Transitions and Non-Transitions from Communism : Regime Survival in China, Cuba, North Korea, and Vietnam 9781139612548, 9781107023888

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Transitions and Non-Transitions from Communism

Since the fall of the Berlin Wall, many scholars have sought to explain the collapse of communism. Yet, more than two decades on, communist regimes continue to rule in a diverse set of countries including China, Cuba, North Korea, and Vietnam. In a unique study of fourteen countries, Steven Saxonberg explores the reasons for the survival of some communist regimes while others fell. He also shows why the process of collapse differed among communist-led regimes in Europe, Africa, and Latin America. Based on the analysis of the different processes of collapse that has already taken place, and taking into account the special characteristics of the remaining communist regimes, Transitions and Non-Transitions from Communism discusses the future prospects for the survival of the regimes in China, Cuba, North Korea, and Vietnam. Steven Saxonberg is Professor of Sociology in the Department of Social Policy and Social Work at the Masaryk University in the Czech Republic. He has published over fifty articles in journals and books on the collapse of communism in Central and Eastern Europe and the post-communist developments in this area. His first book, The Fall: A Comparative Study of the End of Communism in Czechoslovakia, East Germany, Hungary and Poland (2001), was awarded second place in the UNESCO Stein Rokkan competition for Best Book in Comparative Social Science.

Transitions and Non-Transitions from Communism Regime Survival in China, Cuba, North Korea, and Vietnam Steven Saxonberg

cambridge university press Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, São Paulo, Delhi, Mexico City Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge CB2 8RU, UK Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781107023888 © Steven Saxonberg 2013 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2013 Printed and bound in the United Kingdom by the MPG Books Group A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication data Saxonberg, Steven. Transitions and non-transitions from communism : regime survival in China, Cuba, North Korea and Vietnam / Steven Saxonberg. pages cm Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-1-107-02388-8 1. Post-communism – Case studies. 2. Communism – Case studies. I. Title. HX44.5.S295 2012 320.9170 17–dc23 2012018846 ISBN 978-1-107-02388-8 Hardback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

To my wife Danka

Contents

List of figures and tables Preface

page viii ix

1

Introduction

1

2

Communist regime types

3

Nationalism and patrimonial communism

107

4

Ideology and opposition to communism

153

5

Revolutionary potential and revolutionary outcomes

207

6

Transitions without revolutions

244

7

Non-transitions among maturing countries

272

8

Non-transition and patrimonial communism

303

9

What next?

333

Index

348

40

vii

Figures and tables

Figure 2.1 Soviet growth rates Figure 2.2 Real per capita growth rates Table 1.1 The development of regime types Table 2.1 Regime types Table 4.1 The relationship between legitimacy, regime type, and strategy

viii

page 67 68 29 105 204

Preface

This book has been a long journey for me. As I finally finished the manuscript and reread it to make corrections, the very first sentence of the very first chapter summed up the journey: “Although the collapse of the communist regimes in Eastern Europe caught the world by surprise, more than one decade later it is somehow assumed that this system had to fall.” By this point, of course, I have had to change that first sentence from “more than one decade later” to “more than two decades later”! The adventure began when Mark Thompson contacted me about writing a book together. I had recently completed my doctoral dissertation on the collapse of communism in Central Europe (Czechoslovakia, East Germany, Hungary, and Poland) and I thought I was basically finished with that topic. I was ready to go in new directions in my research and I had made a start on investigating post-communist social policy. However, my Ph.D. advisor knew Mark Thompson and gave him a copy of my doctoral dissertation. Mark then invited me to participate in the meeting of the American Political Science Association in Atlanta in 1999. Although I was fearful of the hot weather that doubtless awaited me in the deep South in late August (I had been living in Sweden for many years and had become accustomed to a colder climate), I have never frozen so much in my entire life. I was given a crude reminder that Americans are the biggest energy consumers in the world. I found myself losing an ongoing battle with the cleaning lady at our hotel, who insisted on turning the air conditioning back on every day, just to make sure I would wake up feeling like an ice cube. Luckily, I got along much better with Mark than with the cleaning lady. Together with Juan López, we agreed to write a book on transitions and non-transitions from communism. Since my part of the book was to be about the countries of Central and Eastern Europe and since I had already written a book on four of these countries, I thought my share of the project would be rather easy (especially since I also knew a fair amount about the former Soviet Union and former Yugoslavia). Mark, for his part, was an expert on Asia and also knowledgeable about Central and Eastern Europe. Juan was an expert on ix

x

Preface

Latin America and was about to finish a book on Cuba. I knew, therefore, that we could write the manuscript in a couple of years. And I was right, we could! But we did not. The project took off seriously when I was able to arrange a scholarship from the Wenner-Gren Foundation, so that Mark and Juan could visit Sweden. This induced them each to write a draft chapter. Meanwhile, full of energy, I wrote three draft chapters. We then toured Sweden like a rock group. We presented our project at the departments of political science at Södertörn College and Örebro University, at the department of sociology at Uppsala University, and at a general social-science seminar at Dalarna University College. Here I would like especially to thank Anders Uhlin, Sten Berglund, Tom Burns, and Lars Petterson for arranging these seminars. I would also like to thank Helena Flam for organizing a seminar at Leipzig University. I would also like to thank David Ost and Bogdan Szajkowski for giving me comments at a seminar arranged by Dalarna University College. Since I am relatively new to studying Asia, I also benefited greatly through e-mail exchanges with Bruce Cumings, who was kind enough to discuss some issues concerning North Korea with me. Despite my initial enthusiasm for the project, however, my co-authors dropped out for a variety of personal reasons. Juan was the first to leave. While he did not write any portion of the text in this book, Juan did help me to understand Latin America much better. Among other things, he made me realize that, due to certain special conditions in Cuba, professionals in that country – rather than intellectuals – are the main driving force behind the opposition. He also persuaded me to rethink my original view of the Sandinistas in Nicaragua, as I had believed that they were basically democratic socialists, but he made me realize that they were Leninists, who sought to install a dictatorship. At the end of the book, I take a more critical view than Juan does of the US boycott against Cuba. Notwithstanding this difference, however, I am greatly in debt to Juan for his inspiration, and I am certain this would have been a much better book had he decided to remain in the project. I also discussed the project with Mark many times over the years – via e-mail, by telephone, and in personal meetings in Erlangen, Germany (where he had a professorship), in Falun, Sweden (where I had a lectureship), and in Prague (where I have spent most of my time these past few years). Some of the ideas that made it into this book come from Mark, especially his classification of “failed totalitarian regimes.” He also encouraged me to expand upon my idea of “pragmatic acceptance” as a type of social contract established by regimes which have lost their ideological legitimacy. The original version of this concept in my doctoral

Preface

xi

dissertation (later published as The Fall) concerned the way in which regimes in Central and Eastern Europe defended their continued rule after Soviet invasions or threats of invasion, but I did not think the term could be used for countries outside of the Warsaw Pact. Mark encouraged me, however, to develop the concept in such a way as to make it applicable to countries such as Cuba and China. While Mark discovered he did not have the time to work on this project, he did co-author about 20 percent of Chapter 2. As with Juan, I am sure the book would have been much better if he had stayed on. Mark also read and gave me comments on earlier versions of chapters 1 and 4. A few days before I sent my final version to Cambridge University Press, the “Dear Leader,” as Kim Jong Il was known, passed away in North Korea. Unfortunately, I did not have the time to rewrite the sections on North Korea and take into account this recent event; however, so far nothing has happened that would cause me to change fundamentally my analysis of the North Korean situation. I would also like to thank the Baltic Sea Foundation in Sweden, as well as the Czech Grant Agency (GA403/09/1182, and GAP404/10/1586) and the Swedish Research Council (dnr 421–2010–2264), for partial funding of the research for this book. Finally, I would like to end this preface by mentioning a famous phrase – to the effect that, behind every successful man there is a woman, and behind every successful woman there is her shadow. Although I certainly hope I am more than a shadow for my wife, Danka, the first part of the proverb at any rate is correct. I would never have been able to complete this book without her love and support, which she gives me “eight days a week.” Thank you, Danka!

1

Introduction

The collapse of communism in Eastern Europe caught the world by surprise. Today, however – more than two decades later – it is somehow assumed that communism had to fall. But if the collapse of communism was inevitable, why did several similar Marxist-Leninist regimes survive in other parts of the world, such as in China, Cuba, North Korea, and Vietnam? It would be too simple to draw a dichotomy here between Europe and the developing world, according to which communist regimes in Europe were destined to collapse, while their counterparts in the developing world were not. Communist governments have fallen in Third World nations such as Cambodia, Ethiopia, Grenada, Mongolia, and Nicaragua; in Europe, Serbia’s “degenerating,” patrimonial communist regime under Slobodan Miloševic´ managed to stay in power for over a decade before being overthrown by a popular uprising. The Serbian case shows that regime transition from communism was not automatic even in Europe. No important scholarly work has compared the transitions from communism with the non-transitions.1 Most authors either emphasize the similarities between the different cases of communist collapse in Europe, or else they confine themselves to single-country case studies.2 1

2

Certain studies have made such comparisons, but they have lacked a systematic theoretical framework, and they have usually compared just one non-transition to one or several transitions. See, for example, Yangi Tong, Transitions from State Socialism (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 1997), which compares China with Hungary. Some of the best-known works dealing with the collapse in general include: Michael Waller, The End of the Communist Power Monopoly (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 1994); Daniel Chirot, “What Happened in Eastern Europe in 1989?” in Daniel Chirot, ed., The Crisis of Leninism and the Decline of the Left: The Revolutions of 1989 (Seattle and London: University of Washington State, 1991), pp. 3–32; Giuseppe Di Palma, “Legitimation from the Top to Civil Society,” World Politics, 43:1 (1991): 49–80; Gale Stokes, “Lessons of the East European Revolutions of 1989,” Problems of Communism, 40:5 (1991): 17–22; Marcia A. Weigle and Jim Butterfield, “Civil Society in Reforming Communist Regimes: The Logic of Emergence,” Comparative Politics, 1 (1992): 1–24; and Ken Jowitt, New World Disorder: The Leninist Extinction,

1

2

Introduction

Still others offer accounts of a largely descriptive and empirical nature.3 Some authors, such as Richard Sakwa and Archie Brown, do discuss the remaining communist regimes. Yet, they do not put much emphasis on them, seeing them as the last remnants of a dead movement. Their continued hold on power, therefore, does not require much theorizing. This standpoint is also evident from the titles of their respective books: Postcommunism (Sakwa) and The Rise and Fall of Communism (Brown).4 To his credit, Brown develops a theory as to why some regimes have been able to maintain power: the key, he contends, lies in their resort to nationalism. He is correct, in my view, that the remaining regimes have all used nationalism as part of their strategy for keeping power. His model fails to explain, however, why other communist regimes of this type lost power (as in Nicaragua, Romania, or Serbia/rump Yugoslavia); nor does it specify what the conditions are that might induce the remaining states to fall. Even those works dealing with Eastern Europe have tended to ignore the great diversity in both the types of communist regimes and the processes of the demise of communist rule. Yet it is essential to understand these different modes of transition if we are to understand the underlying mechanisms that brought down the Iron Curtain in Eastern Europe. Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, in their Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation, represent the most important exception here. They distinguish between different processes of transition, according to different regime types; yet they too neglect the cases of continued communist rule.5 Certain recent works have focused on non-transitions, but they have

3

4 5

(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992). There is a very large literature dealing with the separate countries; suffice it here to point out a few of the most famous ones: Rudolf L. Tőkes, Hungary’s Negotiated Revolution: Economic Reform, Social Change and Political Succession (Cambridge University Press, 1996); Bernard Wheaton and Zdeneˇ k Kavan, The Velvet Revolution: Czechoslovakia, 1988–1991 (Boulder, San Francisco and Oxford: Westview Press, 1992); Sigrid Meuschel on the GDR, “The End of East German Socialism,” Telos, 82 (1989–90): 3–22; “Wandel durch Auflehnung: Thesen zum Verfall bürokratischer Herrschaft in der DDR,” Berliner Journal für Soziologie, 1 (1991): 15–27 and Legitimation und Parteiherrshaft in der DDR (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1992); George Sandford, ed., Democratization in Poland, 1988–90: Polish Voices (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1992). Excluding purely journalistic accounts, the most famous empirical descriptions include: Timothy Garton Ash, We the People: The Revolution of ’89 Witnessed in Warsaw, Budapest, Berlin and Prague (London: Granta Books, 1990); and George Schöpflin, Politics in Eastern Europe (Oxford and Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell, 1993). Richard Sakwa, Postcommunism (Buckingham: Open University Press, 1999); and Archie Brown, The Rise and Fall of Communism (London: Bodley Head, 2009). Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation: Southern Europe, South America, and Post-Communist Europe (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996).

Introduction

3

normally only discussed one non-transition (usually the Chinese case) and compared it with one or more transitions.6 The neglect of non-transitions has been a missed analytical opportunity. Comparing cases where a transition did not take place to cases where it did helps us to understand better what is missing from the former. It helps us distinguish necessary from sufficient conditions for a transition from communism. Conditions present only in transitions are most likely to have been decisive for regime change. In addition, the comparativeversus-democratization debate – wherein specialists on Eastern Europe stress the peculiarities of each case, while “transitologists” permit themselves overarching generalizations – would be enhanced by a comparison of communist regimes across regions.7 Despite differences in culture and in type of regime, communist governments throughout the world have shared some crucial characteristics. Thus, transitions from them are more easily compared across regional boundaries than are transitions from most non-communist regimes.8 The communist countries that have not undergone transitions are of great policy importance. North Korea, for example, arguably represents the greatest danger for nuclear war in the world today.9 Cuba under Fidel Castro has long been one of the most vexing foreign policy issues for the US government. The Chinese economy is the largest and fastest-growing in the developing world today, and its advance is affecting the balance of trade in the industrialized countries (particularly the US). China is also a growing threat to the prevailing military and economic order, inasmuch as

6

7

8

9

Juan J. Lopez, Democracy Delayed: The Case of Castro’s Cuba (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002). Minxin Pei, From Reform to Revolution: The Demise of Communism in China and the Soviet Union (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1994), chapters 1 and 2. Pei compares the Soviet transition to the non-transition in China. Also see Mark R. Thompson, “To Shoot or Not to Shoot: China and Eastern Europe,” Comparative Politics, 34:1 (2001): 63–83; and Tong, Transitions from State Socialism. For a critical account of this debate, see Valerie Bunce, “Should Transitologists Be Grounded?,” Slavic Review, 54 (1995): 11–27. For a more balanced approach, see Bunce’s later article, “Comparative Democratization: Big and Bounded Generalizations,” Comparative Political Studies, 33:6–7 (2000): 703–34. In the later article, Bunce mentions “regional effects” in democratization, as cross-regional comparativists have also done. This neglects, however, the possibility of comparing similar regime types across regions. There is a large literature discussing what communism is. I shall discuss this question later in this Introduction. Good overviews are provided in Stephen White, “What Is a Communist System?,” Studies in Comparative Communism, XVI, 16:4 (Winter 1983): 247–63; and Michael Waller and Bogdan Szajkowski, “The Communist Movement: From Monolith to Polymorph,” in Bogdan Szajkowski, ed., Marxist Governments: A World Survey, 3 vols. (London: Macmillan, 1981), vol. I, pp. 1–19. See, for example, James T. Laney and Jason T. Shaplen, “How to Deal With North Korea,” Foreign Affairs, 82:2 (2003).

4

Introduction

its military is emerging as one of the strongest in the world, and its economy is already the sixth largest.10 Many observers predict that, over the course of the coming decades, the Chinese economy will become the world’s largest.11 Though a much smaller economy, Vietnam has recently been held up by the World Bank as a model for other developing countries.12 Comparisons with onetime communist states in Eastern Europe and elsewhere may shed greater light on this still-existing communism. Defining communist rule Despite the tendency to lump all communist regimes together, important differences have existed among them. As Linz and Stepan show, these regimes do not stand still; rather, they develop in a variety of directions. Notwithstanding their many cultural and institutional differences, however, communist regimes have all subscribed to a common political religion, derived from a common ideological model. Following Eric Voegelin, we may see communism as a political religion.13 It has a collection of clearly set-out beliefs, with strong eschatalogical and messianic qualities; it has holy texts (by Marx, Engels, and Lenin); it has a pope (the general secretary); and it boasts a “priesthood” (the party functionaries). As an ideological model, Leninist communism claims a monopoly on Truth, and calls for a one-party state and a state-run economy. In such a system, the rule of the Party is based on ideological legitimacy, not popular consent.14 The general secretary/pope knows the Truth, since he (and it is always a man) is best able to interpret the holy texts. The party functionaries/priests, in turn, are best able to carry out his orders. Unlike democracy, which implies multiple interpretations of the Truth, communism recognizes only one interpretation thereof. Consequently, it sees little need for democratic-pluralist institutions. Since the Party knows what is correct, moreover, it is best suited to running the economy. The texts of Marx and Lenin supply further 10 11 12

13

14

By 2004, it had already become the world’s sixth-largest economy. See David Barboza, “China’s Economy Even Larger than Thought,” New York Times, December 21, 2005. For example, The Economist, July 6, 2011. For a discussion, see for example Jean-Pierre Cling, Mireille Razafindrakoto, and François Roubaud, “Desperately Seeking Model Countries: The World Bank in Vietnam,” DIAL working paper DT/2009–04, September 2009, downloaded from www.dial.prd.fr on January 20, 2010. Eric Voegelin, The Political Religions (Lewiston, NY: E. Mellen Press, 1986; 1st German edn. 1938); and Philippe Burrin, “Political Religion: The Relevance of a Concept,” History and Memory, 9:1–2, (1997): 321–9. I am grateful to Mark Thompson for pointing out this allegory of politics as religion. For a detailed discussion of this, see Steven Saxonberg, The Fall: A Comparative Study of the End of Communism in Czechoslovakia, East Germany, Hungary and Poland (Amsterdam/ London: Harwood Academic/Routledge 2001), Chapter 5.

Defining communist rule

5

ammunition, since they proclaim the superiority of planned economies over their market counterparts. This analysis basically follows the argument of Giuseppe Di Palma, to the effect that communist regimes base their legitimacy on two claims: to superior economic performance, and to a monopoly on Truth.15 Despite these basic tenets, communism can take many forms – from totalitarian systems based on mass terror (the Stalin and Pol Pot regimes) to relatively open and tolerant regimes like those of Hungary in the late 1980s and Yugoslavia under Tito. Communism is an ideology that is subject to various interpretations. There may be a “Rome” (Moscow), even if there is also a “Constantinople” (Belgrade under Josip Broz Tito, Beijing under Mao Zedong). Communism was a truly international model, spreading from Europe to Asia, Latin America, and Africa. There is a central canon, along with common rituals, practices, and habits. More than any other modern regime form, communism displays commonalities across its different regimes. Despite the national peculiarities of different communist countries, and the many variations communist rule has assumed in these countries, all communist regimes have followed the basic pattern of one-party rule, Party-state control over the economy, and (at least initially) a coherent ideology based on Marx and Lenin. However, communist parties that are out of power – or which are trying to consolidate it – may at times accept some forms of pluralism. This was the case with the National Fronts in Eastern Europe from 1945 to 1948. It is true that greatly deformed, personalized dictatorships have emerged in North Korea or Romania, but even these regimes came to power based on Marxist-Leninist ideologies, and must be understood within the framework of a degenerating Marxism-Leninism. Although communist regimes can take on many forms and even degenerate into patrimonial, personalized dictatorships, they still have more in common with one another than do the regimes of any other modern political-economic system. Capitalist regimes can take many politicaleconomic forms – from fascist and national-socialist dictatorships to liberal democracies and developmental dictatorships. Capitalism has also been able to incorporate such diverse ideologies as liberalism, conservatism, Christian democracy, social democracy, and ecologism. 15

Giuseppe Di Palma, “Legitimation from the Top to Civil Society,” World Politics, 44:1 (1991): 49–79. However, Di Palma terms this “legitimacy from the top.” I find this term awkward, among other things because it does not explain what kind of legitimacy communist regimes have; nor does it tell us the basis of the said legitimacy. It only tells us where it comes from. I also find the term problematic, because – as Di Palma admits – it is not just the top (i.e. party leaders) who believe in the ideology; originally, some intellectuals and workers do so as well.

6

Introduction

Communism, by contrast, has only allowed for certain national variations on Marxist-Leninist doctrine. While capitalism can take on many ideologies, Marxist-Leninist ideology matters for communist regimes, even when those regimes are in a state of severe decay. A communist regime that abandons its ideology is likely to encounter severe problems, even when the society “pragmatically accepts” its rule for a time on the grounds that it is performing reasonably well, given the structural constraints of the communist system.16 This helps explain the contortions that the communist regime in China has gone through to justify market reforms. If ideology were irrelevant, the Chinese would have abandoned it long ago. Archie Brown goes so far as to claim that the Chinese Communist Party leaders had even considered giving up the name “Communist,” but decided against it for fear that the more orthodox members who still believed in the ideology would abandon the Party and start a new one. Chinese Party leaders decided against the name change, not because they still believed in Marxist-Leninist ideology, but because they wanted to prevent the emergence of a competitive party system. Thus, even when Party leaders no longer believe in the ideology, they still feel somewhat bound by it. As should now be clear to the reader, “communism” is used in this book to describe a really existing political movement, as opposed to the kind of classless, stateless society that Marx believed would arise from the ashes of capitalism.

Choice of countries Now that communist regimes have been defined in terms of a political religion, forced to struggle on the basis of Marxist-Leninist ideology in order to legitimize their rule, it is necessary to distinguish between transitions and non-transitions from communism. The term “transitions” comes from the democratization literature, and is usually defined as a political transformation. For the purposes of this book, a communist-led regime is no longer communist when the communist party loses political power, even if great changes have taken place in the economic system or socio-economic structures. Consequently, China and Vietnam represent a non-transition despite the dramatic changes in their economic systems. The Communist Party still rules these countries, and does not allow any opposition parties. It continues to hold monopoly control over the main mass media, although its control over information has been severely undermined by the Internet. The party still claims to be socialist, and 16

For a discussion of pragmatic acceptance, see Saxonberg, The Fall.

Choice of countries

7

though party leaders may no longer believe in Marxism-Leninism, they still claim to be Marxist-Leninists, building a socialist society. It should also be noted that in both these countries, although the private sector is growing, the most important economic sector is the mixed “cooperative” sector, where state bureaucrats co-founded half of all private companies. Thus, the state still exerts great control over the economy, albeit in a somewhat unorthodox fashion. From a strict Marxian perspective, one could claim that China and Vietnam are indeed experiencing a transition – from a command economy to a type of state capitalism. While this is indeed the case, it is significant that these countries are experiencing this transition under the continued rule of communist parties that profess to be leading their countries toward some type of “socialism.” Thus, in an outcome at odds with deterministic interpretations of Marxism, changes at the base have not so far led to changes in the political superstructure – a fact worthwhile for social scientists to try to explain. Some non-Marxian social scientists still analyze the seeming contradiction between having a communist-led dictatorship with a supposedly “socialist” ideology and the introduction of clearly capitalist reforms, but take a view that is as deterministic as orthodox Marxists. For example, Sakwa claims that China is experiencing an “evolutionary exit from communism.”17 This approach simply assumes that the regime must fall, without explaining how or when it might be expected to fall. In contrast to the democratization literature, this book is concerned with transitions from communism rather than to democracy. The focus is on whether communist regimes maintain or lose power. This study does not consider the nature of the post-communist regimes. It is beyond the scope of this book to discuss, for example, why the Slovak Republic under Mečiar developed in a more authoritarian manner than the Czech Republic under Klaus. Nor does this book consider whether the elections in Ethiopia are truly democratic, or whether the authoritarian tendencies of Putin and Yeltsin have hindered the consolidation of democracy in Russia. In the case of many former Soviet republics in Asia, the regimes are openly authoritarian and make no pretense of being democratic. What is important here, however, is the fact neither the Soviet Union nor its communist regime still exist. We may thus conclude that these Asian republics have indeed undergone a transition from communist rule (even if members of the former nomenklatura have managed to maintain power in some of the Asian republics).

17

Sakwa, Postcommunism, p. 33.

8

Introduction

The Soviet and Yugoslav cases also bring up the issue of stateness. The concern of this book is with the collapse of communist regimes, which here means the communist states of the Soviet Union and Yugoslavia. I do not investigate whether communist parties still in power in certain Asian ex-Soviet republics can be considered cases of non-transition, because the Soviet Union as a communist state no longer exists. Nevertheless, I do pay some attention to the Baltic republics, to show how the revolutionary potential of the periphery helped bring down the communist regime at its core in Russia. Similarly, in Yugoslavia, the revolutionary potential of the peripheral republics in Croatia and Slovenia helped bring about the collapse of the Yugoslav federation as a communist entity. Because Serbia was the core state, and continued to see itself as officially part of Yugoslavia (in contrast to Russia, which ceased to consider itself part of the Soviet Union), I discuss the communist regime’s continued rule in that country – in its degenerated, patrimonial form under Miloševic´. Serbia under Miloševic´ presents the trickiest case of a non-transition regime. In Croatia, the communist regime had already fallen when Franjo Tudjman won the first elections. In Serbia, by contrast, the same regime remained in power until mass protests brought it down nearly a decade later. Both countries have in common that they had semi-free elections, multiparty systems, and authoritarian rulers. However, the Miloševic´ regime was a clearer case of communist continuation than was the Tudjman government. First, Miloševic´ came to power by taking over and transforming the League of Communists, while Tudjman came to power by defeating the communists in elections. Miloševic´ thus represented continuity, while Tudjman represented change. Second, Miloševic´ never portrayed himself as an anti-Titoist. He never questioned the establishment of a one-party state based on MarxismLeninism, and he never claimed to be a supporter of capitalism. Rather, his criticism of Tito was limited to the constitutional changes of the 1960s and 1970s. These, he believed, had weakened Serbia, by making Kosovo an autonomous republic, and undermined the position of Serbs living in non-Serbian republics. Tudjman, on the other hand, questioned the entire Titoist project, and declared communism a total failure and mistake. Third, Miloševic´ never entirely abandoned socialist ideology. He continued to call his party “socialist,” and to maintain the traditional communist party structure of a central committee and politburo. (One should recall that the communist parties in East Germany, Hungary, and Poland had all changed their names to “socialist” in the 1940s, but this did not prevent them from establishing Marxist-Leninist dictatorships.)

Choice of countries

9

Given his party’s professed ideology, Miloševic´ was in no hurry to privatize industry and he came into constant conflict with the West. Tudjman, by contrast, decisively broke with all socialist symbols and replaced them with Croatian nationalist symbols, such as a new national flag that was similar to that of the clerical-fascist Ustashe regime during World War II. As an anti-communist, moreover, he was eager to cooperate with the West despite his authoritarian rule. Furthermore, he put a much higher priority on privatization than Miloševic´ did. Tudjman lost no time in making known Croatia’s desire to joint NATO and the EU. Tudjman also quickly acceded to Western pressure on many issues, such as cooperating with Muslim Bosnians in a confederation within Bosnia-Herzegovina. Nevertheless, it is clear that Miloševic´ diverged greatly from the traditional Leninist model of communism, as he renamed the Party and allowed multiparty and semi-free elections. However, this loss of ideological legitimacy and abandonment of portions of the Leninist model were all merely reactions to regime weakening and degeneration. The move to nationalism was a last desperate attempt to maintain power. It was a sign of weakness rather than of strength, and it set off the dynamics that would ultimately bring down the regime. The nationalist gambit succeeded in prolonging communist rule for another decade, but at great human cost. As Adam Westoby notes, communist rule is extremely malleable. “The common ingredient is a formal one: Leninist theory and its organizational expression – the party. But this . . . has malleability at its heart, even though the apparent rigidity of its formulations can inflame the disputations to which different practical applications give rise.”18 Miloševic´’s attempt at staying in power while Yugoslavia was collapsing and most of the previous republics of the country were introducing multiparty systems shows just how malleable communist regimes can be when trying to adapt to changing situations. While it may be somewhat controversial to maintain that Miloševic´ represented a continuation of the communist regime, I will argue in later chapters that Miloševic´’s use of nationalism to save a regime that had lost its ideological legitimacy could indicate the paths that China (and to some extent Vietnam) might take if they face an economic crisis. Although the East European and Asian cases (except rump Yugoslavia) are relatively easy to classify, that of Nicaragua is thornier. The Sandinistas did not call their party “communist,” and they claimed to be democratic. In addition, they held and won elections, which according

18

Adam Westoby, The Evolution of Communism (Oxford: Polity Press, 1989), p. 4.

10

Introduction

to international observers were conducted fairly and democratically (although the opposition complained about such factors as a lack of access to paper for running their electoral campaign). Nevertheless, and despite pluralist elements, the Sandinista regime had a Leninist faction, and Marxism-Leninism was the Party’s official ideology. The limits of the regime’s consolidation have to do with what I refer to in this book as “failed totalitarianism.” In certain respects, the Sandinista regime faced a situation similar to that of communist parties in the “national front” coalition governments in Central Europe in the years immediately following World War II. In these instances, the communists acted relatively democratically and formed coalition governments. In some cases, such as Czechoslovakia, leftist parties formed a clear majority and might have been able to bring about a democratic transition to “socialism.” It is also possible that, under such conditions, the reformist faction among the communists could have maintained power, and that even the hardliners would have accepted democracy. Of course, we cannot know what would have happened if Josef Stalin had not ordered the communist parties to seize power, and to carry out massive purges within their own ranks in order to eliminate reformist, national-communist elements. Like the communists in Eastern Europe after the war, the Sandinistas too held elections and formed coalition governments. They too had reformist leaders and a hardline faction. However, rather than facing pressure from Stalin to seize power and to purge reformers, the Sandinistas faced pressure from the US to give up their socialist ideals and to negotiate with the anti-socialist Contras. Thus, it is reasonable, notwithstanding some ambiguity here, to label the Sandinista regime a “failed totalitarian” one. Its behavior was namely similar to that of communist parties in early postwar Central and Eastern Europe (1945–8); furthermore, it seems to have shared the Marxist-Leninist goals of those parties. It failed, however, to gain full control over the state apparatus. Communists in Eastern Europe were able to move beyond the national fronts and to consolidate their rule in de facto one-party states; the Sandinistas were not.19 Grenada is another sticky case, given that the regime never claimed openly to be Marxist-Leninist. Nevertheless, captured documents clearly show that the entire leadership of the New Jewel Movement considered itself to be Marxist-Leninist. Thus, I have decided to classify the regime in 19

Officially, however, several of these states – e.g., Czechoslovakia, East Germany, Poland – were multiparty states, given the formal presence in their parliaments of certain small parties allied with the communists.

Choice of countries

11

that country as a “failed totalitarian” one, which fell before it was able to consolidate power. Africa provides another challenge in deciding which regimes to consider. Robert Mugabe in Zimbabwe, for example, considered himself a Marxist and publicly stated that he wanted to create a one-party state. Yet to this day, Zimbabwe has continued to hold multiparty elections, albeit unfair and often fraudulent ones. In addition, Mugabe never tried to nationalize most industry. (But this does not mean, of course, that the economy is doing well; on the contrary, the country is suffering from hyperinflation, and the agricultural sector has essentially collapsed.) The point is that Mugabe has never led Zimbabwe down a typical MarxistLeninist path. Nor was he was ever active in the international communist movement, on either the Soviet or the Chinese side. So, although he declared his regime to be Marxist-Leninist (in 1989), his regime is so far removed from traditional Marxism-Leninism that I do not consider it in this book. Ethiopia represents by far the purest African example of a communist regime. It had a clearly stated Marxist-Leninist ideology, with a communist party structured along Leninist lines. The party leader, Haile Mariam Mengistu, allied the country openly with the Soviet Union and tried to install a personality cult based on the North Korean model. In contrast to Mugabe’s relatively pragmatic economic policies, the Ethiopian regime carried out Leninist economic policies rigidly and dogmatically, including the collectivization of agriculture. Ideology was so important that it was willing to sacrifice millions of lives to starvation. Consequently, Ethiopia is the only African country considered in this book. Finally, while it would have been interesting to include Albania, Bulgaria, Cambodia, and Laos, I have chosen to exclude these countries for two reasons. First, not much secondary literature is available on these countries, and I lack the language skills needed to read original sources. Second, there is the question of time. The number of cases I cover in this book is quite a lot, and quite a lot for just one person to manage and explain. As I explained in my Preface, I had originally intended to write this book with two other authors, which would have made it possible to include more countries. Yet, I do not consider the failure to do so to be a major problem, as none of the omitted countries present key cases. So long as this book presents a sound and workable theory of transitions and non-transitions from communism, I can in good conscience leave the task of explaining these four countries to people who have greater area knowledge, and who may wish to test and possibly modify my theory in respect to the said countries. Thus, this study confines itself to Czechoslovakia, East Germany, Hungary, Poland, Romania, the Soviet Union, and Yugoslavia in Europe; Cuba, Grenada,

12

Introduction

and Nicaragua in Latin America, Ethiopia in Africa; and China, North Korea, and Vietnam in Asia.

Regime types, legitimacy, and revolutionary potential This book takes as its starting point the regime type typology that Linz and Stepan develop in their classic book Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation.20 This typology – in a modified form – is useful for explaining regime behavior during transitions. It marks a great advancement over traditional “transitology” approaches, which see transitions as the result of softliner reforms that eventually divide a regime. According to traditional transitologists, transitions occur when softliners in a regime feel they must align themselves with the opposition (against the regime hardliners) in order to keep the regime in power. Even though the softliners initiate a negotiated pact, they use their bargaining power to obtain guarantees of some level of continued power (a certain percentage of seats in parliament, for example).21 A major problem with traditional transitology is that, while some communist regimes did fall through negotiated pacts (i.e. Hungary and Poland), many transitions from communism resulted from peaceful popular uprisings – as in the cases of Czechoslovakia, East Germany, and to some extent the Soviet Union – and not from reforms from the top. Still other transitions came about through violent clashes, such as in Romania and rump Yugoslavia. Linz and Stepan are able to explain these three different types of outcomes by showing the link between outcomes and regime types. I should also add that, even when negotiated pacts were reached, they did not always offer the types of guarantees for holding power that the transitologists predict. Thus, while some seats in parliament were reserved for the communists in Poland, the communists were granted no such advantages by the negotiated pact in Hungary. David Stark and László Bruszt claim that, in Poland, a relatively strong civil society had developed and united behind Solidarnos´ c´, which could legitimately claim to speak for society.22 Thus, Solidarnos´ c´ could make concessions in 20 21

22

See note 5. See, for example, Guillermo O’Donnell and Philippe C. Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Conclusions about Uncertain Democracies (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986); Adam Przeworski, Democracy and the Market: Political and Economic Reforms in Eastern Europe and Latin America (Cambridge University Press, 1991); and Russell Bova, “Political Dynamics of the Post-Communist Transition: A Comparative Perspective,” World Politics, 44:1 (1991): 113–38. David Stark and László Bruszt, Postsocialist Pathways: Transforming Politics and Property in East Central Europe (Cambridge University Press, 1998)

Regime types, legitimacy, and revolutionary potential

13

agreeing to certain electoral guarantees without harming its legitimacy, while the much weaker Hungarian opposition did not enjoy enough legitimacy within society to be able to agree to any such guarantees. Though Stark and Bruszt develop an interesting argument, they cannot explain – due to the restriction of their analysis to the cases of Poland and Hungary – why some regimes fell because of mass uprisings, while others were able to remain in power. Moreover, the regime type approach is unable to explain fully why regimes enter different phases of development, or why they eventually collapse. Instead, the regime type approach offers a good explanation of how regimes collapse when they eventually do collapse. This book elaborates a theory of legitimacy to explain the development of different regime types. Another problem of the regime type approach is that it does not pay enough attention to the development of society and the opposition. This book fills the gap by developing a theory of society’s revolutionary potential. The model developed in this book shows how different types of legitimacy influence both the development of different regime types and the development and strategies of the opposition. To help explain the final downfall of these communist regimes, and the emergence of mass mobilization, this book also borrows from the emerging field of the sociology of emotions, to show how emotive developments interact with institutional developments. The model developed in this book is not deterministic. Political and opposition leaders still make choices that influence developments, such as which regime types will emerge; whether leaders take actions that spark off revolts; which strategies the opposition chooses; and whether the opposition is able to solve the communication problem of how to inform the population of protest actions. Moreover, in discussing a society’s revolutionary potential, this book sticks to its institutionalist roots by showing how institutional incentives influence the behavior of different classes and strata in society. Though much of the literature on the anti-communist uprisings (including that following a rational-choice approach) concludes that students and intellectuals are the most willing to revolt, followed by workers and then professionals, most of these approaches take such “preferences” as given, without offering an explanation for them. The institutionalist approach taken in this book does offer such an explanation. Regime types Linz and Stepan’s basic argument is that communist regimes are unlikely to lose power when they are in their totalitarian phase of development. Eventually, however, totalitarian regimes start losing some of their power, since they cannot rely on mass mobilization campaigns indefinitely.

14

Introduction

Increasingly, therefore, they resort to an institutionalized form of control. Moreover, Party-state bureaucrats have an interest (especially after the founding leader dies) in establishing clearer rules and procedures, in order to reduce their vulnerability to purges. Thus, communist regimes enter a stage of early post-totalitarianism. At this stage, Party leadership assumes a more collective character, with certain constraints imposed on the top leader. Even though the regime is now more predictable and institutionalized, it still maintains many of its totalitarian characteristics, such as a near-absence of civil society. The regime is no longer bloody, but it is still repressive, rather strong, and unlikely to fall. It is in the late posttotalitarian stage of development that communist regimes usually fall. Late post-totalitarian regimes divide into two categories: mature and frozen. Mature post-totalitarian regimes, such as that in Hungary, carried out reforms that allowed institutional and social pluralism to emerge. Eventually, regime reformers concluded the kind of negotiated pacts with the opposition23 which are discussed in the literature on democratization. Meanwhile, frozen post-totalitarian regimes that had purged their reformist factions, as in Czechoslovakia, were ruled by aging conservative leaders seeking to avoid change. Because conservatives were unable to respond to the rapidly changing circumstances, they soon suffered defections, and they quickly collapsed when confronted by mass uprisings.24 While mature regimes take the initiative for negotiated transitions, and frozen regimes fall to peaceful uprisings, sultanist regimes (e.g. Nicolae Ceaus¸escu’s in Romania) tend to collapse under more violent circumstances. Sultanist regimes are based on arbitrary personalized rule; they are not bound by rational-legal constraints, like collective leadership and party statutes.25 In a move typical of sultanist regimes, moreover, Ceaus¸escu placed family members in key positions. Under a sultanist regime, a negotiated settlement with the opposition is not possible, as the sultan does not allow any softliners who could lead such negotiations to exist within the regime. Furthermore, the sultan does not permit any non-violent democratic opposition groups to emerge with whom the regime could negotiate. This personalistic, one-person type of rule brings

23 24

25

Linz and Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition, p. 294. I agree with them on the issue of defections, except in respect to the armed forces. I do not believe the armed forces were necessarily unwilling to shoot. The military in Czechoslovakia, for example, was willing to impose martial law, but the Central Committee turned down the proposal. It was the inability of the regime to work out a strategy that encouraged the militia groups to disband. There is no evidence that, at least in the first days, the militia groups would have refused to attack had they been ordered to do so. See Saxonberg, The Fall, Chapter 10. Linz and Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition, p. 349.

Regime types, legitimacy, and revolutionary potential

15

about the erosion of institutions (i.e., the communist party) that could conceivably remove the leader from power and provide alternative leaders. Consequently, non-violent paths to regime transition are virtually eliminated. The regime type approach is highly fruitful, but certain problems emerge in its typology. First, the categories could be more dynamic (after all, the regimes are in constant flux). Frozen regimes, for example, might better be seen as in a process of “freezing,” with ups and downs; mature regimes might better be seen as in a process of “maturing,” with ups and downs, reform setbacks and recovery, etc. Second, Linz and Stepan’s categorization of regimes is at times problematic. According to their typology, for example, Romania was both sultanistic and totalitarian, as it maintained the basic aspects of a traditional, communistic, totalitarian regime (with a high level of repression and a virtual absence of civil society). Moreover, it never went through a period of de-Stalinization. In Chapter 3, however, I will argue against this categorization. In the 1960s the regime did in fact experience a “thaw.” While it grew increasingly repressive in the 1970s, it did so at a later stage of post-totalitarian development, when it had already lost its ideological legitimacy. Thus, in many ways the Romanian regime was similar to that in hardline East Germany, even if it was more repressive. If even totalitarian regimes can fall, then, the typology loses much of its explanatory value. Linz and Stepan also spread their terminology too thin. For example, they create a separate category for Poland (which they term “authoritarian communist,” rather than totalitarian), due to the state’s inability in that country to eliminate societal pluralism completely. They argue that private agricultural holdings, a strong and independent church, and frequent changes in party leadership and policies made it impossible for the state to establish a totalitarian regime.26 Yet I would argue that, even if Poland was never as fully totalitarian as other Central European countries, by the late 1950s its development did not differ much from that in Hungary, where regime reformers also made a “pact” with the opposition. So, if two different regime types reach the same outcome, the utility of regime types is questionable. I prefer to consider Poland a case where the communist regime desired but failed to establish totalitarian rule, and where it went through a period of de-Stalinization similar to that experienced by other early post-totalitarian regimes. Poland also experienced an incipient maturing process that was similar to that in other late posttotalitarian countries.

26

Ibid., pp. 255–8.

16

Introduction

Third, it is useful to introduce a new category into this book’s typology, which I will call failed totalitarianism. I use this category to describe the Polish regime prior to the 1956 thaw, as well as to describe other regimes that were never able to consolidate their power fully, as in Ethiopia, Grenada, and Nicaragua.27 The term failed totalitarianism recognizes that the Polish regime tried to build a totalitarian regime according to the same Stalinist model as the rest of Eastern Europe, but was unable to do so. The concept of failed totalitarianism also helps us understand the cases of Nicaragua, Ethiopia, and Grenada, where the regimes failed to consolidate their power and eventually lost it altogether (as a result of civil war in the first two cases, and invasion by the US in the third). Fourth, “patrimonial” is a better word for a personalized dictatorship than is “sultanist.” It has no cultural biases or implications that would associated the regime type with a certain part of the world. In sum, the regime type approach does not explain sufficiently why communist regimes develop as they do, or how opposition develops, or why the regimes eventually fall. Instead, its contribution is to show why the regimes fall in the manner that they do. The next section introduces my basic explanation for the development of regime types.

The development of regime types When communist regimes first come to power, they try to gain as much control over society as possible; and they believe they should use whatever means are at their disposal to do so. In other words, the end justifies the means. During the initial totalitarian phase of mass terror, the regimes do not have to legitimize themselves, as they exert nearly total control over society. Legitimacy implies choice in the sense that one considers the existing political system “the most appropriate” one for a given society – or, at a minimum, “the least evil.”28 Under totalitarianism, individual choice and awareness of political alternatives are eliminated through mass terror, ideological indoctrination, and monopoly control over communications. In a situation where power is based on complete control and mass terror, alternative systems become unthinkable, and the question of legitimacy cannot arise. All types of legitimacy are based, namely, on the belief in something, which makes a degree of voluntary compliance possible. 27 28

Mark Thompson developed this term when discussing the project on non-transitions with me. Juan J. Linz, Crisis, Breakdown, and Reequilibration, Vol. 4 of The Breakdown of Democratic Regimes, Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, eds., (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978).

Regime types, legitimacy, and revolutionary potential

17

However, while communist regimes do not worry about legitimacy during their totalitarian stage, ideology does play a major role in motivating their cadres to embark on a “messianic” mission to change society. Once this messianic phase ends, the regime begins to institutionalize itself. At this stage, it needs to gain the support of the apparatchiks and of certain sectors of the intellectual stratum and working class. It is at this point that the regime enters the early post-totalitarian phase, where it uses Marxism-Leninism as a legitimizing religion to ensure the support of these key groups. Although theorists such as Di Palma emphasize the idea that the regimes based their legitimacy on their ideological belief that they had a right to rule because they had history on their side, rather than the belief that society saw them as being the legitimate rulers (hence his term “legitimacy from the top”),29 portions of the working class and intellectual stratum also believe in the ideology in the initial phases. Consequently, rather than trying to mobilize society against the state, critical intellectuals tend to follow “revisionist” strategies, whereby they criticize the regime for failing to meet its own ideological standards. Thus dissenting intellectuals do not turn to society as an agent of change, but rather to the regime itself, which they call on to reform from within. As Di Palma correctly points out, basing legitimacy on economic performance raises problems. For “the more general abandonment of salvationist language and the adoption of more mundane middle-range goals opened the way for more articulate citizens to verify whether those goals had been met.”30 This encouraged the opposition to be more critical, and influenced the rulers as well. When dissidents pointed out that the communists had not attained their stated goals, party leaders began to lose confidence in their ability to rule. How could they believe themselves to have a monopoly on Truth, when their policies were clearly failing? Consequently, in Eastern Europe the economic downturn of the mid 1970s set in motion two simultaneous processes: regime leaders were weakened by growing doubts about their own ability to rule; and members of society drew increasing encouragement from visible cracks in the regime’s legitimacy. In China and Vietnam, however, developments have taken a different course. In their case, ironically, it is not economic difficulty which has undermined the ideological legitimacy of the regime, but rather economic success – because it has basically been purchased at the price of the abandonment of MarxistLeninist economic policies, with the emergence of a capitalist economy based on a large private sector and foreign investment.31 29 31

Di Palma, “Legitimation from the Top.” 30 Ibid., 61. See, for example, Sakwab, Postcommunism, p. 33, who argues that the Chinese state is introducing capitalism. Unlike me, however, he sees this as an “evolutionary exit” from

18

Introduction

As the regimes lose their ideological legitimacy, they become weaker and enter the “late post-totalitarian” phase. The communist regimes lose their grand future-oriented beliefs and instead promise improved living standards.32 Consequently, they try to reach some sort of social contract with the population in order to induce it to “pragmatically accept” that given certain external and internal constraints, the regime is performing reasonably well.33 The stress on the term “reasonably” implies that the population is not necessarily thinking in mathematical-rational terms of maximal outcomes. Moreover, even in rational-choice terms, it is doubtful citizens will think the costs of revolting against a regime that is performing reasonably well would outweigh the possible benefits of obtaining a new leadership, which would still have to operate under certain constraints. Since the intellectuals no longer believe in the ideology, they turn from revisionism to dissidence. This, in turn, makes them more willing to cooperate with workers in order to topple the regime. Of course, the Soviet Union exerted a particularly strong influence on the development of pragmatic acceptance among the Warsaw Pact countries as it represented the greatest external constraint on the other European communist regimes. All the Warsaw Pact regimes owed their existence to the Soviet Union, and in all countries except for Bulgaria, leadership changes coincided with Soviet invasions or threats of invasion. The manner in which the new leaders justified their rise to power influenced their pragmatic acceptance by the population. In some cases, the rulers came to power in order to prevent reforms and preserve orthodoxy. After the invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968, for example, the new leaders claimed they had come to power because the former regime had planned a reversion to “capitalism.” Thus economic reforms were stigmatized as a step toward the reinstatement of capitalism. Such regimes began freezing during their late post-totalitarian stage of development. In other cases, the rulers were able to gain pragmatic acceptance by society on the grounds that, while it was necessary to remain loyal to the Soviet Union, they could still carry out moderate economic and cultural reforms. In the case of Hungary, for example, the Soviet Union justified its invasion of the country in 1956 as necessary in order to prevent Hungary from leaving the Warsaw Pact and holding democratic elections. Thus, the newly installed Kádár regime in Hungary had to remain loyal to the Soviet Union on foreign policy issues – as well as refrain from democratic

32 33

communism, rather than as an attempt on the part of the Party to get pragmatic acceptance for its continued rule. Leslie Holmes, Post-Communism: An Introduction (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1997), p. 44. I develop the notion of “pragmatic acceptance” in The Fall.

Regime types, legitimacy, and revolutionary potential

19

reforms – but it was able to pursue economic and cultural reforms. Such regimes began maturing during their late post-totalitarian stage of development. In Romania, Ceaus¸escu consolidated his power in the late 1960s by gaining mass support for his refusal to contribute to the invasion of Czechoslovakia and for his willingness to defend the country against a possible Soviet invasion. He was able to induce the population into pragmatically accepting his nationalist communist regime – even though it was highly repressive – as preferable to a regime imposed by Soviet occupation. His nationalist pragmatic acceptance helped him create a patrimonial regime. When Mikhail Gorbachev came to power, he greatly influenced these regimes’ pragmatic acceptance. Freezing regimes with orthodox pragmatic acceptance became paralyzed, as they could no longer claim they were in power in order to prevent reforms. The people no longer accepted the argument that the regime could not carry out reforms because the Soviet Union would stop them. Similarly, the population in patrimonial Romania no longer pragmatically accepted the idea that it would be better to have a repressive but nationalist ruler than one imposed by the Soviet Union. This also made the people more willing to rise up against the regime, while making the Romanian leader less sure about how to behave in the new situation. By contrast, maturing regimes with reformist pragmatic acceptance were able to utilize the Gorbachev opening in order to negotiate pacts with the opposition. These regimes had gained a reformist identity and had prompted the population to accept pragmatically that they were going as far with reforms as the Soviet Union would allow. Consequently, when Gorbachev made it clear that they would be allowed to go much further, these regimes were not confronted with the same grave problems as their orthodox neighbors, since they could continue to act in line with their pragmatic acceptance. This model – with its emphasis on hegemony, ideological legitimacy, and pragmatic acceptance – helps show the mechanisms by which Gorbachev influenced transitions in Warsaw Pact countries. It also helps explain why the “Gorbachev factor”34 was greater in Warsaw Pact countries than in other communist lands. In China, North Korea, Vietnam, and Cuba, the regimes did not base their pragmatic acceptance on the notion that the Soviet Union might invade. This model furnishes a more theoretical explanation of how Gorbachev influenced the transition than does the more heroic, person-oriented explanation of Gorbachev’s role. Furthermore, a theory that concentrates too much on Gorbachev as

34

Archie Brown, The Gorbachev Factor (Oxford University Press, 1996).

20

Introduction

an individual actor cannot explain why some non-European regimes that were heavily dependent on Soviet aid (Cuba and Vietnam) were able to survive, while others that were less dependent (Ethiopia and Nicaragua) lost power. Even some European communist regimes that received little or no Soviet support, such as Albania and Romania, lost power. By providing clearer insight into the dynamics behind various regime types, the model also helps us understand non-transitions better. North Korea continued to be a totalitarian regime – albeit of a strange patrimonial type – that allowed the ruling Kim clique to maintain nearly total hegemonic control over a society, making revolt unthinkable. In 1989 the Chinese and Vietnamese regimes still enjoyed ideological legitimacy, and thus remained in the early post-totalitarian phase of development. As Mark Thompson shows, the Chinese regime was able to repress protest in 1989 because its leaders still believed in the ruling ideology. This ideological legitimacy made them willing to shoot their opponents, and induced the opposition to remain merely “revisionist.” Therefore, the protesting students still hoped to bring about change by appealing to the Communist Party leadership, rather than by mobilizing the population.35 In Cuba, meanwhile, the regime was already losing its ideological legitimacy. However, thanks to a combination of nationalism and welfarism, the Castro regime still enjoyed some degree of pragmatic acceptance. The population was proud of Castro for having successfully stood up to the US, and for instituting the most advanced welfare policies in the region.36 Thus, in contrast to the argument put forward by Gerald Segal and John Phipps – to the effect that “homegrown” communist regimes have been able to maintain power because they retain the loyalty of their military37 – this book argues that any communist regime, whether homegrown or not, is likely to lose power if it has been without ideological legitimacy for quite a while, and has subsequently lost its pragmatic acceptance besides. Homegrown regimes have fallen in such diverse countries as the Soviet Union, Albania, Ethiopia, Grenada, Nicaragua, and eventually Serbia/ Yugoslavia. Meanwhile, not all of the remaining communist regimes are homegrown, as the North Korean regime is not technically homegrown, despite its fervent nationalism. The Kim dynasty was placed in power by the Soviet Union in 1948, and only survived the Korean War because of 35 36

37

Mark R. Thompson, “To Shoot or Not to Shoot: China and Eastern Europe,” Comparative Politics, 34:1 (2001): 63–83. Thus Sakwa, Postcommunism, p. 34, writes that Cuba “provided standards of health, education, welfare services, public transport and egalitarianism that were unique in the hemisphere.” Gerald Segal and John Phipps, “Why Communist Armies Defend their Parties,” Asian Survey 30:10 (1990): 959–76.

Regime types, legitimacy, and revolutionary potential

21

Mao’s decision to send Chinese troops to prevent its overthrow by US-led UN coalition forces.

The revolutionary potential of society So far I have argued that the different stages of “legitimacy” (hegemony, ideological legitimacy, and the various types of pragmatic acceptance) explain the development of regime types. I have also argued that these different regime types not only influence the manner in which communist leaders behave; they also influence the opposition. When critical intellectuals stopped believing in the ideological legitimacy of the regime, they gave up their revisionist strategy and turned more to society for support against the regime. Consequently, they began theorizing about the need to build up “civil society.” Moreover, when citizens stopped pragmatically accepting the regime, it became easier for dissidents to mobilize citizens against the regime. This approach still differs from the traditional civil-society approach, which emphasizes the strength of civil society. For example, Marcia A. Weigle and Jim Butterfield develop a four-stage model to explain the manner in which civil society developed and eventually mobilized to bring down the communist regimes in Central and Eastern Europe.38 There are several problems, however, with this common approach. First, it cannot explain differences in the paths to transition. Second, the main uprisings actually took place in countries with the weakest civil societies, such as Czechoslovakia, East Germany, and Romania, while the countries with the strongest civil societies, such as Poland and Hungary, experienced negotiated transitions, where the main impetus for change came from reformers within the regime itself. Thus the former Polish dissident Bronislaw Geremek, writing shortly before the successful transitions in 1989, predicted correctly that the civil-society path would lead to evolutionary rather than revolutionary change, for the creation of a relatively strong civil society creates a partner with whom the regimes can negotiate.39 A third problem with the mainstream civil-society approach is that the “semi-opposition” often turns out to be more important for regime transition than the official opposition. Groups of intellectuals within the 38 39

Marcia A. Weigle and Jim Butterfield “Civil Society in Reforming Communist Regimes: The Logic of Emergence,” Comparative Politics, 25:1 (1992): 1–24. The article was not published, however, until after 1989. See Bronislaw Geremek, “Die Civil Society gegen den Kommunismus: Polens Botschaft,” trans. Holger Fliessbach, in Klett Cotta, ed., Europa und die Civil Society (Stuttgart: Ernst Klett Verlag, 1991), p. 266.

22

Introduction

regime – working at ministries, journals, newspapers, universities, academies of science, central-committee organizations, and the like – can convince reformist, “maturing” late post-totalitarian regimes that their policies are not working, and that radical reform is necessary. Such “official” people, who belong more to the state than to “civil society,” played a much greater role in bringing down the Hungarian and Soviet regimes than did active civil-society organizations.40 Nevertheless, civil-society theorists have a point when they argue that maturing regimes which negotiated pacts only did so because they feared society would otherwise revolt against them. These regimes believed it was better to initiate change, in order to co-opt the opposition and induce society to accept economic reforms that would lower living standards. They understood that, without the support of the opposition, they lacked the necessary legitimacy to get society to accept these reforms. Uprisings do not occur automatically. As already noted, successful revolutions are likely to take place when a late post-totalitarian regime has lost its ideological legitimacy and pragmatic acceptance, and no longer believes in its ability to rule. Once an uprising takes place, the regime will not shoot unless it is also patrimonial. Even then, portions of the armed forces are likely to go over to the opposition. Furthermore, when ideological legitimacy is lost, dissenting intellectuals abandon their revisionist strategy and, rather than trying to convince the rulers to reform the system, turn to workers and/or peasants for support. Workers and peasants, however, are not automatically willing to revolt. On the basis of an institutional analysis of the incentives that different classes and strata have for revolting, I argue that workers/peasants are only likely to revolt if (a) they are experiencing an economic crisis that brings about a loss of the regime’s ideological legitimacy, and (b) certain emotive factors are present as well. Intellectuals, by contrast, face great institutional pressures to criticize the system, even when they believe in the ideology and the economy is functioning well. Chapter 4 describes in more detail how the regime’s emphasis on following certain aesthetic norms, along with pressure to follow the party line (which can also change after one has completed one’s work), creates special problems for intellectuals, even those that support the regime. By contrast, nobody demands that an assembly-line worker press buttons in an aesthetically or politically 40

For discussions of Hungary, see for example Saxonberg, The Fall, Chapter 7; Tőkes, Hungary’s Negotiated Revolution; Ivan Szelenyi and Balazs Szelenyi, “Why Socialism Failed: Toward a Theory of System Breakdown – Causes of Disintegration of East European State Socialism,” Theory and Society, 2 (1994): 211–32. For a discussion of the Soviet case, see for example David Kotz with Fred Weir, Revolution from Above: The Demise of the Soviet System (London: Routledge, 1997).

Regime types, legitimacy, and revolutionary potential

23

correct manner; therefore, even workers who are unhappy with the regime have less motivation to criticize it. Moreover, as long as the regime succeeds in raising living standards and providing full or nearly full employment, workers are usually willing to pragmatically accept the regime even if they do not like it. However, if living standards start falling, workers are likely to behave as Marx predicted, and to decide that they have “nothing to lose but their chains.” Professionals are usually the last group to support an uprising against the regime. Even if they are the most likely to have “convertible skills”41 that could help them find jobs in a transition to a market economy (or even enable them to start their own businesses), they still have reason to fear losing their privileges if they revolt against the regime. Under communist rule, professionals may not have much higher incomes than workers, but they are much more likely to have access to durable consumer goods (such as cars and their own living quarters), or to be able to travel abroad. In a command economy, that is, access to such benefits depends more on contacts than on money. Professionals are therefore more likely than workers to wait until a revolt becomes widespread before joining it. Thus, this institutional analysis helps explain why Marx may have been correct in asserting that workers are the most likely to group to revolt during an economic crisis. Given the aforementioned institutional factors, and adding certain emotive ones, a revolutionary situation emerges if (a) there is an economic crisis or downturn; (b) expectations for wide-ranging reform or more radical change are arising (and are likely to reaching breaking point if they are not met); and (c) the regime does something to anger the population. The uprising will not succeed, however, unless its leaders – who are usually intellectuals – are able to overcome the communication problem. That is, they must be able to inform the public about what is happening, about where they can protest, and about what they can do to protest (such as join a planned demonstration or strike). The early phase of post-totalitarianism is often a potentially revolutionary situation, as this period is usually marked by an economic crisis, caused by the disruptions to the economy during totalitarian mobilization. When the political and economic system becomes more institutionalized, structural inefficiencies and allocation problems become more apparent. Discussions over measures to solve these problems often develop into open splits between reformers and hardliners. These splits often lead to rising expectations that reformers will liberalize the system. Khrushchev’s 41

The phrase comes from Ference Gazsó, “Cadre Bureaucracy and the Intelligentsia,” Journal of Communist Studies, 8:3 (1992): 76–90.

24

Introduction

reformist path, and his speech denouncing the crimes of Stalin, raised expectations in Poland and Hungary that their own reformist leaders – Gomułka and Nagy – would come back to power and be able to implement reforms. When the hardliners in Poland outraged the people by raising prices rather than introducing reforms, workers demonstrated en masse to bring Gomułka back to power. In Hungary, too, expectations for reforms rose after Gomułka’s return to power in Poland. However, the Hungarian regime continued its hardline policies by bringing in the orthodox Gerö, rather than the reformist Nagy, to replace the old Stalinist Rákosi as general secretary. However, the party faction supporting Nagy organized demonstrations to show its sympathy with the Poles. When security forces shot from the Budapest radio building, citizens became so outraged that they started an open rebellion to bring Nagy back to power.42 These revolts were typical revisionist revolutions, and they broke out as early post-totalitarian regimes began to split over economic reforms. Stalin’s death and Khrushchev’s policies raised expectations that went unfulfilled. The regimes then took actions that outraged their citizens, which in turn induced people to rebel. As the regimes were still in their early post-totalitarian phase, the regime leadership, the intelligentsia, and portions of the working class still believed in the dominant ideology. Thus, their demands were not to dismantle the regimes, but rather to replace the leaders with revisionist reformers. The rebellions were successful, but the history of the period shows that early post-totalitarian regimes may resort to raw force if hardliners get the upper hand. In 1956, Hungary’s hardline regime shot at demonstrators, an action which then precipitated an uprising which brought reformers to power. The early post-totalitarian Soviet Union also showed its willingness to shoot in these cases. Thus, even successful revisionist revolutions within Soviet bloc countries could run into deep trouble if they did not enjoy the blessing of the Kremlin. However, similar revolts against homegrown regimes may lead, in theory, to successful revisionist revolutions if reformers get the upper hand. For example, a revolutionary situation emerged in China in 1989, but the reformers lost the internal power struggle, and the moderate hardliners decided to shoot. In the late post-totalitarian stage, the revolutionary potential of society is more likely to bring about a revolutionary outcome. By that point, the regime has lost its ideological legitimacy, and critical intellectuals are abandoning their revisionism as they lose faith in the ability of the system 42

Miklós Molnár, Budapest 1956: A History of the Hungarian Revolution, trans. Jennetta Ford (London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd, 1971), p. 107.

Types of transitions: revolutions, pacts, and semi-revolutions

25

to reform itself. Since they no longer believe in the regime, these intellectuals turn to society in the hopes of either building a civil society or confronting the regime more directly. Thus, they become more likely to seek the cooperation of workers during a rebellion. The failure of intellectuals to support workers had greatly limited the chances of success during earlier worker revolts, as in East Germany in 1953, and in Poland in 1956, 1970, and 1976. Intellectuals can help workers, because they have greater organizing, negotiating, and communication skills. Revolutions are dependent on a population’s ability to find out what is happening. This in turn requires communication skills, and an ability to use the mass media. As the relevant information is often communicated through foreign radio broadcasts, these skills are especially important. Intellectuals are the group best able to relay their messages as they, unlike workers, have international contacts with the foreign media, and they are more likely to speak foreign languages. Another reason why revolutionary outcomes are more likely in the late post-totalitarian period is that the regime is less likely to shoot, because the rulers themselves no longer believe in their ideology. Types of transitions: revolutions, pacts, and semi-revolutions In addition to explaining transitions and non-transitions, this book also explains the different paths to transition. There have been two main modes of transition: revolutionary and pacted. “Semi-revolutions” have also been known to take place, when reformed communists (usually in multinational states) align themselves with the opposition against the central regime. Finally, regimes which fail to consolidate their power are prone to fall after military conflicts. These last-mentioned regimes are “failed totalitarian,” as they failed to consolidate their power, and the Leninist factions within them failed to transform society along totalitarian lines. Cambodia, Ethiopia, Grenada, and Nicaragua are all cases in which a failed totalitarian regime lost power after a military conflict. Revolutions can be violent (as in Romania), or non-violent (as in Czechoslovakia, East Germany, and Serbia/Yugoslavia). My definition of revolution has two components: the process, and the type of change. The process component of a revolution is revealed when the impetus for change comes directly from the mobilization of a broad-based opposition engaged in non-accepted means of mass collective action.43 A revolutionary type of 43

For a discussion of this definition and its advantages over other ones, see Saxonberg, The Fall, Chapter 1.

26

Introduction

change, meanwhile, is a change in the political system whereby the communist party loses both its de jure and its de facto monopoly over the state (this does not mean, however, that a democratic regime necessarily takes its place). For some reason, most theorists of revolution have maintained that revolutionary processes must be violent.44 However, these authors never go on to explain why they believe this to be so. In addition, their theories of revolution have been theories not about violence, but rather about collective action. No logical reason exists either to claim that mass mobilizations are non-revolutionary if they do not use violence to overthrow a regime. My definition of negotiated pacts follows Przeworski’s description of “institutional agreements” and “institutional compromises,” in which the regime and opposition reach “compromises regarding the institutions that shape prior probabilities of the realization of group-specific interests.”45 I disagree with Przeworski’s assertion, however, that the regime will not agree to a compromise without “guarantees” that it will be able to maintain some degree of power. Although the Polish regime received certain guarantees – such as that the president and certain ministers would be communists, and that two-thirds of the seats in the lower house (Sejm) would be reserved for the regime and its allied parties – the Hungarian regime was not able to obtain such guarantees from the opposition, nor did it seek them. Semi-revolutions may take place in multinational states, when reformers in the Party-state support the opposition in mobilizing against the central power. Such semi-revolutions took place in peripheral republics, such as the Baltic republics within the Soviet Union and the non-Serbian republics in Yugoslavia (except for Montenegro). However, sometimes even the 44

45

Christopher Clapham, Third World Politics: An Introduction (London: Routledge, 1985); Michael Freeman, “Review Article: Theories of Revolution,” British Journal of Political Science, 2 (1972): 345–9; Ted Robert Gurr, Why Men Rebel (Princeton University Press), p. 4; Chalmers Johnson, Revolutionary Change (London: Longman, 1983, 2nd edn.), p. 1; Lawrence Stone, “Theories of Revolution,” World Politics, 2 (1966): 159; Perez Zagorin, “Theories of Revolution in Contemporary Historiography,” Political Science Quarterly, 1 (1973): 28. See Adam Przeworski, “Some Problems in the Study of the Transition to Democracy,” in Guillermo O’Donell and Philippe C. Schmitter, eds., Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Prospects for Democracy (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986); “Democracy as a Contingent Outcome of Conflicts,” in Jon Elster and Rune Slagstad, eds., Constitutionalism and Democracy (Cambridge University Press), pp. 59–80. In a later book, Democracy and the Market, Przeworski uses the term “democracy with guarantees.” I do not like this term, because it implies the rulers must get some guarantees. Two other terms of his – “institutional compromise” and “institutional agreements” – resemble what Linz and Stepan call “pacts,” in that they leave open the possibility of a negotiated transition without any special guarantees. The question then becomes an empirical one: Is the regime strong enough to be able to demand guarantees?

Types of transitions: revolutions, pacts, and semi-revolutions

27

central republic rebels against the central regime, as when President Yeltsin of Russia led the uprising against the coup leaders in the Soviet Union. If the Soviet Union had not invaded, moreover, Hungary in 1956 and Czechoslovakia in 1968 would also likely have resulted in revisionist revolutions. These represent “semi-revolutions,” because in such cases the opposition usually mobilizes against the central regime of a multiethnic republic; or, in the case of more homogeneous states, against hardliners and their allied foreign powers, such as the Soviet Union.46 However, semi-revolutions also have something in common with pacted transitions, since the reformers support them. In the case of multinational states, republican leaders support the opposition against the central power; in the case of more homogeneous countries, reformers support the opposition against hardliners within their own nation. In both cases, furthermore, many “official” intellectuals – working at journals, universities, research academies, etc. – openly oppose the regime, thereby forming a “semi-opposition.” In a semi-revolution, then, (a) reformers in the regime actively support the opposition, and (b) some amount of mass mobilization against hardliners take place – whether against hardliners within the same nation, or against the hardline center of a multinational state. Finally, some transitions involve military pressure. The Ethiopian regime finally caved in after losing out to various ethnically based rebel forces. In Grenada, an American invasion ended the rule of a MarxistLeninist regime, which had severely weakened itself by killing its own prime minister. In Nicaragua, the Contras failed to win any major military battles. Yet, the population was so worn down, after a decade of civil war, that it was willing to vote for the anti-Sandinista coalition – more to end the war than because it felt any real sympathy with the goals of the opposition. To some extent, it makes sense to exclude these cases of “failed totalitarianism” (where the regime never succeeds in consolidating its power, and then loses it on the battlefield), because the dynamics of their collapse differ from those in countries where the communists succeeded in institutionalizing their power. As we shall see in this book, however, similar mechanisms were at work in the case of the failed totalitarian regimes too: e.g., the lack of ideological legitimacy, and the need for intellectuals to form an alliance with workers and peasants.47 In the three cases of failed totalitarianism treated in this study, moreover, frustrated rising expectations and feelings of outrage played a role in bringing down the regime. To some extent, therefore, these outliers are exceptions that confirm the rule. 46 47

Czechoslovakia, however, did have two important nationalities: Czechs and Slovaks. Except in Grenada, where the regime quickly crumbled after an American invasion.

28

Introduction

Summary of the model When communist parties first come to power, communist parties strive to gain hegemonic control over society (see Table 1.1). They feel they are on a messianic mission, where the end justifies the means, and nothing can stand in their way. If they are successful, these parties then proceed to establish a type of rule approximating the totalitarian model. At this point, the power of the state is so overwhelming that only a few isolated individuals dare oppose the system, making a revolt unthinkable. Totalitarian regimes stay in power unless they are overthrown by military force from without. Sometimes, however, communist parties fail to gain hegemonic control over society, and so lack legitimacy from the beginning. In cases of this kind, the opposition is not afraid to confront the regime, which is likely to collapse – as a consequence of civil war or foreign invasion. (In the case of Poland, however, the regime was able to defeat the Home Army, to institutionalize its power, and to start acting like a more traditional early post-totalitarian communist regime.) After a while, the regime finds it is no longer able to keep society constantly mobilized, and party cadres move to institutionalize a more predictable, rule-oriented system in order to prevent possible purges in the future. Usually, but not always, this process take place after the death of the founding leader. During this stage, the Party relies on the fact that many of its cadres believe in its ideology, as do some of the intellectuals and workers/peasants. Leaving behind its more messianic elements, the Party bases its ideological legitimacy on its supposed monopoly on Truth (which it derives from the “holy” texts written by Marx, Engels, and Lenin), and on the belief that its economic policies will enable the country to surpass the West. As many intellectuals believe in the ideology, those who are critical of the system tend to look to the Party-state rather than to workers and peasants, in the hope that it will introduce humanizing reforms within the confines of the system. During this stage, uprisings are unlikely to succeed. Intellectuals are not likely to cooperate with workers/peasants; and the regime, still believing in its ideological legitimacy, is willing to shoot its opponents. Eventually, however, the regime begins to lose its ideological legitimacy. In most cases this is because the economy is not doing well, and it has become obvious that the country will not surpass the West any time soon. But political factors matter too. Events such as the invasion of Czechoslovakia, or the anti-Semitic campaign in Poland (also in 1968), convinced intellectuals that the regime could not be reformed. In some cases (China and Vietnam), the very economic success of reforms undermines the ideological legitimacy of the regime, since it has now become

Table 1.1 The development of regime types Legitimacy

Regime type

Opposition

Outcome

Hegemonic control over society; ideological legitimacy contains messianic elements Lacks legitimacy

Totalitarian

Only isolated individuals dare criticize the Revolt unthinkable; regime maintains regime; many support it power

Failed Supports overthrow; often engages in Loss of power in civil war or invasion totalitarian armed struggle, or gains support from foreign invaders Ideological legitimacy still strong within the Early postRevisionism; intellectuals try to convince Revisionist revolts possible if there is an regime totalitarian regime to undertake reform, rather than economic downturn; rising trying to mobilize workers/peasants expectations and regime actions cause moral outrage; but the regime is likely to shoot and to repress the uprising, because it still believes in its own ideological legitimacy Loss of ideological legitimacy, due to Freezing Dissidence; intellectuals try to get support If there is economic crisis/decline and economic developments and political postfrom workers; desire to build up civil expectations for reforms are increasing, failures; conservative pragmatic totalitarian society then a revolution can break out if the acceptance regime does something to anger the population; if the communication problem has been solved, then the revolution will succeed and the regime will become paralyzed and resign, rather than shoot; if there is little expectation of reforms, then the regime will maintain power

Table 1.1 (cont.) Legitimacy

Regime type

Opposition

Loss of ideological legitimacy, due to Maturing Dissidence; support from workers; desire economic developments and political postto build up civil society failures; reformist pragmatic acceptance totalitarian

Outcome If there is economic crisis/decline, and expectations for reforms are increasing, then the regime is likely to negotiate a pact with the opposition; if there is little expectation of political reforms, then the regime will maintain power.

Summary of the model

31

obvious that the reforms were based on the introduction of a capitalist market system, rather than on any kind of “socialist” alternative. In order to maintain power at this stage, the regime tries to establish some type of “social contract” with society, whereby the latter pragmatically accepts that – given the circumstances and constraints – the regime is doing “reasonably” well. The manner in which the regime gets society to pragmatically accept its rule, in turn, helps to determine whether the regime freezes or matures. In Eastern Europe, pragmatic acceptance was based largely on how leaders defended their rise to power after Soviet invasions or threats of invasion. When the economy is in a period of decline, and the regime starts losing its pragmatic acceptance, a revolutionary situation may emerge. This happened, for example, when Gorbachev introduced reforms and made it clear he would not intervene militarily to support the regimes in Eastern Europe. In cases of this kind, expectations for reform are rising, and the regime is failing to meet these expectations. Under such conditions, an uprising is likely to occur if the regime then takes actions that outrage the population. A revolution is most likely to succeed in the latetotalitarian stage, because intellectuals have long left behind their revisionist strategy and are willing to cooperate with workers/peasants, while the regime has lost its ideological legitimacy and is no longer willing to shoot. Maturing late post-totalitarian regimes usually sense that a revolutionary situation is emerging, and therefore take the initiative to negotiate a pact with the opposition. They hope thereby to maintain some influence over the transition. Freezing regimes, by contrast, are so set in their orthodox way of thinking that they are unable to adapt to the new situation. As a result they become paralyzed and end up surrendering without a fight. Patrimonial regimes are a more complicated case, and will be analyzed in detail in Chapter 3. Suffice it to say here that they are always hybrid regimes. Thus, the North Korean regime is still totalitarian, making its collapse unlikely unless instigated from the outside (such as through war). Romania and Serbia/rump Yugoslavia, by contrast, were late posttotalitarian regimes and behaved similarly to each other in many ways. Linz and Stepan claim that sultanist/patrimonial regimes are likely to shoot, while my analysis shows that they are likely to order their security forces to shoot (which is something slightly different, since the latter may refuse to carry out the order). As Linz and Stepan note, the personalized nature of patrimonial regimes gives leaders no space to retreat into. In the case of the more closed, freezing patrimonial regime in Romania, security forces originally obeyed the order to shoot. However, in the case of the more open, maturing patrimonial regime in Serbia/rump Yugoslavia, the

32

Introduction

security forces soon came into contact with opposition leaders, and refused to obey the order to shoot. According to this analysis, the North Korean regime remains in power because of its ability to maintain totalitarian, hegemonic control over society through an extreme form of patrimonial rule, wherein the Kim family has become a virtual state religion. The Chinese regime was able to put down the 1989 rebellion because it was still in the early posttotalitarian phase of development. The protesting students were fundamentally revisionists: rather than trying to mobilize workers and peasants against the regime, they sought to convince communist leaders to change their policies. The regime also still believed in its ideological legitimacy, and therefore was willing to shoot. After the repression of the Tiananmen Square uprising, China advanced toward the late post-totalitarian stage in a maturing form, as it continued with economic reforms and (eventually) cultural liberalization. (Its political reforms, however, largely stalled.) Today intellectuals have renounced their previous revisionism, and are more willing to turn to workers and peasants for support. However, the regime has been successful thus far in persuading the population to pragmatically accept its rule, on the grounds that economic growth has been among the highest in the world, and living standards have been rising for a large portion of the population. The regime can also claim to be keeping “order” in a society that experienced the trauma of the “cultural revolution” under Mao, and the period of civil war between warlords in the period between the world wars. In Vietnam, which has experienced no uprising like that in Tiananmen Square, the regime has also entered a late post-totalitarian phase of development, in which society pragmatically accepts that economic reforms are bringing about high growth rates and rapid industrialization. As in China, moreover, the regime can claim to be maintaining order in a country which has suffered a trauma – in this case war between North and South Vietnam, and foreign intervention by France and the US. Cuba, in 1989, was undergoing a transition from early to late posttotalitarianism. As rulers of a patrimonial regime, the Castro brothers would not have hesitated to shoot. But there was little expectation that serious reforms would be undertaken by the regime, so the country never reached a revolutionary situation. The model presented here goes beyond the actor-based emphasis of the traditional transitology approach. Yet, it does integrate actors. As we have seen, namely, regimes can still make choices that influence their legitimacy and pragmatic acceptance. They can make decisions which raise expectations, or they can make decisions which dampen them. They can take actions that outrage the population, or they can avoid taking such

Alternative explanations

33

actions. The opposition, for its part, must also choose which strategy to follow. Furthermore, the model moves beyond the regime type approach, in that it leaves more room for actors and for emotive factors. Moreover, the model develops a theory of how the legitimizing process influences the development of regime types, of the opposition, and of the strategies that opposition movements choose. Finally, by broadening the neo-institutional approach which underlies regime type analysis, this book provides an institutional explanation of why different classes and strata behave differently. Previous studies of communist regimes have often pointed out that these different groups behave differently, but a theoretical explanation of why they do so has been sorely missing. In general, such differences are simply taken as a given in the literature.

Alternative explanations As we have seen, the model developed in this book has an advantage over explanations that focus on Gorbachev’s role, in that it shows the mechanisms by which Gorbachev influenced the collapse of communism. Moreover, such personalized explanations do not help us understand how the remaining communist regimes may eventually fall. The homegrown argument, that some regimes have remained in power because they had come to power by their own accord and thus enjoy more popular legitimacy, cannot explain why homegrown regimes have fallen in such diverse countries as Albania, Ethiopia, Grenada, Nicaragua, Yugoslavia, and the Soviet Union. (Nor can it explain how a regime which is not homegrown has retained power in North Korea.) Like the Gorbachevbased arguments, moreover, the homegrown approach cannot help us predict how the remaining regimes may eventually fall. The civil society approach, meanwhile, cannot explain why the regimes that fell to mass uprisings were in countries with the weakest civil societies. Besides which, civil society is probably stronger in Cuba and China today (where the communist regimes have stayed in power) than it was in Albania and Romania (where they lost it). The traditional transitology approach predicts that change will come when softliners in the regime initiate reforms, but this only accounts for the reformist maturing regimes. It fails to account for the freezing regimes that fell to peaceful uprisings, or for the patrimonial regimes that fell to uprisings that were more violent. In Hungary, moreover, the regime did not demand the kind of electoral guarantees that the transitology literature predicted (although the Polish rulers did demand and obtain them). The two remaining common explanations concentrate on economic and institutional factors.

34

Introduction

There are essentially two arguments that explain the collapse of communism in economic terms. The first is that it was economic crisis that brought down the regimes. The other is that it was the modernization of society that did so. Of course, even before the Central and Eastern European regimes fell, the economic literature was filled with discussions about their economic problems and inefficiencies. Many authors have claimed that the economic situation worsened during the 1980s. This may help to explain the collapse. However, there is much less agreement over the causes of the economic crisis. The main causes that have been suggested include: (1) the failure of specific economic policies;48 (2) the increase in military spending;49 and (3) changes in technology and the world economy.50 The economic crisis was certainly one of the underlying causes of the collapse of the communist regimes. So far, no regime has fallen without an economic crisis. Yet an economic crisis, clearly, is not enough. During the 1990s, after all, the Cuban and North Korean regimes both suffered economic crises that were far more severe than those in Central and East Europe in 1989; yet they managed to hold onto power nonetheless. Thus, purely economic explanations do not go far enough. It is necessary to uncover the mechanisms by which economic performance influences regime stability.51 This book highlights some of these mechanisms. It shows how poor economic performance erodes a regime’s ideological legitimacy, forcing it to evolve into a late post-totalitarian regime that must develop social contracts in which society pragmatically accepts its rule. Then, when an economic crisis occurs, the population withholds its pragmatic

48

49

50

51

For example, Batara Simatupang, The Polish Economic Crisis: Background, Causes and Aftermath (London and New York: Routledge, 1994); Myron Rush, “Fortune and Fate,” The National Interest, 31 (1993): 19–25; Vladimir Kontorovich, “The Economic Fallacy,” The National Interest, 31 (1993): 35–45; Phillip J. Bryson and Manfred Melzer, The End of the East German Economy: From Honecker to Reunification (Basingstoke and London: Palgrave Macmillan, 1991); and Horst Ebel, Abrechnung: Das Scheitern der ökonomischen Theorie und Politik des “realen Sozialismus” (Berlin: Verlag Die Wirtschaft Berlin GmbH, 1990). For example, Randall Collins and David Waller, “Der Zusammenbruch von Staaten und die Revolutionen im sowjetischen Block: Welche Theorien machten zutreffende Voraussagen?” in Hans Joas and Martin Kohli, eds., Der Zusammenbruch der DDR (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1993), pp. 302–25. Robert H. Bates, “The Economics of Transitions to Democracy,” Political Science and Politics, 3 (1991): 369–90; Daniel Chirot, “What Happened in Eastern Europe in 1989?” in Daniel Chirot, ed., The Crisis of Leninism and the Decline of the Left: The Revolutions of 1989 (Seattle and London: University of Washington State, 1991), pp. 3–32; Szelenyi and Szelenyi, “Why Socialism Failed,” 211–32; Saxonberg, The Fall. Of course, many authors – e.g., Chirot, “What Happened in Eastern Europe?” and Saxonberg, The Fall – are aware of this. Accordingly, they portray the economic crisis as just an underlying cause – in addition to which certain other mechanisms must be present before regime change can take place.

Alternative explanations

35

acceptance. A revolutionary situation is then likely to emerge, if popular expectations that the regime will carry out meaningful reforms are frustrated. Finally, if the regime does something at this point to outrage the population, an uprising may well ensue. In the North Korean case, the regime is still at the totalitarian stage, and the people have little expectation of reforms. Thus, the economic crisis has not led to any uprisings. In the case of Cuba, there is little reason for the population to expect meaningful reforms as long as the patrimonial Castro brothers are in charge. Furthermore, while the regime’s pragmatic acceptance appears to have been steadily declining since 1989, the Castro government still enjoys a degree of pragmatic acceptance: much of the population seems to think it is doing “reasonably well,” among other things because it is still trying to maintain the most developed welfare policies in the region. Another economic approach to explaining transitions from communism comes from modernization theory. One of the most well-known representatives of the modernization school, Samuel Huntington, claims that a higher level of economic development gives rise to a larger middle class, a better-educated public, and improved civic-cultural attitudes. A larger middle class and a better-educated public help to improve civic-cultural attitudes. Improved civic-cultural attitudes, in turn, lead to greater support for democracy.52 Other authors have emphasized the importance of modernization for particular countries, such as Christiane Lemke in the case of East Germany and Moshe Lewin in the case of the Soviet Union.53 One major problem with modernization theory, however, is that highly developed societies (e.g., Nazi Germany) have been totalitarian, while much poorer countries (such as India) have long had democratic traditions. Furthermore, when communist regimes came to power in Central and Eastern Europe after World War II, several of the countries in the area (e.g., East Germany and Czechoslovakia) were more “modern” – in the sense of having a higher level of urbanization and a larger professional class – than were some of the more agricultural democracies of Western Europe, such as Ireland. The China expert Minxin Pei has attempted to circumvent this problem by arguing that the degree of societal modernization becomes relevant only after an “initial opening” by a reformist leadership has been made.54 52 53

54

Samuel P. Huntington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century (Norman and Longon: University of Oklahoma Press, 1991), p. 69. Christiane Lemke, Die Ursachen des Umbruchs 1989: Politische Sozialisation in der ehemaligen DDR (Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag, 1991); and Moshe Lewin, The Gorbachev Phenomenon: A Historical Interpretation (London: Hutchinson Radius, 1988). Minxin Pei, From Reform to Revolution: The Demise of Communism in China and the Soviet Union (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1994), p. 52.

36

Introduction

As I have shown in previous texts, however, the Czechoslovak and East German regimes did not have any reformist leaders who carried out “openings.”55 Modernization theory cannot explain either why the regime in Albania fell in 1990 (although that country was one of the least modern in the communist world), while Serbia/Yugoslavia (which was much more “modern”) failed to have a complete transition until 2000. MarxistLeninist regimes also fell in agricultural countries, such as Nicaragua, Grenada, and Ethiopia, while surviving in relatively industrial and “modern” Cuba. Even Pei’s main case, China, was more industrialized by 1989 than were Albania, Grenada, Ethiopia, or Nicaragua. There is no strong correlation, in other words, between the degree of modernization and the prospects for a transition from communism. It should be clear to the reader that the present study is heavily indebted to institutional studies of how communist regimes function.56 Valerie Bunce makes the telling observation that, although area study specialists have often been criticized for neglecting social science theory, and for being excessively empirical in their orientation, specialists writing on Eastern and Central Europe were actually forced to analyze institutions long before neo-institutionalism had become popular within the social sciences.57 While most institutional analyses (including Linz and Stepan’s as well as Bunce’s) concentrate on some important institutional factors, they leave out too many other factors – both institutional and noninstitutional – to be able to explain adequately why some communist 55 56

57

See, for example, Saxonberg, The Fall, Part III. For example, Antoni Z. Kaminski, An Institutional Theory of Communist Regimes: Design, Function, and Breakdown (San Francisco: ICS, 1992); Barłomiej Kamin´ski, The Collapse of State Socialism: The Case of Poland (Princeton University Press, 1991); Andrew J. G. Walder, “The Decline of Communist Power: Elements of a Theory of Institutional Change,” Theory and Society, 2 (1994): 297–324; Tamas Bauer, “Reforming or Perfecting the Economic Mechanism,” Social Research, 4 (1988): 715–46; László Csaba, “Some Lessons from Two Decades of Economic Reform in Hungary,” Communist Economies, 1 (1989): 17–29; Paul R. Gregory, Restructuring the Soviet Economic Bureaucracy (Cambridge University Press, 1990); János Kornai, “The Hungarian Reform Process: Visions, Hopes, and Reality,” Journal of Economic Literature, 24:4 (1986): 1,687–737; Jacek Wasilewski, “The Patterns of Bureaucratic Elite Recruitment in Poland in the 1970s and 1980s,” Soviet Studies, 4 (1990): 743–57; Martin Myant, “Economic Reform and Political Evolution in Eastern Europe,” Journal of Communist Studies, 8:1 (1992): 108–27; Jadwiga Staniszkis, The Dynamics of the Breakthrough in Eastern Europe: The Polish Experience, trans. Chester A. Kisiel (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991); Nigel Swain, Hungary: The Rise and Fall of Feasible Socialism (London and New York: Verso, 1992); Jan Winiecki, “Why Economic Reforms Fail in the Soviet System – A Property Rights-based Approach,” Economic Inquiry, 1 (1990): 195–221; Jan Winiecki, Resistance to Change in the Soviet Economic System: A Property Rights Approach (London: Routledge, 1991). Valerie Bunce, Subversive Institutions: The Design and the Destruction of Socialism and the State (Cambridge University Press, 1999), p. 11.

Alternative explanations

37

regimes lost power and others did not. One reason for this is that the vast majority of institutional analyses either focus only on why the communist regimes collapsed (and not on why some among them survived), or look only at one of the remaining communist regimes (especially China). For example, Bunce leaves out some non-institutional factors that are essential for explaining the collapse of communism. She also fails to consider differences in the manner of its collapse, or why some regimes have remained in power. Her basic argument is that a tightly controlled and hierarchical system led to conflicts among elites. Such conflicts were especially severe during succession struggles, as there were no institutionalized mechanisms for determining the outcome, and the stakes for both winning and losing groups were very high.58 Consequently, she argues, the communist parties became pluralized. Unfortunately, she provides little evidence to show this. Given that there have been succession struggles ever since the death of Lenin in 1924, she fails to demonstrate that the parties became increasingly pluralized over time. Moreover, the East German communist leadership was more divided in 1953 than in 1988 (just one year before the regime collapsed), and Czechoslovak communist leaders were more divided in 1968 than in 1988. Philip G. Roeder provides another example. His book on the Soviet Union shows the obstacles to carrying out reforms once the bureaucracy has become institutionalized.59 He claims that a two-tier system developed, in which first-tier leaders found themselves in a reciprocal relationship with second-tier bureaucrats. The latter, as “selectors,” were able to choose the members of the first tier. When battles for succession took place, the second tier had a very powerful role, as potential leaders needed to turn to the “selectors” for support. In these periods the Central Committee grew in power, and became the main organ for choosing party secretaries and members of the Politburo. During the first years in which a general secretary was in power, the general secretary was highly dependent on the second tier (the Central Committee and the bureaucracy), and had to share power with other members of the first tier (ministers, members of the Politburo, and members of the military and security forces). Once a general secretary had consolidated his power, however, he was able to break free of the constraints of collective leadership, and to concentrate power at the top.60

58 59 60

Ibid., pp. 25ff. Philip G. Roeder, Red Sunset: The Failure of Soviet Politics (Princeton University Press, 1993). For example, ibid., pp. 102ff. I use the term “he” for general secretary because no communist country has ever had a female general secretary.

38

Introduction

To his credit, Roeder criticizes the totalitarian school for seeing the Soviet regime as a single monolithic organization in which the top had complete and total power over lower levels. Rather, Roeder shows, the system was always more dynamic and unstable than totalitarian theorists suggest. However, in concentrating his efforts on this reciprocal relationship, he neglects to develop a theory capable of explaining why the system functioned more poorly in the 1980s than in the 1950s, and then finally collapsed. He only shows why it is difficult to reform the system. Nor does he offer any explanation for why some communist regimes (such as those in China and Vietnam) have been able to reform themselves in a manner acceptable to the second tier, while at the same time being more flexible and accommodating of global economic developments and social needs. My model, on the other hand, shows that such factors as their own loss of belief in Marxist-Leninist ideology made members of the second tier less willing to use repression, and encouraged the population to revolt. Many excellent institutional analyses explain why reform attempts in Eastern Europe failed, and these analyses have had a great influence on my thinking. Yet they have tended to take a deterministic approach, leaving them unable to explain the relative success of economic reforms in China and Vietnam.61

Make-up of this book Chapter 2 explains the development of different regime types, by focusing on the role played by hegemony, ideological legitimacy, and various kinds of pragmatic acceptance. Chapter 3 focuses on the sticky issue of nationalism, and shows how charismatic leaders are able in some cases to use nationalism to build up a personalistic regime – i.e., a “sultanist” or “patrimonial” regime – in which they themselves stand at the center. Chapter 4 discusses how changes in the type of regime and in the basis of legitimacy influence the opposition during the different periods of development. I also set out an institutional explanation in this chapter for why intellectuals tend (except in Cuba) to dominate the dissident movement and why workers are usually not ready to join intellectuals until there is an economic crisis. Chapters 2, 3, and 4 show how the loss of ideological legitimacy influences the regime and the opposition, and leads eventually to the regime’s demise. Chapter 5 develops the notion of society’s “revolutionary potential,” and shows that – if not defeated in battle – communist regimes only fall if they face a revolution (which 61

See note 56 for some references.

Make-up of this book

39

freezing, late post-totalitarian regimes do); or if they fear a revolution, and so initiate pacts with the opposition to avoid an uprising (as maturing, late post-totalitarian regimes do). Revolutionary uprisings can overthrow freezing regimes (Czechoslovakia, East Germany); maturing regimes moving in a freezing direction (the Soviet Union during the coup); and patrimonial regimes (Romania and rump Yugoslavia). Chapter 6 takes up the negotiated transitions. It also looks at failed totalitarian regimes that lost power as a result of foreign invasion (Grenada), military defeat (Ethiopia), or a loss of popular support during a protracted civil war (Nicaragua). Chapter 7 takes up the case of maturing regimes which are still in power. These include the governments of China and Vietnam, which have tried to maintain one-party rule by slowly introducing a special form of state capitalism. Chapter 8 analyzes non-transitions in patrimonial North Korea and Cuba. Finally, Chapter 9 reviews the theory of revolutionary potential developed in this book and asks what democratic governments can do in order to hasten the transition from communism in countries where it persists.

2

Communist regime types

During the decades leading up to 1989, an important debate took place among “sovietologists” as to whether the Soviet Union and other communist-led regimes were totalitarian,1 or whether they were developing into more pluralist societies.2 Some went as far as to claim that communist countries, by introducing aspects of pluralism and market economic reforms, were actually converging with modern Western welfare states, which in turn were introducing elements of state control over the economy.3 As often is the case in social science theory, domestic political ideology often entered into the debate, as proponents of the totalitarian view were often conservative cold warriors, while proponents of the pluralist and convergence views tended to be liberal in America or socialdemocratic in Europe. Unfortunately, the politicization of this debate became an obstacle to fruitful theoretical analysis. The totalitarian theorists often failed to see the important societal changes that were taking 1

2

3

For a discussion of the origins of the theory of post-totalitarianism, see Mark Thompson, “Neither Totalitarian nor Authoritarian: Post-Totalitarianism in Eastern Europe,” in Achim Siegel, ed., The Totalitarian Paradigm (Amsterdam: Rodopi: Poznan Studies in the Philosophy of the Sciences and Humanities, 65, 1998), pp. 306–11. See also Zbigniew K. Brzezinski, The Permanent Purge (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1956); Zbigniew Brzezinski and Samuel P. Huntington, Political Power: USA/USSR (New York: Viking Press, 1964); Jeane J. Kirkpatrick, Dictatorships and Double Standards: Rationalism and Reason in Politics (New York: American Enterprise Institute and Simon & Schuster, 1982), pp. 49 and 51; Carl J. Friedrich and Zbigniew K. Brzezinski, Totalitarian Dictatorship and Autocracy (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1956), pp. 71 ff. For example, Archie Brown, “Pluralism, Power and the Soviet Political System: A Comparative Perspective,” in Susan Gross Solomon, ed., Pluralism in the Soviet Union (London: Macmillan, 1983), pp. 61–107; Jerry F. Hough, The Soviet Union and Social Science Theory (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1997); H. Gordon Skilling, “Interest Groups and Communist Politics Revisited,” World Politics, 36:1 (1983), 1–27; H. Gordon Skilling and Franklyn Griffiths, eds., Interest Groups in Soviet Politics (Princeton University Press, 1971). John Kenneth Galbraith, The New Industrial State (Boston, Mass.: Houghton Mifflin, 1967), pp. 396–8; Marion Levy Jr., Modernization and the Structure of Societies (Princeton University Press, 1966); P. A. Sorokin, “Mutual Convergence of the United States and the USSR to the Mixed Sociocultural Type,” International Journal of Comparative Sociology, 1 (1960): 143–76.

40

Communist regime types

41

place and undermining the aging dictatorships, while the pluralist theorists overestimated the ability of communist regimes to reform themselves and denied the totalitarian ambitions that still remained at the core of the Soviet-type system. Linz and Stepan’s book Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation marks an important breakthrough, as it shows how all communist regimes had totalitarian ambitions, even as almost all of them passed through various stages of development, from early to late post-totalitarianism.4 Not only do the authors transcend the totalitarian-versus-pluralist debate, by shifting the focus to regime types; they also offer valuable insights into different paths of transition from communism, by shifting the focus from actors to institutions. As seen in Chapter 1, however, while Linz and Stepan provide a persuasive explanation for why the paths to collapse differ, they do not explain adequately why regimes develop the way that they do. That is the topic of the present chapter. I modify their typology somewhat by adding the term “failed totalitarianism,” and renaming certain regime types. I refer to regimes as “freezing” rather than “frozen,” “maturing” instead of “mature,” and – in the case of personalized dictatorships – “patrimonial” rather than “sultanist” (the latter being a term with an unfortunate cultural bias). While Linz and Stepan’s typology is a fruitful starting point, their model has some important limitations. One problem with their typology is that, while they can explain why countries with different regime types follow different paths of transition, they cannot explain why different countries have different regimes. For example, we may want to know why Hungary had a negotiated pact, while Czechoslovakia had a nonviolent revolution. It is not enough in that case to recall that Hungary had a maturing post-totalitarian regime, while Czechoslovakia had a freezing one. We also want to know why the Czechoslovakian regime froze rather than matured and why the Hungarian regime matured rather than froze. Linz and Stepan only show that different countries have different trajectories. This chapter presents the basic three-stage model of how communist regimes develop, which includes: 1. the attempt (which sometimes fails) of totalitarian regimes to gain total hegemony over society 2. ideological legitimacy and early post-totalitarianism 3. pragmatic acceptance and post-totalitarianism leading to either freezing or maturing paths. 4

Juan Linz and Alfred Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation: Southern Europe, South America, and Post-Communist Europe (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996).

42

Communist regime types

Totalitarianism regimes and hegemony Totalitarian dictators must elaborate a totalizing ideology that infuses their regime with a higher purpose.5 Accordingly, they base their power on the belief that they are on a messianic mission, in which “the end justifies the means.”6 Since they believe History is on their side, they do not need to consider divergent opinions. On the contrary, totalitarian dictators must brutally suppress such opinions, as these could prevent History from carrying out its predetermined task. Thus, totalitarian rule requires complete ideological hegemony. This form of legitimacy differs from most modern conceptions of legitimacy, which are based on choosing among alternatives, and in which the existing political system is considered the most appropriate one for a given society or, at a minimum, “the least evil.”7 Mass terror and ideological indoctrination under totalitarian rule eliminate choice – and even the awareness of alternatives through a monopoly on communication – making it impossible to speak of legitimacy as normally understood. Antonio Gramsci popularized the term “hegemony” when discussing how the ruling class maintains power under capitalism.8 Taking issue with Gramsci, James C. Scott notes that, while subordinate classes are constrained in the face of capitalist economic and social power, at least under non-totalitarian forms of capitalism they are not constrained “at the level of thought and ideology, since in secluded settings they can speak with comparative safety.”9 Under totalitarian regimes, however, “secluded settings” are rare, and “weapons of the weak” – such as a joke or a negative remark about the leader – are dangerous and can lead to arrest. Hannah Arendt writes about “total terror,” which like “an iron band . . . pressing men against each other” destroys the “space between them.”10 Lacking individual autonomy, lonely people find fulfillment only in the 5 6

7

8 9 10

Juan Linz, Totalitarian and Authoritarian Regimes (Boulder, Colo.: Lynne Rienner), p. 88. Giuseppe Di Palma, “Legitimation from the Top to Civil Society: Politico-Cultural Change in Eastern Europe,” World Politics, 43: 1 (1991), 49–80. Di Palma emphasizes the messianic elements of communist rule in its early days. Juan J. Linz, Crisis, Breakdown, and Reequilibration, Vol. IV of The Breakdown of Democratic Regimes, Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, eds., (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978). Seymour Martin Lipset popularized this notion in his Political Man: The Social Bases of Politics (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1959). Antonio Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Notebooks, ed. and trans. Quinten Hoare and Geoffrey Nowell Smith (London: Lawrence & Wishart, 1971). James C. Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990), p. 91. Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism: New Edition with Added Prefaces (San Diego: Harcourt Brace, 1973), p. 466.

