Comparing Apples and Mangoes: The Overpoliticized State in Developing Countries 0791471136, 9780791471135, 9781429498265

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Comparing Apples and Mangoes The Overpoliticized State in Developing Countries

S.N. Sangmpam

Comparing Apples and Mangoes

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Comparing Apples and Mangoes The Overpoliticized State in Developing Countries

S. N. Sangmpam

STATE UNIVERSITY

OF

NEW YORK PRESS

Published by State University of New York Press, Albany © 2007 State University of New York All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission. No part of this book may be stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means including electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. For information, contact State University of New York Press, Albany, NY www.sunypress.edu Production by Diane Ganeles Marketing by Anne M. Valentine Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Sangmpam, S. N. Comparing apples and mangoes : the overpoliticized state in developing countries / S. N. Sangmpam. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978-0-7914-7113-5 (alk. paper) 1. Developing countries—Politics and government. 2. Developing countries— Economic conditions. 3. Developed countries—Economic conditions. 4. Developed countries—Politics and government. I. Title. JF60.S26 2007 320.9172'4—dc22

2006021970 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Contents List of Illustrations Acknowledgments Introduction

vii ix 1

Chapter 1. Comparing Apples and Mangoes The Mischaracterization of Third World Experiences Setting the Framework: Comparing Apples and Mangoes Politics and Overpoliticization

15 15 23 30

Chapter 2. Sins of Universalism and Particularism From the Behavioral Revolution to Modernization Theory Democratization by Institutional Fiat Universalism from the Left Particularism and Anti–Third Worldism Particularism in South America, Asia, and Africa Conclusion

51 51 59 72 76 79 92

Chapter 3. Overpoliticization: Empirical and Historical Evidence Overpoliticized Behaviors in Democratic Regimes Overpoliticized Behaviors in Authoritarian Regimes Overpoliticized Behaviors Common to Democratic and Authoritarian Regimes Overpoliticized Behaviors in Western Countries Conclusion: Differences and Similarities

95 95 113 129 158 166

Chapter 4. Overpoliticization: Quantitative Evidence Data and Procedure Results and Interpretation Conclusion: Differences and Similarities

173 173 175 192

vi

Contents

Chapter 5. Understanding the Overpoliticized State Political Institutions and the State as Effects of Politics Compromise-Resistant Politics and the Overpoliticized State The Liberal Democratic State as the Conceptual Contrast

195 196 201 215

Chapter 6. Basic Hypotheses About the Overpoliticized State What Explains Liberal Compromise? What Explains Overpoliticization? Conclusion

227 228 238 256

Appendixes Notes Selected Bibliography Index

259 269 295 317

Illustrations FIGURES 1.1

An Analogic Representation of Overpoliticization Versus Liberal Compromise

31

TABLES 1.1. Overpoliticized Behaviors in Electoralist Regimes 1.2. Overpoliticized Behaviors in Authoritarian Regimes 1.3. Overpoliticized Behaviors in both Electoralist and Authoritarian Regimes 3.1. Violent Opposition, 1948–96 3.2. Violent Opposition in South America, Asia, and Africa, 1948–66, 1967–89, 1990–96 (in percentages) 4.1. Presence of Overpoliticized Behaviors in South America, Asia, and Africa, 1948–66, 1967–89, 1990–96 (in percentages) 4.2. Presence of Overpoliticized Behaviors in Western Countries and Japan, 1948–66, 1967–89, 1990–96 (in percentages) 4.3. Presence of Overpoliticized Behaviors in Continental South America and the Caribbean, 1967–89, 1990–96 (in percentages) 4.4. Lack of Civil Liberties and Political Rights, 1967–89 (Means and Variations) 4.5. Frequency of Overpoliticized Behaviors, 1948–66, 1967–89, 1990–96 4.6. Pervasive Overpoliticized Behaviors, 1948–66, 1967–89, 1990–96 4.7. Frequency of Overpoliticized Behaviors and Their Variations 4.8. Frequency of Overpoliticized Behaviors: Analysis of Variance 4.9. Benferroni Test: Multiple Comparisons vii

45 46 47 153 153

176 176

178 180 183 186 187 188 189

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Acknowledgments A while ago I published an essay critical of, among others, Guillermo O’Donnell’s theory of the state in Latin America. As one of the reviewers of the essay, O’Donnell, while in agreement with the substance of my argument, warned that to meet the kind of requirements I had set for a better understanding of the state in developing countries would take a lifelong project. This book is part of this lifelong project. Because in pursuing the argument I have had to clear first the undergrowth by taking a critical stand vis-à-vis other scholars’ works, my first words of acknowledgment are addressed to this group of scholars, including O’Donnell. Their works served as an intellectual stimulus for mine. And there is no better way of saying it than by paraphrasing Charles Lindblom’s words to his critics in the preface to Inquiry and Change. Speaking of the price society pays for consensus and stability, he remarks that rather than know the price or discuss it, the critics wish to turn their attention and his [Lindblom’s] back to recounting the benefits themselves. Paraphrasing him, I am aware of the contributions made by all the works discussed in this study. Rather than recount their contributions, I focus on those aspects of the works that, when subjected to criticism, are likely to advance the debate. Beyond this, my words of gratitude go to (the late) John Nagle and Mehrzad Boroujerdi of Syracuse University and Chris Anderson and Peter Katzenstein of Cornell University for their comments on selected parts of the earlier draft; to David Ost of Hobart College, who read the entire manuscript and forced me to rethink some of the issues; to Bob Mupier of Prairie View A&M University and Freedom King of Cornell University for long discussions on the quantitative portion of the study; to Joe Hotchkasst of Cornell University, whose expertise in fruits helped put my fruit analogy on firmer grounds; to Andrea Burke for designing the diagram for the analogy; to my students in the graduate seminar on Comparative State-Society Relations at Syracuse University for their insight and skeptical questions; and to the Press’s anonymous reviewers for their perceptive comments. I also want to thank Michael Rinella, an acquisitions editor at SUNY Press, who maintained his interest in the book. Needless to say, I alone bear the responsibility for any error of conceptualization and interpretation. ix

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Introduction The view of evolution is nothing more than a representation of our hopes. We have certain hopes and cultural traditions in the West, and we impose them upon the actual working of the world for the simplest and most obvious reason: the world is a pretty miserable place for many people. If we can reconstruct the history of life as somehow inherently directed toward us, it is a very comforting thought. It is an old one too. It is embodied in Genesis I. We are not willing to give it up easily. —Stephen Jay Gould Il y a deux manières de se perdre, par ségrégation murée dans le particulier ou par dilution dans l’universel. —Aimé Césaire

This study is the first of two projected contributions to the search for an integrated theory of the cross-national comparative politics of African, Asian, and South American countries—hereafter referred to interchangeably as Third World, Developing, or non-Western countries. I propose here the concept of the “overpoliticized state” as the common property shared by these countries; a property that an integrated comparative politics of non-Western countries must first define before attempting an explanation of it. Herein lies the study’s peculiarity. I do not offer here an explanatory theory, or why the overpoliticized state exists. This book is above all about defining the explicandum, that is, what it is that an integrated comparative politics of developing countries must explain. Another study in preparation will attend to the task of providing an explanation. I do, however, discuss the basic propositions and hypotheses for such an explanatory theory in chapter 6.1 Most developing countries are democratic today. Elections have become routine. Countries that have not made democratic transitions yet are trying to do so through transitional institutions. This is the case of Africa, where transitions have been slower in such war-torn countries as Angola, 1

2

Introduction

Congo, Sudan, Somalia, or Burundi. Or they are taking steps, however modest, to reform their existing authoritarian institutions. This applies to the Middle East, which has a relatively large concentration of authoritarian regimes. Overall, by 2006 all Latin American countries were democratic, except Cuba. In Asia, apart from the Middle East, only six countries were authoritarian. In Africa, more than forty (of its fifty-four) countries were democratic. This globalization-driven post–Cold War situation has led to two approaches in the academic debate. The first is the universalistic claim that liberal democracy is “the only game in town.”2 It projects a picture of transnational, vertical uniformity descending from the West to developing countries. The expectation exists that their political institutions and outcomes resemble or should/will resemble those of the liberal democratic state of the West. In this view, authoritarianism and other nondemocratic political features in developing countries are, if not temporary deviations from the Western norm, at least expected “growing pains” that resemble those in the West at an early comparable stage of development. This first approach leads, paradoxically, to the second, particularistic, approach. Indeed, because liberal democracy is posited as universal, and authoritarianism as temporary deviation, there is a presumption of universally democratic “commonalities” shared by Western and non-Western countries. Hence the main task of comparative politics is no longer to discover whether these democratic commonalities actually exist—which is taken for granted, but rather to discover variances and divergences in the way individual developing countries and regions apply the universal precepts and institutions of liberal democracy and approximate the Western norm. For this reason, Latin American democratic institutions, for instance, are isolated from Asian and African ones and are exhibited as a better testing ground for institutional theories devised for Western democracies.3 In other words, despite the universalistic claim, there is a strong tendency to dwell on differences in African, Asian, and Latin American political experiences. This tendency joins and strengthens the traditional Area Studies approach, which concentrates on regional trends, and the call for the abolition of the term “Third World” because of alleged “vast differences” among its specific countries. Taking a cue from Stephen Jay Gould and Aimé Césaire, I refer to the two approaches as “universalism” and “particularism” (for a full definition, see chapter 1). Yet a cursory look at world news for 2004–2006 yields the following headlines: “Vote Buying in Brazil’s Parliament,” “Bolivia President Mesa Resigns, Citing More than 820 Protests,” “Bolivia Admiral Denies Coup Plan,” “Venezuela Election Boycott Widens,” “Election Protests Paralyze Mexico City,” “Nepal’s King Sacks the Government and Declares a State of Emergency,” “Cambodia Opposition Leader Flees,” “Thailand’s Rebellious South,” “Fistfight in South Korea’s Parliament,” “Taiwan’s Opposition Accuses President Chen of

Introduction

3

Staging His Own Shooting and Rejects Election Results,” “The Philippines Imposes a State of Emergency Following a Coup Plot,” “Mauritania Officers Seize Power,” “Malawi’s President Alleges Death Plot by His Predecessor,” “Gabon Police Clash with Marchers over Election Results,” “Death Toll Rises in Egypt’s Parliamentary Elections,” “Score of Students Killed and Arrested after Alleged Election Fraud in Ethiopia.”4 Except, perhaps, in the case of Egypt, these headlines are about democracies and apply to all the three major regions of the developing world but not to the Western world. Anecdotal as they may be, they contradict both universalistic and particularistic claims. This is a long-standing contradiction. Indeed, despite, or because of, the current profuse literature on democratization,5 universalism in comparative politics has not been able to resolve the “crisis” that has plagued it since the late 1970s.6 The literature’s underlying normative assumptions and tone have not helped address adequately comparativists’ own burning questions and disagreements. Among the unanswered questions is whether theories proposed for Western countries are appropriate for non-Western countries, and under what conditions. These unsolved issues are exacerbated by the focus today on the theories of democratic transition and consolidation and on institutionalism. Except for advocating the establishment of democratic institutions where they do not exist, the literature scarcely raises the deeper theoretical issue of whether an intersection and convergence exists between these democratic transitions and consolidations, on the one hand, and the persistence of authoritarianism in other parts of the Third World, on the other. Nor does it ask and answer the question of whether immediate postindependence democratic institutions in Africa and Asia and in post–World War II South America that disappeared by 1964 maintain a theoretical unity with the ensuing authoritarian episode that ended in the 1980s and 1990s, with the democratic consolidation of today, and with the persistent authoritarian rules in many countries. Even if these episodes do not maintain such a unity, why should democratic transitions and consolidations be the focus of inquiry in comparative analysis at the expense of authoritarianism, which is also and still a form of political rule in non-Western countries? And what is one to make of the “reversals” and “weaknesses” in the form of “electoral autocracies,”7 electoral rigging, violence, and mass overthrows in these democratic transitions and consolidations, reversals not found in Western countries? Are they simply to be considered irrelevant lapses resulting from institutional failure, or do they deserve to be analyzed as an integral part of this possible empirical/conceptual unity shared by non-Western countries that sets them apart from Western countries? Particularism does not answer these questions either. The reality of developing countries is that the three Post–World War II big waves (democracy, authoritarianism, and back to democracy) that have swept them maintain, despite expected local differences, deep-patterned similarities. These

4

Introduction

similarities in the political outcomes and behaviors of the three developing regions contrast with those of Western countries. But they also contrast with local and regional idiosyncrasies in the three regions. Even if one allows the fact that some countries in these regions deeply diverge from the general status of underdevelopment, such divergences hardly justify the particularistic emphasis on differences in political outcomes of developing countries. Does the “newly industrialized” status of Taiwan, South Korea, or Singapore make their political features and those of East Asia in general very different from those of other developing countries? Likewise, does the higher percentage of democratic regimes in Latin America or Brazil’s status as an industrial giant make their political outcomes vastly different from outcomes in Africa and Asia even as these regimes share the above anecdotal evidence, mass overthrows, and “electoral autocracy” with regimes in Africa and Asia? In short, the universalistic and particularistic imperatives, which are supposed to make developing countries resemble Western liberal democracies, on the one hand, and accentuate their differences from each other, on the other, raise the following questions: Do developing countries still share any fundamental empirical and conceptual unity? Is there anything that unites them other than the lingering habit of calling them “Third World?” Is there a horizontal unity, or similarity, among them, distinguishing them from their idiosyncratic/regional traits as well as from the features of Western countries? If so, how does one conceptualize this unity? And what type of empirical evidence does one need to confirm and define this unity? THE ARGUMENT My central argument is that, contrary to universalism, political outcomes in developing countries do not resemble those of the liberal democratic state in the West to become “the only game in town”; neither are their cross-national differences as vast as particularism claims. Rather, Third World outcomes tend to defy the two claims by stubbornly constituting themselves into a distinct, horizontal empirical and conceptual unity. This unity I call the “overpoliticized state.” Put more provocatively, despite transitions to democracy, the Third World (it does not have to be called Third World) still exists because of the overpoliticized state. The argument can be stated as follows: Deeply similar patterns of specifically political behaviors exist throughout African, Asian, and South American countries regardless of their geographical location, level of economic development, regime type (authoritarian and democratic), and historical time one considers in the post-1948 period. Despite national and regional variations in the manifestations of these behaviors, these similar

Introduction

5

patterns reflect an overpoliticized state, which differs fundamentally from the Western liberal democratic state. To unpack this argument, I support the proposition that what unites developing countries horizontally is the fact that their political behaviors/features converge, more so than in Western countries, toward a common property, overpoliticization, that defies liberal compromise in political competition. Such a common property distinguishes outcomes in developing countries both from their local/regional idiosyncrasies and from political outcomes in Western countries. The task is then to (1) conceptualize the state through the notion of overpoliticization as antithetical to liberal compromise and (2) present empirical evidence to support it. To conceptualize the state, I distinguish between politics, political institutions, and the state format. In relation to institutions and the state format, society-rooted politics is preeminent. It determines and shapes political institutions, behaviors, and the state format despite the state’s inclusiveness. For this reason, politics serves as the standard for appreciating similarities and differences among developing countries and between them and Western countries. A focus on the preeminence of politics reveals that the effects and outcomes of politics (political institutions, behaviors, and state formats) in developing countries stand opposed to the liberal type of political compromise. These similar effects constitute their empirical/conceptual unity, the integrated dependent variable or overpoliticization. Because the state is the intersecting and inclusive point, these effects find their cohesion within the state; hence, one understands the notion of the overpoliticized state. As politics-generated patterns of behaviors, overpoliticization is to the overpoliticized state in non-Western countries what liberal compromise is to the liberal democratic state in Western countries. And as the embodiment of the conceptual unity of developing countries, the concept of overpoliticized state subsumes both the “democratic rule” and “authoritarian rule,” their two main regime types. (To stress this point, I refer to democratic regimes as “electoralist regimes”).8 Both are the non identical twin offspring of the overpoliticized state, which also subsumes any regionally or locally based state typologies. Relying on a fruit analogy, I liken the overpoliticized state and its property to the common property of tropical fruits (hence, mangoes) and contrast it with the liberal democratic state and its property, which I liken to the common property of temperate fruits (hence, apples). Although an explanatory theory of the overpoliticized state is not the focus of the book, I sketch it in chapter 6 in the form of testable hypotheses that will serve as the backbone of a study in preparation. I argue that the overpoliticized state is best explained by reconciling universalism and particularism. This is possible by integrating non-Western “cultures” into the

6

Introduction

general theory of comparative politics, that is, by defining the ways in which these cultures modify and subvert the assumptions and explanatory principle of the liberal democratic state to lead to a similarly overpoliticized state. More specifically, I contend that regardless of their level of economic development and exposure to globalization, non-Western societies are not exclusively capitalist. Capitalist and precapitalist core relations are mutually altered, leading to a “triple divergence” in society as opposed to the “triple convergence” that exists in Western societies. The main effect of this triple divergence is the nonrespect of the rules of the game of liberal democracy and its built-in compromise in political competition, leading to overpoliticization. This sketched explanation rejects the three prevalent approaches to Third World politics: (1) the focus on institutions that explains political trends by the strength or weakness of the institutions, (2) the focus on the subjugation by imperialism/capitalism, and (3) the focus on localized/regional cultural identity and historical particularities. Why does it matter that one proves the existence of a conceptual and empirical unity shared by developing countries? What is the added value? To be sure, the idea of developing countries displaying common features is not new. Despite the debate surrounding it, the lingering notion of “Third World” conveys the idea. That developing countries share many socioeconomic features while displaying at the same time variations from each other is well accepted and is not the argument here. Nor do I claim that Western and nonWestern countries do not have anything in common. Rather, my interest is the post-Soviet era’s double claim (universalistic and particularistic) in comparative politics that denies to developing countries the type of empirical and conceptual unity in political features that works such as Samuel Huntington’s Political Order in Changing Societies (although for totally different reasons)9 sought to demonstrate. The denial prevents us from answering the questions I raised above. Proving that developing countries share, horizontally, a common property (overpoliticization) and conceptualizing the overpoliticized state as the embodiment of this unity will help answer these questions in four ways. First, however minimally one concedes that there are differences between Western and non-Western countries and similarities among the latter, one still needs to specify the nature of these differences and similarities. Otherwise, they remain vague. Because I claim that the state in developing countries differs fundamentally from the liberal democratic in the West, I need to first establish the “political nature” of these differences and similarities. Second, as a common sense, defining the unity shared by developing countries facilitates theory building or—to use a less overbearing term—an explanation. Suppose that for a period of time four individuals desire to have or are persuaded to have children. In reality, only one of them is consistently successful in doing so during this period of time while the three others con-

Introduction

7

sistently do not conceive, have miscarriages, stillbirths, and deformed children. This certainly suggests that two sets of factors cause the three to be unsuccessful in their quest while allowing only one individual to be successful. Although individual circumstances may be important in each case, the three unsuccessful cases suggest that they share a possible common core explanatory factor (however multifaceted) especially in light of the successful case. To discover the common explanatory factor one must first describe and catalog these different phenomena (i.e., nonconception, miscarriages, stillbirths, and deformities) and establish their common trait or property. The common trait, in turn, facilitates the search for the possible common factor (e.g., common exposure to a toxic site) that causes these phenomena; it also facilitates comparisons with the successful case and, hence, between its explanatory variable and that of the three unsuccessful cases (e.g., nonexposure vs. exposure to a toxic site). Because universalism and particularism analyze political outcomes in developing countries according to the latter’s assumed resemblance or close resemblance with liberal democracy and vast differences from each other, they lead to plethoric regime typologies of Third World states. These include: sultanic state, organic state, corporatist state, authoritarian-bureaucratic state, patrimonial/neopatrimonial state, early modern state, integral state, soft state, weak state, collapsed state, rentier state, parasitical state, predatory state, prebendal state, kleptocratic state, crony state, inherited postcolonial state, neocolonial state, dependent state, client state and (in the era of democratization) transition democracy, consolidated democracy, illiberal democracy, electoral democracy, pseudodemocracy, virtual democracy, and so forth—all of which can be likened to nonconception, miscarriages, stillbirths, and deformities in the above analogy. This profusion of conflicting labels stands in contrast to the rather parsimonious characterization of the state in Western countries and has severe implications for comparative politics. The issues involved cry out for an integrated theory of the state in non-Western countries, the cornerstone of an integrated comparative politics of these countries. Given, however, that there is strong skepticism and even outright hostility toward an integrated theory that crosses geographical or cultural boundaries in developing countries, such a theory will remain elusive if it cannot define what it is that it is supposed to explain. Proving the conceptual and empirical unity of political outcomes in developing countries, that is, grasping the common trait of all these state labels, provides us with a reasonably common dependent variable. It helps us overcome the problem of plethoric regime typologies and paves the way for new ways of building an integrated theory in the comparative politics of these countries. It does so by facilitating the discovery of a possible common cause to these different phenomena/labels through comparisons with both the trait of the Western liberal democratic state and its

8

Introduction

explanatory variable. At the very least, an account of overpoliticization as a common property should eventually allow, in Sidney Verba’s words, a fruitful clash of alternative explanations for a common phenomenon, or dependent variable.10 There is a caveat: The search for a possible common cause requires that we do not limit ourselves to well-traveled roads, such as colonialism or imperialism and institutionalism, but pay more attention to neglected explanatory variables shared by developing countries, which set them apart from their Western counterparts. Such a search will help affirm the empirical and theoretical coherence (hence integration) of the cross-national comparative politics of non-Western countries. Third, an integrated theory of the state, if successful, will help, in turn, resolve the seemingly intractable debate between advocates of “general theory”/ universalism and “area studies”/particularism in Third World politics. To propose the overpoliticized state as the cornerstone of an integrated theory differs from merely combining and juxtaposing universalism and particularism. It supposes that universalism/general theory and particularism/area studies are altered and fused into a new whole. The alteration must highlight the horizontal empirical and conceptual unity of the political outcomes shared by non-Western countries and must place them on a par with their Western counterparts within a single comparative framework. In this new framework, universalism is altered because it does not reduce the political system to the liberal democratic state and the West is displaced from its assigned center position whence (are supposed to) descend Third World political features and explanations; and particularism is altered because it is subordinated horizontally to a broader, nongeographically and nonculturally specific framework. Such a theory has implications for the debate between “general theory”/universalism and area studies/particularism because of its ability to defy both approaches; it stands at the “center” and, thus, holds the cards for reconciling both. Fourth, the study has prescriptive implications. In the era of globalization and democratization there is scarcely a consensus about their feasibility, desirability, and benefits among the people of the Third World. To the sweeping waves of these two movements the populace in non-Western countries opposes multifaceted resistance. Despite its oft-proclaimed obsolescence and irrelevance in the face of civil society and the market, the state remains paradoxically the catalyst for these waves and oppositions. It is through its “reformed institutions” that globalization and democratization seek to expand, and it is around it that popular resistance about socioeconomic rights finds its forms and meaning. As one writer put it, for Third World countries the cri de guerre is not “workers of the world unite but states of the Third World unite.”11 The unresolved tension between globalization and democratization, on the one hand, and popular and indigenous resistance, on the other, suggests that neither side can claim victory. In many ways, it is a stalemate.

Introduction

9

Hence, defining and conceptualizing the overpoliticized state as the horizontal common embodiment of this tension or impasse in non-Western countries, and eventually explaining it, will open new avenues about the future and limits of liberal democracy and developmental options in non-Western countries. For instance, it will help answer the question of whether the overpoliticized state can accommodate liberal democracy at all, and under what conditions. Or whether being a “Newly Industrialized country” is a sufficient condition for shaking off the overpoliticized status. With respect to developmental options, it should help scholars reexamine more seriously why, despite this unity and similarities, some developing countries (e.g., subSaharan Africa) have diverged negatively from other developing regions in socioeconomic terms. METHOD AND DATA In cross-systemic comparative politics the unit of analysis or observation level is generally a country, a nation, or a state, which means that the comparative inquiry is at a macrosocial level. So it is with this study. Countries, hence their states, are the basis of comparisons. Although African, Asian, and Latin American countries are the main units of comparison, they are compared and contrasted with Western countries. While I refer to Africa, Asia, and Latin America interchangeably as “Third World,” “developing countries,” and “non-Western countries,” I am aware of the controversy surrounding these terms. The term “Third World” is today highly contested; so is “developing countries” mostly because of the economic status achieved by the newly industrialized countries such as South Korea and Singapore. The term “non-Western,” it is often argued, does not apply to Latin America because of its European/Iberian background. I address these concerns in chapter 2, where I discuss universalism and particularism. Suffice it to say that, although none of the terms will ever satisfy everyone, the terms by themselves are not as important as the conceptual reality/unity that they convey—my concern here. In any case, in Asia I include the Middle East minus North Africa, which is discussed as part of Africa. In Latin America I include the Caribbean, Central America, and the conventional South America (although occasionally by “South America” I mean all these subregions to the extent that British and Dutch former colonies are not “Latin”). The West includes North America, Western Europe, and, where needed, reference to Australia and New Zealand. In some studies Japan is excluded from the list of liberal democracies on the grounds that it does not share the cultural and history-specific traits of Western Europe.12 I analyze its data along with those of the West because, despite its cultural affinities with such Asian neighbors as South Korea, its political behaviors during the

10

Introduction

period under consideration (as early as 1948) more closely resembled those of the West than those of its Asian neighbors. Since 1991 the former Soviet bloc has undergone radical changes. Former Eastern European Allies have moved toward Western Europe, most notably through the European Union. The former federated republics of the Soviet Union itself have recovered their independence from Russia, moving toward both Western Europe and Asia. To this extent, the argument of this book can apply to these countries as well. Indeed, in the follow-up study, some selected former Soviet countries will serve as testing ground for the hypotheses I advance in chapter 6. For the purpose of the present study, however, I do not include former Soviet-bloc countries for one important reason. My comparisons between Western and non-Western countries start with 1948 data. Data for the former Soviet-bloc countries for 1948–1991 do not lend themselves to the argument of the book because in a real sense they were colonized territories of a colonial empire, albeit of a different kind. Unlike the “First” and “Third” Worlds, which had the possibility of shifting their regimes from democracy to authoritarianism, or vice versa, Soviet bloc countries did not have such an option during this period. While Western countries constitute the comparative opposite of nonWestern countries, the study is not about them. The focus is to define and conceptualize the overpoliticized state as the common property shared by developing countries in contrast to the liberal democratic state. This has methodological implications. The study is not based on a case-study strategy because it does not rely on a few cases and their data, nor does it rely on an established causal relationship against which deviant cases are opposed in an attempt to cast doubt on the relationship. It is not based on a variable-oriented strategy either to the extent that it does not revolve around a causal relationship involving a dependent and independent variables assumed to be present in all cases (Western and non-Western)13 and that needs to be established in individual countries.14 This methodological “deviation” has several ramifications. First, to the extent that, generally, advocates of area studies/particularism use the casestudy approach (although proponents of general theory/universalism also practice it) and advocates of universalism the variable-oriented strategy, my approach is neither universalism nor particularism. The definitional effort (and the hoped-for integrated theory) is not about all the countries of the world as is the case for variable-oriented studies, especially those dealing with democracy and democratization. Despite the study’s avowedly crossnational arguments, it does not encompass non-Western, Western, and former Soviet-bloc countries alike. Its focus is non-Western countries. Data about the West are compared and contrasted with those of the non-Western countries, not in an attempt to test a causal relationship (e.g., the purported relationship

Introduction

11

between democracy and economic performance) or to confirm the normative universalistic assumption that Western institutions and democracy are, can be, or will be applicable to non-Western countries. Rather, they seek to reveal the specificity or conceptual and empirical unity of non-Western countries in contradistinction to Western countries. The study does not espouse particularism either. Data collected from individual developing countries to define the overpoliticized state are not designed to show the particularity and uniqueness of each country and region but rather the empirical and conceptual unity they all share. In this sense, the study is an integrative approach of politics in developing countries that resorts to a modified version of the variableoriented strategy. Second, local and regional idiosyncrasies, while not dismissed as irrelevant, are not pursued here; not only because they can be taken for granted but also because no causal relationship is being investigated in individual countries. Yet, in defining overpoliticization, regional differences and variations are pointed to in the analysis in chapters 3 and 4. Third, the main proposition of the study is that the political features of developing countries converge toward overpoliticization. The proposition does not posit a causal relationship between a dependent and independent variables. This and the discussion above have implications for the mode of analysis, which is perforce descriptive, conceptual, and analytical rather than explanatory. The goal is to support the concept of the overpoliticized state with empirical evidence. The process involves, as already hinted, conceptualization (chapter 1), empirical description (chapters 3 and 4), and theoretical summation (chapters 5 and 6). For this reason—and bearing in mind the reasons for excluding the former Soviet-bloc countries and the casestudy and variable-oriented strategies—the selection of the countries is not based on a random sample as is done in the conventional variable-oriented strategy. Rather, I rely on data collected painstakingly from almost all developing countries, except the smallest islands of the Caribbean, Africa, the Pacific, and tiny territories in the Middle East. Overall, I gathered data about 107 non-Western countries and, for contrasting purposes, about twenty Western countries. Because I do not take overpoliticization for granted or a given, it needs to be uncovered using “cluster data” about the three developing regions. This involves comparisons among these countries and regions to account for possible variations in and degrees of overpoliticization; it also involves, as already indicated, comparisons with Western countries as counterfactual evidence. Descriptively and quantitatively, four types of comparisons are made: (1) cross-regional comparisons among non-Western countries, (2) cross-regime comparisons between electoralist (democratic) and authoritarian regimes in non-Western countries, (3) longitudinal comparisons contrasting the 1948–

12

Introduction

66, 1967–89, and 1990–2000 (with forays into 2000–2003) subperiods, and (4) comparisons between data about non-Western countries and data about Western countries. Whereas factual and historical evidence supports the descriptive analysis, basic statistical techniques such as percentages, means, variances, and chi-square tests are used in the quantitative analysis. My contention that the overpoliticized state differs from and is the comparative equivalent of the liberal democratic state has implications for data collection. I assume that just as many historically disruptive and episodical shocks have impacted the liberal democratic state without intrinsically changing its liberal “essence,” so, too, the many changes affecting the overpoliticized state (e.g., the euphoria for modernization and democracy of the postindependence period, the 1963–80s authoritarian episode, and the post-Soviet democratization wave) do not intrinsically change its pattern of overpoliticization. Hence to define and conceptualize the overpoliticized state, I use 1948 (the year that can be reasonably viewed as the beginning of postcolonial politics when hitherto independent South America was joined by the newly independent countries of Asia, Africa, and British colonies in the Caribbean) as the starting date for data collection and 2000 (with forays into 2000–2003) as the cutoff date. Because I do not limit the analysis to the postSoviet era, the literature and data that may be considered “outdated” inform my argument as well. A point needs to be made here about quantitative analysis in chapter 4; I limit the analysis to the 1948–96 period because I did the data coding only for this period. I collected data from six types of sources (Appendix). Given the high volume of information processed in writing the empirical chapters (especially chapter 3), I do not refer directly in the text to most of the sources from which the data were collected. Only when absolutely necessary do I provide direct references. OUTLINE OF THE BOOK The book contains six chapters. In chapter 1, I state fully the problem of the mischaracterization of the political experiences of developing countries and, using a fruit analogy, show their conceptual unity. I define this unity— overpoliticization—by highlighting the preeminence of politics in society visà-vis the state and its institutions. Chapter 2 consists of a critical assessment of universalism and particularism. I argue that both neglect the preeminence and specificity of society-rooted politics in Third World countries, fail to grasp the deeply similar overpoliticized features they share, and either assume their evolution toward Western-like entities (universalism) or affirm the identity of their local/regional features (particularism). This has adverse effects at the explanatory level.

Introduction

13

As an antidote to universalism and particularism, the overpoliticized state establishes the horizontal empirical/conceptual unity and similarities among developing countries. In chapter 3, I provide empirical evidence to support this unity and its deep similarities. Using the four-pronged comparison discussed above, I do an extensive narrative of the overpoliticization in Africa, Asia, South America, and Western countries. I discuss each geographical region and the countries involved from historical and contemporary perspectives. In chapter 4, I further support quantitatively the contention of overpoliticization as the shared property of non-Western countries. The purpose is to summarize and provide a quantitative reading of the 1948–96 portion of the extensive narrative evidence in the previous chapter. The evidence in chapters 3 and 4 shows that, despite variations, political features in developing countries converge toward overpoliticization and lack of political compromise. They differ from those found in the liberal democratic state of the West. In chapter 5, these findings are summarized by bringing into sharper focus the concept of the overpoliticized state. I elaborate on the asymmetrical relationship among politics, institutions, and the state to show the preeminence of politics and its effects on political institutions and state formats in the form of overpoliticization. To contrast the overpoliticized state with the liberal democratic state, I develop the argument that overpoliticization is to the overpoliticized state what liberal compromise is to the liberal democratic state. Having thus defined the overpoliticized state in contrast to the liberal democratic state, the study is concluded in chapter 6. I recapitulate the main findings of the book and then set forth the major propositions and hypotheses to explain the overpoliticized state. The hypotheses are proposed using the liberal democratic state as the comparative opposite. They rely on the preeminence of politics as society-rooted competition over the social product and political power. I argue that, because a given type of society generates a given type of politics, which, in turn, explains the specific type of institutions, behaviors, and state formats, overpoliticization (hence, the overpoliticized state) is the outcome of politics generated by specific societal core relations (relations that help organize, accumulate, and acquire property, goods, services, values and political power) in non-Western countries. Despite their historical and cultural differences, these societies share a common property: They all are societies whose core relations are altered, but not subjugated, by Western capitalism/culture, leading to a “triple divergence” of social sectors and activities. Politics associated with the latter subverts the rules of liberal compromise, causing overpoliticization.

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Chapter 1

Comparing Apples and Mangoes

An attempt to define a common property for developing countries in political terms faces two hurdles. One needs to first overcome universalism’s sense of “history of life as somehow inherently directed toward us” and particularism’s “walled segregation” to use Stephen Gould’s and Aimé Césaire’s words. Then one has to locate such a property between the two approaches without reducing it to a simple juxtaposition of the two. In this chapter, I discuss how a fruit analogy can help do both by helping locate and define overpoliticization as the common property in developing countries. THE MISCHARACTERIZATION OF THIRD WORLD EXPERIENCES Consider politics since 1948. Unlike Western countries, African, Asian, and South American countries have been characterized since 1948 by six major traits that reveal patterns of similar political behaviors among them. First, their postindependence regimes have faced the crisis syndrome characterized by irredentism, rebellions, guerrilla warfare, civil war, violent overthrows, and military coups. Second, almost all of the countries have experienced authoritarian rule with its attendant effects. In addition, they have shared an inability to sustain democratic rule for a prolonged period as exemplified by postindependence democratic regimes in Africa and Asia, which turned authoritarian just a few years after independence, and by South American countries, which embraced authoritarianism after the 1948–64 “high noon” for democracy. Argentina before October 1983, Brazil before January 1985, Uruguay before February 1985, Nigeria before 1984, and Ghana before 1981 attempted first, second, and third rounds of democratization only to fall back into authoritarianism. Third, in many cases, before the recent worldwide calls for reform, the proclaimed democratic rule was replaced by de facto authoritarianism by a dominant party. Mexico’s Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI), Sénégal’s Union Progressiste Sénégalaise (now the Socialist Party), and, to an extent, 15

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Comparing Apples and Mangoes

India’s Congress Party (during the emergency powers of the 1970s) are examples. Fourth, democratic political competitions are often won by the same political parties, which maintain an electoral monopoly; the monopoly is sometimes maintained through power swapping. The cases of Sénégal (before 2000), Botswana, Malaysia, Singapore (to the extent that it is considered a democracy), Venezuela, Colombia, and other South American countries come to mind. Fifth, in nearly all cases, election results are contested by the opposition because of fraud or irregularities when they are not boycotted or marred by violence. The fall 1999 general elections in India, the “largest democracy,” as reported by U.S. National Public Radio, illustrate the point: The campaign leading up to the [Indian] general elections is a riotous, no-holds-barred affair. Party workers beat each other up with bamboo sticks and candidates shoot it out at the polls. That is, if they haven’t been kidnapped and murdered by their political rivals first. Votes are routinely bought and sold, whiskey and cash penned up like campaign literature. Parties use every means to get out the vote. And what they don’t have, they sometimes steal. Cars for campaigning, for example, which I unfortunately found out when they took mine.1 Sixth, in most cases in which democratic rule has been proclaimed, especially in the post-1985 period, authoritarian practices linger as former authoritarian leaders maintain power and the military remains the arbitrator of the situation.2 In some other cases authoritarian rulers have violently or via an electoral facade resisted calls for democratic change. Where elections have become routine, the “consolidated democracy” has not avoided the characteristic features of the old democracies, such as India, Colombia, and Venezuela. One recalls Argentina’s Carlos Menem’s oft-decried behaviors during his tenure, Benin’s electoral fraud and its president Kerekou accusing the opposition of coup plots, South Korea’s lingering dictatorial powers and political imprisonment, and the Ecuadorian syndrome in which, as Ecuador’s overthrown President Jamil Mahuad bitterly put it, whenever the president makes a decision that is not liked, he and the city (of Quito) are taken hostage.3 Indeed, the Ecuadorian syndrome, that is, susceptibility to mass overthrows, has characterized many of the democratic rules since 2000: Ecuador in 1996, 2000, and 2005, Peru in 2000, Argentina in 2001, the Philippines in 2001 (attempted in 2005), Venezuela in 2002, Côte d’Ivoire in 2002, Bolivia in 2003 and 2005, and Haiti in 2004. To this situation one adds the fact that most of these democratic rules face a higher level of unpunished corruption than do Western liberal democratic states. The post-2004 anecdotal evidence mentioned in the Introduction confirms these trends.

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17

To be sure, when taken separately, these six types of political behaviors testify to variations in the experiences of different non-Western countries. Because not even identical twins display similarities in all of their inward and outward traits, differences and variations are a given. Perfect identity does not exist in history or in social life. Argentina is different from Venezuela, Haiti from Jamaica, Senegal from Botswana, and India from Singapore although the countries in each pair belong to the same continent or region. What is true of countries from the same geographical area is even more so for countries located on different continents. Nevertheless, theory building depends on patterns of social behaviors. These variations scarcely hide the fact that the above behaviors constitute deeply similar patterns shared by African, Asian, and South American countries. These similarities are starkly magnified by the contrast provided by Western liberal democracies when compared with non-Western countries temporally, spatially, and across regimes. Like Western countries, which display variations in their political behaviors but share a pattern of behaviors that make them “Western democracies,” features in non-Western countries suggest that they share a pattern of political behaviors that make them a conceptual unity despite their variations. Like a thread, this pattern links them to each other in two important ways. First, the six types of behavior can be arranged in three categories of behavior as they relate to (1) authoritarian rule, (2) democratic (electoralist) rule, and (3) both types of rule. Second, the three categories connote and converge, in turn, toward a lack of compromise or tenuous compromise in political competition. This being the case, one should expect this empirical/conceptual unity to be at the center of the preoccupations of the cross-national comparative politics of developing countries. Yet, because of the contradictory claims made by universalism and particularism, this is not the case. Both modes of inquiry fail to grasp the pattern of behaviors that emerges from the above six types of empirical experiences, the pattern that, like a thread, runs through these experiences and links them together. By representing the six types of political behavior, indeed the same empirical experiences, according to their respective concerns, the two approaches define these behaviors contradictorily and dispersedly, leading, as indicated earlier, to a profusion of theories and typologies of the state. I will fully elaborate on how the two modes of inquiry mischaracterize the empirical experiences in developing countries (see chaps. 2). Before doing so, however, it is worth saying a few words here about the two in order to put in its proper context my argument about how and why the two ways of characterizing political experiences in developing countries need to be altered and integrated into the notion of overpoliticization.

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Comparing Apples and Mangoes

Universalism Versus Particularism There are two major modes of inquiry in comparative politics: macro- and microanalytical orientations. The two generally resort to deductive and inductive approaches. Macrodeductive (sometimes referred to as global/grand)4 theories adopt a universal and totalizing view and apply deductively a priori theories to each and all cases. They include, among others, modernization theory, structural functionalism, systems and structuralist analyses, pluralism/democratization, globalization, imperialism-centered theories such as imperialism, dependency and world-system analyses, and Marxist analyses. Microdeductive theories are exemplified by rational choice, which deductively applies insights about self-seeking rational individuals. Generally, macrodeductive and microdeductive theories resort to the variable-oriented strategy that concerns itself with the widest possible range of cases (often in the form of quantitative method). It is less concerned with understanding specific outcomes and more interested in broad theoretically based aspects of macrosocial phenomena. Explanations in this strategy are generally probabilistic. Macroinductive theories include those “middle-range” theories that analyze political institutions and other politically relevant variables using a small number of comparative case studies, whereas microinductive (or narrow-gauge) theories rely on local cultures and anthropologically inspired local data.5 Some overlapping occurs among macrotheories, deductive or inductive, and among deductive theories, macro or micro. Often macroinductive (middlerange) and microinductive (narrow-gauge) theories are rooted in and inspired by macrodeductive theories. This overlapping is not uncommon in the caseoriented strategy of research, which relies on a few cases and pays close attention to their data and configurations of conditions. It determines the different combinations of conditions associated with specific outcomes or processes. Although the case-study strategy is often used by proponents of middle-range theories, advocates of macrodeductive theories also resort to it sometimes when applying deductive theories to chosen case studies. In developing countries per se, middle-range theories fall in one of the two camps. They either apply a deductive theory to a selected number of cases in developing countries or develop models that cannot be applied to other developing regions because of their local fact/culture-sensitive nature. These distinctions and cautionary note made, it is fair to say that the comparative politics of non-Western countries offers generally a double picture of transnational and universal uniformity, on the one hand, and reliance on local and regional culture and features, on the other. To stress this double picture, I use the term “universalism” to refer to the modes of theorizing in comparative politics that are macro/microdeductive (some case-studies included) and “particularism” to refer to those that are macro/microinductive.

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In addition to conveying the critical messages in my Gould and Césaireinspired epigraphs, universalism and particularism will serve as shorthand forms that help avoid ponderous repetitions of macrodeductive and microinductive theories for which they substitute.6 Universalism in comparative politics has its roots in the behavioral revolution of the 1950s and 1960s. The latter provided the impetus for comparative politics by rescuing it from its configurative and descriptive status and turning it into a theoretical and scientific enterprise that relies on explanation and prediction of phenomena. This scientific and systematic approach was inherited by modernization theory, which, through the concept of institutionalization, shifted the focus from the particularities and idiosyncrasies of particular countries to broad theoretical considerations. Confirming what the proponents of postmodernism decry, modernization theory traced a linear developmental process whose binary opposites were backwardness and modernity, or the modernized stage. Along with the missing crucial modernizing variables such as democratic institutions, it advocated order and rational material allocations, an aspect of which was the literature on authoritarianism.7 As Susanne Hoeber Rudolph states, “Because the macrosocial projects of the 1960s were holistic, they were under a logical and intellectual compulsion to suppress alternative truths, to imagine that Western history was world history and suppress the possibility of multiple histories.”8 The reaction to modernization theory also relied on universalism as Marxism, dependency theory, and world-system analyses dominated the 1970s and 1980s. In the globalization era,9 universalism projects a picture of transnational and vertical uniformity. It defines political features (e.g., the above six types of political features) in developing countries as temporary deviations from the universal norm. It eschews the horizontal empirical and conceptual unity among developing countries. This tendency is even stronger with respect to those countries whose robust economic growth has obscured their similarities in political features with other developing countries. Particularism does the same but for different reasons. It denies the empirical and conceptual unity shared by Third World countries and seeks, instead, to affirm the identity of local or regional political features. As early as 1970, Peter Winch took to task cross-national comparative studies because their conceptual claims were inappropriate and of little use in different cultural contexts.10 The post-Soviet era accentuated these debates. The antidote to universalism was to redirect attention to locally and regionally based analyses of non-Western countries. Particularism shares its concerns with postmodernism,11 especially its critique of metanarratives, that is, “stories that make all other stories subordinate.”12 It seeks heterogeneity, diversity, fluidity, and difference over and above unity. In the post-Soviet era, characterized by the freeing of bottled up frustrations imposed by cold war political blocks,

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Comparing Apples and Mangoes

particularism rejects the term “Third World,”13 the conceptual unity of developing countries that made their comparison with Western (and the former Soviet Bloc) countries possible. The call for the abolition of the term “Third World” has reinforced particularism and regionalism in Third World politics. Particularism advocates a serious reading of local non-Western cultures.14 It relies on region- or country-tailored studies that seek to reflect the culture or specific situations of the country or region under study (e.g., the African soft state, African specific colonial legacy, South American bureaucratic-authoritarian state, the Asian authoritarian/paternalistic state, the postnational argument, and the focus on regional differences in democratization).15 Through these debates, particularism discounts the horizontally deep empirical/conceptual unity shared by non-Western countries with respect to the above six types of political features. Partly because it relies on differential economic and “cultural” indices in Africa, Asia, and South America, it obscures and overlooks the deep similarities they share in political features.16 The focus on cultural/geographical differences leads to overemphasis on the ramifications and specialized manifestations of these shared features in different countries at the expense of grasping the main features themselves. An example is aspects of 1964–85 authoritarianism that were associated with Iberian culture in South America despite the fact that South American authoritarianism did not differ, as a political behavior, from that which exists but displays specific ramifications in Africa and Asia. Another example is societal withdrawal from the state, which was made a specifically African phenomenon in the “soft state” literature despite the fact that withdrawal from the state in Africa, irredentism in Asia, and guerrilla warfare in South America are specialized and localized manifestations of the same political behavior. Because both universalism and particularism neglect the horizontal empirical and conceptual unity of developing countries in political features, the intersection of both types of theoretical inquiry is filled with unresolved tensions. These tensions reflect the type of debate and disagreements that have dominated cross-national comparative politics in general and Third World comparative politics in particular17 since the late 1970s. They explain for the most part, as indicated earlier, why the state of comparative politics was seen as “appalling” and the discipline itself as “divided”18 by some of its own leading practitioners. Ultimately, they lead to the unresolved debate and controversy between advocates of universalism under the label “general theory”19 and proponents of area studies. The debate between advocates of general theory and area studies is an old one; in the past it was framed in terms of nomothetic and idiographic approaches, which advocated, respectively, general theory and immersion in local realities. Ethnic and regional centrifugal tendencies in many countries in the post–cold war period intensified the debate. Students of the democra-

Comparing Apples and Manogoes

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tization movement are divided into supporters of general theory and proponents of area studies and regionalism even though all of them are universalists. Advocates of the rational choice theory more explicitly proclaim their opposition to area studies.20 Scholars working within the rational choice tradition argue that area-based research tends to be parochial, idiographic, narrative-prone, and closer to humanities than to (social) sciences. Robert Bates goes so far as to “accuse” area specialists of defecting from the social sciences into the humanities camp because of their commitment to the study of history, languages, culture, and their reliance on interpretive approaches. He regards “area studies as a problem for political science” because, among other things, they lack the capacity to develop general theories or test theories against empirical reality. Like him, other advocates of rational choice and universalism suggest that one can theorize about other nations with little need for scholars to develop specific knowledge of regions and countries. Their advice is for one to take counsel from theory, extract testable implications, collect measures, collect data, and seek possibility for falsification.21 This tendency has been reinforced by studies in globalization, which cite global production networks, the disappearance of ideologies, the erosion of state boundaries, geographical interconnectedness, cultural homogenization, transnational organizations, and social movements, to argue that area studies have become obsolete.22 Proponents of area studies retort to advocates of universalizing rational choice by attacking their faddish imitation of economists, their nonrespect for the new realms of complexity opened up by the postmodern perspectives on race, gender, and culture, their pretentious reduction of human behavior to a few individual motivational uniformities, their cultural ethnocentrism and ideological projection of American culture and interests in the post–cold war period to the world, and their misappropriation of the term “theory.”23 With respect to the literature on democratization and democratic consolidation, the debate has revolved around the applicability of the models developed in South America to the former Soviet-bloc countries. The debate opposes proponents of universalism, who argue that macroprocesses in Eastern Europe are similar to those in South America (Asia and Africa) and can, therefore, benefit from the theoretical insights developed about the latter, to advocates of “area studies,” who maintain that comparing the two processes is to “compare apples and kangaroos.”24 There have been de facto quasireconciliations between general theory and area studies at the “eclectic messy center,”25 in addition to the purposeful attempts to integrate both. In most cases, however, these attempts have not been successful. Many studies done in political science as area studies should, in principle, reconcile universalism and areas studies to the extent that most case studies apply general theory to a country or a region. In reality, however,

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Comparing Apples and Mangoes

they do not reconcile the two because it is universalism that prevails; the case study may be geographically non-Western, but universalism prevails conceptually and theoretically. In the era of globalization, the contact between global forces and developing societies shows an uneasy de facto coexistence between resistant non-Western societies and globalization. This suggests, in principle, that general theory should rely on and reconcile with area knowledge for understanding the universalizing effects of globalization and, perhaps, to correct them. Yet this is not the case because advocates of universalism and globalization proclaim the obsolescence of area studies. Reconciliation or integration is just as illusive between advocates of rational choice and area studies despite their call for such integration. Robert Bates and Samuel Popkin, for instance, have called for a modification of the rational choice approach to accommodate peasant societies and cultures of Asia and Africa.26 Widely viewed as the instigator of the 1990s controversy between advocates of rational choice and area studies, Bates has actually, despite his predilection for rational choice, proposed a “fusion” and a “synthesis” between the two. Those critical of rational choice and supportive of area studies have also recognized the need for the “vocabulary” of general theory to translate area knowledge into a widely understood language and for both sides to understand each other.27 Yet, the fusion has not taken place. Advocates of rational choice proclaim the conceptual and theoretical superiority of the rational choice model and seek to assimilate area studies; proponents of area studies maintain that good theorizing is necessarily inductive and depends on area studies. Attempts made for integration are mostly reduced to recounting the contributions of regional research (Latin America, Africa, Asia) to political science.28 The debate has not been resolved among students of democratization either since advocates of regional trends still maintain that democratic experiments reflect local/regional conditions.29 As discussed in chapter 6, attempts by proponents of culture as explanation and by practicians of the world-system theory to integrate culture into the general explanatory framework have not been any more successful. These tensions have negative implications for the way one proposes prescriptions, as Lucian Pye and others have argued in the case of the literature on democratization.30 Above all, they leave unanswered the question of why the six political features that have characterized developing countries since 1948 seem to form a pattern that contrasts with both their individual or regional idiosyncrasies and Western countries. In the absence of a definition and conceptualization of this empirical unity of developing countries, this question cannot be answered adequately. The definition is the starting point for proposing new types of explanations, and needs to alter both universalism and particularism and fuse them into a new whole. How, then, does one accomplish this task? How does this conceptualization help distinguish the political features of Third World countries from both their idiosyncratic/regional traits and the features of West-

Comparing Apples and Manogoes

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ern countries? I answer these questions by developing the concept of the overpoliticization. Given that the latter concept can be grasped only within a comparative framework that features Western countries as the other term of the comparison, I resort to a fruit analogy. SETTING THE FRAMEWORK: COMPARING APPLES AND MANGOES Although nuances exist among proponents of particularism, in general particularism criticizes universalism’s tendency to apply deductively the concepts, methods, and theories derived from the Western experience to non-Western countries. It retreats behind regional and country particularities to fend off attempts to see similar patterns among either Western countries or developing countries. Its advocates argue that vast differences among nonWestern countries defy reasonable comparisons among them. In so doing, particularism easily raises the perennial objection of comparing apples and oranges. The objection has already been answered from a universalistic point of view by Adam Przeworski and Henry Teune, who argued that apples and oranges can be compared because they possess a general property: they are “fruits.”31 In other words, from a universalistic perspective Western and nonWestern countries can be compared through their common conceptual property. This is true but incomplete. Let us, for the sake of this study, expand the range of the fruits involved. Consider, on the one hand, apples and pears, which are temperate fruits and, on the other, mangoes, papayas, and pineapples, which are tropical fruits. Let us, further, call their general property of being fruits “fruitiness.” And without substituting an analogy for reality, let temperate fruits (apples and pears) represent North American and West European countries and tropical fruits (mangoes, papayas, and pineapples) African, Asian, and South American countries.32 The analogy and the notion of fruitiness evoke one of the most important and salvageable contributions of the behavioral revolution in political science (hence, universalism), namely, that the “fruitiness” refers to specifically political phenomena or behaviors, the common property shared by Western and non-Western countries. Indeed, at the core of David Easton’s contributions to political science lies his definition of the political as a specific and separate set of behaviors that shares borders with other behaviors (economic, social, psychological) but cannot be confused with them. As he put it, In terms of the mode of analysis under discussion in this volume, political life will be interpreted as a system conceptually distinct from other systems in a society. Those interactions that fall outside of a

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Comparing Apples and Mangoes political system may be designated as the environment in which a political system exists.33

This means that the property to be compared (the fruitiness or the universal common phenomenon) consists, not of economic life or other systems of behavior, but of a pattern of specifically political behaviors. In other words, the dependent variable in comparative politics should consist of generic patterns of specifically political behaviors that are found across regions, regimes, and time.34 To be sure, the notion of “specifically political phenomena” is questioned by those who see “politics” everywhere, that is, as inseparable from other aspects of social life. Everything is political, they argue.35 Their view is strengthened by the fact that it is almost impossible to do political science without an understanding of economics and other social sciences, and vice versa. The much celebrated political economy approach, which, especially since the 1970s, has sought to revive the inseparable link established by classical economists between politics and economics is a good testimony to this view. In some cases, it is difficult to determine whether a scholar does political science, economics, history or sociology. What this means is that it is not uncommon to define political phenomena in close relationship with economic or other variables or, when proposing explanations to a given phenomenon, to establish correlations or causal relations between economic and political variables. Contrary to the “everything is political” view, however, it does not mean that politics is economics or literature. Przeworski and Teune are, thus, correct with respect to the comparability of Western and non-Western countries on the basis of the specifically political behaviors. Indeed, suppose that one eats both sets of fruits (temperate and tropical) and becomes interested in comparing them. One is likely to discover that they are similar. What they have in common is their general characteristic of being fruits (fruitiness), which involves related proprieties such as containing fruit acid. On this ground Western countries and nonWestern countries can be compared on the basis of their similar property (the political or the political system, the equivalent of fruitiness in the fruit analogy). One of the strengths of modernization theory is to have proposed this type of comparison. And one of the beneficial effects of the behavioral revolution on comparative politics was to underscore, on the basis of this common property, that theoretic comparative politics should militate against contextual explanations in favor of general explanations.36 It was said that “the same theories must be evaluated in different systemic settings and . . . social science theories can gain confirmation only if theories formulated in terms of the common factors constitute the point of departure for comparative research.”37 These proclamations constitute universalism’s strength. They help

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one avoid the now pervasive confusion in comparative politics of comparing and evaluating Third World countries on the basis of economic and other factors rather than political variables. They also help avoid geographically tailored explanations. By using the political as the standard of comparison, similarities and differences can be detected not only among non-Western countries but between them and Western countries at a certain level. But fruitiness (or the political) does not settle the issue, and here is where universalism’s analytical strength ends. Let us posit that the fruits differ in that apples and pears can grow only in a temperate climate, whereas mangoes, papayas, and pineapples can only grow in a tropical climate. Let us further posit that because of their tropical origin, tropical fruits have a higher respiration rate and, hence, a shorter life expectancy than apples and pears. Intuitively, because the similarity (fruitiness) between temperate and tropical fruits is taken for granted, the puzzling and more interesting question for the eater is “why the two sets of fruits have different life spans and cannot grow in each other’s climatic and geographical environments.” Now suppose that in seeking answers to the question the eater closely investigates tropical fruits, which are different in shape and taste from each other. The eater is better served by focusing not on the differences (shapes and tastes) among tropical fruits—an approach that is interesting but unhelpful—but on what mangoes, papayas, and pineapples share that makes it possible for them to have a shorter life span and to grow, unlike apples and pears, in the tropics. Likewise, to answer the question, the differences in shape and taste between apples and pears are less important than what they share, which distinguishes them from tropical fruits. In other words, the answer to the above puzzling question requires that the difference between the two mutually exclusive unities (temperate vs. tropical fruits) and the similarity among the members of each unity take center stage. The issues of comparison about fruits apply to the two respective sets of countries (Western and non-Western) as well. Three considerations derive from the analogy, from the crucial bipolar difference between temperate fruits and tropical fruits, between Western and non-Western countries. First, fruitiness, the equivalent of the political system, implies cross-system universal political similarities. Here, Western and non-Western countries share political life and its generic traits (‘the political’ or ‘political system’). Second, the shapes and tastes of particular temperate and tropical fruits, the equivalent of the specific local political institutions and manifestations, reflect the specificity of each Western and non-Western country or region. Third, temperate fruits versus tropical fruits, the equivalent of liberal democratic states versus states in developing countries, suggests a cross-system bipolar political difference opposing the commonalities of Western countries to those of non-Western countries. The two major strategies in comparative politics do not deal well

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with these three dimensions. Universalism focuses on the first dimension, that is, fruitiness, and assumes universal political system similarities. It posits the political system38 or other universal variables (e.g., institutions, class struggles) as the designated independent or causal variable (IV). Particularism—whether middle-range/regional or narrow-gauge theories—concerns itself with the second dimension, that is, the shapes and tastes of particular fruits or the specific local political institutions and manifestations. Because of overlapping, however, more often than not, cross-national studies, even universalistic deductive theories, tend to focus on the second dimension as well and use the historical, socioanthropological, and economic contexts of individual countries as IV. Just as fruitiness and the shapes and tastes of particular temperate and tropical fruits are taken for granted, so, too, in the first two dimensions the dependent variable (DV) is a given; it consists generally of a political feature (e.g., the political system, the state, political regime, democracy, institutions, governance, revolution, violence) that is taken for granted and whose presence and absence must be explained by the posited IV. The only difference is that universalism, as in the case of fruitiness, assumes that these DV apply to all Western and non-Western countries and seeks to establish a causal relationship between the DV and posited IV in individual countries. This is done through either historical/interpretive analyses (the case-study approach) or quantitative (often correlation/regression) analyses (the variable-oriented approach).39 Particularism, on the other hand, as in the case of the shapes and tastes of individual fruits, focuses on the specificity of these DV and IV in individual countries or regions. The focus on the two analytical dimensions with their given DV leaves unaddressed the crucial third dimension highlighted in the fruit analogy—the two mutually exclusive unities (temperate vs. tropical fruits). This has severe implications for comparative analysis in two ways. First, just as the general property fruitiness (being fruits) cannot overshadow the crucial difference between temperate and tropical fruits, so, too, the general property political system (the political) cannot erase the crucial differences between political behaviors in Western and in non-Western countries. Just as the property of fruitiness cannot be reduced to and identified with temperate fruits and be imposed on tropical fruits, so, too, the political system cannot be reduced to the political characteristics of the Western liberal democratic states and applied to non-Western countries. By ignoring these requirements in order to delineate the widest possible sample population, universalism in comparative politics, especially variable-related research that confuses political behaviors in Western and non-Western countries, disables itself. Indeed, it is highly misleading to propose, for the sake of studying a large sample, a classification of more than one hundred countries from Western and non-Western regions

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and to label them “polyarchies” or “democracies” just because they have had contestation or elections.40 If one confuses electoralist rule in India and Colombia with liberal democratic rule in England in a theory of democracy, one is not likely to explain why the democratic process in India and Colombia is marred by deaths. To ignore the crucial difference between developing and Western countries and to focus only on the general property does not answer the question of why mangoes, papayas, and pineapples have a shorter life expectancy and do not grow in the apple and pear environment. It does not help us answer why many of these developing countries have over the years, and often taking turns, disappeared from the list of democracies only to reappear and disappear again. Despite the general characteristics they share as political systems with Third World countries, and their differences from each other, the United States, Germany, Belgium, and Italy as “established democracies” share a conceptual unity among themselves that precludes not only African and Asian countries but also South American countries. It follows that the conceptual and empirical unity (based on politically relevant features) shared by African, Asian, and South American countries is best explained not by ignoring it and confusing their traits with those of Western countries as universalism does. One ought clearly to define and delineate this unity and to contrast it with that which is shared by Western countries. The second problem is that the focus on the individual features of subSaharan Africa, the Middle East, Latin America, East Asia, or specific countries in these regions, which is what particularism does, is not helpful. It does not explain why all of them display common political behaviors that distinguish them from Western democracies any more than focusing on the shape and taste of a mango helps explain why mangoes, like pineapples and papayas, have a shorter life expectancy than apples and pears and cannot grow in a temperate climate. To be sure, such a focus may provide a clue to the answer, but it remains incomplete. A mechanism is needed through which these local and individual traits can be linked to the common property, the conceptual unity/similarity shared by these regions that distinguishes them from Western liberal democracies in the same way the conceptual unity of tropical fruits distinguishes them from temperate fruits. This study differs from other cross-national studies. Although the two dimensions of analysis (fruitiness or universal political similarities and the shapes and tastes of fruits or local/regional political variations) are important in their own way, they are not the focus here. Rather, I focus on the third dimension and only on the DV, namely the two mutually exclusive unities constituted by temperate fruits, on the one hand, and tropical fruits, on the other. The two mutually exclusive unities raise a puzzling question: Why do tropical fruits have a shorter life expectancy than temperate fruits, and why

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do they not grow in each other’s environment? To solve the puzzle one must, as a first step, catalog mangoes, papayas, and pineapples on the tropical side to isolate their possible common trait or property and do the same for apples and pears on the temperate side. A comparison of the two properties helps provide an answer to the puzzling question. Likewise, it is this third dimension that starkly exposes the puzzling question for developing countries: Why do they, as a group, consistently display political features, regardless of their local variations, that distinguish them from Western countries? Why do they, like tropical fruits in relation to temperate fruits, contrast with Western countries? To answer this question, one needs, as a first step, to catalog these political features to isolate their common property, the basis for comparisons with Western countries and explanatory theory. This conceptual unity is confirmed even by studies that deny it on the basis of economic and other phenomena. Consider the following assessment by Larry Diamond, Juan Linz, and S. M. Lipset: Our twenty-six countries are quite representative of the heterogeneous world of those loosely called “Third World” or “developing” countries. These terms are largely misleading, and we want clearly to disassociate ourselves from assuming that such a category is scientifically useful in cross-national comparisons. Certainly it seems ridiculous to put Argentina or Uruguay or South Korea in the same classification of countries as Ghana, Papua New Guinea, or even India, in terms of economic development, social structure or cultural traditions, and prospects of socioeconomic development. Nevertheless, all twenty-six countries included in this study are less developed economically and less stable politically than the established, industrialized democracies of Europe, North America, Australasia and Japan.41 Another study, which calls “into question the analytic relevance . . . and political connotations embedded within the discourse of Third Worldism,” admits that “currently there are more than twenty-five internal wars and civil conflicts under way in such countries as Peru, Guatemala, Liberia, Somalia, Cambodia, Sri Lanka, Indonesia, Angola, Mozambique, and South Africa.”42 In both quotes, despite the repudiation of the term “Third World” on scientific and analytic grounds and the implicit reliance on regionalism and economic and cultural specificities, the presumably nonexistent analytical and conceptual unity of Africa, Asia, and South America persistently proclaims its existence with a vengeance on political grounds. In the first quote such unity (similarity) is confirmed by the fact that “all twenty-six countries . . . are . . . less stable politically than the established, industrialized democracies of Europe, North America, Australasia, and Japan.” The authors add, “And all share the

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same pressure . . . to build stable political institutions and . . . to become democracies.”43 In the second quote the unity, as a pattern, is reaffirmed by the fact that, however “different” they may be from each other, African, Asian, and South American countries face civil wars and conflicts that are presumably not faced by North American and Western European countries. A study, which attempts to disaggregate the Third World by classifying its component states into five categories based on their economic performance, provides even more support for this conceptual unity. Countries are classified in order of performance: (A) the newly industrialized countries, (B) the surplus oil exporters, (C) the countries enjoying economic over population growth, (D) the countries whose economic growth equals population growth, and (E) the countries that have negative economic growth. Yet in contrasting all of them with Western liberal democracies, the classification reveals their deep political similarities. Group A is described as “paternalistically state-led and not known for unambiguous democratic proclivities”; group B is said to be highly vulnerable and, therefore, invests heavily in armaments, not to mention that it also lacks democratic proclivities; group C is still subject to the vicissitudes of the international market, whose effects can be devastating given the ever present possibility of civil war; group D has weak governments and is vulnerable to external designs, coups, and insurgency; and group E also has weak governments, insurgencies, and various sources of instability.44 Despite some variations in these political features as they apply to different groups, their deep conceptual unity remains. Indeed, all these political behaviors denote a common property. In this sense, South Korea, Argentina, and Uruguay, despite their economies, can be put in the same classification as Ghana, Papua Guinea, or India the same way partially backward Italy and small-economy Belgium are put in the same classification as the United States and Germany and labeled Western democracies. Beyond their variations and differences, the notion of the liberal democratic state strongly suggests that France, Belgium, Italy, Germany, and the United States share crucial similarities. This reality is not erased by American “exceptionalism” and its leading economy, Italy’s partial backwardness and frequent government crises, or Belgium’s small economic size. Neither is it negated by the fact that the United States has a presidential system, most other Western countries a parliamentary one, while France has a mixed system. What is true for Western countries also holds true for nonWestern countries. If one relies on statistical indices, Brazil, South Korea, and oil-producing countries such as Kuwait rank higher than others in economic output. But this does not say much. After all, these countries also score higher than some of their Western counterparts. What the aforementioned patterns emerging out of the six post-1948 types of political behaviors suggest is that economic indices and differences among them notwithstanding, countries of

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South America, Asia, and Africa, like tropical fruits, share a conceptual unity or common property in political terms. Relying, thus, on the third dimension of the fruit analogy, the study cataloges and conceptualizes this common property. The analogy helps us discover that between the deep similarities shared by Western liberal democratic countries, despite their differences, and the deep similarities shared by Third World countries, despite their differences, lie the deep differences between Western countries and Third World countries, despite their similarities. The deep similarities among developing countries, that is, their unity and common property represented by the six post-1948 types of political features, constitute overpoliticization (Figure 1.1). POLITICS AND OVERPOLITICIZATION The “political” links developing countries and the six aforementioned types of political features and their three converging categories to each other and gives them their political character the same way the fruitiness links tropical fruits to each other and provides them with their “fruit” character. But if this were all there were to it, these features would resemble political features in Western countries, and tropical fruits would behave like temperate fruits. They do not because the notion of fruitiness is not enough, neither is that of the political or political system. What exactly in the political leaves its imprint on these features to make them different from the West? To answer, one must disaggregate the notion of the political/political system into its three constitutive components: politics, institutions, and the state itself. Of the three components it is politics that imposes its imprint on these features because politics determines the institutions and the state format, even though politics need not be necessarily associated with the modern European type of state. Hence to conceptualize overpoliticization and its attendant type of state requires that one focus on the preeminence of politics vis-à-vis institutions and the state itself. At the core of Easton’s “inquiry into the state of political science”45 is the question of what distinguishes political science from other fields of inquiry. Other political scientists, such as Karl Deutsch, raise the same question.46 Easton answered the question by granting the political or the political system some preeminence because it, unlike the other systems, allocates values authoritatively. In this formulation it is not clear, however, why the political system acquires this authoritative status. Easton gives a hint through the notion of scarcity but does not draw its full implications. Why the political is preeminent is, ironically, fully answered by European scholarship that Easton criticized. Although Easton correctly criticized European and American prebehavioral political science for its reliance on legalism, which constricted

Papaya taste shape

Asia country regional idiosyncracies

FRUITINESS POLITICS POLITICAL SYSTEM South America country regional idiosyncracies

Pineapple taste shape

Pear taste shape

Western Europe country regional idiosyncracies

North America country regional idiosyncracies

LIBERAL DEMOCRATIC STATE

LIBERAL COMPROMISE

TEMPERATE FRUITS

Apple taste shape

Figure 1.1. An Analogic Representation of Overpoliticization Versus Liberal Compromise

Africa country regional idiosyncrasies

OVERPOLITICIZED STATE

OVERPOLITICIZATION

TROPICAL FRUITS

Mango taste shape

Comparing Apples and Manogoes 31

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the realm of political phenomena, it must be said that not all European political scientists of the interwar and post–World War II periods held a legalistic view of politics. Among the notable exceptions, who espoused “positivist” and Machiavellian views were Germany’s Carl Schmitt and France’s Julien Freund. Their respective books, Der Begriff des Politischen (The Concept of the Political) and l’Essence du politique (The Essence of the Political),47 convey this view. The titles are eminently suggestive. Indeed, the common variable in political inquiry is best rendered by the French term “le politique” (the political—although it may also refer to politicians), which differs from “la politique” (politics, policy). Le politique has three components: politics, institutions, and the state. To be sure, neither Schmitt nor Freund (nor much of the literature in political science) makes a clear and consistent distinction among the three components. The interchangeable use of politics and the political tends to blur the line of demarcation and adds to the confusion. Yet the distinction is crucial to make sense of “politically relevant phenomena” in comparative politics. Both Schmitt and Freund are a good starting point for defining politics apart from institutions and the state. According to Giofranco Poggi, Schmitt “held that to define the nature of politics it was necessary to identify a distinctive realm of decisions to which the term ‘political’ could legitimately be applied.”48 Schmitt conceived of social life in Hobbesian terms as disorderly and menacingly brutish. Most of these menaces emanated from outside societies. Hence “politics is accordingly concerned with setting and maintaining the boundaries between collectivities, and in particular with protecting each collectivity’s cultural identity from outside threats.”49 By thus tracing the boundaries between “us” and “other,” politics consists of distinguishing between friends and foes, between those who work for “our integrity and autonomy” and those who are opposed to them. For this reason issues of the integrity of the collectivity are so overriding and emergency-filled that politics bears no relationship to legal rules. To deal with the decision between friends and foes properly, the political decision maker must avoid all secondary considerations that are legal, moral, economic, and so forth. Effectiveness, not legality, is what counts. Schmitt’s definition of the political is, thus, dominated by the notion of politics viewed as enmity between friends and foes involving two or more states. In this view, party or domestic politics is recognized as “political” only to the extent that it approximates or reflects the foe-friend situation that prevails in international politics. To be sure, the focus on international politics fails to take into account the constitution of the internal collectivity, which goes beyond the external competition and implies some kind of internal coercive regulation. It makes it difficult to understand the ways internal institutions and the state relate to the enmity with outside foes (e.g., how does coercive power help the collectivity face the external foe?).50 Despite these pitfalls,

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Schmitt’s work is crucial because it reveals the centrality of politics and its difference from institutions and the state. Politics consists of a competition triggered by a group, class, state-nation over something (in Schmitt’s case danger leads to competition over security and integrity). There is an unmistakably clear idea of competition (enmity) between two collectivities that requires the use of coercion or force (military might). In this sense, politics is the engine of the political and holds a preeminent position vis-à-vis political institutions and the state, even though in Schmitt’s view the state is the “bearer of politics.”51 Freund takes this idea of the preeminence of politics a step further by applying it to the internal dimension of politics without neglecting the international aspect. Like Easton, Freund argues that the political is a separate, sui generis activity that concerns itself above all with action. It is different from economics, morality, or science. It arises out of a social necessity and constitutes a response to the destiny (common good) of a collectivity. Its targeted good is hierarchically superior to other particularistic goods. For this reason, it relies on coercive power. By making the political a sui generis activity and by invoking the coercive power, Freund’s discussion of the political pays a little more attention to internal institutions and the state than does Schmitt. He sees a unity among politics, institutions, and the state. For my purpose, two major points guide the definition of politics. First, despite the conceptual unity among politics, institutions, and the state he recognizes, Freund, like Schmitt, posits politics as the engine of this unity. He does so by leaving the institutions and the state in the background and by subordinating their definition to that of politics through the notion of “common good.” Indeed, after specifying the common good as the central piece of the goal of politics, Freund follows Hobbes’s lead and suggests that the common good be reduced to its two basic dimensions: external security and domestic prosperity. Both involve competition. The competition (luttes or struggles) results from divergent interests52 and constitutes the engine of the political. Second, for Freund, prosperity rests above all on economic wealth and well-being. Therefore, politics is a competition over prosperity qua economic wealth and collective well-being. This fact, according to Freund, is recognized even by ancient political philosophers such as Aristotle, Hobbes, and Rousseau. He criticizes Weber (with whom he agrees on many points) for failing in one of his lectures53 to recognize, contrary to the majority of philosophers, that economic prosperity remains the basis of internal politics. Thus, in addition to viewing politics as the engine, Freund thinks of the competition it involves as inescapably based on economic concerns and wellbeing. Put differently, politics is not economics but is above all about economic property, goods, services, and values or, as I call it, the “social product.”54 Freund, by his own admission, shares this competitive view of politics with

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political philosophers. I concur. A review of normative political theory from Plato to Marx, passing by Locke and non-Western political thought, confirms this view of politics.55 One does not need to invoke Hobbes’s proverbial conflict over land, wives, and cattle to make the point about politics as a competition over the social product. Adam Smith does the same in a telling passage: “But avarice and ambition in the rich, in the poor the hatred of labour . . . are the passions which prompt to invade property. . . . It is only under the shelter of the civil magistrate that the owner of that valuable property . . . can sleep a single night in security. . . . [And] till there be property, there can be no government, the very end of which is to secure wealth and to defend the rich from the poor.”56 Whether one refers to Schmitt and Freund and their predecessors or to contemporary analyses on feminism, race, culture, and ethnic identity, politics is incomprehensible, and indeed unthinkable, in the absence of the type of society that produces property, goods, services, and values that are the objects of competition. The notion of society, like that of the state, is fluid and is defined in different ways. Today’s emphasis on the “civil society” has rendered the concept even more fluid given the different meanings attached to this term by its many proponents. In the Lockian-Rousseaunian use, civil society had an anti–state-of-nature connotation; Hegel used it to characterize what preceded the state; Marx talked of civil society to express its superiority over the state, whereas Gramsci viewed it as part of the superstructure. Despite these variations in meaning and emphasis, it is generally agreed that society is made of the economy, culture broadly defined, and the various groupings, stratifications, and relationships that take the form of social groups or classes. The overuse of the term “culture” means that in most instances culture is used interchangeably with “society.” In many other cases, culture is restricted to artistic and communicative expressions such as language, music, visual art, and so forth. In reality, because it consists of the ways in which different groupings become involved in the economy, in social relations, and in intercommunications of different kinds, culture is not society; it is part of and a representation of society. In any case, by defining politics as a competition over the social product, which they often closely link to property, the aforementioned theorists recognize the unbreakable link between politics and the prevailing society. In this sense the link is not exclusively Marxist as often claimed. The situation also suggests that politics starts at the society level and involves individuals, groups, and classes that make up society. In purely chronological terms politics occurs first at this societal level, which is its genesis, before determining and shaping political institutions and the state as a whole. Politics is, thus, a society-rooted competition among individuals, groups, or classes over the social product, that is property, goods, services, and values

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in a community. The competition has, as a corollary, the competition over political/state power, which often overshadows the competition over the social product itself. The competition over political power can be expressed in cultural, racial, religious, gender, manipulative, or violent forms without losing its roots in the social product. Often these forms constitute means through which competing groups or classes seek to control political power, which is essential for one’s success in the competition. Herein lies the preeminence of politics. As its etymological meaning (the central activity that allowed competing views about the Greek polis) suggests, politics is preeminent vis-à-vis political institutions and the state format because it identifies itself with the vital competition over property and scarce resources even in cooperative societies such as lineage societies and targets political power that allows competing interests to control resources and set the agenda for societal values. It is no surprise, then, that politics is, in Gramsci’s words, “the central human activity, the means by which the single consciousness is brought into contact with the social and natural world in all its forms.”57 Precisely because it targets political power, political conflict is not exclusively or always openly about land, wives, and cattle; it is also, as Charles Lindblom correctly argues, over the control of government itself, over the terms of people’s cooperation in government, and over the purposes of that cooperation, and the outcomes of government activities.58 This is consistent with the claim made by the proponents of institutionalism that institutions not only matter but are the locus of political conflicts and shape and constraint politics.59 Yet recognizing this does not negate the fact that politics is above all about the social product, a point underscored by Lindblom. In fact, it affirms the preeminence of politics as the major activity that occurs both at the societal and state levels. This preeminence is recognized by scholars such as Barrington Moore, Dietrich Ruesschmeyer, Evelyne Huber Stephens, John Stephens, and Carles Boix, who link politics structurally to classes and groups in society in the form of bargaining, open confrontation, violence, or war that make, open up, or prevent democratic institutions.60 The state is a set of relationships and interactions among social classes and groups that is maintained, organized, and regulated by political power; as the nodal point of these relationships, political power implies the monopoly of the means of coercion over a given territory. Although the exercise of state power depends on institutions, institutions are not the state (I elaborate on the state and institutions in chapter 5). Institutions are “regulative principles which organize most of the activities in a society into definite organizational patterns . . . They are very close to, but not identical with, groups or roles that are organized around special societal goals or function.”61 In this sense institutions suppose some routinization and stability. In addition to the rules governing the patterns of behavior of groups or collectivities, they include concrete

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symbols such as the building these groups inhabit or the physical symbols they use.62 Institutions can be formal or informal. In politics, institutions are arrangements designed to reflect the competition in society over the social product and political power. In this sense, politics and institutions are not the same either, although politics takes place via the institutions that it generates and institutions affect the way politics occurs. The two are analytically separate from each other. The interdependence among politics, the state, and institutions is, thus, an asymmetrical one. Despite the state’s aura due to its monopoly of coercion and its being the intersecting point for politics and institutions, and despite the role played by institutions, politics is preeminent vis-à-vis both. Because of its deep roots in society, its identification with the vital competition over property and scarce resources that targets political power, and its being the “the central human activity,” politics determines and structures the state format (which is facilitated by the fact that the state is that relationship formed by competing social groups), political institutions, and the related behaviors. While the full implication of this relationship is drawn in chapter 5, here I use two concrete cases to show how this preeminence of politics helps one define overpoliticization. The two cases are Sri Lanka, a democratic regime, on the one hand, and Somalia, an authoritarian regime, on the other. Overpoliticization Since 1977 Sri Lanka has been a country at war, with scores of its people killed. The conflict has opposed its two major ethnic groups, the majority Sinhalese and minority Tamil. In addition to war, the most notable events have been the request by the Tamils for secession, political assassinations, massive group violence, and anti-institutional responses on the part of both the Tamils (especially the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam—LTTE) and the Sinhalese-led government. Anti-institutional responses include (for the Tamils) electoral violence, electoral boycotts, and the willingness to operate violently outside the established democratic institutional framework. For the Sinhalesecontrolled government the responses include electoral fraud and intimidation, extremely violent repressive measures via emergency powers, torture, press censorship, the muzzling of the opposition, capricious constitutional amendments to increase presidential powers, and the manipulation of the institutions such as the army, the police, and the judiciary against the Tamils. According to the Sri Lankan scholar, S. J. Tambiah, emergency powers in Sri Lanka differed from the British democratic type imposed in Northern Ireland and resembled the South African type under Apartheid.63 What stands out in the Sri Lankan case is the lack of resolution of the crisis. Although open confrontations started in 1977, the conflict itself goes

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as far as 1956 when the Sinhalese chauvinistic elements acceded to power and the Tamils first felt discriminated against. Since that year, attempts to resolve the conflict democratically have failed. In addition to broken ceasefires (e.g., the 2003 one was broken in 2006), countless negotiations have come to naught while at the same time strengthening anti-institutional responses. This raises a question, perhaps best put by Tambiah: “Why should an elected majority government committed to liberal democracy have become in its own eyes so righteously authoritarian, an attitude directly or indirectly assented to by large numbers of the Sinhalese populace . . . Why is it that the Sinhalese, the “lion race,” find themselves confronted, till death do them part, by “the tigers”?64 The question can be rephrased in terms consonant with this study. Why is Sri Lanka unable to resolve its disagreements within its democratic institutional framework as do liberal democracies? Why, rather than political compromise, is the behavior one of confrontations “till death do them part”? The answer lies in politics. Although Sri Lanka fared better economically than its neighbors under colonial rule and immediately after, its fortunes declined in the postcolonial period and added to other simmering issues to give way to stiff competition. The first area of competition is the available resources and services. A small island about 270 miles long and 150 wide, Sri Lanka has a land problem. The settlement and demographic patterns of the Sinhalese and Tamils favor Sinhalese in three of the country’s four geographical zones while the Tamils are the majority group in only one zone in the North. Attempts by both groups to settle in each other’s zone for agricultural/developmental purposes or jobs have led to conflicts. More intractable, perhaps, is the struggle over education. As in most European colonies, colonial education in Sri Lanka favored a small group of indigenous elite that came to occupy the colonial and postcolonial bureaucracy and white-collar jobs. Due to the barren nature of their geographical area, Tamils eagerly embraced education to increase their chances of getting white-collar employment. Because education is, thus, linked to scarce jobs and opportunities, it has been at the center of political confrontations. The real or imaginary privileged position of Tamils in education, hence bureaucratic jobs, had the effect of alienating Sinhalese, who countered with deliberate governmental policies to reverse the trend by favoring, through quotas and affirmative action, the Sinhalese majority. As early as 1956, Tamils expressed their discontent in the face of this discrimination. An attendant effect of the conflict over education is the imposition of the Sinhalese language as the educational language at the expense of English and Tamil, which has embittered the Tamil population. In this sense, language is linked to the competition over both resources and values. Conflicts over land, education, jobs, and language exacerbate the value conflict over the origins, religions (Buddhism vs. Hinduism), “nationalisms”

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and “superiority” of the two groups. Against this background, one understands the cutthroat struggle over the control of state power for both groups since it is the only means through which they can prevail in the struggle. For Tamils, a state of their own (hence the need to secede) should allow them to do so, while Sinhalese control of political power through institutional subterfuges help them reach the same goal. The other case is Somalia. From 1969, the year General Siad Barre took power through a coup, to his 1991 overthrow, the authoritarian Supreme Revolutionary Council and the Somali Revolutionary Socialist Party were the dominant political institutions. They anchored all other state and state-related institutions. From 1991 to 2005 there have been no formal political institutions. Somalis have waged war against each other in a chaotic environment. There are, thus, three issues: (1) the 1969 coup and its attendant authoritarian institutions, (2) the breakdown of these institutions by 1991, and (3) the prolonged absence of formal institutions amid faction-waged war and conflict. What caused these three issues? Here also, the answer lies in the competition and struggle over resources and services, values, and political power. Somalia has faced drought and famine, arid climate and scarcity for years. Bouts of drought have frequently affected the livestock and the roughly 1 percent of actually cultivated land. Before the coup, rural areas were hardly linked to each other by lack of road infrastructure, and illiteracy was rampant. In addition to the role of Islam in development, a “value-based” issue has been the “recuperation” of the Somalis still living in Djibouti, Ethiopia, and Kenya. In such an environment, holding state power is the sine qua non for effecting change or for satisfying the material interests of competing groups. Conflicts over these society-based issues of scarcity and values and their attendant cutthroat struggle over state power have taken a Hobbesian form. This type of politics explains Siad Barre’s coup and its related authoritarian institutions. It also explains the breakdown of these very institutions; indeed, struggles over the same issues of scarcity, development, and values had increasingly made Siad Barre autocratic. His attempt to maintain power rested on clannish favoritism of the members of his own Marehan branch of the Darod clan and Ogaden clan. The result was armed resistance that toppled him in 1991.65 Yet the formal institutional breakdown provoked by Barre’s overthrow has not been resolved for the last fifteen years because of a lack of compromise among the many clan-based factions competing over state power. Here, again, the same Hobbesian politics that caused Barre’s rise and demise also caused the prolonged institutional vacuum (the so-called failed state). The two accounts of Sri Lanka and Somalia lead to three conclusions with regard to the asymmetrical relationship between politics, the state, and institutions. First, for it to occur, politics does not necessarily need formal

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institutions or the state, as the 1991–2006 Somalia’s situation clearly shows. By contrast, there is hardly a situation where formal institutions and the state can occur without politics generating and sustaining them. Second, politics molds and transforms institutions, regardless of whether they are liberal democratic and copied from the West or not. Democratic institutions do not prevent politics from defying and, indeed, grossly deforming them, as Sri Lanka testifies. Both the Sri Lankan and Somali cases are helpful not because they are “extreme cases” that fit overpoliticization well, but rather because they are two exemplars of (1) how in both democratic and authoritarian regimes politics “rules” regardless of the nature of the state and institutions and (2) how the absence of institutions and the state or their deformation beyond recognition are an effect of politics. In relation to both the state and institutions, politics is, thus, preeminent. It determines not only institutions but also the state because the state is that relationship formed by competing social groups and classes. In this sense, to say that comparative politics is based on “specifically political” behaviors or features means that comparisons are made about similarities and differences between countries on the basis of how politics determines and structures the state format, institutions, and related behaviors. This does not dismiss the role of formal institutions. It recognizes that, once created, institutions do affect politics in return and, hence, socioeconomic outcomes. However, they do not ubiquitously determine or structure politics and the attendant outcomes as claimed by the proponents of institutionalism. Their role does not occur independently of society-rooted politics. Third, in both democratic and authoritarian regimes political conflicts tend to defy compromise; instead, they tend to persist or express themselves in anti-institutional responses and behaviors (e.g., electoral fraud, electoral violence, arrogation of emergency powers, total breakdown of institutions) or special institutional/state format (authoritarianism or dictatorship). The three conclusions have implications for the concept of overpoliticization. They suggest that the fundamental issue to be addressed about developing countries is not whether institutions exist or not, but rather how a specific type of politics determines and affects political institutions, the state, and behaviors in a way that defies compromise in the competition. The cases of Sri Lanka and Somalia open a window to understanding (not explaining) such politics by highlighting two facts. First, most developing countries face a situation of extreme scarcity of resources over which the competition takes place. Second, regardless of today’s emphasis on “civil society,” almost all developing countries depend more heavily on the state than in the West for determining the outcomes of the competition over resources and values in favor of the competing groups. This explains the cutthroat struggle for the control of state power. The two facts often make politics in developing countries a zero-sum game, a Hobbesian and highly contentious affair.

