Political Science Analytical Paper Assignment

User Generated

tbaneq9

Writing

Description

Essay Prompt

What kinds of principles should guide the creation of an ideal society? Why do you find those

principles convincing? Who might disagree with those principles and why? Try to think of a

practical policy that might advance the set of principles you outlined. What kind of political

contention would occur if you implemented such a policy in the United States? What if it were

implemented in a country with different institutions? How might your proposed policy be

implemented globally? How might the structure and institutions of the international system

undermine or assist your proposal?

Evaluation criteria

You will be evaluated based on whether you…

-Include a clear introduction that roadmaps the paper and motivates your essay

-Effectively argue for a principle of justice, while also pointing out some of the arguments

against it.

-Advocate a policy that is clearly connected to your vision of justice and do a good job of

considering some of the political divisions and contestation the idea might involve in the United

States and in one other country.

-Seriously consider how you might implement a global version of your policy, and some of the

ways the global power structure and institutions might produce conflict (or cooperation) over

your proposal.

-Effectively summarizing your paper with a conclusion, and fleshing out the implications of your

argument.


MUST REFERENCE ALL ATTACHED READINGS!

MUST INCLUDE ALL NECESSARY MLA CITATIONS!

Unformatted Attachment Preview

THE END OF THE TRANSITION PARADIGM Thomas Carothers Thomas Carothers is vice president for studies at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace in Washington, D.C. He is the author of many works on democracy promotion, including Aiding Democracy Abroad: The Learning Curve (1999), and is the coeditor with Marina Ottaway of Funding Virtue: Civil Society Aid and Democracy Promotion (2000). In the last quarter of the twentieth century, trends in seven different regions converged to change the political landscape of the world: 1) the fall of right-wing authoritarian regimes in Southern Europe in the mid1970s; 2) the replacement of military dictatorships by elected civilian governments across Latin America from the late 1970s through the late 1980s; 3) the decline of authoritarian rule in parts of East and South Asia starting in the mid-1980s; 4) the collapse of communist regimes in Eastern Europe at the end of the 1980s; 5) the breakup of the Soviet Union and the establishment of 15 post-Soviet republics in 1991; 6) the decline of one-party regimes in many parts of sub-Saharan Africa in the first half of the 1990s; and 7) a weak but recognizable liberalizing trend in some Middle Eastern countries in the 1990s. The causes, shape, and pace of these different trends varied considerably. But they shared a dominant characteristic—simultaneous movement in at least several countries in each region away from dictatorial rule toward more liberal and often more democratic governance. And though differing in many ways, these trends influenced and to some extent built on one another. As a result, they were considered by many observers, especially in the West, as component parts of a larger whole, a global democratic trend that thanks to Samuel Huntington has widely come to be known as the “third wave” of democracy.1 This striking tide of political change was seized upon with enthusiasm by the U.S. government and the broader U.S. foreign policy community. As early as the mid-1980s, President Ronald Reagan, Secretary of State Journal of Democracy Volume 13, Number 1 January 2002 Journal of Democracy 6 George Shultz, and other high-level U.S. officials were referring regularly to “the worldwide democratic revolution.” During the 1980s, an active array of governmental, quasi-governmental, and nongovernmental organizations devoted to promoting democracy abroad sprang into being. This new democracy-promotion community had a pressing need for an analytic framework to conceptualize and respond to the ongoing political events. Confronted with the initial parts of the third wave—democratization in Southern Europe, Latin America, and a few countries in Asia (especially the Philippines)—the U.S. democracy community rapidly embraced an analytic model of democratic transition. It was derived principally from their own interpretation of the patterns of democratic change taking place, but also to a lesser extent from the early works of the emergent academic field of “transitology,” above all the seminal work of Guillermo O’Donnell and Philippe Schmitter.2 As the third wave spread to Eastern Europe, the Soviet Union, subSaharan Africa, and elsewhere in the 1990s, democracy promoters extended this model as a universal paradigm for understanding democratization. It became ubiquitous in U.S. policy circles as a way of talking about, thinking about, and designing interventions in processes of political change around the world. And it stayed remarkably constant despite many variations in those patterns of political change and a stream of increasingly diverse scholarly views about the course and nature of democratic transitions.3 The transition paradigm has been somewhat useful during a time of momentous and often surprising political upheaval in the world. But it is increasingly clear that reality is no longer conforming to the model. Many countries that policy makers and aid practitioners persist in calling “transitional” are not in transition to