Totalitarianism regimes and hegemony

43

totalitarian ideology that offers a pseudo-community and claims to offer all the answers to life’s great questions.11 A totalitarian regime is not satisfied with passive obedience and demands active support. The Soviet secret police classified the politically inactive as potentially disloyal. The Hungarian “little Stalin” Mátyás Rákosi summed up this attitude with his phrase “those who are not with us are against us.” In totalitarianism, mobilization is acclamatory. Michael Walzer has argued that totalitarianism “draws its special power from a disciplined, active, engaged population; it requires people who march.”12 People do not participate in order to influence political decisions, as is the case under democratic governments, but rather to acclaim the policies already decided by the totalitarian regime. Spontaneous popular political involvement is repressed and replaced by state-controlled transmission belts. By committing repressive acts and keeping society constantly mobilized, totalitarian regimes attempt to repress or co-opt all independent action in the political, economic, social, and cultural realms. This does not mean there has never been individual opposition to totalitarian regimes. Yet, as Friedrich and Brzezinski argue, these brave acts of individual resistance to totalitarianism are generally confined to “islands of separateness”; they do not “seriously threaten the stability of the totalitarian regime.”13 Opposition is much too weak and the totalitarian state is much too strong for a regime transition to take place through internal pressure. No regime has ever been completely totalitarian, and opposition has never been completely crushed. Nonetheless, totalitarianism has gone further than any other regime type in repressing its opponents. In order to achieve total hegemony, totalitarian leaders engage in a permanent purge of cadres.14 According to Robert Conquest’s estimates, Stalin’s purges in the 1930s resulted in at least a million executions, with many millions more people being sent off to the gulag.15 Aside from executing the old Bolshevik leaders, Stalin killed many new high-ranking 11

12

13 14 15

I follow Linz (in Totalitarian and Authoritarian Regimes, p. 18) here in applying Arendt’s thesis about the role of “loneliness” in “mass society” (as a reason for the rise of totalitarianism) to what happens once totalitarianism has been established. Arendt overlooked the role that often well-organized social milieus played in the rise of both fascist and communist regimes. However, while “loneliness” contributed little to their rise to power, totalitarians did indeed create – once they had seized control – conditions of “loneliness” through ideology and terror. Michael Walzer, “On ‘Failed Totalitarianism,’” in Irving Howe, ed., 1984 Revisited: Totalitarianism in Our Century (New York: Harper and Row, 1983), p. 105; emphasis in original. Friedrich and Brzezinski, Totalitarian Dictatorship and Autocracy, Chapter 26. Brzezinski, The Permanent Purge. Robert Conquest, The Great Terror: Stalin’s Purge of the Thirties (New York: Macmillan, 1968), cited in Linz, Totalitarian and Authoritarian Regimes, p. 103.

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Party members. For example, 98 of the 139 members and candidates of the Party Central Committee elected at the 17th Congress in 1934 were arrested and shot, mostly between 1937 and 1938.16 The Cultural Revolution led to the purge of 60–80 percent of the cadres of the Chinese Communist Party.17 Although the severity of the terror was not nearly so great in Eastern Europe, thousands of people were killed or sent to prison and work camps during the show trials in Czechoslovakia, Romania, and Hungary; or during the mass arrests in Yugoslavia (following the split with Stalin) and East Germany. In Cuba, Castro carried out mass arrests and purges of supporters and opponents (including the banishment of the Cuban Communist Party although he did later create a new communist party), while in Ethiopia, the Mengistu regime unleashed the “red terror” against competing Marxist groups. Purges in the totalitarian party stop factionalism and prevent the development of a “revisionist” group calling for reforms. After the horrors of the starvation that followed collectivization in the Ukraine, reformists in the Politburo challenged Stalin – with deadly consequences for themselves. A similar challenge after World War II led to the execution of the chief would-be reformer within the Politburo.18 Mao purged reformers like Liu Shaoqi (the official head of state), Deng Xiaoping (the party leader), and Zhou Enlai (the prime minister).19 The fear of being purged provides unprecedented “unity” among top cadres, and leaves the totalitarian leader with a free hand and enormous powers to carry out his arbitrary will. In summary, totalitarian regimes strive to gain hegemony over society. They are so motivated by ideology to achieve their goals that, if they succeed in consolidating their power, they can only be overthrown if outside forces invade (as in the case of the Khmer Rouge, which was overthrown when Vietnam invaded Cambodia). On the other hand, sometimes communist regimes fail to obtain full control over their entire territory, in which case they may lose power on the battlefield. Failed totalitarian cases are discussed further below.

16

17 18 19

These figures are from Khrushchev’s secret speech to the Twentieth Congress in February 1956, cited in Alec Nove, Stalinism and After (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1976), p. 131. Danial Chirot, Modern Tyrants (Princeton University Press, 1996), p. 206. Stephen F. Cohen, Rethinking the Soviet Experience: Politics and History since 1917 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), pp. 141–2. Chirot, Modern Tyrants, pp. 204–5.

Failed totalitarianism

45

Failed totalitarianism Even though all Marxist-Leninist regimes have totalitarian ambitions, not all succeed in gaining total control over society. In conflicts where large ethnic groups have been involved, such as in Ethiopia and Nicaragua, foreign powers have been able to arm marginalized ethnic groups, who in turn are able to wear down the regimes in protracted civil wars. In contrast to Ethiopia, the Nicaraguan regime did not actually lose on the battlefield, but the economic decline and social divisions caused by the civil war eventually cost the Sandinistas their popular support, which led to their loss of power in contested elections. In the case of Grenada, the regime became easy prey for a US invasion after the divided leadership decided to depose and later murder its popular leader, Maurice Bishop, before it had had time to institutionalize and consolidate its power. Although international factors were not as important in preventing totalitarian rule in Poland, resistance fighters fought against Soviet and Polish communist forces between 1945 and 1947.20 This resistance did not lead to a significant weakening of the regime militarily, much less its defeat, but societal resistance did force the regime to compromise its totalitarian goals by reaching an accommodation with the Church and private peasants. By the mid 1950s, the Catholic Church in Poland enjoyed much more freedom than the churches in neighboring countries, and the regime abandoned its attempt to collectivize agriculture completely. The death of Stalin ushered in the early post-totalitarian stage in Eastern Europe. The Polish regime began to behave like other East European countries, where reform debates arose together with demands to eliminate mass terror. As in Hungary, this led in Poland to a national reform-communist uprising. Unlike Hungary, however, Poland managed to avoid a Soviet invasion, even though its cautiously reformist regime, under Gomułka, did not differ radically from that in Hungary. By the early 1970s, the two countries were clearly moving down the maturing path, and were among the most open societies in the Soviet bloc (although less open than Yugoslavia). Consequently, in analyzing the Polish regime in the 1980s, I will consider it a maturing regime, similar to that in Hungary and in the Soviet Union under Gorbachev. Since developments in Poland were similar to those in other communist countries in their early post-totalitarian stage, the rest of this section is restricted to regimes that failed to consolidate their rule: i.e., those in Grenada, Ethiopia, and Nicaragua.

20

Linz and Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition, p. 259.

46

Communist regime types

Ethiopia In 1974 the Ethiopian military carried out a coup and established a military government known as the Derg. As in Grenada and Cuba, it was not initially clear what ideology the new rulers would espouse. Shortly after assuming power, internal squabbles arose, but they did not concern questions of socialist transformation; rather, they related to such issues as how to deal with civilian opposition and Eritrean desires for independence. The brutality of the regime was already becoming apparent, however, as officers on the losing side of these disputes paid with their lives.21 In fact, one of the junta’s first actions upon taking power was to execute fifty-seven senior officials of the old regime, as well as to arrest and kill many other presumed supporters of the former monarch, Haile Selassie.22 Ethiopia is a rather odd case, however. Although the regime eventually called itself Marxist-Leninist, its main opponents were other communist groups that did not consider the regime Marxist-Leninist enough. The most important opposition groups were two former student organizations: the MEISON (the All-Ethiopian Socialist Union)23 and the Maoist Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Party (EPRP).24 The regime maintained its repressive character when faced with challenges from these leftist organizations, especially when it launched its “red terror” against the EPRP, in response to EPRP-led political assassinations and bombings.25 The larger guerrilla movements that emerged – such as the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front and the Tigray People’s Liberation Front – also considered themselves originally to be Marxist.26 According to common estimates, over one hundred thousand educated Ethiopians died during these campaigns, while several hundreds of thousands left the country, leaving this poor country with few skilled citizens.27 21

22 23

24 25

26 27

Fred Halliday and Maxine Molyneux, The Ethiopian Revolution (London: Verso, 1981), p. 113; and Kinfe Abraham, Ethiopia from Bullets to the Ballot Box: The Bumpy Road to Democracy and the Political Economy of Transition (Lawrenceville, NJ: Red Sea Press, 1994), p. 77. Abraham, Ethiopia from Bullets to the Ballot Box, p. xviii. Marina Ottaway, “State Power Consolidation in Ethiopia,” in Edmond J. Keller and Donald Rothchild, eds., Afro-Marxist Regimes: Ideology and Public Policy (Boulder and London: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1987), p. 33. Donald L. Donham, Marxist Modern: An Ethnographic History of the Ethiopian Revolution (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), p. 132. See, for example, Edmond Keller, Revolutionary Ethiopia: From Empire to People’s Republic (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1988), pp. 199ff.; and Donham, Marxist Modern, pp. 133ff. See, for example, Jonathan Baker, Ethiopia’s Road to Perestroika: In Search of the End of the Rainbow? (Uppsala: Scandinavian Institute of African Studies, 1990), pp. 9ff. See, for example, Abraham, Ethiopia from Bullets to the Ballot Box, p. xix.

Failed totalitarianism

47

It seems the Derg turned to Marxism-Leninism as a way to co-opt the communist opposition, to create a strong state, and to attract Soviet aid. Thus, Donald Donham claims: What Ethiopian military leaders apparently found attractive was not so much Marxism as a philosophy of liberation but Leninism as a palpable example of how to create a strong state, one that would redeem and secularize old Christian notions of nation. Otherwise put, what the Russian revolution offered was a model of how to weld together (or so it seemed in 1976) disparate peoples into a great unitary state, one defined by the boundaries of previous conquests – by Russians in the Soviet Union and by Amhara in Ethiopia.28

As in Cuba, the revolutionary government in Ethiopia did not create a communist party until several years after its assumption of power. In 1979, five years after it came to power, the Derg created the Commission for Organizing the Party of the Workers of Ethiopia (COPWE).29 The Party held its first congress in June 1980. The armed forces continued to dominate the organization, with 79 of its 123 Central Committee members being either military or police.30 The official launching of the Ethiopian Workers’ Party did not take place until 1984 – ten years after the revolutionary coup.31 Three years later, in 1987, the Derg introduced a new Soviet-style constitution and the country officially became a People’s Democratic Republic.32 Despite its professed Marxist-Leninist ideology, the Ethiopian Workers’ Party became the personal tool of Mengistu. “The predecessor of the EWP, COPWE’s core came into existence through the selection of members by a single person, Mengistu Haile Mariam, on the basic criterion of loyalty to himself.”33 He held exclusive power to call, chair, and set the agenda for all party congresses and committee meetings. He also had the exclusive right to choose and dismiss central and executive committee members, as well as to decide which delegates would be elected to the party congresses.34 He was a great admirer of the North Korean communist dictator Kim Il Sung, “who is the epitome of the personality cult.”35 28 29

30 31 32 33 35

Donald Donham, “Revolution and Modernity in Maale: Ethiopa, 1974–1987, Comparative Studies in Society and History, 34:1 (1992): 41. Abraham, Ethiopia from Bullets to the Ballot Box, pp. 86ff.; Baker, Ethiopia’s Road to Perestroika, p. 6; and Keller, Revolutionary Ethiopia, p. 201. Abraham writes 1977, but 1979 appears to be the correct year. Halliday and Molyneux, The Ethiopian Revolution, p. 142. Baker, Ethiopia’s Road to Perestroika, p. 6. Donham, “Revolution and Modernity in Maale,” 32. Abraham, Ethiopia from Bullets to the Ballot Box, p. 89. 34 Ibid. Baker, Ethiopia’s Road to Perestroika, p. 3. See also Dawit Wolde Giorgis, Red Tears: War, Famine and Revolution in Ethiopia (Trenton: Red Sea Press, 1989), p. 59. Giorgis notes that Mengistu visited North Korea four more times after being impressed during his first visit in 1982.

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It is therefore not surprising that Mengistu tried to create a similar personality cult. In fact, North Korea even helped provide the official decorations for the tenth anniversary celebrations of the Ethiopian coup, when the Ethiopian Workers’ Party was officially established.36 Despite his ambitions, Mengistu was not nearly as successful as Kim in establishing patrimonial rule; nor did he try to place family members in high places.37 The Ethiopian regime had trouble consolidating its power from the outset. It faced opposition from rival Marxist-Leninist organizations; it confronted nationalist uprisings;38 and it suffered a Somali invasion.39 By 1977, the Derg faced rebellions in twelve of the country’s fourteen provinces (the most serious being in Eritrea and the Ogaden region), as well as an invasion by Somalia. The regime never gained physical control of its entire territory, and it was accordingly unable to consolidate and institutionalize its power. The regime tried, however, to institutionalize its power. In 1984, the People’s Democratic Republic of Ethiopia was founded, with Mengistu as its first and only president. As Kinfe Abraham observes: It appeared then that the legal and institutional process of consolidating Mengistu’s hold to power was theoretically over. But, as it turned out, even the painstaking process of the edification of the state did not bring peace and stability to the country. In fact, it was the pompous parades and extravagant celebrations of 1984–85, contrasted with the horrid spectacle of starving people in Welo and Tigray, that signalled the beginning of the regime’s inevitable disintegration.”40

Moreover, Abraham adds, One obvious factor for the failure of the Mengistu regime was Mengistu himself . . . One reason for his failure is that he had amassed more power and authority than he was able to cope with. This was compounded by the fact that he trusted very few and delegated little of real significance. In short, while his patrimonial hegemonic regime had all the trappings of the previous regime, he lacked the human face, conventional wisdom and diplomatic sauve of his predecessor.41

I agree with most of what Abraham writes; however, I believe Mengistu’s patrimonial and hegemonic aspirations were greater than his actual achievements in that direction. First, since he was not able to gain effective control over the country’s territory, he was never able to achieve proper 36 37

38 39 40

Donham, “Revolution and Modernity in Maale,” 42. Halliday and Molyneux, The Ethiopian Revolution, p. 116, fn. 16. Nevertheless, Abraham (in Ethiopia from Bullets to the Ballot Box, p. 5) calls the Mengistu regime “patrimonial”; he adds, however, that the dictator “lacked the human face, conventional wisdom and diplomatic suave of his predecessor.” Halliday and Molyneux, The Ethiopian Revolution, p. 156. Keller, Revolutionary Ethiopia, p. 206. Abraham, Ethiopia from Bullets to the Ballot Box, pp. xix–xx. 41 Ibid., p. 5.

Failed totalitarianism

49

hegemony. Edmond J. Keller observes that “[a]s late as 1985–1986, the regime had not consolidated its support and legitimacy in the hinterland.”42 He also notes: “Even though the Ethiopian national army had swollen to almost 300,000 by 1983, it was incapable of dealing effectively with extremely active guerrilla movements scattered throughout the country. When it concentrated on the Ogaden or Eritrea, the pressure was stepped up in Tigre, Wollo, Sidamo, or Bale.”43 The party was also unable to establish effective cells in the hinterland of the dissident provinces, such as Wollo, Eritrea, Gondar, Tigre, Sidamo, and Ogaden.44 Second, even though Mengistu tried to model himself on the patrimonial Kim dictatorship in North Korea, he never tried to place family members in key positions, which is a central characteristic of patrimonial regimes. One of his downfalls, in fact, was isolating himself so much that he did not have the support of any important groups. Unlike the North Korean and Romanian dictators, Mengistu could not even rely on the support of his own family! Unable to consolidate power or defeat the guerrilla groups, the Mengistu regime finally collapsed when the guerrilla groups formed a united front that was strong enough to win on the battlefield.

Grenada When the New Jewel Movement came to power in Grenada, it behaved like Castro in not officially declaring its goal of installing a MarxistLeninist dictatorship, despite being a dogmatic Leninist organization. In 1974, the New Jewel Movement decided internally to consider itself a “strictly vanguard party,” and in 1975 its politburo secretly confirmed that it was a Marxist-Leninist party.45 Not only did the New Jewel Movement follow in Castro’s footsteps in keeping its communist goals secret, it actually had the Cuban revolution as its model. Thus, its leader, Maurice Bishop, secretly proclaimed to the leadership of the New Jewel Movement that “We believe that our course of development will be more or less the same as the Cuban revolution.”46 Moreover, although he tried to display a more moderate, social-democratic image to the population and to Western governments, Bishop made his Leninism clear to party members. At a party meeting, for example, he said: “It is only under the leadership of the working class, led by a Marxist-Leninist vanguard Party that the process [of transformation] can be completed and we can go on to 42 45 46

Keller, Revolutionary Ethiopia, pp. 207–8. 43 Ibid., p. 210. 44 Ibid., p. 211. Tony Thorndike, Grenada: Politics, Economics and Society (London: Frances Pinter, 1985), p. 49. Cited in Thorndike, Grenada, p. 72.

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socialist construction.”47 Notwithstanding its pragmatic economic policies, the regime showed its totalitarian aspirations by banning all other political parties, closing the main newspaper, and refusing to hold elections.48 Within the confines of secret party meetings, in fact, many leaders made it clear that their orientation was Stalinist as well as Leninist. For example, one of the leaders, Hudson Austin, said at a party meeting “I have criticized Maurice [Bishop, the leader of the party and prime minister] for softness; I hope his hand will now become a Marxist-Leninist-Stalinist hand.”49 The organization was so Stalinist that all members of the Central Committee had to undergo a course in Marxism-Leninism in which works by Stalin were required reading.50 As it was a Leninist-Stalinist party, party membership was limited to a small, ideologically reliable elite. Thus, the party had only 70 full members, an amazingly low number for a ruling national party.51 By keeping its Leninism secret and allowing the extremely popular and charismatic Maurice Bishop to lead the movement, the New Jewel Movement became very popular when it first overthrew the authoritarian Gairy government in 1979. Tony Thorndike claims the new regime was so popular that, had there been elections during the first months of its rule, the New Jewel Movement “would have decisively won virtually every seat, and probably would have been unopposed in most constituencies.”52

47

48 49 50

51

52

“Line of March for the Party Presented by Comrade Maurice Bishop, Chairman, Central Committee to General Meeting of Party on Monday 13th September 1982,” in Paul Seabury and Walter A. McDougall, eds., The Grenada Papers (San Francisco: Institute for Contemporary Studies, 1984), p. 66. Thorndike, Grenada, p. 62. Gregory Sandford and Richard Vigilante, Grenada: The Untold Story (London: Madison Books, 1984), p. 150. Thorndike, Grenada, p. 80. Sandford and Vigilante (in Grenada: The Untold Story, p. 151) also point out that five Central Committee members were once forced as punishment to attend an eight-week course on Marxism-Leninism, in which texts by Stalin were used. They also claim (p. 83) that the party’s number two man, Bernard Coard, “was an open Stalinist, and he was willing to pay the price for socialism.” It actually had 350 affiliated persons, if candidates and the like are included. See Jorge Heine, “The Hero and the Apparatchik: Charismatic Leadership, Political Management, and Crisis in Revolutionary Grenada,” pp. 217–56 in Jorge Heine, ed., A Revolution Aborted: The Lessons of Grenada (University of Pittsburgh Press, 1990), p. 227. Sandford and Vigilante write (in Grenada: The Untold Story, p. 107) that the Party became so selective that “[b]y 1982 one had to pass through three distinct stages of apprenticeship – Potential Applicant, Applicant, and Candidate Member – on the way to becoming a full member, and the party was considering adding a fourth category of ‘Prospective Potential Applicant.’” Thorndike, Grenada, p. 56.

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51

Even though this Leninist party clearly had totalitarian aspirations, it was not in power long enough to make its communist goals public.53 It behaved more like the communist parties in Eastern and Central Europe in the 1945–8 period. It announced “progressive” reforms, without mentioning the “dictatorship of the proletariat” or engaging in mass nationalizations.54 Officially, the revolutionary government was committed to a mixed economy.55 Most firms remained privately owned, and the majority of union leaders were non-party members. Even when New Jewel Movement members led the unions, they acted more as defenders of worker interests than as conveyor belts of party decisions.56 Rather than consolidating its power within the unions, the “NJM actually lost ground in some unions in which it had once had significant influence.”57 While Bishop remained popular by acting pragmatically and keeping his communist ambitions secret from the population, he was less popular with the party elite. Some authors claim the leadership turned against Bishop for strategic-ideological reasons – because party hardliners wanted to undertake rapid nationalization of industry.58 They were also critical of Bishop’s attempts at a rapprochement with the United States.59 At closed meetings, party leaders denounced Bishop as a “rightwing opportunist.”60 Other 53

54

55 56 57

58

59 60

Sandford and Vigilante (in Grenada: The Untold Story, p. 66) note that the true power was not exercised by the government, but rather by the central committee and the politburo of the New Jewel Movement – two organs which most Grenadians did not even know existed. Thus Thorndike (in Grenada, p. 69) notes that documents captured by the CIA after the invasion in 1983 show that some in the New Jewel Leadership were concerned about the fact that the government had not begun nationalizing industry. The pragmatic Bishop argued that the country’s economy was not yet developed enough for such measures. See, for example, Sandford and Vigilante, Grenada: The Untold Story, p. 76. Tony Thorndike, “People’s Power in Theory and Practice,” in Jorge Heine, A Revolution Aborted (1990), pp. 40–1. Sandford and Vigilante, Grenada: The Untold Story, 81. They further note that in 1980 the Public Workers’ Union, the Grenada Union of Teachers, and the Technical and Allied Workers’ Union demanded a 60 percent wage increase. When they had made similar demands under Gairy’s rule in 1978, the New Jewel Movement had supported them; now, however, it opposed them. Sandford and Vigilante also claim (p. 82) that, although the New Jewel Movement increased its influence in the unions, there were three unions that it still did not control when its rule came to an end: the Seamen’s and Waterfront Workers’ Union, the Public Workers’ Union, and the taxi drivers’ union. Thorndike, Grenada, p. 73. Similarly, Gary Williams observes: “Most authors concur that the crisis which destroyed the PRG arose over the Coard faction’s disappointment at the rate of social and economic transformation, the persistence of ‘petty bourgeois’ tendencies in the NJM and the difficulties encountered in establishing a Marxist-Leninist party structure and control system.” “Prelude to an Intervention: Grenada 1983,” Journal of Latin American Studies 29:1 (1997), 138. Thorndike, Grenada, p. 141. Heine, “The Hero and the Apparatchik,” p. 232; Sandford and Vigilante, Grenada: The Untold Story, p. 153.

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authors argue the real problem did not stem from policy differences between Bishop and the party elite; after all, Bishop did not disagree with hardliners on policies and ruled by the consent of all party factions. Rather, the problem lay in the wish of the number two man in the party, Bernard Coard, to take over the leadership.61 Coard used his control over the party organization to place his supporters in key positions and to purge members sympathetic to Bishop. He then built up a power base that he could use to launch an internal coup against Bishop.62 In any case, whether the conflict was based on ideological or on personal differences, the ensuing power struggle led to the collapse of the regime. Coard supporters obtained a majority in the Politburo and Central Committee, which they then used to place Bishop under house arrest after he refused to accept demotion and to share power with Coard. As word of Bishop’s arrest spread, crowds gathered to free him. In response, the party leadership called in the military to capture Bishop and execute him. Once the New Jewel Movement had killed its most popular leader and exposed itself as a fanatical Leninist organization, it lost all popular support. This made it fairly easy for the US to invade the country, as few Grenadians were willing to defend what they considered to be a gang of murderers. Tony Thorndike concludes: The brief rule of the Revolutionary Military Council [which took power when Bishop was killed] was unloved and, although it never had a chance to redeem itself, its passing was unlamented by the Grenadian people. Their anger and fear was deep and even NJM supporters saw the descending [American] paratroops as saviours.”63

Nicaragua While the hidden totalitarian intentions of the New Jewel Movement became clear once captured documents were made public after the American invasion, the intentions of the Sandinistas are less clear. Opinions on the issue continue to diverge along ideological lines. Leftleaning scholars generally consider the Sandinistas to have been essentially democratic,64 while right-leaning scholars view them as orthodox 61 62 63 64

For example, Gary Williams, “Prelude to an Intervention,” 137. For example, Heine, “The Hero and the Apparatchik,” pp. 217–56. Thorndike, Grenada, p. 171. I.e., Harry E. Vanden and Gary Prevost, Democracy and Socialism in Sandinista Nicaragua (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1993); Bruce E. Wright, Theory in the Practice of the Nicaraguan Revolution (Athens: Ohio University Center for International Studies Monographs in International Studies Latin American Series, Number 24, 1995); Katherine Hoyt, The Many Faces of Sandinista Democracy (Athens: Ohio University

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communists that were trying to implement the Cuban model.65 Both sides usually agree, however, on two points: that the Sandinista movement considered itself to be Marxist-Leninist; and that it failed to consolidate its power, after having faced a civil war during most of its rule. It was finally forced from office in elections in 1990. It is hard to know how authoritarian the Sandinistas would have been had they won the elections in 1990. Some of their leaders may have harbored totalitarian aims; however, the Sandinista leadership as a whole had shown itself to be fairly pragmatic. Thus, while some leading Sandinistas preferred a more totalitarian system, the regime might have continued to allow some pluralism, and might even have developed some kind of socialist democracy. The pragmatism of the leaders can be seen in the fact that the Sandinista leader, Daniel Ortega, was able to get re-elected to the presidency in 2008 – eighteen years after losing power – by campaigning as a moderate leftist and a Christian, and by claiming to have given up his revolutionary ambitions. Though much caution is in order when seeking to ascertain whether the Sandinistas had totalitarian ambitions, some evidence suggests they would have tried to install a totalitarian regime if conditions had permitted. Good reasons exist for believing they would have tried to install a relatively orthodox communist system along Cuban lines, if they had been allowed to do so. Besides the obvious fact that they followed the Cuban model in setting up “committees for the defense of the revolution,” there were certain other highly revealing developments:  many of their former non-Leninist supporters quickly joined the opposition;  statements by Sandinista leaders themselves indicate little support for democratic values;  the FSLN (Sandinista National Liberation Front) was not at all democratic, and its associated mass organizations were based on the Soviet model;  several leading Sandinistas later admitted that they had never intended to let themselves lose any election.

65

Press, Ohio University Center for International Studies Monographs in International Studies Latin American Series, Number 27, 1997). See also Ilja A. Luciak, The Sandinista Legacy: Lessons from a Political Economy in Transition (Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 1995). Luciak is sympathetic, but more critical than the other authors mentioned here. Robert Kagan, A Twilight Struggle: American Power and Nicaragua 1977–1990 (New York: Free Press, 1996); Robert S. Leiken, Why Nicaragua Vanished: A Story of Reporters and Revolutionaries (Oxford: Roman & Littlefield, 2003); Janusz Bugajski, Sandinista Communism and Rural Nicaragua (New York: Center for Strategic and International Studies, and Washington, DC, The Washington Papers/143, 1990).

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Concerning the first point, it is amazing that so many high-level supporters of the regime defected in so short a period. For example, the two nonSandinista members of the five-member junta that ruled the country right after the revolution soon felt betrayed by the Sandinistas and joined the opposition. They were Violeta Barrios de Chamorro (who later defeated the Sandinista leader Daniel Ortega in the 1990 presidential elections) and the businessman Alfonso Robelo (who according to one former minister “had been more radical than many people of the FSLN”). Robelo even went so far in his early support for the regime that he wanted to be the one to announce to the public that the banks and foreign trade were being nationalized.66 Chamorro and Robelo left the junta when the Sandinistas took control over the Council of State by increasing its membership from 33 to 47 (with 12 of the 14 new representatives being proSandinista), thereby ensuring themselves a clear majority.67 When Chamorro and Robelo left the junta, one of their replacements was Arturo Cruz, who eventually became the Sandinista ambassador to the United States. Like Chamorro, Cruz began as an enthusiastic supporter of the regime but eventually turned against it. He was the opposition’s main presidential candidate in 1984, although he later dropped out of the race on the grounds that the elections would not be fair. Some of the most damaging information from defectors comes from Major Roger Miranda, who from 1982 to 1987 was chief of staff to defense minister Humberto Ortega, and who attended many secret meetings of the Directorate.68 There were similar developments at lower levels. Some of the Contra leaders, to be sure, came from the Samoza’s National Guard, especially in the early years. Nevertheless, the largest group of anti-Sandinistas hailed from the peasantry and were led by former anti-Somoza and Sandinista guerrillas.69 Concerning the second point, numerous statements by Sandinista leaders show that they did not see democratic elections as a means for voters to choose between competing policies. As early as 1980, the party secretary for propaganda and political education, Julio López, stated that “the purpose of elections is not to determine who will have power in Nicaragua. This question has been determined by history and the people affirm this fact on a daily basis.”70 Speaking before Sandinista soldiers, Humberto Ortega also declared that the Sandinistas were “guided by the 66 67 68 69 70

Wright, Theory in the Practice of the Nicaraguan Revolution, p. 122. Luciak, The Sandinista Legacy, p. 22. For information about his defection, see for example Jill Smolowe and Ricardo Chavir, “Nicaragua Tales of a Sandinista Defector,” Time (on-line version), December 21, 1987. Leiken, Why Nicaragua Vanished, pp. 152ff. Quoted in Luciak, The Sandinista Legacy, p. 20.

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scientific doctrine of Revolution, by Marxism-Leninism.”71 As Dennis Gilbert notes, Sandinista leaders have repeatedly insisted that the revolution is “irreversible.” Elections, therefore, should not be construed as an occasion to challenge the power of the revolution concentrated in the vanguard. Humberto Ortega told the literacy crusade audience that the planned elections were “elections to improve revolutionary power, but not to raffle who has power, because the people have power through their Vanguard, the Frente Sandinista de Liberación Nacional and its National Directorate.”72

Speaking to the Nicaraguan Socialist Party in May 1983, Bayardo Arce, a member of the Sandinista Directorate, admitted that the leadership did not really want to hold elections. Yet elections were necessary, he added, because they had been promised to bourgeois allies in order to gain their support during the insurrection. Nevertheless, he declared, the elections were “a nuisance.” Furthermore, What a revolution really needs is the power to act. The power to act is precisely what constitutes the essence of the dictatorship of the proletariat – the ability of the [working] class to impose its will by using the means at hand [without] bourgeois formalities. [And] of course if we did not have the war situation imposed on us by the United States, the electoral problem would be totally out of place in terms of its usefulness . . . But from a realistic standpoint, being in a war with the United States, those things [i.e., elections] become weapons of the revolution to move forward with the construction of socialism . . . [I]t is well to be able to call elections and take away from American policy one of its justifications for aggression against Nicaragua.73

As for the third point, neither the Sandinista Party nor its organizations were based on democratic principles. The ruling Directorate was selfchosen, rather than being elected by Party members or by lower-level Party organizations like a party congress/assembly or central committee. Party officials at lower levels were appointed from above. No mechanisms existed for either electing officials at any level or for forcing members of the Directorate to leave their positions.74 Even supporters of the regime admit that the five-member junta – which included non-Sandinistas – did not wield any real influence, inasmuch as “all of the members of the junta recognized the real control of the FSLN Directorate as the ‘vanguard.’”75 71 72 73

74 75

Dennis Gilbert, Sandinistas: The Party and the Revolution (Cambridge: Basil Blackwell, 1988), p. 23. Gilbert, Sandinistas, p. 35. Kagan, A Twilight Struggle, p. 303. This speech is also quoted in Leiken, Why Nicaragua Vanished, p. 137; and in Roger Miranda and William Ratliff, The Civil War in Nicaragua: Inside the Sandinistas (New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers, 1993), p. 87. See, for example, Gilbert, Sandinistas, p. 51. Wright, Theory in the Practice of the Nicaraguan Revolution, p. 95.

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Similarly, the mass organizations were also dominated by the Sandinistas, and enjoyed little autonomy from the Party leadership. As Dennis Gilbert notes, for example, the Committees in Defense of the Revolution were run by Sandinista activists. This prevented the committees from showing any independence from the Party.76 Furthermore, he notes that the leadership of the mass organizations is closely associated with the FSLN. The national heads of the six principal groups are all members of the Sandinista Assembly. It also appears that mid-level mass organization leaders are typically Sandinista cadres . . . Like Sandinista militants serving at higher levels, they are subject to party discipline and expected to represent the party line within the organization.77

Ilja A. Luciak, who sympathizes with the Sandinistas, comments as follows: The Sandinista Front controlled these movements [i.e., the mass organizations] closely from the top down. In a typical corporate fashion, the leadership of the mass organizations was selected by the party. Equally significant, the grassroots movements showed deficiencies in their internal democracy. They failed to institutionalize formal democratic procedures, essential to keep the leadership accountable to the base. The Sandinista hegemonic project suffered from a central short-coming. The Sandinista party viewed itself as the “vanguard” of the revolution, a conception that easily leads to a manipulative relationship between “vanguard” and “masses.” This authoritarian potential was in turn replicated within the mass organizations. Thus, Sandinista Nicaragua experienced a constant tension between the vanguardist style of politics (authoritarian practice) and the stated goal to strengthen grassroots democracy (democratic practice).78

The one partial exception appears to have been the farmers’ association, UNAG. Even though its leaders were all Sandinistas, UNAG began to broaden its rural social base after 1984 by openly advocating such policy changes as better crop prices, credit concessions, an improved supply of inputs, and a greater redistribution of land. Gilbert claims this reflected a conscious decision by the Sandinista leadership to counter “flagging rural support” in the mid 1980s.79 76 78

79

Gilbert, Sandinistas, p. 71. 77 Ibid., p. 73. Luciak, The Sandinista Legacy, p. 9. Even Wright, who sympathizes with the Sandinistas, argues that the mass organizations became demobilized because their leaders were chosen by the top party leadership. Local FSLN members, therefore, could only implement programs – not influence them. Wright, Theory in the Practice of the Nicaraguan Revolution, pp. 130–1 and 161–3. Gilbert, Sandinistas, p. 75.

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Concerning the fourth point, prominent former leaders later conceded – after the fall of the Sandinista regime – that they had never had democratic ideals. Humberto Ortega, for example, admitted that the Sandinistas only decided to hold elections in 1984 “because we began detecting that the Soviet Union was not strong . . . [and because] we had the counterrevolution. The elections were a tactical tool, a weapon. They were a bitter pill that had to be swallowed.”80 He declared as well that the “great majority of the FSLN didn’t see the election as strategically significant. They only saw it as a game . . . The fact that we had elections in 1984 didn’t mean anything.”81 Reflecting on the 1990 elections in another interview, Humberto Ortega said, “We believed – it was one of our many errors – that we were going to hold power until the end of the centuries.”82 Similarly, Roger Miranda, the former chief of staff to defense minister Humberto Ortega, recalls that Daniel Ortega had told him in private that people like Alfonso Robelo, Violeta Chamorro, and Arturo Cruz “are temporary allies and must be treated with respect as long they are of use to us.”83 It would seem, then, that the Sandinistas never had any real intention to institutionalize a pluralist system or a larger coalition. As in the case of the transitional governments between 1945 and 1948 in Central and Eastern Europe, these Sandinista-led coalitions were viewed merely as a necessary short-term evil along the way towards establishing a one-party system. Miranda also explains why the Sandinistas claimed to support pluralism, a mixed economy, and non-alignment in their public declarations. He recalls that, in 1979, Comandante Luis Carrión said the following at a closed meeting: The Americans won’t believe us, except for those who are already our friends or fools. But many of the Europeans and Latin Americans will believe. And many members of the Socialist International will believe. This tactic is aimed above all else at them. It will isolate the Americans. It may even bring us active support from some governments and groups.84

Nevertheless, the Sandinistas were willing to accept elections in order to gain international support, as they were sure they would win them. As Victor Hugo Tinoco, former vice minister of foreign affairs, remembers: Although we in the Sandinista movement were strongly influenced by Marxist philosophy and more specifically by the Leninist idea of a single party . . . although 80 82 83 84

Kagan, A Twilight Struggle, p. 305. 81 Ibid., p. 336. Glenn Garvin, “Hostility to the US a Costly Mistake,” Miami Herald, July 18, 1999. Roger Miranda and William Ratliff, The Civil War in Nicaragua, p. 4. Miranda and Ratliff, The Civil War in Nicaragua, pp. 86–7.

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we did not like very much having to adapt to the idea of a democratic process, of elections in a multiparty system, it was not a big problem for the leadership or at the grass roots.85

These statements indicate that, notwithstanding their public claims to the contrary, the Sandinistas were just as determined as the New Jewel Movement in Grenada to install a one-party dictatorship based on Marxist-Leninist principles. In summary, in all cases except for Poland the failed totalitarian regimes failed to consolidate their power. In Ethiopia the regime lost power on the battlefield; in Grenada it lost power after the regime descended into chaos once it killed its popular leader which opened the country for an American invasion. Finally, in Nicaragua the regime basically won in the battlefield but lost at the ballot box after over a decade of civil war convinced the populace that the only way to end the war and the ensuing military draft, and to bring prosperity to the country was to vote the Sandinistas out of power. In Poland, by contrast, although the regime did fail to gain anything approaching totalitarian rule, it made enough compromises with society (such as making concessions to the Church and allowing private agriculture) to be able to institutionalize its power and henceforce behave like maturing Hungary. Early post-totalitarianism and ideological legitimacy Despite the failures of the above-mentioned regimes, Marxist-Leninist regimes did succeed in the vast majority of cases in gaining something approaching totalitarian hegemony over society. After this initial totalitarian phase, in which the communist activists feel they are on a messianic mission, demands begin arising for routinization. Fears of persecution, of removal from office, of imprisonment, and even of execution are factors that encourage cadres to take action to ensure their personal security, and to reduce the powers of the top leader. Often this happens after the death of the founding ruler (such as Mao in China, Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej in Romania, and to some extent Klement Gottwald in Czechoslovakia), or if the ruler introduces totalitarianism (like Stalin in the USSR). Sometimes, the early post-totalitarian phase begins after the removal of the founding dictator, as in the case of Rákos in Hungary. In a few cases, the original totalitarian leader is able to remain in power for a long period, but realizes that society cannot be kept perpetually in motion. The dictator recognizes the need to slow down and to set up more predictable and 85

Hoyt, The Many Faces of Sandinista Democracy, p. 30. It should be noted that he broke with the Sandinistas later, after they lost power.

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institutionalized structures. Castro maintained power during the early and late post-totalitarian periods, while Tito ushered in the early posttotalitarian period. In East Germany, Walter Ulbricht started the early post-totalitarian phase after the Soviet army helped him crush the uprising in 1953. During this early post-totalitarian stage, the Party begins to lose total hegemony as it ceases its war against society. The leaders still do not feel they need the support of society, yet they do feel the need to legitimize their rule, at least to themselves. They still believe to some extent in the ideology; which means that, despite the entrance of opportunists into the Party, the Party-state apparatus cannot be held together merely on the basis of the knowledge that it has the guns. Giuseppe Di Palma uses the term “legitimacy from the top” to emphasize the need for the apparatchiks to believe in their mission even when the regime evolves away from the earlier phase of mass mobilization. According to Di Palma, this form of legitimacy is based on two pillars: (1) the need to fulfill goals, rather than obtain popular support; and (2) the claim to be “guided by a superior truth,” which gives the Party the sole right to interpret the results of its efforts.86 The Party’s monopoly on the interpretation of Truth shows up clearly in the Leninist dogma of the “leading role of the Party.” The notion of the Party as the vanguard of society is “the supreme principle” of communist rule, according to Fehér, Heller, and Márkus.87 This belief that legitimacy comes from ideology rather than popular support is manifest in the comments of former Polish Politburo member Jakub Berman (number two in the Politburo from 1948 to 1956) during an interview. The interviewer, Teresa Toranski, exclaims: What, then! Part of the nation spits on you, the other part curses you, and about 90 per cent doesn’t want you.

Whereupon Berman replies: Well, let’s say 90 per cent, I won’t haggle about percentages. If we were wrong, or if reasons were dreamt up or plucked out of thin air, then of course someone could come along and say it was madness – I agree. But we are right, in the most rational way, and the prospects which I’ve already outlined for you several times were and are real ones, there’s nothing I can do about it. And as to the fact that we were few, and still are, history teaches us that the minority always rescued the majority.88 86 87 88

Di Palma, “Legitimation from the Top,” 57. Ference Fehér, Agnes Heller, and György Márkus, Dictatorship over Needs (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1983). Teresa Toranski, Oni: Stalin’s Polish Puppets, trans. Agnieszka Kolakowska (London: Collins Harvill, 1987), p. 334.

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Georg Brunner notes a similar attitude expressed in an East German textbook from 1970: The party has the advantage over the masses of working people of its insight into the course of social development in accordance with scientific laws. It is the direct bearer of Marxist-Leninist theory. It not only has at its disposal knowledge of the laws of development of socialist society, but also possesses the best preconditions for pushing forward this development under the circumstances prevailing at any particular time.89

Di Palma observes that economic performance plays an especially important role in meeting Party-state goals. As communist leaders dropped their vision of world revolution, they began to justify their rule in non-revolutionary statements about supposed economic superiority. The most famous example is Nikita Khrushchev’s claim that the Soviet Union would surpass the United States by 1970. In East Germany, as Sigrid Meuschel observes, Erich Honecker, when he became general secretary, based his legitimacy on improved living standards: “Material equality and social security became central legitimizing principles for the Party’s domination.”90 When the communist regime replaces mass mobilization with institutionalized structures, and tries to legitimize its rule with economic promises, it enters what Stepan and Linz call the “early post-totalitarian” phase. When Khrushchev initiated some economic reforms and announced that the Soviet Union would soon surpass the US in economic development, the country had clearly entered the early post-totalitarian phase. During this stage, leaders still believe in Marxist-Leninist ideology, and they think that, if the excesses of Stalinist terror are ended and a few adjustments are made, the system will surpass that of the West. Since it is their belief in the ideology that gives them their legitimacy from the top, it makes more sense to use the term “ideological legitimacy.” Di Palma shows that the loss of this legitimacy influences society as well, as the inability of the regime to meet its economic goals encourages intellectuals to begin criticizing the regime. Thus, the ideology is not only meant for the people at “the top.” A further reason to prefer the term “ideological legitimacy” is that the regimes do not merely state their goals in economic terms; they also claim to have a monopoly on Truth, and to be guided by the “correct” and “scientific” ideology of Marxism-Leninism. (Only the regime, therefore, 89

90

Georg Brunner, “Legitimacy Doctrines and Legitimation Procedures in East European Systems,” in T. H. Rigby and Ference Fehér, eds., Political Legitimation in Communist States (London and Basingstoke: Macmillian Press, 1982), p. 30; emphasis in the original. Sigrid Meuschel, Legitimation und Parteiherrshaft in der DDR (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1992), p. 222.

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has the right to make economic decisions.) A third key element, therefore, is that the regime claims it will reach its economic goals by “building socialism” and using Marxism-Leninism to represent the interests of workers and peasants. One reason for the shift in focus – from hegemony based on terror to legitimacy based on economic performance – is the need to attend to the economic sector. Calls for reform after Stalin’s death were due in part to severe shortages of consumer goods, and to severe stagnation in the agrarian sector. In China after the death of Mao, calls for reform came after the economic disasters caused by the Cultural Revolution and the Great Leap Forward. In the USSR, the pressure for economic change was so great that it affected the succession battle after Stalin’s death. Michael Kort notes that the struggle for power itself contributed to the reform process. That Malenkov tried to win public acceptance and support in March 1953 by publicly promising the Soviet people more consumer goods was a landmark in itself.91

In China, the “shock and humiliation” of the Cultural Revolution were so widely felt and open to public scrutiny that the Communist Party and its leadership were forced to admit that there was little to be saved of Maoism. This is why Deng Xiaoping was able to change China so quickly after 1978.92

The temptation facing leaders in the early post-totalitarian phase is not only to protect their own security and to improve the economy, but also to give in to the population’s desire for safety and predictability. Thus they shift their goal from total hegemony to ideological legitimacy, with the emphasis on economic achievement. They further maintain that only institutionalized Party rule can bring about this economic development. The Party consequently bases its rule on its monopoly on Truth, and its exclusive ability to use that monopoly to develop the economy. Early post-totalitarian regimes have also enjoyed rapid economic growth after abolishing the most irrational aspects of totalitarian planning and campaigning. In the USSR, Khrushchev undertook the most ambitious economic reforms since the New Economic Policy (NEP) that Lenin began in the early 1920s. In post-Mao China, Deng carried out an even more dramatic economic transformation, starting in the late 1970s. Both Khrushchev and Deng turned first to the agricultural sector, where rapid productivity gains were made between 1953, and 1958, and 1979, and 91 92

Michael Kort, The Soviet Colossus: The Rise and Fall of the USSR (Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, 1993), p. 234. Chirot, Modern Tyrants, p. 207.

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1984, respectively. Similarly impressive growth occurred in the production of consumer durables.93 They undertook pragmatic economic changes, not substantial political liberalization. In the Soviet Union, the post-Stalin thaw led to a burst of artistic creativity and intellectual expression, as well as to some cautious political activity.94 But many of the old mechanisms of social control (particularly in the workplace) remain intact under post-totalitarianism – meaning that the leadership still enjoys the powers of the old totalitarian state apparatus, even if it exercises them more judiciously. Although Khrushchev and Deng were both economic reformers, they had been politically socialized under Stalinism and Maoism, respectively; acccordingly, they introduced pragmatic economic changes, not far-reaching political liberalization. By contrast, other early post-totalitarian regimes – e.g., Hungary in 1956 and Czechoslovakia in 1968 – liberalized in the political area too. To begin with, economic reforms in both countries began to take on a political character, as hardliners tried to block reformers’ efforts. The triumph of the reformers led to the Hungarian uprising and the “Prague Spring.” Both of these reformist efforts were stopped by Soviet tanks. Without Soviet intervention, a reformist democratization project might have been possible. However, such a project would only have been possible if large portions of the communist leadership had supported it, by being willing to abandon Lenin in the hopes of saving Marx. Thus, in the early post-communist stage, a transition can still take place if (a) a reformcommunist majority emerges within the apparatus and (b) this reform majority believes that the system can gain popular support if it reaches out to the population, and projects a system with a “human face.” Nevertheless, since the leaders still believe in their ideology, they are likely to repress with force an uprising that takes an openly “anti-socialist” character. 93

94

On the USSR, see Alex Nove, An Economic History of the USSR 1917–1991 (London: Penguin, 1992), Chapter 12; on China, see Minxin Pei, From Reform to Revolution: The Demise of Communism in China and the Soviet Union (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1994), Chapter 3. It might be objected that, while the results of these economic reforms were similarly positive, their form was quite different. It is true that China relied more on the growth of private enterprise and on de facto decollectivization in the agricultural sector to increase the supply of consumer goods, while the USSR focused on redirecting state planning to improve efficiency and to meet consumer needs (thus increasing the supply of both foodstuffs and consumer durables). But the chief similarity between Khrushchev’s USSR and Deng’s China is that, in both countries, the ideological commitment to heavy industry and collective farming was relaxed in favor of more consumer goods, while incentives were given to farmers to increase agricultural productivity. Kort, The Soviet Colossus, pp. 235–6 and 250–1.

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Since reformers often emerge during the early post-totalitarian phase, regimes during this period often become more divided. Yet, paradoxically, these early post-totalitarian regimes are also more likely to shoot than late post-totalitarian ones. Frozen regimes may become more united after purging the main reformist factions. By contrast, freezing regimes start to decay internally, causing the majority of their members to stop believing in their ideology. Their leaders are consequently likely to panic, and to become paralyzed when confronted with mass uprisings. Leaders of early post-totalitarian regimes, on the other hand, still believe in their ideology, and still believe that the system can be saved; therefore, they have enough self-confidence to repress uprisings violently. Thus, the concept of early post-totalitarianism helps us understand why Deng – faced with a more divided politburo than his hardline counterparts under freezing post-totalitarianism – was able to save the day in China through decisive leadership, while freezing East European communist regimes collapsed. In post-Mao China, young market-oriented reformers (brought in to reform a moribund economy) sat uneasily beside old orthodox communists who merely wanted to return to the state economic planning of pre-Cultural Revolution days. Such a divided leadership is typical of early post-totalitarianism, as witnessed in the split between the reformists around Khrushchev and the conservative opponents. In the frozen post-totalitarian phrase in Eastern Europe, the failure of earlier reform efforts led to a purge of reformers, creating a united politburo by default. While leaders in Eastern Europe in 1989 by and large no longer believed in the official ideology, in China the orthodox old guard and the military hierarchy could still mobilize because they were from the same revolutionary cohort, among whom ideology still played an important role. They valued political stability and personal safety. Furthermore, while they opposed further market reforms, they acknowledged that economic conditions had improved since Mao’s death. Deng could invoke the still-fresh fears of disorder caused by the Cultural Revolution, while underplaying his own economic-reformist aims.95

95

The recent publication of apparently authentic files (“The Tiananmen Papers”) of secret conversations between top Chinese leaders in the run-up to the crackdown confirms this analysis. These files show Deng’s antipathy to the demonstrators, and demonstrate the split in the Party between political reformers and hardline “elders.” Deng rallied the elders, one of whom warned that “capitalism still wants to beat socialism in the end.” As we shall see below, however, Deng then abandoned the elders by resuming economic reforms. Steven Mufson, “Smuggled Files Reveal Leaders’ Tiananmen Split,” International Herald Tribune, January 8 (2001): pp. 1 and 9.

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Many of the new leaders, including Deng himself, were old-guard communists who had been “rehabilitated.” They were now enthusiastic about the new order, and happy that the totalitarian purges had ended. As members of the old guard that had carried out the revolution, these new leaders still believed in the ideology.96 During the immediate post-Mao period, as Kalpana Misra notes, “within the elite (political leaders as well as the intelligentsia) and its rank-and-file constituency, ideological considerations played a significant role in determining the acceptability of certain policies over others.”97 Deng successfully used Mao’s phrase of “seeking truth from facts” to legitimize his economic reforms.98 “By reminding their audience that seeking truth from facts and stressing practice as the sole criterion of truth were key Maoist slogans, Deng Xiaoping and Chen Yun displayed their political acumen by skillfully employing selective Maoist tenets to discredit other ones.”99 Moreover, Deng was able to use this stress on practice to remove Mao’s appointed successor, Hua, “by stressing actual performance rather than Mao’s charisma as the basis of the leadership’s legitimacy.” It was not surprising that the predominance of the practice theme was followed by the removal of Hua from the chairmanship of the Central Committee.100 In addition to stressing the need to base policies on reality and not just ideology, the reformists reverted back to Marx’s idea of the forces of production.101 Since the country still had not industrialized, the Communist Party had to introduce market reforms in order to develop the forces of production to a level that would make it possible to reach a higher stage of socialism. Thus, at the Party Congress in 1987, the Party leadership defended its reforms on the grounds that China was still in the “primary stage of socialism.”102 In Deng’s words, “The fundamental manifestation of the superiority of socialism lies in its permission for unprecedentedly rapid development of the social productive forces, which was impossible in the old society.”103

96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103

Mark R. Thompson, “To Shoot or Not to Shoot: China and Eastern Europe,” Comparative Politics, 34:1 (2001): 74. Kalpana Misra, From Post-Maoism to Post-Marxism: The Erosion of Official Ideology in Deng’s China (New York and London: Routledge, 1998), p. 8. Feng Chen, Economic Transition and Political Legitimacy in Post-Mao China: Ideology and Reform (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1995), p. 16. Misra, From Post-Maoism, p. 21. Chen, Economic Transition and Political Legitimacy, p. 49. Nick Knight, Imagining Globalisation in China: Debates on Ideology, Politics and Culture (Cheltenham, UK: Edward Elgar, 2008), pp. 91ff. Misra, From Post-Maoism, p. 110. Chen, Economic Transition and Political Legitimacy, p. 59.

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During the early post-totalitarian stage, it is quite common for “revisionist” arguments to emerge among reformers, as in Hungary in 1956 and Czechoslovakia in 1968. In the Chinese case, “Yu Guangyuan argued persuasively that one cannot conceive of Marxism as a science and at the same time grant absolute validity to some of its principles, for science ceases to be science once it begins to be worshipped as a set of eternal truths.”104 The reformist former general secretary Hu Yaobang and his associates argued that “the fundamental principles of Marxism still had real guiding significance, but one could not make ‘absolute concepts’ out of them.”105 Moreover, just as democratic reforms had been discussed in the early post-totalitarian stage in Czechoslovakia (during the Prague Spring) and in Hungary (in 1956), such discussions arose in China as well. To be sure, the proposals that the Chinese leadership suggested were nowhere near as radical. In 1987, the vice president of the National People’s Congress Standing Committee, Chen Pixian, proposed several reforms, among them the inclusion of candidates nominated by more than 10 voters in the primary list, and the requirement that local parties adhere to the principle of multi-candidate elections. Yanqi Tong notes that although it is not known how many people were nominated by group recommendations for the entire country, 90 percent of the people’s congress delegates in Liaoning Province were nominated in this fashion, comprising 66 percent of those elected. Furthermore, in “the Fujian municipality of Ziamen, all four incumbent vice mayors lost their seats to independently nominated local delegates. In the elections in 1987, the offspring of the top leaders, including the sons of Deng Ziaoping and Chen Yun, were defeated.”106 Even if the majority of the Party and state elite seem still to have believed in Marxist-Leninist ideology, by late 1988 some of the more radical reformers were frustrated with the slow pace of reform and the increasing economic problems, such as rising inflation. Feng Cheng observes: “[I]t was not an exaggeration to say that from 1988 to early 1989 China’s reformers’ circle embraced Western property rights economics, whose conceptual framework was soon widely used in the reassessment of China’s state ownership.”107 After the massacre at Tiananmen Square, the radical reformers who favored an open transition to capitalism and democracy were purged, and the new general secretary, Jiang Zemin, 104 106 107

Misra, From Post-Maoism, p. 45. 105 Ibid., p. 46. Yanqi Tong, Transitions from State Socialism: Economic and Political Change in Hungary and China (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 1997), p. 174. Chen, Economic Transition and Political Legitimacy, p. 114–15.

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“stated explicitly . . . that the CCP [Chinese Communist Party] would never allow the private sector to ‘curtail or abolish the predominant position of the state economy.’ The State Council stipulated that staterun enterprises would be given priority access to raw materials, energy, and transportation facilities.”108 Believers in Marxism-Leninism comprised a majority within the leadership, and were thus able to purge the most radical reformists. However, the mere fact that some reformers could dare to advocate privatization and democratic reforms shows that the Chinese Communist Party was beginning to face problems with its ideological legitimacy. These problems grew as the regime moved into its late post-totalitarian phase in the 1990s. Even though the early post-totalitarian period undoubtedly brought about improvements for society, basing legitimacy on economic performance raised problems for communist regimes during this phase. Di Palma writes that “the more general abandonment of salvationist language and the adoption of more mundane middle-range goals opened the way for more articulate citizens to verify whether those goals had been met.”109 This encouraged the opposition to become more critical, and it influenced the rulers as well. When dissidents pointed out that the leaders had not reached their goals (except in China and Vietnam), the latter began to lose confidence in their ability to rule. How could they believe they possessed a monopoly on Truth, when their policies were clearly failing? Consequently, the economic downturn in the mid 1970s set into motion two simultaneous processes: the rulers were weakened by increasing doubt about their own ability to rule, and the members of society were encouraged by the visible cracks in the regimes’ ideological legitimacy. In reaction to these processes, the regimes either went further with their reforms and reached the advanced stage of post-totalitarianism (what Linz and Stepan call “mature post-totalitarianism”), or they dug in their heels and refused to adjust their policies to political and socio-economic realities (so entering what Linz and Stepan call the stage of “frozen posttotalitarianism”).

Freezing post-totalitarianism With the passage of time, the ideological legitimacy of all the communistled regimes eroded. It became increasingly obvious that the regimes would not surpass the West economically, and that their economic goals would not be met. Not only were the Central and East European countries 108

Ibid., p. 158.

109

Di Palma, “Legitimation from the Top,” 61.

Freezing post-totalitarianism

67

8

Growth rates (%)

7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0 1961–5

1966–70

1971–5 Years

1976–80

1981–5

official statistics unofficial statistics

Figure 2.1 Soviet growth rates: official and Khanin’s unofficial estimate Source: Jan Winiecki, “Hur det hela började – orsaker till sovjetekonomiernas sammanbrott,” Ekonomisk Debatt, 6 (1990): 535–45.

falling behind the West, their economies were also declining in real terms. As Figure 2.1 shows, the Soviet Union’s economy had been declining since the mid 1960s. If one uses a more realistic calculation of inflation rates than official statistics admit, one sees that economic growth had basically halted by the time Gorbachev became general secretary of the Soviet Communist Party. Similarly, as Figure 2.2 shows, growth rates began stagnating in Central Europe in the 1980s. If one accepts the common claim that true inflation rates were 2–4 percent higher than the official rates, then these countries essentially showed no growth at all from the mid 1970s.110 As already noted, the stating of economic goals combined with the claim of holding a monopoly on Truth also lays the seeds for the regime’s destruction, as eventually the members of the Party-state no longer themselves believe that their goals can be reached or that they really have a monopoly on Truth. This also encourages intellectuals and other potential members of the opposition to question the Party’s claims, as the failed economic policies make it clear that the Party cannot possibly have a 110

Steven Saxonberg, The Fall: A Comparative Study of the End of Communism in Czechoslovakia, East Germany, Hungary and Poland (Amsterdam/London: Harwood Academic/Routledge, 2001), pp. 67–9.

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10% 8% 6% 4% 2% 0 1970–5

1975–80

1980–5

1985–9

USSR GDR Hungary Poland

Figure 2.2 Real per capita growth rates (official statistics) Source: United Nations, Handbook of International Trade and Development Statistics 1989 (New York: UN, 1990).

monopoly on Truth. These developments also encourage members of society to demand a “return to normalcy” after society begins recovering from the initial totalitarian onslaught. Meanwhile, international factors (such as the the invasion of Czechoslovakia) make it obvious that “socialist internationalism” is just an empty phrase for power politics. Having lost their ideological legitimacy, the regimes try to get the population to pragmatically accept the notion that, given the external and internal constraints they face, they are performing “reasonably well.” The type of pragmatic acceptance the regimes develop depends on how they frame their social contract, which is also connected to the institutional constraints under which they must operate. The more the regime loses its ideological legitimacy, the more it must rely on its pragmatic acceptance, and the farther it moves beyond the early post-totalitarian phase. Not only do communist regimes become progressively more dependent on their pragmatic acceptance, but the type of pragmatic acceptance the regimes have influences their ability to act vis-à-vis society. Regimes with a reformist, pragmatic acceptance find it much easier to mature, and to take the initiative for institutional change when they are faced with a revolutionary situation. Thus, they are able to take preemptive action in order to prevent a likely uprising. Regimes with a conservative pragmatic acceptance generally go through a freezing process, which leaves them paralyzed when faced with an uprising. Most likely,

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therefore, they prove unable to use the necessary force to crush the rebellion, and so lose power. In the case of the East European countries, the main constraint was the Soviet Union, which could and did intervene on many occasions. The manner in which the regimes defended themselves after Soviet interference strongly affected their pragmatic acceptance. Sometimes it allowed a more reformist development, toward mature post-totalitarianism; at other times it forced a more conservative development, toward frozen posttotalitarianism. In other countries, the policy legacies of the rulers created their own constraints. Despite the increased repression that follows the abandonment of early post-totalitarian reform efforts, autonomous political and social groups emerge, as will be discussed in Chapter 4. In contrast to the early posttotalitarian Chinese regime, the freezing regimes in East Germany and Czechoslovakia in 1989 gave up rather than shoot demonstrators. These freezing regimes were under the domination of aging, hardline leaders who had long since lost their ideological legitimacy, and who no longer believed in the system or in their ability to rule.111 Even those who still believed in the system could not be sure of gaining support from other sectors of the Party-state apparatus. Unable to work out a strategy for suppressing the opposition, and unable to count on backup support or guidance from the Soviet Union, they threw in the towel. A more detailed discussion follows below of how conservative pragmatic acceptance led to freezing regimes in Czechoslovakia, East Germany, and the Soviet Union. Czechoslovakia With their invasion of Czechoslovakia on August 21, 1968, Warsaw Pact troops ended dreams of “socialism with a human face” and caused a national trauma. Whereas Soviet troops had crushed an uprising in East Germany in 1953, this time they crushed the country’s own communist leadership. Although the Kremlin faced much more opposition than originally expected, it was eventually able to depose Alexander Dubček and to replace him with Gustáv Husák, a former reformist turned opportunist. The new leadership justified the invasion as an attempt to save the country from “bourgeois” economic reforms. Thus, the new leaders based their pragmatic acceptance on the notion that they had come to power to prevent a return to capitalism. In a speech in September 1969, Husák accused the reform communists of being “right-wing 111

See the accounts in Timothy Garton Ash, We the People: The Revolution of ’89 Witnessed in Warsaw, Budapest, Berlin & Prague (London: Granta Books, 1990).

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opportunists” and “petty bourgeois.” One Czechoslovak book on political economy attacked the Prague Spring reformers for “idealizing the market” and being “against socialist ownership of the means of production.”112 Ota Šik, the architect of the economic reforms, concluded: “The entire campaign conducted against the revisionists in the CSSR is based solely on the accusation that these people wanted to eliminate socialism and reintroduce capitalism.”113 Since the new rulers based their pragmatic acceptance on the need to preserve the orthodox system from a reversion to capitalism, any attempts at political or even economic reform raised doubts about their right to rule. The argument that the Dubček regime had been planning to restore capitalism was hardly convincing, but the population could still pragmatically acknowledge that the USSR was not going to let them reform the system. So long as old, orthodox men sat in the Kremlin, and so long as the Husák regime could offer rising living standards as compensation, the system remained relatively stable. Because the invasion crushed the regime’s ideological legitimacy, the country started freezing. Workers had rallied against the invasion and occupied factories, so the newly installed leaders could no longer expect citizens to believe the regime was acting on behalf of the working class, or that it was building socialism. It was forced to be more loyal to the Soviet Union than to any noble goals. Nevertheless, the regime was able to gain some amount of pragmatic acceptance by limiting the degree of repression. Although the “normalization” period entailed severe repression, nobody was executed, and it was now more common to demote people to less qualified jobs than to sentence them to prison. Prison sentences were also shorter than they had been during the era of the Stalinist show trials of the early 1950s. Meanwhile, the regime was able to buy off the population in the early 1970s by allowing an increase in consumer goods production. (The regime maintained the investment priorities of the Prague Spring reformers, who moved some investment from heavy industry to consumer goods. The “normalizers” revoked the other reforms, however, such as price liberalization and decentralization.)114 In the late 1970s, however, the economy entered a downturn (from which the regime 112 113 114

Miloslav Fremer et al., Základy politické ekonomie (Prague: Nakladatelství svoboda, 1984), p. 439. Ota Šik, The Communist Power System, trans. Marianne Grund (Freidberg & New York: Praeger, 1981), p. 114. For discussions of this, see for example Jirˇi Kende, Ziele, Problem und Strategien der Wirtschaftspolitik zu Beginn der 80er Jahre (Berlin: Osteuropa-Institut, 1982), p. 3; Jirˇi Kosta, Sozialistische Planwirtschaft: Theorie und Praxis (Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag, 1974); and Friedrich Levcik, “Czechoslovakia: Economic Performance in the

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would never recover), and the regime now it found difficult to get the public to pragmatically accept its rule. Surveys taken in the 1980s show the regime’s lack of ideological legitimacy. One survey showed that only a minority of Party functionaries thought citizens had a chance to express their opinions openly in society; a quarter of Party members and candidates thought the same; and fewer than one in ten non-members shared this opinion.115 The results in the rest of the survey were similar. It bears stressing here that, even if Party members and Party functionaries were less critical than the population at large, they too were unhappy with the system. A study by the Czech political scientist Vladimíra Dvořáková also found that not many Party members believed in the official ideology.116 Perhaps the lack of faith in ideology is best exemplified by the words of former Vice Prime Minister Ladislav Gerle who, when asked whether he still considered himself a communist, replied: “What do you mean by Communist? If you mean Communist as in the textbooks, then I have never met a Communist.”117 Similarly, according to a former researcher at the Central Committee’s Institute for Foreign Affairs, Bil’ak was the only Politburo member with any ideological convictions. The other members were administrators rather than politicians – grey people without any ideas of their own. It was too dangerous to have any ideas or to try to fight for them.118 Another example of the decline of ideology can be seen in the fact that Oskar Krejcˇí, who was the main political advisor to the last communist prime minister, Ladislav Adamec, proudly writes that most of Adamec’s advisors were non-Communists.119 He adds that the regime, in general, had lost its “ideological orientation.”120 This gives another indication of the leadership’s lack of ideological conviction. Thus, by the time Gorbachev came to power, the freezing regime had lost all ideological legitimacy. The economic crisis, along with Gorbachev’s statements that he would no longer veto reforms, removed any reason for the population to give its pragmatic approval. Czechoslovak communist leaders, moreover, were even more dependent on the USSR than their East German counterparts (the most influential among them having come to power with the help of Soviet tanks). Once Gorbachev

115 116 117 119 120

Post-Reform Period and Prospects for the 1980s,” in East European Economic Assessment Part 1: Country Studies 1980, a compendium of papers submitted to the IEC Congress of the United States on February 27, 1981. Jolana Babu˚ rková, Záveˇ rečna správa: “Nazory občanu˚ ČSSR na vedoucí úlohu KSČ,” (Prague: Institut pro výzkum verˇejného míneˇ ni, 1989), p. 21. Vladimíra Dvořáková, “Transition to Democracy in the Czech Republic,” unpublished manuscript, Prague Economic University (1993). Saxonberg, The Fall, p. 159. 118 Ibid., pp. 159–60. Oskar Krejčí, Proč to prasklo, aneb hovory o demokracii a “sametové revoluci”, (Prague: Trio, 1991), p. 64. Krejčí, Proč to prasklo, p. 10.

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launched his reforms, therefore, the rulers could no longer claim to be in power to prevent reforms, or argue that all reforms lead to capitalism. Moreover, two other factors emerged that would have threatened the regime’s pragmatic acceptance, even if the Soviet Union had continued to demand orthodoxy. First, the continuous economic decline of the 1980s convinced the population that the regime was not even performing reasonably well given the external constraints. This can be seen in the increasingly critical attitudes expressed in public opinion surveys.121 According to one Slovak opinion survey, for instance, the percentage of those who judged economic conditions to be “predominately positive” had fallen from 76 percent in 1975 to just 17 percent in 1989.122 To make matters worse, the new general secretary of the Communist Party, Miloš Jakeš, was the butt of many jokes about his lack of intelligence. Czechs and Slovaks were ashamed of him, and few believed he was the best leader that they could hope for. Nor did Czechs and Slovaks believe any longer – now that Gorbachev had removed the external constraints – that they had to accept the orthodox order pragmatically. Once again, then, a situation had arisen where the people were no longer willing to pragmatically accept the regime. The leadership, finally, was frozen, unable to adjust to the new situation.

East Germany On June 17, 1953, hundreds of thousands of workers revolted in protest against increased work norms. The Red Army quickly crushed the uprising, securing the iron hold of General Secretary Walter Ulbricht over the country. Without the Soviet intervention, Ulbricht would probably have lost power, as he no longer enjoyed the support of the East German Politburo. Soviet tanks saved him, however, and sent the country an important message: after two world wars with Germany, in which tens of millions of Soviet citizens had died, the USSR would not tolerate any experiments that might loosen its control over the GDR, and perhaps lead eventually to a unified German state. Moscow, therefore, supported Ulbricht, the most orthodox of the potential East German leaders. The population was forced into a posture of pragmatic acceptance. It had become clear, namely, that the Soviet Union would use violence to prevent any deviation from orthodoxy. 121

122

The results of some of these surveys are presented in Saxonberg, The Fall, Chapter 3. These surveys were carried out at the time, but their results only became publicly available after the fall of the old regime. Babu˚ rková, Záveˇ rečna správa, p. 14.

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Ulbricht based his pragmatic acceptance on two notions: that Germany had to become the Soviet Union’s most faithful ally; and that no experiment would be tolerated if it deviated too far from standard orthodoxy. Thus, the country became a bastion of conservatism. Nevertheless, although the regime had to get the public to pragmatically accept its power, it still had some amount of ideological legitimacy, as the rulers and Party-state apparatus clearly still believed in the ideology, as did large sections of the intelligentsia and the working class.123 It is rather unusual for a regime to try to gain pragmatic acceptance at such an early stage, when ideology still ranks high in importance. Pragmatic acceptance usually becomes more important once a regime has lost its ideological legitimacy. In all of the countries considered here, this is a somewhat parallel process, in which post-totalitarian regimes first try to obtain ideological legitimacy, and then eventually start emphasizing pragmatic acceptance as the ideology wears thin. In the East German case, the division of the country played a special role. It made it easier for the uprising to occur in 1953, as German workers could hope for West German support, and talk abounded of the Soviet Union possibly allowing East and West Germany to unite. While the Red Army eventually crushed the uprising and propped up Ulbricht, the regime still enjoyed a fair degree of legitimacy among the population. The fact that those who were highly critical of the regime could leave for the West with relative ease (up until the Berlin Wall was built in 1961) indicates that the regime was still reasonably legitimate in the eyes of its citizens. Apparently, it did not fear any mass exoduses (as occurred later, in 1989). At the time, ideological legitimacy was more important than pragmatic acceptance. After the crushing of the 1953 uprising, however, the East German regime began to lose its ideological legitimacy, and orthodox pragmatic acceptance emerged as the regime’s guiding light. From 1953 until 1970, when Erich Honecker came to power, the East German regime behaved rather typically for an early post-totalitarian regime. As in the Soviet Union, Hungary, Poland and Czechoslovakia, economic reforms appeared on the agenda in the 1960s, even if the reforms worked out by the Party’s economic secretary, Günter Mittag, were fairly minor compared to those in Hungary and Czechoslovakia at the time.124 In addition, the New Economic System lasted a very short

123 124

This will be discussed in more detail in Chapter 3. For a discussion of these reforms, see Włodzimierz Brus,Östeuropas ekonomiska historia efter 1945, trans. Gunnar Sandin (Lund: Liber förlag, 1981), pp. 185–93; and Ian Jeffries, “Industrial Reform in Historical Perspective,” in Jeffries, ed., Industrial Reform in Socialist Countries: From Restructuring to Revolution (Aldershot: Edward Elgar, 1992), pp. 18–19.

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time. In 1971, Honecker put an end to it, just a few years after it had been introduced. Honecker was able to come to power in 1970 and end the economic reforms because in that year, Ulbricht had dared to act contrary to his pragmatic acceptance, by questioning Soviet foreign policy and openly criticizing Leonid Brezhnev’s attempts to arrange a meeting between the prime ministers of East and West Germany, Willi Stroph and Willy Brandt. His criticism of Brandt’s Ostpolitik cost him his position. The following year, with the consent of the Kremlin, Honecker replaced Ulbricht as general secretary.125 To make it clear that he would continue to pursue the regime’s pragmatic acceptance based on the need to uphold orthodoxy, Honecker quickly demoted Mittag, the man behind the economic reforms.126 Orthodoxy was again restored and the regime began to freeze. At first, Honecker was able to raise living standards by shifting resources toward light industry and making social investments in areas like housing.127 He was accordingly able to conclude a kind of social contract with the population, wherein East Germans would pragmatically accept the Soviet Union’s demands for political and economic orthodoxy – including a very centralized economic-administrative system based on a command economy – in exchange for economic well-being. Not only did social investments increase, but East Germany could still boast the highest living standards in the Soviet bloc. While the communist leadership was neither charismatic nor beloved, the population could still pragmatically accept it on the grounds that it was administering the country rather efficiently and without corruption. Nevertheless, by the 1980s, the growing economic crisis made it difficult for the regime to claim that it was

125

126

127

William E. Griffith, “The German Democratic Republic,” in Griffith, ed., Central and Eastern Europe: The Opening Curtain? (Boulder: Westview Press, 1989), p. 316; Thomas Neumann, Die Maßnahme: Eine Herrschaftsgeschichte der SED (Hamburg: Rowohlt, 1991), p. 145; and Michael Simmons, The Unloved Country: A Portrait of East Germany Today (London: Abacus, 1989), pp. 5–6. In contrast, Charles S. Maier emphasizes the importance of the failure of economic reforms for Ulbricht’s ultimate fall; but this remains a minority opinion. See his Dissolution: The Crisis of Communism and the End of East Germany (Princeton University Press, 1997), p. 92. Mittag later repented. As a reward, he was eventually made Honecker’s economic guru. Although he developed a reputation as one of the most dogmatic economists within the Soviet bloc, he claims in his memoirs that he continued to favor reform, but was unable to advocate it openly during Honecker’s reign. For Mittag’s view of these events, see Günter Mittag, Um jeden Preis: Im Spannungsfeld zweier Systeme (Berlin and Weimar: Aufbau-Verlag, 1991). See, for example, Jan N. Lorenzen, Erich Honecker: Eine Biographie (Hamburg: Rowohlt, 2001), pp. 122ff.

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doing reasonably well, and the leadership became aware that the country was heading toward economic collapse. When Gorbachev came to power, as East Germany continued down the road to economic ruin, Honecker faced a dilemma. His pragmatic acceptance rested on his being a guardian of orthodoxy, and the Kremlin’s most loyal ally. Ulbricht had lost power to Honecker precisely because he had challenged Moscow’s control over East German foreign policy. Consequently, the most famous slogan in the GDR became: “Learn from the Soviet Union.” Yet, the Soviet Union was now advocating reforms. Thus, Honecker was in a no-win situation. If he continued to “learn from the Soviet Union,” he would have to carry out radical reforms and admit that the hardline, orthodox position he had represented all his life had been a mistake. But if everything he had stood for had been a mistake, why then should the population pragmatically accept his rule? On the other hand, if he turned his back on Moscow and persisted in his orthodoxy, the population would have no reason to accept his rule on the pragmatic grounds that the Kremlin would not allow more reformist policies. Honecker chose the latter alternative, and turned his back on the Soviet Union. He dug in his heels and introduced even more orthodox policies, which went under the banner of his “re-ideologization” campaign. His anti-Gorbachev stance went so far that he even banned Soviet publications on several occasions.128 He also toughened his stance toward the opposition and in the process alienated the people, who were no longer willing to pragmatically accept that they could hope for nothing better than orthodoxy.129 Although no national public opinion polls were taken, polls of East German youth show substantially increased disillusionment with the regime during the 1980s.130 The dissatisfied citizens rebelled, either by leaving the country or by attending demonstrations. In the meantime Honecker, who had based his pragmatic acceptance on conditions that no longer existed, remained frozen in the past, without guidance as to how to act in the new situation. After a long period of paralysis, he was forced to resign.131 Eventually his predecessors, who were nearly as paralyzed as he had been, agreed to share power by setting up a round

128

129 130 131

Jan Wielgohs and Marianne Schultz, “Reformbewegung und Volksbewegung: Politische und soziale Aspekte im Umbruch der DDR-Gesellschaft,” Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte, no. 16–17 B (1990): 16, fn. 7. For details, see Saxonberg, The Fall. Walter Friedrich, “Mentalitätswandlungen der Jugend in der DDR,” Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte, no. B 16–17 (1990): 25–37. For an analysis of this, see Steven Saxonberg, “Regime Behavior in 1989: Czechoslovakia, East Germany, Hungary, Poland,” Problems of Post-Communism, 47: 4 (2000).

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table where they could rule together with the opposition and to negotiate conditions for free elections.

The Soviet Union from Brezhnev to Chernenko The Soviet Union is the only case so far of a country that has gone through both a freezing and a maturing phase of post-totalitarianism. Since it was the country with the longest experience of communist rule, it was easier for a new generation of reformers eventually to emerge for the simple reason that the country experienced more generations of communist rule than any other country. While the Brezhnev generation (including Yuri Andropov and Konstantin Chernenko) remained frozen in its own conservative policy legacy,132 a third generation of reformers was able to come to power after it died out. Brezhnev was trapped in a conservative legacy. He had come to power in order to end Khrushchev’s experiments, which had threatened “the security of tenure of Soviet officials.”133 He therefore set about immediately to undo Khrushchev’s political and economic reforms. He eliminated the newly created regional economic councils, and reinstated the central economic ministries.134 He also reversed Khrushchev’s cultural thaw, by tightening censorship and increasing control over cultural expression. Yet a large section of society was willing passively to accept this freezing of cultural life, in return for material gain. It could accept this because the system’s ideological legitimacy was still strong, and because Brezhnev – while more repressive than Khrushchev – was a far cry from Stalin. In addition, as Seweryn Bialer notes, Brezhnev’s policies raised living standards for the peasantry and large numbers of workers during the 1960s.135 Despite Brezhnev’s initial successes in improving living standards, his conservative policies laid the basis for economic decline. Already by the late 1960s – nearly a decade before the rest of the Soviet bloc – growth rates began declining. By 1976, unofficial calculations by Soviet economists showed that real growth rates had fallen below 1 percent.136 During 132

133 134 135 136

The term “policy legacy” comes from Margaret Weir and Theda Skocpol, “State Structures and the Possibilities for ‘Keynesian’ Responses to the Great Depression in Sweden, Britain, and the United States,” in Peter B. Evans, Dietrich Rueschemeyer and Theda Skocpol, eds., Bringing the State Back In (Cambridge University Press, 1985), pp. 107–68. Archie Brown, The Gorbachev Factor (Oxford University Press, 1997), p. 3. Philip G. Roeder, Red Sunset: The Failure of Soviet Politics (Princeton University Press, 1993), pp. 168ff. Seweryn Bialer, The Soviet Paradox: External Expansion, Internal Decline (London: I. B. Tauris, 1986), Chapter 1. Jan Winiecki, “Hur det hela började – orsaker till sovjetekonomiernas sammanbrott,” Ekonomisk Debatt, 6 (1990): 542.

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the 1970s, moreover, the ideological legitimacy of the system declined sharply. This period later became known in the USSR as the “period of stagnation.” Thus, the frozen phase arose during the Brezhnev era, before the system was ripe for collapse; the very policies of this era caused the economic crisis that brought Gorbachev to power and provoked his attempts at glasnost and perestroika. As Bialer wrote in 1986, “Brezhnev’s rule was both a source and an example of unprecedented stability and a major contributing factor to the prospects of destabilization and trouble which the regime faces now.”137 To be sure, the loss of ideological legitimacy was not total. Top rulers, including Gorbachev, still seemed to think the system was reformable, at least until perestroika started faltering in the late 1980s. Nevertheless, it seems that when Gorbachev took over, persons in lower positions still believed in Marxist-Leninist ideology. David Kotz goes so far as to claim that, when the Soviet Union eventually did collapse, pressure from below had little impact. It was instead the communist elite that brought about the change, since by “the 1980s ideology had long since ceased to have any real significance for most of the Soviet elite.”138 Of course, it is difficult to prove exactly who stopped believing in the ideology, or when. Still, Di Palma’s argument about legitimacy based on economic performance suggests that most of the elite had good reason to stop believing by the late 1970s. While noting that a far-reaching process had been taking place, in which elites became increasingly critical of the system, Kotz observes that glasnost “freed [economists and intellectuals] to state their true beliefs.”139 He further observes that, by 1991, a questionnaire put to Soviet and British economists showed that 95 percent of the Soviet economists agreed that “the market is the best mechanism to regulate economic life,” as compared with only 66 percent of their British counterparts!140 Kotz also cites statistics showing that most of the people who took over large state enterprises or founded new private enterprises were former managers of state enterprises.141 According to Kotz, most cadres within the Party-state apparatus stopped believing over the course of the 1970s. By the time perestroika unleashed an open debate, the disillusionment had reached the top of the elite. For a while, Brezhnev could compensate for this loss of ideological legitimacy by getting the leadership and population to pragmatically 137 138 139

Bialer, The Soviet Paradox, p. 41. David Kotz with Fred Weir, Revolution from Above: The Demise of the Soviet System (London: Routledge, 1997), p. 6. Kotz, Revolution from Above, p. 70. 140 Ibid., p. 71. 141 Ibid., pp. 117ff.

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accept its rule based on having pride in becoming a full-fledged superpower. As Janos remarks: In view of Gorbachev’s habit of dismissing the Brezhnev years as a period of stagnation, it is important to reiterate Bialer’s view that in their own terms these Soviet policies represented a major success. It was during these years that the Soviet Union emerged as a full-fledged global power by acquiring nuclear parity with the US, reaching and maintaining conventional military superiority in Europe, and developing a naval capability to project its military might to faraway corners of the world.142

However, the disastrous military results in Afghanistan, together with the failure of Soviet weaponry in clashes in such places as the Middle East, revealed the country’s military weakness vis-à-vis the West.143 The combination of economic, technological, and military decline deprived the Soviet leadership of its pragmatic conservative acceptance, and opened the door to a new generation of reformers who sought to “thaw” the frozen regime, and to bring it into a mature stage of post-totalitarianism. This example shows that Linz and Stepan’s typology need not imply that all regimes follow a linear pattern. Both Hungary and China began maturing in the economic sphere, even while sticking to more orthodox policies in the political sphere, although Hungary eventually began initiating liberalizing, maturing policies in the political sphere as well. Meanwhile, the Soviet Union was able to reverse its path, emerging from years of freezing stagnation to start maturing when Gorbachev came to power. As Archie Brown reminds us, no explanation of Gorbachev’s sudden reforms can ignore the importance of his extraordinary personality.144 Yet, while the “Gorbachev factor” must be taken into account in any explanation, it is not enough. Within the Soviet bloc,“revolutionary” reforms were initially possible only within the USSR itself. János Kádár, for example, felt he had to scale back economic reforms in the 1970s in order to avoid Soviet censure. The radical changes led by Imre Pozsgay would have been unthinkable without the precedent set by Gorbachev and his “Sinatra doctrine,” according to which the countries of Eastern Europe would be allowed to do things “their way.” At the outset, the freedom of action needed for undertaking major reforms existed only in the Soviet Union itself. 142 143

144

Andrew Janos, “Social Science, Communism, and the Dynamics of Political Change,” World Politics, 43:1 (1991): 98. Daniel Chirot, “What Happened in Eastern Europe in 1989?” in Daniel Chirot, ed., The Crisis of Leninism and the Decline of the Left: The Revolutions of 1989 (Seattle: University of Washington State, 1991), pp. 3–32. Brown, The Gorbachev Factor.

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Maturing post-totalitarianism Hungary On October 23, 1956, a crowd gathered in Budapest, chanting its support for the disposed prime minister, Imre Nagy. The reformist leader had lost power in an internal power struggle over the previous year. When the crowd grew to several hundred thousand, party leaders panicked. The policies they pursued, moreover, were contradictory: they asked the USSR to send in troops, but they also brought back Nagy as prime minister. Meanwhile, several thousand insurgents took up arms. On October 25, Kádár replaced the hardline Ernö Gerö as party general secretary. By the end of the week, Nagy announced the formation of a multiparty cabinet, as well as the intention of the government to leave the Warsaw Pact. Soviet troops crossed the border the next day. On the evening of the 25th, Kádár announced that the old Communist Party had been dissolved, and a new one – the Hungarian Socialist Workers’ Party – had been formed. In his first speech, he gave unequivocal support to the uprising, and insisted that Hungary had to maintain its independence. He then disappeared to the Soviet Union for a few days. When he returned, he set up a new government.145 Virtually all analyses of these events conclude that the Kremlin decided to intervene because of Nagy’s intention to withdraw from the Warsaw Pact.146 Moscow was not pleased either with the discussion about 145

146

This account is based mainly on two books by Miklós Molnár: Budapest 1956: A History of the Hungarian Revolution, trans. Jennetta Ford (London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd, 1971); and From Béla Kun to János Kádár: Seventy Years of Hungarian Communism, trans. Arnold J. Pomerans (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1987). See, for example, Michael Waller, The End of the Communist Power Monopoly (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 1994), p. 123. See also Ferenc A. Váli, Rift and Revolt in Hungary: Nationalism versus Communism (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press 1961), p. 364. Váli criticizes the usual account. He claims that Nagy only announced Hungary’s departure from the Warsaw Pact after the invasion had already started. It was only then that Nagy said that the USSR had violated the rules of the Warsaw Pact, so that Hungary no longer had to abide by it. Nevertheless, in contrast to the movement in Czechoslovakia in 1968, the uprising that brought Nagy to power was clearly nationalist in nature, and a threat to Soviet dominance. Váli also notes that, at the first meeting of the students who started the revolt, the demand was put forward for a “re-examination of Hungary’s relations with the Soviet Union under the principle of equality”; ibid., p. 266. The new Nagy–Kádár government declared, after the first Central Committee meeting on October 26, that it would “create a free country of prosperity, independence and socialist democracy.” It would negotiate with the USSR “on the basis of independence, complete equality, and non-interference in one another’s internal affairs”; ibid., p. 288. Such statements amounted to a declaration of independence from the Soviet Union, even if they left open the possibility of reforming the Warsaw Pact rather than leaving it.

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introducing multiparty democracy. Kádár learned his lesson: his country had to pursue a pro-Soviet foreign policy, regardless of what he thought personally. Consequently, he reluctantly participated in the invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968.147 Kádár thus built his pragmatic acceptance on the notion that Nagy could not remain in power because he challenged Soviet security interests. Kádár became the country’s leader in order to guarantee that Hungary would remain a reliable Soviet ally on foreign policy issues. Since the intervention was justified on foreign policy grounds, he enjoyed some leeway in the domestic sphere (although political reforms had to fall short of allowing democratic elections). Kádár took advantage of this opportunity by introducing far-reaching market reforms in the late 1960s. During the following decade, he started liberalizing cultural life. By the 1980s, his country had the most liberal policies within the Soviet bloc on travel and culture, and the most open political debates.148 As former Economic Secretary Rezso´´ Nyers puts it, the price for Kádár’s relative independence in domestic and economic affairs was his loyal support for Soviet foreign policy.149 Thus, Kádár established a reformist pragmatic acceptance upon which a new generation of radical reformers could build when they ousted him in 1988. Again, the population’s acceptance of Kádár was pragmatic. Although Hungarians did not support the invasion of either Hungary or Czechoslovakia, they were pragmatically willing – given the geopolitical realities – to accept a pro-Soviet foreign policy and continued one-party rule, in return for rising living standards, economic reforms, and a degree

147

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Kádár met with Dubček before the invasion in an attempt to convince him to moderate his policies in order to placate the angry Russian bear. But the Czechoslovak leader did not take his indirect hint. Gomułka’s former interpreter claims, moreover, that Kádár opposed intervention in Czechoslovakia in 1968; see Erwin Weit, At the Red Summit: Interpreter behind the Iron Curtain (New York: MacMillan 1971), pp. 193–217. Weit claims it was the Polish and East German leaders who most actively supported intervention. On August 17, four days before the invasion, Kádár had a meeting with Dubček. Most Western observers have assumed that Kádár tried to warn Dubček at this meeting, so that the latter could avert an invasion by moderating his policies. Dubček himself claimed, however, that his Hungarian colleague gave no indication of the impending invasion during their talks. See Alexander Dubček, En självbiografi, ed. by Jiri Hochman, trans. Lars Olov Skeppholm (Sweden, Wahlström & Widstrand, 1993), p. 216. However, knowledgeable Hungarians with whom I have spoken assume that Kádár did indeed hint at the problems, but could not refer to them directly. They conclude that Dubček was so naïve about the USSR that he did not understand Kádár’s hints. Interviews with Tibor Hajdu (former employee of the Party archives and employee at the Central Committee Department for Economic Policy, as well as Agriprop) and Györffy Tibor (former editor of Background, a magazine in Hungarian for the nomenklatura, and also former editor at the Hungarian news agency MTI); both interviewed on March 12, 1993. For a discussion, see Saxonberg, The Fall, Chapter 6. 149 Interviewed April 8, 1993.

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of liberalization. The Hungarian sociologist Elemér Hankiss described the population’s pragmatic acceptance as follows: the population renounced its rights to power and participation and, in exchange, got a relatively relaxed social-cultural atmosphere, a relatively tolerant administration (by East European standards), a cease-fire on the ideological front, a consensual rhetoric instead of an aggressive and inquisitive one, a kind of cultural pluralism, and the opportunity to build for themselves a more comfortable, West European style of material life.150

Thus, Kádár and his successors developed reformist identities based on the notion that they would go as far with political and economic reforms as the Soviet Union would allow, thus bringing the country into a stage of mature post-communism. When Gorbachev came to power and removed most of the external constraints, it was much easier for the Hungarian communists to build on their reformist identity and start negotiating with the opposition than it was for their East German and Czechoslovakian comrades, who had built their pragmatic acceptance on the need to preserve orthodoxy. This helps explain the contrast between the paralysis of the frozen regimes and the ability of mature post-totalitarian and failed totalitarian regimes to take positive action. Yet Kádár became an obstacle during his last years in office, rather than a motor for change. He was still linked to a more limited reformist pragmatic acceptance than his younger colleagues, who were not implicated in the great repression of the leaders of the 1956 uprising, or in the need to prevent multiparty democracy. His lesson from 1956 was that independence from the USSR and multiparty democracy are “counter-revolutionary.” The younger reformers were less constrained by the repression of the 1956 uprising. Instead, they were better able to utilize the reformist aspect of the Party’s pragmatic acceptance, according to which reforms would be pushed to the limit of what the Soviets would allow. Then, with the great expansion of these limits under Gorbachev, the younger generation went on the offensive, deposing Kádár in 1988. Shortly thereafter, the new reformist leadership started negotiating with the opposition.

Poland Poland represents a special case, inasmuch as the regime in that country never succeeded in installing the full totalitarian Stalinist model. By its nature, a failed totalitarian regime cannot be as repressive as a formerly 150

Elemér Hankiss, “Demobilization, Self-Mobilization and Quasi-Mobilization in Hungary, 1948–1987,” East European Politics and Societies, 3:1 (1989): 116.

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successful totalitarian one. This makes it easier for a reformist regime to emerge. Nevertheless, since the regime wants to become totalitarian, reformists do not automatically come to power. In the case of Poland, the Soviets pressured the Politburo to arrest its original leader, Władysław Gomułka, and to replace him with a hardliner. Hardliners too faced repression, as the Soviet Union demanded that persons of Jewish heritage be purged. Thus, the regime initiated a wave of terror that came close to the ideal-type totalitarian model, although it did not go as far as other communist regimes in repressing the Church or in collectivizing agriculture. Opposition from the Church, from religious Poles, and from the large peasant population were among the factors which forced the regime to make concessions to society even during its Stalinist phase. Nevertheless, the Party was eventually able to develop a reformist pragmatic acceptance in response to open Soviet threats. Although the country never suffered a Soviet invasion, on two occasions the regime felt threatened: (1) during the worker protests in 1956; and (2) during the Solidarnos´c´ uprising in 1980–1. The events in 1956 began with a strike in Poznan´ , which grew into mass demonstrations. After the Soviets openly threatened an invasion, the regime crushed the strike. At the same time, however, it tried to appease the population by bringing back the reformer Władysław Gomułka to the Politburo. The Soviet Central Committee sent a delegation to the Polish Politburo to criticize this decision, because it feared Gomułka might become another Tito. Despite the Soviet pressure, however, the Polish Politburo chose Gomułka as the new general secretary of the Party. Gomułka’s falling-out with the hardliners gave Polish citizens the hope that he would liberalize the country. At the same time, the threatened invasion and the presence of a Soviet delegation during his election highlighted the external constraints. Gomułka himself was in a bind. On the one hand, he needed to maintain his reformist image to stay popular and to increase his chances of maintaining power against Soviet wishes. (He could rely on the knowledge that the Politburo did not want to provoke more mass protests by firing him again.) On the other hand, he also had to keep reforms within certain limits, so as to keep his Soviet masters satisfied. At first Gomułka built on his reformist image. He stopped collectivization, eased censorship, established multi-candidate electoral constituencies, reached an accommodation with the Church, and supported the formation of worker councils.151 Thus, the populace was willing to 151

The account here is based on Chris Harman, Class Struggles in Eastern Europe 1945–83, 2nd edn. (London and Sydney: Pluto Press, 1983), Chapter 6; Ray Taras, Ideology in a

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pragmatically accept his rule on the assumption that he would allow Poland to be a relatively open society (by Stalinist standards). After consolidating his power, however, Gomułka took an increasingly conservative position – especially in the economic sphere, where he took steps to limit the influence of the worker councils.152 His policies also become increasingly repressive, culminating in the 1968 purge of Jews from all leading positions in society. Although Gomułka did not meet the expectations that he would play the role of a radical reformer, he still enjoyed a reformist image behind which he could hide. Despite an increase in repression, Poland continued to be the most open of the Soviet bloc countries until the Prague Spring. Even Gomułka’s more conservative turn could be justified to some extent on the assumption that he had to placate his Soviet superiors, who had viewed his rise to power with skepticism. Ray Taras remarks that, since Gomułka enjoyed great popularity, and since he also came to power against the will of the USSR, he must have faced more pressure than Kádár did to tone down his reformism.153 Nevertheless, Gomułka created a reformist legacy on which his predecessors could build. His reformist legacy also made it dangerous for him to become too conservative as his pragmatic acceptance was based on the belief that he was liberalizing society as much as the USSR would allow. Anti-reformist actions, such as his crackdown on intellectuals in 1968, cost him support among intellectuals. Then he lost the support of workers when he arrogantly raised food prices right before Christmas in 1970. The ensuing demonstrations forced him to resign. This shows the people were pragmatically willing to accept a mild form of communist dictatorship, so long as they were convinced the regime was performing reasonably well, given the external Soviet threat. When Gomułka became more repressive than the people considered “reasonable,” and when his economic policies likewise fell foul of popular views, society rebelled and forced a change of leadership. A second challenge to the regime’s reformist pragmatic acceptance took place during the Solidarnos´ c´ uprising of 1980–1. When Soviet

152

153

Socialist State: Poland 1956–1983 (Cambridge University Press, 1984), Chapter 2; and Michael Waller, The End of the Communist Power Monopoly (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 1994), pp. 124–5. For the negotiations with the Soviet Union, and for relations between the regime and the Church, see also Konrad Syrop, Poland in Perspective (London: Robert Hale, 1982), chapters 20 and 22. Ray Taras, “The Crises of East European Communism: The Grand Failure of Manipulated Participation,” Journal of Communist Studies, 6:3 (1990): 8; and Hans Gramatzki, “Die polnische Arbeiterselbstverwaltung,” in Gudrun Lemân and Hans Gramatzki, Arbeiterselbstverwaltung und Mitbestimmung in den Staaten Osteuropas (Hanover: Fackelträger Verlag, 1977), pp. 128. Ray Taras, Poland: Socialist State, Rebellious Nation (Boulder and London: Westview Press, 1986).

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newspapers started a campaign against the Polish regime, it appeared that a Soviet invasion was near. In an attempt to prevent an invasion, General Secretary Stanisław Kania attended four summit meetings in Moscow over the course of thirteen months. Notwithstanding his efforts, the Soviet Central Committee sent two critical letters to the Polish leadership in June and September 1981, describing the situation as “counterrevolutionary.”154 Most Poles, aware of the previous Soviet invasions of Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and East Germany, feared their own turn might be next. Meanwhile, Solidarnos´ c´ provoked the Kremlin even more by making open demands for political democracy. But the Soviet Union did not need to invade, because General Wojciech Jaruzelski crushed the Solidarnos´c´ uprising through a military coup. It is not certain the Soviets would have invaded if Jaruzelski had not carried out his coup,155 but that was certainly the likely outcome. Jaruzelski could claim relatively easily, therefore, that martial law had to be declared in order to prevent something even worse from happening.156 Gerrits concludes: The Jaruzelski regime was the first loyal Soviet ally that tried to at least partly legitimize its rule on the basis of a perceived Soviet threat. The decision to declare a state of war was justified as a “lesser evil,” a misfortune which was less drastic than anarchy, civil strife or a foreign military intervention.157

Like Gomułka in 1956, then, Jaruzelski came to power during a period of widespread fear of Soviet invasion. Both leaders also announced they would pursue reforms. Jaruzelski, for his part, would have found it rather easy to argue that the economic crisis had proved the “revisionist” economic policies to be wrong. He could have added that the “chaos” caused by the uprising showed that political liberalization destabilized the system; 154

155

156

157

For a discussion of these issues, see André Gerrits, The Failure of Authoritarian Change: Reform, Opposition and Geo-Politics in Poland in the 1980s (Aldershot: Dartmouth, 1990), Chapter 7. In his memoirs, Jaruzelski claims to have discovered in 1992 that the Soviet Union had indeed planned to invade; Wojciech Jaruzelski, Erinnerungen: Mein Leben für Polen, trans. Hans Kray (Munich and Zurich: Piper, 1992), p. 290. In 1995, a Czech parliamentary committee reported that the Warsaw Pact had indeed prepared to invade Poland (ČTK, September 28, 1995). According to certain rumors, however, Jaruzelski had actually asked the Soviet Union to invade, but the Red Army was fearful of doing so. Whatever the truth of the matter, the important thing for our purposes is that Jaruzelski could credibly claim to have saved the country from an invasion. In Wlicki’s words, “the [martial law] government wanted to be recognised as a ‘lesser evil,’ a geopolitical necessity, thus deriving its legitimacy from a certain understanding of the national interest at a given moment, and not from any universalist ideology”; quoted in Dean McSweeney and Clive Tempest, “The Political Science of Democratic Transition in Eastern Europe,” Political Studies, vol. 41 (1993): 415. Gerrits, The Failure of Authoritarian Change, p. 22.

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and that the GDR, for example, had succeeded in keeping the political and economic situation more stable by following orthodoxy. If he had decided to try to create a conservative pragmatic acceptance based on these ideas, he would certainly have pleased Brezhnev. He decided instead, however, to continue building on the regime’s past reformist pragmatic acceptance. Accordingly, he stressed his commitment to reform.158 This shows that the theoretical model developed here is not deterministic. Important actors, such as Jaruzelski, do have tremendous influence at certain critical junctures, when they can influence the manner in which their regime attempts to convince the population to pragmatically accept its rule. Of course, Jaruzelski’s actions were not completely independent of the past. If the regime in Poland had previously based its pragmatic acceptance on orthodoxy, as in East Germany, Jaruzelski would have found it extremely difficult to convince the Kremlin suddenly to promote reformism. However, the regime had previously based its pragmatic acceptance on its reformist image. Jaruzelski could, therefore, explain to Moscow that the population would be extremely disappointed with a conservative turn, making it difficult for the Party to consolidate its power again. In any case, once Jaruzelski began basing his pragmatic acceptance on the need to combine a policy of reformism with measures to maintain order, he could not easily make an about-face and defraud a population now hopeful for the reforms he himself had promised. During his entire tenure in power, he sought to implement economic reforms and to co-opt parts of the opposition. Accordingly, he was able to take reforms a step further in 1989, and to negotiate an institutional compromise with the opposition.159

The Soviet Union under Gorbachev As noted earlier, the Soviet Union under Brezhnev suffered a serious loss of ideological legitimacy when it became apparent that the economy was declining, and that the country was falling well behind the West technologically. Upon the deaths of Brezhnev, Andropov, and Chernenko, openings arose for the next generation of party cadres – a generation less bound to Brezhnev’s conservative legacy – to assume power. Brezhnev had been able to build up part of his pragmatic acceptance on the notion that he had 158

159

Cf. Judy Batt, East Central Europe from Reform to Transformation (London: Pinter, 1991), p. 8; and Judy Batt, “The End of Communist Rule in East-Central Europe: A FourCountry Comparison,” Government and Opposition, 26:3 (1991): 369–90. For a discussion of Jaruzelski’s attempts at cooptation, see Saxonberg, The Fall, chapters 6 and 9.

