Democracy, Clientelism, and Civil Society 9781685859114

Table of contents :
Contents
Preface
1 The Comparative Study of Clientelism and the Changing Nature of Civil Society in the Contemporary World
2 Clientelism: Premodern, Modern, Postmodern
3 Peasants, Patrons, and the State in Northern Portugal
4 Roots and Trends of Clientelism in Turkey
5 Clientelism and Social Protest: Peasant Politics in Northern Colombia
6 Constitutionalism and Clientelism in Italy
7 Clientelism and the Process of Political Democratization in Russia
8 Clientelism, U.S.A.: The Dynamics of Change
9 Clientelism and Political Culture in the Provincial Politics of Canada
10 Images of Clientelism and Realities of Patronage in Israel
11 The Political Economy of Authoritarian Clientelism in Taiwan
12 Conclusions: The Transformation of Clientelism and Civil Society
Index
About the Book and the Authors

Citation preview

Democracy, Clientelism, and Civil Society

Democracy, Clientelism, and Civil Society edited by

Luis Roniger & Ay$e Giine^-Ayata

LYN NE RIENNER PUBLISHERS

B O U L D E R L O N D O N

Published in the United States of A m e r i c a in 1994 by L y n n e R i e n n e r Publishers, Inc. 1800 30th Street, Boulder, C o l o r a d o 80301 and in the United K i n g d o m by Lynne R i e n n e r Publishers, Inc. 3 Henrietta Street, C o v e n t G a r d e n , L o n d o n W C 2 E 8 L U

© 1994 by L y n n e R i e n n e r Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data D e m o c r a c y , clientelism, and civil society / edited by Luis R o n i g e r and A y j e Giineji-Ayata. p. cm. Includes bibliographical r e f e r e n c e s and index. I S B N 1 - 5 5 5 8 7 - 3 4 0 - 5 (alk. paper) I. P a t r o n a g e , Political. 2. Patron and client. 3. Political d e v e l o p m e n t . 4 . C o m p a r a t i v e g o v e r n m e n t . I. R o n i g e r , L. (Luis), 1 9 4 9 - . II. G u n e s - A y a t a , A y s e , 1 9 5 4 JF274.D45

1994

306.2—dc20

94-4469 CIP

British Cataloguing in Publication Data A C a t a l o g u i n g in Publication record for this book is available f r o m the British Library.

Printed and b o u n d in the United States of A m e r i c a T h e p a p e r used in this publication m e e t s the r e q u i r e m e n t s of the A m e r i c a n National Standard for P e r m a n e n c e of P a p e r for Printed Library M a t e r i a l s Z 3 9 . 4 8 - 1 9 8 4 .

Contents Preface 1

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3

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The Comparative Study of Clientelism and the Changing Nature of Civil Society in the Contemporary World, Luis Roniger

1

Clientelism: Premodern, Modern, Postmodern, Aype Giine^-Ayata

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Peasants, Patrons, and the State in Northern Portugal, Manuel Carlos Silva

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Roots and Trends of Clientelism in Turkey, Aype Güne§-Ayata

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Clientelism and Social Protest: Peasant Politics in Northern Colombia, Cristina Escobar

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Constitutionalism and Clientelism in Italy, Carlo Rossetti

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Clientelism and the Process of Political Democratization in Russia, Tatiana Vorozheikina

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Clientelism, U.S.A.: The Dynamics of Change, Terry Nichols Clark

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Clientelism and Political Culture in the Provincial Politics of Canada, Mark Fletcher

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Images of Clientelism and Realities of Patronage in Israel, Luis Roniger

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The Political Economy of Authoritarian Clientelism in Taiwan, Fang Wang

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VI

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Contents

Conclusions: The Transformation of Clientelism and Civil Society, Luis Roniger

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Index About the Book and the Authors

215 223

Preface D e t e r m i n i n g the foundations and contradictory implications o f the liberalization, d e m o c r a t i z a t i o n , and s o c i o p o l i t i c a l restructuring o c c u r r i n g today on an almost global scale constitutes a m a j o r c h a l l e n g e for contemporary social s c i e n c e . T h e central o b j e c t i v e o f this book is to analyze the impact, limits, and evolution o f various forms o f clientelism and patronage in the h i s t o r i c a l matrix o f s o c i e t i e s and throughout c o n t e m p o r a r y p r o c e s s e s o f participation and democratization. T h e liberalization, democratization, and e m p o w e r m e n t o f civil society occurring simultaneously in Southern Europe, Latin A m e r i c a , and Eastern Europe has been dramatic and impressive in its own right. T h e p h e n o m e non h a s p a r a l l e l s in the s o c i o p o l i t i c a l restructuring o f North A m e r i c a n , W e s t E u r o p e a n , and Asian societies. A century that until recently seemed to be struggling under the banners o f revolution, liberation, and development can be reevaluated from a new perspective as a century o f renewed pluralism, ethnic and national revival, and decentralization in d e c i s i o n m a k i n g . T h i s trend o f fundamental transformation within various political arenas often involves the d i s e m p o w e r m e n t o f the state and the e m p o w e r m e n t o f civil society and mediating m e c h a nisms o f political a c c e s s and organization, which may have a m a j o r c l i e n telistic dimension. E s p e c i a l l y (but not o n l y ) in societies laden with social i n e q u a l i t i e s , public p o l i c i e s — w h e t h e r distributive, r e g u l a t i v e , or e x t r a c t i v e — a r e potentially d i s c r e t i o n a r y and thus open to c l i e n t e l i s t i c use and abuse. T h e s e trends stand, however, in dialectical confrontation with the dictates o f democratization: a c c e s s to power, participation, responsiveness by political elites to social demands. T h e s e issues continue to stand at the c e n ter o f the political agenda, e s p e c i a l l y in democratic societies burdened with s o c i a l p r e s s u r e s . F r o m this p e r s p e c t i v e , c l i e n t e l i s m c a n b e e x p e c t e d to c o m e under increasing attack f r o m countervailing social f o r c e s , e s p e c i a l l y those a c t i v e at the grassroots level. T h e authors dissent from earlier approaches in their shared c o n v i c t i o n that, first, c l i e n t e l i s m should not be e x p e c t e d to disappear as a n e c e s s a r y corollary o f political c h a n g e and d e v e l o p m e n t ; yet, second, the c h a n g i n g structure o f the s o c i o p o l i t i c a l arena has a dynamic e f f e c t on it. B y linking

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micro and macro levels of analysis, the authors contribute critical research perspectives on the changing nature of the political arena. Foremost, they shift attention to the study of regime instability and vulnerability. Some of the contributions in this book reflect the potential fragility and the mixed (developed and underdeveloped, liberal and conservative) nature of the modern democratic regimes. Others provide ways to understand the connections between formal political structures and both political cultures and socioeconomic foundations of politics. The contributors claim that in many modern and contemporary polities clientelism is a major focus for research into the interplay of structural and cultural factors that affect the prospects of consolidation of the new democracies. Thus, rather than dismiss clientelism as a remnant of the past, the different chapters discuss facets of its systemic viability but analyze as well its limits and contradictions as a force in contemporary societies. The multidisciplinary approach of the authors is anchored in research in sociology, anthropology, political science, and public administration. The idea to bring these contributions together was conceived following the sessions on clientelism held by the Committee on Community Research at the XII World Congress of Sociology in Madrid, July 1990. We would like to thank the T r u m a n Research Institute for the Advancement of Peace, located in Jerusalem, for help in bringing this endeavor to completion, particularly Chaia Beckerman, its director of publications. Special thanks are also due to Sarah Lemann, and to Evelyn Katrak and Larry Borowsky, who copyedited the manuscript. Luis Roniger, Jerusalem Ay$e Giine$-Ayata, Ankara

1 The Comparative Study of Clientelism and the Changing Nature of Civil Society in the Contemporary World Luis Roniger The late twentieth century has been marked by the twin processes of increased mobilization, democratization, and liberalization, on the one hand, and decentralization of power structures, pluralism, and renewed ethnic and national conflict, on the other. These processes have been for the most part the product of internal contradictions, struggles, and the unraveling of ruling coalitions, followed by the redrawing of international boundaries and agreements. With the redemocratization of Southern Europe and Latin A m e r i c a in the late 1970s and the 1980s, and f o l l o w i n g the "avalanche" of liberalization in Eastern Europe by the end of the 1980s, the appeal of both modern democracy and neoliberalism increased in many areas of the world. It is now clear that this trend was uneven. In sectors of Western Europe and North America, for example, democratic apathy has developed. In some of the Muslim countries, the worldwide disenchantment with modern rationality and secularism has become culturally linked with fundamentalist fervor and religious revivalism. In Asia, various types of authoritarian regimes have retained their image as guarantors of accelerated economic development, although they face pressures toward democratization. In sub-Saharan Africa, the Balkans, and Central and Eastern Europe, the appeal of democracy has been tempered by ethnic tensions, xenophobia, and civil war. These transformations of the public realm have shattered some early twentieth-century ideological perceptions of the world and reinforced democratic and neoliberal "readings of reality." These processes have focused attention on the emasculation of the state and the parallel empowerment of civil society, which in turn has often involved a dual trend of disengagement from the state and subsequent reshaping of participation in the public sphere. During the initial stages of change, this trend held an almost 1

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hypnotic Jacobin attraction for many people who until recently had identified with political forces struggling under the banners of revolution and liberation. It seemed as if social movements, voluntary associations, and intermediate institutions of civil society could effect an overall reconstruction of the political centers and a reformulation of community through a strong emphasis on participation and the endorsement of an egalitarian vision of rights and entitlements. The burgeoning of civil society and the participatory flavor of the new social movements did indeed effect far-reaching changes in political regimes, changing the formal relationship between leaders and constituencies, especially in formerly authoritarian settings. In these settings after the transition to democracy, as well as in the more established democracies, distrust increased toward traditional forms of party politics and politicians, reflecting a worldwide trend of dissolution of controls, fragmentation, and a search for more "genuine" forms of democracy. For a short period research interests showed a fascination with the seeming empowerment of civil society. The focus was on the impact of the new social movements, informal sectors, voluntary associations, and novel forms of grassroots activism; the more hierarchical aspects of these movements and hence of reconstituted societies were erroneously seen as remnants of the past, doomed to disappear. Social observers expected that the break with the past would be radical and total. They tended to overlook the fact that there is no necessary connection between political revamping (especially the s t a t e ' s retraction of its intrusive power) and the internal structure of the forces that bring about such a transformation. Observers sometimes failed to consider that the forces of change exhibit a highly variable character, ranging from inchoate masses to highly structured and controlled organizations and social movements. The ensuing dislocation of established patterns of interaction and their abrupt move in many contemporary societies to civil situations bordering on a Hobbesian "state of nature" provide an appropriate context for more cautious appraisals of the contemporary sociopolitical scene, especially concerning the variable forces and pragmatic realities involved in this stage of transformation. Within this framework, the contributors to this volume explore the transformational capacity and systemic impact of clientelism and patronage accompanying the democratization and empowerment of civil society. It is their understanding that by placing the recent transformations in historical perspective and accounting for the pragmatic dimensions of public life and politics, research on civil society and clientelism in specific contexts can make a substantial contribution to analysis of the prospects of social change at the level of "deep structures," to borrow a structuralist metaphor.

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The Comparative Study of Clientelism The study of patronage and clientelism—which has burgeoned in the social sciences since the late 1960s—can be considered part of a broad reaction against evolutionary assumptions regarding the allegedly generalized move toward Western liberal forms of political development and bureaucratic universalism. From different vantage points, these assumptions were seriously questioned by scholars who analyzed the actual operation of modern institutions. Studies on factionalism, coalition building, the financing of modern parties, and political machines, among other subjects, shifted attention to the realm of complex interpersonal, informal, and multilevel networks for which neither the model of corporate actors and groups nor accepted theories of institutional analysis were able to offer a convincing explanation (Weber-Pazmino 1991). At the same time these studies prepared the ground for a less generalized and more contextual approach to the complex connections between patronage, political clientelism, and development. In the 1970s and 1980s a myriad of empirical analyses and a number of theoretical works made social scientists increasingly aware of the near ubiquity of patronage and clientelism in modern societies (Schmidt et al. 1977; L e m i e u x 1977; Gellner and W a t e r b u r y 1977; E i s e n s t a d t and Lemarchand 1981; Clapham 1982; Eisenstadt and Roniger 1984). The proliferation and greater theoretical sophistication of patronage studies prompted a reconceptualization of the impact and role of such relationships in modern societies. First, the studies contributed to a growing awareness that clientelistic arrangements are not destined to disappear or even to remain on the margins of society with the establishment of modern regimes—whether democratic or authoritarian—or with economic development. Rather, although specific forms of such relationships may be undermined, new types have been found to crystallize in a great variety of forms, cutting across levels of economic development and types of political regimes and seemingly performing no less important functions within the more developed modern settings. Accordingly, the stage was set for a comparative analysis of patronage and clientelism in historical societies (e.g., Sailer 1982; Roniger 1983; Wallace-Hadrill 1989; Kettering 1986, 1988; Graham 1990; Tavares de Almeida 1991) and in the modern world. Second, scholars increasingly came to acknowledge that what pervades the gamut of arrangements subsumed under the label of patronage and clientelism is a certain logic of social exchange. That is, these arrangements share a set of core analytical characteristics. They are built around asymmetric but mutually beneficial and open-ended transactions and predicated on the differential control by social actors over the access and flow of resources in stratified societies. In some cases they produce a social order

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of their own (see, e.g., Graziano 1975, 1983; Eisenstadt and Roniger 1980; Lemarchand 1981;Lemieux 1977, 1987). Basically, clientelism creates an inherently contradictory situation. Asymmetrical power and/or inequality is combined with solidarity, and potential and/or actual coercion coexists with an ideological emphasis on the voluntary nature of the attachment. The structure of limiting payoffs can be maintained only by making payoffs; the covered, informal, and extralegal character of such bonds is used to assert public claims over goods and services and to propagate public images of power and reputation. These arrangements are maintained through perpetual contest, resource manipulation, and instability (Roniger 1990, 6). Whereas in antiquity patronage formed part of the mos maiorum and could hardly be thought of as conflicting with legal institutions (Wallace-Hadrill 1989, 5-6), in modern societies it is in fact built around such a conflict. Though in principle and by law the patronized partners (the so-called clients) have access to power centers and the ability to convert resources autonomously, they do not actualize this potential; it is neutralized by patron and patron-broker control of the avenues to resource conversion and access to political centers. Yet, as in antiquity, mediation is projected into the institutional arena. Such mediation is contingent on the clients' entering into a relationship of exchange that necessarily limits the scope and convertibility of resources freely exchanged. In a parallel manner, the patron's position is not as solid as it may seem, nor is it guaranteed by kinship or other ascriptive criteria. On the contrary, although patrons invest much time and energy in gaining and retaining control over clients, their control is never fully legitimized. It is vulnerable to attack by social forces committed to formal, universalistic principles of social organization and exchange; by the competition of other patrons and brokers, potential and actual; and by social forces excluded from clientelistic relations. Owing to these constant threats, patrons are compelled to rely on their clients to solidify their position. Clients not only are expected to provide their patron with specific resources but also must accept the patron's control over their access to markets and public goods, as well as their ability to convert resources fully. The patron must relinquish some of the short-term material gains that might accrue from a position of preeminence in order to earn the right to determine the basic rules of social relationships. In return clients are protected from social or material insecurity and provided with goods, services, and social advancement. Patron and client thus build complementary strategies of social exchange, which signal what Vincent Lemieux defines as a "double transformation": an abdication of autonomy on the client's part and a relaxation of hierarchical controls on the patron's part. The former's lack of power becomes dominated power and the latter's lack of domination becomes dominating authority (Lemieux 1987). These strategies of social exchange not only are affected by immediate, mostly

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technical considerations but also often encompass mutual, relatively longterm compromises based on commitments and some kind of solidarity— required for the maintenance of ongoing social relationships—as well as on power and instrumentality. Third, whereas early studies concentrated mostly on the organizational variability of patron-client relations, more recent studies have focused on the variability across societies in the comparative institutional significance, impact, and conceptualization of these relations. In some settings, notably the Mediterranean, Latin America, and Southeast Asia, patron-client relations have long permeated the central institutional core of the society, shaping interpersonal and organizational exchanges and the flow and conversion of resources. In other settings such relations have become (to borrow Carl Lande's 1977 phrase) an addendum to the central institutional modes of organization, interaction, and exchange; they have lost most of their diffuse and hierarchical overtones, though remaining forms of particularistic preferment and regulation of access to power, decisionmaking, and markets. Given these analytical shifts, the study of the continuity and discontinuity of clientelism and patronage in societies that have adopted democracy or are in the process of democratization becomes highly important from a comparative analytical perspective. In particular, it is important to study cases where clientelism persists despite changes in its patterns, as well as cases where patron-client relations, though no longer the central institutional core, are still retained in some form. Similarly, it is important to identify the factors that condition the emergence or decline of clientelism in different segments and subcultures of complex societies. Such studies may shed light on the interplay of interests, commitments, values, and perceptions, as well as on the potentialities and limitations of public life and bureaucratic universalism in democratic societies. Moreover, they may reveal the flexible nature of patronage in accommodating change and trace its persistent yet variable impact on modern polities and its interplay with other trends of civil society throughout contemporary and past transformations of the public sphere.

Civil Society and the Transformation of the Public Sphere Beginning in the late eighteenth century, a process of struggle and change led, first in the West and then elsewhere, to the formation of modern constitutional democratic regimes. A sphere of interaction and communication was created in which the public organized and expressed itself and political codes emerged that overstepped the traditional boundaries of moral conduct (Habermas 1989; Hirschman 1982; Calhoun 1992). The emergence of this public sphere reflected a move away from absolutist rule, a widening of

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political participation, and a crystallization of citizenship ideals, civil freedoms, and legal frameworks aimed at subjecting traditional authority to the scrutiny of representative forms of government. This transformation was connected to long-term socioeconomic change eventually precipitated by the consolidation of self-conscious bourgeois sectors willing to promote such processes as marketization, monetarization, and rationalization and to generate a reconstruction of state-society relations. The process also involved sociocultural change, specifically the development of urban culture, modern science, educational systems, public spatial environments, locally organized public life, new infrastructural forms of social communication, and a variety of innovative voluntary associations. A new type of linkage between the public and private domains thus emerged at this stage in human history and was expressed in the idea of civil society. The concept of civil society alludes to the existence of organized public life and free associations beyond the sphere of the state and free of its tutelage yet oriented toward the public sphere and public policies. The range of arenas and social sectors involved varies contextually, in most cases including voluntary associations, social movements, the market, and intermediary institutions. Beyond the variability of civil society across historical and cultural settings (even within the West), the concept in modern times reflects a basic configuration in which society stands apart from the state, the political organization of society. This crucial differentiation, reformulated time and again in modern Western political thought, conceives of society as an extrapolitical reality developing autonomously—"as the site of alternative hegemonies," in Gramscian terms—and becoming increasingly conscious of such autonomy at both the individual and the collective levels (Taylor 1989; Adamson 1987). The concept of civil society envisages the existence of public space that is not merely structured politically "from above," a space that becomes increasingly visible ("open") following the melding of the traditional dichotomy between high culture and popular culture (Nedelsky 1989; Keane 1988a; Taylor 1990; Seligman 1992; Cohen and Arato 1992). The rise of civil society has deeply affected the development of modern democratic polities in general and constitutional democracies in particular. Civil society is nurtured through urban culture: the fostering of science and civil epistemology; increased public interaction in the framework of open lectures, recreational locales, and museums; new means of communication—the press, lending libraries, publishing houses, the electronic media, and an enlarged public; and the establishment of centers of sociability, such as coffeehouses, clubs, and voluntary associations. Associational life became a major medium for the definition of public commitments, the elaboration of ideas about civil freedoms and entitlements, and the search for legal constraints on the exercise of public authority. According to Boyte, 'These . . . formed the context in which older hierarchical principles of d e f -

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erence and ascribed social status gave way to public principles of rational discourse, and emergent professional and business groups could nourish and assert their claims to a more general social and political leadership" (Boyte 1992, 343; also see Habermas 1989, 25-26; Ezrahi 1990). These trends, in turn, have created a widespread conceptual identification between civil society, democracy, and equality. Late-twentieth-century societies, governments, and parties have embraced the rhetoric of civil society and have claimed they stand for genuine, popular democracy. Yet both historically and in contemporary terms, this identification has been more conceptual than factual. Historically, the bourgeoisie has struggled to achieve a change in the aristocratic institutional setup but at the same time has opposed popular participation and plebeian pressures to democratization. Indeed, until the mid-nineteenth century, the demand for democracy was the radical cry of the powerless, including women and the masses, whereas the powerful continued to deny the legitimacy of that demand—paradoxically, in the name of reason, rationality, and civility (Keane 1988b; Eley 1992; Ryan 1992). By the end of the nineteenth century, with the monopolization of the economy and the increasing role of the state as the social regulator of conflicts, the public sphere began to break up into a mass of contesting interests. Cultural and structural developments in the twentieth century have further eroded interactive associational life and public commitments and have recreated "the public" as a mass of passive atomized producers/consumers, many of them sunk in civil apathy (Keane 1988a; Boyte 1992). Throughout the recent processes of sociopolitical transformation, the complexity of civil society (or, as some would put it, its ambiguity) has again come to the fore. True enough, changes have occurred in the definition of what is political, in the range of activities considered appropriate to the state, in the access of social sectors to the centers of power, in linkages among sectors of civil society and between them and the state, and, most important from the point of view of clientelism, in the types of entitlements extended. At first, as indicated above, there was a tendency to think of civil society as synonymous with civility and democracy. Yet after the initial enthusiastic endorsement of the demolition of overwhelming state controls—especially but not exclusively in Eastern Europe—a growing awareness developed that, in the words of John Keane, civil society may under certain circumstances "hemorrhage to death," degenerate into civil war and looting—in short, lead to the destruction of normative daily life. This disintegration, in turn, may result in the reinstatement of authoritarian rule in societies with erstwhile centralized polities. It was thus realized that civil society does not necessarily stand in a zero-sum game vis-a-vis the state, that a strong civil society necessitates not the demolition of the state but rather its legal constraint and subjection to public accountability (Held 1987, 267-299; Roniger 1991; see also Touraine 1989).

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In a parallel manner, it was realized that civil society is not coterminous with democracy and does not necessarily lead to democracy. In Islamic societies such as Iran, for instance, the strength of the civil society did indeed reshape the state, but it did little to generate democracy. In Sweden and Japan, in contrast, civil society is weak, yet democracy flourishes. In India both civil society and democracy may be working effectively, albeit not in mutually reinforcing directions. In Russia the weakness of civil society is a serious hindrance to the establishment of democratic institutions. Historically, both the idea and the reality of civil society have preceded the development of democracy. There are points of convergence around pluralism and the dispersion of interests and social forces, yet the pluralistic character of civil society neither ensures democracy nor implies a strengthening of the open domain of public life. Under special circumstances, a vital civil society may sustain and be reinforced by a viable constitutional democracy through institutionalized forms of interaction and exchange that can prevent the monopolization of power and resources. The society encourages democracy by having citizens engage in joint action, deal effectively with power relations, and share a broad commitment to the fostering of public judgment, civil responsibility, and problem-solving capabilities. However, there are societies that defy the logic of constitutional democratic legality and exhibit a gap between the formal aspects of public life and the "real" workings of the sociopolitical arena, as typified in Mediterranean cultures and societies (Boissevain 1966; Gait 1974; Blok 1974; Pitt-Rivers 1977). In either case, the "construction of reality" hinges on social interaction and exchange as a contextual, pragmatic phenomenon. It is at this level of interplay between the logic of modern constitutional democracy and the praxis and pragmatics of everyday life and social action that moral o b l i g a t i o n s and c o m m i t m e n t s are enmeshed and can be reformulated in recurrent patterns of action and exchange through a complex web of movements, communities, associations, and interpersonal relations. Within them the hierarchical logic of clientelism may be projected as an important mechanism influencing and sometimes even conditioning the timing, mechanics, and variable outcomes of the current processes of democratization.

Modern Democracy, Civil Society, and Clientelism In the wake of the great revolutions and the Enlightenment, constitutional regimes emerged within which an increasing number of groups and sectors of society gained access to the public sphere, often through turbulent struggles, leading to the configuration of modern constitutional democracies. Emerging first in the United States, under the idea of popular sovereignty, constitutional democracy spread to various European and Latin American

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countries and, later on, to Asian and African societies. It became a dominant yet fragile institutional framework of modernity, the epitome of universalistic standards of public behavior and supposedly open "rules of the game." These rules focus on elected representative institutions aimed at ensuring the accountability of rulers through mechanisms for the recurrent change of those in positions of authority and for the distribution of power in society. The procedural principle of electoral representation—that rulers and contenders are subject to clearly defined rules according to which they compete for the support of the public—is aimed at generating a commitment to the system that will ensure the accountability of rulers. The rules of the constitutional game have been defined in terms of civility—i.e., the acceptance of norms and attitudes allowing for a neutral political language that binds various groups together, both in their engagement in the realm of public goods and the building of a Durkheimian moral community as well as in their disengagement through the tolerant recognition of multiculturalism and difference (Shils 1991). At this level of principles, the logic of civil society and democracy run counter to the logic of clientelism. Jiirgen Habermas in particular emphasizes such a distinction in his pioneer work, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere, in which he basically endorses the program of modernity of Western liberal thought. According to him, civil society is predicated on the possibility of an objective agreement among competing interests in accord with universal and binding criteria. Otherwise the power relation between pressure and counter pressure, however publicly exercised, creates at best an unstable equilibrium of interests, supported by temporary power constellations, that in principle is devoid of rationality according to the standard of a universal interest (Habermas 1989, 234).

Following a perspective of ideal typification, in the Weberian sense, many believe that the nature and functions of representation are radically different from the nature and roles of clientelism in the historical settings in which both have been institutionalized. Whereas representation belongs to the legal order, patronage defies it, being addressed to the appropriation and manipulation of resources. At this level of analysis, clientelism is seen as defying the modern notion of representation, which predicates these elements: a system of public rights; a public debate on what should be conceived of in principle as rights and enjoyed in practice as entitlements; safeguards protecting the latter from infringement; and a competitive system for establishing rights and priorities and for controlling their implementation according to public rules (Adamson 1987, 335-336; Rosen 1992; and see Rossetti in this volume). From this perspective, clientelism is shown to neutralize the system of representation, as "friends" are placed in the strategic synapses of power and mechanisms of control. This mode is

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often inimical to the institutionalization of public accountability and therefore stands in contradistinction to a politics open to generalization and participation and to a discourse aimed at the protection of individual and collective liberties and rights. From another perspective, it may be possible to think of clientelism and patronage in terms of representation by applying a definition of the latter that incorporates manipulation, symbolic ambiguity, and power accumulation. Patrons and clients are not interested in the generality of equality and legal rules; they are interested in resources. They do not seek to promote a rule for citizens as such; they are on the lookout for situations that are to their advantage, on the basis of favoritism. As such, patron-client networks are used to divert public resources. Yet research also indicates that clientelism is an important mechanism for obtaining transactional benefits, both within backgrounds of periphery/dependency and within backgrounds of access to public goods and the public distribution of private goods. Clientelism has been instrumental in providing local-regionalnational mechanisms of interrelation and integration; in institutionalizing mechanisms of resource allocation that run counter to universalistic standards but are sensitive to local sentiment and provide ways of incorporating new sectors of the population such as immigrants; and in advancing political actors with an entrepreneurial ability (see, e.g., Greenfield 1977; Lemarchand 1972; Zuckerman 1975; Hermitte and Bartolomé 1977; Clapham 1982, 14-15; Korovkin 1988). From this perspective, it is often claimed that as long as patron-client exchanges maintain some balance of reciprocity and mutual benefit, the participation in broader political and economic markets by the "capi-clientele" (to borrow Gaetano Mosca's expression)—be he or she a broker, a patron, or a patron-broker—allows individuals in his or her entourage to influence decisions in the arena that connects public and private life. In this sense, patronage can be said to reconcile public and private authority and formal and informal rules of the game. This duality, analyzed by several contributors to this volume (especially by Cristina Escobar in her analysis of Colombian peasant movements), reflects a major tension of modern democratic polities. As part of the European political tradition, modern democracies are built on citizenship, which implies political equality but leaves the economic domain open to inequalities. Equality and freedom may move in separate and even opposite directions, as first noted by Alexis de Tocqueville in his classic Democracy in America. By those sectors benefiting from the patronage and patronclient intercessions clientelism may thus be seen as an important pragmatic avenue of controlled freedom, useful for advancing in social, economic, and political domains that are regulated by competition for access to power, resources, and services. At the same time, it may be resented, criticized, and opposed by social forces and coalitions wishing to curtail its presence alongside bureaucratic universalism and market rationality.

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The Dynamics of Clienteíism The contradictory character of clienteíism and patronage is highlighted by research on their fragility, volatility, and continuity or demise in contemporary societies. The contradictions and instability inherent in clientelistic relations are symptomatic of the macrosocial context in which they arise. Though its role is limited in societies in which a hereditary ascriptive model of social exchange is predominant, clienteíism flourishes where markets are no longer controlled through primordial units, where social interaction is based on nonascriptive criteria, and where emphasis is placed on the open flow of resources and opportunities for mobility. This trend, however, goes hand in hand with a strong tendency toward unequal access to markets and sociopolitical spheres. The status of the social actors within the systems of class and ethnic stratification, for example, tends to match their differential ability to control such access. They form patron-client relationships in order to improve their positions. However, these relationships are not fully legitimized and remain vulnerable to the challenge of countervailing social forces. As a mode of structuring social exchange that affects distribution and redistribution, clienteíism r e m a i n s s u b j e c t to the d y n a m i c s of the p o l i t i c a l e c o n o m y . Accordingly, a decrease in clients' vulnerability, the patrons' loss of control, a decline in the supply of resources, a lack of demand for the patrons' (or the clients') resources and services—or changes in the opposite direction—all these conditions may in the short term contribute to the fragility of clientelistic commitments and over the long term may shatter the salience of clienteíism and patronage. For instance, research has shown that clientelistic relations become transformed with the marketization of economies, with accelerated urbanization, and with the expansion of the regulatory, extractive, or even sporadic mobilizing activities of central administrations. The spread of market forces and/or the establishment of forceful administrations—whether colonial or national—in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries eroded patrimonial patterns of social exchange in rural Third World settings, making the terms of trade increasingly oppressive for rural clienteles (Scott and Kerkvliet 1973; Scott 1976; Hall 1974). Landowners and local potentates came to emphasize a more entrepreneurial orientation; sources of livelihood opened up in the private and public sectors; and the center grew in importance both as a dispenser of public and private goods and as an employer. As the conditions affecting patron-client relations changed, monopolistic power domains weakened, alternative clientelistic avenues developed, and new sources of bargaining for clients—such as voting rights and organizational skills—gained in importance. New patrons of various sorts emerged: politicians, administrators, and organized bodies such as political parties and trade unions. Such patrons often used their positions to

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b u i l d a p e r s o n a l f o l l o w i n g a n d g a i n a c c e s s to o f f i c i a l p o s i t i o n s in the administration, then wielded the resources and services controlled through their i n c u m b e n c y to r e w a r d f o l l o w e r s and e x p a n d their clientelistic network. T h e structure of such n e t w o r k s d i f f e r e d greatly f r o m those in more traditional settings; there, patrons tried to build their domains locally and were interested in k e e p i n g governmental agencies away, so that the resultant netw o r k s were of a dispersed kind. H o w e v e r , as patrons and brokers became interested in gaining access to political and material resources c o m m a n d e d by the state o r c h a n n e l e d t h r o u g h its o r g a n s , this strategy b e c a m e more supralocal. C o m p l i c a t e d n e t w o r k s of patrons, brokers, and clients—in the f o r m of patron-brokerage and organizational brokerage c h a i n s — p e r m e a t e d administrative and political organizations, with such networks linked to the centers of p o w e r (see Roniger 1990, 1 6 2 - 1 7 8 , as well as the analyses by Silva and Giineg-Ayata in this v o l u m e ) . Similarly, the impact of world econ o m i c trends, f l u c t u a t i o n s in the international price of c o m m o d i t i e s , the complexity of international trade, banking, and aid—all these affected the pool of patronage resources available to states and other agencies and influe n c e d p a t t e r n s of c o n t r o l , d i s t r i b u t i o n , and r e d i s t r i b u t i o n ( L e m a r c h a n d 1990; Eddie 1991). In general t e r m s , the f o r m s that c l i e n t e l i s m h a s a s s u m e d reflect the wide range of social, political, and administrative contexts in which it has appeared. In the 1970s and 1980s the study of such variability was largely d o m i n a t e d by a d i c h o t o m o u s e v o l u t i o n a r y a p p r o a c h that contrasts traditional dyadic patronage with m o d e r n party-directed clientelism. This approach, best e x e m p l i f i e d in A l e x W e i n g r o d ' s seminal 1968 article, focuses on the d e g r e e of s e g m e n t a t i o n or i n t e g r a t i o n of local s e c t o r s w i t h i n nation-states and has been highly appealing because of its developmental e m p h a s i s . B u t as a n a l y z e d in g r e a t e r d e t a i l e l s e w h e r e ( R o n i g e r 1990, 1 5 9 - 1 6 1 ) , it has serious shortcomings. A m o n g them are: 1) It overlooks the significance of other, " i n t e r m e d i a t e " f o r m s of clientelism as patron-brokerage, especially in Third W o r l d societies; 2) it ignores the c o e x i s t e n c e of d i f f e r e n t patterns of clientelism resulting f r o m different social and political processes and the d i f f e r e n t roles that social actors play in various f r a m e s of interpersonal and institutional interaction; and 3) it disregards certain variat i o n s in c l i e n t e l i s m — a b o v e a l l , t h o s e r e l a t e d to d i f f e r e n t p a t t e r n s of e x c h a n g e and the existence or a b s e n c e of a correlation b e t w e e n primordial (ethnic, genealogical, jural) identities and the assumption of patron-client roles. I suggest a m u l t i d i m e n s i o n a l a p p r o a c h that transcends structural a n d f u n c t i o n a l analyses by also taking into consideration the m o d u s operandi and transactional d i m e n s i o n s that are so important in clientelism. Such a f r a m e w o r k could e n c o m p a s s the f o l l o w i n g dimensions of network variability:

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1. The organizational character of clientelistic networks. Distinctions may be drawn according to whether networks exhibit a localized structure or are linked to wider institutional frameworks, such as the central administration, or formal bodies, such as political parties and trade unions. This is a structural dimension that can be analyzed in terms of coalitional strategies, center-periphery relations, and power/interest-oriented approaches. 2. Modes of role taking. This c o n c e p t , derived f r o m the s y m b o l i c interactionist sociological approach, is here given a functional emphasis. The various forms of role taking—primordially linked or not, individual or collective—may be associated with the use of market or nonmarket criteria by patrons and clients and with the character of social u n i t s — w h i c h is affected in turn by modernization and capitalistic development. 3. Styles of installment. Involved here is a transactional dimension— whether relations are set up through the tacit assumption of patron-client roles or through some formal ceremony or contract. This dimension is connected to interactional and social exchange approaches in sociology and anthropology, more specifically to Robert Paine's (1971) generative transactional model of patronage and to processual sociology and anthropology (Giddens 1987). All of these approaches emphasize the creative role of social actors in defining the terms and commitments of relationships. 4. Clientelistic exchanges. The following aspects seem important here: the perspective of reciprocity (i.e., whether long- or short-term); the balance of considerations in the exchange (i.e., the relative emphasis placed on power, solidarity, prestige, or instrumental gains); and the degree to which actors recognize social/moral restraints upon their behavior. When analyzing these aspects, the interplay between the imagined and the actualized— with regard to such matters as reciprocity, accountability, etc.—needs to be taken into account. From the perspective of the political matrix, clientelism can be analyzed as well in terms of its functions, its operational enactment, and the political strategies enacted by the social forces working for and against clientelism. These d i m e n s i o n s should be analyzed contextually, as they develop differently in different societies and situations. Here I would like merely to reflect on the general trends of clientelism in representative democracies. T w o lines of analysis can be suggested, each calling for further research. One line emphasizes the interplay of historical timing and the crystallization of specific institutional characteristics (which may become institutional traditions with the passing of time). Martin Shefter has suggested that the timing of the f o r m a t i o n of a political party, t o g e t h e r with the p a r t y ' s prior access (or lack of access) to state resources, is crucial in deciding its subsequent attitude toward patronage—both before and after it accedes to formal power (Shefter 1977). Similarly, René Lemarchand has

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reflected on the heightened presence of patron-client relations in the Third World in terms of historical timing: Where the historical experience of Third World societies differs fundamentally from that of Europe is that among the former the demands and frustrations of the rural sectors found an outlet in electoral channels long before their social identities were allowed to crystallize along class lines. The result has been a process of fragmented restructuration which offered ample scope for the reemergence of patron-client ties in the guise of nominally modern institutions. . . . It is primarily where social change has lagged substantially behind political modernization that clientelistic forms of dependency have been more resilient (Lemarchand 1981, 19).

Reg Whitaker has suggested timing as the crucial variable in the transformation of patronage in Anglo-Saxon countries, too. He found that in the United States, for example, the democratization of patronage preceded the emergence of a modern bureaucratic state, thus producing a pattern with a markedly decentralized and party bias. In Canada, by contrast, the early consolidation of the bureaucratic state produced a pattern of patronage in which elites maintained strong control and patronage assumed a more organizationally based character (Whitaker 1987). A second line of analysis, also still largely unmapped, stems from the realm of historically shaped political traditions. For reasons of space, I shall refer to this line only in connection with the prospects for continuity and change of clientelism and patronage in representative democracies. Such democracies put emphasis on the competition for power and distrust concentrations of power. Institutionally, such an emphasis predicates a separation of powers, the development of mutual checks and balances in government, and institutionalized arrangements for the regular and continuous replacement of rulers. Ultimately it implies the existence of a pluralistic distribution of centers of power, a civil society, and a social space independent of state power. As such, it is concerned with representation—or, in Verba and Almond's terminology, with processes of aggregation and articulation of interests according to certain rules of the game. Clientelism can be accommodated to such tenets of modern constitutional regimes as the legitimation of multiple interests at both the individual and group levels and the recognized autonomy of civil society vis-à-vis formal political institutions. Competition for positions of formal power becomes connected with the public projection in its various forms (appearance, reputation, credibility, etc.) and with symbolic struggles over the definition and enactment of evaluative criteria. Moreover, during periods of political setback to welfare state policies and social democratic programs, neoliberalism and market ethics gain influence. Promotion of liberalization, reduction of state intervention in favor of market mechanisms, privatization

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of state-owned and state-supported services, and curtailment of union power, among other processes, further fragment society and heighten the need for support networks. Patronage, when available, remains as important as ever. In addition, it seems that patronage and clientelistic networks can be effective in representative democracies in encouraging and rewarding party activists and in molding incumbency to public offices in accordance with politically sensitive stances. Within such a framework, clientelistic commitments can be converted into political i n f l u e n c e and can b e c o m e entrenched in the actual workings of democratic polities; they are useful in the competition for power and, once power is achieved, for effectively formulating and implementing policies. Accordingly, it is to be expected that positions of high trust (at least in the political realm) will continue to be filled in accordance with patronage considerations, albeit with due attention to capabilities and efficiency. The altered environment of postindustrial societies can therefore explain a paradox recently remarked on by Robin Theobald in discussing the survival of patronage in developed societies. There, patronage becomes more "classified"—that is, it tends to be restricted to those with professional or business qualifications in the upper strata of the society rather than being a phenomenon typical of the lower classes (Theobald 1992). In addition, patronage cannot be confined to politics in the narrow sense; it proliferates as well in the arts, academia, the church, the media, and even in business—whenever we are dealing with the power of appointment and the granting of access to benefits, goods, services, influence, and honors. Accordingly, there are grounds for the claim that even though it may run against the public, visible face of modern democracies, patronage continues to be instrumental. It may be compatible with nonclientelistic practices and, once it is overtly recognized, may lead to the strengthening of organizations, adding commitment and loyalty to occupational qualifications for access to office incumbency. Moreover, in many modern societies, as in antiquity, the polity can hardly be envisaged as running smoothly without the operation of patronage in areas as varied as party activism, procedural administration, and access to governmental contracts and economic ventures. Doubtless, patronage is controversial. Often, probably because patronage is indiscriminately identified with corruption, we ignore patronage as long as possible or disguise it as friendship, which is more acceptable in terms of the proclaimed ethos of modern equality. In view of the persistence of patronage in modern democratic polities, however, it might be in the public interest to recognize it, demanding that it be exercised openly and as such that it be subject to public evaluation and accountability. To publicize the private domain, I suggest, is probably the best way to avoid the privatization of the public domain.

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References A d a m s o n . W. 1987. Gramsci and the Politics of Civil Society. Praxis International 1 (3/4): 3 2 0 - 3 3 9 . Blök, A. 1974. The Mafia of a Sicilian Village. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Bobbio, N. 1987. The Future of Democracy. London: Polity Press. Boissevain, J. 1966. Patronage in Sicily. Man 1: 18-33. B o y t e , H. C. 1992. T h e P r a g m a t i c Ends of P o p u l a r Politics, in C a l h o u n 1992, 340-357. Calhoun, C. 1992. Habermas and the Public Sphere. Cambridge: M I T Press. C l a p h a m , C., ed. 1982. Private Patronage and Public Power. N e w Y o r k : St. M a r t i n ' s Press. Clark, T. N. 1975. The Irish Ethic and the Spirit of Patronage. Ethnicity 2: 3 0 5 - 3 5 9 . Cohen, J. L., and A. Arato. 1992. Civil Society and Political Theory. Cambridge: M I T Press. Eddie, C. J. 1991. Democracy by Default: Dependency and Clientelism in Jamaica. Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers. Eisenstadt, S. N., and R. Lemarchand, eds. 1981. Political Clientelism, Patronage, and Development. London: Sage. Eisenstadt, S. N., and L. Roniger. 1980. Patron-Client Relations as a M o d e l of Structuring Social Exchange. Comparative Studies in Society and History 22(1): 42-77. . 1984. Patrons, Clients, and Friends. C a m b r i d g e : C a m b r i d g e University Press. Eley, G. 1992. Nations, Publics, and Political Cultures, in Calhoun 1992, 2 8 9 - 3 3 9 . Ezrahi, I. 1990. The Descent of Icarus. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Gait, A. H. 1974. Rethinking Patron-Client Relationships: The Real System and the Official System in Southern Italy. Anthropological Quarterly 47(2): 182-202. Gellner, E., and J. Waterbury, eds. 1977. Patrons and Clients in Mediterranean Societies. London: Duckworth. Giddens, A. 1987. Social Theory and Modern Sociology. Cambridge: Polity Press. Graham, R. 1990. Patronage and Politics in Nineteenth-Century Brazil. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Framework for the Study of Clientelism. New Graziano, L. 1975. A Conceptual York: Cornell University Western Societies Program Occasional Papers No. 4. . 1983. Introduction. Issue on Political Clientelism. International Political Science Review 4(4): 4 2 5 - 4 3 4 . Greenfield, S. 1977. Patronage, Politics, and the Articulation of Local C o m m u n i t y and National Society in Pre-1968 Brazil. Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs 19(2): 139-172. Habermas, J. 1989. The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere. London: Polity Press. Hall, A. 1974. Concepts and Terms. Patron-Client Relations. Journal of Peasant Studies 1: 5 0 6 - 5 0 9 . Held, D. 1987. Models of Democracy. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Hermitte, B., and L. Bartolomé, eds. 1977. Procesos de articulación social. B u e n o s Aires: Amorrortu and FLACSO. H i r s c h m a n , A. O. 1982. Shifting Involvements. Princeton: Princeton U n i v e r s i t y Press. K a u f m a n , R. R. 1974. The Patron-Client Concept and Macropolitics. Comparative Studies in Society and History 16(3): 2 8 4 - 3 0 8 . Keane, J. 1988a. Despotism and Democracy, in Keane 1988b, 3 5 - 7 1 .

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, ed. 1988b. Democracy and Civil Society. London: Verso. Kettering, S. 1986. Patrons, Clients and Brokers in Seventeenth Century France. Oxford: Oxford University Press. . 1988. The Historical Development of Political Clientelism. Journal of Interdisciplinary History 18(3): 419-447. Korovkin, M. A. 1988. Exploitation, Cooperation, Collusion: An Enquiry into Patronage. Archives Européennes de Sociologie 29: 105-126. Landé, C. 1977. Introduction: The Dyadic Basis of Clientelism, in Schmidt, et al. 1977, xiii-xxxvii. Lemarchand, R. 1972. Political Clientelism and Ethnicity in Tropical Africa: Competing Solidarities in Nation-Building. American Political Science Review 46(1): 68-90. . 1981. Comparative Political Clientelism: Structure, Process, and Optic, in Eisenstadt and Lemarchand 1981, 7-32. . 1990. The State, the Parallel Economy, and the Changing Structure of Patronage Systems, in D. Rothchild and N. Chazan, eds., The Precarious Balance. State and Society in Africa, Boulder: Westview Press, 149-170. Lemieux, V. 1977. Le patronage politique. Une etude comparative. Quebec: Les Presses de l'Université Laval. . 1987. Le sens du patronage politique. Journal of Canadian Studies 22(2): 5-18. Nedelsky, J. 1989. Reconceiving Autonomy: Sources, Thoughts and Possibilities. Yale Journal of Law and Feminism 1(1): 7-36. Paine, R. 1971. A Theory of Patronage and Brokerage, in Paine, ed., Patrons and Brokers in the East Arctic, Memorial Lectures of Newfoundland, 3-21. Pitt-Rivers, J. 1977. The Fate of Schechem, or the Politics of Sex. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Roniger, L. 1983. Modern Patron-Client Relations and Historical Clientelism: Some Clues from Ancient Republican Rome. Archives Européennes de Sociologie 24: 63-95. . 1990. Hierarchy and Trust in Modern Mexico and Brazil. New York: Praeger. . 1991. Public Trust and the Consolidation of Latin American Democracies, in A. Ritter, M. A. Cameroon, and D. Pollock, eds., Latin America to the Year 2000, New York: Praeger, 147-160. Rosen, P. 1992. The Constitutional Conundrum of Hate Legislation, in A. G. Gagnon and A. B. Tanguay, eds., Democracy with Justice, Ottawa: Carleton University Press, 35-51. Ryan, M. P. 1992. Gender and Public Access: W o m e n ' s Politics in NineteenthCentury America, in Calhoun 1992, 259-285. Sailer, R. P. 1982. Personal Patronage under the Early Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schmidt, S., et al. 1977. Friends, Followers, and Factions. Berkeley: University of California Press. Scott, J. 1976. The Moral Economy of the Peasant. New Haven: Yale University Press. Scott, J., and B. Kerkvliet. 1973. How Traditional Rural Patrons Lose Legitimacy: A Theory with Special Reference to Southeast Asia. Cultures et développement 5(3): 501-540. Seligman, A. 1992. The Idea of Civil Society. New York: Free Press. Shefter, M. 1977. Patronage and Its Opponents. Ithaca: Cornell University Western Societies Program Occasional Papers No. 8.

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Shils, E. 1991. The Virtue of Civil Society. Government and Opposition 26(1): 3-20. Sudarsky, J. 1988. Clientelismo y desarrollo social. Bogotá: Tercer Mundo Editores. Talmon, J. 1960. The Origins of Totalitarianism. New York: Praeger. Tavares de Almeida, P. 1991. Eleiçôes e caciquismo no Portugal oitocentista (1868-1890). Lisboa: DIFEL. Taylor, C. 1989. Sources of the Self. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. . 1990. Modes of Civil Society. Public Culture 3(1): 95-118. Theobald, R. 1992. On the Survival of Patronage in Developed Societies. Archives Européennes de Sociologie 33: 183-191. Touraine, A. 1989. Política y sociedad en América Latina Madrid: Espasa-Calpe. Wallace-Hadrill, A., ed. 1989. Patronage in Ancient Society. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Weber-Pazmiño, G. 1991. Klientelismus. Annaherungen an das konzept. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Zurich. Weingrod, A. 1968. Patrons, Patronage and Political Parties. Comparative Studies in Society and History 10: 376^100. Zuckerman, A. 1975. Political Clienteles in Power. Beverly Hills: Sage.

2 Clientelism: Premodern, Modern, Postmodern _

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From a unilinear developmentalist perspective, the existence and perpetuation of clientelistic relations in modern or developing societies came as a surprise to many scholars. In general the expectation was that patron-client relations of all types would be replaced by "modern" forms of participation. In fact, the first studies of participation in developing countries almost explicitly voiced such an expectation. Later, especially as empirical studies on this subject increased, the objective became understanding the role of such "nonmodern" mechanisms of participation in political development. Two viewpoints emerged on this issue. Boissevain (1966), Powell (1970), Weingrod (1968, 1977), and Silverman (1970), among others, argued that clientelism was a step forward in terms of political development. It was the means of connecting center and periphery, serving to increase political consciousness where direct participation was limited. It led central elites competing for positions of power to contact local leaders for support. It connected local leaders, often opponents of centralization, to the central government, which could rely on them for control. At the same time, the positions of local patrons could be buttressed, and these individuals could channel central government resources for the consolidation of power and private gains. In a parallel manner, sometimes they could reduce the impact of rapacious central governments on the local communities. With the expansion of state administration, even local offices became attractive for their connections and access to centers of power beyond the locality. With modernization, the number of linkage roles expanded and competition among local elites increased, but demands for particularistic application of policies and delivery of benefits continued to prevail. Research indicated that clientelism was not only inevitable but also functional. Challenging this approach, Lemarchand and Legg (1971), Zuckerman (1977), Barnes and Sani (1974), and Schneider et al. (1972) claimed that clientelism did not lead to either democracy or modernization. On the contrary, it had a constraining effect on the enactment of universalistic policies and discouraged the development of citizen participation and support as contingent to general policy implementation. They argued that even in 19

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party-linked patronage, which implies an electoral framework, the participation of citizens is fragmented, personalized, and directed toward the status quo. As early as 1974 K a u f m a n discussed these differing approaches and stated that on this subject there were conceptual gaps in social science due to disagreement among the various disciplines. Although there was partial agreement that clientelism was a transitory stage (Loizos 1975; Mouzelis 1978; Boissevain 1966, 1969; Littlewood 1980; Bodeman 1980; White 1980), further controversy ensued regarding the direction in which clientelism was heading. Marxists, who predicted the development of class consciousness among the exploited, considered clientelism to be a clear-cut relation of exploitation and a f o r m of political domination (Mouzelis 1985; Li Causi 1975, 1981; Littlewood 1981). For nonMarxists, even though autonomous class organizations were considered a m a j o r break with clientelism (White 1980; Boissevain 1977), the main expectation was the development of interest-based individualistic politics. The coexistence of various forms was discussed as an additional possibility (Davis 1977), and because the expected shift from vertical forms of participation to horizontal networks was slow—notwithstanding the development of some "modern f o r m s " such as political parties—this viewpoint became widely accepted. The early arguments positing the coexistence of various forms were still based on a dichotomy between traditional dyadic relations and modern party-directed clientelism. However, following extensive research into the internal mechanisms of the patron-client relationship in many societies, the notion of such a dichotomy was for the most part abandoned. Moreover, such studies, though at first predominantly based in Latin America, the Mediterranean, and the Middle East, were subsequently extended to a wide range of locales and cultures ( R o n i g e r 1987, 1990; Tarkowski 1981; Willerton 1987), thus challenging the argument that the p h e n o m e n o n was limited to a specific type of culture. O n e of the best examples of the coexistence argument is Carl L a n d e ' s view of clientelism as an "addenda" concept (1983). He argued that modern institutional forms and clientelism were not only compatible but also complementary. Relying on Foster's concept of implicit contracts (1961, 1963), Lande claimed that constitutional forms do not provide for all the needs of the community and its individual members. Dyadic relations provide the additional framework necessary to meet individual needs in the form of affect-laden voluntary, selective relationships. Lande offered this concept of addenda as an analytical tool for further empirical research. In the event, the notion of addenda has now become fairly widely accepted. Still the question remains: How and why does clientelism coexist with modern f o r m s ? I will argue that with the increasing participation of the masses and changing patterns of political activity and recruitment in developing societies, clientelism is likely to evolve and persist along with other forms of participation that once were considered to be on the wane. It has been argued that clientelism is a holdover f r o m traditional soci-

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eties. The dyadic, hierarchical, personalistic nature of clientelistic relations has been associated with ritual kinship (Kenny 1960), Sufism (Gilsenan 1977), and feudalism (Kettering 1988)—all of which enact forms of social interaction and commitments with roots in premodern times. From another perspective, clientelistic relations can be seen as a form of domination that, although not necessarily modern, is used by modern political and economic elites to channel resources for their own benefit (Li Causi 1981; Mouzelis 1985). Clientelism may generate tensions that stem mainly from the nature of modern politics, which are predicated on the increasing participation of the masses in public life but leave open market inequalities. Clientelism not only itself reflects such a built-in tension but is in fact an outcome of this tension. Rapid mobility, both geographic and social, results in uprootedness, anxiety, and insecurity in those that experience it, creating new needs and demands. Because the novel settings and new forms of participation do not always respond adequately, and because the new milieu differs so drastically from the old, alienation may ensue. In the new and "alien" setting, old patterns may be not just perpetuated but re-created, though in a form radically different from the original. In preindustrial societies, the individual does not exist in isolation but is part of an entity—the community, be it urban or rural—that encompasses all of his or her identities, including those related to kinship and family. In modern societies, the individual becomes the political unit. Such autonomization of the individual also generates a process of atomization. The notion of citizenship requires individuals to feel a sense of belonging to a supraordinate unit, the state. Unlike their preindustrial counterparts, modern notions and frameworks of politics differentiate strictly between the public and the private. The old forms of participation are based not on equality but on an ethics shaped around primary, gemeinschaft types of relationships in which the individual has not only an identity but also a sense of belonging to concrete interactive frameworks. The new notion of equality brings with it impersonality, a loss of individual value and significance, a lack of concern for those who face acute problems. This is especially so in situations of scarcity, as are typical of Third World settings. With little recognition of either the individual or individual needs embodied in the system, bureaucratic universalism boils down to indifference and gives rise to feelings of impotence and helplessness. When tested against the hard realities of life, then, modern concepts of equality and universalism tend merely to demonstrate the nonegalitarian nature of the society. The notion that democracy empowers the people tends to be contradicted by the reality that i n d i v i d u a l s m a y be utterly p o w e r l e s s to m o b i l i z e resources. Though in principle "modern" implies greater rationality and predictability, the situation is often perceived as highly precarious and engenders few expectations for the future. Nevertheless, the inevitable process of politicization, continually filter-

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ing down from above, brings with it new opportunities for mobilization and identity formation, such as participation in political parties and electoral activity. In this process the political parties serve two functions. They become the means through which bargaining over resource allocation can occur, according to both clientelistic intercessions and universalistic principles. Moreover, they serve as a basis for the formation of a new kind of identity, a sense of belonging to an imagined community, and a potential means of access to power centers. Thus, clientelism and party politics may be instrumental in defining boundaries of membership, which in turn define the boundaries of exclusion in an economy of scarcity. How realistic these exclusionary mechanisms are, how much a client benefits from such relationships, or what the tangible outcomes for the client are do not necessarily matter. The most important factor in the recurrence of clientelism is the generation of expectations and hope, the individual's feeling of being protected, of being able to depend on some "patron," be it an individual or an organization. T h e r e is m o r e to this new t y p e of c l i e n t e l i s m , then, than favoritism/nepotism, particularistic resource allocation, or even ideological deception in the interests of political and economic elites. It exists in a totally different Verstehen (Lemarchand 1981), where motives and intentions operate in a contradictory cultural and ideological milieu. This Verstehen is diametrically opposed to the political culture of universalism, which aims to apportion something to everyone. Essentially, clientelism is the reciprocal support of "one's own" for the promotion of particular interests and the satisfaction of mutual needs. From a "modern" point of view, this orientation can be perceived as narrow and egoistic. However, the indigenous interpretive framework of cultural symbols may bestow on such a relationship an ideology of gift-giving with a family-oriented logic and terminology (Tellis-Novak 1983). In such cases, the relationship assumes a value in itself, independent of any specific act of exchange. In most situations where such relations prevail, honor, generosity, and a framework of selective familiarity and commitment complement one another. Honor is strongly based on personal preeminence and public recognition of one's ability to settle interpersonal affairs and sustain claims to socioeconomic advancement and political status (Roniger 1987). In networks of traditional patronage, this recognition is largely based on ascriptive criteria such as land, title, and so on; in the new patterns it is increasingly based on performance. Performance is measured on two bases. The first is the capacity to use links leading beyond the local level to gain access to power centers and positions of control over the distribution of resources and services. For example, patrons and patron-brokers have to demonstrate their close relations with the powerful—party leaders, members of parliament, and higher-level patrons at the various levels of bureau-

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cracy. The second, equally important criterion is the patron's willingness to share such resources as rewards to supporters and followings. Patron-brokers, then, may invest energies and resources to show hospitality, generosity, benevolence, and concern for their clients. The conspicuous and public display of wealth and grandeur are also extremely important for conservation of the power position. In striking contrast to bureaucrats, who are expected to follow universalistic principles, patrons regard selective accessibility as their stock-in-trade. Besides concrete demands, clients focus generalized feelings of support on their patrons. Therefore, the patrons have to indicate very strongly to their followers that their primary loyalty is to them rather than to the outside world. Doing so brings them the potential of personal trust on the part of the clients—though the trust is somewhat diffused because of the uncertainties involved. In many cases these clientelistic relations are supported and reinforced by the patron's and client's shared membership in primordial frameworks such as religious groups, kinship networks, and ethnic background. Displays of grandeur and protection of the needy become then the means of proving one's success to the community. Both sides must have a strong sense of belonging; for the patron, this sense becomes a precondition for maintaining his position. There is in this arrangement a distorted form of shared ideology. The patron-broker gets the best of the transaction in the form of honor, prestige, power, and material benefits. Yet a communitarian, sharing atmosphere prevails; altruism can be used legitimately to bend the rules or even break the law (Tarkowski 1981). Rendering services to the community and to individuals within it reflects a symbolic identification with them (M6dard 1981). The inequality in the modern patron-client relationship is very different in nature from that in the traditional patronage system (e.g., landlord and peasant). In the latter it is structural, permanent, and unquestioned; in the former it may be tempered by egalitarian ideology of belonging to the same community and sharing similar backgrounds, even though the relation is structurally highly inegalitarian and involves unequal exchange. From the point of view of the client, the relation has to be based on mutual accountability (Bax 1976). The loyalty, prestige, and honor accumulated by the patron-broker has to be requited in the rendering of services and allocating of resources. The balance of trade is being continually calculated. The client will accept the asymmetry in such a relationship only if it is grounded in a communitarian ideology and accessibility of the patron (Goodell 1985). The clients will in most cases have some means of communication among themselves, and failure to render service to some will shake the trust of all. As the relation is structurally short- to medium-term, the patron-broker has to show great care to perpetuate his reputation as a caring person. The setup may constitute such an intact community that the clients

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may even have the capacity for collective action against the patron. Nevertheless, though the action may be collective, the goals sought continue to be particularistic. The transactions that occur within the relationship are handled privately, but they manifest themselves in the public arena. In terms of resource allocation, clientelism defines the criteria for inclusion and exclusion. In traditional societies the boundaries lie in a community defined by primary, gemeinschaft types of relationships at the private level. In the "new" politics of the public level, there is still this desire to establish the notion of "us." The political party is one very important means of establishing such a relationship. It creates at an ideological level a strong sense of belonging, but it also creates mechanisms for establishing networks in which the resources are preferentially allocated. Thus, the new political mechanisms become communitarian—not only operating in the public arena but also having strong private connotations. The democratic mechanisms advocating universalistic rules are undermined, being readily diverted to the personalized and particularistic by this search for the accustomed, for the feeling of community (Weber-Pazmino 1990). Thus it can be argued that in addition to being generated by such factors as scarcity of resources and an inefficient bureaucracy, clientelism arises as a backlash to the centrally imposed, cold, impersonal, even alien political system. To argue that clientelism deceives the clients and surreptitiously channels the greater portion of their shares to the political and economic elites is only partly correct. In general, the clients themselves are aware that resources are trickled down to them and that a great share is appropriated by the patron-broker. They are aware of the unequal exchange, if not its exploitative nature. Moreover, the clients develop their own strategies to deal with this inequality, such as using the ideology of egalitarianism, threatening the reputation of the patron-broker when he is not being effective, in some cases even taking collective action against him (Caciagli and Belloni 1981; Chubb 1981). However, even as clientelism imbues the political processes with meaning, it privatizes public relations. Through this process the client legitimizes the existing system but maintains hope for the future. Clientelism involves inequality, but so does the society at large. Universalist principles may be egalitarian, but in social situations where the rewards are achievement-linked and meritocratic, the nonachiever is sharply and clearly excluded. Public systems do not in principle operate on the basis of personal exceptions and particularism. In clientelism, objective inequality, through the ideological mechanisms involved, may lead to egalitarian constructs of caring, sharing, even fraternity. Clientelism evolved as a correlate of modernity, which was imposed upon developing societies. Modernity demanded rational modes of thought and forms of organization that were disconnected from what were perceived as the irrationalities of tradition, religion, and myth. Implementing

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such a program involved processes of "creative d e s t r u c t i o n " (Harvey 1989). Although modernity opened new opportunities for growth, experimentation, and diffusion of technologies and mass culture, the novel environments and tempos and ways of life it created disrupted older patterns and severed millions of people from their habitats (Berman 1983). Ruptures and fragmentations of the self ensued, tensions between the rational and the emotional; the public and the private remained. Modernity has not passed without criticism; it has been attacked not only by the targets of change but also by its beneficiaries, from the times of Adorno and Horkheimer to the more recent waves of postmodernism. Postmodernism suggested that the boundaries between high culture and mass culture and between fragmented identities might be dissolved not by destroying the old but by transcending the opposition itself (Boyne and Rattonsi 1990). Within this f r a m e w o r k , current crises of representation (especially in the former socialist countries) and political disappointment, lack of respect for leadership, and passive legitimacy and public apathy in many contemporary societies are interpreted as an aftermath of modernity. Under criticism are not only the welfare state's bureaucratic inefficiencies but also its intrusion into the private lives of citizens ( O f f e 1987; Paci 1987; R o s a n v a l l o n 1988; M e l u c c i 1988; H e r m e t 1991). Institutional approaches to the regulation of citizens' lives and strengthened corporate control over the masses have led to demands, allegedly by the civil society, for the dismantling of such huge structures. Quite intense debate has been opened on the future of postmodern politics (see Keane 1988 and Maier 1987). Ethnic, gender, and religious identities have been expressed, and attempts are underway to establish more flexible groups where primary relations can be rejuvenated and new linkages developed. As different as these practices may stand from clientelism, they too indicate that in old, industrialized, Western democratic societies, the public sphere has not successfully replaced the private, and the formal warnings of the modern body politic continue to be widely questioned. Modernity, with all its stressful processes, not only has been imposed by the developed centers of the global system but also has been imagined and cherished in many less developed societies. In those settings, where democratic mechanisms and universal principles and entitlements are less well established, even the more positive aspects of modern institutions are experienced less by the masses. However, as the distinction between the private and the public spheres becomes clarified and legally enforced, the resulting dichotomy is puzzling to many—morally, socially, and behaviorally. Despite that distinction, the domination of and encroachment on the private by the public increases. For example, schooling becomes compulsory, taxation is strictly controlled, even health—as in the case of vaccination—becomes a public concern. Though in this process the masses are politicized, they have a limited capacity to affect the f o r m u l a t i o n and

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implementation of public decisions because of inefficient bureaucracies, political instability, economic problems, and scarcity of resources. People would like to influence resource allocation and participate in decisionmaking. T h e public sphere, however, does not operate e f f i c i e n t l y — w h e t h e r judged by universal rules or particularistic ones. The masses therefore seek refuge in support systems that are more familiar, not only procedurally but also emotionally. These systems may not be egalitarian, but at least they recognize the individual as an individual in a quid pro quo relationship. They may not distribute many tangible resources, but at least they offer hope for the future. That is the informal system of parallel economy. These are voluntary associations. That is clientelism, too, as viewed f r o m the periphery. Clientelism in modern and modernizing societies is perpetuated, then, by the tension between the public and private spheres. It is a form of backlash by the private—the communitarian-dominated civil society against the state- and bureaucracy-supported public. Like any other phenomenon at the crossroads between private and public spheres, it can be legitimized only by an inclusive g r o u p ethic, which d r a w s clear lines between " u s " and "them." Although in principle postmodern forms of participation are vastly different f r o m their premodern counterparts, both stand in sharp contrast to m o d e r n institutional f o r m s . Both search f o r flexible solutions oriented toward individual needs, taking private concerns into consideration and integrating everyday concerns as public issues. It is argued that the postmodern texture may dissolve the boundaries between high culture and mass culture and reconstitute new forms of human relatedness out of both modern and traditional divisions. Attempting to force clientelism to convert to modern f o r m s is probably a vain endeavor. Paradoxically, there may be inherent in postmodern settings forms of participation that, by politicizing private domains through egalitarian practices, may come to be perceived as more appropriate than clientelism.

References Barnes, S. H., and G. Sani. 1974. Mediterranean Political Culture and Italian Politics: An Interpretation. British Journal of Political Science 4: 283-305. Bax, M. 1976. Harpstrings and Confessions. Amsterdam: Van Gorcum. Berman, M. 1983. All that is Solid Melts into Air. London: Verso. Bodeman, M. 1980. Patronage or Class Rule? Kinship, Local Cliques and the State in Sardinia. Paper presented at the Conference on Social Movements in Southern Europe, May, London University. Boissevain, J. 1966. Patronage in Sicily. Man 1: 18-33. . 1969. Patrons as Brokers. Sociologische Gids 16(6): 379-386. . 1977. When the Saints Go Marching Out: Reflection on the Decline of Patronage in Malta. In Gellner and Waterbury 1977, 81-95.

