-
mentarism, much of which is brought together in Juan J. Linz and Arturo Valenzuela, eds., The Failure of
Presidential Democracy (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994). For an article that gives empir-
ical, cross-national evidence that supports the parliamentary thesis, see Alfred Stepan and Cindy Skach,
"Constitutional Frameworks and Democratic Consolidation: Parliamentarism versus Presidentialism,"
World Politics (Oct. 1993): 1-22. For a sophisticated quantitative analysis that demonstrates that paliamen-
tary regimes are more conducive to economic growth and survive economic hard times better than do pres-
idential regimes, see Adam Przeworski and Mike Alvarez, "Parliamentarianism and Presidentialism: Which
Works? Which Lasts?" (paper prepared for presentation at the triennial congress of the Polish Sociological
Association, Lublin, June 27-30,1994).
Another of the many reasons we favor parliamentarianism is because it is a form of mutual dependence
between the legislature and the executive. The legislature can dismiss the government, and the government
can call for new elections. This mutual dependence helps produce coalitional majorities or, failing that,
provides routine impasse-breaking devices. In contrast, presidentialism is a system of mutual indepen-
dence. The president has a fixed and independent mandate, and the legislature has a fixed and independent
mandate. Governments can and do form without majorities and, in systems with many parties like Brazil,
such minority governments routinely face a situation of long-term legislative impasse with no routine con-
stitutionally available impasse-breaking device. Under these conditions legislatures can vote for budgets
without assuming the responsibility of government.
35. The "effective" number of parties is calculated using the Laakso/Taagepera index, which takes into
account the relative strength of parties according to the number of seats they hold in the lower house of the
national legislature. See Markku Laakso and Rein Taagepera, "'Effective' Number of Political Parties: A
Measure with Application to West Europe," Comparative Political Studies 12, no. i (April 1979): 3-27. See
Stepan and Skach, "Constitutional Frameworks and Democratic Consolidation," 8-9.
Table 11.6. A Laakso/Taagepera Index of "Effective" Political Parties in the Legislatures of the
Parliamentary, Semipresidential, and Presidential Continuous Democracies, 1979-1989
Parliamentary Semipresidentia! Presidential
3.0 or Fewer than 3.0 or Fewer than 3.0 or Fewer than

More Parties 3.0 Parties More Parties 3.0 Parties More Parties 3.0 Parties
Kiribati 3
Nauru3
Tuvalu8
Botswana 1.3
St. Vincent 1.4
Dominica 1.5
Jamaica 1.5
Bahamas 1.6
Trin&Tob 1.6
Barbados 1.7
St. Lucia 1.7
NewZeal. 2.0 USA 1.9
Canada 2.0
UK 2.1 Colombia 2.1
India 2.1
Greece 2.2 Dom. Rep. 2.3
Austria 2.4 Cost.Ric. 2.3
Australia 2.5
Solomons 2.5
Mauritius 2.5 Venez. 2.6
Ireland 2.7
Spain 2.7
Japan 2.9
W.Germ.3. 2 France 3.2
Norway 3.2
Sweden 3.4
Luxemb. 3.4
Israel 3.6 Portugal 3.6
Nether. 3.8
Italy 3.9
PapNeGu. 4.0
Iceland 4.3
Denmark 5.2
Belgium 7.0
Note: Switzerland and Finland are "mixed" systems with 5.4 and 5.1 effective parties, respectively.
Source: This table is reproduced from Alfred Stepan and Cindy Skach, "Constitutional Frameworks and Democratic
Consolidation: Parliamentarism versus Presidentialism," World Politics (Oct. 1993): 8-9. See also Markku Laakso and Rein
Taagepera, "'Effective' Number of Parties: A Measure with Application to West Europe," Comparative Political Studies 12, no.
1 (1979): 3-27.
3
Given the absence of formal parties, there are fewer than two "political groupings."
Brazil 183
strong incentives for party discipline and coalition-building, would, in our opin-
ion, encourage Brazil's political society to aggregate interests.
Having missed what we believe was an historic opportunity to change from a
presidential to a parliamentary system, what, if anything, could be done to im-
prove the aggregative and government-producing capacity of Brazilian political
society?36
In contrast to Chile and Uruguay, or even Argentina, Brazil has a political cul-
ture of weak party identities. But, while political culture is very important, so are
specific incentives that inhibit or reward party proliferation. In this respect, a good
case could be made that Brazil has one of the most permissive sets of electoral,
party, and congressional decision-rules of any country in the world. These deci-
sion-rules give extensive and very tangible incentives for "rent-seeking" behavior
by political entrepreneurs who create parties to use as tradeable assets or as a way
of avoiding party discipline.37
There are numerous important branching points in any "decision-tree" of
legislation that can encourage or discourage party proliferation. One major deci-
sion involves the type of electoral system a nation chooses for determining its leg-
islature's composition. Here, the decision is usually between a majority system, on
the one hand, and some form of proportional representation (PR), on the other
hand. Although PR systems are considered more "representative" in that they tend
to reproduce in parliament the relative weight of political forces in the country,
these systems also tend to produce a more fragmented legislature. Majority sys-
tems and single-member districts, contrariwise, are designed to produce a parlia-
ment that represents only those main political forces in the country which are,
electorally, the strongest. Therefore, the majority system tends to produce fewer
parties in the legislature.38 While this system may not appear to be as "represen-
tative" of the various political forces in a society (as compared to PR), it never-
theless encourages the formation of a legislature with majority parties and dis-
courages party proliferation.
At each branching point, Brazil has chosen the decision-rule that most en-
36. Bolivar Lamounier has written two excellent articles that explore these questions in detail. See his
"Brazil: Toward Parliamentarianism?" in Linz and Valenzuela, eds., The Failure of Presidential Democracy,
179-219. He analyzes the defeat of the parliamentary option on pp. 215-16. The depressing mood in Brazil
in early 1994 is captured starkly in Lamounier, "Latin America's Critical Elections: Brazil at an Impasse,"
Journal of Democracy 5, no. 3 (1994): 72-87.
37. The oldest political parties with a significant history in Brazil are the PMDB (Partido do Movimento
Democrático Brasileiro) and the PT (Partido dos Trabalhadores), both of which were founded in the 19705.
The three other South American cases in our analysis (Uruguay, Chile, and Argentina) all have some major
political parties that can trace their lineage to nineteenth century party roots. For a pioneering set of quan-
titative and qualitative camparisons, see Scott Mainwaring and Timothy R. Scully, "Introduction: Party Sys-
tems in Latin America," in Scott Mainwaring and Timothy R. Scully, eds, Building Democratic Institutions:
Party Systems in Latin America (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1995), 1-34.
38. See the classic study by Maurice Duverger, Political Parties (New York: Wiley, 1954). Also see Du-
verger's more recent work, " 'Duverger's Law': Thirty Years Later," in Bernard Grofman and Arend Lijphart,
eds., Electoral Laws and Their Political Consequences (New York: Agathon Press, 1986), 69-84.
courages party proliferation. Brazil chose proportional representation, but within

PR a country can have a high threshold (5 percent) for a party to be represented
in parliament or no threshold. Brazil has a threshold of close to zero. A party can
get representation in the National Congress with as little as 0.04 percent of the na-
tional vote.39 Concerning party discipline, the branching point is between a
closed-list system, where the party ranks the top candidates and hence creates
strong incentives for party discipline, or an open list, in which any candidate is
free to run and those candidates who get the most votes believe they have received
a "personal vote" rather than a party vote. Brazil has an open list. Legislative pro-
cedure can punish or not punish members who change parties. Brazil has no
sanctions whatsoever.40 A country can choose «otto give any free media time to
parties during elections, to give free media time only to major parties, or to give
time to all registered parties no matter how small. Brazil's current legislation gives
two hours of free time a year on national television and radio networks and one
hour of free time on statewide television and radio stations to all of the seventeen
registered parties.41
Could this extraordinary system of institutional incentives for party prolifera-
tion and undiscipline be altered? According to the constitution of 1988, anytime
between October 1993 and elections in 1994 a constitutional revisory assembly
could have come into being; in this assembly the two chambers would have met
jointly and laws concerning constitutional statutes could have been passed by a
simple majority. Unfortunately, they missed this opportunity. If a simple major-
ity of the Constituent Assembly had so decided, they could have changed the
Brazilian incentive system in numerous ways so as to discourage party fragmen-
tation. For example, if they had chosen a German-style mixed electoral system
(half PR with a 5 percent threshold and half single-member districts), Brazil
would most likely have cut its party index in half. Unfortunately, as table 11.6 shows,
while this is a perfectly normal number for a parliamentary system, it would still
be substantially higher than that of any long-standing, democratic presidential
system in the world. But our point is that despite Brazil's antiparty political cul-
39. This point is developed by Scott Mainwaring, "Parties, Politicians and Electoral Systems: Brazil in
Comparative Perspective," Comparative Politics (Oct. 1991): esp. 43 n. 7.
40. Survey reported in Folha de Sâo Paulo, October 27,1990, A-4. For an extensive documentation of
pary indiscipline, see the excellent article by Scott Mainwaring, "Brazil: Weak Parties, Feckless Democracy,"
in Mainwaring and Scully, eds., Building Democratic Institutions, 354-98. In this context electoral volatility
¡n Brazil is extremely high. In fact, according to the Pedersen index of electoral volatility, which measures
the percentage of seats (or votes) that change party hands from one election to another, the average volatil-
ity over a century in eighteen advanced industrial democracies was below 9 percent (in votes). Uruguay's
volatility on the Pedersen index from 1971 to 1989 was 9.1 percent, Argentina's from 1983 to 1993 was 12.7 per-
cent, Chile's from 1973 to 1991 was 15.8 percent, Brazil's from 1982 to 1990 was 40.9 percent, one of the high-
est ever recorded. Much of Brazil's volatility came from the choices of the politicians, not the electorate. For
example, more than one-third of all federal deputies elected in 1986 had changed their party by 1990. See p.
374 for data on the Pedersen index.
41. Announcement of Tribunal Superior Eleitoral reprinted in "Horario eleitoral gratuito recomeca día
6," O Estado de Sao Paulo, April 24,1993, 6.
Brazil 185
ture, the current democratic representatives, if they ever want to reduce the num-
ber of parties to a more manageable size or to improve party discipline in the leg-
islature, have a vast range of incentive systems they could use. If they do use them,
they will, in our judgment, increase the capacity of Brazil's political society to ag-
gregate interests and to generate democratic power. If they refuse to do so, they
may weaken rather than strengthen political society. This is not overdetermined.
In chapter i we argued that democratic consolidation required a "usable state."
We also argued that, despite the occasional state-bashing rhetoric of some who
argue for "state shrinking," serious and effective privatization paradoxically re-
quires a reasonably strong state regulatory apparatus.42 The goal of such a state
coordinated privatization strategy is to restructure the state so that the fiscal crisis
is overcome, state revenues are enhanced, and the overall market economy is
stronger. This strategy entails a simultaneous effort to narrow the scope of the
state, to sell off industries, and to downsize unnecessary personnel so that the pri-
vate sector is not unduly constrained and the state's capacity to carry out its core
responsibilities in health, education, law, and justice are enhanced. In different
ways both old and new democracies try to grapple with more or less success with
this difficult dual task.
Many international observers criticized President Collor's corruption but
praised his privatization. However, we believe that when privatization under Col-
lor is studied systematically the record will reveal that the combination of a frag-
mented political society and a voluntaristic president produced a radically sub-
optimal style of privatization that had dangerous consequences. For example, in
a country where the most serious estimates are that the dollar value of tax evasion
is greater than the dollar value of tax collection, President Collor in his hasty rush
to reduce state personnel continued the shrinking of tax collectors that had begun
with the 1979 oil shock. In Brazil in 1979 there were 12,000 federal tax agents. In
1992 there were only 5,700.43 Worse, the combination of presidential corruption
and an erratic series of economic reforms with no sustained political base led to
a taxpayer revolt. The index of nonpayment of income tax by juridical persons
who had acknowledged the amount of tax they owed (and thus were not the nor-
mal "evaders" but actual "defiant declarers") grew from 1.6 percent in 1988 (the
year before President Collor assumed office) to 50.7 percent in 1991 (his last full
year in office).44
42. As Miles Kahler argues, "orthodoxy has not dealt successfully with the paradox of using the state—
its only instrument—to change policy in a less statist direction." Kahler, "Orthodoxy and Its Alternatives:
Explaining Approaches to Stabilization and Adjustment," in Joan M. Nelson, ed., Economic Crisis and Pol-
icy Choice: The Politics of Adjustment in the Third World (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), 33-61,
quote from p. 55.
43. See the informative article on the erosion of the state's capacity to tax by Lourdes Sola, "State, Struc-
tural Reform and Democratization in Brazil: Economic Liberalization by Default," in C. Acuña, E. Ga-
marra, and W. Smith, eds., Democracy, Market and Structural Reform in Contemporary Latin America (New
Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 1994).
44. Data supplied to Alfred Stepan by the chief economist of the Brazilian congressional commission
Many of the state-shrinking reforms were so poorly drafted by the presidential

office that they were counterproductive. Critical parts of the "brain" of the state
were endangered by ill-thought-out privatization. For example, in the Ministry of
Industry and Commerce, support for computerized data banks concerning all of
Brazil's industries was canceled and much of the data lost. This eliminated an im-
portant potential resource for an effective tax collection effort. Analogously, in the
Ministry of Agriculture, a key animal inspection facility was drastically cut, which
weakened the state's quality control capacity vital to both health administration
and export promotion. Finally, many of the best civil servants in Brasilia left gov-
ernment service after President Collor exercised a line-item veto that would have
cut their retirement pay packages substantially. Some top civil servants were al-
most immediately rehired by other parts of the state and now receive two state
paychecks monthly. Many others were lost to public service or remained in a de-
moralized condition.45 Greater selectivity by state privatizers could have saved
more money and brainpower and could have more efficiently reduced redundant
or incompetent personnel.
Neoliberal reform can be done in such a way as to shrink unnecessary state ex-
penditures, eliminate the fiscal crisis, and increase the net sum of state social ex-
penditures and investments in infrastructure. Between 1986 and 1990 two reform
governors in the state of Ceará, Tasso Jereissati and Ciro Gomes, cut total pay-
checks from 152,000 to 112,000 (paychecks, not necessarily personnel, since some
individuals had received as many as seven paychecks) and went from spending 69
percent of the state budget on personnel and debt to 39 percent. With the extra
money the state of Ceará increased infrastructure investments and vital social ser-
vices. In the process, Ceará created an award-winning grassroots preventive med-
icine health program, reduced infant mortality by 32 percent in four years, devel-
oped a highly participatory self-help housing program, and built roads at one
quarter the cost per mile of roads built in other states. The two governors of Ceará
also generated the highest approval ratings of any governors in Brazil.46
President Collor's brand of neoliberalism and state-shrinking exacerbated the
fiscal crisis, paralyzed private sector investment, disorganized the state, and weak-
ened democratic support. Governor Tasso Jereissati's and Giro Gomes' brand of
neoliberalism ended the fiscal crisis, increased public sector social and infra-
on fiscal reform from a table on "Indices de Inadimpléncia—Brasil" to be published in the forthcoming

"Relatório Final da Comissäo Parlamentar Mista de Inquérito" on fiscal reform. Also see Sola, "State, Re-
form and Democratization in Brazil."
45. Stepan's interviews with staff members and a senator from the Brazilian Congressional Commission
for Economic Reform, April 22,1993. The civil service decree was Decree 8112, December 12,1990.
46. For the program to reduce infant mortality that won Ceará UNICEF's Maurice Pate Prize, see
UNICEF, "Ceará: Como Reduzir a Mortalidade Infantil" (June 1991). For a report on the reversal of the fis-
cal crisis, see Ceará, Secretaria de Planejamento de Ceará, "A caminho do Ceará melhor: A rota das mu-
danças" (Fortaleza: 1993), and "Hope from the North-East," Economist (Dec. 7,1991): 18-20.
Brazil 187
structure investment, led to a boom in private sector industry, restructured and

strengthened the state, and deepened democratic support.
Let us conclude with a comment about "civil society." Brazil has historically
had one of the worst income distribution patterns in the world. From 1980 to 1992
income distribution deteriorated further.47 Thus, in some fundamental sense, the
Brazilian economic crisis is clearly not due to an excess of effective demand for
redistribution by the poor. In fact, there is ample evidence to indicate that for
Brazilian democracy to improve, not only must political society be able to aggre-
gate demand more effectively, but the poorest of the poor should be able to artic-
ulate their demands more effectively, so that they have greater access to the rights
of citizenship and their potentially substantial weight is more routinely incorpo-
rated in the decision calculations of political society. Two recent studies of par-
ticipation and democracy in Brazil show that the clearest way for this to happen
is by increased education. One study of social organization shows that, if one di-
vided Brazil into five regions and each region had three levels of education, in
fourteen of the fifteen observations the more education a person had, the more
likely they were to join an organization.48 A multiyear public opinion study of po-
litical culture also shows that the less educated people were, the less critical they
were of government and the more distant they were from politics (a supportive
mix for the persistence of nonresponsive or antidemocratic governments). But,
among manual laborers, the more educated a person was, the more critical they
were of government services, but the more supportive they were of participatory
politics and engagement with the system (an attitude that, given Brazil's current
social deficit and political crisis, is supportive of democratic reform).49
Brazil is a case of an unconsolidated democracy. Part of its problem is due to
the constraints posed on the transition by the military and the debt crisis. But if
democracy erodes further in Brazil, it will mainly be because Brazilian democracy
has been unable to solve problems that emerged after the transition. Our brief
review of five critical components for a consolidated democracy, namely a system
of law and justice that is a recourse for citizens, a civil society that can articulate
demands, a political society that can aggregate demands, a state that performs
vital collective good functions, and an economic society that produces both taxes
and wealth, indicate that in every arena there are choice points where policies
could improve the situation. Neither breakdown nor consolidation is overdeter-
mined. However, unless there are important changes in most of the five key dem-
47. See Lamounier, "Brazil: Inequality against Democracy."

48. See dos Santos, "Fronteiras do Estado Mínimo," table 15, p. 97.
49. This is a major finding of the multiyear public opinion research project by José Alvaro Moisés, "Cul-
tura Política e Consolidaçâo Democrática no Brasil," to be published in book form. For a brief review of
the results of this project in English, see José Alvaro Moisés, "Democratization, Mass Political Culture and
Political Legitimacy in Brazil" (Center for the Advanced Study in the Social Sciences, Juan March Institute,
Madrid, estudio/working paper 1993/94, Feb. 1993).
ocratic arenas we have just discussed, the margin of error for democratic politics
will be decreased and the chances of a breakdown will be increased.
B R A Z I L 1994-1995: A TURN AWAY

FROM D E M O C R A T I C D E C O N S O L I D A T I O N
In 1993, as we have seen, some influential analysts were discussing the possibil-
ity of the breakdown of democracy in Brazil. However, in the context where the
military were not accepted as a legitimate and viable ruling alternative and where
the regional Zeitgeist was still supportive of democracy, no important groups in
Brazil devoted significant resources to mobilizing support for a coup. With no
nondemocratic alternative that was attractive or credible, but with fears of a hy-
perinflation and political unrest growing, a consensually oriented finance minis-
ter, the famed sociologist and senator from Sao Paulo, Fernando Henrique Car-
doso, publicly crafted a parliamentary coalition to support a new approach to
stabilization. His Plan Real started on July i, 1994. By July i, 1995, according to the
Economist, "inflation had plunged, from several thousand per cent a year to less
than 30%."50
Many political analysts had feared that the 1994 presidential election would be
a polarizing conflict between the right and the left in the second round. As it was,
the confrontation was between two basically social-democratic candidates, with
albeit different projects, constituencies, and styles, who had been leaders of the
civil society opposition to authoritarianism, Fernando Henrique Cardoso and the
equally famed union leader, Luís Ignacio "Lula" de Silva. Cardoso, a leading ad-
vocate of parlimentarianism, was elected president of Brazil in the first round. In
contrast to Fernando Collor, President Cardoso brought great legislative prestige
and experience to the chief executive office. On July i, 1995, on the first year an-
niversary of the Plan Real, public opinion polls showed that Cardoso had a 72 per-
cent approval rating. At the elite level, conversations about democracy had
changed radically by mid-1995 from those in 1993. There were few, if any, con-
versations about democracy breaking down.51 Nonetheless, all serious analysts,
which very much includes President Cardoso and his minister of planning, José
Serra, are painfully aware that all of the problems documented in this chapter
concerning extreme social inequality, a fragmented party system, problems of
50. See "Brazil: Happy Birthday," Economist, July 8,1995,46.

51. Public opinion poll conducted by Jornal do Brasil/Vox Populi between July 21 and July 24,1995, sup-
plied to us. Our observation about 1995 versus 1993 elite conversations is based upon a speech given by Bo-
livar Lamounier in Brasilia on the first anniversary of Plan Real. In that speech Lamounier nonetheless
stressed the critical need for major changes in Brazil's political institutions.
Brazil 189
rule of law, and a porous fiscal system remain on the agenda.52 Change in the fis-
cal system will be particularly hard, given the politics of Brazil's federal system.
Support for the new president may be high, but changing ambivalent Brazilian
attitudes toward democracy is no doubt the work of a decade. Nonetheless, the
Southern Cone's most troubled transition entered 1995 with a surprising lack of
desencanto.
52. Awareness of the need to develop a political strategy to overcome these problems was repeatedly
stressed in public and private conversations by Cardoso and Serra at a meeting attended by us in Brasilia,
December 2-3,1994. We must note that the four-year maximum time horizon for the Cardoso administra-
tion is a more confining context for democratic reform than would be the case if Brazil had a parliamen-
tary system.
12
From an Impossible to a Possible

Democratic Game: Argentina
A R G E N T I N A from 1976 to 1983 was a hierarchically led military regime.

Within this broad context the Argentine military regime had some distinctive
specificities that left an impact on the transition and on efforts to consolidate de-
mocracy. Uruguay's military regime imprisoned more people per capita than Ar-
gentina and applied very systematic repression. However, in Argentina military
specialists and entrepeneurs in violence contributed to at times an anarchic reign
of terror between 1975 and 1977. Thirty-two times more people per capita "disap-
peared" in Argentina than in Uruguay, and more than three hundred times more
people per capita disappeared in Argentina than in Brazil. While the overall
regime lacked the coherence of ideology and organization of a totalitarian
regime, many of the military's statements about the need to exterminate their en-
emies had a totalitarian edge.1 The military government was in fact much more
of an authoritarian "situation" than a institutionalized "regime."2 The military
never created parties or held elections as in Brazil. They never formulated a
"guided democracy" constitution and submitted it to a plebiscite as in Uruguay
or Chile. Moreover, throughout the period of military rule there were numerous
conflicts between the services and within the army which led to abrupt changes
in tentative political alliances and actual economic policies. There was no sign of
a long-range plan to yield power via competitive elections. If anything, General
Galteri's invasion of Malvinas was a bid to create a new base for military rule and
1. A few quotes will suffice. General Ibérico St. Jean asserted "first we'll kill the subversives, then their
collaborators, then . . . their sympathizers, then . .. those who remain indifferent." The fact that ideology
and not actions was a sufficient cause for execution is captured in the statement by General Luciano Menén-
dez, "We are going to have to kill 50,000 people; 25,000 subversives, 20,000 sympathizers, and we will make
5,000 mistakes." Both quotes are from the valuable study by James W. McGuire, "Interim Government and
Democratic Consolidation: Argentina in Comparative Perspective," in Juan J. Linz and Yossi Shain, eds., Be-
tween States (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1995), pp. 179-210; quotes from p. 183. The most de-
tailed record of the style and pattern of military terror is found in Nunca Más: The Report of the Argentine
National Commission on the Disappeared (New York: Parrar, Straus and Giroux, 1986). For a table showing
the comparative rate of "disappearances" in the southern cone, see Stepan, Rethinking Military Politics, 70.
2. The distinction between an "authoritarian situation" and an "authoritarian regime" is developed in
Juan J. Linz, "The Future of an Authoritarian Situation or the Institutionalization of an Authoritarian
Regime: The Case of Brazil," in Alfred Stepan, ed., Authoritarian Brazil: Origins, Policies and Future (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 1973), 233-54.
Argentina 191
his personal leadership. Given this overall context, when the Argentine military
surrendered to the British in Malvinas on June 14,1982, the military were not seen
as a reliable or competent ally by any major section of Argentine civil or political
society and internal military dissension, recriminations, and lack of discipline
reached such unprecedented levels that some officers worried about intramilitary
armed conflict and the dissolution of the military as an organization.3
In his extremely informative comparative study, Felipe Agüero constructs a ty-
pology of the post-transition power of the military, in which the key variables are
whether the previous regime was militarized or civilianized and whether the tran-
sition path is via a pacted reform, a military coup, or a military defeat and regime
collapse. In his typology, if the authoritarian regime is militarized and the transi-
tion path is military defeat and regime collapse, the relative position of the mili-
tary will consequently be "weak." His two examples are Argentina and Greece.4
We feel this typology is quite useful for the analysis of transition. However, if
we want to analyze the political consequences of military defeat for democratic
consolidation, we must be very careful to distinguish between those cases where
the authoritarian military regime is hierarchically led and those cases where it is
not and between cases where the regime actually "collapses" and cases where it
does not. The defeat and disgrace of the Argentine military in the Malvinas war
contributed, as did the Greek military fiasco in Cyprus, to the end of the military
government. As in Greece, the departing military tried to impose some conditions
as the price of their extrication. But the combined weight of their internal dis-
unity, their low prestige, and the institutional urgency of rapid extrication from
rule meant that neither the Greek nor the Argentine military establishment was
in a position to impose constraining conditions on successor governments as the
price of allowing a transition.
But there are important differences between Greece and Argentina that all too
often are overlooked. The fact that the Argentine military organization had been
hierarchically led, while the Greek military was not, meant that the Argentine mil-
itary did not in fact "collapse" and thus were in a position to gravely complicate
3. For example, in an interview on July 24,1982, in Buenos Aires with Stepan, an Argentine general ar-
gued that internal military conflict could lead to the de facto dissolution of the military and that the Rus-
sian Revolution had occurred only because the Czarist army had disintegrated. The most graphic account
and systematic analysis of internal military conflicts in this period is Andrés Fontana, "De la crisis de Mal-
vinas a la subordinación condicionada: Conflictos intramilitares y transición política en Argentina" (Helen
Kellog Institute for International Studies, University of Notre Dame, August 1986, working paper no. 74).
For the professional incompetence of the Argentine military during the Malvinas conflict and its rela-
tionship to the politics of repression, see the well-documented and scholarly work on the Argentine mili-
tary, from the junta to the Menem presidency, by a Spanish colonel, Prudencio García, El drama de la au-
tonomía militar: Argentina bajo las juntas militares (Madrid: Alianza Editorial, 1995). For the origins of the
dirty war and its development and an exhaustive study of political violence, see María José Moyano, Ar-
gentina's Lost Patrol: Armed Struggle, J9<59-J979 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995).
4. See Felipe Agüero, "The Military in the Processes of Political Democratization in South America and
South Europe: Outcomes and Initial Conditions" (paper presented at the XV International Congress of the
Latin American Studies Association, San Juan, Puerto Rico, September 21-23,1989).
the task of consolidating democracy. A brief resume of the basic narrative se-
quence of events should suffice to lead us away from the "collapse" metaphor. The
Argentine surrender in Malvinas was on June 14,1982. The same day General Gal-
tieri resigned under pressure as commander-in-chief of the army. He was suc-
ceeded by General Cristiano Nicolaides. General Nicolaides, without permission
of his junta allies in the air force or the navy, designated a retired army general,
Reynaldo Bignone, as a caretaker president. Bignone became president July i,
1982. Shortly thereafter the military announced that elections would be held no
later than the end of 1983. Elections were indeed held in October 1983, and in De-
cember 1983 Raúl Alfonsín was inaugurated as Argentina's new president. Eigh-
teen months do not a "collapse" make.5 Thus, though Portugal, Greece, and Ar-
gentina are often lumped together in the transition literature as regime collapses
due to external defeat, the metaphor of collapse obscures some critically different
power relationships in the countries.
In Portugal nonhierarchical officers who were angry and afraid at being
involved in a losing war overthrew the regime, junior officers helped form a pro-
visional revolutionary government, and in the midst of an enormous popular
mobilization the state collapsed. In Greece, a nonhierarchical military regime, in
a Malvinas-like adventure, almost led Greece into a war with Turkey. The non-
hierarchical military regime was overthrown by the hierarchical military, who
within twenty-four hours gave power to a caretaker civilian government pledged
to elections. The state did not collapse. A weak, nonhierarchical military regime
was overthrown, and the military as organization gave their weight after the elec-
tions to the purge and prosecution of the nonhierarchical military who had com-
mitted human rights violations.6
The particularly violent nature of the Argentine military government, their in-
ternal dissension, their loss of an external war, and the ability of the hierarchical
military to hold on to the reigns of government for eighteen months after the de-
feat in war had five somewhat contradictory consequences. First, the fact that the
military was able to retain control of the government for eighteen months after
their defeat and to give over the presidency to the victor in elections meant that
an interim government with the possibility of revolutionary policies, as in Portu-
gal, was precluded.
Second, although the military held on to government, they were in fact weak-
ened in power terms because, much more than in Uruguay, the military as insti-
tution was so gravely divided that they feared internal armed conflict. Their per-
ceived need of extrication was much more intense that that of the Uruguayan
military. In these circumstances the political parties were able to refuse military
5. The previously cited article by McGuire, "Interim Government and Democratic Consolidation," is
particularly convincing on this point.
6. For the importance of the state versus regime distinction, see Robert M. Fishman, "Rethinking State
and Regime: Southern Europe's Transition to Democracy," World Politics (April 1990): 422-40.
Argentina 193
overtures to enter into a pact. Three times the military made pact overtures, and
three times the parties refused. This power relationship explains why the Argen-
tine transition began with fewer agreed-upon restrictions by the political parties
than in Brazil, Uruguay, or Chile. The parties did not accept an indirect presiden-
tial election as Brazilian parties did in 1985. The parties did not accept the exclu-
sion of a major presidential candidate as they did in Uruguay. And the parties did
not have to agree to begin government with key parts of the authoritarian re-
gime's constitution still in effect as they did in Chile. Argentina had the only un-
pacted and the most classically free transition of our four South American cases.
Third, this set of power relationships also explains why, alone among the South
American cases, the incoming democratic government, as in Greece, prosecuted,
convicted, and imprisoned numerous military officers for human rights violations.
Fourth, the indiscriminate violence of the military and their ill-thought-out
foreign military adventure seriously weakened their currency as a political ally in
Argentine politics. In relational terms this increased the currency value of elec-
toral politics.
Fifth, in Greece the trials of the military helped consolidate democracy. In Ar-
gentina, trials almost led to the breakdown of democracy. The key explanatory
variable here is the difference between a nonhierarchically led and a hierarchically
led military government. In Greece, the military as an institution saw the trials
and imprisonment of the nonhierarchical leaders of the military government as a
way to reconsolidate military hierarchy. In Argentina, the military as organization
saw efforts to imprison the hierarchical leaders of the former military govern-
ment as a mortal attack on their institution. Between April 1987 and January 1990
there were four military uprisings by midlevel officers that weakened the author-
ity of President Alfonsin, shifted his attention away from other critical policy
tasks, and forced him to make damaging concessions.7
We do not want to overstress the issue of civil-military relations. President
Alfonsin had many other problems in his presidency. He announced upon taking
office that he would move forward quickly to redress the accumulated social
plight of the Argentine population. But he never had a majority in both houses.
Worse, he was never able either to arrive at an understanding with or to control
the Peronist trade unions, which led thirteen general strikes against his economic
plans. In 1986 Raul Alfonsin's major stabilization plan, the Plan Austral, was aban-
doned. In the October 1987 election he lost control of both houses. In a parlia-
mentary system Alfonsin almost certainly would, and should, have left office at
this time. Condemned to office by the presidential calendar, with growing mili-
tary pressures, and without a winning coalition in civil and political society, Al-
7. For a very careful comparative analysis of the four uprisings and their effect on the Alfonsin govern-
ment, see Carlos H. Acuña and Catalina Smulovitz, "¿Ni olvido, ni perdón? Derechos humanos y tensiones
cívicos-militares en la transición Argentina," Buenos Aires, CEDES, Documento CEDES, no. 69, July 1991,
esp. 19-31.
fonsín saw a dangerous decline in his government's support, the administration's

ability to implement economic policy, and indeed the prospects for democratic
continuity.8 By June 1988 inflation was growing sharply, the government had an
approval rating of only 12 percent, and 49 percent of the population felt there
could be a military coup.9 By June 1989, in the midst of Argentina's first-ever "hy-
perinflation," his government in ruins, a humiliated Raúl Alfonsín left office six
months early. But, in an extraordinary turnabout, by June 1992 many politicians
and analysts in Argentina began to argue that Argentina had stopped its 6o-year
decline, and some even suggested that democracy was consolidated.
Later in this section we examine the emergence of a new set of historical rela-
tionships, but here we briefly call attention to two major changes that occurred
under President Menem. The first concerns the military. When the junior officer
uprisings began in 1987, the painted-face rebels (the carapintadas) received the
tacit support of the military-as-institution because the carapintadas' major an-
nounced objective was to defend the military's hierarchical institutions against
"unjust" trials. However, the carapintada phenomenon took on a dynamic of its
own that made the military-as-institution increasingly wary of them. The revolts
became more explicitly political. More and more they were motivated by the per-
sonal goals of their junior officer leaders. Eventually, they came to represent less a
defense of the military-as-institution than a nonhierarchical attack against not
only President Alfonsín but the army high command. Furthermore, in October
1989, President Menem gave a massive pardon to the military for human rights of-
fenses under the juntas, and armed insubordination under the democratic gov-
ernment of Raul Alfonsín, leading some of the released junta leaders to proclaim
that they had been vindicated. In this new context, when junior officers and nu-
merous noncommissioned officers started an uprising in December 1989, the
carapintada cycle ended as the president and the commander-in-chief joined
forces to smash the uprising in the name of military discipline and political de-
mocracy. Whereas President Alfonsín lost authority by military uprisings, an an-
tihierarchical military revolt gave President Menem an opportunity to enhance
his authority.10
8. Three manuscripts that reflect this eroding quality of Argentine democracy in 1987-89 are David
Rock, "The Decline and Fall of a Democratic Regime: The Alfonsín Government, 1986-1989," Andrés
Fontana, "La política militar en un contexto de transición: Argentina 1983-1989 (both papers prepared for
a conference at the Schell Institute, Yale University, March 1990); and Marcello Cavarozzi and Maria Grossi,
"De la reinvención democrática al reflujo político y la hiperinflación (la Argentina de Alfonsín)" (paper
prepared for a conference at CERC, Santiago, Chile, Aug. 1990).
9. These data are from polls designed by Edgardo Catterberg and reported in his very informative Ar-
gentina Confronts Politics: Political Culture and Public Opinion in the Argentine Transition to Democracy
(Boulder, Colo.: Lynne Rienner, 1991). The data are from pp. 91 and no.
10. The previously cited publication by Acuña and Smulovitz, "¿Ni olvido ni perdón?" 39-45, is excel-
lent on how and why the carapintada cycle came to an end. For a strong documented critique of Menem
buying peace with the military at the expense of reversing hard-won court decisions, see the previously
cited work by the Spanish colonel, Garcia, El drama de la autonomía militar, 269-76.
Argentina 195
The other major improvement concerned citizens' perception of the economy.

Part of this was due to some generic aspects of democracy as a system and part was
due to a specifically Argentine phenomenon in the Menem presidency. The generic
dimension concerns the political economy of legitimacy. We argued in chapter 5
that most authoritarian regimes have difficulty sustaining a government after three
consecutive bad economic years because their claims to rule are based on efficacy,
not legitimacy. In contrast, we argued that democratic regimes have two sources of
insulation from economic bad times; some legitimacy for the system qua demo-
cratic system and the prospect that, with upcoming elections, there can be a vote
for an alternative. In Argentina, in November 1988,70 percent of the people polled
felt that conditions in the country had worsened in the last five years. However, 74
percent nonetheless still affirmed that "democracy is always preferable to a dicta-
torship." Only 15 percent of those polled—in contrast to Brazil's 40 percent—felt
that things would be better if the military returned. The economy deteriorated fur-
ther in the next six months. There was no objective sign that things had improved.
However, there had been elections. Even though the winner, Carlos Menem, re-
ceived 49 percent of the vote, the percentage of citizens who expressed belief that
the economy would improve had gone up from 32 percent to 72 percent.11
Let us turn to some specifically Argentine dimensions of the economic prob-
lem. Whereas President Alfonsin was weakened by thirteen general strikes, Presi-
dent Menem in his first three years of rule did not face one general strike, even
though his neoliberal policies shocked the Peronist rank and file. Menem un-
doubtedly profited by the diffuse support he received in Peronist circles, notwith-
standing the turn in his policies. He also benefitted from the widespread support
he received from local and international capital. Unlike Alfonsin, who came into
office at the height of the debt crisis, Menem was helped by the fact that he came
into office just as the world debt crisis was ending and international capital was
seeking new outlets. But, finally, President Menem reached back into the classic
corporatist repertoire for controlling labor. Much of the funds and power of labor
leaders and unions is due to their official recognition. President Menem, like
Getúlio Vargas of Brazil and Lázaro Cárdenas of Mexico before him, used the
weapon of official recognition to strengthen allies that created new leadership
groups and to deny legal recognition to his challengers (such as the CTA). Wild-
cat strikes were declared illegal and unions that persisted in strikes risked losing
their official status or some of the state support for their specific activities. Most
importantly, like Vargas and Cárdenas in the 19305, Menem gained something
even Perón never had, extensive government control over the unions' vast social
welfare funds.12
11. For these polls see Catterberg, Argentina Confronts Politics, no and idem, "The Balance of Transition:
Perceptions of Government Efficacy in the Southern Cone" (paper prepared for the XVth World Congress
of the International Political Science Association, Buenos Aires, July 21-25,1991.)
12. For a brief but revealing review of Menem's strategy to control labor, see Rosendo Fraga, "1991, fin
Despite the absence of strong labor resistance, President Menem's first eco-
nomic plan was no more successful than President Alfonsin's plan. Forced by the
fear of a second hyperinflation, President Menem in February 1991 selected a new
minister of finance, Domingo Cavallo, who appealed to the Congress where Pe-
ronists and their allies had a majority and to all sectors of society for support, so
as to avert a spiral of hyperinflation and economic decline. With inflation low and
the economy growing, the approval rating of the government's economic policy
rose in Buenos Aires from 16 percent in March 1991 to 68 percent in December
1991.13 By mid-1992 many in Argentina argued that, after a long period of gov-
ernment with low efficacy and low legitimacy, Argentina was beginning to de-
velop a polity with moderate efficacy and some legitimacy.
BEYOND T H E I M P O S S I B L E G A M E ?
In a justly famous work Guillermo O'Donnell used an elaborate game-theo-

retical model of Argentine electoral politics to show that party democracy as it
was played in Argentina during 1955-66 was an "impossible game."14 While we
will not use the exact categories O'Donnell used, let us schematically review the
three core assumptions and rules that in fact made democratic politics an impos-
sible game in this period.
The first core assumption was that, while the Peronistas were the largest single
party, they should not be allowed to compete in elections because they would al-
most certainly win and, if they won, they would not rule democratically and could
not be removed from office by elections. Juan Peron's ambivalence toward demo-
cratic practices and doctrines when he was in power from 1943-55 allowed groups
who may have been undemocratic themselves to disguise their undemocratic be-
havior in the democratic discourse of protecting democracy.
A second core assumption of O'Donnell's impossible game was that the largest
anti-Peronist party, the Radicals of the People, would never be strong enough to
win in an election unless there were some restrictions against the Peronists. How-
ever, even if they came into office via semifree elections, the Radicals could not be
an effective government given the strength of Peronism in the unions.
The third fundamental assumption was that the bourgeoisie accepted the mil-
itary as the umpire of the electoral game. The umpire had two key functions. First,
de un poder sindical," Ámbito Financiero Dec. 30 1991:18. On the origins of the Peronist labor model of in-
corporation and corporatist control, see Ruth Berins Collier and David Collier, Shaping the Political Arena:
Critical Junctures, the Labor Movement and Regime Dynamics in Latin America (Princeton: Princeton Uni-
versity Press, 1991), 331-50.
13. Greater Buenos Aires polls done by Estudio Mora y Araujo, Noguera y Asociados.
14. Guillermo O'Donnell, "An Impossible 'Game': Party Competition in Argentina, 1955-66," in Mod-
ernization and Bureaucratic-Authoritarianism: Studies in South American Politics (Berkeley: Institute of In-
ternational Studies, University of California, 1973), 166-200.
Argentina 197
if the bourgeoisie felt there was what they considered a crisis of legitimacy (such
as a victory of Peronists or small parties allied to the Peronists), the umpire was
allowed to terminate that round of the electoral game. Second, if the bourgeoisie
felt there was a crisis of efficacy (such as the inability of weak anti-Peronist par-
ties to rule effectively), the umpire could terminate that round of the electoral
game. The military umpire was delegated these powers by the bourgeoisie be-
cause they considered the military a reliable ally or a temporary ruler who would
not try to create a permanent nonelectoral game. Rather, the assumption of the
game was that after an interval, in which the rules were changed somewhat, an-
other round of the electoral game would begin.
O'Donnell does not explicitly argue the point, but we believe that the rules of
the game led to a long-term, double crisis of the Argentine polity, a crisis of dem-
ocratic legitimacy because of the degree of exclusion and a crisis of efficacy be-
cause of the narrow support base of elected governments. This double crisis, plus
the fact that the umpire normally did not try to create a Mexican-style authori-
tarian hegemony and if they attempted to do so they failed, contributed to Ar-
gentina's prolonged developmental crisis. No combination of actors could create
either a sustained democratic or a sustained nondemocratic base of support for a
policy program. In such a context "rational actors" strove to accumulate and use
nondemocratic resources, and almost no one wanted to continue with any given
round in the electoral game. O'Donnell summarized the situation thus:
Once one round of this game has been played and knowledge of the rules is perfect, it is evi-
dent that it is a futile game which no one can win. Consequently, a rational player becomes
"non-allegiant" (he rejects the game, or at least has no interest in its continuation) and "irre-
sponsible" (since everyone will lose eventually, whatever short-term gains are possible should
be pursued). Not only is the game futile, but its dynamic has increased polarization. With no
players to seek its continuation, it can easily be terminated.15
Although O'Donnell's classic analysis was published in 1973, we believe the

Argentine military regime of 1976-83 can be seen as a horrifying and ultimately
completely unsuccessful effort to use force to change Argentina's economy and
polity and to create a new game. The game the military and their allies tried to
construct failed dramatically in both efficacy and legitimacy. No one wanted to
play round three of the "bureaucratic-authoritarian" game, round one being
1966-73 and round two being 1976-83.
In terms of the categories we have used in this book, the O'Donnell game of
Argentine electoral politics in 1955-83 had the following characteristics. Democ-
racy was never the only game in town. Democracy was always marked by semi-
loyal and frequently disloyal behavior by most groups. There were few intertem-
15. Ibid., 180.

poral incentives for the major actors to continue any given democratic game. Sys-
tem blame of electoral politics was endemic.
One important way to examine cases of attempted redemocratization is to see
whether many of the elements that led to the previous breakdown are still present
or whether, due to new circumstances, the passage of time, or political learning, a
fundamentally new context exists for the renewed effort to institutionalize and
consolidate democracy. It is clear that the characteristics of Argentine electoral
politics we have described were sufficient by themselves to make a consolidated
democratic game impossible. Is there any evidence to indicate that Argentine pol-
itics was becoming a possible democratic game after 1992? Very schematically let
us re-examine the three core assumptions of the impossible game. Do they still
exist, or have they been transformed?
Let us begin with the relationship in the impossible democratic game between
the bourgeoisie, the military, and the Peronist party. For the bourgeoisie the elec-
toral game was never the only game in town because the dominant electoral
force—Peronism—was not only an unacceptable ally but an unacceptable winner.
They could risk their at best semiloyal participation in electoral politics because
for them the military was an acceptable umpire of the electoral game or, between
rounds, an acceptable ally. However, the military's effort to create their own game
in 1976-83 changed the bourgeoisie-military-political party relationships funda-
mentally. The indiscriminate killing and torture by the military meant that many
members of the hitherto "untorturable classes" had their sons and daughters tor-
tured and/or "disappeared." Also, the military's adventure in Malvinas, if it had
been prolonged another few months, might well have led to widespread expro-
priations of English property in Argentina. A victory in Malvinas would have
opened up possible Third World policy alignments that would have seriously
harmed the social identities and economic alliances of the Argentine bourgeoisie.
The military also revealed themselves as dangerously divided and weak. Given this
post-Malvinas set of social, economic, and military circumstances, the military by
1983 was no longer seen as a reliable ally or a credible umpire by the bourgeoisie.
Finally, when Menem adopted and, more importantly, implemented most of the
neoliberal policies long championed by a weighty faction of the bourgeoisie, the
Peronist party was transformed in their eyes from being an unacceptaoi ' a po-
tentially acceptable—indeed in the early 19905 an actual—ally. The old impossible
democratic relationship between the bourgeoisie, the military, and the Peronist
party no longer existed.16
16. The fundamental change in conservative-business-military relationships is explored in much
greater detail in two excellent doctoral dissertations by Carlos H. Acuña of the University of Chicago and
Edward L. Gibson of Columbia University. Acuña argues that democracy has become the only game in
town and the military an unacceptable ally in "Intereses empresarios, dictadura y democracia en la Ar-
gentina actual (o, porqué la burguesía abandona estrategias autoritarias y opta por la estabilidad
democrática)" (Buenos Aires: CEDES, Feb. 1992). Edward L. Gibson focuses on the political party ramifi-
cations of the military becoming an unacceptable ally and on the new neoliberal alliance between Menem
Argentina 199
The second key component of the impossible democratic game was that for
many players in the electoral game, competitive, free, and inclusive elections
could not be risked because, so the argument went, the Peronists would always
win and would never play by fully democratic rules and, if somehow the Radicals
did win, they could not govern effectively given Peronist power. Indeed, O'Don-
nell commented that as early as the Frondizi presidency (1958-62) the largest anti-
Peronist party, the Radicales del Pueblo, had become convinced that, "given the
situation then prevailing, they would never be able to win an election."17 The
overwhelming victory of the Peronists in 1973 and their tolerance and even en-
couragement of the para-military violence of the Montoneros further con-
tributed to what many called the "iron law of Argentine politics"—that in free
elections Peronists always won and did not respect minority rights. When Raúl
Alfonsín and his Radicals triumphed in the free elections of 1983, he broke this
iron law of Argentine politics. Menem was re-elected as president in 1995. However,
the Radicals (and FREPASO, a new party that outpolled the Peronists in the capi-
tal in 1995) have hopes that by 1999 the Argentine polity will be ready for an alter-
nation in party rule. If the democratic game continues, activists in the three major
parties believe they can win. The prospect of winning increases the intertemporal
incentives for party leaders in all parties to keep the democratic game going.
However, there are some elements of the old game that worry some Radical
Party activists. The fact that Peronist unions led thirteen general strikes against
the Radical Party administration of Alfonsín and that the Radicals in office were
not able to sustain an effective economic policy is a carryover from the impossi-
ble game. Nonetheless, in 1992-94 some Radical Party leaders began to argue pri-
vately that, if Menem were able to sustain a viable economic model and curb the
autonomy of the trade unions, a future Radical government—not faced by a dis-
loyal military and economic crisis—might well be more efficacious than they had
been in the past.
The third characteristic of the impossible game was the dangerous discourse
about Argentina having a permanent majority party that at best was ambivalent
about democracy. Part of this discourse was, as we have seen, weakened by the
Peronist defeat in the 1983 elections. Time, both biological and historical, has also
reduced the power of this discourse. Some feuds in politics die only when the key
protagonists die. Part of the impossible game in Argentina was that Perón, as long
as he lived, represented an extraordinary pole of attraction and repulsion in Ar-
gentine politics. As a leader who rose to prominence when Mussolini still ruled,
Perón was able to create and sustain a semifascist, populist-nationalist rhetoric.
With Perón alive Peronism was more movement than party. Perón's policy and
and conservative parties in "Conservative Parties and Democratic Politics: Argentina in Comparative Per-
spective," (Ph.D. diss., Department of Political Science, Columbia University, 1992).
17. O'Donnell, "An Impossible 'Game,' "188.
doctrinal ambivalence helped perpetuate his dominance of both movement and

party. Given, after 1955, the almost permanent hostility of the military as an insti-
tution and of important sectors of the bourgeoisie to Perón, elections were never
the only game in town for Perón. He thus harbored and generated a wide variety
of extraparty and extrademocratic resources.
Menem, however, has come to power in a different world historical time. Like
the successors of Franco, he could not sustain the rhetoric of an historical Zeit-
geist that no longer existed. Also, after his attack on the Peronist unions, Menem
and even more so his most probable successors in the party will increasingly have
to base their power strategies on democratic electoral power rather than on the
movement. If this dynamic does indeed develop, then the last component of the
impossible game will have been transformed.
We cannot say that a change in these three interconnected components of the
former impossible game is sufficient for democratic consolidation. However, we
can say that these changes were a precondition for developing a possible demo-
cratic game. Indeed, the changes in these three components have increased the
type of behavior that makes democratic politics a possible game. The three major
parties and the leading business groups are displaying no outright democratically
disloyal behavior. There is less system blame of democratic institutions because
efficacy rose rather than declined in 1990-94. With all three major parties believ-
ing they have a chance to win and to govern effectively in the future—and not to
be subject to extreme harm if they lose—intertemporal incentives to play the
democratic game have increased. Finally, given the widespread perception that
the military is no longer a reliable nondemocratic coalition partner, democracy is
more and more becoming the most important—and increasingly the only—
game in town. However, while we believe that democracy has become a possible
game in Argentina, we will close by examining some disturbing questions con-
cerning the quality of the democracy that is emerging.
THE QUALITY PROBLEMS OF ARGENTINE DEMOCRACY
In chapter i we discussed the five arenas of a consolidated democracy and how

ideally, within each arena, activities are carried out and norms are developed that
strengthen democratic practices and values in the other arenas (see table 1.1). Let
us review briefly President Menem's influence on the quality of democracy in the
five arenas we discussed.
If the government of a new democracy consistently operates at—or over—the
margin of the constitution, it obviously weakens the rule of law and its primary
organizing principle, constitutionalism. With President Menem's style of gover-
nance very much in mind, Carlos Nino, the late distinguished legal theorist of Ar-
Argentina 201
gentina, observed that "the fear of a coup or a breakdown of democracy is in-

creasingly receding but those risks have been replaced by fears about the degra-
dation and emptying of democracy." The Argentinian political sociologist, Juan
Carlos Torres, also primarily worried about the quality of democracy, remarked
that Menem's style of rule, unless checked, would produce a "low intensity de-
mocracy with low intensity citizenship."18 Judging from the evidence, President
Menem's ambivalent attitude toward the rule of law has weakened not only con-
stitutionalism, but also the quality of democratic practices and norms in the state
apparatus and in civil, political, and economic society.
In his first four years in office President Menem took advantage of a clause in
the constitution that allowed the president to issue decrees if he affirms that they
are "necessary and urgent." Between 1853 and 1989 his predecessors had issued
fewer than 30 such decrees. Between 1989 and 1993 President Menem issued 244.
Furthermore, the constitution required ex post facto consideration of the decrees
by the legislature. Only 74 percent of President Menem's 244 decrees were ever
submitted to Congress, and only 4 percent went through the full ratification
process. However, almost all of the decrees stayed in effect because the legislature,
where President Menem had a majority, did not challenge them.19
When President Menem was faced with possible resistance by the Supreme
Court, he used his legislative majority to increase the number of Supreme Court
judges from five to nine. Only forty-one seconds of congressional debate were de-
voted to this unannounced change. Worse, Menem's closest advisers had been at
the center of major corruption charges, some of which implied a connection to
President Menem himself.20 Criminal investigations were on the horizon. In this
context Menem created an upper criminal tribunal that was second only to the
Supreme Court and was endowed with the judicial faculty to review and reverse
any criminal court in the country. Menem staffed the court almost entirely with
his supporters. All the new appointees were given life appointments. If Menem
were ever to be convicted for corruption, during or after his presidency, he would
have to be convicted by this court.21
While there has been little direct censorship of the press, a diffuse "culture of
fear," almost eliminated under President Alfonsin, re-emerged under President
18. Alfred Stepan, discussions with Carlos Nino and Juan Carlos Torres, Buenos Aires, Argentina, July
26-29,1993.
19. Study by Mateo Goretti and Delia Ferreira Rubio, cited in Latin American Regional Reports: South-
ern Cone Report (Sept. 9,1993), 8.
20. Argentina's leading investigative journalist, Horacio Verbitsky, reviews the charges of corruption,
justice tampering, and constitution flaunting in a long interview, "Menem es el jefe de la corrupción," La
Maga (March 11,1992), 1-3. Also see his best-selling book, Robo para la corona: Los frutos prohibidos del árbol
de la corrupción (Buenos Aires: Planeta, 1991).
21. Alfred Stepan, discussion with Carlos Nino, Buenos Aires, July 25,1993.
Menem. For example, the leader of the Argentine Journalists' Union claimed that,
in the first forty-two months of Menem's government, 139 journalists received
anonymous threats and that there were fifty cases of physical assault. He asserted
that most of the anonymous threats had "been traced to people with government
connections." In the first five-month period leading up to the 1993 congressional
elections, the main conservative newspaper, La Nación, charged that twenty-two
of their journalists received death threats, specifically warning that they should
stop criticizing President Menem.22
The 1853 constitution, which was reinstated after the inauguration of President
Alfonsin, explicitly prohibited the immediate re-election of the president. During
1992-94 President Menem devoted most of his energies to changing this consti-
tutional clause. The political atmosphere became so charged that his minister of
the interior resigned with a warning that he believed that some of Menem's polit-
ical operatives were determined to ensure the continuity of Menem "whatever the
cost."23 The leading opposition party issued a statement in which they said that
the Menem government was on the verge of "breaking the legitimacy" of any pos-
sible process of revising the constitution.24 But, after the Peronists had done well
in the October 1993 congressional elections, former President Alfonsin, in a move
that caught other major leaders of his party by surprise, entered into a personal
pact with President Menem to allow a constituent assembly that eliminated the
clause prohibiting a sitting president from running for immediate re-election, in
return for any number of reforms.25 Eventually, Alfonsin's party, in a rancorous
and sharply divided party convention, approved the Menem-Alfonsin pact. In the
May 1995 election, despite a UNICEF report that mortality rates in the northwest
of Argentina had soared, continuing revelations about corruption, and Menem's
condemnation by human rights groups for his equivocal comments to the mili-
22. See "Politics and Press: Menem's Attitude 'Authoritarian,' " Latin American Regional Report: The
Southern Cone Report (Sept. 9,1993), 6-7.
23. See the excellent account of the constitutional crisis by Mario Daniel Serrafero, Las formas de la re-
forma: Entre Maquiavelo y Montesquieu (Buenos Aires: Centro Editor de América Latina, 1994). For the res-
ignation of the minister, see vol. 2, pp. 173-75.
24.Ibid.
25. There is no consensus as to why Alfonsin entered into the pact. Some say he did so because he be-
lieved that it was the best way to avoid a breakdown of constitutionality a la Perón in 1949. Others say it was
to reinsert himself as a leading power broker in Argentinian politics. Alfonsin stressed the importance of
the proposed constitutional revisions that would "attenuate hyperpresidentialism." However, Serrafero's
close analysis of the Menem-Alfonsin agreement (sometimes called the Olivos Pact) reveals that most of
the proposed constitutional revisions would not actually attenuate the more extreme presidential prerog-
atives. The proposed office of the chief of the cabinet, billed as quasi-prime ministerial, has in reality few
real powers; there is no significant diminution of presidential state-of-siege powers, and new provincial in-
tervention procedures, while giving the legislature a larger role, would still be quite large for a democratic
federal system. Finally, the proposed constitutional revisions would in fact accord a degree of de jure con-
stitutional legitimacy to "delegated legislation" by the president. For the full text of the Olivos Pact and an
astute commentary on its clauses, see Serrafero, Las formas de la reforma, 2:195-224.
Argentina 203
tary that "we triumphed in that dirty war" (as well as for the beatings received by
the mothers of the Plaza de Mayo), Menem, in a personal triumph, polled more
than twice as many votes as his party and won re-election. Menem thus won con-
trol of the presidency until the turn of the century.26 However, given the relative
absence of an independent legislature or judiciary and a constitutional revision
process marred by personalism, the consolidation of a high-quality democracy in
Argentina is far from assured.
President Menem's opponents, especially in the Radical Party, have at times
discussed his impeachment on grounds of constitutional violation.27 His allies
insist Menem is on, but not quite over, the margin of constitutionality. In fact,
public opinion gives President Menem quite low marks for his respect of the legal
system and the legislative system.28 The president's performance at the margin of
the constitution and the public's approval of his style of politics are not the opti-
mal mix for democratic consolidation. Guillermo O'Donnell would say it bears
all the worrying characteristics of "delegated democracy." For O'Donnell, some of
the major characteristics of delegative democracy are that (i) winning presiden-
tial candidates present themselves as above parties, (2) institutions such as Con-
gress and the judiciary are a nuisance and accountability to them is an unneces-
sary impediment, (3) the president and his personal staff are the alpha and omega
of politics, and (4) whereas in consolidated democracies elected executives are
embedded in a network of institutionalized power relations, in delegative democ-
racies the president insulates himself from most existing political institutions and
organized interests and becomes the sole person responsible for the success of "his"
policies. For O'Donnell, delegative democracies may or may not become author-
itarian, but they cannot become consolidated democracies.29
The ideal combination for a consolidated democracy would be high efficacy
26. In the election the radicals received their worst vote in a free election in a hundred years, but a new,
broad, center-to-left opposition coalition emerged—Frepaso, which actually received more votes in con-
gressional elections than did the Peronist party. In the campaign, Frepaso stressed such issues as social wel-
fare and corruption. For the final election results, see "Politics: Menem Exceeds All Expectation," Latin
American Regional Reports: Southern Cone Report (July i, 1995): 2-3, and "Dead Return to Haunt Menem:
Government Would Prefer the Past to Remain Buried," Latin American Regional Reports: Southern Cone Re-
port (April 20,1995): 3.
27. For example, Deputy Jorge Vanossi filed a long detailed case for impeachment on grounds of mul-
tiple violations of the constitution in February 1992. However, because of Menem's control of Congress and
the judiciary, Vanossi argued that it was never seriously considered.
28. For example, in a Catterberg poll of Greater Buenos Aires (N = 500) in December 1991, 61 percent
of those polled felt that the country was going in a good direction but 84 percent felt that there was "much"
or "quite a lot" of corruption in the national government, 60 percent felt the judiciary had little or no in-
dependence, and only 14 percent felt that the government respected the Congress.
29. Guillermo O'Donnell, "Delegative Democracy?" (East South System Transformations Project, De-
partment of Political Science, University of Chicago, 1991, working paper no. 21. ) Politicians with strong del-
egative tendencies have been Fujimori in Peru, Menem in Argentina, Perot in the United States, and Collor
in Brazil. For an abbreviated version of O'Donnell's article, see Journal of Democracy (Spring 1994): 55-69.
and high legitimacy. But, even in periods of relatively low governmental efficacy,
high legitimacy can help a consolidated democracy weather inevitable economic
downturns. Was the price of Argentine high efficacy in the 19905 a legacy of dele-
gated democracy and only moderate legitimacy? If so, what happens to such a po-
litical system if efficacy decreases?30
30. One thinks, for example, of the harmful implications for Venezuelan democracy of Carlos Andrés
Perez's style of governance. He was popular when he was efficacious (due to high oil prices) but corrupt in
the 19705. When he returned for a second term in the early 19905 and was inefficacious (partly due to low
oil prices) and corrupt, Venezuelan democracy almost broke down. Some good economists who are close
observers of the Argentine economy argue that the low inflation/high growth economy of 1992-94 had
three sources of potential weakness that could eventually decrease efficacy: (i) an overvalued peso tied to
the dollar, which could lead to balance of payment problems; (2) a structural budgetary deficit obscured by
one-time sale of state assets via privatization; and (3) a relatively low investment level in core industry. The
fact that Argentina's economy, unlike Chile's, or even Brazil's, was significantly weakened by the Mexican
"tequila effect" in 1995 reinforces these concerns. The 1995 downturn aggravated the continuing "social
deficit" of Argentina's neo-liberal policies.
13
Incomplete Transition/Near
Consolidation? Chile
I H E C H I L E A N military, especially the army, entered the struggle over the

terms of transition in a far stronger position (institutionally and with their civil-
ian allies) than did their Brazilian, Uruguayan, or Argentine counterparts. In
Brazil, the military, for their own reasons, initiated the liberalization in 1974 which
led to a long process of "concession and conquest" in a context of growing
economic disarray that saw key industrialists join the democratic opposition. In
Uruguay, by 1980 all of the major parties had joined forces against the military
and their proposed constitution. The bourgeoisie, who by that time did not be-
lieve that the military had a necessary "defensive" project or a credible "founda-
tional" project, carried out no actions to maintain the regime in power. In
Argentina the military left power humiliated, defeated, and divided. In sharp con-
trast the Chilean bourgeoisie, through the 19805, was willing to abandon any pre-
tense of day-to-day political leadership in return for the military's "defensive"
project against the left and in return for the credible foundational project the mil-
itary, with their help, was conducting in the economy. In 1988, after fifteen years
in power, the army was united, the authoritarian regime still had a solid core of
supporters in civil society, and Pinochet had a plan to rule via the constitution for
at least another decade.1
i. For a more extensive analysis of the very different mixes of "offensive" and "defensive" projects in
Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay, and Chile and the degree to which the military was resisted or supported by civil
society, see Alfred Stepan, "State Power and the Strength of Civil Society in the Southern Cone of Latin
America," in Peter B. Evans, Dietrich Rueschemeyer, and Theda Skocpol, eds., Bringing the State Back In
(New York: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 317-43. For an analysis of Chilean democracy and the reason
for its breakdown in 1973, see Arturo Valenzuela, "The Breakdown of Chilean Democracy," in Juan J. Linz
and Alfred Stepan, eds., The Breakdown of Democratic Regimes (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press,
1978) (also available as a separate paperback book). The Chilean political scientist who develops special at-
tention to the foundational project of the military regime is Manuel Antonio Carretón, El Proceso Político
Chileno (Santiago: FLACSO, 1983), esp. 163-71. For the problems this presented for transition, see Carretón,
"The Political Evolution of the Chilean Military," in O'Donnell, Schmitter, and Whitehead, eds., Transitions
from Authoritarian Rule: Latin America (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), 95-112, esp.
98-103. For the first analysis to show how General Pinochet had transformed the Chilean military into a
base for a new type of regime, see Genaro Arriagada, El pensamiento político de los militares (Santiago:
CISEC, 1986). For an assessment of why the Chilean neoliberal economic restructuring actually went fur-
ther than similar efforts that rapidly failed in Uruguay and Argentina, see Alejandro Foxley, Latin American
Pinochet yielded power only because the opposition united and mobilized to
take advantage of the one possible vulnerability in Pinochet's own constitution.
In 1980, General Pinochet and his followers constructed an authoritarian consti-
tution and submitted it to a plebiscite. Most of the traditional right and business
groups in Chile, unlike in Uruguay, campaigned actively for ratification of the
constitution. Though the voting procedures were quite flawed, this constitution
was indeed "ratified" in a further plebiscite. The constitution called for a plebi-
scite in 1988 in which, if the nominee unanimously selected by the four-person
military junta won a majority of votes, he would rule as an "elected" president for
eight more years.2 However, as the world knows, Pinochet was the nominee and,
though he received 44 percent of the votes, he did not receive the 50.1 percent he
needed for eight more years of rule.3
This set the framework for the 1989 presidential election and the March 1990
transfer of power.4 This also set the framework for an extremely constrained tran-
sition and the most democratically "disloyal" transfer of power of our southern
European and Southern Cone cases.
In our conceptual introduction we argued that the most constraining consti-
tutional formula for a new democratic government is one where the incoming
government has to agree to rule with an authoritarian constitution crafted by an
outgoing authoritarian regime. Given General Pinochet's strong bargaining po-
sition, he was able to extract this price. The newly elected government in Chile
agreed to begin their rule with the 1980 constitution (partially amended in 1989)
and to try to eliminate its authoritarian features by the difficult constitutional
amendment procedures stipulated in the constitution itself.
Despite these continuing constraints on democratic policy-making, on August 7,
1991, President Aylwin announced that the Chilean transition had been com-
Experiments in Neoconservative Economics (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983). For a valuable
collection of essays by leading specialists inside and outside of Chile on what effect the foundational pro-
ject did and did not have on labor, political parties, and social movements, see Paul W. Drake and Ivan Jaksic,
eds., The Struggle for Democracy in Chile, 1982-1990 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1991).
2. For a discussion of how the 1980 constitution opened up this possibility and how the democratic op-
position was beginning to mobilize to maximize their opportunity, see Alfred Stepan, "The Last Days of
Pinochet?" New York Review ofBooks 35 (June 2,1988): 32-35.
3. Although the victory was highly satisfying for the democratic opposition, it was still disturbing to
them to see that Chile's nondemocratic ruler received what was one of the highest votes of a nondemocratic
incumbent in any transition that had occurred to date. For an analysis of the plebiscite and of public opin-
ion polls that shed light on why voters, when organized by a united democratic front, voted against
Pinochet, see Manuel Antonio Carretón, "El plebiscito de 1988 y la transición a la democracia en Chile"
(Santiago: FLACSO Cuadernos de Difusión, 1988), and Roberto Méndez, Oscar Godoy, Enrique Barros,
and Arturo Fontaine Talavera, "¿Por qué ganó el 'No'?" Estudios Públicos no. 33 (Summer 1989): 83-134. An
extensive collection of surveys about the plebiscite was published by CERC (Centro de Estudios de la Re-
alidad Contemporánea), coordinated by Marta Lagos and Carlos Huneeus.
4. For the 1989 electoral campaign and its results, see Alan Angelí and Benny Pollack, "The Chilean Elec-
tions of 1989 and the Politics of the Transition to Democracy," Bulletin of Latin American Research 9, no. i
(1990): 1-23, and Arturo Fontaine Talavera, Harald Beyer, and Luis Hernán Paúl, "Mapa de las corrientes
políticas en las elecciones generales de 1989," Estudios Públicos, no. 38 (Autumn 1990): 99-128.
Chile 207
pleted and that his major task before his term ended in March 1994 would be to
consolidate democracy.5
We argued in chapter i that it is politically as well as intellectually important to
be explicit about whether a transition has actually been completed. It is politically
important because, if people accept that a transition has been completed when it
actually has not, this may indicate that key members of the aspiring democracy
have begun to accept nondemocratic constraints as bearable, or, in the worst hy-
pothesis, in some way even useful for the tasks of governing.
This said, it might be useful to return to our definition of a completed transi-
tion. The definition we offered in chapter i had three components: first, that a
government has to be in power as a result of a free and popular vote; second, that
this government has authority to generate new policies; and, third, that the exec-
utive, legislative, and judicial powers generated by the new democracy do not have
to share power with other bodies de jure. By this definition, by the time the
Aylwin government left power in March 1994, only the first of these criteria had
been completely met. The presidential election of December 1989 was free and
popular, as were the parliamentary elections, even though they were conducted
with highly controversial electoral laws that cost the parties of the democratic
coalition—"Concertación"—possibly as many as seventeen seats.6 Pinochet's 1980
constitution—even after the democratic opposition negotiated important changes
that were ratified in a 1989 plebiscite—clearly contained features that meant that
the incoming democratic government had to share power de jure with individu-
als and institutions whose bases were not democratic in origin.
A key de jure limitation on democratic sovereignty, which in turn limited the
democratic government's authority to generate new policies, is the fact that the
outgoing nondemocratic government gave itself the constitutional right to ap-
point nine of the Senate's forty-seven members.7 In the Chilean context this was
critical because almost all of the controversial features of the 1980 constitution
and the numerous last minute complementary "organic laws" that Pinochet is-
sued which set the rules of the game for the electoral system, the composition of
5. For an extensive defense of this affirmation by the director of communication and culture of the Ayl-
win government, see Eugenio Tironi, "Sobre el fin de la transición" APSI (Oct. 2i-Nov. 3,1991): 19-21. In
1993 President Aylwin correctly reversed himself and noted that the transition still had important aspects
to achieve before it could be considered completed.
6. For the electoral law—and especially a simulation to show how it could have very unexpected con-
sequences—see the pioneering article by Arturo Valenzuela and Peter Siavelis, "Ley electoral y estabilidad
democrática: Un ejercicio de simulación para el caso de Chile," Estudios Públicos no. 43 (Winter 1991):
27-87.
7. See Constitución Política de la República de Chile: 1980, article 45. For an astute analysis of how some
critical authoritarian features of the 1980 constitution were removed by negotiations followed by a
plebiscite in 1989, see Carlos Huneeus, "En defensa de la transción: El primer gobierno de la democracia en
Chile," Universität Heidelberg, Institut für Politische Wissenschaft, (February 1995), 9-13. For a review of
what was changed and not changed in 1989 and in 1991 via amendments, see Mark Ensalaco, "In with the
New, Out with the Old? The Democratizing Impact of Constitutional Reforms in Chile," Journal of Latin
American Studies 26, no. 2 (May 1994): 409-29.
courts, the regulatory bodies, and the semiautonomous agencies that were an in-
tegral part of the authoritarian state required a 60 percent vote in both houses.8
The Concertación in fact won twenty-two of the thirty-eight Senate seats open to
vote and would thus have normally been only one vote short of 60 percent. But
with nine "designated senators" in a senate of forty-seven members, this meant
that the Concertación was in fact two votes short of even a simple majority and
six votes short of the twenty-eight votes needed for major constitutional changes
of the nondemocratic features of the constitution.9
Another de jure limit on the authority of the new democratic government
concerns the continuity of military leadership. The constitution gave General
Pinochet the prerogative of unremovability (inamovilidad) as chief of the army
until March 1998 and the same prerogative to the other three junta members from
the navy, air force, and police.10 All four also had the right to voice and vote in the
eight-person National Security Council.11
The capacity of the military and their allies in civil and political society to con-
strain the democratic government's ability to set policies and norms was en-
hanced further by the strong material, ideological, and leadership bases for au-
tonomy the military constructed for themselves. Twelve days before President
Aylwin was sworn in, an Organic Constitutional Law of the Armed Forces was
signed by Pinochet and approved by the Constitutional Tribunal Pinochet had
created and appointed in 1980.12 This law greatly increased the institutional
autonomy of the armed forces. In the critical area of personnel policy, the law
removed the president's right to order officers into retirement (a key legal instru-
ment that President Aylwin might have used to remove from active duty some of
the more notorious torturers and violators of human rights) and made the gate-
keeping nominations to major general (from which all future commanders-in-
chief would be drawn) the exclusive prerogative of the commander-in-chief, thus
reinforcing ambitious officers' dependence on Pinochet.13 The task of democratic
8. Ibid., articles 116-19.

9. For an excellent analysis of the problems presented by the constitution and the 1989 election results,
see Manuel Antonio Carretón, "La redemocratización política en Chile: Transición, inauguración y evolu-
ción," Estudios Públicos no. 42 (Autumn 1991): 101-35.
10. Constitución Política, Disposiciones Transitorias, Octava.
11. For the composition and powers of the National Security Council, see ibid., articles 95 and 96. Two
civilian members of the National Security Council were the president of the Supreme Court and the con-
troller-general of public administration, both of whom were appointed by Pinochet and had long terms.
Thus, of the eight members of the National Security Council, only two were strongly associated with the
new democratic government: the president of Chile, Patricio Aylwin, and the president of the Senate,
Gabriel Valdés.
12. See Ministerio de Defensa Nacional, "Ley Orgánica Constitucional de las Fuerzas Armadas," Diario
Oficial de la República de Chile, no. 18.948 (Feb. 27,1990): 1678-83. In the same issue the Constitutional
Court formally approved the law, thus requiring a constitutional change to reverse it.
13. Ibid., articles 24-32 and esp. article 53. The president of the republic does not have the right to nom-
inate but can refuse to sign, and thus allow, a promotion. On a few occasions President Aylwin exercised
this prerogative. See Huneeus, "En defensa de la transición," 23-24. Normally, however, all recommenda-
tions for promotion by General Pinochet are accepted. See, for example, "Chile: Army Promotions Ac-
Chile 209
resocialization of the officer corps was made extremely difficult by the fact that all
military curriculum choices and all military doctrinal publications were explicitly
placed under the exclusive control of the commander-in-chief.14 Finally, the
democratic power of the purse strings over the armed forces was weakened sig-
nificantly. The law precluded the military budget from ever getting below the
quite high 1989 budgetary level. More importantly, the military was given 10 per-
cent of the foreign exchange from the sale by the state enterprise of Chile's main
export, copper, and the right to retain the income from any sales of military prop-
erty, which included extensive land and buildings.15
Power relations are never static. The relative power of the democratic govern-
ment vis-à-vis the military began to grow after Aylwin's inauguration because of
its elected origin, the excellent performance of the economy under the astute po-
litical and technical direction of the minister of finance, Alejandro Foxley, and a
series of military scandals, but the struggle to eliminate these de jure nondemo-
cratic prerogatives of the military may well continue until the late 19905.
The 1980 constitution, with its designated senators and special guarantees, was
crafted to have numerous other defenses. Any law to change the constitution or
any of the many "organic constitutional laws" that were an integral part of the
state crafted by the military regime had to be approved by the Constitutional
Court before promulgation. But the composition and function of this court had
been structured by the 1980 constitution with an aim to insulate it from direct
democratic pressures. When the democratic regime came to power in 1990, it con-
fronted a Constitutional Court with seven members, all appointed by Pinochet,
not one of whom was removable until he reached retirement age of seventy-five.
Further, the constitution mandated that the incoming democratic president
could in the future nominate only one of the court's seven members even when
they were eventually renewed. Two would be nominated by the National Security
Council, three by the Supreme Court (most of whom in 1990 were Pinochet ap-
pointees), and one by an absolute majority of the Senate (where, due to desig-
nated senators, the democratic government did not have a majority).16
cepted," Latin American Regional Reports: Southern Cone Report (Nov. 24,1994): 5. Pinochet's control over
promotion went much further in this respect than that of Franco's vis-à-vis the Spanish army.
14. Ibid., article 47. Article i explicitly states that one of the constitutional missions of the armed forces
is to "guarantee the institutional order of the Republic."
15. Ibid., article 47, clause L, and articles 93-97. For a good discussion of these provisions, see Guillermo
Pattillo, "El gasto militar de Chile en la década de los ochenta: Un analíse introductorio," in Guillermo Pat-
tillo, Fernando Bustamante, and Miguel Navarro, ¿ Cuál debe ser el gasto militar en el Chile de los 90? (San-
tiago: CED—Editorial Atena, 1991), 13-51. For a review of the parliamentary and extraparliamentary de-
bates on military budgetary prerogatives, see Claudio Fuentes, "Debate en torno al gasto militar: Nuevas
perspectivas," Fuerzas Armadas y Sociedad 6, no. 4 (1991): 24-49.
16. For this recruitment system see article 81 of the Constitution Política. In 1991 one of the seven judges
died and President Aylwin exercised the right to appoint Eugenio Velasco, a leading figure of the Con-
certación, to the judgeship. Our understanding of the Constitutional Court was aided greatly by a meeting
of Stepan with Judge Velasco on March 7,1992, in Santiago.
In addition, when it became increasingly clear that the democratic opposition

would win the election and form the next government, General Pinochet devoted
most of his energies to putting in place laws and institutional entities to further
constrain the policy freedom of the incoming democratic government. Illustra-
tive of the brazenness of this disloyal transition is that, in the waning months of
the Pinochet government, highly attractive financial inducements were given to
Supreme Court judges to retire early so that Pinochet could appoint young loyal-
ists to these posts. A major state-owned television channel was sold off, and an
"independent" TV and Radio Council was appointed before the new government
was in power. Pinochet issued laws that gave security of tenure to most of the pub-
lic sector. For example, in the Ministry of the Interior, of the 556 authorized posi-
tions, only 12 were theoretically open for new appointments by the newly elected
government.17
Gramsci used the metaphor of a series of moats that surround a fortress to de-
scribe a strong authoritarian state.18 The Chilean social scientist, Manuel Antonio
Carretón, labels such protective devices "authoritarian enclaves," and elsewhere
Alfred Stepan has discussed the concept of military prerogatives that must be re-
duced by new democratic governments.19 Whatever term is used it is clear that,
until the interlocking system of nondemocratic prerogatives is removed or greatly
diminished, the Chilean transition cannot be completed and, by definition, Chilean
democracy cannot be consolidated.
Key participants have obliquely indicated in articles or in private conversations
with us that, before the democratic government assumed power, one of their
highest priorities had originally been to obtain a broad settlement to eliminate
the most serious of the obstacles to a democratic transition. The strategy was to
combine a direct appeal to the public by the new president and agreements with
17. These and numerous other laws and decrees are pejoratively known as "binding laws" (kyes de
amarre). For discussion and extensive documentation, see Angelí and Pollack, "The Chilean Elections of
1989," 1-23. For a knowledgeable discussion of how the incoming Aylwin government was able to get con-
trol of the Central Bank and to loosen the bindingness of some of the laws, such as that concerning the tele-
vision, see Huneeus, "En defensa de la transción," 9-16.
18. See Antonio Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Nbfeboofo (New York: International Publishers, 1971), 238.
19. For his excellent discussion of the "authoritarian enclaves," see Manuel Antonio Carretón, La posi-
bilidad democrática en Chile (Santiago: FIASCO Cuadernos de Difusión, 1989), 51-62. For Stepan's discus-
sion of prerogatives, see his Rethinking Military Politics, 93-127. For detailed follow-up evaluations of
Stepan's 1988 analysis of prerogatives that document that most were still in place in Chile in 1995, see Mark
Ensalaco, "Military Prerogatives and the Stalemate of Chilean Civil-Military Relations," Armed Forces and
Society 21, no. 2 (1995): 255-70, and Wendy Hunter, "Two Steps Forward, One Step Back: Civil Military Re-
lations in Post-authoritarian Argentina and Chile" (paper prepared for a conference on Fault Lines of Dem-
ocratic Governance in the Americas, North-South Center, University of Miami, May 4-6,1995). President
Frei made elimination of nondemocratic prerogatives part of his 1993 campaign platform. However, by No-
vember 1994 it appeared that the most important military prerogatives would be contested by the demo-
cratic government only in the fourth phase of the Frei administration's phased reform, possibly in 1997, as
the terms of the commanders-in-chief of the army, navy, air force, and police and the designated senators
approached their end. See "Chile: Phased Reform of the Constitution," Latin American Research Report:
Southern Cone Report (Nov. 24,1994), 3 and Hunter, "Two Steps Forward, One Step Back."
Chile 211
some of the democratic right in the Parliament. The highest priorities in this
overall settlement were to have been to eliminate the designated senators, to en-
sure the presidental right to put officers into retirement, to change the "immobil-
ity" status of Pinochet and his other commanders-in-chief, to restructure the
composition and mission of the Constitutional Court, to alter Chile's executive
form of presidentialism toward a semiparliamentary model, and to have direct
elections for municipal offices. However, at the end of President Aylwin's admin-
istration, the only one of these political priority items to have been accomplished
was that of municipal elections, which were held in June 1992.
When asked why they did not attempt a broad settlement to eliminate the in-
terlocking system of nondemocratic prerogatives, key government officials re-
plied that they simply did not have the votes in the Senate, in the National Secu-
rity Council, or in the courts. Furthermore, they stressed that they had a broad
economic and social agenda which, while not requiring constitutional change, re-
quired that they structure their overall policy package so that they could win the
support of part of the right-wing opposition in the Senate. Given these percep-
tions of the danger and difficulty of removing the authoritarian enclaves, the first
democratic government decided to live with them as the price of stability and a
modicum of policy support on other issues from the democratic right.
In terms of our theoretical framework, Chile is thus a clear confirmation of the
hypothesis we advanced in chapter 5. We argued that the type of prior govern-
ment that can impose most constraints on a transition is one in which the non-
democratic regime's base is a hierarchical military that is united and has strong
civilian allies. In these conditions we argued that the outgoing military regime
would have great resources to impose confining conditions on any transition and
that they would simply withdraw into the state, where they could hold state-sanc-
tioned missions and resources. This has happened in Chile. We also said that, of
the six types of constitution-making processes, the least democratic would be one
where the incoming democratic government has to agree to try to increase its
power via the rules of the game that are spelled out in the constitution written by
the old authoritarian regime. This too occurred in Chile. Politically, Chilean de-
mocracy began under more constrained constitutional circumstances than were
the case in any of the Latin American or southern European countries we con-
sider in this book.20
In conceptual terms, where did the Concertación government start in March 11,
1990, and where were they able to go in four years? The democratic government
20. In Poland, the particular circumstances in which the roundtable negotiated the institutions for the
transition had similar confining conditions that were eventually overcome, but, as we shall see, they left a
complex legacy. The difference between Chile and Poland was that in Poland the nondemocratic regime
was backed by the Communist apparatus, but not by the full force of the hierarchical military. Another in-
teresting case is Nicaragua, where the democratically elected president Violeta Chamorro has de facto and
partially de jure had to "co-habit" with the leader of the Sandinista military, Commander Daniel Ortega.
faced a difficult task. Much of the state, due to the mechanisms just described and
the tactical withdrawal of a relatively autonomous military back into the state ap-
paratus, was not really in their control. Further, these authoritarian enclaves had
significant ideological and coalitional resources because civil society, in two sep-
arate highly contested votes, gave 43 percent of their support to the authoritarian
regime or their allies. In this respect, Chile contrasts sharply with the 7 to 12 per-
cent range the old regime's allies received in Hungary, Poland, Czechoslovakia,
and East Germany in the first contested elections.
The new democratic government's greatest strength was in political society
where, despite all the constitutionally imposed limits, they at least controlled the
government, having a majority in the lower house and a plurality in the Senate.
Four years later the government had altered power relations in its favor in the
state, in civil society, and in political society.
In the rest of this section we will explore two scenarios about Chile. In one sce-
nario, which will probably take until at least 1998, Chilean democracy will arrive
at a "simultaneity" outcome like that of Portugal. That is, when the last authori-
tarian enclave is finally displaced, Chile will on that same day complete its transi-
tion and consolidate democracy.
The second scenario seems almost churlish to consider. That is one where the
consequences of the long-deterred consolidation might set into motion a series of
reactions that would reduce the legitimacy and capacity of democratic governance.
Or, worse, might even contribute to part of the initial democratic coalition com-
ing to prefer the "governance advantages" of the protected democratic constitution.
Let us consider first the "Portuguese" or "simultaneity" formula, which we con-
sider the most plausible scenario. During the plebiscite of 1988, Pinochet repeat-
edly warned that a victory by the opposition would bring back party chaos, social
conflict, and economic disarray. Precisely because many voters still believed in
Pinochet's offensive and defensive projects he won 43 percent of the vote—as
much as Margaret Thatcher ever received in England. However, as in Spain and
Uruguay, both civil society and political society had in fact reflected on the previ-
ous breakdown and applied much of their learning to making democracy work.
As in Uruguay political parties have played a key role. Despite Pinochet's predic-
tions the coalition of twelve parties, led by the Christian Democrats, in the Con-
certación developed an admirable capacity to work together and to pursue poli-
cies consistently. Political violence continued but became less intense and more
marginalized and, most importantly, was systematically rejected by all political
parties. Inflation, far from increasing, reached lower levels than in the last two
years of Pinochet's presidency. Furthermore, given the solid political base of the
government's economic policies, international financial investment in Chile
reached new highs.21
21. Typical of the international financial community's positive reaction to the performance of the first
year of the democratic government was a report by John F. H. Powell, Joyce Change, and Dirk W. Damrau,
Chile 213
The legacy of human rights abuse was more difficult to handle given the con-
tinuing presence of Pinochet's judicial, military, and political power resources.
Given this correlation of forces, the Aylwin government decided that the Argen-
tine model of extensive trials was not possible. Indeed, they diagnosed the Argen-
tine civil-military crisis of 1984-87 as having been due to a process by which one
component of the state (the military-as-organization) was in strident conflict
against another component of the state (the executive of the democratic govern-
ment). To avoid an Argentine-style conflict and what they saw as an excessive pol-
icy of "forgetting" in the Uruguayan government, the Aylwin government decided
on a middle course, which was to pursue a "regime of truth" concerning the
abuses of civil rights under the previous military regime.
The government commissioned a full scale inquiry into human rights abuses
and crimes of political violence in the 1973-85 period and published the results.22
However, the compromise decision was made that prosecutions would be under-
taken only by individuals against individuals so as to avoid the Argentine in-
trastate conflict. Their formula did not fully satisfy the claims of justice (it is very
hard for individuals to prosecute individuals) or the hopes of human rights ac-
tivists. Despite significant reservations, both on the left and on the right, many
Chileans accepted the formula reluctantly as the best outcome that was politically
feasible in the circumstances.
Backed by a coherent coalitional majority in the lower house and working hard
to arrive at an almost consociational formula with part of the democratic right in
the Senate, the Aylwin government—unlike the decree-ridden "delegative
democracy" style of Brazilian and Argentine governments or the dead-locked
Uruguayan government—proved very efficacious. They were able to formulate
and implement a coherent set of programs in all areas that were not vetoed de
facto by the 1980 constitution and the decreasing, but still powerful, Pinochet-
backed conservative coalition.
"Chile: An Investment-Grade Credit" (New York: Solomon Brothers, May 1991), in which they argued "in
our opinion Chile should be viewed as Latin America's first investment grade sovereign credit for the fol-
lowing reasons: There is a strong consensus on economic policy goals.... Chilean political stability is sus-
tainable. ... Prudent macroeconomic arrangements have produced healthy results.... Chile has signifi-
cantly reduced its vulnerability to external shocks" (p. i). Chile's solid economic performance in 1995,
despite the Mexican "tequila effect" which rocked Argentina, confirmed that these judgments were sound.
22. President Aylwin released the two-volume report of the Comisión Nacional de Verdad y Reconcilia-
ción in a moving, nationally televised ceremony. The report is commonly referred to as the Rettig Commis-
sion. José Zalaquett, one of the eight members of the commission and a former president of th¿ Interna-
tional Executive Committee of Amnesty International, compared the Uruguyan, Argentine, and Chilean
responses to human rights abuses in "Derechos humanos y limitaciones políticas en las transiciones
democráticas del Cono Sur," Colección Estudios CIEPLANno. 33 (Dec. 1991): 147-186. Our understanding of
what was and was not done by the Rettig Commission was deepened by an interview of Stepan with Zala-
quett on March 5,1992. For a valuable full-scale evaluation, see "Human Rights and the 'Polities' of Agree-
ments: Chile during President Aylwin's First Year" (New York: Americas Watch, July 1991). See the excellent
comparative analysis of Chile and Uruguay by Alexandra Barahona da Brito, "Truth or Amnesty. Human
Rights and Democratization in Latin America: Uruguay and Chile" (Ph.D. diss., University of Oxford, 1993).
Table 13.1. Legitimacy and Efficacy in Chile and Spain

Chile Spain
1 yr after 2 yr after 1 yr after 3 yr after 11 yr after

redemocratization redemocratization redemocratization redemocratization First election
Indicator (March 1991) (March 1992) (1978) (1980) (1988)
Legitimacy
"Democracy is the 86.6 79.1 77 69 87
best political system
for a country like
ours."
Efficacy
"Democracy allows 78.7 67.0 68 45 56
the resolution of the
problems that we
["as Spaniards/as
Chileans"] face."
N (5898) (3132) (4548)
Source: For Chile, data from "Evaluación del segundo año de gobierno democrático" (Santiago: Centro de Estudios de la
Realidad Contemporánea, May 1992), table 33. For Spain, data from José Ramón Montero and Richard Günther "Democratic
Legitimacy in Spain," paper presented at the International Political Science Association XVI World Congress, Berlin, Aug. 21-
25, 1994.
Given this context Chile had already won by mid-1992 attitudinal support for
democracy that compared quite favorably to the consolidated democracies of
Spain, Portugal, Greece, and Uruguay. Chile in 1992 was the only one of our four
Latin American cases whose citizens attested their belief in both the legitimacy
and the efficacy of democracy. In fact, by these measures Chile and Spain were
remarkably similar (table 13.1). A comparison of the citizens' perception of high
efficacy in Chile with that of Brazil is particularly striking (table 13.2).
Chile, even more than Spain, also underscores the fact that citizens can believe
that a previous authoritarian regime was "in part good, in part bad" while having
an overwhelming opinion in favor of democracy once a democracy is function-
ing well. In Spain, table 9.4 showed that 44 percent of Spaniards felt that the
Franco regime was "in part good, in part bad." In Chile, 55 percent of the popula-
tion had such an opinion about Pinochet in October igSg.23 However, the fact
that Pinochet was seen as presenting obstacles to democracy contributed to the
fact that, a year and a half after the inauguration of a democratic government, his
prestige was vastly lower than that of the leading democratic figures. In Decem-
ber 1991 a poll was carried out on the positive and negative images of thirty-one
public figures. The leading figures of the democratic government—President
Aylwin, Finance Minister Alejandro Foxley, and the Minister of Education Ricardo
23. "Informe Encuesta Nacional," CERC, Santiago, October 1989, table 8.

Chile 215
Table 13.2. Citizens' Perceptions of Governmental Efficacy on the Second Anniversary of Democratic
Rule under Freely Elected Presidents (Aylwin in Chile, Collor in Brazil)
Chile Brazil
Indicator (March 1992) (Feb. 20-22, 1992)
"This government is resolving the economic problems of the country." 23.1 3

"This government is not resolving the economic problems of the 54.1 32
country but needs time."
"This government cannot resolve the economic problems of the 12.8 29
country."
"No government can resolve the economic problems of the country." 8.3 30
Don't know/not answered 1.8 6
Source: Chile: data from same source as for table 13.1, table 58, W =1,500, national sample. Brazil: data from Datafolha,
national sample, N =2,500.
Lagos (a socialist who was the founding president of the social-democratic Party
for Democracy)—were overwhelmingly popular. The young president of the
democratic right party, Andres Allamand, also received a very favorable rating.
The two figures with the largest net unpopularity were General Pinochet and the
leftist leader Volodia Teitelboin, who, as late as 1988, had been talking about the
need for a mass uprising.24
Finally, as we argued in part i, a consolidated democracy needs to have a state ap-
paratus that is considered usable and reasonably even-handed by its citizens. We saw
in the case of Brazil that citizens have great fears of the police. In Chile, despite the
fact that they were close to the Pinochet regime, the National Police Force (the Cara-
bineros) managed to survive with some of its professional image intact. In Chile,
two years after the democratic opposition won the election, 76 percent of a national
sample and 71 percent of those who identified themselves as on the left said that they
believed that the Carabineros would be helpful to them or to people like them.25
Given these early favorable attitudes in 1992 toward the regime's legitimacy, ef-
ficacy, and fairness, the attitudinal dimension of Chilean democracy seemed to
indicate that Chile was on the road to consolidation. Also, given the decline in dis-
loyal and semiloyal behavior of many political actors—with the far from negligi-
ble exception of the military—the behavioral dimension of consolidation also
looked favorable. This situation gave credence to the likelihood of our Portuguese
scenario. That is, when all of the de jure limitations on the ability of democrati-
cally sanctioned institutions to make policy are finally overcome, on that day the
Chilean transition to democracy and the Chilean consolidation of democracy
would probably occur simultaneously.
24. A CERC poll given to the authors.
25. See "Estudio social y de opinión pública," Centro de Estudios Públicos, Documento de Trabajo, no.
173 (Feb. 1992): 65. The Policía Civil de Investigaciones (PCI) was also quite effacious and nonviolent. Be-
tween 1991 and June 1994, fifty-three members of the top leadership of one of Chile's most active terrorist
groups, Movimento Juvenil Lautaro, were captured in "bloodless operations" and put in jail. See "Entire
Lautaro Leadership in Gaol," Latin American Research Report: Southern Cone Report (Aug. 1994), 7.
2i6 South America: Constrained Transitions
This leads us to our final question. What, if any, costs could there be to Chilean
democracy if it has to wait until the end of the 19905 to eliminate nondemocratic
prerogatives and to create a democratic constitution? Before the vote that led up
to the defeat of Pinochet had taken place, many of the leading political figures of
the Chilean democratic opposition, from the left to the right, reviewed the causes
of the breakdown of democracy in Chile in 1973 and discussed how to consolidate
democracy in the future. There was a very widespread recognition of the fact that
Chile was naturally a multiparty system with strong party ideologies. In the past
the democratic opposition leaders had argued that this combination tended to
produce minority governments, legislative impasses, and attempts by popularly
elected presidents to rule by decrees or use extraparliamentary measures. Many of
the Chilean exiles had lived in Italy, Germany, and Spain, and modern parliamen-
tarianism seemed to them an appropriate response for Chile.26 At this time a near
consensus had emerged that presidentialism had problems that needed to be ad-
dressed. Some even argued that, in the first democratic government, while the
coalition was still holding together and before future presidential campaigns
completely divided them, the democratic opposition should move toward a par-
liamentary system of the semipresidential variety. Once in power, however, and
faced with resistance to constitutional reform by the Pinochet coalition and by
their own desire to press forward with socioeconomic policy measures, the gov-
ernment decided to let political reform wait.
By early 1992, however, the two leading components of the Concertación coali-
tion, the Christian Democrats and the Socialists, had undeclared but powerful
presidential candidates organizing their campaigns and inevitably creating some
tension in the Concertación.27 Our theoretical and comparative analysis leads us
to think that the arguments advanced by many Chilean politicians and theoreti-
cians in 1985-88 were right then and are still right. However, we believe that in
politics timing is crucial. The logic of electoral competition and the lure of hold-
ing the office of the presidency will make it much more difficult for Chile to put
together a winning coalition for parliamentarianism in the Iate-i99os than it
would have been in the early 19905. This, in turn, will make the task of putting to-
gether coalitions for governance more difficult. Why?
26. Both of the authors attended a three-day conference in Chile in August 1989 on this theme. At the
concluding public session, Ricardo Lagos, the president of Partido por la Democracia (or Party for De-
mocracy—PPD); Andres Zaldivar, the president of Partido Demócrata Cristiano (or Christian Democratic
Party—PDC); and Andres Allamand, the president of the major democratic right party, Renovación Na-
cional all advanced arguments on the need to re-examine Chile's presidential system. A later secretary gen-
eral of the Chilean Christian Democratic Party, Genaro Arriagada, wrote a pioneering article on the theme
of how Chile's multiparty presidential system produced "double-minority" governments and thus needed
parliamentarianism.
27. The two leading "precandidates" came from the two major parties of the Concertación, Eduardo Frei
of the Christian Democrats and Ricardo Lagos of the social democratic Party for Democracy. By mid-1992
Eduardo Frei had a commanding lead in the polls for the December 1993 election. In the end Lagos with-
drew as a candidate, and Frei won easily.
Chile 217
Some have argued that, given the existence of the Concertación and the pow-
erful consensual majority it had developed in the lower house, Chile had achieved
the coalitional virtues of parliamentarianism even without shifting to a parlia-
mentary system. This is possible. But the Concertación's capacity in 1990-94 owed
much to the high incentives for coalitional compromise that were created by the
constraints imposed by the 1980 constitution. There was, of course, internal po-
litical learning within the coalition, but the constitution and Pinochet's control of
part of the state appartatus acted as powerful factors of agglutination. If this rea-
soning is correct, then, as the Pinochet presence wanes and multiparty compe-
tition in the context of presidentialism grows, Chile's coalitional calculus could
once again become quite difficult.28
But the cost of Pinochet's continued opposition to trials for human rights vi-
olations, and his penchant and ability to block the democratically elected gov-
ernment's efforts to reform the constitution and to eliminate the interconnected
system of military prerogatives, might be that democracy begins to lose some of
its attractiveness, and even legitimacy, in the eyes of its citizens. By 1993 there were
worrying signs that this was beginning to happen. Despite continued excellent
economic performance and the exceptionally high personal popularity of Presi-
dent Alywin, respondents expressing themselves as "very satisfied" or "satisfied"
with democracy declined from 75 percent in August 1990 to 37 percent in August
1993-29 In the aftermath of a military show of force by Pinochet in June 1993 and
the president's inability to carry out his announced policy changes vis-à-vis mil-
itary prerogatives, the percentage of respondents who said "democracy is fully in-
stalled," which was 25 percent in October 1991 and 20 percent in March 1992,
28. This assertion is based on the theoretical premise that, in a multiparty parliamentary system, there
will be more incentives for forming enduring coalitions than in a multiparty presidential system. The quan-
titative evidence of the world's long-standing democracies gives strong empirical support to the theoreti-
cal argument. In 1980-89 there were fourteen parliamentary or semipresidential systems with three to seven
"effective" political parties on the Laakso-Taagepera scale. The "highest effective party index" for a presi-
dential democracy with ten years duration in that period is Venezuela with 2.6 parties, but Chile before
Pinochet often had a party index near 6—perfectly normal for a parliamentary democracy but highly ex-
ceptional for a presidential democracy. See Alfred Stepan and Cindy Skach, "Constitutional Frameworks
and Democratic Consolidation: Parliamentarianism vs. Presidentialism," World Politics 46 (Oct. 1993): 8-9.
For the general argument in favor of parliamentarianism and an analysis of the Chilean problems with
presidentialism, see the articles by Juan J. Linz and Arturo Valenzuela, respectively, in the volume they
edited, The Failure of Presidential Democracy (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994).
The Aylwin government of 1989-93 had significant consociational and quasi-parliamentary features.
President Frei's government is more presidential in style. For example, President Frei removed the most im-
portant Socialist member of his cabinet without any prior consultation with his Socialist Party coalition
members. Such behavior would be highly improbable in a parliamentary coalition. The general secretary
of the Socialist Party warned that "the lack of consultation undermines the very foundations that have
made possible the governing coalition." See "Chile: Socialists Angered by Loss of Top Post," Latin America
Research Review: Southern Cone Report (Oct. 20,1994), 6.
29. This decline appeared in various CERC polls shown to the authors by Marta Lagos, who designed
the polls and who believes, by the analysis of related questions, that the most likely explanation for the de-
cline in the legitimacy indicator is citizens' negative reaction to the military's continued ability to control
key parts of the policy agenda. See "Informe de Prensa Encuesta Nacional," CERC, Oct. 1993.
2i8 South America: Constrained Transitions
dropped near the end of the Aylwin administration (October 1993) to a new low
of 16 percent.30 Indeed, 40.6 percent of those polled in October 1993 actually be-
lieved that the military wanted to return to power.31
In June 1995, retired General Manuel Contreras, the former head of the much
feared secret police, DINA, was given a jail sentence for his involvement in the
1976 Washington assassination of a major Chilean opposition leader, Orlando
Letelier. But, before he could be jailed, military helicopters spirited the convicted
Contreras from his ranch to a naval hospital. After a four-month standoff, Con-
treras was eventually put in a special jail with military guards. Military acts of in-
timidation and defiance of the democratic government such as these were, in
1993-95, significantly greater in Chile than they were in Brazil, Uruguay, or Ar-
gentina. Such acts continued to underscore to the Chilean citizens that there con-
tinued to be, seven years after the transition began, important policy areas out-
side the effective control of the democratic regime.
Let us conclude with a final reflection. The 1980 constitution greatly strength-
ened the prerogatives of the government of the day—Congress must adhere to a
strict timetable specified by the executive, they cannot initiate important money
bills, and the office of the presidency is insulated within the structures that
Pinochet designed for himself. Mitterand, when he was in the opposition, used to
call de Gaulle's Fifth Republic Constitution a "permanent coup d'etat."32 The
irony is that, upon being elected president, it was Mitterand who gave the Gaullist
constitution its final legitimation. It would be a sad irony if the quality of Chilean
democracy eventually turned out to be lower than it might have been if the dem-
ocratic government found some of the 1980 Constitution's prerogatives so conve-
nient for governance that they routinized and legitimized them.
30. Ibid., table 5.