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I address fully the notion of liberal compromise in chapter 5. Suffice it to indicate here that, without favoring normatively liberal democracy, by “compromise” I mean the type of compromise observed in Western liberal democracies. I define it as an integrated notion that denotes, in addition to basic legitimacy, much acquiescence and a degree of concurrence, which rest on a great deal of concessions on the part of competing political interests and which, by this fact, contribute to political stability. Compromise implies the recognition of the antagonistic interests of the competing groups in politics. It is not the same as “consensus,” which involves concurrence and agreement on the part of all the participants. Although in real political life consensus is almost impossible, still bureaucrats or political actors in developing countries do seek it, especially in the policy-making process. Often the search leads to bureaucratic ineptitude and lack of decisions. Hence such ineptitude is ascribable, not to “too much compromise,” but to unattainable consensus. And precisely because it does not eliminate antagonistic interests, compromise does not suggest that it is necessarily beneficial for all competing groups. In some situations, some participants are better off without compromise since it may not work for their best interests. In Sri Lanka, for instance, compromise may not be advantageous for the Tamils if it perpetuates the Sinhalese discriminatory majority rule. My claim about compromise is, thus, an empirical comparative question, and not a normative one. To come back, then, to the six types of political features and behaviors observed in developing countries since 1948, they are patterned effects of Hobbesian and highly contentious politics in developing countries. They constitute what I call overpoliticization. Overpoliticization can, therefore, be defined as a pattern of political features, institutional behaviors and settings, and state formats that denotes the absence of compromise or tenuous compromise in politics as a competition over property, goods, services, values, and, above all, political power. Such politics, often characterized by open coercion, impacts directly on political institutions, behaviors, and the state-asintersection in six basic (but not always concurrent) ways: (1) the competition takes place through overt compulsion by state power holders who organize political representation and participation; (2) political power is fluid, and constant insecurity characterizes holders of state power in their relations to other social actors;66 (3) political competition and participation take place outside established institutions and procedures; (4) there is general use of open violence and confrontation in the competition, often expressed in the form of tribal, regional, religious, or class conflicts; (5) in the absence of a compromise over the outcome of the competition, there is a higher intensity and lower resolution of political crises; and (6) depending on the historical context, these five features take the form of either a pure or semi-authoritarian/dictatorial regime or a democratic (“electoralist”) regime that maintains

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democratic trappings through elections, however regular, while sharing many of these features with authoritarian regimes. Because the state is the intersecting point despite the preeminence of politics, it follows that overpoliticized features and behaviors find their coherence within the state, which, for this reason, can be referred to as an “overpoliticized state.” I elaborate on this concept in chapter 5 after presenting empirical evidence about overpoliticization in chapters 3 and 4. But as a first approximation, it can be said that an overpoliticized state denotes an absence or lower level of compromise in the political competition and over its outcome at the basic power relations, institutional/procedural, and policy levels and one in which state power, because of the contentiousness of politics, is a highly sought-after good, more so than in a liberal democratic state. The cutthroat struggle over state power is justified by the fact that in the face of intense politics and its attendant lack of compromise those who hold state power tend to have the edge when competing against other social groups. Why the Term “Overpoliticized”? Four reasons justify my use of the term “overpoliticized.” First, the term “politicized state” has been used by such scholars as Douglas Chalmers67 to convey the sense of fluidity, uncertainty, tentativeness, and “abnormality” of institutions and procedures that accompany such a state. While I agree with Chalmers’s core argument on Latin America, his use of the term is nevertheless problematic. Although the claim that everything is “political” is a monstrous tautology,68 Easton’s and Freund’s isolation of the political as a specific system of behaviors implies that the political system is the most inclusive and authoritative system.69 By implication, it politicizes those behaviors that it affects. In this sense every state is “politicized” because it is the arena of political competition. The features associated with the political competition in non-Western countries suggest that calling them “politicized” does not do justice to their empirical reality. Their state is more than politicized; it is overpoliticized. Second, quite apart from the fact that each state is politicized, overpoliticized is preferred to other characterizations of the state in developing countries because it is consistent with the preeminence and contentiousness of politics as the starting point of the comparative analysis of these countries; the term “overpoliticized” highlights this point. Third, when used in the context of Western societies, the term “politicized” refers to cases “when politics becomes overheated, that is the politics of violence, intimidation, intolerance, and ideological discrimination; and when it enters in one of these forms (even its mildest one) the judiciary, the army, civil service, and institutions of learning.”70 This characterization is found in the casual and journalistic usage of “politicized” when these issues are discussed

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along party lines (e.g., between the Republicans and Democrats in the United States). In liberal democratic societies, then, such behaviors are called politicized when they are infused with party politics even as they occur intermittently and in their mildest form. Because I argue that, by contrast, they constitute, often in their advanced form, regular patterns in Africa, Asia, and South America, these behaviors can be more accurately referred to as overpoliticized when applied to the latter societies. Fourth, as already mentioned and discussed in the next chapter, most labels associated with the state in developing countries espouse either universalism or particularism and, thus, do not reflect the empirical and conceptual unity of these countries. This holds true even with such concepts as “illiberal democracy” proposed by Fareed Zakaria71 that has some appeal. Zakaria’s notion of illiberal democracy is appealing because his description of political behaviors in developing countries (e.g., elected governments bypassing parliaments and ruling by decrees, harsh restrictions on speech and assembly, violence against citizens, rigged elections) agrees with my definition of overpoliticization. He maintains, as I do, that these “democracies” are not liberal democracies. But unlike what the concept of the overpoliticized state implies, he relies on universalistic assumptions, according to which democracy is the “only game in town” in developing countries. This has two implications. The first is that “illiberal behaviors” apply only to countries that have made a transition to democracy; authoritarianism, which is still a form of rule in Third World countries, is ignored. The second implication is that these illiberal behaviors are viewed as “temporary deviations” that need to be corrected through Western-like institutions. (I come back to Zakaria’s argument in chapter 2.) As the embodiment of the empirical and conceptual unity shared by developing countries, the concept of the overpoliticized state stands against both implications. Again, these four reasons highlight that my characterization is purely descriptive and comparative as opposed to being normative.72 Comparative Variables of Overpoliticization Implicit in the above definition and overall characterization of overpolitization are the criteria for determining what is overpoliticized and what is not. To make the concept of overpoliticization operational for comparative purposes, I enunciate here three such criteria for empirical selection. First, what stands out in the above characterization of overpoliticization is the pivotal role of politics. The inseparability of politics from society means that politics reflects the historically and politically defined society that coincides with the territorial limits of the known modern or postcolonial state. In this sense, politics affects and structures political institutions, behaviors, and the state within these limits. In other words, as defined in this study, overpoliticized behaviors

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are those that occur within today’s national state. They are domestically rooted and are not direct outcomes of international linkages (although, obviously, international politics does influence them). The criterion of domestically rooted behaviors disqualifies a number of political events as overpoliticization. These include the repression against communist sympathizers in Western countries and Japan during the 1948 to 1966 acute cold war era, the world student movement of the 1960s, and terrorism (1967–80’s and today’s). Chief among the reasons for this disqualification is that these events involve deep international linkages (see details chapter 3, section 4). This restriction does not apply to events that occur in “nationalized” colonial territories and profoundly affect metropolitan domestic politics (e.g., French Algeria for France during the 1948 to 1966 period, Northern Ireland for Britain, and Puerto Rico for the United States). Second, overpoliticization implies in many situations a non recognition of the existing power relation, or authority, and the implicit or explicit willingness to remove it regardless of the existing institutional rules. In this sense incidents that express institutionally minimum democratic rights, spontaneous actions such as riots in the form of spontaneous economic protests or protests against the police, political demonstrations designed to express dissatisfaction with government policies, and strikes against employers or governments aimed at improving the conditions of the workers are not recorded as manifestations of overpoliticization. Nor is racial violence/Civil Rights of the 1960s (e.g., in North America). The most important reason for this disqualification (see details chapter 3, section 4) is that all these events denote various attempts by the citizens to exercise their recognized constitutional/legal rights or to “expand the field of democracy” to those left out without the avowed intention of removing the accepted authority. The third criterion is that overpoliticization involves behaviors that denote the lack of compromise over the political competition or its outcome, causing some of the competitors to subvert the agreed-on “rules of the game” in order to seek unfair advantage in the political competition in general and in the control of state power in particular (e.g., recourse to crude force, dictatorship, or trickery). This criterion disqualifies as overpoliticization such routine acts as excessive use of force against citizens or policy distortions and “lies” practiced by power holders or political regimes. Although violent and deceptive, these acts do not necessarily denote a lack of compromise or unfair advantage in the control of state power. The three criteria set the parameters within which one defines the specific manifestations of overpoliticization. Both the Sri Lankan and Somali cases suggest and confirm that (1) only by focusing on the practices of the two types of political regime (democratic and authoritarian) does one empirically grasp the various manifestations of overpoliticization and (2) although they

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are similar in some crucial aspects, each of the two regimes displays specific manifestations of overpoliticization. These two points help specify three categories of behaviors/features. The first category consists of these features encountered in democratic (electoralist) regimes. For simplicity’s sake, I refer to them as “electoralist behaviors.” The second category includes practices associated with authoritarian regimes. They are referred to as “authoritarian behaviors.” The third comprises those practices that are equally present in both authoritarian and electoralist regimes, referred to as “shared behaviors.” Within the parameters set by the above criteria of selection, one can define the specific manifestations related to these three major categories of overpoliticization. The electoralist behaviors category is made of four subcategories defined by (more or less) thirty-four specific manifestations. The authoritarian behaviors category comprises (more or less) ten specific manifestations. And the shared behaviors category is made of four subcategories defined by (more or less) thirty-six specific manifestations. There are, thus, about eighty specific manifestations related to the three major categories, all of which converge toward overpoliticization. They are summarized in tables 1.1, 1.2, and 1.3. Electoralist behaviors occur in those countries that are not authoritarian but which, although proclaiming their allegiance to liberal democracy, violate its most visible tenet of representative government and liberal compromise, especially the electoral process and substance. They include electoral fraud, electoral monopoly, electoral coup, and electoral violence. An electoral fraud takes place when the results of the elections are contested and/or rejected by the opposition because they have been tampered with or rigged. The contestation may apply to procedural matters or to the results themselves. Fraud may also involve the annulment of the results of an election won by the opposition or open bribery aimed at altering the process and outcome of the elections. And although a very low electoral turnout is not in itself a defining aspect of electoral fraud, it becomes so in those situations where the turnout is so scandalously low (usually the result of boycott) as to make the results of the elections utterly meaningless. An electoral fraud need not actually occur in order to have the situation certified as an electoralist behavior. Any accusation of fraud made by the opposition or reliance on foreign election monitors denotes a lack of compromise over the outcome of the political competition and a mistrust of the channels through which it takes place, which reflects an overpoliticized behavior. Electoral monopoly occurs when a party or group of parties, through explicitly violent, biased, or manipulative/accommodationist means (as opposed to structurally induced strength of a party or two parties as in the United States), ensures for itself a victory monopoly in elections. Among its manifestations are a one-candidate election; a one-party or one-person tailored

Deliberate victory swapping between parties Weighed votes

Overt/covert bribery

Scandalously low electoral turnout

Presence of foreign observers

Exclusion of one or more parties from elections

Results annulled

Intimidation

Military surveillance

Deaths

Kidnapping

Armed confrontations

Burning

Violent disruption of elections

Electoral Violence

Nonrecognition of authority of executive by parliament

Massive resignation from parliament

Nonrecognition of government formed by winning party or candidate

Disallowing elections to prevent opposition victory

Open preference for a party regardless of electoral strength

Parallel government

Illegal dismissal of elected prime minister or majority leader

Winning party prevented from taking office

Opposition evicted from parliament

Parliament dismissed

Dominant party

Parliament boycott

Procedural irregularities

One-party/one-man tailored constitution or electoral laws

Elections rejected

Election boycott

Parliament suspended

One-candidate election

Elections contested

Electoral Coup

Rigged elections

Electoral Monopoly

Electoral Fraud

Table 1.1. Overpoliticized Behaviors in Electoralist Regimes (Electoralist Behaviors)

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Table 1.2. Overpoliticized Behaviors in Authoritarian Regimes (Authoritarian Behaviors) Military rule One-man rule One-party state Absent or curtailed democratic expressions Dictatorial or absolute power Removal of legislative powers Physical/legal elimination of opposition Preeminence of the president Excessive centralization of territorial administration Electoral facade

constitution or electoral laws; the existence of a dominant party that wins all elections; the exclusion of one or many political parties or groups from participating in elections; a perennial two-way electoral victory whereby two parties alternate in office on a regular basis through pacts or victory “swapping,” that is, by ensuring each other’s victory during elections; and a “weighted vote,” requiring that those who contribute more to society be given two votes as opposed to one only.73 An electoral coup denotes a situation that does not constitute an electoral fraud per se but an a priori or ex post facto repudiation of those acts associated with an electoral victory. Among its manifestations are a boycott of elections, a boycott of parliament, a massive resignation from parliament, parliamentary nonrecognition of the authority of the executive or president, the arbitrary suspension of parliament, the dismissal of the entire parliament, the forced eviction of the opposition from parliament, the prevention of the winning party from taking office, the nonrecognition of the government formed by the winning party or candidate, the illegal dismissal of the prime minister or any other elected leader of the majority, the establishment of parallel governments at odds with the government constituted by the winning party, the disallowance of elections to prevent the opposition from winning, and an open preference or choice by power holders for a given political party, candidate, or constitutional issue in a multiparty system regardless of their electoral strength. Electoral violence refers to acts involving actual or threatened physical coercion. Such acts may occur before, during, or after elections. They seek to make one’s position prevail and to express disagreements over the outcome

State of siege Martial law State of emergency President/governor rule Suspension of constitutional guarantees Autogolpe/autocoup

Use of state coercion for personal vendetta or political advantage

Unfair restriction on opposition

Death squads

Arbitrary firing of opposition

Pervasive & unpunished embezzlement of public goods

Exile

Clandestine publications Underground activities

Secession

Opp. Illicit Acts

Coups Fist fights in parliament

Closing of educational institutions Arrest of opposition Official execution of political opponents Specific types of strikes

Occupation/burning of government offices

Invasion from outside

Organized assassination of opponents or power holders

Intercommunal violence

Civil war

Violent secession

Guerrilla warfare

Insurgency

Rebellion

Opp. Violence

Ban/dissolution of opposition parties

Untouchable powers of the military including in approving elected officials

Refusal by chief executive to abide by law

Censure/closure of press

Arrest for insult to president

False accusation for subversion/arrest

State Dictatorial Powers

Illicit State Coercion

Table 1.3. Overpoliticized Behaviors in Both Electoralist and Authoritarian Regimes (Shared Behaviors)

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of the competition by intimidating or silencing the opposition. Among its manifestations are violent disruptions of elections through burning or other forms of violence, organized armed confrontations, kidnappings, deaths, and, as a corollary in many cases, military surveillance of elections. Overpoliticization in an authoritarian regime (authoritarian behaviors) is characterized by the elimination of spontaneous interest articulations and the establishment of a limited number of authoritatively recognized groups that interact with the governmental apparatus.74 In generalized form, it is expressed through military rule or a one-party state although, as in South America in the 1970s, multipartism is not always abolished. Channels of free democratic expression are, if not absent, at least severely curtailed, and there is a tendency toward dictatorial and absolute power. This is manifested by weakening the parliament by removing its legislative powers; physical and legal repression and elimination of the opposition; subordination of preexisting political institutions to the single party-state or “no party state,” as in Uganda under Museveni; a general tendency toward the preeminence of the president or the King; centralization of territorial administration; and a rigid and monopolistic, however vague, ideology. Overpoliticized behaviors shared by both electoralist/democratic and authoritarian regimes (shared behaviors) consist of behaviors displayed by countries in addition to their respective forms of overpoliticized behaviors (in addition to electoralist behaviors for democratic regimes and in addition to authoritarian behaviors for authoritarian regimes). They include acts initiated by power holders and those by the opposition or the people at large. Among the actions of the power holders are illicit use of state coercion and dictatorial powers and sometimes the various forms of electoral fraud, electoral coup, and electoral monopoly. Unlike illicit state coercion, dictatorial powers are generally cloaked in legality. Actions by the opposition include illicit, but not necessarily violent, acts and violent actions. Illicit opposition differs from violent opposition in that the latter can be perpetrated by a legally sanctioned organization (e.g., a political party), whereas illicit opposition is illegal or, in some cases of exile, forced by power holders. Differently put, not all violent oppositions involve illicit opposition, and not all illicit oppositions involve violence. Illicit use of state coercion comprises such acts as arrest for “insulting” the president; use of state power for a personal vendetta against one’s political opponents or for political advantage; unfair restrictions imposed on the opposition (e.g., against traveling); death squads and assassination of opposition members; arbitrary firing of opponents from held positions; false accusations for subversion and arrests; and a high and unpunished level of embezzlement of public funds and property. Dictatorial powers are generally supported by a “legal” act although this is not always the case. They include censure and closure of the press; a state of siege; martial law; state of emer-

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gency; president or governor rule applied often to an administrative province or state; almost total reliance on decrees by the chief executive; suspension of constitutional guarantees, including an autogolpe or autocoup by the chief executive; refusal by the chief executive to abide by legal decisions; untouchable power of the military even when they are not officially governing, which extends to approving elected officials; a ban, dissolution, and arrest of opposition parties, groups, or members; official execution of political opponents; and the closing of educational institutions for “subversive” reasons. The line of demarcation between illicit use of state coercive power and dictatorial power is, in some cases, blurred. Oppositions in both authoritarian and democratic regimes sometimes resort to illicit political acts (illicit opposition) that do not necessarily involve open violence (secession, clandestine antigovernment publications, underground associations and activities, and exile). But more often, they have recourse to open violence. Their actions include peasant, tribal, religious or regional rebellion and insurgency; guerrilla warfare; violent secession and sedition; civil war; intercommunal or group violence; organized assassination of state power holders or opponents; invasion from outside of the country; coups and attempted coups; occupation and burning of legislatures and government buildings; and (often in conjunction with other acts) fistfights in parliament or during political deliberations. Although violent riots or strikes do not necessarily meet the criteria enunciated above, certain types of riots or strikes are so specifically a by-product of overpoliticization that they can be viewed as part of shared behaviors. An illustration is provided by the former president of Nicaragua, Violeta Chamorro, who said of the Sandinista labor groups that they “invent new ways almost every day to go on strike, but without knowing how to distinguish between a strike and takeover.”75

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Chapter 2

Sins of Universalism and Particularism Often in an attempt to privilege Western-like political institutions, universalism neglects the preeminent position of society-rooted politics in developing countries. It dismisses or likens, misleadingly, the horizontally similar patterns of overpoliticization shared by these countries to the political features in the West. It confuses the property of the tropical fruits with that of the temperate fruits. In so doing, universalism detaches political features, institutions, and behaviors from their real societal milieu. This vertical misrepresentation leads to questionable explanations. Unlike universalism, particularism focuses on the shapes and tastes of the tropical fruits; it seeks, in general, to affirm the identity and particularity of local or regional political features. It detaches the dependent variable from the horizontal unity shared by the politics of developing countries and, thus, sins at both the dependent and independent variable levels as well. In this chapter I discuss both modes of analysis to highlight this mischaracterization before I present the evidence of overpoliticization against it in the next chapters. FROM THE BEHAVIORAL REVOLUTION TO MODERNIZATION THEORY From the 1950s to the 1970s, the field of political science in general and comparative politics in particular was swept by a revolutionary wave called the “behavioral revolution.” Although behavioralism was the brainchild of psychologists who relied on individual behavioral data in their post–World War II analyses, it was embraced by political scientists in the 1950s as the result of their research on voting behaviors. The embrace was not a servile one since empirically oriented political theory proposed by Easton and others through the political system stood miles apart from the attitudinal focus of psychology. Nevertheless, the behavioral revolutionary fire in political science shared its scientific ambitions with behavioralism in psychology. It subscribed to the epistemological requirements of the scientific enterprise, whose goal is to explain why, when, and where certain events occur, by means of statements that are invariably true from one set of circumstances to another.1 Such an explanation “consists of a principle, a general statement of a relationship 51

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among two or more concepts, that logically entails either the certainty or the probability of the specific phenomenon to be explained such that if the principle were true, then the phenomenon to be explained, the explicandum, should occur, given the stipulated preconditions.”2 Because the principle explains, generally by means of more than one statement, why the relationship exists and, thus, allows a certain level of prediction, it is a theory. A theory is based on four criteria. The first is causality. A causal relationship is that which exists between the dependent variable (explicandum) and the explanatory variable (explicans).3 The second criterion for theory is generality, that is, the level of explanatory inclusiveness or power of the theory as it applies to different geographical or historical settings. The third criterion is parsimony, which requires that the explanation of a given phenomenon not be overdetermined, that is, the number of factors explaining a given phenomenon or a set of phenomena must be kept to the minimum.4 The fourth criterion is accuracy, according to which the proposed explanation of a given phenomenon in a given social system must account as completely as possible for variations of the phenomenon in that system. With respect to theoretic comparative politics, the impact of the behavioral revolution meant, among other things, (1) reliance on explanation (and not understanding) of processes and generic patterns of behavior, that is, attempts to generalize about similarities and differences with respect to politically relevant phenomena between two or more nations; (2) the subordination of country studies to an explanation of political phenomena applicable to other countries, that is, a country study, does not constitute comparative politics unless attached to broadly comparative and theoretical analysis and concerns; (3) the rigorous subordination of descriptions to a theoretic purpose; (4) reliance on empirical testing of theory as opposed to metaphysical generalizations of political philosophy; and (5) the ability to make some prediction on the basis of the theoretical claims;5 and measurement to allow some reliability and validity. There are undeniable benefits to be derived from the revolution. The behavioral revolution brought the idea of “basic knowledge” in political science.6 As basic and theoretical research precedes practical applications in natural sciences, so, too, basic and theoretical research precedes policy applications and country studies in political science. This point, a by-product of the pivotal reliance of the revolution on explanations of generic, similar, and different patterns of behavior, has four positive implications for comparative politics. First, the debate about whether countries have commonalities worth studying arises because of the confusion about what kind of data and variables should be the target of comparative politics. Because it is about theory, basic research clears the confusion and forces comparative political scientists to define the problem better and to order their data better. Second, because theoretical issues force comparativists to refine their as-

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sumptions, methods, conceptual armamentarium, and mode of explanation, political science in general and comparative politics in particular cease to resemble journalism, storytelling, and descriptive historical accounts. Third, the scientific requirement of explaining patterns of behavior that transcend specific historical and geographical settings and situations allows one to avoid particularistic explanations that apply only to some individual countries even when the behavior to be explained is found in other countries. Fourth, comparative politics is, in a sense, applied political theory. Its success is inseparable from empirically oriented political theory that was advocated by the behavioral revolution. Its power of prediction, on which depend solutions to problems or policies, rests subordinated to the ability of political scientists to produce “good theory.” With respect to the cross-national comparative politics of non-Western countries, the impact of the behavioral revolution was felt through modernization theory’s systematic approach, to use Howard Wiarda’s expression.7 Because of this inheritance of the systematic approach from the behavioral revolution, modernization theory’s strengths include the questions it raised and the way it raised them (this being different from the way the questions were answered). Indeed, it is to the credit of modernization theory that issues of change in non-Western countries and the questions pertaining to this change were raised in a systematic way. Modernization theory rests on a dichotomy. It evokes in one’s mind a world of contrasts. Its leading question was: Why are non-Western countries, unlike their Western counterparts, “backward,” politically “underdeveloped,” and not modern? Although all these expressions were normative and value-laden, implying that non-Western countries lacked capitalism or liberal democracy and should resemble Western countries, questions about the non-Western world were, nevertheless, empirical questions raised in a truly comparative fashion, comparing the two types of countries. Concepts such as “political order,” “capacity,” “differentiation,” and “institutionalization,” were the theoretical translation of the dichotomic realities. So were “area crises” and their associated concepts such as identity crisis, penetration crisis, and so forth. Assumed or real situations of Western countries were compared to assumed or real situations of Third World countries.8 The centrality of comparisons with non-Western countries was clearly revealed by the use of the same conceptual apparatus in the volumes that dealt with political development in Western countries.9 Thus, consistent with the behavioral revolution, modernization theory invited scholars to shift the burden of analysis from idiosyncratic manifestations in specific Third World countries to broad theoretical considerations and explanations. Institutionalization served as both the explanation and solution. As a theoretical category, political structure or institution borrowed from anthropology and sociology. Talcott Parsons and Robert Merton established an

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unbreakable link between a structure and a function. If, for Parsons, structures enable action systems to carry out essential processes,10 for Merton, a social structure involves defined patterns of activity in which ideally every series of actions is functionally related to the purpose of the organization.11 Institutionalization combines, thus, both structures and functions because its patterns of routinized norms and rules depend on this combination. This view greatly influenced structural functionalism in modernization theory and its offspring, political development. Reliance on structural functionalism explains the primacy of political institutions in the literature of political development. Although the vast literature on political development provided an array of explanations for the developmental crises (identity, legitimacy, participation, distribution, and penetration crises), in reality the dispersed causal variables were amenable to the three crucial variables of capacity, differentiation, and equality.12 Using Parsonian structural functionalism as the “transformation rule,” the literature on political development converted the three causal variables into political institutionalization: structural differentiation played the role of structure (institutions) while both capacity and cultural equality played that of functions.13 The point was strengthened by Sidney Verba: “we may define a crisis as a situation where a problem arises in one of the problem areas [the five crisis areas] . . . and some new institutionalized means of handling problems of that sort is required to satisfy the discontent.”14 Although Samuel Huntington’s authoritarian version prevailed for a while, in the end it was the pluralist (“democratic”) version that underlay the theory of political development. This was so because Huntington’s call for strong authoritarian institutions to counter political decay resulted not from his refusal to apply Western-like pluralist institutions to non-Western countries but from his realization that such desired democratic political development was not taking place in those countries. Given that, instead of democracy, political decay characterized Third World countries, Huntington advocated strong one-party institutions to counter the decay. Overall, from the early 1960s to the advent of authoritarianism in the mid-1960s, modernization relied on pluralistic assumptions. Behavioralism as Universalism The disillusionment with behavioralism in political science and the causes of the failure of the behavioral revolution are by now well known. Some critics have pointed to the pretentiousness shown by political science as it adopted the methods of hard sciences via its use of quantitative methods, avoided juristic and philosophic concepts, and committed to a liberal agenda as opposed to a conservative agenda.15 Concerning the quantitative pretentiousness, Albert O. Hirschman remarked long ago that economists were taking over large portions

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of the political science discipline and that the needless inferiority complex of political scientists was making this possible. Political scientists are “quite eager to be colonized and have often joined the invaders,” he noted.16 The colonized mentality, combined with the state-of-siege mentality that deals more with policy considerations than with basic research explain, for the most part, the unrestrained race for “modeling,” “methodology,” and “quantitative analysis.” According to Chalmers Johnson and E. B. Keehn, these often bad imitations of other disciplines are a mystification, a new low especially in the “rational choice” literature as it attempts to deal with “area studies.”17 Other critics mention other reasons for the failure. For instance, Laurence Mayer points to a lack of consensus on the basic concepts. Moreover, he deplores the gap that developed between the search for a general theory and the failure to specify precise empirical indicators that would facilitate the testing of the concepts. Missing data, the number of countries involved, definitional disagreements, researcher interests, the type of research strategy adopted (e.g., case-oriented vs. variable-oriented), and political and ideological imperatives make it difficult to conform to the requirements of concept testing. But more importantly, perhaps, those who advocated the revolution themselves failed to provide the needed leadership for such specification.18 Undoubtedly, all these reasons played a role in the failure. For my purpose, the question is: Why did the behavioral revolution and its offspring (modernization and pluralism) fail in Third World countries? My answer is that, as part of universalism, the behavioral revolution and modernization theory misdefined political features in non-Western countries by likening them, vertically, to the political features in Western countries. In terms of the fruit analogy, they reduced the fruitiness to temperate fruits and imposed the latter’s property on tropical fruits. They failed to treat these features as aspects of the overpoliticized state by detaching them from their real societal milieu. Support for this proposition is lent by such general theory as Easton’s Systems Analysis. For instance, Easton rejects the determinant role of society by subordinating its influence to that of the mediating universal political system.19 In so doing, Systems Analysis cannot help one to grasp the distinctiveness of the outcomes in non-Western countries since they are confused with universal outcomes. The result is the oft-deplored abstract and universalistic character of Easton’s theory. The political system explains both itself and its associated behaviors and institutions, which borders on a tautology. But the proposition is, perhaps, best confirmed by modernization theory. In its original form or post-1980s new versions, modernization theory (and its byproduct, the theory of political development) makes universalistic claims. Because it proceeds from a dichotomic view opposing the West to non-Western countries, modernization theory opposes the existence of crucial variables in the West to the lack thereof (“missing variables”) in non-Western countries.

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In its heyday, these crucial variables included economic variables such as industrialization, social variables such as role acquisition, and political variables such as democratic institutions. The modernization process was presented as unilinear, proceeding from “backwardness” to the “modern stage” represented by the West.20 Through a process of diffusion, the backward nonWestern countries acquire the missing variables, which allow them to reach the modern stage. Criticisms against modernization theory are so well known that they need not be rehearsed here. They relate to Western ethnocentrism and ideological manipulation, value-laden concepts, the functionalism of the analyses, the ahistorical perspectives, the neglect of imperialism, and the like.21 In general, modernization theory’s definition of the features in non-Western countries rests on the assumption of an evolution toward Western features. At the societal level, the assumption of the evolution toward Western-like societies leads the theory to treat the existing societies in non-Western countries as “temporary” or transient. By expecting non-Western societies to become Western, the theory ignores the real society that exists in the Third World, with severe consequences. Dualism, an enduring paradigm in modernization theory, illustrates this situation. Proponents of dualism divide non-Western societies into two sectors: modern (capitalist) and traditional (noncapitalist). Neither of the two societies dominates or includes the other. In economic terms, dualists characterize the traditional sector by its resignation, limited needs, lack of risk taking, fatalism, lack of business qualities, and stagnation. They oppose it to the modern capitalist sector with its receptiveness to change and market-oriented behaviors.22 The consequences of this dualistic approach are easily felt in policy terms. Because the assumption is that the traditional sector is a “passing stage,” modernization theory and dualism (1) do not contemplate the possibility for the structural dynamism of the noncapitalist sector to trace a developmental path different from the Western capitalist path, and (2) do not allow the possibility for the traditional noncapitalist sector to be indestructible and to resist capitalism. Given these two negatives, the policy recommendation is the evolution toward and expectation of the emergence of Western-like capitalism and institutions.23 Once the real society in non-Western countries is removed from analysis in favor of the “expected” one, consequences follow in terms of the political variables. Because politics flows from society, the repudiation of non-Western societies means the repudiation of their politics as well. And once real politics in the Third World is made analytically irrelevant, it becomes easier to posit Western-like political institutions as the preeminent variable in comparisons and explanation. Reliance on Western-like institutions not only detaches political institutions in Third World countries from their causal source (society and its attendant politics); it also separates them artificially from other patterns of

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political behaviors with which political institutions form a whole within the overpoliticized state. In short, the definition of the dependent variable in modernization theory vitiates its own explanation. I illustrate the link between the misdefinition of the dependent variable and misleading institutional explanations and solutions with Huntington’s very influential Political Order in Changing Societies.24 Although he correctly distinguishes Africa, Asia, and South America from Western liberal democratic countries by the political decay of the former, Huntington assumes that the political institutions and features of these Third World countries in the 1960s and 1970s resembled those of seventeenth-century Europe. Institutional universalism forces Huntington to explain the decaying institutions in non-Western countries by the lack of modern Western institutions that should be acquired, as in seventeenth-century Europe, via the centralization of the institutions. This evolutionary and universalistic view of political institutions vitiates and contradicts the distinction he makes on the basis of the political decay because Huntington does not define seventeenth-century Europe by a political decay similar to that which he discusses in non-Western countries. Because they do not share a crucial trait (political decay as existed in Africa, Asia, and South America in the 1960s and 1970s), seventeenth-century European and non-Western countries cannot be said to be similar. It is possible, of course, that two or more visible structures in earlier Western experiences display similarities with those in non-Western countries. For instance, the similarities between France under Louis XIV’s absolutism and many authoritarian countries in the Third World in the twentieth century may create confusion. The features in both situations resemble two individuals wearing the same type of dark glasses but for different reasons—a case of illusory similarity. One individual may wear dark glasses for fashion or to hide his eyes from view, whereas the other may wear them for protection from the sun. Dwelling on the description of the two pairs of glasses, or even of the two individuals wearing them, cannot provide the reason why dark glasses are worn. The reason lies beyond the visible glasses. Unfortunately, cross-national studies that compare the early Western political experience (often through the Weberian concept of the “early modern state”) and contemporary non-Western experience fail to go beyond the glasses. Dwelling on Weber’s formal typology as the descriptive referent point, they easily identify these typological characteristics with the empirical realities in today’s nonWestern countries. In so doing, those studies lose sight of the specificity of the empirical realities in contemporary Third World countries. More importantly, they fail to identify the differential causal mechanisms that trigger the manifestations that are falsely similar in early Western societies and contemporary Third World countries. The lack of institutions or decaying institutions in non-Western countries is explained by a lack of institutions, which constitutes

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a tautology, or by the lack of Western-like institutions, which artificially delinks political institutions from politics in non-Western societies. By assuming their evolution toward Western-like institutions, universalism assumes at the same time the stagnation, passivity, and irrelevance of non-Western societies. (Note that this contradicts Huntington’s recent view of non-Western cultures discussed in chapter 6) The artificial delinking has further consequences as can be seen in Huntington’s treatment of instability. Huntington claims that the lack of institutionalization associated with transitional modernization causes instability. He supports this claim by referring to very backward countries (Liberia, Ethiopia, Eritrea, Saudi Arabia), which were stable because they did not undergo modernization. Contrary to this view, the evidence shows that throughout the 1960s and 1970s these countries were authoritarian and did not distinguish themselves from other authoritarian countries in the Third World. As early as 1960 Ethiopia experienced a failed coup d’etat. Moreover, the events and political features that characterized these four countries in the post-1970s period clearly reveal that their political features and instability do not differ from those of other nonWestern countries. The same can be said of his claim that pluralistic institutionalization in Rwanda, Ethiopia, Burundi, and Northern Nigeria resembled that in Feudal Europe and, thus, reduced violence in these states. The reality is that not only these countries share most of their “decaying” (hence, overpoliticized) political features with other Third World countries but their levels of violence have been higher than in many other Third World countries. Huntington also blames the lack of political parties in Burma, Sri Lanka, the Sudan, and Iraq for their lack of integration and other decaying features while crediting their presence in Mexico in the 1940s, Algeria and Tunisia in the 1960s, and in China with economic development. The reality of the matter is that with or without parties, all these countries converged toward similar “decaying” political behaviors; they displayed overpoliticization. Because authoritarian rule was seen as a distinct event or a different type of state in the Third World that deviated from the Western norm, rather than as an aspect of overpoliticizaion, its explanations were weak for the most part. Most of the explanations proposed (economic, social, behavioral, military, external, and institutional) sought to reveal this deviation rather than their link to the Third World society-rooted politics. As a result, often the explanation was tautological. For instance, explaining authoritarianism by the fact that “new middle-class radical nationalists, including army officers, rejected Western institutions,”25 is the same as saying that authoritarianism explains authoritarianism. By assuming the universality of political institutions and evolution toward Western institutions, proponents of modernization theory could not help but define authoritarianism in institutional terms and propose an institutional explanation of it as well. The failure of the political

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parties, the inefficiency of the bureaucracy, the lack of the autonomy of the institutions were seen as the cause of authoritarianism, and strong political institutions were the answer.26 That this scheme was highly misleading is attested to by the repudiation of authoritarian institutions by the very proponents of strong authoritarian institutions, who now advocate democratic institutions from the same universalistic standpoint.27 DEMOCRATIZATION BY INSTITUTIONAL FIAT In many ways the democratization process in non-Western countries preceded the worldwide “third wave”28 of democratization. This third wave (although in the case of the Third World it is the “second wave”) affected countries from Southern Europe (mid-1970s) and the former Soviet bloc (post-1985). In South America, the democratization process gathered steam by 1982 in such countries as Argentina, Brazil, and Uruguay. The struggle for democracy intensified in Asia and Africa in the mid-1980s. By 1990 it had affected almost all the countries in Africa. The euphoria about democratization resulted from both internal and external pressure. Internally, the deepening of the socioeconomic deprivation and the higher level of oppression under authoritarian rule constituted enough reasons to require democratic change. Externally, the collapse of the Soviet bloc revived the debate about democracy in the Third World. In South America an extra influencing factor was the democratic change in Southern Europe, especially in Spain and Portugal whose ties with South American countries constituted a diffusing mechanism. In all Third World countries the democratic debate was strengthened by the pressure from Western countries, which urged democratic change. However contradictory such Western pressure may have been (calls for democracy were often undercut by concomitant support for stability and dictatorship), the West actively promoted the idea of democracy. In the case of South America, one needs only recall that in 1984 and 1986 even the Reagan administration’s secretary of state, George Schultz, subordinated U.S. assistance to Haiti to the establishment of democracy. In Africa, France’s pressure for democratic change was felt at La Baule Conference in 1990 when President Francois Mitterand asked African French-speaking countries to initiate democratic change. The modalities of the transition from authoritarianism to democratization varied from one region to another and from one country to another. Among the influencing factors were the configuration of the groups involved in the transition (the opposition, the government, the military, foreign government), the means of transition (pact, imposition, reform, or revolution, national conference, co-opted transition, guided democratization), the compatibility of objectives of different actors (consensus or conflict), the extent and pace of changes (moderate, radical, gradual, rapid, stalled), and the sequences of

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changes (precedence given to civil liberties, participation, contestation, or social reform).29 It has been suggested that, on the basis of the groups involved, the process of transition could consist of “transformation” (initiated by governmental elite), “transplacement” (initiated by a joint action by the government and the opposition), “replacement” (initiated by the opposition), and “intervention” (initiated by a foreign power).30 The debate about the transition to democracy in the Third World brought with it the attendant discussion about the conditions for the establishment and preservation of democracy. Advocates of the prerequisites for democracy maintained that certain social, economic, and cultural conditions need to be present.31 They include socioeconomic development, culture/attitudes and behaviors, social structure, foreign intervention, inter-elite relations, and sequences in development. Because these prerequisites are generally questionable,32 their inherent weaknesses emboldened the proponents of institutionalization. The post-1980s challenges to and breakdowns of many authoritarian rules revived the institutional pluralistic assumptions. A set of new factors led to the resurgence of institutionalization in political analyses in the form of “new institutionalism.”33 The “institutions matter” motto that accompanies new institutionalism applies for three main reasons.34 First, a “scholarly tantrum”35 led to the revival of institutionalization in an attempt to provide a new conceptualization of the state. Second, persistent gaps and variations in socioeconomic outcomes among Third World and Western countries suggest that the explanation of the gaps does not lie in common factors shared by these countries but in specifically local institutional arrangements. Third, attempts to compare the democratization processes in Western countries and Third World countries convinced the advocates of democratization in the latter countries to posit institutionalization as the crucial variable that helps foster a spirit of democratic bargaining.36 In various combinations, these three factors generated or strengthened four major strands of “new institutionalism”: economic,37 sociological,38 historical, and rational choice. Although new institutionalism’s main target is not democratization, the need to foster a “spirit of democratic bargaining” and the influence of neoliberalism caused much of the related literature to propose institutions as the sine qua non for democracy. Its proponents argue that the establishment of democracy depends on the will and skills of leaders who must “craft” the institutions of democracy. Although proponents of democratic crafting or engineering concede to some prerequisites, they insist that relying on prerequisites is tantamount to suggesting that only some countries and cultures are predetermined to be democratic. They point to some cases in South America and Asia where bargaining and skills have led to democracy to buttress their argument. For instance, by referring to the cases of India, Sri Lanka, 1988 Pakistan, 1986 Philippines, post-1980s Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Argentina, Brazil, and Uruguay, and Co-

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lombia and Venezuela, John A. Wiseman argued that these countries had established democracy despite the absence of prerequisites. He maintains, consequently, that Africa’s search for democracy should not depend on prerequisites.39 The point is made with much force by Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, who intimate that “democratic polities can and must be installed and legitimized by a variety of other appeals before the possible benefits of a market economy fully materialize.”40 This “crafting democracy” argument has dominated the debate. The belief in the will and craftmanship involved in the making of democracy has led to the belief in the will to preserve it under the label of “democratic consolidation.” The latter is defined as “a political regime in which democracy as a complex system of institutions, rules, and patterned incentives and disincentives has become, in a phrase, the only game in town.”41 The tasks of consolidation for political actors involve the following: make new democracies secure, extend their life expectancy beyond the short term, make them immune against the threat of authoritarian regression, build dams against eventual reverse waves, create popular legitimation, diffuse democratic values, neutralize antisystem actors, ensure civilian supremacy over the military, eliminate authoritarian enclaves, build parties, stabilize electoral rules, and so forth.42 These tasks are so important that Philippe Schmitter went so far as to call for the creation of an “embryonic subdiscipline” in political science that would focus on the issues of democratic consolidation (consolidology).43 Whatever merits the literature on democratization may have, it has strengthened the assumptions of and mode of analysis in modernization theory. By subordinating the crafting of democratic polities to institutionalization, the democratization movement carries modernization theory’s original sin. For example, in what resembles a “must-do” list of requirements for democratizing countries, Linz and Stepan devote much time to define the “behavioral, attitudinal, and constitutional dimensions” of democracy that need to be crafted. Among the conditions, they cite the appreciation for the core institutions of a democratic political society—political parties, legislatures, elections, electoral rules, political leadership, interparty alliances, the habituation to the norms and procedures of democratic conflict-regulation, the rule of law because it “was one of the major accomplishments of nineteenth-century liberalism . . . in continental Europe and to some extent in Japan,”44 and of a usable bureaucracy and the institutionalization of a politically regulated market. Other students of democratization and institutions develop the same theme. Although perhaps an extreme case of universalism, Francis Fukuyama’s claim that we may be approaching “the end point of man’s ideological evolution and the universalization of Western liberal democracy as the final form of human government”45 may well reflect the general mood.46 With various nuances, Western institutions serve as a referent point, provoking protestations from the

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Third World.47 As in modernization theory, democratic institutions are “missing variables” in non-Western countries; they need to be acquired in order for these countries to reach the Western stage of political development.48 Analyses of democratization and democratic consolidation are invariably couched in “stage” terms, implying the distance to be covered by developing countries before reaching the democratic stage of Western countries and the desirability of reaching such a stage.49 Although he accepts that “the West is Unique,”50 Huntington’s preconditions to democracy include, paradoxically, “the prevalence of what can be termed Western culture and values, including Western Christianity.” For this reason, the “Asian values” and form of institutionalization upheld by Singapore at the urging of its leader Lee Kuan Yew are denigrated in favor of Western values and the institutionalization promoted by Taiwan’s President Lee TengHui. As Huntington puts it: “The freedom and creativity that President Lee has introduced in Taiwan will survive him. The honesty and efficiency that Senior Minister Lee has brought to Singapore are likely to follow him to his grave.”51 As in most of his works, Huntington’s call for Western-like democratic institutions is subordinated to the protection of U.S. and Western interests. In short, in the debate about democratization, as Robert Pinkney correctly points out, “the focus has thus narrowed, at least for the present and the immediate future, to variations on liberal democracy, with free competition for elective office complemented by a free economy.”52 As in modernization theory, institutions are given an explanatory and policy power they do not otherwise possess. Here, as in modernization theory, the misplaced power is the result of the neglect, in the name of evolution toward the West, of real society-rooted politics in non-Western countries, the true origin of their political institutions. Democratization as Universalism Two related phenomena in developing countries reveal the preeminence of politics vis-à-vis institutions and contradict the expectations of West-inspired democratic institutions. First, despite the claims of democratization and democratic consolidation presumably along this Western line in some countries, especially in South America, these individual countries persistently display political behaviors that are inconsistent with liberal democratic consolidation. They display overpoliticized behaviors. Second, African, Asian, and South American countries share political features so similar that they easily refute these claims and expectations. The persistence of these deeply similar features points to the fact that politics in the three regions generates institutional effects that differ from those in Western liberal democratic states. Although empirical evidence for these points is provided in chapters 3 and 4, additional proof comes from the proponents of the democratization literature themselves.

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In a 1998 address the first democratically elected post-Pinochet Chilean president, Patricio Aylwin, defined three areas of overpoliticized behaviors in South America. Institutionally, the rule of law does not prevail everywhere, the presidency enjoys excessive power, and electoral systems do not ensure either the best or the most transparent representation. Culturally, democracy does not have many strong adherents; it is artificial, weak, and formal. And there is an absence of national consensus, which makes many important topics fall prey to constant strong disagreement. Corruption is endemic, the state is rejected, and institutions of civil society are in a state of disrepair. Structurally, citizens lack the ability to influence the decisions of their governments.53 Guillermo O’Donnell mentions the reversal to new brands of authoritarianism in some countries, lack of “horizontal accountability,” that is the absence of control of state agencies by other state agencies; a caesaristic or plebiscitarian executive that once elected sees itself as empowered to govern the country as it sees fit; electoral irregularities, the trampling of the basic rights for the poor.54 In fact, the very notion of democratic consolidation hides in itself the intractable presence of “either suspected or convicted assassins or gravediggers of democratic rule.”55 Changes in these areas in recent years have been easily offset by “crisis” situations such as mass overthrows pointed to earlier. Among the traits of democratization in non-Western countries Huntington cites elections patterned along tribal and ethnic lines and in which the outcome is known in advance; situations in which political leaders and groups win elections only to use their democratically acquired power to destroy democracy (e.g., Islamic fundamentalists); executive arrogation, or authoritarian democracy whereby an elected chief executive concentrates power in his hands, subordinates or even suspends the legislature, and rules largely by decrees. He gives the examples of Argentina, Venezuela, Colombia, and Peru. He also mentions the curtailment of political rights, civil liberties, and the freedom of press by the “new democracies.”56 In Africa, after the initial euphoria, almost all the cases of democratization have been subsequently seen by the proponents of democratic transition and consolidation as “disappointing.” The democratization process is so disappointing that not long ago these proponents saw the presence of state-sponsored violence in such countries as Nigeria, Kenya (before President Mwai Kibaki was elected), Burkina Faso, and Zambia, guerrilla or open warfare in many other countries that grants to the armed forces the right to rule or to hold a veto power, and the general stifiing of the democratization process as parts of the general “cooling off” of the global democratic movement in Africa and other parts of the world.57 The evidence of “antidemocratic” behaviors in African, Asian, and South American countries provided by the proponents of the democratization literature themselves is so clear that one wonders how this evidence reconciles with their implicit or explicit pronouncement in favor of Western liberal democracy.

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To get around this question, proponents of the literature use two theoretical subterfuges. First, the specificity of the political features of non-Western countries is ignored. Even the most deviant election-related features are likened to those existing in the Western democracies and are assigned the ability to evolve toward liberal democracy. For example, Mark Thompson exhibits the Philippines as “democratic consolidation” despite (and, perhaps, because of) its return to the electoral and oppositional violence, electoral fraud, and excessive appropriation of state apparatus for personal enrichment of the premartial law era,58 not to mention persistent insurgency, military revolts as in 2003, and mass overthrow of an elected government as occurred in 2001 and attempted in 2005. Specific behaviors that do not conform to the expectations of liberal democracy are normatively castigated, and those who uphold these behaviors are advised to repudiate them.59 Temporary and historically specific political outbursts or crises in liberal democratic states (e.g., racial violence or 1970s terrorism) are incorrectly likened to political crises in Third World countries. Often, the specificity is written off by invoking the “similar” experiences (“growing pains”) of the West during its earlier development. The second subterfuge consists of rejecting the specificity of the political features in non-Western countries by building a plethora of typologies of “democracies.” For the old typology of Third World democracies (that included guided, socialist, and consociational democracies) are substituted others such as the ones that divide democracies into liberal democracies, electoral democracies, and pseudodemocracies. Electoral democracy and pseudodemocracy are, in turn, divided into four subtypes of democracy: partially illiberal democracy, competitive semidemocracy, restrictive semidemocracy, and semicompetitive partially pluralist authoritarian.60 A modified version of this typology consists of liberal democracy, electoral democracy, and advanced democracy.61 Other writers speak of “different types of polyarchy,”62 “virtual democracy,”63 “illiberal democracy,”64 “semi-authoritarian,” and the like. All in all, the nomenclature of the subtypes of democracy in the democratization literature is so humongous that a study attempting to review them reportedly counted up to 550 subtypes.65 The plethoric classification is in part an effect of the convenient distinction made between “democracy” (which is equated with elections) and “liberalism” (political and civil liberties, rule of law, separation of powers, and the like). The goal is to show that, despite the lack of liberal behaviors, nonWestern countries, which hold elections, are democratic since Western countries did not uphold the principles of liberalism at a comparable stage of development.66 This argument is contradicted by the facts. Indeed, if the argument were true, there would not be invariably negative reactions by the West and indigenous advocates of democracy whenever civil and political liberties are not respected by elected officials in Third World countries. It is not only the

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lack of elections that provokes their reactions, but more importantly, the lack of political and civil liberties. Those who suffer the effects of oppression in nondemocratic countries feel the effects of elections or the lack thereof only indirectly. What is felt more directly on a daily basis is the effect of the absence of what is precisely associated with liberalism. One needs only recall accusations by the Argentinian press against President Carlos Menem’s attacks on civil liberties, which incited U.S. president Clinton to complain to Menem during his 1997 visit to Argentina. That people in Argentina and other developing countries complain when deprived of “liberalism” reveal that attempts to advocate liberal democracy while depriving it of its constitutive ingredient (liberalism) is one of the weaknesses of the democratization literature. Reflecting universalism, this literature ignores the specificity of the political features in developing countries in order to leave open the possibility for their “democracies-elections” to follow the trajectory leading to the Western stage. This is clear in Zakaria’s already mentioned argument. “Illiberal democracy”’s behaviors in the Third World are, in his view, temporary deviations. Liberalism, which is universal, will prevail and liberal democracy consolidate when and if non-Western countries adopt American constitutional liberalism.67 Yet the excessive classification of democracies and typologies scarcely conceal the basic fact. Although the concept of the liberal democratic state does not deny differences that exist among Western countries, no typology of liberal democracy will do much to deny the “reality” of liberal democracy shared by Western countries. Likewise, no typology will do much to deny the reality that politics in African, Asian, and South American countries manifests itself in ways that subvert the universalistic expectations of liberal democracy. A Theoretical Dead End Because the democratization literature reflects universalism and neglects the preeminent position of society-rooted politics in developing countries, it relies on a Western-centered liberal institutional framework. The neglect results in the literature overlooking the similarities in recalcitrant antiliberal democratic behaviors or overpoliticization in developing countries. This has severe theoretical implications when attempts are made to explain these democratic transitions and consolidations. Consider the case of Africa.68 Some authors have argued that in the face of pressure from foreign powers and organizations for democracy and economic growth and management, African leaders have responded to the economic growth requirements of foreign powers rather than to democratic demands. As a result, foreign powers and institutions have eased their demands for political democracy, thus accommodating African leaders at the expense of democracy. The overall result is the stifling and overthrow of the democratic movement in Africa.69 Other

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writers analyze the pretransition neopatrimonial institutions that facilitated the democratic movement and argue that, because of neopatrimonialism, the prospects for democracy in Africa are not promising. This assessment is, in part, inspired by the experience of Benin, perhaps the most successful example of democratic transition, but which has moved toward clientelistic politics similar to that of the 1970s authoritarian rule.70 In both cases the explanation is questionable. In the first instance, if the accommodation by foreign powers in Africa were dictated by the desires of African leaders to progress economically, most African countries would be in very good economic shape. Needless to say, this is not the case. It is true that foreign powers accommodate Third World antidemocratic and antistability leaders and politics despite their pronouncements for democracy and stability. This hypothesis has been tested in a comparative study on Nicaragua, Haiti, Cambodia, and Togo.71 But it is not the accommodation by foreigners that subverts democratic transitions. In the causal link, accommodation results from the politics of the Third World countries. In other words, the specificity of Third World politics forces foreign powers to accommodate local political behaviors and to become themselves overpoliticized. Hence the question is: What generates the type of politics that shapes the leaders of developing countries in a way that facilitates the accommodation of foreign powers? Put differently, because there is evidence that neither the stifling of democratic transitions nor the accommodation of foreign powers is exclusive to Africa, the African-tailored explanation is not helpful. A better explanation is possible only by first dwelling on the similar political patterns shared by Africa, Asia, and South America in contradistinction to Western countries. An explanation of these patterns would show that the same causal mechanism that generates them, and not the accommodation, causes the collapse of the democratic transitions. Political behavioral patterns, the stifling of democratic transitions, and accommodation by foreign leaders are all dependent variables, that is, aspects of overpoliticization. In the second type of explanation that privileges internal patrimonial institutions are two situations. In the first situation, one has to consider the fact that, generally, neopatrimonialism has been applied to Africa more than to the two other regions.72 In this case, where Africa has pride of place in neopatrimonial politics, one needs to ask why democracy has been lacking and there are problems of transition and consolidation of democracy in Asia and in South America. In the second situation one considers the fact that the concept of patrimonialism applies to other non-Western regions as well.73 Michael Bratton and Nicolas van de Walle maintain that Africa shares neopatrimonial institutions with a limited number of Asian and South American countries and that their theory can apply to these countries as well.74 In this case, where Africa shares its patrimonial traits with South America and

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Asia, neopatrimonialism cannot be said to cause the problems of transition in Africa unless one admits that such problems also characterize South American and Asian countries. But more importantly, in both instances the causal link established between neopatrimonialism and the failure of democratic transitions strikes me as a tautology. Consider the definition of neopatrimonialism that they propose. [The] right to rule in neopatrimonial regimes is ascribed to a person rather than to an office, despite the official existence of a written constitution. One individual, often a president for life, dominates the state apparatus and stands above its laws . . . officials occupy bureaucratic positions less to perform public service, their ostensible purpose, than to acquire personal wealth and status. Although state functionaries receive an official salary, they also enjoy access to various forms of illicit rents, prebends, and petty corruption, which constitute a sometimes important entitlement of office . . . parallel and unofficial structures may well hold more power and authority than the formal administration.75 These traits are, indeed, as seen in the above discussion of O’Donnell, present in South America as well. They denote the lack of democracy. In other words, patrimonial traits and lack of democracy are one and the same. Arguing, therefore, that neopatrimonialism explains the stifling of democracy is the same as saying that the lack of democracy explains the lack of democratic transition. One can avoid this tautology only by recognizing that neopatrimonialism and the lack of democratic transition are aspects of the same phenomenon, the overpoliticized state, which needs to be defined (and then explained) because these aspects are not found in Western countries, at least not in the same fundamental way. Although he is a core member of the proponents of the democratization literature, Guillermo O’Donnell’s views depart in some ways from some of its tenets. Among the points worth mentioning are, as already stated, his stronger recognition (unlike his colleagues) of the persistence of antidemocratic behaviors in South American democracies; his critical stand vis-à-vis the normative, evolutionary, and Western-based expectations of democratization; and his recognition of the “importance of informal rules” (such as clientelism), which are part of democratic institutions and which are ignored by his colleagues.76 These three points help to soften the more pronounced aspects of universalism associated with the democratization movement. Yet O’Donnell does not escape universalism’s shadows. His criticism of the Western-based expectations of democracy is blunted by his own attempt, following Robert Dahl, to identify South American polities as “polyarchies.” It is worth recalling that Dahl’s theory of polyarchy, by

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Dahl’s own admission, does not hide the Western-centric and normative bias. Indeed, the West’s political development during the nineteenth century, in the three decades that preceded the First World War, and in the post-Great Depression serves as Dahl’s historical referent points. On the basis of this experience and its attendant institutional preferences and guarantees, Dahl builds a nomenclature of polyarchies around the world. Procedural rules that uphold the notions of preferences, guarantees, participation, and contestation, hence elected officials, free and fair elections, freedom of expression, and alternative information are posited as the criteria of polyarchies regardless of their Western or non-Western origins.77 Although O’Donnell admits that South American countries do not fulfill all Dahl’s criteria of polyarchy, he still thinks of them as polyarchies. He justifies this by arguing that there are variations among polyarchies. Maybe so. But this argument can hold, and the normative and Western-centric expectations can be avoided, only if the concept of polyarchy is used without any reference to the criteria offered by Dahl. If one defines polyarchy without Dahl’s criteria, then African, Asian, and South American traditional or contemporary pluralistic societies, which do not meet these criteria, are variations of polyarchies. In this case, universalism is avoided and a theory of this class of polyarchies can be proposed. Yet it is clear not only that Dahl’s criteria define polyarchies and disqualify these non-Western pluralistic societies but O’Donnell relies on these and extra criteria to pronounce South American countries “poorly institutionalized” polyarchies. In so doing, he joins his colleagues in asserting the normative universalism of the democratization literature. By recognizing informal rules, O’Donnell is close to recognizing the specificity of the primacy of politics in South America. Yet he leaves “untheorized” these informal rules. He invites his colleagues to recognize that in South America “the games played inside the (Western-inspired) democratic institutions are different from the ones dictated by their formal rules.”78 But this is as far as he goes. O’Donnell sins in two ways. First, although he should not be required to study Asian and African politics, at the very least conclusions about the way informal rules in South America deviate from Western-like institutions would benefit tremendously from comparisons with Asian and African situations. No such comparisons are made. Second, rather than explore these informal rules in light of South American society-rooted politics—that would tell us why they occur, why they defy the Western ethnocentric assumptions, and why they lead to poor institutions—he is only interested in their linkage to and how they deviate from the formal, Westerncentric institutions.79 In a universalistic fashion South America is only compared vertically to the West. In the end this double failure prevents O’Donnell otherwise promising argument from discovering the deep similarities of South American clientelism/informal rules with those prevailing in African and Asian politics in contradistinction to those prevailing in the West.

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The pattern of political behaviors in developing countries should serve as a guide to discovering their societies. By revealing the full complexity of these societies, the deeply similar pattern of political behaviors forces one to find the explanation from this complexity and not from political institutions. To illustrate this point, take the perfectly sound conclusions reached by Adam Przeworski and his associates in their revised version of modernization theory and its implications for democracy.80 Using economic development as the independent variable that accounts for trends in democracies, they conclude that (1) political actors (hence, institutions), and not economic development, make democracies, but (2) democracies survive best in performing economies. Now consider the evidence in chapters 3 and 4; it confirms that spatially and temporally (post-1948 period) all countries in non-Western regions have been characterized by a similar pattern of overpoliticized behaviors during the 1948–66, 1967–89, and 1990–2003 subperiods, which is not the case in Western countries. The Przeworskiassociates conclusions can be sustained for developing countries only if one completely ignores this crucial differential path and privileges universalism and the variable-oriented strategy and their unmitigated explanatory principle in Western countries, non-Western countries, and former-Soviet bloc countries alike. One need not reject their correct conclusions to realize that in South America, Asia, and Africa not only some “economically performing democracies” have collapsed but almost all democracies have been affected by overpoliticized behaviors even when they have reached the income threshold beyond which they are supposed to be unimpugnable. The omnipresence of overpoliticized behaviors in non-Western countries suggests that the ‘performing economy’ explanatory variable in the Third World is shaky at best. The institutional argument is even shakier. Another reference to Przeworski, who is one of the better insights and a very careful advocate of the rational choice approach, is useful. In his Democracy and the Market Przeworski defines democracy as the institutionalization of uncertainty. And in explaining why people comply to outcomes and rules in democracy, he maintains that because, in addition to the fact that democratic institutions offer long-span possibilities/expectations geared toward self-interests, a particular system of institutions becomes the only game in town; that is, democracy has been consolidated.81 This position raises a set of questions. Suppose that one ignores the recent post-1985 democratization process, which is Przeworski’s analytical concern, and asks why democracy has not existed in most countries despite the presence of institutions and why there is an irrefutable basic similarity in Western democracies, on the one hand, and in the pattern of political behaviors shared by non-Western countries, on the other. Put differently, why has there not been democratic consolidation and compliance to democratic rule in most Third World countries?

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Two answers are possible. The first answer could be that democratic institutions did not become routinized, and the second is that they did not exist. The first answer is not convincing. Institutions imply routinization. In a democracy, institutions involve, as a matter of course, democratic institutional routinization. It is not institutional routinization that determines democratic compliance; rather democratic compliance is unthinkable without its built-in institutional routinization. Put differently, democratic compliance and democratic institutional routinization are one and the same. I should not pursue this first answer because it is not Przeworski’s answer. The second answer or explanation—institutions did not exist—is contradicted not only by empirical and historical evidence all over the Third World but by Przeworski’s own discussion of four cases: the United States, France, Argentina, and South Korea. Przeworski observes that in the United States the same constitution has survived for two hundred years, in France it has been changed several times since 1789, but in both countries the constitution was applied; in Argentina the 1853 constitution remained mostly on paper and in the “past fifty years political conflicts have only half the time been processed according to its provisions,” and in South Korea major constitutional reforms have occurred every three years and nine months since 1948 without any succession conforming to the rules. What are the reasons for these differences? According to Przeworski, the four historical experiences by themselves are not informative and cannot easily be explained. Instead he points out that the constitutions that last and are functional are those that reduce the stakes of political battles. The question becomes, what makes it possible for these constitutions to reduce the stakes of political battles by leaving unresolvable issues out of the discussion? Using rational choice, Przeworski privileges institutional/constitutional arrangements. He quotes Napoleon, who allegedly said that constitutions need to be short and vague; proposes, on the basis of historical evidence in Western countries, that stable democracy requires that governments be strong enough to govern effectively but weak enough not to be able to govern against important interests; and advises that democratic institutions must remain within narrow limits. If one comes back to the perplexing cases of the United States, France, Argentina, and South Korea, it becomes obvious that Przeworski’s advice was heeded only by the United States and France, two Western countries. This raises the question of why rational actors would heed the constitutional advice only in the two Western capitalist countries and not in Argentina and South Korea. Institutionalism cannot answer this question. Aware, perhaps, of this problem and the limits of institutionalism, Przeworski parts company with rational choice and institutionalism to suggest that democratic consolidation may not be an exclusive outcome of institutions after all but a “joint effect of conditions and institutions”; institutions may have to fit conditions. And I must add that these conditions matter more than institu-

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tions. What are these conditions? The answer can be found only in politics as it is played in the four countries, which leads one back to their respective types of society. These points raise the broader issue of the rational choice approach to Third World politics. Although the theory has been mostly applied to American politics,82 it makes similar universal and behavioral claims about developing countries. Rational Choice theory’s basic assumptions and claims are rooted in economics and the market. Political actors are, like economic actors, led by self-interest, rationality, and preferences. They are self-interest maximizers whose individual actions and choices lead to collective behavior and outcomes. In this sense, the rational choice model provides microfoundations of macroprocesses such as democracy, ethnic conflict, ethnic cooperation, peasant revolutions, and state-building about which proponents of rational choice have written.83 Because of its universal and deductive claims that are centered on the individual choice, rational choice theory has been subjected to a variety of criticisms.84 For my purposes here, the relevant question is the application of these assumptions to developing countries. Consider Robert Bates. He maintains that institutions are an outcome of the rational calculus of actors. At the same time, [Game theoretic techniques] “show how institutions shape individual choices and collective outcomes, and therefore provide a framework for exploring the origins of political differences.”85 This raises a question: How does rational choice explain the bipolar differentiation between developing and Western countries in terms of their political features? Given its basic assumptions, the theory views these differences as an effect of individual self-interest. They are aggregate/public institutional outcomes of individual rational choice. The weakness of this formulation is quite obvious. To the extent that all who seek liberal democracy in developing countries decry antidemocratic behaviors, the formulation means that most of the antidemocratic behaviors observed in developing countries are the collective outcomes of individual choice. So is liberal democracy in Western countries. This being the case, it appears that individual choice generates negative effects in developing countries and positive ones in Western countries. Which begs the question of why individual choice, which is supposed to be universal, would generate negative collective outcomes consistently in developing countries and not in Western countries. Even if one takes into account informal institutions and culture in developing countries, this question does not find a satisfactory answer. First, because rational choice theorists offer, as Chalmers Johnson and E. B. Keehn correctly assert,86 a reductionist definition of institutions and culture. Second, because, if institutions and cultures in developing countries shape individual choice in a way that leads it consistently and uniformly to negative antidemocratic behaviors, one ought to conclude that the explanatory variable is not

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individual choice but the culture itself. Individual choice becomes irrelevant as an explanation. Third, by relying on rational choice’s claim that institutions emerge and persist because of the value and benefits of their functions for the actors who cooperate voluntarily, advocates of rational choice conclude that the persistence of antidemocratic and antistability institutions stems from an institutional breakdown that impedes voluntary cooperation. The evidence contradicts this claim. Take the case of institutionalized violence in Colombia. It clearly shows how democratic institutions are defied. Yet a reading of it reveals that it was not the institutions that broke down, leading to the lack of cooperation; rather the politics of “lack of cooperation” that have characterized Colombian society since 1831 caused and broke down the institutions. Aspects of this politics include the intractable and violent land issue (the politics of terrateniente and latifundo) that was fused with that of racial hierarchical power (Europeans vs. Indians, Africans, and Mestizos). The result was the institutional makeup of the party system (landed/merchant Conservatives vs. Liberals), culminating in the Conservative-sponsored 1886 constitution and its attendant contentious and contested institutional format of today.87 Gabriel Almond has argued that rational choice theorists fail to confront the social science literatures directly and are, thus, left “with theories that cannot travel very far in space and time, and cannot deal effectively with political change.”88 With respect to developing countries, this shortcoming stems from the fact that, as a universalistic theory, rational choice fails to grasp the similarly overpoliticized features of these countries and confuses them with the features of Western countries. UNIVERSALISM FROM THE LEFT The general argument made above about universalism applies, with some modifications especially regarding political institutions, to Marxist and other left-oriented works as well. In contrast with modernization theory and pluralism, Marxist arguments on politics and the state in the Third World did not flourish until the 1970s; they did so as a challenge to modernization theory.89 Paradoxically, the universalistic bias from the Left is perhaps more explicitly displayed by imperialism-centered theories (dependency theory and worldsystem theory) that challenged modernization theory. Because modernization theorists explained the backwardness of non-Western societies in almost exclusively endogenous terms, overlooking colonialism, imperialism, and other international factors, dependency theory focused its analyses on demonstrating the determining role of these factors in fostering underdevelopment in Third World countries. It attempted to show that the same process of capitalist development that brought development to Western countries generated the backwardness (underdevelopment) of developing countries.90 In this sense,

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the Third World is a creation of this capitalist process.91 Criticisms against it led to a refinement of its main propositions by its proponents.92 The first refinement was the emergence of subschools in the theory,93 and the second was the increasing focus on the world-system approach already present in the writings of some of the theorists of dependency.94 The main tenets of dependency theory and world-system analyses are so well known that they need not be repeated here. What is worth investigating is the treatment given to politics, political institutions, and the state in nonWestern countries by these theories. To be sure, different writers followed different strategies in dealing with this issue, depending on whether they focused on the world systemic forces or they analyzed special regions or countries.95 In general, however, because imperialism-centered theories emerged as a challenge to development economics, their economic/systemic overtone meant that their proponents did not focus on the political features or analyzed these features only as by-products of these economic systemic forces. This obscured the specificity of the political features in non-Western countries. World-system theories approach the issue of society-rooted politics in three ways. In the first, society (hence, politics), the state, and their related behaviors are repudiated from analysis because the world capitalist system has replaced them. This view is most conspicuously adopted by Immanuel Wallerstein.96 In the second, there is a net emphasis on economic issues but only passing definitional references are made to political issues and the state. This is found in the works of Samir Amin, Andre Gunder Frank, and, to an extent, L. S. Stavrianos.97 In the third, there is an explicit attempt to confront political issues and the state and to define them. An example here is Clive Y. Thomas’s work.98 Not conforming to these three types of analysis are works such as Peter Evans’s 1979 book on Brazil.99 Despite these differences, all these works operate within the universalistic logic. Although they do not overestimate the role of political institutions, as modernization theorists and pluralists do, like the latter, however, world-system theories repudiate the real society—hence politics—in Third World countries in favor of the Westoriginating capitalist world-system. Even class struggles in the Third World are discussed in relation to peripherality, an outcome of the presumed subjugation of Third World countries by Western capitalism. In many ways, globalization has reinforced the views of the proponents of the world-system approach to the extent that globalization implies a central, vertically unifying “culture” from the West. Although world-system analysts argue that antisystemic and centrifugal forces work against globalization, they still explain outcomes in developing countries almost exclusively by the forces of globalization.100 As a result, the explanations proposed for Third World political outcomes foster universalism by elevating the West-made capitalist world-system to the

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level of the decisive explanatory variable. In Thomas’s words, “it was the specific nature of colonial domination that facilitated the development of petty bourgeois control of state power.”101 He elaborates by arguing that the process of internal accumulation of non-Western countries is dependent on the capitalist center countries; one or more sections of the local bourgeoisie controls this fractured dependent economy by allying itself with the bourgeoisie of the center and by controlling state power. Given the dependence and underdevelopment of the peripheral capitalist economy, the practice of bourgeois ideas of legality and equality is perforce restricted, thus leading to authoritarian rule.102 Frank explained authoritarian rule in the Third World as an outcome of the crisis of the world capitalist system in that the latter involves class struggles and the redirection of the division of labor in the system under the aegis of the peripheral state whose interventions required brutal states of exception, emergency rule, martial law, and military regimes.103 According to Amin, “The absence of democracy from the periphery of the world capitalist system is a constant that is not a residue of earlier eras but the inevitable consequence of the expansion of actually existing capitalism.”104 Others have advanced similar explanations.105 Despite the most recent debates and revisions, these views prevail (see chapter 6). These explanations of the “peripheral” state reflect the questionable (and lack of) definition of politics in these theories. By disconnecting politics from the real society of non-Western countries, they cannot help but repudiate their societies from their explanations as well. Although capitalism or globalization cannot be dismissed as part of the explanation, a recognition of the influence of Western capitalism is not the same as asserting its primacy, which is what imperialism-centered theories do. African, Asian, and South American societies are not first and foremost products of world capitalism and only marginally run by the “residues” of their cultures. Rather than “residues,” these cultures are real, which requires that they be seriously investigated before proclaiming the “unlimited power” of world capitalism. In general, imperialism-centered theories do not undertake such deep investigations. Those who subscribe to dualism explain these residues as the outcome of capitalist infiltration,106 and those who reject the idea of dualism claim that these residues are deliberately maintained by capitalism.107 Even attempts made by Marxists in the 1970s to seriously investigate non-Western “cultures” via the concept of mode of production fell prey to this universalistic view, since these indigenous modes were assumed to be “stagnant,” to have been made lifeless by capitalism, or to evolve toward it.108 In South America, most of the studies on modes of production focused on the colonial period. What was referred to as “precapitalist modes” was the so-called feudalism introduced by Spanish and Portuguese colonialism.109 No in-depth

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analyses of pre-Hispanic modes and their effects on colonialism and capitalism were made even in those areas where Indian settlements are obvious.110 Thus deprived of its major constitutive part, society in non-Western countries stands severely truncated and, indeed, suspended in the air, clinging precariously to the capitalist world-system. It cannot reflect its real self. One understands, then, why politics, the institutions, and the state are unabashedly explained by the capitalist world-system alone, of which colonial rule is a facet. The “peripheral” state and its cohorts of behaviors is in this logic fabricated by and inherited from colonial rule.111 This situation prevents one from finding factors shared by non-Western societies that may explain overpoliticization without being derivatives of the capitalist world-system. Yet it is these shared factors that help understand the puzzling fact that some developing countries certified “capitalist” display political behaviors that are consistently (from independence to today’s democratic consolidation) at odds with the behaviors of the liberal democratic states of the West. Indeed, how does one explain the fact that at the height of the “deepening of their capitalism” in the 1970s and 1980s South Korea and Brazil were authoritarian, sharing this trait with other Asian, African, and South American countries? The answer from the point of view of imperialism-centered theories lies in their position in the division of labor in the capitalist worldsystem. Without trivializing the issue, one needs to ask why European countries, which, according to European Marxist scholars112 were assigned a role in the same capitalist world-system by American capital, did not become authoritarian. Of course, one may argue that Korea and Brazil are now democracies, which makes the question moot. But this is precisely the point. If the position of Korea and Brazil in the division of labor in the capitalist system explained authoritarianism, why would the same system with the same division of labor make the same countries “democratic” today? Why would the state in the two countries be both authoritarian and democratic while Western states have remained liberal democratic during the same time span and under the same division of labor conditions? And if authoritarianism in non-Western countries resulted from the role assigned to the periphery by Western capitalism, how does one explain the fact that in the face of today’s globalization and the request by the capitalist center that “peripheral countries” become democratic (a new role assigned to them) not only do many remain authoritarian but the response has resulted in electoralist regimes (including Brazil and Korea) whose overpoliticized behaviors contrast with the liberal premises of the request? The answers to these questions suggest that the capitalist worldsystem is not the supreme explanatory variable of authoritarianism or other political features in Third World countries. “Extra factors” common to these countries, but not characteristic of the Western countries, are crucial.

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A discussion about particularism is inseparable from the debate about the abolition of the term “Third World.” The impressionistic call for the abolition of the term is perhaps better rendered by the widely read novelist Shiva Naipaul who maintains that to blandly subsume, say, Ethiopia, India, and Brazil under the one banner of Third Worldhood is as absurd and as denigrating as the old assertion that all Chinese look alike. He is echoed by the academic claim of and focus on “vast differences and variations” among Third World countries. But how valid is the claim? The term “Third World” (le tiers-monde in French) refers to African, Asian, South American, and Carribean countries, except Japan and Israel. It was coined in 1952 by the French demographer and journalist Alfred Sauvy, obviously inspired by the “third” positioning and revolutionary impulse of le tiers état in the French Revolution. The coinage of the word coincided with the cold war, the struggle against colonialism and imperialism, and the euphoria about modernization and development in developing countries. These three factors (cold war, anti-imperialism, and modernization) defined the criteria that made one country part of the Third World. By creating the Western and Soviet blocs, the rigid bipolar system of the cold war made countries that were not members (or rather claimed not to be members) of either bloc become the Third World. Out of this was born in 1955 in Bandung (Indonesia) the Non-Aligned Movement that brought together all these nonaligned countries in yearly meetings. The struggle against colonialism and imperialism further strengthened the cohesion among Third World countries, which shared the history of being colonized by European powers. And, finally, the euphoria about modernization revealed the socioeconomic gap between these countries and the two leading blocs, thus cementing further their bond as members of the Third World. On this front they shared not only poverty, hunger, and disease but also their economic dependence on the Western and Soviet blocs. Their economic fragility and dependence defined the NorthSouth Dialogue and opposed them to Western countries as a group, the Group of 77, which actually includes almost all Third World countries.113 To be sure, these defining common traits make the term “Third World” assailable and, indeed, a misnomer. With the end of colonialism and the cold war and the demise of the Soviet bloc, the first and second reasons for the coining of the term disappear; so does the need for a Non-Aligned Movement, which, in any case, never squared with the reality. The economic reason is also relatively assailable, although not entirely dismissible. Poverty, defined in terms of growth and income per capita, is shaky as a common criterion if one considers that oil-producing countries such as Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, the United Arab Emirates, or Gabon rank higher than most Third World coun-

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tries, followed by the so-called newly industrialized countries such as South Korea, Brazil, Singapore, and Mexico in terms of growth rates or per capita incomes. For this reason, the abolitionists emphasize that rapid growth in the Pacific Rim makes the idea of a Third World based on poverty untenable. They also maintain that even when the Soviet Union was a viable entity, the reality of its economic development did not correspond to the “second world” image it projected. In reality, there was no “Third World.” In fact, that today’s Russia seeks aid from South Korea, a supposedly Third World country, only reveals the precariousness of the term. This argument has strengthened the view generally held about the incomparability of Africa, Asia, and South America.114 The real or imagined economic performance of Asian countries, the real or assumed economic precariousness of African countries, the particularity of South American industrial giants such as Brazil and Mexico, the “whiteness” of such countries as Argentina, Chile, and Uruguay, and the “more-Westernized” status of South American countries in general serve as powerful arguments for particularism. Borrowing from proponents of the “soft state” paradigm,115 abolitionists blame the strength of Third Worldism on Third World leaders’ reliance on the state and nation, two shaky and almost nonexistent realities. They claim that by consecrating the external sovereignty of Third World countries, the two concepts (state and nation) legitimize the ideology of collective nationalism against the West, help favor foreign policy at the expense of domestic policy, sacrifice the rights of the citizens in favor of sovereignty, and favor the state at the expense of civil society. The result is domestic abuses and the delegitimation of ethnicity, class, gender, community, culture, and people.116 The abolition of the term “Third World” is, therefore, justified by the cultural diversity of its members; the fact that it fosters the irresponsible behavior of Third World leaders who hide behind Third World solidarity or take misguided policies in the name of Third Worldism;117 and by the fact that it reinforces stereotypes and racism among Western right-wing politicians, who view the Third World as inferior, and paternalism among liberal politicians, who view it as a victim.118 To be sure, some of the reasons in favor of the abolition of the term “Third World” lack logical consistency.119 Nevertheless, most of the reasons advanced do point to the fact that the term is a misnomer, an anachronism, or a tool of ideological manipulation, the very opposite of the revolutionary ideology that Franz Fanon assigned to the concept of the Third World.120 In this sense these reasons militate in favor of the abolition of the term “Third World.” And with the European portion of the former Soviet bloc (except Russia itself) joining Western Europe and its Asian portion melting into the Asian world, then perhaps “Third World” countries can and should be replaced by another term (e.g., “non-Western” or “developing” countries that I use in this study) to distinguish them from “Western” countries.

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But a terminological change is not the issue. Even if the new term were adopted, it might solve the semantic and ideological dilemma without addressing the more fundamental aspect of the problem. For the question remains: Regardless of whether the term Third World is used, is there any conceptual unity among African, Asian, and South American countries? The answer, as I have already hinted, is affirmative with regard to politically relevant phenomena. This is the central argument that I make in the next chapters. But before focusing on the central argument itself, some general remarks are in order here. The abolition of the Third World debate raises and revives the issue of the [in]comparability of Africa, Asia, and South America in terms of similarities. It used to be generally maintained that although Asian and African countries can be compared to each other, they cannot be compared to South American countries. Although the claim is today replaced by a more particularistic call for the recognition of the “vast differences” among the three regions, comparability is more and more accepted between South American and Asian countries to the exclusion of African countries. The reasons behind the alleged incomparability are economic, demographic, historical, and political. The claim is questionable on several grounds. If India, which is also an industrial giant in many ways, can be compared with African and other Asian countries in terms of their similarities, there is no reason why Brazil and Mexico cannot be. But more importantly, whether some South American countries are industrial giants does not invalidate the fact that the majority of the countries in South America does not have this “particular” attribute and share crucial similarities with Africa and Asia. Indeed, some African countries score higher or are in the same income bracket as Latin American. Many African countries share the same lower income brackets as many Asian countries. Oil-producing Gabon, Libya, and Algeria are in the same income bracket or score higher than Brazil, Argentina, and Mexico.121 By referring to the UN “Human Poverty Index” (HPI), fourteen out of the sixteen comparative tiers include countries from South America, Asia, and Africa.122 One need not repudiate the accurate assessment that some of the Third World countries have higher rates of growth and per capita income than others to be convinced that such rates do not pull them away from the Third World orbit. They may score higher than a group of countries but may be placed in the same income bracket as another group of countries. The socalled newly industrialized countries and oil-producing high-income countries may stand high today, but they may not avoid the Mexican syndrome of euphoric boom today and catastrophic bust tomorrow. This was perhaps best summarized by the Wall Street Journal in 1985, following the 1982 crash and ten years before the 1995 crash: “It wasn’t just material satisfaction that delighted the middle class, though—it was the belief that the nation was moving out of the Third World and into the First. . . . When Mexico’s economy

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crashed in 1982, the middle class was swatted back to second-class status, to rum and domestic vacations and the shock of being back in the Third World.”123 The crisis that affected East and Southeast Asia in the summer of 1997 is another reminder of the comparability, even in economic terms, with other non-Western countries. In any case, the concern here is the empirical and conceptual unity shared by these countries in political terms. PARTICULARISM IN SOUTH AMERICA, ASIA, AND AFRICA In South America Commenting on the central role of the state (during the heyday of authoritarianism) in South America, Douglas Chalmers argues that it is the result of “a tradition which awards the top representatives a greater responsibility for the welfare of the community than they have in liberal societies.”124 Although he refers to the other term of the comparison, liberal societies, the problem with this proposition is that it cannot explain why the role of the state was (is) as central in Africa and Asia. Is this also a matter of tradition? If so, then it is a common tradition that needs to be explained rather than be the explanation itself since apparently it is not present in liberal societies. Chalmers’s treatment of the state in South America is symptomatic of the general tendency to accentuate its differences from Africa and Asia, to focus on the shape and taste of mangoes rather on their shared property with pineapples and papayas. South American “organic-statism” is generally viewed as an effect of a distinct philosophical tradition.125 Yet studies devoted to other parts of non-Western countries affirm empirically the presence of organicstatism there.126 The explanation proposed—South American tradition—betrays the pitfalls in defining the dependent variable. A definition of the central role of the state as an aspect of the patterns of political behaviors, hence overpoliticization, in almost all non-Western countries (especially during the authoritarian era) would have prevented one from positing South American tradition as a particularistic explanation. Perhaps no other student of South America (and for good reason, given the burden of universalism) has expounded the idea of tradition playing a determinant role in shaping South American politics as assiduously as Wiarda has. He does so at both the dependent and explanatory variable levels. At the dependent variable level, the definition of politics, institutions, and the state in South America is guided by his claim that By virtually any criterion, almost all the Latin American nations are more developed than the Third World nations of Africa or Asia . . . [and they possess] an entire political-cultural tradition and a developmental model that are fundamentally different from the rest of the world.127

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This is partly true since by definition each region of the world holds a developmental model that can be assumed to be at a minimum different from the rest of the world; and South America is no exception. What is important but debatable is Wiarda’s reliance on the premise of South American distinctiveness to derive the distinctive features of South American politics. For instance, South American politics is said to be elitist, hierarchical, authoritarian, corporatist, and patrimonial; the result of any election is tentative because it is not the only legitimated route to power, which reduces the importance of political parties; the military is crucial; party and interest groups function through clan alliances, cliques, and family groups; state power provides extraordinary leverage to those holding it and personalism and kinship patterns, particularism, and dependency vis-à-vis the United States prevail.128 The claim of the distinctiveness of South American political features is not supported by evidence (see chapters 3–4). Even taking into account the changes that have taken place since the 1980s, the traits assigned to South America characterize Asia and Africa as well. But for the discussion here, consider his claim that patrimonialism or neopatrimonialism is distinctive to South America. Many Africanists maintain—as noted above—that African politics is patrimonial, or neopatrimonial, and they attempt to gather evidence to support this view.129 One may reject, as I do, the neopatrimonial claim because it misdefines political phenomena in Africa to fit Max Weber’s definition of patrimonialism and because it fails to explain the phenomena it defines except in a circular manner.130 Nevertheless, the set of characteristics that these writers identify with patrimonialism are the ones that Wiarda considers to be distinctively South American. If Africa holds South American political features, these features cannot be exclusive to South American states. In fact, Christopher Clapham goes as far as to claim that neopatrimonialism defines the Third World state.131 As for other features, such as the role of elections, the military, cliques, and so forth, their similarities with African and Asian ones are ironically proven by some of the paradigms that espouse particularism in the case of Africa and Asia. Misdefinition at the dependent variable level leads to questionable explanations. Wiarda has wrestled with the issue of where and in what ways Latin America conforms to the Western pattern and where it diverges. His list of variables that account for the particularistic political features in South America includes, among other factors, an Iberian colonial past and culture, feudal influence, the need to assert state control over centrifugal forces, and the inheritance of the Iberian colonial state. Some of these explanatory variables are debatable on their own terms. For instance, regarding the oft-cited “feudal” influence, Wiarda correctly argues that Spain had just started to establish feudalism over its own territory when it colonized South America. Yet he uses feudal categories and other scholars often mention feudalism as

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an explanation of South American politics, failing to explain how feudalism could be so influential in South America when it was embryonic in Spain itself. Explanations such as the need to assert state control and an inherited colonial state have been, again ironically, advanced by paradigms dealing with the specificity of the African and Asian states. Without raising here the issue of the validity of these explanations, the sheer fact that proponents of particularism in Africa and Asia propose them suggests that the explanations are not exclusive to South America as Wiarda contends. At any rate, Wiarda’s contention can be evaluated only in light of the empirical evidence. The Iberian past and culture as explanation is part of the oft-made broad argument in favor of the incomparability of South American countries and their African and Asian counterparts because South American countries have a largely or exclusively European population. Maybe so, but the “whiteness” of South American countries does not turn them into North America or Western Europe. An impressionistic, yet telling, counterargument to the Western status of South America is the fact that other European offshoots in North America and Australasia display sociopolitical features that differ significantly from South America. Enrique Dussel, the Argentinian-Mexican scholar, makes the point. “It was in Europe,” he relates, “that for the first time I realized that I was not European but South American and part of the Third World.”132 At the risk of pushing my argument a little too far, even the overemphasis on the historical particularities of Latin America (e.g., the particularity of colonial rule) ignores the fact that the Portuguese arrived in the Kongo Kingdom almost ten years before Columbus’s historical trip in 1492 to the Americas. Although there were no formal colonial ties until later, the Portuguese settled in Angola and Mozambique almost at the same time as South America was being colonized. If the Iberian influence is to be seen as overdeterminant in Latin America, it is not lacking in Africa either. Asia also has some Iberian influence (China’s Macao, the Indian–Sri Lankan islands, East Timor, the Philippines). Failing in his search for “commonalities” between South America and the West, Wiarda has been forced to accept the striking parallels South America shares with other non-Western regions.133 If one holds to the idea of “tradition as explanation” in South America, how, then, would a specifically South American tradition explain the pattern of “striking parallels” shared with Africa and Asia? South American tradition cannot be the explanation because presumably it is not found in Africa and Asia. One can only suspect a common explanation for these striking parallels, which weakens the case for particularism. The real test, then, is to find such a variable with enough explanatory power to account for the recorded pattern of overpoliticized behaviors (“striking parallels”) shared by the three non-Western regions. This means that Wiarda’s proposed explanatory variable needs to be modified to form with its African and Asian counterparts an integrated explanatory theory.