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Boyne, R., and A. Rattonsi. 1990. The Theory and Politics of Postmodernism, in Boyne and Rattonsi, eds., Postmodernism and Society, London: Macmillan. Caciagli, M., and F. Belloni. 1981. The New Clientelism in Southern Italy. In Eisenstadt and Lemarchand 1981, 35-55. Chubb, J. 1981. Naples under the Left: The Limits of Local Change. In Eisenstadt and Lemarchand 1981, 91-124. Davis, J. 1977. People of the Mediterranean. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Eisenstadt, S. N., and R. Lemarchand, eds. 1981. Political Clientelism, Patronage, and Development. Beverly Hills: Sage. Eisenstadt, S. N., and L. Roniger. 1981. The Study of Patron-Client Relations and Recent Developments in Sociological Theory. In Eisenstadt and Lemarchand 1981, 271-297. Foster, G. 1961. The Dyadic Contract: A Model for the Social Structure of a Mexican Peasant Village. American Anthropologist 63(6): 1173-1192. . 1963. The Dyadic Contract in Tzintzuntzan II: Patron-Client Relationships. American Anthropologist 65: 1280-1294. Gellner, E. 1977. Patrons and Clients. In Gellner and Waterbury 1977, 1-6. Gellner, E., and J. Waterbury, eds. 1977. Patrons and Clients in Mediterranean Societies. London: Duckworth. Gilsenan, M. 1977. Against Patron-Client Relations. In Gellner and Waterbury 1977, 167-183. Goodell, G. E. 1985. Paternalism, Patronage, and Potlatch: The Dynamics of Giving and Being Given To. Current Anthropology 26(2): 247-267. Harvey, D. 1989. The Condition of Postmodernity. London: Basil Blackwell. Hermet, G. 1991. The Disenchantment of the Old Democracies. International Social Science Journal 129: 451 —461. Kaufman, R. R. 1974. The Patron-Client Concept and Macro-politics: Prospects and Problems. Comparative Studies in Sociological History 16(3): 284-308. Keane, I., ed. 1988. Civil Society and the State. London: Verso. Kenny, M. 1960. Patterns of Patronage in Spain. Anthropological Quarterly 33: 14-23. Kettering, S. 1988. The Historical Development of Political Clientelism. Journal of Interdisciplinary History 18(3): 419^147. Lande, C. H. 1983. Political Clientelism in Political Studies, Retrospect and Prospects. International Political Science Review 4(4): 435^154. Lemarchand, R. 1981. Comparative Political Clientelism: Structure, Process and Optic. In Eisenstadt and Lemarchand 1981, 7-35. Lemarchand, R., and K. Legg. 1971. Political Clientelism and Development: A Preliminary Analysis. Comparative Politics 4: 149-179. Li Causi, L.L. 1975. Anthropology and Ideology: T h e Care of P a t r o n a g e in Mediterranean Societies. Critique of Anthropology 4(5): 90-107. . 1981. Traditional Anthropology, Marxist Anthropology and Patronage: A Reply to Littlewood. Critique of Anthropology 4: 68-71. Littlewood, P. 1980. Patronage, Ideology and Reproduction. Paper presented at the Conference on Social Movements in Southern Europe, University College, London. . 1981. Patrons or Bigshots: Paternalism, Patronage and Clientelist Welfare in Southern Italy. Sociologia Ruralis 21(1): 1-15. Loizos, P. 1975. The Greek Gift: Politics in a Cypriot Village. Oxford: Blackwell. Maier, C., ed. 1987. Changing Boundaries of the Political. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Médard, J. F. 1981. Political Clientelism in France: The Center-Periphery Nexus Reexamined. In Eisenstadt and Lemarchand 1981, 125-173. Melucci, A. 1988. Social M o v e m e n t s and the Democratization of Everyday Life. In Keane 1988, 2 4 5 - 2 6 1 . M o u z e l i s , N . 1 9 7 8 . C l a s s a n d C l i e n t e l i s t i c P o l i t i c s : T h e C a s e of G r e e c e . Sociological Review 26(3): 4 7 1 - 4 9 9 . . 1985. On the C o n c e p t of P o p u l i s m : Populist and C l i e n t e l i s t M o d e s of Incorporation in Semiperipheral Politics. Politics and Society 14(3): 3 2 9 - 3 4 8 . O f f e , M . C. 1987. C h a l l e n g i n g the B o u n d a r i e s of Institutional Politics: Social M o v e m e n t s since the 1960s. In Maier 1987, 6 3 - 1 0 7 . Paci, M. 1987. L o n g W a v e s in the D e v e l o p m e n t of W e l f a r e S y s t e m s . In M a i e r 1987, 179-201. Powell, J. D. 1970. Peasant Society and Clientelistic Politics. American Political Science Review 64(2): 4 1 1 - 4 2 5 . Roniger, L. 1987. Coronelismo, Caciquismo, and Oyabun-kobun Bonds: Divergent I m p l i c a t i o n s of H i e r a r c h i c a l Trust in Brazil, M e x i c o and J a p a n . The British Journal of Sociology 38(3): 3 1 0 - 3 3 1 . . 1990. A Look at Mexican and Brazilian Clientelism f r o m the Perspective of Israeli a n d C a n a d i a n P a t r o n a g e . P a p e r p r e s e n t e d at t h e T w e l f t h W o r l d Congress of Sociology, Madrid. Rosanvallon, S. 1988. The Decline of Social Visibility. In Keane 1988, 199-221. Schneider, P., et al. 1972. Modernization and Development. Comparative Studies in Social History 14: 3 2 8 - 3 4 9 . Silverman, S. T. 1970. Exploitation in Rural Central Italy: Structure and Ideology in Stratification Study. Comparative Studies in Society and History 12: 3 2 7 - 3 3 9 . T a r k o w s k i , J. 1981. P o l a n d : P a t r o n s and C l i e n t s in a P l a n n e d E c o n o m y . In Eisenstadt and Lemarchand 1981, 173-191. T e l l i s - N o v a k , V. 1983. P o w e r a n d Solidarity: C l i e n t a g e in D o m e s t i c S e r v i c e . Current Anthropology 24(1): 6 7 - 7 9 . W e b e r - P a z m i ñ o , G. 1990. An A p p r o a c h to Patron-Client R e l a t i o n s h i p s f r o m an Anthropological Point of View. Paper presented at the T w e l f t h World Congress of Sociology, Madrid. Weingrod, A. 1968. Patrons, Patronage and Political Parties. Comparative Studies in Society and History 19: 3 7 7 ^ 0 0 . . 1977. Patronage and Power. In Gellner and Waterbury 1977, 4 1 - 5 2 . White, C. 1980. Patrons and Partisans: A Study of Politics in Two Southern Italian Communities. London: C a m b r i d g e University Press. W i l l e r t o n , J. P . , Jr. 1987. P a t r o n a g e N e t w o r k s and C o a l i t i o n B u i l d i n g in the Brezhnev Era. Soviet Studies 39(2): 175-204. Z u c k e r m a n , A. 1977. Clientelist Politics in Italy. In Gellner and Waterbury 1977, 63-79.

3 Peasants, Patrons, and the State in Northern Portugal _

Manuel Carlos Silva

_

Patronage is not a phenomenon inherent in human nature, nor is it an endemic attribute in any social system. For no national culture is it an indelible trait, though it is more present in some cultural contexts than in others. Instead, patronage is historically conditioned and may therefore change, readapt, and even fade away in the face of new situations. This chapter aims to analyze how, in a gradual and fitful way, the residents o f rural areas of northern Portugal have undergone a process of submission to the strategic goals of the state and to modernization. The degree of interference, the rhythm and efficiency of this process, have depended on the socioeconomic configuration, the organization of the territorial unit, the capacity for resistance by the population, and the actions of local mediators. The traditional and generally conservative sociopolitical alignment of the inhabitants o f contemporary northern Portugal cannot be understood or explained without taking into account the system o f bonding to and dependency on influential persons, whether patrons or brokers. In an examination of the process o f formation and centralization of the Portuguese nation-state, two villages in the northwest o f Portugal, here given the fictional names of Aguaril in B a i x o Minho and Selima in Alto Minho, were studied, with a focus on the role played by local mediators. 1 Following the dynamics of brokerage rather than a purely chronological s c h e m e , I shall distinguish three phases. T h e first ( 1 8 5 0 - 1 9 4 0 ) was a d e f e n s e o f v i l l a g e a u t o n o m y , in w h i c h l o c a l patrons and m e d i a t o r s , although they occasionally were linked with municipal and state institutions, basically worked to preserve the status quo of relatively isolated collectivities. In a second stage ( 1 9 4 0 - 1 9 7 4 ) , certain influential families, the representatives of local power, assumed a prominent role in the mediation, regulation, and control of these socially segmented communities so as to blunt local complaints and protests—but not to the point of eliminating the tensions that justified their intervention. Finally came a phase o f relative incorporation ( 1 9 7 4 - 1 9 9 0 ) in which the lesser mediators, battling for control of the management of public resources, worked rather as agents or del-

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egates of the ecclesiastic, municipal, and especially political entities that recruited or recognized them. Following the approach of Bourdieu (1980, 209ff.) and Bader and Benschop (1988, 167ff.), it is possible to apply to patronage the key idea that asymmetries in the redistribution function are one of the bases of political power and social inequality—especially, but not exclusively, in societies on the fringes of the capitalist system. There is a relationship of reversibility and c o n v e r t i b i l i t y b e t w e e n the possession of material resources and nonmaterial resources (communication skills, prestige, power), even if this is not always perceptible at first sight. From this perspective, patronage appears in a broad sense as yet another general structuring principle of the instrumental relationships of power and of social disparity itself (although, as is well known, patronage satisfies different functions and values depending on the historical circumstances). Contrary to the position of Gilsenan (1977, 168ff.), I do not view opportunities for prestige and hierarchy as simple epiphenomenal expressions or subjectiveideological moments resulting mechanically from the protagonists' place in a socioeconomic structure. Rather, those opportunities condition behavior and provide their protagonists, if not with short- or middle-term material gains, at least with situations of relative privilege, which are presented in euphemistic terms as being for the sake of either the common good or local, regional, or national development. 2 The degree and extent of local power, personified by the patrons and local mediators, depends on the one hand on the nature and degree of appropriation or monopolization of goods or services, and on the other hand on the rarity or precariousness of the resources (such as employment or land) and their importance for the survival of the clients. The fewer alternatives to an asymmetrical arrangement, the greater the probability of the dependent client submitting "passively" to the dominating power of the master or patron. Insofar as patron and client share cognitive orientations, values, and rules, the vertical and individualized relationship between the two is perceived as legitimate and is often accompanied by a certain degree of affection, as Pitt-Rivers (1971, 140), Foster (1967, 300ff.), and Wolf (1980, 34) have stressed. In this sense, the actions of the clients legitimize processes aimed at obtaining social prestige and, as such, are to be distinguished from those motivated by class (see Weber 1953, 21ff.). Unlike the Italian Mafia and the Mexican caciquismo, patrons in Portuguese society use methods that are pacific and subtle, what Bourdieu calls a form of "symbolic, sweet, invisible violence" (1980, 220). This type of relationship contributes to the compliance of clients, avoiding the polarization of latent conflict situations and preventing the organization of class on a horizontal basis. Within this context, the concept of "extended clientelism" proposed by Powell (1970) can be used cautiously. For patronage is not simply a myriad

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spread of dyadic relationships; it generally presupposes a tentacular and hierarchical chain of dyads and polyads. Such a structure favors processes of domination and controlled integration and survives institutional change and restructuring. Although patronage mechanisms generally result in privileges for the ruling elites, they are efficient as long as they maintain the system and the expectations of clients, providing the intermediaries with means for upward mobility and the followers with some palpable advantages.

Between the Village and the State: The Brokers In the formation of the modern nation-state, patronage not only imposes itself on local institutions in a formal or informal way; it also pervades the intermediate and central apparatus of the state. The system of political bossism (caciquismo), as a phenomenon of power and as a matter of arbitrary action, is situated at the antipodes to democracy and freedom, as has been noted by Costa (1984, 20-22) and Romero-Maura (1977, 53-62) with reference to political evolution in contemporary Spain. In Portugal, the phenomenon of alignment based on clientele networks during and after the political struggle between the legitimist and liberal factions led Sergio to comment that the civil war should be called "the war for jobs in the public sphere" (1972, 137; see also Martins 1976, 24). In fact, the recruitment of civil servants and the consequent increase of public services led both to growing bureaucratic power and to the reinforcement of the main political factions within the state apparatus. If there is a certain consensus on the presence of clientelistic relationships under the First Republic (1910-1926), there is no such agreement concerning the "New State" ("Estado Novo") (1926-1974). It has frequently been asserted, not only by Salazar's elite but also by scholars such as Cutileiro (1977, 220 ff.) and Riegelhaupt (1979, 519-520), that political clientelism may have been swept out or suspended during the dictatorial "Estado Novo." In fact, caciquismo on a party basis did disappear, and the brokers' space to maneuver was reduced. Nevertheless, the mechanisms of local patronage remained in existence. Though a certain degree of hierarchy and internal competition remained among factions and notables linked to the same political creed and inside the corporative institutions, the control of resources tended to be monopolized by local authorities, who became more efficient than the repressive instruments of the central state in keeping the status quo. As a religious-corporative institution, the church maintained through each priest a relationship of hierocratic domination over the faithful. It had a singularly decisive ideological and parapolitical role, not only in the destruction of the republican regime but also in legitimizing and supporting

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the " E s t a d o N o v o " through the r e i n f o r c e m e n t of p a t r o n a g e relationships with the p e a s a n t r y , the main s u p p o r t i n g class of S a l a z a r ' s r e g i m e (Silva 1989, 1 3 4 - 1 3 6 ) . T h e parishes thus f o r m e d a kind of small but solid state within the " E s t a d o N o v o . " T h e o v e r t h r o w of the dictatorship in April 1974, the implementation of a multiparty system, and especially the partial devolution of resources to the autarchic p o w e r s led to politically fruitful conditions for the restoration of clientelistic networks and their r e a r r a n g e m e n t on a party basis. T h e fact that most rural c o m m u n i t i e s were controlled by conservative patrons and caciques explains the relative inefficiency of the cultural energizing of the A r m e d Forces M o v e m e n t ( M F A ) as well as the measures of the p r o c o m m u nist g o v e r n m e n t of V a s c o G o n g a l v e s and the action of l e f t - w i n g parties (Silva and T o o r 1988, 5 1 - 5 3 ) . A f t e r the turbulent period of 1 9 7 4 - 1 9 7 5 , a process of administrative integration occurred; at the same time, traditional patronage began to be replaced by m o r e subtle m e a n s of political party brokerage. 3

The Brokers as Catalysts of Resistance It is in the centralization of the m o d e r n nation-state that the first signs of peasant resistance against the penetration of state representatives, whether internal or external to the villages, can be detected. A m o n g such signs in the M i n h o region in the nineteenth century were the popular insurrections of M a r i a da Fonte and Patuleia ( 1 8 4 6 - 1 8 5 0 ) and the p h e n o m e n o n of banditry as an expression of " c o u n t e r p o w e r " against the established order and its d o m i n a n t block k n o w n as C a b r a l i s m . T h e bandit Z e do T e l h a d o , who operated also in Aguaril and its surroundings, is socially characterized in an ambivalent way. A m o n g the p o o r he is r e m e m b e r e d in heroic terms, mainly as a popular b e n e f a c t o r evoking a mixture of fear and admiration; but to the rich p e a s a n t s and l a n d o w n e r s he w a s an o u t l a w , a " m a l e f a c t o r , " and an "assailant" (Maciel et al. 1982, 250ff.). In P o r t u g a l ' s protoindustrial agrarian society, p o w e r was f r a g m e n t e d . It w a s p a t r o n a g e that e n a b l e d the central s y s t e m and, at an i n t e r m e d i a t e level, the t o w n council to cede or delegate to local authorities the d o m i n a tion and m a n a g e m e n t of the local collectivity. Localism is not necessarily i n c o m p a t i b l e with a certain d e g r e e of municipal and state centralism and B o n a p a r t i s m . T h e s e could c o e x i s t and e v e n play a c o m p l e m e n t a r y role, b e c a u s e the t w o sides—the autocrat, the oligarchy, the municipal elite, or the central g o v e r n m e n t on o n e side and the broker, the bandit, the cacique, or the local authority on the o t h e r — a d j u s t e d or coordinated their respective areas of territorial d o m a i n . In S e l i m a and Aguaril w e see the occasional d e f e n s e of c o r p o r a t i v e interests by the t o w n hall; the c o o p t i n g of village p e r s o n a l i t i e s ; the creation of the a m b i g u o u s a d m i n i s t r a t i v e f i g u r e of the

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local overseer (zelador); and the inquiries via the respective parish councils as to "whether [those inquiries] caused any harm to the public." 4 In spite of tributary demands on the municipalities, local authorities retained considerable internal power until the 1940s. They were entrusted with levying and collecting taxes, as well as allocating and redistributing communal land, wood, and brushwood, organizing communal works, arbitrating quarrels over water and territorial boundaries, and generally, keeping harmony among and maintaining the local hierarchies. The villages of Selima and Aguaril were pervaded by the central, hierarchical system of religious values and dominated by the church, whose authority legitimated the worthiness and honor of influential families as donor of a sacred good. Thus, ordaining a priest, repairing a church or cemetery, bequeathing one's property, or donating to the church "objects of great value" (banners, crosses and bells, gold and silver necklaces) constituted a means of accumulating symbolic capital, of becoming prestigious in the ecclesiastical or civil hierarchy—such as a constable (regedor) or a member of a confraternity or parish council (AS 3/7/1909, 6/6/1909; and at the municipal level, APB 7/6/1907; APBE 6/6/1923, 8/24/1917). Archival sources from the first quarter of the twentieth century bear testimony to passive resistance and elusive behavior as well as open confrontation. Various subterfuges were used to avoid paying the extortionate taxes: names were changed, contacts with officials were avoided, and land remained registered in the names of parents, grandparents, or great-grandparents. Municipal officials evaluating property for the register were sometimes refused access. The residents of Aguaril and Selima, especially the latter, opposed the municipal and state entities who were in charge not only of extracting taxes on surplus cereals and cattle and coercing the peasants to deliver part of their grain to municipal granaries (AB 10/11/1919) but also of implementing innovations in the infrastructure—such as building a graveyard, a road, a railway (alongside Aguaril), or a dam (in Selima, by the Spanish company Electro del Lima) and managing mountain resources in accordance with forest policy (APB 5/30/1903, 7/24/1917, 11/6/1920; APBE 9/27/1924, 4/2/1925). In Selima, the Electro del Lima offered to build electric flour mills and to provide the village with free electricity to compensate for the destruction of water mills. However, such proposals were refused by the majority of the villagers, who preferred the reconstruction of their water mills at another site—a decision intelligible only in the context of the struggle for the control of local territory. Notable among the several deliberations of the town council is that of November 24, 1919, which (in article 8) determined "to collect an annual tax on each bovine, caprine and lanigerous animal." This regulation became a heavy fiscal burden in mountain villages such as Selima, which had until then managed to avoid tight municipal or state control. Following

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the passing of this resolution, the parish council of Selima-Belinhas protested that the tax "worsens the situation of the people living in the mountains, since the livestock is the only source of income enabling these people to fulfill their duties and pay their tributes to the Republic State" (AS 1/4/1920). After this protest there was a meeting in the town hall of various parish councils from the region on February 4, 1920, and again the following year (APB 10/8/1920; AS 1/8/1921, 4/17/1921). In reply, the town council requested the intervention of the National Republican Guard (GNR) to force residents to take out a license for grazing land, which the council admitted it had not succeeded in doing (APB 10/8/1920, 8/7/1923). Similarly, a conflict over the nature of communal lands—i.e., parochial, municipal, or national—ended with the parish council threatening the state with a judicial process (AS 6/5/1921, 10/16/1921). These were victories for the villagers. But in the context of the strategic subjection of Selima to the state, it must be noted that in 1911 a customs post was installed in the center of the village, and the GNR stayed in 1922 and from then on patrolled the area permanently. The absence until that time of an outside police force was one of the indicators of the relatively wide extent of local jurisdiction. In the words of a veteran resident: "Before that time, the Republican Guard didn't come here, because the people were very rebellious and didn't allow them in." Various attempts at usurpation of the parish commons were made in the 1920s. After an interregnum of relative indefinition between 1925 and 1936, the government of the "Estado Novo" and the municipal council of Ponte da Barca cautiously proceeded to carry out a forestry policy aimed at replacing—and progressively freeing—land worn out by excessive grazing. After the recognition by the Board of Internal Colonization (Junta de C o l o n i z a ^ a o Interna, JCI) of c o m m o n land in 1939 (Estevao 1983, 1157-1260), the municipal and parish councils held the legal capacity to sell common land, the areas suitable for forestry remaining under the control and administration of the forestry services. These services being, however, a creation of the state, foreign to the population and even to the parish councils, the old struggle was revived with the plans for afforestation in 1944-1945. The plans gave rise to rebellious action coordinated by the parish councils, whose members emphasized their quality as landowners and advised: "In order to keep peace, the best way is to leave us to our fate, in the manner which we have enjoyed until now" (AS 8/16/1925).

State Projects and the Brokers After the first phase, which was marked by confrontations between relatively compact collectivities and municipal and state entities, the inhabitants began to acquiesce more to the logic and the aims of the municipal

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and state institutions. The development of Selima illustrates this trend. Contrary to earlier promises that the forests would remain a common possession, the national and local authorities decided in the 1940s to exploit the wood of Selima-Belinhas (APB 12/26/1944). Such a move would have been unachievable had it not been for the passive consent of various residents, the complicity of parish council members, and the connivance of internal agents—who, according to an informant, "besides having removed documents proving that the hills belonged to the parish," took over common land with the consent of the forestry services. Conspicuous was the key figure of Raposo the grocer—known as a "stag," a "sly fox," and a "big shot"—who assumed the combined role of political and financial broker. Said the son of one of his victims: "He ordered his business rivals to be pelted with stones; he lent money in order to acquire the lands of the debtors, and he pulled strings for officials from the municipal council and the forestry services to meet at home in order to appoint the members of the parish council." This kind of practice, occurring simultaneously with latent or manifest violence, lasted until the 1960s and constituted proof that the state did not yet monopolize coercive means at the local level but relied on local agents' discretion and on the politics of "good reputation," to use Bailey's expression (1971). Despite the refusal of some local mediators, such as the Milheiro family, to collaborate with the forestry service, the expanding role of collaborating brokers such as Raposo was paralleled by the reduced willingness of the collectivity to resist the state's growing intervention in communal affairs. Before afforestation, the mountain people of Selima were the masters of their territory; they grew rye, gathered brushwood and firewood without needing permission, made charcoal, and freely grazed their cattle without having to worry about their animals trespassing on or damaging the forestry area. However, under the state afforestation program such activities were forbidden, forcing the people to build stone walls at their own expense to contain the cattle. Fines were levied for trespassing, and peasants unable to pay the fines had to give personal valuables as bail. At times they had even to mortgage land to obtain money so that their animals would not be seized. The afforestation plans also contributed decisively to the reduction or even disappearance of livestock in several families, thus provoking an eco-agricultural imbalance between livestock, manure, and crops. Considering the year 1945 as the basis (100 percent), during the following fifteen years the livestock in Selima was reduced to 46.8 percent of the cattle, 20.5 percent of the goats, and 26.4 percent of the sheep. Conversely, only 10 percent of the total value of the sale of the trees planted by the forestry services went to the parish council in 1962, rising to 25 percent after 1972 and then to between 60 and 70 percent after the 1974 revolution, depending on whether management was taken over by the state or by the community (law decree 39/76, 19-1).

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The discretionary power of the guards was considerable. Manual workers in the forestry services were allowed to work only two or three days a week, and the guards kept the wages of the remaining days; they imposed or "forgave" fines according to their "likes and conveniences"—according to the current evaluation of a forest reserve official. Another encroached realm was the production of charcoal, a major source of subsistence for many families. Producing charcoal in the area controlled by the forest services became a prohibited activity—or was at least subject to the whim of the guards, who might intercept the producers, seize their charcoal, and even blackmail women for sexual favors, according to some testimony. Such acts are branded on the collective memory of the population and are still evident in resentment toward the management of the forest reserve, in particular the local ex-watchmen. Although the last few decades have brought Selima's people a greater income from forestry, some infrastructural improvement, and (belated) compensation for the loss of their animals, the residents have never been consulted and see themselves as progressively losing ownership and management of their natural habitat (where a national park has been established). Even at the present time, trifling incidents often give rise to open conflicts, sparked by the memory of earlier events. Unlike Selima, Aguaril experienced neither an expropriation of common resources (at least, not to the same extent) nor the subsequent conflicts with the town hall and the state. Nevertheless, state interference was felt with the construction of a road in the 1940s. The town council delegated this project to the parish council, mainly through its local ally—a grocer, contractor, and head of the parish council by the name of Severino. Families of Aguaril took contrasting and sometimes antagonistic positions. Severino, backed by his dependent journeymen and craftsmen, met with the opposition and rebellion of those peasants who stood to lose land. These peasants went to court against the town hall and the head of the parish council—whom some inhabitants nicknamed the "braggart friend of the Hall Men." They demanded the construction of channels to irrigate adjoining lands, the repair of damaged walls, and an indemnity for the expropriation of and damage to land—particularly, by the abusive felling of vines and fruit trees and the blockage of entrances resulting from these activities. Once the road was finished, the mayor dismissed Severino and declined all responsibility for the affairs that accompanied the expropriation of the lands (TPB 634; IS M543). The Casa do Povo of Aguaril, whose head offices were situated in neighboring villages, was imbued from the outset with a centralized, corporative spirit. As in Selima, the corporative implementation of Casa do Povo generated a certain reluctance among the local people, mainly because of the authoritarian demeanor of the official in charge. In spite of these occurrences, the locally appointed officials, by applying pressure or imposing the

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policies of the corporative regime onto the existing patronage relationships, succeeded in weakening any effective local resistance.

Toward Incorporation: Brokers and Party Politics With the changes caused by emigration at the end of the 1960s, and above all with the new multiparty system in place after April 1974, the imperative and sanctionary character of local power was diminished and the hegemonic control of certain local personalities was loosened. These developments made more possible the political activity of the few families who contested Salazar's regime and the multiplication of competing mediators, old and new. Greater freedom of choice 5 was further facilitated by the proliferation of competing state agencies, parties, and mediators. Growing educational mobility and the alternative contacts maintained abroad by the migrant and student children of some peasants, craftsmen, and grocers helped create new points of intersection with banking, municipal, and state institutions. Such contacts provided access to new resources and new opportunities and made it possible to dispense with the services and favors of old patrons and brokers. Primordial loyalties (Alavi 1973, 29) and the remaining deferential relations were fractured. The geosocial identity of country life was softened, and the old cohesion under traditional authority entered a crisis. The realignment of factions on a family, associative, and even party basis left the local collectivity fragmented, and competitive segments formed. Thus, even though they still profit from familial or group identities, the villagers are now oriented toward alliances with the entities or organizations of the surrounding society. Among the various changes in this period, various incidents related to the struggle between the pro- and anticlerical factions took place (e.g., about the management of the chapel of Saint Madaleine). To illustrate the methods of the state institutions, the paradigmatic case of the expropriation of land for the construction of a dam by the state electricity company (EDP) in Selima and the surrounding villages is discussed below. In their fleeting incursions into the village to pinpoint the sites and owners of the land to be expropriated, the technicians and employees of the EDP met with radical reactions f r o m the population. A local resident recalls an example: "I will not say which is my land. If I see you stepping on my land, I will kill you." A defense committee of the local towns tried to give expression to these spontaneous attitudes of the population by rehearsing some tactics to counter the plans of the EDP. In addition to pressure exerted on the Ministry of Public Works, these tactics included appeals to journalists and politicians outside the parochial arena. To attain its objectives, the EDP, for its part, counted on allies both

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inside and outside the village whose interests partly coincided with the company's own. Outside the village, the political parties in power were partisans of infrastructural projects of modernization, even to the detriment of the so-called particularistic interests of the community. The parties' strategies would converge with those of the regional and municipal authorities—controlled at the time by the Social Democratic Party (PSD)—for whom it was convenient, for economic and prestige reasons, to administer funds and keep the enterprise under their own control and jurisdiction rather than those of neighboring council. Of some help was the moderation of the modern priest, who advised his parishioners to negotiate on an individual basis. Even more effective for the EDP was the approval of the parish council president. With the goal of keeping his position, attained by way of party activity and with the sanction of the president of the municipal council, he affirmed: "The parish council has nothing to do with this, these are personal matters. The EDP needs this land more than our children!" He obtained a post as watchman as a reward for such exhortations. As those who retained local power were weakened in the face of EDP strategies, experienced negotiators used "sweet talk" tactics and an atomistic approach to convince the inhabitants of Selima that if they did not offer any frontal resistance to the EDP, their land would have high value and their children would be rewarded with jobs. The negotiators suggested to each individual seller that he was being paid a higher price than his neighbors. In fact they attributed different prices to land of the same quality according to the position, degree of resistance, and negotiating strength of the individual resident. With more refractory elements the negotiators redoubled their armtwisting tactics, raising the specter of forced expropriation for the public good and even intimidating recalcitrants with threats of imprisonment. In contrast, the leaders of favorable opinion and converted adversaries were given jobs, and their lands were valued arbitrarily, bringing a higher price, or even exchanged for common lands registered in their name. Rumors were spread that some influential family had already signed and later that more than 50 percent of the families had given in, which convinced the undecided families to agree to contracts of sale. Such tactics worked well for a variety of reasons. There was an absence of collective organization, intracommunity divisions and suspicions were rife, and the predominance of familial strategies was reflected in the indifference of the nonaffected families. Also used were juridical stratagems and, sometimes, attempts at bribery. Ultimately, the defense committee faltered and gave in to a generalized feeling of powerlessness vis-a-vis the coalition of EDP and the state. Selima residents' lack of negotiating power left them with extremely low compensation values. At least until 1985, their fertile lands were

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expropriated at prices that were ten to forty times lower than those the EDP had to pay to expropriated inhabitants in nearly Galicia. In the face of external pressures, the parish council became more resigned to the gratuitous cession of water sources, the renting of large tracts of land for low rents, and the alienation of other areas for negligible prices. Between 1970 and 1990 Selima faced considerable changes in its ecosystem, resulting from a higher degree of circulation of commodities and persons and a modification of living habits. In addition to migration, the transfer of rural laborers to construction work on the dam reinforced the process of transition from a relatively autonomous agropastoral economy to a mosaic of domestic economies dependent on diverse sources of income. Moreover, conclusion of work on the dam spells unemployment for the unskilled workers or a return to precarious work in agriculture. The developments in Aguaril are instructive as well. As the troubled period of 1974-1975 came to an end, a relatively well-to-do family regained leadership of the village. Donato Fontes, son of the previous parish leader, began to use a new method and style that succeeded in gradually extending his family's control over a considerable number of residents. Having obtained a job as a clerk and later as an official at the court in Barcelos because of his connections with influential people in the town, he became an activist of the Social Democratic Party. This connection enabled him to maintain good contacts with distinguished members of the municipal government and the judiciary, which inhibited local residents from attacking him. His status was strengthened by his wife's position as the teacher in the village school, so that families felt subject to her assessment of their children's progress. Donato's modest power is simultaneously overvalued by his fellow villagers and belittled by his rivals in the PSD and other organizations for the inhabitants of Aguaril and the surrounding areas. He fuses the role of patron, resulting from the landed supremacy of his family, with a brokering role. In exchange for his upward mobility in the political hierarchy, he engages in local politics—campaigning for his party and gathering votes in and around the village. To this end, he has provided traditional "good turns" and "favors" to his neighbors in dealing with illnesses, pensions, the bureaucracy, and judicial processes. He also competes for the management of collective resources—resulting in, among other things, the building of a parochial social center, the introduction of transport facilities, improvements in road infrastructure, and the opening of an agricultural school. As with most brokers, Donato's clients never know exactly the limits of his network of influence. He operates in the shadows, raising his clients' expectations through a mixture of achievements and promises. To foster his image of influence and generate the aura of a savior, Donato uses various stratagems, such as holding receptions for urban influentials in "his" social center or spreading news of his successful intercession on behalf of the

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locals. He presents triumphs as having been won by his own efforts, influence, and contacts, when often the outcome is simply a result of the application of the law. His method of keeping clients indebted to him by not demanding immediate benefits has been extremely important in validating the accumulated favors and transmuting them into an enlarged social credit. The actions of Donato as a broker are characterized by a versatile duplicity. Though he appears self-assured and influential to his clients and subordinates in the village, with certain municipal notables he is a subservient, deferential, and flattering servant—which has won him the nickname of "Mr. Bow" from his detractors. Patronage relationships in Aguaril have become more subtly efficient precisely because they are pervaded by a common territorial coexistence, to which a certain degree of recognition and affection can be added, contributing to the lasting and quite personalized relationships between the mediator Donato and his neighbor-clients.

Favors and Dependency As the villages slowly lost ground and became increasingly vulnerable, internal indecision and disagreement emerged regarding signs of the curtailment of village autonomy (e.g., infrastructural plans and, in Selima, a forestry project). In order to weaken and get around the hindrances of local hierarchy, the state representatives applied diversionary tactics, taking advantage of and reinforcing previous divisions among village factions. They delegated power and bribed members of parish councils with benefits and sinecures. They also coopted, atomistically and selectively, the most influential family members or potential opponents by offering them jobs (as overseers, forest guards, customs officers, foremen). In addition, they presented alternatives to dependent journeymen and other marginal people by recruiting them to carry out disagreeable duties such as vigilance and denunciation of their fellows. In southern Portugal, resources were concentrated unevenly (Cutileiro 1977; Batista 1984; Barros 1986). In the Minho areas, by contrast, most of the land has been owned traditionally by a wide middle strata composed of small, self-sufficient, mainly part-time peasants. But although this diffuse ownership of land and cattle prevented the concentration of economic power, families at the top of the social pyramid retained an oligopolistic hold on positions of local leadership. In the public sphere, the functions of local mediators had to be articulated with the municipal and state hierarchies, where the former interceded or applied pressure in order to legitimize their notable internal power. The traditional authorities retained considerable power (for example, access to

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credit or emigration licenses) affecting the inhabitants' lives. In fact, in the relative isolation of the villages, the priest, the teacher, the members of the parish council, and the constable—all of whose authority derived f r o m hierarchic delegation or local status—became small-scale guardians of the status quo and worked as the ultimate link in the chain of ecclesiastical, administrative, educational, and policing institutions. Particularly during the "Estado Novo," they were charged with multiple duties: providing religious services; installing rudimentary public services (post, telephone, and, in Selima, a registration o f f i c e and vines register); repairing roads and lanes; maintaining local vigilance; and distributing progovernment propaganda. There were repercussions in the private sphere, too. The patrons and mediators tended to monopolize for themselves, or to mediate for allied families, a wide range of transactions, sinecures, and favors within the labyrinth of public affairs. Notable were the annulment of fines, exemption from military service, location of jobs, legal representation of emigrants, procurement of council approval for "declarations of poverty" (so that poor people could obtain the meager benefits afforded by family allowances), completion of forms for invalidity and old-age pensions, guarantees for credit applications, and the reports of legal, pseudo-touristic or clandestine emigration processes (AA and AS 1940-1985; Silva and Van Toor 1988, 69-70). Furthermore, in Selima, customs officers retained discretionary power concerning the frequent acts of smuggling across the border, to which some residents resorted because of their precarious resources. For example, 179 cases were registered at the customs post between 1932 and 1944, and in only 25.1 percent of them—some involving insignificant goods or values— were the offenders fined or obliged to pay customs duties; 11.2 percent did not pay and/or were prosecuted, and the remaining 63.7 percent were not penalized in any way (RPA 1932-1944). The popular aphorism " H e who has no g o d p a r e n t s is a b a n d o n e d " (quem nao tem padrinhos morre mouro) expressed the need for security and protection felt by the poorest families. Because of their vulnerability within their village and their suspicion of the outside world, they either sought refuge in their relatives and neighbors or tried to choose godparents for the christening and marriage of their children from among the rich families in the village or surrounding area—as the parish registers of weddings relating to 1860-1895 clearly show. In Selima and Aguaril, 92.6 percent and 81.8 percent, respectively, of the people chosen as godparents belonged to the upper strata of the local society (priests, landowners, farmers, small merchants, officials, and civil servants); only 5.6 percent and 14.7 percent were craftsmen or workers, and 1.8 percent and 3.5 percent were tenant farmers, day laborers, or servants. Another important indicator of the status of godparents is that during the same period, precisely in collectivities with

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a high rate of illiteracy, 80.7 percent of the godparents in Selima and 88.4 p e r c e n t of t h o s e in A g u a r i l c o u l d sign their names ( A C A , A C S 1860-1895). The family ties between the godparents and the godchild's parents developed into a relationship of ritual kinship through the institution known as co-godparenthood (compadrio). Although it was also found between people of equal status and might include a strong component of friendship, the relationship of compadrio could become a relationship of patronage— or at least could become imbued with features of instrumental friendship— as Pitt-Rivers (1971, 140), Campbell (1964, 232ff.), and Mintz and Wolf (1967; Wolf (1980, 34) have stressed. The godchildren and their families expected from their protectors, besides the yearly Easter gift, the fulfillment of traditional social obligations—for example, food or clothes, gifts of goods, property, or money, and sometimes the payment of study fees. Godparents were also expected to recommend their godchildren to influential persons for employment and to help resolve any subsequent problems. Kenny (1962, 136) and Wolf (1980, 34) concluded that the godparent/ patron would receive intangible assets (honor, prestige). However, to have godchildren in Selima and Aguaril implied having at any time a large contingent of labor available at a low salary or in exchange for food only. The exchange system in unequal relationships has constituted, especially during the first and second phases, a mechanism to legitimize the materially richer or politically stronger participants by means of recognition and gratitude. The favor and the gift, which created debts and were transfigured by the idiom of friendship, represented "symbolic counterparts" of a system of generalized exchange (Mauss 1950, 151 ff.) and shaped subtle ways of social and political control (Silverman 1970; Bourdieu 1980, 215ff.; Bloch and Guggenheim 1981; Castillo 1989, 149ff.). Though in public the families in debt had a cordial relationship with their patrons/creditors, they kept their internal problems as secret as possible so as to avoid any collusion or speculation by potential buyers and moneylenders, to whom they were under an endless series of obligations. These might take the form of obligations to provide gifts and meals, to appear as witnesses in court, or to cede or sell properties at a "special price." Owing to the rigid hierarchy of the local sociopolitical structure, patrons and brokers were plied with a constant stream of requests for protection against outsiders, removal of official obstacles, and above all strategies for upward mobility or merely an improvement of living conditions. If not blocked, these requests were subjected to the restrictive or discretionary criteria of the patrons and brokers. In its turn, in the opaque and ineffective Portuguese bureaucracy, the agency of mediators until recently introduced an element of flexibility and enabled informal and parallel strategies to take

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a certain effect. This phenomenon was found also in Greece, Sicily, and Turkey (Campbell 1964, 247; Boissevain 1978 and 1966, 29; Sayari 1977, 106). The residents accepted their incapacity to manipulate the channels of municipal or state power directly. They assumed that the administrative and judicial systems were made to obstruct their plans or, as was found by Riegelhaupt (1979, 513), to mock them, and they found themselves negotiating with a local mediator (misseiro) to intercede with the corresponding decisionmaker—an official, a "doctor," or even a judge. In turn, the decisionmaker frequently made his services dependent on the religious or political loyalty of the client or on the provision of a gift (money or provisions such as wine, ham, chickens, or goats). Relief came only in the late 1960s, with marked changes in Portuguese society (Silva 1989, 113-134). Mass migration came as a relief, constituting an escape from an increasingly tense atmosphere at the local level and providing better living conditions not only for the deprived people who left but also for those who remained. Relief from the pressures of competition for work and land led to a reduction in the vulnerability and power differential of day laborers, craftsmen, and poor peasants in relation to landowners and middle peasants. This new situation resulted in less personalized salary relations (the end of work in exchange for favors and a greater incidence of "dry work," where payment did not include food) and less unfavorable leases. This new configuration diminished the hegemony of the landowners and middle peasants and implied a tacit challenge to the traditional relationships based on loyalty and trust.

Conclusion On balance, we may say that the northern Portuguese areas studied have experienced a gradual if erratic process of submission to state rule and modernization. The potential of both communities for resistance has been severely constrained, above all since the 1970s—less because of the violent methods of state institutions than because of the complicity and agreement of several sorts of brokers connected with both the state and local arenas. The interaction between peasants, mediators, and state and local institutions is a central element in analyzing this process. It has assumed different configurations over the decades, following changes in the main roles of the patrons and the mediators in the matrix of interplay between state and local collectivities. In an agrarian context—with limited resources, statutory rigidity, and a restricted or nonexistent geosocial mobility—attitudes of support for or loyalty to patrons/brokers obey rational imperatives of survival, security, or personal improvement. It is precisely in this more personalized mediatory interface with the surrounding society that patronage relationships prolong-

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ing social relationships of family and neighbors possess their own dynamic. Frequently this dynamic is hidden under a moral, a religious, or, increasingly, a partisan cloak, but one not separated f r o m the local economy and society. T h e sociopolitical r e a d j u s t m e n t s of m e d i a t o r s and the c h a n g e a b l e behavior of potential clients cannot be dissociated f r o m socioeconomic changes and the dynamics of local micropolitics—namely, new alternative channels of power and protection. Thus, during the first decades of this century, the local representatives constituted a strong counter to municipal and state power; during the 1940s and 1950s the emergent caciques were rather violent in the way they presented themselves as local bosses; and during the period 1 9 5 0 - 1 9 7 4 the local patrons gathered, in a patriarchal and affective way, almost free labor forces and maintained occasional links with municipal power. After the revolution of 1974, party and municipal leaders sought to reinforce their power by establishing multiple networks of contacts and favors, jobs and other public resources, in exchange for electoral c o m m i t m e n t and support. Political mediators b e c a m e competitive agents integrated in party and municipal structures. Implementation of a multiparty regime weakened the traditional system of patronage. It did not disappear but rather was transformed and diluted into new institutional arrangements that could coexist with horizontal solidarities. In any case, the above analysis shows that there has been a decline in the traditional role of patrons and mediators in the rural society of Minho. This transformation is occurring as rural autonomy diminishes and the process of incorporating labor and agropastoral economies within modern economy and society begins. Moreover, it is occurring as the state enters the system and integrates and controls rural populations, leaving behind the old forms of local mediation but setting up conditions for the emergence of new types of political brokers.

Notes 1. Fieldwork was conducted in 1984 and 1985. The following archival sources were consulted: AA=Minutes of the village council of Aguaril; AS=Minutes of the village council of Selima; IOA=Inventory of Orphans of Aguaril; TB=Barcelos Court; TPB=Ponte de Barca Court; AB=Barcelos Council minutes; APB=Ponte de Barca Council minutes; APBE=Ponte da Barca Municipal Council Executive Commission; ACA=Marriage Register of Aguaril; ACS=Marriage Register of Selima; RLA=Register of Administrative Licenses, Ponte da Barca; RV/PV=Vehicle License Register, Ponte da Barca; RPA=Customs Register; NTPB=Public Notary, Ponte da Barca; S=Section; M=Mallet/bundle. 2. This approach follows insights developed by, among others, Silverman 1967, Moore 1966, Weingrod 1968 and 1977, Huizer 1969, Schneider et al. 1972, Alavi 1973, Blok 1974, Scott 1977, Wolf 1980, White 1980, Kertzer 1980, Eisenstadt and Roniger 1984. On the complex structural character of networks, pio-

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neering works include Galjart 1964, Shanin 1971, H o b s h a w n 1973, and Mouzelis 1978. 3. T h e literature on P o r t u g u e s e p a t r o n a g e and political mediation is scant. A m o n g t h e f e w c o n t r i b u t i o n s , see C u t i l e i r o 1977, 171 f f . ; R i e g e l h a u p t 1979, 5 0 3 - 5 2 3 ; Sobral and A l m e i d a 1982, 6 4 9 - 6 7 2 ; Pinto 1984, 3 9 5 ^ 0 0 ; Almeida 1986, 3 6 I f f . ; Silva and Van T o o r 1982, 212ff. and 1988; and Silva 1987, 4 3 7 ^ 4 5 . On the relationship between society and d i f f e r e n t f o r m s of state control and their legal expression, see Santos 1982. 4. The ambiguity of the figure of the overseer, confronted with two loyalties (to the town council and to his fellow inhabitants), is evidenced in their frequent resignations and exonerations (e.g., A PB 5 Apr. 1903, 9 Jan. 1980, 24 May 1909) and even in replacements that apparently had no justification. These probably had something to do with the unfulfilled expectations of the town council, which concluded that s o m e t i m e s the w a t c h m e n w e r e the very o n e s w h o trespassed on the municipal pastures (APB 3 Sept. 1919; cf. A PB 24 Aug. 1917). 5. See also on the national level Cabrai 1986. The possibility of greater freed o m of choice was similarly verified in other situations in the 1960s and 1970s. See, e.g., Huizer 1965, 1 4 2 - 1 4 3 ; W e i n g r o d 1968; D a v i s 1977; K a u f m a n 1974; Sayari 1977; and Loizos 1977, 1 ¡6.

References A l a v i , H. 1973. P e a s a n t C l a s s e s and P r i m o r d i a l L o y a l t i e s . Journal of Peasant Studies 1(1): 2 3 - 6 2 . Almeida, J. Ferreira. 1986. Classes sociais nos campos: Camponeses part íais numa regiáo do noroeste. Lisbon: Instituto de Ciencias Sociais. B a d e r , V. M . , a n d A. B e n s c h o p . 1988. Ongelijkheden. Groningen: WoltersNoordhoff. B a i l e y , F. G . 1971. Gifts and Poison: The Politics of Reputation. Oxford: Blackwell. Barros, A. 1986. Do latifundismo á Reforma Agraria. Oeiras: Instituto Gulbenkian da Ciencia. Batista, Fernando Oliveira. 1984. E c o n o m í a de l a t i f u n d i o — o caso portugués. In A. Barros, ed., A agricultura latifundiaria na Peninsula Ibérica, Oeiras: Instituto Gulbenkian de Ciencia, 3 4 1 - 3 8 2 . Bloch, M., and G u g g e n h e i m , S. 1981. C o m p a d r a z g o , Baptism and S y m b o l i s m of a Second Birth. Man 16: 3 7 6 - 3 8 6 . Blok, A. 1974. The Mafia of a Sicilian Village. New York: Harper and Row. Boissevain, J. 1966. Patronage in Sicily. Man 1: 18-33. . 1969. Patrons as Brokers. Sociologische Gids 1: 3 7 9 - 3 8 5 . . 1978. Friends of Friends. Oxford: Blackwell. Bourdieu, P. 1980. Le sens pratique. Paris: Minuit. Cabral, M. Villaverde. 1979. Portugal na alvorada do sáculo XX. Lisbon: Regra do Jogo. . 1986. L'Etat et paysannerie. Sociología Ruralis 26(1): 6 - 1 9 . C a m p b e l l , J. K. 1 9 6 4 . Honour, Famiy and Patronage. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Capela, J. 1989. A Cámara, a Nobreza e o Povo do concelho de Barcelos. Barcelos: Barcelos Revista. Castillo, A. Montes del. 1989. Simbolismo y poder: Un estudio antropológico sobre compadrazgo y priostrazgo en una comunidad andina. Barcelona: Anthropos.

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Costa, J. 1984. Oligarquía y caciquismo: colectivismo agrario y otros escritos. Madrid: Alianza Editorial. Cutileiro, J. 1977. Ricos e pobres no Alentejo. Lisbon: Sá da Costa. Davis, J. 1977. People of the Mediterranean. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Eisenstadt, S. N., and L. Roniger. 1984. Patrons, Clients and Friends. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. E s t e v ä o , J. 1983. A f l o r e s t a g ä ö dos b a l d i o s . Análise Social X I X ( 7 7 - 7 9 ) : 1157-1260. Foster, G. 1967. The Dyadic Contract: A Model for the Social Structure of a Mexican Peasant Village. In Potter, et al. 1967, 213-230. . Peasant Society and the Image of Limited Good. In Potter, et al. 1967, 300-323. Galjart, Benno F. 1964. Class and "Following" in Rural Brasil. In America Latina 7: 3-24. Gellner, E., and J. Waterbury, eds. 1977. Patrons and Clients in Mediterranean Societies. London: Duckworth. Gilsenan, M. 1977. Against Patron-Client Relations. In Gellner and Waterbury 1977, 167-183. Hobsbawn, E. 1973. Peasants and Politics. Journal of Peasant Studies 1(1): 3-22. Huizer, G. 1965. Some Notes on Community Development and Rural Social Research. America Latina 8: 142-143. . 1969. The Role of Patronage in the Peasant Political Struggle in Latin America. Sociologische Gids 1: 411 —4-18. Kaufman, R. 1974. The Patron-Client Concept and Macropolitics: Prospects and Problems. Comparative Studies in Society and History 16(3): 284-308. Kenny, M. 1962. A Spanish Tapestry: Town and Country in Castile. Bloomington: University of Indiana Press. Kertzer, D. I. 1980. Comrades and Christians. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Loizos, P. 1977. Politics and Patronage in a Cypriot Village, 1920-70. In Gellner and Waterbury 1977, 115-135. Maciel, J., et al., eds. 1982. Vale do Neiva. Barcelos: Subsidios Monográficos. Martins, J. Oliveira. 1976. Portugal Contemporàneo, vol. II, Lisbon (1894). Mauss, M. 1950. Essai sur le don. Sociologie et Anthropologie. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Mintz, S., and Wolf, E. 1967. An Analysis of Ritual Coparenthood (Compadrazgo). In M. Potter, et al. 1967, 174-199. Moore, B., Jr. 1966. Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy. Boston: Beacon Press. Mouzelis, N. 1978. Class and Clientelistic Politics. Sociological Review 26: 471-497. Pinto, J. Madureira. 1984. Estruturas sociais e práticas simbólico-ideológicas nos campos. Porto: Afrontamento. Pitt-Rivers, J. [1954]. 1971. The People of Sierra. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Potter, J., M. Potter, M. N. Diaz, and G. M. Foster, eds. 1967. Peasant Society. Boston: Little, Brown. Powell, J. D. 1970. Peasant Society and Clientelistic Politics. American Political Science Review 64(2): 4 1 1 ^ 2 6 . Riegelhaupt, J. 1979. "Camponeses e politica no Portugal de Salazar." Análise Social XV(59): 503-523. Santos, B. Sousa. 1982. O Direito e a Comunidade: as t r a n s f o r m a o s recentes da

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natureza do poder do Estado nos países capitalistas avanzados. Revista Crítica de Ciencias Sociais 10: 9-40. Sayari, S. 1977. Political Patronage in Turkey. In Gellner and Waterbury 1977, 103-130. Schneider P., J. Schneider, and E. Hansen. 1972. Modernisation and Development: The Role of Regional Elites and N o n - C o r p o r a t e Groups in the European Mediterranean. Comparative Studies in Society and History 14: 328-350. Scott, J. 1977. Patronage or Exploitation? In Gellner and Waterbury 1977, 21-39. Sérgio, A. 1972. Breve interpreta, gäo da historia de Portugal. Lisbon: Sá da Costa. Shanin, T. 1971. Peasantry as a Political Factor. In T. Shanin, ed., Peasants and Peasant Societies, Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books, 238-263. Silva, M. C. 1987. Camponeses nortenhos: "conservadorismo" ou estratégias de sobrevivencia, mobilidade e resistencia. Análise Social 97: 407-445. . 1989. Economia, campesinato e "Estado Novo." Ler Historia 15: 111-155. Silva, M. C., and M. Van Toor. 1982. Verzet van kleine boeren in Noord Portugal. Amsterdam: University of Amsterdam. . 1988. Camponeses e patronos: o caso de urna aldeia minhota. Cadernos de Ciencias Sociais 7: 51-80. Silverman, S. F. 1967. The Community-Nation Mediator in Traditional Central Italy. In Potter, et al. 1967, 279-293. . 1970. "Exploitation" in Rural Central Italy: Structure and Ideology in Stratification Study. Comparative Studies in Society and History 12: 327-339. Sobral, J. M., and P. Tavares de Almeida. 1982. Caciquismo e poder político. R e f l e x ö e s em torno das e l e i f ö e s de 1901 Análise Social X V I I I ( 7 2 - 7 4 ) : 649-672. Weber, M. 1953. Class, "Status" and Party. In R. Bendix and S. M. Lipset, eds., Class, Status and Power, New York: Free Press, 20-24. . 1978. Economy and Society. Berkeley: University of California Press. Weingrod, A. 1968. Patrons, Patronage and Political Parties. Comparative Studies in Society and History 10: 3 7 7 ^ 0 0 . . 1977. Patronage and Power. In Gellner and Waterbury 1977, 41-51. Wertheim, W. 1971. Evolutie and Revolutie. Amsterdam: Van Gennep. White, C. 1980. Patrons and Partisans. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wolf, E. 1980. Relaciones de parentesco, de amistad y de patronazgo en las sociedades complejas. In M. Banton, ed., Antropología social de las sociedades complejas, Madrid: Alianza, 19-39. Zuckerman, A. 1977. Clientelistic Politics in Italy. In Gellner and Waterbury 1977, 63-79.

4 Roots and Trends of Clientelism in Turkey Ay§e Giine§-Ayata Seventy years of republican politics in Turkey can be summarized as the integration o f wider and wider sections of civil society into the political system. Most o f this integration was achieved through deliberate attempts of the political elite at each stage to gain the enthusiastic support o f the people in general. However, the dependency of the periphery on the center has always been significant; in many cases it has led to the endurance and proliferation o f personal dependencies in the form of patron-client relationships. In this chapter I discuss these processes by focusing on the transformation of patron-client relations in Turkey from earlier dyadic forms o f patronage to clientelistic brokerage typical of contemporary Turkey. I indicate the ways in which the material structure of the patron-client relationship was significantly altered throughout history. Accordingly, I examine the resources that were exchanged, the durability of the relationships, the nature of reciprocity, the social characteristics of the people involved in the transaction, and the socioeconomic structure in the society. I also discuss the normative framework of such relations as well as the ideological perspectives involved. In the chapter there is discussion of four different forms, each marked by a major political event that led either to democratization or to the constriction of the political system. Each of these forms involves a different style of politics, but with each change there is an increasing interpénétration of civil society and state and an expansion of participation.

Center and Periphery in Republican History The gap between center and periphery in republican history is a widely discussed issue in Turkish political science (Mardin 1975). The existence of local semiautonomous peripheries was not a major problem in the Ottoman period, because these did not contradict the raison d'être o f the empire. However, with the introduction of a nation-state claiming from its citizens 49

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recognition of a uniform ideology and direct loyalty and identity with the state, these entities became a problem. Moreover, the Turkish Republic embarked on a series of cultural and ideological reforms that included radically alien notions imported from Western culture. The aim was not only to strive for integration of the nation-state but also to absorb a new ideology and a new identity. This was an extremely difficult task to accomplish. Lack of effective means of communication, both roads and media, hampered the spread of republican ideology. Moreover, Westernization did not improve the material conditions of life for the peasants, who were only irritated by the imposition of a totally new outlook. The political elite, prime motor of this ideology, came largely from bureaucratic and military backgrounds. The majority were from areas evacuated by the Ottomans in the early years of the century, specifically the Balkan region. In this sense they were uprooted radical nationalists and did not personally have bases of support in the periphery. Moreover, because democracy did not exist and there was no competitive political system or electoral legitimation process, the political elite was not forced to seek such a support system. For that elite, the prime goal was to be cut off from particularistic relations and values, which were to be replaced by universalistic rationality, as epitomized in Western values. Being cut off from the periphery was such a positive value that until 1946 elites did not go to their constituencies even for votes, arguing that to do so would legitimize primordial and local interests, which were a threat to national unity. The villagers, who accounted for the overwhelming majority of the population (80 percent), lived quite cut off from the center. Their relations with the state were limited to performing military service and paying taxes. Because of the lack of all-season roads, they seldom visited the district center, and the flow of information was very limited. Their loyalties were to their lineages, kin groups, extended families, and religious communities. Even ethnicity and nationality were not determinants, because that would have required a higher degree of awareness, communication, and contact with other cultures. Thus, there was on the one hand the oppressive, indifferent, distant bureaucratic elite, which failed to understand local problems and wished to extend Westernized, nation-state ideology and citizenship but lacked adequate means of communication. On the other hand there was the village gemeinschaft, which was apathetic to the state and society. Thus, despite ideological contradictions and reluctance, the only way to integrate the periphery with the center was to use the existing notables, to coopt them into the political system and the Republican People's Party (RPP). Notables in the different parts of Turkey became both representatives of the RPP and agents of the state in the periphery. Depending on conditions in the villages and on the local structure of the agrarian society, party

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notables in town picked out agents in the villages to represent their own personal interests and those of the party. Who these town notables were varied according to economic, ethnic, religious, and regional background (Ozbudun 1981; Kudat 1975). In eastern Anatolia, where the Kurdish population is predominant, it would be a Kurdish tribal leader; in another part of the country it could be a religious shaikh who claimed to have religious authority and spiritual followers. More often, though, notables were local landlords o w n i n g v a r y i n g a m o u n t s of land and h a v i n g s h a r e c r o p p i n g arrangements with the peasants. Although they usually lived in the town centers, enabling them to have closer links with the other local power holders and the local bureaucracy, they still had intact links with the village peasants, who saw their livelihood as highly dependent on the local landlord. These local landlords also owned urban real estate, and some of them were involved in local trade, which sometimes constituted the major activity, agriculture providing a secondary source of income. Such people would have been known for decades as notables in the area; sometimes they inherited a semiaristocratic reputation through their families. During this period the relationship between the peasant and the landlord not only consisted of generalized exchanges but also was expressed in highly established customs, traditions, and even religious ties. If the patron or the client did not violate the rules in some drastic or ongoing way, then both sides would consider the relationship as being in the nature of things. State and politics remained peripheral to the daily life of the village community; contact with central authorities was limited to occasional visits of the gendarmerie and tax collectors or to those cases where the peasants left the village community (Beeley 1968). The main external links of the peasants would be with local notables, to whom they owed loyalty and respect; the notables not only protected them against disasters such as drought but also acted as a shield against the "alien" state. The peasants lived in a world where a primary, gemeinschaft type of relationship was dominant. The local notable, although hierarchically superior and powerful, was seen as an extension of such relations. He was a part of "private" life as opposed to the cold and distant "public" face of the state bureaucracy; however powerful, sometimes even brutal, he was at least accessible and accepted. The local notables provided a link between the state and the periphery. In return, the center recognized them as the agents of the state and gave them almost exclusive access to central power. It was they who carried the burden of war and independence; they were the members of parliament of the single-party regime, they were the local party leaders, and they were the reliable friends of the local bureaucracy. This system allowed the peasants no direct political participation; they merely carried out duties assigned to them by the local notables, such as voting in the electoral college and intraparty elections. They expected nothing directly from either the state or the

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party, and whatever limited contact they had would be sought through the mediation of the notables. T h e local notable would usually search for an honest and well-to-do peasant, respected by and having influence over his fellow villagers, as the party representative in the village. The nation-state bureaucracy, which was ideologically opposed to the primordial relationships of the notables, had no choice but to turn a blind eye to these relations without necessarily legitimizing them. The notables provided support f r o m the periphery for the system and in return benefited f r o m their exclusive access to the central authorities. This gap between the center and the periphery, with the local notables mediating, was to prove a source of difficulty in the years to come. The success and effectiveness of the nation-state aroused a reaction against its leaders, resulting in a "democratic" resurgence of the periphery. In the period f r o m 1923 to 1946, the grid of the state became well established, the nation-state ideology being imposed on the periphery. Economic and political changes led to a greater awareness of the state apparatus among the peasants, and the frequency of interaction between the bureaucracy and the citizens increased. This penetration, rather than the gap, led to a resurgence of the periphery.

Multiparty Politics and Patronage T h e y e a r 1946 w a s a t u r n i n g p o i n t in the political history of m o d e r n Turkey. At that time, the country succeeded in moving quite peacefully to a competitive party system. In the center were two rival groups with only m i n i m a l ideological c l e a v a g e b e t w e e n them. W h e r e a s the R e p u b l i c a n P e o p l e ' s Party w a s b u r e a u c r a t i c and centralist, the newly e s t a b l i s h e d Democratic Party (DP) advocated liberalism, equality, freedom of speech, participation, a direct ballot system, and rule by the people rather than by the state. T h e D e m o c r a t i c Party sought to provide an alternative to the oppressive RPP. In the 1946 elections D P candidates went for the first time to the constituencies, with the aim of gaining support from the people; they were imitated by the R P P leaders, so that from the 1946 elections onward ultimate legitimation was seen as being provided by the people (Tachau 1973). The D P came to power in the 1950 elections, remaining in power with an overwhelming majority until 1960. The D P was supported by innovative modern entrepreneurs, middle class artisans, and small merchants, as well as new urban populations (Tachau and Good 1973). These groups, which realized the importance of economic power, were new in the Turkish social and political structure (Neyzi 1973). At the same time, the composition of parliament shifted f r o m bureaucratic military personnel to members of professional and commercial cadres. T h e D P local elites were of more humble

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origin than the educated, centralist, and Western-oriented RPP elites. The latter despised the ambitious, upward-mobility-minded DP groups, who were faced with cultural problems as they came into positions of political power and held the bureaucracy in strong contempt, rightly associating it with the existing centrist power block. Despite the difficulties, the DP elites were very successful because they were able to mobilize the peasantry to take an active part in politics and because the ballot provided them with a source of legitimacy. The villages themselves were still divided into primary groups according to kinship and lineage. Related to these were rival families, each having clusters of loyalty groups; in addition there were ethnic, religious, and sectarian divisions. Political parties placed primary group affiliations in a new context; old rifts between rival families assumed a political character (Stirling 1965; Szyliowicz 1962; Kolars 1973), and individual loyalties were transferred from extended families to larger configurations. The peasants, through the mediation of party notables, identified with political parties as with family loyalties. In this sense, "party" became a part of primary identity. The existence of the DP brought about a major breakthrough in the political awareness of the peasantry. Multiparty democracy introduced competition for the votes of the peasants and enabled them to influence decisionmaking processes. The vote gave the peasant an important means of bargaining on the basis of services to be rendered (Ozbudun 1975). Moreover, the villagers felt they had influence with elected leaders—which was not the case with the bureaucracy, with whom they had little direct contact. The practice of rendering services in return for votes had two consequences in terms of patron-client relations. First, the elected representatives were seen as direct personal representatives of the voters and therefore had to be extremely accessible and act according to personal demand. Second, it led to the introduction of direct bargaining with the candidates and parties about the services to be exchanged for votes (Sayari 1975). This pattern brought a new legitimation process to the patron-client relationship. The DP managed to persuade some of the RPP notables to join the DP, but usually the upstart party had to incorporate new sets of local notables, generally those having political and economic entrepreneurial ambitions. Most of these individuals were town merchants. This process corresponded to the changing political and economic climate in Turkey. The dominant economic trends in the country at that period were rapid market integration and increasing capitalist development. However, yields were still low; the peasants did not produce enough marketable surplus to accumulate capital and cash, and they needed extra help to overcome the frequent bottlenecks. The DP made sure that party-directed patronage channels worked to the advantage of its own supporters. Some

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peasants who had supported the RPP but were not tied to it as members established patronage relationships with influential town merchants belonging to the local DP cadre. Peasant indebtedness resulting from cash advances and emergency loans obtained from merchants created a solid network of patron-client relations. Although these relationships were built upon a cash nexus, they were conceived in the framework of patronage bonds—not only because local merchants were to rely mainly on their own resources to build networks of power but also because loyalty links between patrons and clients were strong. The relationships followed a longterm perspective, and reciprocity was never calculated on a one-to-one basis. There is, however, a major difference between pre-DP patronage relations and those that arose after the DP came into existence. In the latter, the peasants gained a resource, namely the vote, highly sought after by the political parties. For the first time, the party provided a channel for relations, and the voter held in his hands an important instrument of power. In time, as the economic independence of the peasants increased and their dependence on the meager resources of the merchants decreased, the bargaining power of the voter vis-à-vis the party grew. The Justice Party (JP), which was founded after the military coup of 1960, was a direct continuation of the DP and inherited large sections of the local organizations. The JP consolidated DP-style politics, not only in terms of voting support but also as a philosophy of political rule. The local organizations were based on economic power, whereas state power was used for pork-barrel politics—both to mobilize voters and to support local brokers (Sayari 1976). At that time this political style was not adopted effectively by other parties, especially not by the RPP, the main rival of the JP. Frank Tachau's analysis of the local organizations of the RPP and the JP in two well-developed provinces of Turkey reveals that JP local organizations were direct descendants of those of the former DP (Tachau 1973). In general, their leadership cadres were better educated than those of the RPP, and a higher proportion of members were engaged in the professions, commerce, and industry (all of which were newly expanding occupations in the periphery), although they came from families of humbler origin. JP local leadership certainly came from upwardly mobile sections of society, as had that of the DP. This trend was reflected also in parliament, with an increasing proportion of members drawn from the professions, culminating in the leadership of Mr. Suleyman Demirel, an engineer of humble origins. The Justice Party's local leaders had to reinstate their power continually through preferential resource allocation. Patronage, in the form of roads, water, electricity, schools, mosques, and so forth, was channeled through the party and was the common instrument of voter mobilization. Vertical linkages were established and strengthened; the party became an important means of access to state resources. These linkages were important because the state controlled the majority of credit facilities and because the econo-

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my was dominated by state economic enterprise—despite the private-sector ideology of the ruling party. The various spoils were used to create loyal supporters in the periphery, men who were economically powerful, ambitious, and politically conscious.