31. Ibid., 23-24.
32. Francois Mitterand, Le coup d'état permanent (Paris: Plan, 1965).
14
South America: Concluding Reflections
I H E FACT T H A T the Southern Cone cases of democratic transitions and

consolidation began from bases of hierarchically controlled military regimes con-
tributed to powerful constraining conditions in all four countries under consid-
eration. We argue that this variable, taken by itself, explains an important degree
of the variance concerning democratic consolidation in the Southern Cone com-
pared to the southern European cases.
However, we also believe that other factors, not all directly related to this vari-
able, help explain the difficult task of democratic consolidation in the Southern
Cone. We concluded our southern European section with a rapid review of fac-
tors that were positive. In the Latin American cases, the same factors are present
but in a more problematic way.
Schematically, the major differences are the following:
1. The European community represented a positive political and economic
network to which Spain, Greece, and Portugal could aspire. Membership in the
community offered some financial incentives. In southern Europe, integration
into the EEC held out the positive transfer of close to 5 percent of GNP. No com-
parable positive economic or political network existed for the Southern Cone.
The market-democratic countries led by the United States were seen primarily as
sources of foreign indebtedness. In the 19805 continued market integration for the
Southern Cone countries meant debt payment of close to 5 percent of GNP for
Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay. However, by the mid-1990s the common market
of Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay, and Paraguay (MERCOSUR) was beginning to
help trade and growth among these four countries.
2. Greece and Portugal had been members of the North Atlantic Treaty Orga-
nization (NATO) in nondemocratic periods. However, on balance, membership
in NATO in the 19805 for Greece, Portugal, and Spain (especially for the air force
and navy) helped ease the militaries' transition to democracy because it gave sup-
port to missions and identities based on enhanced military professionalism. Ad-
hesion to NATO, especially in the case of Spain, produced considerable contro-
versy among politicians and within public opinion at large. But membership has
also meant that the tension-fraught question "Why do we need a military in de-
mocracy?" was not a major source of civil-military conflict. The Southern Cone
countries have no NATO-like roles. The major international role that the Reagan
and Bush administrators encouraged the Latin American militaries to perform
concerned the politically explosive area of joint antidrug trafficking operations.
3. We argued that, for southern Europe, in no country were "issues concern-
ing the direction or functioning of the economy as salient as the debates about
political power." We believe this helped focus attention on the political aspects of
democratic consolidation. In Latin America, partly due to the debt crisis, eco-
nomic issues rapidly became as important as and eventually more important than
political issues, and we believe that this hurt democratic consolidation. The only
exception to this was Chile, where the economy was in good condition but the po-
litical constraints were severe.
4. In contrast to Europe, no Latin American country carried out an uncon-
strained constituent assembly. Brazil tried and was constrained by the military
and the president. Democratic politicians in Chile are still slowly attempting
to unshackle themselves from an authoritarian constitution. Uruguay and Ar-
gentina opted for restoration formulas. Although in Argentina there was a dis-
cussion of fundamental reforms, ultimately, as we have seen, there was an ad hoc
reform to make possible the reelection of Menem.
5. All Southern Cone countries began their transitions with presidents with fixed
terms and continue with presidential systems. In Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay,
this contributed to some institutionally specific problems. In Brazil, executive-leg-
islative deadlock has been the norm, and the "accidental" president, José Sarney,
served five years and helped block the Constituent Assembly's choice for parlia-
mentarianism. President Sarney often relied upon military power. In Argentina, the
difference in electoral timetables blocked any possibility for a popular President
Alfonsin to win a majority in 1984—85 and forced an unpopular President Alfonsin
to continue ruling in 1987-89, after he had been roundly defeated in congressional
elections. In Uruguay, the first three civilian presidents have been minority presi-
dents. The weak incentives in presidentialism for coalitions make effective coalition
government difficult in all three countries. Whether Chile's new-found spirit of coali-
tional cooperation can survive the waning of Pinochet's presence remains to be seen.
6. Given the civil-military conflicts that have often constrained sovereignty
and weakened legitimacy, the prolonged economic crises, and the weak coali-
tional capacity of presidentialist governments, it is understandable that public
perceptions about whether the country was faring well under democracy were
dangerously low even before the first civilian presidents finished their terms.1
i. For example, in November 1988 as the terms of presidents Alfonsin, Sanguinetti, and Sarney were
ending, the percentage of people who classified the situation of their respective countries as "bad" or "very
bad" was 84 percent in Brazil, 60 percent in Argentina, and 57 percent in Uruguay. Only l percent of re-
spondents in Brazil and 4 percent of respondents in Argentina and Uruguay felt that their country's situa-
South America: Concluding Reflections 221
Philippe C. Schmitter coined a chilling phrase when he remarked that some coun-
tries may be "condemned to democracy" because the alternatives are even weaker.
Fortunately, the authoritarian alternative was still very unattractive toward the
end of the mandates of the first civilian presidents in Brazil, Argentina, and
Uruguay. In all three countries presidential elections in 1989 brought a resurgence
of confidence in the new presidents. However, from the perspective of democratic
theory and stability, the plebiscitary style of President Menem in Argentina and
of the eventually impeached President Collor in Brazil related more to "delegated
democracy" (with all its hopes and dangers) than to democratic consolidation.
7. In summation, in contrast to Spain, Portugal, and Greece, all of which are
consolidated, of our four South American cases only crisis-prone Uruguay, with
its mix of high legitimacy and difficult political economy, is democratically con-
solidated. Given military prerogatives the Chilean transition itself is still far from
complete. Brazil was further from consolidation in 1993 than in 1986. Argentina
has tamed inflation, but the president flouts legality. On the plus side, in all four
countries civil societies' demands for "transparency" and accountability in state
and government have reached unprecedented levels, and all four countries are
still strongly committed to electoral politics.
A D D E N D U M : How C I T I Z E N S VIEW D E M O C R A C Y
In August 1995, as we were correcting the edited copy of this book, we received
advance results of the first ever Latino Barometer. This survey used a common
questionnaire and a common method. Table 14.1 summarizes the results that re-
late to democratic legitimacy, democratic efficacy, and expectations about the fu-
ture. All implications of this important survey must await rigorous full-scale
analysis by the projects' coordinators. However, even at this stage we can draw at-
tention to some of the results most relevant to our book.
The reader of the preceding chapters can see that the answers to the question
about the legitimacy of democracy and corresponding attitudes toward an au-
thoritarian alternative under certain circumstances clearly confirm our conclu-
sions about the attitudinal support for the consolidation in Uruguay and our con-
cern about the case of Brazil. Additional data referred to later in this addendum
provide the reader with even more supporting information about these basic pat-
terns in both countries.
The Argentine and Chilean responses on the legitimacy question pose more
tion was "very good" or "good." The percentage of respondents who felt that the situation was "neither good
nor bad" was 15 percent in Brazil, 36 percent in Argentina, and 38 percent in Uruguay. Figures are taken from
Proyecto Cono Sur, as reported in Edgardo Catterberg and Maria Braun, "Notas para un balance de la tran-
sición" (paper prepared for a conference on democratic consolidation organized by the Centro de la Real-
idad Contemporánea [CERC], Santiago, Chile, Aug. 10-11,1989), 19.
Table 14.1. Attitudes toward the Legitimacy and Efficacy of Democracy and Expectations about the
Future: Uruguay, Argentina, Chile, and Brazil, 1995
Survey Response Uruguay Argentina Chile Brazil
"With which of the following phrases are you most in agreement?" (Legitimacy Indicator)
"Democracy is preferable to any other form of 80 76.6 52.2 41.0
government."
"In some circumstances an authoritarian 8 10.9 18.5 21.1
government can be preferable to a democratic
government."
"For someone like me, a democratic or a 6 6.1 25.3 23.3
nondemocratic regime makes no difference."
"Don't know" 4 6.4 2.4 13.8
No answer 2 — 1.5 0.8
"Some people say that democracy allows the solution of problems that we have in our country. Other
people say that democracy does not solve the problems. Which of the following phrases is the closest
to your way of thinking?" (Efficacy Indicator)
"Democracy allows the solution of the problems." 54 52.9 47.6 45.6
"Democracy does not solve the problems." 34 36.6 46.4 44.6
"Don't know" 9 10.5 4.3 9.2
No answer 3 0.1 1.7 0.7
"Would you say that the country is ... ?" (Expectation Indicator)
"Progressing" 29 30.6 52.6 43.7
"Stagnant" 45 43.2 39.1 37.7
"Moving backward" 22 22.8 5.8 15.8
"Don't know'VN.A. 4 3.4 2.4 2.9
A/ (1,213) (1,200) (1,240) (1,200)
Source: Latino Barometer, project directed by Marta Lagos. Full results to be published by the end of 1995. We are extremely
grateful to Marta Lagos for making these data available to us. The interpretation, however, is our responsibility.
complex problems. In our chapter on Chile, we documented the downward trend

in citizen satisfaction with democracy. However, for a variety of reasons we de-
velop later, the difference between the 52.2 percent support for democracy in
Chile in 1995 (down from 63.8 percent in 1991) and the 76.6 percent support for
democracy in Agentina is perplexing.
The responses to the question about whether an authoritarian government
might be preferable show the small potential constituency for authoritarianism in
Uruguay and Argentina. The data show a larger potential constituency for au-
thoritarianism in Brazil but also in Chile. In fact, the percentage of people an-
swering that "for someone like me a democratic or a nondemocratic regime
makes no difference" is about four times higher in Brazil and Chile than in
Uruguay or Argentina. The reader will note that the lower overall commitment to
democracy in Brazil is not due to a larger number of authoritarian or "indiffer-
ent" responses but to the larger number of "don't knows," which is 13.8 percent in
Brazil compared to 2.4 percent in Chile.
The answers to the efficacy question about "democracy [allowing] the solution
of the [country's] problems" should, in the opinion of many scholars, provide an
explanation of the above differences. However, the first thing that strikes us is that
the maximum difference between the countries on efficacy (8.4 percent) is not
nearly as great as the maximum difference on the legitimacy question (39.0 per-
cent). Once again this demonstrates that it is a conceptual and political mistake
to presume that legitimacy and efficacy are always tightly linked.
Although the difference between efficacy in Uruguay and Brazil is congruent
with the legitimacy of democracy, it is by no means an explanation of the full dif-
ference.2 What is most surprising in the data is that the efficacy response in Chile
is both less positive (and more negative) than that in Argentina. Readers might
think that this explains the difference concerning the legitimacy indicator in Chile
and Argentina but might also feel that this is counterintuitive because they know
that the economic performance of Chile has been superior to that of Argentina
and that some aspects of democracy are of a higher quality in Chile than in Ar-
gentina. The readers are not wrong when they perceive Chile in a positive light be-
cause 52.6 percent of the Chileans believe that the country is making progress
whereas only 30.6 percent of the Argentines believe their country is progressing.
Also, only 5.8 percent of the Chileans said Chile was "moving backward," in sharp
contrast to Argentina's 22.8 percent for the same question. Nonetheless, the strong
objective economic indicators in Chile and the hopeful subjective expectations of
the Chileans are not transferred to their commitment to the legitimacy of de-
mocracy. This is a great paradox that is not easy to explain. However, we believe
that the survey results are in line with our analysis of the incompleteness of the
Chilean transition, the correspondingly different place of the military in Chilean
and Argentine society in the mid-1990s, and the constraints under which Chilean
democracy has been operating.
On a whole series of indicators, Chileans are somewhat more satisfied with the
quality of democracy than are the Argentines. In Chile, in contrast to Argentina,
fewer people think corruption has increased significantly in the last five years
(14 percentage points fewer), more think that access to television is equitable
(7 percentage points more), and more think that elections are cleaner (6 percent-
age points more). In the area of the economy, more Chileans than Argentines per-
2. In fact, whereas 43.7 percent of the Brazilians see the country as "progressing," only 29 percent of the
Uruguayans see their country as progressing. This indicates that the response that "democracy is preferable
to any other form of government" (39 percentage points higher in Uruguay than in Brazil) is a complex
judgment that involves much more than a sense of economic or other forms of nonpolitical progress. Ques-
tions such as perceptions of justice and equality no doubt enter into judgments concerning legitimacy.
Table 14.2. Attitudes toward the Power of and Confidence in the Military in Argentina, Uruguay,
Brazil, and Chile, 1995
Survey Response Argentina Uruguay Brazil Chile
"Who do you believe has the most power in (your country)? Name up to three groups."
"The Military" 18 22 30.9 46.8
"And who would you like to have more power in (your country)?" Name up to three groups."
"The Military" 5.4 8 32.9 10.6
"How much confidence do you have in ... ?" (Percentage answering "much" or "some")
"The Military" 37.5 44 58.7 54.3
Source: Latino Barometer (see tabie 14.1).
ceive that their standard of living is higher than their parents' (19 percentage
points more) and fewer Chileans than Argentines believe that poverty has "in-
creased a lot" in the last five years (39 percentage points fewer).
However, as table 14.2 makes clear, in relation to the military there are major
differences in the opposite direction between Chile and Argentina, but also Uru-
guay and Brazil. The Argentine data are the easiest to interpret. Fewer citizens in
Argentina than in any other country in the Southern Cone believe that the mili-
tary is powerful. Also, the lowest percentage of respondents in the Southern Cone
who want the military to have more power is in Argentina and the least trusted
military is in Argentina. These data reinforce our previous argument that the mil-
itary's role as an autonomous and trusted political actor has been reduced greatly
in Argentina. In Brazil, the percentage of people who would like the military to
have more power is the highest and is congruent with Brazil's low legitimacy in-
dicator. Once again, the Chilean data are the most complex. More Chileans by far
perceive the military as the most powerful group in the country, but only in Brazil
do more people have trust in the military. In sharp contrast to Argentina, Chilean
military supporters and military opponents alike state that the military is still ob-
viously a major actor in the political system.
The breakdown of democracy and the repressive rule of the military probably
left a different legacy in Chile than in Argentina; we can only hint at this legacy,
and it deserves much more research and analysis. In Chile an important segment
of the society felt deeply threatened by the Unidad Popular government and the
parties linked with it. These groups supported Pinochet and continued doing so
in the plebiscite, and many of them continue to support the parties of the right
and the continuance of military prerogatives. In Argentina, citizens felt threatened
not so much by a government or by a party or parties, but by the breakdown of
government and the political violence of the guerrilla-terrorists and the state-ter-
rorists. However, there is no salient and weighty presence in Argentina in 1995 of
the actors of the drama that led to the tragic years of military rule. In addition, that
rule has nothing to its credit. In contrast, in Chile, part of the right still believes
that some leftist parties are a potential threat and should be banned. For their part,
much of the left see the coup by Pinochet as an attack on democracy, see the coup
victims as innocent citizens who were identified with legitimate options, and dis-
like the continuation of military prerogatives. The human rights issue therefore re-
tains a different saliency and meaning in Chile than in Argentina and remains on
the political agenda in Chile in a way that it is not in Argentina. In Chile, the per-
sistence of military prerogatives and the limits imposed on human rights-related
trials are unfinished parts of the process of democratization. This is so because the
effective answer given to requests by human rights activists for trials in Chile was
not given as in Uruguay (however reluctantly) by citizens in a referendum, as in
Argentina (however controversially) by a pardon granted by a twice democrati-
cally elected president, but by the auto-amnesty the military gave themselves.3
After six years of democratic rule, the transition is still not complete and the
military retain extensive prerogatives and often act with impunity. This might
help to explain why, even though the economy continues to improve, there is a de-
clining number of confident democrats in Chile.
Table 14.1 suggests that, in the area of public opinion, Argentina seems to be
transcending parts of its nondemocratic past, although the leadership style of
Menem and the voters' tolerance of his questionable attitude toward law and cor-
ruption remind us of some of the legacies of Argentina's recent social and eco-
nomic turmoil. In Chile, however, there seems to be a degree of uneasiness about
the present, the past, and the political future that contributes not only to the rel-
atively low legitimacy indicator in table 14.1, but also to a cluster of attitudes not
found in consolidated democracies (table 14.3).
Among those who believe that "democracy allows the solution of the problems
of the country," we would not expect significant differences in legitimacy belief
among the four countries. However, the differences in the commitment to de-
mocracy we found continue independently of the positive view of the potential
efficacy of democracy (table 14.4).
Indeed, as table 14.4 makes clear, among those who consider democracy effica-
cious there is significant variation as to whether respondents consider democracy
legitimate or not. Among those who consider democracy efficacious, the per-
centage who consider democracy preferable in Uruguay is 89.8 percent, in Argen-
tina is 89.3 percent, in Chile is 72.9 percent, and in Brazil is 55.2 percent.
If the link between efficacy and legitimacy were tightly coupled, one would ex-
pect that, among those who shared a belief in the inefficacy of democracy, differ-
3. This was graphically demonstrated in June 1995 when, after the conviction of General Contreras (for
his involvement in a political assasination), a poll asked whether "reconciliation had taken place in Chile."
Of those polled 68.9 percent said that Chileans were not reconciled. Among the left, 63.7 percent wanted
more trials, whereas only 22.2 percent on the right did. See Encuesta Nacional CERC (Santiago, luly 1995).
Table 14.3. Attitudes toward Political Liberties and Trust in Chile, Brazil, Argentina and Uruguay,
1995
Survey Response Chile Brazil Argentina Uruguay
"All parties should be permitted." 38.6 62.8 59.0 67

"Extremist parties should be prohibited." 53.6 25.6 29.0 24
"Democracy can function without parties." 33.6 42.2 18.1 15
"A little bit of a governmental strong hand (mano dura) is not 62.9 51.8 46.8 45
bad for the country."
"People normally say what they think about politics." 28.5 31.3 46.4 NA
Source: Latino Barometer (see table 14.1).

NA, not available.
enees in legitimacy beliefs would be narrowed. The fact is that they are more
marked. This would suggest that, with lower legitimacy in the society, the lack of
perceived efficacy has a greater effect on the responses of the citizens. Incidentally,
this would be congruent with our analysis of the influence of the loss of efficacy
during the world depression in interwar Europe.4 The difference in the preference
for democracy between those who believe in the efficacy of democracy and those
who do not in Uruguay (respectively, 89.8 percent and 71.5 percent) is 18.3 per-
centage points, in Argentina is 24.2 percentage points, in Brazil is 26.2 percentage
points, and in Chile is 39.8 percentage points.
Preference for the authoritarian alternative is always higher among those not
believing in the efficacy of democracy. The group who lack belief in the efficacy
of democracy and prefer authoritarianism is small in Uruguay (14.5 percent) and
in Argentina (18.3 percent) but larger in Chile (25.7 percent) and in Brazil (27.7
percent). Lack of efficacy also leads to a larger percentage of respondents who feel
that "for people like themselves democracy makes no difference." But again, the
effect is modest in Uruguay (8.3 percent) and Argentina (11.7 percent) but great in
Chile (37.9 percent) and Brazil (30.7 percent). The high proportion in Chile ac-
counts for much of the "democratic" deficit, which in Brazil is also explained by
a larger number of politically uninterested or uninformed.
Let us conclude this addendum with an attempt to construct an empirically
based typology of legitimacy and efficacy and to locate the populations of the
four Southern Cone countries in our typology. The first dimension of our typol-
ogy concerns legitimacy. For simplicity let us assign a label to our three answers
on our legitimacy indicator. We will call respondents democrats if they answered
positively to the statement "democracy is preferable to any form of government."
We will call respondents authoritarian if they gave a positive answer to the state-
ment "in some circumstances an authoritarian government can be preferable to a
4. See our "Political Crafting of Democratic Consolidation or Destruction: European and South Amer-
ican Comparisons," in Robert A. Pastor, ed., Democracy in the Americas (New York: Holmes and Meier,
1989)1 46-47, 58.
Table 14.4. Perception of Capacity of Democracy to Solve the Problems of the Country and Attitude
toward Democracy in Uruguay, Argentina, Chile, and Brazil (Percentages of Respondents)
Efficacy
"Democracy is able "Democracy is not able

to solve the problems." to solve the problems."
Survey Response Uruguay Argentina Chile Brazil Uruguay Argentina Chile Brazil
Legitimacy "With which of the following phrases are you most in agreement?"
"Democracy is preferable to 89.8 89.3 72.9 55.2 71.5 65.1 33.1 29.0
any other form of
government."
"In some circumstances an 3.9 5.3 11.7 16.8 14.5 18.3 25.7 27.7
authoritarian government can
be preferable to a democratic
government."
"For someone like me, a 3.8 1.9 13.4 17.2 8.3 11.7 37.9 30.7
democratic or a nondemocratic
regime makes no difference."
No answer or "don't know" 2.5 3.5 2.0 10.8 5.7 4.9 3.3 12.7
A/ (660) (617) (590) (547) (411) (427) (575) (535)
Source: Latino Barometer (see table 14.1).
democratic government." We will call respondents alienated ii they answered pos-

itively to the statement, "for someone like me, a democratic or nondemocratic
regime makes no difference."
The second dimension of our typology concerns efficacy. We will simply make
a dichotomy between those who believe that "democracy allows the solution of
the problems that we have in our country" and those who do not believe this to
be so. These two dimensions create a legitimacy/efficacy typology of six types. In
this typology we shall call people who support democracy and believe it to be ef-
ficacious confident democrats. Those who support democracy but do not believe
it capable of solving the country's problems we call worried democrats (table 14.5).
We can now turn to the distribution of the population among those inter-
viewed who expressed an opinion about the legitimacy and the efficacy of
democracy. Using these variables and the Latino Barometer results, we can empir-
ically locate the percentage of respondents from each Southern Cone country
within our typology (table 14.6). Respondents who consider democracy the most
preferable form of government and capable of solving the problems of the coun-
try (satisfied democrats they were called in some Spanish and southern European
studies) are 57.4 percent in Uruguay, 54.9 percent in Argentina, 37.9 percent in
Chile, and 31.6 percent in Brazil.5 Those who think that democracy is the most
5. See the important article by Leonardo Morlino and José R. Montero, "Legitimacy and Democracy in
Southern Europe," in Richard Günther, P. Nikiforos Diamandouros, and Hans-Jürgen Puhle, eds., The Pol-
itics of Democratic Consolidation: Southern Europe in Comparative Perspective (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins
University Press, 1995), 231-60.
Table 14.5. Typology of Democratic "Legitimacy" and "Efficacy"

Efficacy Indicator
Legitimacy Indicator Democracy solves problems. Democracy cannot solve problems.
Democracy is preferable. Confident democrats Worried democrats
Under certain circumstances an Authoritarians (potential Authoritarians (with no positive

authoritarian government is democrats) expectations about democracy)
preferable.
For someone like me there is no Alienated (even if democracy Alienated (do not expect
difference. works) democracy to work)
Table 14.6. Empirical Placement of Uruguay (U), Argentina (A), Chile (C), and Brazil (B) on a
Typology of Legitimacy and Efficacy: 1995 (in Percent)
Efficacy Indicator
Legitimacy Indicator Country Democracy solves problems Democracy does not solve problems Total
Confident democrats Worried democrats Total democrats

Democracy is U 57.4 28.5 85.9
preferable. A 54.9 27.7 82.6
C 37.9 16.8 54.7
B 31.6 16.2 47.8
Authoritarian/potential Authoritarian (with no positive Total

democrats expectations about democracy) authoritarian
Under certain U 2.5 5.8 8.3
circumstances A 3.3 7.7 11.0
authoritarian C 6.1 13.0 19.1
government is B 9.6 15.5 25.1
preferable.
Alienated (even though Alienated (do not expect Total alienated
democracy could work) democracy to work)
For someone like U 2.4 3.3 5.7
me there is no A 1.2 5.0 6.2
difference. C 7.0 19.2 26.2
B 9.8 17.2 27.0
Source: Latino Barometer (see table 14.1). Respondents who did not answer both questions are not included. The percentages
are therefore based on the total of those answering both questions. The number of cases included in the typology is 1,031 in
Uruguay. 1,002 in Argentina, 1,135 in Chile, and 955 in Brazil. The percentages of total respondents not included because they
did not answer one or the other of the questions are respectively 14.3, 6.6, 8.4, and 20.4. Of those in Brazil who are not
included, almost one-half answered the democracy question, and half of them were favorable to democracy.
Fig. 14.1. Confident and Worried Democrats in Southern Europe in 1985 (Roughly a Decade after Democratic Transitions Had Been Initiated) and in the Southern Cone
of South America in 1995 (Roughly a Decade after Transitions Had Been Initiated).
Code: For southern Europe, 6 = Greece. P = Portugal, and S = Spain. For the Southern Cone of South America, U = Uruguay, A = Argentina, C = Chile, and B = Brazil.
Source: For southern Europe, Leonardo Moruno and José R. Montero, "Legitimacy and Democracy in Southern Europe," in Richard Günther, R Nikiforos Oiamondouros, and Hans-Jürgen Puhle, eds.. The Politics of
Democratic Consolidation: Southern Europe in Comparative Perspective (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995), 231-60. For South America, Latino Barometer (see table 141). As in table 14.6, only
respondents who answered both the legitimacy and efficacy questions are included.
preferable form of government but do not consider it able to solve problems (often
identified as critical democrats in the southern European studies) are 28.5 percent
in Uruguay, 27.7 percent in Argentina, 16.8 percent in Chile, and 16.2 percent in
Brazil. These two groups added together are those who considered democracy
preferable; they add up to 85.9 percent in Uruguay, 82.6 percent in Argentina, 54.7
percent in Chile, and 47.8 percent in Brazil.
Those who think that "under certain circumstances an authoritarian govern-
ment is preferable" generally express no confidence in the ability of democracy to
solve problems, but there are a few who, despite their acceptance of authoritarian
rule, believe in the potential efficacy of democracy. They are few in Uruguay
(2.5 percent) and Argentina (3.3 percent) but more numerous in Chile (6.1 per-
cent) and in Brazil (9.6 percent).
Finally, there are those indifferent about democracy and authoritarian rule,
most of them with little confidence in the capacity of democracy to solve prob-
lems. Again, we find in Chile and Brazil a larger number who, despite the fact that
they believe democracy is capable of solving the problems, do not believe that it
makes a difference for people like themselves (7.0 percent in Chile and 9.8 percent
in Brazil). This contrasts with only 2.4 percent in Uruguay and 1.2 percent in Ar-
gentina.
Unfortunately, the questions asked in southern Europe do not allow us to con-
struct exactly the same typology, since only the legitimacy dimension is measured
by the same question. Those answering that "democracy is preferable" were
87 percent in Greece, 70 percent in Spain, and 61 percent in Portugal (which, if we
ignore the "don't know"-no answer group, become, respectively, 88.8 percent,
78.6 percent, and 79.2 percent). The democrats can be divided concerning their
efficacy beliefs on the basis of the question: With which of the following state-
ments do you agree? (i) our democracy works well, (2) our democracy has many
defects but it works, (3) our democracy is getting worse and soon will not work at
all. Taking the first two answers as positive, the percentage of respondents who
were positive on legitimacy and positive on efficacy (77 percent in Portugal,
75 percent in Spain, and 84 percent in Greece) would seem to be substantially
higher in the new democracies in southern Europe than in the Southern Cone of
South America. If we take the third answer as negative on efficacy, we have 9 per-
cent "worried democrats" in Portugal, 12 percent "worried democrats" in Spain,
and 11 percent in Greece. With these caveats about the absence of strict compara-
bility in mind, the reader can consult figure 14.1 to see the comparative percent-
ages of confident democrats and worried democrats roughly a decade after dem-
ocratic transition processes had been initiated in southern Europe and in South
America.
Part IV
Post-Communist Europe:
The Most Complex Paths
and Tasks
The year 1989 was a historic date when all of the Communist regimes in Europe
(counting the USSR) started a momentous process of political, economic, and so-
cial change. Where there were nine states in 1989, there are now twenty-seven, fif-
teen of them successor states of the USSR. Obviously, an accurate depiction of the
specificities of this massive transformative process will take decades and will be the
work of scholars on the region who command the requisite linguistic and histori-
cal skills. Our task in part 4 is necessarily more spatially and empirically delimited
and must be primarily conceptual in nature.
In each chapter our fundamental intention will be to build upon and to help
elucidate the major theoretical issues we discussed in part i. Our hope is that, by
incorporating post-Communist Europe systematically into the theory building en-
deavor, we can sharpen and where necessary reformulate or reject aspects of current
democratization theory. In the end, by a process of what Albert O. Hirschman
would call "trespassing," our aim is not only to expand the scope and utility of dem-
ocratic theory, but also to make a small contribution to the monumental task of an-
alyzing the world historical transformation in post-Communist Europe.
The theoretical problems we will explore in the seven chapters of part 4 have
the following structure. In chapter 15 we address the question of the "prehistories"
of post-Communist Europe, attempting to do justice to the elements of com-
monality and the elements of difference in the region.1 Since most of the com-
monalities in the outer empire of the USSR were a result of policies imposed by
the USSR, we examine the influence of these policies and why, how, and with what
consequences these policies changed. We also develop further the analysis we
began in part i concerning the special legacies the totalitarian and post-totalitar-
ian regimes present in each of the five arenas whose effective functioning is help-
ful to the task of consolidating democracy.
The first country to break out of the USSR's outer empire was Poland. In chap-
ter 16 we explore why Poland, alone of all the Communist countries of Europe,
never completely conformed to the Soviet totalitarian regime type, and how this
gave Poland, by the late 19705, some unique resources with which to challenge the
Communist system. However, as the first country in the region to make a round
table pact on transition, Poland paid a price that has been underestimated from
the perspective of the problems this has created for democratic consolidation.
One of the most acute of these problems is the style of opposition that became
dominant in Poland; it engendered values and patterns of action in the arena of
i. The prehistory we focus on most is the Communist period. Older prehistories are, of course, also ex-
tremely important. The classic works that analyze the specific pre-Communist sociopolitical history of
each of the countries of East Central Europe that we analyze in this part of the book are Joseph Rothschild,
East Central Europe between the Two World Wars (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1977), and his Re-
turn to Diversity: A Political History of East Central Europe since World War II (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1989); the latter is especially good for the account it gives of the specific way each country became
Communist after World War II. See also Hugh Seton-Watson, Eastern Europe between the Wars: 1918-1941
(Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1986).
civil society that impeded the construction of a democratically effective political
society. The parallels with Brazil are instructive here.
In our analysis of nondemocratic regimes in part i, we argued that post-totali-
tarianism had significant within-type variation, from early, to frozen, to mature. In
chapter 17 we expand the argument by examining the most developed example in
the world of mature post-totalitarianism (Hungary in the late 19805), a graphic ex-
ample of frozen post-totalitarianism (Czechoslovakia in 1968-89), and a case of
very early post-totalitarianism (Bulgaria in 1988-89). Our interest lies in the tex-
tures of politics and the different but analytically predictable democratic transition
paths available from different starting points in the post-totalitarian continuum.
Another regime type analyzed in part i of this book is the sultanistic regime.
There we argued that, if a specific regime approximated a fusion of the totalitar-
ian and sultanistic ideal-types, the reforma pactada-ruptura pactada transition
path that we find in Spain and Hungary would not be available. We further argued
that, if a regime change occurred in such a context (probably through a revolu-
tion or due to a change in international forces), democratic consolidation would
entail the especially difficult tasks of crafting democratic values and patterns of
action in each of the five arenas of a democratic polity. In chapter 18 our analysis
of Romania will allow us to explore this theoretical argument empirically, since
the Ceausescu regime had elements of sultanism in addition to totalitarianism.
The handling of the triangular relationship among stateness, nationalism, and
democracy has been seen to be essential to the success of the democratic transi-
tion in Spain. The failure to negotiate this triadic relationship has been crucial in
the failure of democratic transition in many post-Soviet countries. No chapter
can do justice to the importance and difficulties of the failure of democratic tran-
sition in the USSR. We can, however, within the context of our previous theoret-
ical discussion of stateness, put into a sharp comparative perspective some aspects
of that failure (chap. 19). We can also indicate why the particular form of state dis-
integration became a difficult legacy in Russia for would-be democracy crafters.
In many of the new states of the former Soviet Union, the failure of democratic
consolidation is almost overdetermined for the foreseeable future. Ethnic civil
wars and the economic chaos partly caused by the nearly stateless quality of some
of the strife-torn polities make the creation of the rule of law, as well as demo-
cratic civil, political, and economic societies, extremely difficult.2 However, of the
new states of the former Soviet Union that are beginning their transformations,
Estonia, with its impressive democratic experience of 1918-33 and its relatively
strong economy, began its transition—in contrast to most of the other successor
states of the former Soviet Union—with many relatively favorable conditions
2. These new polities are some of the most telling examples of what Ken Jowitt brilliantly predicted
could be a "new world disorder" of weak societies and weak states. See Jowitt, New World Disorder: The
Leninist Extinction (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992).
(chap. 20). Thus, the inability to satisfy our definition of democracy was not
overdetermined in Estonia. The major problem Estonia (and even more, as we
shall see, Latvia) had on its transition agenda was how to handle its large Russian-
speaking population. The Baltic Republics thus present us with a particularly in-
teresting area in which to explore, in demoi that are actually multinational, the
possibilities of transcending (and the costs of not transcending) the sometimes
conflicting logics of nation-state-building and democracy-building.
We conclude the book with a broad-ranging and necessarily tentative analysis
of the democratic prospects of post-Communist Europe from the perspective of
modern democratic theory and practice. In chapter 21 we include in the analysis
all of the states of post-Communist Europe, both to document and to begin to ex-
plain their variations in terms of democratic efficacy and legitimacy.
15
Post-Communism's Prehistories
ANY S E R I O U S comparative political analysis of the inter-regional differ-

ences between democratization in southern Europe, South America, and post-
Communist Europe and the great intraregional differences within post-Commu-
nist Europe must pay special attention to the stateness issues we discussed in
chapter 2. In addition, comparativists must consider carefully how three of the
variables that we discussed in part i inter-relate. These variables are international
influences, the political economy of coercion and legitimacy, and the special lega-
cies of totalitarian and post-totalitarian regimes.
INTERNATIONAL INFLUENCES AND TRANSITION
When we place in comparative perspective the transitions in the Soviet Union

and the ex-Warsaw Pact countries of East Central Europe (Poland, Hungary,
Czechoslovakia, the German Democratic Republic, Romania, and Bulgaria), one
of their most distinctive qualities concerns the variable we call international in-
fluence. One of the editors of the classic four-volume study of the transitions in
southern Europe and South America, Laurence Whitehead, argued that "in all the
peacetime cases considered here internal forces were of primary importance in
determining the course and outcome of the transition attempt, and international
factors played only a secondary role."1 Clearly, such a judgment would obviously
be unwarranted for East Central Europe, given the speed with which Commu-
nism collapsed in 1989 and the fact that Czechoslovakia, Romania, and Bulgaria
began their transitions almost before any significant domestic changes had oc-
curred.2 Many scholars have documented the prolonged economic stagnation
and legitimacy problems of most of the region. However, economic stagnation
and weak legitimacy alone (which had existed for a long time before 1989) cannot
explain the rapidity of the domino-like collapse of the countries. For this we need

Whitehead, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Comparative Perspectives, 4.
2. Adam Przeworski captures how these regimes were swept away as if by a dam breaking in Democracy
and the Market: Political and Economic Reforms in Eastern Europe and Latin America (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1991), 4-6. See also Samuel P. Huntington's discussion of "snow-balling" in The Third Wave:
Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1991), 33.
236 Post-Communist Europe
to explore the special linkage in the region between international and domestic
politics.
Indeed, in Eastern Europe between 1948 and 1989, the very use of the words in-
dependent, sovereign, and domestic to describe politics is strained, given the ide-
ological, political, military, and economic linkages between the Soviet hegemon
and its East Central European "outer empire."3 The nature of these linkages in
turn reduced the normal international influence of major democratic and market
polities of the sort that were significant, though not determinative, in southern
Europe and South America. Here we must pause, therefore, to discuss how com-
parativists should and should not approach the question of the international in-
fluence of the Soviet Union.
Much of the pre-1989 literature of the countries of the region suffered from
two analytic problems. Initially, a major strand of the literature began with such
an exclusive focus on the region's shared status as "satellites" that the significant
heterogeneity of the pre-Communist and Communist state-society relations of
each country was played down. Later, many scholars, in a reaction against Cold
War excesses, began to emphasize the uniqueness of the countries on which they
specialized. In the process important commonalities in the economies, politics,
and societies of the entire region were understressed. However, as comparativists
interested in problems of democratic transition and the tasks that must be faced
before democracy can be consolidated, our conceptual endeavor must be to show
how, why, and with what consequences elements of commonality and elements of
difference can be simultaneously present.
The Soviet Union was not just a system or the center of an empire, but the em-
anating source of a major Utopian vision. During the post-World War II phase of
Soviet expansion in Eastern Europe, there were important military and economic
gains for the Soviet Union. However, power relations within the bloc were rein-
forced, during the period of "high Stalinism," by the claims of ideology. Indeed,
the 1968 Brezhnev Doctrine of limited sovereignty, which was used to justify the
repression of the Prague Spring experiment, was explicitly based on such claims:
"The sovereignty of independent socialist countries can not be set against the in-
terests of world socialism and the world revolutionary movement."4
Limited sovereignty was reinforced by a regionwide trading, planning, and
investment network (the Council for Mutual Economic Assistance, CMEA) cen-
tered around Moscow and a regionwide military alliance (the Soviet-led Warsaw
Pact). In addition, the Soviet Politburo's strong involvement in leadership
3. See, for example, the use made of the concept outer empire in Alex Pravda, ed., The End of the Outer
Empire: Soviet-East European Relations in Transition, 1985-90 ( London: Royal Institute of International Af-
fairs and Sage Publications, 1992). The term inner empire is now increasingly used to describe relations be-
tween the USSR and the fifteen former soviet republics.
4. For this quotation and a discussion, see Mark Kramer, "Beyond the Brezhnev Doctrine: A New Era
in Soviet-East European Relations?" International Security (Winter 1989-90): 25.
Post-Communism's Prehistories 237
changes in Eastern Europe and their external monitoring of ideological frame-

works and party-state administrative structures gave the Eastern European War-
saw Pact countries an unusually high degree of regional commonality and de-
pendence on a common hegemon.5
Furthermore, Soviet military presence was a clear and determinative factor in
beating back the impressive range of heterogeneous resistance these "satellites"
still managed to generate. Soviet troops were garrisoned in four of the seven War-
saw Pact countries, namely Poland, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and the German
Democratic Republic. In three of the four, during the GDR riots in 1953, during
Hungary's Revolution in 1956, and after the Prague Spring of Czechoslovakia in
1968, Soviet troops were used to alter the course of domestic politics. In Poland in
1981 the perceived threat of the use of Soviet troops played a critical role in the
regime's ability to impose martial law and to repress Solidarity forces, which in a
Gramscian sense had become hegemonic within Polish civil society. If we con-
sider these countries independent, then the "irreversibility of Communism"
much proclaimed by thinkers such as Jeanne Kirkpatrick was obviously wrong.
Hungary in 1956 was, as Joseph Rothschild correctly says, a "victorious revolution
[that] was defeated only by overwhelming foreign force."6 If Hungary had been
located in a geopolitical space analogous to Spain or Brazil, Communism would
have almost certainly stayed reversed and a democratic transition might have
begun in 1956. Likewise, if the Prague Spring of 1968 had occurred in such a space,
Czechoslovakia might have evolved from a post-totalitarian to an authoritarian
regime with the wider range of transition options such a regime type represents.7
5. On the embeddedness of Eastern Europe in such structures, see Robert L. Hutchings, Soviet-East Eu-
ropean Relations: Consolidation and Conflict (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1983), and Christopher
D. Jones, Soviet Influence in Eastern Europe: Political Autonomy and the Warsaw Pact (New York: Praeger Pub-
lishers, 1981). Western democracies, especially the United States, certainly played a covert or even overt role
in the subversion or overthrow of democracies in such countries as Brazil (1964) or Chile (1973). However,
Western support for Pinochet in Chile and for the military in Brazil was never unequivocal because the
coups were rationalized in the name of democracy even by coup defendants and were opposed in the name
of democracy and human rights by sectors of opinion and some powerful political leaders. Even more im-
portantly, the democratic opposition to rulers such as Pinochet normally could mobilize extensive political
alliances in Italy, Germany, and even the United States that had a major influence inside countries such as
Chile. The domestic democratic opposition had no such comparable networks inside the Soviet empire.
6. Joseph Rothschild, Return to Diversity: A Political History of East Central Europe since World War II.
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 160.
7. For speculation on how Czechoslovakia might have evolved, see H. Gordon Skilling, Czechoslovakia's
Interrupted Revolution (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1976). Skilling argues that "there was a pow-
erful dynamic at work, within the party and in society at large, which suggested that, barring outside in-
tervention, the process of change would have been accelerated rather than slowed down or blocked, and
would eventually have produced a thoroughly revised socialism, democratic in form, and national in con-
tent. . . . The Prague experiment seemed doomed to failure for external reasons rather than inherent do-
mestic ones" (pp. 842-43). However, as comparativists we believe that there is no evidence to suggest that
Alexander Dubcek wanted a Western-style democracy. Dubcek never proposed multiparty politics. He did,
however, clearly favor liberalization. Given Prague's history and setting, we believe that this liberalization
might well have created a context in which other forces could have been energized and could have pushed
for a democratic transition.
Instead, as Timothy Carton Ash, writing in 1986 observed, "one spring was fol-
lowed by fifteen winters."8
The outcomes in the GDR in 1953, in Poland in 1956 and 1981, in Czechoslova-
kia in 1968, and even more emphatically in Hungary in 1956 did not illustrate the
irreversibility of Communist-style regimes. The outcomes did reveal, however,
that the presence of foreign combat troops, controlled by a Communist hegemon
that was ideologically confident and geopolitically willing to use force, could
thwart potential transitions to democracy.
Why was the Soviet hegemon willing, again and again, to use force? Partly be-
cause, from the Soviet perspective, the use offeree had so few costs. Given the bal-
ance of nuclear terror in existence, the West allowed the Soviets to use force to re-
press Hungary in 1956 and to build the Berlin Wall in 1961. Until Gorbachev, the
Soviet Union did not want Western direct investment, so negative Western reac-
tion to the Soviet use of force did not raise any significant perceived opportunity
costs for the Soviet Union. The Soviet leaders also still believed (or at least artic-
ulated the belief) in the inevitable global victory of their socioeconomic and doc-
trinal system. In this East-West calculus of interests, the costs of Soviet repression
of Eastern Europe did not exceed the costs of toleration.
The international embeddedness of the Warsaw Pact countries of Central and
Eastern Europe and their dependence on a hegemon were thus unlike anything
center-periphery theorists encountered in the politics of the peripheral states of
Spain, Portugal, or Greece or what dependency theorists could document for Ar-
gentina, Chile, Uruguay, or Brazil.9 In this context, without a domestic change in
the hegemon—and here domestic factors in the USSR were crucial—it was ex-
tremely difficult for either Central and East European elites (dependent on Soviet
political control) or Central and East European masses (coercible by domestic
elites credibly supported by the hegemon) to initiate new political processes that
might have led to democratic transitions.
Yugoslavia was not in the Soviet bloc, but Tito's "straddling" between East and
West weakened international pressures toward democracy as we have defined it.
United States foreign policy-makers, largely for "divide and rule" reasons, accorded
Yugoslavia a de facto "most favored Communist" status. Likewise, democratic the-
orists put Yugoslavia in a different category from all other Communist systems be-
cause they believed that worker self-management was a form of democracy and
could evolve positively. A widely used external "exit" option, particularly to Ger-
many, also released some pressures for democratization. The significant degree of
liberalization—especially concerning travel and many university freedoms—less-
ened Western criticism of Yugoslavia's still considerable "democratic deficit."
8. Timothy Carton Ash, "Czechoslovakia under the Ice" in The Uses of Adversity: Essays on the Fate of
Central Europe (New York: Random House, 1989), 62.
9. However, U.S. use of force in the Caribbean and in Central America under the ideological guise of
first the Monroe Doctrine and later counterinsurgency and low-intensity warfare is another matter.
When 1989 arrived, many of those holding power in the different republics could
resist full democratization and liberal values on the basis of their nationalist stand
vis-à-vis their neighbors and internal minorities. Thus, the independence of ma-
joritarian ethnocratic "nation-states" increasingly became privileged over liberal
democratic values and democratization as we have defined them.10
THE A L T E R E D P O L I T I C A L ECONOMY OF C O E R C I O N
AND L E G I T I M A C Y I N T H E SOVIET U N I O N
AND ITS I N T E R N A T I O N A L CONSEQUENCES
What led to domestic changes in the hegemon, and what effect did these
changes have vis-à-vis the West and vis-à-vis the cost of maintenance of the outer
empire in Central and Eastern Europe? Hundreds of articles and books, by schol-
ars better qualified than we, have been and are being written on this question.
However, as comparativists interested in shifting power relationships, we main-
tain that some changes seem to be fundamental.
The initial change occurred within the ideology and power structure of the
hegemon. In 1985 the new leader of the Communist Party, Mikhail Gorbachev,
and his core supporters were convinced that the Soviet Union was in a state of
dangerous stagnation requiring far-reaching restructuring.11 Gorbachev's vehicle
for change was perestroïka and later glasnost. But both strategies fundamentally
altered the place of Eastern Europe, the West, and the political economy of coer-
cion in his calculations. To be successful, perestroika needed to enhance flows of
investment and technology and indeed to build a much closer network of rela-
tions with the public and private sectors of the United States and the European
Community. This network of relations and resource flows could be accomplished
much better in a post-cold war environment than in a cold war environment.
Furthermore, the greatest single source of potential savings to be used for new
investment in the Soviet Union was decreased military expenditures. Indeed,
early in the Gorbachev period his advisers came to the conclusion that the size of
the Soviet GNP was smaller than previously estimated and that military expendi-
tures were greater.12 In a spirited defense of Gorbachev's reforms against party
hardliners, Foreign Minister Shevardnadze at the 1990 Party Congress defiantly
10. For the emergent ethnic nationalist dictatorships in parts of the former Yugoslavia, see George Soros,
"Nationalist Dictatorships versus Open Society" (New York: Soros Foundation, January 1993, pamphlet).
11. Three basic sources for their widespread perception of stagnation and their strategies to overcome
this predicament are Mikhail Gorbachev, Perestroika: New Thinking for Our Country and the World (New
York: Harper and Row, 1987); Edward Wilkes Walker, "Structural Pressures, Political Choice and Institu-
tional Change: Bureaucratic Totalitarianism and the Origins of Perestroika" (Ph. D. diss., Department of
Political Science, Columbia University, 1992); and the magisterial book by Archie Brown, The Gorbachev
Factor (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996).
12. This point was stressed in an interview with Stepan by one of Gorbachev's key advisors, Aleksandr
Yakovlev, in Moscow, October 24,1989.
asked the congress whether the members really thought it was possible or indeed
in the Soviet Union's interest to continue its extremely heavy defense expen-
ditures, which in his judgment had led to the "economic and social ruin" of the
Soviet Union.
Having come to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and having obtained access to the appropriate
information, I learned that in the past two decades alone ideological confrontation with the
West added Rjoo trillion rubles as the cost of military confrontation....
The prospects have opened up the possibilities to enter a new era, and to build completely
new relations between the two superpowers.... But it is obvious that if we continue as we did
before, comrades—I state this with all responsibility—to spend a quarter, I stress a quarter, of
our budget on military spending—we have ruined the country—then we simply won't need
defense, just as we won't need an army for a ruined country and poor people.
There is no sense in protecting a system that has led to economic and social ruin. There is
just one way out: policy should take upon itself the task of creating a reserve of security with
accompanying reductions in defense spending....
Our calculations show that in the current five-year plan period, the total peace dividend re-
sulting from the foreign policy line based on new thinking could amount to R2/jo to Ri50 bil-
lion. Our country does not have a future outside integration into the worldwide system of eco-
nomic and financial institutions and ties. We need to get out of the self-isolation from the
world, and from progress, into which we have driven ourselves.13
The Soviet Union's defense expenditures were even higher than Shevardnadze
implied. From a comparative perspective the Soviet Union's security-related
expenditures were more than three times as great as that of the United States, six
times as great as the EEC average, and twenty times as great as that of Japan.
Furthermore, in all these open, high-information market economies, there were
greater spillovers between military technology and globally competitive export
industries than in the USSR. In comparative economic terms, therefore, the coun-
try that stood to benefit most from the "end of the cold war" was the Soviet
Union. See figure 15.1, which also shows that Soviet defense expenditures were also
at least three times higher than any South European or South American case we
have considered in this book.
When it came to Eastern Europe, influential Soviet analysts believed that the
entire Council of Mutual Economic Assistance would benefit economically and
politically from shifting in the direction of perestroika and glasnost.14 In an im-
portant mid-1988 document, significantly written for a conference on "The Place
and Role of Eastern Europe in the Relaxation of Tension between the U.S.A. and
the U.S.S.R.," authoritative Soviet specialists advanced the argument that eco-
13. See Shevardnadze's speech on July 3,1990, at the 28th Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU)
Party Congress, reprinted in Foreign Broadcast Information Service, Daily Report, Soviet Union, July 5,1990,
pp. 7-10. Note that he speaks not so much of military confrontation but ideological confrontation.
14. Well before Gorbachev, some important analysts in the Soviet Union and the United States had also
argued that the "outer empire" in Eastern Europe had changed from an asset to a liability for the Soviet
Fig. 15.1. Defense Expenditures as a Percentage of GDP/GNP, 1983-1989.

Sources: The 1989 data for the Soviet Union are from Dimitri Steinber, "The Soviet Defense Burden: Estimating Hidden
Costs," Soviet Studies 44, no. 2 (1992): 258. All other data are for 1984 (except Uruguay, which is for 1983) and are drawn
from Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, World Armaments arid Disarmament SIPHI Yearbook, 1984 (Stockholm:
SIPHI), 129-31, and 1986, pp. 243-47.
nomic and political liberalization would be a good thing for Eastern Europe and
the Soviet Union. The document was clearly critical of the intense level of previ-
ous Soviet military and political intervention in Eastern Europe. We quote from
this document at length because it was written before the momentous changes in
Eastern Europe in 1989.
The administrative-state model of socialism, established in the majority of Eastern European
countries during the 1950'$ under the influence of the Soviet Union, has not withstood the test
of time, thereby showing its socio-political and economic inefficiency.... It was inadmissible
to extend the postulate of the primary role of the Communist party of the Soviet Union to
relationships among socialist states. .. . The model for the existing system was created in the
Soviet Union during the i93o's and 1940'$ The process oí perestroïka is already shaping a new
multifaceted political reality, one full of contradictions and conflicts. In terms of the scale and
depth of integration processes and the intensity of the interweaving of economic, scientific and
technological interests and relations, the CMEA countries turned out to be far behind the
countries of the European Community.... Interest in preserving peace, a prerequisite for which
is the positive development of relations between the two systems, necessitates that new politi-
Union. See, for example, the extremely high estimates of Soviet subsidies by M. Marrese and J. Vanous,
Soviet Subsidizing of Trade with Eastern Europe: A Soviet Perspective (Berkeley: Institute of International
Studies, University of California, Berkeley, 1983). For a review of the evidence and much lower estimates,
see Charles Wolf, Jr., "The Costs and Benefits of the Soviet Empire," in Henry S. Rowen and Charles Wolf,
Jr., eds., The Future of the Soviet Empire (New York: Institute for Contemporary Studies and St. Martin's
Press, 1987) ,121-142.
cal thinking guide the policies of the great powers with respect to crisis situations in the whole
world, including those in the socialist countries of Eastern Europe. . . . It is inadmissible that
either side interfere in the internal problems of a country finding itself in a difficult position
Should crisis situations develop, they should under no circumstances be allowed to deter
progress in East-West relations.15
Six months after that document was written, Gorbachev made his momentous
announcement in December 1988 to the United Nations that, by the end of 1990,
independent of Western action on arms reductions, the Soviet Union would with-
draw some 240,000 men, 10,000 tanks, and 820 combat aircraft from Eastern Eu-
rope and from the Western military district of the Soviet Union closest to Eastern
Europe. According to Charles Gati, "more than any other single event, that an-
nouncement set the stage for the dramatic developments of 1989. By suggesting
that Moscow was prepared to remove Soviet forces from its East European do-
minion, Gorbachev put the region's Communist leaders on notice that Soviet
tanks would no longer protect their rule. It did not take long for the people of East-
ern Europe to understand that their leaders were therefore vulnerable—that some
of them were, in effect, on the run."16 When Gorbachev made this statement the
Gang of Four, the Brezhnevite repressive leaders of Czechoslovakia, East Germany,
Romania, and Bulgaria, were all resisting and often censuring his statements about
glasnost, and only in Bulgaria had perestroika been approved even in theory.
We show, in following chapters, that in every single instance the regional hege-
mon (the Soviet Union) took some specific action to weaken each one of the
Gang of Four. Unfortunately, we do not have data for East Germany, but we do
have data from a public opinion poll administered in 1986-87 in Bulgaria, Roma-
nia, and Czechoslovakia that indicates that numerous citizens in these countries
felt that glasnost and perestroika would be good for these countries (table 15.1).
Though Gorbachev's preference was for Central and Eastern Europe to em-
brace "within-system" Soviet-like changes, he gravely underestimated how illegit-
imate and unpopular many of the regimes were and how destabilizing the com-
bination of his statements in favor of glasnost and perestroika and against Soviet
military intervention would be.17 Given the hegemonic relations that the Soviet
Union had previously had in Eastern Europe, Gorbachev's endorsement of change
altered power relationships everywhere in the Warsaw Pact countries. It weakened
15. "The Place and Role of Eastern Europe in the Relaxation of Tensions between the USA and the
USSR" was written by the staff of the Institute of Economics of the World Socialist System (Moscow) for a
conference in Alexandria, Virginia, and widely circulated because the Soviet authors allowed it to be pub-
lished in its entirety in Problems of Communism 37, nos. 3-4 (May-August 1988): 55-70.
16. Charles Gati, The Bloc That Failed: Soviet-East European Politics in Transformation (Bloomington:
Indiana University Press, 1990), 166-67. Alex Pravda offers some evidence that East European leaders were
told, as early as November 1986, that the Soviet Union would not use force to uphold their rule. See "Soviet
Policy towards Eastern Europe in Transition," in Pravda, The End of Outer Empire, esp. 17-18.
17. For evidence and arguments on this theme, see Pravda, The End of Outer Empire, 1-34, and Gati, The
Bloc That Failed, 102-3.
Table 15.1. "Do you believe that Gorbachev's leadership is good or bad for [respondent's own
country]?"
Reply Bulgaria Czechoslovakia Romania
Good 64 53 40
Bad 8 8 10
Neither 24 34 38
Other/no answer 4 5 12
Number of cases 556 436 541
Source: East European Perceptions of Gorbachev and Soviet Heforms (Munich: Radio Free Europe, Audience and Public Opinion
Research Department, July 1988]. Reprinted in Gati, The Bloc That Failed, 68.
antiglasnost Communist Party leadership in Bulgaria, Romania, East Germany,

and Czechoslovakia, it strengthened reform wings of the Communist Party in
Hungary and Poland who wanted to establish a new relationship with the demo-
cratic opposition, and it emboldened the democratic opposition in all countries
of Eastern Europe.
Two fields of force were felt by actors in mid-igSg. First, the ideological self-
confidence defined by the Brezhnev Doctrine, in the Soviet Union's right of in-
tervention, had been steadily waning. This waning force was felt by the Soviet
leadership, by East European heads of government, and by the opposition. But
there remained a second countervailing force. Key democratic activists, especially
in Poland and Hungary, insisted that they could not count on nonintervention by
the USSR. They awaited, in effect, the proof of an actual case of Soviet noninter-
vention at the moment of regime change away from Communism. Among the
reasons they cite for their caution and their reluctance to mobilize force was that
there was always the possibility that Gorbachev would fall and that hard-liners
and/or nationalists would assume power. As the coup attempt in the Soviet Union
in August 1991 and the December 1993 election results in Russia showed, their ap-
prehension was not unfounded.18
Whatever Gorbachev's initial calculations were, by the fall of 1989 Soviet policy
had already profoundly changed relations of power in the bloc. Existing Commu-
nist governments were weaker and the democratic oppositions were stronger.19 In
18. For informative studies of the Brezhnev Doctrine of "limited sovereignty" and how and why it was
changed by Gorbachev, see Robert A. Jones, The Soviet Concept of "Limited Sovereignty" from Lenin to Gor-
bachev (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1990), and Mark Kramer, "Beyond the Brezhnev Doctrine: New Era
in Soviet-East European Relations?" International Security (Winter 1989-90), 25-67.
19. However, some of the elites still believed in the ideology of socialism and in the possibility of eco-
nomic and social reforms allowing them to stay in power and incorporate moderate oppositions as long as
they did not need to use massive violence. This meant that, with the exception of Hungary, and in a unique
way in Poland, Communist rulers in the Warsaw Pact did not initiate a reform type of transition to democ-
racy, as in Spain or Brazil. The transition to democracy was forced on them: in Germany, not by the round
this context, Soviet use of armed force to crush change would have dramatically
altered the course of perestroika in the Soviet Union. Economic and financial re-
lations with the West would have experienced a grave setback. Gorbachev's hopes
for reductions in military expenditure would have been cancelled. In the fall of
1989, to paraphrase Robert Dahl, the cost of intervention was greater than the
costs of toleration.20
L E G A C I E S OF ( C O M M U N I S T - S T Y L E ) T O T A L I T A R I A N AND POST-
T O T A L I T A R I A N R E G I M E TYPES F O R D E M O C R A T I C C O N S O L I D A T I O N
Many analysts have correctly noted that a major difference between East Euro-
pean and post-Soviet transitions on the one hand and those in southern Europe
and South America on the other is the "simultaneity problem." In Eastern Europe
and in the Soviet Union, in addition to making a political transition to democ-
racy, the countries have simultaneously had to make a transition to market
economies.21 We obviously agree that both of these profound changes are neces-
sary. However, the analysis must go much further.
All of the regimes in the region, with the partial exception of Poland, which we
will argue (controversially) was never a completely installed totalitarian regime,
were at one time "totalitarian." Some later became "post-totalitarian." As we spec-
ified in table 1.1, there are five reinforcing arenas of a modern consolidated dem-
ocratic polity concerning civil society, political society, rule of law, the state appa-
ratus, and economic society. We further specified, in table 4.3, that, when a
specific transition starts from a prior base that approximated our totalitarian or
post-totalitarian ideal type, this necessarily implies a very distinctive and difficult
set of tasks in each of the five arenas, tasks that must be accomplished before that
polity can become a consolidated democracy.
Since none of the nondemocratic regimes we have considered thus far in south-
ern Europe or South America was totalitarian or post-totalitarian, the challenges
table but by exit to West Germany and by voice in the streets of East Germany. In Czechoslovakia the events
leading to regime collapse were even less expected. The fact that these regime leaders did not plan for a tran-
sition to democracy has contributed to the use of the word revolution (as in "velvet revolution"). The word
revolution is not used to describe any of the southern European or South American transitions we have dis-
cussed except that of Portugal, which was a revolution unleashed after a nonhierarchical military coup.
20. Robert Dahl's famous axiom about the costs of toleration is found in his Polyarchy: Participation
and Opposition (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1971), 15. In China, which is also in some ways an em-
pire, the cost of repression in its periphery (such as Tibet and Sinkian) is not, as of this writing, higher than
the cost of repression. This is partly due to Tibet's and Sinkian's great geographic and cultural distance from
the West. Also, given the size and growth of the Chinese market, the cost of resistance by the West is per-
ceived as too high by many powerful actors. In addition, there is latent ethnocentric feeling in much of the
West that nondemocratic rule is "intolerable" in the West but "tolerable" in other parts of the world.
21. Claus Offe goes further and speaks of the triple (political, economic, and socioterritorial) transfor-
mations that are necessary. See "Capitalism by Democratic Design? Democratic Theory Facing the Triple
Transition in East Central Europe," translated by Pierre Adler, Social Research 58 (Winter 1991): 865-92.
for all the countries we consider here in part 4 (including Poland) are thus differ-
ent in kind than those considered heretofore. While our argument has been laid out
also in tables 1.1 and 4.3 (and we urge the reader to consult those tables again) and
will be explored empirically in the chapters to follow, it might be useful to pause at
this point to illustrate some of the generic problems that are particularly salient in
each of the five polity arenas, given a totalitarian or post-totalitarian legacy.
Civil Society
The classic approach is to include in this term organizations and groups that
are relatively independent of the state. If we use this definition, the key observa-
tion to make is that, with Poland being a partial exception, the overwhelming ma-
jority of unions, agrarian collectives, cultural societies, communications systems,
and other organizations in Eastern Europe and the USSR existing at the time of
transition were originally created in the totalitarian period and were maintained
by the party state even in the post-totalitarian period. The hidden, but known and
in some cases parallel, presence of intelligence agents further weakened these or-
ganizations and often compromised their leaders' capacity to play a role in the
transition. This phenomenon was most important in the GDR, Czechoslovakia,
Romania, Bulgaria, and the USSR. In contrast, in the authoritarian regimes of
southern Europe and South America, though many of the trade union, entrepre-
neurial, and newspaper organizations were brutally repressed, they were not to-
tally penetrated by an official party or even by police and intelligence agents.
Religion needs special discussion. In all societies religion is the social reality
most difficult to control by those in power. Communism, with its commitment to
atheism, was particularly committed to limit as much as possible the role of re-
ligion in civil society. There were, however, important differences between reli-
gions. Orthodox Christianity, with its legacy of caesaropapism and therefore its
tendency toward dependence on the state and toward being a national church, did
not serve as a basis for oppositional activity. At best it was a small source of lim-
ited cultural dissidence. As a consequence, it has not, except for nationalism in the
post-Communist countries, been a source for major new leadership or issue ar-
ticulation. The presence of the internationally organized Roman Catholic Church
(especially in Poland and Lithuania) and Protestant dissidents (especially in East
Germany in the late 19805) contributed to a different civil society.
In democratic societies, religion, the churches, and the voluntary groups
linked with them play an important role in bringing people together, articulating
moral positions (that often have political implications) and helping in organizing
a variety of interests. In this respect massive secularization may weaken an active
society. Communism made a deliberate effort to secularize societies, persecute re-
ligious organizations, control and infiltrate them, and bar from elite postions and
education those loyal to the churches. The data collected by Richard Rose show
the effect of those policies, which failed only in some Catholic countries, like
Poland. The percentage of respondents saying that they never or rarely went to
church was 71.1 percent in Belorussia, 60 percent in Ukraine, 68 percent in the
Czech Republic (where secularization was already advanced before Communism)
66 percent in Bulgaria, and 66 percent in Hungary, contrasting with 41 percent in
Slovakia, 46 percent in Romania, 44 percent in Slovenia, and 16 percent in
Poland.22
Not only were most organizations, normally considered in other settings part
of civil society, integrated into the party-state in Communist Europe, but they
had a material presence that was, and often still is, the beneficiary of a series of
state subsidies. It is not necessarily therefore in the perceived interest of such po-
tential actors in an autonomous civil society to want to become autonomous. In
post-Communist Europe, many workers in Bulgarian collectives, Polish mines,
and Russian factories; intellectuals in the massive Academy of Science systems in
all the countries; or people in hundreds of other state-subsidized organizations
worry that they will be voting against their material self-interest if they support
the proposed Utopian alternatives offered by most market-oriented democrats.
It is important to stress that this legacy extends well beyond the nomenklatura.
Many citizens in Eastern Europe live every day in some tension between their
goals for the future and their present material interests.
One of the leading analysts of this legacy, the Polish sociologist Edmund
Mokrzycki, argues that it is a mistake not to understand that "so-called real so-
cialism—that is, the system that took shape in the Soviet Union and in European
socialist countries—is a social system in the strong sense of the term; it has its
own equilibrium mechanisms, its own dynamics, and the ability to reproduce its
constitutive characteristics."23 The continued strong showing in two consecutive
elections of groups associated with the old regime in Bulgaria and Romania and
the return to power in 1992-94 of parties associated with the Communists in
Lithuania, Poland, and Hungary, show how sociologically grounded in real inter-
ests are groups associated with "real socialism." Elsewhere, Mokrzycki and a co-
author take much of the "democratic transition" literatures to task for failing to
incorporate this issue into their analyses:
In the process of rejecting "really existing socialism," democracy was proclaimed the promised
land. . . . A critical paradox, however, has emerged since 1989. Whereas in the West European
and American experience, democracy was proclaimed and institutionalized by the same social
groups, in Eastern Europe—most vividly demonstrated by the case of Poland—the social
groups that articulated democracy are the very groups threatened by the institutionalization of
22. For church attendance data see Richard Rose and Christian Haerpfer, "Adapting to Transformation
in Eastern Europe: New Democracies Barometer-n," Studies in Public Policy no. 212 (1993): table 35.
23. See his thought-provoking "The Legacy of Real Socialism, Group Interests, and the Search for a New
Utopia," in Walter D. Connor and Piotr Ploszajski, eds., Escape from Socialism: The Polish Route (Warsaw:
IKS Publishers, 1992), 269.
democracy in its liberal capitalist form. . . . None of the existing approaches to transition has
paid adequate attention to the socio-economic structures that evolved under Leninism and the
impact they have on the processes of political democratization.24
Political Society
When we turn to political society, the tension between future Utopian desires
and present material interests, in the context of the relatively flattened landscape
left by post-totalitarianism, creates problems for political representation. Politi-
cians frequently claimed in the founding elections to represent independent en-
trepreneurs and independent trade unions, groups that in most countries in East-
ern Europe did not yet exist. Democratic political society, moreover, is not only
about political representation; it is also about political parties. But forty-five years
of party-state rule in Eastern Europe and more than seventy in the Soviet Union
have given the very word party a negative connotation throughout the region. In-
deed, almost none of the major political movements in Eastern Europe called
themselves parties (viz. Solidarity in Poland, Civic Forum in Czechoslovakia,
Hungarian Democratic Forum in Hungary, popular fronts in the Baltic countries,
and Union of Democratic Forces in Bulgaria). Furthermore, the charismatic lead-
ers in the region, Walesa in Poland, Havel in Czechoslovakia, and Yeltsin in Rus-
sia, refused to join and lead political parties.
Here a comparison between Communist Europe and other areas is useful. In
sharp contrast to Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, the opposition parties in
Spain, Uruguay, and Chile struggled to create a more solid and autonomous civil
society, but most of their energies were devoted to the articulation of an alterna-
tive political future, a future in which parties would play the leading role.25 These
parties, before the transition to democracy began, had developed competitive al-
ternative political programs, spelling out what they intended to do when they
came to power via democratic elections. In some countries the entire spectrum of
political parties continued in existence underground, and thus an "a-legal" or "il-
legal" but real and visible political society existed even under the nondemocratic
regime.26
24. Edmund Mokrzycki and Arista Maria Cirtantas, "The Articulation and Institutionalization of De-
mocracy in Poland," Social Research, 60, no. 4 (1993): 787-819.
25. As we have seen, the major exception to this was Brazil, where civil society was the celebrity of the tran-
sition and parties, while they existed and played a significant role, were constantly changing their identity.
26. See Juan J. Linz's discussion of tolerated, illegal, but especially a-legal opposition in Spain in the late
Franco period, "Opposition to and under an Authoritarian Regime: The Case of Spain," in Robert A. Dahl,
ed., Regimes and Oppositions (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1973), 171-260, esp. 216-30. In Chile and
Uruguay a foreign political analyst in the course of a two-week visit could, and normally would in the
decade before the transition, meet with representatives of virtually every political party that later emerged
as politically meaningful (either by themselves or as a member of a multiparty coalition) in the founding
elections. As we shall see, in all of Eastern Europe only Hungary (after December 1988) approximated any-
thing like this degree of development of political society in the period that preceded the transition.
The Rule of Law

We next turn to the arena of rule of law and its primary organizing principle,
constitutionalism. There is, of course, no consolidated democracy without a rel-
atively autonomous rule of law. Some of the legal traditions and norms that help
create and sustain the relative autonomy of law are that legal codes are developed
to a significant degree on the basis of precedent or their own internal logic. Fur-
thermore, an independent judiciary plays a crucial role in interpreting old laws,
the constitutionality of new laws, and the state's implementation of law.
Under high Stalinism, the conception of law was totally different. Indeed,
the first president of the USSR Supreme Court wrote in 1927 that "Communism
means not the victory of socialist laws, but a victory of socialism over any law."27
Under Stalin, the leading legal theorist of the regime, E. B. Pashukanis, advanced
principles that were totally dependent on the revolutionary mission of Commu-
nism.28 One of Pashukanis's central tenets in effect was that "under developed so-
cialism, policy and plan would replace law."29 For our analytic purposes, since the
leader and party-state create both policy and plan, there is no space for a legal sys-
tem to constrain or bind the leader or the party-state. This, of course, is consis-
tent with the ideal type of totalitarianism, in which one of the four defining char-
acteristics is that a leader "rules with undefined limits."
A system in which the leader rules with "undefined limits" is the conceptual
opposite of modern democratic constitutionalism, which entails that elected po-
litical leaders, the state, and even the sovereign citizenry have agreed to a complex
series of "self-binding" mechanisms.30 Part of this self-binding quality of a law-
bound democratic polity is that there is a clear hierarchy of laws, with pre-estab-
lished and relatively rigid norms and procedures for their change.31
To be sure, in those countries in which politics evolved in a post-totalitarian
27. For an analysis of law in the totalitarian period, see Harold J. Berman, Justice in the USSR (New York:
Vintage, 1963); quotation is from p. 26. Herman's book was originally published by Harvard University Press
in 1950.
28. In this respect Hitler's and Stalin's legal codes were similar in their disdain for precedent or the in-
ternal principles of legal logic. Article l of the Nazi-drafted Volksgesetzbuch (People's Code), which was to
replace the nineteenth-century civil code Bürgerliches Gesetzbuch, stated the following: "The highest law is
the welfare of the German People." (article i) "German blood, German honor and hereditary health are to
be kept pure and to be defended. These are the basic forces of the German People's Law." (article 2) "The
Judge in his decision is not subject to any instruction. He dictates law out of free conviction derived from
the total factual situation and according to an interpretation of law supported by the National Socialist
world view." (article 20) Volksgesetzbuch: Grundregeln und Buch I. Entwurf und Erläuterungen, presented by
Justus Wilhelm Hedemann, Dr. Heinrich Lehrmann, and Dr. Wolfgang Siebert (Munich: C. H. Beck, 1942).
29. See the entry under law in Tom Bottomore, éd., A Dictionary of Marxist Thought (Cambridge: Har-
vard University Press, 1983), 276.
30. For a rich discussion of the "self-binding" dimension of democratic constitutionalism, see Jon El-
ster and Rune Slagstad, eds., Constitutionalism and Democracy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1988), esp. the introduction by Jon Elster, pp. 1-18.
31. For example, all long-standing continental European democracies have virtually the same fourfold
hierarchy of laws which is supported by the judiciary and, if it exists, by the constitutional court. In de-
direction, socialist legality became somewhat constraining on the state apparatus.

However, the "leading role" of the party in the party-state still rendered most laws
instrumental and heavily dependent on the party's initiative and interpretation.
The distinguished Australian scholar, T. H. Rigby, writing in 1980, underscored
the weakness of "self-binding" in post-totalitarian socialist legality: "The Soviet
Constitution, even in its latest variant, is a notoriously misleading and incomplete
guide to the distribution of power in the system.... [The] core aspect of the So-
viet system, the party-state relationship, is regulated, as it always has been, by dis-
cretion and not by law.... The Soviet regime ... has never been prepared to limit
itself within the rules which it itself prescribes."32
Some of the most important new norms to emerge in the post-Stalinist period
were aimed less at creating a generic rule of law for all the citizenry than at creat-
ing specific procedures to limit the leaders' freedom to control other party elites.
Important generic binding procedures occurred only in mature post-totalitarian
regimes concerning specific issue areas where the party had made a prior decision
in favor of extending legal rights (e.g., private property rights in Hungary after
1983). The central point is that legal culture, especially a "self-binding" democratic
constitutional culture embedded in a hierarchy of laws, must be the creation of
the new democracies.
Once again, in comparison to post-Communist Europe, some of the long-stand-
ing authoritarian dictatorships we have considered in Franco's Spain, Salazar's Por-
tugal, and Pinochet's Chile left more to build on in the way of a constitutional cul-
ture. In all these countries the law schools maintained their traditional approaches
and students were exposed to the legal scholarship of other countries—including
the democracies. In all three cases most of the principles of Western democratic law,
while abused or put in abeyance in practice, were not fundamentally challenged
normatively or theoretically by a completely new system of law and legal thinking.33
Usable State
The next task relates to a usable state bureaucracy. What does a totalitarian or
a post-totalitarian legacy imply about the availability of a usable state bureau-
scending hierarchical order they are (i) the constitution, which can be changed only by pre-established, rel-
atively rigid rules that call for special majorities; (2) laws passed by the parliament but that cannot violate
the constitution; (3) decree laws issued by the cabinet which normally have a limited duration and, to re-
main valid, have to be ratified actively or passively by the parliament; and (4) administrative orders, which
can be issued by ministries but which cannot violate any of the above.
32. T. H. Rigby, "A Conceptual Approach to Authority, Power and Policy in the Soviet Union," in T.H.
Rigby, Archie Brown, and Peter Reddaway, eds., Authority, Power and Policy in the USSR (New York: St.
Martin's Press, 1980), 12.
33. In Spain the Franco regime paid at least formal respect to article 3 of the 1889 Spanish Civil Code,
which established the legal hierarchy of norms complemented by the general principles of law. In addition,
particularly in the late years of the regime, the subjection of the administration to legal controls and ad-
ministrative courts was expanded in comparison to the pre-Franco past. The last dictator of Portugal was
25O Post-Communist Europe
cracy at the beginning of a possible democratic transition? We believe, with

Joseph A. Schumpeter, that modern democracies are best served when elected
politicians (often amateurs) are supported by a strata of professional bureaucrats.
Per se, bureaucrats are not democratic, but they have a function in making de-
mocracies efficacious.34 However, to the extent that the bureaucracy of the pre-
vious nondemocratic regime has been recruited by political criteria defined by
the old regime and to the extent that the political leadership of the old regime has
deeply colonized the bureaucracy, the bureaucracy presents problems of service-
ability to a new regime. Among the potential problems that will be present at the
beginning of the transition from a totalitarian or post-totalitarian ideal type of
regime are the following: (i) The lack of a clear distinction between the party and
the state (indeed, the party generally dominates the state)35 means that the col-
lapse, disintegration, or massive rejection of the party can also disrupt much of the
normal functioning of the state bureaucracy.36 (2) Efficacy is damaged when many
the law professor Marcello Caetano. In the standard legal text he wrote, he paid extensive homage to west-
ern principles of jurisprudence.
34. While we do not necessarily subscribe to everything he says, the classic observations by Joseph A.
Schumpeter are worth quoting at length: "Democratic government in modern industrial society must be
able to command . . . the services of a well-trained bureaucracy of good standing and tradition, endowed
with a strong sense of duty and a no less strong esprit de corps. Such a bureaucracy is the main answer to
the argument about government by amateurs. Potentially it is the only answer to the question so often
heard in this country: democratic politics has proved itself unable to produce decent city government....
It is not enough that the bureaucracy should be efficient in current administration and competent to
give advice. It must also be strong enough to guide and, if need be, to instruct the politicians who head the
ministries. In order to be able to do this it must be in a position to evolve principles of its own and suffi-
ciently independent to assert them. It must be a power in its own right." From Joseph A. Schumpeter, Cap-
italism, Socialism and Democracy (New York: Harper and Row, 1975), 293.
35. The most copiously documented case is East Germany. Especially telling and authoritative self-de-
scriptions may be found in the two-volume handbook of the GDR published by the regime itself in 1985 as
the DDR Handbuch. Particularly revealing are the entries under S.E.D. (the official party, the Socialist Unity
Party of Germany) and the "Staatsapparat" (state apparatus). Top state officials sat in the Partieleitung
(party-leadership), and top party officials attended Sitzungen (meetings) of state bodies. Politburo and
Central Committee decisions were completely binding on the state. The handbook of the GDR regime ex-
plicitly stated that "leading functions in the state are exercised by members of the S.E.D. which de facto per-
form state functions as commissioners of the party" (2:1274). Indeed, the state apparatus is accorded no
professional bureaucratic autonomy at all and is depicted explicitly in the handbook as an instrument of
the party. "The party apparatus [of the S.E.D.] shall lead the state as the most important instrument of the
party" (2: 1275). Party structures inside the state and the secret police completed the control mechanisms
(2:1188-89). In the state apparatus, 2,125,054 East Germans worked directly for their government, [Klaus
König, "Bureaucratic Integration by Elite Transfer," Governance 6, no. 3 (1933): 386-96], of whom approxi-
mately 500,000 were vetted by the party as nomenklatura appointments, [Gerd Meyer, Die DDR Machtelite
in der Ära Honecker (Tübingen: Francke, 1991), 89]. Research on the GDR before the 1989 regime change
concluded that the nomenklatura covered all middle- and top-level jobs, a small number of which were re-
served for members of the non-SED parties in the National Front [Gero Neugebauer, "Die führende Rolle
der SED," in Ilse Spittmann, ed., Die SED in Geschichte und Gegenwart (Deutschland Archiv, 1987), 70].
More than 99 percent of army officers belonged to the SED (ibid., 69). The Kleines Politisches Wörterbuch
(Berlin: Dietz, 1973) defines Kaderpolitik (cadre policy), therefore, quite broadly as the "selection, educa-
tion, qualification, as well as deployment of capable cadres devoted to the task of the working class and its
Marxist-Leninist party in all realms of societal life" (p. 390).
36. The most extreme examples of the implosion of the party occurred in the former Soviet Union and
Yugoslavia. We discuss the fragmentation of the party-state in the USSR in chapter 19.
potentially loyal and effective civil servants are fired due to guilt by association or
when administrative positions are immediately "colonized" by antiregime (but
possibly incompetent) forces. Both massive purging (as in East Germany) or the
absence of any significant change (as in Romania) will create problems for de-
mocracy. (3) The informer legacy causes problems. Regimes that approximate to-
talitarianism or even early post-totalitarianism have all-encompassing ideologies
and organizational schemes. There is thus the tendency in such regimes to induce
ordinary citizens (and not only intelligence specialists) to inform and spy on
other citizens.37 This legacy of the informer presents inevitable problems for the
new regime, most prominent of which is the demand on the part of many citizens
for "lustration" [purification] of the state apparatus, even if this violates due
process and civil rights and creates legitimacy problems.38 If new democracies en-
gage in large-scale lustration policies, another consequence might be that those
threatened by lustration and their families might turn to vote for the successor,
reformed Communist parties as a pressure group for their interests.
These totalitarian or early post-totalitarian legacies contrast sharply with the
legacies of the authoritarian regimes of the sort we considered in parts 2 and 3.39
The informer legacy (and thus the lustration demand) was less severe because
most of the spying on citizens was done by members of the state intelligence or
coercive apparatus and not by ordinary citizens. To be sure, many authoritarian
regimes leave a difficult legacy of human rights abuses by the military, police, and
intelligence agencies. And, as we have documented, the new democratic govern-
ments in Argentina, Uruguay, and Chile have had little success in imprison-
37. For example, in East Germany, out of a population of not more than eighteen million people, Stasi
intelligence files were maintained on six million subjects, of whom four million were GDR residents. Stasi
full-time employees (Hauptamtliche Mitarbeiter) were capped at 85,000; the precise figure for 1982 was
81,487, according to the Gauck Behörde, which occasionally cites the higher figure of 99,000. David Gill and
Ulrich Schröter, Das Ministerium für Staatssicherheit: Anatomie des Mielke -Imperiums (Berlin: Rohwolt,
1991)) 34> 37- Total informants (Informelle Mitarbeiter) numbered at least 109,000, most of whom signed
written statements of collaboration, but there could have been more, since many documents were de-
stroyed during the regime change. Gauck cited 150,000 in a television appearance. He also cites 100,000
Gehaltsempfänger (salaried persons) in his own book, Joachim Gauck, Die Stasi-Akten (Hamburg: Rohwolt
Taschenbuch, 1991), 27.
38. These problems were most severe in Czechoslovakia, Bulgaria, and East Germany (all three of which
in 1989 approximated our description of "early" or "frozen" post-totalitarianism). In Czechoslovakia, the
parliament passed a lustration law that violated many basic tenets of democratic law and civil liberties (see
chapter 17). In Bulgaria the lustration issue split the Union of Democratic Forces between "revolutionary
democrats" and "procedural democrats." Germany's ready-made "inheritor state" of West Germany has ad-
dressed this legacy by purging of a sort that would be extremely difficult (and democratically dangerous)
in most new democracies. For example, 27 percent of all administrative-level employees in the ministries
of the new Bundesländer were imported from the West, and 51 percent of the highest level appointments
were filled by such imports. In the Justice Department of Brandenburg, West German imports topped 70
percent. The GDR data were supplied to us by Daniel V. Friedheim from his forthcoming Yale University
doctoral dissertation on the GDR regime change. Also see König, "Bureaucratic Integration by Elite Transfer."
39. However, regimes that approximate the sultanistic ideal type predictably will present grave problems
of the serviceability of the old bureaucracy because by definition the sultan did not respect any bureau-
cratic norms. As we (and Weber) argued, there are no "state careers" in a sultanistic regime, only members
of the "household staff" of the sultan.
ing human rights offenders. However, because the scope of these hierarchically
led military regimes was less extensive than in the totalitarian or even early post-
totalitarian regimes and because there were no official state parties in Argentina,
Uruguay, or Chile (and only a relatively weak official party in Brazil), many mem-
bers of the state apparatus were left in place, or positions were not completely
politicized in the authoritarian period, or both. In this respect, much more of the
state apparatus was "available" and usable by the new democratic forces during
and after the transition.40 In this regard, the contrast between the degree to which
the state apparatus was politicized in the period before the transition in East Ger-
many and Spain is particularly dramatic. In East Germany there were 500,000
nomenklatura jobs; in Spain there were almost none. In the decade before
Franco's death, entrance to the civil service was by a competitive exam in which
candidates were identified only by number. Indeed, by the 19605 the only position
in the Spanish government that required membership in the official party, the
Movimiento Nacional, was the post of provincial governor because the incum-
bent of this post was also the head of the provincial Movimiento organization.41
Economic Society
We conclude with a brief discussion here of the last of our five tasks of consoli-
dation, which concerns economic society. We will not say much about what a to-
talitarian regime of the Communist type implies about markets because this sub-
ject has been written about extensively. However, we note here that, in our
judgment, most commentaries fail to highlight the crucial social, political, and
state requisites of modern market economies. Advanced market economics are
neither mechanistic nor spontaneous. The economic societies of the advanced
democracies, in their great diversity, have all been socially constructed by economic
incentives and a complex interplay of societal norms, governmental policies, and
state-sanctioned rules that regulate (among other things) contracts, the rights and
privileges of private (and public) property, and banking and credit systems.
In a totalitarian regime of the Communist type, none of the above-listed (min-
imal) components of an effective, socially constructed, economic society exist.
40. For example, though the military in Uruguay banned elections when they assumed power in 1973,
they did nothing to alter the traditional system of electoral registers or districts. They also left in place
Uruguay's highly proficient and neutral electoral court. Therefore, when the military decided to hold a con-
stitutional referendum in 1980, the professional bureaucrats implemented Uruguay's traditional and virtu-
ally tamper-proof democratic voting procedures. In these circumstances, the democratic opposition were
able to profit by this "usable state" and defeat the military's proposal for a semiauthoritarian constitution.
41. Significantly, even in this one nomenklatura position, most appointees became party members only
after being nominated to the post of governor. Indeed, in one celebrated case in the early 19605, the nomi-
nee to Sevilla refused to join the party but was allowed to assume his position anyway. For the increasing
professionalization and independence of the Spanish civil service, see Miguel Beltrán Villalva, "Política y
administración bajo el Franquismo: La reforma administrativa y los planes de desarrollo" in Raymond
Carr, ed., La época de Franco (Madrid: Espasa Calpe, forthcoming).
The easiest component to create and the one that normally appears first is a de-
gree of market incentives. However, there are innumerable other problems that
must be addressed before an effective economic society is consolidated. There is
first and foremost the problem of an effective state.42 A revolutionary upheaval
can do away with a command economy, but if the party-state also implodes and
there is no effective political power, how will the new regulatory framework of
economic society be constructed? Witness Russia. There is also the problem of
property. If the right of private property is introduced, inevitably there are ques-
tions of how the new rights of private ownership should be established. By resti-
tution? From what date? Before the Communists? Before the Nazis? How should
public companies be sold? By auction? Who has enough capital? Are there enough
effective buyers? Should foreign capital be assigned a fixed quota? Should there be
manager buy-outs? Will these be seen as nomenklatura buy-outs? Should sponta-
neous privatization be permitted? Is this actually theft of public property? These
and a hundred other questions are predictably on the agenda in the aftermath of
a Communist totalitarian or post-totalitarian regime, and similar problems will
be the legacy in different ways of most sultanistic regimes. However, in an au-
thoritarian regime of the Chilean or Spanish sort, very few of these questions will
be found.
P O S T - C O M M U N I S M ' S D I V E R S E PATHS
In this chapter, we have sought to evaluate important Russian and especially

Central and East European commonalities because of their coexistence within the
coercive system of Soviet dominance and the fact that the Soviet Union attempted
to impose a similar social, political, ideological, and economic regime type on
them all. However, our primary task in the chapters that follow is to take this
common heritage as an important background factor and to explore the under-
analyzed variation within the region in democratic (or nondemocratic) transi-
tion paths. We also want to explore the substantial variation in the tasks that poli-
ties must accomplish if they are ever to become democratically consolidated. A
significant part of this within-region variation comes from their pre-Communist
histories and their geopolitical location. But an important part of this variation is
also explicable in terms of their distinctive regime types (or subtypes) and/or the
severity of their stateness problem.
The erosion of the Soviet Union's ideological confidence and geopolitical will
to use coercion to manage its outer and inner empires changed power relations
42. The role of the state in the transformation of post-Communist economies is a major research vac-
uum. Indeed, when we asked a leading North American economist researching post-Communist Europe
for academic references on the subject, he commented that "neglect of the role of the state in the transfor-
mation by economists borders on the criminal."
throughout the region. However, the consequences of this new international en-
vironment varied greatly and comparative path-dependent analysis is called for.
For example, since the late 19705 Poland, by our criteria, approximated an au-
thoritarian (not a totalitarian or post-totalitarian) regime. Given the changed So-
viet political economy of coercion, a democratic opposition in Poland that had
been blocked became unblocked. In mature post-totalitarian Hungary, a four-
player game of democratic opposition that would not have even started in the
past was allowed to play out to the end. In "frozen" post-totalitarian polities (e.g.,
the G.D.R. and Czechoslovakia), old guard Brezhnev era leaders who needed ex-
ternal support to make their coercive threats credible collapsed when their mid-
dle-level cadres either no longer believed in the regime's Utopian ideological
claims or at least were unwilling to use large-scale violence against protesting
crowds. Regimes that had experienced virtually no domestic changes, such as sul-
tanistic-totalitarian Romania and barely post-totalitarian Bulgaria, were reconsti-
tuted^ nondemocratic elites after they divested themselves of their long-standing
leaders.
In most of the southern part of the Soviet Union's near totalitarian inner em-
pire, the stateness crisis of the Soviet Union allowed nondemocratic elites, who
were close to the levers of power in the republics, to shift from a party-state to an
ethnic state discourse without tolerating pluralism, respecting minority rights, or
building a democratic civil society. Such changes certainly relate to the literature
on post-Communist politics, but ethnoauthoritarianism, ethnic conflict, and
state erosion are more dominant features of many of these polities than is de-
mocratization or even full liberalization. In fact, as we document in chapter 19,
the discourse of "national liberation" was privileged over democratization and the
discourse of collective rights of "titular nationalities" was privileged over indi-
vidual rights. As our contribution to the new comparative politics of post-Com-
munist regimes, we will explore the sources and consequences of such major
variations.
16
Authoritarian Communism, Ethical

Civil Society, and Ambivalent Political
Society: Poland
OUR P U R P O S E in this chapter is to locate transformations in Poland within

the overall context of the literature and politics of democratic transitions. We do
this by developing four inter-related arguments. First, we will advance the thesis
that Poland is the only country in Eastern Europe that was always closer to an au-
thoritarian than to a totalitarian regime, even in the 1949—53 period when to-
talitarian tendencies were strongest. Second, we show how from 1976 to 1988 the
dominant ethos, structure, and language of conflict in Poland were between the
nation's "ethical civil society" and the regime's internationalized authoritarian
party-state. Third, we argue that, precisely because Poland in 1988-89 was an au-
thoritarian regime led by party-soldiers—and was the first of East Europe's tran-
sitions—the regime initiated and the opposition accepted a "pacted transition"
comparable in its confining conditions to those we have seen in Chile and Brazil.
Fourth, we explore how the new democracy's origins in an ethical civil society,
a pacted transition, and, very rapidly, a semipresidential system with a directly
elected charismatic leader created a legacy of ambivalence toward political soci-
ety which must be transcended before Poland can consolidate democracy.
THE I N A B I L I T Y TO I N S T A L L T O T A L I T A R I A N I S M
Let us first evaluate the question of regime type. More than any other country
we will consider in this section, Polish society resists classification as having ever
been a fully installed totalitarian regime. We certainly do not deny that there were
some efforts (as in Spain after the Civil War) to install a totalitarian regime in
Poland and that much of the totalitarian state apparatus and official party ideol-
ogy found elsewhere in Eastern Europe was found in Poland. However, some fun-
damental elements of Polish politics do not really fit the totalitarian regime type
as we analyzed it in chapter 3. In particular, we believe that Poland always had a
significant de facto degree of societal pluralism. We further believe that this de
facto societal pluralism increased the ability of parts of civil society to resist
the regime's ideology and somewhat checked the will of the aspirant totalitarian
regime to impose intense mobilization, especially in the ideological area. These
limits on totalitarian penetration had in turn an effect on the regime's leadership
style. Our argument, therefore, is that in each of the four key typological dimen-
sions of totalitarianism—most clearly in pluralism but also in mobilization, ide-
ology, and leadership—Poland contained some totalitarian but even stronger au-
thoritarian tendencies.1
At all times the Polish Catholic Church maintained a sphere of relative auton-
omy which gave it organizational and ideological capacities to resist its and the
Polish nation's full incorporation into totalitarian structures. This de facto so-
cial pluralism of the Catholic Church generated a complex pattern of reciprocal
power recognition and even negotiation between the Catholic Church and the
state not found in any Communist regime we would call totalitarian. For exam-
ple, in April 1950 the government agreed to allow religious education in public
schools and not to interfere with the church press. In return the church agreed to
refrain from overt political activities and to restrain priests from active opposi-
tion.2 In one of the most committed Catholic nations in the world, the fact that
the atheistic party-state even temporarily granted this concession was a limit on
its goal of total ideological hegemony.3 There was a renewed effort to control the
church in 1953-56, during which the primate of Poland, Cardinal Stefan Wyszyñ-
ski, was kept under house arrest.4 A measure of how fearful the Soviet-backed
1. Milovan Djilas reviewed the history of totalitarianism in all the countries in Eastern Europe, and he
also argued that only in Poland was totalitarianism never installed. "It would not be incorrect to conclude
that Poland was never a totalitarian state, if only because some form of spiritual life—in the first place
the Catholic Church—preserved a measure of autonomy. Also, peasant holdings remained largely private
property. On top of that, thanks to the Warsaw uprising in 1944 and the armed and other resistance imme-
diately after the war, the vast majority of Poles received both the new regime and Soviet control without
any illusions about Soviet 'liberators.' Poland has been, in fact, largely a police state. The 1956 revolt in Poz-
nan had a crucial significance for Poland's internal autonomy. [Gomulka] ... retarded but did not stop the
anti-totalitarian movement in Poland; it is there that the totalitarian idea has been most decisively rejected."
Milovan Djilas, "The Disintegration of Leninist Totalitarianism," in Irving Howe, ed., 1984 Revisited: Total-
itarianism in Our Century (New York: Harper and Row, 1983), 145-46.
2. For discussions of the dynamic power struggles of concession and conquest between the Commu-
nists and the Catholic Church, see Ronald C. Monticone, The Catholic Church in Communist Poland,
1945-1985: Forty Years of Church-State Relations (New York: Columbia University Press, 1986), esp. 26-130.
Another analysis of "conflicts and co-existence" between the Polish church and state and of the political role
of the church in Poland since 1945 is Bogdan Szajkowski, Next to God . . . Poland: Politics and Religion in
Contemporary Poland (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1983). For a comparative perspective of the Polish
Catholic Church in an authoritarian-government/opposition dynamic, see the essay by Hank Johnston,
"Toward an Explanation of Church Opposition to Authoritarian Regimes: Religio-oppositional Subcul-
tures in Poland and Catalonia," Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 28, no. 4 (1989): 493-508.
3. Communist Poland had substantially more priests per capita than did Catholic Latin America. For
example, in 1968 Poland had 52 priests per 100,000 population. The highest ratio of priests per capita of the
twenty Latin American countires that year was in Chile, with 27. Brazil had only 13 priests per 100,000 pop-
ulation, and Cuba had 3. See Luigi Einaudi, Richard Maullin, Alfred Stepan, and Michael Fleet, Latin Amer-
ican Institutional Development: The Changing Catholic Church (Santa Monica: Rand Corp., 1969), 18.
4. See A Freedom Within: The Prison Notes of Stefan Cardinal Wyszyñski (San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jo-
Poland 257
party authorities were of the Catholic Church is that, in contrast to Hungary or

Croatia, the Polish authorities did not put the cardinal on trial. The assault on the
church generated even more resistance on the part of Polish society and exacer-
bated the distance between the "us" of the Polish nation and the "them" of the So-
viet-supported party-state. As Joseph Rothchild summarizes, "the Polish Catholic
Church more than recouped its post-war material losses through its flock's re-
newed fervor ... social groups that had been indifferent or even anti-clerical gave
it their allegiance as a mark of political and spiritual protest against Stalinist
trends."5 By 1956 the moderately nationalist reform Communist, Gomulka, to
make his government more palatable, allowed the reintroduction of religious in-
struction in state schools.6 In fact, on a number of occasions between 1956 and
1989 the government implicitly or even explicitly had to ask the church to contain
crisis situations that might have led to Soviet intervention by playing a moderat-
ing role in Polish politics. Symbolically, in 1986 a statue of Cardinal Wyszyñski was
erected in Warsaw's most prominent boulevard outside of a church.
Another telling indicator of limited pluralism as opposed to monism was agri-
culture. Nationalization of agriculture by means of collectivization or coopera-
tives was soft-pedaled even by the Polish Stalinists in the late 19405. Gomulka's
consistent rejection of forced collectivization was an essential component of his
"Polish road to socialism," which was branded heretical and then visionary by
Moscow. The tradition of peasant cooperatives predominated over collectivized
state farms. Indeed, independent, privately owned farms remained in the over-
vanovich, 1982), in which the Cardinal documents the fluctuations in state policies toward the church at the
time of, during, and after his internment. Also see Andrzej Micewski, Cardinal Wyszyñski (San Diego: Har-
court Brace Jovanovich, 1984). In addition to this symblic gesture of Communist control over the church
hierarchy in 1953, "Patriotic priests acceptable to the state were pushed into key church positions, and the
PAX movement of progressive Catholics was supported by the authorities." However, this policy failed
when it was opposed by the church. See Dieter Bingen, "The Catholic Church as a Political Actor," in Jack
Bielasiak and Maurice D. Simon, eds., Polish Politics: Edge of the Abyss (New York: Praeger Press, 1984), 213.
Also see M. K. Dziewanowski, The Communist Party of Poland: An Outline of History (Cambridge: Harvard
University Press, 1976), esp. 241-51.
5. Joseph Rothchild, Return to Diversity (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989), 87.
6. For the specifics of allowing religious education in Polish public schools, see Monticone, The Catholic
Church in Communist Poland, esp. 26-28. Monticone discusses the Joint Commission of Representatives of
the Government and the Episcopate, which was established in 1956 to address the "many unresolved prob-
lems in mutual relations." The discourse of the joint commission's communiqué, issued on December 8,
suggested that both the government and the church hierarchy would assume a policy of full, mutual un-
derstanding. Monticone contends that "the most important part of the agreement pertained to the teach-
ing of religion after school hours in all schools where the majority of parents favored it As a result...
religious instruction was given in the vast majority of schools throughout Poland" (pp. 27-28). Gomulka's
liberalization policy toward the church, including the release of Cardinal Wyszyñski from house arrest, was
part of his "Spring in October," a period of Polish liberalization accompanying the de-Stalinization process
occurring in the Soviet Union. As Nicholas Bethell argues, "In 1956 he [Gomulka] and the Cardinal were
on good terms... to secure the Cardinal's release from detention was one of Gomulka's first political acts.
In return the Cardinal helped Gomulka to consolidate his rule and to restrain irresponsible elements."
Nicholas Bethell, Gomulka, His Poland and His Communism (London: Longmans Press, 1969), 248-49. See
also Lawrence Weschler, The Passion of Poland (New York: Pantheon Books, 1982), esp. 211-18 for a chronol-
ogy of Polish events during de-Stalinization.
whelming majority, never dipping below 70 percent of Poland's agricultural hold-

ings.7 Once again, this is a mark of incomplete state penetration and a sign of so-
cial power and autonomy outside the grip of the totalitarian state.
Finally, the overall reversals of policy and ideology that marked the shifts of
leadership from the mini-Stalinism of Boleslaw Bierut, to the relative tolerance
and Polish nationalism of Gomulka (1956-70), to the experiment with massive
foreign borrowing of Gierek (1971-80), to the repression of the military-led
regime of Jaruzelski (1981-89) is a pattern of policy alternation and changing
leadership styles more consistent with an authoritarian regime than a totalitarian
regime. In fact, during the period of the greatest effort to impose totalitarianism
in Poland (1949-53), President and First Secretary Boleslaw Bierut was primus inter
pares in a triumvirate including the ideologist, Jakub Berman, and the economist,
Hilary Mine. This collégial power-sharing exemplifies another of Poland's differ-
entiations from extreme totalitarianism, the dictator and the cult of personality.
Why did this peculiar pattern of authoritarian Communism emerge in Po-
land? Specifically, how did the unique Polish quality of resistance by civil society
contribute to this pattern and to the fact that Poland became the first country in
the world to force a ruling Communist Party to enter into a power dyarchy with
a democratic opposition?
The stateness variable has particular importance in Poland, but in a pro-
foundly different way than in the Soviet Union. The extermination of Poland's
Jews, the expulsion of the ethnic Germans, and the incorporation of Byelorussian
and Ukrainian populations into the Soviet Union in the aftermath of World War II
left the overwhelming majority of Poland's citizens ethnically Polish and Roman
Catholic. This was the first true nation-state in Polish history.8
Moreover, the Polish people's support for the nation was one of the most emo-
tionally and historically intense in Europe. Poland had gone from being one of the
major European powers to being "stateless" from 1795 to 1918 owing to conquest
and partition at the hands of Russia, Prussia, and Austria. In this period of state-
lessness the Catholic Church became a particularly strong and beloved cultural
7. See Andrzej Korbonski, Politics of Socialist Agriculture in Poland: ¡945-1960 (New York: Columbia
University Press, 1965), 212-312, and "Peasant Agriculture in Socialist Poland since 1956: An Alternative to
Collectivization," in Jerzy F. Karcz, ed., Soviet and East European Agriculture (Berkeley: University of Cali-
fornia Press, 1967), 411-31. See also Janine Wedel, The Private Poland (New York: Facts on File Publications,
1986), 54, for data on the relatively substantial, informal, nonagricultural private sector in Poland in the late
19705 and early 19805.
8. As late as 1939, Poles (92 percent of whom were Roman Catholic) only "constituted about 90 percent
of the population in the western vojevodships . . . about 80 percent in the central... and 60 percent in the
southern." See Jan Tomasz Gross, Polish Society under German Occupation, The Generalgouvernement,
1939-1944 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979), 12. K. A. Jelenski argues that, "paradoxically, the
communist Poland that emerged from the Yalta agreements corresponded to an old dream of the most ex-
treme kind It is—for the first time in its history—a country of one ethnic group and one religion, with
all faiths other than Catholicism accounting for only a tiny percentage of the population." See his essay,
"Paradoxes of Polish Nationalism," in Leopold Labedz, ed., Poland under Jaruzelski: A Comprehensive
Sourcebook on Poland during and after Martial Law (New York: Scribner's Sons, 1983), 391.
Poland 259
and institutional expression of Polish nationality. The Polish state again formally
disappeared when Germany and the Soviet Union partitioned the country after
the German-Soviet Pact of August 23,1939. The new division of Poland led to re-
pressive rule of Poles, deportation into the Soviet Union of the Polish Army,
deliberate destruction of much of the Polish intelligentsia, and mass murder in
Kathyn, which was blamed on the Germans but was later recognized as a Soviet
act. 9 However, along with Yugoslavia, Polish society developed the strongest re-
sistance movement in Europe. Unlike Yugoslavia, however, in Poland the resis-
tance movement and the government in exile were unified and in close contact.
The Red Army stood by and did nothing while Polish resistance fighters struggled
against the Nazis in the Warsaw uprising. Complete Soviet military domination
in Poland was established only after the defeat of Polish resistance forces in the
civil war of 1945-47.10 Because Poland had been part of the victorious Allied
coalition in World War II, the Soviet Union (unlike in East Germany, Hungary, or
Slovakia) could not attempt to legitimate their occupation by the claim that they
represented Allied occupation over Nazi collaborators.11 Thus, from the begin-
ning, Polish stateness was a source of nationalist antagonism against the Soviet
hegemon and provided a deep reservoir of sources of resistance.
This leads us to the question of totalitarianism and its control of the coercive
apparatus. A completely totalitarian regime, since it relies so much on societal
penetration and control by the state, must have total organizational and ideolog-
ical control of the security apparatus, especially the military. More than any other
country in Eastern Europe, Poland conducted a civil war in 1945-47 against Soviet
and Communist forces. This left a paradoxical legacy in civil-military relations.
Polish military unreliability was recognized by the fact that it was the only coun-
try in Eastern Europe where a Russian citizen, indeed a Soviet marshal and a
deputy minister of defense, Konstantin Rokossovsky (admittedly of Polish ex-
traction), was made commander-in-chief. This only made more transparent the
"foreign," illegitimate status of the Communist government.12 The Soviet Union
9. See the two outstanding studies by Jan T. Gross, Revolution from Abroad: The Soviet Conquest of
Poland's Western Ukraine and Western Belorussia (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988), and Gross,
Polish Society under German Occupation.
10. For example, it was only "between 1948 and 1955, [that] the Polish armed forces underwent a major
transformation conforming them to the then current Soviet model." Paul C. Latawski, "The Polish Military
and Politics," in Jack Bielasiak and Maurice D. Simon, eds., Polish Politics: Edge of the Abyss (New York:
Praeger Press, 1984), 271.
11. This point was stressed repeatedly to Stepan in October 1989 and July 1990 by a variety of Polish of-
ficials and analysts coming from the Communist Party or the military.
12. For the Soviet background of most of the Polish high command from 1949 to 1956, see George San-
ford, Military Rule in Poland: The Rebuilding of Communist Power, 1981-1983 (London: Crown Helm, 1986),
57. Latawski, a student of Polish foreign policy and history, asserts that, after 1949, "the most significant
change for the army was the importation of Soviet Officers, who eventually made up half the entire officer
corps." Latawski, "The Polish Military and Politics," 271,288 n. 12. See also Dale Herspring, "The Polish Mil-
itary and the Policy Process," ¡n Maurice D. Simon and Roger E. Kanet, eds., Background to Crisis: Policy and
Politics in Poland (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1980), esp. 222-24.
26o Post-Communist Europe
made some effort to make a link with Polish national tradition by allowing Poland
to be the only country in Eastern Europe in which officers retained much of their
prewar uniform. But, at critical moments, the army, by their ambivalence and
slowness to act, de facto checked the possibility of totalitarian state power. An im-
portant early example of this is that the army did not fire upon the Poznan strik-
ers in June 1956.13 At other times the army played a key role in party struggles.
Wiatr argues that "in October 1956 when the USSR tried to blackmail the Polish
leaders to slow down the process of de-Stalinization, the Polish military threw its
support to the new Party leadership headed by Wladyslaw Gomulka, showing also
its determination to resist Soviet intervention."14
Before we conclude these comments on totalitarianism, we would like to make
a general observation about political pluralism and the Roman Catholic Church.
There have, of course, been numerous periods throughout history of the Roman
Catholic Church's collaboration with conservative and corporatist authoritarian
regimes, most notably in Spain and to a lesser extent in Portugal.15 However, it
is our contention that, sociologically and politically, the existence of a strong
Roman Catholic Church in a totalitarian country is always a latent source of plu-
ralism, precisely because it is a formal organization with a transnational base. The
papacy can be a source of spiritual and material support for groups that want to
resist monist absorption or extinction. The papacy can also impose sanctions and
withdraw recognition from local bishops who might under pressure agree to co-
operate with totalitarian governments. In the Polish case, for example, once or
twice some Polish priests came close to accepting agreements with Communist
governments, but the authority of these agreements was explicitly disowned and
rejected by the pope.
This source of higher international power is of course not available in a polit-
ical system (such as Bulgaria, Romania, or most of the former Soviet Union)
which has Orthodox churches that are national but not transnational in scope
and that historically have accepted a form of "caesaropapism" in which the em-
peror or head of state was the supreme temporal and spiritual authority.16 It is
also not available in a predominantly Islamic society because Islam as a religion is
13. For Poznan events, see A. Ross Johnson, Robert W. Dean, and Alexander Alexiev, East European Mil-
itary Establishments: The Warsaw Pact Northern Tier (Santa Monica: RAND, 1982), 60. For a discussion by
Khrushchev of how the "Poles had vilified us in 1956" and the movement of Soviet troops toward Warsaw,
as well as the editor's comment about the possibility of armed resistance by the Polish troops, see Jerrold L.
Schecter with Vyacheslav V. Luchkov, eds., Khrushchev Remembers: The Glasnost Tapes (Boston: Little,
Brown and Co., 1990), 113-20.
14. Jerzy J. Wiatr, Four Essays on East European Democratic Transformation (Warsaw: Scholar Agency,
1992), 62. For a similar judgment, also see Andrzej Korbonski "The Dilemmas of Civil-Military Relations
in Contemporary Poland: 1945-1981," Armed Forces and Society 8, no. l (1981): 3-20, esp. 10.
15. But even in Spain the church eventually contributed to the delegitimation of the authoritarian
model. Juan J. Linz, "Church and State in Spain from the Civil War to the Return of Democracy," Daedalus
120, no. 3 (1991): 159-78.
16. For caesaropapism and orthodox churches, see Max Weber, Economy and Society, ed. Guenther Roth
and Claus Wittich (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), 2:1159-63.
Poland 261
a community of believers in which all believers can be preachers and where there
is no formal transnational hierarchy. This excursus on Catholicism as a transna-
tional actor is of course especially appropriate for our analysis of Poland because
on October 16,1978, Cardinal Karol Wojtyla, the archbishop of Poland's second
most important city, Krakow, became Pope John Paul II, and even greater anti-
regime resources were mobilized with consequences we explain later.
We do not want to overstress our point. The effort to impose a totalitarian
regime in Poland definitely left some legacies in post-Communist Poland not
found in a typical postauthoritarian regime. The most important legacy was that,
despite the important degree of private agricultural holdings, the state played the
commanding role in the economy, whose industrial and service sectors were over-
whelmingly socialized. Even if Poland was never fully totalitarian, Poland's "really
existing socialism" of 1945-89 left numerous structures of group interests in post-
Communist Poland.17 The reality of Communist authoritarianism also meant
that resistance, if it was to be effective, had to be based in civil society because op-
positional parties as an expression of political society were never either formally
permitted or informally tolerated.
THE E M E R G E N C E OF O P P O S I T I O N A L H E G E M O N Y
AND THE EROSION OF THE C O M M U N I S T PARTY
With Gomulka's agreement in 1956 to allow the church to teach religion in

public schools, the church was never again mortally threatened.18 After 1956 Pol-
ish universities and researchers developed, along with Yugoslavia, by far the great-
est degree of autonomy and creativity in Eastern Europe in such politically rele-
vant areas as political sociology, philosophy, history, and economics.19 Polish
intellectuals and citizens, despite a degree of regime constraints and surveillance,
had a significant degree of freedom for international travel.
17. See Edmund Mokrzycki, "The Legacy of Real Socialism, Group Interests, and the Search for a New
Utopia," in W. C. Connor and P. Ploszajski, eds., Escape from Socialism: The Polish Route (Warsaw: IFiS Pub-
lishers, 1992), 269-81.
18. The German scholar of the Polish church and Solidarity, Dieter Bingen, notes that, "in May 1957, Go-
mulka explained that he saw a need for coexistence between believers and nonbelievers and between the
church and socialism." Although tensions between church and state—inherent in many regime conces-
sion/societal conquest dynamics—did continue after this period, the church was never again threatened se-
riously. It remained, in Bingen's terms, "the stable anchor of Poland's political system." Dieter Bingen, "The
Catholic Church as a Political Actor," 213,236.
19. In the 19705, a group of intellectuals from Warsaw started a series of independent lectures devoted
to the social sciences and history. The effort, attended mainly by university students, "known colloquially
as 'The Flying University,' proved to be popular— In January, 1978, some sixty prominent intellectuals and
academics signed a declaration calling into being the Society for Academic Courses.... In its first year, 120
lectures were offered by the Flying University to at least 5,000 people in major towns countrywide." See
Janusz Bugajski and Maxine Pollack, East European Fault Lines: Dissent, Opposition and Social Activism
(Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1989), 226. See also Karol H. Borowski, "Secular and Religious Education
in Poland," Religious Education 70, no i (1975): 70-76.
From a comparative and theoretical perspective, the moral and organizational