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Other studies, rooted in modernization and dependency theories but espousing a particularistic view of the state and political features in South America, were done in the 1970s. They agreed with some of the basic tenets of modernization theory and dependency theory but argued for the particularism of South American countries. Two examples are Fernando Cardoso’s and Enzo Faletto’s Dependency and Development in Latin America and Guillermo O’Donnell’s Modernization and Bureaucratic-Authoritarianism. Cardoso and Faletto, who belong to the dependent development school of dependency theory, sought to explain the form of state and political (and economic) features in South American countries. Their premise is that there are crucial variations in these features as one compares South American countries to each other (and, by extension, to African and Asian countries). Among the variations are the populist state and the oligarchic-bourgeois state and their attendant features. They explained these variations by the role of social classes and class conflicts in each country. But more importantly, their explanation rested on the situations and forms of dependency experienced by the countries.134 They identified three forms of dependency: an enclave economy in which foreign invested capital originates in the exterior; an economy controlled by local bourgeoisie in which local entrepreneurs appropriate natural resources and exploit the labor force; and “contemporary dependent industrializing economies controlled by multinational corporations.”135 Their differentiation of the forms of dependency and the impact on different countries is well taken. Intuitively, forms of dependency suggest different types of political coalitions and competition with varying effects on the state. But this focus on variations failed to answer basic questions. In the late 1960s and 1970s, when Cardoso and Faletto published the study, the general trends of authoritarianism (monolithism, high state interventionism, military rule) characterized not only South American countries such as Nicaragua and Haiti (enclave economy), Brazil (dependent industrialization), and others that combined control by the local bourgeoisie and multinational corporations (e.g., Mexico) but also African and Asian countries, which were mainly enclave economies. Clearly these similar political trends could not be explained by the forms of dependency. For instance, they explained the general trend of “state fortification” (their name for authoritarianism) by the deepening of international capitalism/multinational corporations and its alliances with local classes in the 1970s—a thesis they shared with O’Donnell. This does not help explain state fortification before the 1970s nor does it explain it in countries with no deepening capitalism, such as African and Asian enclave economies. Because Cardoso and Faletto defined South American political features with no comparative regard to the similarly overpoliticized behaviors in Asian and African countries, they could not explain why these different forms of dependency displayed the same patterns of political behav-

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iors. Of their main contention about the forms of dependency it can be said that they privileged the shapes and tastes of the tropical fruits at the expense of what tropical fruits share that distinguishes them from temperate fruits. The bureaucratic-authoritarian state model136 shares many of the points of the dependent development school. Like Cardoso and Faletto, O’Donnell explained the characteristics of the state in South America by the “deepening of capitalism” or increasing industrialization intervening in economies controlled by the local bourgeoisie as opposed to “enclave economies.” For this reason, the model and its underlying theory were restricted to those South American countries, like Brazil and Argentina, which underwent such deep industrial modernization. Although O’Donnell imposed these restrictions, other scholars called for the application of the model to other South American as well as to African and Asian countries.137 The call for the application of the bureaucratic-authoritarian model to countries other than the most industrialized ones in South America was an implicit, if not explicit, recognition of the similarities in the political characteristic traits of developing countries. Indeed, the characteristics that defined bureaucratic-authoritarianism existed, mutatis mutandis, in other developing countries. Although the rule by the military as an institution applied only partially in many authoritarian countries, it did apply in such cases as Burma and Nigeria. But more importantly, the other three characteristics, especially the postcoup policies of the military, were present in other Third World countries. These included economic and technical rationalization under the aegis of the state bureaucracy.138 It follows that the validity of the bureaucratic-authoritarian model depended on the ability of the model to explain why there were similarities in the defined traits among Third World countries. Given its self-imposed geographical and temporal restrictions, the bureaucratic-authoritarian model scarcely possessed such explanatory power. Invariably, Mauritania, Burma, and Peru, which were enclave economies, displayed these political traits without being nearly as industrialized as Brazil.139 A frequently used theoretical approach in South American politics is “path dependence.”140 In its broad formulation, path dependence suggests that crucial actor choices establish certain directions of change and foreclose others in a way that shapes long-term trajectories of development.141 As used by its proponents, the path-dependent approach is supposed to bridge the gap between explanations that rely on the idiosyncrasies of each case and the overgeneralization about the whole region. It is a middle-range approach that explains, through its prescribed stages, differential outcomes in different countries. For instance, James Mahoney uses the approach to explain why the critical choices made by liberals in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries in Central American countries (Guatemala, El Salvador, Costa Rica, and Nicaragua) led eventually to their differing political regimes in the post-1932

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period. Radical liberalism led to harsh military authoritarianism in Guatemala and El Salvador, reformist liberalism to democracy in Costa Rica, and aborted liberalism to traditional dictatorship in Nicaragua and Honduras. This is a persuasive argument as far as the case studies go. However, it does not address the broader comparative issue. Indeed, leaving aside for now the Costa Rican case, harsh military authoritarianism in Guatemala and El Salvador and traditional dictatorship in Nicaragua and Honduras, like other authoritarian and dictatorial regimes in other developing countries—despite their differences—differ(ed) from liberal democracy in the West. In this case, explaining political regimes in the four Central American countries through a path-dependent approach cannot help explain authoritarianism and dictatorship as similar outcomes during the same period in other South American, African, and Asian countries. The approach is disabled by its particularistic definition of the dependent variable and its reliance on the variations of the broadly similar outcomes in developing countries. This reliance explains why the path-dependent approach insists on the “critical juncture” (the critical local or regional explanatory factor) in each case. In Asia As one of the main proponents of modernization theory, Lucian Pye privileged cultural and psychological dimensions of modernization. With the increased dissatisfaction with modernization theory, he proposed a revised version of culture-based modernization theory by particularizing Asian countries.142 He does so by, first, excluding African and South American countries from the modernization process, which he reserves exclusively to Asian countries. He argues that modernization does not apply to Africa because “postcolonial African political systems generally lacked the blend of nationalism and earnest commitment to modernization that was characteristic of Asia,” and it does not apply to South America because the latter became independent long ago, hence was not an “emerging” continent, having developed its own distinctive political and social system, and, unlike Asia, was not an eager receptor of Western aid—a point confirmed by dependency theory.143 He, then, proceeds to compare the West and Asia on the basis of their respective treatment of the concept of political power in the process of modernization. Pye’s major thesis is that “power is extraordinarily sensitive to cultural nuances, and that, therefore, cultural variations are decisive in determining the course of political development.” In contrast to the West, Asia is charactrized by the common denominator of idealizing benevolent, paternalistic leadership and of legitimizing dependency. . . . Because these paternalistic

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forms of power answer deep psychological cravings for the security of dependency, peculiarly close ties between leaders and followers have tended to develop and become the critical element in the creation of political power.144 This benevolent and paternalistic authority thus explains the political behaviors displayed by Asian states, including authoritarianism and its corollaries. Pye’s goal is to integrate Asian experiences into “universal laws,” that is into the general theory building. This goal is contradicted by Pye’s own avowed particularism. By falling back on a culture-specific theory of Asian politics, which explains political features by Asia’s Sinic, Hindu, Muslim, Buddhist, animist, and patronage cultures, he subverts the goal of “universal laws.” Although he arbitrarily excludes Africa and South America from the modernization process—because the reasons he advances for the exclusion in both cases are scarcely defensible145—his own analysis repeatedly reveals striking similarities in political features shared by Asian, African, and South American states. For instance, he discusses ethnic centrifugal forces, insurgency, army coups, instability, rule by insignia and slogans, extensive use of corruption in elections, patronage, martial law, and authoritarianism.146 None of these features is exclusive to Asia; Africa and South America possess them as well as will become clear in the next chapters. Pye’s claim that, given the dependency syndrome in Asian cultures, there is no strong sense of revolt147 is contradicted by the history of civil wars, insurrections, and wars in Burma, Indonesia, Thailand, the Philippines, Vietnam, and Cambodia, which resemble those in Africa and South America. Even where these wars were a reflection of world politics, it is still the case that Asians fought against the established Asian “father figure” authority in place. His use of the Asian pattern of paternalistic authority as the explanation of why in Korea every leader in power introduced his own constitution148 is weakened by the prevalence of the same practice in Africa and, to an extent, South America. In the latter region, the most recent example includes Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez’s emasculation of the Congress in 1999 in an attempt to write a new constitution. Pye also explains the “profound distrust of criticism of authority”149 in the political competition by the same Asian reverence for paternalistic authority, ignoring the fact that intolerance for political opposition is the trademark of politics in Africa and South America as well. One need only refer to such terms as “Mzee” or “Vieux” (the old man) that have been applied to African leaders to blunt criticisms against them. It is, thus, clear that Asian culture alone cannot explain these similar political features. Yet by excluding Africa and South America from the modernization process, Pye delinks Asia conceptually from Africa and South

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America. Moreover, the concept of power through which he attempts to integrate Asia into “universal laws” and to compare it to the West is also made particularistic and exclusive to comparisons between Asia and the West. It does not serve as the conceptual binder of the three non-Western regions. Africa and South America are excluded. In the end Pye cannot explain the patterns of similar political behaviors shared by the three regions within a general comparative framework. For although Pye is right in advocating the integration of non-Western cultures into universal laws, such an integration is made elusive by his own particularistic and culturalist way of defining the political features of Asian countries. As in South America, “culture” can play a role in the explanation of these features only if integrated, through the concept of overpoliticization, into a broader explanatory framework. The remarks made about Pye’s particularism apply to the claim made by others concerning the Arab state as well. It is true that the Koran is the source of inspiration of political life in most Muslim states; it is also true that despite the lack of academic agreement about the separation between secular political power/the state and Islam, the tendency is to blur the line of demarcation between the two domains. But this reality does not lead to a Middle Eastern exceptionalism, at least in political features. Consider the seven characteristics of the Arab state provided by Giacomo Luciani: (1) the existence of a “great patron,” (2) periodic purges and personnel changes, (3) intermediate level of participation, (4) the urban-based middle class as main political actors and participants, (5) huge bureaucracies, (6) states as organizations of control and regulation and not of production, and (7) the influence of Islam.150 Apart from the preponderant influence of Islam, all the other characteristics fit other Asian, South American, and African states. Even the role of the state as an organization of control and not a producer, debatable in the case of the South American bureaucratic-authoritarian states in the 1970s, applies to most other South American states. It also applies to African states, as argued by Julius Nyang’oro, who refers to them as “regulatory states.”151 The existence of great patrons is a general phenomenon in Africa, where almost every political leader has behaved as such; it is also a well-documented part of South American political characteristics, ranging from caudillos to more contemporary patrons (including elected ones such as Carlos Menem in Argentina and Alberto Fujimori in Peru). In other Asian countries Pye’s aforementioned paternalistic authority often rests on grand patrons from Sukarno in Indonesia to Lee Kwan Yew in Singapore passing by Marcos in the Philippines. That these patrons resort to frequent personnel changes is so well documented that there is scarcely need to dwell on it. In the Congo (formerly Zaire), for instance, the ritual was so well known under Mobutu and again under Kabila that it has become part of the popular musical culture.

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John Waterbury claims that the Middle Eastern exceptionalism results from the high levels of armed conflict and violence in the region in the postcolonial era; the lack of public pressure for accountability on the part of leaders; the dependence of the middle class on the state; tax structures that generate high levels of state autonomy; and religious practice that is antidemocratic.152 These facts are undeniable. But are they exclusive to the Middle East? I think not. There is no need to mention here the conflicts and violence in the three geographical regions because this is described in the next chapters. As for the low level of accountability, one need only refer to recent attempts by Guillermo O’Donnell to show that what is lacking in the new democracies of South America is “horizontal accountability.”153 Although by this O’Donnell means the control of public offices by other public offices, the lack of horizontal accountability is a ramification of the lack of vertical accountability, as reported above in the account of South American politics by former Chilean President Aylwin. That the middle class depends strongly on the state in Africa, South America, and other parts of Asia is well established. Throughout South America, Africa, and Asia, the idea that the state is the main employer certifies that middle-class survival depends on the state. Even in a country like Brazil, where the private sector is more developed, the debate about saving its economy from crumbling in the late 1990s hinged on convincing public employees to accept cuts in their benefits, which are huge. The same holds true for taxation. In South America it has been shown that politicians’ survival depends on manipulation of the budget, hence the tax implications.154 These remarks suggest that rather than be part of Middle East’s exceptionalism, these political features are also found in remarkably similar fashion in South America and Africa as opposed to Western Europe and North America. To the extent that these similar political features denote the lack of democracy, Waterbury and others can be justified in linking them to Islam as an antidemocratic culture, except that, as explanation, Islam falls short in explaining why the absence of Islamic culture in South America, much of Africa, and other parts of Asia generates similar political features there. In Africa As in the two other regions, particularism in Africa has been expounded by a variety of theoretical models. Some of them, notably the “soft state” model, have already been discussed and need not be revisited here.155 Two illustrations, from the 1970s and 1990s, will suffice. Take the arguments about military coups in the 1970s. At one point, military coups in Africa were said to be a random phenomenon unrelated to structural characteristics shared by

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African and other societies.156 After marshaling empirical data, those who did not subscribe to the “random” thesis explained the coup d’état in Africa by the lack of “pluralism” around 1975 in the countries where the coup occurred or by social mobilization.157 Not only is it a proven fact that in many instances the “disorder of political pluralism” was used as a pretext by the military and civilian authoritarian leaders to take over in Africa and Asia, but the notion of “lack of pluralism around 1975” does not stand up to close scrutiny. By 1975 there was no political pluralism in Cote d’Ivoire, Gabon, Sierra Leone, Guinea, or Cameroon. Yet there were no coups d’état in these countries. Why would 1975 be such a crucial reference point in analyzing coups d’état? All these countries did experience coups d’état, plots, or coup attempts before 1975 or after 1975. What is the reason, in theorizing about coups, to focus on 1975 and ignore the same phenomenon before and after 1975? Of these countries, however, which were pluralistic and which did not experience coups d’état around 1975, many have experienced them before 1975 or after. Surely, these pre- and post-1975 coups require an explanation. In South America, perhaps the most “pluralistic” region of the Third World (because multipartism existed even in the most authoritarian countries), the military were in power by 1975. Certainly, this is not irrelevant for analysis in the African context. How does it support the pluralistic thesis? As for the assertion that social mobilization of some African countries (those not primarily in agriculture) caused the emergence of military coups, suffice it to note that the less industrialized African countries (Burkina Faso, Niger, Central African Republic, etc.) have experienced coups or attempted coups like their more industrialized counterparts. In short, the facts belie the claims. Here again, similar political features are ignored, which results in questionably tailored explanations to fit the African situation. One of the proponents of the inherited postcolonial state in Africa is Crawford Young. Using Africa’s postcolonial crisis as the dependent variable, he suggests that most explanations proposed for the crisis (e.g., natural calamities, the smallness of the states, population growth, the AIDS epidemic, unfavorable terms of trade, debt, tyrannical rule, refugees) are helpful. But they are subordinated to the main determinant, which is the specificity of colonial rule in Africa. He contends that, unlike South America and Asia, the colonial state in Africa “totally reordered political space, societal hierarchies and cleavages, and modes of economic production. Its territorial grid . . . determined the state units that gained sovereignty and came to form the present system of African polities.”158 Young lists seven African colonial specificities, namely, the sudden imperial irruption in the interior coupled with a higher number (six) of colonial competitors than in Asia and South America, more ruthlessness and brutality in the extraction of revenues, more forced labor, the availability of the more advanced technology of colonization

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by the time Africa was colonized, a more virulent form of racism resulting from the fact that racism had reached its zenith at the time Africa was colonized, Africa’s lack of religions that could insulate it from the colonial onslaught, and Africa’s dependence on welfarism that came in the last years of colonization and marked the postcolonial period. Young contrasts these specificities with trends in other colonial systems, including those in South America and Asia, in terms of hegemony, security, autonomy, legitimacy, revenue, accumulation, and other dimensions. For instance, “the Latin American states were far less explicitly colonial than the African in conception; both for Spain and Portugal the New World domains were overseas prolongations of the realm. Free crown subjects in Iberia and the Americas were not clearly differentiated.” Also the Spanish and Portuguese colonial societies relied on skin color but were incorporative and “national.”159 The Caribbean colonial system differed from Africa by the fact that its civil society was given time to develop before independence. Unlike the African colonial system, the Malaysian one was characterized by the fact that its incorporation into the imperial realm was largely negotiated rather than forcibly imposed; the Indonesian system benefited from the reliance of the colonial state on the indigenous bureaucracy. By being the nerve center of the colonial empire, the Indian colonial state did not depend on indigenous labor; it developed a professional civil service that was inherited by the Indian state, and Indian culture was preserved. Young is right in questioning some of the explanations proposed in the African debate. Also, as already stated, differences are a given. That the colonial systems in South America, Asia, and Africa differed is to be expected even though some of the differentiating claims made by Young are debatable. For example, the oft-made claim of the onslaught on African culture by imperialism is easily contradicted by the fact that Christianity, which was supposed to supplant African religions, never succeeded to doing so in most parts of Africa. Any informed anthropologist who has carefully studied African villages should come to this conclusion in the realm of worship, marriage, sorcery, and so forth. Moreover, as correctly argued by others,160 the African interior was not exhaustively penetrated by European colonialism. But what matters here is the causal relationship that Young establishes between Africa’s colonial particularism and its postcolonial crisis. On this ground, the claim is highly questionable for several reasons. First, the description of the colonial systems that he provides does not establish convincingly the African exceptionalism. He recognizes in almost all the major non-African cases the brutality of the colonial rule. That “the Spanish colonial state was a more formidable engine of revenue” is to be added to the fact that the Spanish colonial system led to the extermination of indigenous populations via its forced labor system. Such an extermination in

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South America, coupled with the recruitment of Indians from India as indentured laborers for sugar and rubber plantations outside India and of Chinese for Malayan tin mines, compared favorably with the forcible removal of populations and forced labor in Africa under colonial rule. In fact, excluding the reality of plantation slavery in the New World itself and the transatlantic passage of African slaves, the forceful recruitment of Chinese and Indians for plantation works did not differ much from the removal of the Africans from their villages by the colonial authorities. There is no recorded evidence that shows that Indians and Chinese enjoyed being uprooted from their homes, although, once there, they often enjoyed the “middleman” status vis-à-vis indigenous people. By Young’s own admission, in the Caribbean “the socioeconomic system, in its totality, perhaps exceeded in sheer brutality and harshness the exactions of Bula Matari [colonial state in Africa] during the eighteenth century.” Clive Thomas agrees with this assessment when he points out that “everywhere (in the Caribbean) . . . production was principally based on forced labour.”161 The French may have been omnipresent and more taxing in Indochina than the Dutch and the British, but the Dutch were also brutal in Java. Japanese colonial rule, whose economic and infrastructural benefits in Korea and Taiwan must be recognized,162 was no less brutal, especially if one factors in its China and Southeast Asia fascist occupations. Even the infamous atrocities of King Leopold’s “red rubber” rule in the Congo had their South American counterparts. Interestingly, it was the same man, Roger Casement, the British Irish consul who exposed the brutality of the Leopoldian rule, who documented rubber slavery and the atrocities committed against Indians in the Putumayo region of Peru by European officials of the Peruvian Amazon Rubber Company. Second, some of the African specificities are not “specific” to Africa. For instance, even if one can concede that six European powers descended at once on the African colonial scene, seven colonial powers occupied the Asian scene (Spain, Britain, France, Holland, Portugal, Japan, the United States). That the United States was a latecomer and the other six arrived at different moments does not make their impact on Asian countries less simply because in Africa the colonizing powers arrived at the same moment. This is all the more so because these colonial powers (except Spain in the Philippines) did not leave their colonies until around and in the post–World War II period. This brings us to another African supposed particularism: the methods and technology of colonization. Although local considerations cannot be denied, it is difficult to believe that Europeans who practiced colonial rule in Africa would not use their new African-based technological or ideological discoveries in their (then still) colonies (Asia, Guyane, Guyana, the Caribbean) or would not influence those colonial powers (such as Holland) who did not have African colonies to use the new methods in Indonesia and Suriname.

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The diffusion of new technology is an imperative of modernity; it was not different for the technology of colonial domination. New imperatives of colonization such as revenue and accumulation imperatives that had been perfected in the case of Africa became also available for colonization in Asia and in the Caribbean. Third, even without the above two reasons, Young’s claim of the causal link between the specificity of colonial rule in Africa and its postcolonial crisis is not demonstrated. He does not provide a cause-to-effect discussion of how the seven specificities explain the crisis. Instead, he simply posits them as the constitutive parts of the colonial state, which has “blocked the emergence of an autonomous African capitalist class, particularly in the countryside” and which is “inherited” by African leaders who transformed it into a crisis-ridden integral and patrimonial state.163 Because no demonstration of the causal link between the seven colonial specificities and the postcolonial crisis is given, one can never know if they cause the African postcolonial political crisis/features, given that these features are also found in Asia and South America. Either these colonial specificities caused Africa’s postcolonial political features, in which case these features are not found in Asia and South America or the specificities are questionable as explanations because the postcolonial political features are present in Asia and South America. Obviously, the second alternative obtains. Indeed, Young himself provides the evidence for this by recounting the fact that in his 1976 team-taught classes in which he and his colleague systematically juxtaposed Congo-Zaire and Indonesia, “there appeared to be fruitful parallels in the relatively intense colonial impact, the dislocations of decolonization, and the wave of uprisings in both countries in the mid-1960s that brought to power centralizing military regimes claiming to construct a new political order.”164 Yet in an attempt to support his main thesis, Young maintains that “but since then Zaire has experienced unending crisis, political decay, and economic disintegration, while Indonesia has prospered more than we could have imagined possible. Thus, in retrospect I am far more drawn by a search for contrasts than an intuition of commonalities.”165 This change of heart is not justified. It is not shown that Congo-Zaire’s unending crisis resulted from its colonial specificities even if one takes into account the oft-cited Belgium’s lack of decolonization policy. More importantly, the events in Indonesia since 1997 (the revelations about the-more-than-imagined pervasive appropriation of the state apparatus by the Suharto family, the political impasse that preceded and followed the overthrow of Suharto, massive violence on the street and in East Timor, the Christian and Muslim deadly confrontations in the Maluku islands, secessionist violence in Aceh and Papua Islands, the voting and subsequent rescinding of a law granting dictatorial powers to the military in September 1999, not to mention the economic collapse that started in the

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summer of 1997 and the inept and corrupt government of President Abdurrahman Wahid, who was impeached in the summer of 2001) suggest that the “intuition of commonalities” with Congo-Zaire is stronger than the “search for contrasts.” The focus on the intuition of commonalities would have served as a better guide for Young’s search for an explanation of the African crisis. CONCLUSION Both liberal and Marxist theories offer a universalistic view of politics and the state in non-Western countries. They confuse temperate fruits with the fruitiness and impose the property of temperate fruits on the tropical fruits. Both variants fail to record the specific preeminence of the politics of nonWestern countries and its effects in the form of a common property or overpoliticization. They bypass the real society and politics in non-Western countries through the privileging of the Western-like society, political features, and institutions. Because they overlook the deep differences between politics in Western and non-Western countries and the enduring similar political features shared by developing countries, they err in their explanations. Since the 1970s a number of theoretical models about state-society relations in Third World countries have attempted to counter universalism by proposing geographically tailored explanations. Often the models are unable to extricate themselves from the dilemma they create. On the one hand, the political features or outcomes that they seek to explain in their chosen geographical areas are also present in other developing areas they consciously exclude from their geographically tailored explanations. On the other hand, those who attempt to confer to these particularistic theories some general explanatory power by applying them to the excluded areas, where the same features (overpoliticized behaviors) are observed, cannot be successful because of the geographical limits imposed on the theories by their original proponents. The dilemma results from the misdefinition of the dependent variable—the failure to grasp the horizontal patterns of overpoliticized behaviors shared by developing countries and the focus on their localized manifestations. Although neither universalism nor particularism completely ignores each other’s concerns, they do not necessarily integrate each other’s perspective; not even through the resilient “political culture” approach, which, although useful in defining the dependent variable, is not very helpful at the explanatory level.166 One understands, then, explicit calls for real integration by some political scientists, such as Rudolph. She has pleaded that comparison and general explanation not be suspended but be forced to accept that anomalies from non-Western countries are not exceptions that prove the rule and that

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their “multiple histories” be integrated into the comparative framework.167 But how does one achieve this goal? Integration requires that one focus on the third dimension highlighted by the fruit analogy—the common property of the tropical fruits, the comparative equivalent of the temperate fruits. One needs to define a dependent variable that, by embodying the common property of developing countries, facilitates an integrated theory in Third World politics. Overpoliticization is such a variable. In the next four chapters I present its evidence and theoretical implications.

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Chapter 3

Overpoliticization Empirical and Historical Evidence

As an antidote to claims by universalism and particularism, in this chapter I provide empirical evidence to support the proposition that, in contradistinction to Western countries, non-Western countries share overpoliticization, the defining property of their states. In analogical terms, I comb through the shapes and tastes of mangoes, papayas, and pineapples to grasp the constitutive elements of their common property that oppose them, as tropical fruits, to temperate fruits. The focus is the narrative of the specific manifestations of the three major types of overpoliticized behaviors (electoralist, authoritarian, shared) discussed in chapter 1 and summarized in tables 1.1, 1.2, and 1.3 as they apply comparatively to African, Asian, South American, and Western countries during the 1948 to 1966, 1967 to 1989, and 1990 to 2003 subperiods. I discuss, respectively, electoral fraud, electoral monopoly, electoral coup, and electoral violence as aspects of eletoralist behaviors; authoritarianism and its various features; illicit state coercion, state dictatorial powers, opposition illicit acts, and opposition violence as aspects of overpoliticized behaviors shared by electoralist (democratic) and authoritarian regimes; and overpoliticized behaviors in Western countries. OVERPOLITICIZED BEHAVIORS IN DEMOCRATIC REGIMES (ELECTORALIST BEHAVIORS) Electoral Fraud Although independence for many African and Asian countries came during the 1948 to 1966 subperiod, those that had adopted the democratic path displayed similarities with their already independent South American counterparts. Among the similar electoralist practices was electoral fraud. Whereas in Brazil the election of President Getulio Vargas to his second term in office 95

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(1950–54) was contested by the opposition and his inauguration militarily protected because of fraud, in South Korea protests over fraudulent elections toppled President Syngman Rhee in 1960 and resulted in numerous acts of violence. The echo in Liberia was the rigged elections that helped maintain the AmericoLiberian True Whig Party in power. Electoral fraud was commonplace in countries such as El Salvador where in 1950 Oscar Osorio won the presidency as a result of flagrant fraud during the voting and ballot counting; Nigeria, where fraud in the Western region by the Nigerian National Democratic Party triggered the first military coup in 1966; in Venezuela, where rioting erupted after the opposition contested the election of President Romulo Betancourt in 1958, not to mention President Perez Jimenez’s brazen manipulation of the electoral process in 1957, which led to his downfall; and in Panama, where in 1950 a former interior minister was arrested for contesting the election jury that had given President Armulfo Arias the presidency. In Costa Rica the Calderon regime’s attempt to retain power through flagrant electoral fraud triggered an armed insurrection in the form of civil war in 1948. The result was the subsequent overthrow of the Calderon regime and its replacement by a junta and then by the Figueres regime.1 The 1958 presidential elections took place under UN supervision to avoid fraud; so did the more recent 1994 presidential elections, which were held under the watchful eyes of 150 international observers. Electoral fraud also took place in such countries as Cameroon, Haiti, Honduras, Bolivia, and Laos where the 1960 parliamentary elections were rigged in favor of the military-supported civilian government. Although authoritarianism characterized the 1967–89 period, elections in some of the regimes that remained electoralist were riddled by fraud. In Botswana, generally seen as “one African success story,”2 fraud was uncovered during the 1984 election when an unopened ballot box was discovered in one constituency and the High Court annulled the result of the election.3 Milton Obote’s return to Uganda in 1980 after the overthrow of Idi Amin, David Dacko’s return to Central African Republic in 1981 after Bokassa was overthrown by the French army, and Shehu Shagari’s victory in the 1983 presidential elections in Nigeria, all were made possible by fraudulent vote counts. In Nigeria, Shagari said at the time that he was “not concerned about opposition protests at widespread election malpractices.”4 In India, the results of the 1971 elections won by the Congress Party’s Indira Gandhi were contested by the opposition, which accused Gandhi of fraud. Although the High Court acquitted her on the charge of bribing the voters, she was found guilty on two minor charges of electoral malpractices. Pakistan’s 1977 elections won by Zulfikar Ali Bhutto’s Pakistan People’s Party (PPP) were vigorously contested by the opposition for fraud; so were Sri Lankan presidential elections of 1982 when the winning President Junius Jayewardene and his party, the United National Party, filed a counter High Court action to protest the electoral conduct of the oppo-

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sition, which had accused them of fraud. To these cases add the practice of inflating electoral lists in Malaysia and electoral fraud in Bangladesh in 1986 when the military regime of General Mohammad Ershad allowed elections in his attempt to effect a transition to democracy. To be sure, the 1967–85 period in South America was dominated by military rule, which reduced the number of civilian electoralist regimes to the minimum and made it difficult to evaluate electoral practices. Nevertheless, in Uruguay before the military takeover of 1973, the 1972 elections were won by the Colorado Party because of falsified ballot papers.5 In Jamaica, accusations of electoral fraud dominated the 1980s and 1990s elections as the two main parties, the People’s National Party (PNP) and the Jamaica Labour Party (JLP), accused each other of fraud and intimidation. Electoral fraud under the rule of President Forbes Burnham in Guyana was pervasive as he sought to fill the parliament with his supporters, a practice continued by his successor Desmond Hoyte and denounced by the United States in 1987. One of the causes of the 1980 military coup in Suriname was a pattern of rigged elections by the dominant creole party. To these cases add fraudulent electoral practices in countries that were not quite democratic but maintained an electoral facade, such as Ecuador, Mexico, Guatemala, Panama, and Paraguay. The worldwide democratization process that dominated the 1990–99 period meant a dramatic increase in elections in Africa, Asia, and South America. The increase was reflected by the mounting incidences of electoral fraud. When broken into subcategories, the data discussed in chapter 4 for the 1990–96 subperiod show that 40 percent of Asian countries, 49 percent of African countries, and 52 percent of South American countries recorded instances of electoral fraud during this period. Africa’s and Asia’s percentage is lower than South America’s because in both Africa and especially Asia many regimes remained authoritarian during this period. The practices ranged from outright vote buying (Nigeria, Malaysia, Thailand, South Korea, Guatemala, El Salvador, and Antigua) to the manipulation of lists (Ghana, Central African Republic) passing by ballot manipulation (Taiwan, Cameroon, Bangladesh, Mexico, and Peru) and scandalously low electoral turnout (Pakistan with 2 percent to 10 percent of the electorate in the October 1993 elections, Guatemala with 10 percent of the electorate in 1994, and Haiti with less than 10 percent of the electorate in the April 1997 elections). In Pakistan the 1990 general elections were severely rigged in favor of the coalition opposed to Benazir Bhutto’s party to prevent her from returning to office after her dismissal by the president the same year. This fact was admitted by Naveed Malik, a former adviser to Nawaz Sharif, the prime minister who succeeded Bhutto. One understands, then, why Bhutto still called the parliament “bogus” and the government “the product of rigged elections” even as she accepted her appointment by the government as the chair of the

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parliamentary foreign relations committee in 1993. In Mexico fraud in the gubernatorial elections in the state of Guanajuato in 1991 was so flagrant and the opposition parties so enraged that President Carlos Salinas was compelled by international pressure to ask the governor-elect, Ramon Aguirre Velasquez, not to take office. In fact, almost all Mexican elections have been fraught with fraud. Perhaps aware of this situation, the state-controlled Chamber of the Radio and Television Industry prohibited in 1994 the use of the term “electoral fraud” in electronic media. Guatemala President Serrano Elias promised thirty thousand dollars to each congressman in exchange for his vote as he sought, in vain, to establish his authority after his autogolpe in 1993. Brazil’s Rio de Janeiro State recorded 2,210 ballot boxes with irregularities in the October 1994 elections.6 As before and during the 1990 to 1996 period, electoral fraud characterized also “model democracies” such as Senegal, Mauritius, India, and Zimbabwe. Senegal’s 1988 and 1993 legislative and presidential elections were so marred by protests because of fraud that a state of emergency was imposed in 1988 and heavy military surveillance was deployed in 1993. The fraudulent nature of Senegalese elections was acknowledged by Abdoulaye Wade, who was elected president in 2000 after failing in his four previous attempts. As he put it, “I have always won elections in this country but I have always been cheated of my victories.”7 In Mauritius seven opposition parties refused to take their seats in the parliament (a case of electoral coup) because the 1991 general elections had been rigged. Zimbabwe’s 1990 and 1995 general elections won by Mugabe’s ruling Zimbabwe African National Union (ZANUPF) were contested by the opposition because of fraud. In India a by-election in 1990 under the Singh prime ministership was such a corrupt affair in the northern state of Haryana that officials were forced to suspend voting in eight stations. There were also high-visibility cases such as the buying of votes in the parliament in 1996 by Prime Minister Narasimha Rao in an attempt to avoid a motion of censure against his government.8 During the 1996 to 2000 “consolidated democracy” period, electoral fraud occurred in such African countries as Benin (1996), Senegal (1998), Lesotho (1998), Algeria (1997), Kenya (1998), Togo (1998), Burkina Faso (1998), Gabon (1998), Guinea (1998), Mozambique (1999), Central African Republic (1999), and Nigeria (1999). To be sure, many of these cases did not qualify for the label of “consolidation” as used in the literature and were, perhaps, in the “transition to democracy” period. This is especially true of Nigeria, which organized the elections for the first time after the military dictatorship and where electoral fraud was even acknowledged by the usually lax and tolerant international monitors and by President-elect General Olusegun Obasanjo himself. Nevertheless, apart from Nigeria, most of these countries had previously held elections at least once. In many of these cases the fraud

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was recidivistic. The cases of Senegal and Lesotho are worth noting because their “democratic experiments” have been in existence longer than in other African countries, yet electoral fraud has been their trademark. In Lesotho electoral fraud by the ruling Lesotho Congress for Democracy (LCD) was so vigorously contested by the opposition Basotho Congress Party that it led to generalized unrest, which triggered South African military intervention. In Asia examples of electoral fraud include Cambodia (1998), South Korea (1998), India (1998, 1999), Taiwan (1999), and Thailand (1999). In Cambodia Hun Sen’s ruling party’s recourse to electoral fraud was facilitated by the fact that Hun Sen had, through violence, silenced and emasculated opposition parties, including the party of Norodom Ranariddh, the co–prime minister in a previous unity government. In Taiwan “the November [1999] poll was notable for flagrant vote-buying and the authorities’ lack of eagerness in curbing it.”9 In Thailand the main party in the ruling coalition, the Democrat Party, was implicated in the use of bogus ballot papers. Similarly, Nicaragua (1996), Haiti (1997), Guyana (1997), Venezuela (1998), and Honduras (1999) are examples of electoral fraud in South America during this period of consolidation. The election of the former mayor of Managua, Arnoldo Aleman Lacayo, as president was contested by the Sandinista leadership because of fraud. The 1997 electoral fraud led to the resignation of the prime minister in Haiti. In Guyana the results of the legislative and presidential elections won by the ruling People’s Progressive Party were so violently contested by the opposition People’s National Congress because of fraud that military troops had to be deployed, and the month-long unrest was quelled only after an all-Caribbean delegation brokered a peace settlement. In Venezuela the traditional parties opposed to the Hugo Chavez populist candidacy used fraud but to no avail because Chavez was elected president anyway. Although one must recognize the attempts made during the 1996 to 2000 subperiod by many countries, especially in South America, to fight against it (e.g., Brazil’s 9840/99 Law), electoral fraud remained pervasive. Commenting in September 2000 about this law, Chico Whitaker remarked that “until now electoral corruption has remained untouchable. No project of political reform has attempted to wage war against this rarely denounced scourge. And the reason is because it is the very means by which most officials get elected. Indeed, in Brazil and almost all Third World countries, vote-buying is a common practice.”10 Electoral Monopoly Another practice resorted to is electoral monopoly. In Liberia the True Whig Party so monopolized the electoral process that it ruled during the entire postwar period (1944–80), until forced to relinquish office by the Doe military coup

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in 1980. Between 1960 and 1966 the electoral process in Senegal was dominated by President Senghor’s party, the Union Progressiste Senegalaise (UPS, now the Socialist Party), which became a de facto single party from 1966 to 1974. When in 1980 President Senghor voluntarily retired from the presidency, a constitutional amendment “under which all representative currents would be allowed democratic expression”11 was voted. Yet the Socialist Party maintained its monopoly. Whatever major election was held between 1960 and 1996 was “won” by the Socialist Party, which confirmed its monopoly by twice giving a high ministerial post (ministre d’état) to the leader of the leading opposition Senegalese Democratic Party, Abdoulaye Wade, to placate the opposition. The monopoly ended in 2000 with the election of Wade. Botswana’s electoral system is, like Senegal’s, based on an electoral monopoly exercised by the ruling Botswana Democratic Party (BDP), the dominant party since independence in 1966. Although its share of the votes declined in the 1994 general elections, it won all major elections by overwhelming margins (e.g., 80.4 percent in 1965, 68.3 percent in 1969, 76.6 percent in 1974, 75.2 percent in 1979, 68.1 percent in 1984, and thirty-one seats of thirty-four in 1989),12 and its founders, Seretse Khama and Quett Masire, assumed alone, until the 1990s, the presidency of the country.13 The case of Zimbabwe is also monopolistic not only because of ZANU-PF electoral domination since independence in 1980 and its absorption of the opposition Zimbabwe African People’s Union (ZAPU) Party through a merger in 1987, but perhaps more importantly because of Mugabe’s attempt, albeit unsuccesful, to create a one-party system. Many other African states used various devices to maintain the electoral monopoly of new or old parties during the 1990 to 1996 democratization period. This was the case in Burkina Faso, Cameroon, Egypt, Kenya, Tunisia, Uganda, Gabon, and Zambia. In Zambia a custommade constitutional amendment instigated and voted in by President Frederick Chiluba’s Movement for Multiparty Democracy (MMD) required that candidates for presidential elections be second-generation Zambians. The intent was to prevent former president Kaunda, whose father came from Malawi, and his party (United National Independence Party (UNIP) from running. In 2001 Chiluba made attempts to revise the constitution to allow him to run for a third term, a move that was violently resisted by the opposition and some members of his own party. India does not display monolithic tendencies as pronounced as those observed in other electoralist regimes such as Senegal. And unlike South American countries, it does not devise explicit means of accommodation among the political elite to maintain the electoral monopoly of some political parties. Nevertheless, the Congress Party’s monopoly of the electoral process since 1947 is clear, except for brief interludes when opposition parties have occupied office (the Shastri, Singh, and Bharatiya Janata Party-dominated

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governments). Although other leaders have emerged within the party, its electoral success is inseparable from the control exercised by the Nehru family (Nehru from 1947 to 1964, Indira Gandhi from 1965 to 1984, and Rajiv Gandhi’s disrupted post-1984 era). That the electoral monopoly of the Congress Party is linked to the fate of the Nehru lineage was vividly demonstrated in 1991 when Rajiv Gandhi was assassinated. Not only did the party seek but fail (before succeeding in the 1999 general elections) to persuade his wife to assume the leadership of the party in order to run for the prime ministership but it also recruited his young daughter to become a member of the party. This was done, according to India Today, because “we are predominantly a feudal society. And feudal societies look to a personality and this is the first time we don’t have a national figure. . . . The (party) leader’s job was to win elections for the party.”14 Although no other Asian country has maintained a “functioning” electoralist regime like that of India, the record of other electoralist regimes, including the most recent ones, is also one of monopolistic tendencies. South Korea’s democratization process includes the formation in 1990, through the merger of three preexisting parties, of a superdominant party, the Democratic Liberal Party (DLP), in an attempt to create a perennial winning and majority party in the parliament as in Senegal, Botswana, and India. Malaysia’s electoral process is dominated by the Barisan Nasional (National Front), which has maintained a perennial majority in the parliament. Singapore, which has been called a “controlled democracy,” provides many instances of electoral monopoly. These include the proposal by former Singapore prime minister Lee Kuan Yew that those who contribute more to Singapore’s society be given two votes as opposed to one only and the exclusionary electoral rules in the 1993 presidential elections requiring that to qualify as a candidate one must have previously served in the cabinet, attained a high civil service rank, or run a company with at least $100 million capital,15 all of which were designed to reflect the 1991 Lee-tailored amendment to the constitution to make him the president of the country after he retired as prime minister. It is no surprise, then, that Lee’s People’s Action Party has ruled the country since independence in 1965 despite multipartism, and Lee himself was the prime minister from independence until his semiretirement in 1990. (His son Lee Hsien Loong became prime minister in 2004.) Needless to say, most authoritarian Asian countries with an electoral facade maintain an electoral monopoly as well. This is the case in Indonesia before 1999 and almost all Middle Eastern countries. In South America electoral monopolies characterized Colombia and Venezuela during the 1948 to 1966 subperiod. In Colombia the monopoly of the Liberal and Conservative Parties was erected in the late 1950s after a prolonged period of violence. By demobilizing mass participation in politics, the elite of both parties came to control the electoral process within a grand

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coalition by explicitly devising means of swapping electoral victories and alternating the presidency between the two parties. Although President Virgilio Barco Vargas, a member of the Liberal Party, promised in 1986 to end the two-party monopoly, and the Conservative Party experienced some electoral decline in 1991, the two-way monopoly was reinforced in the following years as the two parties sought to fend off the electoral challenge of the former guerrilla movements, such as M-19, which were allowed to participate as political parties in the mainstream electoral process. Indeed, the systematic assassination of the former guerrillas and their leaders who competed in elections (by 1994, 2,341 members of the Patriotic Union had been murdered)16 cemented the monopoly of the Conservative and Liberal Parties. Likewise, in Venezuela a system of accommodation of the party elite leading to electoral monopoly by the Democratic Action Party (AD) and the Christian Democratic Party (COPEI) was initiated in 1958.17 This monopoly persisted although some cracks appeared in it. For example, in the 1993 presidential elections Rafael Caldera, the cofounder of COPEI, was elected president after splitting from the party. Yet it is clear that Caldera’s strength derived precisely from the electoral monopoly that his former party enjoyed. As in Colombia, the two parties relied on their monopoly to fend off challenges from distressed groups. After the 1992 coup attempt, for instance, President Carlos Andres Perez drew strength by relying on the traditional support of COPEI, which joined his AD in the government. Perhaps the heaviest blow to the monopoly was the election of Chavez as president in 1998 by a coalition of antimonopoly forces. In a similar vein, Uraguay’s Colorado party held political power for ninety-three years before losing to the Blanco party in 1958. The power shift, however, did not mean the end of the monopolization of the electoral process because a one-dominant party system was replaced by a two-dominant party system built around the Collegiado or the Collegial Executive in 1951, which allowed power sharing or swapping between the two parties. Although the Collegiado was introduced by a popular vote, it did not differ much from the accommodation of the elite in Colombia and Venezuela because in all three cases power sharing or swapping had infused an element of predictability in the electoral process through an explicit agreement between the two participating parties. In Argentina besides military rule and the military-controlled role played by various political parties and fractions in the aftermath of Peron’s overthrow in 1955 and before his return in 1973, the Peronists have relatively monopolized the electoral process. They have been helped in this effort by an accommodation with the Radical Civic Union Party (the Radicals), especially in the post-1983 period. Indeed, the postmilitary civilian rule was inaugurated by the electoral victory of Raul Alfonsin’s Radicals in 1983. In 1989 it was the Justicialist Party’s (the Peronists) turn to win the elections under Carlos

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Menem’s leadership. He was reelected in 1995. But this Peronist-led alternation is the result of an explicit accommodation (a “pact”) between the Peronists and the Radicals, between Alfonsin and Menem, which was made even clearer in 1993. As Juan Corradi puts it: Menem wanted reelection by hook or crook. He threatened to resort to extraparliamentary tactics. . . . Alfonsin preferred a portion of power and influence in the immediate present to a more long-range strategy of principled opposition. That pact, sealed in 1993, made it possible for congress to set in motion the mechanism of constitutional amendment: the election of representatives to a special assembly. Under these conditions, he maintains, each election is treated more as the triumph of a leader and a movement than as the victory of a party; the victor, once in office, tries to occupy the entire political space, illustrated by the fact that Menem believes that the Peronist movement is an entire political system unto itself; and electoral politics is reduced to the personal success of the president as an individual and to deals among politicians at the top.18 Because it makes a monopolized electoral process quite predictable, the explicit system of elite accommodation in Colombia, Venezuela, Uraguay, and Argentina differs from liberal democracy, which relies on the unpredictability of the outcome of the competition. Electoral monopoly has also been present in such Caribbean countries as St. Lucia, where the United Workers’ Party (UWP) dominated from 1964 to the 1990s; Antigua, where the Antigua Labour Party has been the perennial winner; and the Bahamas, where the monopoly held by the Progressive Liberal Party (PLP) since 1967 by “resorting to victimization, intimidation and a tremendous amount of cheating”19 ended only in the 1990s when the opposition Free National Movement (FNM) finally won. In Guyana the twentyeight-year electoral monopoly of the People’s National Congress ended only in 1992 with the electoral victory of the People’s Progressive Party. In countries such as Mexico, which (until 2000) were not strictu sensu authoritarian or democratic but maintained an electoral facade, electoral monopoly was even more conspicuous. Elections were structured around and easily won by an anointed candidate or a dominant party. The Partido Revolucionario Institutional (PRI) has been the only party to assume office and to rule since its inception under President Plutarco Elias Calles in the postrevolutionary days of the 1920s. PRI’s electoral monopoly has been ensured partly by corruption and partly by its control over the media, which it sanitizes and manipulates at will to denigrate the opposition.20 In countries such as Costa Rica and Brazil the monopoly was accentuated by banning communist parties from participating in the electoral process during the 1948 to 1966 subperiod. In

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this effort Brazil and Costa Rica resembled Laos in Asia. As in Asia and Africa, electoral monopoly was the rule in South American authoritarian countries such as Nicaragua under the Somoza dynasty and Paraguay under the Stroessner regime, which maintained a monopoly on facade elections.21 During the 1996 to 2000 period, electoral monopoly characterized most of the countries that had adopted electoralism in Africa. In general, where electoral fraud was practiced electoral monopoly was practiced as well because electoral fraud constitutes one of the best complementary devices for electoral monopoly. Countries such as Togo, Burkina Faso, and Gabon combined both electoral fraud and electoral monopoly. Fraud and trickery made de facto one-man-tailored electoral laws, leading to predictably perpetual victories for the ruling parties and their candidates: Eyadema in Togo, Campaore in Burkina Faso, and Bongo in Gabon. In an election very reminiscent of the authoritarian era, Campaore obtained 87.53 percent of the total votes in 1998 while Bongo won for another seven-year presidential mandate after thirty-one years in office. Both Campaore and Bongo repeated the feast in 2005. Electoral monopoly often went hand in hand with “converted” military regimes; in this case a former military ruler passed the “electoral test,” helped by his incumbent status, which allowed him to monopolize the electoral process and to ensure victories. In addition to Togo and Burkina Faso, cases include Jerry Rawlings in Ghana, France-Albert Rene in Seychelles, Didier Ratsiraka in Madagascar, and Idriss Deby in Chad. But electoral monopoly also characterized “model democracies” such as Senegal and Botswana although, as already stated, Senegal’s Socialist Party lost its monopoly in 2000. Examples of electoral monopoly in Asia included Taiwan, where the ruling Kwomintang Party proposed a one-man-tailored constitutional amendment in 1999 to prevent Soong, a rival of the Kwomintang’s preferred candidate, from winning presidential elections. Because Soong was likely to win the elections by plurality vote, the amendment ensured electing the president by absolute majority. The amendment did not succeed. Nevertheless, it reaffirmed the electoral monopoly of the Kwomintang Party, which, like Mexico’s PRI, had perpetuated its rule through many devices, including an intraparty authoritarian succession choice by the outgoing president. In the Malaysian electoral monopoly former Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad’s coalition, the Barisan Nacional, had won every election since independence in 1957. In South America Argentinean President Carlos Menem and his party, the Peronists, came into power in 1989. In an attempt to win a second term for Menem, the constitution was revised in 1994, which allowed his reelection in 1995. Because the presidential term had been reduced from six years to four years, and the president could be elected only for two consecutive

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terms, Menem’s term was to end in 1999. Neither Menem nor his party supporters paid much attention to these constitutional requirements. They sought to alter the constitution again or to have it reinterpreted by the supreme court to allow a third term for president Menem. Quite often—an aspect of dictatorial powers discussed below—Menem used the threat of a third term as a bargaining chip whenever his power was threatened. So serious was this threat that the opposition threatened to try politically the members of the supreme court if they went along with the third term scheme. Although President Menem was eventually persuaded not to run for a third term, the attempts to do so despite (and because of) the constitution revealed the tendency for electoral monopoly in Argentinean electoralism, not unlike that which took place in Zambia. A similar situation obtained in Peru. After his autogolpe in 1992, President Alberto Fujimori and his party, Cambio 90 Nueva Majoria, revised the constitution in 1993 to allow for the president to be elected only for two consecutive terms. Because he was elected in 1990, Fujimori’s term was to end in 2000. Yet at odds with their own constitution, Fujimori and his party pushed for “an interpretative law” to permit Fujimori to run for a third term in 2000 despite the fact that 67 percent of Peruvians thought the move was unconstitutional. Fujimori was eventually elected president in May 2000 through fraudulent elections from which the opposition candidate had withdrawn and which were condemned in vain by the United States and the Organization of American States. A similar attempt in 1998 to revise the constitution to prolong the presidential term was not successful in Panama. In 2005 the opposition hotly contested a similar attempt made by President Chavez’s supporters. In Nicaragua electoral monopoly took the form of a pact between the ruling Partido Liberal Constitucionalista (PLC) of President Aleman and the Sandinistas (FSLN). According to this pact, the two major parties had a monopoly over the nominations in the Supreme court, in the electoral council, and in the human rights office, thus bypassing all other smaller parties. The goal of the pact was to reelect Aleman in exchange for Aleman’s PLC agreeing to the Sandinista demand to abolish second round elections. Abolition of second round elections was of utmost importance for the Sandinistas because the second round was an obstacle to their recapture of political power. Electoral Coup Overpoliticization is also reflected in electoral coups. In addition to the boycott of elections by opposition parties, such as that in Niger in 1964, which allowed President Hamani Diori and his party to be reelected, the most common practice consists of preventing the victorious party or candidate from taking office. In the period preceding the 1953 military takeover in Egypt,

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King Farouk so strongly disliked the more electorally popular Wafd Party that he favored its rivals, including the Sa’d Party, for access to political power. This situation did not differ significantly from that which prevailed in CongoZaire in 1965. Indeed, in an attempt to prevent Prime Minister Moise Tshombe, whose party, the Congolese National Convention (CONACO), had won an overwhelming majority in the House of Representatives from gaining power, President Kasavubu dismissed and replaced him with the less electorally popular Evariste Kimba. CONACO’s refusal to accept President Kasavubu’s electoral coup offered an opportunity for General Mobutu to initiate military takeover on November 24. The situation was similar in neighboring Burundi where the Tutsi mwami (king) refused to appoint the electorally victorious Hutu and their party to the office of prime minister in 1964, thus precipitating mass revolts and successive military coups in 1965 and 1966. This trend was repeated in the post-1948–66 subperiod in other African countries. The bestknown cases are Lesotho in 1970 and 1993, Angola in 1992, Algeria in 1992, and Nigeria in 1993. In Lesotho, when Prime Minister Leabua Jonathan’s ruling Basotho National Party (BNP) lost the 1970 election that was won by the opposition Basotho Congress Party (BCP), he annulled the results and kept himself and his party in power; the BCP was prevented again, if less successfully, from assuming power after the 1993 election. In Angola the results of the UN-sponsored elections won by Jose Edouardo dos Santos of the Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola (MPLA) with 49.57 percent were rejected by Jonas Savimbi of the Union for the Total Independence of Angola (UNITA), who lost with 40 percent and chose to wage war, thus preventing the MPLA from ruling as a democratically elected government. The Algerian government annulment of the electoral victory by the Islamic Salvation Front (FIS) because the FIS attempted to establish an Islamic state set the stage for the vortex of violence that has since engulfed the country. Likewise, in Nigeria, it was the annulment, by the military government, of the results of the elections won by Mashood Abiola and his Social Democratic Party that sparked violent protests and sharpened military authoritarianism under General Abacha. As in African countries, in Pakistan Governor-General Ghulam Mohammed illegally dismissed Prime Minister Nazimuddin and members of his cabinet in 1953 for failure to quell unrest. He also prevented the newly elected United Front from governing in East Pakistan in 1954 by imposing martial law.22 This tactic was repeated in 1970 when, despite its overwhelming electoral victory, East Pakistan’s Awami League Party led by Mujibur Rahman was prevented from governing by the Yahya Khan government, which precipitated the war between West Pakistan and East Pakistan and led to the latter’s secession and the formation of Bangladesh. Overall, Pakistan’s politics have been dominated by a pattern of electoral coups. In addition to the

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countless boycotts by opposition parties of parliamentary procedures, including Benazir Bhutto’s PPP 1992 repudiation of parliamentary politics in favor of street demonstrations, and procedural subterfuges to prevent political opponents from participating in the electoral process,23 the most conspicuous cases of electoral coups are the 1990 and 1996 removals of elected Prime Minister Bhutto and that of Prime Minister Sharif in 1993 by the president. In all three instances the presidents acted under military pressure or in consultation with the military, invoking strangely the same type of charges, that is nespotism, maladministration, corruption, terror, and abuse of power.24 Perhaps not quite as dramatically as Pakistan, India has faced electoral coups often in the form of election boycotts and parliamentary deliberations. Examples include the boycott of parliament by the states of Tamil Nadu and Bihar in 1991 and the election boycotts in the state of Punjab in 1991 and 1992. In Sri Lanka members of the Tamil United Liberation Front were dismissed from parliament in 1984 for failing to take a oath against separatism. And when the police evicted the opposition Democratic Party from the South Korean parliament in 1958 to allow President Singman Rhee’s Liberal Party to vote unopposed to give more powers to the government, it served as a precursor for later electoral coups such as the resignation in 1990 en masse of eighty members of the opposition Party for Peace and Democracy from the parliament to protest against the policies of the DLP-led government and the complete stoppage of parliamentary procedures in 1992. The situation in South America does not significantly differ from that which prevails in Africa and Asia. The Brazilian army’s attempt in 1955 to prevent the inauguration of elected President Juscelino Kubitschek and Vicepresident Joao Goulart resembled electoral coups in Congo-Zaire, Nigeria, or Pakistan. So did the Argentinian army’s pressure on President Frondizi to annul the Peronist election victories in the provinces in 1962, which the army subsequently did itself after overthrowing Frondizi. The same holds true for the Peruvian army’s rejection of the 1962 elections to justify its takeover. To the extent that an electoral coup denotes an a priori or ex post facto repudiation of those acts associated with an electoral victory, President Fujimori’s autogolpe in 1992 was not only a reflection of dictatorial power but of another electoral coup in Peru because it took place in an electoralist regime that had brought him to power through open elections. His suspension of parliament and other elected offices was consistent with such a coup, inviting counterelectoral coup actions from the opposition. Examples include opposition boycotts of the election of the Constituent Assembly and of the results of the vote on the amendment to the 1979 constitution. In fact, the amendment was fraudulently promulgated even though it did not win the two-thirds majority required. The results were 3,878,964 “yes,” 3,545,699 “no,” 215,613 “blank,” and 518,274 “void.”25

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South American countries share various aspects of electoral coups among themselves and with their African and Asian counterparts. Practices include the boycott of presidential, legislative, or municipal elections by the opposition: Jamaica in 1980 and 1983, Ecuador in 1984, El Salvador in 1984, Guyana in 1989, Bangladesh in 1988, Tunisia in 1990, Cameroon in 1992, and Mali in 1992; the boycott of and/or massive resignation from parliament by the opposition: Jamaica in 1992, Nicaragua in 1991, Bangladesh in 1994, Mauritania in 1991; the ban on and/or suspension of parliament and the forceful removal of the members of parliament generally by the ruling party: Kenya in 1993 and Ecuador in 1990 (practices that did not differ from authoritarian Indonesia’s massive expulsion of parliamentarians in 1995); parliamentary nonrecognition of the authority of the elected executive or the president, generally referred to as a “parliamentary coup”: Bolivia in 1989, Ecuador in 1990 and 1997, Nicaragua in 1995, and Panama in 1964 when All Panamanian Party deputies walked out of the National Assembly to protest the inauguration of President Marco Robles whom they did not recognize as the winner of the elections and, to an extent, in 1987, when deputies pliant to General Noriega voted to oust President Arturo Delvalle; and parallel government and resistance to and refusal to recognize a newly elected government or candidate: Bolivia in 1980 and 1995 when those opposed to the elected government of President Lazado attempted to establish a parallel government in the state of Tarija, Dominican Republic in 1978, Malaysia in 1994, CongoBrazzaville in 1993, Guinea Bissau in 1994, and to the extent that multiparty elections did take place in 1990, authoritarian Myanmar where the military refused to hand power to the winning National League for Democracy (NLD) and a group of elected parliamentarians formed a parallel government. During the 1996 to 2000 period, electoral coups took place in African countries such as Madagascar, where a motion was brought in the parliament in 1998 to impeach President Ratsiraka because of a constitutional breach. In Mozambique the opposition RENAMO boycotted local elections in 1999 to contest electoral fraud by the ruling Mozambique Liberation Font (FRELIMO); it also threatened to boycott the newly elected parliament for the same reason. The 1998 reelection of President Campaore in Burkina Faso took place despite the boycott of the elections by the opposition. In Mali, one of the African “model cases,” the 1997 elections were boycotted by the opposition. In Asia examples include Hun Sen’s 1997 dismissal of the elected first (of two) prime minister, Norodon Ranariddh, in Cambodia; the prolonged and violent boycott of the inauguration of the South Korean prime minister by the opposition in the parliament in 1998 to protest preelectoral deals between the prime minister and President Kim Dae Jung; the four-month boycott of the parliament (Nov. 1997–Mar. 1998) by the opposition Bangladesh National Party to protest the “repression” of its members by the ruling party and

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the government; and Yemen where the 1999 landslide reelection victory of President Ali Abdullah Saleh took place despite the boycott of the elections by opposition parties. South America’s electoral coups include those in Ecuador both in 1996 and early 2000. In 1996 public demonstrations led to the ouster of the president by the Congress, which appointed its chair as head of state. Because the vice-president disputed the appointment on constitutional grounds, she proclaimed herself president while the ousted president still held, throughout his visits to other South American countries, that he was the constitutional president. The ensuing political imbroglio reflected in the opposition’s systematic refusal by 1999 to cooperate with any ruling Democracia Popular proposed reform agendas. The crisis erupted again in January 2000, when President Jamil Mahuad’s proposal to replace Ecuador’s currency, the sucre, with the U.S. dollar infuriated the suffering masses (mostly indigenous people) who took to the streets to ask for his removal. They were joined by junior military officers, which led to the president fleeing and a military junta temporary takeover before power was handed to the vice-president. The coup was repeated in 2005 when President Gutierez was overthrown, echoing the mass overthrows of Presidents Sanchez de Lozada and Mesa in Bolivia in 2003 and 2005. An equally dramatic case of electoral coup, perhaps, occurred in Venezuela in 1999 when the election of President Hugo Chavez culminated in de facto dismissal of the elected Congress by his supporters. In his attempt to reform corrupt Venezuelan institutions, Chavez and his coalition of Polo Patriotico moved against the opposition’s protestations to create a constituent assembly to replace the Congress. The role of the new Constituent Assembly was to write a new constitution. Threading a fine line between electoral coup and dictatorial powers, the Chavez coalition invested sovereign powers in the Constituent Assembly, including the power to dismiss officials, thus transferring the powers of the Congress to the Assembly; and created a Judicial Emergency Council under the emergency decree to reform the judiciary, which led to the resignation of the chief justice of the supreme court and demonstrations by the traditional parties. Using different tactics but similarly reflecting electoral coup in 1999, the Sandinista opposition’s response in Nicaragua to the government’s refusal to debate Sandinista-proposed bills was to take control of the National Assembly building by force twice and to prevent any legislative session from taking place for forty days. Electoral Violence Electoral violence characterized many democratic regimes during the 1948 to 1966 subperiod. Peron’s clear victories in the Argentinian presidential elections of 1946 and 1952 were marred by violence against opponents, including

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individuals and newspapers. In Egypt the January 1950, parliamentary elections won by the Wafd Party resulted in serious disturbances and six deaths. Because they violently disrupted elections in India’s West Bengal, student and labor organizations were outlawed by the government in 1950. Violence was repeated in other parts of India, including Kerala State where a massive police force was mobilized in 1960 to curb electoral violence that had claimed human lives. The same year in Bolivia the election of President Paz Estensorro led to massive postelection violence in which five people perished and twentyfive bodies of Estensorro supporters were found buried in graves. Violence also occurred in the Philippines during the 1953 elections won by the Nationalist Democrats, in Brazil in the 1950 presidential elections, in Ecuador in the 1960 elections that inaugurated the fourth term for President Jose Velasco Ibarra, and in Costa Rica in the 1966 elections when a bomb explosion led to a ban on public meetings. Generalized authoritarianism during the 1967 to 1989 period did not allow much electoral violence because many democratic regimes had turned authoritarian, and no street confrontation was allowed. Nevertheless, violence still accompanied elections in the remaining African and Asian electoralist regimes and in South America where, around 1983, the recent worldwide democratization process had gathered momentum earlier than in Africa and Asia. Electoral violence increased everywhere with the emergence of competitive politics ushered in by the democratization process. Asia’s perennial democratic regimes such as those in India and Sri Lanka shared the experience of electoral violence with Bangladesh, Pakistan, South Korea, Malaysia, Cambodia, and Thailand. In addition to general election-related violence involving bombing, injuries, and deaths such as occurred in 1991 (more than 100 people killed) and in 1996 (at least 25 people killed and 50 injured), India has experienced much of its electoral violence at the state level. In the states of Andhra Pradesh, Assam, and Kashmir and Jammu electoral violence erupted in 1983. As always, in each case a substantial number of deaths and injuries occurred, but the ramifications were, perhaps, felt worse in Assam where several thousand people died. The scene was repeated in the Bihar State in the March 1995 elections when 83 people were killed and president rule was imposed. In Sri Lanka the body of a murdered campaign worker for the Sri Lanka Freedom Party (SLFP) was thrown in the house of the party leader, Bandaranaike, in 1982, which did not prevent the SLFP from ending the electoral monopoly of the United National Party (UNP) by winning the violent elections of 1994 (19 people killed). Electoral violence in Pakistan often assumed the form of interparty gun battles, not unlike those that took place in Jamaica in the 1980s, between Bhutto’s PPP partisans and other parties, especially Nawaz Sharif’s Pakistan Muslim League (PML). General and local elections in 1988, 1990, 1991, 1992, and 1993 were all

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tainted by this kind of violence, especially in Punjab and Sindh. When Bangladesh made the “transition” from military authoritarianism to democracy in 1988, 150 were killed and more than 8 thousand injured in local elections, and 5 were killed and 80 injured in parliamentary elections. The violence repeated in the 1994 local elections, strengthened by the almost permanent violence that had resulted from the outcome of the 1991 general elections. Indeed, Zia’s Bangladesh National Party’s (BNP) slim (and fraudulent) victory and the establishment of a BNP government led by Begum Khaleda Zia were violently resisted by the opposition until Zia’s resignation in 1996. From 1987 to 1996 almost every South Korean presidential and legislative election was marred by violence, including the 1996 legislative elections when a candidate used a gun to fend off his rivals. Much of the violence was triggered by electoral fraud. In Thailand the victory by the promilitary coalition in the March 1992 general elections resulted in more than 50 people killed, including 7 election observers. In Africa, in addition to “old democracies” such as Senegal and Zimbabwe, almost all post-1990 elections were violent. The cases of electoral fraud discussed earlier served as partial reasons for electoral violence in Senegal in 1988 when the state of emergency was imposed and in 1993 when 30 people were killed. In Zimbabwe an opposition candidate and his five supporters were shot and wounded in the 1990 elections. Other post-1990 cases include Benin’s legislative elections in 1995 when a candidate attempted to assassinate another candidate, a practice not unlike that reported above in South Korea; postelectoral rioting involving deaths in the 1992 presidential elections in Ghana won by the incumbent, Jerry Rawlings, in Cameroon’s 1992 presidential elections won by the incumbent, Paul Biya, and in Gabon’s 1993 presidential elections won by the incumbent, Omar Bongo; incidents of burning and attacking polling stations leading to deaths in Comoros in 1992 and Guinea in 1993; confrontations between army factions supporting and opposing the winning party as happened in Lesotho’s general elections won by the BCP in 1994; and other cases of electoral violence often involving deaths in Angola in 1992, Kenya in 1993, Madagascar in 1993, Malawi in 1994, and Egypt in 1996. Electoral violence also dominated South America. In Colombia violent acts are often directed against candidates seeking office, as in the 1984 municipal elections when a dozen candidates were killed, in 1986 when a presidential hopeful was assassinated, and in 1990 when the leader of the former guerrilla group M-19 and candidate for election was murdered. There was also generalized interparty or other types of electoral violence. Examples include the 1991 elections when five people were killed and ninety thousand troops were summoned to guard the elections, the May 1994 presidential election when six people were killed, and the October 1994 municipal and

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departmental elections when five people were killed in clashes. In fact, many of the former guerrillas who opted to participate in the mainstream electoral process, especially the members of the Patriotic Union, were killed during election times. In Ecuador electoral violence in the 1984 general elections led to the imposition of a state of emergency. In Chile 1989 presidential and congressional elections were marred by bombing, guerrilla violence, and sabotage, which led to the arrests of more than one thousand people. In Mexico the permanency of electoral fraud meant repeated acts of violence during or after most elections, including in 1982, 1986, and 1994, when partisans of the PRI waged a gun battle against partisans of the Democratic Revolutionary Party, and the PRI’s candidate for the presidency, Donaldo Colosio, was assassinated. Other cases of electoral violence include Brazil in 1994 presidential and congressional elections, when death threats were made against electoral judges and army troops were sent to protect them; El Salvador in 1994, when electoral clashes between National Republican Alliance (ARENA) partisans and Farabundo Marti Front for the National Liberation (FMLN)-Democratic Convergence left thirty-six FMLN partisans and fifteen ARENA partisans dead; Guyana in 1992, when interparty clashes led to two deaths; Paraguay in 1993, when the Colorado Party’s victory caused deadly clashes; Peru in the 1990 and 1995 presidential elections and 1993, local elections that were disrupted in some areas by the Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path) and Tupac Amaru guerrilla movements; the Dominican Republic in 1995, where massive violent confrontations occurred after President Balaguer’s rigged electoral victory; Jamaica in 1993, when ten people were killed, a repeat of 1980, when several hundred people were killed as the result of violence surrounding the general elections; and even “peaceful” Barbados, where “the final week of the [1986] campaign was marked by violent clashes between supporters of the rival parties.”26 During the 1996 to 2000 period, electoral violence took place in Mali (1997), Togo (1998), Lesotho (1998), Guinea (1998), and Senegal (2000) in Africa. It also took place in Asian Cambodia (1998), the Philippines (1998), where the fewer than forty electoral deaths made the presidential elections “relatively free from violence,” and in India (1999) whose six deaths in the initial phase of the first round of elections were considered “very boring” by an independent election commissioner compared to the previous level of violence.27 Other cases of electoral violence were Malaysia (1999), Sri Lanka (1999), where incumbent President Chandrika Kumaratunga escaped an assassination attempt as she campaigned, and in Indonesia (1999) not only in East Timor but in the postelection period when supporters of Megawati Sukarnoputri violently protested the parliamentry election of Abdurrahman Wahid as head of state rather than their candidate. In South America electoral

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violence was recorded in such countries as Guyana (1997), Brazil (1998), the Dominican Repubulic (1998), where legislatives and municipal elections left twelve people dead and more than fifty injured, as well as Venezuela, and Colombia (1999). OVERPOLITICIZED BEHAVIORS IN AUTHORITARIAN REGIMES (AUTHORITARIAN BEHAVIORS) Most countries became authoritarian during the 1967 to 1989 period. In many, authoritarian regimes frequently alternated with electoralist regimes. In some, authoritarian interventions were short-lived but still managed to halt the democratization process. Although authoritarianism need not necessarily be accompanied by military rule, the latter was often the channel through which authoritarian rule implanted itself both under “old authoritarianism” (up to the 1940s) and “new authoritarianism.” The wars of independence, the revolutionary impulses in countries such as Mexico, and the prospects of social and political advancement that a military career opened for many nonaristocratic strata made the military so central in South America. The military intervention in politics has taken two forms. The first, coinciding with old authoritarianism, took place under the aegis of a military man, a caudillo, who used his armed followers (generally ignorant peasants) to carve for himself an economic and political role on a national or regional level. Although caudillismo declined in influence and potency, it still characterized the politics of such countries as the Dominican Republic under Trujillo, Panama under Torrijos, and Haiti in the post-1948 period. A one-military-man show was not the rule everywhere in the pre-1948 period, however, because in countries such as Brazil the military acted as a disciplined body earlier (e.g., under Getulio Vargas’s Estado Novo, 1930–45) than in many other countries. But even here, authoritarianism arrived via the military. The second form of military intervention adopted by new authoritarianism involves the army as an organized institution. Almost all South American countries experienced authoritarian rule before 1948. Although interrupted in many countries by the democratization process that occurred in the immediate post–world war period, authoritarianism not only reappeared intermittently in some of the countries during this democratization period but reestablished itself in full force after the 1964 Brazil military coup in almost all continental South American countries and some Caribbean countries. During the 1948 to 1966 subperiod, only Chile, Costa Rica, Uruguay, and Mexico did not experience authoritarianism, although in Mexico the role played by the PRI may qualify as semi-authoritarian. In the 1967 to 1989 period, almost all countries became authoritarian except Colombia, Costa Rica, Venezuela, Guyana, and Mexico in continental South

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America and former British colonies in the Caribbean, except Grenada because of its short-lived quasi-authoritarian rule under Maurice Bishop (1979–83). In Central America and the Caribbean, where there was no full-fledged bureaucratic authoritarianism, two situations presented themselves. In the first, revolutionary, situation, authoritarianism aimed at incorporating the popular masses, peasants, and workers, at various degrees, into the state to protect their interests against those of the industrial and agrarian oligarchic classes. In this case, the dismantlement of previous institutions, socioeconomic policies, and the coercive apparatus of the state favored the lower classes even though they were not always spared the impact of the repressive measures. This is the case of Cuba rather civilian authoritarianism under the Castro communist regime and Nicaragua under the Sandinista regime although, unlike Cuba, the opposition in Nicaragua (e.g., the Chamorro family’s La Prensa and the Catholic Church) was relatively free to operate. To these two regimes one may add Panama under the Torrijos regime, not for its revolutionary outlook but for its relative responsiveness to the fate of the lower classes. In the second situation, socioeconomic policies, authoritarian institutions, and repression were mobilized against the interests of the popular masses to protect the interests of the agrarian and industrial oligarchy. This was the case in El Salvador, Honduras, and Guatemala after the overthrow of the Arbenz regime in 1954, and Nicaragua under the Somoza regime. In some other cases, such as Haiti under Duvalier, authoritarian repression affected both the elite and the masses with almost equal weight. In the more bureaucratic authoritarian regimes, the institutional setting of authoritarianism, although not completely different from that which prevailed in Central America (or Asia and Africa for that matter), maintained some specific characteristics. In Argentina authoritarian tendencies existed even under the Peronist electoralist regime. As early as 1951, Peron used authoritarian means against the opposition, including the Church and the media. Added to the various aspects of Peronist populism, these means radicalized anti-Peronist forces and the military, leading to the first of the three military-led authoritarian regimes in 1955. Under the Leonardi but especially the Aramburu governments, the military sought to erase any Peronist influence. The Peronist party was outlawed, its labor militants repressed or executed, and Peronist functionaries fired. A Board of the Defense of Democracy, ostentiously anti-Peronist, was created to monitor “nondemocratic” parties. The 1958 and 1963 military-controlled civilian elections having improved neither the economy nor the chances of eradicating the Peronist political influence, the military intervened again in 1966, imposing perhaps its most repressive rule, with the hope “to attack the root causes of Argentina’s problems rather than deal with the symptoms.”28 Under the leadership of General Juan Carlos Ongania, it disbanded the Congress, ousted opponents

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from the university, dismissed politicians, severely repressed the labor movement, froze wages, tortured and killed opponents and protestors, suspended legal guarantees, at the same time forming an economic alliance with technocrats and foreign investors—traits that led to the concept of bureaucraticauthoritarianism. The failure of the Ongania regime to forge a military-civilian alliance and recurrent economic problems led eventually to the return of Peron from exile in 1973 to assume the presidency. Because of his death in 1974, Peron was replaced by his wife Isabel, who, faced with economic and insurgency problems, was overthrown by the military in 1976. From 1976 to 1982, the military continued their repressive policies known as the “Dirty War” against the opposition and the “subversives” that led to about twenty thousand “disappeared” and scores of prisoners. In Brazil, Chile, and Peru, authoritarianism resembled Argentina’s but displayed local variations. As in Argentina, authoritarian rule emerged in these countries in the wake of a military takeover. In Brazil this occurred after the military overthrew the Goulart government in 1964, in Chile after the violent overthrow of the Allende government in 1973, and in Peru after the military coup of 1968 against the Belaunde government. As in Argentina, triggering factors (as opposed to deep causes) for the coups and authoritarian rule were the polarization of social forces along ideological and economic lines and the exacerbation of the economic situation. Goulart’s prolabor government in Brazil faced inflation and balance-of-payments deficit, IMFs dictates, labor unrest, and a highly mobilized popular sector that demanded land and other rights at the expense of the right wing landed and industrial oligarchy. Allende’s socialist government in Chile was confronted to both rightwing and left-wing mobilizations, violence, labor unrest in the copper and other sectors, and high inflation and economic sabotage triggered by its socialist policies of nationalization and rural expropriations of the landed class. In Peru the failed land reform policy of the Belaunde government and its attendant peasant rebellions and government counterrepression that cost about eight thousand peasant lives, its failed nationalization policy, and economic woes were the trigger. Institutionally, all these authoritarian regimes structured, subsidized, and controlled the representation of interest groups, which has been referred to as “corporatism.” They differed in that Brazil assumed the almost “pure” form of corporatism, Argentina approximated it,29 and other practiced it to various degrees. In Brazil the cornerstone of this mode of control in the aftermath of the coup was the maintenance of the Consolidation of the Labor Law and the syndical system enshrined in it. This law allowed the authoritarian government to purge and control leadership recruitment to workers’ syndicates, which created the “social peace” needed for its restrictive wage and investment policies.30 This mode of control facilitated, in all the regimes,

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versions of bureaucratic-authoritarianism. In Brazil and Chile, as in Argentina, the military ruled in alliance with a technocratic bureaucracy over an economy controlled in conjunction with a strong foreign sector. In these three regimes the popular sector was excluded, through repression, from these alliances. In Peru, by contrast, the popular sector was integrated under state hegemony, through economic and social policies, in an attempt to reduce class tensions. For this reason the repression of these lower classes, although not absent, was not as systematic as it was in the other three authoritarian regimes. Other differences included the relatively more effective relationship between the military and the civilian political establishment in Brazil than in countries such as Argentina and the one-man rule by General Pinochet in Chile as opposed to the “military-as-an-institution” rule in other countries. Despite these differences, all of them shared the propensity for extensive repression, which was facilitated by the emasculation of traditional institutions. Although in Brazil disagreements persisted between military hardliners intent on dismantling all previous institutional channels and those willing to preserve them, the military regime severely repressed striking workers and insurgents, resorted to torture, and maintained a veto power on elections that it organized. In Chile the Pinochet regime destroyed the previous institutional setting by dissolving the Congress, suspending the constitution, outlawing political parties and political discussions, censuring the media, dismantling labor unions, strictly controlling the universities, and by repressing, via a state of siege, the opposition and rebellious popular sectors. And despite, or rather because of its inclusionary policies, the Peruvian regime’s repressive and authoritarian stand was revealed by its policies of expropriation and land reform, seizure of the media, and responses to discontented groups. In Uruguay military authoritarianism and repressive policies against the Tupamaros insurgents and other leftist forces started around 1971. But it was in 1973, the year the coup was made official, that the military dissolved the Congress, provincial councils, and the central labor union organization and arrested its leaders. A Council of State (with civilians involved) was established, and, through a series of “constitutional acts,” the military codified authoritarian rule by 1976. Press censure, the purge of politicians, the prohibition of political parties, the suspension of elections, the abolition of the judiciary, and the termination of job security for government employees were some of the acts. All these acts combined to create one of the most repressive authoritarian regimes in South America, where “torture became a standard administrative procedure.”31 Authoritarianism in Asia As in South America, a case can be made about “old authoritarianism” in Asia. The latter, not necessarily associated with military rule, was found in

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Asian traditional rule such as imperial China. But the discussion here is about authoritarianism in the post-1948 modern states. For the 1948–66 subperiod all Asian countries, except India, Sri Lanka, Malaysia, and the Philippines, experienced authoritarianism. For the 1967–89 subperiod the Philippines joined the authoritarian camp (and returned to electoralism in 1986) to leave only India, Sri Lanka, and Malaysia as countries that did not experience authoritarianism. During the 1990 to 1996 democratizing subperiod, most Asian countries remained under or experienced (sometimes temporarily) authoritarian rule. Again, the three perennial electoralist regimes (India, Sri Lanka, and Malaysia) were not touched by the authoritarian wave, but their ranks were joined by Pakistan, Bangladesh, Cambodia, South Korea, Taiwan, Thailand, and to an extent, Yemen, all of which embraced electoralism after experiencing authoritarian rule in one way or another during the 1967 to 1989 or 1990 to 1996 subperiods. One of the manifestations of authoritarianism in Asia, which it shares with Africa and South America’s old authoritarianism, is that the “individual personal leaders bulk larger than party organizations.”32 Authoritarian rule comes from several sources: monarchic rule, civilian rule, the military, and revolutionary changes. The monarchy served as a source of authoritarianism in Cambodia before the 1970 military coup as Prince Sihanouk used the dominant and routinely victorious Sangkum Party in almost a one-party system to promote his domestic and foreign policies. During the 1948 to 1966 subperiod, the king of Afghanistan exercised a considerable degree of authoritarianism. In the Middle East Iran under the Shah’s rule, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Kuwait, and the smaller “absolutist” shaykhdoms are examples of monarchic authoritarianism. The Saudi constitution states that Saudi Arabia is “a hereditary monarchy and the citizens are to pay allegiance to the King in accordance with the Holy Quran and the Prophet’s tradition.” Decrees are founded on adherence to God’s bonds and commitment to the sources of Islamic jurisprudence. In the post–world war period oil revenues allowed the establishment of state apparatuses and economic infrastructure. By 1964 the full absolutist power of the Saudi royal family was felt as it took control of all key government positions and exiled would-be reformers, including its own family members such as Prince Talal. With the support of the Jiluwi and Thunayyi landowning clans, the Hijazi merchant clan, and the Najdi religious clan, the Saudi royal clan used the state for clannish economic accumulation and, in the face of rebellions, relied on its extensive control over security to repress restless workers, would-be insurgents (e.g., the 1979 Mecca Rebellion), and the media, and to ban political parties. In the 1990s attempts by would-be reformers, such as the Committee for Defense of Legitimate Rights were interpreted as anti-Islam and as unlawful disapprovals of the royal family. In the post-2000 they were equated with terrorism. Kuwait follows the same trend. Although, unlike Saudi Arabia, it allowed a relatively free legislative body in

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the postindependence era, the assembly was suspended in 1976 and again in 1986, along with the constitution in congruence with the authoritarian requirements of the al-Sabah family. The latter’s constitutional right to rule is reflected by the fact that, in addition to the Emir, five to seven crucial ministers are members of the al-Sabah family. In the 1990s attempts to revive the assembly were subordinated to two requirements: that the Emir’s powers be increased to allow him to veto assembly decisions and that the immunity of the assemblymen be lifted. Civilian rule as a source of authoritarianism was found in such countries as South Vietnam under the Ngo Dinh Diem regime in the 1950s when he organized the National Revolutionary Movement, a single structure of authority aimed at propagating Diem’s ideas; in South Korea under the Syngman Rhee autocratic regime; in Taiwan under the Kwomintang regime of the pre-1996 era; to an extent, in Bangladesh when the Mujibur Rahman regime acquired full dictatorial powers in 1974 and 1975, and in the Philippines, under the Marcos regime. Marcos was elected president in 1965 and was reelected in 1969. Faced with economic woes and protests, natural disasters, communal unrest, and communist insurgency, he imposed martial law in 1972, which set the stage for full authoritarian rule. He suspended the national assembly and fundamental rights and severely repressed striking workers, intellectuals, and even the clergy. Indonesia under Sukarno exemplifies authoritarian rule derived from charismatic civilian rule. In 1950 a new constitution was enacted. One of the effects of the new constitution was the proliferation of political parties, which degenerated into chaos and violent confrontations, including guerrilla warfare, rebellions, and military coup attempts. In 1960 Sukarno imposed martial law and strengthened his authoritarian rule, which he had developed before 1960. He dissolved political parties, replacing them with a National Front, and suspended the parliament, replacing it with a Cooperative Parliament, half of whose members were appointed by Sukarno in an attempt to achieve “guided democracy.” The Cooperative Parliament functioned as a corporatist institution that included the army and police, farmers, workers, scholars of all religious stripes, artists, and the media. Moreover, he made himself “president for life.” Although, after the 1966 coup that overthrew Sukarno, General Suharto changed many of Sukarno’s policies, his brand of authoritarianism resembled Sukarno’s in many respects. These included the creation of a government party (Golkar) that incorporated functional groups, an electoral monopoly in controlled elections, and authoritarian control over competing political parties, which were forced to merge in two. In the 1980s and 1990s authoritarianism manifested itself in various forms, including the expulsion of members of the parliament for questioning President Suharto’s policies and ideology,33 press censure, and the execution of political opponents.