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turned the country into a military superpower. By the time Gorbachev took over, though, the country’s superpower status was being called into question by humiliating military setbacks in Afghanistan and the Middle East. In the latter case, the US-supported Israeli military had showed itself clearly superior to its Soviet-supported Arab counterparts. Soviet society was now less willing to accept stagnating living standards in return for the pride of being a superpower, since its military was proving to be increasingly weak and ineffectual. This opened the door for Gorbachev to shed the country’s conservative pragmatic acceptance and to embark on reforms. In contrast to Kádár, however, Gorbachev was unable to keep the dynamics of reform under control. Instead, he progressed through various phases of trial and error, each time moving in a different direction. He first tried to improve economic performance in the traditional manner, demanding more discipline and campaigning against alcohol consumption.160 When these efforts proved unsuccessful, Gorbachev began to consider more market-oriented reforms. When these met with opposition in the Party-state apparatus, he introduced political reforms in order to remove conservative opponents of his policies. Although Gorbachev grew increasingly radical in his use of reformist terminology, his actual policies shifted according to changing political winds. Thus, when conservatives gained influence, he refrained from openly opposing the use of military force to prevent the Baltic countries from obtaining independence. This impelled his closest political ally, Foreign Minister Eduard Shevardnadze, to resign and to accuse him of becoming a dictator. Similarly, while Gorbachev went farther than his predecessors in promoting reforms on the economic front, he never developed a consistent strategy. His reforms were often contradictory half-measures. As a result, they probably did more harm than good to the economy.161 He rejected a radical scheme for economic reform in 1990 – the so-called Shatalin plan – and tried to please both radical and conservative groups within the Party. Gorbachev’s inability to defeat his radical and conservative opponents led him to seek a compromise with the hardliners (his

160

161

For a description of Gorbachev’s policies at the time, see Anders Åslund, Gorbachev’s Struggle for Economic Reform (London: Printer Publishers, 1989); and Graeme Gill, “Sources of Political Reform in the Soviet Union,” Studies in Comparative Communism, 24:3 (1991): 235–57. Myron Rush, “Fortune and Fate,” The National Interest, vol. 31 (1993): 19–25 reaches similar conclusions. See also Vladimir Kontorovich, “The Economic Fallacy,” The National Interest, vol. 31 (1993): 35–45. Kontorovich goes even further in blaming Gorbachev for being the main cause of the country’s economic misfortunes.

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so-called “shift to the right,” between October 1990 and April 1991). This move alienated many reformers.162 The initiative then passed to reformers at the republican level (notably Boris Yeltsin in Russia) and to the leaders of the Baltic countries. As a result of Gorbachev’s backsliding, a situation arose where the regime at the national level began to freeze, while the leaderships of several of the republics (notably Russia and the Baltic republics) began to mature. This helps account for the mixed outcome, which combines elements of both revolution and institutional compromise. The event that precipitated political collapse was an attempted coup by hardliners, who hoped to prevent constitutional changes leading to a more federalist central government. The hardliners placed Gorbachev under house arrest and tried to reverse the reform process. As is typical of freezing regimes, these conservative leaders had difficulty acting forcibly in a situation where they had totally lost ideological legitimacy and thus doubted their ability to rule. Nor was the population willing any longer to accept them on a pragmatic basis. Consequently, despite the hardliners’ original bold move in initiating the coup, they lacked the nerve to proceed with the mass repression that would have been necessary if they were to gain control over the situation. In their public appearances, furthermore, they looked amateurish and unsure of themselves. Meanwhile Yeltsin, the communist leaders of the Baltic countries, and portions of the military all behaved in a manner we would expect from maturing regimes. They worked for a negotiated pact by opposing the coup, by supporting the opposition, and by promoting the democratization of the political system. In contrast to the situation in Central Europe, political opposition to the regime in the Soviet Union was led by a communist leader. In Russia it was the president himself, Boris Yeltsin, who organized mass protests against the coup and in defense of the “White House” parliament.163 Military units stationed nearby defected to the opposition, which is also typical behavior for military conscripts working under a maturing regime that has lost its ideological legitimacy. Once the reformists had defeated the hardliners behind the coup attempt, they forced the hardliners into an institutional compromise whereby the Soviet Union would cease to exist, and each republic would be able to decide its own future. The reform-communist leaders quickly renounced

162 163

John B. Dunlop, The Rise of Russia and the Fall of the Soviet Empire (Princeton University Press, 1993), p. 23. For a description of the events, see John B. Dunlop, “Anatomy of a Failed Coup,” in Alexander Dallin and Gail W. Lapidus, eds., The Soviet System from Crisis to Collapse (Boulder: Westview Press, 1995, revised edition), pp. 595–621.

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their communist beliefs, and as non-communist reformers became essentially indistinguishable from the former opposition. Some former communist leaders, such as Yeltsin, went so far as to embark on free-market “shock therapy” policies, placing themselves on the opposite end of the political spectrum from their former communist comrades.

China In some ways the Chinese case resembles that of Hungary. In the latter country, Kádár consolidated his power using mass repression after the Soviet invasion installed him as leader. His reformist pragmatic acceptance was based on the idea that the Soviet Union would not allow the country either to democratize or to undertake an independent foreign policy. In contrast to the situation in Czechoslovakia, Kádár’s pragmatic acceptance was not based on the notion that any economic reforms would lead to capitalism. As a result, Kádár was able to carry out the most radical economic reforms within the Soviet bloc.164 However, he needed to let an entire decade pass before daring to reform the economy. By contrast Deng, being free of foreign control, was able to move more quickly. In both cases, the violent repression of an uprising badly undermined the ideological legitimacy of the Party. After the massacre at Tiananmen Square, Suisheng Zhao writes, China’s leaders realized that the uprising showed that fatal consequence of losing “spiritual pillars” . . . which had been incarnated as Marxism-Leninism and Mao Zedong Thought and guided the Chinese people to support and even sacrifice for the regime under Mao. For the reformist leaders, an added lesson was that nothing in the Communist arsenal could now garner mass support and resorting to old Communist ideology was ineffective for indoctrination.165

Nevertheless, Deng was able to get large portions of society and the Partystate apparatus to pragmatically accept his reformist strategy, on the grounds that market reforms were raising living standards and keeping order in society. After the tumultuous years of the Cultural Revolution and given lingering memories of warlord battles during the inter-war era, there was a longing for stability and prosperity. Defending the Party’s continued monopoly of power, Deng proclaimed:

164 165

Saxonberg, The Fall, chapters 4, 7, and 9; and Saxonberg, “Regime Behavior in 1989.” Suisheng Zhao, “A State-Led Nationalism: The Patriotic Education Campaign in PostTiananmen China,” Communist and Post-Communist Studies, 4:3 (1998): 289.

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In the absence of a Party whose members have a spirit of sacrifice and a high level of political awareness and discipline . . . Without such a Party, our country would split up and accomplish nothing.166

Thus, the Chinese Communist leadership was able to develop its pragmatic acceptance on the basis of the notion that it had brought stability and prosperity to the country. Like Kádár in Hungary and Gorbachev in the USSR, Deng concentrated first on economic reforms and turned to political reforms only later. Deng engaged in political liberalization in the early 1980s in order to gain support for his policies, just as Kádár and Gorbachev were doing during these same years. Kádár introduced minor political reforms, such as allowing independent candidates to run in the 1985 elections,167 while Gorbachev removed conservative apparatchiks from positions where they could potentially block his reforms.168 Deng carried out political reforms in the early 1980s to gain support for his economic reforms. In the 1990s, however, he froze the political reforms. On the other hand, in contrast to his counterparts in Czechoslavakia – with their “normalization” process after the violent repression of the Prague Spring – Deng did not sharply curtail political reforms after he had directed the armed forces to quash the student rebellion in 1989. Rather than turning the clock back, Deng merely let the clock stand still. At the village level, for instance, multi-candidate elections have continued “and received full official sanction.”169 While Party candidates win the vast majority of elections at all levels of government, as many as 5.57% of Party candidates have lost at the township level (1995–6); 2.86% at the county level (1997–9); and 0.94% at the provincial level (1997–9).170 Scholars observe that the law pertaining to village elections “appears to have changed political discourse for villagers, providing them with a resource they employ in appeals to authorities at higher levels.”171 The law requires contested elections in all villages; however, according to a sample taken by Melanie Manion, the majority of villages did not offer a choice of candidates in all elections. Yet, more than 65 percent of villages did offer at least one election with a choice.172 On the other hand, Chinese 166 167 169 170

171 172

Cited in Minxin Pei, China’s Trapped Transition: The Limits of Developmental Autocracy (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2006), p. 47. Saxonberg, The Fall, p. 192. 168 Ibid., Chapter 5. Pei, China’s Trapped Transition, p. 7. Melanie Manion, “When Communist Party Candidates Can Lose, Who Wins? Assessing the Role of Local People’s Congresses in the Selection of Leaders in China,” China Quarterly, 195 (2008): 624. Melanie Manion, “Democracy, Community, Trust: The Impact of Elections in Rural China,” Comparative Political Studies 39:3 (2006): 302. Ibid., 310.

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village elections are not completely free, and they do not meet traditional standards for free and fair elections. According to Barrett L. McCormick, many of the voters he interviewed “[l]amented that they lacked even the most basic information about candidates, while deputies reported having little time to meet with constituents or, for that matter, to attend to official duties.”173 Yet, Manion concludes, “There is a growing scholarly consensus that, despite great variation, grassroots electoral democracy has progressed and is flourishing, affecting the lives of ordinary Chinese villagers in important ways for the better.”174 At higher levels of governance, democratic experiments have not gone as far as they have at village level. According to the law, officeholders must be chosen by the Town People’s Congress. In contrast to the law, rather than letting the Town People’s Congress choose the officeholders, the Buyun Township in Suining City carried out multi-candidate elections in 1998. As these elections received criticism for breaking the law, the voting system was modified so that a direct election was held, with the winner then being recommended to the People’s Congress for formal approval.175 In 2001 and 2002, 40 percent of the towns and townships in Sichuan Province experimented with variants of this voting system.176 One study of four townships holding elections shows that, rather than having multiple candidates for each post, voters could only vote for (but not elect) a certain number of candidates in a popularity contest. While the Congress still decides which candidates will be elected, these “consulting” elections allow the Provincial People’s Congress to see which candidates are the most popular. However, the Congress usually ignores the vote and gives the posts of township Party secretary and mayor to candidates suggested by the Party selection committee, even when other candidates have won more votes.177 So even in this case, China has not engaged in true democratization. Nonetheless, even these steps are much bigger than those taken by other maturing regimes (such as those in Hungary and Poland) until the last years of their rule. Although some amount of political competition has taken place at higher levels than that of town government, the basic pattern seems to

173 174 175 176 177

Barrett L. McCormick, “Political Change in China and Vietnam: Coping with the Consequences of Economic Reform,” China Journal, 40 (1998): 135. Manion, “Democracy, Community, Trust,” 319. Dong Lisheng, “Direct Township Elections in China: Latest Developments and Prospects,” Journal of Contemporary China, 48:15 (2006): 504–5. Ibid., 506. Stig Thøgersen, Jørgen Elklit and Dong Lisheng, “Consultative Elections of the Chinese Township Leaders: The Case of an Experiment in Ya’an, Sichuan,” China Information 22:1 (2008): 67–89.

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be that the higher the level, the more successful the Party candidates are. While there was a slight drop in the percentage of Party candidate losses in 2000–3, an estimated 17,535 Party candidates lost to non-Party candidates from 1995 to 2003. This shows that, while Party control over politics is still strong, it is nonetheless weaker than in previous communist regimes. Furthermore, the National People’s Congress has increased its power and authority, and is no longer a mere rubber stamp for the regime.178 On a few occasions, furthermore, the National People’s Congress standing committee has rejected bills proposed by the government, such as the Law on Residents’ Committees in 1989 and the Highway Law in 1999. In 2000, the Guangdong Provincial People’s Congress voted by the large majority of 23 to 5 to express their dissatisfaction with the Provincial Environmental Protection Agency’s work.179 These examples show that, even if elections are by no means free and fair, and even if it is still rare for deputies to vote against the government, legislators are now displaying greater independence than do traditional Leninist legislators, who blindly rubber-stamp all proposals. Thus, China has more political pluralism than another other communist country has had – excepting Poland, Hungary and the USSR during the very last years of communist rule. These examples do not mean that China will automatically continue to move toward more political reform. It may very well backslide at times. For example, according to Bruce Gilley, the Chinese leadership became politically more conservative when Hu Jintao became general secretary in the mid 1990s. While the Politburo had open debates in the Deng era, the post-Deng leadership has tried to create an apolitical situation in which competing ideas or organizations representing group interests are preventing from emerging.180 Minxin Pei agrees that Party leaders have become more conservative in their attitudes toward democratization since the 1990s.181 Despite the continuation of many political and cultural constraints on the population, the Party has loosened its grip over the cultural and academic spheres. As Yanqi Tong notes, there has been “a proliferation of think-tanks [in China], such as the Institute of Economic Reform, Rural Policy Research Office (later changed to Rural Development Center of the State Council), and the Institute of Economics of Chinese

178 179 180 181

Tanner, The Politics of Lawmaking in Post-Mao China, cited in Pei, China’s Trapped Transition, pp. 58–9. Pei, China’s Trapped Transition, pp. 60–1. Bruce Gilley, “The ‘End of Politics’ in Beijing,” China Journal, 51 (2004): 115–35. Pei, China’s Trapped Transition, Chapter 2.

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Academy of Social Sciences.”182 These organizations still face censorship, but their members have much greater freedom to write what they think and to read Western literature than did academics in freezing communist states such as Czechoslovakia and East Germany. In many ways, the Chinese government behaves like other maturing post-totalitarian regimes. It has instituted economic reforms and carried out some mild experiments in political reform. However, it differs from other regimes of this type in one obvious and important respect: Its reforms have taken an openly capitalist direction. Indeed, they have gone so far in that regard that the deposed former general secretary, Zhao Ziyang, registered the following complaint: The problem is, the CCP is a party built on the basis of Leninism. It controls all the resources of the country . . . under a market economy, after property become legitimate and legal, the CCP inevitably becomes corrupt. Those with power will certainly use their control of the resources to turn society’s wealth into their private wealth. These people have become a huge entrenched interest group . . . What China has now is the worst form of capitalism. Western capitalism in its early phase was also bad, but it could gradually become more progressive. But the worst form of capitalism in China today is incapable of becoming more progressive.183

Thus, as Deng went further with his economic reforms during the 1990s, the regime’s ideological legitimacy began to erode further. While all posttotalitarian regimes based their ideological legitimacy on economic development, this legitimacy was still based on the alleged superiority of socialism over capitalism. In other words, their claims to legitimacy were based not simply on the idea that the Communist Party would bring about greater economic development, but rather on the idea that they would bring it about through “socialist” policies, which were supposedly superior to “capitalist” policies. However, when China introduced reforms such as a stock market, a large private sector and development based on direct foreign investment, it became increasingly difficult to pretend that the country was “building socialism.” As Pei notes, while the state employed almost 80% of workers in urban areas in 1978, by 2002 it employed only 29%.184 Pei further notes that the share of state-owned enterprises in industrial output fell from nearly 78% in 1978 to 41% in 2002, while the share of industrial output accounted for by the private sector rose from 0.2% to 41%. The economic reforms have relied so heavily on the private and cooperative sectors that their very success has undermined belief in Marxism-Leninism. It is apparent that the regime is following economic policies that have much more in common with the authoritarian Asian state-capitalist model, as previously practiced in Taiwan 182 183

Tong, Transitions from State Socialism, p. 137. Cited in Pei, China’s Trapped Transition, p. 8.

184

Cited in ibid., p. 3.

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and South Korea, than with any sort of “socialist” experiment. In contrast to the Prague Spring, there is no talk of “socialism with a human face.” Moreover, in contrast with the Kádár reforms, few take the notion of “market socialism” seriously anymore. So, while the communist leadership has succeeded over the past three decades in achieving growth rates that are among the highest in the world, its successes have resulted in a loss of ideological legitimacy. As Chen notes, “a legitimacy crisis can also occur in the Leninist state if it achieves economic successes in ways that deviate from fundamental ideological principles and therefore undermine the foundation of the system.”185 In addition, the high degree of worker participation at Tiananmen Square casted doubt on whether the Party really represents the workers. Furthermore, the Party’s policies have strayed so far from Mao’s Cultural Revolution, and the Party has zigzagged so often between reformism and retrenchment, that few Chinese now believe seriously in the Party’s supposed monopoly on Truth. Nevertheless, much of the population still pragmatically accepts the regime, despite the fact that its ideology is now nothing but an empty shell. Economic success has convinced large portions of the populace that, even if the Party does not have a monopoly on Truth, its policies have worked reasonably well given the restriction of one-party dictatorship. Furthermore, although the dictatorship imposes political restrictions, cultural freedoms have increased, and the lack of freedom is somewhat compensated for by a high degree of stability. After China’s chaotic experiences during the inter-war years, when warlords fought constantly with one another and given the disruptions of the Cultural Revolution, the country has had a deep yearning for stability. This desire for stability helps explain the cautious reaction of the population to the student revolt in 1989: many people still remembered the role that radical students played within the Red Guards during the Cultural Revolution. In the words of Qinglian He, former senior editor of the Shenzhen Legal Daily: “[I]n the CCP’s view, the death of the Party would mean nothing less than the death of China itself.” The people must therefore accept its reform policies “as a mechanism to stave off unrest and collapse. . .”186 Nevertheless, once a communist regime stops basing its power on ideological legitimacy and replaces it with pragmatic acceptance based on continued rapid economic growth, the regime risks losing the population’s pragmatic acceptance when the economy loses steam. The 185 186

Chen, Economic Transition and Political Legitimacy, p. 20. Qinglian He, “China’s Changing of the Guard: A Volcanic Stability,” Journal of Democracy, 14:1 (2003): 66.

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question then arises if the population will still accept the rule of a communist party that has lost all pretense of believing in its own ideology. If this loss of pragmatic acceptance occurs at the same time that certain other conditions are met (as will be discussed in coming chapters), then a revolutionary situation may emerge. If such a situation does indeed arise, a maturing regime is much less likely to violently repress an uprising than is an early post-totalitarian regime. Just as the Hungarian regime was willing to resort to violence in putting down the uprising in 1956, but then decided to negotiate a pact with the opposition in the late 1980s, so future Chinese communist rulers may prefer to initiate negotiations with the opposition rather than to repress demonstrators as they did in 1989. Another possibility is that the Chinese communists will try increasingly to replace Marxism-Leninism-Maoism with another ideology as they lose their economic-reformist pragmatic acceptance. Already now, the regime resorts to nationalism in order to garner support, as when it stirs up the population against Taiwan (when demands for independence are raised) or against Japan (as when a previous Japanese prime minister refused to apologize for war crimes committed during World War II). When it hosted the summer Olympics in 2008, moreover, nationalism was on prominent display. In fact, the regime seems to be openly moving from communist ideology to nationalism as a way of controlling society. Suisheng Zhao contends that the Tiananmen uprising convinced the reform leaders that “nothing in the Communist arsenal could now garner mass support and resorting to old Communist ideology was ineffective for indoctrination.” Instead, the Chinese regime “rediscovered” nationalism. Thus, “Chinese Communist leaders began to place emphasis on the party’s role as the paramount patriotic force and guardian of national pride, which now formed the new basis of legitimacy to bolster a system in trouble, and hold the country together during the period of rapid and turbulent transformation.”187 The regime has started putting particular emphasis on patriotism in the educational system. As early as in 1993, the State Education Commission issued a document for educational reform which emphasizes “patriotism as a guiding principle for China’s educational reform.”188 A year later the government began a patriotic campaign that was “disseminated down to all educational institutions from kindergartens to universities.”189 Even though students applying for natural science courses at colleges no longer had to take the Marxist political 187 188

Suisheng Zhao, “A State-Led Nationalism: The Patriotic Education Campaign in PostTiananmen China,” Communist and Post-Communist Studies, 31:3 (1998): 289. Ibid., 292. 189 Ibid.

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science exam, colleges and high schools were required to teach courses on patriotism.190 The Party has gone so far in replacing Marxism with patriotism that, during the national-day celebrations, the leadership has replaced the usual portraits of communist philosophers such as Marx and Engels with a giant portrait of Sun Yat-sen, the non-communist Chinese nationalist, at Tiananmen Square.191 Consequently, if the regime continues to seek support on the basis of nationalism rather than communist ideology, it will lose its pragmatic acceptance during a future economic downturn. If that happens, we could well see China turn increasingly aggressive in its foreign policy. A possible worst-case scenario would be if it invades Taiwan as a way of gaining support and of inducing the population to forget about negative domestic developments.

Vietnam In some ways, Vietnam is a softer version of China. The two countries are similar in having a common border, and in being ruled by communists that came to power through military victory in a highly agrarian society. In addition, Vietnam undertook reforms in the 1980s that were similar to those in China. In both countries, the early stages of reform included the de-collectivization of agriculture, as well as measures allowing state enterprises to form private enterprises (or at least enterprises that behaved like private enterprises, in the sense of being able to set their own prices and to dispose of their profits as they wished). In both countries, moreover, it is difficult to draw a clear line between public and private enterprises, as state institutions often form new commercial companies.192 In Vietnam, the reforms took place under the banner of “renovation” (doi moi), introduced in 1986 by Party General Secretary Nguyen Van Linh.193 China and Vietnam also have in common the fact that – in contrast to East and Central European communist countries – their economic reforms have led to high levels of economic growth propelled by the private sector (or at least by state companies acting like private companies). Direct foreign investment, moreover, has played a prominent part in the industrial development of both countries. Thus, China and Vietnam have gone much further than previous communist countries in a capitalist economic direction, while still maintaining a one-party Leninist 190 192

193

Ibid., 293. 191 Ibid., 297. For the Vietnamese case, see for example M. Gainsborough, “Beneath the Veneer of Reform: The Politics of Economic Liberalisation in Vietnam,” Communist and PostCommunist Studies 35:3 (2002): 358ff. Cf. ibid., 354ff.

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dictatorship. As a result, the two regimes are finding it increasingly difficult to keep their communist ideological legitimacy. Instead, rapid economic growth is encouraging the population to pragmatically accept continued one-party rule as a way to guarantee economic stability. Yet there are also important differences, accounting for Vietnam’s “softer” path. First, the Vietnamese communists were never as doctrinaire as their Chinese counterparts. Although Ho Chi Minh was the undisputed leader of the Vietnamese communists, he never tried to establish a personality cult as Mao had done. Instead Ho developed a tradition of collective leadership that is unique in the communist world, inasmuch as all other institutionalized regimes have relied on powerful leaders.194 It should be emphasized that, while Ho is often considered to have been a moderate and pragmatic politician who stressed collective leadership, he was not very involved in policy making. The “strongman” in the regime, who led the day-to-day activities, was Le Duan. As general secretary from 1960 to 1986, Le Duan was an orthodox believer in Marxism-Leninism. As long as he was general secretary, little room was left for discussing reform.195 As in China, then, reforms were not introduced in Vietnam until after the death of the orthodox leader. The Vietnamese tradition of collective leadership continues to this day. For example, the General Secretary of the Party, Le Kha Phieu, reportedly lost his position because he had sought to become president as well as Party leader. While such political maneuvering is common under most communist regimes, it violated Party norms of collective leadership in Vietnam.196 The Vietnamese Communist Party continues to balance reformist, conservative, and moderate factions – all of approximately equal strength.197 Likewise, the Vietnamese Communist Party has left out the extreme ideological baggage, and has never launched anything like the Great Leap Forward or the Cultural Revolution.198 In fact, the 194 195 196 197

198

See, for example, Phan Thien Chau, “Leadership in the Viet Nam Workers Party: The Process of Transition,” Asian Survey, 12:9. Lawrence E. Grinter, “Vietnam’s Thrust into Globalization: Doi Moi’s Long Road,” Asian Affairs: An American Review, 33:3 (2006): 151–65. Cf. Carlyle A. Thayer, “Vietnam in 2001: The Ninth Party Congress and After,” Asian Survey, 42:1 (2002): 81. Zachary Abuza, “Leadership Transition in Vietnam since the Eighth Party Congress: The Unfinished Congress,” Asian Survey, 38:12 (1998): 1,105–21; James Elliott talks about a balance between reformers and conservatives in his “The Future of Socialism: Vietnam, the Way Ahead?” Third World Quarterly, 13:1 (1992): 141. See also Thayer, “Vietnam in 2001,” 83ff., for a discussion of the balance and make-up of the Politburo after the Ninth Party Congress in 2001. Cf. McCormick, “Political Change in China and Vietnam,” 126; and Brantly Womack, “The Party and the People: Revolutionary and Postrevolutionary Politics in China and Vietnam,” World Politics, 39:4 (1987): 502–3.

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collectivization of agriculture went much more slowly than in China. Collectivization in what was then North Vietnam took place in several steps. It began with the redistribution of land, followed by the creation of very small cooperatives comprising just several families. These cooperatives were then to merge into progressively larger cooperatives. The process took nearly two decades to complete.199 In contrast to its counterparts in both China and much of Central and Eastern Europe, the Vietnamese Communist Party never engaged, in mass purges or show trials.200 An example of how little repression Party leaders have faced may be seen in the fact that when Politburo member Tran Xuan Bach was expelled from the Party for urging it to become more democratic, he was the first leader in “the 60-year history of the party . . . [to be] expelled in such a manner.”201 Part of the difference stems from the fact that, in contrast to China, Vietnam was constantly at war during the first decades of communist rule. Even if the communists had essentially succeeded in institutionalizing their power in the north, they were still engaged in a protracted war in the south. This had high economic costs, and required the Party to emphasize national unity at the expense of class warfare.202 Moreover, once Vietnam was reunited in 1975, the regime faced the task of institutionalizing Marxism-Leninism in an area that had been living under a market-based economic system. In fact, the regime never fully collectivized agriculture in the south. In the Mekong delta, for example, only 3.7% of rural households joined agricultural cooperatives; 15% did so in the southeastern provinces; and 42% in the central highlands.203 This makes Vietnam rather similar to Poland as a country that never succeeded in establishing totalitarian rule. Even if the Vietnamese communists managed to institutionalize their power in the north, they failed to establish a totalitarian state there. Nor were they able, naturally enough, to make south Vietnam a totalitarian state until their military victory there in 1975. 199 200

201 202

203

Benedict J. Tria Kerkvliet, “Village–State Relations in Vietnam: The Effect of Everyday Politics on Decollectivization,” Journal of Asian Studies, 54:2 (1995): 396–418. Phan Thien Chau, “Leadership in the Viet Nam Workers Party: The Process of Transition,” Asian Survey 12:9 (1972): 773; McCormick, “Political Change in China and Vietnam,” 123. Elliott, “The Future of Socialism,” 139. Thus, McCormick (in “Political Change in China and Vietnam,” 124) reflects: “China and Vietnam both represented themselves as leaders of titanic struggles: the Vietnamese state waging decades of patriotic war and the Chinese state organizing countless mass campaigns against class enemies and various other targets.” Hy Van Luong and Jonathan Unger, “Wealth, Power, and Poverty in the Transition to Market Economies: The Process of Socio-Economic Differentiation in Rural China and Northern Vietnam,” China Journal, 40 (1998): 61–2. See also Kerkvliet, “Village–State Relations in Vietnam.”

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Even after their victory, moreover, they decided against complete collectivization. As in Poland, then, the regime consolidated its power, and behaved more like an ordinary communist regime in both its early and its late post-totalitarian period. As in China, the reforms began from below, with local agricultural collectives experimenting with ways to improve production through greater freedom for peasants to cultivate their own products. Later on, as the country faced economic crisis and the threat of starvation, these reforms gained the approval of the upper levels of the Party. In 1979, the Sixth Plenum of the Central Committee decided to encourage local enterprises to deal directly with producers to acquire agricultural products. The Central Committee also recognized the importance of material incentives as a way to motivate peasants to grow more.204 Then, in 1981, the Central Committee gave cooperatives permission to assign parcels to individual households. Although the reforms began in agriculture, they quickly spread (as in China) to the industrial sector as well. The turning point came in 1986, when the Sixth Party Congress called for economic reforms after admitting that the “countryside is running short of common consumer goods and medicines; [and] housing, sanitary conditions and cultural life in many areas still leave much to be desired.”205 The state increased the procurement price for rice from 12 percent of the market price in 1978 to 100 percent in 1988; in 1988, land was divided among households for long-term use.206 James Elliott reports that, “[w]hilst in 1988 the Vietnamese were almost in famine conditions, in 1989 Vietnam became the third largest rice exporting country in the world.”207 A decade later it became the second-largest rice exporter in the world.208 Elliott notes as well that the government allowed the currency to float freely in 1989, eliminating the previous black market. As in China, moreover, it is becoming increasingly difficult for the regime to claim – as Vietnam moves further down the capitalist path – that it is “building socialism.” As Barrett L. McCormick notes, “in both China and Vietnam the economic reforms require abandoning ideology.”209 In the 1980s, Vietnam began to liberalize its trade. It removed most export taxes and non-tariff barriers; reduced tariff levels and bands, promoted exports through import-duty rebates and export-processing zones; and negotiated trade agreements with such organizations as the European Union and the 204 205 206 207 208 209

Kerkvliet, “Village–State Relations in Vietnam,” 410. Quoted in Elliott, “The Future of Socialism,” 132. Luong and Unger, “Wealth, Power, and Poverty,” 75. Elliott, “The Future of Socialism,” 133. “Reluctant Capitalists,” The Economist, March 16, 2002: 46. McCormick, “Political Change in China and Vietnam,” 126.

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ASEAN Free Trade Area. These reforms culminated in the Bilateral Trade Agreement with the US in 2000.210 James Elliott comments that, while the regime once considered economic planning to be central to economic development, “it is now believed that central planning is counter-productive to development so the State Planning Commission and other central bodies will concentrate on medium- and long-term plans and getting the correct balance in the economy, but will not get involved in actual operations.”211 The Party also amended the constitution in order to give private enterprises the same rights as state-run enterprises.212 By 2003, the private sector accounted for 26.7 percent of the country’s GDP,213 and foreign capital accounted for 17 percent.214 The regime’s attitude towards private capitalists has grown so positive that the prime minister, Van Khai, praised them at one point for “creating a glorious victory for the country and the nation.”215 Yet even if Vietnamese communists are slowly losing their ideological legitimacy, they do not seem to have lost it as much as their Chinese comrades. First, they still enjoy support for their role in fighting for national liberation and in defeating the US. Of course, this is more a nationalist legitimacy than an ideological one. Yet there is some overlap between the two, because citizens are less likely to question the ideology of a regime which liberated them. It is nonetheless likely that, as the reforms become increasingly capitalistic, the Vietnamese regime will increasingly rely (like its Chinese counterpart) on nationalist rather than ideological legitimacy. At present, however, the reforms in Vietnan are not as capitalistic as those in China. This allows the regime in the former country to continue to claim that its policies are guided by communist ideology. According to Elliott, many Vietnamese leaders still believe in communist ideology. He observes: “The present leaders came through the revolutionary struggle and have strong beliefs about socialism, many communist leaders in Eastern Europe did not have the revolutionary experience.”216 Yet if the Vietnamese leaders really believe in socialism, it does not make sense for them to advocate reforms that clearly push the country further down the capitalist road – and to do so without adding any socialistic

210 211 212 213 214 215

Rhys Jenkins, “Vietnam in the Global Economy: Trade, Employment and Poverty,” Journal of International Development, 16:1 (2004): 14. Elliott, “The Future of Socialism,” 136–7. Thayer, “Vietnam in 2001,” 86; Regina M. Abrami, “Vietnam in 2002: On the Road to Recovery,” Asian Survey, 43:1 (2002): 92; The Economist, March 16, 2002: 46. Adam Fforde, “Vietnam in 2003: The Road to Ungovernability?” Asian Survey, 44:1 (2004): 123. Gainsborough, “Beneath the Veneer of Reform,” 359. Abrami, “Vietnam in 2002,” 96. 216 Elliott, “The Future of Socialism,” 140.

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elements to the market reforms, such as worker control over the workplace, progressive social policy reforms, etc. As McCormick argues, in China and Vietnam economic reforms have changed both the state’s goals and the social and economic environment in ways that make Leninist institutions increasingly irrelevant. In both countries, citizens are increasingly sceptical of and alienated from these institutions. Leaders in both states are broadly aware of this problem and have tried to strengthen their elected parliaments and legal systems so as to create new forms of legitimacy.217

This indicates that, while Vietnam’s economic policies are proceeding in a maturing direction, they have not yet gone so far in that direction as China’s. Vietnam is still somewhere between the early and late posttotalitarian stages. Both society and the Party are increasingly alienated from Marxist-Leninist ideology, and pragmatic acceptance has arisen based on the success of economic reforms. Or, as McCormick puts it, both China and Vietnam “have had to strip the official idea of ‘socialism’ of much of its content, gradually reaching a point where ‘socialism’ means little more than a single-party system and economic growth.”218 This lack of ideological legitimacy obviously affects the thinking of citizens as well. One researcher commented as follows during a visit to Hanoi between 1999 and 2004: All the young people I spoke to in Hanoi, however, were uninterested in these official pronouncements [such as the Month of Youth every March], nor did they have any direct impact upon their daily lives. Instead, they tended to pay attention to matters concerning their individual lives (i.e., finding a “good” job, earning money, and achieving success in both professional and familial lives) in a marketoriented society.219

This deterioration of ideology has clearly caused a decline of interest in political engagement. In 2000, 41.5 percent of the Party’s grassroots organizations failed to recruit any new members; and between 1996 and 2000, the Party only recruited 7,347 students.220 Where the political side is concerned, many critics contend that the regime is fairly orthodox; and that, as in the Chinese case, economic reforms have not brought about political reforms. As in China, however, some political reforms have in fact taken place. The Vietnamese regime seems intent on maintaining one-party rule, but it is still more open than the maturing regimes were in Eastern Europe until their last years in 217 219 220

McCormick, “Political Change in China and Vietnam,” 121. 218 Ibid., 129. Phuong An Nguyen, “State–Society Relations in Contemporary Vietnam: An Examination of the Arena of Youth,” Asia Pacific Viewpoint, 47:3 (2006): 333. Ibid., 334.

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power. As we have seen, the Vietnamese communists have always had collective leadership, in contrast to virtually all other parties in the communist world. They have never had an iron leader of the kind common in other communist countries. Moreover, the leadership of the country has changed numerous times without a political crisis ensuing. East Germany and Romania had only two leaders between 1948 and 1989 (Ulbricht and Honecker in East Germany, Gheorghiu-Dej and Ceaus¸escu in Romania), and the Soviet Union had just four during its first sixty-five years of existence (Lenin, Stalin, Khrushchev, and Brezhnev). The Vietnamese communists, on the other hand, have had six First Secretaries since coming to power (Duan, Chinh, Linh, Muoi, Phieu, and Manh). The last four, moreover, ruled only for short periods (Linh 5 years, Muoi 6 years, Phieu 4 years, and Manh so far 7 years). In fact, party officials cannot stay in office for more than two terms. This ensures that no one person is able to dominate the Party.221 Not only has the Party relied on collective leadership and avoided personality cults, its constituent bodies are also much more open than their counterparts in traditional communist societies. For example, the Tenth Plenum of the Vietnamese Communist Party “rejected both the draft Political Report and the personnel list, which favored the conservatives.”222 Voting in the Politburo also seems to be open. As the leading Party organ openly reported, for example, just 12 of its 18 members voted in favor of the re-election of Le Kha Phieu as general secretary. The Central Committee, moreover, refused to endorse this recommendation, leading to Phieu’s removal.223 To put this into proper perspective, it was the established practice in Eastern and Central Europe for the Politburo to report unanimous decisions, even if its members were in fact divided. Gorbachev, for instance, won election by a margin of one vote. Yet the Soviet Politburo projected a united front outwardly, reporting that the voting had been unanimous. The Central Committee then rubberstamped the decision. In maturing Vietnam, by contrast, even the general assembly can vote against the government. In 1997, accordingly, the general assembly rejected the prime minister’s proposed candidate as Governor of the Central State Bank. As early as in 1989, moreover, it had to extend its session in order to reach agreement on a draft for the new constitution.224 It is also noteworthy that, while the percentage declined

221 222 223 224

Thayer, “Vietnam in 2001,” 84. Zachary Abuza, “Leadership Transition in Vietnam since the Eighth Party Congress: The Unfinished Congress,” Asian Survey, 38:12 (1998): 1,109. Thayer, “Vietnam in 2001,” 82. McCormick, “Political Change in China and Vietnam,” 135.

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in the 2002 elections, more than 10 percent of the seats in the general assembly still went to non-Party members that year and nearly 100 delegates voted against the chair’s re-election. On the more negative side, only 2 candidates out of the 161 who had nominated themselves won seats.225 All the same, even this limited amount of pluralism is impressive compared with that in a traditional communist parliament, where no independent candidates are allowed to run for election. The Vietnamese communists do not allow open opposition, but they have eased repression to levels that one might expect of a maturing regime. One scholar observes: “Most political prisoners have now been released and many are allowed to travel to the USA. Society generally is more open and there has been a growth in the number of discos, night clubs and foreign goods.”226 As we shall see in Chapter 7, labor unions in Vietnam are much more autonomous than in other communist countries, including China. (The only exceptions would be those unions operating during short periods of national uprising, such as during the Solidarity uprising in Poland, the Prague Spring, and the uprising against the Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968–9.) Again, part of this difference can be explained by the protracted war in Vietnam, which forced the unions to try to strengthen their ties with members. As Anita Chan and Irene Norlund remark, “[i]n Vietnamese workplaces solidarity against a real common national enemy dwarfed management–worker differences.”227 The result was that the unions concentrated on building national unity rather than on finding “class enemies” (as Chinese unions were doing under Mao). Chan and Norlund also point out that, in southern Vietnam, unions did not belong to the state apparatus, and until 1975 they engaged in activities like organizing strikes rather than submitting to a state apparatus.228 Union leaders from southern Vietnam have not forgotten their past, when they were often beaten or thrown into jail for their organizing activities. This makes them less willing to serve as mere transition belts for the Party-state. McCormick summarizes the situation in China and Vietnam as follows: “[T]he reforms have significantly weakened the state’s control over society. Groups such as farmers, workers, entrepreneurs, foreign investors and even intellectuals have more autonomy and a greater chance of being heard than ever before in the history of these regimes.”229 The reforms have also influenced culture, since private booksellers can secretly sell even forbidden 225 227 228

Abrami, “Vietnam in 2002,” 99. 226 Elliott, “The Future of Socialism,” 136. Anita Chan and Irene Norlund, “Vietnamese and Chinese Labour Regimes: On the Road to Divergence, China Journal, 40 (1998): 175. Ibid., 176. 229 McCormick, “Political Change in China and Vietnam,” 129.

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literature.230 McCormick notes further that, like their Chinese counterparts, Vietnamese communists are increasingly turning toward developmental and nationalist themes in order to compensate for an absence of ideology.231 So far, as in China, the Vietnamese population pragmatically accepts the regime’s moves toward capitalism even if that means giving up its ideological legitimacy. The reason is that growth rates have been very high and living standards have improved markedly. Between 1990 and 2000, GDP grew by an estimated 7.6% per year, while poverty decreased significantly.232 In dollar terms, GDP grew from $2.2 billion in 1989 to $20.3 billion in 1997. Meanwhile, inflation fell from 400% in 1988 to 5% in 1996.233 “Income and consumption based poverty levels in Vietnam fell from over 60% in 1990 to 29% by 2002.”234 This rapid growth has been accompanied by a shift away from agricultural exports (which declined from 83.9% of all exports in 1981–5 to 21% in 1996–8) to exports based on unskilled, labor-intensive industry (which grew from 10.2% of all exports to 58.7% during the same period).235 Vietnam raises the same question as China: What will happen if the country eventually faces a sharp economic downturn, and the population sees little reason to pragmatically accept a Marxist-Leninist regime that no longer believes in Marxism, and which only keeps the part of Leninism that relates to a one-party dictatorship? If the Vietnamese regime continues to mature, as its counterparts in Poland and Hungary did, it will grow less likely to shoot dissenters if confronted with a revolutionary situation, and more willing to negotiate with the opposition over institutional change. However, the Vietnamese regime enjoys even greater national legitimacy than the Chinese regime, since it came to power by defeating both France and the US in a struggle for national independence and unification. On the other hand, having already invaded Cambodia, the Vietnamese government (unlike its Chinese counterpart) does not have any nationalist “cause” like Taiwan or Tibet, which it can exploit to unite the population.

Summary In this chapter, I have argued that Linz and Stepan’s typology offers a fruitful starting point for explaining why different regimes followed 230 233 234 235

Ibid., 131. 231 Ibid., 132. 232 Jenkins, “Vietnam in the Global Economy,” 15. Abuza, “Leadership Transition in Vietnam,” 1,106. Ann Bartholomew and Stephen Lister, “Vietnam: The Benefits of a Strong Consultative Framework,” Public Administration and Development 25:5 (2005): 426. Jenkins, “Vietnam in the Global Economy,” 16, Table 1.

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different paths of transition from communism. In some cases, furthermore, it can help explain why certain regimes stayed in power. However, I have modified their regime typology by using the terms “freezing” and “maturing,” rather than “frozen” and “mature.” I have done this to emphasize that regimes do not automatically follow a linear path of development, as well as to underline that no regime is ever purely of a particular type on one day, only to become another kind of regime on the next. On the contrary, regimes often contain a mixture of elements. Sometimes, for example, they mature more quickly in the economic area than in the political one. The regimes in China and Hungary both matured in the economic and cultural areas while remaining relatively frozen politically (although the Hungarian government started liberalizing and thus maturing in the political area too, once it ran into economic problems). China is still freezing politically, even while maturing economically. The Soviet Union, which started freezing under Brezhnev, followed a bumpy path during the brief Andropov and Chernenko interludes, then started maturing under Gorbachev. Like Linz and Stepan’s original model, this chapter notes that totalitarian regimes are unlikely to fall unless defeated by outside powers (see Table 2.1). However, this chapter develops a theoretical model – based on a regime’s type of legitimization – to explain the reasons for the development of the different regime types. Totalitarian regimes strive to gain full hegemony over society, which makes rebellion nearly impossible. When society wears out and the regimes are no longer able to mobilize the population on a permanent basis, cadres begin demanding routinization and predictability. The regime now relies on building up ideological legitimacy among its cadre, as well as among some workers and intellectuals. Thus, it evolves into an early post-totalitarian regime (usually after the death of its founding leader). At this stage, the regime still believes in its right to rule. It is therefore likely to shoot, as the Chinese regime did in 1989. Similarly, the Cuban regime – which was basically early posttotalitarian at the time – was able to prevent any major uprisings and to maintain power in 1989. Economic problems also eat away at the regime’s ideological legitimacy, as it becomes clear that the previous goals of surpassing the West will not be met. Nor can the regime any longer reasonably claim to hold a monopoly on Truth. Political actions, such as the invasion of Czechoslovakia or the violence used at Tiananmen Square, add to the loss of ideological legitimacy and convince critical intellectuals that the system is no longer reformable. In China and Vietnam, the very success of economic reforms has eaten away at the regime’s ideological legitimacy, because the reforms are based on abandoning MarxistLeninist ideology and replacing it with capitalist practices.

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Table 2.1 Regime types Regime type

Country

Outcome

Totalitarian

USSR under Stalin; China in the 1950s and again during the Cultural Revolution; East and Central European countries 1948–53; Cuba in the 1960s; North Korea during the entire period, but patrimonial characteristics developed there as well USSR under Khrushchev; Cuba in the 1970s (with patrimonial tendencies); Eastern and Central Europe in the mid 1950s Hungary after 1968; Poland after 1971; USSR under Gorbachev; China in the 1990s (in the cultural and economic spheres); Yugoslavia after decentralization reforms in early 1970s Czechoslovakia after 1969; East Germany after 1971; Romania from the 1970s (combined with patrimonialism); Cuba in the 1990s (with patrimonial tendencies) Poland 1945–56 (which then becomes early post-totalitarian and matures in a way similar to Hungary); Nicaragua; Ethiopia; Grenada

Continued rule or loss of power through outside invasion

Early posttotalitarian

Maturing posttotalitarian

Freezing posttotalitarian

Failed totalitarian

Willing to shoot (China 1989, Soviet invasion of Hungary 1956, Poland 1970) Negotiated change (Hungary, Poland); power retained (China, Vietnam); semi-revolution when freezing begins again (USSR, Croatia and Slovenia in Yugoslavia) Revolution (GDR, USSR, Romania); or power retained (Cuba)

Regime consolidates its power and matures (Poland); or never gains complete sovereignty and loses on the battlefield, either directly (Ethiopia and Grenada) or indirectly (Nicaragua)

As the regimes lose their ideological legitimacy and enter the late posttotalitarian phase, they evolve either in a maturing or in a freezing direction, depending on their pragmatic acceptance. As Linz and Stepan observe, maturing regimes (as in Poland and Hungary) enter into negotiated pacts with the opposition; freezing regimes (as in East Germany and Czechoslovakia) become paralyzed and give up power without a fight when confronted with non-violent revolutions. The Soviet regime, which began maturing under Gorbachev, followed the negotiated path to some extent, in the sense that most of the ruling elite were willing to give up power to the radical reformers around Yeltsin. However, the actual collapse in the Soviet case recalled that of a freezing regime in some ways, as when the hardliners made their coup attempt. Like the freezing regimes

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in Czechoslovakia and East Germany, which were paralyzed and could not fully implement repressive measures, the coup leaders in the USSR quickly give up when confronted with the mobilization of society around the White House parliament building in Moscow. Besides changes in the terminology for these two types of late posttotalitarianism, this book introduces the new category of failed posttotalitarianism. Failed post-totalitarianism denotes those regimes that never succeeded in gaining full hegemonic control over society. In Poland, the regime eventually made compromises with society and was able to consolidate its power. In so doing, it basically followed the example of the Hungarian regime in its early post-totalitarian and then its maturing stage. Like its counterpart in Hungary, for example, it entered into a negotiated pact with the opposition. The other failed totalitarian regimes – those in Ethiopia and Nicaragua – were never able to achieve full control over their territory, and both eventually lost power after military clashes. In Ethiopia, a coalition of different liberation movements overthrew the regime; in Nicaragua, the Contras were able to destroy the economy and to wear out the population. Consequently, the majority of the population turned against the regime and supported the opposition in the 1990 election. This chapter has discussed the “mainstream” cases. As Linz and Stepan note, however, another type of regime (and a quite peculiar one) emerged as well: the almost completely personalized regime, which they term “sultanist” and I call “patrimonial-communist.” According to Marxian theory, a regime of this kind should have been a complete impossibility. Rather than creating a classless society, based on the equality of all inhabitants, patrimonial communism in Cuba, North Korea, Romania, and Yugoslavia (in its last years) has created a caste society. The next chapter discusses how nationalism and other factors combine to allow the emergence of such regimes. Subsequent chapters – on the opposition and on revolutionary potential – present a model which is based on the Linz– Stepan typology, but which is capable of explaining why regimes enter into negotiations in some cases, and why revolutions break out in other cases. It also explains why in some cases rebellions either do not break out or are defeated by regimes which are still willing to shoot.

3

Nationalism and patrimonial communism

Nationalist feeling undoubtedly influenced the emotions and perceptions of people living under communist rule. This was especially the case for the Soviet “satellites” (including the Baltic republics within the Soviet Union), where a large portion of the population considered their regimes to be puppets of an occupying power. Thus, when uprisings took place in Central European countries, such as the Solidarnos´c´ revolt in 1980–1, rebel leaders were quick to use national symbols to mobilize people.1 During the non-violent revolutions in 1989, citizens also resorted quickly to national symbols. However, although national symbols strengthened feelings of discontent, they were neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition for the collapse of communist regimes. If nationalist antagonism against externally imposed regimes had been sufficient by itself for overthrowing the regimes, then some regimes, such as the one in Poland – enjoying so little national legitimacy as they did – would have fallen almost immediately upon the imposition of communist rule. Meanwhile, the Czechoslovakian regime, for example, would have fallen shortly after the Warsaw Pact invasion in 1968 removed any pretense to national legitimacy. Nationalist factors are not necessary for the collapse of communism either, since homegrown regimes that once enjoyed national legitimacy lost power in such diverse countries as the Soviet Union, Yugoslavia, Nicaragua, and Grenada. Nevertheless, nationalism does play an extremely important role in explaining regime development. Communist leaders often tried to gain nationalist legitimacy in order to compensate for their lack of ideological legitimacy, as few people in most communist countries believed in Marxist-Leninist ideology. In the Central and East European countries, regimes tried to establish some amount of autonomy from the Soviet Union, so they could claim they were getting as much national autonomy as the Soviet Union would allow. In some cases, such as Poland, the 1

For the Polish case, see Roman Laba, The Roots of Solidarity: A Political Sociology of Poland’s Working-Class Democratization, (Princeton University Press, 1991).

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Soviet Union did grant the regime a bit of national autonomy, reasoning that its power would be greater if its “allied” regime had some minimal amount of public support. However, whenever the Polish regime seemed to be getting too autonomous and too popular for Soviet comfort, the Kremlin would put pressure on the regime in order to be sure it would stay under its control.2 In some cases homegrown communist regimes, as in Yugoslavia, used the nationalist card to prevent the Soviet Union from turning them into a puppet state. In other cases, Soviet-installed regimes eventually succeeded in playing the nationalist card to break away from the grasp of the Soviet bear, as in Romania in the late 1960s under Ceaus¸escu, or in North Korea after the Korean War ended in 1953. Of course, nationalist legitimacy came easiest for homegrown communist regimes that came to power on their own (as in the Soviet Union itself), and that launched their drive to power from the beginning in terms of a fight against imperialism (as in Cuba and China), or as a national liberation movement (as in Nicaragua and Vietnam). Nevertheless, communism and nationalism tend to be so intertwined in attempts at building an orthodox Soviet-type system that nationalism does not go far in explaining the collapse or continued rule of communist regimes; nor does it go far in explaining differences in regime types. After all, the Soviet Union enjoyed a rather high level of national legitimacy, but it still went through the usual phases of totalitarian, early post-totalitarian, and late post-totalitarian rule before finally collapsing. In fact, within the stage of post-totalitarian rule, it experienced periods of both freezing and maturing. What the quest for nationalist legitimacy can help explain is the rise of the unique aberration of very strong personalistic rule that Linz and Stepan, following Weber, term “sultanism.”3 They define sultanism as follows: In sultanism, there is a high fusion by the ruler of the private and public. The sultanistic polity becomes the personal domain of the sultan. In this domain there is no rule of law and there is low institutionalization . . . [T]he essential reality in a 2 3

See, for example, Ray Taras, Poland: Socialist State, Rebellious Nation (Boulder: Westview Press, 1986). See their discussion in Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation: Southern Europe, South America, and Post-Communist Europe (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996), particularly chapters 3 and 18, also Linz and H. E. Chehabi, eds., Sultanistic Regimes (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998). It should be stressed that the postWeberian use of the term “sultanism” does not involve the cultural baggage originally implied by that term. Weber’s analysis of the Ottoman Empire (from which he derived the term) was flawed: Ottoman rule was more “traditionalist” than personalist. But since Weber coined the term “sultanism” to refer to the most extreme form of patrimonialism, the said term has become, for better or worse, part of the social science “canon.” Moreover, the ethnocentric origins of the term do not detract from its usefulness as an analytical category.

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sultanistic regime is that all individuals, groups, and institutions are permanently subject to the unpredictable and despotic intervention of the sultan, and thus all pluralism is precarious.4

Linz and Stepan identify strong dynastic tendencies, typical of sultanism, in the Ceaus¸escu regime in Romania: Ceaus¸escu’s wife, Elena, was the second-most powerful person in the state; his four brothers held leading positions in the regime; and his son Nicu was being groomed as his successor.5 This, of course, applies even more in the case of North Korea, where Kim Jong Il did succeed his father, Kim Il Sung, upon the latter’s death in 1994, and where many other family members hold prominent positions.6 Observers have commented on the extravagance of the family-based North Korean regime.7 North Korea under the Kims is often termed the “hermit kingdom,” a reference to the traditional Korean emperors. In Cuba, too, a successful succession took place within the ruling dynasty, as Fidel Castro’s brother, Raúl, replaced him when he stepped down for health reasons. In rump Yugoslavia, it is not clear who would have succeeded Slobodan Miloševic´, although his wife became a political leader and his oldest son became an important businessman with links to the regime. As noted in Chapter 2, I prefer to call these regimes “patrimonial,” since sultans were only found in a certain region during a certain period of history; moreover, Weber’s account of how even sultans behaved has now been questioned by many historians. Linz and Stepan go on to argue that sultanistic regimes never give up power peacefully. Instead they try to repress any revolt violently, and they can only lose power if the opposition is able to defend itself militarily – as in Romania, where the military joined the opposition against the regime, which still had the support of the secret police (Securitate). Despite their great insights, Linz and Stepan do not try to explain how was it possible for regimes which came to power with egalitarian Marxian ideologies to degenerate into patrimonial-sultanistic regimes, which in reality become almost the exact opposite of their professed ideology. Moreover, since a highly patrimonial regime remains in power in North Korea, and a partially patrimonial regime still continues to rule Cuba, we see again that Linz and Stepan’s regime type typology cannot explain when a regime will fall – only how it will fall. This chapter explains how nationalism can combine with other factors to allow the emergence of patrimonial communist regimes. Later chapters 4 6 7

Linz and Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition, pp. 52–3. 5 Ibid., pp. 349–50. For a list of major positions held by family members, see Andrew C. Nahm, A History of the Korean People: Tradition and Transformation (Seoul: Hollym, 1988), pp. 418–19. “The Man Who Knew Too Much,” Newsweek, January 22, 2001: 64.

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bring in the revolutionary potential of society and the opposition, thus making it clearer why some patrimonial regimes have remained in power (in Cuba and North Korea), while others have fallen (in Romania and rump Yugoslavia). The following propositions are offered here:  Since patrimonial rule goes directly against Marxian theory regarding the need to build a classless egalitarian society, the ability to recreate nationalist legitimacy is a prerequisite for contradicting MarxistLeninist ideology so plainly.  If a leader is to be capable of rising above Marxist-Leninist ideology, and of gaining supporters for his attempts at self-deification (and so far communist rulers have all been men), he must normally be charismatic.  Since patrimonial rule so clearly goes against Marxist-Leninist ideology, the leader cannot build patrimonial rule if he believes too strongly in Marxist-Leninist ideology.  Since patrimonial rule relies on the support of family members, it is necessary for the potential patrimonial ruler to have family members that he (and so far it has only been men) can rely on. It is important to note here that this book follows Tucker’s argument that charismatic leadership is situational. Max Weber sees charismatic legitimacy as being based on the belief that a ruler holds extraordinary, supernatural abilities.8 Tucker, by contrast, removes the religious-mystical elements and demystifies charisma. He shows that nobody is “objectively” charismatic. Politicians who seem charismatic under certain conditions can appear totally uncharismatic under other ones. According to Tucker, society becomes open for a charismatic leader during periods of unusual distress.9 He notes: Briefly, the charismatic leader is one in whom, by virtue of unusual personal qualities, the promise or hope of salvation – deliverance from distress – appears to be embodied. He is a leader who convincingly offers himself to a group of people in distress as one peculiarly qualified to lead them out of their predicament.10

This does not mean that anyone can become charismatic if only the right moment arises. Only certain people possess the ability to become charismatic. They must have certain character traits, such as the ability to evoke strong emotions for and against, and exceptional rhetorical skill.11 8 9 10 11

Max Weber, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft, 5th edn. (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1972), p. 140. Robert C. Tucker, “The Theory of Charismatic Leadership,” Daedalus, 97:3 (1968): 731–56. Ibid., 742. For a discussion, see Steven Saxonberg, The Czech Republic before the New Millennium (Boulder/New York: East European Monographs/Columbia University Press, 2003), Chapter 3; and “Václav Klaus: The Rise and Fall and Re-Emergence of a Charismatic Leader,” East European Politics and Society, 13:2 (1999): 96–111.

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To demonstrate these points, this chapter begins by analyzing several leaders who might have had enough national legitimacy to install a patrimonial dictatorship, but who did not. That includes Stalin in the Soviet Union, Mao in China, and Ho Chi Minh in Vietnam. These cases show that when some of the necessary elements are missing, even extremely popular, charismatic leaders avoid trying to install patrimonial rule. Then this chapter discusses the cases where patrimonial rulers did in fact arise. These include totalitarian patrimonial rule in North Korea, harsh freezing patrimonial rule in Romania, less harsh but still freezing patrimonial rule in Cuba, and maturing patrimonial rule in rump Yugoslavia. Non-patrimonial nationalists The Soviet Union As the ruler of the first country in the world where communists came to power via a revolution, Stalin had little trouble establishing some degree of nationalist legitimacy. In his ruthless drive to amass power, Stalin built up a personality cult that went well beyond the imagination of the original Bolshevik leaders, who thought they were building a classless society. Through his efficient political skills and impressive propagandistic abilities, this ruthless leader was able to create a highly charismatic aura around himself, allowing him to rise above the Party-state bureaucracy. At first he seemed an unlikely candidate for becoming a charismatic leader, as he had always been considered a faceless bureaucrat charged with administering the Party bureaucracy (in his role as general secretary of the Party), rather than running the new communist state (as prime minister). We must recall, however, that charisma is situational; and it is clear that a political vacuum had developed after the collapse of the Czarist regime, the Bolshevik victory over the White Army, and the death of Lenin. The new system was not yet consolidated, and the situation was ripe for a strong leader to emerge and give the revolution direction. Of course, this does not mean the new leader was predestined to emerge from the position of Party secretary. In fact, most Bolsheviks assumed it was Lenin’s successor as prime minister who would have the real political power. It was not even predetermined that a charismatic leader would emerge. Rather, structural conditions existed that made it possible for such a leader to emerge, and Stalin had the political skills to create charismatic legitimacy. Finally, despite the horrific lengths to which Stalin went to make his rule despotic, he never tried to institutionalize a patrimonial regime.

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It is very likely that Stalin – as a member of the original revolutionary group around Lenin, and as former editor of the Party newspaper Pravda – really did believe in much of the ideology. His theoretical skills could not approach those of Lenin or Trotsky, but he was still very interested in ideology (and even cultural issues), and he was well-read both in classical Marxian theoretical texts and in Russian literature. Moroever, he wrote some of the most important doctrinal tracts for the world communist movement himself. Biographers have portrayed him as a “convinced Marxist fanatic from his youth.”12 Despite his personalized rule, his ideological convictions would have made it difficult for him to abandon basic Marxist-Leninist tenets, as Kim Il Sung did in North Korea (when he removed Marxism-Leninism from the constitution), or as Miloševic´ did in Yugoslavia (when he allowed partly free elections and privatized state enterprises by selling them off to family and friends). Even if it were to turn out that Stalin was so manipulative that he did not care at all about communist ideology, and just used it to amass personal power, he would not have been able to install a patrimonial regime for the simple reason that he did not have family members available to place in high positions. His first wife died long before the Bolshevik revolution and his second wife committed suicide in 1932.13 To make matters worse (from Stalin’s perspective), and in the face of his rabid anti-Semitism, both his daughter and his second son married Jews. His eldest son (from his first marriage) tried to kill himself – whereupon Stalin commented that the good-for-nothing fellow could not even shoot straight! In Stalin’s morbid worldview, his daughter’s marriage to a Jew was part of a “Zionist plot.”14 And when his second son was captured by the Nazis, Stalin suspected he had been betrayed by his Jewish wife and had her sent to prison for several years.15 He even refused to exchange a captured German field marshal for the release of his son.16 Even though his daughter, Svetlana, remained more loyal to Stalin than did his sons, she did not sympathize with the regime, and eventually emigrated after

12 13 14

15 16

Simon Sebag Montefiore, Stalin: The Court of the Red Tsar (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson), p. 4. Ibid., pp. 13ff; Simon Rees, “Historians Are Still Trying to Sort Out the Dark Private Life and Strange Death of Josef Stalin,” Military History, October 2003: 18. William Korey, “The Origins and Development of Soviet Anti-Semitism: An Analysis,” Slavic Review 31:1 (1972), 123; Robert H. McNeal, “Stalin’s Family: A Commentary on Svetlana Allilyeva’s Memoirs,” Russian Review, 27:1 (1968): 85. Bernard D. Weinryb, “Stalin’s Zionism,” Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research, 46 (1979–80), 571. Hiroaki Kuromiya, “Stalin and His Era,” Historical Journal, 50:3 (2007): 721.

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her father’s death. Stalin spared his own children from his reign of terror, but other family members did not fare so well. The great dictator had several relatives executed or imprisoned, including two brothers-in-law (both of whom were shot) and three sisters-in-law (who were all sent to prison).17 Not only was he unable to use family members to build up his power, he did not even want to use them for this purpose. Instead, he preferred to rely on his tried-and-true method of keeping society and party members in a constant state of fear. In the words of Robert H. McNeal, “For his own family, as for so much else in Russian life, Stalin’s legacy was destruction.”18

China Like Stalin, Mao Zedong enjoyed great charismatic and national legitimacy, having led the Communist Party to victory in the Chinese civil war. If purely cultural factors, such as Confucianist traditions of respect for authority, could explain why some regimes moved in a “sultanist” direction, then the question arises of why North Korea but not China evolved into a patrimonial regime.19 After all, China is the home of Confucius. As with Stalin, however, Mao’s ideological beliefs were too strong to allow for such a deviation from Marxism-Leninism; as with Stalin too, his broken family made it nearly impossible for him to build a family dynasty. In contrast to the founder of the North Korean communist dynasty, Kim Il Sung, Mao was relatively well-educated. He had attended courses at Peking university, and was interested in reading about philosophy and ideologies.20 Unlike Kim Il Sung, Mao had actually read texts by Marx and Lenin, and he believed in the basic Leninist tenets as developed by Stalin.21 Again in contrast to Kim Il Sung, but like Lenin and Trotsky, Mao actually developed Marxism-Leninism in a manner that contributed to the international Marxist discourse. Mao had a strong influence on various communist parties and movements throughout the world, especially with regard to the role of peasants in agricultural countries. Lowell Dittmer writes of “Mao Tse-tung’s own brilliance in formulating the

17 19

20 21

Robert H. McNeal, “Stalin’s Family,” 85. 18 McNeal, “Stalin’s Family,” 86. Among the many authors to note the Confucian roots of the North Korean dictatorship, see, for example, Bradley K. Martin, Under the Loving Care of the Fatherly Leader: North Korea and the Kim Dynasty (New York: Thomas Dunne Books, 2004), p. 190. Howard L. Boorman, “Mao Tse-tung: The Lacquered Image,” China Quarterly, 16 (1963): 8. He read the Communist Manifesto for the first time in 1920, twenty-nine years before coming to power. See Boorman, “Mao Tse-tung: The Lacquered Image,” 10.

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variant of Marxism-Leninism that took into account the salient peculiarities of the Chinese situation.”22 When Mao felt his power threatened after the failures of his Great Leap Forward, he did engage in a power game in order to maintain his power. But rather than consolidating his power by placing family members and friends in high places within the Party – as Kim Il Sung and Ceaus¸escu did in North Korea and Romania, respectively – Mao went outside the Party, and mobilized society against it via the Cultural Revolution. He created the Red Guard in order to mobilize Chinese youth against the Party bureaucracy, and by so doing, gained power over a Party bureaucracy that had become skeptical of his policies.23 While this strategy was rational, the choice of going outside of the Party rather than maneuvering inside of the Party was also an ideological choice. Mao had clearly created a personality cult, but he was never entirely comfortable with it.24 His personal view contrasted sharply with the Kims in North Korea. The North Korean regime relied heavily upon Confucianism – and especially upon Confucian family traditions (as seen in Kim Il Sung’s son’s decision to declare three years of mourning following his father’s death).25 By contrast, “Mao objected to Confucianism because of its emphasis on family loyalty at the expense of national patriotism and its deprecation of military virtues.”26 As he confided to the journalist Edgar Snow, he found his personality cult necessary but embarrassing, and he wished instead to be remembered simply as a teacher.27 Paul J. Hiniker argues that when Mao launched his Cultural Revolution, ideology was as important to him as maintaining power. After the Great Leap Forward proved to be a colossal failure, with millions of people starving to death, cognitive dissonance set in among Mao and the Party leadership. In this situation, they had two choices. One was to adhere less strictly to Maoist ideology and to look for alternative policies.

22 23

24 25

26 27

Lowell Dittmer, “Bases of Power in Chinese Politics: A Theory and an Analysis of the Fall of the ‘Gang of Four,’” World Politics 31:1 (1978): 26. Most accounts of the Cultural Revolution see it as a way Mao found to fight the Party elite and bureaucracy, who had become critical of the Great Leap Forward, weakening his position within the Party. See, for example, Peter Cheng, “Liu Shao-Ch’i and the Cultural Revolution,” Asian Survey 11:10 (1971), 944ff. In fact this personality cult helped inspire Kim Il Sung’s attempts at building his patrimonial system based on his own personality cult. For a discussion of the three years of mourning, see Gavan McCormack, Target North Korea: Pushing North Korea to the Brink of Nuclear Catastrophe (New York: Nation Books, 2004), p. 56. Boorman, “Mao Tse-tung: The Lacquered Image,” 6, emphasis added. Edgar Snow, The Long Revolution (New York: Vintage, 1971), p. 169.

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This was the path that much of the Party leadership chose. The other was to become more committed than ever to Maoist ideology, and to attribute policy failures to sabotage by “class enemies.”28 Hiniker observes that the highly committed Maoists, including Mao Zedong, Lin Biao, Chen Boda and Kang Sheng, seeking the consonance of social support immediately began to proselytize far and wide for their ideology and the exculpating class struggle rationalization for its failure; the less committed on the Politburo, including Liu Shaoqi and Deng Ziaoping, became even less credulous of Maoist ideology, refused to proselytize for it and even instituted counter programmes for recovery.29

Hiniker goes on to show that Mao’s strategy was often based more on ideology than on rational power calculations. For example, Mao refrained from giving financial rewards to his supporters (or potential supporters), for such rewards were contrary to his ideological beliefs. Where coercion was concerned, moreover, Mao argued against the physical liquidation of his opponents. He preferred to have them engage in ideological study, so that they might be rehabilitated.30 Even if Mao had not been inhibited for ideological reasons from instituting patrimonial rule, he would have been unable to use his family as a power base. His siblings were communists, but they all died before he came to power. Mao’s sister, Mao Zejian, was executed at Changsha in 1930. One younger brother, Mao Zetan, died in battle in Kiangsi during the guerrilla war. His other younger brother, Mao Zemin, was executed in 1937 in Sinkiang by the provincial governor, who had turned anticommunist.31 Mao also had trouble with his various wives. His first wife, Yang Kaihui, was executed by order of the governor of Hunan.32 His second wife, He Zizhen, divorced him after going to Moscow for medical treatment.33 His third wife, Jiang Qing, remained married to Mao in theory, but the two had stopped living together by the time he came to power. Mao’s private doctor, Li Zhisui, suggested that the only reason Mao did not divorce Jiang Qing was in order to avoid pressure from his devoted lovers to marry them instead.34 Moreover, since Jiang Qing was a fanatical hardliner, Mao eventually promoted her to the Politburo during the Cultural Revolution. According to Dittmer, Jiang Qing did not play an impotant role in 28 29 31 33 34

Paul J. Hiniker, “The Cultural Revolution Revisited: Dissonance Reduction or Power Maximization,” China Quarterly, 94 (1983), especially 289. Ibid., 291. 30 Ibid., 286–7. Boorman, “Mao Tse-tung: The Lacquered Image,” 28. 32 Ibid., 20. Ibid., 28. Dr. Li Zhisui with Anne F. Thurston, The Private Life of Chairman Mao (New York: Random House, 1994), p. 7f.

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Chinese politics until the Cultural Revolution. It bears noting that Mao did not promote Jiang Qing because he had great plans for putting his trusted wife in a high place. Rather, he did so because, “[a]s Mao became increasingly isolated from his official advisors following the failure of the Great Leap Forward, Chiang [i.e., Jiang Qing] reappeared on the cultural front, determined to defend her husband’s faltering reputation and to carry the attack to his intellectual critics.”35 She had already been a fanatical hardliner on cultural issues, and she seems to have striven for higher position in order to support her husband. Already in the early 1950s, in fact (i.e., before she was in a position of power), she had “demanded an escalation of the purge – at least in the theatre, about which she, as an ex-film actress, knew something.”36 Mao promoted his last wife to the Politburo, but he did not choose her as his successor. This shows that Mao had no intention of using Jiang Qing to build a family dynasty. Instead, he made it clear that he wanted the premier, Hua Guofeng, to take the reins.37 Moreover, if Mao had wanted to build a family dynasty like Kim Il Sung’s in North Korea, he would have required the help of his children (to take over after he and his wife had died). Despite the fact that Mao had many children, he would not have been able to promote them to leadership positions, both for ideological and personal reasons. For example, since he really seemed to believe in his ideology of equality, he was unwilling to spare his own children from military duty. So rather than groom his eldest son, Anying, for succession, Mao sent him, during the Korean War, to North Korea where he died in an American air raid.38 Even if Anying had survived the war, moreover, he and Mao did not seem to have the kind of close relationship that would be required to build a family dynasty. Mao’s contact with his first children, Mao Anqing and Mao Anying, was also very slight until the late 1930s, when they came to stay with him for awhile when he was living in caves in Yanan. They were thirteen and fourteen years old at the time, respectively.39 Even though Mao was closer to Anying than to any of his other children, Mao admitted to his bodyguard, Li Yinqiao, that he only saw his son every five years.40 Mao’s youngest son died in 1931, at the age of six.41 Thus, the only son 35 36 37 38 39 41

Dittmer, “Bases of Power in Chinese Politics,” 44. L. La Dany, “Mao’s China: the Decline of a Dynasty,” Foreign Affairs, 45:4 (1967): 616. Zhisui with Thurston, The Private Life of Chairman Mao, pp. 4ff. Michael H. Hunt, “Beijing and the Korean Crisis,” Political Science Quarterly 107:3 (1992): 462, fn. 32. Michael Lynch, Mao (London: Routledge, 2004), p. 107. 40 Ibid., p. 152. Ibid., p. 210.

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who could have carried on the family dynasty was Mao Anqing, who was eventually institutionalized for schizophrenia.42 Mao also had five children with his second wife, He Zizhen, whom he divorced in 1938. One of their children died at the age of two; two were left in the care of peasants during the Long March and lost contact with him; a fourth (a son) died within a few months of his birth.43 Thus, Li Min is the only child Mao had with He Zizhen who survived. Mao also had one child with his third wife, Jiang Qing.44 Eventually, in the early 1950s, his two daughters, Li Na (born 1940) and Li Min (born 1936) came to live with him. By that time, though, Mao was already estranged from Jiang Qing, who was living separately from him, and he no longer showed much interest in his two daughters.45

Vietnam Having led the northern part of his country to independence, Ho Chi Minh had a definite claim to nationalist legitimacy. In fact, he was often considered to be moderate and highly pragmatic, and more of a nationalist than a communist. While he did not live to see his country united, he certainly earned more nationalist legitimacy than his North Korean counterpart, Kim Il Sung. The latter came to power, because the Soviet Red Army had chosen him, while Ho Chi Minh had been the leader of his country’s national liberation movement. Ho was also widely seen as charismatic and charming.46 If he had wished to found a patrimonial dynasty, then, he had a good starting point. Many authors have emphasized North Korea’s Confucian cultural roots as one of the main reasons why Kim established a patrimonial dynasty. But if political culture were reason enough, Vietnam would have been just as likely as North Korea to become a patrimonialist deviation from Marxism-Leninism. Vietnam, after all, has strong Confucian roots. Ho Chi Minh received a strict Confucian education, and he always held Confucius in great reverence.47 His father had also received a Confucian education in order to qualify for work as a public official.48 So, while the Confucian cultural legacy undoubtedly made it easier for Kim Il Sung to build up a patrimonial dynasty than for leaders in 42 46 47 48

Ibid., p. 213. 43 Ibid., p. 215. 44 Ibid., p. 213. 45 Ibid., p. 219. See, for example, Pierre Brocheux, Ho Chi Minh, translated by Claire Duiker (Cambridge University Press, 2007), p. 187. William J. Duiker, Ho Chi Minh (New York: Hyperion, 2000), p. 555; and Brocheux, Ho Chi Minh, p. 576. For details, see the first three chapters in Duiker, Ho Chi Minh.

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non-Asian countries, cultural factors cannot explain the difference between Vietnam and North Korea. Instead, two other factors were important in deterring Ho from the patrimonial path. First, it would have gone against his ideological convictions. Second, he did not have a large family upon which he could have built a personal dynasty. With regard to ideology, Ho really did read texts by Marx and Lenin. This was not the case with Kim Il Sung, who dropped out of school at age 13. It seems that Ho studied Marxism-Leninism at the Communist Party school in the Soviet Union and he wrote texts applying Marxist-Leninist analysis to the colonial situation in Vietnam. Moreover, even though Ho was a nationalist in the sense that he wanted his country to be independent, he was more of an internationalist than was Kim. Ho had spent time in America, Great Britain, France, China, the Soviet Union, and Thailand and he had learned these countries’ languages with varying degrees of proficiency. He was more of an intellectual and man of the world than was Kim. He wrote books and articles for newspapers and magazines. According to some reports, he brought his typewriter wherever he went. In sum, Ho’s Marxian and internationalist convictions prevented him from isolating his country and creating a personalized, hermetic kingdom, as Kim did. Ho was also a humble person, who did not strive for extreme personal power. For example: On several occasions Ho had protested against the national celebration of his birthday, and once asked why they did not celebrate the birth of the republic instead. Another time he said that one could legitimately honor the birth of Karl Marx or Lenin but not his, since he was only their disciple and should not be put on equal footing with them.49

Of course, this did not stop the Communist regime from trying to build up a personality cult around him. It ignored his wish to be cremated, for example, and instead embalmed his body and put it in a newly built mausoleum.50 Nonetheless, as Ho himself had no desire to build up a personality cult, he did not so position himself as to be able to establish a patrimonial dynasty. Moreover, as already mentioned even if Ho Chi Minh had aspired to found a patrimonial dynasty, his lack of family ties would have made that difficult. He had had to leave the country at an early age in order to escape persecution by the French colonial authorities. Later, he was forced to hide from the Japanese rulers. He was often on the run, choosing different names and identities while hopping from country to country. This made it 49

Brocheux, Ho Chi Minh, p. 180.

50

Ibid., p. 180; and Duiker, Ho Chi Minh, p. 566.

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nearly impossible for him to form a family of his own, though he reportedly did have serious relationships with several women. In the 1920s, for instance, he married a Chinese woman, but he never saw her again after fleeing the country in 1927.51 He also had a son with a woman of Tay origin in 1956; but he refused to marry her, and she died one year later (and Ho never took care of their son). By the time Ho returned to Vietnam and became the leader of its northern part, not even his brother and sister realized who he was. They could not even recognize his name, as Ho Chi Minh, was not his real name.52 Having no wife or children to inherit his throne, and not having seen his siblings for decades, Ho was in no position to establish a political system based on family rule.

Totalitarian patrimonialism in North Korea No other communist regime has ever been as patrimonial as North Korea, where the Great Leader, Kim Il Sung, is treated as a virtual deity. With the possible exception of Cambodia under the Khmer Rouge, no other communist regime has ever succeeded in becoming as totalitarian. The Great Leader and his son (the “Dear Leader,” Kim Jong Il) have efficiently used patrimony to preserve totalitarian rule, and have become the only communist patrimonial regime to pass down leadership from one family generation to another. The need to preserve totalitarianism was greater in North Korea than in other communist countries, as the personalized rule of Kim Il Sung required the creation of national and charismatic legitimacy. Kim II Sung lacked the nationalist credentials of homegrown regime leaders that had come to power on their own (Tito, Lenin, Mao, and Castro), or of a second leader like Stalin, who was able to mobilize his country for a military victory. Kim Il Sung could only build his nationalistcharismatic legitimacy on a mythology based almost entirely on lies. The only way such lies could be made believable was to isolate the country from the rest of the world (preventing citizens from being exposed to other sources of information) and to purge brutally all those who could possibly challenge the new deity’s mythology.53 According to the official mythology, Kim Il Sung almost single-handedly defeated the Japanese occupation forces. The truth, however, is that he dropped out of school at thirteen and joined the guerrilla forces on the Chinese side of the border. He spent most of the time fighting officially within the Chinese army. While the Japanese did in fact consider him a big 51 53

Brocheux, Ho Chi Minh, p. 181. 52 Duiker, Ho Chi Minh, p. 386. See, for example, Jasper Becker, Rogue Regime: Kim Jong Il and the Looming Threat of North Korea (Oxford University Press, 2005), p. 61.

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enough menace to warrant placing a price on his head, Kim II Sung did not win any major battles and during World War II he took his small guerrilla group over the Soviet border in order to survive. He spent little of the war actually fighting and when the war ended, he came to the northern part of Korea on a Soviet ship, sporting a Soviet Red Army uniform. The Soviet commanders needed a leader for their portion of the partitioned country and they decided that Kim Il Sung would make a reliable puppet whom they could control. They even wrote his first speech, and gave him three days to memorize it!54 His nationalist legitimacy was further impaired by the fact that he had spent so much time outside the country that he could not speak Korean fluently. In an effort to gain nationalist legitimacy, Kim II Sung launched a war against South Korea, with the explicit aim of uniting the country. The invasion turned out to be a tragic mistake, as the USA quickly entered the war and not only easily defeated the North Korean army but also destroyed most of the country in bombing raids. Kim Il Sung could only hang onto power after China sent in hundreds of thousands of troops and pushed the American army back to the original pre-invasion borders. This was hardly the best starting point for building up nationalist legitimacy! Despite these disadvantages, Kim Il Sung was able to turn his defeat around and build up charismatic-nationalist legitimacy by pitting the Party’s various factions against one another in a series of purges that enabled him to gain absolute control over the country. These purges included eliminating the South Korean immigrant communists55 and the pro-Soviet and pro-Chinese Yan’an factions of the Party. The Yan’an faction comprised cadres who had spent time in China and who were keenly aware that Kim had been saved by Chinese troops during the Korean War. This faction actually planned a revolt against the Great Leader in 1956, but Kim Il Sung found out about it ahead of time and was able to outmaneuver them.56 In the ensuing purges against these three groups, Kim had 600,000 party members investigated, of whom 450,000 were punished. “By the late 1960s, two-thirds of the positions for local cadres were unfilled, as their former occupants had been killed, detained, or demoted. Eventually no one was left who could contradict the bogus history that Kim Il Sung presented as truth.”57 Besides being able to play factions against each other, the Great Leader was able to build his support on two groups. One 54 55 56

Ibid., p. 49f. For a detailed account, see Andrei Lankov, Crisis in North Korea: The Failure of DeStalinization, 1956 (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2005). Ibid. 57 Jasper Becker, Rogue Regime, p. 63.

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was formed by guerrilla fighters who had followed Kim from China to the Soviet Union and who felt great loyalty toward him as the man who had led them in battle. Like the Great Leader himself, they were very poorly educated and were unlikely to have read classic Marxist-Leninist texts, which could have produced ideological barriers to accepting Kim’s transformation from Leninist dictator to Confucian God. The other group Kim relied on were the younger bureaucrats, who had grown up in the northern part of Korea and had only recently joined the Party. They did not owe allegiance to any of the other factions, which had all based their loyalties on having lived together outside of North Korea – be it in the Soviet Union, China, or South Korea. This group of young bureaucrats benefited from the purges, which opened up the ladders to upward mobility. Having purged the Party of anyone who would dare criticize his personality cult or oppose his total falsification of history, Kim Il Sung was now free to create his own mythological tale recasting him as a national hero. Suddenly he was the man who had single-handedly defeated the Japanese army and who had then defended his country alone, against an unprovoked invasion by the United States and South Korea. He even took credit for developing the Juche ideology of self-reliance, though it was actually developed by his ideological secretary, Hwang Jang-yop. In order to create a new ideology and to develop the myth that Kim had always been a strong nationalist, independent of the Soviet Union, “[o]n Kim’s orders Hwang went through his reports and speeches, erasing all the praise of Stalin. Only literature by Kim Il Sung was listed as compulsory reading by party cells. Soon all works by Marx, Engels, Lenin and Stalin were dropped from the study list and became unavailable even to the Party faithful.”58 As Becker remarks, “[i]n this imagined history, the role of the Americans, the Soviets, the atomic bombs, the Chinese communist and nationalist parties, and virtually every other historical fact vanishes from the record.”59 Furthermore, Paul French adds, “Kim’s cult became so complete that all other revolutionary and guerrilla leaders, the other men and women who formed the KWP [Korean Workers’ Party], have been sidelined by official North Korean history at best or were purged and executed at worst. Kim remains the only figure in the official histories of the DPRK [Democratic People’s Republic of Korea] before liberation and during the guerrilla struggle.”60

58 60

Ibid., p. 66. 59 Ibid., p. 49. Paul French, North Korea: The Paranoid Peninsula (London: Zed Books, 2007, 2nd edn.), p. 50.

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Undoubtedly, Kim’s skillful use of political intrigue, purges, and propaganda helped him build up his charismatic legitimacy. However, his years as a guerrilla leader also seem to have taught him how to develop the necessary rhetorical skills for inducing people to follow him. Bruce Cumings, who mentions the Great Leader’s charisma throughout his book, cites a member of Kim’s guerrilla unit, who claimed in 1946 that: This sort of person naturally has an extremely strong power of attraction to others . . . And it goes without saying that a guerrilla organization with such a person at the center is incomparably strong . . . The General’s embrace and love are like the Sun’s, and when our fighters look up to and receive the General, their trust, self-sacrifice and devotion are such that they will gladly die for him.61

Kim needed charismatic-nationalist legitimacy in order to maintain his power against pro-Chinese and pro-Soviet factions that opposed his personality cult, demanded de-Stalinization, and considered themselves more qualified than he to run the country. This helps explain why the Great Leader had an incentive to purge these factions and to create a myth making himself out to be a national hero (whereas in reality he had only come to power because some Soviet officials had chosen him, and he had only remained in power because the Chinese army had saved him). However, he never would have been able to develop such an extreme form of patrimonial rule if he had been restrained either by a lack of family support, or by strong ideological beliefs in Marxian norms of equality. A person who had dropped out of school at the age of thirteen, and who devoted himself to warfare soon thereafter can hardly be expected to have had time to read or understand the classic Marxist-Leninist texts. It is telling that the ideology which he claims to have developed was actually developed by his ideological secretary, Hwang. It is also telling that Marxism-Leninism was eventually removed from the country’s constitution during Kim’s reign.62 Already in 1972, the Juche ideology “became the exclusive ideology of the North Korean state, gradually supplanting Marxism-Leninism and being enshrined in Article 4 of the 1972 constitution as ‘a creative application of Marxism-Leninism’ by which the state was to be ‘guided.’”63

61

62

63

Bruce Cumings, North Korea (New York: New Press, 2004), p. 123. See also HelenLouise Hunter, Kim Il-song’s North Korea (Westpoint, Conn.: Praeger, 1999). Hunter calls Kim “a charismatic leader with a personal style of leadership” (p. 13). Gavan McCormack, Target North Korea: Pushing North Korea to the Brink of Nuclear Catastrophe (New York: Nation Books, 2004), p. 64; and French, North Korea. French observes that Marxism-Leninism is now “barely mentioned” in the country (p. 30). “Through the Looking Glass,” Economist, July 10, 1999, The Koreas Survey, 12.

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Even without ideological constraints to hold him back, Kim Il Sung would have been unable to create such an extreme form of patrimonial rule had he not had a large family whom he could trust. One example of this trust was his decision to name his son Kim Jong Il as his successor. In contrast to Mao (whose children either died or went insane), or Stalin (whose children were never close to him), or to Ho Chi Minh (who never had any children), the Great Leader was also the great procreator. No one knows for sure how many children he had, as many were illegitimate and were not officially acknowledged. In Martin’s words: Few names have been known for certain, even by other members of the elite, as this has been one of the ultimate taboo subjects in North Korea . . . I was told the identity of one man described as probably the most powerful, at the time, of Kim’s unacknowledged children. Another, much younger man, apparently Kim’s illegitimate son, was reported to have begun work in the party propaganda bureau.64

The list of known family members in high positions is too long to list here, but Martin reports as follows: Kim Il-sung provided jobs for a stupefying number of relatives in addition to his offspring. His female cousins on his father’s side did well in the regime, for example, as did their husbands. Cousin Kim Jong-suk (same name as Kim’s second wife, but a different person) became vice-chair of the Korean General Occupational Federations and chief editor of Minju Chojon, organ of the administrative council. Her husband was Ho Dam, who served as vice-premier and foreign minister. Kim Il-sung’s cousin Kim Shin-sook became deputy director of the Academy of Social Sciences and an official of the Democratic Women’s League. Her husband, Yang Hyong-sop, rose to become a member of the party politburo and secretariat and chairman of the Supreme People’s Assembly – the parliament. Kim Il-sung gave a vice-presidency of the country to Kang Ryang-uk, the former Methodist minister who was a cousin of his maternal grandfather and who had taught him at Changdok School. In the united-front facade that Kim erected early in his rule, Kang was supposed to represent the moderate, noncommunist forces that had allied themselves with the communists. Besides heading the token opposition Korean Democratic Party, other assignments before his death in 1983 included a vice-chairmanship of the General League of Trade Unions. Joining Kang as a vice-president was Pak Song-chol, who was Kang’s son-in-law. Thus, of three vice-presidents serving during that period, only one was not a relative of Kim Il-sung’s. Pak was also made a member of the party politburo and chairman of the Central People’s Committee. Kim Il-sung’s first cousins included Kim Chang-ju, who rose to become vicepremier, and Chang-ju’s brother Bong-ju, who became chairman of the Profession League Central Committee. They were the sons of Kim Il-sung’s uncle Kim Hyong-rok – his father’s younger brother, who had stayed home to farm, taking over as head of the Mangyongdae household. Hyong-rok’s third son, Kim Won-ju, 64

Martin, Under the Loving Care, p. 192.

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was a State Security Department officer whose assignments included rooting out disloyalty to the regime among students at the ultra-elite Mangyongdae School. Won-ju’s son Myong-su became a State Security official; Myong-su’s brother Myong-ho, a colonel in the People’s Army. Kim Byoung-il, another State Security official (in charge of inspecting the evidence brought in by investigators in loyalty cases), was married to a niece of Kim Il-sung. It was an exaggeration but not too far from the truth to say, as did one high-level defector, that “the topmost officials have to be relatives.”65

The Dear Leader, Kim Jong Il, has continued his father’s nepotistic tradition, and he has enough children to do this. Although he has never officially married, he has had children with four different mothers.66 Cumings observes: Kim Jong Il, like his father, truly trusts only his relatives when it comes to the top security organs. Several top commanders responsible for the security of the capital are in the hands of a group of four brothers who are in-laws to Jong Il’s sister, with the eldest brother responsible for the army corps that defends Pyongyang. Otherwise he is constantly at odds with the DPRK’s sclerotic bureaucracy. In 1996 Kim directly admonished the highest officials for the nauseating street scenes of people starving, begging for grain and boarding trains for the countryside in search of something to eat.67

Through this extreme form of patrimonial rule, based on a strong personality cult, the Kims have built what is possibly the most totalitarian system the world has ever known. The state has such control over people that, in order to travel by train, one must first obtain a travel certificate from the authorities, and purchase the ticket in advance.68 With a strong secret police and military, the regime punishes the slightest political offense severely. Improperly dusting a portrait of the Kims can lead not only to banishment to a work camp (or even execution) for the offender, but even to banishment of his/her entire family, including the children.69 Estimates of the number of political prisoners usually range from around 200,000 to 250,000.70 Hwang, who though he created the Juche ideology later left the country, states that: “From the intellectuals’ standpoint, it can be said without hesitation that the entire country is a large prison.”71 All people in the country are graded on the basis of their “reliability.” The three main grades are the “core class,” the “wavering class,” and the “hostile class.”72 North Koreans are then placed in forty-eight subdivisions or songbun. Although one can easily be downgraded for such “offences” as lack of ideological fervor, it is extremely rare to be upgraded. 65 66 68 70

Martin, Under the Loving Care, pp. 189–90. McCormack, Target North Korea, p. 63. 67 Cumings, North Korea, p. 169. French, North Korea, p. 18. 69 Becker, Rogue Regime, p. 93. See, for example, French, North Korea, p. 28. 71 Ibid., p. 44. 72 Ibid., p. 42.

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A large part of a North Korean’s grade depends on his/her family background. If a family member had committed a “thought crime,” or come from another country (such as Japan or South Korea), etc., then no matter how hard a person works, or how qualified he/she is, or how much he/she believes in the system, that person will never advance very far in society. Unless one belongs to the “core class,” one has no chance at attending a university; if one belongs to the “hostile class” (about 30 percent of the population), one has no chance for advancement in life. Persons from the “hostile class” find all doors to the military, a high-school education, etc. closed to them, and can only hope to work at a factory or collective farm. Not only is their life without hope, their children will not have any possibilities for advancement either.73 For those in the other two classes, the only way to advance in society is to enroll in the army, for a period that normally lasts around eight years. During the first six years, soldiers are not even allowed short leaves to visit their family.74 Near the demilitarized zone along the border with South Korea, North Korea has a standing army of around 1 million soldiers.75 Thus, Gavan McCormack argues, The Great and Dear Leaders had little compunction about imposing their wills. Periodic purges filled the concentration camps with dissidents, suspected dissidents, and their families. As Ogawa Haruhisa, emeritus professor of Tokyo University and a specialist in east Asian thought, comments, “With the establishment of the monolithic ideology in North Korea, this unholy trinity [one-party rule, the secret police, and concentration camps] has consolidated and perpetuated itself in its cruelest form.” Among totalitarian regimes, the intensity of its combination of terror, surveillance, and mobilization may be unmatched. Reports by United Nations sources and independent organizations such as Amnesty International paint a picture of widespread repression, with a network of camps in which somewhere between one and two hundred thousand dissidents are held, under conditions of extreme privation.76

Becker describes how the totalitarian indoctrination begins already in nursery school: The brainwashing starts at two when all children are put in state nurseries and start to be immersed in the Kim thought that they should “think, speak and act as Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il” . . . From primary school to university, subjects aimed at strengthening the personality cult account for 33.3 percent of the total curriculum (one-third of all subjects taught).77 73 74 75 77

Hunter, Kim Il-song’s North Korea, pp. 3–7. Cumings, North Korea, p. 1. For a detailed description, see Hunter, Kim Il-song’s North Korea, pp. 83ff. McCormack, Target North Korea, p. 2. 76 Ibid., pp. 69–70. Becker, Rogue Regime, p. 72.

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In order to ensure that they remain loyal to the state, people must attend “community sessions” and “learning sessions” after work. The former take up such topics as the results of the day’s work, an evaluation of how well the work is progressing, and the tasks of the next day. The latter focus on ideology. According to Paul French: Self-criticism [at these sessions] is still popular, as is mutual criticism in so-called ‘colleague criticism sessions.’ Criticisms can range from consistently being late for work to wasting national resources. All criticism is based on the ‘Ten Principles for Firmly Establishing the Party’s Unique Thought System.’78

Helen-Louise Hunter concludes that these “[c]riticism sessions establish that climate of watchfullness in conditioning North Koreans, even as young students, to notice their fellow students and to report on their behavior.”79 The totalitarian indoctrination is geared to making the Great Leader and the Dear Leader into new deities. Observers estimate that 30,000–50,000 monuments have been built to honor these two leaders, and they have often been of marble or granite.80 The monuments include a 25-meter bronze statue of the Great Leader, a 170-meter Juche Tower, and a 60-meter Arch of Triumph (11 meters higher than the one in Paris). In addition to statues, there is the Museum of the Korean Revolution, which is 4.5 km long, and 95 halls of exhibits showing the life and achievements of the Great Leader and his family. Another museum contains 28,000 gifts that the elderly Kim received from foreign leaders from 146 countries.81 Adding to the deification of the Kims is the practical requirement that everyone wear a Kim Il Sung badge attached to their lapel. Those who commit the “crime” of losing their badge must be able to argue convincingly to the authorities that “they had not politically malicious intent before being given another.”82 The establishment of a system based on the deification of the leader becomes self-enforcing among the elite. As Hunter observes, in a society where promotion is based on political loyalty, it is only natural that persons aspiring to high position will try to outdo one another in ever greater displays of fidelity.83 Thus, Jasper Becker notes: The Party now openly describes Kim Il Sung as a god – the “Sun of Love” – “superior to Christ in love, superior to Buddha in benevolence, superior to Confucius in virtue and superior to Mohammed in justice.” “The sun of the 78 80 81 82

French, North Korea, p. 20. 79 Hunter, Kim Il-song’s North Korea, p. 64. For example, McCormack, Target North Korea, puts it at 50,000 monuments (p. 66); while French, North Korea, puts it at “only” around 34,000 (p. 67). See, for example, McCormack, Target North Korea, pp. 58–9. French, North Korea, p. 16. 83 Hunter, Kim Il-song’s North Korea, p. 29.

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nation . . . not only protected the political life of the people but also saved their physical life, his love cured the sick and gave them a new life, like the spring rain falling on the sacred territory of Korea,” ran the official eulogy.84

The degree of totalitarian repression is so great that the regime still enjoys hegemony, and it need not worry about its loss of ideological legitimacy. Its apparatus of terror is so strong, moreover, that it has no need of pragmatic acceptance either. Under such circumstances, it is extremely unlikely that any kind of opposition movement will emerge within society to overthrow the regime – as long as the Kim family’s patrimonial dynasty continues. Harsh freezing patrimonialism in Romania Romania provides the prototype sultanistic communist regime in Linz and Stepan’s book, as Ceaus¸escu had clearly personalized his rule and put family members in leading positions. Just to give some examples: his wife, Elena, was the second-most powerful person in the state; his four brothers held leading positions in the regime, and his son, Nicu, was being groomed as his successor.85 One brother became deputy minister of defense and head of the Higher Political Council of the Romanian army; another brother became lieutenant-general in the Ministry of the Interior and head of the Cadres Department; a third became minister-secretary of state of the State Planning Commission; a fourth held a post in foreign trade; and a fifth was a member of the staff of the Party newspaper. One sister became deputy minister of education until her husband became the Party first secretary in Olt County. Ceaus¸escu’s brother-in-law became deputy chair of the General Union of Trade Unions and head of the executive bureau of the Socialist Democracy and Unity Front.86 As Jonathan Eyal observes: “No less than fifty members of Nicolae and Elena Ceausescu’s relatives controlled the most strategic positions in the state: central planning, the capital city, the army, security services, foreign intelligence, the Party cadres and its youth movements.”87 Ceaus¸escu’s wife supervised promotions within the government, one of his brothers supervised promotions within the armed forces, and yet another supervised promotions among Securitate officers. 84 85 86 87

Becker, Rogue Regime, p. 77. Linz and Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition, pp. 349–50. Vladimir Tismaneanu, Stalinism for All Seasons: A Political History of Romanian Communism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), p. 223. Eyal, “Why Romania Could Not Avoid Bloodshed,” in Gwyn Prins, ed., Spring in Winter: The 1989 Revolutions, (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 1990), pp. 149–50.

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An important characteristic of patrimonial regimes is their lack of institutionalization. The various state organs become objects of the ruler’s personal will. In the Romanian case, Ceaus¸escu moved to control the armed forces and Party-state bureaucracy by deprofessionalizing them. He weakened the military by creating “a parallel body, the Patriotic Guards, which was placed under the control of the party rather than of the General Staff.”88 The Patriotic Guards took command over the armed forces, and the army “ultimately ended up as nothing more than a vast pool of cheap labour, digging canals or helping with the agricultural harvest.”89 Ceaus¸escu was able to divide and conquer the military by instigating a “four-cornered fight”: between the armed forces and the Securitate; between the army and the navy and air force; between the Securitate and the Interior Ministry; and between the Patriotic Guards and the regular troops. Ceaus¸escu’s policies for the Party-state organs were similar: At the national level, the policy was reinforced by a system of rotation of cadres with the explicit intention of preventing the promotion of professionals. Some officials were dismissed in order to take the blame for failures of policies which they did not elaborate; other[s] were replaced without any reason at all. The sheer pace of this musical chairs game defied most Western experts, yet it served a purpose: it isolated personalities and set up party officials one against the other. Demotion did not necessarily signify disgrace or permanent oblivion either, for Ceausescu was also aware of the dangers inherent in the creation of a large pool of discontented officials. Army generals who swapped positions with Central Committee secretaries and county officials who donned the hat of a scientist or a planner were often reprimanded and punished for misdemeanours but they usually reappeared, sometimes within a matter of months, under different guises. Blind loyalty to the leader and the readiness to perform any task was the only requirement, just as important in a position of power, as it was during a period of temporary disgrace. The result was an utter atomization of society, the complete deprofessionalisation of all Romanians.90

This strategy prevented persons outside of the dynastic family from gaining a strong hold on their position, and so potentially developing an independent power base. As Peter Siani-Davies notes: “‘Divide and rule’ tactics multiplied the number of individual posts, directorates and institutes, which were then played off against each another. Meanwhile, Ceaucescu’s policy of ‘circulation of the elite’ saw officeholders arbitrarily moved from one post to another.”91 88 90 91

Eyal, “Why Romania Could Not Avoid Bloodshed,” p. 148. 89 Ibid., p. 148. Ibid., p. 149. Peter Siani-Davies, The Romanian Revolution of December 1989 (Ithaca, NY and London: Cornell University Press, 2005), p. 20.