Democracy and Machine Politics Meanwhile, changes were also taking place in the rural areas. Continuing integration with the market and state began to shift the power structure in the villages: knowledge about the wider frameworks of society became more important than land ownership or religious piety. Individuals migrated to the city and acquired formal education, providing avenues of information and contacts. Urbanization not only affected the villages but also made a major impact on Turkish political structure. In the early 1960s the JP tried to carry rural political structures into the cities, especially in those areas where the migrants were concentrated (Sherwood 1967). Small shopkeepers in the squatter housing areas, especially grocers, became the agents of the party for vote mobilization. Such people were considered an extension of the community, with entrepreneurial ambitions; they served as information centers for the area and provided the local leadership. All through the 1960s this model worked to the benefit of the JP. During that period the RPP representatives in the same areas were professionals, more distant from the community and less successful in terms of vote mobilization potential. Paradoxically, the Justice Party's success during the 1960s in achieving rapid development, modernization, democratization, and urbanization led to the fall of the party from power in 1973. Pressures of modernization on the center led to the need for planning, which in turn increased the power of the professionals, who were predominantly RPP supporters (Karpat 1973a; Levy 1991). Modernization increased class-based politics and ideological tendencies in society. Urbanization became the most important social and political factor, giving rise to a variety of consequences. In the first place, it led to the breaking up of village communities and caused major uprootedness, accompanied by massive unemployment. However, new communities were being formed in the cities among the migrants on the basis of ethnic, neighborhood, and occupational associations, especially labor unions (Dubetsky 1977). Party organizations worked in these new communities to create links, sometimes using traditional loyalties brought by the migrants from the rural areas. As a result, in the squatter housing areas old neighborhood leaders were replaced by party officials whose link to the community was ethnic. They might be trade union officials or other upwardly mobile people from that community; what they had in common was access to central resources (Karpat 1973a, 1973b; GunegAyata 1987). These officials claimed greater awareness of the political

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processes and of information about the distribution of spoils. They were "brokers" rather than "patrons" in this system. The formally elected party officials, such as executive committee members, mayors, and councilmen, were able to assert their influence because of their proximity to the centers of power. The most sought-after resources were employment and squatter rights, both of which are very individualized forms of spoils. During this period the RPP underwent ideological change and moved closer to the periphery (Akarli 1975). It adopted a populist, social democratic ideology, which drew inspiration from the Democratic Party's antibureaucratic sentiments. This transformation corresponded with factional disputes in the local organization of the RPP: Throughout the 1960s there was conflict between the old notables and the younger, socialist intellectual professionals, culminating in the victory of the latter. Thus, just at the time when centrally controlled spoils became the most important concern for the majority of the population, the sections of the elite that were best informed about them and had an ideology that supported populism came into power within the RPP. They created urban political machines that brought them to power in all the metropolitan areas. This machinery extended to the periphery in the form of elaborate networks of clientelism (Giineg-Ayata 1990). As state penetration into the periphery increased, agricultural production became interlocked with national and international markets. Parallel with this development, state intervention in the agroeconomy (in the form of subsidies to agricultural production, buying and selling of ingredients and produce, irrigation programs, etc.) drastically increased. Thus, information and access to state resources, which remained scarce, became critical for the economic success of the peasants. Still, preferential treatment was necessary to obtain essential resources such as credits, fertilizers, and so on. These were distributed through the bureaucracy, so access to it, direct or indirect, continued to be important (Sayari 1976) and was achieved through the political parties. Traditionally, local leaders in the right-wing parties were merchants; they were gradually replaced by their children, who continued with the same kinds of economic activities but had better educational backgrounds and therefore access to more information. A major shift occurred in the RPP during this period. Local notables were replaced by very effective local professionals who were highly informed about state activities through close social contacts with the local bureaucracy. This power shift in the periphery was accomplished as a result of the ideological transformation in the RPP, which empowered local party members as representatives of the rank and file. The peasants became increasingly aware of their own political power, both as voters and in intraparty politics. They considered favors obtained as their rightful due, the reward for services rendered. This attitude led to a narrower perspective on social exchange and a weakening of long-term loyalties. Moreover, brokers (although they were limited in number) could be replaced. The only way they could legitimize their position was as "subservient" party officials.

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Although some of them were descendants of old notable families, their ideological commitments precluded their using high social rank as a source of legitimation. Moreover, the vast majority were from upwardly mobile sections of the community, usually with education, and lacked the backing of traditional legitimation processes. New tensions developed in the relationship at this stage. Some sort of clientelism was demanded by both parties, which involved reciprocity and networking. But this clientelism was extremely fragile. It involved the empowering of clients and the disempowering of brokers, with both sides remaining highly dependent on each other. In summary, the 1970s showed a proliferation of patron-client relationships, ranging from the machinery of urban politics to the remnants of semifeudal patronage in the eastern provinces. Consolidation of clientelism provided a means for participation. One of the main targets of the 1980 coup was party politics, which was closely associated with clientelism. The politicians were seen as corrupt, having little concern for moral principles and being oriented toward competition for spoils. These attitudes were seen as prevailing throughout the vertical linkages and the linkages were strengthened by ethnic, religious, and ideological differences. As a result, the military regime not only banned the existing political parties but, when the new parties were founded, tried to veto all the contact persons in the center who might have such backward linkages. They initiated the establishment of two political parties and tolerated a third one, all of which lacked readily available grassroots organizations. Both of the parties that were somehow supported by the military failed in the elections of 1983. The party that was to some extent outside the bureaucratic tradition and seemed to be responsive to the demands of the people in general won the elections with an overwhelming majority (Heper 1990; Ergiider and Hofferbert 1988). The Motherland Party (MP), which ruled the country for nearly a decade in the 1980s, refrained from establishing an elaborate organizational network. Even while in power, it did not attempt big campaigns for membership and developed a style of clientelism that was radically different from that of its predecessors. The MP applied pork-barrel distribution of spoils as party-directed patronage in the rural areas. It frequently turned subprovinces into provinces, carried out preferential electrification of villages, and established telephone networks. However, it avoided creating vertical networks based on party cadres, preferring to concentrate on a few leaders in the big cities who later became financiers and vigorous supporters. Rumors of corruption and gossip about the partnership between the bourgeoisie, the upper echelons of the party, and the "favored" businessmen were cited almost daily in the newspapers. The MP received its political support basically f r o m this competitive b o u r g e o i s i e — a m b i t i o u s , upwardly mobile individuals who were critical of the timidity of their traditional past.

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The Social Democratic Populist Party (SDPP) and the True Path Party (TPP) were both descendants of pre-1980 parties, the Republican People's Party and the Justice Party, respectively. Both inherited an elaborate network of party organizations. 1 The True Path Party's organization was influential in the periphery, with patronage networks between the peasants and the local bourgeoisie going back to the 1950s and passed down through the generations (Acar 1991). Although the SDPP continued to work through the clientelistic networks in the periphery, the main weight of the party organization shifted to the urban areas, where there was greater support, especially among the migrants. Migrants were organized in the party not only along clientelistic lines but also as ethnic groups; ethnicity became a major determinant in resource allocation, including rights to land, jobs, and credit. Throughout the 1980s the intensity of ethnic and religious sectarian politics increased, especially in the SDPP, and became a major source of vote mobilization amongst migrants. Ethnic and religious affiliations determined access to preferential resource allocation. Despite deliberate attempts by the military government to curb clientelistic politics, there has been a proliferation of clientelism since 1980. Carrying out personal favors for the constituents is still seen as the primary job of elected officials, whether local or central (Yucekok 1983)— so much so that a new extension has been added to the legislature where each member of parliament (MP) has an office and a secretariat to deal with clientelistic networks. Clientelism has not only expanded but has even been systematized. MPs routinely spend every morning responding to demands from "voters." Most of them keep files for each client, registering all favors rendered so they can claim favors in return; some of these records are even computerized. Similarly, municipal councilmen are judged largely in terms of personal effectiveness: the ability to do favors for followers (Kara and Koksal 1988). MPs who belong to the ruling party are under the greatest pressure; the members of the parties out of power eagerly await their turn. Ministers, MPs, mayors, and all elected officials have to be highly accessible to re-create the ideology of subservient representatives ready to react on demand. This ideology of accessibility is so important that when the True Path Party leader, Mr. Demirel, returned to power in 1991 after an eleven-year interval, he spent about three months receiving delegates f r o m his p a r t y ' s organizations all over Turkey, giving speeches, listening to their demands, and making promises.

Structural Reasons for Clientelism Over the last decade there has been an increase in demands for resources distributed through the clientelistic political system as the political aware-

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ness and the political participation of the population have spread. Not only is there now a greater variety of resources to be distributed (ranging from jobs to land rights in urban real estate, from passports to credit), there has also been an enormous population explosion, accompanied by migration from the country to the towns. This migration has led to increasing pressure for favors. Demands for favors from the state and from political parties grew with capitalist development, improvement in socioeconomic status, betterment of living conditions, and greater awareness of the world among wider sections of the population. Through their links to the villages, the migrants passed back the idea that these improvements were the right of all citizens. Meanwhile, the resources increased. Between 1923 and 1985 the population multiplied by four, whereas the GNP multiplied by twenty. However, the GNP was not divided equally among the social classes; there was a very skewed distribution favoring the bourgeoisie. As the bourgeoisie became more and more influential in politics, they functioned as a sieve, retaining the bigger rewards for themselves and letting only minor benefits flow to their political clients. Constantly increasing numbers of participants were i n c l u d e d in the s y s t e m , and the range of d e m a n d s also i n c r e a s e d . Eventually, the system became a bottleneck and was unable to respond to the demands. With the selective distribution of goods and services in a clientelistic system, the most important element is that everyone can get at least something of what he or she needs. The hopes of the client are kept alive by the belief that anything is possible with a proper recommendation. Thus, when clients fail, they assume that the broker was not powerful enough; instead of seeking a different form of participation, they try to find another broker. When the channels of social mobility are relatively open, the chances of success may be statistically low, but they are sufficient to create hope for individuals seeking upward mobility. However, the system has become increasingly exclusionary; the total amount of favors a client receives is limited, and the proportion of the citizens that can effectively be served as clients has shrunk. Nevertheless, both clients and brokers perpetuate the system because it still generates some returns and, probably more important, hope for the future. This situation leads to augmentation of the search for an individual solution and a normative system that supports such a choice, rather than a collective solution. Moreover, there are institutional factors that help perpetuate a clientelistic system. First, resource allocation by the state authorities is haphazard, which means that preferential access to state decisionmaking bodies is extremely important. Second, the political parties are increasingly trying to curb the power of bureaucracy for their own purposes, reinforcing the parties' tendency to push for particularistic preferences rather than universalistic norms. Third, for a very long time (although there have been intermis-

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sions), m e t r o p o l i t a n m u n i c i p a l i t i e s and the central state h a v e been c o n trolled by d i f f e r e n t political parties. Both control vast resources and h a v e used t h e s e to c o m p e t e with each o t h e r to e n h a n c e their o w n n e t w o r k s . Fourth, the m a r k e t in Turkey is not fully developed and independent; individuals need a b a c k u p system to have access to s o m e sections of the market (particularly the j o b m a r k e t , some sections of retail and wholesale trade, and the land market). T h u s , like the public sector, which dominates large sections of the e c o n o m y , the private sector is highly dependent on personalized relationships. For example, finding j o b s is a very important f u n c t i o n of clientelistic networks. T h e g o v e r n m e n t or municipality gives out a contract, and in return the contractor e m p l o y s party supporters at various levels and p a y s d o n a t i o n s to the party. S o m e t i m e s the c o n t r a c t o r m a y also be expected to contribute directly to the c a m p a i g n expenses of the m a y o r or the minister giving out the contract. T h e m a i n s o u r c e of c l i e n t e l i s t i c p o l i t i c s is t h e p o l i t i c a l p a r t i e s . C a n d i d a t e lists are arranged by each party, so securing a good position on the list is a g u a r a n t e e of being elected. It follows that the primary orientation of M P s , m a y o r s , or municipal council m e m b e r s is toward the party rather than the c o n s t i t u e n c y . H o w e v e r , these o r i e n t a t i o n s are not totally unrelated: If the elected representative has the reputation of being good in party activities, it will be assumed that he will bring resources to the cons t i t u e n c y — w h i c h is considered more important than being a good legislator. Similarly, municipal council m e m b e r s are considered to be intermediaries of resource allocation rather than d e c i s i o n m a k e r s on the patterns of r e s o u r c e distribution. T h e y see e f f e c t i v e n e s s as h a v i n g direct links with voters and party m e m b e r s , solving their problems and advising them; they are not i n t e r e s t e d in m a c r o p r o j e c t s . T h e i r p r i m a r y target is to h a v e an a m p l e supply of resources for their own constituencies; thus their scope is usually limited to daily activities. In T u r k e y , although the parties are clientelistic, they d o not have w e a k ideologies. T h e y c o r r e s p o n d to m a j o r cleavages in the Turkish social structure, reflecting not only e c o n o m i c but also religious, ethnic, and cultural divisions. V o t e fluidity is minimal between left and right. This is another f a c t o r that increases clientelism, b e c a u s e social g r o u p s (especially ethnic g r o u p s ) c o m p e t e t h r o u g h p o l i t i c a l p a r t i e s in g e t t i n g t h e i r s h a r e of resources.

Contradictions of Contemporary Patronage T h e o u t c o m e in this highly competitive system is a new normative f r a m e work. T h e individual has to find his or her own solutions in an extremely unpredictable a n d insecure m e d i u m . T h e channels of access to p o w e r and resources are of secondary importance; the main aim is to obtain p o w e r and

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resources and to hold on to them. T o d a y clients are trying to get their rights t h r o u g h their r e p r e s e n t a t i v e s . T h e r e is less l e g i t i m a c y in the b r o k e r a g e nexus, both because excluded groups h a r b o r resentment and b e c a u s e there is less internal cultural acceptance of the position of the broker. Thus, relationships involve built-in tension. One d i m e n s i o n of this tension is that brokers and clients have a mutual support s y s t e m . It is a kind of f r a t e r n i t y b o n d , especially in those cases w h e r e c l i e n t e l i s m is b a c k e d u p by ethnicity and kinship. T o c o n s o l i d a t e their position, the brokers have to d e f e n d their clients f r o m outside c o m p e tition. This requirement, on the one hand, is a potential for factional develo p m e n t , which strengthens the bonds in the network. But on the other hand, it increases the pressure on the broker to extend control o v e r his clients. T h e clients will also push their broker to be a good c o m p e t i t o r in the outside r e a l m so they will h a v e a c c e s s to i n c r e a s i n g r e s o u r c e s . T h i s is the material dimension to clientelistic relations. T h e second d i m e n s i o n , h o w e v e r , is m o r e spiritual and emotional, even "altruistic." As in any traditional society, primary g r o u p relations are seen as constituting the most reliable relations. 2 Clientelism is based on a dyadic contract and is extremely personal in nature. Favors are usually characterized as p e r s o n a l c o u r t e s i e s . For the b r o k e r , this c r e a t e s both p o w e r and prestige and the basis for "a call of loyalty" w h e n in need; it also imparts prestige to the client as a r e c o g n i z e d c o u n t e r p a r t w h o has c o n t a c t s with influential people and the ability to ask f a v o r s of them. This reputation is very important within the c o m m u n i t y . Especially for the brokers, it is seen not as brutal political p o w e r but as a reputation of benevolence. Especially f o r those sections of society that are u p w a r d l y mobile, it b e c o m e s a show of i n t e g r a t i o n to the o l d e r c o m m u n i t y a n d r e c o g n i t i o n of their c o m m u n a l bonds. T h u s , the i m a g e of p a t r o n a g e is c o n t r a d i c t o r y . O n the o n e h a n d , it involves corruption and exclusion, which creates resentment. A n d because clientelism is widely criticized by the m e d i a throughout society, the reputation of wide clientelistic networks does not necessarily increase votes. On the other hand, it involves personal relationships, emotionality, and s o m e kind of w a r m t h (as opposed to bureaucratic coldness) and prestige, which m a k e the ethics of clientelism difficult to break. M o r e o v e r , f o r any political party that is close to power, clientelism serves as an indicator of e f f i c a c y a n d loyalty. It is this internal m e c h a n i s m of clientelism that k e e p s the process alive in urban and m o d e r n politics. Thus, clientelism not only has a materialistic d i m e n s i o n but also sustains a n o r m a t i v e h u m a n f r a m e w o r k : an ethic of belonging, solidarity, and intimate relations, as o p p o s e d to individualism, impersonality, and bureaucratic alienation. In this context clientelism m a y b e an individual solution, but it is not necessarily an individualistic solution.

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Notes 1. Both of these parties had difficulties in establishing themselves. They were not allowed to participate in the 1983 elections but took part in the 1984 local elections. 2. A recent report indicates that people in Turkey trust primary groups based on close social contact rather than voluntary organizations, unions, or the state bureaucracy (TUSIAD 1991).

References Acar, F. 1991. The True Path Party. In M. Heper and J. Landau, eds., Political Parties and Democracy in Turkey, London: I. B. Tauris, 188-202. Akarli, E., and G. Ben-Dor, eds. 1975. Political Participation in Turkey. Istanbul: Bogazici University Press. Akarli, E. 1975. The State as Sociocultural Phenomenon and Political Participation in Turkey. In Akarli and Ben-Dor 1975, 135-157. Beeley, B. W. 1968. The Turkish Village C o f f e e h o u s e as a Social Institution. Geographical Review 53: 4 7 4 - 4 9 3 . D u b e t s k y , A. R. 1977. C l a s s and C o m m u n i t y in U r b a n T u r k e y . In C. A. N i e w e n h u j z e , ed., Commoners, Climbers and Notables, Leiden: E. J. Brill, 360-371. Ergiider, U., and R. I. Hofferbert. 1988. General Elections in Turkey: Continuity or Change in Voting Patterns? In M. Heper and A. Evin, eds., State, Democracy and the Military: Turkey in the 1980s, Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter, 81-100. Giineg-Ayata, A. 1987. Migrants and Natives: Urban Bases of Social Conflict. In T. Eades, ed., Migrants, Workers, and the Social Order, New York: Tavistock, 234-248. . 1990. Kasabada Politika ve Politikaci. Toplum ve Bilim 12: 97-110. Heper, M. 1983. Turkiye'de Kent-Gocmeni ve Vurokratik Orgutler. Istanbul: Tasvir Yayincilik. . 1990. The State, Political Party and Society in Post-1983 Turkey. Journal of Comparative Politics 25(3): 321-333. Kara, N., and S. Koksal. 1988. Buyuiksehir Yonetim Modelinin c sleyisi, Istanbul Ornegi. Unpublished manuscript, Marmara Universitesi, I.I.B.F. Kamu Yonetimi Bolumu. Karpat, K. H. 1973a. Structural Change, Historical Stages of Modernization, and the Role of Social Groups in Turkish Politics. In Karpat, ed., Social Change and Politics in Turkey, Leiden: E. J. Brill, 11-93. . 1973b. Ideology in Turkey After the Revolution of 1960. In Karpat, ed., Social Change and Politics in Turkey, Leiden: E. J. Brill, 317-367. Koksal, S„ and N. Kara. 1989. Belediyeler ve Kentsel Gruplar, Ankara, II. Ulusal Sosyal Bilimler Kongresi 31 Mayis, 2 Haziran. Kolars, J. 1973. Integration of Villagers into the National Life of Turkey. In Karpat 1973, 182-203. Kudat, A. 1975. Patron Client Relations: The State of the Art and Research in Eastern Turkey. In Akarli and Ben-Dor 1975, 61-89. Mardin, S. 1975. Center-Periphery Relations: A Key to Turkish Politics. In Akarli and Ben-Dor 1975, 7 - 3 3 .

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Neyzi, N. 1973. The Middle Class in Turkey. In Karpat 1973, 123-151. Ozbubun, E. 1975. Political Participation in Rural Turkey. In Akarli and Ben-Dor 1975, 33-61. . 1981. Turkey: The Politics of Clientelism. In S. N. Eisenstadt and R. Lemarchand, eds., Political Clientelism, Patronage and Development, London: Sage, 249-270. Sayari S. 1975. Some Notes on the Beginnings of Mass Political Participation. In Akarli and Ben-Dor 1975, 121-135. . 1976. Aspects of Party Organization in Turkey. The Middle East Journal 30(2): 187-189. . 1977. Political Patronage in Turkey. In E. Gellner and J. Waterbury, eds., Patrons and Clients in Mediterranean Societies, London: Duckworth, 103-130. . 1978. The Turkish Party System in Transition. Government and Opposition 12(1): 39-57. Sherwood, W. B. 1967. The Rise of the Justice Party in Turkey. World Politics 25: 54-65. Stirling P. 1965. Turkish Village. London: Weidenfeid and Nicholson. Tachau, F. 1973. Turkish Provincial Politics. In Karpat 1973, 282-317. Tachau, F., and M.J.D. Good. 1973. The Anatomy of Political and Social Change. Comparative Politics 4: 551-573. TUSIAD. 1991. Turk Toplumunun Degerleri, Istanbul, yayin no. 91, 6.145. Yucekok, A. 1983. Turkiye'de Parlamentonun Evrimi. Ankara: SBF, yayinlari.

5 Clientelism and Social Protest: Peasant Politics in Northern Colombia Cristina Escobar Sucre, a province of large cattle-raising ranches on the northern Atlantic coast of Colombia, has had one of the strongest peasant movements in the country over the two last decades. The peasants of Sucre have massively resorted to road blockades, land occupations, and sit-ins to pressure the government toward effective agrarian reform. Their relative successes have challenged the power of traditional landowners. However, like other northem provinces, Sucre has one of the most deeply rooted clientelistic political systems in Colombia. The peasant movement has been unable to articulate a political alternative that seriously confronts the regional political chiefs, whose electoral power stems from their control of the state apparatus and its resources. T h e presence in Sucre of both peasant mobilization and clientelism, two contradictory political practices, might seem paradoxical, because clientelistic relations are often considered to be opposed to more classbased political actions. In this chapter I aim to explain this phenomenon from two vantage points. From the vantage point of political participation, which treats both social movements and patron-client relations as political practices, I examine arguments that attempt to explain how patron-client relationships evolve. Some scholars consider clientelistic relations a transitory mechanism of politicization; others think they are a permanent mechanism of peasant exclusion. This debate inevitably leads to a discussion of the political role of the peasants under the new circumstances in the countryside and the national political framework within which these practices have developed. T h e second vantage point, a historical one, will allow me to assess the major characteristics of the peasant struggles in Sucre, analyzing the evolution o f the political groups in the region over the last thirty years in connection with national and regional political clientelism. I focus my analysis on the dilemma faced during the 1970s and 1980s by the peasant movement, which had to choose between abstentionism or cooptation by clientelism. I 65

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discuss how the peasant movement, although it confronted the traditional patron-client relationship, simultaneously helped to consolidate modern forms of brokerage. This analysis leads to my main argument: that the seemingly paradoxical combination of peasant movements and clientelism can be explained if the practices are considered to be two sides of the same phenomenon—peasant political exclusion. This exclusion makes peasants struggle for political participation, but it also forces them into vertical clientelistic structures of state resource distribution. Both the peasant movement and the clientelistic relations are highly influenced by the characteristics of the Colombian state and the regime of restricted democracy (which in the early 1990s faced a combination of increasing violence and significant political reform), which I describe briefly toward the end of the chapter. I conclude by considering the possibilities for rural democratization in the Colombian countryside.

Peasant Political Incorporation Versus Exclusion Clientelistic relations have been addressed in the study of peasant societies and the incorporation of rural villages into the national market, state, and society. 1 There is general agreement on the characteristics of this transition in rural villages from traditional clientelistic relations (enduring, allencompassing, intense, built-in personal commitments and resources, and wholly legitimated) to so-called political clientelism or brokerage (based on the relation that multiple brokers develop for short periods of time and for specific transactions with their clients, acting as mediators between the locality and the state in the distribution of resources) as the market, the political system, and the bureaucracy develop. 2 However, there is no consensus on the consequences of this transition for rural laborers. There are two interpretations in dealing with clientelism as part of the process of peasant political transformation: One explains clientelistic practices as a process of incorporation into national politics, a transitional form of politicization that socializes peasants into democratic behavior (Silverman 1977; Weingrod 1977; Lande 1977). The other emphasizes the exclusionary character of clientelism that promotes "desorganic integration" and division and impedes association and autonomy of social groups (Lemarchand and Legg 1972; Graziano 1977; Menendez Carrion 1986; Zamosc 1990). Some authors consider that clientelism represents a redistributive and stabilizing mechanism that complements the poor capacities of the state. 3 However, this hypothesis is also objected to. Even if many authors (Powell 1977 and 1980; Guasti 1977; Graziano 1977; Caciagli and Belloni 1981) accept that clientelism is a mechanism of control and prevention of social

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unrest, and that it contributes to the material needs of the rural population, they ultimately question the benefits of clientelism. What is questionable about clientelism is not its function of "integrating new subjects into a sociopolitical system," or its function as an "effective regulatory mechanism"; rather, what is questionable is that "impeding the self-assertion of genuinely modern political behavior, the new clientelism devitalizes civil society and makes it pay an exorbitant price to the dominant classes" (Caciagli and Belloni 1981, 53). Powell's analysis (1977) of peasant political organizations exemplifies the dual character of clientelism that integrates peasants into the national political system but in a subordinated way. Powell states that when traditional patron-client relations decline and political brokerage appears as a result of the transformation of the market and the state, peasant organizations are often formed under the tutelage of national parties (e.g., the Christian Democratic Party in Venezuela and the Communist Party in Italy) or state parties (e.g., the Movimiento Nacional Revolucionario in Bolivia or the Partido Revolucionario Institucional in Mexico). Peasant organizations are integrated into the political process in the transfer from one form of clientelistic practice to a more institutionalized set of practices linked to national parties, state programs, and so on. However, Powell insists, these practices replicate the patron-client pattern "on a higher level of organization" subordinating peasants to political parties or to the state. Instead of "a bargaining organization initiated from below" the peasant unions "tend to be part of a clientele system organized from above" (156-157). Clientelistic relations are useful for the politicization and incorporation of peasants into modern politics, but this incorporation implies the subordination of peasants to the clientele system. It also limits the formation of autonomous peasant organizations, impedes political parties from acting as mediators of peasant interests, and forces state resources to be selectively and unequally redistributed. From the perspective of citizenship and political participation, 4 clientelism appears to be a viable alternative only to complete exclusion. Clientelism can be seen as a strategy for preventing violent intervention or for distributing scarce resources among marginal social groups but never as a substitute for political participation. The specific form in which clientelistic relations have developed as peasants have become integrated into national politics depends not only on peasant politics and clientelistic relations as such but also on the features of the states and political regimes into which they are incorporating. In this respect, if peasants are headed by national parties, as in Venezuela (Powell 1977) and Sardinia (Weingrod 1977), or by state parties in corporatist structures, as in Mexico (Powell 1977) and Peru (Guasti 1977), it is because the political characteristics in these places entail that kind of incor-

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poration. T h e a n a l y s i s of c l i e n t e l i s m in m o d e r n rural societies t h e r e f o r e requires a r e f e r e n c e to the particular characteristics of the national politics of each society.

Pressuring the Government and Occupying Land Sucre is a region of nearly 1 million hectares (11,000 km 2 ) inhabited by half a million people, 4 6 percent of w h o m live in the rural areas. T h e econo m y of Sucre is f u n d a m e n t a l l y agrarian and is linked to traditional cattleraising ranches (haciendas). 5 F r o m the end of the last century to the 1960s, the h a c i e n d a s e x p a n d e d in response to the d e m a n d s of the national market. D u r i n g that time, peasants were granted temporary access to plots of land at the forested boundaries of the haciendas. T h e y were supposed to clear the land, plant grass, and then leave the plot after approximately two years. In this way the plots of land w e r e p r e p a r e d for cattle grazing and eventual i n c o r p o r a t i o n into the h a c i e n d a s . In e x c h a n g e , peasants were a l l o w e d to plant their o w n crops d u r i n g these t w o years. Since the 1960s, h o w e v e r , c h a n g e s in the traditional rural e c o n o m y have resulted in the eviction of t h o u s a n d s of peasant families f r o m the countryside, particularly f r o m the estates to which they had traditionally been linked. T h e m a j o r factors of rural c h a n g e have been the c o m m e r c i a l i z a t i o n of agriculture (introduction of cotton, rice, s o r g h u m , etc.), the pressure of agrarian reform laws, 6 and the e x h a u s t i o n of virgin land available to be cleared with peasant labor, which the h a c i e n d a s had been incorporating for years. T h o u s a n d s of landless families have migrated to urban centers to join the ranks of the unemployed. 7 But t h o u s a n d s of rural laborers have also participated during the last two d e c a d e s in o n e of the most tenacious regional land peasant m o v e m e n t s in the country. T h e initially state-sponsored national peasant organization, Asociación Nacional de U s u a r i o s C a m p e s i n o s ( A N U C ) , had developed and e x p a n d e d in Sucre by the end of the 1960s. Peasants organized within A N U C carried out repeated land occupations. A l t h o u g h they were repressed by local gove r n m e n t o r d i r e c t l y b y l a n d l o r d s , p e a s a n t s f o r c e d the s t a t e ' s A g r a r i a n R e f o r m Institute (Instituto C o l o m b i a n o para la R e f o r m a A g r a r i a — I N C O R A ) to negotiate land settlements with the landowners. T h e unequal distribution of land in Sucre 8 was conducive to a high rate of land occupation. B e t w e e n 1970 and 1978, Sucre was the departamento (province) with the largest n u m b e r of invasions, 19 percent of the total of 1,031 land invasions in the w h o l e country (Zamosc 1987, 124). Other factors that also contributed to the m a g n i t u d e of the peasant m o v e m e n t , especially with respect to the initial mobilization, include 1) the unilateral and sudden r e f u s a l of l a n d o w n e r s to continue their contracts with tenants and sharecroppers u n d e r the terms of the agrarian law of 1968; 2) g o v e r n m e n t a l

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interest in providing legal sanction and concrete mechanisms to organize the rural laborers; and 3) the presence of state officials and leftist militants interested in organizing and mobilizing rural laborers in the region. The peasant movement in Sucre developed in three main stages. The first stage started in the late 1960s with the organization of ANUC, which reached its peak in the mid-1970s and declined during the late 1970s. During this time, peasant pressure forced the local government and INCORA to legalize peasant claims to most of the land that had already been occupied. The decline of the peasant movement at the end of the 1970s can be explained by, among other factors, state repression, governmental abandonment of agrarian reform programs, the crisis of ANUC (which split into pro- and antigovernment factions), and even the partial success of peasants in acquiring land. The movement was revitalized during the early 1980s with the initiation of a second period of peasant mobilizations. Land invasions and sit-ins recurred after 1983, forcing the local government and INCORA to negotiate with landowners in 1987. In September 1983, fifty peasants occupied the cathedral in Sincelejo, the capital of the departamento of Sucre. They were protesting the killing of one peasant leader and the detention of others and were demanding land from INCORA. The peasants left the cathedral after reaching an agreement with the government, but during the next few months they occupied some estates. In April 1984, 200 peasants staged a sit-in at INCORA's office, and by May they had occupied a total of 46 estates. In September 1985, 3,000 peasants staged sit-ins in the central square of Sincelejo, denouncing the state for not fulfilling the agreement reached at the cathedral in 1983. After more land occupations and protests in 1986, 5,000 peasants belonging to both factions of ANUC laid siege to Sincelejo for a day in April 1987 to protest the killing of three ANUC leaders. They presented Sucre's governor with a list of demands, including land, water, electricity, roads, and rural credit. They also demanded the i n c l u s i o n of the entire departamento in the N a t i o n a l P r o g r a m of Rehabilitation 9 (PNR) as well as an opportunity to negotiate with the central government. The peasants dispersed after the government agreed to mediate negotiations between them and the cattle growers' organization, Federación de Ganaderos (FEDEGAN). After a few days, the general director of INCORA attended a meeting and agreed to set up a committee of peasants, landowners, and INCORA officials to plan a program of agrarian reform. The protests did not stop with the agreement, however. During the same year there were more land invasions and a blockade of the main highway by 3,000 peasants pressing for the effective incorporation of all municipalities into the PNR program. Another stage of the peasant movement started in the late 1980s and continued into the 1990s. Diverse circumstances external to the peasant movement have contributed to the definition of a new scene in Sucre. First,

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during these years I N C O R A was able to negotiate buying farms with landowners at commercial rates through the PNR program and the new agrarian reform law, "Ley 30 de 1988." 10 Second, the national political and administrative r e f o r m s , which started in 1988 and continued up to the Constituent Assembly in 1991," have created a new political arena. On the one hand, the political reforms and the peace agreements that accompanied them provided a democratic opening, and the different factions of the peasant organization, with a few exceptions, started participating in elections. On the other hand, the political war involving guerrilla groups (which refused to negotiate with the government), the military, and the right-wing death squads became widespread in some municipalities. The presence of the guerrillas in the region was not new, but it had not hitherto been central to the development of the peasant movement or to the political agenda in the region. Land invasions and sit-ins continued in several municipalities as in previous years, but the peasants' demands increasingly involved the presence of human rights organizations, the demilitarization of the regions, and general calls for peace. The "dirty war," which had once been less severe in Sucre than in neighboring regions, seemed finally to have reached this province. Kidnappings, disappearances, and murders increased. The two main factions of ANUC, which had protested together in 1987, did not continue coordinating their activities during this later period; on the contrary, they went back to operating in opposite directions. The leaders of the progovernment faction became committed to official development programs and to coordinating activities with the landowners' organization; the more radical factions continued the struggle for land but also became progressively involved in the political war. The constant emphasis of A N U C during all these years was the acquisition of land. From the beginning of the agrarian reform in 1962 until 1992, INCORA distributed nearly 90,000 hectares to approximately 8,000 peasant families through different programs (IRSC 1992)—57 percent of this as a result of the peasants' struggles for land during the 1970s and the first half of the 1980s. In spite of this relative victory, h o w e v e r , the problems of the peasants were not resolved. A significant number of families r e m a i n e d l a n d l e s s , 1 2 and t h o s e w h o b e n e f i t e d f r o m land distribution during that time still faced major difficulties. The land was initially given in communal and temporary form so that the state could remain the f o r m a l owner; consequently, peasant families not only had to f a c e the prospect that the state-sponsored collective production projects would fail but also w e r e r e n d e r e d p e r m a n e n t l y d e p e n d e n t on state institutions. Some settlements remained illegal because laborers refused to agree to the conditions imposed by the state. Others remained illegal because many of the new settlements, resulting f r o m spontaneous occupation, were overcrowded and could not fulfill the INCORA requirements to legal tenancy. 1 3 Aside from problems concerning the legalization of land occupied by

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I N C O R A ' s beneficiaries, peasants need credit, technical assistance, access to markets, and social and public services. Because the state is the major provider of all these services, peasants have generally been forced to negotiate with the state—in spite of their radical antigovernment slogans—and to depend on bureaucratic officials. They have become vulnerable to clientelistic relationships with those who control state resources. Some peasant communities have remained reluctant to bargain with state officials and deal with patrons; however, most of them have ultimately had to do so, and their vote is an essential bargaining tool. The peasant organization A N U C has developed toward two different extremes. One is an official, progovernment, highly bureaucratized faction, and the other is an independent faction more conditioned by political confrontation. But these do not represent clear alternatives to the rural laborers, who are committed instead to clientelistic relations. Some new forms of peasant organization and participation have started to develop. One, an economic-based organization, has consolidated in communities that have been able to develop some collective projects. These economic forms of organization are probably going to flourish under the nation's new neoliberal policies of internationalization of the economy and privatization of social and public services, whereas both agrarian r e f o r m and the A N U C are expected to decline in significance. Another recent development is the participation of peasants in the new and growing civic movements of some municipalities. 1 4 These movements, which have benefited from the administrative and political reforms, seem to be appropriate channels through which the voice of the peasants, as rural inhabitants, can be heard in the municipal councils.

Old and New Faces of Political Clienteles Although Sucre is well known for having a strong peasant organization able to pull off such actions as the blockade of 1987, it is also recognized for its clientelistic practices. Some indicators of these clientelistic practices are the apparently chaotic variations in local voting, as among party factions, in successive elections (Diaz Uribe 1986, 36-37) and the competition of local factions to influence political decisionmaking. Clientelistic practices are clearly exemplified in the events that followed the negotiations in 1987. In April 1987, when the director of INCORA arrived in Sucre to negotiate with the peasants who had organized the siege of Sincelejo, he found that three different political factions—derived f r o m the two traditional national parties, Liberal and Conservador—had organized peasant gatherings in three different localities that same day to negotiate with him. He managed to attend all the gatherings, but the problems did not end that day. These political groups continued competing for the right to have their rep-

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resentatives in the PNR assembly. Because all the municipalities of Sucre were included in the PNR, each political faction was trying to guarantee itself the biggest share of the forthcoming resources. Clientelism is not new to the region. As the haciendas grew in importance, thanks in part to the subjected peasant economy, patron-client relations between landlords and tenants developed. Various aspects of the social, political, religious, and moral life of the tenant families were concentrated around the landlord. The well-known corralejas (bullfights), a famous festivity of the region, were organized by the hacendados (ranch owners) for the peones (common people) in the towns. These festivities usually took place on the day of the town's santo patrono and therefore had the blessing of the church. The ranch owner and the landlord had acted as intermediaries between the peasants and the state (Reyes 1978, 123), whose presence in the region was tenuous up to the mid-twentieth century. Since the 1930s, when suffrage was extended to all males over twenty-one without restrictions as to literacy or economic status, the vote became one more condition imposed on the peasant clients. Politics in the region was characterized not only by the landlord's control over peasant suffrage but also by direct manipulation of the electoral results by the so-called election magicians, assistants to the landowners, who proliferated at that time because of the inefficient electoral mechanisms. 15 Sucre, a new departamento, was carved out of the departamento of Bolivar in 1966. Until that time Sucre's local politicians were under the jurisdiction of the political leaders of Bolivar. After 1966, though, regional politics acquired its own dynamic, and political groups were formed around major figures competing for seats in the National Congress. Traditional political leaders desiring direct access to the National Congress had been the most interested in establishing the region as a formal departamento. This process brought about administrative changes, the expansion of regional bureaucracy, and more direct access to state resources. The political groups that formed in the new departamento during the 1960s were a continuation of traditional landowner power. Sucre's first important politician, the leader of the Liberal group, which had complete political control during the first few years, came from a landowning family. Although a Conservador group existed, the power of this traditional Liberal group was challenged at that time only by another Liberal, a reformist who was linked to the agrarian reform projects. As state r e s o u r c e s f l o w e d during the 1970s, b u r e a u c r a t i c posts appeared, and state services—water, electricity, health, education—were installed or expanded. These became new sources of political power. Two other political groups emerged, one headed by a Liberal and the other by a Conservador. The new leaders built their movements on their relations with national party leaders. Both were at various times appointed governor of Sucre, general manager of regional state institutions for public services,

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and national minister. Such political activity enabled them to build clientele networks, guaranteeing enough votes to reach the Senate in the National Congress. Some gamonales (those who sustain political groups at the municipal level) continued to be landowners, but professionals (i.e., lawyers, doctors, dentists, etc.) began to secure urban and rural votes by distributing public and private services. By the end of the 1970s, only 38 percent of the local caciques in Sucre were landowners (Reyes 1978, 137). The shift from traditional patrons to modern brokers, which had begun earlier in other regions of Colombia because of economic and political changes there (Archer 1990; Leal 1989), developed rapidly in Sucre once the province was created. During the 1980s, people of the region claim, the real "dirty work" in politics appeared. 16 They refer to the direct, overt buying and selling of votes prior to and during election days. This style of ensuring political support is attributed to another Liberal politician, now leader of the fourth major political group in the region, who built his own "political movement" through these means. People say he always campaigns carrying a sack of pesos. Nobody denies that the clientele machines of each of the four main political factions today resort to similar methods. The buying and selling of votes is a common and generalized practice. It coexists with the traditionalstyle patronage that some politicians have tried to maintain. Elections are the major event in the region, and both the rural unemployed and the growing number of urban unemployed are involved in clientelistic relations. Whereas the poor exchange their votes for scholarships, medical prescriptions, credits, roofing tiles, the cancellation of public service bills, or simply some 1,000-peso bills, the middle sectors look for bureaucratic posts in the regional state institutions or small loans in the form of official contracts (the newest strategy). And people of higher incomes offer their political support to the regional bosses in exchange for a bureaucratic post in Bogotá or in the Colombian consulates abroad.

Abstention or Cooptation? ANUC was born under the tutelage of the Liberal Party. In Sucre, a Liberal reformist leader introduced the new discourse of agrarian reform, challenging the regional landowners and the traditional Liberal and Conservador regional political leaders. During the late 1960s, when the central government emphasized agrarian reform and promoted the creation of the peasant organization, this reformist Liberal leader was appointed governor of Sucre by President Carlos Lleras Restrepo. Certainly, this fact helps explain the initial impetus of the peasant organization in Sucre. The reformist politician developed a political movement based fundamentally on peasant support. Rather than relying on typical power relationships based on the

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bureaucracy, the leader used charisma and reformist discourse as his most important political weapons (Reyes 1978, 131-132). The traditional political leaders of Sucre blamed both the president of Colombia and the governor for encouraging land occupation. With the defeat of agrarian reformism within the government and within the peasant movement, this political movement declined. When agrarian reform lost support in the national and regional government, it was nearly paralyzed. Peasants increasingly resorted to direct action outside the law and were vulnerable to antigovernment rhetoric (Zamosc 1987). When ANUC radicalized and abandoned the government's reformist discourse, leftist political ideologies began to permeate and dominate the movement. The leaders promoted electoral "abstentionism" as a way to confront the traditional political parties and the political system they criticized as being a tool of "bourgeois and imperialist oppression." In Sucre, as in the rest of the country, ANUC split early into two groups: those who diverged from the government and followed leftist dictates versus those who continued under the state's tutelage. After the mid1970s, the internal political crisis of the peasant organization, which resembled that of the leftist parties in the country, forced the organization to divide and subdivide. The various factions of ANUC remained politically divided during the 1980s, although they were able to organize protests together. Politically, the leadership of the peasant movement polarized between those who maintained political abstentionism and leftist radicalism, on the one hand, and those who surrendered and were coopted as brokers by the clientelistic machines of the two traditional parties, on the other. This was the political dilemma the peasant movement confronted during the 1970s and 1980s. Some peasant leaders of the independent faction of ANUC participated in the 1974, 1976, and 1978 elections. There were some local victories, in which peasant leaders reached municipal councils, but the overall results never reflected the actual strength of the peasant movement. 17 The failure of these political forays can be explained in part by the peasants' disappointment with the political division of the movement and with their leaders, who contradicted their own initially abstentionist discourse. However, one of the main causes of the failure is that what the leaders had to offer— ideology—could not compete with more material goodies—such as roofing tiles—offered by the established parties. Thus, most peasants in Sucre, including those involved in the massive mobilizations of the 1980s and early 1990s, continued to give their vote to the traditional parties. They became an electoral resource of the new clientelistic networks, which resort to a variety of strategies to obtain votes. The exchange of votes at election time continues to be the most common political behavior of peasants in Sucre. Moreover, some leaders of the official peasant organization have

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become local brokers. These leaders have developed connections with regional political bosses, and some have received bureaucratic positions in the offices of the Ministry of Agriculture and INCORA. One of the two new Liberal politicians who emerged during the 1970s initially reached the Senate of the National Congress by controlling the regional institution that maintains municipal water and sewage systems. In the early 1980s, he was appointed minister of agriculture. In this position, he developed a clientelistic network that extended from the central state agrarian institutions to the Sucre peasant leadership, involving the regional and local bureaucracy of the state institutions for rural services. An alternative to abstentionism or cooptation—namely, running independently for elections (which in the 1970s proved difficult, aside from small victories in two or three localities)—reemerged as a more viable a l t e r n a t i v e a f t e r the m a j o r e l e c t i o n s of 1988 and p a r t i c u l a r l y in the 1991-1992 elections, after the new constitution was established and the political reforms enacted. 1 8 Even though the goal of the campaigns was not to win in every case, the numbers of votes received were far below those expected by the peasant leaders. As before, they faced not only the clientelistic machines of the politicians but also the abstentionism and skepticism of their peasant followers. 1 9 In the March 1992 elections of mayors, provincial assemblies, and municipal councils, peasant organizations participated broadly, running candidates either independently or in coalition with one of the major candidates. In some municipalities they joined the civic movements that developed against the local political bosses. In spite of the control the machines still have over the rural vote and over regional state resources, a significant number of small victories at the local level can be considered a positive result. Political reforms have certainly provided better conditions for opposition-group participation in the electoral process, even if there is still a long way to go.

To Break or to Help Clientele Machines? I have described the major achievements and failures of the peasant movement in Sucre, as well as its political options. In this section I want to explore in greater detail the connections between peasant organization and clientelism and to argue that A N U C confronted the old, traditional clientelism but not the new brokerage, which has limits of its own. This discussion will help shed light on the paradox of having a strong peasant movement and widespread clientelism in coexistence. The peasant struggle in Sucre has been an effort to achieve a viable peasant economy. Initially subordinated to the large cattle-raising ranches, the peasant economy now faces the threat imposed on it by the new condi-

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tions of the countryside, which have brought about the development of commercial agriculture. The movement has focused mainly on the acquisition of land, a necessary condition; but peasants have also demanded the other elements they need in order to produce. In general, to defend their peasant economy, rural laborers look for a place in the new economic order even if such an undertaking results in the proletarianization of thousands of peasant families. What has to be decided is how the countryside will change, given the pressure of modernization and capitalization. This change might entail modernizing the traditional haciendas—keeping the property structure and sending masses of peasants from the countryside to urban centers—or redistributing land among peasants who successfully start producing for the market. In Sucre, the struggles of the ANUC were trying to define a peasant route for the province to follow. However, it is important to keep in mind that the pressures and goals of the peasants are not only economic. The movement also struggles to achieve political participation. Peasants undertake sit-ins and land occupations and put direct pressure on the government in the absence of other ways to have a say in the state's decisionmaking process. These actions express both the political alienation of the peasants and their claim to participation (Zamosc 1990, 54-55). How do the economic and political struggles of Sucre's peasants relate to clientelistic relations? It is undeniable that the peasant movement has helped break the ties that linked the peasants to the landlords and that it has diminished—in some cases even eliminated—the peasant attitude of deference and subordination toward landowners. Nevertheless, other considerations must be taken into account. For instance, during the 1960s and even earlier, landlords stopped providing land to peasants—partly because the amount of land needing clearing was reduced but more important because agrarian reform threatened their ownership rights to the land occupied by tenants. Using Scott's terminology, the landlords were the ones who initially broke the legitimate order, the "moral economy" embedded in traditional patron-client relations (Scott 1976). This fact probably contributed to the spread of leftist antilandlord rhetoric during the early 1970s. Although clientelism and the peasant movement are related and influence each other, changes in clientelistic relations have their own dynamic. Extensive brokerage networks (connected with but independent of the landlords) have emerged, based mainly on the landlords' access to the state's resources (bureaucratic jobs and services), as the presence of the state in the region has grown. There are significant differences between the power that landlords once had over peasants and the power that brokers now have. Peasants now relate to multiple brokers in short-term relations. In doing so, they look for the best transaction they can get in exchange for their vote; as different

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authors have noted (de Kadt in LeGrand 1977, 17; Scott 1976, 140), the competition among brokers factions augments the client's bargaining power. In addition, the traditional authority of the patrones has been replaced by acquired and temporary authority. However, the patterns of deference and friendship involved in the traditional patron-client relation have not completely disappeared; they have merely been transferred to some extent to the new political bosses. The peasant movement in Sucre challenged the old clientele system, but it has not challenged the new one. One could argue that the initial "abstentionism" of the peasant movement, which saw the political system as an instrument of the landowning sector, left a void among the peasant electorate on which the new brokerage capitalized. Ironically, some of the new political figures have become specialized in controlling the state resources gained by the peasant struggles. In effect, peasants have unintentionally contributed to the new clientelism. Only the recent efforts of peasant leaders to challenge the political bosses in elections with new political movements can be identified as a more direct form of opposition to the system. However, the brokerage system has its limits and weaknesses in the long run. First, the new conditions offered by the political reform of 1991, which was enacted to some extent with the idea of curtailing the power of the brokerage machines, opened the possibility for new political movements to emerge and confront the political bosses. Second, the brokers depend on governmental resources that do not always remain the same. One of the main resources of the new political groups has been the control of state public services (electricity, water, etc.) as these are installed or expanded. Even though the political machines can still control state public service institutions, they are not able to offer the same electoral dividends they initially could. The brokerage machines will have room to operate as long as the precarious conditions of life in the countryside remain. But electricity and water can be provided only once. Moreover, congressional representatives' control of the financial resources assigned by the central government to the provinces—once a primary s o u r c e of e l e c t o r a l c a m p a i g n f i n a n c i n g — w a s e l i m i n a t e d by the Constitutional Assembly in 1991. A third weakness of the new clientelism has to do with legitimacy. The former authority of the hacendado has vanished with the emergence of the brokerage system, but no party, state, or "class" ideology has replaced it. Even though peasants have not directly opposed the new clientelism, the legitimacy of the traditional parties and their representatives has suffered severely, favoring the formation of new political movements. Finally, the new ballot system established in 1991 has undeniably affected the clientelistic machines, diminishing brokers' direct control over their clients. In the past the broker generally distributed the ballots among

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his or her clients and accompanied them to the voting site. The voter, in front of witnesses, then deposited the ballot in a box, the ballot consisting only of a piece of paper with the candidate's name on it. This system has been replaced by one in which the voter privately chooses his or her candidate from a ballot provided by electoral officials. The names and photos of all the candidates appear on the ballot. Illiteracy and ignorance of the new system were undoubtedly a major problem in the 1991-1992 election, but the change still worked powerfully against the brokers. Summarizing, we can say that peasants were politicized through two apparently contradictory processes. As a result of their political exclusion and their lack of political representation, they had to mobilize and pressure the government. But they also learned to negotiate their votes in elections with those who have power in the state bureaucracy and who use elections to maintain that power. When peasants mobilize and pressure the government, they act collectively, as a social sector; when they exchange their votes with a political agent, they act individually. Peasants, then, get involved in clientelistic transactions not in the absence of "class consciousness" but in spite of it. The events of the late 1980s and early 1990s also show the growth of political practices that are not new but that were formerly limited to small groups in a few localities—the expansion of the dirty war into the rural areas. A reference to national politics will help explain the context in which clientelism, peasant mobilization, and violence coexist.

National Clientelism and Politics To understand clientelism among peasant societies, it is helpful to be aware of the political regime in which it is embedded. Clientelism does not necessarily lead to any particular type of political regime, but it finds better niches in some than in others. Sucre is not alone in being characterized by clientelism, which has been identified as one of the main traits of the Colombian political system (Leal and Guevara 1991). Traditional regional clienteles were the basis of the two traditional parties. Moreover, major transformations such as state centralization and market expansion, which started in the 1930s, are considered to have led to the emergence of the brokers, who built their clientelistic machines atop party loyalties. The transformation of traditional patronage is a national process that started in some places as early as 1925. By 1965 traditional clientelism had to a great extent been replaced by brokerage clientelism (Archer 1990, 11-32). Colombian clientelism proliferated after the 1960s under a state whose authority remained very weak but whose bureaucracy developed extensive-

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ly, and under a regime of elite coalition rule. Along with clientelism, the state strategy of dividing and coopting new popular organizations has resulted in what Hartlyn calls an "enviable record of limited democracy" (Hartlyn 1988, 145). The consequences of the regime of elite coalition rule and restricted democracy have been party factionalism, accelerated by an electoral system that permits factions to present different lists under the same party banner; a crisis of legitimacy of the regime; the inability of traditional parties to respond to new social sectors and social conflicts; popular resort to nonelectoral channels to express opposition or to make demands on the state; and political immobility, which limits possible institutional reforms. Restricted democracy, growing clientelism, and the political exclusion of the popular sectors have been shown to be counterproductive for the regime in the long term and related to growing political violence. The experience of the ANUC as a national organization is considered a failure of the corporatist efforts of the liberal reformism of President Lleras Restrepo, an example of the '"divide and conquer' strategy of state pluralism" (Hartlyn 1988, 167). Agrarian reform and the state corporatist experiment succumbed first to the radicalization of the peasant movement, which perceived the weakness of the reformist project within the ruling political sectors. Later, the corporatist project failed under the pressure landowners had been exerting on the government, a strategy that combined repression and the dividing and coopting of the peasant movement through the clientelistic machines. The failure of the liberal reformist leader to orchestrate and maintain peasant support against the traditional political leaders in Sucre demonstrates the weakness of the same project at the regional level. However, the experience of the ANUC cannot be considered a case in which an organized mobilization of peasants became an institutionalized clientele, such as occurred in Italy or Venezuela (as described by Powell). This possibility is not viable in Colombia given the extremely fractionalized, undisciplined, personalized, and nonideological character of the Liberal and Conservador parties in the Colombian presidential political system (Hartlyn 1988; Archer 1990; Hoskin 1989). Because they recruit clients by means of personal leadership, the parties have not, with the exception of Lleras's experiment, undertaken agrarian reform as a project that could eventually guarantee the support of the peasantry as a target clientele. In Colombia, peasants are always considered a potential electorate not to be won over through party commitment or reformist ideologies but to be coopted by party factions through the local gamonales. One of the new Liberal regional leaders in Sucre almost completely monopolized the state rural programs and maintained an extended brokerage network in Sucre during the 1980s, yet this episode cannot be appropriately considered an example of party patronage. First, this politician acted

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more in his own name than in the name of his official party; second, the state rural programs represented electoral booty for him, as do other state programs or public utilities. The attitude of the peasants involved in clientelistic relations and simultaneously participating in strong mobilization efforts seems to be the manifestation of a national political phenomenon. I refer here to what has been called the division between the pais nacional (the "mass of people as subjects of political power") and the pais politico (the political elites) (Zamosc 1990). Those not able to exercise their political rights resort to mobilization, pressure, and other extraelectoral mechanisms as their only means of political intervention; at the same time, political machines and politicians struggle to establish a political system that is alien to the majority of the population. The political exclusion of these masses, perpetuated and legitimized through elections, has been (in most rural areas and poor urban neighborhoods) almost a private business conducted by regional political bosses in control of state institutions. T h e p o l i t i c a l and a d m i n i s t r a t i v e r e f o r m s i m p l e m e n t e d by the Colombian government encouraging municipal autonomy and political participation are expected to curtail the power of the political caciques. The reforms cannot guarantee the eventual elimination of clientelism, but they certainly remove some of the institutional basis through which clientelism has flourished.

Conclusion Peasant struggles in Sucre appear to have been relatively successful in that peasants have gained land and have truly challenged the traditional landowners' power in the region by forcing the state to develop programs of agrarian reform. However, the triumphs have been relative because the conditions needed by the peasant economy to sustain itself are still precarious. In addition to overcrowded peasant settlements with unclarified legal tenancy, there are also large numbers of families without land. And the families that have already settled still face the problem of credit, markets, technical assistance, and so forth. More important, the peasant organization has not been able to generate a united and solid political movement capable of challenging the power of the clientelistic machines. The absence of effective mechanisms of political representation and the appropriation of the political institutions by political bosses have forced peasants to resort to direct pressure, mobilization, and clientelistic relations. Political clientelism in Sucre resembles other cases of rural politics. Under the new conditions of state development, modernization, and expansion of the market economy, political clientelism seems to be a common stage in the incorporation of peasant villages into national politics. Peasants

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have gained independence from the overwhelming power of the traditional hacendado, developed a notion of national politics beyond the local frontier, increased their bargaining power over the new specialized and competing brokers, and learned to get better dividends from the electoral contest. However, these transformations can be considered a process of politicization only in a narrow sense. A crucial distinction has to be made between electoral politicization and the exercise of political rights by citizens of the nation-state. The exercise of political rights solely in the electoral arena, the formal existence of democratic institutions, does not bring about political incorporation. It is generally assumed that clientelistic relations inhibit class-based politics, but the experience of the peasants of Sucre shows the contrary. Special conditions there favored the development of class awareness, and have weakened the inhibiting effects of clientelism. Regionally, the erosion of traditional clientelism and the lack of legitimacy of the new brokerage have diminished political control over peasant clientele. Nationally, the absence of party patronage or corporate patronage based on agrarian reformism has also facilitated the emergence of contesting practices among peasant communities. In Colombia, characterized by a weak state, patronclient relations have not evolved into corporative forms. In other places, corporatism has become a major mechanism for the control of social conflict by combining party or state political cooptation of peasant organizations with the strategic distribution of scarce resources. The political institutional arrangement that (at least until the reforms of the 1990s) reproduced the Colombian system of restricted and increasingly illegitimate democracy seemed to be incapable not only of incorporating the unrepresented political masses but also of confronting popular protest. The peasants of Sucre, as in other places, engage in patron-client relations. This participation constitutes an initial resort to politicization under conditions in which peasants may exercise formal political rights but are in reality excluded from the centers of power. Whether these relationships evolve into actual forms of political participation or are maintained as a mechanism of political exclusion depends on other characteristics of the institutional context. What accounts for the difference between Sucre and other cases is not clientelism as such but the combination of this practice with the particular Colombian political system characterized by the divorce of a divided and changeable society and a tight and excluding formal political system. The political and administrative reforms promulgated recently under the pressure of generalized violence and extrainstitutional opposition are a necessary first step in the process of democratization. Obviously, the existence of new options allowed by institutional change does not guarantee positive results. The openings have to be taken up by a long-excluded population with no sense of belonging to any citizen community. The political

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opposition in all its diverse forms faces the challenge not only of appropriating the newly opened political spaces but also of fighting against certain deep-rooted conceptions shared by leaders and followers. These conceptions include seeing state and electoral politics as private business. The political opposition also has to confront the weakness of the state and the generalized violence that grows in the other part of the nation, where politics are played not by the rules of the state but by the rules of violence. If the peasant organizations become an efficient and reliable mechanism of peasant political participation, a decline of clientele relations can be expected to occur. Such relations will not necessarily cease to exist, but at least they will cease to be central to the political institutions and survival of the rural laborers.

Notes This work is based on a predissertation field visit to Colombia in the summer of 1989, sponsored by the Tinker Foundation, and one year of field work (1991-1992) made possible by the generous financial support of the Center of Iberian and Latin American Studies (CILAS) at the University of California, San Diego, and the Facultad de Ciencias Económicas y Administrativas of the Pontificia Universidad Javeriana de Colombia. 1. Following, among others, the work of Graziano 1977, Gellner 1977, Eisenstadt and Lemarchand 1981, Eisenstadt and Roniger 1984, and Roniger 1988, I define clientelism as a specific type of exchange relationship that can be embodied in a variety of structural and organizational forms. 2. The changes from traditional to modern clientelism have ben extensively documented in Silverman 1977, Weingrod 1977, Powell 1977, Scott 1976, Lemarchand and Legg 1972, Caciagli and Belloni 1981, Archer 1990, Leal 1991. 3. Migdal 1987. See also discussion by Archer 1990, 33-34. 4. I conceive of political participation in relation to the concept of democratic citizenship, which refers to the equality of rights and duties of the members of a political community. In democratic capitalist societies, citizenship includes the extension of civil, political, and social rights to all members of the nation-state political community. Even though political participation includes the existence of liberal democratic institutions and universal suffrage, it is not reducible to the formal existence of these institutions (Marshall 1963). 5. In the late 1980s, 920,802 hectares were used for pasturage, as compared with nearly 80,000 for agriculture (Departamento Administrativo National de Estadística, 1987). 6. Agrarian reform was promulgated in 1961 but received special emphasis during the government of Lleras Restrepo (1966-1970) with "Ley la de 1968." This law gave sharecroppers and tenants the right to own the land they worked. The pressure to execute agrarian reform fulfilled two different ends: It forced traditional landholders to modernize (farms which reached acceptable levels of productivity were excluded from agrarian reform), and it distributed nonproductive land among the growing number of landless peasant families. 7. The urban population of Sucre in 1951 (of the region that would become the departamento of Sucre in 1966) was 33.1 percent of the total population of the departamento. By 1973, it had risen to 46.5 percent, and by 1985, to 53.8 percent

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(DNE 1986a). The level of unemployment was estimated at 17 percent of the economically active population in 1973 (DNE 1986b). 8. At the end of the 1960s, 67.9 percent of the total number of rural units comprised less than 10 hectares and covered only 3.7 percent of the workable land, whereas 8.5 percent of the rural units comprised more than 100 hectares and covered 76.5 percent of the land (Departamento Administrativo National Estadístico, 1970-1971). 9. The Programa Nacional de Rehabilitación (PNR) was developed by the national government in 1983 to pacify conflicted areas under guerrilla influence. This program, a high priority for the government, was relatively well funded and efficient; it was also the only program at the time that facilitated agrarian reform, enabling the government to negotiate land at commercial rates. 10. The changes made by the Congress over the agrarian reform law during the 1970s had actually paralyzed any action by INCORA. It was not until the enactment of the new law "Ley 30 de 1988" that the agrarian reform program distributed land again. The new law in some ways advances the peasants' cause but in many other ways hinders it (Arango 1988). 11. A popularly elected Constituent Assembly was called in order to reform the constitution in 1991. This assembly comprised representatives from different sectors of Colombian society, including delegates of the guerrilla groups that had signed peace agreements with the government. 12. In 1988 the regional office of agrarian reform received claims from more than 15,000 landless families (IRSa 1987, 1988, 1989). In 1987 the peasant organizations estimated the number of landless families at 35,000 and the amount of land required at 200,000 hectares. 13. In December 1991 the regional office of INCORA estimated that 4,768 families were overcrowded on 75 farms involving an area of 14,405 hectares. The average of 15 to 30 hectares necessary to farm the land in the region productively, according to INCORA, cannot be allocated by the government because of the number of people already settled on the land (INCORA 1991). 14. Civic movements became widespread in Colombia during the 1980s. They were organized protests (sometimes including ecclesiastical and official authorities) against the central government by the inhabitants of localities or regions pursuing better public services or seeking to focus on specific problems. General strikes or the blockading of main highways were common strategies of these movements. Some also represented discontent on the part of different sectors of a municipality or region with the traditional political bosses and their corrupt politics. 15. Direct manipulation of electoral turnouts in the 1930s has been documented (see Reyes 1978, 121-122). 16. Personal interviews with leaders of popular organizations and government officials (Sucre 1989, 1990, 1991). 17. The Unidad Campesina y Popular participated initially in 1974, obtaining 44 votes in municipal council elections in one locality. In 1976 this movement was able to obtain 385 votes in the same municipality, sending two representatives to the council. However, their candidate for the provincial assembly received only 1.3 percent of the total vote. In 1978 the Movimiento Nacional Democrático y Popular participated with a national leftist movement, the Frente de Unidad Popular (FUP). In Sucre this movement put some leaders in local councils, but their candidate for the National Congress obtained only 2 percent of the votes in Sucre (Registraduria Nacional 1974, 1976, 1978). 18. For the election of governors and National Congress representatives in O c t o b e r 1991, one of the traditionally abstentionist groups, B l o q u e Político Democrático, presented its own candidates for the Senate and for the lower house of

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Congress. Other previously abstentionist groups aligned themselves with the new political movements created by such ex-guerrilla groups as Alianza Democratica M-19, with the C o m m u n i s t Party, or with f a c t i o n s of the traditional parties (Registraduria Nacional 1991). 19. Personal interview with one of the candidates, September 1992.

References Arango, M. 1988. La Reforma Agraria y alcances de la nueva Ley. Revista Foro. Reformas y Democracia, No. 7, Bogotá (October). Archer, R. P. 1990. Paralysis of Reform: Political Stability and Social Conflict in Colombia. Ph.D. dissertation, University of California at Berkeley. Caciagli, Mario, and Frank Belloni. 1981. The "New" Clientelism in Southern Italy: T h e Christian Democratic Party in Cataria. In S. N. Eisenstadt and René Lemarchand. eds., Political Clientelism, Patronage, and Development. Beverly Hills: Sage. D e p a r t a m e n t o A d m i n i s t r a t i v o N a c i o n a l de E s t a d í s t i c a . 1 9 7 0 - 1 9 7 1 . Censo Agropecuario. Bogotá. . 1987. Colombia Estadística. Bogotá. Departamento Nacional de Estadística. 1986a. Avance de Resultados Preliminares: Censo 1985. Bogotá. . 1986b. Colombia Estadística 1986. Bogotá. Díaz Uribe, E. 1986. El Clientelismo en Colombia. Bogotá: Ancora. Eisenstadt, S. N., and R. Lemarchand, eds. 1981. Political Clientelism, Patronage and Development. Beverly Hills: Sage. Eisenstadt S. N., and L. Roniger. 1984. Patrons, Clients and Friends. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gellner, E. 1977. Patrons and Clients. In E. Gellner and J. Waterbury, eds., Patrons and Clients in Mediterranean Societies, London: Duckworth. Graziano, L. 1977. Patron-Client Relationships in Southern Italy. In Schmidt et al. 1977, 360-378. Guasti, L. 1977. Peru, Clientelism and Internal Control. In Schmidt, et al. 1977, 422-438. Hartlyn, J. 1988. The Political Coalition Rule in Colombia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hoskin, G. 1989. C o l o m b i a ' s Traditional Political Parties: Are They the Only Villains? Paper prepared for the Conference on Colombia's Political Crisis, CILAS, University of California, San Diego. INCORA Regional Sucre. 1987, 1988, 1989. Informes Anuales de Adquisición de Predios. . 1988. Demanda Manifiesta. 30 December. . 1991. Resumen de Área en Sobrecupo Por Zona. December. . 1992. "Informe Comparativo de Ingreso y Egreso de Tierras." April. Landé, C. H. 1977. Introduction. The Dyadic Basis of Clientelism. In Schmidt, et al. 1977, xiii-xxxvii. Leal Buitrago, F. 1989. El Sistema Político del Clientelismo. Análisis Político 8: 8-32. Leal Buitrago, F., and A. Dávila Ladrón de Guevara. 1991. Clientelismo. El sistema político y su expresión regional. Bogotá: Tercer Mundo Editores. LeGrand, C. 1977. Perspectives for the Historical Study of Rural Politics and the Colombian Case: An Overview. Latin American Research Review 12(1): 7-36.