style of Polish opposition put Poland in the vanguard of Eastern Europe. A cru-
cial difference between Poland and all the other East European Communist states
was the extraordinary "horizontal relationship of civil society with itself."20 This
degree of "self-organization" of Polish civil society was possible in an authoritar-
ian regime, but impossible in a totalitarian regime and beyond the bounds of any-
thing we would want to call post-totalitarian. This relationship was crafted over
time. In 1968 students and intellectuals protested but received little support from
workers. Indeed, workers were recruited by the government into special gangs to
break up demonstrations in an attempt to polarize workers and the intelligentsia.
In late 1970 and early 1971, workers had mass demonstrations but intellectuals did
not join them. In 1976, however, intellectuals formed an organization called KOR
(Committee for the Defense of Workers) to help workers punished for strike ac-
tivities. When the massive protests led by Lech Walesa and the workers broke out
in 1980 at the Lenin Shipyard in Gdansk, other civil society groups, from intellec-
tuals to the church, helped interweave the weft and warp of the tightly textured
Polish resistance. At Solidarity's height, 10 million workers, representing the ma-
jority of employed workers in the country, were members. Solidarity's power po-
sition in the economy and the polity was so strong that in August 1980 any claim
of the party-state to be the sole representative of the people was smashed when
Solidarity became the first independent trade union in any Communist country
to win legal recognition. Solidarity also was able to get the government to soften
the nomenklatura system. The Polish government agreed that future appoint-
ments in factories would be "made on the basis of qualification and not on party
membership."21
Poland has the largest and best tradition of public opinion survey research in
Eastern Europe. These surveys repeatedly reveal a deep societal rejection of a to-
talitarian vision of state and society. A poll taken in November 1981 showed that
"between 60-80 percent of the respondents declared themselves in favor of a
polycentric power model—that is the principle of full autonomy of institutions,
limited central planning, increased participation of the Church in social life, and
20. The concept of the "horizontal relationship of civil society with itself" is developed by Alfred Stepan,
"State Power and Strength of Civil Society in the Southern Cone of Latin America," in Peter Evans, Dietrich
Rueschemeyer, and Theda Skocpol, eds., Bringing the State Back In (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1988), 317-43. The complex and extremely important process of the interweaving of civil society in Poland
to form the fabric of opposition is similar to that of Brazil, where a fabric composed of "new unionism,"
base community groups, the "people's church," and intellectuals was crucial in democratizing, not just lib-
eralizing, the regime. See the essays in Alfred Stepan's edited volume, Democratizing Brazil: Problems of
Transition and Consolidation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), esp. 143-296.
21. Wlodzimierz Pankow, "The Solidarity Movement, Management and the Political System in Poland,"
in Jadwiga Koralewicz, Ireneusz Bialecki, and Margaret Watson, eds., Crisis and Transition: Polish Society in
the 1980$ (Oxford: Berg Publishers, 1987), 112-15. The political culture in which KOR and Solidarity emerged
is studied in great depth in Andrzej W. Tymowski, The Unwanted Revolution: From Moral Economy to Lib-
eral Society in Poland (The Social Origins of Reform and Counter-Reform) (Ph.D. diss. Department of Polit-
ical Science, Yale University, 1995), esp. 126-241.
Poland 263
curtailment of Party life ... some 70% of the respondents said they were in favor
of the activities of the independent self-governing trade-union Solidarity."22
Polish forms of self-organization of society against the state were in fact an
inspiration to organizers of civil society in other parts of the world, particularly
Latin America. In Poland's self-organized society, people dared to organize, act,
think, and live, in the famous phrase of Adam Michnik, "as if they were free." In-
deed, the power and legitimacy of Solidarity after one year of existence was such
that Stefan Kania, first Secretary after Gierek and before Jaruzelski, took pains to
deny that a situation of dual power existed in Poland (i.e., between the collapsing
party and Solidarity).
In Gramscian terms, Solidarity in the fall of 1981 possessed hegemony in civil
society, and the party maintained its power only to the extent that it controlled
the coercive forces of the army and the security services and the shadow of the So-
viet Union limited a challenge to the regime. It was against this increasingly self-
organized society that a further sign of the weakness of the Polish Communist
Party appeared. On December 13,1981, General Jaruzelski, who did not mention
the Communist Party or use the word comrade, and who defined himself simply
as a "soldier and the head of the government of Poland," declared, "I hereby an-
nounce that today a Military Council for National Salvation has been consti-
tuted" and that Poland was under martial law.23 The de facto loss of the leading
role of the party was implicitly recognized by the fact that the leader of the gov-
ernment and almost all key ministers were not party officials as such, but Polish
party-soldiers under the direction of General Jaruzelski. Unlike any Communist
regime in history, the Polish Communist regime from 1981 until the assumption
of office by Solidarity's first prime minister in August 1989 was directed by the
military, who, while members of the Communist Party, were primarily military
officers.
General Jaruzelski, simultaneously holding the positions of prime minister
and minister of defense, appointed high-ranking military officers to several key
ministries, state enterprises, and numerous local government offices. He created
and ruled through the Military Council for National Salvation (Wojskowa Rada
Ocalenia Narodowego, or WRON). All twenty-one members of this council held
high military posts, and they emerged as the leading authority in the country. The
Polish scholar Jadwiga Staniszkis describes the martial law regime as Jaruzelski's
22. Ireneusz Bialecki, "What the Poles Thought in 1981," in Koralewicz, Bialecki, and Watson, eds., Crisis
and Transition, 30.
23. As a document, the declaration of martial law is strikingly similar to many documents issued by
leaders of hierarchical military organizations in Latin America as justifications for their seizure of power.
The document also lacks any of the ideological claims that one would find in totalitarian or even post-
totalitarian discourse. Jaruzelski alludes to "interminable conflict" and "chaos" that have brought the country
to the "edge of an abyss," which explains the "burden of responsibility which falls upon me." The complete
document is reproduced in Robert Maxwell, ed., Jaruzelski: Prime Minister of Poland (Oxford: Pergamon
Press, 1985), 28-30.
effort to redefine the institutional regime and to move from a party state toward
an "authoritarian-bureaucratic, non-ideological army state."24 The primary posi-
tion of the military, a set of party-soldiers who at the same time formed an insti-
tution distinct from the Communist Party, made a difference to the regime's
decisions to initiate liberalization and to recognize Solidarity as a legitimate, ac-
ceptable, and even necessary "player" with which the regime would negotiate. As
Korbonski correctly states, the Polish military had been historically a "moderat-
ing" power in politics, occasionally exercising a veto over the domestic agenda and
particularly over Communist policies. In 1981, however, this moderating power
role broke down, the military became the government, and a unique five-way
power relationship between the security services (headed by Minister of Interior
General Czeslaw Kiszczak, who retained his post until the summer of 1990), the
army, the Soviet-related party (led by a solid Warsaw Pact officer, General Jaruzel-
ski), the Catholic Church, and Solidarity developed.25 It is crucial to recognize
that all five institutions then interacted to shape the timing and tempo of the
eventual transition.
PACTED T R A N S I T I O N
When martial law was declared on December 13,1981, the set of major power
actors in Poland included on one side the Solidarity movement (much of orga-
nized labor and the intellectutal and social movements associated with it) and the
Catholic Church, and on the other side the hierarchically controlled military, the
security services, and the remnants of the official party under their control. The
message of the Solidarity movement was amplified by what Bronislaw Geremek
called the "indestructible empire" of more than a thousand informal and formal
publications. The Catholic Church, despite its identification with the opposition,
was occasionally used by the regime as an unofficial mediator and moderator.
24. Jadwiga Staniszkis, Poland: Self-limiting Revolution ( Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986), 320.
25. See Cindy Skach, "Military Regimes and Negotiated Democratic Transitions: Poland and Brazil in
Comparative Perspective" (1991, unpublished manuscript). There are several good analyses concerning the
military dimension of authoritarianism in Poland. George C. Malcher, Poland's Politicized Army: Commu-
nists in Uniform (New York: Praeger, 1984), is one of the few authors to recognize and document the mili-
tarization of the Polish administration after 1981. Polish sociologist Jerzy Wiatr discusses the evolution of
the party-soldier in The Soldier and the Nation: The Role of the Military in Polish Politics, 1948-1985 (Boul-
der, Colo.: Westview Press, 1988). Andrew Michta's book, Red Eagle: The Army in Polish Politics, 1944-1988
(Stanford, Calif.: Hoover Institution Press, 1990), contains less substantive analysis of military-authoritar-
ianism but provides a good and recent historical account of the military institution.
Some of the best discussion and analysis of historical civil-military relations in Poland are found in An-
drzej Korbonski's works. See in particular his article with Sarah M. Terry, "The Military as a Political Actor
in Poland," in Andrzej Kolkowicz, ed., Soldiers, Peasants and Bureaucrats: Civil-Military Relations in Com-
munist and Modernizing Societies (London: George Allen and Unwin Press, 1982), 159-80, and "The Dilem-
mas of Civil-Military Relations in Contemporary Poland: 1945-1981," in Armed Forces and Society 8, no. l
(1981): 3-20.
Poland 265
This is a set of actors (even if we accept the transnational Soviet presence) closer
to those found in authoritarian Brazil and Chile than to those in totalitarian or
even post-totalitarian countries.
This analysis of power actors leads us directly to our argument that Poland, more
than any other country in Eastern Europe, is an example of a pacted transition,
where the opposition paid a price for the transition analogous to those we have an-
alyzed in Brazil and even more in Chile. In both Chile and Poland, the pacted tran-
sitions meant that democracy started with the old regime's constitution and with
the old regime still retaining strong positions in the legislature and in the state ap-
paratus. Let us see how this paradoxical but very real pacted transition occurred.
In 1987-88 Poland was an authoritarian regime facing growing problems and
growing opposition. In June 1987 Pope John Paul II made his third visit to Poland
and called for the re-legalization of Solidarity. The regime realized the seriousness
of its economic problems, but in November 1987 General Jaruzelski's proposal for
a package of economic changes to be backed by society was defeated in a national
referendum because it failed to obtain the required majority of those eligible to
vote. The losing of a referendum (impossible in a totalitarian regime and un-
precedented in pre-round table post-totalitarian regimes) is a unique event in
Communist Europe and contributed to the further erosion of the regime.
In May 1988 a new round of Solidarity strikes, initiated by a new generation of
younger and more militant trade unionists, began. To some extent both Jaruzel-
ski as a regime moderate and Walesa as an opposition moderate were facing po-
tential challenges from their radicals. Eventually, the classic four-player game of
transition (regime radicals, regime moderates, opposition moderates, opposition
radicals) had appeared.
In the early summer of 1988, General Kiszczak, the minister of the interior,
through an interview asked Lech Walesa if he would like to begin exploratory talks.
Walesa agreed in a letter of July 21,1988. On August 26, during a second wave of Sol-
idarity strikes General Jaruzelski, at a politburo meeting, proposed negotiation
with Solidarity.26 As the critical prenegotiation process advanced, it became clear
that the government wanted some support for its economic policies from Solidar-
ity. The government did not want to risk a total Solidarity boycott of the upcom-
ing 1989 parliamentary elections. Solidarity in turn wanted legal recognition, which
only the government could give.27 We stress these points because we want to em-
phasize that the government wanted the negotiations but still acted as if it pos-
26. Our discussion of the Round Table owes much to the Polish legal constitutional theorist Wiktor Osi-
atynski, who observed the round-table talks and later carried out extensive archival and interview research.
He reports his findings in "The Round Table Negotiations in Poland" (Center for the Study of Constitu-
tionalism in Eastern Europe at the University of Chicago Law School in partnership with the Central Eu-
ropean University, 1993, working paper no. i). To be included in Jon Elster, ed., The Roundtable Talks and
the End of Communism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, forthcoming).
27. For the importance of the August-December 1988 prenegotiation talks (and an illustration of the
four-player game dynamics), see Jadwiga Staniszkis, The Dynamics of the Breakthrough in Eastern Europe:
sessed significant coercive strength. As it turned out, both the government and the
opposition overestimated the government's strength.28 Indeed, even as Round
Table talks evolved, they were always surrounded by a "Rawlsian veil of ignorance,"
in that both sides, not knowing what would happen in the future, made concessions
they would not have made if they could have known what the results would be.29
Of course, the Polish Round Table talks set into motion the chain of extra-
ordinary events of 1989 in Europe. As a result of the talks the first completely free
election of one house, the Senate, occurred in Eastern Europe in forty years. Be-
cause of the unexpectedly overwhelming triumph of Solidarity in the elections in
June 1989, in August the first non-Communist prime minister in Eastern Europe
in forty years came to office after the Communists were unable to form a govern-
ment when some of their former satellite Peasant Party allies defected. The in-
stallation of the first non-Communist prime minister was strongly conditioned
by international power relationships. A Soviet intervention in Poland would have
meant the death of Gorbachev's detente with the West, with deleterious conse-
quences for his perestroika project. Gorbachev thus faced a stark choice he had
not expected or desired: intervene in Poland or let a non-Communist govern-
ment come to power. New power relationships in authoritarian Communist
The Polish Experience (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 195-202, and Osiatynski, "Round
Table Negotiations in Poland," 7-12. For a defense of why Solidarity entered the Round Table that empha-
sizes the costs of going first and the achievements attained, see Bronislaw Geremek, "Post-Communism and
Democracy in Poland," Washington Quarterly 13, no. 3 (1990): 125-31.
28. A chief negotiator for the government (and later chairman of the successor to the Communist Party,
the Union of Social Democracy), Aleksander Kwasniewski, later told Osiatynski, "This illusion [of our
strength] saved us from the Romanian experience. If the Party leadership realized how weak it was, there
would never have been the Round Table and peaceful change" (p. 7). A chief negotiator for Solidarity, Zbig-
niew Bujak (who later became a co-founder of the ROAD Party) stressed to Osiantynski that Solidarity
worked to "come close to the borderline between merely improving the existing system and real reforms
that would set off an avalanche" (p. 47). Osiantynski goes on to say that "on April 5,1989 almost no one be-
lieved that this line would be crossed almost immediately after the Round Table." Six years after the Round
Table Pact, some of its agreements, such as the office of the presidency, still stand.
29. Indeed, as Adam Przeworski indicates in Democracy and the Market: Political and Economic Reforms
in Eastern Europe and Latin America (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 87, "If everyone is be-
hind the Rawlsian veil, that is, if they know little about their political strength under the eventual demo-
cratic institutions, all opt for a maximum solution: institutions that introduce checks and balances and
maximize the political influence of minorities.... Hence constitutions that are written when the relation
of forces are still unclear are likely to counteract increasing returns to power, provide insurance to the even-
tual losers, and reduce the stakes of competition." Consequently, "institutions adopted when the relation of
forces is unknown or unclear are most likely to last across a variety of conditions." See also John Rawls, A
Theory of Justice (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1971), 136-37, where he first elaborated theoretically
his concept of the original position behind the veil of ignorance. "The idea of the original position is to set
up a fair procedure so that any principles agreed to will be just Somehow we must nullify the effects of
special contingencies which put men at odds and tempt them to exploit social and natural circumstances
to their own advantage. Now, in order to do this I assume that the parties are situated behind a veil of ig-
norance. They do not know how the various alternatives will affect their own particular case and they are
obliged to evaluate principles solely on the basis of general considerations."
In Algeria, the regime in 1991, without reaching any prior agreement with the opposition on institu-
tions, allowed the FIS (Islamic Salvation Front) to win the first round of the elections; the regime then can-
celled the second round and proclaimed martial law. Once the veil of ignorance was lifted by the election
results, a negotiation on the conditions for the transition had become much more difficult.
Poland 267
Poland structured Gorbachev's decision.30 But, once the decision was made,
the Polish example in turn had an international demonstration effect that altered
power relationships in all the other post-totalitarian, near-totalitarian, and even
sultanistic regimes in Eastern Europe as well.
Poland's historic contribution to the fall of Communism in Eastern Europe is
now widely and correctly understood. Less well understood, however, is the price
Poland paid for being first. Poland's pacted transition delayed its own full transi-
tion, and, most importantly, the legacy of its path to transition had an unforeseen
harmful effect on Poland's efforts to create the political institutions necessary for
democratic consolidation. We concur with Jan T. Gross's assessment that "critical
situations engineered within the logic of an epoch's closing days not only marked
the end of the old order but, largely unbeknownst at the time, are also a legacy
that the new epoch will have to control The source of today's political crisis in
Poland is institutional."31
The Round Table Pact entailed three critical compromises. The party-soldiers
around Jaruzelski were very intent on stopping Solidarity from boycotting the up-
coming 1989 election. Solidarity mainly wanted legal recognition. To entice Soli-
darity to participate in the elections of 1989, the party-soldiers, against very strong
nomenklatura opposition, agreed that 35 percent of the seats in what was then
Poland's only chamber, the Sejm, would be open to free, competitive elections.
Solidarity did not believe that a full transition to democracy was then possible,
but they did believe that they could use elections to get Solidarity relegalized and
to start the process of free political campaigning. Solidarity thus accepted an even
more partial victory than the Brazilian, Uruguayan, or Chilean opposition had ac-
cepted in their own negotiations with regimes still directly managed by hierar-
chical militaries. The Polish compromise turned out to mean, however, that, from
August 1989 until December 1991, the Communist Party and their allies had a ma-
jority in the lower house, although the satellite peasant party, as in the GDR and
in Bulgaria, soon asserted some independence.32
30. Alex Pravda captures nicely this complex dialectic between Polish advances and Soviet reactive per-
missiveness: "As Poland pioneered the transition from 'defensive liberalization' to power sharing, so it
prompted a shift in Soviet policy from liberalization to reactive permissiveness. Three critical junctures
stand out in the transition of Polish politics and the evolution of Soviet policy: the legalization of Solidar-
ity, its electoral victory, and the formation of the Mazowiecki government. In each case Poles determined
the timing and nature of change, though with an eye to Moscow which in each instance placed its weight
on the side of permissiveness rather than obstructionism in the hope of minimizing instability." Alex
Pravda, "Soviet Policy towards Eastern Europe in Transition: The Means Justify the Ends," in Alex Pravda,
ed., The End of the Outer Empire: Soviet-East European Relations in Transition, 1985-1990 (London: Royal
Institute of International Affairs and Sage Publications, 1993), 24.
31. See Jan T. Gross, "Poland: From Civil Society to Political Nation," in Ivo Banac, ed., Eastern Europe
in Revolution (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992), 57, 65.
32. This greatly complicated constitution making. It raised questions: Did Solidarity have the votes to
get the constitution it wanted? Did the Communist majority in the Sejm have the legitimacy to co-author
a new constitution?
The second and third major compromises involved the creation of the Senate
and Presidency. These emerged as a complex trade-off. The party-soldiers and the
nomenklatura both wanted to create a strong presidency that would ensure that
"general interests" (e.g., the party) were guaranteed. The government first pro-
posed that the Sejm and other bodies indirectly elect the president. Solidarity re-
fused to accept this. To break the impasse, the government offered to create a Sen-
ate and to allow free elections for the Senate with the understanding that the Sejm
and the Senate, by a simple majority which the government expected to win, would
elect the president. After much discussion about the powers of the president, Soli-
darity agreed to the creation of the presidency and the creation of the Senate.33
The Round Table agreed to the following powers of the president, which were
entered as amendments to Poland's constitution by the Polish Sejm within a week
of the signing of the Round Table Pact. The first president was to be indirectly
elected by the legislature for a six-year term. The president was ex officio made
chairman of the Committee of National Defense and commander-in-chief. He
was empowered to represent Poland in international affairs, to make nomina-
tions for the prime ministership to the Sejm, and to dismiss the prime minister
under special circumstances. Important presidential acts required the coun-
tersignature of the prime minister except when they "concern matters reserved
for the executive—i.e. foreign policy, defense, and national security.... The pres-
ident is also empowered to declare a state of 'emergency' for a period of up to
three months."34
From the perspective of transition theory, these agreements introduced two
complicating legacies for Poland's efforts to complete its transition and to con-
solidate democracy. The fact that 65 percent of the Sejm would be elected in non-
competitive elections but given co-equal authority with the Senate meant that a
body with nondemocratic origins was given an important role in the drafting of
a democratic constitution. Also, an ambiguous office of the presidency (whose
first incumbent was assumed to be and was General Jaruzelski), with special pow-
ers in the areas of internal security, defense, and foreign relations and some emer-
gency powers, was written into the existing constitution. This concession took on
added importance over time. Because it was so difficult to draft a constitution in
the conditions created by the pacted transition, the constitutional "rights" of the
president acquired a life of their own.
Solidarity began Poland's transitional government with great societal support
because of its role in the opposition and its overwhelming triumph in those seats
in the Parliament that were open to free contestation. This societal legitimacy also
accounts for the great support initially given to Finance Minister Balcerowicz's
33. Because of difficulty of approving a constitution, these amendments had, by mid-1992, acquired ad-
ditional authority as the "constitutional rights" of the president. For details on the Senate-presidency trade-
off in the Round Table, see Osiatynski, "Round Table Negotiations in Poland," 40-43.
34. Osiatynski, "Round Table Negotiations in Poland," 45-46.
Poland 269
stabilization plan, which was the most audacious in Eastern Europe and laid part
of the groundwork for Poland having the fastest growing economy in all of Eu-
rope in 1993-94.35 However, our basic point remains. Solidarity, like the demo-
cratic opponents in Brazil, Uruguay, and Chile, agreed to a pacted transition. In
fact, no South American transition began with 65 percent of the lower house and
a parallel executive in the hands of the previous nondemocratic regime.
POLITICAL SOCIETY AND THE P R O B L E M S

OF D E M O C R A T I C C O N S O L I D A T I O N
Let us now conclude this chapter with a tentative analysis of the legacies left by
a democratic opposition anchored in civil society and a pacted transition with the
party-soldiers. In chapter i we argued that a consolidated democracy requires,
among other things, the crafting of agreements about the institutions for gener-
ating public policies. Such crafting requires a certain autonomy for political soci-
ety, as well as the attitudinal belief by public opinion and key actors that these
democratic institutions are more appropriate for their society than any other
alternative arrangements. How has Poland progressed toward these necessary
goals?
Taking political society first, a central characteristic of a democratic polity is
that it represents a form of conflict that is carried out within agreed-upon proce-
dures. A consolidated democracy is a polity that legitimizes and accepts as normal
conflict within the democratic framework. A modern democratic polity also re-
quires that parties aggregate and represent the organized interests of society. All
post-Communist societies, even postauthoritarian Poland, will have special prob-
lems with the task of representation. In the "flattened" post-Communist land-
scape, independent capital and even labor and many other important social
groups are still in the rudimentary process of self-definition. For capital, the
dilemma of how to represent interests that are not yet organized or even in exis-
tence was captured succinctly in the confirmation hearings of the Polish Sejm,
when a nominee to be minister of industry said, "I represent subjects that do not
yet exist."36 The function of representation is further complicated by the fact that,
although the goal of most of the post-Communist regimes in Eastern Europe is
to create market economies and societies, few people at the start of the transfor-
mation process have actual material interests (as opposed to potential theoretical
interests) in such reforms. It is difficult, therefore, to represent material interests
35. As Adam Przeworski argues, "If people trust the government, voters may opt for the 'horse therapy,'
to use the Polish description of the Balcerowicz plan.... In Poland, an overwhelming proportion of the
population (±90 percent) supported the Mazowiecki government in spite of the drastic deterioration in liv-
ing conditions during the first months of the new economic program." See Przeworski, Democracy and the
Market, 165.
36. Staniszkis, The Dynamics of Breakthrough, 184.
that do not yet exist.37 Even in those cases where material interests did exist—
industrial labor, for example—it was hard in 1989-90 to create a social-democratic
party to represent the social-democratic space because of society's deeply ambiva-
lent attitude toward the Communist Party that claimed to represent labor.38 How-
ever, as privatization proceeded and management and capitalism were held re-
sponsible for problems, political parties, even post-Communist parties that
claimed to represent the social-democratic space, did increasingly well by 1993-94.
This general problem of post-Communist representation and the authenti-
cation and legitimization of political society were compounded and given a dis-
tinctive specificity in Poland because of the length and ethos of the opposition
campaign. Civil society, like many other key political words such as democracy, can
be used by different theoreticians and different social movements in different
ways.39 In Poland and in a slightly different way in Brazil, the idea of civil society
developed some very distinctive and politically powerful overtones. In Poland
civil society referred to the sphere of uncoerced activity not created by the state
and virtually independent of the state. We also believe that Poland was a particu-
larly strong case of a "civil society against the state" dichotomy, which had strong
cultural roots in the struggle of the nation against foreign-controlled state au-
thority.40 This was a politically useful concept in the opposition period because it
allowed a sharp differentiation between "them" (the Moscow-dependent party-
state) and "us" (Polish civil society).41 The language associated with civil society
further strengthened the opposition's position against the party-state because it
37. Ibid. 216. As Przeworski notes, even "in several capitalist countries in which private entrepreneur-
ship was feeble—Brazil, France, Mexico, South Korea—the state not only led the accumulation of capital
but in time created a local bourgeoisie. Eastern European countries have no local bourgeoisie, and the pre-
vailing mood is so radically antistatist that the state cannot play the same role in the near future. . . . In
Poland, private savings amounted to about one-third of GNP, or about 8 percent of the capital stock, by the
end of 1989." Przeworksi, Democracy and the Market, 159,156.
38. This is a major theme in the writing of Iván Szelényi. See his "Socialist Opposition in Eastern Eu-
rope: Dilemmas and Prospects," in Rudolf L. Tokes, ed., Opposition in Eastern Europe (Baltimore: Johns
Hopkins University Press, 1979), 187-208, and "Social and Political Landscape, Central Europe, Fall 1990,"
in Banac, Eastern Europe in Revolution, where he says "most unsurprisingly the newly formed social dem-
ocratic parties were humiliated by devastating defeats" (p. 227).
39. For a discussion of the different meanings of civil society in various philosophical approaches and
how it began to be used in Eastern Europe, see Jean L. Cohen and Andrew Arato, Civil Society and Political
Theory (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1992). For a selection of different approaches and for a good essay on how
civil society became central to the theory, practice, and life of East European opposition movements, see
John Keane, ed., Civil Society and the State (London: Verso, 1988). A revisionist critique of civil society is now
emerging. See, for example, the chapter arguing that civil society was the "last ideology of the old intelli-
gentsia," in Klaus von Beyme, Systemwechsel in Osteuropa (Frankfurt an Main: Suhrkamp, 1994), 100-123.
40. For an argument that the sharp "civil society versus the state" dichotomy is empirically a rare ex-
ception in Communist systems and that the norm is infiltration and manipulation of the party-state by
counterforces or reformists within the state, see X. L. Deng, "Institutional Amphibiousness and the Transi-
tion from Communism: The Case of China," British Journal of Political Science 24 (July 1994): 293-318. We
believe that Deng's critique is particularly useful to bear in mind when a country such as Hungary in the
19805 is evaluated.
41. By now there is an extensive literature on many aspects of Polish civil society. Some of the best works
include Timothy Carton Ash, The Polish Revolution: Solidarity (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1983);
Poland 271
was encoded in a moral discourse of "truth" and the existential claim of "living in
truth." This discourse was particularly functional for what was in effect the na-
tional liberation movement, which was waged in Poland from 1976 to 1989. In any
movement of liberation, an extremely high value is attached to "unity" within the
struggle, and the ideas of compromise or internal conflict are spoken of pejora-
tively. Given the difficulties of the opposition's struggle against a highly organized
state, there was an understandable tactical and strategic need for immediacy,
spontaneity, and antiformal modes of operation. Imperceptibly, the instrumental
aspects of immediacy, spontaneity, and antiformalism became ethical standards
of personal and collective behavior. Taken as a whole, this language and behavior
is what some Polish analysts call "ethical civil society," which no doubt was one
of the most powerful and innovative features of the Polish opposition and, ulti-
mately, of the Polish path to democratic transition.42
While the idea of "ethical civil society" contributed to a very powerful politics
of opposition, many theorists and practitioners went even further. They were so
eager to avoid becoming captured in the routines and lies of the party-state that
they elevated the situational ethics of oppositional behavior into a general prin-
ciple of the "politics of anti-politics."43 This "politics of antipolitics" entailed the
aspiration of creating a sphere of freedom independent of the state.
Jadwiga Staniszkis, Poland's Self-limiting Revolution, ed. Jan T. Gross (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 1984); and Andrzej M. Tymowski, "The Unwanted Social Revolution: From Moral Economy to Lib-
eral Society in Poland (The Social Origin of the Transformation of 1989) (Ph. D. diss., Yale University, 1995).
Rudolf L. Tokés' edited volume, Opposition in Eastern Europe (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University
Press, 1979), contains excellent essays on Poland, including that by Jacques Rupnik, "Dissent in Poland,
1968-78: The End of Revisionism and the Rebirth of Civil Society." Two essays in this volume, Ivan
Szelènyi's "Socialist Opposition in Eastern Europe: Dilemmas and Prospects" and Alex Pravda's "Industrial
Workers: Patterns of Dissent, Opposition and Accommodation," discuss Poland's civil society in compara-
tive Central European perspective. For discussion of the self-organization of civil society, see Z. A. Pel-
czynski, "Solidarity and the 'Rebirth of Civil Society" in Poland, 1976-81," in John Keane, ed., Civil Society
and the State (London: Verso, 1988), 361-80.
There are also numerous autobiographies by past and current leaders of Polish civil society. Memoirs
of the historian Adam Michnik, one of the founders of the Committee for the Defense of Workers (KOR),
are published in Letters from Prison and Other Essays (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985).
In addition, the spring 1981 edition of Telos, volume 47, was dedicated to examining "Poland and the
Future of Socialism." This volume contains numerous essays on civil society by Polish and East European
intellectuals. That of the Hungarian scholar, Andrew Arato, "Civil Society against the State: Poland 1980-
81," Adam Michnik's perspective in "What We Want to Do and What We Can Do," and the essay "Solidar-
ity's Tasks" by Tadeusz Mazowiecki (the Solidarity expert invited to serve as president of the Committee of
Experts for the All-Plants Strike Committee of Gdansk) not only exemplify the diversity of Poland's intel-
lectual community, but also document the thoughts of civil society's leaders during the crucial and diffi-
cult 1980-81 period. An earlier essay on civil society by Michnik, "The New Evolutionism," is found in Sur-
vey 22 (1976): 267-77. See also Survey 17 (1971): 37-52, for Leszek Kolakowski's thoughtful essay,"Hope and
Hopelessness."
42. The theme of "ethical civil society" is developed in Piotr Ogrodzinski, "The Four Faces of Civil So-
ciety" (Warsaw, 1991, unpublished manuscript).
43. David Ost argues that a significant part of the Polish opposition "rejected the state not just because
it could not win there, but also because it did not want to win there.... This opposition did not want to
possess power so much as to abolish i t . . . . So 'anti-polities' is not just the necessary rejection of the state,
but also the deliberate rejection of the state, the belief that what is essential to a just order is not a benign
2/2 Post-Communist Europe
Table 16.1. The Contrasting Language of "Ethical Civil Society in Opposition" and "Political Society
in a Consolidated Democracy"
Ethical Civil Society Political Society in a

Value or Attitude in Opposition Consolidated Democracy
Basis of action Ethics of truth Interests

Actors The ethical nation Groups
Attitude toward "internal differences" Viewed pejoratively Accepted as normal
Attitude toward "internal conflict" Effort to repress Effort to organize, aggregate,
within democratic community and represent
Attitude toward "compromise" Negative Positive
Attitude toward routinized institutions Negative Positive
Attitude toward "antipolitics" Positive Negative
Attitude toward "state" Operate outside it Strive to direct it
Unfortunately, Poland's pioneering and heroic path to democratic transition

via ethical civil society inevitably created discourses and practices that, until they
can be transformed, will generate systemic problems for the creation of a demo-
cratic political society. Ethical civil society represents "truth," but political society
in a consolidated democracy normally represents "interests." In political society
the actor is only seldom the "nation," but more routinely "groups." "Internal dif-
ferences" and "conflict" are no longer to be collectively suppressed, but organiza-
tionally represented in political society. Compromise and institutionalization are
no longer negative but positive values. Antipolitics is dangerous for democratic
politics. In new democracies, the effort should no longer be to live parallel to state
power but to conquer and direct state power. In fact, most of the values and lan-
guage of ethical civil society that were so functional to the tasks of opposition are
dysfunctional for a political society in a consolidated democracy (table 16.1).
Under the best of circumstances it would have required excellent political lead-
ership and sustained craftsmanship for Poland's new democracy to undergo the
normative, discursive, and behavioral changes required in the shift from the eth-
ical civil society of opposition to a political society of democratic consolidation.
However, the legacy of Poland's pacted transition made such a transformation
substantially more difficult. With 65 percent of the Sejm still in the hands of the
Communist Party and their former minor party allies and with the office of
government and good people in power, but rather a vital, active, aware, self-governing and creative society."
David Ost, Solidarity and the Politics of Anti-Politics: Opposition and Reform in Poland since igSS (Philadel-
phia: Temple University Press, 1990), 2.
Some of the more influential statements with a strong antipolitics overtone are the Hungarian, George
Konrad's, Anti-Politics (San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1984), and Vaclav Havel's The Power of the
Powerless (London: Hutchinson, 1985). Havel claims, "It is of great importance that the main thing—the
everyday, thankless and never-ending struggle of human beings to live more freely... never imposes any lim-
its on itself, never be half-hearted, inconsistent, never trap itself in political tactics, speculating on the out-
come of its actions or entertaining fantasies about the future" (p. 88). Also see the essay by the Czech jour-
nalist and former dissident, Jiri Ruml, "Who Really Is Isolated?" in Havel, The Power of the Powerless, 178-97.
Poland 273
the presidency and, by extension, key parts of the state's coercive apparatus in the
hands of the creator of martial law, General Jaruzelski, and the minister of the in-
terior who had been in office continuously since the start of martial law, General
Kiszczak, the Solidarity leaders continued to place a great stress on the "us" versus
"them" dichotomy. They spent an inordinate amount of energy and emotion try-
ing to maintain the unity of Solidarity as a national movement. They also wanted
to use this unity as a key resource with which to advance their audacious plan for
radical economic reforms. This meant that within the "us" there was a continued
pejorative connotation attached to internal dissent, group conflict, and any orga-
nizational efforts outside the Solidarity umbrella aimed at creating normal inter-
est-based political parties. Solidarity's "nonparty bloc" in Parliament, in cooper-
ation with the government, attempted, according to the Polish social scientist
Jadwiga Staniszkis, to implement a virtual blockade against the articulation and
representation of different interests.44
Even when Solidarity did break into two major party groups (Ruch Alternaty-
wny Akcja Demokratyczna [ROAD] and Center Alliance) in mid-1990, one com-
mentator remarked that both groups still sought "to maintain their ties to the ethos
and values of Solidarity.... What is distinctive about ROAD and Center Alliance, at
least until now, is their refusal to define themselves as political parties and provide
a clear programmatic self-definition. Both movements prefer to appeal to society as
a reflection of Solidarity's legacy, its consensus norm and collective stance."45
The problems of Polish political society were further compounded by the
choices made by Lech Walesa. In retrospect the apolitical style of Solidarity seems
to have directly contributed to its fragmentation into many small parties, its waning
power as a political force in 1990-92, to the surprisingly strong victory of the former
communists and their Peasant Party allies in the September 1993 parliamentary elec-
tion, and to the election of a former Communist, Aleksander Kwasniewski, as
President in 1995.
The first apolitical choice that had deleterious implications for political soci-
ety was made by the leader of the ethical civil society, Lech Walesa, the most
charismatic leader in Eastern Europe. He chose not to direct his great influence
and energy to running for a political office, creating a political party in the Sejm,
or insisting upon becoming the first prime minister. Instead, he chose to stay out-
side of Poland's incipient political society and to remain a moral tribune of civil
society. When he eventually did decide to run for an office, he ran as a nonparty
candidate for the office of president.
The Solidarity government rapidly compounded this initial problem by
choosing to use the moral capital of the Solidarity movement to rule in a techni-
44. Staniszkis is particularly strong in her criticism of the antipolitics of the first Solidarity government
in The Dynamics of Breakthrough, 203-6.
45. Jack Bielasiak, "The Dilemma of Political Interests in the Postcommunist Transition," in Connor and
Ploszajski, Escape from Socialism, 209.
.
cal, apolitical way. This technical, antipolitical focus led, among other things,
to the failure of the prime minister, Tadeusz Mazowiecki, even to consult Lech
Walesa in the formation of his cabinet.46 This oversight or slight set into motion
the distancing of Solidarity as a movement, led by Walesa, from Solidarity as gov-
ernment, led by Mazowiecki.
The next fatal antipolitical choice made by Solidarity leaders in Parliament and
government was not to press for new and completely free parliamentary elections
in early 1990. Solidarity's Round Table partner, the official Communist Party
(PZPR), dissolved itself in January 1990. Lech Walesa in April 1990 informally an-
nounced his presidential ambition.47 Given Solidarity's overwhelming moral
triumph in the 1989 elections, the inability of the Communists to form a govern-
ment after the elections, the dissolution of the Communist Party and the ex-
pressed desire of Lech Walesa to wage a battle for early elections, simultaneous
parliamentary and presidential elections in the fall of 1990 seem to us to have been
a historical possibility. However, Solidarity leaders in Parliament and the govern-
ment wanted to postpone parliamentary elections. This led to the famous split in
Solidarity in which the Solidarity leader of political society, Mazowiecki, and the
Solidarity leader of civil society, Lech Walesa, competed against each other in a di-
rect presidential campaign.48 The Solidarity prime minister was not only defeated
by Lech Walesa but by a populist, apolitical expatriate unknown, Stan Tyminski.
In his campaign for the presidency, Walesa deepened divisions within Solidarity
and continued his antipolitical stance. He ran as a nonparty candidate for the of-
fice of president. As a candidate he articulated the need to maintain the value of
spontaneity and antiformal politics, not of institutionalization. Where demo-
cratic consolidation in Poland would have required the authentication of parties
and the routinized empowerment of Parliament and the prime minister, Lech
Walesa campaigned as an interventionist president who would be "running
around with an ax."49
Let us turn now to the question of political parties and their role in political
society. A consolidated democracy requires that a range of political parties not
only represent interests but seek by coherent programs and organizational activ-
ity to aggregate interests. Poland held its first completely competitive elections to
both houses of Parliament in October 1991, twenty-six months after the forma-
tion of the first Solidarity government. One of the instruments of modern polit-
ical society to help a few parliamentary parties aggregate interests is to set a min-
imum threshold of over 3 to 5 percent of the total national vote before parties can
46. This point was initially brought to our attention in private communication by Timothy Carton Ash
and was later confirmed by a leading intellectual of Solidarity.
47. Timothy Garton Ash reviews some important Polish-language books by major participants in this
period in his excellent "Poland after Solidarity," New York Review of Books (June 13,1991): 46-58.
48. On the missed opportunity for earlier parliamentary elections, see ibid., 54.
49. Quoted in Gross, "Poland: From Civil Society to Nation," 63.
Poland 275
be represented in Parliament. In Poland it was decided, after a bitter struggle, that

no minimum threshold should be established.50 A further factor that hindered
aggregation was that, while Lech Walesa maintained his no-party stance, he gave
ambivalent signs to numerous political groupings that he looked upon them with
some favor. For their part, the fragmenting ex-Solidarity groups, by maintaining
their claim to be the heirs of the consensual mystique of Solidarity's era, did not
articulate programmatic alternatives or seek to become interest-based parties.
Ethical discussions of non-negotiable values persisted as the dominant discourse.
Nonparties with an organizational style of antipolitics proliferated. As one com-
mentator stated,
during the early phase of the transition . . . interest groups certainly have been quite weak. Sec-
torial interests are virtually non-existent in the political scene.... Besides their mini-party sta-
tus, the significant element about the vast majority of the new organizations is the reliance on
normative, often exclusionary values, as the basis of their political activism. The mini-parties
operate, in general, along a dimension of values, traditions and norms.51
Twenty-nine parties ended up being represented in the Sejm. No party re-

ceived even 14 percent of the vote. The four largest parties were strongly polarized
and controlled less than 50 percent of the seats (table 16.2).52
When we apply the standard Laakso/Taagepera weighted formula for con-
structing an index of "effective" political parties in Parliament, Poland emerges
with an index of 10.8 political parties. As table 16.3 makes clear, this is substantially
more parties than any existing democracy in the world with ten years' duration.
In this context the first freely elected parliament of Poland's new democracy
found it extremely difficult to form a government. When the government was fi-
nally formed after a crisis of almost two months, it still had great difficulty creat-
ing a coalition for a program.53 In the first seven months there were three differ-
ent prime ministers, none of whom commanded a stable coalitional majority.
Relations between the prime minister and the directly elected president became
dangerously conflictual, with charges and countercharges of nondemocratic
intentions and even actions.
50. Lech Walesa promoted either a higher threshold or a first-past-the-post electoral system to encour-
age larger parties. The former Communists wanted proportional representation because they were worried
that they would be eliminated with a first-past-the-post electoral system. Many of Walesa's former Soli-
darity allies voted against him to limit his power. See David McQuaid, "The 'War' over the Election Law,"
Report on Eastern Europe 2, no. 3 (1991): 11-28.
51. Bielasiak, "Dilemma of Political Interests in Postcommunist Transition," 211,210.
52. David McQuaid, "The Parliamentary Elections: A Postmortem," Report on Eastern Europe (Nov. 8,
1991): 15-21.
53. For details, see Louisa Vinton, "Impasse Reached on Talks on New Government," Report on Eastern
Europe (Nov. 29,1991): 19-25; idem, "Poland: Government Crisis Ends, Budget Crisis Begins," RFE/RE Re-
search Report (Jan. 17,1992): 15-21; and idem, "The Polish Government in Search of a Program," Report on
Eastern Europe (March 27,1992): 5-12.
Table 16.2. Effective Number of Political Parties in Poland's Sejm after the October 1991 Elections
Party Number of Seats

Democratic Union 62
Democratic Left Alliance 60
Catholic Electoral Action 49
Polish Peasant Party—Programmatic Alliance 48
Confederation for an Independent Poland 46
Centre Citizens' Alliance 44
Liberal Democratic Congress 37
Peasant Accord 28
Solidarity 27
Beer Lovers' Party 15
German Minority 7
Christian Democracy 5
Party of Christian Democrats 4
Polish Western Union (labor minority) 4
Janusz Korwin-Mikke (Union of Realpolitik) Solidarity 4
Party X 3
Union of Real Politics 3
Silesian Autonomy Movement 2
Democratic Party 1
Orthodox Believers 1
Union of Wielkopolska and Lubuski Region Inhabitants 1
Peasant Electoral Alliance Piast 1
Union of Podhale Region Inhabitants 1
Bydgoszcz List of Peasant Unity 1
Party for Wielkopolska and Poland 1
Cracow Coalition "In Solidarity with the President" 1
Women's Alliance against Adversity 1
Democratic Social Movement 1
Solidarity 80 1
Total Seats Held 460

'Effective' Number of Parties 10.8
Source: Polish election results from "New Digest for October, 1991," Kessings Record of World Events. The formula for
calculating the "effective" number of parties is found in Markku Laakso and Rein Taagepera, "'Effective' Number of Parties: A
Measure with Application to West Europe," Comparative Political Studies 12, no. 1 (1979): 3-27.
Semipresidentialism without a Constitution

The subject of directly elected presidents and prime ministers responsible to
parliament is so important that it requires a brief excursus. As both of us have in-
dependently argued elsewhere, there are strong theoretical grounds for worry about
potential problems within a democratic government that has a dual executive with
two independent sources of legitimacy.54 Maurice Duverger, in his pioneering
54. See Juan J. Linz, "Presidential or Parliamentary Democracy: Does It Make a Difference?" in Juan J.
Linz and Arturo Valenzuela, eds., The Failure of Presidential Democracy: Comparative Perspectives (Baltimore:
Poland 277
Table 16.3. A Laakso/Taagepera Index of "Effective" Political Parties in the Polish Legislature (1991)
Contrasted with the Legislatures of Parliamentary, Semipresidential, and Presidential Continuous
Democracies in the World (1979-1989)
Parliamentary Semipresidential Presidential
3.0 or Fewer than 3.0 or Fewer than 3.0 or Fewer than

More Parties 3.0 Parties More Parties 3.0 Parties More Parties 3.0 Parties
Kiribati3
Nauru3
Tuvalu3
Botswana 1.3
St.Vincent 1.4
Dominica 1.5
Jamaica 1.5
Bahamas 1.6
Trin&Tob 1.6
Barbados 1.7
St.Lucia 1.7
NewZeal.2.0 USA 1.9
Canada 2.0
UK 2.1
India 2.1
Greece 2.2
Austria 2.4 Dom. Rep. 2.3
Australia 2.5 Cost.Ric. 2.3
Solomons 2.5
Mauritius 2.5
Ireland 2.7 Venez. 2.6
Spain 2.7
Japan 2.9
W.Germ.3.2 France 3.2
Norway 3.2
Sweden 3.4
Luxemb. 3.4
Israel 3.6 Portugal 3.6
Nether. 3.8
Italy 3.9
PapNeGu 4.0
Iceland 4.3
Denmark 5.2
Belgium 7.0
Poland 10.8
a
Given the absence of formal parties, there are fewer than two "political groupings."
Note: Switzerland and Finland are "mixed" systems with 5.4 and 5.1 effective parties, respectively.
Source: This table is reproduced from Alfred Stepan and Cindy Skach, "Constitutional Frameworks and Democratic
Consolidation: Parliamentarism versus Presidentialism," World Politics 46, no. 1 (1993): 8-9. See also Markku Laakso and Rein
Taagepera, "'Effective' Number of Parties: A Measure with Application to West Europe," Comparative Political Studies 12,
no. 1 (1979): 3-27.
analysis, labels governments "semipresidential" if they meet three conditions: the

president is directly elected, the office of the president has significant de jure and de
facto powers, and the prime minister enjoys the confidence of the directly elected
parliament.55 Only two of the thirty-seven countries that were continuous democ-
racies during the 1980-89 decade met Duverger's definition, namely France and
Portugal.56 Austria, Iceland, and Ireland have directly elected presidents and prime
ministers responsible to a directly elected Parliament, but, Duverger argues and we
concur, that they are not semipresidential because the president does not have sig-
nificant de facto powers.57 Finland is often called semipresidential because the
president has significant de jure and de facto powers, but the president until 1988
was not directly elected but was indirectly chosen by party blocks.58 One of the sur-
prising results of the Central European transformations was that the only countries
to select for all their free elections a classic parliamentary system, where the prime
minister is the chief executive and the president is indirectly elected, were Hungary
and Czechoslovakia. Most of the post-communist countries have chosen semi-
presidential systems, presumably inspired by the French Fifth Republic.
Often, given the turmoil of the post-Communist transitions and the relatively
weak legal and historical traditions of constitutionalism, the de jure definition
and the de facto expectation is that the most important executive office is the
presidency.59 However, these presidents often encountered opposition in the leg-
islature leading to deadlocks, conflicts, and occasionally even armed struggle, as
in Russia and Georgia.
When we say that there are strong theoretical grounds to be wary about a "dual
Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994), 3-87, esp. 58-69. See also Alfred Stepan and Ezra Suleiman, "The
French Fifth Republic: A Model for Import? Reflections on Poland and Brazil," in H. E. Chehabi and Alfred
Stepan, eds., Politics, Society and Democracy: Comparative Studies (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1995),
393-407.
55. See the classic article by Maurice Duverger, "A New Political System Model: Semi-presidential Gov-
ernment," in European Journal of Political Research 8 (1980): 165-87. Such a political system is called premier-
presidentialism in Matthew Soberg Shugart and John M. Carey, Presidents and Assemblies: Constitutional
Design and Electoral Dynamics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 53-57.
56. See Alfred Stepan and Cindy Skach, "Constitutional Frameworks and Democratic Consolidation:
Parliamentarianism versus Presidentialism," World Politics 46, no. i (1993): 1-22.
57. "The constitutions of Austria, Ireland and Iceland are semi-presidential. Political practice is parlia-
mentary." See Duverger, "A New Political System Model," 167.
58. Until 1988 in Finland, citizens elected an electoral college by proportional representation and this
body in turn chose, by a three-tiered vote, the president. Ibid. 166. Under the current system, the president
is directly elected by the population unless any candidate fails to secure a majority of the popular votes, in
which case the president is chosen by an electoral college. For a discussion of presidential elections in Fin-
land, see Shugart and Carey, Presidents and Assemblies, esp. 266-69. On the semipresidential nature of Fin-
land's constitution and the power relationships between the dual executive offices until 1988, see Jaakko
Nousiainen, "Bureaucratic Tradition, Semi-presidential Rule and Parliamentary Government: The Case of
Finland," European Journal of Political Research 16, no. 2 (1988): 229-49.
59. See, for example, Russia, Georgia, Croatia, Romania, and Serbia. For the evolving role of the presi-
dency in post-Communist Europe, see the special double issue of East European Constitutional Review 2,
no. 4,3, no. i (1993-94). Also see Ray Taras, éd. Presidential Systems in Post-Communist States: A Compara-
tive Analysis, a book-length volume in progress. The title is tentative.
Poland 279
executive," we mean that, if the president is directly elected and the prime minis-
ter is responsible to a directly elected parliament, there is a possibility for dead-
lock and constitutional conflict. A deadlock can become particularly dangerous if
the president has special authority over the security forces and some emergency
powers. Theoretically we can posit only two positions wherein this potential for
dual executive deadlock and conflict is minimized. If the president is the leader of
a party or a party coalition and this coalition wins a clear majority in Parliament,
there should be no deadlock or crisis because the power relationship can become
one of clear constitutional presidential superiority. The only other possible steady
state we can posit is one where the prime minister is a party leader and has a sin-
gle or multiparty majority and the system can operate in a parliamentary fashion
notwithstanding the president's special prerogatives in the area of defense, inter-
nal security, and foreign affairs.
Since the French Fifth Republic is often held up as the example to be emulated,
not only in Poland but in Eastern Europe and the new states of the former Soviet
Union, it might be useful to point out some underanalyzed conditions that have
helped French semipresidentialism avoid the potential theoretical problems we be-
lieve are intrinsic to the semipresidential formula. The Fifth Republic began in
1958, but only a 1962 referendum introduced a direct election for the president,
which was held for the first time in 1965. For the first twenty-six years of French
semipresidentialism, the president was a party leader and he was able to lead a
party or party coalition that commanded a clear majority in Parliament. This
yielded the constitutionally sanctioned primacy of the president. There were thus
no deadlocks or constitutional conflicts between the prime minister and the pres-
ident. For twenty-seven months during 1988-90, the president did not control a
majority. However, in this period the prime minister did control a majority. The
system thus functioned as one where the prime minister was de facto the chief ex-
ecutive. During these twenty-seven months, called co-habitation, there was no
deadlock or constitutional conflict. After the 1990 parliamentary election the pres-
ident's party coalition won a majority and the system shifted back to one where the
president was dominant. The key point is that at no time in the first thirty years of
French semipresidentialism did either the president or the prime minister fail to
control a majority.60
This excursus made, it should be clear that the initial model of Polish semi-
presidentialism did not have any of the supportive conditions found in France.
Lech Walesa was not a party leader. He did not direct a coalitional majority in the
Sejm. Likewise, due to Poland's extreme party fragmentation, none of Poland's
60. Other important changes in France that were made to help generate these majorities were an elec-
toral law with a high de facto threshold, a first-past-the-post runoff, and party regulations (unlike Poland's)
that encouraged party institutionalization. See Stepan and Suleiman, "The Fifth Republic: A Model for Im-
port?" in Chehabi and Stepan, eds., Politics, Society and Democracy, 396-98.
prime ministers in the first freely elected lower house ever commanded a clear
majority.
The Polish case was further complicated by the fact that the respective powers
of the office of the president and the Parliament were not clearly defined by a con-
stitution before the political actors confronted each other.61 As we have seen, the
office of the president derived from the demands of the Communist government
during the Round Table Pact. This office has poorly defined but potentially major
powers. Furthermore, many political actors in the democratic Sejm perceive the
powers of the president as de facto in origin, rather than democratically chosen.
Walesa, in the first round of the 1990 presidential election, running mainly
against the Solidarity prime minister, Tadeusz Mazowiecki, and a previously un-
known Polish businessman from Canada, Stan Tymiñski, won only 39.9 percent
of the vote. Tymiñski received 21.1 percent, Mazowiecki 18.0 percent, and the next
three candidates combined received 18.8 percent. These percentages were cer-
tainly not the results expected for Solidarity's historic and charismatic leader. On
the second runoff ballot against Tymiñski, Walesa received 74.3 percent of the
vote, but voter participation was a disappointingly low 53.4 percent. 62
Despite these less than overwhelming electoral results, Walesa continued to see
himself as a charismatic leader, as tribune of the people, and with more legitimacy
than the parties and Parliament. This belief was not shattered by fluctuating but
low and tendentially lower support in public opinion polls during the following
five years. This contrast between popular support and self-image within an al-
ready risk-prone governing formula of semipresidentialism explains much of the
institutional conflict that plagued Poland, to which we now turn.
In chapter 5 we said that the most unencumbered constitution-making process
would be one in which the constituent assembly, without a directly elected sitting
president, is free to discuss and chose what form of constitutional government is
most appropriate for their country. Lech Walesa was directly elected as president
before the first democratically elected Parliament began its discussions. This fact
complicated the constitution-making process in general and exacerbated the con-
flicts between minority prime ministers and the no-party president in particular.
61. If such a system is to work it is particularly important that the powers of the president and the leg-
islature are clearly defined in a legitimate constitution.
62. Krzysztof Jasiewicz in his study of the 1990 election remarked that Walesa's vote "was for many of
his supporters, as well as for himself, a most unpleasant surprise." See his "Polish Elections of 1990: Beyond
the 'Pospolite Ruszenie,' " in Conner and Ploszajski, Escape from Socialism, 194. Frances Millard agrees: "The
results of the first round on 25 November came as a shock. Walesa had failed to achieve the first round vic-
tory he had sought," and Tymiñski, whom she describes as an "unknown Polish expatriate businessman,"
not Mazowiecki, had come in second. Frances Millard, The Anatomy of the New Poland: Postcommunist Pol-
itics in Its First Phase (Aldershot, U.K.: Edward Elgar Publishing Co., 1994), 115-32, quotations from pp. 129
and 128. One of the arguments for presidential or semipresidential systems was that a charismatic president
can help to overcome the apoliticism seemingly endemic to post-Communist societies. The low participa-
tion rate in the Polish presidential election and the low support for the charismatic Walesa both in his elec-
tion and particularly in recent public opinion polls do not seem to support that expectation.
Poland 281
A few examples will illustrate the complexity and dangerousness of Poland's

constitutional conflict. Soon after the first freely elected Parliament met, its mem-
bers received an eight-page document from President Lech Walesa, which pro-
posed a "little constitution" that Walesa hoped would be ratified quickly and
eventually incorporated into the new constitution. Walesa proposed, in essence,
to increase the power of the president over that of the prime minister by giving
the president the right to name the prime minister and the right to dismiss the
prime minister and the cabinet at his own initiative. The Parliament's counter-
vailing right to dismiss a prime minister by a majority vote, on the other hand,
would be subject to a presidential veto that could be over-ridden only by a two-
thirds majority.63
The Parliament was critical of the proposal and Walesa eventually withdrew it.
However, in numerous forums he indicated that he would use the presidential
mandate to fight for his policy views. For example, shortly after he withdrew his
"little constitution," he went to his original base at Gdansk and proclaimed, "I will
make demands in the name of the masses who elected me. I am returning to the
masses. I will not accept responsibility for what the government does, but I will
be with you."64 In April, after a series of conflicts with the prime minister over
who had the right to appoint key officials in the defense ministry, Walesa went on
national television to say that he would petition the Sejm "for greater rights for
the president, whereby the Prime Minister would be subordinate to the president,
just like in the French system.... After the experience we have been through, we
probably all agree that the only situation for Poland is an above-party govern-
ment, a government we will form out of specialists."65
Two of his previously close supporters voiced worries about a breakdown of
democracy initiated by actions from Belvedere, the presidential palace. Jadwiga
Staniszkis, who had worked for Walesa's election as president, wrote about the
problem of combining presidential bonapartism and executive dualism: "Poland
does not yet see the breakdown of democracy, but it may be on the brink of it
There is mounting evidence of a coming executive coup (against the politi-
cians)."66 Jaroslaw Kaczyñski, chairman of the Center Alliance, had been Walesa's
presidential chief of staff. However, in answer to a reporter's question, "Does the
63. Walesa's five-page proposal is contained in a December 3,1991, letter to the president of the Sejm,
Wieslaw Chrzanowski. A copy of the letter and the proposal is now available in the library of the Sejm. For
some details of the letter, see Louisa Vinton, "Five-Party Coalition Gains Strength, Walesa Proposes 'Little
Constitution,' " Report on Eastern Europe (Dec. 6,1991): 7-8.
64. Cited in Radio Free Europe (Jan. 17, 1992): 15. For an extremely interesting interview with Lech
Walesa that yields important insights into Walesa's conception of his role as president, see Wiktor Osiatyn-
ski, "A Profile of President Lech Walesa," East European Constitutional Review 2, no. 4, 3, no. i (1993-94):
47-50. In the same issue on pp. 47-50 Osiatynski also has an interview with Walesa's predecessor, General
Wojciech Jaruzelski.
65. Quoted in FBIS-EEU (April 30,1992): 14.
66. See Jadwiga Staniszkis, "Continuity and Change in Post-Communist Europe" (The Hague: Nether-
lands Institute of International Relations, June 1992), 27.
28i Post-Communist Europe
Belvedere really constitute the worst threat to democracy?" he answered, "It is the
political arrangement by which one of the power centers remains practically out-
side any control but itself controls all the others which constitutes a threat. After
all, by sending his draft constitution to the Sejm, the president showed his hand.
He wanted all power for himself."67
In fact, President Walesa did not control all the other power centers, and he did
not attempt an executive coup. But, at the very least, we argue that Polish semi-
presidentialism contributed to great constitutional and intragovernmental con-
flicts that impeded rather than helped democratic consolidation.
For his part the first prime minister appointed by the newly elected Parlia-
ment, Jan Olszewski, waged a series of campaigns against the president. To defend
his government and to embarrass the president, who advocated a cautious policy
toward Communist collaborators and agents, the prime minister, in violation of
a prior resolution of the Sejm, released a list of sixty-four supposed collaborators
of the past Communist regime. The minister of the interior at the same time al-
legedly mobilized a special police unit to intimidate (and possibly arrest) the
president and his key staff. For these acts the minister of the interior was voted out
of office and a Senate committee recommended criminal investigation.68
By August 1992, a still-divided Sejm selected Poland's third prime minister in
four months. The new prime minister, Hanna Suchocka, argued that it was im-
possible to govern if the president and prime minister were at odds, so the coali-
tion she formed accelerated work on a new version of the "short constitution." She
said that the president's "constitutional rights" should be respected. She thus gave
her support to the normalization of the special powers of the president that had
their origins in the Round Table Pact. The Sejm accepted her recommendation,
without any of the special conditions that allowed semipresidentialism to work
well in France, and Poland went a step further toward making "executive-dual-
ism" a permanent part of Poland's fragile democracy.69 Because of party frag-
mentation and its dualistic deadlock, Poland's effort to advance toward a bal-
anced budget and a mixed economy stalled. As The Economist Intelligence Unit
reported, "though the real economy proved surprisingly resilient to the lack of
political steer, key developments were seriously delayed. Perhaps most important
here was the sheer immobility of the mass privatisation programme where
67. Interview in East European Reporter (March-April 1992): 51.

68. See "Reversal of Fortunes," Warsaw Voice: Polish and Central European Review (July 26,1992): 5.
69. This paragraph is based on discussions of Stepan with members of the Sejm's Constitutional Com-
mission (July 22-26,1992) in Warsaw.
70. The Economist Intelligence Unit (EIU) confirmed that the political stalemate constituted a major ob-
stacle to economic policy formulation and implementation in 1992. To the extent that the economy re-
mained modestly robust and inflation was controlled, it did so "despite the politics" in the country, man-
aging to "withstand the policy vacuum of the past six months." EIU's prediction for the second half of 1992
suggested that "after six wasted months the quality of economic policy making may improve." See The
Economist Intelligence Unit Country Report: Poland (3d quarter, 1992): 6,4, 8, respectively.
Poland 283
Table 16.4. Party Identification in Five Eastern European Countries: 1990-1991

Question: "Among the political parties and political movements in our country, is there any that
you feel closer to?"
Percentage
Country Yes No Don't Know
Poland 17% 72% 11%

Bulgaria 67% 28% 5%
Czechoslovakia 53% 46% 1%
Hungary 51% 47% 3%
Romania 64% 30% 5%
Source: Lászlo Bruszt and János Simon, Political Culture, Political and Economic Orientations in Central and Eastern Europe
during the Transition to Democracy: The Codehook of the International Survey of W Countries (Budapest: Institute of Political
Science of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, 1992).
nothing happened for a good six months, so further eroding Poland's credibility
in the West."70
Public Opinion, Elections, and Polish Democracy

Three years after the assumption of power of the first post-Communist gov-
ernment, was Polish public opinion strongly supportive of a democratic political
society? Or, as some analysts feared, was Polish public opinion actually danger-
ously ambivalent about some of the principles and practices of democracy?
Let us look at a series of indictors that would help us explore this question. Let
us start with the least worrisome indicator, Poland's extremely low party identi-
fication, not surprising given the high index of party fragmentation. Between
November 1990 and August 1991, two well-trained Hungarian political sociolo-
gists, László Bruszt and János Simon, coordinated a comparative public opinion
survey in seven East European countries and three republics of what is now the
former Soviet Union. A finding from that study reinforces our historical-struc-
tural analysis about Poland's low political definition. Of the five Eastern Euro-
pean countries in the poll, Poland had by far the lowest percentage of respon-
dents expressing closeness to any political party or even political movement
(table 16.4).
In the same survey Poland also had, by a less strong margin, the lowest per-
centage of respondents who expressed a clear preference for a multiparty system.
Even more troublesome, at the height of the conflict between the president, the
prime minister, and the Sejm in May 1992, Polish public opinion had a more
disfavorable opinion toward these three key components of political society than
they did toward any other major organization in Poland. Indeed, there was a pop-
ular Polish saying to the effect that anyone who got caught in the "Bermuda
Triangle" between the warring president, prime minister, and Sejm would be in-
Table 16.5. Disapproval Rate of Major Political Institutions: February 1990, October 1991, May 1992
Disapproval Rate
Institution Februrary 1990 October 1991 May 1992
Lower chamber of legislature 14% 54% 60%

Government and ministries 14% 48% 53%
President N/A 43% 52%
Catholic Church 12% 25% 44%
Local authorities N/A 33% 33%
Police N/A 21% 21%
Armed forces 15% 10% 12%
Ombudsman N/A 9% 10%
Source: Centrum Badania Opinii Spolecznej (Public Opinion Research Center, CBOS, Warsaw). Data and translation provided by
the director, Lena Kolarska-Bobmska.
Table 16.6. Support for a Range of Emergency Measures in Poland, May 1-3, 1992
Percentage
Strongly Rather Rather Strongly Difficult

Measure Approving Approving Disapproving Disapproving to Say
"Law of strong hand and ban on democracy" 11% 19% 19% 37% 14%
"Government can rule by decree." 10% 35% 16% 15% 24%
"President can rule by decree." 9% 24% 17% 30% 20%
"Significant limitations on right to strike" 14% 29% 21% 21% 15%
"Creation of new government with president as 14% 18% 14% 29% 25%
prime minister"
"Call for general strike" 7% 20% 21% 41% 11%
Source: Same as for Table 16.5.
jured. In contrast, the three most popular institutions were the relatively neutral
powers: the armed forces, police, and ombudsman, which were seen as giving ser-
vice to the citizens and were not involved in the Bermuda Triangle conflict. Inter-
estingly, the church, which had emerged as a strongly partisan antiabortion ad-
vocate, was viewed with growing disapproval (table 16.5).
The Public Opinion Research Center in Warsaw, directed by the distinguished
Polish sociologist Lena Kolarska-Bobmska, did not design any questions to ex-
plore explicitly antidemocratic sentiment in 1989-91. However, in the midst of the
political crisis of May 1992, the Center conducted a poll to determine whether
emergency measures, ranging from the right of the government (or the president)
to rule by decree to a ban on democracy, were acceptable (table 16.6).
The results are open to various interpretations. However, if we call antidemo-
cratic those who would approve of a "law of strong hand and ban on democracy,"
then 30 percent of those polled were antidemocratic. If we call those who an-
swered "difficult to say" ambivalent democrats, 44 percent of the Polish popu-
Poland 285
Table 16.7. Percentage of Respondents Approving Authoritarian Antipolitical Options in Poland, the
Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, and Austria: 1991-1993
"Approve dissolution of parties "Prefer a one-party system" "Approve rule by a strong man"
Country and Parliament" (1992) (1992) (1993)
Poland 40% 31% 39%

Hungary 24% 22% 26%
Slovakia 20% 14% 19%
Czech Republic 19% 8% 22%
Austria 8% N.D. 22%
Source: Fritz Plasser and Peter A. Ulram, "Zum Stand der Demrjkatisierung in Ost-Mitteleuropa, " ¡n Fritz Plasser and Peter A.
Ulram, eos., Transformation oder Stagnation'' Aktuelle Politische Trends in Osteuropa (Vienna: Schriftenreihe des Zentrums für
angewandte Politikforschung, 1993), 2:46-47.
lation polled in May 1992 expressed antidemocratic or ambivalent democratic

opinions. In late July 1992, however, when a more consensual prime minister was
appointed and there were signs that the conflict within the Bermuda Triangle had
diminished, antidemocrats dropped from 30 percent to 25 percent.
We ask the readers to look again at table 16.1. In our judgment the core atti-
tudes of ethical civil society are not authoritarian, but they are fundamentally dif-
ferent from a Lockean concept of a liberal democracy. More importantly, the set
of core attitudes depicted in table 16.1 is close to apolitical communitarianism in
that they seem to be opposed to the institutionalization of conflict in democratic
politics. In fact, on three of the classic indicators of authoritarian antipolitics (the
willingness to approve the dissolution of parties and Parliament, the preference
for a one-party system, and the approval of rule by a strong man), Poland in dif-
ferent public opinion polls between 1991 and 1993 was much more antipolitical
than was the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, or Austria (table 16.7). A final
piece of evidence that Poland had at best ambivalent attitudes toward democratic
political society is obtained when we compare the political attitudes in Poland
(and Brazil) with the political attitudes in the four consolidated democracies we
have studied (Spain, Portugal, Greece, and Uruguay) (table 16.8).
We are not exactly sure to what we would attribute this ambivalent attitude to-
ward democratic institutions, although we certainly think that the apolitical
legacy of ethical civil society has played a role. Many analysts will argue that the
primary explanation has to do with economic decline and disruption with the
transition to the market. However, from a comparative perspective, we should
point out that objectively Poland had by far the strongest positive growth in GNP
in the 1992-94 period in post-Communist Europe.71 Subjectively, in a poll ad-
ministered between 1993 and October 1994 in the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hun-
71. See Table 21.1 in this book.

Table 16.8. Comparison of Attitudinal Support for Democracy in Poland and Brazil versus the Four
Consolidated Democracies of Uruguay, Spain, Portugal, and Greece
Opinion about Preferred Polity Poland Brazil Uruguay Spain Portugal Greece
"Democracy is preferable to any other form of government." 31 42 73 70 61 87
"For people like me, a democratic and a nondemocratic 40 24 8 9 7 6
"In some cases, a nondemocratic government could be 13 22 10 10 9 5
preferable to a democracy."
DK/NAa 16 12 9 11 23 2
Source: for Poland, same as table 16.5, survey taken November 1992. For Uruguay, same as table 10.1. For Spain, Portugal,
and Greece, same as table 8.2. For Brazil,"Avaliaçâo do Governo Collor apos dois años de mandato," Datafolha (Sao Paulo:
Feb. 1992): national sample of 2,500.
a
Table 16.9. Respondents' Approval Rating of the Economic System and Their Level of Trust in the
Government and the President: Six Countries of East Central Europe, November 1993 to March 1994
Trust in Executive of Political System
Country Approval of Economic System Government President Total Combined Trust
Poland 50% 25% 20% (45%)

Bulgaria 14% 13% 40% (53%)
Hungary 27% 21% 65% (86%)
Romania 35% 27% 48% (75%)
Slovakia 31% 32% 62% (94%)
Czech Republic 67% 57% 67% (124%)
Source: Richard Rose and Christian Haerpfer, "New Democracies Barometer III: Learning from What Is Happening," Studies in
Public Policy, no. 230 (1994): tables 23, 52, 58.
gary, Poland, Romania, and Bulgaria, Poland had the second highest evaluation of
the economy but by far the lowest overall trust in the two sources of executive
power, the government and the president (table 16.9).
For some insights into table 16.9 let us return to our discussion of the possible
perils of semipresidentialism with a dual executive. In general theoretical terms, a
conflict between the president and the legislature, and the government emerging
from them, is not necessarily detrimental to democracy when both sides respect
each other and do not intend to eliminate the other. However, when supporters
of one or the other component of semipresidentialism feel that the country would
be better off if one branch of the democratically legitimated structure of rule
would disappear or be closed, the democratic system is endangered and suffers an
overall loss of legitimacy, since those questioning one or the other will tend to
consider the political system undesirable as long as the side they favor does not
Poland 287
prevail. In a pure parliamentary system there is not a dual executive so this source
of delegitimation of the democratic institutional framework does not exist. There
is of course conflict in a democratic parliament, but it tends to be between parties
over policies. However, in a semipresidential system, policy conflicts often express
themselves as a conflict between two branches of democracy.
Table 16.9 shows the mutual delegitimation of the government and the president
that occurred in Poland despite comparative economic robustness. A particularly
dangerous round of this conflict occurred in January and February 1995. The pres-
ident wanted the existing government to step down and, in private conversation
with key actors and occasionally publicly in complex language, implied that, if the
government did not step down, he would unilaterally dissolve Parliament and call
for new elections even though he had no clear consitutional right to do so. Presi-
dent Walesa addressed Congress with a clear sense of his moral legitimacy to act
(despite the fact that he had the lowest presidential approval rating of the six coun-
tries polled in table 16.9) because he believed in his charismatic mission, shored up
by the fact that he was directly elected. Guillermo O'Donnell would of course clas-
sify Walesa's speech as the archetypal discourse of "delegated democracy."72 Walesa
spent some time decrying the slowness of Parliament and the government:
The decisions that are most important for the country are postponed. The only quick decisions
are those that serve personal and party interests. . . . Poland does not have the time to sit at a
yellow light. For that reason, if there is nothing more that the government and the parliament
can do, if there is nothing that can be done for the good of Poland, then I ask you to step down
because history will not forgive you or us all. And if you do not have any other ideas or other
people [to offer], and only have this simple will to survive, then I will make the decision, in the
full conviction that it is in Poland's interests.... In democratic elections, the nation entrusted
me with responsibility for the state. . . . I am trying to change things using democratic and
peaceful methods. But to achieve these results, I will do as I see fit.73
The ruling coalition changed the prime minister. But the spectacle of the pres-
ident ridiculing and threatening Parliament did little to increase the democratic
legitimacy of the two democratically legitimated sources of authority.
Poland's political society took an unexpected turn in 1993. Parliamentarians
who were aware that the legislature's extreme party fragmentation made the ques-
tion of creating enduring coalitional majorities difficult passed a new electoral
law on May 28,1993. This electoral law, supported by all seven parties in the then
ruling pro-Solidarity coalition and eventually by some opposition parties, man-
dated that a party could not be represented in the lower house in the Sejm unless
it received more than 5 percent of the valid national vote. For a coalition of par-
72. Guillermo O'Donnell, "Delegative Democracy," Journal of Democracy 5, no. l (1994): 55-69, esp. 64.
73. President Walesa's address to the Sejm leadership on February 6,1995, was reported on February 7,
1995, in Gazeta Wyborcza, and excerpts were translated and reprinted as "Walesa: Trying to Make Repairs,"
Transition, i, no. 4 (1995), 56-57.
ties to get into the Sejm, an even higher threshold of 8 percent was established. To
further reward the largest parties, only those who received at least 7 percent of the
vote would be eligible for redistribution of the national remainder for propor-
tional representation votes that went to parties above the threshold.
The electoral law contained two other provisions that the literature on elec-
toral systems shows have a strong tendency to strengthen the one or two largest
parties in the system. First, the Polish electoral law opted for the d'Hondt formula
for calculating the distribution of seats within the overall proportional represen-
tation system. Arend Lijphart in his magisterial empirical and theoretical review
of electoral systems is categorical on the effect of the d'Hondt formula. "Among
the highest averages formulas, the d'Hondt method . . . is the least proportional
and systematically favors the larger parties."74 Finally, some electoral districts
were split, thus reducing their "district magnitude," defining that phrase as mean-
ing the number of representatives elected in a district. The recurrent finding of
electoral studies is that the smaller the overall district magnitudes, the fewer the
parties in the legislature, and the more disproportionate a proportional represen-
tative system will become.75
Shortly before this electoral law—which included four vectors all in the direc-
tion of rewarding the first and second largest parties—was formally passed in the
Sejm, the majority of parliamentarians in the Solidarity splinter party helped
bring down the pro-Solidarity government of Prime Minister Hanna Suchocka.
To the surprise of many parliamentarians, the historical leader of Solidarity, Lech
Walesa, called for early general elections to be held by September 1993.
"Rational choices" do not always lead to the preferred "rational outcomes." The
new incentives of the electoral law would have produced the desired outcome
sought by its principal framers only if they had calibrated their behavior so as to
win within the new rules they had created. They did not.
Four Catholic parties considered a coalition but in the end only two entered
the coalition, just before the deadline, and they polled only 6.4 percent of the vote.
In Catholic Poland none of the principal four Catholic parties crossed the thresh-
old.76 The Liberal Democratic Congress, which despite differences had been
major advocates of the post-1989 reform economic plan, could not arrive at a
coalition with the other major former Solidarity party which also supported the
74. Arend Lijphart, Electoral Systems and Party Systems: A Study of Twenty-Seven Democracies, 1945-1990
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), 23.
75. This was a major argument in Douglas W. Rae's classic, The Political Consequences of Electoral Laws
(New Haven: Yale University Press, 1967), 114-25, and was supported by comparative studies of Rein
Taagepera and Matthew S. Shugart, Seats and Votes: The Effects and Determinants of Electoral Systems (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), 112, and Lijphart, Electoral Systems and Party Systems, 10-14. For other
details of the election law, see Louisa Virón, "Poland's New Election Law: Fewer Parties, Same Impasse,"
RFE/RL Research Report 28 (July 12,1993): 7-17. The threshold principles did not apply to ethnic minorities.
76. See Anna Sabbot-Swidlicka, "The Political Elections: The Church, the Right and the Left," RFE/RL
Research Report 40 (October 8,1993): 24-31, esp. 25.
Poland 289
Table 16.10. Votes versus Seats: Parties That Crossed and Did Not Cross Poland's Electoral
Threshold in the September 1993 Parliamentary Elections to the Sejm (Lower House)
Electoral Threshold Party Percentage of Percentage
Popular Vote of Seats
Above the SLD (Democratic Left Alliance) 20.41% 37.10%

threshold PSL (Polish Peasant Party) 15.40% 28.60%
UD (Democratic Union) 10.59% 16.08%
UP (Union of Labor) 7.28% 8.90%
KPN (Confederation of Independent Poland) 5.77% 4.70%
BBWR (Non-Party Bloc for Support of the 5.41 % 3.40%
Reforms)
German Minority (not subject to threshold 0.70% 0.80%
rules)
Subtotal 65.56% 100%
Below the Fatherland Catholic Election Committee 6.37% 0

threshold Solidarity Trade Union 4.90% 0
Center Alliance 4.42% 0
Liberal Democratic Caucus 3.99% 0
Union of Real Politics 3.18% 0
Self-defense 2.78% 0
Party X 2.74% 0
Coalition for Republic 2.70% 0
Peoples' Alliance 2.37% 0
Political Party of Beer Lovers 0.10% 0
Others 0.89% 0
Subtotal 34.44% 0
Source: Compiled from data in Edmund Wnuk-Lipinski, "Left Turn in Poland: A Sociological and Political Analysis." Institute of
Political Studies, Polish Academy of Sciences, Warsaw (Nov. 1993), and "Bulletin of Electoral Statistics and Public Opinion
Research Data," East European Politics and Societies 8, no. 2 (1994): 371.
reform, the Democratic Union (UD), because of a dispute over the share of seats
they would be allocated in the coalition. The Liberal Democratic Party did not
cross the threshold. In fact, six of the seven parties in the Suchocka coalition that
helped formulate the electoral law did not cross the thresholds they devised.
President Walesa refused to support any party, but he did create a Non-Party
Bloc of Support of the Reform (BBWR), which crossed the threshold with 5.4 per-
cent of the vote but was not eligible for the distribution of the remainder because of
the requirements of the 7 percent clause. In the end, an extremely high 34.4 percent
of the total votes went to parties that did not cross the thresholds (table i6.io).77
77. For an analysis of the 1993 election, see Edmund Wnuk-Lipinski, "Left Turn in Poland: A Sociolog-
ical and Political Analysis" (Institute of Political Studies, Polish Academy of Sciences, Warsaw, Nov. 1993);
"Bulletin of Electoral Statistics and Public Opinion Research Data," East European Politics and Societies 8,
no. 2 (1994): 369-73; Louisa Virton,"Poland Goes Left," RFE/RL Research Report40 (October 8,1993): 21-23;
and Voytek Zubek, "The Reassertion of the Left in Post-Communist Poland," Europe-Asia Studies 46, no. 2
(1994): 801-37.
Table 16.11. Lijphart Index of Disproportionality for Polish Election to the Sejm (Lower House) in
September 1993 and the Average for the Twenty-one Continuous Democracies in the World,
Classified by Electoral System, 1945-1980
Electoral System Country Index of Disproportionality
Proportional representation Poland 35.1

Luxembourg 3.2
Norway 3.1
Iceland 3.0
France IV 2.8
Ireland 2.4
Italy 2.2
Germany 2.1
Austria 2.0
Finland 1.6
Switzerland 1.5
Sweden 1.2
Israel 1.1
Netherlands 1.1
Denmark 0.9
Single nontransferable vote Japan 4.2
Plurality and majority France V 12.3
Canada 8.1
New Zealand 6.3
United Kingdom 6.2
Australia 5.6
United States 5.6
Source: For Poland, same as table 16.8. For all other countries, Arend Lijphart, Democracies: Patterns of Majoritarian and
Consensus Government in Twenty-One Countries (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984), 160.
Specialists on electoral laws have compiled a variety of formulas to measure

what Douglas Rae calls "manufactured majorities" or what Arend Lijphart calls
"vote/seat disproportionality." Lijphart has analyzed elections via a simple index
of disproportionality that measures the deviation between the total votes received
by the two largest parties versus the total seats they received.78 He has calculated
the average "index of disproportionality" for all twenty-one continuous democ-
racies in the world between 1945 and 1980. The highest average index of dispro-
portionality in a democracy that used a plurality and majority electoral system is
the French Fifth Republic with 12.3 percent. The highest average index of dispro-
78. For a review of the strengths and weaknesses of various formulas that measure vote/seat dispropor-
tionality such as the Rae index, the Loosemore-Hanby index, the Lijphart index, and Michael Gallagher's
least-squares index, see the excellent chapter, "Disproportionality, Multipartism, and Majority Victories,"
in Lijphart, Electoral Systems and Party Systems, 57-77. Lijphart discusses his index on pp. 61-62. Douglas
Rae has constructed a different formula to measure "manufactured majorities," a phrase he uses to indicate
a party or a coalition that did not receive a majority of votes in the election but nonetheless was allocated
a majority of seats in the legislature.
Poland 291
portionality for any of the fifteen continuous democracies that used a propor-
tional representation electoral system is Luxembourg with 3.2 percent. The 1993
Polish elections to the Sejm used proportional representation. The two largest
parties received 35.8 percent of the vote and 65.9 percent of the seats, thus pro-
ducing according to Lijphart's formula, an index of disproportionality of 35.1 per-
cent (table 16.11).
The point of this excursus has been that key players in Poland's political society
did not "rationally" adjust their behavior to operate within the incentives created
by new election rules they themselves created.79 Their behavior gave the reform
Communist Party and their pre-1988 ally, the Peasant Party, not only an absolute
majority in the Parliament, but the theoretical capacity to unilaterally draft and
pass the constitution in the Parliament. As we shall see in the concluding chapter
of this book, most of the dire predictions concerning the "return of communism"
or the "end of democracy" did not actually develop, partly because both the former
ruling parties in the Communist era and most social groups and parties outside of
the Parliament after the 1993 elections seem to have accepted democracy as "the
only game in town." Nonetheless, Poland's recent electoral history of an unprece-
dented score on the Laakso-Taagepera index that measures party fragmentation in
1991 and an unprecedented score, in the opposite direction, on the Lijphart index
of disproportionality in 1993 shows how far Poland still had to go before it pro-
duced party attitudes and behaviors that would allow political society to make its
necessary contribution to democratic consolidation in Poland.
Having made these critical analytic points about political society, we do not
want to end this chapter without calling attention to some of Poland's extraordi-
nary achievements. More than any other country in post-Communist Europe,
Poland contributed to making the possibility of the 1989 regime changes a reality.
The constant pressure of Polish civil society and Solidarity helped to broaden the
parameters of the game which Gorbachev and the Soviet Union were playing vis-
a-vis the rest of Eastern Europe. This concrete fact is an important historical
achievement that helps ratchet Poland forward toward democratic consolidation.
Another important achievement is that Poland had a higher GNP growth rate
than any country in Western Europe in 1993 and 1994. This achievement helped
bolster domestic and international confidence in Poland. Although the rate of
privatization of the state sector did not proceed anywhere near as quickly as in the
Czech Republic, the dynamism of the new small and middle-sized private enter-
prises meant that possibly more than half the economically active population
were working in the private sector by the start of 1995.
79. As one Polish analyst observed, the "KLD could have joined the Democratic Union, PL could have
joined with KKW, and had KdR not split from PC, all these groups would now have representation in the
Lower House. Especially since there is no significant difference between KLD and Democratic Union, PC
and KdR, and also between KKW and PL. Political leaders... ignored the implications of the new electoral
law and had to pay the price." Wnuck-Lipinski, "Left Turn in Poland," 16.
Just as Poland's economy exhibits a healthy robustness, so too do parts of Po-

land's society. While we have been concerned with the ability of Poland's civil
society to work productively with political society, we do not want to seem pes-
simistic about Polish civil society in general. With a tradition starting much be-
fore the historic changes of 1989, Poland's civil society in some areas continues to
produce some strong achievements. For example, two former Solidarity leaders,
Adam Michnik and Helena Luczywo, have created one of Europe's most dynamic
newspapers, Gazeta Wyborcza, which circulates seventeen different metropolitan
editions daily.
Because of these and many other achievements, as well as its critical geopolit-
ical position, many observers inside and outside of Poland believe that Poland's
chances of entering the European Union by the end of the 19905 are good. The
very fact that this is an option for Poland creates incentives for Polish political
actors to act in a responsible, democratic manner.80 This usable future as well as
elements of its usable past will contribute significantly to hindering democratic
breakdown and assisting democratic consolidation.
80. As we discuss in chapter 21, for many countries with severe stateness problems and intense ethnic
strife, entry into the European Union is not even a distant possibility. Thus, the set of European Union-
related incentives and disincentives that we showed playing a positive role in Southern Europe and a com-
parable role in Poland are simply not present. In November 1995, Aleksander Kwasniewski, the former
leader of the reform Communist Party, was elected President of Poland. During and after the campaign,
Kwasniewski (unlike Communist Party leaders in Russia) argued that joining the European Union and
NATO were two of Poland's highest priorities. As long as these priorities are maintained, Poland will con-
tinue to be subject to European Union pressures to conform to liberal and democratic standards.
17
Varieties of Post-Totalitarian Regimes:

Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Bulgaria
IWENTY-SIX of the twenty-seven post-Communist states in Europe (the

only exception, as we have argued, being Poland) had at one time approximated the
totalitarian ideal type during the period of high Stalinism or before the Yugoslavian
"heresy." Most of them later came to approximate the post-totalitarian ideal type.
The term post-totalitarian itself indicates that this type of regime had not been con-
ceived initially by its founders as a distinctive type of polity but was the result of
changes in a system that had once approached the totalitarian model. Thus, post-
totalitarianism (unlike democracy, totalitarianism, authoritarianism, or sultanism)
is not a genetic type but an evolutionary type. That is, no one would or could create
a post-totalitarian regime unless there had already been a prior totalitarian regime.
Conceptually the two dominant paths, from within the regime, to post-totalitar-
ianism can be called "post-totalitarianism by choice" and "post-totalitarianism by
decay." In the former path, regime elites (often for their own sense of personal
safety) may collectively decide to constrain the completely arbitrary powers of the
maximum leader, to reduce the role of terror (if that had been prominent), and to
begin to tolerate some non-official organizations to emerge in what had been virtu-
ally a completely flattened civil society. In "post-totalitarianism by decay" (or post-
totalitarianism by reluctant acquiesence), commitment to ideology may simply be-
come hollow, mobilization may degenerate into bureaucratic ritual, and pockets of
resistance or relative autonomy may emerge, more due to regime incapacity or re-
luctant acquiesence to foreign pressure than to any choice. Forces outside the regime
can also generate a situation of "post-totalitarianism by societal conquest," in which
civil society groups struggle for, and win, areas of relative autonomy.1 Whatever the
path, all post-totalitarian regimes, by definition, emerge out of totalitarian regimes.2
1. There are, of course, other paths out of totalitarianism. Totalitarianism can be ended by conquest and
occupation by democratic polities, as happened to Germany and Japan after World War II. In these cases
there never was a post-totalitarian regime, but rather a sequence of totalitarianism followed by occupation
and liberalization followed by democratization. See table 4.2, The Implications of Prior Nondemocratic
Regime Type for Paths to Democratic Transition.
2. Specific concrete cases of a shift from a totalitarian to a post-totalitarian regime often may empiri-
cally contain some elements of post-totalitarianism by choice, post-totalitarianism by decay, and post-
totalitarianism by societal conquest.
The empirical fact that change from totalitarianism is normally not to a typi-
cal authoritarian regime but to a distinct type of post-totalitarian regime con-
firms the argument of Linz that there is no continuum from totalitarianism to
authoritarianism.3 However, the fact that post-totalitarianism cannot be under-
stood without reference to totalitarianism also explains that it can be conceived
of as a continuum from an almost totalitarian system to one in which the former
totalitarianism elements are almost survivals (in the anthropological sense). This
also accounts for the difficulty of determining at what point the transition from
a totalitarian to a post-totalitarian regime has taken place.
Because post-totalitarianism is a continuum, we will dedicate extensive space
to presenting some of the textures of life within different kinds of post-totalitar-
ian regimes. We will also attempt to conceptualize and discuss the major possible
variations within the post-totalitarian type, which can range from an early post-
totalitarianism close to the border with totalitarianism, to a frozen post-totalitar-
ianism that shows no significant tendency to evolve toward greater pluralism, to
even a mature post-totalitarianism, which may be close to an out-of-type change
toward a democratic or authoritarian regime. Only after we have an understand-
ing of such variation within the post-totalitarian type are we analytically prepared
to study, evaluate, and even predict the extensive range of transition paths that
actually could and do occur within post-totalitarianism. Most of the post-Com-
munist states in Europe began their transition away from Communism from a
post-totalitarian starting point. All of the post-totalitarian regimes were affected
by the "domino-like" events of 1989, but the style and consequences of the actual
transition depended greatly, as we shall see, on the specific post-totalitarian sub-
type found in each individual country.
Empirically, what do we mean by variations within post-totalitarianism? The
variation was most stark in the cases of Hungary and Bulgaria. As we will docu-
ment, Hungary by February 1989 (i.e., the same month in which the Polish Round
Table began) was in fact already close to an out-of-type change from post-totali-
tarianism to a still undetermined democratic or authoritarian regime. In con-
trast, we believe we will provide convincing documentation for the argument that
Bulgaria, as late as 1988, was close to the totalitarian pole concerning autonomous
groups in civil society. Czechoslovakia, in contrast to Bulgaria, had had for more
than a decade some important post-totalitarian characteristics in the area of civil
society, since the human rights group Charter 77, linked to the Helsinki process,
had emerged in 1977. However, detotalitarianization in Czechoslovakia in the
19805—which was a case essentially of "detotalitarianization by decay"—was no-
where as deep or extensive as it was in Hungary, which had much stronger elements
of "detotalitarianization by choice."
3. See Juan J. Linz, "An Authoritarian Regime: Spain," in Erik Allardt and Stein Rokkan, eds., Mass Pol-
itics: Studies in Political Sociology (New York: Free Press, 1970), 251-83, esp. 253.
If we call Hungary an example of mature post-totalitarianism, and Bulgaria an

example of early post-totalitarianism, Czechoslovakia can be considered an ex-
ample of frozen post-totalitarianism. In essence, Hungary, Czechoslovakia, and
Bulgaria in the late 19805 had different state, rule of law, economic, civil, and po-
litical society mixes. These different mixes structured much of the negotiating
capacity of regime and opposition alike, opened and/or blocked certain transition
paths, and helped generate distinct constellations of consolidation tasks.
Our purpose in this chapter is to explain how and why—and with what conse-
quences—Hungary, Czechoslovakia, and Bulgaria had sharply different transition
paths. In Hungary, the Communist Party increasingly led by reformists on the one
side and an organized democratic party opposition on the other side, negotiated
an agreement that the next government would be produced by free elections. In
these elections, the largest of the Opposition Round Table parties won the most
seats and formed a coalition government with a strong parliamentary majority. In
Czechoslovakia, after the Berlin Wall was torn down, students and artists led a
protest against police brutality. The hard line regime collapsed and handed over
power to a provisional government headed by the most famous leader of the civil
society opposition, Vaclav Havel.4 In Bulgaria, a still unreformist Communist
Party experienced some societal protests but was able to controlthe transition. The
Communist Party, via an internal coup, rid itself of its old leader, Todor Zhivkov,
gained some legitimacy by participating in a round table, and eventually won the
first competitive election against the still weak democratic forces.
All of these cases were, of course, strongly affected by our variables concerning
diffusion effects and the political economy of legitimacy. However, our central
thesis is that the most powerful way to explain these three strikingly different
transitions (negotiation, collapse, and control) is by exploring the causes and
consequences of their variation within the post-totalitarian regime type.
Before examining these three cases, let us briefly mention a cruel paradox.
Hungary (and authoritarian Poland) increasingly experimented with a variety of
economic reforms and in the process opened themselves up to Western interna-
tional credit, which eventually made them two of the most indebted countries of
the world. This indebtedness contributed to pressures for regime transition; how-
ever, it left a difficult economic legacy for democratic consolidation, especially for
Hungary, which did not reschedule before or after the transition. In contrast, the
frozen post-totalitarian regime in Czechoslovakia engaged in no economic ex-
periments or reforms and received almost no Western foreign credits and thus
4. If we had not excluded the GDR on account of its disappearance as a result of unification with the
Federal Republic, it would have been a case of early post-totalitarianism leading to regime collapse. Like
Czechoslovakia, the GDR only began any efforts to negotiate a transition when collapse was already im-
manent. Credible negotiators within the regime were weak in both Czechoslovakia and the GDR. However,
in the case of the GDR the successive changes of leadership of the regime and perhaps the international di-
mension of the Germany case gave a bit more breathing space for the incumbents.
faced fewer economic pressures pushing for a transition. However, Czechoslova-

kia's lack of foreign debt, of course, not so paradoxically became an asset in the
democratic consolidation phase.
H U N G A R Y : A N E G O T I A T E D T R A N S I T I O N FROM
MATURE POST-TOTALITARIANISM
For readers familiar with the standard works on negotiated transitions and
pacts in southern Europe and Latin America, the East European country that is
by far the most familiar in terms of the dynamics of the transition is Hungary.5
Indeed, most of the basic vocabulary used to describe the Spanish and Uruguayan
transitions can be used to describe the Hungarian transition.6 Regime blandos
(soft-liners) sought out alliances with some of the leaders of the moderate oppo-
sition; regime blandos endeavored to use their roles as sponsors of liberalization
to strengthen their positions against their own hard-liners; both blandos and op-
position leaders increasingly focused on the political mechanics of transition, and
elite negotiations figured prominently. Why did such a similar political process of
regime transition occur in such dissimilar political systems?
Of all the regimes in East Central Europe we will analyze, the Hungarian one
underwent the sharpest set of changes. Hungary had free elections in 1945, a very
totalitarian period from 1948 to 1953, a reform period that led to a successful pop-
ular revolution in 1956, a Communist counter-revolution from 1956 to 1962, and
detotalitarianization starting in 1962. By the mid-1980s Hungary was the world's
leading example of mature post-totalitarianism.7
Between 1945 and 1947 Poland saw a civil war between Polish partisans and
Soviet-backed forces. In Hungary, however, possibly because of its less strategic
position for the Soviet Union, the Soviet military administration allowed an elec-
tion in November 1945 that has often been called the freest ever held in Hungary
5. See, for example, Guillermo O'Donnell, Philippe C. Schmitter, and Laurence Whitehead, eds., Tran-
sitions from Authoritarian Rule (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986); John Higley and Richard
Günther, eds., Elites and Democratic Consolidation in Latin American and Southern Europe (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1992); and Giuseppe di Palma, To Craft Democracies: An Essay on Democratic
Transitions (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990).
6. Indeed, a Spanish social scientist draws extensive parallels between Hungary and Spain; see Carmen
González Enríquez, Crisis y cambio en Europa del Este: La transición húngara a la democracia (Madrid: Cen-
tro de Investigaciones Sociológicas / Siglo XXI de España, 1993), esp. 50-80 on pacts and 340-68 for an over-
all comparison of the Hungarian and Spanish transitions.
One of Hungary's leading public opinion specialists, János Simon, learned Spanish to be able to study
the Spanish transition and occasionally publishes his work, often with László Bruszt, in Spain. See their "La
mayoría más silenciosa" (Madrid and Budapest, 1990, unpublished manuscript).
7. References to all these changes will be found in this chapter. For a classic book on pre-Communist
Hungary that is particularly strong on the country's dualistic electoral principles after 1922 (secret and free
in the cities but unsecret and manipulated in the countryside) and an interwar authoritarian period with
a reasonably robust press and areas of rule of law, see Andrew C. János, Politics of Backwardness in Hungary:
1825-1945 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982).
to that date. The Smallholders won the election with 57 percent of the vote, the
Social Democrats received 17.4 percent, and the Communists 17 percent.8 How-
ever, in the less-free 1947 parliamentary elections, the Communists received the
largest single vote with 22.3 percent and then used a variety of tactics to get the
Parliament to prorogue itself for a year. From 1948 to 1953 Hungary underwent
one of the most intense periods of Stalinization in Eastern Europe, ranging from
a show trial of Cardinal Jozsef Mindszenty to coercive collectivization of agri-
culture to the summary execution of two thousand "local undergrounders" of
the Communist Party. This period is called by many Hungarian commentators
"totalitarian."9
After Stalin's death in 1953, Khrushchev, as part of his anti-Stalin campaign, re-
placed the Hungarian mini-Stalin, Mátyás Rákosi, with the more moderate Imre
Nagy, who inaugurated the "sharpest and earliest reversal of mature Stalinism to
be initiated in any people's democracy."10 The detotalitarianization of Hungary
had begun, but it was to prove a stop-and-go process. From April 1955 until his re-
moval by the Soviets again in July 1956, Rákosi returned to power, to be succeeded
by Brno Gero and, in the face of widespread student and intellectual demands,
by Nagy. Under Nagy, the Hungarian protests rapidly became revolutionary. In
Rothschild's judgment, the events in Hungary from October 23 to November 4,
1956, were "a genuine and domestically victorious revolution with national-
political as well as socioeconomic aims. This revolution was defeated only by
overwhelming foreign force," Soviet tanks.11
The evolution of the Hungarian regime from counter-revolutionary repres-
sion in 1956 to near out-of-type change by February 1989 deserves a book-length
analysis. Our contribution is necessarily more restricted and driven by demo-
cratic theory. We believe that the dynamic process of detotalitarianization should
and can be analyzed. We also believe that post-totalitarianism is not and should
not be a static concept. In addition, we believe that the specific forces and
processes by which some post-totalitarian regimes have evolved is an important
area of inquiry for scholars interested in democratization. Therefore, we will now
attempt to show how detotalitarianization started. We will also attempt to
8. Charles Gati argues that the openness of the elections was largely due to Stalin's fears, until 1946, that
he might have to trade away Hungary to the West for his demands on Poland and Germany. See his Hun-
gary and the Soviet Bloc (Durham: Duke University Press, 1986), 118.
9. For example, Rudolf Andorka's paper to the XII World Congress of Sociology in Madrid, July 1990,
"Transitions from a Totalitarian to a Democratic Political System: The Case of Hungary," argues that "after
1947 Hungary clearly became a Totalitarian state under the rule of the Communist Party the power of which
was based on the presence of the Soviet army.... The first relaxation of totalitarianism came after the death
of Stalin" (p. i).
10. Joseph Rothschild, Return to Diversity: A Political History of East Central Europe since World War I!
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1989), 154.
n. Ibid., 160. For a revealing analysis of the process of regime division and social protest that led to this
too-often-forgotten case of the internal reversibility of totalitarianism, see Paul Kecskemeti, The Unex-
pected Revolution: Social Forces in the Hungarian Uprising (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1961).
demonstrate how, in each of the five arenas of a consolidated democracy we

discussed in chapter i, some important changes occurred in Hungary before the
regime change in 1989. We will likewise show how changes in each arena increas-
ingly reinforced each other. Our task, therefore, is to analyze and illustrate the
dynamic process of interacting changes. We will proceed by exploring changes in
the rough sequence in which they occurred: ideology, the economy, the state, the
rule of law, civil society, and finally political society.
The first area in which Hungary became post-totalitarian was the area of ide-
ology. The revolution of 1956 was followed by repression and the execution of
Nagy, but it also left a preoccupation in Khrushchev's Soviet Union and among
the team led by Nagy's successor, János Kádár, with how to avoid policies that
might precipitate a revolutionary reoccurrence. The search for passive compli-
ance, rather than a totalitarian attempt to mobilize enthusiasm, became a hall-
mark of Kádár's political style. The first explicit argumentation that reflected the
post-totalitarian turn was articulated by Kádár when he advocated a "politics of
alliance" at the Plenum of the Central Committee in March 1962. At the plenum,
Kádár explicitly distanced himself from the totalitarian aspirations of the Stalinist
dictator Mátyás Rákosi when he announced that, "whereas the Rákosites said that
someone who is not on our side is against us, we say, those who are not against us,
are with us."12
The next major step toward detotalitarianization was the introduction in 1968
of the New Economic Mechanism, which despite a partial reversal from 1972 to
1979 represented the most pervasive experimentation of any Warsaw Pact coun-
try with markets and quasi-private property.13 This experiment could not have
started without a prior ideological change toward post-totalitarianism, but the
New Economic Mechanism itself further eroded the classic Communist Utopian
ideology and represents the beginning of the process of detotalitarianization by
choice. Much has been written about the Hungarian reform from an economic
perspective but relatively little about how attendant social and legal changes al-
tered both the state and society. Numerous state-society interactions growing out
of the New Economic Mechanism pushed Hungarian society and the regime fur-
ther away from the totalitarian pole. Evidence abounds. State control over indi-
vidual job mobility de jure was lessened when in 1968 workers were allowed to
12. In 1962 Kádár was still to complete the last phase of recollectivization that finished his 1956-62 re-
consolidation, but no leader committed to maintaining a system that approximated totalitarianism could
have issued such a classic post-totalitarian dictum. For the context of Kádár's speech, see González En-
riquez, Crisis y cambio en Europa del Este, 9.
13. As Charles Gati explains, "the New Economic Mechanism (NEM), begun in 1968, had introduced a
measure of rationality into the economy. By focusing on agriculture, small-scale industry, and the service
sector, the reforms succeeded in creating an economy in which plan and market could somehow co-exist
and living standards rise as well. Kádár's 'goulash Communism'—perhaps an early version of perestroika—
was also assisted by his regime's relative political tolerance and openness—perhaps an early version of glas-
nost." See his The Bloc That Failed: Soviet East European Relations in Transition (Bloomington: Indiana Uni-
versity Press, 1990), 95.
change their jobs, to relocate, and legally to work part-time in private, small-scale
industry.14 The state's near-monopoly over worker income sources was demonop-
olized to the extent that the proportion of total income "derived from the second
economy by about three-quarters of the population amounted to at least two-
thirds of wages paid in the first economy."15 The state monopoly over housing
was also broken. By 1984,55 percent of all new housing in Hungary was constructed
by the second economy and was open to private purchase and ownership.16
Hungary also made important changes toward increased rule of law, especially
toward a regulated framework not of a command economy but of what we have
called an economic society. In 1982 a new set of regulations passed which legalized
property rights in much of the second economy.17 The political import of this
was twofold. On the one hand, for society it reduced the party-state discretionary
authority and increased the sphere of legally protected rights and thus the rule of
law. On the other hand, for party-state officials, it made it legal for nomenklatura
families to diversify their "portfolios" and to participate in the second economy.18
This new regulatory framework thus began to alter the career and network op-
portunities for members of the second economy and the state apparatus alike.
The groundwork was laid for a "hollowing out" of the state sector and, indirectly,
for "nomenklatura buyouts" seven years before the end of Communism. For the
nonagricultural state-controlled cooperative sector, reorganization and restruc-
turing of public property began almost immediately as groups of up to one hun-
dred people could legally "break off from a non-agricultural state-cooperative,
taking equipment and capital with them."19 As Anna Seleny has argued, the sec-
ond economy in Hungary became high-trust networks of everyday people and
highly placed and well-connected individuals which, without an explicitly politi-
cal purpose, began to have political implications. Possibly more than anywhere
else, we will analyze in this book how the spread and institutionalization of the
14. See Anna Seleny, "Hidden Enterprise and Property Rights Reform in Socialist Hungary," Law and
Policyi) (April i99i):i56-58. This article and her 1993 MIT doctoral dissertation in the Political Science De-
partment, "The Long Transformation: Hungarian Socialism 1949-1989," are pioneering works on how the
New Economic Mechanism had many unintended consequences in the legal, social, and political arenas
and how it began to create an "economic society" in Hungary. For a discussion of "contested language and
meanings" within the Hungarian Socialist Workers' Party, see her "Constructing the Discourse of Trans-
formation: Hungary, 1979-82," East European Politics and Societies 8, no. 3 (1994): 439-66.
15. Seleny, "Hidden Enterprise and Property Rights," 162.
16. See table 19.5 in János Kornai, The Socialist System: The Political Economy of Communism (Prince-
ton: Princeton University Press, 1992), 441. Upon publication this book by a Hungarian economist who was
a long-time consulant of Hungarian economic reforms and is now a chairholder in economics at Harvard
became an instant classic on the problems of command economies and the limits to efforts to partially re-
form them.
17. This is discussed at length in Seleny's "The Long Transformation."
18. For the consequences of the new structure of rational-choice opportunities for state managers, see
László Urban, "Hungarian Transition from a Public Choice Perspective" in András Bozóki, Andres
Körösenyi, and George Schöpflin, eds., Post-Communist Transition: Emerging Pluralism in Hungary (Lon-
don: Pinter Publishers, 1992), 88-95.
19. Seleny, "Hidden Enterprise and Property Rights," 163.
Hungarian second economy makes it difficult empirically or analytically to dis-

tinguish between economic society and political society. Some Communist sys-
tems collapsed, as in Czecholsovakia; others, as in Hungary, adapted. In Hungary
the complex networks of the second economy were a key part of the nomen-
klatura's capacity and propensity for adaptation. Political out-of-type change did
not begin until early 1989. But economic out-of-type change began in 1982.
Despite these important changes in the arenas of economic society, law, and
the state, it is important to stress that Kádár never allowed changes in the leading
role of the party. Also, until 1987 there was virtually no significant organized po-
litical opposition, and associational life in civil society was quite weak. In these
arenas Hungary was still early post-totalitarian.
However, by the mid-1980s the political economy of the Kádár regime—and
the Communist party-state—came under increasing pressure. Despite the re-
sumption of economic experiments in 1979, the economy experienced growing
problems. Foreign debt soared throughout the 19805. Indeed, by 1989, public ex-
ternal debt soared to over 16 billion. The country's debt per capita of $1,561 was
the largest in the world, dwarfing Brazil's $622 per capita debt.20 A reform wing
in the party became increasingly critical of Kádár and sought out alliances in the
party and in society. By 1987 independent groups in society, tacitly supported by
party reformers, had also become critical of Kádár. The samizdat publication,
Beszélo, in the first half of 1987 issued a special publication, "Social Contract," that
began with the assertion that "Kádár Must Go." A normal Beszélo publication had
a circulation of 4,000. "Social Contract" was reissued and sold 12,000 copies and
was widely read by party reformers, whose leaders, Rezsö Nyers and Imre Pozs-
gay, met privately with the authors in sympathetic discussions.21 We believe that
these events could not have occurred without a power struggle within the regime
already going on and without some legitimacy for both regime moderates and
opposition moderates. In fact, by October 1987 Hungary's first opposition pro-
toparty, the Hungarian Democratic Forum, had its organizational meeting, which
was attended by Pozsgay.22
It is true that before 1989 Hungary had no social movements remotely compa-
rable to Solidarity in Poland or multitudes in the streets as in East Germany or
even in Czechoslovakia, but it would be a mistake to see the Hungarian transition
as being initiated and controlled solely by reformers in the regime. In 1988 a
20. Per capita debt figures calculated from public and publicly guaranteed long-term debt data in the
World Debt Tables, 1991-1992 (Washington: World Bank), as reported in the Statistical Yearbook 1993 (New
York: United Nations), 1051-53. Population figures from Statistical Yearbook 1993, 59-67.
21. The above is based on a conversation of Alfred Stepan in Prague (December 16,1992) with the prin-
cipal author of the "Social Contract," the political philosopher János Kis, who later became president of the
Alliance of Free Democrats after free elections.
22. Pozsgay's supportive relationship with the Hungarian Democratic Forum is discussed in detail in
Robert M. Jenkins, "Movements into Parties: The Historical Transformation of the Hungarian Opposition"
(Program on Central and Eastern Europe, Working Papers Series, no. 25, Harvard University, 1993).
plethora of largely self-organized associational groups emerged as new actors.