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Revolution-induced authoritarianism took place in those countries that made a transition to communism or socialism generally via a protracted war (China, Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos) and to Islamic rule (Iran, Afghanistan). Since 1979, the year of the overthrow of the shah, Iran has been ruled under Islamic authoritarianism characterized by highly repressive measures. After executing most of the power holders under the shah regime, the Islamic Republic wrote a new constitution based on Islam, relied on Revolutionary Guards and other repressive apparatuses to fend off oppositions and insurgencies while maintaining an electoral facade that favors Islamic fundamentalists. In the late 1990s through 2003 reformists rallied around President Muhammad Khatamini to fight the fundamentalists. The trend was reversed with the election of President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad in 2005. Strict authoritarianism was also imposed in Afghanistan after the various Islamic factions of the Mujaheddins took power in 1992 and were then replaced by the Talibans in 1996. In Vietnam there were two phases in the imposition of communist authoritarianism. During the first phase in the immediate post– Geneva Accords of 1954, only North Vietnam was affected. After South Vietnam fell, the unification of Vietnam in 1976 made it possible for the North and the Communist Party to extend their influence to the South. Among authoritarian measures were the Rectification Campaigns in the South and the complete elimination of the opposition, including Buddhist sects. In the late 1980s and in the 1990s economic changes left room for foreign companies and small businesses to operate. China’s authoritarian rule was imposed in 1949 in the wake of the communist-led revolutionary change. Central to the change were the Communist Party of China (CPC) and Mao Zedong. The application of authoriatarian rule reflected the different phases of evolution of China’s society and the implementation of communist policies. The period of revolutionary destruction (1949–52) coincided with excessive thought and mind control, the terror imposed on counterrevolutionaries, and the destruction of old institutions. For example, regarding the judiciary system, this period allowed the CPC to abolish both the old legal codes and institutions and to replace them with “revolutionary justice” and “mass campaigns” that were “direct action of the masses, not law.”34 Another important new institution is the National People’s Congress, whose standing committee comprises members appointed by the CPC. The period of socialist construction (1953–57) coincided with the centralization of control in the hands of party authorities, state interventionism in the economy, including the establishment of advanced cooperatives, “totalitarian order,” which comprised the rationing of necessities, restriction on residence and movement, and regimentation of art and literature. The backlash created by the Hundred Flowers Blooming campaign and the Great Leap Forward policy of 1958 in industrialization and agriculture strengthened the

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repression against rightists and intellectuals while a militarization of life took place with the creation of the people’s militia. The more pragmatic policies adopted after the failure of the Great Leap Forward were followed in 1962 by a harsh, more radical stand that culminated in the highly repressive 1966 Cultural Revolution. Scores of party officials, intellectuals, and others were purged. Under Mao’s leadership and in the post-Mao era that began with his death in 1976, the CPC served as the central institution, subordinating all other institutions. Under Mao and after him, such subordination made the implementation of authoritarian policies almost predictable and secure. As a rule, changes that take place in the economic field, such as occurred under Deng Xiaoping, are not necessarily reflected by political changes because it is the party above, and not economic forces below, that dictates the changes. An example is the brutality with which the would-be democratic opposition was met in Tiananmen Square in 1989 and the generalized resistance China has opposed to the worldwide wave of democratization. Military authoritarianism occurred in many Asian countries, including some of the countries that experienced monarchic, civilian, or revolutionary authoritarianism (Afghanistan, Bangladesh, Cambodia, Indonesia, South Korea, and South Vietnam). In Thailand, since the abolition of an absolute monarchy in 1932 by a military coup, electoralism under a constitutional monarchy has been halted by seventeen military coups. In 1958 the military took power and imposed martial law, which remained in effect until the 1960s. As in other countries, the military banned political parties and political activities, and authoritarian rule persisted until 1973 when General Thanom Kittikachorn was forced to resign under heavy pressure from student groups and the opposition. In the post-1973 period Thai politics had an almost predictable pattern. Civilian governments were overthrown by military coups (e.g., in 1976, 1991), leading to a new round of military authoritarianism. Governments were formed sometimes on the basis of party strength but almost always under military supervision in two ways. First, the prime minister did not have to be an elected member of the parliament; the upper house was composed mostly of military and civilian bureaucrats with more or less equal powers to the lower house. Second, a legislature was maintained, but its members were all appointed, and it acted as a mere rubber stamp on (military) executive decisions that required enactment into laws. Political parties were not allowed to function, and elections were not held.35 In Burma authoritarian rule came via General Ne Win’s military coups. Although his first coup in 1958 sharply curtailed party activities for the duration of his rule until 1960, it was his second coup in 1962 that established the military authoritarian regime that has lasted up to now. After abolishing all party activities and existing democratic institutions, the military formed a Revolutionary Council through which they ruled the country. Later, the council was renamed the

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State Law and Order Restoration Council as the military sought to fend off the various insurgencies, to suppress any would-be democratic opposition, and to ignore any electoralist procedures (e.g., the 1990 elections whose winners were jailed). In Bangladesh the bloody coup that overthrew Mujibur in 1975 was followed by a period of insecurity and instability as coups and factionalization in the army dominated the political scene. A three-man military council was organized under the leadership of General Zia (or Ziaur) Rahman who became the main administrator of martial law. The parliament, the council of ministers, and political parties were abolished. They were later reinstituted by General Zia, who, in an attempt to reestablish democracy, had formed his own party and won elections in 1979. He was, however, assassinated by the armed forces, which reimposed authoritarian rule under General Muhammad Ershad. He kept power until 1990. In Pakistan political and governmental instability during the 1955 to 1958 period led to General Ayub Khan’s military regime in 1958. Ayub, whose regime lasted until 1971, replaced General Yahya Khan in 1969. Both generals, Ayub and Yahya Khan, imposed martial law, suspended political parties, abrogated the constitution, and dismantled the legislative assembly although a weak version of it was established in 1962. The powers of the president as chief executive were tremendously increased. This trait explains, perhaps, the fact that even Ali Bhutto’s civilian regime displayed sharply authoritarian tendencies, including the outlawing of the opposition National Awami Party. Military authoritarianism resumed under General Mohammad Zia-ul-Haq, who took power after the execution of Prime Minister Bhutto and the overthrow of his government in 1977. Zia suspended the government, political parties, the parliament, and freedom of the press and governed through straight martial law regulations until his death in a mysterious plane crash in 1988. Elections were allowed on a “nonpartisan” basis. Zia justified his authoritarian rule as a way of upholding the precepts of Islam. In 1961 a military coup, led by General Park Chung Hee, overthrew the government of Prime Minister Chang Myon in South Korea. As in Pakistan and Bangladesh, the military junta dissolved the national assembly, prohibited political parties and activities (about four thousand politicians of the previous regime were banned from political activities), and wrote a new constitution that advocated strong executive powers consistent with military rule. Although much opposition prevented the Park regime from imposing its most dictatorial powers, the secretive revision of the constitution did allow multiple reelections for Park, who was made “president for life” with an enormous concentration of powers. In the 1970s many aspects of authoritarianism sharpened. Relying on technocrats as in South America, the military, which in the constitution was referred to as “the state,” was given the

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role of regulating, coordinating, and promoting economic activities. When Park was assassinated in 1979, he was replaced by General Chun Doo Hwan. Elected president by the rubber-stamp National Conference of Unification, Chun wrote a new constitution. He disbanded all political parties, purged their leaders, and banned scores of politicians from political activities. Repressive instruments such as the National Security Planning Agency were strengthened, and laws were passed to control the press and labor. Despite protests and endless demonstrations, the Chun regime survived until 1987 when the military and President Chun chose General Roh Tae Woo to run on their ticket against the opposition. Roh Tae Woo won amid protests about electoral fraud by the military.36 The Chun-Roh authoritarian regime was punished in 1996 when Chun was sentenced to death and Roh to twenty-two years in prison. In the Middle East military authoritarian rule occurred in Iraq and Syria. From independence in 1946 to the advent of Hafez al-Assad via the 1966 coup, Syria was characterized by countless military coups. Many of them were followed by an institutional change that involved a mixture of authoritarianism (e.g., the 1952 coup by General Shishakli, who dissolved parliament and outlawed political parties and trade unions) and electoralism in which the Ba’th Party, created in 1953, played a major role. From 1958 to 1961 the failed United Arab Republic union with Nasser’s Egypt reinforced authoritarian tendencies. Under the leadership of the radical wing of the Ba’th Party, the Assad regime increased the tendency toward authoritarian centralization. It was almost total by 1973 when a new constitution consecrated the supremacy of the Ba’th Party and the military authoritarianism of the Assad regime. In Iraq, after the overthrow of the Hashimite dynasty and King Faisal in 1958, the army and the Ba’th Party took power. Two military coups later (in 1963 and 1968), the stage was set for the advent of Saddam Hussain, who emerged within the military and Ba’th establishment as the major decision maker by 1979. Authoritarian policies in military regimes such as Syria (today led by a civilian president) and Iraq resemble those of other countries in the Middle East, including Egypt and the Maghrib. The central position of the military is best summed up by Syria’s General Mustafa Tlas’s proclamation at the time of the 1966 coup: “We will never surrender power to civilians.”37 As was the case in almost all authoritarian regimes, military authoritarian regimes in the Arab world view themselves as “modernizing agents.” This explains, in part, their authoritarian nationalizations, attempts at agrarian reforms, and extensive involvement in economic management or, rather, regulation. In Syria and Iraq (up to Saddam Hussain’s overthrow in 2003) the armed forces produce, in addition to military supplies, construction equipment and aluminium window frames and bottled mineral water and are involved in public works,

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road and house building, poultry farming, and the cultivation of newly irrigated state land. Such an involvement means that the army always has a role in the government even though the level of involvement has varied from one country to another (a little more substantial in Iraq, Syria, and Algeria under the Front de Liberation Nationale [FLN] than in Egypt under Sadat and Mubarak). The “eternal control of power” by the army translates into its centralization and accumulation by one man, the president; the preeminent position of the government party (e.g., the Ba’th Party); the maintenance of an institutional facade (e.g., the National Assembly in Iraq and a profusion of “local democratic institutions” and token opposition parties in Syria and skewed elections), which precludes open opposition; and the unavoidable repression expressed in the form of arrests, kidnappings, press censorship, dissolution of trade unions, preference for party loyalists in job distributions, emergency measures, and growth of the paramilitary forces.38 Authoritarianism in Africa In Africa, where independence occurred generally in the 1960s, most of the independent countries practiced authoritarian rule during the 1948 to 1966 subperiod. Exceptions—not necessarily clear-cut ones—were Burkina Faso, Burundi, Gambia, Liberia, Madagascar, Niger, Rwanda, Sierra Leone, and Somalia. During the 1967 to 1989 subperiod all experienced authoritarian rule except Botswana, Gambia, Mauritius, and Zimbabwe. For the 1990–96 subperiod, the majority of the countries made a transition to electoralism while twenty countries either remained authoritarian or relapsed into authoritarianism after an attempt at transition or attempted a transition that scarcely shook the tentacles of authoritarianism.39 As in Asia, authoritarian regimes in Africa take four different forms: monarchic, civilian, revolutionary, and military. Examples of monarchy-derived authoritarian regimes are Morocco, Ethiopia under Haile Selassie, and Swaziland. From 1930 to 1974 Haile Selassie ruled as a relatively absolute monarch in Ethiopia. After Swaziland’s independence in 1968, King Sobhuza II ruled (for a while) as a constitutional monarch and was replaced, after his death in 1986, by his son Mswati III. Since independence in 1956, Morocco has been ruled by King Mohammed V and, after his death, by his son Hassan II, who was replaced, on his death in 1999, by his son Mohammed VI. In the three kingdoms, monarchical rule rests on authoritarianism. In Ethiopia Emperor Selassie stood at the top of the state pyramid with almost divine powers legalized by the 1955 constitution. As a supreme authority and the embodiment of sovereignty in a centralized administration, he controlled the civil service both at the territorial and central levels and appointed and dismissed officials. Given that policies were aimed first at supporting the emperor’s

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rule and its immediate beneficiaries rather than at implementing any developmental plan, demands by discontented groups (students, trade unions) were often met with severe repression, which was strengthened by the secessionist war in Eritrea. Developmental problems, repression, and rebellions explain the 1974 military coup that overthrew Haile Selassie, paving the way for a republic. In Swaziland Sobhuza’s constitutional rule, which was the result of constitutional negotiations preceding independence, was ended by the king in 1973 in the face of an increasingly assertive and vocal opposition. Claiming that the opposition’s behavior was inconsistent with Swazi traditions, the king assumed total power, abolished the constitution, dissolved the parliament, and banned the opposition and political parties. In lieu of parliament, a royal council became the center of discussions on governmental policies. Even when a parliament was elected in 1978 in a traditionally sanctioned indirect electoral process, the King still maintained the power to veto the legislature. Despite calls for “liberalization,” King Mswati III has maintained and, indeed, strengthened the authoritarian regime inherited from his father. Some of the policies of sharper authoritarianism took place in 2000. The essence of Morocco’s disguised monarchical authoritarianism is best captured by Gilles Perrault’s characterization of King Hassan’s rule: Master tactician, he has been able to get rid of those who overshadow him regardless of the cost to the country. . . . Murdering some, forcing others into unending exile, he has reduced all the rest to playing the role of extras in his democratic pantomime. Indeed, although he may not have invented absolute power, he has displayed a genial ability to cloak it in fineries to dupe those foreigners who are willing to be duped. It is a peculiar democracy where the opposition has all the rights except the right to gain power. His democracy rests on repression, fraud, and fear.40 Despite some timid reforms by Mohammed VI, authoritarian rule in Morocco revolves, thus, around the king, who wields excessive powers in a highly centralized political system. Through an institutional democratic facade, the king maintains almost total control over both the elite and the masses of the people. The King, who is above and superior to political parties, receives and decides on all inputs. Interest groups and local associations are first supportive agents of the king and not articulators of their own interests. After many leaders of the genuinely oppositional nationalist political parties were eliminated, parties (e.g., Istiqlal) are allowed to function almost as corporatist organs. Their role is to support and serve the king, who co-opts and appoints many of their leaders in the government. Under Hassan II, the centralized system was maintained by repression, intimidation, harassment, purges, jail, or assassination, of which student and labor organizations that voiced discontent with the monarchical

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rule were frequent targets. Genuine opposition parties are sometimes successful in elections. Their participation in government, however, depends on their willingness to support the king. In keeping with the worldwide democratization pressure, a new constitution that favors human rights, a stronger parliament, the transfer of the power to appoint the cabinet to the prime minister was approved in 1992. Yet through electoral fraud (e.g., in the 1993 elections) and face-saving appointments of the opposition leaders by the king (e.g., the appointment of an opposition leader as prime minister in 1994) the royalist party has been able to maintain its preeminence. Examples of civilian authoritarianism in Africa include Tunisia under Bourguiba, Ghana under Kwame Nkrumah, Mali under Modibo Keita, Senegal under Senghor, Malawi under Banda, Guinea under Sekou Toure, Cote d’Ivoire under Houphouet-Boigny, Kenya under the Kenyatta-Moi regime, Tanzania under Nyerere, and Zambia under Kaunda. It often developed within or as a result of the imposition of a one-party or a dominant-party system, which was presented as part of the African tradition. As in the case of monarchical authoritarianism or other forms of authoritarianism in Asia and South America, the main common trait among these regimes was the elimination of oppositional or adversarial institutions of participation. The corollary was the higher level of repression. Because some of these countries are discussed in the next section, only two countries (Guinea and Kenya) are discussed here for illustrative purposes. In Guinea independence was acquired in 1958 under the leadership of the Parti Democratique de la Guinee (PDG) founded in 1947. In the postindependence period, it became a highly organized and monolithic institution that shaped all political, economic, and social activities. Membership in the party was automatic and compulsory for the entire population, and in most respects, it reflected the authoritarian views and expectations of Sekou Toure, its secretary-general. Although authoritarianism in Guinea does not differ much from that of other African countries, it is worth noting that it was exacerbated by France’s punitive policies toward Guinea, which, unlike other French colonies, had opted to become independent in 1958. As Sekou Toure sought to fend off what he considered, rightly or wrongly, French plots against his regime and to reorganize the bureaucracy and the economy after the massive departure of the French, he and the party resorted to a command economy and collectivization, excessive centralization, and repression. The regime was unabashedly presented as a “democratic dictatorship,” and the PDG subordinated all other institutions and intervened in all aspects of life. Loyalty to the party determined one’s chances for a job. The real and imagined fear of a “permanent plot” by internal and foreign opposition groups led to arbitrary arrests, detentions without trials, torture, and assassination of real and imagined dissidents.

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Kenya’s authoritarian regime took its definite form in 1969 when opposition parties (e.g., Kenya’s People Union) were banned by the Kenyatta government, and Kenya African National Union (KANU) became the single party. Although the KANU-subordinated parliament allowed unusually vigorous debates, these debates were confined to criticizing the members of the cabinet and not President Kenyatta who, as in most African one-party states, remained above criticism. Kenyatta embodied the “nation” and was, in most aspects, the government. Through decrees or other decisions, he often overruled the parliament and the cabinet. Like Houphouet-Boigny in Cote d’Ivoire or Haile Selassie in Ethiopia, Kenyatta intervened in most matters; he adjudicated disputes among different interests seeking his favors and coopted some would-be dissenting voices. The institutional centralization subordinated most other institutions to KANU, which filtered candidates for parliamentary elections. Dissent was severely repressed through preventive detentions, bans, and murder. Under Prresident Arap Moi, who succeeded Kenyatta on his death in 1978, authoritarianism, albeit slightly modified, persisted and, indeed, strengthened. In fending off challenges from his ethnic and would-be democratic foes, Moi further developed the repressive capacities of the regime in the 1980s and 1990s. Revolutionary authoritarianism occurred in Algeria, Angola, Mozambique, and Guinea Bissau where independence was gained through a protracted war. In all these countries the colonial war had made the choice for the socialist ideology and its attendant brand of authoritarianism easier. In Algeria the FLN founded in 1947 was the political and military organization that waged war against French colonialism. As the country gained independence in 1962, the FLN emerged as the single party able to implement the policies of reconstruction. The 1965 military coup that brought Colonel Houari Boumedienne to power accentuated the authoritarian aspects of the regime. When he died in 1978, the army maintained power under the leadership of the FLN. The former Portuguese colonies of Angola, Mozambique, and Guinea Bissau gained independence in 1975. Mozambique and Guinea Bissau/Cape Verde emerged from the war united under the leadership of their respective revolutionary parties and leaders. In Mozambique the Mozambique Liberation Front (FRELIMO) and its leader Samora Machel played the unifying role. In Guinea Bissau this role was assigned to the African Party for the Independence of Guinea Bissau and Cape Verde (PAIGC) and its leader Amilcar Cabral. In Angola, by contrast, a three-way rivalry among the three main parties that fought against the Portuguese led to civil war and, thus, prevented a unified front within a single party. By winning the war, the Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola (MPLA) assumed political power within an authoritarian framework. In addition to their ideological commitments

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(e.g., the constitution of collective productive units and attempts to reshape the colonial society within party-set guidelines), all three regimes faced insurgency or internal dissent (see the next section), which exacerbated their authoritarianism despite sincere attempts by their leaders, especially of FRELIMO, to maintain the noncoerced participation of the masses. The bulk of African authoritarian regimes were of a military variety. Even some civilian authoritarian regimes shifted to military authoritarianism. Because of the vast literature on military rule in Africa,41 it is unnecessary to reiterate here what has already been said. Suffice it to indicate that in almost all cases the military’s advent to power was through a coup. With slight differentiation, the reasons given by the coup makers were similar. They invoked the inconstitutionality of the former regimes, repression, tyranny, corruption, mismanagement, economic stagnation, disorder, and instability. In Mali and Ghana, the “personality cults” of the leaders of the previous regimes (Modibo Keita and Nkrumah) were added to the list. As they assumed state control, military leaders attempted to legitimize their power through an array of practices. Among these were the monopolization of the media to propagate the new “policies and programs”; the embrace of some form of ideology of traditionalism to “reconnect” the regime with local customs or religion: appeals to the local paramount chiefs (e.g., Ghana, Benin), to traditional trappings in the name of authenticity (e.g., Zaire), and to religion (e.g., Islam in Sudan, Nigeria, Egypt, and Maghreb countries); the temporary and generally short-lived show of a modest and less extravagant modes of living, for example, the willingness to live on a military stipend rather than big salaries (only in a few cases, such as Boumedienne in Algeria, Jerry Rawlings in Ghana, and Thomas Sankara in Burkina Faso, did this commitment last for the duration of the regime); and the promise (generally not kept) to return power to the civilians and to uphold democratic principles. Only in a few cases, such as in Sierra Leone in 1968 and 1996, Benin 1968, and Ghana in 1979, did the military return power to the civilians. And even in these cases the return took place as the result of tremendous mass or foreign pressure (Sierra Leone and Benin). In Ghana, Rawlings, who relinquished power in 1979, took it back in 1981 via a second coup. To exercise full authoritarian rule, the military relied on some form of military corporate organization. Invariably, the military junta that overthrew the previous regime took a name that connoted the collective task that it was supposed to execute. Examples include Free Officers in Egypt, the Military Committee of Vigilance and the Military Revolutionary Committee in Benin; the National Redemption Council and the Armed Forces Revolutionary Council in Ghana, the National Reformation Council in Sierra Leone, and the Military Committee of National Liberation in Mali. Although many of the military regimes were characterized by the emergence of a “strong man” who

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overshadowed his military coconspirators, it is worth noting that in almost all cases the military came to power as a group, and for a while serious attempts were made to have collective decisions. In the cases of Benin, Ghana, Sierra Leone, and Mali about which evidence has been collected,42 the junta acted as a group, and whenever one of its members tried to deviate from the collective decision-making process, he was either sanctioned or, at the very least, resented by his colleagues. In some cases, such as Benin, the military corporate unity prevailed because most of the civilian ministers were replaced by junior officers. This contradicts the easily accepted view that African “oneman rule” authoritarianism differs from South American “military-as-an institution” authoritarianism. Whether dominated by one man or structured as a collective entity, military rule is by definition authoritarian. In some cases naked force was used (e.g., Uganda under Idi Amin and Central African Republic under Bokassa). In some other cases (e.g., in those cases where frequent military coups occurred) an authoritarian committee or council such as those mentioned above served as the institutional framework through which the military exercised power. In still other cases a one-party system resembling that imposed by civilian regimes became the authoritarian channel. This was the case in Mobutu’s Zaire and Eyadema’s Togo. In all these situations, as in other forms of authoritarianism, the rule was characterized by its ban on political activities and parties, the suspension of the constitution or its replacement by a new one, the dissolution of parliament and other elective bodies and their replacement by military-dictated ones or by decrees of the military leaders who, in many cases, held more than one function. In Nigeria, one of the enduring military rules, succeeding military governments, by and large, “maintained the conditions of a free society [that is, before the advent of General Abacha]; there are no police state methods, and no regimentation of the individual’s life, such as characterized the society of totalitarian states. Yet, it is, nonetheless, true that civil and political rights have suffered extensive erosions.” Among the violations are the erosion of the rule of law exemplified by the fact that “law-making by the military government is limited neither by a supreme constitution which defines the permissible content and form of legislation and procedure for making it nor by conventional rules sanctioned by tradition and the force of public opinion”; violations of personal liberty; interference with private property; denial of the community’s right to self-government; and restrictions on organized politics and other associational rights.43 In Egypt military rule, imposed in 1952, has been opened to “electoral pluralism” since President Sadat’s 1971 “reforms.” In addition to the government party, the National Democratic Party (NDP), facade opposition parties are allowed. They are on the left and right of the NDP, but under its dominance. In this “controlled” opposition, opposition to

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some governmental policies is not tolerated, and opposition parties can be easily repressed by the govenment. Because of the NDP hold on the electoral process, the government party easily resorts to electoral fraud and monopoly. As already mentioned, during the 1996 to 2003 period, authoritarianism remained less implanted in Latin America than in Asia and Africa. OVERPOLITICIZED BEHAVIORS COMMON TO DEMOCRATIC AND AUTHORITARIAN REGIMES (SHARED BEHAVIORS) By definition, authoritarian rule is more prone to illicit use of state coercive power, dictatorial power, illicit opposition, and violent opposition than democratic rule. In developing countries, however, both authoritarian and electoralist regimes resort frequently to the four shared behaviors. Because most of the countries in the three non-Western regions experienced authoritarianism during the 1967 to 1989 subperiod, almost all of them resorted to the four behaviors under authoritarian rule. Because I discussed them in the previous section, I do not repeat the points here. Illicit Use of State Coercive Power In Argentina the Peronist regime, which was democratic, resorted to illicit state power. Cases included the jail term imposed on “rumor mongers” for “disrespecting” the government in 1953, and the attempt to disestablish the Catholic Church and the arrest of its prelates for inciting the revolt against the government in 1955. In Ecuador newspapers were closed and their editors jailed for “insulting and outraging” members of the government and for inciting the revolution against the government in 1953. Accusations against the opposition for insulting the government also took place in Venezuela where in 1950 the military junta suspended the publication of El Nacional for calling the junta “the three little pigs.” These acts have been echoed in authoritarian Indonesia where students were jailed in 1993 for “insulting” President Suharto when they questioned the abuse of human rights; in electoralist Senegal where the leading opposition leader, Abdoulaye Wade, was threatened with a jail term in 1985 for “insulting the president” after he questioned the president’s financial dealings; in Morocco where twelve people jailed for “insulting the king” went on hunger strikes in El Alou prison in 1987; in Kenya where an opposition member of parliament was arrested for making remarks about President Moi in 1995; and in Equatorial Guinea where opposition members were arrested for “insulting the president” and sending copies of newspapers to Spain in 1992. Accusations of insult against the opposition are often accompanied by fabricated charges of subversion and incitement to revolt. Authoritarian regimes

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such as Nasser’s Egypt had recourse to such accusations after the military coup when it decided not to allow lawyers to defend 200 people accused of counterrevolutionary activities in 1953. So did many newly independent and formally democratic regimes in Africa and Asia before they turned authoritarian during the 1948 to 1966 period. Attempts to consolidate power at the expense of one’s former allies in the anticolonial struggle often meant the fabrication of charges and the illicit use of state coercion against them. President Hastings Banda of Malawi is an example. Already in 1964, Malawi’s year of independence, he accused his ministers of subversion and began to eliminate his opponents, which facilitated the emergence and consolidation of an authoritarian rule that lasted until 1994. With a slight modification, this behavior applies to Morocco’s Prince Moulay Hassan (later King Hassan II), who, assisted by his father Mohammad V in 1960, used the full coercive power of the state against the political parties of the Left, often falsely accusing them of subversion. This behavior was repeated in many other African countries during the 1966 to 1989 authoritarian period and, in the 1990s, in such countries as the Sudan and Burkina Faso where attempts to eliminate the opposition rested on false accusations of coup attempts. When in 1958 President Iskander Mirza dismissed Governor Fazlul Huq for taking unconstitutional actions, he revealed neither the first nor the last illicit use of state coercion in Pakistan. In the 1990s state coercion was repeatedly used by Prime Ministers Bhutto and Sharif as they sought to gain political and unfair advantages over each other and each other’s party. To the false charges leveled against and custom-tailored restrictions imposed on Bhutto when she lost power and Sharif became prime minister in 1990, Bhutto retaliated in kind on reassuming office in 1993. For instance, to Sharif’s concocted stipulation that individuals who “owed loans” could not contest or run for elections (a stipulation aimed at her specifically) and his accusation that Bhutto and her husband had participated in an assassination plot and corruption, she responded by ordering the arrest of Sharif’s father on a charge of fraud in 1994 and filed charges of illegal possession of funds to finance personal businesses against Sharif himself in 1995. In all, by 1995 Sharif was charged in 145 cases by the Bhutto government. Acts of retaliation also have taken place in Malaysia. In 1991, in an attempt to retaliate against his political rival, chief minister of Sabah, Prime Minister Datuk Mahathir bin Mohamad accused him and his brother of sedition and attempts at secession, which allowed him to arrest them under the Internal Security Act. Again in 1995, a member of the opposition Democratic Action Party was charged with sedition for criticizing a judicial decision made in favor of a member of the ruling party who had had sexual relations with an underage girl. Although they may take slightly different forms, these acts resemble in their logic Argentina President Menem’s dismissal of his minister of justice

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who had protested against Menem’s interference in the nomination of judges in 1992. They also resembled Gabon President Bongo’s restriction on the leaders of the opposition parties to travel abroad in 1994 lest they publicize the electoral fraud in the presidential elections that year. And they are not that different from the acts of the government of authoritarian Saudi Arabia, which ordered that twenty Moslem clerks and a judge be dismissed from their positions for opposing the King’s foreign policy in 1992. All denote an illicit recourse to the coercive power of the state. But perhaps the most common form of illicit use of state coercive power is the physical elimination of the opposition. In 1958 India’s Prime Minister, Nehru, expressed horror at the cold-blooded murders of the mobs by the police in Kerala State. The police actions served as a precursor to arbitrary arrests, tortures, and extrajudicial killings that have taken place even in “democratic” India and that were decried in 1991. They also took place in “democratic” Sri Lanka, where a mass grave with three hundred bodies was discovered in 1994, the result of government-sponsored death squads aimed at “suspected” guerrillas. These practices are echoed in many South American countries. Political assassinations took place in Bolivia in the early 1980s under General Luis Garcia Meza’s authoritarian regime and in Honduras, where 150 people “disappeared,” 383 extrajudicial executions took place under President Arzcona’s administration in 1987 and 1988,44 and opposition leaders were murdered by government security forces in 1990. In Guatemala both military and civilian governments have established one of the most notorious patterns of illicit use of state coercive power. Since 1954, the year of the overthrow of the progressive regime of President Jacobo Arbenz Guzman by a CIA-supported coup, Guatemala’s politics has been dominated by a wave of right-wing terror directed at the leftist insurgencies that emerged in the 1960s in the aftermath of the overthrow. From 1954, under the Castillo Armas regime, to 1996, passing by the 1960s when vigilante groups were first used by Col. Carlos Rana Osorio and killed “as many as five thousand campesinos, students, former revolutionary cadres, members of the Christian Democratic party, and other suspected leftists during 1967 to 1968,”45 death squads have constituted the centerpiece of the illicit use of state power in Guatemala. In 1984, 300 people “disappeared”; by the first months of 1989, 1,598 people had been murdered and 906 had “disappeared,” and by 1990 even the U.S. government decried the abuses.46 They did not stop, however, because 364 more cases were recorded in 1994. In El Salvador ARENA-sponsored death squads that had terrorized El Salvador in the 1980s did not stop their activities in the 1990s despite the UN-brokered accords that aimed to bring peace and democracy. In addition to the electoral violence, right-wing death squads continued to abduct and kill former members of the FMLN guerrilla movement. Although

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by 1999 most of these practices had subsided, they were replaced by violent gang activities. In this, the Salvadorian and Guatemalian cases did not differ from the Mexican example where the collusion between state officials and landowners resulted in the killing of scores of indigenous people, especially in Chiapas and Oaxaca States, in 1984. The experience was repeated in Guerrero State where the police deliberately killed fourteen peasants and wounded twenty-three in 1995. Recourse to illicit use of state coercion also characterized countries such as Colombia, Uruguay, Brazil, and, to an extent, Peru. In these countries not even more successful “democratic experiments” than Guatemala’s and El Salvador’s could prevent the illicit use of state coercion. In Peru the Fujimori regime systematically relied on death squads to deal with opponents of his regime, especially peasants, students, and suspected guerrillas. For example, paramilitary death squads killed sixteen Native Americans three blocks from Peru’s Congress in 1991, and in 1993 the president’s close military advisers killed ten students and a professor at the university. The abuses by the regime were such that the United States renounced the systematic killings of civilians by the army and death squads in 1994. Although Uruguay had returned to democracy in 1984, its government still had recourse to illicit killings of former Tupamaros partisans, who had renounced guerrilla activities in favor of the democratic process. Likewise, Brazil’s return to democracy in 1985 did not prevent the reemergence in 1986 of death squads nurtured during the years of military authoritarianism. Death squads mobilized against street kids, peasants, trade unionists, and church workers have characterized the country since 1987. From 1988 to 1990 about one thousand Native Americans were killed by such groups. Although the Cardoso government brought some substantial changes—including reduction of the powers of the military—most of these abuses continued. The same situation obtains in Colombia. In 1991 five hundred members of anticommunist self-defense groups handed their weapons to the government. Since the 1980s such vigilante groups had served as death squads mobilized, as in Brazil, against peasants, Native Americans, students, teachers, trade unionists, and other activists. From 1982 to 1985 more than one thousand (1,455) assassinations against these different groups were reported.47 And as indicated earlier, many victims of the death squads were members of the Patriotic Union, the former guerrillas, who had joined the mainstream political system to participate in elections. One of the ramifications of the illicit coercive power of the state is the often bizarre behaviors displayed by their perpetrators and power holders. Examples include Mexico’s President Carlos Salina’s two-day hunger strike and self-imposed exile in the United States in 1995 to protest his innocence in the killing of the PRI secretary-general and in the mismanagement and corruption that had led to the crumbling of the economy by the time he left

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office in 1994. One also recalls Benazir Bhutto’s hunger strike in 1991 to protest Sharif’s government’s attempt to “destroy her party by arresting her party members for murders and kidnappings.” Moreover, in a bizarre case of gang rape involving her close adviser and friend, Farhana Hayat, the victim accused Bhutto’s political opponents while they accused Bhutto of instigating it because of her friend’s sexual relations with her husband. Bhutto’s feud with her mother and brother, who was subsequently shot in a gun battle with security forces in 1996 when Bhutto was still prime minister, is but one aspect of the overpoliticized behaviors and the reliance on illicit state coercion that often turns state matters into family matters. Another example is Peru’s Fujimori’s dismissal in 1994 of his wife Susana Higuchi de Fujimori as First Lady because she was disloyal and had acted as an opposition politician when she opposed his dictatorial policies. Bizarre behaviors and the use of the state as a “family affair” are equally common in African countries, authoritarian or electoralist. In its implications politics often breeds corruption, and almost all countries of the world are affected by it. Some of the best-known cases of resignation from office or judicial pursuit in Japan, Western Europe, and the United States have been about official corruption. In the 1990s examples included Italian Prime Ministers Craxi and Berlusconi, Belgian Deputy Prime Minister and former NATO General Secretary Willie Claes, U.S. congressman Dan Rostenkowski, the French Socialist president of National Assembly, Japan’s prime minister’s office, and so forth. In this sense corruption is as banal in Western politics as it is in non-Western politics and should not constitute a defining factor for a category of countries. Yet in Africa, Asia, and South America it displays a specificity—its higher level and higher tolerance (than in Western countries). In surveys done by Transparency International most corrupt countries of the world are in Africa, Asia, and South America: Nigeria, Pakistan, Kenya, Bangladesh, China, Cameroon, Venezuela, Brazil, India, and Indonesia are frequently on the list. Generally, the least corrupt countries are Western, joined by such countries as Singapore and Chile. Indicative of the high level of corruption is the statement by Argentinean Professor Roberto Cortez Conde: “There are always frauds in the world, but in Argentina we seem to have an excessive number.”48 Cortez expresses a general sentiment; in most Third World countries people believe that their own country is the most corrupt. Although Cortez did not provide an explanation for this excess, Zaire (today Congo) President Mobutu, one of the world’s most corrupt power holders, offered one that applies perfectly to Argentina and other countries: In a word, everything is for sale, anything can be bought in our country. And in this flow, he who holds the slightest cover of public authority uses it illegally to acquire money, goods, prestige, or to avoid all kinds

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of obligations. Even worse, the citizen who simply asks for his most legitimate rights to be respected is subject to an invisible tax, which is then openly pocketed by officials. . . . In the face of all these evils, we must acknowledge that, all too often, the state and the Party have not discouraged the bad and encouraged the good.49 Mobutu’s description and explanation of corruption are apt indeed. Corruption in Africa, Asia, and South America is often a direct result of the pervasive recourse to the illicit use of the coercive power of the state. A corollary is the almost total absence of repressive policies against the perpetrators, a crucial differentiating factor from corruption in Western countries. This unpunished aspect of corruption is so well acknowledged that it was a major issue in the presidential election debate in Mexico in 2000. The absence of repressive policies does not suggest that formal legal procedures against corruption do not exist; rather, it means that the procedures are not respected, and often bribery or intimidation allows would-be prosecuted or jailed corruptors to escape jail terms and punishment. Such a situation breeds more corruption. This point is by no means contradicted by the high-visibility accusations and political actions taken in the 1990s against South American corrupt leaders, such as the impeachment of Brazil’s Fernando Collor de Mello, the impeachment of Venezuela’s Carlos Andres Perez, the exile of Peru’s Alan Garcia, and the implication of Mexico’s Carlos Salinas in the corrupt practices of his brother. These actions were taken as the result of two phenomena not inconsistent with the overpoliticized state. First, they were part of the worldwide wave of democratization and reform, which gathered momentum earlier in South America than in Africa and Asia and, for this reason, targeted some of the most visible cases of corruption. Second, these political actions were part of mass open revolts against illicit use of state coercive power by the power holders since open revolts, like violent opposition, often constitute the best means of opposition in an overpoliticized state. As could be expected, during the 1996 to 2000 period, the illicit use of state coercive power was practiced in many of the countries that remained authoritarian. But democratic regimes did the same. In democratic regimes, corruption became the practice of choice. But they resorted to other aspects of illicit coercion as well. In Africa the three best cases are Benin, Zambia, and Cote d’Ivoire. With good reason, Benin was cited as an exemplar of “consolidated democracy” in Africa. It was among the first peaceful transitions to electoralism in Africa in 1991, and in 1996 new elections were held in which the incumbent government of President Nicephore Soglo was voted out of office and replaced by the former military authoritarian leader Mathieu Kerekou, whom Soglo had replaced in 1991. Yet this claim of “consolidation” not only ignores electoral violence in 1991 (e.g., in the Borgou region) and

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fraud in 1996 but does not take into account the fact that as he left office in 1996 President Soglo was illegally subjected to judicial inquiry by the Kerekou government. Only Soglo’s appeal to his supporters and a massive demonstration dissuaded the government from pursuing the matter. In Zambia, another earlier case of peaceful transition to electoralism in Africa, the already mentioned custom-made constitutional amendment voted in at the instigation of President Frederick Chiluba to prevent former President Kaunda from running for office was strengthened by governmental violence against the former president. He was charged with “misprision of treason” for concealing his part in a failed 1997 coup, which carries a maximum of life imprisonment. Cote d’Ivoire’s case resembled that of Zambia. President Konan Bedie and the ruling party, who feared the election victory of one of his opposition rivals, Alousane Ouattara, a former prime minister under Houphouet-Boigny, attempted, through massive propaganda and legal maneuvering, to deprive Ouattara of legibility rights by claiming falsely that he was not born in Cote d’Ivoire and that he carried false identification papers. An international arrest warrant was issued against Ouattara, who, for this reason, was forced to stay outside Cote d’Ivoire. His supporters were intimidated and reduced to silence. This illicit use of coercive power of the state served as the leading cause of the 1999 military coup led by General Robert Guei, whose acts included, among others, permission given to Ouattara to return to the country. Yet in 2000 General Guei’s own political ambitions caused him to use the same tactic against Ouattara by sponsoring a constitutional project that would exclude Ouattara from running for office. The end result was violence, instability, and fraudulent elections that led to Laurent Gbagbo’s victory. In Asia examples of the illicit use of state coercive power included the deaths of political prisoners in Turkey in 1996 and pervasive corruption in Thailand, Taiwan, and Pakistan. In Pakistan, one needs to mention the unending charges against Benazir Bhutto’s family for corruption and abuse of power, including a $200 million commission that was to be paid to the family by a European gun manufacturer. A more blatant case was Malaysia in 1998. In his attempt to fend off the challenge to his leadership and to his economic policies, Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad arrested and jailed his deputy, Anwar Ibrahim, on a false charge of sexual misconduct and endangering state security. Despite massive protests from Ibrahim’s supporters, he was tortured, found guilty, and left behind bars. He was released years later. Recourse to illicit coercive power of the state in South America during the 1996 to 2000 period was vastly reflected in the pervasive corruption that many of its countries share with their African and Asian counterparts. Although a few countries, such as Uruguay and Chile, displayed a low level of corruption, most were plagued by it. Practices included embezzling international aid to El Nino and earthquake victims and twenty-two congressmen

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forging work papers to boost their pay in Bolivia, a total lack of accountability castigated even by Pope John Paul II, in Argentina, and false charges leveled against the general comptroller by the president in an attempt to silence him and to prevent investigations into corruption in Nicaragua. In addition to corruption, acts of illicit coercive power of the state included the abduction of human rights advocates in Bolivia in 1998; death squads in Chiapas (Mexico) in 1998, Ecuador in 1999, Honduras in 1998, and Guatemala where the bishop of Guatemala City was assassinated in 1998;50 and the dismissal of three out of five constitutional tribunal judges who rejected President Fujimori’s interpretative law in Peru in 1997, not to mention the events (the use of bribery, corruption, and coercion by Fujimori’s secret service) that precipitated Fujimori’s resignation and exile in November 2000. Dictatorial Power In Africa examples of dictatorial power include Cameroon between 1960 and 1966. Like many other African countries, Cameroon was perforce an electoralist regime when it became independent in 1960. Under President Ahidjo, who used the Bamileke insurgency as an excuse, the regime was turned into a “police state, with military tribunals to pass sentence on dissidents without the right of appeal, a one-party state in 1966, the scrapping of the federal constitution, a heavily censored press and the detention of thousands of political prisoners.”51 These powers, which strengthened themselves under worldwide authoritarianism of the 1966–89 subperiod, persisted during the 1990–96 “democratization” subperiod as exemplified by the three-month state of emergency imposed in 1992. Chad was also an electoralist regime facing the same situation under President Tombalbaye from 1960 to 1965. In 1962 all opposition parties were banned and scores of political opponents were arrested, culminating in the 1965 civil war that has had indelible effects on Chad. Because it became independent in 1957, before most other African countries, Ghana under Kwame N’krumah remained an electoralist regime for a longer period than did most other African countries during the 1948–66 period. Yet, like most other countries, it did not pass the rigorous electoral test. Using the Preventive Detention Bill voted in 1958 and the 1960 N’krumah-tailored constitution that gave the president dictatorial powers, the Nkrumah government fended off any electoral challenge from opposition parties. About 1,361 political opponents were detained from 1960 to 1965. A 1964 plebiscite made the country into a one-party state, and in the 1965 parliamentary elections President N’krumah appointed the members of parliament rather than holding elections for them. On this score, the N’krumah electoralist regime did not differ from the various military authoritarian regimes that succeeded it. In 1991 authoritarian rule was replaced by an electoralist regime under Jerry Rawlings, who was reelected in December 1996. Yet this did not prevent a

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recourse to emergency powers in 1995 to deal with the explosion of violence against the government’s economic policies dictated by the International Monetary Fund (IMF). As in Ghana, the electoralist regime in Uganda, which was established in 1961 under Milton Obote, had recourse to dictatorial power. Faced with a power struggle with President Edward Mutesa, who was also the kabaka (king) of Buganda, Prime Minister Obote and his party sought progressively to wrest powers from the president and his regionalist party. He succeeded in doing so, assuming the function of president in lieu of Mutesa in 1966 after the “Battle of the Palace” that destroyed Mutesa’s kingdom power base militarily in 1966 and forced him into exile. Dictatorial powers also occurred, from a different angle, in electoralist regimes such as Congo-Zaire and Togo. Here, as in Rome, dictatorial powers were “temporarily” assumed by military dictators to allow the civilian democratic government to “clean up its act.” In Congo-Zaire it was General Mobutu who “neutralized” the Lumumba government and President Kasavubu in 1960 to allow a series of new civilian governments, and in Togo General Etienne Eyadema overthrew the Olympio government in 1963 to allow the advent of the Grunitzky government. In both cases the temporary dictators reassumed definitive authoritarian power in subsequent coups d’état. Both Congo-Zaire and Togo offer proof that in non-Western countries dictatorial powers occur in electoralist and authoritarian regimes alike. Dictatorial powers were used by almost all African countries during the 1967 to 1989 authoritarian era. During the 1990 to 2000 democratization period countries such as Egypt, Morocco, Congo-Zaire, Nigeria, and Equatorial Guinea, which remained authoritarian despite a facade of multipartism, resorted to dictatorial power as much as did those, like Congo or Zambia that made the transition to democracy. In Egypt the Political Parties Tribunal banned Nasserite parties in 1990 while allowing Islamist parties to exist, a situation that explains partly the resurgence and spread of Islamic fundamentalism, which, in turn, forced the state to extend and reinforce the emergency laws that existed under Sadat. Morocco’s King Hassan II’s long-held dictatorial powers were revealed in 1991 when he released from prison General Oufkir’s family after detaining them for eighteen years without trial after Oufkir attempted to assassinate the king and committed suicide in 1973. In 1994 he also released 424 political prisoners who were victims of unjust trials.52 In Nigeria countless arrests of members of the opposition under the military regimes of Generals Babangida and Abacha, including that of the former (and current) President Obasanjo, and the execution of members of the opposition, including writer-activist Ken Saro-Wiwa, shows the extent to which authoritarian regimes resorted to dictatorial power during this period. Countries that effected the transition to democracy or electoralism did the same. The Algerian case has already been mentioned in relation to the electoral coup in 1991. It was this coup against the electoral victory of the

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Islamic Salvation Front, which, by forcing the Islamic party into violence, caused the government to impose a lasting state of siege. In Congo-Brazzaville the elected government of President Lissouba could govern only because of and with the consent of the army, which was hailed as the “guarantor of democracy” in 1992, and by relying on heavy censorship imposed on opposition newspapers and media. A royal “coup” in Lesotho in 1994 resulted in the suspension of some sections of the constitution by King Letsie III in an attempt to prevent the BCP from governing. The same type of move was made in Zambia where an indefinite state of emergency was imposed in 1993 by the elected government of President Chiluba to “thwart citizens—that is the opposition UNIP—bent on plunging the nation into chaos.”53 The Asian situation resembles the African one. Myanmar (Burma) was a democratic regime from independence in 1948 to 1958. As in Congo-Zaire in 1960 and Togo in 1963, the 1958–62 “temporary” control of power by general Ne Win meant a recourse to dictatorial power in a democratic regime, although he also returned power to civilians, and national elections were held and a democratic government formed in 1962. As in both African countries also, Ne Win retook power and inaugurated the long military authoritarian rule and its frequent use of dictatorial powers. In this sense Myanmar provides another example of recourse to dictatorial powers by both electoralist and authoritarian regimes. Under authoritarian regimes, instances of dictatorial powers in Myanmar include the 1964 ban on political parties, the 1988 imposition of martial law, the 1990 arrest and 1991 imprisonment of the leaders of the opposition party, whose most prominent member was the Nobel Peace Prize–winner Aung San Suu Kyi, and the closing of more than thirty schools. But dictatorial powers were also wielded in other electoralist regimes such as Pakistan, where journalists were jailed and accused of sedition in 1952 for writing antigovernment articles and where governor’s rule was imposed in East Pakistan (today’s Bangladesh) in 1958; South Korea, which imposed martial law under President Rhee in 1952 and in 1964 under President Chung Hee Park to “prove the strength of the democratically constituted government.”54 Although Iran was neither strictly authoritarian nor electoralist during the 1951 to 1953 Mossadegh government (it became strictly authoritarian after the fall of the Mossadegh government when powers were concentrated in the hands of Shah Mohammed Reza Pahlavi), a power struggle in 1953 resulted in dictatorial powers being extended to Prime Minister Mossadegh. As in Africa, recourse to dictatorial power by electoralist regimes in Asia did not differ from the trend in authoritarian regimes both during the 1948 to 1966 and 1967 to 1989 subperiods. Strictly authoritarian regimes such as Indonesia displayed the same behavior as their electoralist counterparts. In addition to the state of emergency imposed on some of its troubled islands, such as Ceram and Boame in 1955, Indonesia gave dictatorial powers

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to President Sukarno in 1960 to assume the leadership of mobilization, to dissolve political parties, and to appoint and dismiss the members of the three-year Provisional People’s Consultative Assembly. These powers were inherited with slight modifications by his successor, Suharto. Other authoritarian regimes, as discussed in section 2 above, behaved similarly during the 1967 to 1989 subperiod. The dictatorial powers of Mohammed Daoud Khan in Afghanistan, the imposition of martial law by the Ershad government in Bangladesh, in the Philippines by Marcos in 1972 and 1984, and in South Korea by Chun Doo in 1985 reveal deep similarities with electoralist regimes. For the 1990–96 subperiod those countries that made the transition to democracy and those that remained authoritarian displayed similar dictatorial behaviors. In addition to the already discussed cases of Myanmar, Indonesia, and Afghanistan, examples of “recalcitrant” authoritarian regimes included Vietnam, China, and almost all Middle Eastern countries. In these countries the patterns of recourse to dictatorial powers observed during the 1967 to 1989 subperiod were not discontinued. In Iran the post–Ayatollah Khomeini regime had to resort to countless purges, arrests, and executions of political opponents to stem the oppositional tides. In 1990 Amnesty International claimed that five thousand people had been executed by the theocratic regime. Bans, arrests, and executions also characterized the much-publicized Iraqian case, especially after Saddam Hussain’s army invaded Kuwait in 1990 and was defeated by a U.S.-led coalition. In 1995, for instance, amendments to the constitution confirmed the ban on political parties other than the ruling Ba’th Party. In Jordan the effects of earlier dictatorial powers, including martial law in 1970 and the ban on political parties and on the Jordanian Writers Society, were felt in 1992 and 1994; political opponents of King Hussein, who were generally associated with the banned organizations, were sentenced to death for plotting to assassinate the king. In 1993 academics and “modernists” involved in a Committee for Defense of Legitimate Rights were arrested and charged by the Saudi royal family with unlawful political activities. Syria’s martial law regulations, in place since 1958, were still operative in the 1990s; their effects were visible in 1992 when six hundred political prisoners, victims of these regulations, were released from prison to mark President’s Assad’s fourth term in office. The trend in all these countries did not deviate much from that in small sheikhdoms such as Qatar, Oman, Bahrain, and the United Arab Emirates, whose absolutist institutional frameworks predisposed them to resorting frequently to dictatorial powers. Democratic regimes resorted to dictatorial powers as well during this period. In addition to states of emergency and direct federal rule imposed on regional administrations, the untouchable power of the army made itself felt on many occasions in Pakistan. In 1990 the conflict between the Bhutto government and the military over the means of controlling violence in Sindh

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Province was resolved in favor of the military who favored martial law over the civil judicial system advocated by Bhutto. The military convinced the president to fire Bhutto. In 1992 a presidential ordinance granted immunity to the army from criminal and civil liability and full powers to search and arrest. By increasing its power, the military felt secure enough to pressure, via its chief of staff General Abdul Waheed, President Khan and Prime Minister Sharif to resign in 1993 and to impose a “grand coalition scheme” under which Bhutto’s PPP and Sharif’s PML would alternate and hold power for two and one-half years. The untouchable power of the army was also felt in the Philippines, where the transition to democracy under Corazon Aquino was made possible only because of the military support to her rule. It was no surprise that she appointed General Rodolfo Biazon, who rescued her regime from the 1989 coup attempt by the rebelling soldiers, as chief of staff. Neither was it surprising that she endorsed General Fidel Ramos for the presidency when she retired from office in 1992. Indeed, Ramos was instrumental in allowing her to assume office in 1986 in the face of opposition from the Marcos forces and in defeating countless coup attempts against her government by the army. The army’s role in the making of the Aquino (and Ramos) electoralist regime rendered the latter as dependent on military dictatorial powers as a military authoritarian regime. In fact, the role of the army was so crucial that the U.S. Pentagon under President Bush predicted a chaotic situation in the Philippines in 1999 in which “in the aftermath of a major coup attempt, fighting continues with the military divided into different factions vying for control.”55 This prediction did not materialize in these precise terms but the military remains as instrumental in maintaining the electoralist regime in 2006 as it was in 1986. One recalls the events of May 2001, 2005, and 2006 when coup attempts and mass rioting directed against President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo did not succeed in overthrowing her because a faction of the military remained loyal to her. The presence of military dictatorial powers in electoralist regimes is further attested to by Thailand. As seen earlier, coalition governments in Thailand are based on the electoral and parliamentary strength of political parties. Yet these parties are often sponsored by the military, which often leads the coalition governments and almost always favor policies that advance the military’s interests. The electoralist regime is at the mercy of the military, which, as General Pichit Kullavanijaya stated, “has been an important force in society for 700 years, and has to be given a proper role in politics.” By virtue of this historical role the military warned in 1983 that “the new electoral system would only result in bringing the capitalists into parliament, and, if there was no change in the constitution, the military might well have to exercise (to step in) to protect the security of the nation and the interest of the people.”56 The 1994 constitutional changes maintained many of the 1978 promilitary constitution. Invariably, antidemocratic acts by the military are

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softly, if at all, punished. For example, the civilian government, which replaced the repressive military government formed after the 1991 coup, did not punish military officers who were responsible for the brutal repression of prodemocracy forces. Countries such as Bangladesh and South Korea also made the transition to democracy or electoralism while displaying the same dictatorial powers as authoritarian regimes. Bangladesh imposed new emergency measures in 1992, and South Korea still relied on bans and police raids against opposition labor organizations and their supporters in 1995. Bans, press censorship, and arrests still took place in Singapore. Taiwan resorted consistently to dictatorial powers even after the transition to democracy in 1988 when Lee Teng-hui was elected president (he was reelected through a more open electoral system than the previously Kwomintang-controlled system) and martial law regulations were lifted. The 1948 Emergency powers (“temporary provisions”) still served as the framework within which dissidents and opposition members were charged with sedition. In South America the 1948–66 subperiod was characterized by the first wave of democratization. But the experiment did not preclude the existence of authoritarian rules, which alternated with electoralist ones. The alternation between authoritarian and electoralist regimes meant that both types of regime experienced dictatorial powers equally. Examples of dictatorial powers in electoralist regimes included Argentina where Peron imposed censorship on the media, including shutting down more than fifty newspapers for not emphasizing the national observance day of the “year of the liberator, General San Martin,” purged the universities, and proclaimed the state of siege in 1955 after an abortive coup by the Navy. Under the Frondizi government the state of siege was extended indefinitely after an abortive coup in 1958, and the Peronist 1948 emergency law was revived in 1960. In Brazil, in addition to the ban on the Communist Party and its newspapers in 1950, the untouchable power of the army, which culminated in the 1964 coup, was felt when it pressured the president to dismiss “leftist” labor minister Joao Goulart and sought to prevent the inauguration of President Juscelino Kubitschek and Vice-president Goulart in 1955. The form taken by dictatorial powers in electoralist regimes varied from one country to another. Cases include the nineteen-month emergency powers in Chile in 1949, the thirty-day suspension of constitutional guarantees in Peru in 1958 because of insurgent activities, the strong presence of the military in presidential elections and the state of siege directed against the “red plot” in El Salvador, martial law against the conservatives in Guatemala in 1950, and the suspension of civil liberties in Panama under the rule of President Ernesto de la Guardia in 1958. As in Africa and Asia, the recourse to these powers revealed deep similarities between electoralist and authoritarian regimes. Examples of authoritarian regimes that resorted to dictatorial powers include Paraguay, where

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General Stroessner governed the country under a permanent state of siege after his 1954 coup d’état; Batista’s Cuba in the post-1952 period, which resorted, among other means, to martial law in 1953 and the suspension of constitutional guarantees in 1958 in the face of the Castro rebellion; and Guatemala in the post-1956 period when it was dominated by the leftist insurgency. By 1964, the year of the military coup in Brazil, South America as a whole had made a sharp turn toward the “new bureaucratic authoritarianism,” which ended roughly around 1985 in many countries. During this subperiod, almost all authoritarian continental South American countries resorted to dictatorial powers. During the postauthoritarian period, most South American electoralist regimes resorted to dictatorial powers as well. States of emergency and a variety of bans were imposed in such countries as Guyana in 1991, Honduras, and Ecuador in 1988. In Ecuador President Duran Ballen refused in 1994 to abide by the ruling of the Court of Constitutional Guarantees that found his decision on price hikes unconstitutional; backed by the military, he called the ruling valueless. And bypassing the constitutional proviso on budget in 1995, he ignored the national congress-approved budget and signed his own budget into law. Although not quite as dramatic, Duran’s actions resembled, in some respects, Peru’s Fujimori’s autocoup in 1992. The autogolpe in Peru was preceded by a series of emergency measures such as the state of emergency imposed and extended in some provinces and the emergency powers granted to Fujimori for 150 days to combat guerrilla activities, especially those of the Shining Path. In 1992, as the result of the army’s backing, entire sections of the constitution and the parliament were suspended and full dictatorial powers were assumed: The new decrees on the security situation amounted to a military occupation of the state. They gave the armed forces broad powers to take the initiative from the local civilian authorities, to expropriate property and financial assets, to mobilize the population and institutions in emergency zones, and to enter the universities and prisons, regarded as centres of recruitment and indoctrination for the Maoist Shining Path (Sendero Luminoso) guerrilla group. Anyone publishing confidential information relating to national defence issues would be liable to five to ten years imprisonment.57 Such extensive dictatorial powers allowed Fujimori to draft his own constitution and have the draft approved by his rubber-stamp Congress in 1993. Although rejected by the opposition, the constitution was appproved by a small margin by his supporters in a referendum. The pervasive role granted the army and its attendant human rights abuses were protected by the Su-

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preme Court, which, in a 1994 fraudulent vote, transferred the hearings on the abuses to a military tribunal more sympathetic to the military cause. The decision was decried even by the U.S. government. Fujimori was emulated by Guatemala President Jorge Serrano in 1993 when he closed the Congress and the Supreme Court, suspended constitutional rights, and assumed full power with the support of the military. Unlike Fujimori, however, Serrano’s support quickly evaporated, and he was not successful. In most South American electoralist regimes, the untouchable dictatorial powers of the army were reaffirmed and strengthened through four mechanisms: (1) structuring national security laws of the cold war era into new legislation and constitutions, (2) manipulating the legacy of fear, (3) defying civilian control to preserve military prerogatives, and (4) continuing repressive activities.58 In addition, the military’s long-standing involvement in strategic aspects of the economy provided it with veto power in negotiations over economic reforms. The facts confirm these points. Bolivia returned to electoralism in 1982. By 1995 it had imposed four states of siege, and the untouchable power of its army as laid down by the constitution was reaffirmed by President Sanchez de Lozada, who promised to double it in 1993. As an indication of the army’s powers, former Presidentdictator Luis Garcia was sentenced in absentia in 1993 for his dictatorial acts, yet he was hiding in the country with the army’s protection. In Ecuador the Association of Retired Generals and Admirals publicly opposed President Duran’s privatization plans because they interfered with areas of the economy closely linked to national security and to twenty-three military-controlled businesses. In Guatemala’s 1990 presidential elections the candidates were approved by the military before running, which is very consistent with the 1985 constitutional broad proviso that authorizes the military to preserve internal security and defend the constitution. Perhaps, it is this strongly held view that led Panamaians to reject President’s Endara’s proposal to abolish the army in a 1992 referendum. The transition in Paraguay also revealed the immense dictatorial powers of the army, which resisted any constitutional reform of itself. General Rodriguez, who overthrew Stroessner, viewed the act of the Assembly barring him from seeking a second term as “an affront to the armed forces.”59 This was echoed by General Lino Oviedo, who predicted before the 1993 elections that “the army and the Colorado Party would rule for centuries.”60 Intimidated, perhaps, the newly elected president Juan Carlos Wasmosy appointed General Oviedo to the top army position and, as did Aquino in the Philippines, relied heavily, in the inevitable conflict with the military, on the military faction that supported him. The end result was a revolt in 1996 against the president by General Oviedo. The military’s role and dictatorial powers are as important in the more “successful” cases of “consolidated democracy” such as Argentina, Uruguay,

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and Brazil. In Argentina a 1990 decree signed by President Menem entitled the army to intervene in the event of a “state of internal disturbance serious enough to endanger the life, liberty, property, or security of the country’s inhabitants.”61 The role assigned to the army was, thus, congruent with the protection of its dictatorial powers as attested to by the immunity granted to all but the most senior military officers implicated in the “dirty war” waged by the military governments that followed the 1974 coup. The incorporation of the army’s traditional prerogatives within the new constitutional structures was a combined outcome of heavy pressure put by the military on the Alfonsin and Menem governments and destabilizing events such as the leftist attack against the military garrison at La Tablada in 1989. A clear indication of the central role played by the military was President Menem’s appointment of retired and active military officers to the main national security institutions (e.g., Interior Ministry, State Intelligence Service).62 Uruguay did the same when in 1993 President Luis Lacalle reinstituted laws that traditionally protected the military—a 1993 bill allowed the armed forces to intervene in domestic conflicts. In Brazil negotiations for the transition to electoralism gathered momentum around 1985. The army was a major actor in those negotiations. It was the army that imposed a presidential system rather than a parliamentary one;63 the commanders of the three armed services, the secretary general of the National Defense Council and the head of the Armed Forces General Staff were made members of the cabinet. Article 148 of the 1988 constitution gave the armed forces the right to intervene in the political system whenever law and order were deemed under threat. One example of these interventions was the statement signed by eighty military officers in 1991 criticizing the Congress for allowing a pay increase for its members. In 1993, expressing its discontent over government instability, the low level of defense expenditures, the army’s low pay and social conditions, and regionalist separatist threats, the army warned that democracy could not be allowed to commit suicide. Fully aware of the intentions of the military, acting President Franco ordered the implementation of an equal salary law to bring armed forces’ pay in line with that of civil servants. Although President Cardoso placed the military under civilian control in the 1990s, the untouchable powers of the military remained strong.64 The Chilean case is not unlike that of Brazil or Argentina, except, perhaps, for the fact that Chile’s transition came later than in the other two countries. From 1989 to 1996 former President-dictator General Pinochet revealed the full extent of military powers as he shaped, resisted, and controlled the process of democratic transition. Although Pinochet was rejected in a 1988 plebiscite and two presidential elections (1989 and 1993) took place, he secured de facto military full powers through his 1980 constitution

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(later modified by the elected governments). This made the reform task of both Presidents Aylwin and Frei difficult. Through the institutional framework that he developed before leaving office (e.g., the staffing of the Senate and the Supreme Court), General Pinochet blocked or attempted to block any reform proposals prepared by the newly elected governments. For instance, as in Peru, the Supreme Court handed the task of investigating the “disappeared,” victims of Pinochet’s authoritarian rule, to a military tribunal much more sympathetic to the military. A rumor of a law by President Aylwin to prosecute military abuses of human rights in 1993 triggered a full military mobilization in full combat gear in a show of force outside the presidential palace. Pinochet dismissed any government’s attempt at investigation and reforms. He promised to ignore the constitution and opposed any compensations to the families of the victims of his repressive measures. Moreover, General Pinochet supported a military officer who was castigated by President Frei’s government for his role in a 1985 massacre, and his army still celebrated the 1973 coup with a twenty-one gun salute. The full impact of the army in the Chilean electoralist regime was demonstrated in 1994 when to President Frei’s inclusion of the army within the framework of the broad national project, Pinochet responded by urging the government to enhance the army’s prestige and to involve it in the “global development” of society and not to restrict it to national defense. That military dictatorial powers characterize South American electoralist regimes was recognized by Nicaragua’s foreign minister, Enrique Dreyfus, in 1991. Commenting on the heavy involvement of the Sandinista-controlled army in Nicaragua under the Chamorro electoralist regime, he said: “The continued influence of the Sandinistas over the army here is not substantially different from the situation in Chile and El Salvador, where elected presidents must tread carefully in dealing with powerful armies.”65 Dictatorial powers are just as pervasive in “old” democracies of the pre1990 period. In Africa, Senegal, Mauritius, Botswana, and Zimbabwe are examples. Senegal’s use of dictatorial powers was evident under President Leopold Sedar Senghor as when he fended off challenges from his prime minister and political rival Mamadou Dia in 1961, an episode that culminated in the de facto authoritarian one-party state until the reliberalization in 1974. As already mentioned, electoral fraud and violence led to state of emergency in 1988, and in 1990 the heretofore unintrusive military presence was felt when in the April cabinet change the armed forces, who had expressed their discontent to and warned President Diouf, were appointed to the top ministerial posts. In Mauritius a state of emergency was imposed in 1971 by the Ramgoolam government to settle a labor dispute with the dockers, which represented “a significant dent in the democratic record of Mauritius.”66 Botswana joined many African authoritarian regimes in 1988 when it suspended all the students of

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Botswana Polytechnic because they had boycotted classes in protest of the earlier expulsion of thirty-one fellow students. It repeated the behavior in 1989 by closing indefinitely the University of Botswana and expelling all two thousand students who had boycotted classes and demonstrated in protest of the restriction on their rights to demonstrate. In Zimbabwe, in addition to President Mugabe’s unsuccessful attempt to institute a one-party state, a state of emergency was imposed and renewed almost on a permanent basis in the 1980s and early 1990s because of the violence and guerrilla operations in the Matabeleland areas controlled by Jashua Nkomo’s followers and in other areas. In Asia the cases of “old democracies” in India, Sri Lanka, and Malaysia are also instructive. Throughout the 1950s and 1960s, India resorted to dictatorial powers in such states as West Bengal, Punjab, and Kerala. In the 1980s and 1990s many Indian states were placed under president rule, that is, under the emergency direct control of the central government for reasons ranging from electoral violence to guerrilla warfare passing by communal violence. Among the states affected were Kerala, Assam, Bihar, Punjab, Tamil Nadu, Uttar Pradesh, Madya, Rajasthan, Himachal Pradesh, and Kashmir. But perhaps the most dramatic instance of dictatorial powers was the emergency powers imposed by Prime Minister Indira Gandhi in 1975. That year the authority of Gandhi’s government was seriously challenged by the opposition, which went as far as to appeal to the armed forces and the police to disobey the orders of her government. The opposition was helped in this challenge by generalized economic dissatisfaction, guerrilla activities, and the negative ruling against Gandhi in a case of electoral fraud in her reelection in 1971. Reacting swiftly to the challenges, Gandhi invoked article 352 of the constitution. All dissident and suspected dissident leaders were arrested and jailed under Security Acts without any formal charges brought against them. Heavy censorship was imposed on the media, including foreign media, whose leaders were jailed, or expelled if they were foreigners. Twenty-six political organizations were declared illegal and their leaders arrested. Leaders of the legal opposition were also arrested and jailed without trial. Free speech and free assembly were suspended. Taking advantage of the muzzled opposition, the Gandhi government moved to nullify the court’s decision against her in the electoral fraud case and to amend the constitution to prevent the Supreme Court from interfering with the prime minister’s election policies.67 Sri Lanka has already been discussed. Like India, it has resorted to dictatorial powers since the 1950s albeit not always continuously. Emergency powers were used throughout the 1970s. Malaysia’s use of emergency powers dates from colonial times when they were used by the colonial government to fight against proindependence and communist insurgencies. In the postindependence period the government has frequently resorted to them to impose press censorship (e.g., the ban on Inside Asia Magazine for its critical

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articles against the governmment in 1985), to settle communal violence (e.g., in the 1988 Malays vs. Chinese confrontations), and to crackdown on the opposition (e.g., against the Islamic group Al-Argoum). South America’s “perennial democracies” also use dictatorial powers. In Colombia elections had led in 1946 to an electoral victory of the Conservatives. Because of radical opposition between the Conservatives and Liberals over land and power consolidation, party loyalty led to the civil war, La Violencia. Not only did the latter justify the 1953–57 military dictatorship of Gustavo Rojas Pinilla, but it led to a quasi-permanent state of siege from 1949 to 1958. In the post-1970 period countless guerrilla activities and narcotrafficking so provoked the government that emergency measures sometimes called the “state of internal disturbance” have been frequently imposed. Venezuela’s record resembles Colombia’s. From 1948 to 1958, a period dominated by the dictatorship of Perez Jimenez, democratic politics were hostage to the military dictatorial powers. Among the military’s actions were raids on the headquarters of the Accion Democratica Party (AD), an attempted coup to force a ban on leftist parties, press censorship, and the postponement of elections in 1958. The reestablishment of an elected civilian government in 1958 did not prevent president Romulo Betancourt from banning constitutional rights, suspending opposition papers and the freedom of assembly and travel in 1960. Political activities remained restricted throughout the 1960s. By the late 1980s economic difficulties provoked social crises and states of emergency (e.g., in 1989), leading, in the 1990s, to military dictatorial powers to reassert themseves. For example, after the 1992 double attempted military coup, the new interim president who replaced Carlos Andres Perez could be accepted only after the military had voiced its support for him and had obtained a salary raise that diffused its anger. The full impact of dictatorial powers was felt in 1994 when the government announced that all major cities would be militarized as the result of growing unrest, violence, and coup rumors. It suspended all protections from unauthorized arrest and detention, the inviolability of home, the freedom of movement inside and outside the country, the right to engage in any legal economic activity, the right to own property, and the control of expropriation by the state.68 In other small democracies such as Costa Rica and Dominica, dictatorial powers were also resorted to because of invasion by the opposition from outside and electoral violence (Costa Rica in 1955 and 1966, respectively) and because of opposition violence (Dominica in 1994). As could be expected, dictatorial powers remained firm in authoritarian countries during the 1996–2000 “consolidated democracy” subperiod. There is no need to detail their manifestations here. Worth discussing are the manifestations of dictatorial powers in electoralist countries during this subperiod. The untouchable powers of the military in Nigerian elections since 1999 are

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an example. To be sure, unlike his military colleagues who preceded him, General Obasanjo was elected president of Nigeria by universal suffrage. Nevertheless, his choice was dictated by his military roots. Three factors militated in his favor. First, he had been made president in 1975 after the assassination of General Murtala Muhammad and by all accounts behaved as a military dictator. Although he returned power to civilians in 1979, he had shown his attachment to the Nigerian military doctrine of power grabbing. Second, the 1979 elections, which were a corrupt affair, allowed Obasanjo to strengthen his ties with the Northern Nigerian military and political establishment by making it possible for the Northern establishment to maintain power. This act endeared him to the Northern military establishment. Third, Obasanjo, who had been retired from public life since 1979 and was jailed by General Abacha, maintained a relatively positive image among the populace. Competing in 1999 presidential elections against this background and that of a discredited but still powerful military establishment, General Obasanjo was, thus, the best choice for the Northern military establishment. He was, in fact, helped financially in his campaign efforts by General Babangida, who was himself president-dictator before Abacha. Expectedly, he was reelected in 2004, confirming that Nigerian electoralist regime rests on the untouchable powers of the military. The untouchable powers of the military were also felt in democratic Turkey, Indonesia, and Thailand during the 1996 to 2000 subperiod. Although the involvement of the army in Turkey’s political life can be traced back to Kemal Ataturk’s takeover in 1923, it was the 1960 coup d’état by young radical officers that codified it. Since then the military has been the real power in Turkey. Although ostensibly “democratic,” Turkey’s electoralist regime rests on military untouchable powers. The constitution itself was written by the military, and entrenched practices recognize and reflect this reality. The National Security Council, which comprises six generals, is given the power to veto any decision related to domestic and foreign policies. It is this almost unlimited power of the military that caused it to demand the resignation of Prime Minister Necmetin Erbakan in 1997 when he differed with the military on how to combat Islamic fundamentalism. It is revealing that in February 2000 the credibility of the power of the newly elected president of Indonesia, Abdurrahman Wahid, rested on his ability to dismiss the head of the Indonesian army, General Wiranto, who had been troublesome for the civilian government and who had committed human rights abuses in East Timor. Wahid stopped short of dismissing the general, but managed to make him an “inactive cabinet minister”—a confused position that simply revealed the inability of the president to act unwaveringly vis-à-vis the military. (The general did eventually step down.) In Thailand not only did high military officers refuse to pay their loan arrears to the military bank, but in 1999 they

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opposed the complaint bills proposed in the parliament against the military, the government, and the judiciary. They distributed leaflets addressed to the prime minister, asking him to halt the bills and the reforms of the army and circulated rumors of a pending coup and of an assassination threat against the prime minister. Although no such threat was present in South Korea, the effects of the dictatorial powers were still being felt as about four hundred political prisoners were still held in jail by 1999. The National Security Act still served as a justification for the arrest of dissidents and opposition members because the advent of electoralism did not lead to the dismantlement of the repressive apparatus of the authoritarian era. In South America dictatorial powers during the 1996 to 2003 “consolidated democracy” subperiod were mostly reflected by the military untouchable powers. In Honduras, for instance, these powers were (are) an effect and a cause of the concentrated economic strength of the military. Like other powerful militaries in South America, the Honduran army is, through the Instituto de Provision Militar, one of the eight most powerful economic groups in the country. This allows it to hold easily a veto power on policy matters. In 1999 a civilian was placed, for the first time since 1963, in charge of the army. But the military rebelled in July 1999, when he attempted to investigate the financial dealings of the army and to restructure its hierarchy. The presidential palace was cordoned off by the army as they discussed the matter with the president while his helicopter waited outside to taxi him off amid coup rumors. The electoral success of President Hugo Chavez in Venezuela in 1998 and his subsequent policy decisions also revealed military dictatorial powers, albeit in favor of the impoverished populace. Symptomatic of these powers are the major role assigned to the army in Chavez’s three-stage development plan; the reinstatement of the army officers who were discharged after Chavez’s 1992 coup attempt; the attempt to lift the constitutional prohibition against military involvement in politics; the decision to move the military parade, normally held on February 2, to February 4, the anniversary of the Chavez military coup attempt; Chavez’s defiance of the prohibition imposed by the Supreme Court against his campaign for his own candidates for the Constituent Assembly; and the role played by the army’s in both the temporary overthrow and reinstatement of Chavez in 2002. In addition to the many states of emergency it imposed, Ecuador’s example of military dictatorial powers was the January 2000 overthrow of the president and his replacement by a temporary military junta. President Fujimori’s reliance on the military dictatorial powers caused former Presidents Fernando Belaunde and Alan Garcia to also call on the military in 1999 to oppose a third term for Fujimori and to form a civilian-military coalition for a “democratic coup.” In Paraguay the untouchable powers of the military were revealed by the Oviedo affair. In 1996, as described above, General Oviedo led a failed

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coup against President Juan Carlos Wasmosy. He was arrested and sentenced to ten years in prison even though he managed to register and run as a presidential candidate. His ally and running mate, Raul Cubas Grau, who became president in 1998, freed him by decree after a special military court reversed the sentence. The Supreme Court ruled against the reversal, but Oviedo was set free as Cubas kept his promise of “Cubas in government, Oviedo in power.” Summing up the dictatorial nature of the affair, a civilian observer of the military dictatorship asked, “How can people believe in democracy, how can they believe in anything when the President simply decides to ignore an order of the court and nothing happens?”69 In Argentina and Chile dictatorial powers were often the lingering effects of the military authoritarian era and, hence, of the untouchable powers of the armed forces. Although in Argentina one had to contend with some other aspects of dictatorial powers (e.g., President Menem’s government’s brutal treatment of the press), the 1996–2000 period was dominated by the implications of the 1986 and 1987 laws that prevented the prosecution of the military involved in the “dirty war” of the authoritarian era. The debate around these laws revealed the power of the military. Attempts to prosecute some of the military officers involved by repealing both laws in 1998 were useless because the repeal was not retroactive and many officers had already been granted amnesty. More importantly, the military was still defiant and threatened politicians who raised human rights issues. This situation was not unlike that which prevailed in Chile. The untouchable powers of the military discussed previously made themselves felt in 1998 and 1999 as the Pinochet affair was internationalized with his arrest in England by order of the Spanish court, which sought his extradition to Spain to face charges of torture against the victims of his dictatorship. Symptomatic of their collective fear of the untouchable powers of the military, the elected presidents of Mercosur countries (Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Paraguay and Uruguay, Chile) signed a joint declaration to oppose the extradition of Pinochet. It was precisely the untouchable powers of the military that forced the Frei government to fight against the extradition, thus softening the restlessness of the military, which felt that the government was not doing enough for the release of General Pinochet. When a group of eleven socialist deputies sent an open letter to the British court, urging it, contrary to President Frei’s view, to uphold the extradition request, one of the signatories of the letter, Juan Bustos, was censured and removed from the presidency of the Chamber of Deputies’ Commission on citizens’ safety. Although, in the end, his deteriorating health prevented Pinochet from being extradited to Spain, the same outcome might have occurred if he had not been physically incapacitated. As in Argentina, attempts to solve the problem of the “disappeared” were fiercely resisted by the army; retired military officers formed a resistance organization called Chile, mi

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Patria to oppose the truth about the “disappeared.” In 1999 the group issued a stern warning against the arrest of General Gordon, the highest-ranking officer prosecuted by then, protesting “a virulent campaign against the prestige of the armed forces.”70 Not until 2005 did the court show the upper hand in the matter. Illicit Opposition Like illicit use of state coercion and dictatorial powers, illicit opposition is inherent in authoritarian regimes. In this sense it has existed in almost all the countries that adopted authoritarianism in Africa, Asia, and South America, especially during the 1967 to 1989 subperiod. In the post-1989 period illicit opposition persisted in almost all Middle Eastern countries, in some African countries, in Cuba, and in Asian countries such as China and Vietnam because of the persistence of authoritarianism. Underground activities, clandestine publications, claims to secession, and exile constituted the main means used by the groups involved. Groups in electoralist regimes also resorted to these activities. During the 1948 to 1966 subperiod, examples of illicit opposition in Africa included some two million Guinean exiles who fled President Sekou Toure’s repressive rule to live in Senegal, France, and other countries. Although some of these exiles participated, in concert with Portuguese colonialists, in the 1970 violent invasion and aborted coup aimed at overthrowing the Toure regime, many of them remained inoffensive in foreign countries. Underlying the 1966 power struggle in Uganda between Prime Minister Obote and Mutesa (the Kabaka of Buganda) was the threat of secession by the Kabaka. Because the Obote government did not cause the secession by an open act of violence and did not condone it, such a threat constituted an illicit opposition. Before it became a violent affair when the Lumumba government initiated military actions in an attempt to recapture the seceding province, the proclamation of the Katanga Secession in Congo-Zaire in 1960 constituted illicit opposition. Other types of illicit and clandestine activities were observed during the 1948 to 1966 subperiod in many African countries as their sharp authoritarian turn resulted in exiles and other clandestine activities by the opposition. In Asia, before it became an outright case of violent opposition, the early attempts by Kashmir Muslims (e.g., Mirza Afzal Beg) to secede from India constituted an example of illicit opposition. Illicit opposition also took place in Saudi Arabia, where opposition against the absolutist monarchy was expressed by such reformists as Prince Talal, who went into exile in Egypt in 1961.71 In South American countries examples included Haitian exiles under the Duvalier regime and political exiles in such countries as Bolivia.

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The flourishing illicit opposition that accompanied generalized authoritarianism of the 1966–79 subperiod was tempered by the wave of democratization in the post-1990 period. Still, illicit opposition persisted in such countries as Uganda and Swaziland; Bangladesh, Indonesia, and Taiwan before the election of President Lee Teng-hui; and Iraq, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Syria, Jordan, and the small emirates, where illicit opposition took the form of exile and underground political activities. Clandestine dissent in Saudi Arabia and Kuwait crystallized around religious and intellectual groups intent on reforming the two absolutist monarchies by calling for representative institutions. Such calls were made through clandestine means, including foreign-based publications such as the London-based, anti-Saudi monarchy Arabian Peninsula and through defections and exile such as those of the Saudi vice-consul in Houston in 1994. In South America illicit opposition in the democratization period includes secessionist movements such as those in Brazil’s southern states of Rio Grande do Sul, Parana, and Santa Catarina and in Bolivia’s southern Tarija Department. It is also illustrated by the presence of new dissent groups such as the Torrijist Patriotic Vanguard (VPT-20) in Panama and the Justice of Venezuela (LJV) and the Bolivarian Forces of Liberation (FBL) in Venezuela. In Venezuela the government was forced to close down two radio programs in 1992 for broadcasting the anticorruption message of the two dissident groups. Violent Opposition Of the variables discussed in this work, political violence perpetrated by the opposition in response to the actions of power holders is, perhaps, the best known. It was one of the major aspects of Samuel Huntington’s “political decay.” As he put it: “During the 1950s and 1960s the numerical incidence of political violence and disorder increased dramatically in most countries of the world . . . Throughout Asia, Africa, and Latin America there was a decline in political order.”72 Huntington’s data are limited to the 1948–66 period. Because it would be tediously unnecessary to discuss in detail the manifestations of political violence in various countries, table 3.1 sums up its categories for the three non-Western geographical regions for the entire 1948–96 period, and table 3.2 gives the percentage of countries that have experienced violent opposition for each region. It must be noted that in the case of insurgency what is considered here is the number of groups or new occurrences and not the frequency of attacks by already established insurgent groups. For instance, the figures do not include the countless attacks by such insurgent groups as the Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path) and Tupac Amaru Revolutionary Movement (MRTA) in Peru or the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) in Sri Lanka. Neither do they

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Table 3.1. Violent Opposition, 1948–96 (Approximate) Coups/coup attempts Insurgencies (civilian military) Political assassination plots/ assassinations Intercommunal/factional violence Extremely violent riots/strikes Invasions from outside Civil wars Violent secessions Occupation/burning of govt. offices Fistfights in parliament Revolutionary overthrow Total/Region

S. America

Asia

Africa

Total

97 111 36

60 58 30

108 37 14

265 206 80

5 16 10 3 — 6

42 23 1 4 8 3

10 13 7 7 3 2

57 52 18 13 11 11

2 2 288

7 3 238

— — 201

9 5

Source: Appendixes 1 and 3.

Table 3.2. Violent Opposition in South America, Asia, and Africa, 1948– 66, 1967–89, 1990–96 (in percentages) 1948–66

1967–89

1990–96

S. America

n = 20 100

n = 27* 100*

n = 29* 100*

Asia

n = 25 84

n = 27 100

n = 25 100

Africa

n = 36 65

n = 49 100

n = 51 100

*If all Caribbean small islands are considered, the result is lower. Source: Appendixes 1 and 3.

reflect the more than 600 outbreaks of peasant violence recorded in China in 1994.73 As expected, the frequency of incidents in each category has differed from one country to another and from one continent to another. There were more factional and intercommunal violence in Asia because of its higher incidence in such countries as India and Pakistan than in South America and Africa (42 vs. 10 and 5), more instances of civil wars in Africa than in Asia and South America (7 vs. 4 and 3), and more assassinations of political

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opponents and insurgencies in South America than in Asia and Africa (111 insurgencies vs. 58 and 37). Yet the figures for the three regions are quite similar. The relatively larger number of incidents in South America (287) and Asia (238) than in Africa (201) is explained by the earlier independence of South America and Asia. In general, the similarities are remarkable among the three regions for most categories: an increase or decrease in one category in one region is also registered in the two other regions. For instance, the number of coups and attempted coups is high in the three regions (108 for Africa, 96 for South America, and 60 for Asia), so is the number of insurgencies (37 for Africa, 58 for Asia, and 111 for South America). The result is that both categories have the two highest combined scores (264 for coups and coup attempts and 206 for insurgencies). In addition, each geographical region has experienced violence in each category, except in violent secession for South America and revolutionary overthrow for Africa. More importantly, almost all the countries have experienced political violence. In South America, 100 percent of its countries experienced political violence during the 1948 to 1966 subperiod, 100 percent did so during the 1967 to 1989 subperiod, and 100 percent during the 1990 to 1996 subperiod. The figures are somewhat lower if one disassociates the Caribbean Islands from continental South America. In Asia, 84 percent of the countries experienced political violence during the 1948 to 1966 subperiod, 100 percent did so during the 1967 to 1989 subperiod, and 100 percent during the 1990 to 1996 subperiod. For Africa, the figures are 65 percent for the 1948–66 subperiod, 100 percent for the 1967–89 subperiod, and 100 percent for the 1990–96 period. Worth noting is the fact that, like other shared behaviors discussed above, violent opposition is not the preserve of authoritarian regimes. The figures in tables 3.1 and 3.2 reflect political violence in both authoritarian and electoralist regimes (“transition” or “consolidated”). In South America insurgency has characterized “old democracies” such as Venezuela, Costa Rica, and Colombia. The latter country has harbored close to ten guerrilla groups. Insurgency has also characterized almost all “new democracies.” These range from “reforming” Mexico, which was awakened by the emergence of two new guerrilla movements (the Zapatista Liberation Front and the Popular Revolutionary Army) in the 1990s, to Argentina, which has been threatened by military rebellions, passing by Central American Republics, Ecuador, Peru, and the rest. Coups or coup attempts have taken place in such Caribbean electoralist regimes as Dominica, Jamaica, Grenada, and Trinidad-Tobago. Assassinations of political opponents are rampant, affecting almost all democratic regimes in South America, from Brazil to Colombia, which may hold the record in the matter.74

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In Asia the pervasiveness of violent opposition in democratic regimes is, perhaps, best exemplified by India. Intercommunal violence (e.g., in Manipur between Kuki and Naga tribal groups, and elsewhere between Hindus, Muslims, and Sikhs), secessionist violence (Punjab, Kashmir, and Jammu, Uttarkhand), various types of insurgency, and assassinations or assassination plots of political opponents are an integral part of India’s electoralism. The same holds true for other old or new electoralist regimes such as Sri Lanka, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Cambodia, Thailand, and the Philippines. In the latter country, communist, Muslim, right-wing, and military insurgencies flourished under the Aquino and Ramos electoralist regimes despite several attempts to negotiate their end. What distinguishes India and Sri Lanka from the other countries, however, is the absence of military coups or coup attempts in their arsenal of violent oppposition. South Korea and Taiwan are known for their fistfights in parliament, and South Korea for its particularly violent riots, generally by students and workers. Africa’s democratic regimes share the same characteristic. Violent opposition has taken place in Botswana (e.g., 1995). In Benin the military attempted a coup d’état twice against the elected government of President Nicephore Soglo (1991–96). Senegal has faced violent secession and insurgency in its Casamance region. Insurgency has also been present in Zimbabwe’s Matabeleland, and Zambia. In each of the three regions, one finds what I refer to in chapter 4 as p frequency, that is, cases of pervasive political violence (expressed often, but not always, in the form of protracted war in some countries). In South America this is the case of Haiti for the 1948–66 subperiod, of Haiti, El Salvador, and Nicaragua for the 1967–89 subperiod, and of Haiti (and minimally El Salvador until 1992) for the 1990–96 subperiod. One may also add Peru and Colombia. Violent opposition in Haiti from 1948 to 1996 took the form of permanent mass uprisings, coups, insurgencies, invasions, and assassinations, or assassination plots even under the long-lived Duvalier regime (1957–86). In Nicaragua it was the Sandinista insurgency (FSLN) formed in 1961 against the Somoza regime and especially the anti-Sandinista Contra insurgency and its attendant open war supported by the United States that constituted the pillars of violent opposition. El Salvador’s war waged by the insurgent groups (united within the Farabundo Marti Front for the National Liberation [FMLN] in 1980) against the military and civilian regimes highlighted its violent opposition. About seventy-five thousand people were killed over an elevenyear period.75 In Asia examples of pervasive violence included Vietnam (North and South) for the 1948–66 subperiod, Vietnam and Cambodia for the 1967–89 subperiod, and Cambodia and Afghanistan for the 1990–96 subperiod. The

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Vietnamese case is well known. From 1954, the year that signaled the defeat of France as a colonial power, to the end of the U.S.-backed Vietnam War in 1975, political violence dominated life in Vietnam. It took the form of insurgency as in the case of the Viet Cong against South Vietnam and internal insurgencies and coups in South Vietnam itself. In this sense, the Vietnam War was more domestically rooted than it was an outcome of international politics. War and insurgency also dominated Cambodia from 1967 to 1996. The Khmer Rouge and other insurgent groups battled the Sihanouk regime and then overthrew Lon Nol’s military rule. The Khmer revolutionary regime was in turn battled by anti-Khmer insurgents, including the Heng Samrin and Hun Sen factions which, backed by Vietnam, overthrew the Khmer regime in 1979. Protracted war and factional violence have also chracterized Afghanistan since 1979, as the Mujahedin insurgents battled the successive Sovietbacked communist regimes. The defeat and overthrow of these regimes only exacerbated factional conflicts, which led to particularly violent episodes between 1992 and 1997 as competing groups (the Hekmatyar faction, the Rabbani faction, the Masood faction, and the Talibans) sought to establish political domination through force.76 In Africa pervasive opposition violence characterized Congo-Zaire during the 1948 to 1966 subperiod; Angola, Chad, Mozambique, Sudan, and Uganda during the 1967 to 1989 subperiod; and Algeria, Angola, Burundi, Liberia, Rwanda, Somalia, and Sudan during the 1990 to 1996 subperiod. The Congolese case, generally referred to as “the Congo Crisis,” is well known for its military mutiny, Katanga and Kasai violent secessions, its insurgencies, including the Mulele-led insurgency in the Kwilu region and the East-based insurgency of which the 1996 to 1997 Kabila rebellion is an offshoot, its political assassination of Prime Minister Lumumba, and military coups. Although the Congo Crisis may have resembled the Angolan Civil War in intensity, the latter deserves pride of place for longevity. Started in 1975 as an armed conflict over power control among the three Angolan anticolonial parties (MPLA, UNITA, and the National Front for the Liberation of Angola [FNLA]), it quickly led to a prolonged war. After FNLA had been eliminated from the competition and the MPLA had assumed political power, Savimbiled UNITA waged a protracted war against the MPLA government. All three parties were assisted by foreign military forces, the MPLA by the Cubans, the FNLA by Mobutu’s Zaire and the CIA, and the UNITA by South Africa and, later, the United States. By 1997 the war cost about one thousand lives daily according to UN figures.77 It ended in 2002 when Savimbi was killed. Like Angola, Mozambique also faced a protracted insurgency after winning independence from Portugal through war under the leadership of FRELIMO in 1975. Organized by former Portuguese settlers and supported by colonial and apartheid forces in Zimbabwe and South Africa,78 the insurgent group

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(RENAMO) waged a brutal war against the Marxist regime of President Samora Machel and his successor Joaquim Chissano until the peace accords of 1993. In Chad the rebellion that turned into full-fledged civil war started in 1965 as Northern Muslim insurgent groups united within the Chad National Liberation Front (FROLINAT) battled the Southern Christian-controlled government. By 1980 divisions among FROLINAT constitutive groups and foreign involvement, including France and Libya, added to a lack of agreement between the government and the insurgents fueled the civil war. The war and its attendant factional violence ended in 1990 when the Habre regime was overthrown by a military insurgency led by Idriss Deby. Sudan’s civil war, opposing the insurgent southern people partly led by the Sudanese People’s Liberation Army (SPLA) against the Muslim north-based government, is one of the oldest and longest in the world. It started in 1955, was rekindled from 1962 to 1972, and continued, with varying degrees of intensity, from the 1980s to the post-2000 period. In Uganda violent opposition to the Amin regime (1971–79) took many forms, a reflection of the particularly brutal nature of the regime. Although the Tanzanian-based and -supported insurgency groups finally toppled the regime in 1979, violent opposition and factional conflicts raged on until Museveni’s National Resistance Movement prevailed in 1986. Although Museveni established relative stability, insurgency continued in the northern parts of the country and later at its borders with Congo-Zaire. Liberia’s civil war was an outcome of violent opposition to the dictatorial and incompetent Doe regime (1980–90), itself an outcome of the “tribalist” and discriminatory policies of the Americano-Liberian elite who ruled the country up to 1980. As coup attempts failed to topple the Doe egime, armed insurgency by the National Patriotic Front of Liberia led by Charles Taylor developed against the regime. Very quickly, however, factional divisions and conflicts led to armed confrontations among the various opposition groups, culminating in a full-fledged civil war throughout that ended only in 2003 when Taylor went into exile in Nigeria. Rwanda and Burundi are two sites of one of the best-known instances of intercommunal violence in the world. The Hutu-Tutsi endless cycle of violence, which started in the late 1950s and was particularly virulent in the 1990s, opposes the minority Tutsi, who claim and enjoy political supremacy, especially in Burundi, to the majority Hutu, who aspire to it by virtue of their numbers. Finally, in Algeria, a particularly violent campaign by the Islamic Salvation Front (FIS) was initiated in the aftermath of the electoral coup by the FLN-led government, which annulled the second round of parliamentary elections in December 1991 to prevent the FIS perceived victory. By 1997 the war had claimed close to fifty thousand lives.