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Lemarchand, R., and K. Legg. 1972. Political Clientelism and Development. Comparative Politics 4(2): 151-152. Marshall, T. H. 1963. Citizen and Social Class. In T. H. Marshall, Sociology at the Crossroads and Other Essays, London: Heinemann. Menéndez Carrion, A. 1986. La Conquista del Voto: de Velasco a Roídos, Quito: FASCO. Migdal, J. S. 1974. Peasants, Politics and Revolution. Princeton: Princeton University Press. . 1987. Strong States, Weak States: Power and Accommodation. In M. Weiner and S. Huntington, eds., Understanding Political Development, Boston: Little Brown, 391-434. Powell, J. D. 1977. Peasant Society and Clientelist Politics. In Schmidt, et al. 1977, 147-161. . 1980. Electoral Behavior Among Peasants. In Ivan Volgyes, Richard E. Lonsdale, and William P. Avery, eds., The Process of Rural Transformation in Eastern Europe, Latin America and Australia, New York: Pergamon Press. Registraduría Nacional del Estado Civil. Various dates. Censo Electoral, Elections 21 April 1974, 18 April 1976, 26 February 1978, 13 March 1988, 27 October 1991, 8 March 1992. Reyes, A. 1978. Latifundio y Poder Político. Bogotá: CINEP. Roniger, L. 1988. Contradicciones y Límites de los Compromisos clientelistas en América Latina. Revista Colombiana de Sociología 6(1): 19-26. Schmidt, S. W., L. Guasti, C. H. Landé, and J. C. Scott, eds. 1977. Friends, Followers, and Factions. Berkeley: University of California Press. Scott, J. C. 1976. The Moral Economy of the Peasant: Rebellion and Subsistence in Southeast Asia. New Haven: Yale University Press. Silverman, S. F. 1977. Patronage and Community-Nation Relationships in Central Italy. In Schmidt, et al. 1977, 293-304. Weingrod, A. 1977. Patrons, Patronage, and Political Parties. In Schmidt, et al. 1977, 323-337. Zamosc, L. 1987. La Cuestión Agraria y el Movimiento Campesino en Colombia. Ginebra: UNRSD-CINEP. . 1990. Political Crisis and Rural Democracy in Colombia. In Jonathan Fox, ed., The Challenge of Rural Democratization, London: Frank Cass.

6 Constitutionalism and Clientelism in Italy Carlo Rossetti To Judges Falcone and Borsellino, murdered by the Mafia: in memoriam

The Autonomy of Civil Society Clientelism becomes the predominant mode of social and political relations when entitlements are not protected by constitutional rights endorsed by the center. A person holding a precarious entitlement depends on his or her patron. Constitutional protection is the critical feature that guarantees security and impedes the consolidation of networks of personal subjection to patrons, on which clientelism is grounded. Recent research has indicated that beyond the issue of inequalities and social cleavages (as against the democratization of access to power) lies that of the protection of the social environment and entitlement from partisan politics, power groups, and the state. Protection of constitutional rights is the fundamental condition for the autonomy of civil society and the safeguard from illegal government (Maier 1987; Offe 1984; Roniger 1991). Italian history is of great comparative interest in this respect. It casts some light on the problems that semiconstitutional regimes are facing today, as well as on the difficulties democracies encounter when entitlements are not protected by the integrity of the constitutional order. On the basis of the Italian case, I shall discuss how the subordination of judicial power to legislatures and governments permits the establishment of regimes where politics is supreme and its powers unbounded, where constitutional rights—if a constitution exists—are controlled by politics. A system of this kind turns slowly into one governed by illegality, though protected by the laws enacted by the regime. The autonomy of civil society and its efforts to establish the supremacy of general rights over clientelistic politics are defeated by the political elite's control of markets. This form of control may reproduce selective access to entitlement so that the regime 87

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becomes a "delinquent state" governed by the invisible power of an illegal sovereign (Del Vecchio 1967; Bobbio 1984).

Formation of the National State: 1861-1876 The unification of Italy was achieved by Piedmont in 1861 through a process of military incorporation that led to the extension of the 1848 Sardinian Constitution (the Statuto Albertino) and its judicial system—the penal and civil code and the code of civil and penal procedure—to the regions annexed to the new kingdom of Italy (Di Cavour 1861, Vol. 11). In Sardinia the Act of 1859 had ensured the subjection of the judiciary to the government, guaranteeing that judicial decisions were made according to the will of ministers. The Act of 1859 thus strengthened the power of the government and weakened the efficacy of the constitution. Given the subjection of prosecutors and judges, the judiciary could not fulfill its duty as interpreter of the law according to the constitution and protector of individual rights. With the Act of 1859, the new parliament and the executive government became the sole interpreters of the constitution (the powers of the Corte di Cassazione were limited to the control of procedures and formalities). Their evaluation of the constitutionality of legislation reflected their own interests, had little unconditionality, and was subject to coalitional strategy and shifting internal compromises. In any state, the legal framework of lawmaking processes is of the greatest importance in determining the nature of the political regime and the form of power it exerts. Only when the courts have the constitutional authority to recognize the moral political primacy of rights can issues be treated as matters of principle—in parliament, they are treated as issues of purely political power (Finnis 1985). After the Act of 1859 became one of the fundamental laws of the new state, the new political elite was free to pursue a policy of severe curtailment and restriction of constitutional rights. The supremacy of political elites in Italy was enhanced by the specific way in which the state had crystallized. Parliamentary democracy, as it emerged in England, was the result of a slow and conflictual process of differentiation of the center, institutions, elites, and models of organization followed by these elites within the governmental system. 1 In England, parliamentary institutions were established on constitutional premises, and a complex web of rights and obligations bound the king and Parliament, and the king-in-Parliament, to the nation (Macllwain 1947). From such premises flows a specific legislative style that governs political decisions: the notion of legality as the custodian of public trust. The historical debates on the nature and authority of statutes and legislation were conflicts on the constitutional nature of the instruments of government. Montesquieu's doc-

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trine of the division of p o w e r s r e f l e c t s a precise historical reality. Parliamentary democracy, with its model of checks and balances, is the result of the autonomy gained by the judiciary, parliament, and the executive from the king's council as well as from one another. In Italy, the Statuto Albertino was an emanation of the power of the Sardinian crown. The parliament, from its inception, was a political representative assembly, the arena of particular interests. It was not established within a legal framework that would articulate legislation as a constitutional discourse; nor did it follow a written constitution. In addition, the principle of the separation of the branches of government was never institutionalized in practice. The political elite that achieved the unification of Italy was itself the creator of the state bureaucracy, parliament, and the judicial order, which became emanations of political power. The arbiter of the constitution, the political elite, was also master of the bureaucracy. The civil service became a province of government. The administrative unification of Italy began in 1865, immediately after the legislative unification. By decree, the state bureaucracy was subject to the personal authority of ministers. In France, by comparison, the state bureaucracy was an elite professional body that acted as a check on ministerial or political power. In Italy, especially by the end of the nineteenth century, the civil service offered employment and a channel of social mobility to a dienst-klass that in turn provided votes and was a vast patronage network. The clientelistic pattern of its recruitment, its lack of professionalism, and its subjection to political power impeded the Italian civil service from countering political power by impartial administrative procedures—sine ira ac studio, in Weber's words. Subordinated to political power, the public bureaucracy was not protected by constitutional rights and became a great patronage network. Without guarantees of autonomy, the Italian civil service could not counterbalance the interests of the political ruling class and the latter's manipulation of the public bureaucracy in the interests of its clientele. The civil service was thus turned into an instrument to serve the interests of the dominant cliques, breaking the procedural principles of equality and legality. The administrative state, established according to the rule of law, cannot take shape without constitutional protection for the civil service (Kelsen 1982). Lacking that protection, the Italian state bureaucracy developed as a neopatrimonial and clientelistic guardian bureaucracy (Marx 1957). Aware of the public's lack of trust in the new national authority and the consequent threat to the state's ability to establish controls, the government of La Destra, through the Act of 1865, established the prefectorial system in an effort to check the centrifugal drives. Certain functions were delegated to the provinces and local governments, but they were to be carried out under close central supervision and control. Mayors were to be appointed by the central government and were subject to dismissal or sus-

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pension by it. The creation of a forced unity was attempted through administrative pressure as well as through the national parliament (Ragionieri 1976). The prefect was considered the crucial link in the administrative chain, the connection between center and periphery (Atti parlamentari, Legislatura VIII, Sessione 1863-1864, documenti, no. 14, 1). He represented the interests of the government in a society with perhaps no nationally integrative institutions apart from the state bureaucracy itself (Fried 1963). The prefectocracy was a powerful instrument with which to manipulate the exercise of constitutional electoral rights and the formation of local governments.

The Supremacy of Politics: 1876-1921 The political supremacy gained by the state's nation builders was consolidated by La Sinistra, the left wing of the elite that had established the nation-state, when it came to power on March 10, 1876. Around the turn of the century, the prime minister, Crispi, adopted the German model of public law and state administration in order to consolidate the legal powers of the government vis-à-vis parliament. The German kaisertum, according to Laband, was based on the supremacy of the Kanzler over the Reichstag, of the government over parliament (Laband 1876). It represented a public law corporation, or verband (Gerber 1852). Administrative law established the legal framework that upheld the state as the highest source of the law. It protected the state's regulative powers from interference by the judiciary by establishing the principle of state supremacy as its ground rule. This norm was intended to be the basis for validating all law. 2 La Sinistra therefore strengthened the power of the executive government. The separation of powers and the checks and balances among them, which are fundamental safeguards of constitutional regimes, were in fact bypassed by the sweeping authority assigned to the government to ensure the protection of territorial centralization (Crispi 1920, 169). Illustrative are the consolidation of the state's fiscal structure and the repression of the rising social protest. When in 1894 Crispi declared a state of emergency following the protest movements in Sicily, he established extrajudicial trib u n a l s to crush the Fasci Siciliani, even t h o u g h such t r i b u n a l s were prohibited by the constitution. The judiciary and parliament acclaimed this decree, which encountered no opposition (Pareto 1893). By a simple executive order, the army was authorized to fire on unarmed crowds. The right of association and freedom of religion, speech, and the press were curtailed. The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, and effects against unreasonable search and seizure was violated (Labriola 1910). The Orlando reforms of 1890 and the decree of Rodino in 1921 did not change the subordinate position of the judiciary or its oppressive role as the instru-

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ment of an irresponsible executive government (Allegretti 1989, 4 9 0 494).

The Extension of Political Rights: 1861-1919 A selective electoral franchise provided a filter ensuring that political representation would be restricted to the upper classes according to the norms of a régime censitaire. The waves of electoral mobilization that led to implementation of universal male suffrage in 1913 had dramatic effects on a wide spectrum of issues, such as the makeup of the political class, the power of local elites, the nature of ethical and political commitments, the links among representative channels, and the function of legislative bodies—in short, on the nature of political markets as a whole. When La Sinistra attained political power on March 10, 1876, it proceeded to extend political rights in an effort to consolidate its parliamentary base. The extension of the vote to 9.4 percent of the population in 1882 (from 2 percent in 1865) transformed the electoral scene and made very difficult the tight control from the center that prefects had exercised at the periphery (Ballini 1988). The Act of 1882 established 135 provincial constituencies; the Act of June 30, 1912, sanctioned universal male adult suffrage, which became fully effective in 1919. The establishment of a national electorate created new opportunities f o r the i l l e g a l a s s o c i a t i o n s — t h e M a f i a , the C a m o r r a , and the N'Drangheta—that dominated the former kingdoms of Naples and Sicily. Enjoying an unchallenged monopoly on violence (Blok 1974), they controlled their territories very tightly at all levels, from the villages to the towns to such cities as Naples and Palermo. With votes having become an asset of the greatest importance (Franchetti 1866, 28-29; Franchetti and Sonnino 1877, 274), the infant state, with its municipal, provincial, and national elections, provided fertile new ground for the illegal associations. Through the subjugating power of violence and favoritism, they gained control of the electoral process and the vast new illiterate electorate, especially in the south. They thus became new political entrepreneurs, builders and manipulators of a clientelistic network, of blocks of votes that were critical to the outcomes of political competition (Schneider 1972, 260). The demographic dimension of the areas controlled by the illegal associations was of such a magnitude that whoever controlled the votes controlled national politics. This state of affairs also existed in northern and central Italy, where the extension of rights promoted the rise of clientelistic associations that controlled local constituencies through corruption (Pareto 1963; Mosca 1958). Sydel Silverman has pointed to the preeminence of the old model of patronclient relationships in central Italy even past the middle of the twentieth

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century (Silverman 1968). With the rise to p o w e r of a new southern political class f i r m l y in control of local political markets, illegal associations entered the political s y s t e m , o f f e r i n g themselves as "great electors," interm e d i a r i e s b e t w e e n t o w n and c o u n t r y , b e t w e e n local groups and political notables. As G a e t a n o M o s c a has aptly remarked, they were the "true irres p o n s i b l e p o w e r " in the political s y s t e m ( M o s c a 1884, 298; 1949). T h e associations were usually m a d e u p of p o w e r f u l landowners and big tenant f a r m e r s , w h o entered politics as local officeholders and parliamentary representatives. T h e e m e r g e n c e of a new political class was concomitant with the g r o w i n g p o w e r of an oligarchy of speculators (Pareto 1963; 1893). T h e first m o v e of this class was to spin a protective web of p o w e r over the c l i e n t e l i s t i c n e t w o r k s and the illicit interests they r e p r e s e n t e d . T h i s strategy could be pursued b e c a u s e the executive and legislative branches were able to enact legislation that was safe f r o m the interference and supervisory p o w e r of c o n s t i t u t i o n a l r e v i e w . T h e principle " N o law w i t h o u t a legal r e m e d y , " so important for constitutionalism, did not apply. T h e legal structure o f f e r e d an extraordinary opportunity to a political elite intent on d e p r e d a t i n g p u b l i c r e s o u r c e s . G o v e r n m e n t s and parliamentary coalitions established on the basis of clientelistic exchanges could then legislate as if c i t i z e n s ' rights w e r e a political r e s o u r c e they could bestow or w i t h h o l d according to their party interests. T h i s strategy generated vast clientelistic n e t w o r k s ; parties or f a c t i o n s could control the procedural m e c h a n i s m s of entitlement to and the e f f e c t u a l exercise of legal rights ( B u c h a n a n 1985, 81) according to their o w n particular interests. M o n o p o l y over this resource g a v e t h e m u n b o u n d e d p o w e r to g o v e r n a c c o r d i n g to the rules of clientelism. L a Sinistra saw extension of the electoral franchise as a necessary step to ensure the participation of the nation in politics. But in Italy the electoral system was instituted in regions w h e r e the state had been unable to impose the rule of law. A state that fails to gain control of its territory will have its r e f o r m s c h a n g e d into i n s t r u m e n t s f o r the c o n s o l i d a t i o n of the p o w e r of local g r o u p s (Eisenstadt 1963). T h u s , the Italian electoral system did not work according to the constitutional principles and rules that usually govern c o m p e t i t i v e e l e c t i o n s . B e h i n d the f a c a d e of a liberal c o n s t i t u t i o n a l o r d e r , a s e c r e t a n d illegal w e b of i n t e r e s t s w a s the de f a c t o s o v e r e i g n . Senator Jacini, the author of a great parliamentary inquest, r e m a r k e d that political p a r t i c i p a t i o n , t h r o u g h e l e c t i o n s , e x p r e s s e d " u n a f a l s a p u b b l i c a opinione." T h r o u g h the prefectorial system established by La Destra in 1865, as well as through the creation of a national parliament (gleichshaltung), the f o r c e d creation of unity through administrative pressure b e c a m e the order of the day (Ragionieri 1976). Instead of safeguarding the rule of law, prefects o f t e n protected illegal associations and illegal practices and negotiated secretly with local f a c t i o n s to control voting.

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In the Italian parliament, no party or coalition devoted its efforts to the pursuit of nonpartisan interests. When the Italian political system experienced a crisis of participation in 1919, a transition was effected f r o m the s y s t e m of notable parties ( h o n o r a t i o n e p a r t e i e n ) to a s y s t e m of parties divided along social, religious, and ideological lines. This reform ended in the breakdown of the regime in 1922. The legitimacy crisis led not to the construction of a new pattern of constitutional integration (Weiner 1971) but to the radicalization of divisions, the dissolution of parliament, and the rise of the fascist machtergreifung (Gramsci 1948). The old clientelistic state was overthrown, however. The new proportional electoral law of 1919 extended suffrage to the masses excluded f r o m the "clientele" and generated an "offensive mobilization" (Tilly 1978, 74). The policy of universal adult male suffrage now came fully into effect: The number of voters grew from 8.4 million in 1913 to 11.1 million in 1919 (Ballini 1988). Against this background and the state's deficient legitimacy, fascism emerged as an illegal armed political association that usurped the state's monopoly on violence—a recurring pattern in Italian history. In 1919-1922 it was centered in the north—an indication that even there the premises of constitutionalism had not been accepted and understood. In this respect there is no north-south divide, as some authors maintain (Zincone 1992). This combination of factors destroyed the old regime, but it did not c h a n g e the conditions generating and sustaining clientelism. The fascist regime merely reshaped clientelistic ties and associations. Through a policy of mass mobilization, the single-party state became the center of a new clientelism, cutting across class lines and old party affiliations and networks and generating a new flow of resources, which were exchanged in the various institutional markets. The civil service became a great national patronage agency and a key factor in the stability of the regime, incorporating the middle class by offering the prospect of social mobility. This policy anticipated the line followed by later republican governments. The novelty of fascism was that it substituted a form of state clientelism for the party patronage of the past. Relations between the state and civil servants were not regulated by universalistic and professional requirements. This was a typical clientelistic state, in the sense that the recognition of citizen rights was not its guiding principle. Clientelism remained a policy of generalized exchange. Mussolini began his career as the leader of a revolt against party clientelism, carrying a new message of salvation and grandeur to the nation. Fascism, however, did not change the basic criteria controlling the flow of resources. The regime was based on and governed according to the principle of the irresistible authority of the state, now vested in the person of the Duce. Fascism denied constitutional rights, both individual and collective; abolished the constitution, parliament, and competitive elections; subjected j u d g e s to political pressure; and asserted the absolute supremacy of the

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executive, unrestrained by any formal legalism. No court, for instance, had the authority to reject the 1938 fascist legislation against Jews, which allowed the state to confiscate their property, sever them from their occupations, and dismiss them from public office, violating basic natural rights. The Camera dei Fasci e delle Corporazioni, the so-called fascist parliament, was not a legislative assembly but an assembly of officials drawn from the "corporations" the regime had established. The corporative system was important for consolidating the regime of state patronage. But the policy of state intervention was neither regulated by nor accountable in terms of general rights. The word of the Duce was law, and the regime governed according to this principle in all institutional markets and at all levels of the party hierarchy. Fascism relied on a network of multilayered personal comm a n d — u n t i l the night of July 25, 1943, when a coup d ' é t a t ousted Mussolini from power. The Republic of Salo', established in 1944 in northern Italy under Hitler's strict control, followed as merely an ephemeral and bloody incident.

The Republican Constitution of 1948 The downfall of fascism led in 1948 to the reinstatement of parliamentary government based on new premises. Democracy was reestablished from above by the United States and Britain. But after twenty years of dictatorship and segregation, the new political elites, the drafters of the new constitution, simply missed out on the fundamental ideas, institutions, and workings of a modern constitutional democracy. The fascist dictatorship, the Soviet Communist Party, and the Vatican were not the appropriate schools to foster an understanding of constitutionalism. In this respect, the founders of the new state were "provincial" rather than cosmopolitan (Bendix 1977, 119-149). The 1948 constitution mitigated the preeminent power of the state, but it did not radically reform the old model of the state as a juristic person (Allegretti 1984). The new constitution did, however, introduce important innovations: an independent judiciary and a constitutional court. Prosecutors and judges now had protected tenure, which freed them from direct control by the government (Articles 101, 102). But security of tenure, however important, could not compensate for the limits set to constitutional adjudication and j u d g e - m a d e l e g i s l a t i o n . T h e c o n s t i t u t i o n e s t a b l i s h e d the C o n s i g l i o Superiore della Magistratura (CSM) to protect the autonomy of the judges from government encroachment (Article 104). The CSM is charged with addressing the problems of the judiciary and forwarding its recommendations to parliament. It is designed along the lines of a parliamentary council; in fact, its members (consisting of judges and political representatives) are nominated by parliament (Guarnieri 1991). Being in a sense a self-gov-

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erning arm of the judiciary body hampers judges in their capacity as interpreters of the law according to the constitution. Instead of being treated as legal matters in the context of judge-made legislation, constitutional questions—those concerning, for instance, the protection of justice, reforms of the legislature, or the autonomy of the judiciary—are discussed as political issues, because the CSM comprises political representatives. The CSM deals with legal questions of the highest importance, touching on constitutional principles. But it is precluded from dealing with the exercise of judicial review, which must instead be addressed through petitions to parliament. Under the present institutional arrangement, in addressing constitutional problems judges are in effect a bureaucratic-political elite, subordinate to parliament. The political control of constitutional adjudication is thus still exercised in various ways, though in a more subtle manner than in the past. The first way is through the fragmentation of the judicial system into administrative, constitutional, and ordinary courts. This framework establishes rigid boundaries among spheres and constrains constitutional adjudication within a narrow area. Second, as the constitutionally appointed guardian of the attribution of power, the Italian corte constituzionale acts as a reviewer of the constitutionality of laws. However, it is powerless to change the legal premises that endow politicians with overwhelming power. Because party coalitions control the legislature and the executive, their power is unbounded. In this respect the republican constitution has not ended the supremacy of politics. The constitution is the result of a difficult compromise among rival parties and is a "party constitution"—what Sartori calls a predominant party system, as distinguished from a hegemonic party system (Sartori 1974, 192-201, 230-238). The ushering in of the "age of mass politics"—with the establishment of universal suffrage in 1948 and the development of closer ties between the center and the periphery—opened up new opportunities for the consolidation of covert and illegal power domains. Politicians have acquired a quasimonopolistic control of political markets that has allowed them a share in economic ventures under the government's patronage. Public spending has been allocated through secret national and cross-party agreements. The control that politicians have enjoyed over public finances has provided them with resources to bestow on the illegal associations in return for votes and financial support during electoral campaigns. An intricate network of interests has connected politicians, bankers, industrialists, trade unionists, intellectuals, and industrial workers, all tied by the profits they gain from illegal markets and through the protection of illegality afforded by the parties. Thus, public resources have been converted into private benefits, advantages, and services, by means of which secret fundings are repaid. As a result, the interlacing between officeholders and illegal associations, between the banking system and public and private enterprise, has reached an unprecedented expansion and consolidation.

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Moreover, the growth of the illicit drug market and the profits reaped f r o m it have supplied illegal associations with independent resources. Not only have they been able to count on tight control of the political markets in vast areas of Italy, they also have had at their disposal enormous financial resources, which they have invested selectively and covertly in politics with the aim of influencing the passing of legislation protective of their interests. Illegal associations have influenced constituencies not simply by means of their monopoly on violence; they also have offered benefits and advantages to many who sought their services. These associations, operating under various legal guises and in all markets, have been successful because they are able to offer opportunities and resources not available in legal markets (Gambetta 1992). Undeclared funding is a highly valuable good: It allows parties to rely on secret resources, available for corruption. However, it also ties political parties to illegal associations and transactions, which exercise a powerful but indirect pressure reaching to the very nerve centers of government. Illegal financing buys legal ineffectiveness and protection f r o m the enforcement of the law. Lacking an effective procedural guarantee of their entitlements, citizens have to resort to the services offered by illegal power brokers and seek the protection of powerful patrons. T h e "partisan culture" described by Giacomo Sani (1980) is the "ideological" manifestation of an instrumental and reticent political culture—reticent because it is basically illegal. Instrumentalism reflects the realities of a political style in which "rights" remains an empty word, in which patrons and clientelistic ties regulate the access to entitlement, advantages, and benefits. The reticent culture, then, covers the illegal transactions that govern the control of resources and support illegal government. Partisanship is one aspect of what Sartori has called the "antisystem dimension" (Sartori 1974) connected to ideological-political patterns of antagonism.

Civil Society in Italy As in prefascist Italy, the clientelistic system has aroused strong opposition in the civil society of today. T h e electoral outcomes in 1992 show that the old ties between representatives and represented have come under tension and are being called into question. The PDS (the former PCI) and the parties led by the Christian Democrats—Democrazia Cristiana (DC), Partito Socialista (PSI), Partito Socialista Democrático (PSDI), Partito Liberale (PLI), Partito Republicano (PRI), Partito Democrático della Sinistra (PDS), Partito C o m m u n i s t a (PCI), which have governed Italy for decades (Pasquino 1987)—have lost the support of the 33.6 percent of the nation that constituted their "traditional" electorate. Since the 1970s, Italy has experienced a phenomenon of increased volatility, resulting in the appear-

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ance of a peculiar type of "reasoning voter," similar to the self-defined independent in the United States (Popkin 1992; Penniman 1977, 1981). New forms of participation have emerged (Sani 1980), and new parties have developed, exploiting the interstices among the traditional mass parties and the political vacuum they leave and raising issues they have failed to address, especially on the left (Pasquino 1983). New political identities have crystallized, notably in the La Lega and La Rete parties. With the exception of Proletarian Democracy, none of the new forces has coalesced around traditional right-center-left divisions. La Lega, which draws its support especially from the northern electorate, demands constitutional change and a federal republican system. La Rete does not go so far. Its program is less well articulated, but it raises the issue of the rule of law and the protection of justice, especially vis-à-vis the power of illegal associations and illegal government. La Lega and La Rete are manifestations of the self-organizing impulse of civil society. Both parties give expression to a genuine demand stemming from civil society and protest against party oligarchies and political and administrative corruption. This is not an entirely new phenomenon in Italy. The novelty lies in the new parties' concentration on the issue of justice and in the territorial extension of the support this program receives. La Lega and La Rete are addressing constitutional issues, not clientelistic demands. They are speaking to problems that touch on the conditions generating patron-client relationships. Events of the early 1990s confirm the erosion of ties between representatives and the represented as well as the volatility of the electorate (Woods 1992). New independent associations concerned with the defense of constitutional rights, as against clientelism and illegal government, have been established in many Italian regions by local civil leaders. The anti-Mafia movement in Sicily expresses such constitutional protest in the name of protection of justice and "reform of the political system." Such concern with justice, rather than sectional or personal interests, may revolutionize the Italian scene. The mobilization of protest tends to reconstruct the connections between civil society, political parties, and the state (Berger 1979, 38). The referendum of April 18, 1993, on the majoritarian electoral system for the Senate was approved by 30 million votes. This result confirms the mobilization of civil society against the political elites and a tendency to recast the rules of the political system. Similarly, the public prosecutors and judges in Milan have commenced proceedings against the main political party leaders (Hayes 1981). In Gramsci's terms, this opposition of representatives and represented signals a "crisis of hegemony" (Gramsci 1971, 257) marked by a deep division between the party system and civil society, a crisis that involves a demand for the transformation of the rules governing the framework of interaction rather than a demand for incorporation into clientelistic networks (Eisenstadt 1978).

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These collective actors are addressing the problem of control of the controllers, a classic question of political theory: Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? In this respect, the new demands are constitutional in nature; they entail a change in the law governing politics—a change of metalegal dimensions. The prospects for the creation of a new center are not clear-cut. In the first place, the fragmentation of opposition movements constrains their chances of changing the conditions that generate clientelism and the supremacy of politics. One of the main causes of the present budget deficit in Italy is the lack of s u p e r v i s o r y c h e c k s on public e x p e n d i t u r e s . Fragmentation of the party system may even promote the interests of illegal associations and the further consolidation of illegal government, resulting in an increase in the pace of public expenditures directed to clienteles. The possibility remains that illegal associations will try to influence the new parties so as to bring about the disintegration of any supervisory authority. Second, illegal associations may no longer be interested in traditional nationwide party clienteles. A more flexible electoral system, unprotected by effective constitutional checks, may open up new avenues for illegal associations by changing the social and political profiles of cliques and the shape of clientelistic networks. Third, though weakened by the decline in electoral support, the dominant parties maintain their control of the power machinery, which enables them to perpetuate the present regime and the supremacy of politics over constitutional rights. Once again, the political system lacks a center of gravity, a government that governs, and an opposition that provides a potential alternative government. Legislation is the result of strategic emendamenti that favor beneficiaries having no entitlement. Finally, the abolition of the proportional electoral system will not necessarily bring about a constitutional transformation. Illegal associations may well go on influencing the electoral process. According to Giovanni Sartori (1974), the Mafia controls about 3 million votes, giving it the electoral strength of an important political party. A majoritarian electoral system, though designed in such a way as to include proportional correctives (which it does), does not prevent the operation of illegal associations that control territories and interfere directly with the exercise of constitutional rights and the policymaking powers of representative institutions. Protection of constitutional institutions must be consolidated, but some of the demands for change emanating from the civil society seem to imply a restriction of the constitution. La Lega asks for a government that is "above parties," which would entail a drastic departure from the constitution and the bestowal of absolute powers on the executive in order to establish a federation of independent territorial republics. The constitutional profile that such a new regime might assume is highly problematic. La Rete says nothing about the new safeguards of legality and the integrity of the constitution. La Lega and La Rete plan a new distribution of

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legislative and executive powers, but their design for the new constitutional machinery is not yet clear. The specifics of this radical change in the conditions generating clientelistic politics and the supremacy of politics have not yet been spelled out. Key issues are the protection of rights under a new federal constitution, the nature and legal status of the executive, the method adopted by the ruler in promulgating legislative as distinguished from executive orders, and the reform of constitutional adjudication (De Siervo 1980).

Conclusion Sidney Tarrow (1976), Luigi Graziano (1980), and Shmuel Eisenstadt and Luis Roniger (1984), among others, have suggested that the profiling of centers is a critical feature in the study of clientelism and the conditions that generate and support it. The formation of institutional centers, especially of cohesive and flexible constitutional centers, is of paramount importance in this connection. In complex societies, clientelism becomes the predominant form of political exchange if the integrity of the constitutional order is not protected by an autonomous constitutional review. A constellation of historical conditions has prevented the consolidation of an autonomous configuration of this kind in Italy. First, the nation-building elite was a political elite, which created the new nation by executive orders and decrees. The state institutions, the civil service, and the judiciary were therefore a creation of the executive power. Second, the role played by political groupings and later by parties in shaping the modern Italian political system was affected by the territorial power of illegal associations over constituencies. The chief power instruments of the state fell into the hands of an elite dependent on the clientelistic, particularistic, and illegal interests of their "constituencies." Third, the subordination of the judiciary has marked the trail of political power along the path to parliamentary absolutism. Through control of the nature and boundaries of jurisdiction, the rights and duties of the judiciary, the regime has controlled civil society by silencing the "oracles of the constitution." The features of the formation of the center, and the specific nature of the center that has taken shape, have transformed representative office into unbounded power. Representative government without institutionalization of the supremacy of the constitution turns into parliamentary absolutism, a clientelistic system in which parties negotiate and control access to and distribution of resources with no consideration for rights and their effective exercise. Interests have been protected in an extralegal way. The systematic violation of rights has had very important, practical, consequences. At this stage the clientelistic party system or state selectively interprets public duties and claims in favor of its clients. It asks the national community to

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finance debts. As a consequence, citizens who are not linked to clientelistic networks or have not enjoyed any benefit are obliged to finance illegality and cover the expenses of the clientele. This strategy generates structural i n j u s t i c e s that b e c o m e w i d e r a n d m o r e a c u t e at t i m e s of state f i s c a l crisis. If the protection of generalized rights is weak or absent, protest and political demands tend to find a niche within the clientelistic order, regulated by particularistic and illegal exchange, because clientelism is the sole mechanism providing protection. H o b b e s ' s contract has become an illicit pact, the legal sovereign an illegal sovereign. In my view, this configuration constitutes a specific form of regime. Italian history of the last decades requires a reconsideration of the study of Italian clientelism. By the end of World War II, Italian authors abandoned the constitutional approach that characterized the work of the two masters of Italian sociology, Pareto and Mosca. Mosca was a comparative historian and constitutionalist; Pareto was led to consider a constitutional interpretation by his own political-economic inquiries on choices and optimality. By the end of World War II, perhaps under the aegis of anthropological microstudies and U.S. political science, Italian scholars turned to the study of party-directed clientelism (Boissevain, 1966; Graziano 1973). Pareto and Mosca were the first to discern the party-directed clientelism that Latin American studies have explored further. Although this approach has contributed to an understanding of Italian party-client relationships, it should be developed beyond organizational boundaries. Clientelistic relations may indeed involve a web of interconnected networks, each acting independently and negotiating with the others in different legal and illegal markets. The profile of the network configuration as a set of interlocking relationships—a field of fields, in G l u c k m a n ' s words, with shifting boundaries—is of the greatest importance in these exchanges as well as for their outcomes. Clientelism may have a cross-party profile, underpinning the integration of what Sartori calls "predominant party-systems." In addition, attention should be given to analyzing the networks that are independent of party clientelism, though linked with parties—namely, illegal associations that stand between formal organizations and local territorial communities, between government institutions and illegal markets, offering services of various kinds to parties but retaining their autonomy (Gambetta 1992; Zamagni 1993). The informal networks of illegal associations are powerful instruments that can penetrate parties, influence and lead p o l i t i c s a c c o r d i n g to t h e i r o w n i n t e r e s t s , a n d d e t e r m i n e the f l o w of resources around the law. These networks are a sui generis social reality, distinct f r o m parties and formal public institutions, though working in them and through them. Illegal associations in Italy are determinants of the terms of trade and an influence on legislation—that is, on the legal sovereign rather than great political patrons incorporated into a dominant vertical

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structure, as John D. Powell suggests (Powell 1970, 4 1 1 - 4 2 0 ; Huntington 1968), or, even less plausibly, m e r e gangs of violent racketeers and entrepreneurs (Catanzaro 1991). T h e illegal transfer of thousands of billions of lire f r o m the state to illicit beneficiaries indicates w h e r e the real center of gravity lies ( C o m m i s s i o n e P a r l a m e n t a r e 1992). M o r e o v e r , the goods e x c h a n g e d are not simply public monies, benefits, and advantages. W h a t is e x c h a n g e d and c o m m e r c i a l i z e d is the highest good a d e m o c r a t i c o r d e r e n j o y s : the p r i n c i p l e of u n c o n d i t i o n a l i t y . B e h i n d the o f f i c i a l l e g a l - n o r m a t i v e f r a m e w o r k , a s h a d o w s y s t e m , a parallel s y s t e m , holds the reins of g o v e r n m e n t . T h e state system is an illegal m a r k e t p l a c e w h e r e c o n s t i t u t i o n a l f u n c t i o n s , d u t i e s , and p r e r o g a t i v e s are b o u g h t a n d sold; it is a highly specific type of parallel market. In this respect, clientelistic e x c h a n g e , as an organizing principle of the polity, m a y involve far m o r e than dyadic relations and f a v o r i t i s m ; it m a y also a f f e c t the g r o u n d r u l e s f o r the s t r u c t u r i n g of s o c i a l r e l a t i o n s h i p s . T h e r e c e n t a t t e m p t to r e p h r a s e c l i e n t e l i s m as c o r r u p t i o n a n d " c o v e r t e x c h a n g e " s e e m s a m e r e verbal innovation (Delia Porta 1992). Italian studies of clientelism have omitted the distinction between the sphere of politics and the realm of constitutional law. T h i s distinction is important because clientelism can d e v e l o p and prosper, w h e t h e r in a m o d e r n or a t r a d i t i o n a l s o c i e t y , o n l y w h e n legal s a f e g u a r d s p r o t e c t i n g the equality of rights and duties are curtailed, r e m o v e d , or paralyzed. Studies of clientelism have also neglected the determinant influence of clientelistic e x c h a n g e as a b a r r i e r a g a i n s t p o t e n t i a l c o u n t e r e l i t e s c o m m i t t e d to an u n c o m p r o m i s i n g and universalistic public ethics. Clientelism of necessity tends to constrain the f r e e expression and e x c h a n g e of ideas and to isolate elites adhering to an alternative m o d e l of society, f o r c i n g t h e m to retreat into "internal e x i l e " ( C r o c e 1954). Finally, c o n t e m p o r a r y d e v e l o p m e n t s suggest that the concern with parties and patterns of f o r m a l political participation as the critical f e a t u r e s of d e m o c r a c y ( P a s q u i n o 1983) s h o u l d be c o m p l e m e n t e d by analysis of the e f f o r t s of civil society to retrieve autonomy f r o m subjection to the party system and s h a d o w g o v e r n m e n t s ( W o o d s 1992).

Notes 1. The sovereignty of the English Parliament was the outcome of a long struggle for the rights and liberties of the people, as against the king's personal power, leading to the Petition of Rights, the Grand Remonstrance, and the Bill of Rights, which declared the abdication of the government of James II and the acceptance of the throne by William and Mary on March 22, 1690 (Rossetti 1981). 2. The Verordnungsgewalt principle conferred legislative power on decrees and regulations, as the Corte di Cassazione ruled on February 5, 1878 (Corte di Cassazione, April 11, 1878, Giur. It., 1878, II, 891; 130; Cugurra 1973).

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References Allegretti, U. 1984. Pubblica amministrazione e ordinamento democratico. Il foro italiano. . 1989. Profilo di storia costituzionale italiana. Bologne: Il Mulino. Ballini, P. 1988. Le elezioni nella storia d'Italia. Bologne: Il Mulino. Bendix, R. 1977. Province and Metropolis: The Case of Eighteenth-century Germany. In J. B. David and T. N. Clark, eds., Culture and its Creators, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Berger, S. 1979. Politics and Antipolitics in Western Europe in the Seventies. Daedalus 108(1): 27-50. Blok, A. 1974. The Mafia of a Sicilian Village. Oxford: Blackwell. Bobbio, N. 1984. Il futuro della democrazia. Torino: Einaudi. Boissevain, J. 1966. Patronage in Sicily. Man 18: 1-33. Buchanan, A. 1985. Ethics, Efficiency and the Market. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Catanzaro, R. 1991. // delitto come impresa. Milan: Mondadori. Commissione parlamentare di inchiesta sul fenomeno della mafia. 1992. X (48): xxiii. Cox, A. 1966-1967. The Supreme Court 1965 Term. Harvard Law Review 80: 91-121. Crispi, F. 1920. Pensieri e profezie. Rome: Tiber. Croce, B. 1954. Storia del regno di Napoli. Bari: Laterza. Cugurra, G. 1973. L'attività di alta amministrazione. Padua: Cedam. Della Porta, D. 1992. Lo scambio occulto. Bologne: Il Mulino. Del Vecchio, G. 1967. Lo stato moderno e i suoi problemi. Turin: Gapicchelli. De Siervo, U. 1980. Scelte della costituente e cultura giuridica. Bologne: Il Mulino. Di Cavour, C. B. 1861. Discorsi parlamentari. Florence: Botta. Eisenstadt, S. N. 1963. Politicai Systems of Empires. New York: Free Press. of Societies. New York: Free . 1978. Revolution and the Transformation Press. Eisenstadt, S. N., and L. Roniger. 1984. Patrons, Clients and Friends. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. F i n n i s , J. 1985. A Bill of R i g h t s f o r B r i t a i n ? The Moral of C o n t e m p o r a r y Jurisprudence. Proceedings of the British Academy. London: Oxford University Press. Franchetti, L. 1866. Le condizioni economiche e amministrative delle province napoletane. Florence: Vallecchi. Franchetti, L., and S. Sonnino. 1877. La Sicilia nel 1876, vol. 1. Florence: Vallechi. Fried, R. C. 1963. The Italian Prefectorial System. In M. Dogan and R. Rose, eds., European Politics, New Haven, Yale University Press, 296-314. Gambetta, D. 1992. La Mafia Siciliana. Turin: Einaudi. Gerber, C. F. 1852. Uber oeffentliche Rechte. Tubingen: Mohr. Gramsci, A. 1948. Note sul Machiavelli lo Stato Moderno. Turin: Einaudi. . 1971. Observation on Some Aspects of the Structure of Political Parties in P e r i o d s of O r g a n i c C r i s e s . In A. P i z z o r n o , ed., Political Sociology, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 291-299. Graziano, L. 1973. Patron-client Relationships in Southern Italy. European Journal of Political Research 1: 1-34. . 1980. Clientelismo e sistema politico. Il caso dell'Italia. Milan: Franco Angelli. Guarnieri, C. 1991. Magistratura e politica: il caso italiano. Rivista italiana di scienza politica 21(1): 3-32.

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Hayes, M. T. 1981. Lobbyists and Legislators. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Huntington, S. P. 1968. Political Order in a Changing Society. New Haven: Yale University Press. Kelsen, H. 1982. Giurisdizione e amministrazione. In Kelsen, Il primato del parlamento, Milan: Giuffre. Laband, P. 1876. Das Staatsrecht des Deutschen Reich. Tübingen: Mohr. . 1900. Le droit publique de l'Empire Allemand. Paris: Giard et Brière. Labriola, A. 1910. Storia di dieci anni: 1889-1909. Milan: Il Viandante. Lipset, S. M., and S. Rokkan. 1967. Cleavage Structures, Party Systems, and Voter A l i g n m e n t s . In S. M. L i p s e t and S. R o k k a n , Party Systems and Voters Alignments, New York: Free Press, 1-64. Macllwain, C. H. 1947. Constitutionalism: Ancient and Modem. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Maier, C. S. 1987, Changing Boundaries of the Political. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Marx, F. M. 1957. The Administrative State. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Mosca, G. 1884. Teorica dei governi e governo parlamentare. Palermo: Amenta. . 1949. Partili e sindacati. Bari: Laterza. . 1958. L'allargamento del suffragio e le amministrazioni locali. In G. Mosca, Ciò che la storia potrebbe insegnare, Milan: Giuffrè. Offe, C. 1984. Contradictions of the Welfare State. Cambridge: MIT Press. Pareto, V. 1893. The Parliamentary Regime in Italy. Political Science Quarterly 4: 677-721. . 1963. Trattato di sociologia generale. Milan: Communità. Pasquino, G. 1983. Sources of Stability and Instability in the Italian Party System. West European Politics 6(1): 93-110. . 1987. Party Government in Italy: Achievement and Perspectives. Ir. R. S. Katz, ed., Party Governments, Berlin: W. de Gruyer, 202-242. Penniman, H. R. 1977. Italy at the Polls: The Parliamentary Elections of 1976. Washington, DC: American Enterprise Institute. . 1981. Italy at the Polls: 1979. Washington, DC: American Enterprise Institute. P o p k i n , I. 1992. The Reasoning Voter: Communication and Persuasion in Presidential Campaigns. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Powell, J. D. 1970. Peasant Society and Clientelist Politics. American Political Science Review 64: 4 1 1 ^ 3 0 . Ragioneri, E. 1976. Politica e amministrazione nella storia dell'Italia unita. Bari: Laterza. R o n i g e r , L. 1991. P u b l i c T r u s t and the C o n s o l i d a t i o n of Latin A m e r i c a n Democracies. In A. Ritter, M. A. Cameroon, and D. Pollock, eds., Latin America to the Year 2000, New York: Praeger, 147-160. Rossetti, C. 1981. Ragione, rivoluzione e le vie della pace. Quaderni 13: 7 3 106. Sani, G. 1980. The Politicai Culture of Italy: Continuity and Change. In G. Almond and S. Verba, eds.. The Civic Culture Revisited, New York: Sage, 273-324. Sartori, G. 1974. Parties and Party-systems. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schneider, P.T.S. 1972. Coalition Formation and Colonialism in Western Sicily. European Journal of Sociology 13: 255-267. Silverman, S. F. 1968. Agricultural Organization, Social Structure and Values in Italy: Amoral Familism Reconsidered. American Anthropologist 70: 1-20.

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Stone, L. n.d. The Transformation of Values in England 1660-1770: Secularism, Rationalism and Individualism. Typescript. Tarrow, S. 1976. From Center to Periphery. Western Societies Program Occasional Papers. Ithaca: Cornell University. Tilly, C. 1978. From Mobilization to Revolution. London: Addison-Wesley. Weiner, M. 1971. Political Integration and Political Development. In C. E. Welch, ed., Political Mobilization, Belmont: Wadsworth. Woods, D. 1992. Les Ligues regionales en Italie. Revue française de Science Politique 42(1): 36-55. Zamagni, S. 1993. Mercati illegali e mafie. Bologne: Il Mulino. Zincone, G. 1992. Da sudditi a cittadini. Bologne: Il Mulino.

7 Clientelism and the Process of Political Democratization in Russia _

Tatiana Vorozheikina

The abruptness of political change, the depth of the break with the old system, the acuteness of the social crisis, and the multidimensionality of the processes of social and national disintegration distinguish Russian development in the early 1990s from the general, global processes of democratization and sociopolitical restructuring. The emerging elements of economic collapse and political confrontation and the rapidly fraying social fabric also separate Russia's current development from the painful, but still generally evolutionary and reformist, processes in Eastern Europe. Only in Yugoslavia, where the breakup of the former regime has lead to an all-out civil war, is the situation more dire than in Russia. In Yugoslavia, however, society ruptured exclusively along the fault line of ethnicity. In Russia (and likewise throughout the territories of the former Soviet Union), although none of the many ethnic conflicts have reached the scale of the crisis in Yugoslavia, the fragmentation of society is far more multidimensional and multilayered. But in spite of the breakup of the country, the economic crisis, and the periodic bursts of political confrontation, Russian society overall has retained a deep internal stability. Since the end of the 1980s the country has seen the creeping disintegration of state and other governing structures and mechanisms. Yet the society has continued to function—in spite of galloping inflation, a sharp fall in living standards, the disintegration of the centralized system of distribution and administration of the economy, the flood of hundreds of thousands of refugees resulting from a variety of ethnic conflicts, and an apocalyptic interpretation of contemporary reality in the mass media. The bulk of the country's communication and transportation networks have continued to function (although with significant interruptions). Enterprises have continued working, along with schools, hospitals, theaters, and museums. People continue to go to work each morning, even in cases where they have been m o n t h s without c o m p e n s a t i o n . The level and longevity of this stability should not be exaggerated: Russia has not yet 105

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experienced mass unemployment, which is expected to result from the closure of ineffective enterprises. Social tensions are accumulating, accompanied by mass strikes in various industries demanding pay hikes and the payment of arrears. Crime has likewise increased sharply, indicating heightened social disintegration. Nonetheless, this phenomenon cries out for explanation. The stability and composure of Russian society were completely unexpected, especially by domestic political elites, who were hypnotized by expectations of an inevitable social outburst. What mechanisms have underlain the stability of Russian society as it endures the crisis of the transition period? What forms of bonds and relations have compensated for the disintegration of the former system of social integration? What role has been played by new political institutions formed in the process of democratization? What is the stability of these institutions themselves, and on what sort of foundation have they been constructed? How deep is the influence of the new regime on society, and how is the legitimacy of this influence generated? This chapter proposes to investigate these problems from the point of view of the embeddedness of patron-client relations and their effect on social consciousness and political culture. The evolution and dynamics of different forms of clientelism in the process of democratization are considered, along with their relationship to authoritarian tendencies and the creation of a civil society and new political system.

The Administrative Command System The social system existing in the Soviet Union until the end of the 1980s appeared as the complete antithesis of particularistic principles of social organization. The nationalization of the economy and of all spheres of social life signified the complete exclusion of individual initiative in the structuring of interest groups. The state and the society were merged and inseparable, both in reality and in social consciousness, 1 and were intended to f u n c t i o n strictly according to considerations of the public good. Principally, the nomenklatura system of administration and the special role of ideology ensured the integrity of the social system. Both the state and the society were based on principles that negated the role of individuals as subjects in the achievement of personal aims and excluded private interests from the realm of social significance. The designation of personnel in the administrative apparatus was controlled and directed from a single center and entailed a continuous alternation between work in local and central administrations and in party, soviet, and administrative economic positions. Typically, an entrant into the apparat started his or her career as a middle-level local official (district party [raikom] secretary, local soviet executive committee chairman, Young

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Communist League secretary, enterprise director, or chief engineer), followed by appointment to a central party or ministerial job, followed again by a return to the p e r i p h e r y 2 at a h i g h e r party or a d m i n i s t r a t i v e post (regional party [obkom] secretary, regional soviet executive committee chairman, or director of a large enterprise with national significance). From here the path opened to higher levels in the hierarchy of power, up to the Politburo for the select few. In the years of Stalinist repression the apparat was periodically shaken up, creating o p e n i n g s for fast career advancement and the skipping of entire levels. When the nomenklatura system took on its final, classic form in the early 1970s, it operated like a traditional military hierarchy, counting years in the service without the possibility of jumping the separate rungs. This system should have made personal ties insignificant. The official ideology of the time was dominated by the total preeminence of the public interest; private concerns were considered dubious, illegitimate, and secondary in the hierarchy of values. The system of state education, t h r o u g h w h i c h all w i t h o u t e x c e p t i o n p a s s e d , was t h o r o u g h l y ideologized and oriented toward collective values and models of behavior. All individuals, from childhood, were included in one collective or another, and only in this capacity were they able to express social values. The presence in official ideology of an ideal model of social organization (communism) and a teleological interpretation of historical processes (toward the construction of communism) assumed mass mobilization for its achievement. It was the "masses" themselves that, in the official ideology, were the subject of historical processes; the individual remained the object, mobilized in the name of a great cause ("Soviet man as the builder of communism"). The social ideal and the mechanism of mass mobilization were built on the rejection of all private (especially material) interests and demanded from the individual selfless service for the social cause, freeing him at the same time of any responsibility for the successes or failures of the process. It is obvious that a system built on these principles could not long thrive or even function normally. In the 1930s and 1940s only a segment of the urban and rural youth identified themselves with public interests and collectivist principles. The mobilizing effect of official ideology was felt only by the regime's immediate social base (the party-administrative elite, the academic and military intelligentsia, and part of the working class). A short burst of more widespread faith in the values proclaimed from above was generated by the Khrushchev thaw in the late 1950s and early 1960s, along with hopes for the renewal and humanization of socialism, the success of the space program, and the victory of the Cuban revolution. But by the second half of the 1960s the mobilizing potential of official ideology had been exhausted. For the overwhelming majority of the population of the Soviet Union

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in the 1970s, the official ideology had been reduced to ritual, the observ a n c e of w h i c h d e m o n s t r a t e d n o t h i n g m o r e t h a n a w i l l i n g n e s s to act according to the widely accepted "rules of the game," and had nothing to do with individual experience. At the personal level, such ideological concepts as "public interests," "collectivism," and "duty" had lost almost all meaning, whereas in social activity it was necessary to appeal constantly to t h e i r s y m b o l i c m e a n i n g . T h i s s i t u a t i o n e n g e n d e r e d an o v e r a l l cynicism and double standard—the only possible form of independent existence for some and the only possible path to upward career mobility for others. But long after it had exhausted its mobilizing potential, the official ideology remained one of the most important integrating factors of the social system, even where observed only as ritual. For the conformist majority, this ritual served as life's external justification and an important means of socialization, much in the same way religion does for the formally devout. With the cooling of official ideology, values of public interest and collectivist feelings did not completely disappear in the Soviet Union, and the paternalist f o u n d a t i o n of m a s s c o n s c i o u s n e s s was not overturned. T h e absolute dependence of the majority of the population on the government or on the state sector of the economy for basic means of support fed perceptions of government as the embodiment of public good and the universal patron. Paradoxically, the preservation and survival of collectivist values in the 1970s and 1980s were tied to directly contradictory processes: the individualization of Soviet society and the formation of an individual (spiritual and social) space in opposition to the sphere of official state lies. The separation of the individual f r o m the state did not signify the introduction of private interests in the classical Western form, because there still did not exist any m a r k e t basis f o r these interests. T h e p r o c e s s , h o w e v e r , w a s accompanied by the formation of particularistic ties, which led to the emergence of a variety of informal groups and collectives, particularly in academia and among technical elites and skilled workers. These informal ties p e r v a d e d the spheres of culture, a c a d e m i a , and leisure, as well as the nonofficial and quasiofficial f o r m s of the youth movement. The bulk of these collectives were not politicized; 3 however, being nongovernmental, they existed in opposition, sometimes consciously, to the formal, officially approved sphere of activities. They inevitably chipped away at what was called in the official jargon "the moral and political unity of the Soviet people." T h e s e particularistic ties and relationships f o r m e d the basis for the emergence of elements of civil society in the Soviet Union in the period 1 9 6 5 - 1 9 8 5 . With no market economic basis supporting them, these elements developed principally as cultural phenomena, as social consciousness, and f o r m s of individual existence independent of or only formally dependent on the state. An important role in the formation of this unusual

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f o r m of civil society w a s played by the collectivist mentality of the intelligentsia, as o p p o s e d to the f o r m a l false collectivism propagated f r o m above. A song by Bulat O k u d z h a v a — " T a k e each other by the hands, friends, so that you d o n ' t perish all a l o n e " — b e c a m e a m o t t o and h y m n f o r at least two generations. Collectivist values did not lose their significance in the deideologization and individualization of Soviet society; instead they b e c a m e a m e a n s of legitimizing new social relations outside the control of the government. T h e c r e a t i o n of t h e s e e l e m e n t s of civil s o c i e t y c o n v e r g e d with the increasing p r o m i n e n c e of clientelistic relations. A l t h o u g h the administrative c o m m a n d system seemed to e m b o d y the total rejection of clientelism, in reality it w a s c o m p l e t e l y e n m e s h e d in a c o m p l e x w e b of patron-client relationships. T h e s e relationships gave life to the rigid m e c h a n i s m s of the b u r e a u c r a c y , providing it with the necessary lubrication. T h e rigidly centralized and ineffective system of e c o n o m i c m a n a g e m e n t and the resulting stale of constant resource shortages m a d e it necessary for enterprises and other e c o n o m i c actors to constantly " w r i n g out" raw materials and equipment via personal ties, patronage, and the unofficial e x c h a n g e of services. This practice o p e n e d u p e n o r m o u s possibilities for corruption. As in a nonm a r k e t s y s t e m , p r e f e r e n c e in the a l l o c a t i o n of r e s o u r c e s to e n t e r p r i s e s ( e x c e p t t h o s e d e e m e d national priorities, such as the m i l i t a r y - i n d u s t r i a l c o m p l e x and energy-related industries) c o m m o n l y d e p e n d e d on the w h i m of individual o f f i c i a l s . Patronage in the selection of party a d m i n i s t r a t i v e personnel also played a crucial role, in spite of the seemingly impersonal nature of the nomenklatura system. Personal ties were critical both in gaining a foothold on the nomenklatura escalator and in ensuring a steady rate of ascent. T h i s system of patronage was m a n y - l a y e r e d and d e m a n d e d f r o m clients loyalty and the observation of political subordination at all levels. T h e role of personal ties and interests in the f u n c t i o n i n g of the e c o n o m y , as well as patron-client relations a m o n g the Soviet party administrative elite, e x p a n d e d with the erosion of the stringent Stalinist system in the late 1950s and early 1960s. T h e single authoritative center, d o m i n a t e d by the security o r g a n s , w a s s e g m e n t e d into several a u t o n o m o u s a n d c o m p e t i n g s t r u c t u r e s — p a r t y , e c o n o m i c , military. This decentralization e n h a n c e d the f r e e d o m of c h o i c e a n d m a n e u v e r for separate elite g r o u p s but heightened the significance of clientelistic ties inside separate structures. T h e tendency w a s strengthened by the b r e a k d o w n of the single system of state property, w h i c h in the late 1950s was divided into separate industrial sectors run by ministries, o f t e n c o m p e t i n g a m o n g t h e m s e l v e s f o r control. 4 A c c o r d i n g to e c o n o m i s t a n d f o r m e r State P l a n n i n g C o m m i t t e e o f f i c i a l Vitaly N a i s h u l , the system, w h i c h " h a d as its aim the rooting out of trade and its replacem e n t with scientifically based administrative d i s t r i b u t i o n , . . . resulted in its b e i n g capable of surviving under only a very narrow s p e c t r u m of external c o n d i t i o n s [i.e., repressive control]. T h e f u n d a m e n t a l revision in the 1950s led to the s p o n t a n e o u s rebirth of the a d m i n i s t r a t i v e - c o m m a n d system as an

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administrative or bureaucratic market, and trade, eliminated outside the state, began to thrive within it" (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, October 21, 1992). At the same time, the practice of exchanging goods and services— given universal shortages and an absence of market-exchange mechanisms—became part of the everyday life of a significant part of the population. These ties were for the most part organized vertically around points of access to the state system of the distribution of resources. The goods bartered through clientelistic ties included basic necessities, appliances, medical services, theater tickets, housing, places in prestigious schools and universities, high-status or low-status jobs connected with the distribution of items in short supply, and so on. The more developed social infrastructures and better supply systems of the republican capitals and other large cities left gaps in the network of patron-client relations and allowed part of the population there to exist outside the system of clientelistic exchange. But in medium-sized and small cities, the system of exchange was a fundamental provider of basic necessities and encompassed virtually the entire population. This practice enjoyed a high level of legitimacy in mass consciousness. In spite of the fact that the growing incidence of patronage and corruption at higher levels was unanimously and moralistically denounced as contradicting the public good, in everyday life the system of clientelistic exchange was silently recognized as the only possible form of individual and social survival. This paradox led to a growing cynicism and deterioration of the public spirit. At the same time, the strengthening and broadening of clientelistic r e l a t i o n s were e r o d i n g the old system f r o m within. Clientelism became the means of the development of individual social relations and the channel for the introduction into them of private interests, in opposition to the universalistic "common good." In this sense clientelistic relations were a form, albeit a highly distorted form, of civil society, developing within the state but gradually coming up from under the state's shell. Although playing an important role in the decomposition of the administrative command system, clientelistic relations were engendered by that system and inevitably reproduced its essence and inner logic. Power became an object of "bureaucratic trade" in the disintegration of the system but still remained the dominant guiding factor in social relations. Patronclient relations, even where organized as quasieconomic ties for the distribution of scarce resources, to a great extent mirrored the hierarchy of power. One's position in the power structure was crucial for the governing segment of the nomenklatura, as it remained the prime determinant of access to the specific material and nonmaterial resources that were the objects of clientelistic exchange. By the first half of the 1980s the disintegration of the administrative command system had become extremely profound. The disappearance of favorable conditions for Soviet petroleum production and export and a new

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spiraling of the strategic arms race laid bare the complete lack of prospects for the reigning economic model, its incapacity for autonomous development, and the degree of its economic backwardness in relation to most Western countries. It became less and less possible to hide the worsening of basic social indicators (infant mortality, life expectancy), the society's obvious moral degradation, and the farcically senile system of political administration. These factors finally trampled the last remaining shreds of faith in the postulates of the official ideology. But in spite of people's extremely low opinion of the party administrative elite and the growing expectations for change in the early 1980s (if only by simple gerontological calculations), no alternative ideologies or active forces emerged that were capable of serving as an initiator of change. In the end, the initiatives for reform grew out of the nomenklatura elite, which recognized that the existing system had exhausted its economic competitiveness and political legitimacy. The initial reformist projects did not envision any radical revision in the administrative command system, instead proposing to revive the Soviet economy through a partial decentralization of decisionmaking and a limited introduction of market mechanisms. These attempts, however, were blocked by the colossal inertia of the existing system of power, led principally by party administrative rather than economic structures. Gradual liberalization, decentralization, and the introduction of market stimuli in the economy would have meant undermining the dominant position of the majority of party administrative personnel. This threat was quickly recognized and naturally provoked resistance—at times unspoken, elsewhere open. As a result, the possibilities for a gradual, manageable economic reform followed by a reform of the political system were by 1987 already exhausted. 5 From 1988, when it became obvious that the reforms were not feasible without deep changes in the system of power, the focal point of the reformers' political agenda turned to democratization. The principal elements of this program were, first, a delegitimization of the ancien régime through the widening of glasnost (the policy of openness) and, second, the creation of new political institutions and the calling of alternative elections, giving new meaning to the formerly decorative soviets. The initial resistance by the power structures to political reforms was, unexpectedly, far weaker than that generated by attempts at economic reforms. This mild reaction is explained, in part, by effective manipulation on the part of Gorbachev and his supporters and the fact that the project of political reforms was carried through the party decisionmaking system and hence was legitimated in the eyes of the apparat. Political reforms, in contrast to economic ones, were difficult to sabotage simply by noncompliance. Glasnost had made the process transparent for society. Attempts to prevent the participation of independent candidates in elections were illegal

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and brought about additional dissatisfaction with the authorities. However, the principal factor was that the party administrative elite from the beginning interpreted the reforms as being entirely compatible with the preservation of their monopoly hold on power. The elections gave a new political legitimacy to the existing system of power, replacing its withering ideological foundations. 6 If the real centers of party administrative power were preserved, any new institutions could easily be brought under the control and direction of the old system.