One of the most important of the new social movements was an ecology group
who effectively organized demonstrations against a dam on the Danube. The fo-
cus of two other important groups that emerged in 1988 was explicitly to advocate
an institutional framework that would help engender a stronger and more auton-
omous civil society. In the area of communications, the Publicity Club was orga-
nized by journalists and other professionals to advance freedom of speech. In the
legal area 135 lawyers created an Independent Forum of Jurists to help empower
civil (and later political) society with sufficient expertise to actively review and re-
vise the growing number of legal and constitutional proposals being raised both
by the regime and by the new social groups.23
One of the great political problems for the newly elected regimes in Eastern
Europe is the question of political representation due to the "flattened" post-
totalitarian economic and social landscape. In Hungary, however, the economic
reforms begun in 1968—with earlier precedents back to 1953—and given legal
recognition in 1982 created a more variegated and pluralist environment in which
to articulate interests. Anna Seleny captures this relationship nicely.
In sum, private business expanded more rapidly than many officials expected, and its legal and
political institutional consequences have proved surprising. The seemingly endless round of
amendments, modifications and subsequent reforms which the Ministry of Finance was forced
to undertake between 1982 and 1989 indicates that once property rights are granted to groups
thereby newly legally enfranchised, the pressure to broaden those rights grows from its own
logic The net effect of such decrees was the broadening of second-economy entrepreneurs'
property rights and space for action.... Once endowed with legal status, individual entrepre-
neurs and various organized groups pressed for further changes. Transmission-belt organiza-
tions, responsible for "representing" the interests of the small traditional legal private sector of
manufacturers and retailers, were internally disrupted because the government changed the
economic landscape overnight without specifying their new mandates. In 1987 entrepreneurs
formed their own independent interest representation organization which helped extract con-
cessions vis-à-vis the private sector (e.g., on tax policy); and a year later, entrepreneurs formed
a political party. The 1982 reform of private property rights was a turning point . . . it was
insufficient to stabilize the economy, further destabilized Party ideology, social attitudes and
behavior, and proved incompatible with state-socialism as an institutional-political system.
The legalization of private entrepreneurship on a wide scale challenged the state's claims on
rights to control not only production but economic organization and association.24
Shortly after the entrepreneurs organized, a Union of Scientific Workers was

created to be followed by other independent unions. While relatively small and
largely confined to intellectual workers, these unions pushed the boundaries of
post-totalitarianism in a more pluralist direction. As Andrew Arato states, "all these
23. An excellent analysis of these new social movements is contained in Andrew Arato, "Civil Society in
the Emerging Democracies: Poland and Hungary," in Margaret Latua Nugent, ed., From Leninism to Free-
dom: The Challenges of Democratization (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1992), 127-52.
24. Seleny, "Hidden Enterprise and Property Rights," 165-66.
organizations of the defense of worker interests, influenced by different aspects of

the model of Polish Solidarity, understood themselves as promoting a fabric of
thick social self organization from below, as building and fighting for a civil soci-
ety with important elements of participation in economic and political life."25
The final arena in which Hungarian opposition forces began to organize was
political society. The more politically inclined members of social movements de-
veloped protopolitical parties. Populist and somewhat rural and traditional na-
tionalist intellectuals met at Lakitelek in 1987 and formed the Hungarian Demo-
cratic Forum (MDF). In March 1988 a protoparty, the Federation of Young
Democrats, was formed. In the spring of 1988 a loose alliance of new social move-
ments, greens, journalists, reform economists, and independent student and
worker organizations formed a more urban and socially liberal grouping called
the Network of Free Initiatives. By autumn 1988 this group formed the basis of the
Alliance of Free Democrats. One of the distinctive facts about Hungarian politics
is that none of the above-mentioned parties was a historic pre-World War II
party; they had instead emerged in mature post-totalitarian Hungary. This com-
bination of new social and political movements contributed, by late 1988, to the
passage of a new law of association which in turn helped pave the way for a mul-
tiparty system. Once this new law of association was passed, three historic par-
ties—the Independent Smallholders Party, the Social Democratic Party, and the
Christian Democratic Party—announced their reactivation.26
One of the most frequently asked questions about the Hungarian transition is
why the Hungarian Communist Party began to accept competitive politics, even
before the Polish Round Table was completed and the first non-Communist gov-
ernment was formed in Poland. To begin to answer this question, we have to step
back and look at the changing context of Kádár's and the Communist Party's le-
gitimacy. In chapter 5 we argued that a traditional measure of a regime's legiti-
macy is whether a particular regime is perceived by its citizens to be "the most ap-
propriate one given the circumstances." For much of the 19705, the Kádár regime's
economic and political policies were widely seen as being relatively successful
within the parameters of the "Brezhnev Doctrine." Given the geopolitical con-
straints of the "Brezhnev Doctrine," the most relevant reference group for Hun-
garians was the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe.
However, by the late 19805, even before the so-called "Sinatra Doctrine" was
25. Arato, "Civil Society in the Emerging Democracies," 139.

26. On the emergence and increasing formalization of these opposition parties, see László Lengyel, "The
Character of Political Parties in Hungary (Autumn 1989)," in András Bozóki, András Körösenyi, and George
Schöpflin, eds, Post-Communist Transition: Emerging Pluralism in Hungary (London: Pinter Publishers,
1992), 30-44, and Jenkins, "Movements into Parties." For the effective mobilization of pressure that led to a
law of association much more democratizing in final form than the regime had originally intended, see
Gabor Halmas, "Representation and Civil Society in Hungary: The Recodification of the Right of Assem-
bly and Association," Law and Policy 13 (April 1991): 135-47. This is a clear example of the dynamic of
"detotalitarianization by societal conquest."
Table 17.1. Hungarian Assessment of Their Declining Quality of Life, Equality, and Personal Political
Efficacy: A Five-Country Comparison, 1985 and 1989
Country 1985 1989

"In which country do the people live better?"
Austria 49.9 80.3
Hungary 28.7 12.7
Soviet Union 4.3 0.9
Czechoslovakia 0.3 0.6
Yugoslavia 0.3 0.3
Romania 0.0 0.1
"In which country is there greater equality among the people?"
Austria 9.8 48.9
Hungary 17.8 19.6
Yugoslavia 0.8 1.3
Romania 0.4 0.9
"In which country do the people have the greatest possibility to participate in political matters?"
Austria 14.1 52.3
Hungary 23.0 24.0
Yugoslavia 1.1 2.6
Romania 0.1 0.0
Source: László Brusztand János Simon, La mayoría más silenciosa (Budapest. Institute of Social Sciences, 1990). Based upon a poll
they administered for the Gallup Poll of Hungary.
Even if we would suspect a certain caution in the 1985 responses, or what is called by polling specialists a spiral of silence, the fact
that people expressed their attitudes so freely in 1989 would reflect a significant change in itself. The table does not include other
answers, and DK/NA, therefore, does not add up to 100.
formally articulated, the relevant reference group increasingly became Western

Europe, especially Hungary's neighbor up the Danube, Austria.2? Table 17.1 shows
how in 1989, after four years of Gorbachev, Hungarians increasingly viewed their
situation negatively in areas involving the quality of life, equality, and personal
political efficacy.
What is clear from table 17.1 is that Gorbachev's reforms were seen as a relative
failure by 1989 and that Austria was seen as overwhelmingly the best on all three
measures surveyed, even including the issue area most Communist systems felt
was their greatest comparative strength—equality. In this overall context, by 1987
the elements of a complex transition game were coming into place in Hungary.
As Stepan has argued elsewhere, a split in the state apparatus (or in Hungary
27. Vladimir Tismaneanu explains that the "Sinatra Doctrine" was "the Soviet decision to allow each
East European country to pursue its own variety of reform." In effect, it allowed them to go "their own way."
See his Reinventing Politics: Eastern Europe from Stalin to Havel (New York: Free Press, 1993), 216.
in the "party-state") may set into motion a "downward reach" by part of the state
to mobilize part of civil society so as to increase its own power position within the
state.28 This sets the framework for concession. However, if civil society is not
strong enough, what is given by one part of the state can, when it has served that
state group's purpose, be taken away. But, if opposition forces in society are strong
enough, a complex dialectic of "regime concession and societal conquest" may
ensue that will help push the overall system toward a boundary change, first in
the direction of liberalization and finally crossing the line of a democratic transi-
tion.29 Awareness of the potential for such a political process to occur alerts us to
look at some transitions as cases of competitive bidding by parts of the state vis-
a-vis civil society. Thus, while the optic of civil society versus the state is often
correct, part of the growth and empowerment of civil society may be due to a
momentary alliance of parts of the state with parts of civil society, both parts
betting, of course, that in the end they will become the ultimate winner. No fac-
tion of the Hungarian Communist Party, even the faction of the most advanced
reformer, such as Pozsgay, started regime concessions accepting the fact that it
might lead to the loss of power. Why then, did the dialectic of regime concession
and societal conquest result in Hungary passing beyond the boundary from
mature post-totalitarianism to free competitive democracy?
By 1987 the party-state, in a situation of a growing economic crisis and a new
geopolitical context, had at least four distinct factions: (i) a hard line hoping that
Gorbachev would fall and interested in imposing a post-1968 Czechoslovak-like
"normalization strategy" in Hungary, (2) a status quo group around the aging
leader Kádár, (3) a moderate reform group led by Károly Grósz interested in eco-
nomic decentralization but little political change, except for an increasingly law-
bound state, and (4) a reform group led by Pozsgay interested in economic, legal,
and political change. Starting in mid-1987 the two party reform factions sup-
ported each other and both used the party mechanisms they controlled to help
build pressure against Kádár.30 Kádár's major challenger was Károly Grósz, who
became prime minister in July 1987. Grósz used this normally weak position as a
28. For Stepan's argument about intrastate conflict and the courtship of civil society, see "State Power
and the Strength of Civil Society in the Southern Cone of Latin America," in Peter Evans, Dietrich
Rueschemeyer, and Theda Skocpol, eds., Bringing the State Back In (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1985), 317-46, and Rethinking Military Politics: Brazil and the Southern Cone (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1988), chaps, l and 3.
29. For Stepan's analysis of a "regime concession and societal conquest" dialectic in Brazil, see his Re-
thinking Military Politics, esp. 39,45-46.
30. It is important to stress that the two reform factions in the party and their numerous technocratic
allies had little to do with a Polish style dichotomous "civil society versus the state" dynamic. In fact, the in-
creased space for civil society groups in Hungary was partly due to numerous networks created by reform-
ers inside the state with civil society. See the important work by X. L. Deng, which recasts traditional think-
ing about "civil society versus the state" in his "Institutional Amphibiousness and the Transition from
Communism: The Case of China," British Journal of Political Science 24 (July 1994): 293-318. Deng correctly
cites the work of the Hungarian social scientist Elemér Hankiss as documenting important instances of "in-
stitutional amphibiousness" in Hungary (p. 301).
platform from which to criticize Kádár in his campaign to be his successor. An ex-
cellent study of the intraparty leadership competition notes that "the Grósz strat-
egy pursued a controlled mobilization and radicalization of the elites to pressure
the Kádárist leadership. . . . Grósz went beyond ideology to seek the advice and
support of party and non-party alike and, in so doing, fatally undermined Kádár's
authority as a national leader."31
One of Grósz's tactical allies in this campaign was his reform rival Pozsgay,
who had great influence over the media. Pozsgay both helped nonparty social
movements gain some access to the media and was in turn helped by them.
Pozsgay attended the important organizational meeting of the Hungarian Dem-
ocratic Forum in September 1987 and ensured the publication of their statement
in a party-controlled newspaper. In fact, Pozsgay actually spoke at the meeting
and urged the attendees to present an alternative program for reform. One
scholar who has studied the transformation of the Hungarian Democratic Forum
(MDF) from a social movement to a political party offers the following judgment:
"The resources provided by Pozsgay through the People's Patriotic Front—orga-
nizational support and access to the media—did play a role in helping the
MDF.... This group might not have undertaken the formation of an organization
without the decisive protection provided by the coalition of party reformers....
This alliance benefited both camps. It gave Pozsgay and his reform colleagues
popular support in the internal [Communist Party] struggle."32
The dynamic between regime concession and societal conquest was dramati-
cally clear in the acceleration of events in early 1989. The Hungarian political sci-
entist, András Körösenyi, graphically captures how an increasingly empowered
civil society and numerous protoparties pushed Hungary's post-totalitarian re-
gime to the brink of an out-of-type political change by recognizing the legitimacy
of multiparty elections.
What pushed events forward was Pozsgay's action at the end of January 1989. Pozsgay recog-
nized that there could be no consensus without the revaluation of the events of 1956. While
Károly Grósz enjoyed the mountains of the Alps in Switzerland, Pozsgay declared in a radio in-
terview that what happened in Hungary in 1956 was not a counter-revolution, as the official
Communist historiography considered the event, but a "national uprising." The effect was dra-
matic. Grósz called together an extraordinary session of the Central Committee of the HSWP
[the Communist Party] in two weeks time. During these two weeks hundreds of social and po-
litical organizations expressed their agreement with Pozsgay, or at least their appreciation of his
statement. Backed by public opinion and the press, Pozsgay and the reformers won the battle.
The Central Committee session of February accepted not only the revaluation of the events of
1956, but the multiparty system as well.33
31. George Schöpflin, Rudolf Tokes, and Ivan Volgyes, "Leadership Change and Crisis in Hungary,"
Problems of Communism (Sept.-Oct. 1988): 34,36.
32. Jenkins, "Movements into Parties," 67,60.
33. András Körösenyi, "The Decay of Communist Rule in Hungary," in Bozoki, Körösenyi, and
Schöpflin, eds., Post-Communist Transition, 6-7.
With the Hungarian Communist Party's acceptance of multiparty elections, es-

pecially with Pozsgay's explicit statement that multiparty competition "entails the
possibility of losing power," a new regime-society relationship had emerged and a
democratic transition was close to being born.34 By our regime criteria of plural-
ism, ideology, mobilization, and leadership, Hungary by February 1989 had already
arrived—before the dramatic events of the Polish election—at the brink of a
boundary change away from post-totalitarianism. The rest is history, well told by
others.35 However, as comparativists we would like to review how Hungary's ma-
ture post-totalitarianism opened up a transition path not available to Czechoslo-
vakia and Bulgaria—or to any other post-totalitarian regime in Eastern Europe. In
table 4.2 we referred to this path as reforma pactada-ruptura pactada.
Most of the elements for understanding why Hungary had this option in the
first place have been presented. However, not all options that are available are
realized. Let us be more explicit about what the reforma pactada-ruptura pactada
requires and why this possible path was actually taken in Hungary.
Four of the most important facilitating conditions for a reforma pactada-
ruptura pactada path are that (i) both moderates in the regime and moderates in
the democratic opposition have some power capacity, (2) both of the above "play-
ers" come to believe that, considering all the alternatives, negotiations are the pre-
ferred alternative, (3) both moderate players have and/or develop strategic and
tactical negotiating capacity, and (4) the moderate players become the dominant
players on their side.
We believe that we have clearly demonstrated that both regime moderates and
democratic opposition moderates had some power capacity. Negotiation became
the preferred possibility for both moderate players because both sides were aware
that they could not triumph by their own efforts alone, both recognized the depth
of the social and economic crisis, and both feared what a repeat of 1956 would do
to their futures. The memory of the Hungarian revolution in fact helped both
moderate sets of players come to the negotiating table and helped make them the
dominant players of their side. László Bruszt and David Stark nicely depict how
the legacy of 1956 affected regime and opposition alike. "For the Communist elite,
34. The Pozsgay quote was in an interview in Magyar Hirlap, an official Communist Party daily, and was
cited in Charles Gati, The Bloc That Failed: Soviet-East European Relations in Transition (Bloomington: In-
diana University Press, 1990), 171. For the symbolic significance of the Pozsgay statement, see András Sajo,
"Round Tables in Hungary" (Center for the Study of Constitutionalism in Eastern Europe, University of
Chicago Law School, working paper, no. 2, August 1991), 5.
35. Three excellent studies are László Bruszt and David Stark, "Remaking the Political Field in Hungary:
From the Politics of Confrontation to the Politics of Competition," in Ivo Banac, ed., Eastern Europe in Rev-
olution (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1992), 13-55; Timothy Carton Ash, We the People: The Revo-
lution of'89 Witnessed in Warsaw, Budapest, Berlin and Prague (London: Granta Books, 1990), 47-60, which
gives a particularly graphic account of how the symbolic and power relations were changed further in the
direction of democrats by Nagy's reburial; and the previously cited book by the Spanish social scientist who
makes interesting comparisons of the Spanish and Hungarian transitions, González Enríquez, Crisis y cam-
bio en Europa del Este, esp. 362-68.
the ghosts of 1956 were the memories of the fury that can be unleashed when so-
ciety has been pushed beyond its limits. It was above all the fear of society that so
deeply inscribed in the Communist leadership an instinct to do everything to
avoid another 1956. As the economic and political crisis deepened throughout
1988, so increased the references to 1956 in party leaders' speeches."36 Likewise, for
much of the democratic opposition, Bruszt and Stark argue,
it was the lesson of the Russian intervention in 1956 that made the leaders of the newly emerg-
ing social and political groups hesitant to question the legitimacy of the regime and to seek, in-
stead, a compromise with its leaders. Mikhail Gorbachev did not automatically alter those cal-
culations, for the limits of his toleration were neither clearly articulated nor yet tested in this
period.... The first clear test of the end of the Brezhnev Doctrine was the Soviets' acceptance
of the non-Communist Mazowiecki government in Poland [August 1989].37
The opposition in early 1989 was made up of numerous parties and social
movements. The regime made an attempt to enter into negotiations with each
fragment of the opposition singly. However, a major step forward in developing
the democratic opposition's negotiating capacity was their refusal to negotiate
singly. They first created their own "Opposition Round Table" on March 23,1989.
The eight groups who participated in the Opposition Round Table represented
conflicting interests and opinions. But, they greatly enhanced their strategic and
tactical bargaining capacity by forging an internal agreement that the central pur-
pose of any round table with the regime should not be about social policies or
sharing power but fundamentally about the details for arriving at a free election
by which future power in Hungary would be determined.38 Unlike any other
Eastern European round table, negotiations were between the regime and an
already constituted political society, not civil society. The political groups had to
reach an agreement among themselves before they could or would negotiate. In
fact, in critical events like the reburial of Nagy, political society convoked and
organized civil society.
When the National Trilateral Negotiations (the Round Table) began, parts of
the regime had not fully accepted the principle of free and competitive elections.
However, in a context where political space was constantly being reconfigured by
the extraordinary outpouring of national sentiment around Nagy's reburial and
the Polish elections, Pozsgay and the Communist Party reformers became domi-
nant within the party and moved toward accepting the uncertainty of democratic
elections.39
36. Bruszt and Stark, "Remaking the Political Field in Hungary," 24, emphasis in original.
37. Ibid., 25.
38. See László Bruszt, "1989: The Negotiated Revolution of Hungary," Social Research (Summer 1990):
365-88, esp. 375; András Bozóki, "Hungary's Road to Systemic Change: The Opposition Round Table," Eastern
European Politics and Societies 7, no. 2 (1993): 276-308, esp. 285; and Sajo, "Round Tables in Hungary," 20-25.
39. László Bruszt, as national secretary of the Democratic League of Trade Unions, was an official par-
ticipant in the Opposition Round Table and the Government-Opposition Round Table. Because he both
At this point we need to pause and explore why the reformers in the Commu-
nist Party could accept the uncertainty of elections as the best alternative and get
many other weighty elements of the party, state managers, and the army to ac-
quiesce in their decision. From the reform Communist viewpoint, a successful
crackdown of the regime, such as that attempted by the coup coalition in the
USSR in August 1991, could well have led to their purge, as in Czechoslovakia in
1968. However, the reform Communists considered that they had a reasonably
good chance to do well in competitive elections. In fact, a June 1989 survey indi-
cated that they would win the first plurality, 26 percent, and that if presidential
elections were held soon no opposition candidate had the name recognition and
support of Pozsgay.40 Even if they did not win the first plurality, there was the
prospect that they could be legitimate contestants in a democratic multiparty sys-
tem. As Bruszt and Stark said of the reform Communists' calculations, "their per-
ceptions of the weakness of the opposition and their assessment of their own elec-
toral prospects gave them confidence With this they made the decisive step of
accepting the principle of 'certain institutions of uncertain outcomes' that is at
the core of liberal democracy."41
Certainly, parts of the party hardline and secret police were not prepared to ac-
cept this uncertainty principle, but a weighty part of the party-state, especially the
state-enterprise managers, who were normally "pragmatic conservatives," had to
make their calculation as to whether it was more in their interest to support a
crackdown or possibly to side with the reform Communists. While we will not go
so far as to argue that the golden parachute possibility of "nomenklatura buyouts"
made state-enterprise managers active coalitional partners with Pozsgay, we do
believe that the state-enterprise managers' good prospects of "converting" their
locational assets as public sector managers into personal economic assets may
help explain their passive acquiescence in the rise of reform Communists within
was a trade union officer and knew some Polish, Bruszt was sent as an observer to the Polish Round Table.
His "1989: The Negotiated Revolution of Hungary" is particularly acute in demonstrating the interactive
comparative dynamics of events in Poland and Hungary and how this dynamic helped the reform Com-
munists become dominant in the Hungarian Socialist Workers (Communist) Party.
40. In the same June 1989 Gallup poll in Hungary, the largest opposition party, the Hungarian Demo-
cratic Forum, received only 9 percent. Most important, as late as the fall of 1989, Pozsgay was convinced that,
because of the lack of name recognition of opposition leaders, he could win a direct presidential election.
For the poll, see Elemér Hankiss, "In Search of a Paradigm," Daedalus (Winter 1990): 206. For a review of a
variety of polls, many of which in 1989 offered some encouragement to Communist reformers, see László
Bruszt and János Simon, "The Change in Citizens' Political Orientations during the Transition to Democ-
racy in Hungary (Reflected by Public Opinion Survey and Electoral Studies, 1990-1991)," (Budapest: Insti-
tute of Political Science, Hungarian Academy of Sciences, 1991). As late as July 6,1989, Sajo characterized the
general opinion of the pro-Prozsgay participants in the round tables as follows: "It was taken for granted that
the winner of the popular presidential elections would be Pozsgay." Sajo, "Round Tables in Hungary," 25.
41. Bruszt and Stark, "Remaking the Political Field in Hungary," 45. Their reference to the "principle of
uncertain outcomes" in their internal quote refers to Adam Przeworksi's "Democracy as a Contingent Out-
come of Conflicts," in Jon Elster and Rune Slagstad, eds., Constitutionalism and Democracy (New York:
Cambridge University Press, 1988), 59-80.
the Communist Party.42 As László Urban argues, the opportunity structure

opened up by the second economy altered their rational choice calculations.
Why did the reformers gain control gradually within the Communist Party and within the gov-
ernment, and why were they not blocked and replaced by conservatives who resisted the trans-
formation? The short answer is that the reformers took over the lead easily because the prag-
matic conservatives let them do that. Why? Because the political supporters of the pragmatic
conservatives, the rent-seekers of the old regime, had their own business to take care of, which
offered high positive returns for them as opposed to organizing political resistance against the
transformation of the system.43
A pioneering survey of new elites shows that for some state managers this cal-
culation turned out to be correct. Eighty-one percent of the new private sector
economic elite in Hungary in 1993 had been employed by the party-state in areas
concerning the economy in 1988 (50 percent in managerial jobs in the state sector
of the economy and 30 percent in economic command posts).44
What about the army? A crackdown, especially one that could not count on the
Soviet army, would probably have had to use the Hungarian army as well as the
Hungarian secret police. But, unlike the Yugoslav Army, with its predominantly
Serbian officer corps, who perceived it to be in their interest actively to support
the war with Croatia and ethnic cleansing in Bosnia-Herzegovina, or the Polish
Army, which was a leading part of the party-state from 1981 to 1989, or the Ro-
manian army, which helped capture the Romanian uprising for the nomen-
klatura, the Hungarian army stayed absolutely neutral during the Hungarian
transition. Once again, given Hungary's recent political history, the army calcu-
lated that a passive acceptance of peaceful negotiated change would not hurt its
interests. János Simon, in one of the first evaluations of the role of the army in the
Hungarian transition in 1989, argues that "in 1956 the [Hungarian] military either
supported the revolution or deserted from the army, but there was no organized
force which supported the Russian invasion.... From the very beginning of the
regime change the demand of the withdrawal of Soviet troops was on the agenda."
The army's gamble paid off in terms of trust. In an annual study of citizens' trust
42. The "passive acquiescent" behavior of Hungarian state managers was not qualitatively different from
the passive acquiescent behavior of capitalist business elites in transitional cases we have discussed such as
Spain, Uruguay, or Chile. In fact, the only transition case in our set, where some entrepreneurs were, for a
while, "active coalitional partners" with the democratic opposition, was in Brazil. See Fernando H. Cardoso,
"Entrepreneurs and the Transition Process: The Brazilian Case," in O'Donnell, Schmitter, and Whitehead,
Transition from Authoritarian Rule: Comparative Perspectives, 137-53.
43. See the previously cited Urban, "Hungarian Transition from a Public Choice Perspective," in Bozóki,
Körösenyi and Schöpflin, Post-Communist Transition, 91-92.
44. However, if one takes the entire group of the old economic elite in 1988, 23.4 percent had experi-
enced downward mobility by 1993 and 47.6 percent were forced into early retirement. See Szonja Szelényi,
Ivan Szelényi, and Imre Kovách, "The Fragmented Hungarian Elites: Circulation in Politics, Reproduction
in Economy," in Ivan Szelényi, Edmund Wnuk-Lipinski, and Donald Treiman, eds., Circulation of Elites?
Old and New Elites in Post-Communist Society, tentative title of a book-length manuscript in process.
in institutions, in every year between 1989 and 1992, the army ranked the highest
of the six institutions polled.45
Given the overall position within the party, the state apparatus, and the army
on the one hand and the politically organized opposition on the other hand, it
should be clear why a reforma pactada-ruptura pactada was not only a possible
path but the actual path.
Let us now briefly look at what the specificities of Hungary's mature post-
totalitarianism implied for the tasks the incoming democratic government and
Parliament had to address before democracy could be consolidated. In table 1.1 we
spelled out how one could conceptualize a consolidated democracy as being com-
posed of five major inter-relating arenas. It might be too early to address the ques-
tion as to whether or not Hungary is democratically consolidated. However, it is
not too early to say that, if one reviews all five polity arenas, Hungary, despite im-
portant stateness problems and civil society representation problems that we will
discuss, had significant advantages vis-à-vis the tasks of consolidation over the
other East European countries that began transitions in 1989.
The first arena we will consider is political society. Unlike any other post-
totalitarian country in Eastern Europe, Hungary's political society had assumed
much of its organizational structure before the transition. In fact, though the
founding election was not held until March 1990, by December 1988, fifteen
months before the election, every one of the six parties that eventually won rep-
resentation in the Hungarian Parliament as a result of the 1990 elections had
already been formed.46 Furthermore, unlike Poland, organized political parties
that were already beginning to make the necessary shift from the unitary we of
civil society to being competitive components of political society were the weight-
iest parts of the opposition in the round table.
From our theoretical and comparative perspective, political society made a
further step toward the capacity to function well in that, unlike the Philippines,
Korea, or any country in Latin America, Hungary selected a pure parliamentary
model of government. Pozsgay wanted a direct election for the presidency before
free elections for the Parliament. In fact, he won support during the round table
from the Hungarian Democratic Forum for a direct election of the president in
November 1989.47 In our judgment, if such an election had occurred, Hungary
45. János Simon, Fieldmarshal's Baton and Peace (Judgements on the Role of the Military in Hungary dur-
ing the Regime-Change between 1988-1992) (Budapest: Erasmus Foundation for Democracy, 1993), quote
from 7-8, poll data found in table 3.
46. For tables on votes and seats, see András Körösenyi, "The Hungarian Parliamentary Election, 1990,"
in Bozóki, Körösenyi and Schöpflin, Post-Communist Transition, 72-81. In fact, these same six parties were
the only parties returned to Parliament after the 1994 elections. No new parties entered Parliament. No old
parties were eliminated. See Attila Ágh and Sándor Kurtán, "The 1990 and 1994 Parliamentary Elections in
Hungary: Continuity and Change in the Political System," in Attila Ágh and Sándor Kurtán, eds., Democ-
ratization and Europeanization in Hungary: The First Parliament, ¡990-1994 (Budapest: Hungarian Centre
for Democracy Studies, 1995), 13-26.
47. See Bruszt and Stark, "Remaking the Political Field in Hungary," 48-50.
would have had a semipresidential form of government with some of the atten-
dant problems of this form of governance. Likewise, the constitutional revision
process, the first free parliamentary elections, and the government formation
process all might have been complicated somewhat by a sitting president legiti-
mated by direct election. In the event, two democratic opposition parties (the Al-
liance for Free Democrats and the Young Democrats) were sufficiently well orga-
nized and sufficiently capable of strategic and tactical behavior that they were able
to gather the constitutionally mandated number of signatures for a referendum,
one of whose five items was whether parliamentary elections should be held
before or after the president was elected. After a spirited campaign, the "parlia-
mentary elections first" option won by a narrow margin. The newly elected Par-
liament, after deliberations, then decided to elect the president indirectly.48
The contrast between Hungary and Poland concerning the arena of political
society is extremely sharp. The Hungarian Round Table agreement did not lead
to a power-sharing formula but to direct popular elections of the Parliament. The
early structuring of political parties and the relatively unconstrained negotiations
led to free and competitive elections in March and April 1990, whereas in Poland
the first fully competitive parliamentary elections were not held until October
1991. This meant that in Poland the democratic parties suffered the consequences
of assuming the responsibilities of government twenty-one months before free
parliamentary elections.49
Hungary did not have the constitution-making formula that we argued in
chapter 5 was optimal, in that a new constitution was not made by a freely elected
legislature or constituent assembly and then submitted to a referendum. Rather,
all of the major parties during the round table and the two major democratic par-
ties in a pact after the parliamentary elections heavily amended the existing con-
stitution to make it workable.50 However, in a context where political parties al-
48. The above discussion was informed by an interview of Alfred Stepan with János Kis, Budapest, July 5,
1991, and the previously cited articles by Bozóki and by Bruszt and Stark.
49. This may help account for the fact that, whereas in Poland voter turnout was reported as 42 percent
for the first free parliamentary election, in Hungary the first round of the parliamentary elections in March
1990 had a reported voter turnout of 63 percent. Also, in Poland "commentators blamed the low turnout
on disaffection with the Solidarity led government's draconian economic austerity measures . .. and on
confusion about the programmes of the more than 80 competing political parties and dozens of associa-
tions." See Kessings Record of World Events: 1990, 37464-65, 37325, respectively, quotation from p. 37465.
However, we would like to note that the number of parties appearing on the ballot in almost all "founding
elections" is normally extremely large. In most cases the voters quickly whittle them down, as they did in
Hungary. In fact, in Hungary fifty-four parties were registered in 1989, of which only twelve managed to
satisfy the requirements, intelligently established, to appear on the national list. Indeed, only nineteen par-
ties even presented provincial lists. The earlier structuring of political society in Hungary allowed, in con-
trast to Poland, a reasonably well-structured party system to emerge. See González Enríquez, Crisis ycom-
bio en Europa del Este, 149-50, and Körösenyi, "The Hungarian Parliamentary Election, 1990," 74-81.
50. For the constitution-amending process and its results, see Andrew Arato, "Legitimation and Con-
stitution Making in Hungary" (paper prepared for the American Sociological Society Annual Meeting,
Miami Beach, August 16,1993), and András Bozóki, "Political Transition and Consolidated Change in Hun-
gary," in Bozóki, Körösenyi and Schöpflin, Post-Communist Transition, 60-71.
ready existed and where there was no sitting elected president to pre-empt deci-
sions, the debate about possible governing formulas was broadly informed by
modern European democratic constitutional thinking and practice.51 While sub-
optimal, Hungary's approach rapidly produced the rules of the game for political
society, a rule of law, and procedures for adjudicating a hierarchy of governmen-
tal and state authority. Hungary never had constitutional impasse of the sort we
analyzed for Poland and will analyze for Czechoslovakia, the USSR, and Russia.
Likewise, while Hungary's constitution-making process lacks the full "origin
legitimacy" of a voted constituent assembly or the "ratification legitimacy" of a
referendum on the constitution, the relatively consensual process of amending
the constitution avoided a sense of "majoritarian imposition," which, as we will
see, led significant minorities in Bulgaria and Romania to question the legitimacy
of the constitution. Hungary also did not face the decisional paralysis produced
by the fictive soviet-type federal system that contributed to the disintegration of
the former USSR, Czechoslovakia, and Yugoslavia. Finally, Hungary's hierarchy of
legal authority precluded a war of laws like the one that plagued Gorbachev's
USSR and Yeltsin's Russia. Nonetheless, the fact that Hungary had amended a
Communist-made constitution, rather than creating a new one, was still a source
of political conflicts in 1995.
In the arena of economic society, property laws, contract laws, capital market,
and banking structures, all had an earlier pretransition start in Hungary than in
any other country in Eastern Europe. Much of the regulatory framework for what
we call an institutionalized economic society was in place before the first demo-
cratically elected government of Prime Minister Antall assumed office. As one
analyst has summed up,
The actions of the old regime made matters much easier for the Antall government: the legal-
ization of the second economy wherein resided the entrepreneurial skills which would put
Hungary at a comparative advantage vis-à-vis the other East European countries after the po-
litical transition; the launching of a capital market and a commercial banking system capable
of providing the intermediary services vital to the privatization effort; the establishment of the
legal mechanisms necessary for the launching of new private firms and the transformation of
51. In the constitution-amending process, Hungary adopted the famous German (and later Spanish)
"constructive vote of confidence" formula, which helps avoid excessive government instability in that a vote
of no confidence can pass only if there exists a positive majority for an alternative government. Hungary
also created a strong constitutional court, which on a number of occasions has checked the government's
tendency to abuse its majority. On the constitutional court see Ethan Klingsberg, "Hungary: Safeguarding
the Transition," East European Constitutional Review 2, no. 2 (1993): 44-48. The electoral law they designed
also helps avoid excessive party fragmentation because some districts are single member and other districts
have proportional representation based on a high 4 percent threshold. However, unlike the German law,
which ensures the election of individual candidates in the districts and a reasonable level of proportional-
ity at the national level, the Hungarian law makes possible a significant over-representation of the most suc-
cessful party or parties. This element of over-representation contributed to what Douglas Rae would call a
"manufactured majority" in the 1994 election.
existing state enterprises into private ownership forms; the enactment of the most forgiving
foreign investment laws in existence in Eastern Europe.52
In the above quotation it is not just the size of the second economy that is crit-
ical, but that this new market is part of an institutionalized and thus more pre-
dictable framework. Our statement about Hungary's relatively developed eco-
nomic society is not merely our academic judgment. Self-interested financial
leaders will buy bonds at low premiums only if they believe that the risk is ac-
ceptable. An institutionalized economic society helps produce this lower risk en-
vironment. Two of the most influential assessors of comparative "sovereign risk"
are Moody's Investors Service and Standard and Poor's. Amazingly, within just
three years of Hungary's 1990 elections, in all of Latin America (countries with a
long background of capitalist economies and erratic economic societies), only
Chile was accorded a higher credit rating than Hungary.53 Foreign investors also
made a very positive assessment of Hungary's comparative attractiveness. In 1991,
for example, they invested as much money in Hungary as they did in the rest of
Eastern Europe combined.54
Concerning the question of a usable state apparatus, as in every East European
country there were some demands to purge former members of the nomenklatura
and the security apparatus. Given Hungary's relatively open educational system,
which permitted many policy specialists to visit or teach routinely in Western Eu-
rope or the United States, the high level of informal contacts between party re-
formers and many parts of the democratic opposition, and the fact that the Hun-
garian state had become increasingly subject to economic processes, institutions,
and a regulatory framework, the societal demand for revolutionary purges and ex
post facto justice was substantially lower in Hungary, as we shall see, than in a
frozen post-totalitarian country such as Czechoslovakia. In these circumstances
most technical experts and even judges were considered usable by much of the new
52. See David Bartlett, "The Political Economy of Privatization: Property Reform and Democracy in
Hungary," East European Politics and Societies (winter 1992): 73-118, citation from 104-5.
53. On Standard and Poor's finely tuned twenty-one-grade scale ranging from the most creditworthy
ranking of AAA to D (for default), Chile had a BBB and Hungary was one rung lower at BB+. Mexico tied
Hungary with BB+. Oil-rich but politically troubled Venezuela was given a lower rating of BB. Brazil, Ar-
gentina, and Russia were unranked. Moody's uses a somewhat different formula but ranked Hungary three
grades above Argentina and four grades above Brazil. Hungary's ratings are all the more impressive when
one remembers that in 1988 Hungary had a per capita foreign debt more than twice as high as Brazil's; see
John F. H. Purcell et al., "Rating of Sovereign, Sovereign-supported, Local Government, and Supranational
Issuers" (New York: Solomon Brothers, January 8,1993). The ratings in our text are taken from a June 16,
1993, update of the above document.
54. Hungary has only 10 percent of Eastern Europe's population, but was the recipient of more foreign
private capital in 1991—over $1.4 billion worth—than all the other countries in the region combined. Dirk
W. Damrau, "The Role of Foreign Investment in East European Privatization: Hungary, Poland and
Czechoslovakia," in John R. Lampe, ed., Creating Capital Markets in Eastern Europe (Baltimore: Johns Hop-
kins University Press, 1992), 33-46, quote from p. 44.
democratic government. A qualified purge law was passed by the Parliament but
overturned by the Constitutional Court.55 In 1993 there were further efforts in Par-
liament to pass ex post facto "lustration" laws, but their focus was largely restricted
to those who had played major coercive roles in the 1956 revolution.56
Three factors that helped Hungary handle the potential crisis of the state due
to excessive lustration laws deserve special mention. First, all political actors, in-
cluding the former Communists, who participated in the negotiated transition to
democracy via the round tables acquired at least some political capital, a source
of political capital not generated for the former Communists in frozen post-
totalitarian Czechoslovakia, where the regime, as we shall see, simply collapsed.
Second, the indirectly elected president Arpad Gönz, whose office and power had
its ultimate legitimization in the freely elected Parliament, skillfully and authori-
tatively used his constitutionally granted moderating powers to refer doubtful
legislation to the Constitutional Court. Third, the Constitutional Court acted
within its charter and maintained its legitimacy and authority even though it re-
versed more parliamentary laws than is the norm in Western European consoli-
dated democracies.
The last of our five arenas is civil society. Here we have a bit of a paradox. Some
Hungarian analysts called 1988 the year of civil society and 1989 the year of polit-
ical society.57 This should have prepared the ground for a mutually supportive re-
lationship of the type we discussed in chapter i. However, political society after
1989 effectively demobilized civil society. The parliamentary majority of the gov-
ernment was sufficiently strong in 1990-93 that they tended to neglect inputs
from civil society. The government also blocked legislation that would have al-
lowed wider civil control of and access to the media. We agree with those analysts
such as Arato who believe that Hungarian democracy would be improved by the
creation of more effective and more diverse ways for civil society to exercise a me-
diating effect on political society. Many potentially important interests, such as
social democratic constituencies, were not really represented in the opposition
parties that emerged during the transition.58
55. See the special forum on the Hungarian Constitutional Court decision that overturned the retroac-
tivity law in East European Constitutional Review (summer 1992): 17-22.
56. See Edith Oltay, "Hungary Attempts to Deal with Its Past," RFE/RL Research Report 2, no. 18 (1993):
6-10.
57. This phrase was intended to call attention to the rapid growth of civil society in 1988 and to its sub-
sequent immediate conversion into political society in 1989. As Bruszt and Stark explain, "the transition
from social movements to political parties could be measured in months rather than years." They go on to
explain that the leaders' mobilization of civil society against the state "was brief; and the week that this mo-
bilization crescendoed on June 16,1989, was the same week that it began rapidly to subside. The summer of
1989 was not a season of organizing society but of negotiating with other political parties." Bruszt and Stark,
"Remaking the Political Field in Hungary," 52-53.
58. See, for example, the discussion of why the social democratic constituency was under-represented
in Tamas Kolosi, Iván Szelényi, Szonja Szelényi, and Bruce Western, "The Making of Political Fields in Post-
Communist Transition (Dynamics of Class and Party in Hungarian Politics, 1989-1990)," in Bozoki,
Körösenyi, and Schopflin, eds., Post-Communist Transition, 132-62.
There is a debate in Hungary as to whether this civil society-political society

imbalance is reversible. János Simon reviewed some public opinion questions
that were asked in 1985,1989, and 1991. Two findings struck us as particularly im-
portant. First, on all twelve issue areas polled citizens wanted more from the gov-
ernment in 1991 than in 1985. Second, in an impressive continuing upward trend,
citizens increasingly said that, if their interests were violated, they "could do
something about it" at the local and the national level.59 If the media are free, if
people have the right to organize, and if elections are fair, future elections may
provide an opportunity for an improved representation of civil society within po-
litical society.
Let us close our discussion of Hungary with a word about stateness. At the
Treaty of Trianon in 1920, Hungary was severely truncated. Hungary lost two-
thirds of its former territory, three-fifths of the total prewar population, and one-
third of the Hungarian-speaking population.60 Hungarians living under nation-
alist governments in Romania, Slovakia, and Serbian-controlled Vojvodina are a
constant issue in Hungarian politics. For democrats, the issue is the advocacy of
the human rights of Hungarians living abroad. For some of the rightist national-
ists, it is a question of irredenta, as it was for German and Austrian rightists dur-
ing the interwar years. The potential for delegitimating a democratic government
if it does not "protect" all Hungarians and for system blame politics based on ir-
redenta was real. Some of the greatest struggles within the ruling coalition of
1990-94 revolved around this issue. A vice-president, István Csurka, of the major
party in the coalition, the Hungarian Democratic Forum, issued a racist mani-
festo.61 In a less politically developed environment, the government probably
would have turned to an increasingly nationalist and nondemocratic course.62
Indeed, the Hungarian Democratic Forum equivocated and was slow to respond
to Csurka's provocation. Eventually, with the standing of the Hungarian Demo-
cratic Forum in the opinion polls at an all-time low, elections looming in 1994,
and a desire to be "coalitionable," the ruling party expelled the racist-nationalist
faction's leader, Csurka.
With a war on their border, refugees in their cities, anxiety about maintaining
their standard of living, and pressure from the European Union for minority
59. János Simon, "Post-paternalist Political Culture in Hungary: Relationships between Citizens and
Politics during and after the 'Melancholic Revolution" (1989-1991)," Communist and Post-Communist Stud-
ies (June 1993): 226-38.
60. Joseph Rothschild, East Central Europe between the Two World Wars (Seattle: University of Wash-
ington Press, 1974), 155.
61. See Edith Oltay, "Hungarian Democratic Forum Rent by Dispute over Extremists," RFE/RL Research
Report i, no. 47 (1992). George Soros effectively challenged Csurka's declaration both inside Hungary and
on the op-ed page of the New York Times.
62. Only Romania, which has manipulated Hungarian threats, scored higher on the sense of threat from
neighboring countries in the survey of the countries reported in Richard Rose and Christian Haerpfer,
"Adapting to Transformation in Eastern Europe: New Democracies Barometer—II," Studies in Public Pol-
icy, no. 212 (1993): table 19.
3i6 Post-Communist Europe
treaties with their neighbors, irredentist nationalism that could lead to internal
and external conflict did not look like a winning electoral formula in Hungary.
In fact, in the 1994 parliamentary elections, the two extreme nationalist parties,
Csurka's Hungarian Truth and Life Party and the Green Party, received 1.6 percent
and 0.7 percent of the vote, respectively, and did not get into Parliament. This vote
was less than a fifth of the number of votes extreme right-nationalist parties had
received in France in 1993 or in Italy in 1994.63
Despite the 1994 election results, it would be a mistake to believe that nation-
alist and stateness issues will disappear from the political agenda in Hungary.
These issues will no doubt reappear in a more modern form and may affect the
quality of democracy in Hungary, but in our judgment they will probably not
stop democracy from being consolidated. Mature post-totalitarian and now dem-
ocratic Hungary has managed its stateness problem reasonably well.
C Z E C H O S L O V A K I A : T R A N S I T I O N BY THE C O L L A P S E
OF "FROZEN" P O S T - T O T A L I T A R I A N I S M
The Czech lands of modern Czechoslovakia, as a component of the Austrian

part of the Habsburg Empire, had one of the strongest traditions of law in East-
ern Europe. Czechoslovakia, until its partition and occupation by Germany in the
aftermath of the Munich Agreement, was also the only country in Eastern Europe
to experience uninterrupted democracy from its independence in 1918 until 1938.
Finally, Czechoslovakia also had the most developed industry and the most fully
literate population in Eastern Europe.64 This pre-Communist legacy and the fact
that Prague is west of Vienna and is the Central European capital closest to Berlin,
the de facto political center of Europe, means that the homogeneous Czech Re-
public, its stateness problem behind it, has reasonably good prospects to become
a developed, democratic member of Western Europe.
However, Czechoslovakia, in sharp contrast to Hungary, was not able to have a
negotiated transition. After ten days of public demonstrations, the regime simply
collapsed. The provisional government that emerged from the Velvet Revolution
had strong antipolitics tendencies and rejected an opportunity to develop state-
wide political parties. Likewise, the provisional government was sufficiently un-
interested in the formal structures of decision making that it did not focus on
63. In France, Le Pen's National Front received 12.4 percent of the votes in the first round parliamentary
elections in 1993. In Italy, the neofascist National Alliance, formerly known as the Italian Social Movement,
received 13.5 percent of the direct PR votes in Italy's 1994 parliamentary elections, as reported in Kessings
Record of World Events: 1993,39381-82, and 1994, 39918-20, respectively.
64. For an appreciative comparative assessment of law and democracy in interwar Czechoslovkia, see
Jacques Rupnik, The Other Europe (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1988), 3-23, esp. 13-18. In terms of
an overall industrial complex, the Bohemian—or Czech-lands—part of the Austro-Hungarian empire was
more advanced than the Austrian part.
changing the fictive Soviet-style federal constitution until it was too late to rene-
gotiate and save the federation. Finally, the elected Parliament of Czechoslovakia
passed one of the most morally and democratically dubious pieces of ex post
facto state purging legislation in all of East Europe.65 To understand why and how
the above events occurred, it is important to analyze certain central characteris-
tics of the rulers and the democratic opposition in Czechoslovakia's frozen post-
totalitarian regime.
Let us first look at the rulers. Alone in Eastern Europe, the Communist Party in
the interwar years enjoyed the legal right to participate in the political system. In-
deed, in Czechoslovakia, Skilling says the party was regarded as a "legitimate heir of
Austrian social democracy."66 After 1941 the Czechoslovak Communists supported
the Soviet efforts to fight the Nazi occupation. Both the Soviet Union and the local
Communist Party emerged from World War II in a vastly more favorable light in
Czechoslovakia than they did in Poland. In fact, in the first free parliamentary elec-
tions in the postwar period the Communists emerged with a plurality of 38 per-
cent.67 The Communist Party thus had a strong base to build on in Czechoslovakia.
After the 1948 Communist coup, Czechoslovaks became subject to extensive
repression which "left the country as, arguably, the most Stalinist of all the peo-
ples democracies." This dogmatic Czechoslovakian Stalinism endured intact after
Stalin's death. As late as 1957 the party chief denounced the word destalinization
as being synonymous with "weakness and yielding to the forces of reaction."68
The historically somewhat weak (especially in the Czech lands) Catholic Church
was subject to more systematic and effective repression than in any other country
in Eastern Europe.69
65. The comparison with Hungary is captured on the cover title page of East European Constitutional
Review (Spring 1992): "Backward-looking Justice in Czechoslovakia" and "Forward-looking Justice in Hun-
gary." The campaign in Czechoslovakia is called lustration; its Latin roots lie in the concept of "purifying"
sacrifice. The law was denounced by most international legal and human rights groups. A major source for
the compilation of the lists of collaborators came from the Ministry of Interior files of people they ap-
proached to collaborate. If a person's name appeared in the files, there was a near presumption of guilt.
Only those accused of the lower level of collaboration had a right of appeal. Higher level Communist offi-
cials had few appeal rights. See Vojtech Cepl, "Ritual Sacrifices," East European Constitutional Review
(Spring 1992): 24-26. For a strong critique from a human rights perspective, see the article by the executive
director of the Helsinki Watch Committee, Jeri Laber, New York Review of Books, April 23,1992. For a com-
parative analysis of Czechoslovakia's particularly dubious lustration procedures, see Herman Schwartz,
"Lustration in Eastern Europe," Parker School Journal of East European Law i, no. 2 (1994): 141-71.
66. See H. Gordon Skilling, Czechoslovakia's Interrupted Revolution (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 1976), 3-10, quote on p. 6.
67. For the comparative strength of the Czechoslovak Communists after World War II, see Rothschild,
Return to Diversity, 89-97, and Jan Urban, "The Politics of Power and Humiliation," in Tim D. Whipple, ed.,
After the Velvet Revolution: Vaclav Havel and the New Leaders of Czechoslovakia Speak Out (New York: Free-
dom House, 1991), esp. 269-70.
68. Both of the above quotes are from Rothschild, Return to Diversity, 166.
69. For the regime's comprehensive five-part strategy to control the Catholic Church and the church's
slight recovery after 1986, see Sabrina Petra Ramet, "The Catholic Church in Czechoslovakia, 1948-1991,"
Studies in Comparative Communism (Dec. 1991): 377-93. In a ten-country survey in 1993, the Czech-lands
had the second highest percentage of respondents who "never" or "rarely" go to church (68 percent). This
With Moscow's initial approval, a Slovak leader, Alexander Dubcek, in 1968

began a cautious party-led effort at reform that rapidly emerged as the peaceful
and still party-led Prague Spring. But Soviet tanks, leading troops from some of
the Warsaw Pact countries, crushed the Prague Spring and began the era of the
Brezhnev Doctrine.70 From 1969 to 1989 the major leader, first as secretary-
general of the party and later as president, was Gustav Husák. He was a much less
flexible and compromising leader than Kádár in Hungary. Indeed, the aftermath
of the Prague Spring led to probably the largest purge of Communist Party mem-
bership in the history of Eastern Europe. Approximately one-third of the party
quit or were purged. Reform-minded Communists, if they remained in the party
at all, were, in sharp contrast to Hungary, quiet and marginalized.71
Again in sharp contrast to Hungary, the party-state adhered to economic or-
thodoxy. Pretransition Czechoslovakia never tried any market or reform experi-
ments. It therefore borrowed little from the West and thus was not subject to the
debt-based pressure for economic and political reforms that Poland and Hungary
experienced.72 After 1968, university life in Czechoslovakia, especially in the social
sciences, experienced almost none of the pockets of vitality, excellence, and activ-
ity one could normally find in Poland, Hungary, or Slovenia. Lacking the citizen-
ship in a developed democracy available to all East Germans in West Germany, the
mass exit option as a trigger to regime decomposition was also not present.73
Total identification of Husák with the Brezhnev Doctrine and the lack of reforms
within the party made the Czechoslovakian party resistant to Gorbachev's thinking.
The area where the regime was furthest from the totalitarian ideal type was in
the degree of pluralism—especially for some expression of dissent by civil society.
The Soviet Union and thus even Czechoslovakia signed the Helsinki Final Act
in 1975 as one of the thirty-five member states of the Conference on Security
and Cooperation. All signatories to the Helsinki accord agreed to international
monitoring of human rights. Czechoslovakia's adhesion to the Helsinki accords
opened up an organizational opportunity for the human rights activists in
contrasts dramatically with Poland, where the comparable figure was 16 percent. See Rose and Haerpfer,
"Adapting to Transformation in Eastern Europe," table 35. In the same survey, by almost a factor of two, the
Czech Republic had the highest percentage of nonbelievers (47 percent). Poland and Romania had the low-
est percentage of nonbelievers (2 percent). Ibid., table 34.
70. The classic book on the Prague Spring is Skilling, Czechoslovakia's Interrupted Revolution.
71. One of the leaders of Civic Forum in the Velvet Revolution was Jan Urban. His father had once been
a high-ranking member of the Central Committee of the Communist Party. Urban writes that after the So-
viet invasion "about a half a million Party members were purged and about 800,000 lost their jobs. From
that moment on, the CPCz (Communist Party of Czechslovakia) established itself in opposition to the na-
tionalist and humanist forces within society... . This party could no longer reform. Henceforth, it could
only control the people through corruption and fear. The word 'reform' became a curse." See Urban, "Pol-
itics of Power and Humiliation," 276.
72. Kornai, The Socialist System, 427.
73. Albert O. Hirschman, "Exit, Voice, and the Fate of the German Democratic Republic: An Essay in
Conceptual History," World Politics 45, no. 2 (1993): 173-202.
Czechoslovakia.74 Groups like Charter 77 and the Committee for the Defense of
the Unjustly Persecuted continued to function, despite regular jailings, more or
less continuously from 1977-78 until the Velvet Revolution.75 Unlike Hungary,
post-totalitarianism did not evolve toward any out-of-type change but, in return
for acquiescence, the regime made few attempts to mobilize enthusiasm.
Thus far, because we dealt first with authoritarian Poland and mature post-
totalitarian Hungary, we have not really described the texture and atmosphere of
post-totalitarian cultural life, although in chapter 3 we discussed the characteris-
tic post-totalitarian retreat from politics and hollowing of ideology. In the fol-
lowing pages we will therefore quote at length from two eloquent writers, Vaclav
Havel and Timothy Garton Ash, who discuss what "living a lie" under frozen post-
totalitarian meant both for the limits of the regime and for the organizational
limits of a political opposition.76 We say frozen to capture the notion that the
regime was neither in the early months of post-totalitarianism (as Bulgaria was in
1989 concerning pluralism) or evolving toward a possible out-of-type change
from mature post-totalitarianism (as in Hungary in the late 19805). Czechoslo-
vakia was a frozen, post-totalitarian-by-decay regime from 1968 to 1989 and in
some small areas was post-totalitarian by societal conquest.
The most significant dissident group in post-totalitarian Czechoslovakia was
the Charter 77, whose members, though completely peaceful, were often jailed.77
One of the founding Chartist leaders, the playwright Vaclav Havel, wrote of the
"parallel culture" of independent thinkers who tried to "live in truth." In 1981 ten
million Poles had inscribed in the legally recognized independent trade union.
Havel, writing in 1984, the year before Gorbachev came to power, spoke of the
"hundreds, possibly thousands of people of all sorts and conditions—young, old,
gifted, untalented, believers, nonbelievers—gathered under the umbrella of 'par-
allel culture,' [who] were led to it exclusively by the incredible narrow-minded-
ness of a regime which tolerated practically nothing."78
Timothy Garton Ash, the Oxford historian, also writing in 1984, nicely captures
the frozen post-totalitarian dimension of Czechoslovakia. Whereas a totalitarian
regime makes an intense effort at a "mobilization of enthusiasms," Garton Ash,
74. For the importance of the Helsinki Rights Accords for democratization in Eastern Europe, see
Samuel P. Huntington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century (Norman: Univer-
sity of Oklahoma Press, 1991), 89-94.
75. For a useful inventory of these independent groups, see the Helsinki Watch report, Toward Civil So-
ciety: Independent Initiatives in Czechoslovakia (New York: Helsinki Watch, 1989).
76. Nothing can convey better what frozen totalitarianism means than the writings of Vaclav Havel and
Timothy Garton Ash which we shall refer to. We now realize that our term "frozen" is an echo of one of the
essays of Garton Ash called "Czechoslovakia under the Ice."
77. For an excellent discussion of the early history of Charter 77, see H. Gordon Skilling, Charter 77 and
Human Rights in Czechoslovkia (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1981).
78. Vaclav Havel, "Six Asides about Culture" (1984), in Jan Vladislav, ed., Vaclav Havel: Living in Truth
(London: Faber and Faber, 1986), 128.
following the great Czech writer Milan Kundera, called Husák "the President of
Forgetting." "Forgetting is the key to the so called normalization of Czechoslovakia.
In effect, the regime has said to the people: Forget 1968. Forget your democratic
traditions. Forget you were once citizens with rights and duties. Forget politics. In
return we give you a comfortable life We don't ask you to believe in us or our
fatuous ideology. All we ask is that you will outwardly and publicly conform."79
The leadership, far from having a charismatic leader and change-oriented
party militants of the totalitarian ideal type, was pure careerist post-totalitarian.
Carton Ash writes, "the Party is little more than a union for self-advancement
The country's politics are frozen into immobility—a fifteen-year Winter after one
Prague Spring— No impulses of reform come from the purged, cowed, and cor-
rupt apparat. Younger party leaders are devastatingly critical—but cynically and
in private, while most Czechs do not look to the Party for anything at all I have
never been in a country where politics, and indeed the whole of public life, is a
matter of such supreme indifference."80
Havel captures the lack of real political pluralism and the inauthenticity and
boredom of membership in what had once been a party organization of mo-
bilization. "In societies under the post-totalitarian system, all political life in the
traditional sense has been eliminated. . . . The gap that results is filled by ideo-
logical ritual. In such a situation, people's interest in political matters naturally
dwindles.... Individuals need not believe all their mystification, but they must
behave as though they did.... they must live within a lie."81
In his famous letter to Dr. Gustav Husák, Havel raises almost all the themes of
post-totalitarianism we discussed in chapter 3; he talks of "self-alienation," of the
"principle of dissimulation," of "political apartheid," of the "escape from the
sphere of public activity which the authorities welcome."82 The hope Havel holds
out is that the parallel culture may grow because it inevitably must be in perma-
nent tension with the "first culture" of the post-totalitarian party state. He also
holds out the prospect that "power shifts at the center of the bloc can influence
conditions."83
Writing in 1984, Timothy Carton Ash knew that a Polish "self-organizing" so-
ciety could not develop in Czechoslovakia but, like Havel, he held out hope for an
externally initiated change.
Of course the Chartists see that a Czech Solidarity is as likely as fire under ice. But they also see
that the development of the samizdat counterculture, and the growing alienation of private
79. Timothy Carton Ash, "Czechoslovakia under the Ice" in The Uses of Adversity: Essays on the Fate of
Central Europe (New York: Random House, 1989), 62. Emphasis in original.
80. Ibid., 63.
81. Vaclav Havel et al., The Power of the Powerless: Citizens against the State in Central-Eastern Europe
(Armark, N.Y.: M.E. Sharpe, 1985), quotes from pp. 49 and 31.
82. Havel, "Letter to Dr Gustav Husák," in Vladislav, Vaclav Havel: Living in Truth, 3-35.
83. Vaclav Havel, "The Power of the Powerless," in Vladislav, Vaclav Havel: Living in Truth, 105.
opinion, combined with economic and political stagnation, have begun at least to make the ice
mushy on the underside. If ever a real thaw comes—from above? After change in Moscow?...
They know from their own experience in 1968 ... how suddenly a society that seems atomized,
apathetic, and broken can be transformed into an articulate, united civil society. How private
opinion can become public opinion. How a nation can stand on its feet again. And for this they
are working and waiting, under the ice.84
Let us now turn back to the dissidents. How were they living under the ice? A
number of groups besides Charter 77 emerged in 1988 and 1989, but none of them
could be considered an organized political opposition. They were protest groups
in civil society. In comparison to Poland they were only, of course, a minute frac-
tion of the population. In comparison to the social movements in Hungary, which
turned into political parties by late 1988, they were small, unorganized, and anti-
political. Jan Urban, a leading dissident in Charter 77, in a self-critical article writ-
ten on the eve of the secession of Slovakia, observed that,
in the summer of 1989 we received a copy of a secret paper for party propagandists, based on
an analysis the StB (the Czechoslovak secret police) had prepared for the Politburo. In it, the
StB estimated the hard core of "anti-socialist opposition groups" to consist of about sixty peo-
ple with some five hundred supporters and collaborators. Their estimate was right. And it re-
mained right.... We believed in the regime's invincibility until it collapsed on its own. We did
not know how to organize ourselves to form a political opposition. . . . We did not know the
non-society we lived with. All we knew was our enemy and he—spiteful bastard—all of a sud-
den ran away. Without him we were left alone with an unknown atomized non-society—and
with power over it. Had the Communists been able to bargain longer, or had they tried to re-
sist, the new power elite would have learned at least something about how to organize political
support and how important it is to institutionalize it. ... Blinded by the easiness of taking
power, we did not think about its nature and institutions Because of our own anti-political
way of existing as political creatures before the change, we were bound to lose—unless we our-
selves changed into politicians. By now we know we have failed.85
These quotations give some insight into why, as we argued in chapter 3, a frozen
post-totalitarian regime is one in which collapse, rather than negotiation, is a
more likely transition path and why the opposition, surprised by its unexpected
success, normally has not developed an articulated political approach.
We have now said enough to allow us to analyze why Czechoslovakia, unlike
Hungary, did not have a reforma pactada-ruptura pactada. Mature post-totalitar-
ian Hungary met the two necessary (and the four facilitating) conditions for such
a pact. Frozen post-totalitarian Czechoslovakia met none. In particular, the
Czechoslovak hard-line regime gave no space for reformist moderates in the
party-state. Likewise the opposition, while a great moral presence, had no nego-
84. Ash, "Czechoslovakia under the Ice," 70.

85. Jan Urban, "The Powerlessness of the Powerful" (Prague, Nov. 1992, unpublished manuscript), 22,
emphasis added.
tiating capacity with the regime and indeed was not institutionally organized to
conduct strategic and tactical negotiations.
A second dimension of our intra-post-totalitarian comparison relates to dif-
ferences between Czechoslovakia and Bulgaria. Why did the Czechoslovakian
regime collapse (as the above quote from Urban indicates), whereas, as we will
demonstrate, the Bulgarian regime, via a complex process of adjustment, repres-
sion, and negotiation, was able to control the transition? For us, the operative
word in the above sentence is collapse.
Regime collapse is a phenomenon that we believe needs much more concep-
tual and empirical work. Collapse can be counterposed both to being overthrown
and to transition through negotiation. Collapse is different from a regime over-
throw in that there is no storming of the seats of power and no occupation of the
television station, the governmental buildings, the army bases, or the communi-
cation network, either by the military in a coup or by revolutionary activists and
masses. There is no arrest, shooting, or immediate flight of the regime leaders try-
ing to save themselves from their opponents, who take over power proclaiming a
provisional government, a national salvation junta, or a military junta. Conse-
quently there is no violence.
Regime collapse is also different from our model of negotiated reform and
transition in that the incumbents cannot negotiate the conditions under which
they will leave power. They cannot impose rules governing the transition, delay
the process significantly, or exercise some control of the future. They cannot do
so because they believe that, if they should attempt to hold power until an elec-
tion, they will provoke an immediate outburst of popular anger or a coup. In-
cumbents no longer believe they can count on the coercive apparatus to support
them. In addition, on the side of the democratic opposition, there is no reason to
negotiate conditions for the transition because they are convinced of their over-
whelming relational power. Collapse is the result of rigidity, ossification, and loss
of responsiveness of elites that does not allow them to make timely decisions an-
ticipating crises and change.86 Rather than being a step ahead of the demands of
opposition, the regime is forced to respond on the march, like the GDR leader-
ship, or on the spot, as in Czechoslovakia. In both cases incumbents lost so much
control that the best descriptive phrase of the transition is "regime collapse."
Our hypothesis, therefore, is that regimes collapse, not so much due to exter-
nal forces, but in those circumstances where, when the regime is challenged, mul-
tiple and almost simultaneous defections occur within the interior of the state,
particularly within the middle levels of the coercive apparatus.87 To explain such
86. For the critical role of timing in regime change, see Juan J. Linz, "II fattore tempo nei mutamenti di
regime," Teoría Política 2, no. i (1986): 3-47.
87. We believe that two of the most prominent examples of this are Czechoslovakia and East Germany.
Fortunately, David V. Friedman of Yale University is writing a dissertation on the collapse in East Germany,
which promises to be an important contribution. His preliminary findings were reported in "Regime Col-
a phenomenon of collapse, the concept of legitimacy is indispensable. Legitimacy

in the polity can be a question of what millions of people believe. However, legit-
imacy within the staff of a coercive apparatus in the early stages of a challenge
often depends on what tens, hundreds, or at the most thousands of members of
the state apparatus, who will have to give and/or implement orders, believe.
In crisis situations the question in Weberian terms is whether the coercive staff
of the ruler believe in the legitimacy of the orders to use force. For Weber "nor-
mally the rule over a considerable number of persons requires a staff, that is, a spe-
cial group which can normally be trusted to execute the general policy as well as
the specific commands Custom, personal advantage, purely affectual or ideal
motives of solidarity, do not form a sufficiently reliable basis for a given domina-
tion. In addition, there is normally a further element, the belief in legitimacy."88
We do not have data for Czechoslovakia. However, an outstanding survey de-
signed to probe precisely this Weberian question was administered by Daniel V.
Friedheim in the GDR to 119 leading cadre in the Einsatzleitungen.
Friedheim writes that his "sample was defined by membership in secret crisis
management teams (Einsatzleitungen) in the greater Berlin, Dresden (South) and
Rostock (North) areas. At the central, district, and local levels, these teams
brought together the top party secretaries, government representatives, and reg-
ular police, army and secret police commanders who decided whether or not to
deploy force against demonstrators in the fall of ipSc."89 Using Weberian criteria
this is an excellent example of a ruler's "coercive staff." What did this coercive staff
think in the fall of 1989?
In the course of writing this book, again and again people have asked us, Why
did the Communists in Eastern Europe not shoot, as in Tiananmen Square, to
maintain themselves in power? Friedheim's survey provides powerful answers. He
asked a battery of questions. The first set of questions showed that, when they
joined the Communist Party (SED), 97.4 percent of the coercive staff polled be-
lieved that "no other political system could better realize the social goals of the
G.D.R." In the period before the demise of the GDR 65 percent of them person-
ally still believed that. However, there had been a sharp erosion in their belief in
the legitimacy to use force against what the state declared were illegal protests
(table 17.2).
If massive Tiananmen Square-type coercion had been imposed early against
lapse in the Peaceful East German Revolution: The Role of Middle Level Officials" (paper prepared for the
Eighth International Conference of Europeanists, Chicago, March 27-29,1992). Claus Offe also analyzes the
process of collapse in East Germany in his Der Tunnel am Ende des Lichts.Erkundungen der politischen
Transformation im Neuen Osten (Frankfurt am Main: Campus Verlag, 1994), chap. 2.
88. See Max Weber, Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology, ed. Guenther Roth and
Claus Wittich (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), 1:212-13. Emphasis in original. Also see in the
same volume Weber's discussion of the threat of the use offeree by the state (pp. 53-55 and 314-15).
89. From a draft of his Ph.D. dissertation, Department of Political Science, Yale University. Cited with
permission from the author.
Table 17.2. Erosion of the GDR Coercive Staffs Belief in the Right to Use Force against State-
declared Illegal Protests. Question: (1) Just like any government in the world, the GDR always tried
to implement the law despite the disagreement of some citizens. When you began your career
with the Party did you believe that the state was entitled to use the police to resist illegal
protests? (2) In the Fall of 1989, as more and more citizens left your country or demonstrated in
the streets, did you still believe the state was entitled to do that?
Answer In the Past Fall 1989

Yes 78.4 8.8
Mostly 18.9 21.2
Subtotal (97.3) (30.0)
Had Doubts 0.9 31.0
No 1.8 38.8
Subtotal (2.7) (69.9)
Total 100.0 100.0
Source: Daniel V. Friedheim, Ph.D. dissertation in process, Department of Political Science, Yate University. Data reproduced
with permission.
the protesters in the GDR, some analysts believe that the Communist regime
might well have prevented its subsequent collapse. However, Friedheim asked the
GDR coercive staff what they thought about the possibility of using Tiananmen
Square-type force. The answers reveal that in the European context they over-
whelmingly believed that such use of force would be illegitimate and impossible
even in defense of socialism (table 17.3).
With this empirical excursus on the GDR taken into account, let us state our ar-
gument about how regimes collapse more formally. In critical stages of a regime cri-
sis, vital parts of the state coercive staff equivocate, rebel, or melt away. Seeing this
sudden absence of effective force, demonstrators swell in numbers and are embold-
ened in spirit. At a certain moment there can be so many antiregime demonstrators
and so few regime defenders that the leaders of the regime lose all capacity to nego-
tiate. At this moment, the regime is not so much overthrown as it collapses.90
Let us explore this process in Czechoslovakia. The wall started coming down
in Berlin on November 9,1989. Eight days later on Friday, November 17, students
90. A valuable formalized model of people's lessening fear in the streets as more people join the protests
and the regime's coercive presence becoming less salient is contained in Gary Marks, "Rational Sources of
Chaos in Democratic Transition," in Larry Diamond and Gary Marks, ed., Re-examining Democracy (New-
bury Park: Sage Publications, 1992), 47-69, esp. 53-55. Also see Timur Kuran, "Now Out of Never: The Ele-
ment of Surprise in the East European Revolution of 1989," World Politics 44, no. l (1991): 7-48. In the Peo-
ple's Republic of China, should a situation like Tiananmen Square emerge again, the combination of the
loss of ideological legitimacy of socialism and the evident self-promotion of the nomenklatura in the new
business ventures might lead to a situation where neither the regime nor the opposition has moderates em-
powered to negotiate. In such a situation, if, as in Czechoslovakia and East Germany, the soliders do not use
force, the regime could collapse. During Tiananmen Square neither the regime nor the opposition had the
capacity to negotiate. However, unlike Czechoslovakia and East Germany, the regime did have the capacity
to coerce.
Table 17.3. Response of the GDR Coercive Staff Members to the Question: "What Was Your
Opinion at the Time about the Most Important Lessons to be Derived from the Events on
Tiananmen Square in June 1989?"
Answer Percentage
"It could have been possible in the GDR." 1.2
"A bloodbath like that is only possible in the People's Republic of China or Asia." 42.5
"Socialism is not worth that bloodbath." 26.4
"I never saw it as a bloodbath." 29.9
Source: Daniel V. Friedheim, Ph.D. dissertation in process. Department of Political Science, Yale University. Data reproduced
with permission.
at a regime-approved march to commemorate the first student killed in the Nazi

invasion turned the march into an antiregime demonstration and were brutally
beaten. Saturday morning, with Havel and most of the leading dissidents in the
country on vacation, the students decided to go on a protest strike. A strike
proclamation was read at a popular theater that afternoon, where many theater
directors, as well as a normal audience, were assembled. Discussion of a peaceful
general strike began.
Before going further with the sequence of events, let us establish some para-
meters so that the readers can appreciate how early the internal collapse began.
On Tuesday, November 21, Havel in Prague addressed an outdoor rally for the first
time. The major mass demonstration at Letná occurred on Sunday, November 26.
The two-hour general strike (so peaceful that many workers agreed to work over-
time to make up the lost time) was held on Monday, November 27. The regime,
however, was experiencing mass defections from within its core institutions even
before Havel spoke.91
On Sunday evening, November 19, the Youth Union of the Communist Party,
whose chairman Vasil Mohorita had a seat on the Central Committee of the Com-
munist Party and which controlled their own newspaper Miada Pronta (Young
Front), issued a call for an inquiry into the beatings of the students and con-
demning the use of force by the state. "A majority of young people are calling for
and supporting fundamental and essential political reform in our society.... We
regard a political solution to the current situation as essential . . . We consider
violence in this case to be undemocratic... It is not possible in our society for cer-
tain subjects to be forever forbidden."92 On Monday morning this Communist
youth union "turned over its office accommodation on each faculty, complete
91. Two day-by-day, book-length accounts of the Velvet Revolution that reproduce invaluable docu-
ments are Bernard Wheaton and Zdenek Kavan, The Velvet Revolution: Czechoslovakia, ¡988-1991 (Boulder,
Colo.: Westview Press, 1992), and John F. N. Bradley, Czechoslovakia's Velvet Revolution: A Political Analysis
(Boulder, Colo.: East European Monographs, distributed by Columbia University Press, New York, 1992).
92. The entire text is reproduced in appendix B of Wheaton and Kavan, The Velvet Revolution, 209-10.
with telephone and copying facilities, to the strike committees, giving them sig-
nificant help in the struggle to communicate directly with the people."93 On that
same day "a police patrol told the students guarding a technical college building
to remove the strike posters from the windows. The request was ignored and no
further police action was reported at this or any other college or faculty."94
Early Tuesday, November 21, after a Central Committee meeting, the govern-
ment issued various statements that they would resist further antisocialist actions
by "all possible means."95 But that afternoon Havel spoke to his first large public
demonstration. The ambivalence of the police was evident to the demonstrators.
"Policemen sighted during the demonstration were sporting the national colors
on their lapels, a sign of solidarity with the demonstrators, and were also seen
cheering Havel."96
On Wednesday, November 22, the police began to put in writing what they had
been practicing. "We, Communists of the basic organization of the party in the
police force in the North District of Prague, turn to you in the Presidium of the
Central Committee The events of the recent days oblige us to take up a position
with the aim of achieving a political solution— It is no longer possible to use us,
the officers of the law, to cover up unsolved political and other problems."97
That same day, before and while Havel spoke, other parts of the state appara-
tus were experiencing defection and resistance. The general director of state tele-
vision was called to a mass meeting where 700 of his 1,500 employees had signed
a petition demanding, among many other things, that video films of police bru-
tality be shown. He capitulated.98 At the state radio station, "300 staff members of
the basic organization of the CPC [Communist Party of Czechoslovakia] met and
condemned the Central Committee stance and expressed support for the C.R
[Civic Forum]." They also demanded two hours of air time per day to be open for
public discussion "as a reflection of the pluralist tendency of different sectors of
the population."99
In 1948 factory workers outside of Prague had played a major role in the Com-
munist Party's coup. Factory militias were a crucial part of the regime's reserve
coercive apparatus. On Tuesday, November 21, the hard-line leader of the Prague
City Council, Miroslav Stepan, made an appeal to "the workers of Prague, mem-
bers of the People's Militia, and other armed units to deal with the anti-socialist
circles."100 Militia after militia met in angry mass meetings and voted themselves
out of existence.101 In this context the commander of the army, General Vaclavik,
93. Ibid., 60.
94. Bradley, Czechoslovakia's Velvet Revolution, 78.
95. Ibid., 79.
96. Ibid., 85.
97. The full document is produced in Wheaton and Kavan, The Velvet Revolution, 204-5.
98. Ibid., 67.
99. Ibid., 68.
100. Wheaton and Kavan, The Velvet Revolution, 70.
101. Ibid., see documents 13 and 17 in appendix B and pp. 70-71 of the text.
who was later appointed minister of defense by Havel, gave a rambling speech on
television where, according to Bradley, he said "the army would not fight the peo-
ple." Bradley adds, "the reason was obvious: soldiers would not obey their officers'
orders. This was a deathblow to the Communist leadership."102
On Friday November 24, the internal defections within the state (three days be-
fore the scheduled general strike was actually held), had already led to a crisis at
the elite level of the regime. After an all-day meeting of the Central Committee,
at which a variety of proposals including repression were considered, Secretary-
General Jakes submitted his resignation as well as that of his secretariat and his
Politbüro.103 By December 4 Husák announced his resignation as president. On
December 29 the Communist Parliament voted the only candidate, Vaclav Havel,
president of Czechoslovakia.104
Why did this collapse occur? Let us refer to a brilliant, prophetic observation
by Vaclav Havel. For Havel, in his famous 1975 "Letter to Dr. Gustav Husák," the
hope for frozen post-totalitarian Czechoslovakia was for "a moment to arrive" in
which the "entropie regime" could not respond. "In trying to paralyze life, the
authorities paralyze themselves and, in the long run, incapacitate themselves for
paralyzing life." For Havel, when that moment comes "the dead weight of inertia
crumbles and history steps out again into the arena."105 Havel's hope was fulfilled.
The regime had incapacitated itself for paralyzing life and collapsed.
As social scientists our hypothesis is that the type of internal collapse that oc-
curred in Czechoslovakia owes much to its frozen post-totalitarianism, especially
to the atmosphere of growing inauthenticity of ideology, the pro forma support
for the regime, and the modest space for dissent in civil society that can be the
base for an alternative. These are good reasons to believe that this type of situa-
tion is more likely to happen in a frozen post-totalitarian regime than in any other
type of polity. In a full totalitarian regime or a very early post-totalitarian regime,
as in Bulgaria in 1989, ideological commitment will tend to be more real, at least,
for the cadre, who are the key staff needed to implement coercive policies. In an
evolving, mature post-totalitarian regime, reform communists have greater ne-
gotiating capacity. In most authoritarian regimes the governments will tend to
react via a new coup or extrication from rule by using elections.
In the chapters on Spain and Brazil, we could have described events very sim-
ilar and even on a larger scale, comparable to the actions of students, profession-
als, crowds, and strikers in Prague. We did not because they had little direct effect
on the transition and the final demise of the regime. Those in power could count
on the loyalty and obedience of the police and, if necessary, of the armed forces
102. Bradley, Czechoslovakia's Velvet Revolution, 93.

103. Ibid., 98.
104. As in Hungary, a compelling eyewitness account of many of the crucial events is contained in Gar-
ton Ash, We The People, 78-130.
105. Vaclav Havel, "Letter to Dr. Gustav Husák" (1975), Vladislav, Vaclav Havel: Living in Truth, 3-35,
quote from p. 27.
and never considered giving up power as a response to such pressures. There was
no collapse and no prospect for collapse.
Stateness and the Velvet Divorce: A Neo-Institutionalist Analysis

Our final question concerns stateness. At midnight on December 31, 1992,
barely three years after the Velvet Revolution, Czechoslovakia divided into two
separate states, the Czech Republic and Slovakia.106 There have been a number of
excellent studies that correctly call attention to some important social, cultural,
and historical differences between the two component parts of the former feder-
ation of Czechoslovakia. The Czech-lands were a part of the Austrian half and
Slovakia was a part of the Hungarian half of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Dur-
ing the empire, the Czech-lands became one of the most industrial parts of the
Empire and Slovakia remained one of the most agrarian. The two components of
Czechoslovakia spoke different but mutually intelligible languages. Slovakia has
historically been more Catholic than the Czech-lands. Slovakia from 1939 to 1945
was a quasi-independent Nazi puppet state. Slovakia underwent rapid heavy in-
dustrialization under Communist rule, a form of subsidized industrialization ori-
ented toward the USSR that resulted in greater structural vulnerabilities in the
post-1989 movement toward a market economy. As a result, before 1992, Slovakia
had an 11.3 percent unemployment rate compared to 2.7 percent in the Czech-
lands.107
Having acknowledged these sociocultural and historical differences between
the Czech-lands and Slovakia, we believe that it would be a mistake for analysts to
overstress the determinate role of mass nationalist sentiment in the breakup of
Czechoslovakia. There are many allusions in the press to stateness problems being
driven by "irrational" and primordial mass feelings. However, in our judgment
the available evidence suggests strongly that intense mass separatist and national
demands were never dominant in either the Czech Republic or Slovakia until long
after the political elites had already begun crafting the divorce after the June 1992
elections (table 17.4).108
106. An overall treatment of this subject is found in Jiri Musil, ed., The End of Czechoslovakia (Budapest:
Central European Press, 1995). Jon Elster explores critically six possible explanations for the breakup in his
"Explaining the Breakup of the Czechoslovak Federation: Consenting Adults or the Sorcerer's Apprentice?"
East European Constitutional Review, 4, no. i (1995), 36-41. In essence, we provide a seventh explanation.
Four articles on the breakup, two by major political actors (Petr Pithart and Jan Carnogursky), are con-
tained in Scottish Affairs, no. 8 (Summer 1994).
107. Two excellent reviews of the literature, which discuss and document these and other differences,
are Jiri Musil, "Czech and Slovak Society: Outline of a Comparative Study," in Czech Sociological Review i,
no. i (1993), 5-21, and Sharon Wolchik, "The Politics of Ethnicity in Post-Communist Czechoslovakia," East
European Politics and Societies 8, no. i (1994), 153-88.
108. "Many citizens in Czechoslovakia share the view that political leaders were primarily responsible
for the growth of ethnic tensions and the difficulties that arose over the form of the state Seventy-one
percent of respondents in the Czech-lands and 65 percent in Slovakia surveyed in late 1991 for Radio Free
Europe agreed or strongly agreed that politicians were using nationalism for their own purposes." Wolchik,
"Politics of Ethnicity in Czechoslovakia," 176.
Table 17.4. Preferred State Arrangements (November 1991-July 1992) in Czech-lands (CR) and
Slovakia (SR) (in percentages)
November 1991 May 1992 July 1992
Type of State Arrangement CR SR CR SR CR SR
Unitary state 39 20 34 12 38 14
Federation 30 26 28 33 19 27
"Lands-based republic" 20 6 22 6 18 8
Confederation 4 27 6 31 3 30
Two independent states 5 14 6 11 16 16
Don't know 2 7 4 7 6 5
Source: Reproduced with permission from Sharon L Wolchik, "The Politics of Ethnicity in Post-Communist Czechoslovakia," 180.
Based on polls taken by the Institute for Opinion Research.
Note: In addition to the results displayed in this table, the Director of the Association of Independent Social Analysis (AISA) in
Prague gave us the results of a national sample conducted in October-November 1992, according to which only 22 percent of
respondents in the Czech-lands and 19 percent in Slovakia wanted two completely independent states, even though the
political leaders had already agreed on the separation date of December 31, 1992. The "lands-based republic" option was not
fully defined but normally was understood to entail a system based on three units: Bohemia, Moravia, and Slovakia.
In fact, an overwhelming majority of citizens wanted a referendum to decide the

future of the country. In July 1992, "eighty-two percent of respondents in the Czech-
lands and 84 percent in Slovakia agreed that the further existence of the state should
be determined not by politicians but only by citizens in a referendum"109
In July 1992, another public opinion poll was structured to ascertain the "least
preferred" and the "most preferred" of the three most plausible options: federa-
tion (the existing model), confederation, or separation. The least preferred option
in Slovakia (47 percent) and in the Czech-lands (46 percent) was separation.110
Part of the reason for fears about separation was economic. Only 21 percent of
those polled in the Czech-lands and only 34 percent in Slovakia felt that their
standard of living would be improved by a separation.1 ' ] The major difference of
opinion was about the constitutional arrangements of a federation or a confeder-
ation. The model most preferred (62 percent) in the Czech-lands was the existing
model, federation. By a slight plurality (38 percent) this was also the most pre-
ferred model in Slovakia, but 35 percent of those polled most preferred confeder-
ation and 20 percent most preferred separation.112
If the mass publics of the Czech-lands and Slovakia did not demand separate
states, why and how did Czechoslovakia break up? Much research should be car-
ried out on the subject before definitive monographs can be written. However, we
suggest that such works cannot be written if they do not give full attention to the
interaction of the Soviet-style federal constitutional system with the antipolitical
109. Ibid., 178, our emphasis.

no. For the methodology of this poll by the Institute for Public Opinion Research, see ibid., 180-81.
111. Ibid. However, both component parts of the federation felt that the other region benefited most
from the distribution mechanisms used by the federal government.
112. Ibid.
style of the democratic leadership who unexpectedly inherited state power after
the sudden collapse of the frozen post-totalitarian regime. Our working hypothesis
is strongly neo-institutionalist. Specifically, without the impasse-creating mecha-
nisms of Czechoslovakia's Soviet-style federal system, we doubt that the histori-
cal, cultural, and economic differences between the Czech-lands and Slovakia
would have resulted in the division of Czechoslovakia.113 Let us consider some
basic arguments and data about institutions, attitudes, missed opportunities, and
strategic elite choices.
After the regime collapsed in November 1992, the new democrats inherited a
parliament (National Assembly) that was bicameral but with a de jure and de facto
potential actually to be tricameral. The lower house, the Chamber of the People,
had 150 members and was based on population. The Upper House, the Chamber
of Nations, also had 150 members, composed of a 75-member Czech section and a
75-member Slovak section. Legally, both the Czech and Slovak sections could de-
liberate and vote separately. More importantly, on a whole range of issues, espe-
cially those that had any relevance to the working of the federation, the constitu-
tional power to block was extremely high. A measure could be approved only if it
received the positive vote of 60 percent of all members in each chamber, whether
they were present or not and whether they voted or not. David Olson captures the
blocking power of small groups quite well when he argues that the post-totalitar-
ian constitution that Havel inherited "provided a small number of members (30),
if they were so determined or merely absent, with a veto power within the Assem-
bly. ... As federalism increased in importance . . . the Federal Assembly could not
adopt proposed legislation on the most important question before it—state-
ness."114 This potential for impasse had long been noted by H. Gordon Skilling,
who in his classic work on Czechoslovakia had commented that the post-1968 con-
stitution meant that a very small minority could block "the ratification of the gov-
ernment's program and a vote of confidence in the government."L15 Skilling went
on to note that the constitution did not really affect the party-state, which re-
mained unitary. Since the party-state was in charge, the constitution was fictive.
Once the transition occurred the constitutional potential for impasse became
more real because, unlike a standard West European parliamentary democracy, in
Soviet-style constitutions neither the prime minister nor the head of state could
dissolve the Parliament and call for new elections in the case of impasse.116
113. In fact, given the distribution of opinion in the Czech-lands and in Slovakia, probably a necessary
condition of separation was the existence of institutions that eventually seemed (because of missed op-
portunities) unworkable and unchangeable.
114. David M. Olson, "The Sundered State: Federalism and Parliament in Czechoslovakia" (paper pre-
sented at the Conference on Comparative Parliamentary Development in Eastern Europe and the Former
USSR at the Center for Soviet, Post-Soviet and East European Studies, Emory University, Atlanta, April
9-10,1993), 7.
115. Skilling, Czechoslovakia's Interrupted Revolution, appendix B.
116. Personal conversation of the authors with Professor Leon Lipson, a law professor at Yale University
and a specialist on Soviet-style constitutions. Also see Paul Wilson, "Czechoslovakia: The Pain of Divorce,"
New York Review of Books, 39 (Dec. 17,1992): 69-75.
A constitution of the sort we have just analyzed may be fictive for the party-
state, but it can take on a new and dangerous life the longer it is not changed in
the new democratic context.
As comparativists, we believe that in the crucial period after the collapse of the
frozen post-totalitarian regime the new democrats could have rapidly put on the
agenda a number of fundamental issues concerning the future of democratic
institutions and decision-making arrangements. One possible early agenda item
could have been a decision on whether or not to elect a constituent assembly to
approve a new and more viable constitution for the federation. Another option
could have been for Havel, backed by the authority of the Velvet Revolution, to
have asked the existing Federal Assembly to modify the constitution shortly after
he was elected president. This was the option Adolfo Suárez followed successfully
in Spain with the "Law for Political Reform," as we have documented.
The decision, or better nondecision, to hold elections in June 1990 within the
confines of the ultra federal and blocking characteristics of the Soviet-style fed-
eral constitution constrained severely the manner in which the stateness problem
of Czechoslovakia could be handled. The disintegrative potential of the constitu-
tion was increased when Havel, unlike Adolfo Suárez of Spain, decided not to try
to form a statewide party.
What happened and what did not happen, concerning the soviet-style federal
constitution? Unfortunately, the atmosphere of dissident life in frozen post-total-
itarian Czechoslovakia did not generate much attention to formal institutional
matters. Indeed, the style of Havel and of many of his closest advisors, in sharp
contrast to the opposition leadership in Hungary or Spain, was actively antipolit-
ical and anti-institutional.
On the eve of the dissolution of Czechoslovakia, leaders of the Velvet Revolu-
tion increasingly commented on the costs of their initial antipolitics and anti-
institutionalism. A close confidant of Havel, Petr Pithart, who initially headed the
Coordinating Center of Civic Forum and was later prime minister of the Czech
Republic from 1990 to 1992, later said that Havel "underestimated the impedi-
ments of the inherited constitution. He felt the élan of the Velvet Revolution
would carry them by the problem." As we argued in our discussion of Spain, a
unified statewide party could have helped. However, Pithart went on to argue
that, a few days after the Velvet Revolution was over, leaders from the Slovak cap-
ital of Bratislava came to talk to Havel about the Civic Forum party apparatus in
Slovakia. Havel urged them to create their own separate party in Slovakia. They
left and eventually set up People against Violence.117 Pithart says that this re-
flected the "widespread negative attitude toward anything that resembled a party.
Havel was a symbol of this. He completely dissociated himself from the party."1! 8
Pithart's successor as Civic Forum coordinator, Jan Urban, is even more critical of
117. Interview in Prague with Stepan, December 16,1993.

118. Ibid.
Havel's antipolitics. "He became President as a leader and representative of the

Civic Forum, but very soon declared himself a non-partisan President above any
political parties ... Already in February 1990, after several weeks of mutual isola-
tion, the joint delegation of Civic Forum (Czech lands) and Public against Vio-
lence (Slovakia) had to force Havel to meet them officially. He received them in
one anteroom, not even inviting them to the meeting room."119
This inattention to politics and political parties no doubt contributed to the
fact that the electoral campaigns of 1989 were largely run by Czech-based and Slo-
vak-based groups. Indeed, of the eleven parties that gained seats in the federal
parliament, only one, the former Czechoslovak Communist Party, had represen-
tatives from both republics. The Czechoslovak "founding election" paid almost
no ideological or organizational attention to the formation of federation-wide
parties. Like Spain (and unlike the Soviet Union and Yugoslavia), Czechoslovakia
did have a founding election sequence that began with statewide elections. How-
ever, unlike Spain, the central government leadership made no effort—and in fact
discouraged—the formation of a statewide party.120
In separate interviews a year after the Velvet Divorce, Stepan asked Pithart and
Urban if they believed that Havel and the Civic Forum leaders could have suc-
cessfully asked the sitting parliament to change the fictive constitution. One can
never be certain with complex historical counterfactuals. However, it is worth
noting that in the retrospective judgment of both Pithart and Urban, the Civic
Forum in late 1989 or early 1990 could have achieved some key changes, such as
going to a simple majority system for both houses or a constituent assembly. A va-
riety of other formulas could have avoided constitutional impasse. But the central
point was that serious constitution-building was not then on the agenda. As it
turned out, Havel, despite great efforts in 1991 and 1992, was never able to change
the constitution. No referendum on dissolution was ever held. The June 1992 elec-
tions did not produce overwhelming mass fervor in either the Czech-lands or the
Slovak Republic for separation. However, it did produce a prime minister of the
Czech Republic, Vaclav Klaus, and a prime minister of Slovakia, Vladimir Meciar,
with electoral pluralities, with different economic and political agendas, and with
veto power over each other.
In the "terminating" election of June 1992, Vladimir Meciar's party (HZDS)
won only 12 percent of the vote for the lower house of the Federal Republic of
Czechoslovakia and a first plurality of only 33.8 percent of the vote to the Slovak
Chamber of Nations. However, this was more than sufficient in the Soviet-style
trichamber federal system of power to give his party an absolute veto over any sig-
nificant reform in the federal system they opposed. The Válcav Klaus-led coali-
119. Urban, "Powerlessness of the Powerful."

120. On the importance of electoral sequence and the formation of statewide parties, see chap. 6 on
Spain in this book and Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, "Political Identities and Electoral Sequences: Spain,
the Soviet Union, and Yugoslavia," Daedalus (Spring 1992): 123-39.
tion won 27 percent of the valid federal votes, and this also gave Klaus's coalition
an absolute veto (table 17.5).
Two of the major issues in the June 1992 election in Czechoslovakia concerned
the future of federal relations and alternative development models. After the elec-
tions Vaclav Klaus, who favored a Thatcher-like rapid move to the market and a
stronger role for the central government, emerged with the first plurality (not a
majority) in the Czech lands. Meciar, who favored a slower, more statist Austrian
move toward a market and substantially more autonomy for Slovakia emerged
with the first plurality (not a majority) in Slovakia. However, in essence the So-
viet-style federal system gave each republic's prime minister de facto veto power
over the other, Meciar possibly would have settled for a confederal state with so-
cioeconomic autonomy, but Klaus could deny him his confederal state. Klaus pos-
sibly would have settled for a federal state as long as he could advance his eco-
nomic reform agenda, but Meciar could deny him the capacity to implement his
market plan. Given their separate goals and their mutual veto power, the rational
solution for each leader was to sunder the state. The divorce was peaceful, if not
velvet, because the nations were reasonably demarcated territorially and each
leader was able to get, because of his control over his respective legislature, a vote
for the division they eventually both wanted.121
BULGARIA: A REGIME-CONTROLLED TRANSITION

FROM EARLY P O S T - T O T A L I T A R I A N I S M
The secondary and monographic literature on the Bulgarian transition is still

much less rich than it is for Hungary or Czechoslovakia, so our analysis is neces-
sarily more tentative. However, this literature, supplemented by our visits and in-
terviews, allows us to assert with some confidence that, unlike the transitions in
Hungary or Czechoslovakia, the early post-totalitarian regime in Bulgaria initi-
ated and never lost control of the transition and that the leaders of that regime
emerged from the first free elections not only with a plurality of the vote but with
121. For reasons we cannot discuss here, the Czech Republic emerged from the divorce with better
chances to consolidate democracy. In the sociopolitical sphere, the separation may help the Czech Repub-
lic move toward democratic consolidation because the new state, with few Germans or Jews (because of
World War II) and few Slovaks (because of the Velvet divorce), was, with the possible exception of Mora-
vian sentiment, close to being a nation-state, so it should have no major stateness problems. Also, the Czech
Republic's constitutional choice, made at the time of the separation, for a pure parliamentary model also
helps avoid the political type of problems that may result from an independently elected president with sig-
nificant powers and an independently selected prime minister with broad powers. Furthermore, following
our prior argument about parliamentarism, the parliamentary system should help create an environment
in which parties can develop and where there are incentives for enduring party coalitions. It should be
noted that Klaus is a skillful politician committed to building a party.
The division left Slovakia in a somewhat more difficult situation in that Meciar wanted to build a ma-
joritarian nation-state, but he had significant Hungarian, Gypsy, and Ukrainian minorities. Even after the
1994 election, he only held a bare plurality. In Slovakia, nation-state and democracy could be conflicting
logics.
Table 17.5. The "Terminating" Election of Czechoslovakia in 1992: Party Vote and Seats for the Federal Chamber of People and Chamber of Nations, Compared
with Votes Needed in Chamber of Nations to Veto any Significant Federal-related Legislation Passed by the Chamber of People
Number of Seats
Needed in Chamber
% of Seats Won in % of Seats Won in of Nations to Veto
% of Total Votes % of Seats Won to Slovakia for Czech Lands Any Major Federal
Received for Federal Federal Chamber % of Votes Won in Chamber of Nations % of Votes Won in Chamber of Nations Number of Seats Legislation Passed
Chamber of the of People after 5% Slovakia for after Threshold Czech Lands after Threshold Obtained in by Chamber of
Party People Threshold Chamber of Nations Effect Chamber of Nations Effect Chamber of Nations People
Meciar-led party 12 16 33.85 44 — — 33/75 30/75

(Slovak
Democratic
Movement)
Vaclav Klaus-led 26 32 3.66 — 33.43 49.33 37/75 30/75

coalition
(ODS-KDS)
Source: Keesing's Record of World Events, News Digest for June 1992, 38944-45, and David M. Olson, "The Sundered State: Federalism and Parliament in Czechoslovakia," paper presented at the Conference
on Comparative Parliamentary Development in Eastern Europe and the Former USSR, at the Center for Soviet, Post-Soviet and East European Studies, Emory University, Atlanta, Ga., April 9-10, 1993.
a newly reconstituted claim to power. What accounts for such a different path out
of post-totalitarianism in Bulgaria, in contrast to Hungary and Czechoslovakia?
Much of the explanation seems to be found in the nature of the previous early
post-totalitarian regime and the limited role the democratic opposition was able
to play in that regime, given its intermittent and illegal nature.
Among the four dimensions of a totalitarian regime (pluralism, mobilization,
ideology, and leadership), Bulgaria in terms of pluralism—unlike Hungary or
even Czechoslovakia—still approximated the totalitarian ideal type until 1988.
To document this assertion and to illustrate the texture of the regime, let us
quote at length from a valuable study of the birth of the democratic opposition in
Bulgaria by Deyan Kiuranov, one of the leaders of Bulgaria's most influential op-
position group, Ecoglasnost, founded in February 1989.122 Kiuranov argues that
before 1988 there were some individual acts of resistance but "unfortunately these
truly heroic acts did not have any social effect at the time . . . we knew literally
nothing about them when they were committed."123 For Kiuranov, the first truly
nongovernmental protest organization to appear in Bulgaria was the Hungarian
Rights Association founded in a small provincial town in January 1988 by a for-
mer political prisoner, Edward Genov. Genov and the other activists were rapidly
"banished from the country."124 However, small support groups grew up in the
country. These groups "were constantly arrested and harassed; they were effec-
tively prevented from meeting organizationally, not to speak of doing something
together. In fact, the police forced them to revert to the tactics of the pre-group
period: individual action. However, unlike previous "martyrs," they were heard
[due to Radio Free Europe and B.B.C.]. This made all the difference."125
At about the same time as the Human Rights Association was formed and bro-
ken up, an antipollution group in Ruse created a support group that had 300
founding members. But, Kiuranov notes, "after its founding meeting, this group
never met again."126 In Sofia a group saw a film about the Ruse protest and, in
March 1988, 30 notable figures, some of them members of the Central Commit-
tee of the Bulgarian Communist Party, founded the Ruse Support Committee. On
the day after the committee's formation, the 30 signatories were summoned by the
122. Deyan Kiuranov, "Political Establishment of the Bulgarian Opposition (January igSS-April 1990)"
(unpublished paper prepared for the Center for the Study of Constitutionalism in Eastern Europe at the
University of Chicago Law School in partnership with the Central European University, April 25,1991).
Other valuable accounts of the very late and thin emergence of a democratic opposition are by Roumen
Daskalov and Boris Nikolov, "Bulgaria, 1989: The Birth of the Opposition" (Center for Cultural Studies,
Sofia University, no date, unpublished paper), and Richard Crampton, "The Intelligentsia, the Ecology and
the Opposition in Bulgaria," World Today (Feb. 1990): 23-26. Also see the article by Roumen Dimitrov,
"March across the Institutions: Formation of the Bulgarian Opposition, 1989-1991," Bulgarian Quarterly i,
no. 2 (1991): 43-52-
123. Kiuranov, "Political Establishment of the Bulgarian Opposition," 7.
124. Ibid., 8.
125. Ibid.
126. Ibid., 9.
Politbüro and accused of "creating structures parallel to already existing ones."127

For us, this charge is virtually a definitional statement demonstrating that, in the
arena of pluralism, Bulgaria in 1988 still approximated a totalitarian regime. In
any case, the regime's action "forestalled any other activity of the Committee. Two
months after its founding it had disappeared from the scene."128 Other groups
formed and were dispersed, and, as Richard Crampton notes, "the backlash in-
tensified at the end of 1988 and with the early months of 1989. The most trouble-
some leaders of the independent groups were expelled, while many of those who
remained at home were harassed and subjected to a vilification which was more
reminiscent of the Stalinist purges than of Gorbachev's era of glasnost."129
From February 1989 until November 1989, other important independent
groups emerged, the most important of which was Ecoglasnost. Under the pro-
tective cover of a Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE)
held in Sofia in October and November 1989, Ecoglasnost became the first group
to carry out explicitly political coordinated public protests. However, even Eco-
glasnost felt that its existence was in jeopardy right up to the internal party coup
that overthrew Todor Zhivkov on November 10,1989. Zhivkov had ruled the Bul-
garian Communist Party from 1954 until the Bulgarian Politburo removed him in
1989. One of the key leaders of Ecoglasnost, Deyan Kiuranov, in an interview said
that, despite the Ecoglasnost protests, the regime was still in complete control in
early November 1989. In fact, Ecoglasnost leaders feared that they would be mas-
sively repressed by the regime as soon as the CSCE delegation left town.130 "I did
not believe in Zhivkov's downfall until it happened—and indeed for some time
after. Ecoglasnost was preparing a deep defense for the post-CSCE period. We as-
sumed our major visible leaders would be deported. We were planning for a lead-
erless organization. A few people were being saved by not going public so they
could be in a position to try to coordinate some activities."131 In his written work
Kiuranov is just as clear that the regime, not the opposition, led to the overthrow
of Zhivkov. "Despite speculations to the contrary, my opinion is that the activities
of the opposition of the green umbrella were not the direct cause of the anti-
Zhivkov coup . . . it was essentially an internal party affair. Much as I would have
liked it, I cannot give Ecoglasnost or the opposition credit for the sophisticated
palace coup."132
127. Ibid., 9, emphasis added.