democracy, and of the democratic transitions that are under way, more than a few are not following the model. Sticking with the paradigm beyond its useful life is retarding evolution in the field of democratic assistance and is leading policy makers astray in other ways. It is time to recognize that the transition paradigm has outlived its usefulness and to look for a better lens. Core Assumptions Five core assumptions define the transition paradigm. The first, which is an umbrella for all the others, is that any country moving away from dictatorial rule can be considered a country in transition toward democracy. Especially in the first half of the 1990s, when political change accelerated in many regions, numerous policy makers and aid practitioners reflexively labeled any formerly authoritarian country that was attempting some political liberalization as a “transitional country.” The set of “transitional countries” swelled dramatically, and nearly 100 countries (approximately 20 in Latin America, 25 in Eastern Europe Thomas Carothers 7 and the former Soviet Union, 30 in sub-Saharan Africa, 10 in Asia, and 5 in the Middle East) were thrown into the conceptual pot of the transition paradigm. Once so labeled, their political life was automatically analyzed in terms of their movement toward or away from democracy, and they were held up to the implicit expectations of the paradigm, as detailed below. To cite just one especially astonishing example, the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID) continues to describe the Democratic Republic of Congo (Kinshasa), a strife-wracked country undergoing a turgid, often opaque, and rarely very democratic process of political change, as a country in “transition to a democratic, free market society.” 4 The second assumption is that democratization tends to unfold in a set sequence of stages. First there occurs the opening, a period of democratic ferment and political liberalization in which cracks appear in the ruling dictatorial regime, with the most prominent fault line being that between hardliners and softliners. There follows the breakthrough— the collapse of the regime and the rapid emergence of a new, democratic system, with the coming to power of a new government through national elections and the establishment of a democratic institutional structure, often through the promulgation of a new constitution. After the transition comes consolidation, a slow but purposeful process in which democratic forms are transformed into democratic substance through the reform of state institutions, the regularization of elections, the strengthening of civil society, and the overall habituation of the society to the new democratic “rules of the game.” 5 Democracy activists admit that it is not inevitable that transitional countries will move steadily on this assumed path from opening and breakthrough to consolidation. Transitional countries, they say, can and do go backward or stagnate as well as move forward along the path. Yet even the deviations from the assumed sequence that they are willing to acknowledge are defined in terms of the path itself. The options are all cast in terms of the speed and direction with which countries move on the path, not in terms of movement that does not conform with the path at all. And at least in the peak years of the third wave, many democracy enthusiasts clearly believed that, while the success of the dozens of new transitions was not assured, democratization was in some important sense a natural process, one that was likely to flourish once the initial breakthrough occurred. No small amount of democratic teleology is implicit in the transition paradigm, no matter how much its adherents have denied it.6 Related to the idea of a core sequence of democratization is the third assumption—the belief in the determinative importance of elections. Democracy promoters have not been guilty—as critics often charge— of believing that elections equal democracy. For years they have advocated and pursued a much broader range of assistance programs 8 Journal of Democracy than just elections-focused efforts. Nevertheless, they have tended to hold very high expectations for what the establishment of regular, genuine elections will do for democratization. Not only will elections give new postdictatorial governments democratic legitimacy, they believe, but the elections will serve to broaden and deepen political participation and the democratic accountability of the state to its citizens. In other words, it has been assumed that in attempted transitions to democracy, elections will be not just a foundation stone but a key generator over time of further democratic reforms. A fourth assumption is that the underlying conditions in transitional countries—their economic level, political history, institutional legacies, ethnic make-up, sociocultural traditions, or other “structural” features— will not be major factors in either the onset or the outcome of the transition process. A remarkable characteristic of the early period of the third wave was that democracy seemed to be breaking out in the most unlikely and unexpected places, whether Mongolia, Albania, or Mauritania. All that seemed to be necessary for democratization was a decision by a country’s political elites to move toward democracy and an ability on the part of those elites to fend off the contrary actions of remaining antidemocratic forces. The dynamism and remarkable scope of the third wave buried old, deterministic, and often culturally noxious assumptions about democracy, such as that only countries with an American-style middle class or a heritage of Protestant individualism could become democratic. For policy makers and aid practitioners this new outlook was a break from the longstanding Cold War mindset that most countries in the developing world were “not ready for democracy,” a mindset that dovetailed with U.S. policies of propping up anticommunist dictators around the world. Some of the early works in transitology also reflected the “no preconditions” view of democratization, a shift within the academic literature that had begun in 1970 with Dankwart Rustow’s seminal article, “Transitions to Democracy: Toward a Dynamic Model.” 