The European Union and the Promotion of Democracy : Europe's Mediterranean and Asian Policies 9780191529283, 9780199242122

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OXFORD STUDIES IN D E M O C R A T I Z A T I O N Series Editor: Laurence Whitehead

THE EUROPEAN UNION AND THE PROMOTION OF DEMOCRACY

OXFORD STUDIES IN D E M O C R A T I Z A T I O N Series Editor: Laurence Whitehead Oxford Studies in Democratization is a series for scholars and students of comparative politics and related disciplines. Volumes will concentrate on the comparative study of the democratization processes that accompanied the decline and termination of the cold war. The geographical focus of the series will primarily be Latin America, the Caribbean, Southern and Eastern Europe, and relevant experiences in Africa and Asia.

OTHER BOOKS IN THE SERIES The New Politics of Inequality in Latin America: Rethinking Participation and Representation Douglas A. Chalmers, Carlos M. Vilas, Katherine Roberts Hite, Scott B. Martin, Kerianne Piester, and Monique Segarra Human Rights and Democratization in Latin America: Uruguay and Chils Alexandra Barahona de Brito The Politics of Memory: Transitional Justice in Democratizing Societies Alexandra Barahona de Brito, Carmen Gonzalez Enriquez, and Paloma Aguilar Citizenship Rights and Social Movements: A Comparative and Statistical Analysis Joe Foweraker and Todd Landman Regimes, Politics, and Markets: Democratization and Economic Change in Southern and Eastern Europe Jose Maria Maravall Democracy between Consolidation and Crisis in Southern Europe Leonardo Morlino The Bases of Party Competition in Eastern Europe: Social and Ideological Cleavages in Post-Communist States Geoffrey Evans and Stephen Whitefteld The Democratic Developmental State: Politics and Institutional Design Marc Robinson and Gordon White The Legacy of Human Rights Violations in the Southern Cone: Argentina, Chile, and Uruguay Luis Roniger and Mario Sznajder Democratic Consolition in Eastern Europe: Volume 1. Institutional Engineering Jan Zielonka Democratic Consolition in Eastern Europe: Volume 2. International and Transnational Factors Jan Zielonka and Alex Pravda The International Dimensions of Democratization: Europe and the Americas Laurence Whitehead Institutional and Democratic Citizenship Axel Hadenius

The European Union and the Promotion of Democracy

RICHARD YOUNGS

OXTORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

This book has been printed digitally and produced in a standard specification in order to ensure its continuing availability

OXFORD U N I V E R S I T Y PRESS

Great Clarendon Street, Oxford OX2 GDP Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University's objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide in Oxford New York Auckland Bangkok Buenos Aires Cape Town Chennai Dar es Salaam Delhi Hong Kong Istanbul Karachi Kolkata Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Mumbai Nairobi Sao Paulo Shanghai Taipei Tokyo Toronto Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries Published in the United States by Oxford University Press Inc., New York © Richard Youngs 2001 The moral rights of the author have been asserted Database right Oxford University Press (maker) Reprinted 2004 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this book in any other binding or cover And you must impose this same condition on any acquirer ISBN 0-19-924212-7

For my father, in loving memory

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Acknowledgements

The proposal for this book took shape while I was working in the Foreign and Commonwealth Office between 1995 and 1998. During this period, the analysis of democracy promotion became increasingly pertinent to the UK's diplomatic work, in particular after the change of government in May 1997. Having worked on this issue within the Foreign Office, at the end of 1998 I took a fellowship funded by the European Commission within the framework of a broader project on European Union democracy promotion policies. It was under the auspices of this fellowship that the research for this book was undertaken. I am accordingly extremely grateful for the support, assistance and materials provided by the European Commission and former colleagues in the Foreign Office. Over seventy interviews were carried out for the book and I would like to thank the representatives of member states' embassies, EU institutions, Mediterranean and East Asian governments, NGOs, and multinational companies who took the time to answer my questions. I am grateful to Series Editor, Laurence Whitehead, for suggesting a number of changes to the first draft of my manuscript. I also received invaluable support from Richard Gillespie, with whom I co-ordinated the Commission's democracy promotion project, and Portsmouth University, where this project was based. Lastly, I thank Laura for helping me think through and prepare the book, and for supporting me in so many other ways during the last two years.

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Contents

Abbreviations

xi

1. Democracy Promotion in the 1990s: Agency, Motives, and Strategy

1

2. EU Democracy Promotion Instruments: Evolution and Shortcomingss

28

3. The EU and the Mediterranean

47

4. The EU and Algeria

94

5. The EU and East Asia

115

6. The EU and China Conclusion: Conceptualizing the EU as a Promoter of Democracy

165

Notes Bibliographyy Index

207 240 261

191

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Abbreviations

ACP AIS ALA APEC ARE ASEAN ASEF CAP CBI CFSP DTI EIB EPC FCO FDA FIS FLN FTA GATT GIA GSP IMF MEDA MFN NATO NED NLD NTB ODA OECD OPEC OSCE RCD RND RMP

African, Caribbean, and Pacific Armee Islamique du Salut Asia-Latin America Asia-Pacific Economic Co-operation Asean Regional Forum Association of South East Asian Nations Asia Europe Foundation Common Agricultural Policy Confederation of British Industry Common Foreign and Security Policy Department of Trade and Industry European Investment Bank European Political Co-operation Foreign and Commonwealth Office Foreign Direct Investment Front Islamique du Salut Front National de Liberation Free Trade Area General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade Groupe Islamique Arme Generalized System of Preferences International Monetary Fund Mesures d'Accomagnement Most Favoured Nation North Atlantic Treaty Organization National Endowment for Democracy National League for Democracy Non-Tariff Barriers Overseas Development Assistance Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe Rassemblement Culturelle Democratique Rassemblement National Democratique Renovated Mediterranean Policy

xii SME UNHCR UNICE WEU WTO

Abbreviations Small and Medium Sized Enterprises United Nations Commission on Human Rights Union of Industrial and Employers' Confederations of Europe Western European Union World Trade Organization

1

Democracy Promotion in the 1990s: Agency, Motives, and Strategy The advancement of democracy through the world in the 1990s was simultaneously remarkable and subject to significant limitations. The thirty transitions that comprised the 'third wave' of democratization between 1974 and 1990 were followed by further incremental democratic enlargement, such that by 2000, 120 out of 193 countries could be formally classified as democratic. Transitions in Indonesia and Nigeria at the end of the decade took the number of people living under democratic regimes to an unprecedented level. However, if such progress engendered a teleological optimism in democracy's propensity to inexorable expansion,1 events increasingly urged a more balanced perspective. North Africa and the Middle East remained essentially authoritarian and over half of the transitions that were witnessed in sub-Saharan Africa during the early 1990s either atrophied well short of consolidated democracy or slipped back towards autocratic rule. Large parts of Asia remained resolutely immune to democratization and one of the region's largest established democracies, Pakistan, suffered a military coup. Moreover, the quality and robustness of democracy in post-transition states gave cause for much concern. A range of terms emerged to convey the paucity and fragility of these new pluralistic polities, the latter being labelled, variously, as 'restricted', 'delegative', 'low intensity', or 'semi' democracies. In these countries executive power remained overweaning and countervailing institutions ineffective, policy-making was still elite-dominated and invariably lacking in transparency and effective accountability, civil society was weak, political parties either passive or fractious, and the rule of law embedded to only a limited extent. The associated restriction of constitutional liberties had given rise to a generic problem of 'illiberal democracy'.2 In addition, economic constraints, associated with painful structural adjustment, were held to have deprived large sections of newly

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enfranchised electorates of 'effective democratic citizenship'.3 While the number of democracies had increased, the overall level of political and civil liberties actually declined during the 1990s. There was as much 'contraction' as 'enlargement' of the international community of democracy.4 Against this background, the advanced industrialized democracies committed themselves to promoting democracy in the developing world. While both the US and, to a lesser extent, European governments had in some cases sought to encourage processes of democratization prior to the 1990s, the strategic imperatives of the cold war had ensured that such efforts were less than systematic and pursued with vigour only in the limited number of cases where political change was itself seen as likely to be beneficial to the struggle against communism. The judgement that the demise of bipolarity no longer required pro-Western autocrats to be supported appeared to be given substance by Western governments' pledge henceforth to prioritize the promotion of democracy in their external relations. Such commitments were made by the USA and Japan, and by European governments both individually and collectively through the European Union. The EU's democracy promotion commitment was made in a November 1991 Development Council resolution and then incorporated into mainstream foreign-policy machinery through the Maastricht treaty. A pledge to provide technical assistance for elections and other institutional elements of democracy was also incorporated into the respective remits of the OECD, the Council of Europe, the Commonwealth, and the Organization of American States, with the United Nations Development Programme also beginning to focus more systematically on supporting political transitions. The democracy promotion agenda represented an extension of the more established concern with human rights: while these two objectives were subsequently invariably conflated, the aim of encouraging democratization was explicitly distinctive from the human rights agenda and seemingly more ambitious. This book examines how the European Union took forward its democracy promotion commitment during the 1990s in two regions: first, the North African and Middle Eastern states included within the EU's Mediterranean policy; second, East Asia. To the extent that the analysis of democracy promotion has to an overwhelming degree focused on the policies of the USA, despite the EU's commitment and relevant resources being of no lesser magnitude, the study of European policies in this area would seem to be overdue. Most analysis of European policies has centred on consideration of

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the extent to which the EU assisted democracy, first in Southern and then Eastern Europe, through the enlargement process. Of course, the EU's influence in these cases derived from external policy being converted into 'domestic' policy and was thus of a unique kind not pertinent to other regions. The new democracy promotion commitment explicitly extended the EU's sights to influencing political reform globally, warranting consideration of European policies beyond the setting of democracy-related accession preconditions to those eligible to join the Union. The two regional case studies covered here analyse the nature of the EU's democracy promotion strategies, the relative strengths and weaknesses of these policies, the motivation behind them, and their relationship to other foreignpolicy objectives. They also assess the effectiveness of co-ordination between EU member states in relation to democracy promotion policy. These concerns situate the book within intensified debates over the international dimensions of political reform. With a view to providing a template to structure and guide the case studies of EU policy, this chapter outlines the nature of these debates and their deliberations on the core issues pertinent to the study of democracy promotion, namely: agency, perceived interests, and strategy.

External Dimensions of Democratization: What Role for International Actors? Accounts of the wave of transitions that occurred prior to the 1990s gave clear primacy to domestic factors in explaining the nature and timing of democratization processes. Most debate was between two, equally internally oriented approaches. The first focused on underlying socio-economic trends and presented democratization as flowing from processes of economic modernization or particular changes in social and class structures. The second, which emerged as a challenge to 'modernization' theory, argued that the democratic transitions of the 1980s could best be attributed to the agency of domestic actors. For some, this agency was seen in terms of crucial changes in the balance between moderates and hard-liners within authoritarian regimes, the striking of elite pacts, and the techniques and skills of a putative democratic leadership. From a rational choice perspective, in contrast, elites were seen as reacting to a progressive undermining of dictatorship's legitimacy due to poor economic performance by concluding that political liberalization was imperative for them to regain a credible basis for exercising power.5 Most accounts incorporated a combination of these different

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approaches, but had in common a conviction that external factors were not of significant importance. Rather, domestic institutional structures were seen as accounting for variations in the patterns of change between different states. Even those works that did attribute some degree of influence to external factors did so without any systematic analysis of the role played by international actors and, in practice, still directed their attention overwhelmingly to the domestic politics of democratic transitions.66 As the 1990s progressed, it was widely acknowledged that a broader focus was necessary, more fully incorporating the international dimension of democratization processes. Additions to the democratic transitions literature during the 1990s invariably lamented that the international angle remained understated and inadequately understood.7 The new concern with external factors appeared initially to be directed less at the purposive policies of national governments than at broad and impersonal structural processes. Some saw such structural change as conducive to democratic change, others pointed to its adverse effects. In reaction to the fall of communism in Eastern Europe, much analysis sought to account for the self-perpetuating 'snowball' momentum that appeared to have accumulated behind the third wave.8 The 'demonstration effect' of Western liberal democracy in action was held to have been of primary importance in motivating the social actors who were instrumental in bringing down Eastern Europe's communist regimes, such 'contagion through proximity' implying that emulation underlay the new democratizing dynamics. The key to this chain of influence was the intensified spread of information through new means of communication and technology. As ideas, information, and images became more difficult to control, governments appeared to be increasingly subordinate to a cosmopolitan transnational civil society. To many analysts, the distinctive international dimension to the East European transitions was the way in which West European civil society actors—academics, NGOs, party foundations—had formed strong networks of co-operation with their East European counterparts and helped nourish the latter's opposition to communist regimes.9 As the decade progressed, however, and the international reach and quality of democracy appeared to stagnate, allusion to the detrimental impact of the structural evolution of the international system became more prominent. Most obviously, the constraints imposed by global markets were widely seen as militating against the securing of genuine democratic rights. It was argued that globalization would be likely to engender a greater diversity of

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5

political regimes rather than a convergence around Western democratic norms. Populations would turn to traditional forms of social and political organization, both to preserve identities and stake out a distinctive base from which to compete in the global marketplace. In this sense, the globalization of free markets and democracy were 'rivals not allies'.10 There were growing concerns that, in their stronger forms, both these perspectives were unduly deterministic and guilty of paying insufficient attention to state 'agency'. This concern was directed primarily at an apparent subjugation of domestic factors, the theoretical pendulum seeming to have swung to the opposite extreme since the 1980s. In light of this, analysts cautioned that the potency of 'snowball' and 'demonstration' effects still depended on the far-from-predetermined shifting coalitions between domestic actors.11 However, concerns also applied to the nature of international-level agency. Here, there were signs of considerable agreement emerging over the need for a more balanced and comprehensive concept of agency better attuned to the post-cold war international context. It was held that, while new convergent dynamics were clearly important in helping explain an apparent degree of replication in political forms, transnational society explanations went too far in cutting out the state. The influence of governments, taking action expressly to influence events within the international system, should not be understated. A satisfactory concept of agency should, it was suggested, embody both the state-centric features of international society theory and the structural variables of transnational society explanations.122 Globalization itself was increasingly recognized to be a process profoundly structured and mediated by the state.13 The uptake of liberal democracy would, in this sense, be conditioned as much by the policy choices of Western governments as by supposedly impersonal structural change. The main external factor impinging upon developing countries was, it was argued, not a collection of nebulous systemic trends but the agency of the US, European, and Japanese governments engaged in fierce battle to further their respective interests in other parts of the world. The fate of post-cold war liberalism was firmly predicated upon the contingencies of power within the international system.14 Constructivism, widely seen as one of the most notable developments in international relations theory of the 1990s, was perhaps the most influential and distinctive attempt to elaborate a form of agency that explicitly married governmental action to the international spread of political norms. According to the new constructivist framework, states played a vital role in conditioning what

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norms were taken up elsewhere in the international system to the extent that governments' 'discourse' and related action affected the way in which other countries' identities and perceived interests were 'constructed'. The significance of constructivism was that, in the way in which it combined state protagonism and the existence of ideational trends, it forwarded a distinctive type of agency. It suggested that interests and norms were constructed through interaction, rather than being exogenous to that interaction. Interaction created inter-subjective understanding, built around 'collective identities'. This drew attention away from purely material factors and towards the impact of particular types of'discourse'. States did not reduce perceived interests to material factors; means of influence were not limited to material policy instruments. The nature of discursive interaction conditioned the construction of shared identities, with the emphasis on the way in which 'socialization' dynamics could produce a convergence of perspectives between political, economic, and social actors engaged in regular and meaningful interaction. A fluid and iterative process of identity-formation led to particular norms coming to be seen as 'appropriate', that is, genuinely embedded in belief systems rather than adhered to for merely instrumental reasons.15 Work more specifically on the dissemination of human rights norms began to incorporate and further develop aspects of the constructivist framework. The role of transnational civil society advocacy networks was seen as crucial to the spread of human rights norms, but the key was in the way these networks succeeded in activating governmental action. It was argued that both Northern and Southern governments incorporated the human rights dialogue initially for the tactical objective of deflecting the pressure of NGO networks, but subsequently became caught in the web of their own rhetoric and in this way an initially rationalist logic developed into state policies based on more genuinely shared understandings of human rights norms.16 So, for instance, the much-emphasized role of transnational civil society actors in Eastern Europe was predicated on developments in governmental policies: access for NGOs opened up as reformers entered power and Gorbachev withdrew Moscow's commitment to defend Russia's East European satellites; in turn, a momentum developed from this initial purchase, which was then used to galvanize Western governments into action.17 While this applied to the analysis of human rights, it was suggested that a similar framework would be appropriate to the spread of democratic government.18 The 'constructivist turn' in international relations certainly appeared to be highly

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pertinent to the new democracy promotion agenda, in so far as it invited closer examination of the relationship between material power and norms. Some analysts criticized self-declared constructivists for in fact failing to adhere to their own insistence that structure and agency were co-constituted: the emphasis was still on how norms (structure) spread to states (agents), without any exploration of how power-based governmental agency really interacted with this process.19 While expressly aimed at correcting the determinism of much analysis of transnational society, work on human rights inspired by the constructivist framework still focused on how governments were constrained by civil society actors, with the latter seen very much as the principle agents. Moreover, these approaches had little convincing to say on cases where norms were successfully resisted or in fact not pursued by Northern states. Clearly, the relevance of constructivism and related work on international norms to the democracy promotion agenda merited close attention. Initial attempts at moving towards a framework for studying the international dimensions of political change certainly indicated, if implicitly, some similarity of approach. It was suggested, for example, that Western governments might most productively focus their efforts on stimulating the vibrancy of cosmopolitan civil society, on nurturing the potential for cross-border linkages between the developed and developing worlds capable of undermining regimes resisting democratization. Western powers could be expected positively to influence democratic trends by moulding an international society clearly 'grounded on liberal values', such a commitment offering the prospect of 'structural reinforcement' to democracy in the South. A composite approach would combine actions designed to promote socialization dynamics with the judicious use of high-politics material instruments, both backed up by the provision of micro-level technical assistance. In a general sense, government policies would be likely to play an important role in setting the broad, overarching parameters of the international context—an end to which both purposive democracy promotion strategies and the wider range of indirectly related policy domains would be pertinent. This would be of considerable importance, first, in the long gradual build-up to a democratic transition, and, second, in the often equally lengthy consolidation phase. In this sense, even the most prominent advocates for the study of international influences recognized that such factors were likely at best to play a supporting, rather than primary, role. External actors might either retard or accelerate, but not determine, the spread of liberal ideals. However, it would be unduly simplistic to seek to determine whether

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international factors were more or less important than domestic variables. Rather, the key was to appreciate that internal and external factors in practice functioned as two facets of a single process, and were profoundly intertwined and mutually dependent, rather than entirely autonomous, variables. The role played by the policy choices of international actors could be seen as occupying the space between broad structural changes and domestic influences within the developing world. If international structure and domestic politics were variables conditioned by each other, the policy choices of external governments would act as a conduit between these two levels, conditioning the way in which each was harnessed by the other.20 Alongside such conviction that the policies of international actors merited greater attention, however, one of the most widely quoted perspectives on the post-cold war order—that positing an increasingly tense confrontation between fundamentally different cultures—was based on a belief that the relative power of Western governments was, in fact, in rapid decline. Such analyses, while sharing the focus on governmental agency within the international system, argued that the ability of Western governments to nurture democratic norms in the developing world was, in practice, fast diminishing. It was suggested that the most notable feature of the post-cold war period was the growing power and assertiveness of non- and anti-Western civilizations. The fact that these civilizations might adopt certain aspects of Western culture and consumption patterns did not mean it had become more feasible to export Western political structures. Global communication channels could not be harnessed to spread Western liberal democracy, as in many parts of the world the latter was increasingly seen as a decadent, individualistic, and spiritually bankrupt ideology. If the West's 'soft power' (the attractiveness of its own beliefs) had weakened, so had the underpinnings of its 'hard power': Western economies were suffering slowing growth rates, making them more dependent on developing markets and consequently increasingly unable to impose political conditions; the West's military supremacy was in relative decline; demographic trends were unfolding to the West's disadvantage; and, freed from the strategic shackles of the cold war, developing countries were increasingly self-confident, in contrast to the West's growing self-doubt. The West's modest role in the third wave democracies of the 1980s had in fact represented the apogee of its influence: the West's real challenge now would be simply to defend democracy within its own territory.21 Clearly, this perspective threw down a fundamental challenge to those concerned to

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demonstrate the potential for Western government's positively to influence democratization in the developing world.

Democracy, Ethics, and Self-interest If the changing patterns of global politics engendered a reconsideration of the nature of influence and agency in the international system, it also stimulated the development of new frameworks of international ethics. A number of influential works began to question the moral legitimacy of absolute state autonomy and to construct the philosophical grounds for normative goals to be brought back into international relations. A range of arguments legitimizing international intervention was forwarded: the implications of growing interdependencies; the emergence of a recognizable international 'community' based on settled norms; the growing inability of many weak states to provide and protect basic individual rights.22 Significantly, what was common to virtually all these new philosophical works was their exclusion or even explicit rejection of a moral foundation for Western intervention in the name of democracy. New normative frameworks were overwhelmingly geared towards issues of human rights and social justice. A strong consensus emerged in favour of more proactive international action to protect and enhance human rights. The focus on fundamental human rights was seen as a bridge between dogmatic universalism and absolute cultural relativism, and was justified through a variety of philosophical approaches.23 Against the backdrop of the rapidly moving events of the early 1990s, which suddenly presented an apparent opening up of the space for democratization in other parts of the world, it was significant that policy-makers' incipient concern with democracy promotion was, in general, not factored in to new normative theory.24 Debate over democracy promotion was not conducted at a philosophical level to the same extent as discussion related to human rights, world poverty, or nuclear deterrence. Indeed, many thinkers explicitly questioned the ethical legitimacy of going beyond the defence of basic human rights and seeking to foist a particular political system on developing countries. The morality of given sets of political values was widely seen as being contingent on context. Neo-Hegelian communitarians argued that discrete national communities needed to develop their own 'rationality' through a long and dialectical historical process, with which it would be inappropriate to interfere.25 From a contractarian perspective—within which interference was seen as morally justified to

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the extent that the 'contract' between a government and its citizens to achieve social development was not being adhered to—it was suggested that the working presumption should be that a variety of political forms were equally capable of fulfilling this contract. The onus would then be on the developed, democratic states to prove that a developing country's institutional arrangements were undermining the contract rather than on the developing country to prove why they should not accept the Western concept of liberal democracy.26 It was argued that democracy itself suffered from normative weaknesses: not only might the 'liberal' component of liberal democracy overprioritize the rights of the individual to the detriment of the communalism vital to many societies, but its 'democratic' component—government based on majoritarian rule—might legitimize the suppression of minority interests in fragile, divided societies.27 Commonly, the promotion of 'constitutionalism', the curtailment of arbitrary power, was suggested as a more limited and legitimate goal than that of seeking to universalize liberal democracy. Indeed, at the international level, such constitutionalism would expressly embody much-needed restrictions on the scope for Western governments to impose their own political values on other societies.28 The West's moral duty was to facilitate more just and democratic relations between states before it sought to interfere in political arrangements within other states. The imbalanced nature of the globalization perpetrated by Western powers had stripped of meaningful content the very national-level democracy those same states claimed to be keen on promoting. The emphasis on formal democracy deflected attention and resources away from furthering 'substantive' democracy at the international level.29 In sum, there was a growing tendency amongst theorists to advocate the promotion of moral community without 'institutional cosmopolitanism', to recommend only a 'thin universalism' incorporating basic human rights and the provision of social justice. To this end, both academics and the established human rights policy community suggested that human rights should be decoupled from the democratization agenda.30 The widespread questioning of the moral underpinnings of the democracy promotion agenda raised the issue of the relationship between this agenda and Western interests. If not a legitimate ethical agenda, was it one driven by self-interest? During the cold war Western powers had, of course, seen it as very much contrary to their interests to put at risk key alliances by making relations conditional on the introduction of democracy. With the strategic constraints of the cold war superseded, arguments emerged in the 1990s suggesting that not only had the scope for prioritizing democracy promotion

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increased but also that such an objective was imperative for Western interests. In contrast to approaches that suggested that governments' positions on the conveyance of political norms were largely reactive to the pressure exerted by advocacy networks, it was held that there were positive reasons of material interest for governments to seek to promote democracy. Most notably, the influential 'democratic peace' hypothesis claimed to demonstrate that democratic countries did not go to war with each other, the self-evident implication of this being that spreading democracy was a means of lowering the probability of the West's security being threatened.31 Unlike the more optimistic strands of liberalism, this suggested that the prospects for international peace were strongly dependent upon the evolution of domestic political structures. The international extension of democracy would produce a greater degree of predictability in the behaviour of governments around the world and would facilitate the establishment of regime-like networks of cooperation between the developed and developing worlds. Moreover, the West would benefit from more cordial relations with democratic governments whose rise to power had been actively assisted by Western powers. Related to this, a group of self-styled 'postclassical realists' argued that states' pursuit of security interests was not limited to repelling or neutralizing immediate and direct strategic threats—the traditional view of realism—but also sought to mould longer-term trends and structures in a way that would be broadly favourable to stability and economic prosperity.32 While undoubtedly influential, particularly in the USA, the 'democratic peace' framework was also widely criticized. Most prominently it was pointed out that the statistical correlation between democracy and peace was weak in proving causality: until relatively recently there had been such a small number of democracies that an absence of conflict between them could not convincingly be attributed to the existence of democracy itself. The principal suggested qualification to the hypothesis was that, even if over the long-term stable well-established democracies tended to be less bellicose, the transition from authoritarian to democratic regime was invariably highly turbulent. During periods of transition or of drawn-out partial liberalization, political elites often resorted to aggressive and even expansive nationalism as a means of binding together society in the face of the fracturing of alliances that inevitably accompanied reform. Where authoritarian ideologies lost their legitimacy, nationalism, often of a vehemently anti-Western strain, would fill the breach. Likewise, the period immediately after a democratic transition was usually violent and

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destabilizing as newly enfranchised electorates quickly became frustrated with the new system's seeming inability to solve pressing problems.33 Some of the seminal articles setting out the realist stall for the post-cold war era expressly rubbished the notion that the spread of democracy would guarantee peace: the existence or absence of peace was determined not by the internal characteristics of individual states but by the structure of the international system. In this sense bipolarity had been good for stability and its removal was likely to outweigh any positive impact of wider democratization.34 From a broader socio-economic perspective, it was argued that the cold war had diverted attention from the fact that, historically, conflict had been less a matter of political ideology than of issues arising from the distribution of scarce resources and territory. This suggested that the prevalence of war or peace was primarily a product of the way in which economic integration was managed at particular moments in history, with the strains of late twentieth-century globalization not necessarily more favourable to stability than previous organizational structures of the international system. Continuing material scarcity meant that international conflict was likely to persist independent of trends in forms of political institutions.35 Moreover, it was suggested that, regardless of what virtues democracy might or might not have for stability, attempts to influence events in other states in favour of political liberalization would engender tensions and a profoundly destabilizing backlash against the West. It was suggested that the prospect of Western intervention in the internal affairs of other civilizations in this sense constituted 'probably the single most dangerous source of instability and potential global conflict in a multi-civilizational world'. The West would need to be more, not less, tolerant of democratic shortfalls in the developing world in order to help achieve the most urgent strategic goal of tempering the tensions between different cultures.36 In addition, in many parts of the world greater democratization would probably strengthen the influence of anti-Western movements.37 Indeed, Western military establishments had taken on board recent demonstrations of the fact that democracy did not necessarily produce entirely comfortable results for the West: after their respective transitions, the Philippines and South Korea pushed for a scaling down of the local US military presence, Greece gave vent to pro-Arab leanings, and much of Spain's political elite questioned NATO membership.38 It was widely felt that the end of the cold war had actually lessened the need for the West to interest itself in the internal arrangements of states in other parts of the

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world: with communism no longer able to offer itself as a credible alternative to Western liberal democracy, the need to foist particular norms on reluctant third states in the name of strategic stability had diminished. The most acute dangers derived not from the nature of macro-level political forms but an explosion of localized instability, something which democracy was not necessarily best suited to containing.39 Moreover, it was argued that, whatever the nature of conceptual debates between analysts, the 'social practice' of political and diplomatic elites remained imbued by the more traditional view of security that saw strategic interests as best protected by non-intervention in the domestic political arrangements of other states.40 In sum, it was widely argued that the new democracy promotion agenda was misconceived and unlikely, in practice, to proceed beyond mere rhetorical moralizing. In contrast to these debates over strategic interests, the relationship between democratization trends and Western economic interests received relatively little systematic attention. Significantly, however, the long-standing received wisdom that business was indifferent to political forms did appear to give way to suggestions that the new democracy agenda was not without its utility for Western commercial interests. Indeed, some saw international capital as the main driving force behind this agenda. Business would, it was assumed, benefit from democracy to the extent that this generated greater economic growth and purchasing power in the developing world. Some saw this as positive, especially in so far as business interests could also be expected to seek as high a quality of democracy as possible, built on well-embedded social harmony and high levels of education and service provision.41 More usually it was judged in critical terms. The World Bank's early work on good governance and civil society was widely berated for being unduly skewed in favour of business interests. From a radical perspective transnational capital was seen as principal protagonist in a drive for 'low-intensity' democracy. Rather than democracy promotion being conceived as a separate geo-strategic agenda, it should be studied as the political manifestation of a transnational economic elite project. Western powers had integrally linked democracy to neo-liberalism, and, it was claimed, sought to encourage formal political pluralism within the context of a weak and supine civil society designed to facilitate orthodox adjustment plans. One of the most comprehensive critiques of 1980s American democracy promotion policies argued that US multinationals came to push hard for democracy as their interests were undermined by social turmoil within authoritarian states, and as they began to see such

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low-intensity democracy as a potentially more legitimate and thus more effective means of suppressing social unrest and disciplining labour.42 Critical thinkers argued that such a logic intensified into the 1990s, with the 'new world order' simply representing a new means of perpetuating the same patterns of Western domination and the expansion of democracy and international markets being pursued as means of constraining the behaviour of developing countries.43 Whether seen as benign or disquieting, however, business's interest in democracy was still widely doubted. A prominent view was that international investors would focus more narrowly on good governance and the rule of law, being concerned with the predictability and transparency of commercial rules rather than democratic principles per se.44 On the other hand, towards the end of the decade the separation between good governance and democracy was increasingly questioned, including by the World Bank, previously the institution most determined to maintain such a distinction.45 Either way, this remained a decidedly under-studied element of the international dimension pertinent to domestic political change.

Bottom-Up versus Top-Down Approaches: Routes to Sustainable Democracy Following on from these issues of agency and motives, a third set of questions relates to the implications for democracy promotion strategies of the nature in which democratic polities are best constructed and sustained. Different 'arenas' of the democratic system have traditionally been identified, distinguishing between the political-institutional sphere, civil society, and the economic realm. The political-institutional sphere, or 'political society', incorporates the institutions of the state, along with political parties, playing a vital role in the aggregation of interests, and one or more layers of local government.46 While analysts differ in where they draw the precise boundaries of civil society, the latter is generally conceived of as the associational, non-office-seeking activity located in the space between the state and the family unit, with an autonomous civil society generally being seen as part of the very essence of democracy.47 Of crucial importance to the democracy promotion agenda were debates over the sequencing of reforms in these different arenas of the political system. Influenced by the seminal work on democratic transitions of the 1980s,48 much analysis during the 1990s was predicated on a belief that partial liberalization outside the core political-institutional sphere could generate a bottom-up

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momentum capable of spilling over into pressures for the introduction of full formal political democracy. Similarly, in post-transition situations such reform came to be seen as requisite to improving the effective functioning of still-limited democracy. Particularly in the wake of the transitions from communism in Eastern Europe, civil society came to be seen as imbued with broad democratizing potential. It was widely held that the emergence of a dynamic associational life would instil values and perspectives capable of engendering subsequent liberalization in the political sphere. A variety of civil society's virtues were lauded as facilitating and underpinning democracy. Through civil society activity the articulation of interests was improved, information disseminated, and the quality of governance thereby improved. The exercise of power was held accountable, but also strengthened to the extent that policies would rest on a broad coalition of support. Civil society activity encouraged tolerance of others peoples' perspectives and interests, producing a propensity to compromise. Each individual's participation in a variety of 'cross-cutting' civil society groups encouraged mutual restraint and ensured against the development of exclusionary and all-encompassing extremist movements. The more tolerance and compromises there were among individuals in civil society, the more likely it was that these values would be inculcated within the public sphere. In non-democratic states the carving out of a modest liberalization of civil society held the potential to ignite a self-sustaining momentum of pressure for broader democratic reform. In post-transition situations, where the overweaning state institutions and personalistic political parties inherited from the recently dismantled authoritarian regime were invariably able to 'co-opt' the associational sphere, the strengthening of civil society would be key to improving the quality of still-fragile democratic procedures.49 Similar potential was widely attributed to liberalization in the economic sphere. The relationship between economic development and political reform has long been a central issue of political theory. Classical theorists such as Smith and Hume posited a link between private property and commercial development, on the one hand, and political liberalization, on the other.50 In the context of third wave democratization processes, the apparent democratizing potential of market reforms was given considerable prominence. There was little disagreement with the proposition that a market economy was a precondition for democracy: there has never been a democracy with a command economy. This was extended into a claim relating to the process of democratization: the more market reforms

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were extended, it was held, the stronger the resulting democratizing dynamics. There were conceptual parallels between economic and political freedom. The more economic authority was removed from the state, the more economic actors would restrain state power, rather than vice versa. The more discretionary state power was curtailed, the less scope there would be for patronage. The more economic interests were detached from their dependence on the state, the more widespread and vibrant autonomous civil society organizations would be.51 In short, international actors' most productive contribution to democratization would be to push for the development of a robust, market economy.52 A slightly different but equally prominent line of reasoning was a two-step argument that saw the crucial link being between levels of economic development and political reform, with the extension of market liberalization being a means of facilitating that economic development. Such reasoning encompassed and further developed many of the elements of 1970s modernization theory, the latter's return to prominence being widely noted. Greater wealth tempered the intensity of conflicts: democratic compromise was more likely the better off a society.53 People were likely more forcibly to demand political rights after their basic economic needs had been fulfilled. Authoritarian regimes commonly justified political restrictions as being necessary to attain a higher level of economic development: once this was achieved, the population was likely to perceive these restrictions as unacceptable.54 Economic growth led to increased literacy and improved channels of communication—prerequisites for exercising effective control over the state. With growth came an increasingly complex economy, which the state could not hope to have the capacity or technical expertise to manage. As central authorities were consequently obliged to cede responsibilities, resources and power were dispersed. A large number of empirical case studies on democratization processes cautioned against an overly deterministic link between economic and political change, but suggested that economic development did create conditions more favourable to democracy taking root.55 In overall terms, a strong statistical relationship between levels of economic development and political freedom was shown to exist, this by implication being the most promising focus for democracy promotion strategies.56 A third area of reform seen as relevant to democratization was the new good governance agenda. While defined in slightly different ways by different organizations, the concept of good governance was generally agreed to relate to the efficiency, transparency, and

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accountability of public policy-making. It referred to the need to attack corruption and clientelism, as well as to enhance state capacity through the strengthening of legal frameworks and the modernization of public administration.57 The good governance agenda emerged during the 1980s and was associated most closely with the work of the IMF and World Bank. While it was pursued by these organizations as an expressly apolitical concept relating to the technical efficiency of policy-making, within other organizations and in academic debate it subsequently became associated with the broader democratization agenda. Good governance reforms came to be seen as containing the same kind of broad democratizing potential as civil society and economic liberalization. Increased access to the legal system and the reduction of bureaucratic hurdles increased the effective 'empowerment' of the individual vis-a-vis the state.58 Streamlined and transparent administration enabled private decisions to be taken with greater security, while greater meritocracy generated dynamism and additional demands for the state to assist the realization of individual potential. Good governance altered the way in which the individual interacted with the public sphere, with implications for what he expected and sought from the political realm. Once additional private or group projects were unleashed through more 'sound' public institutions, their freely moulded full development would be perceived by their protagonists to require more fundamental political openness. Similarly, good governance was key to improving the quality of fledgling democracies. In many post-transition situations, a lack of good governance had led to formal democracy simply legitimizing clientelistic practices at a more fundamental societal level.59 Transparent and efficient administration was, in this context, needed to give effective content to democracy and generate a broader improvement in the functioning of democratic institutions. While much analysis aimed to highlight the potential of these 'bottom-up' paths to democracy, each was increasingly questioned. The prominent role played by civil society in the democratic transitions of Eastern Europe had pushed the concept to the forefront of political analysis, but it brought in its wake a growing concern at the 'romanticization' of civil society. Cautioning against seeing the latter as a panacea or as the principal agent in the spreading and deepening of democracy, many analysts highlighted more critical perspectives on civil society. While acknowledging a broadly positive correlation between autonomous civil society and democratic deepening, these analyses argued that there were limits to what could be expected of civil society on its own. Many activists in

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Eastern Europe had been strongly 'anti-polities' and had ascribed to civil society an overtly privileged position in the realization of human potential. In contrast, the Enlightenment roots of civil society analysis had been predicated upon the challenge of reconciling the contradictions of the particularistic associational sphere through the universal values of the rational, modern state.60 Consistent with this, it was argued that the challenge was to mould an appropriate and mutually enhancing balance between civil society and the political sphere. The spill-over potential of civil society depended not simply on the vitality, profile, or radicalism of individual associational or advocacy groups, but also on there being effective links between civil society as a whole and the political arena. Without at least some prior reform to the state and political institutions there was a strong likelihood of any increased space for civil society failing to weaken an authoritarian regime in any significant way. Indeed, a moderate liberalization of civil society might serve simply to bestow an air of respectability on a regime without in any meaningful way constraining its control over policy-making.61 Similarly, in recently established democracies, it was argued that the need was not so much for more civil society activism per se as for more effective linkages between grass-roots associational activity and national-level policy-making, in particular through stronger political parties and more accessible state structures. Improving effective 'democratic citizenship' required better, more impartial, and legitimate state-level mediation between the competing interests of the associational sphere. New democracies did not need 'more civil society' so much as higher quality articulation between civil and political society. It was the paucity of such articulation that had contributed to the growing social exclusion and violent crime besetting many fledgling democracies. Those who had highlighted the democratizing role of transnational civil society during the 1980s and early 1990s themselves came to lament the way in which a lack of responsive political institutions in Eastern Europe and the Balkans had helped unleash the increasingly 'uncivil' behaviour of civil society actors. Liberal democracy's prioritization of formal over 'actual' rights was viewed with increasing concern: in many new democracies dominant resource-rich groups had gained de facto control of civil society and a systematic bias in the distribution of influence had undermined support for and the quality of democracy. This persisting lack of institutional impartiality had itself engendered 'majoritarian incivility', reflected in mafia crime, financial speculation, individual anomie, nationalism, and ethnic chauvinism. The problem was as much the weakness of the state and political society

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in relation to such associational activity as vice versa, the quality and strength of state institutions being key to combating the rise of 'uncivil society'.62 In both pre- and post-transition environments, an overemphasis on assisting civil society advocacy groups risked actually decreasing incentives to form stronger intermediary organizations between civil society and the state, without which governmental policy-making was likely to be increasingly overwhelmed by bottom-up pressure.63 The notion of market liberalization spilling over to democracy was also subject to growing criticism. An early critique of modernization theory was that, rather than constituting a force pushing for political liberalization, the incipient entrepreneurial class had often sought to protect its privileged position by opposing democratization. The data demonstrated that many processes of economic growth and reform had continued without engendering political change. One of the most prominent and ubiquitous arguments of the 1990s was that the inequalities and social exclusion generated by market reforms could be expected to endanger the sustainability of recently established democracies and encourage a bunkering down of still-prevailing authoritarian regimes. If the absence of financial prudence and stability had been recognized as a barrier to democratization in the 1980s, in the 1990s much focus was on the extent to which overly harsh neo-liberalism could also be politically prejudicial. It was suggested that only those market reforms that were balanced and softened by strong, inclusive state institutions, and whose formulation resulted from active democratic participation, were likely to contribute towards sustaining democracy. The closed and technocratic nature of many economic reform processes was likely to lead to representative institutions being neglected, as actors lacked the incentive to process demands through the democratic process. To the extent that a causal relationship did exist, it might, at least in part, run the other way, a degree of prior political liberalization being necessary to facilitate structural economic reform. Authoritarian regimes were erratic, often aborting economic reforms at a whim, and, being unaccountable, lacked the incentive to ensure that market liberalization was pursued in a balanced, sustainable fashion. In fact, rather than debating whether it was more appropriate to start with economic or political reform, on the reckoning that attempting the two together was too heavy a burden, it was more fruitful to explore the mutually dependent linkages between liberalization processes in the two spheres. It was argued that political and economic liberalization should be seen as two facets of a single process of adaptation to globalization and

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technological change, with incremental reform in one sphere facilitating, but itself being difficult without, reform in the other.64 It was pointed out that the democratizing potential of good governance reforms might also only be given expression through changes in other spheres. Some doubted that enhanced good governance could have anything other than a very limited impact where democratic norms were not already reasonably well embedded. The empowerment of the individual and the opportunity for more efficacious access to the public administration and judiciary needed to be filtered through intermediary institutions facilitating an effective link between grass-roots interest articulation and public decision-making: 'good polities' was necessary for the full realization of the benefits offered by 'good governance'.65 Imbuing lawyers and administrators with the values of honesty and openness might do little in the absence of a 'social and cultural infrastructure' favouring more open policy-making. Even the World Bank increasingly saw progress on its relatively narrow and technical view of good governance as being dependent upon 'the culture, tradition and attitudes towards openness in civil society as a whole': technical measures designed to improve policy-making capacity might have little impact in the absence of stronger and more pluralistic institutional underpinnings.66 Such thinking reflected the impact of the 1990s' most influential work on development policy, which argued that far-reaching political contestation was needed to generate the values that would sustain and give real effect to sectoral organizational reforms.67 Transplanting exact replicas of best practice within Western systems of regulation to an environment where a whole range of customs and norms were vastly different might even be disruptive to the rules to which people had happily accommodated themselves. Far from engendering positive spillover, the 'enclave' nature of many good governance initiatives could be expected to unleash resentment and a deterioration elsewhere in the political system.68 The fine line between pathological 'clientelism' and benign 'personalism' might, for example, be traversed with detrimental effects. All these considerations could be expected to limit the spill-over potential of good governance measures. In sum, there was considerable disagreement among analysts over the sequencing of reforms and increasingly prominent doubts over the likelihood of spill-over occurring from civil society, economic reform, or good governance measures to the political-institutional sphere. It was suggested by many theorists that there was a complexly symbiotic relationship between these three spheres and political society. That is, the different arenas of democracy were

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intricately interlinked, often in a mutually dependent fashion. The application of 'spill-over' arguments to each of these domains was widely held to suffer from a common weakness in underplaying the importance of strong, impartial and effective state institutions. A certain degree of democratic quality might itself be needed before economic and good governance reforms or the opening up of civil society were likely to have a beneficial impact on enhancing that same quality of democratic procedures. Such observations cautioned against purely bottom-up approaches to democracy promotion and implied that the appropriate balance between bottom-up and top-down dynamics would differ between countries. In short, this conceptual debate offered a challenging array of considerations, rather than a single broadly accepted template, for governments' new democracy promotion agenda.

Positive versus Coercive Approaches: Balancing Assistance and Conditionally Deliberations on the relationship between different areas of reform and the appropriate balance between democracy's different arenas feed into the question of how the external actor can best affect reform. In this sense, the age-old debate between advocates of coercive measures, on the one hand, and those of positive engagement, on the other hand, gained new vitality over the 1990s. In terms of positive approaches, 'democracy assistance'—the use of development assistance specifically to fund projects aimed at strengthening democratic institutions and practices—engendered increasing interest. In terms of punitive measures, while debate centred primarily on the legitimacy of coercive intervention as a means of protecting human rights, the broader concept of 'political conditionally' did become increasingly pertinent to the democracy promotion agenda, as governments began to intimate at the possibility of trade and aid provisions being linked to degrees of political pluralism. On balance, analysts were sceptical of the legitimacy and likely effectiveness of coercive measures as a means of promoting democracy, while also expressing doubts over the possible influence of democracy assistance. Even liberal internationalists unashamedly enthusiastic about spreading democracy were uneasy over coercive measures being used to this end and there was a conspicuous lack of suggestions that non-democratic states should be isolated in the way that the communist bloc had been ostracized during the cold war.69 It was

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widely cautioned that trade and aid sanctions would rarely be effective in promoting democracy and would often be counterproductive. A range of problems with political conditionality was catalogued. The explosion in the quantity of international commerce and the technologically complex forms in which it was carried out meant that it would be increasingly difficult to make sanctions watertight. The very fact that the targeted political elite was not accountable and generally able to protect its own privileges meant it would have little need to heed strictures on the need for greater accountability. Strongly recalcitrant states would be backed even further into a corner, while in cases where soft- and hard-liners were beginning to converge around a 'pacted' plan for transition tough punitive measures would be likely to unsettle this fragile alliance. Such counter-productive backlash was virtually guaranteed since punitive measures would inevitably be selective—they could not be imposed in response to every case of democratic imperfection without fundamentally undermining the West's own capacity to influence those same concerns over democracy—and would therefore lead to charges of 'double standards'. To the extent that they brought about general hardship, sanctions would encourage political elites to rely even more heavily on opaque and corrupt means of hoarding a bigger share of the smaller pool of resources: scarcity would discourage elites even further from opening up procedures of governance. Indeed, sanctions hit hardest the incipient entrepreneurial class, precisely the group whose prosperity was most likely to lead to pressure for political change. The feasibility of targeting sanctions to affect only the hard-line government elite was widely doubted. The quantity of aid flows was too limited for threats to remove development assistance to have a significant impact. In addition, governments could too easily 'dupe' donors, by implementing only cosmetic reforms which did little to disperse effective power: conditionality would then encourage 'empty shell' democracy with a few 'showpiece practices' to satisfy donors. It was most commonly argued that encouraging democracy properly entailed building widespread and strongly embedded 'consent' for democratic norms. Political liberalization adopted as a result of external pressure, reluctantly and in the absence of positive consent, would rarely be sustained for a long period of time. Indeed, the isolation of a non- or weakly democratic regime was likely to undermine rather than generate such consent. Aggressive coercion imposed by Western countries in the name of democracy would weaken democracy's moral appeal in the developing world. There was a real danger of democratic values being associated with, and

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tainted by, the developed world's heavy-handed domination of international politics. The implementation of punitive measures cut off the possibility of an ongoing partnership and dialogue, which was the only way of helping to build up consent and gain leverage over the series of challenges confronting incipient democracies. Punitive measures might actually hinder the accumulation of potential democratic 'capacity'. If sustainable democracy required the generation of equitable growth, social capital, increased literacy and education levels, it might over the longer term simply be delayed by the interruption of trade preferences and development funds, even if such conditionality succeeded in forcing through a few institutional modifications. Conditionality and sanctions—and military intervention even more so—would be appropriate only in very specific circumstances: where internal reformers themselves sought tough international pressure; in moments of acute economic crisis when a tough policy on the part of international actors might help hasten the end of an already-weakened authoritarian regime; or in response to fundamental reversals from established democracy to authoritarianism.70 In the light of this scepticism over the appropriateness of overtly punitive conditionality, much analysis focused on the viability of positive approaches to democracy promotion. As Western states moved to elaborate 'political aid' projects aimed at helping fund democratic institution-building on a more systematic and comprehensive basis, analysts assessed the potential impact of such 'democracy assistance'. Analysis combined assessment of initial political projects on the ground with prediction as to the utility of the broad concept of democracy assistance in beginning to give more substance to the West's democracy promotion commitment.71 The purpose and nature of democracy assistance differed between two distinct scenarios. In non-democratic states it would be aimed at carving out a degree of autonomous 'political space' within which opposition to the authoritarian regime could take root. In posttransition situations it would provide support for the range of institution-strengthening needed to improve the quality and robustness of the new democracy. While it was commonly felt that the second objective would be more realizable—and that democracy assistance would thus be more likely to follow than pre-empt trends in democratization—the potential value of political aid projects in both scenarios was thought by many to be relatively limited. Within authoritarian regimes, support for civil society groups might offer a degree of protection against state repression, and the dissemination of new ideas and simple provision of a wider range of

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information would be useful. However, access for such work would invariably be restricted. If the donor's objective was to strengthen democratization dynamics in an almost surreptitious, bottom-up manner, it would be unrealistic to assume that non-democratic regimes would not themselves fear the broader implications of apparently limited civil society or good governance programmes. This would be particularly so in highly personalistic regimes, where extreme patrimonialism foreclosed the sort of incipient openings in civil society which were requisite to the international actor being able to gain at least some degree of purchase for democracy work. By its very nature, a non-democratic regime would curtail the emergence of genuinely autonomous democracy NGOs through which donors could channel their funding. Indeed, authoritarian regimes might allow a degree of external civil society funding simply in order to enhance their own international and domestic legitimacy, while being able comfortably to ring-fence such co-operation and prevent the emergence of any spill-over momentum capable of undermining the essential nature of political control.72 Analysts intimated a range of broader concerns common to democracy funding in both pre- and post-transition situations. The problem of access was itself not absent from the post-transition context: the political elites benefiting from the paucity of democratic accountability were unlikely themselves to facilitate donor projects aimed at improving the quality of political pluralism and further dispersing power. Even those domestic reformers genuinely committed to political reform might push hard for funds to go to basic development not political projects. The important point regarding these access difficulties was that donors would have to risk friction with recipient governments in order to get funding to the areas where it could make a significant difference—friction which would infect broader relations with the regime in question and give rise to precisely the sort of problems associated with punitive conditionality that democracy assistance was designed to avoid.73 In addition, the strengthening of individual institutions or organizations might proceed without any notable change in de facto power structures. In this sense, a 'macro-micro gap' would afflict the impact of much democracy funding.74 An evolution of existing patterns of power might be a prerequisite to democracy assistance having any positive impact. The notion that a small amount of training of judges, parliamentarians, or military personnel could make a significant difference was based on a rather naive assumption that political reform was likely to be impeded by simple ignorance of what democracy entailed. Hence, there were doubts over the likely tangible

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impact of expensive expert training and the provision of information services, libraries, physical material, etc, in situations where the political environment would suppress any effective utilization of such measures. In sum, democracy assistance would not itself be capable of undermining obstacles to democratic advances, and would make a difference only if a broadly positive direction of change was already evident. This contribution would not be in actually causing concrete outcomes, but in the more indirect and psychological sense of boosting domestic actors' feeling that democracy was being pursued and protected in partnership with the international community. In this sense, political aid was a supplement to high-politics instruments, the important question being how it could be used in tandem with other approaches, not whether it could avoid the complications associated with them. More disconcertingly, it was felt that in some ways democracy assistance might even be prejudicial. As highlighted, in many situations the problem was not so much civil society's weakness tout court as its skewed distribution of effective power and the urgent challenge would often be to strengthen political society rather than the NGO sector. There was a considerable risk of external funding actually deepening imbalances, both within civil society itself and between civil and political society. Funding would inevitably concentrate on a relatively small number of cosmopolitan and strongly westernized NGOs, thereby setting up tensions between a favoured circle of activists linked into international networks and the broader range of civil society groups struggling to survive. Funds might also be more likely to go to business-oriented sectors of civil society, both more acceptable to recipient governments and aligned to donors' broader commercial agenda, with the risk of aggravating incipient problems associated with the effects of economic reform.75 Equally, strengthening civil society while political society remained weak might actually militate against better balanced democratic structures. Those NGOs that were blessed with external funds would often become heavily dependent on such assistance and, far from being helped by donors into becoming the pillars of an autonomous self-supporting civil society, many would fold once funds were removed. Some overviews of early democracy assistance work lamented that, in trying to replicate Western best practice, donors were funding precisely the kind of projects—providing sophisticated election technology, pushing complex techniques of party organization, providing elaborate information and research services to parliaments and judiciaries, and funding advocacy NGOs with little grass-roots involvement—most likely to be unsustainable and detrimental to local organizational capacity.76

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Reflecting their respective perceived shortcomings, the notion of attempting to bridge positive and negative approaches received increasing attention. It was suggested that modest requirements relating to, for instance, civil society involvement in the management of a specific humanitarian aid project might be met in circumstances where systemic-level conditions would almost certainly be rejected. The setting of modest conditions, specific to individual aid programmes and with a realistic chance of being accepted, would allow a momentum to be established, the progressive deepening of the aid and political relationship allowing a gentle, incremental tightening of democracy-related requirements.77 It was argued that conditionality could, in this sense, take a positive rather than punitive form. Additional aid could be offered if progress on democratization was made and the overall distribution of aid could be correlated to recipients' relative willingness to undertake greater political liberalization. This was termed, variously, 'progress', 'incentives', 'rewards-based', 'allocative', or 'ex-ante* conditionality. The notion of a 'democratic bonus' being offered contrasted with the 'ex-poste' implementation of conditionality, where aid and trade provisions were taken away in the event of political reform failing to materialize. Even if the line between the two forms of conditionality was, in practice, very fine, its 'positive' form would be perceived by recipient countries as considerably less interventionist and easier to accept.78 It could also be more easily framed to leave the recipient with a degree of choice over exactly how donors' conditions were to be met, such discretion being important in terms of generating a feeling of local 'ownership' of the reform process.79 In sum, positive conditionality would be capable of imposing a degree of pressure without engendering a deterioration in the climate of relations between donor and recipient.80 Such an approach was itself not immune to doubts, however, with some analysts suggesting that donors would not have the flexibility and constancy of commitment to affect an incremental tightening of democracy-related conditions.81 Summary This chapter has examined debates pertinent to Western governments' democracy promotion commitment. It has addressed the nature of the agency, motives, and strategy that have been seen as relevant to this commitment. These different considerations are presented as being the necessary constituent elements of a

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comprehensive approach to the study of international dimensions to political change. They bridge a range of different types of analysis, including broad international relations theorizing, political theory relating to democracy's internal characteristics, and more practical, micro-level concerns over the effectiveness of political aid projects. While these different levels of debate have evolved largely in separation from each other, and have traditionally been approached as quite distinctive areas of inquiry, the premise of this book is that they can be more fruitfully combined into a single all-encompassing framework. The chapter demonstrates the extent to which the different issues relating to democracy promotion were subject to lively debate during the 1990s. The extent and nature of Western governments' agency in influencing international political trends was sharply contested. Indeed, the question of whether purposive policies of democracy promotion were of any significant relevance at all remained open: for sceptics, general economic issues and conditions—global commercial arrangements, economic rather than political conditionality, standard development rather than political aid projects—would have the greater impact on international trends in democracy. Diametrically opposed views were advanced on the question of whether the democracy promotion agenda was compatible with Western security and commercial interests. Underlying this area of debate was an under-specification of both liberal internationalism and realism on questions relating to democracy promotion: there was as much difference within each of these two traditions as between them, with both being cited in advocacy of intervention to encourage democracy and both held to render such action inappropriate. In addition, debate sharpened over the optimal combination of top-down and bottom-up routes to securing high-quality and sustainable democracy. And, while there was much agreement on the inappropriateness of strongly coercive strategies, debate on how most judiciously to apply and combine different forms of pressure and positive assistance was acknowledged to be at an early stage. In light of this range of ongoing debates, the chapter suffices to highlight the potential value of concrete case studies in taking forward analysis of the external dimensions of democratization. That is the contribution this book seeks to make.

2 EU Democracy Promotion Instruments: Evolution and Shortcomings This book seeks to explore the conceptual issues and challenges outlined in the previous chapter through studies of European democracy promotion policies in two regions, namely the Mediterranean and East Asia. Before we turn to these case studies, it is necessary to set out the policy instruments and institutional capacities that the EU availed itself of during the 1990s in operationalizing its new commitment to democracy promotion. An appreciation of such capacities and their limitations is essential due to the EU's unique characteristics as an international actor. As neither nation-state nor mere loose intergovernmental grouping, the EU has defied easy categorization as a foreign-policy actor and analysis of its democracy promotion policies must proceed from a clear understanding of the capabilities that the EU does and does not possess. In contrast to analysis of US policies, a study of the EU's democracy promotion commitment requires analysis not only of how the issues of strategy were confronted, but also of the extent to which fifteen governments were able and willing to act in concert. This requires examination of the degree to which European governments were actually in a position to mobilize in co-ordinated fashion the concrete policy instruments that would give effect to the democracy promotion agenda. This chapter outlines the nature of the instruments introduced by the EU pursuant to the democracy promotion commitment and examines the shortcomings and lacunae that remained in the range of policy tools available. The complexity of its institutional structures and policy instruments derived, of course, from the EU's 'dual system' of external relations. The basic nature of this system was retained during the 1990s, while undergoing incremental reform. The EU's Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP), established in 1993, was intergovernmental, with decision-making by consensus. Member states were not bound to co-ordinate their foreign-policy positions and

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retained the scope to pursue separate national diplomacy in parallel with, or instead of, CFSP co-ordination. Modest changes were made in the Maastricht and Amsterdam treaties, for instance providing some scope for majority voting on foreign policy-issues, but these were universally interpreted as relatively marginal tinkering.1 The Commission and the European Parliament were given a limited increase in responsibilities related to CFSP, but the latter remained essentially the preserve of national governments. Trade policy, in contrast, had been within the Commission's exclusive competence since the inception of the EC. Member states had, however, traditionally retained purchase on commercial policy through their representatives on the Article 113 Committee of trade officials, and this engagement if anything strengthened during the 1990s. While decision-making was formally by qualified majority voting, where commercial issues touched on important national interests—such as agriculture—in practice consensus was sought. Moreover, the expansion of the international trade agenda during the 1990s, especially within the Uruguay Round, took in new issues such as services, investment, and intellectual property that had not been ceded to the Commission. Member states resisted proposals explicitly to supranationalize competences for these areas of trade policy and a number of governments, in particular the French, in fact insisted on new constraints over the Commission's freedom of manreuvre in trade negotiations. Suggestions that development policy be fully Europeanized were also rebutted during the 1990s. The proportion of total EU aid channelled through Commission-managed development programmes increased, but member states retained their own bilateral programmes and resisted any more significant pooling of aid budgets. Member states were enjoined by the Treaty on European Union (TEU) more tightly to co-ordinate their bilateral programmes, but there was no formal restriction on each continuing to pursue its own distinctive aid profile. Lastly, the EU remained without any significant policy-making or operational autonomy in defence and security policy. European defence co-ordination took place within the West European Union (WEU), which did not enjoy full operational autonomy from NATO, and thus the USA, and was divorced from the foreign-policy machinery of the EU. However, with the EU chastened by its performance in the Kosovo conflict, the Helsinki European Council in December 1999 agreed a number of apparently momentous initiatives in the field of security and defence. A European Rapid Reaction Force was to be created by the end of 2003 to intervene in humanitarian and peace-keeping operations, the

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WEU would be subsumed into the EU and a new Military Committee, consisting of member states' chiefs of defence staff, would be set up. Hence, while the precise degree of European defence autonomy sought was still debated between member states, the prospect of the EU being able to harness military force in a systematic and independent fashion, specifically with new humanitarian and human rights imperatives in mind, was for the first time an imminent prospect. It was within this broad institutional framework that the instruments aimed specifically at pursuing the democracy promotion agenda were elaborated. Each of the different areas of policy— diplomatic, commercial, development assistance, and security policy—was subject to different policy-making dynamics. By the end of the decade, no area of policy was entirely intergovernmental, none entirely supranational, and each was divided between these two logics in a different fashion. This brought to centre stage the question of whether the different areas of policy could be harnessed coherently towards achieving a particular declared objective. What is pertinent here, then, is to clarify the precise way in which these 'split competences' were manifest in the nature of the EU's democracy promotion instruments. In the wake of the 1991 Development Council resolution, establishing the commitment more systematically to encourage democratic change in other countries, the EU moved to put in place a number of new instruments. These consisted of both positive and coercive tools, which are examined in turn below. The chapter concludes by examining debates over the policy-making dynamics of EU external relations, addressing the issue of how far the lacunae in formal institutional structures in practice impede policy co-ordination between European governments.

Democracy Assistance The most visible sign of the EU's commitment to democracy promotion was the introduction of provisions for the development of political aid projects. The Maastricht treaty for the first time listed the promotion of human rights, democracy, and the rule of law as falling formally within the aims of EU development policy. To this end, a number of new budget lines were established specifically to fund new work on democracy and human rights. Following proposals advanced by the European Parliament, in 1994 these were gathered together under a new Initiative for the Promotion of Democracy and Human Rights, to be managed by the Commission. In 1992, the

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General Affairs Council of foreign ministers (henceforth 'the Council') established an impressively broad remit for democracy assistance, emphasizing the need to pay greater and particular attention to strengthening civil society, especially through NGOs with strong grass-roots representation, and including reference to funding for state institutions and political society.2 Clauses referring to democracy assistance were included in new agreements signed with third countries, formalizing the remit for such work. Such clauses within regional aid protocols expressly provided for additional assistance to be advanced to those countries committed to establishing or strengthening democracy and to co-operating with the EU to this end. In a number of cases, through firm diplomatic pressure and trade-off deals in other areas of policy, the EU negotiated arrangements whereby it could, in principle, undertake democracy assistance without authorization from the recipient state's government. Funds allocated to political aid increased markedly during the 1990s. It remained difficult, however, to compile a precise figure for EU democracy assistance funding. Neither member states nor the Commission used a US-style 'democracy assistance' definition, but rather favoured broader categories combining human rights, governance, democracy, and peace-building work in different combinations. Summing work carried out under donors' own respective categorization of political aid, an overall EU effort of approximately $800 million per year was being undertaken by 1999. This represented a threefold increase from the beginning of the 1990s and compared favourably to US democracy assistance, which had risen to $700 million a year by the end of the decade—although, as said, direct comparisons were difficult. Germany was the biggest EU provider of political aid, allocating $200 million a year, half of which was channelled through the German party foundations. Sweden was the largest donor in proportionate terms, 11 per cent of its aid budget going to democracy and human rights work, with Denmark and the Netherlands other significant contributors. The resources allocated under the Commission's Initiative for the Promotion of Democracy and Human Rights increased from 59 million euro in 1994 to 102 million euro in 2001.3 While increasing faster than the Commission's total aid budget, these amounts still represented only about 1 per cent of EC development assistance. In all but four member states, democracy aid accounted for well under 5 per cent of total development assistance. The Commission's Initiative funded projects in, in descending order of total allocations, the AGP states, Eastern and Central Europe and the Balkans, Latin America, the

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Mediterranean, the former Soviet Union, and Asia, with further amounts distributed through horizontal cross-regional budgets.4 The most obvious organizational shortcoming affecting democracy assistance was the failure to establish adequate co-ordination mechanisms. This applied at the most basic level, namely in the analysis of exactly how much was being spent on democracy assistance, where it was being spent and on what type of projects. This information was compiled most systematically and openly in relation to the Commission-run Initiative, although Commission funding itself originated from such a wide range of elaborately structured budget lines that no complete picture of political aid emerged even here. There was no effort to elaborate an analysis combining overall EU efforts, including, that is, the work of individual member states and the Commission. Policy-makers, both in national capitals and Brussels, lamented that they were not aware of the size or characteristics of the total EU democracy assistance effort. Decisions pertaining to such work were taken in the absence of a picture of the overall distribution of EU democracy aid and even of how the programmes of different member states related and compared to each other within each individual recipient country. Member states complained that they knew little about what both other member states and the Commission were doing, the Commission berated national governments for either not having compiled or being unwilling to pool information on their bilateral projects. The paucity of such co-ordination was a key factor in comparing EU and US policies, the ready availability to Washington policy-makers of the overall picture of American democracy assistance implying a far greater ability to prioritize coherently between countries and different types of democracy assistance and to shift allocations appropriately in response to evolving circumstances. There was no single co-ordinating unit working specifically on democracy assistance, either within the Commission or the governmental machinery of most member states. Again, this compared unfavourably with the USA, where the Bureau for Democracy, Human Rights and Labour was established in the State Department, and the Centre for Democracy and Governance in USAID. Most member states set up human rights departments and funds, but responsibilities for work on democracy remained dispersed among geographical departments within national foreign ministries— although at the end of the decade some member states (notably, Germany, the Netherlands, and Denmark) did move at least partially to rectify this situation. Within the Commission, a human rights and democratization unit was set up, but was given very limited powers.