128. Ibid., 10.
129. Crampton, "Intelligentsia, Ecology and Opposition in Bulgaria," 24.
130. This perception is also part of the reason that, unlike Hungary, where the organized opposition also
sprang up relatively late in the game, in Bulgaria prodemocratic groups had little echo in society and "the
prevailing feeling among Bulgarians was that the Zhivkov regime still had enough strength to disarm the
opposition and to curb any genuine reformist efforts." See Vladimir Tismaneanu, Reinventing Politics: East-
ern Europe from Stalin to Havel (New York: Free Press, 1992), 221.
131. Interview by Alfred Stepan with Deyan Kiuranov, Sofia, September 4,1992.
132. Kiuranov, "Political Establishment of the Bulgarian Opposition," 15.
One of the leaders of the first independent trade union, Podkrepa, concurred
that "10 November 1989 was a coup d'état within the party. In November and
most of December 1989, the party still had control of the country. We only made
our first public appeal for a strike more than a month after the internal party
coup."133 Compare this fact with the strike rate in the late years of the Franco
regime, the strikes in Poland, and those in the industrial belt of Sao Paulo.
Our conclusion is that independently organized democratic opposition activ-
ity emerged as an effective force in Bulgaria only by mid-igSp. Until that time the
Bulgarian regime in the area of pluralism approximated a totalitarian model.134
Even frozen post-totalitarian Czechoslovakia had had a continuous political op-
position from 1977 to 1989, and the Charter 77 groups had visible protest leaders
such as Havel and produced numerous policy papers on a wide range of issues. In
fact, as the regime collapsed in Czechoslovakia, Havel and his supporters emerged
as a clear moral alternative that had substantial hegemony in civil society. In sharp
contrast, in early post-totalitarian Bulgaria, the opposition was thin, had few na-
tionally known leaders, and, as subsequent events were to prove, had been deeply
infiltrated by the regime so that again and again leaders were exposed as "in-
formers" and lost credibility. Quantitatively, compared to authoritarian Poland,
frozen post-totalitarian Czechoslovakia, or mature post-totalitarian Hungary,
Bulgaria had significantly fewer independent movements in 1989. Since power is
always relational, this weakness of the democratic opposition enhanced the ca-
pacity of the nondemocratic regime. Let us now turn to how the regime started
and controlled the transition.
One of the two key leaders of the internal party coup against Zhivkov was Petar
Mladenov, who eventually was selected by the Communist Party of Bulgaria to be
the Secretary General of the party and who, with the Communist Party's support,
was elected president of Bulgaria by the People's Assembly. That he was a pro-
regime but anti-Zhivkov actor is clear from his extraordinary letter of resignation
of October 24,1989, addressed to Zhivkov, the Politburo, and the Central Com-
mittee. Initially, Zhivkov did not circulate the letter, but the following are extracts
from the letter that Mladenov later circulated and never denied. It clearly demon-
strates that at most he was a staunch properestroika Communist. He began by
saying that both his father and mother were members of the Bulgarian Commu-
nist Party (BCP) and that he had attended the Moscow Institute of International
Relations for six years. He went on to stress that
133. Interview by Alfred Stepan with Boyko Proytchev, political advisor to Podkrepa, in Sofia, Septem-
ber 2,1992.
134. Even private initiatives in the economy were severely curtailed, contributing to the rather flat con-
figuration with respect to pluralism. There was very little private economic activity and "virtually no ex-
perience with marketlike incentives." See Jacek Kochanowicz, Kaiman Mizxei, and Joan M. Nelson, "The
Transition in Bulgaria, Hungary and Poland: An Overview," in Joan M. Nelson, éd., A Precarious Balance:
Democracy and Economic Reforms in Eastern Europe (San Francisco: ICS Press, 1994), quotation from
p. 10. In the same volume also see Ekaterina Nikova, "The Bulgarian Transition: A Difficult Beginning,"
125-162.
I was appointed chief of the Propaganda and Agitation Department of the CC of the BCP ...
In 19771 was elected member of the Politburo of the CC of the BCP (i.e., for more than 18 years
now I have been participating in the supreme governing body of our Party)... I think that the
true reason for Comrade Zhivkov's irritation and crudeness [toward Mladenov] is his under-
standing that he has led the country to a profound economic, financial and political crisis . . .
[Zhivkov] "succeeded" to isolate Bulgaria from the world, to isolate it even from the USSR, and
now we (and we alone) are in a boat with the rotten regime of family dictatorship of Ceauçescu.
In a word, Todor Zhivkov's policy has thrown Bulgaria outside the stream of time ... I think
that we are all aware that the world is undergoing a major change, and that if Bulgaria wants to
be in tune with the world, our policy must be updated. Even if we don't believe anyone else, we
have to believe the USSR and the Communist Party of the Soviet Union.135
In the first month after the overthrow of Zhivkov, it was not clear whether
Mladenov wanted either perestroika or regime liberalization. But, after major ef-
fective public protests against the regime began one month after Zhivkov was
overthrown, Mladenov from December 1989 to February 1990 initiated a series of
liberalizing steps. One of the more important of these steps was removing article
i from the constitution, which declared the Communist Party to be the sole lead-
ing force in society.136
Another major document of the Bulgarian transition that shows that the
regime controlled the pace of change is a detailed study of the Bulgarian Round
Table.137 Unlike the Hungarian Round Table, where the democratic opposition
first held an Opposition Round Table and set out firm principles of negotiation
even before they agreed to enter negotiations, in Bulgaria the preparatory meet-
ings for the Round Table were coordinated by Andrei Lukanov, one of the Bul-
garian Communist Party leaders of the coup, who "chaired all meetings, set up the
agenda and led the discussions."138
The opposition was further weakened in that some of the leaders of the dem-
ocratic opposition, such as G. Tanbuev, S. Prodev, S. Russev, and Ch. Kiuranov,
who were in 1989 among the co-founders of the oppositional organization, all had
rejoined the Bulgarian Communist Party, many before the round-table talks ac-
tually began.139
135. Letter reprinted in The Insider: Bulgarian Digest Monthly, no. i (1990): 41-42. In the same issue Kostadin
Chakurov, a close political advisor to Zhivkov in 1988-89 confirmed the receipt of the letter by Zhivkov, p. 39.
136. At the Fourteenth (extraordinary) Congress of the Bulgarian Communist Party (BCP), Mladenov
laid out the foundations for liberalization in his report, "On Restructuring the Party and Building a Dem-
ocratic Socialist Society." The report called for a "socially oriented market economy" and stated that the
BCP was to be "de-Stalinized." According to Keesing's the report was "followed by a heated debate which il-
lustrated the division between reformers and conservatives." See Keesing's Record of World Events, News Di-
gest for February 1990, p. 37253.
137. Rumyana Kolarova and Dimitr Dimitrov, "Bulgaria," in Jon Elster, ed., The Roundtable Talks and the
Breakdown of Communism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, forthcoming). Future references will be
to the 1991 unpublished manuscript, "Round Table Talks in Bulgaria."
138. Kolarova and Dimitrov, "Round Table Talks in Bulgaria," 12.
139. Ibid., 8. Prodev returned to become the editor of the party newspaper, "making it as diverse and in-
teresting as the opposition press" and contributing to the party's new, liberalized image. See John D. Bell,
"'Post-Communist' Bulgaria," Current History (Dec. 1990): 417-20,427-29, quote from p. 420.
After the round-table talks began in January 1990, Aleksandar Lilov was elected
the Communist Party leader and, in the judgment of Kolarova and Dimitrov, the
reality that Lilov was in a position "to have total control over power and make
concessions was considered by the general public as proof of transformation and
democratization and was a powerful legitimizing factor. The fact that all major
concessions were announced by the party leader A. Lilov and intensely propa-
gated has to be emphasized."140 The Bulgarian Communist Party, due to its con-
trol of the Parliament, was also able to set a date for elections in June 1990, earlier
than the fledging opposition would have liked. Another victory for the Bulgarian
Communist Party was that they were able to convince many potential voters that
Zhivkov, rather than the Communist Party (after March 1990 known as the Bul-
garian Socialist Party [BSP] ), was the major cause of Bulgaria's troubles.141
In an early post-totalitarian context, where the ruling party was able to person-
alize the dictatorship, to take credit for its overthrow, and to present itself as the
initiator of liberalization and where the opposition was still divided, where the So-
viet Union was never seen as the major enemy of nationalism, and where the op-
position barely had an organizational presence in the countryside, the ruling
party, unlike in Hungary or Czechoslovakia, won the first free and fair elections.
We concur with most election observers that the Bulgarian Socialist Party had
numerous structural advantages in the 1990 elections but that the elections were
basically fair. Most pre-election polls in fact gave the Bulgarian Socialist Party a
slight lead. This makes us believe that fraud on election day was not great. The
Union of Democratic Forces (UDF) won in most of the major cities but did
poorly in the countryside, where their modernizing message, if heard, was dis-
trusted by a significant part of Bulgaria's relatively old rural population.142
Some analysts are harsher in their judgments and argue that local BSP activists
manipulated rural voters' fears. "The people there were simply told they would be
deprived of essential supplies if they voted for the opposition. After June 1990, a
number of Muslim villages in southern Bulgaria were in fact deprived of supplies
when it was discovered that they had supported the Movement for Rights and
Freedoms or the Union of Democratic Forces."143 The victory by the Bulgarian
140. Kolarova and Dimitrov, "Round Table Talks in Bulgaria," 33-34.
141. For example, in a pre-election poll 60 percent of the sympathizers for the Bulgarian Socialist Party
blamed "Zhivkov and his Mafia" for Bulgaria's crisis, but only 7 percent of them blamed the previous Com-
munist Party. See an analysis of these pre-election polls in "The Political Change in Bulgaria: Pre-Election
Attitudes," in Stability and Transition to Democracy in Bulgaria (Center for the Study of Democracy, Sofia,
1990, occasional paper i), 15.
142. See "The Political Change in Bulgaria: Post-electoral Attitudes," in Stability and Transition to De-
mocracy in Bulgaria, 19-38.
143. See Flamen S. Tzetkov, "The Politics of Transition in Bulgaria: Back to the Future?" Problems of
Communism (May-June 1992): 34-42, quote from p. 34, n.i. Analysts interested in comparative analysis
might well compare Bulgaria with Paraguay, where close allies of General Stroessner overthrew his dicta-
torship, gained much credit for initiating liberalization, and were able to use the Colorado Parties' resources
against a divided and weak opposition to win the first free election with a particularly strong showing in
the rural areas.
Socialist Party in the June 1990 elections meant that the party controlled the par-
liament and the government and had succeeded in reconstituting its rule on the
basis of participation in the round-table discussions and a popular mandate.
After the elections the Bulgarian Socialist Party's impetus for continued sym-
bolic or substantial reform slowed somewhat. The newly named Bulgarian So-
cialist Party continued to occupy the former headquarters of the Bulgarian Com-
munist Party. At a Party Congress of the Bulgarian Socialist Party in September
1990, the party chose to emphasize a degree of continuity with the past by calling
the meeting the Thirty-ninth Party Congress (instead of the First Party Congress)
of the Bulgarian Socialist Party. Of the 151 representatives to the Party Congress
elected to the Supreme Council, few strongly identified with a reform faction.
Aleksandar Lilov, who was one of the leaders of the internal party coup against
Zhivkov but who was also Zhivkov's chief ideologist from 1974 to 1983, was re-
elected party president.144
On the opposition side the victory of the former Communist Party created
some difficulties for the consolidation of sound democratic practices in political
society. The most intense explosion of opposition in civil society occurred after,
not before, the election, and for a while the streets seemed to displace the parlia-
ment as the center of politics. 'Tent cities' of young protesters sprang up in some
of the major cities during the summer of 1990. In a still unexplained but danger-
ous incident, on August 26,1990, the Bulgarian Socialist Party headquarters was
"burned in a pogrom," as the General National Assembly officially called this
fire.145 The Bulgarian social scientist Ekaterina Nikova describes this period
thusly: "During the whole period of 1989-1992, Bulgarian politics remained in
a phase of prepolitics or antipolitics. Revolutionary rhetoric was kept alive, to-
gether with an anachronistic paranoic preoccupation with the past, the KGB,
Moscow, and various conspiracies."146 In conditions rather analogous to East
A June 1991 survey may provide us with a clue for the success of the Bulgarian Socialist Party (BSP) in
the rural areas. In the survey there was no large difference between cities and rural areas in their response
to the question "Do you prefer the system of governing that we have now or the system we had before the
Revolution?" Positive answers were given by, respectively, 80 percent and 70 percent. However, when we
turn to a battery of eight questions concerning that system of governing, the percentage of rural "don't
knows" ranges between 42 and 64, compared to only 17 to 26 percent in the cities. Significantly, to the state-
ment that "everybody is free to say what he or she thinks," 45 percent of rural respondents versus 17 percent
of city respondents answered "don't know." We suspect that these high rates of rural "don't knows" reflected
a climate of social control that leads to caution. On the other hand, it should be acknowledged that the rural
population is particularly favorable to a controlled economy (78 percent). See NAPOC survey, "Divisions
within Bulgaria: Results of a Survey of Economic and Political Behavior," Studies in Public Policy, no. 199
(1992): questions 57,58, 63.
144. See the detailed article by Duncan M. Perry, "The Bulgarian Socialist Party Congress: Conservatism
Preserved," Reportan Eastern Europe (Oct. 26,1990): 4-8.
145. For an analysis of the fire, of the charges by the BSP that it was opposition-inspired violence, and
of countercharges by the Union of Democratic Forces (UDF) that it was done by the BSP to burn incrim-
inating documents, see Mark Baskin, "The Politics of the Attack on BSP Headquarters," Report on Eastern
Europe (Sept. 28,1990): 8-12.
146. Nikova, "The Bulgarian Transition," 137.
German politics after the fall of the early post-totalitarian regime, a number of
key leaders of the former democratic opposition lost legitimacy when it was re-
vealed that they had been "police informers" under the previous regime.147
Possibly the most dangerous attitudes for the legitimacy of democratic insti-
tutions involved the reluctance of some members of the UDF to accept the legit-
imacy of a "formal democracy" led by the BSP. A faction of the UDF (called the
"Dark Blues") in opposition to what was originally the mainstream of the UDF
party, the "Light Blues," protested the moral legitimacy of the formal majority of
the BSP to write the constitution for the new democracy. Their protest tactics
included walking out of the constitutional debates in the National Assembly.148
They were particularly enraged that the constitution made it difficult to prosecute
former regime officials for acts that were not illegal when they were committed.
In numerous interviews in the press and with Stepan, this group questioned
whether formal democratic constitutional procedures should have precedence
over the moral imperatives of justice. In terms of our categories, at times the Dark
Blues were only semiloyal democrats in opposition in 1990-91. Even in the
1991-92 period, after the UDF had won the general election in October 1991 and a
Dark Blue militant, Filip Dimitrov, had been prime minister for a year, they en-
gaged in some semiloyal activity.149
Despite these problems, by 1995 Bulgaria was still a functioning democratic
system. In 1991 the BSP began to renovate itself internally in a more democratic
fashion after they were voted out of power. At the December 1991 Fortieth Party
Congress of the BSP, the leadership began to be renewed with many young peo-
ple assuming positions of importance. The UDF, in contrast, faced greater diffi-
culties. In 1994, in protest against continued Dark Blue control of the UDF, the
Democratic Party and major groups from Ecoglasnost left the UDF. In fact, Eco-
glasnost, the most prominent civil society opposition group in the October-
November 1989 antiregime demonstrations, joined in an electoral coalition with
147. The most damaging case involved the leader of the UDF, Petar Beron, who was forced to resign in
December 1990 when accusations were made that for many years he had been an informer for the State Se-
curity. See Rada Nikolaev, "Between Hope and Anger," Report on Eastern Europe (Jan. 4,1991): 5-10.
148. In May 1991, fifty UDF delegates walked out of the National Assembly demonstrating their unwill-
ingness to work with the BSP, but "two-thirds of the opposition deputies remained in the parliament, ar-
guing that a more conciliatory attitude toward the communists might win the latter over to democracy."
See Flamen S. Tzvetkov, "The Politics of Transition in Bulgaria: Back to the Future?" Problems of Commu-
nism (May-June 1992): 35.
149. Interviews by Alfred Stepan in Bulgaria, August 31 to September 4,1992. While some members of
the opposition "advocated an eventual reconciliation and opposed the idea of reprisals against BSP offi-
cials," another faction (the Dark Blues) "adopted a far more strident tone, frequently referring to the BSP
as 'murderers' and a 'Mafia,' giving the impression that the UDF would conduct a wholesale purge of the
government if it won. Both the BSP and some members of the UDF referred to this as a policy of 'Mc-
Carthyism.' " See Bell, "Post-Communist" Bulgaria, 427. J. F. Brown goes further in his critique of the Dark
Blues. He argues that they contributed to dangerous confontational politicies in 1992-93. "The former com-
munists (now socialists) were not the ones most to blame; instead 'totalitarian' anti-communists had
threatened to run riot." J. F. Brown, Hopes and Shadows: Eastern Europe after Communism (Durham: Duke
University Press, 1994), 105-14, quote from p. 113.
the BSP. In December 1994, for the second straight general election, the UDF ex-
perienced a decline in its total vote share. The BSP coalition, with 43.5 percent of
the votes, won 52 percent of the seats. In January 1995, this led to the second peace-
ful alternation of party power since 1991, as Zhan Videnov of the BSP was sworn
in as prime minister.150
In early 1995 the UDF was thus in opposition again and still was divided about
whether it should be a party or a movement. For example, the UDF continued to
give an equal vote to each of the seventeen disparate groups in its organization. In
other words, the UDF had yet to tranform itself from its prepolitical origins as an
umbrella movement that had emerged out of an early post-totalitarian context
into a modern democratic party.
From the perspective of prior regime type, Bulgaria from 1989 to 1995 probably
"overperformed" democratically. The Bulgarian case needs much more study by ob-
servers more qualified than we are. However, we offer two hypotheses to explain this
democratic "overperformance": one to do with institutional choice and another to
do with an overlooked aspect of Bulgaria's pretransition civil society. The institu-
tional choice question concerns Bulgaria's initial use of a parliamentary framework
and its continued use of proportional representation which facilitated minority rep-
resentation. The parliamentary form of government gave some flexibility to the frag-
ile Bulgarian democracy that a presidential or semipresidential system would not
have. For example, when president Mladenov became involved in a scandal about his
possibly urging the use of tanks against protestors, the parliament was able to select
the leader of the UDF opposition, Zhelyu Zhelev, the dissident philosopher of great
prestige, as the president in August 1990. (The July 1991 Constitution subsequently
introduced a semi-parliamentary system with direct election of the president.)
The elections in October 1991 were won by the Dark Blues, helping to bring
them a bit more into normal politics. The choice of a parliament elected by pro-
portional representation has also meant that politically motivated attacks on Bul-
garia's Turkish minority have been softened somewhat, since both major parties
intermittently wanted to follow policies that made them a plausible "coalition
partner" with the Muslim-based Movement for Rights and Freedom (MRF), which
in the first few elections provided the swing vote. In fact, the MRF was a crucial
partner in a BSP minority government and in a UDF minority government.151
150. We owe our information on the 1994 election to an unpublished paper by Dessislava Zagorcheva,
"The Transition to Democracy in Bulgaria and Hungary" (Department of Political Science, Central Euro-
pean University, Budapest, January 1995), and to Stefan Krause, "Bulgaria: Socialists at the Helm," Transi-
tion i, no. 4 (1995): 33-38.
151. Indeed, Nikova asserts that "the Dimitrov government was in fact a minority government whose
fate depended on cooperation with the MRF. The UDF-MRF coalition was disciplined, voting as a bloc on
major issues In a situation unique in Eastern Europe, a small, ethnically based movement has assumed
the role of a real national party, thereby thwarting the combined efforts of UDF and BSP extremists." See
Ekaterina Nikova, "Bulgaria's Transition and the New 'Government of Privatization,' " Woodrow Wilson
Center East European Studies Meeting Report, no. 82, p. i. MRF's swing role in 1990-94 probably enhanced
Bulgaria's capacity to deal with its potential stateness problems.
Our second hypothesis to explain Bulgaria's overperformance concerns an un-

expected finding about civil society. Concerning oppositional organization, we are
convinced that Bulgaria was close to the totalitarian ideal type until as late as 1988.
However, the life of the university and researchers was not as closed as this implies.
As long as academics did not organize protests or write critical reports, they were
able to read a surprisingly wide variety of material in the national library—much
more than their counterparts in Czechslovakia or the USSR. This has meant that
Bulgaria had more intellectual capital than our category early post-totalitarian
would suggest. We are happy to call attention to the specificity of this anomaly of
Bulgarian early post-totalitarianism.152 Notwithstanding this optimistic hypothe-
sis, we are nevertheless concerned about the degree to which some of the legacies
of early post-totalitarianism (i.e., nearly flat civil, political, and economic societies
and a strong antipolitics strain in the parties and much of the public) mutually re-
inforce each other negatively. Thus, the challenge to rebuild each of these arenas is
a difficult but necessary task for democratic consolidation.153 In this respect we
should record some sobering evidence. In a survey conducted in Bulgaria, the
Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, Poland, and Romania, in answer to the ques-
tion as to whether it was "best to get rid of Parliament and elections and have a
strong leader who can quickly decide things," 45 percent of Bulgarians polled
strongly agreed or somewhat agreed. Hungary and the Czech Republic were much
closer to meeting our criteria of "attitudinal" support for democratic consolida-
tion in that, respectively, only 18 percent and 16 percent of the population strongly
agreed or somewhat agreed with this antidemocratic statement.154
We have concluded that there is great variety and that there are some possibil-
ities of evolution from the post-totalitarian regime type. We are now ready to ex-
plore an even more difficult type of regime configuration for democratic transi-
tion and consolidation. We consider it the most difficult and least understood
regime configuration—one that combines sultanistic and totalitarian tendencies.
152. This observation is based on Alfred Stepan's review of the holdings as of 1989 in various libraries in
Prague, Moscow, and Sofia and was confirmed by Bulgarian academics such as the economist Maria Todo-
rova and the social scientist Deyan Kiuranov, who have conducted research in both Moscow and Bulgaria
in the pre-1989 period.
153. With respect to the importance of pluralism in economic society and its expression in political so-
ciety, Herbert Kitschelt notes that "Bulgaria's transition to democracy was shaped by the preemptive strike
of segments in the communist party who then acquired a position to shape much of the economic trans-
formation because the opposition forces do not have a competent counter-elite that could effectively orga-
nize the political-economic transformation. . . . What is missing in the Bulgarian political landscape is a
genuinely libertarian pro-market political force equivalent to those found in Poland or Hungary." Herbert
Kitschelt, "Emerging Structures of Political Representation in Eastern Europe" (paper prepared for the con-
ference on the Social and Political Bases of Economic Liberalization, Warsaw, September 23-26, 1994),
quotes from pp. 14 and 32.
154. Richard Rose and Christian Haepfer, "New Democracies Barometer III: Learning from What Is
Happening," Studies in Public Policy, no. 230 (1994): table 45.
18
The Effects of Totalitarianism-

cum-Sultanism on Democratic
Transition: Romania
OF THE FORMER Warsaw pact countries in Eastern Europe (Bulgaria,

Czechoslovakia, East Germany, Hungary, Poland, and Romania), Romania has
numerous distinctions.1 It had the last transition. It had the most violent regime
termination. It was the only country that had nothing remotely close to a national
round table. It is the country where the successor regime committed the most
egregious violations of human rights. It is the only country where the democratic
opposition has yet to win a national election. It is the only country where a former
high Communist official was not only elected to the presidency in the first free
election, but re-elected.2
DECONSTRUCTING ROMANIAN EXCEPTIONALISM
What explains such exceptionalism? We should first acknowledge that there is

more debate about some of the most basic "facts" concerning the transition in
Romania than about any other transition we consider in this book. For example,
the uprising that sparked Ceausescu's downfall began in the town of Timisoara.
There has been an intense dispute about how many citizens were killed in
1. This chapter draws upon some material previously presented in Alfred Stepan, "Romania: In a
Sultanistic State," Times Literary Supplement (Oct. 1992), 26-27. Permission to reprint is acknowledged
gratefully.
2. Part of this "exceptionalism," of course, has historical roots that precede the Communist period. Ro-
mania had one of the weakest experiences of interwar democracy and one of the strongest indigenous fas-
cist movements (the Legion of the Archangel Michael or Iron Guard) in Eastern Europe. For this period see
the important studies by Eugene Weber, "Romania," in Hans Rogger and Eugene Weber, eds., The European
Right: A Historical Profile (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1966), 501-74, and Henry L. Roberts, Ru-
mania: Political Problems of an Agrarian State (New York: Yale University Press, 1951). For the purposes of this
chapter, the best biography of Ceausescu is by the Oxford historian Mark Almond, The Rise and Fall ofNico-
lae and Elena Ceausescu (London: Chapmans, 1992). Anneli Ute Gabanyi, Die unvollendete Revolution:
Rumänien zwischen Diktatur und Demokratie (Munich: Piper, 1990), is particularly useful for the complex
politics of the overthrow of Ceausescu. A useful modern history of Romania that contains seven short chap-
ters on the post-Ceausescu period is Martyn Rady, Romania in Turmoil: A Contemporary History (London:
I. B. Tauris, 1992). See also Daniel Nelson, ed., Romania after Tyranny (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1992).
Romania 345
Timisoara, who killed them, and whether the uprisings in Timisoara and later in
Bucharest were spontaneous, manipulated, or even planned by Communists for
their own ends.3 In Romania a major explanation for the country's exceptional-
ism involves variations of the theme of captured revolution and a well-planned
conspiracy.4 For an immersion in the atmosphere of elation, fear, rumor, confu-
sion, disinformation, and disillusionment that surrounded the fall of Ceausescu
in the winter of 1989 and that contributes to the conspiracy theory, one can do no
better than read the account by the award-winning poet Andrei Codrescu of his
return to Romania after a twenty-five-year exile in the United States.5 One of his
best chapters, subtitled "Seize the Means of Projection," describes the young stu-
dents, poets, peasants and former officials in front of the cameras, urgently pre-
senting their views of what was happening to an electrified country and the world.
Securitate terrorists were still believed to be a counter-revolutionary threat.
Rumors of deliberately poisoned water supplies, of 10,000, 60,000, even 100,000
dead, filled the news channels and the streets. Codrescu had his reservations
about many of the new converts to revolution from the old regime, but he, like
everyone else, was amazed by the ability of the revolutionaries to use television for
their purposes and was swept up in the revolutionary spontaneity of events.
Six months later, on a return visit, Codrescu's euphoria had turned to despair.
The old Communists, now the neo-Communists organized in the National Sal-
vation Front, had not only "captured the revolution" (the government itself, led
by Ion Iliescu and his former Communist allies), but also captured the words and
the meanings of the revolution. President Iliescu had called out vigilante miners
to smash the students (who represented to Codrescu the most authentic part of
the revolution in Bucharest). Codrescu was distressed to find that many of his
friends hailed Iliescu for thanking the miners publicly for their patriotic and dis-
ciplined rampage. Then, too, the body count in Timisoara had apparently been
inflated by digging up bodies from nearby paupers' graves. Codrescu was thor-
oughly disillusioned and disoriented. It seemed to him that the whole revolution
had been a fake, a film scripted by the Romanian Communists, with a "beautifully
orchestrated piece of Kremlin music conducted by Maestro Gorbachev."6
3. Comparativists interested in Romania are fortunate that two anthropologists with many years of field
work in Romania have dedicated an excellent article to a careful rereading of myths concerning the fall of
Ceausescu. See Katherine Verdery and Gail Kligman, "Romania after Ceausescu: Post-Communist Com-
munism?" in Ivo Banac, ed., Eastern Europe in Revolution (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992), 117-47.
For a much-needed analysis of the myths concerning Timisoara, see 118-22. See Michel Castex, Un men-
songe gros comme le siècle: Roumanie, histoire d'une manipulation (Paris: Albin Michel, 1990), for one such
myth, the revolution as a KGB plot.
4. Verdery and Kligman go so far as to call "'the plot mentality' characteristic of virtually every Ro-
manian's description of events prior to, during, and after December 1989." Verdery and Kligman, "Roma-
nia after Ceausescu," 119. Nestor Ratesh devotes a forty-page chapter to a review of conspiracy theories in
his Romania: The Entangled Revolution (New York: Praeger, 1991), 80-119.
5. Andrei Codrescu, The Hole in the Flag: A Romanian Exile's Story of Return and Revolution (New York:
William Morrow, 1992).
6. Ibid., 206.
Codrescu's difficulty in knowing what happened is ours too. We do know that

the number of people killed in the collapse of Ceaucescu's regime is closer to two
thousand than sixty thousand. We also know that Codrescu is probably right in
thinking there was an element of a staged counter-revolution, even to the extent
of simulated gunfire, and that disinformation played an important role in the
events. If, during the uprising, the forces of Iliescu in the Central Committee
building in Bucharest's main square were under siege by Securitate loyalists, why
are the surrounding buildings destroyed and the Central Committee building un-
scarred by bullets?
We dwell on Codrescu's book because the idea of a "scripted" revolution, im-
plying a sinister plot written in advance whose enactment allowed its authors to
"capture" the revolution, is still probably the reigning framework for analyzing
the events in the country. But, as we have indicated, of all of the transitions from
Communism that occurred in Eastern Europe, Romania's is the one where we are
least able to know what really happened, and, of all the narratives, that of the
scripted revolution allows the fewest ambiguities and contradictions. The value of
Codrescu's book, then, lies not in its account of connected events as they oc-
curred, but in its documentation of how myths are replaced by countermyths. In-
deed, what we are arguing is that, for Romania more than for any other transition
in Eastern Europe, any primarily narrative account is necessarily unsatisfying;
what we need, rather are studies of the dynamics of myth creation and the func-
tion of disinformation—a deconstruction of the revolution itself. The best effort
along these lines is the superb piece by two anthropologists, Katherine Verdery
and Gail Kligman. They too have sifted through the supposed facts and evidence,
and they know all the literature, but their concern is with the very terms by which
the events in Romania were experienced, described, and understood: the miners,
the demonstrators, the front, the revolution, neo-communism. This makes for a lot
of italics, but is illuminating.7
Most importantly, to analyze the Romanian transition we need to think more
deeply about the nature of the Ceausescu regime and to place Romanian politics
in comparative perspective. Of the Warsaw Pact countries in Eastern Europe,
Romania had the weakest organized opposition. Indeed, civil society is still so
weak that many members of the two innovative organizations, the Civic Alliance
and the Group for Social Dialogue, want the monarchy back in order, they say, to
give civil society a chance to develop.
The exceptionalism of Romania is most apparent when we consider it in relation
to Poland, Hungary, and Czechoslovakia. However we classify the latter regimes in
political terms, in all of them, but not in Romania, some space for organized oppo-
sition already existed before the transitions began. Ceausescu's Romania was a fun-
damentally different place. In Romania, there were no autonomous or even semi-
7. Verdery and Kligman, "Romania after Ceauçescu."

Romania 347
autonomous career paths in the state apparatus. Even the top nomenklatura were
hired, treated, mistreated, transferred, and fired as members of the household staff.
There was growing personalism, beginning with the appointment of Elena
Ceausescu to the Politburo in 1972 and ending with the well-known "socialism in
one family" of the 19805.
In essence, Ceausescu treated Romania as his personal domain. Max Weber
called this kind of extreme patrimonialism "sultanistic." The Middle Eastern as-
sociations of the term are unfortunate because regimes as geographically diverse
as Kim II Sung's in North Korea, Bokassa's in the Central African Empire, and
Somoza's in Nicaragua all exhibited strong sultanistic tendencies. In our judg-
ment, understanding the combination of sultanistic and totalitarian tendencies in
Ceausescu's Romania clarifies much more that is distinctive in Romania's past,
present, and foreseeable future than the framework of a Communist plot or a
"captured revolution."8
TOTALITARIANISM: ANTI-SOVIET STALINISM AND

THE MlSSED P O S T - T O T A L I T A R I A N I S M TURN
Before we explore the sultanistic component of Ceausescu's rule, let us first

examine the totalitarian component. Specifically, did Romania ever come close to
being post-totalitarian, by which we mean did Romania ever loosen any of the con-
trols of a fully totalitarian system? And, if it did, how and why—unlike in most East
European countries—did totalitarianism re-emerge? Personalism and the manip-
ulation of nationalism are a key part of this and the subsequent sultanistic story.
Whereas most of the East European countries underwent destalinization peri-
ods under Khrushchev's influence, Romania under Gheorghiu-Dej and his close
associate, Nicolae Ceausescu, actually resisted destalinization. However, in the last
two years of Dej's rule (1963-65), a combination of anti-Soviet nationalism and
domestic liberalization gave the regime a somewhat greater degree of internal
support.
When Dej died in March 1965, Ceauçescu, by no means the clearly pre-eminent
surviving member of the Politburo, was selected within three days as the First Sec-
retary. Ironically, Ceauçescu successfully used appeals to "collective leadership"
and respect for colleagues in his effort to consolidate power. Indeed, as Ken Jowitt
8. The totalitarian-sultanistic combination is not such an unlikely combination as is often thought. In

a trenchant and pioneering manner, Kenneth Jowitt has long insisted on the patrimonial dimension of
many Leninist regimes. In his opinion both the Soviet and Romanian regimes had strong patrimonial ten-
dencies before Stalin's death in 1953. He goes even further. He develops an argument, using the same quotes
from Max Weber that we cited in chapter 3, that "patrimonialism in its sultanistic form was dominant in
the Romanian Party at least from 1957 until 1965." See Kenneth Jowitt, Revolutionary Breakthroughs and Na-
tional Development: The Case of Romania 1944-1965 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1971), 190-197,
quote from 193. For Dej's fusion of Leninism and patrimonialism and how this was in some ways congru-
ent with traditional Romanian ascriptive structures of personal patronage, see pp. 147-149.
and Mary Ellen Fisher make clear in their perceptive studies, Ceausescu's rise to
power was aided precisely by the fact that he appealed to those party leaders who
wanted a more institutional approach to party rule. The 1965-68 period is a cru-
cial period in Romanian development because mutual fear among the party elite
might have contributed, as it had earlier in the Soviet Union, to the regime be-
coming post-totalitarian.9
However, Ceauçescu skillfully used nationalism to go from primus inter pares to
undisputed leader. Alone among the Warsaw Pact leaders, Ceauçescu condemned
the 1968 Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia. This act greatly increased his national
and international support. Both sources of support augmented his relative inde-
pendence from the collective leadership and from criticism. A leading Romanian
intellectual captures how nationalism helped Ceauçescu: "At the end of 1968 Ro-
mania was the only country in Eastern Europe where the communist leader was
strongly supported by intellectuals. To criticize Ceau§escu we had to undergo a
process of rejection that was not easy for us because each gesture against Ceausescu
was seen as a gesture for the Soviet Union."10 An analogous process, which yielded
important material and moral resources and helped demoralize the domestic op-
position, occurred among Western leaders. Leaders from De Gaulle to Nixon came
to Romania and praised Ceaucescu for his independence. Such international ac-
claim distracted attention from the fact that Ceauçescu was not like Czechoslova-
kia's Dubcek, who combined anti-Soviet and anti-Stalinist practices, but was actu-
ally creating a new form of "anti-Soviet Stalinism."11
By the Tenth Party Congress in 1969, collective leadership was interred.
Ceausescu managed to change the party statutes so as to increase his freedom
9. Jowitt cites a key 1965 Ceauçescu speech to the Party Congress as an example of his appeal to a more
collégial style of leadership. He also notes that "another element is the very real fear which most members
of the elite coalition probably had of Draghici, the head of the security police, to obtain leadership of the
Party." Ibid., 226; see also 192-97, 224-28. Jowitt's argument is similar to the reasons he gives for the emer-
gence of a more collégial post-totalitarian leadership style in the Soviet Union after Stalin's death. "The party
leadership favored Khrushchev's Party Magna Carta—that is, strictures against a Party sultan like Stalin and
his possible use of a patrimonial secret police against the leadership itself." Kenneth Jowitt, New World Dis-
order: The Leninist Extinction (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992), 251. The most extensive analy-
sis of the rise and demise of collective leadership in Romania under Ceauçescu is Mary Ellen Fischer, Nico-
lae Ceausescu: A Study in Political Leadership (Boulder, Colo.: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1989), 66-140.
10. Interview by Alfred Stepan with Pavel Campeanu, Bucharest, June 23,1991. A comparable remark
was made by another prominent intellectual who otherwise has a quite different political outlook than
Campeanu. Ovidiu Trasnea, who was a vice president of the International Political Science Association in
1984, argues that "Ceauçescu from 1968-1971 succeeded in gaining the sympathy of the people. This was his
most brilliant period." Interview with Stepan, Bucharest, June 25,1991. Martyn Rady also comments on the
importance of Ceauçescu's condemnation of the 1968 Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia for the consolida-
tion of his power: "Ceaus.escu's defiance of Moscow made him a national hero. He and the survival of the
Romanian nation became for a time inextricably bound together in the public imagination and opposition
to him became temporarily confused with betrayal of the country." Rady, Romania in Turmoil, 42.
11. As Mark Almond notes, "It is difficult today to recall that Dubcek and Ceauçescu were often men-
tioned in one breath as the great hopes for reform." Almond, Rise and Fall of Ceausescu, 65. He goes on to
say that, in fact, Ceausescu never repudiated Stalin; indeed, four months before his death he affirmed that
"Stalin did everything a man in his position should have done." 67.
Romania 349
from collective leadership. The instrument that was most potentially useful for
collective leadership was the fact that the Politburo and the Central Committee
had the prerogatives of appointing and removing the General Secretary. Ceau-
sescu was able to shift these prerogatives to the much larger Party Congress, over
which he had greater personal control. His arguments were that this should be
done for reasons of national autonomy because the Congress would be harder for
Moscow to manipulate, and for democracy, because the Congress should be the
sovereign body of the party.12
In 1971 Ceauçescu visited China at the height of the cultural revolution and made
the first of his many trips to North Korea. As Mark Almond comments, "He was
even more impressed by the cult of Kim II Sung in Pyongyang than by the adora-
tion of Mao on display in Peking."13 Upon his return to Romania, Ceauçescu al-
most immediately eliminated the last vestiges of a more relaxed post-totalitarian
cultural life.14 In 1974, he was inaugurated president in a ceremony mimicking a
coronation, which completed the fusion of all key party and state roles.15
SULTANISTIC ACCRETIONS
After 1974 the Romanian regime never became less totalitarian, but it did be-
come increasingly sultanistic. This combination made the Romanian regime very
resistant to any form of nonviolent transformation.
In chapter 3 we spelled out what a regime with strong sultanistic tendencies
would be like vis-à-vis the four key dimensions of regime type: leadership, plu-
ralism, ideology, and mobilization. We start with the regime feature that is most
distinctive of sultanism—leadership. Ceauçescu's policies and personal style
made it clear that he was unbounded by rational-legal constraints like collective
leadership and party statutes, and his rule was highly personalistic and arbitrary.
We argued that sultanistic regimes, because of their personalism and the fact
that all power derives from the sultan, tend to exhibit strong dynastic tendencies.
The extreme tendency of the "sultan" to place his family in most key positions dif-
ferentiates it from the strong personalism of totalitarianism. Under Ceauçescu,
his wife Elena was formally and informally the second most powerful person in
the country. Among the titles she held were First Deputy Prime Minister, Chair-
man of the Commission on Cadres of the Romanian Communist Party, and
12. Previously cited interview with Ovidiu Trasnea; also Fischer, Nicolae Ceausescu, 152-59.
13. Almond, Rise and Fall of Ceaufescu, 70.
14. From 1970 to 1972 the minister of culture in Romania was Mircea Malitza. Almost immediately after
Ceausescu's visit to China and North Korea, Ceausescu criticized Malitza for being too tolerant, ordered the
cancellation of an experimental course in Western management techniques, greatly curtailed the study of
foreign languages, and made all ideological courses revolve around his personal thought. Interview with
Mircea Malitza by Stepan, June 22,1991, Bucharest.
15. For details see Fischer, Nicolae Ceaufescu, 160-70, and Almond, Rise and Fall of Ceaufescu, 70-71.
Chairman of the National Council on Science and Technology. President Ceau-

sescu's four brothers all held key levers of power, while other ministerial positions
rotated in and out at the pleasure of Ceausescu (often called the Conducator). In
the Ministry of Defense, his brother, Hie, was Chief of the Main Political Direc-
torate. In the all-powerful and hated security police (Securitate), his brother,
Nicolae, was in charge of the personnel department. His brother, loan, was Vice-
Chairman of the State Planning Commission, and his brother, Florea, was a mem-
ber of the staff of Scinteia, the party daily. The list of other family members in
high positions goes on and on. And, of course, his son, Nicu, was widely seen as
being groomed as his successor.16
The leadership style also became increasingly personalistic. Ceaucescu's 160
"books" were translated into thirty languages and the Romanian philosophical
dictionary gave more space to President Ceausescu's doctrine of Marxism than to
the entries for Marx, Engels, and Lenin combined.17 By the mid-ipjos, Mary Ellen
Fisher writes, "no Romanian official could deliver a report or write an article
without referring to President Ceausescu's personal insight and leadership as the
major source of inspiration and guidance."18
Ceauçescu's sultanistic leadership style was again and again manifested in poli-
cies. He personally designed, with virtually no technocratic or party help, many
huge industrial projects. He destroyed much of historic Bucharest as he capri-
ciously designed and endlessly redesigned all of the approach routes and the cen-
tral edifice of the most brutal architectural project in Eastern Europe, The Palace
of the People.19 The construction of huge steel mills was a product of this style.20
One of the most devastating of Ceauçescu's personal decisions was his pronatal-
ist and antiabortion campaign, which led to compulsory humiliating gynecolog-
ical examinations of women in factories, unwanted pregnancies, abandoned chil-
dren and, given the weakness of Romania's hospital system, an AIDS epidemic
among children in orphanages.21
16. On the dynastic dimensions of Ceausescu's rule, see R. de Fleurs, "Socialism in One Family," Survey
28, no. 4 (1984): 165-74, and Ronald H. Linden, "Socialist Patrimonialism and the Global Economy: The
Case of Romania," International Organization 40, no. 2 (1986): 347-79. For an extensive list of family mem-
bers in key public positions, see Vladimir Tismaneanu, "Personal Power and Political Crisis in Romania,"
Government and Opposition 24, no. 2 (1989): 177-98, esp. 192-93.
17. See Vlad Georgescu, "Romania in the 19805: The Legacy of Dynastic Socialism," East European Poli-
tics and Society 2, no. i (1988), 82, and Vladimir Tismaneanu, "Ceausescu's Socialism," Problems of Commu-
nism 34 ( Jan.-Feb. 1985): 63.
18. Mary Ellen Fisher, "Idol or Leader? The Origins and Future of the Ceausescu Cult," in Daniel N. Nel-
son, ed., Romania in the ig&os (Boulder, Colo.: Westview, 1981), 118.
19. Almond devotes an entire chapter, "The Architect of Socialism," to this revealing sultanistic episode.
Almond, Rise and Fall of Ceausescu, 153-71.
20. For the arbitrariness of these and other policies, see Daniel N. Nelson, Romania: Politics in the
Ceausescu Era (New York: Gordon and Breach Science Publishers, 1988), esp. xiii-xvii, and Vlad Georgescu,
"Romania in the 19805: The Legacy of Dynastic Socialism," East European Politics and Societies 2, no. i
(1988), 66-93.
21. See Gail Klingman, "The Politics of Reproduction in Ceausescu's Romania: A Case Study of Politi-
cal Culture," East European Politics and Societies 6, no. 3 (1993): 364-418; Daniel J. Rothman and Sheila M.
Romania 351
These totalitarian and sultanistic tendencies combined to make all individuals,

groups, and institutions permanently subject to the sultan's arbitrary interven-
tion. The essence of pluralism in sultanism is that no one is free from the exercise
of despotic power by the sultan, from top party officials to pregnant women.
Tismaneanu captures the personal despotic power of Ceauçescu deftly: "He be-
haves like an absolutist monarch humiliating party bureaucrats (his vassals) and
treating citizens like his property."22 This extreme personalization of power in-
evitably meant that there was no degree of institutional autonomy or pluralism in
Romania. Career lines in the party and in important state organs such as the mil-
itary were constantly disrupted. According to Tismaneanu, "the leading role of the
party has been superseded by the absolute power of the General Secretary and his
family. The level of independent initiatives by party apparatchiks has been re-
duced to a minimum. In order to stay in office, these people must excel in servility
and conformity.... Under Ceausescu the communist elite has virtually disinte-
grated and the Political Executive Committee is nothing but a rubber-stamp body
dominated by the President and his wife."23
The Romanian Orthodox Church had no autonomy. In the late 19805 a few
priests began to protest against the regime, but according to Romania's Sakharov,
Mihail Botez, "all priests who took some very tough stands against state-church
cooperation were expelled or voluntarily left the country. For Romanians, they
are no longer important."24
In 1977 the most significant unrest before 1989 broke out during the miners strike
in the Jiu Valley. The two most important leaders of the strike were Constantine
Dobre and Engineer Jurca. After the strike was settled via a combination of Securi-
tate intervention and Ceausescu populism, Dobre disappeared and Jurca was mur-
dered.25 In 1979 there was an attempt by fifteen people in Bucharest to try to form an
independent trade union. According to Nelson, "Ceauçescu's reaction was swift;
Vasile Paraschiv, a principal organizer, was arrested and his fate remains unknown."26
There was absolutely no space in Ceauçescu's Romania for the development, as
in post-totalitarian Czechoslovakia, of a second culture. Typewriters had to be reg-
istered with the police (decree 98 of March 1983), and failure to report a conversa-
tion with a foreigner was a criminal offense (decree 408 of December 1985).27
Rothman, "How AIDS Came to Romania," New York Review of Books, November 8,1990, 5-8; and Rady's
chapter on the environment and AIDS in Romania in Turmoil, 78-82.
22. Comments during a round-table discussion, Romania: A Case of Dynastic Socialism (Perspectives on
Freedom no. 11, general ed., James Finn) (New York: Freedom House, 1989), 30. This fascinating book re-
produces on pp. 5-93 a late 1988 round-table discussion among ten Romanian dissidents.
23. Tismaneanu, "Personal Power and Political Crises," 192-93.
24. In round-table discussion mentioned in note 20, Romania: A Case of Dynastic Socialism, 76.
25. Ibid., 80-81.
26. Nelson, Romania: Politics in the Ceausescu Era, xiv.
27. See Georgescu, "Romania in the 19805," 84. In interviews with Stepan, a number of writers made a
point of insisting on the draconian effectiveness of these control mechanisms.
Fig. 18.1. Number of Independent Movements in Eastern Europe, June 1989.

Source: Jiri Pehe, "An Annotated Survey of Independent Movements in Eastern Europe," Radio Free Europe Research, RAD
Background Report/100 (Eastern Europe), June 13, 1989, pp. 1-29.
In the last chapter we showed that Bulgaria had substantially fewer indepen-
dent organizations in civil society than had Hungary or Czechoslovakia. How-
ever, in comparative terms, sultanistic and totalitarian Romania was even much
more repressive of independent groups than was the country closest to the total-
itarian/post-totalitarian boundary, Bulgaria. According to a comparative study by
Radio Free Europe, in June 1989 Bulgaria had thirteen independent organizations,
all of which had leaders whose names were publicly known. In sharp contrast, in
June 1989, Romania only had two independent organizations with bases inside
the country, neither of which had publicly known leaders (figure 18.1).
Stepan interviewed a number of the dissidents who in 1991 and 1992 were often
cited as having made the most courageous attempts to print and distribute ma-
terial critical of the regime. They all told varieties of the same tale. They worked
alone or almost alone. They virtually had to hand-make their printing equip-
ment, and they were all arrested either before or immediately after they attempted
to disseminate their critique or calls to action.28 Of all the countries we consider
28. Radu Filipescu, who in 1992 was president of Apador, a human rights and election watch organiza-
tion, had three times personally made and distributed (with one other person) a one-page flyer for a sym-
bolic protest. Two of the three times Filipescu was caught and arrested. Gabriel Andreescu, a key figure in
two of the major vehicles of post-Ceausescu civil society, the Group for Social Dialogue and the weekly 22,
spent three years trying to get a dissident text smuggled out of the country. When Stepan asked him how
many people in Romania had ever seen his dissident statements, Andreescu said "five or six." When Stepan
asked, "Why so few people?" Andreescu replied, "I fear that was too many." Andreescu was once arrested for
treason and once sent into internal exile. Probably the largest effort to create a dissident publication was by
Romania 353
in this book, Romania is the only country where not one genuinely full-blown
samizdat publication appeared.29 In no country was the penetration by, and fear
of, the ruler and his security services so intense.
This is not to say there were not forms of private dissent among people who
spoke a coded language. There was. One of the most famous involved a literary
critic. A poetry group called "Cenaclul de Luni" (Monday Circle) met at the Uni-
versity of Bucharest from 1977 until 1983 under the supervision of the renowned
literary critic, Nicolae Manolescu, as part of a compulsory cultural activity. One of
the members of the Monday Circle, the poet Bogdan Leiter, notes that, while the
group never had a journal or the opportunity to publicly express itself politically,
it did evolve its own standards. "The best literary critics refused to praise bad writ-
ers who praised the regime. They did not invert the scale of values. The poets de-
veloped a way to describe society via 'small realism'. We depicted a small symbolic
scene in a way that made a comment, without doing what we were not allowed to
do, such as direct criticism. We were able to transform an official institution into a
free, critical and creative institution." Precisely because the regime feared the élan
of the Monday Circle, the university's ideological officer closed the circle in igSs.30
Another event that gave spirit to intellectuals who opposed the regime was the
publication of two widely read books of dialogues by a disciple of the almost
monastically reclusive philosopher, Constantin Noica. The books acquired great
significance precisely because the very idea of a socratic dialogue introduced the
idea of disagreement and pluralism of thought.31 But the fact that the Monday
Circle and the socratic dialogue were two of the most widely discussed expres-
sions of independent thought and life indicates how far away from organized
public dissent "living in truth" remained in Romania.
the journalist Petre Mihai Bacanu (who in 1992 was editor of the most important independent daily, Ro-
mania Libera). For eight months, Bacanu worked with six colleagues and used scrap material to build, "like
Gutenberg," a small movable-type printing device so they could publish a newspaper. They made 2,000
copies of one sheet printed on both sides. All seven dissidents were arrested before the paper was distrib-
uted, probably because they tried to extend their group to thirty people to create a distribution network.
Bacanu was released from prison on the day that Ceausescu fled Bucharest. This note is based on interviews
with Stepan in Bucharest, June 21-25,1991> and August 25-31,1992.
29. Future research will no doubt unearth some examples of a samizdat publication, but the key point
is that most political activists insist they never saw one. Let us quote from some of our interviews with im-
portant political activists: "No samizdat existed in Romania. Occasionally a single person would put out a
flyer, but no journal even had a single issue" (Pavel Campeanu). "We did not exactly have any samizdathere.
But we had jokes of extremely high quality" (Senator Sorin Botez of the National Liberal Party and a for-
mer political prisoner). "No real samizdat of any sort, just an occasional flyer but even this was difficult be-
cause all the typewriters had to be registered with the police and their typeface analyzed once a year. There
is not much study of the opposition under Ceauçescu because there was nothing that significant" (Calin
Anastasiu, social scientist who won election as an opposition deputy in September 1992). Ibid.
30. Interview by Stepan with Ion Bogdan Leiter, poet and an editor of the important cultural journal
Contrapuncte in Bucharest, August 27,1991.
31. The "school" of the philosopher Constantin Noica is the subject of a chapter in the important book
on cultural politics by Katherine Verdery, National Ideology under Socialism: Identity and Cultural Politics
in Ceaucescu's Romania (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 256-301.
In authoritarian Poland the parallel society was led by a trade union with ten
million members eight years before the transition. In the highly repressive post-
totalitarian Czechoslovakia, the leader of the parallel society was a playwright
who helped lead an organization that in the twelve years before the transition is-
sued 570 reports. In sultanistic/totalitarian Romania, the leaders were poets, liter-
ary critics, and philosophers, all of whom spoke a deeply encoded language of dis-
sent, but none of whom were nationally known organizers of any form of public
resistance. When the sultan fell there was no nationally known democratic move-
ment or individual who could contest effectively for control of state power.
We now turn to the question of ideology. Under Ceausescu there was indeed
an elaborate ideology of the sort that is a key characteristic of totalitarianism and
that is not normally associated with sultanism. This ideology had many of the
standard features of Marxism-Leninism: a focus on collective property, the van-
guard role of the party, and the articulation of Utopian goals. The massive indus-
trialization policy and the schematization plan to eliminate the rural-urban
distinction by razing seven thousand traditional villages and forcibly putting
peasants in three- or four-story buildings represent the subjection of the society's
specificity in the name of totalizing, abstract ideology. However, under Ceau-
s,escu, especially in the 19805, there were also increasingly strong sultanistic ten-
dencies that weakened the guiding function of ideology because Ceausescu's
ideological messages became increasingly contradictory, erratic, and personalisti-
cally opportunistic. In chapter 3 we argued that in sultanism there is "no elabo-
rate and guiding ideology" but a "highly arbitrary manipulation of symbols" and
an "extreme glorification of the leader." Countless analysts of Ceauçescu under-
score the extraordinary manipulation of ideology. A few citations will suffice.
One of us asked a Romanian social scientist what ideology meant to Ceau-
çescu. The answer was revealing:
He gave much importance to ideological problems but he was very mobile, very attentive to
changes in the national and international environment, so one of his preferred slogans was 'en-
richment of socialist theory.' In his mind it was a serious effort, but there was a constant ten-
dency to interpret ideology in his favor, and for the last three or four years his resolve to search
for such ideological enrichment became weaker and weaker. Slogans were repeated without
argumentation.... He convinced few people with his ideology. There was a declining curve of
commitment and identification with Ceausescu.32
A European scholar, writing while Ceausescu still ruled, also captured the degree
to which ideology increasingly became neither a constraining framework for Ceau-
çescu nor a guiding parameter of action for followers. "Ceauçescuism," he wrote,
contains a core of basic tenets constantly violated in practice, thus introducing a sense of unre-
ality, fiction, and a Kafkaesque atmosphere of insecurity, anxiety and erratic behavior. As a style
32. From the previously cited interview by Alfred Stepan with Ovidiu Trasnea.
Romania 355
of operation it is characterized by extreme centralization of power, irrationality, and bombas-

tic symbolism.... As a set of parameters for subelite behavior, Ceaucescuism is unpredictable
... thus rendering predictable parameters and standards of performance invalid and dependent
upon the attitudes of the movement in the inner circles of the Ceauçescu-Petrescu clan.33
Gheorghe Sencovici, son of a former Romanian Central Committee member

and a computer scientist who left Romania in 1982, asked in 1986: "Who is
Ceauçescu today? Is he a Communist? Is he a Stalinist? Is he obsessed by lack of
legitimacy? Is he representing a doctrine? I am afraid he does not represent any-
thing at all.... He is closer to Idi Amin, Hitler, Reza Pahlavi and Bokassa than to
some other Communist leaders who are still driven by the doctrine."34 Signifi-
cantly, of the four figures whom Sencovici compares with Ceausescu, only Hitler
was not in our judgment close to the sultanistic type.
In this context Marxism as a living ideology virtually died in Romania. As
Katherine Verdery concludes in her systematic and impressive study of ideology
and cultural politics under Ceausescu, "Marxist philosophy in Romania did not re-
produce itself into a second generation: in the 19805 scarcely anyone was carrying
on serious philosophical inquiries of a materialist sort."35 In fact, her central thesis
is that the extreme nationalism of the sort that Ceausescu espoused and endorsed
undermined the universalism of Marxism-Leninism. "This national ideology dis-
rupted the Marxist discourse and thus—despite the Communist Party's apparent
appropriation of it—was a major element in destroying the Party's legitimacy."36
The final regime characteristic we discuss is mobilization. This is the hardest
for us to classify clearly. Certainly Romania under Ceauçescu approximated the
totalitarian ideal type, in that there was "extensive and intensive mobilization into
a vast army of regime-created organizations." As one Romanian social scientist
commented, "in no other East European country were so many organizations
politicized. Even small organizations with no intrinsic political character, such as
an 'organization of people concerned with bees,' were organized by the party-
state. The system interfered more deeply in aspects of your life than in any other
East European country."37 Certainly there was a degree of "voluntary" work on
Saturdays, and a constant round of state-sponsored mobilization not normally
characteristic of either a post-totalitarian or a sultanistic regime.
33. Trond Gilberg, Nationalism and Communism in Romania: The Rise and Fall of Ceausescu's Personal
Dictatorship (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1990), 56.
34. See the previously cited Freedom House round-table discussions, Romania: A Case of Dynastic So-
cialism, 19.
35. Verdery, National Ideology under Socialism, 269. Juan Linz in a private conversation with a top can-
didate for public office in Catalonia supported by the PSUC, the Partido Socialista Unificado de Cataluña
(the Catalonian wing of the Communist Party), who had been a guest of Ceausescu in Bucharest, heard the
candidate comment that the regime that he considered most similar to Ceausescu's was Somoza's
Nicaragua.
36. Ibid., 4.
37. From the previously cited interview by Alfred Stepan with Ovidiu Trasnea.
If there was a deviation from totalitarianism concerning mobilization, it was

that it was designed not so much to "mobilize enthusiasm" as to ensure the sul-
tan's control of the population by reducing private space and the scope for any
form of unauthorized activity. Certainly, the mass ritualized adulation of Ceau-
sescu had as much a sultanistic as a totalitarian quality. By the 19805 militants and
cadres did not play an especially important role. Rather, every organization and
institute in Bucharest was assigned a quota and a specific place for fulfilling cere-
monial obligations.38
In summation, we believe our analysis of the status of pluralism, leadership,
ideology, and mobilization under Ceausescu, especially in the 1974-89 period,
merits classifying Romania as a regime that exhibited both strong sultanistic and
strong totalitarian qualities.
No one variable ever completely explains complex historical processes. How-
ever, an understanding of the nature of a regime that combines totalitarian and
sultanistic qualities helps illuminate how and why most of the democratic paths
to transition are virtually precluded. It also helps us understand why, even in the
aftermath of the transition from sultanism, organized democratic forces are pre-
dictably weak and nondemocratic forces who can get credit for destroying the sul-
tan can claim revolutionary credibility.
THE MISSING PLAYERS FOR A "PACTED TRANSITION"
One of the most common paths away from a nondemocratic to a democratic

regime is via a "pacted transition." In this book we have analyzed such pacted
transitions from authoritarian regimes in Spain, Brazil, Uruguay, and Poland and
even in the mature post-totalitarian regime of Hungary. In essence, pacted tran-
sitions are four-player games composed of hard-liners and soft-liners in the re-
gime and moderates and radicals in the opposition. Theoretically and politically,
there are two structural preconditions of such a pacted transition to democracy:
(i) the existence of organized, nationally known, and nonviolent democratic
groups in civil and political society and (2) the existence of soft-liners in the
regime who have the desire and autonomy to negotiate a "pacted reform." Neither
one of these necessary preconditions is possible in a sultanistic and totalitarian
regime. Opposition groups, especially if they are moderate, democratic, and visi-
ble, are made to disappear. Within the regime, the sultan does not have room in
his personal household staff for soft-liners who negotiate regime change. Thus,
the four-player game is not an available transition path because the two most crit-
ical players are simply not present.
38. For a description of such compulsory mobilization and adulation, see Nelson, Romania: Politics in
the Ceaufescu Era, 60.
Romania 357
EXITS FROM SULTANISM: THE SPECIAL ROLE OF

VIOLENCE AND I N T E R N A T I O N A L INFLUENCE
Romania's peculiar combination of nationalist sultanism and totalitarianism

also helps explain why violence predictably played a major role in the transition
and why it was the last country in the Warsaw Pact to have a regime change. In a
sultanistic regime there are almost no incentives or vehicles for regime-led dem-
ocratic transition. The sultanistic erosion of the party's autonomy virtually pre-
cluded that a peaceful Bulgarian-type, collective, Politburo decision to remove the
maximum leader would be possible. A military-led extrication coup by the "mil-
itary as organization" was even less likely because not only was there no military
as government, but, as Weber indicated, in a sultanistic regime state careers and
state organizations lose all their organizational autonomy as they are constantly
manipulated in accordance with the sultan's will. Finally, the sultanistic and to-
talitarian combination virtually precludes a transition in which a democratic and
well-organized opposition in civil society brings down the regime without being
met by violence. It is precisely this closure of nonviolent paths to regime transi-
tion that helps explain why regimes with strongly sultanistic features, probably
more than any other type of regime, end in violent or revolutionary upheavals.39
Cases in point are Somoza's Nicaragua, the Shah's Iran, and Batista's Cuba, as well
as Ceausescu's Romania.
In these circumstances, not only is some form of peaceful regime-led or soci-
ety-led transition virtually impossible, but external events more than internal
events can play an especially important role. Due to the diffusion effect, events in
the Soviet Union concerning glasnost and perestroika and the upheavals in Hun-
gary, Poland, East Germany, and even Bulgaria were widely followed throughout
Romania via Radio Free Europe and Hungarian and even Bulgarian television.40
39. There is a growing literature on the propensity of regimes with strong sultanistic qualities to fall by
revolutionary upheavals. See Jeff Goodwin and Theda Skocpol, "Explaining Revolutions in the Contem-
porary Third World," Politics and Society 17, no. 4 (1989): 489-509; Richard Snyder, "Combining Structural
and Voluntaristic Explanatory Perspectives: Paths Out of Sultanistic Dictatorships," in H. E. Chehabi and
Juan J. Linz, eds., Sultanistic Regimes, a book-length manuscript in progress; and John Foran and Jeff Good-
win, "Revolutionary Outcomes in Iran and Nicaragua: Coalition Fragmentation, War, and the Limits of So-
cial Transformation," Theory and Society 22 (1993): 209-47. Writing months before the violent overthrow of
Ceausescu, Giuseppe di Palma perceptively observed, "Ceausescu has moved closer to the patrimonial and
predatory despotism of Central America. Thus, open repression/open conflict are more likely." See his To
Craft Democracies: An Essay on Democratic Transitions (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 240.
40. In interview after interview, activists and observers stressed the importance of external events. Even
events in the penultimate Warsaw Pact country to fall—Bulgaria—were critical in changing power relations
in Romania. Malitza, a former education minister, commented: "From 1988-1989 it was a delight for us to
watch Bulgarian television. We got Yugoslavian, Hungarian, Soviet and Bulgarian TV. To Romanians it was
amazing to see such relative freedom. We had always looked down on Bulgaria. In the late 19805 some Roma-
nians began to learn Bulgarian. We knew we could not go any lower. We watched the fall of Zhivkov in Bul-
garia. We knew something had to happen here." Interview with Stepan, June 22,1991, Bucharest. Gabriel An-
dreescu clearly acknowledged the Bulgarian demonstration effect. "I saw the success of the Bulgarian
'Eco-Glasnost.' I tried to create an ecological group here." Interview, August 26,1992, Bucharest. Very impor-
Table 18.1. Evaluation of the Most Important Factors Influencing Public Opinion in the Period before
the Overthrow of the Ceausescu Regime
Factor %
Political change in Eastern Europe 61%

Soviet policy change toward Eastern Europe 53%
Radio Free Europe broadcasts 33%
Romanian dissident activities 28%
Source: Poll administered to 1,500 people in Romania in 1990 by Radio Free Europe and presented by Ronald Linden at the
IVth World Congress for Soviet and East European Studies, July 21-26, 1990, Harrogate, England.
The importance of these events and the relative unimportance of domestic dissi-
dence activities is underscored in the results of a poll administered after the over-
throw of the Ceausescu regime (table 18.1). Given the critical importance of such
prior events, it is understandable that Romania's sultanistic and totalitarian re-
gime was the last of the Warsaw Pact dominoes to fall.
THE "CAPTURE" OF THE R E V O L U T I O N : SULTANISM'S ROLE
Much of the academic and popular literature on the Romanian transition

puzzles over the problem of the "captured revolution." The ease with which Ion
Iliescu and other neo-Communists were able to assume control of the popular
uprising that began in Timisoara has led many commentators to attribute it to
Soviet control or to a well-orchestrated prior plot. We are now in a position to ad-
vance our claim that sultanism itself is a more powerful explanation.
It was precisely the sultanistic component of Ceaucescu's regime that enabled
Iliescu to present Ceauçescu as the embodiment of the system and to imply that
he, Iliescu, had changed the political and economic system completely by decap-
itating the "hydra-headed monster." In no other Warsaw Pact country would this
rhetorical trick of focusing moral outrage on a person, not the system, have had
such weight. In East Germany, Czechoslovakia, and, to a lesser extent, even Bul-
garia, the top leader was removed by the party, but this did virtually nothing to
stop the protests against the regimes as such and the demands by the democratic
opposition for a change of the entire system.
The extreme personalism and despotism of a regime, however, facilitates the
"capture" of a revolution by groups very close to the old regime. The highly per-
sonalistic nature of the regime allows new leaders, even if they had close links to
the regime, to advance the claim that the sultan was responsible for all of the evil
tantly, people felt that peaceful change would not be an option. In the words of the poet Ion Bogdan Lefter,
"after 1980 in Poland, after Gorbachev in 1986, and especially after the 1989 dominos, we felt we were an iso-
lated case and that Ceausescu would never accept peaceful change." Interview, August 27,1992, Bucharest.
Romania 359
in the country, thereby dissociating themselves from the sultanistic regime by

playing a prominent role in his overthrow.
In Romania the radio and television accounts of the new Council of National
Salvation emphasized the personalistic nature of the regime. The communiqué
talked of the "downfall of the odious dictatorship of the Ceausescu clan." In fact,
this goes a long way to explain why Iliescu's colleagues in the interim regime
rapidly eliminated the sultan in a "judicial murder."41 To understand the new
regime and the doubts we have about its liberal democratic character, we cannot
but remind the reader of the grotesque nature of the "trial" and "judicial murder"
of Nicolae and Elena Ceausescu, which were totally in contradiction with the
principles of rule of law and formal justice. The hurried execution has left many
doubts about how it was handled, even though the entire world was shown the
trial and the official version of the execution on television. It would seem that the
new rulers wanted to exploit the hatred of the Ceausescu's and at the same time
to prevent embarassing accusations of their own past involvement under the sul-
tan. In any case the show trial and summary execution were an inauspicious be-
ginning for the new regime. The success of the revolution was proclaimed to lie
in the destruction of the sultan himself, not in the creation of new democratic in-
stitutions as such nor in the destruction of the extensive coercive apparatus
closely associated with Ceauçescu.42
The sultanistic quality of the regime also helps explain why Romania was the
only Warsaw Pact country where former high Communist officials won the first
elections, not only in the countryside, as in Bulgaria, but in every major city.43 For
reasons we have made clear, no democratic leaders or groups with national visi-
bility and organizational resources had emerged in Ceaucescu's Romania. The up-
rising was too short, spontaneous, and politically manipulated to produce a gov-
erning alternative. In this context Iliescu and his allies only had to compete in the
elections against two pre-World War II traditional parties, the National Liberal
Party, whose leader returned to Romania from many years of exile to run for the
presidency after the revolutionary events, the National Peasant Party, and the new
Democratic Union of Hungarians in Romania. While the traditional parties had
been anti-Communist for decades, they could not make any case that they had
41. On the "squalidness" of the trial, see Almond, Rise and Fall of Ceausescu, 224-36, and Vladimir
Tismaneanu, "Romania: Democracy, What Democracy?" East European Reporter^ no. 2 (1990): 30.
42. This follows the logic and dynamics of revolutionary interim regimes that we discussed in chap-
ter 5 and that are analyzed in Yossi Shain and Juan J. Linz, eds., Between States: Interim Governments and
Democratic Transition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995).
43. The only other Warsaw Pact country where there was an electoral triumph by forces closely associ-
ated with the Communist regime was Bulgaria. Yet, even there the democratic opposition was strong
enough to win in the four largest cities and to win control of the presidency before its victory in the second
free elections. In non-Warsaw Pact Albania, the opposition lost the first elections but won every major city.
In sharp contrast, no poll ever showed that Iliescu was even behind in Bucharest in the May 1990 elections.
played a role in destroying the sultan, and the Hungarian party was easy prey to
nationalist attacks.44
In contrast, not only was Ion Iliescu able to take personal credit for eliminating
the hydra-headed monster, but he won further credit for almost immediately elim-
inating many of the most egregious measures personally associated with the sul-
tan. Within weeks of Ceaucescu's death, compulsory gynecological examinations
were abolished, condoms became available, the razing of peasant villages was
stopped, the schematization plan was scrapped, the typewriter registration law was
repealed, and publications proliferated. Under Ceaucescu no one had a personal
passport. If a person was given a temporary passport for an officially approved trip
abroad, it had to be handed in immediately upon return to get back the indi-
vidual's indispensable personal identification card. One year after the fall of
Ceaus, escu, the Foreign Ministry claimed that ten million Romanians had personal
passports.45 Just as importantly, Iliescu was able to use his control of the state ap-
paratus to help himself win the presidency and to help the National Salvation
Front (NSF) gain an overwhelming majority in the parliament. Foreign credits
were used to bring meat into the stores. The NSF provisional government allocated
three million dollars for new printing equipment for the pro-NSF press, while it
made newsprint scarce and distribution difficult for the opposition press.46 While
the opposition had some access to the state-controlled television, the NSF had a
clear advantage when an analysis is made of what was shown and not shown be-
fore the elections.47 Before we went to Romania, we believed that if the opposition
had had more time to campaign they might have possibly won the May 1990 elec-
tions. However, two trips to Romania made it clear to us that Iliescu had such per-
sonal advantages as the antisultan figure and such structural advantages through
his control of the state apparatus that he actually got more popular as the cam-
paign progressed.48 In this context, major technical fraud on election day was un-
necessary, and on May 20,1990, Iliescu won 85 percent of the presidential vote and
the National Salvation Front won 66 percent of the parliamentary vote.49
44. For the May 1990 Romanian elections, see Rady, Romania in Turmoil, 160-174; Roger East, Revolu-
tions in Eastern Europe (London: Pinter Publishers, 1992), 145-46; and Nestor Ratesh, Romania: The Entan-
gled Revolution, 142-44.
45. Interview by Stepan with the foreign minister of Romania, Adrian Nastase, Bucharest, June 25,1992.
46. For example, in the town of lasi the NSF took over the major Ceausescu-era newspaper, "which after
the revolution changed its name but nothing else." The opposition press in lasi, however, was regularly de-
nied paper, was intimidated by thirty thugs sent by a former Securitate agent, and was denied access to the
city's printing press. See "'24 Hours': An Independent Daily Newspaper Fighting for Survival," East Euro-
pean Reporter, 4, no. 2 (1990): 43.
47. See Crisula Stefanescu, "Romanian Radio and Television Coverage of the Election Campaign," Re-
port on Eastern Europe i, no. 23 (1990): 42-45.
48. This point was emphasized to Stepan by a major critic of Iliescu, Pavel Campeanu, who conducted
polls during the election campaign. Interview in August 31,1992, Bucharest.
49. There was some fraud, but the high vote derived from pre-election structural advantage. However,
for detailed accounts of electoral irregularities, see Vlad Socor, "National Salvation Front Produces Elec-
toral Landslide," Report on Eastern Europe i, no. 27 (1990): 24-31.
Romania 361
THE NONDEMOCRATIC DISCOURSE OF THE INTERIM REGIME
The specific nature of a transition often has an effect on the style of discourse
and practices of the successor government. In the case of Romania, the specificity
of the transition was that it involved revolutionary uprisings followed by an in-
terim government that never had to have a round table or a pact. In chapter 5 we
analyzed how and why interim governments often create a range of problems for
the democratic quality of transitions. One of the major predictable (and observ-
able) problems created by interim governments is that they tend to speak and act
in the name of revolution and to believe that they are beyond the normal pro-
cedural constraints of democracy. Nondemocratic revolutionary discourse and
practice will tend to be employed as "normal." If a transition is carried out in the
name of revolution rather than democracy, the new power holders, even if they
later augment their legitimacy via elections, will tend to govern in a way in which
nondemocratic discourse and practice are frequently present.
Even after Iliescu and the National Salvation Front had won an overwhelming
electoral victory, they chose to treat their defeated opponents in highly undemo-
cratic ways. In the period between his election and his formal inauguration,
Iliescu showed the primacy of revolutionary over democratic discourse and prac-
tices when he used vigilante justice against student protesters in Bucharest's Uni-
versity Square. He called upon (and provided elaborate prearranged transporta-
tion for) coal miners to come to Bucharest to defend the government and rid the
city of the "hooligans." For two days in Bucharest the miners not only brutally
beat students, but also seriously damaged the headquarters of the two main op-
position parties.50 One of the defining characteristics of a democratic govern-
ment is that it meets its obligation to maintain a rule of law and to shape its own
actions within the confines of those laws. When the miners left Bucharest, the
newly elected president Ion Iliescu went to the train station and publicly ad-
dressed them. His discourse was more that of a nondemocratic revolutionary
than that of a democratic head of state.
I thank you for everything that you have done these days. I thank you all once again for what
you have proved these days: that you are a powerful force, having a high civic and working-class
discipline, one can rely on in good and especially in bad times. The whole thing is a part of a
bigger and more detailed scenario in the whole of Europe. There has existed a convergent ac-
tion on behalf of extreme rightist forces that have in mind that in all of Europe extreme right-
ist forces have to come to power. . . . Everything they have done, all the slogans they have
brought forth accusing me and also others that we have confiscated the revolution, as if one
could steal away a revolution! But the truth is the extreme right has been trying to turn the Ro-
manian Revolution into the right wing's hands. We have to keep our vigilance awake.... We
50. See Michael Shafir, "Government Encourages Vigilante Violence in Bucharest," Report on Eastern
Europe i, no. 27 (1990): 32-39.
have to maintain a fighting briskness.... We know that we can rely on you. We should ask for
your help whenever it seems necessary!... The very best to you.51
TOTALITARIANISM CUM SULTANISM AND NATIONALISM:

THE D I F F I C U L T LEGACY
In September and October 1992, Romania again held parliamentary and pres-
idential elections. President Ion Iliescu was re-elected with relative ease. The
united democratic opposition (the Democratic Convention) was able to win only
21 percent of the parliamentary vote despite the fact that most international ob-
servers did not find too many irregularities.
How can we go about understanding Romanian politics after the parliamen-
tary and presidential elections of September-October 1992? To approach this task
we have to go beyond the conceptual framework provided by the scripted upris-
ing, the captured revolution, or neo-Communism. To speak of scripted uprisings
in Timisoara and Bucharest is to underestimate the importance of the "move-
ments of rage" (to use Ken Jowitt's memorable phrase) in undermining Ceausescu's
coercive power. Revolution overestimates the degree to which these movements of
rage represented organized opposition groups with their own leaders and pro-
grams. Captured revolution misses the extemporaneous opportunism and weak-
ness of Iliescu. Neo-Communism overstates the principled cohesion of the gov-
ernment that followed Ceaus, escu's downfall and in particular does not take into
account the profound divisions within the National Salvation Front that emerged
in 1991. In fact, in the twelve months before the 1992 elections the anti-Iliescu wing
of the National Salvation Front, faced with a crisis of governance in September
1991, formed a coalition government that included some of the traditional lib-
erals, supported the prime minister's courtship of the International Monetary
Fund, and, in late March 1992, won control of the party label.52
But, as the presidential and parliamentary elections showed, sultanistic rule left
behind a flattened political and social landscape.53 Civil society remained incipi-
51. Iliescu's "farewell and thank you" speech to the miners on June 15,1990, is reprinted in full in For-
eign Broadcast Information Service Daily Report, East Europe, June 18,1990, 67-70.
52. See Dan lonescu, "Romania's Ruling Party Splits after Congress," RFE/RL Research Report, i, no. 16
(1992): 8-12.
53. Gail Kligman correctly stressed that one of the major legacies of Ceauçescu and his demise by upris-
ing was almost the complete lack of what we call political society. The "demonstration of public will, in body
and voice, was critical in the exhilarating days of the coup/popular revolt, [but] public power may not be
best realized through continuous mass street demonstrations It is one thing to overthrow a dictatorship;
it is another to participate in the establishment of a democratic public sphere and of civil society. The cur-
rent daily events have acquired their own ritualized, theatrical character. They are more exemplary of the in-
herited legacy of the Ceauçescu years, in which behavior was thoroughly ritualized, than they are of pro-
gressive steps on the road to democratic practice. Now there is a need for the institutionalization of interests
in formal and informal associations." Gail Kligman, "Reclaiming the Public: A Reflection on Creating Civil
Society in Romania," East European Politics and Societies 4, no. 3 (1990): 393-437, citation from 410-411.
Romania 363
ent, the rule of law fragile, political coalitions turbulent, and most political ten-
dencies compromised.54 In this context, the Romanian opposition was not able
to mount a principled and united democratic campaign led by a prominent po-
litical figure and to carry its message into every corner of the country, as the anti-
Pinochet opposition in Chile had been able to do in 1989. The Romanian opposi-
tion won only 21 percent of the parliamentary vote, while Emil Constantinescu,
the opposition's presidential candidate, won 39 percent of the vote to Iliescu's 61
percent in the second round of the presidential election. The weakness of the op-
position, as much as the strength of Iliescu, explained why Iliescu won the presi-
dential run-off in October 1992.55
In our analysis of the weakness of the democratic opposition, we have stressed
the sultanistic and totalitarian legacy. However, Romania also has a simmering
stateness problem, which has been exploited by Ceausescu's successors. Romania
has a minority population of 1.7 million Hungarians, many of whom are concen-
trated in Transylvania. In an appeal to nationalism, article one of the new
Romanian constitution defines Romania as a "unified national state." Article 4
says the state is based on the "unity of the Romanian people." Article 13 says "for
Romania, the official language is Romanian."56 In rejection of this nation-state
policy, an important political party, the Hungarian Democratic Alliance, has
sometimes stressed its democratic opposition character and sometimes stressed
its autonomist character. Both in 1992 and in 1995, the status of the Hungarian
Democratic Alliance led to significant splits in the democratic opposition. In this
54. Both the National Liberal Party and the Ecological Party split, with one faction of each party join-
ing the government from September 1991 to April 1992. The student leader Marian Munteanu, who had
been brutally beaten by the miners in June 1990, was made first chairman of the Havel-like Civic Alliance
in November 1990, but by 1991 he had broken with the Civic Alliance and formed a party called Movement
for Romania, which deliberately used many of the slogans and symbols of Romania's interwar fascist-in-
spired Iron Guard. In June 1992, on the noth anniversary of the birth of Romania's wartime authoritarian
and nationalist leader, General Ion Antonescu, almost all members of Parliament stood up and observed a
moment of silence in his memory. See Vladimir Tismaneanu, "Endangered Democracy: Emerging Plural-
ism in Post-Communist Romania" (paper prepared for the Bellagio Conference on New Issues in Democ-
racy, December 1992).
55. The democratic opposition did manage to get eighteen parties together in a coalition called the
Democratic Convention. However, the main wing of the National Liberal Party left the convention in April
1992 because it objected to the presence in its ranks of the party representing Romania's Hungarian mi-
nority. Subsequently, the convention lost many valuable months deciding on a presidential candidate. The
two principal forces in the Democratic Convention were the pre-war National Peasant Party led by Cor-
neliu Coposu, a staunch anti-Communist monarchist octogenarian, and the more modern Civic Alliance
Party. Although Pavel Campeanu's polls showed that the Peasant Party had 11 percent of voter support and
the Civic Alliance Party had 9 percent, the price of uniting was that the Peasant Party received 55 percent of
the slots on the convention's electoral lists, while the Civic Alliance Party received less than 20 percent. In
the 1992 electoral campaign there was very poor coordination between the two major wings in the Demo-
cratic Convention. As a result, the convention was unable to wage a vigorous campaign in the countryside,
which remained under the control of Iliescu and the former Communist nomenklatura, and won only 21
percent of the parliamentary vote. These observations are based on Stepan's pre-electoral visit to Romania
and postelectoral conversations with participants.
56. See Aurelian Craiutu, "A Dilemma of Dual Identity: The Democratic Alliance of Hungarians in Ro-
mania," in East European Constitutional Review 4, no. 2 (1995): pp. 43-49.
context, the Iliescu government, like that of Ceausescu, has exploited and exag-
gerated the threat to national integrity. Indeed, in January 1995 stateness problems
contributed to the division of the democratic opposition and the temporary ag-
glutination of a sinister "brown-red-sultanistic" four-party ruling coalition. One
analyst described this new pro-Iliescu coalition in the following terms:
The chauvinist Greater Romania Party (PRM) and the Socialist Labor Party (PSM), the heir of
the defunct Romanian Communist Party, formalized their relationship with the ruling coali-
tion. . . . The fourth signatory to the protocol, the extreme nationalist Party of Romanian
National Unity (PUNR), had already joined the government.... At the signing of the protocol,
Hie Verdet, a former premier under Ceausescu and now PSM chairman; Adrian Paunescu, PSM
first deputy chairman and a "court poet" of the Ceausescu family; Corneliu Vadim Tudor,
another Ceausescu "court troubadour" and now the overtly anti-Semitic PRM chairman; and
the staunchly anti-Hungarian Fuñar were immortalized in photographs alongside the PDSR
leadership.57
This coalition stepped up pressure on opposition mayors, many of them per-

ceived as being too sympathetic to minorities or to the opposition. The consti-
tution watch of the East European Constitutional Review noted that, "overall,
133 mayors have been dismissed by government-appointed prefects. . . . Of the
62 mayors who appealed to the Court of Justice only four received redress. Despite
the reaction of the parliamentary opposition, international organizations and the
electorate, the executive seems determined to carry on its program of purging
mayors."58
By 1995, Romania seemed to be in a paradoxical position. In contrast to all of
the post-Communist East Central European countries we have analyzed thus far
(Poland, Hungary, the Czech Republic, and Bulgaria), Romania was the farthest
from a consolidated democracy in each of our five arenas. Civil society was still
very weak. Political society had not created a robust governing alternative. Rule of
law was intermittent, especially in areas concerning local government and the
human rights of minorities such as gypsies and Hungarians. The reform of state
administration had not been undertaken. Economic society had yet to be crafted.
Many of these problems could be directly traced (as in Haiti with its similar prob-
lematic configuration) to the legacies of sultanism.
The apparently paradoxical point is that Romania, in poll after poll, emerges
as one of the countries where the respondents say that the present regime is a sub-
stantial improvement over the former regime.59 The apparent paradox is ex-
57. For a description of the coalition, see Michael Shafir, "Ruling Party Formalizes Relations with Ex-
tremists," Transition, i, no. 5 (1995), 42-46, quote from 42.
58. See "Constitution Watch: Romania," in East European Constitutional Review 4, no. 2 (1995): 22.
59. For example, in 1993 only 35 percent of those polled viewed the former Communist regime posi-
tively, whereas 68 percent viewed the then-current regime positively. This 33 percentage point positive
differential is significantly greater than the comparable differentials in Bulgaria, Slovakia, Hungary, and
Poland and is slightly higher than that in Slovenia. Only the differential in the Czech Republic was greater.
Romania 365
plained, of course, by the intensity of fear of the sultan and his totalitarian and
sultanistic penetration of their private and public lives. Given the terrible memo-
ries of the past, some opposition leaders took solace in the fact that, if they were
able to strengthen civil and political society, they might do better in the 1996 pres-
idential and parliamentary elections than they had done in 1990 or 1992.
Romania has by now experienced two elections, many of the formal institu-
tional aspects of democracy are in place, and people perceive their new regime as
a positive change with respect to the past. However, we cannot refrain from sug-
gesting that Romanian democracy is different from that of all other East Central
European countries in this study, as well as from the three Baltic republics, in that,
until now, no leaders have gained power who did not have a career in the Com-
munist Party apparatus (not just membership or association with the party). So-
ciologically, there has been no ruptura. Such continuity is not the same as having
ex-Communists leading reformed communist parties (by whatever name) re-
turning to power in free elections. In such polities (Poland, Hungary, and Lithua-
nia), non-Communists were able to create political parties that were able to win
elections and oversee a basic ruptura. To date, such a ruptura has only partially
happened in Romania.
Why should this have been the case? We argue that the legacy of totalitarian
control until the overthrow of Ceaus. escu, combined with the legacy of sultanism
and the way (as a consequence) that the transition took place, account for that sig-
nificant difference.
See Richard Rose and Christian Haerpfer, "Adapting to Transformation in Eastern Europe: New Democra-
cies Barometer—II," Studies in Public Policy 212 (1993): 47.
19
The Problems of
"Stateness" and Transitions:
The USSR and Russia
1 HE MOST SEVERE problems of stateness that we consider in this book

occurred in the former Soviet Union and in the former Yugoslavia. Stateness
problems were also critical, but ultimately less traumatic, in the former Czecho-
slovakia and, in a unique form, in the former German Democratic Republic. The
most difficult problems that must be resolved in Latvia and Estonia before they
can become consolidated democracies are not economic but involve citizenship
and stateness. From once being neglected in the literature on democratic transi-
tions, stateness problems must increasingly be a central concern of political ac-
tivists and theorists alike.1
As comparativists interested in transitions from nondemocratic regimes, our
focus is on what, if anything, can be learned from the disintegration of the Soviet
Union and Yugoslavia. All too often, when the horrors of ethnic cleansing in
Yugoslavia, the bloody consequences of the Chechen secession struggle, or the in-
terethnic clashes in such former Soviet Republics as Azerbaijan, Moldova, or
Georgia are addressed, it has been only too easy to explain the violent conflicts by
referring to "primordial identities" and their consequences. Indeed, a growing
belief emerged that, in the face of such "irrational emotions," neither interna-
tional actors such as the European Union, nor statecraft of any sort could do any-
thing to prevent the inevitable clashes of the new age of nationalisms.
However, in our opening discussion of stateness problems we argued that po-
litical identities are less primordial and fixed than contingent and changing. They
are amenable to being constructed or eroded by political institutions and political
choices.2 In the Spanish case we documented how the choice of electoral sequence
1. For our analysis of why the classical literature on democratic transitions almost completely neglected
stateness problems and for an alternative conceptual approach, see chapter 2.
2. With different emphases a variety of works in social science show how history, institutions, and imagi-
nation shape and constantly change nations, nationalism, and concepts of citizenship. See Ernest Gellner, Na-
tions and Nationalisms (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1983); Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities:
Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 1991, rev. ed.); and Joseph Rothschild, Eth-
nopolitics (New York: Columbia University Press, 1981). With reference to the Soviet Union, see especially
The USSR and Russia 367
helped create democratic state power and helped construct multiple and comple-
mentary political identities. Even with extremely skillful handling, we acknowl-
edge that the stateness problem in the Soviet Union and Yugoslavia would have
been much more difficult than in Spain.3 However, we want to highlight the con-
sequences of political structures, institutions, incentives, and choices, which we
believe do not receive the attention they merit in the new debate about democra-
tization, nationalism, and stateness.
We develop three closely inter-related arguments concerning stateness and
transitions in the Soviet Union. First, we argue that the specific institutions and
principles of Soviet-type federalism found in the Soviet Union and, with modifi-
cations, in Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia created incentives and resource mobi-
lization opportunities for the politicization of ethnicity. To be sure, in the Soviet
Union before Gorbachev, these incentives and opportunities were greatly miti-
gated by the de facto control by the center of coercive and economic resources and
by the fact that the federal constitution remained largely fictive. However, our
intention is to call attention to the great potential stateness problems these struc-
tures engendered.
Second, we argue that, given the above structures, the transition path chosen
of perestroika and glasnost, liberalization but not democratization of the early
post-totalitarian central power structures, and the electoral sequence of holding
the first non-single-party competitive elections at the republican rather than at
the all-Union level had severe disintegrative consequences. This path eroded the
party-state's ideological, coercive, and economic control capacities; did little to
create new democratically legitimated state structures at the center; and directly
helped make noninclusive ethnic nationalism the most dynamic force in politics.
Third, we argue that the major successor state of the USSR, Russia, in addition
to the normal problems faced by all post-Communist polities, has a highly spe-
cific and difficult legacy of stateness and citizenship problems that would have
greatly complicated its democratic transition and consolidation no matter what
choices were made. However, the privileging of economic restructuring over
democratic state restructuring further weakened an already weak state, deprived
Ronald Grigor Suny, The Revenge of the Past: Nationalism, Revolution, and the Collapse of the Soviet Union
(Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993), and Alexander J. Motyl, ed., Thinking Theoretically about Soviet
Nationalities: History and Comparison in the Study of the USSR (New York: Columbia University Press, 1992).
3. Indeed, we believe that the problem of the Baltic countries—because of the compounding resent-
ments stemming from their previous status as independent states, their relatively recent and forceful ab-
sorption into the USSR, their comparatively greater wealth, and their religious and linguistic differences—
was insolvable within the context of the USSR. It could possibly have been better handled by Gorbachev
making an announcement that he recognized the illegitimacy of the secret pact between Hitler and Stalin
and holding a referendum on the fiftieth anniversary of that pact which asked the population of the Baltic
countries whether they wanted to join the Soviet Union voluntarily. Had they voted not to join the Soviet
Union (as they probably would have), a peaceful and rapid split might have been arranged with full citi-
zenship rights for all. It is also unlikely that much could have been done to have kept Georgia, and possi-
bly even Moldova, within the USSR.
the original economic reform program of the state the coherence necessary for
the creation of an efficacious economic society, and contributed to the mutual
delegitimation of the three democratic branches of government.
T H E STATE'S C O N T R A D I C T O R Y S T R U C T U R I N G O F N A T I O N A L I S M S
One of the reasons for the extraordinary disintegration of the USSR may well
be that so many of the major political actors did not really consider that the USSR
had the potential for a severe stateness problem. Mikhail Gorbachev, for example,
began his famous book, Perestroika, with a strong argument that "the country
was verging on crisis." There was a "slowing of economic growth," an "erosion of
ideological and moral values," and "eulogizing and servility were encouraged."
Because of all this, he argued, "Perestroika is our urgent necessity." Delays in re-
form would mean that the USSR would be "fraught with serious social, economic,
and political crises."4
Against this threatening backdrop, Gorbachev mentions the nationality policy
as an area of almost unqualified success.
The USSR represents a truly unique example in the history of human civilization. These are the
fruits of the nationality policy launched by Lenin. The Revolution and socialism have done
away with national oppression and inequality, and ensured economic, intellectual and cultural
progress for all nations and nationalities. . . . Every unbiased person is bound to acknowledge
the fact that our Party has carried out a tremendous amount of work If the nationality prob-
lem had not been solved in principle ... our state would not have survived [nor] the republics
formed a community based on brotherhood and cooperation, respect and mutual assistance.
Meeting people during my tours of republics and national regions of the Soviet Union, I see for
myself over and over again that they appreciate and take pride in the fact that their nations belong
to one big international family, that they are part and parcel of a vast and great power which plays
such an important role in mankind's progress. This is exactly what Soviet patriotism is all about.5
Gorbachev was not alone in this misperception. In separate private conversa-

tions with us, both Aleksandr Yakovlev, Gorbachev's key advisor and reform ally,
and Yegor Ligachev, a key hard-line opponent in the Politburo, acknowledged that
they had not given much attention to potential problems with nationalism when
perestroika and glasnost had been launched.6 This political unawareness was not
4. Mikhail Gorbachev, Perestroika: New Thinking for Our Country and the World (New York: Harper and
Row, 1987), 3-7.
5. Ibid., 104-7.
6. Discussion of Alfred Stepan with Aleksandr Yakovlev in Moscow, October 24,1989, and of Juan Linz
with Yegor Ligachev at Yale University in November n, 1991. Fedor Burlatskii, a prominent reformer and
pro-Gorbachev intellectual, at a lecture given in 1990 at Harvard University, argued that the most impor-
tant problem the USSR was facing was not ethnic but economic. Indeed, Burlatskii argued that, if economic
reforms were accelerated, the national problem would disappear and even the Baits would agree to stay in
the union. This line of thought, which emphasized the primacy of economic considerations, was typical of
Gorbachev's circle.
confined to party leaders. Writing after the abortive coup of 1991, one of the Soviet
Union's leading scholars on ethnicity observed, "The years of perestroika, espe-
cially the last two or three years, were marked by an unprecedented upsurge of
national movements, national agitation and conflict These events were com-
pletely unexpected by the public, by experts on nationalities, by the press, and by
political authorities. Why was this the case?"7 We will attempt to explain.
One major reason (as in Yugoslavia and in Czechoslovakia) had to do with
Soviet leaders' underestimation of the potential for conflict built into Soviet-style
federalism. This type of federalism had its origins in history, ideology, and party-
state power. The Soviet Union, Europe's last major multiethnic empire, was struc-
tured on potentially contradictory principles.8 Because many of the nations or
nationalities had had a prior period of independence, the regime made an effort
to win compliance and attain integration by creating a federal system that con-
tained an extraordinarily high degree of dualism. On the one hand, republics were
made proto-states, organizations of cultural distinctiveness were legitimized, and
there were extensive incentives for elites from the "titular republics" to advance
their republic's (and especially their nationality's) specific interests.9 On the other
hand, the republics were members of a regime that espoused a universalistic ide-
ology and was run by a centralizing party-state that not only monopolized im-
portant decisions but kept non-Russian nationalities (except for Ukrainians) out
of almost all of the key command and control posts in the central party secre-
7. Galina Staravoitova, "Nationality Policies in the Period of Perestroika: Some Comments from a Po-
litical Actor," in the extremely informative volume edited by Gail W. Lapidus and Victor Zaslavsky with
Philip Goldman, From Union to Commonwealth: Nationalism and Separatism in the Soviet Republics (Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 114. For a particularly acerbic discussion of the marginalized role
of nationality studies in sovietology, see Orest Subtelny, "American Sovietology's Greatest Blunder: The
Marginalization of the Nationality Issue," Nationalities Papers 22, no. i (1994): 141-56.
8. S. N. Eisenstadt, a major theoretician of comparative empires, describes this effort at integrating two
principals of legitimation thus: "On the ideological level, the basic mode of legitimation of the new
regime—its strong universalistic and participatory orientations—in principle transcended any specific
national boundaries The expression of the cultural heritage of different communities within the over-
reaching frameworks of the universalistic socialist Fatherland was fully legitimized It involved also the
full scale legitimation of these republics as autonomous, providing them with all the organs of govern-
ment. .. . Thus, their distinctiveness was fully legitimized, even if in reality these tendencies were over-
shadowed by the Russian centrist hegemony." He remarked that "the contradictions inherent in these poli-
cies could be suppressed by a strong totalitarian regime." See his "Center-Periphery Relations in the Soviet
Empire: Some Interpretive Observations," in Motyl, Thinking Theoretically about Soviet Nationalities, 220,
205. For a discussion of the concept of empire as applied to the USSR, also see Alexander J. Motyl, "From
Imperial Decay to Imperial Collapse: The Fall of the Soviet Empire in Comparative Perspective," in
Richard Rudolph and David Good, eds., Nationalism and Empire: The Hapsburg Monarchy and the Soviet
Union (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1991), 15-43. For the idea of the "outer empire," see Alex Pravda, ed.,
The End of the Outer Empire: Soviet East-European Relations in Transition 1985-1990 (London: Sage Publi-
cations, 1992).
9. For a particularly strong historically anchored comparative analysis of this phenomenon, see Ronald
Suny, who argues that, whereas Czarist Russia was called the "prison house of nations," for many groups
"the Soviet Union became the incubator of new nations" and that "the story of Soviet nationalities can
be characterized as one of a state making nations, but not just as it pleased." See Suny, Revenge of the Past,
87,160.
3/O Post-Communist Europe
tariat, the KGB, and the army.10 Contradiction and conflicts, while in some ways
growing, were contained in the Brezhnev period. These contradictory structures
remained reasonably effective for managing nationalism as long as the centralized
party-state was in overall control of the federation. However, as we shall see when
we consider the perestroika period, the same structures can produce different
dynamics under different conditions and different policies—especially if such
structures harbor as many incentives for the politicization of ethnicity as did
those of Soviet-style federalism (exhibit 19.1).n
We will conclude this section with a long quotation from an excellent histori-
cal study that captures the contradictory aspects of Soviet nationality policy.
Nation-making in the USSR occurred within a unique context: a state that had set out to over-
come nationalism and the differences between nations had in fact created a set of institutions
and initiated processes that fostered the development of conscious, secular, politically mobiliz-
able nationalities. Despite the stated goals of the Communist party, the processes of nativiza-
tion, industrialization, urbanization, and state-building in the Soviet Union provided the so-
cial and cultural base, first, for ethnic elites to organize low level resistance to rule by Russia and,
later, for counterelites to mobilize broad-based nationalist movements. Still, the open challenge
to the empire came only after the top party leadership decided to reform radically the political
system, only when Communists themselves began a process that delegitimized the Soviet sys-
tem and allowed a political voice to the nationalist alternative.12
In the next section we will explore how, why, and with what consequence Gorba-
chev began this process of state delegitimization.
D I S I N T E G R A T I N G THE SOVIET STATE: L I B E R A L I Z A T I O N

W I T H O U T D E M O C R A T I Z A T I O N AT THE CENTER
As numerous studies have shown, the Soviet Union under Brezhnev began to
experience a series of compounding and interconnecting problems in the late
10. For example, writing in 1980, Seweryn Bialer asserted that "not one position in the central party sec-
retariat is occupied by a non-Russian. Only three non-Slavs serve within the central party apparatus,
among over 150 top officials." And that "in almost every republic regardless of the degree of its self-admin-
istration, three top executive positions are almost invariably occupied by Russians ... one is the head of the
KGB . . . the second is the commander of the military forces stationed within the borders of the republic.
The third position, [is] that of second secretary of the republican party organization." See his Stalin's Suc-
cessors: Leadership, Stability and Change in the Soviet Union (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1980),
219, 214.
11. Bialer, in his above-mentioned 1980 book, was exceptionally prescient about the potential dangers
these structures presented to the Soviet state. "The concept and reality of Soviet federalism contains a po-
tentially dangerous dualism— In practice it denies any but the slimmest margins of autonomy to the fed-
erated nationalities, but at the same time its symbolic institutions and administrative framework provide
the base from which the struggle for national autonomy can be waged." (p. 210) "These institutions,...
which are administered by local indigenous elites . . . provide a ready-made vehicle for those elites to fight
for their autonomous national aspirations." (p. 211).
12. Suny, Revenge of the Past, 126.
Exhibit 19.1. Preperestroika Soviet Federalism: The Coexistence of Contradictory Structures,

Principles, and Incentives
I. Mode of Adhesion to Federation
Theoretically, in any federation there can be three major contrasting modes of adhesion: traditional identifi-
cation of core units, voluntary petitions to join, and forcible annexation. Traditional identification and
voluntary petition present the least potential for conflict over membership. In the USSR, most of the major
non-Russian nationalities and republics were brought into the federation by some degree of force. Estonia
(1918-40), Latvia (1918-40), and Lithuania (1918-40) had had a significant period of independent statehood
and were forcibly annexed as a result of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. Bessarabia seceded from Russia and
joined Romania but was annexed by the USSR as the core of the republic of Moldavia. Georgia, Armenia,
Azerbaijan, Ukraine, Khiva, and Bukhara had periods of one to four years of independence after World War I.
For less than a year Belorussia, the Crimea, Bashkiria, the Volga Tatar region, and the Kazakh-Kirghiz steppe
had some degree of independence. Numerous additional nationalities inside the core republic, Russia,
claimed autonomy and the right to self-rule. Some of the nationalities that had been a part of the Czarist
empire were not members by tradition but had only been annexed in the 19th century after a prior period of
political independence.3
II. Principle of Federal Unit's Political Identity, Administrative Organization, and Electoral Representation
There can be two contrasting principles of identity and representation in federations: the simple territorial
principle or a principle based on ethnicity, language, or religion. The Soviet Union fused these two principles
into territorial ethnofederalism. Each of the fifteen republics was explictly based upon and named after a
different ethnic nationality. If other ethnic groups in the republics were relatively concentrated, autonomous
administrative districts were created for them. In addition to the fifteen union republics, thirty-eight territorial
administrations were designated as ethnic homelands: twenty as autonomous republics, eight as autono-
mous oblasts, and ten as autonomous okrugs. These administrative units in theory were to serve as the basis for
electoral representation. In the pre-perestroika era, when elections were not seriously contested and the
center controlled politics in the state, these structures did not matter. However, once some degree of
electoral competition was introduced, there was a high potential for the mobilization of traditional—and
contingently structured—ethnicity.b
III. Principle of Individual Citizen's Identity.