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In the personality cult devoted to him, Ceaus¸escu was “variously described as the greatest thinker, philosopher, statesman, and scientist the world has ever seen.” Some poetry also describes him as “a living god, the sun that provides others with warmth and inspiration and the inspirer for all mankind.”92 The worst example of his megalomania, however, was his “systemization” campaign, in which he destroyed entire villages to force peasants to move to new settlements. In the capital, his architectural campaign destroyed the city’s historic center in order to build a gigantic palace for him to reside in, and wide boulevards with large pompous buildings lining the streets. It is interesting that in Romania – as in rump Yugoslavia – the patrimonial leader was not the original communist ruler. It was the second leader, Nicolae Ceaus¸escu, rather than the first ruler, Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej, who was able to build up charismatic-nationalist legitimacy in order to develop patrimonial rule. How could the second leader become the charismatic one? Again, Robert C. Tucker’s notion of “situational charisma” provides a framework for understanding this phenomenon.93 Having come to power as the head of a small, unpopular party backed by Soviet tanks, Gheorghiu-Dej could hardly develop into a charismatic leader. Ceaus¸escu, by contrast, got the opportunity to become a national hero by standing up against the Soviet Union in 1968, when he refused to participate in the invasion of Czechoslovakia. His ability to criticize the invasion of Czechoslovakia was enhanced by the withdrawal of Soviet troops during the previous decade, which made a direct Soviet invasion more costly and thus less likely. Harry Barnes Jr. describes the events as follows: We had arrived at the old airport at Baneasa on a Friday night in August 1968. At that moment, almost literally, Ceausescu and Dubcek were meeting in Prague to offer each other support in their efforts for greater autonomy from the Soviet Union. On the following Monday, the Czechoslovak Prague Spring collapsed under the weight of the Soviet invasion. Ceausescu was back in Bucharest and, that morning in the square between the palace and the Central Committee building, gave what was probably his best speech ever, if only because it was so short. I was in the crowd and, both then and in the ensuing week, one felt a genuine sense of defiance of the Soviets – almost a dare that they take on Romania too (but considerable relief when they did not). Ceausescu’s condemnation of the Soviets over the invasion brought into the Communist party’s ranks people who were earlier strong opponents but who now thought 92 93

Trond Gilberg, Nationalism and Communism in Romania: The Rise and Fall of Ceausescu’s Personal Dictatorship (Boulder: Westview Press, 1990), p. 54. Tucker, “Theory of Charismatic Leadership,” 731–56. See also Saxonberg, “Václav Klaus,” 391–418.

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that the lot of the people within the country could be transformed with equal zeal.94

Although Barnes does not follow other authors, such as Eyal, in labeling Ceaus¸escu as charismatic,95 his description shows the situational aspects of charisma. While at times Ceaus¸escu’s speeches may have been overly long and perhaps boring, during a period of national emergency in which a Soviet invasion was a real possibility Ceaus¸escu could suddenly ignite the nation and spread hope to millions of people. Under communist-led regimes, charismatic legitimacy is almost always tied to some sort of nationalism. Such leaders became popular not so much because of their Marxist-Leninist ideology as because of their role in fighting foreign enemies (Mao and supposedly Kim Il Sung against Japan, Castro against the US, Tito and Stalin against Nazi Germany), or in standing up against a foreign threat (Ceaus¸escu against the USSR). Thus, while Tismaneanu argues that “[t]he allegedly charismatic leadership was not, in fact charismatic,” and that Ceaus¸escu was “the incarnation of the communist apparatus and its main defender,”96 most biographers (such as Mark Almond) point to his “charismatic authority.”97 Again, the key to understanding these discrepancies in interpretation lies in the notion of situational charisma: In a formative moment that helped define his regime in 1968, Ceaus¸escu was able to exploit the situation in a manner that successfully conjured up charismatic legitimacy (even if that legitimacy dissipated over time). Ceaus¸escu’s charismatic-nationalist legitimacy did not have to lead to patrimonial rule. When he first came to power, Ceaus¸escu seemed to be a reformer. He took power during a relative thaw, which is typical for early post-totalitarian regimes. At first he contributed to the thaw, by easing censorship and rehabilitating victims of Stalinist show trials. In Tismaneanu’s words: “For a couple of years, newspapers became readable, literary life amazingly relaxed, and there was a real opening toward the West, including the importation of movies, book translations, and theater repertory.”98 Already in 1964, the last year of Gheorghiu-Dej’s rule, the gulag was almost completely abolished, and political prisoners were released. “And all the intellectuals who 94 95 96 97 98

Harry Barnes Jr., “Introduction,” in Daniel N. Nelson, ed., Romania After Tyranny (Boulder: Westview Press, 1992), pp. 1–2. Eyal, “Why Romania Could Not Avoid Bloodshed,” p. 145f. Tismaneanu, Stalinism for All Seasons, p. 217. Mark Almond, The Rise and Fall of Nicolae and Elena Ceausescu (London: Chapmans, 1992), p. 25. Tismaneanu, Stalinism for All Seasons, p. 197.

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had been incarcerated for political reasons were, almost suddenly, allowed to publish.”99 Ceaus¸escu first changed direction after visiting North Korea in 1971.100 Impressed by Kim Il Sung, he set out to install personalized family rule. His wife Elena, however, was more impressed by the role of Mao’s powerful wife, whom she met during their visit to China that same year. Thus, the Ceaus¸escuian type of patrimonial rule combined elements of Kim Il Sungism with late Maoism. The above description makes it clear that Ceaus¸escu had access to many of the key elements for building up patrimonial rule. He had a close-knit family on which he could rely. He was able to place its members – including his wife, his brothers, and some of his children – in key positions. He was also able to build up charismatic-nationalist legitimacy by standing up to the Soviet Union in 1968. The final issue to address is whether Ceaus¸escu held any deep ideological commitments to Marxism-Leninism that could have prevented him from deviating so sharply from Marxism’s egalitarian ideology. One could argue that Ceaus¸escu’s problem was that he believed too much in orthodox Stalinism: that it was his desire to conserve the system (and its worst elements) that led him down the path of despotism. Ceaus¸escu and the Kims shared basic Stalinist tenets: the belief in the need for a strong state that has total control over society via extensive censorship and a strong secret police; the belief in the need to centralize the system as much as possible; the belief in the need to plan as much of economic activity as possible; and the belief in nationalism (in order to “build socialism in one country”). However, none of these elements are particularly “Marxist,” and they have more in common with other types of totalitarian movements (such as Italian fascism and German National Socialism) than with Marx’s belief that socialism would lead to a classless society and the withering away of the state.101 In other words, it was precisely by rejecting the egalitiarian, humanistic side of Marx, while retaining the worst 99 100

101

Matei Calinescu in Jiri Pehe, ed., Romania: A Case of “Dynastic” Communism (New York: Freedom House, 1989), p. 10. Matei Calinescu and Vladimir Tismaneanu, “The 1989 Revolution and Romania’s Future,” in Daniel N. Nelson, ed., Romania after Tyranny (Boulder: Westview Press, 1992), pp. 18ff; Barnes, Jr., “Introduction,” pp. 2–3; Dennis Deletant, Ceaus¸escu and the Securitate: Coercion and Dissent in Romania, 1965–1989 (London: Hurt & Company, 1995), p. 184. Gheorghe Sencovici asked in 1989: “‘Who is Ceasescu today? Is he a Communist? Is he a Stalinist? Is he obsessed by the lack of legitimacy? Is he representing a doctrine?’ I am afraid he does not represent anything at all. He is just a living proof of Lord Anton’s aphorism that power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” In Pehe, Romania, p. 19.

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elements of Stalinism, that Ceaus¸escu and the Kims were able to build up patrimonial dynasties. By contrast, other nationalist-communist leaders, such as Mao and Tito, remained more faithful to Marxian egalitarianism. Like Kim Il Sung, Ceaus¸escu had to leave school at an early age, as his family could not afford to keep him there. In fact he left school two years earlier than Kim, at the age of eleven.102 Rather than complete his studies, he went to Bucharest to become a shoemaker’s apprentice.103 In contrast to Mao or Ho Chi Minh, he is not known ever to have read texts by Marx or Lenin. Instead, he acquired his Marxism from joining communist organizations at an early age. He “was a self-taught Marxist.”104 Eugene Mihaesco reflects: I do not think he [i.e. Ceaus¸escu] has any understanding of the Communist doctrine. After all, the doctrine is a philosophical one – in a way. He has only a general understanding of things like that. He is like someone who dropped out of school after four grades and tries to understand complex mathematical models. Any time he hears the word culture it infuriates him. Like most primitives, he hates everything that goes beyond his understanding.105

Lacking a background in Marxian theory, Ceaus¸escu used ghostwriters to write treatises for him. Thus in the early 1950s, when he was plotting his political career, Silviu Brucan, the acting editor of [the communist party newspaper] Scînteia helped Ceaus¸escu prepare several articles for publication under Ceaus¸escu’s name. It was important for any ambitious Communist hoping to rise to leadership in the Party to produce some theoretical writings, which could then be quoted in turn by his supporters. Ceaus¸escu’s lack of formal education left him dependent on the expert aid of men like Brucan who did the donkey-work and handed on drafts of speeches or essays to him for final approval.106

Without the restrictions of the humanistic side of Marxism – with its call for the elimination of classes, oppression, and the state – Ceaus¸escu was easily able to transform Stalin’s notion of “socialism in one country” into “socialism in one family.”107 While Ceaus¸escu tried to follow in Kim Il Sung’s footsteps, he was never able to attain the near total hegemony of his North Korean role model. In contrast to North Korea, Romania had already passed to a minor thawing period after the death of the founding ruler, Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej. While, as already mentioned, such thaws are typical of 102 105 106 107

Almond, The Rise and Fall, p. 25. 103 Ibid., p. 26. 104 Ibid., p. 38. Eugene Mihaesco in Pehe, Romania, p. 25. Almond, The Rise and Fall, pp. 55–6. This was a common joke in Romania under Ceauşescu’s rule. See Almond, The Rise and Fall, p. 75.

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early post-totalitarian regimes, the thawing period was shorter and the reform discussions more limited in the case of Romania. Even though Ceaus¸escu later revoked most of his liberalizing measures from the mid 1960s, the Party had at least admitted it had made mistakes (although the mistakes were all blamed on the former ruling group). Such an admission is unheard of in more totalitarian North Korea. Unable to build up a new religion as the Kims had done, Ceaus¸escu was forced to replace his reliance on ideological legitimacy with a social contract on the basis of the notion that it is better to have a national-communist leader than a Soviet puppet regime, which would be more loyal to Brezhnev than to Romanian national interests. The mere fact that he had successfully stood up to the Soviet Union (where Dubček and Nagy had failed) helped bolster Ceaus¸escu’s position among the populace. In Mihai Botez’s words, Romanians “accepted the social contract offered by the Communists as something that corresponded to and enhanced their national heritage. The national support that Ceaus¸escu and his cronies enjoyed in the early 1970s was connected less to his seemingly different approach to Communist ideas than to his nationalization of communism.”108 Thus, the Romanian regime became a mixture of patrimonial family rule (of the North Korean totalitarian type) and of a freezing regime (in that it had gone through a thawing period, followed by a return to more orthodox policies). As is typical of late post-totalitarian regimes, Ceaus¸escu was forced to gain the pragmatic acceptance of the populace in order to be able to continue his rule. As his regime degenerated into a corrupt, patrimonial dynasty, Ceaus¸escu lost much of his charismatic legitimacy, while the economic crisis removed his ideological legitimacy. It should also be remembered that the nationalist line (already initiated by his predecessor) had led to the withdrawal of Soviet troops in 1958, and to the refusal to forsake industrialization in order to be an agricultural country relying on the export of raw materials to the Comecon countries. As long as the Soviet Union suffered under freezing Brezhnev-styled stagnation, Romanians had reason to pragmatically accept their own nationalist leader over a foreignimposed one. However, this all changed once Gorbachev came to power. Gorbachev’s glasnost policies gave hope to Romanians that their country could open up and liberalize as well. By the end of the 1980s, a Soviet invasion seemed more of a hope than a threat. This loss of pragmatic acceptance made Ceaus¸escu particularly vulnerable to popular mobilization, in a way that Kim Song Il does not need to

108

Mihai Botez in Pehe, Romania, p. 15.

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worry about. Like Kim Song Il, however, Ceaus¸escu had reason to fear an internal coup against him, as Party leaders and military officers were becoming alienated by Ceaus¸escu’s arbitrary personalized rule, and by an ever-declining economy. They were growing alarmed at their leader’s growing megalomania, particularly in connection with his plans for “systemization,” which involved the destruction of entire villages and the forcible transfer of their inhabitants into newly built towns. Thus, Ceaus¸escu’s family-based rule had long alienated a section of the Communist Party, led by Ion Iliescu. Although long in political disgrace – reflecting the arbitrary pattern of cyclical punishment and rehabilitation under patrimonialism – Iliescu remained on the margins of the ruling circle, waiting for an opportune moment to strike against the dictator. Another reason Ceaus¸escu lost his pragmatic acceptance is that his familism undermined his proclaimed nationalism. If nationalism is understood as putting the general good of the nation before all other goals, then the extravagant behavior of a family-based clique is hardly a plausible basis for nationalist appeals.109 This helps explain the extreme hatred toward Ceaus¸escu at the end of his rule. The potential for internal coups in part explains Ceaus¸escu’s desire to split the repressive apparatus into several groups, and to place family members in charge of some of them. By so doing, Ceaus¸escu limited the chances for any one group within the repressive apparatus to overthrow him. This also helps explain why the Romanian revolution was so much bloodier than the Czechoslovak and East German ones: patrimonial rulers are more likely to give orders to shoot, for they are well aware that the people’s hatred of the regime is focused upon their own person. (This was evident in the fact that Ceaus¸escu was the only former communist ruler to be executed in 1989.) Similarly, portions of the repressive forces that are loyal to the patrimonial ruler are more likely to fear they will suffer reprisals, as their careers are tied to the fate of the ruler. (As it turned out, though, the feared Securitate did not face much repression after the collapse of the old regime, and few were actually punished.) However, although portions of the repressive apparatus have reason to be loyal to the patrimonial leader, the Communist Party itself becomes so marginalized by the personalized rule that it has little reason to remain loyal. Thus, when citizens revolted in 1989, “[t]he fact that after more than forty years in power, upon the flight of its leader, this huge communist party simply dissolved, as if conjured away in a puff of smoke, suggests not only that it 109

The Kims, by contrast, do not need to induce society to pragmatically accept their dynasty, as their regime is still extremely totalitarian, and based on near-total hegemony rather than pragmatic acceptance.

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had become so totally identified with Ceaus¸escu that it no longer retained any separate autonomy but also a collective loss of self-belief on a colossal scale.”110

Freezing patrimonialism in Cuba Patrimonial communism has similar roots in every country: the desire of ambitious leaders to overcome ideological decay by personalizing their rule, and by using family members to ensure that the regime can continue to rule. However, patrimonial communism takes different forms in each country. By its very nature, namely, patrimonial communism is a hybrid regime combining personalized rule with remnants of doctrinal MarxismLeninism. In the case of Cuba, Castro took the country through all three stages – totalitarianism, early post-totalitarianism, and freezing late posttotalitarianism – and combined them all with patrimonialism (albeit of a softer kind than either Ceaus¸escu’s or the Kims’). From the outset Fidel Castro had the potential to build up patrimonial rule, as he clearly enjoyed both national and charismatic legitimacy. His national legitimacy came from his ability to frame his campaign against the Batista regime as a campaign for national sovereignty. This was not difficult to do, given the history of American political intervention on the island, as well as the dominance of American companies over the island’s economy.111 Castro portrayed himself initially as a liberal reformer seeking to bring about democracy and national self-determination. His reformist image appealed to a large portion of the population, including the bourgeoisie.112 This gave him strong national legitimacy, which grew even stronger when he came into open conflict with the United States, and survived the Bay of Pigs invasion. Castro’s charismatic legitimacy is just as obvious as his national legitimacy. Few leaders have been so universally described as charismatic. Just about every book on Castro or modern Cuba emphasizes his charisma. For example, Susan Eva Eckstein, in her critical book on Castro’s policies, writes that he is “a brilliant orator,” and that he “ranks among the twentieth century’s most charismatic rulers.”113 Similarly, Richard Gott proclaims: “As the most charismatic leader of the Third World during its 110 111 112 113

Siani-Davies, The Romanian Revolution, p. 22. See, for example, Eliana Cardoso and Ann Helwege, Cuba after Communism (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1992), pp. 16ff. Richard Gott, Cuba: A New History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004), pp. 166–7. Tad Szulc, Fidel: A Critical Portrait (London: Coronet Books, 1989), pp. 473ff. Susan Eva Eckstein, Back From the Future: Cuba under Castro (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1994), p. 19.

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heyday, [Castro’s] influence was felt far beyond the shores of his island.”114 It is not clear whether Castro had the ideological commitment to Marxian notions of equality that would have restrained him from building up a highly personalized rule. First, he did not proclaim himself to be a communist until he had already ruled the country for several years. Second, Castro had already fallen out so much with the United States government that he had a very strong incentive to turn to the Soviet Union for help against American efforts to oust him. In fact, he did not even declare himself or the revolution to be socialist until the eve of the Bay of Pigs invasion. When the US attacked Cuban airplanes in preparation for the next day’s invasion, Castro declared: “Because what the imperialists cannot forgive us . . . is that we have made a socialist revolution under the noses of the United States . . . and we shall defend with these rifles this socialist revolution! . . .”115 Still, Castro did not declare himself to be a Marxist-Leninist until several months after the invasion had failed.116 It is debatable whether Castro was a reforming liberal nationalist, who turned to communism because of the need to get Soviet aid against American pressure,117 or whether instead he had always secretly intended his revolution to lead to a Leninist dictatorship. Castro himself has claimed he was a communist long before he came to power, but that he kept his ideology secret for tactical reasons.118 Tad Szulc, in his famous biography of Castro, argues that “no lasting compromise [between the US and Castro] was ever possible, and it is demonstrably incorrect to believe that American actions pushed Castro toward communism . . .”119 Yet, if Castro had really been a communist well before coming to power, it is a bit strange that he did such a good job of hiding it that even the Soviet Union was originally unsure about how reliable he was, and consequently was reluctant to give him much aid or other support.120 If he had been a secret communist, one might have expected him to inform Soviet leaders of his true intentions in order to get their support. Regardless of whether Castro was a secret communist or whether American policies pushed him into becoming one, it is clear that he came to power with his own organization, rather than via the communist 114

115 116 117 119

Gott, Cuba, p. 148. Another example is Edward Gonzalez and Kevin F. McCarthy, Cuba after Castro: Legacies, Challenges, and Impediments (Santa Monica: Rand Corporation, 2004), pp. 5ff. Szulc, Fidel, p. 605. Gott, Cuba, p. 197. Thomas M. Leonard, Fidel Castro: A Biography (Westport: Greenwood Biographies, 2004), p. 65, puts the date at December 1, 1961. Gott, Cuba, p. 190. 118 Ibid., p. 197; Szulc, Fidel, pp. 223, 473. Szulc, Fidel, p. 528. 120 Gott, Cuba, pp. 181ff.

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Popular Socialist Party (known in Cuba as the PSP). It is also known that he had conflicts with the PSP and imprisoned many of its leaders. Rather than take over the PSP or form a new communist party, Castro at first founded a coalition organization: the Integrated Revolutionary Organizations, which included his own July 26th Movement, the PSP and the Revolutionary Student Directorate. Castro purged most of the “old” communists in 1962 for leading a “secretarian clique” against him in the new Communist Party that he was in the process of forming.121 When he publicly announced the formation of a new communist party in 1965, he marginalized most of the remaining PSP leaders. In addition, as is common for patrimonial rulers, he made the party his own tool, with little independence. Szulc writes that “Castro insisted from the outset that the ‘old’ Communist party be incorporated into a new one under his leadership, thus requiring the actual delivery of the party to him, an unprecedented act in Communist history.”122 The Party had so little influence that he did not even bother to hold its first congress until one decade after its founding! As is typical for totalitarian regimes and personalized patrimonial regimes, the all-powerful leader, Castro, showed little interest in institutionalizing the regime. Doing so would have given participants clearer rules to follow and alleviated their fear of being purged. Raimund Krämer observes that “Castro’s personalistic leadership style replaced . . . institutions,” making the regime into a “peculiar mixture of East European totalitarianism and Latin American Caudillism.”123 It was only in 1976, some seventeen years after the revolution, that a new socialist constitution went into effect, at last making it possible to hold elections – the first since Castro came to power.124 Of course, these “elections” followed the communist tradition of not allowing any opposition parties to participate. Still, the mere fact that elections were held – even rigged ones – added to the institutionalization of the regime. Hans Magnus Enzensberger argues that, despite the creation of a communist party and the eventual holding of Party congresses and national elections,

121 123 124

Szulc, Fidel, p. 459; Leonard, Fidel Castro, pp. 73ff. 122 Szulc, Fidel, p. 519. Raimund Krämer, “‘The Times are A-Changin’ – in Cuba too?” Revista/Review Interamerican, 28: 1–4 (1998): 55. Marifeli Pérez-Stable, “Vanguard Party Politics in Cuba,” in Enrique A. Baloyra and James A. Morris, eds. Conflict and Change in Cuba (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1993), pp. 68–9; Juan M. del Aguila, Cuba: Dilemmas of a Revolution (Boulder: Westview, 1988), pp. 73–6; Alfred Padula, “Cuban Socialism: Thirty Years of Controversy,” in Baloyra and Morris, eds., Conflict and Change in Cuba, p. 24; Cardoso and Helwege, Cuba after Communism, pp. 20ff.

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the ideological state of the [communist] party corresponds to its desolate organizational condition . . . The PCC [Cuban Communist Party] has no program. Anyone inquiring of its ideology is invariably referred to Fidel’s speeches, whose contradictions are notorious; anyone who actually refers to them does well to take recourse to the most recent of them; for, to repeat what Fidel said a few years ago can have the most unpleasant consequences.125

Of course, this has changed a bit since Fidel Castro has officially retired. Nevertheless, he and his brother still hold the reins. Also typical of patrimonial rule was Castro’s desire to see a family member succeed him, once he had become too old and sick to continue on the throne. He had made it clear already two decades before his retirement that he wanted his brother, Raúl, to succeed him – a wish that nobody within the party leadership dared oppose. Despite these similarities with typical patrimonial rule, the Cuban regime deviates to some extent. First, although Castro succeeded where Ceaus¸escu failed (in having a family member take over the reins from him), his brother was the only family member to reach a high rank. Strict patrimonial rule is only possible if one has a tight-knit family on which one can rely for support. Fidel Castro could obviously rely on his brother Raúl, as they had fought side by side since going into exile in the early 1950s. However, Fidel did not have such close ties with other members of his family. His wife disapproved of his political engagement and moved to Spain. His son showed little enthusiasm for politics, although he did serve as head of the country’s nuclear power program until 1992, when he was forced to step down (allegedly for being “inefficient”). Castro had a daughter with one of his lovers, but he had little contact with her and eventually she fled the country for Spain. Two of his sisters have never been interested in politics, while a third has moved to Miami, where she has become one of her brother’s harshest critics. His older brother, Ramón, has also kept out of politics.126 Another aspect which deviates from other patrimonial regimes is that Castro started out in a more personalized and non-ideological way, but then allowed the regime to become less personalized and more institutionalized with time. He did this by making his regime follow the Soviet model more rigidly, which is the opposite of what the Kims did. Still, the degree of institutionalization should not be exaggerated. Most observers 125

126

Hans Magnus Enzensberger, “Portrait of a Party: Prehistory, Structure and Ideology of the PCC,” in Ronald Radosch, ed., The New Cuba: Paradoxes and Potentials (New York: William Morrow, 1976), cited in Juan M. del Aguila, Cuba: Dilemmas of a Revolution (Boulder: Westview, 1988), p. 74. Thomas Gustafsson, Kuba: Konflikt och salsa i Karibien (Stockholm: Carlssons, 1997), pp. 183ff.

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agree that the ruling party has remained largely institutional windowdressing for Castro’s caudillism.127 Thus, Castro’s regime has clear elements of patrimonial rule, though these elements are not as pronounced as under other patrimonial communist regimes. Juan J. López argues that the Cuban regime today combines sultanism with frozen post-totalitarianism. The system is now institutionalized, and a civil society has already emerged that is similar in strength to that in frozen Czechoslovakia and East Germany during the final decade of communist rule.128 I basically agree with his assessment, although López does not describe the totalitarian and early post-totalitarian phases. Where the earlier phases are concerned, I would claim that the “totalitarian” period started around 1961, when Castro declared the country to be Marxist-Leninist. It was at that time that he started purging people who disagreed with his policies, and set up organizations that could control people’s everyday life, such as the Committees in Defense of the Revolution and the neighborhood watch groups. These groups have one person in each apartment building who is responsible for reporting on the activities and views of his or her neighbors. The early post-totalitarian period began around 1968, when Che Guevara’s death and an economic crisis led Castro to largely abandon his dreams of exporting his revolution to Latin America, and any notion of establishing an alternative Leninist model to the Soviet one. While Che had wanted to turn away from the Soviet model and to emphasize industrialization and diversification, Castro decided to reorient the economy toward the export of sugar to the Soviet Union and other Comecon countries. By supporting the Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968, he showed that he would turn his revolution toward the Soviet Union. He began to follow the Soviet model, such as with his decision to hold a party congress and one-party elections. Nevertheless, as is typical of early post-totalitarian regimes, Castro did dabble a little in reforms, as the “1970s brought material incentives and some markets in a moderate version of the pre-Gorbachev Soviet reform model (the System of Direction and Planning of the Economy, SDPE).”129 In 1980, Castro allowed farmers’ markets. By the middle of the decade, 250 such markets had been established.130

127 128 129 130

Ibid., p. 77. Juan J. López, Democracy Delayed: The Case of Castro’s Cuba (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002), Chapter 1. Cardoso and Helwege, Cuba after Communism, p. 22. Ana Julia Jator-Hausmann, The Cuban Way: Capitalism, Communism and Confrontation (West Hartford: Kumarian Press, 1999), p. 33.

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The freezing, late post-totalitarian period began with Gorbachev’s rise to power and Castro’s denunciation of perestroika. Castro’s decision to criticize perestroika coincided with his Rectification Program in 1986, in which he revoked some minor market experiments that he had allowed earlier in the 1980s.131 However, rather than picking an exact date on which the country became late rather than early post-totalitarian, I view this change as a process. This process began around 1986, when Castro embarked on a path similar to that of Brezhnev when the latter ended the debates on economic reform in the mid 1960s in the USSR. Nevertheless, the Cuban party leaders still believed in their ideological legitimacy, as did much of the population. By the time the communist regimes fell in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, Castro’s regime had lost much of its ideological legitimacy, and so had gone closer to the late post-totalitarian stage of development. Castro could no longer claim to be part of a world communist movement with History on its side. Nevertheless, he was able to get some pragmatic acceptance based on the fact that he had kept his country independent from the United States and had managed to maintain one of the best welfare states in the region despite the mounting economic crisis.132 Castro played upon this mode of pragmatic acceptance. Eckstein writes: Despite the crisis, Castro remained committed to providing social services. He prided himself in speeches for not closing a single school, daycare center, or hospital, and for not leaving a single person destitute.133

It is particularly interesting that Castro emphasized social welfare from the beginning of the revolution. While communist governments in Eastern and Central Europe closed down their ministries of social welfare a few years after coming to power – on the grounds that the command economy would solve all social problems, thus making such ministries unnecessary – Castro actually established a new Ministry of Social Welfare, as well as a Ministry of Housing.134 Freezing regimes normally do not agree to engage in negotiations with the opposition; rather, they collapse when faced with a revolt. However, patrimonial leaders rarely just give up as the freezing regimes in Czechoslovakia and East Germany did; instead, they usually order the 131

132

133

Eckstein, Back From the Future, Chapter 3; Cardoso and Helwege, Cuba after Communism, pp. 22f.; Thomas Leonard, Castro and the Cuban Revolution (Westport: Greenwood Press, 1999), p. 44; Jator-Hausmann, The Cuban Way, p. 37. For example, Cardoso and Helwege, Cuba after Communism, p. 46, observe that Cuba’s “impressive gains in social welfare have been held up as an example to the rest of Latin America, where elites would rather shoot the poor than feed them.” Eckstein, Back From the Future, p. 99. 134 Gott, Cuba, p. 170.

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military to shoot, as in Romania. This combination makes it highly unlikely that the Castro brothers will ever agree to a negotiated transition with the opposition. Nevertheless, the Castro brothers have age against them, and once they pass away, it is possible that a reformist leadership will emerge – a leadership which, as in the Soviet Union, will move the regime away from freezing and toward maturing. Such a development would make a negotiated transition much more likely.

Maturing patrimonialism in (rump) Yugoslavia The first ruler of communist Yugoslavia, Josip Broz Tito, enjoyed both charismatic and national legitimacy. This would have helped him establish patrimonial rule, had he been interested in it. His national legitimacy was especially strong. He had transformed the small Yugoslav Communist Party into the leading force in the fight against Nazi occupation and against the fascist Ustashe regime in Croatia. He led the partisans to victory and successfully reunited Yugoslavia after forcing Croatia to return to the South Slavic state. Defeating fascism and reuniting the country would already have been sufficient basis upon which to establish national legitimacy. Tito, however, had the additional prestige of being the only communist leader to come to power in Eastern Europe without the support of Soviet troops and the only one to break eventually with the Soviet Union. Observers usually characterize Tito as charismatic,135 which is not surprising, given the role he played in defeating fascism and standing up to Stalin. While he allowed a personality cult to evolve around himself – making him untouchable and beyond any form of criticism – his personality cult never approached that of Stalin, Mao, the Kims, Castro, or Ceaus¸escu. Given Tito’s national and charismatic legitimacy, the question arises of why he never tried to install patrimonial rule. Part of the answer lies in the sphere of ideology. First, in contrast to most other communist rulers, Tito enjoyed great popularity. There are no public opinion polls showing whether he would have won free multiparty elections, but it is likely he would have done so. If patrimonial communism arises as an attempt to save communist rule when its ideological basis is degenerating, then Tito would have had no reason to resort to such a deviation from MarxismLeninism. After all, most of the population and of the party elite – himself included – still believed in the ideology. 135

See, for example, Stevan K. Pavlowitch, Tito: Yugoslavia’s Great Dictator, A Reassessment (London: Hurst & Company, 1992).

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As a young adult in World War I, Tito had spent time as a prisoner of war in Russia, where he experienced the October Revolution first-hand. He became an enthusiastic supporter of the Bolsheviks and saw the excitement and creative energy that the revolution had brought before Stalin transformed the country into a police state. He returned to the Soviet Union in the 1930s, however, and experienced Stalin’s purges first-hand. His experiences in this regard made him less naïve than many other European communists and prepared him for the eventual need to oppose Soviet domination (or face his own death). He left the Soviet Union after just one year in the 1930s, preferring instead to work in France, where he organized support for the Spanish Republicans during the Spanish civil war.136 While Tito did not have the kind of academic background that helped Lenin, Stalin, Mao, and Ho Chi Minh develop Marxian theory, he did take an interest in reading original texts by Lenin and Marx (in contrast to Kim Il Sung and Ceaus¸escu). While in exile in the Soviet Union, Tito reportedly spent a lot of time alone in his room reading economic and philosophical texts.137 When he broke openly with Stalin, he did not deviate from classical Marxism by building up a personalized family rule, as did the leadership in North Korea, in Romania, and to some extent in Cuba. Rather, Tito’s deviations from Stalinism signified an attempt to return to something closer to Marx’s original vision of socialism. Thus, he renamed the Communist Party the League of Communists to emphasize his desire to see the state eventually “wither away” (rather than becoming an all-powerful totalitarian organization). In addition, Tito’s ideology of “worker self-management” had clear Marxian roots, as it was based on the labor theory of value, according to which workers create all value and so should have control over the means of their production. In contrast to patrimonial leaders like the Kims and Ceaus¸escu, moreover, Tito did not have a strong family on which to build a family dynasty. He had several children with his first wife, but only one son survived.138 He separated from his wife when they were both sent to prison in Yugoslavia in 1928 for political reasons. After her release the Communist Party sent his 136

137 138

Carl Gustal Ströhm, Tito: Nach Afghanistan-Weltkrise Jugoslawien? (Bergisch Gladbach: Bastei Lubbe, 1980, 2nd edn.), Chapter 1. Tito claimed later that, on account of the purges, his time in the Soviet Union during the 1930s was the most difficult period of his life. Ströhm, Tito, p. 29. Ibid., p. 28. Stevan K. Pavlowitch, Yugoslavia’s Great Dictator Tito: A Reassessment (London: C. Hurst & Company, 2006, 2nd edn.), p. 16; and Milovan Djilas, Tito: The Story from Inside (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1980, trans. Vasilije Kojic´ and Richard Hayes), p. 17.

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wife to the Soviet Union to work for the Comintern and later to Kazakhstan to work as a teacher. At that point, his wife sent their surviving child to a children’s home, and eventually she and Tito divorced.139 In 1941, Tito had a child with another woman, but he started a new relationship with a young student in Belgrade before the child was born.140 Breaking up with the mother while she was still recovering from giving birth did not exactly provide Tito with a promising basis for a close relationship with his second son. After the war, Tito became romantically involved with his personal secretary, whom he eventually married in 1952. Although this woman reportedly had some influence over various appointments to the President’s office, there is nothing to indicate her influence was greater than that of many American “first ladies.”141 Moreover, rather than appointing her his heir apparent when he was near death, he did the opposite, divorcing her in 1977.142 Thus, Tito was not the kind of “family man” who could have built a family dynasty. Finally, it should be noted that Tito faced an important impediment to behaving like Mao and Ceaus¸escu – both of whom broke with the Soviet Union but followed neo-Stalinist paths of repressive rule. These leaders could claim that Stalin had been a “true” Marxist-Leninist,” but that successive Soviet leaders were “revisionists.” These leaders thus had the option of turning into hardline, repressive communists while still breaking with the Soviet Union. It was also possible for those who chose the patrimonial path to keep certain Stalinist elements (such as a strong, intrusive, and centralized police state) while rejecting the humanist interpretations of Marx that emphasized the end of alienation, the need for freedom, the end of exploitation, the withering away of the state, etc. Tito did not have the “luxury” of breaking with the Soviet Union while keeping portions of Stalinism, for the simple reason that he was the only communist leader to break with Stalin himself. The other leaders went their own way after Stalin’s death, and so did not need to develop a Marxian ideological alternative to Stalinism. Tito did not try to develop a patrimonial regime and he followed a more humanistic version of Marxism-Leninism than did those who based their rule on the Stalinist tradition. As a result, Yugoslavia became the only country where reformers not only won the debate during the early posttotalitarian period, but also – in contrast to reformers in Czechoslovakia and Hungary – managed to avoid a Soviet invasion and to remain in power. Consequently, most of Tito’s rule can be considered early post139 140 141

Pavlowitch, Yugoslavia’s Great Dictator, pp. 20–21; and Djilas, Tito, p. 137. Pavlowitch, Yugoslavia’s Great Dictator, p. 30; and Djilas, Tito, p. 138. Pavlowitch, Yugoslavia’s Great Dictator, p. 76. 142 Ibid., p. 80.

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totalitarian, in which the regime enjoyed a high degree of ideological legitimacy,143 but in which it was able to do so because reformers managed to remain in power. This is not to deny that the country went through a totalitarian or at least “semi-totalitarian” period at the very beginning. But it was shorter and less fierce than in most other communist-ruled countries. During Tito’s rule, the country underwent political and economic changes, such as the decision in 1965 to liberalize the cultural sphere further, to increase the role of the market, and to declare the system to be “market socialist.” In 1974, Tito also introduced a more federal (or even confederal) constitution. This constitution increased the autonomy of the country’s six republics and two autonomous regions. However, all of these reforms took place within the confines of Tito’s reformist tradition, in a period when the regime still enjoyed great ideological legitimacy. In other words, the regime basically remained early post-totalitarian. As Tito neared his death, however, the regime began to lose ideological legitimacy. As is typical for late post-totalitarian regimes, the Yugoslav leadership now tried to get the populace to pragmatically accept its rule. The loss of ideological legitimacy was due to political and economic factors some of which were unique to Yugoslavia, and others which were common to all of Eastern Europe. Like many other communist countries in the region (e.g., Poland, Hungary, Romania), and even many capitalist countries on the periphery of the global economic system, Yugoslavia borrowed a lot of money in the 1970s in order to invest in producing goods for export to the wealthy countries of the capitalist center. When the most industrialized countries fell into recession after the sharp rise in oil prices at the end of the decade, demand for imports from the peripheral countries declined. Those countries which had borrowed money in the hope of producing goods for export now faced mounting debts. Many countries in Latin America and Africa even defaulted on their loans, so Yugoslavia was not in a unique position in having mounting debts (although it never actually defaulted). What was unique to Yugoslavia was its political situation. Paying back loans during a recession requires tough choices that often lower living standards for a large portion of the population. These tough choices include decreasing imports, raising taxes and/or cutting public spending to reduce national debt, exporting goods which had previously been produced for domestic consumption, etc. The looming economic crisis in Yugoslavia corresponded with the death of its one unquestioned leader, 143

See, for example, Adam LeBor, Milosevic: A Biography (London: Bloomsbury, 2002), p. 14.

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Tito, and no new leader emerged who could fill the void. It was particularly difficult to find a leader who could take responsibility for bringing the economy under control, because Tito had installed a system of rotating presidents. These leaders changed every year and they had to hail successively from each of the country’s republics or autonomous provinces. Such a system made sense as far as balancing the demands of the different nationalities and ethnic groups was concerned, but it prevented politicians from becoming strong enough to carry out policies capable of bringing order to the economy. Consequently, the economy continued to decline throughout the 1980s. This economic decline undermined the ideological legitimacy of the regime, as many began to blame both communist economics and worker self-management for the country’s ills. National tensions also increased, as people living in the wealthier republics (Croatia and Slovenia) began to complain that they were being forced to subsidize the poorer, faltering economies in the other republics. Discussions also began as to whether it would be better for Croatia and Slovenia to reorient their economic policies away from the remaining republics, and more toward the EU. In Serbia, meanwhile, some academics and intellectuals were complaining that Serbia had too little influence over the country. (It was the only republic with two autonomous provinces, for instance.) As a result, it was outnumbered on the presidential council by 7–1. Furthermore, Serbs had relinquished their national claims in order to become good Yugoslav citizens. They had accepted an arrangement whereby substantial Serbian populations ended up in other republics (especially Bosnia and Croatia) – after all, the different republics were all part of Yugoslavia anyway. So Serbs felt especially hurt when they perceived Croats and Slovenes as unwilling to give up their national claims for the sake of Yugoslavia. The autonomous provinces were a touchy issue as well, since their existence weakened Serbia further. The ethnic conflict in Kosovo made the issue of autonomous provinces all the more touchy. Albanians regarded regional autonomy as insufficient. They constituted 90 percent of the population in the province; however, they considered themselves to be second-class citizens subjected to economic discrimination. They believed they deserved full republican status. Serbs, on the other hand, thought even provincial autonomy was too much. In their view, the Albanians were trying to take political power in the province and to push Serbs out from an area which Serbs regarded as part of their traditional homeland. Despite these underlying national tensions, the regime still enjoyed some pragmatic acceptance. Many citizens accepted the notion that they were better off under post-Titoist communist rule than under any other

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communist regime, and that their situation was much to be preferred to a Soviet invasion like the one which had crushed the Prague Spring in Czechoslovakia. In the early 1980s, the degree of cultural openness, academic tolerance, and freedom to travel to the West made the country the most “maturing” and reformist of the entire communist world. The regime had a reformist pragmatic acceptance and it could claim to offer the best conditions possible under continued communist rule. The rise of Gorbachev robbed the regime of its pragmatic acceptance, though, as a Soviet invasion no longer seemed possible. In addition, the reforms in the Soviet Union, Poland, and Hungary were so rapid that, all of a sudden, Yugoslavia had lost its position as the most open and reformist country. These three countries were now maturing more quickly than Yugoslavia. Moreover, communism as a world movement seemed to be doomed, and the Yugoslav variant as a bridge between East and West, and leader of the non-aligned movement, seemed increasingly outdated. In Croatia and Slovenia, demands for free elections were growing because the inhabitants were no longer willing to pragmatically accept the need for a one-party dictatorship. Strikes also became increasingly common as the economic situation deteriorated.144 The ruling communist parties in the two republics, behaving like their maturing comrades in Poland and Hungary, took the initiative for free elections and transformed themselves into social-democratic parties. The post-communists lost the first elections in both republics. In Croatia, however, Franjo Tudjman – an authoritarian, nationalist, and formerly communist general – came to power. This shows that the collapse of communist rule does not automatically issue in a transition to democracy. In Serbia, by contrast, the great political opportunist Slobodan Miloševic´ successfully played upon nationalist feelings and took over the Serbian party, establishing a patrimonial nationalist regime. By most accounts, Miloševic´ had shown little interest in nationalist issues originally. This changed, however, when he was sent to Kosovo to calm down rebellious Serbs. It was there that he became aware of the explosive power of Serbian nationalism, which he later learned to use to mobilize the populace behind him.145 Miloševic´ took over the Serbian party, removed the leaders of the provinces of Kosovo and Vojvodina, and replaced them with his own cronies. He then mobilized the masses to overthrow the leadership in Montenegro, which he replaced with his own loyalists. He now controlled 144 145

See, for example, Catherine Samary, Yugoslavia Dismembered (New York: Monthly Review Books, 1995, trans. Peter Drucker), p. 63. LeBor, Milosevic, p. 79.

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four of the eight representatives on the presidential council, radically altering the ethnic power balance.146 This, needless to say, heightened the desire of Croatia and Slovenia to leave the federation and become independent. Post-war Yugoslavia had been based on a balancing act. This balancing act had sought to alleviate fears among non-Serbs that Serbia would dominate them, and among Serbs that the other ethnic groups would gang up against them. Now, however, a strong nationalist leader had emerged in Serbia who could rely on the support of Montenegro and of two (no longer autonomous) provinces. As a consequence, little support remained in Croatia or Slovenia for staying in the federation. Furthermore, Miloševic´ used his economic power to prevent the kind of economic reforms that Croatian and Slovenian leaders were advocating. “For its part, the Serbian government took advantage of the fact that the central bank was in Belgrade, undermining any federal antiinflation plan.”147 The federation was accordingly doomed, notwithstanding Western (especially American) hopes that it that it could be saved. Another important element in establishing patrimonial rule is the possession of some sort of charismatic legitimacy, for it serves to convince the population to give their “great leader” extra privileges. Observers have commonly concluded that Miloševic´ did not possess as much charisma as Tito,148 but this does not mean he was without charisma. Svetozar Stojanovic´, a former Praxis intellectual and opponent of Miloševic´, admits that “a huge section of the Serbian nation – both in Serbia and on the other side of the Drina – supported Miloševic´. To them, he was a charismatic leader, who they believed was ready to give his life to protect Serbian interests.”149 If we recall that charisma is situational, we can appreciate that Miloševic´ did in fact show strong persuasive, charismatic skills in mobilizing the populace around the Kosovo issue. He inspired the population so much that they wrote poems glorifying him. For example, one poem claimed, “[s]o long as Slobo walks the land, the people will not be in thrall.”150 Upon coming to power, Miloševic´ followed in Ceaus¸escu’s footsteps by giving his wife, Mirjana Markovic´, a prominent political role. Once he officially changed the name of the Yugoslav League of Communists to the Socialist Party, he agreed to let his wife found a new communist party, the 146 148 149 150

Samary, Yugoslavia Dismembered, 65–6. 147 Ibid., p. 64. LeBor, Milosevic, p. 85. Svetozar Stojanovic´, Serbia: The Democratic Revolution (Amherst, New York: Humanity Books, 2003), p. 111. Slavoljub Djukic´ cited in Aleksa Djilas, “A Profile of Slobodan Miloševic´,” Foreign Affairs, 72:3 (1993): 82.

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Yugoslav Union of the Left (JUL). This party sought the support of the ideological communists, while Miloševic´’s own party maintained the support of the communist apparatchiks, who were more concerned with keeping their power than with remaining true to Marxist-Leninist ideology. Even the supposedly more ideological JUL was sooner a corrupt organization for gaining wealth than a traditional communist party. Michael Palairet summarizes: JUL [Yugoslav Union of the Left] presented itself as the scourge of war profiteers (and of capitalists in general) but Markovic´’s circle of friends and well established racketeers took care to patronise it, to endow it with rich gifts, and to exploit it as a highly effective shelter for their activities. JUL’s “clique of ultra-rich plutocrats” fattened themselves on state patronage and was more or less taken over by its gangster element.151

As in China, Miloševic´ followed a strategy of trying to monopolize political power while privatizing in a way that would enrich the Partystate apparatus. In contrast to China, however, Miloševic´ went much further in allowing political reforms. He allowed the establishment of opposition parties and even formed coalitions with other parties as a concession to the growing civil society. Nevertheless, he was no democrat. He manipulated all elections and made sure to hold onto power. In further contrast to China, Miloševic´ allowed many of the economic gains to go to a mafia whose members did not necessarily come directly from the Partystate. Thus Miloševic´ built up a mafia economy, which in contrast to the Chinese model did not lead to economic development, but rather to the further impoverishment of society. “Those loyal to Miloševic´ and his wife were awarded with patronage and leading government posts, thus ensuring a high degree of regime control over Serbia’s political and economic elite.”152 Not surprisingly, rump Yugoslavia was ranked as one of the most corrupt countries in the world, according to an international index of corruption in 2000. Of the 99 countries surveyed, Yugoslavia was ranked among the most corrupt, in 90th place.153 In this mafia-style communism, Miloševic´’s son, Marco, did not seek a political career, but rather chose to enrich himself by using his political contacts to further his private business ventures. In a sense, then, the Miloševic´ patrimony was weaker than in other patrimonial-communist 151 152 153

Michael Palairet, “The Economic Consequences of Slobodan Miloševic´,” Europe-Asia Studies, 53:6 (2001): 911. Mark R. Thompson and Philipp Kuntz, “Stolen Elections: The Case of the Serbian October,” Journal of Democracy 15:4 (2004): 164. Palairet, “The Economic Consequences of Slobodan Miloševic´,” Europe-Asia Studies, 53:6 (2001): 910.

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countries: Miloševic´ did not appoint a family member as his successor, but rather used his power to enable other family members to enrich themselves, while he and his wife managed the country’s politics. This chapter argues that patrimonial communism issues from a degenerate form of Marxism-Leninism, in which a communist ruler tries to use nationalist and charismatic legitimacy as a (partial) replacement for Marxism-Leninism. As Marxist-Leninist ideology loses its potency, a ruler may try to conserve power by resorting to a patrimonial variant of communism. Miloševic´ enjoyed strong nationalist legitimacy when he first came to power, as the national issue enabled him to take over the Serbian party. The next issue is whether Marxian ideological beliefs could have restrained him from traveling down the patrimonial path. Unlike such patrimonial leaders as Kim Il Sung or Ceaus¸escu but like Castro, Miloševic´ had a university education (and in a communist-ruled country besides). He must, therefore, have been familiar with Marxist-Leninist texts. Observers claim further that Miloševic´ believed in Titoist ideology. But he did not show much interest in ideological issues; nor did he try to develop or elaborate on Marxian theory. Miloševic´ seems also to have been very pragmatic, as reflected in his earlier career as an international banker who had spent a lot of time in the United States. In a situation in which Marxism-Leninism had lost its ideological legitimacy and developments in the USSR and Eastern Europe denied the regime its pragmatic acceptance based on the notion that Titoist reformed communism was the best they could expect, Miloševic´ was able to discard Marxism-Leninism in favor of nationalism, which he then used to build up personalist, patrimonial rule. In the words of Aleksa Djilas, “[e]ssentially an ideological eclectic and a political opportunist, he had no difficulty changing his political stripes from communism to nationalism and adapting his political style to fit the image of a national leader.” In addition, scholars writing about Miloševic´ generally conclude that he did not strongly believe in any nationalist ideology, and that he simply played the national card as a means of mobilizing support for his rule.154 Djilas summarizes that Miloševic´ believed in Titoism at first, but for pragmatic rather than ideological reasons. “He simply accepted communism as the only right way to rule and manage, rather than as a set of ideas and ideals, and showed a realpolitiker’s keen appreciation of what power was and where it could be found.”155 Thus his Titoist beliefs were not strong enough to keep him from leaving Marxist-Leninist ideology behind for the sake of gaining and keeping power in a country where

154

See, for example, LeBor, Milosevic.

155

Djilas, “A Profile of Slobodan Miloševic´,” 85.

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Marxism-Leninism had lost its ideological appeal and could no longer serve to legitimize one’s power. Louis Sell likewise claims, in his biography of Miloševic´, that the Serbian ruler had no ideological convictions: “There is no evidence that Miloševic´ as a young man displayed much interest in Serb national traditions, but he later proved adept in using for his own purposes the political and psychological themes that underlie the Kosovo myth.”156 Serbian nationalism was just a tool for him to gain and keep power. As already mentioned, patrimonial leaders have a strong incentive to repress uprisings violently as their personalized rule turns the populace directly against their person. If they lose power, then, they risk losing their own life. Portions of the armed forces are also likely to turn against the patrimonial ruler, if given the chance. In situations where the patrimonial leader has lost his legitimacy, the armed forces are often tempted to align themselves with society – usually with the claim that they are above the person of the ruler, and that they have the country’s best interests at heart – in an attempt to preserve their own positions. In fact, Miloševic´ did order the security forces to violently repress several uprisings in the past. Once Miloševic´ had lost control over the parts of Croatia with large Serbian populations, and failed to incorporate portions of Bosnia into a Greater Serbia, and finally succumbed to international pressure to abandon Kosovo upon threat of a NATO invasion, he lost his pragmatic acceptance. This pragmatic acceptance had been based on the notion that the populace would accept international isolation and lower economic standards in return for territorial gains and the establishment of a Greater Serbia. Then, after he tried to steal the election in 2000 (a year after relinquishing control of Kosovo), not even the security forces were willing to obey his orders to violently repress peaceful demonstrations against him. So like most patrimonial rulers, he did order the security forces to shoot, but his loss of pragmatic acceptance was so great that these forces were no longer willing to do so, for they no longer saw him as capable of furthering Serbian interests. Summary: explaining patrimonial communism Patrimonial communism is a notion that would have been inconceivable to Marx. The German philosopher envisioned a future communist society in which the state had “withered away,” social hierarchies had disappeared, and economic exploitation was no more. Of course, no 156

Louis Sell, Sloban Milosevic and the Destruction of Yugoslavia (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2002), p. 72.

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communist-led regimes came close to fulfilling this vision. They based their rule, after all, on Lenin’s belief in the need for a vanguard party, and on Stalin’s interpretation of Leninism, which implied a centralized and repressive state. Yet even Stalin was constrained enough by Marx’s original ideas not to contemplate establishing a personal dynasty. Under patrimonial communism, Marx’s phrase “from each according to his ability, to each according to his needs” became: “from each according to his ability, to each according to the Great Leader’s needs.” How was such a deviation from Marx’s original ideas possible? Part of the problem is that, like all theories, Marxism had to be developed (just as later generations of economists developed Keynes, or later generations of psychologists developed Freud). No theory that professes to be scientific can stand still, as new problems always emerge that require the theory to be developed further. Thus, while Lenin developed Marxism in a manner that many Marxists do not like, one could still argue that Lenin’s interpretation of Marx represented a possible further development (even if by no means the best one, or the only possible one). Stalin then built upon the most authoritarian aspects of Leninism. Stalin too presented a possible interpretation of Marx and Lenin, even if not exactly the most humanistic one. Patrimonial ideas, however, are so far removed from the original Marxian ideals that it remains puzzling that such a development was possible. Part of the answer is that the rulers who tried to build up patrimonial dynasties did not believe strongly in Marxism, and were not even very familiar with Marx’s texts. As a result, they did not have the ideological inhibitions that “believers” – e.g. Ho, Mao, Stalin – had about deviating “too far” from Marxism-Leninism. In addition, they had close enough ties with family members to be able to institutionalize dynastic rule to a greater (Kim, Ceaus¸escu) or lesser (Castro, Miloševic´) extent. Patrimonial communism represents an attempt to save a system that is degenerating from orthodox Marxism-Leninism. To create such personalized rule, the leader must first establish his nationalist-charismatic legitimacy by convincing the populace that he (and it has always been a man) is the country’s savior. All successful patrimonial leaders have had the ability to use situational charisma based on nationalism. For many communist rulers, however, this option was unavailable (especially in cases where the regime was highly dependent on the Soviet Union, as in East Germany, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and Poland). Since patrimonial communism represents a degenerated form of communist rule, it is by its nature a hybrid regime type. In North Korea, the Kims were able to use patrimonialism to continue totalitarian rule. In Romania and Cuba, patrimonialism was combined with freezing

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post-totalitarianism. In Serbia/rump Yugoslavia, it developed under a more maturing regime. As the two patrimonial regimes which have lost power did so as a result of mass uprisings, it is necessary next to go beyond the regime and to look more closely at society. Chapter 4, accordingly, examines the emergence of opposition groups. Chapter 5 will consider the conditions under which the revolutionary potential of society is greatest.

4

Ideology and opposition to communism

The previous chapters emphasized the role of ideology in shaping regime behavior. Ideology, however, does not only influence regimes; it also influences the population. A populace that believes in the ideology is less likely to revolt. Changes in attitudes toward the ideology also influence the manner in which they revolt. During the totalitarian phase of development, the regime aims to gain hegemonic control at all costs. The use of terror is so great that only outstanding individuals, such as Solzhenitsyn, dare oppose the regime. There can be brave acts of individual resistance, but these are, in the words of Carl J. Friedrich and Zbigniew K. Brzezinski, only “islands of separateness” in the sea of totalitarian control.1 Once the regime loses its hegemonic control over society and starts emphasizing its ideological legitimacy instead, this influences potential oppositionists, especially intellectuals. Critical intellectuals tend to accept the basic ideology, but also to complain that the regime has lost touch with its ideology and become corrupt or authoritarian. Thus, their critique becomes “revisionist” – aimed at promoting a “truer,” more “human” socialism. Because they want to reform the system rather than overthrow it, critical intellectuals tend to focus on the regime rather than on gaining the support of workers and other sectors of society. Once intellectuals become disillusioned and stop believing in the ideology, they lose hope that the system can be reformed. During this phase, they are more likely to turn to the population and to try to gain the support of workers. Having abandoned their ideology, they address broader issues that resonate with the larger society, such as human rights and the need to “build civil society.” This approach differs markedly from Linz and Stepan’s, who do not develop a theory of how opposition develops under different types of regime. Linz and Stepan simply note empirical differences between 1

Totalitarian Dictatorship and Autocracy (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1956).

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some of the countries, and then “read off” the opposition from the regime type, rather than considering opposition as an independent variable. In this sense, their approach is similar to the regime-centered analyses that have dominated transitology literature, where the opposition is taken for granted rather than explained.2 Such analyses do not explain why some regimes are more vulnerable to uprisings than others. I argue, on the other hand, that the opposition plays a major role in bringing down communist regimes. Even in cases where the regime negotiates agreements with the opposition (as in Poland or Hungary), the regime only agrees to meet with the opposition because it is afraid of the opposition’s revolutionary potential to bring it down through mass action. So while Linz and Stepan concentrate on regime types, this study concentrates once again on ideology – as a factor influencing the development of regime types and the opposition. While I deviate from the state-centered approach by bringing society back in, my model differs from the traditional civil-society approach in several ways. First, I emphasize the role of the “semi-opposition,” or “semi-civil society,” which consists of citizens who are officially part of the regime, but who still express critical views within the confines of what is allowed. This includes professors from academies of science, journalists writing for official state-run newspapers and journals, managers of staterun enterprises, etc. In other words, these groups belong to what Juan J. Linz calls the “loyal opposition.” Linz argues that, while it is meaningful in democratic systems to distinguish between a “loyal” (i.e., constitutional) and a “disloyal” opposition, opponents under non-democratic regimes are often found both within and outside the regime.3 Opposition within the regime is legal. Opposition outside the regime is illegal. The former is usually cautious, and challenges the regime indirectly rather than directly. The members of the “semi-opposition,” as part of the “semi-civil society,” might try to test the limits of permissible criticism, but they are usually

2

3

This includes much of the literature in the transitology tradition, such as Russell Bova, “Political Dynamics of the Post-Communist Transition: A Comparative Perspective,” World Politics, 43:1 (1991): 113–38; and Stephan Haggard and Robert R. Kaufman, The Political Economy of Democratic Transitions (Princeton University Press, 1995). It also includes the literature that emphasizes the “Gorbachev factor,” such as Archie Brown, The Gorbachev Factor (Oxford University Press, 1997); Myron Rush, “Fortune and Fate,” The National Interest, 31 (1993): 19–25; Gale Stokes, “Lessons of the East European Revolutions of 1989,” Problems of Communism, Sept.–Oct. 1991; and Sidney Tarrow, “‘Aiming at a Moving Target’: Social Science and the Recent Rebellions in Eastern Europe,” Political Science and Politics, 24:1 (1991): 12–20. Juan Linz, “Opposition in and under an Authoritarian Regime: The Case of Spain,” in Robert A. Dahl (ed.), Regimes and Oppositions (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1973), p. 191.

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careful enough never to overstep these limits. The disloyal opposition, by contrast, is illegal from the beginning, and thus has already gone beyond the bounds of what the regime can accept. According to Linz, the “semiopposition” consists of “those groups that are not dominant or represented in the governing group but that are willing to participate in power without fundamentally challenging the regime.”4 The illegal opposition, which belongs to civil society, often gains influence more by conveying critical ideas to the legal semi-opposition than (as civil society theorists have traditionally assumed) by mobilizing society.5 Second, I do not claim that civil society is the main motor bringing down communist regimes. The revolutionary potential of society can be high even in countries with a weak civil society. In fact, in 1989, transition through revolution occurred in the countries with the weakest civil society – East Germany, Czechoslovakia, and Romania – rather than in those with the strongest civil society, such as Hungary and Poland. As this book emphasizes the role and views of intellectuals, and their need to cooperate with workers (or peasants in rural societies), this chapter begins by discussing the various classes and strata in society (workers, intellectuals, professionals, and peasants) and analyzes their potential for opposition. It applies an institutional analysis to show why intellectuals, under normal conditions, are more likely to go into opposition than other groups; why they need worker support; and why workers are only likely to join in under certain circumstances. In addition, this chapter looks at why professionals are not likely to join a revolt until it has already become widespread. Finally, it discusses the special role of peasants in rural societies. Previous studies (especially rational-choice studies) simply take differences in preferences and behavior among socioeconomic groups for granted.6 This chapter, by contrast, explains these 4 5

6

Ibid. See, for example, Marcia A. Weigle and Jim Butterfield, “Civil Society in Reforming Communist Regimes: The Logic of Emergence,” Comparative Politics, 25:1 (1992): 1–24. For a more nuanced view, see Vladimir Tismaneanu, Reinventing Politics: Eastern Europe from Stalin to Havel (New York: Free Press, 1992). Actually, the greatest contribution that some civil society analysts have made is their argument that it is easier to reach negotiated settlements when the regime has a strong civil society with which to negotiate. See, for example, Bronislaw Geremek, “Die Civil Society gegen den Kommunismus: Polens Botschaft,” trans. Holger Fliessbach, in Klett Cotta, ed., Europa und die Civil Society (Stuttgart: Ernst Klett Verlag, 1991), pp. 264–73. Cf. Janine P. Holc, “Solidarity and the Polish State: Competing Discursive Strategies on the Road to Power,” East European Politics and Societies, 6:2 (1992): 121–40; and David Ost, Solidarity and the Politics of Anti-Politics: Opposition and Reform in Poland since 1968, (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1990). See, for example, Rasma Karklins and Roger Petersen, “Decision Calculus of Protesters and Regimes: Eastern Europe 1989,” Journal of Politics, 55:3 (August 1993): 588–614;

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differences. In addition, the subsequent chapter (on revolutionary potential) shows that emotional factors often play a greater role in the decision to revolt than do rational calculations. Thus, this chapter begins by discussing who the actors are, and why they behave differently. The next section discusses how the views of critical intellectuals evolve. The purpose is to explain how the various actors interrelate, and how their behavior differs during different phases of development.

Institutional incentives and political actors Throughout communist rule, people have protested against the regime. At times small, isolated groups of intellectuals carried out protest actions, such as the signing of Charter 77 in Czechoslovakia in 1977. At other times, intellectual protests have been more open and widespread, as in the case of the street protests in Poland in 1968 against the closing of a play by Adam Mickiewicz, or the student revolt in China in 1989. At still other times, workers have revolted with little or no help from intellectuals, as in the uprisings in East Germany in 1953, and in Poland in 1970. The most successful uprisings have taken place when workers and intellectuals have cooperated, as in the Solidarnos´c´ uprising in Poland in 1980–1. When workers and intellectuals have cooperated, they have even toppled the communist regime, as in Czechoslovakia, East Germany, and Romania in 1989; and in Serbia in 2000. Generally, when the uprisings have expanded to take in large groups of participants, professionals have also been willing to join. This was true in all the successful revolutions, as well as in the Solidarnos´ c´ uprising. In order to understand why different groups in society have participated in oppositional activities during certain periods, I develop the institutional analysis to explain the behavior of the main social groups. Although it is common to compare the so-called intelligentsia with the working class, I divide the former into two different groups: intellectuals and professionals.7 It is important to make this distinction, as past experience in the communist-ruled countries shows that artists, authors, priests, students, and the like have been much more likely to become

7

Jörgen Hermansson, “Democratization of Eastern Europe: A Game Theoretic Perspective,” Scandinavian Political Studies, 15:3 (1992): 217–33; Timur Kuran, “Now Out of Never: The Element of Surprise in the East European Revolution of 1989,” World Politics, 44:1 (1991): 7–48; and Barbara Geddes, “What Do We Know about Democratization after Twenty Years?” Annual Review of Political Science, 2 (1999): 115–44. Michael Kennedy is one of the few who make this distinction. See his book Professionals, Power and Solidarity in Poland: Critical Sociology and Soviet-Type Society (Cambridge University Press, 1991).

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dissidents than, for example, engineers. In fact, professionals are often the last group to participate en masse in uprisings against communist-led regimes. Aleksander Gella provides a good definition of intellectuals. They comprise, he writes, “social strata of educated people who in different ways and degrees contribute to the creation, development, maintenance, and distribution of cultural goods.”8 They include artists, writers, musicians, church leaders, etc. Professionals, by contrast, are non-manual, skilled laborers, who do not belong to the top echelons of the Party-state apparatus, and thus are not intellectuals in the sense just mentioned. This group includes engineers and doctors, as well as those with higher-level economic tasks in enterprises below the management level, such as accountants, advisory managers, and supervisors. Finally, I should note that, in the literature on China, authors often distinguish between students and intellectuals.9 By my definition, however, students definitely belong to the intellectual category, because they are involved in the production of cultural rather than economic goods. Of course, most students eventually become professionals. But once they become professionals, they are likely to behave differently from how they did as students. It is possible that, in some cases, students will behave differently from priests, just as some priests may behave differently from writers. Still, for reasons of simplicity, it is fruitful to see students as young intellectuals, just as manual laborers in department stores (such as sales personnel, cashiers, people working in the stockroom, etc.) belong to the category of workers. Finally, peasants comprise a potentially important group for agrarian societies; they include both employed agricultural laborers and owners of small private family farms.

Intellectuals In communist-ruled countries, a group of dissidents eventually emerges once the severity of repression declines from that typical of the totalitarian phase. In terms of Linz and Stepan’s classification system, we can say that dissent circles have arisen in all post-totalitarian countries, especially in those where the regime has gone past the “early post-totalitarian stage.” In 8

9

Actually, he uses the term “intelligentsia,” but he means it in the same sense as I mean “intellectuals.” See Gella, Development of Class Structure in Eastern Europe: Poland and Her Southern Neighbors (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1989), p. 131. For example, Mark Seldon, “The Social Origins and Limits of the Democratic Movement,” in Roger V. Des Forges, Luo Ning, and Wu Yen-bo, eds., Chinese Democracy and the Crisis of 1989: Chinese and American Reflections. (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993), pp. 107ff.

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addition, intellectuals normally dominate the dissident groups, although some professionals and workers may also join the ranks. It is difficult to get exact statistics on the make-up of the different dissident groups, but it is clear that intellectuals have almost always played the leading role. The main types of dissident movements to emerge under communist regimes include: 1. churches and church-related groups 2. writers and journalists, often belonging to official organizations – which they use on behalf of the semi-opposition 3. music groups and organizations 4. intellectual circles, underground universities, student organizations, etc. The first of these dissident movements, churches and church groups, clearly, have played a very important role in opposing communist regimes. Church leaders are intellectuals. They are almost always highly educated; they devote themselves to years of study and contemplation; and they dedicate their lives to non-material goals. While the churches usually tried to reach some kind of truce with the regime, they often came into conflict with it, and ended up supporting opposition groups either directly or indirectly. Much has already been written about the role of the Catholic Church in supporting Solidarnos´ c´.10 In East Germany, the Evangelical Lutheran Church tried to play a mediating role between the state and society, and some local churches gave tacit support to intellectual opposition groups. One of the most famous examples is East Berlin’s Zion Church, which housed a famous Ecolibrary in 1986.11 In Czechoslovakia, the Catholic Church was less active than the Catholic Church in Poland or the Lutheran Church in Germany, but many Czech priests were heavily involved in the opposition. For example, Bishop Václav Malý was active in dissident organizations such as Charter 77 and he spoke at the anti-communist demonstrations that brought the regime down in 1989.12 Although the Romanian regime was among the most repressive in Europe, and allowed little room for organizing within churches, priests and preachers played a role even there. The most famous case was that of 10

11

12

For a summary, see Saxonberg, The Fall: A Comparative Study of the End of Communism in Czechoslovakia, East Germany, Hungary and Poland (Amsterdam/London: Harwood Academic/Routledge, 2001) for a deeper discussion and list of sources. Ehrhart Neubert, Geschichte der Opposition in der DDR 1949–1989 (Berlin: Ch. Links, 1998), p. 499; Elizabeth Pond, Beyond the Wall: Germany’s Road to Unification, (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 1993). Malý is interviewed in Profil, July 23, 1990.

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the ethnic Hungarian priest László Tőkés. In fact, it was a police attempt to arrest this outspoken cleric that sparked off the Romanian revolution.13 In Serbia, Orthodox priests played a role in the opposition. Although the Orthodox Church took a highly nationalistic stance14 and supported Miloševic´ originally,15 Church leaders eventually turned against Miloševic´ and demanded his resignation. Ramet notes that, although Patriarch Pavle demanded in 1992 and 1999 that Miloševic´ resign, the Church remained nationalist throughout the 1990s.16 In Cuba, the Catholic Church has at times criticized the Castro regime. However, the Cuban Church has not been nearly as strong as the Polish Catholic Church; nor has it acted as an umbrella for other organizations, as the Lutheran Church in East Germany did. In 1993, the Cuban Catholic Church published the pastoral letter “El amor todo lo espera,” criticizing the lack of any civil society in the country. In addition, the letter argued for an economic system based on markets and private property.17 One archbishop distributed leaflets demanding religious freedom, and encouraged people not to participate in the rapid-response brigades that the state had set up to prevent demonstrations or other political disturbances.18 In Ethiopia, the Coptic Church wielded great influence during the monarchy and it owned a lot of land under the feudal system. Although the church did not play an active role in opposing the regime, it supported the opposition. As will be discussed below, in Tigray, the Tigrayan People’s Liberation Front (TPLF) put aside its Marxist disdain for the Ethiopian Orthodox Church and actively courted its support. It even made some priests beneficiaries of its land reforms. John Young notes that, as a result of the TPLF’s efforts, “many of [the priests] became active supporters of the TPLF, and their advocacy did much to win the peasants over to the Front.”19

13 14

15 16

17 18 19

George Galloway and Bob Wylie, Downfall: The Ceausescus and the Romanian Revolution (London: Tutura, 1991), p. 125. For many examples of the role of the Serbian Orthodox Church in supporting the rise of Serbian nationalism in the 1980s, see Florian Bieber, Nationalismus in Serbien vom Tode Titos bis zum Ende der Ära Miloševic´ ; Wiener Osteuropa Studien vol. 18 (Vienna: Österreichischen Ost- un Südosteuropa-Institut), pp. 104ff. and throughout the rest of the book. See, for example, Bieber, Nationalismus in Serbien, p. 214. Sabrina P. Ramet, “The Politics of the Serbian Orthodox Church,” in Sabrina P. Ramet and Vjeran Pavlokovic´, eds., Serbia since 1989: Politics and Society under Miloševic´ and after (Seattle and London: University of Washington Press), p. 256. Haroldo Dilla and Philip Oxhorn, “The Virtues and Misfortunes of Civil Society in Cuba,” Latin American Perspectives, 29:4 (2002): 19. Gerardo Oter and Janice O’Bryan, “Cuba in Transition? The Civil Sphere’s Challenge to the Castro Regime,” Latin American Politics and Society, 29:4 (2002): p. 44. John Young, Peasant Revolution in Ethiopia: The Tigray People’s Liberation Front, 1975–1991 (Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 175.

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Writers and journalists are the second group that often opposes communist regimes. Often they do so through legal organizations run by the party or state. Thus, writers and journalists often belong to both the semi-opposition and the independent opposition. In Hungary, Party intellectuals played an active part in the 1956 revolt. During the summer of 1954, the Writers’ Association and its newspapers (the Irodalmi Ujság and Literary Gazette) “really became the mouthpiece of Imre Nagy and the opposition.”20 Furthermore, “It was the intellectual élite of the régime who began to detach themselves from those in power, to take the path which led to the uprising of October 1956.”21 One of the main groups of Party intellectuals to encourage the uprising was the Petöfi Circle. It was officially part of the Federation of Working Youth, but it became a “second parliament” because of its open debates.22 Shortly after Nagy was fired by the Politburo, nearly all the writers and journalists who had supported him were punished. Finally, after the firing of Literary Gazette’s chief editor, Györy Hámos, “[t]he members of the secretariat of the Writers’ Association, almost all of them communist, handed in their resignations en masse.” Other actions soon followed. For example, 58 famous writers (all of them Party members) sent a memorandum to the Central Committee, protesting the repression of journalists and writers.23 Then they decided to organize a demonstration to show their sympathy with the Poles, who had succeeded in bringing Gomułka back to power.24 In Czechoslovakia, Czech and Slovak writers played an active role in the reform movement during the 1960s. Kleberg observes that Slovak writers campaigned strongly for the rehabilitation of Slovak communists that had been sent to prison during the Stalinist show trials for being “bourgeois nationalists.”25 In the Czech lands, the writers’ union began printing critical articles, and demanding radical reforms in its literary magazine Literarární noviny.26 Writers became the best-known group of dissidents. Almost every communist country has had internationally known writers that were dissidents. They include such people as Heine, Heym, and Wolf in East Germany; Havel, Kundera, Kantu˚ rková, and Klima in Czechoslovakia; Paul Goma and Marcea Dinescu in Romania; and Solzhenitsyn in the 20 21 25

26

Miklós Molnár, Budapest 1956: A History of the Hungarian Revolution, trans. Jennetta Ford (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1971), p. 63 Ibid., p. 73. 22 Ibid., pp. 82–4. 23 Ibid., pp. 80f. 24 Ibid., 107. Olof Kleberg, “En mänsklig socialism: Det tjeckoslovakiska kommunistpartiets aktionsprogram,” in Utrikespolitika institutet, Reform. Ockupation: Tjeckoslovakien 1968 (Stockholm: Bokförlaget Aldus/Bonniers), pp. 109–28. Olof Kleberg, “Författarna och demokratiseringen,” in Utrikespolitika institutet, Reform. Ockupation: Tjeckoslovakien 1968, pp. 85ff.

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Soviet Union. In Czechoslovakia, authors such as Havel, Vaculík, Kohout, and Kantu˚ rková played key roles in the main dissident organization, Charter 77.27 Then they went on to organize Občanské Forum, the civic movement that eventually brought down the communist regime. Music groups and musical organizations have been a third group important for anti-communist opposition. At times, moreover, other intellectuals founded opposition organizations in support of musicians. In Czechoslovakia, in fact, a group of intellectuals founded Charter 77 in order to support the members of the underground rock group Plastic People of the Universe, which had been prosecuted for playing the “wrong” kind of music.28 In one case, an official music organization – the Jazz Section – became an opposition group. In 1971, this group obtained permission to form a special-interest section within the Czechoslovak Musicians’ Union, and it started organizing legal jazz festivals and publishing its own bulletin. Eventually, however, it ran foul of the repressive regime. In 1980, the regime banned the group’s Prague Jazz Days (for which 15,000 tickets had been sold), on the grounds that the event could lead to “public disturbances.” The Jazz Section mobilized its supporters to protest the action. Thus it became (without intending to) a dissident organization. This example shows that, under communist dictatorships, even intellectuals who do not necessarily oppose the regime can easily – given the prevailing institutional arrangements – end up in conflict with it. In East Germany, one of the most famous regime critics was the satirical troubadour Wolf Biermann, who later was prevented from returning to East Germany after performing in West Germany. In October 1989, Kurt Masur, director of the Gewandhaus Orchestra in Leipzig, became involved in the revolution.29 In Yugoslavia, where the regime was always culturally more open, rock groups started criticizing the regime openly in the 1980s. The rock band Azra, for example, called attention to “Tito’s absolutism, state police methods, and the helplessness of the individual in the Socialist system.”30 With Milošovic´’s rise to power, criticism by rock groups grew increasingly common.31

27 28

29 30 31

See, for example, Milan Otáhal, Opozice, moc, spolec´ nost: 1969/1989 (Prague: Maxdorf, 1994), p. 77. Jiří Gruntorád, “Oberoende medborgarinitiativ i Tjeckoslovakien,” in Michal Konu˚ pek and Miroslava Slavíčková, eds., Den “leende revolutionens” rötter, trans. Lenka Elvingson and Karin Mossdal (Stockholm: Charta 77-stiftelsen, 1990), p. 7. Pond, Beyond the Wall, p. 117. Rüdiger Rossig, “YU-Rock: A Brief History.” www.kalmegdan-disk.de/rise_and_ fall_d.htm. Ibid.

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A fourth type of dissident movement, intellectual organizations, such as study groups and independent student groups, also abounded. In Poland, intellectuals organized “flying universities.”32 Hungarian intellectuals also founded a flying university, based on the Polish model. In 1981, moreover, “students set up the Peace Group for Dialogue.”33 Researchers from universities and research institutes also played a major role; together with other intellectuals, they founded the main Hungarian opposition parties in the late 1980s. The roots of the largest opposition party, the Hungarian Democratic Forum (MDF) – which won the first free elections – go back to a meeting in the summer of 1985, which was attended by “45 writers, actors, sociologists, historians and economists.”34 In Czechoslovakia in 1987, independent students started using the official socialist youth organization (SSM) to publish critical newspapers, such as the Situace at the philosophy faculty at the Charles University in Prague.35 In the summer of 1989, student activists throughout Prague joined together in launching the independent student organization STUHA. This organization, together with the SSM, planned the November 17 demonstration that sparked the “velvet revolution.” Since the SSM was an official organization, one could argue that the roots of the “velvet revolution” in 1989 can be found in the critiques from the semiopposition within the Party organization. In the Soviet Union too, universities and academic groups often provided the basis for dissident circles. This fact shows up the difficulty of labeling oppositionists as part of civil society, since these Soviet dissidents were working for official state organizations, and thus formed part of the semi-opposition. Shortly after Stalin’s death, professors at state-run universities began discussion groups on Soviet history and politics. Leningrad State University began discussions about rehabilitating Bukharin, while Leonid Rendel and Lev Krasnopevets led a discussion group in the history faculty at Moscow State University.36 Characteristically, when “certain members of Leningrad’s liberal intelligentsia” created the group Perestroika to support more radical reforms under Gorbachev, they found “kindred spirits among some young intellectuals” and “sympathetic ears in the Academy of Sciences” in 32 33 34 36

Sabrina P. Ramet, Social Currents in Eastern Europe: The Sources and Meaning of the Great Transformation (Durham, NC, and London: Duke University Press, 1991), p. 22. George Schöpflin, Politics in Eastern Europe (Oxford and Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell, 1993/94), pp. 76–7. Ramet, Social Currents, pp. 117–18. 35 Saxonberg, The Fall, p. 324. Michael Urban with Vyacheslav Igruknov and Sergei Mitrokhin, The Rebirth of Politics in Russia (Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 33.

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Moscow.37 Steven Fish has called this club (which he translates as “Democratic Perestroika”) “a ‘political discussion club’ of progressive intellectuals.”38 In Serbia, students organized the student opposition group Otpor [Resistance], which as Pavlakovic´ notes, “provided the necessary impetus for the opposition to mount a unified stance against Miloševic´.”39 The Academy of Science and the Academy of Art became major sources of institutional support for Serbian nationalism, which eventually evolved into a nationalist opposition against Miloševic´. Many researchers from universities and the Academy of Science went on to found, and assume leadership roles in, the main opposition parties.40 They included such people as Vuk Draškovic´, who founded the Serbian Renewal Party; Vojislav Šešelj, who founded the Serbian Radical Party; Dragoljub Mic´unovic´, from the Marxist-humanist Praxis philosophy group, and Desimir Tošic´, who edited an exile newspaper (Mic´unovic´ and Tošic´ became leaders of the Democratic Party); and the sociologists Vesna Pešic´ and Nebojša Popov, who were involved in the Citizen Alliance together with the historian Ivan Duric´.41 So again, we have a case of critical voices arising from the semi-opposition – that is, from within official state organizations. In China, attempts by students to obtain official recognition for their independent organization led to the mass demonstrations that mobilized millions of people in Tiananmen Square.42 Although the dynamics were different in failed totalitarian countries (such as Ethiopia), intellectuals provided the core opposition there too. The main opposition to the communist dictatorship came initially from two radical Marxist-Leninist student groups: the All-Ethiopian Socialist Union (MEISON),43 and the Maoist Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Party (EPRP).44 Guerrilla groups emerged out of student movements in Eritrea and Tigray (the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front [EPLF] and the 37 38

39 40 42 43

44

Ibid., p. 104. Steven Fish, “The Emergence of Independent Associations and the Transformation of Russian Political Society,” in Gail W. Lapidus and Alexander Dallin, eds., The Soviet System from Crisis to Collapse, revised edn. (Boulder: Westview Press, 1995), p. 147. Vjeran Pavlokovic´, “Serbia Transformed?” in Ramet and Pavlokovic´, eds., Serbia since 1989, p. 25. Bieber, Nationalismus in Serbien, p. 339. 41 Ibid., pp. 339–41. Barrett L. McCormick, Su Shaozhi, and Xiao Xiaoming, “The 1989 Democracy Movement: A Review of the Prospects for Civil Society,” Pacific Affairs, 65:2 (1992): 193. Marina Ottaway, “State Power Consolidation in Ethiopia,” in Edmond J. Keller and Donald Rothchild, eds., Afro-Marxist Regimes: Ideology and Public Policy (Boulder and London: Lynne Rienner, 1987), p. 33. Donald L. Donham, Marxist Modern: An Ethnographic History of the Ethiopian Revolution (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), p. 132.

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Tigrayan People’s Liberation Front [TPLF], respectively), which also considered themselves to be Marxist-Leninist. In Tigray, “it was primarily students and teachers from the towns who not only led the Tigrayan revolution, but also numerically dominated it in the early years.”45

What are the reasons for the dominance of intellectuals? If we look at intellectuals’ institutional incentives, it is clear that intellectuals face great pressure to support the regime. Producers of culture are expected to propagandize for the regime and its cultural values. In the Stalinist era, communist regimes imposed the doctrine of “socialist realism” on all cultural spheres of society. Socialist realism was, in theory, a realistic aesthetic of art and literature, which did not leave room for surrealistic, Dadaistic, cubist, constructivist, or other non-representational art forms. However (and despite the term “socialist realism”), culture was not supposed to give a realistic picture of the world. Rather, it was supposed to glorify the working class and the achievements of the “socialist” state. Hence the adjective “socialist.”46 As the cultural elite faces tremendous pressure to support the regime, it may seem illogical that it is precisely this group that usually dominates dissident circles. However, this may not seem quite so strange if one considers the total package of incentives the cultural elite faces. Take an author who sincerely supports the regime. She may be political, but she did not become an author in order to serve as a political puppet. Instead, she wants to express herself and to reach out to a wider audience. What happens if demands for “socialist realist” values constrain her from writing creatively? She then faces the dilemma of either writing mediocre novels that the regime accepts, or writing better novels that the regime rejects. She may find it difficult to sit down and write a book that she knows will be mediocre. Furthermore, she may face the additional problem of writing for an audience that does not like the socialist realist style. In some countries, during certain periods, most of the reading public was even hostile to socialist values. Thus, the author faces contradictory incentives. The regime wants socialist realist propaganda; the audience wants something else; and the author herself has trouble expressing

45 46

John Young, Peasant Revolution in Ethiopia: The Tigray People’s Liberation Front, 1975–1991 (Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 27. For a discussion of socialist realism, see John Clark and Aaron Wildavsky, The Moral Collapse of Communism: Poland as a Cautionary Tale (San Francisco: ICS Press, 1990), p. 71.

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herself in the socialist realist manner, and for artistic reasons has an incentive to write in a different style. Under such circumstances, it is not at all surprising that some authors become dissidents. Of course, not all do. The choice depends on the psychological traits of the particular person, as well as the type of audience and the author’s ability or inability to express herself in a socialist realist manner. Some authors might actually like this style of writing, and so have little trouble adapting to the state’s wishes, while others will have trouble regardless of their political opinion. Consequently, not all authors – not even a majority – become dissidents. Still, given these contradictory incentive structures, it is not surprising that authors have played such an important role in dissident circles. Thus, the German magazine Der Spiegel notes that the pro-communist author Isaak Babel got into trouble with Stalin because “Babel did not lack the will to praise the regime so much as the capability to subjugate his art to the ruling ideology.”47 So even artists with communist sympathies run into trouble with communist regimes. It is worth mentioning that both Chagall and Kandinsky originally held posts in the Soviet Russian government, but later fell out of favor when the Bolsheviks converted to socialist realism. Another example is that of Dadaist and surrealist artists, who originally considered themselves to be communist. Although these art movements were subjected to extremely harsh criticism by Soviet ideologists, the artists themselves were saved by the fact that most of them lived in Western Europe and did not have to choose between political and artistic doctrines. Nevertheless, these examples show once again how even intellectuals that supported “communism” felt pressure to become dissidents. Composers faced similar pressures. A startling example was the composer Wano Muradelis, whose opera The Great Friendship honored Georgia and its “greatest son,” and commemorated the thirtieth anniversary of the October Revolution. Although he wrote the opera in Stalin’s honor, the opera became the starting point for a large-scale campaign by the regime against the Soviet music industry.48 It would be easy to write an entire book filled with such examples. By contrast to rational-choice versions of institutionalism, the above analysis shows that intellectuals face contradictory incentives. This makes it difficult to apply a rational analysis of the choices they eventually make. Preferences are rarely clear, and they can become particularly confused 47

48

“Zum Lobgesang auf das Regime fehlt Babel weniger der Wille als die Fähigkeit, die Gebote seiner Kunst der herrschenden Ideologie zu unterwerfen.” Walter Mayr, “Ehrenkodex der Gaunerszene,” Der Spiegel, 31 (2005): 147. Ibid., 92.

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under these circumstances. As a consequence, people’s personalities influence their decision as to whether to engage in oppositional activities or not. Even if one “chooses” to support the regime, for example, one may be unable to express oneself in a socialist realist manner. Furthermore, as we shall see in later chapters, cognitive and emotive factors are also important – a fact rarely appreciated by rational-choice theorists. Workers participate during economic crises In contrast to intellectuals, workers do not face the same pressures to become dissidents. Assembly-line workers do not have to worry about hammering out products in a socialist realist manner. Consequently, anticommunist workers are better able to keep their thoughts secret, whereas even pro-communist intellectuals may face pressures to become dissidents. Another reason why workers have less incentive to become dissidents is that they are less likely to possess the necessary communicative skills to influence social developments. This is not merely a question of being less educated, or having less self-confidence when speaking publicly. Workers are also less likely to know foreign languages or to have foreign contacts. This means that, if they get arrested or lose their job, they are less likely to inform the international media than a famous author or film director in the same situation. As Zygmunt Bauman observes, a protest action conducted by famous intellectuals “is always the most dramatic and easy to notice.”49 Even if workers have fewer incentives than intellectuals to become dissidents, they still have revolted against communist regimes. Workers led the 1953 uprising in East Germany, and the 1956, 1976, and 1980 uprisings in Poland. Many workers participated in the Hungarian uprising in 1956, and in 1989 they took part in revolts in China, East Germany,50 Czechoslovakia, and Romania. In the East German case, workers 49

50

Zygmunt Bauman, “Social Dissent in the East European Political System,” in Bernard Lewis Faber, ed., The Social Structure of Eastern Europe: Transition and Process in Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Poland, Romania, and Yugoslavia (New York: Praeger Publishers, 1976), p. 139. Unfortunately, it is difficult to find statistics on which groups participated in the various revolts. In some cases, it is obvious that workers participated heavily, such as in the worker revolts in Poland in 1956, 1976, and 1980–81. In Czechoslovakia, opposition leaders actively mobilized workers to participate in the strike. In East Germany, according to Linda Fuller, workers were rather passive; see her Where Was the Working Class? Revolution in East Germany (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1999). However, Mühler and Wilsdorf’s survey of participants in the Leipzig demonstrations on November 13 shows that intellectuals, university students, and other academically trained professionals (i.e., the intelligentsia) made up 38% of the participants; workers and apprentices made up 28%; salaried white-collar workers (i.e., non-academically trained professionals)

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contributed to the collapse of the system by leaving the country in large numbers in the summer and fall of 1989. Nevertheless, while workers have often rebelled against communist regimes, they have not been nearly as active or prominent as intellectuals have. Instead, they are likely to rebel spontaneously, as in the above-mentioned examples. Consequently, during “normal” times workers are less likely than intellectuals to protest against the regime. Under certain circumstances, however, many workers are willing to participate. This does not mean workers are necessarily more supportive of the regime than other groups. As Michael Burawoy concludes in his study of Hungarian steel workers, “the central appropriation of the surplus [under the Soviet type of command economy] is managed directly and visibly by state organs organized at the point of production. Workers all over the country define themselves in relation to a common exploiter.”51 Burawoy also gives many examples of how Hungarian workers were forced to go through humiliating rituals – clearly illustrating how shallow and removed from reality the regime had become. So it is not that workers are less critical of the regime than intellectuals; rather that, during normal times, they have fewer incentives than intellectuals have to become dissidents. When workers have rebelled, they have done so during periods of economic downturn. In 1953, East German workers rebelled after the Politburo announced it was raising work norms by 10 percent.52 Harman writes that, at a meeting on June 15 in East Berlin, workers calculated that this would reduce their wages by approximately one-third. He further notes that living standards had been declining even before the increases in norms, because of decisions during the previous two years to divert investment from consumer goods to heavy industry.53 The day after the workers’ meeting, protests and strikes spread throughout the city, and soon to the rest of the country. At many rallies the workers demanded democracy. So again, workers made demands for political as well as economic changes. However, it was only during a period of economic hardship that they were willing to rebel. Since the regime bases its ideological legitimacy, in part, on promises of economic successes, it is clear that the populace has good reason to protest when the economy falters. The Party’s claim that it has a monopoly on

51 52 53

17%. Intellectuals were thus the leading group, but workers were more active than professionals. See Kurt Mühler and Stefan H. Wilsdorf, “Die Leipziger Montagsdemonstration,” Berliner Journal für Soziologie, Sonderheft (1991): 37–45. Michael Burawoy, “Reflections on the Class Consciousness of Hungarian Steelworkers,” Politics and Society, 17:1 (1989): 20. Michael Simmons, The Unloved Country: A Portrait of East Germany Today (London: Abacus, 1989), pp. 86–7. Chris Harman, Class Struggles in Eastern Europe 1945–83, 2nd edn. (London and Sydney: Pluto Press, 1983), p. 64.

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Truth is also linked to economic performance. When the regime’s promises go unfulfilled in this area, members of society have reason to become angry, and to question the Party’s claim to a monopoly on Truth. Furthermore, during periods of economic decline or stagnation, the populace may realize that the Party is weaker. The Party thus loses its ideological legitimacy, and its leaders are less likely to continue to believe in their right to rule. Workers are tied into the ideological legitimacy in a special way. The Party knows that its claim to a monopoly on Truth relates centrally to workers’ interests. Marxist-Leninist dogma glorifies the role of the workers, and communist parties rule in the name of the workers. Even in agricultural societies, such as China and Vietnam, the Party nonetheless claims it is ruling on behalf of a small group of workers, and that, through its modernizing programs, it will eventually create a society with a worker majority. Since the Party’s legitimacy is so closely tied to workers, the Party is dependent on their tacit support. A broadly based worker uprising lays bare the Party’s lack of legitimacy. When this happened in Poland, during the 1980–1 uprising, the Party had to recognize the defeat it had suffered. After all, it had called upon the military to take over and to rule in the name of the Party, which had been ruling in the name of the workers! The Chinese leaders were obviously aware of the Polish experience, which is one reason why increasing worker participation in the 1989 uprising terrified them so much. It is also the main reason why workers arrested during these events received much more severe punishment than students.54 Thus, while workers as individuals have fewer incentives than intellectuals to become dissidents, workers as a group can influence the regime more directly than intellectuals can. When protests break out, workers are able to influence the outcome more than any other group. A second reason why workers may participate in uprisings during periods of economic decline is that, when their living conditions fall, workers have less to lose by protesting than do other groups. Nowak’s study of employees in Poland, in 1988, shows that job dismissal and lack of promotion provided the greatest deterrents to rebelling.55 Workers who had lost their job, however, suffered relatively less than professionals. First, unskilled workers who had lost their job had little trouble finding a new one. Professionals, on the other hand, were expected (so long as they were not in prison) to work after losing their job; however, their new job was likely to be much lower in status than their previous one. The lower one is on the status ladder, the lower the fall; the higher one is on the ladder, the higher the fall. Second, 54 55

Ibid. Krzystof Nowak, “Covert Repressiveness and the Stability of a Political System: Poland at the End of the Seventies,” Social Research, 1–2, pp. 179–208.

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professionals and intellectuals are more likely than workers to be careeroriented, and to fear the loss of promotion. Since workers are nearer the bottom of the status ladder, they are more likely to conclude during periods of economic difficulty that they have “nothing to lose but their chains.” Professionals Under communist regimes, professionals are likely to wait longer than intellectuals or workers before joining protest movements. Generally speaking, professionals have the most to gain materially from systemic change in a market-oriented direction. However, they also face greater incentives than do workers to support the system passively, because they are tied more directly into patron–client relations with the Party-state. Their career advancement is highly dependent either on Party membership or on connections with patrons within the Party-state. Unlike writers, for example, who can work alone, professionals normally have to be at a specific workplace, where a repressive apparatus can keep them under control. Furthermore, while authors can publish abroad (and thus earn relatively good incomes even when they cannot publish in their own country), professionals are completely dependent on their patrons for their incomes and (yet more important) their privileges. Professionals also have much more to lose than workers in opposing the system. As the system guarantees full employment, workers cannot fall much lower on the income/status ladder. Doctors, on the other hand, feel a great loss in prestige if they are forced to wash windows (as Milan Kundera famously portrayed through the protagonist of his novel The Incredible Lightness of Being). After all, if doctors did not feel a loss of privilege or status, it would not be a punishment to force them to wash windows. It might be countered that professionals do not have more to lose than workers, as they do not earn much more money than workers. This argument neglects two important points. First, since nobody forces professionals to become professionals against their own will, they must want to practice their profession, even if they feel underpaid. If they are only interested in income and their profession does not pay more than manual labor, then why would they have chosen their profession in the first place? In fact, studies consistently show that professional jobs had higher status than manual jobs in Eastern Europe under communist rule. For example, a survey by Włodzimierz Wesołowski, carried out in Poland in the 1970s, shows that the four professional groups with the highest status were university professors, doctors, teachers, and engineers. The four occupations with the lowest status were agricultural workers, cleaning ladies, construction workers, and

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salespeople.56 Another study of status shows that, on a scale of 0.0–1.0, professionals in Poland had a status of 0.97, while state-factory workers had a status of 0.14. In Hungary, non-manual subordinates had a status of 0.62, while factory workers had a status of 0.05. In Czechoslovakia, finally, non-manual subordinates had a status of 0.64, while factory workers had a status of 0.06.57 Second, money loses its normal distributive function in a Soviet-type economy, because access to goods is a much greater barrier than prices. While consumers under Western capitalism face the problem of saving enough money to buy a new car, many households in a Soviet-type economy have saved enough money to purchase a new car, but still have to wait years before it is “their turn.” Of course, those with good connections are able to advance more quickly through the rationing system. Consequently, the privileges that professionals enjoy become more important than their money income. Surveys taken in Eastern Europe show that, during the 1980s, professionals were more likely to have cars (and to travel abroad, etc.) than were manual workers. For example, Rudolf Andorka cites statistics showing that, while non-manual employees in Hungary earned little more than did workers in 1982 (4,022 forints as compared to 3,217), a much higher percentage of them owned cars and had traveled abroad. Thus, while 29% of engineers and 78% of medical doctors had vacationed in a foreign country that year, only 5% of unskilled nonagricultural laborers and 7% of miners had done so. Similarly, 68% of engineers and 94% of doctors owned a car, compared with 19% of unskilled workers and 33% of miners.58 On the other hand, while professionals have more to lose than workers from joining the opposition, they also have more to gain economically from a successful uprising that brings market-oriented economic changes. Such changes would increase income differentials to their advantage. In addition, professionals are more likely to have the necessary skills for starting private businesses. Therefore, once an uprising gains momentum

56 57

58

Włodzimierz Wesołowski, “Transition from Authoritarianism to Democracy,” Social Research, 57:2 (1990): 14–15. Kazimierz M. Słomczyn´ski, “Class and Status in East-European Perspective,” in Matti Alestalo, Erik Allardt, Andrzej Rychard and Włodzimierz Wesołowski, eds., The Transformation of Europe: Social Conditions and Consequences (Warsaw: IFiS Publishers, 1994), p. 182. Rudolf Andorka, “The Development of the Sociological Views on the Structure and Stratification of the Hungarian Society,” in Rudolf Andorka and Miklós Hadas, eds., Social Structure, Stratification and Mobility in Central and Eastern Europe. Papers presented at the Conference in the Inter-University Centre of Postgraduate Studies, Dubrovnik, April 14–17, 1989 (Budapest: BUES, 1989), pp. 107, 112.

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and spreads so widely that repressive measures against participants are unlikely, professionals have very strong incentives to participate. Unfortunately, it is very difficult to obtain empirical data about the participation of professionals in revolts. However, the available information indicates that they usually wait until workers and intellectuals have already started an uprising. Roman Laba notes that, in 1980, once workers and intellectuals had begun cooperating, and the Solidarnos´c´ uprising had already gained momentum, professionals – who had been passive during previous revolts – also began to join in.59 There is also widespread agreement not only that professionals stayed out of the previous worker uprisings in Poland (1956, 1970, 1976), but also that they stayed out of the worker revolt in East Germany (1953) and the protests by intellectuals in Poland (1968). In the case of the East German revolution of 1989, surveys taken of the demonstrators at Leipzig show that non-academic professionals participated less than intellectuals and workers.60 Cuba is an interesting exception here. In that country, professionals have been much more prominent in dissident circles. For example, independent economists founded the Asociación Nacional de Economistas Independients de Cuba, while independent agronomists founded Corriente Agramontistas.61 Lawyers have played a major role within the opposition. Dr. Lonel Morejón Almagro, a lawyer, tried to register an ecological organization with the authorities (Natur Paz), but was turned down.62 Several lawyers founded an unofficial group called the Corriente Agramontista. Its president, Dr. René Gómez Manzano, became one of the founders of the Concilio Cubano, which was a broad coalition of various opposition groups.63 The Concilio Cubano included large numbers of professionals, such as lawyers, engineers, and ecologists, as well as intellectuals and groups on the border between intellectuals and professionals, such as journalists.64 It even included trade unionists, both professionals and workers, according to the unions included.

59 60

61

62 63

Roman Laba, The Roots of Solidarity: A Political Sociology of Poland’s Working-Class Democratization (Princeton University Press, 1991), p. 168. Mühler and Wilsdorf, “Die Leipziger Montagsdemonstration.”As students of the East German opposition know, however, one prominent oppositionist had a professional background: Rudolf Bahro. Juan Carlos Espinosa, “Civil Society in Cuba: the Logic of Emergence in Comparative Perspective,” in Cuba in Transition, vol. IX: Papers and Proceedings of the Ninth Annual Meeting of the Association for the Study of the Cuban Economy (ASCE), Biltmore Hotel, Coral Gables, Florida, August 12–14 1999 (Silver Spring: ASCE, 1999), p. 358. Amnesty International, Cuba Government Crackdown on Dissident, AI Index: AMR 25/14/ 96, 1996, 2. Ibid., 3. 64 Ibid., 10.

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An important reason why professionals have played major roles in the Cuban dissident movement is that, in contrast to their counterparts in Eastern Europe, Cuban professionals lost their status under communist rule. During the economic crisis caused by the collapse of the Soviet Union and the ending of Soviet subsidies, living standards in Cuba fell so much that professionals were forced to turn to the black market to survive. This forced Castro to accept the need for some amount of free trading at the local level. As Otero and O’Bryan note, “the success of the black market helped to pressure Castro to decriminalize possession of US dollars in 1993.”65 Dollarization has brought a dual economy into being, in which those performing menial labor for dollars are much wealthier than state-employed professionals working for pesos. “It has been discouraging to professionals whose state-paid peso salaries are now inferior to those of service employees in the tourism sector.”66 Their living standards have fallen so sharply that highly educated professionals are forced to give up their professions and become prostitutes, street dealers, or handicraft producers. Angela T. Haddad conducted eighteen interviews with Cubans whom he met in or near Havana in December 2000. Three of the interviewees were young men who had stopped going to school because they saw no point in it. “Two of them had turned to hustling tourists. The other was waiting for an opportunity to go to ‘el norte’ [the United States].”67 As Benigno E. Aguirre observes, “[p]rostitution is often the only way young people have to frequent places such as restaurants and stores that demand hard currencies and are thus reserved for the use of foreigners and their guests. Prostitutes’ services at Varadero Beach and elsewhere, however, could not occur without the authorities’ cooperation.”68 Given the radical decline in their living standards and status, Cuban professionals have become like Marx’s workers, who have “nothing left to lose but their chains” – unless they leave their professions for various forms of self-employment that mostly cater to tourists. Meanwhile, intellectuals are less likely to become dissidents in Cuba than in many other communist-ruled countries, because compared to workers and professionals they are rather privileged. They never suffered from the stifling demand that they adopt a socialist realist style, and thus they had a bit more stylistic freedom than their counterparts in Eastern Europe. In addition, they are often allowed to travel to non-communist 65 66 67 68

Gerardo Otero and Janice O’Bryan, “Cuba in Transition? The Civil Sphere’s Challenge to the Castro Regime,” Latin American Politics and Society, 44:4 (2002): 38. Ibid., 38. Angela T. Haddad, “Critical Reflexivity, Contradictions and Modern Cuban Consciousness,” Acta Sociologica 1 (2003): 63. Benigno E. Aguirre, “Social Control in Cuba,” Latin American Politics and Society, 44: 2 (2002): 86.