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Opposition violence persisted in most African, Asian, and South American countries during the 1996 to 2000 “consolidated democracy” subperiod. In Africa, examples included civil war (Angola, the two Congos, Sudan, Algeria, Somalia—to which one may add the Ethiopia-Eritrea war), insurgency/rebellion (Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi, Equatorial Guinea, Senegal, Chad, Togo, Liberia, Egypt, Nigeria, Guinea-Bissau), coup/coup attempts/army mutiny (Guinea-Bissau, Tanzania/Zanzibar, Niger, Zambia, Central African Republic, South Africa’s coup rumors, Cote d’Ivoire, Sierra Leone, Sudan, Mali), intercommunal violence (Kenya, Rwanda, Burundi), violent demonstration/strike (Zimbabwe) and assassination attempts (Egypt, Swaziland). The Asian cases included war (Afghanistan, Cambodia), insurgency/rebellion (Iraq, Iran, Saudi Arabia, India, the Philippines, Malaysia, Bangladesh, Turkey, Myanmar, Sri Lanka, Thailand), coup/coup attempt (Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Pacific-based Fiji in 2000), intercommunal violence (Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Indonesia), fistfights in parliament (South Korea), extremely violent strikes/ demonstrations (Indonesia), and attacks on government offices/assassination attempt (Thailand). In South America examples are insurgency/rebellion (Mexico, Peru, Bolivia, Ecuador, Nicaragua, Colombia), coup attempt/military rebellion (Mexico, Paraguay, Ecuador), violent land invasion (Brazil, Chile), violent demonstration/strike (Bolivia, Chile, Ecuador, Nicaragua, Jamaica), occupation of/violence against government offices (Argentina, Nicaragua), fistfight and use of a gun in parliament (Nicaragua), and organized assassination against political enemies (Haiti). OVERPOLITICIZED BEHAVIORS IN WESTERN COUNTRIES Among the crises experienced by the West are the repressive policies of the immediate post–world war period, the big outbursts of the 1960s such as the civil rights movement in the United States, the youth and student revolt at the Democratic Convention in Chicago, the opposition against the Vietnam War and the 1968 student revolt in France, and the acts of terrorism of the 1970s and 1980s. These crises, however, do not amount to overpoliticization as defined here because their manifestations differ. In the immmediate post–world war period up to the 1960s, many Western governments imposed restrictive and repressive measures against communist organizations that resembled authoritarianism. Yet these measures were not a reflection of overpoliticized states. They resulted from and reflected world politics dominated by the cold war, and were, thus, a collective security reaction against international communism. In fact, despite these measures, the treatment of communists in Western countries differed from that imposed on communists in non-Western overpoliticized states. In Western countries com-

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munists or their sympathizers were dealt with within institutional limits, examples of which included congressional testimonies in the United States. Other contrasting examples include the fact that in 1953 the communists competed in elections in France and won thirty seats in municipal elections while during the same year in Argentina and Latin America communists were dealt with brutally and violently.79 The complexity of the civil rights movement in the United States disqualifies it as an overpoliticized behavior for several reasons. The movement is an outcome, however indirect, of world politics and history associated with the “old imperialism” of the fifteenth to the eighteenth centuries. The practices of slavery, exterminaton, and transfer of populations that characterized this era and their racial ramifications cannot be easily reduced to political competition or overpoliticization in the twentieth century. This holds true for racial violence involving African Americans and occasional confrontations between Native Americans and American and Canadian governments in the reservations. By occupying center stage, the racial component of these conflicts distorts the competitive process of politics as I defined it earlier. The racial overtone and historical complexity of the civil rights movement made it an international event as attested to by the popular melodies of that period in such African countries as the Congo.80 In any case, the civil rights movement, including its more militant and nationalistic branch, operated within the institutional confines of the American liberal democratic state and scarcely outside them. Martin Luther King and his followers had recourse to protests, which not only substituted for violence but were accompanied by accommodation and consultation with the federal government. The close contact between the King movement and the Johnson administration, which facilitated passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Act of 1965, testified to the conformity of the movement to institutional channels. In fact, by 1965 the movement’s representatives, such as Bayard Rustin, had proclaimed the death of protest politics in favor of total adherence to institutional and electoral politics.81 And despite their rethoric and skirmishes and run-ins with the police in urban centers, nationalists, represented by Malcolm X and the Black Panther Party, did not repudiate the institutional channels of the American liberal state for political competition. Malcolm X’s call for violence, if necessary, paralleled his call for participation in the electoral process to root out racist politicians. This is consistent with his later repudiation of his early idea of a separate state for African Americans.82 The “black power” concept rested on the pluralist premise that African American political competitivity in the American political system depended on African Americans accumulating their own economic and other resources.83 Even the ten-point program of the Black Panthers Party recognized the American Constitution.

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Other big outbursts of the 1960s, such as the student revolts and the protest against the Vietnam War, were scarcely domestic events. They were, as accurately stated by Hillary Rodham Clinton, the American former first lady and senator, world movements that reflected world events and cannot be easily linked to political competition in a given country.84 They reflected, in many ways, the prevailing ideological split that allowed leftist forces in Western countries to create sympathetic linkages with other forces elsewhere in the world. Moreover, they, like most outbursts in Western countries (e.g., demonstrations, confrontations with the police, even violent strikes) were contained and resolved without leading to either authoritarianism or prolonged unresolved crises. Terrorism in the 1970s, 1980s, and today defies the characterization of overpoliticization. Most, if not all, terrorist acts and organizations had international linkages and served as responses to what these organizations viewed as an international common cause.85 French Action Directe had contacts with Euskadi ta Askatasuna (ETA), the Basque separatist group, militant Palestinian groups, Turkish refugees who had settled in France, and former Italian Red Brigade members. They attacked French, Israeli, and American interests. Another French terrorist group, the Federation of National and European Action (FANE), was pan-European as its name suggests; it sought, through contacts with Italian Armed Revolutionary Nuclei, to build an European neofascist and neo-Nazi movement. The Belgian-based Cellules Combattantes Communistes had contacts with other European terrorist groups; they targeted not only Belgian but American and NATO interests. The German-based Red Army Faction had been trained by the former East German secret police (STASI) and was, for this reason, a by-product of the cold war. It had links with French-based Action Directe, Palestinian groups, and the renowned terrorist Carlos the Jackal. It often targeted American interests. The Italian Red Brigade was linked to the Red Army Faction, Action Directe, ETA in Spain, the Irish Republican Army (IRA) in Northern Ireland, the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), and the Japanese Red Army. It sought with all these groups to form an international proletariatlike coalition. For instance, it was Junzo Okudaira, a member of the Japanese Red Army, who planted a bomb in Naples (Italy) against American servicemen with the complicity of the Red Brigade. In February 1997 four members of the Japanese Red Army were arrested in Lebanon, further revealing their international linkages. Terrorist activities by Carlos the Jackal, who was arrested in 1994, reveal extensive relations with almost all major European and other terrorist organizations in an international terrorist solidarity. He had links with the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, the German Red Army Faction, the Japanese Red Army, and the Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia. He and his accomplices targeted a variety of European and American interests as revealed by

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his attacks in such places as London, Paris, The Hague, Vienna, Marseilles, West Berlin, and against Air France and the Arab periodical Al-Watan AlArabi.86 Post–cold war political violence in Western Europe has been perpetrated by groups that reflect more or less international solidarity and linkages. This is the case of neo-Nazi groups in countries such as Austria, Germany, and France, whose ideology is not foreign to neo-Nazis in the United States. It is also the case of antiracist and anti-Nazi groups, such as the Radical AntiRacist Action (RaRa) in Holland, which bombed the Ministry of Interior in 1991 as a “protest against the government’s asylum policy, which writes off, excludes and dehumanizes people.”87 The same trend was observed in Germany after the reunification. The Anti-Imperialist Cells attacked the government to protest against German military involvement abroad in 1995 while the Red Army Faction combined its traditionally internationalist concerns with attacks on privatization institutions in former East Germany in 1991 and on prisons in 1993. These points suggest that most periodic political outbursts in Western countries are not to be confused with overpoliticized behaviors. Nevertheless, there have been instances of overpoliticization, which are reflected in the data discussed in chapter 4. With regard to overpoliticized behaviors in electoralist regimes (Electoralist behaviors), in the 1950s an antitaxation and pro–small business/peasant movement led by Pierre Poujade in France led to the creation of a political party (UDCA) that adhered to “Poujadism.” In their attempt to gain seats in parliament, the UDCA resorted to electoral fraud and violation by presenting multiple lists in various constituencies. In January 1956 attempts by the National Assembly to force the twelve Poujadist deputies out of parliament resulted in a fistfight on the floor and a boycott of the Assembly by them. In Greece the October 1961 general elections won by the government party were denounced by Giorgios Papandreou’s opposition party as the “product of violence and fraud.”88 The October 1989 elections in Spain won by the Socialist Workers’ Party were contested in one of the southeastern constituencies because of fraud; the results were suspended by the Constitutional Court. Although not officially recorded as electoral fraud, in the 1992 general elections both the Christian Democrats and Socialists in Italy tolerated “dubious electoral methods in the South, where corruption was rife and the influence of the Sicilian Mafia and other criminal organizations was strong.”89 In pre–civil rights United States instances of vote fraud were recorded in some local elections (e.g., in Georgia). In the post–civil rights era fraudulent voting has been recorded in some big cities (Chicago and Miami), which maintain their specificity in American politics and, like the pre–civil rights cases, are not reflected by the data in chapter 4. And there is, of course, the much-publicized 2000 American presidential electoral fiasco. In American politics the state of Florida maintains some peculiarity in that it has a relatively high level of recent immigrants, a

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high number of retired people, and very vocal anti-Castro Cuban exiles who are generally conservative and pro-Republican. In addition, the state governor in 2000 was the brother of the presidential candidate George W. Bush. This peculiarity added to two other factors and led to electoral fraud. The two factors were the tightness of the race between Democrat Al Gore and Republican George W. Bush and the system of an electoral college, which puts a premium on some “swing states” such as Florida with its twenty-five electors. Although no agreement exists about the specific nature of the fraud, it is clear from the debates and court procedures that took place from November to December that the fraud was multifaceted. It involved confusing ballots, miscounting of the votes (undercounting especially in African American precincts and the rejection of at least 185,000 votes seen as undervotes or overvotes), and intimidation against African Americans who have, at the instigation of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), voted in large numbers (893,000 voted, which is a 65 percent jump over 1996).90 Yet as publicized a case of overpoliticization as the 2000 American electoral fraud was, it differs from similar instances of electoral fraud in Third World countries. It was contained by the “system,” a point to which I return in chapter 5. As for overpoliticized behaviors in authoritarian regimes, authoritarian rule was instituted in three countries: Portugal, Spain, and Greece. Whereas Portuguese and Spanish dictatorships under the respective rules of Salazar and Franco sprang up in the pre-1948 period and lasted until the 1970s, in Greece it emerged as the result of the 1967 military coup against the paralysis of institutions and the fear of communist and leftist forces and ended in 1974. Salazar’s rule in Portugal was erected against a backdrop of political and social unrest and instability during the Republican rule of 1910 to 1926 that experienced nine presidents, forty-four governments, twenty-five uprisings, and three counterrevolutionary dictatorships.91 In 1926 a right-wing military coup made General Carmona president, who, in turn, asked Antonio Salazar, then a professor, to become his minister of finances. Salazar’s success propelled him to the post of prime minister. By 1933 he had acquired full authoritarian powers and established the Estado Novo (“new state”). The ideological inspiration for the Estado Novo and its constitution was supplied by a host of sources, including fascism, nationalism, spiritualism, antiparliamentarism, and Catholicism. For this reason the Portuguese corporatist state scarcely reflected one source exclusively. In lieu of a traditional party, a broad movement of nationalism, Uniao Nacional, was instituted. Its hierarchical organization intertwined with the bureaucratic framework of government to subordinate and incorporate the various groups and organizations (workers syndicates, peasant groups, chambers, youth organizations, and the like). The semi-autonomous status of some of these organizations was

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promoted through facade elections held for some of them (the presidency, National Assembly, and others). The overall authoritarian edifice was protected by its repressive apparatus, the Policia Internacionale de Defesa do Estado (PIDE). In Spain the background to Franco’s rule was quite similar to that of Portugal. The republican administration that emerged from the 1931 Second Republic was beset by social unrest and political instability. The prevailing ideological split between right-wing forces and the leftist Popular Front was exacerbated by the latter’s decisive electoral victory in 1936. As a reaction, a combination of rightist forces, monarchists, Falangists, and the military conspired actively against the Popular Front government. Although reluctant to join the insurgents at first, Franco, who had gained his fame in the colonial war in Morocco, was finally drafted to assume the leadership of the nationalists in their war against the leftist forces, republicans, and the Popular Front. Named “Generalissimo” and “Caudillo,” Franco’s success in the civil war allowed him to assume full authoritarian powers in the post–civil war period. The ideology of the regime, like that in Portugal, derived from many sources, including fascism, corporativism, Catholicism, traditionalism, nationalism, and imperialism. Although Spain never became a full-fledged fascist regime, it incorporated some of its traits. Avoiding, as in Portugal, the traditional role of the political party, the regime relied on a “movement” called Communion, within which were incorporated individuals, families, and groups through local institutions and syndicates. The preeminence of Franco within this corporativist structure was such that “powers of government were permanently confided to him,” and the army played a more important and priviledged role than in Portugal. Institutions such as the parliament (Cortes) were devoid of any substance, and played a rubber-stamp role. The territorial administration was characterized by its excessive centralization, annulling the autonomy of such regions as Catalonia and Basque. As in Portugal, this power structure was maintained through repression that changed its form according to the type of challenges faced by the regime. As in Portugal and Spain, the military coup in Greece resulted from the polarization of forces. In 1964 Papandreou’s party, Union of the Center (EK), won general elections, and Papandreou was made prime minister. In 1965, following a disagreement with the king over, among other things, Papandreou’s policy toward Cyprus and an alleged leftist insurgency in the army, Papandreou was forced to resign (questionably) from his post. Because they could not agree on a political modus vivendi, the king-appointed successor governments exacerbated the growing social and political unrest, thus causing the military and their right-wing supporters to take over. The military regime, led by a three-man junta, distinguished itself by its repressive policies. About six thousand people, most of whom belonged to leftist organizations, were arrested.

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Others were deported or fired from their jobs. As in Spain and Portugal, one’s ability to obtain a secured job depended on one’s confessed loyalty to the new regime. Press censure was imposed, and the citizenship and property of suspected subversives were taken away. Although the constitution maintained a democratic facade, the practices of the regime were authoritarian. They reflected, in many ways, the May 10, 1967, law, which imposed a system of centralized administration in which the bureaucratic autonomy of many services was abolished.92 Concerning overpoliticized behaviors shared by electoralist and authoritarian regimes, some Western countries were affected by the events of the immediate post–World War II period and the decolonization movement. Again Portugal, Spain, and Greece were specific cases. Because of the authoritarian nature of the Franco and Salazar-Caetano regimes in Spain and Portugal, both power holders and opposition groups resorted frequently to overpoliticized behaviors. The dictatorial powers of the two regimes were met by insurgent actions by the army, workers, dissatisfied supporters of the regime, communist militants, and anticolonial forces in Portugal;93 and by monarchist legitimists, workers, students, Masonic lodges, and others in Spain where 1,266 individuals were condemned by special military tribunals in 1954 for their involvement in subversive activities.94 In Spain, perhaps the most intractable insurgency was the emergence of the Basque secessionist group (ETA) in 1959. ETA’s earlier military actions (its first recorded violent act took place in 1968) were viewed as the only possible action against Francoist repression. For this reason they attracted the sympathy of other Spanish and European people and explain, in part, ETA’s international linkage with other terrorist organizations as mentioned above. Internal divisions and years of struggle against the Spanish government, however, radicalized the military faction of the organization, whose violent campaign against Spain, despite attempts by the government to grant extended autonomy to the Basque country in the post-Franco era, alienated other Spaniards.95 In Greece one of the ramifications of World War II was the ideological split between left-wing and right-wing forces that led to civil war in the immediate post–War period. For the 1948– 66 subperiod a further ramification was the fractionalization of political forces and the “threat of communists” that led to the 1967 military coup and its violent aftermath. From the 1960s to the 1990s, there was intermittent violent opposition by such organizations as the November 17 Group, which combined some internationalist stands with a domestic agenda by attacking Greek, European, U.S., and UN institutions and interests. For this reason caution must be exercised in assessing whether the group displays overpoliticized behaviors or is part of a network of international terrorism. From 1957 to 1964 France faced insurgency, a coup attempt, and a coup in its colony, Algeria, as right-wing forces opposed to the decolonization

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policy (OAS) resisted it through violence. To be sure, these events should be seen as part of an anticolonial war and not as aspects of overpoliticization as defined in this study. Two reasons, however, made them aspects of overpoliticized behaviors in France. First, Algeria, unlike other French African colonies, was considered an integral part of France, and second, these events directly impacted metropolitan France. During the same period France started to face up to the secessionist violence on the island of Corsica, which remained one of the thorny issues in French politics in the 1980s and 1990s. Despite many attempts by the government to provide autonomy to the island while preserving it as a “component of French People,” the National Liberation Front of Corsica (FLNC) has maintained its bombing and other violent tactics to force the French government into “a true process of decolonization.”96 In Italy there were assassinations and assassination plots against political leaders (e.g., communist leaders) and factional violence during the 1948 to 1966 subperiod. In 1993, allegations of a coup attempts by army officers led to their suspension by the defense minister. Like France, Great Britain and the United States have faced insurgency and other forms of violent opposition in or related to their “nationalized” colonies, Northern Ireland for Great Britain and Puerto Rico for the United States. In Northern Ireland, Britain has been confronted with secessionist attacks by the Irish Republican Army (IRA) since 1968. The insurgency, which led to the suspension of the Northern Ireland Parliament in 1972, has led to retaliatory attacks by Protestant Unionists, who oppose the IRA’s call for secession from Britain and attachment to the Republic of Ireland.97 The frequency of attacks and the overall level of political violence in both Northern Ireland and England itself have been such that the United Kingdom can be viewed as the only case with a p frequency, that is, a case of pervasive violent opposition although the Good Friday Accords in the late 1990s for a political settlement and power sharing have led to a decline in violent acts. In the United States the 1950 insurrection organized by the Puerto Rico Nationalist Party caused 27 deaths and 51 injuries. Its members also attempted to assassinate President Truman the same year and shot five U.S. congressmen in the House in 1953. These nationalistic acts continued intermittently in the 1970s before being almost completely silenced in the 1980s and 1990s, partly because of the adoption of a status quo, that is, neither independence for the island nor its complete absorption by the United States. It is worth noting, however, that if one considers both Northern Ireland and Puerto Rico as cases of anticolonial insurgency, the number of overpoliticized behaviors in both Great Britain and the United States decreases. In the case of the United States, an overpoliticized behavior worth noting for the 1990– 96 period is the bombing of the federal building in Oklahoma in April 1995, which led to 185 deaths. Although the reasons for the bombing were not

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crystal clear, the dissatisfaction of a portion of the citizenry with federal government policies, including those on taxation and personal liberties, was seen as the main reason. The bombing is thus an instance of violent opposition, an aspect of shared overpoliticized behaviors. Yet caution must be exercised here. In addition to the fact that the act was committed by one (and possibly two) “isolated” individuals, the bombing cannot be dissociated from the actions of the many militia groups that are opposed to “trilateralism,” that is, a UN-run “world government” whose advent the U.S. government is presumably helping to promote. Their actions, in many aspects, reverberate with those of other right-wing groups in Europe, which, as in the case of the 1970s terrorist groups, makes them internationalist, hence, dubiously overpoliticized behaviors as defined here. One must also exercise caution in the case of the subway gas attack by the Aum Cult in Japan in 1995. Although the act may constitute an aspect of violent opposition, the cultish aspect of the affair and the mysticism that surrounded the cult leader’s answers to the Japanese authorities make it different from explicitly political acts posed in the name of religion in Africa, Asia, and South America. The above empirical and historical data point to differences and similarities in the way countries experience overpoliticization. I conclude the chapter with an appreciation of these differences and similarities. CONCLUSION: DIFFERENCES AND SIMILARITIES IN OVERPOLITICIZATION In addition to the earlier exposure of South America (and Asia) than Africa to the various manifestations of overpoliticization, the differences among African, Asian, and South American countries are seen in the specific ways through which each country or region experiences the three types of overpoliticized behaviors. The forms of electoralist behaviors vary from one country to another. In many countries electoral fraud in various forms has been practiced: Costa Rica 1948, Brazil 1950, South Korea 1960, Nigeria 1966, Botswana 1984, India 1971, Uruguay 1972, Pakistan 1977, Sri Lanka 1982, and Jamaica in the 1980s. During the 1990 to 1996 period, practices of electoral fraud ranged from outright vote buying (Nigeria, Malaysia, Thailand, South Korea, Guatemala, El Salvador, and Antigua) to the manipulation of lists (Ghana, Central African Republic), passing by the ballot manipulation (Taiwan, Cameroon, Bangladesh, Mexico, and Peru), and scandalously low electoral turnout (Pakistan 2–10 percent in the October 1993 elections, Guatemala 10 percent in 1994, and Haiti less than 10 percent in 1997). In some other countries an electoral monopoly, including via a dominant party or an explicit system of accommodation between parties, prevails. Cases include Liberia’s True Whig Party 1944–80, Botswana’s Democratic Party, Malaysia’s Barisan Nasional, St. Lucia’s United Workers’ Party, Antigua’s Labour Party,

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the Bahamas’s Progressive Liberal Party, Guyana’s People’s National Congress, Colombia’s Liberal and Conservative Parties, Venezuela’s Democratic Action Party and Christian Democratic Party, and Argentina’s Justicialist (Peronist) Party and Radicals. In still other countries political actors resort to electoral coups, which, in turn, take different forms. These include the annulment of an electoral victory and procedural subterfuges to prevent the opposition from participating or governing (Egypt before 1953; Congo-Zaire 1965; Pakistan 1953, 1996; Brazil 1955; Argentina 1962; Algeria 1992; Peru 1992; Turkey 1997), the boycott of elections and parliament (Niger 1964; India 1991, 1992; South Korea 1992; Peru 1993; Jamaica 1980, 1983, 1992; Nicaragua 1991), the eviction of the opposition from parliament (South Korea 1958; Sri Lanka 1984; Ecuador 1990; Kenya 1993), the parliamentary nonrecognition of the authority of the elected chief executive (Bolivia 1989; Ecuador 1990, 1997; Nicaragua 1995), and a parallel government established in opposition to the elected government (Bolivia 1980; Dominican Republic 1978; Malaysia 1994; Congo-Brazzaville 1993; Guinea Bissau 1994). Electoral violence has also taken different forms in different countries (interparty gun battles in Pakistan contrast with guerrilla involvement in Colombia or in the Philippines), but it affects almost all electoralist regimes including “perennial democracies” (Costa Rica 1966, Barbados 1986, routinely in India and Sri Lanka, Senegal, Zimbabwe, Venezuela, and Jamaica). The manifestations of Authoritarian behaviors in South America differ from those in Africa and Asia. For instance, whereas the military has generally dominated South American authoritarianism, in Africa and Asia authoritarianism has taken monarchical (Cambodia before the 1970 coup; Afghanistan during the 1948 to 1966 subperiod; Morocco, Saudi Arabia, and Swaziland), civilian (South Vietnam’s Ngo Dinh Diem, South Korea’s Syngman Rhee, Indonesia’s Sukarno, Ghana’s Nkrumah, Kenya’s Kenyatta or Moi), and military forms. The one-party state and a one-man rule in Africa and Asia in the post-1948 period contrast with South America where one-man rule coincided generally with “old authoritarianism.” Differences existed within regions as well. Exclusionary authoritarianism in Argentina and Brazil differed from Peru’s inclusive authoritarianism. The claim that in South America the military acted more as an institution than it did or does in Africa and Asia applies less to Central America, the Caribbean, and such countries as Chile and Paraguay where Generals Pinochet and Stroessner imposed a personalistic rule. The presence of “opposition” parties in the North African authoritarian countries of Egypt and Morocco differs from the lack thereof in authoritarian sub-Saharan Africa. Differences are also recorded in the behaviors shared by electoralist and authoritarian regimes. Recourse to the illicit use of state coercive power includes the imposition of jail terms on rumor mongers (e.g., the Peron

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government); the refusal to allow lawyers to defend political opponents (Nasser’s Egypt); attempts by Pakistan’s party leaders Benazir Bhutto and Nawaz Sharif to gain unfair advantage, once in power, against each other and each other’s party by leveling false charges against each other and by imposing custom-tailored restrictions on each other from 1990 to 1997; restrictions on the leaders of the opposition parties traveling abroad (Gabon); and death squads in El Salvador, Guatemala, Peru, Colombia, and Brazil in the 1990s. Recourse to dictatorial powers has mostly consisted of the untouchable powers of the military in its multifaceted form in South America (in democratic regimes such as Peru, Ecuador, Bolivia, Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay, and Chile) and countries such as Thailand, Pakistan, Turkey, and the Philippines under the Aquino-Ramos rule, whereas other forms of dictatorial power have dominated in other Asian and African countries (emergency powers in Cameroon, state of siege in Algeria, bans on Nasserite parties in Egypt, bans on opposition organizations in Jordan, ban and police raid against the opposition in Singapore, South Korea, and Taiwan even in the post-1988 “democratic period” inaugurated by President Lee Teng-hui). The form taken by violent opposition has varied from country to country. The higher level of intercommunal/religious violence in South Asia and the Middle East contrasts with the higher level of guerrilla warfare in South America and the higher number of cases of protracted civil wars in Africa. These conclusions on differences for the 1948–96 period are confirmed by the evidence of the 1996–2003 “consolidated democracy” period. As was the case for 1948–96, the three leading types of overpoliticized behaviors (Electoralist, Authoritarian, Shared) applied differently from one region to another and from one country to another during the 1996 to 2003 period. Reflecting, perhaps, the fact that they “democratized” later than South American countries, which had faced more than one election and had the opportunity to “improve,” African countries were more prone to electoral fraud during the 1996 to 2003 period. Unlike in Africa and Asia where electoral monopoly took similar forms as during the 1948 to 1996 period, the form of electoral monopoly in South America during this period consisted mainly of attempts to prolong the tenure of the incumbent presidents in office through unconstitutional means (e.g., in Argentina, Peru, Nicaragua). Whereas in African and Asian countries electoral coup took the form of electoral boycott in many countries, in many South American countries it took the form of a “parliamentary” coup (Peru, Ecuador, Nicaragua). Whereas authoritarianism almost disappeared in South America, it remained relatively active in many African and Asian countries. The illicit use of state power revealed itself more and more in the pervasive corruption of power holders in South American countries while a new form appeared in Africa in the form of denial of citizenship to opposition candidates in an attempt to prevent them from being elected to

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office. In general, illicit opposition declined in most countries as a result of electoralism. Although many manifestations of dictatorial powers were still applied, the untouchable powers of the military loomed large in the background of the policy making of many countries, especially in South America. Differences in presence and frequency are discussed in chapter 4. But do these differences refute my hypothesis, according to which political outcomes in developing countries denote a lack of compromise and converge toward overpolitization? The evidence suggests that the answer is no. The differences do not show that overpoliticization is present in some countries and absent in the others. They simply reveal that overpoliticization is a three-pronged composite concept; countries and regions manifest overpoliticized behaviors differently depending on whether they are electoralist or authoritarian or whether the behaviors are related to both electoralist and authoritarian regimes. The differences also reveal that historical time sequences and contingencies allowed overpoliticized behaviors or specific types of behaviors to occur in some countries and regions before or after they occurred in other countries or regions. These contingencies include the timing of independence for different countries, the degree to which electoralist trappings (were) are maintained during authoritarianism, the timing of democratization, the commitment of some countries to communism during the period of democratization that started in the 1980s, the level of resistance of incumbent political power holders to democratization, the level of tolerance or acceptance of authoritarian rule in its early days by the citizenry, the success of repression by political power holders, and the magnitude of the crisis faced by different countries. These intervening factors also affected the frequency of occurrence of overpoliticized behaviors differently. Yet, by comparison with the political features observed in Western democracies, these differences scarcely hide the fivefold deeply similar patterns of overpoliticization shared by developing countries. First, as much as one would like to insist on the differential form taken by overpoliticization in individual countries, it is still the case that African, Asian, and South American countries often display the same and, at times, identical forms of manifestations in many of the overpoliticized behaviors. Electoral violence that resulted in injuries and deaths in Senegal in 1988 and 1993 does not differ from electoral violence that led to the same result in India in 1991, 1996, and 1998, and 2004; in Jamaica in 1980; Chile in 1989; and Indonesia in 1997. Arrests of newspaper editors for “insulting” the government in Ecuador in 1953 and in Venezuela in 1950 are echoed by the arrests of an opposition leader in Senegal in 1985, of students in Indonesia in 1993, twelve people in Morocco in 1987, of an opposition member of parliament in Kenya in 1995, and of opposition members in Equatorial Guinea in 1992 for “insulting” their respective president and the king. Even the oft-cited fact that the military

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under authoritarian rule in South America acted as an institution, as opposed to the personalistic rule by the military in Africa and Asia, is not always vindicated by the evidence. Not only did Chile’s Pinochet, Paraguay’s Stroessner, and a host of military rulers in Central America institute personalistic rules but the military in Africa (e.g., during early years of military rule in Benin, Ghana, Sierra Leone, and Mali, and almost continuously since 1966 in Nigeria, especially among northern officers) and in Asia (e.g., Burma/ Myanmar and, to an extent, Thailand, Pakistan, and Turkey) has acted as an institution. And in all three regions authoritarianism was instituted not only by the military but also by revolutionaries (Cuba, Nicaragua, China, Vietnam, Iran, Angola, Mozambique) and civilians although the number of civilians has been smaller in South America. Second, temporally the three types of behaviors and their specific manifestations have occurred repetitiously in the Third World, that is, during each subperiod (1948–66, 1967–89, 1990–96, and 1996–2004), regardless of whether the subperiod is supposed to be dominated by democracy or authoritarianism. For instance, during the 1948–66 democratic period all continental South American countries experienced, in addition to Electoralist behaviors, authoritarianism except Chile, Costa Rica, Uruguay, and Mexico, so did all Asian countries, except India, Sri Lanka, Malaysia, and the Philippines, and so did all African countries except the dubious cases of Burkina Faso, Burundi, Gambia, Liberia, Madagascar, Niger, Rwanda, Sierra Leone, and Somalia. The 1967–89 authoritarianism coexisted with Electoralist and shared behaviors. During the 1990 to 2004 democratic period all African, Asian, and South American countries experienced Electoralist and Shared behaviors, and authoritarianism persisted in many Asian and African countries and in a limited fashion in South America. Third, geographically the similarity of scores among African, Asian, and South American countries is highlighted by the overall narrow percentage gap among them in the three behaviors as summarized in chapter 4. Fourth, across regimes both authoritarian and electoralist regimes are similar in that each type of regime displays aspects of overpoliticized behaviors through its specific manifestations (Electoralist behaviors for democratic regimes and Authoritarian behaviors for authoritarian regimes). In addition, both regimes share illicit state coercive power, dictatorial powers, and illicit and violent opposition, which unshakably connect both types of regime and minimize their differences. Fifth, and more importantly, overpoliticization is a three-variable property (Electoralist, Authoritarian, and Shared behaviors), a composite concept made of eighty manifestations. Countries are affected differently by these manifestations. That a country experiences more manifestations of Electoralist behaviors and fewer of Authoritarian behaviors or vice versa does not make

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it less overpoliticized than another country that experiences fewer manifestations of Electoralist and more of Authoritarian behaviors, or vice versa. To assess the convergence toward overpoliticization, one has to rely on the “compensation factor.” That is, the “lows” of a given country or region in one of the three overpoliticized behaviors are compensated or offset by its “highs” in another. For example, compared with authoritarian regimes, “old democracies” such as India, Sri Lanka, Colombia, and Venezuela do not display strict authoritarian behaviors. But this is compensated or offset by Electoralist behaviors that these countries develop as democracies (in the form of electoral fraud, electoral monopoly, electoral coups, and electoral violence). This is confirmed quantitatively in chapter 4. These fivefold deep similarities contrast with and are magnified by what happens in Western countries. To be sure, the latter also experience overpoliticization whose forms vary from a country to another (electoral violence in Greece in 1961 and electoral fraud in 1989; the Basque secessionist violence in Spain; electoral fraud in the United States in 2000; violent insurgency in French Corsica, American Puerto Rico, British Northern Ireland, and Portuguese and Spanish “multi-ideological” authoritarianism; and Greece’s 1967 straight military authoritarianism). Nevertheless, the differences between Western and non-Western countries are enormous. They dwarf similarities in three ways. First, the low incidence of the three leading behaviors in Western countries is clearly revealed by quantitative evidence (chapter 4), not only in presence and absence but also in frequencies. Second, where overpoliticized behaviors have occurred, they display specificities that distinguish them from those prevailing in developing countries temporally, spatially, and across regimes. In time, they occurred mostly in the immediate post–World War II period, whose crises were closely connected to the ideological battle in favor of or against communism (e.g., Italy and Greece). Differently put, not all four subperiods (1948–66, 1967–89, 1990–96, 1996–2004) have been consistently overpoliticized in the West as is the case in developing countries. In space, in addition to their concentration in Southern Europe and their almost total absence in Scandinavian countries, overpoliticized behaviors took place in or in relation to “nationalized” colonies (French Algeria and Corsica, U.S. Puerto Rico, and British Northern Ireland). Across regimes most Western liberal democratic regimes did not become authoritarian in the post-1945 period, not even during the 1966 to 1989 authoritarian epoch, and only a very small number of them shared the manifestations of overpoliticized behaviors with authoritarian regimes. Third, periodic political “crises” (the civil rights movement, 1968 student revolts) and terrorist acts (1970s–2000s) in Western countries do not meet the definitional criteria of overpoliticization. In the case of terrorism, its

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worldwide web was made evident and clearly expressed by Carlos the Jackal during his 1997 trial: “My name is Ilich Ramirez Sanchez. My profession is professional revolutionary. The world is my domain. My last address was Khartoum, in Sudan.”98 In most cases incidents in the West have explicit and broader international linkages than those in developing countries. And, unlike the events in developing countries, “overpoliticized crises” in the West are more easily “absorbed by the system” without leading to prolonged unresolved crises or to authoritarianism. The 2000 electoral fraud in the United States is a case in point. Before drawing the implications of this empirical evidence of overpoliticization for the state, I analyze quantitatively in the next chapter some of this evidence.

Chapter 4

Overpoliticization Quantitative Evidence

This chapter provides the second type of evidence—quantitative—to further support the central contention of the book about a pattern of similarly overpoliticized behaviors in developing countries. It summarizes and offers a quantitative reading of the 1948–96 portion of the data analyzed in the previous chapter. DATA AND PROCEDURE Both research in cross-national comparative politics and institutions, such as the World Bank and Freedom House, have generated a good number of data sets.1 Some of these data can be replicated in comparative studies. I do not replicate them here for several reasons. First, World Bank’s data are mostly about socioeconomic indicators and rarely about political indicators, which is my concern. Second, data by Freedom House seek to classify countries according to their level of “freedom”; data are normatively selected to gauge the level of commitment to liberal democracy. This study has no such normative commitment. Third, most of the data in existing studies were collected to test a causal relationship between a dependent and an independent variable. Data on population, level of income, agricultural holding, number of parties, and the like serve as explanatory variables for democracy or serve to test the relation between democracy and development. In this study, no such causal relationship is being tested. Fourth, data dealing with issues of political development either focus on a short period of time (e.g., 1970s authoritarianism) or, more importantly, do not address the specified three-category, eightymanifestation definition of overpoliticization of this study. Although I used all the sources listed (appendix 3) for cross-checking and validity purposes, I relied on two of them for primary data: Facts on File, Keesings Contemporary Archives/Keesings Record of World Events. The two 173

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sources offer the advantage of “raw event” reporting by publishing weekly and monthly world events recorded on a daily basis. Facts on File has published weekly world events since before 1948. Keesings Contemporary Archives/Keesings Record of World Events has published world events since 1931, first weekly and then monthly. It changed its name in 1987. Because they record political events in all the countries of the world on a daily basis, these sources provide data continuously for the period under study. This type of reporting has allowed the recording of political events corresponding to the three major categories of overpoliticized behaviors and their related (more or less) eighty manifestations, which are my concern. The focus on the three categories and all eighty manifestations prevents one from dwelling on the presence or absence of some practices only (e.g., election) to draw conclusions about similarities or differences. The three categories and specific manifestations allow overpoliticization to take specific forms in individual countries,2 thus preventing overgeneralization and “concept stretching.”3 Because I do not rely on a randomly selected sample for data, I do not assume that “all the cases are drawn from roughly the same population.”4 To ensure the reliability of the events, I cross-checked the two main sources against each other and against other sources listed in the appendix. Data were collected for every year from 1948 to 1996. However, rather than present the data on a continuous, annual basis, I divide the period into three subperiods (1948–66, 1967–89, 1990–96) to reflect the three historically alternating waves of democratization and authoritarianism in developing countries while recognizing that the recent wave of democratization started in the mid-1980s for some South American countries. As already indicated, the three-multiple-year division allows longitudinal comparisons of these alternating waves. I use simple quantitative measurements. The three major categories of overpoliticized behaviors (Electoralist, Authoritarian, and Shared) are considered for each of the 107 developing countries and 20 Western countries and Japan and for each of the three subperiods. Each behavior is judged on the basis of its presence and absence (PR/A) and frequency (F). A country is given a score of 1 for one of the three major categories behaviors when one or more of the specific manifestations of the behavior are present for the subperiod, 0 when they are absent, and an asterisk (*) when data are missing or the country is still under colonial rule. For example, a country is given a score of 1 for Electoralist behavior for the subperiod (e.g., 1948–66) when one or more of the thirty-four specific manifestations associated with electoral fraud, electoral monopoly, electoral coup, and electoral violence are present, and 0 when they are absent. A country is given 1 for Authoritarian behavior when one or more of the ten specific manifestations of authoritarianism are present and 0 when they are absent. A country is given a score

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of 1 for Shared behaviors when one or more of the thirty-six specific manifestations associated with illicit state coercion, state dictatorial powers, opposition illicit acts, and opposition violence are present and 0 when they are absent. Frequency indicates the number of occurrences of one or more of the eighty overpoliticized manifestations. In cases where a protracted war does not allow a reasonable count of its related effects, a “p” denotes the “pervasiveness” of occurrences, which are calculated separately. In cases of ongoing authoritarianism, frequency matters little, and is indicated by (*). (See appendix 1.) The measurement procedure is sensitive to historical contingencies related to Africa, Asia, and South America. The presence or absence of a given behavior does not necessarily suggest that the behavior is present by itself or that it is totally absent. For instance—a case recorded mainly in South America—authoritarianism often coexisted with various forms of electoralism (e.g., multipartism, elections), and the 1990–96 subperiod of democratization (which started in the 1980s for some South American countries) coexisted with authoritarian practices in many countries. In some cases authoritarianism was temporarily or permanently halted by electoralism, and vice versa. For all these reasons, a score of 1 is assigned to a country on the basis of its exposure to authoritarianism, however brief, during the subperiod under consideration. For the 1990–96 period 0 has generally been assigned when quantifying the Authoritarian manifestations because of the worldwide transition to electoralism in most countries, but 1 has been assigned to countries that did not follow the trend, were recidivistic by overthrowing the democratizing government, or made the transition in 1996, which is the cut-off date for quantitative data. Again, I make four-pronged comparisons. First, cross-regional/geographical comparisons are made among African, Asian, and South American countries. Second, cross-regime comparisons are made cross-nationally and within countries between electoralist (democratic) and authoritarian regimes in developing countries. Third, for a long view, these behaviors are compared longitudinally: the 1948–66 subperiod is compared to the 1967–89 subperiod and to the 1990–96 subperiod. Fourth, I contrast these three types of data with data about Western countries. Given the concern for regional comparisons, four types of quantitative results (percentage and chi-square test for presence and absence and mean and variance for frequency) are calculated. RESULTS AND INTERPRETATION Presence and Absence The results for the three major variables as they apply to the four geographical zones for the three subperiods appear in tables 4.1 and 4.2. For the 1948– 66 subperiod, South America with 85 percent in the presence column and 15

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Table 4.1. Presence of Overpoliticized Behaviors in South America, Asia, Africa, 1948–66, 1967–89, and 1990–96 (in percentages) 1948–66 Zone

Electo.

Autho.

Shared

S. America/Caribbean Asia Africa Chi-square test p-value

85 24 25 23.005 4 and > 3 for both subvariables). Western countries and Japan obtain a mean of 1.474 and 1.447 for both subvariables, confirming their far lower score. By taking Western countries and Japan as base (= 100), Africa, Asia, and South America score respectively 366 percent, 354 percent, and 260 percent in “lack of civil liberties” and 403 percent, 359 percent, and 290 percent respectively in “lack of political rights.” The score gap between South America and the two other regions points to differences among them. Chief among these differences is the already mentioned fact that despite generalized authoritarianism in continental South America, the proportion of its “old democracies” that maintained, in one way or another, their electoralist trappings was higher than that obtained in both Asia and Africa. In addition, the relatively high proportion of Caribbean countries tied to British “tutelary democracy” depressed the Authoritarian behaviors score for South America in general. It is worth noting that if one were to consider only the period between 1983 and 1989, the Authoritarian score for South America would be even lower because of the early transition from authoritarianism to electoralism in all its countries except Nicaragua, Panama, Paraguay, Cuba, and Haiti. Because, however, most South American countries had embraced authoritarian rule before 1983, the 1983–89 change does not affect the score. Likewise in Asia, periods of electoralism in countries such as Thailand, Pakistan, Nepal, Cambodia, and Afghanistan during this subperiod do not lower their Authoritarian behaviors scores because of the presence of authoritarianism in these countries during the same subperiod. Moreover, there are variations within each region in the way in which individual countries contributed to the two subvariables of authoritarianism as revealed by the analysis of variance in table 4.4. For both subvariables, South America has the highest standard deviation (SD) followed by Asia and Africa. The West has the lowest. The coefficients of variation (Coeff Var) confirm these results, except in the case of Western countries. High variations in South America reflect the fact that a few countries (Costa Rica, Venezuela, and Trinidad-Tobago) were electoralist and had low scores (between 1 and 2) in the face of high scores (between 3 and 6.5) registered by the majority of the countries. High Coeff Var in Western countries reflect the relatively high scores (between 1.5 and 3.5) in some countries (Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Ireland, Italy, Portugal, and Spain) in the face of low scores for the majority of the countries (appendix 2). Again, the authoritarian behaviors score gap between South America and the two other regions reflects the presence of electoralist trappings in South America. In addition, the relatively high proportion of Caribbean countries tied to British “tutelary democracy” depressed the Authoritarian score for South America in general. In Asia, by contrast, periods of electoralism in countries such as Thailand, Pakistan, Nepal, Cambodia, and Afghanistan during

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this subperiod do not lower their Authoritarian behaviors scores because of the presence of authoritarianism in the same countries during the same subperiod. Africa had very few electoralist regimes, which kept its Authoritarian behaviors score high. Nevertheless, South America’s lower score in Authoritarian behaviors is offset or compensated by its higher score in Electoralist behaviors for the subperiod. Despite the gap in Authoritarian behaviors between South America and the two other regions, South America’s higher score in Electoralist behaviors, the almost even score between Africa and Asia, and the wide gap separating all three from Western countries preserve the deep similarities for developing countries for the subperiod. The results for Shared behaviors are 86 percent for South America (in disaggregated terms, 100% for continental South America, and 55.5% for the Caribbean). Asia also scores 100 percent, and Africa has 92 percent. The score is, thus, quite even in developing countries, a fact reflected by the chi-square test (= 3.624), which is not significant. The West’s score (9.52%) is about 82 percent lower than the median score of South America, Asia, and Africa. For the 1990–96 subperiod, the results for Electoralist behaviors are 66 percent for South America (75% for continental South America), 68 percent for Asia. and 59 percent for Africa, a highly negligible margin as revealed by the nonsignificant chi-square test (= 0.727). The West and Japan obtain 9.52 percent, a margin of 54 percent on the average from the three developing regions. For Authoritarian behaviors, the margin is quite substantial among the three developing regions as shown by the significant chi-square test (= 18.283). Western countries and Japan score 62 percent, 39 percent, and 7 percent lower than Asia, Africa, and South America, respectively. The substantial margin among South America (7%), Asia (62%), and Africa (39%) is explained by the Caribbean “tutelary democracy” and the fact that, unlike Asia and Africa, South America’s “second wave of democratization” started in the mid-1980s aided by preexisting electoralist trappings even under authoritarian rule. By 1990, when the worldwide democratization movement “caught up” with Africa and Asia, almost all South American countries had rejected authoritarian rule while there was still much resistance in Asia and Africa. In Asia the score is higher because some of the countries (e.g., Taiwan) made a transition to electoralism only in 1996, which disqualifies it for a 0 score, and by its relatively higher number of states still committed to communist authoritarianism (e.g., China, Vietnam, and North Korea). Despite its electoralist record, Thailand also keeps the score high for Asia because of its recidivous behavior as exemplified by the military coup and the ensuing short authoritarian rule in 1991. By comparison, Africa’s score is lower than Asia’s partly because of the generalized euphoria for democracy that followed France’s former President Francois Mitterand’s pressure on African French-speaking countries at La Baule in 1990 for their democratization.

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The results for Shared behaviors show a negligible margin among the three developing regions (chi-square test = 2.853). Africa and South America considered as a whole have equal scores (90%), and Asia and South America also hold equal scores (100%) when only continental South America is considered without the Caribbean. With a score of 38 percent, Western countries and Japan are 55 percent on the average lower than the three developing regions. Frequencies Table 4.5 gives the results in means for the frequencies of Electoralist and Shared Behaviors for the three subperiods. For the 1948–66 subperiod the results for Electoralist behaviors for developing countries oscillate between a high mean of 2.100 for South America (320% of GM) and a low mean of 0.361 for Africa (55% of GM). Western countries/Japan have a mean of 0.095 (14% of GM), far lower than all three developing zones. Africa and

Table 4.5. Frequency of Overpoliticized Behaviors, 1948–66, 1967–89, 1990–96 1948–66 Zone

Mean

Electo. %GM

Shared Mean %GM

S. America/Caribbean Asia Africa Western, Japan General Mean

2.1 0.4 0.361 0.095 0.657

320 61 55 14 100

6.95 4.95 2.143 0.5 3.462

1967–89 Zone

Mean

%GM

Shared Mean %GM

S. America/Caribbean Asia Africa Western, Japan General Mean

1.148 0.519 0.204 0 0.444

259 117 46 0 100

3.24 3.81 2.795 0 2.606

Electo.

Electo.

192 148 64 15 100

124 146 107 0 100

1990–96 Zone

Mean

%GM

Shared Mean %GM

S. America/Caribbean Asia Africa Western, Japan General Mean

3.069 3.4 1.667 0.095 2.071

148 164 80 5 100

9.64 10.25 4.047 0.7 6.122

Source: Calculated from appendixes 1 and 1B.

157 167 66 11 100

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Asia have negligible differences in their means; the gap between them and South America is again explained by Africa’s and Asia’s late independence and the short time span between their independence and the almost immediate turn for many of their countries toward authoritarianism of the 1967– 89 period, which did not allow as many opportunities for Electoverpo incidents to occur as in South America. The means for Shared behaviors show the same tendency as for Electoralist behaviors. There are big differences among South America (192% of GM), Asia (148% of GM), and Africa (64% of GM) although Asia is far closer to South America than Africa is. Western countries and Japan (Mean = 0.500) score lowest with 15 percent of GM. The gap among developing countries is also partly explained by the lateness of independence in Africa and Asia. In general Asian countries acquired independence before Africa (in the 1940s and earlier in the case of some Middle Eastern countries such as Iraq). Because Shared behaviors take place in both authoritarian and electoralist regimes, the frequency of its related incidents was registered over a longer period in Asian independent countries (both authoritarian and electoralist) than in African countries. For the 1967–89 subperiod, South America also maintains the highest mean (= 1.148) for Electoralist behaviors. Asia and Africa have relatively close, although not equal, means (0.519 and 0.204, respectively). South America’s higher score is justified once again by the persistence of electoralist trappings and regimes during this authoritarian period that made it possible for Electoralist incidents to be recorded more frequently in South America than in Asia and Africa. Western countries and Japan maintain the lowest mean (= 0.000). The gap is not as wide for Shared behaviors among the three developing regions as for Electoralist behaviors. South America and Asia have relatively close means (3.240 and 3.810, respectively) with Africa maintaning a means of 2.795. Western countries and Japan have a 0.000 means. Africa’s lowest score in recorded frequency of incidents reflects partly its leading score in the presence column of Authoritarian behaviors. Indeed, unlike Asian and South American countries, many African authoritarian regimes were, early on, suprisingly more tolerated by the citizens (the developmentalist and unitary rethoric was quite successful) than one would expect. The regimes were also relatively more successful in repressing oppositional politics. As a result, incidents of Shared behaviors generally initiated by the opposition and frequently recorded in South America and Asia were less recorded in Africa in the earlier days of authoritarian rules. By contrast, the frequency of incidents in such crisis-ridden Asian and South American countries as Sri Lanka or Guatemala justifies the higher frequency scores registered by Asia and South America. For the 1990–96 subperiod, the results for Electoralist behaviors are quite close between South America and Asia (mean = 3.069 and 3.400, re-

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spectively). Africa has a mean of 1.667. Their respective share of the GM is 148 percent, 164 percent, and 80 percent. The Mean for Western countries and Japan is 0.095 for a 5 percent share of the GM. The gap between Africa and the two other developing zones stems from the fact that countries such as Mexico, Colombia, India, Pakistan, and South Korea have a high number of Electoralist incidents. In addition, Africa’s embrace of electoralism occurred generally around 1990. Because recorded incidents occurred well after 1990 with the involvement in electoral activities, their number is, perforce, smaller than in South America and Asia. South America and Asia not only had already well-established electoralist regimes before 1990, but they also embraced electoralism before 1990. As a result, the longer time span allowed more incidents to be recorded for South America and Asia. The frequencies for Shared behaviors are again relatively close between South America’s (mean = 9.640 or 157% of GM) and Asia’s (mean = 10.250 or 167% of GM). Africa’s Mean (= 4.047 or 66% of GM) is the lowest of the three. For the subperiod Asia’s frequencies are again the highest. Western countries/Japan record a 0.700 mean (or 11% of GM). Africa’s higher number of p frequency (pervasive occurrences resulting from protracted wars) mostly explains its low mean; it is calculated separately (Table 4.6) and, thus, represses the mean for Africa. Regional means do not give the whole picture. For a fuller picture the analysis of variance (ANOVA) sheds light on the contributions of individual countries within each geographical region to the frequency of overpoliticization (tables 4.7, 4.8, and 4.9). South America displays the highest standard deviations (SD) for both the Electoralist and Shared behaviors during the 1948–66 subperiod followed by Asia and Africa. For the 1967–89 subperiod South America maintains the highest SD in the frequency of Electoralist behaviors (1.433), but Asia has the highest SD in Shared behaviors (2.732) followed by Africa and South America. For the 1990–96 subperiod Asia has the highest SD in both Electoralist (4.752) and Shared behaviors (11.01). For all the subperiods the West has the lowest SD. Although these SD suggest that the regions with the highest SD had vast discrepancies among their countries in the frequency of overpoliticization and those with the lowest SD had small discrepancies, they do not tell the full story. They are supplemented by the coefficients of variation (Coeff Var). For the 1948–66 subperiod South America displays the lowest variation (Coeff Var = 72.3000) in Electoralist behaviors among its countries, followed by Asia (204.1250) and Africa (221.0745). The West and Japan have the highest variation among the countries (316.6316). With respect to Shared behaviors, Asia has the lowest variation (Coeff Var = 73.1273), followed by Africa (85.5570) and South America (90.5784). Again, Western countries display the highest variation among them (230.1000). For the 1967–89 subperiod variations in Electoralist behaviors within regions are similar to the

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Table 4.6. Pervasive Overpoliticized Behaviors (p frequency), 1948–66, 1967–89, 1990–96 S. America Haiti El Salvador Nicaragua

1948–66

1967–89

1990–96

p

p p p n = 27 % = 11

p

n = 20 %=5 Asia N. Vietnam S. Vietnam Cambodia Afghanistan

p p

n = 25 %=8 Africa Congo (Zaire) Angola Chad Mozambique Sudan Algeria Burundi Liberia Somalia Uganda Rwanda

p p p n = 27 % = 11

n = 29 %=3

p p n = 25 %=8

p p p p p

p

p p p p p

p n = 36 %=3

n = 49 % = 10

p n = 51 % = 14

Source: Appendix 1.

1948–66 period, except for Western countries. South American countries have the lowest variation (Coeff Var = 124.8323), followed by Asia (172.2662) and Africa (264.2332). The West’s variation is 0, given its .0000 mean. Variations in Shared behaviors for the same subperiod are lowest for Asian countries (Coeff Var = 71.7049), followed by South America (80.3272) and Africa (93.7221). Again the West shows 0 variations. For the 1990–96 subperiod variations in Electoralist behaviors are lowest in South American countries (Coeff Var = 111.4851) followed by Africa (116.7307) and Asia (139.7706).

27 27 49 21 124

29 25 51 21 126

1967–89 Zone S. America Asia Africa West Total

1990–96 Zone S. America Asia Africa West Total

Source: Appendix 1.

20 25 36 21 102

1948–66 Zone S. America Asia Africa West Total

N

3.069 3.4 1.667 0.095 2.071

1.148 0.519 0.204 0 0.444

2.1 0.4 0.361 0.095 0.657

Mean

Electo.

4.114 4.752 1.946 0.301 3.311

1.433 0.893 0.539 0 0.940

1.518 0.816 0.798 0.301 1.165

SD

111.485 139.770 116.730 316.631

124.832 172.266 264.233

72.300 204.125 221.074 316.631

Coeff Var

Table 4.7. Frequency of Overpoliticized Behaviors and Their Variations

28 24 43 20 115

25 21 44 19 109

20 20 35 18 93

N

9.64 10.25 4.047 0.7 6.122

3.24 3.81 2.795 00 2.606

6.95 4.95 2.143 0.5 3.462

Mean

Shared

10.89 11.01 3.251 1.081 8.369

2.603 2.731 2.620 0 2.684

6.295 3.620 1.833 1.150 4.228

SD

112.941 107.384 80.341 154.414

80.327 71.704 93.722

90.578 73.127 85.557 230.100

Coeff Var

Overpoliticization: Quantitative Evidence 187

83.915 136.990

Within Zones

Total

88.107 108.605

Within Zones

Total

163.352 1207.005 1370.357

Between Zones

Within Zones

Total

1990–96

20.498

Between Zones

1967–89

53.075

1948–66 Between Zones

Sum of Squares

125

122

3

123

120

3

101

98

3

df

9.893

54.451

0.734

6.833

0.856

17.692

Mean Square

Electo.

5.504

9.306

20.661

F

0.001

0.000

0.000

Sig

7984.296

6455.036

1529.260

778.037

606.957

171.080

1645.118

1138.686

506.433

Sum of Squares

Table 4.8. Frequency of Overpoliticized Behaviors: Analysis of Variance

114

111

3

108

105

3

92

89

3

df

58.153

509.753

5.781

57.027

12.794

168.811

Mean Square

Shared

8.766

9.865

13.194

F

0.000

0.000

0.000

Sig

188 Comparing Apples and Mangoes

West

Africa

Asia

1967–89 S. America

West

Africa

Asia

1948–66 S. America

(I) Zone

Asia Africa West S. America Africa West S. America Asia West S. America Asia Africa

Asia Africa West S. America Africa West S. America Asia West S. America Asia Africa

(J) Zone

Electo.

0.6296* 0.9441* 1.1481* –0.6296* 0.3144 0.5185 –0.9441* –0.3144 0.2041 –1.1481* –0.5185 –0.2041

1.7000* 1.7389* 2.0048* –1.7000* 0.0388 0.3048 –1.7389* –0.038 0.2659 –2.0048* –0.3048 –0.2659

Mean Difference (I-J)

Table 4.9. Benferroni Test: Multiple Comparisons

0.048 0.000 0.000 0.048 0.770 0.238 0.000 0.770 1.000 0.000 0.238 1.000

0.000 0.000 0.000 0.000 1.000 1.000 0.000 1.000 1.000 0.000 1.000 1.000

Sig.

–0.5695 0.4445 3.2400* 0.5695 1.0141 3.8095* –0.4445 –1.0141 2.7955* –3.2400* –3.8095* –2.7955*

2.000 4.8071* 6.4500* –2.000 2.8071* 4.4500* –4.8071* –2.8071* 1.6429 –6.4500* –4.4500* –1.6429

1.000 1.000 0.000 1.000 0.689 0.000 1.000 0.689 0.000 0.000 0.000 0.000

0.483 0.000 0.000 0.483 0.038 0.001 0.000 0.038 0.701 0.000 0.001 0.701

Sig.

continued on next page

Mean Difference (I-J)

Shared

Overpoliticization: Quantitative Evidence 189

West

Africa

Asia

1990–96 S. America

(I) Zone Asia Africa West S. America Africa West S. America Asia West S. America Asia Africa

(J) Zone –0.3310 1.4023 2.9737* 0.3310 1.7333 3.3048* –1.4023 –1.7333 1.5714 –2.9737* –3.3048* –1.5714

Mean Difference (I-J)

Electo.

Table 4.9. Benferroni Test: Multiple Comparisons (continued)

1.000 0.346 0.008 1.000 0.155 0.003 0.346 0.155 0.338 0.008 0.003 0.338

Sig.

–0.6071 5.5963* 8.9429* 0.6071 6.2035* 9.5500* –5.5963* –6.2035* 3.3465 –8.9429* –9.5500* –3.3465

Mean Difference (I-J)

Shared

1.000 0.019 0.001 1.000 0.011 0.000 0.019 0.011 0.647 0.001 0.000 0.647

Sig.

190 Comparing Apples and Mangoes

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Western countries display the highest variation (316.6316). Variations in Shared behaviors for the same subperiod are lowest among African countries (Coeff Var = 80.3410), followed by Asia (107.3844) and South America (112.9411). The West records the highest variation (154.4143). These differences are confirmed by the Bonferroni test for multiple comparisons between regions (table 4.9), as can be seen in the mean difference column and the .000 level of significance in many instances. Thus, countries in each region or zone contributed differently to patterns of political behaviors in developing countries. As in the case of betweenregion comparisons, the differential contributions within regions are due to some of the already mentioned historical factors, such as the timing of independence for different countries that affected the four regions differently. With respect to Electoralist behaviors, the lowest Coeff Var among South American countries for the 1948–66 and 1967–89 subperiods is explained by the fact that, unlike Africa and Asia, South American countries had an “established tradition” of electoralist regimes. Electoralist behaviors were more likely to occur “evenly” in South American countries than in Africa and Asia. Because there were not many electoralist regimes in Africa and Asia during the 1948 to 1966 and 1967 to 1989 subperiods, the few electoralist regimes that resorted to Electoralist behaviors with some frequency inflate the quantitative results, thus showing a bigger gap or variation (higher Coeff Var) among their countries. This is the case of Cambodia, India, and South Korea in Asia, which have a frequency of 2 and 3, and Egypt and Liberia in Africa, which have a frequency of 2 and 4, amid a generally low frequency of 0. It is also the case for Electoralist behaviors within the African region, whose Coeff Var for the 1990–96 subperiod is inflated by the fact that there were still many authoritarian regimes while the few cases that made the transition to democracy faced many instances of Electoralist behaviors. Concerning Shared behaviors, variations for South America are higher for 1948–66 because of the high frequency of some countries such as Argentina (14), Bolivia (12), Colombia (8), Nicaragua (27), and Venezuela (14). The same holds true for the high variations for Shared behaviors during the 1990–96 subperiod, which are inflated by the high frequency in such countries as Brazil (18), Chile (22), Colombia (23), Guatemala (31), Peru (43), and Venezuela (27). The high level of p frequency (table 4.6) in Africa, which is calculated separately, depresses the Coeff Var for Africa with respect to the Shared behaviors. By comparison with the three developing zones, Western countries display higher variations in Electoralist and Shared behaviors for the 1948–66 and 1990–96 subperiods. Because most Western countries recorded no instance of Electoralist or Shared behaviors during these subperiods, the few countries that did with a frequency of more than 1 inflate the Coeff Var for the West. This is the case of France,

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Greece, Germany, Italy, the United States, and Spain, which had a frequency of between 2 and 3. CONCLUSION: DIFFERENCES AND SIMILARITIES Overall, quantitative evidence for the 1948–96 period supports the conclusions of historical evidence in the previous chapter. Quantitative evidence reveals differences among developing countries, on the one hand, and between them and Western countries, on the other. Differences among developing countries are shown by the chi-square test in the presence and absence column. Gaps are recorded in Electoralist behaviors for the 1948–66 and 1967–89 subperiods and in Authoritarian behaviors for the 1990–96 subperiod. In addition to their consistent differences from the three developing regions in all three behaviors, Western countries and Japan display differences among themselves as well. Differences are also revealed in frequencies. Because of the within-regional variances, there are differences (sometimes significant ones) between the four geographical zones or regions in the frequency with which they encountered overpoliticization. There are also differences in the frequency with which individual countries contributed to it. Yet, as with narrative evidence, these differences qualify my main claim without refuting it. The differences scarcely overshadow the deep similarities in overpoliticized behaviors. The narrow percentage gap among the three developing regions highlights these similarities. For the 1948–66 subperiod two of the three geographical regions have an even score in different combinations in Electoralist behaviors (Asia-Africa) and Shared behaviors (AsiaSouth America). The margin from each other for Authoritarian behaviors is not significant. A large number of the countries in each of the three regions score high in at least two of the three types of overpoliticized behaviors and their attendant manifestations. For the 1967–89 subperiod the margin is negligible between Asia and Africa for Authoritarian behaviors and among the three developing regions for Shared behaviors (especially if South America is disaggregated and continental South America obtains 100% as does Asia). For the 1990–96 subperiod there are very negligible differences in Electoralist and Shared behaviors among the three developing regions. In addition, 100% of each region’s countries experienced violent opposition during the 1967 to 1989 and 1990 to 1996 subperiods (see table 3.2). In each region, many countries experienced illicit coercive power of the state, dictatorial power, and violent opposition during the 1996 to 2004 democratic consolidation subperiod. As for frequencies, some of the means for the three regions are quite close, keeping in mind that close, and not equal, is probably the best one gets when comparing social events. South America and Asia have relatively close means in Shared behaviors for 1967–89 and in Electoralist and

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Shared behaviors for 1990–96; and Asia and Africa have relatively close means in Electoralist behaviors for 1948–66 and 1967–89. Overall, for the entire period (1948–96) there are more cases of nonsignificant differences among developing countries than significant ones (table 4.9). Here also, the convergence toward overpoliticization is better grasped by taking into account the “compensation factor,” which is even better revealed by quantitative evidence. During the 1948 to 1966 subperiod, for example, the 24 percent obtained by Asia for Electoralist behaviors is compensated by its 85 percent for Authoritarian behaviors and 100 percent for Shared behaviors. Africa’s 25 percent for Electoralist behaviors is compensated by its 75 percent for both Authoritarian and Shared behaviors. For the 1967–89 subperiod South America’s relatively lower scores (than Africa and Asia) of 64 percent and 86 percent for Authoritarian and Shared behaviors, respectively, are compensated by its higher score of 63 percent for Electoralist behaviors (Asia has 30% and Africa 14%). Asian and African lower scores for Electoralist behaviors are compensated by their higher scores for Authoritarian and Shared behaviors (89% and 100% for Asia and 92% and 92% for Africa). For the 1990–96 subperiod South America’s low 7 percent in Authoritarian behaviors is compensated by its high 66 percent (or 75% when dissociated from the Caribbean) in Electoralist behaviors and its high 90 percent (or 100% when separated from the Caribbean) in Shared behaviors. Africa’s 39 percent in Authoritarian behaviors is compensated by its 59 percent in Electoralist and 90 percent in Shared behaviors. The compensation factor plays also a role in terms of frequency. For the three subperiods, each developing region’s relatively low mean in Electoralist behaviors (which resembles the West’s mean) is compensated by a high mean in Shared behaviors. In addition to this common compensation factor, each region has specific compensations. Asia’s low means in Electoralist behaviors for 1948–66 and 1967–89 are compensated by its first ranking in Shared behaviors for 1967–89 and 1990–96 and in Electoralist behaviors for 1990– 96; South America’s second-ranking in Electoralist behaviors for 1990–96 and Shared behaviors for 1967–89 and 1990–96 is compensated by its first ranking in both behaviors for the 1948–66 subperiod and in Electoralist behaviors for 1967–89. Africa’s low means for both behaviors for all subperiods are compensated by its higher number of pervasive (p) frequency: thirteen cases against seven for Asia and five for South America (table 4.6). With respect to the differences between Western and non-Western countries, quantitative evidence also confirms the low incidence of the three major behaviors and their specific manifestations. In short, the “compensation factor” adds to time sequences and historical contingencies affecting overpoliticization in different regions to confirm that despite data discrepancies in terms of its specific manifestations,

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overpoliticization is a common property in developing countries. Data for the 1996–2003 support this conclusion. Because overpoliticization denotes a lack of compromise in political competition, it has implications for the state. I now turn to these implications.

Chapter 5

Understanding the Overpoliticized State A concept is a mental representation of an object of daily practice, a situation, or a society that is comprehended as a result of reflection. Such a comprehension is made possible by a process of mediation by other empirical and theoretical data that help illuminate the concrete situation. A concept is, thus, both “identical” with the concrete situation and “different” from it because of the mediating data.1 Just as understanding the concept of “tropical fruits” requires concrete facts about mangoes, papayas, and pineapples and mediating (comparative and theoretical) data about apples, pears, and fruits in general, so, too, to support my contention that there exists a horizontally empirical and conceptual unity in the form of an overpoliticized state requires many types of data. Chapters 3 and 4 provide empirical data that are “identical” with the concrete situation in non-Western and Western countries. At the same time, the experiences of Western countries serve as mediating (comparative) data for understanding non-Western countries. All these data are, in turn, mediated by theoretical data. The three types of data shed light on overpoliticization, the empirical and conceptual unity of developing countries. In this chapter, I rely on the concept of overpoliticization to provide some theoretical and historical signposts to understand (not explain) its incarnation, the overpoliticized state. The chapter revolves around the preeminence of politics in framing the horizontally similar overpoliticized behaviors in developing countries. The main idea is this: Because politics determines institutions, behaviors, and the state format, compromise-resistant politics in Third World societies determines their overpoliticized institutional, behavioral, and state formats; it demarcates them from the institutional, behavioral, and state formats in the West. Yet in both types of society the state is the inclusive concept and the intersecting point despite the preeminence of politics; in this sense, the effects of politics are reflected in the two types of state, which can, thus, be referred to respectively as the overpoliticized state and the liberal democratic state. One is characterized by overpoliticization, the other by liberal compromise. 195

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Institutions, I indicated earlier, can be formal or informal. Informal institutions are perhaps best defined in sociological institutionalism, according to which institutions are “conventions that take on a rulelike status in social thought and action, which explains why sociologists find institutions everywhere from handshakes to marriages to strategic-planning departments.”2 While sociology and anthropology tend to take both informal and formal institutions seriously, political science and economics tend to focus on formal institutions. In this sense, not all formal institutions are political institutions; as Nicos Poulantzas points out, “institutions are not necessarily part of “the political,” and should not “be reserved for juridico-political institutions alone, since the company, school, church, etc., also constitute institutions.”3 My focus here is on formal political institutions. Easton has defined two types of political institutions: regime structures and differentiated structures. Regime structures include “the formal structures of the authorities, often loosely called the government, together with the informal behavior and relationships that collect around it; formal (legal) and informal rules of behavior specifying rights and obligations for the authorities as well as for ordinary members of the system; and the values or goals associated with the given political system.” Differentiated structures include groupings and political roles.4 I have already discussed the reasons that led to the strengthening of new institutionalism and its impact (especially rational choice institutionalism’s—RCI) on the democratization literature (chapter 2). Not only RCI focuses on actors’ individual preferences and claims that the actors respond to institutional contexts in identical ways regardless of their strategic position, but it subordinates politics to institutions. It defines politics as a series of collective action dilemmas by a group of actors whose collective action of maximizing their preferences is not always as optimal for everyone as they would like to because of the absence of optimal institutional arrangement. Historical institutionalism (HI) also subordinates politics to institutions by assuming that (1) political institutions determine the outcomes and inequalities of outcomes and (2) these differences stem from the way institutions structure conflicts/politics.5 In this sense, RCI and HI do not ignore politics. Both the earlier proponents of HI’s “Bring the State Back in”6 and most recent works that attempt to bridge the gap between RCI and HI/path dependency7 deal with politics. To be sure, proponents of RCI and HI differ from each other in their approach to the relation between the state/institutions and society-rooted politics; they also differ in terms of the type of institutions taken into account. HI considers both formal and informal institutions and procedures whereas RCI focuses almost exclusively on formal institutions.

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Despite these differences, RCI and HI have in common their devaluation of politics in favor of institutions. Both concur that institutions structure politics and political outcomes and “provide the context in which political actors define their strategies and pursue their interest.”8 Because of this ubiquitous preeminence accorded institutions, RCI subordinates politics to institutions and, despite its recognition of informal procedures, HI reduces the state and links conflicts to institutions, minimizes culture, the very value over which many political struggles take place in developing countries, and often relies on formal institutions for explanations and solutions. This false primacy of institutions stands opposite to the argument I make here, namely that society-rooted politics determines institutions even if one recognizes the latter’s effects on politics in return. The false primacy is facilitated, with respect to developing countries, by the fact that most comparative studies about institutionalism do not deal with developing countries but advanced industrialized democracies. Yet their claims are applied to developing countries. Because politics is society-rooted, the “political context/events” these studies deal with are scarcely similar to those in developing countries. The evidence contradicts the primacy of institutions. The first proof that political institutions and the state are effects of politics is provided by the idea of “common good” that is often erroneously used as a refutation of politics defined in terms of competition. The idea of common good appears in much of the political philosophy literature under different names, from Plato and Aristotle who attached to it an ethical bent in the name of “justice” to Alexis de Tocqueville who refers to it as “country’s good,” passing by Thomas Aquinas’s “bonum commune,” Hobbes’s “salus populi,” and Rousseau’s “common interest.” The common good is, however, incomprehensible without its presupposition, the competition over the social product and political power. It is both philosophical and practical. At the philosophical level, the horror of the political competition provokes sentiments of common good in many humans. Indeed, the ethical bent in most of these political philosophers is a wish, a normative stand that confirms the harsh reality of competitive politics. It is the negative fallouts of competitive politics that have forced, for instance, Pope John Paul II in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries to call for an equitable political community in each country he visited during his papacy. At the practical level, the competition leads to two situations. First, the “national territory” (Schmitt’s “us”) confronts external territories (foes); this requires domestic, internal, or “national” cohesion and prosperity to fend off the foes. Second, the very need for internal cohesion is coupled with the no less important need for the ruling individuals, groups, or classes to pacify domestic adversarial interests that challenge or threaten their own. It is in the best interest of those who, as a result of strength, ruse, or military prowness, have prevailed in the competition to

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subordinate the interests of their competitors to their own in ways that avoid open and continuous challenges that endanger these interests. Both situations call for “common good” or “national interest.” Be it philosophical/moral or practical, the common good is, thus, an emanation of politics. But more importantly, the idea of the common good is associated with institutions that attempt to make it become a reality. In other words, politics generates common good institutions. At the philosophical level, recall that because they took the competition in society so seriously, Hobbes and Rousseau provided for a mechanism through which conflicts arising from the competition can be resolved—the idea of the social contract/consent with its attendant institutional format.9 At the practical level, the two imperatives of the political competition generate institutional and state power arrangements that are at the same time both a reflection of the antagonistic/competing interests and channels for the search for the common good. Consider here the role of political parties (competing interests) and that of the parliament (common good and competing interests). A good number of political philosophers establish a clear cause-toeffect link between politics and political institutions/state. Adam Smith’s already quoted passage that subordinates the advent of the government to struggle over property between the rich and the poor confirms the point: “And till there be property [hence, the object of the competition between the avarice and ambition of the rich and the hatred of labor by the poor], there can be no government [hence, institutions, state], the very end of which is to secure wealth and to defend the rich from the poor.” Locke goes so far as to place the competition over property well before society. According to him, “property is prior to both society and the state; and the difficulty of its regulation [hence, politics] is the critical reason which compels equally free men to the establishment of both [society and state].”10 More clearly, he maintains that government has no other end but the preservation of property.11 In other words, the competition over property results in the formation of a government/institutions to protect it. In Rome, where the control of political offices (e.g., the Senate) depended on wealth, Cicero establishes the direct dependence of institutions/state on political competition over property: “Men founded states and cities primarily on the principle that private property may be retained. Even if men first formed groups because of a natural impulse, still, they sought out the protection of cities in the hope of guarding their private possessions.”12 Montesquieu, who has great respect for institutions, recognizes that they are a necessity generated by the state of war (politics) between individuals in society and reflect the type of society in place.13 One finds many other instances of the direct causal link established between politics and institutions by earlier political theorists.

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Any contemporary institution that has some political connotation at all is an effect of politics in society. These include women organizations, peasant associations, racial/ethnic organizations, municipal tenant associations, trade unions, and governmental institutions themselves. The mushrooming of institutions in the post-Soviet period designed to support “emerging democracies” and citizen rights, including many NGOs, is an outcome of oppressive competitive politics that existed in many of the societies being protected. Through their competition and struggles, groups and classes determine the form and configuration of political institutions. Although privileging institutionalism, it is difficult to read Alfred Stepan’s book on Peru14 and not record the influence of society-rooted politics on the organic-statist-corporatist institutions. The most obvious influence is that the “progressive” elements of the military that sought to use political institutions to affect changes were inspired by the plight of the impoverished masses of the Peruvian society. Corporatist institutions in Peru were a by-product of politics in Peru’s society. In Nigeria and Kenya, institutions of “civil society” (e.g., Harambe in Kenya and Hometown Associations in Nigeria) strived or perished at the whims of society-rooted politics. In Kenya, for instance, they “perished” under the strain of President Moi’s tribal politics as he sought to reduce the influence of Kikuyu farmers.15 In fact, institutional variations in individual countries, leading to variations in outcomes, are an effect of society-rooted politics. Although Peter Evans assigns “successful” outcomes in Taiwan, Brazil, and Kerala (India) to their more “developmental” bureaucracies,16 these bureaucracies were shaped by political competition in society (struggle for land reform and peasant rebellions in Kerala, landed oligarchy political interests in Brazil, Kwomintang’s suspicion of capitalists because of the memory of pre-1948 politics in mainland China). In short, institutions, as Aaron Wildavsky concurs, are not natural; they are caused.17 Political institutions are not the state, and the state is not just another institution. Nevertheless, like political institutions, the state—despite its aura— is an effect of politics as well. The vast literature on the state, some of which I refer to in the next sections, invariably refers to Max Weber. In defining the modern state, Max Weber emphasizes two factors, namely, territoriality and violence. Unlike its predecessors, the modern state is characterized by its ability to monopolize the legitimate use of coercion within a given territory. Although “force is certainly not the normal or only means of the state . . . but force is a means specific to the state . . . the state is a relation of men dominating men, a relation supported by means of legitimate (considered to be legitimate) violence.”18 In addition to coercion, another crucial definitional element of the state is the relationship it involves. Rightly, Weber links coercion to the “relation

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of men dominating men,” although his emphasis on the institutions and bureaucracy sidetracked the implications of this relationship. The use of coercion by those who hold political power to create cohesion or to deter adversarial and hostile actions of their political competitors reveals the relational nature of the state. Regardless of and beyond the institutional framework within which these attempts take place, what is crucial here is the supreme claim of creating a point of convergence, a point of intersection for all the groups and classes in society. This claim is consistent with the idea of the state that was fostered when the concept of the state was first proclaimed from the thirteenth century onward. The very notion of sovereignty and the perception of the state as unitary and legitimately penetrative of the entire society rested above all on this point of intersection. Hegel’s notion of “the absolutely universal interest of the state proper,” the view of the state as an “instrument of universal insight” or “ethical community,” however disputable, derive from this intersectional nature of the state. It is consistent with the continental European rationalist/abstract view of the state that is deductive.19 At any rate, the state “operates as itself the chief referent of feelings of interindividual, intergroup solidarity, and treats submission to itself as the standard expression of those feelings.”20 As the “chief referent of feelings of intergroup solidarity,” the state is, thus, a separate “entity,” different from simple political institutions even though the line of demarcation between the two is at times invisible to the naked eye because the state’s intervention takes place through institutions. Yet the distinction is imperative if one recalls, for instance, that copying Western institutions in the post–WWII period has not necessarily led to liberal democratic states in developing countries. Coercion-based state power and the state’s position as the nodal point of relationships reveal that the state is an effect of competitive politics in three ways. First, the competition over the social product among societal actors often leads to the use of coercion: “he/she who possesses might possesses rights.” Second, because of the need to create means of deterrence against their potential foes and means of cohesion for those over whom they rule, holders of state power often resort to coercion. Third, because they compete against each other, groups and classes in society form the very relationships and interactions that meet at the state as their intersection and nodal point. The coercive power of the state does not necessarily imply the legitimacy of those holding state power. Coup makers can and do control the coercive power of the state without necessarily being legitimate. In this case, the use of illegitimate coercive power and the new network of relationships created after the coup reveal more clearly how politics (that led to the coup) shapes the state. Neither does coercion refer only to physical coercion (jail, fees, police, army, death) as suggested by the Weberian definition. Nor is a class a necessary and sufficient condition for the control of state coercive

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power or the existence of a state. In precolonial African, Asian, and American lineage-based states coercion was ideological (a curse or threat of impeding disaster, illness, or mishap from the elders, gods, or ancestors) and was not necessarily controlled by a social class in the rigorous sense of the term. Recourse to ideological coercion in the exercise of state power further shows why politics determines the state because it sheds light on how the unbreakable link between society and politics allows politics in these precolonial societies to generate a specific type of state coercion and format. In short, as a competition over the social product and political power, politics determines both political institutions and the state. In a feedback effect, both political institutions and the state reshape politics. Because of their dependence on politics and the type of society in place, political institutions are not the leading and ubiquitous explanatory variable they are claimed to be. This reality does not deny that the state operates through an institutional materiality but argues that the state is, by virtue of its identification with coercive power and intersection of relationships, different from political institutions. In the asymmetrical interdependence among politics, institutions, and the state, politics is the preeminent progenitor of the latter two; political institutions are the implementer, and the state the embodiment of their conceptual unity. Despite the instrumental superiority of politics, the state maintains a special aura provided by its monopoly of coercion, the rationalist belief in its unitary and cohesive power, and its converging, intersectional, and relational nature. For this reason, it colors and “keeps together” politics and its attendant institutions. The notion of the state as an inclusive concept helps to define the concept of the overpoliticized state and its opposite, the liberal democratic state. With respect to the overpoliticized state, one needs to focus on how the effects of politics, that is, the overpoliticized behaviors discussed in chapters 3 and 4, intersect at the state level to make it an overpoliticized state. COMPROMISE-RESISTANT POLITICS AND THE OVERPOLITICIZED STATE The empirical discussion in the previous chapters highlights the high contentiousness of politics and its effects in developing countries. In almost all the situations discussed the competition over the social product is expressed in the form of its corollary, a bitter competition over political power. A brief review of some cases in each of the three main developing regions helps establish the link between politics and the overpoliticized institutions and behaviors. In the African countries of Liberia, Nigeria, Zimbabwe, and Rwanda/ Burundi, the competition between existing groups or classes is the backbone of politics. In Liberia the control of resources, values, and political power by

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the Americano-Liberian elite assembled within the True Whig Party so marginalized the indigenous African groups that the stage was set for the bitter struggle that started in 1980 with the Doe coup. In Nigeria the NorthSouth divide that started during the negotiations for independence has led to the preeminent role of the North and its military/civilian establishment. The attendant competition has had the effect of opposing the North and the South/ West in bitter confrontations over oil resources and political power. The results have been civil war and vicious dictatorships. Zimbabwe’s present predicament cannot be understood unless one bears in mind the colonial legacy. Under colonialism, European settlers controlled land, resources, and power. Postcolonial politics has had to deal with the issue of how to restitute some of the lands to the landless Africans. In addition, as in other developing countries, the need to control political power for access to material and other resources has opposed the elite closely associated with Mugabe to anti-Mugabe forces. The two processes constitute the backbone of Zimbabwe’s bitter politics. The situation in both Rwanda and Burundi cannot be understood without taking into account the long history of competition between the majority Hutus and minority Tutsis over land and, more importantly, political power. In Asia, Malaysian politics reflects the competition among the three major groups (native Malays, Chinese, and Indians), one manifestation of which is the affirmative action pact of the post-1969 period to make the previously inferior material and educational level of the native Malays equal or superior to that of the ethnic Chinese and Indians. This pact has been accompanied by the control of political power by ethnic Malays within a broad coalition of parties. Many of the bitter political rivalries between former prime ministers Bhutto and Sharif of Pakistan are an aspect of the competition over resources between the two landed families. Politics in Taiwan cannot be understood without taking into account land, cultural, and value conflicts between indigenous Taiwanese and mainlanders from China. Likewise, one understands the politics of “religious” and “cultural” conflicts in India between Hindus and Muslims only against the background of the Mogul (Muslim) rule that preceded British colonialism. Mogul infiltrations meant Muslim raids on the vast Hindu wealth of jewelry and other property. And like any other colonial rule, the Mogul colonial administration meant exactions and rested on a variety of social and economic exploitations. Under British colonial rule the divide between Muslims and Hindus was exacerbated, as was generally the case in most colonial situations with two major antagonistic groups, by colonial policies that affected the two groups differently in terms of socioeconomic standing and political power. In addition, colonial rule sowed another seed of political conflict through native intermediaries called zamindars, whose patterns of economic exploitation of the peasantry still affect India today. As does the caste system. The result has been the intrac-

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table conflict among groups, which is given, perforce and often erroneously, a religious coloration because of a pervasive recourse to religious means by the protagonists to gain political power.21 In South America one considers the cases of El Salvador, Guatemala, Venezuela, Brazil, Chile, Ecuador, and Haiti. Here politics has consisted of a bitter competition between a landed oligarchy/bureaucratic/business elite and the masses of peasants, indigenous people, and mobilized popular sectors. In almost all these countries, the struggle for material resources, land, and cultural values is translated into a bitter struggle over political power. The political conflict in the Mexican region of Chiapas is a good illustration. The legacy of Spanish colonialism inherited by Mexico’s postcolonial leadership was one of suppression and oppression against the Chiapas indigenous people, who endured labor exploitation through the colonial policy of encomienda and land expropriation through the repartimento policy. The result of these policies was a cycle of suppressed rebellions. Attempts to return land to the indigenous people by postrevolutionary leaders such as Lazaro Cardenas in the 1930s, although relatively successful (252,882 hectares of land were returned between 1933 and 1940), consisted mostly of unused forests and not the productive cultivated land. The settlement of the Chiapas territory proceeded unabated, reaching deeper into eastern Chiapas. The increase in the number of settlers paralleled an increase in the Chiapas indigenous population, who, as a result, received even less land. As the process of land reform that the Chiapas people asked for dragged on and indigenous unprocessed claims piled up, their socioeconomic status stagnated or deteriorated further. One-half of the 3.5 million people in Chiapas have no potable water, twothirds have no sewage service, and 72 percent of children do not finish the first grade. In 1989 only 96 classrooms of a total 16,058 in Chiapas were in indigenous zones. These are the issues that led the Chiapas indigenous people to take up arms against the Mexican government under the aegis of the Ejercito Zapatista de Liberacion Nacional (EZLN) as attested to by their first belligerent act, namely, the destruction of the land records and the release of 230 indigenous prisoners of land disputes. It was also attested by their essentially land and economic demands in the ensuing negotiations with the government to end hostilities.22 To the cases such as Chiapas, Rwanda, and India, one must add the long conflicts in Senegal’s Casamance region, Sri Lanka, Colombia, Sudan, South Thailand, the Philippines, Angola, and many others, which confirm that in the absence of a compromise over the outcome of the competition, there is a lower resolution of political crises in the Third World. The peculiarity of intense politics and its effects in democratic Bangladesh was confirmed by the U.S. ambassador to Bangladesh, who commented that Bangladesh is a democracy but its politics is bitterly personal and intensely played out on the

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street.23 In Benin the intensity of politics was such that it imposed on the elected president, Kerekou, a “bunker mentality,” which caused him to accuse the opposition of coup plots. Routine elections have not prevented the highly contentious nature of political competition. These examples are illustrative and can apply to almost all the countries discussed in chapters 3 and 4. In most developing countries, in the absence of compromise, society-rooted conflict is accompanied by a bitter competition for the control of state power, the sine qua non for access to material and other resources. The indicators of the cutthroat struggle over state power are electoral fraud, electoral monopoly, electoral coup, and electoral violence for democratic regimes, authoritarian behaviors for authoritarian regimes, and illicit state coercion, dictatorial powers, illicit opposition, and violent opposition for both types of regime. In their empirical manifestations, these overpoliticized behaviors involve and are part and parcel of political institutions and the state. To put this institutional and state empirical reality in theoretical terms, three assumptions need to be borne in mind. First, the search for liberal democracy has been a constant in Western and non-Western countries since 1948 despite its unsuccessful outcomes in most countries. Second, despite its unsuccessful outcomes in most countries, capitalism has expanded in almost all Western and non-Western countries. Third, political regimes in the West and the Third World have relied on a set of implicit or explicit “rules of the game” that can be posited as criteria in their search for liberal democracy and capitalism. There are three such rules. The first and most important rule is that when claims are made to the social product (political competition), capitalist core relations (relations of ownership, production, and extraction of surplus product and profit) are not contested, let alone modified, by a class or group through state power or another form of coercion. This rule does not, however, preclude the state from intervening to correct abuses of the capitalist system when such abuses may actually lead some groups or classes to modify the capitalist core relations. The idea of a “welfare state,” albeit denigrated today, was an example of this attempt to correct abuses. This first rule of the game is about “basic liberal values.” The second rule of the game is procedural and institutional. It stipulates that whenever political debate and competition is allowed over the claimable social product, such debate and the attendant competition does not take place through means other than those geared toward a compromise. The competition over the social product (politics) must lead to specific political institutions (“liberal democratic institutions”) that reflect a compromise. Among these are institutions guaranteeing individual and civil liberties, free and fair elections, respect of the majority rule, respect of the rule of law by the power holders and the citizenry, and all the mechanisms of representation and competition. The third rule of the game is an enforcement rule. It ensures that the compromise reached endures through