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While this department was formally responsible for co-ordinating human rights and democracy programmes, in practice the geographical departments remained fully in charge, each pursuing their own decisions on funding with little overarching control. The EU's institutional mechanisms for the co-ordinated funding of political parties were particularly weak compared with the USA. Equivalents of the National Endowment for Democracy (NED) were established at the national level within some member states—the Westminster Foundation was set up in the UK, the German party foundations developed an already long track record in political work—but no European-level mechanism was created. The Commission's basic remit did allow it to engage in some of the types of work which the USAID was obliged to channel through NED, but there was no overarching EU co-ordination in this area of work. The European Community Monitoring Mission (ECMM) was set up to provide coherence to election monitoring work, but was also dogged by disagreements over where funding responsibilities lay. The machinery governing the co-ordination of all such work was widely felt to be poor, suffering from a whole series of'disconnects': between the Commission and member states; between member states themselves; between the monitoring of projects in the CFSP Human Rights Working Group and the geographical groups analysing political developments in the different regions where aid was targeted; and between human rights funding and the newer democracy promotion agenda.5 A range of more specific operational problems also beset EU democracy promotion projects. Disagreements over the precise division of responsibilities between the Commission and member states restricted work during the mid-1990s, as the UK mounted a legal challenge to limit the scope of Commission competence in political aid work. The European Court of Justice decided in favour of the UK in 1998, leading to a temporary suspension of many democracy and human rights projects. Only in 1999 was a firm legal base for Commission expenditure established, through the introduction of two new resolutions. A number of governments interpreted these as formally strengthening member states' locus over the allocation of funds for human rights and democratization projects, this being effected through a new Management Committee advising the Commission on such work. The quality of the implementation of Commission programmes, in particular, was the target of considerable criticism. Slowness in implementation was the result of manpower shortages—national governments were weary of granting the Commission additional resources proportionate to the increase

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in political aid work—and of complex bureaucratic procedures for tendering. Additionally, there was a failure to agree adequate procedures for operationalizing the provision for aid to be shifted between countries, across different budget lines and aid protocols, to reward those advancing democracy. Systematic reporting and evaluation mechanisms also failed to materialize, further frustrating the operation of such 'rewards conditionally'.6 At the Cologne summit in June 1999, European leaders acknowledged that these institutional shortcomings had been an obstacle to more effective work on human rights and democracy promotion and urged consideration to be given to the idea of a separate agency devoted to these issues.7 The restructuring of the Commission during the course of 1999 did create a new department to oversee and co-ordinate democracy assistance work, with all responsibilities for these issues being transferred out of geographical departments. This offered the prospect of the kind of tighter co-ordination that had been universally called for but which had been lacking during the 1990s. By the summer of 2000, the Council, acknowledging the debilitating effect of the simple lack of pooled information on what different member states were doing on the ground, urged studies be undertaken compiling a picture of overall EU aid work in individual recipient countries, including in the field of democracy assistance, to provide a better basis for strategic planning.8 At the beginning of 2001 the Europe Aid Office was established, with responsibility for co-ordinating the implementation of aid projects. While this offered the prospect of greater overall coherence in the pursuit and evaluation of democracy projects, opinion differed on the wisdom of separating out such work from decision-making on economic and social issues under the EU's respective regional frameworks. In March 2001 the Commission authorized the creation of a Rapid Reaction Mechanism to co-ordinate the swifter deployment to conflict situations of civilian instruments, such as civil society, electoral, and legal assistance.

Coercive Instruments In addition to new positive instruments, provision for coercive measures was made. Most significantly, the EU availed itself of the means to suspend or abrogate its contractual relations with third countries where democratic principles were abused. This capability was enshrined within the EU's standard 'Human Rights and Democracy Clause', agreed in 1995, which was expressly designed

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to facilitate the application of political conditionality. The EU's insistence on respect for human rights had been formalized within the text of the Lome IV convention in 1989, but this had not provided a legal base for responding in any substantive fashion to human rights violations and made no mention of democracy. This did not preclude the interruption of relations, but did mean that any such action had to be justified in terms of international law on treaties, invariably an uncertain and time-consuming process. In the case of Lome, suspension continued to be limited to particular packages of aid and employed in a sporadic and ad hoc manner. These procedural shortcomings became a matter of particular concern in the light of events in Central and Eastern Europe. As it became clear that the EU would move towards a deeply intertwined relationship with Central and Eastern European states, whose adoption of Western political standards was still far from a foregone conclusion, member states sought a more robust procedure for responding in a systematic manner to any reversals in these states' progress on human rights and democracy. This intention was hinted at in the 1991 Development Council Resolution. The latter formalized a provision for negative measures to be employed, but the precise scope for such instruments remained unspecified. In relation to democracy, it referred to the need for action to be taken only in response to a 'serious interruption of the democratic process'. In May 1992, the General Affairs Council then decided that all the new co-operation and association agreements to be signed with the Central and Eastern European countries should contain a clause explicitly permitting suspension should human rights, democracy, and the principles of the market economy not continue to be respected. Such clauses were duly included, not only with Central and Eastern European countries but also with other states negotiating new contractual relations with the EU over the early 1990s. Member states soon became concerned with the variation in the provisions negotiated with different third countries. The EU had insisted on a slightly harsher, more restrictive clause in some cases than in others and in a small number of cases had acquiesced to the complete exclusion of a democracy clause. Consequently, the EU agreed in May 1995 that henceforth all new third country agreements would include the same, standardized clause providing for suspension where 'respect for democratic principles and fundamental human rights' were not upheld.9 This clearly provided a significant new instrument for the promotion of democracy. Besides the clause's more rigorous and certain

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legitimization of punitive measures than that offered by general international law, it was the concept of standardization which was seen to be of key importance. This would, it was hoped and predicted, reduce the EU's vulnerability to charges of double standards. Developing countries would no longer be able to resist democracy and human rights provisions by arguing that other states had not been pressured on these same issues and to the same degree. To the extent that third countries would realize that they were not being singled out for coercive pressure, it was hoped that the issue of human rights and democracy would be 'depoliticized', allowing the EU more easily to gain a purchase on political issues without provoking more generally adverse reactions from developing states. Conversely, of course, the very rigour of the new clause would exert a form of pressure on third countries prior to the signing of a new agreement. Tension would be likely as third countries considered whether or not they would be prepared to sign an agreement with such a clear provision for punitive measures—that is, before the issue of whether or not to implement such coercion even became relevant. The potential impact of the clause was not easy to ascertain. Neither the substantive nor procedural grounds for invoking the suspension mechanism were delineated. By referring only to unspecified 'democratic principles', member states retained considerable discretion over whether or not to apply punitive conditionality. While wholesale revocations of constitutional democratic provisions were an obvious target of the EU's clause, the extent to which the latter would be invoked in relation to incremental or partial deterioration in the quality of democratic procedures was not immediately apparent. In such cases, the new clause clearly did not instil a required automaticity of reaction, nor send an unequivocal message to third countries. Moreover, while designed to make the implementation of punitive measures quicker and legally more firmly grounded, the introduction of the clause was not accompanied by clear implementation procedures. Responsibility was split between the Commission, which would trigger the consideration of suspension, and the Council, which would either approve or reject such action. There followed a complex dispute over the clause's legal base. This not having been unambiguously determined, it was not clear whether a decision to suspend co-operation would require unanimity or only a qualified majority. This debate rumbled on until the conclusion of the Amsterdam treaty in June 1997. Prior to this, the clause had little practical utility since there was no internal agreement on the procedures that would govern its operationalization.

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The Amsterdam treaty determined that suspensions would be decided by the same procedures that had governed the introduction of the agreement in question. In practice, this meant that the full suspension of virtually all third country agreements would, by virtue of their being of mixed competence (that is, incorporating both Commission and member state responsibilities), require unanimity. Significantly, the EP, traditionally keener to exert pressure on democracy and human rights issues, would not have a formal say over the operationalization of the suspension clause once its assent to an agreement was given.10 Other limitations also soon became apparent. The clause applied to formal contractual relations and thus did not preclude upgraded relations being pursued through sectoral agreements within which there would be no obligation to sign up to democratic principles as an essential element. Significantly, 'good governance' was not mentioned within the terms of the 1995 standard clause. After 1995, a number of member states pushed for tighter references to good governance to be included in new third country agreements. This culminated in the EU proposing to make 'good governance' an 'essential element', and therefore a legitimate criterion on which to invoke suspension, within the new Lome V convention, the negotiations for which took place over the latter part of the 1990s. However, confronted with AGP opposition, the EU failed to secure this objective. Not having been 'standardized', debates over provisions relating to good governance had to be resolved on a case-by-case basis. In addition, the Commission and some member states sought to reassure developing countries that the central thrust of the 1995 clause was, in fact, not punitive. The Commission frequently claimed that the clause was not about 'imposing conditions', but rather a 'positive and constructive approach' based overwhelmingly on 'dialogue'. Provisions relating to the clause would contain a requirement that there be consultation between the EU and third countries before a decision to suspend relations was finalized. The impression conveyed to third countries was that the clause's real potential lay in the formal base it established for more far-reaching positive aid programmes in the area of human rights and democracy. Arguably, overall a confused message was sent to developing countries. Democracy clauses were also included in EC aid protocols, providing for suspension of development assistance (except humanitarian aid which remained outside the scope of conditionality), separate from consideration of whether the full range of contractual relations were to be broken off. The Maastricht treaty's enjoining of member states and the Commission to ensure that development

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policy function in tandem with foreign-policy objectives was seen as having established a formal basis for aid conditionality. However, the procedures for operationalizing this provision were also subject to debate and uncertainty. There was a lack of uniformity, with some aid protocols subject to unanimity, others to qualified majority voting. In their efforts to simplify procedures, some states advocated making consensus the universal rule, others wanted all cases of suspension to be decided by majority. There was much ambivalence among states, the latter aware that the impact of procedural changes would vary from case to case: majority voting might facilitate suspension, but also the reinstatement of or increases in aid. The Amsterdam treaty introduced a new provision requiring the Political Committee to comment on proposals for aid suspension, this reflecting member states' concern to improve coherence by regaining CFSP's purchase on such decisions. Only a tightly constrained provision for imposing sanctions—that is, punitive measures beyond the rescinding of contractual agreements—was available to the EU. The imposition of sanctions had long been one of the most emblematic examples of the difficulties of securing coherence between trade and foreign-policy procedures. During the 1980s an informal, ad hoc set of procedures was established, whereby this commercial policy instrument was implemented through Commission procedures but on the basis of a foreign-policy decision. This rather fragile and complex arrangement, which was given legal form in the Maastricht treaty, clearly did not provide for easy agreement in relation to the use of sanctions. The Falklands crisis demonstrated that a common sanctions regime could be imposed, but was easily broken (in this case, Italy and Ireland broke ranks after only a month). Moreover, all member states except the UK argued that the article included in the Maastricht treaty only permitted the EU to implement sanctions pursuant to a UN Resolution. This, in effect, meant that the EU would have no competence autonomously to impose comprehensive trade sanctions. A substantive decision to impose sanctions could only be adopted on an EU basis, without a UN Resolution, in so far as measures did not infringe international obligations, such as those under WTO rules. This would permit only a limited range of action, such as visa restrictions. Even here, however, many possible measures were still national competences, requiring implementation through national measures, and consequently harder to enforce. This applied to investment bans, arms embargoes and the freezing of financial assets held by third country governments in Europe.

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The lack of EU competence over foreign investment issues was, in this sense, highly significant. Despite the development of a number of Commission-managed investment initiatives, there was little coordination—and, indeed, much competition—between member states on investment promotion measures. In the context of the democracy and human rights agenda, the lack of any commitment to co-ordinate restrictions on export credit was also seen as a major lacuna. In 1998 dialogue began on ways of addressing this problem.11 Pertinent to the good governance agenda were debates over the scope for imposing formal sanctions on European companies engaged in corrupt practices with the officials of third country governments. During the 1990s EU governments resisted pressure from the EP for an OECD Code of Conduct, providing for such formal powers of sanction, to be enshrined within legislation at the European level. This meant that European governments did not have the same means of influence over investors on this issue as existed in US anti-bribery laws. Only in May 2000 did European governments move to adopt legislation incorporating the strengthened OECD Code of Conduct on corruption. Two notable limits also persisted in relation to the scope for pressure to be exerted through 'positive' conditionality. First, the EU did not gain competence over debt relief, which militated against any effective co-ordination of a linkage between this reward, invariably that which was most sought after by developing countries, and progress on democracy and good governance issues. Second, in 1998 the EU introduced into its GSP programme a provision for additional trade preferences to be granted, but in response only to improvements in environmental and labour standards, not broader political conditions. Even unified diplomatic pressure, deployed through demarches and dialogue, was difficult to secure, with national channels remaining available to member states as a means of circumventing critical European-level positions. However, the EU introduced a number of new instruments during the 1990s expressly aimed at increasing pressure on third countries through the more systematic and public conveyance of support for democracy. Provisions were tightened for ensuring that country-based EU missions co-ordinated to greater effect the presentation of common EU positions. The Maastricht treaty created a new instrument, Common Positions, with the aim of providing more formalized frameworks for the support for democratization to be impressed upon third countries. Common Positions were designed to provide a supposedly high-profile diplomatic vehicle for setting out clearly what the EU expected of a particular third country and what carrots and sticks might be deployed. Common

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Positions were to be binding on member states, thereby tightening up CFSP unity on human rights and democracy issues.12 In the Amsterdam treaty a further instrument was introduced, Common Strategies, with the aim of setting out EU objectives, including in relation to democracy and human rights, within a framework permitting a more coherent linking together of different instruments and competences. The growing use of special envoys over the 1990s was also seen as a means more effectively to pressure and engage the leaders of developing countries, a long-standing complaint having been the lack of visibility of EU common diplomacy. The creation of a High Representative for CFSP in 1999 took this logic a step further, and was seen by many as the most significant development in EU instruments during the 1990s. Given that much declaratory pressure was channelled through UN Resolutions, it was also significant that the Maastricht treaty enjoined France and the UK faithfully to represent agreed EU positions within the Security Council. Hence, while still subject to limitations, a number of institutional modifications promised improvement in the effective mobilization of critical diplomacy. The area of commercial activity most prominent within media coverage was that of Western arms sales. As a defence-related issue, there was no EU competence over such sales and no common EU export policy for arms. EU arms embargoes were agreed on an ad hoc basis, through national implementation measures. In 1998, a new EU Code of Conduct on arms exports was agreed, committing member states to inform their EU partners of decisions regarding the granting of export licences for arms. This would oblige states to justify within the EU decisions to grant licences and would exert pressure on states not to grant a licence for sales to a third country which had been turned down by another member state. It was hoped that this would redress to some extent the problem of undercutting: states had long argued that unilateral controls on arms exports would serve no purpose while other states could step in to provide similar weaponry—competition between British and French suppliers having, in this sense, been the key factor. However, the conditions listed under this new Code of Conduct as constituting grounds for licences to be withheld omitted reference to democracy, being limited to regimes likely to use weaponry for 'internal repression' or 'external aggression'. Finally, there remained no explicit provision for the mobilization of military instruments as a means of safeguarding democracy. As highlighted in Chapter 1, the use of military instruments was most commonly seen to be relatively marginal to the new democracy

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promotion agenda. Nevertheless, there remained a small number of specific scenarios, where the absence or collapse of democracy was inextricably tied to violent conflict, in relation to which it was pertinent to examine international actors' capability and preparedness for forceful intervention in the name of defending democratic principles. The modifications to EU competences and procedures failed significantly to facilitate the mobilization of those resources that Europe did have at its disposal. The WEU, whose formal remit was expanded formally to include the objective of defending democracy, was requested by CFSP to mount only one operation, to police the ethnically divided town of Mostar. The significance for the democracy promotion agenda of the Helsinki commitment to create a European Rapid Reaction Force was uncertain. The new remit, with associated resources and capabilities, for European intervention in humanitarian and peace-keeping operations was directed at protecting gross violations of human rights and humanitarian crises. Any benefit such operations had for democracy in third countries would be a secondary benefit, not, apparently, their prime motive. This contrasted with the way in which US intervention in various parts of the world had been mandated specifically to 'guarantee democracy'.

The Dynamics of EU Policy-Making Thus, while new instruments and procedures were adopted with a view to enabling the democracy promotion commitment more coherently and effectively to be implemented, serious shortcomings also remained. There has been a long-running debate over the extent to which these lacunae—the formal procedural deficiencies of the EU as a single entity compared with the nation-state—actually weaken the EU's ability to engage in purposive, co-ordinated action on the international stage. One school of thought has long argued that the nature of the EU's external relations system has militated strongly against such effective external action. From this perspective, the EU's foreign-policy identity and protagonism has been interpreted in terms of realist analysis, with commentators highlighting the limited degree of reciprocal compromise between European states and the extent to which the EU's external relations system has fallen short of the co-operative norms of an international regime. This view was overwhelmingly predominant prior to the 1990s, when only a loose forum of diplomatic co-ordination, European Political Cooperation (EPC), was in operation, but remained the

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natural reference point for theoretical debate into the 1990s, as EPC was succeeded by the CFSP. Prominent writers lamented the ineffectiveness of existing procedures, in particular the absence of majority voting, and argued that member states were still cooperating only to a modest degree, merely where the imperatives of shifting international politics gave them obviously shared interests. Reviews of CFSP's early record suggested that the reforms introduced by the Maastricht treaty had made no qualitative difference. Many analysts argued that CFSP had failed to encourage any significant degree of regularized mutual compromise and remained subject to the law of the lowest common denominator.13 While such perspectives persisted, however, an increasing number of writers argued that a degree of dynamism and convergence was accumulating by virtue of an evolution of the informal norms governing foreign-policy co-operation. It was suggested that a cooperative 'reflex' could increasingly be detected between member states. This, it was held, rendered overly pessimistic those analyses focusing primarily on the cumbersome nature of formal procedures and the lack of a complete range of centralized policy instruments. The dynamics of co-operation were increasingly subject to informal rules and norms that, in practice, ensured deeper, more effective, and systematic co-ordination than would be expected from pure intergovernmentalism. The core advances in integration theory during the 1990s centred on the exploration of the way in which member states' positions were conditioned and constrained by their 'embeddedness' in dense networks of ongoing co-operation.14 While such analysis focused primarily on internal policy sectors where a significant degree of supranationalization had already taken place, analysts argued that foreign policy had also become imbued with a broadly similar self-perpetuating accumulation of co-operative norms sufficient to 'delegitimize exit' when differences or difficulties did emerge. From this perspective, it was suggested that a regularized pattern of European co-operation in relation to external affairs, predicated on reciprocal compromise, was itself beginning to be perceived as an important national interest. A number of writers argued that this self-sustaining momentum accumulated notably during the 1990s and that CFSP dynamics should be seen increasingly as going beyond both regime and liberal institutionalist theory (both of which kept the state as the basic unit of analysis). These analysts argued that governments had become 'caught in the web' of their previous efforts at foreign-policy co-operation, with each failure intensifying the perceived need to tighten up co-operation.15 For

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some, this warranted the application of constructivist explanations to the internal dynamics of the EU itself: the discourse highlighting a commitment to foreign-policy co-operation had gradually modified national governments' perception of their own interests and identities. Procedures and instruments had consequently been periodically reformed and upgraded, each time further raising expectations and hence generating an ongoing momentum for change.16 In sum, the process of decision-making within the foreign-policy sphere could no longer be reduced to pure realist-intergovernmentalist minimalism, but was rather conditioned by a complex 'dynamic equilibrium' between centrifugal and centripetal forces.17 A key expression of the complexity of policy dynamics was seen in debate over the balance of effective power between 'pillars' one and two, between, that is, the EU institutions and member states. For some analysts, the practical influence over the foreign-policy agenda of the Commission and other institutions assigned a role within the pillar one 'Community method' had grown to become highly significant. In the post-cold war era, foreign-policy objectives had come to rely on economic instruments to a greater extent than in the past. CFSP was able to do very little without pillar one instruments. Pillar one had consequently become the effective 'operational agent of the EU', with the overall three pillar structure of the EU providing merely the 'strategic framework for action'. Commission actions themselves 'created' foreign policy, independently of decisions adopted within CFSP, the latter having been relegated from being the 'kernel' of foreign policy to simply one 'contextual factor'.18 This, it was held, was one of the key developments that rendered realist analysis unsatisfactory and called for a more 'European institutionalist' perspective on external policymaking.19 Other writers contended that pillar two remained—and could be expected to remain—dominant. Whatever the formal division of power and competence, it was the weight of the most powerful national governments that continued to exert primary influence on policy outcomes. European institutions would, in practice, rarely be able to subvert this governmental power. CFSP had increasingly held sway over the deployment of pillar one instruments, rather than vice versa. The determining issue was not the myriad of influences at work in the 'delivery' of foreign policy, but whether foreignpolicy forums were themselves effective in the 'making' of substantive decisions.20 This view seemed to be given credence by a number of changes introduced in the Amsterdam treaty: the Commission was enjoined to ensure that its policy operations were

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'coherent' with CFSP objectives; the new High Representative for CFSP was seen by most member states as a means of reversing the Commission's growing external protagonism; member states gained tighter control over Commission mandates in trade negotiations; and the EP was enjoined to refrain from using its budgetary powers expressly to undermine CFSP decisions. The central question underlying much debate was whether the EU's influence was reducible or equivalent to the extent of its material force embodied within state-like procedures. In an influential framework forwarded at the beginning of the 1990s and developing further the notion of 'civilian power', it was suggested that the EU should be seen as having developed an international 'presence'. This did not compare with the 'actorness' of the unitary nation-state, given the incomplete range of instruments and the cumbersome methods of co-ordinating different areas of policy at the EU level. Indeed, as a single entity, Europeans would 'inevitably punch below their collective weight in the world economy'. However, this 'presence' embodied an international protagonism that could not entirely be reduced to the lacunae in the EU's formal procedures and material policy instruments. Not least, the EU had come to be perceived as a significant actor in other parts of the world.21 As the 1990s progressed, it was increasingly suggested that the EU's international presence had become incrementally more marked. To the extent that this flowed from the deepening and extension of the EU's network of partnerships, it was seen by some as an influence uniquely suited to the conveyance of norms and the diffusion of ideas regarding socio-economic approaches to building sustainable security communities.22 Others disagreed with this analysis, arguing that the lack of defence co-ordination continued seriously to weaken the ultimate leverage behind the EU's foreign policies. Even if military instruments were no longer expected to be regularly wielded, the possibility of their mobilization was seen by some as essential to investing other instruments and diplomatic strictures with significant weight. In this sense, it was argued that Europe remained ineffectual, indecisive, detached, and subject to policy-making paralysis in relation to international issues precisely because of the limits to the procedures governing its foreign-policy co-ordination and the lack of centralized competence over the full range of foreign- and security-policy instruments. From this perspective, it was mistaken to suggest that the EU's supposed 'prestige' among other countries, or its promotion of socio-economic networks, could compensate for the power politics that the EU had eschewed. The means to engage

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in such power politics were urgently needed, whether to contain Washington's heavy-handedness or to compensate for signs of the US's increasing weakness and isolationism. Absent such a change, EU states were in danger of being 'written out of the script' in terms of the way in which the international system was being restructured after the cold war.23 Even some of those who had been among the first to point to the emergence of CFSP's internal socialization dynamics suggested that the latter's further accumulation was increasingly unlikely if additional institutional centralization failed to materialize.24 In sum, the extent of the EU's capabilities as an international actor remained subject to contrasting interpretations during the 1990s. Notwithstanding such differences, there was an increasingly broad recognition that the nature of the EU's external identity resisted parsimony and was increasingly complex and multi-faceted. In assessing the genesis and effectiveness of European external actions, a range of influences and characteristics had to be taken on board. Analysts ultimately emphasized some factors more than others, but few were willing to confine themselves to a unidimensional characterization of EU foreign policy 'actorness'. In this sense, it was argued that the EU should be conceptualized as an intricate 'external relations system', within which all the various strands of analysis—national foreign-policy interests, Europeanizing dynamics, the importance of systemic change, the perceptions and expectations of external actors, the role of 'civilian power'—had a role to play. In light of this, the different perspectives needed to be synthesized, taking into account the way in which they interacted and how the balance between them shifted between issues and over time.25

Conclusions This chapter has examined the EU's potentialities and institutional preparedness in relation to democracy promotion. An understanding of the nature of EU instruments and the procedures governing—and hindering—their operationalization is particularly important due to the EU's sui generis features as an international actor. The foregoing account highlights the principal shortcomings for the effective and co-ordinated development of democracy promotion strategies of both the EU's general external relations policymaking procedures and the specific instruments available for such strategies. However, it also catalogues the ways in which these institutional structures evolved so as to facilitate the realization of

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the commitment to encourage democracy in the developing world. In this sense, it provides some credence to the so-called 'externalization' hypothesis, which argues that external commitments can often impact upon the internal process of European integration. In this case, the democracy promotion commitment itself encouraged European governments to tighten, and in some cases further centralize, procedures of EU co-operation. As outlined above, the practical effect of the lacunae in and improvements to EU instruments and procedures remained the subject of debate. The questions raised by this analysis will guide the two case studies of EU democracy promotion policies, which now follow.

3

The EU and the Mediterranean The EU's Mediterranean policy, incorporating the Arab states of the southern Mediterranean along with Israel, rose notably up the list of the EU's stated external priorities during the 1990s. The southern Mediterranean was an area where the range of issues and challenges relating to the promotion of democracy outlined in the two preceding chapters presented themselves in a particularly acute and complex fashion. In 1995 a new Euro-Mediterranean Partnership was established between the fifteen EU governments, Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Egypt, Jordan, Syria, Lebanon, Israel, the Palestinian Authority, Turkey, Cyprus, and Malta. This enshrined one of the EU's most high-profile commitments to democracy promotion, within one of its most far-reaching and deeply institutionalized external policy frameworks. As the source of both vital energy resources and rapidly increasing migratory flows, the Mediterranean was widely perceived to present the EU with some of its most pressing security concerns and was one of the areas where judgements over the relationship between strategic interests and the democracy promotion agenda were most central to policy deliberations. Developments in the Mediterranean were also notable by virtue of their obliging European governments to elaborate a conceptual approach towards political Islam, seen by many as one of Western democracy's remaining ideological challengers. Lastly, the Mediterranean's geographical position—lying in immediate proximity to Southern EU states, but relatively distant from Northern European countries—made it inevitable that member states' perspectives towards it would vary considerably and that the region would constitute one of the toughest challenges for EU co-ordination. In charting EU policy in the southern Mediterranean as it evolved during the 1990s, this chapter finds evidence of a genuinely new approach towards political change in the Mediterranean, but uncovers important ways in which concrete policy measures relevant to this were less than fully developed and argues that the EU failed fully to follow through the logic of its own change of approach.

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Southern Mediterranean Democracy in the 1990s Liberal democracy remained largely absent from the southern Mediterranean during the 1990s. Only Israel and Turkey were in any meaningful sense political democracies, and in the case of the latter with serious shortcomings. Several states in the region appeared to have been caught up in the dynamics of the 'third wave' at the end of the 1980s, only for the process of political liberalization then to atrophy or even, in some states, be reversed. In other states, no more than an extremely limited degree of liberalization was attempted, to no significant extent diminishing governments' tight hold on the reins of power. Morocco was the most notable reformer, witnessing a slow and often faltering, but nevertheless significant, opening up of its political system during the 1990s. This process commenced with piecemeal improvements in human rights, in particular the release of a large number of political prisoners, and then spilled over to broader political reforms. In 1996, a directly elected bicameral parliament was constituted. In March 1998, King Hassan II appointed a member of the Socialist opposition, Abderrahmane Youssoufi, as his prime minister. The inception of 'alternance' was accompanied by an even stronger rhetorical commitment to extending the process of democratization. After Hassan's death in July 1999, his son Mohammed undertook further reform, which included the reintegration of political exiles, new initiatives on administrative and judicial transparency, and the removal of hard-line interior minister Dris Bari, principal orchestrator of much of the repression witnessed in Morocco since the 1970s. The other notable process of political liberalization occurred in Jordan, where, in 1989, King Hussein called the first parliamentary elections since 1962, then revoked martial law and emergency rule. A widening of the freedom of speech and association followed, and, after 1991, many political parties were legalized. A second election took place in 1993, with wider participation and more vibrant political debate. As in Morocco, when Hussein was succeeded by his son Abdullah confidence was high that the process of political reform would be carried further forward by a young Western-oriented monarch. However, even in Morocco and Jordan there were still significant democratic shortfalls. Both Hassan and Hussein retained control over key ministries and the power directly to appoint members of cabinet; political parties remained weak; a number of Islamist groups were kept outside the political process; parliaments

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remained relatively ineffective; controls on the media were retained, and in a number of instances appeared in fact to operate in an even more draconian fashion. In both countries, the reform process appeared to constitute a co-opting of opposition forces as much as a genuine process of democratization. Despite their pledge to attack corruption, both Mohammed and Abdullah were soon subject to criticism that they themselves were relying increasingly on opaque clientelism. In Morocco, most observers concluded that the process of political liberalization under the new king had not significantly weakened the power of the Makhzan, the shadowy networks of the traditional political elite, while in Jordan the new monarch actually imposed new restrictions on parliament and the press and closed down the offices of Hamas, appearing to many to be even more security-focused than his father had been. In the Occupied Territories, autonomous and formally democratic Palestinian institutions were established for the first time, as an integral part of the peace process. However, the structure of power under Yasir Arafat soon became highly personalized and corrupt, impeding genuinely democratic rights from being embedded within political or civil society. Elsewhere in the region political change was even more limited, with incumbent regimes resisting anything other than marginal political liberalization. Indeed, as the 1990s progressed the limited degree of genuine political space that had been granted often appeared increasingly to be at risk. Tunisia was the most notable case of political liberalization implemented at the end of the 1980s being gradually rolled back during the 1990s. After ousting President Bourguiba in 1987, Ben Ali moved quickly to legalize political parties, extend press freedoms, and create space for civil society groups. During the 1990s these new political rights were all increasingly restricted. Repression against Islamists became increasingly severe and controls on opposition parties more restrictive. Ben Ali's RCD party established an increasingly absolute dominance, often setting up its own civil society groups to mirror and neutralize those that had emerged with critical intent. Syndicate and professional association elections were also manipulated and controlled by the state. Consequently, many civil society organizations functioned as a transmission belt for government policy. Similar trends were witnessed in Egypt. Here, the emergency martial law that had been introduced after Sadat's assassination remained in place and even tightened in 1997, according President Mubarak draconian powers. Restraints on free expression remained, and in cases became more restrictive. The use of presidential decrees

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to push through legislation became more common. Political parties were, in practice, not permitted to gain any significant presence in the national assembly. The use of military tribunals grew, these courts affording defendants limited rights compared with those enjoyed in civil courts. The Muslim Brotherhood and Islamic Group were banned and the government took firmer control over professional associations, syndicates and even village councils following a number of Islamist victories in elections to these bodies. There was a limited expansion in civil society activity, but one carefully regulated by the state through the licensing procedure for NGOs. At the turn of the century trends in Egypt were mixed, with increasingly tight controls over civil society and political parties, but also growing judicial activism, reflected in the Supreme Court ruling the government's running of the electoral process to have been illegal. Similar stagnation was witnessed in Syria, where President Assad sanctioned a limited degree of opening, permitting a modest dose of genuine protagonism from the national assembly and certain civil society groups, but then gradually restricted the effective emergence of a vibrant civil or political society. Succeeding his father in the summer of 2000, Bashar Assad explicitly rejected Western democracy in his inauguration speech. In each of these cases, legislative and presidential elections were widely acknowledged to be have been manipulated by state authorities, invariably to such an extent that opposition representation in democratic bodies remained negligible. In Libya, there was no movement at all in the direction of political liberalization, while Algeria—covered as a separate case in the next chapter—witnessed the most spectacular reversal in its process of democratization, which had only been partially restored by the end of the decade. In sum, across the Mediterranean basin political opposition remained suppressed, many basic rights were still not respected, judicial independence and impartiality were absent, and the media was subject to state control. Elections invariably simply gave a facade of democracy. Corruption and nepotism became more widespread, co-opting opposition forces. Military establishments retained considerable influence over civil affairs, still justified most commonly by the lack of peace with Israel. While there was growth in civil society, encouraging some analysts to suggest a positive prognosis for the region, the concept of'civility' remained weak. The main peak organizations, both trade unions and employers' groups, most commonly remained under the tutelage of the ruling party. In some states, the middle class became stronger, inviting consideration of the evolving relationship between the state and the private sector. For some this

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held the potential for an accumulation of dynamics in favour of democratization. Others highlighted the persistence of mutually dependent personal affiliations between the public and private spheres, such cronyism being seen to militate against the emergence of any tangible opposition to incumbent regimes. The region became the world's most significant 'outlier' in the correlation between economic development and political pluralism.1 Much of the repression and restrictions on democratic liberties was, of course, aimed at the suppression of radical Islamist movements. Inevitably, debates over the prospects for democracy in the region invariably hinged most crucially on consideration of the relationship between Islam and democracy. Despite exhaustive debate amongst Western and Muslim scholars, as well as Islamic theologians, little consensus emerged on this question during the 1990s. One side of the debate held that the central tenets of Islam were fundamentally incompatible with the primacy of the will of the majority. These analysts highlighted Islam's espousal of the supremacy of revealed truth, the primacy of ummah (community) over the notion of rights pertaining inalienably to the individual and the concept of the just ruler as guardian of the community. It was suggested that these tenets produced a normative fusion, unique amongst the world's main religions, of faith and state. These 'essentialists' tended to see Islam's—and Islamists'—rejection of the West's political values as flowing from, and inextricably linked to, a hostility to the West itself, born of the latter's strategic and economic dominance.2 An opposing strand of thought argued that the nature of Islam was contingent upon socio-economic conditions. While many Islamists had come openly to reject Western liberal democracy, Islam as a religion had adapted to many political systems over history, including those that separated state and religion. Historically, Islam had sought to fuse state and religion in response to conjunctural political and military imperatives. Many analysts suggested that Islamist attitudes towards democracy were a function of the socio-economic context rather than an objective reading of Islamic texts, and thus prone to evolution. In particular, the fact that Arab states had not undergone a comprehensive process of industrialization deprived the region of the kind of autonomous and atomized societal base upon which the emergence of democracy had been predicated in the West. Islamic texts themselves could be cited as easily to validate as to refute Islam's compatibility with democratic norms: the key tenet of sura (consultation) was, for instance, frequently invoked to suggest Islam's propensity to the fostering of

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pluralistic debate. Even if Islamist rhetoric was often harsh at present, this was essentially a reaction to the corrupt authoritarian regimes long supported by the West: once these were ousted the motivation for such radicalism would no longer exist and Islamist policies would in practice become far more moderate. Democracy would enhance stability by facilitating the bridging of the current gulf between incumbent regimes and disaffected populations. Those on this side of the debate highlighted the differences between Islamist movements in different countries, arguing that such variety invalidated the popular portrayal of Islam as a monolithic force capable of offering a powerful, united threat to the West and Western values. To many this diversity in Islamist perspectives became increasingly irrefutable as the 1990s progressed. Key Islamist groups became more moderate, particularly in Egypt, where the Islamic Group called a ceasefire in 1999, and Tunisia. By the end of the decade, a more moderate wing also appeared to have emerged within the FIS in Algeria. In these cases, none of the respective governments responded to this moderation by relaxing in any significant way restrictions on Isalmists' political participation. In Morocco, Jordan, and Lebanon Islamists were given a small role in government, which they exercised in moderate fashion. In Turkey, the Islamist Refah-led government of 1996-7 was notably colder than its predecessors towards the EU and NATO, but could not convincingly be said to have constituted a fundamental threat to Turkey's political system. As several groups came to claim a more emphatic adherence to democratic values, debate centred on the question of whether this represented a genuine conversion or, as the 'essentialists' insisted, a merely tactical adherence to democracy as the most likely means through which Islamists would be able to capture power; power which would then be used to introduce fundamentalist authoritarian regimes.3

Democracy and the New Euro-Mediterranean Partnership Questions of human rights and political reform were almost entirely absent from the EU's relations with the Mediterranean from the 1970s into the 1990s. The Euro-Arab Dialogue, in particular, steered clear of seeking any purchase on internal political developments as the EU prioritized the strengthening of its own role and profile within efforts to resolve the Arab-Israeli conflict. European states were anxious to stress a non-interventionist approach as countries in the region constructed new independent states in the

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post-colonial period, invariably led by political elites and dynasties expressly mandated by colonial powers. In the era of OPEC's increasing forcefulness on the international stage, European governments were on the defensive, expressly avoiding any kind of diplomatic strictures that might jeopardize their own access to oil supplies. In the early 1990s, as the EU began to adopt the aim of promoting democracy as a broad guiding principle of its foreign policy, strategy documents relating specifically to the Mediterranean still made no mention of the encouragement of political liberalization being an important objective in this region.4 The EU called for enhanced political dialogue, but without express mention of this needing to embrace issues of political reform within Mediterranean states. As the EU introduced political conditionality in new agreements signed during the early 1990s with the AGP states, Eastern Europe, and Latin America, this new provision remained absent from relations with the southern Mediterranean. Indeed, far from seeking to adopt a more critical posture, European governments proclaimed their desire significantly to strengthen relations with the Mediterranean basin during the early 1990s. This was embodied in the concept of a Renovated Mediterranean Policy (RMP), adopted in December 1990. The priority objective was to mitigate the hostility towards Europe that had taken root among the region's population as a result of the Gulf War. Under its fourth financial protocol, covering 1992-6, the Mediterranean was allocated 1.8 billion ecu, three times more than during the preceding five years. The proportion of EC aid allocated to the Mediterranean actually increased over this period, from 11.8 per cent to 12.7 per cent, despite the initiation of the new aid programmes in Eastern Europe. Per capita amounts for the Mediterranean rose significantly above those for Asia and Latin America. In the wake of President Mubarak's support for the West during the Gulf War, Egypt was granted the biggest rise in aid—a threefold increase over the first half of the 1990s—as well as a $20 billion debt write-off package. In contrast to European governments, the European Parliament did become more outspoken against human rights abuses in the Mediterranean. In 1992, it refused to grant its assent for the new Fourth Protocol aid allocated for Morocco and Syria on human rights grounds.5 While this use of political conditionality attracted considerable attention and was widely seen as embodying a new interventionism on the part of the EU, the episode served rather to suggest the improbability of and limits to such ethically derived pretensions. While the European Parliament consistently and frequently singled

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out the issues of the Western Sahara referendum and political prisoners as warranting greater pressure from the EU, it expressly refrained from similar advocacy in relation to general democratic shortfalls in Morocco.6 The EP did not target equally worrying developments in other Mediterranean countries. Both the Commission and member states objected to the EP's use of conditionality even on specific human rights issues.7 European governments brought to bear considerable pressure on MEPs, such that the EP did release funds for Syria in December 1993, after a number of Islamist prisoners had been released but without any overall improvement in the country's human rights situation. The pressure exerted on Morocco backfired. In response to the EP action, Morocco immediately suspended negotiations for a new fishing agreement designed to provide access to Moroccan waters for Spanish and Portuguese fishing vessels. The Spanish government not only openly berated the EP, but also presented a proposal for a fundamental upgrading of relations with Morocco, expressly predicated on a series of new commercial measures over which the EP would have no leverage.8 Indeed, it was the critical EP action which played a significant role in galvanizing member states into bringing forward a new package of measures to upgrade relations with the Mediterranean. EU member states professed a growing concern that, despite the various positive developments in EU-Mediterranean relations, the extent and generosity of EU policy commitments to the region remained relatively limited. Into the 1990s, aid amounted to under one-tenth of remittances from abroad and under 3 per cent of total capital investment.9 New funding for Eastern Europe was significantly more generous than the increase in the Mediterranean's receipts.10 No new trade commitments had been entered into, with commercial relations continuing to be governed by the co-operation agreements signed with Mediterranean states in the late 1970s. These were preferential agreements, giving virtually free, nonreciprocal access to the European market for industrial products. However, preferential margins and the range of product coverage compared unfavourably to the provisions offered to Lome states and restrictions remained on access for agricultural products and textiles, the most important sectors for Mediterranean states. The latter's share of the European market declined from the 1970s onwards and continued to diminish into the 1990s.11 The potential instability that might derive from the growing economic imbalances and asymmetry between the EU and the southern shore of the Mediterranean was seen to render increasingly urgent a fundamental revamp of relations between the two regions.

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Driven by these concerns, a new more institutionalized and comprehensive partnership was inaugurated at Barcelona in 1995. The Barcelona summit produced agreement on a wide range of enhanced co-operation, constituting the creation of a new Euro-Mediterranean Partnership (EMP). This incorporated three distinct chapters, covering co-operation on, respectively, economic, political, and social issues. The commitments included within the economic volet were seen as the most significant, in particular the detailed plans for reciprocal trade liberalization to proceed through a series of association agreements between individual Mediterranean states and the EU, culminating in a Euro-Mediterranean Free Trade Area (ETA) by 2010. There would also be co-operation on the incremental removal of non-tariff barriers, the strengthening of the private sector, the development of regulatory and legal frameworks to assist commercial ties and inward investment, and the pursuit of sound macroeconomic policies. The EU committed itself to mitigating the costs of adjustment associated with progress towards the ETA through a 25 per cent increase in Commission MEDA aid, with 4.6bn ecu allocated for the 1995-9 period, and the granting of access to a similar amount of funds through loans from the EIB. The political chapter outlined a range of areas where co-operation would proceed to help secure a 'zone of peace and stability', including drug trafficking, terrorism, conflict prevention and management. The social chapter committed European and Mediterranean states to co-operation on cultural issues, civil society exchanges, education, the combat of racism and xenophobia, migration and strategies for managing demographic change. The new Barcelona Process was significant in enshrining, for the first time, co-operation over the promotion of democracy and human rights as an integral part of EU-Mediterranean relations. Prior to 1995, such an objective had been intimated and included within the negotiations for new association agreements that had commenced with Israel, Morocco, and Tunisia. This new agenda was formalized at the regional level within the EMP. The twelve Mediterranean partners signed up to principles of 'political pluralism' within the Barcelona Declaration. Moreover, the commitment to far-reaching regulatory reform in the economic chapter was itself conceived as an integral part of the new, more political agenda: central to European reasoning was that, in seeking the wholesale 'exportation' of European standards and regulatory norms in the fields of competition, intellectual property, and public procurement,12 the EMP would give rise to a deeply institutionalized process of co-operation that would have broader

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ramifications for the efficiency and transparency of policy-making in the Mediterranean states. According to one of the EMP's main architects, the political and economic elements of the process were designed to dovetail together into a package going beyond standard frameworks of international co-operation towards the creation of a 'geo-political sub-region' of the international system.13 Notwithstanding the potential significance of this incorporation of democratic principles, the political volet was vague and tentative alongside the extensive and detailed timetables for economic liberalization. At the behest of the Mediterranean partners, the commitment to develop political pluralism was counterbalanced by an affirmation of the principles of non-intervention, including the right of each partner 'to choose and freely develop its own political, sociocultural, economic and judicial systems'. The detailed content of the democratic principles that the EU sought to encourage was not specified beyond a list of fundamental freedoms (of thought, expression, and religion). In light of this lack of precision, the new political remit of the Barcelona Process was seen as most notable for introducing the 'discourse' of democracy to EU-Mediterranean relations, for the first time explicitly identifying political pluralism as a norm that should govern relations between Western Europe and the Arab world. The securing of this commitment was seen as an important achievement by EU states in so far as they could henceforth refer Mediterranean states back to their own pledge to enhance democratic principles and the protection of human rights. The EU's declared aim was to seek to inculcate a broader adherence to basic democratic values over the longer term, and by embedding the discourse of democracy the Barcelona Process would contribute to this goal.

Mediterranean Democracy and European Interests The EU's underlying rationale in drawing up the new EMP was to ensure greater stability in the Mediterranean basin. This concern was informed by the alarmist prophecy of an impending 'clash of civilizations', which, however widely questioned among analysts, did encourage EU policy-makers to seek a more effective and comprehensive strategy of containment towards the Mediterranean. The EU's perspective on the region was conditioned primarily by what it perceived to be the increasingly serious threats to its own stability and strategic security that the Mediterranean was judged to be capable of producing. The EMP grew out of an initial

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Spanish-Italian proposal for a Conference on Security and Cooperation in the Mediterranean, an avowedly security-focused equivalent of the OSCE. The need to control the proliferation of arms was seen as increasingly urgent. North Africa and the Middle East purchased significantly more weaponry than other developing regions, with the region's accumulation of arms accelerating during the early 1990s. A number of European capitals came within range of North African and Middle Eastern missile delivery systems. Considerable effort and political capital was expended in securing Arab states' adherence to the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty. Libya's efforts to obtain long-range ballistic missiles caused particular, and increasing, concern. The paramount concerns over security were reflected in the creation of new NATO and WEU dialogues with the Mediterranean states. In 1995, a number of European states set up new land and marine forces (Eurofor and Euromarfor, respectively) through the WEU, designed expressly to repel possible threats from the Mediterranean. The containment of drug cultivation and terrorism were also acknowledged as increasingly serious central elements in the EU's new commitments towards the Mediterranean. In addition, the security of energy supplies became a more pressing priority: by the mid-1990s, the EU was importing 32 per cent of its natural gas and 27 per cent of its oil from the Mediterranean states, although there was the prospect of new sources of hydrocarbon supplies opening up in the former Soviet republics, which caused some concern in the Mediterranean region.14 The most resonant of the EU's concerns was over migration. Alarm at the effects of rapidly increasing flows of migrants from the southern shore of the Mediterranean into Western Europe gave EU policy towards the region its distinctive and uniquely defensive underpinning. European states began significantly to tighten up their immigration controls from 1992 onwards, the increasing flows of migrants from North Africa being a particularly acute cause of the introduction of more restrictive policies in France.15 After a steady rise over the 1990s, the number of illegal migrants caught crossing the Straits of Gibraltar into Spain increased by a dramatic 50 per cent in 1996.16 These flows were perceived by some to be particularly problematic in that migrants from the Mediterranean region professed to be hostile to, or at best uncomfortable with, European values.17 The flow of immigrants was compounded by demographic trends, with the Mediterranean population expected for the first time to exceed that of Western Europe by the middle of the twenty-first century.18 It became clear that the region's growth

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rates would create sufficient jobs to absorb no more than one half of the expansion of the labour supply.19 Even if it was calculated that Europe itself required extra workers, particularly in seasonal occupations, the perceptions that conditioned policy were less sanguine. This raised the question of how these increasingly urgent and challenging strategic and security concerns related to the EU's new democracy promotion agenda. Would democratization serve or prejudice European interests? Certainly, prior to the 1990s, European governments had harboured clear doubts over the compatibility of their own security interests with any move towards democratization in the Mediterranean. As is well chronicled, European diplomacy was based on the perceived need to support the region's pro-Western autocrats as a bulwark against the prospect of Islamic government. Did the new EMP signal a genuine change of approach? A pivotal factor bearing upon this question was the nature of European perspectives on political Islam. Different implications for Western policy flowed from each of the two schools of thought— essentialist and contingent—on Islam. Those arguing that Islamists were instinctively hostile to the West and Western values saw a need rigorously to suppress or contain Islamic movements. This implied continued, and indeed strengthened, support for incumbent regimes. Supporting moves towards democracy would simply assist antiWestern forces to win power. Not only were efforts to change such anti-democratic proclivities bound to be futile as they ran up against quite different, deeply embedded cultural traditions and attitudes towards the importance of individual rights, they would actually breed further antagonism against the West.20 In contrast, the 'contingent' view of Islam implied that dialogue, diplomacy, and cooperation could bring about a convergence of understanding with moderate Islamists, which would guarantee European security in a more sustainable way than a strategy of containment. According to this line of thought, what would really cause resentment against Europe was the latter's continuing connivance with the authoritarian regimes suppressing growing pressure from Mediterranean populations for greater freedoms and individual rights.21 A number of analysts advocated a 'middle way' between these two schools, suggesting that the West would need judiciously to mix pressure for adherence to a core of universal values with a flexible acceptance of local institutional forms. The aim should be to encourage a general spirit and awareness of democratic norms without subverting governmental authority. Islam could be made compatible with certain tenets of political democracy, but would be likely to adopt a specifically Arab form, predicated on traditional organizations such as the

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mosque, the neighbourhood or village, the tribe, professional associations, and syndicates, rather than the forms of civil society groups underpinning Western liberal democracy. Significantly, relatively narrowly defined good governance measures were widely seen as forming an important part of this universal core of values: it was suggested that populations sought restrictions on the arbitrary use of governmental power and a more strongly embedded rule of law more—or even rather—than Western-style liberal democracy.22 If, prior to the mid-1990s, European governments had clearly predicated their strategy on the 'essentialist' perspective, the commitment to promote democracy enshrined in the Barcelona Declaration appeared to constitute a reversal of this thinking. Was democracy now perceived to be the most likely guarantor of stability in the region and thus the best means of addressing Europe's security concerns? European governments maintained that they saw the commitment to promote democracy enshrined within the Barcelona Declaration as representing a genuine, but modest, change in strategy. This was based on the judgement that in the longer term political liberalization would facilitate both stability and moderation in the region. European governments were also convinced that political liberalization would offer the best prospects of generating the economic growth that would eventually ease migratory pressures. The designers of the Barcelona Process rested their hopes on an assumption that economic liberalization, political reform, cultural understanding, and strategic stability would lock smoothly together in mutually reinforcing fashion. The regularly enunciated logic was that, in this sense, political opening, combined with economic interaction and social co-operation, would enhance well-being, stability, and Europe's own security. Repressive government in the region had succeeded in enhancing neither Mediterranean nor West European interests in any sustainable manner. Compounding this reasoning, the overall direction of European foreign policy was influential: having developed democracy promotion into a more systematic objective in other regions, it had become harder for the EU completely to exclude the same aim from its Mediterranean agenda. Significantly, US policy statements indicated that the Clinton administration had effected a similar shift in thinking in Washington: US officials came increasingly to claim that, like European governments, they saw a gradual and incremental tempering of authoritarianism in North Africa and the Middle East as the most sustainable means of quelling the threat from radical Islam.23 However, EU governments acknowledged that their key concern would be to ensure that any political change did not engender

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instability in the short term. No European government maintained that the democracy promotion agenda should, in the Mediterranean case, contain any aspiration to undermine incumbent regimes. Rather, the aim would be to foster a dialogue on political liberalization and embed a positive adherence to basic democratic norms. The structure of the new Euro-Mediterranean Partnership consciously 'nested' the aim of promoting democratic reform within a comprehensive range of institutionalized cooperation and policy objectives. From the European perspective, Barcelona's very rationale resided in its scope for facilitating connections between different areas of policy. The feature of the new policy framework most markedly different from EU policy in the region prior to 1995 was its self-proclaimed holistic nature. Correcting criticisms that it had previously failed to delineate a coherent, comprehensive policy towards the Mediterranean basin, the EU offered a process of institutionalized co-operation covering a broad range of areas. The breadth of coverage compared favourably to relations with Central and Eastern Europe and the Lome countries. It sought to provide a halfway house between standard commercial partnership and full accession into the EU. The intent was to establish trust and a momentum of reciprocal compromise through co-operation in the sphere of 'low-polities'. The stress was on the process itself as much as substantive results. The key would be to avoid pressing too hard for particular concessions such as might impede the gradual accumulation of accepted norms of co-operation. This situated the EU's democracy promotion agenda in the Mediterranean within an overarching framework of regularized co-operation more marked than in most other developing regions. The perceived need to allow time for greater understanding to be generated was seen as a prerequisite to gaining significant purchase over the furtherance of political reforms, while significantly circumscribing the strategies through which democracy might viably be promoted in the short and medium term. There was, then, much of the widely recommended middle way in the EU's basic approach. The cautious evolution of the EU's strategy also represented a necessary compromise between Northern and Southern member states. While the former came to see the promotion of democracy in the Mediterranean to some degree as an issue of ethics, the latter continued to see the region as one of strategic urgency. Indeed, at Barcelona Southern EU states expressed a willingness to exclude references to democracy. Only a number of northern states categorically insisted on commitments to political

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pluralism being included, with Spain, France, and Italy agreeing unenthusiastically to this demand as a quid pro quo for Northern states' acquiescence to new aid funding for the region.24 This fundamental split did not significantly diminish during the 1990s, requiring constant compromise in the elaboration of EU strategy. Northern EU states believed the Barcelona Process was valuable as a means of making it harder for Southern member states completely to disregard ethical issues. Southern states welcomed it as a means of tempering what they perceived to be the idealistic fervour of some Northern states. Northern states themselves acknowledged the need for greater caution in pressing for political liberalization than in other regions. There was recognition that the deepening of integration within the EU meant that some of the strategic concerns of Southern states would become Europeanized. In particular, the Schengen Agreement and, later, the Amsterdam treaty commitment to move towards a Europeanization of immigration policies encouraged policy-makers in Northern European ministries to view Mediterranean immigration increasingly as an issue of potential concern to all EU states. However, Northern EU states still argued that there was more scope to push harder for political change without endangering stability in the short term. They expressed concern that the incremental warming of relations within the Mediterranean Forum, in which the Southern European states participated with five Mediterranean states, was cutting across the political objectives of the EMP. Germany saw itself as playing a crucial role as embodying the middle position between Nordic and Southern states, believing that the general aim would be to press discreetly for the development of an independent civil society, in particular through the growth of the NGO sector, rather than pushing coercively for a top-down move to full democratization. There was also a division between the respective policy communities dealing with the Mediterranean and overall democracy promotion strategy: while the former was keen to assuage the region's discomfort with the new political edge to EU policy, the latter was focused more on the need for inter-regional consistency in CFSP objectives. In sum, positive, but firm, encouragement for a cautious and controlled process of political liberalization emerged as the approach capable of gaining the support of all fifteen member states and the various different parts of the EU policy-making machinery.25 The realization that security concerns, especially in the short term, implied continued leniency towards incumbent regimes was evident in a number of different areas of policy. While recognizing

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that authoritarianism lay at the root of migratory flows and that political pluralism would stem the incentive for migration, there was unease amongst European governments that precipitate political liberalization that increased the power of Islamists might unleash greater flows of migrants. Arms control and security cooperation were seen to be more safely pursued, in the immediate short term, with known pro-Western incumbent regimes. Probably of greatest influence was the fact that opposition forces in several Arab states became increasingly critical of the Middle East peace process. This encouraged continued Western support, in particular, for President Mubarak, with all of Egypt's principal opposition parties being strongly critical of the President's support for, and key role in, the peace process.26 It was Hussein's desire to push through his peace treaty with Israel, a priority shared unreservedly by European governments, which led the king in 1994 to put a brake on Jordan's democratization process. In the Palestinian Territories, the EU's clear priority was to shore up Arafat's position against those forces opposed to the peace process, this support involving at the very least a tolerance of the Palestinian leader's centralization of power and creation of a highly repressive police force beyond any notable democratic control. In Tunisia, Ben Ali continued to be seen as a valuable pro-Western bulwark between Algeria and Libya. In a number of countries, such as Morocco and Jordan, the explosion of civil society support for Iraq during the Gulf War produced a tightened relationship between the West and ruling leaders that lingered on into the middle part of the 1990s. Consideration of what might be optimal for Europe's economic interests was very much subordinate to these security calculations. Outside the energy sector, the Mediterranean was not a primary focus of European commercial interests. While there was growing interest in opportunities arising from nascent privatization processes, there was no particularly strong drive from European businesses to expand into the region. European businesses put more emphasis on pressing for new policy initiatives in East Asia and Latin America than in the Mediterranean. Business input into the design of the EMP was limited and there was no systematic consultation between EU governments and the business sector on how the new partnership should be taken forward. There was an increasingly evident private-sector conviction that improvements in good governance measures were desirable. On this issue, European business representatives did seek a more influential input. As many governments in the region appeared to have succeeded in quashing radical Islamist groups and delivering a more

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secure environment, investors who had hitherto been almost exclusively preoccupied with issues of basic security did for the first time turn their attention to good governance problems. In this sense, European business organizations sought—and secured—a role in drawing up some of the more technical provisions that would guide the move towards the Euro-Mediterranean free trade area. This helped ensure that the EMP went beyond the traditional range of trade liberalization measures, to include aims relating to the transparency of customs procedures, the functioning of dispute settlement mechanisms, and the establishment of a rules-based process of standards harmonization. The private sector's main concern at the more political level was to encourage Mediterranean governments to introduce reforms to make their judicial systems more transparent, predictable, and efficient. On such good governance concerns, European governments were influenced by multinationals' lobbying, even if on these issues business pressure was still considerably weaker than in relation to policy in other developing regions. The opaqueness and partiality of judicial systems was, for example, seen as a barrier mainly to smaller European companies and not to large energy-sector investments, which themselves relied on close co-ordination with state authorities. Beyond concerns with good governance, companies were mostly ambivalent towards the broader democracy promotion agenda. Many investors listed a range of preoccupations that did relate to the nature of general political structures. The region's leaders were recognized as crucial to economic liberalization, but also prone to unpredictable and arbitrary decision-making. There was concern that technical capacity to take forward market reforms had not been generated because governments had kept implementation responsibilities within a very small circle of reformers. The frequent non-implementation of pro-market ministerial decrees was seen as related to the fact that governments had little incentive to build up broad-based alliances behind reform efforts. The paucity of free information and good quality statistical information complicated investment plans. Overvalued exchange rates were seen as related to governments' protection of favoured importers. A major concern of investors was the lack of co-operation between the different Mediterranean economies, which was seen as a product of the nationalistic rivalries between the region's governments. However, while insisting that their concerns were no longer limited to essentially technical good governance issues, European companies did not relate the evolving nature of their concerns to the region's lack of democracy. This, according to commercial officers and investors

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present in the region, reflected a lack of conceptual clarity in relation to the implications of governments' new democracy promotion commitment. Indeed, some companies expressed outright scepticism towards the notion that democratization was necessary or would even be beneficial to commercial operations. The Economic and Social Committee, UNICE, and the European Trade Union Confederation argued strongly that work on technical, narrowly defined good governance—with the aim of securing a standard investment code, public procurement transparency, certification procedures, and intellectual property guarantees—should not be impeded by an undue politicization of human rights and democracy issues.27 Concerns remained over the potential effects of precipitate change. There was also much unease over the prospect of democracy bringing to power Islamist or other governments less open to trade and investment with the outside world. It was recognized that the range of opposition forces (not just Islamists) held at bay by authoritarian regimes were either ambivalent or actively hostile to further trade and investment liberalization—even if several Islamist groups themselves acknowledged that it would hardly be economically viable to cut energy supplies to and investment from the West.28 In some cases, southern Mediterranean governments actively supported or even sponsored investment projects. The Spanish firm Gas Natural, for example, had its investment projects in Morocco actively promoted and supported by hard-line Interior Minister Dris Basri and held in abeyance after King Hassan's death.29 In general terms, the European private sector still remained unconvinced that the Mediterranean region offered significant and imminent enough potential strongly to engage in seeking progress on the detailed structure of political and regulatory institutions. In many of the region's economies, prevailing structures of governance were seen to be too primitive for foreign capital to 'lock onto' an incipient momentum of regulatory reform.30

Trade Liberalization and the Context of Political Reform The extent to which priority appeared to be attached to economic reform suggested that the EU's democracy promotion agenda was heavily predicated upon an expectation of spill-over from market reforms to political liberalization. Certainly, it was the extent of the EU's economic engagement in the Mediterranean that was seen as the crucial source of its influence over the region's political developments.