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countries and they have relatively high incomes because they are allowed to earn hard currency from their exports (such as book royalties, income from films, selling paintings abroad, etc.).

Peasants Very little has been written about the participation of peasants in anticommunist uprisings. Of all the Central European countries, only Poland has a substantial peasant population. Moreover, although Polish peasants eventually formed a farmers’ Solidarnos´c´, they tended to be passive politically, only forming their counterpart organization after the free union movement had spread widely. In East Germany, Czechoslovakia, and Hungary, peasants constituted too small a group to be significant in any of the uprisings. In Romania, peasants are a larger group, but I am not aware of any studies that mention them as having been important during the violent 1989 revolution. Similarly, peasants did not play an active role in the 1989 uprising in China. Nevertheless, peasants remain an important group for our analysis. In Vietnam and China, peasants make up the overwhelming majority of the population Their actions may accordingly be crucial for the outcome of future revolts in these countries. Why have peasants tended to be relatively passive? One likely reason is that peasants working on collective farms face greater pressures to conform than most other citizens. As all collective farms have their own Party cells and their own secret-police networks, and the peasants live on the farms, it is clear that social control is much stricter for peasants than it is for employees working in large cities. Employees in big cities, by contrast, have a separate life outside their workplace. They may even live quite far from their job, or socialize with different groups of people that have little or no connection with their workplace. Not all peasants live on collective farms, however. In some communistruled countries, a certain amount of private farming was allowed. This is especially true of Poland, where the regime never succeeded in completely collectivizing agriculture. Since the late 1970s, moreover, private farming has been dominant in China too. Since private farmers face less social control than peasants living on collective farms, they are more likely to criticize the regime. However, the mere fact that they own private property also makes them afraid of losing this property. Getting involved in political activities might jeopardize their privileged position as property holders.69 69

For a discussion of the passivity of Polish peasants, see Janina Frentzel-Zagórska and Krzystztof Zagórski, “East European Intellectuals on the Road of Dissent: The Old Prophecy of a New Class Re-examined,” Politics and Society, 46:1 (1989), 105.

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Chinese peasants remained inactive during the student protests at Tiananmen Square. If it is true that peasants are unlikely to revolt against communist-led regimes, then the collapse of communism may to some extent be a question of economic development. As peasants leave the farms for blue-collar jobs in the cities, anti-communist revolts become easier. A worker revolt might well work in China, even without peasant support. It is true that workers only make up 20 percent of the population, but that is still more than 200 million citizens.70 Tens of millions of striking workers might well bring down a regime that bases its ideological legitimacy on its claim to be defending the interests of the working class. Of course, if the peasants were to support the regime actively, a worker uprising could be defeated. If the peasants remained passive, however, the workers could well prevail. However, it would be premature to discount the possibility of a peasant uprising in China simply because it has not yet happened, or did not happen in other communist countries. As David Zweig shows, private farmers often come into conflict with state bureaucrats who want a piece of the action. Thus, local battles occur over attempts by local party and state officials to extract higher taxes and other surcharges from private farmers. In a case study of one municipality, Zweig notes that, when the commune imposed a sales surcharge of 10 percent, “[t]he peasants, resenting the commune’s new intrusion, deluged the city government with letters of protest.”71 In fact, even large demonstrations and violent protests have been relatively widespread. A Chinese politician cited a Central Committee document claiming that, in 1993, a total of 6,230 cases of “turmoil” took place in the countryside. “In 830 of these cases, 500 or more people took part and more than one township was involved. In 78 cases, over 1,000 participated and in 21 more than 5,000.”72 During one six-day period in May 1997, around 200,000 peasants in 80 townships participated in 80 different “incidents of assembly, demonstrations and submission of petitions.”73 In some cases, peasants attacked county governments or burned vehicles. Chinese peasants have two different incentives to revolt. First, they are the poorest part of the population, and they are the hardest hit by arbitrary 70

71 72 73

The statistics come from Shaoguang Wang, “From a Pillar of Continuity to a Force for Change: Chinese Workers in the Movement,” in Des Forges et al., Chinese Democracy and the Crisis of 1989, p. 180. David Zweig, “Prosperity and Conflict in Post-Mao Rural China,” China Quarterly, no. 105 (1986): 1–18. Thomas P. Bernstein and Xiaobo Lu, “Taxation without Representation: Peasants, the Central and the Local States in Reform China,” China Quarterly, no. 163 (2000): 754. Ibid., 755.

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confiscation and taxation by local party officials. Thomas P. Bernstein and Xiaobo Lu show that local taxes are highly regressive and that the poorest peasants and those living in the poorest regions pay higher taxes than the wealthiest peasants and those living in the wealthiest regions.74 Reports show that a great many poor peasants have trouble making ends meet. According to a survey, for example, 30–40 percent of the households in a Miaodian village found it difficult to grow enough food for their subsistence.75 Peasants in China also have an institutional incentive to revolt to the extent that they believe the central government will be sympathetic to their cause. Due to decentralization, the central authorities have become weaker in their ability to control local officials. These local officials often take actions that go against official central policy, such as imposing local taxes beyond the 5%-of-income limit set by the central government. Peasants are often aware of this, and try to gain the support of central authorities when they protest. As Bernstein and Lu observe, “the extent to which the central authorities agreed with peasants that excessive burdens had to be lightened . . . had the unanticipated consequence of encouraging peasants to resist local officials who were driving the people to revolt.”76 Bernstein and Lu also note that peasants often turn to central officials with their complaints, and expect sympathy from higher levels of government.77 This reliance on support from the central authorities has resulted in a continued revisionist stance of the peasants, even though the regime has left behind its early post-totalitarian phase. This makes peasants less likely to join a mass uprising. Chinese peasants, apparently, still think of the communist party as a party that represents peasant interests; thus, they still believe in the regime’s ideological legitimacy. Consequently, they tend to use Marxist-Leninist jargon in their demonstrations. Bernstein and Lu note that, during disorders in Shanxi, Henan, and Hunan in the fall of 1995, common phrases were: “End the exploitation and oppression of the peasant class,” “Long live the peasant Communist Party and the unity of the peasants,” etc.78 Like their Chinese counterparts, Cuban peasants are benefiting increasingly from the opportunity to sell some of their goods on the open market. This makes them less likely to revolt, as they now have more to lose by doing so. So far, moreover, the reforms in Cuba have not been followed by the type of decentralization seen in China. As a consequence, Cuban peasants do not have the same incentive to revolt at

74

Ibid., 743 ff.

75

Ibid., 749.

76

Ibid., 742.

77

Ibid., 757.

78

Ibid., 759.

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the local level (in the hope of gaining support from the central government against local officials). The number of private farmers rose from 144,300 in 1991 to 175,000 in 1996.79 Even though private farmers represent only 4.1 percent of the population, “[t]hey are nonetheless one of the wealthiest and increasingly autonomous sectors in the current Cuban economy.”80 The Ethiopian case shows that, under certain circumstances, peasants can actively rebel against communist-led regimes. In Ethiopia, intellectual opposition leaders were able to enlist portions of the peasantry in their armies. Much as worker–intellectual cooperation played a central role in bringing down communist regimes in industrialized countries, Ethiopia shows the necessity of peasant–intellectual cooperation in bringing down communist regimes in agricultural countries that lack a significant industrial proletariat. John Young concludes that, without support from intellectuals, “peasant rebellions cannot rise above local concerns and will be defeated.”81 Several factors explain why Ethiopian peasants became more active than their counterparts in East European and Asian countries under communist rule. First, as a failed totalitarian regime that never succeeded in obtaining sovereignty over the entire country, the Ethiopian government was never able to control peasants to the same extent as governments in other communist countries. Second, because the rulers did not have control over all the territory, a vacuum emerged in which guerrilla leaders were able to pressure peasants living outside areas under government control into joining the guerrilla armies.82 Under the prevailing conditions of protracted guerrilla warfare, when the opposition movements entered these areas, they were able to act as a public-choice political entrepreneur, rewarding peasants for participating and punishing those who did not.83 In addition to offering direct incentives, moreover, rebel organizations such as the TPLF gained peasant support by carrying out land reform in a decentralized manner, in cooperation with the peasants, as well as engaging in such activities as opening schools.84 This won the TPLF more peasant support than the Derg’s authoritarian, top-down land reforms garnered for the government.85 This obviously was not possible for the isolated dissident circles in Eastern Europe. 79 81 83 84 85

Otero and O’Bryan, “Cuba in Transition?” 47. 80 Ibid. Young, Peasant Revolution in Ethiopia, p. 27. 82 Ibid., p. 115. Fred Halliday and Maxine Molyneux, The Ethiopian Revolution (London: Verso, 1981), p. 181. This is discussed in more detail below. Young, Peasant Revolution in Ethiopia, pp. 181ff.

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In Eritrea, the EPLF sometimes recruited youths at gunpoint. This does not seem to have been the case in Tigray.86 In addition, in the areas where local contacts had not yet been disrupted through relocation policies that forced peasants to leave their homelands for new settlements (see below), opposition leaders could use traditional contact networks to mobilize peasants.87 Third, waves of starvation convinced peasants they had nothing to lose by supporting the opposition. It was common for peasants to blame the regime’s policies for the deplorable conditions in which they lived. Moreover, the great sums of money the Derg spent on celebrating its first decade of rule – at a time when much of the population was unable to feed itself – made the regime seem ideologically bankrupt to the populace.88 Fourth, the regime lost peasant support through its highly repressive policies. In contrast to the case with Stalin’s forced collectivization, the proletariat in Ethiopia was not large enough to counterbalance the loss of peasant support. And while Soviet bloc countries, including the Soviet Union, tended to carry out agrarian reform step by step, the Derg implemented agrarian reforms very quickly, alienating the peasantry in the process.89 The regime further alienated the peasants by forcibly resettling over 8 million of them to other parts of the country.90 This feeling of being uprooted gave Ethiopian peasants even more reason to believe that they had “nothing to lose but their chains.” Citizens that were relocated had reason to rebel, because they felt that they had already lost everything. Those that were not relocated also had reason to rebel, because opposition leaders could build upon local traditions as the local society had still been kept intact, while the relocated peasants had been uprooted from their local traditions and social contacts. It should also be noted that, unlike its counterparts in Eastern Europe, the Derg did not counterbalance its repressive policies with welfare policies that could win them popular support. While Eastern European communist regimes provided free schools for all youth, and Castro prides himself on the success of his literacy programs, the Derg actually closed down most rural schools in Tigray, on the pretext that teachers sympathized with the TPLF.91 The TPLF was able to gain peasant support by 86 88 89 90 91

Ibid., 127. 87 Halliday and Molyneux, The Ethiopian Revolution, pp. 178–9. Kinfe Abraham, Ethiopia from Bullets to the Ballot Box: The Bumpy Road to Democracy and the Political Economy of Transition (Lawrenceville, NJ: Red Sea Press, 1994), xix–xx. Young, Peasant Revolution in Ethiopia, pp. 93, 117. Girma Kebbede, The State and Development in Ethiopia (New Jersey: Humanities Press, 1992), p. 23. Young, Peasant Revolution in Ethiopia, p. 119.

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opening its own schools, and then camouflaging them so that regime soldiers could not find and destroy them. Nor was it difficult to find teachers, as “after 1980 [there was] a growing supply of skilled personnel fleeing the Derg’s terror in the towns, who could be employed on such projects.”92 Nicaragua is another case where a regime claiming to be MarxistLeninist failed to consolidate its revolution fully, and soon got involved in a protracted war with peasant-based guerrillas. Of course, there is a great difference between Ethiopia and Nicaragua, in that the leaders of the Contras were not Marxist students and intellectuals but rather former supporters of the deposed Somoza regime, as well as business leaders and disappointed former Sandinistas. In addition, while the US supported some of the guerrilla groups in Ethiopia, that support pales when compared to the aid it provided the Contras in armaments and training. As Stoll notes, “The Nicaraguan Democratic Force (FDN) was led by former guardia officers [from Somoza’s National Guard] chosen by the Reagan administration, which also financed the base camps in Honduras.”93 The Contra leaders, then, were not peasants. However, when Contra militias demobilized in 1990, over 80 percent of the rank and file identified themselves as being from the eight northern and central mountain areas, which are overwhelmingly rural. One reason peasants from these areas were willing to join the Contras may be that, as a former Sandinista leader later admitted, the revolutionary egalitarianism of the Sandinistas collided with centuries-old traditions of men having authority over women and patrons having authority over their dependants. Thus, the Contra message that the Sandinistas wanted to “steal their land” and “take away their religion” resonated more with the peasantry than did Sandinista discourses on equality.94 Another possible reason is that the Contras were more repressive of their opponents than the Sandinistas. Peasants caught between the two groups feared the Contras more, and so preferred to join them rather than the Sandinistas. Stoll reflects: Did the Sandinistas breed more resistance than they crushed by being more respectful of civilian life than the Guatemalan and Salvadoran militaries? In Guatemala, most peasants that were “caught between two fires” ended up supporting the group that was more likely to kill them – the army. In much of highland Nicaragua, many peasants who were “caught between two fires” ended up 92 93 94

Ibid., p. 172. David Stoll, “The Nicaraguan Contras: Were They Indios?” Latin American Politics and Society, 47:3 (2005): 146s. Ibid.

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supporting the Contras. Does this mean that they were more afraid of reprisals from the Contras than from the Sandinistas?95

This last quote indicates that it is not always clear that opposition to communism leads to support for democracy, which, for example, American support of the corrupt South Vietnamese government during the Vietnam War also shows. Ideology and the development of opposition Totalitarian regimes leave little space for critical reflection. Exceptional individuals, such as Solzhenitsyn, may exist, but they remain isolated cases. As the regime shifts to a period of early post-totalitarianism, more room emerges for critical thought. During this period, the regime still enjoys some degree of ideological legitimacy. As a result, critical intellectuals tend to accept the main ideological tenets of Marxism-Leninism (or at least Marxism), and to seek to improve the regime rather than replace it. Organized opposition groups are still rare, but organized activities become more common. An example was the joint letter to the Polish Politburo authored by Jacek Kuron´ and Karol Modzelewski, which attacked the regime from a semi-Trotskyist standpoint. During the post-totalitarian thaw, the regimes still maintained relatively high degrees of ideological legitimacy in certain circles, although they lost their hegemonic control over society. Under these circumstances, it was easier for critical intellectuals to condemn the Party for failing to meet its own ideological standards than to condemn the system itself. Furthermore, in this early post-totalitarian period, many of the first critical intellectuals were in fact communists (or the children of communists) who believed in the system in theory, but not in practice.96 Because these groups wanted to improve the system rather than change it, they were often labeled “revisionists.” As time elapsed, however, revisionist intellectuals began to lose faith even in reform communism, as they faced continued repression and witnessed the Kremlin’s repeated crushing of reform attempts in Eastern Europe. The combination of continuing repression and stagnating economic performance caused the regimes’ ideological legitimacy to decay, and the regimes evolved from early post-totalitarianism to either mature or frozen post-totalitarianism. In this period critical intellectuals became completely disillusioned, and began questioning the system itself.97 95 96 97

Ibid., 155. Examples include the famous Polish dissidents Jacek Kuron´ and Adam Michnik. Tony Judt divides the development of dissident thinking in Poland, Hungary, and the USSR into three phases: (1) the revisionist period, from 1956 to 1968; (2) disillusionment, from 1968 to 1975; and (3) catch-up, from 1975 to 1989 (what I call “dissidence”).

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In Central and Eastern Europe, the revisionist boom began in 1956, with Khrushchev’s famous speech on Stalin’s crimes. (One could argue that the boom really began a few years earlier, when Hungarian intellectuals criticized the removal of Nagy from power, and the former Yugoslav partisan Milovan Djilas published his book, The New Class.) The ensuing Soviet invasion of Hungary destroyed the myth of the Party uniting the proletariat behind the forward march of History. While those events encouraged some intellectuals to rethink their support for the system, this was a period when the regimes still maintained relatively high levels of ideological legitimacy within their own ranks and among some workers and intellectuals as well. Revisionist intellectuals still believed they could reform the system from within by appealing to its own ideological premises. Some of the most prominent critical intellectuals of the time were themselves members of the Party, or else they came from families headed by Party members and thus were well-steeped in Marxist-Leninist ideology. Among the most famous Marxist critics were Włodzimierz Brus, Leszek Kolakowski, Jacek Kuron´ , and Karol Modzelewski in Poland; Georg Lukás in Hungary (around whom the “Budapest school” was gathered); Robert Havermann in the GDR; and Milovan Djilas in Yugoslavia. By using a Marxist framework, these intellectuals hoped to influence their leaders directly. George Schöpflin argues that, by using Marxist terminology, dissenting intellectuals kept the non-Marxist majority outside the conflict. Thus, the intellectuals’ potential for leading an anti-communist rebellion was limited at this stage.98 The next turning point came in 1968. After the events in Poland and Czechoslovakia, critical intellectuals began losing their belief that the system could be reformed.99 In the aftermath of these events, regimes began moving beyond early post-totalitarianism, and started either freezing or maturing; critical intellectuals started dropping their revisionism, and moving towards a strategy of dissidence. The events began in Poland, where students and intellectuals demonstrated against the closing of a play by Adam Mickiewicz. The regime responded by clamping down on these groups.100 To make matters worse, the regime totally lost its remaining moral authority by engaging in anti-Semitic purges. They removed Tony Judt, “The Dilemmas of Dissidence: The Politics of Opposition in East-Central Europe,” in Ferenc Fehér and Andrew Arato, eds., Crisis and Reform in Eastern Europe (New Brunswick and London: Transaction Publishers, 1991), pp. 255ff. 98 George Schöpflin, Politics in Eastern Europe (Oxford and Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell 1993/4), p. 120. 99 Judt, “The Dilemmas of Dissidence,” p. 256. 100 Tenley Adams, “Charter 77 and the Workers’ Defense Committee (KOR): the Struggle for Human Rights in Czechoslovakia and Poland,” East European Quarterly, 26:2 (1992): 221–2.

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almost everyone of Jewish heritage from the universities and from high positions in the Party-state apparatus. Consequently, a large portion of the revisionist Polish intellectual elite left the country, including the sociologist Zygmunt Bauman, the philosopher Leszek Kolakowski, and the economist Włodzimierz Brus. In the same year, furthermore, Warsaw Pact tanks put an end to the reform movement in Czechoslovakia. The ease with which the reformist wing of the Czechoslovak Communist Party crumbled after the invasion, in combination with the Polish events, convinced most dissenting intellectuals that the system was no longer reformable.101 The naked use of brute force as an argument also made it clear that “internationalism,” “brotherhood,” etc. were just empty phrases for Soviet military power. Thus, the invasion was a blow for the regimes’ ideological legitimacy, as few would equate imperial military power with having a monopoly on Truth. Nevertheless, the other pillar of the regimes’ ideological legitimacy – economic performance – had not yet received a decisive blow. In fact, most of the East European countries enjoyed relatively high economic growth and improved living standards during the early to mid 1970s, as even freezing regimes in East Germany and Czechoslovakia restructured investments to increase consumption. So although ideological legitimacy began to decline, and intellectuals felt disillusioned as the regimes left the early post-totalitarian stage, the decisive break with the regimes had yet to come. In the mid 1970s, all Central and East European communist countries entered a period of economic stagnation and decline, which destroyed the regimes’ remaining ideological legitimacy. Intellectuals shed what little remained of their communist ideology and embarked on a struggle to defend human rights. By that time, the vast majority of dissenting intellectuals in Eastern Europe had left behind their revisionism and become full-blown opponents of the regime. In most countries this entailed a strategy of building up civil society, also known as “anti-politics.”102 An important event for the dissident movement was the signing of the Helsinki Accords on human rights in 1975. Since all the Soviet bloc countries signed these accords, the dissidents were encouraged to demand their regimes’ compliance. Shortly thereafter, Czechoslovak intellectuals founded Charter 77 in response to the persecution of the underground rock group Plastic People of the Universe, and in order to 101 102

Judt, “The Dilemmas of Dissidence.” The term comes from György Konrád, Anti-Politik, trans. Maria Ortman and Staffan Holmgren (Stockholm: Alba, 1985). For discussions of this strategy, see David Ost, Solidarity and the Politics of Anti-Politics: Opposition and Reform in Poland since 1968 (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1990); and Vladimir Tismaneanu, Reinventing Politics: Eastern Europe from Stalin to Havel (New York: Free Press, 1992).

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demand compliance with the Helsinki Accords.103 Another important move in this direction was the founding of the Committee in Defense of the Workers (KOR) in Poland, by leading intellectual dissidents including Adam Michnik and Jacek Kuron´ . This committee gave legal aid to workers who were being prosecuted for their participation in protests in 1976. A few years later, KOR played a pivotal role in the Solidarnos´ c´ movement. Strike leader Lech Wałe˛sa came under the tutelage of KOR intellectuals in 1978, after the latter formed the Committee for Free Trade Unions in Gdan´ sk.104 Schöpflin claims the shift in emphasis from revisionism to the struggle for human rights made it possible for the dissidents to cooperate with other sectors of society.105 Among the countries of Central Europe, East Germany stands out as a state in which many dissenting intellectuals never gave up hope that the system could be reformed. The physicist Robert Havermann, for example, held onto his Marxist beliefs to the end. Intellectuals on the fringe between opposition and semi-opposition (such as the authors Christa Wolf and Heinrich Hein) supported democratization in 1989 while still considering themselves Marxists. Some even went on TV to plea for East Germans to “keep their country together” so that it would not disintegrate into part of West Germany. Other dissenting intellectuals did not consider themselves to be Marxists, but remained revisionist in the sense of wanting to retain a separate and “socialist” East German state.106 Various explanations have been offered for this phenomenon. Some claim that the East German intellectuals had a tradition of suspicion toward East German society, as much of it had supported Hitler in the 1930s.107 Others have argued that the dissidents identified with the East German state and were afraid that systemic change would bring about German unification.108 Christian Joppke argues that intellectuals were afraid of unification due to their distrust of society, their rejection of any notion of a German national identity, and their belief in the mythology of 103

104

105 106 107 108

Jiří Gruntorád, “Oberoende medborgarinitiativ i Tjeckoslovakien,” in Michal Konu˚ pek and Miroslava Slavíčková, eds., Den “leende revolutionens” rötter, trans. Lenka Elvingson and Karin Mossdal (Stockholm, Charta 77-stiftelsen, 1990), p. 7. Jan Kubik, “Who Done It: Workers, Intellectuals, or Someone Else? Controversy over Solidarity’s Origins and Social Composition,” Theory and Society, 23:3 (1994): 443; Albert Syzmanski, Class Struggle in Socialist Poland (New York: Praeger Publishers 1984), pp. 116–17; Ost, Solidarity and the Politics of Anti-Politics, pp. 12–13. Schöpflin, Politics in Eastern Europe, p. 180. Linda Fuller, Where Was the Working Class? Revolution in East Germany (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1999), p. 100. Sigrid Meuschel, “The End of East German Socialism,” Telos, 82 (1989–90): 5. See, for example, Mark R. Thompson, “No Exit: ‘Nation-stateness’ and Democratization in the German Democratic Republic,” Political Studies, 44 (1996): 267–86.

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the GDR as an anti-fascist state.109 All the same, intellectuals – via organizations such as Neues Forum – were at the forefront of the uprising and arranged its mass rallies.110 The Soviet Union followed the same basic pattern as the Central European countries, although its timing was a bit different. Whereas the late post-totalitarian period began in the latter countries after the invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968, Khrushchev’s dethroning and replacement by Brezhnev had already pushed the USSR along the freezing path by 1964. As Michael Urban remarks, opposition existed almost exclusively in the form of underground groups. Most of these professed the philosophy of Marx and Lenin, counterpoising in particular the ideas that they found in State and Revolution and “The Immediate Tasks of Soviet Power” to the realities around them so rudely at odds with the very principles enshrined in the official ideology.111

An example of this was the group gathered around two revisionist intellectuals at the history faculty at Moscow State University: Leonid Rendel and Lev Krasnopevets. After the Twentieth Congress of the Soviet Communist Party, at which Khrushchev denounced Stalin’s crimes, Rendel and Krasnopevets distributed leaflets with a summons to “carry out the struggle for socialist renewal in the spirit of the Twentieth Congress.”112 Dietrich Beyrau notes that, in the 1950s and early 1960s, “revisionist circles” dominated the opposition scene. They worked in the Bolshevik tradition, and they also developed a simplified version of some of the doctrines of the old Socialist Revolutionaries. These circles included: the Social Progressive Association, the Association of Communists, and the Association of Communards in Leningrad; the Red Wolves and the group Lighthouse in Moscow; the Democratic Association of Socialists in 109

110 112

Christian Joppke, East German Dissidents and the Revolution of 1989: Social Movement in a Leninist Regime (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1995). For a good recent overview of the literature on the East German opposition generally, and the Joppke controversy specifically, see Eckhard Jesse, “Oppositionelle Bestrebungen in den achtiger Jahren und ihre Repräsentanten,” in Jesse, ed., Eine Revolution und ihre Folgen (Berlin: Ch. Links, 2000), pp. 257–324. A particularly sharp attack on Joppke was launched by Uwe Taysen, “Ferwestliche Abrechnung mit ostdeutschen Dissidenten: so nicht akzeptabel”, in Zeitschrift für Parlamentsfragen, 27 (1996), 780–5. Detlaf Pollack’s study, Politischer Protest: Politisch alternative Gruppen in der DDR (Opladen: Leske und Budrich, 2000) offers a subtle criticism of Joppke’s view. He stresses, for example, the tactical advantage accruing to opposition groups that used socialist terminology to help legitimate their dissent. Moreover, since East German dissidents were isolated from society as well as from the regime, it is not surprising that they did not offer an alternative opposition (in the sense of demanding political power for themselves). See Saxonberg, The Fall, Chapter 10. 111 Urban, The Rebirth, p. 34. Ibid., p. 33–4.

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Kischinjow; the Revolutionary Marxists in Kuibyschew; and Economic Equality in Swedlowski.113 Brezhnev’s attempt to freeze the system brought great disillusionment among critical intellectuals. The general trend was for them to change their strategy and to begin emphasizing legality: that is, the need for the Soviet regime to follow its own laws. On the one hand, this was still a form of revisionism, as “by thematizing democracy and socialist legality as virtues to be recaptured in their proposed return to ‘Leninist principles’ they provided the official discourse with a counterpoint to the authoritarianism previously sanctioned by the cult of the leader.”114 On the other hand, while the demand that the regime follow its own laws and return to “Leninist principles” implies revisionist principles, the emphasis on human rights has some similarities with the civil society strategy developed by Eastern and Central European dissidents in the late 1970s. As early as 1965, dissidents such as Esenin-Vol’pin gave speeches at a demonstration for human rights at Moscow’s Pushkin Square. Such activities continued during the late 1960s and early 1970s. Beyrau notes that, in 1969, the Initiative in Defense of Human Rights in the USSR was founded. In 1970, a group of physicists including Sakharov founded the Committee for Human Rights.115 Despite their original cautiousness, intellectuals were quick to take advantage of the situation when Gorbachev came to power and the freezing regime began to thaw. As Archie Brown notes, On the eve of perestroika, the leading dissidents were in prison and exile or, at best under constant survelliance. None of their works could be published in the Soviet Union and by the first half of the 1980s the flow of protest letters and of samizdat . . . publications had been reduced to a trickle . . .116

By 1987, however – at which point Gorbachev had been in power for just two years – the number of unofficial groups had skyrocketed to more than 30,000.117 Steven Fisch reports that, between late 1988 and late 1989, many political organizations formed in order to participate in local elections, including the Moscow Association of Voters, the Moscow People’s Front, the Social Democratic Association, Citizens’ Dignity, 113 114 116 117

Dietrich Beyrau, Intelligenz und Dissens: Die russischen Bildungsschichten in der Sowjetunion 1917–1985 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), p. 172. Urban, The Rebirth, p. 36. 115 Beyrau, Intelligenz und Dissens, p. 247. Archie Brown, The Gorbachev Factor (Oxford University Press, 1997), p. 9. T. H. Rigby The Changing Soviet System: Mono-organisational Socialism from Its Origins to Gorbachev’s Restructuring (Aldershot: Edward Elgar, 1990), p. 217; and Timm Beichelt and Susanne Kraatz, “Zivilgesellschaft und Systemwechsel in Russland,” in Wolfgang Merkel, ed., System Wechsel, 5 vols. (Opladen: Leske und Budrich, 1994–2000), vol. V, Zivilgesellschaft and Transformation, p. 121.

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“and several other proto-parties.”118 This rapid rise of non-revisionist organizations and proto-parties shows that many oppositionists had already given up revisionism, even if they did not have the opportunity to display it openly before Gorbachev initiated his glasnost reforms. It should be emphasized, however, that not all communist regimes have had opposition groups. The highly repressive patrimonial regimes that remained, such as those in Romania and North Korea, had repressed society so severely that no room for dissidence could emerge. Jonathan Eyal describes the system of repression in Romania as follows: Throughout the last two decades, most East European dissidents who dared speak their mind, usually knew what to expect from the authorities: loss of employment, perpetual harassment, imprisonment, exile. In Romania, however, this was never the case. The country’s few dissidents were almost never put on trial: some escaped unmolested for many years, while others disappeared or experienced fatal “accidents.” The Securitate’s tactic was therefore one of perpetual deterrence through the very unpredictability of the potential punishment.119

Thus, Michael Shafir reportedly heard in the early 1980s, “Romanian dissent . . . lives in Paris and his name is Paul Goma.”120 However, Gorbachev’s rise to power increased hopes and expectations for change. Thus in the late 1980s, many intellectuals in Romania became more daring. In August 1988, the poet Mircea Dinescu gave an interview on Radio Moscow’s Romanian Service, praising Gorbachev and calling for reform. In March of the following year, Dinescu, writing in the French newspaper Libération, criticized the lack of human rights. A letter in support of Dinescu then appeared, signed by the critic Octavian Paler and the essayists Andrei Pleu and Miha S¸ora.121 In overtly totalitarian North Korea, there is even less space for opposition. Gavan McCormack writes that no society so closely fits the model of totalitarian rule as North Korea. No society has ever been so intensely indoctrinated and so deprived of the space within which to grow autonomously. Dominated by the family of the great patriarch, there is no room in North Korea for deviance, or spontaneity. In no industrialized, urban society has the effort to eliminate or subjugate the reflective, critical 118 119

120 121

Fish, “The Emergence of Independent Associations,” pp. 148–9. Jonathan Eyal, “Why Romania Could Not Avoid Bloodshed,” in Gwyn Prins, ed., Spring in Winter: The 1989 Revolutions (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 1990), pp. 150–1. Reported in Dennis Deletant, Ceauşescu and the Securitate: Coercion and Dissent in Romania, 1965–1989 (London: Hurst, 1995), p. 235. Peter Siani-Davies, The Romanian Revolution of December 1989 (Ithaca, NY and London: Cornell University Press, 2005), p. 29. He notes that four more people signed the letter, but does not state who they were.

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mind and to fuse political and religious function been so thoroughly pursued. Nowhere, perhaps, has myth been generated and propagated so obsessively, heresy so fiercely resisted, and the very notion of the “private” so profoundly rejected.122

In China, the timing of revisionism was obviously different from that in Eastern Europe, but the pattern was similar. In 1989, Chinese student protest leaders made only vague demands for democracy and called for a reformed socialism that did not directly challenge the regime (much as their Eastern European counterparts did before 1968).123 This was different from the anti-communism espoused by most Eastern European dissidents after 1968.124 Rasma Karklins and Roger Petersen suggest that the Chinese student protesters “accepted the regime’s right to rule and focused on the need to fight corruption and introduce some political reforms.”125 The students stressed their moral righteousness and their willingness to sacrifice their lives for the cause. Andrew Nathan has argued that the students acted as “remonstrators rather than opponents.”126 In an analysis of the development of dissident thinking in China, Daniel Kelliher argues that most dissidents in the 1970s had defined democracy in a limited way – as meaning “open communication between the government and governed.” However, after Deng’s brutal reprisals against activists who had written messages on the Democracy Wall in 1978–9, dissidents abandoned this notion of democracy and instead of arguing for democracy, they “became confirmed believers in rights, or legal protections to defend individuals against government.”127 Thus, they switched their focus from democracy to human rights. The students in 1989 followed this line of thinking: Student leader, Chai Ling, for instance, hoped in 1989 that promotion of human rights would free university graduates from the dreaded job assignment (fenpei) system, which gave the government suffocating control over their lives. Students also defined democracy as intellectual freedom. A student proclamation at the massive 1989 demonstrations in Beijing’s Tiananmen Square 122 123 124 125 126

127

Gavan McCormack, “Kim Country: Hard Times in North Korea,” New Left Review, 198 (March/April 1993), 46. Seldon, “The Social Origins and Limits of the Democratic Movement,” pp. 126–7. Bernard Wheaton and Zdeneˇ k Kavan, The Velvet Revolution: Czechoslovakia, 1988–1991 (Boulder, San Francisco and Oxford: Westview Press, 1992), pp. 206–8. Karklins and Petersen, “Decision Calculus of Protesters and Regimes,” 610. Andrew J. Nathan, “Chinese Democracy in 1989: Continuity and Change,” Problems of Communism, September–October (1989): 17, cited in Karklins and Petersen, “Decision Calculus of Protesters and Regimes,” 610. Daniel Kelliher, “Keeping Democracy Safe from the Masses: Intellectuals and Elitism in the Chinese Protest Movement,” Comparative Politics, 25:4 (1993): 381.

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highlighted this intellectual concern, defining democracy as “the right to express your thoughts freely, and the right to write books and spread your beliefs.”128

The belief in revisionism and in liberalizing reforms, combined with an acceptance of one-party rule, was also strengthened by many intellectuals’ belief that the population was not yet ready for democracy. As Kelliher observes, “[w]hen the educated elite of the protest movement did entertain ideas of government by the people, many of them envisioned a democracy limited to intellectuals.”129 In their view, the populace of this peasant society was still too “backward,” socially and economically, to be ready for democracy.130 McCormick et al. claim, however, that intellectuals started reassessing their position after the crackdown in 1989: Almost all Chinese intellectuals now retain the goal of democratization as a means of overcoming the unfortunate mistakes of the last four decades. Most agree that a key problem is the “socialization” (shehuihua) of the economy, which certainly means lessening state control over the economy, probably through the development of markets, and likely means an increasing role for private entrepreneurs. Democracy, according to virtually all Chinese intellectuals, also includes the development of institutions that restrict the role of the state and allow for a more autonomous civil society, such as rule of law, freedom of press, and individual political rights.131

This indicates that Chinese dissidents have abandoned revisionism in favor of more systemic changes in the direction of multiparty democracy and a market economy. It also shows that, like their European colleagues, dissidents in China are now more interested in the strategy of building up civil society. In Cuba too, intellectuals who were unhappy with the system originally opposed the regime from a revisionist position. Juan Carlos Espinosa remarks: As the revolutionary government attempted to institutionalize its power in a political organization during the early 1960s, it also ran into opposition from the left. This was a “revisionist” opposition that emerged among the Communist elite and intellectuals which appealed to the utopian values of socialism, and referred to a “revolution betrayed.” Their entry into the political prison system of Cuba signaled the determination of the Castro regime to impose its monocratic vision even on its own erstwhile supporters. It also marked an important change in the composition of the political prison population, which after 1968, would 128 131

Ibid., 382. 129 Ibid. 130 Ibid., 383ff. McCormick, et al., “The 1989 Democracy Movement,” 198.

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increasingly include Marxists and former Marxists. In fact, a substantial part of the leadership of the human rights and political dissident movement came out of the left opposition to the Castro regime including figures such as Ricardo Bofill, Adolfo Rivero Caro, and Ariel Hidalgo.132

In the late 1970s, as critics of the system grew more dissident in their orientation, human rights organizations emerged and came to dominate the Cuban opposition. Yet they did not develop the clear discourse on civil society that emerged in Central Europe, nor did they yet develop strategies for challenging the system. Instead they were still revisionist, and “continued to work within the system on a casework basis. However, direct opposition – which questioned the position of Castro or the Communist party – was no more.”133 Although Cuban dissidents have not concentrated on an open strategy of building up civil society, they have placed greater emphasis than their East European counterparts on founding political parties. This may be due to the fact that Cuban dissidents began organizing a full decade later than their East European counterparts, at a time when the communist world was crumbling around them and had lost ideological legitimacy. Political critics in Cuba began leaving behind their revisionist dreams and turned to forming political parties rather than pursuing a civil society strategy of building a parallel society. In fact, the idea of founding a political party goes against the “anti-politics” ideology of leaving politics to the state and carving out a free space in society. Norberto Santana Jr. writes that, “[d]uring the 1990s, the human rights movement would give way to the formation of the first organized political opposition groups.”134 Already in 1989, in fact, a Christian Democratic movement emerged; two years later, one group announced that it wanted to start a social-democratic party.135 A party calling itself the Democratic Socialists also exists,136 along with two liberal parties.137 Many non-party dissident organizations have also argued openly

132 133

134 135

136 137

Espinosa, “Civil Society in Cuba,” 355. Norberto Santana, Jr., ”Political Opposition inside Castro’s Cuba: Historical Perspectives and Prospects for a Transition to Democracy,” (thesis for Master of Arts in Latin American Studies at San Diego State University, 1998), 36. Ibid., 60. Juan M. del Aguila, “Politics of Dissidence,” in Enrique A. Baloyra and James A. Morris, eds., Conflict and Change in Cuba (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1993), p. 171. Otero and O’Bryan, “Cuba in Transition?” p. 40. Stuart Hamilton, “Librarians or Dissidents: Critics and Supporters of the Independent Libraries in Cuba Project,” Progressive Librarian, 19–20 (2002), www.libr.org/pl/ 19-20_Hamilton.html.

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for multiparty democracy and a market economy138 – something few East European dissidents dared do when they were following their civil society strategy. There are indications, moreover, that the economic reforms carried out during the “special period” – following the collapse of the Soviet Union – have undermined the Castro regime’s ideological legitimacy. Haddad writes: “The state’s actions to decrease social welfare programs, to increase hard currency revenues and to decrease peso circulation in order to curtail inflation have contributed to the average Cuban’s questioning of the state’s role as provider and protector of social rights.”139 Similarly, Aguirre concludes: Many people who recently still believed in the message of Fidel Castro cannot continue to do so, for it is much harder to deny the increasing ruin of the country. Many who until recently supported the government and were members of its leading cadres can no longer offer rhetorical defense to their revolutionary selves. Nor can they continue to profit from the system. The contemporary economic crisis has meant the destruction of the operational capability of institutions throughout Cuban society that were the source of livelihood for people and provided services to the public. Thus, for example, Popular Power, the nationwide system of political representation at the local level is widely discredited.140

Haddad also notes that nearly 40 percent of the economically active population engage in some work in the informal sector.141 This further erodes the regime’s legitimacy. As Jonathan Curry-Machado notes, it is only possible to make ends meet by taking part in some manner in the black market. As a result, “Workers tend to feel that they have a right to appropriate some ‘surplus’ from where they work in order to improve their income.”142 It seems that youth and professionals are particularly hard hit. A Gallup survey undertaken in 1994 indicated that younger and more educated urban Cubans were the most dissatisfied with conditions.143 Haddad quotes Allahar as follows: 138

139 140

141 142

143

Aguila, “Politics of Dissidence,” p. 171 has a table showing that the following organizations in 1992–3 supported a market economy: Movimento Armonia; Comité Cubano Independiente por la Paz, Progreso y Libertad; and Movimiento Pacifista Cubano “Solidaridad y Paz.” Haddad, “Critical Reflexivity, Contradictions and Modern Cuban Consciousness,” 58. Benigno E. Aguirre, “Culture of Opposition in Cuba,” in Cuba in Transition, vol. VIII: Proceedings of Eighth Annual Meeting of the Association for the Study of the Cuban Economy (ASCE), Miami, Florida, August 6–8, 1998, 330. Haddad, “Critical Reflexivity, Contradictions and Modern Cuban Consciousness,” 62. Jonathan Curry-Machado, “Surviving the ‘Waking Nightmare’: Securing Stability in the Face of Crisis in Cuba (1989–2004),” London School of Economics, Crisis States Programme, working papers series no. 1, (2005), 14. Haddad, “Critical Reflexivity, Contradictions and Modern Cuban Consciousness,” 60.

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The existence of multiple economies, particularly the underground economy, creates major ideological and practical contradictions for the revolution . . . [the] overall economic stagnation . . .[the rise of the] tourist sector . . . and the role of the unofficial economy . . . will have a clearly negative impact on the Revolution’s socialist morals.144

Curry-Machado’s extensive interviews with the privileged residents of a model housing project (originally reserved for the regime’s most loyal followers) shows that even they have become critical of the regime. He concludes that the long-term effect of the economic crisis has been a growing popular disillusionment, and a distancing between state and society. This has seen the emergence of areas of relatively autonomous popular action, as well as the wielding of what James Scott has characterised as the “weapons of the weak” – hidden forms of resistance that, while not representing an open challenge to the regime, nevertheless enable the powerless to have their presence felt, if not heard.145

During a visit to Cuba in 2004, moreover, Curry-Machado observed that very few Committees in Defense of the Revolution were organizing local celebrations for the July 26 holiday (which commemorates Castro’s assault on the Moncada Barracks in 1953). In the words of one resident: “[T]hese days if there is a party, just about the only people going, are those in charge of the CDR, who are the same people as always, and have to continue doing so, and perhaps some children and three or four others.”146 Further evidence that the Castro regime is losing its ideological legitimacy comes from the increase in people attending religious events. During the 1990s the number of active Catholics doubled, while Protestants increased by an estimated 168 percent. Participation in Afro-Cuban religious practices also rose sharply.147 Moreover, even as the regime has lost its ideological credibility and dissidents have stopped believing that the system can be reformed, the regime has engaged in waves of arrests. For example, leading human rights activists who complained about the lack of legality in connection with General Ochoa’s execution were put on trial.148 During the winter of 1991–2, over sixty dissidents were arrested.149 In 2004, seventy-five dissidents were sentenced to an average of 19 years in prison in secret, oneday trials.150 Castro also organized rapid-response brigades in order to attack dissidents and crush public gatherings quickly.151 144 146 148 150 151

Ibid., 62. 145 Curry-Machado, “Surviving the ‘Waking Nightmare,’” 3. Curry-Machado, “Surviving the ‘Waking Nightmare,’” 18. 147 Ibid., 18. Santana Jr., “Political Opposition inside Castro’s Cuba,” 76f. 149 Ibid., 97. “Cuba’s Gulag,” Economist April 3, 2004, vol. 371, Issue 8,369, electronic version. Santana Jr., “Political Opposition inside Castro’s Cuba,” 79.

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These events may also help explain the emergence of independent professional associations as alternatives to openly political organizations. Santana Jr. writes: Recent years have seen the increasing reemergence of a number of professional associations seeking to address societal needs while remaining politically independent. The government’s repression of open opposition groups gave way to the organization of independent ideological discussion groups, called “associaciones.” Creative dissident lawyers had found provisions in Cuban law, which gave a legal foundation for the establishment of independent associations.152

In Ethiopia, as we have seen, the regime never gained control over its entire territory. Under these conditions, intellectual opposition was possible from the start. Active opposition to the regime was much easier in Ethiopia than it was even in Poland, inasmuch as the Polish regime – even in its failed totalitarian phase – enjoyed control over all of its territory. In addition, the Polish regime was able to consolidate its power and to enter an early post-totalitarian and (later) maturing stage, by compromising with society and accepting the Catholic Church and limited private agriculture. In Ethiopia, despite attempts to consolidate power (such as the wave of “red terror,” the establishment of a political party, etc.), the regime was never able to control the country nearly as much as in Poland. Another special aspect of the Ethiopian case is that, in the absence of a totalitarian period that could potentially eliminate all opposition, intellectuals entered immediately into a revisionist debate, which engulfed the entire country in a larger debate on Marxism. However, in contrast to revisionists living under consolidated early post-totalitarian regimes, the Ethiopian revisionists did not seek to change the system by convincing the communist rulers to revise their policies. Instead, they wanted to replace their Marxist-Leninist rulers with leaders from other parties that had different interpretations of Marxism-Leninism. Thus, most opposition groups engaged immediately in armed struggle, including guerrilla warfare. In this sense, the opposition remained “revisionist” in Ethiopia throughout most of the era of communist rule, although after the collapse of the East European regimes in 1989, many of these groups began toning down their Leninism.153 From the very beginning, in 1974 – when the military carried out its coup against Emperor Haile Selassie and formed the military committee known as the Derg – the Ethiopian regime faced potential opposition from 152 153

Ibid., 65. Jonathan Baker, Ethiopia’s Road to Perestroika: In Search of the End of the Rainbow? Current African Issues 9 (Uppsala: Scandinavian Institute of African Studies, 1990), pp. 9 ff.

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two radical Marxist-Leninist student groups. One of them, MEISON (the All-Ethiopian Socialist Union), heeded the Derg’s calls for cooperation. But as Marina Ottaway remarks, MEISON “pretended to cooperate with the Derg in organizing the official party, but in reality used the opportunity to build up its own strength as an opposition movement.”154 MEISON was so doctrinaire that, “in the midst of a foreign invasion [from Somalia in 1977], [it] issued a call for the complete liquidation of the bureaucracy and criticized the Derg for using officers of the former imperial army.”155 The other organization, the Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Party (EPRP) was more Maoist in orientation and it opposed the regime openly from the beginning.156 In 1976, it resorted to urban assassination of its rivals in the MEISON and of other officials cooperating with the Derg. The regime responded to this “White Terror” with its own “Red Terror,” which cost up to thirty thousand lives and which succeeded in crushing the EPRP.157 Eventually, moreover, the Mengistu regime eliminated MEISON as well, “because the Derg was suspicious of MEISON’s increasing dominance in various government functions and mass organizations.”158 Although the regime succeeded in eliminating the EPRP and MEISON, it continued to face opposition from other guerrilla groups, which had formed on both nationalist and Marxist-Leninist lines. The main Eritrean guerrilla movement, the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF), originally called itself “a secessionist movement with a radical Marxist ideological orientation”159 (in the late 1980s, however, it claimed officially to have given up its Marxism). The other main guerrilla movement, the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF), was even more radical in its Marxism. As late as November 1989, the leader of the TPLF praised Albania as “a genuine Marxist-Leninist society,” called Gorbachev a “social-imperialist,” and described Stalin’s regime as a “genuine democratic one.”160 Like the EPLF, the TPLF claimed to be

154

155 156 157 158 159

160

Marina Ottaway, “State Power Consolidation in Ethiopia,” in Edmond J. Keller and Donald Rothchild, eds., Afro-Marxist Regimes: Ideology and Public Policy (Boulder and London: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1987), p. 33. Halliday and Molyneux, The Ethiopian Revolution, p. 135. Donald L. Donham, Marxist Modern: An Ethnographic History of the Ethiopian Revolution (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), p. 132. Halliday and Molyneux, The Ethiopian Revolution, p. 123. Girma Kebbede, The State and Development in Ethiopia (New Jersey: Humanities Press, 1992), p. 4. Marina Ottoway, “Drought and Development in Ethiopia,” Current History, vol. 85, cited in Jonathan Baker, Ethiopia’s Road to Perestroika: In Search of the End of the Rainbow (Uppsala: Scandinavian Insititute of African Studies, 1990), p. 9. Baker, Ethiopia’s Road to Perestroika, p. 10.

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non-Marxist after the communist regimes of Eastern Europe had fallen.161 Some observers have claimed, however, that both of these organizations have only paid lip service to pluralism in order to placate the international community.162 It is beyond the scope of this study to ascertain why Ethiopian intellectuals were much more Marxist-Leninist than their counterparts in the other countries considered in this study. It suffices here to note that specialists in the area have often emphasized the influence on Ethiopian intellectuals of intellectual radicalism of the Western universities during the 1960s in general and the student uprising in Western Europe in particular.163 Marxist intellectuals in Ethiopia rejected the revisionist strategy of trying to convince the regime to reform itself and instead proceeded immediately to take up arms against it. Why did intellectuals in Ethiopia not attempt to reform the system from within? The answer lies in the inability of the regime to consolidate its rule. As a failed totalitarian regime that lacked full control over its own territory, the regime never enjoyed ideological legitimacy – even among most Marxist intellectuals. At the same time, since these intellectuals were faithful to Lenin and his ideas about a vanguard party, the behavior of a military junta which had taken the place of a vanguard party did not serve to discredit Marxism-Leninism in their eyes. These intellectuals could easily denounce the regime for being a military dictatorship that did not represent the workers. In cases where the regime does consolidate its power, becomes less repressive after losing its ideological legitimacy, and enters a period of freezing or maturing late totalitarianism, leading intellectuals have joined dissident circles. These circles have then formed a base for the building of opposition movements and parties. In East Germany, environmental and human rights groups were able to establish Neues Forum quickly; in Czechoslovakia, intellectual dissidents from Charter 77 were quick to form Civic Forum. In cases like Ethiopia, where the regime is unable to consolidate its power, groups of critical intellectuals exist from the beginning. Cuba represents a special case, as intellectuals there have enjoyed a privileged position, while professionals have become pauperized. As a result, professionals have played a greater role than intellectuals have in the Cuban opposition.

161 162 163

Ibid., pp. 10–11. See, for example, Leenco Lata, The Ethiopian State at the Crossroads: Decolonization and Democratization or Disintegration? (Lawrenceville: Red Sea Press, 1999). Donham, Marxist Modern, p. 126.

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Oppositional roles and strategies So far, this chapter has shown the connection between legitimacy, regime type, and oppositional views. It has also shown why different groups of people tend to behave differently, depending on the institutional incentives they face. We shall now discuss what strategies opposition leaders can pursue, given these institutional conditions. The strategies employed by regimes and their opposition play decisive roles in whether or not a transition ensues. In particular, revolts against communist regimes have been most successful where workers/peasants and intellectuals have been able to join forces, and where oppositional leaders have been able to communicate their message to the populace. This section concentrates on the relationship between intellectuals and workers, and between the opposition and the regime. It takes up the issue of communication only briefly (as that is one of the main themes of Chapter 5 on revolutionary potential). Cooperation between workers/peasants and intellectuals As the Polish case makes clear, in countries with relatively large numbers of workers, dissident groups need to gain the support of workers if they are to build up mass movements, as intellectuals constitute a group much too small to be able to make any headway by themselves. When dissidents stop believing in the ideology and conclude that the system is not reformable, they are more likely to try to mobilize workers (or peasants in rural societies) against the regime. If political dissidents cannot convince the regime to create a “truer,” more human socialism, it makes more sense to turn to society for support; and in most communist countries, workers comprise the largest class to which they can turn. As will be shown below, Polish intellectuals learned that they were powerless alone, and also that worker uprisings were less likely to succeed without the support of intellectuals. The Chinese case shows that, even in peasant societies, it is necessary (if the working class is large enough) for intellectuals to cooperate with workers if they are to sustain a mass uprising. Besides constituting the largest socio-economic class, workers are especially important because the regime legitimizes itself on the basis of its claim to represent the workers. Thus, worker revolts undercut the regime’s legitimacy much more than do the protests of intellectuals, which can be written off as the “foreign-inspired” and “anti-socialist” actions of “reactionary intellectuals” opposed to the “interests” of the working class. This holds true even in a mainly peasant society, such as China, because the number of workers in that country (about 200 million)

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is large enough to build a mass movement. It is true that peasants in China comprise the majority of the population, but the regime is more open to criticism from the workers because of its ideological self-image as a “workers’ party.” In addition, workers are concentrated in large cities, including the capital. This enables them to mobilize large numbers of demonstrators quickly. Of course, a successful mass mobilization of peasants might be able to stop a worker uprising; however, so long as peasants remain either passive or neutral, a worker uprising may be able to bring down the communist regime in China. Nevertheless, in countries where the number of workers is marginal, such as Ethiopia or Vietnam, intellectuals would not be likely to be able to bring down the regime without peasant support. As already noted, intellectuals did succeed in doing so in Ethiopia. The Polish experience clearly shows the advantages of worker– intellectual cooperation. During the protests in 1968 against the closing of Mickiewicz’s play, intellectuals did not seek support from workers. As a result, they were helpless against the regime’s repressive measures. Similarly, Polish workers received little help from intellectuals during their ill-fated uprisings in 1970 and 1976.164 By then, dissident intellectuals had given up their revisionist hopes. After the Polish regime carried out these repressive acts, and helped squash the Prague Spring besides, intellectuals concluded that they could not get the regime to reform itself. It was at this point they started realizing that they needed to seek support from workers. After the regime subdued the 1976 uprising, intellectuals proffered their asisstance quickly, building KOR in order to help workers defend themselves in court. As already mentioned, KOR then set up the Committee for Free Trade Unions in Gdansk, which became instrumental in the Solidarnos´c´ uprising. It is true that many intellectuals were skeptical of the first Solidarnos´c´ strikes, and that these began without the direct support of intellectuals.165 However, famous dissident leaders quickly contacted strike leaders and after having come into contact with these strike leaders, they changed their attitude and began supporting the strikes. A few days after the strikes began, a group of 62 Warsaw intellectuals publicly gave their support to the free trade union, and formed a committee of experts to assist the regional strike.166 Intellectual dissidents from within and outside KOR played an important role in the revolt,

164 165 166

Roman Laba, The Roots of Solidarity: A Political Sociology of Poland’s Working-Class Democratization (Princeton University Press, 1991), pp. 91–2. This is the main argument in Laba, The Roots of Solidarity. Alain Touraine et al., Solidarity: The Analysis of a Social Movement: Poland 1980–1981, trans. David Denby (Cambridge University Press, 1983), p. 31.

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acting as advisors to the union and using their communication skills to spread the message to the Polish population and abroad. Czech and Slovak intellectuals learned these Polish lessons well. When protests arose in November 1989 after the beating of student demonstrators, students went on strike and called for a countrywide general strike to begin one week later. Intellectual dissidents, especially from Charter 77, met and founded Občanské Forum. At the forum’s first meeting, it was decided to support the students’ demands.167 It then became necessary for the students and dissidents to seek out worker support. For one intensive week, Czechoslovak intellectuals acted like good Marxists, devoting most of their energies to gaining worker support. When the majority of workers joined in the general strike, the Communist Party admitted its defeat.168 In Yugoslavia, the students behind Otpor followed the Czechoslovak example of trying to gain worker support for a national strike. They got important support in the beginning from miners at the Kolubara coal mine, who were “threatening to disrupt Serbia’s power grid.”169 The strike spread throughout the country: “In many cities and towns across the country, the call for a strike was successful.”170 When national demonstrations began in Belgrade on October 5, 2000, student leaders and local mayors from outlying towns led processions to the capital, once again showing the great influence that students had on the revolution. Intellectuals in early post-totalitarian China present a striking contrast to those living under the freezing regime in Czechoslovakia and the maturing regimes in Poland and Hungary. The students leaders at Tiananmen Square were elitist, ignoring suggestions that they encourage worker participation.171 Rather than making universal demands for the democratization of society, their “central demand . . . was that the state should recognize the legitimacy of their autonomous organization.”172 Without 167

168 169 170 171 172

General descriptions in English can be found in Theodore Draper, “A New History of the Velvet Revolution,” New York Review, 42 (1993): 16–18; and Wheaton and Kavan, The Velvet Revolution. For descriptions in Czech, see Jiří Fleyberk, Československé probuzení (Prague: Orbis, 1990); and Petr Holubec, ed., Kronika sametové revoluce (Czechoslovakia: ČTK-Repro, 1990). The students’ demands from November 18 are reprinted in M. Otál, and Z. Sládek, eds., Deset pražských dnu˚ : 17–27. listopad 1989 (Prague: Academia, 1990), pp. 43–5. Petr Uhl’s version is from an interview with him on May 9, 1995 by Eva Frödin; used with her permission. Saxonberg, The Fall, Chapter 10. Vjeran Pavlakovic´, “Serbia Transformed?” in Ramet and Pavlakovic´, eds., Serbia Since 1989, p. 28. Both quotes are from Damjan de Krnjevic´-Miškovic´, “Serbia’s Prudent Revolution,” Journal of Democracy, 3 (2001): 105. This discussion draws on Mark R. Thompson, “To Shoot or Not To Shoot: China and Eastern Europe,” Comparative Politics, 34:1 (October 2001): 63–83. McCormick et al., “The 1989 Democracy Movement,” 193.

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the widespread support of organized workers, the students were easy prey for the security forces. They did not actively seek worker support, which would have allowed them to challenge the regime’s claim to exercise power in the name of the proletariat. Although a large number of workers joined the protests anyway, Karklins and Petersen argue that a more liberal democratic-oriented opposition would have made a greater effort to mobilize them. That might have allowed the Tiananmen Square protests to reach a “tipping point” and to cause the collapse of the regime.173 This is what the communist rulers feared most: “a Solidarnosc-like alliance of workers and intellectuals.”174 Instead, the numbers of demonstrators dwindled continuously after the declaration of martial law. According to the argument of this book, the Chinese students had a different attitude than Polish and Czechoslovak intellectuals because the Chinese regime, in 1989, was still in an “early” post-totalitarian stage (it was only ten years after the start of the post-Mao reforms) and thus still enjoyed a measure of ideological legitimacy.175 As a result, the students were not interested in overturning the system; they merely wanted to reform it. They were “revisionists,” not “dissidents.” Many influential intellectual opposition leaders were former Red Guards who had become disillusioned with the Cultural Revolution, but were still influenced by many of the ideas behind it. As revisionists who were trying to reform rather than challenge the communist system, Chinese students and intellectuals avoided an alliance with the workers (an alliance which, they understood, would have constituted a direct attack on the regime). Their behavior was similar to that of Polish intellectuals in the 1960s – a time when the Polish regime still enjoyed a degree of ideological legitimacy and intellectuals still believed in revisionism. The closer the opposition is to the totalitarian past, the more likely it is to cling to socialism rather than to turn to anti-communism. East Germany, in 1989, was a type of hybrid between China and the other advanced post-totalitarian regimes, such as Czechoslovakia and Poland. Like their Chinese counterparts, East German intellectuals did not try to organize the workers. In fact, according to some reports, workers approached Neues Forum on several occasions in early December to ask whether the organization would support a general strike. In contrast to Czechoslovak opposition leaders, who organized a general strike, East German opposition leaders tried to calm down the striking workers.176 .

173 174 175 176

Karklins and Petersen, “Decision Calculus of Protestors and Regimes,” 610. Seldon, “The Social Origins and Limits of the Democratic Movement,” 121. Thompson, “To Shoot or Not To Shoot.” For sources, see Linda Fuller, Where Was the Working Class? Revolution in Eastern Germany (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1999), p. 100.

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Having a largely revisionist attitude, they did not want to challenge the regime directly. In some respects, however, the behavior of the opposition in East Germany was not that different from that of the opposition in the Czechoslovak revolution. The first protesters in East Germany were intellectuals, who formed political organizations such as Neues Forum and Demokratischer Aufbruch. The biggest demonstrations, moreover, took place in Leipzig after the Monday evening prayers for peace held at the Nikolai Church. (This reflects the involvement of intellectuals – in this case Protestant ministers – in the rebellion.) The demonstrations in Czechoslovakia, however, were openly organized, while the really large demonstrations in East Germany normally were not. Karl-Dieter Opp and Christiane Gern claim the East German regime was so repressive that citizens dared not organize meetings directly.177 Instead, they went to places where they assumed people would be meeting. In Leipzig, the Karl Marx Square, near the Nikolai Church, became the perfect place for the “spontaneous coordination” of rallies. If somebody had tried to plan a demonstration, the police would have arrested the instigators immediately; however, most residents knew about the prayers because they had been going on for quite a long time. After the prayers, most of the persons who had participated in them crossed the square, which was in the center of the city. The square was thus a natural meeting place. Those who did not attend the prayers knew that people would congregate at the square at a certain time. At first these potential participants could act as observers, waiting to see what would happen when people left the church building; later, they could cautiously join in if they saw that many others were also there. The greater the number of people congregating there, the lower the likelihood that any particular person would be beaten by the police. During such demonstrations, moreover, the police did not have any obvious opposition leaders that they could arrest.178 Nevertheless, as in Czechoslovakia and Poland, intellectuals in East Germany were the main people to articulate demonstrators’ demands in the mass media and in negotiations with the regime. There were two major differences, however, between Czechoslavakia and Poland on the one hand and East Germany on the other: (1) in East Germany,

177

178

Karl-Dieter Opp and Christiane Gern, “Dissident Groups, Personal Networks, and Spontaneous Cooperation: The East German Revolution of 1989,” American Sociological Review, 58:5 (1993): 659–80. They could not blame the church leaders, since the prayers were perfectly legal and had been going on for the last seven years.

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intellectuals were out of touch with the wishes of most demonstrators, since they still thought in revisionist terms, whereas the majority of demonstrators began to make more radical demands; and (2) as noted earlier, intellectuals in East Germany did not try to gain worker support. As we have seen, however, a survey of the Leipzig demonstrations shows that workers participated much more than professionals, although less than intellectuals.179 The Romanian regime was even more hardline than the East German one, which meant that, as in East Germany, intellectuals in Romania gained worker support indirectly – through spontaneous coordination. The regime was so repressive that not even a revisionist critique could emerge. Thus, when the revolt broke out after the arrest of a priest, no network of dissenting intellectuals existed that could coordinate the revolt. Instead, as in East Germany, a sort of spontaneous coordination emerged. Ceauşescu organized a pro-government rally in order to demonstrate his popular support. Everyone knew, then, that a great many people would be there; so there was little risk in attending. The first people to start booing the country’s leader knew that it would be difficult to identify them in such a large crowd and that the anti-Ceauşescu chants could easily spread.180 Since the “direct mechanism of the revolution was spontaneity,”181 there is little information available on the degree of participation of different social groups in the uprising. Because of the unorganized nature of the revolution, it was easy for a group of disgruntled, demoted communist officials to play the role of the intellectuals, and to take control of the revolution. In Eyal’s words: On the 22 December (the day the President fled his capital) no less than three different groups vied with each other to claim the mantle of leadership and the group which ultimately won was that which seized the radio and television stations, persuaded the military commanders that it was worthy of support and projected a clear sense of purpose and determination. Given Romania’s conditions, this group could only be composed of former Communist party members, of people who were at one time or another part of the system and therefore knew how to operate it.182

In Cuba, as dissidents (both professionals and intellectuals) moved beyond their revisionist phase and stopped believing in the regime’s ideological legitimacy, they tried to cooperate with workers. First, 179 180 181 182

Mühler and Wilsdorf, “Die Leipziger Montagsdemonstration.” For an account of the rally, see A. Nagorsk and M. Kounalakis, “‘Down with Ceausescu!’” Newsweek, 115:1 (1990): 28. Pavel Campeanu and Stefana Steriade, “The Revolution: The Beginning of the Transition,” Social Research 60:4 (1993) Internet fulltext version. Eyal, “Why Romania Could Not Avoid Bloodshed,” p. 157.

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independent trade unions emerged, such as the Unión General de Trabajadores Cubanos.183 Second, dissident leaders tried to unite the opposition – including unions – behind the Concilio Cubano, which after just a year of existence included 135 groups, before it was crushed by the regime in 1996.184 Now that the regime is losing its ideological legitimacy, even former regime members have started joining dissidents in social-democratic constellations that aim to gain worker support. Since competing parties are forbidden, it has become common to start associations known as “currents of thought.” The Social Democratic Current gained the support of “one of the Revolution’s best known families with Vladimiro Roca, son of Blas Roca, still a leading member of the communist party.”185 Later, a functionary of the planning commission, Manual Sanchez Herrero, also announced his support for the Current, as did retired Commander Alvaro Prendes, a hero of the Bay of Pigs. Ethiopia presents an interesting case of a rural society lacking a large proletariat, where (in contrast to China) the intellectuals started almost immediately to cooperate with peasants. As the regime never obtained full control over its territory, it could not crush oppositional thought and install a totalitarian regime. Accordingly, a large portion of the opposition never entertained the idea of following a revisionist strategy of trying to reform the regime from within.186 Since the opposition never trusted the regime, it was logical for the opposition to turn to the peasants for support rather than to try to persuade the regime to pursue reforms. Ironically, although the opposition never accepted the regime’s legitimacy, the main opposition groups did share the regime’s Marxist-Leninist ideology, which in fact encouraged them to cooperate with peasants. Writing of the strongest non-Eritrean opposition movement, the Tigrayan People’s Liberation Front, Young notes: “In their ideological struggle . . . the TPLF followed the Maoist line of ‘protracted struggles that march from rural to urban areas.’”187

The emergence of semi-oppositions Most authors have concentrated on the opposition to communist regimes. However, semi-legal “semi-oppositionists” working within the “semi-civil 183 185 186 187

Espinosa, “Civil Society in Cuba,” p. 357. 184 Ibid.,” 358. Santana Jr., “Political Opposition inside Castro’s Cuba,” 94. MEISON was the main exception during the early years of the Derg, when it entered the government. Young, Peasant Revolution in Ethiopia, p. 84.

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society” are also important, for they serve as intermediaries between the opposition and the regime. Authors, social scientists, and even reformist Party cadres who read samizdat publications were influenced by these writings. They in turn “translated” these writings into terminology acceptable to censors. Because semi-oppositionists remain within given limits, it is difficult to define members of this group precisely. Under an extremely repressive regime like Ceauşescu’s, an author who is a member of the official writers’ organization, and who slips a few sentences with double meanings into a novel, becomes a semi-oppositionist. In other cases, as in Hungary during the regime’s maturing post-totalitarian phase, the same action would have been seen as insignificant. Moreover, since semi-oppositionists under maturing post-totalitarian regimes are allowed some leeway to express themselves, they are also more able to influence the thinking of the top leadership. In Poland, Hungary, and the Soviet Union, the semi-opposition clearly influenced regime thinking. In Poland and Hungary, the regime took advantage of its reformist pragmatic acceptance, and went relatively far in liberalizing society. Ost notes that, in Poland, “overall, cultural policy continued to be the most open in all of Eastern Europe.”188 By 1986, censorship “seemed almost to disappear.”189 Censorship was also minimal in Hungary. Under these conditions, the rulers did not need to read underground samizdats to find sharp criticisms of regime policy. All they needed to do was to read the professional journals. Notwithstanding the forced emigration of regime critics, moreover, Polish and Hungarian universities featured world-renowned social scientists who were publishing critical articles in both national and international journals. These social scientists included, in Poland, the economist Jan Winiecki and the sociologists Jadwiga Staniszkis, Edmund Wnuk-Lipin´ ski, Włodzimierz Wesołowski, Piotr Sztompka and Leszek Nowak. In Hungary, they included the economists János Kornai and Tamas Bauer and the sociologists Elemér Hankiss and László Bruszt. Many of these researchers went on to advise at round-table negotiations, or indeed to participate in them directly – some for the regime, others for the opposition or parties that had been formerly allied with the communists but then began to act autonomously at the negotiations. Some of the officially sanctioned newspapers, moreover, grew fairly outspoken. For example, the Polish newspaper Polityka admitted in 1985 that most Polish intellectuals opposed the Jaruzelski regime.190 In addition, newspapers regularly published public opinion surveys during the 1980s, and these often showed low levels of 188 190

Ost, Solidarity and the Politics of Anti-Politics, p. 155. See Saxonberg, The Fall, Chapters 6 and 7.

189

Ibid., p. 176.

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support for the regime. In Poland, the newspaper Trybuna Ludu published a poll in February 1989 showing that only 4 percent felt that the economic situation was good, while 95 percent felt it was not.191 The constant exposure to dissenting opinions from official sources hastened the loss of the regime’s ideological legitimacy. How could regime leaders still believe they had a monopoly on Truth when officially published reports constantly showed that their policies were failing to meet their goals? How could they believe a communist dictatorship was the best way to improve living standards when economists at Party and state institutions showed that living standards were declining? Thus, the semi-opposition was able to convey many of the arguments of dissident intellectuals to the Party leadership, and to convince the latter that change was necessary. This helped bring about a peaceful transition in such countries as Poland and Hungary. The Soviet Union under Gorbachev presents the most extreme case of semi-oppositionists influencing the regime. Two especially important developments were the conversion of the official media from guardians of Leninist orthodoxy into vocal champions of reform, and the increasing role of reformist economists from the state-run academy of sciences. In the words of David Kotz and Fred Weir: In March 1986 Gorbachev invited the mass media to criticize the Communist bureaucracy. Soon new editors were appointed to many leading newspapers and magazines. Liberal intellectuals were named to run Ogonyok, Sovetskaya Kultura, Moscow News, Znamya, and Novy Mir. The state-run television networks began to allow a diversity of views in news reporting.192

Furthermore, it was true that much of the Soviet media . . . became increasingly critical of the Soviet social and economic system and increasingly favorable toward Westernstyle capitalism as a model for the Soviet Union to follow.193

Similarly, Victor Sergeyev and Nikolai Biryukov observe, “no sooner had that control [by the Party-state] been relaxed than a number of mass media organs that belonged to the state and the party were miraculously transformed into organs of political opposition.”194 191 192 193 194

Trybuna Ludu (February 20, 1989), cited in Ramet, Social Currents in Eastern Europe p. 352. David Kotz with Fred Weir, Revolution from Above: The Demise of the Soviet System (London: Routledge, 1997), pp. 63–64. Ibid., p. 65. Victor Sergeyev and Nikolai Biryukov, Russia’s Road to Democracy: Parliament, Communism and Traditional Culture (Aldershot: Edward Elgar Publishing, 1993), p. 86.

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Even some of the most orthodox official media were transformed into open forums, where reformist ideas could come forth. Gail W. Lapidus remarks: “The most visible evidence of this new outlook was the dramatic transformation of the Party’s theoretical journal, Kommunist, under the editorship of Ivan Frolov and then Nail Bikkenin, from a dreary and sterile custodian of ideological purity to a forum for lively debate on major policy issues.”195 In addition, official economists working at research institutes and the Central Committee played a leading role in pushing for a transition to a capitalist economy.196 Kotz and Weir attribute glasnost reforms to the rising influence of economists. They claim that, in more orthodox days, academic economists had little influence on government policy. Instead, control over economic policy was in the hands of top officials in the economic ministries and state committees. Rather than possessing economic degrees, most of these officials had backgrounds in engineering and management. Glasnost changed this by giving economists access to political power while at the same time making it possible for them to express their true beliefs. Kotz and Weir cite a survey showing the extent to which Soviet economists began to support systemic change. According to this survey, which was carried out in 1991, 95 percent of Russian economists believed that “the market is the best mechanism to regulate economic life.” Interestingly, only 66 percent of the economists living in Thatcher’s Great Britain held the same belief!197 Although Cuban economists are not allowed to voice similar skepticism regarding the planned economy, Castro was unique among communist leaders in supporting the establishment of a large NGO sector in response to the severe economic decline caused by the withdrawal of Soviet aid. NGOs had the advantage over officially state-run organizations of being able to obtain economic support from Western NGOs, at a time when the state was short of funds and support from the Soviet bloc had ceased. By 1995, the state had recognized over 2,200 organizations as “nongovernmental.”198 As Juan Carlos Espinosa notes, however, many of the “NGOs” were actually state-controlled, communist mass organizations which the regime had relabeled. Even the newly founded organizations 195

196 197

198

Gail W. Lapidus: “State and Society: Toward the Emergence of Civil Society in the Soviet Union,” in Gail W. Lapidus and Alexander Dallin, eds., The Soviet System from Crisis to Collapse, revised edn. (Boulder: Westview Press, 1995), p. 135. Brown, The Gorbachev Factor, p. 50. Kotz with Weir, Revolution from Above, p. 71. The survey cited is Vincent Barnett, “Conception of the Market among Russian Economists: A Survey,” Soviet Studies, 44:6 (1991), 1,087–98. Espinosa, “Civil Society in Cuba,” p. 353.

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Ideology and opposition to communism

had to “be in agreement with the Cuban state, and [were] often creations of the state.”199 Nevertheless, some of these organizations have the potential to become more critical of the regime than traditional communist organizations. The Center for the Study of the Americas was an example of this. Originally it was a Communist Party think tank, which then renamed itself and officially became an NGO. It grew so independentminded that the regime closed it down in 1995.200 Since this research institute was founded by the Party-state, it did not qualify as part of civil society according to the usual definition of that term. Yet, it did become critical of the regime, once it had gained a minimal degree of autonomy.

Summing up the relationship between legitimacy and strategy Table 4.1 sums up the relationship between regime types, legitimacy, intellectuals’ beliefs, and intellectuals’ attitudes toward workers/peasants. During the totalitarian period, regimes achieve near-total hegemony, and their supporters believe they are on a messianic mission. Given the fanaticism of the regime’s adherents during this phase, critics face quick physical extinction. For this reason, it is unthinkable for intellectuals to try to mobilize workers and carry out a revolt. Gaining access to reformists within the regime is also unthinkable. If any such reformists exist, they Table 4.1 The relationship between legitimacy, regime type, and strategy

Legitimacy

Totalitarian

Messianic elements of Unable to criticize, Revolt unthinkable ideological many support legitimacy the regime Ideological legitimacy Revisionism Do not want to mobilize still strong among them, since only want to the regime reform the system Loss of ideological Dissidence Support of workers, desire to legitimacy build up a civil society

Early posttotalitarian Freezing, maturing posttotalitarian Failed totalitarian

199

Ibid.

200

Lacks legitimacy

Ibid.

Intellectuals

Attitude of intellectuals toward workers

Regime type

Support overthrow Willing to support workers and peasants and even use violence

Summing up the relationship between legitimacy and strategy

205

themselves are in the process of being purged. This helps explain why North Korea, which is still totalitarian, has not experienced a transition – notwithstanding its disastrous economic decline. During the early post-totalitarian period, the regime still enjoys ideological legitimacy among its supporters. But it reduces its resort to mass terror, thus providing a slight opening for society. Under these conditions, intellectuals are likely to engage in cautious revisionist criticism, in which they criticize the regime for failing to meet its own standards. At this point, intellectuals are only interested in reforming the system; accordingly, they do not seek to mobilize workers. As the regime enters the late post-totalitarian period, its ideological legitimacy declines and intellectuals become disillusioned and lose hope that it can be reformed. In Central and Eastern Europe, the regimes began losing their ideological legitimacy after the Warsaw Pact crushed the Prague Spring in 1968, and the economy began stagnating in most of the region a few years later. The late post-totalitarian regimes reacted either by opening up (if they were able to develop a reformist pragmatic acceptance, as in Hungary, Poland, and Yugoslavia, and thus begin maturing), or by developing a conservative pragmatic acceptance, which impelled them to avoid change and to start freezing (as in Czechoslovakia, East Germany, Romania, and Russia until Gorbachev). Under these conditions, oppositional intellectuals give up their revisionism and stop believing that the system can be reformed. They seek instead to build up civil society and to organize around civil rights. Under late post-totalitarianism, semi-opposition becomes more important, especially if the regime has a reformist pragmatic acceptance that pushes it down the maturing path. This was especially the case for the maturing regimes in Poland, Hungary, and the Soviet Union under Gorbachev. In these countries, scholars working at universities, research institutes, magazines, journals, and newspapers were able to convey the main arguments of dissident intellectuals by publishing reports and public opinion polls. These reports and public opinion polls were damaging enough to convince party leaders that reform was necessary. Under a failed totalitarian regime, large groups of intellectuals never accept the regime’s ideological legitimacy; they are willing to mobilize workers/peasants immediately (as in Nicaragua and Ethiopia) rather than follow a revisionist strategy of appealing to the regime for reforms. An institutional analysis of the incentives for revolting explains why intellectuals tend to dominate dissident movements and to lead opposition groups. It also explains why professionals play a more important oppositional role in Cuba than they did in Central and Eastern Europe. Finally, it shows why opposition leaders are unlikely to get worker support

206

Ideology and opposition to communism

unless the country is experiencing economic crisis or stagnation. Yet, economic problems are not in themselves enough to bring down a regime. A totalitarian regime such as that in North Korea, for example, is strong enough to prevent the emergence of any opposition. Even a late post-totalitarian regime – the patrimonial-freezing regime in Cuba, for instance – can survive if society does not expect meaningful reforms to take place. An institutional analysis also shows that under maturing latetotalitarian regimes, the semi-opposition can significantly enhance the chances for a transition, through its ability to convince regime reformists of the need for systemic change.

5

Revolutionary potential and revolutionary outcomes

So far, this book has elaborated the necessary but not sufficient conditions for a transition from communism. A late post-totalitarian regime suffering from severe ideological decay and loss of its pragmatic acceptance is likely to lose confidence in its ability to rule. Meanwhile, it faces growing dissident opposition from intellectuals and other citizens. Since the regime has lost its ideological legitimacy, intellectuals are likely to have abandoned their revisionist strategy and turned to workers – or workers and peasants, in agricultural societies – for support. When the economy begins to decline, workers and peasants are more willing to revolt, as they feel they do not have much to lose by mobilizing and making demands for change. Except for the special case of failed totalitarianism, all of these factors have coincided in transitions from communism. Years of economic decline, coupled with lack of confidence in the regime – especially after the crushing of the Prague Spring in 1968 – led to a loss of ideological legitimacy. The worsening economic crisis, together with Gorbachev’s new reform strategy, then destroyed the regime’s pragmatic acceptance too. These events encouraged intellectuals to give up their revisionist strategy, and to turn to workers for support. As a consequence of the economic crisis, moreover, workers had greater incentives to revolt. Transitions also got a boost from favorable international factors: both direct ones (like the American invasion of Grenada) and, above all, indirect ones (Gorbachev’s policies, Western support to East European opposition groups, etc.). In a freezing regime or a late post-totalitarian patrimonial regime dominated by hardliners, popular revolts are fundamental in bringing down the dictatorship. Romania, East Germany, Czechoslovakia, and rump Yugoslavia followed this path. Maturing regimes, by contrast, usually fall because regime softliners initiate negotiated pacts, as in Poland and Hungary. The softliners act this way, however, precisely because they fear an uprising. They try to co-opt the opposition in order to pre-empt such a development. 207

208

Revolutionary potential and revolutionary outcomes

Thus, except in cases where a failed totalitarian regime lost power due to outside intervention or loss in a civil war, it was revolution or the fear of revolution that brought about systemic change. In addition, maturing communist parties initiated negotiated transitions in the Baltic republics of the Soviet Union and the peripheral republics of Yugoslavia, as regime reformers realized that a revolutionary situation was emerging, and deemed it best to reach a pact with the opposition against the central regime. In Russia itself, meanwhile, the government led a semi-revolution against an increasingly frozen central regime. Then, as the leaders of the hardline coup became paralyzed, the Soviet Union collapsed. The revolutionary potential of society depends on how widespread frustrated rising expectations are, and on how easily opposition groups can communicate their message to the population. The revolution itself is usually sparked off by certain acts committed by the regime, which outrage large portions of the populace. A revolutionary outcome, however, requires that intellectuals and workers cooperate, and that the regime be unable to shoot (or at least that portions of the military be willing to fight on the side of the opposition). Expectations play a major role in creating a revolutionary situation. If people do not expect any changes or reforms to take place, they are likely to become passive and resigned. However, if they have rising expectations that substantive reforms will take place, and these expectations are not met, then feelings of frustration can easily boil over and turn into rage. Theorists of revolution have traditionally stressed frustrated socio-economic expectations as a cause for revolutions: the so-called J-curve.1 As Lawrence Stone has pointed out, however, revolts can also break out during a period of unmet rising political (rather than economic) expectations.2 The frustration of rising expectations for political change increases the willingness of citizens to participate in mass protests against hardline communist regimes. While it is true that all major revolts in Eastern Europe broke out during periods of economic decline, these revolts were not necessarily preceded by periods of economic growth. Thus the J-curve hypothesis does not account for the democratic revolutions that ended the communist regimes in Europe. By 1989, East Germany, Romania, and Czechoslovakia had all experienced more than a decade of economic decline or stagnation. It is unlikely, therefore, that citizens were induced to demonstrate because of 1

2

James C. Davies, “Toward a Theory of Revolution,” American Sociological Review, 27:1 (1962): 5–19. For an application to Eastern Europe, see Robert Dix, “Eastern Europe’s Implications for Revolutionary Theory,” Polity, 24:2 (1991): 227–42. Lawrence Stone, “Theories of Revolution,” World Politics, 18:2 (1966): 172.

Revolutionary potential and revolutionary outcomes

209

frustrated expectations of continuous economic growth. This does not mean that economics did not matter. As pointed out in the previous chapter, economic decline was a necessary underlying condition for workers to demonstrate, but not a sufficient one. If economic decline alone were enough to spark a rebellion, the North Korean and Cuban regimes would have fallen by the end of the 1990s, and the Albanian regime would have been the first, rather than the last communist government to lose power in Eastern Europe. Once Gorbachev began talking about the need for reforms, he destroyed the pragmatic acceptance of orthodox communist leaders in Eastern Europe. These leaders had based their pragmatic acceptance on the perception that the Soviet Union had put them in power to prevent reforms. Thus, hopes were high in these countries that Gorbachev would use his influence to replace the conservative leaders with reformers. Meanwhile, in such countries as North Korea and Cuba, citizens had little expectation that any major reforms would take place, and so were unlikely to revolt in 1989. Frustrated rising expectations appear to be a necessary condition for a revolutionary situation to arise. However, frustrations alone are not likely to lead to revolutionary action until the regime takes actions that outrage the population, and make citizens feel that they must act. Przeworski writes that, normally, an event triggers an uprising; however, he does not consider emotive factors that could trigger a revolt. It is also important to note that, while a single government act can often trigger a revolt, successive government actions in some cases (such as that of East Germany) anger several different groups, so that more and more people get successively involved in the protests.3 In the words of Ralph H. Turner and Lewis M. Killian, the immediate motivation for taking part in a rebellion is normally “a sense of urgency, a feeling that something can and must be done now.”4 As Helena Flam notes, “anger is of key importance because it constitutes a key antidote to the fear of repression.”5 When a regime commits some act that enrages people, such as beating peaceful dissidents or abusing common citizens, individuals who find out about the outrageous behavior are likely to 3

4 5

Adam Przeworski, “Some Problems in the Study of the Transition to Democracy,” in Guillermo O’Donnell and Philippe C. Schmitter, eds., Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Conclusions about Uncertain Democracies (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), pp. 55–6. Ralph H. Turner and Lewis M. Killian, Collective Behavior, 2nd edn. (New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1972), p. 79. Helena Flam, “Emotions’ Map: A Research Agenda,” in Helena Flam and Debra King, eds., Emotions and Social Movements (Abingdon: Routledge, 2005), p. 27.

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engage in public protests. Or as Goodwin, Jasper, and Polletta observe, “moral shocks” are “often the first step toward recruitment into social movements.”6 Karl-Dieter Opp calls this phenomenon the “solidarity effect.”7 The regime can also trigger public rage and demonstrations by creating oppressive socioeconomic conditions, such as by raising food prices or failing to provide basic necessities, such as water. A combination of the two situations may also occur. First, a relatively small collective action may be taken in response to oppressive socioeconomic conditions. Then, if the people involved in this action are physically beaten, the smaller action may be followed by massive acts of protest. Anger was a central factor not just in triggering the successful revolutions that brought down communism; it was also a crucial element in previous, unsuccessful uprisings. Theorists of the sociology of emotions have noted the direct interplay between anger and expectations. As Randall Collins observes, anger “in its intense forms is an explosive reaction against frustrations.” Furthermore, “[t]he most violent expression of anger occurs when one feels strong in overcoming a strong frustration.” Anger in turn helps one to overcome one’s fear, thus making it easier to revolt: “Psychologically, anger is often regarded as the capacity to mobilize energy to overcome a barrier to one’s ongoing efforts.”8 Even if protests break out, however, they cannot spread if other people do not know about them. It is thus the communication problem, not the free-rider one, which poses the main challenge to anti-communist revolutionaries. In contrast to public-choice approaches to collective action, which have emphasized the ability of political entrepreneurs to reward and punish participants, studies of East European social movements indicate that political entrepreneurs often have little ability to monitor participation.9 During the first week of demonstrations in Czechoslovakia, many demonstrators saw participating as a benefit rather than a cost, as they considered it fun to be able to show one’s own opinions and openly

6

7

8

9

Jeff Goodwin, James M. Jasper, and Francesca Polletta, “Introduction: Why Emotions Matter,” in Goodwin, Jasper, and Polletta, eds., Passionate Politics: Emotions and Social Movements (University of Chicago Press, 2001), p. 16. Karl-Dieter Opp, “DDR ‘89: Zu den Ursachen einer spontanen Revolution,” in Hans Joas and Martin Kohli, eds., Der Zusammenbruch der DDR (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1993), p. 199. Randall Collins, “Stratification, Emotional Energy, and the Transient Emotions,” in Theodore D. Kemper, ed., Research Agendas in the Sociology of Emotions (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1990), p. 43. See Steven Saxonberg, The Fall: A Comparative Study of the End of Communism in Czechoslovakia, East Germany, Hungary and Poland (Amsterdam/London: Harwood Academic/Routledge, 2001); and Saxonberg, “The ‘Velvet Revolution’ and the Limits of Rational Choice,” Czech Sociological Review, 7:1 (1999): 23–36.

Revolutionary potential and revolutionary outcomes

211

criticize the regime. Jerry Hough comments on the 1989 uprisings as follows: “If 500,000 people are demonstrating in the center of town and it is safe to join them, the 500,001st person will not worry about the lack of impact of his or her participation, but will join for the sheer excitement and novelty of the ‘happening.’”10 Under conditions where participation is not necessarily viewed as a cost, political entrepreneurs do not have to worry about punishing non-participants. Instead, it becomes important for the political entrepreneurs to communicate their message to the populace. Citizens must know that demonstrations are taking place, and when and why they are taking place. Although the importance of communication has been largely neglected in the literature on social movements, some important exceptions should be mentioned. Turner and Killian stress the importance of channels of communication for successful collective action: “Since collective behavior develops through a communication process and culminates in people’s acting together in relatively large collectivities, conditions that facilitate communication and mobilization are essential to conduciveness.”11 Similarly, Sidney Tarrow reflects: Collective action does not spread like the ripples in a lake when a rock is thrown in the water, but like the channels of other types of diffusion – through natural and social channels of communication. Diffusion never spreads outward evenly, but follows institutional conduits and natural means of communication: as news of early successes spreads from center to periphery.12

Once the regime commits acts that outrage the populace during a period of frustrated rising expectations, communication plays a major role in informing the populace that (a) the regime committed these acts, and (b) citizens are protesting against them. Then the populace needs to know the details of where and when and what kinds of protests will take place. To a large extent, the success of a rebellion depends on the ability of the rebels to spread their message. In summary, a revolutionary situation arises in communist-ruled countries if the following conditions are met: 10

11 12

Jerry F. Hough, “The Logic of Collective Action and the Pattern of Revolutionary Behavior,” in Frederic J. Fleron Jr. and Erik P. Hoffmann, eds., Post-Communist Studies and Political Science: Methodology and Empirical Theory in Sovietology (Boulder: Westview, 1993), p. 353. Turner and Killian, Collective Behavior, p. 61. Sidney Tarrow, Struggle, Politics, and Reform: Collective Action, Social Movements, and Cycles of Protest, Cornell Studies in International Affairs, Western Societies Papers, Occasional Paper No. 21 (Center for International Studies, Cornell University, 1989), p. 52.

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 A late post-totalitarian regime has lost its ideological legitimacy and pragmatic acceptance and no longer believes in its ability to rule. It will not shoot unless it is also patrimonial; even then, portions of the armed forces are likely to go over to the protesters.  As a result of the loss of ideological legitimacy, intellectuals give up their revisionist strategy, and are now willing to turn to workers and/or peasants for support.  The economic crisis that causes the loss of ideological legitimacy and/or pragmatic acceptance gives workers and/or peasants incentives to revolt.  Expectations for wide-ranging reform or more radical change rise and are in danger of boiling over if frustrated.  The regime does something to anger the population.  The leaders of the revolt (usually intellectuals) are able to overcome the communication problem and to inform the public about what is happening and about how and where to protest. Now this chapter will discuss the transitions that came about because a revolutionary situation led to a successful revolt against the system. This includes the freezing regimes in Czechoslovakia, East Germany, and later the Soviet Union, and the patrimonial regimes in Romania and rump Yugoslavia. Next, Chapter 6 will discuss the transitions that took place where a revolutionary situation emerged, but where maturing regimes decided to take the initiation for negotiations with the opposition. This includes Poland and Hungary. It will also discuss the transitions that took place because a failed totalitarian state lost power due to an invasion or civil war. Even though these regimes represent special cases, and had different dynamics from the late post-totalitarian regimes that lost power, frustrated rising expectations and feelings of anger or outrage often played important roles here as well. Chapter 7 will discuss why a revolutionary situation has not yet emerged in China, Vietnam, Cuba, or North Korea, and why these regimes have been able to stay in power while other communist regimes have not. Czechoslovakia Czechoslovakia presents the “purest” case of revolutionary change. The regime began clearly to lose its ideological legitimacy after the Warsaw Pact invasion in 1968, the ensuing “normalization” period of great repression, and the long period of economic stagnation beginning in the mid 1970s. Official statistics showed that growth rates began declining in the early 1960s, before the Prague Spring reforms and then again in the mid

Czechoslovakia

213

1970s. If a realistic estimate of inflation is included – based on what both Western economists and exiled Czech and Slovak economists have written, and judging from what former communist leaders have admitted in interviews – then the country had negative growth rates for most of the 1980s.13 If realistic inflation rates are used, real wages in 1989 were nearly 15 percent lower than in 1975. Hard data also show that domestic consumption of many items declined, as did construction of new homes and the like. Thus it is not surprising that, by the late 1980s, workers were more willing to rise against the regime. Nor is it surprising that dissidents shed their revisionism in the 1970s and founded the human rights organization Charter 77. Finally, it is not surprising that these dissidents were the ones who most actively and consciously organized workers during the actual revolution. As the fate of the Czechoslovak regime was so clearly tied to the Soviet Union after the 1968 invasion, it was directly influenced by Gorbachev’s rise to power. Gorbachev threatened the regime’s pragmatic acceptance, which had been based on the notion that it had been installed in order to prevent reforms. Now the Soviet Union itself had become reformist and Gorbachev made it clear that he would not intervene to stop other countries from following his path. This situation paralyzed the freezing regime in Czechoslovakia, which had convinced the populace to accept its existence pragmatically – i.e., because the Kremlin would not allow reforms to continue. This collapse of the regime’s pragmatic acceptance encouraged the populace to hope that reforms were on the way. Hopes were especially high as the aging leader, Gustaf Husák, was due to step down and was expected to be replaced by the reform-minded prime minister, Lubomír ̮ Štrougal. During Gorbachev’s visit to Prague, in 1987, Strougal had the opportunity to show his support for reform. Despite the high hopes of the populace, however, Gorbachev refused to play the role of the hero.14 Instead he spoke negatively of the Prague Spring15 and made it clear

13

14

15

For a detailed discussion of this, see Steven Saxonberg, “The Fall,” doctoral dissertation, (Uppsala University, 1997), Chapter 2. See also Jiří Kosta, “Systemwandel in der Tschechoslowakei: Ökonomische und politische Aspekte,” Osteuropa, 9 (1990): 805; “Neˇ která fakta k přípraveˇ a hodnocení návrhu 9. peˇ tiletky,” memo from František Nevařil to Prime Minister Adamec, November 1, 1989. Charles Gati, The Bloc That Failed: Soviet-East European Relations in Transition (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990), p. 69; Zdeneˇ k Mlynář, Min kamrat Gorbatjov, trans. Mikael Dolfe (Stockholm: Ordfront, 1988) pp. 122–9; TAZ, April 13, 1987. Mlynář, Min kamrat Gorbatjov, pp. 127–8.

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Revolutionary potential and revolutionary outcomes

that the Czechoslovak leadership did not have to follow his lead.16 After Gorbachev decided not to support the reform faction of the Czech ruling party, the conservative Miloš Jakeš succeeded in replacing Husák as general secretary. Czechoslovak opposition leaders have stated in interviews that, despite their initial disappointment, events in neighboring countries gave them hope that foreign pressures would force a change in the leadership of the Czechoslovak government. As Gorbachev became more radical in his reforms and the Polish and Hungarian regimes began negotiating with the opposition, hopes arose that something could happen in Czechoslovakia as well. Interestingly, Czechoslovak opposition leaders claim they did not believe that their country’s leadership would be capable of reforming itself, or of bringing reformists to power. Nevertheless, they still hoped that Gorbachev would intervene – a hope that never materialized.17 By themselves, then, frustrated rising expectations would not have caused a revolution if the regime had not taken action that outraged people enough to prompt them to take action. The defining moment came on November 17, when independent students organized a demonstration together with the official socialist youth organization. Since the demonstration was legal, few feared the police would attack. When the police did attack, the populace was particularly outraged, since the attack was directed at defenseless students at a legally planned demonstration that was co-organized by the official youth organization. Feelings of outrage were enhanced by rumors that a student had been killed. Dissident intellectuals and students were quick to organize themselves, and to turn their attention toward gaining worker support for a general strike.18 The Czechoslovak revolutionaries showed great ingenuity in communicating their message to the population. Their main goal was to convince workers to participate in the general strike. Students, therefore, began by organizing trips to factories. At first, the guards refused to let the students in. However, once the students arranged for famous actors and actresses to accompany them, they were able to enter many of the enterprises. The guards and workers might have been distrustful of young intellectual students, but they respected their heroes from film and TV. In some of the factories, the students were able to show their video films of police beatings, which showed the workers that the regime was lying in its version of events.

16 17 18

Richard Sakwa, Gorbachev and His Reforms: 1985–1990 (New York: Philip Allan, 1990), p. 340. For quotes taken from interviews with former opposition leaders, see Saxonberg, The Fall, Chapter 10. This section is mostly based on my book, The Fall, Chapter 10.

Czechoslovakia

215

In addition to using celebrities to gain access to the factories, the students utilized other forms of communication to spread their message. At the universities, students seized the communications facilities of the official socialist youth organization – with and without the organization’s consent. These facilities included everything from the organization’s student radio to its photocopying and fax machines. When the students visited the factories, they also came equipped with video films showing police violence.19 The Western mass media greatly helped the uprising and, as we shall see below, the Czechoslovak media greatly helped the uprising as well. Western radio stations such as Radio Free Europe broadcast rumors about a student being killed at the first demonstration on November 17, 1989. A dissident, Petr Uhl, contacted Radio Free Europe immediately after the incident. By late evening that same day, a large portion of the population already knew what had happened.20 This announcement encouraged Havel to return to Prague from a weekend trip in order to hold a meeting with dissident friends about forming a civic forum. It also induced students to hold their own meeting, at which they decided to go on strike.21 Foreign broadcasts remained an important source of information for the populace throughout the uprising. Fully 36 percent of the population polled in November admitted to listening daily to Western radio broadcasts. Another 25 percent listened less often.22 Another important factor in spreading the message was the ability to gain the support of segments of the official mass media. Already on the first Monday of the revolution, the newspapers of the Socialist Party and Christian Democratic Peoples’ Party began publishing reports criticizing police activities and publicizing the demands of the opposition (which these parties – though officially allied to the Communist Party – 19

20 22

Based on interviews with Pavel Chalupa (member of the student strike committee at the Drama Academy, interviewed December 22, 1990), Alan Rezner Purnama (member of the strike committee at the Philosophical Faculty of the Charles University, interviewed May 15, 1992), Lenka Rovná (teacher at the Prague Economic University, interviewed June 4, 1992), Magalena Stanˇ ková (member of the strike committee of the Educational and Sport Faculty of the Charles University, and of the Coordinating Committee of Civic Forum, interviewed March 30, 1993), Jan Urban (founding member of Civic Forum, subsequently the organization’s general manager and then chair, interviewed June 25, 1993 and April 29, 1995), Zdeněk Zbořil (former lecturer at the Drama Academy, subsequently elected student advisor to its strike committee, interviewed December 21, 1990), and Zlata Zbořilová (student activist at the Philosophy Faculty of the Charles University, interviewed at the end of December, 1990). The use of videos is also discussed in Michal Horáček, Jak Pukaly ledy (Prague: Ex libris, 1990), p. 54. Saxonberg, The Fall, Chapter 10. 21 Ibid. Dragoslav Slejška and Jan Herzmann, Sondy do veřejného míneˇ mí (Jaro 1968, Podzim 1989) (Prague: Nakladatelství Svoboda, 1990), p. 49.

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Revolutionary potential and revolutionary outcomes

themselves also supported). Later in the week, even the TV newscasts became more objective. This contrasts sharply with the Tiananmen Square uprising in China, in 1989, where the Chinese Communist Party never lost control of the media.23 Faced with the uprising, the freezing regime refused to negotiate with the opposition, and as a result lost its conservative pragmatic acceptance, became paralyzed, and collapsed. The rulers had come to power after the 1968 Warsaw Pact invasion and had induced the populace to accept it pragmatically, on the grounds that the Soviet Union had disapproved of the radical economic reforms and had invaded in order to prevent the country from following a reformist path that could lead to “capitalism.” When Gorbachev himself began introducing reforms similar to those of the Prague Spring, the aging rulers could no longer claim they were in power because the Kremlin would not allow reforms. Nor could they follow Gorbachev and introduce radical reforms themselves, as that would amount to admitting that the invasion was wrong, that the Prague Spring had been correct, and that they themselves had no business coming to power in the first place. The leaders thus found themselves in an impossible position and became paralyzed. Although the Politburo called in the People’s Militia when the revolution began, it did not provide it with any instructions; as a result, the militia merely wandered aimlessly around town. The Politburo had no strategy for dealing with the rebellion, and all of its members resigned within a week. The only one who was willing to negotiate with the opposition was prime minister Adamec. After negotiating for a couple of weeks, however, Adamec chose to resign and to hand power to the opposition, rather than form a coalition government affording meaningful representation to the opposition.24

East Germany Events in East Germany followed a similar pattern. As in Czechoslovakia, the East German regime was freezing, and it had lost most of its ideological legitimacy by the time Gorbachev started instituting reforms in the Soviet Union. The rulers could no longer claim they were in power 23

24

Kenneth C. Petress reports: “The Chinese press remained under government control. When a few instances of ‘accurate reporting’ surfaced, these reports were censored and blacked out in regions beyond Beijing. All Chinese TV reports were subjected to postreport interpretation by other government spokesmen.” See his “The Goddess of Democracy as Icon in the Chinese Student Revolt,” in Andrew King, ed., Postmodern Political Communication: The Fringe Challenges the Center (Westport, Conn. and London: Praeger, 1992), p. 110. Saxonberg, The Fall, Chapter 10.