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participants’ respect for that compromise. In other words, it makes sure that rules one and two are respected.24 The three major variables of overpoliticization and their specific manifestations reveal that these three rules of the game are not respected in Third World countries. Consider, for example, the following manifestations of electoral fraud and electoral coup discussed in chapter 3: an attempt to prevent the opposition from taking office (e.g., in Algeria), parallel governments that result from fraud or refusal to recognize an elected government (e.g., in Bolivia), a four-month boycott of the parliament by the opposition (e.g., in South Korea), mass removal of an elected president (e.g., in Ecuador), and so forth; consider also electoral monopoly such as attempts to prolong one’s tenure (e.g., in Argentina and Zambia), electoral violence, illicit opposition, and violent opposition. All these acts affirm one of the six tenets of overpoliticization, namely, that political competition and participation take place outside established institutions and procedures. They are the very opposite of the three rules of liberal democracy and its attendant institutional compromise that exists in Western countries. It is routine for the literature on democratization and democratic consolidation to dismiss electoral fraud, electoral monopoly, electoral coup, and electoral violence as “minor deviations” that do not invalidate the democratization process. Not only does the literature contradict itself in so doing because it proclaims at the same time fair and routine elections as the test of democratization and democratic consolidation, but it also contradicts the proponents of the liberal thought, who posited the vote as a crucial instrument of control in representative democracy. The truth is that because competitive elections are a sine qua non for liberal democracy, electoral fraud, electoral coup, electoral monopoly, and electoral violence, which are frequent in the Third World, are not “minor deviations that do not invalidate the democratization process”; they are the very negation of liberal democracy. The four electoralist behaviors subvert both liberalism’s cores and the rules of liberal democracy. For instance, electoral fraud and electoral monopoly work against social liberty by circumventing the avenues of equal opportunity for the permanent losers of the elections. As Chico Whitaker reports in the case of Brazil, electoral fraud and the lack of social mobility go hand in hand. There is enough incentive for those who are elected through fraud to maintain poverty among the unemployed and the poor who constitute the “electoral reserve army” and whose survival depends on selling their votes in return for a dish of beans. The result is accelerated corruption and what Whitaker calls the “fragility of democracy,” whose very functioning is distorted.25 More important for my purpose, the “fragility of democracy” means that the institutional compromise is subverted by politics played outside the designed procedures. Such politics subverts the political core of liberalism to the extent

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that it militates against the very political requirements of representation and consent. In other words, overpoliticization breeds its own brand of institutions at odds with those of liberal democracy. Contentious politics in authoritarian rule subverts the institutional rule of the game as well. It overpoliticizes it. By definition, the manifestations of authoritarianism such as military rule, one-man rule, one-party state, or absolute power run counter to personal and civil liberties associated with the requirements of liberal democracy because they encroach on individual freedoms to think and to associate. But this need not concern us here. Of greater interest is the fact that authoritarian rule highlights as well that politics played in those societies generates institutions inconsistent with the institutional compromise sought by the three rules of the game. These institutions stand opposed to the norms of individual consent, representation, and constitutionalism of liberal democracy. Authoritarian institutions, by definition, are authoritatively imposed and run counter to the notion of agreed-on institutions and procedures. Overpoliticized behaviors shared by democratic regimes and authoritarian regimes (Shared behaviors) that is, illicit use of state coercion, dictatorial powers, illicit political acts by the opposition, and violent opposition also demonstrate how politics in developing countries generates its own brand of (overpoliticized) institutions. Often they reveal how institutional and procedural agreements are not respected as they contradict the norms of individual consent, institutional representation and participation, and constitutionalism. The high contentiousness of politics and its spillover effects on the political institutions and behaviors is exemplified by the electoralist (democratic) regimes during the “democratic consolidation” period (1996–2003). In many of these regimes elections have been won by fragile party coalitions (Chile, Brazil, Argentina, India, Bolivia), leading to contentious and factionridden public infighting over ministerial posts and to frequent cabinet appointments. From 2001, the year of his election, to February 2004, President Alejandro Toledo of Peru had four major cabinet changes and four different prime ministers. Intraparty infighting leads to violence (Party of the Brazilian Democratic Movement—PMDB); to coup plot accusations (Zimbabwe’s ZANU-ZAPU); to contentious bickering, split, and electoral fraud in party leader selection (Bolivia, Venezuela, Nicaragua’s Sandinista, Jamaica’s JLP). That political institutions are an effect of politics is perfectly confirmed by the almost permanent street demonstrations in Ecuador and Bolivia in the late 1990s, early 2000, and in 2003, and 2005 to resist the institutional reforms dictated by the democratic consolidation process and globalization. The dependence of political institutions and the state on politics, especially the competition over political power, can be illustrated in a different way. In almost all African countries (the example can be extended to Asian

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and South American countries) there is a cutthroat struggle for appointments to ministerial or high bureaucratic offices. In most cases this is the result of pervasive poverty at the societal level and the lack of opportunities in the private sector. The state being the main employer, a bureaucratic or ministerial position, which allows deference and relatively higher income including that via corruption, is highly coveted. In most cases an appointment, as is documented by popular music in the Congo, brings a bundle of joy and celebration not only for the appointed official but for his whole extended family or regional followers who expect to alleviate some of their economic hardships with favors from the minister. The cutthroat struggle for appointments and the need to control economic and financial resources used for the incomes of ministers and high bureaucrats have the effect of isolating the state personnel and political institutions from society, leading to “state autonomy.” This isolation takes the form of authoritarianism and the appropriation of public offices and corruption. The autonomy is highly and ironically an outcome of politics because one cannot explain this institutional autonomy without taking into account the fact that it is the political competition in society (its economic circumstances, the requirements of social/kinship/regional relationships) that dictated the institutional isolation. In addition to this case of “state autonomy,” contentious politics affects the state format in other ways. Recall that one of the six traits of overpoliticization is the competition through overt compulsion by power holders who organize political representation and participation. This pattern is revealed by some of the behaviors discussed in the previous empirical chapters. In electoral monopoly, for instance, people are forced to vote for one candidate or party or a vote-swapping two-party system in which alternatives are compulsively closed off and electors are forced to vote for the ruling party or candidate. In these cases, the state coercive power is used in a particular manner. The elimination of the M-19 members in Colombia by state-sponsored death squads to prevent electors from voting for M-19 and of the Islamic groups in the 2004 Algerian elections illustrates this situation. Electoral coup by power holders also reveals how state coercive power and relations are affected by politics since compulsion is used to affect state relations. An example here is the removal of prime ministers in Pakistan by the armycoerced president. And, of course, authoritarian rule or dictatorial powers assumed by both authoritarian and democratic regimes rely, by definition, on state coercive power and organize state intersectional relations in a manner inconsistent with the requirements of liberal democracy. The state format is also overpoliticized in those instances where the contentiousness of politics makes political power fluid, and constant insecurity characterizes holders of state power in their relations to other social actors. The evidence reveals how fluid and insecure political power is in

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developing countries when one bears in mind charges for insulting the president/king or subverting the established authority with their attendant illicit use of state coercive power; outright vote-buying for control of state power as in Guatemala, Brazil, or India; concocted charges by two political leaders against each other in the exercise of political power as in Pakistan; constitutions tailored to prevent political opponents from assuming political power as in Zambia, Cote d’Ivoire, Taiwan, and Argentina; detention or physical elimination of political opponents to secure one’s control over state power; constant shifting and splintering of alliances in the exercise of power, and so forth. Although it is not my concern here, the effects of compromise-resistant politics on state power in non-Western countries can be gauged by going back to the first of the three rules of the game enunciated above. The “basic liberal values” rule stipulates that when claims are made to the social product (via political competition), capitalist core relations (relations of ownership, production, and extraction of surplus product and profit) are not contested, let alone modified, by a class or group through state power or other forms of coercion. Overpoliticization violates this rule and has implications for the state. Take instances where electoral violence or fraud or authoritarianism is used to support candidates whose electoral platform calls for the modification by state power/coercion of the core economic relations from private to stateowned. Or, conversely, consider cases in which electoral fraud, electoral coup, or authoritarianism is used to keep core economic relations as a private free enterprise system. To the extent that recourse to all these practices seeks to control political power and then use it to protect the core economic relations either against those who oppose the private enterprise system or against those who support it, state power is used in the modification of core economic relations. The conflict between the Sandinistas and right-leaning parties in Nicaragua before the more recent Sandinistas’ acceptance of capitalism illustrates this situation. In authoritarian regimes such as Pinochet’s Chile, Brazil, Taiwan, and South Korea state power was used to maintain a capitalist economy with impressive economic growth while in many other authoritarian countries the freedom to own property, to buy, or to sell remains subordinated to the dictates of the state without necessarily guaranteeing capitalist free enterprise. The latter situation obtained in socialist or communist regimes but also in nonsocialist authoritarian regimes in the Middle East, Africa, Asia, and South America. Pervasive and unpunished corruption as a by-product of the illicit use of state coercive power also reveals the extent to which core economic relations are exposed to state power. Some of the practices of dictatorial powers (e.g., the untouchable powers of the military or a state of siege) subordinate major issues of ownership and production to state power as well because often they seek to reassign and modify the terms of economic own-

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ership and production. In all these cases state power is affected and reshaped by society-rooted politics differently from Western countries: The modification or maintenance of capitalist relations involves new types of social relations that modify the exercise of state power, the way coercion is used, and the way power is distributed among competing social groups or classes. In a feedback mechanism, institutions are modified or created to sustain these new relations. In short, the evidence reveals that the institutional, behavioral, and state outcomes (overpoliticized behaviors) in developing countries are an effect of their highly contentious, compromise-resistant society-rooted politics. These manifestations define the overpoliticized state. The Overpoliticized State Coming back to the state, it can be said, then, that compromise-resistant politics in developing countries determines the state as a set of relationships sustained by coercive power. In other words, overpoliticization determines the state as a “relation of man dominating men” and the “chief referent of feelings of intergroup solidarity,” to return to Max Weber’s and Giafranco Poggi’s expressions respectively, as an intersection and a crossroad where the competing groups and classes meet and where overpoliticized behaviors and institutions find their coherence. Hence one understands the definition of the overpoliticized state provided in chapter 1. It highlights the lack of compromise at the basic power relations. Despite the preeminence of politics vis-àvis institutions and the state, and despite the difference between the state and institutions, overpoliticized behaviors and institutions are embodied in the state, which can be appropriately called an overpoliticized state. The debate about democratization in the Third World today is about liberal democracy (see chapter 2). This is confirmed by the related literature and by cross-national discussions whose criteria of democracy are the tenets of liberal democracy and which refer indiscriminately to Western and non-Western countries to illustrate their points about democracy.26 The identification of democracy in non-Western countries with liberal democracy suggests that the latter is not an exclusive attribute of the West and can rise and fall and take different institutional forms in non-Western countries as well. The many typologies of democracy proposed by the democratization literature reflect this view.27 This is a plausible claim that is, however, contradicted by the empirical evidence presented earlier. Undeniable patterns of overpoliticization, like a thread, link horizontally non-Western countries as an empirical and conceptual unity regardless of their geographical location, level of economic development, and regime type in the post-1948 period. Despite variations displayed by the liberal democratic state in different countries in the West, these variations are subsumed

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into what these countries share as liberal democratic states. The same holds true for non-Western countries. Their differences are best grasped by subsuming them into the concept of the overpoliticized state. The concept of the overpoliticized state is not reserved for authoritarian rule in some Third World countries while that of liberal democracy supposedly applies to other developing countries where elections have occurred routinely. What I have argued and shown empirically is that, regardless of the regime type, the overpoliticized state in developing countries is opposed to or differs from the liberal democratic state in Western countries. The overpoliticized state includes both electoralist/democratic and authoritarian regimes; both are two faces of the same coin, the overpoliticized state. To be sure, electoralist regimes in non-Western countries are not authoritarian rules. They have, unlike authoritarian regimes, an institutional frame that resembles that of liberal democracy; legislative, judiciary, and executive functions are not a one-man show although, as noted, this is not always the case. Elections are held regularly and routinely, which involves institutional participation through relatively independent and autonomous parties and interest groups. And attempts are made to uphold personal and civil liberties, which in some countries is reflected by the presence of an aggressive and vocal press. The discussion in chapter 2 on democratization by institutional flat, the distinction I make between behaviors taking place in democratic or electoralist regimes and behaviors characteristic of authoritarian regimes, and the conclusions of chapters 3 and 4 amply testify to the fact that the two types of regime are not blindly confused with each other. Nevertheless, both electoralist and authoritarian regimes share fundamental and similar patterns in the form of overpoliticization. Both are characterized by an absence of compromise or tenuous compromise. They are no identical twins that share the genetic makeup of their progenitor, the overpoliticized state. The evidence supports this conclusion, especially the fact that both types of regimes share the same behaviors (illicit use of state coercion power, dictatorial powers, illicit opposition, and opposition violence). This point takes one back to my earlier critical comments against the plethoric conceptual typologies in the comparative politics of non-Western countries. Agreeing with the general call for the abolition of the term “Third World” because it does not support the supposed economic, social, and political commonalities of African, Asian, and South American countries, Mehran Kamrava argues, nevertheless, that the countries involved share a common denominator, the similarity in “political culture.” He defines political culture as “norms and values that relate to the political system” and maintains that it is the by-product of socioeconomic and political—especially democratic— transformations witnessed by both Western and Third World countries. He adds, however, that political culture is not always what it appears to be and

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may mask tendencies that point in the opposite direction. In Western countries and in Japan, changes that take place are not disruptive because they reflect the comparably higher levels of social, economic, and political development reached by their older societies and states. In this case the political culture is more cohesive and enjoys the support of an overwhelming majority of the nation. In the Third World, by contrast, changes are ongoing and disruptive because of the newness of its societies and states; as a result, the political culture is less coherent, fragmented, and contentious.28 Elsewhere Kamrava repudiates this unity of the political culture by attributing to “new democracies” a political culture that is different from that of “nondemocratic states.” Newly democratized states, he contends, have a “politicized political culture,” whereas nondemocratic states have a “divided political culture.”29 Kamrava’s argument has the merit of alluding to and pointing to the inescapable conceptual unity and similarities in political variables among African, Asian, and South American countries. This is a very good start. But he, as in other studies expounding universalism and particularism, cannot come to terms with this conceptual unity. There are three problems with his argument. First, there is a contradiction in rejecting the idea of political commonalities among Third World countries while assigning to them a common political culture. Second, the explanation proposed for the dichotomic political culture between the West and Third World countries is evolutionary. As in modernization theory, a great deal of emphasis is put on the “length of time” for the political culture—shaped by democratization—to develop and be routinized. This raises the question of why a cohesive political culture did not emerge during earlier democratic experiments in the Third World (e.g., during the 1945 to 1960 “high noon” for democracy in Latin America, whose postcolonial state, unlike Africa and Asia, had existed since the early nineteenth century). It is also not clear why the political culture of India and other “democratic” countries such as Colombia and Venezuela has remained contentious after more than a half-century of democratic experiments. Third, Kamrava’s own qualification that political culture is not always what it appears to be and may mask tendencies that point in the opposite direction makes the reliance on the concept of political culture problematic. Indeed, if one is not able to delineate empirically political culture as a common denominator among Third World countries because it masks itself, then political culture is not a reliable index for comparative purposes. A better variable that is empirically definable should be found. These difficulties explain Kamrava’s problematic threefold typology of “new democracies,” “pseudodemocracies,” and “nondemocracies” and his unpersuasive distinction between the political culture of “new democracies” and that of “nondemocracies.” There is a deep gap between the proposed typologies and the empirical political realities of non-Western countries. The

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description of a “divided political culture” applied to “nondemocracies” applies perfectly to a country like India, which is a democracy. Kamrava’s himself admits that it applies to Brazil and Argentina as well, his examples of new democracies. He maintains that “pseudodemocracies” are characterized by a weak civil society, yet he admits that “most of the societies in which democratic states have recently appeared . . . happen to be torn [because of a lack of determined support of civil society] by extreme and at times violent factionalism and inter-ethnic or other forms of animosity.”30 Venezuela, India, Taiwan, Colombia, Turkey, Kenya, and Pakistan are said to be “new democracies,” yet they also make the list of “pseudodemocracies,”31 which raises the question of what then justifies the typology. Finally, Kamrava’s characterization of “new democracies” lacks any solid empirical referent point; much of what is supposed to characterize them is not what they actually possess but a “should-have list” of democratic attributes. Among these attributes is the need to reject temptations to resort to undemocratic means, to turn to nonpartisan sources of legitimacy, to accept coalitions with disloyal opposition, to refrain from abusing state power, and so forth.32 The features he attributes to “nondemocracies,” such as frequent personnel changes, appointments based on loyalty as opposed to merit, “dirty tricks,” and the power of the military are not, as the discussion has revealed, exclusive to them. They share them with “new democracies” and “pseudodemocracies.” As shown in chapter 2, this gap between the typologies and the empirical reality in non-Western countries appears glaring in the literature about democratization and democratic consolidation. Despite the plethoric typologies designed to show how many countries are consolidated democracies, that is, close to resembling liberal democracies, the evidence scarcely supports the claim. Much of what is presented as “consolidation” is a list of what these countries must have and not what actually characterize their polities. The weaknesses of the “consolidated democracies” that they describe, including lack of respect for the rule of law, excessive president power, lack of transparency in the electoral system, weak adherence to democracy, absence of national consensus, pervasive corruption, lack of horizontal accountability, tribal and ethnic-based elections, and predictable electoral outcomes are shared by “nonconsolidated democracies” and authoritarian regimes as well. The normative stand behind the typologies and its discrepancy with the empirical reality is perhaps best revealed by the Freedom House surveys. Despite all the empirical evidence to the contrary, Freedom House presents countries such as Ecuador, the Dominican Republic, Nicaragua, and El Salvador as “free,” that is, as examples of democracies that have shed the label of “illiberal democracies” to become liberal democracies just because they had “free” elections. A concept may be abstract, but it reflects reality, however complex the latter may be. In comparative politics the reality must be the empirical reality

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and not a “constructed” reality. A concept, whatever its other merits, plays the role of ordering this complex reality. The empirical reality for developing countries is that their political similarities overshadow their differences, and these similarities contrast with those shared by Western countries. The conceptual typologies proposed by both universalism and particularism do not reflect this reality. Those proposed by universalim seek to justify the vertically “unifying culture” from the West, the goal being to approximate the liberal democratic state model. The horizontal similarities in political features shared by non-Western countries are minimized when they are not ignored or rejected. Those proposed by particularism aim to justify the alleged “vast differences” that exist among non-Western countries, thus repudiating the horizontal unity among these countries as well. In contradistinction to these two views, the concept of the overpoliticized state reflects the horizontal similarities in political features shared by non-Western countries, embodies their conceptual unity, and places them on a par with the similarities shared by Western countries in the form of a liberal democratic state. The concept of the overpoliticized state strives to be substantively, geographically, and temporally inclusive of the political realities of developing countries. Substantively, it places politically relevant variables at the center of inquiry as opposed to nonpolitical ones without excluding the latter from the eventual explanation of the overpoliticized state. From this standpoint the evidence reveals three situations: (1) many non-Western countries, regardless of their type of political regime, share exact replicas of the same overpoliticized manifestations; (2) different regimes display different forms of overpoliticized behaviors; and (3) most, if not all, non-Western countries are overpoliticized at different degrees. The line of distinction between authoritarian regimes and democratic regimes is blurred. These manifestations preserve their specificity when compared to political manifestations in Western countries as attested to by the far lower number of the overpoliticized behaviors in Western states. This has implications in terms of the role of institutions. Although institutions differ from the state, they find their cohesion within it. Institutions in developing countries cannot be understood or explained outside the overpoliticized state. Hence the already mentioned tendency in the literature on democratic consolidation to focus on institutions in some specific regions (e.g., Latin America) in an attempt to relate them to institutional theories devised for Western democracies becomes problematic. Latin American institutions, like Asian and African ones, require, for their understanding, not an application of theories of the liberal democratic state, but a theory of the overpoliticized state; such a theory should not, however, shy away from what both types of state share the way temperate and tropical fruits share the “fruitiness.” Geographically, the concept of the overpoliticized state helps reestablish the empirical and conceptual unity of African, Asian, and South American

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polities as opposed to the parochialism that characterizes their analyses. Although the various typologies devised to reflect geographical variations are useful in possibly pointing to “degrees” of overpoliticization, they become secondary. In so doing, the concept helps, in the long run, to avoid truncated explanations tailored to fit a specific country or region in the face of overwhelming evidence of the similarity in the overpoliticized behaviors. Temporally, Arend Lijphart points out that “the world’s most successful democracies—that is, those that have been in existence for a long time . . . are European.”33 One must add North American democracies as well. This suggests, as already stated, a consistently shorter life span for those in nonWestern countries. Although fascism in the 1920s and 1930s interrupted the working of most European liberal democracies either by imposing itself as a national political ideology or by imposing war on such countries as France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Denmark, Norway, and Austria, these countries were liberal democratic before fascism and were able to rebuild themselves as such after the war. The evidence shows how the situation differs in nonWestern countries. In addition to the fact that no successful liberal democratic experiment existed in Latin America, which became independent before 1948, no event related to world politics interrupted democracies in these countries in the post-1948 period. Since 1948 democratic experiments in Third World countries have been interrupted by internal events, which, as the evidence reveals, reflects the fact that the three major types of overpoliticized behaviors and their manifestations have occurred repetitiously in these countries. The concept of the overpoliticized state reveals that such episodical distinctions as “old authoritarianism,” “new authoritarianism,” “early modern state,” “transition democracies,” or “consolidated democracies” scarcely tells the full story. Although political manifestations in non-Western countries have often been tributary to changing events (e.g., the euphoria for modernization in the postindependence period, the authoritarian episode in the 1960s–90s era, and the democratization wave of the post-Soviet period), they converge, across periods, to a pattern of overpoliticized behaviors. Because it is inclusive substantively, geographically, and temporally, the overpoliticized state constitutes, via overpoliticization, the river in which all the labels applied to the state in non-Western countries, like streams, empty themselves. It embodies, through its three major types of overpoliticized behaviors and their specific manifestations, the concerns expressed by these labels and typologies. This, to repeat, is not to ignore variations. The overpoliticized state is not a blanket concept without any internal borders. Focusing on specific countries or regions and labeling their states differently, as much of the literature does, reminds one that overpoliticization displays specific manifestations in different countries and regions and in some historical moments. There is a need to grasp the particularity of these manifesta-

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tions. Yet these specific manifestations converge toward the patterned overpoliticized behaviors. The variations only qualify the similarly overpoliticized state without negating it. In any case, as I stated at the outset, the purpose here is not to provide a theory of the specific political manifestations in different Third World countries. THE LIBERAL DEMOCRATIC STATE AS THE CONCEPTUAL CONTRAST Scarcity, threat, avarice, interests, and the attendant need to control political power are all factors that lead to politics as competition among individuals, groups, and classes who make up society. As in other types of society, politics determines the institutions, political behaviors, and the state format in Western societies. Hence, to differentiate the liberal democratic state from the overpoliticized state, I show how the relation among society-rooted politics, political institutions, behaviors, and the state in Western societies (all of which are encompassed by the inclusive notion of the liberal democratic state) has differed historically from the situation in developing countries. I will argue, in the end, that the difference lies in the liberal compromise that characterizes the relation in the West. Society-rooted Politics Much of the earlier liberal thought, as noted, revolved around the notion of security for property. Such security was made necessary, as vividly expressed by Adam Smith, because of avarice and the envy of the poor. The ideas of avarice and envy point to competitive interests among social groups and classes, and that of security alludes to the institutional implications of the competition. As institutions, the police, the army, the jail system, and taxation structures were built because of the competition. Politics in these earlier days of liberalism reflected the interests of the major groups and classes in society. Because of their competition with other classes or groups in society, capitalists, for instance, sought to maintain their freedom of action vis-à-vis the state. This freedom of action was all the more needed because, as upper classes, property owners faced pressure from labor and the lower groups and classes of the disenfranchized who sought to improve their socioeconomic situation by seeking admission into the political system. Because these conflicts and the groups involved were linked directly or indirectly to religious issues, these conflicts were coupled with or took the form of religious confrontations as different groups sought to assert the position of their church or faith in society. Religious conflicts have taken different forms, some of which have been somewhat resolved by granting the church its “due” place in society

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(e.g., in the United States) and some others have persisted as ongoing struggles between clerical and anticlerical forces as in such Catholic European countries as France, Belgium, Italy, and Spain. That these struggles are linked to the competition over the social product is confirmed by the fact that these religious conflicts are fused with the political polarization between political parties on the right and on the left. Despite the claim by proponents of “bring the state back in” movement that the state is reducible to autonomous institutions, and its analysis should not be society centered, the fact is that the managerial elite in the bureaucracy and state officials in the West, like other groups and classes in society, compete over resources and are, thus, engaged in society-induced politics as well. This point was strengthened by Joseph’s Schumpeter’s rejection of the “common good” argument and his claim that the elite is more rational than the general electorate and should, therefore, be its representative in the political process.34 The Schumpeterian argument highlights the connection between the elite and lower classes via politics in society and the disproportionate amount of power obtained through politics by the elite who can use it to further their interests at the “state level” at the expense of the populace (which explains why Schumpeter, despite his sympathies for elite representation, did not believe in its effectiveness). Others have made a similar argument.35 Changes in society bring about changes in politics as well. In the mid1970s politics in Western societies (and Japan) was expressed in different forms. The effects of this new brand of politics were referred to as “the crisis of democracy” or “the sytem overload.” In Western Europe its symptoms and institutional and behavioral outcomes were the breakdown of the mechanisms of regulation, bureaucratic inertia, the lack of civic responsibility, the breakdown of consensus, and excessive emphasis on images by political leaders at the expense of decisive leadership. In the United States the symptoms were the challenge to authority expressed in the form of disobedience to the law, the decline in public confidence and trust, the decay of the party system, the decline in the power of the presidency, and the increase in the power of opposition institutions such as Congress and the media.36 The causes of this overload confirm the point being made here, namely, that society-rooted politics among groups and classes caused the overload or the crisis. In Europe among the causes cited was the incompatibility between citizen demands on the state and their paradoxical rejection of the social control imposed by the state, the economic demands (especially by working classes) generated by economic growth, the lack of integration of the working class into the social game that prevented direct bargaining and understanding, inflation that exacerbated conflicts among groups and diminished their capacity to act, and the refusal of some privileged groups to accept sacrifices in the face of expectations of the lower classes to have the same standard of life as the society elite.37 In

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the United States Huntington argued that the increase in governmental activity (e.g., governmental spending) in the 1960s increased the participation and demands (read: competition) of social groups and classes and led to a substantial decrease in governmental authority. The new participants included African Americans, Native Americans, Latinos, European ethnic groups, students, and women. Demands by these groups have remained more or less the focus of politics in the United States. With variations, group politics also come to dominate Europe. Competition by ethnic, racial, or gender groups over the social product in Western societies is not neglected by contemporary Marxist analyses, which have become sensitive to the poststructuralist and postmodern challenges. Marxist theory of politics, however, rests on the centrality of class relations. From a Marxist perspective politics in Western countries is indissociable from class practices precisely because the division of the capitalist society into antagonistic classes with opposing interests determines a society’s type of conflicts and competition. Class struggle (or politics) takes place at the economic productive level and—as a consequence—at the state level as well because the competition over the control of political power is a corollary of the competition over the social product. Working-class conflicts with management expressed in the form of strikes, firings, lockouts, and so forth are certainly the best-known examples of class struggles. This is likely to remain so if one agrees with Anthony Giddens (more so, perhaps, in Europe than the United States) that the trend toward the white-collar sector is not as pronounced as the non-Marxist literature claims and that “virtually all of the capitalist societies are working-class societies, with a large majority of the non-agricultural labour force in manual occupations . . . manufacturing remains in many ways the key sector in the economy, and has a high proportion of manual workers everywhere.”38 The centrality of class struggle in the Marxist theory of politics is demonstrated by the explanations that have been proposed (especially in the 1970s) for the crisis of capitalism and of the capitalist state, which is the Marxist counterpart to the “overloaded government” thesis of liberal scholars. Despite their disagreements about the specific mechanism that causes the crisis, Marxists directly or indirectly impute the crisis to the class relations devised by capitalist relations of production. Central to the Marxist crisis theory is the falling rate of profit. Such a fall may result from one of three major situations: the rising organic composition of capital (i.e., the proportion between technology and labor), the rising strength of labor, and the realization failure.39 This economic crisis, which affects the capitalist state, becomes one of its preoccupations and, thus, assumes a “political” significance.40 Whether the crisis is explained by the falling rate of profit, underconsumption, the profit squeeze, the fiscal crises of the state, by the excessive or inadequate

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surplus value, the declining or rising rate of exploitation, Marxists link all these different explanations to contradictions in the sphere of production, hence to the class relations (i.e., political competition) that underlie it.41 From Politics to Liberal Democratic Institutions and the State Whether conceived as “demands” or “class struggles” in society, politics determines liberal political institutions, behaviors, and the state format. The relationship between society-rooted politics and liberal democratic political institutions and the state in Western countries was established during the early days of liberalism. In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, it was politics at the society level that led to the establishment of political institutions and the tentacular reach of state power. More precisely, the need to improve their economic conditions and to gain other rights in society explained the pressure from and the struggle of the disenfranchised masses for suffrage. Voting rights, in turn, made it possible for state power to be used to improve their conditions. In so doing, rudimentary or relatively elaborate institutions took shape. Among these were the parliament, the public educational system, trade unions, and the party system. Politics at the society level dictated the shape and direction of the political institutions and the state. Utilitarians such as Jeremy Bentham and James Mill conceived of the political institutions as the result of the coercive power of the state, itself the result of utility, that is, politics, to the extent that their criterion for utility was the security for property, the very object of the political competition. Moving away from Rousseau’s idea of the democratic state that would control economic excesses, Bentham and Mill focused on the issue of “the class-based franchise—that is, who should be allowed, among the different classes of producers and nonproducers, to participate in electing (and thereby controlling) a government that would provide a limited set of services and enforcement of the laws.”42 In other words, the two conceived of an institutional framework that recognized a class-based society with its conflicts, inequalities, and the imperatives of free market and private property while making sure that those in charge of the government did not abuse their power. The Utilitarians were not the only ones to propose this type of institutional and state framework because most of their ideas resembled in the main those of other proponents of liberalism. Hobbes, Adam Smith, Locke, Rousseau, as already discussed, derived political institutions and the state format from society-rooted competition over the social product. In any case, the political core of liberalism consisted of individual consent, representation, constitutionalism, and popular sovereignty. Concretely, three constitutional arrangements buttressed these pronouncements: “first, the division of powers, whereby the state’s power was disaggregated into separate packages of interlocking but mutually limiting faculties of rule entrusted to

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different organs; second, the liberal public realm, through which the society itself was supposed to mandate and monitor the exercise of state power; and third, the state’s submission to its own law.”43 Because liberal institutions and the state are taken in charge by political representatives, whose power is controlled by the masses and by constitutional arrangements, the vote becomes a crucial instrument of this control. The implicit bargain of legitimacy between the representative government and its citizens involves competition, participation, representation through competitive, party-based elections, and a protection of minority rights in the face of majority wishes.44 Historical and local particularities shaped the forms taken by these liberal institutional and state formats in specific countries, leading to a variety of regimes. Thus, one finds—in relation to the executive—presidential, semipresidential, and parliamentary democratic systems; in relation to territorial arrangements, unitary and federal systems; concerning interest aggregation, two-party and multiparty systems; and with respect to political forces that matter for decision-making, majoritarian, and consociational systems. Yet as liberal thought progressed, it was thought that the vote did not necessarily help confirm the preferences of a majority or a minority since voters as consumers did not necessarily buy all the ideas sold to them by politicians as producers. To some liberal scholars such as Robert Dahl, it became obvious that under liberalism “we cannot correctly describe the actual operations of democratic societies in terms of contrasts between majorities and minorities. We can only distinguish groups of various types and sizes, all seeking in various ways to advance their goals, usually at the expense, at least in part, of others.”45 This reconceptualization of the link between societyrooted politics and the liberal institutional and state formats came to be known as pluralism, which is defined as a system of interest representation in which the constituent units are organized into an unspecified number of multiple, voluntary, competitive, nonhierarchically ordered and self-determined ( . . . ) categories which are not specifically licensed, recognized, subsidized, created or otherwise controlled in leadership selection or interest articulation by the state and which do not exercise a monopoly of representative activity within their respective categories.46 Pluralists propose a corresponding notion of the state. When they do not avoid the term “state” altogether, they view it at best as another nonmarket institution, in any case no more than a neutral agent or a referee of competing relatively equal interests whose role is to aggregate different preferences. To this extent, the state maintains some autonomy, yet it is downgraded in favor

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of the notion of political institutions, which takes center stage in much of the pluralist literature. The dominance of institutionalism in the post-Soviet era (see chapter 2) has, in many ways, equated the state with institutions. Consistent with their view of society and politics, Marxists and neoMarxists explain the liberal institutional and state formats in Western countries by class relations in capitalism. Marx’s critique of the Hegelian concept of the state and his opposition to the liberal notion of a “neutral” state was based on his rejection of the opposition between public or general interests and private or particular interests. Because class relations involve fundamental differences of interest and exploitation and define economic and political life, the state cannot be neutral. Even when it proclaims its neutrality according to principles that protect the right to freedom and private property, the state actually generates effects that are partial to the privileges of property owners. This position is consistent with Marx’s first and rather dominant view of the state, the instrumentalist view. According to this view, the state is not an independent set of institutions detached from society. Rather, it is part of socioeconomic relations and linked to particular interests. For the most part, Lenin also held this instrumentalist view of the state. Yet Marx simultaneously proposes a second view—a structuralist view—that of the “relative autonomy” of the state in his attempt to engage Hegel’s work. The bureaucracy, although not given complete independence, is recognized by Marx as an “officialdom,” a recognition, which, as David Held argues, foreshadowed his more elaborate arguments on the relative autonomy of the state found in his discussion of the Louis Napoleon Bonaparte regime in France.47 Here agents of the state and institutions are not portrayed as simple stooges or tools of the dominant class but as relatively independent and capable of shaping civil society through policy outcomes that are the result of complex coalitions and constitutional arrangements. The debate between the instrumentalist and structuralist views of the capitalist democratic state dominated Marxist discussions in the late 1960s and in the 1970s. The debate was spurred by Nicos Poulantzas’s 1968 pathbreaking work, which, for the first time, attempted a unified Marxist theory of politics. Poulantzas’s works48 opened the way for answering this apparently trivial but, in reality, bread-and-butter question of comparative politics: Why should the state intervene in the elimination of economic cyclical crises, and what form does the state take? Poulantzas proceeds from an analysis of the capitalist society, that is, its mode of production. According to him, capitalist society is characterized by a fundamental contradiction between, on the one hand, the increasing social character of production and, on the other, the continuing private appropriation of the surplus product. This contradiction expresses itself in the tendency toward the unity of the working class and the disunity of the capitalist class—hence politics. It explains the capitalist state,

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which is then viewed by Poulantzas as the “creator of unity” between these two contradictory forces. Because it plays this role, the state maintains a relative autonomy vis-à-vis these classes. Why should the state play this role? Poulantzas answers by showing that because of these class contradictions, state power, held by one of the classes, becomes the target of class struggle. This makes the state (the “political,” in his own words) “the nodal point where the contradictions of the various levels of a formation are condensed” and upon which depend structural transformations.49 Thus, Poulantzas demonstrates the centrality and raison d’être of the state via politics (class struggle) in society. Poulantzas’s theory, unlike other Marxist attempts before him, helped, however unsatisfactorily, to explain the crisis of the capitalist state. Indeed, because the state is, according to Poulantzas, the locus where the equilibrium/ disequilibrium of social classes is expressed, the economic crisis becomes a state/political crisis through the activities and contradictions of social classes (i.e., competition over the social product) that generate a new form of disequilibrium at the political level. This formulation helps, in turn, to explain institutional variations of the liberal democratic state; indeed, by affecting the very core of the capitalist state, the crisis necessarily affects formal institutions, which undergo modifications on the basis of local class struggle.50 Beyond this, Poulantzas proposes transformation rules of the capitalist state, that is, its institutional and policy variations. For example, he argues that the liberal state corresponds to the premonopoly state of production and the interventionist state corresponds to the monopoly stage of capitalism. Fascism, by contrast, is an exceptional regime that emerged as a response to political classes in the period of transition from competitive capitalism to monopoly capitalism in its imperialist phase. Criticisms raised against Poulantzas are well known.51 Reactions to Poulantzas’s works led to a substantial body of literature on the capitalist state.52 A historical account of the institutional and state format, as the result of politics in liberal societies, was proposed by Goran Therborn. Therborn defines the liberal democratic state (which he calls bourgeois democracy) as one in which the “state apparatus has a bourgeois class composition and the state power operates in such a way as to maintain and promote capitalist relations of production and the class character of the state apparatus.” Such a state has four characteristics. It has (1) a representative government elected by (2) an electorate consisting of the entire adult population, (3) whose votes carry equal weight, and (4) who are allowed to vote for any opinion without intimidation by the state apparatus.53 Arguing for the importance of the vote as the ultimate criterion of democracy, he contends that (1) it took more than two centuries for the West to attain representative government, (2) none of the great bourgeois revolutions actually established bourgeois democracy, and

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(3) everywhere there was no steady and peaceful democratic development that accompanied the development of wealth, literacy, and urbanization. For my purpose here, three factors and tendencies linked to politics contributed to the democratization. First, the national mobilization for World War I extended the suffrage to the mobilized masses. Second, the agrarian classes played a major role given the reluctance of the bourgeois class to extend democracy. Third, divisions within the ruling classes led to intense vying for popular support and the promotion of institutional procedures to settle oppositional conflicts. Therborn maintains that six “inherent tendencies” exist in the relation between capitalism and liberal democracy: first, the conditions that favor mass struggles and gains; second, the concessions by the bourgeoisie after a long resistance to reform; third, the bourgeoisie’s need for national unification and for dismantling feudalism increasing its need for popular support; fourth, the productivity of capitalism softening the bourgeoisie’s fears of high taxes that would occur with universal suffrage-based type of government; fifth, the bourgeoisie given the latitude of controlling the state through its realm of capitalist civil society; sixth, given the competing factions of the bourgeoisie and the rule of the bourgeoisie in civil society, political rule by nonbourgeois elements or a labor-based party feasible through an elective, deliberative, and representative mechanism. It is, thus, clear that a close look at liberal and Marxist thought reveals that liberal political institutions, behaviors, and state formats in Western societies are an effect or outcome of politics/class struggles as competition in society over the social product and political power. Liberal Compromise Western societies and the liberal democratic state are not immune to disruptions and instabilities. Stress, overloaded governments, the crisis of democracy, the crisis of capitalism, or the crisis of the capitalist state are just a few of the terms used by liberal and Marxist scholars to express the effects of politics in these societies. The evidence confirms this situation. Yet, it is evident—and the empirical evidence bears it out as well—that, in contradistinction to non-Western countries, these crises are short-lived and generally resolvable. In other words, in comparative terms, politics in Western societies leads to far fewer cases of overpoliticized behaviors (as reflected in the form of institutions, behaviors, and state formats) than in non-Western countries. This situation of resolvable crises and minimal levels of overpoliticized behaviors reflects what, for want of a better term, can be referred to as “liberal compromise.” The liberal compromise reached in Western societies is the defining trait of the concept of the liberal democratic state. As George Kateb points out in the case of the United States:

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A plausible guess would be that the United States is not at all ripe for a thoroughgoing change in its basic political arrangements . . . [T]here are not deep and widespread feelings and opinions marked by disaffection from and hostility to constitutional representative democracy . . . [E]ven some grave emergency—to leave aside nuclear war—would not detach the people from their present acceptance, commitments, and loyalties . . . There are very few movements—and they are small and usually short-lived—that expressly proclaim their rejection of the principles and spirit of constitutional representative demoracy.54 The liberal democratic state is thus characterized by compromise in the political competition at three levels: (1) basic compromise about the values, beliefs, and goals of the political society, (2) power relations and procedural compromise, and (3) policy compromise.55 Because the notion of compromise may lead to confusion, some clarifications are in order. A political regime can be characterized according to its stability, legitimacy, and its level of compromise or consensus. Although some of these terms are used interchangeably, they do not mean the same thing. Political stability refers (depending on the context) to the absence of political decay/instability in the Huntingtonian sense or to the ability of the polity to sustain cabinet, constitutional, or other political changes or competition without disruption or breakdown. Legitimacy “involves the capacity of the system to engender and maintain the belief that the existing political institutions are the most appropriate ones for society.”56 Consensus consists of some concurrence or acquiescence by the participants in the orders and policies of the political regime. Compromise invokes the concessions made by participants because of their necessarily conflictual interests in order to arrive at a relatively agreeable policy or order. It is difficult for a political regime to enjoy the maximum of all four attributes all the time, and the four do not always complement each other. For instance, as John Schaar has argued, a group or individual refuses consent and obedience to the orders of a regime or institutions on the ground that the regime or institution is illegitimate; a regime or institution is acknowledged to be legitimate as such, but consent is withheld from a particular order on the ground that the regime had no legitimate right to make that order; one consents or acquiesces out of interest or necessity, although he regards a regime or an order as illegitimate.57 In light of these remarks, it is worth repeating here that what I have called “liberal compromise” in liberal democratic states should be seen as an integrated notion that denotes, in addition to basic legitimacy, much passive

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acquiescence and a degree of concurrence, which rest on a great deal of concessions on the part of competing political interests and which, by this fact, contribute to political stability. It allows the respect—albeit not in toto— of the three rules of the democratic game enunciated above. To come back to the American 2000 Presidential elections, all these elements sustained the liberal compromise that softened the potentially destabilizing effects of the electoral fraud. From November 7 to December 13 the world was both fascinated and shocked by the fraud and the ensuing electoral stalemate. Yet the contestation of the electoral results by the Democratic Party and its candidate, Gore, took place almost entirely through the judicial review process, circuiting from the state lower and supreme courts in Florida to the federal Court of Appeals and the Supreme Court. Mass demonstrations, sparse as they were, were carefully controlled by the organizers, and no acts of violence were reported. In the name of the “unity and interest of the nation,” the “patience of the public,” and “Wall Street jitters,” Gore was pressured to concede the elections to Bush even though many recognized that an “injustice” had been done and there were many procedural problems with the election. Under these conditions, the court system, itself patterned to reflect the national interest, took refuge behind a well-known liberal procedural subterfuge, the majority vote in the court. Although in the end the judges at the state and federal levels expressed political and partisan opinions (Republican-appointed conservative judges vs. Democrat-appointed liberal judges favoring their ideological candidate), these opinions prevailed temporarily for Bush or Gore not because they were more accurate and sound than the others. They prevailed simply because they were expressed along partisan lines by the majority of the judges in the court. So it is that the Supreme Court’s Republican majority decision on December 12 not to recount the votes in Florida, as asked for by Gore, forced the latter to concede to Bush. The decision, what caused it, and Gore’s acceptance of it reflected and reaffirmed the liberal compromise in the liberal democratic state by distinguishing its type of overpoliticization from that which prevails in non-Western countries. Once the basic legitimacy—despite protestations—was conferred to George W. Bush by the Supreme Court, the pressures that were put on Gore to concede led to much acquiescence on the part of the populace in the name of stability. One found much evidence of this in the op-ed pieces and “letters to the editor” that filled local and national newspapers during and after the deliberations on the fraud. This definition of liberal compromise does not concern itself with whether such compromise is desirable for everyone involved. It recognizes, as already mentioned, that some dissidents in some political regimes are better off without submitting themselves to the compromise, which may be oppressive to them. In the American case, for instance, those who vigorously protested the

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fraud (e.g., the NAACP and Jesse Jackson–led multiracial groups) did so because the Bush regime—as an outcome of the liberal compromise—involved multifaceted negative consequences for them in the form of the negation of their constitutional rights and their socioeconomic marginalization. At any rate, the term “compromise” is preferred to “consensus” because it is consistent with the definition of politics as a competition among conflictual and antagonistic interests. Liberal compromise does not repudiate antagonistic interests; it only subordinates them to the saying “We agree to disagree.” One is left with the question of why liberal compromise exists in the West and not in developing countries where overpoliticization prevails. The next chapter addresses this question.

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Chapter 6

Basic Hypotheses About the Overpoliticized State What do developing countries share politically—regardless of their local and regional idiosyncrasies—that differentiates them from Western countries? I have answered by arguing that they share the overpoliticized state, which differs from the liberal democratic state. The focus of the study on the similarities shared by developing countries does not mean that differences have been repressed or ignored. Because the overpoliticized state is constituted by the various empirical experiences of these countries, there are differences in the way countries experience overpoliticization. These differences were amply discussed in chapters 3 and 4 and their implications were drawn in chapter 5. Because overpoliticization comprises various manifestations, which manifestations are present in which country and region depends on local historical circumstances. In some countries manifestations related to democratic regimes are more frequent than in the others. For instance, some manifestations of electoral fraud are more frequent in some countries whereas manifestations of electoral monopoly or electoral coup characterize others. Some countries are more prone to the manifestations of authoritarianism under civilian rule, whereas others develop their authoritarianism under military rule. In the Middle East monarchical authoritarianism is more prevalent. In other countries still manifestations shared by authoritarian and democratic regimes prevail in their many forms. As noted, dictatorial power in the form of untouchable powers of the military dominates South American and some Asian countries, whereas other forms of dictatorial power (e.g., state of siege, emergency powers, bans on political parties) are used in African and other Asian countries. These differences point to the many forms that the overpoliticized state may take, including authoritarian regimes or democratic (electoralist) regimes. Indeed, one may also measure the “degrees” of overpoliticization in different countries. I have argued that the overpoliticized state is not without internal borders; it has variations that can be investigated if one is interested in local and regional differences. 227

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Yet these variations pale in the face of the deep similarities shared by developing countries in comparison with Western countries. Cross-horizontal empirical and conceptual unity exists in the form of a similarly overpoliticized state in Third World countries. The overpoliticized state reflects the deeply shared patterns of their political behaviors and their collective difference from Western countries. I have argued that these patterns are generated by particularly contentious politics rooted in their societies. Politics and its effects on institutions, behaviors, and state formats are, thus, the indicator that helps one to distinguish the state (as the inclusive format) in non-Western countries from the state in Western countries. The effects of politics in the former is overpoliticization and in the latter liberal compromise. The overpoliticized state differs in puzzling ways from the liberal democratic state the way tropical fruits differ from temperate fruits. Since Plato, Aristotle, and Montesquieu, the classification of political regimes, states, and structures has remained the backbone of comparative politics because, by distinguishing these regimes, states, and structures from each other, such a classification or definition facilitates an explanation. The distinction between the overpoliticized state characterized by overpoliticization and the liberal democratic state characterized by liberal compromise raises a question: Why does politics lead to overpoliticization in developing countries and to liberal compromise in Western countries? This chapter addresses this question by setting forth some basic propositions and hypotheses. If the fruit analogy serves as a guide at all, before answering the question about developing countries it is crucial that I review the type of answers one finds in the literature about liberal compromise (often referred to as “democratic stability”) in Western countries. The review will help to propose alternative explanatory hypotheses for developing countries. WHAT EXPLAINS LIBERAL COMPROMISE? As can be expected, liberal scholars explain liberal compromise (or “democratic stability”) differently from Marxist scholars. Central to the liberal explanation is the notion of “values” and “political culture.” In explaining the crisis of democracy in Western Europe, Michel Crozier cites the subversion of such core values as participation, consent, equality, freedom, order and efficiency, and the collapse of institutions.1 Huntington, in the case of the United States, maintains that the crisis (participation vs. authority) is linked to the fact that during times of rapid social change democratic and egalitarian values of the American creed, which are generally not passionate, become intense, thus leading to the challenging of established authority and to major efforts to conform to these values.2 In either situation, core values are said to be crucial in maintaining the political system; when subverted (Europe) or

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when intensified (United States), they lead to crisis. Crozier’s and Huntington’s assessments reflect the general liberal and pluralist model of democratic stability. In addition to modernization and economic development or performing economy,3 democratic stability rests on integrated liberal values, which include individual choice, right to participate, equality of opportunities, and avoidance of system overload by excessive participation. They also include a congruence of values among such institutions as the family, the community, the church, and the workplace, and social cohesion. These core values, which need to exist at the societal, organizational, and individual levels, constitute the political culture of Western democracies. Almond and Verba define political culture as “the political system as internalized in the cognitions, feelings, and evaluations” of a population. The civic culture contributes to democratic stability by reducing the imbalance between it and political institutions, by reducing political participation while maintaining its potential (“consensual passivity”), and by socializing the leaders and citizens into nonpolitical cultural values that enhance the level of trust of the leaders by the citizens.4 In what he terms “congruence theory,” Harry Eckstein argues that stability depends on the congruence between the pattern of authority relationships in a political system and the corresponding authority patterns found in the social group in the society.5 An aspect of the liberal compromise is legitimacy. Easton discusses both the belief in the common interest and legitimacy as part of diffuse support for the political community and for the authorities and regime. He closely links common interest to the concept of legitimacy and contends that the idea of common interest helps bring about some accommodation among conflicting views and maintains the support for the authorities and regimes. Legitimacy, Easton maintains, is justified because “if there is a strong inner conviction of the moral validity of the authorities or regime, support may persist even in the face of repeated deprivations attributed to the outputs of the authorities or the failure to act.”6 It helps bring stability and avoid chaos and disorder.7 He derives legitimacy from ideology and institutions and norms and from the personal quality of the authorities. According to S. M. Lipset, legitimacy is synonymous with a moderate state of conflict, which is conducive to democratic stability. Lipset, like other pluralists, derives it from a secular common political culture. He cites pluralism (because it fosters tolerance and compromise), a two-party system, territorial (and not proportional) elections, and federalism as factors that best sustain legitimacy. By contrast, periods of change and denial of access to the political system to some groups are likely to lead to legitimacy crisis.8 Mayer criticizes pluralist proponents of the concept of “democracy and legitimacy crisis” because the concept is vague and not empirically defined. According to him, accountability, which derives from regular competitive

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elections, constitutes the basic democratic value of Western countries. He maintains, in agreement with Huntington, that legitimacy in Western democracies is a function of the institutions that allow such accountability and that legitimacy crisis results from the impact of technology that has made technocrats and the institutions in which they operate unaccountable to the citizens.9 It is difficult to take issue with liberal theorists on the existence of liberal compromise or “democratic stability” in liberal democratic states. What is disputable is their explanation of this compromise. The old debate about the presumed causal relationship between political culture and democratic stability is well known and need not be repeated in detail here. Suffice to say that many critics have rejected the relationship by contesting the concept of political culture itself. They argue that pluralists falsely aggregate together measures of individual attitudes and behaviors and regard them as a whole society’s political culture.10 Others criticize the relationship on the grounds that it has not been proven empirically and quantitatively.11 They argue that a large portion of Americans (one-half in some accounts) is not part of the political culture-induced institutional deal, yet they do not lead to extremism.12 Beyond this, the inferred causality rests on a tautology. Take Colombia. As “a particular pattern of orientations to political action”13 shaped by life experiences, education, and social classes,14 the political culture of Colombia is synonymous with violence. In this case, saying that political violence in Colombia results from its political culture is the same as saying that political violence results from political violence. The tautology can be avoided only if one digs deep into the nonpolitical “culture” that maintains a causal link with the political culture. Aware of these criticisms, Almond and Verba, the authors of the presumed causal relationship, revised their views by insisting that they do not focus on the causal relationship. They claim that they treat political culture as both an independent and dependent variable and that the focus is on the relation between democratic stability (liberal compromise) and historical particularities of countries.15 Almond and Verba are not the only ones relying on unique events in search of causality; Lipset does the same when he cites federalism and a two-party system (reflecting the American experience) in an attempt to explain legitimacy. Reliance on particularistic explanations, however, does not rescue the theory. As R. Alford and R. Friedland correctly argued, “The defense is irrelevant, because citation of specific historical events does not entail any kind of inferences about causation . . . Structural causes are disaggregated as if the level of analysis of individuals and specific events contains self-evident causes.” As they put it, There are thus several ways of salvaging the pluralist world view. First, regard culture as the most important explanatory factor. If that fails, view

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culture as one factor among a complex multidirectional system. As a last resort, fall back on unique historical events to explain deviations.16 Pluralists derive legitimacy from a secular political culture and posit it as the cornerstone of liberal compromise (stable democracy). Yet, to the extent that the explanatory power of political culture is contested, its link with legitimacy becomes shaky at best. At worst, legitimacy becomes, as a concept, a tautology, because, deprived of its explicans (political culture), it explains itself. Moreover, there is no logical causal relation between legitimacy and a stable democracy. A good many political regimes that are legitimate are not democracies. By definition, “stable democracy” implies ipso facto legitimacy and the other three attributes (concurrence, concession, and stability). In this case, legitimacy cannot be the explanatory variable; rather, it, like a stable democracy, stands at the same level of the theoretical chain. Both are dependent variables that need to be explained. These problems have a deeper root. They result from the preeminent role accorded the institutions by the pluralists in their attempt to explain the liberal compromise. The universalistic motto “institutions matter” leads to the mainstream claim that “our democracy is stable because of our system of checks and balances and because our institutions have existed longer.” But this does not explain why elaborate checks and balances in the Colombian or Nigerian constitutions (Colombia has one of the best-crafted and most detailed constitutions in the world) do not lead to stable democracy. Even such a deep structure-oriented theorist as Easton relates legitimacy to political institutions. LaPalombara and Verba subordinate the resolution of societal tensions to institutions. Almond’s very definition of political culture is tributary to institutionalization to the extent that the system functions of capabilities, conversion, and maintenance that create stability, legitimacy, values, consensus, and recruitment are performed by political institutions. Huntington’s axiom that “organization is the road to political power, but it is also the foundation of political stability and thus the precondition of political liberty”17 may have been stated in relation to the Third World, but it is no secret that Huntington considers it applicable to the governability (hence, institutional consensus) of Western societies as well. As he put it, “The governability of a democracy depends upon the relation between the authority of its governing institutions and the power of its opposition institutions.”18 Parsons subordinates the mobilization of resources for collective goals and loyalties (i.e., consensus) to the existence of institutions that can integrate individual values into such a consensus.19 The view that liberal compromise is a function of political institutions is shared by such authors as Herbert Spiro20 and, as noted, Mayer and by the literature on democratization. A different view of institutionalism is espoused by rational choice and historical institutionalisms.

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Although it does not focus on liberal compromise per se, new institutionalism’s claims about democratic consolidation, as seen in chapter 2, have been often couched in rational choice language and serve as the rational choice theory’s explanation of democratic stability. Again, by definition, liberal compromise implies that an agreeable institutional framework (parliament, electoral process, judiciary, various representation mechanisms, bureaucracy, and the like) exists. One cannot reasonably speak of liberal compromise unless one means automatically that the debate in the congress or parliament, despite its usual snags, partisan bickering, or filibustering, does not lead, among other things, to violence or dictatorial takeover; unless one means that the policy taken by the executive, despite the opposition by some groups, does not result in the overthrow of the government by the opposing groups (even if one recognizes the “crisis” moments such as the Vietnam War and 1968 in France and elsewhere); unless one implies that elections, which are a manifestation of compromise, are not rigged, violent, or boycotted en masse (as opposed to apathy); in short, unless one recognizes the minimal occurrence or the absence of overpoliticized behaviors. To this extent, these institutions, behaviors, and their built-in compromise cannot be said to be the explanatory variables. Institutions are part of this very effect called “democratic stability” or liberal compromise. Positing these political institutions as the cause of the liberal compromise is the same as saying that democratic political institutions explain democratic political institutions. I do not mean to deny the fact that, once established, institutions do acquire a life of their own. Agencies and officials involved do, through different networks (including friendship, personal gains), reinforce the compromise. But, as previously argued, such networkings are scarcely independent from society-rooted politics. Hence, a helpful way out of the tautological impasse is to rephrase the question in comparative terms: What makes it possible for liberal democracies to experience far fewer overpoliticized behaviors (i.e., liberal compromise) than non-Western countries? The answer to this question flows from the asymmetrical relationship among politics, institutions, and the state. The preeminent position of politics and the dependence of the political institutions and behaviors on politics suggest that the answer lies in politics, hence, society. This position is not, in its broad outline, new. Marxists establish a clear relation between the liberal democratic state and society. But how far do they go, and what are the implications for non-Western countries? The Marxist View Marx’s position, holding both instrumentalist and structuralist views of the state, meant that his overall position on the state was ambiguous. Despite the

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dominance of the instrumentalist position, his writings suggest that, via its relative autonomy, the state integrates the competing classes and creates a unity and general interest.21 The notion of unity created by the state suggests the preeminent role of liberal ideology in the making of liberal compromise in the capitalist state. It was Gramsci who further developed this idea through the concept of hegemony.22 Although the superstructure occupies an important place in Gramsci’s theory, the analysis is anchored by class productive relations. The agents of hegemony are not presented as institutions in the Weberian sense but as crosscut by the class struggle. He envisioned two stages in hegemony: the coordination by one faction of the hegemonic class over other factions and the relation between the hegemonic class and the dominated class. The linking of civil society to the superstructure makes Gramsci’s conceptualization more complex than it appears. Perry Anderson has argued that Gramsci holds three versions of the relation between the state and civil society.23 What is important for my purpose is the way in which Gramsci’s notion of hegemony deals with the issue of liberal compromise in liberal democratic states. Because Gramsci links civil society to the superstructure, he links hegemony to the superstructure as well and defines it as the acceptance of the dominant rule by the ruled and the consensus of the civil society over political force and coecion. The state, as the organ of one particular dominant class is presented as representing the interests of the nation.24 To obtain consent, coercion is turned into “freedom” and law and other “neutral,” that is, coercive apparatuses are made into customs. This entails the state assuming the role of “educator” in order to disseminate the hegemonic propaganda. Louis Althusser’s reading of Marx, Lenin, and Gramsci was not aimed specifically at advancing a theory of the capitalist state but at reinterpreting Marxist epistemology. But he did develop some of Gramsci’s ideas on hegemony especially through his definition of ideology and ideological state apparatuses. It is through these ideological state apparatuses (church, school, families, trade unions, etc.) that the ruling class exercises its hegemony. Through the mechanism of concealment, the State-nation is represented as the “big subject” (S), which has the effect of leading to consensus: “The individual is interpolated as a (free) subject in order that he shall submit freely to the commandments of the Subject, i.e., in order that he shall (freely) accept his subjugation.”25 It is Poulantzas, who, again because of his explicit commitment to a theory of the capitalist state, developed these ideas further. For pre-1978 Poulantzas the autonomy of the state meant that, although characterized by hegemonic-class relations, the state does not directly represent the dominant classes’ economic interests but their political interests. As the organizer of the dominant classes, the state reduces competition among them while increasing it among the dominated classes, isolating each member of the dominated

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classes into individual spaces, but maintaining its legitimacy in the eyes of the dominated classes by claiming to be a unifying force and representing mass interests. The “relative autonomy” of the state is, thus, the means by which the capitalist class conceals class struggles and creates the unity of the “nation-state.” The concealment rests on according the state the role of ensuring cohesion, consensus, and the acceptance of domination by the dominated classes—the legitimation process. This entails hegemony in the Gramscian sense.26 In his post-1978 works, which posit class struggles as the engine at both the state and societal levels, Poulantzas is a bit more specific about liberal democracy’s attempt to conceal class struggles. He maintains that the relative autonomy of the state is the effect of the separation between the political and the economic that can take place only under capitalism. This separation and the attendant relative autonomy of the state makes the notion of one person-one vote and “consensus” possible by shifting attention away from the class struggles. Contrary to Gramsci and Althusser, who view only the state’s negative ideological and repressive roles, Poulantzas parts company with them by arguing that such a negative view suggests that the masses adhere and consent to the dominant ideology (hence, liberal compromise) because of trickery by the state or their wish for repression. Rather, one ought to assume that the state does provide positive material and other incentives.27 Furthermore, representative democracy allows individuals to limit, via their struggles, the power of the state, which has the effect of making the masses adhere to the institutions of liberal democracy. It is worth noting that Poulantzas’s view that the capitalist state plays a more positive role than allowed by Gramsci and Althusser was a reformulation of his original thought triggered in part by Claus Offe’s and Jurgen Habermas’s criticisms. The reformulation meant that Poulantzas’s views on the liberal compromise of the capitalist state were realigned along those of these two members of the “German school.” Habermas views liberal democracy as part of the legitimation system made possible through civil rights and universal suffrage. Yet genuine democracy, that is, real participation by the masses would expose the contradictions between administratively socialized production and a still private form of acquiring the produced values. To avoid this possibility, the administrative system is made independent of the legitimation process. Mass loyalty is elicited but their participation is avoided.28 For Offe, the legitimation crisis occurs because the state cannot meet all the conditions imposed on it for its reproduction and its class-specific selectiveness. One of the conditions is that in the absence of an independent power base, state personnel need some mandate for action derived from an alternative source of power. This mandate for action must come from the concept of the state representing the common and general interests of society as a whole. This requirement has implications for the liberal compromise since

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“this is to say that the State can only function as a capitalist state by appealing to symbols and sources of support that conceal its nature as a capitalist state; the existence of a capitalist state presupposes the systematic denial of its nature as a capitalist state.”29 This denial is partly accomplished through the liberal political institutions whose role is, according to Ralph Miliband, to contain mass pressure from below.30 The Marxist, neo-Marxist, and associated literature in the United States confronts the issue of liberal compromise as well. Przeworski views the liberal democratic state as an outcome of class compromise between workers and capitalists. O’Connor relates it to distributive welfare policies—made possible by the expansion of the national income via imperialism—that keep the proletariat in check. Alan Wolfe explains it by what he calls the “reification of the state.” Because of social conflict and the exhaustion of its options of democratic consensus, the powerless state is assigned extraordinary powers (in the form of personification or objectification) as an end in itself to induce acceptance of government authority and to reestablish legitimacy.31 Crossing the line between the Marxist and liberal interpretations of the liberal compromise is Charles Lindblom.32 Lindblom posits a close relation between private enterprise and liberal democracy or polyarchy. Because of this relation, business occupies a privileged position under capitalism because the economic security of everyone else depends on business people. The dependence on business means that the government has to see to it that business people perform their task. This dependence has consequences for polyarchy or democracy to the extent that business takes an active role in determining issues and policies. Such a privileged position is protected by a process of “circularity” via which the business elite avoids popular control. It is this process that allows businesspeople to influence citizens through indoctrination or persuasion to accept their privileged position. They remove the “grand issues” from politics and publicize secondary ones as proof of democracy. Among the grand issues are private enterprise, a high degree of corporate autonomy, protection of the status quo on distribution of income and wealth, close consultation between business and government, and restriction of union demands to those consistent with business profitability. In so doing, business molds volitions to accept the status quo (hence, liberal compromise). This is possible precisely because business has control over institutions of communication and because “it is one of the world’s most extraordinary social phenomena that masses of voters vote very much like their elites.”33 The preservation of the politico-economic sytem is facilitated by the circularity in class that consists of ideological and economic recruitment in the favored upper social class. The Marxist explanations of liberal compromise may hold some advantage over those proposed by liberals and pluralists in that the Marxists relate

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their explanations to capitalist society. But they are no more satisfactory than liberal answers with respect to the fundamental issue. There is no doubt that liberal compromise is shaped and reinforced by hegemonic propaganda, persuasion, and incentives. The real test of the causal relation is whether such a relation is specific and exclusive to the liberal democratic state. Can it be applied to non-Western societies? Put differently, do hegemony and propaganda exist in non-Western countries? If they do, how does one explain the lack of liberal compromise in these countries? Intuitively, the answer to this question suggests that capitalism, seen as a “universal system” and hegemony, is not enough as explanation. An extra factor—because of its presence or absence in Western and non-Western societies—must modify the explanation. To make this point, consider the very notion of “hegemonic consensus.” Liberal democracy, to repeat, by its very definition involves such “consensus,” hence, liberal compromise. Otherwise, it loses its meaning. This being the case, recourse to Gramsci’s idea of hegemony to explain liberal compromise in liberal democratic states strikes me as an ex post facto formulation perhaps more in tune with and as a reinforcing element for the situation in the twentieth century than in the early days of liberal democracy. Indeed, democratic rule of these earlier days was restricted to men possessing property and/or educational qualifications. The justification for this took the line that the ability to deliberate on distinctively public and political concerns (directly or through representatives) in an enlightened and critical manner could only be imputed to individuals possessing a stake in the market system— entrepreneurs, professionals, rentiers, at most the more established self-employed workers.”34 Under these conditions, the disfranchised masses had to fight their way into the system. How, then, would hegemony—as acceptance by the masses— apply here? Democratic rule, albeit incomplete, preceded the later attempts by the ruling classes to open up the system under the pressure of the disfranchised classes. It can be reasonably assumed that those who participated in this earlier restricted democratic rule enjoyed among themselves some form of liberal compromise. An incomplete but helpful example in recent history is South Africa. An apartheid-limited “democracy” existed in South Africa before the 1994 multiracial elections that established democracy under Mandela. Under this limited democratic rule that excluded disfranchised indigenous Africans, “Whites” enjoyed some kind of liberal compromise among themselves. The acceptance of the hegemonic rule by the disfranchised masses came in 1994 after their pressure in the form of prolonged anti-apartheid struggles had forced the ruling class to open up the system. In this case, the

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liberal compromise that existed among Whites before 1994 cannot be ascribed to the acceptance of the hegemony qua indoctrination by the African masses. It preceded the latter. In both the earlier European case and the South African case, hegemony could not be the main cause of the compromise. Another way of testing the causal relation between hegemony and liberal compromise is to raise questions in comparative terms. Since Gramsci, Althusser, and Poulantzas, the concept of hegemony has been abundantly used, including in the Third World. This raises the question of why hegemony would lead to liberal compromise in liberal democratic states and not in Third World states. The answer can be that (1) hegemony in the West possesses extra attributes that may be “contextual,” and (2) there is no hegemony in the Third World. Obviously, the basic definition of hegemony disqualifies the second answer. Hegemony exists in most societies although it manifests itself in different forms; in some it is manifested through class relations, in others through other nonclass relations, including lineage relations.35 Why liberal compromise exists in liberal democratic states and rarely in non-Western countries has to do, therefore, with “extra attributes” or “additional factors” that provide the specific form of hegemony in Western societies (or in nonWestern societies). This situation suggests that the Gramscian and Althusserian notion of hegemony provides elements of the answer but is not enough to explain liberal compromise. One understands why Poulantzas reformulated the issue in his later works, in which he argues that liberal compromise occurs not only because of ruling-class propaganda and coercion but more importantly because of the material incentives provided to the masses. Because of the higher level of material production in Western capitalism, the idea of material incentives may constitute the extra attributes or additional factors in Western societies. In this, Poulantzas is joined by O’Connor and, to an extent, Przeworski. But reliance on capitalist material incentives does not solve the problem. Consider Singapore, which is capitalist. There is no doubt that like other capitalist states, the Singaporean state seeks liberal compromise. It does so by concealing its capitalist exploitative nature and by attempting to remove grand issues from political debate. And with respect to material incentives, there is no doubt that the Singaporean masses are among the better served lot if one refers to income level and standard of living. Yet one need not read Lee Kuan Yew’s memoirs36 to realize that rather than liberal compromise it is authoritarianism and overpoliticized behaviors that prevailed under Lee and beyond. Which raises the question of why. Either Singapore is not a capitalist society or there is “something extra” in Western capitalism that allows the concealment to lead to compromise. Either way, the additional factor in Western capitalism or the absence of it in Singapore, and vice versa, needs to be the focal point of analysis for a better account of liberal compromise. Put differently, liberal

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compromise that characterizes liberal democratic states cannot be well explained unless the particularity of Western societies and capitalism is theorized. Such theorization requires that attention be paid to non-Western societies as a counterpoint and counterevidence that strengthens theory about the West. Thus, both the liberals and Marxists fail to account convincingly for liberal compromise. Much of this failure is imputable to their universalist orientations. The pluralists focus on political culture/institutions, universally defined, thereby ignoring the fact that political culture and institutions are themselves an effect and not the causal determinant. Marxists insist on hegemony and capitalist economy, failing to pinpoint not only the specificity of the Western capitalist society but also its specific type of hegemony. In short, both frameworks neglect the specificity of society, hence, of politics. In attempting to explain overpoliticization in developing countries, the leading question must be in comparative terms: How does society in Western countries differ from society in developing countries and why does this difference lead to two different types of politics with different impacts on political institutions, behaviors, and state formats? WHAT EXPLAINS OVERPOLITICIZATION? Again, the fruit analogy is helpful here. Consider the general property “fruitiness” (or being fruits) and the bipolar conceptual unity opposing temperate to tropical fruits. Everything being equal, that is, allowing for auxiliary farming tasks involved, the climate remains the leading explanatory variable behind “fruitiness.” It allows a fruit-producing tree or plant to grow or not to grow. In this sense the climate is the general explanatory principle that explains the general property “fruitiness.” Given that “temperate fruits” and “tropical fruits” are subvariations of the general property “fruitiness,” intuitively they are explained by the subvariations in the general explanatory principle, that is, in the climate. In other words, to be able to explain why mangoes, papayas, and pineapples grow in the tropics and not in the temperate zones and why they have a higher respiration rate and a shorter life expectancy than apples and pears, one needs to specify the conditions under which the general principle “climate” is modified to generate the common subproperty of growing in the tropics (tropical fruits) and in the temperate zones (temperate fruits). In this case, it is this common subproperty (tropical fruits and temperate fruits) that forces one to discover the conditions under which the climate is modified to become a “tropical climate” and a “temperate climate” and to generate the subproperty. In the concrete case of countries if “the political system” or “the state” is posited as the general dependent variable and “the liberal democratic state” and “the overpoliticized state” as its two subvariations, then one needs both

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to define the general principle that explains the state in general and to specify the conditions under which this general explanatory principle is altered to generate its two variations that explain, respectively, the liberal democratic state and the overpoliticized state. The General Explanatory Principle and Its Modifiers To specify the general explanatory principle, one needs to come back to the concept of politics. We have already seen how politics, as a competition, is inseparable from society, that is, from property, goods, services, values, and their conditions of organization, accumulation and acquisition. Because these conditions are central and at the core of society’s activities, they can be referred to as core relations for the social product (hereafter, core relations). And given that core relations allows politics to be preeminent and to determine political institutions, behaviors, and the state formats everywhere, they constitute, like the climate, the general explanatory principle. How one specifies the conditions that modify the general explanatory principle raises the issue of the integration of Western and non-Western “cultures” into a general comparative explanatory framework. In concluding chapter 2, I referred to Rudolph’s plea that the “multiple histories” of non-Western countries be integrated into the general explanation and comparative framework. It is, perhaps, in heeding calls such as Rudolph’s that efforts have been made from the mid-1980s onward in the comparative politics literature to return to the cultures of non-Western countries for explanations. Huntington’s recent forays into non-Western cultures, Pye’s aforementioned Asian Power and Politics, and Culture Matters edited by Laurence Harrison and Samuel Huntington37 are part of this movement. There have also been intense debates about integration in the world-system approach. Either because of the criticisms leveled against them or because of self-examination, proponents of the world-system approach have reassessed their analyses to take into account the cultures and civilizations of the non-Western countries. Some studies have been published to this end since the late 1980s. They include Samir Amin’s and Janet L. Abu-Lughod’s attempts to reclaim the role of the Middle East’s civilization in shaping the world-system; Andre Gunder Frank’s efforts to reassert the place of East Asian (especially Chinese) civilizations in the worldsystem; and the volume edited by Anthony King, which raises the broad issues of integrating culture in the world-sytem approach and contains discussions by Immanuel Wallerstein and others.38 These efforts, however, do not achieve integration. Culture Matters, for instance, rests on universalistic assumptions. Its authors define progress as material well-being and political democracy, assume Western-like progress (Jeffrey Sachs unabashedly equates economic growth with Western capitalism),39

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and maintain that progress should be the goal for everyone. Culture, defined in purely subjective terms as values, attitudes, beliefs, and orientations, is the means by which the goal of progress is attained or not attained. The subjective definition of culture helps to make the West the referent point easily because as attitudes, beliefs, and orientations, Western culture can be borrowed and imitated by non-Western countries to attain Western-like progress. For instance, David Landes gives Japan as an example of a successful nonWestern country that borrowed Western culture and developed economically and politically. He views Japan’s “group responsibility” as a version of Weber’s Western protestant ethic (hard work, honesty, seriousness, thrift, etc.) that led to the development. And because of the reliance on the West as the referent point, Landes rejects offhand colonialism and dependency as explanations of underdevelopment in South America. The latter’s culture is seen as the culprit.40 Because the West is the referent point, the authors of Culture Matters subordinate the business requirements of Western capitalist countries (e.g., competition, productivity, foreign investment, and trade) to Western culture. By contrast, non-Western cultures are unproductive cultures that hinder capitalist productivity41 and political democracy.42 According to Ronald Inglehart, these Western-centric cultural values and attitudes at the societal level are conducive to liberal democracy because they replace “survival values” with “self-expression values.”43 To be sure, cultural values attributed to the West may be true. What is questionable in this universalistic view is the normative attribution of negative and stagnant traits to non-Western cultures. This has implications in terms of integrating the latter cultures into a general explanatory framework. First, in terms of solution for non-Western countries, the implication is clearly the adoption of Western culture. Second, in terms of explaining the dependent variable or outcome, one is forced to rely on the Western “missing variables” in the form of attitudes and beliefs in non-Western cultures as explanation. The positive dynamism (as opposed to stagnation) of non-Western cultures and the way by which they contribute to the outcome are ignored. But Culture Matters expounds particularism as well. Harrison and Huntington cite the contrasting cases of South Korea and Ghana; Haiti and Barbados; Guatemala, Honduras, El Salvador, and Nicaragua, on the one hand, and Costa Rica, on the other; and the political behaviors of South American countries such as Colombia, Ecuador, and Peru to support their claim that the specific culture of these countries or regions makes all the difference in their respective economic and political fates.44 If one posits overpoliticization as the common dependent variable to be explained, this particularism cannot help integrate non-Western cultures into the general explanatory principle. For instance, Huntington claims that Ghana’s culture explains why its level of economic development, which was similar to that of

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South Korea in the 1960s, lags today behind South Korea’s, whose culture propelled its economic development. This is highly questionable. Not only were the economic indicators and the fate of Ghana similar to those of many other Third World countries in the 1960s, the 1970s, and 1980s, but also it is worth recalling that Ghana and South Korea were both authoritarian until the 1990s. Both have now “consolidated their democracies” through routine elections. If Ghana’s culture caused its economic stagnation and Korea’s its economic miracle, what made both adopt authoritarianism and end it almost at the same time? Why did not the same cultural differentiation make Korea democratic and Ghana authoritarian? The evidence for the similarity of political outcomes provided in the previous chapters clearly shows that Ghana and South Korea, China and South East Asian countries, Costa Rica and other Central American countries, Lebanon or India and African countries all display, despite their specific circumstances, overpoliticized behaviors that distinguish them from Western countries. The authors of Culture Matters themselves recognize this fact, perhaps unwillingly, even as they attempt to show the supposed causal link between specific attitudes and political and economic outcomes in different countries. For instance, Harrison, who rejects geography and climate as explanations, argues that despite their temperate climate Argentina, Uruguay, and Chile, as a result of their specific cultures, experienced military dictatorship in the 1970s and 1980s and cannot be viewed as enjoying First World/Western prosperity. But dictatorship in these three countries cannot be ascribed to their specific cultures since we know that military dictatorship was the characteristic feature of African and Asian countries during the same period as well. He refers to troubled democracy in Colombia, Ecuador, and Peru as proof that their specific culture causes it. Yet this study has shown that these three countries share this trait with African and Asian countries. Attempts by the proponents of the world-system theory to achieve integration through culture have not been successful either. Although one must acknowledge the contributions by Abu-Lughod and Gunder Frank who seek to give to non-Western societies what is owed them, one must recognize, unfortunately, that in general these efforts fall short. Non-Western cultures are still, in the final analysis, posited as offsprings of Western capitalism. The latter is said to be responsible for making any “return to the local an unavoidable response to globalization”; for allowing and initiating at will the accommodation of noncapitalist forms and life to universalism; for making non-Western local cultures by creating the nation-states; and for making it possible for the “peripheral forms of life [to be] themselves culturally defined in the terms drawn from the center [the West].”45 For these reasons, the integration efforts in world-system theory cannot help the comparative politics

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of non-Western countries. The theory severely reduces the explanatory contribution of their cultures. The point is that horizontally similar political behaviors in non-Western countries differ from those in Western countries. These similar behaviors (overpoliticization) cannot be explained by the general “regressive” nature of non-Western cultures or by the specific culture of each country or region. Even works such as Pye’s rich and closely argued culturalist interpretation of Asian politics that attempt integration fall back on a culture-specific theory. One has to inquire into the way in which society-rooted politics in nonWestern countries leads to the similar overpoliticized state. To do this one must view culture not as “attitudes” and “beliefs” to be adopted or discarded but as differential ways in which people practice and are involved in the economy, politics, social relations, and in intercommunications of different kinds. Clifford Geertz’s definition of culture as an entire way of life is a better definition. Neither should non-Western cultures be reduced to subjugated appendages of Western capitalism and culture as is the case in the worldsystem theory. The role of culture in the cross-national comparisons is to be assessed in relation to the horizontally similar overpoliticization of non-Western countries. The question then becomes: How do different non-Western cultures defined at the deep level of society integrate with (or modify) the general explanatory principle (core relations) to explain the similar overpoliticized state in developing countries? Intuitively, empirical evidence of a similarly overpoliticized state in developing countries in contrast to Western countries suggests that the explanation of their similar overpoliticized behaviors does not reside in the specific and obviously different cultures of individual countries or regions involved. At the same time, the contrast between the overpoliticized state and the Western liberal democratic state, coupled with variations in the manifestations of the overpoliticized state in different nonWestern countries, suggests that “cultures” do intervene to generate these differences. Hence, the crucial question becomes: How do local and regional cultures in non-Western countries, despite their differences, intervene in the explanation of a similarly overpoliticized state within a general explanatory principle without (1) reducing the general explanatory principle to Westernlike explanatory factors such as political institutions and capitalism, (2) making non-Western cultures the explanation, and (3) making each non-Western culture a sui generis explanation that applies only to its own country or region? The answer lies in the overpoliticized state as the common dependent variable. As an integrated variable, the overpoliticized state dictates that its explanation be an integrated one as well. It imposes two requirements. First, one must establish the conceptual unity among African, Asian, and South American differing cultures and explain how this unity modifies the general

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explanatory principle. This task is not impossible. For instance, the patterns of material production and exchange in precolonial Africa, Asia, and South America; the not-so-feudal-not-so capitalist system introduced by Iberian colonialism in South America; the dowry in India and in Africa; ancestral worship and “witchcraft” in Africa, Asia, and South America; the Kongo kanda; the Chinese or the Southeast Asian clan; the Inca ayllu and the Aztec calpulli (which are differently structured but denote the same lineage realities as opposed to kinship) may not be materially or morphologically identical cultural realities; yet they form a conceptual unity, which alters the general explanatory principle. Second, given the historically asymmetrical expansion of the West toward non-Western countries via colonialism and capitalism, one needs to ask whether and how this expansion modifies the general explanatory principle in non-Western countries. In light of these two requirements, the relation between the general explanatory principle and its modifiers in Western countries differs from that which prevails in non-Western countries. In Western countries, the general explanatory principle (core relations), that is, the conditions of organization, accumulation and acquisition of property, goods, services, and values and the cultural modifiers are one and the same. They are fused in capitalism, which is so exclusive that it is almost identical with society. In non-Western countries, the situation is much more complex. Precolonial/precapitalist societies and cultures are well entrenched. Yet because of its asymmetrical, one-sided expansion toward non-Western countries, Western capitalism and its attendant culture attempt to assert themselves as the general explanatory principle or core relations while attempting to modify the preexisting legitimate core relations. Capitalism seeks to become exclusive as in Western countries but is challenged by non-Western cultures. All this has tremendous implications for politics. Hereafter I will rely on some basic propositions and hypotheses to grasp these implications for the explanation of overpoliticization. Basic Propositions and Hypotheses About Society Because politics (hence, the state) raises the issue of core relations, we can assume that the difference between the similarly overpoliticized state in developing countries and the Western liberal democratic state is a function of the fundamental differences in their core relations and the way they are modified. From this assumption flow the following propositions and hypotheses. Proposition 1: Capitalism constitutes core relations in Western countries (hereafter, “capitalist core relations” or “capitalism”); it is characterized by a triple convergence of social sectors and activities, whereas core relations in non-Western countries are altered (hereafter, “altered

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core relations”) and are characterized by a triple divergence of sectors and activities. An understanding of capitalism and society in the West today requires some historical perspective, much of which I have already discussed. The delimitation of society was an outcome of liberalism, that is, the “attempt to define a private sphere independent of the state . . . the freeing of civil society—personal, family, and business life—from political interference and the simultaneous delimitation of the state’s authority.”46 Such an attempt consisted of defining the three major spheres of liberalism: economic, moral, and political.47 Although the political sphere was necessary to define the relationship between society and the state, the economic and moral spheres constituted the backbone of society’s prerogatives. The economic sphere involves the right to own property, to sell, to buy, to produce, to contract, and to accumulate wealth. The moral sphere includes personal liberty (protection against government encroachment on individual freedoms to think, talk, and worship), civil liberty (freedom to be involved in activities, to write, to publish, to associate with others, to express oneself, and so forth), and social liberty (opportunities for advancement). More than any other liberal thinker, Adam Smith contributed to the definition of the economic sphere by placing individual economic material gain at the center of the liberal enterprise. According to Smith, collective welfare is the unintended result of personal avarice, the economic interests of specific individuals. For this reason the state occupies a marginal position in his doctrine. Like Adam Smith, Marx assigned to the capitalist economy a prominent status in society. Capitalism, as the cornerstone of the capitalist society, is characterized by an exploitative relationship between the owners of the means of production and wage earners who sell their labor. Because these relations of production revolve around the extraction of a surplus from the wage earners by the capitalists, capitalist society is a class society that opposes ruling and subordinate classes. With various nuances, most Marxists adhere to this basic view of the capitalist society. Their disagreements have been about the change in capitalism from its competitive stage to the monopoly stage48 and to globalization,49 the imperialistic position of American capitalism vis-à-vis European capitalism, and the class nomenclature in different Western societies. Although the capitalist economy is given primacy over other subsystems in much of the Marxist literature, some of this literature (or that which is sympathetic to some Marxist arguments) recognizes the contemporary reality of capitalism. For instance, the capitalist economy is not predominantly market systems since the family, business enterprise, and government agency have recourse to internal coordination (parental authority, family subsistence production, bureaucratic authority, and regulation), which is not done by market

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systems. Nonmarket governmental authoritative control over production, indirect manipulation of the market and governmental involvement in purchases and contracts, planning by the government, and public ownership (today severely reduced) further accentuate the nonmarket and public elements in the capitalist economy.50 Furthermore, although the economic core remains central in much contemporary liberal thought, its Smithian preeminence is contested by liberal scholars, such as Talcott Parsons and Neil Smelser.51 Parsons does not necessarily assign to the economy and material interests a more preeminent status than values, ethics, and mores.52 This view is conspicuously expounded today by cultural and postmodern studies that put as much or more emphasis on culture, values, religion, ethics, mores, gender, race, and ethnicity in their depiction of capitalist societies of the West. That said, it is fair to argue that capitalism exhibits eight major features. The first and most important is best understood in reference to the transition from feudalism to capitalism. The decline of the feudal social order was accompanied by a new social relationship between landlord and peasant/ tenant-serf. Rather than owing labor services or dues in kind to the landlord, the serf, freed of servile obligations, relied more and more on wage labor to pay rent. Of all the characteristics of capitalism, this type of relationship is at its core. Workers are separated from the means of production at two levels: ownership and process of production; both are controlled by the capitalist/ entrepreneurs who extract surplus labor. The relationship between the owners of the means of production and the workers is reduced to a contract requiring the workers to perform only those tasks contained in the contract while allowing them the freedom to choose the employer. Owners extract surplus labor from the workers economically—through wage—and not through physical or ideological coercion. (Legal, ideological, and physical coercion do intervene, but as support mechanisms.) The relations between capitalists and workers are so crucial at the very heart of capitalism as a mode of production that they pretty much define capitalist core relations. Because they are crucial, they also shape class structure in capitalism, which revolves around the capitalist and the working classes. This does not mean that class relations are reducible to two classes; there is a connected chain of secondary strata and groups.53 As a corollary, private property constitutes the second major trait of capitalism. Extensive private property existed in the ancient world of Greece and Rome. Family-owned private property also existed in imperial China. Yet none of these three countries was capitalist. Not every type of private property implies capitalism; it can coexist, in different forms, with different modes of production. Because the fundamental societal division under capitalism opposes the capitalist class and the workers, the notion of private property acquires a special meaning. At the center of private property rights in a capitalist society are those rights the capitalist/entrepreneur enjoys vis-à-vis

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the worker. Because of the pivotal position of the capitalist-worker relationship, capitalist society in its entirety depends on these relations that become core relations. This dependence explains the extensiveness and pervasiveness of private property rights under capitalism, for these core relations deeply and complexly affect other private actors who come to “venerate” private property. Consider here today’s stocks ownership. State regulations are not precluded because state intervention in private property can occur in any type of society. However, in a capitalist society, unlike lineage societies such as imperial China, the state does not intervene to create or allocate private property—even though it protects property rights. An exception here is the intervention of the state in allocationg land to private actors in “frontier zones” (e.g., in the United States). The third characteristic of capitalism is its extensive commodification. The transition from feudalism to capitalism involved the use and circulation of money. In fact, the accumulation of monetary capital was seen by Marx as a necessary (but not sufficient) condition for the emergence of capitalism.54 The importance of this monetary capital grew with the role played by merchants and usurers during the transition. Capitalism came to be characterized by the production of commodities for exchange on the market, but it is not reducible to the development of commodities and the market; the accumulation of monetary wealth is not its exclusive attribute. The particularity of commodification lies in the whole of social production taking the form of a commodity. That is, the production of commodities for exchange by capitalists/entrepreneurs is possible only to the extent that they first purchase two other types of commodities: labor power and the means of production. On the one hand, the separation of workers from the means of production leaves workers with only their labor power to sell; on the other hand, the means of production, not being possessed by the workers, are purchased as products elsewhere. The extraction of surplus labor by capitalists is possible only under these conditions. Capitalist core relations dictate commodification. Extensive commodification leads to the fourth trait of capitalism, which is complementarity. Given (1) that revenues that workers receive as payment for their labor power are used to purchase commodities for their personal subsistence and (2) that capitalists have to purchase means of production (and their own means of consumption) from other enterprises, capitalism is characterized by a complementarity of activities in its system of commodity circulation. In this system, referred to by Marx as “department 1” and “department 2,” some enterprises (“department 1”) produce means of production for sale to capitalists; others (“department 2”) produce means of subsistence for workers and capitalists alike. These exchanges denote the complementarity of economic activities from sectoral, geographical, and input-output perspectives under capitalism; this is well reflected by terms such as capital goods and

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intermediary goods. However, complementarity is not an exclusive attribute of capitalism; a socialist economy can also display this trait. Structural complementarity under capitalism differs from socialism or other modes of production because capitalist relations pervade sectoral, geographical, and input/output exchanges, giving them their specific form. The fifth feature of capitalism concerns the pervasion of capitalist relations through agriculture and industry. There are no longer “landowners” in the precapitalist sense of the term, but only agrarian capitalists. Even small farmers depend on and operate in congruence with capitalist relations often through industrial-financial lending institutions. Industrial capital is the basis of production; it has primacy over merchants’ or usurers’ monetary wealth. Steady technical progress, the tendency to expand, and its attendant accumulation worldwide constitute the sixth characteristic of capitalism. This trait is conspicuously present in the era of globalization but is not the main defining feature of capitalism. The seventh characteristic, although highly debatable under globalization, is that the major portion of capital is directly or indirectly of national/local origin rather than foreign. That is, the portion of productive capital invested by local entrepreneurs far outweighs that contributed by foreign investors. The combination of the previous seven traits generates capitalism’s eighth feature, namely, its geographical and social entrenchment. It becomes a “culture”55 directly affecting social actors and their behaviors. Owing to the centrality of capitalist core relations and the dependence of the entire society on them, the mode of social organization rests on such notions as liberty, rights, property, and equality. The combination of these features and the central sustaining role of capitalist core relations fundamentally distinguish capitalism from other modes. Indeed, capitalism demarcates itself from other systems by subordinating to its core relations all social relationships and all conditions under which the social product is generated. Capitalist entrenchment leads to a triple convergence in society: (1) all social actors depend on the social product, (2) which is entirely dependent on capitalism, (3) and capitalism subordinates all social relationships. By profoundly shaping the entire society the triple convergence constitutes the culture of capitalist societies in Western societies to the extent that it shapes and determines political values, economic life, philosophical/ideological thinking, modes of social interactions, and artistic expressions. By, thus, being exclusive in society, capitalism constitutes the core relations, hence, the explanatory principle in Western societies. This is not the case in Africa, Asia, and South America. Lest it be misunderstood, the idea of altered core relations in non-Western countries does not suggest that capitalism does not exist in those countries. Capitalist phenomenal expansionism in South Korea, Taiwan, Singapore, and Chinese

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Hong Kong is now a universally accepted fact. The more recent trends in the Southeast Asian countries of Malaysia, Indonesia, and Thailand are also consistent with capitalist vibrant expansionism, as is the case of India and China. In South America, Brazil, Mexico, and Chile are also well-known cases of high capitalist growth. Beyond this, capitalism did expand in almost all Third World countries via colonial rule or postcolonial investments and relationships. Countries such as Argentina, Venezuela, Egypt, South Africa, and the Congo (formerly Zaire) were among those more affected by capitalism during colonial rule and in the early twentieth century. Although postcolonial Africa has not shown impressive capitalist growth, countries such as Côte d’Ivoire and Kenya fared better than did most countries in the 1970s. In the post–cold war period the notions of expanding markets, privatization, and globalization convey the idea of expanding capitalism. That capitalism expanded in Africa, Asia, and South America is well documented by the world-system literature. Nevertheless, contrary to claims by world-system theorists and proponents of globalization, capitalist expansionism, however phenomenal, does not lead to its social entrenchment as in Western countries. It does not become the “culture.” This is not only a matter of empirical verification but also of logic. Indeed, however minimally one concedes the fact that non-Western societies still have their cultures, it is illogical to think of a “takeover” by capitalism unless one conceives of non-Western societies as tabula rasa, or no man’s lands with no cultures of their own. As Carlos Fuentes, the Mexican writer put it, “I am not afraid of American commercial culture because I am conscious of my own Mexican culture.”56 In other words, American capitalist culture cannot subjugate and displace Mexican culture, and, thus, cannot become socially entrenched there. The fierce resistance by local cultures is undeniable, which helps one to understand the notion of mutual alteration between capitalism and non-Western cultures. Altered core relations in non-Western societies display the following traits: (1) the noncentral position of the capitalist core relations, which is reflected by the distortion and lack of cohesion of class structure, stands in contrast to the crucial role played by capitalist core relations in shaping class structure, production, and accumulation in Western countries. (2) Whereas the pervasiveness of private property under capitalism results from the dependence of the entire society on capitalist core relations, in altered core relations private property is neither determined by the capitalist core relations nor is as extensive as under capitalism because it competes with a high level of lineage-owned or statecontrolled or feudallike property. Moreover, the extensiveness of private ownership by local social actors in capitalism contrasts with the marginal or relatively marginal position of indigenous social actors in the structure of capitalist own-

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ership in altered core relations. (An illustration is the conflict between the United States and Asia provoked by the currency crisis that shook Asian countries such as Thailand, Indonesia, Malaysia, and South Korea in the summer and fall of 1997 as the result of deep dependence of capitalist development in these countries on Western capital flow.)57 (3) Whereas capitalism is characterized by extensive commodification, in altered core relations most socioeconomic activities, especially peasant agriculture, are disconnected from and not commodified by the capitalist sector. In Przeworski’s words, speaking of Latin America, “capitalist activities, whatever they are, do not become integrated with each other by means of the market.”58 (4) The complementarity of activities in capitalism’s system of commodity circulation contrasts with the lack of integration and interdependence in the economy of altered core relations from geographical, sectoral, and input-output perspectives, scanty internal markets, external economic domination, and strong dependence on foreign actors. This situation, rather than being contradicted by globalization is strengthened by it. (5) Unlike capitalism, where capitalist relations pervade industry and agriculture, altered core relations are characterized by the prevalence of merchants’ or usurers’ monetary wealth; agriculture, which generally dominates industry, is only partially penetrated by capitalist relations; this situation is exacerbated by globalization’s focus on information technology, which scarcely impacts peasant agriculture. (6) Instead of capitalism’s steady tendency to expand, altered core relations are generally characterized by stagnant socioeconomic reproduction and specialization of material production. (7) Rather than capitalism’s social and “cultural” entrenchment, altered core relations are characterized by the detachment of most social behaviors from capitalist core relations and the existence of competing forms of non-Western capitalist ideologies and cultures. In contradistinction to capitalist societies of the West, where a triple convergence prevails, these seven features lead to a triple divergence in nonWestern societies: (1) all social actors depend on the social product, (2) only a portion of which depends on capitalism, (3) which only subordinates a part of social relationships. This is characterized by three basic situations: (1) capitalism and its attendant ties stand opposed to noncapitalist ties and activities; (2) the state and its attendant class/group configuration tend to assume a crucial and even an excessive control over capitalist core relations and noncapitalist activities (notwithstanding the forced privatization of the globalization era); and (3) foreign economic actors tend to control capitalist core relations. What, then, causes the alteration, resulting in the above features and the triple divergence in Africa, Asia, and South America? Proposition 2: Altered core relations and their triple divergence are the chemical fusionlike outcome of two related phenomena: (1) the mutual

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alteration of non-Western cultures and Western capitalism and (2) the impact of this alteration on the core relations in non-Western countries within which the two types of culture make their conflictual contact. Non-Western culture, as already argued, is used here to refer to noncapitalist economic, political, social, philosophical/religious, and artistic practices and ways of the Africans, Asians, and South Americans in precapitalist times and before or during colonial rule, which are still operative. Such ways and practices differ from those in Western capitalist culture. This point does not dismiss the fact that culture is dynamic, undergoes changes, and is often reinvented.59 Neither does it suggest that every idiosyncratic trait (e.g., the way people eat or dance) intervenes in the alteration. In this sense, I view culture as part of society’s structural relations rather than sheer symbols, customs, and rituals through which people view and make their choices (including political choices) and understand their unique intragroup bonds and their experiences.60 For, in the end, these symbols and rituals refer to and take shape because of the present or past economic, political, social, and religious relations of the cultural groups involved. In any case, cultural differences among the three non-Western regions yield the following hypotheses in the alteration process: Hypothesis 1: In Africa lineage relationships around which revolve property ownership and production, religious and ideological practices, and divine kingship provide the means of modification of capitalism. In the Arabized areas an additional modifying factor is Islam. Hypothesis 2: In Asia, in addition to lineage property relations and the attendant property ownership, cosmic order, and divine kingship, Buddhism, Hinduism, and the caste system, Confucianism, and Islam serve as modifiers of capitalism. Hypothesis 3: In South America pre-Columbian lineage property relationships and the attendant cosmic order and divine kingship in Indianpopulated areas plus the not-so-feudal and not-so-capitalist system introduced by Spanish and Portuguese colonial rules constitute the modifiers of capitalism. In the Caribbean areas an additional modifying factor is the remnants, albeit debatable, of African cultural patterns. Hypothesis 4: In all three major regions, colonialism and the “foreign and dependent nature” of capitalism alter both the non-Western cultures and capitalism itself.