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EU policy-makers were driven by the belief that the region's more complete insertion into the world economy would be beneficial to political liberalization. The paucity of economic liberalization was seen to have facilitated elites' retention of such concentrated power. The initial moves to political liberalization had been provoked in the late 1980s by reaction against austerity measures, and the need to pursue more sustainable economic policies was seen as key to encouraging political elites to seek greater legitimacy. In these initial moves, democracy had been seen as a means of sharing the blame for tough reforms. It was the perpetuation of the rentier state that had obviated the need for taxation and therefore any strong pressure for representation. At the same time, the Euro-Mediterranean FTA would enable further liberalization to be undertaken within a structured framework, offering a broad range of co-operation and benefits, which would help make reform more palatable than if change were dictated entirely by the strictures of the multilateral financial organizations. Outside EU policy-making circles, the opinion was overwhelmingly that the EU's insistence on far-reaching reciprocal liberalization could be both economically and politically destabilizing. Most analysts predicted that the EU's commercial policy would damage, rather than assist, the prospects for both economic development and political liberalization in the Mediterranean basin. It was doubted that the Mediterranean economies could harness the potential benefits of greater competition without additional institutional capacity to guide and intervene in economic activity, while EU policy restricted the scope for the development of such capacity. In these circumstances, it was estimated that, in some parts of the region, up to a third of industry would be destroyed.31 There was widespread concern that the probably high costs of adjustment associated with progress towards the FTA might engender considerable resentment against the EU and encourage a bunkering down mentality actually less open to external ideas. In this sense, a kind of 'reverse demonstration effect' of democracy seemed a real concern. If the anti-Western radicalism of Islam was primarily a reaction to socio-economic crisis, a painful process of structural adjustment would, analysts argued, aggravate rather than temper such hostility.32 Some even saw the focus on trade liberalization as a deliberate, if misconceived, attempt by European governments to weaken the region, the FTA being the central element of a broader socio-political strategy aimed at 'Europeanizing' the Mediterranean in order to facilitate the predominance of EU interests.33 Even to those who accepted that Mediterranean states had little option but to integrate more fully into the world economy, it was the

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EU's continuing reluctance to concede a more balanced process of economic liberalization that made the EMP such a worrying development. With Mediterranean states already enjoying duty-free access for most industrial goods, the amount of additional preferential access guaranteed through the prospective FTA was negligible. It soon became clear that, despite the commitments of the new EMP, significant additional trade concessions in agriculture and textiles would not be forthcoming from the EU. The remit for the Euro-Mediterranean FTA excluded free trade in agriculture, the sector employing nearly one half of the workforce in North Africa. In the wake of the Barcelona conference, differences over a range of trade issues impeded the practical progress of the new Euro-Mediterranean Partnership. Southern EU states resisted significant opening up of agricultural sectors within which southern Mediterranean producers held a comparative advantage. Northern states—Germany, the Netherlands, Britain, and Belgium—were also reluctant to increase quotas for a number of products of particular sensitivity to their markets. Extra-EU Mediterranean produce continued to be subject to high entry prices, restrictive quotas, and delivery periods for out of season produce. The quotas offered by the EU were based on 'traditional flows', conveniently calculated from a base period during which drought had severely restricted Mediterranean exports. As association agreement negotiations were initiated, EU offers on most products were under half the opening demands of the Mediterranean states.34 In 1998, the Commission urged member states to demonstrate greater flexibility and presented an analysis of the (in its judgement) considerable scope Southern EU states had for meeting Mediterranean demands in key sectors without seriously damaging their own production. The Southern EU states continued to resist this, instead pressing for EU help to invest in the diversification of agricultural production in the Mediterranean. The pressure exercised by the Commission for member states to agree to more generous trade provisions increased after Chris Patten took over responsibility for the Mediterranean from Manuel Marin in 1999. Significant movement on agriculture, however, was still held in abeyance pending further reform to the CAP—reform which would only be pursued through a new WTO round in order to meet the insistence of a number of member states that the EU secure concessions at the multilateral level in return for any significant liberalization of European agriculture. Differences on agriculture ensured either that association agreements were not concluded or that Mediterranean partners finally accepted market access

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arrangements well below their original bottom-line positions. The Moroccan government complained bitterly that, at a crucial juncture in its political reform process in 1999, the EU resisted a suggested deal offering a renewal of European access to Moroccan fishing grounds in return for the EU granting increased agricultural trade quotas.35 The EU also declined to offer as generous rules of origin as were sought by Mediterranean states. As a number of the agreements' review clauses became operational in 2000, agricultural and textile quotas were increased, but with Southern EU member states still limiting the extent of these new concessions. Hence, by 2001, there had still been no significant movement towards including agriculture and textiles within the Euro-Mediterranean FTA. The amount of EU aid offered was widely deemed insufficient to make any significant contribution to offsetting the lack of generosity in the EU's trade offers or to easing the process of structural adjustment. The new aid agreed at Barcelona was Ibn ecu less than the amount proposed by the Commission and Southern EU states, at the insistence of the British and German governments.36 The amounts allocated under the Fifth Protocol for the EMP amounted to one hundred times less on a per capita basis than had been given to the eastern Lander in Germany since unification.37 Some southern Mediterranean governments were uneasy at the extent to which European aid was diverted away from basic developmental needs into industrial restructuring. The EMP's potential role was seen as seriously limited by its exclusion of a common policy towards debt rescheduling. The evolution of bilateral ODA flows showed that all the main member states, except France, were actually encouraged to reduce their national aid programmes in the region because of the high profile of the relatively generous increase in the MEDA budget. In the Mediterranean, Commission aid accounted for nearly one half of total EU funds, a far bigger share than in other regions. This meant that simply comparing MEDA with the Commission-managed funds to other developing regions— a common tendency—overstated the overall EU focus on the Mediterranean. Italy reduced aid amounts significantly to Morocco, Tunisia, and Algeria after 1995. By the late 1990s, Germany gave over twice as much to Latin America and Asia, and was reducing amounts to all Mediterranean states except Egypt. Spain retained its disproportionate focus on Latin America, while shifting funds away from the Mediterranean to increase poverty-focused aid in sub-Saharan Africa: the share of Spanish aid going to North Africa and the Middle East fell from 20 per cent in 1991 to 11 per cent in 1996. Both the UK and the Netherlands gave negligible amounts: in

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each case under $1 million to Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia. Up to 1999, Germany, the Netherlands, Denmark, and the UK all gave significantly more aid to Guatemala than to Morocco or Tunisia.38 Moreover, the disbursal of the new MEDA funds was delayed for over three years, seriously reducing the EU's credibility as well as the practical effect of the funds it had allocated the region. Even by the end of 2000, only a quarter of the first MEDA protocol had been spent. Critics of European policy detected that developments in the Mediterranean were indeed beginning to vindicate the fears that the asymmetric process of trade liberalization would militate against a smooth spill-over to political liberalization. It was observed that, as governments initiated economic reform programmes in the early 1990s most engaged in harsher repression and adopted even less transparent policy-making styles, justifying these developments as necessary to push through liberalization in the face of domestic disquiet.39 In some specific sectors, preparations for liberalization did seem to be breaking apart clientelistic structures of governance and leading to greater transparency. However, in most sectors, in most states preparations for the Euro-Mediterranean FTA were initiated through programmes that actually tightened the nexus between the state and dominant private-sector firms. This was most notably the case in Tunisia, where President Ben Ali set up a whole plethora of new state-controlled institutions, most notably the Conseil National Superieur des Exportations, to secure a firm governmental grip on preparing businesses for the FTA by favouring big oligopolies deemed to be capable of meeting the challenge of liberalization. Specifically as a result of its association agreement with the EU, the Tunisian government introduced a Plan de Mise a Nive.au that provided for a strongly state-managed process of reform. In Jordan, another of the states quickest to respond to the prospect of the Euro-Mediterranean FTA, a state-led programme of mergers between medium-sized firms formed the central plank of the preparations for free trade with Europe. The same trend was also evident in those states such as Egypt and Syria that, despite not having signed association agreements, began initial preparations for the FTA: in these cases, the respective governments exhibited a clear determination to micro-manage reform, actually relying even more heavily on opaque networks of patronage as the means of selecting and supporting those companies that would play the lead role in meeting the challenge posed by the EU. Most of the region's governments had succeeded in co-opting the private sector into an alliance that would facilitate the state's economic reforms, while minimizing

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the risk of these reforms having broader political implications.40 Morocco provided a partial exception to this, with the regime gradually perceiving far-reaching reform to governance structures to be a necessary implication of the association agreement, but it was pointed out that even here the government was encouraged by deepening social inequalities to keep a tight control over the reform process.41 Many sectors of the middle classes were themselves hostile to the idea of strategies designed to improve the business climate leading to an incremental withdrawal of the state.42 It was suggested that EU aid even directly assisted governments' control over economic reforms: to the extent that it was channelled through state enterprises' restructuring plans, this aid actually gave political elites additional powers of patronage to maintain distributional coalitions favourable to the incumbent regime.43 For many in the EU, these developments suggested a need to pursue economic reform more, not less, rigorously. While initial reforms might encourage elites to tighten their grip on power, beyond a certain 'critical mass' of liberalization they would be obliged to start relinquishing parcels of power over the economic sphere. The 'lag' between economic and political reform might be considerable, but this did not invalidate the basic conceptual approach. A particularly strong faith was placed in the potential of some spill-over from trade liberalization to modest improvements in governance structures. This belief was reinforced by the fact that many sectors of the southern Mediterranean business community resisted liberalization precisely because they feared this would start to undermine the opaque and privileged ties between dominant firms and the state. The Egyptian government's hesitancy to unblock its association agreement derived, in part, from the opposition of many business sectors concerned precisely that liberalization would have knock-on effects which would undermine their privileged positions and access to power: in this sense the lack of political movement could be attributed in part to the EU's lack of firm economic conditionally.44 While the region's governments protested to the EU that the scope for political reform was restricted by economic constraints, domestically it was precisely these constraints that encouraged governments to placate populations by improving respect for human rights.45 Moreover, the general feeling among European governments was that economic and political liberalization were also linked in terms of the sorts of diplomatic strategy that were deemed to be viable: the quicker the Mediterranean states could be fully integrated into the rules-based world trading system and, crucially, start reaping concrete benefits from this, the sooner it would be

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feasible for the EU to gain more effective purchase on the region's political developments. In this sense, it was felt that continuing political autocracy was the result of the lack, rather than implementation, of more far-reaching economic liberalization. For example, the Mediterranean partners' insistence that the services sectors be excluded from the FTA remit (beyond Uruguay Round provisions) was seen by EU policy-makers as removing a means of prising open one of the sectors most imbued with personalistic clientelism. Crucially, the EU still saw its deeply institutionalized engagement with Mediterranean governments on economic reform as a particular strength in comparison with the US approach to the region. However, while sticking to their contention that pressing Mediterranean states into a fuller engagement with global markets would assist political change, European policy-makers claimed to be increasingly aware of the potential dangers of an unbalanced process of trade liberalization. Their concerns were ignited by the continuing rise in the Mediterranean's trade deficit with the EU after 1995. In political terms, it was seen as significant that both European and southern Mediterranean NGOs were overwhelmingly focused on what they saw as the negative impact of the moves towards the FTA and thus reluctant to engage more fully and enthusiastically with the EMP as a potential force for securing political liberalization.46 There were, increasingly, nuanced differences between EU member states on the question of the relationship between economic and political reform. While there was unanimous agreement on the broadly positive implications of economic liberalization for the momentum of political reform, the precise role played by market reforms, especially in the short to medium term, was subject to increasing debate. Britain was the staunchest believer in the beneficial political impact of the development of free markets; France the state most seriously to question whether policy should be predicated on an assumed automaticity of such spill-over. Analogous differences emerged between the Euromed Committee, addressing economic and social issues, and CFSP experts.47 The evolution of actual policy constituted a balance between these different perspectives. There was a stated recognition on the part of EU governments and the Commission that a more generous and better targeted focus on the social costs of adjustment was increasingly urgent. The Commission ceded more intensive input from the Mediterranean states over the details for their liberalization timetables. In response to the ubiquitous criticisms that liberalization would be destabilizing, the Commission began to divert MEDA funds away from

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infrastructure projects into measures aimed more tightly at facilitating restructuring processes—job creation, small business development, micro-credit schemes and the promotion of joint ventures. Indeed, by 1997 over one half of MEDA funds were being allocated to social projects.48 Most notably, the Commission was the largest donor to Egypt's Social Development Fund throughout the 1990s. In general, however, the scope of new social initiatives remained relatively limited. The hopes of some states that a major new initiative would be launched aimed specifically at alleviating the social costs of adjustment remained unrealized. In debate over the new MEDAII financial package only a minority of EU states advocated any increase in funding. Several states, and several key Commissioners, were favourable to the idea of switching some aid from the Mediterranean to the Balkans, and the sum eventually agreed for MEDAII in November 2000 represented, at 5.3 bn euro, a small decrease in real terms.49 The crucial element in the link between economic and political reform was to be provided by the way in which liberalization and the adoption of EU norms would attract European investors to the region. Market opening would both provide incentives to potential EU investors and oblige Mediterranean governments to court foreign investment more assiduously in order to offset the FTAgenerated pressures on domestic production. This internationalization would ensure that the commitments to liberalization, even if initially enhancing the centrality of the state, would eventually have to filter through to more transparent structures of governance. However, it was precisely this aspect of the EMP's logic that functioned most disappointingly after Barcelona. The importance attached to fostering business links was reflected in the allocation of significant amounts of new co-operation funds and EIB loans for joint ventures between European and Mediterranean companies. The EIB, for example, began offering 50 per cent of European firms' capital contribution towards joint ventures.50 Two of the highest profile events under the EMP were conferences on investment promotion and financial market reform, designed to get policy-makers and potential investors together. In practice, the enhanced diplomatic and developmental focus on the Mediterranean during the mid-1990s did not ignite significantly greater interest on the part of European business. Investment flows to the Mediterranean did not increase greatly, with the region failing to increase its share of EU FDI above 2 per cent in the latter half of the decade.51 Indeed, there were some signs that investment would begin to decrease as the removal of tariffs made the servicing of Mediterranean markets

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from plants in southern Europe a more feasible option. In addition, some feared that the constraints flowing from liberalizing access for the EU would make Mediterranean governments more hesitant concomitantly to liberalize between themselves, and would thus deepen the 'hubs and spoke' structure of EU-Mediterranean relations—precisely the factor that was of such concern to investors.52 The European business community remained relatively unmoved by their governments' entreaties to engage more intensively in Euro-Mediterranean forums. Commission initiatives to encourage joint ventures between European and Mediterranean companies met with an unenthusiastic response. Only in 1999 did dialogue between EU and Mediterranean Chambers of Commerce begin in earnest.53 There were exceptions, most notably the considerable interest of European investors in key privatizations in Tunisia and Morocco, which did in these states raise foreign investment to record levels. In these cases, European multinationals did press for greater transparency in bidding procedures, and to some effect.54 However, this was not matched by similar engagement and pressure for reform from smaller companies in a wider range of sectors. There was no myriad of smaller investors pushing strongly for comprehensively rules-based regulatory and judicial structures, only a limited number of big companies concerned with one-off operations in key sectors. Most investment remained limited to precisely the kind of utilities infrastructure—energy, telecommunications—that provided state elites with direct 'rent'. While a number of flotations did have an impact in the governance of individual sectors, in overall terms EU multinationals did not play the hoped-for role as the vehicles linking economic liberalization to systemic-level good governance reforms. Indeed, in general terms, something of a vicious circle had taken hold. In contrast to other middle-income regions, European businesses did not perceive there to be a strong chance of significant engagement on these issues in the Mediterranean, such as would give a reasonable prospect of tangible improvements in the transparency, predictability, and rules-based nature of policymaking.55 In turn, it was the lack of such engagement that lessened the prospect of Mediterranean governments perceiving there to be a large pool of imminent investment held back primarily by the lack of improvements in good governance. Mediterranean governments felt reinforced in their claim that improvements in good governance were a less important aspect of their FTA preparations than were state-managed programmes of private-sector capacity-building. Indeed, the lack of clarity over precisely what the EU understood by

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good governance led to some suspicion that it might simply raise the region's regulatory burden and actually act as a disincentive to investors.56 Whether or not such arguments contained a degree of disingenuousness, the EMP, by 2001, had unquestionably failed to harness the private sector as an actor able to force Mediterranean governments into a fundamental revamp of even narrowly denned good governance measures. The hope that states within the region would compete among themselves to establish the best governance conditions, as a means of ensuring that their respective association agreement operated most successfully, was realized to only a very limited extent.

Democracy and European Diplomacy after Barcelona If there were doubts over the extent to which EU policies in the economic sphere amounted to a well-conceived 'bottom-up' strategy for promoting political liberalization, nor did European governments demonstrate any inclination to give substance to the new democracy promotion objective through a 'top-down' approach based on coercive diplomacy. Notwithstanding the scope for such a strategy accorded by new EU instruments, European governments continued to eschew a critical approach towards political events in the region. Leading participants within Barcelona Process forums acknowledged that the EU declined to raise issues of human rights and democracy with any significant degree of pressure or urgency.57 The scarcity of CFSP statements with any degree of critical edge pertaining to political developments in the Mediterranean was conspicuous alongside the ubiquity of such criticism towards Lome and Eastern European states. Fraudulent elections failed to elicit the kind of expression of concern with which the EU frequently and without hesitation met similar irregularities in other regions. The absence of any criticism of Algeria's deeply flawed process of reform was particularly notable, and is examined in detail in Chapter 4. After 1999, European governments were especially keen to refrain from criticism, either public or private, of the new young monarchs in Morocco and Jordan, despite concerns over continuing clientelism: both men were judged to need time to construct domestic coalitions behind further reform. In relations with the new Palestinian Authority, conditions were only attached to macroeconomic policy and fiscal reform, not issues of democratic quality or good governance. Decentralization of Arafat's power was clearly seen to be a potential risk to the peace process. With the risk of

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Hamas doing well, the EU raised little objection to the postponement of local of elections in Palestine.58 It soon became clear that, in practice, all southern Mediterranean states were reluctant to discuss even good governance measures within EU-Mediterranean dialogue, with European governments consequently remaining conspicuously silent on this issue: policy-makers admitted that they pushed hard only in relation to specific cases of corruption or judicial blockages suffered by individual companies.59 European governments were far more forceful on issues of more direct concern, such as in relation to their desire to see a much firmer clampdown on cannabis production. Nordic states perceived it necessary to desist from pushing with greater vigour for a more coercive approach towards the Mediterranean in order to gain Southern states' acquiescence to Northern member states' lead protagonism in the Baltic.60 Debate on political developments was expressly kept out of the EMP's regional bodies. European governments saw bilateral association councils as the arena within which democracy and human rights issues could more viably and judiciously be raised (the provisions of the association agreements being legally binding, in contrast to the aspirations of the Barcelona Declaration). By 1999, this exposed to such pressure only the three states whose association agreements had entered into force (Israel, Jordan, and Tunisia). The prospect of significant EU-level dialogue with Morocco arose only in 2000, when its association agreement finally entered into force. Egypt signed its association agreement only in June 2001, and negotiations with Syria, Algeria, and Lebanon were still at this stage far from being concluded, in these cases delaying the applicability of the democracy clause. While difficulties in negotiations with these states derived principally from differences over trade, they were also blocked by the four countries' reluctance to accept the EU's standard human rights and democracy clause. This involved all these states rejecting wording already signed up to within the Barcelona Declaration.61 They objected, in particular, to being asked to sign up to slightly tighter provisions than the pre1995 wording in Israel's agreement. The Arab EMP partners also claimed that the EU had not put similar pressure on oil-exporting Gulf states, in particular Saudi Arabia, although, in fact, a Gulf Cooperation Council FTA was held up over the clause. Egypt expressed more fundamental problems with the human rights and democracy provisions being set as formal preconditions and pressed for a change to the standard clause to recognize the 'specificities' of the region.62 The EU's resolution in insisting that its standard

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wording be accepted further demonstrated the effect of 'standardization'. A number of EU governments and senior Commission officials did indicate that the strategic importance and cultural sensitivities of the Mediterranean might warrant a slightly modified approach, but this was outweighed by the desire—especially strong amongst CFSP officials with 'horizontal' responsibilities for democracy promotion policies—for greater constancy across regions. Notwithstanding the EU's refusal to dilute the democracy clause, the drawn-out negotiations over the precise wording within the association agreement texts seemed far removed from actual EU responses to events on the ground. If the EU's rhetoric and diplomacy was cautious, the actual use of political conditionality provisions was even further from policy-makers' minds. There was no question of aid or trade provisions being suspended on political grounds. New administrations in Italy, France, and Spain—Dini and then Prodi taking over from Berlusconi in 1994, Chirac from Mitterrand in 1995, and Aznar from Gonzalez in 1996—all expressly refrained from even the modest degree of critical pressure and intimations at conditionality adopted on occasions by their respective predecessors.63 Far from restricting trade in response to declining political freedoms in many Mediterranean states, even arms sales were enthusiastically promoted by European governments: in the UK, sales to countries such as Egypt, Turkey, Lebanon, and Tunisia were amongst those that benefited most from export guarantee (ECGD) cover.64 Nor was there any consideration of holding back MEDA projects on political grounds. Indeed, for three years after the Barcelona conference, member states could not agree on a set of procedures that would enable such suspension. Southern EU states argued that any decision to suspend aid should be taken by unanimity, in order to make this more difficult. Northern states (except the UK) insisted on the sufficiency of a majority vote. The Commission was particularly opposed to any change that would facilitate political conditionality being attached to economic restructuring assistance.65 Even when it was finally agreed that suspension of MEDA funds would be decided by a qualified majority vote, no possible operationalization of this provision on political grounds was given consideration. This contrasted with the EU's willingness to withhold parcels of aid where economic reforms failed to materialize: the EU regularly held back aid tied to the progress of privatization in the Mediterranean partner states. Such pressure in relation to economic reform was on occasions welcomed by Mediterranean governments in so far as it served to

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deflect blame for domestically unpopular restructuring. The region's governments categorically rejected the prospect of EU pressure fulfilling such an 'alibi' role in relation to political reform. The one case of significant punitive conditionality in the Mediterranean was, of course, Libya. However, the fact that Libya was ostracized so completely due to events related to the Lockerbie bombing served to highlight the absence of notable conditionality in relation to democracy. The majority of EU states wanted a full positive engagement with Libya, without democratic preconditions being set. While they recognized Britain's unique concerns and deferred to its insistence that Libya be excluded from the Barcelona Process, several countries used their bilateral diplomacy to circumvent this restriction. Spain, for example, launched a drive to improve relations with Libya in 1998, through a series of ministerial visits offering new development assistance, this campaign coinciding with a big new Repsol investment in Libya.66 While UN sanctions had been in place since the Lockerbie bombing, the EU had not barred investment in the same way that the USA was doing through the Iran-Libya Sanctions Act. Pressure from other, principally Southern, states for engagement with Libya did secure some compromise from the UK and Libya was granted observer status in the EMP in 1998. Once the Lockerbie suspects were handed over in 1999, sanctions were suspended (except on arms sales) and the EU went out of its way to incorporate Libya into the EMP. Libya, however, stated its disagreement with the EMP's inclusion of both Israel and the Palestinian Authority. This response caused member states to rein back Commission President, Romani Prodi, who very quickly had expressed his enthusiasm for a Q'adafi visit to Brussels. However, in contrast to conditions related to the peace process, no pressure was brought to bear on Libya in relation to the EMP's nominal commitment to democracy.67 The prospect of EMP membership appeared to do little to mollify Q'adafi, the latter's high-profile address at the first EU-Africa summit in April 2000 combatively suggesting that African states needed 'pumps not democracy'. Indeed, shortly after beginning exploratory talks with the EU, Q'adafi disbanded a number of key ministries. By early 2000, Italy, the largest importer of Libyan petroleum, was clearly ahead of other states in its desire to see Libya brought immediately into the Barcelona Process. France and Spain were increasingly engaged in strengthening diplomatic ties as a prelude to securing further investments in the hydrocarbon sector. The UK was still wary about being pushed too fast by other states, including after

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the court's judgment in February 2001, but its concerns were over terrorism and not the lack of movement on democracy in Libya.68 In contrast to its eschewal of coercive pressure on democratization within the EMP, the EU did begin to exert greater pressure in relation to individual human rights cases. In Morocco, European governments did not respond critically to the limits placed on King Hassan's democratization process, but did bring increasingly firm pressure to bear on human rights issues. The improvements in Morocco's human rights situation was seen as one of the most notable cases of successful European influence, but, significantly, it was only on relatively narrow human rights issues, and not questions of broader political reform, that the Moroccan government judged that its international standing could be harmed by the resonance of European strictures.69 The EU also used the new association council with Tunisia to press hard on particular human rights cases. The Tunisian government initially refused to discuss individual cases. The EU was firm, particularly during the UK presidency in 1998, despite some unease from Southern states over the prospect of too rigid an insistence causing dialogue to break down. Eventually, the EU did secure agreement from the Tunisian authorities that discussions on human rights would form a part of the agenda of association councils. Again, the EU's strictures on human rights did have an impact. While Tunisia retreated from broader democratic freedoms, it did release prisoners and lift the bans on some human rights groups specifically in response to EU pressure. Ben Ali did begin to address human rights issues in his domestic discourse, for example, making this the centrepiece of the 1998 RCD Congress. In these and other cases, the degree of coercion applied in relation to individual human rights cases was still relatively modest: European governments resisted calls from a number of MEPs, for instance, for Tunisia's association agreement to be suspended due to increasing human rights abuses.70 However, it did serve to throw into sharper relief the lack of any comparable pressure for broader democratic reforms. Southern EU states in particular held that a degree of punitive pressure on issues such as the death penalty or women's rights was legitimate in a way that did not apply to the democracy promotion agenda.71 It was significant that NGOs, including those enmeshed in transnational networks, focused almost entirely on human rights, not democracy, in the Mediterranean. The USA was similarly focused mainly on human rights and even more notably on the peace process, this producing if anything a stronger reluctance to seek to exert direct leverage for such democracy itself.72

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The lack of coercion was consistent with the EMP's holistic design. In principle, the EU appeared to hold considerable leverage over the region. There was an increasing asymmetry in trade relations, the Mediterranean partners conducting over two-thirds of their trade with the EU, the latter under 10 per cent of its trade with the Mediterranean. Many pointed to the increasing impracticality of the Mediterranean turning away from the European market and seeking alternative outlets for its natural resource products. European governments were also the region's largest creditors. It was suggested that the asymmetry of EU-Mediterranean commercial needs was greater than that of US-Latin American or Japanese-Asian relations, giving the EU greater structural power over its immediate periphery than either the USA or Japan had over theirs.73 However, having expressly promoted the Barcelona Process as a means of ensuring mutually reinforcing progress in different areas of policy, the EU's leverage over democratic change was significantly diminished by its own reluctance to cede to Mediterranean states' demands on other issues. Most notably, negotiations over trade and the stagnation of the association agreements demonstrated the interaction of political and economic objectives: the EU's bargaining power over democratization and human rights was recognized as being severely reduced by the ambivalence of the Mediterranean partners towards the EU's free trade offer. Whatever the actual impact of the trade provisions agreed, Mediterranean states used the EU's lack of generosity in this area as their main negotiating defence against pressure on the issues of human rights and democracy, insisting that the latter could only be discussed with more serious commitment within a more 'balanced' policy framework.74 In addition, work on democracy was one of the many areas adversely affected by the Israeli-Palestinian conflict's 'infection' of the Barcelona Process: the EU's refusal to use the economic provisions of the EMP to pressure Israel into concessions related to the peace process reduced its negotiating leverage over internal political developments in Arab countries. If the EMP was born out of the initiation of the peace process in the early 1990s, so as the latter collapsed the EU's Mediterranean policy struggled to retain any positive momentum. Syria and Lebanon boycotted the Marseilles summit in November 2000, and even the NGOs directly supported by the EU expressed an increasing bitterness towards European governments' reluctance to exert firmer pressure on Israel.75 Seeking to correct such inaction, some EU policy-makers did, amidst the escalating violence of 2001, begin to advocate invoking the human rights clause against Israel.

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Mediterranean partners' enthusiasm for the EMP was diluted by their failure to convince the EU to address their concerns on a range of other issues too. Mediterranean states sought stronger protection for the social rights of migrant workers in the EU. Not until the Tampere meeting in October 1999 did the EU commit itself to extending such rights, and even then made only limited concrete changes—resisting Mediterranean partners' main demand for rights to be transferable between member states—such that the atmosphere within the Barcelona Process did not noticeably improve as a result of the agreement.76 Indeed, Mediterranean states felt that the EU's approach was diametrically opposed to their own aims, concerned only with tightening restrictions on immigration and insisting that the association agreements contain 'readmission clauses' obliging southern Mediterranean states to take back expelled immigrants. The presence of Islamic leaders exiled in, particularly, the UK and Germany continued to incur the anger of Mediterranean governments, although in 1999 a number of European states did tighten up their rules in relation to this. The Mediterranean partners' desire for counter-terrorism co-operation also met with an ambivalent response from European governments. A first meeting took place on this issue at the end of 1998, at Algeria's insistence, but produced agreement only on an informal information-sharing arrangement. Co-operation in this area was complicated by both EU sensitivities and the determination of Syria and Lebanon to focus on 'state terrorism'.77 All this undermined, in the eyes of Mediterranean states, the spirit of trust and mutual compromise upon which the EMP was supposedly predicated. If, as the EU's approach claimed, the exertion of pressure on political liberalization in the Mediterranean required the development of a broad, deeply embedded regime of co-operation, few would claim that the Barcelona Process had come remotely close to attaining such regime-like features by 2001. Substantive linkages were compounded by the standard problems resulting from the EU's institutional fragmentation, although expressly so as to facilitate the holistic approach institutional coherence was improved through member states appointing EMP co-ordinators to link together the partnership's different volets.78 If the EU judged punitive measures to be unviable and inappropriate, did it adopt a softer form of'positive' conditionality? It could be argued that there was a degree of rewards conditionality in relation to democracy by virtue of the fact that for all EU states except France bilateral aid flows to the region were negligible and declined in relative terms as political reforms atrophied in the mid- to late

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1990s. However, the rise in Commission-managed aid for the region contradicted the notion that this was a rationalized strategy for encouraging democratic reform. By 1998, seven of the Mediterranean partners appeared in the top fifteen recipients of Commission aid. Nearly over half the region's aid receipts in the mid-1990s came from the French government. France, the only state to give more aid to the Mediterranean than to Latin America or Asia, did not reduce flows to the region, and easily cancelled out any element of rewards-based variation in other member states' aid distributions. French aid flows to the Mediterranean, almost double German donations in the years following the Barcelona conference, included significant amounts to democratic-laggards Egypt, Tunisia, and Algeria. Paris did not respond, however, to the reform process in Morocco with any sustained increase in donations to that country; indeed, Morocco continued to receive less than Egypt and not significantly more than Algeria. British flows to Morocco actually decreased during the late 1990s, and by the end of the decade were only about one-twentieth of those to Egypt.79 German aid to the region also remained similarly skewed disproportionately towards Egypt.80 Morocco had by 1999 become the fourth largest recipient of Commission aid anywhere in the world, indicating a significant reward for the political reform that had been undertaken, but as notable was the fact that Egypt for the first time in 1999 became the biggest recipient of Commission funds.81 The extent to which MEDA funds were conditional upon economic, not political reform, was demonstrated by Tunisia's success in securing a disproportionately high share of this aid package (14.5 per cent in 1999)—although the very low shares going to Egypt (1.2 per cent in 1999) and the high shares going to Morocco (19 per cent) and Jordan (14 per cent) were difficult to explain in purely economic terms.82 In Morocco, the Commission firmly perceived its main contribution to be in encouraging and co-operating in the process of economic liberalization and there was no new EU initiative after July 1999 expressly to assist the new king's political reform efforts. Several member states launched new projects in Morocco, with the latter, notably, becoming Spain's single largest aid recipient, but these efforts fell short of a comprehensive, common European package targeted specifically on assisting democratic change. When Mohammed VI tentatively reopened the issue of Morocco's eligibility to join the EU in February 2000, European governments reacted with studied ambiguity.83 Concerns over the peace process, economic reform, and democratization combined in the case of Syria to ensure that Assad received negligible funds, both from MEDA and

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France.84 In sum, despite some indirect correlation between aid receipts and political reform, neither in terms of overall amounts nor the distribution of funds between different Mediterranean states, did the nature of aid flows represent an explicit or comprehensive rewards-based strategy to democracy promotion. The very fact that overall EU aid increases to the region over the latter half of the 1990s outpaced those to Latin America, Asia, and the Lome states, at a time when many incipient political reform processes showed signs of reversal, suggested that the EU's Mediterranean policy was, in fact, the most significant deviance from rewardsbased conditionality. Certainly, the states that had implemented the most far-reaching political liberalization increasingly expressed their frustration that they had not been rewarded for doing so.85 US aid was even more skewed to pro-US regimes, especially Egypt: the proportion of US aid going to Mubarak did not decline, despite grumblings in Congress over the country's resistance to democratic change. A similar ambivalence was witnessed in relation to another 'softer' form of diplomatic pressure, namely the EU's pursuit of dialogue with Islamist opposition forces. A more committed and systematic engagement with Islamists was advocated by some as a means of shoring up this area of civil society against the state and exercising an indirect means of persuading incumbent regimes to desist from repressive tactics. At the same time, such dialogue would increase the prospects of obtaining from Islamists firmer commitments to moderation and democratic principles. However, no common EU line supporting a stepping up of contacts with more moderate Islamists emerged. This was a particularly conspicuous lacuna in EU policy towards Morocco, where after the 1999 succession those Islamists that had not been co-opted into the regime, many of whom were still openly ambivalent towards democracy, appeared increasingly as the potential beneficiaries of an expansion in political space. Notwithstanding the Barcelona Process commitment to engage all sectors of civil society, in practice many member states continued to doubt the appropriateness of pursuing contacts with Islamist groups. A number of states, principally Northern countries, did argue that the apparent trend towards moderation in the positions and pronouncements of some Islamist groups did merit a positive response. Other states assessed the extent of these shifts less positively. As a consequence, those states that did engage in new dialogue did so in a relatively modest fashion, at the bilateral level. There was no incorporation of this rapprochement into Europeanlevel policy. Indeed, there was little sharing of information between

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European governments on their respective contacts with Islamist groups. There was no concerted EU pressure for Mediterranean governments to cede greater political space for more moderate Islamist groups as a means of isolating more radical elements. On this issue, of central importance to so many of the considerations underpinning the democracy promotion agenda in the Mediterranean, there were few signs of a more concerted European strategy and little interest in ceding the flexibility of discreet, national diplomacy. Here, once again, the EU was broadly in line with the USA: despite its avowed desire for a rapprochement with Islam, Washington also shied away from building any significant links with moderate Islamist groups, after an attempt to do this in Egypt in the early 1990s had engendered an angry reaction from Mubarak.86 In sum, the EU's responsiveness specifically to issues of democratic change was limited in both its negative and positive dimensions: failure to engage in political reform was not castigated, while efforts to secure political liberalization were not rewarded to any significant extent. The lack of clarity in European strategy was further demonstrated when member states came to draw up a new CFSP Common Strategy to cover the Mediterranean, which was adopted in the summer of 2000. This exercise was primarily the result of an internal trade-off, Southern EU states having insisted on a geographical counterbalance to the first two new Common Strategies that had covered, respectively, Russia and the Ukraine. Significantly, presented with this opportunity to redefine priorities, European governments did not give prominence to the promotion of democracy. For most states the main potential of the Common Strategy lay in securing progress on a Charter for Peace and Stability, and in linking this security focus to the evolution of the Middle East peace process. A number of states did argue that the Common Strategy offered the possibility to tighten up provisions relating to democracy and human rights, suggesting that these objectives could at least be defined with greater force and clarity 'at fifteen' than it had been possible to do 'at twenty-seven' within the EMP. These states saw the Common Strategy as a chance to tie down Southern EU states to some degree of effective pressure in relation to the promotion of democracy. This would flow from the central rationale of the Common Strategy concept, namely its aim to strengthen coherence between the different pillars of EU activity: Northern states saw this as a means of increasing pressure on Southern states to demonstrate greater flexibility over key trade dossiers. Southern states scaled down their ambitions for the Common Strategy as they became concerned that majority voting—

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which would apply to all decisions taken in furtherance of the Common Strategy—could lead to greater confrontation with Mediterranean countries if Southern EU governments could be outvoted. On the other hand, it was felt that majority voting might work the other way, forcing the hand of the Nordic states, who would no longer be able to hide behind Southern states, letting the latter take the blame for the paucity of EU principles while benefiting from their security-focused realism. In the light of such uncertainties, the Common Strategy produced no significant tightening of the EU's focus on democratization. In general, it was felt that doing this 'at fifteen' would undermine the partnership approach the EU had committed itself to. By the end of 2000, and with a new CFSP initiative to complement the Barcelona Declaration, the prospect of a coherent and systematic use of conditionality to promote political reform in the Mediterranean had still not emerged.87 Indeed, policy seemed to be orientated even more towards co-operation between leaders, with France pushing strongly for an annual heads of government Euro-Mediterranean summit.88

Democracy Assistance: A Viable Strategy in the Mediterranean ? In the absence of any significant coercion, positive democracy assistance measures offered a more concrete manifestation of the EU's commitment to encourage political reform. As part of the EMP, new EU funding was sanctioned specifically for democracy assistance projects in the Mediterranean. This included the setting up of MEDA Democracy, a Commission-managed programme separate from the main MEDA budget line, remitted to fund work on democratization and human rights. This brought Mediterranean policy into line with Eastern Europe, Latin America, and Lome countries, where democracy assistance work had already been institutionalized as a distinct and specifically mandated area of work. The Commission had allocated 55m ecu for good governance and civil society work in the region for the 1991-5 period, but this amount was negligible compared with the funds allocated for similar work in Latin America and sub-Saharan Africa (although it did exceed the llm ecu donated in Asia).89 From this low base, democracy work in the Mediterranean expanded to account for 14 per cent of the Commission's total democracy assistance budget by the end of the 1990s. Significantly, EU governments and the Commission insisted that funding under MEDA Democracy would, in contrast to

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that agreed under the main MEDA budget, not be subject to the approval of southern Mediterranean governments, a condition which the latter judged it necessary to accept as a quid pro quo for the overall increased aid package agreed at the Barcelona conference in 1995. Between 1996 and 1999, the Commission funded 306 democracy and human rights projects in the Mediterranean, totalling 27m euro.90 The scale of EU funding compared favourably with that of the USA, the European pre-eminence in this field being particularly marked in the Maghreb. The extent of democracy assistance funding was, however, still extremely modest. Significantly less was spent on political aid in the Mediterranean than all other developing regions except Asia. Funds allocated for democracy assistance over the latter half of the 1990s amounted to only 0.3 per cent of all aid to the region.91 Over two hundred times more money was given under the main MEDA budget for assisting the process of economic restructuring. More funds were allocated for family planning than for democracy assistance, seeming to confirm the relative priority attached to mitigating demographic and migratory pressures. Greater sums were also spent on combating the cultivation of drugs, principally in Morocco. In reformist Morocco, up to 1999 almost as much had been spent on the development of sport as on democracy.92 Spending on democracy assistance represented less than 1 euro per capita in all Mediterranean partners except the West Bank and Gaza Strip—in a majority of cases it was below 10 euro cents per person. In addition, there were significant delays in disbursing even the limited amount of funds that had been allocated for democracy assistance, with the MEDA Democracy programme being identified as one of the most inefficiently managed of all Commission budgets. The new programmes of decentralized co-operation, facilitating exchanges between educational institutions, the media, and local authorities were held up by internal EU bureaucracy and were still not up and running by 2001. The MEDAII budget deal allocated a small increase for democracy funding, but in the wake of internal Commission reforms MEDA Democracy ceased to exist as a separate programme. No member state, except France, funded significant democracy work at the bilateral level in the Mediterranean. This accorded with neither Northern governments' poverty-focused aid profile nor Southern EU states' emphasis on commercial co-operation. Moreover, the nature of projects financed was limited. Of the 306 MEDA Democracy projects, 290 funded NGOs, only sixteen went to public institutions. While incorporating a wide range of different areas of funding, the Commission's democracy budget in practice

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focused to an overwhelming degree on human rights issues. Only twenty-two projects were classified as focused directly on democratic institution-building, the remainder defined as civil society, human rights, education, or minorities projects. The more political work that did take place, including projects on the judiciary, armed forces, parliaments, institutional reform, media, and trade unions was of a relatively 'soft' nature, projects consisting entirely of NGO-organized training, education, awareness-building campaigns, seminars, and conferences. The Mediterranean attracted a disproportionately low share of overall Commission funding for political society institutions, such as parliaments or local administrations (4 per cent compared with the region's 14 per cent of the overall democracy budget). Significant projects on strengthening political parties or civilian control over armed forces were particularly conspicuous by their absence. It was felt by many EU states that such events and projects, while creating forums for useful dialogue, invariably failed to engender concrete follow-up co-operation or make any tangible impact. In Morocco, where the incremental process of political reform would seem to have opened a degree of space for slightly more political work, nearly half the EU's democracy funding went to projects on the single issue of women's rights. Strategy was largely passive: the Commission relied on the nature of incoming proposals to set the agenda for MEDA Democracy funding, rather than proactively defining the areas of work it judged to be most necessary. In Egypt, for example, where civil society was already relatively vibrant, there was little systematic attempt to orientate funding to the weaker areas of political society. The EU provided no support for the range of groups widely identified as elements of a potential Arab form of democracy—professional associations, syndicates, mosques, teaching circles, neighbourhood organizations, or craft groups. Indeed, it declined to finance NGOs with any significant Islamist bent. The proposed Confidence Building Measures, that were seen as an indirect means of instilling democratic norms into the region's armed forces and rebalancing civil-military relations, did not get off the ground. The Commission acknowledged that the profile of its democracy assistance work in the Mediterranean was narrower than in other developing regions, such as Latin America and Central and Eastern Europe.93 Even a number of initiatives under the rubric of cultural co-operation proved to be sensitive. Consistent with the observations of academic analysts, the Commission and EU governments were mindful of the need to build up a basic understanding and appreciation of democratic norms in the region. Several initiatives

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through which the EU sought to achieve this objective—an Arab version of Euronews, a Euro-Islam Dialogue Forum—were, however, either abandoned or diluted in response to Arab objections. There were a number of initiatives within the EMP aimed at fostering dialogue between the religions, but these excluded any notable opposition representation—a condition set by Mediterranean governments that the EU invariably accepted. Even these fairly innocuous events failed to develop into any sustained initiative, with overall levels of Commission funding in this area of work decreasing, due to it having proven highly sensitive. While keen to facilitate a modest degree of NGO dialogue on cultural values, most EU governments themselves kept clear of any forum which could be interpreted as seeking to guide such 'norm dissemination'.94 The limits to the EU's democracy assistance reflected the problems of gaining access for political work in the Mediterranean partner states. Despite their rhetorical commitment to co-operate on institution-building, in practice Mediterranean governments were hostile to funding encroaching upon the political sphere. Even in post-succession Morocco, the government solicited EU funds for a new project on judicial reform and administrative transparency, but firmly blocked the notion of support being given to political society institutions. Member states, particularly France and Spain—with the largest aid programmes in Morocco—were even more reluctant to finance anything that could be construed as contre-pouvoir.95 While MEDA Democracy funding did not require approval from Mediterranean governments, in practice the Commission was unwilling to push ahead with projects to which state authorities expressed strong objections. At the bilateral level, EU member states' political aid programmes were constrained by the highly restrictive rules on the foreign funding of political parties in the Arab world.96 The head of the Egyptian Organization of Human Rights was arrested for accepting funds from the UK and another European-funded organization, the Group for Democratic Development, closed down in the face of official harassment. In 2000, the EU-funded institute of one of Egypt's most prominent academics was closed and its head imprisoned.97 These problems caused the Commission to stipulate that funding in Egypt under the MEDAII democracy budget should be even more cautious and focus on relatively uncontroversial areas such women's and children's rights.98 The Spanish development agency found its funding of human rights groups and projects severely curtailed, and expressly cut back funding for Saharawii civil society groups at the behest of the Moroccan government.99 Among European governments, there gradually

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emerged a consensus that it was desirable to seek to fund only non-controversial civil society projects and expressly maintain a distance from more political, institution-building projects.100 In fact, Arab governments blocked a systematic focus even on basic human rights by insisting that, within the Barcelona Process, a list be drawn up specifying which local NGOs would be entitled to receive European funding—a means of limiting eligible recipients to government-backed 'NGOs'. Civil society initiatives at the regional level were also affected by the stagnation of the Middle East peace process, with Arab governments frustrating such dialogue so as not to allow a general spirit of societal co-operation to develop such as would mitigate 'high polities' pressure on Israel.101 The Civil Forum, set up under the EMP, was kept relatively marginal with no formal or significant input into the policy-making process.102 EU proposals even on human rights monitoring and information-sharing on adherence to international human rights instruments had to be watered down. There were concerns that regimes were, in practice, retaining control over projects designed for supposedly independent civil society actors. Aid flowing into many of Egypt's private voluntary associations was seen as directly supporting closely linked government networks of patronage.103 Nordic states and the European Parliament pushed for the implementation of conditionality in relation to the conditions of specific aid projects—with the intention of preventing the sanctioning of funding where this was not allowed to flow through to genuinely autonomous groups. The majority of EU states and the Commission were not attracted to formalizing such a practice, however.104 A number of NGOs suggested, with concern, that the pursuit of a balanced 'partnership' between Europe and the Mediterranean had led the EU to be more indulgent of non-democratic regimes' unease over human rights projects than in other developing regions.105 Political caution was compounded by a genuine difficulty in identifying independent civil society organizations with which European donors could work—the latter lamented that there was very little incipient momentum within civil society that politically oriented work could latch onto. This was reflected in the geographical distribution of MEDA Democracy funds. Morocco, Jordan, and Lebanon were relatively high per capita recipients, while Syria and Tunisia received only 1 per cent each and Egypt only 4 per cent of the total funding. That is, where democracy assistance was most needed no significant work was undertaken: in the latter three cases, there was simply a lack of projects proposed to the Commission by genuinely independent local civil society groups.106

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Nearly 40 per cent of the MEDA Democracy budget went to Israel and the Occupied Territories, and as such was driven primarily by peace process concerns. Indeed, the considerable amount invested in democracy building in the Palestinian territories was the one exception to the extremely limited amount of political aid work undertaken in Mediterranean countries. A huge 27 per cent of EU aid to the West Bank and Gaza Strip went to institution-building between 1993 and 1995. In a reversal of the proportions elsewhere, this represented three times more than the amount given for economic reform. The EU, in effect, paid for basic democratic state institutions to be created from scratch. It was also responsible for managing and monitoring most aspects of the first Palestinian Authority elections in 1996. The nature of this democracy work betrayed the EU's primary concern with bolstering the Middle East peace process. Considerable sums were invested in creating a strong police force. The importance of bolstering Arafat's security apparatus was demonstrated by the EU's decision to draw up one of the first CFSP Joint Actions specifically on this issue. While this aimed to meet Israeli concerns over security, the Palestinian police force was soon a source of considerable repression. Money was actually shifted away from the NGOs that had been supported during the 1980s, towards a shoring up of the executive branch of the Authority, and in particular Arafat's personal standing. Opposition groups, many of which harboured misgivings over the peace accords, had funding levels drastically cut back.107 Civil society activists in the West Bank and Gaza Strip expressed their anger that EU funds were given for countless 'what is democracy?' seminars, seen as abstract and of little practical relevance, without any funds or diplomatic pressure being invested in ensuring that civil society participation in the political process actually strengthened.108 In the latter half of the 1990s, the EU made an effort to correct such biases, funding twenty-seven human rights and democracy NGOs from the MEDA Democracy budget, and through this convinced Arafat slightly to widen the political space available to these groups. However, this funding was still primarily for 'confidence-building' projects linked to the peace process and the continuing security focus was witnessed in 2000 when another large tranche of funding was granted, through a CFSP Joint Action, to help the Palestinian Authority in its fight against terrorism, albeit now with a more prominent human rights training component.109 An increasing amount of good governance work was carried out as an integral part of the economic measures funded by the main MEDA budget. This was indicative of the EU's aim more tightly to

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link in good governance work to its democracy promotion agenda. Modest programmes on the training of civil servants, judiciaries, and market regulators were initiated. More technical, regulatory good governance programmes progressed further through a Commission-funded programme on adapting the Mediterranean partners' technical standards for functioning within the European single market, focusing on, for example, the transparency of procurement procedures. Even the Tunisian government was open to some co-operation in relation to designing new regulatory frameworks in preparation for the FTA. In Lebanon, the Commission worked with local authorities to revise the country's fiscal system, necessary to replace revenues which would be lost through tariff removal in liberalization with the EU, playing a direct role in putting in place more transparent structures. The Syrian government, still extremely sensitive to external pressure on good governance, blocked significant funding for such work until 2000, but did then agree to co-operate with the Commission on a project for regulatory reforms to public procurement rules and the tax system.110 It subsequently agreed to co-operate on a range of micro-credit projects, which the Commission framed so as to try to enhance broader local level decision-making capacities.111 A range of good governance questions were addressed in the various sectoral forums of the Barcelona Process, for example those covering energy and industrial co-operation developed projects related to issues of judicial security and transparency, expressly related to the needs of potential European investors in these sectors. The conferences on investment and capital markets in, respectively, 1997 and 1998 did secure agreement from authorities and potential investors to co-operate on improving the regulatory frameworks governing banks, mortgage provisions, and debt instruments—this reflected a professed desire of Mediterranean governments to work with the EU in designing measures which would protect the region from the kind of crisis afflicting Asia, which was acknowledged as being caused in part at least by bad governance. The main focus of the Commission's work in Morocco was on strengthening administrative capacity and tax reform, areas where co-operation aimed to introduce more transparent institutional structures.112 The largest European project undertaken in Morocco after the succession was a 34m euro contribution to a judicial reform programme, this pursued as a good governance project and not overtly labeled as democracy assistance. Business protagonism in these good governance initiatives was, in general, still relatively limited. European companies and UNICE expressly deferred to governments' lead role even in

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regulatory-focused co-operation.113 While good governance cooperation was often complicated by the non-participation of some Mediterranean states in business and industrial forums,114 the main obstacle in this domain came from the linking of good governance work to the democracy and human rights agenda. On narrow good governance issues, Mediterranean states were generally keen to co-operate with and benefit from the technical expertise and resources of EU governments and the Commission, but the potential impact of funds for such work was not maximized because of disputes over the more high-profile human rights focus within the association agreements.115 That is, some aspects of'top-down' conditionality had an adverse impact on the EU's own 'bottom-up' good governance work. This was seen most clearly in the case of Egypt. Before the introduction of the EU's standard democracy and human rights clause, Egypt was one of the states most enthusiastic over the concept of an association agreement, which it interpreted as an adjunct to its 1991 World Bank reform package and designed primarily to address technical good governance issues.116 A combination of Southern European intransigence over trade access and North European opposition to any modification to the standard human rights clause ensured that five years after the Barcelona conference the EU still lacked the contractual base for engaging to any significant extent in such good governance work in Egypt. In the Commission some feared that the separation of responsibilities for democracy assistance from the Mediterranean department would render more difficult an effective dovetailing of political work with ongoing social and economic policies.117 However, in general, it was significant that the EU did succeed in gaining purchase on narrowly defined good governance assistance, perceived as an integral part of its deep, institutionalized economic relationship with the Mediterranean, in a way that it was unable—or unwilling—to do in relation to more overtly 'political' aid work.

Conclusion The introduction of the discourse of democracy to the EU's relations with the southern Mediterranean marked a significant historical development. The rhetoric, both European and Mediterranean, that developed around the principle of co-operation on political reform was matched by concrete policy instruments to only a limited extent. Neither the positive nor negative side of European policy was significant. The EU embarked on an implicitly two-step strategy.

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Trying to create the conditions under which democracy might flourish without an anti-Western and anti-democratic outcome, the EU sought to attack the roots of radical Islam through deeper economic integration and social co-operation, while espousing a more conditional support for incumbent regimes. Suggestions that European governments remained wedded to a strategy of pure 'containment' looked unduly cynical.118 European chancelleries became slightly more sanguine over the possible ramifications of democracy, but less so of the actual process of democratization, in the Mediterranean. There was evidence to suggest that partial political liberalization rather than full democratization would suffice for European pretensions. In Egypt, Morocco, and Jordan a limited political liberalization, combined with the co-option of Islamists through limited participation in government, seemed to have moderated Islamist strictures. This encouraged some in Europe to support this option of limited reform: it was shown to be capable of tempering radicalism and anti-Westernism, and making it easier for European businesses to gain access, while avoiding the controversial territory of whether Mediterranean populations really wanted democratic, as opposed to simply cleaner, government. The deepened, institutionalized relation with the Mediterranean states gave the EU purchase on good governance issues, but European governments failed fully to follow through their own holistic logic to secure influence over reforms to political society institutions. Issues of democratization were not factored into trade calculations in any systematic way. The Barcelona Process clearly did not develop the degree of mutual understanding and trust that would have made the exertion of more significant diplomatic pressure a viable option. In some states, such as Egypt, even the modest range of democracy assistance work undertaken risked being counterproductive, to the extent that it actually attracted tighter state control over a number of organizations funded by the EU. An important constraint continued to be the lack of progress in the Middle East peace process. Indeed, policy objectives remained dominated by the peace process, a peace settlement being seen—by both Arabs and, in practice, Europeans—as a prerequisite to wider democratization in the region. The decision to pursue the promotion of democracy within a framework including Israel and Arab states compounded the adverse effects of the conflict on European objectives, including democracy promotion. The aspiration of keeping the EMP separate from the peace process soon proved to be unrealistic. Arab states increasingly insisted that the economic provisions of the EMP be used as leverage over Israel on peace-process issues:

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the EU's refusal to do this weakened its leverage over Arab states on human rights and democracy. Moreover, policy towards the Mediterranean was the area where the North-South split within the EU was perhaps most evident. It was suggested that the EMP's promulgation, and the nature of its subsequent development, reflected a fine balance between the dynamics of Europeanization and '^nationalization'—between, that is, national strategies of states such as France being pursued through the European level and scope being retained for divergent concerns.119 In the specific case of the democracy promotion elements of the EMP there was clearly some mixing of 'lowest common denominator' and 'Europeanization' dynamics, although most policy-makers on both sides of the Mediterranean perceived the former logic to have remained more notable. The discourse on democracy was not without impact, as Mediterranean governments come to perceive a greater need to legitimize their actions in terms of the idea or norm of democracy. Despite the absence from European policy of any punitive coercion, Mediterranean governments complained that the EMP was increasingly constraining precisely because of this 'imposed' democratic discourse.120 The end of the cold war had made a number of states, such as Syria, more dependent on the West. However, this same structural change did not have the same all-encompassing impact it appeared to have on Eastern Europe. The limited resonance of the democratic norm was still notable in the Mediterranean. The prospect of governments becoming 'entrapped' in any concrete fashion by their own new rhetoric on democracy seemed remote.121 The EU's discourse on democracy certainly filtered through into Mediterranean governments' cognitive perceptions of the implications of their closer relations with Europe to a very much lesser extent than the narrower human rights discourse. Those reforms that were undertaken were government-controlled tactical concessions, and did not reflect the sustained influence of civil society networks that EU policy was aimed at generating. Outcomes in the Mediterranean were determined by domestic factors, with the nature and legitimacy-base of different leaders a crucial factor. A complex range of domestic-political, strategic, and historical factors helped explain Morocco and Jordan's partial adoption of human rights and democratic norms, alongside other states' firmer resistance to these values. European democracy promotion, in its new discourse on pluralistic values or its purposive policy initiatives, did not come anywhere near transcending or 'ironing out' domestic variations to an extent that raised the prospect of a wholesale

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conversion to increasingly internationalized democratic norms. At a moment of redefinition for political Islam, the EU's lack of success— or disinterest—in harnessing the new Barcelona framework to explore common ground with Islamists might, when viewed from the vantage point of events in future years, prove to have been the most regrettable shortcoming of Europe's relations with the southern Mediterranean during the 1990s.

4

The EU and Algeria In 1989, following riots triggered by price rises agreed under an IMF stabilization plan and the general malaise flowing from a precipitate fall in oil prices, Algeria's socialist FLN regime introduced a new democratic constitution. Algeria's nascent multiparty system was then brutally overturned by the army after the Islamist Force Islamique du Salut (FIS) emerged victorious in the first round ballot of the 1991 legislative elections. Violence ensued, perpetrated by both the army and the Islamists, and political rights were further curtailed. A renewed round of democratic elections began in 1995 and a new constitution agreed in 1996. The perpetuation of violent conflict during the latter half of the 1990s precluded meaningful political liberalization, however. Both the Groupe Islamique Arme (GIA) and the FIS's armed wing, the Armee Islamique du Salut (AIS), engaged in increasingly brutal attacks and the army's response became ever more repressive. By the end of the decade more than 100,000 people had been killed in Algeria's conflict. Many suspected the army of stoking conflict with Islamist groups for the very purpose of dissuading political elites from democratization. The new constitution actually strengthened the position of the president vis-a-vis civil and political society. New parliamentary elections produced an improbably large majority for the regime's new party, the Rassemblement National Democratique (RND). The FIS remained banned from political activity and a number of its key figures under arrest. The hard-line army erradicateurs retained a strong grip on power, forcing President Zeroual from office in 1999, after the latter had begun a tentative rapprochement with FIS moderates. The April 1999 elections revealed the limits to the revived process of democratization, with all candidates except the army's withdrawing, alleging military manipulation of the electoral process. The new president, Abdelaziz Bouteflika, pushed forward with a peace plan, which included an amnesty to Islamist activists, but in his desire to widen space for the FIS, and even in the formation of his government, he was frustrated by the army. The decade

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finished with a new wave of killings, including of a notable FIS moderate, again appearing to put back the prospect of any significant degree of political liberalization. By 2001, Bouteflika's hold on power was increasingly tenuous, compounding the stagnation in political reform. The political developments in Algeria created some of the EU's most acute concerns over its own security. How did the EU see the promotion of democracy relating to the unique considerations arising from the Algerian conflict? Was democracy promotion completely subordinate to the imperative of securing greater stability? Or was democratization itself judged to provide a necessary element of any sustainable solution to Algeria's woes? In scale and brutality, the Algerian conflict was comparable with the Balkans war, yet, of course, engendered nothing like the same degree of attention, soulsearching, or practical engagement from the international community. EU concerns over violence, radicalism, and instability spilling over from Algeria into Europe combined with the extreme viciousness and complexity of the conflict to produce what appeared to be one of the most startling examples of European impotence. For most observers, European policy towards Algeria was one of the most emblematic cases of non-intervention and of the EU's disinclination to employ coercive pressure in relation to democratic shortfalls. The analysis below corroborates this view, but also offers evidence to suggest that in a subtle, low-key fashion the EU began to carve out a more significant engagement with Algeria that seemed at least to lay the foundations for more effective purchase over democratic reforms.