In most federations, an individual's primary legal identity ¡s as a citizen of the state. In the Soviet Union, the
Communist Party's ideological aspiration (and expectation) was of an ultimate merging (sliyanie) of national
ethnic identities into the higher identity of being a member of the Soviet people. However, all internal pass-
ports made it obligatory to define oneself as a member of an ethnic nationality. Because the principle of
identity was blood, rather than where one lived and worked, one did not acquire a new nationality even if
one's family had resided in a different republic for generations. These state-mandated ethnic identities in fact
impeded the emergence of multiple complementary political identities.0
IV. Principle of Secession

The constitutions of most federations are silent on secession procedures but do have detailed and mandatory
mechanisms and courts that regulate federal relationships. Soviet constitutions were unusual in that both the
Stalin Constitution of 1936 and the Brezhnev Constitution of 1977 accorded the right of the republics to secede.
Article 72 of the 1977 constitution explicitly said that "every union republic shall retain the right of free
secession from the USSR." However, the constitution was absolutely silent on how the right of secession
could be implemented. Thus, there was inherently a high degree of potential conflict if there was any
progress toward the rule of law, if elections became competitive, and if any republic wanted to exercise its
constitutional prerogative to secede.
Exhibit 19.1. (continued}

V. Principle of International Representation and Foreign Policy Autonomy
Most federations explicitly accord to the center the exclusive right to represent the state internationally and to
make treaties. In 1944, the Soviet Constitution accorded the right to the republics to enter into diplomatic
relations with other states, to negotiate and sign treaties, and to exchange diplomats and join international
organizations. The 1944 amendment was largely motivated by the center's successful effort to get Ukraine and
Belorussia admitted to the United Nations as voting members. This amendment was largely fictive but
represented a potential for federal conflict and republic resource mobilization if politics became competitive
and the center weakened.d
VI. Structure of Career Incentives for Republican Political Elites

De jure and de facto in the Soviet Union, the center created a complex system of special incentives and af-
firmative action policies for the leading titular ethnic group in each republic. In almost all of the republics, the
titular nationality was over-represented in universities, party-state posts, and cultural organizations. Ethnic
political elites, in return for their privileged position and the extremely long tenure of republican first
secretaries, prevented the emergence of ethnic counterelites to the center as long as the center was able to
provide critical coercive and economic resources. The conflict potential here was that ethnic political
entrepreneurs, with special ethnic constituencies and control over republican institutions, had the capacity and
the incentive to act as political entrepreneurs by mobilizing their extensive ethnic political resources if and
when their old power base, the centralized party-state, could no longer guarantee their careers. 6
a
See Alexander J. Motyl, Sovietology, Rationality. Nationality: Coming to Grips with Nationalism in the USSR (New York:
Columbia University Press, 1990], esp. 30-45, 146-60; Richard Pipes, The Formation of the Soviet Union: Communism and
Nationalism, 1917-23 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1954): and Suny, Revenge of the Past, esp. 20-83.
'See the excellent article by Phiiip G. Boeder, who develops a resource mobilization as opposed to a primordial sentiment
approach to ethnicity, "Soviet Federalism and Ethnic Mobilization," World Politics 43 (Jan. 1991]: 196-232.
°See Leokadia Drobizheva, "Perestroika and the Ethnic Consciousness of Russians," in Lapidus, Zaslavsky, and Goldman, eds.,
From Union to Commonwealth, 98-114, esp. 98-99, and Suny, Revenge of the Past for his discussion of the "territorialization of
ethnicity," esp. 110-12. The coexistence of the above principle of the federal units' political identity and the above principle of the
individual citizen's political identity involved a potential for contradiction and a legacy of conflict It meant that a large number
of "nationals"—not only Russians—lived in the diaspora in republics or autonomous ethnic homelands other than that of their
"titular nationality." One consequence was that, after the independence of the fifteen union republics, many of their
residents—citizens—were identified legally as of a nationality that was not the "titular nationality" of the new state. In
addition, that nationality—except in the case of mixed marriages—was not the result of a choice of identity nor a result of
long-term residence but of descent. Many of the minority problems of the new states are therefore a legacy of Soviet
federalism that interacted with and contributed to emerging nationalist identities and sentiments.
d
A comparative specialist on federations, Stephen Kux, calls these provisions "unique." See his article, "Soviet Federalism,"
Problems of Communism 39 (March-April 1990): 12.
e
See Roeder, "Soviet Federalism and Ethnic Mobilization," 196-232; Bialer, Stalin's Successors, 210-11; and Suny, Revenge of
the Past, 117-24.
19/os.13 However, although many of the key ideas and concepts developed by
Gorbachev had been aired among intellectuals close to the party before he came
to power, Gorbachev was not forced by any group to launch his reforms. Gorba-
chev and his key advisors made a choice to transform the Soviet system and, in
13. The major work that analyzes the origins and course of perestroika is Archie Brown, The Gorbachev
Factor (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996). Also see the collection of original articles, Archie Brown,
ed., New Thinking in Soviet Politics (London: Macmillan, 1992). A valuable review of the literature is found
in Edward Wilkes Walker, "Structural Pressures, Political Choice, and Institutional Change: Bureaucratic
Totalitarianism and the Origins of Perestroika" (Ph.D. diss., Department of Political Science, Columbia
University, 1992).
this respect, the Soviet Union clearly falls into our category of a regime-initiated
change.14
However, why did this regime-initiated change lead to an explosion of nation-
alisms and the disintegration of the Soviet state? Exhibit 19.1 clearly shows that the
answer is not just primordial nationalism and irrational emotions. Three of the
most important recent bodies of social science literature can be brought to bear
in the analysis of Exhibit 19.1: rational choice, resource mobilization, and neo-
institutionalism.15 The existing institutional structures, even before perestroika,
provided rational incentives for republican elites to play ethnic politics and to build
constituencies by creating ethnic agendas. The fact that ethnic regional elites had
special control over cultural organizations, universities, and state personnel poli-
cies gave them access to resources they could mobilize, if politics ever developed in
such a way that it was in their interest and within their capacity to do so.16 In fact,
the institutions created by the party-state virtually created some nations that had
not existed before.17 The other side of the neo-institutional perspective is, of
course, that, in addition to structuring some outcomes, institutions constrain the
choices available to decision makers. The existing structures constrained the ef-
fective choices Gorbachev could make. He wanted to put pressure on those mem-
bers of the party-state who were impeding the program of perestroika. The liber-
alizing policies of glasnost, by allowing a freer press, initially helped mobilize
perestroika supporters (especially among intellectuals) and helped shed the glar-
ing light of publicity on practices and groups opposed to perestroika.18 Eventu-
ally, however, Gorbachev, supported by Yakovlev, decided to use elections as part
of his regime transformation strategy.
14. Gorbachev was at pains in his initial writings to stress that perestroika was a regime choice. A sub-
title of his opening chapter of Perestroika is called, "What Inspired Us to Launch Perestroika," and he goes
on to say that "the perestroika drive started on the Communist Party's initiative, and the Party leads it. ...
Perestroika is not a spontaneous, but a governed process." Gorbachev, Perestroika, 41-42. In this book, we
have considered two other important cases of regime-initiated change, Spain and Brazil. However, in both
cases a complex dialectical process of "regime concession and societal conquest" pushed liberalization to
democratization of the center. In the Soviet case, given the interweaving of party and state, a caveat applies.
It is difficult to say how much the restructuring was party or state inititated. With this caveat in mind, the
restructuring was clearly initiated by the inside, as opposed to the outside, of the regime. But resistance to
change could be found both in the official party and in the state apparatus. In addition, given the passivity
of society outside some cities, the mobilization of society by the regime initiative—in contrast to the other
cases mentioned—was initially limited.
15. A pioneering and convincing use of the rational-choice approach to ethnopolitics in the Soviet
Union is Motyl, Sovietology, Rationality, Nationality, esp. 30-45,146-60. For an excellent neo-institutional-
ist analysis, see Rogers Brubaker, "Nationhood and the National Question in the Soviet Union and Post-
Soviet Eurasia: An Institutionalist Account," Theory and Society 23 (1994): 47-78.
16. The previously cited article by Roeder, "Soviet Federalism and Ethnic Mobilization," 196-232, is con-
ceptually—and powerfully—driven by the resource mobilization approach.
17. Victor Zaslavsky, as does the previously cited work of Suny, goes as far as to say that these structures
"promoted a peculiar process of nation-building." See his "The Evolution of Separatism in Soviet Society
under Gorbachev," in Lapidus, Zaslavsky, and Goldman, From Union to Commonwealth, 71.
18. This is a classic state-led liberalization tactic used effectively, for example, by Generals Geisel and
Golbery in Brazil against their hard-line opponents in the security apparatus. See Alfred Stepan, "State
We do not believe that the role of elections has received the prominence it
deserves in the analysis of the disintegration of the Soviet state. The existing
structures presented in exhibit 19.1 potentially presented an extraordinarily broad
set of incentives and opportunities for the mobilization of ethnicity. Nonetheless,
as long as the constitution remained largely fictive and the party-state had suffi-
cient coercive, ideological, and economic resources to maintain control of ethnic
elites in the republics, ethnicity, while never disappearing, was not mobilized to a
degree that threatened the physical integrity of the USSR.
However, given the structure presented in exhibit 19.1, the regime transforma-
tion strategy chosen by Gorbachev directly mobilized the Soviet Union's territo-
rially based titular nationalities against the state. This was due to three interact-
ing phenomena: regime type, the choice of liberalization over democratization,
and electoral sequence.
What type of regime did Gorbachev inherit? Let us quote at length from the
excellent study of Gorbachev by Archie Brown.
Although there were important differences between the totalitarian dictatorship of Stalin and
the highly authoritarian but post-totalitarian Khrushchev and Brezhnev regimes which fol-
lowed, a great deal of conceptual stretching was involved in any attempt to attach the label,
"pluralist," to the Soviet Union at any time earlier than the late 19805.
Political pluralism implies political organizations independent of the state (or, in the Soviet
case, party-state) and to this Soviet leaders from Lenin to Chernenko were implacably opposed.
Even a social pluralism encapsulated in the notion of'civil society' can scarcely be said to have
existed prior to the Gorbachev era In the Soviet Union prior to the second half of the 19805,
the creation of any organization without the sanction and surveillance of the state was imper-
missible, even if that organization were not overtly political....
... in the later Brezhnev years and under Andropov and Chernenko the Soviet dissident move-
ment was at its lowest level of activity in two decades and had, to a large extent, been crushed.19
This is not the place to attempt a detailed empirical and historical characteri-
zation of the 1917-91 regime in the USSR in terms of our typology. However, the
regime that Gorbachev inherited was not just another authoritarian regime, nor
was it sultanistic.20 The real question for this chapter is where the pre-Gorbachev
regime stood on the totalitarian-post-totalitarian continuum we discussed in
chapter 3. Concerning sociopluralism, the regime was far from being mature
post-totalitarian, as the quote from Archie Brown makes absolutely clear.
In comparative terms, detotalitarianization-by-choice in the Soviet Union had
certainly not gone nearly as far as in Hungary. There was nothing comparable to
Power and the Strength of Civil Society in the Southern Cone of Latin America," in Peter Evans, Dietrich
Rueschemeyer, and Theda Skocpol, eds., Bringing the State Back In (New York: Cambridge University Press,
1985), 337-38.
19. See Brown, The Gorbachev Factor, 16-17 and 8.
20. Some of the long-serving first secretaries of the central Asian republics displayed some patrimonial
and indeed at times sultanistic qualities. High Stalinism also had some sultanistic features.
Hungary's 1982 regulations, which created quasi-private property and inaugu-

rated an expanded domain of statewide contractual relations which by 1988 con-
tributed to the emergence of autonomous statewide entrepreneurial and trade
union organizations. Most importantly, in Hungary three major opposition po-
litical party groupings had emerged before the transition. Nothing remotely sim-
ilar existed in the Soviet Union.21
Indeed, we could even say that the ossification of the apparatus, the géronto-
cratie leadership, the wooden language of the ideology, the loss of mobilization
capacity, and the passivity of the population made the USSR mostly a case of
post-totalitarianism by decay.22 Ironically, it was precisely this decay and degen-
eration that made the pre-Gorbachev regime further away from the totalitarian
ideal type than was the German Democratic Republic. In the German Democratic
Republic, many top cadres in the mid-igSos still, perhaps because of their con-
stant confrontation with and their need for legitimation against the Federal
Republic of Germany, retained a commitment to ideology, which they saw as the
necessary justification for the leading role of their party and even a degree of mo-
bilization.23
Notwithstanding this decay-induced post-totalitarianism, three factors con-
cerning the uniquely great weight of the totalitarian legacy in the USSR, com-
pared to East-Central Europe, should be stressed. First, for the core population of
the USSR, unlike the Central European countries, Leninist and Stalinist versions
of totalitarian Communism were domestic creations, not foreign importations.
Second, for the people in the core of the USSR, in contrast to those in Central
Europe, Communism lasted seventy-five years instead of forty years. Third, some
people in Central Europe (the Poles) never lived under fully installed totalitari-
anism, while others, as in Hungary, lived under totalitarianism for only about fif-
teen years. Depending on where they lived in the USSR, many citizens lived under
conditions that approximated totalitarianism for thirty or forty years.24
The fact that the Soviet Union was founded by Lenin after the Civil War in the
early twenties as a totalitarian political system and that Soviet citizens lived for
decades under Stalin must be stressed. Krushchev's de-stalinization campaign
was, of course, important in moving the USSR away from a regime of terror, but
it should be remembered that some totalitarian features were reintroduced or in-
21. For further analysis of Hungary, see our discussion in chapter 17. In fact, the USSR before Gorbachev
had never advanced even as far on the post-totalitarian criteria as Czechoslovakia had in the Prague Spring
in 1968.
22. The distinction between "post-totalitarianism by decay" and "post-totalitarianism by choice" is de-
veloped in chapter 3 and especially in chapter 17.
23. As the Friedman survey we discussed in chapter 17 showed, even the GDR coercive elites' belief in
the use of force had eroded away from the pure totalitarian pole by the late 19805.
24. In contrast to Czechoslovakia, we could also say that the USSR virtually had no usable pretotalitar-
ian democratic past and limited advanced capitalist regulatory and/or industrial structures. But in this re-
spect the USSR was not unique. Some other countries in East-Central Europe also had relatively underde-
veloped pretotalitarian democratic or advanced capitalist structures.
tensified under Khrushchev, such as the attack on religion, the messianic com-
mitment to "burying the West," and the massive use of force to retotalitarianize
Hungary after the successful 1956 revolution. And, as we have seen, the Brezhnev
era was more one of detotalitarianization-by-decay than detotalitarianization-
by-choice. In summation, we can say that Gorbachev inherited a regime in which
entire generations had not experienced any other political system, indeed any
other society, than Soviet Communism. The combined influence of the "October
Revolution," the Civil War, Stalinism, and the patriotism awakened in the face of
the heroic defense against Nazi conquest in World War II understandably had a
much greater effect on Soviet society than did the shorter totalitarian period in
Central Europe (1948-57 in many countries), which was imposed in the wake of
Soviet occupation or "liberation."
In this context liberalization in the USSR and even the dismantling of the
party-state that began to occur in the late 19805 after seventy years of Commu-
nism could not result in the rapid emergence of a civil society in the Western sense
of the term. Too many structures and traditions that managed to survive in the
outer empire had, in the USSR, been destroyed or so profoundly distorted (e.g.,
the Orthodox Church) that their regeneration was a painful task. Thirty-five years
of totalitarianism, combined with a totally socialized economy, had shaped the
life of all subject-citizens. Practically all those who occupied any positions of so-
cial prominence in the early 19805 had been recruited, trained, and formed in the
system. Only in some urban centers of the vast Soviet Union did small groups of
dissidents develop a "non-Soviet" culture. Even when dismissing, rejecting, and
even denouncing the ideology, a distinct Soviet mentality had been shaped by the
system.
This helps account for the weakness of the liberal and democratic ways of
thinking of the new elites emerging out of Soviet society. In fact, we suspect that
in many places the displacement of the top elite who supported Gorbachev or
Yeltsin (such as Aleksandr Yakovlev) and who for a variety of reasons had access
to other ideas and experiences by second echelon and "provincial" elites who have
not had comparable access or experiences has not helped in the transition to
"democracy."
The society that had taken shape during almost seventy years of Communism
was the one in which Gorbachev came into power and in which those in power in
the periphery would try to retain power. Once Gorbachev put into motion ac-
tions and policies that began to weaken the ideology and structure of the central-
ized party-state, republic elites began to look for new sources of power, new
sources of ideological legitimacy, and especially new identities. Thus, for the re-
gional republic elites, the ethnofederalism of the USSR and the potential legiti-
macy to be derived from national cultures, however impoverished, distorted, or
invented, became useful. Those in power in the peripheral republics could often
most easily attempt to justify themselves by appealing to a specific form of
nationalism—that of the "titular nations"—simultaneously against the "minority

ethnic" groups in their own territorial domains, as well as against the centralized
Soviet state.25 In this sense the ethnonationalism that emerged during the disin-
tegration of the USSR was a result both of the totalitarian destruction of society
and the peculiar instititutions of ethnofederalism of the USSR.26 We can under-
stand how independence came to be privileged over democratization. But more
about that later, since we have jumped ahead of our story.
Politicians are specialists in the mobilization of hopes and grievances. But
what hopes and grievances would be mobilized? And how? And by whom? Gor-
bachev inherited a "flattened" post-totalitarian social and political landscape.
What we mean by a flattened landscape is that many social structures such as
churches, business and interest groups, professional associations, and some re-
search institutes (even political parties in Chile and Uruguay) managed to persist
with some independence or identity in the authoritarian regimes we analyzed in
South America and southern Europe. However, during the totalitarian period in
the USSR such organizations had been so penetrated or integrated by the party-
state that they could not play a comparable role in the transition in the Soviet
Union. This does not mean that with more freedom there could not appear a
myriad of groups on the border between "civil society" and an emerging "politi-
cal society." In fact, despite the flattened landscape a large number of democratic
associations, fronts, and clubs managed to spring up during 1987-88. These
groups were focused on a diverse set of goals ranging from ecology to the com-
memoration of the victims of Stalin's terror. These groups were largely composed
of people between the ages of thirty and fifty, with higher education, and without
experience in the dissident movement. Protopolitical organizations like the
Moscow Association of Voters were created in late summer 1989, and their lead-
ers began to plan for the electoral campaign for the Russian Supreme Soviet.
In January 1990 an alliance adopted the name Democratic Russia and ran 5,000
candidates for seats in soviets at all levels in the Russian Soviet Federated Social-
ist Republic (RSFSR).27 Democratic Russia was able to organize two large rallies
in Moscow, and candidates they supported gained fifty-seven of the sixty-five
seats contested in Moscow for the Russian Congress of Peoples Deputies. After the
elections Democratic Russia managed to form a parliamentary block in the
RSFSR Congress of People's Deputies, but they numbered at best only 30 percent
of the total. Although Democratic Russia played a crucial role in supporting re-
25. While recognizing the significant degree of elite opportunist utilization of nationalism, we do not
want to deny that there were significant groups in each region who genuinely identified with a historic cul-
ture. This identification was particularly strong among intellectuals, artists, academics, and, exceptionally,
as in Armenia, among members of a church that combined its own tradition and external links.
26. Ernest Gellner refers to post-USSR Russia as the "vacuum society." See his "Home of the Unrevolu-
tion," Daedalus 122, no. 3 (1993): 141-254.
27. See Yitzhak M. Brudny, "The Dynamics of 'Democratic Russia', 1990-1993," Post-Soviet Affairs 9
(April-June 1993): 141-70.
form, liberalization, and calls for democratization, they remained more a move-
ment than a political party.
One crucial factor that contributed to the failure of groups like Democratic Rus-
sia to become real unionwide parties was the ambivalence, as we shall document in
this chapter, of leaders like Gorbachev and Yeltsin, toward the creation of well-or-
ganized democratic political parties. Yeltsin benefitted from the support of Demo-
cratic Russia in his drive to gain power, but he did not want to lead it as a party or
even to help it to become a party. Given such a landscape, if elections were held, the
easiest hopes, grievances, interests, and identities for politicians to mobilize would
predictably be related to ethnicity. In fact, the republics were protestâtes and the
only cleavage that was partially legitimate in the Soviet Union was ethnicity.
This leads us to the question of the constrained choices facing Gorbachev. We
are not sufficiently knowledgeable about the Soviet Union to judge whether Gor-
bachev could have chosen to maintain the status quo or, as China in the 19905,
tried to transform the economic system without transforming the political sys-
tem. Certainly, many have argued that the party-state at the end of the Brezhnev
era was facing a position where it increasingly did not have enough economic and
ideological resources to maintain what Peter Hauslohner called its "social con-
tract" with the Soviet citizens.28 However, since Gorbachev made the choice to re-
align the system and to use elections as a key part of this restructuring, he funda-
mentally faced the two classic choices in the transitions literature, to "liberalize"
or to "democratize."29 Here there is a fairly sharp debate among scholars, and
much of it depends on one's frame of reference. Some (but by no means all)
scholars who were specialists in the Soviet Union and who were inspired by
Gorbachev's constant use of the term democratization and by the fact that pere-
stroika and glasnost unquestionably set so many liberalizing forces into motion
argued that Gorbachev was committed to democracy. In much of the sovietology
literature, there was in fact little distinction made between liberalization and de-
mocratization. Often the two processes were equated.30
However, as scholars of comparative democratic transitions, we believe that it
is important to stress that Gorbachev never at any time from 1985 to 1991 un-
equivocally committed himself, the party-state, or the government of the center
to democratization in the strict sense. That is, freely contested, all-union, multi-
party elections whose winners would form a government at the center and as-
28. Peter Hauslohner, "Gorbachev's Social Contract," in Perene Fehér and Andrew Arato, eds., Gor-
bachev: The Debate (Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press International, 1989), 61-83.
29. For our discussion of this fundamental distinction, see chapter i.
30. As we argued in chapter i, liberalization and democratization are quite different concepts. Also, em-
pirically, liberalization has often occurred without democratization. For a discussion of how different So-
viet specialists saw the question of Gorbachev and democracy, see Stephan White, "'Democratization' in the
USSR," Soviet Studies 42, no. i (1990): 3-24 and John Gooding, "Gorbachev and Democracy," Soviet Studies
42, no. 2 (1990): 195-231.
sume the management of public policy and the state apparatus were never held
or even planned.
Among contemporary theorists of democracy and of democratic transition,
there are inevitable differences of emphasis. However, on a number of basic issues
there is a consensus, a consensus shared even by the vast majority of Euro-Com-
munists. This consensus includes a clear recognition that, in a democracy, power
outcomes are necessarily contingent and cannot be guaranteed or fixed by one his-
torical decision,31 a political opposition must have the right to legal existence,
internal party democracy is important but never a substitute for free multiparty
elections for central power, and no degree of social pluralism is a substitute forpo-
litical pluralism. Gorbachev's thought in 1985-89 was hostile or at best ambivalent
to all of these positions (exhibit 19.2).
Elections were held in 1989 and 1990 in the USSR.32 In 1989, the elections to the
Congress of People's Deputies in the USSR clearly helped weaken some of the op-
ponents of perestroika. However, in our judgment the elections had fundamental
flaws. The 1989 elections to the central legislature were not multiparty. The elec-
tions had a mandate to produce a new legislature but not really to produce a gov-
ernment. The legislature never produced a new constitution and without this
could not help reconfigure the federation.
The liberalizing elections of 1989 did, even at the center, begin to weaken the
centralized party-state in a number of respects. A group of deputies, the Inter-
Regional Deputies Group, many of whom wanted to push forward toward real
democratization, began to criticize Gorbachev and the party-state for being ille-
gitimate. In turn, a growing hard line in the party began to criticize Gorbachev for
allowing the weakening of the party-state. Although the elections of 1989 pro-
vided an opportunity in the Baltic republics and the Caucasus for the mobiliza-
tion of the nationalist-independence movements, in other republics they created
the basis for a challenge to the central government under the ambiguous term of
sovereignty, which cut across ideological lines. This was the case of the Ukraine—
where the more independence-minded movement Rukh did not win—and in
Belarus. The accelerated and irreversible erosion of the party-state and the center,
however, came with the campaign for republican elections, which began in late
1989 and were held throughout much of 1990.
Let us look more clearly at elections and particularly at electoral sequences in
31. As Adam Przeworski correctly argued when he discussed the role of uncertainty in the transition to
democracy, "Democratic compromise cannot be a substantive compromise; it can only be a contingent in-
stitutional compromise.... If a peaceful transition to democracy is to be possible, the first problem to be
solved is how to institutionalize uncertainty." See his "Some Problems in the Study of the Transition to De-
mocracy," in Guillermo O'Donnell, Philippe Schmitter, and Laurence Whitehead, eds., Transitions from Au-
thoritarian Rule: Comparative Perspectives (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), 59-60.
32. And, of course, by May and June 1991 important presidential elections were held in Georgia and Rus-
sia, respectively.
Exhibit 19.2. Mikhail Gorbachev's Statements on Competitive Democracy: 1987-1991

1. On the Opposition and the Role of the Communist Party: 1987
"Official opposition does not exist in our country. This places even greater responsibility on the Com-
munist Party of the Soviet Union as the ruling party. That is why we regard the further development of
intra-party democracy, the strengthening of the principles of collective leadership in work, and broader
openness in the party too, as a top priority."3
2. On the Noncontingent Nature of Outcomes in the Context of Perestroika and Democratization: 1987-88
"Socialist pluralism, and this is why it is called socialist, is the discussion, the scientific work, that is
carried out within the boundaries of our socialist choice made by our people once and forever in October
1917."b
"We are conducting all our reforms in accordance with the socialist choice. We are looking within
socialism, rather than outside it, for the answers to all the questions that arise. . . . Every part of our
program of perestroika—and the program as a whole, for that matter, is fully based on the principle of
more socialism and more democracy."0
3. On the Possibility of a Multiparty System in the Period before the First Multicandidate Semicompeti-
tive Election: February 1989
"There is no basis for discussing it (ie. a multi-party reform) . . . two parties, three parties it is all
nonsense. If you have three or four parties you can still have so much tyranny that nobody can open his
mouth and speak freely . . . all of this is being foisted upon us by irresponsible people."0
4. On the Vanguard Role of the Communist Party: November 26, 1989

(The campaign for the republic elections had begun and the Berlin Wall had fallen.)
"We advocate real democracy . . . A special role in the social organism is played by the Communist
Party, which is called upon to be the political vanguard of the Soviet society . . . Developing the masses'
independent activity and the processes of the democratization of all social life within the framework of
the one-party system ¡s a noble and difficult mission for the Party."6
5. On the Communist Party's Role in Developing Pluralism: November 26, 1989

"At the current complex stage, the interests of consolidating society and focusing all its healthy
forces on the resolution of the difficult tasks of perestroika dictate the expediency of retaining the one-
party system. But the party will nonetheless promote the development of pluralism . . . The Party cannot
yield the initiative to populist demagoguery, nationalistic or chauvinistic currents, or unruly group
interests."'
6. On His Continued Commitment to a Unified Communist Party: Press Conference the Day after the
Failed Coup: August 23, 1991
"I am sorry that the forces that should be making a contribution to reform the party are leaving. I see
my role in this. I do not intend to give up the positions I have taken."a
a
Mikhail Gorbachev, Perestroika: New Thinking for Our Country and the World {New York: Harper and Row, 1987), 23.
b
Mikhail Gorbachev, "Politika partii, poütika obnovleniya," Kommunist 4 |1988|: 4. Emphasis added. Cited in Neil Robinson,
"Gorbachev and the Place of the Party in Soviet Reform, 1985-1991" Soviet Studies 44, no. 3 (1992): 423-43.
"Gorbachev, Perestroika, 23.
d
Quoted in Victor Yassman, "Gorbachev's Formula for the Second Stage of Perestroika: Full Ahead but Keep Right," Radio Lib-
erty: Report on the USSR, March 10, 1989, 19.
e
Mikhail Gorbachev, "The Socialist Idea and Revolutionary Perestroika," Pravda, November 26, 1989, 1-3. English translation in
FBIS-Sov-89-226, November 27, 1989, pp. 78-79. On February 5, 1990, however, at a plenum of the Central Committee Gor-
bachev finally advocated the abandonment of article 6 of the constitution enshrining the leading role of the party and also rec-
ommended the creation of the institution of the presidency with sufficient powers to oversee the progress of reform.
Ibid.
sMikhail Gorbachev's Press Conference, English translation In FBIS-Sov-91 164, August 23, 1991, p. 28.
the Soviet Union and at the rather analogous elections in Yugoslavia.33 In both
countries elections were allowed, but in both countries the most democratic and
contested elections were for regional power. The point is clearest in Yugoslavia,
where competitive all-union elections were simply never held in the post-World
War II period. Republic elections were held in Yugoslavia in the summer and fall
of 1990 and, not surprisingly, ethnic issues became of paramount concern.
The situation in the Soviet Union was somewhat more complicated. The first
elections in the Soviet Union were indeed all-union elections for the Congress of
People's Deputies in March 1989. However, these elections were not multiparty, so
democratic political society in the real sense could not develop. We should not
forget that only in March 1990, just weeks before the elections began in Russia, did
the Communist Party of the Soviet Union give up its guaranteed monopoly based
on article 6 of the Soviet constitution. Only after article 6 was abrogated could
other political parties be registered.34 Although candidates endorsed by different
democratic groups or movements were elected, parliamentary parties—or more
exactly caucuses—really emerged only after the 1989-90 elections.
We cannot emphasize enough this basic difference from southern Europe,
Latin America, and most of Central Europe, where parties had legal existence before
the first or founding election. One consequence was that, in much of the Soviet
Union and especially in Russia, though there were democratizing movements that
were expressions of a society in the process of articulation, the transition to po-
litical society was delayed. In Russia, Democratic Russia, like Solidarity in Poland,
the Civic Forum in Czechoslovakia, the Neues Forum in East Germany, and the
Sajudis movement in Lithuania, was an umbrella organization, and its later crisis
shows considerable similarities with that of those movements. However, unlike
these other umbrella organizations, Democratic Russia never coordinated a
statewide general election.
The March 1989 elections were extraordinarily important in creating a new
spirit of freedom in the Soviet Union. However, from the perspective of creating
an autonomous political society or democratic power structures, the elections
had some obvious limitations.35 One-third of the seats in the 2,250-member Con-
33. The next few pages draw heavily on our "Political Identities and Electoral Sequences: Spain, the So-
viet Union, and Yugoslavia," Daedalus 121, no. 2 (1992): 123-40. Permission to cite is gratefully acknowledged.
34. For our subsequent analysis of Russia, it should also be noted that the 1990 elections to the Russian
parliament were also not multiparty. In the 1990 Russian elections, Democratic Russia was not in our sense
really a political party but an emerging movement on the border of civil society and political society. Be-
cause of this state-society context, M. Stephen Fish argues that the 1989-90 political opening was "too sud-
den and too partial. It strongly—and negatively—influenced the growth and effectiveness of alternative po-
litical parties. The timing of the elections reduced incentives for ambitious radical leaders to join parties
and encouraged a highly individualistic form of political entrepreneurship." See his important book, De-
mocracy from Scratch: Opposition and Regime in the New Russian Revolution (Princeton: Princeton Univer-
sity Press, 1995), 73. Emphasis in original.
35. For a good discussion of the limits of the 1989 elections, see Victor Sergeyev and Nikolai Biryukov,
Russia's Road to Democracy: Parliament, Communism and Traditional Culture ( Aldershot, England: Edward
Elgar, 1993), 101-51.
gress of Peoples' Deputies were set aside for the Communist Party and its affili-
ated organizations and did not face popular ratification. Furthermore, the nom-
ination process allowed many Communist Party-dominated local electoral com-
missions to pack meetings with their supporters and thus control the nominating
process. In many districts, all the candidates to emerge from the local electoral
commissions were Communist Party supporters. Indeed, in one-quarter of the
contests only a single candidate emerged from the local electoral commission. In
this context many opposition candidates fell by the wayside.
The highly selective 2,250-member Congress of Peoples' Deputies that emerged
from this process became the electoral college for indirect election to the Supreme
Soviet. This indirect method of selections further weakened the electoral credi-
bility of the upper—and more powerful—house and produced numerous in-
equities. For example, Boris Yeltsin won his seat in Moscow with 89 percent of the
popular vote but was initially denied a seat in the Supreme Soviet until one mem-
ber offered to step down in his favor. Other less prominent deputies were not so
lucky. Thus, though the first elections in the Soviet Union were all-Union, the
proposition holds: the most important and contested elections in both the Soviet
Union and Yugoslavia were not at the all-union but at the republic level.
Cognizant of the shortcomings of the all-union electoral law, republic parlia-
ments drafted legislation that avoided many of the practices that had helped
to discredit the all-union parliament. Election rules varied somewhat across re-
publics, but in general they allowed republic-level actors to make a greater claim
to legitimacy than their all-union counterparts. Almost all of the republics dis-
carded guaranteed seats for the Communist Party and Communist Party-domi-
nated public organizations. Inequities did occur in elections to republic parlia-
ments, especially in Central Asia and in the area of the rights of ethnic minorities.
Yet, on the whole, deputies from republic Supreme Soviets could not only claim
to be the defenders of ethnic interests, but also make a stronger claim to legiti-
macy than could the USSR Supreme Soviet deputies.
Throughout this book we have argued that elections can create agendas, can
create actors, can reconstruct identities, help legitimate and delegitimate claims
to obedience, and create power. The regional elections in the USSR and Yu-
goslavia did all these things. In Spain the process set in motion by statewide gen-
eral elections reconstituted stateness on even firmer grounds. The regional elec-
tions in the USSR and Yugoslavia did the opposite. The following series of quotes
from reports written by teams of electoral observers with the Helsinki Commis-
sion capture the extent to which the process of regional electoral campaigns—in
a context of the Soviet multinational state, which had never submitted itself to an
all-union election—contributed to the disintegration of the state. It did so by
weakening the center and strengthening independence and sovereignty claims by
the ruling elites and by mobilizing nationalist sentiments among the titular na-
tionalities in the republics.
Moldavia (Election: February 25,1990)

"The election campaign pointed up the necessity for every movement vying
for power in the Republic to develop a program for sovereignty, the minimum de-
mand in Moldavia Whether Moscow has to deal directly with a Popular-Front
dominated Moldavian Supreme Soviet, or work through Party First Secretary
Lucinski is irrelevant, for it will be faced almost immediately with a demand to
make good on the republic's demand for sovereignty."36
Ukraine (Election: March 18,1990)

"The Democratic Bloc of opposition groups formed to contest the election
successfully focused the campaign on voters' concerns, inducing the Communist
Party candidates often to follow suit. High on voters' lists were greater political
autonomy, [and] national and cultural issues."37
"Increasing demands for the use of Ukrainian language resulted in an impor-
tant Ukrainian SSR Supreme Soviet decree stipulating that as of January i, 1990,
Ukrainian is the state language of the republic, while Russian is to be used for
communication between nationality groups. . . . Long suppressed national feel-
ings are now sweeping the Ukrainian population."38
"It is likely that their will be even greater progress for Ukrainian self-determi-
nation leading to independence."39
Georgia (Elections: October 28,1990)

By election day, all contending parties—including the Georgian Communist
Party—advocated independence.40 "In an effort to shore up its nationalist creden-
tials, the Georgian Communist Party platform demands guarantees for Georgia's
territorial integrity, the introduction of Georgian citizenship— Proclaiming that
Georgian citizens should only perform military service inside the republic."41
The independence and titular nationalist themes of the election exacerbated re-
lations with the center. Nationalist outbidding in Georgia, as in many other re-
publics, worsened relations with minority groups in the republic and eroded a core
component of future democratization—full citizenship rights for all inhabitants
regardless of ethnicity. The election observer team noted that in Georgia "the even-
tual winner Gamsakhurdia made many statements that have alarmed non-Geor-
36. Elections in the Baltic States and the Soviet Republics (compiled by the Staff of the Commission on
Security and Cooperation in Europe, Washington, D.C., December 1990), 89.
37. Ibid., 115.
38. Ibid., 119.
39. Ibid., 135
40. Ibid., 165.
41. Ibid., 170.
gians. In June 1990, for example, he called mixed marriages 'fatal to the Georgian
family and the Georgian language.' "42 "Fearing for their national rights in an in-
dependent Georgia, some non-Georgian groups have attempted to protect them-
selves. . . . the Abkhaz Autonomous Republic and the Southern Ossetian Autono-
mous Oblast declared sovereignty in August and September, 1990, respectively."43
The result of the regional elections in the USSR and Yugoslavia, in the absence
of prior freely contested all-union democratic elections, contributed to five inter-
related and compounding state-disintegrating dynamics. First, virtually the day
after the regional elections, the statewide legitimacy of the central government
was damaged because the regional pro-sovereignty forces could make a stronger
claim to democratic legitimacy via elections.44 Nowhere was this more significant
than in Russia. The election in the republic of Russia created a new democratically
legitimated base for Boris Yeltsin, who was elected chairman of the Russian Par-
liament in May 1990. From that base he issued Russia's declaration of sovereignty
of June 12,1990. In June 1991 Yeltsin became the directly elected president of Rus-
sia. In July 1991, in his first official decree as president, he banned Communist
Party organizations from enterprises. Since the Communist Party had no neigh-
borhood organizations but only workplace cells, this decree was effectively a
death sentence to the Communist Party in Russia. The coup attempt in August
1991 was thus not only a result of the 9+1 agreement to decentralize the USSR but
also of this decree.45
Second, in no republic in the Soviet Union did a major new unionwide politi-
cal organization compete in the elections as an effective counterweight to local
nationalism, given the fact that, until article 6 was abrogated in March 1990, the
Communist Party of the Soviet Union was the only legal party in the USSR. In
Yugoslavia the elections in the republics were also dominated by non-unionwide
parties or movements.
Third, in the process of the elections, political identities in the USSR and in
Yugoslavia became more narrow, compounding, exclusive, and unsupportive of
participation in a potentially all-union democratic entity. In Spain during and
after the electoral processes political identities had become more multiple, cross-
42. Ibid., 169.

43. Ibid., 165-66.
44. An important indicator of the erosion of stateness is the sharp drop in citizens who answered the
unionwide military draft. By the end of 1990 draft, quota fulfillment in Latvia was 39.5 percent, in Lithua-
nia 35.9 percent, Armenia 22.5 percent and in Georgia 18.5 percent. By mid-iggi, these figures had declined
to 30.8 percent for Latvia, 12.4 percent for Lithuania, 16.4 percent for Armenia, and 8.2 percent for Georgia.
Most importantly, by mid-1991 Moscow itself had fulfilled only half its quota for this six-month period.
See Steven Foye, "Student Deferments and Military Manpower Shortages," Report on the USSR (Aug. 2,
1991): 5-8.
45. The "state" in the Weberian sense had been disintegrating in the Soviet Union even before the failed
coup attempt of August 1991, a coup whose trigger was the desperate effort of some elements within the all-
union forces of the party, the KGB, and the military to block the implementation of the 9+1 Treaty, which
would have given a de jure status to the de facto decentralization of the USSR.
cutting, inclusive, and supportive of participation in a reconstituted Spanish

democratic state.
Fourth, in many republics such as Georgia, Azerbaijan, Serbia, and Croatia, the
prospect of ethnic warfare led the newly elected presidents to repress dissenting
voices within their core ethnic groups and to show greater intolerance toward
minority groups.
Fifth, the crisis of stateness and the resulting crises of governability blocked the
formulation and implementation of economic policy. The cataclysmic political
collapse of any central or coordinating authority in the Soviet Union and Yugo-
slavia preceded and intensified the economic crisis, not vice versa.46
Let us conclude our discussion of the consequences of electoral sequence with
the prophetic words of a Soviet social scientist writing before the coup attempt and
before the de jure disintegration of the Soviet state. He captured the degree to
which regional elections had already contributed to de facto state disintegration:
"Local elections contributed to the process of the shift of the rhetoric of nationalist
movements from 'civic' to 'ethnic'.... The 'war of laws' and 'parade of sovereignties'
followed inevitably after republic and local elections The crisis of power in the
center of the Union and the process of ungovernability increased enormously."47
We will not go into the details of the endgame of the Soviet state because it has
been so extensively documented by others. Suffice it to say that the elections in the
republics led to the famous "parade of sovereignties" and intensified the "war of
laws." This led to a search for a new law of the union, which would feature greater
devolution of power to the republics. Gorbachev attempted to shore up the union
by holding a referendum on March 17,1991, on the question, "Do you consider
necessary the preservation of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics as a renewed
federation of equal sovereign republics, in which the rights and freedoms of an
individual of any nationality will be fully guaranteed?" Of those who voted, 76
percent said yes on this question, so Gorbachev claimed victory. However, a full
analysis of the referendum reveals much more equivocal and damaging results.
Only three of the union's fifteen republics (Belorussia, Tajikistan, and Turk-
menistan) held the referendum exactly the way Gorbachev wanted it to be held.
Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Georgia, Armenia, and Moldova boycotted Gorba-
chev's referendum. The remaining six republics, in addition to asking Gorba-
chev's question, added their own question or questions. The results of the ques-
46. In Yugoslavia the federal prime minister, Arte Markovic, had been supervising a relatively success-
ful stabilization policy and had reduced the four-digit inflation rate to two digits in the first half of 1990.
However, after the stateness crisis exploded, the inflation rate soared to over a trillion by 1993. The Ukraine
had positive GNP growth of 4.1 in 1989, but its best performance in 1991-94, after the stateness crisis be-
came full blown, was -12 in 1991. In 1994 Ukrainian GNP growth was -23. Russia, despite all its problems,
still had flat growth in industrial production in 1990. For 1992 the figure was -18.8. For 1994, -21. For these
economic data see table 21.1.
47. Andranik Migranian, "The End of Perestroika's Romantic Stage" (Moscow, July 1991, unpublished
manuscript), 7.
lions framed by the republics gave renewed legitimacy to republic-based decision

making. For example, the extra question in Russia successfully turned into a ref-
erendum on whether to hold a direct election for a president of Russia. The pos-
itive response to this Russian referendum question was another major step in the
building of an alternative power center to the union and Gorbachev. A draft treaty
was eventually signed with the union and nine republics on April 23,1991. This in
turn set into motion increasing conspiracy activities. The new Union Treaty was
due to be signed on August 21,1991. The coup attempt began on August 18,1991.
The failure of the coup radically accelerated the disintegration of the USSR. All
of the major organizations and mechanisms that were holding the USSR together,
the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, the KGB, the military, the police, and
the office of the presidency, were weakened. In contrast, the position of Boris
Yeltsin, who had the legitimacy of having won a directly contested election for the
presidency of Russia in June 1991, who had led the resistance against the coup, and
who was fighting for more sovereignty for Russia, was greatly strengthened. The
red flag came down from the Kremlin on December 25,1991. The speed and na-
ture of this process of state disintegration left numerous difficult legacies.48
THE D I S I N T E G R A T I O N OF THE USSR:

LEGACIES FOR DEMOCRATIC T R A N S I T I O N AND CONSOLIDATION
In part i we discussed at length the simultaneity problem that all European for-
mer Communist countries face. In addition to these problems, the prior nature of
the territorially based ethnofederalism in the USSR and the speed and manner of
the state's disintegration left additional difficult problems for democratic transi-
tion and consolidation. Each of these problems deserves book-length analysis by
specialists who are better equipped than we. However, from the perspective of the
comparative analysis of democratic theory and practice, let us briefly mention
three general problems found in most of the fifteen successor states of the former
Soviet Union: the privileging of independence over democratization, the privi-
48. For a detailed discussion of the final disintegration of the Soviet state, see John B. Dunlop, The Rise
of Russia and the Fall of the Soviet Empire (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993). For valuable docu-
ments see Alexander Dallin and Gail W. Lapidus, eds., The Soviet System: From Crisis to Collapse, rev. ed.
(Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1995), esp. part 7, "From Coup to Collapse," 565-647. Also see Alexander
Dallin, "Causes of the Collapse of the USSR," Post-Soviet Affairs 8, no. 4 (1992): 279-302; Suny, Revenge of
the Past, 145-54; and Graeme Gill, The Collapse of a Single Party System: The Disintegration of the Commu-
nist Party of the Soviet Union (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), esp. 144-85. Virtually all ac-
counts stress that the failed coup attempt weakened further all the statewide institutions that were still
holding the USSR together. For invaluable detail on Gorbachev's referendum and how the newly legiti-
mated leaders in the republic made it backfire, see the chapter, "Reports on the Referendum on the Future
of the Soviet Union: March 17,1991," in Presidential Elections and Independence Referendums in the Baltic
States, the Soviet Union and Successor States: A Compendium of Reports, 1991-1992, compiled by the Staff of
the Commission on Security and Cooperation in Europe, Washington, D.C. (August 1992), 15-63. The
wording of Gorbachev's question is on p. 20.
leging of collective rights over individual rights, and the privileging of economic
restructuring over state restructuring.
The Privileging of Independence over Democratization

In most of the polities that make a completed democratic transition and even-
tually manage to consolidate democracy, democratic goals are normally a promi-
nent part of the aspiration of important parts of the opposition in the period we
call liberalization. Also, the oppositional forces, when they come to power, must
then proceed to craft democratic practices and institutions so that democracy be-
comes "the only game in town" even for many groups who initially were ambiva-
lent or even opposed to democracy.
In the Soviet Union the speed and manner in which the state disintegrated fore-
shortened (or precluded) liberalization, gave a plebiscitary "national liberation"
quality to the transition path, and almost pushed matters of democracy crafting
off the normative and institutional agenda of politics. In some of the fifteen suc-
cessor states of the USSR, liberalization, much less democratization, had hardly
begun before the failed August 1991 coup led to their independence by January
1992. In many republics, even those whose leaders supported the coup, the unrav-
eling of the USSR led to a hectic search for a new basis of power by incumbents.
Anatoly Khazanov, the distinguished anthropologist from the former Soviet
Union, has graphically captured this phenomenon: "Ethnic and regional elites,
either old ones who only changed their ideological garments, or newly emerged
ones, defeated the center-oriented elites. These elites considered independence the
best guarantee of their positions. However, they are paying only lip service to lib-
eral democratic principles and do not consider them their top priority."49
Ronald Grigor Suny likewise underscores how the speed of the disintegration
left little time for new democratically structured organizations to acquire politi-
cal, social, or economic presence, much less power:
[I]n most republics, nationalism was accompanied by a desperate grab for local power by en-
trenched native elites. In Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Azerbaijan, the old elites
dressed up in national garb to preserve their domination and suppress democratic movements.
Even in those southern republics, like Armenia, Georgia, Kyrgyzstan, and to a lesser extent,
Kazakhstan, where popular democrats were able to remove or reduce the power of the Com-
munists, the deep infrastructure of clan politics remained in place. In Ukraine, Belorussia, and
even Russia, former Communists held top political positions and kept their hands firmly on the
levers of economic power.50
Jonathan Aves, in his review of the new Soviet successor states, makes a similar
point.
49. Anatoly Khazanov, "The Collapse of the Soviet Union: Nationalism during Perestroika and After-
wards," Nationalities Papers 22, no. i (1994), 168. Emphasis added.
50. Suny, Revenge of the Past, 156. Emphasis added.
Republican elites were able to adapt to the nationalist agenda not only to free themselves from
central control but also to outmaneuver putative popular movements— In view of the dramatic
nature of these processes, their rapidity and scale, elements of continuity are remarkably
numerous.... Few of the successor regimes have yet adopted a new constitution and the legis-
latures of the new states are all recognizably the former Supreme Soviets.... The presidents of
all the Central Asian republics, with the exception of Askar Akaev in Kyrgyzstan, are former first
secretaries of the former republican Supreme Soviets.51
The Privileging of Collective Rights over Individual Rights

At the level of both theory and practice, consolidated democracies must re-
spect individual rights. The more inclusive and equal access is to the rights of cit-
izenship, the better the quality of democracy. We argued in chapter 2 that we dif-
fer from most liberal theorists of rights, who insist that all rights be individual and
universal. All rights do not seem to us necessarily to be universal. Theory and
practice in consociational democracies in fact accords some form of collective
rights (such as linguistic, educational, or religious rights) to groups.52 However,
with all democratic theorists we do accept the injunction that such collective
rights—which we believe may be prudentially called for in some multicultural or
multinational polities—must never violate individual rights or create a category
of second-class citizens.
As we have documented, the Soviet Union was one of the world's first ethno-
territorially based federal states. Even before the disintegration of the state, there
were frequent tensions in the USSR over special collective privileges given to
"titular nationalities" in the republics. Victor Zaslavsky captures these tensions
succinctly.
The whole federal political-administrative system served as an elaborate structure of ethnic
inequality. It divided ethnic groups into those with recognized territory and certain rank in the
hierarchy of the state formations and those without such territory. It organized the former
groups into a four-rank hierarchy which determined corresponding amounts of ethnic rights
and privileges. Moreover, the borders between ethnic territories were drawn arbitrarily, often
in accordance with a divide-and-conquer policy in obvious conflict with historical traditions
and existing ethnodemographic conditions The twin policies of nationality registration in
the internal passports and preferential treatment of indigenous nationalities within their ad-
ministrative units became especially counterproductive. These policies proved to be essentially
antimeritocratic.... They created strong dissatisfaction among minorities.... In many cases it
led to the emergence of a potentially explosive ethnic division of labor. . .. The situation be-
51. See his "Assessing the Prospects of the New Soviet Successor States," Nationalities Papers 22, no. i
(1994), 211, 212. Emphasis added.
52. For a review of consociational style group-rights practices that do «of violate democratic norms, see
Arend Lijphart, "Consociational Democracy," World Politics 21 (1969): 44-59, and Kenneth D. McRae, ed.,
Consociational Democracy: Political Accomodation in Segmented Societies (Toronto: McCelland and Stewart,
1974).
came particularly tense in republics where titular nationalities had been transformed into nu-
merical minorities.53
Obviously, even with most careful democratic political crafting, this legacy of
state-structured and state-sanctioned inequality would have been a difficult
legacy to transcend. However, as we have just seen, in a situation where indepen-
dence for the titular nationality was privileged over democratization, indepen-
dence for most of the leaders of the Soviet successor states meant deepening, cod-
ifying, and realizing the collective rights of their "titular" nationality.
In Russia the above problem was exacerbated because Yeltsin, in his struggles
against Gorbachev and the Soviet center, frequently told local titular elites in the
autonomous republics of Russia to "take all the sovereignty you can swallow."54
Thus, within months of the Russian republics' declaration of sovereignty, "every
one of the autonomous republics within the Russian federation" had followed
suit.55 The situation in Russia was further complicated by the fact that "the titu-
lar nationality was a majority in only five of the twenty-one" ethnically defined
autonomous republics.56 The Gorbachev-Yeltsin struggle had two aspects. One
aspect was Yeltsin's effort to undermine the union through his insistence on car-
rying out the Russian Declaration of Sovereignty. Gorbachev, on the other hand,
was undermining Yeltsin by encouraging the heads of Russia's autonomous (i.e.,
non-Russian) regions (who also happened to be very conservative Communists)
to negotiate directly with him, Gorbachev, on the New Union Treaty. In fact, Gor-
bachev insisted that Russian autonomous regions would be a part of the New
Union Treaty. Yeltsin resisted Gorbachev's argument on the grounds that it was an
attempt to undermine the Russian Federation. Yeltsin's famous statement to the
autonomous regions to "take as much sovereignty as you can" ought to be con-
sidered in this context.
Ian Bremmer argues that independence, throughout the Soviet Union, came as
a "manifestation of nationalism as liberation' and of the desire of groups to "claim
independence for themselves."57 He goes on to argue that "the relationship be-
tween titular nationalities and lower order titular and non-titular nationalities is
one of domination— First-order titular nationalities may employ the rhetoric of
liberation when dealing with the center, while at the same time rejecting such
53. Victor Zaslavsky, "Success and Collapse: Traditional Soviet Nationality Policy," in Ian Bremmer and
Ray Taras, eds., Nations and Politics in the Soviet Successor States (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1993), 35,39-
54. See Gail W. Lapidus and Edward W. Walker, "Nationalism, Regionalism and Federalism: Center-
Periphery Relations in Post-Communist Russia," in Gail W. Lapidus, ed., The New Russia: Troubled Trans-
formation (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1995), 83.
55. Ibid.
56. Ibid., 87.
57. Ian Bremmer, "Reassessing Soviet Nationalities Theory," in Bremmer and Taras, Nations in Soviet
Successor States, 15. Emphasis in the original.
claims (and exerting domination) when they are made by lower order titular or
non-titular nationalities within their borders."58
This situation, particularly in Russia, often gives rise to two types of actions by
the nontitular nationalities which create problems for stateness and/or democra-
tization. The nontitular nationalities are motivated to secede and create their own
titular nationality regions. Or they collude with the center to impose forms of
nondemocratic direct administrative rule on the titular nationalities.59
This problem of collective rights over individual rights acquires added magni-
tude when we take into consideration the fact that in the Commonwealth of In-
dependent States (CIS) sixty million people are living outside their nation-state
or their titular nationality regions. Indeed, after the disintegration of the Soviet
state, twenty-five million Russians were living outside of Russia.60 This new situ-
ation has given rise to difficulties in the triadic relationships in the successor states
between the elites of the aspirant nation-states, the minorities in these polities,
and the homeland states of these minorities.61 These international tensions in
turn present new dangers for would-be consociational democracy crafters be-
cause of the fertile soil that is created for nationalists to delegitimize the state for
"not protecting their co-nationals abroad" or for authoritarians inside the state,
who do not want equal citizenship to be given to "fifth columnist foreigners."62
The Privileging of Economic Restructuring over Democratic State

Restructuring (the Case of Russia)
A reasonably strong state with a clear hierarchy of laws and the capacity to ex-
tract a surplus and to implement the policies of the new democratic government
is crucial for democratic consolidation. Indeed, many of the rights of democratic
citizenship can only be obtained if there is a coherent state, an enforceable rule of
law, and a usable state apparatus. Even market-oriented schemes such as privati-
zation are more effective if done by a state that can formulate and install a clear
regulatory framework so that a law-based economic society can emerge.63 If these
58. Ibid., 16-17.

59. See the excellent formal modeling of these relationships of "domination" and "collusion," with nu-
merous empirical referents, in ibid., 11-21.
60. See Khazanov, "Collapse of the Soviet Union," 171.
61. See Rogers Brubaker, "National Minorities, Nationalizing States, and External Homelands in the
New Europe," in Daedalus (Spring 1995): 107-32. We will explore such a triadic relationship in our next
chapter, which examines problems of Russian citizenship in Estonia and Latvia.
62. Would-be democrats are buffered by both these demands. In response to nationalist demands, Rus-
sia has military units guarding part of all the CIS "outer borders" in Armenia, Georgia, Kyrgyzstan, and
Tajikistan and is trying to negotiate similar arrangements with Azerbaijan, Uzbekistan, and Turkmenistan.
Russia has also proposed integration of their troops with the border troops of Ukraine, Belarus, and Ka-
zakhstan. This information was obtained from an interesting paper by Eric Schmelling, "The Near Abroad:
Being Too Close" (Central European University, Budapest, January 1995, unpublished paper), based on
Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty Daily Report, November 15,1994, and December 2,1994.
63. All these arguments are developed in part i.
capacities do not exist, they must be built by the new democratic forces or de-
mocracy cannot be consolidated. This is why we argued that democratization
often must begin with the political restructuring of the state so as to give it new
consensually and constitutionally based power. This is particularly so where state-
ness problems exist, as we documented in our analysis of Spain. Statewide elec-
tions and the crafting of a consensual constitution are forms of building legiti-
mate state power. Such power can then be brought to bear in the restructuring of
federal relations or in restructuring the economy.
In the area of vertical relations within the federation, Russia faced, as we have
seen, extraordinary tasks that needed to be addressed before it could become a co-
herent democratic polity. The implementation of the much needed economic re-
structuring, in the post-party-state context, also called for the creation of new
forms of democratic power. The combination of the old structures of governance
and the way the USSR disintegrated also left the state in Russia particularly prone
to horizontal power conflicts between the executive and the legislative. Further-
more, the existing Brezhnev era constitution spelled out few conflict regulation
devices in the case of legislative/executive disputes over powers. The constitution,
for example, did not assign a significant role to the judiciary. As in Czechoslova-
kia the absence of a framework for democratic government was not a problem
when the party-state governed. However, under more democratic conditions in
Russia, the absence of democratic procedures for governance led to intrastate im-
passe and power deflation.
In these circumstances, in our judgment, the first order of business should
have been the democratic restructuring of the state so as to create structures of
democratic power. What in fact was the first order of business?
Boris Yeltsin's first major policy address to the Congress of People's Deputies
and to the citizens of Russia after the coup was on October 28,1991. He told the
congress and the nation that "the present time is one of the most critical moments
in Russian history. It is now that the future of Russia and of the country asa whole
in the years and decades to come is being decided. We must unreservedly embark
on a path of thoroughgoing reforms, in which the support of all strata of the
population is needed. The time has come to adopt the main decision and to begin
to act."64
Thus far we agree, and Yeltsin's appeal to Congress and to the people is similar
to the address of Adolfo Suárez to the Cortes and the citizens which we analyzed
at length in our chapter on Spain. But Yeltsin's specification of what actions he
should privilege contrasted radically with those of Suárez, who emphasized the
democratic restructuring of politics and the state as the first priority. In contrast,
for Boris Yeltsin "the most important, most decisive actions will have to be taken
64. See Boris Yeltsin, "Speech to the RSFSR Congress of the People's Deputies and to the Citizens of Rus-
sia, October 28,1991," in Dallin and Lapidus, eds., The Soviet System, 632.
in the sphere of the economy. The first area is economic stabilization The sec-
ond area is privatization and the creation of a healthy mixed economy with a
powerful private sector."65
Almost in passing, toward the end of the speech Yeltsin mentioned structures
of governance.
The time has come to say clearly and precisely that there is one source of power in Russia: the
Russian Republic's Congress and Supreme Soviet, the Russian Republic's government, and the
Russian Republic's President. A dynamic process of extracting the institutions of power from
under the heel of the CPSU is under way. We are not afraid of accusations of being undemo-
cratic, and we will act decisively in this respect . . . In conducting the reforms, the principle
burden rests with the Russian government. This burden is too heavy for the government's
present make-up and cumbersome structure. It can be borne only by a government of popu-
lar confidence, one that people will trust, one that will convince them that its actions are
correct.66
What is significant is that Yeltsin was absolutely silent about how to create such
a government. He did not mention calling new elections for the newly indepen-
dent state. He did not mention the possibility of a newly elected parliament craft-
ing a new democratic constitution, which would create a framework for the or-
derly exercise of democratic power.
Yeltsin in October 1991 still commanded great power and prestige. He had been
democratically elected in June 1991. He had led the resistence to the coup in Au-
gust 1991. He was soon to lead Russia to complete independence. In this context
(despite the fact that the vast majority of the parliament had been elected with
Communist Party support in March 1990), the Congress of People's Deputies
voted overwhelmingly to support, by 876 to 16, President Yeltsin's "big bang" free
market reforms, his first and second priorities.67 In November 1991, this same
Soviet-era congress voted to give Yeltsin decree power for one year to implement
economic reform.
In our judgment, Yeltsin's choice to privilege economic restructuring over
democratic state restructuring weakened the state, weakened democracy, and
weakened the economy. Timing is crucial in all politics, but especially in democ-
ratization processes. Yeltsin and his core advisors in the critical fall months of 1991
took the effort to craft an economic plan and to argue its merits before the par-
liament and the citizens. We believe he should have made a prior effort to have
amplified his party base and, like Adolfo Suárez in Spain, convinced the parlia-
ment of the old regime to hold early free elections. Absolutely nothing of this sort
was attempted. Let us quote at length from a perceptive eyewitness observer.
65. Ibid.
66. Ibid., 636-37.
67. The vote was taken one week after Yeltsin's address to the Congress and the citizens. For the atmo-
sphere surrounding the vote, see Dunlop, Rise of Russia and Fall of Soviet Empire, 265.
[Yeltsin] and his advisors chose not to undertake fundamental political reforms and instead re-
lied on Yeltsin's own personal charisma and authority to sustain the state in carrying out its
program of economic transformation— More striking to contemplate, however, are the deci-
sions and actions Yeltsin did not take. He did not push to adopt a new constitution— The new
regime did little to institutionalize its popular support in society. Yeltsin did not establish a
political party; nor did he call for elections to stimulate party development. And despite
repeated cries from Democratic Russia, he refused to call new elections in the Fall of 1991.68
More research must be done, and historical counterfactuals are never certain.
But if Yeltsin, in the immediate aftermath of his anti-coup triumph, with the
charismatic aura and authority this gave him, had called in September 1991 for
new parliamentary and presidential elections to be held in, say, December 1991, a
strong case could be made that he could have convinced the Russian parliament
to accede to his proposal. This would have required a lot of politicking, maneu-
vering, and coalition-building as well as appeals to public opinion. In October
1991 Yeltsin's approval rating was still 61 percent (down from 71 percent in July). His
ability to convince parliament to go along with his initiatives in September and
October 1991 was still very high, as the overwhelming vote of support this Soviet-
era body gave to his economic plan demonstrates.69 Given the experience Demo-
cratic Russia had acquired during Yeltsin's victorious presidential campaign in
fuñe 1991, Yeltsin, acting as a leader of Democratic Russia, incorporating in a
broad coalition diverse forces, and building a political instrument to support him,
might have done well in an election.70 The self-image of a president above party
made such a political strategy unlikely, but if he had commited himself to such a
strategy, and if elections hadbeen held in December 1991, a newly legitimated, in-
68. See the excellent article by Michael McFaul, "State Power, Institutional Change, and the Politics of
Privatization in Russia," World Politics 47, no. 2 (1995), 226. McFaul was in Moscow in October 1991 and in-
terviewed many Democratic Russia leaders. For a very similar critique by a Russian social scientist, see Lilia
Shevtsova, "Russia's Post-Communist Politics: Revolution or Continuity?" in Lapidus, ed., The New Russia,
5-37, esp. 8-10. Also see the convincing section entitled "The political mismanagement of economic re-
form" in Timothy J. Colton, "Boris Yeltsin, Russia's All-Thumbs Democrat," in Timothy J. Colton and
Robert C. Tucker, eds., Patterns in Post-Soviet Leadership (Boulder: Westview Press, 1995) 49-74, esp. 60-65.
69. On counterfactual analyses see James D. Fearon, "Counterfactuals and Hypothesis Testing in Polit-
ical Science," World Politics 43 (Jan. 1991): 169-95. For Yeltsin's high public opinion ratings in July and Oc-
tober 1991, see the valuable article by Archie Brown, "Political Leadership in Post-Communist Russia," in
Amin Saikal and William Maley, eds., Russia in Search of Its Future (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1995), 36. Brown also argues that Yeltsin "should have made a serious effort to have a new constitu-
tion adoped and a date for fresh elections agreed in late 1991 or early 1992 when his public standing was still
sufficiently high for him to have persuaded the Congress of People's Deputies to vote for its own dissolu-
tion" (p. 33).
70. McFaul argues that "polling by Democratic Russia indicated that with Yeltsin's backing the organi-
zation would win a majority within the Congress of People's Deputies. At the time, Democratic Russia was
the only legal party or social movement of national status. Having just organized Yeltsin's electoral victory
in June 1991 and then spearheaded the popular resistance to the coup in August, leaders of Democratic Rus-
sia were quite certain of victory." See McFaul, "State Power, Institutional Change, and Privatization," 226.
Shevtsova argues that, in the fall of 1991, "the only political movement with significant influence at the time
was Democratic Russia, the mass-based movement that had helped bring Yeltsin to power in 1990 and 1991."
Shevtsova, "Russia's Post-Communist Politics," 18.
dependence-era Russian parliament could have voted support for the economic
plan and made some quick but consensual constitutional amendments before
undertaking the task of completely rewriting the Soviet-era constitution. This
new parliament could have provided the government with a constitutional foun-
dation for political, economic, and social reform. There would have been some
short-term costs. The launching of the "big bang" economic reform would possi-
bly have been delayed by a few months. But the long-term gains might have been
substantial.
Boris Yeltsin, in his book The Struggle for Russia, in retrospect also believes that
he missed an opportunity. "I believe the most important opportunity missed after
the coup was the radical restructuring of the parliamentary system. I have a
sneaking suspicion, though, that society might not have been ready to nominate
any decent candidates to a new legislature. The idea of dissolving the Congress
and scheduling new elections was in the air (as well as a Constitution for the new
country), although we did not take advantage of it."71 The Yeltsin memoir is par-
ticularly revealing in two inter-related respects. First, Yeltsin virtually does not
mention the possibility that he could have helped contribute to making Demo-
cratic Russia—or any other political party—a powerful instrument of democratic
change. Democratic parties were not part of his cognitive or reform world. Sec-
ond, as the above quote makes clear, Yelstsin was reluctant to take a chance with
elections. But, as Adam Przeworski and other democratic theorists insist, democ-
racy building is precisely a process in which political leaders have to accept the
risk of the uncertainty of elections. It is the task of democratic politicians and par-
ties to get the voters to support their program by campaigning and coalition
building. But Yeltsin's conception of the president as being above parties, rather
than the leader of a party or a coalition, and his style of rule would have made
such an effort difficult.
In the absence of constitutional restructuring of democratic state power, the
Soviet-era legislature and the pro-market, anti-Soviet executive entered into a
deadly struggle. This struggle ebbed and flowed but never stopped until Yelstin
used armed force to prevail in October 1993. This power struggle hurt the very
economic reform in whose name democratic state building had been postponed.
The Soviet-era congress that Yeltsin decided to live with actually had interests in
the economy and the polity that were distinctly different from those espoused by
the "big bang" reformers in Yeltsin's government. In fact, only six months after
Gaidar's program had been overwhelmingly approved by the Fifth Congress of
the People's Deputies, his program was defeated 632 votes to 23i.72
71. Boris Yeltsin, The Struggle for Russia (New York: Times Books, Random House, 1994), 126.
72. A very clear and documented analysis of the multiple conflicts between the legislative power and the
executive power in Russia in this period is found in Yitzhak M. Brudny's article, "Ruslan Khasbulatov, Alek-
sandr Rutskoi and Intra-elite Conflict in Post-Communist Russia, 1991-1994," in Timothy J. Colton and
Robert C. Tucker, eds., Patterns in Post Soviet Leadership (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1995), 75-101.
Moreover, the constitution gave the congress an extraordinary number of pre-

rogatives they could call upon to check the executive. A policy conflict between
the parliament and the executive was thus predictable. Furthermore, the existing
constitutional structures of government were not crafted so as to facilitate and
channel democratic contestation.
Yitzhak M. Brudny in a perceptive study makes this clear:
Features of the Russian constitutional structure made the conflict between the president and the
parliament virtually impossible to resolve. First, the Russian presidential system, as it was estab-
lished in 1991, clearly belonged to the "president-parliamentary" type. In this system both the
parliament and the president enjoy some control over the cabinet of ministers but precise
division of power between the two is not defined clearly.... The law on the presidency effectively
created two competing heads of the state, the president and the chairman of the Supreme Soviet.
Second, the Russian law on the presidency failed to provide a mechanism for resolving po-
tential conflicts between the two branches of government— The Russian parliamentarians de-
nied the president the right to call referenda or new parliamentary or presidential elections pre-
ferring to keep these rights as their exclusive prerogative.73
The chairman of the Russian Supreme Soviet, Ruslan Khasbulatov, was able to
use his Soviet-era constitutional prerogatives to issue direct orders to government
ministries and agencies. His orders often conflicted with decrees issued by Yeltsin.
In 1992 Khasbulatov issued 66 such orders. In the first six months of 1993 he is-
sued more than 630.74
A core part of the economic reform was dismantled only four months after its
initiation. The parliament prevailed in their claim that they had the right to ap-
point and supervise the president of the central bank. Their nominee followed
policies fundamentally at odds with the Yeltsin-Gaidar stabilization policy. The
weakness of the government in the congress also meant that state managers, via
their allies in the congress, were able to structure legislative outcomes that re-
sulted in "insiders" controlling the vast majority of privatized state enterprises.
This same alliance meant that the state continued to give massive subsidies to
these structurally unreformed enterprises.75
Both parties to the horizontal struggle for state power (the legislature and the
executive) claimed democratic legitimacy. Semipresidentialism in Russia mani-
fested even more dangerous tendencies for democracy than it did in the Polish
case we have analyzed.76 Indeed, as the struggle intensified in Russia, both parties
73. Ibid., 85-86.

74. Ibid., 86.
75. See the previously cited article by McFaul for documentation. For additional convincing empirical
studies of insider control during and after privatization in Russia, see Katherina Pistor, Roman Frydman,
and Andrzej Rapaczynski, "Investing in Insider-dominated Firms: A Study of Russian Voucher Privatiza-
tion Funds," and Joseph R. Blasi, "Corporate Governance in Russia." Both papers were delivered at a joint
conference of the World Bank and the Central European University Privatization Project, December 15-16,
1994, Washington, DC.
76. See chapter 16 for our excursus on Semipresidentialism and our analysis of it in the Polish context.
claimed prerogatives of the sort not found in any modern consolidated democ-
racy in the world.
During their conflict with the president, the parliament managed to reinsert
into the Russian constitution the classic Soviet-era description of the Soviets as the
"highest state organs."77 This phrase and a series of amendments advocated by
Khasbulatov implied a form of an "assembly regime" rather than a semipresiden-
tial or even a parliamentary regime.78 That is, the Soviets would directly select,
monitor, and even manage the executive and officials of the state apparatus. This
assembly regime would also act as judiciary because whenever the Supreme Soviet
met they would act as a permanent constituent assembly.79 From this "all power to
the Soviets," Paris Commune perspective, Khasbulatov and the parliament argued
their superior legitimacy and periodically tried to impeach Yeltsin. By October
1992 it was also revealed that Khasbulatov had built up a five-thousand-member
parliamentary armed guard subordinate through him to the Soviets alone.80
Yeltsin for his part appealed to his superior democratic legitimacy based on his
direct presidential election. He went further: he frequently made dark warnings
that he would appeal directly to the people. In our discussion of Brazil and Ar-
gentina, we analyzed the extreme plebiscitary, anti-institutional style of presiden-
77. Ibid., 228. This phrase, of course, had roots in Marx's analysis of the Paris Commune in his The Civil
War in France and Lenin's praise of the Commune in his State and Revolution. In a famous section of State
and Revolution subtitled "The Eradication of Parliamentarianism," Lenin argued that "the Commune re-
places the venal and rotten parliamentarianism of bourgeois society." It did this, Lenin argued, by "the con-
version of the representative institutions from talking shops into 'working' institutions." The key examples
given by Marx and later by Lenin of the Paris Commune as a working institution are those of the commune
directly establishing and running the courts and most administration. In this way, direct democracy could
lead not only to the eradication of parliamentarianism but eventually to the "withering away of the state."
All careful historical studies show, however, that when it actually came to creating structures of power in
the Soviet Union, Lenin almost immediately marginalized the "Soviets" or any form of Paris Commune-
like direct democracy and built instead the hyperstatism of the centralized party-state. Notwithstanding
this historical fact, antiparliamentary, direct democracy discourse of the "all power to the Soviets" sort re-
mained a significant part of post-Soviet political argument. The democratically ambivalent effects of this
strand of populist, direct democracy, antiparliamentary legacy of Soviet political culture and philosophy is
discussed in the previously cited book by two Russian social scientists, Sergeyev and Biryukov, Russia's Road
to Democracy.
78. The best discussion of Khasbulatov's program is found in Brudny, "Khasbulatov, Rutskoi and Intra-
elite Conflict."
79. The 1977 Constitution [Fundamental Law] of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (much of the
spirit of which was still in the Russian Constitution in 1991-93) formally gave the Soviets control of virtu-
ally all state powers. Article 2 stated "all power in the USSR belongs to the people. The people exercise state
power through the Soviets of the People's Deputies, which constitute the political foundation of the USSR.
All other state bodies are under the control of, and accountable to, the Soviets of the People's Deputies."
Article 108 gave the Soviets control over executive and constitutional power. "The highest body of state
authority of the USSR shall be the Supreme Soviet of the USSR. The Supreme Soviet of the USSR is em-
powered to deal with all matters within the jurisdiction of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. The
adoption and amendment of the Constitution of the USSR... are the exclusive prerogative of the Supreme
Soviet of the USSR." See John N. Hazard, ed., The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, in the series edited by
Albert P. Blaustein and Gisbert H. Flanz, Constitutions of the Countries of the World (Dobbs Ferry, N.Y.:
Oceana Publications, Oct. 1990).
80. Brudny, "Khasbulatov, Rutskoi and Intra-elite Conflict."
tialism that Guillermo O'Donnell has called "delegative democracy."81 Yeltsin in

his struggle against parliament approximated O'Donnell's description, with the
added twist that he denounced the legitimacy of the legislature because of its So-
viet origins. The Russian social scientist, Shevtsova, implicitly agrees. She argues
that Yeltsin "embarked on a course of 'revolutionary liberalism' from above,"
which was characterized by "the use of charisma to personalize the political
process, [and] reliance on a vertical system of presidential power to implement
his policies."82
Dwight Semler, in his review of constitutional developments in Russia in the
first six months of 1993, captured graphically how, in the absence of constitutional
change, one branch of a potential democracy (the executive) had taken to rou-
tinely questioning the legitimacy of another branch of a potential democracy (the
legislature). For example, in February 1993,
Yeltsin repeated his contention that the current political situation made Russia impossible to
govern Yeltsin asserted that he was not compelled to adhere to the constitution because it
was nothing more than a Soviet-era document repeatedly and opportunistically amended by a
short sighted congress. He warned that failure to hammer out a sensible power-sharing agree-
ment would spell either "dictatorship or anarchy for Russia"—the sort of pronouncement that
fuelled widespread rumors of'emergency rule' by Yeltsin....
The tension came to a head on March 20 when Yeltsin made a nationally televised address
'declaring' that Congress had violated the separation of powers and blasting the Constitutional
Court for not having stopped them. Yeltsin announced that he had signed a decree establishing
a special presidential regime necessary for the preservation of the country. While not attempt-
ing to dissolve Congress, Yeltsin made it clear that the new "regime" nullified any legislative acts
that ran counter to the President's own directives.83
In September and October 1993, the constitutional crisis was resolved by force.
Yeltsin unilaterally dissolved the parliament. The icon of August 1991 was Yeltsin
on top of a tank defending the White House. The symbol of October 1993 was
Yeltsin's tanks shattering the White House.
We reiterate our prior assertion, which we believe we now have documented.
Yeltsin's choice in the fall of 1991 to privilege economic restructuring and com-
pletely to neglect democratic restructuring of the parliament, the constitution,
and the state further weakened an already weak state, deprived the proposed eco-
nomic reform program of the minimal degree of political and state coherence
necessary for its successful implementation, and contributed to the mutual de-
legitimitation of the three democratic branches of the government.84
81. Guillermo O'Donnell, "Delegative Democracy," Journal of Democracy 5, no. i (Jan. 1994): 55-69, esp. 64.
82. Shevtsova, "Russia's Post-Communist Politics," 9.
83. Dwight Semler, "Special Reports: Crisis in Russia," East European Constitutional Review 2, no. 3
(1993): 15-19, quotations from 15 and 17. The March 1993 crisis was defused when Yeltsin softened his writ-
ten text after strong protests by the Constitutional Court and the legislature.
84. While most of the West supported Yeltsin in his confrontation with the parliament, it should also be
noted that the democratic tissue of Russia was hurt in numerous other ways in September 1993. As Archie
Post-Soviet Semipresidentialism: A Concluding Excursus

Soviet and Russian political developments during the transition underscore
some of the themes we have stressed in this book. Books can and should be writ-
ten on the subject of the problems for democracy created by Semipresidentialism
in the (non-Baltic) post-Soviet and post-Yugoslavian states.85 As comparativists
who have long written on such problems, let us briefly identify some of the features
that made Semipresidentialism an especially complicated and crisis-prone form of
government in Russia and many of the other states of the former Soviet Union.
1. The prolonged cohabitation of a new and vaguely spelled out model of the
presidency with the old nondemocratic and partly delegitimated Soviet-era insti-
tutions greatly complicated the Russian transition.
2. The creation of a presidency in the case of Russia with Yeltsin democrati-
cally legitimated by his election in June 1991, initiated the dynamics of the dual
legitimacy of all presidential regimes that coexist with a legislature that is also
democratically legitimated and has its own independent mandate. This classic
problem of dual legitimacy was further complicated in Russia by the lack of a con-
stitution that defined clearly the powers and roles of the different actors.
3. To the common structural problems of presidential and semipresidential
democracies, we have to add the distinctive Soviet "all power to the Soviets" tra-
dition that gave to the legislature and its chairman extraordinary powers, basically
incompatible with a model based on a division of powers.
4. To complicate things further, both Gorbachev and Yeltsin supported, for
temporary pragmatic reasons, the election of vice presidents who did not share
their policy views and who ended by supporting plots against them. This is a pat-
tern well known from crises in other presidential systems.86
5. In Matthew S. Shugart's analysis, the most unstable semipresidential variant
is one he calls "president-parliamentary." A key aspect of this model is that the as-
sembly may vote no confidence against the cabinet. Shugart argues that, "if the
constitution permits [both] the parliamentary majority [and] the president act-
ing unilaterally to dismiss cabinet ministers, there is no institutionally defined au-
Brown observes, the violent resolution of the crisis also meant "the suspension of the Constitutional Court,
the temporary barring of some twenty newspapers and the tightening of governmental control over, and
censorship of, television." See Brown, "Political Leadership in Post-Communist Russia," 33.
For a strong counterfactual analysis that a fall 1991 democratic political strategy by Yeltsin would have
contributed to a stronger state and a more successful economic reform in Russia in 1992-93, see McFaul,
"State Power, Institutional Change, and Privatization," esp. 238-43.
85. One such book in progress is an edited volume by Ray Taras, tentatively entitled Presidential Systems
in Communist States: A Comparative Analysis.
86. To cite but a few examples, in Brazil, Vice President Joâo Goulart fundamentally opposed President
Janio Quadros' policies. In the Philippines, Vice President Salvador Laurel was at best what we would call
"semiloyal" during a major coup attempt against President Corazón Aquino.
thority over the cabinet; executive-legislative conflict is likely. This institutional

design has bred instability whenever it has been used . . . most ominously, in
Weimar."87 This precarious model is the norm in the non-Baltic countries of the
former Soviet Union. It is true that the removable prime ministers provide a
"fuse" protecting the president, but the situation can also lead to constant crises
in policy leadership.This affects particularly the economic reform process. In-
deed, in the Ukraine in 1991—94 semipresidential institutions led to a triarchy:
president, prime minister, and the legislature and its chairman, leading to incer-
titude and conflict.88
6. The availability of the referendum to presumably resolve conflicts between
the political actors by turning to the people has been useful in some cases, but it
has frequently led to populist mobilization rather than to party politics. It has also
led to conflicts about the calling and wording of the referendum, thus complicat-
ing the entire bargaining and party-building process that is so crucial to building
an institutionalized political society with some degree of autonomy and pre-
dictability.
7. Presidentialism and strong semipresidentialism, as we and others have ar-
gued elsewhere, in the absence of a long historically structured party system do
not encourage the formation of parties. Presidents like to be above party, not to
identify with a party, and Yeltsin certainly did not use the opportunity to trans-
form the movement-type formation, Democratic Russia, into a party. This ten-
dency toward presidents being above party politics has been exacerbated by the
post-Soviet constitutional practice that presidents, unlike in the French Fifth Re-
public, cannot lead or even belong to parties.
8. Not all the presidential-parliamentary conflicts in the former USSR have
led to such a violent crisis as the shelling of the Parliament by the president in
87. See Matthew S. Shugart, "Of Presidents and Parliaments," East European Constitutional Review 2,
no. i (1993), 30-32. Quotation from p. 30 and p. 32. For the full development of his analytic approach, see
Matthew Soberg Shugart and John M. Carey, Presidents and Assemblies: Constitutional Design and Electoral
Dynamics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992).
88. An important study on semipresidentialism in the Ukraine is Andrew Wilson, "Post-Communist
Presidents. Ukraine: Two Presidents, but No Settled Powers" (paper presented to the American Association
for Advanced Slavic Studies, Philadelphia, November 1994). A revised version will appear in the previously
cited edited volume by Ray Taras. Also see the excellent work by a Ukrainian political scientist, Oleg Pro-
tsyk, "Do Institutions Matter? Semi-presidentialism in Ukraine and France" (Master's thesis, Central Eu-
ropean University, Budapest, June 1995). Post-Soviet presidents caught in this dyarchy or tryarchy con-
stantly try to expand their powers well beyond the already substantial powers of the president in the French
Fifth Republic. For example, Shugart and Carey in their Presidents and Assemblies, 148-58, develop an index
of presidential powers. They give a total score of 7 for the president of the Fifth Republic. In late 1994 a frus-
trated President Kuchma in the Ukraine proposed a new law of presidential powers. According to Protsyk's
estimation, Kuchma's proposal, if implemented, would have yielded an index of presidential power on the
Shugart-Carey scale of 19.5, which is even higher than the 14.5 he accords to the "superpresidential" office
of the Russian president in the new (1993) Russian constitution. For the Russian presidency, see Stephen
Holmes, "Superpresidentialism and Its Problems," East European Constitutional Review 2, no. 4 (1993):
123-26.
Russia. But in some post-Soviet republics there is an increasing tendency for non-
democratic resolution of presidential/legislative tension. With increasing fre-
quency presidents prorogue parliaments, rule by decree, and call democratically
dubious snap referenda to extend their mandates.89
Many factors account for the difficulties of democracy in the new states of the
former USSR, but one of them, and not the least important, is the lack of early
agreement on how to channel institutionally the democratic aspirations of peo-
ple in decision-making structures. Institutions do matter.
89. In Turkmenistan a truly Soviet-era 99.9 percent of the population voted in a referendum to extend
the president's mandate until the year 2000. In Kazakhstan the president, after proroguing the parliament,
unilaterally formulated the referendum question and called a quick referendum, the result of which ex-
tended his mandate.
20
When Democracy and the

Nation-State Are Conflicting Logics:
Estonia and Latvia
OUT OF THE 1991 dissolution of the USSR, fifteen new states emerged.
These states were based upon the previous fifteen republics of the Soviet federa-
tion. Every one of these new states was named after what had been called in the So-
viet federation the "titular nationality" of that republic. However, as we saw in the
last chapter, most of these new states in 1991 were demographically multinational.1
Nonetheless, the elites in charge in most of these newly independent states ap-
pealed to the nationalism of the dominant group in each republic as a way to come
to and to consolidate power. Once in power most of the elites in charge of these
newly independent states followed a strategy of attempting to transform their
multinational demos into a "nation-state." In a book devoted to democratization,
these realities force us to analyze two central questions. Are there circumstances
when democracy and nation-state are conflicting logics?2 If so, what can be done to
achieve an inclusive democracy?3 We believe these questions and the complexity of
politics in states like the newly independent polities of the former Soviet Union are
best explored by an elaboration of the triadic framework of relationships we de-
veloped in chapter 2, " 'Stateness,' Nationalism, and Democratization."4
1. In addition, the national minorities within them were identified by the nationality registered on their
Soviet internal passports. That identification was not subjectively defined but based on origin, irrespective
of the individual's personal, linguistic, and cultural identity. We believe that identities are normally socially
constructed, multiple and changeable. However, this Soviet bureaucratic routine, to an important degree,
fixed singular and unchangeable identities in the USSR. The fact that this was a legal identity based on ter-
ritoriality is, we believe, unique in multinational, multilinguistic societies. For example, federal systems
such as India's or Canada's may put place of birth on the passport o r a document, but they would not put
ethnic, linguistic, or religious affiliations. Even Yugoslovia's Soviet-style federal system did not stamp eth-
nic group membership on the passport.
2. This chapter is a substantially revised and expanded version of Alfred Stepan, "When Democracy and
the Nation-State Are Competing Logics: Reflections on Estonia," European Journal of Sociology 35 (1994):
127-41. Permission to cite from this article is gratefully acknowledged.
3. For the discussion of inclusiveness in modern democracies, see Robert A. Dahl, Polyarchy: Participa-
tion and Opposition (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1971): 6-7.
4. Once again we want to call attention to the related research in progress by Rogers Brubaker, in which
he focuses attention on that aspect of the triadic relationship between elites following nation-state strate-
gies, minorities in states following nation-state policies, and the homeland state of those minorities.
We have decided to explore this implicit triadic relationship in some detail in

the Baltic countries of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania. We chose these countries
for three reasons. First, for reasons having to do with their past experience as
democracies, their relatively developed economies, and their potential member-
ship in the European Union, these countries have the most supportive conditions
for democratization of the fifteen newly independent states of the former Soviet
Union. Democratic failure in these countries is in no way overdetermined. Sec-
ond, both domestically and internationally, the major problem these countries
must resolve before they can become consolidated democracies is precisely the
tension between the logic of a nation-state and the logic of a democracy. Russia is
a large, unstable, and potentially aggressively nationalistic and self-appointed
"homeland" for Russian-speaking minorities in the Baltics. A poor handling of
the nation-state minority problem could lead not only to nonconsolidated democ-
racies, but also to threats to the integrity of one or more Baltic states. Third, we
are fortunate to have a very solid research base to build upon.5 Let us begin our
comparative inquiry with an analysis of the legacy of the Baltic countries' inte-
gration into the USSR.
THE BALTICS' D I F F I C U L T LEGACY
History and the specific legacy of the previous nondemocratic regime are im-
portant for all analyses of democratization. There is possibly no area where his-
tory is more important than in the Baltics, where the previous nondemocratic
regime, the USSR, brutally transformed these polities demographically, cultur-
ally, economically, and even ecologically.
Estonia and Latvia had the most substantial prior experience of democratic
Brubaker's project is devoted to exploring the "fields of force" between these three components of the tri-
adic relationships. Our endeavor is closely related, but we pay special attention to how these evolving rela-
tionships affect democratization. For numerous references to Brubaker's work, see our notes in chapter 2.
5. These include on-going major comparative surveys, one under the supervision of Hans-Dieter
Klingemann and the other by Richard Rose. David D. Laitin and Rogers Brubaker are also regularly pro-
ducing important comparative work on topics such as language and nationalism in the Baltics. Full cita-
tions follow in this chapter. Anatol Lieven, The Baltic Revolution: Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania and the Path to
Independence (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994, rev. ed.) is the best overall introduction to the key
historical and political issues relevant for Baltic democratization. On the interwar years, see George von
Rauch, The Baltic States: The Years of Independence (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974), and
Tönu Parming, The Collapse of Liberal Democracy and the Rise of Authoritarianism in Estonia (London: Sage
Publications, 1975). For the Soviet period, see Romuald Misiunas and Rein Taagepera, The Baltic States:
Years of Dependence, ¡940-90 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993). This is an expanded and re-
vised version of the 1983 original. For Estonia, see Rein Taagepera, Estonia: Return to Independence (Boul-
der, Colo.: Westview Press, 1993). This book contains a nuanced assessment of the nation-state versus Russ-
ian minority tensions. For Latvia, see Rasma Karklins, Ethnopolitics and Transition to Democracy: The
Collapse of the USSR and Latvia (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994). Unlike Taagepera's book
on Estonia, the Karklins book accepts a nation-state strategy as relatively unproblematic for a de facto
multinational state.
Estonia and Latvia 403
Table 20.1. Baltic Demography: The 1920s and 1930s versus the 1980s
Percentage
Estonia Latvia Lithuania
Group 1934 1984 1939 1989 1923 1989
Titular nation 88.8 61.5 75.5 52 69.2 79.6

Russians 8.2 30.3 10.6 34 2.5 9.4
Ukrainians and Byelorussians NA 4.9 1.4 8.0 NA NA
Poles NA NA 2.5 2.3 15.3 7.0
Jews NA NA 4.8 0.9 8.3 0.3
Germans 2.2 0 3.2 0.1 NA NA
Lithuanians NA NA 1.2 1.3 — —
Other 0.8 3.3 0.8 1.4 4.7* 4.0*
Source: Anatol Lieven, The Baltic Revolution: Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania and the Path to Independence (New Haven: Yale
University Press, 1994, rev. ed.), 432-34. In Lithuania the stars after other refer to Lieven's assessment that most are "mainly
byelorussian/'Also see Romuald Misiunas and Rein Taagepera, The Baltic States: Years of Dependence, 1940-90 (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1993), 353, for valuable time series demographic data on the Baltics.
NA, not available.
politics of any of the Soviet republics. These countries, as well as Lithuania, were
independent from 1918 to 1940. In the 19205, they had multiparty elections, and in
Estonia constitutional arrangements for cultural minorities were among the most
politically responsible in Europe.6 It is true that democracy broke down in
Lithuania in 1927-28 and then in Estonia and Latvia in 1934. Then came secret
protocols of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact of 1939, which placed the Baltic re-
publics within the Soviet sphere of influence. Soviet troops invaded the countries
in June 1940, and they were annexed. The Nazi occupation of 1941-44, and rean-
nexation by the USSR thereafter were obviously devastating setbacks to any dem-
ocratic evolution. Nonetheless, unlike the other countries of the former Soviet
Union, the Baits had a usable democratic past. However, these countries had a
radically different demography when they became independent again in 1991.
Therein, for Estonia and Latvia, lies the frustration and tension between the goals
of being a nation-state and a liberal inclusive democracy (table 20.1).
According to the 1989 census, the population of the Estonian Soviet Socialist
Republic (ESSR) was 1.6 million, of whom approximately i million were ethnic
Estonians and 600,000 were non-Estonians. The capital, Tallinn, had just over a
50 percent Russian-speaking population, and Narva, the northeast border town
with Russia, was 94 percent Russian speaking. This mix of nationalities, especially
the large Russian immigration that had followed the Soviet annexation of 1940,
6. Lijphart singles out Estonia for its pioneering and democratic constitutional procedures for national
minorities. See his Democracies: Patterns of Majoritarian and Consensus Government in Twenty-one Coun-
tries (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984), 183-84. For a full description of Estonia's 1925 cultural au-
tonomy law, see Karl Aun, "The Cultural Autonomy of National Minorities in Estonia," Yearbook of the Es-
tonian Learned Society in America i (1951-53): 26-41.
would have created tensions even under the best of circumstances. But, of course,
given the historical memory of the Estonians and the other ethnic Baits, the cir-
cumstances were not the best but were laden with a sense of loss or even ethnic
assault.7
But are the russophone minorities in the Baltics actually "transients," as they
are often called? Could they ever become loyal citizens in the newly (^indepen-
dent Baltic states?8 In one statistically representative polling sample in 1993, a sig-
nificant number of the non-Baits in Estonia, 35 percent, said they were born in
Estonia. In Latvia the figure was 52 percent. The immense majority of the non-
Baits polled said they had lived in the Baltics for more than twenty-one years:
78 percent in Estonia, 86 percent in Latvia, and 81 percent in Lithuania. Of the
remainder of the Baltic minority population, 15 percent in Estonia, 9 percent in
Latvia, and 10 percent in Lithuania said they had lived as residents in these coun-
tries for between eleven and twenty years.9 The Russians in the Baltics are cer-
tainly a peripheral and a difficult legacy, but they are not transients.
After World War II, the population of Latvia, which had dropped from 2 mil-
lion to 1.4 million during the war, was swollen by 535,000 non-Latvian immi-
grants. The native population was 75.5 percent in 1939 before the war began and
had been reduced to 52 percent in 1989. At independence Latvians were a minor-
ity in each of the seven main cities of Latvia, ranging from 47 percent in lurmala
7. Misiunas and Taagepera, in The Baltic States, 354-55, present a table where they make an educated
guess as to population losses due to Soviet and Nazi policies in the 1939-45 period. For Estonia alone they
estimate that these include Soviet deportations and executions in 1940-41 (15,000), Soviet army mobiliza-
tion in 1941 and 1944-45 (35,ooo), evacuations to the USSR in 1941 (30,000), and Soviet executions and de-
portations in 1944-45 (30,000). They estimate that, for all of the categories, approximately only 20,000 Es-
tonians had returned to Estonia by 1945. The figures they cite for Latvia and Lithuania are even worse. For
example, Soviet executions and deportations in 1944-45 in Latvia were 70,000, and in Lithuania were
50,000. During the 1941-45 Nazi occupation, there were 200,000 executions and deportations in Lithuania,
90,000 in Latvia, and 10,000 in Estonia. Of these, it is estimated that, respectively, 180,000,70,000, and 1,000
were Jews. In the Rose and Maley study of Baltic nationalities, 42 percent of respondents said someone in
their family had been deported, imprisoned, or executed. The historical memory of Soviet abuse-is much
stronger than that of German abuse; eight times more respondents listed the Soviets, as opposed to the Ger-
mans, as the source of their suffering (Rose and Maley, question 216). Obviously there are few surviving
Jews to remember the Holocaust of Baltic Jews, especially in Lithuania and Latvia. Richard Rose and Wil-
liam Maley, "Nationalities in the Baltic States, a Survey Study," Studies in Public Policy, 222 (1994).
8. In the newly (re)independent Baltic states, there is inevitable confusion over the terms Russians, Rus-
sian-speakers, and non-Baits. As table 20.1 shows, at independence Estonia and Latvia had a substantial
Ukrainian and Belorussian minority population. Most of these were russophone but not necessarily "Rus-
sian." Probably most of the "other" in table 20.1 are also russophones from Soviet republics that are now
CIS member states. In this chapter we will call members of the titular nation (e.g., ethnic or cultural Esto-
nians, Latvians, or Lithuanians) Baits. We will call the others non-Bait or Baltic minority populations.
Where the survey data specifically indicate "Russian-speaking," as opposed to Russian, we will so identify
the data. Since identities are in fact socially constructed and constantly changing, we (building upon the re-
search of David D. Laitin) believe that the russophone population, whether they are from the Ukraine, Be-
larus, Russia, or some other CIS republic, are actually developing a new diaspora identity of a "Russian-
speaking minority."
9. See Rose and Maley, "Nationalities in the Baltic States," 52-53. The data are based upon a September-
October 1993 survey that involved 6,136 interviews with statistically representative samples of each of the
seven major nationalities in the Baltics.
to only 13 percent in the eastern city of Daugavpils. In Latvia, Russians represent

34 percent of the population, Byelorussians 4.5 percent, and Ukrainians 3.5 per-
cent, although they tend to be Russian-speaking and have lost most of their con-
nection with their original nationality. Russia has, however, offered them citizen-
ship.10 Riga has been historically a multinational city.11 The Russian community
in Riga is of historic standing, and some of its key leaders supported Latvian
independence. To turn Riga into a city with a purely Latvian cultural or political
face is at odds with that tradition. Demographically, the most difficult Baltic
country in which to reconcile the logic of a nation-state and the logic of a liberal
democracy will be Latvia.
Demographically and culturally, the easiest case for a liberal democracy is
Lithuania. Lithuania shares the same experience of Soviet annexation and domi-
nation, although the Catholic majority kept alive anti-Soviet sentiments. To be
sure, the anti-Soviet nationalist mobilization in 1989-91 was as intense or more
intense under the leadership of Sajudis and the personality of the nationalist
preindependence leader Vytautas Landsbergis as anywhere in the Baltics. How-
ever, at independence the Russian minority was only 9 percent of the total popu-
lation. In addition, there was an important Polish minority of 7 percent that
obviously did not consider Russia their homeland. Because there was less demo-
graphic "anxiety" in Lithuania among ethnic Baltic political elites, it was psycho-
logically and politically easier to follow an inclusionary citizenship strategy for all
residents than it would have been in Latvia or Estonia.12 As a result of the small
proportion of non-Lithuanians and the heterogeneity of the minorities, the
Lithuanians never introduced an exclusionary policy on citizenship. Non-Lithua-
nians enjoy the same political rights as other citizens. All the survey data indicate
considerable integration. For purposes of this chapter, therefore, Lithuania does
not really have significant tension between the logic of a nation-state and the logic
of a liberal democracy.
The three Baltic republics—Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania—had a tradition of
independent statehood and democracy when they regained independence. Unlike
most of the other republics in the USSR, they had been part of the Soviet Union
only since 1940, not since 1917 or shortly after the civil war. But the Baltic states'
integration into the Soviet state and society for nearly fifty years radically differ-
entiates them from the central European states of the "outer empire" in their
process of democratization.
The difference between regaining statehood and reconstructing a nation be-
came central to the process of democracy building in the Baltics. The ambiguities
of the process were well stated in the slogan painted on the barricades outside the
10. See Lieven, The Baltic Revolution, 433-34.

11. For example, Lieven in The Baltic Revolution cites data that indicate that in 1867 Germans constituted
42.9 percent of the population of Riga, Russians were 25.1 percent, and Latvians were 23.6 percent.
12. For the granting of inclusive citizenship in Lithuania, see Lieven, The Baltic Revolution, 309-10.
parliament in Riga in 1991, taken from the Polish rebellion against the Tsar in 1863:
"For our Freedom and Yours." The implicit promise ofthat slogan was that inde-
pendence and democracy were to be for all—Baits and other nationalities alike.13
However, not much time would pass before another discourse emerged concern-
ing citizenship in which belonging to the nation was to be privileged. Large mi-
norities (mainly russophones) were defined as foreign "colonists" or "transients."
Nothing can symbolize better the above set of problems than the fact that at
one point there were two democratically elected bodies meeting in Estonia and
two in Latvia. One elected body, the Republic Supreme Council, a largely pro-
independence Popular Front-dominated parliament, was elected by all residents
in the spring of 1990. In another, uniformly pro-independence elected body,
called the "Citizens' Congress," the electorate was restricted to pre-1940 citizens
and their descendants.14 We could say that the supreme councils were part of the
newly emerging multinational democratic state, dominated by the pro-indepen-
dence popular fronts, while the citizens' congresses were the representation of the
nation. In this the Baltics were almost unique in the history of nationalism in that
they gave democratic representation to a nation within a state even before inde-
pendence. This duality was made possible by the ambiguity dominant at the time.
This ambiguity was reflected in the fact that there was even some overlap in the
membership of both bodies. Significantly, the Constitutional Assembly that drafted
the 1992 constitution was formed by thirty members nominated, respectively, by
the official Supreme Council and the parallel Congress of Estonia. Let us analyze
the complexity of this double transition to independence and to democratic or
nondemocratic forms of representation and contestation.
TRANSITION TOWARD I N D E P E N D E N C E A N D D E M O C R A C Y :
E L E M E N T S OF C O M P L E M E N T A R I T Y AND TENSION
Active dissidence began to appear in Estonia during the Gorbachev years as

protests against ecologically damaging projects or as demands for the restoration
of artistic monuments, such as the National Heritage Society in Estonia, which
later in January 1989 called for the creation of a Congress elected exclusively by
pre-1940 citizens and their descendents. In Latvia, commemorations at the Free-
dom Monument in Riga in 1987, marking the anniversary of the Stalinist depor-
tations in 1941, gave expression to the national sentiment. Proposals of Latvian
economic autonomy in 1987 reflected the frustration with the state of the econ-
omy. In the summer of 1989, the Supreme Soviet in Moscow admitted the secret
13. Ibid., 303.

14. For an excellent analysis of the dualism and competition between the Popular Front-dominated
parliament of the Estonian Soviet Republic and the ethnic Estonian citizens' committees that eventually
created their own parallel Estonian Congress, see Taagepera, Estonia: Return to Independence, 170-82.
protocols of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact and with it the illegitimacy of Soviet

rule. The Baltic Communist parties started splitting between opponents of Gor-
bachev's reforms and supporters of the Popular Fronts and the Sajudis, whose
leaders had found the sympathy of the Moscow reformers like Aleksandr Yakovlev
in August 1988. The Popular Front leaders emerged from a variety of back-
grounds, mainly from the intelligentsia, both humanistic and technical, many
with a Communist Party background. In Estonia the Popular Front was largely
founded by the liberal wing of the Communist establishment. In 1989 and 1990
the Lithuanian and Estonian Communist parties, by majority votes, decided to
separate from the Soviet Communist party. The Latvian Communist Party split
down the middle. The supreme councils passed declarations of sovereignty, new
citizenship laws, assertions of control over natural resources and industry, and
above all refutations of the legitimacy of the Soviet annexation.
In the elections for the supreme councils in February and March 1990, the right
to vote was given to all adult permanent citizens, with the exclusion of the men-
tally ill.15 To qualify as a candidate it was necessary to have been a permanent res-
ident of the republic for only ten years. Parties had little time to prepare for the
elections and candidates ran as individuals and not as members of a specific
party, but frequently they were endorsed by one or several political organizations.
The Popular Fronts emerged from these elections as the dominant parliamentary
groups.16 In Estonia, of 105 delegates (4 of whom represented the military), the
Popular Front received 46 seats, the Joint Council of Work Collectives (support-
ing the status of Estonia as a Soviet Republic) with the support of the russophone
population won 23 seats, and the Democratic Election Coalition, "Free Estonia,"
made up of Communists and former Communists favoring independence but
with some kind of connection with the USSR, secured 13 mandates. Of the 105
elected deputies in Estonia, approximately 27 were regarded as representatives of
the russophone population.
The Latvian Supreme Council consisted of 201 mandates. The Popular Front won
131. The opposition groups opposed to independence, largely led by the Communist
Party and its sympathizers, obtained 59 seats. Eight seats went to independents.
Russophone Communists in the Baltics and hard-liners in Moscow joined
forces to create Soviet loyalist movements to oppose the reformist and covertly
pro-independence forces in the Popular Fronts. In Estonia the pro-Soviet forces
were called "the International Movement of Workers in the Estonian SSR," in
Latvia, "International Front," and in Lithuania, "Unity." There were also efforts to
15. See Jan Ake Dellebrant, "The Reemergence of Multipartism in the Baltic States," in Sten Berglund
and Jan Âke Dellebrant, eds., The New Democracies in Eastern Europe: Party Systems and Political Cleavages
(Aldershot, U.K.: Edward Elgar Publishing, 1991), 71-106.
16. A case can be made that Estonia's and Latvia's "founding elections" were those held in 1990, which
were won by the Popular Front. If so, the first postindependence Estonian elections in 1992 represented a
significant disenfranchisement of Russians and russophones who had voted in the previous 1990 elections.
mobilize Russian-speaking workers of the "All-Union" factories, sometimes by

the official trade unions, by the creation in Estonia and Latvia of the United
Council of Work Collectives (OSTK). A general strike called in August 1989 by the
Intermovement and OSTK was supported by some 5 to 8 percent of the work
force. Similar attempts in May 1990 failed. Most of the workers rejected the cor-
rupt Communist leaders, but only a few were able to distance themselves com-
pletely from their Communist past.
In the pro-Soviet wings of the Communist parties, there were also Baits who
could not make the transition to support independence—unlike such Commu-
nist pro-independence leaders as Algirdas Brazauskas in Lithuania, Anatolijs Gor-
bunovs in Latvia, and Arnold Rüütel in Estonia. Some of the Communist leaders
who did not support independence left the Baltics; others continued active in pol-
itics there.
In the Baltic elections of February-March 1990, the Soviet loyalists won most
of the votes in Russian-speaking areas. However, in Latvia, the Popular Front
gained many votes among the Russian-speaking population in the first round, but
Russian minority support for the Popular Front did diminish in the second round
after the Lithuanian declaration of independence. The final results were 139 Pop-
ular Front candidates elected (including 5 Russian-speaking, 2 Poles, and 2 Jews)
and 62 Equal Rights candidates (Inter-front and Communists) elected, 8 of whom
were ethnic Latvians.17
Certainly, there were some Russian minorities that were not reconciled with
independence and the defeat of the Moscow counter-revolution. For example, the
Narva Council defied the Estonian constitution, destroyed the border posts, and
created a pro-Soviet para-military force, the Workers Detachments. In 1992 the
former Communists won victories in local elections in Narva. However, the threat
of secession in the border areas seems, in 1995, to be in abeyance.
In the summer of 1990, the three Baltic republics were well on the way to com-
pleting a transition to democracy and independence decided by elected represen-
tatives. The elections had been competitive, although based on the heterogeneous
coalitions of the Popular Fronts and voting for individual candidates, and fair.
Subsequent politics would not be a debate about democracy—as we have defined
it—but about what kind of democracy: an inclusionary liberal democracy based
on citizenship for almost all permanent residents or an exclusionary "ethnic de-
mocracy" only for 1940 descendants.18 A second transition was in the making.
17. For an excellent comparative account of the three Baltic elections of 1990, see Lieven, The Baltic Rev-
olution, 214-315.
18. For the concept of "ethnic democracy," see Juan J. Linz, "Totalitarian and Authoritarian Regimes," in
Fred I. Greenstein and Nelson W. Polsby, eds., Handbook of Political Science (Reading, Mass.: Addison-
Wesley Publishing, 1975), 3:326-30. In that work Linz characterizes ethnic democracies as polities that are
democratic for the dominant group but that exclude, on the basis of ethnicity, other groups from the dem-
ocratic process. For applications of the concept, see Yoav Peled, "Ethnic Democracy and the Legal Con-
Estonia began its transition under favorable geopolitical circumstances, espe-

cially because of its all-important relation with Russia. When the Soviet Union's
"Black Beret" military units (or OMON) attacked and killed nearly twenty Baltic
demonstrators in January 1991, Boris Yeltsin, then the chairman of the Russian
Supreme Soviet, came to Tallinn on the invitation of the Estonian prime minister
to sign immediately a mutual recognition treaty between Russia and all the Baltic
states. Yeltsin appealed to the Russian soldiers not to fire on civilians. The Estonian-
American social scientist (and a presidential candidate in 1992) Rein Taagepera
argues that Yeltsin's support for Estonia pulled the rug from under the self-styled
defenders of Russia who demanded direct imposition of Kremlin rule. Yeltsin's
role was equally critical at the time of the coup attempt against Gorbachev. Soviet
troops moved on Tallinn on August 21,1991. The next day Estonia declared inde-
pendence. Two days later, Yeltsin, in the name of Russia, recognized Estonia as an
independent country, before any member of the European Community did so.19
To understand the policies in Estonia and Latvia toward the Russian minority,
we should never forget the legacies of the totalitarianism and pre-(re)indepen-
dence periods. Without a reference to that past, it is difficult to understand the
function of the Popular Fronts in Latvia and Estonia or the Sajudis in Lithuania.
They were movements rather than parties. They were coalitions of factions with
different leaders and agendas, more or less united in confronting Moscow and in
the steps toward independence. The components of these umbrella organizations
would end up fighting each other and splitting. But they were historic catalysts.
Given the important reform Communist component of the transition, the fact is
that under the long totalitarian rule almost everybody, even dissidents, had at one
point or another made their career within the regime's organizations. Some did
so in the state, others in the party and in the Komsomol, others in the cultural in-
stitutions paying lip service to the regime, and not a few even compromised with
the KGB. This legacy of past involvement with the Soviet regime made the new
pro-independence elites vulnerable to mutually destructive accusations and to
constant attacks by more radical nationalists, especially "provincials" with little
education and standing or emigres. In that context, many of the politicians who
had originally favored inclusionary politics toward citizenship (called the "Zero
Option" to indicate near automatic citizenship for almost all residents upon in-
dependence) shifted to the exclusionary nationalist option. This exclusionary op-
tion restricted citizenship only to pre-1940 citizens and their descendants and
thus deprived of citizenship many Russian-speakers who had been born in the
Baltics.
struction of Citizenship: Arab Citizens of the Jewish State," American Political Science Review 86, no. 2
(1992), 432-43, and Velio Pettai, "Emerging Ethnic Democracy in Estonia and Latvia: The Dynamics of Sov-
ereign Nationalism and Minority Identities" (paper presented at the 14th Conference of the Association for
the Advancement of Baltic Studies, Chicago, Illinois, June 8-11,1994).
19. Taagepera, Estonia: Return to Independence, 202.
Let us give a particularly graphic example of the shift from inclusionary to ex-
clusionary citizenship strategies. On May 6,1990, two days after the declaration
of Latvian sovereignty, the chairman of the Latvian Supreme Council, Anatolijs
Gorbunovs, spoke in Russian on Latvian television, promising that all those who
wanted to be citizens of Latvia could be. He also issued a special note guarantee-
ing the political and cultural rights of non-Latvians resident in Latvia. He insisted
that it was not serious to talk about "second class citizens." However, in the sum-
mer of 1992, this same Latvian leader advocated a referendum that would restrict
citizenship to pre-1940 citizens and their descendants.20
THE BALTIC RUSSIANS: C U L T U R A L L Y U N A S S I M I L A B L E

BUT POLITICALLY I N T E G R A T A B L E ?
The key questions for a democratic multinational state are whether the mi-
norities are or are not open to multiple and complementary political identities and
loyalties and, if so, whether they will be given citizenship. If minorities' cultural
and political freedoms are guaranteed, might they indeed become loyal citizens,
or would their primary loyalty remain to their "homeland" state? Obviously, such
questions are extremely important in the Estonian and Latvian cases. Fortunately,
two different sets of surveys allow us to explore these themes.
A preindependence survey conducted from June to August 1990 and coordi-
nated by the prominent German social scientist Hans-Dieter Klingemann indi-
cated that ethnic Russians, as well as ethnic Estonians and Latvians, had relatively
strong identification with their republics and relatively weak identification with
the USSR (table 20.2).
There are three key points revealed by table 20.2. First, even when the USSR ex-
isted and was still a superpower, the core identification of ethnic Russians in the
Baltics with the USSR was relatively weak, although there was somewhat stronger
identification in Estonia than in Latvia. Second, in 1992, after the independence of
Latvia and Estonia, the disappearance of the Soviet Union, and the emergence of
an independent Russia, only 4.2 percent of the Russian speakers in Latvia gave as
their first identity Russia, whereas 53.2 percent gave as their first identity the re-
public in which they resided. Among Russian speakers in Estonia, the proportions
were, respectively, 12.0 and 38.3. Third, from our perspective these data indicate
that the Russian minority in the Baltics was capable of multiple and complemen-
tary identities. That is, objectively and culturally, they were russophone. But, sub-
jectively and politically, they were open to self-identification with the new repub-
lics in which they lived.
Another set of questions indicate that the non-Baltic minorities, although with
considerably less intensity than the ethnic Baits, felt proud of being residents in
20. Anatol Lieven, The Baltic Revolution, 304.
Table 20.2. Identities of Estonians, Latvians, and Non-Estonians and Non-Latvians (Russian
Speaking) in the Two Baltic Republics When They Were Part of the USSR (June-August 1990) and
after Independence (1992)
Question: "What do you feel yourself in the first place; in the second place?"
Percentage
Estonians Non-Estonians Latvians Non-Latvians
Answer Year 1st 2nd 1st 2nd 1st 2nd 1st 2nd
"Of the Republic in which you live" 1990 66.9 30.9 37.3 26.7 72.8 24.5 38.5 39.5
1992 52.3 34.8 38.3 37.4 63.1 36.6 53.2 35.2
"Of the town, locality in which I live" 1990 30.3 28.3 32.5 28.3 25.6 55.3 41.6 24.5
1992 44.0 40.4 40.4 21.5 32.9 39.1 37.1 25.2
"Of the USSR" 1990 0.5 2.0 21.5 21.2 0.9 1.7 10.6 17.4
"Of Russia" 1992 — — 12.0 20.9 0.2 0.2 4.2 15.5
"Some other state" 1992 0.3 0.7 2.1 1.3 6.9
"Of Europe" 1990 1.0 11.5 2.1 4.1 0.5 10.7 0.9 5.7
1992 2.4 3.5 3.5 5.9 0.9 13.6 0.8 9.0
"Of the whole world" 1990 1.3 3.6 6.6 9.8 0.2 7.8 8.4 13.1
1992 1.3 2.7 5.6 7.0 2.3 8.5 3.4 8.1
Number of interviews 1990 621 387 449 460
1992 629 380 587 481
Source: Hans-Dieter Klingemann (Berlin) and Mikki Titma (Tallinn), Gesellschaft und Politik in Baltikum, Eine Vergleichende
Umfrage in Litauen, Estland und Lettland im Juni-August 1990. The 1992 data are from Hans-Dieter Klingemann, Values and
Elections ¡Preelection Survey! in Estonia, Lithuania and Latvia, machine readable codebook, Zentralarchiv für emprische
Sozialforschung an der Universität in Köln, n.d. The question in 1992 was slightly different: Which of these geographic
localities would you say you belong to first (show card) and which would you say you belong to second?
their republics. Table 20.3 shows that more than three-quarters of all non-Baits in
1990 felt proud of being residents of their respective republics (table 20.3).
In the same 1990 survey was the question, "What do you wish the future of our
Republic to be?" Only 42 percent of the non-Estonians, 30 percent of the non-
Latvians, and 28 percent of the non-Lithuanians favored the complete status quo
(table 20.4).
Although table 20.4 gives a relatively low percentage of non-Baits who posi-
tively favored independence in 1990, data we have for Latvia indicate that non-
Latvian loyalties were not fixed but were socially constructed and changeable. In-
deed, Rasma Karklin in her study of Latvia shows that in June 1989 only 9 percent
of non-Latvians favored independence. In October 1990 26 percent were pro-
independence. In March 199139 percent were for Latvian independence.21
The identity and politics of the russophone diaspora in the former Soviet
Union presents some unique characteristics because of the crisis of the Russian
identity itself in the Soviet totalitarian state. From 1917 to 1991 Russia was a nation
21. See Karklins, Ethnopolitics and Transition to Democracy, 50.