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Proposition 2 and its four related hypotheses help establish the conceptual unity among the different non-Western cultures regardless of whether they are African, Asian, or South American. The conceptual unity of the three regional cultures lies in their ability to modify or alter capitalism. Yet the three are not left untouched by capitalism; it alters them as well. The mutual alteration of capitalism and non-Western cultures, as already indicated, intervened via colonial rule/imperialism and postcolonial investments and global encounters. It impacts on the core relations, that is, on the conditions of organization, accumulation, and acquisition of the social product in nonWestern countries. The result is altered core relations in developing countries. Proposition 2 and the four hypotheses shed light on why altered core relations and their triple divergence stand as the crucial common explanatory variable, or common property shared by African, Asian, and South American societies. Altered core relations and the attendant triple divergence constitute a subvariation of the general explanatory principle. They are the equivalent of the “tropical climate” that explains mangoes, papayas, and pineapples. As the tropical climate shared by the tropical zones borrows from local weather, temperate zone waves, and general climatic conditions but differs from them, so, too, altered core relations differ from capitalism and individual non-Western cultures despite being impacted by them. Yet if the conditions of mutual alteration contained in the above hypotheses were all there were to it, the two Western “big pushes” of the last three centuries, modernization and globalization, would have already allowed for the Western-like triple convergence of capitalism to occur in non-Western countries. In other words, relying on “all-powerful capitalism” as they do, modernization and globalization would have transformed the mutual alteration into the total submission of non-Western cultures by capitalism. This submission would have led to capitalist triple convergence. No such triple convergence has occurred. Instead, the triple divergence persists, reflected in the off-discussed “resistance” of non-Western cultures. Which raises the question of why. To answer, I advance the following hypothesis: Hypothesis 5: In the mutual contact and alteration between capitalism and non-Western cultures, non-Western cultures alter capitalism more than it alters them. Because of this situation, the impact of their mutual alteration on the core relations has the effect of reproducing and strengthening the triple divergence in non-Western countries. As previously discussed, world-system theorists, many Marxist writers, and proponents of globalization explain the socioeconomic features in non-Western countries by granting colonialism and capitalism an excessive amount of

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power to make and break non-Western societies. They view the above features as the outcomes of the “will” of capitalism to maintain them or to allow their existence through its ways of expanding.61 In this view local cultures are passive in the face of omnipotent capitalism, a view that complements that of “stagnant” societies espoused by modernization theory and dualism. Although the expansionist role of capitalism and imperialism themselves cannot be ignored, the hypothesis suggests that this role is not the determining factor. African, Asian, and South American cultures played the determining role. The important contribution of imperialism-centered theories is recognized, but their argument is turned upside down. To appreciate the leading role played by non-Western/noncapitalist cultures in modifying capitalism, one ought to bear in mind an important consideration. As a chemical fusionlike event, altered core relations are an outcome of a long process that starts with the mutual alteration of non-Western cultures by capitalism and that of capitalism by non-Western/noncapitalist cultures. Logically, there is no reason why coming in contact with noncapitalist cultures, capitalism could not play an equally important role as or a more important role than these noncapitalist cultures in the alteration process. In reality, however, three reasons make the noncapitalist cultures of the non-Western world play the leading role. The first is that despite its aggressive expansionism, capitalism has to accommodate noncapitalist cultures often in order to advance its own goals (e.g., recognition of lineage property under colonial rule or, as in the case of South America, attempts by U.S. capitalist interests to support military authoritarian rulers often meant an indirect support for rural anticapitalist oligarchy, which was allied with the military). Accommodation involves an alteration of capitalism by these cultures. But contrary to the claim that accommodation is “willed” by capitalism, it is, in reality, forced on capitalism by the second and third reasons. The second reason is that, just as a human body invaded by an outside virus sets in motion its antibodies to fight off the invading virus, capitalist infiltration triggers defensive reflexes from protective agents of noncapitalist cultures. The very remnants of precapitalism, which modernization theory explains by the stagnation of non-Western societies and imperialism-centered theories by the “will” of capitalism to preserve them, are the results of these defensive reflexes. This is revealed by everyday’s rejection of the “West” in parts of the non-Western world. These reflexes alter capitalism. The third reason has to do with the sheer pervasiveness and entrenchment of noncapitalist cultures on their “own turf.” However powerful capitalism may be or is conceived to be, ritualized noncapitalist cultural practices in Africa, Asia, and South America hold the edge in a contest of mutual alteration. To use a sport analogy, they have a home court advantage and can rely on their fans; or to use a war analogy, they know the rugged terrain better than the enemy does. Indeed, as capitalism seeks to implant itself, the sheer magni-

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tude and weight of these ritualized noncapitalist habits and practices allow them to reassert themselves easily even in those areas where capitalist implantation is relatively strong. In so doing, they modify capitalist core relations as well.62 It is no surprise, then, that in the midst of the euphoria about globalization at the close of the twentieth century and the dawn of the new millennium, the support for this argument comes from unsuspected sources. Indeed it is the British conservative writer John Gray who authored “false dawn: the delusions of global capitalism” to highlight precisely the intractable struggle waged by non-Western cultures to alter capitalism in China, Korea, Singapore, and other Asian countries.63 Thus, although capitalism alters noncapitalist cultures, the latter alter capitalism even more. This recognition of the leading role played by nonWestern cultures in altering Western capitalism rejects the notion of “peripheral capitalism,” a by-product of imperialism-centered theories and world-system analyses. It rejects also the notions of the stagnation of non-Western societies and their subjugation by omnipotent capitalism espoused by these theories and globalization. If proven, this hypothesis helps to draw the long-term implications of the persistence of the triple divergence for the overpoliticized state and for the future of liberal democracy in non-Western countries. Basic Proposition and Hypotheses About Overpoliticization As the culmination of the above propositions and hypotheses about society in non-Western countries, hypothesis 5 leads one squarely to the explanation of the overpoliticized state. These propositions and hypotheses, as noted, shed light on the explanatory unity among non-Western countries by revealing that altered core relations and their triple divergence are the crucial common explanatory variable, or common property, shared by their societies. The task, then, is to explain why and how this common variable leads, despite surface variations, to a similarly overpoliticized state. Proposition 3: The specificity of the liberal democratic state in Western countries resides in the respect of its three cardinal rules of liberal compromise (“rules of the game”). Such respect is made possible by the triple convergence in capitalism. In the Third World, by contrast, altered core relations and the triple divergence subvert these rules, leading to overpoliticization, hence the overpoliticized state. Recall that the three rules of the game (chapter 5) stipulate that (1) when political competition takes place, capitalist core relations (ownership, production, and profit) are not contested or modified through coercive means or state power; (2) the competition over the claimable social product take place through

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institutional means of compromise; and (3) participants respect the compromise. Proposition 3 brings us back to the preeminence of politics vis-à-vis institutions and the state format. It helps explain why politics in Western societies leads to liberal compromise while it leads to overpoliticization in non-Western societies. In the West, society-built-in triple convergence is the reason, whereas the triple divergence explains the situation in non-Western societies. But how concretely does the triple divergence shape politics? The following hypothesis can be advanced. Hypothesis 6: With varying saliency, depending on the country involved, the triple divergence generates overpoliticization through the particularly contentious type of political competition inscribed in its (triple divergence’s) three empirical manifestations: (1) the opposition between mutually altering capitalist core relations and non-Western activities and cultures, (2) the consequent control via state power of these unreconciled capitalist and noncapitalist activities and its attendant cutthroat struggle for political power, and (3) foreign control over capitalist core relations. This hypothesis invites one to investigate whether and how politics in the three specified areas prevents political actors from reaching compromise, thereby overpoliticizing their political institutions, behaviors, and state formats. If this hypothesis can be proven, what are the chances for liberal democracy to take root in the Third World? To answer, one may be helped by Huntington’s “clash of civilizations” argument. Huntington has argued that the “West is Unique, not Universal.”64 Refuting the view that modernization leads to a single type of modern civilization, which is Western civilization for all societies, he maintains that Western civilization preceded modernization. It is, thus, unique because it can be identified by its core institutions, practices, and beliefs such as the classical legacy, Western Christianity, European languages, the separation of spiritual and temporal authority, the rule of law, social pluralism, representation, and individualism. The modernization of nonWestern societies, he maintains, does not lead, and should not lead, to the adoption of this core of Western culture. In fact, attempts to do so today lead to a cultural backlash in which rather than become Westernized, non-Western societies undergo an indigenization of their cultures. One aspect of the backlash is the “democracy paradox” in which attempts to establish Western democracy in non-Western countries provokes anti-Western electoral competitions based on the triumphalism of indigenous cultures. Huntington’s purpose is not to glorify non-Western cultures, but to strategically “shore up” the Western alliance around its two main constituents (Europe and North America) in the face of “the efforts of non-Western

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states to exploit its internal differences by offering short-term gains to some Western countries at the price of long-term losses for all Western countries.”65 Leaving aside this claim and the fact that Huntington reduces nonWestern culture almost totally to Islam and other religions, one point is noteworthy: Huntington, who shares and, in many ways, has expounded many of the views expressed in the current literature on democratization by Western-centric institutional fiat, contradicts them here by taking nonWestern cultures seriously. He opposes the Western liberal democratic state to the non-Western state (hence, the overpoliticized state) on the basis of the clash of their cultures. Neither one can be defined without a consideration of the culture. What does this suggest? Huntington is right in taking non-Western cultures seriously or in suggesting that one do so. But he fails in two aspects. First, as just hinted, he offers a “strategic” and truncated view of these cultures. Second, and more importantly, he provides no theoretical mechanism by which non-Western cultures prevent the advent of the Western democratic state except to state their difference from and clash with Western cultures and to describe the effects. Both proposition 3 and hypothesis 5 above fill these lacunae. To the extent that the explanation of the overpoliticized state requires that one consider the impact of the “clash” of Western and non-Western cultures on the general explanatory principle or core relations, then showing how non-Western cultures alter capitalism more than it alters them, and how such a stronger alteration strengthens the triple divergence (hypothesis 5), matters a great deal. It should contribute to the debate about the advent of liberal democracy in non-Western countries. Empirical evidence in the previous chapters add to hypothesis 5 and proposition 3 to lead to the following hypothesis: Hypothesis 7: Because it strengthens and reproduces itself, the triple divergence in non-Western countries does not allow the transformation of the overpoliticized state into the liberal democratic state. If it can be demonstrated that a causal relationship exists between the recurrent patterns of overpoliticized behaviors and the strengthened and perpetually reproduced triple divergence, then hypothesis 7 would reveal the limits of universalism and particularism, which, ignoring the conceptual unity of non-Western cultures, insists on the power of negotiations of democratically minded actors, the building of democratic institutions, idiosyncratic political maneuvering, and local factors. This point is not meant to dismiss the role of “real actors” or the agency; because the demonstration of the causal relationship starts with politics at the society level, it goes without saying that it takes into account the competition among concrete groups and classes that make up society. But these social actors lose their meaning if one does not analyze the

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conditions under which the triple divergence causes them to generate their specific type of politics—overpoliticization. CONCLUSION Why does politics lead to overpoliticization in developing countries and to liberal compromise in Western countries? Although my concern in this study is not to address this question, I have proposed basic hypotheses in this chapter to help answer it fully in future research. I contend that the basic explanation for this puzzle is the preeminence of politics as society-rooted competition over the social product/values and political power. I have hypothesized that politics in non-Western countries takes place in societies characterized by altered core relations and a triple divergence of social sectors and activities whose outcome is overpoliticization. Such societies differ from Western societies characterized by a triple convergence, whose outcome is liberal compromise. The reliance on politics highlights the structural perspective or “tradition” of this study. A structural perspective involves three crucial ideas: (1) an underlying causal structure, (2) interrelationships and interactions, and (3) permanency.66 The focus on the concept of politics allows these three ideas to take shape. Both at the dependent variable level, where the overpoliticized state is defined, and at the independent level, where explanatory hypotheses are proposed, politics helps discover these structural ideas. It makes one deal with society’s economy, property relations, goods, services, values, cultures, and power relations, all of which invoke underlying interactions of structures in a lasting and permanent way. Moreover, consistent with studies in macrohistorical analyses in comparative politics,67 politics makes it possible for questions and answers to be framed in broad comparative terms involving state and society relations in Western and non-Western countries. In short, politics allows a structural perspective by making it possible for (1) the overpoliticized state to be defined in connection with these structural forces, (2) the general explanation for “the political” in both Western and non-Western countries to be based on these same structural forces, (3) the explanatory modifiers—cultures—to be conceptualized as structural modifiers of the general explanation, and (4) the agency, or free-will actors, to be taken into account without negating the structural constraints they face. Indeed, the very concept of politics implicitly and explicitly connotes the involvement and will of discrete political actors with specified competitive interests. Unlike the rational choice argument, however, in which the rational interests and preferences of the individual actors frame their choices and actions, the structural perspective maintains that the political actions of the actors, without being blocked completely, are constrained by their structural relations. Structural

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constraints explain why politics leads to overpoliticization in non-Western countries as opposed to liberal compromise in Western countries. They play a role in the two types of society and profoundly shape individual preferences that result in two mutually exclusive unities represented by the overpoliticized state and the liberal democratic state. Politics generates and shapes political institutions and the state within these constraints. For this reason, and even recognizing that institutions do shape politics in return, I have argued that political institutions or the lack thereof do not cause overpoliticization. Because they are an effect, political institutions cease to be a “one-size-fits-all” explanation and solution. In developing countries, the peculiarity of institutions is part and parcel of overpoliticization; it should be viewed as an outcome of a special brand of politics associated with the triple divergence in their societies. Because they do not explain overpoliticization but are part of it, political institutions, even those borrowed from the West, are not likely to be the solution. Likewise, the complexity of the structural forces that modify the general explanation in developing countries (local and regional “cultures” that converge to form a common modifier of Western capitalism) suggests that reliance on capitalism does not constitute the explanation of overpoliticization either; nor does the focus on local and regional cultures. An integrated theory of the state in developing countries requires a reasonably common phenomenon to be explained. As Peter Katzenstein maintains: The new kind of regional studies that I envision would connect expertise in language and familiarity with culture and history with a cast of mind interested in either testing the plausibility of different propositions or analytical perspectives against a body of empirical evidence or illuminating that evidence with a variety of interpretive methods.68 With respect to the non-Western countries, the overpoliticized state constitutes Katzenstein’s sought-after body of empirical evidence against which one ought to test the plausibility of different propositions and perspectives that take seriously into account “culture and history.” To test the above hypotheses one need not use, necessarily, more than one hundred countries. Ideally, a large number of countries would help falsify and refine the hypotheses better than would a small number of countries. But there is no reason why two or three countries cannot serve as testing grounds. There is one requirement, however. And this is that reasonable conclusions about the plausibility of the propositions can be drawn only by relying on historical, anthropological, and sociopolitical data about countries from all three major regions of this study: Africa, Asia, and South America. Although countries from one or two of these three regions may still help verify or refute the

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hypotheses, the goal of an integrated theory is best served by data supplied by the full range of non-Western countries about which claims are made in the present study.

Appendixes Appendix 1. Presence and Frequency of Overpoliticization SOUTH AMERICA 1948–66

1967–89

Electo. Autho. Shared PR F PR F PR F Argentina Belize Bolivia Brazil Chile Colombia Costa Rica Ecuador El Salvador Guatemala Guyana Honduras Mexico Nicaragua Panama Paraguay Peru Suriname Uruguay Venezuela Antigua/Bar. Barbados Cuba Dominica Domin. Rep. Grenada Haiti Jamaica Trin.-Tobago

1—2 *—* 1—1 1—4 0—0 1—1 1—4 1—3 1—2 0—0 *—* 1—1 1—4 1—4 1—2 1—2 1—1 *—* 1—3 1—2 *—* *—* 1—1 *—* 0—0 *—* 1—5 *—* *—*

1—* *—* 1—* 1—* 0—* 1—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 1—* *—* 1—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 1—* 1—* *—* 0—* 1—* *—* *—* 1—* *—* 1—* *—* 1—* *—* *—*

1—14 *—* 1—12 1—7 1—2 1—8 1—4 1—4 1—4 1—5 *—* 1—2 1—2 1—27 1—4 1—5 1—5 *—* 1—1 1—14 *—* *—* 1—4 1—2 1—3 *—* 1—p *—* *—*

1990–96

Electo. Autho. Shared PR F PR F PR F 0—0 *—* 1—1 0—0 0—0 1—2 1—1 1—4 1—1 1—2 1—1 1—1 1—3 1—3 1—1 1—1 0—0 1—1 0—0 1—1 0—0 1—1 0—0 *—* 1—1 0—0 0—0 1—6 0—0

1—* *—* 1—* 1—* 1—* 0—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 1—* 0—* 1—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 1—* 1—* 1—* 1—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 1—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 1—* 0—* 0—*

1—5 *—* 1—4 1—4 1—6 1—9 1—1 1—3 1—p 1—9 1—3 1—5 1—1 1—p 1—1 1—1 1—5 1—6 1—4 1—4 0—0 0—0 1—1 1—3 0—0 1—2 1—p 1—4 0—0

Electo. Autho. Shared PR F PR F PR F 0—0 0—0 1—1 1—4 1—1 1—8 1—2 1—1 1—5 1—6 1—8 0—0 1—19 1—2 1—2 1—3 1—9 0—0 0—0 1—5 1—3 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—5 0—0 1—1 1—4 0—0

0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 1—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 1—* 0—* 0—*

1—8 1—1 1—6 1—18 1—22 1—23 1—1 1—9 1—9 1—31 1—1 1—4 1—11 1—10 1—14 1—12 1—43 1—6 1—1 1—27 1—1 0—0 1—1 1—3 1—2 0—0 1—p 0—0 1—6

continued on next page

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Appendixes ASIA 1948–66

1967–89

Electo. Autho. Shared PR F PR F PR F Afghanistan Bangladesh Burma Cambodia China India Indonesia Iran Iraq Jordan Kuwait Malaysia Nepal N. Korea N. Vietnam Pakistan Philippines Saudi Arabia Singapore S. Korea S. Vietnam Sri Lanka Syria Taiwan Thailand U.A. Emirate Yemen

0—0 *—* *—* 1—2 0—0 1—2 0—0 1—1 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—1 1—1 0—0 0—0 1—3 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0

1—* *—* *—* *—* 1—* 1—4 1—* 1—5 1—* *—* 0—* 1—15 1—* 1—13 1—* 1—5 1—* 1—5 1—* 1—3 1—* 1—1 0—* 1—6 1—* 1—3 1—* *—* 1—* 1—p 1—* 1—9 0—* 1—3 1—* 1—2 1—* 1—1 1—* 1—3 1—* 1—p 0—* 1—4 1—* 1—5 1—* *—* 1—* 1—3 1—* 1—3 1—* 1—6

1990–96

Electo. Autho. Shared PR F PR F PR F 0—0 1—1 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—2 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—2 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—2 1—2 0—0 1—1 0—0 0—0 1—3 0—0 0—0 1—1 0—0 0—0

1—* 1—5 1—* 1—6 1—* 1—3 1—* 1—p 1—* **—* 0—* 1—5 1—* 1—3 1—* 1—7 1—* 1—2 1—* 1—1 1—* 1—1 0—* 1—3 1—* 1—1 1—* *—* 1—* 1—p 1—* 1—11 1—* 1—3 1—* 1—3 1—* 1—1 1—* 1—3 1—* 1—p 0—* 1—9 1—* 1—2 1—* 1—1 1—* 1—5 1—* *—* 1—* 1—5

Electo. Autho. Shared PR F PR F PR F 0—0 1—7 1—2 1—3 *—* 1—11 1—6 1—2 0—0 1—1 1—1 1—2 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—15 1—1 0—0 1—6 1—16 *—* 1—1 0—0 1—9 1—1 0—0 1—1

1—* 0—* 1—* 0—* 1—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 1—* 1—* 1—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 1—* 0—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 0—* *—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 0—* 1—* 0—*

1—p 1—13 1—12 1—p 1—2 1—38 1—12 1—5 1—6 1—6 1—4 1—5 1—1 1—1 1—1 1—43 1—23 1—6 1—5 1—8 *—* 1—20 1—5 1—7 1—16 1—2 1—5

AFRICA 1948–66

1967–89

Electo. Autho. Shared PR F PR F PR F Algeria Angola Benin Botswana Burkina Faso Burundi Cameroon Cape Verde

0—0 *—* 0—0 *—* 0—0 1—1 1—1 *—*

1—* *—* 1—* *—* 0—* 0—* 1—* *—*

1—2 *—* 1—3 *—* 1—2 1—3 1—1 *—*

1990–96

Electo. Autho. Shared PR F PR F PR F 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—2 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0

1—* 1—* 1—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 1—* 1—*

1—1 1—p 1—3 0—0 1—5 1—2 1—1 1—1

Electo. Autho. Shared PR F PR F PR F 1—1 1—2 1—3 1—1 1—1 0—0 1—4 0—0

0—* 1—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 1—* 0—* 0—*

1—p 1—p 1—2 1—2 1—5 1—p 1—2 *—*

continued

Appendixes 1948–66

1967–89

Electo. Autho. Shared PR F PR F PR F C.A.R. Chad Comoros Congo Cote d’Ivoire Djibouti Egypt Eq. Guinea Ethiopia Gabon Gambia Ghana Guinea Guinea Bis. Kenya Lesotho Liberia Libya Madagascar Malawi Mali Mauritania Mauritius Morocco Mozambique Namibia Niger Nigeria Rwanda Senegal Seychelles Sierra Leone Somalia South Africa Sudan Swaziland Tanzania Togo Tunisia Uganda Zaire Zambia Zimbabwe

0—0 0—0 *—* 0—0 0—0 *—* 1—2 *—* 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 *—* 0—0 *—* 1—4 1—1 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 *—* 0—0 *—* *—* 1—1 1—1 0—0 1—1 *—* 0—0 0—0 *—* 0—0 *—* 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—1 0—0 *—*

1—* 1—* *—* 1—* 1—* *—* 1—* *—* 1—* 1—* 0—* 1—* 1—* *—* 1—* *—* 0—* 1—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 1—* *—* 1—* *—* *—* 0—* 1—* 0—* 1—* *—* 0—* 0—* *—* 1—* *—* 1—* 1—* 1—* 1—* 1—* 1—* *—*

261

1—1 1—3 *—* 1—2 1—4 *—* 1—6 *—* 1—3 1—2 0—0 1—6 1—4 *—* 0—0 *—* 0—0 1—1 0—0 1—2 0—0 0—0 *—* 1—5 *—* *—* 1—2 1—2 1—3 1—2 *—* 0—0 0—0 *—* 1—3 *—* 1—2 1—6 1—1 1—4 1—p 0—0 *—*

Electo. Autho. Shared PR F PR F PR F 1—1 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—1 1—1 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 *—* 0—0 1—2 0—0 1—2 0—0 0—0 0—0 *—* 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—1 0—0 0—0 0—0

1—* 1—3 1—* 1—p 1—* 1—1 1—* 1—3 1—* 0—0 1—* 1—2 1—* 1—1 1—* 1—1 1—* 1—3 1—* 1—1 0—* 1—2 1—* 1—6 1—* 1—5 1—* 1—1 1—* 1—2 1—* 1—1 1—* 1—10 1—* 1—1 1—* 1—3 1—* 1—1 1—* 1—4 1—* 1—3 0—* 1—1 1—* 1—12 1—* 1—p *—* *—* 1—* 1—1 1—* 1—5 1—* 1—2 1—* 1—2 1—* 1—5 1—* 1—3 1—* 1—7 *—* *—* 1—* 1—p 1—* 0—0 1—* 0—0 1—* 1—4 1—* 1—1 1—* 1—p 1—* 1—8 1—* 1—3 0—* 1—2

1990–96 Electo. Autho. Shared PR F PR F PR F 1—2 0—0 1—2 1—4 1—2 0—0 1—6 1—1 0—0 1—2 0—0 1—2 1—4 1—2 1—4 1—3 0—0 0—0 1—1 1—2 1—2 1—3 0—0 1—2 1—1 0—0 1—2 1—4 0—0 1—7 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—2 1—7 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—6

0—* 1—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 1—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 0—* 1—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 1—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 1—* 0—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 1—* 0—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 0—* 0—*

1—3 1—7 1—4 1—10 1—5 1—2 1—13 1—2 1—6 1—3 1—3 1—3 1—4 0—0 1—8 1—4 1—p 1—1 1—3 1—1 1—4 1—3 0—0 1—10 1—1 0—0 1—3 1—5 1—p 1—6 1—1 1—4 1—p 0—0 1—p 1—3 0—0 1—10 1—2 1—3 1—10 1—7 1—9

continued

262

Appendixes WESTERN COUNTRIES AND JAPAN 1948–66

1967–89

Electo. Autho. Shared PR F PR F PR F Australia Austria Belgium Canada Denmark Finland France Germany Greece Ireland Italy Japan Holland New Zealand Norway Portugal Spain Sweden Switzerland United King. U.S.

0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—1 0—0 1—1 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0

0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—*

0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—3 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—3 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—* 1—* 0—0 0—0 1—p 1—3

1990–96

Electo. Autho. Shared PR F PR F PR F 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0

0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 1—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 1—* 1—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—*

0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—* 1—* 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0

Electo. Autho. Shared PR F PR F PR F 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—1 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—1 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0

0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—* 0—*

0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—3 1—2 1—2 0—0 1—3 1—1 0—0 0—0 0—0 0—0 1—2 0—0 0—0 1—p 1—1

Appendix 1A. Presence of Overpoliticization: Number of Cases Observed for Each Behavior in Each Region and for Each Subperiod. Total number of countries for each region in ( ). 1948–66 Zone

Electo.

Autho.

Shared

S. America Asia Africa West/Japan

17(20) 6(25) 9(36) 2(21)

16(20) 22(26) 27(36) 2(21)

20(20) 22(22) 27(36) 6(21)

1967–89 Zone S. America Asia Africa West/Japan

17(27) 8(27) 7(49) 0(21)

18(28) 24(27) 45(49) 3(21)

24(28) 24(24) 45(49) 2(21) continued

Appendixes

263

1990–96 Zone

Electo.

Autho.

Shared

S. America Asia Africa West/Japan

19(29) 17(25) 30(51) 2(21)

2(29) 17(26) 20(51) 0(21)

26(29) 26(26) 45(50) 8(21)

Appendix 1B. Frequencies of Overpoliticization Behaviors in Each Region. Total number of countries for each region in ( ). 1948–66 S. America Asia Africa West/Japan

Electo.

Shared

43(20) 10(25) 13(36) 2(21)

129(20) 99(20) 75(35) 9(18)

1967–89

S. America Asia Africa West/Japan

Electo.

Shared

31(27) 14(27) 10(49) 0(21)

81(25) 80(21) 123(44) 0(19)

1990–96

S. America Asia Africa West/Japan

Electo.

Shared

89(29) 85(25) 85(51) 2(21)

270(28) 246(24) 174(43) 14(20)

264

Appendixes

Appendix 2. Lack of Civil Liberties (V1) and Lack of Political Rights (V2)* SOUTH AMERICA/CARIBBEAN V1

V2

Argentina Bolivia Brazil Chile Colombia Costa Rica Ecuador El Salvador Guatemala Honduras Mexico Nicaragua Panama Paraguay Peru Uruguay Venezuela

4.5 4 3.5 5 2.5 1 3 3 4 3 3 4.5 5.5 5 5 5.5 2

4 4.5 4 6.5 2 1 3.5 3.5 3.5 6 3.5 5 6 5 5.5 5.5 1.5

Cuba Domin. Rep. Haiti Trin.-Tobago

6.5 2.5 5.5 2

6.5 3 6 2

ASIA

Afghanistan Bangladesh Burma Cambodia China India Indonesia Iran Iraq Jordan Kuwait Laos Malaysia

V1

V2

6.5 3.5 5.5 6.5 6 2.5 5 6 7 6 3.5 6 3.5

7 3.5 7 6.5 6.5 2 5 5 7 6 5 6 3 continued

Appendixes

Nepal N. Vietnam Oman Pakistan Philippines Saudi Arabia Singapore S. Korea S. Vietnam Sri Lanka Syria Taiwan Thailand U.A. Emirate Yemen(s)

265

V1

V2

4.5 7 6 5.5 5.5 6 5 5.5 5 3 6.5 5 3 5 6

5.5 7 6 4.5 5 6 5 4.5 4 2 5.5 5.5 4.5 5 6

AFRICA

Algeria Angola Benin Burkina Faso Burundi Cameroon C.A.R. Chad Congo Cote d’Ivoire Egypt Ethiopia Gabon Ghana Guinea Kenya Lesotho Liberia Libya Madagascar Malawi Mali Mauritania Morocco

V1

V2

6 5.5 6 3.5 7 5 6.5 6.5 6.5 5.5 4.5 6 6 4.5 7 4 4.5 4 6.5 5 6.5 6 6 4.5

6 6.5 7 4 7 6 7 6.5 6 6 6.5 6.5 6 5.5 7 5 5 6 6.5 5.5 6.5 7 5.5 4 continued

266

Mozambique Niger Nigeria Rwanda Senegal Sierra Leone Somalia Sudan Tanzania Togo Tunisia Uganda Zaire (DRC) Zambia Zimbabwe

Appendixes V1

V2

6.5 6 3.5 5.5 4 5 6.5 5.5 6 6 5 6.5 6 4.5 5

6.5 7 4 6.5 5 5.5 7 5.5 6 7 6 6.5 6.5 5 4

WESTERN COUNTRIES AND JAPAN

Australia Austria Belgium Canada Denmark Finland France Germany Greece Ireland Italy Japan Holland New Zealand Portugal Spain Sweden Switzerland United King. U.S.

V1

V2

1 1 1 1 1 2 2 1.5 2 1.5 2 1 1 1 2.5 3.5 1 1 1 1

1 1 1 1 1 2 1 1 2 1 1.5 2 1 1 3.5 3.5 1 1 1 1

*For each country and each variable, data represent the average of data for the year 1975 and 1980 as calculated by the author using information provided by George P. Muller, Comparative World Data: A Statistical Handbook for Social Science. The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1988, Tables, pp. 103–481.

Appendixes

267

Appendix 3. Data Sources Data were collected from six types of sources. Particular attention was paid to the first three sources because of their “raw event” reporting. These are (1) publications and documents that record daily and periodically events and news for the countries of the world: Facts on File, Keesings Contemporary Archives, Keesings Record of World Events, World Fact Book, Encyclopedia of the Third World, News Dictionary, Third World Resource Directory, Latin America and Caribbean Contemporary Record, Latin American Index, Political and Economic Encyclopedia of South America, South America, Central America and the Caribbean, Africa Diary, African Recorder, Economist Intelligence Unit: Country Report; (2) American and foreign newspapers and magazines: The New York Times, The Christian Science Monitor, The Economist, Le Monde, Le Monde Diplomatique, Far Eastern Economic Review, News India-Times, Jeune Afrique, West Africa, Afrique-Asie, Report on the Americas; and (3) international radio broadcasts such as BBC World Service, Radio-France Internationale, Voice of America, and Dutch, German, Russian, and Cuban broadcasts. Publications that record daily events hold an advantage over newspapers and broadcasts because of their more in-depth reporting of the events. Whenever possible, newspaper and magazine cross-checks were done to determine the accuracy and “fit” of some events. The three other sources include (4) scholarly journals, (5) monographs about specific countries and regions, and (6) general history and political works.

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Notes INTRODUCTION 1. For a partial outline of the theory, see S. N. Sangmpam, “The Overpoliticized State and Democratization: A Theoretical Model,” Comparative Politics, 24, 4 (July 1992): 401–417. 2. See the discussion in chapter 2. 3. See Barbara Geddes, “The Great Transformation in the Study of Politics in Developing Countries,” in Political Science: State of the Discipline, 353–359. 4. See http://news.bbc.co.uk. 5. The literature on democratic transition and consolidation is immense. For a sample, see S. Mainwaring, G. O’Donnell, and J. S. Valenzuela, eds. Issues in Democratic Consolidation; G. O’Donnell and P. Schmitter, eds. Transitions from Authoritarian Rule; Adam Przeworski, Democracy and the Market; A. Przeworski, ed. Sustainable Democracy; Adam Przeworski et al., Democracy and Development; R. Pinkney, Democracy in the Third World; Michael Bratton and Nicolas van de Walle, Democratic Experiments in Africa; Larry Diamond, Juan Linz and Seymour Martin Lipset, eds., Democracy in Developing Countries (4 vols.); Larry Diamond, Developing Democracy; S. Huntington, The Third Wave; Susan C. Stokes, Mandates and Democracy; the literature is sustained by a periodical, Journal of Democracy, edited by Marc Plattner and Larry Diamond. 6. The disagreements were such that Sidney Verba called the state of comparative politics “appalling.” See Sidney Verba “Comparative politics: Where Have We Been, Where Are We Going?” in New Directions in Comparative Politics, ed. H. Wiarda (Boulder: Westview Press, 1985), 28; he was echoed by Howard Wiarda, “Toward a Nonethnocentric Theory of Development: Alternative Conceptions from the Third World,” in the same volume; and by Gabriel Almond, who deplored political science, hence comparative politics, as a “divided discipline.” See G. Almond, A Discipline Divided: Schools and Sects in Political Science (Newbury Park, CA: Sage, 1990). 7. Andreas Schedler, “Degrees and Patterns of Party competition in Electoral Autocracies,” Paper Presented at the 100th Annual Meeting of the American Political Science Association, Chicago, 2–5 September 2004. 8. I have borrowed this term from Professor Terry L. Karl of Stanford University.

269

270

Notes to Chapter One

9. Huntington’s main concern was to show the explanatory and prescriptive powers of institutions, the very opposite of the views I hold in this study. 10. Verba, “Comparative Politics,” 35. 11. Enrique Dussel, Public Lecture, Syracuse University, April 14, 2000. 12. John Stephens, The Transition from Capitalism to Socialism, 90. Taking his cue from Stein Rokkan’s work, Stephens excluded Japan from his list of developed democracies on the grounds that Japan did not share the cultural area/history-specific configurations of Western Europe and, thus, violated the norm of the construction of models based on a limited number of geo-cultural areas such as Western Europe, Latin America, or sub-Saharan Africa. See Stein Rokkan’s “Cities, States, and Nations.” 13. On these methodological issues, see John Stuart Mill, A System of Logic, bk 4. D. Easton, The Analysis of Political Structure; Neill Smelser, Comparative Methods in the Social Sciences; Charles C. Ragin, The Comparative Method; David Collier, “New Perspectives on the Comparative Method,” 7–31. 14. Examples include the attempts to establish a causal relationship between the strength of labor in inducing the growth of the welfare state (hence socialism) in Western democracies by Stephens (see n. 12); between the characteristics of nations and civil strife in 119 countries by Ted Gurr et al., Cross-National Studies of Civil Violence (Washington, D.C.: American University Center for Research in Social Systems, 1969); between the polity’s longevity and its levels of efficacy, legitimacy, and civil order in twelve countries by Ted Gurr and Muriel McClelland, Political Performance: A Twelve-Nation Study (Beverly Hills: Sage, 1971); between the constraints placed on the political leader, his own preferences, and scarce resources, on the one hand, and public expenditures, on the other, in seventeen Latin American countries by Barry Ames, Political Survival: Politicians and Public Policy in Latin America (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987); between export agriculture and revolutionary upsurges in the Third World by Jeffery Paige, Agrarian Revolution: Social Movements and Export Agriculture in the Underdeveloped World (New York: Free Press, 1975); between electoral systems and the party systems in twenty-seven democracies by A. Lijphart, Electoral Systems and Party Systems: A Study of Twenty-Seven Democracies 1945–1990 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994); between economic development and democracy by Przeworski and F. Limongi, “Modernization: Theories and Facts,” World Politics 49 (Jan 1997): 155–183.

CHAPTER 1: COMPARING APPLES AND MANGOES 1. Martha Ann Overland, National Public Radio, “All Things Considered,” October 1, 1999. 2. In 2004 the Brazilian minister of defense resigned to protest the military’s unrepentant attitude and sense of entitlement. For a general view of the military’s influence in Brazil, see F. Hagopian, Traditional Politics and Regime Change in Brazil (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996). 3. See Le Monde Diplomatique, November 1999, 14, for S. Korea; Le Monde Diplomatique, October 1999, 3, for Argentina; B. Hadjadj, Les Parias de la mondialisation, 134–170 and Afrique-Asie 126 (March 2000), 16–17, for Benin; Syracuse, Post-Standard, January 22, 2000, A-3, for Ecuador.

Notes to Chapter One

271

4. See Ronald N. Chilcote, Theories of Comparative Politics, 19. 5. See Atul Kohli et al., “The Role of Theory in Comparative Politics: A Symposium,” World Politics 48,1 (October 1995). 6. Despite the use of “particularism,” I recognize that, whereas some narrowgauge theories rely on strictly local culture and facts, region-based middle-range theories do, despite warnings, “travel” to other regions. In this sense, they are not particularistic. 7. See Binder et al., Crises and Sequences in Political Development, 64–65; S. Huntington, Political Order in Changing Societies; and Aristide Zolberg, Creating Political Order. 8. S. H. Rudolph, “Susanne Hoeber Rudolph,” in Atul Kohli et al., “The Role of Theory in Comparative Politics,” 28. 9. Generally, globalization is understood as an economic phenomenon. Its major significance lies not so much in the world expansion of the capitalist economy— this preceded the current movement—as in the unprecedented developments in communication and information that have strengthened the expansion. This phenomenon displays five major dimensions: first, the spatial extension of capitalism directly associated with the collapse of the Soviet Union and the communist regimes of Eastern Europe and with the turn to capitalism in China and Vietnam; second, the ideological and cultural sweep of capitalist ideas and values throughout the world; third, the transnational integration among the capitalist classes and corporations; fourth, the new stage of capital accumulation on a world scale characterized by a vast increase in the size, flow, and speed of foreign direct investment and trade, credit, currency flows, speculation, futures markets, and private and public debt; and fifth, the internationalization of the state, that is, states becoming more and more attuned to fostering and or accommodating to capital accumulation on a world scale. See L. Panitch, “The State in a Changing World: Social-Democratizing Global Capitalism?” Monthly Review 50, 5 (October 1998): 12–13. In this sense, globalization, like macrodeductive theory, implies a central, vertically unifying “culture” from the West and rejects any empirical, cultural, or conceptual claim of a horizontal unity among non-Western countries that does not involve the West. 10. P. Winch, The Idea of a Social Science and Its Relation to Philosophy. 11. See M. Rosenthal, “What Was Post-Modernism?” 83–105; V. Y. Mudimbe, The Invention of Africa; R. Scholes, Protocols of Reading (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), 56; P. M. Rosenau, Post-Modernism in the Social Sciences, especially 90; and Enrique Dussel, “Beyond Eurocentrism: The World-System and the Limits of Modernity,” in The Cultures of Globalization, ed. F. Jameson and M. Masao (Durham: Duke University Press, 1998), 18ff. 12. Rosenthal, “What Was Post-Modernism?” 93. 13. For a sample see Nigel Harris, The End of the Third World; J. Manor, ed., Rethinking Third World Politics; A. Cherian, S. Manikkalingam, and R. Varghese, “Third Worldism”; M. Ayoob, “The Third World in the System of States”; Mehran Kamrava, “Conceptualising Third World Politics,” 703–716; Kamrava “Political Culture and a New Definition of the Third World,” 691–701; M. Berger, “The End of the ‘Third World’?” 257–275; A. Mirsepassi and M. Boroujerdi, “Rethinking the Third World,” 51–58.

272

Notes to Chapter One

14. Examples include African modes of thought, animism, Islam, Hinduism, Confucianism, cosmic order, and Iberian corporatism. See Pye, Asian Power and Politics; Wiarda, New Directions in Comparative Politics; H. Wiarda, ed., Politics and Social Change in Latin America; L. Rudolph and S. H. Rudolph, The Modernity of Tradition; C. Johnson and E. B. Keehn, “A Disaster in the Making: Rational Choice and Asian Studies,” 14–22. 15. On the soft state see V. Azarya and N. Chazan, “Disengagement from the State in Africa, 106–131; N. Chazan and D. Rothchild, eds., The Precarious Balance; R. Jackson and C. Rosberg, “Sovereignty and Underdevelopment, 1–31; J. Migdal, Strong Societies and Weak States. On the specificity of colonialism in Africa, see Crawford Young, The African Colonial State in Comparative Perspective. On the bureaucratic-authoritarian state see G. O’Donnell, Modernization and BureaucraticAuthoritarianism; David Collier, ed., The New Authoritarianism in Latin America. On the postnational argument, see P. Chatterjee, “Beyond the Nation? Or Within?” 30–34 and Chatterjee, The Nation and Its Fragments. 16. R. Clark, Power and Policy in the Third World (New York: Macmillan, 1991), 31. 17. One is reminded of Howard Wiarda question: “Given the biases and questionable assumptions of the earlier approaches, is a general and nonethnocentric comparative politics [theory] of development still possible or must that goal be abandoned altogether? Shall we now have instead a Latin American social science of development, a sub-Saharan African social science of development, and so on? And what are the implications of that?” See H. Wiarda, New Directions in Comparative Politics, p. 9. 18. See Introduction, note 6. 19. See Robert B. Bates, “Area Studies and the Discipline: A Useful Controversy?” PS: Political Science & Politics, 30,2 (June 1997):166–169, where he uses “general analytic framework,” “social scientific core,” “general theory” to mean the same thing. 20. C. Johnson and E. B. Keehn, “A Disaster in the Making”; Robert Bates, “Letter from the President: Area Studies and the Discipline,” APSA-CP: Newsletter of the APSA Organized Section on Comparative Politics, 7,1:1–2; Bates, “Area Studies and the Discipline: A Useful Controversy”; Chalmers Johnson, “Preconception vs. Observation,” 170–174; and Ian S. Lustick, The Discipline of Political Science: Studying the Culture of Rational Choice as a Case in Point,” PS: Political Science & Politics, 30, 2 (June 1997):175–179. 21. See Gary King, Robert Keohane, and Sidney Verba, Designing Social Inquiry (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994). 22. See Phyllis Bennis and Michel Moushabeck, eds., the Storm: A Gulf Crisis Reader (Brooklyn: NY, Olive Branch Press, 1991); Fukuyama 1992; Richard Falk, On Humane Governance: Toward a New Global Politics (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1995; Kathryn Sikkink, Activists Beyond Borders: Advocacy Networks in International Politics (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998). 23. Johnson, “Preconception vs. Observation” and Lustck, “The Disciplines of Political Science.” 24. See P. Schmitter and T. L. Karl, “The Conceptual Travels of Transitologists and Consolidologists,” 173–185 and Schmitter and Karl, “From an Iron Curtain to a

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Paper Curtain,” 965–978; S. M. Terry, “Thinking About Post-communist Transitions,” 333–337; V. Bunce, “Should Transitologists Be Grounded?” and Bunce, “Paper Curtains and Paper Tigers.” 25. “Peter Evans,” in Atul Kohli et al., “The Role of Theory in Comparative Politics,” World Politics 48, 1 (October 1995): 5–8 26. Robert Bates, “Agrarian Politics,” in Understanding Political Development, ed. M. Weiner and S. Huntington (Boston: Little, Brown, 1987); Robert Bates, “Macro Political Economy in the Field of Development,” Duke University Program in International Political Economy, Working Paper no. 40; Samuel Popkin, The Rational Peasant. 27. See Bates, “Area Studies and the Discipline”; Johnson, “Preconception vs. Observation”; and Lustick, “The Disciplines of Political Science.” 28. See the Symposium on “Area Studies and the Discipline: Towards New Interconnections,” PS: Political Science & Politics, 34, 4 (December 2001), 787–811. 29. Valerie Bunce made the argument in a talk at Syracuse University, Maxwell School, October 20, 2003. 30. Lucian Pye’s conclusions on Asia depart from the general euphoria about the advent of liberal democracy in non-Western countries; as he writes “If Asian concepts of power are beginning to work in support of strong national economic development, will this in turn lead to the advancement of democracy in the region? The conclusion which follows from our analysis of paternalistic authority is that the prospects for democracy, as understood in the West, are not good”; see Pye, Asian Power and Politics, 339. This position is usually held by politicians in non-Western countries, a prominent example of which is Lee Kuan Yew of Singapore. See also D. Van Praagh, Thailand’s Struggle for Democracy, 1–21, 231. In the academic debate see M. E. Hamdi, “Islam and Liberal Democracy,” 81–85. Even Samuel Huntington, who has advocated democratization in some of his writings (see chapter 2), points contradictorily to the limits of liberal democracy in non-Western countries; see S. Huntington, “Will More Countries Become Democratic?” Comparative Politics 85/86 (Guilford: Dushkin, 1985) and S. Huntington, “The West Unique, Not Universal”; see also Robert D. Kaplan, “Democracy’s Trap” Developing World 99/00 (Dushkin/ McGraw-Hill, 1999), 128–129. 31. A. Przeworski and H. Teune, The Logic of Comparative Social Inquiry, 10. 32. Temperate fruits are here associated with the temperate zone climate situated between the tropics and the polar circles whereas tropical fruits are associated with the tropical zone climate situated between the two tropics. Some temperate fruits are found in some areas that are part of Third World countries because they have a temperate climate. This should not lead to confusion in the real political life of these countries because the fruit analogy is just that—an analogy. My fruit analogy has benefited from a conversation with Professor Joe Hotchkasst of Cornell University, to whom I extend my thanks. 33. D. Easton, A Framework for Political Analysis, 47. 34. L. C. Mayer, Redefining Comparative Politics, chapter 1. Samuel Huntington’s reliance on political institutions in Political Order in Changing Societies was premised on the view that political science should be able to specify an explanatory variable that differs from other disciplines.

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35. The best statement in this respect is perhaps found in the literature on feminism, especially its radical version; see Alison M. Jaggar, Feminist Politics and Human Nature (Totawa, N.J.: Rowman & Littlefield, 1988), 101–105. 36. Przeworski and Teune, Comparative Social Inquiry, 25; Mayer, Redefiining Comparative Politics, 50–51; J. A. Bill and Robert. L. Hardgrave, Jr., Comparative Politics, 39; King, Keohane, and Verba, Designing Social Inquiry. 37. Przeworski and Teune, Comparative Social Inquiry, 22. 38. In his 1990 book Easton presents a spirited defense of the political system as an independent variable; see Easton, Analysis of Political Structure, 265–279. 39. Note that the DV and IV are also referred to as the “within-system level” and “system level.” Both levels allow one to grasp similarities and differences in both the DV and IV and the way the IV affects the within-system social phenomena. Differences and similarities, in turn, determine a study’s design, either the “most similar systems” or the “most different systems.” “Most similar systems” are those in which common systemic characteristics are maximal and, thus, irrelevant for the explanation of different patterns of behavior or outcomes, whereas the systemic differences, which are minimal, explain such patterns of behavior. “Most different systems” are those in which the different patterns of behavior to be explained are at the within-system individual levels and the independent variables that explain them differ from each other and are also located at the within-system levels; in this case, systemic characteristics do not play a role in the explanation; see Przeworski and Teune, Comparative Social Inquiry, 50–51, 74; Ragin, Comparative Method, 48; Philippe Schmitter, “Comparative Politics,” 171–177. 40. See R. Dahl, Polyarchy: Participation and Opposition and note 5 of the Introduction. 41. L. Diamond, J. Linz, and S. M. Lipset, Democracy in Developing Countries, vol. 3, xx. 42. Mirsepassi and Boroujerdi, “Rethinking the Third World,” 51, 54. 43. Diamond, Linz, and Lipset, Democracy in Developing Countries, vol. 3, xxff. 44. Karl Magyar, “Classifying the International Political Economy,” 707–709. 45. See the subtitle to D. Easton, The Political System: An Inquiry into the State of Political Science (New York: Alfred Knopf, 1953). 46. K. Deutsch, The Nerves of Government: Models of Political Communication and Control. 47. C. Schmitt, Der Begriff des Politischen (Berlin, 1963), translated as The Concept of the Political (University of Chicago Press, 1996) by George Schwab; and J. Freund, L’Essence du politique (Paris, Librairie du receuil Sirey, 1965). 48. G. Poggi, The Development of the Modern State, 5. 49. Ibid., 6. 50. Schmitt’s preoccupation with international politics reflects continental Europe’s political experience of the “continuous threat, potential or actual, that each country poses to its neighbor’s boundaries and the ensuing continuous struggle for an equilibrium acceptable to all countries involved. Under these conditions political thought and praxis necessarily turn outward, according the highest priority to diplomacy and war.” It also reflects Schmitt’s fascist ideology.

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51. Schmitt, The Concept of the Political, 6 52. Freund, Qu’est-ce que la politique (Paris: Seuil, 1965), 177. 53. Max Weber, “Der Nationalstaat und die Volkswirtschaftpolitik,” quoted in Freund, Qu’est-ce que la politique? 49. 54. I use the notion of the “social product” to imply that the claimable goods and services—the object of the competition—are a by-product of direct or indirect “social” involvement. That is, they have been contributed to by different social actors in different capacities, regardless of whether these goods are private or public property. 55. S. N. Sangmpam, “American Civilization, Name Change, and African American Politics,” National Political Science Review, 7 (1999): 221–248. 56. Adam Smith, The Wealth of Nations, bk. 4, 397; bk. 5: 670, 674. 57. E. Hobsbawm, “Gramsci and Marxist Political Theory,” in Approaches to Gramsci, ed. A. Sassoon Showstack, 23. 58. C. Lindblom, Politics and Markets, 8. 59. See Steinmo, Thelen and Longstreth, eds., Structuring Politics: Historical Institutionalism in Comparative Analysis; P. Pierson, “Increasing Returns, Path Dependency, and the Study of Politics.” 60. B. Moore, Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy; D. Rueschemeyer, E. Huber Stephens, and J. D. Stephens, Capitalist Development and Democracy; Carles Boix, Democracy and Redistribution. 61. S. N. Eisenstadt,” Social Institutions,” 410. 62. Easton, The Analysis of Political Structure, 59. 63. S. J. Tambiah, Sri Lanka: Ethnic Fratricide and the Dismantling of Democracy, 43–44. 64. Tambiah, Sri Lanka, 3. 65. F. Jeffress and Wayne Edge, eds., Global Studies: Africa (McGraw-Hill Dushkin, 2004), 95–98. 66. See Douglas Chalmers, “The Politicized State in Latin America,” 25 ff. 67. Chalmers, “The Politicized State,” 23–43. 68. Heinz Eulau, “The Politicization of Everything,” 58. 69. David Easton, A Framework for Political Analysis; Julien Freund, Qu’estce que la politique. 70. Sartori, Theory of Democracy Revisited, I, 245. 71. Fareed Zakaria, “The Rise of Illiberal Democracy,” 22–43. 72. I do not suggest here that Western countries are the ideal. Undoubtedly, by positing the liberal democratic state as the comparative opposite of the overpoliticized state, its features appear as the ideal, whereas those of the overpoliticized state have a negative connotation. This is so, however, only because by not being liberal democratic, the overpoliticized state displays features that defy— in the opposite sense—the characteristics of the liberal democratic state. By no means does this characterization and the underlying analysis resemble in their intent or methodology studies on democratization whose avowed intent is to “craft” liberal democracy in non-Western countries. 73. This was proposed by Singapore’s Prime Minister Lee Kwa Yew; see Record of World Events 39, 7–8 (July 1993), 39602.

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74. J. Malloy, Authoritarianism and Corporatism, 4; J. Linz, “Authoritarianism,” in The Oxford Companion to Politics of the World, 60–64. 75. New York Times, April 12, 1991, A1 and A4.

CHAPTER 2: SINS OF UNIVERSALISM AND PARTICULARISM 1. Przeworski and Teune, Comparative Social Inquiry, 17–20. 2. Mayer, Redefining Comparative Politics, 30. 3. Not any type of explanatory relationship constitutes a causality. A system of variables is causal when (1) the dependent variable is not “overdetermined,” that is, no two variables explain the same parts of the variation of the dependent variable and (2) the explanatory pattern does not change when new variables are added. See Przeworski and Teune, Comparative Social Inquiry, 23. Ernest Nagel suggests similar but more restrictive conditions for the criterion of causality to exist in The Structure of Science (New York: Harcourt, 1961): (1) the relationship is invariable, (2) the explicans is both a necessary and a sufficient condition for the explicandum, (3) the relationship is between phenomena that are specially contiguous, and (4) the explicandum follows the explicans in an invariable temporal sequence asymmetrically. 4. There is disagreement on this point. There are those who favor more variables; see Mayer, Redefining Comparative Politics, 47; and the preface to Diamond, Linz, and Lipset, Democracy in Developing Countries. 5. See Mayer’s excellent summary in Mayer, Redefining Comparative Politics, chaps. 1 and 2; and R. Macridis, The Study of Comparative Government (New York: Random House, 1955). 6. Easton, Analysis of Political Structure, chapter 19. 7. H. Wiarda, New Directions in Comparative Politics, 19. 8. According to David Apter (The Politics of Modernization, v, and chapter 1), modernization theory is a heureustic device designed to understand and explain predemocratic and nondemocratic societies, which are affected by modernization whenever there is a spread of roles from industrial societies to nonindustrial ones. The Social Science Research Council made it clear as well: From the collective experience of Western countries, “the [Social Science Research Council] Committee’s program [sought] to develop concepts, insights and theories which [would] improve our capacity to understand these experiments [crises of political development in non-Western countries] and to evaluate their prospects,” see L. Pye, ed., Communication and Political Development, vii. 9. See Raymond Grew, ed., Crises of Political Development in Europe and the United States; and C. Tilly, ed., The Formation of National States in Western Europe. 10. T. Parsons, “The Point of View of the Author,” in The Social Theories of Talcott Parsons, ed. M. Black (Southern Illinois University Press, 1976). 11. R. Merton, Social Theory and Social Structure, 249. 12. L. Binder et al., Crises and Sequences, 11, 64–65. 13. J. Coleman, “The Development Syndrome: Differentiation-Equality-Capacity,” in Crises and Sequences, ed. Binder et al., 74–75. 14. Verba, “Sequences and Development,” in Crises and Sequences, ed. Binder et al., 302.

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15. Jerome J. Hanus, “Political Science: All Dressed Up and Nowhere to Go,” 43–73. 16. Albert O. Hirschman, Exit, Voice, and Loyalty, 19. 17. Johnson and Keehn, “Disaster in the Making,” 14–22. 18. Mayer, Redefining Comparative Politics, 9, chapters 1 and 3. 19. Easton, Analysis of Political Structure, 272. 20. W. W. Rostow, The Stages of Economic Growth; Alex Inkeles and David Smith, Becoming Modern. 21. See A. D. Smith, State and Nation in the Third World; D. Offlong, Imperialism and Dependency; T. Szentes, The Political Economy of Underdevelopment, esp. part 1; Dean Tipps, “Modernization Theory and the Comparative Study of Societies,” 199–240. 22. J. H. Boeke, Economics and Economic Policy of Dual Societies (New York, 1953); P. Bauer and B. Yamey, “The Third World and the West: An Economic Perspective.” 23. G. Hyden, Beyond Ujamaa in Tanzania; and Hyden, No Short Cuts to Progress: African Development Management in Perspective; Bauer and Yamey, “Third World and the West.” 24. Huntington, Political Order in Changing Societies, 4, 43, 46, 135–136, 140–177, 397–403. 25. Pinkney, Democracy in the Third World, 68. 26. See Zolberg, Creating Political Order; Huntington, Political Order in Changing Societies, 402–461. 27. An example is Samuel Huntington, who now links political decay to economic (under)development and decries one-party states; see his “Democracy for the Long Haul,” Journal of Democracy 7, 2 (April 1996): 3–13. 28. S. Huntington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century. 29. Pinkney, Democracy in the Third World, 135–151; R. Joseph, “Africa, 1990– 1997: From Abertura to Closure,” Journal of Democracy (April 1998): 3. 30. S. Huntington, “How Countries Democratize,” 579–616. 31. S. M. Lipset, Political Man; G. Almond and S. Verba, The Civic Culture; Moore, Social Origins; D. A. Rustow, “How Does a Democracy Come into Existence,” in The Practice of Comparative Politics, ed. P. G. Lewis and D. C. Potter (Harlow: Longman, 1973), 117–132. 32. S. N. Sangmpam, Pseudocapitalism and the Overpoliticized State, 32–36. 33. See P. Evans, D. Rueschemeyer, and T. Skocpol, eds., Bringing the State Back In; R. Kent Weaver and Bert A. Rockman, eds., Do Institutions Matter?; Walter W. Powell and Paul J. DiMaggio, eds., The New Institutionalism in Organizational Analysis (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1991); James G. March and John P. Olsen, “The New Institutionalism: Organizational Factors in Political Life”; D. Apter and C. Rosberg, eds., Political Development and the New Realism in Sub-Saharan Africa. 34. Karen L. Remmer, “Theoretical Decay and Theoretical Development,” 42–43. 35. G. Almond, “The Return to the State,” 872. 36. See Adam Przeworski, Democracy and the Market, chapter 1. 37. On economic institutionalism, see Lance Davis and Douglas North, Institutional Change and American Economic Growth (Cambridge University Press, 1971),

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7; and Douglas North, Institutions, Institutional Change and Economic Performance (Cambridge University Press, 1990). With respect to the Third World, see Dani Rodrik, Arvind Subramanian, and Francesco Trebbi, “Institutions Rule: The Primacy of Institutions over Geography and Integration in Economic Development,” NBER Working Paper 9305 (Cambridge, MA: National Bureau of Economic Research, 2002); for opposite view, see Jeffrey D. Sachs, “Institutions Matter, but Not for Everything,” Finance and Development (June 2003), 38–41. 38. On Sociological institutionalism, see Powell and DiMaggio, The New Institutionalism in Organizational Analysis, 5–11; Peter Hall and Rosemary C. R. Taylor, “Political Science and the Three New Institutionalisms,” MPIFG Discussion Paper 96/6 (June 1996), 13–17. 39. J. Wiseman, Democracy in Black Africa: Survival and Revival, 11–16. 40. Linz and Stepan, “Toward Consolidated Democracies,” 29. 41. Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, “Toward Consolidated Democracies,” 15; and Przeworski Democracy and the Market, chapter 1. 42. Andreas Schedler, “What Is Democratic Consolidation?” 91–92. 43. See P. Schmitter and T. L. Karl, “The Conceptual Travels of Transitologists and Consolidologists,” 173–185. 44. Linz and Stepan, “Toward Consolidated Democracies,” 19. 45. F. Fukuyama, “The End of History,” The National Interest 16 (Summer 1989): 4. In Fukuyama’s study the bemoaning of the loss of the aristocratic warrior’s prestige in the wake of the advent of liberalism does little to hide his celebration of the triumph of liberalism and liberal democracy, see F. Fukuyama, The End of History and the Last Man (New York: Free Press, 1992). 46. See David Rothkopf, “In Praise of Cultural Imperialism?” 38–53. 47. See, for instance, Hadjadj, Les Parias de la mondialisation, 8–13; Dussel, “Beyond Eurocentrism,” 19; Jacques Attali, “The Crash of Western Civilization: The Limits of the Market and Democracy,” Foreign Policy 107 (Summer 1997): 55–63. 48. Wiseman, Democracy in Black Africa, 3–9; L. Diamond, “Restoring Democracy in Africa,” 178–179; Diamond, Linz, and Lipset, eds, Democracy in Developing Countries, 4 vols; Pinkney, Democracy in the Third World, chapter 6; U.S.-based Freedom House and Endowment for Democracy are among the institutions that pursue this line. 49. See Richard Gunther, P. Nikiforos Diamandouros, and Hans-Jurgen Puhle, eds., The Politics of Democratic Consolidation. 50. Huntington, “The West Unique, Not Universal,” 28–46. 51. Huntington, “Democracy for the Long Haul,” 4, 13. 52. Pinkney, Democracy in the Third World, 3. 53. Patricio Aylwin, “Democracy in the Americas,” Journal of Democracy 9, 3 (July 1998): 3–6. 54. Guillermo O’Donnell, “Illusions About Consolidation,” 34–51. 55. Schedler, “What Is Democratic Consolidation,” 96. 56. Huntington, “Democracy for the Long Haul,” 6–7, 8–10. 57. Joseph, “Africa, 1990–1997,” 4–10, 13–15. For a more recent assessment, see Joel Barkan, “The Many Faces of Africa: Democracy Across a Varied Continent,” Harvard International Review (Summer 2002), 14–18.

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58. Mark Thompson, The Anti-Marcos Struggle, 174–175; Mark Thompson, “Off the Endangered List: Philippine Democratization in Comparative Perspective,” 179–198. 59. Linz and Stepan, “Toward Consolidated Democracies,” 19–20; Juan J. Linz, The Breakdown of Democratic Regimes, 6; Diamond, Linz, and Lipset, eds., Democracy in Developing Countries, Preface; Thompson, The Anti-Marcos Struggle, 177; Luc Sindjoun, “Elections et politique au Cameroun,” 89–91. 60. Larry Diamond, “Democracy in Latin America: Degrees, Illusions, and Directions for Consolidation”; Larry Diamond, “Is the Third Wave Over?” 20–37. 61. Schedler, “What Is democratic Consolidation?” 93–95. 62. O’Donnell, “Illusions about Consolidation,” 36, 39. 63. Joseph, “Africa, 1990–1997.” 64. Fareed Zakaria, “The Rise of Illiberal Democracy,” 22–43. 65. Reported by Schedler, “What Is Democratic Consolidation,” 93. 66. Philippe Schmitter, quoted by Fareed Zakaria, “The Rise of Illiberal Democracy,” 23. 67. Zakaria, “The Rise of Illiberal Democracy,” 38–43. 68. Although not officially acknowledged as such, there exists what may be called a Franco-African universalistic school of African politics that I do not discuss in this work. It claims to reject both modernization and imperialism-centered approaches in African politics, but relies on politics as a universal activity; see Jean-Francois Bayart, L’Etat en Afrique: La politique du ventre (Paris: Fayard, 1989); J-F. Bayart, A. Mbembe, C. Toulabor, Le Politique par le bas en Afrique Noire (Paris: Karthala, 1992). 69. Joseph, “Africa 1990–1997,” 10–13. 70. Bratton and van de Walle, Democratic Experiments in Africa, 278. 71. See S. N. Sangmpam, “The Overpoliticized State and International Politics,” 619–639. 72. See J. C. Willame, Patrimonialism and Political Change in the Congo; V. Levine, “African Patrimonial Regimes in Comparative Perspective,” 657–673; R. Sandbrook, The Politics of Africa’s Economic Stagnation; R. Jackson and C. Rosberg, Personal Rule in Black Africa. 73. An example is Christopher Clapham, Third World Politics, chapter 3. 74. Bratton and van de Walle, Democratic Experiments in Africa, 62, 275. 75. Bratton and van de Walle, Democratic Experiments in Africa, 62. 76. O’Donnell, “Illusions about Consolidation”; and G. O’Donnell, Modernization and Bureaucratic Authoritarianism, 4–7. 77. Dahl, Polyarchies, 10, 31, 232–234. 78. O’Donnell, “Illusions About Consolidation,” 41. 79. It must be noted here that the article format of the argument may not have allowed O’Donnell to deal with these issues. If this is the case, then one hopes that he deals with them at some point. 80. Adam Przeworski and Fernando Limongi, “Modernization Theories and Facts,” 55–83. Adam Przeworski et al., Democracy and Development. 81. Przeworski, Democracy and the Market, 14, 16, 35–37. 82. For general statements on the Rational Choice, see Anthony Downs, An Economic Theory of Democracy (New York: Harper & Row, 1957); J. M. Buchanan

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and G. Tullock, The Calculus of Consent: Logical Foundations of Constitutional Democracy (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1962); W. H. Riker, The Theory of Political Coalitions (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1962). 83. See, for instance, Russel Hardin, One for All (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995); David Laitin, Language Repertoires and State Construction in Africa; Prezeworski, Democracy and the Market; R.Bates, Essays in the Political Economy of Rural Africa; S. Popkin, The Rational Peasant. 84. See Kristen R. Monroe, ed., The Economic Approach to Politics, 1991; Barry Hindess, Choice, Rationality, and Social Theory, 1988; and Johnson and Keehn, “Disaster in the Making.” 85. Robert Bates, “Area Studies and the Discipline: A Useful Controversy?” 168. 86. Johnson and Keehn, “Disaster in the Making,” 16. 87. See Jorge P. Osterling, Democracy in Colombia: Clientelist Politics and Guerilla Warfare (Transaction Publishers, 1989). 88. Gabriel A. Almond, “Rational Choice Theory and the Social Sciences,” in The Economic Approach to Politics, ed. K. Monroe, 49. 89. Much of the discussion was spurred by a revival of Lenin’s works on imperialism and colonialism; see Kwame Nkrumah, Neo-Colonialism; Jack Woddis, Africa: The Roots of Revolt; Stewart Smith, US Neo-Colonialism in Africa. 90. Among the earliest proponents of dependency theory, see Andre Gunder Frank, Latin America: Underdevelopment or Revolution (New York: Monthly Review, 1969); Theotimo dos Santos, “The Structure of Dependence,” American Economic Review, LX, 2 (May 1970); Samir Amin’s 1957 doctoral dissertation presented in Paris; S. Amin, Neocolonialism in West Africa (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1973) and Le Developpement du Capitalisme en Cote d’Ivoire (Paris: Edition de Minuit 1967). 91. See L. S. Stavrianos, Global Rift: The Third World Comes of Age. 92. After its initial success, dependency theory came under close scrutiny. For a sample, see Chilcote, “Dependency: A Critical Synthesis of the Literature”; Ronald H. Chilcote, ed., Dependency and Marxism; Suzanne Bodenheimer, “Dependency and Imperialism: The Roots of Latin American Underdevelopment”; Warren, Imperialism: Pioneer of Capitalism; Tony Smith, “The dependency Approach,” 113–126; Aristide Zolberg, “Origins of the Modern System: A Missing Link,” World Politics 33 (1981):253–281. 93. Among the subschools are (1) “dependency as interdependence” developed, among others, by Raoul Prebisch, “Commercial Policy in the Underdeveloped Countries,” 251–291; (2) “development of underdevelopment” whose main proponents include, among others, Andre Gunder Frank, Capitalism and Underdevelopment in Latin America; A. G. Frank, “The Development of Underdevelopment,” 17–31; S. Amin, Unequal Development (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1976); and Walter Rodney, How Europe Underdeveloped Africa; (3) “dependent development” that holds that development can occur under dependency, see Fernando Henrique Cardoso and Enzo Faletto, Dependence and Development and Peter Evans, Dependent Development. For other subschools, such as (4) “internal colonialism,” (5) “subimperialism,” and (6) “new dependency,” see R. H. Chilcote, Theories of Comparative Politics, 297–308.

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94. Immanuel Wallerstein, The Modern World-System, 2 vols. and The Politics of the World Economy: The States, the Movements and the Civilizations; S. Amin, Accumulation on a World Scale; A. G. Frank, Crisis in the Third World; Stavrianos, Global Rift. 95. See, for instance, Craig Charney, “Political Power and Social Class in the Neo-Colonial African State,” Review of African Political Economy (1988): 48–65; Nora Hamilton, The Limits of State Autonomy: Post-Revolutionary Mexico (Princeton University Press, 1982). 96. I. Wallerstein, The Modern World-System, Text Edition, Academic Press, 1976), 7. 97. Frank, Crisis in the Third World; Amin, Unequal Development; Stavrianos, Global Rift. 98. Clive Y. Thomas, The Rise of the Authoritarian State in Peripheral Societies. 99. Evans, Dependent Development; although proposing a penetrating analysis of the state policies, this study does not advance a systematic definition or theory of the state in question. 100. Enrique Dussel, “Beyond Eurocentrism: The World-System and the Limits of Modernity,” in The Cultures of Globalization, ed. F. Jameson and Masao Miyoshi, 18 ff. 101. Thomas, The Rise of the Authoritarian State in Peripheral Societies, 65. 102. Ibid., 83–85. 103. Frank, Crisis in the Third World, 257. 104. Samir Amin, “The Issue of Democracy in the Contemporary Third World,” in Discourses on Democracy, ed. Julius Nyang’oro, 67. 105. See A. K. Bagchi, The Political Economy of Underdevelopment, 68, 196–197. 106. Szentes, The Political Economy of Underdevelopment, 84–85. 107. See Ernesto Laclau, Politics and Ideology in Marxist Theory, 37–38. 108. Pierre-Philippe Rey, Colonialisme, neocolonialisme et transition au capitalisme; Amin, Unequal Development; John Taylor, From Modernization to Modes of Production. 109. See Gustavo Rodriguez, “Original Accumulation, Capitalism, and Precapitalistic Agriculture in Bolivia,” Latin American Perspectives 7, 4 (Fall 1980): 50–65; Rodrigo Mantoya, “Class Relations in the Andean Countryside,” Latin American Perspectives, 9, 3 (Summer 1982): 62–77. 110. For a critique, see Sangmpam, Pseudocapitalism and the Overpoliticized State, 27–28, 29. 111. Clapham, Third World Politics, 3–5. 112. Nicos Poulantzas, Classes in Contemporary Capitalism, chapters 1 and 2; Ernest Mandel, Europe Versus America (London: NLB, 1970). 113. See Irving L. Horowitz, Three Worlds of Development, chapters 1–4; David Ziegler, “The Third World,” 6–10; Peter Worsley, The Third World. 114. Even Lucian Pye, one of the architects of modernization theory, has moved in that direction; see his introduction to Asian Power and Politics. 115. See R. Jackson, Quasi-States: Sovereignty, International Relations, and the Third World. 116. Mirsepassi and Boroujerdi, “Rethinking the Third World.”

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117. M. Tshiyembe, L’Etat postcolonial facteur d’insecurite en Afrique, 61–62. 118. Charles Lane, Newsweek, April 27, 1992, 43. 119. For instance, unless one stretches the interpretation, Mirsepassi’s and Boroujerdi’s blame on the concept of the state does not explain how and why the “sovereign state,” which is, by definition, exclusionary, would lead to Third World solidarity. It also is not clear why “Third Worldism” would favor only populist radical leaders and not right-wing ones, neither is it clear how they reconcile their call for a focus on culture with their simultaneous castigation of the romanticization of local cultures by advocates of a Third World. 120. See F. Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth and Toward the African Revolution. 121. The World Bank, World Development Indicators (Washington, D.C., 2004), table 1. 122. United Nations Development Programme (UNDP), “A Decade to Eradicate Poverty,” Developing World 99/00, 18–24, table 1. 123. Mary Williams, “Mexico’s Middle Class Blames Government for Economic Crunch,” Wall Street Journal, December 30, 1985, 1. 124. D. Chalmers, “The Politicized State in Latin America,” 30–31. 125. See Stepan, State and Society, part 1, esp. 24 ff. 126. See, for instance, T. Callaghy’s analysis of Mobutu’s Zaire, The StateSociety Struggle. 127. H. Wiarda and Harvey F. Kline, eds, Latin American Politics and Development (Boulder: Westview Press, 1985), 4–5. 128. Wiarda and Kline, Latin American Politics and Development, 11, 15, 71– 77; Wiarda, New Directions in Comparative Politics, 139. 129. See n. 70 and 72 supra; see also C. Clapham, ed., Private Patronage and Public Power: Political Clientelism in the Modern State (Pinter, 1982). 130. For an elaboration on this point, see Sangmpam, Pseudocapitalism and the Overpoliticized State, 163–165. 131. Clapham, Third World Politics, 44–60. 132. Enrique Dussel, Public Lecture, Syracuse University, April 14, 2000. 133. Wiarda, New Directions in Comparative Politics, 139. 134. Cardoso and Faletto, Dependency and Development in Latin America, xiii. 135. Ibid., xix, xx, 174. 136. On the authoritarian-bureaucratic state see O’Donnell, Modernization and Bureaucratic-Authoritarianism; Malloy, Authoritarianism and Corporatism in Latin America; D. Collier, ed., The New Authoritarianism in Latin America; T. Shaw, “Beyond Neo-colonialism: Varieties of Corporatism in Africa,” Journal of Modern African Studies 20 (1982). 137. Shaw, “Beyond Neo-Colonialism,” 239–242, 261; Collier, New Authoritarianism in Latin America, chapter 9, 395–397. 138. S ee J. C. Willame, Patrimonialism and Political Change in the Congo, chapter 7. 139. See S. N. Sangmpam, “The State-Society Relationship in Peripheral Countries,” 596–619.

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140. See Ruth Berins Collier and David Collier, Shaping the Political Arena; James Mahoney, The Legacies of Liberalism. For a general discussion on Path Dependence, see Sheri Berman, “Path Dependency and Political Action: Reexamining Responses to the Depression,” Comparative Politics 30 (1998); Paul Pierson, “Increasing Returns, Path Dependence, and the Study of Politics,” American Political Science Review 94 (June 2000): 251–267. 141. Mahoney, The Legacies of Liberalism, 6. 142. Pye, Asian Power and Politics. 143. Ibid., 2–6. 144. Ibid., vii–viii. 145. On the 20th-century modernization euphoria in South America, see E. Bradford Burns, Latin America: A Concise Interpretive History, chapter 8; on nationalism blending with modernization in Africa, see A. Mazrui and M. Tidy, Nationalism and New States in Africa, chapter 18. 146. Pye, Asian Power and Politics, 30, 100–125; see, also, L. Pye, Southeast Asia’s Political Systems (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 1974). 147. Pye, Asian Power and Politics, 327. 148. Ibid., 331. 149. Ibid., 337. 150. Giacomo Luciani, “Introduction,” in The Arab State, ed. Giacomo Luciano, xxvii–xxx. 151. J. Nyang’oro, The State and Capitalist Development in Africa, 148–149. 152. John Waterbury, “Democracy without Democrats?: The Potential for Political Liberalization in the Middle East,” in Democracy Without Democrats? The Renewal of Politics in the Muslim World, ed. Ghassan Salame ( I. B. Tauris, 1994), 23–48, esp. 33. 153. G. O’Donnell, “Horizontal Accountability in New Democracies,” 112–126. 154. Barry Ames, Political Survival. 155. An example of already discussed models is the “soft state” argument, see S. N. Sangmpam, “Neither Soft nor Dead: The African State Is Alive and Well”; other models on Africa include the African neocolonial state argument, see C. Leys, Underdevelopment in Kenya, especially 27; Some left-oriented studies on Africa have attempted to analyze its postcolonial politics in particularistic terms as well while using Marxist and Gramscian universal categories. Two such valiant attempts include Craig Charney, who applies Poulantzas’s theory of the state to the African situation, and Robert Fatton, who resorts to the Gramscian concept of hegemony. Both have particularistic views of the dependent variable. Charney dwells on the African clientelistic neocolonial state characterized by its lineage relations. Fatton focuses on the predatory and violent nature of the African state, see Charney, “Political Power and Social Class in the Neo-Colonial African State”; and R. Fatton, Predatory Rule: State and Civil Society in Africa and R. Fatton, “The State of African Studies and Studies of the African State.” 156. A. Zolberg, “The Structure of Political Conflict in the New States of Tropical Africa,” American Political Science Review 62 (1968): 70–87.

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157. Thomas H. Johnson, Robert O. Stater, and Pat McGowan, “Explaining African Military Coups d’Etat, 1960–1982,” American Political Science Review 78 (1984): 622–640. 158. C. Young, The African Colonial State in Comparative Perspective, 9–10. 159. Ibid., 263. 160. See Kwame Appiah, In My Father’s House: Africa in the Philosophy of Culture, 7–8. 161. Clive Y. Thomas, The Poor and the Powerless, 20. 162. See R. Myers and M. Peattie, eds., The Japanese Colonial Empire 1895– 1945; and T. Metzeger and R. Myers, “Understanding the Taiwan Experience: An Historical Perspective,” The Pacific Review 2, 4 (1989). 163. Young, African Colonial State, 291. 164. Ibid., 271. 165. Ibid., 271. 166. The approach is useful by showing how political beliefs and values of different countries express themselves in the form of observable political behaviors. It is tautological at the explanatory level. This issue is taken up again in chapter 6. On political culture, see Larry Diamond, ed., Political Culture and Democracy in Developing Countries; Almond and Verba, Civic Culture; and G. Almond, “Comparative Political Systems,” Journal of Politics 18 (August 1956): 391–409. 167. Rudolph, “Susanne Hoeber Rudolph,” 26–28.

CHAPTER 3: OVERPOLITICIZATION: EMPIRICAL AND HISTORICAL EVIDENCE 1. See C. Ameringer, Don Pepe: A Political Biography of Jose Figueres of Costa Rica. 2. John D. Holm, “Botswana: One Africa’s Success Story,” 218–222. 3. Wiseman, Democracy in Black Africa, 49. 4. Keesings Record of World Events (hereafter cited as KRWE), 30 (1984): 32607; see, also, Wole Soyinka, The Open Sore of a Continent, 61–107. 5. M. Needler, An Introduction to Latin American Politics, 107. 6. KRWE, 40, 10 (1994): 40225. 7. Jeune Afrique, no. 2043 (March 2000), 10. 8. Radio France Internationale, October 30, 1996. 9. Economic Intelligence Unit (EIU), Country Report: Taiwan, 4th quarter, 1999, 13. 10. Chico Whitaker, “Echec à la corruption au Brésil,” Le Monde Diplomatique, September 2000, 11. 11. Keesings Contemporary Archives (April 3, 1981):30795. 12. Wiseman, Democracy in Black Africa, 44; see, also, KRWE, 10, 10 (1989). 13. Upon Khama’s death in 1980, Masire was the sole candidate to succeed him and was elected by the parliament with thirty-four votes of thirty-six and two abstentions; see Keesings Contemporary Archives (September 12), 1980. 14. India Today, quoted by the New York Times, August 6, 1991. 15. KRWE, 39, 7–8 (July 1993): 39602.