1992-1996: Democracy Aborted and Restarted, EU Passivity The European response to the revocation of the 1992 elections and the subsequent prohibition of the FIS did not explicitly condemn the military's action. Far from being threatened with the suspension of aid and trade provisions, Algeria was offered a fourfold increase in EU aid and a rescheduling of over $20 billion of its debt. Indeed, Algeria was one of the biggest gainers, in both proportionate and absolute terms, in the distribution of European aid during the early 1990s.1 In the immediate aftermath of the interruption of the democratic process, the EP sanctioned increases in EC aid to Algeria, within the very same vote that suspended the allocation of aid to Morocco and Syria. In the period after the elections, European

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governments' strong and unequivocal pressure, in particular through the IMF and including the use of conditionality, for the process of economic liberalization to be reinitiated contrasted with the absence of a similar stance in relation to political liberalization. As violence flared after 1992 and the regime adopted increasingly repressive measures against Islamists, the EU's silence was perceived by many in Algeria as complicit. CFSP statements did not urge the regime to include Islamists in dialogue, merely welcoming the faintest of moves in this direction once these had already occurred.2 This approach differed markedly from the European approach towards other civil conflicts, where the EU had pressed state authorities to incorporate combatants into meaningful negotiation.3 Even when the EU did attempt gently to prod the Algerian regime, the vehemence of the response from Algiers caused the EU to step even further back from the ensuing crisis. When the FIS was eventually excluded from a new 'National Dialogue', the USA became notably more critical and began to push the regime to engage with the FIS. European governments both refrained from such critical diplomacy and themselves desisted from formalized contact with the FIS.4 The EU made no effort to secure a removal of the ban on the FIS engaging in political activity. No firm pressure was exerted even on issues of good governance and increasingly rampant FLN corruption. In 1994, European states offered new loans additional to those agreed within the IMF in 1991 and sanctioned a further raft of increases in bilateral aid.5 When opposition parties came together under the auspices of the Sant'Egidio Community in Rome and signed up to a platform which included support for democratic principles, the EU exerted no overt pressure for the regime to respond favourably to the initiative. President Mitterrand offered to hold a conference to be convened by the EU to assess the ways in which European states could assist in taking forward the ideas contained in the Sant'Egidio Platform, but did not press the suggestion after it provoked one of the regime's ritual remonstrations against French 'interference'.6 If the alliance between the FIS and other opposition forces did contribute to the regime's decision in 1995 to renew the cycle of elections that had been interrupted in 1991, it was not an alliance in any significant way bolstered by European support. The EU's lack of critical engagement in Algeria during the early 1990s was widely interpreted as the case most dramatically demonstrating European governments' inclination to support authoritarianism as a means of containing political Islam. Security and commercial interests appeared to point in the same direction: while

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the often vehemently anti-Western FIS was contained, support for the regime ensured more favourable conditions for European investment in the Algerian hydrocarbon sector. BP, for instance, undertook a sizeable new $3.5 bn investment. Significantly, it was the context of economic reform that was seen as relevant to this and other new investments, and in particular the fact that the nationalization of foreign assets was no longer perceived to be a risk.7 Algerian security officers were provided to guard foreign plants, often outnumbering foreign workers. State of the art technology was used to provide secure compounds, in dramatic contrast to the rudimentary domestic conditions of production. In short, the lack of political reform was not a strong disincentive for oil investors, and in some senses collaboration with the regime provided positive benefits. However, while there appeared to be grounds for suggesting that the EU stood to benefit from deterring democracy, when the interrupted democratization process was renewed in 1995 the move was warmly welcomed by the EU. In the wake of the formal reopening of political liberalization, the EU's new discourse more confidently stipulated that democratic pluralism was, in the longer term, a prerequisite to fully developed partnership. The EU gave a positive welcome to the subsequent steps in the democratization process— the constitutional referendum of November 1996, the municipal elections of September 1997, and the December 1997 elections to the Senate. European governments adopted these favourable positions despite each round of elections having been subject to fundamental irregularities and despite limits having been placed on external observers' monitoring of the polls. EU positions also contrasted with the increasing dissatisfaction of civil society groups in Algeria, whose protests against the regime's manipulation of the new elections helped ignite renewed violence. All EU institutions judged caution to be even more apposite than previously, as the beginning of a cycle of elections did seem to offer the prospect of tangible progress. While the renewed process of democratization suffered from serious shortcomings, considerable importance was attached to the government's success in securing an AIS ceasefire, along with its decision to release FIS leader, Abbassi Madani from jail. While this was interpreted by some as the prelude to an engagement between the regime and FIS moderates, the EU refrained from seeking to nudge the government further in this direction. Calling for UN mediation in Algeria's conflict, Madani was placed immediately under house arrest. The EU was influenced by the fact that the opposition parties' call for the elections to be

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boycotted appeared not to have been heeded by voters, giving President Zeroual what was judged to be a not insignificant degree of legitimacy. At this crucial juncture, when incipient democracy would either take root or rapidly wither, European governments, the Commission, and the majority of MEPs were anxious to bolster Zeroual's authority and credibility in relation to the military's hardline erradicateurs. The EU continued to be highly tolerant of government restrictions which ensured that effective political freedoms remained extremely limited. The FLN, the FIS, and the Socialist party (FFS), which between them had won over three-quarters of the votes cast in the 1991 elections, were banned from participating in the new round of elections. The new constitution that was introduced actually strengthened the powers of the president over parliament, placed in the president's hands personal responsibility for filling a large number of prominent posts, and enshrined the prohibition of political parties based on religion. The Barcelona summit took place only a few days after the 1995 presidential elections, but passed without European governments raising any concerns they might have harboured over the nature of those elections. The EU continued to favour oblique references to the need to 'resolve political problems' over clear and explicit insistence that a genuinely democratic political system be introduced.8 At the bilateral level, the French government did, in response to the regime's manipulation of the 1995 presidential elections, intimate that further increases in aid might be made conditional on more genuine political reform. However, even this relative gentle threat solicited a reaction from the Algerian government that was strong enough to cause France to drop the idea of even a modest use of conditionality.9 Between CFSP's inception in 1993 and 1997, only three declarations were issued on Algeria, out of a total of over three hundred, compared with the scores addressing events in the Balkans, the Middle East peace process, and the Lome countries.10 Indeed, the most notable step taken during this period was the initiation of a range of upgraded co-operation under the rubric of the new Euro-Mediterranean Partnership, with the launching of negotiations for an association agreement with Algeria of particular importance. The Commission too remained markedly more reluctant to intervene than in other regions. When Commissioner Manuel Marin visited Algeria at the end of 1996, he refused to meet with opposition figures. He also refused to receive Amnesty International's Secretary-General, who had requested a meeting in order to urge the EU to adopt a firmer position on human rights.11 The EP

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adopted a similarly cautious approach, which contrasted dramatically with its high profile and strongly critical pressure in relation to the Chiapas conflict, the Kurdish issue, or the deteriorating human rights situation in Burma. The EP did single out particularly egregious examples of specific human rights abuses—the abduction of children, attacks on journalists—with several MEPs indicating that such issues might cause assent for the association agreement to be withheld. It also sought to exercise pressure on specific good governance issues, insisting, for example, that guarantees over the transparency of privatizations be obtained. Overall, however, its tone was for the EU to demonstrate more flexibility in relations with Algeria, especially in the ongoing association agreement negotiations. When Daniel Cohn-Bendit, EP Rapporteur on the EUAlgeria association agreement, suggested a degree of firmer pressure might be appropriate, other MEPs conspicuously declined to support this line. The EP similarly rejected Cohn-Bendit's proposed resolution calling for the regime to engage in dialogue 'with all parties'.12 In contrast to its positions on human rights in other parts of the world, the EP prided itself on the uncritical nature of its meetings with the Algerian Foreign Minister. A group of visiting MEPs publicly tore up a letter sent to them by the FIS, and argued that EU policy should be led by dialogue and co-operation between parliamentarians, a suggestion which was predicated on a democratic legitimacy of the Algerian parliament which was doubted by commentators. Indeed, this idea met with an unenthusiastic reaction from the Algerian parliament, such that meaningful cooperation failed to get off the ground.13 In all this, European policy was moulded to France's perceived national interests. Algeria appeared to be one of the clearest cases of CFSP's tendency to 'lowest common denominator' outcomes. Analysts focused on French reactions to the crisis and, either explicitly or implicitly, to equate Europe's response to essentially French national interests. This betrayed a presumption that there were no grounds for supposing that internal CFSP dynamics were impacting in any significant way on Paris's national-level protagonism. Many accounts still barely mentioned even the existence of a European, as opposed to French, policy. France's long-standing reluctance to intervene in any way that might undermine the authority of the Algerian regime was seen as militating against any broader European prompting of the political reform process. Well-documented reasons accounted for French hesitancy. Algerian migration to Europe was almost exclusively to France, with the latter hosting nearly four million immigrants of Algerian descent

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by the mid-1990s.14 Terrorist attacks carried out by Algerian Islamists had been aimed primarily at France and French citizens. France conducted significantly more trade with Algeria than did other EU states and, by the mid-1990s, depended on Algeria for nearly one-third of its natural gas supplies.15 France was uniquely susceptible to charges of neo-colonialism in Algeria and remained the state whose intervention was most likely to provoke counterproductive reaction. France's emotive and complex historical relationship with Algeria cultivated some feeling in other European capitals that only Paris could fully appreciate the complexities of Algerian politics. French policy-makers continued to judge that France would be the state most at risk from any instability engendered by a conflictive process of political liberalization. The force of these concerns sufficed to ensure that, during the turbulent years of the early 1990s, other EU states heeded Paris' strictures against any form of coercive pressure against the Algerian government. It was at France's behest that other EU states refrained from engaging in any significant dialogue with FIS moderates. As soon as a commitment was made to restart the democratization process towards the end of 1995, France convinced other EU states of the need to reward this move by pressing for further IMF credit for Algeria. CFSP statements were diluted at Paris's insistence that there be no more than a vague expression of 'hope' that democratization be able to proceed, while unequivocal support be given to official efforts firmly to suppress terrorism.16 Such ordering of priorities fuelled accusations of tacit French support for the repressive measures taken against the FIS and unwarranted indulgence of the regime's French-educated elite—in the case of some French politicians, such as Charles Pasqua, such support was in fact increasingly explicit. After the 1994 hijacking of an Air France flight from Algiers to Paris, there was some reconsideration of policy, with those who advocated a more balanced position, such as Alain Juppe, gaining the ascendancy. However, such modification remained at the level of 'discursive inflexions', with a slightly more critical rhetoric not being accompanied by any reduction in aid or diplomatic support for the Algerian government. After assuming the presidency in 1995, Jacques Chirac was the European politician keenest to stress the legitimacy of Zeroual's new mandate as justification for dropping the intimations at a more critical French policy.17

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1997-1999: Renewed Instability, New EU Protagonism? A series of village massacres in late 1997 and early 1998, which claimed over a thousand lives, many in the most brutal of circumstances, provoked European governments to speak out forcibly for the first time and suggest that the EU could no longer remain impassive to the plight of Algerian citizens. Pressure for European action came, in particular, from German Foreign Minister Klaus Kinkel. The latter was prompted by the strength of the public reaction within Germany to media reports of the horrendous events in Algeria, and was also keen to find popular new initiatives to shore up his own increasingly precarious position within German domestic politics (his small Liberal Party in danger of being squeezed from its power-broking role in the imminent elections). Pleas for action came from a wide range of other sources too, however. The president of the French Foreign Affairs Committee, Valery Giscard d'Estang, called for EU intervention, including consideration of exerting greater economic pressure. French Foreign Minister Herve Charette was not so explicit but concurred that support for the Algerian regime should be made less unconditional.18 The French government agreed that the EU Troika, at the junior ministerial level, should visit Algiers and compromised on a number of detailed arrangements that gave the visit a slightly more critical edge. Although several restrictions were placed on the visit by the Algerian authorities, the EU ministers did engage members of the regime in more critical discussion on human rights and met with opposition parties and human rights organizations. They also pressed hard for Foreign Minister Ali Attaf to begin a more systematic political dialogue with the EU in order for the latter to be able more clearly to express its concerns. In the context of the visit, European governments, including the French, made public statements explicitly urging the Algerian government to implement democratic reforms. The EP mission which visited shortly after was significantly more forceful than on previous occasions, this time meeting opposition figures and insisting on 'human rights talks' with Algerian ministers—to which the Algerian government agreed on condition that the MEPs undertake to petition EU governments for tougher action against suspected Islamist terrorists resident in Europe and for a relaxation of the restrictions on arms sales.19 While these efforts constituted an apparently notable change in EU policy, overt coercive pressure was still eschewed. This was, it was claimed, partly due to the continuing difficulty in understanding

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with any certainty the motives behind the upsurge in violence: whether the new wave of massacres constituted a settling of scores between radical and moderate Islamists, or whether army hardliners were provoking instability in order to undermine the nascent process of democratization (the latter theory supported by apparent army inaction in response to the massacres). A degree of more subtle pressure was increasingly exerted, however. The EU insisted on Algeria committing itself to regular dialogue on political reform and signing up to the new democracy clause. It also negotiated a mandate for the Commission to carry out political aid projects without authorization from the Algerian regime. The most significant concrete measure adopted by the EU was the decision taken at the end of 1997 to suspend negotiations for the association agreement. While the main reason given for this suspension was that negotiations were stalled due to Algeria's refusal to cede reciprocal liberalization in the hydrocarbon sector—accounting for 97 per cent of the country's export earnings—the general security situation was also an important factor. The Commission argued that the violence meant that Algeria was simply not in a position to implement the economic reform that would be required under the association agreement. While there was no explicit coercion to implement specific democratic reforms, the EU stressed to the Algerian government that the general fragility of the country's political institutions had contributed to the decision to break off talks. Analysts suggested that the absence of political reform had indeed contributed to a stagnation of economic liberalization, the regime unwilling to countenance public opposition to structural adjustment with its already-precarious legitimacy dependent on building broad alliances of support against the FIS.20 With European investment outside the hydrocarbon sector having failed to take off, EU policy-makers claimed to recognize the need for strategy to be more mindful of these linkages between the commercial and political domains. While constituting a relatively modest change, these actions did seem to indicate the development of a more engaged, critical, and genuinely Europeanized policy. A number of member states appeared increasingly less willing to accept that Algeria was a French domaine reserves. A nuanced shift in EU attitudes became evident as the renewed process of democratization faltered and violence intensified. Many EU states, in particular those further north, began to express their frustration at the EU's inaction and their increasing unease over Europe being seen to be tacitly complicit with the regime's insubstantial adherence to democratic principles. To a greater extent than in the past, the French government recognized the need to put

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slightly more pressure on the Algerian authorities. While still cautious, Paris recognized that the particular situation of the regime failing fully to comply with its own commitments to install genuine democracy, in the context of a significant moderation in FIS positions, did warrant a modest ratcheting up of EU pressure. The series of terrorist attacks in Paris during 1995 and 1996, widely attributed to the GIA as retribution for French support for the Algiers regime, demonstrated in brutal fashion how the purely 'erradicationist' approach had failed to protect European security. Indeed, events in Algeria, far from containing migration, produced a 36 per cent increase in asylum applications from Algerians in 1997.21 Moreover, France had begun to diversify its gas supplies: by 1997 Algeria was only the third largest supplier of natural gas to the French market, having been displaced by Norway and Russia.22 In 1996, when President Zeroual stated that he would only attend a scheduled meeting with President Chirac if he received a fuller endorsement from the French president, the latter was willing to see the meeting cancelled rather than provide the solicited support. The French government began to speak in slightly more forceful tones of the need for inclusive dialogue and claimed to have cut off supplies to the Algerian military. These were interpreted as steps towards a more equidistant posture between the regime and the FIS.23 The shift in French policy was still relatively limited. Paris blocked an Italian initiative for the EU to assume a more proactive policy, through a more sustained effort to get government and opposition together. There was on occasions still much reluctance, in practice, to facilitate a significant Europeanization of policy towards Algeria. This inconstancy derived from genuine uncertainty over what kind of overarching rationale would best protect French interests.24 However, the modest change that was witnessed was significant and certainly demonstrated a willingness to carry through a reassessment of policy in more substantive fashion than had been the case in 1994-5. Other EU member states certainly perceived that Paris was gradually becoming less of an absolute 'brake' on any proposals for a strengthening of European policy towards Algeria, and indeed saw France as actively seeking a European 'cover' for a more engaged policy—a shift in attitude that other governments saw as the most significant development in the recent history of Europe-Algeria relations. In sum, there appeared to be a new political will in Paris to cede to other EU states' desire for a slightly tougher stance towards the regime and a recognition of the advantages of France being able to taker a lower profile 'hidden' within a more Europeanized policy.

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Indeed, the unique nature of EU foreign-policy co-operation—increasingly perceived as going beyond pure intergovernmentalism, but still permitting the coexistence of distinctive national diplomacy—was seen increasingly to allow Paris to support critical positions at the EU level, while pursuing more positive initiatives bilaterally. The Barcelona Process was seen to be the key factor in the reconsideration of policy. For the first time, a comprehensive regional framework had been put in place, facilitating a defusing of the tensions besetting bilateral relations between France and Algeria. Not only could the French government benefit from the 'cover' of internal EU dynamics, but also both France and Algeria were accorded greater space for manoeuvre in relation to their respective domestic constraints by virtue of their being able to explore concerns in a more low profile fashion within the twenty-seven-state EMP.25 Indeed, for Algeria the EMP's main attraction, and success, was its facilitation of a greater diversity of links away from France and towards other EU states.26 In addition, French positions on Algeria were increasingly inseparable from Paris's wider aims in relation to the evolution of CFSP. That is, the nuanced shift in the French government's positions on Algeria was informed by an evolution in its broad approach towards European foreign-policy co-operation, with a greater degree of mutual compromise being seen as necessary to give CFSP greater overall coherence and effectiveness.27 Paris itself was keen to move away from the concept of each state having implicitly acknowledged domaines reservees. France had openly sought to challenge Spain's role as principal protagonist in the EU's relations with Latin America and had launched a number of initiatives that challenged the presumption that Germany would assume the lead role in Central and Eastern Europe. The accumulating dynamics within CFSP, manifest in these pretensions in what other states perceived as their privileged areas, contributed towards pushing France to adopt a slightly less hands-off approach towards events in Algeria. These EU dynamics were themselves compounded by intimations that the USA, increasingly exasperated with European inaction, was seeking to carve out a more prominent role for itself in the Maghreb, a prospect that, unsurprisingly, encouraged some reassessment on the part of French policy-makers.28 The USA's dialogue with the FIS differed from Washington's more solid retention of support for incumbent regimes elsewhere in the region and reflected a calculation that the Islamists might emerge from the process of incremental liberalization with some hold on power.29 The prospect of the USA gaining a pre-eminent foothold in managing the crisis, along with American pressure for greater European

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engagement—with Washington, for example, pushing a reluctant EU to press for at least some observers to be admitted for the 1997 elections—provided an additional factor galvanizing the EU into a less passive stance.30 However, if it appeared that a more effective and tougher European policy might be on the point of emerging, it soon became clear that any shift in policy would remain extremely limited. Even in private, within the process of political dialogue initiated between the EU and Algeria, the issues of democracy and human rights were not addressed in anything other than extremely marginal terms.31 By mid-1998, EU ministers had come to acknowledge that linking progress in the association agreement negotiations to specific improvements in political rights was impracticable.32 Pressure was more subtle: European ministers and officials stated that they viewed an upgrading of EU-Algerian relations, across all areas, to be held in abeyance pending an assessment of the political situation after the cycle of elections conducted over the latter half of the 1990s.33 European ministers hoped that Algeria's need for access to the European market would be acute enough for the concrete offer of a preferential trade agreement to provide sufficient motivation for progress to be made on political reform. After 1998, German pressure for a more critical engagement subsided. With the new SPD government installed, the FDP was no longer desperate for a higher domestic profile and new Foreign Minister Joschka Fischer adopted a self-avowedly lower profile on Algeria. Werner Hoyer, the main proponent of the tougher policy that Kinkel had called for prior to the 1998 elections, was relegated to the opposition benches, where he became a relatively isolated figure berating the new government and the EU for failing to intensify policy towards Algeria.34 Nordic states, several lacking even diplomatic representation in Algiers, did not feel well placed to begin ratcheting up pressure for a more 'ethical' EU policy to the same extent that they did in other regions during the latter half of the decade.35 Spain and Italy both became more dependent on Algerian oil and gas supplies during this period, reinforcing these states' reluctance to contribute in any way to changes that could in the short term create even more instability. Significantly, there was no strong pressure from European investors for EU governments to intervene in a more forceful fashion. European companies were concerned over the effects of the spiralling violence and were increasingly of the view that state repression was the main cause of, rather than a solution to, this instability. Despite these concerns, however, the business sector remained cautious and did not seek a more

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effective protagonism in order to steer EU policy in a particular direction. Only the oil sector demonstrated any significant engagement, precisely the sector where fundamental reform of political structures was least necessary to attract foreign investors. In nonoil sectors, the potential gains from greater engagement were seen to be too small, the danger of a volatile backlash against European investments too great.36 An additional factor was the gradual shift in the US stance, which, after hardening during the mid-1990s, became increasingly supportive of Zeroual and more hands-off after 1996. Despite its declared aim of assuming a more prominent role in resolving the Algerian conflict, Washington had not by 1997 advanced any concrete commercial or development assistance measures. With a FIS victory no longer seen as likely, Washington reduced its links with the Islamists.37 As US-French tensions consequently dissipated, European governments felt less pressure to run the risk of engaging more decisively. The prospect of the USA effecting a fundamental change in the internal balance offerees, to which the EU would be obliged to react in order to protect its own interests, once again seemed remote. For this combination of reasons, a number of suggestions for specific concrete measures were not followed through. A proposal for a European-level embargo on the sale of high-tech weaponry to the Algerian army did not obtain the support of all fifteen member states.38 Indeed, in 1997 the British government resumed export credit guarantee coverage for Algeria which had been suspended in 1991.39 It was claimed that, contrary to some official assurances, French co-operation with security forces on the ground in Algeria actually became more intense.40 The Algerian government continued to resist even modest, specific EU demands, in particular European entreaties for access UN Special Rapporteurs to be granted. Even on this issue, there was no EU consensus: in the 1998 UN Commission on Human Rights, Spain and Italy blocked a proposed EU Resolution condemning Algeria's refusal to allow in rapporteurs—with France, significantly, adopting a non-committal and low-profile position. Eventually only a fairly tepid, non-binding declaration was issued. A majority of EU states opposed the idea of a special session of the UNCHR being held solely on Algeria, fearing that singling out Algeria in accusatory fashion would be counterproductive. When a UN team was finally allowed to visit at the end of July 1998, it was not allowed to meet FIS representatives, included no human rights rapporteurs, and had to water down its report until this was more supportive than critical of the Algerian government. The visit seemed merely to assuage the international

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community's desire to 'do something': as a new round of killings commenced in the autumn of 1998, there was no repeat of the EU's calls for action.41 Indeed, there was a more notable development of the positive side of EU policy during this period. In 1998, the Commission reopened its office in Algiers, which had been closed in 1994, in order to take forward new co-operation projects. The Algerian authorities were extremely sensitive to a number of proposals for positive assistance: in 1997, they refused to grant access to EP election observers; in January 1998, they refused to accept EU humanitarian assistance for families and others affected by the violence. However, a number of MEDA Democracy projects were implemented in Algeria. Indeed, the country was the fourth highest recipient of these funds, with 6 per cent of the total budget. Of this funding 40 per cent went to media projects, addressing the particularly difficult position of journalists increasingly caught between the regime and Islamists: these EU projects aimed at conveying the means of generating greater financial and managerial autonomy to the press. Nearly all the remaining political aid went to human rights projects, directed mainly at the urban youth, seen as the group most likely to be disaffected and recruited by Islamists, and women's groups. The latter emphasis reinforced the view of some that the issue of women's rights had monopolized attention in Europe, and particularly in France, to the detriment of broader considerations of democracy.42 Significantly, the Commission also embarked on a limited amount of good governance work, through projects under the main MEDA budget aimed at assisting economic reform: Algeria initially received a disproportionately low share (3 per cent) of this aid package, but by 1998 had risen to be its fourth highest recipient and in 1999 was allocated over 10 per cent of the MEDA budget.43 At the bilateral level, France continued to be the only EU state with a significant programme of ODA in Algeria, but Paris did maintain overall amounts such that by 1997-8 it was still channelling more aid to Algeria than to any East Asian or Latin American state and all other EMP partners except Egypt and Morocco.44 While the scope for the EU to engage in anti-terrorism co-operation was limited, Southern EU states (France, Spain, Portugal, and Italy) launched an interior ministers' dialogue with Algeria, Morocco, and Tunisia to assist regimes in their battle against radical Islamists. The new EU aid work was significant and reflected a keener determination to develop a bottom-up strategy of democracy assistance. The Commission did fund a number of projects towards which the Algerian authorities had expressed some unease. Significantly,

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the Commission pushed harder to undertake democracy assistance work in Algeria than in Tunisia, where such funding remained very much more limited. However, the extent of such work was relatively modest and the Commission, while not formally having to secure the government's acquiescence to this democracy funding, in practice refrained from developing work in areas where particularly strong reservations were expressed by the Algerian regime.45 Notably, at this stage there was still little work being undertaken in the area of judicial reform, a conspicuous absence given the particularly serious deficiencies in the rule of law in Algeria. While the media work could be seen as well attuned to one of the country's particular problems, there was, arguably, a disproportionately heavy focus on this one issue. This and the pre-eminence of other relatively 'soft' projects—seminars on women's rights took up the second largest portion of the budget—again reflected the Commission's reactive approach and the absence of a balanced and comprehensive programme of institution-building. As elsewhere in the Mediterranean, much hope was invested in relatively technical training sessions, while the EU refrained from complementing this with high-level political pressure aimed at strengthening the institutional guarantees underpinning civil society activity.

1999-2001: New Scope for Democracy, New Dilemmas for Europe? Events after the 1999 elections provided the EU with both a new opportunity for more effective engagement, but also a more pressing dilemma over identifying where its self-interest lay. When Abdelaziz Boutelfika was left as the only candidate for the elections, following the withdrawal of all opposition candidates in response to the army's widely perceived manipulation of the poll, the EU reaction was relatively muted, having been diluted by France. Notwithstanding its attempts to seek cover within a more Europeanized policy, France continued to be singled out by the Algerian regime: while the degree of moderate concern over the results expressed by Paris put it at the 'soft' end of EU opinion, Bouteflika targeted France alone for treating Algeria like a 'protectorate'. After the election, Bouteflika elaborated a peace deal, built on the offer of an amnesty for Islamist activists in return for a deactivation of the armed struggle, which was approved in a referendum in September 1999. Far-reaching democratization did not materialize, however. The new president moved quickly to increase his own

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powers, strengthening his control over the parliament and the media and seeking to form his own political movement. Critics argued that policy remained subject to factional struggle within the regime, with no significant moves being made to embed the rule of law. Both political parties and civil society remained tightly controlled, and, it was suggested, showed little sign of agitating for democratic reform.46 Developments were not read in the same way by Europe's chancelleries. Indeed, differences between European states appeared to reopen at this stage. Southern EU states were more strongly encouraged by the positive developments witnessed under the new government: the further development of dialogue with the AIS; the restoration of a number of basic civil rights; Bouteflika's pledge to reduce corruption, including through economic liberalization and the reduction in state monopoly clientelism; and the president's invitation for international human rights groups to visit Algeria. France was quickest to warm relations, promptly sending a number of ministers, including the first visit by a foreign minister for four years. The French rapprochement culminated in Bouteflika's visit to Paris in June 2000. During this visit Paris granted a number of positive measures to Algeria, including a commitment to increase the number of visas for Algerians, a conversion of part of Algeria's debt into investment, a range of commercial initiatives, and a number of new military co-operation projects. In response Bouteflika gave a combative speech to the French parliament, insisting that the EU should not seek to 'impose' democracy on Algeria and should, rather, modify its indifference to Algeria's real problem, namely terrorism directed against the state.47 Northern states professed to be more strongly concerned with the areas where progress was forestalled: the lack of any diminution of the army's political sway, as witnessed by the nine-month delay in the formation of an acceptable governmental team; the continuation of the ban on the FIS; the continued restrictions on media access to FIS figures; the army-suspected assassination of a prominent FIS moderate, Abdelkader Hachani, in the autumn of 1999; the retention of emergency-law provisions; and the failure to accompany modest improvements in basic civil rights with broader political reforms. In some quarters of the EU there was concern that the government's direct dealing with the AIS was actually aimed at undermining FIS moderates, and that the army was arguing that, with the disbanding of the AIS, the inclusion of Islamist groups through full democratization was no longer necessary. Unlike France, Algeria's North European creditors did not agree to a

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multilateral debt relief initiative for Algeria. Far from initiating new aid programmes, the main North European donors kept ODA flows to Algeria at negligible levels or even further reduced amounts.48 As the peace deal unravelled and further rounds of violence ensued over Ramadan in 1999 and 2000, and as the army's influence over the president appeared to tighten, Southern EU states felt reinforced in their view that European policy should be oriented towards supporting Bouteflika. These states professed a concern that the invitation to Amnesty International and other human rights groups had counterproductively unleashed army activity, and that the security forces were actually assisting AIS attacks in order to delegitimize Bouteflika's even very limited commitment to greater democratization.49 This fragility of the political climate was compounded as Berbers took to the streets to protest against army heavyhandedness in the summer of 2001. In short, some member states believed Bouteflika to be an integral part of any possible solution to the conflict, and advocated providing him with the EU's full support, while others feared he was more part of the continuing problems.50 While this precluded any convergence of member states' positions, there were a number of concrete developments in EU policies. Most significantly, the degree of stabilization secured—at least initially—under the new government made it possible for the Commission to resume negotiations for the association agreement with Algeria at the beginning of 2000. This was welcomed by member states, all of whom advocated a compliant approach free of any prior conditionality: the only realistic prospect of the EU gaining purchase on the Algerian crisis lay, it was felt, in building up low-level dialogue through the rapid conclusion of a commercial agreement. For states such as France and Italy, in particular, this warranted a greater degree of European flexibility in negotiations over Algeria's hydrocarbon sector and the granting of generous transition periods for economic liberalization requirements. In a number of areas, the Bouteflika government certainly demonstrated a slightly more relaxed attitude to low-level European engagement than its predecessors. For the first time, Algeria itself requested EU assistance for human rights training of the police force and for strengthening judicial capacity. The scope of democracy assistance work consequently broadened slightly, for example, with a new project on legal reform beginning. The proportion of MEDA democracy assistance going to Algeria increased, the EU keen to engage in the basic work of building up civil society advocates for democracy, which it recognized as still being conspicuously lacking. France, Spain, and Italy were by now keener for the

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Commission to take on the lead role at ground level and for officials to push harder, imposing conditions on individual projects with the aim of securing genuinely independent civil society participation. By the end of 1999, it was claimed that the main problem was Algeria's lack of absorptive capacity for development assistance, rather than politically motivated obfuscation. Algeria was also by now noticeably less hostile to the EU's democracy clause. The one area where the EU did exercise a notable degree of pressure was in relation to the discussion of individual human rights cases: towards the end of 1999, Algeria for the first time agreed to receive and discuss petitions on individual cases from European governments as part of a formal dialogue. The dialogue between parliamentarians was also felt to have made progress in engaging in more open debate over democratic norms. In particular, with the reopening of the association agreement negotiations there did appear to be signs of a new economic engagement. The regime engaged willingly in co-operation with the EU over preparations for a number of key privatizations, having previously resisted such co-operation due to the perceived political implications of ceding control over state holding companies. A raft of new projects was initiated in the SME sector. This reflected the EU's recognition that while investment remained confined to the hydrocarbon sector the prospects of European FBI having a broad and positive impact on governance structures would be negligible. European companies did indeed begin to look beyond the hydrocarbon sector. By late 1999, a number of large companies were reopening, or planning to reopen, operations in Algeria, including Alitalia, Elf Aquitaine, and Air France, although the latter's return to Algeria was postponed at the last moment due to concerns over security checks. Over a hundred French companies attended a trade fair in Algiers, the largest delegation for a decade. This exploration of new investment possibilities sharpened the EU's focus on the nature of the judicial system: at least one large French investment was reconsidered because of the perceived deficiencies in the rule of law.51 With the Algerian authorities expressing a new willingness to address such concerns, for the first time in a decade the EU perceived there to be scope for a more systematic effort aimed at judicial reform and other good governance issues, which the degree of violence had previously rendered unfeasible. These areas of enhanced engagement were interpreted by some EU policy-makers as reflecting the positive impact of the accumulating dynamics of the EMP.

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Conclusion The foregoing account charts an identifiable, if modest, evolution in European attitudes towards Algeria's civil conflict during the 1990s. Algeria was routinely referred to as one of the cases most clearly demonstrating the EU's reluctance to prioritize democracy promotion over perceived security imperatives. By the end of the decade, at least a degree of qualification to this standard view was called for. It was undeniably the case that the very scale and nature of the violence in Algeria placed the primary focus on humanitarian tasks, mediation, and the protection of basic human rights, rather than the finer points of the functioning of democratic institutions. However, the EU had come to urge democratization as a key element in laying the foundations for a sustainable solution to the conflict. There was a greater willingness on the part of European governments to acknowledge that the grievances that were the root cause of Algeria's violence might best be defused through a more open political system. A combination of factors explained the evolution in European thinking. A conceptual reassessment of the relationship between pluralism and stability, itself encouraged by the apparent moderation of the FIS, was compounded by the accumulation of Europeanizing dynamics, which in turn helped engender a nuanced shift in French thinking. At the same time, the regional dynamics of the Euro-Mediterranean Partnership discouraged the EU from treating Algeria as an exception to its declared desire to 'standardize' democracy promotion strategies, while from outside the regional framework the evolution of US policy exerted significant influence. Notwithstanding its professed change of conceptual approach, the EU did not become significantly more willing to exert coercive pressure on the Algeria government. The aim was to establish the foundations for dialogue and modest co-operation on incremental institutional reforms. While there was little evidence of Algeria reacting directly in a positive fashion to European strictures, its move back towards operating some degree of democracy might be seen as not completely unconnected to the regime having been enmeshed within a process of'socialization' constituted by the EMP. The critic would doubtless suggest that the EU disingenuously and gratefully accepted as legitimate what was in reality a pure fagade of democracy. While such a charge could not convincingly be completely rejected, an absolute dismissal of European democracyrelated efforts would, however, miss the potential significance of the

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slightly more politicized engagement that was gradually carved out. In establishing the foundations for such engagement the EU had moved beyond its erstwhile passivity, exerting pressure for a commitment to dialogue over democratic change, setting a range of preconditions for carrying forward negotiations over trade liberalization and demonstrating willingness to press for access to undertake political aid work. Some viewed the moderation of some actors in Algeria as the product of a general understanding that the country risked being isolated from the economic benefits of new international initiatives.52 By 2000, for the first time there was a real prospect of greater purchase being constructed through a range of new economic, political, and social co-operation—although this potential failed to progress significantly as conditions became more unstable again in 2001. A majority of analysts argued during the 1990s that Algeria's unique history made it one of the cases where punitive strategies were most likely to be counterproductive. It was suggested that Algeria's sui generis institutional complexities offered little scope for a model of political change predicated on a momentum for change within civil society, assisted by the internationall community, spilling over to genuine democratization.53 Other analysts cautioned that Western governments should avoid supporting a political elite intent on making no more than tactical concessions, and should pursue more vigorously alliances with potential advocates of democratic change within civil society.54 Even if EU policy could be seen as having taken on board the concerns of the former perspective, it remained open to the charge of having made insufficient investment to match its own stated commitments. The scope for non-combative influence over Algeria's process of political reform was still circumscribed by the relative paucity of engagement. Pressure for some engagement with civil society was forthcoming, but its potential not maximized. The shortcomings of EU strategy across the Mediterranean were even more acute in Algeria: while the EU eschewed punitive policy instruments, nor did its positive engagement make in-roads into the economic and social problems underlying the country's turmoil. For Algeria, this remained the 'weakest link' of European policy, the EU in practice being seen to have done little to give effect to its rhetoric on linking social development and the evolution of political norms.55 Any claim that the EU's conveyance of a sense of inclusion, community, and partnership had been instrumental in encouraging a moderation of the FIS was harder to uphold in light of the EU's reluctance, in practice, to engage in a more systematic manner with

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the Islamists. To the extent that there appeared to many to be increasing scope for such engagement, within the context of a productive relationship with the regime, it must be asked whether the EU could and should have won over FIS moderates more completely, sooner, and without the degree of bloodshed witnessed during the 1990s. Optimists suggested that by the end of the decade Algeria had stabilized sufficiently to have significantly reduced the Islamic 'threat' that had rendered EU policy so defensive at the beginning of the decade. If this was so, this more reassuring scenario at the same time began to shine a more critical spotlight on the EU's commitment to move further towards a better delineated democracy promotion strategy in Algeria, combining both more balanced pressure and a more effective boost to economic and social development. If the renewed instability of late 2000 and 2001 appeared to have closed the brief window of opportunity that had presented itself in 1999, the EU's success in meeting this challenge could not be judged in anything but critical terms.

5

The EU and East Asia The next two chapters turn to European policy in East Asia. An examination of democracy promotion policy in this region is important for a number of reasons. Along with the Arab world, East Asia is the region where liberal democracy has been challenged most forcefully at the conceptual level since the end of the cold war. East Asia has become increasingly important for the EU, both by virtue of the latter's stated desire to establish influence over political trends beyond its immediate periphery and due to growing European commercial interests in the region. This commitment was demonstrated by the creation of the Asia-Europe Meeting (ASEM) process in 1996, grouping the EU and ASEAN plus China, Japan, and South Korea. This chapter presents an overview of European democracy promotion strategies in East Asia, and outlines the debates that emerged over the nature of European commercial and strategic interests during the 1990s. The contrast in strategies adopted towards individual Asian states is analysed, and EU policy towards Indonesia both prior to and after the country's 1998 transition is also examined. A final section examines the European response to the Asian financial crisis and analyses the significance of this for the EU's democracy and good governance agenda. The chapter finds that the EU's commitment to democracy promotion in East Asia in the 1990s was tentative, but in a number of senses significant. As in the Mediterranean, the EU laid claim to a mutually reinforcing link between democratization, and economic and strategic objectives, while its limited articulation of these interlinkages in practice betrayed both substantive uncertainty and institutional shortcomings. The EU's contribution to both Indonesia's posttransition challenges and the more general restructuring across the region following the Asian financial crisis had a distinctive profile and suggested a greater degree of co-ordinated decision-making, but was seen by many to be timid and still lacking in coherence. If European policy towards East Asia suggested a need to develop further both conceptual and substantive approaches to democracy

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promotion, it also demonstrated the EU's ability to establish a useful secondary and distinctive role in influencing processes of political reform.

East Asia and Democracy: Diverse Trends A central debate in international relations during the 1990s was over the relationship between democracy and a presumed set of 'Asian values'. This mirrored the parallel debate over the relationship between political Islam and democracy. Some posited a set of values prominent throughout Asia—the priority of consensus, stability, respect for elders and seniors—that sat uneasily with liberal democracy. This view was most forcefully expounded by a number of East Asian leaders, with some support from academics and even NGOs. Others insisted that this contention was simply a selfserving argument of political elites. From this perspective, Asian values were seen as an 'invented tradition'. Far from reflecting some inherently Asian tradition, the authoritarian political ideology practised by Asian elites was actually imported from the West, the concept of the organic state deriving from the work of European intellectuals and in many cases encouraged in practice by European colonial rulers. Certain social values inspired by Confucianism had been corrupted into an all-embracing political ideology. Like Islamic texts, the tenets of Confucianism could be read a variety of ways. Sceptics questioned why repressive government was needed if Asians were supposedly so drawn to social harmony. Democracy would defend the very Asian traditions of vulnerable minorities that the market development imposed by autocrats was undermining. Moreover, Asian values' arguments were felt by many to understate the diversity of cultural norms within Asia, with, for example, most non-Chinese within the region not identifying in any significant way with Confucianism. In short, many experts saw the appeal to Asian values' as being used to legitimize the unencumbered authority of bureaucratic oligarchies. To the extent that they were presently embraced, this reflected less their inherent legitimacy than the fact that the socio-economic transformationsflowing from market development had yet to be fully completed.1 Undermining the proponents of Asian values, East Asia witnessed a number of democratic transitions and was in practice most notable for the diversity of its political trends. At some risk of simplification, three broad groups of states could be identified. First, there were states that, having undergone formal transitions, faced

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the task of consolidating and deepening democracy during the 1990s. Four democracies had been established during the mid- to late 1980s, South Korea, Thailand, Taiwan, and the Philippines. While the nature of each of these states' transition was slightly different, all continued to suffer from the same type of democratic shortfalls during the 1990s: overweaning executives; weak political party structures, coupled with unstable parliamentary coalitions; rapidly increasing corruption and still rampant vote-buying; a low prevalence of the rule of law; and militaries that still impinged upon the civilian sphere. This last feature was demonstrated in 1991 when the military seized back power in Thailand, before being forced to withdraw following the king's intervention and strong opposition from the middle classes. Moreover, the new democracies all pursued economic reform in a context of negligible social protection. In a second group were Malaysia and Singapore, apparently stabilized in a state of semi-democracy or 'soft authoritarianism'. In contrast to the first group, the governments of these two states vigorously rejected the principle of liberal democracy, the outspoken views of Lee Kwan Yew and Mahathir Mohamad coming to represent the clearest and most prominent source of opposition to Western pluralism. In both states a number of the formal attributes of democracy coexisted with strict media controls, dominant party control of political processes, civil society co-option through housing incentives and other measures, restrictions on NGOs, and a politicized judiciary. Such 'electoral authoritarianism' was often taken as representing a form of 'democracy' adapted to the emphasis on order and state-guided development. In one of the region's most significant power struggles, Mahathir's erstwhile deputy, Inwar Ibrahim was imprisoned after criticizing his leader's corruption and nepotism. A third group consisted of states that, despite undertaking economic reform programmes, remained authoritarian. This included the socialist states, China (examined in Chapter 5), Vietnam, and Laos, as well as the military junta that retained power in Burma after revoking elections in 1990. As in China, the communist regime in Vietnam allowed a small number of non-party candidates to stand in elections to the national assembly, some increase in press freedoms, and a degree of civil society space, before nervously reversing some aspects of this liberalization in the latter half of the 1990s. In both China and Vietnam, policy was directed explicitly at preventing any 'peaceful evolution' from economic to political liberalization. Indonesia appeared well ensconced in this group of authoritarian states until President Suharto was ejected from

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power in 1998. Indonesia's rapid conversion to democracy thereafter added further diversity to the region and undermined the notion of a common Asian front against Western liberal democracy. To what extent Indonesia was genuinely on the road towards sustainable and high-quality democracy remained in doubt, however. Doubters pointed to a persistence of underlying patterns of cronyism, the army's determination to hang on to its political role, and the continuing presence of the Golkar party, and concluded that significant 'authoritarian enclaves' remained in a polity that had not undergone full democratic transformation.2 At the same time, the unleashing of violent succession struggles in a number of Indonesia's provinces after President Wahid took office in 1999 constituted a major complication for the process of embedding democratic procedures, as a delicate balance was sought between defending the country's territorial unity and reining in the still-powerful army. Issues of corruption and the management of regional conflict underlay President Wahid's ejection from office in the summer of 2001. Cambodia constituted a somewhat sui generis case, with democracy struggling to take root in a post-conflict situation, within the context of which the international community had imposed a unique power-sharing government as a means of facilitating reconciliation. In 1997, four years after elections organized by the UN peace-keeping mission that had taken charge of the country in 1991, a coup was orchestrated by Cambodian People's Party leader Hun Sen. While new elections were held in 1998, Hun Sen's returned to power and the country's democracy remained worryingly fragile.3 One trait widely seen as being common to the different types of political system operating in East Asia was the lack of good governance. Even in the formal democracies, the state was viewed as guardian of the general interest. Across the region, there was a notable fusion of state, party and bureaucratic authority. While models of economic management varied, in all states there were close links between the state and the private sector. Economic actors were enabled by the state and dependent upon clientelistic links. Most appeared to be reconciled to this way of reducing uncertainty, and thus as economic reforms proceeded middle classes were not strongly or uniformly advocates for democratization. There was a general weakness in the rule of law. A culture of legalism did take root during the 1990s, but this was a means of strengthening rather than curtailing governmental power: 'rule through law' rather than the 'rule of law'. The law was used as a mechanism for implementing leaders' policy objectives rather than as a neutral means of

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resolving conflicts. It was seen as a managerial or technocratic device for organizing market relations. This made possible legal pluralism, under which foreign enterprises were subject to different rules and regulatory regimes than domestic firms. This type of legalism was compatible with personalized rule, in so far as the leader or closed elite was the source of the law's declared objectives and therefore of variations in set rules.4 Of course, events in Asia in the latter part of the decade were dominated by the financial crisis that struck the region in 1997. Most attention was given to the catastrophic economic consequences of this crisis and the doubts it raised over the sustainability of the 'Asian model' of capitalism. There was also some evidence, however, that the crisis might force an evolution of the region's political structures and values. One impact of the crisis was an attitudinal one: proponents of Asian values were put onto the back foot, and some saw the West's discourse on democracy as having more attractive resonance. The crisis contributed to Indonesia's transition and led to a change of government in Thailand, South Korea, and Taiwan, the new administration in each case committing itself to reducing corruption and strengthening democratic institutions. If civil society had been tolerant of money politics while growth was strong, this changed after 1997. In Thailand, new Prime Minister Chuan Leekpai introduced a new charter to strengthen democracy and a new constitution with strengthened anti-corruption mechanisms. A new independent Election Commission forced the disqualification of one third of the candidates from Senate elections in 2000,5 and after the January 2001 elections new prime minister Thaksin Shinawatra was placed on trial for fraud. In Korea, Kim Dae Jung committed himself to far-reaching corporate-governance reforms, and in Taiwan the Kuomintang lost its fifty-five-year hold on power in 2000, in what was seen as a crucial transfer of power for the young democracy. Joseph Estrada's ejection from the Philippine presidency in January 2001 was perhaps the most dramatic manifestation of renewed civil society activism. However, if these developments suggested that the aftermath of the crisis had engendered new dynamics for deepening democratic procedures, many challenges remained. In Malaysia, Mahathir used the financial crisis actually to consolidate his position, and in a number of states quicker-thanexpected economic recovery began to encourage governments once again to put off good governance reforms.6 In sum, in the region as a whole positive trends were witnessed alongside cases where basic democratic rights appeared firmly blocked and instances

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where the fragility of economic conditions and territorial issues presented serious challenges to further democratization.

Europe and Asian Values: Competition or Acceptance? East Asia's relative commercial importance to the EU increased dramatically during the 1990s, after having declined slowly over the 1970s and 1980s. By 1997, East Asia, excluding Japan, was taking 15 per cent of the EU's exports, up from 11 per cent in 1990, and provided 18 per cent of its imports, up from 12 per cent in 1990. This was significantly more than other regions where democracy was a consideration for EU policy makers, including Eastern Europe and the Mediterranean. The rate of increase in trade with East Asia was also significantly greater than with any other region. East Asia provided a far stronger 'geo-economic imperative' than any of the regions on the EU's immediate periphery.7 Moreover, East Asia took a higher proportion of European than American exports. By 1994, the EU was sending a higher share of its exports to China than was the US (2.3 per cent compared with 1.8 per cent) and only a slightly lower share to ASEAN (5.2 per cent compared with 6.2 per cent of US exports), with the gap closing fast. In the same year, 14 per cent of European foreign direct investment (FDI) went to East Asia, including Japan, a proportion virtually identical to that of the USA.8 Between 1988 and 1994, EU trade with East Asia increased by 102 per cent, US trade with the region by only 76 per cent.9 By the mid-1990s, six out of the nine top exporters to the EU were East Asian.10 While most of the EU's income from FDI continued to come from North America, by 1996 the rate of return was by far the highest on investment in Asia—a rate of return double that on FDI in the USA, three times that in Latin America and Eastern Europe.11 Asia's commercial importance went beyond consideration of commercial links between the two regions themselves. The EU was strongly motivated by the desire to gain support from Asian states for a strengthening of the global, multilateral trading system. There was in this sense a clear economic-strategic rationale that was prominent in European policy: ubiquitous in EU policy calculations and official positions was an insistence that strengthening the global system meant developing what was still seen as the 'weak leg' of the North America-Western Europe-East Asia triad.12 In sum, the politics of East Asian states mattered commercially to the EU as much as, if not more than, those of states on the latter's periphery, and as much as they mattered to the USA.

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Strategic and security concerns related to or emanating from East Asia also intensified during the 1990s. Of course, the region did not present the same kind of immediate or direct threats as those related to the Mediterranean or Eastern Europe. However, EU policy-makers insisted that their desire to strengthen relations with East Asia was not driven by purely commercial considerations but also by the recognition that the region contained two of the postcold war world's most likely nuclear flashpoints: the Korean peninsula and relations between China and Taiwan. Compounding this was a plethora of other territorial disputes, an unstable postconflict situation in Cambodia, Chinese nationalism, and growing ethnic tensions in a number of states, all problems that threatened to suck in a wide range of participants. The role of the USA as the only significant external player in Asian security could not be justified by geography, with East Asia, perhaps contrary to common perception, actually lying nearer to Europe than to the USA. Britain and France were the only European states to station or deploy military forces in the region, and a key aim of the EU as a whole was to develop a more significant security presence. As with commercial interests, perceived strategic imperatives were not limited to developments within Asia but also related to the relationship between Europe, Asia, and the wider world. In this sense, EU policy was driven by the desire to build alliances in Asia as a means of facilitating Europe's international project and also reducing a perceived overdependence on the USA in international relations. How did these growing interests and concerns condition European attitudes towards East Asian democracy? As in other regions, prior to the 1990s the logic of the cold war prevailed over concerns for democracy and human rights in Asia. In those transitions that did occur, external actors did not play a prominent role. What external protagonism there was came in these cases almost entirely from the USA, with the European presence being negligible. Even the US role was relatively limited, with the exception of the democratic transition in the Philippines. Domestic elite bargaining was key, especially the change in position of the rising middle classes. Demonstration effects were limited compared to the role these played in Eastern Europe. The USA imposed no coercion on its Asian allies for democratic change. Taiwan and South Korea had become important economically and, while the West welcomed their transitions, the concern was that political change did not destabilize the broader strategic environment. US pressure was felt most over economic liberalization, which in some countries helped indirectly by driving a wedge between business and autocratic regimes.13

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In the 1990s, as part of its commitment to a global presence, the EU sought to establish a more engaged Asian policy. In line with its professed desire to harmonize political objectives across regions, this included a stated aim to encourage and push for democratization in East Asia. While this was a significant shift, the EU's discourse on democracy was, in practice, still relatively cautious. Within the new ASEM framework, the rhetorical commitment to democracy promotion was more measured than in the EUMediterranean partnership, the Lome mid-term review, or the Common Position on Cuba, initiatives that were all elaborated at the same time as ASEM's inception. Alongside the USA's willingness to exclude from APEC a formalized remit over issues of democracy and human rights, it was significant that the EU did insist on ASEM including a more structured dialogue on these issues. Asian states certainly felt that the EU was more insistent than the USA on dialogue on democracy being formalized and codified through public declarations.14 European officials made play of the fact that the EU had insisted on a pledge of 'non-intervention' rather than 'non-interference', and that European leaders had pushed and obtained frank discussion on human rights.15 On the other hand, the remit of the new process also made reference to the principles of 'mutual respect', and 'a dialogue of equals' was the most prominent leitmotif of the new process. ASEM's status outside the hierarchy of formal EU contractual agreements circumvented the need for Asian states to sign up to the EU's human rights and democracy clause. Visiting Asia in preparation for the first ASEM, Commissioner Manuel Marin suggested that the new forum was about actually reducing the Asian perception that Europe was intent on 'giving moral lessons to the world'.16 The network of experts set up by heads of government at ASEM in Bangkok to suggest an agenda for the new process urged the eschewal of any 'proselytizing mission' and explicitly welcomed ASEM as a regional framework capable of reducing EU governments' vulnerability to domestic pressure to 'strike postures' on human rights. ASEM would enable governments more space, within a trade-focused, regionalized framework, to focus on 'foreignpolicy' interests. It was a relationship bereft of asymmetric power, uniquely able to focus on the development of consensus-based multilateral rules and norms.17 In 1999, the ASEM Vision Group, set up to provide ideas for the future evolution of relations and comprising luminaries from both regions, reported, suggesting a range of commercial initiatives; while the Group did tentatively advocate 'affirming the principles of human rights and good governance', it

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did not target democracy.18 European governments were tentative, seeking a gentle initial rapprochement with the region on a cooperative basis. ASEM's focus was very much on commercial questions, its main concrete initiatives being a trade and investment facilitation plan and the setting up of a business forum. It also initiated a broad range of other co-operation, including on the environment, education, culture, and the combating of sexual exploitation. The stated aim was to build up regularized co-operation in an array of 'low polities' issues as a means of establishing the conditions necessary for securing interests and aims in high politics spheres. In so far as ASEM contained a democracy promotion objective, it would rely heavily on an incremental process of socialization, as opposed to direct policy initiatives. While not all European states were entirely comfortable with the timidity of this approach, the nature of EU procedures worked against a more direct and coercive approach. ASEM was unique among the EU's new regional frameworks with the various parts of the developing world in that it was explicitly not region-to-region. While there was co-ordination within the EU prior to taking positions to the Asian states, according to key insiders some EU states had welcomed this distinctive structure precisely because it would reduce the effective pressure to abide by an absolutely common position and therefore more easily circumvent the self-avowed 'ethical' European states.19 So, for instance, on a visit to Jakarta as the first ASEM meeting was being prepared, French Foreign Minister Herve Charette felt able pointedly to support the warning issued by his Indonesian counterpart, Ali Alatas, that the process should not be turned into a 'political forum', implicitly undermining rather than supporting the known concerns of the Portuguese government over East Timor.20 Several EU member states felt that the Asian states were better able to drive wedges between European states than the latter were able to do between Asian countries, an interesting perception given the fact that in formal terms regional integration remained far weaker in Asia than in Europe. In general, it was felt by European policy-makers that policy towards East Asia was far less 'Europeanized' than other areas of the EU's external relations and constrained by a stronger desire on the part of some member states to retain privileged bilateral channels.21 At the more conceptual level, the hesitancy of the European approach was seen by many as deriving from a defensiveness on the EU's part in relation to Asian values. The EU's pretensions to moral persuasion were seen as resting on shakier grounds than in any other developing region. Asia's apparent success, not only in

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generating economic growth but also in preventing the kind of social problems besetting European countries, ensured that relations between East Asian states and the EU were characterized by a degree of genuine dialogue over competing values and political systems. Indeed, rather than there being a flow of European values to Asia, many held there to be a growing influence in the opposite direction. It was seen by many as significant that Tony Blair launched his 'stakeholder' concept in Singapore, seeing the latter as having achieved an admirable combination of growth and social cohesion.22 It was pointed out that European Conservatives, in particular, drew increasingly from the Asian discourse on morality, order, and tradition.23 Not only were such Asian values seen as legitimate, they were increasingly emulated by many in the West. The views of social conservatives were backed up by those of economic liberals, who saw in the Asian model a successful means of controlling social costs and labour dissent. In Europe's rapprochement with Asia, many commentators saw the EU as being keen on incorporating elements from Asia while Asia saw no need to do likewise with European values.24 From a critical perspective, the EU's search for a new partnership with Asia was interpreted as a device for European elites to laud the benefits, rather than shortcomings, of Asian values to their own domestic constituency and thereby better discipline their own workforce.25 In sum, to the extent that ASEM held the potential to facilitate a new 'sociology' of regional interaction around shared values, it was to be expected that developments in Asia would impact upon the model of community prevailing in Europe as much as vice versa.26 However, while there was within ASEM a certain willingness to debate competing systems, European governments pointedly rejected the proposition that the region's social achievements justified limits to democracy. Moreover, Asian claims that Western liberal democracy was necessarily inimical to social cohesion seemed guilty of imputing to Europe features more notable in the USA.27 Any admiration European governments held for Asian achievements did not stop them pressing resolutely for the establishment of a new—if measured—discourse on democracy as part of the ASEM process. In terms of material self-interest, it would seem reasonable to conclude that the growing importance of European commercial interests in East Asia was what militated most strongly against a more forceful approach to democracy promotion. It was widely felt that Western businesses had benefited from both the limited labour rights associated with the Asian model and the strong links between multinationals and government officials. In the debate

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over EU policy towards labour standards, European businesses sided with Asian governments' concern in warning EU policymakers against using this area of policy as a cover for protectionism. When the financial crisis hit Asia it was argued that European investors had overcommitted to the region precisely because they had benefited from political links and elite-sanctioned deals that were perceived to afford protection from the fragilities of such rapidly expanding markets.28 The full picture was more complex, however. While East Asia was the region where commercial imperatives seemed most predominant, business did seek greater political purchase from European foreign policy. European investors, actual and potential, argued that they were seriously impeded by the lack of transparent structures of governance in East Asia. Indeed, in a comparative context, Asia was by some margin the area where European governments were pressed hardest by their own companies to push for such improvements in political structures. While the Commission's strategy document for Asia acknowledged the absolute primacy of economic interests, it pointed out that improved access required a more 'favourable regulatory environment' for business.29 The Industrialists Roundtable was felt to be the most dynamic forum of EU-ASEAN co-operation during the 1990s, and one through which European companies engaged on governance issues to a greater extent than they did within the EU's other regional frameworks.30 European companies' underrepresentation in the region, relative to their share of other developing markets, was held to be strongly related to their lack of success in extending personal networks as the key means of managing uncertainty in Asia.31 Unsurprisingly, investors were concerned most strongly with a relatively narrow range of governance issues, of particular pertinence to their own operations. These included: the conditions under which European companies might be forced to accept a particular government-nominated partner; fraud within customs procedures; the availability of reliable information; and procurement procedures. However, their professed concerns did not completely exclude democracy, but were rather somewhat uncertain and ambivalent over the latter. On the one hand, businesses urged their governments to avoid politicizing relations with Asian governments and did not lobby hard for a particular line towards democracy promotion, keen for this to remain a foreign-policy rather than business agenda. Even on good governance issues, EU governments still felt frustrated by the relative reluctance of European investors to engage in pressing Asian governments for reforms through the

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Asia-Europe Business Forum, a forum which most multinationals continued to see as being of marginal value. On the other hand, many businesses increasingly saw governance issues as inseparable from the concept of democracy. Corruption was a most serious problem for investors where its nature and requirements were unpredictable, and such arbitrariness was seen as flowing from a lack of democratic control over individual ministers and officials. Democracy was seen as important and, while preferably pursued in a way that did not restrict trade and investment, of a long-term value that could be expected to outweigh any non-optimalization of short-term commercial conditions. This was particularly so where the influence of political 'cronies', permitted by a general lack of democratic accountability, was responsible for a slowing down of economic reforms. Whatever the advantages of Asia's relatively low social and labour costs, there was little concrete evidence that European businesses actively and comprehensively sought to resist political reform.32 The relationship between East Asian political reform and perceived security interests was also a complex one. Strategic thinking was most strongly conditioned by the perception of China's rising power and the intermittent indications that Beijing was intent on a more conflictive attitude towards the West. With China in mind, there was a strong desire on the part of European policy-makers to strengthen the EU's security engagement and alliances, as well as to develop concrete military co-operation with East Asian states. Britain strengthened its commitment to the Five Power Defence Agreement, while France initiated a number of bilateral military dialogues and co-operation programmes. European arms sales to the region increased sharply—rising from 10 per cent of the market in 1989 to 20 per cent in 1997—with these sales often linked to the provision of security training and co-operation. Co-operation on the security of energy supply was one of the main priorities of the ASEM process.33 In more general terms, the thinking was to strengthen European influence and engagement as a means of reducing the uncertainty the EU felt towards events in the region.34 This also had a commercial rationale, in so far as it was felt that the USA had been able to use its security engagement in the region to gain access for US companies on more favourable terms than those available to EU multinationals.35 Experts saw ASEM's main rationale as being to focus on areas of commonality, especially where this was lacking with the US, to forge alliances on strategic issues.36 The key security-related aim was to gain access to the ASEAN Regional Forum (ARF), the body created by Asian states in 1993 as a forum

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for discussing intra-regional security issues, the prospects for which were seen as being linked to the nature of the EU's discourse on human rights and democracy. The EU invested resources in assisting the strengthening of intra-Asian integration as a potential bulwark against China, despite recognizing that many Asians also saw such unity as providing a more effective common front against European strictures on human rights and democracy. Given that these aims and initiatives were seen by many policymakers as militating against muscular approaches towards democracy and human rights, the fact that a democracy promotion objective was nevertheless adopted in East Asia demonstrated the coexistence of different forms of strategic thinking. Alongside the more traditional geo-strategic thinking, it was increasingly recognized that strategic concerns were not completely unrelated to the relative absence of high-quality democracy in the region. In general, Asian values did not have the same aggressive anti-Western external implications as those often attributed to political Islam. The EU may have engaged in a healthy competition over values, but Asian values in themselves were not deemed to constitute a direct security threat. This meant that there was less nervousness over the potentially destabilizing short-term impact of political liberalization than in policy towards the Mediterranean, and the EU increasingly asserted that it gave little credence to Asian leaders' claims that democracy would increase instability by undermining the control of ethnic divisions. The stated approach was, as elsewhere, that the further development of democratic procedures would help engender moderation, a greater proclivity to conflict resolution, as well as facilitating the more balanced social and economic development needed to underpin more effective citizenship rights. As the extent of environmental mismanagement in the region became clearer, further democratization was perceived as a means of holding political elites to account for the unsustainable depletion of natural resources. Similarly, the more effective combating of narcotics trade was increasingly linked to the need for political reform. While its priority was to establish a presence in East Asian security forums, the EU became increasingly concerned with the lack of transparency within the ARE over security operations, and the reluctance to share such information was seen as not unrelated to the relative paucity of internal transparency characteristic of the region's political systems. Hence, there was a belief in the desirability and legitimacy of seeking to promote democracy in East Asia, albeit manifest in a more hesitant commitment than in most other areas. The democracy

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promotion commitment was adopted in a context in which there were complex relationships between, on the one hand, European commercial and strategic interests and, on the other hand, the internal characteristics of the region's governments. A widely perceived shortcoming was that the complex interrelationships between different policy domains vigorously debated by analysts were not in practice incorporated in any detailed fashion into policy-making deliberations. While democracy promotion was rationalized as important for commercial and strategic objectives, this was only in a very general sense, with day-to-day decision-making in fact exhibiting very little detailed linking together of such conceptual challenges. EU policy-makers, from all different quarters, lamented that policy towards Asia was one of the most notable examples of the EU's difficulty in producing 'joined-up' policy deliberation. While the EU, through new common strategies, did begin to relate internal political developments to stability and commercial access in Russia, the Balkans, the Mediterranean, and Eastern Europe, no significant effort to improve intra-policy coherence was forthcoming in East Asia. The latter was also the area where policy-makers felt that CFSP had been most reactive. Where there was a focus on human rights this was on very specific issues, invariably those that had attracted the attention of European NGOs. Broader issues relating to the state of democracy in the region were not in any significant way discussed within the same forums as those focusing on security and commercial strategy. In practice, there was no significant conceptualization of European policy in terms of pursuing a particular approach towards Asian values. Unlike in the Arab world, political Islam was not discussed as an issue requiring a distinct policy response, despite the growing pertinence of this issue to developments in states such as Indonesia and Malaysia. CFSP policymakers lamented that Asian policy was the area where the Article 113 Committee had assumed its most notable pre-eminence, this meaning that the dominant role was invariably played by capitalsbased general trade experts rather than, as in other areas, a tightknit community of Brussels-based experts on the region.37

A Limited European Engagement in East Asia? If there were grounds for questioning the extent to which a firm democracy promotion objective emerged from a clear linkingtogether of different perceived interests, so too was it doubtful that the EU was, in practice, able to develop significant purchase over

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political developments in East Asia. For the region's four new, incomplete democracies there was a conspicuous lack of any posttransition strategy of the type adopted in both Eastern Europe and Latin America. These states did not receive enhanced shares of aid receipts to reward their democratic transitions: indeed, the general correlation between a state's democratic credentials and its share of European aid remained low, despite such variation being procedurally easier under the Asia-Latin America regulation than under Lome or the MEDA programme.38 In each of the post-transition states relations were dominated and often frustrated by other considerations. Outside ASEAN, the EU concluded a new agreement with South Korea in 1996. This was, however, merely a framework agreement offering no concrete preferential trade access. Indeed, in this post-transition phase, commercial relations between South Korea and the EU became increasingly connective, with the EU playing a tough hand in trade disputes. At one point, the EU even removed GSP provisions from South Korea over trade issues and the country was one of the main targets of EU anti-dumping duties and non-tariff barriers, following lobbying from European companies to restrict the access of Korean electronics products. It was suggested that this commercial pressure was one of the factors that discouraged the Korean government from loosening any further its links with privileged chaebol.39 EU aid to South Korea was wound down over the mid-1990s, at a crucial moment for democratic consolidation.40 Thailand received little reward in the aftermath of the 1991 attempted coup, which had demonstrated both the fragility of the new democracy and the degree of commitment of key reformers appealing for outside assistance. The EU refrained from establishing formalized relations with Taiwan, in deference to Chinese sensitivities. Taiwan was not invited to participate in ASEM, in contrast to its links to APEC. European governments did not invite Taiwanese leaders to make the kind of high-profile visits they made to the USA and were readier than the USA to forego supplying Taiwan with military equipment at Beijing's behest. Commercial exchanges between the EU and Asia's new democracies were far from optimal for the difficult process of democratic consolidation. The degree of technological exchange between both South Korea and Taiwan and Europe was particularly low in comparison with exchanges with the USA.41 High European tariffs on high-tech products were the subject of increasingly acrimonious trade disputes. East Asia's four democratic states complained bitterly that they stood to be hit hardest by the EU's new graduated GSP. Debate

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within CFSP did not address the question of how these policy issues might affect the process of democratic consolidation in these four countries.42 More broadly, and perhaps most notably, East Asia was the area where regionalism most seriously complicated the democracy promotion agenda. Prior to 1999, a significant democracy-oriented engagement with the region was subjugated to the East Timor issue. The desire of most EU states to upgrade policy commitments with the ASEAN states, as a means of gaining greater purchase over the direction of political reform in the region and assisting post-transition tasks in the new democracies, was frustrated by the way in which Timor came to dominate relations between the two regions, in particular at Portugal's behest. Portugal's blocking of an upgrading of the 1980 EC-ASEAN Agreement while Indonesia refused to contemplate the granting of self-determination to the former Portuguese colony meant that the ASEAN countries had the offer of a new agreement withheld for longer than any other regional grouping. Commissioner Manual Marm recognized that, as a result, well into the second half of the 1990s, 'thorough political dialogue has not even begun yet' between the EU and ASEAN.43 The impact of Portugal's veto was minimized by the introduction of a range of new sectoral co-operation initiatives, in particular by the European Commission, which after 1996 became an overt and formal strategy, sanctioned by the Council. This not only circumvented the Portuguese position—or at least allowed Portugal to permit some co-operation without being seen to have backed down—but also accommodated the fact that ASEAN states themselves had intimated that they would not be willing to sign up to the EU's new democracy clause even if they were offered a new agreement. When the Timor issue began moving towards its resolution, Burma's entry into ASEAN in 1997 then similarly infected Europe's relations with the whole grouping for the rest of the 1990s. The EU refused to meet with ASEAN in the presence of representatives of the Burmese military regime. A range of ever-more intricate formulas were put forward for allowing some kind of limited Burmese presence, but not until May 1999 was a solution agreed—providing for the passive presence of Burma (as well as Laos and Cambodia)—and a meeting of the official-level Joint EU-ASEAN Committee finally held. It was this body that sanctioned the wide-ranging programme of sectoral co-operation initiatives and trade facilitation, a package that excluded any reference to democracy. Only in the summer of 2000 did the EU agree to extend this formula to ministerial-level dialogue. While this was heralded as a significant breakthrough, the