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because the Kremlin wanted to preserve orthodoxy at any price. As in Czechoslovakia, an economic crisis made it harder for society to accept the regime, and easier to induce workers to revolt. Investment was rapidly declining, as a mounting debt crisis threatened to bankrupt the country.25 Carl-Heinz Janson, who worked as head of one of the Central Committee economic departments, writes that paying back the debt became the main concern in economic policy.26 The then Party Secretary for economic affairs Günter Mittag admits that the leadership was so preoccupied with the debt crisis that he and Honecker received daily reports on the payment situation!27 Consumption of most foodstuffs had declined during the 1980s28 and the downward economic trend showed no sign of reversing. Meanwhile, Gorbachev’s rise to power and negotiated pacts in Poland and Hungary raised expectations for reform. At the time, one author summed up the atmosphere in the late 1980s as follows: The arrival of Gorbachev in the Kremlin and his spreading of the gospel of perestroika and glasnost (which has not been taken up with any enthusiasm at all by the East German leadership) have led to a new irreverence from the grassroots towards the elderly policy-makers. The pressing need to know more of Gorbachev’s thinking is evident from the demand for the Soviet Communist party newspaper, Pravda, often unobtainable in East Berlin, and the demand for his book on perestroika. I saw no sign of the book at the Soviet stall at the 1988 Leipzig Book Fair, but there were long queues (of all ages) to find out how it could be obtained.29

Even more so than in Czechoslovakia, these hopes for reform were frustrated by an increasingly dogmatic regime, which had started a “re-ideologization” campaign. Since the Honecker regime was repressive and the costs of participating in demonstrations were higher than in Czechoslovakia, increasing numbers of citizens took advantage of the opening in Hungary to cross over the border to West Germany. This exodus encouraged those who remained to speak out, as it further exposed the regime’s lack of ideological

25

26 27 28 29

See Saxonberg, “The Fall,” Chapter 2; Phillip J. Bryson and Manfred Melzer, The End of the East German Economy: From Honecker to Reunification (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan 1991), p. 27; Carl-Heinz Janson, Totengräber der DDR (Düsseldorf: ECON Verlag, 1991), p. 70. Janson, Totengräber, p. 69. Günter Mittag, Um jeden Preis: Im Spannungsfeld zweier Systeme (Berlin and Weimar: Aufbau-Verlag, 1991), p. 83. Calculations based on Statistiches Amt der DDR, Statistiches Taschenbuch der Deutschen Demokratischen Republik (Berlin: Rudolf Haufe Verlag, 1990), p. 123. Michael Simmons, The Unloved Country: A Portrait of East Germany Today (London: Abacus, 1989), p. 122.

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legitimacy.30 The exodus was a result of frustrated expectations for change, and at the same time an impetus for increased expectations that change was possible. Nevertheless, Honecker’s famous comment that he would “not shed any tears” for the East Germans who left the country shows how far the regime was from considering any reforms. Despite the national issue of a divided Germany, the basic dynamics were very similar to those in Czechoslovakia: citizens’ expectations of change were frustrated; the regime took actions that outraged the citizenry; and citizens had to solve the communication problem in order to make their revolution succeed. However, while there was one defining event in Czechoslovakia that sparked off the revolution (the beating of students at a legal demonstration), there were several “critical emotional events”31 in East Germany that angered different groups in society, which eventually induced more and more people to revolt against the regime. First, intellectuals began organizing in response to the obvious rigging of the municipal elections in May 1989. Shortly thereafter, a wider opposition movement started to form in response to the arrogant manner in which officials reacted to protests against the elections.32 The following month, a group of dissidents founded Initiative für den Demokratischen Aufbruch (Initiative for a Democratic Awakening, or DA) in response to the elections. In September, another group of intellectual activists formed Neues Forum, which quickly emerged as the main opposition group. By November, its membership had reached 200,000.33 Workers and professionals, however, did not actively oppose the regime until two more events took place. First came the great exodus during the summer and fall, in which hundreds of thousands of people left the country via Hungary. This increased the hope that the regime could be forced into making some reforms and ousting the aging Honecker leadership. Then came the police repression at peaceful demonstrations, triggering more widespread outrage throughout society. Gorbachev’s visit in October raised expectations among the people that the Soviet leader would react to the 30 31

32

33

Albert Hirschman, “Exit, Voice, and the Fate of the German Democratic Republic: An Essay in Conceptual History,” World Politics, 45 (1993): 173–202. The term comes from Guobin Yang, “Emotional Events and the Transformation of Collective Action: The Chinese Student Movement,” in Flam and King, eds., Emotions and Social Movements, pp. 79ff. Jan Wielgohs and Marianne Schultz, “Reformbewegung und Volksbewegung: Politische und soziale Aspekte im Umbruch der DDR-Gesellschaft,” Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte, 16–17 B (1990): 18; Sigrid Meuschel, “Wandel durch Auflehnung: Thesen zum Verfall bürokratischer Herrschaft in der DDR,” Berliner Journal für Soziologie, 1 (1991): 24; and Reinhard Schönsee and Gerda Lederer, “The Gentle Revolution,” Political Psychology, 12:2 (1991): 313. Wielgohs and Schultz, “Reformbewegung und Volksbewegung,” 19.

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growing hemorrhage of people from the country by pressing the leadership for change. During an official rally to commemorate the anniversary of the creation of East Germany, on October 8, crowds embarrassed Honecker by shouting “Gorby! Gorby!”34 On the day of Honecker’s speech, protesters took to the streets in Leipzig, Dresden, Plauen, Karl-Marx-Stadt, Magdeburg, Potsdam, Suhl, Erfurt, Halle, Arnstadt, and Berlin. The police brutally attacked the demonstrators in all of these cities.35 In Berlin alone, hundreds of people were arrested and beaten. Word of the violence spread quickly via the Western media, as the vast majority of households had access to West German television.36 The number of demonstrators rose dramatically during the next days. In Leipzig alone, where the Monday “prayers for peace” had become the prelude to larger and larger protests, seventy thousand people demonstrated on October 9. Elizabeth Pond notes that this was seven times the previous Monday’s total.37 Pond gives an example of how even people with some sympathy for the regime were spurred by outrage into action. She cites an interview with Gudrun Rischer about her participation in the October 9 demonstration: I was indignant, because I had never thought that a workers’ and peasants’ state would go after workers the way it happened on October 7 and 8. The high alert status of the police made such a strong impact on me that I was afraid, afraid for the future of my child, afraid for my husband.38

However, even if those who know what is happening become so angry that they want to participate in an uprising, an uprising will not take place unless people know what happened and where they can join others to protest. In East Germany, communication became especially important because the regime was much more repressive than the Czechoslovak one. The Honecker regime – in an earlier phase of post-totalitarianism than the Czechoslovak regime – maintained more totalitarian elements and remained more repressive. This would have made it more difficult for intellectuals to mobilize workers even if they had wanted to. Part of the communication problem was solved through what Opp and Gern call “spontaneous coordination.”39 Most people in Leipzig knew that a crowd would be gathering near the Nikolai Church in Leipzig, so they began to 34 37 38 39

Der Spiegel, April 23, 1990: 90. 35 Ibid., 92. 36 Saxonberg, The Fall, Chapter 10. Elizabeth Pond, Beyond the Wall: Germany’s Road to Unification (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 1993), p. 113. Ibid., p. 115. See Karl-Dieter Opp and Christiane Gern, “Dissident Groups, Personal Networks, and Spontaneous Cooperation: The East German Revolution of 1989,” American Sociological Review, 58:5 (1993): 659–80.

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congregate there.40 Similarly, East Germans knew in October that when Gorbachev visited Berlin, there would be many people at public meetings. This would present a chance to criticize the regime indirectly by shouting words of support for Gorbachev. As we have seen, moreover, opposition leaders did not need to rely solely on such spontaneous coordination; they could also make use of the fact that most East Germans had access to West German TV. Because of the nature of “spontaneous coordination,” intellectuals in East Germany did not mobilize workers as actively as in Czechoslovakia. In addition, as noted in Chapter 3, because of certain historical developments (such as the rise of the Nazis), German intellectuals in the opposition were more skeptical of workers than were intellectuals in Czechoslovakia. Nevertheless, a group of intellectuals (namely the church pastor and his associates) acted as the catalyst for the uprising. Polls show that intellectuals were highly overrepresented among demonstrators in the Leipzig prayers for peace; however, as predicted by the model in this book, many more workers than professionals participated – professionals normally being the last group to join.41 Furthermore, although workers did not openly act as a “class for themselves” and demonstrate as a group on the streets, as in Czechoslovakia (or in the previous Solidarnos´c´ uprising in Poland), many did engage in other forms of protest action. In late September, union members from a large enterprise, VEB Bergmann-Borsig-Berlin, wrote a letter to the head of the central union, Harry Tisch, complaining about the economic conditions and lack of personal freedoms.42 Finally, as already noted, the East German regime was similar to the Czechoslovak one in that its rulers became too paralyzed to negotiate seriously with the opposition. Honecker pretended that everything was fine, and he refused to change his policies in face of the revolt. He was so incapable of dealing with the situation that even the hardline leadership concluded that it had to remove him from office. During his visit to East Berlin, Gorbachev said at a secret meeting with party leaders that “history punishes those who act too late.” Egon Krenz, who replaced Honecker as general secretary, wrote in his memoirs that he saw this as a signal to act. The Politiburo felt encouraged to remove the aging leader,43 and one week later, Krenz was general secretary. 40 41 42 43

Ibid. Kurt Mühler and Stefan H. Wilsdorf, “Die Leipziger Montagsdemonstration,” Berliner Journal für Soziologie, special edn. Sonderheft (1991): 40. TAZ, September 29, 1989, reprinted in Walter Süß, ed., TAZ DDR Journal zur Novemberrevolution August bis Dezember 1989 (Berlin: TAZ, 1990, 2nd edn.), p. 16. Egon Krenz, Wenn Mauern fallen: Die friedliche Revolution (Vienna: Paul Neff Verlag), p. 87.

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This does not mean, though, that Krenz interpreted Gorbachev correctly. Ekkehard Kuhn interviewed the three central figures here: Honecker, Krenz, and Gorbachev himself. In one of these interviews, Gorbachev explained he had been thinking of the USSR – not the GDR – when he uttered the famous words (“history punishes those who act too late”).44 Krenz confirmed this claim in his own interview with Kuhn. A few weeks after the famous statement, Krenz visited Gorbachev in the USSR, at which point the Soviet leader claimed he had been misunderstood and that he had only been referring to the Soviet Union.45 Thus, once again, Gorbachev’s main influence on events was through the expectations he raised in the population and among communist leaders. It did not come from any conscious attempt on his part to influence events in Eastern Europe. When Krenz took the reins of power, kindly assisted by the leadership’s misunderstanding of Gorbachev’s “hint,” he too failed to initiate serious negotiations with the opposition. Instead – as fellow Politburo member Günter Schabowski, remarks – Krenz tended to make “the smallest possible number of sacrifices.”46 Krenz himself admits: “We not only acted too late, we also pondered the situation too late. We were quite simply unprepared.”47 Even after the Berlin Wall fell, Krenz continued to move too slowly even for Party members. Pond reports on the events the following day: Four full or candidate members of his new Politburo had to give up their posts immediately because they were voted down in an unprecedented revolt by their local party organizations. Some 150,000 Communist party members again gathered outside the Central Committee building to protest the SED’s slow evolution and to demand a full party congress in December with powers to dismiss the old Central Committee.48

After a few more weeks of procrastination, Krenz and Schabowski resigned from the Politburo. The new prime minister, Hans Modrow, announced his intention to hold round-table talks with the opposition. As Pond notes, power had already shifted by then from the Party to the prime minister.49 The round table eventually became the policy-making

44 45 46 47

Ekkehard Kuhn, Gorbatschow und die deutsche Einheit: Aussagen der wichtigsten russischen und deutschen Beteiligten (Bonn: Bouvier Verlag, 1993), p. 48. Ibid., p. 54. Günter Schabowski, Das Politbüro: Ende eines Mythos, book-length interview conducted by Frank Sieren and Ludwig Koehne (Hamburg: Rowohlt, 1990), p. 127. Krenz, Wenn Mauern fallen, p. 147. 48 Pond, Beyond the Wall, p. 7. 49 Ibid., p. 6.

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body for the caretaker government. Elections were held in March 1990, and the communists were swept from power. Romania Czechoslovakia and East Germany were suffering from economic crisis, but the economy in Romania was in even more dire straits. Shortages of consumer goods were greater than in any other European communist country, with the possible exception of Albania. Meanwhile, energy shortages were so severe that electrical blackouts were common, and electricity, heat, and hot water began to be rationed. Real wages stopped rising in the 1980s, while individuals’ average daily caloric intake fell from 3,259 calories in 1980 to 2,930 calories in 1988.50 As part of his grand plans for reshaping society, Ceaus¸escu razed entire villages. His “systemization policy” forced people to move into new housing projects that often lacked electricity or running water.51 Net investment (including increases in inventories) fell from 36 percent during 1976–80 to 27 percent in 1981–5.52 Avner Ben-Ner and J. Michael Montias summarize the situation: In 1989, sales of slaughtered meat were only 49 percent of what they had been in 1980; cheese, 60 percent; refrigerators, 44 percent; television sets, 64 percent; cars, 79 percent; and bicycles, 61 percent. Workers were forced to scavenge for basic necessities, while living in cold quarters during the winter and dark homes and public spaces throughout the year.53

While the economic crisis in Czechoslovakia and East Germany took place when the regimes were deeply entrenched in a freezing direction, Ceaus¸escu combined his patrimonial rule with a particularly harsh type of freezing late post-totalitarianism. His rule was repressive enough to prevent active dissident organizations from emerging. However, while organized dissidence did not exist, the regime’s loss of ideological legitimacy was great enough to turn intellectuals against the regime. Again, intellectuals were the impetus for the actual rebellion, which started when an ethnic Hungarian pastor stood up to the regime when it tried to evict him forcibly from his house. Also, the loss of ideological legitimacy was great 50

51 52

53

Yves G. Van Frausum, Ulrich Gehmann, and Jurgen Gross, “Market Economy and Economic Reform in Romania: Macroeconomic and Microeconomic Perspectives,” Europe-Asia Studies, 46:5 (1994): 736. Clifford Poirot, “Macroeconomic Policy in a Transitional Environment: Romania, 1989– 1994,” Journal of Economic Issues, 30:4 (1996): 1,061. Avner Ben-Ner and J. Michael Montias, “The Introduction of Markets in a Hypercentralized Economy: The Case of Romania,” Journal of Economic Perspectives, 5:4 (1991): 164. Ibid., 165.

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enough to convince large portions of the armed forces to support the populace when the revolution broke out. As would be expected for a patrimonial ruler, Ceaus¸escu ordered the military to shoot. At first, some of the security forces obeyed the order, especially at the massacre in Timis¸ora. But their shooting was not enough to prevent the revolution. Instead, it led to further outrage and helped to spread the rebellion. Portions of the military sided with the opposition, and the military leadership joined the opposition shortly thereafter. Although it is commonly believed that the secret police, the Securitate, continued to fight the rebellion, Peter Siani-Davies points out that, once the crowds forced Ceaus¸escu to leave the podium and flee (during his progovernment rally at the capital), the Securitate leaders joined the opposition. Siani-Davies concludes that most of the violence after that point occurred when people fired on each other accidentally, in the mistaken belief that the other person was a “terrorist” bent on attacking the revolutionaries. The Securitate was often perceived as a monolithic and extremely powerful organization, so Siani-Davies’s revelation that the Securitate joined the opposition so quickly might appear surprising. However, Siani-Davies notes that the bulk of Securitate troops were conscripts rather than hardliners who had voluntarily joined the force for ideological reasons.54 He goes on to argue: “An army can be effectively used as an instrument of repression within an insurrectionary context only by virtue of the military values and discipline that give it a sense of institutional separateness from society as a whole.”55 Since the Romanian armed forces – including the Securitate – were mostly made up of conscripts, they perceived themselves as a part of society rather than a separate group. Siani-Davies adds that Ceaus¸escu’s nationalism actually made it more difficult for the military to shoot, because the army had become “the chief forum for patriotic socialization,” which “led to a widespread tendency both within the ranks of the military and society as a whole to identify the army with the nation – that is, ‘the people’ – at their widest extent and to correspondingly downplay loyalty to the party.”56 Moreover, far from being a privileged group in society, the military complained of a lack of resources. During most of the 1980s, for example, defense spending did not increase, and army officers noted that the country had “one of the lowest rates of defense spending in the world.”57 Despite the greater use of violence, the fall of the Romanian regime resembled that of the other freezing regimes. As in Czechoslovakia and 54 55

Peter Siani-Davies, The Romanian Revolution of December 1989 (Ithaca, NY, and London: Cornell University Press, 2005), p. 37. Ibid. 56 Ibid., pp. 38–9. 57 Ibid., p. 39.

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East Germany, a hardline leader was in power and no reformist wing existed within the Party leadership. And, as in Czechoslovakia and East Germany, Gorbachev’s policies destroyed the regime’s pragmatic acceptance and brought hope that change was possible. While the populace had been willing to tolerate Ceaus¸escu on the grounds that he prevented a Soviet invasion, Gorbachev led people to believe that a Soviet invasion could be their salvation. As Siani-Davies observes: Gorbachev’s reforms undermined the position of Ceaus¸escu both at home and abroad. In the international arena Romania, outpaced by the Soviet Union, lost its carefully cultivated image of an eastern bloc maverick and was consigned by the West to diplomatic isolation. At home, they raised hopes for similar reforms, effectively cutting the ground from under the feet of Ceaus¸escu, who continued to combat ideas of radical change. Prior to 1989, the Romanians had long been accustomed to making unflattering comparisions between their country and the West, which was often seen in unrealistically utopian terms. What changed in 1989 was that, as the boundaries of the East–West divide started to dissolve, the Romanians suddenly found themselves in an invidious position vis-à-vis not only the West but also other Eastern European states. On November 10, 1989, even the elderly Todor Zhivkov, the leader of Bulgaria (whose television channels could be received in Bucharest) was removed from power. In the case of Timis¸ora the contrast was even more striking, since Hungary – the state which had progressed furthest along the road of reform in Eastern Europe and one with which the ethnic Hungarian population of the area could obviously identify – lay just across the border. Great changes were taking place across Eastern Europe: was Romania to remain the only country (save Albania) shackled under an enfeebled neo-Stalinist dictator? The prospect was too hard to bear, and it was this realization voiced by many of the revolutionaries that it was “now or never” that drove the dynamic of revolution.58

Although the reforms in the Soviet Union and Poland gave increasing hope to citizens throughout the Warsaw Pact, the democratization process in Hungary gave particular hope to the relatively large Hungarian population in the north of Romania. As already noted, ethnic Hungarians listened to radio and watched TV from Hungary and thus were well aware of the democratic reforms taking place across the border.59 Thus, it is not surprising that the uprising broke out in this area. As in East Germany and Czechoslovakia, it is not clear that Gorbachev really pushed for reforms in Romania. Siani-Davies notes that Gorbachev claims in his memoirs that he was not hostile to the Romanian leader.60 He adds that the Soviet leadership expressed concern that the collapse of 58 59 60

Ibid., pp. 46–7. See, for example, Martyn C. Rady, Romania in Turmoil (London: I. B. Tauris, 1992), p. 95. Siani-Davis, The Romanian Revolution, p. 48.

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the Romanian economy that might occur if the regime were overthrown could hurt lucrative trade arrangements in which the USSR exported oil to Romania for hard currency and imported Romanian agricultural goods. In addition, the Soviet leadership expressed concerns that political turmoil in Romania might spread to the Soviet Republic of Moldovia, which had a Romanian majority.61 The uprising against the regime was sparked by an act of repression that created feelings of outrage: the attempt, on December 15, 1989, to force an ethnic-Hungarian pastor, László Tőkés, to leave his home in the city of Timis¸ora and to move to a small village. Hundreds of people gathered in front of the pastor’s house to prevent the arrest. The ensuing massacre of demonstrators at Timis¸ora created enough outrage to spark the revolution. When word spread that a woman had been shot in front of a factory in Timis¸ora, on December 20, workers immediately called for a general city strike.62 In the words of Jonathan Eyal, Ceaus¸escu miscalculated in believing that “the judicious use of force would contain the uprising to Timisoara. It did not: the cruelty of the massacre in that city simply fuelled opposition throughout the country.”63 In the words of the Romanianborn political scientist Vladimir Tismaneanu, “People were scared, but it was clear that hatred turned into rage.”64 As in Czechoslovakia and East Germany, the communication problem was partly solved through foreign news broadcasts. In the case of Romania, Hungarian radio spread news – picked up most readily, of course, by the ethnic Hungarians in northern Romania – about the collapse of communist regimes in neighboring countries, and later about the uprising in Romania itself.65 Those who understood Hungarian reportedly translated the news for those who did not.66 During the late 1980s, ethnic Hungarians in northern Romania were able to hear about glasnost and reforms by listening to Hungarian radio.67 Hungarian television was often watched by groups of twenty to thirty people crowded around a TV set. Four days before the uprising in Timis¸ora, a TV producer from Hungary went to Timis¸ora to film a television program. He interviewed three Romanians who described what had happened during the uprising 61 62 63

64 65

Ibid. George Galloway and Bob Wylie, Downfall: The Ceausescus and the Romanian Revolution (London: Tutura, 1991), p. 125. Jonathan Eyal, “Why Romania Could Not Avoid Bloodshed,” in Gwyn Prins, ed., Spring in Winter: The 1989 Revolutions (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 1990), p. 156. Newsweek, international edition, January 1, 1990. Rady, Romania in Turmoil, p. 95. 66 Ibid. 67 Ibid.

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in Brasov in 1987. Then, when the uprising in Timis¸ora started on December 15, news reports and images from that event too were broadcast on Hungarian TV.68 Matei Calinescu and Vladimir Tismaneanu observe: On the same days, news of the Timisoara uprising and its bloody repression reached Budapest, Belgrade, and Western capitals. Immediately, Radio Free Europe, the BBC, Deutsche Welle, and other stations broadcast the story back to Romania. From this moment, the fate of the Ceausescu regime was sealed.69

International media had been important in creating the preconditions for the uprising. The Reverend László Tőkés had asked his parishioners, on December 10, to help him resist the order to evict him from his church. A permanent vigil started in front of his church, and the news was broadcast by foreign radio. On December 15, when the authorities came to evict Tőkés, a crowd of 1,000 people had gathered outside the church. The clashes that then took place sparked the Romanian revolution.70 The killings in Timis¸ora on December 17 were also reported by foreign radio stations. On December 18, the slogan “Today in Timis¸ora, tomorrow in the whole country!” was broadcast by Radio Free Europe. News about what had happened in Timis¸ora sparked street protests in several other cities throughout Romania, which again were quickly reported by foreign radio.71 Radio Free Europe and the BBC also managed to broadcast interviews with residents of Timis¸ora.72 Residents also spread news of what was happening by telephone. (Communication by this means continued to work in Timis¸ora and at times in other towns as well. International calls, however, were impossible.) Information also spread through telex services and travelers on trains.73 Thus, foreign news broadcasts helped solve the communication problem. In addition, spontaneous coordination played the same kind of role in Romania as in East Germany. Just as East Germans gathered in Berlin to hear Gorbachev speak, Romanians gathered in Bucharest to hear Ceaus¸escu. And just as the planned pro-regime rally in East Germany ended in anti-regime protests, so the same occurred in Romania. As the dictator appeared in front of a crowd of approximately 100,000 cheering Romanians, the cheers suddenly turned into boos. 68 69

70 71 72

Michael Nelson, War of the Black Heavens: The Battles of Western Broadcasting in the Cold War (Syracuse University Press, 2003), pp. 182–3. Matei Calinescu and Vladimir Tismaneanu, “The 1989 Revolution and Romania’s Future,” in Daniel N. Nelson, ed., Romania After Tyranny (Boulder: Westview Press, 1992), p. 12. Nestor Ratesh, Romania: The Entangled Revolution (New York: Praeger, 1991), p. 21. Ibid., pp. 33 and 35–6; Rady, Romania in Turmoil, pp. 95 and 99. Ratesh, Romania, p. 54. 73 Ibid.

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When the booing started, Ceausescu continued his peroration, pumping his right fist up and down, but when the chants of opposition could be heard, he stuttered to a dumbfounded halt. He held his hand up as though to stop them, a King Canute trying to stop a verbal tide flowing in. [His wife] Elena moved forward, and was heard to say, “Stay calm, please,” before the live TV transmission was cut and television sets all over Romania went blank. It was too late. The spell of invincibility was broken. The revolution had announced its arrival in Bucharest, shouting it in the face of the dictator himself. And the whole country knew it.74

We have an example here, then, of spontaneous coordination being enhanced by domestic media coverage of the opposition to the regime.

The Soviet Union Though the demise of the Soviet Union is usually explained in terms of regime collapse,75 mass mobilization played a role there as well. Since this mobilization occurred with the support of softliners, such as the President of the Russian Soviet Republic, Boris Yeltsin, the Soviet case can be considered a “semi-revolution.” A feature which this semi-revolution had in common with revolutions in neighboring countries is the fact that the mobilization took place during a period of frustrated rising expectations. As in Czechoslovakia and East Germany, the regime had lost its ideological legitimacy due to the economic crisis and decades of stagnation. Growth rates had been declining since the mid 1960s.76 Gorbachev tried to introduce reforms to take the country out of its downward economic spiral. He took the freezing country down the maturing road as he introduced his reform policies. When his first economic reforms failed to alleviate the situation (and actually made it worse), Gorbachev introduced political reforms to make it possible to replace conservatives in the Partystate apparatus with people who would support the reform process.77 Because of the failure of his economic policies, Gorbachev was not able to create a new social contract that could induce the population into pragmatically accepting his rule. Conservative pragmatic acceptance – based on pride in being a superpower – was also declining, due to the 74 75

76 77

Galloway and Wylie, Downfall, pp. 133–4. See, for example, Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation: Southern Europe, South America, and Post-Communist Europe (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996), Chapter 19; and David Kotz with Fred Weir, Revolution from Above: The Demise of the Soviet System (London: Routledge, 1997). Jan Winiecki, “Hur det hela började – orsaker till sovjetekonomiernas sammanbrott,” Ekonomisk Debatt, 6 (1990): 542. For a discussion of this, see Saxonberg, The Fall, Chapter 5. See also, for example, Anders Åslund, Gorbachev’s Struggle for Economic Reform (London: Printer Publishers, 1989), p. 180f.

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Soviet Union’s defeat in Afghanistan, the poor performance of Soviet weapons in the Middle East, the loss of Central and East European “satellite” countries and the possible loss of the Baltic republics. Nevertheless, Gorbachev was able to instill hope among the population that the economic problems could be solved. Gorbachev’s promises of political and economic reform gave many citizens hope that their lives would improve. The election of the radical reformer Boris Yeltsin as president of Russia shows that the populace was still hopeful that the reform process would continue and become more farreaching. In fact, radical reformers had so much support that Jerry F. Hough, writing shortly before the failed coup attempt, noted that the main threat to Gorbachev came from the radical reformers rather than from the conservatives.78 Although conservatives did try to replace Gorbachev in a coup, Hough turned out to be correct: it was the radicals around Yeltsin who eventually brought down the ancien régime. Notwithstanding his radical jargon,79 Gorbachev frustrated expectations for change among the USSR’s population by taking an increasingly conservative stance toward reforms in 1990–1, his last year in office. He hesitated to introduce more far-reaching economic reforms, and he allowed the military to repress independence movements in the Baltic republics, following which his old-time ally Foreign Minister Eduard Schevardnadze resigned, calling Gorbachev a “dictator.” Nevertheless, there may have been some reason to hope the new federalist constitution would bring about more democratic reforms. These hopes were dashed during the ill-fated coup attempt. The coup attempt by regime hardliners outraged the populace. Boris Yeltsin, although president of Russia, was leader of the semi-opposition to the regime, and organized the opposition to the coup. On the first day, Yeltsin was quickly able to mobilize around eighty thousand people, who assembled at the White House in Moscow to support him against the coup leaders. It is possible that, during the entire period of the demonstrations, as many as 1 million people participated in defending Yeltsin against the coup.80 As Hough notes, Yeltsin did not succeed in directly mobilizing

78

79

80

Jerry F. Hough, “Gorbachev’s Endgame,” pp. 201–21 in Alexander Dallin and Gail W. Lapidus, eds., The Soviet System from Crisis to Collapse (Boulder: Westview Press, 1995, revised edn.). For example, Dunlop claims that Gorbachev first “tacked away from the ‘democrats’ into the political center” in mid 1989; then, from October 1990 to April 1991, “he performed a much-criticized ‘shift to the right’”: i.e., a shift toward conservatism. See John B. Dunlop, The Rise of Russia and the Fall of the Soviet Empire (Princeton University Press, 1993), p. 23. Michael Urban with Vyacheslav Igruknov and Sergei Mitrokhin, The Rebirth of Politics in Russia (Cambridge University Press, 1997), pp. 250, 253.

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workers as a group in the form of strikes.81 However, as Michael Urban points out, Yeltsin’s suppporters did organize mass labor demonstrations. When the Russian legislature met in March 1991, amidst threats that the Congress would try to fire Yeltsin, “DemRossiya and Moscow’s Union of Labour Collectives staged mass demonstrations at the city centre, defying the ban imposed by the Soviet authorities and raising a million voices in support of El’tsin [Yeltsin].”82 Similarly, in January of that same year, DemRossiya had organized strike committees in 110 enterprises, comprising some 700,000 people, to support its demands that the Soviet president and cabinet resign.83 Thus, even if it is difficult to get information about exactly which groups came to the White House to support Yeltsin during the coup attempt, it is clear that he and democratic political organizations had been successful during that year in organizing workers against conservatives in the regime. When the coup took place, portions of the military were willing to support Yeltsin against the coup hardliners, because the regime had already lost its ideological legitimacy. Meanwhile, since the hardliners had lost their ideological legitimacy, they behaved like their freezing, paralyzed comrades had done two years earlier in East Germany and Czechoslovakia. They were simply incapable of carrying out their plans and plunging the country into a civil war. Instead, like Honecker and Jakeš before them, they gave up rather than shoot. In Hough’s words, “the plan [to storm the White House] quickly unraveled: no one wanted primary responsibility and blame.”84 Since the president of the Russian Republic played a key role in organizing resistance to the coup,85 one could question whether the Soviet case involved mass mobilization against the regime. Nevertheless, while it may be going too far to say that the collapse of the regime and the failure of the coup attempt were the result of a “revolutionary” uprising, it is clear that the open support of tens of thousands of Soviet citizens played a key role in ending the coup. It should be noted that before Russian society mobilized against the coup attempt, citizens from peripheral republics along the Baltic Sea had already been engaging for several years in collective action campaigns against the regime. Popular Fronts had emerged in the late 1980s, and

81 82 84 85

Jerry F. Hough, Democratization and Revolution in the USSR 1985–1991 (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press, 1997), p. 12. Urban, The Rebirth of Politics in Russia, p. 240. 83 Ibid., p. 236. Hough, Democratization and Revolution in the USSR, p. 431. For Yeltsin’s role, see for example John B. Dunlop, “Anatomy of a Failed Coup,” pp. 595–621 in Dallin and Lapidus, The Soviet System from Crisis to Collapse, p. 609.

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mass demonstrations had been held in favor of independence. In multinational states such as the Soviet Union and Yugoslavia, the revolutionary potential was often greater in the peripheral republics, such as Lithuania and Estonia within the USSR, and Slovenia and Croatia within Yugoslavia. In these cases nationalist leaders, often hailing from the regional communist parties, were able to direct the frustrated expectations of the populace toward nationalist projects (projects which were often but not always democratic, as the Croatian turn toward authoritarianism under Franjo Tudjman shows). Expectations were not only rising because of Gorbachev’s rise to power (or Tito’s death in Yugoslavia). Minority groups also hoped that reforms would free them from Russian and Serbian cultural domination.86 In taking the initiative for democratic elections, the communist leadership in the Baltic republics acted in the usual manner of a maturing regime, at the same time that the Soviet Union was switching direction towards a freezing regime. The failed coup in the Soviet Union represented an attempt by Party hardliners and by portions of the KGB and military to reverse Gorbachev’s reforms, and to push the country down the freezing road again. The coup also presents another case where a repressive act causes moral outrage and sparks a revolt. As in Romania, a portion of the Soviet armed forces went over to the opposition. The main difference between Romania and the Soviet Union is that, in the latter case, the opposition was led by an official government representative (the Russian president) rather than by dissidents.87 Communication was also vital for Yeltsin’s success in overcoming the coup attempt in the Soviet Union. Upon hearing of the coup, Yeltsin gathered Russia’s top political elite at his summer cottage, where he penned an appeal entitled “To the Citizens of Russia.” The Russian leaders then phoned their message to the Russian White House, where it could be broadcast to the nation.88 As acting president, Yeltsin was able to use his access to the mass media to encourage people to gather at the White House in order to prevent an attack. The coup hardliners were so paralyzed and incapable of taking firm action that they did not even succeed in shutting down CNN, which “was allowed to continue to broadcast and to focus its cameras on the White House, thereby 86

87 88

For a discussion of the attitudes of Slovenian intellectuals toward Serbia, see for example Jasna Dragovic-Soso, “Saviours of the Nation”: Serbia’s Intellectual Opposition and the Revival of Nationalism (London: Hurst, 2002), Chapter 4; see also Christopher Bennett, Yugoslavia’s Bloody Collapse: Causes, Course and Consequences (New York University Press, 1995), Chapter 6. For a description of the events, see Dunlop, “Anatomy of a Failed Coup.” Dunlop, “Anatomy of a Failed Coup,” p. 609.

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magnifying the impression of resistance.”89 The hardliners were unable, moreover, to get the full support of the official mass media. Urban reports that, on state TV, “the public was treated to stale prose, self-incriminating statements and the spectacle of the press’s open ridicule of the junta, amplified by camera shots of the new president’s trembling hands.”90 In addition, opposition political parties were able to use their organizations to spread news. The Democratic Party of Russia has members in five hundred cities and towns, who “were connected by telephone and fax with the party’s central offices, accounting for a huge portion of the information travelling between Moscow and the provinces during the coup.”91 As is typical of freezing regimes, when the coup leaders were faced with a mobilized opposition, they did not know what to do. No longer believing in their ability to rule, they were too scared to order any part of the armed forces to shoot. Rather, they impressed the world with their seemingly pathetic behavior, and gave up without a fight. When the coup attempt failed, the fate of the Soviet Union was sealed. Yeltsin was able to demand the break-up of the union in accordance with his more radical interpretation of the new constitution, and newly independent states emerged. Yugoslavia Yugoslavia is a special case. The collapse of the Socialist Federation of Yugoslavia follows the pattern that we would expect for a maturing regime. It would have been strange if liberalizers in that country – the most liberal and open communist state in Europe – had been unable to initiate a process of democratization that culminated in elections. However, hardliners were able to take over in Serbia, the largest republic of the federation, and to run Serbia and Montenegro in what this book refers to as “rump Yugoslavia.” Tito’s death in 1980 opened up opportunities for more radical reformers to come to power. Once Gorbachev came to power, the Soviet Union no longer posed any security threat. Yet, no radical change in leadership took place during the first years. Orthodox Titoists were still dominant in most of the republics. These leaders faced the same economic crisis that other communist countries faced in the 1970s. Yugoslav goods could not compete on the world market, so the country was unable to pay back its loans via exports. A mounting debt crisis followed. The regime found it especially difficult to solve the economic crisis in view of the decentralized nature of the 1974 constitution, which gave most decision-making 89 90

Hough, Democratization and Revolution in the USSR, p. 430. Urban, The Rebirth of Politics in Russia, p. 249. 91 Ibid., p. 251.

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authority to the local republican governments. To make matters worse, a rotating presidency – in which no representative from one of the six republics or two autonomous regions could hold office for more than a year – made it difficult for the government to develop a comprehensive plan to deal with the crisis. I remember visiting Yugoslavia in 1986 and talking to a large number of well-educated university students who were fluent in English. Not one of them could tell me who the president of the Federation was! As a result of this political paralysis, the economy continued to decline. Susan L. Woodward points out that, between 1919 and 1985, the Yugoslav dinar lost 90 percent of its value. While unemployment officially reached 14 percent by 1984 in the Federation as a whole, it reached 50 percent in Kosovo, 27 percent in Macedonia, and 23 percent in Bosnia and Herzegovina.92 In 1984, “the average income was approximately 70 percent of the official minimum for a family of four, and the population living below the poverty line increased from 17 to 25 percent.”93 Inflation also became a major problem, reaching over 1,200 percent by 1989.94 The economic crisis demolished the regime’s pragmatic acceptance. Yugoslavs could no longer be content with a social contract that denied them political rights but promised them higher living standards and the best consumer goods and greatest personal freedom in the communist world (including the right to travel freely to the West). As Gorbachev’s policies reduced the Soviet threat, citizens had more reason to expect the country to ease up on security issues and to allow for greater openness in the political sphere. Meanwhile, the burgeoning economic crisis caused heated debates about the future of the country, which gave even more reason to hope for a general liberalization. Thus, expectations for change were rising, even as the economic crisis tarnished the regime’s ideological legitimacy. As a maturing regime which had been the most liberal in the entire communist world, the Yugoslav government might have been expected to take the initiative for a negotiated pact. Indeed, this is exactly what happened in the peripheral republics of Croatia and Slovenia, and later Macedonia, as the leaders of these republics mobilized the populace for independence. If Miloševic´ had not come to power in Serbia, it is very likely that the entire country would have undergone democratization, as the leaders of the League of Communists were moving in that direction. “By the mid-1980s, secret multi-candidate elections were being held for party 92 93

Susan L. Woodward, Balkan Tragedy: Chaos and Dissolution after the Cold War (Washington DC: Brookings Institution Press, 1995), p. 51. Ibid., p. 52. 94 Ibid., p. 54.

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offices and even some state posts were chosen by way of multi-candidate popular votes.”95 In 1987 the president of the Serbian Republic, Ivan Stambolic´, proposed direct elections for the most important state positions. Stambolic´ claims that, after the republican and federal conferences of the League of Communists in 1986, it was clear that a decisive breakthrough to reforms of the economic and political system [had been] accomplished . . . that the forces of change had won in all republics, [and] that the preconditions [had been] created for decisive steps. Individual talks which we had that autumn with all republican leaders only strengthened my belief.96

V. P. Gagnon Jr. claims that, ironically enough, “Serbian reformists were among the most ardent supporters of radical reforms” before Miloševic´ came to power. Indeed, by the early 1980s the Serbian party was among the most reformist in the country. Members of the Serbian party leadership called not only for the total removal of party influence at the local levels of the economy, but also for greater reliance on private enterprise and individual initiative; multiple candidates in state and party elections; free, secret elections in the party; recognition and the adoption of “all the positive achievements of bourgeois civilization,” i.e. liberal democracy.97

Thus, the stage was set for a negotiated transition to democracy, in which a maturing regime would initiate democratic reforms that would eventually lead to elections. Gagnon argues that reformists had already won important victories at both the level of the Federation and that of the Serbian Republic, and that they were well on the way to democratizing the entire country. He writes: Conservatives in Serbia responded to this growing reformist influence with a three-pronged strategy. The first prong was to reemphasize orthodox Marxist themes, in an attempt to delegitimize liberal trends at the lower levels of the party. The second prong was to repeat their strategy of the early 1970s, that is, to attempt to defeat the reformists in the leadership by shifting the focus of attention away from reforms, toward images of the threat of nationalism and, in particular, Albanian nationalism as well as the alleged “genocide” against Serbs in the province of Kosovo. The third prong portrayed Serbia as the victim of Tito’s Yugoslavia, setting the stage for an attack on the autonomy of other republics.98

So, the hardline strategy was to combine continued support for one-party dominance with opposition to economic reforms, and with nationalism. 95 96

V. P. Gagnon Jr., The Myth of Ethnic War: Serbia and Croatia in the 1990s (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2006), pp. 82–3. Cited in ibid., p. 65. 97 Ibid., p. 61. 98 Ibid., p. 63.

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The nationalist card was important for gaining sympathy from people outside of the League of Communists. Hardliners found such support helpful in their struggle against reformers. This is the exact opposite of what the democratization literature predicts. According to the transitology hypothesis, the softliners are supposed to turn to the population for support against hardliners, while in the Serbian case, hardliners turned to the population for support against the softliners! The hardliners were able to organize large demonstrations to pressure leaders to resign in “anti-bureaucratic revolutions” that were carried out in Serbia, in the autonomous Vojvodina and Kosovo republics as well as in Montenegro. In Bennett’s words, “[o]rdinary Serbs were as disillusioned with communist rule as any of eastern Europe’s peoples but Miloševic´ had managed to breathe new life into the Serbian League of Communists by revamping it with nationalism.”99 Miloševic´ mobilized his supporters along nationalist rather than anti-communist lines, and so was able to deflect demands for more radical change. He organized rallies in support of himself within the existing League of Communists, which he captured, and whose name he changed to include the word “socialist.” When he came to power, Miloševic´ tried to keep the communist regime intact by avoiding economic reform, keeping tight control over the secret police and mass media, and ensuring that one party would rule in practice. Yet, despite this move to get popular support against portions of the regime, Miloševic´’s nationalist polices never enjoyed the support of the majority of Serbs, according to Gagnon. Rather, Miloševic´ used nationalism – and the later wars in Croatia, Bosnia, and Kosovo – as a means of demobilizing the population. Gagnon argues that the wars never enjoyed popular support, and that the military face constant problems in finding recruits. It was quite common for young army conscripts to desert, or to refuse to sign up in the first place. A former American diplomat, Louis Sell, saw many of these events first-hand. In his biography of Miloševic´, he confirms that desertion was a major problem for the army of rump Yugoslavia.100 The aim of the wars was to give the government an excuse to crack down on the opposition as an “anti-patriotic” security risk, and so to allow the regime to demobilize society. It appears that Miloševic´’s original goal was not to break up Yugoslavia and to create a Greater Serbia, but rather to use the hardliners to install a more centralized, orthodox, communist regime. He did this by taking 99 100

Bennett, Yugoslavia’s Bloody Collapse, p. 9. Louis Sell, Sloban Milosevice and the Destruction of Yugoslavia (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2002), pp. 150–1. Gagnon makes this claim throughout his book The Myth of Ethnic War.

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away the rights of the republics and autonomous republics, and concentrating power in his own hands in Belgrade. After gaining power in Serbia and its two autonomous republics, he also succeeded in putting an ally in power in Montenegro, after bussing in demonstrators that forced the former leaders to resign. This gave Miloševic´ control of 4 of the 8 votes in the presidency. Apparently, he planned to gain control over Croatia and Slovenia by launching similar rallies, in which Serbs would be bussed in to demand that the present leadership resign in favor of his cronies. As Sell points out, Miloševic´ had decided to hold such a “meeting of truth” in Ljubljana on December 1, 1989.101 However, the Slovenian police and military blocked the borders and prevented the rally from taking place. Notwithstanding this failure, Miloševic´ still tried to pressure the League of Communists, at its congress in January 1990, to support his plan to recentralize the country along more more orthodox Leninist lines. This would have given Serbia more power and influence and allowed Miloševic´ to dominate the Federation. His ambitions in this area collapsed, however, when the Slovenes walked out of the congress. He wanted to continue the meeting without the Slovenes; however, the delegates from Croatia, Bosnia, and Macedonia refused, as did a number of delegates from Serbia.102 Thus, the outcome that ultimately resulted – Greater Serbia/rump Yugoslavia – was not Miloševic´’s first choice. It was the outcome, rather, of the pursuit of a rational strategy by a politician whose main ambition was to gain as much power as possible and to withstand internal pressures for democratization and market-oriented reforms. Sell notes that Miloševic´’s draft constitution for Yugoslavia in 1989 expressly rejected the concept of multiparty democracy and was vague on human rights. Its call for more referendums to decide important national issues was patently favorable to the Serbs. Sovereignty, moreover, would reside in the Yugoslav federation and not in the republics, thereby undoing at one stroke the basic principle of sovereign equality among the republics that Slovenia and Croatia claimed was the foundation of Yugoslavia.103

However, if Miloševic´’s goal was to preserve the country as a one-party communist dictatorship, then the question arises of why he eventually allowed multiparty elections. Like Ceaus¸escu, Miloševic´ built on his nationalist charisma and turned his degenerating regime into a patrimonial apparatus for himself and his family. Unlike Ceaus¸escu, however, Miloševic´ was operating in a relatively open, maturing, late 101 102

Sell, Sloban Milosevice and the Destruction of Yugoslavia, p. 100. Ibid., pp. 104–5. 103 Ibid., p. 97.

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post-totalitarian society, which was pressuring him to make concessions to democratic demands. In order to fight these pressures, he tried to use nationalist threats to undermine other governments within the Federation (such as Croatia’s) by “using the issue of Kosovo and the image of threatened Serbs.”104 This backfired, however, as these threats – along with the increasingly grave economic problems – helped radical reformers to take over the Croatian League of Communists and to call for multiparty elections in 1990. When Croatia and Slovenia decided to hold multiparty elections, it became much more difficult to keep Yugoslavia together as a one-party state. By then, the new prime minister, Ante Markovic´, was also calling for multiparty elections at the federal level. Markovic´ convinced the Federal Assembly to legalize multiparty elections, and in July 1990 he founded his own non-communist party. Meanwhile, communist parties had already fallen from power in surrounding countries. Slovenia and Croatia had scheduled multiparty elections; in Serbia, several noncommunist parties were founded at the beginning of 1990 and demanded contested elections.105 Under these circumstances, Miloševic´ agreed reluctantly to hold multiparty elections. Yet he always tried to manipulate such elections – through intimidation, through vote-rigging, and through his control over the media. At times he refused to accept defeat in local elections. Stojanovic´ characterizes Miloševic´’s concessions to democratic structures as follows: The most essential modification came about when multiparty pluralism was permitted at the beginning of the 1990s. That was the key move which I have long been calling Miloševic´’s democratic pseudo-morphosis of post-Titoist statism. Democratic forms were permitted and at the same time used in an authoritarian manner to conceal the permanent monopoly of the structural control by the ruling group over the state and, by means of it, over the economy and other spheres of social life.106

Even if Miloševic´ did not like the idea of competitive elections, such elections afforded him the opportunity to co-opt right-wing nationalist groups, which he needed for providing paramilitary soldiers for the wars in neighboring republics (given the unwillingness of regular conscripts to fight). For example, Miloševic´ formed a coalition at various times with Vojislav Šešelj and his Serbian Radical Party, which was trying to revive the Chetnik tradition, and whose militia was one of the main actors in “ethnic cleansing” missions. 104 106

Gagnon Jr., The Myth of Ethnic War, p. 83. 105 Ibid., p. 91. Svetozar Stojanovic´, Serbia: The Democratic Revolution (Amherst, New York: Humanity Books, 2003), p. 198.

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Throughout the 1990s, Miloševic´ used continuous military conflict to keep society demobilized. By this means – together with repression, electoral manipulation, and control over the media – he was able to keep his own hardline faction in power. Except for Montenegro, meanwhile, the communists lost power in all the former republics, which had now become independent countries. These new states were not necessarily democratic. In Croatia, an authoritarian group came to power after winning the first election. But it was only in Serbia/rump Yugoslavia that the old regime survived. Notwithstanding this Serbian exceptionalism, expectations for change eventually rose in Serbia too (in the late 1990s). After NATO bombed Serbia and coerced Miloševic´ into removing the Serbian military from Kosovo, Miloševic´ could no longer use nationalism as a replacement for communist ideology. Having led his country into military disasters in Croatia, Bosnia, and now Kosovo, he could no longer count on military support. Now he was only able to rely on portions of the secret police to obey his orders. In Sell’s words, Below the most senior levels . . . discontent with Milosevic was widespread in the military. Lower-level officers had long resented Milosevic’s lack of financial support for the army, and now they seethed over his bootless policy of launching them into a war with NATO and then forcing them to withdraw from Kosovo without – in their view – having been defeated. Officers had been seen sympathizing with protesting reservists, and former generals were among the most prominent of Milosevic’s public opponents.107

The economy was in ruins, which further eroded Miloševic´’s pragmatic acceptance. On the basis of household income-and-expenditure surveys, Michael Palairet calculates that per capita household expenditures in 1998 were less than one-fourth of what they had been in 1978 (1,096 constant dinars compared to 4,441). The per capita value of government services declined by about one-third – from 945 constant dinars in 1991 to 349 in 1998.108 The economic crisis was so severe that hospitals had run out of drugs.109 When Miloševic´ called for elections to be held in September 2000, the opposition united behind one candidate, thus raising expectations for political change. The opposition coalition DOS (Democratic Opposition in Serbia) and its various allies from civil society (notably the student-dominated Otpor movement), created a sense of optimism

107 108 109

Sell, Sloban Milosevice and the Destruction of Yugoslavia, p. 331. Michael Palairet, “The Economic Consequences of Slobodan Miloševic´,” Europe-Asia Studies, 53: 6 (2001): 905. Palairet, “The Economic Consequences of Slobodan Miloševic´,” 915.

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that encouraged people to vote.110 The opposition’s ability to organize and run a campaign to communicate its message to the voters was strengthened by generous foreign aid, including grants of $237,360 to Otpor from the USA via the National Endowment for Democracy.111 Already one year earlier a majority of citizens saw elections as the mechanism most likely to bring about change in Serbia.112 In addition, polls before the elections indicated that the opposition had a chance to win.113 These expectations for change were frustrated by Miloševic´’s attempts at electoral fraud, which outraged the populace into taking action. When it became clear that the patrimonial ruler was about to lose the elections, his cronies tried to stop the vote count. Opposition representatives on the Federal Elections Commission objected, but were removed from the building. The following day Miloševic´ declared an electoral victory. The Federal Elections Commission did not dare go that far. It proclaimed that Miloševic´’s opponent,Vojislav Koštunica, had won a plurality but not a majority, making a run-off election necessary. However, DOS election monitors (and some international election monitors) had conducted their own vote counts, according to which Koštunica had won a clear majority. DOS called for a general strike – to culminate in a mass demonstration in Belgrade about two weeks later – if the regime did not accept Koštunica’s victory.114 Even though events unfolded so quickly that the regime fell before DOS could start a general strike, 17,500 miners and electrical supply workers of the Kolubara complex did start a strike that “was central to the final overthrow of the regime.”115 Once again, then, intellectuals had mobilized workers for strikes and demonstrations. The intellectuals in question included student leaders from Otpor, as well as opposition leaders such as the legal scholar Koštunica and the philosopher Zoran Djindvic´ (who later became the 110

111

112 113 114 115

International Crisis Group, “Yugoslavia’s Presidential Election: The Serbian People’s Moment of Truth,” Washington, DC: International Crisis Group, Balkans Report no. 102, September 19, 2000 (www.crisisgroup.org/~/media/Files/europe/Serbia%2011); Matthew Collin, This is Serbia Calling: Rock ‘N’ Roll Radio and Belgrade’s Underground Resistance, (London: Serpent’s Tail, 2001), Chapter 7. Christopher Lamont, “Contested Sovereignty: The International Politics of Regime Change in the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia,” Journal of Communist Studies and Transition Politics, 25:2–3 (2009): 192. Centar za Proucavanje Alternativa, “Between Disappointment and Hope – Public Opinion in Serbia,” Belgrade: CPA, September 1999. See last sentence there. See for example the polls carried out for the National Democratic Institute (available at www.ndi.org) or by the Centar za Proucavanje Alternativa. Damjan de Krnjevic´-Miškovic´, “Serbia’s Prudent Revolution,” Journal of Democracy 12:3 (2001): 104. Martin Upchurch, “State, Labour and Market in Post-revolution Serbia,” Capital and Class, 30:2 (2006): 13.

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opposition candidate for prime minister). It is much easier to mobilize workers during a period of economic crisis. The strikes were successful because workers, pensioners, and peasants supported the opposition for economic reasons. As one scholar remarks, “it was falling wages, rising prices and crime statistics, empty store shelves, energy shortages, and too much corruption by officials high and low that triggered their revolt at the polls.”116 Even when the police confronted the opposition (miners at the Kolubara mines, people from the countryside on their way to Belgrade, or demonstrators in front of the parliament building) protesters were willing to risk their lives, and they overwhelmed the police by their sheer numbers and their resolve.117 When police attacked strikers at the Kolubara coal mines, “Union leaders got on their telephones and within an hour thousands of citizens from as far away as Belgrade (an hour’s drive) flooded the area, surrounding the police lines. Then three old peasants on a tractor drove toward the heavily armed policemen, and the police line was broken.”118 When the Constitutional Court announced, on October 4, that the elections would be annulled, and that Miloševic´ would continue to be president, citizens became so outraged that 700,000 people came to Belgrade to protest. The police used tear gas against them, but protesters succeeded in storming the parliament building and gaining the support of parts of the armed forces. A few days later their continued protests along with pressure from the armed forces made Miloševic´ conclude that he had little choice but to resign. In the Serbian case, communication did not present a major problem for the anti-communist coalition. Opposition parties were harassed, but they were not banned, which meant that organizational networks existed that could quickly spread messages. The parties and groups that joined together in the DOS coalition were aided by Otpor, which had been organizing at the grassroots level for several years. Florian Bieber reports that, by July 2000, Otpor had 30,000–40,000 activists from 120 local branches.119 The opposition was also aided by the Orthodox Church, whose Synod demanded Miloševic´’s resignation in July 1999.120 When hundreds of thousands of demonstrators came to Belgrade from all over 116 117 118 119 120

Krnjevic´-Miškovic´, “Serbia’s Prudent Revolution,” 104. For a description, see Dragan Bujosevic and Ivan Radovanovic, The Fall of Milosevic: The October 5th Revolution (New York and Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003). Krnjevic´-Miškovic´, “Serbia’s Prudent Revolution,” 105. Florian Bieber, “The Serbian Opposition and Civil Society: Roots of the Delayed Transition in Serbia,” International Journal of Politics, Culture and Society 17:1 (2003): 84. Florian Bieber, Nationalismus in Serbien vom Tode Titos bis zum Ende der Ära Miloševic´ (Vienna: Wiener Osteuropa Studien, vol. XVIII, 2005), p. 376.

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the country on October 5, 2000, the event had been planned by leaders of the opposition. They decided that opposition politicians would lead five different convoys, which would enter the capital from five different directions. This would force the police to spread themselves thinly when trying to prevent protesters from converging.121 Communication was also aided by modern technologies. The existence of mobile phones made it easy for striking miners to call people for help when under attack by the police. The Internet also proved to be extremely helpful in overcoming state censorship. A Freedom House survey in 1996 showed that only North Korea, China, Tajikistan, and Turkmenistan had tighter control over the mass media.122 Serbs resorted more and more, therefore, to the Internet in order to circumvent the state. “Otpor affiliates throughout the country kept in touch by communicating from public computers, giving them almost complete anonymity and making it impossible for the authorities to estimate their strength and their numbers.”123 The opposition was also able to use the Internet to make radio broadcasts.124 The opposition was also very creative in its use of radio and TV broadcasts during the critical days of the anti-Miloševic´ revolution. The opposition leader, Nebojsa Covic, had started Radio 988 in 1998 as a seemingly innocuous music and sports station. But on October 2, 2000, the radio station suddenly started broadcasting a current affairs program. “When strikes broke out to protest the attempt to steal the election, two student radio stations Radio Ineks and Radio B2–92 took over from Radio 988 and alerted the rest of Belgrade.”125 Given that Miloševic´ was a patrimonial ruler, the question arises of why he did not follow Ceaus¸escu’s example and simply shoot the demonstrators storming the parliament building. As we have seen, however, Miloševic´ introduced his patrimonialism under a maturing rather than an early post-totalitarian regime. This made it more difficult to persuade the armed forces to shoot. Police and military officers interviewed after the events have all claimed, in fact, that Miloševic´ did order them to use massive repression, but they refused. According to Dragan Buosevic and Ivan Radovanovic, the Serbian Ministry of Internal Affairs had received orders to use rocket launchers, bazooka-like weapons, machine guns, and submachine guns against the convoys of buses, cars, and trucks 121 122

123 125

Bujosevic and Radovanovic, The Fall of Milosevic, pp. 30ff. Christopher R. Tunnard, “From State-Controlled Media to the ‘Anarch’ of the Internet: The Changing Influence of Communications and Information in Serbia in the 1990s,” Southeast European and Black Sea Studies, 3:2 (2003): 110. Ibid., 112. 124 Ibid., 113. Bujosevic and Radovanovic, The Fall of Milosevic, p. 22.

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coming to Belgrade on October 5.126 They quote the police colonel who had been charged with implementing the orders. The colonel reasoned that, if the police fired, they could indeed prevent people from coming to the capital, but this would have been a pyrrhic victory, as the end result would be a revolution and possibly another war with NATO. “What then?” he thought. “Most probably, popular rebellion.” He could see the other officers shared his view. “NATO would bomb us,” he told them. Speaking of the NATO forces and other troops in Macedonia, Kosovo, Albania, Bosnia, and Herzegovina, he warned that “the forces on our borders would flood in from all sides. The cities would burn, we’d be fighting in the forests.”127

By 2000, then, most members of the repressive organs were afraid to obey orders to shoot. In contrast to other patrimonial communists Miloševic´ had alienated large portions of his military. His adventures in Croatia, Bosnia, and Kosovo had all ended in defeat, destroying his nationalist legitimacy. He had also made the mistake of not keeping the members of the armed forces materially well off. They did not enjoy the privileges common under other patrimonial-sultanistic dictatorships – whether communist, as in North Korea, or nationalist, as in Iraq under Hussein.128 Another problem, also typical of patrimonial regimes, is that the security forces were divided into many different competing groups. This increased the danger that some groups would feel insecure and decide to desert. Strong patrimonial rulers use this “divide and rule” tactic to reinforce their own power, and to prevent any one group from becoming strong enough to become a threat. Yet, when a revolutionary situation arises, these divisions make patrimonial rulers more vulnerable, as some groups are likely to go over to the opposition. In rump Yugoslavia, there were fully five different intelligence agencies. “This was in addition to the multiplicity of other special units and paramilitary groups in the military and police proper. Under Miloševic´, each had been forced to compete with others for political favour and funding.”129 Conclusion The purpose of this chapter has been to clarify the conditions under which the revolutionary potential of society under communist-led regimes is greatest. I have argued that a revolution can break out if: (1) there is an 126 128

129

Ibid., p. 9. 127 Ibid., p. 11. Alex Todorovic, “Putting Heat On Milosevic: Civil Unrest is the Most Pressing Threat to the Serb Chief, as His Popularity Drops,” Christian Science Monitor 91:146 (1999). Downloaded from the Internet on April 21, 2006. Timothy Edmunds, “Intelligence Agencies and Democratisation: Continuity and Change in Serbia after Miloševic´,” Europe-Asia Studies, 60:1 (2008): 34.

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economic crisis; (2) the regime has lost its ideological legitimacy; (3) society is no longer willing to pragmatically accept the regime; (4) intellectuals renounce their revisionism (as a result of the regime’s loss of ideological legitimacy) and become willing to cooperate with workers or peasants; (5) there is a period of rising expectations, and the regime does something to frustrate these expectations; and (6) the regime does something to outrage the populace. Sometimes a single act becomes the catalyst for revolution, such as the police attack against student demonstrators in Prague in 1989. At other times, several acts outrage different groups in society and spur them to demonstrate: examples include the rigged local elections in East Germany, and the police crackdown on East German demonstrators during Gorbachev’s visit. In the case of rump Yugoslavia, the major cause of outrage was the election commission’s announcement that it would stop counting the votes. Two other events were also critical in the eventual downfall of Miloševic´: the attempts of police to break up a miners’ strike, and the later decision of the election commission to nullify the elections. In Romania, the catalyst was the attempt to evict an ethnic-Hungarian pastor from his home, followed by a massacre of demonstrators. In all of the cases considered in this book, the revolutions have followed a similar pattern. From this we may conclude that the model of revolutionary potential presented in this book holds up well for them. In respect of regime behavior, however, there is an important difference between patrimonial regimes and non-patrimonial freezing regimes. When confronted with revolutionary activity, leaders of freezing regimes become paralyzed and unable to take decisive action; by contrast, patrimonial leaders are willing to shoot. However, while patrimonial rulers are more likely to give orders to shoot opponents, the armed forces under patrimonial regimes are also more likely to defect to the opposition. Furthermore, due to the personalized nature of patrimonial regimes, their leaders are more likely to fear for their lives, as society will want to take revenge on their persons. (The Ceaus¸escus were in fact executed, while Miloševic´ was sent to the War Crimes Tribunal at the Hague.) Since patrimonial leaders have more at stake in the event of a rebellion, they are more likely to feel they have nothing to lose by ordering mass repression. At the same time, the personalized nature of such a regime makes it difficult for the members of its armed forces to hold the needs of the despotic ruler above the needs of the country, especially when it is clear that the country’s economy and social fabric are being destroyed. The conflict of goals is all the stronger in view of the nationalist justifications proffered for patrimonial rule. An added incentive to defect arises from the fact that patrimonial leaders do not really trust the armed forces,

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whom they commonly divide into competing groups. As these groups feel neither privileged nor indebted to the regime, they often see little reason to remain loyal when a popular uprising breaks out. Under freezing regimes, the armed forces may be willing to intervene, as they do not see the regime as the tool of a personal despot, but rather as the pillar of a system. In Czechoslovakia, the military offered to repress the demonstrations, but the regime simply froze as it was too paralyzed to accept the offer.130 Now that this chapter has shown the conditions under which a revolution is likely to break out, it is time to consider how maturing regimes (in Poland and Hungary) realized that a revolutionary situation was emerging and decided to initiate negotiations with the opposition. Chapter 6 also looks at failed totalitarian regimes that lost power through violent civil wars or invasions. It shows that even if these special cases differed somewhat from the other cases, the theory of revolutionary potential developed in this book applies to them as well to some extent.

130

This is discussed in Saxonberg, The Fall, Chapter 10.

6

Transitions without revolutions

This chapter examines the transitions that took place without revolutionary uprisings. The focus will be on the negotiated transitions in Poland and Hungary, as well as cases of failed totalitarian regimes. These include those regimes that lost power on the battlefield in a civil war (Ethiopia), through outside invasion (Grenada), or through a protracted civil war that the regime did not lose, but whose costs were so high that society finally rejected the regime altogether (Nicaragua). For heuristic purposes, this book presents the successful revolutions before turning to the negotiated transitions in Poland and Hungary, even though, chronologically speaking, the negotiated transitions took place first. The previous chapter set out the conditions under which a revolutionary situation is likely to arise under communist-led regimes. This chapter will show that in Poland and Hungary a revolutionary situation was emerging, which moved communist rulers to take the initiative for negotiations in order to prevent a revolutionary uprising, or at least to be in a better bargaining position vis-à-vis the opposition before the revolt started. A possible objection would be that this is just an ex post facto construction, since the rulers of Poland and Hungary could not know what would happen later in neighboring countries. These rulers did not have the insight that we social scientists have when we search for patterns. As a counter-argument to this objection, it is worth pointing out that the Polish and Hungarian leaders feared uprisings would occur. Even without prior knowledge about what would happen in neighboring countries, leaders had good reason to assume that a revolutionary situation was arising, based on past experiences. Poland had experienced protests by intellectuals in 1968, and worker uprisings in 1956, 1970, 1976, and 1980–1. Meanwhile, the Hungarian rulers still had vivid memories of the bloody revolt of 1956, when many communist activists were killed. In several important areas, the revolutionary potential of society was greater in 1989 than during those past uprisings. In 1956, the communist regimes in Poland and Hungary enjoyed more ideological legitimacy 244

Transitions without revolutions

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than in 1989. Consequently, demonstrations demanding the reinstatement of popular national-reformist leaders (Gomułka in Poland and Nagy in Hungary) were more attempts to reform the system than to overthrow it. As Soviet leaders still believed in their ideological legitimacy, they were more willing to intervene militarily in 1956 than in 1989, as the events in Hungary made painfully clear. In Poland in 1956, intellectuals did not try to support the workers, as they were more interested in reforms and revisionism than in mobilizing workers. By 1989, however, intellectuals and workers had already been cooperating with one another since the founding of the Committee in Defense of the Workers in 1976, and the creation of the Solidarnos´c´ union movement in 1980. During the previous decades, communist regimes in Hungary and Poland had enjoyed some degree of pragmatic acceptance, which had dissipated by 1989. In addition, in 1989 the economic crisis was more severe and longer-lasting than those of previous decades. Even though Poland and Hungary did not experience revolutionary change as in other East European countries in 1989, some important similarities exist if we compare the previous failed uprisings in Poland and Hungary with the later successful ones in Czechoslovakia, East Germany and Romania. Lessons learned from these previous failed uprisings would have alerted the communist leadership in Poland and Hungary that a revolutionary situation was emerging. First, all the previous mass uprisings took place during periods of economic downturn or declining living standards. Second, the previous uprisings took place during periods of rising expectations for change. Third, the uprisings broke out in response to acts by the regime that caused moral outrage (such as price rises or attacks against demonstrators). The Solidarnos´c´ revolt showed how great the potential for mass rebellion can be if these conditions are met, and intellectuals begin cooperating with workers. Space does not permit a detailed account of these factors here, but I do provide such an analysis in my book The Fall.1 These examples show that the Polish and Hungarian communist leaders had good reason to fear that a revolt would break out in the late 1980s. They had already seen mass uprisings in their respective countries under similar circumstances: rising expectations followed by economic downturn and/or declining living standards; intellectuals cooperating with workers; and the regime doing something to outrage the populace. By the late 1980s, all these conditions existed: the 1

Steven Saxonberg, The Fall: A Comparative Study of the End of Communism in Czechoslovakia, East Germany, Hungary and Poland (Amsterdam/London: Harwood Academic/Routledge, 2001), Chapter 8.

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economies had been declining in both countries for most of the decade, and the mounting debt crisis threatened to lead to hyperinflation and possible economic collapse. Expectations for change were rising with the ascent of Gorbachev to the red throne in the Soviet Union. Once Gorbachev announced his economic and political reforms and made clear he would not intervene in the affairs of Soviet allies, the population no longer had any reason to pragmatically accept the argument that democratic reforms and greater human rights would invite attack by their Soviet neighbor. Under these circumstances, the Polish and Hungarian leaders could not take measures to restructure the economy and bring inflation under control, as they knew such a move would outrage the population. Leaders in Poland and Hungary lacked the legitimacy necessary to convince their people that tough economic measures would enable the economy to recover after a few years of suffering. However, these leaders also knew that if they did not take such measures, their countries would no longer be able to pay back their foreign debts, and would ultimately collapse under mounting inflationary pressures. Given the existence of Solidarnos´c´ in Poland and the emergence of new political parties in Hungary, leaders in these countries also had reason to believe that intellectuals would try to mobilize workers (and peasants) if the regimes outraged the populace by introducing measures that lowered living standards in the short run. Consequently, based on their own experiences, Polish and Hungarian leaders were afraid that a revolutionary situation was emerging, even if they probably would not have used the exact terminology of this book to describe the situation, However, while these leaders had reason to fear that society’s revolutionary potential was rapidly growing, that does not automatically mean they concluded that a revolutionary situation was emerging. This will be discussed below for each country. Then the non-revolutionary transitions in the failed totalitarian states will be briefly discussed. Transition through negotiated transitions Poland Although the military coup was able to crush the Solidarnos´c´ revolt, the new regime was unable to solve the country’s economic crisis. By 1987, real wages were still around 20 percent lower than in 1980.2 Meanwhile, 2

Batara Simatupang, The Polish Economic Crisis: Background, Causes and Aftermath (London and New York: Routledge, 1994), p. 194.

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in 1988, the debt service ratio had increased to 68 percent.3 The need to pay back the debts strained state finances so much that, by 1989, Poland was suffering from hyperinflation.4 Leading economists agreed that tough economic measures would be necessary to restore the economy, even if that implied lower living standards in the short run. However, the regime lacked the legitimacy necessary to convince the population to accept such measures. The Solidarnos´c´ uprising had made the regime painfully aware of its lack of ideological legitimacy. How could it claim to represent the workers, when over 10 million workers had joined the Solidarnos´c´ union and millions more had participated in the uprising led by this union? The imposition of martial law by a military government made it clear that the regime was in power because of its military might rather than its ability to represent workers. But the military leaders knew the economy was in dire straits, and that they would need some degree of societal support to carry out needed reforms. The Party general secretary, General Jaruzelski, therefore decided to try to co-opt portions of the opposition. These attempts at co-optation began one year after martial law was introduced. In 1982, Jaruzelski disbanded the old Communist union and created a new union, the OPZZ (the All Poland Alliance of Trade Unions). However, only around half the workforce joined the union, compared with the nearly 100 percent of workers that had been members of the former union.5 The mere fact that half the population dared to refrain from joining the government union shows that society had become more open. That same year, Jaruzelski also set up the Patriotic Movement for National Rebirth (PRON), which was to be a platform for all “patriotic forces” – including non-communists – to discuss society’s problems. One of its leading members, Milkolaj Kozakiewicz, conceded that the public essentially ignored the organization.6 Jaruzelski also established several 3

4

5 6

Manfred-Jürgen Baumann, “Verschuldung und Verschuldungsfähigkeit sozialististischer Staaten,” pp. 23–36 in Rüdiger Zellentin, ed., Ostpanorama Sonderausgabe 1989, 22nd International Seminar on East–West Trade (Linz: Gesellschaft für Ost- und Südostkunde, 1989), p. 34. Olivier Blanchard and Richard Layard “Economic Change in Poland,” in Janusz Beksiak, Tomasz Gruszecki, Aleksander Jedraszczyk, Jan Winiecki, Olivier Blanchard, and Richard Layard, The Polish Transformation: Programme and Progress (London: Centre for Research into Communist Economies, 1990), pp. 63–83; David Lipton and Jeffrey Sachs, “Poland’s Economic Reform,” Foreign Affairs, Summer (1990): 47–66; Domenico Mario Nuti “Internal and International Aspects of Monetary Disequilibrium in Poland,” European Economy, 43 (1990): 169–82. Klaus Ziemer, “Auf dem Weg zum Systemwandel in Polen: 1. Politische Reformen und Reformversuche 1980 bis 1988,” Osteuropa, 39:9 (1989): 801. André Gerrits, The Failure of Authoritarian Change: Reform, Opposition and Geo-Politics in Poland in the 1980s (Aldershot: Dartmouth, 1990), p. 98.

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new institutions to increase the appearance of legality, such as a state tribunal in 1982 and a constitutional tribunal in 1985. The constitutional tribunal was to determine the constitutionality of governmental legislation. Furthermore, an ombudsman was installed in 1987.7 The main tool for co-opting the opposition was a consultative council, established in 1986. It included 56 members, most of whom were specialists on economic and social policy. About 70 percent of its members did not belong to any political party. Some were even close to Solidarnos´c´. Non-Communist specialists had access to a forum for discussing problems with the Party. In this way, the Party leadership hoped to become informed of the problems and ideas of non-Party members. However, this council had no real decision-making powers, and so failed to generate much public enthusiasm.8 That same year, the Polish regime took several other measures to gain opposition support, such as: announcing an amnesty for political prisoners; introducing reform proposals for privatization and for extensive use of the market; establishing closer relations with the Church; and loosening censorship restrictions. However, none of these measures succeeded in giving the regime any credibility.9 This unusual type of “consultative democracy” was possible in Poland because Jaruzelski still enjoyed some amount of reformist pragmatic acceptance during his first years in power. He had based his pragmatic acceptance on the need to continue reforms, while preventing the Soviet Union from invading. This pragmatic acceptance gave Jaruzelski more room to maneuver than freezing regimes with more conservative pragmatic acceptance (East Germany and Czechoslovakia) enjoyed. At first, Gorbachev’s rise to power made it easier for Jaruzelski to introduce more radical reforms. At the same time, it also made it more difficult to get the population to pragmatically accept the argument that their leaders were going as far with reforms as the Soviet Union would allow (especially when Gorbachev announced his policy of non-interference in fraternal regimes). Opinion polls showed waning support for the regime. A former Politburo member, Janusz Reykowski, cites a survey showing that Jaruzelski’s approval rating fell from 71% to 44% between 1985 and 1989.10 Meanwhile, support for Wałe˛sa increased from 45% to 85% during the same period. To be sure, there are problems with the reliability of surveys taken under dictatorial rule; still, the fact that a former Politburo member cites the survey indicates 7 9 10

8 Ibid., pp. 87–9. Cf. Ziemer, “Auf dem Weg,” 801. Janine P. Holc, “Solidarity and the Polish State: Competing Discursive Strategies on the Road to Power,” East European Politics and Societies, 6:2 (1992): 124. Janusz Reykowski, “Resolving of the Large Scale Political Conflict: The Case of the Round Table Negotiations in Poland,” revised version of paper presented at the 1990 Texas A&M Symposium on Group Conflict.

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that the communist leaders seem to have believed in the accuracy of such surveys. In Jaruzelski’s view, the turning point came in 1987, when his referendum on economic reforms failed. This setback made him realize he needed the support of the opposition in order to stabilize the economy.11 Pressure on the regime to do something increased in 1988. In March and August, new waves of strikes began. These were wildcat strikes organized without the support of Solidarnos´c´. A younger generation of radicals had emerged that threatened to draw support away from the more moderate Solidarnos´c´ leaders. Despite Przeworski’s assertion that the radical faction of the opposition posed a threat to a democratic transition, the Polish radicals in fact became a catalyst for such a transition.12 In the relatively open social climate in the country, softliners had already been able to establish contacts with Solidarnos´c´ leaders. The official magazine, Konfrontace, published an interview with the KOR activist Bronisław Geremek, in which Geremek suggested guidelines for dialogue between the opposition and the government. In the words of former Politburo member Reykowski: “It became clear the longer martial law lasted, the greater the opposition would become and the greater the force that would be needed in the future.”13 In contrast to freezing regimes in Czechoslovakia, East Germany, and Romania, the maturing Polish regime had an easier time initiating negotiations with the opposition as it was less constrained by conservative pragmatic acceptance. Even though the population was skeptical of Jaruzelski because of his role in imposing martial law, he could claim, as a general, that he had carried out the coup in order to prevent civil war and a Soviet invasion, rather than to restore communist orthodoxy. Throughout the 1980s, Jaruzelski used increasingly non-communist terms to defend his power. He tried to portray himself as a politically neutral officer rather than as a communist normalizer. He even chose a patriotic and ideologically neutral title for his memoirs: My Life for Poland. In his book, Jaruzelski portrayed himself as a nationalist and professional soldier, who had maintained Polish independence by preventing a Soviet invasion. Given the rising threat posed by a new generation of more radical postSolidarnos´c´ activists, softliners had strong incentives to strike a deal with the moderate opposition.14 They preferred dealing with the more cautious

11 12 13

Interview with Jaruzelski in Time Magazine (December 31, 1990), cited in Saxonberg, The Fall, Chapter 3. Adam Przeworski, Democracy and the Market (Cambridge University Press, 1991), p. 73. Interviewed April 23, 1993. 14 Przeworski, Democracy and the Market.

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and experienced Solidarnos´c´ leaders to negotiating with the young shop floor militants. Schöpflin concludes that Jaruzelski’s decision to start negotiations was “probably strengthened by the fear that if underground Solidarity also lost its authority over society, there would be no negotiating partner for the régime at all.”15 Even though the regime initiated negotiations with the opposition, it did not actually expect these negotiations to lead to free elections. Rather, the goal was to achieve a trade-off in which the regime shared power with the opposition in return for co-responsibility.16 By co-opting the moderate opposition, the regime softliners could create a “new center” that would marginalize both regime hardliners and radical unionists.17 Stanislaw Gebethner, who led the regime’s negotiating group on constitutional reforms, recalls that softliners at first wanted to avoid free elections and instead to allocate a set number of seats to the opposition in the Polish parliament, the Sejm.18 Solidarnos´c´ did well at the negotiating table, however, and succeeded in gaining the government’s approval for free elections to a newly created senate, as well as to one-third of the seats in the Sejm. The regime also reserved seats for its own docile, pro-government parties. After Solidarnos´c´ won all the freely contested seats, however, these formerly docile parties started acting – to the surprise of the regime – like real political parties, and decided to form a coalition government with Solidarnos´c´. For the first time since 1948, a noncommunist government now held the reins of power in Poland. Hungary Like Poland, Hungary was experiencing a grave economic crisis, and was on the edge of total collapse. Even though communist regimes almost always overestimated actual performance in their official statistics, the official records showed that growth had fallen by 9 percent in 1989.19 15 16

17 18 19

George Schöpflin, Politics in Eastern Europe (Oxford and Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell, 1993), p. 213. Stanislaw Gebethner, a political scientist who participated at the round table talks for the Communists, admits this; see his “Political Reform in the Process of Round Table Negotiations,” in George Sanford, ed., Democratization in Poland, 1988–90: Polish Voices (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1992), p. 59. See also Jon Elster, “Constitution-Making In Eastern Europe: Rebuilding the Boat in the Open Sea,” Public Administration, 71:1–2 (1993): 202; Andrzej W. Tymowski, “Poland’s Unwanted Social Revolution,” East European Politics and Societies, 7:2 (1993): 182; and Włodzimierz Wesołowski, “Transition from Authoritarianism to Democracy,” Social Research, 57:2 (1990): 439. Jadwiga Staniszkis, The Dynamics of the Breakthrough in Eastern Europe: The Polish Experience, trans. Chester A. Kisiel (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), p. 76. Gebethner, “Political Reform,” 53. United Nations, National Accounts Statistics: Main Aggregates and Detailed Tables, 1989, parts I and II (New York: UN, 1991), p. 442.

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Net investment fell by almost half in Hungary between 1986 and 1989; and by 1989, it was only 38 percent of its 1975 level! Foreign debt per capita was the highest in the communist world – around 70 percent higher than in Poland.20 Consumption levels were also 4.1 percent lower in 1989 than in 1987. The only reason consumption levels did not decline even further was because they were sustained by imports from the West. The former president of the National Bank of Hungary, Ference Bartha, notes that Hungary found itself “in a condition of relative overspending.”21 As in Poland, Hungarian debt strained state finances, and sent inflation soaring. In May 1988, the monthly inflation rate was 13 percent.22 There is widespread agreement that the economic crisis lay at the heart of the reformers’ decision to advocate negotiations with the opposition. Even most of the hardliners agreed that the country faced an enormous economic crisis. However, hardliners believed they could initiate a transition to a market economy without giving up their monopoly of power. Thus, the hardliners devised notions of one-party pluralism.23 The idea was that various interest groups could exist and represent the interests of their members, while the Party would maintain its monopoly of power and act as a mediator between competing interest groups. In the open social climate of this maturing post-communist regime, dissenting social scientists were able to publish studies indicating the extent of the crisis, and often cooperated openly with leading communist officials. The criticisms made by these social scientists shook reformers’ confidence that changes within the existing system could ultimately save it.24 In 1986, Imre Pozsgay, a Politburo member and leader of the Patriotic People’s Front, sanctioned an economic report, Turning Point and Reform, which harshly criticized the economic system. The authors were allegedly employees of the Hungarian Ministry of Finance and the Institute of Economics at the Academy of Sciences.25 When the Central Committee rejected the report, Pozsgay had it published through the

20 21 22 23

24 25

My calculations are based on Saxonberg, ‘The Fall’, doctoral dissertation, Uppsala University, 1997, p. 54. Ference Bartha, “The External Financial Situation and the Macro-Level Flow of Sources between 1986 and 1988,” The Hungarian Economy, 1 (1989): 3. Die Zeit, May 27, 1988. László Bruszt, “1989: The Negotiated Revolution in Hungary,” Social Research, 2 (1990): 365–89; George Schöpflin, “Conservatism in Hungary,” Problems of Communism, January– April (1991): 60–8; Jason McDonald, “Transition to Utopia: A Reinterpretation of Economics, Ideas, and Politics in Hungary, 1984 to 1990,” East European Politics and Societies, 57:2 (1993): 203–39. See Chapter 7 of Saxonberg, The Fall, for a discussion of the open social climate in Hungary. Schöpflin, “Conservatism in Hungary,” 61 n. 2.

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Patriotic People’s Front. Thus, the above-ground discourse was critical enough to influence the reformists; they did not need to search underground for radical inspiration. At the same time that the economy was deteriorating, expectations for change were rising. Gorbachev’s new policies made it increasingly difficult for the population to pragmatically accept the notion that they must accept a one-party dictatorship because the Soviet Union would not allow democratization. Since Gorbachev had gone much further in his reforms than Khrushchev had done in the 1950s, and since he had openly stated he would not intervene in the domestic affairs of allied countries, Hungarians had good reason to hope that their leaders would continue their reformist tradition and go very far toward liberalizing the country. Thus, the opposition was becoming increasing active. In April 1988, FIDESZ formed as an alternative to the official communist youth organization.26 Later it became a political party and took part in the round-table talks. Meanwhile, another new party, the Alliance of Free Democrats (SZDSZ), emerged from dissident circles based on an alliance of base groups called Network.27 In September, the Hungarian Democratic Forum (MDF) officially announced it planned to register as a political party.28 Other independent groups also appeared, which directly lobbied the ruling party but had no intention of becoming parties in their own right.29 Thus, the revolutionary potential of society was increasing. The regime enjoyed little ideological legitimacy and expectations for change were rising. Even if a regime loses its ideological legitimacy it can hold on to power as long as the population pragmatically accepts its rule. However, by then the population was no longer willing to pragmatically accept the notion that 26

27 28 29

Sarah Humphrey, “A Comparative Chronology of Revolution, 1988–1990,” in Gwyn Prins, ed., Spring in Winter: The 1989 Revolutions (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 1990), pp. 211–40; András Körösényi, “The Decay of Communist Rule in Hungary,” in András Bozóki, András Körösényi and George Schöpflin, eds., PostCommunist Transition, Emerging Pluralism in Hungary (London and New York: Pinter Publishers and St. Martin’s Press 1992), pp. 1–12. Humphrey puts the founding date of FIDESZ in April 1988; Körösényi puts it in March. László Lengyel, “The Character of the Political Parties in Hungary (Autumn 1989),” in Bozóki et al., Post-Communist Transition, p. 38. Humphrey, “A Comparative Chronology of Revolution.” Peter Szirmai (interviewed March 16, 1993), co-chair of the National Association of Entrepreneurs, provides an ironic example of a new lobbying group. He claims the communist government in 1988–9 listened more to his organization than did the conservative government which came to power in 1990! He adds that he had good relations with the reform communists, and even attended the Party congress in 1989 as an observer. He had especially good contact with Prime Minister Németh, whom he knew from the university. Although he cannot think of any particular issue over which he got the government to change its policy, contacts of this kind likely influenced the thinking of the reform communists in general.

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the Soviet Union would prevent the regime from going far in liberalization and the opposition had become more active. Intellectuals no longer believed in revisionism; rather, they believed they should try to mobilize the population against the regime. The economy was deteriorating so much that workers might easily conclude they would have little to lose by revolting. The political leaders believed, as in Poland, that radical steps were needed to bring the debt crisis under control, and to prevent hyperinflation. However, they also believed that they lacked the legitimacy needed to convince the population to accept reforms that would lower living standards in the short run, for the promise of long-term benefits in the future. Several former communist functionaries whom I interviewed confided that the leadership was afraid that, if something were not done soon, the deteriorating economic situation would lead to a revolution.30 They felt that, if the economic decline continued, it would only be possible to stop the opposition through violent repression. Rezső Nyers – architect of the economic reforms in the 1960s and general secretary of the ruling Hungarian Workers’ Party during its negotiations with the opposition – admits the system was collapsing and that reformers wanted a peaceful transition.31 The rulers no longer felt they could govern the country, or that they could maintain the one-party system. Nyers links the collapse with the economic situation. He adds that the reason the regime could no longer govern was because the necessary economic measures would have required sacrifices from the population, which in turn would have required a legitimate government. The rulers were sure the population would not accept these sacrifices as long as the communists remained in power. Laszlo Váss, who served as advisor to Politburo member Pozsgay, adds that Hungarians might have accepted a compromise if it had been “tolerable.” If they were provoked, though, they would not accept it.32 The events of 1956, he asserts, showed that a rebellion against the Party was possible. Even Lázló Urbán, a Hungarian economist who believes society was far from a revolution in 1989, agrees that “in the mind of the Kádárist communist leadership, the memory of the 1956 uprising was still very vivid and they were concerned about a repeat scenario of that kind.”33 30

31 33

For example, Tibor Hajdu (interviewed March 12, 1993), the former editor of a secret newspaper for the Party-state elite, claims the leaders believed it would be impossible to maintain peace in society if the economy continued to decline. Interviewed April 8, 1993. 32 Interviewed March 12, 1993. László Urban, “Why was the Hungarian Transition Exceptionally Peaceful?” in György Szoboszlai, ed., Democracy and Political Transformation: Theories and East-Central European Realities (Budapest: Hungarian Political Science Association, 1991), p. 305. He also adds, however, that this fear had existed during the previous three decades. Nevertheless, my interviews indicate that, as long as the regime was able to raise living standards, the leaders were not afraid that society would reject the Kádár compromise of continued authoritarian rule in return for rising living standards and relative cultural freedom.

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Since the Hungarian communists feared an outbreak of revolution, and since they led a maturing regime with a reformist pragmatic acceptance, it was much easier for them to initiate negotiations with the opposition than it was for the freezing and patrimonial regimes in neighboring countries. To be sure, Gorbachev’s rise to power deprived the long-time general secretary, János Kádár, of part of his pragmatic acceptance (since Kádár could no longer claim the Soviet Union was preventing him from going further with reforms). Since the Hungarian communists had based their pragmatic acceptance on testing the borders of what the Kremlin would allow, the younger Communists were willing to go even further and to democratize society. Nonetheless, Kádár still based his power on the repression of the 1956 uprising. His lesson from these events was that multiparty democracy and independence from the USSR were “counterrevolutionary.” According to Ivan Volgyes, Kádár insisted that the Hungarian regime continue to be cautious, as it was not clear whether Soviet policy would continue to take a more radical reformist direction.34 The younger reformers, who orchestrated Kádár’s removal from power in 1988, were no longer bound to the portion of the regime’s pragmatic acceptance that was tied to the repression of the 1956 uprising. Instead, they were able to exploit the reformist practice of the Party’s pragmatic acceptance, which involved testing the limits of what the USSR would allow.35 Since it was clear those limits had greatly expanded, the younger generation went on the offensive. Two of the most prominent reformists, Pozsgay and Karoly Németh, were too young to have been implicated in the post-invasion repression of the late 1950s. The reformist credentials of the older Nyers were also strong. He had introduced the New Economic Mechanism in the 1960s, and he had been demoted from the Secretariat and the Politburo in the early 1970s as punishment for being too radical. Furthermore, he had been a Social Democrat before the forced merger of the two workers’ parties. Hence, he could claim he had maintained his democratic faith all along. By contrast, the hardliners were mostly older, and more directly implicated in the post-1956 repression. By the time negotiations began in the summer of 1989, the reformers had outmaneuvered the conservatives.36 As long as the Kremlin refrained from intervening, the reformers could claim they were continuing the Party’s pragmatic acceptance, which after all involved testing the limits

34 35 36

Ivan Volgyes, “Leadership Drift in Hungary: Empirical Observations on a Normative Concept,” Studies in Comparative Communism, 1 (1989): 36. Volgyes, “Leadership Drift in Hungary,” 31, refers to “the younger (more technocratic) and the older (more ideologically-minded) members of the ruling elite.” For a detailed discussion of this, see, Saxonberg, The Fall, Chapter 9.

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of what Moscow would allow. They therefore decided to negotiate rules for democratic elections with the opposition. In contrast to their counterparts in Poland, Hungarian reformists did not even try to obtain the kinds of guarantees that democratization theorists assume liberalizers will always try to obtain.37 Instead, the main point at issue during the negotiations was whether the president should be elected directly or by parliament – not whether the communists should enjoy any special privileges, such as the guarantee of a certain number of seats in parliament. The elections did not turn out as well for the reformed communists as they had expected. The liberal opposition party demanded a referendum on electing the president, because it wanted to have parliament elect the president, while the communists wanted to have a direct popular election. The liberals reasoned that the popular reformist communist leader Pozsgay would probably win a direct popular election but would not have a chance to get majority support from a freely elected parliament, since the communists could hardly expect to gain a majority of seats. The referendum to have parliament choose the president passed by a narrow margin, depriving Pozsgay of the chance of becoming president. The original leadership of the MDF had had close relations with Pozsgay, opening up the possibility of a governing coalition between reform communists and the MDF. However, the dynamics of the negotiating process made the MDF hostile toward the reformist communists, since the MDF had to compete with other non-communist parties for popular support. The MDF changed its leadership, and the new leaders were stronger anti-communists, which made cooperation between MDF and the reformed communists nearly impossible. Although the reformed communists did much better than their Polish comrades in the elections, the conservative parties were able to form a coalition government under the leadership of the MDF.38 Militant insurgencies The basic model in this book assumes that the revolutions will be nonviolent. Even the Romanian case fits this description. Even though the regime in Romania used high levels of repression to fight the rebellion, the revolt began as non-violent protests, as in East Germany and Czechoslovakia. Moreover, the military acted mainly to defend the 37

38

Przeworski, Democracy and the Market; Guillermo O’Donnell and Philippe C. Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Conclusions about Uncertain Democracies (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986); Russell Bova, “Political Dynamics of the Post-Communist Transition: A Comparative Perspective,” World Politics, 43:1 (1991): 113–38. For more details, see Saxonberg, The Fall, chapters 1 and 9.

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helpless demonstrators, rather than to participate in a planned, protracted, armed struggle against the regime. In fact, in Romania the opposition had basically wanted to carry out a non-violent revolution as in East Germany and Czechoslovakia, thus the army did not have an armed struggle to support even if it had wanted to do so. In such cases as Nicaragua and Ethiopia, where the opposition did plan to take power through protracted armed struggle, the dynamics differed greatly from those seen in the quick, relatively spontaneous, non-violent revolutions in Eastern Europe. The dynamics of change also differed for cases like Grenada, where the regime fell after an invasion by a foreign power. Armed struggles differ from non-violent revolutions in several important ways, since they take place under failed totalitarian regimes which have not succeeded in institutionalizing their power, and so have never gained hegemony or ideological legitimacy. Moreover, because armed struggles tend to be protracted, they are not always caused by frustrated rising expectations or feelings of outrage. Rather, they take place because certain sectors of the populace do not accept the legitimacy of the regime. In both Nicaragua and Ethiopia, the regimes were never able to consolidate their power, and armed rebellion began almost as soon as it came to power. In the Ethiopian case, the Eritrean conflict had been going on for over a decade before the regime came to power. Whereas non-violent anticommunist uprisings have generally been against the Party-state, protracted armed struggles have often been fought along ethnic lines. This was particularly true in Ethiopia, where different ethnic groups created their own liberation movements. In Nicaragua, ethnicity also played a role – if less prominent than in Ethiopia – as native American Indian tribes organized against the Sandinistas. Furthermore, revolutionary groups engaged in long-term armed struggle behave in much closer accordance with public-choice theory than do their non-violent counterparts. While non-violent revolutionaries have no way of rewarding participants or punishing free-riders, leaders of guerrilla movements do have ways to do this. Fred Halliday and Maxine Molyneux’s description of the Eritrean guerrilla movements strongly resembles Michael Taylor’s description of the political entrepreneurs among the Viet Cong in Vietnam: The Eritrean guerrilla movement was not a spontaneous one, any more than others in Africa, or in Indo-China. It was built up on the basis of an effective system of political organization, which borrowed from forms common in the Arab world, and, in certain respects, from the Leninist model . . . Both the main [Eritrean guerrilla] groups claimed to represent the oppressed peasants and workers and called for cultural and social transformation. Both carried out mass literacy and other social welfare programmes and maintained a visible egalitarianism of

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living conditions in their own ranks. But both also maintained strong political discipline amongst their followers and dealt mercilessly with those who, for whatever reason, opposed the leadership policies.39

Here we see the classic behavior of political entrepreneurs, who reward supportive villages by carrying out social policies, but who do not hesitate to punish those who oppose them. Similarly, John Young notes that, from 1980 to 1982, the TPLF was able to quintuple its recruits, “with most new recruits coming from the peasantry.” One of the main reasons for this was that “with growing numbers of experienced cadres, the TPLF developed the capacity to move from political appeals and displays of commitment to the peasants’ welfare, to responding to the peasants’ needs for land reforms and democratic institutions.”40 This contrasted with the extremely repressive policies of the Derg, which made the Derg extremely unpopular with the peasants. In Tigray, the Derg closed most rural schools in the area (on the pretext that teachers there sympathized with the TPLF). Rape by regime soldiers was reportedly a common occurrence in the area and if somebody disappeared to leave the country or join the opposition, the regime “would commonly arrest the person’s parents. This often led to the other children leaving and joining the opposition.”41 Consequently, the practices of the TPLF contrasted very positively with the policies of the regime, which further encouraged the population to support them against the regime. Despite these differences, the militant insurgencies still show similarities to the other cases of communist regimes losing power. One such similarity is the fact that their economies are usually in dire straits when they lose power. Another similarity is that, in all cases, frustrated expectations and feelings of moral outrage played a role in the regime’s eventual overthrow. To some extent these cases are outliers that give support to the general conclusions. This section now considers the Ethiopian, Nicaraguan, and Grenadian cases. Ethiopia As noted earlier, the Ethiopian regime found itself in a unique situation in that it never gained ideological legitimacy, despite the fact that the main 39

40 41

Fred Halliday and Maxine Molyneux, The Ethiopian Revolution (London: Verso, 1981), p. 181, my emphasis. For Taylor’s description of the Vietnamese communist guerrillas, see Michael Taylor, “Rationality and Revolutionary Collective Action,” in Taylor, ed., Rationality and Revolution (Cambridge University Press, 1988). John Young, Peasant Revolution in Ethiopia: The Tigray People’s Liberation Front, 1975– 1991 (Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 124. Young, Peasant Revolution, p. 119.

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opposition movements and rebel organizations all considered themselves to be Marxist-Leninist. Thus the problem was not that little acceptance existed for Marxism-Leninism, but that many intellectual leaders of various political organizations refused to recognize the military leaders of the regime as the proper guardians of this ideology. Despite this lack of ideological legitimacy, the Mengistu regime in Ethiopia tried to carry out a hardline ideological policy, but one modeled along the lines more of Kim’s patrimonial totalitarianism than of the traditional East European model. Mengistu was impressed by Kim’s personality cult and tried to institute a similar system of personalistic rule in Ethiopia, but without the more patrimonial element of placing family members in high positions. In contrast to Kim, he ruled over a multi-ethnic society, in which certain ethnic groups dominated different areas of the country. Mengistu faced similar problems as the Yugoslav and Soviet regimes. Rather than attempt some sort of federal solution, he tried to defeat many of the ethnic groups in military combat. The Eritreans were especially well-prepared for this conflict, having already engaged in a civil war for over a decade with the previous regime.42 Another important difference between Mengistu and other communist dictators is that he does not seem to have developed any kind of political base, having alienated all of the country’s Marxist organizations at an early stage. He even had his ideological mentor, Haile Fida, executed!43 When he created the Workers’ Party, he did so in stages, thus allowing himself to purge all the important people of all the organizations that had joined together to build the party. This caused most of the organizations to leave the coalition before the party was actually formed. Thus, as Tiruneh concludes, no degree of pluralism existed, “even when that pluralism was within the accepted bounds of Marxism-Leninism in practice.”44 Of course, other patrimonial leaders, such as Kim in North Korea and Castro in Cuba, introduced a highly personalized form of rule as well, but Kim did so after first building up a loyal group of cadres within the Party and state organs, while Castro was rapidly able to gain the support of many workers, peasants, and ethnic minorities. Mengistu, by contrast, quickly alienated workers, peasants and the major ethnic minorities by carrying out brutally repressive policies that failed to give any of these groups any material interest in supporting him. 42

43 44

Their armed rebellion began in 1961. See for example Jonathan Baker, Ethiopia’s Road to Perestroika: In Search of the End of the Rainbow? Current African Issues 9 (Uppsala: Scandinavian Institute of African Studies, 1990), p. 8. Andargachew Tiruneh, The Ethiopian Revolution 1974–1987: A Transformation from an Aristocratic to a Totalitarian Autocracy (Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 237. Tiruneh, The Ethiopian Revolution, p. 263.

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Mobilization on the basis of ethnicity, moreover, played a greater role in Ethiopia than in any other communist-ruled country. However, notwithstanding these distinctive features of the Ethiopian case, some of the same mechanisms helped topple the regime as in Eastern Europe. Although frustrated rising expectations for reform did not start the armed rebellion against his regime, they did influence the ability of rebels to mobilize the populace against this regime. As in Eastern Europe, Gorbachev’s rise to power and the fall of European communist regimes gave the populace hopes that Mengistu would carry out reforms. Paul B. Henze argues that one of the turning points in the civil war in Ethiopia came in 1990, when the regime announced a reform package which was much less radical than expected.45 Frustration over the lack of more far-reaching reforms turned several groups against the regime. According to Henze, once the populace’s expectations of reforms were frustrated, the regime proceeded to outrage the populace by executing a group of critical officers who had tried to initiate a coup.46 As in Eastern Europe, the combination of frustrated rising expectations and feelings of outrage induced the populace to support a revolution, which in turn helped the various armed rebel groups win military battles. EPRDF victories in Ambo, Dessie, Kombolcha, Mile, and some strategic towns in Wello and Shewa “sent waves of shock which shattered the morale of the government in early May [1991]” and induced Mengistu to defect and to seek asylum in Zimbawbe.47 While the combination of frustrated rising expectations and outrage sparked off the revolutions in Eastern Europe, in Ethiopia they induced the populace to support a revolutionary war that had already been going on for several decades. Grenada The Grenadian and Sandinista regimes also represented failed totalitarian regime types. Tony Thorndike observes that, when the New Jewel Movement came to power in Grenada under the slogan of “people’s power,” it established local parish and rural councils, which “initially enjoyed wide support.” These councils eventually failed to maintain the enthusiasm of the population, though, because “they had no power and no direct role in the decisionmaking process.”48 The moderate leader of 45 46 47 48

Paul B. Henze, Layers of Time: A History of Ethiopia (London: Hurst, 2000), pp. 309, 314, 318. Henze, Layers of Time, pp. 309, 314, 318. Kinfe Abraham, Ethiopia from Bullets to the Ballot Box: The Bumpy Road to Democracy and the Political Economy of Transition (Lawrenceville, NJ: Red Sea Press), p. 3. Tony Thorndike, “People’s Power,” in Jorge Heine, ed., A Revolution Aborted: The Lessons of Grenada (University of Pittsburgh Press, 1990), p. 41.