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16. Christian Science Monitor, May 26, 1994. 17. Peeler, Introduction to Latin American Politics, 29–33. 18. Juan Corradi, “Menem’s Argentina, Act II,” 199 ff. 19. KRWE, 29 (1983):32009. 20. An example is a fraudulent helicopter rescue during the first days of the Zapatista rebellion in Chiapas, which was staged during the 1994 presidential elections by Televisa to deceive the viewers about the PRI government’s efforts. See the Christian Science Monitor, May 19, 1994. 21. The electoral process was so monopolized by the Somozas and elections called so frequently that for Nicaraguans election meant trickery; see P. T. Edmisten, Nicaragua Divided: La Prensa and the Chamorro Legacy, 70; In Paraguay the Colorado Party controlled the electoral process, which allowed General Alfredo Stroessner to be reelected unchallenged in the post-1954 period until his overthrow in 1989. 22. E. Kim and L. Ziring, An Introduction to Asian Politics, 189–190. 23. In 1993, for instance, the Sharif government prevented individuals who “owed loans” to contest or run for elections. 24. New York Times, November 5, 1996. In fact, the argument that in the 1996 case the president acted according to the constitution is highly questionable as demonstrated by Bhutto’s challenge of President Farooq Leghari’s action at the supreme court. President Ghulam Ishaq Khan’s decision to oust Sharif was reversed by the supreme court, leading to a military-brokered agreement to have both Sharif and the president step down. This scarcely reveals any constitutionality. 25. KRWE, 39, 12 (1993). 26. Keesings Archives of Contemporary Record, 32 (1986): 34479. 27. Syracuse Herald American, September 26, 1999. 28. T. Skidmore and P. Smith, Modern Latin America, 98. 29. O’Donnell, “Corporatism and the Question of the State,” 53. 30. P. Schmitter, “The Portugalization of Brazil?” in Authoritarian Brazil, ed. Alfred Stepan (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973), 206–207. 31. Alain Rouquie, The Military and the State in Latin America, 255. 32. Pye, Southeast Asia’s Political Systems, 63. 33. KRWE, 41, 3 (1995): 40458. 34. Dong Biwu quoted by Alan Liu, How China is Ruled, 183. 35. Chai-Anan Samuvadanija, “Thailand: A Stable Semi-democracy,” in Democracy in Developing Countries: Asia, ed. Diamond, Linz, and Lipset, vol. 3, 320–321. 36. On authoritarianism and the return to democracy, see Sung-Joo Han, “South Korea: Politics in Transition,” in Democracy in Developing Countries: Asia, ed. Diamomd, Linz, and Lipset, vol. 3, 267–302. 37. General Mustafa quoted by Elizabeth Picard, “Arab Military in Politics: From Revolutionary to Authoritarian State,” in The Arab State, ed. Giacomo Luciani, 194. 38. Picard, “Arab Military in Politics” and Adeed Dawisha, “Arab Regimes: Legitimacy and Foreign Policy,” in The Arab State, ed. Luciani, 288. 39. These included Angola, Burundi, Chad, Djibouti, Equatorial Guinea, Ethiopia, Gambia, Lesotho, Liberia, Libya, Morocco, Niger, Nigeria, Rwanda, Sierra Leone, Somalia, the Sudan, Swaziland, Uganda, and Zaire.

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40. Gilles Perrault, Notre ami, le roi (Paris: Gallimard, 1990), 355–356. 41. For a sample see Samuel Decallo, Coups and Army Rule in Africa; Anton Bebler, Military Rule in Africa: Dahomey, Ghana, Sierra Leone, and Mali; Amii Omara-Otunnu, Politics and the Military in Uganda 1890–1985; B. O. Nwabueze, Military Rule and Constitutionalism. 42. See Bebler, Military Rule in Africa, 168–191. 43. Nwabueze, Military Rule and Constitutionalism, 18, 19, 18–58. 44. The report by the International Verification and Follow-Up Commission of the Arias Peace Plan quoted by KRWE, 34 (1988): 36013. 45. Jerry Weaver, “Guatemala: The Politics of a Frustrated Revolution,” in Latin American Politics and Development, ed. Wiarda and Kline, 555. 46. KRWE, 36 (February 1990). Note that the outcry in the United States over Guatemala’s conduct became even more public in 1995 when New Jersey’s congressman Torricelli wrote a letter to President Clinton about the CIA connection to Guatemalian military officers involved in the murders of U.S. citizen Michael Devine and of a U.S. citizen’s spouse. 47. Keesings Archives of Contemporary Record 32 (December 1986). 48. New York Times, March 26, 1993, A5. 49. President Mobutu, “Discours d’ouverture du deuxieme Congres Ordinaire du MPR,” Nsele, November 25, 1977, emphasis added. 50. The 1999 report issued by Guatemala’s Truth Commission, established after the peace accord between the government and the insurgency, was scorned and ignored by President Alvaro Arzu, during whose tenure the report was issued, and by his successor President Alfonso Portillo; see Syracuse Herald American, February 27, 2000, A-5. 51. Mazrui and Tidy, Nationalism and New States in Africa, 215. 52. For a complete account of the Oufkir issue and these unjust trials, see Perrault, Notre ami, le roi. 53. KRWE, 39, 3 (March 1993). 54. Facts on File, June 4–10, 1964, 186. 55. New York Times, February 17, 1992, A8. 56. Samudavanija, “Thailand,” 332. 57. Enrique Bernoles, chair of the Senate Commission on Violence and Pacification quoted in KRWE, 37 (November 1991): 38571. 58. J. Patrice McSherry, “Military Political Power and Guardian Structures in Latin America,” 86. 59. KRWE, 38, 6 (1992): 38960. 60. KRWE, 39, 5 (1993): 39459. 61. KRWE, 36, 5 (1990): 37499. 62. See McSherry, “Military Political Power,” 99–101. 63. Ibid., 97. 64. See chapter 1, n. 2. 65. New York Times, April 12, 91, A4. 66. Wiseman, Democracy in Black Africa, 68. 67. New York Times, September 8, 1975. 68. KRWE 40, 5 (1994): 40049. 69. New York Times, March 2, 1999.

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70. EIU, Country Report: Chile, 1999, 4th quarter, 13. 71. Yahya Armajani and Thomas M. Ricks, Middle East: Past and Present, 320. 72. Huntington, Political Order in Changing Societies, 3–4. 73. Christian Science Monitor, May 17, 1994, 1, 4. 74. NACLA Report on the Americas, 23, 6 (April 1990), pp. 13–21. 75. KRWE, 38, 2 (1992). 76. See Thomas T. Hammond, Red Flag over Afghanistan: The Communist Coup, the Soviet Invasion, and the Consequences; on the Civil War see Gilles Dorronsoro, “Afghanistan’s civil war,” Current History (January 1995). 77. KRWE, 39, 7–8 (1993). 78. On the wars of liberation see J. Ziegler, Les rebelles Contre l’ordre du monde. 79. Facts on File, May 15–21, 1953. 80. Examples include Tabu Ley’s song, “Martin Luther King,” and Mavatiku Michelino’s “Cassius Clay.” 81. Bayard Rustin, “Black Power and Coalition Politics,” 35–40. 82. See Malcolm X, Malcolm X Speaks, 23–46. 83. See S. Carmichael and C. Hamilton, Black Power: The Politics of Liberation in America (New York: Random House, 1967). 84. Hillary Rodham Clinton TV interview at the Democratic Convention, Chicago, August 1996. 85. See John R. Thackra, Encyclopedia of Terrorism and Political Violence. 86. KRWE 39 (1993) and 40 (1994). 87. Ibid., 37, 10 (1991): 38590. 88. Facts on File 13 (1961–62): 18579. 89. KRWE 38, (1992): 38870. 90. Syracuse Herald American, December 3, 2000, A-20. 91. Antonio de Figueiredo, Portugal: Fifty Years of Dictatorship, 48–49. 92. On Greece see Jean Meynaud, Rapport sur l’abolition de la démocratie en Grèce (Montréal, 1970); Nicos Poulantzas, La Crise des dictatures (Paris: Maspero, 1975). 93. de Figueiredo, Portugal: Fifty Years of Dictatorship, chapters 5 and 6. 94. Stanley Payne, The Franco Regime, 1936–1975, 456. 95. On ETA see John Sullivan, ETA and Basque Nationalism: The Fight for Euskadi, 1890–1986. 96. In August 2000 the French minister of the Interior resigned because of his opposition to the larger autonomy now given to the island by the French government. 97. See Richard Rose, Politics in England (Boston: Little, Brown, 1986). 98. Times, December 22, 1997, 11.

CHAPTER 4: OVERPOLITICIZATION: QUANTITATIVE EVIDENCE 1. Examples include Przeworski et al., Democracy and Development; Tatu Vanhanen, Prospects of Democracy: A Study of 172 Countries (Routledge, 1997); George Muller, Comparative World Data: A Statistical Handbook for Social Science

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(The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1988); Adrian Karatnycky, “The 1998 Freedom House Survey: The Decline of Illiberal Democracy,” Journal of Democracy (January 1999): 112–126; Adrian Karatnycky, Alexander Motyl, and Amanda Schnetzer, eds., Nations in Transit 2002: Civil Society, Democracy and Markets in East Central Europe and the Newly Independent States (Freedom House/transaction, 2002). 2. Ted Gurr et al., Cross-National Studies of Civil Violence, 3–5 3. Giovani Sartori, ed., Social Science Concepts: A Systematic Analysis. 4. Ragin, The Comparative Method, 49. 5. Myron Wiener, “Empirical Democratic Theory and the Transition from Authoritarianism to Democracy,” PS, 20,4 (Fall 1987):861–866

CHAPTER 5: UNDERSTANDING THE OVERPOLITICIZED STATE 1. Herbert Marcuse, One-Dimensional Man (Sphere Books, 1970):92. 2. Powell and DiMaggio, The New Institutionalism in Organization Analysis, 5–11. 3. N. Poulantzas, Political Power and Social Classes (London: Verso, 1978), 115, n. 24. 4. Easton, Analysis of Political Structure, 64–76. 5. Peter Hall and Rosemary C. R. Taylor, “Political Science and the Three New Institutionalism,” MPIFG Discussion Paper 96/6 (June 1996), 13–17. 6. Theda Skocpol, Protecting Soldiers and Mothers, 1–62. 7. Sven Steinmo, Kathleen Thelen and Frank Longstreth, eds., Structuring Politics: Historical Institutionalism in Comparative Analysis; Kathleen A. Thelen, “Historical Institutionalism in Comparative Politics,” 369–404; Paul Pierson, “Increasing Returns, Path Dependency, and the Study of Politics,” 251–267; and Avner Greif and David Laitin, “A Theory of Endogenous Institutional Change,” 633–651. 8. Steinmo, Thelen and Longstreth, Structuring Politics, 7, 9–10. 9. See T. Hobbes, Leviathan, ed. Richard Tuck (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), chapter 17, 120, 118, 124. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Social Contract (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1950), bk 1: chap. 6, pp. 13–14. James Mill, “Essay on Government,” in Utilitarian Logic and Politics, ed. J. Lively and J. Rees, (London: Oxford University Press, 1978), 56, 63, 69. 10. Quoted by David Held in “Introduction: Central Perspectives on the Modern State,” 11. 11. John Locke, Second Treatise Concerning Government, chapter 9. 12. Cicero, De Officiis, 2, 73; see also Cicero, Res Publica. 13. Montesquieu, De l’esprit des lois, I (Paris: Garnier-Flammarion, 1979), 127–128. 14. A. Stepan, State and Society: Peru in Comparative Perspective. 15. Joel Barkan, “Resurrecting Modernization Theory and the Emergence of Civil Society in Kenya and Nigeria,” in Political Development and the New Realism in Sub-Saharan Africa, ed. Apter and Rosberg, 87–112. 16. Peter Evans, Embedded Autonomy: States and Industrial Transformation.

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17. Aaron Wildavsky quoted by Ira Katznelson in “Structure and Configuration in Comparative Politics,” in Comparative Politics: Rationality, Culture, and Structure, ed. Lichbach and Zuckerman, 105. 18. Max Weber, “Politics as a Vocation,” 78. 19. G. Sartori, The Theory of Democracy Revisited, vol. 1, 53. 20. Poggi, Development of the Modern State, 135. 21. See B. Moore, Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy, 323–327; K. K. Aziz, Britain and Muslim India; Abdul Hamid, Muslim Separatism in India: A Brief Survey 1858–1947. 22. See Juan Diego Garcia, Porque Chiapas; Philip Russel, The Chiapas Rebellion. 23. National Public Radio, March 21, 2000. 24. S. N. Sangmpam, “The Overpoliticized State and Democratization,” 401–417. 25. Chico Whitaker, “Echec a la corruption au Bresil,” Le Monde diplomatique, September 2000, 11. 26. Powell, “Liberal Democracies”; Dahl, Polyarchy; Linz and Stepan, “Toward Consolidated Democracies,” 14–16; Diamond, Linz, and Lipset, Democracy in Developing Countries, xvi; Robert Fatton, The Making of a Liberal Democracy: Senegal’s Passive Revolution; Schedler, “What Is Democratic Consolidtion?” 100, provides five variants of democratic consolidation; the last two, liberal democracy and advanced democracy, are said to be “positive consolidations” that are “valued horizons” of attainment. 27. According to this view, India is a consociational democracy the way Holland is; see Arent Lijphart, “The Puzzle of Indian Democracy: A Consociational Interpretation,” 258–268. 28. Kamrava, “Political Culture and a New Definition of the Third World,” 691–700. 29. Mehran Kamrava, Understanding Comparative Politics: A Framework for Analysis, 155, 176. 30. Ibid., 90. 31. Ibid., 89, 93, 99 n. 45. 32. Ibid., 91. 33. Lijphart, Electoral Systems and Party Systems, 1. 34. J. Schumpeter, Capitalism, Socialism, and Democracy (New York: Harper 1942). 35. See David Held, “Introduction: Central Perspectives on the Modern State,” 43. 36. See M. Crozier, “Western Europe,” 11–57, and S. Huntington, “The United States,” 59–118, in The Crisis of Democracy, ed. Michel J. Crozier, Samuel P. Huntington, and J. Watanuki. 37. Crozier, Huntington, Watanuki, Crisis of Democracy. See, also, Crouch, “The State, Capital and Liberal Democracy,” 14. 38. Anthony Giddens, The Class Structure of the Advanced Societies (New York: Harper and Row, 1975), 198.

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39. For a concise summary of the Marxist crisis theory, see T. Weisskopf, “Marxian Crisis Theory and the Rate of Profit in the Post-War US Economy,” Cambridge Journal of Economics, 3 (1979). 40. Claus Offe concentrates on the “internal structures” of the state through which the interests of the capitalist process of surplus value are transformed into public policy. Three “selective mechanisms” (negative, positive, and disguising) perform this task of transformation and allow one to better understand the state, its interventionist policies, and the crisis. James O’Connor explains the crisis by the state’s policies of accumulation that, by making the state grow, create an imbalance between its growing spending needs and shrinking revenues. The result is fiscal crisis; see C. Offe, “The Abolition of Market Control and the Problem of Legitimacy,” Kapitalistate 1 (May 1973): 109–116; and Kapitalistate 2 (December– January 1973/74): 73–75; J. O’Connor, The Fiscal Crisis of the State (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1973). 41. Erik Olin Wright, Class, Crisis and the State (London: Verso, 1979). 42. M. Carnoy, State and Political Theory, 32. 43. Poggi, Development of the Modern State, 135. 44. B. Powell, “Liberal Democracies,” 195–210; Dahl, Polyarchy; Jack Lively, Democracy. 45. Robert Dahl, A Preface to Democratic Theory, 131. 46. P. Schmitter, “Still the Century of Corporatism,” 96. 47. See Karl Marx, The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte. 48. Poulantzas, Political Power and Social Classes; Classes in Contemporary Capitalism; State, Power, Socialism; Poulantzas, La crise des dictatures. 49. Poulantzas, Political Power and Social Classes, 41, 43. 50. Poulantzas, La crise des dictatures, 95 ff. 51. Although Poulantzas focused on the capitalist state, his attempt to produce a general theory of the state in the form of a blueprint led him to rely on the functions of the capitalist state everywhere. As a result, even his theoretical insights about the transformation of the state and politics were severely undermined. Criticisms against his hyperstructuralism forced Poulantzas to revise some of his views in his post-1978 works and to correct some of the problems in his State, Power, Socialism. A major change in this respect was the reliance on class struggles in his attempts to explain political power, the state, and the transition to socialism. But, as Easton argued, the reliance on class struggles was so excessive that from a general theory of structural determination that was supposed to provide general reasons for the transformation of the state, Poulantzas became paradoxically a theorist of specific historical conjunctures, see Easton, Analysis of Political Structure, 166–190, 227. 52. Ralph Miliband’s explicit analysis of politics was among the first challenges to Poulantzas. Joining Lenin, Miliband developed an instrumentalist view of the capitalist state that makes the latter a tool of the capitalist class. This view—more nuanced than is generally presented—stands in contrast to Poulantzas’s structuralist view of the relative autonomy of the state. Other attempts sought to mitigate Poulantzas’s functionalism by centering their analyses on the concrete policies of the state through which one can apprehend the institutional format of the capitalist state. Among these attempts are Offe’s already mentioned explanation of the capitalist state through the

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internal structures of the state and O’Connor’s discussion of the fiscal crisis. Adam Przeworski attempts to explain the capitalist state by concentrating on investment policies. He assumes two major organized classes, the capitalist class and the working class, and the willingness, contrary to a long-held Marxist view, on the part of the workers to consent to their exploitation in order to receive, in return, a share (through wages) from invested profit. Because of the conflict between the two classes, workers’ acceptance of exploitation implies a compromise between them. Przeworski’s theory of the state rests on this compromise. In his own words, “These policies—and the state itself—now appear as an expression of a compromise [and] the need for viewing the state in functionalist terms disappears.” See Miliband, “Poulantzas and the Capitalist State”; Miliband, The State in Capitalist Society; Miliband, Marxism and Politics (London: Oxford University Press, 1977); Adam Przeworski, “Class Compromise and the State: Western Europe and Latin America,” Mimeo, University of Chicago, 1980, 22. 53. G. Therborn, “The Rule of Capital and the Rise of Democracy,” 262. 54. George Kateb, “On the Legitimation Crisis,” in Legitimacy and the State, ed. W. Connolly, 181. 55. Easton, Systems Analysis of Political Life, chapter 18; G. Almond, Political Development, chapter 1; Sartori, Theory of Democracy Revisited I, 89–92; D. Usher, Prerequisite to Democracy (New York: Columbia University Press, 1981). 56. Lipset, Political Man, 1960, 77. 57. J. Schaar, “Legitimacy in the Modern State,” in Legitimacy and the State, ed. W. Connolly, 109.

CHAPTER 6: BASIC HYPOTHESES ABOUT THE OVERPOLITICIZED STATE 1. Crozier, “Western Europe,” in The Crisis of Democracy, ed. Crozier, Huntington and Watanuki, 39–46. 2. Huntington, “The United States,” in ibid., 112. 3. See Lipset, Political Man and Dahl, Polyarchy. 4. Almond and Verba, Civic Culture. 5. Harry Eckstein, “Authority Patterns: A Structural Basis for Political Inquiry,” 1142–1161. 6. Ibid., 18. 7. Ibid., 279. 8. Lipset, “Social Conflict, Legitimacy, and Democracy” in Legitimacy and the State, ed. W. Connolly, 88–103. 9. Mayer, Redefining Comparative Politics, 110–137. 10. Alford and Friedland, Powers of Theory, 82. 11. James Wright, The Dissent of the Governed, 58 ff; Mayer, Redefining Comparative Politics, 199–202; Alford and Friedland, Powers of Theory, 69. 12. Wright, Dissent of the Governed, 116. 13. Almond, “Comparative Political Systems,” 396. 14. Almond and Verba, Civic Culture; and Diamond, Political Culture and Democracy.

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1980). 16. Alford and Friedland, Powers of Theory, 67–68. 17. Huntington, Political Order in Changing Societies, 461. 18. Huntington, “The United States,” 91. 19. Quoted by Alford and Friedland, Powers of Theory, 70. 20. Herbert Spiro, Government by Constitution (New York: Random House, 1959). 21. See Marx, Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte. 22. See A. Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Notebooks; A. Showstack Sassoon, Gramsci’s Politics (London: Hutchinson, 1987). 23. P. Anderson, “The Antinomies of Antonio Gramsci,” New Left Review 100 (1977): 5–78; see also Carnoy, State and Political Theory, 73–74. 24. Gramsci, “Selections from Prison Notebooks,” in States and Societies, ed. Held et al., 121–122. 25. L. Althusser, Lenin and Philosophy and Other Essays, 169. 26. Poulantzas, Political Power and Social Classes, 210–228. 27. Poulantzas, State, Power, Socialism, 31. 28. J. Habermas, “What Does a Legitimation Crisis Mean Today? Legitimation Problems in Late Capitalism,” in Legitimacy and the State, ed. Connolly, 135–155, esp. 138. 29. Claus Offe, quoted by Carnoy, State and Political Theory, 134. 30. R. Miliband, Capitalist Democracy in Britain. 31. Alan Wolfe, The Limits of Legitimacy: Political Contradictions of Late Capitalism, esp. 280 ff. 32. Lindblom, Politics and Markets, Part 5. 33. Ibid., 209. 34. Poggi, Development of the Modern State, 123. 35. Sangmpam, Pseudocapitalism and the Overpoliticized State, chapter 3 and “Social Theory.” 36. See Lee Kwan Yew, The Singapore Story: Memoirs of Lee Kuan Yew. 37. L. Harrison and S. Huntington, eds., Culture Matters: How Values Share Human Progress. 38. See Amin, Eurocentrism (New York: Monthly Review Press,1989); J. AbuLughod, Before European Hegemony; A. G. Frank, ReOrient; and A. King, ed., Culture, Globalization and the World-System. 39. Jeffrey Sachs, “Notes on a New Sociology of Economic Development,” in Culture Matters, ed. Harrison and Huntington, 33–39. 40. D. Landes, “Culture Makes Almost All the Difference,” in ibid., 1–13. 41. M. Porter, “Attitudes, Values, Beliefs, and the Microeconomics of Prosperity,” in ibid., 27. 42. See Mariano Grondona, “A Cultural Typology of Economic Development,” in ibid., 44–55; Carlos Alberto Montaner, “Culture and the Behavior of Elites in Latin America,” in ibid., 56–64; and Daniel Etounga-Manguelle, “Does Africa Need a Cultural Adjustment Program,” in ibid., 65–77. 43. R. Inglehart, “Culture and Democracy,” in ibid., 80–96.

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44. Huntington, “Culture Count,” in ibid., xiii; Harrison, “Why Culture Matters,” in idem, xxviii–xxx. 45. See S. Hall, “The Local and the Global: Globalization and Ethnicity,” in Culture, Globalization, and the World-System, ed. King, 33; Roland Robertson, “Social Theory, Cultural Relativity and the Problem of Globality,” in ibid., 74–76; I. Wallerstein, “The National and the Universal: Can There Be Such a Thing as World Culture,” in ibid., 96–98; Ulf Hannerz, “Scenarios for Peripheral Cultures,” in ibid., 123, 124. 46. Held, “Introduction,” 3. 47. R. Macridis, Contemporary Political Ideologies, 22–46. 48. See, for instance, Gabriel Kolko, The Triumph of Conservatism. In disagreement with Paul Baran and Paul Sweezy, he maintains that the concentration of capital did not evolve out of the competitive process but out of a political creation by oligopolistic giants. Concerning the changes in capitalism, see N. Poulantzas, Classes in Contemporary Capitalism, 134–135. 49. See Samir Amin, Obsolescent Capitalism: Contemporary Politics and Global Disorder. 50. Lindblom, Politics and Markets, 106–116. 51. T. Parsons and N. Smelser, Economy and Society, 9, 20. 52. T. Parsons, Societies, 113. 53. On classes in capitalism, see Poulantzas, Classes in Contemporary Capitalism; Eric Olin Wright, Class, Crisis and the State; Anthony Giddens, The Class Structure of the Advanced Societies; and Eric Olin Wright, Class Counts (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997). 54. See Marx, Capital, vol. 2 (Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1965) and Grundrisse (London: Penguin Books, 1973), 506. 55. The usual congruence between capitalism and culture was temporarily replaced by the “accidental” disjunction of the 1960s and 1970s in what Daniel Bell calls the “cultural contradictions of capitalism” as a “radical disjunction of culture and capitalism”; see Bell and Kristol, eds., Capitalism Today (New York: Basic Books, 1971), 27–57. 56. Carlos Fuentes, Speech delivered at the Council of de la Raza, G-Span, August 21, 1997. 57. New York Times, July 29, 1997, A8. 58. Przeworski, “Class Compromise and the State: Western Europe and Latin America,” 1980 (mimeo): 29. 59. See Jean Jackson, “Becoming Indians: The Politics of Tukanoan Ethnicity,” in Amazonian Indians from Prehistory to the Present, ed. Anna Roosevelt, 383–400. 60. Marc Howard Ross, “Culture and Identity in Comparative Political Analysis,” in Comparative Politics, ed. Lichbach and Zuckerman, 42–74. 61. Frank, Latin America: Underdevelopment or Revolution, 221–230; Szentes, Political Economy of Underdevelopment, 84–85; Laclau, Politics and Ideology in Marxist Theory, 37–38; Taylor, From Modernization to Modes of Production, 215; Bagchi, The Political Economy of Underdevelopment, 13; Dale Johnson, “Class Analysis and Dependency,” in Theories of Development, ed. Ronald Chilcote and Dale Johnson, 238.

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Weber, Max. “Politics as a Vocation.” In From Max Weber. Ed. H. H. Gerth and C. W. Mills. New York: Oxford University Press, 1972. Weiner, M., ed. Modernization: The Dynamics of Growth. New York: Basic Books, 1966. ———. “Empirical Democratic Theory and the Transition from Authoritarianism to Democracy.” PS 20, no. 4 (Fall 1987):861–866. Weinstein, M. Uruguay: The Politics of Failure. Westport, Conn: Greenwood Press, 1975. Wiarda, H., ed. New Directions in Comparative Politics. Boulder: Westview Press, 1985. ———, ed., Politics and Social Change in Latin America: Still a Distinct Tradition? Boulder: Westview Press, 1999. ———. The Continuing Struggle for Democracy in Latin America. Boulder: Westview Press, 1980. Wiarda, H., and H. Kline, eds. Latin American Politics and Development. Boulder: Westview Press, 1985. Willame, J-C. Patrimonialism and Political Change in the Congo. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1972. Whitaker, L. D. Women in Politics: Insiders or Outsiders? Prentice Hall, 1999. Williams, P. “Dual Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Popular and Electoral Democracy in Nicaragua.” Comparative Politics (January 1994): 169–183. Winch, Peter. The Idea of a Social Science and Its Relation to Philosophy. Atlantic Highlands: Humanities Press, 1990. Wiseman, J. Democracy in Black Africa: Survival and Revival. New York: Paragon House, 1990. Woddis, Jack. Africa: The Roots of Revolt. London: Laurence & Wishart, 1960. Wolfe, Alan. The Limits of Legitimacy: Political Contradictions of Late Capitalism. New York: Free Press, 1977. Worsley, Peter. The Third World. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1972. Wright, Erik Olin. Class Counts. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997. ———. Class, Crisis and the State. London: Verso, 1979. Wright, James. The Dissent of the Governed. New York: Academic Press, 1976. Wyatt, David K. Thailand: A Short History. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984. Young, C. The African Colonial State in Comparative Perspective. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994. Young, C., and Turner, T. The Rise and Decline of the Zairian State. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1985. Zakaria, F. “The Rise of Illiberal Democracy.” Foreign Affairs 76, no. 6 (November– December 1997): 22–43. Ziegler, David. “The Third World.” In Third World 91/92, pp. 6–10. Ed. Jeffrey M. Elliot. Guilford, Conn.: Dushkin Publishing, 1991. Ziegler, Jean. Les rebelles contre l’ordre du monde. Paris: Seuil, 1983. Ziemann, W., and Lanzendorfer, M. “The State in Peripheral Societies.” The Socialist Register (1977): 143–177. Zolberg, A. Creating Political Order: The Party-States of West Africa. Chicago: Aldine, 1966. ———. “The Structure of Political Conflict in the New States of Tropical Africa.” American Political Science Review 62 (1968): 70–87.

Index Abacha (General), 106, 128, 137, 148 Abiola, Mashood, 106 Abu-Lughod, Janet, 239, 241 Accion Democratica Party (AD), 147 Aceh, 91 Action Directe, 160 Addhra Pradesh, 110 Afghanistan, 117, 119, 120, 139, 155, 156, 158, 167, 179, 181, 186 table Africa: authoritarianism in, 123–29; colonial system in, 88–92; compromise-resistant politics in, 201–02, 206–07; cultural differences, 250; democratization of, 1–4, 59, 65–69; dictatorial power in, 136–38, 145–46, 227; electoral coups in, 105–06, 108, 168; electoral fraud in, 97, 98–99, 104, 168; electoral monopoly in, 104, 168; illicit use of state power in, 134–35; particularism in, 87–92; patrimonialism in, 80; political behaviors, 15–17, 62; results and interpretation of quantitative data supporting overpoliticization in, 176 table, 177–93; violent opposition in, 153–54, 155, 156–58, 153 table. See also names of individual countries African Americans, 159, 162, 216 African National Union (ZANU-PF), 98, 100 African Party for the Independence of Guinea Bissau and Cape Verde (PAIGC), 126

Ahidjo, Ahmadou, 136 Ahmadinejad, Mahmoud, 119 Air France, 161 Al Argoum, 145 al-Assad, Hafez, 122, 139 Aleman, Arnoldo Lacayo, 99, 105 Alfonsin, Raul, 102, 103, 144 Alford, Robert, 230–31 Algeria, 43, 58, 98, 106, 123, 157, 158, 171, 205, 207; authoritarianism in, 126; dictatorial power in, 137–38, 168; electoral coups in, 106, 167; overpoliticization in, 164–65; p frequency in, 186 table; violent opposition in, 156 Allende, Salvadore, 115 All Panamanian Party, 108 Almond, Gabriel, 72, 229, 230, 231 al-Sabah family, 118 Althusser, Louis, 233, 237 Al-Watan Al-Arabi, 161 Americano-Liberian elite, 157, 202 American politics, 71, 161, 162 Amin, Idi, 96, 128, 157 Amin, Samir, 73, 74, 239 Amnesty International, 139 Anderson, Perry, 233 Andhra Pradesh state, 110 Angola, 28, 81, 170; authoritarianism in, 126–27; compromise-resistant politics in, 203; democratization of, 1–2; electoral coups in, 106; electoral violence in, 111;

317

318

Index

Angola (continued) overpoliticization data and, 179; pervasive opposition violence in, 156, 158; p frequency in, 186 table anti-Castro Cuban exiles, 162 Antigua, 97, 103, 166, 178 Antigua-Barbuda, 178 Antigua Labor Party, 103, 166 Anti-Imperialist Cells, 161 anti-Nazi group, 161 Apartheid, 36 Aquinas, Thomas, 197 Aquino, Corazon, 140, 143, 155, 168 Arab state, 86 Aramburu government, 114 Arbenz, Jacobo Guzman, 114, 131 area studies. See particularism Argentina, 15, 16, 17, 28, 29, 60, 65, 77, 83, 86, 104, 105, 107, 136, 154, 159, 191, 205, 206, 208, 248; and authoritarian behaviors, 114–15; democratization of, 59, 60–61, 63, 212; dictatorial power in, 141, 143, 144, 150, 168; electoral coups in, 167; electoral monopoly in, 102–03, 167; electoral violence in, 109–10; illicit use of state power in, 129, 130–31, 133–34; institutions in, 70; violent opposition in, 158 Arias, Armulfo, 96 Aristotle, 33, 197, 228 Armas, Castillo, 131 Armed Forces Revolutionary Council (Ghana), 127 Arroyo, Gloria Macapagal, 140 Arzcona (President), 131 Asia: authoritarianism in, 2, 116–23; colonial system in, 89–91; compromise-resistant politics in, 202–03; cultural differences, 250; definition of, 9; democratization of, 59; dictatorial power in, 138–41, 146–47, 227; electoral coups in, 108–09, 168; electoral fraud in, 97, 99; electoral monopoly in, 104, 168; electoral violence in, 111; illicit opposition in,

151; illicit use of state power in, 135; particularism in, 84–87; political behaviors, 15–17, 62; results and interpretation of quantitative data supporting overpoliticization in, 176 table, 177–93; violent opposition in, 153–54, 155–56, 158; violent oppression in, 153 table. See also names of individual countries Assam, 110, 146 Association of Retired Admirals and Generals (Ecuador), 143 Ataturk, Kemal, 148 Aum Cult, 166 Aung San Suu Kyi, 138 Australasia, 28, 81 Australia, 9 Austria, 161, 214 authoritarian behaviors, 46 table, 48, 113–29, 167, 168; quantitative data for and overpoliticization, 174, 177, 179–82, 184–92 authoritarianism, 2–4; in Africa, 123– 29, 168–69; in Asia, 116–23; compromise-resistant (contentious) politics in, 202–03; civilian, 118, 125–26; electoral violence and, 110; military, 120–23, 127–29; revolutioninduced, 119–20, 126–27 authoritarian rule, 58–59 autogolpe, 142 Awani League Party, 106 Ayatollah Khomeini, 139 Aylwin, Patricio, 63, 87, 145 Aztec calpulli, 243 Babangida (General), 137, 148 Bahamas, 103, 167 Bahamas Progressive Liberal Party, 166 Bahrain, 139 Balaguer (President), 112 Ballen, Duran, 142 Bamileke insurgency, 136 Banda, Hastings, 125, 130 Bandaranaike, 110 Bandung, 76

Index Bangladesh, 106, 110, 121, 139; authoritarianism in, 117, 118, 120, 212; compromise-resistant politics in, 203–04; dictatorial power in, 141; electoral coups in, 108; electoral fraud in, 97, 166; electoral violence in, 111; illicit opposition in, 152; illicit use of state power in, 133; violent opposition in, 155, 158 Bangladesh National Party (BNP), 108– 09, 111 Barbados, 112, 167, 178, 240 Barre, Siad, 38 Barisan Nacional (National Front), 101, 104, 166 Basotho Congress Party (BCP), 99, 106, 138 Basotho National Party (BNP), 106 Basque, 163 Basque secessionist group, 164, 171. See also Euskadi ta Askatasuna Bates, Robert, 21, 22, 71 Batista, Fulgencia, 142 Ba’th Party, 122, 123, 139 Battle of the Palace, 137 La Baule Conference, 59, 182 Beg, Mirza Afzal, 151 Bedie, Konan, 135 Der Begriff des Politischen (The Concept of the Political), 32 behavioralism, 51, 54–59 behavioral revolution, 51–54, 54–55 Belaunde, Fernando, 115, 149 Belgium, 27, 29, 91, 133, 160, 214, 216 Benferroni test, 189–90 table Bengal, West, 110, 146 Bengladesh National Party, 108, 111 Benin, 16, 66, 170; authoritarianism in, 127, 128; compromise-resistant politics in, 204; electoral fraud in, 98; electoral violence in, 111; illicit use of state power in, 134–35; violent opposition in, 155 Bentham, Jeremy, 218 Berlin, West, 161 Berlusconi, Silvio, 133

319

Betancourt, Romulo, 96, 147 Bharatiya Janata Party, 100 Bhutto, Benazir, 97, 107, 110, 130, 133, 135, 139–40, 168, 202 Bhutto, Zulfikar Ali, 96, 121 Biazon, Rodolfo, 140 Bihar, 107, 110, 146 Bishop, Maurice, 114 Biya, Paul, 111 Black Panther Party, 159 Blanco Party, 102 Boame, 138 Boix, Carles, 35 Bokassa, Jean-Bedel, 96, 128 Bolivia, 2, 16, 151, 168, 191, 205, 206; democratization of, 60; dictatorial power in, 143, 168; electoral coups in, 108, 109, 167; electoral fraud in, 96; electoral violence in, 110; illicit opposition in, 152; illicit use of state power in, 131, 136; overpoliticization data and, 179; violent opposition in, 158 Bolivian Forces of Liberation (FBL), 152 Bonaparte, Louis Napoleon, 220 Bongo, Omar, 104, 111, 131 Borgou region, 134 Botswana, 16, 17, 101, 123; dictatorial power in, 145–46; electoral fraud in, 96, 166; electoral monopoly in, 100, 104, 166; overpoliticization data and, 179; violent opposition in, 155 Botswana Democratic Party, 100 Botswana Polytechnic, 146 Boumedienne, Houari, 126, 127 Bourguiba, Habib, 125 Bratton, Michael, 66 Brazil, 4, 15, 75, 77, 78, 82, 83, 87, 95, 98, 99, 107, 110, 134, 142, 154, 168, 191, 205, 206, 208, 248; and authoritarian behaviors, 115–16; compromise-resistant politics in, 203; democracy in, 212; democratization of, 59, 60–61; dictatorial power in, 141, 144, 168; economy of, 29; electoral coups in, 167; electoral

320

Index

Brazil (continued) fraud in, 166; electoral monopoly in, 103–04; electoral violence in, 112, 113; illicit opposition in, 152; illicit use of state power in, 132, 133, 168; overpoliticization data and, 179; politics in, 199; violent opposition in, 158 Britain, 43, 90, 179, 181. See also England Buddhism, 37, 85, 250 Buganda, 137 Bula Matari, 90 bureaucratic-authoritarian model, 83, 116 Burkina Faso, 63, 88, 127, 130, 170; electoral fraud in, 98; 104, 108, 123; electoral monopoly in, 100 Burma, 58, 83, 85, 120–21, 170 Burnham, Forbes, 97 Burundi, 2, 58, 106, 123, 156, 157, 158, 170, 177, 186 table, 201–02 Bush, George W., 140, 162, 224–25 Bustos, Juan, 150 Cabral, Amilcar, 126 Caldera, Rafael, 102 Calderon regime, 96 Calles, Plutarco Elias, 103 Cambio 90 Nueva Majoria, 105 Cambodia, 2, 28, 85, 110, 167, 191; authoritarianism in, 117, 119, 120; electoral coups in, 108; electoral fraud in, 99; electoral violence in, 112; overpoliticization data and, 179, 181; p frequency in, 186 table; violent opposition in, 155, 156, 158 Cameroon: dictatorial power in, 136, 168; electoral coups in, 88, 108; electoral fraud in, 96, 97, 166; electoral monopoly in, 100; electoral violence in, 111; illicit use of state power in, 133 Campaore, Blaise, 104, 108 Canadian government, 159 Cape Verde, 126, 179

capitalism, 82–83, 220–22; and the state, 235–55 capitalist (core) relations, 6, 204, 208– 09, 217, 247. See also capitalism capitalist state, 217, 220, 233–35 Cardenas, Lazaro, 203 Cardoso, Fernando Enrique, 82–83, 132, 144 Caribbean, 9, 11, 12, 76, 90, 91, 103– 04, 113, 114, 154, 167, 176, 176 table, 178, 182, 250 Carlos the Jackal, 160, 172 Carmondo (General), 162 Casamance, 155, 203 Casement, Roger, 90 Castro, Fidel, 114, 142 Catalonia, 163 caudillo, 113, 163 Cellules Combattantes Communistes, 160 Central African Republic, 88, 96, 97, 98, 128, 158, 166 Central America, 9, 83, 84, 114, 154, 167, 170, 241 Ceram, 138 Césaire, Aimé, 1, 2, 15 Chad, 104, 136, 156, 157, 158, 186 table Chad National Liberation Front (FROLINAT), 157 Chalmers, Douglas, 41, 79 Chamorro, Violetta, 48, 114, 145 Chang Myon, 121 Chavez, Hugo, 85, 99, 102, 105, 109, 149 Chen (President), 2 Chiapas, 132, 136, 203 Chicago, 158, 161 Chile, 77, 111, 167, 169, 170, 191, 206, 208, 241, 248; authoritarian behaviors in, 113, 115–16; compromise-resistant politics in, 203; corruption in, 133; dictatorial power in, 141, 144–45, 150–51, 168; electoral violence in, 112; illicit use of state power in, 135; overpoliticization data and, 179; violent opposition in, 158

Index Chili, mi Patria, 150 Chiluba, Frederick, 100, 135, 138 China, 58, 90, 117, 146, 153, 170, 199, 202, 239, 240, 241, 242, 245, 246, 248, 253; authoritarianism in, 119– 20; clan in, 243; dictatorial power in, 139; illicit opposition in, 151; illicit use of state power in, 133; overpoliticization data and, 177, 182 Chinese Hong Kong, 247 Chissano, Joaquim, 157 Christian Democratic Party (COPEI Venezuela), 102, 167 Christian Democratic Party (Guatemala), 131 Christian Democrats (Italy), 161 Chun Doo Hwan, 122, 139 Cicero, 198 civilian rule, 118, 123, 125–26 Civil Rights Act of 1964, 159 civil rights movement, 43, 158, 159 Claes, Willie, 133 Clapham, Christopher, 80 Clinton, Hillary Rodham, 160 Clinton, William, 65 coercion, states’ legitimate use of, 199– 201 Collegiado (Collegial Executive), 102 Collor, Fernando de Mello, 134 Colombia, 27, 72, 154, 171, 191, 207, 231, 240, 241; and authoritarian behaviors, 113; compromise-resistant politics in, 203; democracy in, 212, 231; democratization of, 61, 63; dictatorial power in, 147; electoral monopoly in, 16, 101–02, 103, 167; electoral violence in, 111–12, 113, 167; illicit state power in, 132, 168; overpoliticization data and, 179, 185; political culture in, 211, 230; violent opposition in, 155, 158 Colorado Party, 97, 102, 143 Colosio, Donaldo, 112 Columbus, 81 Committee for Defense of Legitimate Rights, 117, 139

321

common good, 197–98 common interest, 229 Communion Movement, 163 communism, 158–59 Communist Party (Brazil), 141 Communist Party of China (CPC), 119, 120 Comoros, 111, 179 comparative politics, the behavioral revolution and, 52–53 compromise, 204, 223. See also liberal compromise Conde, Roberto Cortez, 133 Confucianism, 250 Congo, 2, 86, 90, 91, 92 Congo-Brazzaville, 108, 138, 158, 167 Congo Crisis, 156 Congolese National Convention (CONACO), 106 Congo-Zaire, 107, 127, 128, 133, 138, 157, 206, 248; and colonial powers, 91; dictatorial power in, 137; electoral coups in, 106, 167; illicit opposition in, 151; p frequency in, 186 table; violent opposition in, 156, 158 Congress Party, 16, 100, 101 consensus, 223; hegemonic, 236 Conservative Party (Colombia), 101, 102, 167 Consolidation of the Labor Law, 115–16 Contra, 155 core relations, 6, 239, 242–56 corporatism, 115, 118 Corradi, Juan, 103 corruption, official. See state, illicit power used by Corsica, 165, 171 Cortes (parliament), 163 Costa Rica, 83–84, 154, 166, 170, 240, 241; authoritarian behaviors in, 113; dictatorial power in, 147; electoral fraud in, 96, 166; electoral monopoly in, 103–04; electoral violence in, 110, 167; overpoliticization data and, 179, 181

322

Index

Côte d’Ivoire, 16, 88, 125, 126, 134, 135, 158, 208, 248 Council of State, 116 Court of Constitutional Guarantees, 142 Craxi, 133 Crozier, Michel, 228–29 Cuba, 2, 114, 142, 151, 156, 170, 179, 181 Cubas, Raul Grau, 150 Cultural Revolution, 120 culture, 34, 62, 77, 85, 239–43, 250, 256 Culture Matters, 239–41 Cyprus, 163 Dacko, David, 96 Dahl, Robert, 67–68, 219 Darod clan, 38 Deby, Idriss, 104, 157 de la Guardia, Ernesto, 141 de Lozada, Sanchez, 109, 143 Delvalle, Arturo, 108 Democracia Popular, 108 democracy: consolidated, 212; illiberal, 42, 65, 212; new, 211–12; non-, 211–12; nonconsolidated, 212; prerequisites for, 60–61; pseudo, 211–12; stable, 231 Democracy and the Market, 69–70 Democratic Action Party: Malaysia, 130; Venezuela, 102, 167 democratic consolidation, 61, 64 Democratic Convention (Chicago), 158 Democratic Liberal Party (DLP—South Korea), 101 Democratic Party: Botswana, 166; South Korea, 107; United States, 224 democratic regimes. See electoralist regimes Democratic Revolutionary Party, 112 democratization: by institutional fiat, 59–72; as universalism, 62–65; literature as theoretical dead end, 65–72 Deng Xiaoping, 120 Denmark, 214

Dependency and Development in Latin America, 82–83 dependency theory, 72–73, 82–83 De Tocqueville, Alexis, 197 Deutsch, Karl, 30 developing countries. See Third World Dia, Mamadou, 145 Diamond, Larry, 28 dictatorial power, 48, 136–51, 168, 169 Diori, Hamani, 105 Diouf, Abdou, 145 Dirty War, 115 Djibouti, 38, 179 Doe, Samuel, 99, 157, 202 Dominica, 147, 154, 178 Dominican Republic, 108, 112, 113, 167, 179, 212 dos Santos, Jose Eduardo, 106 Dreyfus, Enrique, 145 dualism, 56 Duran (President), 143 Dussel, Enrique, 81 Duvalier, François, 114, 151, 155 East German secret police (STASI), 160 Easton, David, 23–24, 30, 32, 33, 41, 51, 55, 196, 229, 231 Eckstein, Harry, 229 Ecuador, 16, 108, 110, 111, 129, 154, 168, 169, 205, 206, 212, 240, 241; compromise-resistant politics in, 203; democratization of, 60; dictatorial power in, 142, 143, 149, 168; electoral coups in, 108, 109, 167; electoral fraud in, 97; electoral violence in, 112; illicit use of state power in, 129, 136; overpoliticization data and, 179; violent opposition in, 158 Egypt, 3, 122, 123, 127, 151, 167, 248; authoritarianism in, 128–29; dictatorial power in, 137, 168; electoral coups in, 105–06, 167; electoral monopoly in, 100; electoral violence in, 110, 111; free officers in, 127;

Index illicit use of state power in, 130, 168; violent opposition in, 158 El Alou prison, 129 electoralist behaviors, 44–48, 95–113, 166–67, 205–06; coup, 45 table, 46, 48, 105–09, 167, 168, 205, 207; fraud, 44, 45 table, 48, 95–99, 166, 168, 205; monopoly, 44, 45 table, 46, 48, 99–100, 166–67, 168, 205, 207; quantitative data for and overpoliticization, 174, 177, 178–79, 182, 183 table,183–93; violence, 45 table, 46, 47, 109–11, 167, 169, 205 electoralist regimes, 5 Elias, Serrano, 98 El Nino, 135 El Salvador, 83–84, 145, 213, 240; authoritarian behaviors in, 114; compromise-resistant politics in, 203; dictatorial power in, 141; electoral coups in, 108; electoral fraud in, 96, 97, 166; electoral violence in, 112; illicit use of state power in, 131–32, 168; overpoliticization data and, 179; p frequency in, 186 table; violent opposition in, 155 Encomienda policy, 203 Endara (President), 143 England, 27, 150, 165 Equatorial Guinea, 129, 137, 158, 169, 179 Erbakan, Necmetin, 148 Eritrea, 58, 124, 158 Ershad, Mohammad, 97, 121, 139 L’Essence du politique (The Essence of the Political), 32 Estado Novo, 162 Estensorro, Paz, 110 Ethiopia, 3, 38, 58, 76, 123, 126, 158 Europe, 28, 57, 58, 61, 75, 160, 166, 116, 216, 217, 254; Eastern, 21; Western, 9, 10, 23, 81, 87, 133, 161, 216 European Union, 10 Euskadi ta Askatasuna (ETA), 160 Evans, Peter, 73, 199 Eyadema, Etienne, 104, 128, 137

323

EZLN (Ejercito Zapatista de Liberacion Nacional), 203 Facts on File, Keesings Contemporary Archives, 173–74 Faisal (King), 122 Falangists, 163 Faletto, Enzo, 82–83 “false dawn: the delusions of global capitalism,” 253 Fanon, Franz, 77 Farabundo Marti Front for the National Liberation (FMLN), 112, 131, 155 Farouk (King), 106 Federation of National and European Action (FANE), 160 feudalism, 80–81, 101, 245 Figueres, 96 Fiji, 158 Finland, 181 FLN, 126 Florida, 161,162, 224 France, 29, 43, 59, 70, 90, 125, 151, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 164–65, 181, 191, 214, 216, 220, 232 Franco, 57, 144, 162, 163, 164 Frank, André Gunder, 73, 74, 239, 241 Freedom House, 173, 212 Free National Movement (FNM), 103 Frei, Eduardo, 145, 150 French Revolution, 76 Freund, Julien, 32, 33–34, 41 Friedland, Roger, 230–31 Frondizi (President), 107, 141 Front de Libération Nationale (FLN), 123, 126, 157 FSLN, 155. See Sandinista Fuentes, Carlos, 248 Fujimori, Alberto, 86, 105, 107, 132, 133, 136, 142–43, 149 Fujimori, Susana Higuchi de, 133 Fukuyama, Francis, 61–62 Gabon, 3, 76, 88, 98, 100, 104, 111, 131, 168

324

Index

Gambia, 123, 170, 177, 178 Gandhi, Indira, 96, 101, 146 Gandhi, Rajiv, 101 Garcia, Alan, 134, 149 Garcia, Luis, 131, 143 Gbagbo, Laurent, 135 Geertz, Clifford, 242 generalissimo, 163 general theory. See universalism Geneva Accords, 119 Georgia, 161 German Red Army Faction, 160, 161 Germany, 27, 29, 160, 161, 181, 192; East, 161 Ghana, 15, 28, 29, 104, 167, 170, 240, 241; authoritarianism in, 125, 127, 128; dictatorial power in, 136–37; electoral fraud in, 97, 166; electoral violence in, 111 Giddens, Anthony, 217 Golkar party, 118 Good Friday Accords, 165 Gordon (General), 151 Gore, Al, 162, 224 Goulart, Joao, 107, 115, 141 Gould, Stephen, 1, 2, 15 Gramsci, Antonio, 34, 35, 233–34, 236, 237 Gray, John, 253 Great Britain, 90, 165–66. See also England Greece, 161–64, 171, 181, 192, 245 Grenada, 113, 154, 178 Group of 77, 76 Grunitzky, 137 Guanajuato state, 98 Guatemala, 28, 83–84, 191, 208, 240; authoritarian behaviors in, 114; compromise-resistant politics in, 203; dictatorial power in, 141, 142, 143; electoral fraud in, 97, 166; overpoliticization data and, 184; illicit state power in, 131, 136, 168 Guatemala City, 136 Guei, Robert, 135 Guerrero, 132 Guinea, 88, 98, 111, 112, 125, 151

Guinea Bissau, 108, 126, 158, 167, 179 Gutierez, Lucio, 109 Guyana, 97, 103; authoritarian behaviors in, 113; and colonial rule, 90; dictatorial power in, 142; electoral coups in, 108; electoral fraud in, 99; electoral monopoly in, 166; electoral violence in, 112, 113 Guyane, 90 Habermas, Jurgen, 234 Habré, Hissène, 157 Hague, 161 Haiti, 16, 17, 59, 82, 113, 151, 166, 179, 181, 240; electoral fraud in, 96, 97, 99; authoritarian behaviors in, 114; compromise-resistant politics in, 203; p frequency in, 186 table; violent opposition in, 155, 158 Harambe, 199 Harrison, Laurence, 239–41 Haryana state, 98 Hashimite dynasty, 122 Hassan, Moulay (Hassan II), 124–25, 130, 137 Hassan V (King), 123, 124 Hayat, Farhana, 133 Hegel, G. F. W., 34, 200 hegemony, 89, 116, 233–34, 236–38 Hekmatyar faction, 156 Held, David, 220 Heng Samrin, 156 Himachal Pradesh, 146 Hinduism, 37, 85, 250 Hirschman, Albert O., 54–55 Hobbes, 33, 34, 197, 198, 218 Holland, 90, 161 Holy Quran (Koran), 86, 119 Honduras, 84, 240; authoritarian behaviors in, 114; dictatorial power in, 142, 149; electoral fraud in, 96, 99; illicit use of state power in, 131, 136 horizontal empirical unity, 13, 213 Houphouet-Boigny, Félix, 125, 126, 135

Index Houston, 152 Hoyte, Desmond, 97 Hun Sen, 99, 108, 156 Huntington, Samuel, 6, 223, 230, 239– 41; and authoritarian institutions, 54; and democracy, 62, 63, 228–29, 231; and institutional universalism, 57–59; and modernization, 254–55; and society-rooted politics, 217; and violent opposition, 152 Huq, Fazlul, 130 Hussain, Saddam, 122, 139 Hussein (King), 139 Hutu, 106, 157, 202 Ibarra, Jose Velasco, 110 Iberia, 89; culture, 20; colonial past, 80, 81, 243 Ibrahim, Anwar, 135 illicit opposition, 151–52, 205 IMF (International Monetary Fund), 115, 137 Inca ayllu, 243 India, 16, 17, 27, 28, 29, 60–61, 76, 78, 89, 90, 151, 153, 155, 166, 169, 170, 171, 191, 206, 208, 241, 243, 248; authoritarianism in, 117; compromise-resistant politics in, 202–03; democracy in, 212; dictatorial power in, 146; electoral coups in, 107, 167; electoral fraud in, 96–97, 98, 99, 166; electoral monopoly in, 100–01; electoral violence in, 110, 112, 167; illicit use of state power in, 131, 133; overpoliticization data and, 179, 185; politics in, 199, 211; violent opposition in, 158 Indonesia, 28, 76, 85, 86, 89, 108, 158, 167, 169, 248, 249; authoritarianism in, 118, 120; and colonial rule, 90– 91; dictatorial power in, 138–39, 148; electoral violence in, 112; illicit opposition in, 152; illicit use of state power in, 129, 133 Inglehart, Ronald, 240 Inside Asia Magazine, 146

325

institutionalism: new, 60, 69–71, 231– 32; historical (HI), 196–97; rational choice (RCI), 196–97 institutionalization, 53–54 institutions, political, 5, 35–36; and the state as effects of politics, 196–201; formal, 196; informal, 196; liberal democratic, politics, and the state, 218–22 Iran, 117, 119, 138, 139, 152, 158, 170 Iraq, 58, 122–23, 139, 152, 158, 177, 184 Ireland, 165, 181 Irish Republican Army (IRA), 160, 165 Islam, 38, 63, 86, 87, 119, 127, 250, 255 Islamic fundamentalism, 137, 148 Islamic Salvation Front (FIS), 106, 138, 157 Israel, 76, 160 Istiqlal Party, 124 Italian Armed Revolutionary Nuclei, 160 Italian Red Brigade, 160 Italy, 27, 29, 133, 161, 165, 171, 181, 192, 216 Jackson, Jesse, 224 Jamaica, 17, 110, 154, 166, 169, 206; electoral coups in, 108, 167; electoral fraud in, 97, 166; electoral violence in, 112, 167; violent opposition in, 158 Jamaica Labour Party, 97, 206 Jammu, 110, 151, 155 Japan, 9, 28, 43, 61, 76, 90, 133, 166, 176 table, 177–85, 192, 211, 216, 240 Japanese Red Army, 160 Java, 90 Jayewardene, Junius, 96 Jimenez, Perez, 96, 147 Johnson, Chalmers, 55, 71 Johnson administration, 159 Jonathan, Leabua, 106 Jordan, 117, 139, 152, 168

326

Index

Jordanian Writers Society, 139 Justice of Venezuela (LJV), 152 Justicialist Party, 102, 167. See also Peronist movement Kabaka of Buganda, 151. See also Mutesa, Edward Kabila, Laurent, 86, 156 Kamrava, Mehran, 210–12 kanda, 243 Kasai, 156 Kasavubu, Joseph, 106, 137 Kashmir, 110, 146, 155 Katanga Secession, 151, 156 Kateb, George, 222–23 Katzenstein, Peter, 257 Kaunda, Kenneth, 100, 125, 135 Keehn, E. B., 55, 71 Keesings Record of World Events, 173–74 Keita, Modibo, 125 Kenya, 38, 98, 129, 169, 178, 248; authoritarianism in, 125, 126; democracy in, 212; democratization of, 63; electoral coups in, 108, 167; electoral monopoly in, 100; electoral violence in, 111; illicit use of state power in, 129, 133; opposition violence in, 158; overpoliticization data and, 178; politics in, 199 Kenya African National Union (KANU), 126 Kenya’s People Union, 126 Kenyatta, 125, 126, 167 Kerala, 110, 131, 146, 199 Kerekou, Mathieu, 134–35, 162, 204 Khama, Seretse, 100 Khan, Ayub, 121 Khan, Ghulam Ishaq, 140 Khan, Muhammed Daoud, 119 Khan, Yahya, 106, 121 Khatamini, Muhammad, 119 Khmer Rouge, 156 Khomeini, 139 Kibaki, Mwai, 63 Kikuyu farmers, 199

Kimba, Evariste, 106 Kim Dae Jung, 108 King, Anthony, 239 King, Martin Luther, Jr., 159 Kittikachorn, Thanom, 120 Kongo Kingdom, 81 Kubitschek, Juscelino, 107, 141 Kuki tribe, 155 Kullavanijaya, Pichit, 140 Kumaratunga, Chandrika, 112 Kuwait, 29, 76, 117–18, 139, 152 Kwilu region, 156 Kwomintang Party, 104, 199 Lacalle, Luis, 144 Landes, David, 240 Laos, 96, 104, 119 LaPalombara, Joseph, 231 Latin America, 2, 4, 9, 22, 27, 41, 79, 80, 81, 89, 129, 152, 159, 211, 213, 214, 249 Lazado (President), 108 Lebanon, 160, 241 Lee Hsien Loong, 101 Lee Kwan Yew, 62, 86, 101, 237 Lee Teng-Hui, 62, 141, 152, 168 legitimacy, 223, 229–31 Lenin, 220, 233 Leonardi government, 114 Leopold (King), 90 Lesotho, 98, 99, 106, 111, 112, 138 Lesotho Congress for Democracy, 99 Letsie III (King), 138 liberal compromise, 31 figure, 40, 222– 25, 228–38 Liberal Party, 101, 102, 167 Liberal Party (South Korea), 107 Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE), 36, 152 Liberia, 28, 170; authoritarianism in, 58, 123; compromise-resistant politics in, 201–02; electoral fraud in, 96; electoral monopoly in, 99, 166; p frequency in, 186 table; violent opposition in, 156, 157, 158

Index Libya, 157 Lijphart, Arend, 214 Lindblom, Charles, 35, 235 Linz, Juan, 28, 61 Lipset, S. M., 28, 229, 230 Lissouba, Pascal, 138 Locke, John, 34, 198, 218 Lon Nol, 156 Louis XIV, 57 Luciani, Giacomo, 86 Lumumba, Patrice, 137, 151, 156 M-19, 102, 111, 207 Macao, 81 Machel, Samora, 126, 157 macrodeductive theories, 18 Madagascar, 104, 108, 111, 123, 170 Madya, 146 Maghrib, 122 Mahoney, James, 83 Mahuad, Jamil, 16, 109 Malawi, 3, 111, 125, 129, 130 Malays, 146, 202 Malaysia, 16, 89, 90, 101, 104, 110, 130, 170, 202, 248, 249; authoritarianism in, 117; dictatorial power in, 146–47; electoral coups in, 108, 167; electoral fraud in, 97, 166; electoral monopoly in, 166; electoral violence in, 112; illicit use of state power in, 135; opposition violence in, 158; overpoliticization data and, 179 Malcolm X, 159 Mali: authoritarianism in, 108, 112, 125, 127, 128, 158, 170 Malik, Naveed, 97 Mandela, Nelson, 236 Manipur, 155 Mao Zedong, 119–20 Marcos, Ferdinand, 86, 118, 139, 140 Marehan, 38. See Darod clan Marseilles, 161 Marx, Karl, 34 Marxism, 19, 34, 217–18, 220, 221, 222, 228, 232–38, 244–46

327

Masire, Quett, 100 Masonic lodges, 163 Masood, 156 Matabeleland, 146, 155 Mauritania, 3, 83, 108 Mauritius, 98, 123, 145, 179 Mayer, Laurence, 55, 229–30, 231 Mecca Rebellion, 117 Menem, Carlos, 16, 65, 86, 102–03, 104–05, 130–31, 144, 150 Mercosur, 150 Merton, Robert, 53–54 Mesa, Carlos Diego, 2, 109 Mestizos, 72 Mexico, 15, 58, 77, 78–79, 82, 104, 111, 134, 154, 170, 248; authoritarian behaviors in, 113; compromiseresistant politics in, 203; electoral fraud in, 97, 98, 166; electoral monopoly in, 103; electoral violence in, 112; illicit use of state power in, 132; overpoliticization data and, 185; violent opposition in, 158 Mexico City, 2 Miami, 161 microdeductive theories, 18 Middle East, 2, 9, 11, 27, 87, 122, 139, 151, 168, 177, 184, 208, 227, 239 Miliband, Ralph, 235 Mill, James, 218 Mirza, Iskander, 130 Mitterand, François, 59, 182 Mobutu, Sese Seko, 86, 106, 128, 133– 34, 137, 156 Modernization and BureaucraticAuthoritarianism, 82–83 modernization theory, 53–54, 55–56, 84–85 Mogul, 202 Mohamad, Mahathir, 104, 130, 135 Mohammad, Ghulam, 106 Mohammed V (King), 123, 130 Mohammed VI (King), 123, 124 Moi, Arap, 125, 129, 167, 199 Moluki Islands, 91 monarchic rule, 117, 123–25

328

Index

Montesquieu, 198, 228 Moore, Barrington, 35 Morocco, 163, 167, 169; authoritarianism in, 123, 124–25; dictatorial power in, 137; electoral violence in, 169; illicit use of state power in, 129, 130 Mossadegh, Mohammed, 138 Movement for Multiparty Democracy (MMD), 100 Mozambique, 28, 81, 98, 108, 126, 156, 170, 179, 186 table Mozambique Liberation Front (FRELIMO), 108, 126, 127, 156 Mswati III, 123, 124 Mubarak, Hosni, 123 Mugabe, Robert, 98, 100, 146, 202 Muhammad, Murtala, 148 Mujaheddins, 119, 156 Mujibur, 121 Mulele, Pierre, 156 Muller, George P., 179, 180 table Museveni, Yoweri, 48, 157 Mutesa, Edward, 137, 151. See also the Kabaka of Buganda Myanmar (Burma), 108, 138, 139, 158, 170 Naga tribe, 155 Naipaul, Shiva, 76 Naples, 160 Nasser, Gamal, 122, 129, 168 National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), 162, 224 National Awami Party, 121 National Democratic Party (Egypt), 128–29 Nationalist Party, 165 National League for Democracy (NLD), 108 National Liberation Front of Corsica (FLNC), 164 National Patriotic Front of Liberia, 157 National Public Radio, 16 National Republican Alliance (ARENA), 112, 131

National Resistance Movement, 157 National Revolutionary Movement, 118 National Security Act (South Korea), 149 National Security Council (Turkey), 148 National Security Planning Agency (South Korea), 122 Native Americans, 131, 159, 216 NATO, 133, 160 Nazimuddin, 106 Nehru, 131 Nehru family, 101 neo-Nazi movement (groups), 160, 161 neopatrimonialism, 66–67, 80 Nepal, 2, 179, 181 Netherlands, 214 Ne Win, 120, 138 New Zealand, 9 Ngo Dinh Diem, 118, 167 Nicaragua, 49, 82, 83–84, 99, 106, 109, 136, 145, 168, 170, 181, 191, 206, 208, 212, 240; electoral fraud in, 99; electoral monopoly in, 104, 105, 108, 114, 155, 167; p frequency in, 186 table; violent opposition in, 158 Niger, 88, 105, 123, 158, 167, 170, 231 Nigeria, 15, 58, 83, 106, 107, 127, 157, 170; authoritarianism in, 128; compromise-resistant politics in, 201–02; democratization in, 63; dictatorial power in, 137, 147–48; electoral fraud in, 96, 97, 98, 166; illicit state power in, 133; politics in, 199; violent opposition in, 158 Nigerian National Democratic Party, 96 Nkomo, Joshua, 146 N’krumah, Kwame, 125, 127, 136, 167 Non-Aligned Movement, 76 non-Western countries. See Third World Noriega, Manuel, 108 North Africa, 9 North America, 9, 23, 28, 43, 81, 87, 254 Northern Ireland, 36, 43, 160, 165, 171 North Korea, 182 North Vietnam, 119, 177, 186 table

Index Norway, 214 November 17 Group, 164 Nyang’oro, Julius, 86 Nyerere, Julius, 125 Oaxaca, 132 Obasanjo, Olusegun, 98, 137, 148 Obote, Milton, 96, 137, 151 O’Connor, James, 235, 237 O’Donnell, Guillermo, 63, 67–68, 82– 83, 87 Offe, Claus, 234 Ogaden clan, 38 Oklahoma City federal building, 165–66 Olympio, 137 Oman, 139 Ongania, Juan Carlos, 114–15 Organization of American States (OAS), 105, 165 Osorio, Carlos Rana, 131 Osorio, Oscar, 96 Ouattara, Alousane, 135 Oufkir, 137 overpoliticized behaviors. See authoritarian, electoralist, and shared behaviors overpoliticized state/overpoliticization, 1, 36–41; argument for, 4–9; in authoritarian regimes, 113–29, 162– 64; basic proposition and hypotheses about, 253–56; comparative variables of, 42–49; and compromise-resistant politics, 201–15, 256–57; in democratic regimes, 95–113; differences among Third World countries, 166– 69, 192–93; in electoralist regimes, 161; explanation of, 238–56; and liberal compromise, 256–57; liberal democratic state as contrast to, 215– 25; pervasive (p frequency), 186 table; quantitative data and procedure of research, 173–75; results and interpretation of quantitative data supporting, 175–92; shared by electoralist and authoritarian regimes, 129–58, 164; similarities among Third World countries, 169–72, 192–

329

93; supporting data, 173–94; the term, 41–42; understanding of, 195– 215; versus liberal compromise, 31; in Western countries, 158–66 Oviedo, Lino, 143, 149–50 Pacific Rim, 77 Pahlavi, Mohammed Reza, 138 Pakistan, 121, 153, 155, 170, 202, 207, 208; authoritarianism in, 117; democracy in, 212; democratization of, 60; dictatorial power in, 138, 139–40, 168; East, 106, 138; electoral fraud in, 96–98, 166; electoral coups in, 106–07, 167; electoral violence in, 110, 167; illicit use of state power in, 130, 133, 135, 168; opposition violence in, 158; overpoliticization data and, 179, 181, 185; West, 106 Pakistan Muslim League (PML), 110, 140 Pakistan People’s Party, (PPP), 96, 107, 110, 140 Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), 160 Panama, 96, 97, 105, 108, 113, 114, 141, 143, 152, 179, 181 Papandreou, 163 Papua Guinea, 29 Papua Islands, 91 Paraguay: dictatorial power in, 141–42, 149–50; electoral fraud in, 97; electoral monopoly in, 104; electoral violence in, 112; violent opposition in, 158 Parana state, 152 Paris, 161 Park Chung Hee, 121–22, 138 Parsons, Talcott, 53–54, 231, 245 particularism, 2, 3, 8, 12, 26, 27, 51, 95, 212, 213, 240, 255; in Africa, 87–92; in Asia, 84–87; in South America, 79–84; and anti-Third Worldism, 76–79; versus universalism, 18–23 Parti Démocratique de la Guineé (PDG), 125

330

Index

Partido Liberal Constitucionalista (PLC), 105 Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI), 15, 103, 104, 112, 113, 132 Party for Peace and Democracy, 107 Party of the Brazilian Democratic Movement (PMDB), 206 paternalistic authority, 84–85 path dependence, 83–84 patrimonialism, 60, 80, 91 Patriotic Union, 102, 112, 132 Pentagon, 140 People’s Action Party, 101 People’s National Congress, 99, 103, 167 People’s National Party, 97 People’s Progressive Party, 99, 103 Perez, Carlos Andres, 102, 147 Peron, Isabel, 115 Peron, Juan, 102, 109–10, 114–15, 141, 167 Peronist movement, 102–03, 104, 107, 114 Perrault, Gilles, 124 Peru, 16, 28, 83, 86, 90, 107, 132, 133, 134, 136, 145, 152, 154, 191, 206, 240, 241; authoritarian behaviors in, 115–16; democratization of, 60, 63; dictatorial power in, 141, 142, 168; electoral coups in, 167; electoral fraud in, 97, 166; electoral monopoly in, 105; electoral violence in, 112; illicit use of state powers in, 168; overpoliticization data and, 179; politics in, 199; violent opposition in, 155, 158 Peruvian Amazon Rubber Company, 90 p frequency. See overpoliticization: pervasive Philippines, 3, 16, 81, 85, 86, 90, 118, 139, 143, 170; authoritarianism in, 117; compromise-resistant politics in, 203; democratization of, 60; as democratic consolidation, 64; dictatorial power in, 140, 168; electoral violence in, 110, 112, 167;

illicit use of state power in, 132; violent opposition in, 155, 158 Pinilla, Gustavo Rojas, 147 Pinkney, Robert, 62 Pinochet, Augusto, 63, 116, 144–45, 150, 167, 170, 208 Plato, 34, 197, 228 pluralism, 55, 219–20, 229, 230 Poggi, Giofranco, 32, 209 Policia Internacionale de Defesa do Estado (PIDE), 163 political: culture, 210–12, 230–31; stability, 223; the, 23–24 Political Order in Changing Societies, 6, 57 politicized state, 41–42 politics, 5, 30–36, 256–57; compromise-resistant, 201–15, 256–57; liberal-democratic institutions, the state, and, 218–22; political institutions and the state as effects of, 196– 201; society-rooted, 215–18 Polo Patriotico, 109 polyarchy, theory of, 67–68 Pope John Paul II, 136, 198 Popkin, Samuel, 22 Popular Front (Portugal), 163 Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, 160 Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola (MPLA), 106, 126, 156 Popular Revolutionary Army, 154 Portugal, 59, 89, 90, 151, 156, 161–64, 171, 181 Poujade, Pierre, 161 Poujadism (UDCA), 161 Poulantzas, Nicos, 220–21, 233–34, 237 precapitalist core relations, 6 Progressive Liberal Party (PLP), 103 Protestant Unionists, 165 Przeworski, Adam, 23, 24, 69–70, 235, 249 Puerto Rico, 43, 165, 171 Punjab, 107, 111, 146, 155 Putumayo, 90 Pye, Lucian, 22, 84–86, 239, 242

Index Qatar, 139 Rabbani faction, 156 Radical Anti-Racist Action (RaRa), 161 Radical Civic Union Party, 102, 103 Rahman, Mujibur, 106, 118, 121 Rahman, Zia (Ziaur), 121 Rajasthan, 146 Ramgoolam, 145 Ramos, Fidel, 140, 155, 168 Ranariddh, Norodom, 99, 108 Rao, Narasimha, 98 rational choice theory, 70–72. See universalism Ratsiraka, Didier, 104, 108 Rawlings, Jerry, 104, 111, 127, 136 Reagan, Ronald, 59 Réné, France-Albert, 104 Repartimento policy, 203 Resistencia Nacional de Mocambique (RENAMO), 108, 157 Revolutionary Guards, 119 Rhee, Syngman, 96, 107, 118, 138 Rio de Janeiro, 98 Rio Grand do Sul, 152 Robles, Marco, 108 Rodriguez (General), 143 Roe Tae Woo, 122 Rome, 137, 198, 245 Rostenkowski, Dan, 133 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 33, 197, 198, 218 Rudolph, Susanne Hoeber, 19, 92–93, 239 Ruesschmeyer, Dietrich, 35 Russia, 10, 77 Rustin, Bayard, 159 Rwanda, 58, 157, 170, 177, 203; authoritarianism in, 123; compromise-resistant politics in, 201–02; p frequency in, 186 table; violent opposition in, 156, 158 Sachs, Jeffrey, 239 Sa’d Party, 106 Sadat, Anwar, 123, 128, 137 Salazar, Antonio, 162, 164 Salazar-Caetano regime, 164

331

Saleh, Ali Abdullah, 109 Salinas, Carlos, 98, 132–33, 134 Sanchez, Ilich Ramirez. See Carlos the Jackal Sandinistas, 49, 105, 109, 114, 145, 155, 206, 208 Sangkum Party, 117 Sankara, Thomas, 127 Santa Catarina state, 152 Santos, Jose Eduardo, 106 Saro-Wiwa, Ken, 137 Saudi Arabia, 58, 76, 167; authoritarianism in, 117–18; illicit opposition in, 151, 152; illicit use of state power in, 131; opposition violence in, 158 Sauvy, Alfred, 76 Savimbi, Jonas, 106, 156 Schaar, John, 223 Schmitt, Carl, 32–33, 197 Schmitter, Philippe, 61 Schultz, George, 59 Schumpeter, Joseph, 216 Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia, 160 Selassie, Haile, 123–24, 126 Sendero Luminoso, 112, 152. See also Shining Path Sénégal, 16, 17, 101, 104, 111, 151; authoritarianism in, 125; compromise-resistant politics in, 203; dictatorial power in, 145; electoral fraud in, 98, 99; electoral monopoly in, 100; electoral violence in, 112, 167, 169; illicit use of state power in, 129; violent opposition in, 155, 158 Senghor, Leópold, 99, 125, 145 Serrano, Jorge, 143 Seychelles, 104, 179 Shagari, Shehu, 96 Shah of Iran, 117 shared behaviors, 47 table, 48–49, 129– 58, 167–68, 206; quantitative data for and overpoliticization, 174, 177–78, 182, 183 table, 183–93

332

Index

Sharif, Nawas, 97, 107, 110, 130, 133, 140, 168, 202 Shastri Party, 100 Shining Path, 142 Shishakli (General), 122 Siad Barre, Mohammed, 38 Sicilian Mafia, 161 Sierra Leone, 123, 127, 128, 158, 170 Sihanouk, Norodom, 117, 156 Sikhs, 155 Sindh, 111, 139 Singapore, 4, 9, 16, 17, 62, 77, 86, 141, 247, 253; corruption in, 133; dictatorial power in, 168; electoral monopoly in, 101; liberal compromise in, 237–38; overpoliticization data and, 179 Singh Party, 100 Sinhalese, 36, 37, 40 Sinic culture, 85 Smelser, Neil, 245 Smith, Adam, 34, 198, 215, 218, 244 Sobhuza II, 123, 124 Social Democratic Party, 106 Socialist Workers’ Party, 161 society, 34, 243–53 Soglo, Nicephore, 134–35, 155 Somalia, 28, 35, 43–44, 170; authoritarianism in, 123; democratization of, 2; overpoliticization in, 38–39; p frequency in, 186 table; violent opposition in, 156, 158 Somali Revolutionary Socialist Party, 38 Somoza, 104, 114, 155 Soong, 104 South Africa, 28, 156, 158, 236–37, 248 South America: and authoritarian behaviors, 113–16, 168; bureaucratic-authoritarian model in, 83; colonial system in, 89–90; compromise-resistant politics in, 203; cultural differences, 250; definition of, 9; dictatorial power in, 141–45, 227; electoral coups in, 107–08,

109, 168; electoral fraud in, 95–96, 97; electoral monopoly in, 101–03, 104–05, 168; electoral violence in, 111–13; illicit opposition in, 151, 152; illicit use of state power in, 131–33, 135–36; overpoliticized behaviors in, 63; path dependence in, 83–84; particularism in, 79–84; political behaviors, 15–17, 62; results and interpretation of quantitative data supporting overpoliticization in, 175, 176 table, 177–78, 178 table, 179–93; violent opposition in, 153–54, 158; violent oppression in, 153 table. See also names of individual countries and Latin America South Asia, 168 South East Asia, 79, 90, 241, 248 Southern Europe, 59, 171 South Korea, 2, 4, 9, 16, 29, 75, 77, 107, 110, 139, 148, 166, 191, 205, 208, 240, 241, 247, 249; authoritarianism in, 117, 118, 120, 121–22; democratization of, 101; dictatorial power in, 138, 141, 168; electoral coups in, 108, 167; electoral fraud in, 96, 97, 99, 166; electoral violence in, 111; institutions in, 70; overpoliticization data and, 185; violent opposition in, 155, 158 South Vietnam, 118, 119, 156, 167, 186 table Soviet bloc, 10, 11, 20, 59, 69, 76, 77 Soviet Union, 10, 77, 156 Spain, 59, 80, 81, 89, 90, 129, 150, 161–64, 171, 181, 192, 216 Spiro, Herbert, 231 Sri Lanka, 28, 39, 40, 43–44, 152, 170, 171; authoritarianism in, 117; compromise-resistant politics in, 203; democratization of, 60–61; dictatorial power in, 146; electoral coups in, 107, 167; electoral fraud in, 96–97, 166; electoral violence in, 110, 112, 167; illicit use of state power in,

Index 131; overpoliticization in, 36–38, 58; overpoliticization data and, 179, 184; violent opposition in, 155, 158 Sri Lankan Freedom Party (SLFP), 110 state, 35–36; autonomy, 207; illicit power used by, 48–49, 129–36, 167– 68; 168–69, 207–08; format, 5; general explanatory principle of, 239–43; liberal democratic as contrast to overpoliticized, 215–25; and political institutions as effects of politics, 196–201; politics, liberal democratic institutions, and, 218–22 Stavrianos, L. S., 73 Stepan, Alfred, 61, 199 Stevens, Evelyne Huber, 35 Stevens, John, 35 St. Lucia, 103, 166 Stroessner (General), 104, 141, 143, 167, 170 structural functionalism, 54 Sub-Saharan Africa, 9, 27, 167 Sudan, 2, 58, 127, 130, 156, 157, 158, 172, 186 table, 203 Sudanese People’s Liberation Army (SPLA), 157 Suharto, 91, 118, 129, 139 Sukarno, 86, 118, 139, 167 Sukarnoputri, Megawati, 112 Supreme Court (U.S.), 224 Supreme Revolutionary Council, 38 Suriname, 90, 97 Swaziland, 123, 124, 152, 158, 167, 179 Syngman Rhee, 96, 107, 167 Syria, 122–23, 139, 152 Systems Analysis, 55 La Tablada, 145 Taiwan, 2, 4, 62, 90, 118, 182, 208, 247; authoritarianism in, 117; compromise-resistant politics in, 202; democracy in, 212; dictatorial power in, 141, 168; electoral fraud in, 97, 99, 166; electoral monopoly in, 104; emergency powers in, 141; illicit

333

opposition in, 152; illicit use of state power in, 135; politics in, 199; violent opposition in, 155 Talal (Prince), 117, 151 Talibans, 119, 156 Tambiah, S. J., 36–37 Tamil Nadu, 107, 146 Tamils, 36–38, 40 Tamil United Liberation Front, 107 Tanzania, 125, 157, 158 Tarija, 108, 152 Taylor, Charles, 157 territoriality, 199–201 terrorism, 160–61 Teune, Henry, 23, 24 Thailand, 2, 85, 110, 140, 170, 248, 249; authoritarianism in, 117, 120; compromise-resistant politics in, 203; dictatorial power in, 148–49, 168; electoral fraud in, 97, 99, 166; electoral violence in, 111; illicit use of state power in, 135; overpoliticization data and, 179, 181, 182; violent opposition in, 155, 158 Therborn, Goran, 221–22 Third World, 6; comparison with Western countries (fruit analogy), 23–30; conceptual unity among countries of, 13, 27–30, 251; democratization of, 3; dictatorial power in, 140–41; as term, 1, 2, 4, 7, 9, 20, 28, 76–79; mischaracterization of experiences, 15–23; and the overpoliticized state, 4–5 Thomas, Clive Y., 73, 74, 90 Thompson, Mark, 64 Tiananmen Square, 120 Timor, East, 81, 91, 112, 148 Tlas, Mustafa, 122 Togo, 98, 104, 112, 128, 137, 138, 158 Toledo, Alejandro, 206 Tombalbaye, François, 136 Torrijist Patriotic Vanguard (VPT-20), 152 Touré, Sekou, 125, 151 Transparency International, 133

334

Index

Trinidad-Tobago, 154, 181 triple convergence, 6, 243, 247, 251, 256 triple divergence, 6, 243, 249, 251, 253–56 True Whig Party, 26, 99, 166, 202 Trujillo, Rafael, 113 Truman, Harry, 165 Tshombe, Moise, 106 Tunisia, 58, 100, 108, 125 Tupac Amaru (MRTA), 112, 152 Tupamaros, 116, 132 Turkey, 170; democracy in, 212; dictatorial power in, 148, 168; electoral coups in, 167; illicit use of state power in, 135; opposition violence in, 158 Turkish refugees, 160 Tutsi, 106, 157, 202 Uganda, 48, 96, 127, 137, 100, 151, 152, 156, 157, 158, 186 table Uniao Nacional, 162 Union for the Total Independence of Angola (UNITA), 106, 156 Union of the Center (EK), 163 Union Progressiste Sénégalaise (UPS or Socialist Party), 15, 100, 104 United Arab Emirates, 76, 139 United Arab Repubic, 122 United Front, 106 United Kingdom, 165 United National Independence Party (UNIP), 100 United National Party, 96, 110 United Nations (UN), 96, 131, 156, 164, 165 United States, 27, 29, 42, 43, 59, 62, 80, 97, 105, 132, 133, 142, 155, 156, 158, 159, 164, 171, 172, 222, 223, 228, 246, 249; as colonial power, 90; institutions in, 70; liberal compromise in, 224–25; overpoliticization data and, 192; overpoliticization in, 161–62, 165–66; society-rooted politics in, 216–17

United Worker’s Party (UWP), 103, 166 universalism, 2, 3, 8, 12, 26–27, 51, 67–68, 79, 81, 92, 95, 212, 213, 241, 255; behavioralism as, 54–59; democratization as, 62–65; institutional, 57–59; and the Left, 72–75; liberal compromise in, 222–23; versus particularism, 18–23 Uruguay, 15, 28, 29, 77, 166, 170, 241; and authoritarian behaviors, 113, 116; democratization of, 59, 60; dictatorial power in, 143, 144, 168; electoral fraud in, 97, 166; electoral monopoly in, 102, 103; illicit use of state power in, 132, 135; overpoliticization data and, 179 Uttarkhand, 155 Uttar Pradesh, 146 van de Walle, Nicolas, 66 Vargas, Getulio, 95, 113 Vargas, Virgilio Barco, 102 Velasquez, Ramon Aquirre, 98 Venezuela, 2, 16, 17, 109, 147, 154, 169, 171, 191, 206, 248; and authoritarian behaviors, 113; compromise-resistant politics in, 203; democracy in, 212; democratization of, 61, 63; dictatorial power in, 149; electoral coups in, 108; electoral fraud in, 96, 99; electoral monopoly in, 101–02, 103, 167; electoral violence in, 113, 167; illicit opposition in, 152; illicit state power in, 129, 133; overpoliticization data and, 179, 181; political culture in, 211 Verba, Sidney, 8, 54, 229, 230, 231 Vienna, 161 Viet Cong, 156 Vietnam, 85, 155, 170, 182; authoritarianism in, 119, 120; dictatorial power in, 139; illicit opposition in, 151; overpoliticization data and, 177; p frequency in, 186 table; violent opposition in, 156 Vietnam War, 155, 158, 160, 232

Index violence, pervasive political (p frequency), 155–58 La Violencia, 147 violent opposition, 152–58, 153 tables, 168, 205 Voting Act of 1965, 159 Wade, Abdoulaye, 98, 100, 129 Wafd Party, 106, 110 Waheed, Abdul, 140 Wahid, Abdurrahman, 92, 112, 148 Wallerstein, Immanuel, 73, 239 Wasmosy, Juan Carlos, 143, 150 Waterbury, John, 87 Weber, Max, 33, 57, 80, 199–200, 209, 233, 240 West: definition of, 9; compared with Third World countries (fruit analogy), 23–30; overpoliticized behaviors in, 158–66; results and interpretation of quantitative data supporting overpoliticization in, 176 table, 177–93 Whitaker, Chico, 99, 205 Wiarda, Howard, 53, 79–81 Wildavsky, Aaron, 199 Winch, Peter, 19 Wiranto (General), 148

335

Wiseman, John A., 61 Wolfe, Alan, 235 Woo, Roh Tae, 122 World Bank, 173 world-system theories, 22, 73–75, 241–42 Yemen, 109, 117 Young, Crawford, 88–92 Zakaria, Fareed, 42, 65 Zambia, 63, 100, 105, 125, 134, 135, 137, 138, 155, 158, 178, 205, 208 Zanzibar, 158 Zapatista Liberation Front, 154. See also EZLN Zia, Begum Khaleda, 111 Zia-ul-Haq, Mohammad, 121 Zimbabwe, 146, 156, 206; authoritarianism in, 123; compromise-resistant politics in, 201–02; dictatorial power in, 145; electoral fraud in, 98; electoral monopoly in, 100; electoral violence in, 111, 167; overpoliticization data and, 179; violent opposition in, 155, 158 Zimbabwe African People’s Union (ZANU-ZAPU), 100

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POLITICAL SCIENCE

COMPARING APPLES AND MANGOES The Overpoliticized State in Developing Countries S. N. Sangmpam Two competing approaches currently dominate the debate about the state and institutions in developing countries. The first projects a picture of transnational, vertical uniformity descending from the West to developing countries and views liberal democracy as “the only game in town.” In this view, the state and institutions resemble or ought to resemble those in the West. The second, by contrast, explains political outcomes by local idiosyncrasies and regional variations in institutions. In his original approach to third world politics, S. N. Sangmpam challenges both views by uncovering important similarities in the political features of developing countries. He shows that they share political behaviors and features unaccounted for in either local/idiosyncratic or liberal democratic theories. These behaviors converge toward a common property—overpoliticization—that defies political compromise, leading to an overpoliticized state. Sangmpam provides a wealth of empirical, historical, and quantitative evidence from Latin America, Asia, Africa, and the West and demonstrates the overpoliticized state constitutes the cornerstone of an integrated theory of politics in developing countries. “Sangmpam attempts to show that there are more than one hundred countries in the world that, despite having formally different political systems, constitute a unified whole and ought to be considered this way by social scientists. If correct, this will radically change the way broad comparative theorists write about the world. This is truly an outstanding book that will make a major contribution to the field and will be cited for some time to come for the excellent case it makes concerning the continued utility and even vitality of the concept of the third world.” — David Ost, author of The Defeat of Solidarity: Anger and Politics in Postcommunist Europe S. N. Sangmpam is Associate Professor of Political Science at Syracuse University and author of Pseudocapitalism and the Overpoliticized State: Reconciling Politics and Anthropology in Zaire.

State University of New York Press www.sunypress.edu