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conclusion of a new agreement, according the EU the same formal remit as in its relations with other regions for either co-operative or punitive policy directed at the promotion of democracy, was still seen as a distant and improbable prospect. The most striking feature of its relations with the ASEAN states during the 1990s was the EU's imaginative partial circumvention of its own democratic conditionality. Apart from the new sectoral commercial and other co-operation, the ASEM framework itself was seen as beneficial in so far as it enabled a depoliticization of the East Timor and Burma problems. While, on the one hand, Asian states were willing to agree to Burma's exclusion from this new more informal process, on the other hand, Portugal felt able to permit the strengthening of relations in a framework that included Indonesia. The new forum also sidelined the European Parliament, the European institution most critical towards Jakarta, with the EP lacking the formal locus over ASEM that it enjoyed over the EU's contractual trade agreements. While low-level co-operation proceeded within ASEM, its range and depth was limited by high-level diplomatic impasse. This weakened the socialization dynamics upon which the logic of the EU's own approach to encouraging political reform in Asia was predicated. Over its first five years ASEM was recognized by European policy-makers as having had no appreciable effect on Asian states' willingness to discuss the development of democratic norms in any substantive fashion—except in relation to Indonesia after 1998, and, to a lesser extent, Burma (both of which are examined below). By the third ASEM summit in Seoul in 2000, EU policy-makers, even those from the more 'realist' states, were impatient with the lack of progress. They had been confident that ASEM would at least allow the EU to talk with its Asian interlocutors more openly about democracy and how democratization might affect European interests. In practice, no significant dialogue had been possible. European states were particularly disappointed that they had been unable to get the new Asian democracies on board as allies to encourage support for democratic values elsewhere in the region. Somewhat against the EU's original hope, there was still very much a 'Europe versus Asia' rather than 'democracies versus nondemocracies' divide.44 Asian elites were surprised that they were pressed less than they had originally expected. ASEM continued to make reference to UN human rights commitments only in the most general of terms, excluding debate over or reference to specific country situations. Socialization around a democratic discourse was impeded by Asian states' resistance to a greater institutionalization of the

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ASEM process. It also suffered from persistent differences over supposedly less controversial economic issues. European governments, in practice, had little success in convincing Asian states to open markets in a significantly more favourable way for the EU or to get them to sign up to the notion of a European-Asian alliance to push for liberalization within a new WTO round. Asian governments were suspicious of the new trade issues pushed by the EU, such as standards harmonization, the protection of intellectual property rights, and competition policy. There was no success in getting concrete commitments from Asians to strengthen and make more transparent the rules protecting foreign investment, or even any convergence over tackling this within the WTO.45 Asian states opposed the Multilateral Agreement on Investment, despite EU efforts to get them on board. Conversely, to the frustration of Asian states there was no significant movement from the EU on antidumping rules or the simplification and extension of rules of origin. The NTB-focused Trade Facilitation Plan proposed by the EU had to be scaled down at the behest of Asian states, the latter rejecting a number of proposals, including several relating to co-operation on good governance reforms. The notion of an alliance on economic issues laying the foundations for more substantive dialogue on political issues was, therefore, frustrated. Commercial relations, in general, remained limited and were notably less asymmetric than in other regions where the EU sought to exert economic pressure to further political aims. In some ways, Europe's commercial presence and potential leverage was more significant and successful than was often assumed. The EU market became more important than the USA for East Asia. By 1996, developing East Asia was relying on the EU for 12.3 per cent of its FBI income, an increase from only 8.7 per cent in 1993 and well above the 10.3 per cent obtained from the USA. A quarter of ASEAN's foreign investment came from the EU, this share rising fast and standing above both the 11.9 per cent US share and the 21 per cent Japanese share.46 It was also the case that Asia remained more dependent on the EU than vice versa. However, the 15 per cent of EU exports sent to East Asia compared with the share of over 10 per cent of East Asia's exports sent to the European market, a significantly more symmetrical interdependence than that which the EU had with any other developing region. While this presence, again, did not compare unfavourably with that of the USA and Japan, whose shares also declined, it was modest compared with the European shares of well in excess of half the foreign investment inflows to many, if not most, other developing regions. In East Asia,

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by far the most significant development was the rapid growth in intra-regional trade and investment flows. Moreover, European investment was concentrated sectorally and geographically: other than in Singapore, Malaysia, and the coastal regions of China, it accounted for no more than an extremely minimal share of total investment.47 There was also very little engagement on the part of small and medium-sized firms. At the end of 2000, a reaffirmation of APEC's free trade commitment, and new proposals for an FTA between China, Japan, South Korea, and ASEAN, raised the prospect of the EU again having to ratchet up its own commitment to the region just to avoid losing market shares. Similarly, development assistance failed to provide a basis for strong political leverage. About a third of East Asia's aid came from the EU, well above the US share, but below the levels of assistance provided by Japan. Absolute amounts of aid were modest. With the exception of China and Indonesia, no East Asian state figured among the rankings of the main recipients of European governments' development assistance.48 European Commission aid to East Asia was also low and declined in relative terms during the 1990s. Within the ALA Regulation, aid allocations shifted away from Asia and towards Latin America, despite the latter's overall higher levels of wealth. By the late 1990s, most East Asian states were receiving from the EU several times less in per capita terms than far richer countries in the Mediterranean, Eastern Europe, and Latin America. European democracy assistance was of a particularly limited scale, with the EU unable to gain any significant access to work on political aid projects. Asian states declined to cooperate on even relatively innocuous projects. Only 0.4 per cent of Commission aid to Asia went to good governance and civil society projects during the first half of the 1990s, a significantly lower commitment than in any other developing region, in both absolute and proportionate terms. Asia was also the only region where the relative scale of this work declined over the early part of the 1990s.49 Although the level of funding increased in the latter half of the decade, East Asia attracted only 1 per cent of funding under the EU's Democracy Initiative between 1996 and 1999.50 The EU adopted a notably indirect approach to democracy assistance, focusing primarily on building up democratic awareness and the organization of local groups into advocacy forums. The profile of the EU's political aid work was oriented towards small-scale projects for women and children, along with human rights training programmes. Within standard development projects initiatives were undertaken aimed at enhancing grass-roots participation and

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decision-making capacity in relation to specific social issues. If the emphasis on building up democratic 'potential' in relation to social development issues rather than on 'institutional end goals' characterized the EU's general approach to democracy assistance, it was felt to be particularly marked in East Asia.51 The US political aid budget for Asia was higher, reaching $82 million for 1998, but was criticized for not covering this broad range of grass-roots, social issues.52 Conversely, European governments were more cautious than the USA in relation to undertaking political society projects, these being almost entirely absent from the range of work undertaken by the EU in East Asia. The EU's ability to secure wider access for political aid work was not assisted by the fact that, with pre-1995 aid protocols not having been formally updated, most states in the region had still not signed the new standardized democracy clause. The limited levels of committed EU funds and the lack of access provided by Asian governments fed off each other: additional resources were not forthcoming within EU budgets precisely because East Asia was felt to be less amenable to productive work on democracy than other regions.53 The influence and engagement of civil society actors also left many disappointed. While business networking was, as said, judged to have influenced the dissemination of good governance norms,54 other actors' engagement remained more limited. Despite their strategy being heavily predicated on transnational NGO links playing an important role in generating stronger pressure for democratic reform within Asia, in practice little concrete support for or recognition of such activism was forthcoming from European governments. An NGO Forum was set up, but governments refused to incorporate this formally into the ASEM process, in contrast to their according this status to the Asia-European Business Forum. NGO input was considerably weaker than in most other areas of the EU's external relations, dialogue being particularly limited compared with the arrangements accorded to NGOs under the Lome convention. With the exception of a small amount of assistance given for Asian NGOs to attend the second ASEM meeting in London, governments were reluctant directly to fund meetings between European and Asian NGOs on political issues. The Asia Europe Foundation (ASEF), the body set up under ASEM to fund civil society links, refused to fund almost all remotely political proposals. When agreement was reached to hold a seminar on human rights in Lund, a number of restrictions were imposed, including the exclusion of Amnesty International from official participation in the meeting. Those NGOs receiving European aid were more

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focused on questioning the developmental impact of EU commercial policies than on seeking more forcefully to carry forward the democracy promotion agenda. European NGOs felt that European governments were using the existence of the NGO Forum to justify their own reluctance to pressure Asian governments. They were also unhappy with the way that ASEM had lead to a situation where policy towards China increasingly constrained any critical focus on other parts of the region. However, the focus of virtually all European NGOs was limited to human rights issues, and mostly to select cases such as Chinese prisoners or the situation in Burma, rather than on democracy per se.55 Indeed, the NGO Forum focused overwhelmingly on berating European governments for their management of the international system, rather than on targeting Asian governments' reluctance to cede further political liberalization.56 While many civil society and opposition groups in Asia urged the EU to adopt a tougher approach towards promoting democracy,57 others were themselves increasingly sceptical of the European agenda and, in their desire to protect and enhance autoctonous culture, not entirely dismissive of the Asian values concept. Many, especially in the Muslim states of Malaysia and Indonesia, argued that Asian regimes had become corrupt because they had been influenced by the West and Western concepts of markets and materialism—this applying also to such respected figures as Aun Sang Suu Kyi.58 Transnational differences were at least equally as evident as cross-cultural alliances around democratic norms. While the civil society dimension of relations between the EU and Asia was frequently invoked as a significant development of the latter part of the 1990s,59 there was in practice little evidence that such networks exerted any significant influence over European governments' democracy promotion strategy or democratic reform in East Asia itself.

Contrasting Approaches to Democracy Promotion While these limits to European purchase on East Asian democracy applied across the region, there were striking variations in the approaches adopted towards individual countries. As a case study in democracy promotion efforts, European policy in East Asia was perhaps most notable for demonstrating the EU's disposition to adopting a range of different strategies. In the case of the region's semi-democracies, no coercive measures were applied. European governments made it known that upgraded relations would be

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offered if it were not for Portugal's stance on East Timor. These states did not perceive that better relations with Europe were dependent on them improving their own democracies. In a series of statements, the EU did criticize the trial of Inwar Ibrahim and, for the first time, accompanied this by expressions of concern over broader shortcomings in the rule of law and judicial manipulation in Malaysia. However, this did not entail consideration of any concrete measures, for which there was no political will among member states. The pressure that was exerted was limited to the issue of labour standards. In contrast to the virtual silence on democracy, the EU pushed relatively hard on this issue and was willing to engender considerable tension within ASEM by pressing for Asian states to sign up to a new 'social clause' within the WTO. A preference for positive engagement was also witnessed in some of the states where political liberalization was still negligible. Policy towards China was the highest profile such case, and is examined in Chapter 5. Laos and Brunei were smaller cases, but it was Vietnam that provided perhaps the most clear-cut such example. The EU normalized diplomatic relations with Vietnam in 1990 and by 1995 had negotiated a co-operation agreement with the country, which included the standard democracy clause. A textile agreement was added in 1998, liberalizing trade strongly to Vietnam's advantage. This agreement provided for a 30 per cent increase in Vietnamese textile exports to the EU, with quotas extended further in 2000— measures of enormous importance, with the EU taking 70 per cent of the country's textile exports. The EU insisted in return on less discrimination against European goods, but in recognition of the sensitive position of the reform process, accepted lower quotas for European goods in a number of important sectors.60 Vietnam was also the only Asian state not to be adversely affected by changes to the EU's GSP. When Vietnam joined ASEAN in 1997, the EU extended to it the EC-ASEAN Agreement, which it refused to do with Burma. Trade with Vietnam increased fast and strongly to the latter's advantage, the country recording a growing surplus with the EU that reached 1.5 bn euro in 1998.61 By 1999, Vietnam was sending over 20 per cent of its exports to the European market and received over 10 per cent of its foreign direct investment from the EU, over twice US shares, with the EU having established itself as Vietnam's second largest commercial partner (to Japan).62 The EU also became the second largest aid donor to Vietnam—again to Japan—as the country became one of the fastest rising recipients of member states' bilateral aid, particularly of German and French assistance. Vietnam attracted one of the EU's largest programmes

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of development assistance in the whole of Asia aimed at assisting the introduction of a market economy.63 This engagement was seen as laying the foundations for European firms to take advantage of the commercial opportunities offered by Vietnam's reform process, as well as helping in broad strategic terms to offset Chinese influence. Policy-makers saw policy towards Vietnam as one of the clearest examples of the EU's less 'evangelical' approach to democracy promotion than that favoured by the USA. Burdened by the complex legacy of its relations with Vietnam, Washington lifted its trade embargo only in 1994, did not re-establish diplomatic relations until 1995, and continued to apply discriminatory tariffs against Vietnam until the end of the decade. US aid also continued to be negligible. Only in 1999 did the USA offer to resume normal trading relations. Vietnam initially rejected this offer, the politburo concerned that the USA would engineer a trade agreement for political objectives in way that the EU had not, although a deal with Washington was eventually signed in July 2000. Expressly adopting a more measured discourse,64 the EU focused primarily on technical good governance measures, in relation to which Vietnam eagerly sought European co-operation. The Commission was deeply involved in actually drafting a whole range of new regulatory provisions pertinent to the process of economic change. The good governance focus was seen by both the EU and the Vietnamese government as crucial in order to reverse the dramatic decline in foreign investment which was registered from 1997, and which was held to be integrally related to the lack of transparency in governance procedures.65 It was also viewed as the most appropriate means of establishing an initial purchase over the reform process in Vietnam. Despite Vietnam having signed the EU's democracy clause as part of the trade and cooperation agreement, providing the EU with a formal remit for democracy assistance work, in practice European political projects were limited to a small number of training initiatives with human rights and development NGOs, beginning only in 1999. Proposals for other, slightly more politicized projects remained unimplemented due to Vietnamese sensitivities.66 The partnership on good governance certainly appeared to accord the EU some leverage—in addition to its growing trade and investment shares, aid grew to account for over 5 per cent of Vietnam's GDP. However, with the Vietnamese regime seeking expressly to block spill-over from economic reform to the political domain, the extent to which the EU's engagement had laid the base for any significant purchase on democratization remained unclear.

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In sharp contrast to such positive engagement were cases where the EU did not shy away from exerting strong pressure on Asian states. North Korea was a case of the EU pursuing a policy of almost absolute ostracization. Of course, security factors dominated thinking in this case, compounded by pressure from South Korea for Western powers not to engage with the North.67 This demonstrated how acute security concerns could apparently still trump any desire to establish interaction on the issue of democracy, rather than such engagement being pursued vigorously precisely because of perceived security threats. At the end of the decade, North Korea also provided a dramatic case of EU disunity, as Italy broke ranks and established diplomatic relations with Pyongyang in early 2000, without even consulting its EU partners. The main policy concern in North Korea was the European contribution to KEDO, the programme designed to close down North Korea's nuclear plants in return for the country being provided with alternative generating capacity. The time and resources dedicated to this contrasted with the virtual exclusion from the agenda of democracy as a remotely realistic objective over which the EU might be able to have a significant impact. Policy only began to change after South Korea's own engagement progressed with the historic meeting between North and South Korean leaders in June 2000. By early 2001 the majority of member states had established diplomatic relations with North Korea—in an interesting contrast to elsewhere in the world, France remained the back-marker—and the beginnings of a tentative engagement with the regime was emerging. Perhaps the most widely cited and emotive case of European diplomatic pressure was policy towards Burma. Despite the Burmese military regime pursuing a similar, albeit more limited, programme of economic reform to Vietnam, European policy was radically different in the two cases. When in 1990 the Burmese military revoked the results of democratic elections, European aid was suspended and there was thereafter only negligible contact with the junta. Criticism of the human rights situation and lack of democracy was, compared to nearly all other states, frequent and unrestrained. In 1996, the EU drew up a Common Position on Burma, imposing a number of punitive measures on the regime. These included an arms embargo, a suspension of defence links, visa restrictions for members of the regime, a tightened suspension of all non-humanitarian aid, and a ban on high-level visits. Also in 1996, GSP preferences were removed from Burma, this being the first case of such action being taken on political grounds. A slight widening of the visa ban was agreed in 1998, along with a statement

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discouraging tourism. Further measures were then added in April 2000, including the freezing of regime members' financial assets held in Europe and a ban on the sale of equipment that could be used for internal repression. After 1999, the EU reduced even humanitarian aid to Burma. Burma was one of the very rare cases where Western powers openly sought to push the multilateral organizations into a slightly more politicized remit: in 1999, at the prompting of Western governments, the World Bank offered a $lbn loan only on condition that the regime begin talks with the opposition.68 Perhaps most significantly, until the end of the 1990s the EU appeared to be willing to put at risk its relations with the whole region for the sake of maintaining its policy of not meeting with the Burmese regime. As has been said, when ASEAN admitted Burma in 1997, the EU stated that it would not extend the EC-ASEAN agreement to Burma and would not meet with members of the regime. As a result, all meetings between the EU and ASEAN were blocked. France and Germany were uneasy about relations with the whole of the region being held hostage to Burma, but the UK, Denmark, Sweden, and the Netherlands held out against a modified form of Burmese participation. The impasse was unblocked only in 2000 when, in return for Southern EU states accepting a strengthening of sanctions, Northern states agreed to accept a Burmese presence in EU meetings with ASEAN ministers.69 By then, of course, attention had switched to the ASEM process, from which Burma was, at the EU's behest, excluded. Despite this being one of the few cases in which the EU did advocate isolation as a means of promoting democracy, the degree of coercion exerted was subject to limitations. While trade was discouraged, no comprehensive trade embargo was imposed and investment was not banned. This contrasted with the US decision to remove Burma from its GSP provisions as early as 1989 and to impose an investment ban in 1997. Not only did the EU not impose trade sanctions, it vigorously defended its right to trade with Burma by taking to the WTO the US state of Massachusetts when the latter introduced a law penalizing companies dealing with Burma.70 Within the EU, only Denmark, the Netherlands, and Ireland called for complete sanctions. The Labour government in Britain claimed to support sanctions but insisted that, as a Community competence, these could not be decided unilaterally at the national level if there was not support for them at the European level. London argued that an investment ban was similarly difficult to implement: while still a national competence, the EC treaties

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restricted such bans to circumstances where there were 'serious political reasons and on grounds of urgency'. NGOs rejected the UK's interpretation and the European Parliament also urged a complete interruption of trade and investment. The measures that were imposed represented a compromise between Northern states, principally Denmark and the UK, and Southern states, principally France. The latter succeeded in diluting proposals for tougher action against Burma. France even insisted that the decision to remove GSP provisions be presented as a Commission-led concern limited to the issue of forced labour and not an explicitly political position aimed at human rights and democracy. Indeed, most European governments were happier to focus pressure on the issue of labour standards, than to press as forcefully for complete democratization. The strongest action taken against Burma was the country's expulsion from the ILO due to the use of forced labour. On democracy, France and some other states were keen to see a degree of flexibility from Aun Sang Suu Kyi. These states wanted to press hard for movement from Burma on human rights standards, but cautioned against making a full reinstatement of the 1989 elections a rigid precondition for beginning to establish relations. In fact, Southern states were increasingly keen to consider if there was a case for extending the 1980 EC-ASEAN agreement to Burma. They insisted on the tighter sanctions agreed in 2000 also being offset by a reversal of the decreases in humanitarian aid effected over the previous year.71 The agreement reached in 2000 to allow for Burma's presence in EU-ASEAN meetings was seen by these states primarily as necessary in order to unblock relations with ASEAN but also as a means of gaining some purchase over the Burmese regime. While the absence of a standard aid programme removed democracy assistance as a potential means of engendering liberalizing dynamics in Burma, this was the case where 'humanitarian' aid was most overtly defined expansively, and included support for NGOs and ethnic minority groups. Support was given to lobby groups outside Burma, such as the Burma Office in Brussels. Notwithstanding this unwillingness completely to disengage and ostracize Burma, relative to other democracy promotion strategies it was the lack of engagement that was striking. The regime refused formally even to receive EU demarches, until 1999 when a first EU Troika visit took place. Even Southern states recognized that the constraints put on this visit rendered impossible the same kind of engagement the EU had been able to establish with the Chinese regime. While no formal sanctions were implemented, trade

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remained at a low level and declined. Indeed, the Burmese junta itself banned imports of many goods due to its lack of foreign exchange reserves.72 The UK government did suspend export promotion activities and support for trade missions, and in early 2000 took the unprecedented step of publicly asking Premier Oil to withdraw from Burma, a petition not issued in the case of any other autocratic regime. Again, in a comparative context, Burma was notable for being one of the countries from which the private sector did keep relatively well clear. Although slightly tardier than their US counterparts such as Levi Strauss, Amoco, and Texaco, starting in the mid-1990s a number of big European companies pulled out of Burma. These companies included BHS, Heineken, Carlsberg, the Burton Group, and Ericsson—the latter influenced by its loss of a major contract in San Francisco in part due to that city's sanctions against companies dealing with Burma.73 By 1999, FBI to Burma had decreased by 90 per cent from its peak, the only foreign companies remaining present being those involved in natural resource exploration. Of European firms, only Premier and Total remained in any significant capacity, with all other leading investors coming from other Asian countries.74 Premier Oil reacted angrily to the strictures of the British government but was pressured by its own shareholders to review its operations in Burma.75 The caution of the private sector was due not only to the extent of NGO pressure, but also to the fact that the degree of abuses perpetrated by the regime had produced an environment which, in terms of social and physical infrastructure, had made an expansion of investment prohibitively risky.76 Clearly, while more forceful and critical than elsewhere, EU policies were unsuccessful in forcing political liberalization in Burma. For some this demonstrated the ineffectiveness of ostracizing authoritarian regimes, for others it reflected the lack of complete isolation of the regime. Signals pointing in both these directions emerged from Burma. Some within the National League for Democracy insisted that external pressure was counterproductive, while some in the government indicated a desire to make modest changes to restore aid and trade preferences. What was significant in relative terms was that the EU did adhere more to a coercive philosophy towards Burma than other states. This was explained mainly by the fact that elections had been held and revoked. However, given that equally comprehensive and episodic interruptions of democratic process had not always elicited a similar response in other countries, policy-makers acknowledged that policy towards Burma also owed much to the resonance of the country's

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plight among European electorates, primarily because of the campaigning of one high-profile democracy activist. This was particularly the case in the UK, where the government acknowledged that its relatively tough line on Burma owed much to the interest engendered by Aun San Suu Kyi herself and her personal links with the UK.77 Suu Kyi's prominence in turn ensured that the campaigning of NGOs, and, on the issue of labour standards, of trade unions, was considerable and more influential than in relation to other Asian countries. Denmark's traditional stance on human rights issues was intensified by the death in custody in Burma of the Danish honorary consul. In the UK, the Burma Campaign attracted frequent media attention and successfully forced a judicial review on the legality of an investment ban. If European policy had negligible impact on the junta it was primarily because of the support Burma received from within the region. As China became strongly engaged, increasing trade flows and arms supplies to Burma, and as Japan, Australia, and India in turn sought some degree of rapprochement with the regime to counterbalance Chinese influence, the prospect diminished of a coercive European policy having any impact. While there clearly was a perceived need to attract investment from Europe, the generals judged some co-operation on labour standards to be requisite to providing the conditions for such flows, but not significant movement on democracy. The EU insisted its approach was at least partly vindicated by the regime's opening of a new dialogue with the NLD at the beginning of 2001, although member states themselves reached contrasting views on the significance and genuineness of this initiative. If there were cases of the EU both enthusiastically pursuing and resolutely eschewing positive engagement with non- or semidemocratic states, Cambodia provided an example of a still different policy mix. Here EU policy was concerned with harnessing a massive on-the-ground presence, developed through a conflict resolution operation, into leverage over and assistance for the development of democracy. As the international community directly undertook and oversaw many of the basic steps of establishing democratic institutions, the punitive and co-operative elements of strategy were at least in principle pursued as more of a seamless web than discrete alternatives. The 1991-3 UN operation in Cambodia was the organization's biggest peace-keeping operation and the various sources of multilateral and national aid soon accounted for over half the country's annual budget. After three years of the UN ruling directly through the Transitional Authority, elections were held in 1993 and formal democracy established. Despite the scale of its presence and

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leverage, the international community's record in ensuring that democracy was preserved and deepened after 1993 was a decidedly mixed one. Having imposed a unique 'dual leadership' government, aimed at preventing the exclusion of either party to the conflict, the UN disengaged. Neither of Cambodia's two new leaders, GPP head Hun Sen or Prince Ranariddh, appeared unequivocally committed to deepening democracy. The charismatic Hun Sen had been included after losing the elections and threatening violence if he were not included in government. He was strongly nationalistic, often anti-Western in his rhetoric, and explicitly urged the prioritizing of stability and economic development over democratic reforms.78 The EU, however, pursued a policy of significantly enhanced cooperation, with a sixfold increase in aid during the first half of the decade. Cambodia recorded one of the fastest rates of increase in European aid receipts in the years up to 1997.79 This was despite the Cambodian administration obstructing many democracy assistance projects. Help was given particularly to Hun Sen's efforts to quell the low-level sporadic violence still carried out by the Khmer Rouge. The suggestion that the international community had retained and exercised insufficient critical purchase on events after 1993 appeared to be vindicated in 1997 when Hun Sen launched a coup, expelling his partner from government after a bloody struggle. The EU's response appeared at first to be relatively weak. European aid, in contrast to American, IMF, and World Bank projects, was not suspended. Despite the coup, the EU pushed ASEAN countries to admit Cambodia—pressure that was in fact resisted. However, while eschewing overt punitive conditionality, the EU engagement was recognized as being crucial to the holding of new elections in 1998. The EU was the biggest donor of electoral aid, through a substantial $11 million contribution. The work of European personnel on the ground was essential to the basic organization of the elections. Hun Sen acknowledged that without European and Japanese involvement, pushing forward the election timetable, new elections would not have been held. In addition, the EU kept close control of the conditions governing the election campaign. Concerned at intimidation, violence, and suppression of the media, the EU moved to consider a suspension of this electoral aid. There was some confusion over whether a formal threat was made: the French government made it known that it did not favour suspension and doubts arose over whether such a decision would rightfully fall to the Commission or CFSP procedures—a number of states were keen on the Commission assuming responsibility, others on foreign ministers taking the lead to send a stronger political signal to Hun Sen.

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(The confusion over this issue in Cambodia was what led the EU to agree a revised set of outlines on the suspension of ECMM funds.) In the event, a degree of real competition was ensured when Prince Ranariddh was allowed to return to Cambodia to contest the elections. The EU insisted that the pressure it had been exercising behind the scenes, including the threat of suspending electoral aid, was crucial to Hun Sen acquiescing to Ranariddh's return. Largely at the behest of Dutch pressure, EU statements and demarches during this period were certainly robust in pointing to the need for unsullied elections as a prerequisite to international engagement being renewed. Hun Sen won the elections, however, with this appearing not to augur well for the development of democracy. Many suspected the EU, in practice, of tolerating dubious elements of the elections because of a desire to avoid instability, in particular the prospect of a Hun Sen defeat unleashing further violence and a coup against the successor government. To many it was clear that the elections were far from being free and fair: Hun Sen's party had packed the national and provincial election committees, as well as the Constitutional Council, with its own supporters, and there was evidence of widespread bribery and vote-buying. Prince Ranariddh, backed up by NGOs, criticized the EU for having distributed aid without the opposition's freedom having been secured, indeed even prior to the prince's own return seeming probable, and for not having clearly threatened suspension. The French position was a particular target of NGO criticism. Throughout the campaign and after the elections, the EU was accused by the USA of having legitimized an exercise that merely consolidated Hun Sen's illegally obtained position of dominance. This suspicion was further fuelled when the EU announced its satisfaction with the elections before the counting was complete. Far from lending legitimacy to the elections, the EU monitoring operation became a symptom of the doubts that surrounded their conclusion. The EU argued that the engagement it had secured working constructively to ensure the success of the elections enabled it to gain purchase on post-election negotiations over the formation of a new coalition government. If Hun Sen needed to negotiate a coalition in order to form a majority in the Congress, the EU pushed him to accept a more far-reaching power-sharing arrangement, specifying this as a precondition of further co-operation.80 European governments also intervened to convince opposition forces to participate in a minority capacity in a coalition government rather then pursue a violent reaction to the elections. The trade and cooperation agreement that had been concluded but held

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in abeyance since the events of 1997 was unblocked and ratified by the EU only when satisfactory coalition arrangements had been put in place, following much detailed negotiation between donors and Cambodian politicians. Still, however, the picture was mixed. Far from fulfilling his commitment to correct Cambodia's considerable democratic shortcomings after the elections, Hun Sen moved to strengthen his own position, weakening state institutions outside the executive. The effective degree of power-sharing fell increasingly short of the pre-1997 situation. It was difficult to avoid the conclusion that the perpetrator of two violent putschs continued to be certainly tolerated, and arguably favoured, by European governments. At the same time, the EU did genuinely attempt to push Hun Sen along the road of democratic reform. The EU initiated, albeit hesitantly, new democracy and human rights projects, again with donors' presence enabling such initiatives to be pushed harder, and to generate greater governmental involvement in facilitating their implementation, than elsewhere in the region.81 Pressing for incremental improvements through an engagement linked with the forwarding of additional parcels of aid, the EU did have some impact. In 1999, Hun Sen stood down as commander of the armed forces and opened the way for a greater separation of state and army. With the Khmer Rouge no longer a threat, the EU perceived there to be less risk in pushing harder for such reforms. Still, in general, the most striking feature of policy towards Cambodia was that, after a decade of providing massive assistance, marrying on-the-ground engagement with lowlevel and discreet pressure, the international community was desperately trying to preserve the country's formally democratic system, which had become more fragile rather than progressively stronger since the 1993 election.

Indonesia The role of external influences in Indonesia's move towards democracy merits particularly close attention. If the EU was judged to have made any positive contribution to the 1998 transition this was certainly not evident in the years preceding President Suharto's resignation. European policy towards Indonesia prior to 1998 provided one of the most notable cases of the paucity of both democracy promotion strategy and EU unity. Portugal was the main protagonist, having been the only European state to break off diplomatic relations with Jakarta in 1975 and subsequently blocking the desire

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of the Commission and other member states to update the 1980 agreement between the EU and ASEAN. Of course, the Portuguese position was aimed at the Indonesian occupation of Timor, rather than directly at the undemocratic nature of the Suharto regime. Other states were concerned, on the one hand, not to isolate Indonesia completely and, on the other hand, not to hold relations with the whole of ASEAN hostage to the situation in East Timor. Indonesia's strategic value to the West during the cold war had carried over to the new geo-political context of the 1990s, in which the country came to be seen as an important bulwark against Chinese regional predominance. In this, European perspectives were influenced by Australia, whose increasing co-operation with Jakarta was driven strongly by this desire to balance Chinese power, and included the signing of a defence accord with Indonesia in 1995. Only the Netherlands suspended aid in the wake of the 1991 massacre of Timorese protestors in Dili. The Hague, stung by Indonesia's imposition of reverse sanctions against Dutch exports, was itself soon pushing for a more accommodating position. The nature of EU procedures and competences allowed other member states in considerable measure to circumvent the Portuguese block. During the first half of the 1990s, the Commission increased its aid to Indonesia by a greater proportion than to the majority of Asian countries (even if per capita amounts to Indonesia remained relatively low).82 The main European states also increased bilateral aid flows, with Indonesia consistently among the largest recipients of British, German, French, and Spanish development assistance.83 These aid flows did not include democracy assistance projects, with Indonesia also blocking EU aid for East Timor NGOs, offered at Portugal's prompting.84 The USA, in contrast, was by the mid-1990s funding potential opposition groups through the NED to the sum of half a million dollars a year. Notwithstanding the absence of an upgraded contractual relation, by the mid-1990s the EU had established itself as Indonesia's principal trading partner, with the structure of trade policy being such as to help Indonesia record a growing trade surplus with European countries. There was also a dramatic increase in European investment flows to the country. Indeed, Indonesia was the one Asian country in which the EU increased its share of trade and investment flows at the expense of the USA. In absolute terms, European FDI was well in excess of that from the USA, a situation repeated in Asia only in Japan and the Philippines.85 It was, of course, the issue of arms sales that attracted much media attention and was often presented as the principal embodiment of the

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lack of any 'ethical' policy towards Indonesia. While the USA, Portugal, and Italy banned arms sales, the UK established itself as the largest supplier of arms to Indonesia.86 British Aerospace even co-operated with the Indonesian government in the development of a fighter plane specifically adapted to the region. Over the latter half of the 1990s, Indonesia was the largest beneficiary of British export credit guarantees (with China in second place), with about a third of this cover pertaining to arms sales.87 If EU procedures hindered any effective co-ordination between security and human rights concerns, such variance was, significantly, also evident in US policy. While Washington berated the EU for its lack of coherence in relation to Indonesia, Europeans pointed to the clash between the Pentagon's increasing military co-operation with Suharto and Congress's banning of arms sales on human rights grounds. With regards to diplomatic policy, there was no targeting of human rights abuses in Indonesia through the UN similar to the policy adopted in relation to China. If Suharto had set up a number of human rights forums merely as a cosmetic initiative designed to deflect Western criticism, this appeared to have succeeded. While the resolute Portuguese pressure on Timor might be held up as one of the most notable cases of European policy being determined by one small state with particular historically derived concerns, Portugal was gradually influenced by the realization that it was being circumvented and that, far from Lisbon benefiting from the support of other member states, the EU was clearly perceived as being split. As already noted, ASEM was partly designed as a way of strengthening political engagement with Indonesia without forcing Portugal to have to back down on the question of a new EU-ASEAN agreement. In the wake of Suharto's resignation in 1998, President Habibie moved promptly to remove press restrictions, allow additional political parties to operate, and set a timetable for fully democratic elections. The transition to formal democracy could be seen as vindicating the international community's engagement with Indonesia over the previous decade. The transition corresponded to a classic 'growth followed by crisis' scenario. The immediate trigger of the change in regime was the turmoil unleashed by the financial crisis. Indonesia's GDP declined by a fifth and the rupiah lost 80 per cent of its value, the country's crisis matched in scale during the 1990s only by Russia's economic collapse. In the context of this crisis, the key was the middle classes' switch to support students' push for democratization. The middle classes were precisely the group that benefited from the strong growth recorded under Suharto and their pressure for democratic rights appeared to indicate that the

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economic liberalization assisted by the international community since the 1980s had indeed spilled over into political change. Even prior to the turmoil of 1998, the middle classes had become unhappy with Suharto's reluctance to allow a degree of genuinely autonomous political space, with the ousting of Megawati Sukarnoputri from the leadership of the PDI opposition inciting particular discontent. The political nature of the regime meant that Suharto's legitimacy had come to depend entirely on the strong performance of the economy, the unsustainability of which was guaranteed to usher in change.88 The concerns of foreign investors could be held to have contributed to this dynamic, to the extent that FBI had reached an apparent ceiling: while multinationals may have benefited from Suharto's economic liberalization, they had been dissuaded from further expansion of operations in Indonesia by the nepotism that often saw contracts, tariff preferences, and soft loans being granted arbitrarily to the Suharto 'clan'.89 It might alternatively be argued that prior to 1998 there was little evidence of any incremental momentum in favour of democratization having been established. The political system remained tightly closed, and even on the eve of Suharto's resignation experts that subsequently sought to rationalize the transition were arguing that the regime appeared to be as firmly ensconced as ever. From this perspective, the middle classes could be seen as having been caught up in the chaotic shift in alliances in mid-1998, rather than their position having followed in any causal sense from the effects of economic reform and development. Right up to the eve of the crisis, most of the middle class remained hostile to any political reform, with the ethnic Chinese business community particularly fearful of their potential fate under majority rule.90 In order to manage the massive inflows of foreign investment, Suharto had created a parallel system of regulations, streamlining a number of judicial and administrative reforms pertinent specifically to multinationals without reforming broader political and governance structures and effectively blocking spill-over from economic to political liberalization.91 While many European companies argued that they sought greater transparency and certainty, some were plugged into and highly dependent upon personalistic links to Suharto's family clan. By 1998, 44 western companies had big investment projects directly depending on cronyism, many of which played a key role in financing the big infrastructure projects run by Suharto's family and strongly criticized within Indonesia.92 Many were even suspected of paying for the army's services to quell labour unrest.93 Engagement had, from this perspective, not contributed in any meaningful sense

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as Indonesia's transition followed from a set of unique conjunctural conditions, not a smooth spill-over from economic liberalization and growth. Unpredictable domestic developments—Suharto's personal reasoning and failing health, internal rivalries and shifting alliances—were seen by many as crucial. Indeed, it was the very conjunctural nature of these shifts that helped account for the limited nature of the transition, with regime insiders hastily patching together solutions capable of assuaging the crisis, rather than opposition groups or the business community playing a lead role urging systemic change.94 From this perspective, change came about despite, and not because of, the West's engagement with Indonesia during the 1990s. While such conjecture is inevitably inconclusive, it was undoubtedly the case that the EU's role at the actual moment of transition was highly equivocal. After forcing upon Indonesia the rise in fuel prices that was the immediate trigger for the riots in Jakarta, Western countries immediately seemed unnerved by the tumult they had helped unleash. European governments successfully pushed for the IMF to reverse the price rises and offered assistance in introducing social measures that might be capable of quelling the unrest. There was no attempt to link financial assistance to the nature of the March 1998 elections, which, with the regime already rocking, were customarily unfree in confirming Suharto's leadership. Concerned that some of the president's cabinet, including Habibie, were more overtly hostile to swallowing the IMF's medicine than Suharto, some in the EU even saw the latter's presence as necessary in the immediate short term to implement structural reform—although the EU was less concerned than the USA with the possible strategic implications of Suharto's fall. Events were too fast and uncertain for international actors to attempt to manage with ideal political objectives in mind. Within CFSP there was no rationalized attempt to harness events expressly so as to increase the possibility of the crisis leading to Suharto's departure.95 It was certainly the case that the EU was eager to avoid precisely the kind of abrupt regime collapse that did occur. The precipitate nature of the change, with old procedures collapsing before new structures to regulate and protect investments were put in place, was certainly bad for European investors. A number of established foreign companies involved in projects closely associated with the Suharto clan had their contracts frozen, without new EU investors feeling able to enter the market. If the West claimed some of the credit for Indonesia's transition to democracy, it must also bear some of the responsibility for the fact that the latter took place only in the

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aftermath of complete economic collapse and over a thousand civilian deaths. With Suharto departed, EU governments were surprised at the speed with which Habibie moved to install democratic procedures. A degree of pressure was exerted for a firm timetable towards fully democratic elections to be established. Recognizing the transition to have been less than comprehensive and the country to be in danger of promptly regressing to authoritarianism, European governments sought to embed a broad expectation that future relations between Indonesia and the EU could only be based on co-operation over democratic development. Once the date for elections was set for October 1999, dispelling early concerns that Habibie would attempt to prolong his own tenure, the EU expressed a firm desire to back the new president. With the exception of Portugal, the EU attitude towards Habibie was generally warmer than that of the USA, the latter remaining concerned by Habibie's ambivalence towards economic reform. However, policy towards Indonesia's democratic transition soon became intertwined with attempts to resolve the East Timor conflict. In May 1999, agreement was reached at the UN between Portugal and Indonesia on the holding of a referendum in Timor that would include the option of independence. Of course, the international community's efforts to manage the conflict that ensued as a result of the vote in favour of independence became the priority foreign-policy issue in the autumn of 1999. It is pertinent to consider how the conflict conditioned European policy towards Indonesia's democratic transition. On the one hand, fourteen EU states argued that policy towards Timor should not at this stage be so coercive so as to undermine Habibie's position and strengthen the position of hard-line military officials uneasy with the move to democracy. Indeed, for most European governments, the eruption of violence after the Timorese referendum served to reinforce the view that the principal problem in Indonesia was the lack of civilian control over an army that was reluctant to cede its 'dual role'. It was the continuance of this role that enabled the army to secure a guarantee that they would be responsible for post-referendum security in Timor, which, of course, in turn contributed to the violence in the territory after the vote. Hence there was no consensus, or even majority, in favour of sanctions and aid cuts in the midst of this violence, the EU arguing that these would do nothing to target the military. Not even a visa ban on military officials could be agreed. European states also supported a more flexible line within the IMF, in order to loosen the economic constraints on Habibie. A number of states launched new

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bilateral aid programmes to Indonesia, the Dutch, for example, resuming their bilateral aid soon after Habibie took control. The UK offered more generous credit facilities for exports to Indonesia and increased export credit guarantee cover for arms sales to the country after the financial crisis. Judging Habibie to be beset by genuine problems in controlling the errant military, European governments were reluctant to exert any significant pressure in relation to the still considerable limits to Indonesia's democratic transition. European governments, following the USA, actually supported Habibie's declaration of martial law in Timor after the referendum. On the other hand, Portugal insisted that policy towards Timor take precedence over calculations related to internal Indonesian politics. To the frustration of other states, Portugal ensured that no new substantive common EU policy initiatives aimed at assisting Indonesia's democratic transition, beyond an election monitoring contribution, were forthcoming in the immediate wake of Suharto's departure. Indeed, Lisbon even blocked EU electoral assistance until the commitment to the Timorese referendum was secured. As the situation deteriorated in Timor, other EU states did come to agree on the need for a more forceful policy. The EU agreed an arms embargo in September 1999,96 along with a suspension of bilateral military co-operation, and, as the violence intensified, did hold back the new IMF loan that had been agreed. These measures followed sometime after similar moves by the USA, with Washington also beginning to consider comprehensive commercial sanctions earlier than the EU. Other EU member states did eventually heed Portugal's pressure for sanctions to be threatened if Habibie continue to refuse an international force. When the UN force did arrive in Timor, the EU was its biggest contributor. Not only had the need to stop the violence in Timor self-evidently become the main priority, but, to the extent that it might begin to spread, this instability had itself become to be seen as potentially deleterious to the broader democratization process. As the violence in Timor subsided, attention switched back to events in Jakarta. The first free election in forty years in October 1999 led to moderate Muslim cleric Abdurrahman Wahid taking power. The new president undertook early moves to remove the army's designated seats in parliament within six years and appointed a civilian as defence minister. With considerable speed compared with its actions in other regions, the EU agreed a comprehensive new strategy towards Indonesia in the autumn of 1999. In light of the resolution of the Timorese issue and the process of

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democratization, Indonesia assumed priority status for CFSP. The new strategy, drawn up by the Commission at the request of foreign ministers, consisted of: regular ministerial-level dialogue, specifically to address the challenges of democratic transition; new aid programmes, focusing in particular on assistance for democratic institutions, good governance, and the rule of law; and an extension of new GSP provisions to Indonesia in a number of sectors hitherto not benefiting from preferential access to the European market. The latter measure constituted a reversal of Indonesia's scheduled graduation out of the EU's GSP, and was explicitly undertaken as a link between commercial policy and the democracy promotion agenda. This connection was further enhanced when trade commissioner Pascal Lamy visited Jakarta in July 2000 with an offer of additional textile quotas and a trade facilitation package. In a rare move, designed to reinforce the visibility of European support for Indonesia's democratic transition, the new political dialogue was formalized as a separate initiative in June 2000. The Commission even argued that, if relations with ASEAN continued to be frustrated by the Burma issue, the possibility of concluding a bilateral agreement with Indonesia's new democratic government should not be ruled out—ironic, of course, given that it had been the East Timor issue that had held back relations with ASEAN for so long.97 Significantly, while still insisting on the EU continuing to press Jakarta fully to meet its commitments with regard to East Timor, Portugal had by now become the strongest proponent of an enhanced policy to assist Indonesia's transition, Lisbon in some way seeking to redress its holding back of European relations with the country for so many years. However, the fact that no comprehensive new trade package or debt relief offer actually emerged demonstrated the limits to the EU's new policy. Here familiar Southern European sectoral concerns outweighed the political imperative of maximizing assistance to the new Indonesian government. Perhaps the most notable element of the EU's new strategy was its political aid work. Indonesia quickly became one of the principal recipients of democracy assistance funds after 1999. European policy-makers professed surprise at the extent of the change in Indonesian attitudes towards such assistance. From being one of the countries most adamantly opposed to granting space for any remotely political projects, Indonesia became one of those most eagerly soliciting such co-operation from the EU. The Commission led the way in this area, quickly forwarding 7m euro of electoral aid and establishing a package of good governance projects. The first and largest of these offered assistance for the strengthening of the

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Office of the Attorney General. Other projects were relatively technical, targeting the administrative management of particular sectors, such as water and forestry. By 2000 a broader range of work was under way, including a project under the Commission's good governance programme on 'legislature-empowerment' in relation to specific issues.98 A number of member states also initiated more politicized work in their bilateral programmes. The UK, for instance, launched projects with the parliament, trade unions, public administration, and, through the Westminster Foundation, one of its first significant initiatives on strengthening political parties. The Netherlands played the most prominent role on judicial reform, Indonesia's legal code still being based on that of the Dutch. A particularly significant EU priority was to help strengthen and train the police force, including in relation to human rights issues, so that it would be capable of taking over the army's role in internal security issues. In sum, the EU's response to Indonesia's incipient democratization contained significant new initiatives—with the EU keen to correct the perceived tardiness of its responses to political change elsewhere earlier in the decade—while also exhibiting limitations. There was no big co-ordinated overall aid package, a rapid decision to negotiate a bilateral trade agreement was ultimately not forthcoming from the EU side, and Jakarta for its part still restricted the scope of new European democracy assistance work. While elements of the EU's reaction did indicate more 'joined-up' policy-making, CFSP diplomats remained concerned with the difficulty of keeping track of potentially controversial European aid projects on the ground in Indonesia." Diplomatically, the EU offered almost unconditional support for Wahid. Significantly, European governments claimed to feel less hampered than the USA in this by the nature of previous relations with Suharto. The degree of this support played an important role in the president's battle with the army, Wahid driven by the need to protect the new democracy's international reputation in the wake of the publication of a report blaming the army for crimes committed in East Timor. It was this that encouraged the president to press so insistently, and eventually with success, for the removal of hardline army commander General Wiranto. It was no coincidence that in the midst of his struggle with Wiranto, Wahid was touring Europe, eliciting very public and high-profile support from EU leaders—although it was the USA that issued the toughest warnings to the military that any action against the democratically government would result in the country being ostracized. Resisting calls from the European Parliament, EU governments did not push Wahid to

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set up an International Tribunal to investigate official wrongdoings during the Timorese conflict, feeling this would simply complicate the president's dealings with the army. European governments insisted that this element of their policy was influential, with international support helping Wahid feel able to move against the armed forces in the autumn of 2000, removing hard-line army and defence chiefs. The early resumption of European arms sales was also justified as a part of this strategy of support for Wahid. Even Wahid himself, seeking to use international pressure as a weapon in his conflicts with those still frustrating reform in Indonesia, reputedly felt it necessary to push European governments into expressing some degree of greater concern over the direction of events in the country. For many observers, it was Wahid's own erratic style of leadership itself that began to engender concern. The president's highly personalistic methods often bypassed the very nascent democratic institutions he insisted must be strengthened. This was one of the main reasons why European investors were reluctant to return to the Indonesian market after the financial crisis. While the need to attract back foreign investment was the principal consideration of those that did attempt to push through political reforms—most notoriously, the Indonesian finance minister himself suggested it was risky for foreign companies to invest until law enforcement mechanisms were fundamentally overhauled—EU governments expressly refrained from exerting any significant critical pressure on these continued shortcomings of democratic procedure. While European businesses were disappointed that their governments were not adopting a tougher line on reducing corruption and strengthening democratic institutions in Indonesia, EU policymakers berated the private sector for not taking the lead role in pushing for good governance improvements. Most significantly, this focus on bolstering the position of Wahid and his team of reformers conditioned the European stance towards regional conflict within Indonesia. A key issue for the post-transition embedding of democracy, and for the international community in its attitude towards the Indonesian government, was the way in which the emergent democratic institutions managed and impacted upon the minorities question in Indonesia.100 Independence uprisings in Aceh and Irian Jaya met with a fierce army crackdown. The police were implicated in supporting Muslims in their increasingly violent conflict against the Christian minority in the Moluccas. At the very least, Wahid was guilty of tolerating these abuses.101 The EU, wary of territorial division after the Balkans experience, fully supported

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Wahid's line of granting Aceh and Irian Jaya greater autonomy but not independence. Unlike the USA, European governments did not explicitly raise the possibility of punitive measures as a means of pushing the Indonesian government to rein in the military's increasingly brutal repression in the provinces. Again, the EU sought to gain leverage through a co-operative approach, offering additional human rights training to the military, and concentrating much of its new good governance capacity-building work in Irian Jaya. Also unlike the USA, the EU did not push for an international peacekeeping force to be given access to the Moluccas. Only in July 2000 did the EU demarche the Indonesian government criticizing the latter's handling of the conflict. The EP and Amnesty International condemned EU governments for lifting the arms ban against the background of the military crackdown in Aceh.102 When in July 2000, the government sought to defuse international pressure for a peace-keeping force by asking for humanitarian assistance as an alternative, the EU was notably less sceptical of this new line than was Washington. While in agreement that enhanced regional autonomy provided the most appropriate means of seeking to temper the various conflicts, the EU was less coercive than the USA in pressing Wahid to extend the scope of devolution. The sceptical angle on this policy might suggest that the EU's relative timidity on these questions betrayed a more acute concern with stifling instability than with keeping the pressure on Wahid further to extend democratic procedures. Or that it at least revealed a belief that restoring stability was in some senses a prerequisite to the further advance of the democratization process at the national level, rather than a challenge in relation to which that process must most crucially be manifest. It was suspected by some that Wahid had duped the West into supporting him against the provinces, while his commitment to co-operating over a far-reaching process of democratization in fact remained in doubt.103 This seemed consistent with commercial concerns, as European FBI began falling away in 2000 because of the succession conflicts, particularly in resourcerich Aceh and Irian Jaya. There were concerns over the impact of the regional autonomy package agreed, with regional politicians and parties seen to be strongly paternalistic, less wedded to the rule of law and in some cases openly hostile to foreign investment. Investors feared that the dispersal of responsibilities over double taxation and public procurement would actually multiply opportunities for corruption and bribery, and doubted that several provinces possessed any significant institutional capacity, for example in the judicial sphere. However, while there was some concern

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over increased political space in the short term actually facilitating ethnic conflict, European policy-makers insisted that over the longer term full democratization offered the best prospect for suppressing the growing violence in a sustainable fashion. The response to internal conflict was, they argued, an important test for Indonesia's new democratic institutions. Army intervention was necessary, with the aim of maintaining Indonesia's territorial unity, but, in a significant change from past thinking, it was felt that unrestrained army action was as great a threat to stability as that of the separatists. Rumours of possible army action against Wahid, and even of the army stoking regional rebels in order more credibly to reassert its own position, were judged further to justify the policy of supporting the president. It was seen as imperative for the EU not to cut across the reforms being undertaken by Wahid, the latter being portrayed as the person with the broadest legitimacy among different sections of the Indonesian population and the most likely to move the country towards consolidated democracy.104 Caution prevailed: the Commission, for example, began in 2001 to elaborate new capacity-strengthening initiatives in the affected regions, but expressly did not seek to bypass the central government by directly funding local authorities.105 Even if the EU sought genuinely to pursue democracy-building and conflict resolution as mutually enhancing agendas, a question mark remained over whether European policy was unduly leader-focused in the way this approach was taken forward—a doubt rendered particularly acute when the parliament forced Wahid from office in July 2001.

The EU and the Asian Financial Crisis Events in Indonesia were themselves caught up in the broader regional financial crisis that struck the Asian economies during 1997 and 1998. This crisis constituted the most serious perturbation to the international economic system of the latter half of the decade. Politically, the crisis could be seen as one of the most acute and dramatic tests of whether globalization—and the way in which the West sought to manage this process—could be expected to favour the development of good governance and high-quality democracy. In particular initially, there was an instinctive tendency to view the crisis as deriving from intrinsic failures of the Asian model, a collapse of the asset price bubble having followed from an accumulation of non-commercially based lending decisions. Especially within Asia, the crisis was presented as primarily the

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result of the pernicious effects of globalization. In response to these apparently diametrically opposed and mutually exclusive explanations—both equally structurally deterministic—a consensus gradually emerged among analysts that the crisis could more accurately be seen as the result of complex interactions between internal and external factors, reflecting the policies and interests pursued by both domestic and international actors. If the states hit hardest by the crisis appeared to be those that had, in fact, liberalized most and moved furthest away from the 'transformative state' model, this demonstrated that the crucial factor had been the combination of economic liberalization and insufficient re-regulation, within a context of corrupt governance. The crisis contained no irrepressible dynamic either in favour of or against the further development of political and economic liberalization. There was little correlation between a state's degree of democracy and its resilience to the crisis: both South Korea and Indonesia were hit hard, both Taiwan and Singapore were less affected. Rather, its outcome would depend on the way in which processes of change were managed by political elites. In this sense, it was necessary to examine the policies adopted and role played by international actors. With respect to international responses to the crisis, analysis focused almost exclusively on the role of the USA. The USA was seen as able to dominate debate within the IMF, steering this organization into a hard-line position, with harsh conditionality applied to the offer of loans. The role played by the USA was widely criticized, of course, for having aggravated the crisis. Obliging painful structural reform was seen as an inappropriate remedy in a moment of such profound economic collapse, whose underlying cause, anyway, had been private not public profligacy. The USA scuppered a Japanese proposal for a new regional credit-providing body within Asia precisely because Tokyo, as principal creditor within this organization, would, it was perceived, dilute economic and good governance conditionality. The US approach was seen, in part, to reflect a perception that Asia's strategic value to Washington had declined. Most analysts saw the US response less as a benign attempt to push through good governance reforms and reduce the cronyism of self-serving elites than as an opportunistic power-oriented drive to impose Western-style capitalism over the perfectly proper elements of Asian' capitalism in order to improve market access for Western companies.106 Many of the conditions imposed could not convincingly be justified as contributing directly to good governance or the deepening of democracy, but were rather designed simply to force open markets for Western firms. The USA

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insisted, for example, on provisions for majority foreign ownership and expanded scope for hostile takeovers. Many regional experts suggested that the denigratory term 'crony capitalism' had been employed by the USA to delegitimize some of the links between the state and private sector that in reality played a positive, mediating role in channelling funds to productive uses and enhancing 'transformative capacity': while such links might not favour Western commercial penetration, they were integral to the high debt, rather than equity, model, based on the high rates of saving in Asia.107 Analysts were overwhelmingly of the view that such heavyhandedness would soon rebound against the West. A number of good governance reforms were implemented directly as a result of external pressure and in three states—Thailand, Korea, and the Philippines—new governments had taken office more strongly committed to improving the quality of democracy. In several cases reformists themselves had welcomed IMF pressure as an ally against internal hard-liners. However, the longer term prognosis was seen as more disconcerting. The price for having secured governance reforms of modest value to Western companies was an even stronger resentment within East Asia at the dominance of the West and, by association, Western values. Such anti-Western nationalism would, it was held, make more probable a deepening of authoritarianism and a rejection of Western-style democracy. Efforts to tighten Asian regionalism and reduce the region's security dependence on the USA were seen as early manifestations of such a reaction. It was seen as particularly probable that those states at an early stage of reform and still relatively insulated from global markets—China, Vietnam, Burma—would be strongly discouraged by the West's response to the crisis from pursuing further liberalization in either the economic or political spheres.108 Significantly, the 'Western' response to the crisis was invariably seen as being virtually coterminous with US positions. The EU was held, either implicitly or explicitly, to have meekly and passively followed Washington's lead. The scale of the European contribution to mitigating the effects of the crisis was widely seen as negligible. The EU was also criticized by both the USA and Asian states for reacting slowly to the crisis. It was even suggested that European states warmly supported the USA's tough line against Asian states as a means of rebuilding transatlantic solidarity to Asia's cost.109 This lack of leadership was, significantly, despite European banks being more exposed than their US counterparts, EU banks having lent $155bn to the region since 1992 compared with the $55bn lent by US banks.110 Many in the region felt that some EU states had

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deliberately maintained a low profile, letting the USA assume responsibility for resolving the crisis while they benefited from consequently less fractious relations with Asian governments.111 European governments insisted that such criticism was unwarranted, in particular the reduction of EU policies to the US line. EU member states expressly supported a contribution to Asia's recovery that was more positive and less harsh. In terms of overall quantity, while it may have been slow off the mark, the EU eventually emerged as the second largest contributor to the various rescue packages, behind Japan but well in excess of the USA.112 The enhanced commitment to assisting good governance reforms was manifest in a doubling of the share of this category of aid within overall Commission development assistance to the region after 1997.113 The EU pointedly set up its own Trust Fund within the World Bank which was oriented specifically towards social projects and was modelled on the Know How Funds operating in Central and Eastern Europe. In order to emphasize the more socially oriented nature of these projects, the Fund was run as a separate ASEM initiative rather than being merged into other Bank funding. While the $45m available from this Fund may have seemed rather modest given the scale of the crisis, it was defended as a distinctive package of assistance, within which priorities had been drawn up explicitly with the support of and input from Asian states.114 Reflecting the value placed on such an approach, Asian states pressed hard at the third ASEM meeting for the Fund to be extended. The EU also sent an envoy to the region and assembled a team of financial experts to advise on reform commitments. The EU made a 'Trade Pledge' that Europe would not erect barriers to Asian imports to protect domestic industry from the effects of the devaluations of Asian currencies. While Asian exports to the US market declined, this pledge helped boost Asia's trade surplus with the EU: during 1998 European exports to ASEAN fell by 7.6 bn ecu, while imports from ASEAN rose by 3.6 bn ecu.115 Most member states, in particular France, were supportive of the Japanese proposal for an Asian Monetary Fund with real autonomy. In their bilateral lending EU states made a point of imposing significantly softer conditionality than that which they were obliged by US pressure to adopt within the IMF. Most also supported, in alliance with Asian governments, the notion of the Western private sector not being completely bailed out for its lending decisions. If the IMF did subsequently re-examine its own policies, this had much to do with strong French, German, and Dutch pressure within the organization. The only member state that expressly aligned

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itself more closely with the US position was Britain, this accounting for London's resistance to France's pressure for a more binding commitment to EU unity within the IMF. In its discourse, the EU was expressly less triumphalist than the USA and recognized that a comprehensive solution required not simply more deregulation but better re-regulation.116 There was a clearer and more deliberate distinction between good governance and 'Western' structures: unlike the USA, European governments claimed to be keen on limiting their attention to minimum good governance standards rather than pressing for a fundamental revamp of the Asian model. The schadenfreudee attributed to the West was much more notable amongst those working in connection with the lending policies of the international financial institutions than those responsible for political relations with East Asia. The latter were much keener on tempering the potential dangers of the crisis for the West than on attempting to use it as a means of improving commercial opportunities. Indonesia provided an example of how the EU sought to balance conditionality with co-operation. While the crisis clearly helped provoke Indonesia's transition, arguably the West's handling of the crisis also made moving beyond the immediate transition more difficult. It was suggested that, in the aftermath of the crisis, Indonesia was forced to implement more economic liberalization without adequate capacity for regulation having been put in place and that this enabled 'cronies' from the Suharto regime to recapture dominant positions through new privatized monopolies. EU policymakers themselves recognized that the political impact of the international community's economic conditionality was ambivalent and required fine judgements to be made. Harsh conditionality risked making the social context of transition explosive, insufficient pressure risked bestowing approval on a system whose underlying power relations had not undergone the same fundamental overhaul as Indonesia's formal political system. Much attention in early 2000 was on the $400 million IMF loan due to Indonesia. This was held back due to the Bank Bali corruption scandal, and not released until May, together with a tranche of debt rescheduling, after the government had committed itself to speeding up economic reforms and a number of good governance measures. President Wahid argued that such tough preconditions were weakening his position and restricting his manceuvrability over hard-liners. EU governments struck a balance, modifying their original positions to heed Wahid's pleas, while continuing to seek to maintain pressure for additional reforms.

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Even if the EU's claim to a distinctive approach appeared to have some credence, the extent to which this was pursued as a carefully deliberated attempt to contribute towards political reforms in East Asia was open to question. The aim was simply to prevent economic meltdown, which was perceived as a real possibility and which, it was felt, might spread its tentacles to Europe. In the midst of the fast-moving crisis this displaced any thought of trying to finesse the structures of good governance or democracy in East Asia. The conviction of analysts that policy was guided by a deliberate attempt to undermine the model of Asian capitalism was felt by policy-makers to bear no resemblance to reality and ignored the extent to which the EU response was, in practice, governed by sheer panic and uncertainty. The prospect of complete collapse and a spreading of the crisis meant that most pressure was exerted on narrow issues relating to restoring liquidity to the financial sector and modifying corporate governance rather than on a broader good governance agenda. In the midst of the unfolding crisis, the foreign-policy angle to the West's reaction was, in practice, relatively limited: the notion of harnessing the crisis to improve democratic quality was simply not reasoned through in policy-making deliberations. Finance ministers assumed control, with ECOFIN focusing narrowly on the nature of micro-economic reforms, marginalizing the strategic rationale to the European response.117 Significantly, while it was commonly asserted that the West's aggressive undermining of the Asian model reflected no more than a self-interested commercial agenda, European businesses themselves claimed strongly to favour the slightly softer approach advocated within much EU rhetoric. For European investors, assistance aimed at a prompt recovery of Asia's economic dynamism was seen as preferable to pressing for far-reaching good governance reforms. While policy-makers ritually argued for a higher European profile, investors were content to observe that EU companies were not targeted for discriminatory treatment in the aftermath of the crisis in the same way that US firms were, precisely because the most prominent political response had come from Washington. Far from their exerting strong pressure on policy-makers, there was much uncertainty on the part of European companies. As a number of states did start to implement some transparency reforms, many European companies reported problems in not knowing how the new reformed systems were to work or what sort of measures were now necessary and legitimate to win contracts. Whereas prior to the crisis there was at least the certainty that a particular cost would be imposed and the rules, however irregular, were relatively fixed,

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such calculations became more difficult as the region's governments began to adopt varying and unpredictable degrees of reform.118 All this suggested some qualification to the view that in Asia the European private sector was the main driving force behind the governance agenda: even those governments keenest to distinguish themselves from Washington appeared to view pressing for improvements in the openness of governance structures as a more urgent priority than some businesses. While sceptics might insist that its differences from the USA amounted to relatively little, European policy did at least claim to be aimed at avoiding a backlash, even if, as said, this derived more from concerns over the immediate economic situation than from the prominence of democracy promotion calculations in EU policy choices. Time will tell if it helped succeed in this. As of 2001, the signs were still mixed. Some in the EU acknowledged that it was important not to be to seen as too 'soft' as in preparations for the third ASEM meeting several Asian states backtracked on reform commitments given to the EU. The EU's efforts to retain a more cooperative and less castigatory tone than the USA did not uniformly succeed in securing better access to push along reform processes. There were some signs that Vietnam's economic reform programme had slowed due to the crisis, despite the fact that this meant that the EU was unable to distribute much of its aid allocated specifically for these reforms.119 On the other hand, it was seen as important that for the first time a real gap was opening between, for instance, Thailand and Malaysia, the former increasingly willing to side with European governments against the latter's reaction to the crisis.