Table 20.3. "How Much Pride Do You Feel in Being a Resident of the Republic?" Responses of
Nationality Groups in the Baltics, 1990
Percentage
Answer Estonians Non-Estonians Latvians Non-Latvians Lithuanians Non-Lithuanians
"Very proud" 39.5 11.3 121 21.1 45.8 13.1

"Proud" 49.0 65.3 24.9 63.5 43.0 66.4
"Not very proud" 10.4 18.7 1.6 13.5 10.3 15.3
"Not at all proud" 1.2 4.6 .7 1.9 .7 5.1
(621) (387) (449) (460) (837) (163)
Source: The 1990 survey cited in table 20.2.
and a culture that was largely submerged in the Soviet state. The Soviet state itself
was involved in its "internationalist" nation building. Exaggerating things, we
could say that to be Russian was largely to be Russian speaking. It is no accident
that in the diaspora many people identify themselves as "Russian speaking" rather
than as "Russians." We need to know much more about the building of a Russian
cultural-national identity in the Russian Federal Republic of the USSR and now
in newly independent Russia. But, for the time being, there is still evidence of
weakness of Russian "nationalism" inside and particularly outside of Russia. Let
us not forget that a central element of Russian national-cultural identity, Russian
Orthodoxy, was persecuted, destroyed, and "privatized." The mass of the popula-
tion was significantly dechristianized. Russian history was submerged in Soviet
history textbooks. The "Great Patriotic War" was a defense of the "Soviet home-
land." Patriotic monuments in Russia were Soviet monuments. All of this past his-
tory limits the articulation of minority demands in diaspora more to "linguistic"
than to "national" demands. It also places some limits on the willingness of the
Russians in the homeland and especially in the "near abroad" to identify with a
potential irredenta.22 What does all of this mean for the future possible identities
of the Russian-speaking minority population in the Baltics?
This somewhat decultured working class Russian minority, as long as they see
their personal life chances as better in the Baltics than if they return to Russia—a
perception reflected in a wealth of survey data—would probably be amenable to
accommodation, possibly even in the very long run, to assimilation.23 Indeed, we
22. In addition, as we discussed in chapter 19, numerous political units within the Russian Federal Re-
public are non-Russian and include a total of twelve million people.
23. For the Baltic Russians the key thing is whether their and their children's personal life chances would
improve by moving to Russia. Studies show that Russians in the Baltics are very skeptical about their chance
to obtain jobs and housing in Russia. This makes the exit option risky and not likely. In fact, based on a 1993
survey by David D. Laitin and Jerry Hough of 1,416 respondents in Estonia, Laitin estimates that only 3.1
percent of the Russian-speaking minority indicated serious interest in the exit option. See David D. Laitin,
"Identity in Formation: The Russian Speaking Nationality in the Post-Soviet Diaspora" (paper prepared for
the 1994 Annual Meeting of the American Political Science Association, New York, September 1-4,1994), 13.
Table 20.4. Attitudes among Different Nationalities in the Baltics toward a Future Political
Relationship with the USSR: July-August 1990
Question: "What do you wish the future of your republic to be?"
Percentage
Answer Estonians Non-Estonians Latvians Non-Latvians Lithuanians Non-Lithuanians
An independent state outside 87 15 84 26 80 27

of the USSR (independence
option)
An independent Republic in 11 35 9 32 15 39
the frame of the USSR,
which can make treaties
with other Republics
(confederation option)
An independent Republic ¡n 1 42 3 30 2 28
the frame of a Federation
of the USSR (status quo
option)
Other Answers 1 4 1 1 1 0
Don't Know 0 4 3 11 2 6
Number of Interviews 620 387 449 460 837 163
Source: Hans-Dieter Klingemann and Wolfgang G. Gibowski, "Gesellschaft und Politik im Baltikum" (unpublished manuscript
supplied to the authors).
would hypothesize, on the basis of comparative survey work on working class

migrants elsewhere, that Russians would want their children to learn a Baltic lan-
guage simply to improve their repertoire of coping skills.24 However, prudence
would indicate that a requirement to learn Estonian for a middle-aged, only Rus-
sian-speaking industrial worker, in order to hold a job or to have access to a vote
or to state services, would raise anxiety about his or her job security and doubts as
to whether the state is for all residents or only for ethnic Estonians.
Language policy for the foreseeable future will be a central concern for the
Baltic Russian-speaking minorities. Much of the Russian population have indus-
trial jobs. The linguistic distance between Estonian and Russian is vast. Forty-five
percent of the Russians in Estonia and 33 percent in Latvia claim knowledge of
a Baltic language. Many of the rest probably only have a moderately serviceable
command of Baltic languages. However, an analysis of the 1979 and 1989 census
24. For example, Juan J. Linz, in a survey of youths with two parents who had immigrated to the Basque
country (which like Estonia has an extremely difficult language), shows that such youths do not reject the
idea that the educational system should teach Basque; 39 percent of respondents wanted the primary
schools to teach compulsory Spanish with voluntary Basque, 35 percent wanted Spanish with compulsory
Basque, and 18 percent wanted Basque schools with Spanish being obligatory or voluntary. See Juan J. Linz,
"Los jóvenes en una España multilingue y de nacionalidades," in Francisco Andrés Orizo et al., Juventud es-
pañola 1984 (Madrid: Ediciones S.M., 1985), 325-436. Data from 384.
Table 20.5. Language Knowledge in the Baltic Republics (Reported in 1992 Interview) by Language
Used in the Interview
Percentage
Language Knowledge Estonian Russian Latvian Russian Lithuanian Russian
Only Russian (or non-Baltic language) — 45 — 33 — 22

Only Baltic language 74 1 52 4 64 4
Baltic language and Russian 26 54 48 63 36 74
(or other non-Baltic language)
Source: Hans-Dieter Klingemann, Jürgen Lass, and Katrin Mattlisch, "Nationalitätenkonflikt und Mechanism politischer
Integration im Baltikum" (unpublished manuscript, Wissenschaftszentrum Berlin für Sozialforschung, November 1994]. Data
supplied to us by Hans-Dieter Klingemann. It should be noted that subjective evaluation of language knowledge in surveys and
census data is highly unreliable and particularly subject to social pressures. This said, the above data almost certainly
overstate knowledge of Baltic languages among the russophone minority.
in Estonia gives estimates that Estonian speakers among the Russian population
of the capital of Estonia were only 12 percent in 1979 and 15 percent in 1989
(table 20.5).25
In sum, at independence, on linguistic grounds alone the Russian minority
population in the Baltics (especially in Estonia) was absolutely culturally unas-
similable into a democratic nation-state for one or two generations. In contrast,
we believe that the Russian minority Baltic population was able to be rapidly po-
litically integrated into a democracy. Why? Evidence for this argument is the Rus-
sian minorities' low positive identification with the homeland, their tendency to
some degree of dual (especially geographic) identity, their strong sense that their
(and their children's) life chances would be better in the Baltics than if they re-
turned to their supposed homeland, and, as we shall see, their overall positive
evaluation of the political changes that have taken place in their republics. In our
judgment a people with these characteristics are potentially loyal citizens to a state
that gives them their full political rights and a modicum of cultural protection,
especially in areas of language.
Legacies are important for a new democracy, but choices made during and
shortly after the transition can also decrease or increase the possibilities for demo-
cratic consolidation. Let us explore the choices made, especially by ethnic Estonian
and ethnic Latvian political elites.
CHOICES: I N C L U S I O N A R Y VERSUS " O T H E R I N G " DISCOURSES
As the possibility of independence from the Soviet Union grew, Estonian po-
litical leaders began to emphasize the logic and rights of the Estonian nation-
25. See Peteris Zvidrins, "Changes of Ethnic Composition in the Baltic States," Nationalities Papers 22,
no. 2 (1994): 377-
state, instead of independence or democracy per se. A series of legal and political
steps were taken to advance these nation-state aspirations. The law on citizenship
moved from broad and inclusive definitions of membership in the polity to nar-
row and exclusive ones as time passed.26 During the movement for independence,
it was proposed at various times that anyone born in Estonia or participating in
the independence movement could opt for Estonian citizenship if they so wished.
But in the end, for ethnic Estonian nationalists, the urge to identify the indepen-
dent state with the nation was too strong to withstand. Citizenship was granted
outright only to those individuals born in Estonia before the 1940 annexation and
to their descendants. This meant, for example, that Canadian or U.S. citizens who
had never been to Estonia but were the offspring of Estonians had the right to
vote in elections, but the Russians who had been born in Estonia after 1940 and
had lived there all their lives were not given citizenship. This exclusion was espe-
cially serious because only people who were citizens by 1992 could vote in the Sep-
tember 1992 parliamentary and presidential elections, organize political parties,
or be elected to office. In effect, the citizenship law disenfranchised almost 40 per-
cent of the population of Estonia during a key foundational moment of the new
would-be democracy.
Language was a particularly sensitive issue, since, as we have seen, a majority of
Russians did not speak Estonian. In January 1989, a language law was passed with
the support of the Estonian Popular Front, making Estonian the official language
of the country. It was expected that, within two years, Estonian language require-
ments would be imposed for all jobs in services or trade. Within four years all of-
ficial state correspondence had to be in Estonian. For many older, less educated
Russians, this law carried the threat that they would lose their jobs, even in the
private sector. Also, it could mean that, if they wanted to approach the state to in-
quire about rights and services, they would have to do so in Estonian. The Eston-
ian polity was beginning to alienate itself from a significant part of the demos liv-
ing in Estonia.
All of these legislative and political decisions were opposed by some Estonians
and non-Estonians in the name of political prudence or political democracy. All
were decisively defended, however, on the basis of the logic of the nation-state and
the strong supporting body of legal and moral rationales associated with this
logic. In the case of language, the presumption was that if the state was an ex-
pression of the nation, the only official language that could exist was that of the
nation. This belief was intensely felt in Estonia because of the fear that, as a very
small country, with a very difficult language, Estonian could easily disappear. The
legal and moral right to restrict citizenship to preannexation residents of Estonia
and Latvia was based on the analogy of Poland's "right" to expel the Germans in
26. See Peet Kask, "National Radicalization in Estonia: Legislation on Citizenship and Related Issues,"
Nationalities Papers 22, no. 2 (1994): 379-91.
Poznan, including those who Hitler had helped settle there (as well as those living
there before). Under international law, occupying forces and their military per-
sonnel have no rights of citizenship. Estonian diplomats argued that the Molotov-
Ribbentrop Pact of 1939 had led to an illegal usurpation of the state and that
the entire 1940-91 period should be classified as a military occupation. On these
grounds, all Russians who entered the country after 1940 and their descendants
were illegal occupiers with no claim to automatic citizenship.27
The argument for restricting voting rights to citizens and for restricting auto-
matic citizenship to those born in the country before annexation was bolstered by
reference to the common practice in European countries of excluding guest work-
ers and their children from citizenship in the country in which they work or were
even born. Thus, Turkish workers, born in Germany, have no voting rights in the
German nation-state, except for representation in local councils.
At this point perhaps we should pause to consider some analytical distinctions
between different types of migration. In the case of migrants who come to a for-
eign country as citizens of another country (or of no country) as tourists, refu-
gees, asylum seekers, or immigrants, it seems to us nonproblematic that the state
has the legal right to grant or not to grant them citizenship (normally on the con-
dition of giving up any other citizenship). The same would be true for the chil-
dren of foreigners born in the country, although there may be reason to facilitate
their acquisition of citizenship. Some "immigration countries" like the United
States of America have the tradition of automatic citizenship for anyone who is
born in the country.
Analytically, migrants who come to a part of their own political unit and where
there is "free" circulation of persons within the larger unit would seem to us to
belong in a different category than traditional foreign migrants. Normatively, we
believe that there is a case to be made for considering that "within-state" migra-
tion should be in a special category. The presumption should be that within-state
migrants have the right to citizenship unless they prefer another or refuse to apply
for it when the subunit becomes independent. Otherwise they would be deprived
of a previous status. They did not come to the newly independent country know-
ing they were foreigners.
Puerto Ricans migrating to New York from the island of Puerto Rico are U.S.
citizens, although they are possibly culturally distinctive. They are not resident-
aliens. They do not have to apply for an immigration permit. Should Puerto Rico
become independent, such Puerto Ricans would continue being, as they had
been, U.S. citizens. The United States might, however, ask them to choose Puerto
Rican or United States citizenship. The newly independent Puerto Rico might do
the same, assuming that neither the United States nor Puerto Rico would allow
27. This is being analyzed and documented in the forthcoming Ph.D. dissertation, by Velio Pettai, Co-
lumbia University, Political Science Department.
dual citizenship. However, because they had been U.S. citizens (although Puerto
Ricans and possibly even ignorant of English), to deny them United States citi-
zenship would be to deprive them of an acquired right. Mutatis mutandis, it
would be the same for non-Puerto Rican-American residents in Puerto Rico. To
deny them citizenship in the newly independent Puerto Rico—where, until inde-
pendence, they had been voting citizens—would also be to deny them an acquired
right.
The exclusionary definition of citizenship insisted upon by the nationalists in
Estonia and Latvia was given support by the silence of the European Community
(EC) on this point. An EC official monitoring the September 1992 elections told
reporters that the EC would not publicly comment on Estonia's citizenship and
language laws.
The argument based on the nation-state in Estonia and Latvia was very pow-
erful because it drew upon the grievances and injustices of the past. The argument
addressed cultural and linguistic yearnings that were fully understandable in the
light of history. It also had its own logic, as well as legal and political precedents
on which to draw.
To argue for a broader definition of political participation, rights, and citizen-
ship is virtually impossible within the logic of a nonassimilationist nation-state.
One constantly risks being "trapped in the discourse." To escape one must intro-
duce the value and logic of democracy and the viability and peace of the polity as
well. One has, in short, to enrich the terms of the discourse by introducing other
important values. Probably one should also, as this chapter is doing, deliberately
problematize the tension between the two logics so that national and interna-
tional actors would make a greater effort to reconcile the goal of national self-af-
firmation and the goal of democracy and to become more alert to the dangers that
could emerge if they fail to do so.
The importance of doing so is all the greater because the logic of the nation-
state produces a political language and a set of descriptive terms whose discursive
effect is to create polar identities and to work against the multiple complementary
identities that make possible democratic life in a de facto multinational state. For
example, the term colonist is widely used to describe the Russian component of
the population in Estonia and Latvia. The implication of the term is that Russians
are an illegitimate presence. But the word colonist is descriptively misleading be-
cause it excludes far more people from the nation-state than is warranted even by
the restrictive law on citizenship. For example, somewhere between 100,000 and
150,000 Russians were resident in Estonia before 1940 and, therefore, they and
their descendants are legally Estonian citizens. Yet so powerful and so exclusion-
ary is the language of colonization that many of these legal citizens are beginning
to feel that there is no political space for their participation in the nation-state.
Another potentially divisive term is transient. Since as many as seven million
Russians did indeed come in and out of Estonia, a country of a million and a half,
between 1944 and independence in 1991, one can understand the appeal of the term
transient. These Soviet citizens were mainly military people or construction work-
ers brought in for limited periods of time to build factories. Nonetheless, it too is
descriptively misleading, since in addition to the 100,000 to 150,000 pre-1940 Rus-
sians, 87,000 of the current Russian population in Estonia were born there after
1940 and have lived all their lives there. If not culturally or linguistically Estonian,
they are geographically. The language of the "transient," like that of the "colonist,"
disguises the fact that many of them consider the Baltic republics their home.
Estonians and Latvians also fear that disloyal Russian immigrants will form a
permanent fifth column in their midst. Yet many urban immigrants came as man-
ual workers, who, as numerous studies show, tend to be more concerned about
their children's future in society than about joining disloyal political organizations.
To be sure, many of the Russian immigrants received material and psychological
benefits from being associated with the Soviet empire's power, and many worked
in large factories run directly by state ministries in Moscow. However, as power re-
lations between the Baltic states and Russia change and if Estonian and Latvian
statehood is secure (and offers a secure home to Russians), Russians may seek out
the individual good of a job, instead of the collective good of being a member of a
competing nation-state. David D. Laitin hypothesizes, for example, that Russians
in Estonia are likely to succumb increasingly to a competitive assimilation logic,
in which each family will seek to get ahead by learning Estonian and adapting to
the local culture. In a prisoners' dilemma-type game between families, Laitin pre-
dicts that each will have a dominant strategy of "defecting" and assimilating.28
A last but very powerful part of the nation-state discourse in Estonia concerns
the dichotomy drawn between survival and extinction. Again, this is not an ille-
gitimate concern. There are little more than a million Estonian speakers in the
world, and a number of closely related Finno-Ugric languages have disappeared.
But since the 19705 all the evidence shows that Estonians are holding their own
demographically against non-Estonians.29 In an independent Estonia, there is lit-
tle probability that Estonians will become a minority within an independent
state, much less become extinct as a people or a culture. But the invocation of the
phrase "linguistic extinction" makes it easier to socially construct a politics of
Russian exclusion instead of a politics of inclusion.30
28. See David D. Laitin, "Language Normalization in Estonia and Catalonia," ]ournal of Baltic Studies 23,
no. 2 (1992): 149-66. Instead of Laitin's term defecting, we prefer to use the phrase "develop multiple and
complementary identities." But for both Laitin and ourselves, the situational logic of building a repertoire
of survival skills is essentially the same. For a broader discussion of state rationalization and minorities in
the Soviet context, see David D. Laitin, "The National Uprisings in the Soviet Union," World Politics 44 (Oct.
1991): 139-77-
29. For example, see Rein Taagepera, "Baltic Population Changes 1950-1980," Journal of Baltic Studies 12,
no. i (1981), 49.
30. If citizenship were granted to those russophones in polls who say they "definitely" would prefer Es-
tonian citizenship, the ethnic Estonians would still have a strong majority of total citizens, but the per-
centage of noncitizens in the country would be reduced substantially.
Table 20.6. Attitudes toward the System of Government Previously, Now, and in Five Years:
Estonians, Latvians, and Non-Baits in 1993
% of Respondents
Attitude Latvians in Latvia Non-Baits in Latvia Estonians in Estonia Non-Baits in Estonia

System of government before independence
Positive 3B 66 32 65
Neutral 14 12 13 14
Negative 50 22 55 21
Present system of government
Positive 43 43 58 50
Neutral 19 18 15 14
Negative 38 39 26 37
System of government we wil I have in five years
Positive 81 71 88 79
Neutral 8 13 6 10
Negative 11 16 5 11
Source: Richard Rose and William Maley, "Nationalities in the Baltic States," Studies in the Public Policy, no. 222 (1994),
questions 122-24.
RESPONSES TO "REAL" DEMOCRACY
Despite the shift from an inclusionary to an exclusionary approach to citizen-

ship by the parliaments and governments of newly independent Estonia and
Latvia, a reasonably high percentage of russophones (43 percent in Estonia and
50 percent in Latvia) eighteen months after independence felt positive about
the "present system of government." An even higher percentage of russophones
(79 percent in Estonia and 71 percent in Latvia) held a positive opinion of the
political system in five years time. Particularly strong support for our hypothesis
that non-Baits are able to be politically integrated comes from the rather as-
tounding finding that, in Latvia, ethnic Latvians and non-Baits alike, while hav-
ing sharply different assessments of the past, have virtually identical assessments
of the present system of government (table 20.6).
In our discussion of Spain, we argued that political attitudes toward the pres-
ent and especially about the future are more significant than a positive or nega-
tive opinion about the nondemocratic past. We believe that table 20.6 underscores
this general argument. The non-Baltic population does indeed view the nondem-
ocratic past much more favorably than do the ethnic Estonians and the ethnic
Latvians. However, for the possibility of building a democracy, non-Baltic atti-
tudes toward the present and especially the future give grounds for optimism
about the possibility of a multinational democracy.31
31. Raivo Velik, the head of the Political Science Department at the University of Tartu in Estonia, has
been conducting ethnic identity development studies that also give grounds for optimism about the possi-
bility of russophones developing multiple and complementary identities. Using the method developed by
What underlies the generally positive attitude of Baits and non-Baits alike? A
key finding is that all Baltic residents believe that there has been, on balance, an
overall improvement in their political liberties (table 20.7).
However, table 20.7 does call our attention to some warning signs. Russo-
phones in Estonia and Latvia see no improvement in their freedom to live and
travel anywhere they want. As we shall see, this relates to their anxieties concern-
ing their rights to live not only as full citizens, but even as resident aliens, in Esto-
nia and Latvia. This insecurity is no doubt based on the reality that harsh laws
concerning the status of resident aliens were frequently discussed in both Latvian
and Estonian parliaments after independence. Indeed, in June 1993, by a vote of
59 to 3, a Law on Aliens was passed by the Estonian parliament that created such
anxiety as to the legal right of noncitizens to remain in Estonia that all twelve gov-
ernments of the European Community criticized the law. In the face of this diplo-
matic criticism, President Meri vetoed the law. But the law left a legacy of height-
ened russophone insecurity. Indeed, a key parliamentary supporter of the law,
Kaljo Pöldvere, was clear that this was the intention of those who drafted the law.
In the parliamentary debate Pöldvere said "by means of the present law we have
to create a situation where the colonists feel the earth shaking under their feet."32
More alarming, table 20.7 indicates that, by a margin of 2 to i in Estonia and about
4 to i in Latvia, Russians believe that the present system of government is worse,
rather than better, in protecting the rights of Russians.33
Significantly, for our argument that a common political roof can improve
minorities' perception of state policies and institutions, in inclusionary Lithuania
only 24 percent of the Russians said that the situation regarding protection of
rights was worse than in the old regime. In contrast, in exclusionary Latvia, 51 per-
Peter Weinreich for "identity structure analysis," he did a pilot study of 266 randomly selected Russian re-
spondents in three Estonian cities. In the pilot study, 72 percent of Russians in April 1993 answered affir-
matively to the statement that "at this moment Russians living in Estonia identify themselves with Estonia."
Of relevance for our argument that Russians in the diaspora are developing a separate cultural and politi-
cal identity from that of Russians in Russia is the fact that only 18 percent of the Russians polled in Estonia
said they identified more with Russia than with Estonia. However, they estimated that 54 percent of the
Russians in Russia would believe that Russians in Estonia identified more with Russia than Estonia. Velik
concluded his study with the judgment that "new elements of multiple identities are developing within the
Russian community in Estonia while its members are adapting themselves socially to the new sociopoliti-
cal environment of their country." See Raivo Velik, "Identity Development and Political Adjustment in Es-
tonia: Research Note," World Affairs 157, no. 3 (1995): 148. Also see his "A Strategy for Ethnic Conflict Ac-
commodation" (paper prepared for the XVth World Conference of the International Political Science
Association, August 20-25,1994> Berlin).
32. For the quote and a description of the debate about the Law on Aliens, see Kask, "National Radical-
ization in Estonia," 385-88, quote on 386.
33. In Estonia another worrying indicator is that the Russian minority do not feel that they have a neu-
tral protective state roof over their head. In Estonia 32.8 percent of the minority population answered "not
at all" when asked if they had confidence in the police. Only 14.7 percent of ethnic Estonians expressed a
similar fear. In Lithuania, in contrast, both non-Lithuanians and ethnic Lithuanians expressed more con-
fidence in the police, and their attitudes were roughly congruent.The data are from question 136 in the 1992
survey conducted by Hans-Dieter Klingemann, cited in table 20.2.
Table 20.7. "Would You Say That Our Current System is Better, Much the Same, or Worse than
the Old Soviet System in Allowing People to:"
Answer Est Lat Lit Avg EsR LaR LiR Avg
"Say whatever they think"

Better 95 81 87 87 75 71 70 72
Much the same 3 12 8 8 17 15 18 17
Worse — 2 2 2 4 5 2 4
Don't know 2 5 3 3 4 8 9 7
"Travel and choose to live where one wants in the country"
Better 83 38 64 62 35 30 50 39
Much the same 8 34 20 21 20 23 25 23
Worse 6 16 6 9 35 32 16 28
Don't know 3 12 9 8 9 15 9 11
"Go abroad or live abroad if one wishes"
Better 93 83 90 89 78 76 83 79
Much the same 2 4 3 3 8 6 6 7
Worse 3 4 1 3 7 6 4 6
Don't know 2 9 5 5 7 12 8 9
"Join any organization they want"
Better 86 72 86 81 73 67 72 71
Much the same 8 12 7 9 10 12 11 11
Worse 1 4 1 2 5 4 3 4
Don't know 6 12 6 8 13 17 14 15
"Decide whether or not to take part in activities of political parties"
Better 84 70 83 79 59 59 69 62
Much the same 9 12 7 10 15 13 11 13
Worse 1 3 1 2 9 5 2 5
Don't know 5 14 9 9 17 23 18 19
"Live without fear of unlawful arrest"
Better 64 41 57 54 39 29 44 37
Much the same 14 28 23 22 31 31 25 29
Worse 11 7 4 8 12 9 6 9
Don't know 10 23 16 16 18 30 25 24
"Decide whether or not to believe in God"
Better 81 76 89 82 74 76 80 76
Much the same 14 17 7 13 19 16 15 17
Worse 1 — 1 1 1 — 1 1
Don't know 3 6 3 4 6 8 4 6
"Protecting rights of Lithuanians/Latvians/Estonians"
Better 86 80 84 84 79 75 70 74
Much the same 8 11 9 10 10 8 17 12
Worse 1 1 1 1 1 1 — 1
Don't know 4 7 5 5 9 16 13 13
"Protecting rights of Russians in this country'
Better 29 18 43 30 24 13 29 22
Much the same 29 30 26 28 16 17 32 21
Worse 21 23 16 20 48 51 24 41
Don't know 21 28 15 21 12 20 15 16
Source: Same as for table 20.5, questions 129-137. EsR, Estonian Russians; LaR, Latvian Russians; LiR, Lithuanian Russians.
Table 20.8. "Which of These Statements Best Fits Your Views of Who Should Have the Right to
Vote in Elections to Parliament?" Differential Responses of Baltic Nationalities
% of Respondents
Answer Est EsR Lat LaR Lit LiR

Pre-1940 citizens and their familes 44 3 49 6 12 2
Everyone born here 31 22 25 24 38 18
Residents of more than ten years 23 37 15 30 25 22
Everyone here at independence 2 19 2 15 11 16
Any former Soviet citizen now living here 1 16 1 12 10 35
Don't know 0 2 7 13 4 6
Souce: Same as for table 20.5, question 120.
cent said the situation was worse. An interesting (and potentially positive finding)
is that, in Latvia, ethnic Latvians also believe that the present system is worse vis-
a-vis Russian rights than in the previous Soviet system.
The issue that most divides ethnic Baits and the Russian minority in Estonia
and Latvia concerns the right to vote in parliamentary elections. Only 3 percent
of ethnic Russians in Estonia and 6 percent of ethnic Russians in Latvia believe
that the right to vote in such elections should be restricted to pre-1940 citizens
and their families. But 44 percent of ethnic Estonians and 49 percent of ethnic
Latvians believe in this exclusionary criterion. In inclusionary Lithuania, as we
would expect, only 12 percent of the ethnic Lithuanians support the pre-i94O cit-
izenship criterion (table 20.8).
Table 20.8 does contain some positive findings about willingness of the people
in the street (as opposed to their political leaders) to accept more inclusionary
parliamentary voting rights than current laws allow. For example, if we combine
positive answers concerning parliamentary voting rights of "everyone born here,"
"residents of ten years," and "everyone here at independence," 56 percent of the
ethnic Estonians and 42 percent of the ethnic Latvians favored a voting policy that
was more inclusionary than the then prevailing statutes.
In September-October 1993, those who responded to a Russian language
questionnaire rather than to one in the Baltic language were divided and uncer-
tain about their citizenship. In Estonia, 17 percent defined themselves as
Estonian, fully 41 percent as Soviet (a state that had not existed for about two
years), only 8 percent as Russian, 4 percent as from another Soviet republic,
6 percent other, and 23 percent as "uncertain, I do not have a passport." In Latvia,
35 percent said Latvian, 20 percent Soviet, 4 percent Russian, 4 percent other
Soviet republics, 22 percent other, and 15 percent uncertain. This contrasts with
inclusionary Lithuania, where 96 percent said Lithuanian, 2 percent Russian, and
2 percent other. In Lithuania 99 percent of the ethnic Poles said they were "Lithu-
anian."34 These data reflected the uncertainty about citizenship of the non-
Estonians and non-Latvians resulting from the policies of the newly indepen-
dent state.
The political consequences of the Estonian citizenship laws (under which the
1992 parliamentary elections and the June 1992 Constitutional Referendum were
held) can be illustrated by the fact that, in a population of 1.1 million inhabitants
of voting age, the enrolled electorate was only 660,000. In the referendum in a city
like Narva on the Russian border, of the 77,000 inhabitants only 6,000 were
eligible to vote.
We have centered our discussion of the problem on citizenship, the right to
vote in parliamentary elections, and the "inclusiveness" of the demos. This ques-
tion is different from that of linguistic and cultural assimilation, the level of bi-
lingualism, the rights of the minority to use their language in different arenas, the
policy on language in schools and the public support for bilingual education, and
the related question of the timing of assimilation. Paradoxically, nation-building
of a fully assimilationist inclusionary variant presupposes citizenship, which in a
democracy should not exclude the right to vote for parliament.
Liberal values should lead to a more or less generous and nondiscriminatory
policy on many of these problems, especially the recognition of some minority
rights, a recognition that does not exclude some requirements aimed at a shared
culture and language. Not to do so would alienate either the minority or the ma-
jority. But these questions are different from the requirement of democratic in-
clusiveness. We cannot develop here our thinking on the requirements to create a
multicultural, partly bilingual society that would allow the minority to assimilate
or retain its identity while demanding a minimum of cultural integration. How-
ever, we feel that there are solutions which, while not satisfying anyone com-
pletely, would be considered by the majority of both ethnic groups as acceptable
and even fair and which could contribute to building loyalty to the state and to
crafting a stable liberal democratic policy.35
Many of the Russians and other immigrants from the USSR are not likely to at-
tain citizenship. In fact, by now, many of those who feel rejected might not even
wish it, and those obtaining it are not being considered a minority—with some
cultural rights—but as second-class citizens. They, however, in view of the differ-
ent standards of living in Russia and the Baltics, expectations about the future in
34. Rose and Maley, "Nationalities in the Baltic States," question 229. The high number of Russophones
who said they were Soviets probably reflects the fact that they did not want to choose to be Russian and that
they were not allowed to choose to be Estonian or Latvian. Soviet "citizenship" is thus the only citizenship
they have ever held.
35. People in a multilingual-multinational context are often quite willing to make distinctions between
situations in which a national language should be required and those where the minority might use its lan-
guage. The same is true about language and cultural policy in the schools. Ordinary voters and citizens are
often more flexible and tolerant on these issues than are ideologues, activists, and governments. For the case
of Spanish bilingual regions, see Linz, "Los jóvenes en una España multilingue," 325-436.
Russia, the lack of family ties, and the lack of any prospects upon returning, are
eager to stay. The "exit" option, as we have seen, is considered by only a very few.
Significantly, almost half of those who considered the exit option gave as their
reason that "my political and human rights are restricted." Also significantly, al-
most no one (only 2.9 percent of the non-Estonians and 1.5 percent of the non-
Latvians) gave as a reason for possible emmigration the statement that "I could
not adapt in" Estonia or Latvia.36
The Russian minorities in the Baltics are not like the English in India, the
French in Algeria, or the Finns of Karelia when it was annexed by the USSR, ready
to return to a homeland ready to receive them and help them. Most of them will
stay as resident aliens (of a potentially powerful hostile neighbor) in countries
where they once believed they were citizens. Or they will stay as citizens of a state
engaged in nation-building, demanding assimilation but not particularly eager to
help in the assimilation, that is, as second-class citizens.
This is a historical legacy that has no parallel in southern Europe, South Amer-
ica, or even in East Central Europe. It is a legacy that is particular to the former
Soviet Union and the former Yugoslavia. There is thus a great burden of history
to overcome in the construction of new democracies in Estonia and Latvia. But
this legacy has been further exacerbated by some of the decisions made after in-
dependence. Unfortunately, the competing logics of nation-state and democracy
cannot be forgotten when one thinks about the prospects for democratic consol-
idation in Estonia or Latvia. Fortunately, it is almost a nonissue in Lithuania. The
process of nation-building has also complicated the equally or more necessary
process of state-building—the creation of armed forces and a unified police
(rather than different organizations, some of them linked to nationalist parties).
THE FUTURE: MULTINATIONAL DEMOCRACIES OR IRREDENTA
The Baltic republics, like other multiethnic states with a population that can be
considered an "irredenta" by a neighbor, particularly a powerful one like Russia,
are fearful about a future menace. There is no clear answer to whether a poten-
tially irredentist population will be more loyal to a homeland state that expresses
support for their frustrated minority demands or to a state that has granted pro-
tection to the cultural and political rights of all the inhabitants in its territory. Can
it be argued that citizenship and minority rights encourage disloyalty to the state?
Maybe. But our data on Lithuania suggest that the granting of citizenship in
Lithuania is associated with a more positive attitude on the part of minorities to-
ward state instititutions.
Denial of rights to a minority is easiest and potentially most effective when
that minority has no external homeland sponsor. In many East Central European
36. Question 139 of the 1992 Klingemann survey cited in table 20.2.
countries, this is the situation concerning the gypsies.37 After the defeat of Ger-
many in World War II, the occupation of Germany by the Allies meant that
Czechoslovakia and Poland were able to solve their German problem by expelling
almost all of their German minority population. However, Russia's size and cur-
rent geopolitical situation mean that the forcible expulsion of the Russian resi-
dents in the Baltics is simply not an available geopolitical option.
Turning now to the future, we can begin to see that already the logic of the na-
tion-state is producing a politics that is threatening the territorial integrity of the
state and perhaps even the democracy of Estonia. If Estonia is too hard on the
Russian component of their population, Yeltsin or his potentially more national-
ist successors may well feel pressure to come to its defense. In September 1992, the
Russian Foreign Minister, Andrei Kozyrev, in an address to the United Nations,
indeed attacked Estonia for human rights violations of Russians and raised the
question of placing Estonian statehood in receivership via a United Nations
trusteeship.38 By 1995 he explicitly singled out Estonia and Latvia as countries
where the use of Russian force to defend the rights of Russian minorities would
be justified.39
We focus here on the psychological and political effects of the new laws in
Estonia, which are much more harmful than the letter of the laws would suggest.
Noncitizens were excluded from voting in the presidential and parliamentary
elections of September 20, 1992, and from forming political parties. These two
provisions meant that the great majority of Russian residents in the territory of
Estonia did not have a say in the first election of the newly independent state, did
not participate in the creation of the political party system, and did not hold po-
litical office on the national level in the parliament of 1992—94. The exclusion of
about 40 percent of the population shifted the electoral discourse in this period
even further in the direction of nation-state issues. In the 1992 elections, three
parties that had advocated strong nation-state positions on citizenship and lan-
guage won 46 of the 101 seats and were a major force in the first parliament. Since
there were no Russian votes to appeal to, even the moderate parties, like the So-
cial Democrats, tilted their discourses in a more nationalist direction. The more
consociational Popular Front, which could not get any Russian support, won only
sixteen seats. In the 1990-92 parliament, there were twenty-three ethnic Russian
deputies. In the 1992-94 parliament, there were none.40
Again, none of this was driven by unstoppable primordial nationalism. In fact,
37. See Claus Offe, "Ethnische Politik ¡m osteuropäischen Transformationsprozess," in Der Tunnel am
Ende des Lichts, Erkundungen der politischen Transformation im Neuen Osten (Frankfurt/Main: Campus,
1994), 135-186. See typology on p. 145.
38. New York Times, September 23,1992, 9.
39. See "Meri Dismayed at Kozyrev's Remarks, Latvia Likewise," Baltic Independent (April 28-May 4,
1995): 6.
40. See Velio Pettai, "Emerging Ethnic Democracy in Estonia and Latvia" (paper presented at the 14th
Association for the Advancement of Baltic Studies Conference, June 8-11,1994, Chicago).
there was a bitter struggle in the first part of 1992 over whether to allow Russians
who had lived in Estonia for twenty years or more to be eligible to vote or at the
very least to allow those 5,017 inhabitants who had formally applied for Estonian
citizenship to do so. In the latter case, the matter was purely symbolic because this
i percent of the Russian population was so small and because they were the most
pro-independence of the overall Russian population. Nonetheless, it was decided
to have a referendum on the issue, during which most of the organized political
parties campaigned against allowing the 5,017 Russians to vote; just as important,
the president, prime minister, and speaker of Parliament were silent on the issue.
The referendum was very close: 52 percent of the electorate opposed granting this
tiny number of pro-Estonian Russians the vote, and 48 percent supported their
right. The point is that political leadership might have made a difference; instead,
none of the key figures in the political process helped legitimate the idea of a state
made up of multiple complementary identities. The matter was made all the more
explosive by allowing, at the last moment, children and grandchildren of pre-i94O
citizens to vote in the referendum and the elections, even if they had lived their
entire lives abroad.41
The language law is also threatening to the idea of a democratic state in which
not all its members are alike linguistically or ethnically. Here the impression is
much worse than the law because, though Estonian will be required for many jobs
in the future, there are many where it will not be (such as in the factories in the
predominantly Russian-speaking northeast towns of Narva, Kohtla-Jarve, and
Sillamäe). But little effort has been made to disseminate this critical information,
nor is it clear whether the Estonian state can provide a sufficient number of teach-
ers able and willing to teach Estonian in Russian-language areas. David D. Laitin
argues that the high enrollment of Russians in Estonian classes in 1990-91 sug-
gested a greater willingness on the part of the Russians to assimilate than on the
part of the Estonians to have them assimilate.42 Again, all of this is understand-
able, given the resentment against Russians, who for decades refused to learn even
the rudiments of Estonian. Nonetheless, from the point of view of democratic
politics, the logic of the nation-state is often quite different from the logic of a
democratic state and, in the case of language, the Estonian government has obli-
gations and duties that need to be kept in view.43
During 1991-93 in Estonia, the logic, language, and politics of nation-state-
building, based on a narrow definition of citizenship, led to a shrinkage of the po-
41. These are based on extensive interviews in Estonia by Alfred Stepan in July 1992. Also see Kask, "Na-
tional Radicalization in Estonia," Nationalities Papers, 383-84.
42. Laitin, "National Uprisings in the Soviet Union," 163.
43. While it is true that most Russians in Estonia did not learn Estonian, the key question is whether
they or, more likely, their children would be willing to learn Estonian in an independent Estonia. Here the
survey data point to a much more positive attitude. Only 37 percent of Russian speakers in Estonia say they
are opposed to people like them being made to learn a Baltic language. See Rose and Maley, "Nationalities
in the Baltic States," question 206.
litical and social spaces where Estonians and non-Estonians interacted and com-
peted democratically. To date, however, the Russian-speaking minority in the
Baltics has opted for passivity, which explains the absence of ethnic violence. In
the 1993 survey the non-Estonians and non-Latvians are less likely to participate
in a "protest demonstration in the streets about problems facing the government"
than are the Baits. A surprisingly high 50 or 51 percent of Russians say that they
would "definitely not" engage in a political protest demonstration, compared to
38 and 39 percent among Estonians and Latvians. Even on the question of citi-
zenship and the right to vote, only 38 percent of the Russians in Estonia and 27
percent of the Russians in Latvia said they would possibly consider demonstrat-
ing in the streets to advance their rights.44
But the events of 1991-94 meant that obstacles to democracy not previously
present were, inadvertently or even deliberately, created by politicians caught up
in the discourse of nation-state politics and inattentive to the consensual or
consociational style of politics. They were inattentive, in short, to a style of poli-
tics helpful to the crafting of a consolidated democracy in a multinational state.45
We have discussed the cases of Estonia and Latvia in the broader context of the
disintegration of the USSR into fifteen new states, but in spite of some basically
similar problems in the linkage among the state, multiple nationalities within the
state, and democracy, there are significant differences between the Baltic and the
CIS states. These differences should not be ignored. In the Baltic countries we are
dealing with states that enjoyed independence for a considerable time after 1918.
In the other republics of the former Soviet Union, we are dealing with political
entities that derived their existence and their boundaries from the Soviet state, al-
though a number of them briefly enjoyed statehood after the disintegration of
Czarist rule. The fact that the CIS countries had been part of the empire for a
longer time means that the Russian and sometimes other Slavic minorities have
been living there as citizen-subjects for many generations. In some of the CIS
countries, unlike the Baltics, the Russians are the modernizing group.46 In con-
trast, the Baits, due to the large German presence before 1918 and their Lutheran
or Catholic culture, were more modernizing or at least more Western than the
Russians.
44. Rose and Maley, "Nationalities in the Baltic States," 45.

45. For the argument against majoritarian democracy and for more consensual, at times even consoci-
ational, practices, see Lijphart, Democracies.
46. Indeed, three conditions make potential integration, especially democratic and peaceful integra-
tion, between Baits and Russians somewhat easier than the potential democratic integration in the south-
ern CIS states between Moslems and Russians. The first condition is geopolitical. Given the geographic and
political proximity of the Baltic countries to the European Union, the Baltics will no doubt be more re-
sponsive to European Union criticism concerning violation of citizenship norms than the CIS countries
will probably be (and are). The second condition is military. Russia will be more constrained against using
its military forces in the Baltics than they would be in the Eurasian near-abroad. The third condition is so-
ciological or cultural. It is probable that there are greater differences between Eurasian Moslems and Rus-
sians than between Baits and Russians.
In those political subunits of federal states in which the dominant nationality is

different from the dominant nationality of the federal state, the situation is again
different. Such is the case of the Russian minorities in Chechnya. Russians in
Chechnya are not a diaspora in another state. They are a minority in a federal state.
Russia is not their external homeland. The Chechnya tragedy is thus seen by most
of the world as an internal rather than an international conflict. In this respect, the
Russians in Chechnya are not the same as the Russians in Estonia. An intervention
by the Russian state to defend Russians in Estonia would be completely different at
the level of international law.47 Thus, the Russian minorities in the Baltics, in the
Eurasian near-abroad, and inside national subunits of the new Russian federation
are, analytically and geopolitically, in three quite different and distinct situations.
NATION-BUILDING, STATE-BUILDING, AND

D E M O C R A C Y B U I L D I N G : A T Y P O L O G I C A L EXCURSUS
Baltic politics allow us to deal somewhat more systematically with the rela-
tionship between state-building and nation-building vis-à-vis minorities. There
are four basic possibilities with considerable variation within each of them. The
typology is based on two dimensions. The first dimension concerns state-building
strategies. State policies toward citizenship rights of the minority or minorities
can be inclusionary or exclusionary. The second dimension concerns nation-
building strategies. National leaders can have an ideology that the demos and the
nation should be the same, or ideologically they can accept different minorities
and even nations within the demos. The combination of these two dimensions
leads to four different types (table 20.9).
Let us first analyze each type as a pure type, although of course empirically in
any concrete case there can be considerable within-type variation or even combi-
nations of more than one type. In type I, the elites' ideological identification of
demos with nation, combined with their exclusionary strategy toward the citi-
zenship of those defined as alien to the nation, leads to a political system in which
the preferred option might be the expulsion of the aliens. At the very least, type I
strategies would lead to the encouragement of the exit option of noncitizens via
emigration to their presumed homeland as the result of discriminatory policies
or, exceptionally, by special payments.
In type II, the elites' acceptance of a differentiation between the demos and the
nation and their exclusionary strategy toward citizenship leads to a policy that
gives residents who are not part of the nation civil rights as resident aliens, but not
political rights.
47. David D. Laitin, on the basis of survey data, makes an interesting sociological comparison between
the "Russian-speaking nationality" in Estonia and in Bashkortostan but, surprisingly, does not make the
distinction we make between a minority in an independent state and a minority in a subunit of a federal
state. See Laitin, "Identity in Formation."
Table 20.9. A Typology of State-, Nation-, and Democracy-building Strategies in Multinational

Polities
State-building Strategies: Policies toward Non-national Minority or Minorities
Nation-building Strategies: Ideology
toward Demos/Nation Relationship Exclusionary Strategy Inclusionary Strategy
Demos and nation should be the Type I Expel or at least Type III Make major effort to
same. systematically encourage the assimilate minorities into
"exit" option national culture and give no
special recognition to minority
political or cultural rights
Demos and nation can be Type II Isolate from political Type IV Make major effort to
different. process by granting civil accomodate minorities by
liberties but no political rights crafting a series of political
and thus discouraging "voice" and civil arrangements that
option recognize minority rights
In type III, an inclusionary strategy toward citizenship combined with an iden-

tification in principle between demos and nation will allow the minority or mi-
norities to participate politically only if they assimilate into the dominant culture.
In type III there is no positive value attached to diversity within the demos or
within the polity. Rather, there is a plethora of state-designed assimilation poli-
cies. This state-induced assimilation strategy might involve considerable discrim-
ination against and a de facto second-class citizenship for those unable or unwill-
ing to assimilate to the dominant nationality. The result will be a plural but not a
pluralistic society.
Finally, in type IV there is an inclusionary strategy concerning citizenship both
for the dominant majority and the minority or minorities. Individually, all per-
manent members of the demos are accepted as full members of the polity with
full political rights. Only foreign citizens who have come into the country know-
ing that they were not citizens are excluded. In addition, the political system
grants varying degrees of recognition of group rights to the minority. Of course,
to qualify as a liberal democracy, these group rights must never violate any indi-
vidual rights, whether these individuals are members of the minority or not.
These group rights include the political freedom to organize parties representing
the minority or possibly bilingualism in education and some public services. That
is, type IV shows acceptance of a pluralistic society in which diversity is not con-
sidered fully negative.
The range of solutions falling under this fourth type is very great, going from
allowing private organization of minority cultural and educational life to various
consociational policies. Consociational policies could range from publicly sup-
ported communal organizations and public services to official bilingualism at the
local or state level. In some cases, federalism might be a solution to the problem
of recognizing the fact of the multinational society.
A pure type I strategy is not likely to be "successful" unless the state turns to
coercive policies. But, in some cases, coercion might lead to civil war and in others
to conflict with the external homeland of the minority. Only under very excep-
tional circumstances will a type I strategy be compatible with the requirements of
a liberal democracy.
A pure type II strategy, if accepted passively by the minority, could possibly cre-
ate an "ethnic democracy"; that is, a political system in which there are fully dem-
ocratic political processes for the national majority but only a subject status for the
minority. Such an ethnic democracy, of course, would not satisfy the criterion of
democratic inclusiveness formulated by Robert A. Dahl in his Polyarchy.4S
Types III and IV represent very different conceptions of democracy. Under cer-
tain circumstances assimilation in type III might, in the medium or long run, lead
to the building of a democratic nation-state. However, the success of such a pol-
icy does not depend only on the aims of the nation-state builders. Success also de-
pends on the readiness of members of the minority to give up their identity, their
language, and their culture and to accept the utility of the dominant nationality.
Success will also depend upon whether or not there exists a powerful homeland
state. If a powerful homeland state exists, this will greatly complicate type III. If
type III state-induced assimilation fails, type I could be attempted, but the risks
to democracy and possibly even state integrity would rise significantly, especially
if a powerful homeland state exists and protests.
For a type III policy to be considered a democracy, even one most committed
to pursuing a policy of nation-building cultural assimilation of minorities, it
must satisfy certain requirements applicable to cultural minorities: freedoms of
expression, assembly, and organization; the formation of parties; presentation of
candidates for office, and competition for a share of power by peaceful means.
That is, there must be political rights in addition to the normal human rights.
This has two important consequences. First is that the aspirations and griev-
ences of the minority (or minorities) can be expressed or made public. The
chance to get representation can, but does not always, attain some specific gains
for the individual members of the minorities and its organizations. The fact that
(by definition) a linguistic or ethnic minority (unlike an ideologically based
minority in the democratic process) cannot for structural reasons ever hope to
become a majority makes it less likely in a majoritarian democracy that the
minority will make significant gains. Therefore, minority demands will often be
articulated to achieve patterns associated with type IV. Even when such consen-
sus or consociational patterns are unattainable, the fact of having political repre-
sentation may provide an opportunity for the minority to gain a share in power.
At the state level minorities can best gain access to power sharing if the national
majority is fractioned and needs, either at the time of elections or in the process
48. See Dahl, Polyarchy: Participation and Opposition, 5-10.

of forming a government, explicit or implicit coalitions with minorities and/or

the support of the minority and/or its representatives. In some cases a minority
can exact a heavy price (like the minority parties of the religious Jews in Israel).
The second important consequence of the participation in the democratic
process of minorities in type III is that it can lead to highly conflictual patterns.
The commitment of the majority to a relentless process of assimilation can lead
to the frustration of the minority, to its radicalization, the split between moder-
ates and radicals, and the turn to disloyal behavior by some of its members. Vio-
lence by activists is not unlikely and its repression is often difficult and may lead
to a spiraling of violence that can be highly destabilizing for democracy and
domestic peace. A spiraling of violence can also lead to appeals for foreign inter-
vention, including that of an external homeland. When the intensity of the
demands of the minority is great and the unwillingness of the majority to make
any accommodation is also great, type III becomes unstable and unviable; if de-
mocracy is not to be destroyed, some moves toward type IV are likely to be desir-
able and even inevitable.
It therefore is evident that a type III inclusionary democratic state has conse-
quences for minority citizens and the polity. The consequences can be positive, fa-
cilitating a stable type III polity or some movement toward type IV. But if mis-
managed, the consequences can lead to a crisis of democracy and the state.
A democratic polity of type III or of type III ready to move to type IV can iso-
late the extremists in any ethnic, cultural, or religious national minority but can-
not prevent its existence and antidemocratic actions (e.g., the ETA terrorists in
Spain). In such a situation democratic leaders can generally count on the support
of the peaceful democratic majority of the minority population, thus limiting the
influence of the extremists on the polity.49 Minority and nationalist demands do
not need to end in the destruction of democracy, large-scale violence, and civil
war, but the absence of extremism is not assured by democracy, just as it does not
assure the absence of crime. A democratic polity has the advantage that violent
actions (whatever their "idealist" motivations) are likely to be defined in the end
as criminal by both the majority and the bulk of the minority. The evolution of
the political climate in the Spanish Basque country provides an example of such
an evolution (however regrettable, dangerous, and perhaps inevitable the actions
of ETA terrorists). They can, if handled well, end by being largely irrelevant for
the consolidation and stability of democracy.
However, we should be aware of what democracy can and cannot achieve
under certain circumstances and the mistakes, even crimes, that democratic gov-
49. See, for example, numerous tables that document the evolution of public opinion against violence
by nationalist extemist terrorism under a type IV democracy in the Basque country in Francisco José Llera
Ramo, Los vascos y la política. El proceso político vasco: elecciones, partidos, opinión pública y legitimación en
el País Vasco, 2977-3992 (Bilbao: Servicio Editorial de la Universidad del País Vasco, 1994), chap. 4,97-119.
ernments can commit when confronting ethnic, nationalist, or religious insur-

gence, as we know from contemporary examples, such as India.50
Type IV could either be the original option of the leaders of the state or possi-
bly an option pursued after the failure of a type III attempt.51 A variety of stable
solutions can be found in type IV, which in some cases could lead to a democratic
multinational state or at least a democratic state recognizing the cultural and lin-
guistic pluralism of its citizens.
T H E TYPOLOGY A P P L I E D : B A L T I C O P T I O N S
If one accepts the existence of a nationalist Russia as a homeland state actor

vis-à-vis most Baltic minorities and the de facto reality in the 19905 of Estonia,
Latvia, and Lithuania as multinational countries, how do they relate to our ty-
pology? Lithuania is the easiest to discuss. Lithuania has not gone very far in the
consociational direction, but its inclusionary strategy toward citizenship for al-
most all permanent residents at the start of independence puts Lithuania squarely
in type IV. Lithuania could well become a consolidated multinational democracy.
We recognize, of course, the fact that the solid demographic majority of ethnic
Lithuanians made the selection of type IV easier than it would have been in either
Estonia or, especially, Latvia.
Most ethnic Latvian political leaders in 1991-95 explicitly rejected the idea of
a type IV polity. Many Latvian leaders might hold out type III assimilation as
desirable. However, historically, culturally, and geopolitically, assimilation of
Latvian minorities that together constitute a majority in all of Latvia's largest
cities is a virtual impossibility in the short or even the medium term. For the same
reasons type I is a dangerous and difficult option. Type II political isolation of
minorities is possibly available if conflict with Russia does not ensue, but the
result would not be a liberal democracy but an ethnic democracy. However, if the
minorities actively resist this exclusionary strategy, conflict and authoritarianism
could be the outcome of a failed type II strategy.
Estonia in terms of elite political strategies is much closer to Latvia than to
Lithuania. Most ethnic Estonian political elites reject what we call type IV as a de-
sirable model.52 Given the Estonian political elites' willingness to allow at least a
50. In a separate publication Linz argues that the instances of most persistent violation of human rights,
within an overall context of democracy, have occurred in democracies experiencing a combination of state-
ness conflict and ethnic, religious, and/or linguistic conflict (e.g., Kashmir). See his "Types of Political
Regimes and Respect for Human Rights: Historical and Cross National Perspectives," in Asbj0rn Eide and
Bernt Hagtvet, eds., Human Rights in Perspective: A Global Assessment (Cambridge: Blackwell, 1992), 177-221.
51. As we demonstrated in the case of Spain, when confronted with potential stateness conflicts in Cat-
alonia and the Basque country, Suárez and other leaders of the Spanish transition committed themselves
very quickly to a type IV polity.
52. We noted, however, in table 20.8 that ordinary Estonian and Latvian citizens were much more open
to Russian minority political participation than were political elites. Given the high degree of factionaliza-
modicum of cultural and political rights to minorities, Estonian political elites in

1992-93 represented themselves to the European Union (and possibly to them-
selves) as on the road to what we would call a type III polity.53 However, for the
foreseeable future, sociologically and politically, a Type II ethnic democracy is a
major competing model in Estonia. A type II ethnic democracy would probably
encounter somewhat less resistance in Estonia than in Latvia. Ethnic Estonians
are a comparatively larger part of the total population in Estonia than ethnic Lat-
vians are in Latvia; Estonia's economy is also perceived by Russian minorities as
somewhat stronger than Latvia's.54 Latvia's minorities also have a historically
stronger tradition of participation in politics than do Estonia's. This said, we
should not confuse an economically prosperous and possibly politically stable Es-
tonia, with its passive but alienated Russian population, with a liberal democracy.
The hope for liberal democracy in Estonia is that a combination of international
pressures from the European Union, Estonian prudence toward a dangerous Rus-
sia, and ethnic Estonian and nonethnic Estonian demands for a higher quality de-
mocracy together might contribute to an increasingly inclusive Estonian political
system.55
tion in the Estonian party system, even a small russophone party could acquire some weight in a parlia-
ment in the government formation period and thus alter the discongruence between Estonia and elite/mass
opinions for the better.
53. In the cultural but not in the political area, there was even some accommodation of certain type IV
collective Russian demands. A law on cultural autonomy allowed some role for minorities in setting up
local councils and educational institutions. The president of Estonia also established "Roundtables of Eth-
nic Minorities" under his auspices. However, the closing down of Russian television in the spring of 1994
and the 1993 Education Law that prohibited state support for education in the Russian language above the
high school level were heavy state-imposed type III policies. See the previously cited paper by Velik, "A
Strategy for Ethnic Conflict Accommodation."
54. For example, 64 percent of Russian speakers polled in Estonia agreed with the statement that "this
country offers better chances for improving living standards in the future than Russia." Only 44 percent of
Russian speakers in Latvia agreed with this statement. See Rose and Maley, "Nationalities in the Baltic
States," question 209. However, passivity is not approval. In fact, whereas only 17 percent of the russophones
in Lithuania disagreed with the statement, "Would you say that the government treats Russians who live in
their country fairly?" 54 percent disagreed in Latvia and 61 percent of the russophones in Estonia disagreed.
Ibid., question 159.
55. In 1995 the Estonian political system was still absorbing exclusionary and inclusionary pressures. On
the exclusionary side, on January 19,1995, in one of the last meetings of the 1992-95 parliament, a new cit-
izenship law was passed. The Constitution Watch section of the East European Constitutional Review noted
that "the new law extends the residency requirement and application period from three to six years and im-
poses a new civics exam (in Estonian) for all applicants, on top of the already mandatory language exam.
The new exam, which will test knowledge of the constitution as well as the citizenship law, was criticized by
leaders of the non-citizen community as harsh and unfair." However, on the inclusionary side, the Consti-
tutional Watch also noted that in the March 5,1995, elections a russophone party coalition, significantly
called "Our Home in Estonia," won 5 seats in the ioi-seat parliament. Due to high party fragmentation in
the parliament, Our Home in Estonia was able to play some role in the intraparty negotiations that led to
an influential opponent of exclusionary policies on the citizenship issues, former Prime Minister Edgar
Savisaar, entering into the ruling coalition. In fact, Savisaar became the interior minister, a post that could
allow him to play an important role in how state authorities treat non-Baltic minorities. See East European
Constitutional Review 4, no. 3 (1995): 11-13.
21
Post-Communist Europe: Concluding

Comparative Reflections
VJiVEN THE continuing tumultuousness of events in post-Communist

Europe, especially in the former Soviet Union and the former Yugoslavia, many
readers will no doubt believe that we should conclude this book with reflections
on conflict and not on democracy. However, our conceptual approach is con-
cerned with conflicts over power, the state, and citizenship and whether, out of
these contestations, democratic practices can become the "only game in town."
From this perspective all of the countries of post-Communist Europe can and
should be at least briefly compared. To be sure, in some of the twenty-seven post-
Communist countries (e.g., Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, or the Serbian-domi-
nated rump Yugoslavia), a realistic evaluation must lead to the conclusion that the
country is currently (1995) nondemocratic and that few weighty actors are even
trying to put democracy, as we have defined it, on the agenda.1 However, in some
other countries in post-Communist Europe (e.g., the Czech Republic, Hungary,
and possibly even Lithuania), democratic practices are near to becoming the only
game in town. Thus, it is indeed relevant to discuss democracy in this conclusion,
but we have to develop the critical categories, frames of reference, and evidence
that will allow us to attempt comparisons within post-Communist Europe.
i. However, while it is true that rump Yugoslavia (Serbia, Montenegro, and the former province of
Kosovo), as presently constituted, is nondemocratic, it is useful to recognize that there are more pressures
for democracy in rump Yugoslavia than Western policy makers and public opinion normally recognize.
Tibor Varady, the minister of justice in the Milan Panic government in the rump Yugoslavia, says that, when
Prime Minister Panic challenged Milosevic" in the December 1992 presidential election, the West sent fewer
than thirty election observers, and most arrived just days before the election. In contrast, in the plebiscite
in Chile in 1988 that led to the defeat of Pinochet, the West sent thousands of observers, many of whom
were involved months before the election. Why this difference? Commentary in the West in essence as-
sumed that Serbia was univocally for Serbian expansionism and that "primordial nationalism" was so
strong that Slobodan Milosevic was unbeatable. But, even with the abstention of the Muslims of Kosovo
(about 10 percent of the potential electorate), election day technical fraud by Slobodan Milosevic of possi-
bly 5-10 percent of the vote, and the lack of election observers and financial and technical support from the
West, Panic still won 43 percent of the vote. Our point is that Milosevic in December 1992 was not politi-
cally unbeatable. Some analysts, when confronted with the Chilean-Serbian comparison, shrug their shoul-
ders and say, "So what, Milosevic never would have respected the elections." This again misses the point.
Power is always relational. If Milosevic had actually lost and then annulled the election, he would have been
domestically and internationally weakened in relation to democratic opponents and the myth of univocal
support for aggressive nationalism would have been unmasked.
Post-Communist Europe: Concluding Comparative Reflections 435
As our contribution to the development of such critical categories, frames of

reference, and evidence, we want to develop three points. First, we will discuss what
we see as the danger of "inverting the legitimacy pyramid" by activists and analysts
who believe that the market will legitimate democracy. We will argue that the his-
tory of successful democratization indicates that the reverse normally occurs. De-
mocracy legitimates the market (especially capitalism). Second, many activists and
analysts also argue that not only is there the well-known simultaneity problem
(which we accept), but also economic and political results must be achieved simul-
taneously or poor economic results will rapidly derail support for democratization
(which we do not accept). We will give empirical data and a theoretical explanation
to support our cautiously optimistic hypothesis concerning support for democracy
as it relates to East Central Europe and our much less optimistic hypothesis for de-
mocratization in the non-Baltic countries of the former Soviet Union. Third, much
of the popular press saw the return to power of former Communist political lead-
ers and parties in such vanguard transitions to democracy as Poland, Hungary, and
Lithuania as a "return to Communism" and as a major reversal of democracy. We
will argue why such an analysis is faulty, both conceptually and politically.
ON THE DANGER OF AN INVERTED LEGITIMACY P Y R A M I D
In the conclusion to part 2 on southern Europe, we argued that the Spanish

sequence of political reform, socioeconomic reform, and then economic reform
was probably optimal for the consolidation of democracy in that country. Gener-
ally, we are of course reluctant to insist on any sequence because historically quite
different sequences have in fact worked.
Most analysts of post-Communist Europe, especially policy advocates, implic-
itly rejected a Spanish-like sequence as unfeasible because of their perceived need
for simultaneous economic and political change. Indeed, despite frequent obeisance
to this simultaneity imperative, domestic and foreign activists and advisors often
privileged economic change first. Solid research is just beginning on the question
of sequence in post-Communist politics, but on theoretical (and now historical)
grounds we believe that more consideration should have been given in the post-
Communist cases to the cost of neglecting political reforms, especially state
reconstruction. Why?
Theoretically, because, as we argued, the issue for modern democracies is not
the creation of a market, but the creation of an economic society. Further, logic im-
plies that a coherent regulatory environment and a rule of law is required to trans-
form command economies into economic societies. If this is so, then a major pri-
ority must be to create democratic regulatory state power.2 In this respect the two
2. In addition, it is debatable that the privatization of all or most of publicly owned property is neces-
sary for the creation of a functioning market economy. Post-World War II Austria and Italy immediately
empirical extremes presented in this book are Spain and the USSR. Attention to
electoral sequence and constitutional change contributed to effective power cre-
ation and state reconfiguration in Spain. Inattention to electoral sequence (by
Gorbachev) and constitutional change (by Gorbachev and Yeltsin) contributed to
power erosion and a decomposing state in the USSR and Russia.
Empirically, post hoc studies (as opposed to ex ante doctrinal advocacy) of pri-
vatization and structural economic change are just beginning to appear for the re-
gion. However, the best studies of the region are confirming a pattern about state
power already documented in Latin America, that effective privatization (often
mistakenly equated with "state shrinking") is best done by relatively strong states
that are able to implement a coherent policy. The essence of a rich body of re-
search on privatization and state restructuring shows that effective privatization
entails less state scope but greater state capacity.3 In a context of a post-Commu-
nist, postcommand economy, a state with rapidly eroding capacity simply cannot
manage a process of effective privatization.4
come to mind as countries that retained a large public sector but were more or less efficient democratic
market economies.
3. Four important studies of this phenomenon are Albert Fishlow, "The Latin American State," Journal
of Economic Perspectives 4, no. 3 (1990): 61-74; Hector Schamis, "Re-forming the State: The Role of Privati-
zation in Chile and Britain" (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, Department of Political Science, 1994); Peter
Evans, "The State as a Problem and Solution: Prédation, Embedded Autonomy, and Structural Change," in
Stephan Haggard and Robert R. Kaufman, eds., The Politics of Economic Adjustment: International Con-
straints, Distributive Conflicts, and the State (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992), 139-81; and Joan
M. Nelson, ed., Intricate Links: Democratization and Market Reforms in Latin America and Eastern Europe
(New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers, 1994), especially the article by Jacek Kochanowicz, "Reforming
Weak States and Deficient Bureaucracies," 195-226. China in the first half of the 19903 allowed the emer-
gence of a robust private sector in some areas while maintaining a strong command economy in other sec-
tors and overall near totalitarian practices concerning politics, the media, and even family reproductive
decisions.
4.We need more comparative studies of variation in state capacity vis-à-vis privatization and economic
restructuring. Such variation could range from significant state reconstruction that increases state capacity
and efficacy vis-à-vis privatization, to states that have had modest but unsatisfactory state reconstruction
that has led to the creation of new postreform problems and the threat of a low-level equilibrium trap, to the
extreme case of near state disintegration and virtually no state capacity for structuring change. East Central
Europe and the former Soviet Union provide examples of all of these possible variations. The most popu-
larly supported privatization in Central and Eastern Europe has been in the Czech Republic, which was also
the case, despite some corruption, of the greatest transparency and where the freely elected government
worked longest at such socioeconomic reforms as job retraining and state restructuring. In contrast, in a
country like Romania, where the state has not been reconstructed, some nontransparent privatization has
occurred, but there is a danger of a low-level equilibrium trap. In the Ukraine and parts of Russia, a new state
had not been constructed, but the old state manifested strong disintegrative tendencies and low capacities in
the 1992-93 period. See, for example, the empirically grounded comparative analysis of the Czech Republic
and Romania by Olivier Blanchard, Simon Commander, and Fabrizio Coricelli, "Unemployment and Re-
structuring," World Bank, 1993, mimeo. Also see the chapter on Czechoslovakia in Roman Frydman, Andrzej
Rapaczynski, and John Earle, eds., The Privatization Process in Central Europe (Budapest: Central European
University Press, 1993), 40-94, and Roman Frydman, Andrzej Rapaczynski, and John Earle, eds., The Priva-
tization Process in Russia, Ukraine and the Baltic States (Budapest: Central European University Press, 1993).
The case studies of Ukraine and Russia underscore the difficulties of orderly, effective, and non-mafia priv-
itization if the state is in disarray. Also see Roman Frydman and Andrzej Rapaczynski, Privatization in East-
ern Europe: Is the State Withering Away? (Budapest: Central European University Press, 1994).
Note, the key is a strong state and not necessarily a democracy. A strong non-
democratic state in Chile privatized reasonably effectively. However, in a post-
Communist setting such as Russia, where the old Communist party-state has im-
ploded or is no longer effective, privatization can proceed in an orderly way only
after the state has been reconstructed. Once the totalitarian or post-totalitarian
state, with its extensive command economy, has collapsed, given up, imploded, or
disintegrated, state structures must be put in place. But many of the nondemo-
cratic ways of restructuring the state are less available as alternatives than nor-
mally thought.
Some people argue (particularly in Russia) that a Pinochet is needed. But in
Russia and many other countries of the former Soviet Union, a coherent state and
a unified military organization of the sort that supported Pinochet no longer
exist.5 An authoritarian or perhaps a semifascist party-state in Russia is also
sometimes held up as a powerful alternative ruling model. However, a single party
with ideological legitimacy and the resources to assume and implement non-
democratic power would require the emergence and construction of a state-wide
hegemonic semifascist movement, and this also seems unlikely. In our judgment,
even an authoritarian or semifascist Russia would still be an example of what Ken
Jowitt describes as a polity with a weak state and a weak society.6 The quiescence
of Franco's post-civil war Spain is a less likely outcome of a Russian fascist gov-
ernment than is a series of Chechnyas and Afghanistans. Some people argue for a
China-type solution, but the Chinese model, which could possibly have been a
pre-perestroika alternative, is also no longer available as an alternative in Russia.
Unlike in Russia, the Chinese nondemocratic regime and state never broke down.
Indeed, the Chinese regime never initiated or even considered a process of democ-
ratization and underwent only a very selective and partial process of liberalization.
Our conclusion is that, for Russia, the cost of a weak democratic state is high,
but at the same time many of the nondemocratic solutions either are not avail-
able or would probably entail a repressive but still weak state. In Steven Lukes'
useful formulation, such a state might have power over but not power to. For
example, a semifascist Russian state might have repressive power over more peo-
ple but still lack the power to reconstruct a prosperous and peaceful Russia.7
Thus, in a context where the party-state has imploded and a command economy
5. In Alfred Stepan's frequent visits to Russia in 1991-95, the subject of a Pinochet or a Chinese alterna-
tive frequently came up as possible alternatives for Russia in conversations with Russian analysts and pol-
icy makers. But in fact, even before the disorderly behavior of the Russian military in Chechnya, only 3 per-
cent of Russian respondents in an April 1994 poll "completely agreed" and only 7 percent "generally agreed"
with the statement that "the army should rule" as an alternative political formula for Russia. See Richard
Rose and Christian Haerpfer, "New Russian Barometer III: The Results," Studies in Public Policy 228 (1994),
question 3ib.
6. Ken Jowitt, New World Disorder: The Leninist Extinction (Berkeley: University of California Press,
1992), esp. 249-331.
7. For this important approach to power, see Steven Lukes, Power: A Radical View (London: Macmillan,
1974).
is no longer feasible, the state must be reconstructed. Our argument is that, far
from being an irrelevance, some degree of democratic legitimacy can be a way of
helping in this state reconstruction.
This leads to our central argument about legitimacy and privatization. In their
rush to move away from state-controlled economies, some free market enthusiasts
have endorsed privatization as the most important component of the post-1989
process. Privatization, however it is accomplished, is often seen as creating the key
structural prerequisite for market democracies and the economic foundation for
new democracies. We disagree. Repeated surveys in democracies show that at the
apex of a hierarchy of democratic legitimacy are the overall democratic processes
(e.g., elections, multiple parties, and free speech). At a lower level in the legitimacy
hierarchy are incumbents (e.g., parliamentarians). Political institutions related to
democracy are normally more legitimate than such economic institutions as mar-
ket economies—which are always more legitimate than capitalist economies, if
they are so labeled in surveys. Furthermore, economic institutions (e.g., market
economies) are always more legitimate than economic actors (e.g., capitalists).8
Thus, on theoretical grounds, the endeavor to legitimate the new post-ipSc de-
mocracies by the efficacy of the new capitalists and thus by increasing by whatever
means the number of new capitalists is to invert the legitimacy pyramid.
Such an inverted legitimacy pyramid is especially problematic in those coun-
tries, such as Russia, where privatization has been virtually unregulated, highly
unequal, and often illegal.9 In such contexts, the former holders of political
power—such as the "red bourgeoisie" in the state enterprises or state financial or
trading institutions—have been in a privileged position to transform their for-
mer political power into new types of economic power by numerous forms of
"spontaneous" privatizations or thefts. Comparative surveys repeatedly show that
in most societies some legitimacy is given to earned or inherited private property
and to entrepreneurship. However, the new Russian capitalists of the former red
bourgeoisie cannot draw upon these principles of legitimation. Indeed, the ori-
gins of their new wealth are often condemned as an illegitimate appropriation of
public property and may leave a legacy of distrust both of market economies
(which will be seen as mafia economies) and of the democracies that tolerated or
even created these mafia economies. Much more political, theoretical, and re-
search attention should be given to evaluating the democratic consequences of at-
tempting to build new democratic polities and economic societies on this in-
verted legitimacy pyramid. The essence of the empirical findings and historical
studies of Western democracies has always been that political systems of democ-
8. For a detailed analysis and ample documentation of this phenomenon, see Juan J. Linz, "Legitimacy
of Democracy and the Socioeconomic System," in Mattei Dogan, ed., Comparing Pluralist Democracies:
Strains on Democracy (Boulder Colo: Westview Press, 1988), 65-113.
9. See, for example, Stephen Handelman, "The Russian Mafia," Foreign Affairs (March-April 1994):
83-96.
racy legitimate market economies, not the reverse. This is so because, as long as a
democratic majority does not question private ownership of the means of pro-
duction when it can do so legally, that property is protected.10
ON S I M U L T A N E I T Y OF RESULTS VERSUS THE C O M P A R A T I V E

POLITICS OF D E F E R R E D G R A T I F I C A T I O N
The assumption that economic reform—the market and privatization—can

legitimate the new democracies is also based on the dubious assumption that eco-
nomic success and the creation of greater wealth can be achieved simultaneously
with the installation and legitimation of democratic institutions. We believe that,
for imploded command economies, democratic polities can and must be installed
and legitimized by a variety of appeals before the possible benefits of a market
economy actually materialize fully. Many analysts and political advisors dismiss
the argument for prior state restructuring because of their assumption that be-
cause of people's demands for material improvements, economic and political
gains must not only be pursued, but occur, simultaneously. Some even argue that,
though simultaneous economic and political reforms are necessary, such simul-
taneity is impossible.11 We can call these two perspectives about the relationship
between economics and democratization the tightly coupled hypothesis and the
loosely coupled hypothesis.12
By loosely coupled we do not mean that there is no relationship between eco-
nomic and political perceptions, but only that the relationship is not necessarily one
to one. For at least a medium range time horizon, people can make independent
and even opposite assessments about political and economic trends. We further be-
lieve that, if assessments about politics are positive, they can provide a valuable
cushion against painful economic restructuring.13 What evidence do we have
10. See Linz, "Legitimacy of Democracy."

11. The title of a widely disseminated article by Jon Elster captures this perspective, "The Necessity and
Impossibility of Simultaneous Economic and Political Reform," in Douglas Greenberg, Stanley N. Katz,
Melanie Beth Oliviero, and Steven C. Wheatley, eds., Constitutionalism and Democracy: Transitions in the
Contemporary World (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 267—74. In our own judgment, the reasons
for the impossibility of simultaneity are not necessarily those advanced by Elster but may be the fact that
the time necessary for successful economic change is inherently longer than the time needed to hold free
elections and even draft a democratic constitution. An important survey-based critique of the Elster hy-
pothesis and an argument for the empirical reality of respondents' multiple time horizons and their "po-
litical economy of patience" are given by the Hungarian political scientist László Bruszt in "Why on Earth
Would East Europeans Support Capitalism?" (paper presented at the XVth World Congress of the Interna-
tional Political Science Association, Berlin, August 21-24,1994).
12. We presented a preliminary discussion of this relationship under "The Political Economy of Legiti-
macy and of Coercion" in chapter 5.
13. The voters might, because of negative economic performance, vote incumbents out of office, but the
overall economic policies of their successors might well continue to be roughly the same. Poland in 1993-95
and Hungary in 1994-95 (especially after the reform acceleration of 1995) come to mind. Democratic alter-
nation of governing coalitions might in fact give more time to the policies of economic change while at the
Table 21.1. GDP, Industrial Output, and Peak Inflation Rates in Post-Communist Countries: 1989-1995
Inflation
Industrial Rate (at
GDP % change
Output peak year
1994 1995 1993 during
Country Measure 1989 1990 1991 1992 1993 (estimated) (projected) I!1989=100) 1989-93)
Albania GDP 9.8 -10.0 -27.1 -9.7 11.0 7.0 5.0 52 237 [92]
Industrial 5.0 -7.6 -36.9 -44.0 -10.0 na na
production
Armenia GDP 14.2 -7.4 -11.0 -52.0 -15.0 0 na na 10900
[93]
Azerbaijan GDP na -11.7 -0.7 -22.6 -13.0 -15.0 -10.0 na 1174(92]
Belarus GDP 8.0 -3.0 -1.2 -9.6 -11.6 -26.0 -10 76 2775 [93]
Industrial na na -6.8 -10.2 -6.0 na na
production
Bulgaria GDP 0.5 -9.1 -11.7 -5.6 -4.2 2 4 na 339 [91]
Industrial -1.4 -16.5 -27.3 -22.0 -10.0 4 na
production
Croatia GDP -1.6 -8.6 -14.4 -9 -3.2 1 6 57 1150[92]
Industrial na -11.3 -28.5 -15.0 -6.0 -3.0 6
production
Czech GDP na -0.4 -14.2 -7.1 -0.3 3 6 57 52 [91]
Republic Industrial na -3.5 -22.3 -10.6 -6.3 0 na
production
Estonia GDP -1.1 -8.1 -11 -14.2 -3.2 5.0 6.0 54 965 [92]
Macedonia GDP na -9.9 -12.1 -14.0 -14.1 -7.2 0 na 1691 [92]
Industrial na -10.6 -17.2 -16.1 -17.2 na na
production
Georgia NMP -4.8 -12.4 -20.8 -43.4 -40.0 -35.0 na na na
Industrial -6.9 -29.9 -24.4 -43.4 -21.0 na na
production
Hungary GDP 0.7 -3.5-11.9 -4.3 -2.3 3.0 3.0 69
Industrial gross -1.0 -9.6 -18.2 -9.8 -4.0 9.0 6.0
output
Kazakhstan GDP -0.4 -0.4 -13.0 -14.0 -12.0 -25.0 na 68 1925 [93]
Kyrgyzstan GDP 3.8 3.2 -5.0 -25.0 -16.0 -10 1.5 53 1354 [93]
Industrial na na 0.0 -27.0 -25.0 na na
production
Latvia GDP 6.8 2.9 -8.3 -33.8 -11.7 3 3 38 958 [91]
Gross mfg output na na 0.4 -48.7 -32.6 na na
Lithuania GDP 1.5 -5.0 -13.1 -37.7 -16.2 4 4 na 1175I92]
Industrial na na na -50.9 -42.7 na na
production
Moldova GDP 8.8 -1.5 -11.9 -25.0 -14.0 -20.0 0 837 [93]
Poland GDP 0.2 -11.6 -7.6 1.5 3.8 4.5 5.0 69 640 [89]
Industrial -1.4 -26.1 -11.9 3.9 5.6 na na
production
Romania GDP -5.8 -5.6 -12.9 -13.6 1.0 2.0 3.0 47 296 [93]
Industrial output -5.3 -23.7 -22.8 -21.9 1.3 2.0 na
Russia GDP na na -13.0 -19.0 -12.0 -15.0 -7.0 60 2138 [92]
Industrial na -0.1 -8.0 -18.8 -16.0 -21.0 -12.0
production

Inflation
1 Industrial Rate (at

GDP % change
Dutntit nfiak vear
1994 1995 1993 during
Country Measure 1989 1990 1991 1992 1993 (estimated) (projected) (1989=100) 1989-93)
Slovakia GDP 1.4 -0.4 -14.5 -7.0 -4.1 3.5 3.0 55 58 [91]
Industrial -0.7 -3.6 -17.8 -14.0 -10.6 5.5 na
production
Slovenia GDP -1.8 -4.7 -8.1 -5.4 1.0 5.0 6 46 247 [91]
Industrial -0.1 -10.3 -11.3 -12.0 -2.6 6.6 5.1
production
Tajikistan NMP -2.9 -1.6 -12.5 -33.7 -28 na na 56 7344 [93]
Industrial 1.9 1.9 -7.4 -35.7 na na na
production
Turkmenistan GDP na 2.0 -4.7 -5.3 -7.6 -10.0 -5.0 90 1875 [93]
Ukraine GDP 4.1 -3.4 -12 -17.0 -14.0 -23.0 -5.0 79 10155
[93]
Industrial 2.8 -0.1 -4.8 -6.5 -8.0 -30.0 na
production
Uzbekistan GDP 3.7 1.6 -0.5 -11.1 -2.4 -2.6 2.0 94 927 [93]
Industrial output 3.B 1.8 1.8 -12.3 -8.3 na na
Yugoslavia Industrial output na na na na na na na 35 3.72x10 13
[93]
Source: The yearly 1989-95 data were supplied by the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development, London, January
1995. The figures for 1994 are estimates; those for 1995 are projections. A common method was used ¡n the data collection.
The 1993 industrial output data ¡n relation to a baseline of 100 for 1989 are from Jacek Rostowski, Macro-economic Instability
in Post-Communist Counties (Oxford: Clarendon Press, Oxford University Press, forthcoming). No data were available for Bosnia.
The data on inflation rates are also from Rostowski. The figure for inflation ¡n Yugoslavia (3.72 times 10 to the 13th power)
computes to one of the all-time world hyperinflation rates of over 37 trillion.
concerning the relationship between economics and democratization in the first five
years of post-Communist Europe? Certainly, if we just look at relatively hard eco-
nomic data, of the twenty-seven countries in post-Communist Europe, no country
(except Poland) experienced positive growth in 1992. Indeed, all post-Communist
countries in 1993 were still well below their 1989 industrial output levels (table 21.1).
If we look at the subjective perception of economic well-being in the six East
Central European Warsaw Pact countries we have analyzed in this book, the mean
positive rating (on a +100 to a -100 scale) among those polled between Novem-
ber 1993 and March 1994 for the Communist economic system was 60.2. But the
mean positive rating for the post-Communist economic system was only 37.3, a
drop of almost 23 points. The tightly coupled hypothesis would predict that the
attitudes toward the political system would drop steeply, even if not the full 23
points. What does the evidence show? In the same survey, the mean positive rank-
same time giving some valuable room for accommodation to the political sentiments or fears of those most
hurt by the fundamental socioeconomic changes being undertaken by the new democratic regime.
Table 21.2. Percentages Expressing Positive Attitudes toward Communist versus Post-Communist
Economic Systems and Political Systems: Responses from Six East Central European Countries
Percentage of Positive Percentage of Positive
Question Country Responses for 1989 Responses for 1993-94
"Here is a scale ranking how the economy Bulgaria 66 15
works: the top, plus 100 is the best; Czech 42 66
the bottom , minus 100 the worst." Hungary 75 27
Poland 52 50
Romania 52 35
Slovakia 74 31
Mean 60 35
"Here is a scale ranking how government Bulgaria 51 59

works: the top, plus 100 is the best; Czech 23 78
the bottom , minus 100 the worst." Hungary 58 51
Poland 38 69
Romania 52 60
Slovakia 50 52
Mean 46 62
Source: Richard Rose and Christian Haerfer, "New Democracies Baromester III: Learning from What Is Happening," Studies in
Public Policy 230 (1994), questions 22-23, 32-33. Percentages are rounded off. The polls were administered in these countries
between November 1993 and March 1993.
ing of the Communist political system was 45.7. A one-point drop in political
evaluation for every point drop in economic evaluation (a perfectly coupled cor-
relation) would yield a positive evaluation of the political system of only 22.6.
However, positive ranking for the post-Communist system did not fall as the
tightly coupled hypothesis would expect but rose to 61.5, or 38.9 points higher
than a perfectly coupled hypothesis would predict, (table 21.2).
How can we explain such incongruence? First of all, human beings are capable
of making separate and correct judgments about a basket of economic goods
(which may be deteriorating) and a basket of political goods (which may be im-
proving). In fact, in the same survey, in all six countries of East Central Europe
the citizens polled judged that in important areas directly affected by the demo-
cratic political system their life experiences and chances had overwhelmingly im-
proved, even though in the same survey they asserted that their personal house-
hold economic situation had worsened (table 21.3).
We do not believe that such incongruence can last forever; however, it indicates
that, in a radical transformation such as is occurring in East Central Europe, the
deterioration of the economy does not necessarily translate rapidly into erosion
of support for the political system.14 Table 21.2 indicates that the perceived legit-
14. In fact, in a regression model of their data, William Mishler and Richard Rose conclude that "our re-
gression model shows that it takes a four point fall in either current or future economic evaluation to pro-
duce a one point fall in evaluations of the [political] regime." Their major explanation of this result is that
Table 21.3. Incongruent Perceptions of the Economic Basket of Goods versus the Political Basket of
Goods in the Communist System and the Current System: Six East Central European Countries
Percentage of Respondents answering "better now"
versus those answering "worse now"
Question Bulgaria Czech Slovakia Hungary Poland Romania
Economic Basket:
"When you compare your overall 16/58 23/49 18/62 6/76 17/62 21/65
household economic situation with five
years ago, would you say that in the
past it was better, the same, worse?"
Political Basket:
"Please tell me whether our present
political system by comparison with the
Communist is [better, the same or
worse] in the following areas:"
"People can join any organization they 95/5 90/1 88/3 81/2 79/2 94/1
want."
"Everybody is free to say what he or she 90/11 84/3 82/4 73/8 83/4 94/2
thinks."
"People can travel and live wherever they 95/5 96/1 87/2 75/4 75/7 90/2
want."
"People can live without fear of unlawful 88/11 73/4 62/5 59/4 71/5 81/1
arrest."
"Each person can decide whether or not 97/3 84/0 81/1 n/a 69/5 92/1
to take an interest in politics."
"Everybody is free to decide whether or 98/2 94/0 96/1 83/1 70/6 95/1
not to practice a religion."
Source: Same as for figure 21.1, questions 26, 35, 36, 37, 39, 40, 42. Where the percentages do not add up to 100 the
respondents answered "equal."
imacy of the political system has given democratic institutions in East Central
Europe an important degree of insulation from the perceived inefficacy of the
new economic system.15 Indeed, most of the people in East Central Europe in
1993 had a fairly long-time horizon and expressed optimism that by 1998 both the
East Europeans have a fairly long time horizon. See their "Trajectories of Fear and Hope: The Dynamics of
Support for Democracy in Eastern Europe," Studies in Public Policy 214 (1993): 27.
15. Some readers might recall that one of us, in a study of the breakdown of democracies—particularly
in Europe in the interwar years—posed a more direct relationship between efficacy and legitimacy without
data to prove that relationship. In fact, some of the data assembled later showed that the relation was true
only for a few countries, particularly for Germany and Austria, but not for Norway and the Netherlands.
Why the apparent difference today? We would call attention to the presence in the interwar years of alter-
native "legitimate" models for the polity: the Soviet-Communist utopia, the new Fascist Italian and later
German model, the corporatist-authoritarian-catholic "organic" democracy, the prewar bureaucratic-
monarchical authoritarianism, and even (in Spain) the anarchist utopia. They all appealed as alternative
answers for inefficacious democracy. Up to now there are no such appealing alternatives to "difficult
democracies" today. See Juan J. Linz, The Breakdown of Democratic Regimes: Crisis, Breakdown, and Reequi-
¡ibration (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978).
Fig. 21.1. Percentage of People Giving a Positive Rating to the Economic System and to the
Political Regime in the Communist System, the Current System, and in Five Years: Six East Central
European Countries.
Source: Richard Rose and Christian Haerpfer, "New Russia Barometer til," Studies in Public Policy 228 (1994), questions 24
and 34.
performance of the new democracy and the performance of the new economic
system would improve significantly (figure 21.1).
In East Central Europe the evidence is thus strongly in favor of the argument
that deferred gratification and confidence in the future is possible even when
there is an acknowledged lag in economic improvements. Simultaneity of rapid
political and economic results is indeed normally extremely difficult, but fortu-
nately, as figure 21.1 shows, the citizens of East Central Europe did not perceive
such simultaneity as necessary. The overall implication of the tables and figures
presented thus far in this chapter seems to us further evidence of the potential
danger of policies based on thinking that reflects the inverted legitimacy pyramid.
Before turning to the former Soviet Union, we should note briefly two other
factors that help explain the surprisingly high degree of political support for the
new political regime (political regime, not necessarily political incumbents), de-
spite economic hardship. None of the former Warsaw Pact countries of East Cen-
tral Europe (unlike the former USSR) experienced widespread bloodshed over
stateness problems. Also, unlike Russia, there is no ambivalent legacy about the
loss of an empire or the disintegration of the USSR.
How do the non-Baltic countries of the former Soviet Union compare with the
Warsaw Pact countries of East Central Europe on the same set of dimensions con-
cerning satisfaction with the pre- and post-Communist economies and political
systems? Unfortunately, we have data only for Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus, but
the differences are striking, especially in the substantially lower ranking accorded
to current support for the post-Communist political system (figure 21.2).
A panel of outside observers also notes a set of very different patterns within
countries of East Central Europe, in contrast to the former Soviet Union, with re-
spect to their political development. An annual publication of Freedom House
has developed a common method to evaluate political rights and civil liberties for
almost all of the countries of the world.16 Freedom House uses a 7-point scale to
rank countries concerning political rights and a /-point scale to rank political lib-
erties. A score of i indicates the highest rights and liberties and 7 the lowest. For
purposes of our argument about democracy, if a country is ranked no lower than
2 on political rights and no lower than 3 on civil liberties, we will label it as above
the democratic threshold for that year. If a country is given a 4 or lower on polit-
ical rights and/or a 5 or lower on civil liberties, we will consider it as below the
democratic threshold for that year. Countries between the two categories will be
labeled as on the border of the democratic threshold. In short, the lower the num-
ber the better the results for democracy. How does post-Communist Europe rank
on this scale? See table 21.4.
To make table 21.4 a bit more useful for a comparative analysis of post-Com-
munist Europe, let us separate these twenty-six countries into three broad cate-
gories: East Central Europe, the former Soviet Union, and the former Yugoslavia.
Within the former Soviet Union, we will make a further subdivision between
those countries that had been a part of the former Soviet Union since the early
19205 and that are now, with Russia, a part of the Commonwealth of Independent
States, and those countries that became a part of the Soviet Union only after 1940
(Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania) and that refused to join the CIS. The classifica-
tion results are presented in table 21.5.
The implications of the numerous tables and figures we have presented in this
chapter, as well as of the qualitative evaluations made in previous chapters, will
16. We discussed the methodology, sources, and panels utilized in this annual Freedom House publica-
tion in chapter 3, especially notes 4 and 5.
Fig. 21.2. Percentage of People Giving a Positive Rating to the Economic System and to the
Political System in the Communist Regime, the Current Regime, and in Five Years: Russia, Ukraine,
and Belarus.
Source: For Russia see Richard Rose and Christian Haerpfer, "New Russia Barometer III," Studies in Public Policy 228 (1994),
questions 15-17 and 27-29. For Ukraine see Rose and Haerpfer, "New Democracies Barometer III," questions 22-24, 32-34.
The data for Belarus are roughly similar to those for Ukraine. Positive evaluations of the economic system under communism,
in the present, and in five years are 78, 11, and 47, respectively, and positive evaluations for the political systems in these
three periods are 64, 28, and 56, respectively. Sources same as cited for Ukraine.
have to be elaborated and analyzed more fully by the new generation of compar-
ativists conducting research into European post-Communist politics. However,
we can at least note some patterns.
Respondents in the six former Warsaw Pact countries of East Central Europe
gave a mean positive rating of 62 to the post-Communist political system (a rise
of 16 points over the positive rating they gave to the Communist political system).
In sharp contrast, in the three former Soviet Union countries (Russia, Ukraine,
and Belarus), a mean of only 29 gave the post-Communist political system a pos-
Table 21.4. Rating of Twenty-six Countries of Post-Communist Europe on the Freedom House Scale
of Political Rights and Civil Liberties for the Year 1993
Political Civil Democratic Threshold Rating:
Country Rights Liberties "Above," "Below," or "Border"
Armenia 3 4 Border
Azerbaijan 6 6 Below
Belarus 5 4 Below
Bosnia-Herzegovina 6 B Below
Bulgaria 2 2 Above
Croatia 4 4 Below
Czech Republic 1 2 Above
Estonia 3 2 Border
Georgia 5 5 Below
Hungary 1 2 Above
Kazakhstan 6 4 Below
Kyrgyzstan 5 3 Below
Latvia 3 3 Border
Lithuania 1 3 Above
Macedonia 3 3 Border
Maldova 5 5 Below
Poland 2 2 Above
Romania 4 4 Below
Russia 3 4 Border
Slovakia 3 4 Border
Slovenia 1 2 Above
Tajikistan 1 1 Below
Turkmenistan 1 1 Below
Ukraine 4 4 Border
Uzbekistan 1 1 Below
Yugoslavia (Serbia and Montenegro) 6 6 Below
Summary 6 of 26 Above
7 of 26 Border
13 of 26 Below
Source: Raymond D. Gastil, ed., Freedom in the World: Political Rights and Civil Liberties, 1993-1994 (New York: Freedom
House, 1994), 677-678.
itive rating (a decrease of 26 points from those who gave the Communist system
a positive rating).17
Another finding is that none of the twelve CIS countries that had been part of
the Soviet Union were above the minimal threshold of democratic practices, ac-
cording to the 1993 annual Freedom House poll. In fact, three of the twelve coun-
tries (Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan), received the lowest possible
scores of 7 on political rights and 7 on civil liberties.18 In contrast, four of the six
17. Even here we should note a partial confirmation of the loosely coupled hypothesis in that the posi-
tive evaluation of the current post-Communist political system was 18.7 points higher than the evaluation
of the current post-Communist economic system.
18. For the reader to get an idea of how far actual practices are from being democratic in Turkmenistan,
Table 21.5. Comparative Democratic Threshold Rating of Post-Communist Europe: The Countries of
East Central Europe, the Former Soviet Union, and the Former Yugoslavia (1993)
Political Civil Democratic Threshold Rating
Classification Country Rights Liberties ("Above," "Border," or "Below")
East Central Europe Czech Republic 1 2 Above

Hungary 1 2 Above
Poland 2 2 Above
Bulgaria 2 2 Above
Slovakia 3 4 Border
Romania 4 4 Below
Summary 4/6 Above
1/6 Border
1/6 Below
The former Soviet Union Lithuania 1 3 Above
(since the 1940s, not CIS members) Estonia 3 2 Border
Latvia 3 3 Border
Summary 1/3 Above
2/3 Border
0/3 Below
The former Soviet Union Russia 3 4 Border
(since the 1920s, now CIS members) Armenia 3 4 Border
Ukraine 4 4 Border
Kyrgyzstan 5 3 Below
Belarus 5 4 Below
Maldova 5 5 Below
Kazakhstan 6 4 Below
Azerbaijan 6 6 Below
Georgia 6 6 Below
Tajikistan 7 7 Below
Turkmenistan 7 7 Below
Uzbekistan 7 7 Below
Summary 0/12 Above
3/12 Border
9/12 Below
The former Yugoslavia Slovenia 1 2 Above
Macedonia 3 3 Border
Croatia 4 4 Below
Bosnia-Herzegovina 6 B Below
Yugoslavia (Serbia 6 6 Below
and Montenegro)
Summary 1/5 Above
1/5 Border
3/5 Below
Source: Same as Table 21.4 The only country of post-Communist Europe not included is Albania, which did not start its transi-
tion until quite late. It also does not tit easily into any of the three geographical-historical categories utilized in the table. In
our judgment, Albania as of mid-1995 would score "below" the democratic threshold.
East Central European countries were above the threshold. Romania received the
lowest scores of the six former Warsaw Pact countries of East Central Europe,
with 4 on political rights and 4 on civil liberties. Thus, it seems accurate to say that
both the "ceiling" and the "floor" of democratic practices in East Central Europe
were substantially higher in 1993 than in the CIS countries.
We must also note that, in contrast to the six East Central European countries,
economic and political judgments are more tightly coupled in the CIS countries.
There is thus a much lower propensity for deferred gratification in the non-Baltic
parts of the former Soviet Union than in East Central Europe.
What explains such sharp contrasts between East Central Europe and the non-
Baltic countries of the former Soviet Union? Let us begin with the question of de-
ferred gratification. No doubt the pattern of difference is partly due to the ex-
treme severity of the drop in positive economic assessments. (In East Central
Europe the mean positive evaluation only dropped from 60 to 37, whereas the
post-Soviet mean of Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus dropped from 71 to 10.) Timing
and perception of the future were also probably important. According to table 21.1
the worst year in East Central Europe in terms of economic decline was 1991. The
worst year in Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus was 1994, after the poll. The year 1995
will probably be economically somewhat better than 1994, but in late 1993 people
might not have seen any light at the end of the tunnel.
We are almost certain, moreover, that economic historians will eventually doc-
ument the fact that the severity of the stateness problem in the USSR and the sub-
sequent state disintegration and widespread armed conflicts played an indepen-
dent role in objectively deepening economic disarray. The continuation of such
conflicts in 1995 in some CIS countries inevitably also decreased the subjective
confidence as to whether deferred gratification was merited. After all, a politics of
deferred gratification is rational only if some signs of potential gratification can
be discerned. In a context of very weak and contested states, the confidence in the
future that was an important ingredient reinforcing the "politics of deferred grat-
Tajikistan, and Uzbekistan, we can say that they are significantly less pluralistic in regard to democratic op-
positional electoral activity than in rump Yugoslavia (see the evidence for a degree of pluralism in Yu-
goslavia we supplied in note i of this chapter). In contrast to rump Yugoslavia, where the opposition pres-
idential candidate received 43 percent of the vote in December 1992, open democratic contestation in
Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, and Uzbekistan was de facto insignificant in 1994. According to the Economist's
useful political synopsis of the twelve members of the Commonwealth of Independent States, Turk-
menistan is described as a "one-party state. All members of the parliament, elected in December 1994, were
unopposed. In February 1994, 99.99% voted to extend [President] Saparmurat Niyazov's term of office
until 1999. Only 212 Turkmen voted No, officially." The Economist summarizes politics in Uzbekistan thus:
"Main opposition parties banned; media under state control. Ruling party won over 80% of seats in par-
liamentary elections in December 1994; 99.96% of the electorate voted on March 26, [1995] to extend [Pres-
ident] Islam Karimov's term of office until 2000." The Economist notes of Tajikistan: "Imamali Rakhmonov
confirmed as president last November [1994] in an election at which most opposition parties were banned.
Widespread vote-rigging alleged." See "Less Poor, Less Democratic," Economist, April 22-28, 1995, 48.
Clearly, no serious theorist should consider that the above three countries are involved in any form of a
democratic transition. They are all clear cases of the mere "electoralism" we discussed in chapter i.
ification" in East Central Europe was understandably weaker in the former Soviet
Union and in much of the former Yugoslavia. To be sure, Czechoslovakia had a
stateness problem, but because of the orderly and reasonably well-planned velvet
divorce, no armed violence was involved and no significant economic downturn
occurred in either the Czech Republic or Slovakia.19
Stateness problems and not just economic problems critically affect demo-
cratic outcomes. This becomes clear when we note that, of the twenty-two inde-
pendent countries that emerged out of the disintegration of the former Soviet
Union and the former Yugoslavia, only two—Lithuania and Slovenia—are above
the democratic threshold rating (see table 21.5). Both of these countries are ex-
ceptions that prove the rule concerning the importance of stateness problems for
democratization. As we stressed in the last chapter, Lithuania's economy is not as
robust as that of Estonia, but Lithuania was the only Baltic country to grant in-
clusive citizenship to all residents, whether they were ethnic Baits or not. This pol-
icy has enabled Lithuania to manage its potential stateness problem in a more
democratic fashion than Latvia or Estonia and, thus, Lithuania has, correctly, re-
ceived a higher score for "political rights" than has Latvia or Estonia.
Of the five countries in the former Yugoslavia, Slovenia is the only country not
to have a significant stateness problem. Slovenia does not have a significant ethnic
minority population, so it has not been embroiled in actual or potential conflicts
over a Serbian (or Albanian) irredenta of the sort that have occurred in Croatia,
Bosnia-Herzegovenia, and rump Yugoslavia, where armed conflicts have contrib-
uted to widespread curtailment of political rights and civil liberties. Macedonia,
more than Slovenia, has potentially severe stateness problems (with Albania and
Serbia and even Bulgaria and Greece), and this has contributed to its less-than-
inclusive citizenship and language policies.
Another factor that has no doubt contributed to greater support for the post-
Communist regimes in East Central Europe (in contrast to Russia and to some
extent Belarus) is that Russian citizens may be happy to be independent but feel
nonetheless a sense of geopolitical loss and anger about the way the USSR disin-
tegrated. Among other things, the disintegration of the USSR has left twenty-five
million Russians as often beleaguered and sometimes stateless minorities in other
countries. Also, unlike the citizens of the Czech Republic, who believe that the
velvet divorce improved Czech standards of living, the Russians are convinced
that the dissolution of the USSR contributed to the decline of their standard of
living (table 21.6).
We can infer that, in contrast to Russian citizens' sense of geopolitical loss over
1991, the citizens of the "outer empire" in countries like Poland no doubt feel a
19. In fact, positive GNP growth in the Czech Republic was projected to be 3 percent and 6 percent for
1994 and 1995 and to be 3.5 percent and 3 percent for Slovakia. In contrast, for the same years the Russian
figures were -15 percent and -7 percent and the Ukrainian figures were -23 percent and -5 percent. See
table 21.1
Table 21.6. Russian Attitudes in 1994 about the Dissolution of the USSR in 1991
% at Age:
Question 18-29 30-59 60+ Total
"In December 1991 leaders of Russia, Belorussia and the

Ukraine decided to dissolve the USSR and found the CIS.
What do you think of that now?"
It was the right decision. 16 12 8 12
It was the wrong decision. 57 70 75 68
Difficult to answer. 28 18 17 20
"How has the disintegration of the USSR
affected Russian living standards?"
for better 5 4 3 4
For worse. 68 76 83 76
No change. 11 8 5 8
Difficult to answer. 16 12 9 12
Source: Rose and Haerfper, "New Russian Barometer III," questions 57-59. We believe a similar phenomenon is at work in
Belarus as in Russia. The only deputy in the Belarus parliament to vote against independence, Aleksandr Lukashenko, was
elected president in 1994. In May 1995 he sponsored a referendum in which he argued, "If people call for it, we will also
have a political union that is even closer than the Soviet Union was. For the moment I am talking about economic union." See
Matthew Kaminski, "Belarussians Seek the Future in the Past," Financial Times (May 17, 19951, 3. Lukashenko won support for
all questions on the referendum. In the same article the Financial Times correspondent noted that "over three-quarters of
Belarussian voters in a national referendum chose to bring back Soviet-era national insignia, make Russian the state language,
and support economic integration with Russia."
sense of geopolitical gain due to the events of 1989. This is one of the reasons why
citizens in Poland had a much stronger preference for the present political system
than do those in Russia and thus more willingly accepted the politics of deferred
gratification (table 21.7).
We do not want to overstress the preference for the old system in Russia, how-
ever. Many people in Spain believe that they lived better under Franco but would
not like to return to that political system. The key question in politics is the de-
sired future alternative. Russians, in fact, see the political basket of goods we re-
viewed in table 21.2 as better under the new political system, but they feel this by
a smaller margin than do respondents in East Central Europe.20 Thus, despite
their sense of ambivalence and loss concerning the dissolution of the USSR, only
a small percentage say that they would like to return to Communism and an even
smaller percentage prefer military rule as a desired future alternative (table 21.8).
Other important explanatory factors for democratization differences in post-
Communist Europe for future researchers to explore are, of course, those related
20. For example, the better/worse ratio concerning freedom to travel was 95/5 in the Czech Republic,
75/7 in Poland, and only 41/28 in Russia. The better/worse ratio for freedom from unlawful arrest was 73/4
in the Czech Republic, 71/5 in Poland, and only 23/15 in Russia. We believe these results, among other things,
accurately reflect the stresses for individuals due to the continuing stateness crisis in Russia that we dis-
cussed in chapter 19. Data are from table 21.2 in this chapter and Rose and Haerpfer, "New Russia Barome-
ter III," questions 3oc and 306.
Table 21.7. Preferences for Old and New Political Systems in Russia and Poland in January-
February 1992
% at Age:
% Preferring Present
Preference To 29 30-59 Over 60 Total System over Old System
In Russia
Present system better 43 39 21 36 -18
Old system better 45 52 71 54
Don't know 12 9 8 10
In Poland
Present system better 74 +51
Old system better 23
Don't know 3
Source: Irma Bolva and Viacheslav Shlronin, "Russians between State and Market," Studies in Public Policy 205 (1992): 19-22.
Table 21.8. Russian Attitudes toward Restoring the former Communist System: April 1994
% Response at Age:
agreement with Statement it would be better
to restore the former communist system." To 29 30-59 60+ Total
Completely agree 5 8 18 9
Generally agree 8 14 19 14
Generally disagree 30 29 23 28
Completely disagree 41 36 22 34
Difficult to answer 16 13 19 15
Source: Rose and Haerfpfer, "New Russia Barometer III," question 31 a. In the same poll, only 3% competely agreed and only
7% generally agreed with the statement that "the army should rule." Question 31b. The army is thus clearly not a desired
alternative.
to time, prior regime types, and the presence or absence of a usable democratic
legacy. The USSR lasted for about seventy-five years, during much of which total-
itarian practices predominated. East Central Europe was a part of the Soviet sub-
system for only forty years. In Poland for much of this period, authoritarian, not
totalitarian, political realities predominated. In Hungary, mature post-totalitari-
anism evolved. Finally, pre-Communist history must be analyzed comparatively.
Czechoslovakia, for example, was democratic from independence in 1919 until the
Nazi interventions of 1938. There is virtually no such usable pre-Communist dem-
ocratic past in the non-Baltic countries of the former Soviet Union. This does not
mean that democracy is impossible in these countries; it does mean, however, that
there will be longer and more perilous journeys toward constitutionalism and state
reconstruction before democracy becomes, if ever, the only game in town.
The astute reader has no doubt noted that we have not built religion into our
explanation of the comparatively weaker progress toward democratization in the
CIS countries and the former Yugoslavia. We have not done so for two reasons.
First, it is becoming increasingly popular among analysts to make certain religions,

by themselves (e.g., Orthodox Christianity, Islam, or Confucianism) a major ex-
planation for difficulties in democratization in many parts of the world.21 The
factors we have mentioned in this chapter, in themselves, are sufficient to explain
the sharply different results of democratization in the non-Baltic countries of the
former Soviet Union versus East Central Europe. Second, in an excursus on com-
parative religion, resistance, and civil society in chapter 16, we have already ad-
vanced the argument that religions differ in the range of their autonomously con-
trolled resources and their relationship to the state. We noted that Roman
Catholicism as a transnational, hierarchical organization can potentially provide
material and doctrinal support to a local Catholic church to help it resist state op-
pression. To the extent that a Catholic church might resist the state, it could be
considered a support for a more robust and autonomous civil society. Empiri-
cally, in the resistance stage of democratization we analyze in this book, the
Catholic church played a supportive role in Poland and Lithuania, as well as in
Chile and Brazil and in the last years of Franco in Spain. Protestantism, with its
emphasis on individual conscience and its international networks, can also play a
role in supporting civil society's opposition to a repressive state, as in East Ger-
many and Estonia. Concerning civil society and resistance to the state, Orthodox
Christianity is often (not always) organizationally and doctrinally in a relatively
weak position because of what Max Weber called its "caesaropapist" structure, in
which the church is a national as opposed to an transnational organization. In
caesaropapist churches, the national state normally plays a major role in the na-
tional church's finances and appointments. Such a national church is not really
a relatively autonomous part of civil society because there is a high degree, in
Weber's words, of "subordination of priestly to secular power."22 Having ac-
knowledged this, we do not believe that Orthodox Christianity is an inherently
antidemocratic force. That is to say, if the leaders of the state are committed to de-
mocracy and follow democratic practices, the caesaropapist structures and in-
centives should lead to loyal support of democracy by the Orthodox Christian
church, as in Greece since 1975. However, if the leaders of the state and political
society are antidemocratic, the democratic opposition in civil society will not
normally receive substantial or effective support from a national Orthodox
church. We hope to develop our thinking on the role of the world's religions and
democracy in a future project.23
21. For an argument concerning the tension or even hostility between Orthodoxy, Confucianism, Islam,
and democracy, see Samuel P. Huntington, "The Clash of Civilization," Foreign Affairs 72, no. 3 (1993):
22-49. Also see his The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century (Norman: University of
Oklahoma Press, 1991), 298-311.
22. For Max Weber's discussion of caesaropapism, see his Economy and Society, Guenther Roth and
Claus Wittich, eds. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), 2:1159-63, quote from 2:1161.
23. Islam (unlike Confucianism) is an important value system in parts of post-Communist Europe. A
complete argument concerning Islam would have to be much more complex than our argument concern-
DEMOCRACY AND THE R E T U R N OF C O M M U N I S M
Some interpreters have seen the "return of Communists" to power in Poland,