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the Grenadian regime, Maurice Bishop, became in fact too popular for his hardline colleagues on the Central Committee. Furthermore, while Bishop was extremely popular, he remained so by never revealing his Marxist-Leninist ideology to the population. Instead, he used populistdemocratic slogans that gave hope that, after overthrowing its authoritarian predecessor, the regime would follow a democratic and left-leaning “progressive” path. The regime’s Marxist-Leninist emphasis on maintaining an ideologically pure elitist organization ensured its isolation from the population, as very few people were considered “worthy” of admission to the organization. When Bishop came to power in 1979, the New Jewel Movement only had eighty members. Four years later, the total had only increased to four hundred.49 The more the regime took an authoritarian turn, the less popular it became. “In March, 1983, a report to the Central Committee concluded that the government was ‘close to losing its links with the masses’. The decision to restrict the size of party membership resulted in administrative overload, as overworked officials suffered mental and physical exhaustion.”50 The regime’s repressive instincts went so far that the regime even arrested groups of Rastafarians and cut their hair, despite the fact that many Rastafarians had supported the New Jewel Movement when it came to power.51 Like its counterparts in Eastern Europe, the regime fell during a period of economic downturn. Even though the economy grew during the first two years of rule by the New Jewel Movement, real GDP fell by 2.2 percent in 1982–3, while manufacturing suffered “a substantial drop in 1983.”52 Meanwhile, the state finances were growing out of control as the government deficit rose from 3.3 percent in 1978 to 32.3 percent by 1982. The deficit continued to climb the following year: “Cash-flow problems mounted and reached crisis proportions by 1983.”53 This combination of increased authoritarianism and economic decline frustrated Grenadians hopes for change. “By the fourth year of the revolution the populace had grown disillusioned with the PRG. The economic downturn meant the government struggled to meet Grenadians’ increased socio-economic expectations and the Marxist-Leninist dogmatism of the

49 50 51 52 53

John Walton Cotman, The Gorríon Tree: Cuba and the Grenada Revolution (New York: Peter Lang, 1993), p. 234. Gary Williams, “Prelude to an Intervention: Grenada 1983,” Journal of Latin American Studies, 29:1 (1997): 136. Cotman, The Gorríon Tree, pp. 186–7. Wallace Joefield-Napier, “Macroeconomic Growth Under the People’s Revolutionary Government: An Assessment,” in Heine, A Revolution Aborted, pp. 92, 93. Gregory Sandford and Richard Vigilante, Grenada: The Untold Story (London: Madison Books, 1984), p. 86.

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PRG had little in common with the masses and alienated the small middle-class sector.”54 An internal report in 1983 complained that, by late 1982, about 80 percent of regime-affiliated national youth organizations had collapsed, while attendance at mass rallies had become embarrassingly meager. “Unison Whiteman told a Central Committee meeting on September 14 that a recent ‘Bolivar Day’ rally had turned out 10 Grenadians; while a ‘Vietnam/Peace Day’ rally had produced 20 plus a contingent of the PRA [People’s Revolutionary Army ].”55 Like its East European counterparts, the Grenadian regime now found itself in a situation where it enjoyed little ideological legitimacy among the population. However, in contrast with the situation in Eastern Europe, the ruling group (including Bishop) believed firmly in the ideology. The population’s expectations for political reforms after the overthrow of the authoritarian Gairy government had been frustrated. As in Eastern Europe, the economy was having trouble, although this did not form part of a long protracted crisis. Yet, in contrast to its East European counterparts, the regime was even more vulnerable, as it had not yet consolidated its power and officially established a one-party dictatorship. As Wallace Joefield-Napier notes, some observers blame the lack of institutional structures and governmental consolidation on internal squabbling within the New Jewel Movement. According to this argument, it was internal divisions within the ruling party that caused the revolution to crumble before the new regime had a chance to consolidate and institutionalize its power. Heine disagrees: Although there is something to be said for this argument, it fails to address the real issue. The evidence indicates that the crisis erupted precisely at the moment when the revolution was about to consolidate. The buildup of those institutions, through the constitutional commission appointed in July 1983 and the elections to be held in the wake of the constitutional consultation process, had just started. It is difficult to escape the conclusion that the timing of the Coard faction’s bid for power was designed to avoid the institutionalization or consolidation of Maurice Bishop’s rule, in which case, blaming the failure of the revolution on its lack of institutionalization is a non sequitur. In some sense, the revolution failed because it was about to institutionalize itself.56

The decision to arrest Bishop outraged the population and sparked protests. While the US invaded before a full-scale rebellion could break out, the partial mobilization of the population against the regime obviously 54 55 56

Williams, “Prelude to an Intervention,” 136. Sandford and Vigilante, Grenada, p. 143. Jorge Heine, “The Hero and the Apparatchik: Charismatic Leadership, Political Management, and Crisis in Revolutionary Grenada,” in Heine, A Revolution Aborted, p. 247.

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made the regime more vulnerable to the American attack. After Bishop’s arrest became public on October 18, 1983, “around 500 people demonstrated in Grenville, Gouyave and Sauteurs.” Students occupied the Pearls airport and forced it to close for several hours, “and schools and factors closed as the people took to the streets chanting ‘No Bishop, no revo.’”57 Moreover, “Word of the arrest had spread around the island and when the Minister of Mobilisation Selwyn Strachan, a henchman of Coard’s, appeared at the offices of the Free West Indian newspaper to announce Bishop’s removal and replacement by Coard, he was shouted down and chased off the premises.”58 Soon the crowds of protesters became larger: “by 9:00 a.m. about 15,000 people, from a population of 85,000, had assembled in St. George’s market square as shops, offices and schools closed. At 9 a.m. about 300–400 of the crowd, mainly schoolchildren, led by Whiteman, Noel, Fitzroy Bain and prominent businessmen marched towards Bishop’s house where he was being held.”59 Under such circumstances, the American invasion met very little resistance, and the New Jewel Movement regime was easily deposed. Nicaragua Like the New Jewel Movement in Grenada, the Sandinistas enjoyed great popularity when they came to power in 1979. As Antoni Kapcia summarizes: In July 1979 the Sandinistas launched their programme of revolutionary transformation in Nicaragua with an undeniably broad base of active support and popularity; in November 1984 that support seemed confirmed unequivocally by the 67 per cent vote for the FSLN in the Revolution’s first elections; in February 1990, however, that same Revolution was brought abruptly to a halt with the 55 per cent vote for an unprecedentedly united opposition.60

Almost all social groups – from the peasantry to the bourgeoisie – supported the revolution that overthrew the autocratic Somoza dynasty. However, as was discussed in Chapter 2, the Sandinistas soon alienated most of their allies when it became clear that the Sandinistas had no interest in sharing real power with anyone else. One of the most famous Sandinistas to leave the movement in protest against the regime’s authoritarian turn was the legendary Edén Pastora, better known as Commander Zero. One source cites Pastora’s recollection of the anti-democratic Leninist tendency within the ruling group: 57 60

Williams, “Prelude to an Intervention,” 155. 58 Ibid., 148. 59 Ibid., 158–9. Antoni Kapcia, “What Went Wrong? The Sandinista Revolution,” Bulletin of Latin American Research 13:3 (1994), 311–18.

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Edén Pastora recounts a meeting of top Sandinista leaders in Tomás Borge’s house shortly after Somoza’s fall which touched on this subject [of holding elections]. Pastora correctly said that no other revolution in history had such universal support as theirs and that none had such an ideal opportunity for true independence and non-alignment. But Henry Ruiz interrupted, saying that Pastora didn’t understand imperialism, that in the contemporary world you were either with Washington or Moscow and freedom from Washington was what the revolution had been about.61

Such experiences drove former Sandinista revolutionary heroes, such as Pastora, into the opposition. From the Sandinistas’ perspective, it might have made sense to pin their hopes on the Soviet Union as a way of escaping American influence. After all, the United States had a long tradition of intervening in Nicaraguan and Latin American affairs, including several invasions and support for the Somoza dynasty. Soviet aid had made it possible for Castro to remain in power in the USA’s own backyard, and Soviet aid had helped Vietnam to defeat the American military. But to the Sandinistas’ chagrin, the Soviet Union was in no position to give the Sandinistas the same support that it had given Castro. By the 1980s, the Soviet economy was running out of steam, and the Soviet military was bogged down in a costly war it could not win in Afghanistan. It was also supporting unsuccessful allies such as Ethiopia. It seemed the Kremlin was overstretching its empire, and so could not give the Sandinistas the aid they had been hoping for. According to Robert Kagan, who worked at the US State Department in the 1980s, the Soviet Union played a major role in pressuring the Sandinistas to hold elections when, in 1984, it caved in to American demands that it refrain from sending airplanes to the Sandinista regime. Kagan claims that the Nicaraguan defense minister, Humberto Ortega, “warned his colleagues in the Directorate that ‘the correlation of forces in the world’ had become ‘very difficult for the socialist camp.’”62 Later, after the Sandinistas fell from power, Ortega also admitted to Kagan that the Sandinistas had agreed to hold the elections in 1984 “because we began detecting that the Soviet Union was not strong . . . [and because] we had the counterrevolution. The elections were a tactical tool, a weapon. They were a bitter pill that had to be swallowed.”63 Whether justified or not, the vision of the USA as an irreconcilable enemy led the Sandinistas to reject the olive branch that President Jimmy 61 62 63

Roger Miranda and William Ratliff, The Civil War in Nicaragua: Inside the Sandinistas (New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers, 1993), p. 283. Robert Kagan, A Twilight Struggle: American Power and Nicaragua 1977–1990 (New York: Free Press, 1996), p. 302. Kagan, A Twilight Struggle, p. 304.

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Carter gave them. The United States, in fact, was the largest source of aid to the Sandinistas during their first eighteen months in power, “providing $118 million in direct aid and encouraging international loans of $262 million and supporting large adjustments in debts.” However, Roger Miranda, who for much of the decade was the right-hand man of Defense Minister Humberto Ortega, wrote after his defection: “And yet it was during these 18 months that the Sandinistas began and institutionalized all the domestic and international policies that challenged both the United States and all other countries in Central America, including precisely the involvement in El Salvador that Daniel Ortega had personally assured Carter would not happen.”64 Miranda also admits that, when Reagan replaced Carter, Reagan made the Sandinistas an even more attractive offer, by dropping Carter’s “concern for human rights and democracy within Nicaragua” and granting the Sandinistas the “freedom to do what they wanted to in Nicaragua,” as long as they (the Sandinistas) stopped aiding guerrilla movements in other countries.65 The Sandinistas declined this offer as well. The Sandinistas’ pro-Soviet foreign policy alienated non-communist members of the original government coalition, who feared that an alliance with the Soviet Union would lead to a Cuban-style dictatorship. At the same time, it meant the Sandinistas could count on opposition from the United States, which in turn would make their country more dependent on Soviet aid, and thus more vulnerable to changing circumstances in the Soviet Union. When the USSR grew weaker, the Sandinistas were forced to fend for themselves. This does not mean that the initial offers of Carter or Reagan were necessarily palatable to the Sandinistas. In exchange for US aid, the Sandinistas would have had to stop supporting the rebels in El Salvador, despite their strong feelings of solidarity with them, and despite the debt that they owed the Salvadorean rebels for their help when Sandinistas themselves were struggling to come to power. Whether justified or not, the Sandinistas’ quick rejection of the US offer – without any serious attempt to negotiate – made it easy for the US government to conclude that the Sandinistas were aligning themselves with the “other side” in the ongoing Cold War and were, therefore, a security threat to be countered. Thus, as in Grenada, the regime soon found itself in conflict with the US. Although the US did not directly invade Nicaragua as it had Grenada, it organized and trained the Contras, supported opposition political parties, and financed the opposition newspaper, La Prensa.

64

Miranda and Ratliff, The Civil War in Nicaragua, p. 154.

65

Ibid., p. 155.

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Most experts agree that the Contras would not have presented much of a threat if they had not received American aid. Even though Glenn Garvin, a Washington Times journalist, is very sympathetic toward the Contras, he documents heavy involvement on the part of the CIA and the State Department in financing and organizing the Contras and in demanding that the Contras change their strategy and leadership. He also shows that the sharp increase in Contra recruits came about because of the decision to increase direct military aid to the Contras in the mid 1980s, as well as because of the growing disaffection of thousands of peasants with the regime. Garvin further reports that the demands made by CIA agents often conflicted with the strategies preferred by Contra leaders.66 Furthermore, “although [William I.] Robinson almost certainly overstates the case that the opposition was largely a US creation, many of these new parties were at least created in response to US enticements; moreover, much of the space created for this opposition was attributable to US pressure and much of the election campaign of 1990 was planned and funded by the NED and other United States agencies.”67 American pressure, as well as pressure from other Latin American leaders, also proved to be essential in persuading the opposition to unite behind a single candidate (Violeta Chamorro) and to form a united front against the Sandinistas.68 Still, it should be emphasized that Reagan’s one-sided opposition to the Sandinistas could have prevented the elections from ever taking place. Kagan writes: The Sandinistas believed, with good reason, that Reagan would have accepted nothing less than their ultimate defeat and removal from power – no matter how many elections they won. The weighing of risks and benefits which the Sandinistas made in 1989, therefore, would have produced a different answer if Reagan were still in power or if Bush had appeared to be in complete agreement with Reagan’s old policies. Reagan’s policies, unmodified by the Arias plan or by Congress, would probably have meant many years of inconclusive struggle in Nicaragua.69

66

67 68 69

Glenn Garvin, Everybody Had His Own Gringo: The CIA and the Contras (Washington: Brassey’s, 1992). Chapter 5, which is about Commander Zero, is especially interesting. It shows that the CIA placed great faith in this Sandinista renegade, who never had the support of the main Contra organization (the FDN). In fact, the CIA tried to force the Contras to accept Commander Zero as the head of the entire movement, but Zero’s own incompetence prevented this from happening. Kapcia, “What Went Wrong?” 314. Kagan, A Twilight Struggle, p. 658ff.; and Garvin, Everybody Had His Own Gringo, p. 253. Kagan, A Twilight Struggle, p. 723.

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Kagan goes on to say that the Bush administration was able to change the behavior of the Sandinistas by changing American policy: By making clear that it wanted no further part in Nicaragua’s affairs, that it sought the first politically safe opportunity to rid itself of the contras and, above all, that it was perfectly prepared to allow the Sandinistas to survive unharmed after a fair election, the Bush administration provided the final inducement to the Sandinistas . . . The evident sincerity of Bush’s desire to be rid of the Nicaraguan mess convinced the Sandinistas that the risk of the elections was worth taking. Here the Soviets did play an important part: they were the bearers of the message from Bush and Baker that fair elections would lead to normalization of relations with the United States.70

Despite US military aid, and in contrast to other cases of armed conflict, the Contras were not successful on the battlefield and they had great difficulty winning any major battles. They also found it hard to occupy significant amounts of territory for long periods of time. Nevertheless, while the Contras did not win on the battlefield, they did succeed in wearing down the regime and the population, which tired of the war and its economic and social costs. The Contras were also able to recruit up to thirty thousand fighters (mostly peasants), making them “one of the largest armed mobilizations of peasants in contemporary Latin American history.”71 Garvin estimates that, by the end of 1987, the Contras had infiltrated between ten thousand and twenty thousand troops into Nicaragua.72 One observer sums up the human cost of the war: Some 30,000 lives, out of a population of 3.5 million, were lost in the fighting – the proportional equivalent of more than 2 million deaths in the United States, more than five times the number of U.S. soldiers killed in action in World War II, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War combined. Tens of thousands of Nicaraguans were maimed and hundreds of thousands left homeless.73

Moreover, while the Sandinistas might have had authoritarian tendencies and even totalitarian goals, the Contras behaved much more brutally in actual practice. As David Stoll reflects, Human rights organizations documented many more violations by the Contra insurgents than by the state security forces. That murdering noncombatants and prisoners was typical Contra behavior can be concluded from the most sympathetic of the journalistic accounts, by Washington Times correspondent Glenn 70 71 72 73

Ibid., p. 725. Lynn Horton, Peasants in Arms: War and Peace in the Mountains of Nicaragua, 1979–1994 (Athens: Ohio University Center for International Studies, 1998), p. xii. Garvin, Everybody Had His Own Gringo, p. 197. The Rise and Fall of the Nicaraguan Revolution, special issue of the New International, 9, (1994), 25.

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Garvin. The often-invoked Commandante Suicida may have been a worst case, but the FDN’s gruesome execution of his cronies and him shows that he was not just a proverbial bad apple. Even after years of supposed improvement in human rights, in 1988 US government auditors discovered jailed Contra recruits whom Contra counterintelligence had decided were Sandinista spies. All the women said they had been raped, and all the men said they had been tortured.74

In fact, the greater respect for human rights that the Sandinistas displayed in comparison to the Contras may have even cost the Sandinistas some support from the peasants. Stoll poses the question: By being more respectful of civilian life than were the Guatemalan and Salvadoran militaries, did the Sandinistas breed more resistance than they crushed? In Guatemala, most peasants who were “caught between two fires” reluctantly supported the group that was more likely to kill them – the army. In much of highland Nicaragua, many peasants who were “caught between two fires” ended up supporting the Contras; does this mean that they were more afraid of reprisals from the Contras than from the Sandinistas?75

In addition to the damage in terms of terror, the civil war caused great damage to the economy. Already in 1984, real wages had dropped to 68% of their 1980 level; inflation was over 50%; and the fiscal deficit was over 20% of GDP.76 By the end of 1987, inflation had soared to 1,340%. By the beginning of 1989, unemployment had officially reached 28%.77 By the end of that same year, inflation had risen to 33,000%.78 The former coordinator of the Sandinista military, Roger Miranda, recalls that military spending was consuming nearly half the national budget.79 In August 1987, President Daniel Ortega said to the Directorate: “It isn’t the Contras that are going to defeat us, but our own collapsing economy.”80 With economic pressures mounting, the Sandinistas agreed to US demands to hold free elections. Since they had won easily in 1984, and public opinion polls were showing thay would win again, the Sandinistas felt certain of victory despite the economic crisis. In contrast to the late post-totalitarian regimes in Eastern Europe, the Sandinista Liberation Front “had not lost its conviction of a historic right to rule.” Moreover, 74 75 76

77 79 80

David Stoll, “The Nicaraguan Contras: Were They Indios?,” Latin American Politics and Society, 47:3 (2005): 151. Ibid., 155. Bruce E. Wright, Theory in the Practice of the Nicaraguan Revolution (Athens: Ohio University Center for International Studies, Monographs in International Studies, Latin American Series, No. 24, 1995), p. 200. Ibid., p. 203. 78 Ibid., p. 206. Robert S. Leiken, “Nicaragua’s Choice: Old and New Politics in Managua,” Journal of Democracy 1:3 (1990) 29. Miranda and Ratliff, The Civil War in Nicaragua, p. 36.

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“the Sandinistas viewed themselves as victors in the civil war.”81 The Bush administration fully expected the Sandinistas to win, but thought that elections would produce some kind of political opening, and that a credible opposition would emerge.82 Even the leaders of the opposition themselves expected to lose the election. “No one knew better than Nicaraguan opposition leaders how small and ineffective their party organizations were, how riven by factional rivalry and personal ambition, how limited their reach outside Managua and a couple of Pacific Coast cities.”83 If the US government and other Latin American governments had not pressured the opposition to unite behind a single presidential candidate and to field a single slate of candidates for the legislature, the Sandinistas could well have won the election with substantially less than 50 percent of the vote. Nevertheless, the Sandinistas were in a no-win situation. The Bush administration made it clear that it would continue supporting the Contras if the Sandinistas did not hold elections. However, it never promised to stop supporting the opposition or to remove economic sanctions if the Sandinistas won. The Soviet empire had also just collapsed, so the Sandinistas could not expect aid from other countries to counterbalance the US economic blockade. Due to this situation, as opposition leader Alfredo César said, “[t]his is not an election in the real sense of the word . . . This is a plebiscite on Sandinista rule.”84 In other words, the election was not about choosing from competing parties to see who would lead the next government, rather the election was about whether the Sandinistas’ revolution should be consolidated or abandoned. Even though most public opinion polls showed the Sandinistas would win big, and that a large portion of the population still sympathized with the regime, it was easy for citizens to conclude that the only way to end the war and bring prosperity was to vote the Sandinistas out of office. Only then would the Contras lay down their weapons and the US lift its economic boycott. Of course, part of the reason why the polls indicated a Sandinista victory could be that respondents were afraid to tell the pollsters how they really planned to vote.85 Nevertheless, the fact that

81 82 84 85

Alfred G. Cuzán, “The Rise and Fall of Communism in Nicaragua,” Journal of Interdisciplinary Studies, 4:2 (1992): 175. Kagan, A Twilight Struggle, p. 637. 83 Ibid., p. 654. Quote from the Miami Herald, cited in Robert S. Leiken, “Nicaragua’s Choice: Old and New Politics in Managua,” Journal of Democracy 1:3 (1990): 28. See, for example, Leslie Anderson, “Surprises and Secrets: Lessons from the 1990 Nicaraguan Election,” Studies in Comparative International Development, 27:3 (1992): 93– 119; Robert S. Leiken, Why Nicaragua Vanished: A Story of Reporters and Revolutionaries (Oxford: Roman & Littlefield, 2003); and Leiken, “Nicaragua’s Choice,” 32.

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the Sandinistas received over 40 percent of the actual vote shows that they still enjoyed the support of a large portion of society, even if not necessarily the majority. It is also likely that many of those who voted against the Sandinistas actually sympathized with them but believed that it was not feasible to continue the conflict with the US. Thus, in the Nicaraguan case, the populace did not rise up against a communist regime, but rather voted it out of office after tiring of war. Since no mass uprising took place, and the Contras never mobilized popular support for their cause, the usual mechanisms of frustrated expectations and feelings of outrage did not play a role. Of course, much of the populace was frustrated that the Sandinistas could not realize their dreams; but, in contrast to the case in Eastern Europe, this frustration was not caused by the unwillingness of the regime to carry out reforms. Rather, it was caused by the inability of the regime to stop the civil war, and to bring peace and prosperity to the country. Kapcia surmises: “A range of factors now conspired to undermine FSLN support. War weariness ran deep and many Nicaraguans – ironically, believing the Sandinista campaign to identify the UNO [united opposition] with the United States of America – associated a UNO victory with an end to the war and a victory for the FSLN with more of the same.”86 Similarly, as Bruce E. Wright notes, the Sandinistas concluded that “people had voted for peace and against the draft; they had voted against the economic conditions and the embargo that was at least partially responsible for it. Fundamentally, the majority of the voters did not believe that it was possible to have peace and US aid with the FSLN in power.”87 Nevertheless, frustrated rising expectations probably did play a role in the electoral defeat, as many voters had hoped the regime would end the military draft now that the opposition had agreed to participate in elections. This did not happen. “Although Ortega’s candidacy was wise, the ‘packaging’ of a vacuous presidentialist campaign was clumsy and departed from Sandinista norms and hopes of an end to the unpopular conscription (which many expected to be announced at the last election rally) were dashed insensitively.”88 Similarly, Kagan concludes: “Nicaragua’s youth, it was soon widely understood, had voted against Daniel Ortega because he had not, like Chamorro, promised an end to the draft even though he had promised an end to the war.”89 In fact, Humberto Ortega and other senior military officials told voters that the draft would continue because “[o]ur youth and their families should realize that military service is good for 86 87 88

Kapcia, “What Went Wrong?” 317. Wright, Theory in the Practice of the Nicaraguan Revolution, p. 32. Kapcia, “What Went Wrong?” 317. 89 Kagan, A Twilight Struggle, p. 716.

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them . . . [It] will mean that they will have better opportunities to study;” moreover, it would “give them the skills and discipline to prepare for their ‘future professional life.’”90 Thus, the arrogance of power had removed Sandinista leaders so far from their constituents that they did not even realize they were frustrating the expectations of a large part of the country’s youth.

Conclusion The negotiated transitions in Poland and Hungary show that, if a regime fears a possible revolution, society’s revolutionary potential can bring about regime collapse even in the absence of mass mobilization. The maturing late post-totalitarian regimes in the two countries had based their pragmatic acceptance on the notion that they were reformers who were going as far as they could in liberalizing the system without incurring Soviet wrath. With the rise of Gorbachev, however, it now looked less plausible that the Soviet Union would prevent them from going further with reforms. Therefore, when faced with a potential revolutionary situation, it was not so difficult for these reform communists to continue the pattern of going as far with reforms as the Soviet Union would allow. Then, when the Soviet Union allowed the Polish and Hungarian regimes to essentially do what they wanted, they decided to negotiate with the opposition. This led to elections in which the communists were removed from power. The dynamics were different among the failed totalitarian regimes that were never able to consolidate their power. The regimes in Ethiopia and Grenada lost on the battlefield. The Sandinistas in Nicaragua won on the battlefield, but the social and economic costs of their pyrrhic victory were so high as to cost them the prospect of electoral triumph. In these cases, the dogmatic rule of hardliners within the regime alienated large portions of society. Ironically, the regimes in both Grenada and Nicaragua enjoyed enormous popularity to begin with. However, there was little popular support for Leninist notions of a one-party state. Such aspirations cost both regimes dearly. In Ethiopia, the legitimacy of the regime was badly undermined as a consequence of its autocratic military character, which alienated most groups in society. The Ethiopian case is perhaps the most ironic of all, as most of the opposition groups – including the armed guerrilla rebels – embraced Marxism-Leninism as surely as the government did. In all three countries, therefore, the regime might have been 90

Ibid., p. 695.

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able to attract support by maintaining a leftist posture, while abandoning Leninist ambitions for one-party rule. Although the dynamics were different in the case of the failed totalitarian regimes than in the case of the late post-totalitarian regimes, economic decline, frustrated expectations and feelings of outrage played an important role in both cases. Failed totalitarian regimes that had not consolidated their rule were also vulnerable to outside forces. The US invaded Grenada, armed the Contras, and gave weapons (together with many other countries) to rebel groups in Ethiopia. Failed totalitarian regimes ultimately lost power following armed struggles, while consolidated regimes fell in a more peaceful manner, without the opposition needing military aid from foreign powers. In the Nicaraguan case the failed totalitarian regime actually won the armed struggle, but the costs of the armed struggle were so high that they brought about an electoral defeat of the regime, as the population voted them out of power in order to end the civil war and insure themselves that the USA would stop financing the Contras.

7

Non-transitions among maturing countries

What is the difference between capitalism and communism? Capitalism is based on the exploitation of people by people, while Communism is the opposite.

The old joke above summarizes the dilemma facing the surviving maturing communist regimes: those in China and Vietnam. In contrast to the European communist regimes, these two regimes have found a way to reform the economy, which has made it easier for them to remain in power. However, these reforms have been taking China and Vietnam in an increasingly capitalist direction, which in turn has undermined the ideological legitimacy of these countries’ communist governments. European communist regimes lost their ideological legitimacy because it had been based on the erroneous notion that they could achieve better economic results than could capitalist countries. The Vietnamese and Chinese communist regimes, on the other hand, are losing their ideological legitimacy not because they cannot compete with capitalist countries in production output, but because they are now using capitalist rather than communist methods to achieve similar economic results to those of their capitalist competitors. Thus, it seems communist countries have had to choose between either losing their ideological legitimacy by sticking to their ideology and having it fail, or giving up their ideology in order to meet their economic goals. The once-faltering economies in China and Vietnam suddenly enjoyed rapid growth for more than two decades once they chose markets over state economic planning, and in so doing have thrown Marx overboard. Little is left of Marx’s original dream of a classless society without alienation or exploitation, where the state withers away and money disappears. What is left after discarding Marx is Lenin’s notion of democratic centralism. In other words, in the minds of Chinese and Vietnamese communists, Marxism no longer exists as a feasible economic alternative to capitalism, but Leninism remains as a method for maintaining a one-party dictatorship over society. China has gone so far in giving up its ideology that, in 2006, “Shanghai educators . . . revised high-school textbooks to eliminate all but 272

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one mention of Mao – in a chapter on etiquette. And socialism – that utopian dream that Mao pursued at the cost of millions of lives – is relegated to a single, modest chapter.”1 The question arises of how these regimes have managed to survive while so blatantly giving up their ideology, and how long they can continue to survive under these conditions. According to the model developed in this book, the reasons for their survival are clear. Even if they are losing their ideological legitimacy, they have still been able to get the population to pragmatically accept their rule on the grounds that the economy is growing rapidly and living standards are increasing for a large portion of society. The Chinese regime can also base its pragmatic legitimacy on being a bastion of stability in a country that suffered civil war among warlords after the empire fell, and then suffered again from internal turmoil during the Cultural Revolution. Both the Chinese and Vietnamese regimes have some amount of nationalist legitimacy, as they came to power on their own without outside intervention. The Chinese regime can claim to have fought against the Japanese occupation during World War II, to have gained the return of Hong Kong, and to be fighting for national unification with Taiwan. Meanwhile, the Vietnamese communists enjoy nationalist legitimacy for having won the “war of liberation” against the French and later the Americans, thus making reunification of the country possible. Consequently, both the Chinese and the Vietnamese communists can still get the population to pragmatically accept them on the grounds that they are improving the living standards of much of the population, while maintaining social stability and playing on national feelings. As long as a large portion of the population pragmatically accepts the regime, a revolutionary situation is unlikely to emerge. However, even if the economy goes sour and the population has little reason to pragmatically accept communist rule, the revolutionary potential of society will not be strong enough to overthrow the regime unless other factors also change. A period must arise during which the economy enters a period of decline, at the same time as the population expects political reforms. When these expectations are frustrated, the frustration may continue to grow until it reaches boiling point. Yet, even when this boiling point is reached, demonstrations are still unlikely to emerge until the regime does something that outrages the population, such as attacking demonstrators, arresting dissidents, or announcing economic measures that sharply lower living standards. Finally, once demonstrations break out, the chances of 1

Melina Liu and Benjamin Robertson, “Long Marching: ‘Red Tourism’ is on the Upswing as Chinese Look for the Good in Chairman Mao,” Newsweek, September 18, 2006, 29.

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their success are much greater both if intellectuals are willing to actively mobilize workers and/or peasants and if the revolutionaries can solve the communication problem and inform workers/peasants of the uprising. The one case, so far, where the communist regimes in these two countries faced any serious threat was during the student revolt in 1989, which ended with the violent crushing of demonstrators at Tiananmen Square. In that case, the revolutionary potential of society had not yet developed enough to overthrow the regime. Since the Chinese communists were still in the early post-totalitarian phase, they still believed in their ideological legitimacy, which made it much easier for them to crack down on the opposition. Furthermore, since the intellectuals and students still believed in the ideology, they followed a reformist strategy of engaging the communist rulers in a dialogue, rather than trying to mobilize workers and peasants. In fact, the students generally looked down upon the workers and (especially) the peasants as “primitive.” They were so arrogant in their attitudes, in fact, that they “refused to allow the founders of the Beijing Workers’ Autonomous Federation to set up their tents near those of the students in Tiananmen Square.”2 Nevertheless, even if the uprising occurred at “too early” a stage – when the regime believed enough in the ideology to shoot, and the intellectuals believed in it too much to abandon their reformist strategy – some of the elements of a potential revolutionary situation still existed, indicating that, under the right conditions, a successful uprising could take place. Workers are more likely to revolt during an economic crisis, when they feel they have “nothing to lose but their chains.” The revolt in 1989 broke out during a period of economic growth, which made it more difficult to mobilize workers. Even though the economy was not in crisis, rising unemployment and high inflation caused many manual workers to became anxious about their future.3 Urban workers in state-owned enterprises were especially vulnerable to rising inflation, as their wages were more strictly controlled than those of their counterparts in the private or cooperative sectors. “From 1984 to 1987, Chinese retail prices rose by an average of 7.4 percent annually, while in 1988, prices rose (according to official figures) a full 21 percent from the year before. According to unofficial (and so more reliable) sources, the inflation rate was close to 40 percent

2 3

Jeanne L. Wilson, “‘The Polish Lesson:’ China and Poland 1980–1990,” Studies in Comparative Communism, 23:3/4 (1990), 273. Shaoguang Wang, “From a Pillar of Continuity to a Force for Change: Chinese Workers in the Movement,” in Roger V. Des Forges, Luo Ning, and Wu Yen-bo, eds., Chinese Democracy and the Crisis of 1989: Chinese and American Reflections (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993), pp. 177–90.

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in early 1989.”4 In 1987, real income dropped in 40 percent of urban residential areas. The mass uprising at Tiananmen Square also took place after a period of frustrated rising expectations of reform. Throughout the 1980s, China had been going in an increasingly reformist direction, and veering away from the dogmatism of the Cultural Revolution. Hu Yaobang, former general secretary of the Communist Party, personified the hopes that the economic reforms would lead to increased political liberalization. As one author put it, “during his seven-year tenure as general secretary, he gained a reputation both as an adversary of Cultural Revolution-type political campaigns and a defender of reform-minded officials and liberal intellectuals when they ran afoul of Maoist hard-liners.”5 Although Hu was once considered Deng’s protégé and chosen successor, he was blamed for encouraging student protests in 1986 and was forced to resign. Thus, Hu became a symbol for failed hopes for reform. The connection between rebellion and frustrated expectations for reform is clear in this case: Hu’s funeral, namely, was the event which sparked off the 1989 demonstrations. Feelings of outrage also played an important role in mobilizing the population against the regime in China. The first demonstrations began when news spread of the death of Hu, on April 15, 1989. Students blamed his death on the regime. As Tony Saich observes: “Whether true or not, the rumor that Hu’s heart attack had come while arguing the reformers’ case at a Politburo meeting gave further impetus to the students’ desire to demonstrate.”6 A few days later, on April 20, several thousand students staged a sit-in demonstration outside Zhongnanhai, China’s political center (where the main Party and governmental offices are located), demanding that premier Li Ping negotiate with them. Police attacked the students, injuring several protesters. “The episode supplied the students with the weapon of martyrdom, thus strengthening belief in their cause.”7 Guobin Yang describes how the attack angered the students and prompted them to organize themselves more formally: a deep sense of shame and anger prompted students to organize themselves in order to carry on the movement in a more organized fashion. Thus, immediately 4 5

6

7

Yangi Tong, Transitions from State Socialism (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 1997), p. 95. Orville Schell, Mandate of Heaven: A New Generation of Entrepreneurs, Dissidents, Bohemians, and Technocrats Lays Claim to China’s Future (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1994), p. 43. Tony Saich, “When Worlds Collide: The Beijing People’s Movement of 1989,” in Tony Saich, ed., The Chinese People’s Movement: Perspectives on Spring 1989 (Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, 1990), p. 33. Ibid.

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after the incident, the very first independent student organizations began to form . . . [A]s soon as these organizations were formed, they declared a class strike on 21 April to protest the Xinhuamen Incident . . . [T]housands of students ignored government orders to close the Tiananmen Square and camped in the Square on the night of 21 April to wait for Hu Yaobang’s funeral the next day . . .. Thereafter, the movement became more organized, mobilization became larger in scale, and the relations between challengers and the challenged became more confrontational.8

Six days later, the People’s Daily ran an editorial vilifying the students and emphasizing the regime’s refusal to negotiate. “The students were outraged by the government’s refusal to regard their requests as legitimate. They vowed to rob the days ahead of peace.”9 The following day, over a hundred thousand students demonstrated against the editorial.10 Yang reports: Student responses to the editorial were rapid and emotional. One poster titled “Denounce the People’s Daily” opens with the following sentence: ‘“We are very angry after reading the People’s Daily editorial.”

Another poster stated: The extremely negative tone of the editorial has really caused deep, deep shock, disappointment, and anger in the nation’s citizens!11

This “premature” uprising indicates that the combination of economic crisis, frustrated rising expectations, and feelings of outrage can lead to a revolution (even in the case of the homegrown regimes) once the regime has reached the late post-totalitarian phase and lost its ideological legitimacy and the intellectuals, therefore, are willing to cooperate with workers and peasants. Even at this stage, actor-based factors – such as intellectuals’ ability to communicate with peasants and workers, or a refusal on the regime’s part to use enough force to quash an uprising – still play a role. However, according to the model in this book, communist regimes that have lost their ideological legitimacy are less likely to use force if the population also no longer accepts their pragmatic legitimacy. Since much of the regimes’ pragmatic legitimacy in China and Vietnam is based on achieving economic growth – even at the expense of giving up “socialist” 8

9 10 11

Guobin Yang, “Emotional Events and the Transformation of Collective Action: The Chinese Student Movement,” pp. 79–98 in Helena Flam and Debra King, eds., Emotions and Social Movements (Abingdon: Routledge, 2005), p. 86. Timothy Brook, Quelling the People: The Military Suppression of the Beijing Democracy Movement (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), p. 30. Ibid., p. 32. Guobin Yang, “Emotional Events and the Transformation of Collective Action,” pp. 86– 7.

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forms of production and introducing capitalism – the regimes’ ability to remain in power depends on their ability to provide economic growth. Thus, this chapter begins by examining the reasons why these two regimes have largely succeeded in reforming their economies, while the East and Central European communist regimes failed. The chapter will then discuss the loss of legitimacy and the development of pragmatic acceptance in the two countries. Finally, this chapter will discuss the conditions under which we might expect a revolutionary situation to emerge, and how the regimes might deal with this situation.

Economic success In the literature on failed economic reforms among communist regimes in Eastern and Central Europe, a common theme has been the ineffective implementation of reforms, due to the opposition of cadres in the economic and Party bureaucracies.12 According to these authors, market reforms threaten the interests of the Party-state bureaucracy, because the more autonomy enterprises have from the Party-state, the less power the Party-state bureaucrats have. If reforms go far enough in dismantling the planning bureaucracy, Party cadres risk losing their jobs as well as their influence. For these reasons, they fought (successfully) against the implementation of market-oriented reforms. If it was so difficult for the European communist regimes to implement such reforms, why were their Chinese and Vietnamese counterparts so successful? One of the keys to the reforms was that, rather than giving cadres incentives to oppose and obstruct the reforms, Chinese and Vietnamese Party leaders gave their cadres strong incentives to support

12

For a summary of this literature, see Saxonberg, The Fall: A Comparative Study of the End of Communism in Czechoslovakia, East Germany, Hungary and Poland (Amsterdam/ London: Harwood Academic/Routledge, 2001), Chapter 4. See also, for example, Ronald J. Hill and John Löwenhardt, “Nomenklatura and Perestroika,” Government and Opposition, 26:2 (1991): 229–43; János Kornai, “The Hungarian Reform Process: Visions, Hopes, and Reality,” Journal of Economic Literature, 24:4 (1986): 1,687–737; Antoni Z. Kaminski, An Institutional Theory of Communist Regimes: Design, Function, and Breakdown (San Francisco: ICS, 1992); Martin Myant, “Economic Reform and Political Evolution in Eastern Europe,” Journal of Communist Studies, 8:1 (1992): 108–27; Włodzimierz Wesołowski, “Transition from Authoritarianism to Democracy,” Social Research, 57:2 (1990): 435–61; Jan Winiecki, “Why Economic Reforms Fail in the Soviet System – A Property Rights-based Approach,” Economic Inquiry, 1 (1990): 195– 221; Baohui Zhang, “The State Central Economic Bureaucracies and the Outcome of Systemic Economic Reform: An Institutional Explanation for the Soviet and Chinese Experiences,” Governance: An International Journal of Policy and Administration, 5:3 (1992): 312–41.

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them. Party cadres supported reforms because they themselves were able to get rich from them, and because local governments were given greater responsibility for implementing public policies, making cadres dependent on developing businesses in order to raise revenues. Thus, local and national officials found ways to benefit from increased marketization of the economy.13 In the words of Minxin Pei: Some – and in many areas, a significant portion – of the local elites had built up sizable personal financial stakes in the quasi-private rural industries because, as part of the process of the transformation of the nomenklatura into private entrepreneurs, they themselves had become owners or direct beneficiaries of these businesses. Anecdotal evidence suggested that a considerable number of private and quasi-private rural firms were owned and managed by relatives and close friends of local elites as part of the latter’s patronage network; such firms required special care from the local elites involved. Local governments were thus driven by similar incentives to condone – if not actively support – the private sector. For local governments in general, the motive almost exclusively derived from their pressing fiscal needs in the wake of the reorganization of China’s tax structure in the early 1980s. The overhauling of the tax structure resulted in significant fiscal decentralization, which allowed local governments to collect and spend most of the tax revenues from locally owned enterprises and local tax bases, which included the private sector. Through the 1980s, additional measures of fiscal decentralization were implemented to reduce the central government’s subsidies to local authorities through autonomyenhancing devices such as local financial self-accounting.14

He adds that one study of 200 large quasi-private rural firms in 10 provinces in 1986 showed that village and former production team officials made up 55 percent of the founders of these rural businesses, while ordinary peasants accounted for 21 percent. This process of spontaneous privatization converted most of the nonagricultural assets in the countryside from quasi-state ownership to private ownership. It was estimated that, at the end of 1978, nonagricultural assets of communes and state farms were valued at 97.7 billion yuan; but at the end of 1986, they dwindled to only 25 billion yuan, which meant a substantial portion of them had been effectively privatized (or stolen in eight years).15 13

14 15

Among others, see Dorothy J. Solinger, “Urban Entrepreneurs and the State: The Merger of State and Society,” pp. 121–42 in Arthur Lewis Rosenbaum, ed., State and Society in China: The Consequences of Reform (Boulder: Westview Press, 1992). For a comparison between China and Eastern Europe, see Vivienne Shue, “State Power and Social Organization in China,” in Joel S. Migdal, Atul Kohli and Vivienne Shue, eds., State Power and Social Forces: Domination and Transformation in the Third World (Cambridge University Press, 1994), p. 74. Minxin Pei, From Reform to Revolution: The Demise of Communism in China and the Soviet Union (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1994), p. 105. Ibid., p. 111.

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Similarly, Yangi Tong notes that: As enterprises obtained freedom to expand new profit-making activities, all levels of bureaucracy rushed to establish their own corporations. Some 250,000 of 360,000 new companies organized under the reforms by mid-1987 were involved in the sale and resale of scarce commodities and production materials, profiting from the disparities between state and market prices.16

Lin and Zhang give the example that, in a northern provincial capital, the district headquarters of the Youth League ran thirty economic entities in 1993. Among them were a hotel, a kindergarten, a barber shop, a beauty parlor, an applied research institute, two eateries, eleven retail outlets, four trading companies, three repair centers, and five factories. None had anything to do with the political functions of the Youth League.17

Corinna-Barbara Francis concludes that governmental organizations have strong incentives to set up private businesses: Forming a broad and diverse category, spin-offs share the basic feature of being commercial ventures set up with input from, and sometimes at the initiative of, a government agency or public institution, over which the latter exercises a certain degree of managerial control. They are established to offer public institutions and their employees a way to channel resources to more efficient uses, to earn extrabudgetary revenue, to provide better-paying jobs for their employees, and to relieve themselves of excess personnel.18

Another study points out an added incentive that local cadres have for supporting economic reforms: They themselves are judged on their ability to raise revenues. The better the local enterprises perform, the more revenues local cadres can raise. The more revenues raised, the better the cadres’ prospects for promotion to higher levels in the Party–state hierarchy.19 Reform results have been impressive. From 1990 to 2004, China’s GDP grew at an annual rate of 9.6 percent.20 Pei summarizes the gains: 16 17

18

19

20

Yangi Tong, Transitions from State Socialism, p. 99. Yi-Min Lin and Zhanxin Zhang, “Backyard Profit Centers: The Private Assets of Public Agencies,” pp. 203–25 in Jean C. Oi and Andrew G. Walder, eds., Property Rights and Economic Reform in China (Stanford University Press, 1999), p. 206. Corinna-Barbara Francis, “Bargained Property Rights: The Case of China’s HighTechnology Sector,” in Oi and Walder, Property Rights and Economic Reform in China, p. 229. Maria Edin, “Market Forces and Communist Power: Local Political Institutions and Economic Development in China,” (doctoral dissertation, Uppsala University, 2000), chapters 4 and 5. Shi Li, “Information Technology Investment and China’s Economic Growth,” Proceedings of the Eight International Conference on Machine Learning and Cybernetics, Boading, July 12–15, 2009, 1,380.

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The aggregate size of the Chinese economy in 2002 was more than eight times the size it was in 1978. In twenty-five years per capita income rose more than 600 percent, from $151 in 1978 to 1,097 in 2003. Rapid economic growth accelerated social change as well. The rate of urbanization, 18 percent in 1978, had reached 39 percent by 2002. A different measure, used by the United Nations, put China’s urbanization in 1998 at 50 percent.21

Pei notes that, in 1978, only one out of every 2,000 people in China had telephone lines, and only 0.3 percent of households had (black-andwhite) televisions. By 2002, one out of every six people had telephone lines, while there were 126 color TVs for every 100 households (and 60 TVs for every 100 rural households). Pei also calculates that, between 1978 and 2002, the share of the private sector (including foreign-investment firms) rose from 0.2 to 41 percent of industrial output. “This dramatic relative decline of the state is also reflected in the employment data. In 1978, the state employed nearly 80 percent of workers in urban areas; in 2002, it employed only 29 percent.”22 This is not to say the reform process has been problem-free. Corruption is rampant, workers must often work under slave-like conditions, and the lack of social welfare programs is a troubling problem. The International Risk Guide rankings show that corruption worsened in China during the period studied: from 1984 to 1997.23 “In the Chinese case, corruption among the ruling elite reached epidemic proportions in the late 1990s. Public opinion surveys in this period consistently ranked official corruption as one of the top political issues facing China.”24 General Secretary Jiang Zemin went so far as to warn that “if we do not fight this hard battle [against corruption] with resolution, the Party and state are indeed in danger of collapse.”25 Furthermore, the transition to a market economy has not been a transition to a European-style social-democratic or “social-market” economy, in which the government uses business and environmental regulations, together with generous welfare policies, to dampen the worst effects of capitalism. On the contrary, the type of capitalism developing in China is of the rawest sort – the type that existed in Europe and America at the start of the Industrial Revolution. Child labor is common, and workers migrating from villages to cities are often forced to work in slave-like 21 22 25

Minxin Pei, China’s Trapped Transition: The Limits of Developmental Autocracy (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2006), p. 2. Ibid., p. 3. 23 Cited in ibid., p. 5. 24 Ibid., p. 12. Barrett L. McCormick, “Political Change in China and Vietnam: Coping with the Consequences of Economic Reform,” pp. 153–75 in Anita Chan, Benedict J. Tria Kerkvliet, and Jonathan Unger, eds., Transforming Asian Socialism: China and Vietnam Compared (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 1999), p. 171.

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conditions. Newspapers report that recruiters came to poor provinces in Sichuan to recruit children to work in factories in the wealthy Guangdong Province. All of the children were under sixteen, and were paid about 25 cents an hour. They had to live in crowded barracks, they did not get food every day, and they faced physical punishment when they did not work hard enough.26 Along with the shift toward a raw market economy has come a shift toward a market-liberal residualist welfare state. Saich observes: Under the slogan of the “socialization” . . . of services, [China] has moved further than many OECD countries along the road to privatization of welfare services . . . In some ways, China has come to resemble its neighbors in East Asia, and some might argue that it is becoming a part of the family of “oriental welfare states.”27

A particularly troubling issue is the lack of healthcare. It is such a grave problem that even mainstream Anglo-Saxon magazines such as the American Newsweek and the British Economist chide China for not providing healthcare services to enough people. When the financial crisis broke out in 2008, such magazines feared that a fiscal stimulus that gave spending money to families would not significantly increase the demand for goods, as families would simply save the additional disposable income to pay for future healthcare bills.28 Saich notes that 62% of expenditure on healthcare in China was paid directly by patients to their service providers, compared to 47.4% in South Korea and 35.3% in Thailand.29 Thus, while ostensibly a “socialist” country, China has a healthcare system which has become more privatized and market-oriented than that of neighboring capitalist countries. “According to the World Health Report 2000, China ranked 188 out of 191 countries in terms of fairness in financial contributions, 144 for overall performance of the health system, and 139 in terms of healthcare 26 27 28

29

“Såldes som barnslavar,” Aftonbladet, August 5, 2008, reprinted and translated from the Chinese newspaper Nanfang Dushibao. Tony Saich, Providing Public Goods in Transitional China (New York: Palgrave, 2008), p. 9. See, for example, Mary Hennock, “Why China Is Too Scared to Spend,” Newsweek, December 22, 2008, downloaded at www.newsweek.com/id/174524 (accessed November 28, 2009); and “China’s Health-Care Reforms,” Economist, April 16, 2009. Mary Hennock writes that “the only way to keep China humming is to boost domestic consumption. That means getting Chinese people spending. But there’s a problem. China’s social-security network is broken, badly, and nowhere are the problems worse than in health care. A serious illness can still wipe out a family’s savings. As long as that’s the case, ordinary citizens will keep sticking large chunks of their income under their mattresses. And while that lasts, consumer demand will lag.” In “Why China Is Too Scared to Spend,” Newsweek (December 22, 2008): 30. Saich, Providing Public Goods, p. 15.

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expenditure per capita in international dollars.”30 Government support for hospitals is so meager that, in 2002, it covered only 10.2% of their expenses; 44.17% of costs were defrayed by user fees and 43.04% by drug sales.31 In recent years, however, the government has increased spending in this area, and it set a goal of reimbursing patients for half of their healthcare costs by the year 2010.32 Vietnam’s economic reforms began at a later date than China’s, with the first reforms announced in 1986, shortly after the death of the Communist Party Secretary, Le Duan. The reforms were not far-reaching until 1988,33 nearly one decade after the first Chinese reforms. Despite these substantive differences with China, the Vietnamese regime has also relied heavily on allowing cadres to get rich by letting state enterprises behave like private ones, or by letting cadres start private or semi-private enterprises. Managers within state firms were already starting to get rich before major economic reforms were implemented. In fact, to a large extent this process was the cause of the reforms. In the 1980s, a situation arose where state-subsidized production supplies were only around onetenth of market prices. Given this great discrepancy, factories and local governments tried to obtain large surpluses of these supplies in order to sell them at higher prices. Gareth Porter comments that: In 1981 the State Inspection Commission discovered that two-thirds of the production of 626 units that they investigated during a single quarter was used to generate profits for their cadres and workers in these ways. Everyone in the enterprise usually got a share of the production in order to reduce the potential for whistle-blowing. Five years later, the SRV officially reported that only 30 to 40 percent of the goods produced by the state consumer goods industries and collective handicraft enterprises, whose production expenses were subsidized by the state, passed through the state trade network.34

He notes further that “[T]he subsidization of state enterprises was one major source of soaring budget deficits in the late 1970s and 1980s that contributed to massive inflation.”35 Moreover, “The two-price system created a corrupt nexus between officials of the state trade and production sectors and illegal merchants who purchased goods from them. The officials provided the political protection for the merchants, so that medium and big merchants paid only about one-third of their actual incomes in taxes.” 30 33 34

Ibid., p. 74. 31 Ibid., p. 78. 32 Wall Street Journal, October 16, 2009. See, for example, Gareth Porter, Vietnam: The Politics of Bureaucratic Socialism (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1993), pp. 145ff. Ibid., pp. 130–1. 35 Ibid., p. 132.

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Finally, In an economy in which the quickest and surest route to profit was exploiting the price system and inflation, not only economic installations but every other state agency and political unit tried to get into the business of buying and selling commodities either legally or illegally. By 1986 more than 750 state organs, from the ministerial, provincial, municipal, village, and corporate levels, were reportedly involved in trade activities in Ho Chi Minh City alone. Provinces, districts, and urban precincts formed their own corporations to purchase goods, usually hiring private merchants, to purchase goods at the most favorable prices so they could profit from price differentials.36

Thus, even before the reforms were officially announced, managers and cadres in the Party-state apparatus were getting rich through private entrepreneurship. Once the government announced economic reforms in 1988, Party cadres were ready to take advantage of the new legal opportunities. Martin Gainsborough reports that state institutions formed new state companies in order to take advantage of the business opportunities presented by reform. This has occurred at all levels of the party-state. The areas in which these new state companies have operated were no different from the more established state enterprises cited above although general trading firms and housing and land companies have been particularly common, especially at the lower levels. The formation of such companies has very often been driven by a desire to supplement institutional funds in a climate of harder budget constraints. Moreover, the de facto owners of such firms, namely the institution which set them up, have been well-placed, like their older counterparts above, to exploit the advantages accruing from their holding bureaucratic office. This might include prior knowledge of regulatory changes affecting the sector in which they are operating or preferential access to government contracts.37

Gainsborough adds that state enterprises, bureaucratic institutions, and Party-state officials have established shareholding or limited liability companies: Shareholding or limited liability companies have been formed for a variety of reasons. They have sometimes been established as a way of siphoning off state assets into the private sector. This could involve the use of state capital assets for private gain or the channelling of state contracts to a private company. Shareholding or limited liability companies have also been formed in an attempt to create more room for manoeuvre than might otherwise be the case in the state sector although there are arguably some additional risks associated with operating in the private sector. Shareholding or limited companies are active in light 36 37

Ibid., pp. 131–2. Martin Gainsborough, “Beneath the Veneer of Reform: The Politics of Economic Liberalisation in Vietnam,” Communist and Post-Communist Studies, 35:3 (2002): 358–9.

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manufacturing (textiles and garments, footwear and beverages, for example) but can also be found in real estate and trade. Given the prominence of state shareholders in these companies, they very often have access to inside information, can garner capital, or call upon protection in a way which puts them on a par with any state enterprise. They are also able, given their state origins, to overcome restrictions which normally apply to “private” firms.38

By 2001, only 41% of GDP was accounted for by state enterprises, compared to 48% by the domestic private sector and 11% by foreign investment. Where industrial output was concerned, state enterprises accounted for 41%, private domestic firms for 24%, and foreign investment for 35%.39 While the reforms do not seem to have been as successful in Vietnam as in China, they did succeed in taking Vietnam out of its economic crisis and its problems with hyperinflation. As Phan Minh Ngoc notes, GDP grew by 7% during the reform period of 1986–2005, compared with 3.7% for the pre-reform period of 1975–86.40 Notwithstanding these gains, Vietnam has problems similar to China’s, especially in connection with corruption, poor working conditions, and a lack of social welfare provisions. Adam Fforde reflects: “Corruption remains a major driver of one of the main motors of growth, the creation of ‘red’ business interests, often now found in the garb of private companies.”41 Corruption has become such a major concern that, in September 2002, Nguyen Dinh Huong, vice-chairman of the Party Central Commission for Internal Security, complained that the Party would lose power if corruption were not eliminated. General Secretary Nong Due Manh made a similar claim earlier that year.42 To some extent, working conditions in Vietnam have worsened with the transition to a market economy. Gerard Greenfield claims that changes in the nature and intensity of exploitation have seen extended working hours, environmental pollution, and increased accidents and occupational diseases. Lung and skin diseases have spread to the residential areas near the mines and silicosis afflicts over three-quarters of the miners. Ironically, the government directives to reduce air pollution in the coal mining towns of Hong Gai and Cam Pha were concerned with cleaning up the area for the development of the tourism 38 39 40 41 42

Ibid., p. 359. Henrik Schaumburg-Müller, “Private-Sector Development in a Transition Economy: The Case of Vietnam,” Development in Practice, 15:3/4 (2005): 357. Phan Minh Ngoc, “The Roles of Capital and Technological Progress in Vietnam’s Economic Growth,” Journal of Economic Studies, 35:2 (2008): 200. Adam Fforde, “Vietnam in 2003: The Road to Ungovernability?” Asian Survey, 44:1 (2004): 129. Regina M. Abrami, “Vietnam in 2002: On the Road to Recovery,” Asian Survey, 43:1 (2003): 98.

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industry, not the health of miners and their families. This coincides with the shift in state wealth out of coal production into the tourism industry, forcing miners into the private mines or into petty trade and services. In the bandit mines hundreds die or suffer serious injuries every year. The exact figures are not available because the Vietnam General Confederation of Labour’s (VGCL) Institute for Labour Protection does not have access to private firms. Miners have died from lack of oxygen only 16 metres down and floods and cave-ins occur regularly since the mines lack basic infrastructure. Children and female workers are targeted for the more dangerous night-shifts and are paid less. Even in state mines where millions of dollars have been earned in exports – cited by both the Right and Left as evidence of the success of the market economy – female workers replace the outdated technology, carrying baskets of coal on their heads.43

In a highly publicized event in 1997, someone leaked a secret audit of one of Nike’s Korean subcontractors operating in Vietnam. The audit – which Nike itself had commissioned – reported serious health and safety problems at the plant. Concentrations of toluene (a chemical solvent that causes skin and eye irritation, and damage to the liver, kidneys, and central nervous system) were between 6 and 177 times higher than acceptable standards in certain sections of the plant. The “plant had caused numerous cases of skin and heart disease, and respiratory ailments, due to excess dust, were rampant in other areas of the factory.”44 Nevertheless, reforms in Vietnam seem to have taken workers’ rights into greater account than reforms in China have done. Unions have gained much more autonomy in Vietnam than in China, especially in connection with the right to organize and to support workers against their employers. The Trade Union Law, passed in 1990, removes nearly all state control over unions. Unions only need to inform the appropriate governmental body or organization that they have been established; this makes it possible to create more autonomous unions.45 However, the heads of local unions tend to be managers, which prevents the unions from being as tough as they could be in defending workers’ interests.46 As a consequence, wildcat strikes have become quite common. Since 2000, there have been around a hundred reported wildcat strikes per year.47 Vietnamese unions have achieved so much autonomy that they are 43 44

45

46

Gerard Greenfield, “The Development of Capitalism in Vietnam,” in Socialist Register 1994: 212. Richard M. Locke, “The Promise and Perils of Globalization: The Case of Nike.” Paper prepared for the Sloan School of Management’s 50th anniversary celebration (undated): 14–15. Simon Clarke, Chang-Hee Lee, and Do Quynh Chi, “From Rights to Interests: The Challenge of Industrial Relations in Vietnam,” Journal of Industrial Relations, 49: 4 (2007): 548. Ibid., 554. 47 Ibid., 560.

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allowed to join international trade union organizations.48 They cooperate with European unions, and have sent union leaders to Denmark and Italy for training in union-organizing techniques.49 In China, by contrast, the Party leadership would condemn such “bourgeois” actions. However, Chinese unions have tried to gain autonomy when they have seen the opportunity to do so. During the most “liberal” period (1988–9), the All-China Federation of Trade Unions adopted a document in which nothing was said about unions being under the leadership of the Party.50 Instead, the Federation proclaimed, its main function was the defense “of staff, [and of] workers’ and the masses’ legal interests and democratic rights.” After the Tiananmen Square uprising had been violently crushed, and the most reformist members of the Party leadership had been forced to retire, the new Party general secretary, Jiang Zemin, delivered a speech demanding that the unions subordinate themselves to the Party. The Federation then “quickly relapsed into its former docility.”51 The greater autonomy for Vietnamese unions may account for the greater labor protection enjoyed by Vietnamese workers in comparison with their Chinese counterparts. In one study, researchers interviewed Taiwanese managers in both China and Vietnam. In Vietnam, these managers explained, they had to follow the laws and to refrain from imposing harsh punishments; in China, by contrast, they were able to treat workers much more harshly (which they freely admitted to doing): You can’t even touch the Vietnamese workers, let alone abuse them. In China, we’ve used a Taiwanese management style. When we began our operations in China, we frequently resorted to punishment. Physical punishments were very common, including even hitting, like in the military.52

In Vietnam, then, Taiwanese managers feel they have to use “soft” management technique; in China, they can use a “militaristic” methods of management instead. As official state organizations – such as unions in Vietnam and the youth organization in China – become more independent from the Party-state, they may eventually start making political demands (such as for social policies to help workers, etc.). In so doing, they may become part of the “semi-opposition” and then, as in Hungary and Poland, play a major role 48 49 52

Anita Chan and Irene Norlund, “Vietnamese and Chinese Labour Regimes: On the Road to Divergence,” China Journal, 40 (July, 1998), 185. Ibid., 195. 50 Ibid., 183. 51 Ibid., 184. Anita Chan and Hong-zen Wang, “The Impact of the State on Workers’ Conditions – Comparing Taiwanese Factories in China and Vietnam,” Pacific Affairs, 77:4 (2004–5), 629–46 631–2.

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in democratizing the regime. In the case of Hungary and Poland, journalists and research institutions played a more important role than official unions or youth organizations; however, which exact organizations wield the greatest influence within the semi-opposition differs according to the particular developments within each country. Moreover, the prominence of unions and youth organizations in China and Vietnam does not exclude the possibility that journalists and research institutions will play an important role in fostering democratic reform in these two countries. It does seem likely, however, that unions will play a greater role in bringing about change in Vietnam and China than they did in Hungary and Poland. For one thing, the privatization of the economy is giving Chinese and Vietnamese unions greater autonomy than their counterparts enjoyed in Hungary and Poland, where most production remained under state control until the collapse of the regime. As in China, healthcare in Vietnam – which formerly was free – has been largely privatized. In 2002, private-sector expenditures for healthcare constituted 72% of total health expenditures. Households had to pay 100% out of pocket for outpatient services and pharmaceuticals.53 Even the publicly funded healthcare service demands user fees from patients.54 Private healthcare facilities are rapidly expanding, leaving public hospitals for the poorest, who are stigmatized for using public services. With the privatization of healthcare, patients are more dependent on health insurance. However, only 6% of persons in the poorest quintal have insurance coverage, as compared with 29% of persons in the richest quintal.55 One study shows that, in Tien Giang, 45.6% of households could not afford user fees; in Dong Thap Province, 42% could not.56 In conclusion, China and Vietnam have been able to gain the support of their Party-state bureaucracies for economic reforms because – in contrast to the communist regimes in Central and Eastern Europe – they have allowed cadres to enrich themselves and to benefit personally from the reforms. However, while rapid growth rates in both countries have been impressive, these reforms still entail risks for the regimes, as inequality has increased, social policies have failed to meet the basic needs of the population in such areas as healthcare, and working conditions for many people resemble those under the rawest and most exploitative forms of capitalism. Moreover, the very success of capitalistic reforms is 53

54 55

Anoshua Chaudhuri and Kakoli Roy, “Changes in Out-of-Pocket Payments for Healthcare in Vietnam and its Impact on Equity in Payments, 1992–2002,” Health Policy, 88 (2008): 38. H. T. Daoa, H. Waters, and Q. V. Lec, “User Fees and Health Service Utilization in Vietnam: How to Protect the Poor?” Public Health, 122:10 (2008): 1,069. Ibid., 1,071. 56 Ibid., 1,072.

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undermining the ideological legitimacy of regimes that are supposedly building a “socialist” and classless society. As long as the economy continues to grow, it seems the Chinese and Vietnamese regimes will face an increasing need to replace their ideological legitimacy with a social contract in which society pragmatically accepts their rule. If economic problems arise, on the other hand, the question is how long society will be willing to pragmatically accept the regime. Legitimacy lost, pragmatic acceptance gained The turn toward capitalism has been successful in achieving high growth rates, but it has also undermined regime legitimacy. Raw capitalism is not very defensible in terms of Marxist-Leninist ideology. In the Chinese case, moreover, the massacre in Tiananmen Square further eroded the Party’s legitimacy. The regimes in China and Vietnam have had to turn to building up pragmatic acceptance for their policies, rather than relying on ideological legitimacy. Scholars such as Jean-Philippe Béja also see the massacre as a turning point. Béja writes: In the aftermath of the June 4 incident, Deng expressed grief only for the soldiers and police officers who had died,2 while the students and local citizens who had resisted the PLA [People’s Liberation Army] were condemned as “rioters.” The contrast between this discourse and reality was so striking that it dealt a serious blow to the legitimacy of the CCP [Chinese Communist Party], whose basic nature seemed unchanged despite all the reforms of the 1980s. The long prison terms or death sentences meted out to the “rioters” and others who had dared to resist the army; the application of strict press controls; and the dissolution of all the civil society groups that had emerged during the 1980s showed the Party’s willingness to impose its rule by force.57

As the ideology disappears, and the regime must convince the population to pragmatically accept its rule, economic performance becomes even more important. Citizens are willing to give up democratic freedoms for the promise that their living standards will rapidly increase. In Pei’s words, “[t]oward the beginning of 1992, regime legitimacy was more performancebased than ideology-based, and Deng viewed the continuation of oneparty rule in China as increasingly dependent on the economic results it could generate.”58 This “performance-based legitimacy” is better understood as pragmatic acceptance than as legitimacy. It is a type of social 57 58

Jean-Philippe Béja, “The Massacre’s Long Shadow,” Journal of Democracy, 20:3 (2009): 6. Pei, From Reform to Revolution, p. 47.

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contract in which citizens may not think their rulers have a legitimate right to rule, but – rather than risk the costs of a revolt – will accept these rulers as long as they perform reasonably well. In the Chinese case, the regime’s pragmatic acceptance is based on two important elements: nationalism, and the ability to keep order. The leadership can play on people’s fears that mass mobilizations against the regime will lead to a repeat of the excesses of the Cultural Revolution, or the terror of the fighting between warlords during the period between the world wars. The increased trend toward nationalism in China has already been mentioned in previous chapters. In the words of Yasheng Huang: The post-Tiananmen regime has eagerly embraced Chinese nationalism as a new fount of legitimacy. The Tiananmen crackdown had dealt another crippling blow to the reputation of the CCP, which then began in earnest to revive traditional values that the Maoist regime had tried for years to eliminate. The strategy has worked, as evidenced by recently rising anti-American sentiment.59

In addition to playing the nationalist card, Chinese leaders appeal to the popular longing for law and order. A reform communist leader smuggled out transcripts of the discussions among Party leaders in 1989 (when they were deciding to crack down and declare martial law). These transcripts indicate that the need for order was their main reason for wanting to crush the uprising. Yan Ghankun declares that, during “[t]hese last few days Beijing’s been in something like anarchy. Students are striking at all the schools, workers from some offices are out on the streets, transportation and lots of other things are out of wack – it’s what you could call anarchy.”60 Bo Yibo also emphasizes the issue of potential chaos, and draws parallels with the disorder of the Cultural Revolution: This student movement has had a bigger and broader impact, has lasted longer, and has done more harm than any past student movement. Just imagine students trying to crash through Xinhua Gate! Repeatedly invading Tiananmen Square! These things didn’t even happen during the ten years of internal turmoil [i.e., the Cultural Revolution] . . . The spectacle these days of hundreds of thousands of people demonstrating in support of a hunger strike is something we didn’t even see during the big Red Guard demonstrations in the Cultural Revolution! These people are reverting to anarchy, flouting the nation’s laws, and churning up furious social tumult.61 59 60

61

Yasheng Huang, “Why China Will Not Collapse,” Foreign Policy, 99 (Summer 1995): 57. Zhang Liang (compiler), The Tiananmen Papers: The Chinese Leadership’s Decision to Use Force Against Their Own People – In Their Own Words ed. Andrew J. Nathan and Perry Link (New York: Public Affairs, 2001), p. 178. Ibid.

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Qiao Shi then adds: “It’s pretty obvious that if we can’t turn things around and get some stability, then everything – reform and opening, modernization – will be very much at peril.”62 Deng Xiaoping too refers to the Cultural Revolution, and to the need for stability: Of course we want to build socialist democracy, but we can’t possibly do it in a hurry, and still less do we want that Western-style stuff. If our one billion people jumped into multiparty elections, we’d get chaos like the “all-out civil war” we saw during the Cultural Revolution. You don’t have to have guns and cannon to have a civil war; fists and clubs will do just fine. Democracy is our goal, but we’ll never get there without national stability.63

With the decline of the regime’s ideological legitimacy, dissident intellectuals tend to leave behind their revisionism and to become more willing to engage workers and peasants against the regime. As discussed in Chapter 4, this seems to be happening in China. Chinese dissidents are renouncing their former revisionism and playing the human rights card instead. Just as Eastern European dissidents took advantage of the signing of the Helsinki Accords on human rights to demand that their governments abide by the agreements, oppositionalists in China are building upon the human rights amendment that was added to the Chinese constitution in 2004. This is a strategy that forces dissidents to turn to society rather than merely appeal to reformers within the Party leadership. JeanPhilippe Béja writes: In 2004, when the CCP decided to add a human-rights amendment to China’s constitution, many lawyers, legal scholars, and citizens became convinced that the new provision could be used to defend the rights of ordinary Chinese and that there was a duty to take part in this struggle. With the help of journalists, online activists, and an informal but widespread network of lawyers and legal experts, many victims of abusive officials began citing their rights under the constitution. Thanks to the Internet and other new modes of communication, the so-called civil-rights defense movement (weiquan yundong) can be mobilized with relative ease by people who fall victim to official bullies. Its tools include demonstrations, petitions, collective letters, class-action suits on behalf of consumers, and suits by individuals. The civil-rights legal network cuts across the class lines that divide intellectuals from workers and peasants. It differs from the organizations that intellectuals created in the 1980s.64 62 64

Ibid., p. 179. 63 Ibid., pp. 187–8. Béja, “The Massacre’s Long Shadow,” 13–14. He adds: “This new attitude is certainly a result of the repression of the 1989 democracy movement.” As we saw in Chapter 4, however, it is wishful thinking on the part of Westerners to see the 1989 uprising as a democracy movement, because the students and intellectuals were still quite elitist. They scorned the workers and peasants, whom they dismissed as culturally primitive.

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This example shows as well that intellectuals have great potential to overcome communication problems via new technologies such as the Internet. The increasing use of mobile phones makes it much easier for oppositionalists to communicate their message than was the case in the Central and Eastern European revolutions. The development of a large private sector also makes it easier to solve the communication problem. As Barrett L. McCormick observes: China and Vietnam now have a popular mass culture driven by market forces. Both countries now have large numbers of private booksellers, many of whom operate informally and are thus difficult to regulate. In Vietnam, for example, popular novels are now published in runs of 100,000 to 200,000. One correspondent reported that photocopies of illegal texts disguised to look like schoolbooks are sold under the counter in Hanoi and Saigon. In China, private book vendors have access to shadowy networks that distribute books not approved by the authorities. Pornography, some of it pirated from foreign sources, may well be the most important commodity in this market, but these networks also supply politically sensitive works and even banned books – which fetch vendors and distributors high prices. While formerly dominant purveyors of political orthodoxy have fallen on hard times, the overall number of journals and newspapers has dramatically increased. By 1990 there were more than twice as many newspapers in China as in 1978 and more than six times as many periodicals.65

It may be that, if an uprising took place, oppositionalists would be able to use these private channels in order to spread information. In the case of China, the possibility of “spontaneous coordination” would be high, as people would know they should gather at Tiananmen Square. In this sense, the Chinese case has some parallels with that of East Germany. In the case of Vietnam, it would be less clear where people should congregate. However, due to the increasing use of mobile phones and the Internet in that country, and the growing role played by private distributers of books and magazines, a future opposition movement would find easier to communicate with the population. China may face a revolutionary situation if: (1) intellectuals have given up their revisionism; (2) intellectuals are willing to mobilize workers and peasants; (3) intellectuals are able to get their message out to workers and peasants through private channels (e.g., mobile phones, the Internet, private book dealers, etc.); (4) the Party has lost most of its legitimacy; (5) the Party has lost its pragmatic acceptance, due to an economic downturn; and (6) popular expectations for reform have been rising, but then are frustrated by government policies. I shall return to this matter in the next section. 65

McCormick, “Political Change in China and Vietnam,” p. 162.

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The communist rulers in Vietnam face a similar loss of ideological legitimacy, as their economic reforms are pushing the country in an increasingly capitalist direction. As McCormick remarks: In this environment, economic reform presents enormous challenges for ideology in both countries. For one thing, both states have had to strip the official idea of “socialism” of much of its content, gradually reaching a point where “socialism” means little more than a single-party system and economic growth. In a backhanded way, both parties’ credibility has been improved by giving up aspects of their ideology that few people believed in anyway.66

The abandonment of socialist ideology is so pronounced that prominent entrepreneurs have received Red Stars and been named “Labor Heroes.”67 Regina M. Abrami notes the irony now that “a younger generation [of entrepreneurs] that never really knew the planned economy is being acknowledged as workers – but of a certain sort.”68 Fforde concludes that “Rapid economic and social change, and the pervasive corruption associated with cadre involvement in business, has greatly eroded both the political authority of the party and the internal discipline of the state, as well as its capacity to develop and implement policies to cope with the rising tide of problems.”69 Like their Chinese counterparts, the Vietnamese communists try to compensate for their loss of ideological legitimacy by turning to nationalist themes. The population, they hope, can be enticed to pragmatically accept their rulers as defenders of the country’s national interests. As in China, the regime’s pragmatic acceptance is partly based on its ability to maintain high growth rates and improve living standards – even at the expense of ideology. Again, McCormick provides a good summary of the situation: Both parties have attempted to compensate for the collapse of traditional ideology by turning to developmental and nationalist themes. Rapid economic growth, rising standards of living, and supportive rhetoric by other East Asian leaders such as Singapore’s Lee Kuan Yew and Malaysia’s Mohamad Mahathir regarding Asian values and the decline of the West lend credibility to these nationalistic developmental claims . . . Vietnamese history perhaps leaves the Vietnamese government with stronger nationalist credentials than the PRC, but current circumstances give the Chinese government more international leverage for making such claims.70 66 67 69 70

Barrett L. McCormick, “Political Change in China and Vietnam: Coping with the Consequences of Economic Reform,” China Journal, 40 (1998): 129. Abrami, “Vietnam in 2002,” p. 96. 68 Ibid. Adam Fforde, “Vietnam in 2003,” p. 127. McCormick, “Political Change in China and Vietnam,” 132.

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The Vietnamese communists have stronger nationalist credentials than the Chinese, since they united the country and defeated both the French and American militaries. In other words, their coming to power was part of a war of national liberation. In McCormick’s words, the Vietnamese victory over foreign forces is readily portrayed in terms more nationalist than socialist. The Chinese Communist Party, on the other hand, has bequeathed itself a terrible legacy with the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution. These struggles for an ephemeral Communist Utopia severely undermined its claim to nationalist credentials. Moreover, the Chinese leadership is now further burdened with the legacy of the Beijing Massacre of 1989 that will complicate the process of reaching an accommodation with society.71

The Vietnamese communists, for their part, cannot hope to achieve the international status and influence of China, with its population of more than a billion people and its supply of nuclear weapons. Nevertheless, the nationalist credentials of the Vietnamese regime help induce the population to pragmatically accept its rule, even as its ideology is apparently dying out. One important difference between Vietnam and other counties with a maturing communist regime – including China – is the lack of any tradition of dissidence. To be sure, civil society is growing, as many new NGOs are emerging which are financially independent of the Party-state. However, the organizations still need state approval to be allowed to register themselves officially and they often need to set up Communist Party cells in their organizations.72 So far these NGOs have not developed a oppositionalist stance vis-à-vis the regime. In the Vietnamese case, then, one cannot speak of a group of intellectual dissidents who have given up revisionism for a strategy of organizing society against the regime. The absence of such a group reduces the likelihood that an uprising will take place. The Romanian case, however, suggests that it still is possible – under the right conditions – for citizens to rise up against their regime, even if a large pre-existing group of dissidents does not exist. Moreover, in sharp contrast to the North Korean case, even if there are no discernible dissident circles it is becoming common for Vietnamese workers to go on strike. Even if these strikes are oriented toward employers – usually foreign ones – rather than the Party-state, they show that a 71 72

Ibid., 143. Thaveeporn Vasavakul, “From Fence-Breaking to Networking: Interests, Popular Organizations, and Policy Influences in Post-Socialist Vietnam,” in Ben J. Tria Kerkvliet, Russell H. K. Heng, and David W. H. Koh, Getting Organized in Vietnam: Living In and Around the Socialist State (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2003), pp. 26ff.

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tradition of mobilization is emerging in the country. From 1989 to mid 1994, around one hundred strikes were reported in Vietnam. Nevertheless, the strikes mostly took place in the southern region which had only succumbed to communist rule in 1975 and thus had much less experience of communist policies than the north, as well as in foreignowned firms that did not allow unions.73 It would appear, then, that society’s revolutionary potential is increasing in both China and Vietnam. The regimes have lost much of their ideological legitimacy, strikes are becoming more common, and citizens are more accustomed to organizing. Should a revolt break out, the ability of revolutionary leaders to communicate with the general population has increased, due to increased access to the Internet, the emergence of private outlets for selling literature, and the like. But dissident circles are still fairly rare in Vietnam, and they are still heavily repressed in China. This makes it more difficult for a group of intellectuals to emerge that could use its communicative skills to organize a mass uprising.

Is a revolutionary situation likely to emerge? While, shortly after the collapse of communist regimes in Central and Eastern Europe, it was common to predict the collapse of the regime in China, it has been rare for authors to predict the collapse of the Vietnamese regime. One of the strongest theoretical reasons for predicting the eventual collapse of the Chinese regime comes from modernization theory, which would just as surely predict the eventual collapse of the Vietnamese regime if it succeeds in modernizing society. The best-known proponent of modernization theory was Minxin Pei, who argued that the East European regimes fell because they had a larger middle class than in China, which was able to demand democratic change. In 1994, he claimed that a regime is much more likely to democratize when the economy has modernized to such an extent that a large urban middle class has emerged, which is willing to mobilize around demands for democratic freedoms.74 China still has a way to go before it reaches this stage. A decade later, however, Pei had grown noticeably more pessimistic about the future. He claimed now that China’s leaders have gotten “trapped” in a self-perpetuating system, which reinforces their need to isolate themselves from the population. They had become an openly self-serving 73 74

Chan and Norlund, “Vietnamese and Chinese Labour Regimes,” 180. Pei, From Reform to Revolution, pp. 58ff.

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elite, while the type of capitalism they are introducing is of the rawest sort.75 Pei worried that this self-perpetuating system cannot be broken. The analysis presented in this book does not necessarily contradict either Pei’s optimistic earlier view (that modernization will bring democracy) or his more pessimistic later one (that the regime is trapped). Instead, it suggests the possibility of a transition regardless of the level of modernization and regardless of whether the regime is “trapped.” It may be true that a transition to democracy will be easier if China and Vietnam become more “modern,” with a larger group of intellectuals and urban professionals. We might then expect a group of intellectuals to emerge who would have extensive contacts with the West (they might have studied there, for example) and who could form the core of a dissident movement. This would be especially important for Vietnam, which in contrast to China does not have a tradition of intellectual dissidence. Support for democratization would also likely increase with the emergence of a large urban professional class whose career opportunities were blocked by the Party-state dictatorship. China and Vietnam may fit the traditional modernization model more closely than the countries of Central and Eastern European did, inasmuch as both Asian countries have a large emerging bourgeoisie (i.e. capitalist class). Modernization theory predicts that the emerging bourgeoisie will play a role in democratization, since this class resents arbitrary state interference in its business affairs. (However, the role of capitalists is highly controversial, as studies have shown that the bourgeoisie frequently opposes democratization and that it has often been the working class which is the driving force behind democratization.)76 But while modernization may favor the democratization process, the fact that communist regimes fell in such “unmodern” countries as Albania shows that modernization is not a necessary or even a sufficient condition for democratization. As China’s large neighbor India shows, moreover, even a poor country with a similar geography and population size can support a democratic type of regime. Furthermore, the reader should recall that the theory presented in this book concerns the collapse of communist regimes. It does not consider the question of whether consolidated democracies emerge thereafter. It is accordingly possible that these “unmodern” communist regimes will collapse without turning into democracies. In addition, the popular uprisings against freezing regimes (as in Czechoslovakia and East Germany) or against freezing patrimonial 75 76

Pei, China’s Trapped Transition, pp. 8ff. See, for example, Dietrich Rueschemeyer, Evelyne Huber Stephens, and John D. Stephens, Capitalist Development and Democracy (University of Chicago Press, 1992).

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regimes (as in Romania) show that even “trapped” regimes can fall prey to popular uprisings. Thus, despite Pei’s impressive insights, the model presented here is better able to account for possible scenarios in which the communists lose power in Vietnam and China than is modernization theory. According to the model developed in this book, the first important step in the fall of communist regimes is the loss of pragmatic acceptance. This occurs when the regime – which already lacks ideological legitimacy – is no longer able to convince the population that it is doing a reasonably good job (given the constraints it faces).The main basis for the pragmatic acceptance of the Chinese and Vietnamese regimes has been economic growth, together with (to an increasing extent) national pride. This suggests that, as in Central and Eastern Europe, the population will be less likely to accept continued communist rule if economic growth ceases and living standards fall. Under such conditions, workers and peasants may well opt for rebellion, seeing that they have “nothing to lose but their chains.” Many different scenarios are possible where falling economic growth is concerned. If the Marxian hypothesis is correct that the forces of production will eventually come into conflict with the means of production, we might then expect continued reliance on state enterprises to become a “fetter” on the economy (at least if they continue to be run in an undemocratic, authoritarian manner), as these enterprises become less and less able to compete in the market as technology grows more advanced. As long as industry is primarily based on cheap labor, the hybrid model can work relatively well. But as the Chinese and Vietnamese economies develop further, and are increasingly based on modern technologies rather than on cheap labor, they will most likely experience economic crises similar to those in Central and Eastern Europe. This is just one possible scenario. One could imagine many others. If, for example, the communist leaders in China and Vietnam become increasingly “trapped” and self-serving in their policies, corruption may grow to such a point that it destabilizes the economy and discourages foreign investment. It is also conceivable that trapped, self-serving leaders will lose sight of reality and make ill-conceived investment decisions that destabilize the economy. Even such events, however, would not in themselves be enough to bring down the regimes. The Cuban and North Korean cases show that, under some circumstances, communist-led regimes can remain in power even if living standards fall radically. If the analysis in this book is correct, something has to happen that raises expectations for change among the population. In that sense, my analysis here is close to that offered in the

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traditional literature on democratic transitions, according to which the dynamics of transition are set in motion when reformers come to power. In this view, the main impetus for democratization comes from a split within the leadership, which forces softliners to turn to the population for support against hardliners. This in turn forces the softliners to make concessions to the opposition, such as agreeing to elections. The Polish and Hungarian cases indicate it would be perfectly possible for radical reformers to gain a majority within the Chinese and Vietnamese politburos and then to liberalize the political system in order to gain support for economic reforms. Such a move toward political liberalization would greatly increase expectations that real change is possible. Then, if the rulers introduce economic measures that lower living standards in the short term, they may find that the population no longer pragmatically accepts that the rulers are doing reasonably well. Thus, the opposition might start making greater demands. If living standards are declining, the population no longer pragmatically accepts the regime, and the population also feels frustrated that its expectations for change are not being met, then an uprising can emerge if the regime does something that outrages the population. Actions that outrage the population can include anything from a crackdown on the opposition to the announcement of economic measures, such as price increases, that will lower living standards. In such a case, the rulers may decide to negotiate with the opposition out of fear that an uprising will begin if they do not. When such a potentially revolutionary situation looms over the rulers, the latter are likely – as reformists in a maturing regime – to think it best to introduce democratic reforms, rather than to wait for an uprising to occur (which they would be forced to crush). The economic reforms they favor would then be threatened, and their hardline rivals might even take power. In theory, a revolutionary situation can emerge during an economic downturn even if radical reformers do not come to power and thereby raise expectations for change. The Czechoslovak and East German cases show that rising expectations for change can be based on outside events even when conservatives remain in power. Events such as Gorbachev’s rise to power or the democratization of neighboring regimes gave the population hope in both countries that change was possible despite the continued rule of domestic hardliners. The maturing Chinese and Vietnamese regimes could possibly turn in a freezing direction that would make them similar to Czechoslovakia and East Germany if they decide to crack down on the opposition, to reverse trends toward cultural liberalization, and to take back political reforms that allow for multicandidate elections at the local level, etc. In such a scenario, the regimes would still face a revolutionary situation if external events frustrated

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expectations for change. In this case, we would expect the now freezing regimes eventually to lose power to mass uprisings rather than to lose power by negotiating a transition with the opposition. Nevertheless, this scenario is rather unlikely, as there is now no leading communist country (like the former Soviet Union) that can initiate a reform process which raises expectations for change among people in other communist-ruled countries. Even if the regimes in Cuba or North Korea fall, for example, that will do little to increase expectations for change in Vietnam or China as Cuba and North Korea have little or no influence on other communist-led regimes. Cuba is on another continent, and North Korea is such an unusual case that neither the Chinese nor the Vietnamese rulers are likely to feel any need to copy any policies originating there. If China democratized, expectations might be raised among the Vietnamese, but even here the connection would not be as clear as it was among the countries of Central and Eastern Europe. It is even possible to imagine cases where the actions of non-communist countries raise expectations. Such a scenario is much more likely, however, in the case of Cuba or North Korea than in that of China or Vietnam. For example, American policies toward Cuba might change, leading to an improvement in relations between the two countries, which might in turn raise expectations among the Cuban population of political reform. Similarly, increased cooperation between North and South Korea could encourage a belief among North Koreans that change is possible. It is difficult to imagine a scenario, however, whereby a non-communist country raises hopes in a similar fashion among the people of either China or Vietnam. Under what circumstances might hardliners get the upper hand, and push China or Vietnam in a freezing direction? A Serbian-type scenario is the most likely one here. Since both China and Vietnam have tried to replace their ideological legitimacy with nationalism, the communist leaders of China or Vietnam might decide – if faced with an economic downturn – to follow Miloševic´’s path and play the nationalist card. Nationalism could be useful for diverting attention from economic problems and toward feelings of patriotism. Like the communist government of the former Yugoslavia, and unlike the Soviet satellite regimes in Central and Eastern Europe, the Chinese and Vietnamese regimes are both “homegrown.” Their nationalist credentials are accordingly far better that those of any of the regimes which rose to power on the back of Soviet troops. Moreover, since both governments have relied increasingly on nationalism to gain support, more radical moves in this direction would not be too far-fetched, especially in the case of China.

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As an editorial in the Economist warns, China is a huge, newly emerging force on the world scene. And it is unapologetically authoritarian, as were Japan and Prussia, whose rises in the late 19th century were hardly trouble-free. Nor is China a status quo power. There is the unfinished business of Taiwan, eventual “reunification” with which remains an article of faith for China, and towards which it has pointed some 1,000 missiles. There is the big, lolling tongue of its maritime claim in the South China Sea, which unnerves its South-East Asian neighbours. And China keeps giving reminders of its unresolved wrangle with India over what is now the Indian state of Arunachal Pradesh, which it briefly overran in 1962. Nor has it reached agreement with Japan over disputed islands.77

It is thus possible that in order to divert attention from economic problems, Chinese leaders could decide to take military action against Taiwan or over Arunachal Pradesh. Such a strategy could help them keep power during an economic downturn. Moreover, while the charismatic Mao never tried to establish personalized patrimonial rule, a future leader may make a bid for power on this basis. After all, the charismatic Tito had also refrained from imposing patrimonial rule in Yugoslavia, but that did not stop Miloševic´ from doing so some years later. Granted, the catastrophic results of Miloševic´’s failed wars might scare off potential Chinese nationalists; however, China obviously presents a much more formidable military threat than rump Yugoslavia ever did. It is hard to imagine the US or NATO bombing Beijing in order to stop China from attacking some smaller neighbor. At the very least, the risk of starting a nuclear war would be too great. A likelier scenario is that, rather than attacking a neighbor (including Taiwan, which China does not consider a neighbor, but rather an integral part of the country), the Chinese regime steps up its repression in Tibet or Xinjiang. On the other hand, the Chinese economy has become so integrated into the world economy today that the costs of the Miloševic´ option would be extremely high. An increasing proportion of the country’s technical elite, for instance, is getting part of its training at Western universities. It is likely that these scientists, engineers, and economists will try to push the regime along a continued maturing-reformist path. Still, one cannot accuse Miloševic´ of having made economically rational calculations. As long as individual actors are able to influence events, foretelling the future will remain a difficult business. Vietnam is less likely than China to follow the Miloševic´ route. True, the Vietnamese regime actually has stronger nationalist credentials than its Chinese counterpart, having defeated both French and American 77

“Chinas’s Place in the World,” Economist (October 3, 2009): 12.

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military forces in order to reunite the country, which might give reason for the regime to want to play the nationalist card as Miloševic´ did. In addition, Vietnamese leaders do not have to feel as ashamed of their past as their Chinese counterparts, not having had any equivalent of the Cultural Revolution or the Great Leap Forward, which gives them more nationalist legitimacy. However, the Vietnamese leadership has a long tradition of collective leadership, which is unique among communist-led regimes. This tradition of collective leadership would make it more difficult for a strong leader like Miloševic´ to emerge and concentrate power in his or her hands. Nevertheless, we should not forget that Miloševic´ was able to take over Yugoslavia at a time when the country had been practicing a system of rotating presidents (in order to prevent any one republic from dominating the country). Moreover, even if Vietnam does not have border disputes or internal ethnic antagonisms in the way that China has, it has intervened militarily in the past in the affairs of a neighboring country (Cambodia). In addition, Vietnam’s military wields great influence “within the country,” having fought two wars of liberation, as well as border clashes with China. As Porter notes: Because the Vietnamese state has been involved in military conflict during most of its existence, the Vietnam People’s Army has been a major socioeconomic as well as political institution. During the conflict with China in the 1980s, the VPA had 1.1 million regular troops backed up by three million trained reserves. In 1987, an estimated one of every three adult males belonged to a military organization. The VPA also nearly monopolized the country’s capabilities for construction in transportation, communications, irrigation, and hydropower. Moreover, it was more disciplined and efficient than any other institution in society. That factor undoubtedly explains why the State Planning Commission decided to select VPA officers and NCOs to fill two-thirds of the district level administrative positions open in 1977.78

The military, then, is extremely powerful in Vietnam. It is furthermore possible that, under certain conditions, it may rally behind a charismatic nationalist leader intent on stirring up trouble with a neighboring country. However, the military has great financial interests in the country’s economy. This gives it a strong incentive to avoid the suicidal policies of a Miloševic´, which would wreak economic havoc. Like China, moreover, Vietnam is increasingly dependent on international investment. This means the regime has a lot to lose if it scares off foreign investment by playing the nationalist card. 78

Porter, Vietnam, 82.

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Conclusion If the analysis in this book is correct, we can expect the communist-led regimes in China and Vietnam to enter the danger zone if the population stops pragmatically accepting them, due to the onset of an economic crisis. In such a situation, workers and peasants will conclude that they have nothing to lose but their chains. By itself, however, that will not be enough. The vast majority will not be willing to rise up against their rulers unless their expectations for political reform have first been frustrated. In contrast to Central and Eastern Europe, however, it is hard to imagine a scenario in China or Vietnam where expectations for reform are stimulated from the outside. A likelier scenario is that expectations for reform arise because reformist leaders come to power and give the population hope that more radical steps toward liberalization and democratization will be taken. Then, when the population feels increasingly frustrated, and tempers reach boiling point, the situation can explode if the regime does something to anger the population, such as arresting opposition leaders. The leaders in both China and Vietnam, it bears recalling, consider themselves to be “reformists.” Their pragmatic acceptance is based on a maturing, reformist image. This suggests they may be willing eventually to liberalize, and to follow the Polish and Hungarian example of negotiating with the opposition before an actual uprising breaks out. At the National People’s Congress in 2006, for instance, President Hu Jintao declared that he would “uphold the reformist orientation without any hesitation.”79 On the other hand, if hardliners manage to gain the upper hand, and if they then try to move the country in a freezing direction (as with the failed hardliner coup attempt in the USSR), then an uprising’s chances for success will also depend on the willingness of intellectuals to support workers and peasants. Indeed, having abandoned their revisionism in response to the Tiananmen Square massacre, intellectuals in China have shown an increasing willingness to cooperate with workers and peasants. In Vietnam, however, no dissident groups have emerged. Still, the increased frequency of strikes indicates that the potential for an uprising exists. In addition, official organizations, such as unions, youth organizations and research institutes, may increasingly begin to play the role of a semi-opposition, and pressure the regimes to democratize. In addition, the increasing availability of modern technologies – such as the Internet 79

Willy Lam, “On Eve of US Visit, Hu Pushes Reformist Image,” The Jamestown Foundation 6:7 (2006), downloaded from www.jamestown.org/publications, accessed on October 29, 2007.

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(even if censored) and cellular phones – together with the possibility of distributing literature via private sellers, makes it far easier for the opposition to communicate with the population than was the case in Central and Eastern Europe. The recent uprisings in Iran and the Arab world show how citizens are able to use cell phones and social network programs on the Internet both to mobilize people quickly and to inform the international community about what is happening in the country. The regimes in both China and Vietnam have been moving in a maturing direction, so they are likely to follow the Polish and Hungarian example of a negotiated transition, whereby the regime initiates talks with the opposition before a full-fledged revolution breaks out. Such a scenario seems all the more likely in view of the large number of party cadres in China and Vietnam who have significant business holdings (which could be taken away by an angry revolutionary movement). The assets acquired by Polish and Hungarian cadres through “spontaneous privatization” pale by comparison. Furthermore, an increasing proportion of the Chinese elite is being educated in the West. This is likely to induce future leaders to favor a negotiated transition over direct confrontation with a revolutionary uprising. Nevertheless, the increasing tendency toward nationalist propaganda points to a danger. During an economic downturn, namely, a charismatic populist leader may resort to nationalism in order to distract attention from the Party’s economic failures.

8

Non-transition and patrimonial communism

The last chapter shows that one strategy for communist-led regimes to remain in power is to give up their communist ideology in favor of capitalism, while maintaining Lenin’s notion of a vanguard party. As long as the economy is functioning reasonably well, the population is likely to pragmatically accept the regime, even if it has lost its ideological legitimacy. Another strategy has been for strong, charismatic rulers to hold onto power when the regime starts degenerating by personalizing their rule and placing loyal friends and family members in high places. In contrast to more orthodox communist regimes, which base their legitimacy on Marxist notions of equality and a classless society, these patrimonial leaders stake their authority on the claim that they are national heroes, who as “fathers of the country” must take care of their offspring. The use of family ties is a way for patrimonial rulers to institutionalize their rule, as it ensures the succession of a family member to power upon the ruler’s death. Thus, in North Korea, son replaced father; in Cuba, brother replaced brother. A regime of this type does not lose power easily, for it gives little hope to the population that any real changes can be expected as long as the family is in power. Any kind of serious reform introduced by the all-powerful ruler would be an implicit admission that he (and it is always a man) is fallible and thus is not qualified to be father of the nation.1 As long as patrimonial rulers are in power, therefore, it is unlikely that expectations for change will emerge among the population (unless, as in the case of Romania, the expectations are caused by external events, such as Gorbachev’s rise to power, rather than internal events). Unlike in Central and Eastern Europe, Gorbachev’s rise to power gave little hope to Cubans and North Koreans that change was on the horizon. Indeed, the mass media were so tightly controlled in Cuba and North Korea that 1

For a discussion of this in the case of Cuba, see for example Peter M. Sanchez, “Prospects for Democracy in Cuba,” in Eloise Linger and John Cotman, eds., Cuban Transitions at the Millenium (Largo, Md.: International Development Options, 2000), 294.

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citizens at the time had little knowledge about the reform process that Gorbachev had launched. Those who did know about Gorbachev’s reforms, furthermore, had little reason to believe he would be able to influence their own rulers, inasmuch as the latter were not – unlike the rulers in Central and Eastern Europe – dependent on Soviet troops and support for their power. In the case of Cuba, there is an additional reason for low expectations for change. In the words of Juan M. del Aguila,“it is a fact that no transition to democracy has occurred in any country where the ‘founding revolutionary leader’ exercised considerable, if not absolute political power.”2 Even dissidents admitted they did not expect Fidel Castro to allow any significant changes. After Castro cracked down on the opposition in 2003 and “sentenced 75 dissidents to an average of 19 years in prison in secret, one-day trials,”3 the Cuban dissident Vásquez Portal declared that he did “not believe that the human rights situation could possibly improve while [Fidel] Castro is in power.”4 Since Fidel’s brother Raúl was one of the revolutionary leaders, Portal’s statement is still relevant to the Cuban situation. A relative lack of dependence on Soviet support was not the only reason, however, that the Cuban and North Korean regimes were less vulnerable to collapse than the Central and East European regimes. Another reason was that in 1989 Cuba and North Korea had not yet entered the late-totalitarian phase. North Korea was – and still is – perhaps the most totalitarian country that has ever existed, making it impossible for any organized opposition to exist there. In contrast to other patrimonial regimes, the one in North Korea had never undergone a “thaw” such as the one seen in Romania5 during the 1960s. (Up until now, in fact, no totalitarian regime has ever fallen save through outside invasion, as in the case of Cambodia.) In the 1980s, Cuba was not nearly as totalitarian as North Korea and it had even experimented with minor reforms. Castro still enjoyed some ideological legitimacy and the regime was in the process of leaving the early post-totalitarian stage. As is typical of early post-totalitarian regimes, the Cuban regime in the 1980s allowed limited debate on reforms, as long 2

3 4 5

Juan M. del Aguila, “Reflections on a Non-Transition in Cuba: Comments on Elites,” in Cuba in Transition: vol. IX: Papers and Proceedings of the Ninth Annual Meeting of the Association for the Study of the Cuban Economy (ASCE), Biltmore Hotel, Coral Gables, Florida, August 12–14, 1999 (Silver Spring: ASCE, 1999), p. 193. “Cuba’s Gulag,” Economist, April 3, 2004 (371: 8,369). Jeffrey L. Roberg and Alyson Kuttruff, “Cuba: Ideological Success or Ideological Failure?” Human Rights Quarterly 29:3 (2007): 794. And most of Central Europe.