Conclusions The EU made notable but hesitant steps during the 1990s towards establishing a political presence in East Asia concomitant with its commercial interests. The democracy promotion strategies pursued by the EU were more tentative than in nearly all other developing regions. East Asia was the area where European democracy assistance funds were most conspicuously limited and the EU's democracy-related rhetoric most measured. If socialization dynamics were judged to be central to disseminating democratic values, it was significant that the societal engagement successfully promoted by member states was not as 'thick' in East Asia as in the Mediterranean, Lome, or East European states, with the facilitation

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of NGO involvement in particular being comparatively cautious. In broad geo-strategic terms few believed that the EU began in any significant way to demonstrate a potential for counter-balancing US dominance. This was despite an opportunity for greater influence having opened up as Asia looked to the EU to reduce its dependence on the USA, while the USA was itself keen to cede a stronger role to the EU as it sought to reduce its security burden in the region.120 On issues relating to democracy and human rights, however, the relationship between European and US policy was curiously mixed. On the one hand, Asian states perceived the EU to be diplomatically less heavy-handed, more tolerant of cultural differences, and bereft of the kind of missionary zeal seen as characteristic of US determination to export American values and institutional patterns. The EU's focus on linking social development work with institutional capacity-building, in a way that was invariably not presented overtly as being part of a political agenda, was particularly welcomed by East Asian countries. On the other hand, the EU was seen as more intent on demonstrating that a tough dialogue on democracy and human rights was being pursued, and actually less ready than the USA to moderate such an approach to geo-strategic imperatives. The significance of the EU's insistence on developing an institutionalized discourse on democracy remained unclear. After some initial concerns, the US administration reacted in relaxed fashion to ASEM in part precisely because it judged its democracy and human rights elements to be relatively insubstantial—and that they could not therefore be used by liberal congressmen and NGOs in the USA to pressure the administration for a more principled Asian policy.121 Future developments will tell whether or not the EU's approach did in fact establish the foundations for a more sustained purchase over the direction of political reform in the region. Whatever the shortcomings of its policy towards Suharto, the EU played a useful role in embedding a democratic discourse in Indonesia after 1999, when the New Order might easily have reasserted itself. The EU's focus on basic human rights and the broad socioeconomic trends underpinning the prospects for political change was in part a positively adhered to philosophy, in part a recognition of the need incrementally to build up political engagement from a relatively low base in East Asia. It was additionally in part the result of internal compromises between member states. The strategy was further encouraged by an ambivalent and, notwithstanding claims to the contrary, in practice a disparate and piecemeal rationalization of the relationship between democracy promotion policy

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and European interests. It would be difficult to deny that a softer diplomatic approach to democracy and human rights was seen by some in the EU as beneficial in gaining market shares from the USA.122 It was also undoubtedly the case that the democracy agenda often appeared to have been subjugated to the need to develop EU-Asian alliances as protection against China's growing assertiveness: the EU frequently asserted that its strategic interests required stronger intra-Asian unity, while it was precisely such unity that was a major complicating factor to the EU's democracy promotion policies relating to individual states in the region. However, there was much evidence of an apparently genuine rethinking of commercial and strategic imperatives that rendered these standard claims incomplete explanations of European policy. The tying in of democracy promotion policy to calculations of economic and security interests became a particularly pertinent consideration in light of the region's two most notable events of the latter part of the 1990s, namely Indonesia's transition and the Asian financial crisis. In response to these the EU explicitly sought to develop further its distinctive approach to good governance and political reform, and to effect a more co-ordinated linkage between commercial and democracy promotion policy. While there was evidence to suggest improvement was made, in the view of many outsiders the EU's reaction to these two events did not significantly mitigate its meek subordination to US leadership or its uncertain articulation of the relationships between different policy domains.

6

The EU and China China's political evolution in the 1990s was of unparalleled significance for international trends towards democratization and for the analysis of factors limiting the reach of these trends. The nature and extent of reforms undertaken in China during the 1990s was debated at length and differing views emerged among analysts. By the 1990s, a decade after the initiation of China's 'open door' policy of partial economic liberalization, many analysts saw grounds for sensing incipient political change. A more rules-based economy had taken root and legal reforms, combined with more assertively independent judges, had enabled the rule of law to strengthen. A more active middle class had come to press for a more stable institutional structure to protect their new economic and property rights. The National People's Congress had become a slightly more assertive legislative body, with deputies willing on occasions to question the Communist Party (CCP). A groundswell of support for greater constitutionalism, if not Western-style democracy, was detected. Village-level democracy had become more meaningful, through at least semi-competitive local elections: as an increasing number of non-CCP candidates were elected to village councils and the party's grass-roots organization weakened, the concept of political accountability was held to have emerged at the local level. By 2001, references to pluralism had entered into the CCP's discourse. Sceptics argued that such trends were of extremely limited import. Informal networks of clientelism, or guanxi, remained prevalent, undermining any significant transparency in policy-making. From this more critical perspective, China was seen at most to be moving from totalitarianism to 'authoritarian pluralism', with more accountable and institutionalized decision-making but few of the defining features of democracy.1 It was suggested that, even to the extent that space for autonomous social organization had opened up, the complexity and fragmentation of Chinese civil society militated against a smooth transition to democracy. Much analysis explored the possibility of China beginning to fracture along ethnic and regional lines.

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Within the EU's East Asia policy, including its general approach towards the Asian values' question, China occupied a position of unique importance. It provided the incipient CFSP with one of its most intricate and crucial challenges. The complexity and acuteness of this challenge flowed from the fact that China was, or at least was perceived to be, so important in so many different ways. It was routinely pointed to as by far the most important emerging market, widely judged to be the most ominously rising strategic power within the post-cold war international system, and was a pivotal state within debates over accumulating human rights norms. Finding the most appropriate way of managing these issues confronted the EU with arguably its most pressing external imperative beyond its immediate periphery, and as such constituted a particular test of Europe's ability and capacity to develop a truly global presence. By virtue of the range of challenges it presented, 'managing' China would also test the EU's effectiveness in assessing and co-ordinating complex and contested relationships between different policy domains—between a state's economic characteristics, its attitude towards international security norms, and its internal political structure.

Tiananmen Square and its Aftermath: Towards Positive Engagement As China established its programme of economic reform, the EC sought a more formal engagement with the country. As well as being deemed important in order to benefit from China's new commercial potential, such an engagement was argued to be legitimate on the grounds that China's economic reforms could be expected to presage change in the political domain. Formal relations were established in 1975 and a trade agreement signed 1978, which in 1985 was extended to a broader trade and cooperation agreement. While China was offered only MFN access, it was also included in the Community's GSP provisions from 1980, this contrasting with Beijing's exclusion from the GSP of the USA. The 1985 agreement made no mention of human rights or democracy. After the rapprochement of the 1980s, relations then deteriorated as a result of the army's brutal repression of student demonstrations in Tiananmen Square in 1989. In the aftermath of the massacre the modest political space that had emerged in China closed again. Key reformers such as Zhao Ziyang were removed, levels of repression increased, and the CCP reasserted control. The EC responded by

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imposing a range of punitive measures, including an arms embargo, a reduction in economic co-operation, a cessation of military cooperation, and a suspension of new aid programmes. However, if the Tiananmen massacre served to throw doubt on the optimistic presumption that economic change would engender incremental democratization, the imposition of sanctions provided a salutary lesson in the limits to European power. The sanctions encouraged China to turn towards its ASEAN neighbours, provoking considerable strategic preoccupation in Europe.2 China made a small number of minor changes to its human rights legislation and these were gratefully received by the EC as justification for restoring normal relations. With the exception of arms sales, co-operation and trade relations had been restored by 1991. Negotiations for China's GATT accession, which had been broken off in 1989, were restarted in 1991. The value of Chinese imports accorded GSP preferences increased from 2.9bn ecu in 1989 to 14.1bn ecu in 1994.3 Community aid to China increased significantly in the first half of the decade, albeit by a lesser proportionate amount than development assistance to most other Asian states and in per capita terms remaining low. The only explicit form of political pressure that survived the immediate reaction to the Tiananmen Square events was the EU's practice of tabling a resolution criticizing China's human rights record in the annual meeting of the United Nations Commission on Human Rights (UNCHR). Pressure at this stage was exercised principally by the UK in relation to the post-transition provisions for Hong Kong. Other EU states maintained a low profile on this issue: while the Commission and some European governments did make a point of warning China that it could not expect to isolate the UK, London expressed concern that its concerns were supported fully only by Washington. This policy mix was maintained until the middle of the decade. European governments could claim to their domestic constituencies that pressure was being exerted on China through the annual resolution at the United Nations and by virtue of the relatively limited trade and aid provisions offered to Beijing, the 1985 agreement not being updated during the 1990s. However, the balance of policy was reassessed in the mid-1990s and the EU moved to adopt a policy of more unconditional positive engagement. In 1995 the Commission proposed a new strategy, openly advocating the prioritization of commercial relations. The stress was to be very much on encouraging business-to-business links. The Commission's ideas for a new 'comprehensive partnership' with China, drawn up at the request of

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member states, were later approved by foreign ministers. The new partnership established an upgraded political dialogue, which for the first time would take place on a regular basis between heads of government/state. The first such EU-China summit was held in April 1998. A number of policy developments followed in the wake of the inauguration of the new partnership. While some tension over trade issues remained, the EU's general positions on commercial policy became significantly more favourable to Beijing. China was by some margin the biggest target of EU anti-dumping duties, accounting for nearly a quarter of all such duties prior to 1998, and was offered less generous increases in textile quotas than other developing countries.4 Overall, however, trade disputes were very much less conflictive than those between China and the USA.5 The EU removed China from its list of non-market economies, restricting the conditions under which anti-dumping duties could be imposed. China's trade surplus with the EU increased fourfold between 1990 and 1997, in part as the result of the easing of a number of trade restrictions. China took an increasing share of the total benefits of the EU's GSP, by 1997 taking a hefty 30 per cent of the total available preferences, up from the 15 per cent it took at the beginning of the decade.6 European arms sales were fully resumed, unlike US sales. Perhaps most significantly the EU claimed to be more flexible than the USA over the preconditions for China's accession to the GATT/WTO. While neither the EU nor the USA attached overtly political conditions to China's bid for WTO membership, unlike the USA the Commission supported a transitional membership status, allowing China the benefits of membership but with a number of important exemptions in the short term.7 In the USA, the divide between European and American positions on China's bid for WTO accession was seen by most as being of considerable significance, with analysts routinely lamenting how EU policy on this issue provided the most worrying demonstration of how US pressure for political reform was being undermined by European governments. Indeed, some even saw the EU and China as being intent on building an alliance to strengthen multilateral forums as a means of curtailing American power.8 With governments' blessing, the Commission also drew up a comprehensive new aid package. This included a remit for work on good governance issues, in particular legal and administrative reform. A series of legal seminars and other training for Chinese lawyers and regulators was quickly initiated. This new area of co-operation was justified by, and seen as contributing to, incipient judicial reform in

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China. Overall, EC aid commitments to China increased from 20m ecu for 1991-4 to 70m ecu for 1995-9.9 At the bilateral level, while US aid to China remained negligible, the country rose up the rankings of member states' main aid recipients. Most significantly, by 1997 China had become by some margin the largest recipient of German development assistance.10 The first EIB loan to China was agreed in December 1995 and European governments supported a huge increase in World Bank loans to China, with the latter soon becoming the Bank's largest recipient. As part of the objective of helping China into the WTO, a raft of new technical aid was agreed for regulatory reform related specifically to the structures governing commercial policy in China. While some US aid funded overtly politicized initiatives like the Radio Free Asia and Voice of America stations,11 Europe's priority was to respond to the Chinese government's own priorities in the field of governance, with the hope of this securing a former foundation for subsequently expanding the scope of political aid. Through grass-roots capacity-building and awareness-raising initiatives, such as the new Commission-managed village governance project, the EU's approach was aimed at establishing the democracy-related 'human capital' requisite to prompting eventual political change.12 Various areas of sectoral co-operation also gathered pace. A new EU-China business forum was set up in October 1995 and in 1998 the EU signed a new scientific and technical cooperation agreement with China. Whatever the true extent of their restraint in loyalty to the UK over Hong Kong, once arrangements for the latter's transferral to China had been agreed other European states were keen to warm relations with Beijing even further. A number of European leaders visited China in 1997 and 1998, with German Chancellor, Helmut Kohl, being especially active in cultivating ties with the Chinese leadership. Particular attention was attracted by the fact that British Foreign Secretary Robin Cook and French President Jacques Chirac both declined to meet with pro-democracy leader Wei Jinsheng. Arguably, most significant was the inauguration of the ASEM process, which, as explained in Chapter 5, was conceived in large part as a forum for joint Asian and European positive engagement with China. Within ASEM, the emphasis was on co-operation and informal confidence-building processes, with critical pressure in relation to democracy conspicuous by its absence. China was attracted to ASEM precisely because it saw in it the possibility of more equal region-to-region relations bereft of the unilateral Western power politics it so strongly sought to counter.13 In sum, this range of measures bestowed relations with

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the content of an upgraded contractual relation, without imposing on China the obligation to sign up to the EU's new human rights and democracy clause. The shift in policy was manifest most visibly in the decision of the EU to cease supporting a motion against China in the UNCHR. In 1997, EU unity on this issue collapsed. A number of states, led by France, with support from Italy, Germany, and Spain, argued that the exercise had become a farce, the resolution never having been passed and only once having made it onto the agenda. It was felt to have had no concrete impact on human rights conditions within China and was merely souring relations with Beijing in a way that frustrated efforts to gain more effective purchase over developments within the People's Republic. In 1997, Denmark, the UK, and the Netherlands co-sponsored the resolution on China in a national capacity, the first tabling the resolution. Eventually ten states supported the resolution, five voted against (France, Italy, Spain, Germany, and Greece). After this, it was agreed that henceforth the EU would cease its practice of supporting a resolution each year. In return, China agreed to re-engage in a dialogue on human rights, a quid pro quo imposed most stringently by the Nordic states.

Explaining the Shift to Positive Engagement Particularly within US academic circles, the 1990s witnessed exhaustive debate over whether China should be 'contained' or 'engaged'. One side of this debate pointed to China's accumulation of military capacity, its emergent economic strength and its increasingly nationalistic and adversarial postures on international issues, and in consequence advocated a firm Western policy of restricting the projection of such power. To those arguing for such a policy of containment, lenient policies undertaken with the aim of securing strategic partnership with China would merely embolden the CCP in its authoritarianism at home, encourage further nationalistic posturing abroad, and, by facilitating the growth of China's trade surplus, provide resources for additional arms development. Other observers argued that China was still relatively weak militarily, spending less as a proportion of GDP on defence than Western powers and still handicapped by extremely primitive military hardware. In addition, these commentators felt the potential of the Chinese market to be overstated, with China arguably approaching an apogee of economic expansion and not accounting for a significantly higher share of world trade than other large developing countries

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such as India or Brazil. Far from exerting new nationalistically based power on the international stage, China had come increasingly to co-operate with the West on issues such as North Korea, Cambodia, and arms control. As the decade progressed, an increasing number of analysts suggested that the 'containment versus engagement' debate had became futile, arguing that there could be no question of not engaging with China, but that there was equally no good reason for 'pandering' to China and being more tolerant of its authoritarianism than that of other countries.14 The evolution of European policy during the 1990s appeared to indicate policy-makers' firm adherence to the arguments in favour of positive engagement. There was a perception that reforms were genuinely progressing in China and that reformers needed support from the international community. Indeed, even key dissidents, such as Wang Dan, came down more strongly in favour of the West engaging with China as the most likely way of engendering an eventual democratic transition. The grounds for flexibility were felt to have become even more pressing after Deng Xiao Peng's death late in 1996, with China's new leadership needing to be given an opportunity to move forward the reform process. Unsurprisingly, the diminution of critical pressure on China was also seen as driven strongly by perceived commercial and strategic imperatives. Commercially, while China's economic weaknesses were fully acknowledged, it was the perception of there being almost limitless potential for the expansion of economic opportunities that most strongly guided European policy calculations. This belief was compounded by the fact that Europe appeared to have benefited from China's economic opening to a lesser degree than other countries. China had become the EU's third largest trading partner by the end of the decade, but this was after many years of it representing a smaller proportion of the EU's trade than countries like Norway and Switzerland. The EU's share of China's imports fell from 20 per cent in 1990 to 13 per cent in 1997.15 The EU accounted for only 5.5 per cent of foreign investment in China between 1990-5, not far behind the 5.1 per cent from Japan and 6.7 per cent from the USA, but negligible alongside the 75 per cent of China's FDI originating from the Chinese diaspora.16 With key investment contracts often decided personally by senior members of the Chinese government, it was felt that the coercive measures adopted in the early 1990s on human rights issues had directly contributed to Europe's relatively weak position within the Chinese market. Beijing openly targeted concrete commercial reprisals specifically at those EU states, such as Denmark and Sweden, which had insisted most strongly on a

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firm human rights policy. France, in contrast to its more realist positions in other parts of the world, had reacted particularly strongly to Tiananman Square, but, concerned that its companies were being discriminated against by decisions taken at the highest political level, soon judged it necessary to reverse its position. Strategic developments were similarly read by EU policy-makers as pointing towards the need for more effective positive engagement. During the mid-1990s, tensions emerged within East Asia over a number of territorial claims in the South China Sea. Chinese manreuvres in the Taiwan Straits and its missile tests, timed to influence the 1996 Taiwanese election campaign, had given the West one of its most serious strategic frights since the ending of the cold war. As it was left to the USA unilaterally to face China down, with Washington deploying two aircraft carriers in the area, this episode encouraged European governments to seek a more significant role in Asian security issues. Whatever the prevailing limits to Chinese capacities, trends engendered considerable unease in European foreign ministries. China continued to increase military spending, with overall Chinese defence capability rising 40 per cent between 1989 and 1995 and a significant programme of weapons modernization being initiated in the wake of Beijing having to back down to the US show of strength in the Taiwan Straits in 1996.17 There was concern over the prospect of conflict in a channel, the South China Sea, which took a quarter of the world's shipping. Moreover, all these concerns had arisen within the context of an increasingly strident Chinese nationalism. The EU's new desire to engage in and further Asian security reinforced the shift to a strategy of positive engagement. The latter was, for instance, seen as a prerequisite to the development of ASEM, which was predicated on the desire to harness the support of other Asian states to engage with and successfully 'manage' China's rise. ASEM further reinforced the perceived importance of co-operative relations with Beijing, to the extent that friction with China could now not be allowed to infect relations with other countries in the region. Engagement with China was additionally perceived to be valuable as a means of helping to contain North Korean actions. If both commercial and strategic challenges were felt to provide reason for the EU not to exert punitive pressure on China in relation to internal political developments, there were, moreover, good grounds for suggesting that the EU's potential influence over China was, in any case, increasingly weak. The relative paucity of trade and investment flows, reflecting the dominance of China's intra-regional commercial links based on ethnic Chinese business networks, was

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seen by European policy-makers as an increasingly severe constraint upon policy. China rose up the rankings of some member states' aid distribution, but did not make it into the top fifteen Commission recipients.18 China was the country where the gap between investment flows and aid levels was most marked. Development aid receipts were under 1 per cent of China's GDP, inward investment flows over 7 per cent. Even in the largest of other developing states, such as Russia and Indonesia, aid and investment flows were more evenly balanced. With limited potential for leverage through conditionally attached to aid, the EU argued that it had exchanged the empty farce of the UN vote for a more promising 'constructive engagement' within which it would be able to raise human rights issues in a more effective manner. European governments claimed that the new institutionalized dialogue was enabling them more strongly to exert conditionality over very specific individual reforms in private. There were, in fact, grounds for supporting the view that the EU did not need to be quite so cautious. China was far less important to the EU, than the EU was to China. By 1995, the EU was doing just over 3 per cent of its trade with China while China was dependent on the EU for over 15 per cent of its trade. China needed more assiduously to court the EU as a counterbalance to US and Japanese influence. European investment was relatively limited in terms of its overall amount, but extremely important in the more technologically advanced sectors.19 However, while the EU arguably possessed greater scope for more critical pressure on China, the evolution of US policy was a major constraint on European options. The relatively hard-line US policy towards China began to shift during the mid-1990s. From advocating a policy of containment— and being judged to have benefited from this in the 1992 election campaign—President Clinton moved towards a more co-operative rapprochement with China. In 1996, the administration granted China 'normal trading relations', consisting of MEN market access, and began to lower the hurdles it had set for China's WTO accession.20 It became increasingly evident that Western policy towards China was conditioned by the commercial competition between Europe and the USA. The rivalry between Boeing and Airbus for new contracts in China was the most dramatic example of this increasingly intense rivalry. As the Clinton administration opted for increasingly positive engagement with China after 1996, European governments perceived their scope to pursue a significantly different approach to be consequently curtailed. Japan's calls for engagement exercised a similar effect. After suspending its aid

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programme in 1996 in response to China's missile tests, Japan launched a new policy of engagement in 1997, with generous commitments of aid and loans. Similar moves on the part of other Asian states, such as Singapore and South Korea, also helped condition the development of EU policy.21 EU institutional weaknesses acted in favour of those member states most anxious to move towards a policy of positive engagement. That is, the weakness of policy co-ordination mechanisms between EU states itself contributed to the shift towards the less critical attitude towards China. Policy on China appeared to provide one of the clearest cases of the scope for diplomatic pressure being undermined by member states' propensity and ability to undercut each other in search of commercial advantage. The Chinese government was seen as having skilfully exploited the potential this afforded for driving wedges between member states. France dropped the critical position it had adopted during the early 1990s expressly due to Beijing's overtly political decision to favour German companies.22 Once France, supported most strongly by Italy, began to use bilateral channels to strengthen relations with Beijing and withdraw support for prevailing EU policy, other member states felt obliged to follow suit so as not to be commercially disadvantaged. Targeted for commercial sanctions by China due to their being the last European states to insist on using the UNCHR to press Beijing on human rights abuses, Denmark and Sweden did not judge that they had firm support from other EU member states in challenging these measures.23 The absence of an obligation or commitment to co-ordinate member states' export credit guarantee provisions was a particularly significant factor in policy towards China. While there was a degree of mutual compromise—as noted, at the behest of the Nordic states the EU did insist on China entering into the new human rights dialogue—competition between member states was the stronger force. In turn, the fact that the evolution of EU policy manifested itself through rather opaquely constructed intergovernmental compromises in part accounted for the fact that China did not become as tightly embedded as a domestic issue in European states as in the USA. Business lobbies in the USA won the debate over China's MFN status, but a powerful array of human rights groups, labour unions, prominent media coverage, and active minorities within both the Republican and Democratic parties succeeded in ensuring that the administration kept at least a degree of critical and more political focus on China.24 When the US administration finally granted China permanent normal trading relations in 2000, Democrats linked this to the creation of a new

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Congressional Human Rights Commission on China and Republicans sought to extract further guarantees on security cooperation. While a number of EU governments were berated by opposition parties and human rights groups in their respective countries, the domestic politicization of China policy, and the consequent linkages between commercial and political issues, was significantly less marked than in the USA. While the EU was drawn towards engagement with China, there was in practice considerable ambivalence among policy-makers over the question of whether actively seeking democratization would be optimal for European interests. There was much debate over whether European or Western commercial actors were being impeded by the lack of significant political reform. Contrasting views emerged on this question. A number of studies of China's 'open door' reforms suggested that foreign investors had accommodated themselves well to the lack of accountable or transparent decision-making. A tight circle of government reformers were seen as key to economic liberalization and, to the extent that other ministries and regional governments held more protectionist views, any decentralization of power beyond this circle was seen by some as not being in the interest of Western multinationals. The vast majority of foreign firms were present in China through joint ventures and some saw local managers as being well plugged into guanxi on behalf of Western multinationals, and personalized networks as functional for, rather than a barrier to, the management of market space. Many Chinese were critical of foreign managers precisely because they seemed to have no interest in pushing for political change. With the international sector better protected by the state, foreign firms had less incentive to push for fundamental reform. Indeed, it was suggested that many foreign firms had taken advantage of the lack of institutionalized rules to bargain with regions, competing among themselves for investment, to push down the entry costs and regulatory requirements for investors. In general, foreign managers were judged to be most fearful of destabilizing change and a dismantling of well-understood rules and regulations.25 The input of European business into the evolution of EU policies in fact suggested a more balanced picture. It was pointed out that the presence of large numbers of Asian-Americans in the USA had plugged the latter's commerce into the all-important networks of personal and familial relations in China and that the EU, bereft of these links, had adapted to the requisites of guanxi far less successfully.26 In this sense, the EU had a greater incentive to press

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for greater transparency in business and regulatory practice than the USA. A survey carried out by the Euro-China Business Association found that the main obstacle to European investment in China was the lack of transparency in rules and laws.27 This was seen as consistent with the over-riding need to incorporate China into the global economy while justifying, indeed requiring, a degree of pressure on issues not completely disconnected from the democracy promotion agenda. Indeed, the European business sector saw the promotion of good governance in China to be of unique importance. Because China was such a potentially large market and important commercial player, its integration into the world trading system in the absence of a significant strengthening of its good governance performance would undermine the whole edifice of the nascent WTO system. During the 1990s, business aimed to discourage European governments from concluding a deal over China's WTO accession when satisfactory sectoral deals had been secured but broader systemic conditions had not been addressed in any significant way. Overhasty or unconditional engagement, either for narrow and short-term commercial gain or for foreign-policy reasons, risked having more far-reaching adverse effects to the extent that it might undermine the multilateral trading regime.28 With investors' attention focused mainly on good governance issues, their concern with broader democratic reform was less evident. EU positions and rhetoric invariably referred to the aim of promoting 'the rule of law', or 'a rules-based economy', rather than making an explicit link between the commercial agenda and democracy as such. On the other hand, the issue on which the Commission was pushed hardest by business was to secure from China commitments to strengthen the structures providing for the implementation, particularly at the regional level, of liberalization commitments made by central government. More far-reaching and predictable progress on economic reform called for good governance reforms to be embedded within more firmly institutionalized procedures, which some investors saw as touching upon broader political reform.29 On the question of democracy there was considerable uncertainty and variation amongst European companies. While the EU clearly became increasingly unwilling to exert such pressure on China as would damage its short-term commercial interests, it did so in the absence of any clear deliberation over whether those interests, in anything other than the immediate future, would actually be enhanced by a greater degree of political liberalization. Being on good terms with and mollifying China appeared to override the perceived value of attempting to push

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China towards a democratic transition, but at the same time many investors insisted that such a transition was important for achieving those harmonious relations. Both European governments and businesses emitted varying signals, often suggesting that Chinese democratization was important for European interests, but at other times implying that such change would have a marginal or even potentially prejudicial impact. The relationship between strategic interests and the promotion of democracy in China was also seen as increasingly complicated. While a tolerance of the CCP's authoritarianism was seen as necessary to engage Beijing in the international security community, policy requirements towards China were viewed by many as an archetype of the democratic peace hypothesis. European policymakers claimed openly to be less preoccupied than their US counterparts with an imminent 'China threat', and China was clearly not seen as the kind of latent strategic time-bomb for the EU as was the southern Mediterranean, the Balkans, or Eastern Europe. There was, arguably, scope to view China policy in the longer term and perceive the promotion of democracy as a priority objective and one most likely to secure greater predictability in China's international behaviour. However, such thinking within European chancelleries was neither unequivocal nor prominent. This was notable in so far as it provided a further case where the democratic peace explanation of the West's democracy promotion agenda was present but also appeared, in practice, to lack clarity. Whatever the potential benefits of an eventual democratic transition, Western policy was more urgently concerned with securing China's adherence to multilateral arms agreements. Against the background of a generally more positive policy towards China, in this area Western powers did exert increasing pressure on Beijing. The willingness to exert pressure on China to submit itself to the restraints of these agreements contrasted with the lack of any pressure for domestic political reform. Western governments also saw the positive approach to democracy promotion in China as being reinforced by the fact that much negotiating capital had been expended on security issues. It was significant, however, that the EU seemed willing to let the USA take the lead on these issues. The USA adopted hard-line diplomacy in pressing China to sign up to the Non-Proliferation Treaty, the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty, the Chemical Weapons Convention, and the Missile Technology Control Regime. It was the USA that adopted the most prominent position in pushing Beijing to limit its sales of arms to 'rogue' states. It was Washington that imposed limits on the export of dual-use .

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technology to China due to the latter's provision of assistance for Pakistan's nuclear programme. On security issues, US Secretary of State Madeleine Albright was reported to have frequently threatened to invoke coercive measures against China and the latter's decision to bring itself into line with several key international security norms was seen as reflecting this external pressure.30 European governments issued no such direct, prominent threats. Increasingly, it was the prospect of China's internal disintegration that European policy-makers identified as their main preoccupation. As noted, some argued that the effect of the limited opening to civil society was pointing more towards a destabilizing battle between the centre and ethnic-regional opposition than a gradual transition to democracy, with China-wide political and societal organizations other than the CCP having failed to emerge.31 There were those who, in contrast, suggested that it was the lack of any momentum towards democracy and better human rights protection that was breeding resentment in the increasingly economically independent provinces and that was therefore the greatest risk to stability. Most notably, this view was put forward by Chris Patten, shortly prior to his becoming External Relations Commissioner.32 It was a view that was unreservedly supported by only a minority of European governments, however. A number of governments admitted to a greater fear of internal disintegration than of the effects of the stalling of political reform. There was a strong rejection of the idea that China's fracturing might secure a welcome curtailing of its power. This view derived, in particular, from the view that the biggest threat to the agreements reached with the Chinese leadership on both security and economic issues lay in internal fragmentation causing these to remain unimplemented at the local level. It was this that was judged most prejudicial to European commercial interests: agreements concluded by the central government to improve market access conditions for European firms were not being followed through at the local and provincial levels. European governments became increasingly concerned with the possible implications of an abrupt collapse of the Communist regime in an environment of growing nationalism, where frustration with existing structures had not been accompanied by any significant positive adherence to liberal democratic values. One of the most common assertions in the West was that the rise in nationalism was actually the flip-side to the process of economic liberalization, in so far as it was being driven by the regime's need, faced with new centripetal forces, to find a discourse capable of holding China together. While the EU appeared to posit democratization as synonymous with

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moderation and openness, there was still a tendency on the part of some policy-makers to accept that a more measured process of reform might be preferable to nationalism as a means of containing fragmentation. This reinforced the focus on integrating China into the international economic system such that the benefits flowing from this would serve to temper internal instability. It also reinforced the focus on specific, relatively narrow human rights issues, rather than democracy, this being seen as the area where fruitful engagement was realistic and least threatening to short-term stability.33

The Impact of Positive Engagement The new positive approach seemed to be vindicated by a number of events during 1997 and 1998. Within the new human rights dialogue, Chinese officials agreed to meet with European human rights NGOs and early signs suggested that the new forum extended beyond being merely symbolic. The Chinese government released several prominent political prisoners, signed the International Covenant on Economic and Social Rights, and itself requested assistance and advice from the Commission on framing legislation in preparation for signing the Covenant on Civil and Political Rights. An EU Troika visit to Tibet was permitted in May 1998. China also agreed to a new Commission aid programme of nearly 1m euro for human rights projects and additional resources for village-level democracy initiatives.34 A number of bilateral initiatives were initiated, including a new UK-China anti-corruption partnership. Indeed, it was seen as significant that China had become one of the more amenable of Asian states to co-operating with the EU on good governance and human rights issues. In the USA, it was the tougher pressure that was still exerted by the Clinton administration on individual human rights cases that was seen as accounting for prisoner releases and other modest advances. Indeed, implying that Beijing was overwhelmingly focused on American policy, US analysts argued that China was using such limited progress judiciously and expressly to elicit incremental responses from Washington favourable to advancing China's strategic objectives. Key dissidents were released specifically as part of the package agreed at the 1997 US-China summit, and limits on missile exports conceded directly in return for a relaxation of US sanctions on the sale of dual-use goods.35 European policy-makers, in contrast, insisted that there was good reason to

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believe that the EU's new framework had the greater potential for influencing the broad direction of China's political development. This potential was held to flow from European governments' very eschewal of the rhetoric advocating the wholesale undermining of China's political system that still emanated from some quarters in the USA. The new policy had reinforced the impression that the EU did not impinge upon China's essential security to the extent that the USA did or have the same ulterior political motives as Washington.36 EU policy-makers reported that it was in light of this difference that Chinese officials stated in private that they were more willing to grant access to European than to US good governance and human rights assistance. This perceived advantage of EU policy was held to have become more marked in 2001 following the new Bush administration's reclassification of China as strategic rival. The limits to the EU's new approach soon became apparent, however. It became evident that China's willingness to co-operate on issues of political reform was not far-reaching. Moreover, where sensibilities did arise, the EU was not able to use the engagement upon which its new policy was predicated to push back in any significant way the limits of what the CCP judged to be acceptable forms of political aid. Central authoritiess kept relatively tight control over the EU's local-level initiatives.37 China was the country where the Commission was most cautious in pressing for wider access for democracy assistance work.38 Member states also eschewed any notable effort to undertake political society projects, and even the German party foundations increasingly found only tentative culture-based initiatives to be feasible in China.39 There was no attempt to use the provisions for democratic conditionality in relation to aid granted under the ALA regulation. Within its new political dialogue with Chinese officials, the EU's focus was expressly limited to specific human rights issues, such as the death penalty and conditions of detention, Tibet and the rights of the Falun Gong sect. European officials expressly did not seek to expand the new human rights dialogue so as to prioritize dialogue on democracy to the same extent. European NGOs, with a formalized involvement in the preparations for dialogue meetings, also limited their concerns overwhelmingly to human rights issues.40 Within dialogue on political reform, there was simply not the same kind of accumulated understanding and trust as in some other areas of the EU's external relations such that the concept of democracy could be discussed in a fully substantive fashion.41 NATO's bombing of the Chinese embassy in Belgrade further complicated the effort to generate such

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trust, with China postponing the second EU-China summit due in the middle of 1999 for six months because of the attack. China saw the EU's high-level diplomatic focus on human rights as undermining the development of micro-level co-operation on the transposition of specific international provisions into domestic law.42 Indeed, events in China soon suggested that the notion of enhanced commercial and diplomatic co-operation and engagement engendering a self-sustaining momentum of political reform had been wildly over-optimistic. After some apparently positive developments in 1997 and 1998, later in 1998 the government launched one of the biggest crackdowns on political dissidents since 1989. Already at the end of 1997 the reformist chairman of the National Congress, Qiao Shi, had been removed for speaking in favour of democracy. In December 1998, the leaders of a fledgling opposition party, the China Democratic Party, were jailed, as were the initiators of what sought to be an independent trade union. The Covenant on Civil and Political Rights that China signed in 1998 remained unimplemented. New President Jiang Zemin talked of the need to return to socialist orthodoxy, saying explicitly that China would not embrace Western forms of democracy. Restrictions increased on the media and on book publications. Street demonstrations against deteriorating economic conditions were put down with a brutality not seen since 1989. The autumn of 2000 witnessed a new clampdown on the Falun Gong. Official statements strongly suggested that the most powerful 'demonstration effect' seemed increasingly to be the example not of the advanced and stable Western democracies, but of the chaos reigning in Russia as a result of precipitate political liberalization making the subsequent management of economic reform so difficult. The CCP for the first time suggested a need for greater 'pluralism', but also specified that greater 'socialist democracy' excluded Western, multiparty concepts of such pluralism.43 Even optimists recognized that the incipient pluralism of the early 1990s appeared to have run aground. The village-level democracy, in which Western states had invested so much hope, had been tightly controlled and limited to implementation not policy-making competences. Regional compartmentalization and the diversity of regional interests meant that there was no sign of coherent China-wide civil society pressure capable of pushing comprehensive change. With economic reform of significance only in a limited number of designated centres, amongst the vast majority of the population the socioeconomic structures widely seen as pre-requisite to democratization were still largely absent. The state had co-opted the vast majority of

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civil society associations into a quasi-corporatist model, as an effective means of actually preserving state legitimacy and control over society. At best, a 'semi-civil society' had emerged. Associations had been given a very circumscribed autonomy, with many of their own volition clinging to the state as a means of self-protection. The eliteled commitment and calculated coalition-building that were widely seen as prerequisites to democratization were less and less in evidence. Chinese citizens and many of the civil society groups assisted by the international community themselves increasingly expressed stronger concerns over stability and national unity than democracy.44 It would seem reasonable to suggest that in so far as the new EU policy removed one source of constraint on the Chinese leadership it may have facilitated the latter's reining in of any genuinely autonomous political space. Certainly, Chinese negotiators claimed that they felt less pressure to reform governance structures in preparation for WTO accession because of the benefits China had already secured under schemes such as the EU's GSP and MFN provisions.45 The stalling of reform in part reflected the fact that economic liberalization did not appear to be generating significant spill-over momentum towards democratization. While EU policymakers steadfastly insisted that their focus on economic reform and civil society was the best means of laying the foundations for democratization, Sinologists almost without exception cautioned that changes in these areas were increasingly self-contained. Given that EU policy-makers justified engagement with China as the means of helping engender spill-over from economic to political reform, it was particularly telling that the nature of at least some of Europe's commercial engagement with China was itself not in practice working to enhance this link. In general terms, the policy of positive engagement seemed to pay dividends commercially: overall, European exports began increasing faster than those of the USA and by the latter part of the decade the EU was exporting more to China than the USA.46 However, it was more doubtful that the nature of economic flows was consistent with the declared objective of encouraging good governance reforms. This followed from the fact that the nexus between state and business in China had remained strong. Emerging entrepreneurs were still dependent on, micro-managed by, and linked to the state and not generally pressing for democratization. A standard assertion among analysts was that the reliance on guanxii had actually increased precisely because of the destabilizing effect of economic reforms. Such corruption had in effect substituted for any move

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towards a more open and democratic form of policy-making. While foreign investors might genuinely have believed better governance to be more optimal for their interests, in the short term corrupt procedures had been accepted by multinationals as much as by domestic firms as a means of resolving day-to-day problems.47 Indeed, even those accounts suggesting that guanxi had begun to decrease observed that the one area where this was not the case was in the way that foreign firms arranged joint ventures with officials.48 EU investment remained limited to a relatively small number of large investments in a narrow range of sectors, such as automobiles, where Volkswagen singularly accounted for nearly half of European investment in the sector, and telecommunications, where Alcatel secured a similar dominance. These investments were often assisted by high-level political deals, the requisite 'cosying up' of the relevant European leader to Chinese leaders outweighing any critical push for better governance. Reportedly, China granted a new order to Airbus rather than Boeing specifically because of the EU's softer approach on human rights. A number of UK banks won better access to the Chinese market on the back of Tony Blair's distinctly upbeat visit to China. It became evident that, despite the greater investment and trade flows, the policy of positive engagement was not without its drawbacks for European commercial interests. The policy of positive engagement had facilitated access and left more negotiating capital available to push for more favourable economic reforms, but concerns over the structures of governance remained. Many European investors insisted that the lack of transparency and predictability in the way that the Chinese market was regulated was not easy to manage and was discouraging further investment. There were signs of a slowdown in the 'open door' economic reforms, with increasing discrimination against foreign firms. In 1999, FDI to China fell for the first time in a decade. The opaqueness of policy-making in China prevented the emergence of any notable investment from small and medium-sized European enterprises. European banks had lent heavily to finance the government debts that had been run up in order to avoid the very restructuring and liberalization of the stateowned enterprises that was so important for European investors. The imposition of local joint-venture partners caused some disinvestment, and was more problematic for European than for American or Japanese firms.49 The limited improvement in governance became viewed with increasing concern. Jiang had launched an anti-corruption campaign, but this was pursued partly through extra-legal means and was seen as instrumental to bolstering his

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own personal position. Related to this, there was evidence that exactly what the EU most feared was happening, namely a bifurcation of China into a reforming core of enterprise zones, on the one hand, and a more backward rural heartland run by corrupt and nationalistic fiefdoms, on the other hand. Investors were concerned that overweaning central political control was holding back economic change in the more advanced provinces, while stifling the development of much-needed local reform capacity in the more regressive states.50 By investing so much in building up links with a small groups of elite reformers, EU policy risked exacerbating the very internal bifurcation it sought to contain. By early 2000, European governments were openly acknowledging that the EU's human rights dialogue with China had accomplished little. It had contributed only to modest improvements in the judicial system, but had secured no improvements in political and civil rights. The first meeting of the human rights dialogue in 2000 was recognized to have been the most tense and least productive since the forum's inception. In insisting that the EU drop its critical line within the UN, if anything China appeared to have exerted a far more effective conditionality over the EU than vice versa. A number of EU states began to agitate once again for a renewal of the practice of supporting the US-tabled resolutions on China in the UNCHR. Human rights NGOs, after adopting a less forceful line during the initial period of the new dialogue, also became more vociferously critical again.51 The Commission began to intimate that it might be appropriate to consider whether the human rights dialogue should be suspended.52 The personal influence of Chris Patten was increasingly evident: the Commissioner's advocacy of a tougher line than that favoured by his predecessor was consistent with the views he had developed as Governor to Hong Kong. Indeed, in a reversal of the situation pertaining during much of the 1990s, the Commission now appeared to be favouring a tougher stance towards China than the majority of member states. Member states insisted that dialogue must continue, but did acknowledge the need for a modest change in policy. It was agreed that concrete benchmarks for human rights improvements would be established as a means of gaining a degree of critical purchase on China within the political dialogue. The pressure that had earlier been emanating from some member states for a significant injection of development funds into China subsided.53 European policy was increasingly characterized by uncertainty again. A positive approach was to be retained, but doubts over progress in China meant this was not followed through with any significant degree of new commitment.

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China and the Global Trading System: EU Purchase on Good Governance As negotiations over China's accession to the WTO neared conclusion, it became clear that this was where the international community held the potential for greatest influence over China. While enthusiastically claiming a willingness to be more flexible than the USA during the whole of these negotiations, the EU ultimately held out for more far-reaching reforms than Washington. China reached an agreement with the EU in May 2000, six months after concluding a bilateral deal with the USA. The EU's additional conditions related mainly to access in sectors of greater importance to European than to US companies—automobiles, telecommunications, and financial services—and on which the US administration had not pushed China hard. However, the Commission also required China to commit itself to a number of additional good governance reforms beyond those enshrined in the China-US deal. For example, a number of general improvements in the transparency of public procurement markets were sought and secured. The USA argued that its willingness to conclude a deal that fell short of fulfilling its stated requirements constituted an appropriate response to the adverse impact of the Asian financial crisis, the latter being judged to have weakened the position of reformers within China.54 The Commission suggested that the USA had neglected to secure guarantees on changes to broader structures of governance precisely because US policy was more politicized and overly determined by perceived foreign-policy imperatives. European sensitivities also played a part: there was a reluctance simply to fall into line once the USA had decided it could make a deal and thus accept that Washington would be the only significant arbiter of the conditions under which China was integrated into the global trading system. The EU also adopted a more robust line in the wake of these agreements, pushing China for full implementation of its commitments prior to WTO accession. The view was expressed frequently during the 1990s that the West's delay in allowing China into the WTO might prove to be counterproductive and seriously damaging. Both the EU and USA had been encouraged to hold out so long before agreeing deals by the calculation that, once inside the WTO, China would no longer need bilateral deals with key partners to the same extent and therefore the West's leverage over more political issues would also diminish. Indeed, it was recognized that China was so keen on gaining entry

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into the WTO precisely so as to unshackle itself from the political pressure of the US and European governments. However, while some expressed concern that the West held out too long and thereby further encouraged the CCP's recourse to nationalism, it was noticeable that, within a context of relatively limited good governance improvements, many of the reforms that were implemented related specifically to China's preparations for WTO entry. The importance to China of adapting to global economic markets did ensure that the government continued to push forward with some good governance reforms, even as human rights repression continued undimmed and political space remained tightly controlled.55 The Chinese government used the issue of WTO entry as a 'scapegoat' for good governance reforms, in stark contrast to the way in which reformists avoided harnessing international pressure to serve the cause of democratization. In this sense the drawn-out pre-accession phase was of some benefit. It was suggested that the extent of the conditions set for China's accession to the WTO had pushed to its limit the degree of economic reform possible without political change.56 While many questioned this view, mayors of a number of provinces suggested that if some debate had been reignited over political reform this was because of the predicted scale of the impact of WTO entry.57 In this sense the EU's relatively firm posture might also have helped engender the beginnings of a spill-over from economic to political liberalization. Moreover, it was the detailed engagement over WTO conditions that opened access for assistance on good governance issues on the ground in China. In taking forward reforms, China did allow increasing scope for the EU to work on good governance issues. Indeed, in some areas, China itself sought technical assistance and advice, working with the Commission in drawing up many regulations effectively from scratch. The projects proposed in the Commission aid package of 1997 were gradually elaborated upon and developed into a more ambitious programme of work, with two large-scale projects on public administration and legal reform launched in 2000. A new project on administrative law was seen as crucial to improving the interface between citizens and local authorities: by incorporating components aimed at promoting individuals' effective involvement in decision-making, this governance initiative was deemed to enhance the prospects for broader political change.58 Indeed, perhaps a more pertinent doubt was whether the conditions set by the EU were far-reaching enough. For some, leverage had been surrendered without adequate progress on either economic or political issues. Most of the EU's conditions related to

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straightforward issues of market access and the issue of nondiscrimination against foreign firms. For instance, the Commission insisted on additional tariff cuts to those ceded in the US deal and an end to equity share restrictions in the retail sector. China stood firm on resisting majority foreign ownership in the mobile telecommunications and life assurance sectors, but in return the Commission won agreement that seven insurance company licences would be set aside for European firms. While reflecting a slightly broader and less unconditional perspective on good governance issues than that adopted by US negotiators, the focus was still relatively narrow. The extent to which the Commission assessed its positions in terms of whether they would best encourage a fundamental restructuring of governance structures in China was, in practice, still limited.59 It was argued by one expert that the WTO offered only limited potential for such changes anyway. The preconditions concerned the application of certain laws, not any fundamental revamping of the judicial system per se. Firms' concerns would still be conditioned by governmental diplomacy, as Western governments would have to gather the courage to initiate cases against China.60 In contrast to those suggesting that reform had been pushed along by the West to the extent that some degree of spill-over might be imminent, it was argued that most commitments to improve good governance were simply not implemented, this applying in particular to pledges to strengthen judicial impartiality.61 Even where China sought assistance, such as with the reform of public administration and the judiciary, EU assistance was limited to relatively 'soft' work such as organizing seminars, designing a new degree course in public administration in China, and setting up a network of information on European states' experiences with good governance reforms.62 It was acknowledged that, in practice, governance projects were necessarily restricted to focusing on locallevel management, not policy-making, capacity.63 The European business sector was more concerned that the agreement might prove to be premature than with the negotiations having dragged on for so long, with investors and potential investors left in some doubt over the extent to which China would be fully tied to multilateral rules in the medium term as a result of the EU's deal.64 Several European governments saw as a serious lacuna the fact that the Commission acquiesced to Beijing not signing the WTO Government Procurement Agreement: the Commission's agreement to only an informal agreement on transparency issues seemed to contravene the agreed priority of tying China in to fixed, rules-based multilateral arrangements.65

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The broader political implications of the EU's position on China's WTO entry were not factored into the Commission's positions in any significant way. Indeed, in European chancelleries this was widely seen as the issue where the disarticulation between trade and foreign policies was most significant. CFSP actors lamented that they had virtually no input into the unfolding of the negotiations over China's WTO entry. The lack of co-ordination was such that the foreign-policy community was often embarrassed to be unable accurately to state the Union's position on China's WTO entry to other countries. If the influence of the Article 113 Committee was in the ascendancy in the EU's general policy towards Asia, it was at its most influential over the timing and conditions of China's accession to the WTO. A link between the nature of the commercial conditions imposed and the impact on democratization was in practice not made. The confusion of competences also discouraged EU states from pushing for good governance reforms through their bilateral diplomatic relations with Beijing. Democracy and human rights departments within European ministries admitted to having little detailed knowledge of the kind of good governance priorities being pursued, even by their own respective governments.66

Conclusions It would not be convincing to suggest that the EU's rapprochement with China during the late 1990s reflected a perceived lack of motives for encouraging democratic change. European policymakers did, however, exhibit considerable hesitancy, and often significant uncertainty, in the way that strategic calculations were related to domestic changes in China. This informed an approach predicated on constructing a democratic discourse and assisting low-level and development-related decision-making capacities. The EU sought, in this sense, to benefit from a less overtly politicized relationship with China than that pursued by the USA. The EU claimed that it was recognized as rejecting the kind of ulterior political objectives ascribed by China to the USA, and gained more productive access and engagement on human rights issues. Evidence substantiating this assertion was not completely absent, but nor was it conclusive. European policy did seem able to secure a more regularized, constant, and broader societal engagement. It also avoided the tendency apparent in US policy to caricature China as a uniquely preoccupying 'threat' and consequently for pronouncements to vacillate between the extremes of appeasement

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and containment. However, while keen to avoid these muchcriticized traits of American policy, EU strategy was itself subject to significant shortcomings. If its general conceptual approach could be seen as valid—and not simply a product of the insincerity of the democracy promotion objective—the EU in practice failed fully to follow through the logic of its own method. Trade disputes remained prominent, aid flows limited, and dialogue on democracy was in reality extremely tentative. The USA did on occasions mix engagement with pressure on specific issues, while the EU failed to recognize the need more actively to employ diplomatic and economic instruments in a way that would actually enhance the scope for and effectiveness of its own bottom-up approach. The EU gained purchase primarily and most effectively through good governance issues. In this domain China, seeking WTO entry, was de.mande.ur. European policy-makers insisted that their understanding of good governance had widened, and that this was of particular significance in policy towards China. Co-operation over governance issues was said to be pursued increasingly with the enhancement of broad democratic capacity in mind. This was seen as part of the EU's general approach to democracy promotion, within which the focus on governance was held to be one of the most fruitful means of carving out space for aid work that, while relatively technical, was capable of having a more political impact. This chapter demonstrates that there were, in practice, limits to the EU's operationalization of such reasoning. The co-ordination between the governance, commercial, and democracy agenda was, in reality, weak. Pressure for reform was directed primarily at pushing open specific commercial opportunities, rather than systemic-level patterns of governance. European investors were not completely indifferent to China's democratic prospects, but were at best ambiguous in linking concerns over governance with broader political structures. Moreover, the European commercial presence was too limited and too concentrated in specific sectors and geographical locations to exert an influence in favour of systemic-level political reform. The scale of new co-operation in China on governance reforms was undoubtedly significant, and the new discourse on good governance was not without its impact: while human rights abuses continued and strong, unambiguous democratic momentum remained absent, the Communist Party did seek increasingly to move towards a more rules-based economic system. It remained unclear, however, whether the governance focus would serve more as a prelude to, or substitute for a more substantive and directly focused democracy promotion policy. As analysts talked of China emerging from its

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'century of humiliation', with considerable latent resentment against the West, European policy-makers acknowledged difficulty in coming to grips with the dilemma of whether caution remained desirable to mitigate tension or would in fact store up more acute problems for the future.

Conclusion: Conceptualizing the EU as a Promoter of Democracy

While analysis of the international dimensions of political change became more marked as Western powers' commitment to the promotion of democracy developed during the 1990s, there has remained a need for more extensive empirical study of European policies in this domain, particularly those beyond the scope of enlargement processes. The opening chapter to this book outlined the different levels of debates relevant to the promotion of political change, and suggested that a particular challenge is more systematically to combine these different issues into a comprehensive analysis of democracy promotion. This conclusion seeks to present such a conceptualization of EU policies, incorporating considerations related to strategy, motives, policy-making coherence, and international actors' agency. This is based on the evidence drawn from the detailed case studies of policy towards the Mediterranean and East Asia, although a more general overview of EU democracy promotion undertaken elsewhere reveals considerable similarities across other developing regions.1 The preceding chapters have offered conclusions specific to the regions and individual countries studied; without duplicating these, this final chapter revisits in a more general sense the analytical questions posed in the first two chapters, suggesting the ways in which the study of European policies in the Mediterranean and East Asia sheds light on these issues.

Strategy: Institutionalized Regimes and Democracy Promotion The case studies presented in this book demonstrate the EU's adherence to a broadly positive approach to democracy promotion. While, as noted in the opening chapter, many analysts were critical of Western powers for introducing new political conditionalities, in practice European policy was in no significant way based on the use

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of coercive measures. Critical diplomacy was increasingly pursued in relation to basic human rights issues and towards states perceived to constitute serious security threats, but the EU showed no notable propensity to impose punitive action directly in relation to democratic shortfalls. Concern over the general direction of political developments sometimes led to negotiations being held up or to aid being temporarily withheld, but such measures were adopted on an ad hoc basis and not pursued with any coherence or vigour. European policy-makers saw a more 'positive', incentives-based form of conditionality as more legitimate and potentially more effective. There was some evidence of rewards being granted for political reform—Morocco, Indonesia—and, conversely, of institutional conditions being deemed to negate the utility of bringing forward new initiatives at particular moments in time—Syria, Algeria, Cambodia, Burma. However, the overall distribution of EU trade and aid provisions did not to any significant extent correlate with democratic criteria, and the incentives logic remained limited in practice. Indeed, the capacity easily to vary policy provisions between good and bad democratic performers was complicated by the EU's own preference for regionalized frameworks of cooperation. The use of positive measures was a more notable development. The profile of EU democracy assistance funding in the two regions suggested a bottom-up approach, oriented overwhelmingly to civil society support, and in particular human rights NGOs. There was some evidence of a distinctive European approach, based on support for capacity-building within local decision-making forums organized specifically around the management of local social and development issues. The range of the EU's civil society work did not expand notably beyond the focus on advocacy NGOs, and support for political society institutions was particularly limited. Some EU political aid provoked counterproductive clampdowns, especially against recipients of European support, somewhat qualifying the readily made assumption that this aid provided effective protection for civil society groups. The proclaimed grass-roots approach was portrayed as a positive philosophy, reflecting the extent to which the focus on democracy assistance grew out of new institutionally oriented thinking on development policy. The profile of EU work certainly seemed to render questionable the frequently made assertions that Western powers were only interested in supporting the formal procedural elements of democracy and in actually truncating its more substantive elements. Indeed, arguably, the EU could more validly be berated for investing

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rather too much faith in the democratizing potential of civil society. Chapter 1 noted analysts' suggestion that in many states greater balance was needed between civil and political society, in recognition of the fact that these two spheres invariably only evolve in mutually conditioned unison. Such concerns were not prominent in European thinking. At most, some policy-makers acknowledged the need to mitigate the bias towards particular types of NGOs, but in general there was little evidence of any real distinction being made between democracy's different 'spheres', or between the human rights and democracy agendas. Expediency compounded these conceptual shortcomings: the EU did not push hard to gain access for political aid work, unwilling to risk tension with recipient governments. Indeed, the Mediterranean and East Asia were perceived to be two relatively 'difficult' regions in this sense, with the scale of EU political aid consequently remaining limited. The obstacles placed on EU democracy funding by even the most reformist of states cautioned against such positive measures being seen entirely as an alternative to more critical strategies. In light of the limits to positive and negative material measures, EU strategy was characterized by an aim to develop deeply institutionalized patterns of dialogue and co-operation as a means of socializing political elites into a positive and consensual adherence to democratic norms. Constructivist accounts were suggested in Chapter 1 to merit investigation in relation to the democracy promotion agenda and do indeed appear to capture well the sort of discursive influence that European policy-makers sought to effect. Strategy was strongly oriented towards the inculcation of values, without overt confrontation with non-democratic regimes. This resembled the kind of modest, 'middle route' that, as noted in the opening chapter, was advocated by many analysts as being the most appropriate and feasible form of positive external influence. A broad range of regularized co-operation was developed in both the Mediterranean and East Asia, and as part of this states in these regions were obliged to sign up to dialogue on democratic norms. However, the case studies demonstrate that there were also limitations to the EU's pursuit of this approach. Policy-makers acknowledged that in practice discourse on democracy was pressed very much less than that on human rights and security challenges. Indeed, the EU often deliberately sought ways of circumventing its own formal preconditions, offering concrete sectoral co-operation without the need for a formalization of new democracy-based discourse. There was a conspicuous lack of any European-level

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engagement with those opposition forces themselves ambivalent towards democracy—precisely where efforts to disseminate and embed democratic culture appeared most urgent. Governmental and Commission support for initiatives designed to give concrete effect to the discursive approach was forthcoming, but was most often extremely cautious and well short of constituting a resolute facilitation of the aimed-for convergence of political norms. The discursive and material limitations in EU policy fed off each other: rather than these being two mutually exclusive approaches, it was often difficult for the EU to take tough action precisely because the objective of building up a comprehensive partnership and normsbased regime was still far from being realized. With measures aimed directly at democracy promotion suffering from significant limitations, the most potent consideration guiding EU democracy promotion strategy was an assumption that pressing hard for economic reform would spill over to political change. This was manifest not only in the trade liberalization agenda being presented as contributing to democratic potential, but also in an express broadening of good governance work in a way that sought to give the latter concrete political impact. A question mark remained over the adequacy of the way in which the economic-political link was conceived. The EU could be criticized for working to the kind of simplified shorthand presumption of economic-to-political spill-over that, as was highlighted in the opening chapter, has been widely questioned among theorists. Policy was not informed by any detailed deliberation of the way in which EU commercial policies were impacting upon the structure of domestic coalitions supporting and opposing incumbent regimes. The concern that strong semiauthoritarian leaders were in many cases bolstering their positions in order to push forward EU-driven economic reforms was not factored into policy decisions in any systematic way. There was increasing debate over whether political conditions rendered desirable a slower pace of economic liberalization. However, while this suggested a more measured assessment of the economic-political link, and recognition of the potentially negative political consequences of economic adjustment, it did not represent a qualitatively more advanced conceptualization of the relationship between economic and political reform. The range of subtle and variable factors affecting the relationship between economic and political change did not, on policymakers' own admission, come to be addressed. Moreover, in both the regions, the EU could be faulted for not following through the logic of its own approach, to the extent that it continued to resist more symmetrical economic liberalization at the behest of sectoral interests.

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At the more micro-level, the attempt to harness the governance agenda to the democracy promotion objective represented a notable evolution of thinking. The EU increasingly aimed to design generally accepted co-operation over technical governance issues in a way that would enhance broader democratic policy-making capacity and know-how. This was seen especially in Algeria, post-1998 Indonesia, China, and Vietnam. This governance angle can be seen as one of the most significant developments in EU democracy promotion strategy, and one, arguably, unduly overlooked—attention having been primarily on the relationship between market liberalization and political change, rather than on the issue of micro-level capacity-building. The distinctiveness of the European approach could be seen as emerging from the nexus between this governance angle and the grass-roots, rather than high-level institutional, focus of EU democracy assistance. The governance approach did enable the EU to secure greater access and a 'foot in the door' for work of potentially political significance. However, the case studies demonstrate that this did not necessarily offer a smooth transmission belt to political purchase. The EU did not always succeed in widening its access for governance work as much as desired. It was sometimes hindered because Mediterranean and Asian states perceived that the good governance agenda was elaborated with increasingly political intent. Conversely, the EU's governance work often seemed to lack any broad systemic impact because it was not supplemented by a more developed politicized approach. Again, top-down and bottom-up dynamics each seemed insufficient to give greater effect to the other, and thus EU strategy was most commonly left stranded ineffectively between the two.