Clientelism in the New Russian System At the beginning of the process of democratization (1988-1990) the network of clientelistic relations was partially undermined, especially at the upper levels. Society still held high hopes for democracy's success and maintained the "sprinter's illusion"—a belief that the old system could be quickly replaced and the situation in the country improved overnight. Criticism of the nomenklatura's privileges was the centerpiece of the election campaigns of 1989 and 1990 and served as the democratic forces' most effective and legitimate weapon in reining in the administrative command system. Many of the deputies in the newly elected representative organs, especially in large cities and industrial centers, were without ties to the nomenklatura system. Even where the party administrative elites maintained control over the new organs of power, the presence of new people in the halls of power limited administrators' arbitrary authority in the distribution of resources and offices. The presence of an opposition in the highest organs of state power seriously limited the effectiveness of the previous practice of purchasing "agreement" within a narrow circle of interested parties. As a result, the newly created political sphere was incomparably more open, transparent, and competitive than the former regime, drastically reducing the effectiveness of traditional clientelistic mechanisms. The sharpening political struggle within the new representative organs, however, has enhanced the clientelistic dimension of the new polity. Open confrontation with the old power structures has forced the democratic forces to quicken the formation of their own opposing mechanisms of power. In the absence of stable political ties (the newly elected representative were generally without any organizational backing), parties, legal guarantees, or a legal culture, the structuring of political mechanisms in the new "democratic" establishment was principally accomplished according to ideological affinity and personal ties. New centers of power emerged around strong figures in the parliament (the parliamentary leadership, committee heads, leaders of parliamentary factions), particularly around the Russian president, elected in 1991. Personal loyalty and group solidarity played the crucial role in the formation of these new power centers, which

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to a great extent gave the newly emerging political ties a patron-client character. The new clientelistic political relations were greatly strengthened by the acute confrontation between Russian authorities and the central Union government and later by the struggle within the Russian parliament. This confrontation was interpreted by many as a simple bipolar fight between "us" ("democrats") and "them" ("nomenklatura"). The sharpness of the conflict led the democrats to see their first priority as the closing of ranks so as to defeat the enemy at any cost. Group solidarity and loyalty to the leader became the principal forms of this unity; the strategy and means of the fight ever more closely mirrored the traditional arsenal of the opposing side. The imperatives underlying the growth of clientelistic ties were strengthened after the failure of the August 1991 coup. The disintegration of the party administrative vertical structure was only partially offset by the shift of centers of real power to new political institutions. This shift occurred principally at the local level. At the center, the new power structures were left largely powerless, as they were for the most part formed as objects in the political struggle rather than as instruments of power or administration. To compensate for the obvious power vacuum, the new political leaders proclaimed their prime task to be the formation of vertical executive structures. The only ideological orientation of the new vertical executive was "the implementation of the will of the president." By the end of 1991, appointed heads of local administrations were in place throughout Russia. In the view of the president and his supporters, only appointed local administrations, rather than popularly elected ones, would be capable of liquidating opposition to the president within the executive structure and ensuring implementation of the necessary economic reforms. Russia's new ruling cadre generally entered government service with no political obligations, debts, or preparation other than personal loyalty to the individual at the next-highest rung in the new hierarchy of power. Although unity in the executive branch may have been achieved, it has been accompanied by widespread unprofessionalism and corruption in the government. Formed on the basis of group solidarity, the new ruling elites have operated without any mechanism of legal control or oversight. As praise for private enterprise has replaced the idea of social duty, many government officials have taken to mixing government service and enterprise, blurring the distinction between corruption and commerce. The new patron-client relations were created as an overgrowth atop the former nomenklatura system of clientelistic relations, which in general had been destroyed only at its upper levels. At the middle and lower levels these relations quickly regenerated. In the absence of new party mechanisms, former clientelistic relations were inevitably used as the foundation for new structures. The old and new systems of clientelistic relations quick-

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ly fused, with access to public and private goods still largely the objects of clientelistic exchange. These goods included government jobs, housing, medical services, and economic resources. The retention of an enormous reservoir of state property during the breakdown of the former system of power played a key role in the preservation and nourishment of clientelistic relations. On the one hand, the process of nomenklatura privatization—the transfer of state property into private hands—had begun already in 1990, transforming part of the party administrative leadership into a strictly economic elite. (A large number of banks, stock societies, and insurance companies built their initial capital with funds shrewdly shifted from the accounts of local Communist Party organizations.) On the other hand, the division of state property has also accelerated the enrichment of new elites. Access to government property has become one of the prime forms of payment in patron-client networks. By privatizing government property into the hands of politically loyal groups and individuals, political figures both widen their political base and create an entirely new and legally unhindered economic base for the future. The right to distribute government property has been one of the most fought-over prerogatives in the ongoing conflict between the executive branch and the parliament and between local authorities and the center. The new commercial and government elites have also invented an ideological justification for the growth of corruption. Within the new power structure corruption has been justified as a quick path to the formation of a middle class of owners, who in theory will support economic reforms. The participants in the young and immature commercial sector and their state patrons justify and even praise corruption as a necessary form of primitive capital accumulation, without which the country will never develop the large mass savings needed for capital investment. By 1993 the process of democratization had fundamentally changed, and largely created anew, the Russian political system. This process— including the decentralization of government and the separation of powers—has overturned the foundations of the administrative command system but has only slightly affected the system's clientelistic core. In the absence of a developed civil society and party system to structure and legitimate civil service advancement, clientelistic attitudes are inevitably reproduced and strengthened. 7 Administrative and regional decentralization in Russia, which began with the decomposition of the former power structures and mechanisms of the Soviet Union, is a crucial but largely spontaneous aspect of the country's democratization. Attempts to stop this process through the establishment of a vertical structure of presidential authority have not yet met with success, nor are they likely to do so. In spite of the extremely low possibility of controlling this process and the danger it holds of further political

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conflicts, 8 the demand for decentralization is no less pressing than the demand for the strengthening of administrative power. The present disintegratory tendencies in the power structures are the inevitable result of the previous hypercentralization, which crushed all governing mechanisms except those of the center. In the absence of civil society and a developed system of legal regulation, however, decentralization in Russia can build only on the strengthening of local personal ties. The old system of local authorities completely subordinate to the center is being replaced by autonomous centers of local power, maintaining control through the political institutions and patronage system of the given region. As a result local, authoritarian mini-regimes have emerged whose power is based on the virtually uncontrolled distribution of resources. Characteristically, the appointed local administrators, instead of enhancing the vertical control of the central authorities, have in the majority of cases strengthened the independence and personal character of local executive authority, now virtually uninhibited by the local soviets. The system of presidential powers in Russia, originally envisioned as a weapon in the fight against the Soviet Union's central government and then as the principal means of combating chaos in the economy and in general, had by 1993 turned into a sprawling bureaucratic structure, endlessly spawning new branches. Around the presidency there has emerged a bureaucracy of assistants, along with a presidential administration, government legal administration (preparing presidential orders and decrees), informational-analytic center, and council of political advisers. In addition, the president created the Security Council to deal with passing political problems and the Federal Information Center to provide the appropriate propaganda to accompany his actions. Neither the staffing of these new agencies (with the exception of the Security Council) nor their budgets were subject to parliamentary control, and the selection of personnel was based primarily on personal loyalty to the president or his subordinates. The self-proclamation of the presidency as the guarantor of democracy and economic reform has increasingly isolated and detached it from public control and hence made it more open to clientelistic practices. The impression that the president can successfully implement his reform program only by relying on individuals and institutions that are personally loyal to him and to his reforms—and by being ready to block the resistance of conservatives in the executive and legislative structures—is widely held among people who consider themselves supporters of democratic change. This impression is part of the general concept of "authoritarian modernization," according to which only an authoritarian regime is capable of implementing a transition from totalitarianism to democracy. From this point of view, only a regime endowed with strong executive powers will be capable of transforming the administrative command economy into a market-based system. In turn, the supporters of this version of

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development expect that a broad propertied class will emerge out of the m a r k e t e c o n o m y , and only then will there be a basis for a d e m o c r a t i c regime. Until this occurs, political democracy and the existence of elected representative bodies enjoying broad powers can lead only to chaos, the impeding of reforms, and a return to totalitarianism. T h i s c o n c e p t i o n h a s s e r v e d as the i d e o l o g i c a l f o u n d a t i o n f o r the repeated attempts to broaden the extraordinary powers of the president and limit the prerogatives of the legislature. The executive branch did its utmost to paint representative organs as obstacles to reform, refuges of conservatism that no longer reflect the true balance of forces in society. By contrast, the executive branch professed to represent democracy, liberalism, and r e f o r m . On this basis the executive authorities and their supporters repeatedly called for the disbanding of the Russian Supreme Soviet and the Congress of People's Deputies, insisting on new elections and a referendum, in which they hoped the people would express their support for the president's policies and a presidential system of government. The result was a semipermanent constitutional crisis, characterized by a struggle for power between the executive and the legislature. Whereas the executive attempted to govern by presidential decree, circumventing relevant legislation in parliament, the legislative branch attempted to minimize the government's and the president's ability to maneuver. The Congress of P e o p l e ' s Deputies, according to the constitution, was R u s s i a ' s highest organ of state power, with the authority to make changes in the constitution and thereby paralyze the functioning of the government. From the political and juridical point of view this appeared to be a constitutional problem related to the lack of a clear division and delimitation of powers. But authority in Russia has always been single and undivided, both before the 1917 revolution and since. The newly created presidential structures, irrespective of their subjective reformist aspirations and democratic convictions, are heirs to this tradition. For the Russian parliament to be preserved as a real, and not merely decorative, center of power, it was doomed to a constant "usurpation" of executive authority—fighting on the only territory where real power exists. The inner structure of the parliament, like that of the presidency, was largely formed on the basis of personal relations and group loyalties. The absence of parties and party discipline and the dominance of the presidium (comprising the chairman of the Supreme Soviet, the assistant chairmen, and c h a m b e r and committee chairmen) reproduced in the parliament the relations of subordination c o m m o n to Soviet society. A deep chasm lay between the upper parliamentary leadership, which enjoyed access to the decisionmaking process, and rank-and-file members. Preservation of the personal dependence of deputies on the state system of distribution for the fulfillment of basic necessities (housing, medical services, transportation)

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created wide possibilities for influencing the behavior of m e m b e r s of parliament, especially those without a clearly d e f i n e d political position. T h e practice of clientelistic e x c h a n g e , a p p r o a c h i n g on o c c a s i o n outright c o r r u p t i o n , w a s strengthened by the p e r s o n a l actions of the f o r m e r parliament's chairman, Ruslan Khazbulatov, concentrating significant p o w e r in his h a n d s . This practice resulted in the overall w e a k n e s s of the r e p r e s e n t a t i v e s t r u c t u r e s , the f u n c t i o n i n g of w h i c h w a s g e n e r a l l y d e t e r mined not by laws but by the personal qualities of particular leaders. T h e new R u s s i a n polity still does not d i s t i n g u i s h f u n c t i o n f r o m p e r s o n a l i t y . O f t e n f u n c t i o n s or o f f i c e s are created under a specific individual (Yeltsin as president) or an o f f i c e is tainted by the actions of a specific personality (Khazbulatov as S u p r e m e Soviet chairman). As the president m a d e liberal e c o n o m i c r e f o r m s his principal slogan and raison d ' ê t r e , the parliamentary majority c a m e to o p p o s e the governm e n t ' s economic policies. The parliamentary majority and leadership increasingly e x p r e s s e d the position of forces striving to preserve their privi l e g e d p l a c e in the e c o n o m y . T h e s e i n c l u d e d , p r i n c i p a l l y , the m i l i t a r y industrial c o m p l e x and a significant n u m b e r of state-sector enterprise directors, who actively utilized social discontent over high inflation and falling living standards. H o w e v e r , the parliament did not in fact o p p o s e r e f o r m s as such; the m a j o r i t y was in one way or another interested in market evolution (albeit in its statist-monopoly v a r i a n t — t h e same variant which is e m e r g i n g f r o m the "presidential" reforms). T h e real conflict b e t w e e n the parliament and the president, as was already m e n t i o n e d , was over the ability to control the r e f o r m process, the distribution of financial and e c o n o m i c resources, and the privatization of state enterprises. T h e g r o w i n g tensions between the executive and legislative b r a n c h e s a n d the l a c k of i n t e r e s t on b o t h s i d e s in c o m p r o m i s e e x p l o d e d in t h e a u t u m n 1993 political crisis. Discarding the constitution, the president disb a n d e d the parliament and a n n o u n c e d early elections. Parliamentary leaders resisted the m o v e and attempted to seize p o w e r by force, bringing about the bloody s k i r m i s h e s and the c r u s h i n g of the p a r l i a m e n t with troops on October 3 - 4 . As a result of these events and the ensuing D e c e m b e r 12 parliamentary elections, the b a l a n c e of forces was upset, sharply increasing the authoritarian tendencies of the Russian polity. A D e c e m b e r r e f e r e n d u m approved a new constitution, effectively establishing an authoritarian presidential r e g i m e and r e m o v i n g virtually all d e c i s i o n m a k i n g p o w e r s f r o m the parliam e n t . W i t h i n the executive branch, real p o w e r shifted to the presidential structures: the " f o r c e " ministries ( d e f e n s e , security, and interior) and the m i n i s t r y of f o r e i g n a f f a i r s w e r e s u b o r d i n a t e d to the p r e s i d e n t d i r e c t l y , b y p a s s i n g the p r i m e m i n i s t e r ; the p r e s i d e n t i a l a d m i n i s t r a t i o n e x p a n d e d sharply, both in n u m b e r s and influence. Organizational c h a o s and the près-

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ence of competing groups within the ever-expanding ranks of the president's subordinates increased the significance of patron-client relations as the system's only structuring factor. The proliferation of executive organs, however, also led to the isolation and diversification of their functions. Paradoxically, the creation of a presidential regime was accompanied by the strengthening of the role and position of the government as a largely autonomous organ of power, determining, in part, economic policy. In other words, the plethora of executive organs became a barrier to the imposition of authoritarianism, as it was a clear break in the creation of a single vertical of presidential power. The presidency's desire to elect an obedient parliament was likewise frustrated: opposition parties and movements won even more seats than they had in the previous parliament. In spite of the almost decorative character of parliament under the new constitution, it can still be viewed as a counterbalance to presidential authoritarianism. These nuances do not, however, mitigate the adverse effects that the violent resolution of the conflict have had on the formation of the polity and on society as a whole. T h e confrontational nature of the political culture, dictating the ruthlessness of political struggles and denigrating compromise, has been reinforced. (Confrontational parties at both ends of the political spectrum received the greatest number of votes in the December elections.) In addition, conflict has become a constant of Russian politics. The conscious or unconscious provocation of conflict is seen as a way of resolving political stalemates and pushing the political situation in desirable directions. In these situations, the political elite is inevitably formed according to vertical and clientelist principles. The priority of group, party, administrative, and personal loyalty becomes the norm of political behavior. Deviations f r o m this norm entail breakdowns in the political mechanism. The undermining of nomenklatura patron-client relations at the outset of the democratization process has regenerated itself throughout the polity and will long be one principal determinant.

Notes 1. According to Cheshkov, in this system neither the state nor the society existed in the traditional sense: "In this setup, power, the state, and property existed everywhere and in everything, and as a result they do not act as autonomous relations, autonomous structural divisions or levels. Power, the state, and property are realized here as institutions expressing a universal logic. The Leninist formula 'already not a state' applies to this state, and the concept of a totalitarian state, which presumes the presence of at least a subordinate civil society, is inapplicable. In totalist formation . . . there is no society—in its place is a social mass." Cheshkov, "Predeli i vozmozhnosti kontseptsii etatistskoi sotsialnoi sistemi," Mirovaya Ekonomika i Mezhdunarodnie Otnosheniya (Moscow), 6:44 (1991).

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2. As a rule, only representatives of the national republics returned to their home provinces. With regard to Russians (and wider Slavs), rotation through various regions was common. 3. Dissident groups, although representing a part of this process, were few and existed on the fringes. 4. The dominant characterization of Soviet society as totalitarian does not, for the most part, correspond to reality. Although this description does to some extent apply to the Stalinist period, with substantial conditions, it is completely baseless when applied to later periods. 5. It is a widely held view that this path, analogous to the Chinese reforms, would be ideal for Russia. It would allow the reform of the system with less serious social costs, avoiding the political convulsions resulting from the disintegration of the economy and the breakup of the country. However, the chances of successfully reforming the economy while preserving the existing system of power were, from the beginning, minimal. 6. F u r m a n , D m i t r i , " N a s h s t r a n n a y a r e v o l u t s i y a " S v o b o d n a y a mysl, (Moscow), 1, 1993. 7. It is obvious that a developed party system is not a panacea against clientelism and in many countries is one of its principal channels. In Russia's situation, however, the creation of influential political parties could somewhat formalize political relations and mechanisms and ensure politicians greater independence from personal and group loyalties. 8. This concerns principally the relations between Russia's different ethnic groups, which enjoy various levels of official autonomy.

8 Clientelism, U.S.A.: The Dynamics of Change Terry Nichols Clark Clientelism operates in every political system, but its amount, specific nature, and legitimacy vary enormously. In this chapter I first examine how clientelism is intertwined with other rules o f the political game in U . S . cities. I then offer more general propositions specifying sources of change in political cultures that also strengthen or weaken c l i e n t e l i s m . T h e s e propositions should operate in many national contexts. In the past decade, many of us have sharpened our views by participating in the Fiscal Austerity and Urban Innovation (FAU1) Project. 1 People from around the world have sought to describe and explain how and why cities operate and innovate. Clientelism always provokes discussion about where it is found and why. Analogous to this international question is a U.S. domestic question: "Why does clientelism differ across cities?" I will address these questions by first identifying differences in clientelism across units and then explaining them, using comparisons both across cities and across nations. In worldwide perspective, the United States is a so-called advanced or developed society. But in its intensity of concern with clientelistic politics, I sense that it ranks high—in newspaper coverage or political campaign speeches, for example. This concern reflects in part the questionable legitimacy of clientelism in the United States, in contrast to countries where it is so deeply rooted that it is less attacked. It reflects, too, the social diversity of the United States. Except for Native Americans, everyone is an immigrant, which makes for conflict among fellow citizens (e.g., between immigrants from Sweden and from Italy) over issues that might never emerge inside Sweden or Italy. In the 1980s, more people immigrated to the United States than to all other industrial nations combined, and more than in any decade since World War I. Many are from Latin America and Asia, where clientelism is more c o m m o n . M u c h political c l i e n t e l i s m in the United States is ethnically based, which makes o n e ' s ethnic definition critical. Most immigrants to the United States identify with their national society, but fewer do so with such regional definitions as "Hispanic" or " A s i a n " — these designations are acquired only gradually, after arrival in the United 121

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States. In the 1970s and 1980s, national identity was clear, but regional identity was often problematic. Both identities are encouraged more by the specifics of U.S. politics (e.g., via affirmative action) than by place of origin. The extent to which new ethnic groups follow clientelistic patterns is in flux, with important differences across cities. Though U.S. national politics is a blend, locally one finds more pure types. For the analyst, these pure strains simplify and clarify, permitting local ethnography to join with abstract theory better than is possible in national politics. Certain elements are common to every political system. Five of the most widely discussed are considered here. They constitute a typology of five deep structures, which combine variously to generate distinct political cultures. In U.S. cities four political cultures are empirically important. Two have important elements of clientelism; two others oppose such clientelism. This framework is summarized in Table 8.1, which lists the deep structures horizontally and the four types vertically.

Table 8.1 Deep Structures Generating Four Types of Political Cultures Legitimate Sources of Input to the Political System

Clientelism (+) Policy Preferences or Public Goods (-) Fiscal Social Individual Organized Emphasized Liberalism Liberalism Citizens Groups as Resources Traditional left Traditional right Clientelistic/ethnic politics New fiscal populism

The framework implies transformation rules defining conditions under which these five deep structures are activated in four distinct political cultures. Table 8.1 presents the transformation rules as plus and minus signs. Some version of the three first types exists in most countries of the world. How these take specific form in the United States and how they contrast with the fourth type, especially in conflicts over clientelism, is explored below. The names of the U.S. political parties are sometimes used in this d i s c u s s i o n , and the D e m o c r a t i c and R e p u b l i c a n political cultures are referred to; but as our five key dimensions do not include parties per se, "left" and "right" are often used. Clientelism is considered here as a particularistic exchange of political favors. To the political leader the two key inputs are votes and campaign

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contributions. More general support can also be important but is often converted into votes or contributions at election times. The clientelist leader rewards the specific individual who provides the vote or the (often cash) contribution. Vendors who contribute to a campaign can be rewarded with contracts, whereas political workers receive jobs and the ability to provide favors to voters. In one of the most clientelistic U.S. cities, Chicago, thousands of political workers are organized like an army, divided geographically into fifty wards and many more precincts; a small precinct may comprise a single large building. In the contrasting " r e f o r m " system, consistent with an Anthony Downs-type model, votes are based on issues, as explicated in campaigns and political projects. Every empirical political system may have elements of both reformism and clientelism, but systems vary in the relative importance of the two types of exchanges. Elsewhere, I have shown that U.S. cities with a high proportion of Irish and Catholic residents were far more likely to have clientelistic systems than cities with a high proportion of Protestants, which had more issue-oriented political systems—even controlling for such characteristics as education and income (Clark 1975). This specific definition of clientelism is offered to highlight the central elements emphasized by observers of U.S. politics and to help build a more general set of analytic elements, such as emerge in this volume and others (e.g., Roniger 1990, Eisenstadt and Lemarchand 1981). In contrast to Roniger and Eisenstadt and Lemarchand, I would qualify the extent of particularism. Though strong forms of particularism persist in certain U.S. milieus, urban and rural, an important part of political clientelism in the United States seems to be its potentially nonparticularistic character. For example, even Irish political leaders, such as the Daleys in Chicago, pride themselves on keeping politics distinct from their personal and family lives. Obviously this distinction does not entail forgetting the specific individuals to whom favors and debts are owed; but debts are also found to bankers and may even be computerized. One might term this "weak particularism." It sometimes can shade into Merton's (1957, 109) "pseudogemeinschaft," wherein "subtle methods of salesmanship . . . [include] feigning of personal concern with the client in order to manipulate him the better"—a c o m m o n element of American folk culture in automobile salesrooms, corner restaurants, and political campaigns. But the political "deal" may be even less particularistic than the corner restaurant; the leader may not bother to feign even pseudogemeinschaft. Quasimarket elements are actually explicit in some cities; prices of specific favors—e.g., a zoning variance—are quasistandardized and quasipublic knowledge. The same is true of many commodities sold or transactions completed by organized criminals. The great stress by clientelistic politicians (and the Mafia) on repayment of particular exchanges, following a strong form of the reciprocity principle (see Clark 1972 and the commen-

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tary by Parsons there), again contrasts with a more d i f f u s e particularism, w h e r e it is permissible to forget an occasional debt.

Four Cities, Four Political Cultures T h e work by m e and my colleagues on political cultures e m e r g e d f r o m a c o m b i n a t i o n of field w o r k in individual cities and quantitative cross-city c o m p a r i s o n s . W e have identified reasonably pure types of the f o u r political cultures: Boston as the left, or Democratic, city; San D i e g o as the right, or R e p u b l i c a n ; C h i c a g o f o r clientelist or e t h ni c political c u l t u r e ; and W a u k e g a n , Illinois, for n e w fiscal p o p u l i s m (NFP). (In Clark and Ferguson 1983, G a r y and P i t t s b u r g h are a l s o d i s c u s s e d as e t h n i c and N F P cities, r e s p e c t i v e l y . ) F o r e a c h city, the f i v e d i m e n s i o n s of political c u l t u r e in T a b l e 8.1 are r e v i e w e d . M o s t observations c o m e f r o m personal field work in these cities over the past two decades, plus work with officials f r o m each city in national projects. 2 Boston:

The Traditional

Left

Boston is a rich m u s e u m , the subject of n u m e r o u s studies of politics, ethnic g r o u p s , and n e i g h b o r h o o d s . I use it here to illustrate the elective affinity between political clientelism and classic U.S. leftist politics—especially as d e f i n e d by D e m o c r a t s of the N e w Deal t e n d e n c y . Nationally, N e w Deal D e m o c r a t s w e r e d o m i n a n t in C o n g r e s s f r o m 1933 until a b o u t 1972. In Boston they persist. O s c a r Handlin and Stephen T h e r n s t r o m have charted the slow e c o n o m ic progress of B o s t o n ' s Irish until their post-1945 takeoff. T h e r n s t r o m , and later S t e v e n Erie, s u g g e s t e d that clientelistic a t t a c h m e n t to g o v e r n m e n t m a y h a v e r e t a r d e d m o r e g e n e r a l e c o n o m i c a d v a n c e m e n t f o r the I r i s h , w h o m T h e r n s t r o m contrasts with Boston Jews. E c o n o m i c and legal studies report markedly u n e v e n tax a s s e s s m e n t s across n e i g h b o r h o o d s , s o m e benef i t i n g m o r e t h a n o t h e r s f r o m " b e n i g n n e g l e c t " by the B o s t o n a s s e s s o r . P o l i t i c a l m o n o g r a p h s h a v e b e e n w r i t t e n by E d w a r d B a n f i e l d , M a r t h a Derthick, John M o l l e n k o p f , B a r b a r a F e r m a n , and others, and i n n u m e r a b l e studies on citizen p r e f e r e n c e s , urban d e v e l o p m e n t , and other current policies have been c o n t r a c t e d f o r by g o v e r n m e n t agencies. I draw on these as well as personal field work. Boston illustrates clearly the f i v e d i m e n s i o n s of left political culture s h o w n in T a b l e 8.1. B o s t o n has long been fiscally liberal, a trait reinforced by Great Society f u n d i n g and M a y o r Kevin W h i t e ' s talent for encouraging creative projects in the 1960s and 1970s, f r o m Faneuil Hall to social services. T h e city l o n g t a x e d and b o r r o w e d h e a v i l y ; a l t h o u g h N e w Y o r k ' s 1975 fiscal crisis w a s m o r e publicized, B o s t o n ' s was also acute. Rivaled by

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few other cities, Boston stood just below New York on many fiscal measures: general expenditures per capita, spending on common functions, rate of spending increase in the 1960s and 1970s, range of services provided, and total tax burden (Clark and Ferguson 1983). Most projects were openly political as a matter of course. When Boston staff lobbied in Washington for grants, they readily indicated that the project's main goal was to reelect Mayor Kevin White by as large a majority as possible, raising the eyebrows of more than one federal official. Yet funds flowed in f r o m Washington, the statehouse, and local taxpayers, thanks to Boston's brilliant top staff. They simply developed some of the most innovative public projects in the country, again and again. With political leaders such as the Kennedys, Tip O ' N e i l , and Kevin White and planners f r o m Harvard and MIT, Boston planned and built royally. These prominent national politicians all generally articulated the same Democratic political culture. Ray Flynn served as a major figure in the council under White and later as mayor in the 1980s and 1990s. He continued even further W h i t e ' s neighborhood concerns, combined with a strong fiscal liberalism, and often forcefully confronted suburban and national Republican leaders. Boston remains a national center of articulate left political culture. Also, clientelism has been more open and extensive there than in most U.S. cities. Social liberalism comes across loud and clear in Boston, the home of New England abolitionists who helped abolish slavery. Bostonians (Yankee and later Jewish) have often been national leaders in moralistic crusades attacking all manner of prejudice and social evils. The many colleges in the Boston area provide a staff of faculty and students whose idealism flows into politics. Some ethnic groups, especially the Irish and Italians, have not always been such vigorous social liberals. But recent Irish mayors White and Flynn have built coalitions with an emphatic socially liberal focus, which has translated directly into strong fiscal commitments—in contrast to the new fiscal populists (see below). Organized groups, f r o m neighborhood clubs to ethnic and religious associations, are active and densely connected with governmental agencies. These groups shape fiscal strategies by reinforcing a particularistic style of favors that range f r o m helping f r i e n d s "get on the city" to securing tax abatements. In D e m o c r a t i c cities like Boston, individual citizens are treated as group members—more as Catholics or Democrats than as individuals, and especially not as taxpayers. Over time favors to such groups have led to discontent, expressed in "Taxachusetts" bumper stickers, complaining editorials in the Boston Globe, and, most critical for fiscal policy, Proposition 2 1/2, Massachusetts's 1980 tax-reduction referendum. More stringent than California's Proposition 13, it passed by two-thirds majorities among both Boston and M a s s a c h u s e t t s voters. M a y o r W h i t e d i f f e r e d f r o m most observers, who saw this as a vote to cut taxes. Instead, he interpreted it as a

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signal to reform the tax structure by lowering property taxes while increasing others. Certain compromises and favors that can be negotiated for specific groups would be impossible to grant to individual citizens. Boston had been fighting a suit with downtown businesses over back property taxes due because of unequal assessment. It was finally settled against the city the same year Proposition 2 1/2 passed, forcing repayment to businesses of many years of back taxes. Feeling such fiscal pressures from citizens and business, many cities would prepare reduced budgets. But Mayor White mounted a lobbying and press campaign to increase state aid to Boston after Proposition 2 1/2 and presented a budget including new business taxes and other revenue sources that state law formerly denied to cities. The alternative was practically a "worst case" scenario, a budget with major layoffs of 20 percent or more in police, fire, and other departments. But if the intention was to shock people and win support for new revenues, it failed. Much of the "worst case" scenario had to be implemented after the state refused to authorize new revenue sources—although it did increase aid. This sort of strategic behavior (advertising drastic cuts) also occurred in other cities, especially in California just before the Proposition 13 vote, making the normal hypothesis—that Democratic political culture increases spending—harder to verify using normal budget data. Our last element (from Table 8.1) suggests an emphasis on separable goods rather than public goods shared by all. The key dynamic here is the awarding of patronage jobs and contracts as favors to supporters. A particularly visible example was Mayor White's policy of hiring new city staff just before an election to work in the campaign and laying them off soon afterward. This practice involved 1,200 to 1,600 jobs in 1975 and 1979 (Weinberg 1981, 97). More generally, Boston government is staffed at the middle and lower levels mainly by Catholic, moderately educated persons and by veterans (the last receive extra points on the hiring form). These are usually civil service employees who stay with the city for life; many are now quite senior. Mayor White also expanded mayoral appointments to about 15 percent of the municipal work force. They ranged from talented executives who would stay a few years before moving to a top bank or law firm to doorbell ringers who were terminated after the election. In the late 1960s Mayor White launched a system of "Little City Halls" built on Great Society community-control ideas and funding, but they soon grew into a political campaign organization. Only after some staff used such crude practices as beating people who refused to help in campaigns were the "Little City Halls" seen as a political liability and terminated. Major downtown businesses were approached for political contributions, and tax assessments were apparently adjusted accordingly. Resentment by some businesses encouraged them to sue the city over differential assessments, and they finally won the case in 1980.

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Boston's separable goods emphasis led the city to dismiss some austerity strategies used elsewhere. I reviewed a list of strategies with top city staff in the early 1980s; some, like "contracting out," were rejected as "just politically unfeasible. We might have talked about 'rent-a-cop' and other contracting possibilities late at night with our feet on the table, but never seriously," said one staffer. Patronage by political leaders, combined with powerful unions and rigid civil service regulations, has reinforced an orientation by staff to interpret the very term "productivity" as politically incorrect—"Don't mention it in Boston, sounds Republican." The symbolism of maintaining a patronage system in Boston is seen as antithetical to market efficiency and "productivity," which are central to Republican and especially to new fiscal populist cultures. The major staff cutbacks in 1980 were implemented following civil service and union traditions. When the objection was raised that this approach might violate affirmative action provisions, the answer was: "If we start bumping senior white guys to keep junior blacks, black firemen could start falling off the trucks." Such issues are sufficiently recognized as rules of the game in Boston to be regularly lamented in the Boston Globe and by blue-ribbon study commissions. 3 Though reform is popular among Boston's Yankees, political changes usually come only when backed by a major effort like Proposition 2 1/2 or a downtown business lawsuit. Still, despite complaints, people keep moving to Boston, and new technology and service jobs dramatically boosted the tax base in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Some leaders in local government point to their specific programs as having helped make the city a more attractive place to live. Maybe they are right. However, many residents of Boston disagree with the city's dominant political culture. The most traditional reaction was to attack the clientelism identified since the late nineteenth century with Boston's Irish and Italian immigrants. When these Catholic "immigrants" grew to a near majority of the citizens and elected their own as mayors in the late nineteenth century, many "proper Bostonians" moved to the more Anglo-Saxon suburbs or withdrew from Boston city politics. Others shifted their energies to the statehouse, where governors and state legislators have long battled with city officials. The rules of the game espoused by many of the Boston Yankees have reappeared in Southern California. San Diego: The Traditional

Right

Clientelism is striking by its absence in this city of traditional right political culture. Even black and Hispanic organization leaders here share many concerns with other San Diegans. Black leaders state: "We want a chance to advance as individuals, to pursue the American Dream." Hispanics left Latin societies to "work hard, do a good job, build successful businesses like others here." Do they want government help via special programs?

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"Absolutely not." They tend not to reside in distinct ethnic neighborhoods. Though they may enjoy ethnic churches or restaurants, they pursue business and politics in a remarkably more individualistic style than their counterparts in most other cities. They sound more like Chamber of Commerce officials than ethnic leaders elsewhere in the United States. President Reagan appointed certain minority leaders from San Diego to top federal posts. San Diego's fiscal conservatism is a long tradition, leading Howard Jarvis to comment, as proudly quoted by many San Diegans, "If all cities were like San Diego, we would never have needed a Proposition 13."4 San Diego stands low on a range of spending and debt indicators. A concern for economy in government informs many specifics. Social conservatism is present but moderate. San Diegans are middle of the road on personal morality issues, though cautious on those demanding government action. The smooth style of Yale-educated, longtime mayor (later senator, then governor of California in the 1990s) Pete Wilson contrasted with the redneck cowboy style of many county officials. Though Wilson has been succeeded by other mayors, he is discussed here because he remains an important national figure defining right political culture as U.S. senator and governor of California. San Diego County has a predominantly backcountry population, relatively less educated and less tolerant than the city's. Fundamentalist religion and politics find more support there than among city residents. Racial issues are a litmus test and have had a low profile. The city followed most state and federal initiatives on affirmative action-type issues but did not push ahead of them. Republicans define social problems more as individual or civic concerns than as matters for government to solve. The most politically important organized groups are the Chamber of Commerce and the Taxpayers Association, both of which include business leaders who act collectively in a style emphasizing the common good. It was something of a local scandal that individual businesses may have received favorable zoning after contributing to Pete Wilson's campaign. A harder ideological issue was growth control, but Wilson worked out a compromise—zoning areas by degrees of development—that found widespread support. As these examples illustrate, it is not considered legitimate for individuals or organized groups to press their case, as is expected in a Boston or a Chicago. As a leading special interest group, unions are particularly suspect. When a municipal union threatened to strike, the normally cool Mayor Wilson took the council floor and heatedly promised to fire any striking workers. None struck. San Diego's union leaders sound meek compared to those in many cities, which creates a drastically different climate from that of Boston for personnel management. Productivity is an ongoing concern and is accompanied by regular changes in working procedures to cut costs.

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Such policy changes are implemented with careful concern for the motivational consequences to individual workers. A city productivity unit includes social psychologists who work alongside engineers and operations researchers. Because of the low use of separable goods in right political culture, it is normal for elected officials to delegate far more to staff than do leftists, w h o must continually negotiate and take political credit (or blame) for a w a r d i n g f a v o r s to s p e c i f i c o r g a n i z e d g r o u p s . M a n y c i t i e s v o t i n g R e p u b l i c a n in national e l e c t i o n s h a v e n o n p a r t i s a n local e l e c t i o n s and reform-style government. Having a city manager makes the illegitimacy of council favors explicit, because by law council members may not communicate directly with staff, only via the manager. Some suggest that large cities need strong mayors to handle bigger problems, but San Diego, with a population of 875,000, has city-manager government and the classic reform ethos. The experience of council members with the aerospace industry leads them to demand expert professional staff and encourage experimentation with cost-saving strategies. Contracting out is thus a regularly used option; finance staff report they routinely assess most agency activities for cost savings via contracting. And contracts are not political rewards. Even small contracts are nationally advertised and regularly awarded to out-of-state firms. A firm headquartered in Minneapolis was engaged for emergency medical services. After a year or so, the fire department maintained it could do the j o b less expensively, but the blue-ribbon Board of Fiscal Overseers, chaired by Admiral Ray Peet (retired captain of San Diego's naval fleet), conducted a careful cost review and found that the fire department had underestimated its overhead costs. The private firm was retained. In brief, fiscal and management policies are informed by a drastically different culture than in Boston; rules of the game—including mechanisms such as nonpartisan c o m p e t i t i v e b i d d i n g and b l u e - r i b b o n c o m m i t t e e s — r e i n f o r c e a more universalistic, professional style. Concern for individual citizens is visibly strong in council behavior. Parties are weak in campaigns, whereas the media, direct mail, and door-todoor visits are critical. Certain council meetings are televised, and council members take pains to appear favorably in these sessions. Pete W i l s o n ' s main rival, council member Schnaubelt, delighted in televised debates with the mayor. In one televised session a f t e r a criminal incident, the m a y o r m o v e d to i n c r e a s e p o l i c e s t a f f by 3 1 ; S c h n a u b e l t q u i c k l y m o v e d an increase of 131, and his motion p a s s e d . Unlike o t h e r C a l i f o r n i a cities, where Proposition 13 was resisted as an outside constraint, tax reduction was popular in San Diego: Four new council members were elected on the program of a 20 percent budget cut the year before Proposition 13 passed. The other council members, responsive to every signal from citizens, went along with the new four and implemented the cuts. These cost reductions,

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plus Proposition 13, led San Diego to move from an expenditure-driven budget to a revenue-driven budget. San Diego under Mayor Wilson thus illustrated a major theme of right political culture in its concern for fiscal austerity strategies. In many right cities, the readiness to cut spending is the overriding austerity strategy. But Republicans typically delegate specifics to professional staff; when staff members are as talented as in San Diego, they can do far more than simply cut the budget. A willingness to try contracting out and other potential productivity improvements is likely to generate some reforms that work. Chicago:

Clientelist

Politics

on a Tight

Budget

Politics in Chicago has traditionally meant jobs: Clientelism, usually termed "patronage," has been the core dynamic driving politics and urban policy since the nineteenth century. Chicago is thus of general interest in illustrating pressures for and against clientelism. Probably the most-studied city in the world, Chicago has long been analyzed in terms of patronage and the Democratic Party "machine"—from Gosnell through Banfield and many others. Things changed in the late 1970s when Jane Byrne ran against Democratic candidate Michael Bilandic. Although she had been co-chairperson of the Democratic Party (with legendary Mayor Richard J. Daley), in the campaign she ran as an underdog and emphasized her independence from the "machine." She presented herself as a reformer and, to the surprise of all, won. But once in office, she again surprised many voters by continuing, often very overtly, many traditional clientelistic practices. She hired and fired staff quite openly and even brutally. In awarding contracts for construction and other city projects, she used cash contributions to her own campaign fund as an important selection criterion. In the 1990s, Chicago's mayor is again named Daley—Richard II, Richie, son of the legendary Richard J. Daley. However, Chicago politics has been deeply changed by the intervening mayors. Even though the current mayor learned much from his own father and many of his top staff were also his father's, their politics changed deeply. Why? Chicago is the locus classicus of U.S. clientelism. The ideal type sketched at the outset of the chapter is illustrated by Chicago's past, characterized by tight-knit immigrant communities in a context where few native traditions suppressed clientelism. By contrast, few immigrants went to the South, where the main ethnic conflict remained that between black and white Protestants. Protestant individualism long reigned in smaller towns and rural areas, which attracted fewer immigrants, and correspondingly remained strong in statehouses that appealed to rural and small-town voters. Chicago was a newer city than New York; it mushroomed in population only in the late nineteenth century. Unlike New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and most eastern cities, it never developed a white Protestant

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culture that fought clientelism; white Protestants numbered fewer than 15 percent of Chicago's population throughout the twentieth century. Unlike Boston, with its three (lately four) ethnic groups, Chicago had over ten f r o m early on, including immigrants f r o m Poland, Ireland, Germany, Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia, Russia, and Italy (all countries with strong clientelist traditions). Most were Catholic, recent immigrants, peasants who came to work in new industries. Most settled in neighborhoods where they could speak their native languages and use them in nearby bars, restaurants, churches—and with political representatives. Chicago resembled Vienna or Central Europe in the early twentieth century in its cultural and political Balkanization, and its citizens had few clear ideas about how politics worked. Most U.S. cities have six to twelve council members; Chicago has long had fifty, making possible smaller and more homogeneous units. City council members might despair if they had to find general ideological policies (and other public goods) that would please all. They seldom have tried. Rather, most have shared a clientelist interest in tangible, specific favors to constituents. The Democratic Party developed in parallel with the city council and had fifty ward committeemen. Under each committeeman were several dozen precinct captains seeking to maintain direct personal contact with their neighbors. They were known to be available whenever a citizen might need intervention from city hall: a zoning permit for remodeling a house or shop, a form for a father who did not know how to apply for retirement benefits, a request to the police to "go easy" on a wayward son, and so forth. For most of the twentieth century, such clientelist exchanges defined Chicago's politics. The neighborhoods were Balkanized until 1933, when the Democratic Party swept to victory along with Franklin Delano Roosevelt. The Chicago spearhead was Anton Cermak, who organized C h i c a g o ' s Democratic neighborhood clubs into a citywide "machine." It was lubricated with political contributions, including many from grateful federal and state political leaders. It was bolstered further under street-smart and ambitious Richard J. Daley, elected in 1955, who made Chicago's Democratic Party an important institution across the country, affecting national politics and social programs such as Urban Renewal, Model Cities, and general revenue sharing in ways that were good for Chicago. He was a fount of still-quoted maxims such as "good government is good politics" that stood "reform" slogans on their head and did them one better. In his classic repartee to the reporter who asked why he awarded city contracts to his son's insurance firm—"It's a father's duty to help his sons!"—he was not jesting but rather articulating his powerful belief in the "Irish ethic" of "nonideological particularism": Personal contacts with family, friends, and neighbors far transcend such abstract values as "justice" or "reform." Though "reformers" were elected to the council from a few white Protestant and Jewish neighborhoods, especially Hyde Park around the University of Chicago, reformers could count

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on perhaps five aldermen of fifty before 1983. They often found support with the media and many civic leaders but lacked "clout" (Chicago's term for political impact). Most affluent white Protestants moved to the suburbs or were politically inactive. The Achilles' heel of traditional machine-led clientelism was black migration. Although all immigrant groups were in principle welcome, blacks did not seem to "play by the rules." Black numbers grew after World War II, and by 1980 blacks were about 40 percent of the c i t y ' s population. Yet they were poorly incorporated into traditional clientelist networks, and fewer than 30 percent of blacks voted in most elections. M a y o r H a r o l d W a s h i n g t o n ' s 1983 election t r a n s f o r m e d C h i c a g o ' s clientelistic politics f r o m neighborhood scraps into prime-time material, drastically changing the rules of the game. The Democratic Party was split between Richard Daley, Jr., and Mayor Jane Byrne, both of whom were Irish Catholic. A s s u m i n g that black turnout would be traditionally low, they gave less attention to black voters than to whites. But about a year before the election, some black groups such as Jesse Jackson's Operation PUSH actively opposed Mayor Byrne on visible issues. They held a sit-in at a school board meeting when M a y o r Byrne replaced a black with a Hispanic board member. Chicagofest, a summer celebration of music and food, was boycotted by black groups, and the boycott was visibly enforced. Then a coalition of groups won the right to register voters at welfare and unemployment offices while people waited in lines. These efforts coincided with the 1982 recession and the highest unemployment since the 1930s, plus reductions by federal and state governments in certain welfare benefits. Black groups claimed that Jane Byrne and Ronald Reagan were pursuing racist policies. The m o v e m e n t groups met, agreed that C o n g r e s s m a n Harold Washington would be the strongest black candidate for mayor of Chicago, and sought to recruit him. He agreed on the conditions that certain funding would be available and that 20,000 new black voters were registered. Over the hot summer, dozens of groups began mobilizing citizens, registering o v e r 100,000 n e w voters. T h e y d e v e l o p e d an a l m o s t carnival sense of activity: Black radio stations and street banners repeated slogans such as " C o m e Alive October 5!" (registration day); black nationalist groups organized demonstrations to stop traffic; black ministers spoke in favor of a black mayor; and civil rights activists f r o m the 1960s used sit-ins and similar tactics. Black c o m m i t t e e m e n on the Cook County Democratic Party Central Committee even abstained on a vote endorsing Byrne. With Byrne and Daley dividing the white vote, Washington squeezed by in the primary with just over 33 percent, then beat Republican Epton in the general election with just over 50 percent of the vote—carrying most of Chicago's 40 percent black population, about half of the 14 percent Hispanic population, plus a handful of white reformers.

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In office, Mayor Washington had the difficult task of governing with twenty-nine out of fifty aldermen openly hostile, at the same time seeking to expand his base to withstand a white Democratic opponent in four years. Working with aldermen and various organized groups, he built a coalition of blacks, Hispanics, and Asian A m e r i c a n s on ethnic lines, plus white r e f o r m e r s i m p o r t a n t in the m e d i a , e d u c a t i o n a l i n s t i t u t i o n s , a n d c i v i c groups—at best a coalition difficult to maintain. He would proclaim " I t ' s our turn" in black areas but call for reform in others. Many expected him to fire thousands of white city workers and replace them with blacks in the standard manner of Chicago ethnic politics. But he made staff decisions slowly. He continued a transition team for many months and had it create numerous task forces to review virtually all city policies, leading to 298 s p e c i f i c r e c o m m e n d a t i o n s . E l e c t e d a d e c a d e e a r l i e r , he m i g h t h a v e increased spending immediately. But with federal aid cuts, a Republican governor, and half of Chicago's electorate skeptical, he gradually sought to formulate policies popular both with his nonwhite ethnic constituency and with general reform groups. Although he came f r o m an openly clientelistic background and had sought official Democratic Party support in earlier elections, Washington changed as mayor. In the last weeks of his mayoral campaign, he tried out a speech by one of his aides that strongly supported the concept of reform. He noted remarkable enthusiasm from the audience and subsequently made reform a cornerstone of his administration. R e f o r m in C h i c a g o largely means abolishing clientelism. Listen to a few lines of a speech that goes on for pages on the same theme—his State of the City address after two years in office: When we took office, Chicago had earned an international reputation as "the city where the influence tax runs high." This had created an overwhelming negative image throughout the world of national and international commerce. You had the courage to elect a mayor committed to changing all that. I'm able to report to you tonight that patronage is dead and gone forever from the City of Chicago. We've replaced that with fair business practices, and with efficiency in the way we run our shop (Washington 1986, 173). Chicago and Harold Washington are obviously less than a pure case, b u t e t h n i c p o l i t i c s a r e still p o w e r f u l l y v i s i b l e . T h e y a r e b r o a d l y Democratic, differing mainly in the salience of ethnicity. Like many other northeastern and m i d w e s t e r n cities, C h i c a g o has long had white ethnic groups play important political roles. But Harold W a s h i n g t o n ' s election b r o u g h t a n e w s e n s e of e t h n i c p r i d e a n d p o w e r a m o n g b l a c k s a n d Hispanics, an expectation that City Hall would take them more seriously. In his State of the City address, M a y o r Washington also stressed hiring of

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blacks, Hispanics, and Asian Americans as one of his major accomplishments. This policy was promoted not as favoritism but as a new standard of fairness: If blacks are 40 percent of the population, they should be represented in roughly equal proportion in city jobs. The opposing "Council 29" included mainly white Catholic ethnic group members who had long benefited from city largesse. Many city staff owe their jobs to past political contacts and still are accountable to a party committeeman. Problems arise when a departmental superior seeks to transfer staff or change work rules; the affected staff often turn to their political sponsor for intervention. When Mayor Daley led both the city and the party, the two did not conflict; "good government was good politics." Under Washington, they clashed. In his first year, Mayor Washington made few personnel changes, even though the transition team suggested many. But after council adoption of his first budget, he undertook several initiatives, including development of a program budget for all major activities of the city. Its goal was to provide information to help improve productivity. Few jobs would be offered, but a visible improvement in public services and their equitable allocation to ethnic groups and neighborhoods faring poorly in the past provided a sense of progress for blacks and browns, who made up about half of the city's population. Productivity improvement thus grew more salient than it might have been in more affluent times. When cities such as Gary and Detroit had had new black mayors a decade or so earlier, more blacks had been hired, with few layoffs so as to avoid conflict with more senior white staff. Such increased spending was a strong national pattern (see Clark and Ferguson 1983). Among both white supporters of past policies and black supporters of new ones, the logic of ethnic politics has tended to increase staff and spending, especially at a time of change in ethnic leadership. With major fiscal constraints, this tendency b e c o m e s a point of contention. New ethnic leaders (black or Hispanic) seek to provide jobs to their underemployed constituents, but established city staff press for higher salaries and, if funds are short, hiring fewer new staff. If layoffs are necessary, they favor letting go the least senior staff, even if these lower-rank employees are disproportionately minority group members. The relative power base of municipal employees versus that of new ethnic groups is thus critical in such policy choices. (Boston, with j u s t 22 p e r c e n t blacks, o f t e n f a v o r e d senior whites.) Anticipating such conflicts, unionization progressed rapidly under Mayor Washington, with many of the less professional staff voting to have A F S C M E (the A m e r i c a n Federation of State County and Municipal Employees) represent them. Other clientelist and ethnic-related policies illustrated by Chicago include requirements for increasing the percentage of city contracts awarded to minority firms, particularly law, social service, and construction firms. Community development block grant funds had been used by Mayor

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Byrne to support the Department of Neighborhoods, which, like Kevin White's "Little City Halls" in Boston, was openly campaign oriented. Mayor Washington transferred many of these funds to black neighborhood groups. Harold Washington represented a new and distinct combination of black power and reform politics. Ethnic politics remained strong but shifted form day by day. The changes were partly due to the distinctive reform-ethnic coalition, but they also reflected more general problems of clientelism and ethnic politics under austerity. Classic resources of Democratic and ethnic politics—jobs and contracts—are expensive. When local voters trim resources and outside funds are cut, conflict along ethnic lines can increase over traditional allocations, as in Boston, Chicago, and Waukegan. Upon Washington's death in 1987, his council coalition fragmented, roughly into two halves: machine and reform. The machine group of black aldermen joined white machine aldermen to support Eugene Sawyer and then Richard Daley for mayor. Clientelism and reform were competing central themes in Chicago politics of the 1980s and 1990s. Waukegan,

Illinois:

New Fiscal

Populism

New fiscal populism emerged as a strong new movement in the 1970s and 1980s, countering the first three political cultures. It is especially important as a force against clientelism. In style and policy, new fiscal populist (NFP) mayors often dramatically oppose "scandal, waste, and corruption," which they identify with clientelism. The moral outrage of f u n d a m e n t a l i s t Protestantism, uniquely strong in the United States, underpins this political culture. Mayor Peter Flaherty in Pittsburgh (1970-1976) was one of the first NFP mayors, but by the mid-1970s he had been joined by many more. Big-city NFP mayors included Edward Koch in New York, especially in his first years, Kathy Whitmire in Houston, Bill Green in Philadelphia, and Diane Feinstein in San Francisco. NFP leaders remain too individualistic to have a group consciousness or caucus-like style, and their national importance was only slowly recognized by political commentators. However, their u n i q u e c o m b i n a t i o n of c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s (Table 8.1) leads both Democratic and Republican party regulars to oppose NFP candidates. Hence, where parties are strong, NFPs are less likely to win office. They have been most successful in smaller cities, which makes Waukegan fitting for inclusion here, even if it is not familiar to first-year political science students. It should be. Waukegan, population 67,653, lies halfway between Chicago and Milwaukee and resembles the former in socioeconomic makeup. For over a decade it was led by Mayor Sabonjian, a one-man political machine. Originally a Democrat, he changed affiliations after a split with party regulars, although he continued to blend Democratic and ethnic politics. When

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a needy individual or neighborhood group visited him personally for a j o b or favor, he would often phone the city treasurer. If cash was there, the favor was granted, close observers report. Such fiscal management led to eventual deficits, which proved embarrassing. State Senator Bill M o r r i s had rung the doorbells of approximately 20,000 citizens in his campaign. Convinced that local leaders were out of touch with citizens, he ran against Sabonjian on a program of sound mana g e m e n t and e f f i c i e n c y and w o n . Like C h i c a g o ' s M a y o r W a s h i n g t o n , Morris started with a small minority in the council, although it grew to a majority by his second four-year term. Whereas his predecessor wore blue pinstripe suits, smoked big cigars, and rode in a limousine, Morris was known for his softball and soccer talents; elected mayor in his late twenties, he j o g g e d through city neighborhoods to check up on local services. An incisive analyst of political and administrative problems, he found creative solutions and articulated them clearly and forcefully to the press and citizens. H e served W a u k e g a n as m a y o r f r o m 1977 to 1985 (cf. his o w n account in Morris 1986). Consider how Morris illustrates the five Table 8.1 dimensions. A leftliberal Democrat in the statehouse, Morris championed fiscal conservatism as mayor by holding down taxes on the average citizen and trying to be more economical with city funds. He would often comment that a mayor is head of a multimillion dollar corporation, and sound business management is critical. However, his strong liberal positions on race, women, and the disadvantaged made him resemble traditional Democrats on social issues. He packaged these concerns for the media, appealing directly to citizens. Combining fiscal conservatism with social liberalism meant direct conflict with established organized groups, especially city employee unions. Patronage had been so open and widespread that he found major areas for its elimination. Public works is a classic patronage area in many cities, particularly in W a u k e g a n . T h e mayor hired a new public works director, a 250-pound bruiser with an M A in public administration and work experience with a private building firm. The new director developed a simple time and work report form for all staff and tolerated nothing less than regular, hard effort. In two years, the number of employees dropped by over half, but pothole repairs rose 270 percent! Firemen had traditionally played cards and slept when not fighting fires. The mayor recruited a new, young fire chief who had the firemen make safety inspections, give talks in public schools, and implement fire-prevention measures. Fire losses dropped 37 percent in two years, although firemen complained and worked against the m a y o r in his second election. Still, they were the m a y o r ' s most visible opponents. A f e w top staff w e r e recruited f r o m outside, but many w h o a d a p t e d to t h e n e w m a n a g e m e n t s t y l e w e r e p r o m o t e d f r o m w i t h i n . Although Waukegan has less elegant analysis systems than cities such as Palo Alto, it still innovated in many ways.

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In terms of the thirty-three strategies in our fiscal austerity survey (see Clark and Appleton 1989), Waukegan increased short-term debt; however, to cut borrowing costs it used a complex variable-rate financing procedure seldom employed except by some large cities. The city cut the budgets of the least efficient departments, laid off some personnel, shifted responsibilities to county government, contracted for services with the private sector, reduced the work force through attrition, reduced some services funded by local a n d i n t e r g o v e r n m e n t a l r e v e n u e s , and e l i m i n a t e d p r o g r a m s that seemed in low d e m a n d — f o r example, the city band. However, it did not reduce capital expenditures or defer maintenance; on the contrary, savings in operating costs were plowed back into systematic rebuilding of aging sewer lines and streets in a new long-term capital plan. But W a u k e g a n ' s most d r a m a t i c p o l i c i e s clearly were those f r o m the list of thirty-three labeled "Improve Productivity through Better Management" and "Improve Productivity by Adopting Labor-Saving Techniques." Waukegan illustrates how policy preferences deriving from new fiscal populism lead directly to productivity efforts. Some N F P mayors may inherit less glaring problems or may be less able to effect changes because of a hostile council or antipathetic staff. But N F P political culture per se encourages productivity. Productivity was similarly high on the political agendas of such N F P mayors as Edward Koch, Diane Feinstein, Kathy Whitmire, and others. But then, it was also a priority of President Jimmy Carter, whose failures to implement his programs remind us of the distance between leaders' preferences and service implementation. NFPs face major political opposition from parties in seeking office and from established interest groups once in office. Still, they are an increasing force, with strong citizen support. Productivity is an attractive political program in that it has simple technical overtones and is quite impersonal. It thus has a political-administrative feasibility appeal, representing a low-key means by which leaders can remove clientelist persons and practices without directly attacking any individual or ethnic group. NFPs emerged first in the United States, but the pattern is spreading. W h y ? T h e next section offers more abstract propositions about where and why clientelism should persist and where and why it should be supplanted by a new political culture.

Clientelism Versus New Fiscal Populism I will n o w m o v e to a more abstract level, applying lessons about clientelism in U.S. cities to other countries and developing a more general theory of clientelism. I will focus on the conflict between clientelism and new fiscal populism and identify the factors maintaining each political culture. Four factors affect the competition between clientelism and new fiscal pop-

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ulism. 5 Two are particularistic politics and religious practices, which stress personal relations and retard NFP. The other two are professional administration and media use, which encourage NFP. These four are also fundamental building blocks differentiating Northern versus Southern Europe. They shift politics along a dimension of political culture that varies from abstract, impersonal "issue politics" to specific, personal contacts and clientelism. The following generalizations emerge: 1. New fiscal populism is more likely to emerge in political contexts stressing issues rather than clientelism. The political culture of clientelism and ethnic politics conflicts with several NFP components. It is harder to break with organized group loyalties and bureaucratic work rules if the personal relations they embody are highly legitimate and at the core of political exchange and reward, as in Boston. There, personal loyalties make organized groups more legitimate vehicles for policymaking than in a more individualistic (even atomistic) society. Why and how are such dense political/social contexts important? Consider first traditional religious patterns and then more recent developments that shift their effects. 2. Nonstate religions, such as Protestantism in Catholic countries and nonconformist Protestantism in Protestant countries, tend to emphasize individualism, which leads to more abstract issue politics, whereas state religions and Catholicism stress more personalistic ties, leading to clientelistic politics. Protestantism emphasizes salvation through the individual's good works and thus a direct (super)personal relationship to God. By contrast, for Roman Catholics the Church is a critical social intermediary for the confession of one's sins and the granting of absolution. These traditional theological differences may recede over time, but the cultural outlooks they helped shape persist. Abstract and moralistic conceptions of politics continue in much of Northern Europe and New England (Elazar and Zikmund 1975), whereas personal loyalty is more valued in Catholic settings (see recent survey evidence of persistent differences in Greeley 1989). I joined these general religious differences to specific components affecting political culture, especially that of U.S. Irish Catholics (Clark 1975). An "Irish ethic" of sociability, trust, localism, Catholicism, and social conservatism in turn legitimates political patronage. Catholicism thus supports more intense personal contacts, counter to the abstract and impersonal issue politics of Protestants. In many U.S. cities Irish Catholics were leaders in building political organizations on such personal ties. The persistence of such ties, as in Chicago, discourages abstract issue politics and an NFP style. Chicago's revolution came in 1983 with the election of the city's first black mayor, Harold Washington. He and most of Chicago's blacks are Protestants, who find the clientelism of machine politics "immoral and dishonest"—in contrast to Chicago's Hispanics, who are generally Catholic and thus more clientelistic. The black-Hispanic differ-

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ences underline the importance of religious factors in distinguishing two similarly low-income groups. In an oral history of Chicago, a colleague and I interviewed several dozen activists, often asking how they define "reform." One prominent Hispanic replied: "Getting our share of Hispanics hired by City Hall" (Clark and Grimshaw 1988). A leading analyst of Chicago Hispanics contends that they differ from blacks in seeing clientelism as normal politics and generally legitimate (Cano 1986). In contrast Protestant blacks, whose reform roots and current rhetoric come direct from the Old Testament, support affirmative action quotas favoring minority hiring as retribution for past sins. However, they do not believe individuals should be hired in response to their individual political contribution. Personnel staff should choose the most talented candidates from the applicant pool; the hiring should just be weighted more toward minorities. Black Protestants, then, oppose clientelism—even though critics often equate affirmative action with Catholic patronage. The emphasis on abstract ideology leads candidates to stress issues more than personal favors. Analysts following Samuelson (1969) term these public goods versus separable goods, respectively. But public goods are harder to use in building coalitions and can create intense ideological debate. Causality is hard to ascribe, but an "elective affinity" is clear between issue politics, public goods, and consensus as a social and political style. The British and New England ideals of civility and gentlemanly behavior, the New England (and Scandinavian) emphasis on unanimity and participation by all citizens as a moral duty—these contrast markedly with politics in Roman Catholic countries, where "interests" are explicitly discussed and politics is more openly conflictual and considered "dirty," if not immoral. It is correspondingly not something to encourage "good citizens," women, or children to engage in; it is delegated instead to professional politicians (Clark and Ferguson 1983, 120-134, 242-243; Elazar 1987, 142ff.; Durant, Lyons, and Fitzgerald 1989; Clark and Jeanrenaud 1989). Such politicians trade in separable goods, make deals, and are expected to be overtly confrontational. Their politics is more a zero-sum game, and coalitions are minimal winning coalitions to limit the spread of booty. In contrast, NFP leans more toward public goods, such as strict environmental controls. This political culture favors taking power away from politicians and delegating more autonomy to administrative staff via professional city management and similar "reform" government mechanisms (such as nonpartisanship and other factors listed earlier that weaken parties). The Scandinavian ombudsman can survive politically only where elected officials are willing to give up an obvious source of clientelistic rewards. Major "consolidation reforms" of local governments have succeeded largely in Scandinavia and in Britain but failed in most (Catholic)

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c o u n t r i e s of S o u t h e r n E u r o p e in the 1970s ( G o l d s m i t h and P a g e 1987). This abolishing of the smallest units to consolidate t h e m into metropolitan g o v e r n m e n t w a s w e a k l y r e s i s t e d by local o f f i c i a l s a n d c i t i z e n s in the Northern E u r o p e a n Protestant countries, but in the South it was seen as an attempt to break off valued personal ties and was thus defeated. Political parties held together by close personal ties are m o r e resistant to c h a n g e than those lacking such ties. Yet the nonideological style of the traditional m a c h i n e could still adapt to shifts in ideology (as represented by the N F P ) if all else r e m a i n e d equal. Factors not " e q u a l " were the importance of personal relations vis-à-vis patronage j o b s or the contracts of clientelistic politics used to solidify ethnic, religious, and union g r o u p s . T h e s e can o f f e r vigorous resistance to e f f i c i e n c y policies of the N F P . N o n - W e s t e r n c o u n t r i e s and religions e v i n c e similar d i m e n s i o n s , but with s o m e contrasts. For example, the Japanese e m p h a s i s on thorough and extended discussion by key participants in a decision has a resemblance to the N e w England t o w n meeting but lacks the individualist underpinning. Clientelistic relations are e m b e d d e d in many traditional J a p a n e s e associations; more f o r m a l organizations such as neighborhood groups and political parties o v e r l a p with local a n d national g o v e r n m e n t r e p r e s e n t a t i o n (e.g., Dore 1958, 2 5 3 - 2 9 0 ) . T h e J a p a n e s e family, too, is a strong and persistent source of particularistic ties and a model of ritualized and intense personal r e l a t i o n s t h a t e c h o in m a n y w o r k p l a c e s a n d p o l i t i c a l i n s t i t u t i o n s . Clientelism is correspondingly pervasive in J a p a n e s e politics, as in much of Asia. Still, these traditional factors are weakening; Inglehart (1990) f o u n d that Protestant-Catholic d i f f e r e n c e s in e c o n o m i c g r o w t h in the late nineteenth century had reversed by the mid-twentieth century. Similarly, clientelism has declined e v e n in areas such as southern Italy and Spain in recent decades. T w o factors salient in such transformations are contained in t w o f u r t h e r generalizations. 3. The more professionalized and bureaucratized the national welfare state, the more likely issue politics are to prevail over personalistic or clientelistic politics. O b s e r v e r s of the U.S. political m a c h i n e (e.g., R. K. Merton and E. C. Banfield) saw its decline c o m i n g with the N e w Deal and c o r r e s p o n d i n g i m p e r s o n a l criteria f o r a l l o c a t i n g w e l f a r e and social services. T h e p r o p o s i t i o n is a n a l y t i c a l l y sound, but m a n y f a c t o r s retard its implementation. For e x a m p l e , in a national context w h e r e clientelistic politics are p o w e r f u l , federal p r o g r a m s are likely to be created or administered in a m a n n e r that conflicts as little as possible with existing clientelistic patterns. Thus, R o o s e v e l t ' s N e w Deal and many Great Society programs h e l p e d b o l s t e r c l i e n t e l i s t i c m a c h i n e s , i n c l u d i n g t h o s e in P i t t s b u r g h , N e w a r k , and C h i c a g o . T h e same holds true in m u c h of Southern Europe, in Japan, and in m a n y Third W o r l d countries. In such clientelistic contexts, the w e l f a r e state simply provides more resources f o r established groups to allocate to their followers. This third generalization thus rests on not only

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welfare spending but also whether resources are allocated to encourage or discourage personalistic relations. 6 4. The more important are the mass media, the less important clientelistic patterns are. The more widespread the ownership of radio and television, and the more they carry politically significant content, the more they are likely to undermine personal political ties. It is hard to rouse party "militants" f r o m an armchair and a beer in front of the TV; similarly, simple but very popular past recreation activities involving direct personal relations (card g a m e s , bingo, dominoes, g o s s i p — s t a p l e s of clientelistic political organizations) are undermined by new media pleasures. Observers of contexts with strong clientelistic traditions, such as Spain and Italy, particularly stress this media impact. As the media rise in political importance, they enhance direct contact between a political leader and individual citizens, which undermines clientelistic personalism via intermediaries. However, this proposition is weakened if political leaders can control the media. Censorship threats or direct state ownership of media have crea t e d m a n y i n t e r m e d i a r y c a s e s in c o u n t r i e s s u c h as ( e a r l i e r ) S p a i n , Yugoslavia, or most former people's republics. If the media grow so tightly controlled as to be scorned by most citizens, however, personal relations tend to rise as a source of political information. Still, in countries like the United States, where media advertising is central to political campaigning, the rise of the media increases pressure for cash campaign contributions. This pressure in turn can heighten clientelistic exchanges for contracts, even if clientelistic voting declines. Chicago's Mayor Daley of the 1950s openly scorned the media, as his Democratic Party seemed invincible—down to the precinct captain and voter. But in the 1990s, Mayor Daley II relies heavily on media advertising, whereas the party staff is withering. The city also seeks to contract out more services. To sum up, new fiscal populism should emerge more readily among Protestants, in countries with professionalized administrations, and with leaders who actively use the mass media. Clientelism should persist more where these factors are less important.

Conclusion: Federalism and U.S. Clientelism in International Perspective Clientelism in the United States differs from its counterparts in many countries in that it has always been a "minority" political culture, often supported by Catholics and recent immigrants but opposed by many Protestants, w h o remained a numerical majority. If the " m a j o r i t y " political cultures were those of the traditional right and later of new fiscal populism, clientelism still captured many cities and subregions. T h e federalist structure (with separate federal, state, and local governments) and the autonomy of

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the court system have left local clientelistic practices open to attack by federal and state governments and by federal and state judges who can hear cases involving clientelism on the part of local officials. Political cultures thus clash in situations that do not arise in more homogeneous societies and nationally integrated governments. These tensions among conflicting outlooks have long been a hallmark of U.S. society and politics. The interpénétration of several distinct outlooks has also encouraged a tolerance not found in many more homogeneous countries. Clientelism has frequently been a successful means used by new immigrant groups to maintain their power, cultural distinctiveness, and pride in the United States. In parts o f the world where primordial a t t a c h m e n t s are o n the rise ( e s p e c i a l l y in areas s u c h as the f o r m e r Yugoslavia and Soviet Union), it may be helpful to recall that a tolerant ethnic politics, based more on clientelism than on ideology, can offer a serious alternative to civil war and irredentist violence.

Notes A note on the political culture of our own enterprise—to help make more explicit our own assumptions and rules of the game: (a) I and my colleagues differ from past analysts of political culture by explicitly incorporating components of more general theories of the political process (citizen preferences, organized groups, etc.), thus seeking more generalizability. Correspondingly, the theory is not uniquely urban; as part of U.S. culture, it should inform politics at all levels. But the urban setting is a particularly appropriate site, as cases supporting and refuting many general theories can be more readily isolated than for national societies. (b) We differ from the most general theories by adding explicit conditions under which alternative processes stressed in one or another theory operate. For example, homogeneity of citizen preferences, few disturbances to the political system, and more information about citizen preferences heighten citizen preferences and issue politics while weakening clientelism (Clark and Ferguson 1983). (c) We define core elements of political culture as amenable to precise definition and systematic empirical analysis. We include five dimensions widely recognized for their general importance and used by political leaders and analysts (in Table 8.1). Political culture is most useful in explaining empirical variations when treated not as an altogether new phenomenon but as one that builds on dimensions others recognize as important and transcends past work by combining these dimensions in ways not considered by more narrowly focused studies. (d) There is little conflict between "rational" or public-choice analyses and this political cultural approach. Key concepts and processes in each can be recast within either perspective, although there are still distinct elements in each approach that complement the other. (e) We are methodologically eclectic. Most methods and many types of data can be adapted to study political culture. Political culture analysts can play a distinct role in bringing insight to more narrowly conceived studies and will be taken most seriously by these if they build on specific middle-range propositions and empirical methods rather than seek to start afresh. Political culture is an analytical

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perspective, not a methodology. Our methodological eclecticism is clcar in that we analyze survey research and census data using comparative, quantitative methods, as well as case studies using traditional field work procedures. ( 0 Urban social scientists in general are sympathetic and ready to use political culture-related concepts if they are formulated in a clear and specific manner. Vagueness is perhaps the most criticized aspect of work on political culture, in its central concepts, status of independent and dependent variables, and operationalization problems. The approach outlined here resolves many conceptual problems and indicates a means of linking with precise empirical work. 1. See five volumes in the FAUI series Research in Urban Policy, JAI Press, and others in the Sage Series in Urban Innovation. 2. For several years I served as senior policy adviser to the U.S. Conference of Mayors, helping arrange conferences and Mayors Leadership Institutes, where mayors would meet to discuss common concerns. One specific outgrowth was Clark, DeSeve, and Johnson (1985). I also consulted with several individual cities, including Chicago, and worked with the Urban Summit. 3. When "The Irish Ethnic and the Spirit of Patronage" (Clark 1975) was published, it caused a bit of a flap in Boston. The Globe published a "summary" under the headline "Irish Ethnic Linked to Fiscal Chaos." One Boston group wrote to the University of Chicago president demanding removal of Professor Terry Clark. But the very proud Irishman Daniel Patrick Moynihan sought to make amends by inviting me to present the work to the very last class he taught at Harvard before becoming a U.S. senator. 4. Jarvis b e c a m e nationally i n f a m o u s f o r the J a r v i s - G a n n initiative, or Proposition 13, which, when passed in 1978 by a majority of California voters, cut property taxes substantially. 5. In recent work I have used the concept of new political culture (NPC) as an extension of new fiscal populism. The main difference is that NPCs are not necessarily fiscally conservative. To simplify exposition I refer here only to NFPs throughout. 6. Clearly, issue politics can mix with clientelism. For example, Walder (1986) shows how traditional Chinese administrative clientelism joined with the ideological concerns of Maoist Marxism after 1945 to provide a joint set of criteria for the promotion of staff and resource allocation.