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as these debates remained within the bounds of the official ideology (in which much of the Party-state apparatus and parts of society still believed). Toward the end of the decade, in reaction to Gorbachev’s reforms, the regime began to move increasingly in a freezing direction. This break with the Soviet bloc, in turn, undermined Cuba’s ideological legitimacy, because the latter was based in large part on being an important part of a world communist movement in alliance with the Soviet Union. Castro stopped the reform debates and closed down the markets where craftsmen and peasants could sell their goods. The country was still in a transitional period, though, and the regime still enjoyed a degree of ideological legitimacy. This meant the regime still believed in its right to rule and that its security forces would have been prepared to shoot if an uprising had occurred. It also meant the population had little reason to expect any changes and thus little reason to take the risk of rebelling. Thus, no major demonstrations took place in this period. Instead, the largest demonstration took place in 1994 – five years after the fall of the Central and East European regimes and three years after the fall of the Soviet Union. By this point, the Cuban regime had clearly left the early post-totalitarian phase and was losing its ideological legitimacy. On August 5, 1994, hundreds of youths rioted on Havana’s broad coastal avenue, the Malecón. They shouted anti-government slogans and broke windows in dollar shops and tourist hotels. State security forces quickly repressed the demonstrations, although they did not shoot anyone.6 Riots took place in other parts of the city as well, with some three thousand persons participating, according to some sources. The police, the Committees in Defense of the Revolution and rapid action brigades all helped break up the demonstrations. Reportedly 3 people died, 100 were injured and more than 225 were arrested.7 The economic decline in Cuba during the 1990s forced the regime to relax restrictions on private market activity at times and laid bare the regime’s failure to build a new model economy. However, the Castro regime has been able to maintain some amount of pragmatic acceptance by combining anti-American nationalism with a fairly intact welfare system, even though living standards have dropped dramatically. This provides a sharp contrast to China and Vietnam, which have allowed most of their welfare programs to unravel, notwithstanding sharply rising living 6 7

Bert Hoffmann, “Emigration and Regime Stability: The Persistence of Cuban Socialism,” Journal of Communist Studies and Transition Politics, 21: 4 (2005): 445. Benigno E. Aguirre, “Social Control in Cuba,” Latin American Politics and Society, 44:2 (2002): 80–1.

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standards. Thus, Castro realized that, under his conditions, maintaining relatively generous welfare provisions was a possible way to maintain pragmatic acceptance without introducing raw capitalistic market reforms of the type that China and Vietnam had introduced. In the words of two observers, “As much as Cubans doubt the wisdom of his stubborn adherence to socialism, they respect his intelligence, shrewdness, and determination.”8 Nothing, however, lasts forever. The fact that the communist regimes in China, Cuba, North Korea and Vietnam were able to hold onto power in 1989 does not mean they will do so for all eternity. Thus, the question is not if these regimes will lose power, but rather under what circumstances we can expect this to happen. If the economy continues to decline or at least to stagnate, one possible type of transition under patrimonial rule is a military coup. After all, patrimonial leaders justify their rule on the grounds that only they can save the nation; accordingly, the destruction of the economy may cause military officers to doubt that their “great” leader is safeguarding national interests. Another possibility is that something happens which inspires a belief among the people that real change is possible. It is unthinkable that events in the international arena could increase expectations of reform in North Korea or Cuba as long as Kim Jong Il and the Castro brothers remain in power. Both Kim Jong Il and the Castro brothers base their rule on the claim that they are infallible. This means that any radical changes in policy would be an admission that they have made mistakes, which would imply that their right to rule is based on a lie. In contrast to Romania – where external events (Gorbachev’s reforms) undermined Ceaus¸escu’s pragmatic acceptance and gave rise to expectations for change in the country – external events are unlikely to give rise to greater expectations among Cubans or North Koreans for reform at home. However, once Kim Jong Il and the Castros step down, expectations for change may rise. If the economy in these countries continues to perform poorly, a revolutionary situation may emerge. Workers and peasants may come to feel they have nothing to lose but their chains; expectations may be frustrated, so that popular anger reaches a boiling point; and regime actions which enrage the population may spark a full-scale revolt. This chapter looks at three main questions in regard to North Korea and Cuba: (1) the prospects for economic improvement; (2) the possibility of a military coup; and (3) the revolutionary potential of society.

8

Eliana Cardoso and Ann Helwege, Cuba after Communism (Cambridge Mass.: MIT Press, 1992), p. 54.

Economic stagnation?

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Economic stagnation? Few countries have ever suffered as great an economic collapse as North Korea and yet the regime there remains in power. As late as in 1965, according to some estimates, North Korea’s per capita GNP was more than three times that of South Korea.9 While living standards were not necessarily higher than in South Korea (since much of the production went into heavy industry rather than consumer goods), “there were actually goods made in North Korea that you could buy in the stores – clothing, material, underwear, candy.”10 By the end of the 1990s, however, South Korea’s per capita GNP was eleven times larger than North Korea’s.11 The collapse of North Korea’s industry was so severe that Scott Snyder notes: overall productivity and capacity utilization rates have dropped to the level of 10– 15 percent, and many factories have shuttered their doors and been cannibalized for scrap metal that can be traded across the border with China in exchange for food. Replacement parts necessary to keep key factories open are scarce, and energy necessary to run the factories that are in working order is also hard to come by. Despite certain signs of stabilization – for instance through the construction of small-scale hydroelectric plants in certain localities – under the slogan of kang song tae-guk, or “strong country and great nation,” the DPRK’s industrial economy is moribund, with only certain key military-run facilities high enough on the priority list to receive the resources necessary to continue operations.12

Not only did the economy drastically decline but the country has become infamous for its inability to feed its own people. Because of the closed nature of North Korean society, it is difficult to get reliable statistics on just how many people have died, but it has been estimated that half a million to three million of the population may have died from starvation.13 Furthermore, Gavan McCormack observes that

9 10 11 12

13

Bradley K. Martin, Under the Loving Care of the Fatherly Leader: North Korea and the Kim Dynasty (New York: Thomas Dunne Books, 2004), p. 121. Ibid. Gavan McCormack, Target North Korea: Pushing North Korea to the Brink of Nuclear Catastrophe (New York: Nation Books, 2004), p. 84. Scott Snyder, “North Korea’s Challenge of Regime Survival: Internal Problems and Implications for the Future,” Pacific Affairs, 73:4, special issue Korea in Flux (2000–1): 525. See, for example, Bruce Cumings, North Korea (New York: New Press, 2004), p. 178; McCormack, Target North Korea, pp. 12–13; Marcus Noland and Sherman Robinson, “Famine in North Korea: Causes and Cures,” Economic Development and Cultural Change, 49:4 (2001), 741; and Kongdan Oh and Ralph Hassig, “North Korea Between Collapse and Reform,” Asian Survey, 39:2 (1999): 287.

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hundreds of thousands of refuges had fled, mostly to China. Early in 2003 UNICEF reported that in a population of about 22 million, 15 million women and children “continue to need external assistance to survive and grow,” one-third of mothers are malnourished and anemic, 9 percent of children suffer wasting or acute malnutrition, and 42 percent stunting or chronic malnutrition. Up to 200,000 people – just under 1 percent of the population – are thought to be held in labor camps.14

Even if starvation has not been as serious a problem in the past decade as it was in the previous one, food rations in 2005 still only amounted to 40 percent of what the World Food Program recommends.15 Notwithstanding the regime’s desire to keep totalitarian control over society and the economy, the economic crisis has forced some minor reforms, such as allowing people to travel more freely within the country in search of food. The existence of mass famine has also forced the regime to allow some markets to open, as the state cannot provide enough food.16 The North Korean regime has also taken some measures to stabilize its finances. For example, it has devalued its currency and ended many subsidies in such areas as childcare, welfare, and education, while sharply increasing prices so that they come closer to market levels. Consequently, two-thirds of an average salary goes to buying food. In 2003, “a national network of black markets was officially recognized and received legal status.”17 To some extent, the regime has had no choice but to institute certain reforms. The legalization of the secondary economy, for example, was necessary in order to prevent total economic collapse: As the primary economy has collapsed, a secondary civilian economy has sprung up, consisting of widespread bribery, pilfering, bootleg production, and trade in people’s markets.18

While Kim Jong Il has made some concessions to economic necessity at times, he has also tended to rescind these reforms as soon as the economy edges away from total collapse. After tolerating markets since the mid 1990s, Kim Jong Il began restricting them in 2005; in September 2009, he announced that the country’s largest open market, in Pyongsong, would be closed.19 A few months later, he carried out a currency reform that limited the amount of money one could exchange for foreign currency to around US$ 60. Thus, in a single day, Kim Jong Il wiped out the personal 14 15 16 18 19

McCormack, Target North Korea, pp. 12–13. Ari Sharp, “Kim and Capitalism: Looking for Signs of Hope in North Korea,” Institute of Public Affairs Review (April, 2006): 16. Snyder, “North Korea’s Challenge,” 528. 17 Martin, Under the Loving Care, p. 95. Oh and Hassig, “North Korea between Collapse and Reform,” 290. Choe Sang-hun, “North Korea Said to Shut Market in Bid for Control,” New York Times, September 20, 2009.

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savings of almost everyone who had traded in the markets. This move reportedly led to suicides and protests. To make matters worse, only women over the age of 46 are now allowed to sell in the private markets in the capital, making it more difficult than ever for families to supplement their extremely low official incomes from state employment.20 The regime has also made some half-hearted attempts to follow the Chinese example of opening special areas for foreign investment. However, the conditions for investment are so restrictive that few international corporations are interested.21 Disadvantages for potential foreign investors include unreliable energy services; constant power shortages; a lack of accessible railroads, highways, and ports; and a generally deteriorating infrastructure. Furthermore, those living in the free-trade zones are probably not the most efficient workers, as the local populations were forced to leave the areas and were replaced by politically “reliable” people, who are not necessarily the most capable. Other problems with these areas include corruption, a remote location, the removal of advertisements for Western businesses, and bans on South Koreans from visiting the zone. Because of the regime’s inability to attract foreign investment, government officials are now shifting their efforts to attracting tourists – whom they are scaring off at the same time! One tourist, for example, was arrested for several days for having talked to a North Korean park ranger. After this incident, all tours were suspended for 45 days.22 In addition, the regime still demands that foreign companies pay wages in hard currencies at levels higher than those in China and Vietnam, thus eliminating any incentive for foreign companies to invest in the country in order take advantage of lower wages.23 As long as Kim Jong Il is in power, it is highly unlikely the regime will undertake any meaningful reforms. Like other patrimonial rulers, the Dear Leader faces the problem that any serious reforms would be interpreted as an admission that he and his father have been fallible. The Castro brothers face a similar problem; however, the difficulties which the younger Kim confronts in this regard are greater. The problem, as in the case of East Germany, is that North Korean citizens would quickly realize – if the system opened up and information became more accessible – that living standards are much higher in the capitalist world.

20 21 22 23

Torböjrn Petersson, “Nordkoreansk valutareform väcker vrede,” Dagens Nyheter, December 3, 2009. Oh and Hassig, “North Korea between Collapse and Reform,” 293–4. Martin, Under the Loving Care, pp. 638ff.; Marcus Noland, Korea after Kim Jong-il (Washington, DC: Institute for International Economics, 2004), p. 54. Noland, Korea after Kim Jong-il, pp. 50–1.

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Indeed, North Koreans might conclude more than just that they reap no advantages from living in a system where almost everyone is poor. They might also begin to realize that the Kim Il Sung religion they have been taught is based almost completely on lies. The lies encompass everything from the history of the elder Kim before he came to power to the supposed birthplace of the present Dear Leader; from the issue of who started the Korean War, to the question which of the two Koreas is richer and more respected in the world. The North Korean regime claims that the world looks up to the Great and Dear Leaders, when in fact most of the world ridicules them. As in the case of East Germany, a major problem faced by the regime in North Korea is that, if it accepts certain aspects of the “other system” in South Korea, North Koreans will start to wonder what the point is of having two separate Koreas. As Marcus Noland puts it: “Why be a third-rate South Korean when you can be the real thing?”24 As for Fidel Castro, he has tied the communist revolution so much to his person that it would be difficult for him (or his brother) to enact reforms that stray very much from the orthodox model. As with the Kims in North Korea, an admission by the Castros that the orthodox system is not working would be an admission that they are fallible and perhaps should not enjoy such great power. Despite these limitations, the Castros have not presented themselves as living gods and they have shown themselves to be much more pragmatic than the Kims. They have been willing, for instance, to implement some pragmatic measures to save the economy after the collapse of the Soviet Union, which had subsidized the Cuban economy25 and accounted for around 85 percent of its trade.26 As Fidel Castro was unable to institutionalize fully a durable totalitarian rule and since he did not try to replace Marxism-Leninism with a new state religion making him into a living god, his regime became more open to pressure from society. He was forced to seek society’s pragmatic acceptance on the grounds that he would continue to support the country’s generous social welfare programs and to stand up to the United States as

24 25

26

Ibid., p. 9. Miguel Angel Centeno, “The Return of Cuba to Latin America: The End of Cuban Exceptionalism?” Bulletin of Latin American Research, 23:4 (2004): 406. According to Centeno, the aid amounted to some $6,000 per person. Douglas Hamilton, “Whither Cuban Socialism? The Changing Political Economy of the Cuban Revolution,” Latin American Perspectives, 29:3 (2002): 23. Ana Julia JatorHausmann, The Cuban Way: Capitalism, Communism and Confrontation (West Hartford: Kumarian Press, 1999), p. 57. According to Jator-Hausmann, Soviet subsidies amounted to $800 per inhabitant per year.

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well. One author writes that, while belief in communist ideology is very weak, “Cubans are most proud of their achievements in education, health, and of Cuba’s ability to challenge US hegemony. Nevertheless, support for the revolution or Castro is not synonymous with support for socialism and single-party rule.”27 Health and literacy rates are among the highest in Latin America and are even comparable to those in the developed countries of Europe and the United States. Life expectancy is as high as in the United States and Cuba actually has a lower rate of infant mortality than the US.28 Even during the worst part of the crisis, the regime continued to support or even increase its support for education and healthcare.29 In 2002, social transfers amounted to 40 percent of the national budget.30 In a speech to the National Assembly in 1993, Castro made his social contract with the population explicit: We will have to improve and perfect socialism, make it efficient and not destroy it. The illusion that capitalism is going to solve our problems is an absurd and crazy chimera for which the masses will pay dearly. This is another reason why, not only because socialism is more just, more honorable, and more human in every sense, but because it is the only system that would provide us with the resources to keep our social conquests.31

These “social conquests” were at the heart of his strategy to acquire pragmatic acceptance at a time when world communism was crumbling. It would have been dangerous for his regime to allow the economy to degenerate to the point where mass starvation arose, as in North Korea. Yet Castro’s social contract was running into trouble as the “special period” of 1990–3 had arrived. Ration cards provided less than half an adult’s calorific requirements and “[n]utritional and vitamin deficiencies had caused blindness and paralysis in over 45,000 Cubans.”32 Between 1990 and 1993, GDP declined 40 percent. In 1993, approximately 70 percent of state enterprises were operating at a loss and the budget deficit reached about 29 percent. In response to the economic crisis, Castro decided to make concessions to society and to lighten up on state 27 28 29 30 31 32

Peter M. Sanchez, “Prospects for Democracy in Cuba,” pp. 289–300 in Linger and Cotman, Cuban Transitions at the Millenium, p. 294. Jeffrey L. Roberg and Alyson Kuttruff, “Cuba: Ideological Success or Ideological Failure?” Human Rights Quarterly 29:3 (2007): 784–5. Hamilton, “Whither Cuban Socialism?” 24. Hans-Jurgen Burchardt, “Contours of the Future: The New Social Dynamics in Cuba,” Latin American Perspectives, 29:3 (2002): 65. Jator-Hausmann, The Cuban Way, p. 53. Ibid., p. 57. See also Jonathan Curry-Machado, “Surviving the ‘Waking Nightmare’: Securing Stability in the Face of Crisis in Cuba (1989–2004),” London School of Economics Working Paper no. 64, June 2005: 11.

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control of the economy.33 One step was to reopen farmers’ markets in 1994, in order to alleviate the food shortage. 120 such markets were established.34 In the agricultural sector, many large state farms were broken into smaller, financially independent cooperatives (although they still had to follow demands from the Ministry of Agriculture for their output totals).35 Another step was to legalize the dollar, so that Cubans could hold dollars and buy products in dollars. The regime believed this was necessary for solving three related problems: the liquidity crisis (Cubans had more money than they could spend); the inability of official stores to supply people’s basic needs (which was making the black market even larger); and the influx of dollars from tourists.36 In order to obtain some of these dollars for itself, the state opened its own stores, in which hard-toget goods were sold in dollars.37 Because of this reform, it has also become easier for exiled Cubans to send money to their relatives on the island. In 2002, one scholar wrote that “the largest source of foreign exchange for the island today is neither sugar nor tourism but private transfers of dollars from overseas, estimated by independent sources to be in excess of US$800–1,000 million.”38 Moreover, workers employed in joint ventures and in state hotels that charge dollars receive bonuses in dollars from their companies (in addition to any dollars in tips that they may earn if they work in a hotel).39 In 33

34

35 36

37 38 39

For the budget deficit, see for example Archibald R. M. Ritter and Nicholas Rowe, “Cuba: From ‘Dollarization’ to ‘Euroization’ or ‘Peso Reconsolidation’?” Latin American Politics and Society, 44:2 (Summer 2002): 102. Exact estimates of the extent of the decline are difficult to come by. But according to Miguel Angel Centeno, while the country officially lost one-third of its income, the economy may actually have shrunk by half. See his “The Return of Cuba to Latin America,” 406. See also Edward Gonzalez and Kevin F. McCarthy, Cuba after Castro: Legacies, Challenges, and Impediments (report) (Santa Monica: Rand Corporation, 2004), p. 12. Gonzalez and McCarthy claim the country lost 32 percent of its income. Jator-Hausmann writes, in The Cuban Way, p. 46, that the economy declined by over 40 percent during this period. On p. 57, she claims as well that 70 percent of state enterprises were operating at a loss. Al Campbell, “The Cuban Economy,” in Eloise Linger and John Cotman, eds., Cuban Transitions at the Millenium (Largo, Maryland: International Development Options, 2000), p. 184; see also Jaime Suchlicki, “Castro’s Cuba: More Continuity than Change,” Studies in Comparative International Development, 34:4 (2000): 126. Hamilton, “Whither Cuban Socialism?” 24. See, for example, Julio Carranza Valdés, “The Cuban Economy during the 1990s: A Brief Assessment of a Critical Decade,” in Pedro Monreal, ed., Development Prospects in Cuba: An Agenda in the Making (London: Institute of Latin American Studies, University of London, 2002), p. 35. Ritter and Rowe, “Cuba: From ‘Dollarization,’” 107; Jator-Hausmann, The Cuban Way, p. 61. Burchardt, “Contours of the Future,” 60. Campbell, “The Cuban Economy,” p. 177.

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2000, according to official statistics, “a total of 1,1580,000 workers took part in hard-currency based incentive systems.”40 The regime also legalized self-employment in over 150 services. Now hairdressers, plumbers, mechanics, restaurateurs, etc. could set themselves up in business. However, professions requiring a university education were excluded. Consequently, highly educated persons have difficulty surviving within their chosen line of work. Thus, many university graduates work in the service sector – as taxi drivers or prostitutes, for instance.41 As noted in Chapter 4, this accounts for the high proportion of professionals among Cuban dissidents. (Among dissidents in Eastern Europe, by contrast, intellectuals predominated.) It is clear the Castros see these small private activities as a necessary evil, to be tolerated only as long as necessary in order to keep the economy from declining. As Edward Gonzalez and Kevin F. McCarthy note: By 1997, the number of micro-enterprises had grown to more than 200,000. But when the economy showed signs of recovery, and the self-employed showed that they were enjoying substantial dollar incomes, the regime actively discouraged further growth of the fledgling private sector by erecting new obstacles. By 2001, the number of micro-enterprises dropped to an estimated 150,000.42

Tourism has become the country’s most important industry, accounting now for 40 percent of its foreign-exchange revenue.43 “By 1996, almost forty percent of Cuba’s total dollar income and sixty-five percent of exports were coming from tourists visiting the island and dollars sent home by families abroad.”44 During the 1990s alone, the number of hotel rooms doubled.45 By 2005, the total number of hotel rooms was 42,600 – about three and a half times the number in 1990.46 This support for tourism has created a sort of apartheid, with restaurants and beaches being reserved for tourists. Miguel Angel Centeno reports: “Most visitors to the island have confronted that horrific moment when they realise that Cuban friends and family may not accompany them inside their hotels.”47 But the dollar economy also 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47

Mauricio De Miranda, “Domestic Markets and the Development of Prospects of Cuba,” pp. 119–36 in Monreal, Development Prospects in Cuba, p. 125. Jator-Hausmann, The Cuban Way, pp. 61–3. Gonzalez and McCarthy, Cuba after Castro, p. xxi. Chloe Hayward, “Cuba’s Capitalist Evolution,” Euromoney, 39:475 (November, 2008). Jator-Hausmann, The Cuban Way, p. 83. Henry Louis Taylor Jr. and Linda McGlynn, “International Tourism in Cuba: Can Capitalism Be Used to Save Socialism?” Futures, 41 (2009): 406. Richard Sharpley and Martin Knight, “Tourism and the State in Cuba: From the Past to the Future,” International Journal of Tourism Research, 11 (2009): 248. Centeno, “The Return of Cuba to Latin America,” 407.

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creates a sharp division among Cubans themselves – between those with access to dollars and those without: The flourishing dollar economy has brought a new life for many Cubans. For those still trapped in the peso economy, especially government employees, it is the end of the revolution, despite Fidel’s message to the contrary.48

While those earning dollars have survived reasonably well, average monthly wages in the state sector in 1999, “in real or purchasing power terms, amounted to only 54.8 percent of their level in 1989.”49 One author states that government officials admit that nearly 30 percent of the labor force now works in the market sector;50 another author claims that “anywhere from one-third to over half of the economically active population” works in the informal sector.51 A further problem with the two-currency economy is that Party and state officials without access to dollars have an incentive to get involved in corruption in order to make ends meet. They are getting more involved, therefore, in the sale of stolen state goods on the black market.52 Another ideologically difficult decision was the constitutional reform of 1992, which paved the way for turning state-owned enterprises into joint ventures with foreign capital.53 Foreign enterprises were only allowed to own up to 49 percent of a joint venture company, but they were granted a total exemption from taxes and they could repatriate all their profits (in foreign currencies). Eventually, foreign investors were allowed to own up to 100 percent of these companies. As of 2008, however, “only one mining investment [had] been granted this right.”54 Between 1988 and 2000, over 530 joint ventures were formed, with 392 still remaining active by the end of the latter year.55 In 1999, 19,800 workers were employed in joint ventures.56 In the early years of the new millennium, the regime got a boost from the emergence of an ideologically friendly leader in the person of 48 49 50 51 52 53 54

55

56

Jator-Hausmann, The Cuban Way, p. 85. Ritter and Rowe, “Cuba: From ‘Dollarization,’” 109. Jator-Hausmann, The Cuban Way, p. 92. Centeno, “The Return of Cuba to Latin America,” 411. Burchardt, “Contours of the Future,” 64. Jator-Hausmann, The Cuban Way, pp. 49f. Hayward, “Cuba’s Capitalist Evolution;” see also Emily Morris, “Cuba’s New Relationship with Foreign Capital: Economic Policy-making since 1990,” Journal of Latin American Studies 40:4 (2008): 772. Omar Everleny Pérez Villanueva, “Foreign Direct Investment in Cuba: Recent Experience and Prospects,” pp. 47–68 in Monreal, Development Prospects in Cuba, 2002), p. 51. Ibid., p. 55.

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Hugo Chávez. Venezuelan investment has partly made up for the loss of Soviet aid: The largest of the joint ventures with Venezuela to date has been the upgrading of an oil refinery in the Caribbean port city of Cienfuegos. An agreement in principle was signed in April 2005 and a joint venture created a year later. The US$100 million first phase was completed on schedule in December 2007, and associated investments in the port and further expansion of petrochemicals processing are planned, with potential spending reported to total US$1 billion. Another important Cuban–Venezuelan project is a joint venture to link the two countries with a fibre-optic cable, planned for completion by early 2010.57

Like its counterparts in Hungary and China, furthermore, the regime decentralized state-owned enterprises, cut subsidies to firms and made companies more dependent on making profits.58 The government cut subsidies to state enterprises from 5.4 billion pesos in 1993 to 1.4 billion in 1996.59 Subsequently, the regime introduced the “business improvement” reform, which gives firms greater autonomy and stronger incentives to make profits.60 In 1994 the economy stopped declining.61 Although growth has been rather modest and generally not close to Chinese or Vietnamese levels, the economy did grow by 7.5 percent in 2007.62 The economy recovered in 1995–6, but then slowed down in 1997–2002. In 2003, Castro rescinded some of the reforms, abolishing the dollar as legal tender and recentralizing decision-making in the economy (although these measures were revoked a few years later). Notwithstanding the withdrawal of the reforms, official statistics showed rather high growth rates for 2004–6; however, Carmelo Mesa-Lago claims this was simply a result of statistical manipulation. For example, the government changed the base year for measuring growth rates in GDP. If the previous base year, 1981, had still been used for calculating GDP growth, GDP per capital in 2000 would have been 7 percent below 1989 levels.63 The government also deviated from standard UN methods for economic measurement by increasing the value of free social services and subsidies (counting them twice). Regardless of how one calculates the country’s economic performance, it is clear that, since the 1990–3 crisis period, Cuba has enjoyed positive 57 58 60 61 62 63

Morris, “Cuba’s New Relationship with Foreign Capital,” 782. Jator-Hausmann, The Cuban Way, p. 61. 59 Ibid., p. 118. See, for example, Valdés, “The Cuban Economy during the 1990s,” p. 39. Jator-Hausmann, The Cuban Way, p. 83. Geri Smith, “The Cuban Economy: After the Smoke Clears,” Businessweek, February 28, 2008. Carmelo Mesa-Lago, “The Cuban Economy in 2006–2007,” (2007): 1–2. Accessed online from ASCE at www.ascecuba.org.

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growth rates. Yet notwithstanding the improving economic situation, those who benefit from the economic reforms will not necessarily become more pro-regime. In contrast to their Chinese counterparts, who are encouraged by the government to become wealthy, those working in Cuba’s market sector still feel stigmatized by the government. Ana Julia Jator-Hausmann carried out a survey of people selling at open markets in Cuba. She summarizes her findings as follows: Generally, the people interviewed felt harassed, disrespected, and exploited by the government. Cubans are expressing these sentiments of frustration and anger with great strength and conviction. Since they are no longer dependent on the government for their income, they have become more openly critical of the system.64

Thus, both those who have gained and those who have lost out from the economic reforms have reason to be critical of the regime and to believe less than ever in the official Marxist-Leninist ideology. However, as discussed in previous chapters, people are unlikely to revolt (even if poor economic conditions give them reason to do so) unless something happens to raise their expectations. Still, even if no uprising takes place, the military may attempt – under certain conditions – to carry out a coup in order to save the country.

Potential for a military coup In a situation where the patrimonial leader – claiming to be the father of the nation – presides over a radically deteriorating economy, there is considerable risk that military officers will consider a coup d’état the only means of saving the nation. When the Great Leader died in North Korea, many predicted that a coup would take place to remove his less charismatic son, the Dear Leader, who would be unable to undertake any meaningful reforms because of his claimed need to uphold his father’s legacy.65 The most opportune moment for a coup would have been during the last years prior to and the first years following the death of the elder Kim. During the last year of his rule, the elder Kim was growing feeble, and it would not be until several years after his death that his son, Kim Jong Il, would be able to consolidate his power firmly. An elder generation of generals, moreover, had reason to resent the fact that somebody without military training would take over the reins of power simply because he was 64 65

Jator-Hausmann, The Cuban Way, p. 105. See, for example, Byung-joon Ahn, “The Man Who Would Be Kim,” Foreign Affairs, November/December, 1994: 99.

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the son of the Great Leader. In addition, the younger Kim was widely seen as arrogant, incompetent, and lacking his father’s charisma. Add to these personal factors the continued collapse of the economy and the outbreak of widespread famine and one can understand why patriotic officers felt they had good reasons for intervening to save the country. According to various authors, in fact, several coup attempts did take place in this period, but Kim Jong Il was able to thwart them. During the famine, for example, he did not allow troops to return to visit their families as he feared returning soldiers would realize the true nature of the famine and turn against the regime. According to Noland, “there is at least one documented case of a mutiny or attempted coup in 1995 by significant elements of the VI Corps, which was subsequently reorganized.”66 Bradley K. Martin cites a North Korean defector he met in South Korea, who had worked at the Ministry of the People’s Armed Forces. Martin claims: In 1989, Kim Jong-il issued an instruction that as a present to Kim Il-sung we had to reunite North and South by 1995. But when Kim Jong-il gave that instruction, some people in the ministry did not want forceful reunification. They wanted it done peacefully, no matter how long it might take. Their goal was to get rid of Kim Jong-il in a coup d’état. They wanted to attempt a coup d’état either when Kim Ilsung got physically feeble or when Kim Jong-il really wanted to start a war.67

Another defector told Martin about another coup attempt. State Security agents eventually found out about it and by 1992 they had arrested all the conspirators. The defector recalls: The group arrested included a vice-marshal and nine or ten other general officers, one of them four star. They were going to have an armed coup, get rid of Kim Jongil and resume talks with South Korea . . . [A]bout 200–300 were said to have been arrested, with half of those executed and half sent to political prison.68

A further report of an attempted coup comes from several of Martin’s sources, who claim that the regime purged disgruntled officers in 1992, fearing they were planning a coup. One defector claims the coup leader was Vice-Marshal Ahn Jong-ho, who had the support of forty other elite officers. All the officers had studied at a Soviet military academy, where they experienced more freedom than in their police state at home. They had doubts about the regime and personally disliked Kim Jong Il.69 After these coup attempts in the early to mid 1990s failed, the Dear Leader was fairly safe from internal rebellion. Most of the oppositionalists had been purged from the military and he had succeeded in consolidating 66 68

Noland, Korea after Kim Jong-il, p. 10. Ibid., p. 546. 69 Ibid., p. 548.

67

Martin, Under the Loving Care, p. 545.

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his power. Despite continued economic problems, Kim Jong Il faced little risk that officers would dare rise up against him. Nevertheless, following his death, disgruntled military officers may conclude that his successor is too weak to repress an uprising. Furthermore, since Kim Jong Il had still not officially decided which of his children would succeed him, it is conceivable that a power struggle will emerge among family members; this could give the military an excuse to intervene. The situation in Cuba is similar, in that the patrimonial rule of the Castro brothers is most likely be overthrown via a military coup. The most opportune time for a coup would have been when the Soviet empire collapsed and the economic crisis began. However, Fidel Castro seems to have realized this risk and decided in 1989 to crack down on the security forces. That year, General Arnaldo Ochoa Sanchez was tried and executed for drug smuggling. Brian Latell, a former CIA intelligence analyst, claims that Castro ordered the execution of the popular general because he had become increasingly critical of Castro and supportive of the reforms in the Soviet Union. Thus, “Fidel wanted to preclude any possibility that Cuba’s most popular troop commander, who was attracted to the reform movements proliferating at the time in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, could ever become a rallying point for reformist critics of the regime.”70 Jator-Hausmann adds that Fidel used the occasion “to purge dozens of reform-minded officials, including the powerful interior minister, General José Abrantes.”71 Castro then gave his brother more power by allowing the armed forces (which Raúl controlled) to take over the Ministry of the Interior, while dismissing hundreds of its officers. He also gave the military an increased stake in maintaining the system by allowing it to get involved in the economy. Military officials became managers of major enterprises linked to tourism, investments, and trade. In addition, military leaders reached high political positions. In 2001, retired and active military officers held 13 of 37 posts in the Council of Ministers.72 Another study shows that, at the turn of the new century, generals held 6 seats in the Party’s 24-member Politburo.73

70 71 72

73

Brian Latell, After Fidel: Raul Castro and the Future of Cuba’s Revolution (New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2005), p. 219. Jator-Hausmann, The Cuban Way, p. 45. Edward Gonzalez, “Appendix A: The Legacies of Fidelismo and Totalitarianism,” in Edward Gonzalez and Kevin F. McCarthy, Cuba After Castro: Legacies, Challenges, and Impediments: Appendices (Santa Monica: Rand Corporation, 2004), pp. 30f. See also Carmelo Mesa-Lago and Horst Fabian, “Analogies Between East European Socialist Regimes and Cuba: Scenarios for the Future,” in Carmelo Mesa-Lago, ed., Cuba after the Cold War (University of Pittsburgh Press, 1993), p. 362. Gonzalez and McCarthy, Cuba after Castro (report), p. 31.

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Castro also seems to have learned from the infighting between the security forces in Romania. Accordingly, he rotates officers in order to prevent military factionalism and to prevent individual officers from gaining too much power. The possibility of factionalism in the military is also diminished by the constant rotation of officers, which prevents the creation of personal loyalties within the services, and by tight supervision and control, both through electronic surveillance and through the party and counter-intelligence units within the military. Fear and distrust characterize the higher echelons of the military. Trusting no one, it is difficult for a disgruntled military leader to share his unhappiness with others or to plan actions against Fidel. Even if able to obtain the support of a few colleagues, it is impossible for unhappy officers to secure the support of a large number of military personnel whose loyalties and beliefs are unknown. Successful rebellion within the armed forces is, therefore, unlikely.74

At the moment, then, the military appears to be too tightly controlled for a revolt to be likely. One report accordingly asks: Who will overthrow Castro? The most likely scenario is a military coup. But with General Arnaldo Ochoa’s trial for drug trafficking, Castro tightened his control, strengthened the secret police, and purged the party and the military. Apparently there is no one left among the Cuban military who is willing and powerful enough to pull off a coup.75

It is true that a military coup is highly unlikely, especially now that Fidel Castro has been succeeded as official head of state by his brother, Raúl, who had headed the military since the revolution. This does not mean, however, that the military will always remain loyal. Since the military has high stakes in the economy, it may conclude – once the Castro brothers pass away – that its economic interests are no longer served by communist economic policies. To the extent, moreover, that the military is nationalist and highly professionalized, it may conclude that a one-party dictatorship in a post-Castro Cuba would not serve national interests. Since the Party has been so dominated by the two brothers, it may not be clear that a Communist Party without the Castros would really be the best mechanism for leading the country in a world almost devoid of communist-ruled regimes. In fact it seems that, in order to guarantee their continued unopposed power, the Castro brothers have deliberately purged all

74 75

Suchlicki, “Castro’s Cuba,” 132. Cardoso and Helwege, Cuba after Communism, p. 53.

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leading officials who could possibly amass support with the Party-state apparatus. Thus, the New York Times reports: In March 2009, [Raúl] Castro announced a shake-up in his administration. That his brother was still calling shots was obvious after the 2009 purge that saw several top ranking officials, including two who had often been mentioned as possible successors, unceremoniously removed. By all accounts, their crime was ambition.76

This does not mean the military necessarily favors a transition to democracy, but it might favor some type of non-communist authoritarian rule (perhaps along Peronist lines) that combines capitalism with populist economic policies. It seem clear, however, that a military coup is highly unlikely as long as the Castro brothers are healthy enough to rule the country.77 The revolutionary potential of North Korea One can imagine a scenario in which the North Korean economy does not completely collapse and perhaps even stabilizes. Yet it is difficult to imagine – as long as the Kim clan continues to rule – a scenario in which living standards rapidly increase, as in China or Vietnam. This suggests that the economic conditions for a possible revolution will continue to exist in North Korea for the foreseeable future. However, other developments which are necessary for a rebellion to occur – e.g., rising expectations for change, or collaboration between oppositional intellectuals and workers and peasants – are unlikely as long as the country remains the world’s most closed police state. Samuel S. Kim concludes that “the mood of the North Korean people is best described as characterized not by an increased sense of deprivation ready to explode but by quiet alienation and combat fatigue.”78 Even though Kim uses the term “deprivation,” he uses it in a similar way as I have used “expectations” in this book in explaining how frustrated rising expectations can lead to rebellion. The one possibility for rising expectations under the present leadership would have come through the opening of relations between North and South Korea in 2000, when the South Korean president, Kim Dae Jung, visited North Korea. If improved relations had led to greater contact between North and South Koreans, as well as greater investment by 76 77 78

Anthony Depalma “Cuba,” New York Times, October 27, 2009. If they become senile, however, then a military coup would become possible. Samuel S. Kim, “China and the Future of the Korean Peninsula,” pp. 104–27 in Tsuneo Akaha, ed., The Future of North Korea (London: Routledge: 2002), p. 110.

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South Korean companies, expectations for real change – including reunification – would have been possible. Kim Jong Il seems to have been acutely aware of the dangers of going too far in opening up to the South and made sure to keep exchanges under tight control, thus dampening any hopes of change.79 Barring a military coup, the regime is likely to continue to “muddle through” without implementing any meaningful reforms. It is still not clear which clan member will replace him, but it is possible that whoever it is might take actions that could raise expectations for change. According to reports, Kim Jong Il’s children have studied in the West, where they were undoubtedly exposed to different ideas and values from when they were growing up. For example, his oldest son, Kim Jong-nam, went to secondary school in Switzerland.80 He is known to have traveled abroad a lot (for example to Russia, China and Japan) and he was caught entering Japan on a fake passport. The consequent embarrassment to the regime cost Kim Jong-nam his chance of inheriting the throne from the Dear Leader.81 Another son, Kim Jong-chol, reportedly has studied in France, while other sources claim he has studied at an international school in Switzerland.82 There is also speculation that Kim Jong Il’s daughter, Sol-song, studied business administration in Australia.83 Access to information outside of the country has probably made the next generation of Kims aware that their family has based its rule on a series of lies. It is possible that the child inheriting the throne will not believe in his or her right to rule and so will not have the stomach to keep repression at such high levels while the population suffers from malnutrition. Consequently, it is conceivable the next leader will start to take steps to open up the country, which could lead to higher expectations for change, which in turn could create a potentially revolutionary situation if these expectations are not met. As part of a divided country, North Korea finds itself in a situation similar to that of East Germany: If people are allowed to leave the country, an “exit revolution” may occur, where people try to leave North Korea en masse in order to enjoy higher living standards in the South. So far, not many North Koreans have been able to go directly to South Korea because of the strict border controls between the two states. The demilitarized zone between North and South Korea has been called “the scariest

79 80 81

See, for example, Nicholas Eberstadt, The End of North Korea (Washington, DC: AEI Press, 1999), Chapter 4. For examples, see Cumings, North Korea, p. 167. Cumings notes that one of Jong Song Il’s sons, Jong Nam, went to secondary schools in Geneva. Martin, Under the Loving Care, pp. 696f. 82 Ibid., p. 700. 83 Ibid., p. 702.

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place on earth” on account of the high number of troops on both sides of the border. If North Korea were to implement reforms, ease border controls, and even allow limited free travel, large numbers of North Koreans would most likely try to emigrate, as their counterparts did from East Germany. It is unlikely, therefore, that the North Korean regime will dare undertake such measures. A more likely scenario is that China decides to open its borders (as when Hungary allowed East Germans to leave the Soviet bloc via Austria). So far, China has discouraged North Koreans from entering its territory and normally sends them back to North Korea. China has apparently decided that its own interests are served if the North Korean regime stays afloat. As one report concludes, “the Chinese tended to be most conservative about [Korean] unification, in the hope that the status quo could be maintained for a considerable period of time.”84 In the future, that may change – if, for example, China democratizes. Another possibility is that North Korea continues to develop nuclear weapons and even starts exporting them. China may then begin to feel that its own security is threatened by an uncontrollable neighbor. Another possible scenario is that, as China gets economically stronger and more self-confident, it concludes that it would benefit economically from the collapse of the North Korea regime, because of the opportunities for investment that would open up for rebuilding the northern part of a reunified Korea. Finally, even if none of these scenarios take place, but more reform-minded leaders come to power in China, then China may move to relax its borders, especially if another famine spreads through North Korea. Under any of these scenarios, the North Korean regime may collapse if its citizens are able to leave the country. First, small groups leave the country; as word spreads, more and more people do the same. As citizens notice that their neighbors and work colleagues have departed, they realize that the regime is becoming weaker and start expecting it to institute changes in order to keep more people from leaving. Finally, if the North Korean leadership follows the East German example by failing to placate the population through radical reforms, a revolutionary situation may emerge. As in the case of East Germany, problems of communication could be eased through increased access to radio. It is strictly forbidden in North Korea to listen to South Korean radio, and radios are monitored by the

84

Kim, “China and the Future of the Korean Peninsula,” p. 117.

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secret police in order to make sure they cannot tune into South Korean stations. In a pre-revolutionary situation, however, North Koreans may come to realize it is impossible for the police to keep such a tight control over everyone and so may be more daring about fixing their radios to pick up South Korean stations. Nevertheless, unlike the cases of East Germany or even Romania, two big additional problems would exist in the case of North Korea. First, there are no dissident groups that could help an emerging revolution. There are no semi-autonomous churches with the potential to spark a revolt by standing up to the regime (as in Romania), or by holding prayers for peace (as in East Germany). There is no place in North Korea like the Nikolai Church in Leipzig, where “spontaneous coordination” was possible because citizens knew that large groups might congregate there. Perhaps spontaneous coordination will occur if the regime makes a miscalculation, such as holding a rally in its support (as Ceaus¸escu did in Romania), or inviting a large crowd to welcome a foreign leader (as when Gorbachev came to East Berlin). Since the regime in North Korea has no strong allies, it is unlikely to make the same mistakes as its East German counterpart. It could even be dangerous for the regime to hold a mass meeting in support of the country’s only ally – China – since such an event might serve as an occasion for participants to shout slogans demanding reforms. If at some point overly confident heirs to the Kim dynasty were to make such a miscalculation, though, and were removed from power as a result, it would not be the first time in history that despotic rulers fell in precisely this way.

The revolutionary potential of Cuba While the worst period of the economic crisis seems to be over and the economy has had (at least officially) positive growth rates since 1994, Cubans still have reasons to be dissatisfied with their economic situation. Even in the year 2000, the Cuban GDP was still only 85 percent of its 1989 level.85 The introduction of the dollar economy, moreover, has created tremendous divisions within Cuban society. Those who are “loyal citizens” and who work in the public sector are resentful of their less “loyal” compatriots in the private sector, who often have ties with the Cuban exile community and enjoy a much higher standard of living. Even those now enjoying higher living standards through private-sector activities are often bitter toward a regime which, in their opinion, harasses 85

Valdés, “The Cuban Economy during the 1990s,” p. 39.

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and overtaxes them. Thus, neither public-sector nor private-sector groups appear to be happy with their present economic situation. A potentially revolutionary situation may accordingly emerge, if events take place that raise expectations for change. As long as the Castro brothers remain in power, however, Cubans are unlikely to anticipate any serious economic and or political changes. As one scholar notes: Charismatic rule usually lasts until the death of the charismatic figure, and Castro’s pronouncements suggest that he intends to remain in control of life. Thus, he is careful to allow no one to challenge his leadership and promotes a political conservatism that tolerates structural reforms only as a last resort and only in the most minimal terms.86

Similarly, Centeno writes that “the sultanistic regime has only the life expectancy of Fidel Castro.”87 (This is not quite accurate, however, since the patrimonial regime will continue as long as Fidel’s brother remains as his replacement.) When Fidel stepped down, some hopes were raised that his brother, Raúl, would show himself to be more pragmatic.88 Yet, notwithstanding the general consensus that Raúl is indeed more pragmatic than Fidel,89 being a pragmatic communist is not enough to inspire expectations among the population that real political reforms are possible.90 Even if many Cubans have stopped believing in communist ideology and could agree that “the old system needs a drastic overhaul,”91 I have not found any other sources that seriously expect Raúl to take such action. Instead, the general view is that, while Raúl may be a bit more pragmatic than his brother, he will not propose any measures to liberalize the political system. In fact, when he became president, the New York Times reported that “[i]n his first words as president, Mr. Castro made it clear that he would make no radical changes and promised to consult his brother on every important decision.”92 As in the North Korean case,

86 87 88 89 90 91 92

Burchardt, “Contours of the Future,” 68. Centeno, “The Return of Cuba to Latin America,” 404. Geri Smith, “Cuba under the Other Castro” Business Week Online, 2/25 (2008): 4; and Hayward, “Cuba’s Capitalist Evolution.” It is ironic that Raúl is now seen as the pragmatic brother, since he had become an open communist long before his brother. For a slightly more optimistic view, see William M. LeoGrande, “Engaging Cuba: A Roadmap,” World Policy Journal, Winter 2008/09: 87. Willim M. LeoGrande, “Engaging Cuba: A Roadmap,” 87. Simon Romera, “At Cuba Helm, Castro Brother Stays the Course,” New York Times, February 25, 2008.

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this does not mean that Cubans will never have expectations for change. It rather means that, as long as the Castro brothers are in control, Cubans are unlikely to hold such expectations. New leaders will eventually emerge, however, and it is possible they will undertake more serious liberalizing reforms that could raise expectations for change. The Central and East European cases indicate, however, that freezing regimes are unlikely to introduce liberalizing reforms. In Central and Eastern Europe, expectations for change were raised to a great extent as a consequence of events in neighboring countries. As Cuba is a communist island without clear allies, it is unlikely that a similar scenario will take place there. Increasing ties with Venezuela, perhaps, will make Cubans feel less isolated. However, it is hard to imagine a scenario in which reforms in Venezuela raise hopes for reforms in Cuba. The one regional actor that could raise Cubans’ hope for change is the United States. One could imagine a scenario in which an American president, such as Obama, takes a fresh approach to Cuba and moves to open relations and to lift a large part of the embargo. Such a development would undoubtedly raise expectations for change in Cuba. Then, if the Cuban regime responds to the US overtures by taking some initial steps to open up but then backs off, these expectations would be frustrated. This could lead to a revolutionary situation. One could argue that Castro has long been aware of this possibility and so has cut off all attempts by American presidents to improve relations between the two countries. Edward Gonzalez argues that Kissinger authorized four rounds of secret talks with Cuban representatives, in 1974–5, to explore the possibilities of normalizing relations, but then broke off these talks after learning that Cuba had secretly sent troops to Angola. When Carter became president in 1976, he established an Interests Section in Havana and allowed Cuba to do the same in Washington, DC. Many in the new Democratic administration were hoping for full-fledged diplomatic relations; two months later, however, these attempts ended after Cuba’s military incursions in the Horn of Africa. President Clinton also tried to improve relations with Cuba. After Clinton became president, Manuel Marin, the European Union’s special representative to Cuba, tried to mediate between Cuba and the United States. The EU would provide Cuba with loans and credits and at the same time pressure Clinton to work for an accommodation with Havana. In exchange, Castro would allow the umbrella opposition movement, the Concilio Cubano, to hold its planned meeting in Havana; and would tolerate other groups critical of the regime. Rather than accepting this offer, Castro ordered a crackdown on the Concilio Cubano. Shortly afterwards, Cuban MiGs shot down two Cesna planes flown by Brothers

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to the Rescue, a human rights group. In response, Clinton approved the Helms-Burton Act, which increased trade sanctions against Cuba.93 If Gonzalez’s account is correct, it is unlikely any American president will be able to persuade the Castro brothers to risk moving towards normalized relations with the US. Moves of this kind, namely, would raise expectations for change among the population and subject the regime to pressures to introduce liberalizing or even democratizing reforms. It is not surprising that a freezing-patrimonial regime would turn down negotiations that center on toleration for the opposition. Moreover, even if the US offers to normalize relations without making strong demands for internal political and economic reforms, a gradual normalization of relations may increase expectations for change among the population – even if the Castros do not carry out any far-reaching reforms. An American president who visited Cuba and gave an open, uncensored speech could, by that act alone, raise expectations considerably. This is especially the case now with Obama, given that blacks are a majority of the Cuban population, but are largely excluded from the Cuban political scene. The arrival of an African-American president could reinforce the feeling among Cuban blacks that they are being held back and that a democratic regime would give them greater opportunities. It is true the Castro brothers are unlikely to go very far in accommodating the US, since they fear that the effect of so doing would be to force them to democratize the regime. However, the effect of agreeing to take just a few steps toward normalized relations may be to increase the presssures on the Cuban regime to liberalize (and eventually democratize) once the Castro brothers pass from the scene. Thus, even low-level relations between the two countries may make it easier for a post-Castro leadership to take steps that raise expectations for change. In any case, regardless of US policies, a post-Castro leadership may initiate reforms that raise expectations for change. It is true that freezing regimes, such as the freezing-patrimonial one in Cuba, are unlikely to introduce liberalizing reforms. However, once the regime is no longer held back by its patrimonial character and has rid itself of the Castro brothers, it may change course and move in a maturing direction, as the Soviet regime did when Gorbachev came to power. If the economy worsens again (perhaps because Venezuela has a change of government; or because oil prices fall, making it harder for Venezuela to continue supporting Cuba), then a post-Castro Cuban regime – even if it takes

93

Gonzalez, “Appendix A: The Legacies of Fidelismo and Totalitarianism,” pp. 33–4.

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the form of a military government – might conclude that it needs to liberalize its economy in order to save it. Of course, it is virtually impossible to predict whether and under what conditions a revolutionary situation will emerge in Cuba. What does seem fairly clear, however, is that there will not be a revolutionary situation until after the two Castros have left politics. Patrimonial regimes are more likely to shoot than are other late post-totalitarian regimes. Once new leaders replace the patrimonial Castro pair, the probability of a revolt will increase and the chances of violent repression by the regime will diminish. This seems to be especially true as the regime has already lost much of its ideological legitimacy. It has only been able to save the economy by introducing “capitalist” reforms, such as legalizing the dollar and black markets, allowing people to start small businesses and establishing joint ventures with foreign capital. Fidel Castro has been able to hold the country together because of his personal charisma, but it is extremely unlikely that an equally charismatic leader will emerge upon his passing. Since the regime lacks ideological legitimacy, then if a new leader – who lacked charisma – came to power, the regime might face a potential revolutionary situation, given that those who earn dollars feel harassed by the regime, while those without dollars feel betrayed by the regime. This would especially be the case if the economy continues to deteriorate and the regime therefore cannot maintain its social welfare programs. At that point, society may no longer be willing to pragmatically accept the regime, especially if expectations for change are rising. In order for a future uprising to succeed, however, it is necessary that intellectuals and professionals cooperate with workers and peasants, and that problems of communication be solved, so that citizens know where demonstrations and other events will take place. As discussed in Chapter 4, Cuba is a unique case because of the active role of professionals (as opposed to intellectuals) in the opposition movement. Both professionals and intellectuals seem to have given up revisionism in Cuba. In contrast to their counterparts in Central and Eastern Europe, Cuban dissidents have not emphasized a strategy of building up a civil society that gives them a free sphere outside of state control. Rather, they have decided to confront the system more directly, by forming political parties. This shows that they are intent on mobilizing the support of all classes in society. They have gone much further than their Central and East European counterparts in building political parties before the regime collapses. This indicates that the opposition will be even more willing to take responsibility for running the country than were the uncertain oppositionalist intellectuals in countries such as Czechoslovakia. As noted in Chapter 4, Christian Democratic, Democratic Socialist and liberal parties

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have already emerged. Attempts have also been made to organize independent unions. Opponents of the regime have also tried to united under an umbrella organization, Concilio Cubano, which included 135 groups and unions before it was crushed by the regime in 1996. The number of opposition groups continues to be high, compared with that in previously communist countries. Juan J. López points out that, before the regime cracked down on opposition leaders in March and April 2003, “there were about 150 civil society groups in Cuba and seventythree independent libraries.”94 He further notes: “By these measures, civil society in Cuba today is as strong as it was in Czechoslovakia and East Germany on the eve of their transitions from communism in 1989.”95 The opposition is also more daring now, as reflected in the dissident Osvaldo Payá’s ability to collect more than 11,000 signatures on a petition in 2002 for political and economic reforms – “something that would have been unimaginable under the former totalitarian order.”96 In addition to having larger and more numerous opposition groups than those found under the freezing Czechoslovak and East German regimes, which collapsed in the face of popular uprisings, Cuba has allowed the emergence of some NGOs. Many of these organizations were, in fact, created or controlled by the state. These NGOs have the potential, however, to become much more critical of the government than traditional, state-run mass organizations as they are financially more independent. They often receive funding from outside sources, generally international ones. Another development that may facilitate an eventual uprising, given the right conditions, is the increasing ease of communication within the country. Telephone access has increased greatly. It is expected that there will soon be 20 telephones for every 100 Cubans.97 In addition, Raúl Castro has pledged to increase the availability of cell phones.98 By contrast, access to telephones was a serious problem in the communist countries of Central and Eastern Europe. Some Cubans also have access to the Internet, which was not available to the general public anywhere in the world in 1989. To be sure, the Internet in Cuba is controlled by the Party-state apparatus.99 Nevertheless, the Party-state cannot control the

94 95 97 98 99

Juan J. López, “The 2003 Crackdown, George W. Bush, and the Non-Transition in Cuba,” Problems of Post-Communism, 51:4 (2004): 3. Ibid., 4. 96 Gonzalez and McCarthy, Cuba after Castro (report), p. 13. Valdés, “The Cuban Economy during the 1990s,” p. 63. “Raúl Castro,” New York Times, March 4, 2009. Taylor C. Boas, “The Dictator’s Dilemma? The Internet and US Policy toward Cuba,” Washington Quarterly (Summer 2000): 58ff.

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Internet completely, so it is always possible the opposition will find a way to use the Internet to spread its message. If an uprising takes place in Cuba, two US-based radio and television stations – Radio Martí and TV Martí – may play a role in keeping the population abreast of events similar to that played by Radio Free Europe and the Voice of America in Central and Eastern Europe. López sees investment in stronger signals for these stations as essential for a successful uprising against the communist regime in Cuba.100 However, the Cuban government has been fairly successful in jamming broadcasts, especially of the television programs. While López criticizes Clinton for not having invested enough in stronger signals, even the strongly anti-Castro Bush administration failed to increase the reception rate of these stations in Cuban territory. In addition, both Democratic and Republican politicians have criticized the programs put out by these stations for being biased, of low quality, and more concerned with exiled Cubans in Florida than with Cubans living on the island.101 Academics have also criticized the programs for their “questionable” intellectual content, while acknowledging that these programs at least present an alternative point of view.102 However, if Radio Martí and TV Martí improve the content of their programs and use better technologies to evade the blocking of their signals, they may be able to play an important role in helping the opposition to organize and to keep the public abreast of planned protest events. Conclusion The above analysis indicates that the Cuban and North Korean regimes are unlikely to collapse as long as their current leaders remain in power. A patrimonial communist regime, whether in its strong (North Korean) or its weak (Cuban) version, makes it difficult for elites within the regime to take an oppositional stance. The power of its leader is so personalized, namely, that only those who are personally loyal to the leader are able to sit in high places. Given that patrimonial regimes generally purge people with reformist tendencies, thus preventing reformist factions from emerging, the only group normally capable of overthrowing a patrimonial regime is the military. For this reason, patrimonial regimes are particularly susceptible to military coups. However, although a military coup was possible in 100 101 102

López, “The 2003 Crackdown,” 6; and Juan J. López, Democracy Delayed: The Case of Castro’s Cuba (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002). NBC Nightly News, October 9, 2007, reprinted at www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21206872, accessed on December 14, 2009. Gerardo Otero and Janice O’Bryan, “Cuba in Transition? The Civil Sphere’s Challenge to the Castro Regime,” Latin American Politics and Society, 44:4 (2002): 45.

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both North Korea and Cuba in the late 1980s and early 1990s, both the Kims and the Castros were able to prevent such an event by purging the military top brass. Now that the military in both countries has been purged of potential opponents and the economy has either stopped deteriorating so sharply (North Korea), or is beginning to rebound (Cuba), the prospects for a coup in either country are increasingly remote. However, that could change once the Castro brothers leave the Cuban political scene, or when the “Dear Leader,” Kim Jong Il, dies. One of the main reasons why Cubans and North Koreans have not risen up against their regimes is that they have had few expectations of real change. Given the deification of the elder and younger Kims, North Koreans have no reason to expect any liberalizing or democratizing reforms. When Kim Jong Il dies, however, it is possible that the child (probably a son) who replaces him will take steps that will increase expectations for change, especially if relations with South Korea are improved in the process. In that case, a visit by a South Korean leader might even spark a revolt, along the lines of the anti-regime demonstrations that took place when Gorbachev visited East Berlin in 1989. In Cuba, the chances that a new leader will increase expectations for change are even greater than in North Korea, as the patrimonial lineage will end with the passing away of the two Castro brothers. The new Cuban leader will not feel the same need as his North Korean counterpart to keep up the “family tradition,” and so will have greater freedom to make farreaching changes. Expectations for change may also rise substantially if the US relaxes its policies toward the island and the Cuban leadership (either Raúl or his eventual replacement) takes advantage of this opening. Another difference between North Korea and Cuba concerns pragmatic acceptance. To a great extent, Cubans have been willing to pragmatically accept the rule of the Castro brothers because of the Castros’ nationalism and because of their ability – despite all the economic problems – to maintain a relatively generous social welfare system, particularly in the areas of healthcare and education. That can change, however, if a future economic crisis forces the regime to make cutbacks in these areas. This, together with other events leading to rising expectations for change, may create a potentially revolutionary situation. In North Korea, however, no such social contract exists, because the regime bases its rule on the totalitarian model of total hegemony. The regime in North Korea does not need society to pragmatically accept its rule, or to accept its ideological legitimacy. Nevertheless, some evidence exists that decades of negative economic results, and long battles against famine and malnutrition, have taken their toll on the readiness of the population to put up with the regime. If a new generation of the Kim

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dynasty lightens up on controls, it is not clear that the population will believe in the regime’s ideological legitimacy, or be willing to pragmatically accept its rule. As Kongdan Oh and Ralph Hassig observe: “Judging by the frequent North Korean propaganda appealing to the people for greater loyalty and commitment to the regime, it seems likely that a large proportion of the population is only paying lip service to Pyongyang’s guidance.”103 In addition, considering that Kim Jong Il’s children have studied outside of the country and been exposed to other ideas, it is possible they will be less loyal to the state religion once one of them inherits the throne. A future regime in North Korea might then cease to believe in its own ideological legitimacy and so will find it difficult to establish a new social contract that induces the population to pragmatically accept its rule. This in turn may lead to a potentially revolutionary situation, if other factors too come into play. One such factor is whether or not intellectuals are willing to cooperate with workers and peasants. Cuba is a special case in this regard, due to the impoverishment of professionals in that country. In Cuba, professionals have been as prominent as intellectuals in dissident circles. These dissidents have shown, moreover, that they want to reach out to the entire society, as seen in their support for independent trade unions and their attempts to found political parties. In North Korea, however, the state has had such totalitarian control over society that no dissident groups have emerged. It is not clear, therefore, how intellectuals in that country would behave in a potentially revolutionary situation. If a revolt were to break out in North Korea, it is conceivable that – as in Romania – dissatisfied former communist leaders would play a large role, as they are the only group with a degree of access to uncensored reports about the true state of the country, or with experience in leadership and communication. Another important factor for a successful uprising against a communist-led regime is the ability of revolutionaries to communicate with the general population. For an uprising to succeed, people need to know where to meet, what events will be taking place and why. Conditions in this regard too are riper in Cuba than in North Korea. Cubans are gaining greater access to telephones and to the Internet, neither of which are available to the vast majority of North Koreans. In addition, social networks are being built through the emergence of NGOs. Most of these NGOs are much less autonomous than their counterparts in democratic countries; nevertheless, they are often more autonomous than traditional communist mass organizations have been. Moreover, in contrast to the

103

Oh and Hassig, “North Korea Between Collapse and Reform,” 300.

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situation in North Korea, various churches operate in Cuba and their membership is growing. The existence of these networks will make it easier for the opposition to communicate with the population during an uprising. In North Korea, by contrast, future revolutionaries will probably have to rely mainly on mechanisms of “spontaneous coordination” (as in East Germany), wherein citizens know that large numbers of people will congregate at a particular place (in the event, for example, of a visit by a South Korean president). In sum, it seems unlikely that either the Cuban or the North Korean regime will collapse as long as the Castro brothers and Kim Jong Il are in power. Once the next generation takes over in these countries, the likelihood of a collapse increases. The prospects for a change of regime, however, seem greater in Cuba than in North Korea. On the other hand, because of its special situation as part of a divided country, the risk of a rapid collapse might be greater in North Korea, as any opening on the part of the regime may lead North Koreans to wonder why they are so much poorer than their brothers and sisters in the South. If China opens its borders at some point, an exit-induced revolt may emerge like the one which brought down the East German regime.

9

What next?

This book has identified the elements that usually increase the revolutionary potential of societies. Communist-led regimes tend to fall either when they are taking the initiative to change (if they are maturing), or when they are faced with a revolt (if they are freezing). If the regime is also patrimonial in character, it is likely to repress any uprisings violently, as in Romania. However, patrimonial regimes – because of their reliance on one person – also create ambivalent feelings among their own elites. The organs of repression are likely to split, as some of their members (in the military, for instance) turn against the regime in order to save their own skins, often posing – as in Romania and rump Yugoslavia – as professional officers who are looking after the nation’s best interests. The revolutionary potential of society reaches a peak if the following conditions are met:  The regime has lost its ideological legitimacy and entered the late posttotalitarian phase.  Society is no longer willing to pragmatically accept the regime on the grounds that it is doing “reasonably” well, given the circumstances.  Workers/peasants begin to believe that they have little to lose by rebelling.  Expectations for political change rise (either for internal or external reasons), but are later frustrated because the regime does not take appropriate measures to meet them.  Popular frustration reaches a breaking point, and the regime does something that outrages the population, such as attacking peaceful demonstrators (East Germany, Czechoslovakia, Romania), trying to steal elections (rump Yugoslavia), or lurching suddenly in a hardline direction (as with the coup in the Soviet Union).  An uprising is more likely to succeed if intellectuals have renounced revisionism and sought the help of workers/peasants in overturning the regime (rather than asking the regime to humanize its policies). In Cuba, because of the pauperization of professionals, professionals have played a stronger role in the opposition than intellectuals. 333

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 Once an uprising breaks out, the communication problem must be solved, so that the population knows when and where protest events will take place, and why. This works best when the revolutionary leaders themselves are able to organize meetings and to communicate directly with citizens. A typical example is the Czechoslovak case, where leaders of the uprising sent famous actors and actresses to factories to explain why a national strike was being organized. In cases where the repression is too great to allow open communication with the population (as in East Germany and Romania), “spontaneous coordination” – based on the widespread knowledge that large numbers of people will be congregating at a certain place – is an effective substitute. Chapters 7 and 8 have analyzed the reasons why communist-led regimes have been able to remain in power in China, Cuba, North Korea, and Vietnam. These regimes have used either one or the other of two basic strategies in order to survive: state capitalism or patrimonialism. The regimes in China and Vietnam have chosen the state capitalist alternative. They have instituted capitalistic reforms which have gained acceptance among Party-state cadres. The cadres have been supportive because the reforms have enabled them to become wealthy through business activities. In Eastern Europe, by contrast, Party-state cadres opposed market-oriented reforms because they feared losing their power and influence. Meanwhile, the state capitalist reforms in Vietnam and China have induced the population to pragmatically accept the regime, on the grounds that the economy has been growing quickly and living standards in general have been rising. The irony of these cases is that their very success causes a loss of ideological legitimacy, as the regimes cannot seriously claim any longer that they are building “socialism.” This loss of ideological legitimacy may weaken these regimes, as the population may cease to pragmatically accept them once the economy stops growing. The loss of legitimacy may be particularly pronounced if the regimes do not provide greater support for social welfare programs. Revolts are unlikely in China and Vietnam as long as the economy in these two countries continues to perform well. However, the revolutionary potential of these societies could grow in the event of an economic downturn – given the regimes’ lack of ideological legitimacy and their reliance on pragmatic acceptance of their capitalistic reforms. One danger is that, in order to prevent a rebellion, the rulers will continue moving in a more nationalist direction, and end up adopting the Miloševic´ solution of replacing communism with nationalism. In contrast to the case with rump Yugoslavia, moreover, it would be difficult for other countries to put military pressure on either China or Vietnam, as both countries have

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much more powerful militaries than rump Yugoslavia did. In addition, China possesses nuclear weapons. In contrast to the regimes in China and Vietnam, which have thrown their ideologies overboard in favor of economic growth, the Cuban and North Korean regimes have been willing to sacrifice their citizens’ living standards in order to maintain the Stalinist-style command economy. This does not necessarily imply allegiance to traditional Marxism-Leninism, however. In North Korea, for instance, the Kims have replaced communist ideology with a new religion that deifies their family. By building a family dynasty, the Kims have solved the succession problem, and so have been able to continue hardline totalitarian control while making only minor concessions to economic necessity in the form of low-level reforms to limit the spread and severity of famine. In these patrimonial-communist countries, citizens have had little or no hope that change is on the horizon. The revolutionary potential of society has been weak in both countries, albeit considerably weaker in patrimonial-totalitarian North Korea than in freezing patrimonial Cuba. The North Korean regime enjoys such a degree of societal hegemony that it has no need to gain society’s support. By contrast, the more open regime in Cuba, late post-totalitarian as it is, has been forced to rely on society’s pragmatic acceptance, and is therefore more vulnerable to societal demands. Since the focus in our discussion to this point has been on missing transitions, this book may have given an overly pessimistic impression as to the future of the four countries in question. But history is long, and no country will keep the same system during all of humanity’s existence to come (unless our species comes to a sudden end). None of the four communist regimes, therefore, will remain in power forever. Accordingly, this book concludes by discussing the prospects for a collapse of these regimes, and the options available to democratic countries should they attempt to influence the process and outcome of that collapse. I should stress here that by offering policy options for democratic governments, I am by no means implying that I expect them to follow my advice or even support the democratization of any of the communist-led regimes, as an analysis of how Western and other democratic governments conduct their foreign policy in practice is beyond the scope of this book. Prospects As long as Kim Jong Il holds the reins of power, change is unlikely. As a demi-god, Kim Jong Il cannot admit that his policies have failed. He has continuously tried to maximize totalitarian control over his subjects. Since his regime has nearly total hegemony over society, no opposition groups

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have been able to emerge. Nor does Kim have to worry about getting society to pragmatically accept his role. He has even cynically implied that he thinks that his subjects do not really believe in the ideology, but are just going through the motions. Several years after he kidnapped an actress, Choi Eun-hi, and a director, Shin Sang-ok, Kim held a party for the couple, and showed them some documentary films in which citizens showed their adulation for him. “When Shin complimented him on the people’s evident devotion, Kim replied: ‘It’s all a lie. They’re just pretending to praise me.’”1 However, gaining genuine support from the population does not necessarily matter to Kim, since he has attained such a high degree of hegemony. Under these conditions his rule is safeguarded, for the people have no expectations of any serious change. But when Kim Jong Il hands over power to the next generation of his family, this could all change. Since many of his children have apparently spent time outside the country,2 it is possible that – under the impact of the realization that living standards are much higher in other countries, and that the rule of their family is based on lies – they will develop “impure” thoughts. They may also be less inclined to keep the system as totalitarian as it is today, and so decide to introduce reforms that increase expectations for change. Expectations will be especially high if relations with South Korea improve significantly. Alternatively, if the Chinese leadership grows disillusioned with North Korea and decides to open its borders somewhat, an exitinduced rebellion may result like the one that took place in East Germany when Hungary opened its borders and allowed East Germans to emigrate to the West. (In the East German case, the increasing number of emigrants made it clear to the remaining population that the regime did not enjoy much support; this encouraged citizens to revolt again it.) Since the opposition is so weak in North Korea, and no intellectual dissident groups have been allowed to emerge, it is likely that, during a possible spontaneous uprising, demoted Party cadres will step in to fill the void. This was the case in Romania, where former communists built the National Salvation Front, which quickly emerged as the voice of the opposition. In a situation where the regime has totalitarian control over the means of communications, access to telephones and the Internet is severely limited. Therefore, at least in the first stages of an uprising, “spontaneous coordination” is likely to play the main role in assembling protesters. This 1 2

Bradley K. Martin, Under the Loving Care of the Fatherly Leader: North Korea and the Kim Dynasty (New York: Thomas Dunne Books, 2004), p. 331. Outsiders cannot be sure how many children he has actually had with his various concubines.

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may include such events as a large gathering to welcome a visiting foreign leader (especially a South Korean president), or a mass meeting in support of the ruler, in which people in the audience suddenly start booing (as in the case of Ceaus¸escu). In Cuba, it is much more likely that a revolt will break out after the Castro brothers have left the political scene. The Cuban regime is not nearly as totalitarian as its North Korean counterpart, and it entered the post-totalitarian phase already in the 1970s, when it first started dabbling in minor reforms. In the face of the economic crisis caused by the fall of the Soviet Union, the regime was forced to undertake further reforms to prevent famine. These reforms (and, most particularly, legalization of the dollar) have cost the regime much of its ideological legitimacy. A situation has arisen in Cuba where regime loyalists (normally those working in the public sector, with little or no contact with ideologically “impure” emigrés) can barely make ends meet, and are suffering and are discontented because the regime has abandoned part of its ideology. Meanwhile, those who are less loyal to the regime, and who are making money in the dollarized private sector, have little reason to believe in Marxist-Leninist ideology. These “winners” are also critical of the Party-state – in their case because it interferes too much in their affairs, raises their taxes, and accuses them of being “parasites.” Thus, neither loyalists nor critics are content with the status quo. Nevertheless, the “winners” can still pragmatically accept the situation as long as their economic conditions keep improving, while the “losers” can still pragmatically accept the loss of ideology as long as the regime holds to its nationalist stance and maintains the best social services in Latin America. In contrast to the case in North Korea, the patrimonial lineage in Cuba will cease upon the two brothers’ death or removal from power. A new generation of leaders in Cuba would most certainly increase popular expectations for real political and economic change. While the economy has been growing since its sharp decline during the “special period” of 1990–3, it could falter again, especially if there is an external shock such as a cut-off in aid from a future Venezuelan government. If this happens and the new leaders are unable to maintain high levels of support for health and education, Cubans will probably cease to pragmatically accept the regime in power. In this case a revolutionary situation could emerge, as expectations for change would be rising at the same time that economic conditions were deteriorating. In such a situation, workers could well feel that they had “nothing to lose but their chains.” If a revolt takes place, Cubans will benefit from much better means of communication than North Koreans, as many more Cubans than North Koreans have access to telephones and the Internet. This is especially true

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now that Raúl Castro has allowed Cubans to purchase cell phones. Communication will also be facilitated by the existence of many networks that would not be available in North Korea. Several opposition political parties have already been founded; independent churches exist and are growing in membership; and partially autonomous NGOs have emerged. All of these organizations could help spread information during an uprising. In addition, there are a number of dissident circles of professionals and intellectuals that could take the lead in mobilizing workers and peasants against the regime.

What is to be done? Given that this book presents a model for why communist regimes fall or survive, the question arises as to what democratic countries can do to facilitate regime change. One weakness of this book is that it concentrates on the mechanisms that either keep communist-led regimes in power or cause them to lose power, but it does not look at the more complicated issue of what kind of regimes would replace the communist ones. The post-communist regimes can be just as repressive as their predecessors, as some of the Soviet successor states (such as Belarus) have demonstrated. Other cases, such as Russia and Croatia in its first postcommunist years, show that post-communist states are not necessarily democratic either.3 The main reason this book does not investigate the thorny issue of democratic consolidation is that the mechanisms which bring down a communist-led regime are not necessarily the mechanisms that allow post-communist countries to consolidate democratic rule. Democratic consolidation is a long-drawn-out process with many variables. Adding a theory of democratic consolidation to an already complicated theory explaining the collapse of communist regimes would require a lengthier discussion than this book can accommodate. Moreover, since the more democratic post-communist countries are still in the process of consolidating their democracies, it may be too early to provide a definitive answer to the question of what the mechanisms are which make a successful democratic consolidation possible. Notwithstanding all these reasons for caution, however, my theory of the mechanisms behind the collapse of communist regimes does open up for discussion what measures democratic countries can take in order to facilitate and influence the process of regime collapse. There are two 3

It should be noted, though, that Croatia eventually did abandon authoritarian nationalism for a more democratic approach, as did Slovakia – although Slovakia under Mečiar was never as authoritarian as Croatia under Tudjman.

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particularly important questions here. What can be done in order to raise expectations for change? And should the remaining communist regimes be boycotted or engaged? To boycott or not to boycott? The United States has boycotted Cuba for over four decades, and North Korea for over five. Yet, these regimes are still in power. Meanwhile, the US has developed extensive trade relations with both China and Vietnam. This comparison suggests that embargoes, alone, cannot bring a communist regime down. It also indicates that the criteria for choosing to boycott countries are not necessarily based on moral considerations. One could argue, granted, that the North Korean regime is particularly brutal, and therefore especially worthy of harsh treatment; and that this is why more countries have followed the US lead in the embargo against North Korea than in the embargo against Cuba. Nevertheless, it is hard to argue that Cuba deserves to be boycotted more than does China, which continues its brutal occupation of Tibet in defiance of international law. One could of course follow the logic of this book and point out that China and Vietnam are maturing, while Cuba is freezing. Both Asian countries have liberalized their economy greatly and implemented political reforms giving more power to their national assemblies. Vietnam has given more autonomy to its trade unions and allowed more freedom of the press and wider cultural expression. However, when it comes to violations of human rights, China has not behaved better than Cuba, and both Vietnam and China are far from being democratic or even democratizing countries. Does this comparison indicate that Western countries (and especially the United States) do not make their decisions to boycott nations on the basis of any moral considerations? Does it also imply that it does not matter whether the West boycotts communist regimes, since they can survive independently of whether or not democracies boycott them? The first question is easier to answer. Regardless of one’s personal view of trade embargoes, it is difficult to argue that Cuba is more deserving of an embargo than China or Vietnam. As for the second question, the fact that the North Korean and Cuban regimes have not collapsed does not mean that embargoes have not had an effect on their respective developmental trajectories. If trade embargoes have prevented North Korea and Cuba from opening their economies, while the conduct of trade has encouraged China and Vietnam to open theirs, then one can argue that divergent policies on the part of Western democracies have encouraged these regimes to move either in a freezing direction (Cuba and North Korea) or in a maturing one (China and Vietnam). According to the regime

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typology set out by Linz and Stepan, maturing regimes are more likely to reach negotiated transitions, while freezing regimes are more likely to try to suppress uprisings. In theory, as long as the uprisings remained peaceful (as in Czechoslovakia and East Germany), it is not necessarily worse for a regime to fall through a popular uprising than through negotiated change; however, given that the North Korean and Cuban regimes have patrimonial elements, the risk is higher that uprisings in these countries will lead to violence if the regimes continue in their freezing direction. For this reason, it would make sense for the democratic West to end its embargoes and engage in trade with these regimes, in order to encourage them to open up and to move in a maturing direction. The discussion so far has avoided the question of whether boycotting communist-led regimes makes it easier for them to remain in power, or whether it effectively pressures them to democratize. If modernization theory is correct, then it will definitely be better to trade with communist-led regimes, inasmuch as trade will lead to economic development, which will lead to the growth of a middle class that demands democracy.4 Juan J. López rejects this theory and points to studies showing the absence of any clear link between modernization and democracy.5 Ronald Inglehart, however, modifies modernization theory. He argues that, while countries are more likely to be democratic if their citizens have “modern values” (and thus less democratic if their citizens have pre-modern values), the correlation does not become very pronounced until countries have evolved to the point where a large proportion of their citizens have post-modern values – such as support for secularism, for the environment, and for greater personal autonomy.6 Almost all societies with predominantly post-modern values are democratic. As even Inglehart admits, however, even this modified version of the theory cannot predict under what conditions a country will democratize. Rather, the theory claims that countries where a large proportion of the population hold post-modern values are likely to become (and remain) democratic. In other words, a country stands a far greater chance of becoming democratic if it is advancing economically. Yet it could take a long time before a country becomes advanced enough for a

4

5 6

Peter M. Sanchez, “Prospects for Democracy in Cuba,” pp. 289–300 in Eloise Linger and John Cotman, eds., Cuban Transitions at the Millenium (Largo, Md.: International Development Options, 2000), p. 296. Sanchez points out the contradictory position of US policy-makers, who on the one hand adhere to modernization theory and on the other pursue policies that prevent Cuba from modernizing. Juan J. López, “Sanctions on Cuba Are Good, But Not Enough,” Orbis (Summer 2000): 345–61. Ronald Inglehart, Modernization and Postmodernization: Cultural, Economic, and Political Change in 43 Societies (Princeton University Press, 1997).

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large proportion of society to have developed post-modern values. Moreover, as the case of India shows, countries which are neither rich nor modern can still become democratic. Other good reasons exist for rejecting the embargo strategy. One problem with embargoes is that they grant the communist regimes nationalist legitimacy. All four surviving communist regimes have had to give up Marxist-Leninist ideology to a great extent, but all four have succeeded to some extent in replacing it with one or another form of nationalism. Embargoes feed nationalist passions and make it easier for communist dictators to unite the population behind a nationalist platform. Even if many citizens of these countries do not believe in Marxist-Leninist ideology, many still have nationalist pride. This is particularly the case in Cuba, where the population is sensitive to US meddling in its affairs. The US dominated the country for over fifty years, and had a history of supporting brutal dictatorships, of dominating the economy, and of preventing the country from achieving full independence. Thus, one of the few times Castro still dared, after the fall of communism in Europe, to mobilize the population was around the national issue of allowing a Cuban boy to return to Cuba from the US after his parents had died. Castro rightly believed that most Cubans – regardless of their political views – would support him on this issue.7 Many authors point out as well that the US boycott makes it easier for the regime to crack down on the opposition. According to one author, for example, the embargo enables the regime to maintain “a siege mentality among Cuba’s political elite that has discouraged political diversity on the island.”8 Another problem with the US embargo, and with US support for the exiled Cuban community as well, is that it scares those remaining on the island about what will happen if and when exiled Cubans come back to Cuba. Many Cubans have legitimate reasons to worry that they will lose their homes or land if former wealthy landowners return and demand their property back. The Helms-Burton Act gives full support to the demands of exiled Cubans, including for the full return of property in Cuba to its original owners. Certain additional demands, furthermore – such as that US firms be allowed to recover their expropriated companies, or that they be given compensation for nationalized holdings – inspire fear in many Cubans that their economy will once again be dominated by Americans. It also adds to fears that a few wealthy Cubans returning from Florida will gain undue influence over the economy, while those Cubans who 7 8

See Hans-Jurgen Burchardt, “Contours of the Future: The New Social Dynamics in Cuba,” Latin American Perspectives, 29:3 (2002): 66. Sanchez, “Prospects for Democracy in Cuba,” p. 207.

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were brave and remained inside the country would be losers.9 Gerardo Otero and Janice O’Bryan surmise as follows: “Cuba’s citizens . . . still see the revolutionary government as the provider of social benefits and the protector of Cuban sovereignty while the United States, especially sectors of the exile community in Miami, offers no equal protections in its recommendations for change in Cuba. As long as dissidents are perceived as allies of these latter foes (a perception promoted by the Cuban government), they will have less legitimacy in the public’s eyes than the state has.”10 In an article comparing sanctions against South Africa with sanctions against Cuba, Kathleen C. Schwartzman gives several reasons why sanctions were more successful in the former case. The sanctions against South Africa mostly hurt white businesses and workers, and they did not affect the black majority very much. Moreover, they were often timed to support the black struggle, as in connection with government crackdowns after large protests. Thus, the sanctions were aimed at supporting the opposition. In the case of Cuba, by contrast, sanctions hurt average citizens. Therefore, “[w]hile the sanctions against South Africa operated jointly with domestic opposition, the embargo against Cuba has not yet encountered such a parallel.”11 While the embargo against South Africa had the support of the black population, that against Cuba seems to have the opposite effect, “provoking nationalistic reactions and increased solidarity.” Schwartzman argues further that “Because the United States, the country that initiated the boycotts, is also the country that has most threatened the ‘nationalism’ of Cuba, the nationalist ideology invigorates the revolutionary ideology. The Cuban nationalist anti-US sentiment is deeply rooted in a history that dates from the 1898 occupation.”12 Accordingly, several authors point out that the Helms-Burton Act played right into Castro’s hands. Bert Hoffman observes: While the exile organizations celebrate their continued leverage on US Cuba policy, this is also a boon to the Cuban regime. It serves as ever-renewed evidence for the key nationalist thesis of the government in Havana: namely, to frame any political conflict as part of the polarized confrontation between Cuba and the US, with no alternative in between. 9 10 11

12

Angela T. Haddad, “Critical Reflexivity, Contradictions and Modern Cuban Consciousness,” Acta Sociologica, 1 (2003): 64ff. Gerardo Otero and Janice O’Bryan, “Cuba in Transition? The Civil Sphere’s Challenge to the Castro Regime,” Latin American Politics and Society, 44:4 (2002): 51. Kathleen C. Schwartzman, “Can International Boycotts Transform Political Systems? The Cases of Cuba and South Africa,” Latin American Politics and Society 43:2 (2001): 132. Both quotes are from ibid., 131.

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. . . In a typical reaction [to the Helms-Burton amendment], in the same year Cuba’s National Assembly passed a strict new law threatening high penalties for dissidents, naming it the “Reaffirmation of Cuban Dignity and Sovereignty Act” and explaining it as a reaction to the Helms-Burton law.

Ana Julia Jator-Hausmann draws similar conclusions: The Helms-Burton Law in Cuba has had paradoxical results. A law designed to destroy Fidel Castro has in fact done wonders to rally support for his regime at home and abroad. Cubans may disagree with their government, and they have been doing so with passion. But the Helms-Burton Law has turned much of this disagreement into support . . . Read from Havana, the US policy has been more concerned with the divisive issue of the property rights of exiles and US corporations than with democracy. While the stated goal is “to assist the Cuban people in regaining their freedom and prosperity,” many of its provisions are devoted to property claims.13

For these reasons, most leading dissidents are wary of the exiled Cubans, and reject the US boycott as harmful to their cause. It also gives the Castros a justification to crack down on dissidents, and to accuse them of being traitors and lackeys of the USA. In fact, the regime found the HelmsBurton law to be such an efficient propaganda tool that it “translated the law and made it widely available.”14 Again, if we compare the case of Cuba with that of South Africa, black South Africans did not have similar fears that they would suffer economically, or lose national independence, if the country democratized. On the contrary, they believed they would gain economically, and that their country would become more independent, in the sense of no longer being under white neocolonial rule. Yet another factor that speaks against the effectiveness of economic embargoes relates to the ideological legitimacy of the regime. The Central and East European experiences indicate that the opening of trade relations can contribute to a regime’s loss of ideological legitimacy and belief in its ability to rule. Through international trade and tourism, high-level functionaries and to some extent average citizens are exposed to new ideas. Increased contacts with people from other countries also make it clear to citizens that they are not nearly as well off as their communist dictators want them to believe. In Hungary, one reason the regime lost faith in itself was because its own official researchers were writing reports about the economic failures of the system. However, the reason why researchers were able to write such critical reports was because Hungary had already become relatively open. Hungarian researchers had access to international social 13 14

Ana Julia Jator-Hausmann, The Cuban Way: Capitalism, Communism and Confrontation (West Hartford: Kumarian Press, 1999), pp. 136–7. Ibid., p. 137.

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science research, and had become knowledgeable about non-MarxistLeninist theories and research methods.15 Mauricio A. Font compares Cuba to Eastern Europe in this way: “The experiences of East European socialism show that attracting foreign investment opens state socialism to pressures and inducements for deeper change, including the acceptance of external policy and organizational models. Cuba has already begun to adopt new forms of property, such as various types of joint ventures.”16 López, on the other hand, argues for sanctions, on the grounds that engagement with Cuba would not lead to liberalization because the regime is controlled by hardliners.17 According to Lopez, the lifting of sanctions will not lead to radical change as long as the Castro brothers are in power. His argument regarding Cuba would appear to apply all the more to North Korea, where the regime is much more totalitarian and considerably less willing to liberalize in return for more favorable trading conditions. However, if the analogy with Eastern Europe is correct, the opening of relations with hardline regimes (East Germany, Czechoslovakia, the USSR under Brezhnev) increases exposure to non-communist ways of thinking, and eventually eats away at the regime’s self-confidence. So, even if a lifting of sanctions does not lead immediately to democratization, it may contribute to a long-term process of regime decay. Moreover, while López correctly points out the importance of communication, and urges the US government to do more in this area,18 we must not forget that one of the main reasons why Central and East Europeans were able to gain access to Western radio and TV broadcasts was that the West had started to engage these regimes. The Helsinki Accords of 1975 induced the communist regimes to stop jamming Western radio and TV broadcasts. Thus, it is possible that, in exchange for the lifting of trade sanctions, the Cuban regime will agree to stop jamming foreign radio and TV broadcasts.19 In the North Korean case, it is much less likely Kim Jong Il will agree to give the population even the slightest increased access to foreign radio or TV, as the people might then suspect that their regime has been lying to them, and that living standards are substantially higher in the South. Nevertheless, when the next generation of Kims come to power,

15

16 17 18 19

Steven Saxonberg, The Fall: A Comparative Study of the End of Communism in Czechoslovakia, East Germany, Hungary and Poland (Amsterdam/London: Harwood Academic/Routledge 2001), Chapter 7. Mauricio A. Font, “Friendly Prodding and Other Sources of Change in Cuba,” Social Research, 63:2 (1996): 593. López, “Sanctions on Cuba Are Good, But Not Enough,” 347–8. Ibid., 357; Juan J. López, Democracy Delayed: The Case of Castro’s Cuba (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002). Saxonberg, The Fall, Chapter 8.

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they may be less repressive, and thus more open to allowing in foreign broadcasts. In the cases of China and Vietnam, democratic countries have been actively engaged in trade, and a private market has developed for printed materials that remains outside Party-state control. As we saw in Chapter 8, hundreds of thousands of copies of forbidden literature are sold at private markets in these two countries. This shows that engaging in trade can help the growth of alternative forms of information, making it easier for the opposition to communicate with the general public. Great expectations? One important point that the debate on sanctions fails to address is that of expectations. Those supporting sanctions seem to believe that economic decline can cause communist-led regimes to collapse. On the one hand, they are correct in asserting that all communist regimes that have lost power have done so during periods of economic crisis. On the other hand, the Cuban and North Korean cases show that an economic crisis alone cannot bring about the collapse of a regime. One of the most important issues here is that of expectations. For all the great economic hardship they have suffered, neither Cubans nor North Koreans expect any significant change from their regimes, which is one reason why they do not revolt. In China, mass demonstrations took place in Tiananmen Square in 1989 because expectations had risen and then fallen in the years prior to the protests. The regime could easily crush the demonstrations, however, as it was still in the early post-totalitarian stage; thus it believed in its ideological legitimacy, and in its right to order a massacre. Chinese dissidents for their part also believed in the regime’s ideological legitimacy, which led them to take a revisionist stance. Thus they favored a dialogue with the regime, instead of trying to mobilize workers and peasants against it. Conditions have now changed in China, however, as economic reforms plus the aftermath of the Tiananmen Square massacre have cost the regime its ideological legitimacy. Nevertheless, citizens have few expectations for far-reaching political change in the foreseeable future. The same is true of Vietnam. The question then arises as to whether democratic countries can do anything to raise expectations for change. As noted in Chapter 8, it is possible that an opening in relations between the US and Cuba – especially under the Obama administration – could increase Cubans’ expectations for change. It is ironic that, when Castro came to power, the United States was still a very racist country – with blacks effectively unable to vote

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in the Southern states, and segregation a major problem. Castro enjoyed widespread support among Cuban blacks, as he promised to give them equal status with whites (which they had sorely lacked under Batista). Now, however – more than forty years later – blacks still have no significant influence over decision making in Cuba, while the United States has a black president. If Obama were to visit Cuba, he would most likely be acclaimed as a hero by Cuban blacks, who would perhaps begin to wonder why they themselves – although comprising the majority of the Cuban population – are excluded from the decision-making process while in the United States, where blacks are a minority group, a black man can be elected president. In the words of the exiled black Cuban-Jamaican writer Carlos Moore: “In Cuba, they’re saying if Obama can become president in a country where blacks are 13 percent of the population, why can’t [blacks] become president in a country where 70 percent of the population is black?”20 On the other hand, there is always a risk that a US opening of relations with Cuba will fail – just as the opening of relations with North Korea (the “sunshine strategy”) did – precisely because the patrimonial-communist dictators are keenly aware of the risks of allowing expectations to rise. For that reason it may be wiser for democracies to wait until the Castro brothers and Kim Jong Il retire before opening relations with them. It could have greater impact on the expectations of the population both because Cubans and North Koreans would probably expect their new leaders to be more willing to change course, while the new leaders, for their part, would be relatively weak (not yet having consolidated their power) and thus less inclined to turn down generous offers from abroad. However, no matter what democratic countries do, they are unlikely to raise expectations for change in the remaining communist countries to the same degree that Gorbachev did in Central and Eastern Europe in 1989. The surviving communist states, namely, are all fairly independent, in contrast to the Central and East European “satellite” regimes, which were controlled by the Soviet Union and were heavily dependent on it. The Chinese and Vietnamese cases show that, even when democratic countries open their markets and engage in trade with communist-led regimes, that may not be enough to raise expectations. The notable exception would be in the case of increased trade relations between North and South Korea. If North Korea accepted an invitation from South Korea to have more extensive trade relations, the repercussions 20

Jack Chang, “In Obama, Voice of Cuban Blacks Sees Revolution He Can Believe in,” McClatchy, February 5, 2009. www.mcclatchydc.com/117/story/61583.html, accessed December 17, 2009.

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would be great for North Korean society. But even in the North Korean case, there is not much that democratic countries (other than South Korea) could do that would noticeably increase expectations for change. So perhaps the most that democratic countries can do to facilitate a transition among the remaining communist countries is to show openness and patience. Willy Brandt’s Ostpolitik did not seem very successful at first, inasmuch as the East German regime remained hardline throughout the following two decades. Yet, when East Germany allowed West Germans to visit East Germany, and stopped jamming radio and TV reports from the West, East Germans started to be exposed to an alternative version of reality. As noted in Chapter 5, the majority of East Germans watched West German TV regularly during the last years of communist rule. So, while the regime continued its hardline, freezing policies, the exposure to alternative ways of thinking via tourism and access to West German media served to erode support for the regime, from both within and outside the regime. In the absence of a world leader like Gorbachev, who had the power to intervene directly in the politics of many communist states, it is likely that the main impetus for change will come from within the regime rather than from outside. Democratic countries can only realistically hope to facilitate this process of internal decay by supporting the internal opposition, and by providing access to communication and alternative ideas through economic trade, tourism, and educational and cultural exchanges. This does not mean that democratic countries should simply open their markets without demanding anything in return. But it is probably unrealistic to demand that Castro legalize the opposition, as the EU did when bargaining with Castro in the mid 1990s. It is likely, however, that democratic states will at any rate be able to induce the communist-led regimes – except for North Korea under Kim Jong Il – to refrain from jamming foreign radio and TV broadcasts (or at least to agree to a compromise on this question, so that some programs are allowed in). In other words, facilitating the revolutionary potential of society under the remaining communist regimes will most likely need to be a step-bystep, evolutionary process, rather than a radical policy to produce a “big bang.”

Index

Adamec, Ladislav 71, 216 Bishop, Maurice 45, 49–52, 260–1 Brezhnev, Leonid 74, 76–8, 85, 101, 104, 133, 140, 183–4, 344 Bush, George H. 265–6, 268, 329 Castro, Fidel 3, 32, 44, 49, 59, 135–41, 263, 305–6, 309–16, 324–7, 329, 330–2, 337, 345–7 boycott against 341–4 charismatic 135, 136 economic problems 172, 177, 311–16 military coup (possibilities of) 318–20 nationalism 119, 130, 135, 330 opposition against 159, 187–90, 304 patrimonial 35, 109, 135–41, 149, 151, 258 pragmatic acceptance 20 semi-opposition 203 Castro, Raúl 32, 141, 138, 306, 309, 328, 330, 337–8 military coup (possibilities of) 318–20 patrimonial 35, 109 Ceaus¸escu, Nicolae 19, 101, 235, 240, 242, 306 loss of power 222–7, 323, 337 nationalism 108 opposition against 199, 201 patrimonial 14, 109, 114, 127–35, 138, 141–3, 147, 149, 151 Chamorro, Violeta 54, 57, 265, 269 Charter 77, 156, 158, 161, 181, 193, 196, 213 Civic Forum (Obc˘ anské Forum) 161, 193, 196, 215 civil society 12–15, 21–2, 25, 33, 139, 148, 153–5, 159, 162, 181, 184, 187–9, 204–5, 237, 288, 293, 328 Coard, Bernard 52, 261, 262 communication 210–12, 215, 218–19, 225–6, 230, 239, 240, 279, 290–1, 300, 322, 327–8, 331, 334, 336, 338, 344, 347 Contras 10, 27, 178–9, 191, 264–9, 271

348

Deng Xiaoping 44, 115, 275 early post-totalitarianism 61–5 maturing 88–9, 91, 92 repression of opposition 186, 288, 290 EPLF (Eritrean People’s Liberation Front) 46, 163, 177, 192 EPRP (Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Party) 46, 163, 192 FIDESZ 252 Gheorghiu-Dej, Gheorghe 58, 101, 129, 130, 132 glasnost 77, 133, 185, 203, 217 Goma, Paul 185 Gomułka, Władysław 24, 82–4, 160, 245 Gorbachev, Mikhail 33, 45, 67, 77, 89, 101, 105, 139, 192, 242, 270, 297, 323, 347 collapse of the Soviet Union 227–30 influence on expectations 31, 133, 185, 232, 246, 259, 303–5, 330, 346 influence on opposition 162, 184–5 maturing 78, 85–88, 104, 140, 184, 205, 326 pragmatic acceptance 19, 71, 72, 75, 81, 146, 207, 209 pragmatic acceptance (Czechoslovakia) 213, 214, 216 pragmatic acceptance (East Germany) 216–21 pragmatic acceptance (Hungary) 252, 254 pragmatic acceptance (Poland) 248 pragmatic acceptance (Romania) 224, 226, 306 pragmatic acceptance (Yugoslavia) 231–2 semi-opposition 202 Havel, Vacláv 160–1, 215 hegemony 19, 21, 38, 41–4, 58, 104, 204, 256, 311, 336 loss of 59, 61

Index in Ethiopia 49 in North Korea 127, 330, 335 in Romania 132 Ho Chi Minh 96, 111 non-patrimonial 117–19, 123, 132, 142 Honecker, Erich 60, 73–5, 101, 217–21 Hungarian Democratic Forum (MDF) 162, 252, 255 Hu Yaobang 65, 275–6 Husák, Gustáv 69, 70, 213–14 Jakeš, Miloš 72, 214, 229 Jaruzelski, Wojciech 84–5, 201, 247–50 Juche ideology 121–6 Kádár, János 253 maturing 79, 86, 88–9, 93 pragmatic acceptance 18, 80–1, 254 Khrushchev, Nikita 24, 101, 180, 183, 252 early post-totalitarian 60–3, 76 Kim Il Sung 47, 130, 142, 310, 317 patrimonial 109, 112–27, 131–2, 149 Kim Jong Il 109, 306, 308–9, 321, 330–2, 335–6, 346 military coup (potential) 316–18 patrimonial 119, 124–5 KOR (Committee in Defense of the Workers) 182, 195, 249 Kuron´, Jacek 179–80, 182 Krenz, Egon 220–1 Le Duan 96, 282 legitimacy 5, 13, 16, 33, 49, 196, 303, 342 charismatic legitimacy 110, 113, 120,122, 129, 131, 133, 135, 141, 147, 149, 151 definition of ideological legitimacy 17 ideological legitimacy 9, 15, 18, 19, 28, 34, 38, 104, 130, 242, 256 ideological legitimacy and early post-totalitarianism 41–2, 58–66 ideological legitimacy, loss of 68, 69, 105, 107, 127, 149–50, 202, 207, 212, 252, 277, 333 ideological legitimacy and the opposition 21–2, 24, 27 ideological legitimacy and revolutionary potential 24, 31 ideological legitimacy in China 20, 32, 88, 92–4, 99–100, 103, 272–6, 288, 290–1, 296–300, 334, 345 ideological legitimacy in Cuba 140, 304–5, 327, 337, 343 ideological legitimacy in Czechoslovakia 70–1, 207, 212

349 ideological legitimacy in East Germany 73, 216–18 ideological legitimacy in Ethiopia 257–8, 270 ideological legitimacy in Grenada 261 ideological legitimacy in Hungary 244, 246, 252–3 ideological legitimacy in North Korea 330–1 ideological legitimacy in Poland 244, 246–7 ideological legitimacy in Romania 133, 145, 222 ideological legitimacy in the Soviet Union 76–7, 85, 87, 228, 229, 245 ideological legitimacy in Vietnam 20, 96, 99–100, 103, 272, 288, 292–300, 334, 345 ideological legitimacy in Yugoslavia 144–5, 149–50, 232 influence on the opposition 153, 167–8, 174–5, 179–94, 197, 199–200, 204–5 nationalist legitimacy 99, 107–8, 110–11, 113, 117, 120, 129–31, 135, 141, 151, 241, 289, 341 Mao Zedong 5, 32, 44, 96, 102, 119, 123, 131–2, 141–3 charismatic 130, 299 early post-totalitarianism 58–66 non-patrimonial 111, 113–17, 151 post-Mao 88, 93, 107, 273, 275, 289 support for North Korea 21 MEISON (the All-Ethiopian Socialist Union) 46, 163, 192 Mengistu Haile Mariam 11, 44, 47–9, 192, 258–9 Michnik, Adam 182 Miloševic´, Slobodan 8, 9, 232–4, 242 nationalism 234–7, 298–300 opposition against 159, 163, 237–41 patrimonial 1, 8, 109, 112, 146–52 Nagy, Imre 24, 79, 80, 133, 160, 180, 245 Neues Forum 183, 193, 197, 198, 218 New Jewel Movement 10, 49–52, 58, 259–62 Nyers, Rezs} o 80, 253 Občanské Forum see Civic Forum Ortega, Daniel 53–4, 57, 264, 267, 269 Ortega, Humberto 54, 55, 57, 263–4, 269 Otpor 163, 196, 237–40 perestroika 77, 140

350

Index

Reagan, Ronald 178, 264–5 revolutionary potential 8, 12–13, 21–5, 38–9, 106, 110, 152, 154–6, 194, 208, 230, 241–4, 246, 252, 270, 273–4, 294, 306, 333–5, 347 Sandinistas 9, 10 failed totalitarian 45, 52–8 loss of power 262–70 opposition to 178–9, 256 semi-civil society, 154, 200–1 semi-opposition 154, 155, 158, 160, 162–3, 182, 200–6 Solidarnos´c´ 12, 82–4, 102, 107, 156, 158, 171, 173, 182, 195, 197, 220, 245–50 Solzhenitsyn 153, 160, 179 Stalin, Josef 10, 24, 58, 61, 76, 101, 119, 121, 130, 151, 177, 192 break with Tito 44, 141–3

Khrushchev’s denunciation 181, 183 non-patrimonial 111–13 purges 43–5 relation to intellectuals 160–5 Stalinism 15–16, 50, 60, 62, 70, 81–3, 122–3, 130–2, 143, 224, 335 Tito, Josip Broz 5, 59, 82, 119, 130, 132, 147, 230, 231–3 Miloševic´’s view of 8, 149, 236 non-patrimonial 141–5, 299 opposition to 161 T} okés, László 159, 225–6 Ulbricht, Walter 59, 72–5, 101 Wałe˛sa, Lech 182, 248 Yeltsin, Boris 7, 27, 87–8, 105, 227–31