The Rationale for Democracy Promotion: Material Interests and Discursive Norms The opening chapter outlined how democracy promotion has been seen by some as enlightened self-interest, by some as contrary to Western interests, and by others as an ethically driven objective reflecting the growing influence of civil society networks. The case studies of European policy presented here partly corroborate, but also partly contradict, each of these different explanations. The EU's stated rationale and approach revealed a new adherence to the view that democracy promotion combined self-interests and ethics, and that political liberalization, economic prosperity, moderation, and strategic stability were to be approached as mutually enhancing

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objectives. Within a 'comprehensive' approach to security, democracy was to be encouraged as the best means of attaining sustainable strategic stability. However, the foregoing chapters demonstrate that the relationship between democracy promotion and other objectives was in practice subject to careful and varied calculations. There was genuine uncertainty among policy-makers over the relationship between political structures and security interests. While strategic concerns very rarely completely overrode the democracy promotion agenda, nor did they drive it forward in a strong, coherent, and comprehensive fashion. The balance between proactive and more defensive strategic thinking was complex and varied notably between different countries and regions. Of particular prominence in policy-makers' perspectives was a concern with possible instability arising from processes of political liberalization, even where the end goal of democracy was seen as desirable—this vindicating the qualification most commonly suggested to the democratic peace thesis. Often, support for democracy was itself more reactive than pre-emptive, as policy-makers became concerned with positioning the EU to be 'on democracy's side' when trends made transition seem increasingly possible. On the evidence of the case studies offered here, it would be simplistic to attribute to European governments an unmitigated preference for strategic stability rather than the promotion of democracy, but also unsatisfactory to suggest that the stated holistic approach to security in practice directed policy in an immediate and all-encompassing fashion. Contrary to the neat concepts advanced by both supporters and critics of the democratic peace hypothesis, in reality 'new' and 'old' thinking on security interests coexisted somewhat messily and uneasily within the European policy-making community. Significantly, even in cases of serious internal conflict—commonly seen as the scenario where democracy promotion would most comprehensively be subjugated to a concern for immediate strategic stabilization—the EU did undertake substantive initiatives designed to encourage political liberalization. There was little evidence that the EU actively supported limits on pluralism as a means of retaining internal stability. Democracy promotion strategy in such cases was certainly more leader-focused than elsewhere—this being particularly true of European policy towards Algeria, the Palestinian Authority, Indonesia, and Cambodia. It might be contended that the support offered to particular leaders on the grounds that they offered the best prospect for piloting political reform in the face of internal destabilizing forces was either unwarranted or disingenuous. While democracy promotion was in these cases

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nominally pursued through a conflict resolution lens, being consciously moulded around mediation initiatives, in practice it seemed at least in part eclipsed by the latter. However, at the same time, in all such instances significant initiatives were carried out that implied that the aim of democratization was genuinely conceived and pursued as a more sustainable solution to internal conflict. While it would be difficult entirely to rebut criticism that such examples represented an unduly elite-friendly form of democracy promotion, it would also be unconvincing to deny that the significant amounts of bottom-up, civil society work undertaken in all these cases implied a genuine, albeit measured, effort to strengthen a culture of political contestation. The caution of European policy certainly owed more to concerns over the mechanics of political change than to a view—still often ascribed to Western powers—that 'Islamic' or 'Asian' values were themselves inherently ill-suited to democratization. The case studies also suggest that the relationship between democracy promotion policy and commercial interests was less than clear-cut. There was a genuine perception on the part of some EU companies that in a number of countries the absence of fully democratic processes prejudiced European commercial interests. Many investors claimed to have corrected their erstwhile focus solely on stability and disinterest in analysing the potential advantages of democratization. European companies focused mainly on relatively narrow good governance issues, and this was the area where they most notably influenced EU policy. However, their concerns also increasingly related to the functioning of broader political structures. In conflict situations there was growing evidence of businesses linking instability to the lack or paucity of democracy, and of many not being content with stability guarantees in situations where underlying socio-economic weaknesses were a significant hindrance to commercial expansion. The focus on large extractive multinationals—obliged by the location of natural resources to conduct business in unpredictable and opaque political contexts, and uniquely able to do so—has militated against recognition of this broader evolution of concerns. Notwithstanding the emergence of these more political perspectives, however, the private sector's engagement with the democracy promotion agenda was in practice still extremely limited. European business did not want to lose out to local competitors, or be seen as overtly pursuing a more political agenda. Investors were wary over the use of punitive measures, especially against the more commercially important states, and this clearly influenced EU policy. European governments sought to

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harness support from the business community to push for democratic reforms, but companies resisted assuming any significant role. Indeed, even in relation to good governance issues EU governments lead policy, pushing a reluctant business sector to exert greater pressure on developing country elites. In sum, European businesses were neither indifferent to nor the main protagonists of the democracy promotion agenda. Most expressed unresolved concerns over the relationship between commercial operations and internal political structures. The case studies presented here render highly questionable the view that business can be expected to be completely unconcerned with political reform and keen only for quick and unconditional engagement with developing market governments. However, the critical reduction of EU democracy policy to an international capital-driven search for low-intensity democracy with weak civil society forces2 looks equally inadequate. Business did not play a notably proactive role in the detailed elaboration of EU policy and the case studies show that, far from seeking elite-dominated forms of democracy, investors were often concerned with the weakness of policy-making capacity outside the executive and at the local level. Moreover, as highlighted, much of European policy focused precisely on strengthening civil society and grass-roots social and capacity-building work, even to the extent of supporting NGOs campaigning against the EU's own trade and commercial policies, making it difficult to sustain a claim that the EU actively sought a low-quality, top-heavy form of democracy. (The fact that increased funding was invested in this work and that conditionality was used so sparingly certainly rebutted suggestions that the democracy promotion commitment would serve merely as a pretext to reduce aid levels.) The case studies covered in this book provide little evidence of international democratization being driven forward by a transnational alliance of dominant economic elites: as demonstrated, local business elites with privileged links to their respective states were among the main obstacles to and opponents of European democracy promotion strategy. The radical view looks, in the light of detailed study of European policies during the 1990s, overly influenced by the nature of US policy in the 1980s in places such as Central America and Chile where democracy was expressly promoted in a way that assisted the containment of radical elements in civil society. Even if the EU more actively supported economic than political liberalization, to infer from this a positive preference for a limited form of democracy would confuse expedient strategy for ultimate aspiration.

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With the calculation of material interests equivocal, the normbased dimension of the EU's democracy promotion agenda merits consideration. The case studies reveal that European NGOs and transnational advocacy networks did not in fact exert strong pressure for more forceful democracy promotion strategies. The overwhelming majority of European NGOs adhered to a narrow rights-based focus. Most explicitly refrained from advocating any strong pressure for democratization, holding this to be less urgent and legitimate than critical pressure on human rights issues and an unwelcome diversion of resources and attention away from standard development work. To some extent the EU's focus on basic human rights suggested that the views of NGOs and transnational civil society were influential, and was testament to the more limited presence of civil society dynamics in relation to democracy promotion per se. NGO influence also reinforced the EU's focus on grass roots-level democracy linked to development issues. Notwithstanding this, European NGOs were generally critical of governments' democracy promotion agenda to the extent that the latter was seen as both linked to economic liberalization and pursued as a means of enhancing Western hegemony. Governments often pushed European civil society actors to take the lead on democracy, but without any notable success. European and international NGOs also resisted what they perceived to be governments' efforts to shift onto their shoulders the responsibility for engaging in critical pressure for democratic change. There was some variation between regions, with civil society pressure more notable in offsetting purely commercial concerns in states of less strategic or commercial importance, with NGO activism in Burma being notable in this sense. In general, however, suggestions that this dimension offered the most fruitful area for explaining international dimensions of democratization were not comprehensively borne out by the nature of EU policy in the Mediterranean and East Asia. 'Internal' constructivist dynamics— the notion of European governments incorporating a discourse on democracy initially ignited by civil society actors—were less evident than their 'external' component—the use of discourse-based approaches by European governments in relations with other developing states. In sum, different logics to EU democracy promotion policy coexisted: strategic, idealist, commercial, developmental. Significantly, these were neither entirely mutually reinforcing, nor completely contradictory. Rather, they combined in complex and uncertain ways, and in varied combinations across different countries and regions, so as to resist sweeping generalizations. The adoption of

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the democracy promotion commitment was not an entirely rationalistic calculation of self-interest. Notwithstanding criticism of the EU for co-operating with autocrats, it was equally notable that in some cases the EU adopted a democracy promotion agenda without being resolutely clear that this was compatible with immediate material interests. The relationship between democracy promotion as self-interest and as ethical campaign was less certain than EU rhetoric suggested. These calculations were reflected in the nature of EU strategy, and were themselves conditioned by what was judged to be feasible strategy: that is, an ambivalence of motive encouraged, and was itself further reinforced by, what was seen to be a more productive focus on basic rights. Constitutive of the delicate geo-strategic balances struck was the EU's apparently genuine attempt to steer a course between the two highly criticized extremes of, on the one hand, being seen to be imposing 'Western' values, and, on the other hand, being indifferent to the fate of democratic process in the developing world.

European Union Policy-Making and Issues of Coherence In the opening chapter it was noted that the different levels of issues pertinent to democracy promotion have been analysed largely in separation from one another. The second chapter explained how the EU has itself long been seen as being particularly weak in affecting linkages between different policy domains. Hence, in both analytical and practical decision-making terms, questions arise over the coherence between micro- and macro-level initiatives, and between the economic and political spheres. With regards to this issue of coherence, the foregoing case studies offer mixed evidence. Conceptually, the EU's approach undoubtedly advanced a more holistic linking together of political, economic, and social change. However, in practice, the incorporation of the democracy promotion agenda into decision-making processes on the broader range of European external policies exhibited clear weaknesses. The failure completely to transcend a debilitatingly fragmented policy-making process militated against deliberations that placed the issue of democracy promotion consistently at the heart of policy-making. Democracy promotion was handled to a significant extent as a separate policy domain, rather than one that pervasively conditioned and informed other objectives. The case studies reveal a tendency among policymakers in practice to conceive democracy promotion as an 'add on' rather than an integral underpinning of other policy decisions. The

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EU did not move towards undertaking any systematic audit of the impact on the democracy promotion agenda of the range of its other external policies, and succeeded in explicitly harnessing the latter specifically to assist democracy promotion to only a limited extent. Notwithstanding rhetoric suggesting the contrary, democracy was assumed too easily to be likely to flow from initiatives aimed at other areas—economic, social, cultural, or governance-related—rather than being addressed as a primacy focus, itself with causal potential in relation to these other objectives. Some institutional improvements were introduced, with the very commitment to democracy promotion encouraging some 'deepening' of decision-making procedures. If linkages were weak in East Asia, within the Euro-Mediterranean Partnership more fluidity emerged in relations between pillars, and trade, security and democracy promotion issues were invariably discussed in a more co-ordinated fashion. Notwithstanding this, notable 'disconnects' were still prominent. The input of democracy experts into trade issues was not great. Institutional structures did not obviously facilitate an incorporation of detailed analysis of socio-economic change in developing countries into deliberations on democracy promotion strategy. The overall decision-making system remained amorphous, with the EU clearly lacking the high-level diplomatic agility and weight to give greater systemic-level effect to the bottom-up, social developmental component of its policy. Considerations of high-level political conditionality and on-the-ground democracy assistance were not linked in any systematic fashion, reducing the prospects of positive and negative measures being deployed in more effective tandem. Processes were structured to a far greater extent around human rights issues, and policy-makers acknowledged that CFSP procedures did little to facilitate a conceptualization of the relationship between the human rights and democracy agendas, with the latter simply assumed to constitute a natural continuum of the former. While revealing the effect of such disjointed processes, however, the case studies do not unreservedly support the views of those who, as outlined in Chapter 2, continued to insist that institutional inefficiencies were the overwhelming cause of the weaknesses to European 'actorness'. The paucity of 'joined-up' policy deliberation derived as much from policy-makers' conceptual mind-set as from formal decision-making lacunae: the case studies do not obviously suggest that EU policy would have been appreciably different had smoother and more centralized institutional procedures been in place. The democracy promotion agenda was, rather summarily, seen as both one of the clearest examples of a 'Europeanized interest', and,

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conversely, as a policy particularly susceptible to lowest common denominator dynamics (with CFSP shielding national governments from public opprobrium for not acting against offending states).3 The case studies show that in the Mediterranean and East Asia divergences between member states remained of some significance, but that a degree of convergence was also evident. The oftenremarked North-South divide within the EU was a notable feature of debates over democracy promotion strategy. There were cases where one state with particular historically based concerns dominated policy towards a given country—France in Algeria, Portugal in Indonesia. Bilateral policies were often used to offset rather than reinforce approaches agreed at the European level. Procedures permitted undercutting between governments, the variations in member states' aid and investment promotion policies being of particular significance. On other occasions policy-making dynamics had the opposite effect, with Northern EU states able to frustrate a warming of relations towards non-democratic states—this occurring in relation to Burma, China, and Libya. However, while there were significant differences over democracy promotion strategy, mutual compromise between member states was not completely absent. Southern EU states blocked the desire of some northern states in some cases to exert greater punitive pressure, but themselves shifted positions to accept a rather more forceful insistence on democratic discourse than they would have done in the absence of 'Europeanizing' dynamics. Often of greater magnitude than the differences between states were those along functional lines— between development specialists, democracy experts, geographical departments and those responsible for overall CFSP strategy. Both Northern and Southern member states sometimes welcomed EU co-ordination as a 'cover' facilitating domestic acceptance of a convergence around elements of each other's approach. In sum, policy-making dynamics were not confined to pure realistintergovernmentalism. While there were differences on questions of strategy, convergence around the bottom-up, socialization-based approach gave a notable enough commonality to be able to talk of a distinctive 'European' approach. Critically this might be interpreted as the only, rather anodyne ground upon which member states could find agreement. More positively, it could be seen as a policy combining a more balanced and comprehensive approach than that pursued by the USA. Chapter 2 noted the debates over whether the EU can be said to constitute a different type of international actor, drawn by the nature of its own formation and identity to the promotion of cognitive norms and socio-economic co-operation. The case studies offer some

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validation of this view. An internal dynamic to EU policy-making could be identified which naturally aimed to reflect outwards the value attached to constructing societal networks. In this sense, the EU's own internal discourse can be seen as having 'constituted' its eschewal of policies aimed at the replication of any particular set of national institutions. Calculations of material interest were, as noted, not completely absent, and member states pursued contrasting strategies in pursuit of such objectives, cautioning against claims that EU protagonism was of an entirely different order. However, the focus on building up socio-economic 'presence' rather than punctuated power politics suggested that democracy promotion strategy was not completely without a degree of'internal' logic.

State Agency, Structural, and Domestic Variables The book opened by outlining different perspectives on the extent and type of international actors' potential agency over political reform processes in the developing world. The case studies of European policies presented here highlight how the EU sought to elaborate a more multidimensional agency in relation to democracy promotion. In this way, the EU increasingly sought to influence political trends beyond the framework of formal accession procedures. Even in Southern and Eastern Europe the EU's role was widely seen as deriving less from the active prompting of political change through specific concrete instruments than from established European democracies providing a psychologically important 'external guarantee' for political change. It was suggested that this 'loaded the dice' in favour of successful democratization, while playing its most crucial role in 'underwriting' democracy after transition had already occurred.4 Against this background, the EU's potential to condition trends outside the scope of enlargement would have appeared to be extremely limited. It was significant then that the EU set out to develop a more purposive and comprehensive set of actions, combining discursive elements, macro-level material interjections, and micro-level funding. This reflected recognition of the need simultaneously to work at different levels, and for the international dimension of political change to be woven into shifting considerations unfolding at the domestic level. As the preceding chapters demonstrate, as the 1990s progressed the EU did introduce more tightly focused and more materially significant democracy promotion instruments in the Mediterranean and East Asia. The case studies also suggest, however, that the EU's efforts

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invariably remained tentative and partial at each level of agency. By trying to effect a mutually reinforcing balance between discursive, political, and socio-economic action, the EU maximized its efforts in no single sphere. This often left its agency frustratingly nebulous. In practice the EU remained far short of having developed a systematically and coherently all-encompassing protagonsim within which different levels of action combined with any significant mutually enhancing precision or force. In some senses EU agency compared favourably in quantitative and qualitative terms to that of the USA. While the case studies reaffirm some of the EU's diplomatic weaknesses relative to the USA—especially in East Asia—they also suggest that in a number of aspects European approaches to democracy promotion were more broad-ranging and multifaceted. A decade of European activity in this field has sufficed to render unsatisfactory claims that democracy promotion is an activity somehow unique to America's destiny and dominated to an overwhelming degree by US policy. The continuing tendency of studies of US policy to decline even to mention the role of European democracy promotion policies, when the latter were themselves so deeply conditioned by and routinely measured against American approaches, represents an unwarranted imbalance. In the USA, policy was commonly held to reflect a combination of domestically embedded liberalism and, flowing from this, an international self-image that more instinctively saw exporting democratic institutions as a question of self-interest.5 If democracy promotion was more 'mainstreamed' into strategic perspectives in the USA, however, this served to produce a degree of inconstancy. The linking of democracy promotion more closely to security objectives often justified decisions not to pursue political change where this was judged to be incompatible with immediate strategic goals. While it would be naive to suggest that similarly inspired variation was completely absent from European policy, the EU did more openly strive for greater consistency and 'standardization' across regions. This was born of the EU's more developmental than strategic focus, aimed at constructing bottom-up 'democratic potential' and governance-related capacity, rather than specified institutional end-goals. European policy-makers felt justified in claiming a less one-dimensional and evangelical approach than the USA, often less notable at the level of high politics, but in their view constituting a more thorough form of agency. The variation in political trends across the Mediterranean and East Asia cautions against determinism. The case studies suffice to demonstrate that the structure of the international system—and

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the nature of actors' policies produced within that system—cannot convincingly be seen as either necessarily positive or inescapably negative for democracy. The variation in the nature and impact of European policies across these regions also suggests that international actors' agency should be seen as neither inevitably unimportant nor uniformly of significant positive influence over democratic dynamics. In accounting for the differences in democratization trends in the Mediterranean and East Asian regions, attention will be drawn primarily to domestic factors—the particular historical processes of state formation, contrasting cultural discourses, and the diverse patterns of economic activity more or less amenable to engendering political liberalization. Rather than negating the utility of an international focus, however, this domestic emphasis assists in explaining contrasts in the impact of external policies, as international actors' initiatives are absorbed into the ongoing rebalancing between domestic coalitions in different ways. However, if international agency must be assessed in terms of its impact on this intertwining of external and internal dimensions, the case studies show the EU's materially based policies to have been relatively blunt and crude in this regard. If building sustainable democracy is a matter of crafting alliances and balances between a range of domestic actors, about carefully balancing different levels of institutional change, and about precise issues of sequencing, the EU's failure cogently to conceptualize such challenges must be seen as a major weakness to its external agency. In this sense, EU policy mirrored the academic divide between political theory and international relations. Conceived and driven through an international relations lens, but given effect only though considerations proper to 'domestic' political theory, the democracy promotion agenda occupied an uneasy interstice between these two logics. Many of the shortcomings of EU policy flowed from, and themselves constituted a manifestation of, this disjuncture. European agency was in some cases of positive value, in others of negligible impact, while in still others it risked being counterproductive. Perhaps the most that can be said is that by the late 1990s the EU was no longer the unqualified barrier to democratization that many had previously judged it to be in some countries. There were clear limits to the impact of European initiatives at both ends of the spectrum. Strongly non-democratic regimes were not tangibly undermined, while even reformist governments remained sensitive and ambivalent towards the EU's democracy promotion initiatives and often restricted European purchase over the

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challenges related to partial political liberalization. In these reformist states the EU offered useful support for modernizers and NGOs, and did sometimes help embed a discourse that favoured political reform during moments of change—Indonesia in 1998, Morocco's 1999 succession—that might previously have engendered more regressive developments. However, shortcomings in other areas of policy tempered the EU's utility as an ally to reformers in domestic battles. There was some evidence that the stipulation of a broad expectation of democratic progress as a condition underpinning post-cold war partnerships became firmly enough embedded to begin shaping, in some countries, domestic actors' formation of their own identities. The EU can at the very least be seen as having contributed to an international discourse that in such cases succeeded in forcing democratic intransigents increasingly to justify their actions in terms of the language of democracy. There were other cases, however, where the impact of the new discourse on democracy appeared to have been emasculated, rather than stimulated, by the dynamics of inter-regional elite socialization. Deeply embedded partnership seemed at least as capable of making EU elites more indulgent of developing states' contrasting understandings of a superficially common language on democracy as of moulding third country elites to European political norms. Consequently, with prospects for the broadening of a transnational democratic elite not entirely favourable, the longer term significance of the ideational impact of the European Union's commitment to democracy promotion remained open to question.

Notes

Chapter 1 1. F. Fukuyama, The End of History and the Last Man (London: Penguin, 1992) was, of course, routinely cited as the classic case of this, although views differed on just how teleological his reasoning was. 2. F. Zakaria, 'The Rise of Illiberal Democracy', Foreign Affairs,s 76/6 (1997): 22-43. 3. A. Przeworski et al., Sustainable Democracy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 34. 4. L. Diamond and M. Plattner, 'Introduction', in Diamond and Plattner (eds.), The Global Resurgence of Democracy (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1996), x; T. Carothers, 'Democracy without Illusions', Foreign Affairs,s 76/1 (1997): 93. 5. Modernization theory originated with S. Lipset, Political Man (New York: Basic Books, 1960). The focus on class structures was advanced by Barrington Moore, Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy: Lord and Peasant in the Making of the Modern World (Boston: Beacon 1996), and is also found in D. Rueschemeyer, E. Stephens, and J. Stephens, Capitalist Development and Democracy (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1992). The seminal work with respect to the 'agency' approach is G. O'Donnell, P. Schmitter, and L. Whitehead (eds.), Transitions from Authoritarian Rule (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), part 1, 5. The rational choice approach is associated with A. Przeworski, Democracy and the Market: Political and Economic Reforms in Eastern Europe and Latin America (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). 6. This is the case with S. Huntington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century (Numa, Okla.: University of Oklahoma Press, 1991). 7. This was the rationale behind the most notable works on the international dimension of democratization: L. Whitehead (ed.), The International Dimensions of Democratization: Europe and the Americas (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996); G. Pridham (ed.), Encouraging Democracy: The International Context of Regime Transition in Southern Europe (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1991); G. Pridham, E. Herring, and G. Sanford (eds.), Building Democracy: The International Dimension of Democratization in Eastern Europe (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1994). Also see L. Whitehead, 'The Drama of Democratization', Journal of Democracy, 10/4 (1999): 84-98.

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8. It was the extent of this snowball momentum that Huntington identified as the key difference between the third wave and its two predecessors, Huntington, The Third Wave. 9. e.g. see C. W. Kegley jun, 'The New Global Order: The Power of Principle in a Pluralistic World', Ethics and International Affairs, 6 (1992): 21-40; M. Kaldor, 'Transnational Civil Society', in T. Dunne and N. Wheeler, Human Rights in Global Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). 10. J. Gray, 'Global Utopias and Clashing Civilizations: Misunderstanding the Present, International Affairs,s 74/1 (1998): 149-64; and False Dawn: The Delusions of Global Capitalism, (London: Granta, 1999), 17. 11. G. Sorensen, Democracy and Democratization (Boulder, Colo.: Westview, 1998), 36; P. Schmitter, 'The Influence of the International Context upon the Choice of National Institutions and Policies in NeoDemocracies', in Whitehead (ed.), International Dimensions; A. Hurrell, 'The International Dimensions of Democratization in Latin America: The Case of Brazil', in Whitehead (ed.), The International Dimensions, 162-3. 12. F. Halliday, Rethinking International Relations (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1994), 94-119, and 'The End of the Cold War: Some Analytic and Theoretical Conclusions' in K. Booth and S. Smith (eds.), International Relations Theory Today (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995), 50. From the opposing angle, many prominent realists themselves acknowledged that their focus on power politics needed to be qualified by an incorporation of some of the tenets of liberal interdependence and transnational civil society theories: e.g. see comments by Barry Buzan, in 'Realism and Cosmopolitanism: A Debate between Barry Buzan and David Held', Review of International Studies, 24/3 (1998): 387-98. For an overview of this theoretical evolution, see S. Walt, 'International Relations: One World, Many Theories', Foreign Policy, 110 (1998): 28-47. 13. J. A. Scholte, 'Global Capitalism and the State', International Affairs, 73/3 (1997); P. Hirst and G. Thompson, Globalisation in Question (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2nd edn., 1999); P. Evans, 'The Eclipse of the State? Reflections on Stateness in an Era of Globalisation', World Politics, 50 (1997): 62-87. Evans argues that if state protagonism is in danger it is as a mistaken ideological recommendation not an existing and necessary fact. 14. F. Halliday, 'The Cold War and its Conclusion: Consequences for International Relations Theory', in R. Leaver and J. Richardson (eds.), The Post-Cold War Order: Diagnoses and Prognoses (St Leonards, Australia: Allen & Unwin, 1993): 24; M. Doyle, 'Liberalism and the End of the Cold War', in R. Lebow and T. Risse-Kappen (eds.), International Relations Theory and the End of the Cold War (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995): 101; C. Brown, 'History Ends, Worlds Collide', Review of International Studies, 25/4 (1999); Hirst and Thompson, Globalisation.

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15. The seminal text of constructivism is A. Wendt, 'Anarchy is What States Make of it: The Social Construction of Power Polities', International Organization, 88/2 (1992): 384-96. 16. This framework is developed most comprehensively in T. Risse, S. Ropp, and K. Sikkink (eds.), The Power of Human Rights: International Norms and Domestic Change (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). 17. T. Risse-Kappen, 'Ideas Do Not Float Freely: Transnational Coalitions, Domestic Politics and the End of the Cold War', International Organization, 48/2 (1995): 185-214. 18. T. Risse T. and S. Ropp, 'International Human Rights Norms and Domestic Change: Conclusions', in Risse et al. (eds.), The Power of Human Rights, 273. 19. J. Checkel, 'The Constructivist Turn in International Relations Theory', World Politics, 50 (1998): 340-1. 20. G. Pridham, 'International Influences and Democratic Transition: Problems of Theory and Practice in Linkage Polities', in Pridham (ed.), Encouraging Democracy, 9-11, and 'The International Dimension of Democratisation: Theory, Practice and Inter-Regional Comparisons', in Pridham et al. (eds.), Building Democracy, 15-16; L. Whitehead, 'On International Support for Democracy in the South', in R. Luckham and G. White (eds.), Democratization in the South: The Jagged Wave (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1996), 271; H. P. Schmitz and K. Sell, 'International Factors in Processes of Political Democratization: Towards a Theoretical Integration', in J. Grugel (ed.), Democracy without Borders: Transnationalization and Conditionality in New Democracies (London: Routledge, 1999). Such a conceptual framework was suggested for understanding the broad process of globalization: I. Clark, 'Beyond the Great Divide: Globalization and the Theory of International Relations', Review of International Studies, 24/4 (1994): 479-98. 21. S. Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1997), esp. 58-9, 92-4 and 309-12, and The Third Wave, where Huntington argues that the West had been able to exert some degree of influence over the transitions in Southern Europe, Latin America, and Eastern Europe, in a way it would be unable to do in relation to the remaining regional blocs from which liberal democracy was still largely absent, namely Asia and the Muslim world. 22. The three arguments of, respectively, C. Beitz, Political Theory and International Relations (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979), esp. 78-9 and 123; M. Frost, Ethics in International Relations: A Constitutive Theory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996); and R. Jackson, Quasi-States: Sovereignty, International Relations and the Third World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990).

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23. This range of philosophical justifications for active human rights policies is evident in the different contributions in Dunne and Wheeler, Human Rights, and equally in those in T. Nardin and D. Mapel (eds.), Traditions of International Ethics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992). 24. J. Dougherty and R. Pfaltzgraff, Contending Theories of International Relations: A Comprehensive Survey (New York: Longman, 1996), 571. 25. See e.g. C. Navari, 'Intervention, Non-intervention and the Construction of the State', in I. Forbes and M. Hoffman (eds.), Political Theory, International Relations and the Ethics of Intervention (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1993), 49. 26. G. Hawthorn, 'How to Ask for Good Government', IDS Bulletin, 24/1 (1993): 58-66. 27. B. Parekh, 'The Cultural Particularity of Democracy', in D. Held (ed.), Prospects for Democracy: North, South, East and West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993); J. Myal, 'Democracy and International Society', International Affairs,s 76/1 (2000): 61-75. 28. For example, A. Linklater, 'Liberal Democracy, Constitutionalism and the New World Order', in Leaver and Richardson (eds.), PostCold War Era. Zakaria, Rise of Illiberal Democracy, also argues that the dearth of'constitutional liberalism' should be the target of western states, rather than democracy. 29. K. Tomasevski, Development Aid and Human Rights Revisited (London: Pinter, 1993); D. Held, 'Democracy and the New International Order', in D. Archibigi and D. Held (eds.), Cosmopolitan Democracy: An Agenda for a New World Order (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995); 99-103; P. Cerny, 'Globalisation and the Erosion of Democracy', European Journal of Political Research, 36/1 (1999): 1-26; B. Barber, 'Democracy at Risk: American Culture in a Global Culture', World Policy Journal (Summer 1998): 29-41. This is also the underlying theme of Grugel (ed.), Democracy without Borders. 30. M. Walzer, Thick and Thin: Moral Argument at Home and Abroad (Notre Dame, Ind.: Notre Dame University Press, 1994). D. Boucher, Political Theories of International Relations (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998) reviews the overall direction of debates on international ethics, noting the influence of Walzer's work. Also see L. Bonanate, Ethics and International Politics (Cambridge: Polity Press 1995); C. Brown, 'The Ethics of Political Restructuring in Europe: The Perspective of Constitutive Theory', in Brown (ed.), Political Restructuring in Europe: Ethical Perspectives (London: Routledge, 1994); A. Hurrell, 'Power, Principles and Prudence: Protecting Human Rights in a Deeply Divided World', in Dunne and Wheeler Human Rights; M. Moore and M. Robinson, 'Can Foreign Aid be Used to Promote Good Government in Developing Countries?', Ethics and International Affairs,s 8 (1994): 141-58. An account of the US human rights community views is given in T. Carothers, 'Democracy and Human Rights: Policy Allies or Rivals?', The

Notes

31. 32. 34.

34.

35.

36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42.

211

Washington Quarterly, 17/3 (1994): 109-20. Writers that do defend democracy as a universal ethical norm are rare: examples include: Frost, Ethics; J. Keane, Civil Society: Old Images, New Visions (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1998), 53-61; as well as A. Sen, Development as Freedom (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), positing democracy as 'constitutive' of human development. See M. Doyle, Ways of War and Peace (New York: Norton, 1997). Including writers such as Gilpin, Buzan and Kennedy. See S. Brooks, 'Dualing Realisms', International Organization, 51/3 (1997): 445-77. The debate over the democratic peace theory, claim and counterclaim, can be followed in a special edition of International Security, 19/2 (1994), 'Give Democratic Peace a Chance?'. This is followed up by B. Russet, 'The Democratic Peace: And Yet in Moves', International Security, 19/4 (1995), with further replies in the same volume from Layne, Spiro, and a defence from Doyle. Another critique of the hypothesis is E. Mansfield and J. Zinder, 'Democratization and War', Foreign Affairs, 74/3 (1995): 79-97. J. Mearsheimer. 'Back to the Future: Instability in Europe after the Cold War', International Security, 15/1 (1990): 5-56 and, in more nuanced form, R. Jervis, 'The Future of World Politics: Will it Resemble the Past?', International Security, 16/3 (1991): 39-73. Gray, 'Global Utopias'; T. Barkawi and M. Laffey, 'The Imperial Peace: Democracy, Force and Globalization', European Journal of International Relations, 5/4 (1999): 403-34. See R. Schweller, 'United States Democracy Promotion: Realist Reflections', in M. Cox, G. John Ikenberry, and T. Inoguchi (eds.), American Democracy Promotion: Impulses, Strategies, and Impacts (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 43, for a critique sympathetic to the 'democratic peace' notion but concerned at the latter's lack of attention to the implications of resource scarcity. K. Waltz, 'America as a Model for the World? A Foreign Policy Perspective', PS: Political Science and Politics, 24/4 (1991): 667-70; Huntington, The Clash, 312. Ibid. 94. G. Segal, 'International Relations and Democratic Transition', in Pridham (ed.), Encouraging Democracy, 40. S. Hoffmann, 'The Case for Leadership', Foreign Policy, 81 (1990): 20-38 and 'A New World and Its Troubles', Foreign Affairs 69/4 (1990): 115-23. S. Guzzini, Realism in International Relations: The Continuing Story of a Death Foretold (London: Routledge, 1998), 227-9. See the various contributions to A. Bernstein and P. Berger (eds.), Business and Democracy: Cohabitation or Contradiction? (London: Pinter, 1998). B. Gills, J. Rocamora, and R. Wilson (eds.), Low Intensity Democracy (London: Pluto Press, 1993), 5. For the study of 1980s US policy, see W. Robinson, Promoting Polyarchy ((Cambridge: Cambridge University

212

43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49.

50. 51.

52.

Notes Press, 1996). Robinson employs a neo-Gramscian approach, in the terms of which low-intensity democracy is valued by international actors due to its being able to achieve 'consensual domination'—i.e. being able to quell domestic unrest and instability through 'the hegemony of the democratic ideal' (see esp. ch. 1). For a critique of World Bank policies, see A. M. Goetz and D. O'Brien, 'Governing for the Common Wealth? The World Bank's Approach to Poverty and Governance', IDS Bulletin, 26/5 (1995): 17-26. For additional critical perspectives, see the separate contributions by Steve Smith, Robinson, and Barry Gills in Cox et al. (eds.), American Democracy Promotion. H. Smith, 'Why is There No International Democratic Theory?', in Smith (ed.), Democracy and International Relations: Critical Theories/ Problematic Practices (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 2000) likewise suggests that investigation into the political projects of dominant social classes would be the most fruitful area for research on democracy promotion, and the key to transcending an artificial divide in the conceptualization of the economic and political spheres. N. Chomsky, World Orders, Old and New (London: Pluto Press, 1997), 25 and 67. Hirst and Thompson, Globalisation, 277-8. World Bank, Anti-Corruption in Transition: A Contribution to the Policy Debate (Washington: World Bank, 2000). See Sorensen, Democracy, 12-13; J. Linz and A. Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996), 7-15. Keane, Civil Society, 8. O'Donnell et al., Transitions, part 4, pp. 7—11. For accounts of the contribution of civil society to democracy see: L. Diamond, 'Toward Democratic Consolidation', in Diamond and Plattner, The Global Resurgence of Democracy, 230-6; A. Haddenius and F. Uggla, 'Shaping Civil Society', in B. Amanda, H. Henry, and H. Ulrich (eds.), Civil Society and International Development (Paris: OECD, 1998); Keane, Civil Society; M. Ignatieff, 'On Civil Society', Foreign Affairs,s 74/2 (1995): 128-36; M. Monshipouri, 'State Prerogatives, Civil Society and Liberalization: The Paradoxes of the Late Twentieth Century in the Third World', Ethics and International Affairs, 11 (1997): 232-51; J. Pearce, 'Civil Society, the Market and Democracy in Latin America', Democratization, 4/2 (1997): 65-6. L. Whitehead, 'Introduction: Some Insights from Western Social Theory', World Development, 21/8 (1993): 1245-61. For an account of these parallels between economic and political liberalization, see D. Beetham D., 'Market Economy and Democratic Polity', in R. Fine and S. Rai (eds.), Civil Society: Democratic Perspectives (London: Frank Cass, 1997). J. Allison, T. Graham, and R. Beshel, 'Can the United States Promote Democracy?', Political Science Quarterly, 107/1 (1992): 81-98.

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53. Sorensen, Democracy, 25. 54. Linz and Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition, 78. 55. J. M. Maravall, Regimes, Politics and Markets: Democratization and Economic Change in Southern and Eastern Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997) provides a comprehensive summary of these studies. 56. H. Rowen, 'The Tide Underneath the Third Wave', in Diamond and Plattner, The Global Resurgence, 316; A. Przeworski and F. Limongi, 'Modernization: Theories and Facts', World Politics, 49/2 (1997); A. Leftwich, 'Two Cheers for Democracy', Political Quarterly, 67/4 (1996). Huntington, in The Third Wave, famously demonstrated that two-thirds of the third-wave transitions had occurred in countries with an intermediate level of economic development. 57. M. Stevens and S. Gnanaselvam, 'The World Bank and Governance', IDS Bulletin, 26/2 (1995): 97-105. 58. P. Nunnenkamp, 'What Donors Mean by Good Governance: Heroic Ends, Limited Means and Traditional Dilemmas of Development Cooperation', IDS Bulletin, 26/5 (1995): 9-16. 59. G. White, 'Towards a Democratic Development State', IDS Bulletin, 26/5 (1995): 31. 60. See R. Fine, 'Civil Society Theory, Enlightenment and Critique', in Fine and Rai (eds.), Civil Society, for an account of the historical trajectory of civil society analysis, from the Enlightment's concern with a dialectic balance between state, civil society, and the economy, to the gradual tilt in favour of privileging the state as necessary guarantor of universal values in the work of Hegel and Marx, through a reversal to the other extreme at the end of the 1980s in Eastern Europe. 61. See Haddenius and Uggla, 'Shaping Civil Society', for a discussion of these issues. 62. Such arguments were advanced by a growing number of analysts, including: E. Shils, 'The Virtues of Civil Society', Government and Opposition, 26/1 (1991); L. Diamond, 'Promoting Democracy', Foreign Policy, 87 (1992): 25-46; D. Held, 'From City States to Cosmopolitan Order', in Held (ed.), Prospects for Democracy; M. Walzer, 'The Concept of Civil Society', in Walzer (ed.), Toward a Global Civil Society (Oxford: Berghahn Books, 1995); M. Robinson, 'Strengthening Civil Society in Africa: The Role of Foreign Political Aid', IDS Bulletin, 26/2 (1995): 70-80; Pearce, 'Civil Society, the Market'; L. Whitehead, 'Bowling in the Bronx: The Uncivil Interstices between Civil and Political Society', in Fine and Rai (eds.), Civil Society; Keane, Civil Society; Kaldor, 'Transnational Civil Society'; N. Bermeo, 'Civil Society, Good Government and Neo-Liberal Reforms', in J. Faundez (ed.), Good Government and Law: Legal and Institutional Reform in Developing Countries (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1997), 86. 63. L. Diamond, 'Promoting Democracy in the 1990s: Actors, Instruments and Issues', in A. Haddenius (ed.), Democracy's Victory and Crisis (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 342.

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64. See Przeworski et al., Sustainable Democracy, for one notable exposition of this position. Also A. Leftwich, 'Governance, the State and the Politics of Development', Development and Change (1994): 25; Linz and Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition, 7; L. Whitehead, 'On "Reform of the State" and "Regulation of the Market"', World Development, 21/8 (1993): 1371-93; Maravall, Regimes: 21-30; Beetham, 'Market Economy'; I. Mclean, 'Democratization and Economic Liberalization: Which is the Chicken and Which is the Egg?', Democratization, 1/1 (1994): 27-40; W. Glade, 'On Markets and Democracy', in J. Hollifield and C. Jillson (eds.), Pathways to Democracy: The Political Economy of Democratic Transitions (London: Routledge, 2000). 65. Leftwich, 'Governance, the State', 364; Nunnenkamp, 'What Donors Mean', 14-15, White, 'Towards a Democratic Development State', 31. 66. World Bank, Governance: The World Bank's Experience (Washington, DC: World Bank, 1991); World Bank, Anti-Corruption in Transition. 67. Sen, Development as Freedom. 68. P. McAuslan, 'Law, Governance and the Development of the Market: Practical Problems and Possible Solutions', in Faiindez (ed.), Good Government, 31; J. Faundez, 'Introduction: Legal Technical Assistance', in Faundez (ed.), Good Government, 1; S. Rose-Ackermann, Corruption and Government: Causes, Consequences, and Reform (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 184. 69. M. J. Smith, 'Liberalism and International Reform', in Nardin and Mapel, Traditions, 201; T. Knutsen, A History of International Relations Theory (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2nd edn. 1992), 245; S. Burchill, 'Liberal Internationalism' in Burchill and A. Linklater (eds.), Theories of Internationall Relations (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1996), 34. 70. A large number of authors advance this range of criticisms of punitive conditionality, including: F. Lavin, 'Asphyxiation or Oxygen? The Sanctions Dilemma', Foreign Policy, 104 (1996): 139-54; D. Hendrickson, 'The Democratist Crusade: Intervention, Economic Sanctions and Engagement', World Policy Journal, 11/4 (1994): 18-30; P. Uvin, '"Do As I Say, Not As I Do": The Limits of Political Conditionality', in G. Sorensen (ed.), Political Conditionality (London: Frank Cass, 1993), 76; M. Moore and N. Robinson, 'Can Foreign Aid be Used to Promote Government in Developing Countries?', Ethics and International Affairs,s, 8 (1994): 141-58; L. Whitehead, 'Democratic Regimes, Ostracism and Pariahs', in Whitehead (ed.), International Dimensions; J. Gordon, 'A Peaceful, Silent, Deadly Remedy: The Ethics of Economic Sanctions', Ethics and International Affairs,s, 13 (1999): 123-42; R. Haass, 'Sanctioning Madness', Foreign Affairs,s, 76/6: 74-85. Sceptics amongst development aid practitioners and experts, included: J. Nelson, Encouraging Democracy: What Role for Conditioned Aid? (Washington, DC: Overseas Development Council, Policy Essay No. 4, 1992); L. Diamond, 'Promoting Democracy', Foreign Policy, 87 (1992):

Notes

71.

72. 73. 74. 75. 76.

77. 78. 79. 80.

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25-47; O. Stokke, 'Aid and Political Conditionality: Core Issues and State of the Art', in O. Stokke (ed.), Aid and Political Conditionality (London: Frank Cass, 1995); M. Doornbus, 'State Formation Processes under External Supervision: Reflections on "Good Governance"' in Stokke, Aid and Political Conditionality; Tomasevski, Development Aid; White, 'Towards a Democratic Development State'; P. Burnell, 'Good Government and Democratization: A Sideways Look at Aid and Political Conditionality', Democratization, 1/3 (1994): 485-503; Nunnenkamp, 'What Donors Mean'; J. Barya, 'The New Political Conditionalities of Aid: An Independent View from Africa', IDS Bulletin, 24 (1993); Parekh, 'Cultural Particularity', 108; Hurrell, 'Power, Principles and Prudence', 286; Myall, 'Democracy and International Society'. See M. Halperin, 'Guaranteeing Democracy', Foreign Policy, 91 (1993): 105-22 for suggestions of the limited cases in which sanctions might be legitimate and effective. For the most comprehensive studies of democracy assistance, from which the analysis here draws, see T. Carothers, Aiding Democracy Abroad: The Learning Curve (Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 1999) and P. Burnell (ed.), Democracy Assistance: International Co-operation for Democratization (London: Frank Cass, 2000), in particular the three chapters by the editor. Also see Burnell, 'Good Government', 501; Robinson, 'Strengthening Civil Society'; M. Moore, 'Promoting Good Government by Supporting Institutional Development', IDS Bulletin, 26/5 (1995): 95; Doornbus, 'State Formation'; Pinto-Duschinsky, 'The Rise of Political Aid' in L. Diamond et al., Consolidating the Third Wave Democracies: Regional Challenges (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997). Linz and Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition, 51-5. Moore, 'Promoting Good Government'. Quote from P. Burnell, 'Democracy Assistance: The State of the Art', in Burnell (ed.), Democracy Assistance, 350. This argument is central to Carothers, Aiding Democracy. Faundez, 'Introduction: Legal Technical Assistance', 12; McAuslan, 'Law, Governance', 27; Robinson, 'Strengthening Civil Society', 77. M. Ottoway and T. Chung, 'Debating Democracy Assistance: Towards a New Paradigm', Journal of Democracy, 10/4 (1999): 99-114. Note that, invited to reply to this last article, a number of high-ranking practitioners argued that the problems of sustainability called simply for more and longer-running funding from the West, rather than the promotion of 'second-best' forms of democracy. Stokke, 'Aid and Political Conditionality', 14; Lavin 'Asphyxiation', 147; Nelson, Encouraging Democracy, 36. Nelson, Encouraging Democracy, 19 and 46; Stokke, 'Aid and Political Conodtionality', 12. Burnell, 'Good Government', 488-9 and 498. Ibid. 487.

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81. e.g. see G. Crawford, 'Foreign Aid and Political Conditionality: Issues of Effectiveness and Consistency', Democratization, 4/3 (1997): 87.

Chapter 2 1. Critical assessments of CFSP's evolution include: G. Bonvicini, 'Making European Foreign Policy Work', in M. Westlake (ed.), The European Union Beyond Amsterdam: New Concepts of European Integration (London: Routledge, 1998); B. Crowe, 'Some Reflections on the Common Foreign and Security Policy', European Foreign Affairs s Review 3/3 (1998): 319-433; A. Duff, The Treaty of Amsterdam: Text and Commentary (London: Federal Trust, 1997); C. Hill, 'Closing the Capabilities-Expectations Gap?', in J. Peterson and H. Sjursen (eds.), A Common Foreign Policy for Europe? Competing Visions of the CFSP (London: Routledge, 1998); J. Monar, 'The EU's Foreign Affairs System after the Treaty of Amsterdam: A Strengthened Capacity for External Action?', European Foreign Affairs Review, 2/4 (1997): 413-36; J. Peterson, 'Introduction: The European Union as a Global Actor', in Peterson and Sjursen, A Common Foreign Policy?; U. Schmalz, 'The Amsterdam Provisions on External Coherence: Bridging the Union's Foreign Policy Dualism?', European Foreign Affairs Review, 3/3 (1998): 421-42; H. Sjursen, 'Missed Opportunity or Eternal Fantasy?: The Idea of a European Security and Defence Policy', in Peterson and Sjursen, A Common Foreign Policy?; A. Spence and D. Spence, 'The Common Foreign and Security Policy from Maastricht to Amsterdam', in K. Eliassen (ed.), Foreign and Security Policy in the European Union (London: Sage, 1998). 2. Official Bulletin of the European Communities (Nov. 1992): 93. 3. Commission of the European Communities, The European Initiative for Democracy and Human Rights (Brussels: CEC, 1999); Council General Secretariat, Annual Report on Human Rights 1998—9 (Brussels: CGS, 1999); Commission of the European Communities, Report on the Implementation of Measures Intended to Promote the Observance of Human Rights and Democratic Principles, 1996-99 (Brussels: CEC, 2000). 4. Commission, Report on Implementation. 5. Interview, FCO, London, Mar. 2000. 6. K. Smith, 'The Use of Political Conditionality in the EU's Relations with Third Countries: How Effective?', European Foreign Affairs Review, 3/2 (1998): 266. 7. Agence Europe (6 June 1999): 14. 8. Financial Times (4 September 2000): 5. 9. The clause states that: 'Respect for the democratic principles and fundamental human rights (established by the UN Declaration on Human Rights, the Helsinki Final Act and the Charter of Paris for a

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217

New Europe) inspires the domestic and external policies of the Union and of [third country] and constitutes an essential elements of this agreement'. In legal, textual terms the significance is in democracy being incorporated as an 'essential element'. It is the non-execution of 'essential elements' that will trigger 'appropriate measures'. The point is that suspension expressly provided for in relation to specified 'essential elements' under international law on treaties. 10. For an account of these procedural issues relating to the democracy clause, see Smith, 'Use of Political Conditionality', and A. Ward, 'Frameworks for Cooperation between the EU and Third Countries: A Viable Matrix for Uniform Human Rights Standards?', European Foreign Affairs Review, 3/3 (1998): 505-36. 11. D. Allen and M. Smith, 'External Policy Developments', in EU Annual Review, Journal of Common Market Studies (1998): 92. 12. M. Fouwels, 'The European Union's Common Foreign and Security Policy and Human Rights', Netherlands Human Rights Quarterly (1997): 300. 13. Notable analyses of the 1980s include: P. Taylor, The Limits to European Integration (London: Groom Helm, 1983); W. Wallace, 'Introduction: Cooperation and Convergence in European Foreign Policy', in C. Hill (ed.), National Foreign Policies and European Political Cooperation (London: Allen & Unwin, 1983); D. Allen and A. Pijpers (eds.), European Foreign Policy-Making and the Arab-Israeli Conflictt (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1984); M. Holland, 'Three Approaches for Understanding European Political Cooperation: A Case Study of EC-South Africa Policy', Journal of Common Market Studies, 4 (1987): 295-313. Those advancing these critical perspectives into the 1990s, included: A. Pijpers, 'European Political Cooperation and the Realist Paradigm', in M. Holland (ed.), The Future of European Political Cooperation: Essays on Theory and Practice (London: Routledge, 1991); R. Morgan, 'The Prospects for Europe's Common Foreign and Security Policy', in A. Clesse et al. (eds.), The International System After the Collapse of the East-West Order (London: Martinus Nijhoff, 1994); E. Regelsberger and W. Wessels, 'The CFSP Institutions and Procedures: A Third Way for the Second Pillar?', European Foreign Affairs Review, 1/1 (1996): 29-54; E. Regelsberger, P. de Schoutheete de Tervarent, and W. Wessels, 'From EPC to CFSP: Does Maastricht Push the EU Toward a Role as a Global Power?', in Regelsberger, de Schoutheete, and Wessels, Foreign Policy of the European Union (Boulder, Colo.: Lynne Rienner, 1997); P. Gordon, 'Europe's Uncommon Foreign Policy', International Security, 22/3 (1997): 74-100; F. Cameron, 'Building a Common Foreign Policy: Do Institutions Matter?', in Peterson and Sjursen, A Common Foreign Policy?; N. Winn, 'The Proof of the Pudding is in the Eating: The European Union "Joint Action" as an Effective Foreign Policy Instrument?', International

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Relations, 13/6 (1997): 19-31; R. Ginsberg, Foreign Policy Actions of the European Community (Boulder, Colo.: Lynne Rienner, 1989). 14. A range of factors is held to contribute to this dynamic: the socialization effects of epistemic communities; the empowering impact of EU institutions' control of information flows; Commission entrepreneurship; agenda-setting influences; the density of supranational rules. Good examples from the extensive literature expounding these points include: L. Cram, 'Integration Theory and the Study of the European Policy Process', in J. Richardson (ed.), European Union: Power and Policy-Making (London: Routledge, 1996); S. Mazey and J. Richardson, 'Agenda Setting, Lobbying and the 1996 Inter-Governmental Conference', in G. Edwards and A. Pijpers (eds.), The Politics of European Union Treaty Reform: The 1996 Inter-Governmental Conferencee and Beyond (London: Pinter, 1997); G. Peters, 'Bureaucratic Politics and the Institutions of the European Union', in A. Sbragia (ed.), Euro-Politics: Institutions and Policy-Making in the 'New' European Union (Washington, DC: Brookings Institute, 1992); J. Peterson, 'Decision-Making in the European Union: Towards a Framework for Analysis'; Journal of European Public Policy, 2/1 (1995): 131-56; J. Richardson, 'Policy-Making in the EU: Interests, Ideas and Garbage Cans of Primeval Soup', in J. Richardson (ed.), European Union: Power and Policy-Making; W. Sandholtz, 'Choosing Union: Monetary Politics and Maastricht', International Organization, 47/1 (1993): 1-39; A. Stone Sweet and W. Sandholtz, 'European Integration and Supranational Governance', Journal of European Public Policy, 4/3 (1997): 297-317; D. Wincott, 'Institutional Interaction and European Integration: Towards an Everyday Critique of Liberal Intergovernmentalism', Journal of Common Market Studies, 33/4 (1994): 597-609. 15. S. Nuttall, European Political Cooperation (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992); C. Hill and W. Wallace, 'Introduction: Actors and Actions', in C. Hill (ed.), The Actors in Europe's Foreign Policy (London: Routledge, 1996); G. Edwards and S. Nuttall, 'Common Foreign and Security Policy', in A. Duff, J. Finder, and R. Pryce (eds.), Maastricht and Beyond: Building the European Union (London: Routledge, 1994); M. Fraser, Sink or Swim Together: Building the European Common Foreign Policy (London: European Movement, 1996). The various country-based case studies in I. Manners and R. Whitman (eds.), The Foreign Policies of European Union Member States (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000), along with the editors' conclusions, attest to these dynamics, while also pointing to their greater impact on some states than others. Such variation is also highlighted by R. Youngs, 'Ratcheting-up Europe's Foreign Policy: Explaining the Amsterdam Reform to CFSP', Current Politics and Economics of Europe, 9/3 (2000). Many more sceptical analyses also recognized that these trends could no longer be said to be completely absent from the foreign-policy sphere e.g. see D. Allen,

Notes

219

'Conclusions: The European Rescue of National Foreign Policy?', in Hill, Actors. 16. O. Woever, 'Resisting the Temptation of Post Foreign Policy Analysis', in W. Carlsnaes and S. Smith (eds.), European Foreign Policy: The EC and Changing Perspectives in Europe (London: Sage, 1994); W. Carlsnaes, 'In Lieu of a Conclusion: Compatibility and the AgencyStructure Issue in Foreign Policy Analysis', in Carlsnaes and Smith, European Foreign Policy; C. Bretherton and J. Vogler, The European Union as a Global Actor (London: Routledge, 1991), ch. 1. 17. C. Hill, 'The Actors Involved: National Perspectives', in Regelsberger, de Schoutheete and Wessels, Foreign Policy of the European Union, 97. 18. M. Smith, 'Does the Flag Follow Trade?: "Politicisation" and the Emergence of a European Foreign Policy', in Petersen and Sjursen, A Common Foreign Policy?, 82 and 92. 19. Ibid. 89. For a similar view, presented as a 'systems analysis' approach to the EU's external relations, see R. Whitman, From Civilian Power to Superpower: The International Identity of the European Union (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1998). 20. D. Allen, 'Who Speaks for Europe?: The Search for an Effective and Coherent External Policy', in Petersen and Sjursen, A Common Foreign Policy?, 48. 21. D. Allen and M. Smith, 'Western Europe's Presence in the Contemporary International Arena', Review of International Studies, 16/1 (1990): 19-37. 22. See e.g. R. Rosencrance, 'The European Union: A New Type of International Actor', in J. Zielonka (ed.), Paradoxes of European Foreign Policy (The Hague: Kluwer Law International, 1998) and S. Schirm, 'Europe's Common Foreign and Security Policy: The Politics of Necessity, Viability, and Adequacy', in C. Rhodes (ed.), The European Union in the World Community (Boulder, Colo.: Lynne Rienner, 1998). From this same volume, see D. Allen and M. Smith's contribution, outlining these ways in which their original concept of 'presence' had expanded since the beginning of the 1990s: 'The European Union's Security Presence: Barrier, Facilitator, or Manager?', in C. Rhodes (ed.), The European Union in the World Community. 23. This focus on the lack of military instruments followed from the analysis of H. Bull, 'Civilian Power Europe: A Contradiction in Terms?', Journal of Common Market Studies, 21/2-3 (1982): 149-70. Most recently it is advanced in: M. Keens-Soper, Europe in the World (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1999), ch. 5 24. C. Hill, 'Convergence, Divergence, and Dialectics: National Foreign Policies and the CFSP', in Zielonka, Paradoxes, 40. 25. R. Ginsberg, 'Conceptualizing the European Union as an International Actor: Narrowing the Theoretic Capabilities-Expectations Gap', Journal of Common Market Studies, 37/3 (1999): 429-54.

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Chapter 3 1. For general overviews on civil society and democracy in the Mediterranean see: M. Mohamedou, 'The Rise and Fall of Democratization in the Maghreb', in P. Magnarella (ed.), The Middle East and North Africa: Governance, Democratization and Human Rights (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1999); A. R. Norton, 'Introduction', in Norton (ed.), Civil Society in the Middle East, i (Leiden: E. J.Brill, 1995); S. E. Ibrahim, 'Civil Society and Prospects for Democratization in the Arab World', in Norton (ed.), Civil Society; O. Schlumberger, 'The Arab Middle East and the Question of Democratization: Some Critical Remarks', Democratization, 7/4 (2000): 104-32. On Morocco see: G. White, 'The Advent of Democracy in Morocco? The Referendum of 1996', Middle East Journal, 51/3 (1997): 389-404; D. Mendicoff, 'Civil Apathy in the Service of Stability? Cultural Politics in Monarchist Morocco', Journal of North African Studies, 3/4 (1998): 1-27; O. Bendourou, 'Power and Opposition in Morocco', Journal of Democracy 7/3 (1996): 108-22. On Tunisia see E. Bellin, 'Civil Society in Formation: Tunisia', in Norton (ed.), Civil Society; E. Murphy, 'Ten Years On—Ben Ali's Tunisia', Mediterranean Politics, 2/3 (1997): 114-22. On Egypt see M. Fandy and D. Hearn, 'Egypt: Human Rights and Governance', in Magnarella, Middle East. On Syria see F. Lawson, 'Syria Resists the End of History', in Magnarella, Middle East; E. Kienle, 'Authoritarianism Liberalised: Syria and the Arab East after the Cold War', in W. Hale and E. Kienle, After the Cold War: Security and Democracy in Africa and Asia (London: I. B. Tauris, 1997): 209-11. On Palestine see Council of Foreign Relations, Strengthening Palestinian Public Institutions (New York: CRF, 1999). On Jordan see M. Kamrava, 'Frozen Political Liberalization in Jordan: The Consequences for Democracy', Journal of Democracy, 5/1 (1998): 138-57. 2. For this view, see E. Gellner, Conditions of Liberty: Civil Society and its Rivals (London: Penguin, 1994); B. Lewis, Islam and The West (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993); D. Pipes, 'There are No Moderates: Dealing with Fundamentalist Islam', National Interest, 41/3 (1995): 48; S. Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1997); In the Arab world, this view is associated with thinkers such as Sayyid Qutb of Egypt. 3. Those tending to this 'contingent' view include: J. Esposito, The Islamic Threat (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992); J. Esposito and J. Piscatori, 'Democratization and Islam', Middle East Journal, 45/3 (1991); G. Joffe, 'Democracy, Islam and the Culture of Modernism', Democratization, 4/3 (1997): 133-51. B. Roberson, 'Islam and Europe: An Enigma or a Myth?, Middle East Journal, 48/2 (1994): 288-308; F. Halliday, Islam and the Myth of Confrontation

Notes

221

(London: I. B. Tauris, 1996): 116; G. Martin-Munoz, 'Political Reform and Social Change in the Maghreb', in A. Vaconcelos and G. Joffe (eds.), The Barcelona Process: Building a Euro-Mediterranean Regional Community, special edition of Mediterranean Politics, 5/1 (2000): 97. In the region, the view is associated with thinkers such as the Tunisian Ghannouchi. For a general debate between proponents of these competing perspectives see the special edition of the Journal of Democracy on 'Islam and Liberal Democracy', 7/2 (April 1996) and the conversation between Esposito, Fuller, Kramer and Pipers printed as 'Islam: A Threat? A Debate', in Middle East Quarterly, 6/4 (Dec. 1999). 4. Bulletin of the European Communities, 25/4 (1992): 65-6. 5. Bulletin of the European Communities, 25/1-2 (1992): 87. 6. Bulletin of the European Communities, 24/5 (1991): 82; 26/1-2 (1993): 89, 26/5 (1993): 78; and 26/11 (1993): 88; Agence Europe (6 June 1996): 3 7. Agence Europe (27 Feb. 1993): 4. 8. Agence Europe (28 Feb. 1992): 5-6 and (29 Feb. 1992): 7. 9. OECD. The European Union and the Maghreb (Paris: OECD, 1997): 57. 10. A. Cox and A. Koning, Understanding European Community Aid (London: ODI, 1997); A. Tovias, 'The European Union's Mediterranean Policies under Pressure', in R. Gillespie (ed.), Mediterranean Politics Annual Review, ii (London: Pinter, 1996): 13-14. 11. See E. Grilli, The European Community and the Developing Countries (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993) for an account of the trade provisions of the early years of the EU's Mediterranean policy. 12. M. Cremona, 'The European Union as an International Actor: The Issues of Flexibility and Linkage', European Foreign Affairs Review 3/1 (1998): 87-9. 13. E. Rhein, 'Europe and the Mediterranean: A Newly Emerging EcoPolitical Area?', European Foreign Affairs Review, III (1996): 79-86. 14. Tovias, 'The European Union's Mediterranean Policies', 9; F. Javier Raya, 'A Review of the Barcelona Conference and a Summary of EU Policy Objectives', in C. Cosgrove-Sacks (ed.), The European Union and Developing Countries: The Challenges of Globalization (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1999): 194. 15. See G. Salame, 'Torn between the Atlantic and the Mediterranean: Europe and the Middle East in the Post-Cold War World', Middle East Journal, 48/2 (1994): 226-49. 16. El Pais (9 Feb. 1998): 24. 17. R. Aliboni, 'Change and Continuity in Western Policies towards the Middle East', in L. Guazzone (ed.), The Middle East in Global Change (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1997), 231. 18. B. Lopez Garcia and J. Nunez, 'Europe and the Maghreb: Towards a Common Space', in P. Ludlow (ed.), Europe and the Mediterranean (London: Brassey's, 1994).

222

Notes

19. G. Joffe, 'The European Union and the Maghreb', in R. Gillespie (ed.), Mediterranean Politics Annual Review, Vol. 1. (London: Pinter, 1994). 20. This view was advanced most notably by Huntington, The Clash, chs. 3-5 and 9. But also see G. Joffe, 'Relations between the Middle East and the West', Middle East Journal, 48/2 (1994): 250-67. 21. B. Chourou, 'The Free Trade Agreement between Tunisia and the European Union', Journal of North African Studies, 3/1 (1998): 52. 22. Norton, 'Introduction'; Ibrahim, 'Civil Society'; Halliday, Islam and the Myth; A. R. Norton, 'Political Reform in the Middle East', in Guazzone (ed.), Middle East; M. Salla, 'Political Islam and the West: A New Cold War or Convergence?', Third World Quarterly, 18/4 (1997): 729-42; D. Kibble, 'Monarchs, Mosques and Military Hardware: A Pragmatic Approach to the Promotion of Human Rights and Democracy in the Middle East', Comparative Strategy, 17 (1998): 381-91; B. Beckman, 'Explaining Democratization: Notes on the Concept of Civil Society', in E. Ozdalga and S. Persson (eds.), Civil Society, Democracy and the Muslim World (Istanbul: Swedish Research Institute, 1997); S. Sarsar, 'Can Democracy Prevail?', Middle East Quarterly, 111 (2000): 47. C. Bouchat, 'A Fundamentalist Islamic Threat to the West', Studies in Conflict and Terrorism, 19/4 (1996): 339-52, more pessimistically advocates 'benign neglect' as the best way to avoid the dangers of supporting both authoritarian regimes and Islamist opposition. 23. F. Gerges, America and Political Islam: Clash of Cultures or Clash of Interests? (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); M. do Ceu Pinto, The United States and Political Islam (Reading, Mass.: Ithaca Press, 1999), 214-15. 24. R. Edis, 'Does the Barcelona Process Matter?', Mediterranean Politics, 3/3 (1998): 93-105. 25. The three preceding paragraphs laying out the EU's basic approach to democracy promotion are based on interviews carried out with representatives of the British, German, French, Spanish, Italian, and Danish Missions to the EU, the Council Secretariat, and the European Commission, all in Brussels, and the Foreign and Commonwealth Office in London, during Mar., Apr. and July 2000. 26. M. Terterov, 'Egypt: The Islamist Challenge', Mediterranean Politics, 1/2 (1996): 248. 27. Agence Europe (2 Oct. 1998): 13-14; (18 July 1998): 9; (17 Apr. 1997): 14. 28. Chourou, 'The Free Trade Agreement', 53. 29. El Pats Digital (10 Nov. 1999). 30. These paragraphs on commercial interests are based on interviews with: European companies and commercial officers in Egypt and Morocco, Nov. 2000; the CBI in London, representatives of UNICE in Brussels, the British, French, German, Italian, Spanish, and Danish Missions in Brussels and the Council Secretariat, in Mar., Apr. and July 2000.