References Cano, Sophia. 1986. Hispanic Political Culture. Paper presented to Workshop on Urban Policy, University of Chicago. Clark, T. N. 1972. Structural-Functionalism, Exchange Theory, and the New Political Economy: Institutionalization as a Theoretical Linkage. Sociological Inquiry 4 2 ( 3 - 4 ) : 2 7 5 - 3 1 1 ; followed by "Commentary on Clark" by Talcott Parsons and "Institutions and an Exchange with Professor Parsons" by T. N. Clark. . 1975. The Irish Ethnic and the Spirit of Patronage. Ethnicity 2: 3 0 5 359. , ed. 1981. Urban Policy Analysis: Directions for Future Research. Vol. 21 of Urban Affairs Annual Reviews. Beverly Hills: Sage. Clark, T. N., and Lynn Appleton. 1989. Coping in American Cities: Fiscal Austerity and Urban Innovations in the 1980s. In S. Clarke, ed., Urban Innovation and

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Clark

Autonomy: The Political Implications of Policy Change, Vol. 1, Newbury Park: Sage, 3 1 - 6 8 . C l a r k , T . N., G. E. D e S e v e , and J. C. J o h n s o n . 1985. Financial Handbook for Mayors and City Managers, 2nd ed. New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold. Clark, T. N., and L. Crowley Ferguson. 1983. City Money. New York: C o l u m b i a University Press. Clark, T. N., and W. G r i m s h a w . 1988. Oral History of Chicago Politics. Transcripts on deposit for W o r k s h o p in Urban Policy, Regenstein Library, University of Chicago. Clark, T. N., and R. Inglehart. 1990. The New Political Culture. Unpublished manuscript. Clark, T. N., and C. Jeanrenaud. 1989. W h y Are Most Swiss Leaders Invisible? P r e s e n t e d at the C o n f e r e n c e on N e w L e a d e r s , N e w Parties, N e w G r o u p s in Local Politics, Paris, April. C l a r k , T. N., and S. M. Lipset. 1991. Are Social C l a s s e s D y i n g ? International Sociology 6(4): 3 9 7 - 4 1 0 . Dore, R. P. 1958. City Life in Japan. Berkeley: University of California Press. Durant, R. R., W. Lyons, and Michael R. Fitzgerald. 1989. Urban Culture, Service Provision, and Fiscal Strain. In T. N. Clark, W. Lyons, and M. Fitzgerald, eds., Research in Urban Policy, Greenwich, C T : JAI Press, 15-32. Eisenstadt, S. N., and R. Lemarchand, eds. 1981. Political Clientelism, Patronage and Development. London: Sage. E l a z a r , D. J. 1987. Exploring Federalism. T u s c a l o o s a : U n i v e r s i t y of A l a b a m a Press. Elazar, D. J., and J. Z i k m u n d II, eds. 1975. The Ecology of American Political Culture. New York: Crowell. F e r m a n , B. 1985. Governing the Ungovernable City. P h i l a d e l p h i a : T e m p l e University Press. Goldsmith, M. J., and E. C. Page. 1987. Central and Local Government Relations. London: Sage. Greeley, A. 1989. Religious Change in America. C a m b r i d g e : Harvard University Press. I n g l e h a r t , R. 1990. Culture Shift in Advanced Industrial Society. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Knoke, D. 1981. Urban Political Cultures. Urban Policy Analysis 21: 2 0 3 - 2 2 6 . Merton, R. K. 1957. Social Theory and Social Structure. Glencoe: Free Press. M o r r i s , B. 1986. C o n f e s s i o n s of an O l d F i s c a l P o p u l i s t . In T. N. C l a r k , ed., Research in Urban Policy, Vol. 2B, Greenwich, CT: JAI Press, 115-119. Roniger, L. 1990. Hierarchy and Trust in Modern Mexico and Brazil. New York: Praeger. S a m u e l s o n , P. A. 1969. Pure T h e o r y of P u b l i c E x p e n d i t u r e and T a x a t i o n . In J. Margolis and H. Guitton, eds., Public Economics, New York: St. M a r t i n ' s Press, 28-123. W a l d e r , A. G. 1986. Communist Neo-Traditionalism. B e r k e l e y : U n i v e r s i t y of California Press. Washington, H. 1986. State of the City Address: After T w o Years. In T. N. Clark, ed., Research in Urban Policy, Vol. 2B, Greenwich, CT: JAI Press. W e i n b e r g , Martha. 1981. B o s t o n ' s Kevin White. Political Science Quarterly 96: 87-106.

9 Clientelism and Political Culture in the Provincial Politics of Canada Mark Fletcher When we think of the characteristics o f a modern, democratic state, clientelism and its more infamous counterpart, corruption, are not the first traits that spring to mind. For Westerners, and especially North Americans, the concepts of clientelism and corruption evoke images of regimes controlled by despots and their henchmen. By contrast, it still seems natural for us to assume that political development is in many ways typified by modern, industrialized democracies. In such democracies, the distribution of state resources is meant to be carried out according to universalistic principles of citizenship and equal opportunity for state resources and services. A closer look at political realities reveals a conflation of both trends. How can we explain this occurrence of clientelism and political corruption in "politically advanced democratic states"? Canada's confederation of semiautonomous provinces provides a good framework for comparison of political situations that in theory and by law are governed by the same universalistic rules and norms but in practice tolerate very different levels of political and economic clientelism. At one level, most Canadians would describe their country as a law-abiding liberal democracy. Y e t when questioned about the activities of Canadian politicians, their response is markedly different. Stories abound of favoritism, o f inside networks based on party politics, and of gross corruption. This difference in perceptions o f the nature o f the system versus perceptions of the nature of the people who operate in it can be explained by a historical difference in the development and refinement o f political ideas in different regions of the country. F o r comparative analysis I have chosen Nova S c o t i a and Ontario, provinces that have been political and economic leaders in British North America and, as original provinces and former colonies, have played an important part in setting the nature and the tone of Canada's confederation. B o t h call t h e m s e l v e s d e m o c r a t i c p o l i t i c a l entities, and both c l a i m to

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espouse universalistic principles. Yet the degree of clientelism and political corruption occurring within each of the two systems is different. The present study will attempt to determine why there is a difference in the extent of clientelism in the two provinces; whether the different political norms translate into different standards of legitimacy concerning political acts connected with clientelism; and, if there is a difference in the nature of the clientelism, how this difference is important to the study of clientelism as a whole. To elucidate these issues, we must look first at the historical background of the political cultures of each province and examine how the stages of reform they underwent modified the regional political culture. The analytical idea that will be followed is that of "countervailing forces," which act as d e v e l o p m e n t a l pressures on clientelistic relationships (Eisenstadt and Roniger 1984, 185-202). The dominance, even the existence, of a certain force may lend a particular flavor to clientelism and over time may transform it into a relationship that changes societal circumstances. Historical analysis suggests the specific countervailing forces that shaped the respective political cultures of Nova Scotia and Ontario. 1 It also allows us to determine how resulting conditions promoted or inhibited the acceptance of democratization and the principles of universalism and modified the uses of clientelism in Canada. To conclude, I will suggest that there are socially imposed limits to the so-called evolution of clientelism and to the process of democratization and that these limits may apply to other societies. Indeed, it will be shown that both the old and the new variants of clientelism in Canada have acted as systems of alternative public policy and may be necessary to the functioning of a decentralized state. This conclusion implies that clientelism may not necessarily disappear as a state becomes more politically advanced and adopts universalistic public policies. When talking about clientelism and political corruption, what exactly are we talking about? In Canada, the terms "patronage" and "clientelism" are used synonymously. However, Canadian conceptions of the relationship within patronage between the giver and the receiver differs from traditional notions of the clientelistic relationship. In Canada, patronage is popularly considered "getting something from a friend" in government. This is a relationship that has very definite limits; it is context-specific, not allencompassing, as would be a clientelistic relationship in, for example, a feudal society. The "something" could be a job, a shortcut through ordinary bureaucratic procedure, support on a political issue, a government contract, a dispensation from a duty owed to the government, or a wide variety of favors, ranging from the provision of insider knowledge to the "fixing" of a parking ticket. The "someone" could be an elected official, a party member, a bureaucrat, or a person with influence in circles of power, whether economic or political. There is no expectation on the part of a patron of

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immediate payback, but there is the expectation that the patron wil) eventually get something in return—be it prestige, money for a campaign, information, or support. Unlike some forms of clientelism, the relationship is likely to be narrow. The relationship may exist only at a single level (e.g., the professional level or the personal/family level). Patronage in Canada may be better defined by what it is not. What patronage in Canada is not is an overarching social phenomenon that links every aspect of economic, personal, and political relations. Rather, its scope is particular, and it tends not to come into play in the personal lives of the players but only in their political and economic lives. This fact comes from a broad-based sense of individual equality that is the liberal tradition. There is little notion that someone has a "patron," in a concrete sense. That would be too hierarchical. Rather, individuals have connections and friends who have access to power and resources that the individual citizen does not have. The types of relationships we are talking about are quite loose and do not resemble a "patronage" relationship that would be predominantly hierarchical, as in some settings in India or the Middle East. In Canada it is often difficult to say who the patron is in an exchange of favors. Some might argue that such ambiguous exchange is not patronage in its real sense; nevertheless, this is what is meant by the term in Canada. The definition of political corruption is much clearer. Basically, Canadians consider it to be the misuse of public office (Gibbons 1976, 1988), whether elected or appointed, for the personal benefit of that officeholder. In elections, corruption includes manipulating voter lists, gerrymandering, stuffing ballot boxes, and direct bribery. Nonelectoral corruption has included conflict of interest, kickbacks, and the personal use of government resources as if they were the person's own.

Historical Background With the dominance of the English over the French in Canada by the mideighteenth century, trade and commerce in fish, lumber, minerals, and fur were controlled by select groups of men. These persons controlled not only the economic posts of the colonies but the judicial and governmental ones as well. They developed clienteles within the colonial bureaucracy through their power over appointments to government jobs and the distribution of supplies. In Ontario they came to be known as the Family Compact; their counterparts in Nova Scotia were called the Council of Twelve. By the nineteenth century, with increased European settlement, the inhabitants of the colonies were discontented with the controls imposed on them by the British-appointed lieutenant governors and their locally appointed councils. The king's facilities, such as wharfs and warehouses, were at the disposal of the councils, along with a wide variety of military

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bases, victualling yards, and provincial supply depots. Control over colonization and the granting of land were the councils' crucial powers. Land grants were given to many individuals with connections to the councils, who thus maintained their power. The appointed members themselves were granted large tracts of land, sometimes in the name of the crown. This centralization of power and resources led to increasing calls for reform, both political and economic. Because of their more established settlement, the English colonists in the United States had made these calls for reform much earlier than those in British North America, but here too growing discontent with colonial maladministration was becoming a more important political factor. H o w e v e r , though Nova Scotia and Ontario inherited similar types of political corruption and patronage from the British political system, the process of reform spurred on by this popular discontent was to take different forms in the two provinces.

The First Reform Wave: Responsible Government Nova

Scotia

Nova Scotian politicians proudly relate to anyone who cares to listen that theirs was the first colony in the British Empire to achieve "responsible government." An elected legislature was granted to the colony in 1758 and fully responsible government in 1848 (Beck 1985, vol. 1, ch. 5). 2 However, the reformation reflected by these institutions did not mean that the Nova Scotian government was based on unadulterated liberal-democratic principles. Most notably, f r o m 1758 to 1785, the character of N o v a Scotian politics was determined by a Halifax Compact more closely interconnected by family relationships than the Family C o m p a c t of Upper Canada. Until the c l o s e of the American Revolution a mercantile group headed by distillery merchant Joshua Mauger possessed more power than it needed to ward off the challenges of an immature assembly and to dominate the colony's politics for its own ends (Beck 1978, 171-172; see also Morison 1949).

This economic, political, and military elite was a small group that controlled almost every aspect of trade, law, and politics in the province. It was difficult to engage in political or economic activities in Nova Scotia except through their networks. Relatively free and democratic institutions existed in 1758 in the f o r m of an elected assembly, but real control was still exercised through the British governor and his appointed Council of Twelve. M o r e often than not, it was the council that actually ran the specifics of g o v e r n m e n t ; the g o v e r n o r was m o r e i n t e r e s t e d in o v e r s e e i n g g e n e r a l British interests, usually centered on the navy, and in making his o w n office more profitable. The council's control of the economy (through own-

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ership) and i n f l u e n c e in politics (through control o v e r the introduction of legislation to the a s s e m b l y ) gave it e f f e c t i v e p o w e r ; the g o v e r n o r ' s p o w e r was p r e d o m i n a n t l y military, although he controlled council a p p o i n t m e n t s and the colonial budget. In real terms, the g o v e r n o r ' s short term of appointm e n t — t w o to three years on average (Beck 1985, 2 8 8 - 2 9 0 ) — m e a n t that he had little t i m e or d e s i r e to m e d d l e with t h e e c o n o m i c " p o w e r s " of the colony. In most cases, the provincial elite and the g o v e r n o r succeeded in working together without c o m p r o m i s i n g each o t h e r ' s interests. It was not until the 1820s and 1830s that challenges to the p o w e r of the Council of T w e l v e b e c a m e even remotely e f f e c t i v e . J. J. C a m e r o n (1967) recounts the role of local politicians, w h o challenged the council as early as 1799 but were not really effective until the election of 1830. O n e political pamphlet of the election described the council as chiefly composed of Persons who held Offices and received Salaries from Government, they considered themselves as envied Demagogues in the Assembly; and as every Regulation proposed by the Assembly affected one or other of them in their Official Capacities, they were unanimous in opposition, and brandished the shield of Prerogative to ward off the Attacks against their own Mai-Administration (Cameron 1967, 102). In this election, r e f o r m c a n d i d a t e s o p e n l y w a g e d battle against the T o r y c o n s e r v a t i v e s k n o w n as " a s s e m b l y m e n " (the " b a g m e n " f o r the council elite). On one of the election days, S e p t e m b e r 27, 1830, the Tories sent a party of armed sailors to the courthouse in Pictou C o u n t y , w h e r e the voting was taking place. T h a t night, after a bout of drinking, the sailors attacked the house of a r e f o r m leader, and m o b fighting broke out. In spite of the i n t i m i d a t i o n , P i c t o u r e t u r n e d a r e f o r m e r as m e m b e r of t h e a s s e m b l y (Cameron 1967, 120). With the c o m i n g of stronger and better organized r e f o r m leaders such as Joseph H o w e and Charles T u p p e r , along with a r e f o r m - o r i e n t e d popular press, things were to c h a n g e for the C o u n c i l of T w e l v e . T h e p o p u l a r press played an important role in N o v a Scotia in that it allowed the r e f o r m e r s to get their m e s s a g e out to the people. T h e press was instrumental in helping to establish identifiable political parties in the province and, by so doing, to allow the creation of a grassroots r e f o r m electorate. Opposition n e w s p a p e r s a r t i c u l a t e d the p o l i t i c a l a r g u m e n t s , i d e n t i f i e d the l e a d e r s , a n d w e r e an important m e d i u m of political expression (Beck 1985, 2 5 9 - 2 6 5 ) . But it was the election of 1848, returning a m a j o r i t y in the assembly f o r the reformers, that p r o d u c e d significant change. A f t e r almost 100 years of rule, the C o u n c i l of T w e l v e w a s r e p l a c e d by an e x e c u t i v e council of assembly-appointed members. However, the end of the Council of Twelve did not automatically end all the abuses, notably patronage. . . . Immediately, the Assembly chosen Executive carried on the same patronage policy—to the victor belongs the spoils. Let us

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look beyond 1848 briefly. . . . Every change of government in Nova Scotia was followed automatically by wholesale dismissals from public office, and appointments of individuals whose principle qualifications for the job was their slavish addiction to the party which had won the election (Cameron 1967, 11). T h e practice of p a t r o n a g e w o u l d continue in similar f o r m through the later part of the nineteenth century and well into the twentieth. Election c o r r u p tion was to b e c o m e a p e r m a n e n t part of the political system; indeed, voters started to expect it. In the past the political bribe was a personalized o n e — c o m m o n l y a bottle of r u m . T o d a y it w o u l d m o r e likely be a g e n e r a l i z e d c o m m o d i t y f o r a particular riding ( j u r i s d i c t i o n ) — a road p a v e d , a s c h o o l built, or a wharf fixed. But even in this m o d e r n age, the personalized bribe exists in s o m e areas, although its e f f e c t i v e n e s s is suspect. 3 Ontario T h e history of political corruption and patronage is interestingly d i f f e r e n t in the case of Ontario. Like N o v a Scotia, Ontario was an original partner in c o n f e d e r a t i o n a n d a m a j o r e c o n o m i c p l a y e r of t h e t i m e . U n l i k e N o v a Scotia, h o w e v e r , it was clearly for a union of the provinces so as to centralize its role in British N o r t h A m e r i c a and to help o f f s e t the trade, military, a n d p o l i t i c a l i n f l u e n c e s f r o m the s o u t h ( J a c k s o n 1975). In 1867 N o v a Scotia w a s at the peak of its industrial and e c o n o m i c p o w e r and clearly w a s politically and e c o n o m i c a l l y m o r e a d v a n c e d than O n t a r i o (Gourlay 1974 [1822]). 4 H o w e v e r , U p p e r C a n a d i a n potential was quickly developing. T h e c o l o n y h a d an i n c r e a s i n g p o p u l a t i o n f r o m i m m i g r a t i o n , m o r e a n d b e t t e r quality f a r m land, vast natural r e s o u r c e s , a n d better a c c e s s to the r i s i n g U.S. industrial centers of the Great Lakes and O h i o River valley. T h o u g h O n t a r i o d i f f e r e d in its e c o n o m i c and political history f r o m N o v a Scotia, it did h a v e similar c o n c e p t i o n s of p a t r o n a g e a n d political c o r r u p t i o n . T h e early 1800s in O n t a r i o resonate with the cries of critics of the s y s t e m of military, e c o n o m i c , and political control k n o w n as the Family C o m p a c t . A great a m o u n t of historical debate has been dedicated to the issue of the Family C o m p a c t as a c o h e s i v e entity (Patterson 1989). T h e title r e f e r s not to kinship ties but to those m e n and their p r o g e n y w h o inhabited the o f f i c e s of privilege a n d p o w e r in the colony. T h e s e were the i n d i v i d u a l s w h o m a d e the laws, collected the taxes, distributed the land, and controlled the e c o n o m i c activity of trade and supply within the colony. This c o m p a c t w a s b o u n d together by a belief system concerning the rights and duties of those w h o were better educated, m o r e disciplined, and used to leading a n d to governing. This notion w a s in contradistinction to the leveling i n f l u e n c e of the frontier and the " r e p u b l i c a n i s m " of the U n i t e d States, against w h i c h these p r e d o m i n a n t l y military a n d , later, e c o n o m i c elites were reacting in a spirit of true c o n s e r v a t i s m (Earl 1967). T h e N o v a Scotian elite was smaller,

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less aristocratic, more interested in mercantilism within the empire, and more closely knit by kinship ties stretching back several generations than the elites in Upper Canada. The latter tended to be more of a mix of naturalized British stock and United Empire Loyalists as well as Canadian-born elites (Johnson 1975, especially paper by Cross and Cook). The names of some of the members of the Family Compact, and the degree of power they exercised, can be seen in this 1839 list of land grants as laid out in Lord D u r h a m ' s Report on the Affairs of British North America: In Upper Canada, 3,200,000 acres have been granted to United Empire Loyalists and their children, 730,000 acres to militiamen (who support local military commanders), 450,000 to discharged soldiers and sailors, 255,000 to magistrates and barristers, 136,000 acres to executive councillors and their families, 50,000 acres to five executive councillors and their families, 36,900 to clergymen as their private property, 264,000 to persons contracted to make surveys, 92,526 acres to officers of the Army and Navy, 500,000 acres for the endowment of schools (controlled by local elites), 48,520 acres to Colonel Talbot, 12,000 acres to the heirs of General Brock, 12,000 acres to Doctor Mountain, a former Bishop of Quebec; making altogether, with the Clergy Reserves, nearly half of all the surveyed land in the province. . . . In Upper Canada, a very small proportion (perhaps less than a tenth) of the land thus granted has been occupied by settlers, much less reclaimed and cultivated (Durham 1839, 68-69).

These interests controlled the best land, the areas of access to fur trapping, and the centers of commercial activity, leaving the periphery for the settlers and the aboriginal population. The establishment of railroad networks around the middle of the nineteenth century, in combination with agriculture and resource exploitation, provided the economic base for the rule of this elite. The province's military connection came first from years upon years of the garrisoning of French, British, and then patriated British troops in the colony as a defense against aboriginals and the Americans, especially from the time of the abortive War of 1812. As all the lieutenant governors of the province were military men, economic interests tended to be closely tied to this center of power. Further, the military originally ran the colonial supply and policing depots and thus had a long history of control over resources that were vital to the economic well-being of the colonies. The British army in Upper Canada did concern itself with the management of the interior of the province, unlike N o v a S c o t i a ' s military, which was only naval. Consequently, rural Upper Canada was less closely dominated by the interests of the council than was rural Nova Scotia, because the former's competing military interest might interfere with council control. In part, reform in both Upper Canada and Nova Scotia was inspired by activity in Britain itself. Canadians were very proud of things British and

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saw themselves as the "loyal" experiment of exporting British society abroad. Hence, political cues from Britain legitimized reform movements in Canada: The reformers could not be accused of importing republican ideas from the south and moreover could claim that they received their inspiration from the British constitutional reform that came with free and responsible parliamentary institutions. Variation in the political attitudes of the British-appointed governors led gradually to an occasional relaxation of control on the part of the executive councils, as some sympathetic governors gave credence to the reform movement and mitigated the councils' dominance. In these years, reformers gained some political legitimacy, much to the dismay of the executive councils (Craig 1974). The executive branch of government in the Canadian colonies consisted of the lieutenant governor, the Executive and Legislative Councils— which advised him and submitted laws to be passed by the Legislative Assembly—and the military and economic group that surrounded his office. Political critics in both Nova Scotia and Upper Canada increasingly felt that they had little chance of obtaining state resources, or even of electing their candidates to the ineffectual Legislative Assembly. With the appointment in 1836 of the highly dictatorial lieutenant governor of Upper Canada, Sir Francis Bond Head, tempers came to a boil. Arrayed against him, and buoyed by electoral victories and reform in England, were men such as Robert Baldwin and William Lyon MacKenzie King, who were using the popular press to great advantage. To economic barons and council members such as Robert Hamilton and John Strachan, such ranting by republican radicals was to be shunned and suppressed as treasonous. Supported by the council elites, Bond Head dealt with the reformers by dissolving the assembly, restricting freedom of the press, calling an immediate election, and creating a Constitutionalist Party with himself at its head. He proceeded to lead the party to an electoral victory and a majority in the assembly. This unheard-of action by the lieutenant governor was facilitated by the use of "ruffianism, club-law, intimidation, and above all, heaps of new deeds" (Correspondent and Advocate, August 3, 1836). By promising the Anglican church new status as the "church of state" over the predominantly Methodist population as well as the "donation" of oneseventh of all land grants (to be called Clergy Reserves), and by bribing other influential voters with hundreds of new land grants, Bond Head assured himself a reprieve from direct attack by the reformers. Bond Head had only postponed the inevitable, however; his luck and political fortune were about to change. The British government and the Colonial Office had been receiving numerous appeals, letters, and petitions reminiscent of the type and kind it had encountered before the American Revolution. Now it pressured Bond Head to include some reformers in his Executive Council. When Bond Head agreed to do so but added that he would listen to the council's advice only when he wanted to, almost the entire body resigned in disgust. This

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action created a temporary vacuum of political power at the council level and robbed Bond Head of the important support of many members of the Family Compact. It also had the effect of temporarily marginalizing the compact's control over political appointments and land grants. The resignation's long-term effect was to further pluralize council appointments and to dilute compact influence in the highest political circles. For MacKenzie King, a leading reformer, Bond Head's troubles provided an opportunity to act with a degree of popular support. With new restrictions and no effective political platform within which to express his discontent, King and his followers turned to armed rebellion. This amateur attempt at a coup-d'etat was quickly put down by the military-supported lieutenant governor. The British House of Lords, alarmed by the deterioration of the political situation in both Lower and Upper Canada, sent the reform-minded Lord Durham to investigate. The Durham Report, which followed the rebellions in both Upper and Lower Canada, outlined the problems of centralized power as exercised by the lieutenant governor and his council. In practical terms, the report helped set the stage for responsible government in Ontario—both in the long run, by relegitimizing the reformers after the rebellion and showing the need for fundamental political reorganization based on autonomous control, and in the short-run, by sensitizing the Colonial Office to the need for more progressive lieutenant governors for Canada. The key political issues brought forward by the reformers at this stage were universalistic in tone: the removal of the Clergy Reserves, universal colonially funded schooling, representative taxation, fair land grants, fair distribution of government jobs, responsible government, freedom of the press, security from the threats of military and political annexation issuing from the United States, development of the interior, and increased trade development. Many of these political issues revolved around matters of patronage and corruption. Although Nova Scotian politics of the era focused on many of these concerns, security from U.S. annexation was not a major one; the seemingly invincible British navy was regarded as Nova Scotia's guarantor of security. Nova Scotia did not suffer the Upper Canadian affliction of being both proximate to major U.S. centers along the Great Lakes and geographically adjacent to the United States. This is an important factor in understanding the differential development of the political cultures of the two provinces. Upper Canada started to identify itself, especially with the influx of United Empire Loyalists, in terms of not being a part of the United States. Corrupt practices were often blamed on Yankees, who were not truly British and who were interested in protecting their pocketbooks rather than British ideals (Wilson 1983). Conversely, the United States was much less important for Nova Scotia because of the province's distance from U.S. economic centers in Boston and New York. Nova Scotian trade was based on overseas mercantilism and shipbuilding. Moreover, unlike people living

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on the Niagara Peninsula and the shore of Lake Ontario, who had suffered the U.S. invasions of the War of 1812, the Nova Scotians did not feel insecure. Nova Scotian identity, therefore, was grounded not so much in antiAmericanism as in anti-Upper Canadianism, because the perceived threat to Nova Scotian well-being lay in the competition among the colonies for British resources (Beck 1978). In Nova Scotia, so-called corruption did not carry the added taint of being un-British. This is one factor relevant to an explanation of the difference in political cultures between the two provinces with regard to corruption. In Upper Canada corrupt practices could easily be associated with traitorous activity, whereas in Nova Scotia they could not. Further, it was clear that republican ideas were easily imported f r o m the United States to Upper Canada because of geographical proximity and the trade relations that proximity entailed. However, Upper Canadians were careful to organize and present these ideas in terms of the British reform movement and not as republicanism (Jackson 1975, 101-105). Reform took place in both Nova Scotia and Upper Canada during this first period. Overall, Ontario's reform seems to have been more ideologically inspired by some importation of liberal sentiment from the United States (though it was put in terms of the British reform movement) and, even more important, by the rejection of "Yankee" corruption, which was characterized as being un-British. In Nova Scotia, the reform movement adopted the practices of clientelism that had been used by the Council of Twelve but substituted its own list of clients. Total reform of the political system was far from complete for either province. There remained strong tendencies for governments to use patronage and to engage in corrupt practices even after responsible government had been achieved. As one author put it, the "wolf in sheep's clothing had merely changed; it was still a w o l f ' (Cameron 1967, 11). The importance of this first stage of reform in analyzing political culture and the countervailing tendencies that shaped it lies in the differing historical development of the two provinces. Whereas both societies experienced some movement for reform, the political culture of Upper Canada had a slightly different nuance, resulting from its experiences in the Rebellion of 1837 and the War of 1812. It can be concluded that Upper Canadian society, reinforced by British and U.S. reform tendencies, was shaped by a more liberal ideology than was Nova Scotian society, thereby making more fertile the ground in which left-radical ideas of the twentieth century were to be planted.

The Second Reform Wave: The Radicalization of Reform The Ontario reforms of the 1920s were much more popularly based than the reform movement of a century earlier and came on the waves of discon-

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tent and shock emanating from World War I and the immigration that followed it. Patronage and corruption continued under the government in Ontario, especially in connection with the jobs and contracts from the increasing number of lucrative railroad, canal, and hydroelectric projects in which the provincial government took part alongside the federal government. At the same time, a growing leftist movement in Ontario was fueled by Social Gospel preaching, working class immigration, industrialization, and the increasing power of farmers. During the Depression, the less advantaged elements of society increasingly mobilized in modern-day political parties of social reformers, whereas the better-off and the middle class supported the Liberals and Conservatives. Thus, a three-party system was created in Ontario, presenting a very different political dynamic from that of t w o - p a r t y N o v a S c o t i a , w h i c h had n e i t h e r a r a d i c a l i z e d industrial/farming working class nor an emerging middle class. In Ontario, there was clearly the genesis of a powerful lobby for further reform. The existence of a viable second stage of reform was predicated on a first stage that went further in Upper Canada than in Nova Scotia in changing the fundamental political culture. Left-wing ideas were less likely to take hold in Nova Scotia, which did not have as liberal an ideology in the first reform as did Upper Canada (Avery 1979, ch. 1). Another key factor in explaining the nonappearance in Nova Scotia of this second reform wave is geographical. Nova Scotia is much smaller than Ontario and did not have a vast frontier that needed development. Thus, it had fewer center/hinterland relationships (Macowan 1973), a fact with important implications. The development of elites in Nova Scotia did not follow the same path as in Ontario. Because of the latter's greater land mass and larger population, York, Kingston, and the Niagara region became strong centers that tended to dominate the resource and economic flows of the subregions. A real urban/rural split evolved in Upper Canadian society, and patronage networks tended to flow from the center to the periphery. With the centralization of power in the metropolis, resentment in the rural farming and resource development areas grew, creating a dynamic for change. Nova Scotia, like New Brunswick, has seen the development of a metropolis only since the mid-1960s, and even since then provincial voting patterns have left the rural population in control of the legislature. With perhaps a quarter of the members of the Legislative Assembly representing the interests of almost half (the urban half) of the population, the remaining three-quarters of the assembly is in the hands of rural citizens, who thus can better ensure that resources are transferred to them (Beck 1985, vol. 2, Appendix—"Voting Patterns"). In Nova Scotia, there was no need for rebellion against the metropolitan elites because the patronage system favored the rural periphery, unlike in Ontario. Immigration from both the United States and Europe bypassed Nova Scotia (and, to a lesser extent, New Brunswick). The homogeneity of the

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Nova Scotian population is remarkable and lends stability to its political culture ( N o r m a n 1973). In O n t a r i o , by contrast, increasing patterns of urbanization and immigration placed new demands on and injected new ideas into the political system, making it much less stable. The source of the new ideas, especially for the radicalizing farming community and the urban proletariat, was, in the early waves of immigration, the politically sophisticated immigrant population from the British Isles. Bypassing the Maritime provinces, including Nova Scotia, they tended to settle in Upper Canada and to some extent in Western Canada. With its increasing population from immigration, the radicalization of the farmers and the urban working class, and the establishment of a viable third party, Ontario received into its political culture both an infusion and a legitimation of new ideas. Nova Scotia has never had a viable alternative to the two-party system, and radical reformist ideas have therefore never been legitimized or introduced into its political culture. As Donald Avery puts it, the radicalization of the rural periphery and the success and growth of the Cooperative Commonwealth Federation (CCF), which spread to Ontario's major centers by the mid-1930s, put a strain on the existing political system, which reacted in part by coopting leftist policies and adopting them as its own (Avery 1979). These policies were universalistic and tended to promote a social welfare system. In Nova Scotia, too, the political threat of the left carried sufficient political force to ensure the adoption of part of its agenda even without reformist governments. 5 In spite of a two-party system, r e f o r m - b a s e d ideas did make their way into Maritime politics, but mainly through an importation of ideas from Upper Canada and the central government. The differences in reform in Nova Scotia and Ontario, therefore, are ones of degree, not of kind. As for the political culture variable, during the second stage of reform countervailing forces started to influence the political systems. Traditional clientelistic networks were challenged by left-based universalistic norms. Public policy became the competitive battleground for the marshaling of state resources, and the reformers seemed to have won a public victory over those forces that wished to see resources distributed on the basis of party support. By the early twentieth century it was no longer acceptable to favor openly the clients of one political party over another, although it was still perfectly acceptable to do so nonpublicly. Historical c i r c u m s t a n c e planted new ideas in the society of U p p e r Canada that generated a viable political movement for reform. The political culture of Nova Scotia was not as amenable to such penetration, and therefore reform-based ideas were not so clearly injected into that province's political culture. As a result, attempts at forming a reform-oriented third party f o r the p r o v i n c e failed and have c o n t i n u e d to fail. A more o p e n and accepted form of patronage and corruption persisted in Nova Scotia, whereas in Ontario, because of active and influential left-wing political

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action, societal norms shifted toward universalism and the principles of equality.

The Third Wave: Reform Since World War II World War II was a watershed for the reform movement across the country. The Canadian federal government was given power to mobilize every economic, political, and personal resource within Canada in its effort to fight the war. This experience helped to change provincial political cultures and reduced the acceptance of patronage and corruption in every part of the country. A new sense of national identity, a new respect for the role of government in providing universal services in exchange for personal income taxes (something that had not existed prior to the war), and the leveling influence of suffering and rationing led in every province to a diminishing acceptance of patronage as a normal facet of public policy. In Nova Scotia, there was a noticeable improvement in the universalized distribution of resources after the war, but the patronage system and political corruption did not disappear. In 1955 the premier of Nova Scotia, Robert Stanfield, supported the passage of the Civil Service Act of Nova Scotia, which was intended to establish a better standardization of criteria for government jobs. The bill did little to alter the patronage situation, however, especially in the upper ranks (Beck 1985, vol. 2, 265; D'Entremont 1986). Patronage continues to be a problem: Widespread personnel changes generally take place in the province's civil service when a new government is elected, although this tendency has not been as readily apparent in recent years. More than a decade of Tory rule has softened the memory of the axe blow that fell on the civil service in 1980. In that year, Gerald Reagan, a Liberal, was defeated as premier by the Conservative John Buchanan, who held office until 1990 and became a senior political leader in the country. By 1990 Buchanan was under federal investigation for corruption: His deputy minister for government services had testified that Buchanan and other ministers were receiving kickbacks from government contracts and exploiting government services for personal use. Buchanan resigned and was given a p a t r o n a g e a p p o i n t m e n t to the C a n a d i a n Senate by the Conservative Party. The 1984 election in Nova Scotia showed that corruption and patronage were still very much part of the political process (see Stewart 1985). Just before the election, the assembly member from Sackville, Malcolm Mac Kay, and the member from Queen's County were investigated by the Speaker of the House, Terry Donahoue, for expense-claim fraud. The rules of the House stated that each member, if he or she lived a certain distance from Halifax, could claim living expenses for accommodations in the city or travel expenses. In the case of MacKay, who was considered by the

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Conservatives an untrustworthy member of the party, 6 the Speaker found that fraud had indeed taken place. MacKay had listed as his address a place where he no longer lived and had made over $10,000 worth of illegal claims. The member from Queen's, in contrast, was found not to be in breach of House rules and was altogether considered a more trustworthy member who kept to the party line. MacKay lost his bid for reelection to a member of the New Democratic Party (NDP). Four years later, the premier, John Buchanan, refused to sign his party nomination papers. As for the riding of Sackville, which returned an NDP candidate (one of only three NDP members in the House that year), 7 its government projects were immediately canceled. These included a vocational school, a much-needed high school, a sports/recreation facility, provincial support for municipal status separate from Halifax County, and support for road paving. It was not until four years later, after intense public pressure and the riding's continued rejection of the Tories in 1988, that the party realized its tactic had backfired. In an attempt to regain the support of this large urban constituency, it allowed a few of the projects to go ahead. In the 1988 provincial election, Alexa MacDonough, the leader of the New Democratic Party, ran on a platform of reforming patronage and corruption. As examples of corruption, she cited misuses of federal grants for the development of the offshore industry and of postsecondary school funds for make-work schemes in Tory ridings, as well as the purchase of party members' land for government projects. The most infamous of these schemes, funded by federal grants but administered by the province, was the "bridge to nowhere," which was noted in the 1987 report of Canada's auditor-general. This was a multimillion-dollar, four-lane bridge over a river in northeastern Nova Scotia that had no roads leading to it or from it. The auditor-general determined that the land on which the bridge was built had been owned by the local Tory member of the Legislative Assembly, who was paid a large sum of money for it. This scandal caused no serious uproar in Nova Scotia, and the member was returned in the election. Nor did MacDonough's party do well; the NDP lost one of its three seats in the House when the Conservative government appointed an NDP member as a justice in the provincial court. MacDonough almost lost in her own riding because the voters felt that she was not "seriously playing the game" (.Halifax Chronicle Herald, June 14, 1988). There are innumerable examples of this type of practice throughout the Maritimes. Another Nova Scotian example is the antiunion activity on the part of Michelin Tire Company of France in its three Nova Scotian plants, which employ several thousand workers. In the early 1980s, the province, at the request of Michelin, passed legislation ("the Michelin Bill") that specifically made the establishment of new unions at Michelin plants very difficult. The bill created elaborate ratification mechanisms that allowed a management-controlled union to block any attempt by the Canadian Auto

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Workers to organize the plants. This legislation was to apply only to the Michelin plants. By law, the plant workers were further forbidden to act as a single bargaining unit, thereby inhibiting an integrated labor stand. No group has yet challenged this legislation under the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, but it seems a likely candidate for an appeal. Typical of the flavor of Maritime politics was the New Brunswick election of 1987. New Brunswick's political style parallels that of Nova Scotia, and it provides a useful comparative example. In 1987, Liberal Party leader Frank McKenna gained enormous power through a Liberal sweep that won the party every seat in New Brunswick's provincial assembly. When asked about his view of patronage during the campaign, McKenna expressly stated that it was an integral part of politics in the Maritimes and that it was ridiculous to think it would not be. "Patronage is a way of life in New Brunswick. I refuse to be hypocritical about something that has been around for a hundred years and in some form or another will be around for another hundred" (Frank McKenna, Liberal leader, 1987 campaign; see also Simpson 1988). Liberal contractors rejoiced as government b u s i n e s s left Tory s u p p o r t e r s and headed their way ( H a l i f a x Chronicle Herald, September 23, 1988). New Brunswick and Nova Scotia share the similar countervailing forces of rural over urban political control, a lack of immigration, small populations, and tightly controlled economic and political systems. New Brunswick has an even more closely knit economic community than Nova Scotia in the form of the K. C. Irving family, which controls most of the provincial economy. Nova Scotia shares this characteristic, albeit less drastically, in the form of several families, such as the Sobeys, the Joudreys, and the Armoyans. A revealing passage from P. J. Fitzpatrick summarizes the flavor of modern-day Maritime politics: Provincial politics in New Brunswick might best be described as parochial, stagnant, and anachronistic—reminiscent in some ways, of politics in nineteenth century Britain before the reform movement. The Liberal and Progressive Conservative parties dominate the political environment, without fear of challenge or stimulation by third parties, sustained by gerrymandering, patronage, and constituencies with hereditary political loyalties (Fitzpatrick 1972, 116). Even with the movements for reform, the clientelistic system did not disappear in Ontario either. The many decades of Tory rule in Ontario, ending with the scandal-ridden days of Bill Davis and the "Big-Blue" Tory Machine, are better described by others (e.g., Hoy 1985). Suffice it to say that clientelistic networks in support of the Conservative Party did exist and that they had a significant impact on business, if not on the lives of ordinary Ontarians. In the Maritimes in general and Nova Scotia in particular, political clientelism remains focused on individual relationships as well

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as business interests. In Ontario, clientelism seems to have evolved into a different f o r m — o n e that focuses primarily on big business. In tracing the changes in clientelism in Ontario, S.J.R. Noel examined clientelistic behavior in Upper Canada in the nineteenth century and found three stages of clientelism, which he calls "simple dyadic," "brokerage," and " m a c h i n e " (1990, 317). These titles represent an evolution of clientelism in Ontario f r o m the use of land grants and colonial resources in the early years to the use of political power for manipulating contracts and enhancing party members' economic gain in the later stages. Noel sees the evolution as having taken place because clientelism was used as an alternative form of public distribution of state resources, augmenting the official government structures. As those structures were reformed and made more universal, and as state resources became based less on land and more on government jobs and legislation, clientelism changed to the maintenance of political power and the cultivation of those people who could help maintain it. According to Noel, Ontario's clientelism in the twentieth century has the flavor of "corporate clientelism"; it is focused on business interests that are serviced by a party machine distributing government business and opportunities to party supporters in exchange for political support. Noel may be right. In Nova Scotia, political success is based not on the satisfaction of urban business interests but on the cultivation of rural party bosses and their local clients, who have less to gain from the universalized system than their Ontario counterparts. David P e t e r s o n ' s Liberals in the late 1980s and Bob R a e ' s N D P in 1990 initiated a reform of provincial politics in Ontario that has had a wider e a c h i n g i m p a c t f o r b u s i n e s s e s a n d i n d i v i d u a l s that s u p p o r t e d t h e Conservative Party. It is unclear whether or not a new network of patronage, one as deep as that of the Conservatives, has surfaced under Liberal rule, but it seems unlikely. With the 1990 election of the social-welfare party, the New Democrats, the provincial system probably will never again be used as an alternative distribution system based on clientelistic networks, even for big business. The N D P stands for a completely universalized system of public-good sharing and has taken such steps as trying to improve day care and to implement universalized no-fault car insurance. Their political support rests with labor unions, environmentalists, w o m e n ' s groups, and community-interest groups. During the early and mid-1990s, many of these groups were not given special state resources or access and have, as a result, withdrawn their support form the NDP. With large deficits and increased financial pressure on universalized provincial programs, the N D P had little choice but to alienate its clientele. In Ontario today, patronage networks of the old-fashioned brokerage and machine type are centered in urban municipal politics, where local concerns—usually in terms of land d e v e l o p m e n t — c a n be satisfied by local governments. 8 Universalistic principles for the provision of government

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services therefore tend to be the norm, and patronage and corruption—at least in perceptual terms—tend to be the exception. Ontario is wealthier than Nova Scotia, so its people have less need for patronage. The system can afford good universal distribution. Further, with so much wealth and such a large population, Ontario has diverse suppliers of resources, so the centralization of patronage within a tight, party-based clientelistic network becomes impractical. Self-perception is important to political culture, and this in turn affects the level of public acceptance of clientelism. In a survey of political attitudes of high school children in Nova Scotia and Ontario, Ronald Landes and Joseph Jabbra found that Nova Scotian children had a higher deference to authority, felt Ontarians to be much richer than they were, and had a good knowledge of individual politicians but a poor knowledge of the democratic system. They correlate these tendencies with the Nova Scotian patronage system, which may in fact perpetuate itself through a socialization process. Ontarian high school children were found to have less of a party identity or an affinity for one politician as patron, felt themselves to be well off, and were well informed about the democratic system if not about individual leaders (Landes and Jabbra 1976). These results tend to confirm the hypothesis that political cultures that are more hierarchical promote patronage systems. Contradicting the above findings is Gibbons's study of the attitudes of university students across Canada, which indicates that, on a regional basis, the attitudes of Atlantic Canadians and Ontarians are mixed when it comes to political corruption and its acceptance. I reject Gibbons's conclusions in favor of those of Landes for several reasons. First, Gibbons admits that he has a problem controlling his samples; large portions of the university population are not from the region that he is studying, and a larger percentage of Ontarians go to university than do the poorer Maritimers. Second, because of the breadth of Gibbons's study, he has covered only a limited number of institutions in Nova Scotia (grouping that province with all of Atlantic Canada) and Ontario, whereas Landes has covered almost all the high schools in the province of Nova Scotia and a significant portion of those in Ontario. At the public policy level, a study by McCready and Winn has shown that Nova Scotia ranked last per capita over a twenty-five-year period among all Canadian provinces when it came to universalized government expenditures on general services: health, social welfare, and public transportation. Ontario ranked in the middle, whereas the more left-oriented western provinces always ranked in the top five and the rest of the Maritimes in the bottom five (McCready and Winn 1976). This result may suggest a correlation between political culture and the use of clientelistic distribution networks. McCready and Winn found also that the urban core dominated in Ontario and Quebec, whereas the rural periphery dominated

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in Atlantic Canada. Hodgetts and Dwivedi (1974) support these findings with their analysis that over eleven years Nova Scotia spent 55 percent less per capita on such generalized services as social welfare and health than did Ontario, but much more on transportation and business support. 9 The implication is that Nova Scotia is still using a system of public distribution concurrently with its universalized one because political support is maintained through clientelistic ties. As examination of this third period of reform has shown, the evolution of the reform process in Nova Scotia and Ontario has taken on different dimensions and has been based on historical differences. Clearly a process of reform has taken place in both cases, but the nuances of the historical evolution have made the political culture of Ontario more receptive to reform ideals and norms than that of Nova Scotia. The three stages have been an evolutionary process, with events and actions in each contributing to the circumstances that made reform possible. Different circumstances shaped the political cultures in different ways, so reform took on different shapes in these two provinces according to the countervailing forces at work.

Factors that Made a Difference In conclusion, it can be seen that Canadian provincial political cultures have been shaped by a wide variety of factors catalyzed by crises and significant events that, in turn, slowly shaped the political and social environment. In the case of Ontario, an armed rebellion raised the consciousness of the population, and new ideas from Britain, the United States, and eventually from immigrants made possible the legitimization of a reform agenda in the early part of the twentieth century. In Nova Scotia, the political culture evolved through a different, nonrevolutionary reform process that allowed a continuation of more traditional social norms. What Nova Scotia lacked was a series of pivotal events that would have challenged the fundamental assumptions of its political culture. The countervailing forces described in this chapter have changed the nature of the clientelistic relationship present in each province. In the case of Nova Scotia, a popular left-based reformist political movement was missing during the early part of the twentieth century. The political culture of Nova Scotia has consequently experienced neither an acclimatization of the population to left-inspired reformist ideals nor a viable, concrete political basis (in the form of a party) for the implementation of the reform agenda. These findings suggest that variation in clientelism and political corruption is paralleled by a variation in the level of reform tolerance contained within a society's political culture. This study does not show that universalistic reform is necessarily evo-

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lutionary or that it has to happen in stages; it merely indicates that in Canada, such seems to have been the case. The first stage occurred in both provinces in the 1830s and 1840s and centered on the idea of responsible government. The second stage unfolded in a post-World War I era that stretched into the Depression of the 1930s and was inspired by rural-based Social Gospel ideals and urban labor radicalism. The final stage of reform was accompanied by federal government centralization and the indoctrination of national political norms during World War II, as Canada industrialized and mobilized to meet its war needs. The idea of countervailing forces that promoted or inhibited reform has been traced here through the three stages. Most important for stage one, the movement for responsible government, were the factors of an emerging popular press, the reform tendency in Britain, and an injection of liberal ideas from the United States. In the second stage, that of radicalization of reform, the major factors contributing to the differing concepts of patronage and corruption in Nova Scotia and Ontario were a growing rural-urban split, immigration, growing disparity of economic wealth, and the emergence of a left-wing political agenda. Finally, in the third stage, the key factors in reform were the effects of a mobilized war economy, increasing urbanization, and the legitimization of the left-wing agenda at both the provincial and national levels, as well as the setting of national standards of efficiency and ethics in the bureaucracy. In applying these findings to other cases, one central lesson can be drawn: It is civil society itself that can trigger reform and determine its timing and nature. It is the people's political beliefs and expectations that will either promote or inhibit the reform process. Aiding in the evolution of reform will be a series of key events, not necessarily cataclysmic in proportions, that challenge assumptions that lead to the prevalence of patronage and corruption. Collectively, such events can produce enough political support for reformist political action, and it is in the identification and exploitation of such events that reform in other societies is also rooted and can be encouraged.

Notes 1. I consider political cultures to be those norms, expectations, and beliefs about the political system that a group of people generally hold as "givens." It can be expected that there will be variation among the group, but these norms are broadly identifiable. 2. See especially the discussion of Sir Peregrine Maitland, governor of Nova Scotia from 1828 to 1832. 3. Personal interview with Conservative campaign workers, whose names are withheld by request. 4. In an unpublished manuscript, Alan Wilson of Trent University (A. Wilson 1987) presents an in-depth statistical account of Nova Scotian wealth at the time of confederation. Wilson shows that Nova Scotia developed six out of eight steel mills

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in Canada, the largest coal mines, and the largest shipping and boat-building industry in the country, as well as two out of the four major banks (the Bank of Nova Scotia and the Royal Bank). 5. This is especially true at the federal level, where Mackenzie King, as a Liberal prime minister for over twenty years, adopted CCF social policies through the Depression in order to retain political support in Ontario and the West. 6. Interview with the former secretary of the Conservative Party of Nova Scotia, Hugh Barrett, February 1990. 7. The riding has only one member out of thirty-some in the assembly but accounted for 6 percent of the voters who returned an NDP candidate; the only other alternative to the Tories, the Liberal candidate, had skipped the country because of a tax-fraud investigation by the police. 8. Interview with David McDonald, deputy minister of intergovernmental affairs, Province of Ontario, February 1989. 9. Nova Scotia is locally infamous for the number of new paving projects that occur just before an election.

References Avery, D. 1979. Dangerous Foreigners: European Immigrant Workers and Labour Radicals in Canada, 1896-1932. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. Beck, J. M. 1978. Nova Scotia, Tradition and Conservatism. In M. Robin, ed., Canadian Provincial Politics, Scarborough: Prentice-Hall, 171-204. . 1985. Politics of Nova Scotia. Tantallon: Four East Publications. Cameron, J. J. 1967. Political Pictonians. New Glascow, NS: Author's edition. Craig, G. 1974. Discontent in Upper Canada. Toronto: Copp Clark. Earl, D.W.L. 1967. Family Compact: Aristocracy or Oligarchy? Toronto: Copp Clark. D'Entremont, H. L. 1986. Provincial Restructuring of Municipal Government in New B r u n s w i c k and Nova Scotia. Ph.D. dissertation, University of New Brunswick. Durham, Lord. 1839. Report on the Affairs of British North America. Eisenstadt, S. N., and L. Roniger. 1984. Patrons, Clients and Friends. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fitzpatrick, P. J. 1972. The Politics of Pragmatism. In M. Robin, ed., Canadian Provincial Politics, Scarborough: Prentice-Hall, 116-133. Gibbons, K. M. 1976. Political Corruption in Canada. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. . 1988. Political Corruption: A Handbook. Fredricton: University of New Brunswick. G o u r l a y , R. 1974. [1822], Statistical Account of Upper Canada. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. Hodgetts, J. E., and O. P. Dwivedi. 1974. Provincial Governments as Employers. Montreal: McGill-Queens University Press. Hoy, C. 1985. Bill Davis, a Biography. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Jackson, E. 1975. The Organization of Upper Canadian Reformers, 1818-1867. In J. K. Johnson, ed., Historical Essays on Upper Canada, Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 96-122. L a n d e s , R. and J. J a b b r a . 1976. The Political Orientations of Canadian Adolescents: Political Socialization and Political Culture in Nova Scotia and Ontario. Halifax: St. Mary's University Press.

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L i p k i n . M. J. 1982. R e l u c t a n t R e c r u i t m e n t : N o v a S c o t i a n I m m i g r a t i o n P o l i c y , 1867-1914. M.A. Thesis, Carleton University. M a c o w a n , B. H. 1973. The Evolution of a Regional/Urban Network in Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, 1871-1971. Ph.D. dissertation, National Library (29610). M c C r e a d y , D., and C. W i n n . 1976. G e o g r a p h i c a l C l e a v a g e : C o r e vs. Periphery; Redistributive Policy. In P. W. Fox, ed., Political Parties in Canada, Toronto: McGraw-Hill Ryerson, 7 1 - 8 9 , 1 5 2 - 1 6 7 , 2 0 6 - 2 2 8 . M o r i s o n , M . G . 1 9 4 9 . T h e E v o l u t i o n of P o l i t i c a l P a r t i e s in N o v a S c o t i a : 1758-1848. M.A. Thesis, Dalhousie University. N o e l , S . J . R . 1 9 9 0 . Patrons, Clients, Brokers: Ontario Society and Politics, 1791-1896. Toronto: University of T o r o n t o Press. P a t t e r s o n , G. 1989. An E n d u r i n g C a n a d i a n M y t h : G o v e r n m e n t and the F a m i l y Compact. In B. G. Wilson, et al., eds., Historical Essays on Upper Canada: New Perspectives, Ottawa: Carleton University Press, 4 8 5 - 5 1 3 . Simpson, J. 1988. Spoils of Power. Toronto: Collins. Stewart, D. K. 1985. Partisan D i f f e r e n c e s and Political Recruitment: A Study of C a n d i d a t e s in the 1984 N o v a S c o t i a Provincial Election. P h . D . dissertation, Acadia University. Wilson, A. 1987. T h e Forgotten Empire. Unpublished manuscript. Trent University, Peterborough. Wilson, B. G. 1983. The Enterprises of Robert Hamilton: The Study of Wealth and Influence in Early Upper Canada, 1776-1812. Ottawa: Carleton University Press.

10 Images of Clientelism and Realities of Patronage in Israel Luis Roniger Israel is presumed to be a Western developed society organized according to modern democratic and bureaucratic principles of political and administrative organization. Yet these principles are matched internally by a vigorous civil society that generated more complex patterns of political dynamics and networking. These patterns, among other effects, have contained strong particularistic and clientelistic elements. My major aim in this chapter is to examine the changing interplay between these seemingly contradictory aspects of Israel's sociopolitical format.

Origins of the Israeli Polity The Israeli polity developed out of the political system of the prestate Jewish community of Palestine, in a process that involved the formation of a nonsovereign political center—as defined by Israelis retrospectively, a "state in the making." In the years before 1948, this center gradually increased its authority by exercising control over the mobilization and distribution of resources. A power-oriented elite, though divided internally and split ideologically, was nonetheless overwhelmingly committed to the institutionalization of a modern national Jewish center in the historical homeland, which was under foreign rule. As a Jewish national movement, Zionism competed with other movements that also sought to provide collective solutions to the centuries-long persecution of the Jews, dispersed mainly in the Christian countries of the Western hemisphere. By mobilizing human and material resources among Jewish Zionist sectors throughout the Diaspora and, later on, in Palestine as well, the Zionist movement was able to become the focus of the allocation and conversion of resources within the Jewish community of Mandatory Palestine (1918-1948). The viability of this center was further enhanced by its nonexploitive character and its long-term collectivistic orientation to the construction of a Jewish egalitarian and communal society in conditions of material scarcity, foreign rule, and persistent conflict with Arabs. 167

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The ideological component played a crucial role in the mobilization and distribution of resources. The guiding ideology of the Zionist settlers called for the construction of a Jewish society and economy alongside but not integrated with the local Arab society (Eisenstadt 1967; Lacuer 1972; Shafir 1989). 1 The hegemonic groups advancing a socialist-Zionist ideology of the "ingathering of exiles in Z i o n " aimed to effect a revolutionary change in Jewish history by "returning" to manual labor and productive life-styles after many centuries of being detached from agriculture and dispersed throughout the world. They would bridge the gap between ideals and praxis, between intellectual work and manual labor, in accordance with the teachings of socialist t h e o r e t i c i a n s and their own interpretation of Hebrew prophets. Like many revolutionary and national movements, and because of the poverty of the land and the lack of natural resources, these Zionist groups demanded sacrifices from their followers. Motivated by a collective vision of a Jewish homeland in Palestine, which they vested with moral significance and sometimes even with the awe characteristic of the sacred, pioneers envisaged and were expected to show traits of abnegation and hard work. An image of the pioneer was created, the so-called halutz, which gained prominence during the immigration waves of the first three decades of the century. The basic core image was of an individual who unselfishly participates in generalized exchange, enduring hardship and voluntarily contributing to the collective well-being without a clear notion of retribution or compensation (Eisenstadt 1967; Shapira 1988). From its beginnings, the image of the halutz constituted, in Clifford G e e r t z ' s (1973) terms, a model of and f o r society. It developed simultaneously as a concrete role with distinctive behavioral patterns and status symbols and as a blueprint for action in a revolutionary movement, as the embodiment of the society e n v i s a g e d by socialist-Zionist thinkers and an o r g a n i z i n g principle on which functional roles and institutions could be modeled ( R o n i g e r and Feige 1992). The halutz image was characterized by the willingness for self-sacrifice; the readiness to take initiatives; the contribution to cultural and institutional creativity; the unwillingness to follow formalities in dress, speech, or behavior; the closeness to nature, evidenced in the preference for agricultural work and nonurban residence; and the propensity never to settle down and rest but always to be available and engage in new challenges and assignments, according to the changing nature of public needs. The image projected a global, ideal model of the "new (Israeli) man/woman," a model of a revolutionary person attuned to the realities of early-twentieth-century Jewish settlement in Palestine. It became a key symbol for an emerging society, embodying the collectivistic values deemed by the leading elites to be crucial for mobilizing the population for nation building. In practice the pioneers were never more than a small minority within the community of Jewish settlers. The older communities, consisting main-

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ly of ultraorthodox Jews and a well-established Sephardic social elite, did not agree even with the Zionist goals, let alone with their socialist interpretation. Later on, beginning in the 1930s, the immigrants were for the most part less inclined to sacrifice private interests; for instance, only a small percentage became pioneers in the rural areas or enrolled in the clandestine armed forces during the British Mandate period. It seems, as revisionist historians have recently claimed, that particularistic and sectorial interests were never overridden by collectivistic feelings, even among the sectors most closely identified, and identifying themselves, with the image of the halutz (Shafir 1989; Shalev 1992). Nevertheless, the pioneers played a disproportionately important role in the crystallization of the new sociocultural order. Both internally and externally, they symbolized the Zionist project. Kibbutz members or workers of the so-called Labor Brigade—two of the classical loci of pioneering—were living myths, the embodiment of revolutionary ideals, and they thought of themselves in these terms. As halutz was an unconditional, overpowering, and holistic state of being, other sectors of society had to redefine themselves according to it. A vivid example of the success of a collective endeavor that was extremely risky and unlikely to succeed, given the structural conditions of that time, the halutz served also as a criticism of those members of society who failed to live according to such high standards. The convergence of individual efforts and collective projects proved highly fruitful for institution building and civil society. The period between the 1880s and the late 1940s was one of great collective achievements and the crystallization of various new social and cultural structures. To give but a few examples, models of collective farming were created; workers became unionized within the corporatist framework of the Histadrut labor federation, which developed its own powerful economic concerns and amassed political power; and the Hebrew language was transformed, after two millennia as a liturgical tongue, into a living means of communication and cultural creativity. Especially during the 1920s and 1930s, the socialistZionist groups gained hegemony, and their ethos and norms were institutionalized in the social fabric. The self-confidence and collective commitment of elites came to be paralleled by the willingness of various particularistic but ideological subcenters to carry on their struggles within a common framework of reference and quasiparliamentary participation (Horowitz and Lissak 1980, 1985).

Contradictory Trends in Mandatory Palestine This process of institutional development was not without contradictions, several of which deserve attention here. First, the process of institutionalization reinforced the ties of the local community with the communities of

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the Diaspora. The political and financial support of those communities became highly important for the new state, which was conceived as "belonging" to the whole Jewish people, who would be "ingathered" in due (real or Utopian) time. All this, notwithstanding the fact that the Zionist endeavor was symbolically conceived as a revolutionary negation of the very reality of the Jewish Diaspora. Second, although it contributed to the molding of the autonomous character of Israeli society, this process of institution building did not encourage the formation of a syncretic Arab-Jewish collective entity but was based solely on Jewish bonds and value systems. Third, a built-in contradiction developed between the highly ideological and collectivistic perspectives of the elites, on the one hand, and on the other their proclaimed adherence to core values of equality and a conception of universal rights safeguarding liberties, justice, law, and social order—all confined within the boundaries of the Jewish collective. This built-in contradiction was evidenced in the set of everyday principles that came to be valued by Israelis; namely, effectiveness, celerity, initiative, innovation, and a search for unconventional solutions. Over a period of time, a worldview crystallized according to which ends sanctify means, improvisation is held in high regard, and ritualistic obedience to rules is scorned. These principles could be a source of dynamism within civil society but could equally work against the routine principles of a modern bureaucratic state, such as rationalization and the functional division of labor. The above core values had somewhat opposing institutional implications. The ideological and future-oriented drives of elites led to the crystallization of a strong civil society and a political style built on disputes and splintering of groups but also emphasizing creativity, competition, and projection of collective commitments. As a result, numerous groups developed their own organizational frameworks; for instance, four kibbutzim movements were established, and various left-wing, religious, and right-wing (revisionist) labor and civilian organizations were created. These various frameworks often struggled fiercely with one another. For example, during the struggle for independence in the 1940s, one major and two minor Jewish underground military organizations maintained only feeble connections and sometimes even followed contradictory policies toward the British Mandatory forces of occupation and the Arabs. These centrifugal tendencies were mitigated by the elites' endorsement of equality and universalistic rights for the entire Jewish population of Israel, veterans and newcomers alike. This orientation led to the encouragement of social mobility and development, the incorporation of the waves of new immigrants, and the maintenance of "open" social structures. These elements in society led eventually to the entrenchment of expectations of equal rights, open access to power, and equal (yet impersonal) treatment of

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all Jewish inhabitants by the administrative echelons of the community. Sociologists Elihu Katz and Brenda Danet observed years ago (1966) that immigrants soon acquired the attitude of "having the right" to demand access to a wide range of resources. This bundle of contradictory orientations—centrifugal and centripetal, regulative and autonomous—was handled structurally by the federative frameworks of the Jewish national institutions in which the various movements and sectors participated. This structure can be best characterized as an approximation of a consociational model (McRae 1974; Lijphart 1977, ch. 2; Eisenstadt and Roniger 1984, 195-196; Montville 1990). In such a model—prevalent in twentieth-century Netherlands, Switzerland, and Austria, as in the Jewish c o m m u n i t y of Palestine under the British Mandate—basic entitlements such as citizenship and the rights and duties entailed therein are vested according to universalistic criteria in all the members of the broader collectivity. At the same time, access to the major centers of power, as well as to many public goods and publicly distributed private goods, is mediated to a large degree by representatives of the major segments, be they religious groups, political parties, linguistic communities, local units, or some other entity. Within such units, however, access to p o w e r tends to r e m a i n open to e v e r y o n e on a u n i v e r s a l i s t i c basis. Moreover, in the case of Mandatory Palestine, the segments themselves were organized within common universalistic frameworks, such as the World Zionist Organization, the Jewish Agency, and the National Council of the Jews in Palestine, through which most of the resources were allocated. These frameworks also served as the representative body of the local community vis-à-vis the Jewish communities of the Diaspora and the Arab and British sectors of local society. The d i f f e r e n t social-ideological segments, especially the Mapai (Labor) hegemonic segment, controlled a wide range of resources, from housing to health services, which they provided to those sectors related to them through their own organizations. Thus, from the 1920s to the 1940s, separate organizations for agricultural settlement, credit, financing, and marketing were created by the different segments. In addition to dealing with specific tasks, these organizations constituted major sources of public employment, which was often earmarked for supporters of the various political parties in proportion to the latter's relative strength in the population. In turn, the control of administrative positions allowed a manipulation of resources to meet the particular demands of sectors related to the specific movement represented. In return, the different movements expected a far-reaching commitment on the part of their constituencies. In principle, people were expected not only to take part in political work during elections but also to engage in organizational and educational activities, even to undertake volunteer duties such as clandestine or (as in World War II) legalized military service

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or to join a kibbutz. Some of these expectations were more comprehensive and totalistic in the Labor-related movements than in the right-wing circles. In both, however, there was a strong emphasis on mobilization that cannot be explained merely as a function of the political manipulation of material resources. At the same time, relatively wide markets developed. Access to these was open in principle to all m e m b e r s of society, and specific exchanges were not conditioned by membership in any particular sector. Similarly, the major political f r a m e w o r k s were legitimized in universalistic terms, and access to them was in principle open to all Jewish inhabitants. To sum up, both patronage and universalistic principles were accommodated within the consociational frameworks of the local Jewish community and the Zionist movement. Although these principles were based on opposing values, such opposition appeared unproblematic as long as practical c o n s i d e r a t i o n s were attached to the attainment of collective o b j e c tives—e.g., the development of a strong infrastructure and the achievement of political independence. Practical and unorthodox flexibility was considered necessary for the achievement of these collective objectives. In this connection, the explicit regulation of public expenses and respect for universalistic procedures were d e e m e d of secondary import. Moreover, by remaining oriented to the pursuit of such collective aims, the various ideological segments retained long-term commitments and nonselfish orientations on the part of followers and administration alike. The sectorial and p a r t i c u l a r i s t i c use of h u m a n and m a t e r i a l r e s o u r c e s was treated as an unproblematic dimension and a rather minor issue, given the political and administrative agenda of those days. Similarly, the proportions of "individualistic corruption" were m i n i m i z e d during this period. The contrasting implications of a particularistic use of public resources versus bureaucratic universalism were to become evident in the period following independence f r o m British rule.