Hungary, and Lithuania—countries that played a vanguard role in democratic
transitions—as proof that economics and politics are so tightly linked that eco-
nomic decline means democratic decline. For countries where there has been at
least one legitimate victory by democratic electoral forces (and in many countries
there has never been such a victory), we believe a more nuanced judgment is ap-
propriate.
By the definitions of democracy we have advanced in this book, the return
to power of reformed Communist Party-led coalitions in Lithuania in 1992, in
Poland in 1993, and in Hungary in 1994, while a setback for some policies that
were deepening democracy (such as local government reform in Poland) was not
in itself an example of nondemocratic regime change. We say this because, by
almost all reliable accounts as of this writing (July 1995), the reform Communist
coalitions accepted the democratic rules of the game in how they contested the
election and later in how they ruled. Also, very importantly, they were accepted as
legitimate victors and rulers by the parties they defeated. In this sense there was
not a regime change away from democracy as political scientists normally use the
term. Strictly speaking, in comparative terms, the Lithuanian, Polish, and Hun-
garian elections represented a peaceful democratic alternation of power.
From a long historical perspective, it may even turn out that these elections ac-
tually strengthened democracy in Lithuania, Poland, and Hungary in one im-
portant respect. They indicated to victors and losers alike that democracy was
becoming the only game in town. In fact, precisely because democracy was per-
ceived in 1992-94 as the only game in town, the reformed Communists in Lithua-
nia, Poland, and Hungary were extremely eager to demonstrate that they would
govern as democratic parties. Their calculation was that, by so governing, they
would be perceived, when they in turn were out of office, as part of the loyal dem-
ocratic opposition and thus as a legitimate alternative government.24 To make
this point they are holding themselves in some respects to somewhat higher stan-
¡ng Orthodox Christianity. However, we note that the West's fear of fundamentalism has frequently con-
tributed to its shoring up of and even legitimating antidemocratic governments or movements that are
seen as bulwarks against the spread of fundamentalism. This is so even when the Islamic parties were
elected democratically and had not violated democratic practices. Nowhere was this clearer than in the
West's implicit and even explicit endorsement of the military coup in Algeria after Islamic forces had won
the first electoral round in 1991. Thus, for geopolitical reasons, authoritarian governments in the former So-
viet Union that share borders with Iran and/or Afghanistan (e.g., Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, and Tajik-
istan) are to some extent treated by Western policy makers and commentators with a democratic "double
standard."
24. This point was stressed in a conversation between Alfred Stepan and Jerzy Wiatr, who chairs an im-
portant congressional committee for the former Communists in the Polish parliament. Wiatr stressed that
"the most important thing we should accomplish in our government is that we prove we are a legitimate
democratic alternative." Conversation in Warsaw, November 5,1993.
dards of civil liberties than did their predecessors in Hungary and Lithuania, who
occasionally violated civil liberties in the name of their nationalist and anti-Com-
munist "mandates." For example, the reform Communists in Hungary are in
coalition with the liberal Free Democrats and the coalition's overall policy toward
the media has been less flawed than that of the first democratically elected gov-
ernment. In Lithuania, the leader of nationalist independence, Vytautas Lands-
bergis, pursued his anti-Communist nationalism to such an extent that Anatol
Lieven, in his excellent book, referred to him as a "backward-looking, religious-
colored nationalist... [who] left the nation more divided than when he became
its leader."25 His reform Communist successor, Algirdas Brazauskas, has paid
somewhat more attention to providing a "political roof" of individual rights to all
citizens and pursuing a politics of inclusion.
Conceptually and politically, what does the phrase "the return of Commu-
nists" to power mean and not mean in Central Europe in the mid-1990s? In the
full sense of the word, a Communist regime in Central Europe before 1989, even
in mature post-totalitarian Hungary or authoritarian Poland, meant a powerful,
dependent alliance with a nondemocratic hegemonic world power. In the mid-
1990s there is no such alliance, and Russia is not a hegemonic world power. In this
new geopolitical context, the reform Communists' best chance for power is to
present themselves as—and to be—"social democrats."26 Even if some of the re-
formed Communists might not actually have undergone profound changes in
their mentality (and many, of course, have not), the external reality to which the
reform Communists must respond has changed profoundly. As long as democ-
racy is the only game in town, the incentive structure of those who seek govern-
mental power is derived from the democratic context.
Finally, since voters play a crucial role in weighting the incentive system, what
25. Anatol Lieven, The Baltic Revolution: Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania and the Path to Independence. (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 1993), 274.
2.6. In 1989-90 the social democratic political space in post-Communist Europe was not effectively oc-
cupied in elections. The historic social democrats were too tarnished and too weak and the neoliberal dis-
course was too hegemonic. In 1992-94, some reformed Communist parties who were out of power partially
restructured themselves to fill this space as the reaction to neoliberalism set in. Also, with the collapse of
Communism, the Socialist International sought new allies in post-Communist Europe. The reform Com-
munist parties could gain Socialist International certification and support only if in fact they ruled as dem-
ocrats. In December 1994, the Council of the Socialist International, meeting in Budapest, recommended
that the reform Communist party in Hungary, the Hungarian Socialist Party, be admitted as a full member
of the Socialist International. For an astute analysis of the political and structural reasons for the social
democratic turn, while out of office, of the Hungarian and Polish post-Communist parties, see Michael
Waller, "The Adaptation of the Former Communist Parties of East-Central Europe: A Case of Social De-
mocratization?" (paper prepared for a conference on Political Representation: Parties and Parliamentary
Democracy, Central European University, Budapest, June 16-17,1995)- At the same Central European Uni-
versity conference, the president of the Lithuanian Political Science Association, Algis Krupavicius, wrote
that, for the Lithuanian post-Communist party that came to power in 1992 (the Democratic Labour Party),
"the period in opposition was an extremely favorable opportunity to renew their membership [which
dropped from 200,000 in 1989 to 8,000 in 1995], organizational structures, and ideological identity." The
quotation is from his conference paper, "Post-Communist Transformation and Political Parties," 12-13.
did they actually want? Did they actually want a return to Communism?27 The
Polish voters, two months after the elections that had supposedly "returned" the
former Communists to power, believed, correctly in our judgment, that they had
not actually returned the old Communists to power. Polish respondents recog-
nized the fundamental discontinuity in global and national power relations be-
tween 1988 and 1993. To the question, "Does the formation of the SLD-PSL [the
reform Communist Party and their old Peasant Party ally] government coalition
signify the return to power of persons who ruled prior to 1989?", 63 percent an-
swered "no," 13 percent said "difficult to say," and only 24 percent of the popula-
tion answered "yes."28 We believe this answer is geopolitically, politically, and his-
torically correct. An observation from the Spanish case may clarify our reasoning.
If sometime in the 19905—as seems probable—the Partido Popular, a party that
is perceived by a segment of the electorate as representing a continuity with the
right wing that governed with Franco, wins control of the government after an
election, their victory in the changed Spanish environment would not signify a
"return to francoism" as much as an alternation in power, in which a modern
democratic conservative party has won the election with a mandate to rule dem-
ocratically.29
While we are happy to end this book on a somewhat optimistic note concern-
ing the future of democracy in East Central Europe, we want to insist again that
27. In both Poland and Hungary, as we have already discussed, the electoral laws resulted in the reform
Communist parties or coalition receiving many more seats than votes. Seats therefore were not a solid in-
dicator of voters' intentions. In Poland in 1993,35.8 percent of the votes for the reformed Communists and
their coalitional peasant allies yielded 65.8 percent of the seats. In Hungary in 1994, the reform Communist
party, the Hungarian Socialist Party, received 33 percent of the vote in the first round but an absolute ma-
jority of seats after the second round.
28. Poll published by the Polish Public Opinion Service, Centrum Badania Opinii Spolecznej, in No-
vember 1993, p. i. Moreover, in late 1993 and early 1994, when a random sample of the population in Poland
and Hungary was asked to comment on the statement, "We should return to Communist rule," 47 percent
of those polled in Poland "strongly disagreed" and 35 percent "somewhat disagreed" with this statement.
The sum total of respondents in Hungary who disagreed was an identical 82 percent. See Rose and
Haerpfer, "New Democracies Barometer III," question 43. The highest percentage of respondents in East
Central Europe who "strongly agreed" with the statement was in Bulgaria, with 9 percent. The next high-
est was Romania, with 4 percent.
29. For many readers the November 1995 victory in Poland of a former communist party leader, Alek-
sander Kwasniewski, in the second round of the presidential elections might seem a more clear victory for
communism. From the viewpoint of democratic consolidation, the two most important questions for
Poland's future are: i) Will the post-communists (who as a result of the 1993 and 1995 elections had a two-
thirds majority in the parliament and controlled the presidency) rule democratically? and 2) Will the anti-
communist forces accept the legitimacy of the free election results? While not happy with the November
1995 elections, Timothy Carton Ash was more worried about the second question than the first: "Morally,
as well as aesthetically, the triumph of the post-communists in Poland is deeply distasteful, but is it dan-
gerous? Not, I believe, so far as their aims and policies are concerned... Kwasniewski and his friends want
desperately to be seen not as eastern post-communists but as regular western social democrats." Concern-
ing the second question, Carton Ash cites a number of post-election declarations by the Polish episcopate
and Lech Walesa and concludes that the greatest danger in Poland is "a large right-wing extraparliamentary
movement around Lech Walesa, supported by the Church and Solidarity, and simply not accepting Presi-
dent Kwasniewski as the legitimate head of Poland's Third Republic." See Timothy Carton Ash, " 'Neo-
Pagan' Poland", New York Review of Books (January n, 1996), 10-14, quotes from 12 and 14.
we do not embrace a geopolitical or philosophical perspective of democratic im-

manence. It is probable that in some of the countries we have analyzed democ-
racy will never be consolidated. In other countries democracy might become con-
solidated but will eventually break down. We also unhappily acknowledge that
some countries will consolidate democracy but will never deepen democracy in
the spheres of gender equality, access to critical social services, inclusive citizen-
ship, respect for human rights, and freedom of information. They might, indeed,
occasionally violate human rights.
All serious democratic thinkers and activists are now also aware that the much
vaunted democratic Third Wave has already produced some dangerous under-
tows, not only in post-Communist Europe but also in Western Europe.30 In the
United States, influential ideologues of liberty are at times too simplistic and
mean spirited for a healthy democratic polity. In this context democratic tri-
umphalism is not only uncalled for but dangerous. Democratic institutions have
to be not only created but crafted, nurtured, and developed. We think that we have
made abundantly clear that to create an economic society supportive of democ-
racy requires more than just markets and private property. It is time to prob-
lematize and transcend "illiberal liberalism" and also to theorize and socially con-
struct integrative identity politics, as opposed to endlessly fragmenting identity
politics. Further, to argue that democracy is better than any other form of gov-
ernment once alternatives have been in crisis is not sufficient. Democracy has to
be defended on its own merits. Clearly, more research should also be devoted to
learning about the great variety of democratic regimes that actually exist in the
world. Most important, new political projects, as well as research endeavors, must
be devoted to improving the quality of consolidated democracies.
30. Three excellent articles in a special issue of Daedalus called "After Communism: What?" (Summer
1994) are devoted to the unexpected crisis Western and Eastern European democrats began to experience
after they had lost their legitimating enemy or "other" after the collapse of Communism. Many problems
that had long been deferred or denied came on the agenda. For this new and challenging "paradigm lost"
situation, see Tony Judt, "Nineteen Eighty-Nine: The End of Which European Era," 1-20; Elemér Hankiss,
"European Paradigms: East and West, 1945-1994," 115-26; and István Rev, "The Postmortem Victory of
Communism," 157-70. Claus Offe, Der Tunnel am Ende des Lichts: Erkundungen der politischen Transforma-
tion im Neuen Osten ( Frankfurt: Campus Verlag, 1994) throughout the book, and particularly in chapter 10,
raises similar questions.
Index
Abkhaz Autonomous Republic, 384 environment, 83; constitutionalism, 201; con-

Academy of Science systems, 246 stitutional revision, 202,203,220; contrast
accountability to parliament, 106 with Brazil, Chile, and Uruguay, 190,193; con-
Ackerman, Bruce, 82 n trast with Greece and Portugal, 191-93; debt
actor-centered variables, 66 crisis, 166,195,219; as "delegated democracy,"
Acuña, Carlos, 193 n, 194 n, 198 n 203,220,396; economic society, 201; elections,
Afghanistan, 437 190,192,196,199,203; hierarchical military
Africa, "one-party" states in, 76 in, 70,190-92; human rights violations, 193,
agency, 92 194,225,252; hyperinflation, 194,196; ideol-
Agüero, Felipe, no, 122,193 ogy, 190; "impossible game," 196-200; inter-
Aguilar Fernández, Paloma, 88 temporal incentives, 200; intramilitary divi-
Albania, xvii n sions, 191-94; invasion of Malvinas, 190,191,
Alfonsín, Raúl, xvi n, 150,192-96,199,201,220 198; military as institution, 193,194; military
Algeria, 266 autonomy, 224; military defeat, 191; military
Alivizatos, Nikos, 134 trials, 193,194; military uprisings, 194,213;
Allamand, Andrés, 215,216 n neoliberal policies, 198; parties as movements,
Alliance of Free Democrats, 302,311 199,200; Peronism in, 77; political economy
Almond, Gabriel, 41 n of legitimacy, 195-97,203,204; political par-
Almond, Mark, 348 n ties, 183,192,193,196-200,202; political soci-
Alvarez, Mike, 181 n ety, 191,201; politicization of Supreme Court,
Aylwin, Patricio, 206-9, 21o n, 211; popularity 201; presidentialism, 195,220,396; privatiza-
of, 214, 215, 217, 218; response to military tion, 185; quality of democracy, 200-204;
prerogatives, 213 question of "collapse," 191,192; rule of law,
Americas Watch, xiii n 201-3,225; stabilization, 90 n, 193; strikes, 193,
Amin, Idi, 355 195; trade unions, 193,195,196-200; violence,
Anderson, Benedict, 22,24 190,193,198
Andorka, Rudof, 297 n Arias Navarro, Carlos, 93 n, 94
Andrés Pérez, Carlos, 204 n Armed Forces Movement (MFA), 116,119,120,
Andropov, Yuri, 376 123
Antall, Jozsef, 312 armed revolt, 70; initiation of transition by, 71
antipolitics, 10 n; in Brazil, 170; in Bulgaria, 340, Armenia: boycott of Gorbachev's referendum,
343; in Czechoslovakia, 316,331; in Poland, 385; and the CIS, 390 n; clan politics in, 387;
272-75 irredenta, 26
Antonescu, General Ion, 363 n Amagada, Genaro, 216 n
Arafat, Yasir, 26 n Astori, Danilo, 158
Arato, Andrew, 9 n, 301,314 Attatürk (Mustafa Kemal), 50
Argentina, xvi, 25,68 n, 150,205; absence of attitudes toward democracy, 220-30; alienated
pact, 193; attitudes toward democracy, 194, respondents, 227; authoritarian respondents,
221-30; avoidance of interim government, 226; confident democrats, 227; critical demo-
192; bourgeoisie, 196-98; citizenship, 201; crats, 230; democratic respondents, 226; in
civil society, 191,201; constitution-making Argentina, 221-30; in Brazil, 169,173-79,221~
46o Index
attitudes toward democracy (continued) Battle, Jorge, 154 n, 164

30; in Chile, 214, 215,221-30; in Greece, 135, Belgium, multinational state-building in, 23
136; in Poland, 284-86; in Portugal, 125,144- Belorussia (Belarus): attitudes toward economic
46; in South America, 221-30; in Southern and political systems, 445-53; and Catholic
Europe, 142,143; in Spain, 99,144-46; in Uru- Church, 246; and the CIS, 390 n; former Com-
guay, 160,161, 219-28; satisfied democrats, munists in, 387; sovereignty from USSR, 379
227; worried democrats, 227 Bendix, Reinhard, 179 n
Austria: attempt to merge with Germany, 21 n, Bentley, Arthur, 41
26; breakdown of democracy in, 80; efficacy- Berman, Jakub, 258
legitimacy relationship in, 443 n; as parlimen- "Bermuda Triangle," 283-85
tary system, 278 Beron, Petar, 341 n
Austro-Hungarian empire, 29,74 Beszélo, 300
authoritarian communism, 255 Bethell, Nicholas, 257 n
authoritarian constitutional monarchy, 75 Bialer, Seweryn, 370 n
authoritarian regimes: contrast with post- Bierut, Boleslaw, 258
totalitarianism, 327; co-optation of non- Bignone, Reynaldo, 192
regime elites, 49; definition of, 38; divisions Bingen, Dieter, 261 n
within, 71; human rights abuses in, 252; ide- Bismarck, Otto von, 23
ology in, 48; leadership in, 46,47; mobiliza- Blanco Party, 154,156—58,165 n
tion in, 49; as modal category of regime type, blandos, 296
39; in Poland, 41, 232, 254-61,337, 452; role of Bokassa, Jean-Bedel, 49,347, 355
military in, 64, 65; Spain as authoritarian Bolivia, xv
regime, 110-12; spontaneous actions in, 111; Borja, Celio, 177 n
stateness problem in, 27; transition paths, Bosnia-Herzegovina: ethnic-cleansing in, 35;
55,56 Serbian irredenta in, 450
Aves, Jonathan, 388 Botez, Mihail, 351
Azerbaijan, 385; and the CIS, 390 n; interethnic Bradley, John F. N., 327
clashes in, 366; regime reconstitution in, 387 Bratton, Michael, 66 n
Aznar, José María, 104 Brazauskas, Algirdas, 408,455 n
Brazil, xvi, 10 n, 11, 25,150, 205,398 n; abertura,
"backward legitimation," 91, 92 168; absence of stateness problem, 166; atti-
Balcerowicz, Leszek, 268—69 tudes toward democracy, 167,171-77,221-30;
Baltic countries: assimilation in, 410-14, 418, authoritarian prior regime type, 166; avail-
423,424; attitudes toward past and future, ability of "Spanish model," 117; citizenship,
419—23; citizenship policies, 410—14, 422-24; !67, 175,187; civil society in, 7,167,168,170,
Communist parties, 407-9; contrast with 171,178,179,187; completion of transition,
CIS, 427,428; demographic change, 403-6; 168; Constituent Assembly, 169,184,222; con-
elections, 407-9; exit option, 424; integration stitution-making environment, 85,169, 221;
into USSR, 402-6; irredenta in, 424-28; lan- constitutionalism, 167; contrast with Greece,
guage policy, 413, 418; nation-state discourse, 130; corporatism, 77; debt crisis, 166,219;
414-18; 1989 elections in USSR, 379; opposi- denial of political rights, 28; difficult consol-
tion to Gorbachev reforms, 407; political idation, 166,172,187; Diretas Ja, 168; economic
identities of Russians in, 410-14,417,418; society, 178,187; efficacy, 167; elections, 168,
political parties, 407-9; Popular Fronts, 407-9; 172; federalism, 166 n, 189; hierarchical mili-
Russophone Communists, 407; secession tary, 166-69; income distribution, 166,187;
from USSR, 367 n; state- and nation-building, legislative-executive conflict, 171; length of
428—33; transition to democracy and indepen- transition, 168; liberalization, 167,168, 207;
dence, 407-10; treaty with Russia, 409; work- military-as-institution, 168; military auton-
ing class migrants in, 412,413,418 omy, 169, 224; "pacted transition" in, 66;
Barraclough, Geoffry, 20 n party indiscipline, 184 n; political economy
Basque nationalism, 17, 28,98-108 of legitimacy, 166,167,172-74; political econ-
Batista, Fulgencio, 357 omy of prosperity in, 80; political parties,
Index 461
167,168,170,180-85,189; political society, 167, bachev reforms, 242,243; role of democratic

168,170,171,174,178,180,187; presidentialism, opposition, 335-37,339; Round Table talks,
169-71,180,181-84,220,396; privatization 295,338,340; Ruse Support Committee, 335,
strategy, 185; proportional representation, 336; semi-presidentialism in, 342; Stalinism
183-85; "regime concession and societal con- in, 336; trade unions, 336,337; Turkish minor-
quest," 168; role of Catholic church, 455; rule ity in, 342; Union of Democratic Forces,
of law, 167,174,178—80,187,189; security 339-41
community, 168; stabilization, 92 n; 167 n, 170, Burckhardt, J., 20 n
180,189; "state-shrinking," 185—87; usable bureaucratic authoritarian regimes, 77,151,197
state, 174-78,185,186; violence, 175-77 bureaucratic politics, 41
breakdown of democracy: in Austria, 80; in con-
solidated democracies, 6; in Estonia, 403; in Caetano, Marcello, 118 n, 125 n, 128, 250 n
Germany, 80; in Latvia, 403; in Lithuania, 403 Campeanu, Pavel, 348 n, 363 n
Bremmer, Ian, 389 Campos, Roberto, 170
Bresser Pereira, Luis Carlos, 167 n carapintadas, 194
Brezhnev Doctrine, 236,243,302 Cárdenas, Lázaro, 195
Brezhnev, Leonid, 48,370,378; detotalitarian- Cardoso, Fernando Henrique, xx, 168 n, 188,189
ization-by-decay under, 376 Carothers, Thomas, 4 n
British Caribbean, xvi, 24 Carrero Blanco, Luis, 107
British Empire, democratization in, 73 Carrilho, Maria, 118 n
Brown, Archie, 41 n, 374,393 n, 398 n Carrillo, Santiago, 94, 96, 97
Brubaker, Rogers, 25, 26, 401 n, 402 n Carter, Jimmy, 74
Brudny, Yitzhak M., 395 Catalonia: linguistic policy, 30, migrants in, 32;
Bruneau, Thomas, 124,125 n, 129 nationalism in, 17,28; political identities in, 35
Bruszt, László, 283,306,307 n, 308 n, 314 n Catholicism as rival ideology, 77
Buarque de Holanda, Chico, 177 n Catterberg, Edgardo, 194 n, 203 n
Bujak, Zbigniew, 266 n Cavallo, Domingo, 196
Bulgaria, xvi, 25, m, 235; antipolitics, 340,343; Cavour, Count Gamillo Benso di, 23
attitudes toward Parliament, 343; attitudes Ceausescu, Elena, 347,349,350,359
toward political and economic systems, 444; Ceausescu, Florea, 350
attitudes toward Revolution, 340 n; Bulgarian Ceausescu, Hie, 350
Socialist Party, 339-42; Catholic Church in, Ceausescu, loan, 350
246; civil society, 335, 337,340, 342,343; Com- Ceausescu, Nicolae, 49, 66 n, 233,345,346;
munist Party, 295,335—39; constitution-mak- ideology of, 354,355, 364; impact on political
ing environment, 341; continuity with past, society, 362; "judicial murder" of, 359; mobi-
340; contrast to Hungary and Czechoslova- lization under, 355, 356; rise to power, 347—49;
kia, 335,339; "Dark Blues," 341; democratic sultanistic leadership style of, 350,351; vio-
consolidation, 343; democratic "overperfbr- lence of regime termination, 357,358
mance" in, 342; democratization in interwar Ceausescu, Nicu, 350
period, 76 n; as early post-totalitarian regime, "Cenaclul de Luni," 353
233, 294. 295, 329. 333> 343! economic society, Center Alliance, 273, 281
343 n; elections in, 331,339-42; intellectual Central African Republic, 49,347
capital in, 343; liberalization in, 338,339; Central Asian republics: post-Soviet govern-
"Light Blues," 341; "lustration" problems in, ments in, 389; republic-level elections in, 382
251 n; palace coup in, 336; parliamentarism, "centrifugal polarization," 156
342; perception of the USSR, 338,339; person- "certain institutions of uncertain outcomes," 308
alization of dictatorship, 339; pluralism, 335— Chamorro, Violeta, 211 n
37; "police informers," 341; political parties, Charter 77,294,319-21; in Czechoslovakia, 319,
247, 341,343; political society, 340,343; pro- 321, 337
portional representation, 342; as regime- Chechnya, 366, 428, 437
controlled transition, 295,333,336,339; re- Chehabi, H. E., 42 n, 66 n
gime reconstitution, 254; response to Gor- Chernenko, Konstantin 374
402 Index
Chile, xvi, n, 25, 68 n, 147; absence of "delegative civilian-led regimes, 68

democracy," 213; anti-Pinochet opposition, civil-military relations, no
363; appointment of Senators, 207-8; attitudes civil society, 7-9,14, 55; in Argentina, 191, 201; in
toward democracy, 214,215,221-30; authori- Brazil, 7,167,168,170,171,178,179,187; in Bul-
tarian constitution, 206-11,213,217, 218,220; garia, 335,337,340,342,343; in Chile, 205, 212;
"authoritarian enclaves," 210,211; Catholic in Czechoslovakia, 327,337; democratic op-
Church in, 455; civil society, 205,212; "Concer- position in, 43; effect of "nationalizing poli-
tación," 207,208,212,216,217; consociational cies" on, 35; in Greece, 130,131; in Hungary,
features, 217 n; constitution-making environ- 300-304,310,316-18; initiation of transition
ment, 82,206; constrained transition, 206-12, by, 71; under interim government, 71, 72; in
223; continuity of military leadership, 208; Poland, 7, 232, 237,245-47, 256, 258, 261-64,
contrast with Chile and Nicaragua, 211 n; 270-74; in post-Communist Europe, 245-47;
contrast with Greece, 130; debt crisis, 166; religion and, 245-46, 453; in Romania, 346,
"disloyal" transfer of power, 206-10; eco- 351-53,362,364,365; in Spain, 111,115; in
nomic performance, 209,220; elections, Uruguay, 152; in USSR, 376,377
206-8; hierarchical military in, 70,71,74,150, "civil society against the state," 270
211; human rights violations, 208,213,225, Coakley, Joan, 34 n
252; military autonomy, 208,224,225; military Codrescu, Andrei, 345
budget, 209; military control of state appara- co-habitation, 279
tus, 211—12; military's defensive project, 205; Cohen, Jean, 9 n
1988 plebiscite, 206,212,434 n; political econ- "collapse of regime": in Argentina, 191,192; as
omy of legitimacy, 214; political economy of concept, 46,321-23; in Czechoslovakia, 295,
prosperity in, 80,81,220; political parties, 316,321-28; in post-totalitarian regimes, 46;
207,212, 216, 247, 248 n; political society, 212; in sultanistic regimes, 70
presidentialism, 216,217 n, 220; privatization collective rights, 33,388-90
strategy, 185; "regime of truth," 213; rule of Collier, David, xvi n
law, 249; simultaneity of transition comple- Collor de Mello, Fernando, 168,170,171,177,179,
tion and consolidation, 210,212; support for 180 n, 221
authoritarian regime, 212; U.S. foreign policy Colomer, Josep M, 62 n, 89 n
toward, 75 colonial rule, 19
China, People's Republic of, xv n, 18,19,20 n; colonists. See political identities, colonists
economic over political reform, 378,436 n; Colorado Party, 155-58
liberalization in, 437; repression in Tibet and COMECON, xvi, xvii n
Sinkian, 244 n command economy, n, 299; in mature post-
Christian Democratic Party of Chile, 212,216 totalitarian regimes, 43; transition to eco-
Christian Democratic Party of Hungary, 302 nomic society, 435, 436, 438,439
"Citizens' Congress," 406 Committee for the Defense of the Unjustly
citizenship, 16,28-29; in Argentina, 201; in Baltic Persecuted,319
countries, 410-14,422-24; in Brazil, 167,175, common "roof." See multinational state, provi-
187; in CIS countries, 427,438; definition of, sion of common "roof"
28; in Estonia, 403-6,409,414-18,423,425-28, Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS),
435, 450; inclusive definition of, 25; in Latvia, 390; citizenship policy in, 427, 428; con-
403-6,409,410,415,417,425,432,450; in straints on political liberties in, 447, 449, 452;
Lithuania, 405,432,450; in multinational contrast with Baltic countries, 427
states, 428-33; in nondemocratic regimes, 27; communism as rival ideology, 75
in Russia, 367; in Spain, 28,29,32 Communist Party: of Baltic countries, 409-11;
Civic Alliance, 346 of Bulgaria, 295,335-39; of Czechoslovakia,
Civic Forum, 245, 331,332,381 317,318,320,321,332; of Estonia, 409-11; of
civilian elites, 66; as potential winners and Georgia, 385; of Greece, 132-34,138; of Hungary,
rulers, 68; initiation of transition by, 71 71, 243,297,300,302,304-9; and infomer
civilianized authoritarian regime: in Portugal, legacy, 251; of Latvia, 407-9; of Lithuania,
117; in Spain, 110—12 407-9; of Poland, 243,258,261,263,264,
Index 463
266 n, 267,273,274; of Portugal, 118,126; 82; control by interim government, 82; in

relation to democratic consolidation, 69; of Czechoslovakia, 82,316; in Estonia, 405; in
Romania, 345,349,351,355; of Spain, 96,97; Greece, 132-35; in Hungary, 311,312; "paper"
of USSR, 239-43,371,380-82,384,386 constitution, 82; partisan constitution, 83; in
"competitive assimilation game," 32 Poland, 282-84; in Portugal, 82,116,120,121,
complementarity of civil and political society, 8 123,124126; restoration formulas, 83,222; in
complementary multiple identities, 102 Spain, 83,98,102,116,117; in Uruguay, 83,154,
completed transition, requirements for, 107 222; in USSR, 82,381,396,398,399; in Yugo-
"condemned to democracy," 221 slavia, 82
Connor, Walker, 30 n constrained constituent assembly. See constitution-
Consejo de Fuerzas Políticas de Cataluña, 101 n making environments, constrained constit-
consociational democracy, 33,40,388,390; in uent assembly
Chile, 217 n; in multinational polities, 429,430 constructive vote of no confidence, 115,310
consociational pacts, 57 contestation, inclusiveness of, 96
Consolidated democracy: attitudinal definition Contreras, General Manuel, 218,225 n
of, 6; behavioral definition of, 5; benefits of Convergencia i Unió, 115
parliamentarism in, 141,142; in Brazil, 166, COPCON,i22n
172,187; breakdown in, 6; in Bulgaria, 343; in Coposu, Corneliu, 363 n
Chile, 212-15; citizenship policy in, 414; in Coppedge, Michael, 39 n
civilian-led regimes, 69; Communist parties corporatism, in Brazil, 77
in, 69; conditions necessary for, 7-13; con- Cortes, role in Spanish transition, 91—96
stitutional definition of, 5, 6; constitution- Costa Pinto, Antonio, 128 n
making environments, 81-83; in Czech Re- costs of repression and toleration, 19; in Eastern
public, 333 n, 434; economic performance in, Europe, 238, 244; in Spanish transition, 98
77, 80; evaluation of prior regime, 143-47, Council of Europe, norms for democracy, 35
171-74; in Greece, 132-38; hierarchical mili- Council of Mutual Economic Assistance
tary in, 64; in Hungary, 434; legacies of total- (CMEA), 236,240,242
itarian and post-totalitarian regime type, Crampton, Richard, 336
244-54; legitimacy of territorial unit in, 26, Croatia, 385; Serbian irredenta in, 450
27; in Lithuania, 432,434; in multinational Csurka, István, 315,316
settings, 33-37, 424-28; need for market in- Cuba, 357
tervention in, 12; nonhierarchical military in, Cunhal, Alvaro, 121
68; in Poland, 255, 269-92; in Portugal, 124- Cyprus, invasion by Turkey, 131
29; quality of, 137; relation between civil and Czechoslovakia, xvi, 8,10 n, 24, 25 n, in, 142,235;
political society, 8-10; "reserve domains," 67- absence of debt problems, 296,318; annexa-
69, 84, no, 116,126,133; role of parties, 10; role tion by Germany, 75; antipolitics, 316,331; at-
of timing, 37; in Slovakia, 333 n; in South omized non-society, 321; attitudes toward
America, 220, 221; in Spain, 108—15; in Uru- break-up, 329; attitudes toward political and
guay, 159-61; variety of, 6 economic systems, 442; behavior of coercive
consolidation tasks, 38,40,56; in post-Communist staff, 323; Catholic Church in, 317; Charter of
Europe, 253; in post-totalitarian regimes, 295; 77> 3!9> 321,337; civil society, 327,337; Com-
sequence of, 139 munist Party, 317,318,320,326,332; constit-
Constantinescu, Emil, 363 uent assembly, 331; constitution-making envi-
constitutionalism, 10,55; in Argentina, 203; in ronment, 82,316; contrast to Hungary, 318,
Brazil, 167; in post-Communist Europe, 248, 321; democracy in interwar period, 76 n, 316,
249 317,452; "detotalitarianization by decay," 296;
constitution-making environments, 66, 81-83; dogmatic Stalinism, 317; elections, 328,331;
in Argentina, 83,204, 205, 222; in Brazil, 83, events leading to collapse, 325-27; expulsion
171,186,221,222; in Bulgaria, 341; in Chile, of German irredenta, 425; "forgetting," 320;
82, 208—13, 215, 219, 220, 222; consensual con- founding election, 332; as frozen post-
stitution-making, 83,114; constrained totalitarian regime, 42, 45,47, 232, 254,294,
constituent assembly, 83, 222; constraints on, 295,316,319,320,327,331,337; Helsinki Ac-
464 Index
Czechoslovakia (continued) demos, 16,26,29; definition of, 28; in multi-

cords, 318; ideology, 320,327; initiation of national polities, 429
transition, 244 n; interim government in, 73, desencanto: in Brazil, 189; in Spain, 89, 92 n; in
316; leadership, 320; legitimacy of use of force, Uruguay, 158
323; "living a lie," 319; "lustration" problems, de Silva, Luís Ignacio "Lula," 188
251 n, 317; mobilization, 319,320; Munich "detotalitarianism," 43; by choice, 51, 375; by
Agreement, 316; mutual veto power, 333; par- decay, 51,375,376; by societal conquest, 51
allel culture, 319, 320; parliamentarism, 276; devolution, 99
party-state, 330; pluralism, 318,320,326; po- Diamandouros, P. Nikiforos, 130,131,134,136 n
litical parties, 247,316,321,331-33; post-totali- Diamond, Larry, 79 n
tarianism-by-decay, 319; potential tricameral- diffusion effects. See international influences, as
ism, 330-33; Prague Spring, 48,236-38,318; diffusion effects
"principle of dissimulation," 320; reforma Dimitrov, Dimitr, 338,339
pactada-ruptura pactada, 321; regime collapse, Dimitrov, Filip, 343
295, 316,321-28; response to Gorbachev re- di Palma, Guiseppe, 4n, 5 n, 94,357
forms, 242,246,318; reversal of liberalization, "disloyalty," 156
75> 77; role of nationalist sentiment, 328; "se- divided states, 19 n, 21
cession" in, 32 n; Soviet-style federal consti- Djilas, Milovan, 256 n
tution, 316,329-33,367,391; state-building Dobre, Constantine, 351
in, 23; stateness problem, 328-33,366,450; Dominican Republic: as sultanistic regime,
strikes, 325—27; "terminating" election, 332; 42 n, 49; U.S. foreign policy toward, 76
Velvet Divorce, 328-33, 452; Velvet Revolu- double-simultaneous vote. See Uruguay, double
tion, 316,319,331; Youth Union of the Com- simultaneous vote
munist Party, 325 "dual executive," 278, 279
Czech Republic: Catholic Church in, 246; dual identities. See political identities, dual
chances of consolidation, 333 n, 434; contrasts identities
with Slovakia, 328; economic society in, 13 n; Dubcek, Alexander, 237 n, 320
industrial development, 328; privatization in, Duvalier, "Papa Doc," xiii n, 49
436 n; Velvet Divorce and, 328-33 Duverger, Maurice, 276
Dahl, Robert A., 11,13 n, 19,152 n, 244; institu- early post-totalitarianism. See post-totalitarian
tional guarantees of polyarchy, 39 n, 430; pri- regimes, early post-totalitarianism
ority of stateness to democracy, 26, 27, 29 East European Constitutional Review, 82 n, 364,
de Brito, Alexandra Barahona, 68 n 435
debt crisis, 166, 219, 220; in Argentina, 166,195, East Germany. See German Democratic Republic
219; in Brazil, 166, 219; in Chile, 166; in Hun- Ecoglasnost, 335, 342
gary, 295,300; in Poland, 295; in South Amer- Ecological Party, 363 n
ica, 219, 220; in Uruguay, 166,219 economic performance: in Chile, 209, 220; in
deferred gratification, 439-53 Estonia, 403; perceptions of, 441-44; in Poland,
De Gaulle, Charles, 218, 348 285,291,292; in Portugal, 128,129; relation-
Dej, Gheorghiu, 347 ship with regime stability, 77-81; in Russia,
"delegative democracy," 165,221; absence of, in 385 n, 450 n; in Slovakia, 450 n; in Spain, 112;
Chile, 213; in Argentina, 203, 219,398; in in Ukraine, 385 n, 450 n
Poland, 287 economic society, 11,14, 54; in Argentina, 201; in
democracy: defense of, 98; as interacting sys- Brazil, 178,187; in Bulgaria, 343 n; in Chile,
tem, 13; need for sovereign state, 17 13 n; effect of "nationalizing policies" on, 37;
Democratic Russia, 377,378,381,393,399 in Hungary, 13 n, 298, 299,312,313; in post-
Democratic Union, 289 command economies, 435, 436, 438, 439; in
Democratic Union of Hungarians, 359 post-Communist Europe, 252-53; regulatory
democratization, 3, 93,100; and nation-state framework of, 253,435; role of markets in, 12;
building, 24; prosperity and, 78 in Romania, 364; in Russia, 13 n, 368; in
democratization theory, 232 Ukraine, 13 n
Index 465
efficacy: in Brazil, 167; in Uruguay, 162-64 402-6; Protestantism in, 453; recognition by
Egypt, 75 Yeltsin, 409; Roundtables of Ethnic Minori-
Eisenstadt, S. N., 369 n ties, 433 n; Russians as fifth column, 418;
Eisfeld, Rainer, 127 n Russian-speaking population, 233,403,408-
election observers, 434 n 10,419-428; state-building in, 23,32,233;
elections, 8,93; in Argentina, 190,192,196,199, stateness problem, 366; transients and colon-
201; in Baltic countries, 407—9; in Brazil, 168, ists, 417,418; United Council of Work Collec-
172; in Bulgaria, 333,339-42; in Central Asian tives, 408; working class migrants, 412, 413
Republics, 382; in Chile, 206-8; in Czecho- "ethical civil society." See Poland, "ethical civil
slovakia, 328, 331; economic performance society"
and, 8o, 81; in Estonia; 403-9; in Georgia, 383; ethical politics, 9
in Greece, 132,134,135,136; in Hungary, 297, ethnic democracy, 430; in Baltic countries, 432,
306-8; interim government and, 71,120; in- 433
ternational observers of, 432 n; in Latvia, 403, ethnoauthoritarianism, 254
407—9; in legitimacy hierarchy, 438; in Lithu- ethnocracy, 69, 239
ania, 403, 407-9; in Poland, 283-91; in Portu- European Economic Community, 368; Baltic
gal, 116,122; in Romania, 344,359,360,363 n; countries and, 402, 409, 417,420, 433; foreign
in Spain, 94, 95,100; in Uruguay, 152,153,155; policy of, 76; Greek transition and, 127,219;
in USSR, 373,374,378,379,381-86 perestroika and, 239, 240, 242; Poland and,
electoralism, 6 292; Portuguese transition and, 125,127,219;
"electoralist fallacy," 4 Southern Europe and, 140,141,219; Spanish
electoral law, 8,183; d'Hondt formula, 288; in transition and, 102,113, 219
Poland, 275,287-91. See also proportional Euskadi ta Askatasuna, 99,103,105-7
representation exclusionary consociational authoritarianism, 60
electoral sequence, 34,366; and the simultaneity
problem, 436; in Spain, 366,382; in USSR, Farneti, Paolo, 8 n
366,367,374,379,382-85; in Yugoslavia, 381, fascism as rival ideology, 75
382 federalism: in Brazil, 166 n, 189; democracy and,
El Salvador, xiii n 19; in multinational polities, 429; Spain's
Elster, Jon, 10 n, 84 n, 328 n, 439 quasi-federal state, 99; in USSR, 367,369-72,
Encuentro Progresista, 158 3/6,391
enosis, 136 Federal Republic of Germany, xvi n, 21,25,375;
Estonia: annexation by USSR, 402, 403; atti- citizenship policy of, 416; foreign policy
tudes toward past and future, 419-23; "Black toward Portugal, 74
Beret" military units, 409; boycott of Gorba- Federation of Young Democrats, 302
chev's referendum, 385; breakdown of democ- Fernández Miranda, Torcuato, 93
racy, 403; Communist Party of, 407-9; com- Ferreira, Wilson, 154
petitive assimilation logic, 418; constitutional Filipescu, Radu, 352
arrangements, 403; Democratic Election Finland, 24; as semipresidential system, 278
Coalition, 407; democratization in interwar Fish, M. Stephen, 381
period, 74 n, 403; demographic change, Fisher, Mary Ellen, 348,351
403-5; dissidence in, 406; economic perfor- Fishman, Robert, 92 n
mance in, 433; elections, 403-9; as ethnic "Flying University," 261 n
democracy, 433; exclusionary citizenship pol- foreign policies. See international influences,
icy, 403-6,409, 414-18, 423, 425-28,433, 450; foreign policies
language policy, 413,415,417,426,427; lega- four-player game. See transition pacts, four-
cies of totalitarianism, 409; linguistic survival player game
and extinction, 418; nation-state discourse in, Foxley, Alejandro, 209, 214
414-18,425; National Heritage Society, 406; Fraga, Manuel, 76,93
Nazi occupation, 403; political identities of France, 25,131; Fifth Republic, 279,399; nation-
Russians in, 410-14; political parties, 407-9; alism in, 20, 21 n; semipresidentialism in, 278,
Popular Front, 407—9,425; prior regime type, 279; state-based nation-building, 30
466 Index
Franco, Francisco, 6o, 76, 99,115,117,127,133; Gero, Brno, 297

legality in Franco regime, 249; retrospective Ghizikis, Phaedon, 131
views about, 144,146 Gibson, Edward, 198 n
Franco, Itamar, 171,177 Gierek, Edward, 258,263
Francoite institutions, 91 Gilbert, Trond, 354,355
Free Democrats of Hungary, 9 n Gillespie, Charles, 151 n, 152 n, 154 n, 156
Freedom House, 39 n, 445 Golbery do Couto e Silva, General, 167
Freeman, John R., 12 n Gomes, Ciro, 186
Frei, Eduardo, 210 n, 216 n, 217 n Gomulka, Wladyslaw, 257,258, 260,261
Frente Amplio, 154,156-59 Gonçalves, Vasco, 127
Frepaso, 203 n Gönz, Arpad, 314
Friedheim, Daniel V., 47,118 n, 323,324 González, Felipe, 96,160
frozen post-totalitarianism. See post-totalitarian González, Luiz, 151 n, 152 n, 155,156,162 n, 164 n
regimes, frozen post-totalitarianism Gorbachev, Mikhail, 3 n, 92; ambivalence toward
Fuerza Nueva, 98 democracy, 379; ambivalence toward political
Fujimori, Alberto, 170,175 parties, 380; announcement of reforms by,
2
Fukuyama, Francis, 74 n 39~43; decision to liberalize, 378; displace-
ment of, 376; Hungarian transition and, 301;
Gaidar, Yegor, 394 inattention to electoral sequence, 436; initia-
Galtieri, Leopoldo, 192 tion of regime change, 372—79; mobilization
Gamsakhurdia, Zviad, 383 of titular nationalities by, 374; nationality
García, Prudencio, 191 n policy of, 368; neglect of constitutional change,
Garibaldi, 23 436; on perestroïka, 368; Polish democracy
Carretón, Antonio, 210 and, 266, 267, 291; referendum, 387; struggle
Garton Ash, Timothy, 238,339,320,458 n with Yeltsin, 389; use of elections by, 373
Gastil, Raymond D., 39 n Gorbunovs, Anatolijs, 408, 410
gate opening to democratic efforts, 73 Graham, Laurence S., 122
Gati, Charles, 242,297 n, 298 n Gramsci, Antonio, 210; on hegemony, 237, 263
Geisel, Ernesto, 130 n, 167 Greece, xvi, 25; attitudes toward democracy, 135,
Gellner, Ernest, 22 n, 24,31,49 n 136; behavior toward democracy, 133-34; civil
Genov, Edward, 335 society in, 130,131,135; contrast with Brazil
Georgia, 385; boycott of Gorbachev's referendum, and Chile, 130; contrast with Portuguese and
385; CIS and, 390 n; clan politics in, 387; Spanish transitions, 132; coup by hard-liners,
Communist Party, 383; interethnic clashes 129; democratic consolidation, 131—38; eco-
in, 366; nationalist outbidding, 383; political nomic reform, 139; elections, 132,134,135,136;
parties, 383; republic-level election in, 383; interim government in, 73,132; nation-building
secession from USSR, 367 in, 23; nationalist feelings in, 136; nonhierar-
Geremek, Bronislaw, xx, 264 chical nature of coup, 130; Orthodox Chris-
German Democratic Republic, xvin, 8, in, 235, tianity in, 453; parliamentarism in, 139; polit-
238; as early post-totalitarian regime, 295 n, ical society in, 130; retrospective evaluation
375; as frozen post-totalitarian regime, 45,47, of military regime, 147; revision of Constitu-
254; initiation of transition, 244 n; tion, 132—35; role of EEC, 127, 219; role of hi-
"lustration" problems, 251 n; merger with erarchical military, 132; role of NATO, 219;
West Germany, 21, 26; party domination of shortness of transition, 130; similarity with
state, 250,251; Protestant dissidents in, 245, Argentina, 191; transfer-of-power formula, 131
453; response to Gorbachev reforms, 242; Greenfeld, Liah, 21 n
Stasi files, 251 n, 252; stateness problem, 366 Green Party, of Hungary, 316
Germany: breakdown of democracy in, 80; Gross, Jan Tomasz, 258 n, 267
constitutional monarchy in, 77; democratic Grósz, Károly, 304,305
transition by installation in, 75; efficacy- Group for Social Dialogue, 346
legitimacy relationship in, 443 n; nation- Grupos Anti-terroristas de Liberación, 115
building in, 23 Guatemala, xiii n, 4
Index 467
Gutiérrez Mellado, General, 93 294,296-98,375; economic society in, 13 n,

Guzman, Jaime, 108 298,299,312,313; elections, 297,306-8; "flat-
tened" landscape, 301; founding election, 310;
Haiti, xiii n; as a sultanistic regime, 49,57; "goulash Communism," 298 n; historic par-
Tonton Macoutes, 51 ties, 302; ideology, 298; indebtedness, 295,
Hapbsburg Empire, "national curias" in, 34 300; independent unions, 301,377; initiation
"hard-liners." See transition pacts, "hardliners" of transition, 246 n, 295,300; irredenta, 315,
Hartlyn, Jonathan, 60 n 316; law of association, 302; "lustration" laws,
Hauslohner, Peter, 380 314; as mature post-totalitarian regime, 42,
Havel, Vaclav, 295,337; refusal to join party, 245, 43 n, 44 n, 48, 56, 232, 254, 294, 295,309,337,
270 n, 319,320; role in collapse, 325—27; role in 452; minority in Romania, 363,364; nation-
Velvet Divorce, 332,333 building in, 23; neutrality of army, 309; New
Helsinki Accords, 77, 294 Economic Mobilization, 298; 1956 Revolu-
Helsinki Commission, 382 tion, 75, 237, 238, 296, 297,305,306; "nomen-
Herri Batasuna, 98,105 klatura adaptation, 300,308; Opposition
hierarchical military, 66-68; in Argentina, 70, Round Table, 307,338; "pacted transition" in,
151,190-92; in Brazil, 166-69; in Chile, 70, 71, 66, 295,306—10; parliamentarism in, 278,310,
74,150,211; in Greece, 131,132; initiation of 311; "parliamentary elections first," 311; pas-
transition, 73; officer corps, 67; possibility of sive compliance, 298; political parties, 247,
countercoup, 122; reassertion of hierarchy, 248 n, 295,300,302,305-11,314; political soci-
121,123; in South America, 150,219; in ety, 302,307,310,311,314,319,375; property
Uruguay, 151 rights, 301,312,375; reform Communists, 308;
Hirschman, Albert O., 92 n, 232 reforma pactada-ruptura pactada, 306—10;
Hitler, Adolf, 355,418 "regime concession and societal conquest,"
Hobbes, Thomas, 28 304,305; regulatory framework, 313; response
Holmes, Stephen, 13 n to Gorbachev reforms, 243; "return to Com-
Honduras, xiii n munism," 76 n, 435,454,455; Round Table
Hong Kong, 18,19 talks, 295,307,310,311,338; rule of law, 299,
Hough, Jerry, 41 n, 412 n 312; second economy, 299, 309,312; split in
Howard, A. E. Dick, 84 n party-state, 304, Stalinization, 297; stateness
human rights violations, 68,154,155; in Argen- problems, 310,314-16; system blame politics,
tina, 193,194, 225, 252; in authoritarian re- 315; Treaty of Trianon, 315; usable state appa-
gimes, 252; in Chile, 68, 69, 72,150, 211; in ratus, 313;
Romania, 344,364 Huntington, Samuel P., 4 n, 75 n, 87
Hungarian Democratic Alliance, 363 Husak, Gustav, 318,320,327
Hungarian Democratic Forum, 247,302,305,
308 n, 310,315 Iceland, parliamentarism in, 278
Hungarian Rights Association, 335 ideology, 38; in Argentina, 92; in authoritarian
Hungarian Socialist Party, 455 n, 457 n regimes, 46; of Communist Party elites,
Hungarian Truth and Life Party, 316 244 n; in Czechoslovakia, 320,327; in Hun-
Hungary, xvi, 25,145, 237; Catholic Church in, gary, 298; in Poland, 255, 256, 258; in post-
246; attitudes toward political and economic totalitarian regimes, 41, 47—48, 293; in Ro-
systems, 442; attitudes toward regime legiti- mania, 354,355,364; in sultanistic regimes,
macy, 302; availability of "Spanish model," 50—51,54; in totalitarian regimes, 40, 48; in
117, 233; chances of consolidation, 436; civil USSR, 77, 236, 238,375,376
society, 300-302,304,310,314-16; Communist Iliescu, Ion, 345,358,359,361,364; re-election of,
Party of, 71, 243, 297,300,302,304-9; Consti- 362,363
tutional Court, 314; constitution-making "imagined communities," 22
environment, 311,312; constructive vote of Independent Smallholders Party, 302
no-confidence, 312 n; contrast with Poland, India, 19,24; as a "state-nation," 34
304 n, 311; democratization in interwar pe- individual rights, 33,388-90
riod, 76 n; "detotalitarianization by choice," Indonesia, xv
468 Index
informer legacy, 251 Karklins, Rasma, 402 n, 411

institutional indeterminacy, 4 Karl, Terry, 4 n, 40 n
institutionalizing uncertainty, 379 n, 394 Kashmir, 27
"institutional pluralism." See totalitarian Kazakhstan, 400 n; CIS and, 390 n; Russians in,
regimes, institutional pluralism 32
interim government. See provisional government Keane, John, 9 n
international influences, 66,72; as diffusion Khasbulatov, Ruslan, 397,396
effects, 76,119,357; favorability in Greek tran- Khazanov, Anatoly, 387
sition, 136; as foreign policies, 73, 76,128; in Khrushchev, Nikita, 32 n, 374,375
Poland, 266,267; in post-Communist Europe, Kim II Sung, 49,347, 349
2
35-39; in Southern Europe, 140,141; subver- Kirkpatrick, Jeanne, 237
sion by regional hegemons, 74; as Zeitgeist, Kis, János, 300 n, 9 n
74-76,188, 202 Kissinger, Henry, 127 n
International Monetary Fund, 362 Kiszczak, General Czeslaw, 264, 265, 273
Inter-Regional Deputies Group, 379 Kitschelt, Herbert, 343 n
intraparty alliances, 8 Kiuranov, Ch., 338
inverted legitimacy pyramid, 435-39 Kiuranov, Deyan, 335,336
loannides, Brigadier General, 129 Klaus, Vaclav, 13 n, 32 n, 332
Iran, xiii n; as a sultanistic regime, 42,49,357 Kligman, Gail, 346,362 n
Ireland, 24; as parliamentary system, 278 Klingemann, Hans-Dieter, 412
irredenta, 26,315; in Baltic countries, 426-30; in Kolarova, Rumyana, 338, 339
Greece, 138; in Serbia, 452 Kolarska-Bobinska, Lena, 284
"irreversibility of Communism," 237,238 Korbonski, Andrzej, 264
Islam, 260 Korosényi, András, 305
Israel, minority parties in, 431 Kosovo, 434 n
Italy, 72; democratization in interwar period, Kozyrev, Andrei, 425
74 n; fascism as ideology in, 75; nation-buiding Krupavicius, Algis, 455 n
in, 23 Kuchma, 399 n
Kundera, Milan, 320
Jakes, Secretary General, 327 Kwasniewski, Aleksander, 266 n, 456 n
Japan, 25; democratic transition by installation, Kymlicka, Will, 34 n
75 Kyrgyzstan: CIS and, 390 n; clan politics in, 387,
Jaruzelski, General 258, 263, 264, 265, 267, 268, Russians in, 32
273
Jasiewicz, Krzysztof, 280 n Laakso/Taagepera index, 181 n, 217 n; in Poland,
Jelenski, J. A., 258 n 275, 291
Jereissati, Tasso, 186 Lacalle, Alberto, 157
Jewish Kabal, in Polish-Lithuanian Common- Lagos, Ricardo, 215, 216 n
wealth, 34 Laitin, David, 32, 402 n, 404 n, 412 n, 418,426,
Jowitt, Ken, 233,347, 437 428
Juan Carlos (king of Spain), 76,89,92; defeat of Landsbergis, Vytautas, 405,455 n
coup, 101,109; as "democratic monarch," 93 Latawski, Paul C., 259 n
Junqueira, Aristides, 180 n Latino Barometer, 221,227—30
Junta of National Salvation, 119 Latvia: annexation by USSR, 402,403; assimila-
Jurca, Engineer, 351 tion in, 432; attitudes toward past and future,
419-27; boycott of Gorbachev's referendum,
Kádár, János, 48,145,300,302,304,305,318 385; breakdown of democracy, 403; Commu-
kaderpolitik, 250 n nist Party, 407-9, democratization in inter-
Kahler, Miles, 185 war period, 76 n, 403; demographic change,
Kania, Stefan, 263 403-5; dissidence in, 406; elections, 403,
Karamanlis, Constantine, 131,132,134,135 407-9; ethnic democracy in, 432,433; exclu-
Karimov, Islam, 449 n sionary citizenship policy, 403-6,409,410,
Index 469
415,417,425,432,450; Freedom Monument, ical parties, 407-9; Popular Front, 407-9;

406; language policy, 413,417; legacies of "return to Communism," 74 n, 435,454,455;
totalitarianism, 409; Nazi occupation, 403; Russian-speaking population, 408,411; state-
political identities of Russians in, 410-14; building in, 23; working class migrants, 412,
political parties, 407-9; Popular Front, 407-9; 413
prior regime type, 402-6; Russians as fifth "little constitution," 281
column, 418; Russian-speaking population, "living in truth," 271
2
33> 403—6,408—10,425; state-building in, 23, "living-lie," 48
32, 233; stateness problem, 366 Llera, Francisco J., 105
Lazarsfeld, Paul, concept of property space, 36 n loosely coupled hypothesis, 439-53
leadership, 38,68; in authoritarian regimes, 46, Lowenthal, Abraham F., 4 n, 73 n
47; in Czechoslovakia, 320; in post-totalitarian Lucinski, 383
regimes, 46,47; 293; in Romania, 350,351; in Luczywo, Helena, 292
Spain, 92—96; in sultanistic regimes, 50, 51, 54; Lukanov, Andrei, 338
in totalitarian regimes, 46, 47, 248; in USSR, Lukes, Steven, 437
375 "lustration" problems, 251; in Bulgaria, 251 n; in
Leiter, Ion Bogdan, 353,358 n GDR, 251 n; in Hungary, 314
legal culture, 10
legal reform, 92 Macao, 18
legislatures, 8, 73 Macedonia, stateness problems of, 450
legitimacy, 8; hierarchy of democratic legitimacy, "macro-variables," xiv, 66
438; perception by citizens of, 76; relation to mafia economies, 438
efficacy, 76-81,115,116, 223-30, 235, 443 n; of Mainwaring, Scott, 5 n, 117,181 n, 184 n
Southern European democracies, 142; useful- majoritarian democracy, 40
ness in state reconstruction, 437-39 majority system, 183
Lenin, Vladimir, 374,375,396 n Makarios, Archbishop, 131
Lepsius, M. Rainer, 21 n Malitza, Mircea, 349 n, 357
Letelier, Orlando, 218 Mann, Michael, 16 n
Liberal Democratic Party, of Poland, 289 Manolescu, Nicolae, 353
liberalization, 3,95; in Brazil, 167,168,205; in "manufactured majorities," 290
Bulgaria, 338,339; in Czechoslovakia, 75,77, Maravall, José María, 79 n, 116 n, 128 n
237 n; in Poland, 264; in Romania, 347; in Marcos, Ferdinand
USSR, 238,367, 374,376,3/8,387 market economy, 11; need for regulation of, 13
"liberation by golpe," 107,120,130 Markovic, Ante, 385 n
Lieven, Anatol, 32 n, 402 n, 405 n, 455 n Marx, Karl, 396 n
Ligachev, Yegor, 368 mature post-totalitarianism. See post-totalitarian
Lijphart, Arend, 33,34 n, 114 n, 288,290, 291, regimes, mature post-totalitarianism
405 n Maxwell, Kenneth, 117,123 126 n
Lilov, Aleksandar, 339,340 Mazowiecki, Tadeusz, 269 n, 274, 280
Limongi, Fernando, 79, 80 Mazzini, Giuseppe, 23
Lin Chia-lung, 20 n McFaul, Michael, 393 n
Lipset, Seymour Martin, 39 n, 77 n Meciar, Vladimir, 332,333
Lithuania: annexation by USSR, 403; attitudes Medina, Hugo, 155,160
toward past and future, 420-22; boycott of Menem, Carlos, 150,185,194-95; impact on qual-
Gorbachev's referendum, 385; breakdown of ity of democracy, 200-204, 225; plebiscitary
democracy, 403; Catholic Church in, 245; style, 220; role in "impossible game," 196,
Catholic majority in, 405; Communist Party, 198-200
407—9, democratic consolidation in, 432, 434; Menéndez, General Luciano, 190 n
democratization in interwar period, 74 n, MERCOSUR, 164 n, 219
403; demographic change, 404, 405; elections, Meri, Lennart, 420
403,407—9; inclusionary citizenship policy, Mexico, 180; authoritarian hegemony in, 197;
405,432,450; language policy, 413,415; polit- privatization strategy, 185
470 Index
Micewski, Andrzej, 257 n Monroe Doctrine, 238 n

Michnik, Adam, 263, 292 Montenegro, 434 n
Migranian, Andranik, 385 n Monticone, Ronald C., 256 n, 257 n
migration, types of, 416-18 Montoneros, 199
Milans del Bosch, Jaime, 108 Moscow Association of Voters, 377
military: in Argentina, 191-94; as empire, Movement for Rights and Freedom, 342
196-98; internal divisions in, 122; in Poland, "movements of rage," 362
263,264,309; in Portugal, 117,258; in post- Movimiento Nacional. See offical single party,
totalitarian regimes, 65, 66; professionalism Movimiento
of, 219; in Romania, 309; in totalitarian multicultural state, 30,423; and assimilation,
regimes, 67,68; in Yugoslavia, 309 414
"military as government," 64, 67, 68; costs of multilingual state, 30-31; Spain as, 88
extraction, 67; in Uruguay, 151,153-56 multinational state: assimilation in, 428-32; in
"military as institution," 64, 67; in Argentina, Belgium, 23; conflict with "nation-building,"
193, 213; in Brazil, 168; collective incentives in, 24; consociational arrangements in, 429, 430;
70; extrication in Greece, 131,132; human democracy in, 23,29,33-37; electoral se-
rights violations, 68; toleration of trials, 68; quence, 34, 233, 401, 402,410, 427; political
in Uruguay, 151,153-56 identities in, 35; provision of common "roof,"
military coup: attempt in Spain, 89; extrication 33,420; Spain as, 88, 98-107
coup, 68; possibility of countercoup, 122 Munteanu, Marian, 363 n
military leaders, trials of: in Argentina, 193,194; Murrell, Peter, 12 n
in Greece, 133; in Spain, 108; in Uruguay, 154,
155,159, 215,252 Nagorno-Karabagh, 26 n
military prerogatives, 67, no; in Argentina, 224; Nagy, Imre, 297, 298
in Brazil, 169,224; in Chile, 208,224,225; in Naples, 21 n
Uruguay, 158 Napoleon, and nationalist movements, 20
Millard, Frances, 280 n nation, 16; differences from state, 22; Weberian
Milosevic, Slobodan, 434 n concept of, 21
Mine, Hilary, 258 nationalism, 406,425, 434 n; of Basques, 17, 28,
Mindszenty, Cardinal Jozsef, 297 98—109; in Catalonia, 17, 28; of Hindus, 34; in
minority prime ministers, 281 Romania, 362—65
Mishler, William, 442 n nationalism as liberation, 389
Misiunas, Romuald, 402 n, 404 n National Liberal Party, 359,363 n
Mitterand, François, 218 "nationalizing state policies," 25,35
Mladenov, Petar, 337,338,342 National Peasant Party, 359
mobilization, 38; in authoritarian regimes, 47; nation-building, 17, 20-23,106; in the Baltics,
in Czechoslovakia, 319,320; in Poland, 256; 424,428—33; irredenta, 26; by Soviet state, 412
in Portugal, 127,138; in post-totalitarian nation-state, 17,20; assimilation in, 430; discon-
regimes, 47,48,293; in Romania, 355,356; gruent settings for, 30; discourse of, 414—18;
in sultanistic regimes, 50,51; in totalitarian emergence of, 22; homogeneity of, 25; politi-
regimes, 40,47,48; in USSR, 375 cal identities in, 417,418; tension with logic of
"moderates." See transition pacts, "moderates" democracy, 239, 402, 425, 426
Moisés, José Alvaro, 172 n nation-state building, 233, 401, 430; in Estonia,
Mokrzycki, Edmund, 246 414-18,425; in Latvia, 417,418,425
Moldavia, republic-level election in, 383 NATO, 219,220
Moldova: boycott of Gorbachev's referendum, Nehru, Jawaharlal, 34
385; interethnic clashes in, 366; secession Nelson, Daniel, 351
from USSR, 367 Netherlands, 80
Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact of 1939,403,407,416 Neues Forum, 381
monarchy, 89,92 Neves, Tancredo, 168
Moncloa Pact. See Spain, Moncloa Pact Nicaragua, xiii n, 117, 211 n, 349,359
monopoly party, 69 Nicolaides, General Cristiano, 192
Index 47l
Nikova, Ekaterina, 340 parliamentarism, 141,142,181-83; in Austria,

Nino, Carlos, 200 278; in Brazil, 169,171,181-83; in Bulgaria,
Nixon, Richard, 348 342; in Czechoslovakia, 278; in Greece, 141; in
Niyazov, Saparmurat, 449 n Hungary, 278,310,311; in Iceland, 278; in
Noica, Constantin, 353 Spain, 141,142
nomenklatura, 45,147; civil society and, 246; in Partido Demócrata Cristiano, 216 n
Poland, 262, 267, 268; privileges of, in newly Partido do Movimento Democrático Brasileiro,
capitalist economies, 69,70; in Romania, 347 183 n
nondemocratic regimes: coercive capacity of, Partido dos Trabalhadores, 183 n
80; constitutions of, 82; economic decline in, Partido Nacionalista Vasco, 101,105
77,79 Partido Popular, 104,456
nonhierarchical military, 66,68,115; contrast Partido por la Democracia, 216 n
between Argentina, Greece, and Portugal, party-soldiers. See Poland, party-soldiers
192; coup in Greece, 131,132; initiation of party-state, 41, 66; legacy for usable state, 250,
transition by, 71; interim government and, 251; in Poland, 255; repression of civil society,
72; in Portugal, 118-22,128 245
Non-Party Bloc of Support of the Reform, 289 Pashukanis, E. B., 248
nonterritorial autonomy, 34 Pastor, Robert A., 114 n
no-party president, 281 path-dependent analysis, 254
Nordlinger, Eric, 60 n Peasant Party, 266,291
Northern Ireland, 27 People against Violence, 331,332
North Korea, xv n, 19,49,347 Perez-Diaz, Víctor M., 88 n, 112
Norway, 80 performance criteria, 47
Nyers, Rezsö, 300 Perón, Juan, 196,199, 200
Peronism, 77,196-200
O'Donnell, Guillermo, xvi, 3 n, 5 n, 16 n, 74,75 n, Peronist party, 196-200
165,177,196,197, 203, 287,397 Peru, xv, 77,170,175
Offe, Claus, 244 n, 459 Philippines, 398 n; as sultanistic regime, 42 n,
officer corps. See hierarchical military, officer 49; U.S. foreign policy toward, 74
corps Pinheiro de Azevedo, 127
official single party, 91; Movimiento, 93; in Por- Pinochet, Augusto, xvi n, 80,135,185, 220;
tugal, 116,117 authoritarian constitution of, 206-11; con-
Olcott, Martha Brill, 32 n tinued resources of, 213,217,218; defeat in
Olson, David, 330 plebiscite, 216; legality under, 249; retrospec-
Olszewski, Jan, 282 tive evaluation of, 147, 214, 215, 224, 225; un-
"One Country, Two Systems," 18 popularity of, 215; warnings by, 212
Ortega, Daniel, 211 n Pires do Rio Caldeira, Teresa, 176 n
Orthodox Christianity, 245, 260 Pithart, Petr, 331,332
Osiatynski, Wiktor, 265 n, 266 n pluralism, 38; in authoritarian regimes, 43; in
Ost, David, 272 n Brazil, 255,256; in Bulgaria, 335—37; in Czech-
Ottoman Empire, 24, 50; millets in, 34 oslovakia, 318,320,326; in post-totalitarian
regimes, 42-47; in Romania, 351,353; social
pacts. See transition pacts pluralism, 48; in Spain, 93; in sultanistic re-
Pahlavi, Reza (Shah of Iran), xiii n, 355,357 gimes, 50,51; in totalitarian regimes, 40-42;
Palestine Liberation Organization, 26 in USSR, 374,379,380
Pan-hellenic Movement, 133—35 Podkrepa, 336
Panic, Milan, 434 n Poggi, Gianfranco, 18 n
Papadopoulos, George, 130 Poland, xvi, 10 n, 25,211 n, 232,235,238; anti-
Papandreou, Andreas, 134,137 politics, 272-75; attitudes toward democracy,
"paper" constitution. See constitution-making 284-86; attitudes toward political and eco-
environments, "paper" constitution nomic systems, 444; as authoritarian regime,
"parallel culture," 43 41, 232, 254-61,337,452; Catholic Church in,
472 Index
Poland (continued) ternatives, 80; in South America, 221-28; in

245, 246, 256, 257, 260, 261, 264; civil-military Southern Cone, 150,223,225-30; in Spain,
relations, 259; civil society, 7, 232, 237, 245-47, 113-14; "system blame" and, 80,81,99,139; in
256, 258, 261-64, 27o-74; Communist Party Uruguay, 162-63
of, 243, 258, 261, 263, 264, 266 n, 267, 272, 274; political economy of prosperity: in Brazil, 78; in
consolidation of democracy in, 255, 269-92; Chile, 78, 79, 220; in South Korea, 78; in
constitution-making environment in, 280- Spain, 78
82; deligitimation of government, 287; democ- political identities, 35,102,366,401 n; colonists,
ratization in interwar period, 76 n; dual power 417,418; construction of, in Spain, 35,103,
situation, 263; economic performance, 285, 102-4; in Catalonia, 35; in democratic, multi-
291, 292; elections, 285-91; electoral law, 275, national states, 410; dual identities, 33; in
287-91; "ethical civil society," 255,270-72,285; nation-states, 417,418; of Russians in the
expulsion of German irredenta, 415; four- Baltics, 410-14, 417,418; transients, 417, 418;
player game of transition, 265; geographical in USSR, 384,385
gain, 451; German-Soviet Pact, 259; "horizon- political isolation of terrorists, 106
tal relationship of civil society," 262; ideology, political leadership, 8
255, 256, 258; indebtedness, 295; initiation of political learning, 117; in Argentina, 198; in
transition, 244 n, 255; institutional conflict in, Spain, 76; in Uruguay, 156
280-82; international influences, 266,267; in- political parties, 8, 71; in Argentina, 183,192,193,
ternationalized authoritarian party-state, 255, 196-200,202; in Baltic countries, 407—9; in
270 n; lack of personality cult, 258; leader- Brazil, 167,168,170,180-85,188; in Bulgaria,
ship, 255,273-75; liberalization, 264; limits on 247,339-41,343; in Chile, 207, 212, 216, 247,
totalitarianism, 255-61; martial law, 263; Mili- 248 n; in Czechoslovakia, 247,316,321,331-33;
tary Council for National Salvation, 263, 264; in Estonia, 407—9; in Georgia, 383; in Greece,
mobilization, 256; 1956 revolt, 256,260; 133~35> 137-38; in Hungary, 247, 248 n, 295,
nomenklatura system, 262,267,268; opposi- 300, 302, 305-11,314; in Latvia, 407-9; in le-
tional hegemony, 261,262; as "pacted transi- gitimacy hierarchy, 438; in Lithuania, 407-9;
tion," 255,264-69; party fragmentation, 280, in multinational polities, 429-31; in Poland,
283, 287-91; party-soldiers, 255, 263, 267, 268; 247, 273-75, 287-91; in Portugal, 118,124; in
political parties, 249, 273-75, 287-91; political post-Communist Europe, 247; in Romania,
society, 255, 269-76, 287-91; post-totalitarian- 359—61,367; in Russia, 378; in Spain, 96—98,
ism in, 48; private property, 256 n; problems 100,106, 247; statewide parties, 10; in Uru-
of representation, 269-75; public opinion guay, 150—52,154,160, 247, 248 n; in USSR,
survey research, 262, 283—86; "Rawlsian veil 378,381,384,394,399
of ignorance," 266; referendum, 265; reform political society, 8, 9,14, 55, 69; in Argentina,
Communist Party, 291; rejection of collec- 150,191, 201; in Brazil, 167-71,174,178,180,
tivization, 257; response to Gorbachev re- 187; in Bulgaria, 340,343; in Chile, 212; as
forms, 245; "return to Communism," 74 n, distinct from civil society, 8-10; effect of
291, 435, 454-56; role of military, 263, 263, "nationalizing policies" on, 37; in Greece, 130;
309; Round Table talks, 265n, 269,274,280, in Hungary, 302,307,310,311,314,315,375; in
282,308; Sejm, 267-69,273,280-82; semipres- Poland, 255, 269-76, 287-91; in post-Commu-
identialism, 255,276-82,286,287,395; simi- nist Europe, 247; in post-totalitarian regimes,
larity to Brazil, 232,262,265,270; societal 247; in Romania, 362-65; in Spain, 91-96; in
pluralism, 255, 256; Solidarity, 237, 247, 262- Uruguay, 152; in USSR, 377,378,381
65, 267—69, 273—75; stabilization plan, 269; "politics of anti-politics," 272-74
state-building in, 23; "stateness" problem, Portugal, xvi, 25, 74,144; absence of innovative
258; strikes, 265 leadership, 118; attitudes toward democracy,
Pöldvere, Kaljo, 420 125,140-42; behavior toward democracy, 125;
political economy of legitimacy and coercion, as civilianized authoritarian regime, 117; Con-
66,76-81; in Argentina, 150,195-97, 203, 204; stituent Assembly elections, 121; constitution-
in Brazil, 166,167,172-74; in Chile, 214; in making environment, 82,116; economic per-
Greece, 136; in Portugal, 128,129; relative al- formance, 128,129; economic reform, 140;
Index 473
fascist-style structure, 116; lack of "stateness" primordial identities, 35,366. See also political
problem in, 126; Law on National Defense, identities
124 n; length of transition, 168; mobilization prior regime type, 38,66,452; in Baltic coun-
in, 127,128; nondemocratic constitution, 123, tries, 402-6; in Estonia, 402-6; impact on
124; overthrow of Caetano, 76; politicized transitions in post-Communist Europe,
military in, 117; reserve domains in, 126; "rev- 244—54; negative evaluation of, 143—47; ¡n
olution of the carnations," 118; role of EEC, Portugal, 116; in Spain, 111,112
125,127, 219; role of foreign policies in transi- privatization, 48; in Argentina, 185; in Brazil,
tion, 126; role of NATO, 219; rule of law, 249; 185; in Chile, 185; in Czech Republic, 436 n;
as semipresidential system, 141, 278; similari- legitimacy and, 438, 439; need for strong
ties with Spain and Brazil, 117,118; similarity state, 435, 436; in post-Communist Europe,
to Nicaragua, 119,121; simultaneous consoli- 436; in Romania, 436 n; in Russia, 185, 436—
dation and transition completion, 124-29, 38; in Ukraine, 436 n; in USSR, 392,395
212; transition as revolution, 244 n Prodev, S., 338
post-Communist Europe, 232,233; civil society proportional representation, 33; closed-list, 184;
in, 245-47; commonality and difference, 236; d'Hondt formula, 289; in Brazil, 183-85; in
difficult initiation of transitions, 238; diverse Bulgaria, 342; open-list, 184; in Poland,
paths, 253, 254; economic society in, 252-53; 289-91
international influences, 235-39; loosely provisional government, 5, 70—71,111; in Argen-
coupled hypothesis in, 439-53; political soci- tina, 192; constitutions created by, 84; in
ety in, 247; rule of law in, 248-49; simultane- Czechoslovakia, 73,316; elections under, 71,
ity problem, 244,437-41; stateness problems, 120; in Greece, 71; in Portugal, 116,121-25, i32¡
254; transition as revolution, 244 n; usable plebiscites and referenda in, 72; in Romania,
state in, 250-52 361; after sultanistic regimes, 70, 71
post-totalitarian regimes, 40, 41, 55, 232, 233, Przeworski, Adam, 4 n, 62 n, 81, 82,146,156 n,
244; collapse of, 50; consolidation tasks in, 181 n, 266 n, 269 n, 270 n, 379 n, 394
295; as continuum, 294; cultural life, 319,320; Puerto Rico, 416,417
distinction between "early," "mature," and purges, in Portuguese revolution, 118
"frozen," 42, 233, 293, 294; early post-totali- Pye, Lucien W., 39 n
tarianism, 42, 233, 294, 295,327, 333,343,375;
as evolutionary type, 293; frozen post-totali- Radical party, 196,198,199,201
tarianism, 42, 46, 47, 64, ill, 232, 254, 294, 295; Rady, Martyn, 348 n
ideology in, 41,46-47,293; informer legacy Rakhmonov, Imamali, 449 n
in, 251; leadership in, 46,47, 295; legacy for Rákosi, Mátyás, 297, 298
usable state, 250, 251; mature post-totalitari- Rawls, John, 266 n
anism, 42,55, 64, 70, 232, 294, 295,327; mili- Raz, Joseph, 34 n
tary in, 65, 68; mobilization in, 47, 48, 293; "real existing socialism," 147, 246, 261
pluralism in, 42—46; political society in, 247; recombined public-private property, 70
"post-totalitarianism by choice," 293-98, "red bourgeoisie," 43
377; "post-totalitarianism by decay," 293, 294, reforma pactada-ruptura pactada, 60, m, 117,
319; "post-totalitarianism by societal con- 233
quest," 293 n, 321; role of terror, 293; stateness regime popularity, as distinct from incumbents'
problem in, 27 popularity, 445
Powell, Charles T., 89 n regional hegemon as factor in transition, 74
Pozsgay, Imre, 300,304,305-8,310 regulatory state power, 437. See also economic
Pravda, Alex, 242 n, 267 n society, regulatory framework of
presidentialism, 141,142,181—83; in Argentina, Reinicke, Wolfgang, 39 n
193, 220,396; in Brazil, 169—71,180—84, 22o, religion: caesaropapism, 245, 260,453; Confu-
396; in Chile, 216,217 n, 220; in South Amer- cianism, 453; democratization and, 451,453;
ica, 220; in Uruguay, 216, 220 Islam, 453; national church, 245, 260, 453;
Preston, Paul, 109 Orthodox Christianity, 245, 260,351,376, 453;
Pridham, Geoffrey, 73 n in post-Communist Europe, 245-46; Proles-
474 Index
religion(continued) 65; National Salvation Front, 345,359-62;

tantism, 245,453; secularization, 246. See also neo-Communists, 345,346,358,362; nomen-
Roman Catholic Church klatura, 347; onset of post-totalitarianism,
Renovación Nacional, 216 n 348,349; personalism, 347,349-51,358,359;
Republic Supreme Council, 406 pluralism, 351,353; political parties, 359-61,
"reserve domains." See consolidated democracy, 365; political society, 362-65; privatization in,
"reserve domains" 436 n; regime reconstitution, 254,358-62 ;
"return of Communism," 291,435,454—57; in repression of independent groups, 352; re-
Hungary, 74 n, 435,454,455; in Lithuania, 435, sponse to Gorbachev reforms, 242, 243; role
454, 455; in Poland, 291, 435, 454-56; in of military, 309; role of Securitate, 346; Ro-
Russia, 455 manian exceptionalism, 344,346; rule of law,
Rial, Juan, 164 n 359> 361,363,364; samizdat literature, 353;
Rigby, T. H., 249 "socialism in one family," 347; state-building
Rodrigo Rodríguez, Fernando, 98 n, 111 n, 114 n in, 23; stateness problem, 363-65; sultanistic
Rodríguez Sahagun, Agustín, 89 n regime, 42 n, 49, 233,347,358-60,362-65;
Rokossovsky, Konstantin, 259 trade unions, 351; unavailability of Spanish
Roman Catholic Church, 245, 260, 261, 453; in model, 233,356; uprising in Timisoara, 344,
Belorussia, 246; in Brazil, 453; in Bulgaria, 358, 362; use of television, 345,357; violence
246; in Chile, 453; in Czechoslovakia, 317; in of regime termination, 344,357
Czech Republic, 246; in Hungary, 246; in Romanov Empire, 24
Lithuania, 245; in Poland, 245,246,256,257, Rose, Richard, xix, 246, 444 n
260,261,264; political pluralism and, 260, Rothschild, Joseph, 237,257 n
261; in Romania, 246; in Slovakia, 246,328; in round table pact, 232, 244 n; absence of, in Ro-
Slovenia, 246; in Spain, 94; transnational base mania, 344,361; in Bulgaria, 295 340,342; in
of, 262, 455 Estonia, 433 n; in Hungary, 295,307,310,311,
Romania, xvi, 25, 66 n, 109, ill, 237; anti-Soviet 338; in Poland, 265, 269, 274, 280, 282,308
nationalism, 347,348; as attitudes toward Ruch Alternatywny Akcja Demokratyczna
political and economic systems, 442; auton- (ROAD), 273
omy of Orthodox Church, 351; "brown-red- Rukh, 379
sultanistic" coalition, 364; captured revolu- rule of law, 10,14, 55; in Argentina, 150, 203—5,
tion, 345-47,362; Catholic Church in, 246; 227; in Brazil, 167,168,174,178-80,187,189;
civil society, 346,351-53,360,364,365; coali- in Chile, 251; in creation of economic society,
tion government, 362; "collective leadership," 437; effect of "nationalizing policies" on, 37;
347-49; Communist Party, 345,349,351,355; in Hungary, 299,312; in mature post-total-
conspiracy theory, 345; contrast with Poland, itarianism, 249; in Portugal, 249; in post-
Hungary, and Lithuania, 365; creation of Communist Europe, 248,249; in Romania,
"anti-Soviet Stalinism," 348; Democratic 359> 361,363.364; socialist legality, 249; in
Convention, 363; democratization in inter- Spanish transition, 113, 251; in totalitarian
war period, 76 n; democratic opposition, 344, regimes, 248 n; in USSR, 390
346,358,360,363; diffusion effects, 357; disin- Russev, S., 338
formation, 346; dispute over "facts" of tran- Russia: attitudes toward economic and political
sition, 344-46; dynastic tendencies, 349; eco- systems, 445-53; Chechen secession struggle,
nomic society, 364; elections, 344,359,360, 366,428; citizenship, 367; declaration of sov-
363 n; encoded language of dissent, 353,354; ereignty, 384,389; delegitimation of govern-
gypsies in, 364; human rights violations, 344, ment, 368; economic performance, 385 n,
364; Hungarian minority in, 363,364; ideol- 450 n; economic society in, i3n, 368; former
ogy, 354,355; interim government, 361; lack Communists in, 387; Gorbachev's referendum
of consolidation, 364; lack of round table on USSR, 386; as homeland state actor, 402,
discussions, 344,361; lack of "second culture," 432; irredenta in Baltic countries, 424; legacy
351; leadership, 349,350; liberalization, 347; of state disintegration, 233; Orthodoxy, 412;
miners' strike, 351; mobilization, 355,356; political parties, 378; privatization in, 185,
"movements of rage," 362; nationalism, 362- 436-38; property rights, 253; republic-level
Index 475
elections, 384; "return of Communism" in, Sinatra Doctrine, 302,303

455; Russian identity in USSR, 411,412; Rus- Skach, Cindy, 181 n
sians in the former Republics, 32; simultane- Skilling, H. Gordon, 41 n, 237 n, 330
ity problem, 435; stateness problem, 367; Slagstad, Rune, 10 n, 84 n
treaty with Baltics, 409; unavailability of Slovakia, 25; attitudes toward political and eco-
nondemocratic solutions, 437; weakness of nomic systems, 442; Catholic Church in, 246,
nationalism, 412 328; chances of consolidation, 333 n; economic
Rüütel, Arnold, 408 performance, 450 n; as Nazi puppet state, 328;
rapid industrialization, 328; Velvet Divorce
Sajudis, 383,405 in,328-33
Salazar, Antonio, 116,117,128,135,144; legality of Slovenia, xvii n; absence of stateness problem,
Salazar regime, 249 450; Catholic Church in, 246
samizdat literature, 43, 66 n, 390; in Romania, Smith, Adam, 12
301,353 Smith, Diana, 129 n
Sanguinetti, Jorge, 154 n, 157-59, !/2> 22°n Smulovitz, Catalina, 193 n, 194 n
Sarney, José, 168,169,220 Snyder, Richard, 64 n
Sartori, Giovanni, 39 n Scares, Mario, 127
Savisaar, Edgar, 433 n Social Democratic Party, of Hungary, 302
Scheppele, Kim Lane, 34 n Social Democrats, of Estonia, 425
Schmitter, Philippe C., 3 n, 16 n, 40 n, 72,73 n, Socialists, in Chile, 216
117 n, 118 n, 125 n, 221 Socialist Unity Party of Germany, 249 n
Schumpeter, Joseph A., 250 social welfare expenditures, 139
"second culture," 43 socioeconomic development, 77
Seleny, Anna, 299,301 Solidaridad Española, 98
self-determination, 23 Somalia, absence of state in, 18
"semiloyalty," 156 Somoza Debayle, Anastasio, xiii n, 54,347,357
semipresidentialism, 141,142, 276-79; in Bulgaria, Sotelo, Calvo, 141
342; in Finland, 278; in France, 278,279; in South America: attitudes toward democracy in,
Poland, 255,276-82, 286,287,395; in Portugal, 221-30; debt crisis in, 219,220; democratic
141, 278; in Ukraine, 399; in USSR, 395-400 consolidation in, 220; hierarchical military
Semler, Dwight, 397 in, 219; political economy of legitimacy in,
Sencovici, Gheorghe, 355 223-30; presidentialism in, 220
Serbia, 25,385,434 n Southern Europe: attitudes toward democracy,
Serra, José, 188 142,143; evaluation of prior regime, 143-47;
Serra, Narcis, 90 n, no international influences on, 140,141; parlia-
Shabad, Goldie, 105 mentarism in, 141,142; sequence of reforms
Shafir, Michael, 364 n in, 139; "state-shrinking" in, 139
Shain, Yossi, xiii n, 5 n, 49, 71 n Southern Ossetian Autonomous Oblast, 384
Share, Donald, 117 South Korea, xv, 19,145; availability of "Spanish
Shevardnadze, Eduard, 240 model," 117; political economy of prosperity
Shevtsova, Lilia, 397 in, 78
Shugart, Matthew, 398 Soviet bloc, democratization in, 75,235-39
Simon, János, 283, 296 n, 309,315 Soviet Federalism, 367,369,370; career in-
Simon, Walter B., 21 n centives for republican elites, 372; citizen's
simultaneity of economic and political transi- identity, 371; federal unit's identity, 371;
tion, 244,386,435-53; electoral sequence and, international representation under, 372;
436; loosely coupled hypothesis, 439-53; in mode of adhesion to federation, 371; se-
Russia, 435; in Spain, 249; tightly coupled cession, 371
hypothesis, 439—53; in USSR, 244,436 Soviet-style federal constitutions, 106; in
simultaneity of transition completion and con- Czechoslovakia, 316,329-33,367,391; in
solidation, 124-29; in Chile, 210,212; in Por- Yugoslavia, 367
tugal, 124-29,212 "Soviet-type" regimes, 41
4/6 Index
Soviet Union. See Union of Soviet Socialist text, 31; in France, 30; linguistic obstacles to,
Republics 30; multiple identities as obstacle to, 32
Spain, xvi, 25,144,145; attempted military state-building: in the Baltics, 428-33; in Estonia,
coup, 89; attitudes toward democracy, 109, 23,32,233; in Latvia, 23,32,233; in Lithuania, 23
142-44; as authoritarian regime, 110-12; state bureaucracy, 11,14; effect of "nationalizing
behavior toward democracy, 109; belief in policies" on, 37
democracy, 81; Catholic church in, 92; state-nations, 34
citizenship, 28, 29,32; Communist Party, 91, "stateness" problem, 7,16, 26-33, 66; absence of,
92, 96-98; constitution-making environ- in Slovenia, 450; in authoritarian regimes, 27;
ment, 83, 96,102,114,115; democratization in in Brazil, 166; in Czechoslovakia, 328—33, 366,
interwar period, 76 n; desencanto, 89, 90 n; 452; in Estonia, 366; in GDR, 366; in Greek
devolution of power, 100; economic factors transition, 136; in Hungary, 310,314—16; im-
in consolidation, 112-14; economic reform, pact on democratization, 450; in Latvia, 366;
140; elections, 100; electoral sequence, 366, in Macedonia, 450; in Poland, 258; in Portu-
382; evidence of political learning, 78; Fran- gal, 126; in post-Communist Europe, 254; in
coite institutions, 91; inclusionary choices, post-totalitarian regimes, 27; in Romania,
97; Law for Political Reform, 91,92, 94-96, 363—65; in Russia, 367; in Southern Europe,
100,331; leadership in transition, 92-96; 140; in Spain, 98-107,367,391; in sultanistic
legality of transition, 91,92; lessons of civil regimes, 27; in totalitarian regimes, 27; in
war, 89; linguistic policy in Catalonia, 30; USSR, 366-70,449; in Yugoslavia, 366,367
Moncloa Pact, 90,170; Movimiento Nacional, "state-shrinking," 139; in Brazil, 175,185-87; in
252; nonpoliticization of state apparatus, Peru, 175; in post-Communist Europe, 436;
252; pacted transition in, 62, 66, 87; parlia- in Southern Europe, 139
mentarism, 141,142; political economy of Stepán, Miroslav, 326
prosperity in, 80; political identities in, 35; Suárez, Adolfo, 78, 79, 90, 93—96,141,331,391,
political parties, 106, 247; priority of political 392; decision about Communist Party, 96-98
reform, 95; "regime-initiated transition," 89, Suchocka, Hanna, 282, 298
453; role of Cortes, 90-95; role of EEC, 113, sultanistic regimes, 40; collapse of, 70; defini-
219; role of foreign policies in transition, 113, tion of, 51-56; dynastic succession, 52, 56;
127; role of NATO, 219; rule of law, 249; elites in, 66,70; fusion of private and public,
simultaneity problem, 435; stateness prob- 51-52; ideology in, 50,51,54; leadership in, 50,
lems, 98-107,367,391; statewide parties in, 51, 54, 70, 71; likelihood of provisional gov-
106; Statutes of Autonomy, 101,106; ter- ernment in, 70, 71; military in, 65, 66;
rorism of ETA, 103—8, 431 mobilization in, 50, 51; pacted transition in,
St. Jean, General Ibérico, 190 n 64; reconstitution by nondemocratic elites,
stabilization, 394; in Argentina, 92 n, 193; in 254; in Romania, 42 n, 51, 233,347,358-60,
Brazil, 92 n; 167 n, 170,180,198; in Poland, 362—65; stateness problem in, 27; transition
269; in USSR, 394,397 paths, 59
Stalin, Josef, 41, 44 n, 51, 54,376; high Stalinism, Suny, Ronald Grigor, 369 n, 370 n, 387
248 Sweden, 25
Staniszkis, Jadwiga, 263,273, 281 Switzerland, as a "state-nation," 34
Staravoitova, Galina, 369 n "system blame." See political economy of legiti-
Stark, David, 72,306,308,314 n macy and coercion, system blame
Stasi, 46
state: legitimacy of, 26; military as part of, 67, Taagepera, Rein, 402 n, 404 n, 406 n
69; as necessary for citizenship, 28; restruc- Taiwan, xv n, 18,19, 20 n, 145
turing of, 435-39; rightfulness of state unit, Tajikistan: CIS and, 392 n; constrained political
26; scope versus capacity, 436; state-building, liberties in, 447, 449 n; regime reconstitution
17, 20; Tilly's definition of, 17; Weberian defi- in,387
nition of, 17 Tanbuev, G., 338
state-based nation-building, 21,30-31; assimila- Tarancón, Cardinal, 92
tion and, 32; feasibility in contemporary con- Tarradellas, Josep, 93
Index 477
Teitelboin, Volodia, 215 Spain, 88; initiation of, 71-72,242 n, 253;

Tejero Molina, Antonio, 98,108 length of, 168; pacts, 56,61,64; popular pres-
territorial boundaries, 16,29 sure and, in; presidentialism and, 220; prob-
Thatcher, Margaret, 212 lem of citizenship in, 28; role of economic
"third wave," 4 n, 77 n, 87,143 performance in, 77-81; role of interim gov-
Tiananmen Square, 323,324 ernments, 71, 72; role of military in, 66, 67;
tightly coupled hypothesis, 439-53 "transition by transaction," 117; as two-player
Tilly, Charles, 17,18 game, 64
timing, 37, 98; in Chile, 216; in USSR, 392 Trasnea, Ovidiu, 348 n, 354,355
Tironi, Eugenio, 207 n Trujillo, Rafael, 49, 51
Tismaneanu, Vladimir, 351 Truman, David, 41
"titular nationality," 23,32,254 Tupamaros, 155
Torre, Juan Carlos, 201 Turkey, 50; invasion of Cyprus, 131
totalitarian regimes, 38,40,55,57,244; as civil- Turkmenistan, 401 n; CIS and, 390 n; constrained
ian-led regimes, 68—70; contrast with author- political liberties in, 447; nondemocratic
itarianism, 294,327; ideology in, 40; impact government in, 434, 449 n; regime reconstitu-
on economic society, 252; informer legacy in, tion in,387
251; "institutional pluralism" in, 41, 43; lead- two-player game. See transition pacts, two-player
ership in, 46,47; legacies of, 55, 69, 409; game
legacy for usable state, 250, 251; military in, Tyminski, Stan, 274,280
67, 68; mobilization in, 40, 47, 48; paths out typologies, analytical usefulness of, 39
of, 293 n; spontaneous actions in, 111; state- Tzetkov, Plamen, 339 n
ness problem in, 27; transition pacts in, 64
Träger, 22 Ukraine, 369; attitudes toward economic and
transients. See political identities, transients political systems, 445-53; CIS and, 390 n; cul-
transition pacts, 56, 65; absence of, in Argen- tural demarcation of, 32 n; economic perfor-
tina, 193; in Brazil, 66; in civilian-led regimes, mance in, 385 n, 450 n; economic society in,
70; creation and maintenance of, 62; four- 13 n; former Communists in, 387; language
player game, 63, 65, 265; "hard-liners" in, 62, policy in, 383; privatization in, 436 n; repub-
109,131, 296; in Hungary, 66, 295,306-10; lic-level election in, 383; semipresidentialism,
"moderates" in, 60, 296; Moncloa Pact as, 90, 399; sovereignty from USSR, 379
168; in Poland, 255, 264-69; round table dis- Union of Democratic Forces, 247
cussions and, 232, 244 n; in Spain, 62, 65, 87; Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, xvi, xvii n,
in totalitarian regimes, 65; two-player game, 25, 232, 233; absence of democratic past, 375 n;
64 bureaucratic politics in, 41; centralized party-
transition paths, 38, 40, 55; in authoritarian state, 369,370,373,374,376, 378,379; citizen-
regimes, 53, 59, 60; availability in post-totali- ship, 28, 29; civil society, 376,377; Commu-
tarian regimes, 295; availability in sultanistic nist Party, 239-43,37O, 380-82,384,386;
regimes, 53, 57; plebiscitary "national libera- Congress of People's Deputies, 379,381,382,
tion" as, 387; in post-Communist Europe, 392-94; constitution-making environment,
253; in regime controlled transitions, 295,335, 84, 379,394,396,397; contrast with Hungary,
336,339 375; democratization in, 378; detotalitarian-
transition to democracy: in civilian-led regimes, ization-by-decay, 375; dissidents in, 376; doc-
68-70; constraints on Chilean transition, trine of limited sovereignty, 236; economic
206-12, 223; crafting of Spanish transition, crisis, 385; elections, 373,374, 378,379,381-86;
62,66,89,91-96; definition of, 3, 207; diffi- electoral sequence, 366,367,374,379,382-85;
cult initiation in Warsaw Pact, 238; external ethnofederalism, 76 n, 376,377,386; execu-
factors in, 72,73; as four-player game, 63; tive-legislative conflict, 391,394-400; federal-
"hard-liners" and "moderates," 60; with a ism, 367,369-72,376,391; fictive constitution
hierarchical military, 150; inclusionary of, 374; flattened landscape, 377; glasnost, 239,
choices, 97; initiation by nonhierarchical 242,367,369,373,378; ideology, 77, 236,375,
military, 118-20,126; initiation by regime in 376; importance of prior regime type, 374;
478 Index
Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (continued) military, 153; divisions within military gov-
independence of Baltics from, 406-10; ernment, 152,153; double simultaneous vote,
"inner" and "outer" empires, 236; 163; elections in, 152,154,155; hierarchical
intervention in Baltic countries, 402-6; KGB, military government, 151; high party identifi-
370,386; leadership, 375; legitimacy of central cation in, 152; military prerogatives in, 158;
government, 384; liberalization, 367,374,376, military trials, 154,155,159,213,252; Naval
378,387; military expenditures, 239-41; mis- Club Pact, 154,157,159; political parties, 152,
perception of nationalism, 368,369; mobi- 153,162,247,248 n; political society, 152; presi-
lization, 375; 1991 coup attempt, 243,369,384, dentialism, 216, 220; quality of democracy,
386,387,409; Orthodox Church, 376; "parade 161-65; referendum on amnesty, 155,158-60,
of sovereignties," 385; perestroïka, 239,241, 225; repression in, 152,190; similarity with
242,367-70,373,37». 38o; pluralism, 374,379, Greece, 154; two-party system, 163,165 n
380; political identities, 384,385; political par- usable democratic legacy, 452
ties, 378,381,384,394,399; political society, usable state bureaucracy, 11,56; in Brazil,
377> 378,381; politicization of ethnicity, 367, 174—78,185,186; in Hungary, 313; in post-
370,373; post-totalitarianism in, 48,375; priv- Communist Europe, 250-52; in USSR, 390
ileging of collective rights, 387-90; privileg- Uzbekistan: CIS and, 391 n; constrained political
ing of economic restructuring, 367,385,387, liberties in, 447,449 n; nondemocratic govern-
390-97; privileging of independence, 377,387, ment in, 434; regime reconstitution in, 387
389; referendum, 385; regime-initiated change,
372-79; as regional hegemon, 234-42; relation Vaclavik, General, 326
between titular and non-titular nationalities, Valenzuela, J. Samuel, 5 n
389,390; republics as proto-states, 369,376; van de Walle, Nicholas, 64 n
response to military draft, 384 n; rule of law, Varady, Tibor, 434 n
390; Russian nationals in party-state, 370; Vargas, Getúlio, 195; construction of Estado
semipresidentialism, 397-400; simultaneity Novo, 75
problem, 244, 436; "social contract " 378; Vásquez, Tabaré, 157-59
Soviet mentality, 376; stabilization, 392,395; Vatican II, 77
state disintegration, 11,233,368,373,382,384, "veil of ignorance," 266
386-401,450; stateness problem, 366-70,449; Velasco, Eugenio, 209 n
"titular nationalities," 377,382,389-90,401; Velik, Raivo, 419 n, 420 n
transition as plebiscitary "national liberation," "velvet divorces," 31,244 n; in Czechoslovakia,
387; Union Treaty, 386,389; usable state, 390; 328-33
weight of totalitarian legacy, 375,376 Verbitsky, Horacio, 201 n
United Council of Work Collectives, 408 Verdery, Katherine, 346,355
United Kingdom, 18,19 Veremis, Thanos, 131,132,132 n
United Nations, 21 n Videnov, Zhan, 341
United States of America: foreign policy toward violence: in Basque Country, 103-8; in Brazil,
Chile, 73; policy toward migrants, 416,417; 175-77; legacy for democracy of, 108; in
policy toward transitions, 74; as "state- struggle for democracy, 107
nation," 34 Vitorino, Antonio, 126 n
unrestrained personal rulership, 54 "vote/seat disproportionality," 289,456 n
Urban, Jan, 321,331,332
Urban, László, 309 Walesa, Lech, 262,265,280-82,287-89; as char-
Uruguay, xvi, 25,68 n, 150,205; attitudes toward ismatic leader, 255,273; as nonparty candi-
democracy, 160,161,221-30; availability of date for president, 274,275; proposal of "little
"Spanish model," 117; civil-military relations, constitution," 281; reaction to 1995 defeat,
159,160,164; civil society, 152; as consolidated 456 n; refusal to join party, 247
democracy, 159-61; constitution-making en- Warsaw Pact, xvi, xvii n, 235,236,238, 244 n, 359;
vironment, 85,152, 220; contrast to Spain, Prague Spring and, 318
163,164; crisis of efficacy, 162-64; debt crisis, Weber, Eugene, 30
166,219; defensive and offensive projects of Weber, Max, xiii n; on attributes of the state, 17;
Index 479
on bureaucracy, 179 n; on caesaropapism, 453; tion Supreme Soviet, 382; inattention to con-
concept of nation, 21; on legitimacy of use of stitutional change, 438; neglect of political
force, 323; on sultanism, 49,50,251 n, 347,357 restructuring, 394; privileging of economic
Weffort, Francisco, 77 n, 168 n restructuring, 391-397; on "sovereignty," 389;
Weigel, George, 75 n struggle with Gorbachev, 389
Weimar Republic, 89 Young Democrats, 311
Weinreich, Peter, 420 n Yugoslavia, xvii n; constitution-making envi-
Westphalia, 21 n ronment, 82; Croation-Serbian civil wars, 88;
Wheeler, Douglas, 117 n deferred gratification in, 450; democratization
Whitehead, Laurence, 16 n, 74,75,140,235 in interwar period, 74 n; electoral sequence,
Wiatr, Jerzy, 454 n 381,382; ethnic cleansing, 366; irredenta in,
Wiberg, Hakan, 30 n 450; nondemocratic government in, 434; re-
Wilson, Woodrow, 23 surgence of ethnic nationalist dictatorships
Wojtyla, Karol (Pope John Paul II), 261,265 in, 76 n; role of military, 309; Soviet-type
worker self-management. See Yugoslavia, federalism, 367; state-building in, 23; state-
worker self-management disintegration, 384; stateness problem, 366,
working class migrants, 412,413 367; worker self-management, 77, 238
World War I, peace treaties, 23
Wyszyriski, Cardinal Stefan, 256 Zaldivar, Andrés, 216 n
Zaslavsky, Victor, 388,389
Yakovlev, Aleksandr, 240 n, 368,373,376,407 Zeitgeist. See international influences, Zeitgeist
Yeltsin, Boris, 376,396; ambivalence toward po- Zhelev, Zhelyu, 342
litical parties, 247,399; Baltic countries and, Zhirinovsky, Vladimir, 32
409,425; conflict with legislature, 391, 394-97; Zhivkov, Todor, 295,336,339, 340
election as Russian President, 384,386; elec- Zimmerman, Ekkart, 80
Library of Congress Cataloging-¡n-Publkation Data
Linz, Juan J. (Juan José), 1926-

Problems of democratic transition and consolidation : southern Europe, South
America, and post-communist Europe / Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan.
p. cm.
Includes index.
ISBN 0-8018-5157-2 (h : alk. paper). —ISBN 0-8018-5158-0 (pbk : alk. paper)
i. Democracy—History—loth century. 2. Democracy—Europe, Southern.
3. Democracy—South America. 4. Democracy—Europe, Eastern. I. Stepan,
Alfred C. II. Title.
JC421.L56 1996
32i.8'o9'o45—dc20 95-43462

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Problems of Democratic

Transition and Consolidation

Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan

The Johns Hopkins University Press

The Johns Hopkins University Press

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

ISBN 0-8018-5157-2 ISBN 0-8018-5158-0 (pbk.)

List of Figures, Tables, and Exhibits vii

1. Democracy and Its Arenas 3

6. The Paradigmatic Case of Reforma Pactada—Ruptura Pactada: Spain 87

10. A Risk-Prone Consolidated Democracy: Uruguay 151

12. From an Impossible to a Possible Democratic Game: Argentina 190

15. Post-Communism's Prehistories 235

6.1 Percentage of the Population Wanting Independence in Catalonia and

1.1 The Five Major Arenas of a Modern Consolidated Democracy: Inter-re-

6.2 National Identities in Catalonia 102

13.1 Legitimacy and Efficacy in Chile and Spain 214

Have the Right to Vote in Elections to Parliament?" Differential

19.1 Preperestroika Soviet Federalism: The Coexistence of Contradictory

IN THE PENULTIMATE paragraph of the preface to the multivolume work

nas of a consolidated democracy, before a polity, starting from a position approx-

existing socialism" produced a persisting legacy of interests in tension with the

vitation to Linz to be Max Weber Visiting Professor at Heidelberg University. Both

who became theoreticians of civil society opposition and eventually political

IN PART i, we explore how the character of different nondemocratic regimes

Our discussion of what constitutes a completed democratic transition helps

— Behaviorally, a democratic regime in a territory is consolidated when no sig-

We believe that consolidated democracies need to have in place five interact-

omy, the relative autonomy of political society required in a consolidated democ-

The third reason for market intervention in consolidated democracies is that

Primary Organizing Necessary Support Primary Mediation

"Stateness," Nationalism, and

IN THIS C H A P T E R we turn to the issue of stateness, a variable so undertheo-

A SOVEREIGN STATE AS A P R E R E Q U I S I T E TO DEMOCRACY

Democracy is a form of governance of a modern state. Thus, without a state,

Unless an organization with these statelike attributes exists in a territory, a gov-

STATES AND STATE-BUILDING, NATIONS AND NATION-BUILDING

Having established the indispensability of a modern state for democracy, we

subjected to them, if they had or later developed a separate national conscious-

Under what empirical conditions do "nation-states" and "democratization" form

Democracy is characterized not by subjects but by citizens, so a democratic

28. Dahl, Democracy and Its Critics, 207. Emphasis added.

33. See Gellner, Nations and Nationalism, 44.

So how can democracy possibly be achieved in multinational states? We cer-

tion-state, almost certainly communal violence would increase and Indian

No other nation exists and Democratic nation-state Mononational democratic

joritarian "nationalizing policies" in each of five arenas would be the following. In

Modern Nondemocratic Regimes

.DEMOCRATIC transition and consolidation involve the movement from a

lization—there can be a post-totalitarian ideal type that is different from a totali-

existing sources of pluralism have been uprooted or systematically repressed. In

As in a totalitarian regime, post-totalitarian leadership is still exclusively re-

ity to negotiate. Such a leadership structure, if it is not able to repress opponents

The relative de-ideologization of post-totalitarian regimes and the weakening

siasm that can be so functional in a totalitarian regime, the networks of ritualized

20. Linz, "Totalitarian and Authoritarian Regimes," 259-63.

tions are permanently subject to the unpredictable and despotic intervention of

Finally, how does leadership differ in sultanism, totalitarianism, and authori-

21. Ibid., 260.

The Implications of Prior