Notes

223

31. Financial Times (22 Sept. 1997), Survey: I. 32. The large number of critiques of this aspect of the EMP includes: D. Hunt, 'Development Economics, the Washington Consensus and the Euro-Mediterranean Partnership', Journal of North African Studies, 3/2 (1998): 16-39; J. Marks, 'The European Challenge to the North African Economies: The Downside to the Euro-Mediterranean Policy', Journal of North African Studies, 3/2 (1998): 47-58. 33. C. Smith and K. Lahteenmaki, 'Europeanization of the Mediterranean Region: The European Union's Relations with the Maghreb', in A. Cafruny and P. Peters (eds.), The Union and the World: The Political Economy of a Common European Foreign Policy (The Hague: Kluwer Law International, 1998), 166. 34. J. Damis, 'Morocco's 1995 Association Agreement with the European Union', Journal of North African Studies, 3/4 (1998): 107. 35. Agence Europe (22 Dec. 1999): 9. 36. Edis, 'Does the Barcelona Process Matter?', 97. 37. J. Licari, 'The Euro-Mediterranean Partnership: Economic and Financial Aspects', Mediterranean Politics, 3/3 (1998): 17. 38. Figures from OECD, The Regional Distribution of Aid Flows (Paris: OECD, 1998); Ministerio de Asuntos Exteriores, Estrategia para la Cooperacion Espanola (Madrid: MAE, 1999), 93. 39. Critique of the economic elements of the EMP see: J. Marks, 'High Hopes and Low Motives: The New Euro-Mediterranean Partnership Initiative', Mediterranean Politics, III1 (1998): 1-24; T. Parfitt, 'Europe's Mediterranean Designs: An Analysis of the Euromed Partnership with Special Reference to Egypt', Third World Quarterly, 18/5 (1997): 865-81; E. Kienle, 'Destabilization through Partnership? Euro-Mediterranean Relations After the Barcelona Declaration', Mediterranean Politics, 3/2 (1998): 1-20; V. Nienhaus, 'Promoting Development through a Euro-Mediterranean Free Trade Zone?', European Foreign Affairs s Review, 4 (1999): 501-18; A. Aghrout and M. Alexander, 'The Euro-Mediterranean New Strategy and the Maghreb Countries', European Foreign Affairs Review, 2/3 (1997): 307-28. 40. J. Cassarino, 'The EU-Tunisian Association Agreement and Tunisia's Structural Reform Programme', Middle East Journal, 53/1 (1999): 59-74; R. Blanchot and M. Bigeni, La Tunisie de Ben Ali et le Partenariat Euro-Mediterraneen (Toula: Institute Mediterraneen d'Etudes Economiques et Financieres, 2000); Mohamedou, 'Rise and Fall', 234; Financial Times (11 Apr. 2000) Survey: III; Lawson, 'Syria Resists'; Kienle, 'Authoritarianism Liberalised', 209-11; Schlumberger, 'The Arab Middle East', 122. 41. N. Salah, 'Global Euro-Mediterranean Partnership', Journal of North African Studies, 3/2 (1998): 44; R. Leveau, 'Esquisse d'un changement politique au Maghreb?', Politique Etrangere 65/2 (2000): 499-507. 42. P. Salem, 'Arab Political Currents, Arab-European Relations and Mediterraneanism', in Guazzone, Middle East, 50.

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Notes

43. B. Dillman, 'Global Markets and Democratization in North Africa', paper presented to XVIII IPSA World Congress, Quebec, 1-5 Aug 2000. 44. M. El-Sayed Salim, 'Egypt and the Euro-Mediterranean Partnership: Strategic Choice or Adaptive Mechanism', Mediterranean Politics, 2/1 (1997): 64-90; D. Weiss and U. Wurzel, The Economics and Politics of Transition to an Open Market Economy: Egyptt (Paris: OECD, 1998): 204; interview, Commission Delegation, Cairo, Nov. 2000. 45. G. Denoeux and A. Maghraoui, 'The Political Economy of Structural Adjustment in Morocco', in A. Layachi (ed.), Economic Crisis and Political Change in North Africaa (Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 1998), 78. 46. Interview, Amnesty International, London Aug. 2000. 47. Interview, Council Secretariat, Brussels, May 1999. 48. Commission of European Communities, Implementing MEDA 1996-7 (Brussels: CEC, 1998), 8. 49. This section, covering the internal EU debate on the relationship between economic and political reform is based on interviews with officials in the European Commission, Council Secretariat, the French, British, Spanish, Italian, and German Missions in Brussels, in May 1999 and Mar. and July 2000. 50. Agence Europe (29/30 Nov. 1993): 11. 51. Financial Times (15 Nov. 2000): 18. 52. Nienhaus, 'Promoting Development', 514-15. 53. Agence Europe (8 Apr. 1999): 2. 54. Financial Times (26 Mar. 1998): 4; The Economist (4 Mar. 2000): 72. 55. OECD, The European Union and the Maghreb, 38-9 and 59. 56. Interviews with representatives of the Tunisian and Jordanian Delegations to the EU, Brussels, Mar. 2000. 57. Edis, 'Does the Barcelona Process Matter?', 99. 58. M. Assenberg and V. Perthes (eds.), The European Union and the Palestinian Authority: Recommendations for a New Policy (Siftung Wissenschaft und Politik, S421; Ebenhausen: SWP, 1998), 28-31 and 39. 59. Interviews, French, Spanish, and Italian Missions to the European Union, Brussels, Mar. and July 2000; and Commission, UK, French, and Spanish embassies in Morocco and Egypt, Nov. 2000. 60. Interview, Danish Mission to the European Union, Brussels, Mar. 2000. 61. Edis, 'Does the Barcelona Process Matter?, 110. 62. Agence Europe (31 Mar. 1999): 10. 63. Interview, Italian Mission to the EU, July 2000; R. Gillespie, Spain and the Western Mediterranean (ESRC Working Paper, 'One Europe or Several?' series, 2001); G. Joffe, 'Europe and North Africa', Cambridge Review of International Affairs,s, 10/2 (1997): 84-103. 64. The Guardian (26 Jan. 2000): 8.

Notes

225

65. M. Kohler, The Mediterranean Policy after the Conference of Barcelona (European Parliament, Working Document, POLI103 EN, 1998), 37. 66. El Pais (2 Feb. 1998): 22. 67. Agence Europe (7 Jan. 2000): 4 and (10/11 Jan. 2000): 6. 68. Interview, FCO, London, Mar. 2000. 69. Interview, FCO, London, May 1999. 70. Agence Europe (17/18 Apr. 2000): 5. 71. Interview, Italian Mission to the EU, Brussels, July 2000. 72. M. do Ceu Pinto, Political Islam, 218. 73. Aliboni, 'Change and Continuity', 219. 74. Interviews, Council Secretariat, May 1999, and Tunisian Delegation to the European Union, Brussels, Mar. 2000. 75. Interviews, Espace Associative, Transparency International, Morocco, Nov. 2000. 76. Interview, FCO, London, Mar. 2000. 77. Agence Europe (25 Nov. 1998): 9. 78. Interview, UK Mission, Brussels, Mar. 2000; Kohler, Mediterranean Policy, 37. 79. DfID, Statistics on International Development 1994/5—1998/9 (London: DfID, 1999), 27. 80. OECD, Regional Distribution; OECD, European Union and the Maghreb, 66. 81. Figures for Commission aid are taken from A. Cox and J. Chapman, Les Programmes de cooperation exterieure de la Communaute Europeene (Brussels and London: CEC, GDI, 1999), 3. 82. Commission of the European Communities, The MEDA Regulation, Note de Dossier, Jan. 2000. 83. Interview, European Commission, Brussels Mar. 2000. 84. All figures from OECD, Regional Distribution. 85. Interview, FCO, London, Mar. 2000. 86. Gerges, America and Political Islam, ch. 8. 87. This account of the internal debate over the Common Strategy is based on interviews with representatives from the Council Secretariat and representatives from the Danish, French, Italian, German, and British Delegations to the European Union, Brussels, Mar. and July 2000. 88. Le Monde (22 Mar. 2000): 3. 89. Cox and Koning Understanding European Community Aid, 71. 90. Figures on democracy assistance presented here are taken from: Euronet Consulting, Evaluation of the MEDA Democracy Programme (Brussels, 1999); Commission of the European Communities, Implementation of the Democracy and Human Rights Initiative 1996-99 (Brussels: Commission, 2000); Delegation of the European Commission to Morocco, The Meda Democracy Programme, Information Note (1999). 91. Agence Europe (4 Mar. 1998): 11. 92. Delegation de la Commission, Maroc, Lettre d'information, 164 (3e trimester 1999): 17.

226

Notes

93. Commission of the European Communities, Report on the Implementation of Measures Intended to Promote the Observance of Human Rights and Democratic Principles (Brussels: CEC, 1996), 31; Bulletin of the European Communities, 30/6 (1997): 29-31. 94. Agence Europe (19 Apr. 1999): 15; interview, French Mission to the EU, Brussels, Mar. 2000. 95. Interviews, FCO, London and European Commission, Brussels, Mar. 2000; democracy officers in the Spanish, French, and UK Embassies and the Commission Delegation, Rabat, Nov. 2000. 96. A. M. Karam, 'Islamist Parties in the Arab World: Ambiguities, Contradictions and Perseverance', Democratization, 4/4 (1997): 170. 97. The Economist (20 Mar. 1999): 17; Financial Times (10 May 2000) Survey: XV. 98. Interview, Commission Delegation, Cairo, Nov. 2000. 99. I. Barrenada, 'La Cooperacion No Gubernamental Espafiola en el Magreb', Revista Espafiola de Desarrolloy Cooperacion, 2 (1998): 125. 100. Interviews, FCO, London, Mar. 2000, Commission Delegations, Rabat and Cairo, Spanish, French, and UK Embassies, Rabat and Cairo, Nov. 2000. 101. R. Youngs, 'The Barcelona Process after the UK Presidency: The Need for Prioritization', Mediterranean Politics, 4/1 (1999): 14. 102. Kohler, Mediterranean Policy, 25. 103. Weiss and Wurzel, Economics and Politics of Transition, 154. 104. Interview, Danish Representative to the EU, Brussels, Mar. 2000. 105. Agence Europe (25 Mar. 1998): 2. 106. Euronet Consulting, Evaluation of the MEDA Democracy Programme. 107. The breakdown of EU aid is given in Assenberg and Perthes (eds.), The European Union and the Palestinian Authority, 31 and 46. 108. M. Barghouthi, 'An Overview of Palestinian NGOs and their Future Role', in Assenberg and Perthes, The European Union and the Palestinian Authority, 103. 109. Euronet Consulting, Evaluation of the MEDA Democracy Programme; Agence Europe (17/18 Apr. 2000): 5. 110. Agence Europe (26 Apr. 2000): 13. 111. Interview, Commission, Brussels, Jan. 2001. 112. Interviews, Council Secretariat and European Commission, Brussels May 1999; Bulletin of the European Communities, 29/6 (1996): 34-5. Murphy, 'Ten Years On', 116; Youngs, 'The Barcelona Process', 8. 113. Interviews, CBI, London, Feb. 2000, and UNICE, Brussels, Mar. 2000. 114. Agence Europe (13 Dec. 1996): 11. 115. Interview, European Commission, Brussels, May 1999. 116. Agence Europe (25 Jan. 1995): 11-12. 117. Interview, Commission, Brussels, Jan. 2001. 118. e.g. Salla, 'Political Islam and the West', 732. 119. G. Edwards and E. Philippart, 'The Euro-Mediterranean Partnership: Fragmentation and Reconstruction', European Foreign Affairs Review, 2/4 (1997): 465-89.

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120. Interview, Mission of a Mediterranean partner state, Brussels, Jan. 2001. 121. A. Ehteshami, 'Is the Middle East Democratizing?', British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, 26/2 (1999): 203.

Chapter 4 1. G. Crawford, 'Foreign Aid and Political Conditionality', Democratization, 4/3 (1997): 97. 2. Bulletin of the European Communities, 5/1-2 (1992): 109 and 111; 26/10 (1993): 94; 27/9 (1994): 57; 28/1-2 (1995): 82. 3. Bulletin of the European Communitiess 26/10 (1993): 74. 4. C. Spencer, 'Islamism and European Reactions: The Case of Algeria', in R. Gillespie (ed.), Mediterranean Politics Annual Review, Vol. 2 (London: Pinter, 1996), 135-7. 5. Agence Europe (1 June 1994): 3; (9 Feb. 1994): 8. 6. Agence Europe (6-7 Feb. 1995): 4. 7. G. Joffe, 'Foreign Investment and the Rule of Law', in A. Vasconcelos and G. Joffe (eds.), 'The Barcelona Process: Building a EuroMediterranean Community', Special Edition of Mediterranean Politics, 5/1 (2000): 45. 8. Bulletin of the European Communities, 28/11 (1995): 64; 30/6 (1997): 98. 9. U. Holm, 'Algeria: France's Untenable Engagement', Mediterranean Politics, 3/2 (1998): 106. 10. E. Barbe (1998) 'Balancing Europe's Eastern and Southern Dimensions', in J. Zielonka, Paradoxes of European Foreign Policy (The Hague: Kluwer Law International, 1998), 125. 11. Agence Europe (4 Dec. 1996): 10. 12. Agence Europe (24 June 1998): 2; (15 May 1998): 10; (27 Sept. 1997): 4; and (5 Feb. 1997): 5. 13. Agence Europe (12 Feb. 1998): 2. 14. K. Adamson, Algeria: A Study in Competing Ideologies (London: Cassell, 1998), 219. 15. A. Pierre and W. Quandt, The Algerian Crisis: Policy Options for the West (Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment, 1996), 23. 16. e.g. see Bulletin of the European Communities, 30/9 (1997): 42. 17. J. Howarth, 'France and the Mediterranean in 1995: From Tactical Ambiguity to Inchoate Strategy?', Mediterranean Politics, 1/2 (1996): 157-75. 18. El Pais (25 Sept. 1997): 2; M. do Ceu Pinto, The United States and Political Islam (Ithaca, NY: Reading, 1999), 72. 19. El Pais (10 Feb. 1998): 2. 20. B. Dillman, 'The Political Economy of Structural Adjustment in Tunisia and Algeria', Journal of North African Studies, 3/3 (1998): 1-24.

228 21. 23. 23. 24.

Notes

Le Monde (8 May 1998): 30. Le Monde (12 Oct. 1998): 15. Pierre and Quandt, Algerian Crisis, 29. C. Spencer, Algeria: France's Disarray and Europe's Conundrum', in B. Roberson (ed.), Europe and the Middle East: The Power Deficit (London: Routledge, 1998), 173. 25. Interviews: Quai d'Orsay, Paris, Oct. 1999; French Representation to the EU, Brussels, Mar. 2000; FCO, London, Feb. 2000; Spanish and Italian Representations to the EU, Brussels, July 2000. 26. Interview, Algerian Mission, Brussels, Jan. 2001. 27. Interview, Quai d'Orsay, Oct. Paris 1999. 28. El Pais (19 June 199): 10. 29. Do Ceu Pinto, United States, 242. 30. Financial Times (10 June 1997): 4. 31. Interviews, FCO, London, May 1999; European Commission, Brussels, Mar. 2000. 32. R. Youngs, 'The Barcelona Process after the UK Presidency: The Need for Prioritization', Mediterranean Politics, 4/1 (1999): 11. 33. Agence Europe (24 Oct. 1998): 9. 34. Interview, German Representation to the EU, Brussels, Mar. 2000. 35. Interview, Danish Representation to the EU, Brussels, Mar. 2000 36. Interviews, UNICE, European Commission, Council Secretariat, Brussels, Mar. 2000. 37. For an account of US policy see: M. Viorst, 'Algeria's Long Night', Foreign Affairs,s, 76/6 (1997): 88; F. Gerges, America and Political Islam: Clash of Cultures or Clash of Interests? (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), ch. 7. 38. Agence Europe (28 Feb. 1998): 4. 39. Financial Times (3 Jan. 1997): 4. 40. Y. Zoubir, 'The Algerian Political Crisis: Origins and Prospects for the Future of Democracy', Journal of North African Studies, 3/1 (1998): 74-100. 41. C. Spencer, The End of International Enquiries? The UN Eminent Persons' Mission to Algeria, July-August 1998, Mediterranean Politics, 3/3 (1998): 126-33. 42. G. Martin Mufioz, 'Political Reform and Social Change in the Maghreb', in Vasconcelas and Joffe, The Barcelona Process, 121. 43. A. Cox and J. Chapman, Les Programmes de Cooperation Exterieure de la Communaute Europeene (Brussels and London: CEC and ODI, 1999), 83. 44. Euronet Consulting, Evaluation of the MEDA Programme (Brussels 1999); Commission Note de Dossier, Jan. 2000. 45. Interview, European Commission, Brussels, Mar. 2000. 46. H. Roberts, 'The Struggle for Constitutional Rule in Algeria', Journal of Algerian Studies, 3 (1998): 19-30. 47. See Le Monde (17 June 2000).

Notes

229

48. e.g. see DfID, Statistics on International Development 1994/5-1998/9 (London: DfID, 1999). 49. See Le Monde (22 Dec. 2000): 2, esp. the views of Professor Lahouari Addi. 50. Interviews, Italian and Spanish Representations to the EU, Brussels, July 2000. 51. Le Monde (3 Nov. 1999): 20. 52. L. Martinez, 'Algerie: Les Enjeux des negotiations entre 1'AIS et 1'armee', Politique Etrangere, 62/4 (1997): 499-510. 53. Roberts, 'Struggle for Constitutional Rule'. Also see Y. Zoubir, 'Stalled Democratization of an Authoritarian Regime: The Case of Algeria', Democratization, 2/2 (1995): 109-39; and Holm, 'Algeria: France's Untenable Engagement'. 54. See eg. Pierre and Quandt, The Algerian Crisis; R. Wright, 'Islam, Democracy and the West', Foreign Affairs, 3 (1992): 131-45; A. Bouhouche, 'The Essence of Reforms in Algeria', in A. Layachi (ed.), Economic Crisis and Political Change in North Africa (Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 1998), 28. 55. Interview, Algerian Mission, Brussels, Jan. 2001. Chapter 5 1. This scepticism was shared by a wide range of writers: R. Robison,

'The Politics of 'Asian Values", Pacific Review, 9/3 (1996): 309-27; S. Lawson, 'Cultural Relativism and Democracy: Political Myths about "Asia" and the West', in R. Robison (ed.), Pathways to Asia: The Politics of Engagement (St Leonard's: Allen & Unwin, 1996); M. Freeman, 'Human Rights, Democracy and "Asian Values"', Pacific Review, 9/3 (1996): 352-66; M. Freeman, 'Asia, Europe and Human Rights: From Confrontation to Dialogue?', in P. Cammack and G. Richards (eds.), Asia-Europe Interegionalism: Critical Perspectives, special edn. of the Journal of the Asia Pacific Economy, 4/1 (1999); V. Mallett, The Trouble with Tigers (London: HarperCollins, 1999); F. Fukuyama, 'The Primacy of Culture', in L. Diamond and M. Plattner, The Global Resurgence of Democracy (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996). 2. R. Robison and A. Rosser, 'Surviving the Meltdown: Liberal Reform and Political Oligarchy in Indonesia', in R. Robison, M. Beeson, K. Jayasuriya, and Huyle-Fae Kim (eds.), Politics and Markets in the Wake of the Asian Crisis (London: Routledge, 2000); M. Malley, 'Beyond Democratic Elections: Indonesia Embarks on a Protracted Transition', Democratization, 7/3 (2000): 153-180; O. Turnquist, 'Dynamics of Indonesian Democratization', Third World Quarterly, 21/3 (2000): 424-583. 3. For a general overview of democratic trends in the region, see Minxin Pei, 'The Fall and Rise of Democracy in East Asia', in L. Diamond and

230

Notes

M. Plattner (eds.), Democracy in East Asia (Washington, DC: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998); K. Hewison, 'Political Space in South East Asia: "Asian-Style" and Other Democracies', Democratization, 6/1 (1999): 224-45. 4. K. Jayasuriya, 'The Rule of Law and Capitalism in East Asia', PPacific Review, 9/3 (1996): 367-80. 5. The Economist (12 Feb. 2000), Survey. 6. S. Bunbongkarn, 'Thailand's Successful Reforms', Journal of Democracy, 10/4 (1999): 63. For an overview of changes in different states see D. Emmerson, 'Southeast Asia after the Crisis: A Tale of Three Countries', Journal of Democracy, 10/4 (1999): 35-54; and S. Haggard, 'The Politics of Asia's Financial Crisis', Journal of Democracy, 11/2 (2000): 130-44. 7. C. Dent, 'The EU-East Asia Economic Relationship: The Persisting Weak Triadic Link', European Foreign Affairs Review, 4/3 (1999): 393. Trade figures from Eurostat, cited ibid. 8. R. Langhammer, 'Europe's Trade, Investment and Strategic Policy Interests in Asia and APEC', in P. Drysdale and D. Vines (eds.), Europe, East Asia and APEC: A Shared Global Agenda? (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 229 and 239. 9. The Economist (2 Mar. 1999): 63. 10. K. Anderson and J. Frangois, 'Commercial Links between Western Europe and East Asia: Retrospect and Prospects', in Drysdale and Vines, Europe, East Asia and APEC, 32. 11. Agence Europe (28 Jan. 1999): 16. 12. e.g. see J. McMahon, 'ASEAN and the Asia-Europe Meeting: Strengthening the European Union's Relationship with South East Asia', European Foreign Affairs Review, 3/2 (1998): 232-51. 13. Yuu Ann Chu, F. Hu, and Chung-in Moon, 'South Korea and Taiwan: The International Context', in L. Diamond L. et al. (eds.), Consolidating the Third Wave Democracies: Regional Challenges (Baltimore, Md.: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997); C. Clark, 'Modernisation, Democracy and the Developmental State in Asia: A Virtuous Cycle or Unravelling Strands?', in J. Hollifield and C. Jillson C. (eds.), Pathways to Democracy: The Political Economy of Democratic Transitions (London: Routledge, 2000); S. Chan, 'Democratic Inauguration and Transition in East Asia', in Hollifield and Jillson, Pathways to Democracy. 14. Interviews with representatives of two ASEAN member state delegations to the EU, Brussels, Jan. 2001. 15. V. Pou Serradell, 'The Asia-Europe Meeting (ASEM): A Historical Turning Point in Relations between the Two Regions', European Foreign Affairs Review, 1/2 (1996): 200. 16. Agence Europe (28 Feb. 1996): 5. 17. Council for Asia-Europe Cooperation, The Rationale and Agenda for Asia-Europe Cooperation (London and Tokyo: CAEC, 1997), 4, 35, and 40.

Notes 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35.

36. 37. 38.

231

Agence Europe (8 Apr. 1999): 13. Agence Europe (17/18 Dec. 1997): 9. Agence Europe (16 Feb. 1996): 5. Interviews in the Council Secretariat and the UK Mission to the European Union, Brussels, July 2000. G. Rodan, 'The Internationalization of Ideological Conflict: Asia's New Significance', Pacific Review, 9/3 (1996): 328-51. See G. Rodan and K. Hewison, 'A "Clash of Cultures" or the Convergence of Political Ideology?', in Robison, Pathways to Asia; and Robison, 'Polities', 313. G. Richards and C. Kirkpatrick, 'Re-orienting Regional Co-operation in the Global Political Economy: Europe's Asia Policy', Journal of Common Market Studies, 37/4 (1999): 700. P. Cammack, 'Interpreting ASEM: Inter-regionalism and the New Materialism', in Cammack and Richards, Asia-Europe Inter-regionalism. D. Camroux and C. Lechervy, '"Close Encounter of a Third Kind?" The Inaugural Asia-Europe Meeting of March 1996', Pacific Review, 9/3 (1996): 442-53. Freeman, 'Asia, Europe and Human Rights', 106. J. Winters, 'The Financial Crisis in Southeast Asia', in Robison et al., Politics and Markets, 47-8. Commission of the European Communities, Towards a New Asia Strategy (Brussels: CEC, 1994), 2. Commission of the European Communities, EU-ASEAN Relations (Brussels: CEC, 1998), 20. W. Klenner, 'Globalization of European Enterprises: The Case of East Asia', in J. Slater and R. Strange (eds.), Business Relationships with East Asia: The European Experience (London: Routledge, 1997), 90. This paragraph is based on interviews the Chairman of the UNICE Asia Working Group, Brussels, and representatives of the CBI and DTI, London, July 2000. See P. Stares and N. Regaud, 'Europe's Role in Asia Pacific Security', Survival, 39/4 (1997-8): 117-39. A. Forster, 'The European Union in South East Asia: Continuity and Change in Turbulent Times', International Affairs,s, 75/4 (1999): 743. T. Taylor, European Security and the Asia-Pacific Region (London: RIIA, 1997), 20; M. Smith, 'The European Union and the Asia Pacific', in A. McGrew and C. Brook (eds.), Asia Pacific in the World Order (London: Routledge, 1997), 300. G. Segal, 'Thinking Strategically about ASEM: the Subsidiarity Question', Pacific Review, 10/1 (1997): 124-34. Interviews with the Council Secretariat, and British, Portuguese and Danish Missions, Brussels, July 2000 and Jan. 2001. A. Cox and A. Koning, Understanding European Community Aid (London: GDI, 1977), 11.

232

Notes

39. J. Moran, 'Contradictions between Economic Liberalisation and Democratization: The Case of South Korea', Democratization, 3/4 (1996): 459-90; G. Robinson, 'Is Europe Missing the Asia Boat? An Overview of EU-Asia Pacific Relations', in Slater and Strange, Business Relationships, 77. 40. Smith, 'The European Union and the Asia Pacific'. 41. CAEC, Rationale, 57. 42. Interview, FCO, London, June 2000. 43. Agence Europe (29/30 July 1996): 3. 44. Interview, FCO, London, June 2000. 45. Far Eastern Economic Review (2 Dec. 1999): 41. 46. C. Dent, The European Union and East Asia: An Economic Relationship (London: Routledge, 1999), 68 and 263. 47. See the contribution by Hans Hilpert in ch. 3 of H. Maull, G. Segal, and J. Wanandi, Europe and the Asia Pacificc (London: Routledge, 1998), 62. 48. See DfID, Statistics on International Development 199415 to 199819 (London: DfID, 1999). 49. Cox and Koning, Understanding European Community Aid, 85. 50. Commission of the European Communities, Report on the Implementation of Measures Intended to Promote the Observance of Human Rights and Democratic Principles (Brussels: CEC, 2000). 51. Interviews with representatives of the Dutch, German, and Danish development ministries, Hague, Bonn, and Copenhagen, Feb. 2001. 52. T. Carothers, Aiding Democracy Abroad: The Learning Curve (Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 1999), 54. 53. Interview, Commission, Brussels, Jan. 2001. 54. Commission, EU-ASEAN Relations. 55. Interview, One World Action, Asia Representative, July 2000. 56. See the report on the proceedings of the Europe-Asia NGO Conference at the first ASEM in Bangkok in 1996, published as B. Brennan, E. Heijmans, and P. Vervest (eds.), ASEM Trading New Silk Routes (Amsterdam: Transnational Institute and Focus on the Global South, 1997). 57. e.g. see Mallett, Trouble with Tigers. 58. Robison, 'Polities', 317. 59. Forster, 'The European Union in South East Asia', MacMahon, 'ASEAN and the Asia-Europe Meeting', Pou Serradell, 'Asia-Europe Meeting'. 60. Agence Europe (22/23 Dec. 1999): 6. 61. Commission of the European Communities, EU-Vietnam Relations: Overview (Brussels: CEC, 1999). 62. Financial Times (23 July 1999). 63. Commission of the European Communities, EU-ASEAN Relations: The Facts (1996), 19.

Notes

233

64. For an account of the USA's more explicit discourse on democratization, see F. Brown, 'Vietnam's Tentative Transformation', in Diamond and Plattner, Democracy in East Asia, 194. 65. Interview, Commission, Brussels, Jan. 2001; A. J. Pierre, 'Vietnam's Contradictions', Foreign Affairs,s, 79/6 (2000): 79. 66. Interview, Commission, Brussels, Jan. 2001. 67. See the contribution by Simon Nuttall in ch. 5 of Maull et al., Europe and the Asia Pacific, 181. 68. The Economist (12 Feb. 2000) Survey: 14. 69. Interview, FCO, London, June 2000. 70. The law sought to levy a surcharge on these companies' bids for contracts in Massachusetts. The EU argued that this contravened WTO rules forbidding procurement decisions made on political grounds. In the event, the law was revoked as an unconstitutional interference in federal competence over foreign policy by the US courts, after a suit was filed by the National Foreign Trade Council. 71. Agence Europe (12 Apr. 2000): 10. 72. Financial Times (25 Aug. 1998): 6. 73. The Burma Campaign, Press Release, 2 Sept. 1998. 74. The Economist (27 May 2000): 82. 75. Financial Times, Money (8/9 July 2000): 8. 76. Interviews with Head of the Asia Working Group, UNICE, Brussels, and the CBI, London, July 2000. 77. Interview, FCO, London, June 2000. 78. See J. Ojendal and H. Antlov, 'Asian Values and its Political Consequences: Is Cambodia the First Domino?', Pacific Review, 11/4 (1998): 525-40. 79. Cox and Koning, Understanding European Community Aid, 83. 80. Interview, Commission, Brussels, Jan. 2001. 81. Interview, Commission, Brussels, Jan. 2001. 82. Cox and Koning, Understanding European Community Aid, 83. 83. Crawford, 'Foreign Aid and Political Conditionally', 94. 84. Agence Europe (5 February 1997): 11. 85. See the contribution by Hilpert in Maull et al., Europe and the Asia Pacific, 60-3; and Agence Europe (2 Feb. 2000): 8-9. 86. Crawford, 'Foreign Aid and Political Conditionally', 95. 87. Guardian (26 Jan. 2000): 8. 88. R. W. Liddle, 'Indonesia's Democratic Opening', Government and Opposition, 34/1 (1999): 94-116. 89. Mallett, Trouble with Tigers, 137-9 and 152-3. 90. R. W. Liddle, 'Indonesia: Suharto's Tightening Grip', in Diamond and Plattner, Democracy in East Asia, 211. 91. J. Winters, 'Indonesia: On the Mostly Negative Role of Transnational Capital in Democratisation', in L. Elliott Armijo (ed.), Financial Globalisation and Democracy in Global Markets (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1999).

234

Notes

92. Financial Times (1 June 1998): 4. 93. Liddle, 'Indonesia', 210. 94. D. Emmerson, 'Exit and Aftermath: The Crisis of 1997-98', in D. Emmerson (ed.), Indonesia After Suharto (New York: East Gate, 1999); Malley, 'Beyond Democratic Elections'. 95. Interview, FCO, London, June 2000. 96. To the displeasure of a number of member states, UK planes arrived after this date, London claiming that it could not legally have interrupted dispatches of equipment already ere route to Indonesia: Agence Europe (29 Sept. 1999): 7. 97. Commission of the European Communities, Developing Closer Relations Between the EU and Indonesia, Communication from the Commission to the Council (Brussels: CEC, 2000). Also see Agence Europe (23 Mar. 2000): 9-10; (7/8 Feb. 2000): 6. 98. Interview, representative of Commission Delegation to Indonesia, Mar. 2001. 99. Interviews, Portuguese and Indonesian Missions, Brussels, Jan. 2001. Also see Mission of the Representation of Indonesia to the European Union, Position Paper on Indonesia's Current Development: A Response to the EC Communication on Developing Closer Relations Between Indonesia and the European Union (Brussels: Indonesian Mission, 2000). 100. For an overview of this, see B. Harymurti, 'Challenges of Change in Indonesia', Journal of Democracy, 10/4 (1999): 69-83. 101. D. Emerson, 'Will Indonesia Survive?', Foreign Affairs,s, 79/3 (2000): 95-106. 102. Agence Europe (22 Jan. 2000): 5, 103. The Economist (12 Feb. 2000) Survey: 6. 104. The account of the EU's strategy following the 1999 elections in this and the five preceding paragraphs is based on interviews in: the Commission, Council Secretariat, the British and Portuguese Missions to the European Union, UNICE, the FCO, and the CBI, June 2000-Jan. 2001. 105. Interview, representative of Commission Delegation to Indonesia, Mar. 2001. 106. e.g. see M. Beeson, 'Reshaping Regional Institutions: APEC and the IMF in East Asia', Pacific Review, 12/1 (1999): 16-19. 107. See the various contributions in Robison et al., Politics and Markets. 108. e.g. see R. Higgott, 'The International Relations of the Asian Economic Crisis: A Study in the Politics of Resentment', in Robison et al., Politics and Markets; P. Dibb and P. Prince, 'The Strategic Implications of Asia's Economic Crisis', Survival, 40/2 (1998): 5-26; C. Johnson, 'Economic Crisis in East Asia: The Clash of Capitalisms', Cambridge Journal of Economics, 22/6 (1998): 660. 109. P. Cammack, 'Introduction: ASEM and Inter-regionalism', in Cammack and Richards, Asia-Europe Inter-regionalism, 5-7. Critics of the scale of the European response include Forster, 'The European

Notes

110. 111. 112. 113. 114. 115. 116. 117. 118. 119. 120. 121. 122.

235

Union in South East Asia', 756, and virtually all contributors to Robison et al., Politics and Markets. Winters, 'Financial Crisis', 45. Interview with representative of ASEAN member state delegation to the EU, Brussels, Jan. 2001. Richards and Kirkpatrick, 'Re-orienting Regional Co-operation', 703. Cox and Chapman, Les Programmes, 101. See World Bank, ASEM Asian Financial Crisis Response Fund: A Preliminary Assessment (Washington, DC: World Bank, 2000). Dent, European Union and East Asia, 66. Dent, 'EU-Asia Economic Relationship', 383. Interview, ECO, London, June 2000. Interview, ECO, London, June 2000. Financial Times (16 Dec. 1999). M. Yahuda, The International Politics of the Asia-Pacific 1945-1995 (London: Routledge, 1996), ch. 8. D. Bobrow, 'The US and ASEM: Why the Hegemon didn't Bark', Pacific Review, 12/1 (1999): 103-28. The Economist (2 May 1996): 72.

Chapter 6 1. For an overview of these contrasting perspectives see the contributions on China in L. Diamond et al., Consolidating the Third Wave Democracies: Regional Challenges (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997). 2. T. Taylor, European Security and the Asia-Pacific Region (London: RIIA, 1997), 28. 3. R. Strange, 'EU Trade Policy Towards China', in R. Strange, J. Slater, and L. Wang (eds.), Trade and Investment in China: The European Experience (London: Routledge, 1998). 4. Agence Europe (2 Sept. 1998): 10. 5. S. Leonard, The Dragon Awakens: China's Long March to Geneva (London: Cameron May, 1999), 70. 6. C. Dent, The European Union and East Asia: An Economic Relationship (London: Routledge, 1999), 140. 7. M. Elgin, 'China's Entry into the WTO, with a Little Help from the EU', International Affairs,s, 73/3 (1997): 494-5; Leonard, The Dragon Awakens. 8. e.g. R. Ross, 'Enter the Dragon', Foreign Affairs s (1997): 18-26; S. Harris, 'China's Role in the WTO and APEC', in D. Goodman and G. Segal (eds.), China Rising: Nationalism and Interdependence (London: Routledge, 1997). 9. F. Algieri, 'The Coherence Dilemma of EU External Relations: The European Asia Policy', in P. Cammack and G. Richards (eds.),

236

Notes

Asia-Europe Inter-Regionalism, special edn. of Journal of the Asia Pacific Economy, 4/1 (1999): 90. 10. OECD, The Regional Distribution of Aid Flows (Paris: OECD, 1998). 11. P. Tyler, A Great Wall: Six Presidents and China (New York: Century Foundation, 1999), 412. 12. Interview, representative of the Commission Delegation, Beijing, Mar. 2001. 13. Interview, Chinese Mission to the European Union, Brussels, Jan. 2001. 14. Advocates of containment included: R. Bernstein and R. Munro, 'The Coming Conflict with America', Foreign Affairs,s, 76/2 (1997): 18-32. Advocates of positive engagement included: R. Ross, 'Beijing as a Conservative Power', Foreign Affairs,s, 76/2 (1997): 33-44; C. Freeman, 'Sino-American Relations: Back to Basics', Foreign Policy, 104 (1996): 3-17. One of the principal advocates of a more 'normal' policy mix was Segal, for example in G. Segal, 'Does China Matter?', Foreign Affairs, 78/5 (1999): 24-36. 15. Dent, European Union, 137.

16. Strange, 'EU Trade Policy', 28.

17. Taylor, European Security, 26. 18. A. Cox and J. Chapman, Les Programmes de Cooperation de la Communaute Europeene (Brussels and London: CEC and ODI, 1999), 3. 19. Strange, 'EU Trade Policy', 25-31. 20. See R. Ross, 'Engagement in US China Policy', in A. Johnston and R. Ross (eds.), Engaging China: The Management of an Emerging Power (London: Routledge, 1999). 21. On the policies of Asian states, see the chapters pertinent to each country in Johnston and Ross, Engaging China. 22. P. Ferdinand, 'Economic and Diplomatic Interactions between the European Union and China', in R. Grant (ed.), The European Union and China: A European Strategy for the Twenty-First Century (London: RIIA, 1995). 23. Agence Europe (28 Jan. 1998): 5; (16 Oct. 1997): 6. 24. For accounts of the domestic politics of US China policy, see: R. Sutter, US Policy Towards China: An Introduction to the Role of Interest Groups (Lanham, Md.: Rowman and Littlefield, 1998); R. Ross (ed.), After the Cold War: Domestic Factors and US-China Relations (New York: M. E. Shape, 1998). 25. M. Pearson, China's New Business Elite: The Political Consequences of Economic Reformm (Berkeley, Calif: University of California Press, 1997), esp. chs. 4 and 6; D. Roy, China's Foreign Relations (Basingstoke: Macmillan), 98. 26. See the contribution by Jean Pierre Lehmann in ch. 3 of H. Maull, G. Segal and J. Wanandi, Europe and the Asia Pacificc (London: Routledge, 1998), 78-84. 27. Agence Europe (25 Apr. 1997): 9.

Notes

237

28. Interview, Chairman of the Asia Working Group, UNICE, Brussels, July 2000. 29. Interview, European Commission, Brussels, July 2000. 30. See B. Gill and E. Medeiros, 'Foreign and Domestic Influences on China's Arms Control and Non-Proliferation Policies', China Quarterly, 161 (2000): 24-36. 31. G. White, J. Howell, and Shang Xiaoyuan, In Search of Civil Society: Market Reform and Social Change in Contemporary China (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996); T. Okabe, 'China's Prospects for Change', in L. Diamond and M. Plattner (eds.), Democracy in East Asia (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998), 75. 32. C. Patten, East and West (Basingstoke: Macmillanm, 1998). 33. Interview, FCO, London, June 2000. 34. Agence Europe (15 Jan. 1999): 9. 35. This US influence is highlighted by Ross, 'Engagement', 179; Tyler, A Great Wall, 413-19; and J. Mann, About Face: A History of America's Curious Relationship with China from Nixon to Clinton (New York: Knopf, 1999), 356-9. 36. e.g. see the contribution by Michael Yahuda in ch. 5 of Maull, Segal, and Wanandi, Europe and the Asia Pacific, 191. 37. Interview, representative of Commission Delegation, Beijing, Mar. 2001. 38. Interview, Commission, Brussels, Mar. 2000. 39. Interview, German Development Ministry (BMZ), Bonn, Feb. 2001. 40. Agence Europe (22 Dec. 1999): 5. 41. Interview, FCO, London, Feb. 2001. 42. Interview, Chinese Mission to the European Union, Brussels, Jan. 2001. 43. See Financial Times (12 Oct. 2000): 11. 44. See Baogang Ho, The Democratic Implications of Civil Society in China (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1997); Pearson, New Business Elite; and White et al., In Search of Civil Society. Also see the essays by Goodman and Yu in Diamond, Consolidating the Third Wave Democracies. Each of these, while cautious, recognized that civil society might play a more significant role over the longer term. General analysis of the limits to political reform can be found in the special edn. of the Journal of Democracy, 9/1, 'Will China Democratize?' (1998)—this contains contributions from Brzezinski, Yizi Shen, Harding, Metzger, Oksenberg, Scalapino, Waldron, Juntao Wang, Suisheng Zhao, and Nathan, none of whom, despite some being more optimistic than others, judged events as signalling that China was progressing towards democratization. Also, see J. Burns, 'The People's Republic of China at 50: National Political Reform', China Quarterly, 159 (1999); Minxin Pei, 'Is China Democratizing?', Foreign Affairs, 77/1 (1998); Ming Luan, 'Chinese Opinion on Human Rights', Orbis (Summer 1998): 361-74.

238

Notes

45. M. Pearson, 'The Major Multilateral Institutions Engage China', in Johnston and Ross, Engaging China, 220. 46. Langhammer, 'Europe's Trade', 229. 47. See Nathan in his 'Conclusion' to the Journal of Democracy special edn., 'Will China Democratize?', 63. 48. D. Guthrie, 'The Declining Significance of Guanxi in China's Economic Transition', China Quarterly, 154 (1998): 280. 49. Interview, China-Britain Business Council, London, Oct. 2000. 50. Interview, China-Britain Business Council, London, Oct. 2000. 51. Agence Europe (12 Feb. 2000): 6. 52. Agence Europe (1 March 2000): 3; (22 Mar. 2000): 4; (20 Apr. 2000): 3. 53. Interview, FCO, London, June 2000. 54. Leonard, The Dragon Awakens, 116. 55. Survey of China, The Economist (8 Apr. 2000). 56. The view of the Financial Times (1 Oct. 1999) Survey: I. 57. Financial Times (1 Nov. 2000): 13. 58. Interview, representative of Commission Delegation to China, Mar. 2001. 59. Interview, European Commission, Brussels, July 2000. 60. Stanley Lehman in the Financial Times (8 Dec. 1999). 61. Burns, 'The People's Republic', 590. 62. Agence Europe (15 March 2000): 10. 63. Interview, representative of Commission Delegation, Beijing, Mar. 2001. 64. Interview, CBI, London, July 2000. 65. Interview, DTI, London, July 2000. 66. Interviews with FCO, London, June 2000; European Commission, Council Secretariat, UK Mission to the EU, Brussels, July 2000.

Conclusion 1. See R. Youngs, Democracy Promotion: The Case of European Union

Strategy (Centre for European Policy Studies, Working Paper No. 167, Brussels: CEPS, 2001). 2. A critical view attributed to the EU by H. Smith, 'Why is there No International Democratic Theory?', in H. Smith (ed.), Democracy and International Relations: Critical Theories /Problematic Practices (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 2000), 29. 3. For the former view see R. Ginsberg, 'Conceptualizing the European Union as an International Actor', Journal of Common Market Studies, 37/3 (2000): 429-54. For the latter view see M. Fouwels, 'The European Union's Common Foreign and Security Policy and Human Rights', Netherlands Quarterly of Human Rights, 15/3 (1997): 310-11. 4. L. Whitehead, 'Democracy by Convergence and Southern Europe: A Comparative Politics Perspective', in G. Pridham (ed.), Encouraging

Notes

239

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Index

Abdullah, King 49 Aceh 154-5 Air France 100, 111 Airbus 173, 183 AIS (Armee Islamique du Salut) 94, 97, 109-10 ALA (Asian-Latin American Regulation) 133, 180 Alatas, A. 123 Albright, M. 178 Alcatel 183 Algeria 94-114 democracy and EU passivity 95-100 EU as democracy promoter 192, 195-6, 202 and Euro-Mediterranean partnership 47, 50-2, 62, 67-8, 73-4, 79-80 instability and EU protagonism 101-8 Algiers 96, 100-1, 103, 107, 111 Alitalia 111 Amnesty International 98, 110, 134, 155 Amoco 141 Amsterdam Treaty (1997) 29, 36-8, 40, 43-4, 61 Anti-Corruption partnership, UK-China 179 APEC (Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation) 122, 129, 133 Arab states 12, 115, 128 and Euro-Mediterranean partnership 47, 51, 56-8, 62, 74, 78, 85-7, 91 Arafat, Y. 49, 62, 73, 88 ARF (ASEAN Regional Forum) 126-7 Article 113 Committee 29, 128, 188 ASEAN (Association of South East Asian Nations) 115, 167 and EU 125, 129-32, 136, 139, 143, 146, 152 security 126—7 trade 120, 133, 159 ASEF (Asia Europe Foundation) 134 ASEM (Asia-Europe Meeting, 1966) 115, 129-36, 139, 147, 163 and Asian financial crisis 159, 162 and Asian values 122-6 and China 169, 172 Vision Group 122-3 Asia 1, 32, 195

EU and Mediterranean 53, 67, 78, 80-1, 83-4, 89 financial crisis 115, 156-62, 164, 185 see also East Asia Asia-Europe Business Forum 126, 134 Asian Monetary Fund 159 Assad, B. 50, 80 Assad, H. 50 Attaf, A. 101 Australia 142, 146 Aznar Lopez, J.M. 75 Balkans 18, 31, 71, 95, 98 and EU 128, 154, 177 Baltics 74 Bangkok 122 Bank Bali 160 Barcelona Conference (1995) 91-3 and Algeria 98, 104 and democracy promotion 55-6, 59-61, 73-84, 87, 89 trade liberalization and political reform 66-7, 71 Bari, D. 48 Basri, D. 64 Beijing 126, 129 Belgium 66 Belgrade 180-1 Ben Ali 49, 62, 68, 77 Berlusconi, S. 75 BHS (British Home Stores) 141 Blair, T. 124, 183 Boeing 173, 183 bottom-up vs. top-down approaches 14-21, 195, 197, 201 Bourguiba, H. 49 Bouteflika, A. 94-5, 108-10 BP (British Petroleum) 97 Brazil 171 Britain see United Kingdom British Aerospace 147 Brussels 32, 76, 128, 140 Bureau for Democracy, Human Rights and Labour (USA) 32 Burma 99, 117, 130-1, 135-42, 152, 158 EU as democracy promoter 192, 199, 202 Burma Campaign 142

262

Index

Burma Office (Brussels) 140 Burton Group 141 Bush, G.W. 180 Cambodia 118, 121, 130, 142, 144-5, 171 EU as democracy promoter 192, 196 Cambodian People's Party (CPP) 118, 143 CAP (Common Agricultural Policy) 66 Caribbean states 31, 37, 53 Carlsberg 141 CCP (Chinese Communist Party) 165, 170, 177-8, 180-1, 186, 189 Central Europe 31, 35, 60, 85, 104, 159 Centre for Democracy and Governance (USA) 32 CFSP (Common Foreign and Security Policy) and Algeria 96, 98-100, 104 and China 166, 188 Common Strategy (2000) 82-3 democracy promotion instrument 28—9, 38, 40-5, 201-2 and East Asia 128, 130, 143, 149, 152-3 Human Rights Working Group 33 Joint Actions 88 and Mediterranean 61, 70, 73, 75, 83 Charette, H. 101, 123 Charter for Peace and Stability 82 Chemical Weapons Convention 177 Chiapas 99 Chile 198 China 115, 117, 158, 164 democracy promotion 136-7, 140, 142, 195, 202 and EU 165-90 level of engagement 129, 133, 135, 170-84 and global trading system 185-8 and Indonesia 146-8 Tiananmen Square and aftermath 166-70 US Permanent Normal Trading Relations 174 US-China Summit (1997) 179 values 120-1, 126-7 Chirac, J. 75, 100, 103, 169 Christians 154 Civil Forum 87 Clinton, B. 59, 173, 179 coercive instruments 34-41 versus positive approaches 21-6 Cohn-Bendit, D. 99 Cologne summit (1999) 34 Common Positions 39-40 Common Strategy (CFSP) 82-3

Commonwealth 2 Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty 177 Confucianism 116 Congress (Cambodia) 144 Congress (US) 81, 147, 175 Conseil National Superieur des Exportations 68 Cook, R. 169 Covenant on Civil and Political Rights 179, 181 Cuba 122 Cyprus 47 democracy: assistance 30-4, 83-90 ethics and self-interest 9-14 and European diplomacy after Barcelona 73-83 and new Euro-Mediterranean partnership 52-6 promotion 1-27, 64-73, 191-206 evolution and shortcomings 28—46 Democrat Party (US) 174-5 democratization 3-9 Deng Xiao Peng 171 Denmark 31-2, 68, 139-40, 142, 170-1, 174 Development Council (1991) 2, 30, 35 Dili 146 Dini, L. 75 East Asia 2, 28, 62, 107, 115-64, 166 contrasting approaches to democracy promotion 135—45 differing values 120-8 diverse democratic trends 116-20 EU as democracy promoter 191, 193, 199, 201-5 financial crisis 156-62 limited European engagement 128-35 see also Indonesia East Germany 67 East Timor 123, 130-1, 136, 146-7, 150-3 Eastern Europe 104, 177, 203 and democracy promotion 3, 6, 18, 31, 35 and East Asia 120-1, 128-9, 133, 159, 162 fall of communism 4, 15, 17 and Mediterranean 53-4, 60, 73, 83, 85,92 EC-ASEAN Agreement (1980) 130, 136, 139-40 ECMM (European Community Monitoring Mission) 33, 144 ECOFIN 161

Index Economic and Social Committee 64 Egypt 47-53, 62, 85-7, 90-1, 107 and Barcelona process 74-5, 80-2 trade liberalization and political reform

67-71

Egyptian Organisation of Human Rights 86 EIB (European Investment Bank) 71, 169 Election Commission (Thailand) 119 Elf Aquitaine 111 EMP (Euro-Mediterranean Partnership, 1995) 47-93, 122, 201 and Algeria 98, 104, 107, 111-12 EPC (European Political Cooperation)

41-2

Ericsson 141 Estrada, J. 119 ethics 9-14 EU-Africa summit (2000) 76 EU-Algeria Association Agreement 99 EU-ASEAN Agreement 147 EU-China Business Forum 169 EU-China summit (1998) 168 Euro-China Business Association 176 Eurofor 57 Euro-Islam Dialogue Forum 86 Euromarfor 57 Euromed Committee 70 Euronews 86 Europe Aid Office 34 European Commission 125, 159, 194 and Algeria 98, 102, 107-8, 110-11 and China 167-9, 173, 176, 179-80,

184-7

democracy promotion 29-31, 33-4, 36-9, 43-4 in Asia 130, 133, 137, 140, 143 and Indonesia 146, 152-3, 156 MEDA aid 55 and Mediterranean 54, 66-7, 70-2, 75-6, 80, 83-90 European Conservatives 124 European Council 2, 36, 130 European Court of Justice 33 European Parliament: and Algeria 98-9, 101, 107 democracy promotion instruments 29-30, 37, 39, 44 and East Asia 131, 140, 153, 155 and Mediterranean 53-4, 87 European Rapid Reaction Force 29, 41 European Trade Union Confederation 64 European Union 2-3, 28-33, 125, 166, 168 and Algeria 94-114 Code of Conduct 40 and coherence 200-3

263 Democracy Initiative 30-2, 133 democracy promotion instruments 28-46, 191-206 dynamics of policy-making 41-5 and Mediterranean 47-93 passivity 95—100 Troikas 101, 140, 179 World Bank Trust Fund 159 see also CFSP; European Commission; European Parliament

Falklands 38 Falun Gong 180-1 FDP (German Free Democrats) 105 FFS (Algerian Socialist Party) 98 Fifth Protocol 67 FIS (Front Islamique du Salut) 52, 94-104, 106, 109, 112-14 Fischer, J. 105 Five Power Defence Agreement 126 FLN (Front National de Liberation) 94, 96,98 Foreign Affairs Committee (France) 101 Fourth Protocol 53 France 29, 40, 202 and Algeria 96, 98-100, 102-4, 106-11 and China 169-70, 172, 174 and East Asia 121, 123, 126, 136-40, 143-6, 159-60 and Mediterranean 57, 61, 67, 70, 75-6, 79-86, 92 FTA (Free Trade Areas) 71-2, 89, 133 Gas Natural 64 GATT (General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade) 167-8 Gaza Strip 84, 88 General Affairs Council 31, 35 Germany 31-3 and Algeria 101, 104-5 and China 169-70, 174, 180 and East Asia 136, 139, 146, 159 and Mediterranean 61, 66-8, 79-80 GIA (Groupe Islamique Arme) 94, 103 Gibralter, Straits of 57 Giscard d'Estang, V. 101 Golkar party (Indonesia) 118 Gonzalez, F. 75 Gorbachev, M. 6 Greece 12, 170 Group for Democratic Development 86 GSP (Generalised System of Preferences) 39 China 166-8, 182 East Asia 129, 136, 138-40, 152 guanxi 165, 175, 182-3 Guatemala 68

264

Index

Gulf Cooperation Council 74 Gulf War (1991) 53, 62 Habibie, B.J. 147, 149-51 Hachani, A. 109 Hague, The 146 Hamas 49 Hassan II, King 48, 64, 77 Heineken 141 Helsinki European Council (1999) 29, 41 Hong Kong 167, 169, 184 Hoyer, W. 105 Human Rights and Democracy Clause (EU, 1995) 34 Hume, D. 15 Hun Sen 118, 143-5 Hussein, King 48, 62 ILO (International Labour Organisation) 140 IMF (International Monetary Fund) 17 and Algeria 94, 96, 100 and East Asia 143, 149-51, 157-60 India 142, 171 Indonesia 115, 160, 163-4, 173 EU as democracy promoter 130—1, 135, 192, 195-6, 202, 206 transition to democracy 1, 117-19, 145-56 values 123, 128 Industrialists Roundtable 125 Initiative for the Promotion of Democracy and Human Rights (EU, 1994) 30-2, 133 International Covenant on Economic and Social Rights 179 Inwar Ibrahim 117, 136 Iraq 62 Ireland 38, 139 Irian Jaya 154-5 Islamic Group (Egypt) 50, 52 Islamists: Algeria 94, 96, 100-2, 104, 106-9, 114 Mediterranean 48-54, 58, 62-4, 81-2, 85, 91-3 Islam/Muslims 96, 197 East Asia 116, 127-8, 135, 151, 154 Mediterranean 47, 51-2, 58-9, 65, 79, 82,93 Israel 47-50, 55, 62, 74-8, 87-8, 91 Italy 38, 57, 61, 67, 75 and Algeria 103, 105-7, 110-11 and Asia 138, 147, 170, 174 Jakarta 123, 131, 145-6, 149, 151-2 Japan 2, 5, 78 and China 171, 173-4, 183

and EU 115, 120, 132-3, 136, 142-3, 146, 157-9 Jiang Zemin 181, 183 Joint EU-ASEAN Committee 130 Jordan 47-9, 52, 62, 68, 73-4, 80, 87,

91-2

Juppe, A. 100 KEDO 138 Khmer Rouge 143, 145 Kim Dae Jung 119 Kinkel, K. 101, 105 Know How Funds 159 Kohl, H. 169 Kosovo 29 Kuomintang 119 Kurds 99 Labour Party (UK) 139 Lamy, P. 152 Laos 117, 130, 136 Latin America 31, 198 and Algeria 104, 107 and East Asia 120, 129, 133 and Mediterranean 53, 62, 67, 78-83, 85 Lebanon 47, 52, 74-5, 78-9, 87, 89 Lee Kwan Yew 117 Leekpai, C. 119 Levi Strauss 141 Liberal Party (Germany) 101 Libya 50, 57, 62, 76-7, 202 Lisbon 147, 151 Lockerbie 76 Lome Convention 98, 122, 129, 134, 162 EU democracy promotion instruments 35,37 and Mediterranean 54, 60, 73, 81, 83 London 134 Lund 134 Maastricht Treaty (1992) 2, 29-30, 37-40, 42 Madani, A. 96 Maghreb 84, 104 Mahathir Mohamad 117, 119 Makhzan 49 Malaysia 117, 119, 128, 133, 135-6, 162 Malta 47 Marin, M. 66, 98, 122, 130 Marseilles summit (2000) 78 Massachusetts 139 MEDA (Mesures d'Accomagnement) 55, 67-71, 75, 80-8, 107, 129 MEDA Democracy 83-8, 107, 110 MEDAII 71, 84, 86 Mediterranean 47-93, 177

Index democracy 48-52 assistance 83—90 EU promotion instruments 28, 32, 191-5, 199, 202-5 and European interests 56-64 and East Asia 115, 120-1, 127-8, 133, 162 Mediterranean Forum 61 MFN (Most Favoured Nation) status 166, 173-4, 182 Middle East 1-2, 98 and Euro-Mediterranean partnership 57, 59, 62, 67, 82, 87-8, 91 Missile Technology Control Regime 177 Mitterand, F. 75, 96 Mohammed VI 48-9, 80 Moluccas 154-5 Morocco 91-2 and Algeria 95, 107 democracy and Europe 47-9, 52-5, 62, 64 Barcelona Process 72-4, 77, 80-1 democracy promotion 84-7, 89, 192, 206 trade liberalization and political reform 67-9 Moscow 6 Mostar 41 Mubarak 49, 53, 62, 81-2 Multilateral Agreement on Investment 132 Muslim Brotherhood 50 Muslims see Islam National Dialogue (Algeria) 96 National People's Congress (China) 165, 181 NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization) 12, 29, 52, 57,

180-1

NED (National Endowment for Democracy) 33, 146 Netherlands 31-2, 66-8, 170 and East Asia 139, 144, 146, 151, 153, 159 New Order 163 NGO Forum 134-5 NGOs (non-governmental organisations) 31 and China 179-80, 184 democracy promotion 4, 6, 24-5, 192-3, 198-9, 206 and East Asia 116-17, 128, 134-7, 140-4, 146, 163 and Mediterranean 50, 61, 70, 77-8,

84-8

Nigeria 1

265

NLD (National League for Democracy)

141-2

Non-Proliferation Treaty 177 North Africa 1-2, 57, 59, 66-7 North Korea 138, 171-2 Norway 103, 171 Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty 57 Occupied Territories 49, 88 OECD (Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development) 2, 39 OPEC (Organisation of Petroleum Exporting Countries) 53 Organization of American States 2 OSCE (Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe) 57 Pacific states 31, 37, 53 Pakistan 1, 178 Palestine/Palestinian Authority 196 and Euro-Mediterranean partnership 47, 49, 62, 73-6, 78, 88 Paris 80, 99-100, 103-4, 107, 109 Pasqua, C. 100 Patten, C. 66, 178, 184 Pentagon 147 Philippines 12, 117, 119, 121, 146, 158 Plan de Mise a Niveau (Tunisia) 68 Political Committee 38 political reform and trade liberalization 64-73 see also democracy promotion Portugal 54, 107, 202 and East Asia 123, 130-1, 136, 145-7,

150-2

positive vs. coercive approaches 21—6 Premier Oil 141 Prodi, R. 75-6 Pyongyang 138 Q'adafi, M. 76 Qiao Shi 181 Radio Free Asia 169 Ramadan 110 Ranariddh, Prince 143-4 Rapid Reaction Mechanism 34 RCD (Rassemblement Culturelle Democratique) 49, 77 Repsol 76 Republican Party (US) 174-5 RMP (Renovated Mediterranean Policy, 1990) 53 RND (Rassemblement National Democratique) 94

266

Index

Rome 96 Russia 6, 82, 103, 128, 147, 173, 181 Sadat, A. 49 Saharawi 86 San Francisco 141 Sant'Egidio Community (Rome) 96 Saudi Arabia 74 Schengen Agreement 61 Scientific and Technical Cooperation Agreement (EU-China, 1998) 169 Security Council, UN 40 Senate (Algeria) 97 Senate (Thailand) 119 Seoul 131 Shinawatra, T. 119 Singapore 117, 124, 133, 157, 174 Smith, A. 15 Social Development Fund (Egypt) 71 Socialist Party (Morocco) 48 South China Seas 172 South Korea 12, 174 and EU 115-21, 129, 133, 138, 157-8 Soviet Union, former 32, 57 Spain 12, 146, 170 and Algeria 104-7, 110-11 and Euro-Mediterranean partnership 54, 57, 61, 64, 67, 75-6, 80, 86 SPD (German Social Democrats) 105 State Department, US 32 sub-Saharan Africa 1, 67, 83 Suharto 117-18, 145-51, 153, 160, 163 Sukarnoputri, M. 148 Supreme Court (Egypt) 50 Suu Kyi, Aun Sang 135, 140, 142 Sweden 31, 139, 171, 174 Switzerland 171 Syria 92, 95, 192 Barcelona Process 74, 78-80 and Euro-Mediterranean partnership 47, 50, 53-4, 68 viability of democracy promotion 87, 89 Taiwan 117, 119, 121, 129, 157, 172 Taiwan Straits 172 Tampere meeting (1999) 79 Texaco 141 Thailand 117, 119, 129, 158, 162 Tiananmen Square 166-70, 172 Tibet 180 Tokyo 157 top-down vs. bottom-up approaches 14-21, 195, 197, 201 Total 141 Trade and Cooperation Agreements (EUChina, 1978 & 1985) 137, 144-5, 166

trade liberalization and political reform 64-73 Transitional Authority (Cambodia) 142 Tunisia: and Algeria 107-8 democracy and EMP 47-9, 52, 55, 62, 67-8, 87-9 Barcelona Process 72-7, 80 Turkey 47-8, 52, 75 Ukraine 82 UNCHR (UN Commissioner on Human Rights) 106, 131, 167, 170, 174, 184 UNDP (UN Development Programme) 2 UNICE (Union of Industrial and Employers' Confederations of Europe) 64, 89-90 United Kingdom (UK) 106 and China 167, 169-70, 183 democracy promotion instruments 33, 38,40 and East Asia 121, 126, 139-42, 146-7, 151, 153, 160 and Mediterranean 66-8, 70, 75-7, 79-80, 86 United Nations (UN) 76 Cambodia operation (1991-3) 142-3 and China 167, 173, 184 and East Asia 118, 147, 151 Resolutions 38, 40 Special Rapporteurs 106 see also UNDP; UNHCR United States (USA): and Algeria 96, 104-6, 112 anti-bribery laws 39 and China 166-80, 182, 185-9 democracy promotion 2, 5, 11-13, 39 and EU 29, 31-3, 41, 45, 198, 202, 204 and East Asia 120-6, 129, 132-41, 143-64 and Mediterranean 59, 70, 77-8, 81-2, 84 US-China Summit (1997) 179 Uruguay Round 29, 70 USAID 32-3 Vietnam 117, 136-8, 158, 162, 195 Village Governance project 169 Voice of America 169 Volkswagen 183 Wahid, A. 118, 151, 153-6, 160 Wang Dan 171 Washington 32, 45, 59, 151 Wei Jinsheng 169 West Bank 84, 88

Index Western Sahara 54, 86 Westminster Foundation 33, 153 WEU (West European Union) 29-30, 41, 57 Wiranto, General 153 World Bank 90, 169 democracy promotion in 1990s 13—14, 17,20 and East Asia 139, 143 EU Trust Fund 159

267

WTO (World Trade Organization) 38, 66 and China 168-9, 173, 176, 182, 185-9 and East Asia 132, 136, 139 Government Procurement Agreement 187 Youssoufi, A. 48 Zeroual 94, 98, 100, 103, 106 Zhao Ziyang 166