Clientelism and Countervailing Forces in Israel T h e establishment of the state of Israel in 1948 and the great influx of immigrants—particularly, but not exclusively, from Asia and Africa—generated transformations in the political structure as well as in the collective interpretation of reality. Institutionally, a double tendency emerged. On the one hand, strong universalistic frameworks were established for the provision of resources. On the other, the earlier consociational arrangements became more "feudal" and blatantly clientelistic. T h e pluralism of p r e i n d e p e n d e n c e days weakened as services were unified under the aegis of the state administration. The whole format of relations between state and society changed, as many groups (particularly

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the new immigrants and the y o u n g e r generation, but also the older m e m bers of v a r i o u s s e g m e n t s ) were t r a n s f o r m e d f r o m m e m b e r s of relatively i n d e p e n d e n t m o v e m e n t s with d i v e r s i f i e d a c c e s s to p o w e r a n d r e s o u r c e s into individual citizens of a unitarian state. T h e old federative structure of multiple proportional representation was maintained and even strengthened further by the f r a g m e n t a r y character of coalition politics. T h u s , m a n y of the r e s o u r c e s of the state a n d the J e w i s h A g e n c y (and even the i m m i g r a n t s themselves) were allocated on a federative basis a m o n g the m a j o r political groups and parties. Similarly, the different ministries were divided a m o n g the parties according to their standing in the coalition. T h e ministries thus assigned c a m e to be identified as the traditional " f i e f s " of a given political party. T h e distribution of resources was m a n i p u l a t e d in a way that o f t e n had political connotations. Jobs in the public administration and in related bodies were used as p a y o f f s for political activists as in the previous period, and the pool of j o b s available for that purpose w a s enlarged under the aegis of the state machinery. Potential existed for the d e v e l o p m e n t of far-reaching clientelistic traits, above all within the ruling coalition (formed by the L a b o r and the religious parties) but to s o m e extent a m o n g the political opposition ( " b o u r g e o i s " and right-wing Herut parties). By controlling certain ministries, ruling parties could use the corresponding authority and resources to widen their political influence, especially a m o n g the huge m a s s of i m m i g r a n t s w h o arrived in Israel in the late 1940s and early 1950s. H o u s i n g facilities and e m p l o y m e n t o p p o r t u n i t i e s in particular could be e x c h a n g e d f o r political loyalty. T h e importance of such resources was especially crucial during those years, as the public sector maintained a d o m i n a n t e c o n o m i c profile and large sectors of the population d e p e n d e d directly or indirectly on g o v e r n m e n t a l and public a g e n c i e s f o r the b a s i c m e a n s of l i v e l i h o o d ( E t z i o n i - H a l e v y 1975, 3 6 0 - 3 6 2 ) . T h e s e trends allowed a very strong clientelistic d i m e n s i o n to be added to the workings of the political and administrative systems. Nevertheless, the full institutional implications of such trends were not realized, as they were countervailed by social forces that appealed to the m o r e universalistic c o m p o n e n t s and premises of the state. T h e central leadership of the ruling parties, in particular D a v i d B e n - G u r i o n and his close associates, though willing to hold p o w e r , endorsed the basic universalistic p r e m i s e s of national renewal and m o v e d to w e a k e n the various sectarian tendencies and inner c o m p o n e n t s of their o w n parties. T o attain the institutionalization of central state p o w e r , they curtailed the separate access of the v a r i o u s s e c t o r s to loci of p o w e r and p o s i t i o n s of c o n t r o l of r e s o u r c e s . C o n s e q u e n t l y , state o r g a n s gained increasing p r o f e s s i o n a l a u t o n o m y , d e v e l o p i n g more universalistic rules and orientations. In the civil service, f o r example, regulations w e r e introduced to advertise vacant positions, and disciplinary tribunals were created three years after the e s t a b l i s h m e n t of the state (Reuveni 1974, ch. 11).

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In addition, widespread administrative services were established that followed open, universalistic rules of accessibility. For example, detailed criteria were introduced for determining the right to obtain government housing or a housing loan. Similarly, changes in the channels of resource allocation were made. Thus, in 1954 an administrative organ was created— H a m o s a d Lebituach Leumi, or the Bureau of National Insurance—and given responsibility for disbursing most state welfare allocations according to clear-cut, universalistic criteria, in complete dissociation from political manipulation and partisan gains. T h e i n s t i t u t i o n a l i z a t i o n of t h e s e c r i t e r i a was also evident in the increased use of ombudspersons. This type of office has been established in various nations to right individual wrongs, to humanize administrative relations, to lessen alienation, to bring about administrative reform, to serve as watchdog against abuse, and to bolster the morale of officials who are right. In Israel, the position of national ombudsperson was instituted in 1972. Similar roles were concomitantly introduced in municipalities, univ e r s i t i e s , the a r m y , the p o l i c e , a n d the p r i s o n s y s t e m ; e x e c u t i v e o m b u d s p e r s o n s appeared in various ministries and were charged with supervising the procedure for handling complaints from the public (Caiden 1980; Ramon 1985). Since the 1970s, national tribunals of inquiry have also been instituted whenever crucial public interests appear to have been severely affected. This process of institutionalization of universalistic criteria has been an uneven one; it was applied first in the area of welfare services and only later (and not fully) in those ministries dealing with economic development, such as the Ministry of Commerce and Industry. There, the intermingling of national growth objectives with particularistic, political considerations remained paramount until the late 1960s and early 1970s and indeed could still be found in the 1980s. Moreover, clientelistic intercessions and the use of patronage continued to develop in connection with contact between the public and the bureaucracy. Among some groups, such as the Arabs, these connections were traditionally mediated by patron-brokers (i.e., shaikhs or zu'ama), whose local power was strengthened as a result of their preferential access to the public administration and political parties. An image of the bureaucrat crystallized in the 1960s as "a figure of fun, demoralized by hostile criticism, hard pressed, overstrained and underpaid. He lacks incentives for better work performance and is seemingly unaware of the concept of service. Many have been thrust into positions beyond their abilities" (Caiden 1970, 39). These images, together with the system of lifelong tenure, led to a widespread feeling among the public that the use of protekzia, or brokerage, was highly useful if one wished to save time and avoid long queues and u n s y m p a t h e t i c civil s e r v a n t s ( N a c h m i a s and R o s e n b l o o m 1978). Protekzia thus became one of the major "golden calves" of shrewd, practi-

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cal, common-sense know-how in Israel, cherished by most and reportedly used by a considerable part of the population, especially those claiming to have "access" to the bureaucracy (Danet and Hartman 1972; Danet 1989). Thus, clientelistic intercessions developed in Israel, as in many other modern democracies. What is of particular interest, however, is that these intercessions were increasingly dissociated from the activities of political parties. This dissociation was in a sense also a break with long-term ideological commitments, and it signified the introduction of a short-term perspective into particularistic exchanges (Azmon 1981). Accordingly, one of the major developments of the 1970s and 1980s was that various clientelistic practices were increasingly identified as "corrupt" and lost their legitimation in Israeli society. They came to imply a personal decision, either denied and punishable or praised but concealed according to the varying degrees of trust or cynicism displayed by the various sectors of the population. This transformation of symbolic meanings, which were more fully voiced by political opposition forces and the press, probably took place between the early and mid-1970s. 2 Other forms of patronage typical of any democratic polity continued to exist. Especially (but not only) at the local level, commitments were still entered into—by major brokers, with the intention of earning social visibility and prestige or promoting a public image of social leverage and trustworthiness among a wide following; and by clients and lesser brokers, in order to demonstrate the possession of valuable contacts and to enjoy the reflection of some patron's social and political visibility. Nonetheless, in the long term the use of such commitments as a means of patronage and intercession was weakened by structural developments, such as the widening of the labor market and the g o v e r n m e n t ' s e m p l o y m e n t policies. Especially important in this respect was the fuller incorporation into Israeli society of many of the new immigrant groups and their consequent demand for access to political power, first at the local level and later in the central arena of national life. The growth in the incorporation and autonomy of forces of civil society that were once peripheral to the political arena led to the progressive electoral weakening of the Labor-led coalitions and the concomitant growth of the power of the opposition parties (united in the so-called Likud). Ultimately, the Likud won the 1977 elections and stayed in power until 1992, leading the coalition either alone or, for a time, jointly with Labor. The Likud's rise was precipitated by the fact that for broad sectors of the population, especially in development towns and among Jews of Middle Eastern and North African background, the Labor Party no longer held ideological or clientelistic appeal. These sectors of the electorate were influenced by such issues as the incompetence of the veteran leadership in the first stages of the 1973 war as well as allegations of corruption. In fact, however, dissatisfaction had deeper roots, stemming from the resentment

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felt by much of Oriental Jewry at what they saw as patronizing arrogance and discrimination on the part of Labor leaders and the "establishment" that had ruled the country for four decades (Cohen 1983). The fact that L i k u d ' s rise was associated with a revolt against the supposedly corrupt practices of the Labor-led coalition, coupled with the very democratic turnover of power between ideologically opposed forces, contributed momentarily to the further institutionalization of the universalistic component of the Israeli polity. These processes did not, however, nullify the emergence of many clientelistic networks, old and new, nor the use of patronage, fostered during seven years of Likud rule, a subsequent period of L i k u d - L a b o r shared g o v e r n m e n t , and a f u r t h e r period of Likud rule. These networks and practices were promoted primarily by the members of the Likud coalition, who were interested in nominating political activists to managerial positions in governmental, quasipublic, and municipal organizations. However, they were also promoted by the Labor Party, seeking to reorganize its local power bases in order to regain a hold on government. Relations were established mainly at the level of central activists; visà-vis the broader public, national politics retained an ideological tone for more than a decade. Even the policies of supportive development of the stock market, of monetary liberalization, and of the widespread import of consumer goods introduced by the Likud in the early 1980s were aimed at the broad public and not based on particularistic and restrictive manipulation. T h e s e p o l i c i e s g e n e r a t e d a w i d e s p r e a d e t h o s of easy e n r i c h m e n t (which ultimately came to a halt with the collapse of the stock market and the reversal of inflationary economic policies). Not unrelated to this trend was the increased disclosure of corrupt practices in the annual reports of the state comptroller and in the press, the police investigation of the misdemeanors of political figures (including the minister of the interior himself in 1990-1992), and pressure f r o m sections of the parliamentary political forces and the legal system, which insisted on upholding the universalistic premises of the polity. Paradoxically, h o w e v e r , the combination of increased disclosure of corruption, on the one hand, and the entrenchment of individualistic perspectives a m o n g the population, on the other, has led people to maintain that nothing has changed, that projects may be doomed to fail unless informal clientelistic channels are used to overcome bureaucratic and universalistic regulations. A deterioration of public spirit could be detected by the early 1990s, as the disclosure of public misdemeanors failed to generate the dismissal of the accused political clients and brokers positioned in high-level managerial r a n k s in g o v e r n m e n t a l , q u a s i p u b l i c , a n d m u n i c i p a l o r g a n i z a t i o n s . Distrust in the professed c o m m i t m e n t of the government to public civic spirit was great and eventually led, in June 1992, to the second major rever-

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sal in the political history of the state of Israel. The electoral defeat of the Likud by the Labor Party and the massive support for secondary (both left and right) parties with a "clean" (uncorrupted) image were interpreted as stemming partly from a desire within civil society to change the basic parameters of public life.

Persistence and Transformations of Patronage Patronage in modern Israel has diminished to a greater extent than have organizational changes identified in many societies of the Third World. This transformation can be analyzed from various vantage points. Its manifest functions (the exchange of benefits) have taken precedence over its more latent functions, such as influencing institutional ground rules and social expectations. In terms of its operation, patronage has largely disappeared in the setting up of public goods and services and the modes of their administrative distribution (although society has not become more but rather less egalitarian). It is rarely used to restrict and manipulate political rights and votes and is decreasingly effective in controlling access to basic means of production and economic markets. Nevertheless, patronage is still of value in shaping differential access to the public distribution of private goods (e.g., tenders, or jobs in the upper echelons of the bureaucracy and in semipublic agencies). In terms of political strategy, patronage has been affected by countervailing forces that condemned it, although once in power these same forces made use of it themselves, as discussed above. Interestingly enough (and following Shefter's terminology in his 1977 work on the decline of patronage in Western polities), these attacks proliferated as the Israeli political system—because of the long dominance of the Labor Party—generated the recurrent emergence of "externally mobilized" parties. Because these parties lacked control over state resources, they moved political discourse to ideological lines, in accordance with the ideological overtones of the polity shaped before independence. However, it cannot be sufficiently emphasized that these same political forces (e.g., the Likud) made use of patronage once in power themselves; it remained a most effective means not only for manipulating resources but also for building political power, controlling the reliability of officeholders, and gaining public visibility. The present study indicates that, despite what is usually claimed, patronage can be underpinned by ideology to no less a degree than can the opposition to patronage. The Israeli situation seems to imply that when the use of patronage remains connected with long-term collective objectives and images—e.g., national institutional development or affirmative discrimination for some region or sector of society—it will be maintained, and

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even when far-reaching concrete changes are effected as a result of political upheaval (as in Israel in the 1970s), patronage as a general phenomenon of society and politics will be less affected. Moreover, because political struggle is essential to modern democracies, it is not unusual that a tactic becomes interpreted as a strategy, as when a hostile opposition puts excessive opprobrium on the demerits of patronage. Indeed, it has been the suggestive thesis of Jeffrey Simpson that under such circumstances a gap may be opened between the wider image of patronage held by the public (in an era of impersonal mass telecommunications) and its use in meeting the motivations of party activists, thus creating public cynicism and reducing the willingness to participate politically. In a parallel manner, it has been shown that patronage may be reenacted as part of a wide gamut of noncoercive modes of political struggle and strategies to gain hold of the state and its resources, therefore prompting a less unidirectional view of political development. Finally, as opposed to approaches that tend to consider patronage a remnant of the past and expect its demise as a consequence of capitalistic rationalization or the expansion of state machinery, this study allows a more qualified view. It acknowledges the long-term effects of these structural processes but puts the onus of the explanation on the changing symbolic meanings of patronage that may be fostered and shaped by countervailing forces in modern society. For example, for a long period in Israel's institutional development, a view persisted conflating national aims and particularistic efforts (whether individual or collective). Accordingly, the informal uses of patronage, of public funds and political influence, were seen as predicated on the need to achieve collective aims and hence were invested with an aura almost of obligation. As public and private interests were progressively dissociated, acts of patronage came to be perceived more frequently as corruption. It is usually expected that acts of corruption will be carried out in secrecy, as those involved seek to avoid criticism and objection (Wertheim 1963; Neckel 1989). Such concealment implies, in the first place, that values stressing the fragmented character of human obligations have already permeated wide sectors of the population. Second, the veiled character of such actions implies that people endorsing the professed values of the nation could hardly pride themselves and recreate their sense of selfhood through such behaviors. "Corrupt" practices, though they produce instrumental gains, lie beyond the obligatory, in the realm of the accessory and the contingent; as such, they may come to imply a personal, punishable decision on the part of the individuals involved. After the particularistic use of public means and funds came to be identified with corruption, it could no longer be transformed into an ethos transcending rationales of expediency. Wide sectors came to perceive the cash nexus, whereby (in R. Tilman's terms) a mandatory value framework (in

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this case, the universalistic premises of the polity) was transformed into a free-market orientation encouraging particularistic practices. These were then criticized forcefully, at least among the secular majority of the population. This disenchantment with corruption, though not implying the disappearance of clientelism from the Israeli scene, has ensured the impairment of its contemporary impact.

Notes 1. The latter, with the passing of time, developed a distinct Arab Palestinian identity and parallel claims to the territory, leading to the protracted conflict of Israel with the neighboring Arab states and the Palestinians (Kimmerling and Migdal 1992). 2. Indications are the following: Corruption became a major issue of political debate only during the electoral campaign of 1977; studies in the 1970s reported only slight willingness to acknowledge the use of protekzia; and whereas the image of public officials was neither negative nor extremely positive, of the evaluative criteria used, honesty emerged as closest to the positive pole ( N a c h m i a s and Rosenbloom 1978, 49 and 96).

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Lijphart, A. 1977. Democracy in Plural Societies. New Haven: Yale University Press. McRae, K. D., ed. 1974. Consociati onal Democracy. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. Montville, J. V., ed. 1990. Conflict and Peacemaking in Multiethnic Societies. Lexington: Lexington Books. Nachmias, D., and D. H. Rosenbloom. 1978. Bureaucratic Culture, Citizens and Administrators in Israel. London: Croom Helm. Neckel, S. 1989. Power and Legitimacy in Political Scandal. Corruption and Reform 4: 147-158. Ramon, M. 1985. Some Aspects of Complaint Handling Systems in the USA, Canada, England and Israel. Paper presented at the First International Congress of Hospital Laws, Ethics and Procedures. Tel Aviv, September 1985. Reuveni, I. 1974. Public Administration in Israel. Tel Aviv: Masada (in Hebrew). Roniger, L., and M. Feige. 1992. From Pioneer to Freier: The Changing Models of Generalized Exchange in Israel. Archives Européenes de Sociologie 34 (2): 280-307. Shafir, G. 1989. Land, Labor and the Origins of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict, 1882-1914. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shalev, M. 1992. Labour and the Political Economy in Israel. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Shapira, A. 1988. Visions in Conflict. Tel Aviv: Am Oved (in Hebrew). Shefter, M. 1977. Patronage and Its Opponents. Ithaca: Cornell University Center for International Studies. Simpson, J. 1989. Spoils of Power. Toronto: Collins. Tilman, R. 1970. Black Market Bureaucracy. In A. J. Heidenheimer, ed., Political Corruption, New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 62-64. Wertheim, W. F. 1963. Sociological Aspects of Corruption in Southeast Asia. Sociologia Neerlandica 1(2): 129-154.

11 The Political Economy of Authoritarian Clientelism in Taiwan Fang Wang The K M T (Kuomintang, or Chinese Nationalist Party) was the ruling party in China before the establishment of the People's Republic of China (PRC). Failing in a civil war ( 1 9 4 5 - 1 9 4 9 ) and being exiled to Taiwan in 1949, the K M T established a state known as the Republic of China, with an authoritarian regime that relies on clientelism as a crucial mechanism for control and mobilization. Until recently, the K M T regime claimed to be the only legitimate government o f China. However, the existence o f the P e o p l e ' s Republic o f China has led to serious problems o f legitimacy for the Taiwan regime. Currently, whereas the K M T looks for "dual recognition" in the international arena, the P e o p l e ' s R e p u b l i c o f C h i n a insists that T a i w a n is a province of the PRC. Internally, the regime for many years kept the original congressional incumbency intact, merely adding a minority of elected seats. Major government leaders have been elected indirectly by one of the three congresses (i.e., the National Assembly) or appointed by the president. Tensions between Taiwanese and Mainlanders (i.e., those who arrived in Taiwan after World War II and their descendants) run high. In spite of some progress in the "Taiwanization" of middle- and lower-rank positions (Gold 1986; Wu 1987; Kuo 1988), higher-level positions have until recently tended to be unavailable to native Taiwanese. Until late 1991, over 8 0 percent of congressmen were Mainlanders frozen in o f f i c e without the necessity of reelection. T h e threat to legitimacy became full-fledged following the Western nations' recognition of the P R C , Taiwan's subsequent loss o f its United Nations seat in 1971, and its loss of most diplomatic relationships. For the K M T , under severe pressures, clientelism has been a vital mechanism, maintaining the legitimacy o f the political system through the creation o f an image of mass support. Clientelism has also been important in controlling the resources and organizations o f civil society. A major factor leading to the rise o f clientelism is that almost all horizontal associations (e.g., labor unions) have

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been demobilized and controlled to a greater or lesser extent by the KMT. In some societies clientelism may impede the development of secondary associations and strong parties. In other instances, as in Taiwan, it is the repression of horizontal associations by a strong party that has induced the establishment of clientelism (Wu 1987, 23). The prevalence of an informal sector has also aided the extension of clientelism, through influence peddling by local elites (Kuo 1988; Ch'en 1990). Since illegal vendors and illegal construction are widespread in Taiwan, local elites can attract a great number of clients by protecting these illegal activities from interference by the government. Such influence peddling is regarded by national elites as a privilege extended to local elites. In addition, Chinese traditional c u l t u r e — w h i c h is marked by personal exchanges, informal relations, and attitudes of trust—supports clientelism. In this chapter I examine the clientelism of the KMT regime in Taiwan from a structural perspective. The most important aspects of KMT clientelism are discussed. Then a comparison is made between KMT clientelism, that typical of past communist regimes, and that of the Marcos regime in the Philippines. A further comparison is made between the clientelism of the KMT in its "Taiwan period" (since 1949) as contrasted with its "Mainland period" (1928-1949). The variations analyzed help explain the influence of KMT clientelism on social, political, and economic development in Taiwan. In contrast to most previous students of Taiwan, I suggest that whereas KMT clientelism and local factionalism may change in pattern, they are not likely to diminish in importance with development, good economic performance, and political stability. In fact, with democratization and economic liberalization, electoral clientelism and local factionalism may gain even more resources in Taiwan. Moreover, it will be shown that the KMT elites may not yet have realized all functions the clientelist system fulfills for the regime. In Robert Merton's (1968) terms, some of the functions seem to remain latent, pregnant with unintended consequences.

Research on Clientelism in Taiwan Most previous research on Taiwan's politics and economic development has paid little attention to the important role of KMT clientelism in both the political and economic arenas. Some scholars (e.g., Clough 1978) totally overlook the impact of clientelism in Taiwan. Others (e.g., Winckler 1981; Gold 1986; Tien 1989), though noting the existence of clientelism, have not sufficiently examined the relationship between the regime and its clients. Wu Nai-Teh's (1987) work is the first systematic attempt to deal with Taiwan politics from a clientelist perspective. Wu identifies two forms of

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KMT clientelism—namely, party clientelism and electoral clientelism. The institutions of party clientelism, according to Wu, include primarily civic service stations, service teams, and the Chinese Youth Corps of AntiCommunism and Saving the Nation (CYC). In electoral clientelism, local elites play the role of intermediate patron. That is, the national elites of the KMT have a clientelist relationship with local elites, who in turn have a clientelist relationship with their supporters. Wu's framework of party clientelism and electoral clientelism is widely accepted (e.g., Lin Cha-long 1989, 136-137; Ch'en Ming-t'ung 1990, 539-540), and I basically follow his approach on electoral clientelism. However, I believe that it is problematic to view what Wu calls "party clientelism" as clientelism, as such definition overlooks the lack of one of the main features of clientelism—namely, "particularism," that the goods and services provided are not universally accessible (Eisenstadt and Roniger 1981b, 276; Eisenstadt and Roniger 1984, 48). Wu's conception of party clientelism leaves almost no place for particularity and control in the relationship between the regime (the national elites) and the people who are served. One of the main features of the KMT's service stations, service teams, and the CYC is their provision of goods and services universally to all who ask for help. However, there do exist clientelist relationships between the regime and some nonlocal-faction power holders—for example, certain large private enterprises and some major native families that have few relationships with local factions. These have been neglected by previous research, including W u ' s pathbreaking work. In that sense, the framework for the discussion of clientelism of the KMT regime in Taiwan embodied in this chapter is different from that of previous research: Here I will pay attention not only to electoral clientelism (or local-faction clientelism) but also to nonlocal-faction clientelism.

Local Faction Clientelism As an emigré regime that could not effectively penetrate local parties, the KMT has had to rely on local factions to mobilize votes. This is the main reason for the emergence of "organizational brokerage" (Wu 1987, 254). When the KMT took over Taiwan in 1945, the regime did not prevent traditional local elites from participating in local politics, but after the February 1947 confrontation between Taiwanese and Mainlanders, most of these elites absented themselves from politics. The rate of withdrawal was near 70 percent. In subsequent elections held in 1950 and 1951, a new type of local elite emerged that was more power oriented and based on local factions. As a regime that had few relationships with the native society, the KMT desperately needed local elites to mobilize votes so as to create an

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image of mass support (Wu 1987; Kuo 1988; Ch'en 1990). Thus, the KMT leadership sought anxiously to form clientelist relationships with local factions. As a result, a dual structure of political elites, comprising both national and local elites, has been a major feature of Taiwan electoral clientelism. National elites are those who occupy important positions in the top organizations of the K M T or the government. Local elites are those actively involved in local politics—generally, elites in the local factions (Wu 1987). Each local faction includes a leader, a number of cadres, and grassroots s u p p o r t e r s . In general, factional leaders and their main cadres either presently hold elected office (as mayors, magistrates, congressmen, etc.) or held office in the past. Factional leaders perpetuate factional strength by offering material benefits for cadres and grassroots supporters (Tien 1989, 170). Traditionally, members of the local elite have had little chance to become part of the national elite, because the recruiting systems have been sharply separated (Wu 1987, 190; see Table 11.1).

Table 11.1 Elected Local Elites in the KMT Central Committee, 1952-1986 Year

1952-1957 1957-1963 1963-1969 1969-1976 1976-1981 1981-1986

Number

1 2 2 3 12 13

Total Membership

Percentage

32 50 74 98 130 150

3.1 4.0 2.7 3.1 9.2 8.7

Source: Wu 1987, 190.

The K M T adopted some strategies similar to those of the Japanese colonial government in Taiwan. (Following the Chinese Ch'in dynasty's failure in the war with Japan in 1894, Taiwan became a Japanese colony for fifty years.) Tightly regulating the economic arena, the Japanese colonial government tried to incorporate local elites by offering them economic privileges, particularly during World War II. After World War II, the KMT took over all the public and monopolistic sectors left by the colonial government. The industrial structure of Taiwan differs from that of most capitalist countries in that the proportion of public-owned, semipublic-owned, KMT-owned, and veteran-owned sectors is very high, accounting for over 30 percent of the gross assets of all enterprises. 1 Furthermore, the K M T in Taiwan has imposed regulations on various economic activities and con-

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trols the licensing for these activities. The high degree of government and party control of productive enterprise, combined with extensive economic regulation, helps the regime control important resources and draws power holders into its clientelist networks. Although some of the control has been gradually relaxed since 1987, in most respects it still exists. Thus, considerable e c o n o m i c rents and privileges, crucial for rewarding clients of the regime, were created. According to C h u ' s research (1989, 149), nationwide oligopolistic domains are granted to KMT-owned enterprises and the veteran-owned sectors, whereas regional oligopolistic activities are granted to local factions. The K M T offers local factions several kinds of economic privileges in return for their support, especially in mobilizing votes. These include: 1. A hold on regional oligopolistic economic activities, through such institutions as banks, farmers associations, and so forth. According to C h ' e n (1988), Chu (1989), and C h ' e n and Chu (1992), eightyone among the eighty-nine county-level factions benefit f r o m at least one of the following types of regional oligopolistic economic activity (see Table 11.2). 2. Access to special loans offered by provincial banks. 3. The drawing up of contracts for public construction. 4. Freedom to conduct various economic activities that stand at the fringe of legality—both activities that appear to be legal (but in fact use public office for private gains through manipulation of urban planning) and activities that are explicitly illegal but condoned by g o v e r n m e n t (e.g., g a m b l i n g ) (Chu 1989, 1 5 1 - 1 5 2 ; C. Lin 1989, 137; C h ' e n 1990, 130). The last of these four domains is probably the most important to K M T clientelism. In c o n t r a s t to the o t h e r activities, which are o p e n only to

Table 11.2 Number and Percentage of the Eighty-Nine County-Level Factions Involved in the Regional Oligopolistic Economy Economic Sector Banks (private and cooperative) Credit cooperative associations Other financial institutions Farmers' and fishermen's associations Bus companies Involved in at least one sector Source: Adapted from Chu 1989, 158.

Number

Percentage

60 52 42 57 18 81

67.4 58.4 47.2 63.0 20.2 91.0

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factions at the county level, here all factions can benefit. It presents no obvious burden on the KMT's finances and is especially helpful in consolidating clientelist relationships; the local elites can grant benefits to their clients and at the same time gain "commissions" through operating the privileges (Chu 1989, 152). Once a local elite is elected as local administrator, especially county magistrate or city mayor, he controls the apparatus for collecting the rents created by the system of economic privileges (Ch'en 1988, 1990). National elites have several important strategies to control and check local elites, including divide-and-rule tactics, checks and balances, parachute tactics, acceleration of the turnover rate of local elites, and purging via legal and illegal means (Wu 1987, 256-334; Kuo 1988; Lin Cha-Long 1989). National elites have also tried to check local elites through the use of some pro-KMT organizations, such as the CYC 2

Nonlocal-Faction Clientelism Besides using electoral clientelism or local-faction clientelism, the KMT regime relies also on power holders who have no clear local-faction background or only a minor connection. This nonlocal-faction clientelism has been largely ignored by previous research, yet it is crucial for the stability of the KMT regime. The KMT creates rents and economic premiums by government regulation and procurement and awards them to state-owned, semipublic, and KMT-owned enterprises that employ many loyal clients. Other beneficiaries include politically well-connected firms and big native families that cooperate with the regime (Chu 1989, 1992). It seems that here, too, the KMT regime borrowed some strategies from the Japanese colonial government, which had formed patron-client relationships with some major Taiwanese families. According to research, five major native families benefited from such collaboration. Two of them, the Lin of Pan-Chi'ao and the Lin of Wu-Feng, were big landlords prior to the Japanese takeover and were targeted by the colonial regime for cooptation. These families received benefits in finance, trade, and sugar refining. Three other influential families, the Ku, the Yen, and the Ch'en families, were rewarded with monopoly privileges and benefits in sugar milling, land development, and other activities for assisting the Japanese imperialist venture (Gold 1986, 3 9 ^ 0 ) . After the KMT retreat to Taiwan, some Taiwanese families (e.g., the Kus and the Lians) enjoyed considerable privileges. 3 Gold notes that the major families "accumulated shares in the four state enterprises used to compensate landlords for compulsorily purchased land." In 1954 the national government "began to transfer these firms to private ownership, amidst a flurry of stock price manipulation" (Gold 1986, 71). The main beneficiaries were some leading native families, who became the main ben-

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eficiaries of KMT clientelism partly because of their personal relations with the KMT leaders and partly because of the KMT's cooptation strategy. Clientelist relationships also exist between the KMT and some large enterprises, the emergence of these relationships being directly related to KMT policies. The rise of the Yu-Long Motor Company through manipulation of tariffs offers a good example. The support of large enterprises is beneficial for the emigré regime. In addition, national elites themselves may receive considerable benefits from clients in the economic arena, as was revealed in the major economic scandal of Taiwan ("the Tenth Credit Co. scandal" of 1985). Supporting the KMT regime is beneficial for the large enterprises' survival and interests. The KMT has many opportunities for monopoly and oligopoly through its manipulation of government regulations. According to one report, the KMT has at least twelve monopolistic business and sixteen oligopolistic ones (Wealth Magazine, November 1989, 56-58). Moreover, the ruling group often allows some power holders (e.g., certain large enterprises) to access the monopoly or share in the oligopoly. Far Eastern Textile, Tai Yuen Textile, Yu-Long Motor, Tatung Electrical Co., and Taiwan Cement are some of the major beneficiaries. With KMT support, these enterprises "had no risk and stood to make a fortune in a market where demand far outstripped supply" (Gold 1986, 70; Wang 1988). The Mainlander-owned enterprises, most of which were evacuated from Shanghai (e.g., Far Eastern Textile), became the major beneficiaries of KMT clientelism mainly because of their personal relations with the K M T leaders. Some T a i w a n e s e - o w n e d enterprises (e.g., the Tatung Electrical Company) were incorporated into KMT clientelism through their own efforts and the KMT's cooptation strategy. These enterprises have an important role in providing financial and other support, especially during elections. The KMT has several important strategies for controlling the nonlocalfaction elites. For example, opportunities for private enterprises to obtain loans partly depend on their relations to the regime. Any enterprise that supports opposition groups or candidates the KMT dislikes is likely to be punished. And whereas tax avoidance by supporters of the KMT is often tolerated, supporters of opposition candidates are likely to be punished by having their tax reports investigated or being forced to contribute a great deal of money. The case of Hi-Pa-Wang Enterprise provides a good example (Journalist 1989, 126: 44-47).

Clientelism of the Military The military has established its own large network of nonlocal-faction clientelism alongside that of the KMT central leadership. The KMT party branch within the military and veteran communities—known as Huang Fu-

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shin KMT branch—has not been controlled well by the KMT Central Committee since the final years of the Chiang Ching-Kuo period. Since Chiang's death in 1988, the Huang Fu-shin has operated with some independence from the KMT central leadership. Chiang's successor, President Li Teng-Hui, is not fully supported by the military, partly because of differences in ideology and interests. As the first native Taiwanese president and KMT chairman, Li has been accused of violating the original goal of Chinese reunification and orthodox ideology. In this situation, the military has become the protector of orthodox ideology and the interests of conservative factions of the KMT. The military has vast resources, including over thirty veteran-owned enterprises (including many oligopolistic ones), business units, and an enormous budget. In addition, the ability of the KMT military branch to mobilize votes is much greater than that of other party branches, partly because of the discipline and nature of the military. Thus, many KMT candidates anxiously seek its support. The Huang Fu-shin branch selects its own electoral candidates and clients, mainly according to ideology and loyalty to the interests of the military. In fact, a number of congressmen supported by the military clearly protect its interests. 4

A Comparative View of Taiwan Clientelism The KMT regime has an extensive clientelist system tied to various economic regulations and the distribution of privileges. This system could have inhibited economic p e r f o r m a n c e and political stability, as has occurred in many other regimes, such as the KMT during the Mainland period and the Marcos government in the Philippines. However, Taiwan's economic performance and political stability have proved to be more than satisfactory, as is evident from the following statistics. The average annual economic growth rate from 1951 to 1987 was an astonishing 8.9 percent (Tien 1989, 17). The value of the 1982 GNP was twelve times that of 1952. The G N P of 1991 was over $8,000 per capita, and that of 1993 was $11,000 per capita. From 1953 to 1982 industry grew at the amazing annual rate of 13.3 percent, to forty-two times the 1952 value (Gold 1986, 4). Concurrently, inflation was well controlled, dropping from 3,000 percent in 1949 to 1.9 percent in the 1960s. Foreign exchange reserves amounted to $7 billion in 1980, climbing to $84 billion in 1992—surpassing those of Japan, Germany, and the United States and ranking as the highest in the world. Furthermore, the distribution of income in Taiwan is more equitable than in most capitalistic counties (Tien 1989, 17). The political system of Taiwan is also more stable than that of many Third World countries, including the Philippines and South Korea. Although a number of social movements and two small but active opposition parties have emerged, there

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has never been a revolution or coup in Taiwan, and such an event is very unlikely to occur in the foreseeable future. Previous research on Taiwan's development has not explained how or why the K M T regime has been able to maintain so large a degree of clientelism and so satisfactory a political and economic performance at the same time. Understanding how large-scale clientelism can coexist with satisfactory economic and political performance requires placing the Taiwanese case in a comparative context. Taiwan and the Case of Communist

Societies

Although there are differences, the situation in Taiwan is similar to that in former communist societies in several respects. First, as in communist nations, the proportion of public sector and state-owned business in Taiwan is much higher than in most capitalist states. Second, as in communist societies, many resources and services in Taiwan are not distributed according to free-market principles. Third, the gap between the richest and the poorest in Taiwan has been one of the smallest among noncommunist countries. Fourth, the K M T leaders have always retained some socialist ideology (especially prior to 1960). Dr. Sun Yat-sen, founder of the KMT, argued that private capital should be limited. Subsequent leaders, President Chiang Kai-shek and his son Chiang Ching-kuo, held similar beliefs. It should be noted that Chiang Ching-kuo studied in the Soviet Union during his youth and adopted many of its strategies (e.g., the system of political officers in the military). In addition, as most scholars of Taiwanese politics argue (e.g., Jacobs 1978, Tien 1989), until the late 1980s Taiwan had a Leninist o n e - p a r t y s y s t e m c o m p a r a b l e w i t h t h o s e f o r m e r l y e x i s t i n g in E a s t European countries. The main feature of typical communist clientelism may be expressed as follows. In communist societies (e.g., the Soviet Union during the 1960s and 1970s), clientelist networks were found in almost every sector, as little market function existed and resources were always scarce. As Eisenstadt and Roniger (1981a) argued, the erratic supply of basic resources and services caused by shortages and delays in distribution resulted in "a frantic search after them." Consequently, private individuals might profit from the delivery of state resources. Communist societies developed many personal, informal, and quasilegal relations with persons who had access to goods and services not openly obtainable. "The pervasiveness of informal interactions and exchanges naturally strengthens a close relation between the stronger partners' hierarchical standing and control over access to the m a j o r institutional m a r k e t s " (Eisenstadt and Roniger 1981a, 235). Moreover, the closed nature of the elite group and the prevalence of social uncertainty tended to undermine any attempt at rational planning and make behavioral patterns of patronage a rational adjustment. Under these circum-

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stances, clientelism or p a t r o n a g e in c o m m u n i s t societies had a systematic regulating feature, a f u n c t i o n a l e q u i v a l e n t of law and m a r k e t (Eisenstadt and R o n i g e r 1981a, 235). K M T clientelism in T a i w a n d i f f e r s f r o m clientelism in f o r m e r c o m m u nist societies in several respects, and these are important in explaining the d i f f e r e n c e s in their political a n d e c o n o m i c outcomes. First, markets f u n c tion m o r e adequately in T a i w a n . W h e r e a s in c o m m u n i s t societies almost all r e s o u r c e s were distributed t h r o u g h clientelist principles and little market f u n c t i o n existed, the K M T limits clientelism to certain e c o n o m i c sectors (e.g., certain financial institutions and transportation firms). In other sectors (e.g., m e d i u m and small enterprises, the m a j o r export sector) the K M T e n d e a v o r s to e l i m i n a t e f a c t o r s that h a v e a n e g a t i v e i n f l u e n c e on m a r k e t e c o n o m y . In sum, the r e g i m e tries to strike an equilibrium between clientelism and f r e e - m a r k e t principles. Second, the nomenklatura s y s t e m in T a i w a n differs f r o m that in a typical c o m m u n i s t society. A c c o r d i n g to K e n n e d y and Bialecki (1989, 311), the structural f o u n d a t i o n for vassalage (clientelism) in socialism is nomenklatura—a list of positions, a p p o i n t m e n t to which must be addressed by the party and related c o m m i t t e e s . A l t h o u g h a similar s y s t e m exists in s o m e sectors of T a i w a n (e.g., the police and the military), its scope is more limited and the control is less strict. C o m p e t i t i o n in other sectors is generally open and free. Third, the K M T has stricter control over clientelism than did c o m m u nist parties. Generally, only c h o s e n p o w e r holders in certain sectors h a v e access to e c o n o m i c privileges. T h e p h e n o m e n o n A n n e Krueger (1974) calls " r e n t - s e e k i n g " is not prevalent in other sectors. Fourth, clientelism in typical c o m m u n i s t societies had unintended consequences: passivity, a v o i d a n c e of responsibility, centralization of p o w e r , and limitation of ruling g r o u p s ( K e n n e d y and Bialecki 1989). In T a i w a n , passivity and the a v o i d a n c e of responsibility are more m u t e d , the m a j o r K M T clients a m o n g the local elites and the p o w e r holders in the e c o n o m i c arena being more a u t o n o m o u s than those in c o m m u n i s t societies. Fifth, the K M T ' s e c o n o m i c policies are in general more sophisticated than w e r e those of c o m m u n i s t countries. As Chu (1989, 150) has argued, the K M T uses strategic d e v e l o p m e n t plans p r o p o s e d by e c o n o m i c experts to a c h i e v e the f o l l o w i n g g o a l s at the s a m e time: i n c o r p o r a t i o n of local p o w e r h o l d e r s , c o n t r o l of d e c i s i v e p r o d u c t i o n r e s o u r c e s , increase in the r e s o u r c e s of the party itself, a n d acceleration of industrial d e v e l o p m e n t . A l t h o u g h the o u t c o m e m a y not be as good as the K M T w o u l d like, it is still satisfactory. Sixth, K M T clientelism tends to c o n f r o n t democratization and liberalization in m o r e flexible w a y s . Reliance on the p a r t y ' s control of resources is f a r lower u n d e r the T a i w a n e s e r e g i m e than under a c o m m u n i s t system such as the C h i n e s e o n e (see f o r instance A n d r e w W a l d e r ' s 1986 study on

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China before Deng's reforms). Moreover, KMT clientelism leaves a greater possibility—in connection with the operation of capitalist economy—for the emergence of active entrepreneurial networks and local and other factions that autonomize the political game and foster the undermining of monopole forms of control of political and socioeconomic markets. All of these factors help explain the contrast in economic and political performance levels between Taiwan and the former communist countries. The KMT and the Case of the Marcos

Regime

I n i t i a l l y , it m a y a p p e a r i n a p p r o p r i a t e to c o m p a r e T a i w a n w i t h the Philippines, as the two countries are now very different. However, the clientelism of the Marcos regime resembled that of the KMT regime during its Mainland period in incorporating strong traits of nepotism, in which the relatives and personal clients of the leader were the major beneficiaries. In other respects the two regimes differed, providing helpful clues in understanding the different impact of clientelism in the subsequent political and economic development of the two countries. During the 1950s and the early 1960s, the economic performance of the Philippines was similar to that of Taiwan. 5 The Philippines was also relatively stable politically at that time. However, the situation dramatically changed under Marcos's rule. After declaring martial law, Marcos used a series of strategies, such as land reform, to deal with the old elites in the Philippines. These were soon replaced by a more powerful group of oligarchs, including the relatives and personal clients of Marcos. The new elites accumulated their wealth mainly through various "rationalization programs"—formulated and implemented on the basis of clientelist principles—in such industries as sugar, logging, and petroleum. Marcos's clients had tight control over the production and sale of these products. As a result, m o n o p o l i e s and oligopolies b e c a m e prevalent. T h o s e enterprises that refused to establish connections to the Marcos family were usually punished by being deprived of government assistance, import licenses, and so on (Kuo 1990). During its Mainland period, the KMT maintained a clientelist system similar to that of Marcos. Chiang Kai-shek's relatives, including the K'ung and Sung families, and C h i a n g ' s personal clients (such as C h ' e n Li-fu) were the main beneficiaries of clientelism. Partly because of its experience of failure on the Mainland, the K M T changed its policy on clientelism when it retreated to Taiwan. An examination of clientelism as practiced by the K M T in the Taiwan period, the KMT in the Mainland period, and the Marcos regime reveals notable differences. First, when it retreated to Taiwan, the KMT changed the principle by which it chose the major beneficiaries of clientelism. The new principle seemed to be that the more significant an individual was in terms of power

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relations and the more important the role he played in the stability of the regime, the more benefits he was entitled to receive from the clientelist connection. Second, in contrast to the nepotism of the KMT Mainland period and that of the Marcos regime, the KMT in Taiwan tried to incorporate all of the most influential power holders by offering them licenses or other privileges. Most of the power holders incorporated into the KMT's clientelist networks were elites in various fields who had risen through severe hardship. In general, they were more capable than power holders during the KMT Mainland period or those in the Marcos regime. With their support, clientelism was more beneficial to the political stability of the KMT in Taiwan than on the Mainland or to the Marcos regime. Third, whereas the clientelism of the KMT on the Mainland and of the Marcos regime was widespread and loosely controlled, the KMT in Taiwan strictly limits its clientelism to certain economic arenas and holds tighter control over its clients in terms of distribution of privileges. In general, ordinary officers and party cadres have few chances to influence national policies and to access rents and privileges. Fourth, state corporatism has played a greater role in the economic arena in Taiwan than in the Philippines, as Kuo Cheng-tian (1990) has pointed out. (It seems to me, however, that Kuo underestimates the importance of clientelism in the Taiwanese economic arena, attributing its superior economic performance to state corporatism alone.) Fifth, compared to the KMT regime on the Mainland and the Marcos regime in the Philippines, the KMT regime in Taiwan has used different criteria for choosing electoral candidates and officials. According to Tancangcoo (1988), the only criterion for choosing election candidates in the Philippines was their personal loyalty to Marcos. Personal loyalty was also the main criterion for selecting government officials. In fact, most officials got their positions without taking competitive tests (Oshima 1987). This being the case, it was difficult for technocrats to formulate development projects without clientelist considerations (Canoy 1981, 134). Moreover, the technocrats had no independent political support by means of which to improve government efficiency (Kuo 1990). In these respects the Marcos regime was very similar to the KMT in the Mainland period, during which the main criterion for selecting officers or electoral candidates was personal loyalty to Chiang Kai-shek. In addition, as in the Marcos regime, clientelist considerations had great influence on governmental projects and policies under the policies formulated by K'ung Hsiang-hsi and Sung Tzu-wen, relatives and personal clients of Chiang. During its Taiwan period, the KMT has developed more sophisticated criteria in choosing government officials (especially technocrats) and electoral candidates. Personal loyalty to the KMT leader is still a consideration,

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but it is not the sole or most important criterion. This has been especially true since Chiang Ching-Kuo took over the KMT leadership. Individual ability and a person's role in the consolidating of the regime's power base have become the main criteria. Though some candidates and officers continue to be chosen mainly on the basis of their personal loyalty to the KMT leadership, the number is limited. Most officials (particularly technocrats) in Taiwan have a good education and must do well in the severely competitive national examinations. Moreover, technocrats are permitted more autonomy and power in formulating development projects and policies. Partly because it failed on the Mainland, the KMT leadership has come to respect expertise. Sixth, the Marcos regime and the KMT in Taiwan differ in the methods used to finance their clientelist activities. As Kuo points out, it was difficult for the Marcos regime to finance its clientelist system by taxes. It could not raise monopoly taxes, because the relatives and personal clients of Marcos might be the first to suffer. Neither could it impose more taxes on the rest of society, as they were already poor. The most viable method was to borrow from abroad. Thus the foreign debt of the Philippines jumped from $240 million in 1972 to $4.67 billion in 1984 (Kuo 1990). The regime even established an institution, led by Imelda Marcos, to distribute the money to Marcos's clients (Kuo 1990; Sussman, O ' C o n n o r , and Lindsey 1984). Whereas the Philippines as a result faced serious problems of finance and inequality, the KMT clientelist systems in Taiwan could basically stand on their own feet. Seventh, the states are different in their nature. The KMT state during its Taiwan period has been comparatively more autonomous and has had a strong commitment to national development (Evans 1989). In contrast, both the KMT during its Mainland period and the Marcos regime were more predatory and more oriented to rent seeking. Compared to the KMT in Taiwan, the Marcos state was more extreme in excluding the popular sector from politics and less developmental and less autonomous with respect to social classes such as capitalists. The Taiwan regime shows that a state that is autonomous, developmental, and efficient may establish and maintain a large degree of clientelism without incurring obvious negative outcomes. Finally, the problems of inequality generated by clientelism are less serious in Taiwan than in the Philippines for the following reasons. 1) The KMT limits clientelism and privileges to certain sectors of the economy; 2) partly because the KMT limits clientelism, the gap between the richest and the poorest is much smaller in Taiwan than in the Philippines; and 3) KMT clientelism in Taiwan is accompanied by "goulash authoritarianism," 6 a system that provides various goods and services to people of all classes who ask for help. Thus there is no obviously oppressed class. In fact, most social and opposition movements are not mobilized through class con-

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sciousness (Hsiao 1989; and Lin Cha-Long 1989). Even Chang, former secr e t a r y - g e n e r a l of T a i w a n ' s f i r s t o p p o s i t i o n party, the D e m o c r a t i c Progressive Party (DPP), admits that the "people power revolution" that took place in the Philippines in 1986 is very unlikely to occur in Taiwan (Chang 1989, 104-106). All of these factors help to explain the differences between Taiwan and the Philippines in terms of political stability and economic outcomes. It would be an exaggeration to claim that KMT-style clientelism is the secret of Taiwan's economic miracle or that it would be a good example for other countries to follow. But it is possible to show, without denying the importance of other factors (e.g., corporatism), that differences in clientelism help to explain variations in economic and political outcomes.

Political and Socioeconomic Development and Clientelism It can be assumed that the nonlocal-faction clientelism of the KMT will tend to decline in the future. As a result of economic and political development, many new power holders are emerging in the economic arena. Because these new power holders rise mainly through their own efforts, they do not fully back the original beneficiaries of KMT clientelism (e.g., the Ku family). To gain the support of these new power holders, the KMT has had to adopt a new cooptation strategy. For instance, the KMT has tried to coopt them through various new corporatist organizations, such as the Council for Industrial and Commercial Development. Consequently, although the original clientelism is in decline, state corporatism is becoming more important in the economic arena. The future prospects of the clientelism established by the military will be determined mainly by the factional struggle within the KMT. If the president of the KMT Central Committee gains more power—through direct presidential elections, for example—the resources of the military may gradually be incorporated into the Central Committee, thus weakening military clientelism. In the immediate wake of the early 1993 KMT factional struggle between the conservative faction of ex-premier and military strongman Hao Po-Ts'un and the KMT central leadership led by President Li, military clientelism suffered a setback. In contrast, electoral clientelism may not become less important with development, for the following reasons. First, local factions continuously have chances to create rent and accumulate their resources; in fact, with political and economic development they may gain even more resources. Second, the operation of local factions is still powerful in preventing the rise of possible competitors. Third, the challenges to electoral clientelism coming from the civil society, the opposition group, and the KMT itself are still limited.

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However, industrialization has produced a middle class that cannot be well accommodated by the original clientelism and goulash authoritarianism. To win its support and to cope with the increasing pressures caused by the legitimacy problem, the KMT has gradually relaxed its control in the political arena and incorporated more members of the middle class (most of them young Taiwanese) into the KMT leadership. As Philip Selznick (1966) suggested, cooptation may lead to unanticipated consequences. In the case of the KMT, those have included increasing demands for democratization within the party, for the legitimization of opposition groups, for economic liberalization, for the relaxation of control in the political arena and civil society, and so on. Local factions are an important mechanism for controlling civil society, but ironically in Taiwan they have become crucial agents in the emergence of social movements and civil society (Wu 1990, 85). Social movements, mostly self-help protest groups, first arose on the periphery of clientelism among workers in small and medium-sized enterprises (Wu 1990, 82). With economic development, some new issues appeared (e.g., chemical pollution) that could not well be solved by KMT clientelism and goulash authoritarianism. At first, local elites tended to serve as intermediaries in negotiations between the protesters and the organizations (local governments or firms) that were the target of protest. Local elites viewed it as part of their service to clients (Wu 1990; Chou 1990). According to Chou (1990), whether the goal of social protest is compensation or prevention, once local factions become deeply involved in the protest, the goal is likely to be achieved. But social movements have had a limited impact on KMT clientelism. Most social movements are still in an embryonic stage. In addition, KMT clientelism is not obviously oppressive to most people or to particular classes. Thus, although social movements (especially farmers' movements) do have a certain influence on KMT clientelism, few go so far as to attack it.'

The Opposition Parties Versus KMT Clientelism According to research (Chu 1989, 1990; Wu 1990), social and protest movements and the political opposition have tended to strengthen one another. Faced with the increasing pressure from civil society and the opposition movement, the KMT finally decided in 1987 to abrogate the forty-year-long martial law and gradually relax its control in the political, economic, and social arenas. The first opposition party, the DPP, was established in 1986 and was recognized by the government as a legal party in 1987. Although the DPP is becoming more influential, its influence on KMT clientelism is still lim-

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ited. Because of K M T clientelism, the D P P has difficulty mobilizing votes and resources, especially in the areas where K M T local factions are powerful. The latter's strategy of purchasing votes is highly effective at excluding possible competitors. In the early 1990s the DPP can be divided into two main factions: the Pan Formosa and the Pan New-Tide. The two factions follow d i f f e r e n t policies and strategies toward local factions and K M T clientelism. 8 However, neither faction has yet had much impact on this system. According to the Pan Formosa faction, serious conflicts exist between the national elites and local factions of the KMT; their relationship depends on mutual interest, not on loyalty, and thus is not very stable. Given that the K M T tightly controls all the organs of central government, whereas control at the local level is relatively loose, the local level is the weakest link in the K M T chain of command. Therefore, the Pan Formosa faction believes the best strategy for the opposition is to concentrate on winning local elections, especially elections for county magistrates and city mayors. Once an opposition candidate is elected, there is a chance to attack the K M T ' s clientelist system. For example, political power may be utilized to forbid any illegal exchange between the KMT and local factions (such as the privileges the K M T routinely o f f e r s ) . The new strategy is characterized as "the local encompasses the central" (Chang 1989). The strategy of the local encompassing the central was at first anticipated to be highly effective. However, its influence has been limited. In fact, the strategy is problematic for several reasons. First, it ignores the differences between county/city magistrate and county/city council elections. In magistrate elections, the K M T can nominate only one candidate in a given area; thus the local factions that lose the KMT nomination often feel resentful and may retaliate by voting for the opposition candidate, giving the latter a good chance to win. Chang-Hwa County in 1981 is only one of many examples. 9 In contrast, almost every local faction has its own candidate in the campaign to elect a council, so it is very unlikely that an opposition candidate can benefit from the divisions within the KMT. After losing a third of the seats in 1989 elections for city mayor and county magistrate, the K M T won 91 percent of the votes in the election of county/city councils in the beginning of 1990. Facing a majority of KMT representatives on the councils, it is difficult if not impossible for opposition county magistrates a n d city m a y o r s to c o u n t e r t h e c l i e n t e l i s t r e l a t i o n s h i p b e t w e e n K M T national elites and the local factions. Second, experience has shown that the smaller the electoral district, the m o r e e f f i c i e n t l y the local f a c t i o n s f u n c t i o n and the better the K M T ' s chance of winning the election. 1 0 Thus, even in the counties governed by a D P P magistrate, the K M T won most of the townships and subcounties in the local elections held in 1990. Under these circumstances, when a county/city government ruled by the D P P has tried to challenge the regime, it

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has been easy for the K M T to mobilize and check the D P P magistrates or mayors. Only by controlling more than half of the counties and cities could the D P P cause considerable changes in the entire political structure. Third, the strategy overlooks the fact that almost every county and city is financially dependent on the central government. Even in Tapei, the richest county g o v e r n e d by the D P P , f i n a n c i a l p r o b l e m s m a k e it virtually impossible for the local government to stand up to the central government. The attitude of the Formosa faction of the D P P toward big capitalists tends to blunt its attack on the clientelist relations between the K M T and certain business elites as well as the new political-economic coalitions, which are discussed later. In contrast, the New-Tide faction places emphasis on class mobilization, arguing that the main supporters of the opposition movement should be laborers, "weaker interest groups," the middle class, and medium/small enterprises. Recently, a major figure of the New-Tide faction stressed that the opposition group should work to incorporate laborers and farmers (Li 1989). This faction also points out that in order to attack the privileges the K M T creates and tolerates, the opposition group should redistribute political power and economic resources through mass movements that successfully mobilize the classes mentioned above, because "grassroots democracy is always the best way to eliminate privileges" (New-Tide Faction 1991). Various factors undermine the strategy of the New-Tide faction. First, as one study points out (Lin Chung-cheng 1989), the interests of the weaker classes in Taiwan are often in conflict. For example, it is in the interests of m e d i u m / s m a l l enterprises and laborers to support the K M T ' s policy of maintaining low agricultural prices, but this policy is harmful for the farmers. Small-scale farmers and the middle class are the K M T ' s most loyal supporters, whereas the working class is the main supporter of the opposition group (Lin Cha-long 1989, 121). T h e N e w - T i d e f a c t i o n has never explained how the weaker interest groups can form a coalition to challenge the K M T or why they should do so. In fact, class analysis is of doubtful value, as in many Third World countries (Scott 1972), because most political groupings cut vertically through class lines. Furthermore, with the process of economic liberalization and the rise of subgroups and factional struggles within the KMT, many new politicaleconomic coalitions are emerging. No subgroup is in a position to ignore the influence of local factions and economic p o w e r holders in factional struggles. Because of factional struggles within the party, K M T subgroups try to establish relationships not only with big capitalists but also with medium/small entrepreneurs. In many cases medium/small enterprises even f o r m strong coalitions with local factions and K M T subgroups, making it rather difficult for the opposition group to incorporate these enterprises. Given the c i r c u m s t a n c e s , the i n f l u e n c e of the opposition g r o u p on K M T clientelism is still limited. W e find evidence of this limited influence

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in the first reelection of the National Assembly in 1991. One of the main reasons for the DPP's failure in that election was the KMT's consolidation of its electoral clientelism. Nonetheless, democratization offers new opportunities for the DPP to challenge KMT clientelism. With democratization, new positions such as those of the president and province chairman will be open to electoral contest in the near future, and as the control of the KMT is lessened in larger electoral districts the chances of the DPP will grow. Mirroring the Japanese experience, some KMT elites established the New Party (NP) with the explicit objective of "reunifying" China and leading an anticorruption campaign. The NP's ideology is close to that of the conservative KMT factions, and its reformist appeal is likely to affect the networks of military clientelism (Global Views Monthly, November 1993) and lead to the renewal of factionalist confrontation within the KMT. The rise of the New Party, together with a mounting factionalism within the KMT, may affect the result of forthcoming elections. However, the success of the KMT in the November 1993 election of city mayors and county magistrates and the J a n u a r y 1994 e l e c t i o n of c i t y / c o u n t y c o u n c i l and town/subtown headmen shows that the influence of the DPP and NP on KMT clientelism has been limited (in 1994, NP has been less influential than DPP). Many opposition parties have risen since 1987, but all but DPP and NP are weak.

Democratization Within the KMT and Clientelism The impact on clientelism of democratization within the KMT has been limited so far. The claim for democratization within the KMT and the attitude of the KMT national elites toward local factions are reflected in a new KMT policy that might strongly influence its electoral clientelism in the future. In 1989 the national elites of the KMT instituted primary elections in the name of democratization. Although the call for democratization within the party has been increasing, the incentives behind this new policy are not simple. To gain a greater understanding, we need first to investigate the "dualistic structure" of the KMT's clients at the grassroots level. Only 30 percent of the voters who support the KMT are KMT members (see Chang 1989, 61; Ch'en 1990); local factions mobilize votes through various networks, including many nonparty and family networks. For the primary system to be fully instituted, local elites have to encourage their non-KMT clients to join the party so as to gain nomination. In fact, the number of new KMT members in 1989 exceeded 100,000, the largest increase in the last decade. Once most of the grassroots-level clients have become KMT members, it will be much easier for the national elites to contact and control them directly and thus to develop a direct clientelist relationship with them. Thus, when the primary system is fully implement-

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ed, the position and influence of the local elites will be endangered—which helps to explain why most local factions are strongly against this new policy. Partly as a result of the adverse reactions of local factions to the primary system, the KMT suffered its worst performance to date in the elections held in 1989. Because of this unanticipated consequence and because of factional struggles within the party, later, the KMT attempted to control the primary system by emphasizing a new policy—cadre evaluation. Cadre evaluation is no less important in selecting candidates than is the preelection within the party. The national elites, who control the party machine, thus have a better chance to nominate those they prefer and prevent their competitors within the party from gaining power. Not surprisingly, the policy of cadre evaluation has antagonized the local factions more than ever. Currently, candidate nominations are carried out if there is consensus for it among local factions. Otherwise, the KMT leadership holds preelections to avoid antagonizing these factions. Because the system has never been fully implemented, its impact on KMT clientelism is still limited.

Factors that Reinforce Electoral Clientelism With the process of political and economic development, some factors emerge that offer electoral clientelism new resources for its operation. First of all, with "democratization," local elites and local factions are likely to acquire more assets. Facing increasing pressure from opposition groups and the general public, the KMT decided to hold the first reelection for the National Assembly at the end of 1991. The main goal of the new National Assembly was to revise the constitution so as to provide the regime with a new basis of legitimacy. According to many reports (e.g., Journalist 228, 1991), most local factions were at first not interested in this election, because the duties of the new National Assembly members have little bearing on their own interests. But the KMT national elites encouraged local factions to participate in the election by offering them additional rewards. The clientelist relationship between the KMT central leadership and the local factions was thus strengthened, as evidenced in the election results. In the 1991 National Assembly election the number of electoral districts was fifty-eight, compared to only twenty-three in the previous elections, thereby diminishing the size of the electoral districts. Past trends have shown that the smaller the electoral district, the more powerful the faction mobilization. It is thus obviously in the K M T ' s interests to keep electoral districts small in the future. As a result of economic liberalization (e.g., relaxation of controls on licensing), which started in 1987, some new economic power holders have emerged—e.g., stock market agents and construction businessmen. Most of these new economic power holders are trying to form a strong coalition

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with political elites—in fact, many of the new economic forces are created or s u p p o r t e d by local f a c t i o n s ( C o m m e r c i a l Times, N o v e m b e r 1 4 - 3 0 , 1989). With the rise of subgroups and factional struggles within the party, there is an increasing number of local elites, who tend to form close relat i o n s h i p s with the new e c o n o m i c p o w e r holders and with the national elites. Under these circumstances, nonlocal-faction clientelism may decline, since the positions of the original clients are endangered, while those of local elites and factions may be enhanced. The process of development provides ongoing opportunities for local elites and local factions to create rents. For example, they can gain considerable benefits f r o m the manipulation of urban planning. It seems that traditional clientelist networks help local elites benefit from the new economic opportunities. For example, local factions may attract new stockholders through traditional clientelist networks. In turn, local factions tend to gain more resources for their clientelist networks. However, some new factors are emerging that may help K M T national elites control local factions. The K M T is thinking of changing the present system, w h e r e b y c h i e f s of t o w n s h i p s and subcounties are elected, and implementing a direct nomination system (China Times, March 5 and 6, 1991). Furthermore, in the first reelection of the National Assembly, the government adopted a new party list system whereby each party can nominate a number of members according to the proportion of its votes in the National Assembly election. These new policies could be important factors in controlling local factions. However, their influence continues to be limited for a number of reasons. Facing increasing c h a l l e n g e s f r o m the opposition, the K M T still urgently needs local factions to mobilize votes; thus, it has to avoid policies that seriously violate the interests of local factions. In addition, the control ability of the central K M T is declining while the resources of local factions are increasing. Thus, even under the party list system of National Assembly elections, we may find some local elites included. It seems that most towns and subtowns will c o n t i n u e to be controlled by local factions. In some respects the new policies may help the K M T national elites control local factions, but the clientelist relationship between them is not likely to be weakened. But with political and economic development, the pattern of electoral clientelism and factionalism may change. For example, the dual structure of political elites is changing. Congressional reelections offer local elites a much greater opportunity than was possible previously to enter the national representative body and to protect and expand their interests. Local elites can be e x p e c t e d to gain m o r e political and e c o n o m i c r e s o u r c e s in the future. During the last forty years, the highest political position local factions could achieve was the chair of the Provincial Assembly. With democratization, local elites now have access to the positions of congressional chair, provincial government chair, and so on. The relaxation of economic

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regulations and the rise of new economic power has also given local elites added resources. In sum, with political and economic development (democratization and economic liberalization), local factions and local elites have more chances to gain resources. At the same time, with the emergence of a civil society, the opposition parties and new political-economic coalitions, social control by the K M T national elites is weakened. Thus, local elites' ability to mobilize votes r e m a i n s crucial f o r the national elites and the K M T regime. Under these circumstances, clientelism and factionalism may change in pattern, but they are not likely to diminish in importance. K M T clientelism is likely to resemble Japanese factionalism in some respects. (Both Taiwan and Japan have had a dominant one-party system, although opposition groups have also existed.) In addition, factionalism and competition within the party will tend to be more obvious in the future. However, the K M T is different from the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) in some ways. First, the L D P is composed of various factions, and each faction has its own clientelist system. In the KMT, too, each faction tends to have its own clientelist system, but these are not as institutionalized as in J a p a n . S e c o n d , u n l i k e its L D P c o u n t e r p a r t in J a p a n until 1993 or the Democratic Liberal Party in South Korea, the K M T Central C o m m i t t e e controls numerous resources and is highly independent of political donat i o n s f r o m o t h e r g r o u p s ( s u c h as b i g b u s i n e s s ) , m a k i n g it m o r e autonomous. This study suggests several conclusions. First, clientelism and factionalism do not necessarily diminish in importance with economic development and democratization. Second, differences in clientelism among countries help to explain the differences in economic and political performance, though the importance of other factors should not be denied. Third, it is possible for a regime to strike a satisfactory equilibrium between clientelism and a market economy. Fourth, the nature of the state greatly affects the operation and outcomes of clientelism. A strong, autonomous, cohesive, and development-oriented state may establish and maintain for long periods a large degree of clientelism without obviously hurting its economic and political outcomes. Yet, as shown in the K M T case, factional struggles within the party, the rise of local factions, and the splintering of political and economic subgroups may affect the coherence and autonomy of the state. Further research will substantiate the complex connections between clientelism, authoritarianism, democratization, and the strengthening of civil society.

Notes Special thanks are due to Chung-Hsin Ch'en, Yun-Han Chu, Terry N. Clark, Fu Hu, Cheng-Liang Kuo, James S. Coleman, S. N. Eisenstadt, John F. Padgett, Edward O. Laumann, William L. Parish, and Nai-Teh Wu for their helpful comments.

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1. The public sector includes energy (e.g., the Taiwan Electricity Company), transportation, communications, etc. The KMT-owned sector includes over eighty enterprises and firms (e.g., the Chilu enterprise). According to the KMT, the KMTowned sector includes finance, electricity, transportation, construction, etc., and belongs to the private not the public sector. For further information on the publicand semipublic-owned, KMT-owned, and veteran-owned sectors and the KMT's monopolistic and oligopolistic activities, see Chu (1989, 1992) and Ch'en Shihmeng (1991). 2. The main goal of the C Y C in its initial stage was to promote Chiang Ching-Kuo's struggle for leadership within the party against his main competitor, Ch'en Ch'en, the ex-vice president (Wu 1987). After Chiang's victory in the struggle, the CYC continued to serve as a major institution for recruitment of national elites. Some scholars (e.g., Wu 1987, 169) argue that this is because the CYC is best fitted to achieve the logic of political recruitment, being simultaneously loyal, able, varied, and mobile. Though important, this explanation is not sufficient. Another crucial factor is that the national elites tried to check local factions through the CYC. In the 1970s the CYC became one of the most important institutions for K M T ' s policy of "Taiwanization" through the use of "parachute tactics." National elites tried to recruit new members through the CYC and "parachute" some of them—especially young Taiwanese without a local-factional background—to their home districts to run in election campaigns. The parachute strategy became apparent in the 1970s, especially in the local elections of 1977. However, as Ch'en argues, once CYC members are elected, many of them tend to be incorporated into local factions; examples are Chiang Mon-Ling in T'ai-Chung County and Ko WenFu in P'ing-Tung County. Without factional support, their political careers would be at an end unless they were again nominated by the KMT for election. Thus the policy of Taiwanization through parachute tactics was not verv successful (Ch'en 1990, 485-487). 3. The Kus and the Lians are examples of families with whom the KMT has clientelist relations (they do not have close relations with local factions). For example, the cement coporation chaired by Ku Chen-Fu "enjoyed state protection and contracts. A seat on its board became a coveted status symbol for later generations of Taiwanese capitalists" (Gold 1986, 71). The Lin family of Wu-Feng does not have good relations with the KMT, since it does not cooperate with the regime. Some other major families (e.g., the Ch'ens) do have some relationship with local factions. 4. It is a rather special phenomenon that the military should be able to affect politics and protect its interests to such an extent through its own clientelism rather than through a coup. It is an indication that the autonomy and coherence of the KMT state are declining. 5. For example, the average growth rates of Philippines GNP and per capita G N P in the 1950s were 7.3 percent and 4.1 percent, respectively—similar to Taiwan's 7.7 percent and 4.1 percent for the period 1953-1959 (Kuo 1990, 192). 6. The term is used as a replacement for what Wu (1987) calls "party clientelism." It has been suggested to me by William Parish, following the usage coined by the Chinese Communist Party to criticize the Soviet Union as "goulash communism" for its policy of seeking support from the masses by offering immediate benefits and services. Ironically, the C C P has itself adopted such strategies. As Wu (1987) has argued, the KMT seems to have borrowed the strategy from the CCP but applied it in a different context. Whereas the CCP focused mainly on certain classes (e.g., peasants and workers), the KMT has tried to encompass all classes. The main reason for the differences may lie in the KMT's legitimacy crisis and its anticlass

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ideology, shaped during the the Mainland period (Wu 1987, 354). Without denying the existence of classes, the KMT tries to gain support from all classes through its goulash authoritarianism. Services offered include legal assistance, scholarships, emergency aid, and leisure activities (Wu 1987, 76). 7. Among social movements, the farmers' movement seems to be the one most likely to influence KMT clientelism. However, this influence is limited—partly because electoral clientelism has firm foundations in rural areas and partly because the farmers seldom focus on changing clientelism. 8. In general, the Pan New-Tide faction is more critical of local factions, whereas the Pan F o r m o s a f a c t i o n ' s attitude is one of ambivalence. The Pan Formosa faction criticizes the local factions in public but actually tries to establish relations with them. The New-Tide faction claims that the Formosa faction elites have their own clientelist systems in their electoral districts, although the scale is much smaller than those of the KMT. In addition, the two factions have different policies toward big capitalists. The Pan New-Tide faction views the capitalists as adversaries, claiming that they and the KMT leadership have interests in common. In contrast, the Pan Formosa faction views big capitalists as potential allies because they, too, are sometimes oppressed by public-owned and KMT-owned business (Chang 1989). Many new DPP factions have arisen since 1990. For simplicity, I refer to the two largest factions in existence then. 9. In 1981 the KMT "parachuted" Wang Chen-ho, a nonlocal-faction figure, to run for election in Chang-Hwa County. The parachute strategy aroused serious discontent among local factions. An opposition candidate, Hwan, benefited from the conflict within the KMT and won the election. When KMT policies such as the parachute strategy infringe on the interests of a local faction, the local faction tends to appear to support the policies but in fact stabs the KMT in the back, even to the point of supporting the opposition group. 10. This is a consensus among the leading researchers in Taiwan, including Professor Hu Fu of National Taiwan University.

References Bailey, F. G. 1963. Politics and Social Change: Orissa in 1959. Berkeley: University of California Press. Business Weekly (Taiwan). 1989. The Power of Money in Elections, 107: 18-55 (in Chinese). Canoy, R. R. 1981. The Counterfeit Revolution: The Philippines from Martial Law to the Aquino Assassination. Manila: Philippine Editions. Chang, Chun-hung. 1989. The Road to Rule: The Theory and Practice of the Strategy of Local Encompasses Central (Tao chih cheng chih lu). Taiwan: South Press. C h ' e n , Ming-t'ung. 1988. Regional Oligopolistic Economy, the Background of Local Factions and the Election of Provincial Assembly: An Analysis of the Background of Provincial Assembly Candidates. Unpublished research (in Chinese). . 1990. The Mobility of the Local Political Elite Under an Authoritarian Regime (1945-1986): An Analysis of the Taiwan Provincial Assemblymen. Ph.D. dissertation, Department of Political Science, National Taiwan University (in Chinese). Ch'en, Ming-t'ung, and Yun-han Chu. 1992. Regional Oligopoly, Local Factions

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a n d P r o v i n c i a l A s s e m b l y E l e c t i o n s : A n A n a l y s i s of t h e S o c i o - E c o n o m i c B a c k g r o u n d of C a n d i d a t e s , 1 9 5 0 - 1 9 8 6 . National Science Council Proceedings—Social Sciences and Humanity, Vol. 3 (in Chinese). C h ' e n , S h i h - m e n g , et al. 1991. Disintegrating KMT-State Capitalism. Taiwan: Chen Sheh Press (in Chinese). C h o u , F a n g - t s u . 1990. A n t i - P o l l u t i o n S e l f - H e l p Protests and Local Factions in Taiwan. M a s t e r ' s thesis, Tong-Hi University, Taiwan (in Chinese). C h u , Y u n - h a n . 1989. T h e O l i g o p o l i s t i c E c o n o m y and A u t h o r i t a r i a n P o l i t i c a l S y s t e m . In H s i n - h u a n g M . H s i a o , et al., Monopoly and Exploitation: The Political Economy of Authoritarianism (Lung tuan yu po hsueh), Taipei: Taiwan Research Fund. . 1990. Social Protests and Political Democratization in T a i w a n . Political Science Review (National Taiwan University) 1. . 1992. Crafting Democracy in Taiwan. Tapei: Taiwan Institute for National Policy Research Press. Clark, T. N. 1975. The Irish Ethic and the Spirit of Patronage. Ethnicity 2: 3 0 5 - 3 5 9 . Clough, R. N. 1978. Island China. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Commercial Times Daily (Taiwan). 1989. The New E c o n o m i c Power and Elections, N o v e m b e r 1 4 - 3 0 (in Chinese). Eisenstadt, S. N., and L. Roniger. 1981a. Clientelism in C o m m u n i s t Systems: A C o m p a r a t i v e P e r s p e c t i v e . Studies in Comparative Communism 14(2-3): 233-245. . 1981b. The Study of Patron-Client Relations and Recent Developments in S o c i o l o g i c a l T h e o r y . In S. N. Eisenstadt and R. L e m a r c h a n d , eds., Political Clientelism, Patronage and Development, London: Sage. . 1984. Patrons, Clients and Friends. C a m b r i d g e : C a m b r i d g e University Press. Evans, P. 1989. Predatory, Developmental, and Other Apparatuses: A Comparative Political E c o n o m y Perspective on the Third World State. Sociological Forum 4(4). G a m s o n , W. 1975. The Strategy of Social Protest. H o m e w o o d : Dorsey. Global Views Monthly. 1993. The Political Attitude of H u a n g Fu-Shin Toward the N e w Party, 4 2 - 4 5 , N o v e m b e r (in Chinese). Gold, T. 1986. State and Society in the Taiwan Miracle. New York: Sharpe. Hsiao, H s i n - h u a n g M. 1989. Analysis of N e w Social M o v e m e n t s in T a i w a n (in C h i n e s e ) . In H s i a o , Monopoly and Exploitation: The Political Economy of Authoritarianism ( L u n g tuan yu p o h s u e h ) , T a i p e i : T a i w a n R e s e a r c h F u n d , 9-32. Huang, T e - f u . 1990. Elections, Local Factions and Political Transition. Journal of Sunology: A Social Science Quarterly (Sun Yat Sen University, T a i w a n ) 5(1): 4 8 - 9 6 (in Chinese). Huntington, S. 1970. Social and Institutional Dynamics of One-Party Systems. In S. Huntington and C. Moore, eds., Authoritarian Politics in Modern Society, N e w York: Basic Books. K e n n e d y , M . D., and I. Bialecki. 1989. P o w e r and the L o g i c of Distribution in Poland. Eastern European Politics and Societies 3(2): 3 0 0 - 3 2 8 . K n o k e , D. 1990. Political Networks: The Structural Perspective. Cambridge: C a m b r i d g e University Press. K r u e g e r , A . O . 1 9 7 4 . T h e P o l i t i c a l E c o n o m y of t h e R e n t - S e e k i n g S o c i e t y . American Economic Review 44 (3): 2 9 1 - 3 0 3 . K u o , C h e n g - l i a n g . 1988. T h e T r a n s f o r m a t i o n of the K M T R e g i m e in T a i w a n , 1 9 4 5 - 1 9 8 8 . Masters thesis, National Taiwan University (in Chinese).

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Kuo, Cheng-tian. 1990. Economic Regimes and National Performance ir. the World E c o n o m y : T a i w a n and the Philippines. Ph.D. d i s s e r t a t i o n , University of Chicago. Laumann, E. O., and F. U. Pappi. 1973. New Directions in the Study of Communist Elites. American Sociological Review 38: 212-230. Li, Wen-chung. 1989. The Class Strategy of the New-Tide Faction. The Movement (Taiwan) 8: 12-15 (in Chinese). Lin, Cha-long. 1989. Opposition Movement Under an Authoritarian Clientelist Regime: Social Base of the Democratic Progressive Party. A Radical Quarterly in Social Studies (Taiwan). Lin, Chung-cheng. 1989. The Cycle of Exploitation Among the Weak Groups Under Authoritarianism: The Analysis of the Economic System of Taiwan (in Chinese). In Hsiao, Monopoly and Exploitation: The Political Economy of Authoritarianism (Lung tuan yu po hsueh), Taipei: Taiwan Research Fund, 161-196. Merton, R. 1968 [1949]. Manifest and Latent Functions. In Social Theory and Social Structure, New York: Free Press, 73-138. New-Tide Faction of the DPP. 1991. The Road to Independence: The New-Tide Faction and Taiwan Independence (Tao tu li chih lu). Taiwan: New-Tide Office Press. Oshirna, H. T. 1987. Economic Growth in Monsoon Asia: A Comparative Study. Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press. Scott, J. C. 1972. Comparative Political Corruption. Englewood Cliffs: PrenticeHall. Selznick, Philip. 1966. TVA and the Grass Roots. New York: Harper and Row. Stinchcombe, A. L. 1968. Constructing Social Theories. New York: Harcourt Brace. Sussman, G., D. O'Connor, and C. Lindsey. 1984. The Political Economy of a Dying Dictatorship. Philippine Research Bulletin (Summer): 1-7. Tancangoo, Luzviminda G. 1988. The Electoral System and Political Parties in the Philippines. In R. P. De Guzman and M. A. Reforma, eds., Government and Politics of the Philippines, Singapore: Oxford University Press. Theobald, R. 1983. The Decline of Patron-Client Relations in Developed Societies. Archives Européennes de Sociologie 24: 136-147. Tien, Hung-mao. 1989. The Great Transition: Political and Social Change in the Republic of China. Stanford: Hoover Institution Press. Tilly, C. 1985. Warmaking and Statemaking as Organized Crime. In P. Evans, T. Skocpol, et al., eds., Bringing the State Back In, C a m b r i d g e : C a m b r i d g e University Press. W a l d e r , A. 1986. Communist Neo-Traditionalism. B e r k e l e y : U n i v e r s i t y of California Press. Wallerstein, I. 1974. The Modern World-Systems. New York: Academic Press. Wang, Hung-jen. 1988. The Development of Private Monopoly in Postwar Taiwan. Master's thesis, National Taiwan University (in Chinese). Wang, Jenn-hwan. 1989. Political Transformation and Oppositional Movement in Taiwan. A Radical Quarterly in Social Studies (Taiwan) (in Chinese). Wellman, B. 1988. Structural Analysis: From M e t a p h o r to Substance. In B. Wellman and S. D. Berkowitz, eds., Social Structures: A Network Approach, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Winckler, E. 1981. National, Regional and Local Politics. In E. M. Ahern and H. Bates, eds., The Anthropology of Taiwanese Society, S t a n f o r d : S t a n f o r d University Press, 13-37.

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Wu, Chieh-ming. 1990. Social Protests Under Political Transition: Taiwan in the 1980s. Master's thesis, National Taiwan University (in Chinese). Wu, Nai-teh. 1982. Crisis of Taiwan's Local Factionalism. Shen ken Magazine 8 (April 20): 13-16; 9 (May 10): 21-26 (in Chinese). . 1987. The Politics of a R e g i m e Patronage System: Mobilization and Control Within an Authoritarian Regime. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Chicago.

12 Conclusions: The Transformation of Clientelism and Civil Society Luis Roniger The unexpected persistence of patronage and clientelism in the late twentieth century, when the world should be moving toward greater equality, democratic consolidation, and the empowerment of civil society, has posed interesting problems for social scientists and observers. Studies on clientelism have grown exponentially between the late 1960s and the 1990s, raising many issues still open to debate. When and why does patronage remain insterstitial or become central to the institutional matrix of a society, sector, or locality? How should we interpret clientelistic arrangements—as the result of an adaptation to structural factors (e.g., scarcity) or as a pattern of social exchange that, though affected by the structural and cultural context, produces expectations and readings of reality that are inherent in its systemic reproduction? What is the balance structured in patron-client arrangements between instrumental considerations, on the one hand, and ideological constructs such as the perceived nature of trust and distrust in society, on the other? These and other crucial issues have not received conclusive answers in the literature, and problems of definition, observation, and interpretation will remain with us for years to come, as René Lemarchand, Luigi Graziano, and Carl Landé argued more than a decade ago (Lemarchand 1981; Graziano 1983; Landé 1983). Part of the problem has to do with the existence of contrasting interests and perspectives within any society. It is self-evident that patronage and clientelism may be instrumental for some sectors and networks and opposed and decried by others. Researchers are fully aware of this dimension in research and have addressed it from the perspective of the social forces and political coalitions sustaining or countervailing the hold of patronage, a theme to which we shall return below. But in addition, as discussed in the opening chapters, patronage itself bears a contradictory nature, being hierarchical but mutually beneficial, somehow combining inequality and promised reciprocity, voluntarism and coercion, symbolic and instrumental resources (see discussion in Chapter 207

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1). Moreover, patronage itself is not a sharply differentiated relationship with a predictable course of action and flow of resources and services but rather a relationship full of ambiguity and unpredictability. It is one of a n u m b e r of alternative and c o m p e t i n g f o r m s of h u m a n relations, which despite their analytical distinctiveness are implemented not as mutually exclusive (see, for example, Pitt-Rivers 1973 and La Fontaine 1975). A parallel difficulty, no less acute yet often ignored in research, stems f r o m the nature of comparative and cross-cultural research in general and has to do with what I shall call the multiple refraction of society, resulting f r o m a multiplicity of social and cultural prisms. I shall illustrate this "multiple refraction" on the basis of previous study of hierarchical networking in Brazil and Mexico as compared to Japan and Thailand (Roniger 1990, 179-201). In comparison with Japan, Latin American clientelism seems highly unstable. On an interpersonal plane, instability has evolved from the tension between hierarchical controls on the one hand and, on the other, conceptions of the self as an individuated and autonomous entity (a trait shared by Latin America with other Western societies—see Taylor 1989, Mauss 1985, Dumont 1986). In a parallel manner, instability has been generated by the projection of c o m m i t m e n t s onto the public sphere and f r o m the manipulation of clientelistic networks across institutional realms. These t w o f o r m s of i n s t a b i l i t y o p e r a t e in virtually o p p o s i t e d i r e c t i o n s : O n e emphasizes the fragility of hierarchical dependence, whereas the other reinforces clientelistic arrangements. As these two sources of instability are operative in Latin American clientelistic attachments, a perspective following only the first would stress the fragile character of Latin American hierarchical dependence (as seen through the Japanese prism). Yet, if the prism shifts to another "Eastern" society—Thailand—a strong binding element can be perceived in Mexico and Brazil. Indeed, in the Latin American context an ethic of loyalty existed in association with concepts of honor and personal significance, providing cultural images and shaping behavioral expectations that placed clientelistic commitments beyond material expediency and instrumental interests to an extent unknown in Thailand. This short example illustrates the need, at the metainterpretive level, to d e v e l o p an a w a r e n e s s of the existence of a multiplicity of cultural and social prisms. These terms are used metaphorically, acquiring particular implications as we operate within the framework of sociocultural analysis. In this realm, light and refraction must be interpreted as sharing an equally pivotal and interchangeable nature: The light under consideration can be refracted into different spectra by shifting the prism in use. Implied in the above metaphor is the need not to overlook cases that may be critical in the elaboration of general statements on the basis of comparative analysis. Some of the works brought together in this volume can be highly instrumental in this regard. To give but one example, in the pref-

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ace and opening chapters it was stated that clientelism and patronage should not be expected to disappear with political change and development. This observation bears repeating, not the least because these phenomena are often attributed to underdeveloped Third World societies, where the dispersal and fragmentation of rural strata supposedly make them more prone to manipulation by local patrons and brokers. As the focus of comparison is broadened to include, for instance, Canadian society, it can be seen that the urban/rural dichotomy may be inverted, as Mark Fletcher demonstrates. Indeed, in Canada, the opposition to patronage came mainly from rural areas in the form of the farmer and progressive movements. Arising in the aftermath of World War I, these protest movements amassed support in provinces such as Ontario, Manitoba, and Alberta; constituted the kernel of the reform-oriented third parties of the 1930s and 1940s; and were especially influential in moving national policy toward a greater emphasis on bureaucratic redistribution. The existence of such variation should be taken into account when interpreting the general trend of patronage and clientelism in the twentieth century. Rather than recapitulating the perspectives developed in previous research, I would like to emphasize what the authors in this volume are suggesting from different research perspectives—namely, that we should follow some sort of "generative theory of patronage" (the term is Robert Paine's, 1971) and deepen our understanding of what can be called "the catalytic conditions of patronage." By this term I mean those conditions that not only condition the emergence of clientelistic commitments and understandings but that also, on the local level, can foster or preclude their actualization and development. The analyses of Terry Clark, Cristina Escobar, and Manuel Carlos Silva are particularly valuable in this regard. This perspective also claims that whereas clientelism and patronage may continue to play an important role in many modern and democratic societies and polities, the changing nature of the sociopolitical domain has a dynamic effect on these arrangements. It is therefore necessary to look at the level of interplay between the wider logic of the socioeconomic and political matrix, on the one hand, and on the other the praxis and pragmatics of everyday life and social action. In other words, we must relate understanding of microsocial situations with analysis of macrosocial developments. It is at this level of interplay between the micro and the macro that moral obligations and personal understandings are enmeshed and can be reformulated or attacked through a complex web of social movements, communities, associations, and interpersonal relationships. These elements may variously, subsequently, or intermittently follow hierarchical as much as egalitarian logics and visions of human relatedness. It is here that the contradictory nature of clientelism comes to the fore. Consequently, the contributors to this volume suggest moving the focus away from analytical distinctions and the attribution of full egalitarian and participatory trends to

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civil society. The widespread identification between civil society, democracy, and equality has been more conceptual than actual. The authors suggest that research taking into account clientelism along with the more egalitarian trends of civil society could provide an understanding of important factors conditioning the timing, forms, and variable outcomes of the current processes of democratization, as Tatiana Vorozheikina, Fang Wang, and Ay§e Giineg-Ayata discussed. To phrase it differently, the contributions to this book indicate that even though societies vary in the significance, impact, and conceptualization of clientelism and patronage, such intercessions seem to remain present within civil society. As soon as analyses shift focus to the interplay between the formal logic of modern constitutional democracies and the pragmatics of everyday life and action, clientelism and patronage are shown to play an important, although contradictory, role. The contradictory character of clientelism and patronage has been discussed throughout this work as both 1) reflecting the impact of global and national political, administrative, and economic trends that affect patterns of control, distribution, and redistribution of resources; and 2) influencing the competition for power, the formulation and implementation of policies, and access to governmental services, contracts, and economic ventures. Let me recapitulate one indication of the unconventional character of the relationship between current political processes of disengagement from political controls and the reshaping of civil society. This trend does not necessarily weaken patronage, because (as observed both in contemporary as in historical settings—see, e.g., Wallace-Haudrill 1989) the latter flourishes in open-market systems, where power is created and defied in an open, nonascriptive, and competitive way (although the criteria of participation in modern constitutional systems vary greatly from those of earlier political systems) and where power competition is tighly linked to the attribution of power. A major source for the attribution of power is the projection of public images ("social visibility," appearances, credit and credibility, honor, perceived power, reputation, and respect). In the late twentieth century, media-dominated politics has changed the environment of political patronage by reshaping the patterns of control and persuasion and enlarging the role of images of power in electoral contests. However, patronage is still used in the management of political and administrative cadres at national, regional, and local levels. The authors have shown that patronage and clientelism continue to play a role in the late twentieth century. At the same time, they indicate that these arrangements have been subject to continuous change under the impact of sociopolitical transformations. In terms of its operation, in developed settings the role of patronage has been reduced in the creation and distribution of public goods and services, a trend that is not coterminous with increased egalitarianism (in fact, an opposite trend is gaining momentum in

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connection with the application of neoliberal policies). In addition, the long-term perspective taken by the authors seems to indicate that patronage is more rarely used in the present to restrict and manipulate political rights and votes. With development, moreover, patronage is less effective than in underdeveloped settings in controlling access to basic means of production and economic markets. Still, the contributors point out that even with development and democratization, patronage is of value in shaping differential access to the public distribution of private goods in the form of tenders or jobs in the upper echelons of the bureaucracy and in semipublic agencies. In terms of political strategy, patronage has been affected by countervailing forces that often have condemned it (although once in power these same forces nevertheless made use of it). Following Shefter's terminology in his monograph on the decline of patronage in Western polities, we can relate these attacks to the recurrent emergence of "externally mobilized" parties. Because these parties, in contrast to the parties in power, lack control over state resources, they can move political discourse to ideological lines. However, these same political forces often make use of patronage once in power, because it remains a most effective means not only of manipulating resources but also of building commitments and amassing political support, controlling the reliability of officeholders, and gaining public visibility. Similarly, the deideologization of politics can operate on patronage in contrasting ways. Whereas it can lead to the narrowing of the time perspective in social exchange and to shifting commitments, it can shape within the context of a transient political culture an instrumental and nonapologetic reliance on patronage. Related to the above discussion and as indicated in the various contributions, the shaping and reshaping of political culture is crucial in analyzing the persistence and transformation of clientelism and patronage. In this connection, it is particularly instructive to observe that clientelism tends to come under attack under regimes with a participatory emphasis, having either a republican or a communitarian character. As analyzed by Carole Pateman (1970), Norberto Bobbio (1987), and Shmuel N. Eisenstadt (1992), the participatory democratic trend is less concerned with the formal rules of the democratic game and often is suspicious of representative institutions. Drawing on republican traditions that go back to antiquity, the Renaissance, and the Reformation on the one hand, and to medieval and early modern communitarian visions and protest movements on the other, this trend of democratic discourse emphasizes the participatory dimension of democracy, the primacy of the common will rather than the will of all (to draw on Rousseau's distinction), and the important role of the state in attaining the common good. As the emphasis shifts to shared value commitments, to communitarian and majoritarian rule, this conception of democracy in fact poses a serious threat to the unencumbered and legitimate devel-

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o p m e n t of discrete interests in society. It is thus at the root of the developm e n t of w h a t J a c o b T a l m o n ( 1 9 6 0 ) a n d R a y m o n d A r o n ( 1 9 6 6 ) h a v e described as totalitarian d e m o c r a c y . As different interests d e v e l o p in m o d e r n c o m p l e x societies, the latter conception of d e m o c r a c y tends to relegate discrete interests and c o m m i t ments to the sphere of the informal, the " ^ l e g i t i m a t e " (not necessarily the ¡/legitimate). It thus may decry the necessary c o n f r o n t a t i o n of interests and contest f o r resources, f o r access to p o w e r , and for the setting up of public goods. Within such a context, clientelism remains informal, in dialectical c o n f r o n t a t i o n w i t h t h e o f f i c i a l a n d l a c k i n g an i n s t i t u t i o n a l i z e d b a s e , although its f o c u s by definition is directed toward the very epicenters of s o c i e t y . T h i s line of a n a l y s i s m a y be i n s t r u c t i v e in a n a l y z i n g r e c u r r e n t w a v e s of clientelistic b u r g e o n i n g and decline in societies—such as those of the M e d i t e r r a n e a n and Latin A m e r i c a — t h a t have been particularly prone to d e v e l o p m a r k e d a n d yet f r a g i l e clientelistic lines in their s o c i o p o l i t i c a l structuring. As discussed by Güneg-Ayata, Rossetti, Escobar, and Silva in this v o l u m e , in these polities the impact of clientelism was most affected d u r i n g p e r i o d s of e n t r e n c h m e n t of c o m m u n i t a r i a n p o l i t i c a l v i e w s . C o n v e r s e l y , the i m p l e m e n t a t i o n of f o r m a l r e p r e s e n t a t i v e d e m o c r a c y and the d i s e m p o w e r m e n t of the state in such settings tends to produce a proliferation of clientelistic n e t w o r k s — w h e t h e r of an organizational or a more decentralized c h a r a c t e r — a s in Italy and C o l o m b i a , respectively (on the latter, in addition to E s c o b a r ' s contribution, see Leal Buitrago and G u e v a r a 1991). T h e a b o v e discussion indicates that political culture may h a v e a m a j o r impact on clientelism, as several contributors, particularly Terry Clark and Carlo Rossetti, e m p h a s i z e . N e e d l e s s to say, political culture is contextual, t a k i n g i n t o a c c o u n t h u m a n a g e n c y a n d the e x i s t e n c e of c o u n t e r v a i l i n g social f o r c e s holding c o m p e t i n g social visions and projects. T h e perspective f o l l o w e d in this b o o k s u g g e s t s a n a l y z i n g the f a c t o r s that c o n d i t i o n internal variations within multinational polities—as in the case of the cong l o m e r a t e of nations that f o r m e r l y constituted the Soviet U n i o n — o r within m u l t i c u l t u r a l societies that h a v e i n c o r p o r a t e d v a r i o u s i m m i g r a n t groups. This line is best e x e m p l i f i e d in the chapters by Clark on the United States (see also Clark 1975) and by Fletcher on C a n a d a , which discuss s o m e of the factors that " m a k e a d i f f e r e n c e " by conditioning or h a m p e r i n g the cryst a l l i z a t i o n of a " c l i e n t e l i s t i c o p t i c " — t o u s e t h e t e r m c o i n e d by R e n é L e m a r c h a n d ( 1 9 8 1 ) — i n d i f f e r e n t sectors of the society. T h e s e chapters, as well as those by V o r o z h e i k i n a , R o n i g e r , and E s c o b a r , stress the existence within any society of a plurality of models of sociopolitical organization, e n g a g e d in mutual c o n f r o n t a t i o n and having a variable impact a m o n g different ethnic, religious, and local c o m m u n i t i e s . S o m e of the a n a l y s e s — f o r e x a m p l e , those by W a n g on T a i w a n and Giineg-Ayata on T u r k e y — p o i n t the w a y f o r f u t u r e r e s e a r c h on c l i e n t e l i s m by i n d i c a t i n g h o w in v a r i o u s societies h e g e m o n i c m o d e l s of sociopolitical o r g a n i z a t i o n and e x c h a n g e

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have been confronted by forces and coalitions espousing competing models. The crucial link in analyzing the t r a n s f o r m a t i o n and persistence of clientelism and patronage remains the balance of the opposing social forces and political c o a l i t i o n s leading to the d e m i s e or m a i n t e n a n c e of these arrangements. It bears stressing that such confrontations about the role of patronage—and of civil society—in the interface between the private and the public domains take place in modern constitutional democracies not as mere power c o n f r o n t a t i o n s but mainly as attempts to reshape the hegemonic lines of semiotic structurality of the public sphere. Here the media and various cultural and social elites play a central role in determining w h e t h e r p a t r o n a g e is e x p e c t e d , l a m e n t e d , e x c u s e d , j u s t i f i e d , or e v e n praised in connection with models of structuration of public services and images about the proper modes of regulation of political and economic markets. As long as the m a c r o s o c i a l s e t t i n g p r o v i d e s c o n d i t i o n s in w h i c h socioeconomic and political inequalities can be embedded within an ethic of institutional distrust, particularistic trust, and a problematic extension of trust, clientelism and patronage will tend to reemerge as important strategies of social exchange (see, for example, Gambetta 1993). As in ancient republican Rome, where the symbolic meaning and terminology for these bonds were originally coined, such relationships have continued to be rooted in a background of structural conditioning factors and trust that permeates those constraints. These factors prompt people to search for a moral element that may cement ties that are often legally unstructured, ambiguous f r o m a conventional point of view, and open to conflicting interpretations a n d i n s t r u m e n t a l m a n i p u l a t i o n s . W i t h C a n a d i a n political p a t r o n a g e in mind, J e f f r e y S i m p s o n has e m p h a s i z e d this aspect of the p h e n o m e n o n : "Patronage usually breaks no laws and merely raises questions about proper moral and ethical conduct in g o v e r n m e n t , the acceptability of which often has [as] much to do with the eye of the beholders, that is the political culture of the country or province, as it does with the political acts in question" (1988, 387). As modern capitalistic and democratic settings endorse the openness of the system in universalistic or q u a s i u n i v e r s a l i s t i c terms, c l i e n t e l i s m is opposed by countervailing forces: political organizations within civil society, social forces willing to support autonomous channels of communicat i o n w i t h the c e n t e r , a n d c o n s t i t u e n c i e s f o r b u r e a u c r a t i c a u t o n o m y . Changes in the perception of patronage, if they occur, may be of special consequence for clientelism if they lead to the institutionalization of mechanisms through which citizens can press for their rights and entitlements (as Rossetti, Clark, and Fletcher emphasize). Often such changes include civil service reforms, nonpartisan public systems, recognized charters of rights, controls over party fund-raising, and nonpartisan comptrollers as a prestig i o u s and trustworthy branch of g o v e r n m e n t . T h e f u n c t i o n i n g of these

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institutional m e c h a n i s m s h i n g e s o n support f o r a c o n f i g u r a t i o n o f the public sphere that is alternative to p a t r o n a g e or at least r e g u l a t e s its use. It is h o p e d that a c o m b i n a t i o n o f c o n t e x t u a l r e s e a r c h s t r a t e g i e s and a n a l y s e s f o l l o w i n g a l o n g - t e r m v i e w — a s a t t e m p t e d b y the contributors to this b o o k — w i l l o p e n n e w paths f o r u n d e r s t a n d i n g o f t e n u n a c k n o w l e d g e d d i m e n s i o n s o f s o c i a l c h a n g e that h a v e i n f l u e n c e d the r e c e n t p o l i t i c a l transf o r m a t i o n s o f c o n t e m p o r a r y s o c i e t i e s — a n d p o s s i b l y their future c o u r s e .

References Aron, R. 1966. Democratie et totalitarianisme. Paris: Gallimard. Bobbio, N. 1987. The Future of Democracy. London: Polity Press. Clark, T. N. 1975. The Irish Ethic and the Spirit of Patronage. Ethnicity 2: 3 0 5 - 3 5 9 . Dumont, L. 1986. Essays on Individualism. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Eisenstadt, S. N. 1992. The Fragility and Continuity of Constitutional Democratic Regimes. Unpublished manuscript. Gambetta, D. 1993. The Sicilian Mafia. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. G r a z i a n o , L. 1 9 8 3 . I n t r o d u c t i o n , s p e c i a l i s s u e on P o l i t i c a l C l i e n t e l i s m . International Political Science Review 4(4): 425^434. Landé, C. J. 1983. Political Clientelism in Political Studies. International Political Science Review 4(4): 435^454. La Fontaine, J.S. 1975. U n s t r u c t u r e d Social Relations. West African Journal of Sociology and Political Science 1(1): 51-81. Leal Buitrago, F., and A. Dávila Ladrón de Guevara. 1991. Clientelismo. El sistema político y su expresión regional. Bogotá: Tercer M u n d o Editores. Lemarchand, R. 1981. C o m p a r a t i v e Political Clientelism: Structure, Process, and O p t i c . In S. N. E i s e n s t a d t a n d R. L e m a r c h a n d , eds., Political Clientelism, Patronage, and Development, London: Sage, 7 - 3 2 . Mauss, M. 1985. A Catgeory of the H u m a n Mind: T h e Notion of Person and the Notion of Self. In M. Carrithers, S. Collins, and S. Lukes, The Category of the Person, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1 - 2 5 . P a i n e , R. 1971. A T h e o r y of P a t r o n a g e and B r o k e r a g e . In P a i n e , Patrons and Brokers in the East Arctic, Memorial University of N e w f o u n d l a n d , 3 - 2 1 . Pateman, C. 1970. Participation and Democratic Theory. C a m b r i d g e : C a m b r i d g e University Press. Pitt-Rivers, J. 1973. T h e Kith and the Kin. In J. G o o d y , ed., The Character of Kinship, Cambridge: C a m b r i d g e University Press, 8 9 - 1 0 5 . Roniger, L. 1990. Hierarchy and Trust in Modern Mexico and Brazil. New York: Prager. Simpson, J. 1988. Spoils of Power. Toronto: Collins. Talmon, J. 1960. The Origins of Totalitarianism. New York: Praeger. Taylor, C. 1989. Sources of the Self. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wallace-Haudrill, A. 1989. Patronage in Ancient Society. L o n d o n : Routledge and Kegan Paul.

Index Adorno, Theodor, 25 Affirmative action, 127, 128, 134, 139 AFSCME. See American Federation of State County and Municipal Employees Agrarian reform, 65, 68, 69, 70, 73, 74, 76, 79, 82(n6), 83(n8), 191 Agrarian Reform Institute (INCORA) (Colombia), 68, 69, 7 0 , 7 1 Agricultural community, 56, 68, 155, 168, 169, 195, 203(n7) Almond, Gabriel, 14 American Federation of State County and Municipal Employees (AFSCME), 134 ANUC. See Asociación Nacional de Usuarios Campesinos Armed Forces Movement (MFA) (Portugal), 32 Armoyan family, 159 Aron, Raymond. 212 Asociación Nacional de Usuarios Campesinos (ANUC) (Colombia), 68, 75, 79; division, 69, 70, 71, 74; founding, 73 Associations, 6 - 7 . See also Civil society Austerity strategies, 127, 129-130, 135, 137 Avery, Donald, 156 Bader, Viet-Michael, 30 Bailey, Frederick G., 35 Baldwin, Robert, 152 Banditry, 32 Banfield, Edward, 124 Barnes, S. H., 19 Ben-Gurion, David, 173 Benschop, Albert, 30 Bialecki, I., 190 Bilandic, Michael, 130 Blacks, 127, 130, 132-133, 134, 135, 138-139 Bobbio, Norberto, 211 Boissevain, Jeremy, 19 Bond Head, Sir Francis, 152, 153

Bossism, 31 Boston (Massachusetts): ethnic/religious community, 124, 125, 126, 127; fiscal practices, 124, 125-126; patronage, 126-127, 143(n3); political culture, 124-127 Boston Globe, 125, 127 Bourdieu, Pierre, 30 Bourgeoisie, 7 Boyte, H. C„ 6 Brokers. See Patron-brokerage Buchanan, John, 157, 158 Bureau of National Insurance (Israel), 174 Business, 159, 160 Byrne, Jane, 130, 132 Cabralism, 32, 45(n5) Caciquismo, 30, 31, 73 Camera dei Fasci e delle Corporazioni, 94 Cameron, J. J., 149 Camorra (Italy), 91 Campbell, J. K„ 42 Canada: Charter of Rights and Freedoms, 159; clientelism, 145, 156, 161; colonial administration and reform, 147-149, 150-154, 163; Executive Council, 152; and Great Britain, 147, 148, 151-152, 154, 162, 163; legislative assemblies, 152, 155; Legislative Council, 152; patronage, 14, 145-147, 149-150, 157, 213; political culture, 146, 209; political parties, 149, 155, 158, 160; reforms (1920s), 154-157, 163, 164(n5), 209; reforms (post-World War II), 157, 163; resource/service distribution, 156, 157, 160, 161-162; and United States, 153, 154, 162, 163. See also Nova Scotia; Ontario Canadian Auto Workers, 158-159 Carter, Jimmy, 137

215

216

Index

CCF. See Cooperative Commonwealth Federation Censorship, 141 Cermak, Anton, 131 Chamber of Commerce (United States), 128 Chang, Chun-hung, 194 Charcoal production, 36 Ch'en family, 186 Ch'en Li-fu, 191 Ch'en, Ming-t'ung, 185 Chiang Ching-kuo, 189, 193 Chiang Kai-shek, 189, 191 Chicago, 123; clientelism, 130, 131, 132, 134-135, 139; "Council 29", 134; Department of Neighborhoods, 134; ethnic groups/politics, 130-131, 132-135, 139; hiring practices, 134; political parties, 130, 131, 132; political structure, 131; reformism, 131, 133, 135; Washington mayoralty, 132-134, 135 Chicagofest, 132 China, 143(n6). See also Taiwan Chinese Youth Corps of Anti-Communism and Saving the Nation (CYC), 183,186, 202(n2) Chou, Fang-tsu, 195 Christian Democratic Party (Italy), 96 Chu, Yun-han, 185, 190 Citizen participation. 18-20, 21, 26, 65, 67, 71, 83(nl4), 122(table), 125, 126, 128, 138, 140, 211. See also Civil society Citizenship, 21, 67, 171 Civil service, 89, 126, 127 Civil society, 49, 87, 96-97, 101, 108-109, 163, 195, 210, 213; defined, 1-2, 6 - 7 , 9; and democracy, 2, 5 - 7 , 8, 210; and state, 6, 7, 25, 26, 87, 88, 212. See also Citizen participation Clark, Terry, 2 0 9 , 2 1 2 Class, 15, 20, 55, 81, 93, 155, 193, 195, 197 Clientelism, 2, 7, 8; analysis, 12-14, 208-209, 212, 213; and business, 159, 160; and class, 81, 93, 193, 195; communist, 189, 190 (see also Russia); and constitutional government, 87, 99, 100; defined, 9 - 1 0 , 21, 22, 24, 61, 66-67, 82(nl), 122-123, 146, 201; development, 11-12, 19-26; egalitarian, 193, 195, 202(n6); extended, 30-31; and fascism, 93; and illegal associations, 91-92; and issue-oriented politics, 137-139, 140-141, 143(n6); media, 141; network

structure, 12-13, 20, 100; opposition to, 122, 123, 127-128, 130, 135, 163, 211 (see also New fiscal populism; Reformism); peasant societies, 66-67, 75-78; political, 3, 11-12, 13, 15, 19-20, 22, 59-60, 100-101; and religion, 138-140; resource distribution, 3, 4, 9, 10, 11, 12, 1 5 , 2 1 , 2 2 , 2 4 , 30, 42, 8 7 , 2 1 2 (see also under individual countries)', resources as separable/public goods, 122(table), 126-127, 129, 139, 210 (see also Particularism; Universalism); and societal conditions, 5, 9 - 1 0 , 11-15, 2 0 - 2 1 , 2 4 - 2 6 , 67-68, 100, 121, 130-131. 138-140, 141-142, 161, 162. 209, 213; state, 25-26, 93; studies of, 3, 5, 12-13, 101, 160, 161-162. See also Civil society; Corruption; Democracy; Patronage; Patron-client relations; Political culture; under individual countries Colombia, 65; clientelism, 65, 66-67, 71-72, 75-80, 81, 82; Constituent Assembly, 70, 83(n 11 ); elections, 73, 74, 76, 77-78; guerilla activity, 70; land reform law (Ley 30 de 1988), 70, 83(nlO); land reform negotiations (1987), 69, 71-72; land tenure, 65-66, 67, 68-69, 70-71, 72, 73, 74, 75-76, 77-78, 79, 80, 81, 82(nn 4, 6), 83(nn 8, 10, 12, 13, 17); National Congress, 75; national/regional political developments, 69-71, 72, 73, 78-80, 81-82; peasant-patron/broker relations, 66, 73, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79-80, 81-82; peasant political abstention, 65, 73, 74, 75, 77, 83(nl8); political reform ( 1991 ), 77, 81-82; resource distribution, 72, 76, 77, 81; state land ownership, 70; Sucre region, 65, 68, 72, 82(nn5, 7), 83(n8) Compadrio, 42 Conservador (political party, Colombia), 71, 72,79 Conservatism, 128, 136 Conservative party (Canada), 155, 158, 159, 160 Constitutional democracy. See under Democracy Constitutionalist Party (Canada), 152 Contracting awards, 127, 129, 130, 134, 137, 141, 155, 157, 160 Cooperative Commonwealth Federation (CCF) (Canada), 156 Corruption, 15, 38, 147, 178; Canada, 150,

Index

154, 155, 157, 161; Israel, 172, 175, 176, 179(n2); Italy, 91-92, 101; Russia, 110, 113, 114, 117; Turkey, 57 Costa, Joaquin, 31 Council for Industrial and Commercial Development (Taiwan), 194 Council of Twelve (Nova Scotia), 147, 148, 149, 154 Crispi, Francesco, 90 CSM (Consiglio Superiore della Magistratura). See under Italy Customs, 34,41 Cutileiro, J., 31 CYC. See Chinese Youth Corps of AntiCommunism and Saving the Nation Daley, Richard J., 130, 131 Daley, Richard M„ 130, 132, 135, 141 Danet, Brenda, 171 Davis, Bill, 159 DC. See Democrazia Cristiana Debt, 54, 123, 124, 137, 193 Demirel, Suleyman, 54, 58 Democracy, 1,5-6, 10,21,53, 111, 113, 114, 195, 198-199, 200; and clientelism, 5, 8, 9-10, 13-14, 15, 19, 87, 145-146, 209, 211-212, 213; constitutional, 87, 88, 94, 97, 99, 116, 117; development of, 7, 8-9, 10, 14; institutionalization, 213-214; parliamentary, 88-89, 101 (n 1 ). See also under Civil society Democracy in America (Tocqueville), 10 Democratic Party (DP, Turkey), 52-54 Democratic Party (United States), 122, 124, 135; Chicago machine, 130, 131, 132; Cook County Democratic Party Central Committee, 132 Democratic Progressive Party (DPP, Taiwan), 194, 195-197, 198; Pan Formosa faction, 196, 197, 203(n8); Pan New-Tide faction, 196, 197, 203(n8) Democrazia Cristiana (DC, Italy), 96 Derthick, Martha, 124 Destra, La (political party, Italy), 89, 92 Dissidents, 108, 119(n3) Donahoue, Terry, 157 Downs, Anthony, 123 DP. See Democratic Party DPP. See Democratic Progressive Party Drugs, 96 Durham, Lord, 151, 153

217

Durkheim, Emile, 9 Dwivedi, O. P., 162 EDP (state electricity company). See under Portugal Eisenstadt, Shmuel N„ 99, 123, 189, 211 Elections. See Suffrage; under individual countries Electro del Lima (construction company), 33 Elites, 19, 24, 31, 213; Canada, 148, 150-151, 155; communist, 189; Israel, 167, 168, 169, 170; Italy, 88, 89, 90, 92, 94, 95; Philippines, 191; Russia, 109, 113, 114; Taiwan, 182, 183, 195, 198-199, 200, 201; Turkey, 49, 50, 52, 53, 56 Employment: Canada, 153, 155, 157, 160; Israel, 173, 176, 177; Turkey, 56, 60; United States, 126, 130, 134 Epton, 132 Erie, Steven, 124 Escobar, Cristina, 10, 209, 212 Ethnicity, 55, 58, 121-122, 125, 131, 133, 134. See also Kinship Family, 37, 40, 41, 44, 159, 186; godparents, 41 —42 Family Compact (Ontario), 147, 150-151, 153 Far Eastern Textile, 187 Fasci Siciliani, 90 Fascism, 93-94 FAUI Project. See Fiscal Austerity and Urban Innovation Project Favoritism, 10, 91, 129 Federación de Ganaderos (FEDEGAN), 69 Feinstein, Diane, 135, 137 Ferman, Barbara, 124 Feudalism, 21, 146 Fiscal Austerity and Urban Innovation Project (FAUI), 121 Fiscal conservatism, 128, 136 Fiscal liberalism, 122(table), 124, 136 Fiscal populism. See New fiscal populism Fitzpatrick, P. J., 159 Flaherty, Peter, 135 Fletcher, Mark, 212 Flynn, Ray, 125 Fonte, Maria de, 32 Fontes, Donato, 3 9 ^ 0 Foster, George, 20, 30 France, 89

218

Index

Gamonales, 73, 79 Geertz, Clifford, 168 Gibbons, K. M „ 161 Gilsenan, Michael, 30 Glasnost, 111 Gluckman, Max, 100 GNR. See National Republican Guard Gold, T., 186 Gongalves, Vasco, 32 Gorbachev, Mikhail, 111 Gramsci, Antonio, 6, 97 Graziano, Luigi, 99, 207 Great Britain, 88, 151. See also Canada Great Society, 124, 126, 140 Green, Bill, 135 Giinej-Ayala, Ayge, 210, 212

under

Habermas, Jürgen, 9 Halifax Compact (Nova Scotia), 148 Halutz, 168 Hamilton, Robert, 152 Hamosad Lebituach Leumi, 174 Handlin, Oscar, 124 Hartlyn, Jonathan, 79 Hau Bo-Tsun, 194 Herat Party (Israel), 173 Hi-Pa-Wang Enterprise, 187 Hispanics, 127, 138-139 Histadrut labor federation, 169 Hobbes, Thomas, 2, 100 Hodgetts, J. E., 162 Horkheimer, Max, 25 Howe, Joseph, 149 Huang Fu-shin K M T branch, 1 8 7 - 1 8 8 Human rights, 70

171, 172, 173, 175; interests and resource distribution, 169, 170, 171-172, 173, 176; military organization, 170; Ministry of Commerce and Industry, 174; patronage, 171-172, 173,174, 1 7 5 , 1 7 7 - 1 7 9 ; political culture, 170, 172, 173, 174; political parties, 173, 1 7 5 - 1 7 7 ; societal structure, 169, 170, 171, 172-173; Zionists, 167-169, 170, 172 Italy: Act of 1859, 88; Act of 1865, 89; civil service, 89, 93; civil society, 9 6 - 9 9 , 101; clientelism, 89, 91, 92, 93, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 140, 141, 212; Consiglio Superiore della Magistratura (CSM), 9 4 - 9 5 ; Constitution (1848), 88, 89; Constitution (1948), 94, 95; corte constiiuzionale, 95; electorate, 89, 91, 92, 93, 95, 9 6 - 9 7 , 98; fascism, 9 3 - 9 4 ; illegal associations, 9 1 - 9 2 , 93, 9 5 - 9 6 , 97, 98, 99, 100; patronage, 89, 95, 96, 97; political parties and client relations, 93, 95, 9 6 - 9 7 , 98, 100; political structure and constitution, 8 7 - 9 0 , 92, 93, 94, 95, 9 7 - 9 9 , 101; prefecture system, 89, 90, 92, 95; resource distribution. 92, 95, 96, 9 8 , 9 9 , 100, 101 Jabbra, Joseph, 161 Jacini, 92 Jackson,Jesse, 132 Japan, 140, 184, 201 Jarvis, Howard, 128, 143(n4) Jewish Agency, 171, 173 Jews, 94, 124; Oriental, 175, 176. See Israel Joudrey family, 159 Justice Party (JP) (Turkey), 54, 55

also

Immigration, 130, 141, 155, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 173. See also Migration INCORA. See Agrarian Reform Institute Individualism, 122(table), 128, 129, 130, 138 Inglehart, Ronald, 140 Intelligensia, 1 0 8 - 1 0 9 Irish community (United States), 123, 124, 125, 127, 138 Irving, K. C., family, 159 Israel: British mandate period, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171; civil society, 169, 170, 175; clientelism, 173, 174-175, 176\ halutz (pioneer), 168-169; ideological origin, 167-169; immigration, 168, 169, 170,

Katz, Elihu, 171 Kaufman, Robert R „ 20 Keane, John, 7 Kennedy, M. D., 190 Kennedy family, 125 Khazbulatov, Ruslan, 117 Khrushchev, Nikita, 107 Kibbutz movement, 169, 170 Kinship, 4, 21, 42, 53. See also Ethnicity KMT. See Kuomintang Koch, Edward, 135, 137 Ku family, 186, 194, 202(n3) K'ung family, 191 K'ung Hsiang-hsi, 192

Index

Kuo Cheng-Tian, 192, 193 Kuomintang (KMT), 181, 189; cadre evaluation, 199; Central Committee, 194, 201; class, 193, 195, 197; clientelism and limits, 181-183, 191-192, 193, 194, 201; and communism, 189; cross-party relations, 195, 196-197, 198; economic control, 184-185, 190-191, 192, 194, 199, 201 ; egalitarianism (goulash authoritarianism), 193, 195, 202(n6); elections and reform, 188, 192, 196, 198, 199; electoral clientelism and local factions, 182, 183, 184, 185-186, 194, 195, 196, 198-201, 203(n7); local-central government relations, 184, 185-186, 196, 197, 198-199, 200, 201, 203(n9); mainland period, 191, 192, 193; military clientelism, 187-188, 194, 198, 202(n4); nonlocal-faction clientelism, 183, 186-187, 194, 200; opposition to, 187, 193, 194-195, 196, 203(n7) (see also Democratic Progressive Party; Liberal Democratic Party; New Party); party clientelism, 183, 192-193; political party organization, 184, 197; reform and clientelism, 195, 198-200. See also Taiwan Laband, P., 90 Labor Brigade (Israel), 169 Labor organizations, 170, 171 Labor Party (Israel), 173, 175, 176, 177 Landé, Carl, 5, 20, 207 Landes, Ronald, 161 Land grants, 151, 152, 153 Landlords, 5 1 , 6 8 , 73, 76, 92 Land reform. See Agrarian reform Land resources, 34, 36, 37, 38, 40, 68; expropriation, 37, 3 8 - 3 9 Latin America: clientelism, 208. See also Colombia LDP. See Liberal Democratic Party Lee Den-Huei, 188, 194 Lega, La (political party, Italy), 97, 98 Legg, Keith, 19 Lemarchand, René, 13, 19, 123, 212 Lemieux, Vincent, 4 Liberal (political party, Colombia), 71, 72, 73, 75, 79 Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) (Taiwan), 201 Liberalism, 122(table), 124, 125, 136 Liberal party (Canada), 155, 159, 160

219

Likud Party (Israel), 175-177 Lin family (Pan-Chi'ao), 186 Lin family (Wu-Feng), 186, 202(n3) Little City Halls (Boston), 126 MacDonough, Alexa, 158 MacKay, Malcolm, 157, 158 MacKenzie King, William Lyon, 152, 153 Mafia, 9 1 , 9 8 , 123 Mapai (Labor political party, Israel), 171 Marcos, Ferdinand, 191, 192, 193 Marcos, Imelda, 193 Marxism, 20 Mauger, Joshua, 148 McCready, D„ 161 McKenna. Frank, 159 Media, 141, 149, 1 5 2 , 2 1 0 , 2 1 3 Mediation, 4, 6, 29, 37, 40, 41, 42-43, 44 Merton, Robert K„ 123, 182 Michelin Tire Company, 158 Migration, 37, 39, 43, 55, 58, 59, 68, 121. See also Immigration Milheiro family, 35 Military, 151, 170, 187-188, 194 Minorities, 127-128. See also Blacks; Hispanics Mintz, Sidney, 42 Model Cities projects, 131 Mollenkopf, John, 124 Montesquieu, Charles-Louis de Secondai,

88 Morality, 125, 138,213 Morris, Bill, 136 Mosca, Gaetano, 10, 92, 100 Motherland Party (MP) (Turkey), 57 MP (member of Parliament), 58. See also Motherland Party Mussolini, Benito, 93, 94 Naishul, Vitaly, 109 National Council of the Jews in Palestine, 171 National Program of Rehabilitation (PNR) (Colombia), 69, 70, 72, 83(n9) National Republican Guard (GNR) (Portugal), 34 NDP. See New Democratic Party N'Drangheta (Italy), 91 Neoliberalism, 1, 14 Nepotism, 22, 191, 192 New Brunswick (Canada), 155, 159 New Deal, 124, 140

220

Index

New Democratic Party (NDP) (Canada), 158, 160, 164(n7) New fiscal populism (NFP), 122(table), 135-139 New Party (NP) (Taiwan), 198 New political culture (NPC), 143(n5) NFP. See New fiscal populism Noel, S. J. R„ 160 Nomenklatura, 190. See also under Russia Notables, 31,40, 5 0 - 5 1 , 9 2 , 93 Nova Scotia, 145, 147, 150, 163(n4); Civil Service Act (1955), 157; clienlelism, 159, 160, 161; colonial government and reform, 148-150, 154; elections, 149, 150, 157-158, 159; infrastructure projects, 158, 162, 164(n9); patronage, 149-150, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159; political culture (1920s), 153-154, 155-156, 162; political culture (post-World War II), 157-159, 161, 162; unions, 158-159 NP. See New Party Okudzhava, Bulat, 109 Ombudspersons, 139, 174 O'Neill, Tip, 125 Ontario, 145, 147; clientelism and reform, 154-157, 159-161, 162; clientelisi stages, 159-160; colonial government and reform, 150-154; immigration, 155, 156; land grants (Clergy Reserves), 151, 152, 153; military presence, 151; patronage, 150, 152, 155, 160, 161 ; political culture, 155-157; rebellion, 153, 162; Upper Canada, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 160 Operation PUSH, 132 Paine, Robert, 13, 209 Palestinian Arabs, 168, 174. 179(nl) Pareto, Vilfredo, 100 Particularism, 22, 24, 26, 106, 108, 183, 213; Israel, 169, 172, 174, 178-179; United States, 122, 123, 125, 131 Partito Communista (PCI) (Italy), 96 Partito Democratico della Sinistra (PDS) (Italy), 96 Partito Liberale (PLI) (Italy), 96 Partito Republicano (PRI) (Italy), 96 Partito Socialista (PSI) (Italy), 96 Partito Socialista Democratico (PSDI) (Italy), 96

Pateman, Carole, 211 Patronage, 2, 5; analysis, 13-14, 207-208, 209, 210, 213; defined, 3 ^ , 29, 30-31, 61, 146-147, 177-179; government-provided services, 210-211; hierarchy, 31, 208; historical, 3-4; and mediation, 4, 29; opposition to, 211,213; political, 11-12, 13-14, 15, 19-20, 210, 211; religious ties, 138-139; studies of, 3, 5, 12; traditional, 22, 23, 24. See also Clientelism; Employment; Patron-brokerage; Patronclient relations; under individual countries Patron-brokerage, 12, 22-23, 24, 34, 35, 37, 39, 40, 66, 174; organizational, 183 Patron-client relations, 3-5, 10, 11-12, 19; defined, 4, 22-24, 30-31, 41 - 4 2 , 61; development of, 11, 19-20, 23, 65-66; family protection, 41-42; political, 13-14; and power, 22-23, 30, 110, 210. See also under individual countries Patuleia, 32 PCI. See Partito Communista PDS. See Partito Democratico della Sinistra Peasants: Colombia, 65-66, 67, 68; Portugal, 32, 36, 40, 43; Turkey, 50, 51, 52 Peet, Ray, 129 Peterson, David, 160 Philippines, 191-194, 202(n5) Pitt-Rivers, Julian, 30, 42 PLI. See Partito Liberale PNR. See National Program of Rehabilitation Political bossism, 31 Political parties, 12; and clientelism, 20, 22, 24, 119(n7); machine, 55, 130, 132, 140, 160; and patronage, 13, 19-20, 211; single-party state, 93, 201; three-party stale, 155. See also under individual countries Political culture, 122, 141-142, 211, 212; issue-oriented, 138, 139, 140, 143(n6); and religion, 138-140; studies, 142, 161, 163(nl). See also Clientelism; under individual countries Political "left": Canada, 155, 156, 163; Israel, 168, 170, 173; United States, 122, 124 Political "right": Israel, 173; United States, 122, 127-128,129 Portugal, 29, 31; Aguaril, 29, 32, 33, 36, 39-40, 41, 42; archival sources, 29, 44(nl); Board of Internal Colonization (JCI), 34; Casa do Povo, 36; church,

Index

31-32, 33, 38, 41; EDP (state electricity company), 37, 38; Estado Novo, 31, 32, 34, 41; family protection, 41^4-3; infrastructure projects, 35, 36, 38; local leadership, 32, 33, 36-37, 40; Ministry of Public Works, 37; national political conditions, 31-32, 37, 43, 44; patron/broker mediation, 29, 31-32, 35, 36-37, 38, 39-40, 41-43, 44; political parties, 38, 44; Selima, 29, 32, 33, 34, 35, 37-39, 41, 42; village autonomy, 29, 40, 44; villager-government relations (1850-1940), 32-34, 44, 45(n4); villager-government relations (1940-1974), 34-37, 44; villager-government relations (1974-1990), 3 7 ^ 0 , 44 Powell, John D„ 19, 30, 67, 101 PRI. See Partito Republicano Privatization, 14, 24, 114 Progressive Conservative Party (Canada), 159 Proletarian Democracy (political party, Italy), 97 Proposition 2 1/2 (Massachusetts), 125126 Proposition 13 (California), 129-130, 143(n4) Protekzia, 174-175, 179(n2) Protestants, 123, 130, 132, 135, 138, 139, 141 Protest movements, 71, 83(nl4), 195 PSD. See Social Democratic Party PSDI. See Partito Socialista Democratico PSI. See Partito Socialista Race relations, 127-128, 132 Rae, Bob, 160 Reagan, Gerald, 157 Reagan, Ronald, 128 Reformism, 123, 129 Religious groups, 31, 123, 126, 127, 138-140, 153. See also Protestants; Roman Catholics Rent-seeking, 193, 194, 200 Report on the Affairs of British North America (Lord Durham), 151, 153 Republican Party (United States), 122, 127, 130,135 Republican People's Party (RPP) (Turkey), 50, 52-53, 54, 55, 56 Republic of Salo, 94 Restrepo, Carlos Lleras, 73, 79 Rete, La (political party, Italy), 97, 98 Riegelhaupt, J., 31, 43

221

Roman Catholics, 138, 139; United States, 123, 126, 127, 131, 132, 141 Romero-Maura, Joaquin, 31 Roniger, Luis, 99, 123, 189, 212 Rossetti, Carlo, 212 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques. 211 RPP. See Republican People's Party Russia, 105-106; civil society, 6, 108-109, 110, 114, 119(n3); clientelism, 110, 113, 117; decentralization, 114-115, 119(n8); democratic reform (1988-1990s), 111-113, 119(n5); elections, 111,112, 117; privatization, 114, 117; state administrative system (nomenklatura) (through 1980s), 106-107, 109-110, 111, 112, 113, 118(n 1 ), 119(nn 2, 4); state patronclient relations (through 1980s), 109, 110; state social ideology (through 1980s), 107-108, 111; reform government, 112, 115-116, 117, 118; reform government and patron-client relations, 112-114, 115, 116-117, 118; resource distribution, 109, 110, 112, 114, 116, 117. See also Communist clientelism Sabonjian, 135 Salazar, 31, 32 Samuelson, P. A., 139 San Diego, 127-130 Sani, G., 19, 96 Sartori, Giovanni, 95, 96, 98, 100 Sawyer, Eugene, 135 Scandinavia, 139 Schnaubelt, 129 Schneider, Peter, 19 Scott, James C., 76 SDPP. See Social Democratic Populist Party Selznick, Philip, 195 Sérgio, A., 31 Severino, 36 Shefter, Martin, 13, 177, 211 Silva, Carlos, 209, 212 Silverman, Sydel T„ 19,91 Simpson, Jeffrey, 178, 213 Sinistra, La (political party, Italy), 90 Smuggling, 41 Sobey family, 159 Social Democratic Party (PSD) (Portugal), 38, 39 Social Democratic Populist Party (SDPP) (Turkey), 58 Social Gospel, 155 Spain, 140, 141 State, 1, 2, 6, 7, 25-26, 88, 93, 212

222

Index

Statuto Albertino (1848), 88, 89 Strachan, John, 152 Structural Transformation of the Sphere, The (Habermas), 9 Suffrage, 1 1 , 9 1 , 9 3 , 9 5 Sufism, 21 Sung family, 191 Sung Tzu-wen, 192 Sun Yat-sen, 189

Public

Tachau, Frank, 54 Taiwan, 181; civil society, 195, 201; class, 193, 195, 197; clientelism and structure, 181-182, 190, 193; economic performance, 188, 190; illegal activity, 182, 185; mainlander population, 181, 187, 191; National Assembly and legitimation, 198, 199, 200; native population, 182, 183, 186, 188; political parties, 181, 195, 198 (see also Democratic Progressive Party; Kuomintang; Liberal Democratic Party; N e w Party); Provicial Assembly, 200; public enterprise, 184, 186, 189, 192, 2 0 2 ( n l ) ; resource distribution, 185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 201 Taiwan Cement, 187 Tai Yuen Textile, 187 Talmon, Jacob, 212 Tancango, Luzviminda G., 192 Tarrow, Sidney, 99 Tatung Electrical C o m p a n y , 187 Taxation, 3 3 - 3 4 , 124, 125-126, 129, 136, 157, 187, 193 Taxpayers Association (United States), 128 Telhado, Ze do, 32 Tenth Credit C o m p a n y scandal, 187 Theobald, Robin, 15 Thernstrom, Stephen, 124 Third World, 11, 12, 14, 209 Tilman, R., 178 Tocqueville, Alexis de, 10 Trade unions. See Unions True Path Party (TPP) (Turkey), 58 Tupper, Charles, 149 Turkey, 49; clientelism and broker-client relations, 56, 57, 5 8 - 6 1 , 62(n2); economy, 5 4 - 5 5 , 56; elections, 53, 55, 58; national political conditions, 4 9 - 5 0 , 52, 53, 54, 57; Parliament, 58; political organization/patronage ( 1 9 4 0 - 1 9 5 0 s ) , 50, 5 2 - 5 3 ; political organization/patronage ( 1 9 6 0 - 1 9 7 0 s ) , 5 4 - 5 7 ; political organization/patronage ( 1 9 8 0 - 1 9 9 0 s ) , 5 7 - 6 1 , 6 2 ( n l ) ; resource allocation, 54, 5 5 - 5 6 ,

57, 5 8 - 5 9 , 60; urban migration, 55, 58, 59; urban political organization/patronage, 5 5 - 5 9 ; village political organization/patronage, 5 0 - 5 2 , 5 3 - 5 4 , 56, 57; village-state relations, 4 9 - 5 0 , 5 1 , 5 2 , 56 Unemployment, 39, 55, 68, 83(n7) Unions, 12, 15,55, !28, 134, 158-159, 169, 181-182 United Empire Loyalists (Canada), 151, 153 United States, 121; clientelism, 121-123, 124, 130-135, 136, 141-142; citizen participation, 122(table), 125-126, 127, 128, 129; patronage, 14, 126-127, 130, 136; political cultures and deep structures, 122, 142 (see also Boston; Chicago; Democratic Party; Republican Party; San Diego; Waukegan); reformism, 123, 129, 131, 133, 135; resource distribution, 123, 129, 130, 139 Universalism, 9, 21, 22, 24; Canada, 145-146, 156, 157, 160, 161; Israel, 170, 171, 172, 173, 174, 176; Taiwan, 183 Urbanization, 11,55, 156, 163 Urban renewal projects, 131 Verba, Sidney, 14 Verstehen, 22 Violence, 9 1 , 9 3 , 96 Voluntary associations, 2, 6, 20 Vorozheikina, Tatiana, 210, 212 Voting rights/practices. See Suffrage; individual countries, elections Wang, Fang, 210, 212 Washington, Harold, 132-133, 134, 135 Waukegan, 135-137 Weber-Pazmino, Gioia, 9, 89 Weingrod, Alex, 12, 19 Welfare states, 140 Whitaker, Reg, 14 White, Kevin, 124, 125, 126 Whitmire, Kathy, 135, 137 Wilson, Pete, 128 Winn, C „ 161 Wolf, Eric R „ 30, 42 World Zionist Organization, 171 Wu, Nai-Teh, 182-183 Yen family, 186 Yu-Long Motor C o m p a n y , 187 Zionists, 167-168 Zuckerman, A., 19

About the Book and the Authors Determining the foundations and contradictory implications of the liberalization, democratization, and sociopolitical restructuring occurring today on an almost global scale constitutes a major challenge for contemporary social science. The central objective of this book is to analyze the impact, limits, and evolution of various forms of clientelism and patronage in the historical matrix of societies and throughout contemporary processes of participation and democratization. The authors dissent from earlier approaches in their shared conviction that, first, clientelism should not be expected to disappear as a necessary corollary of political change and development; yet, second, the changing structure of the contemporary sociopolitical arena has a dynamic effect on it. By linking micro and macro levels of analysis, they contribute critical research perspectives on the changing nature of the political arena, shifting attention to the study of regime instability and vulnerability.

Luis Roniger is senior lecturer in the D e p a r t m e n t of Sociology and Anthropology and Spanish and Latin American Studies at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Aype Giinep-Ayata is associate professor of public administration at the Middle East Technical University of Ankara. Terry Nichols Clark, Department of Sociology, University of Chicago Cristina Escobar, Department of Sociology, University of California, San Diego Mark Fletcher, Department of Political Science, Carleton University, Ottawa Carlo Rossetti, Istituto di Sociologia, Università degli studi di Parma Manuel Carlos Silva, Department of Anthropology, Universidade do Minho Tatiana Vorozheikina, Institute of World Economy and International Relations, Russian Academy of Sciences, Moscow Fang Wang, Department of Sociology, University of Chicago

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