7 For both the scholarly and policy communities, the new “no preconditions” outlook was a gratifyingly optimistic, even liberating view that translated easily across borders as the encouraging message that, when it comes to democracy, “anyone can do it.” Fifth, the transition paradigm rests on the assumption that the democratic transitions making up the third wave are being built on coherent, functioning states. The process of democratization is assumed to include some redesign of state institutions—such as the creation of new electoral institutions, parliamentary reform, and judicial reform— but as a modification of already functioning states.8 As they arrived at their frameworks for understanding democratization, democracy aid practitioners did not give significant attention to the challenge of a society trying to democratize while it is grappling with the reality of building a Thomas Carothers 9 state from scratch or coping with an existent but largely nonfunctional state. This did not appear to be an issue in Southern Europe or Latin America, the two regions that served as the experiential basis for the formation of the transition paradigm. To the extent that democracy promoters did consider the possibility of state-building as part of the transition process, they assumed that democracy-building and statebuilding would be mutually reinforcing endeavors or even two sides of the same coin. Into the Gray Zone We turn then from the underlying assumptions of the paradigm to the record of experience. Efforts to assess the progress of the third wave are sometimes rejected as premature. Democracy is not built in a day, democracy activists assert, and it is too early to reach judgments about the results of the dozens of democratic transitions launched in the last two decades. Although it is certainly true that the current political situations of the “transitional countries” are not set in stone, enough time has elapsed to shed significant light on how the transition paradigm is holding up. Of the nearly 100 countries considered as “transitional” in recent years, only a relatively small number—probably fewer than 20—are clearly en route to becoming successful, well-functioning democracies or at least have made some democratic progress and still enjoy a positive dynamic of democratization. 9 The leaders of the group are found primarily in Central Europe and the Baltic region—Poland, Hungary, the Czech Republic, Estonia, and Slovenia—though there are a few in South America and East Asia, notably Chile, Uruguay, and Taiwan. Those that have made somewhat less progress but appear to be still advancing include Slovakia, Romania, Bulgaria, Mexico, Brazil, Ghana, the Philippines, and South Korea. By far the majority of third-wave countries have not achieved relatively well-functioning democracy or do not seem to be deepening or advancing whatever democratic progress they have made. In a small number of countries, initial political openings have clearly failed and authoritarian regimes have resolidified, as in Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Belarus, and Togo. Most of the “transitional countries,” however, are neither dictatorial nor clearly headed toward democracy. They have entered a political gray zone.10 They have some attributes of democratic political life, including at least limited political space for opposition parties and independent civil society, as well as regular elections and democratic constitutions. Yet they suffer from serious democratic deficits, often including poor representation of citizens’ interests, low levels of political participation beyond voting, frequent abuse of the law by government officials, elections of uncertain legitimacy, very low 10 Journal of Democracy levels of public confidence in state institutions, and persistently poor institutional performance by the state. As the number of countries falling in between outright dictatorship and well-established liberal democracy has swollen, political analysts have proffered an array of “qualified democracy” terms to characterize them, including semi-democracy, formal democracy, electoral democracy, façade democracy, pseudo-democracy, weak democracy, partial democracy, illiberal democracy, and virtual democracy.11 Some of these terms, such as “façade democracy” and “pseudo-democracy,” apply only to a fairly specific subset of gray-zone cases. Other terms, such as “weak democracy” and “partial democracy,” are intended to have much broader applicability. Useful though these terms can be, especially when rooted in probing analysis such as O’Donnell’s work on “delegative democracy,” they share a significant liability: By describing countries in the gray zone as types of democracies, analysts are in effect trying to apply the transition paradigm to the very countries whose political evolution is calling that paradigm into question.12 Most of the “qualified democracy” terms are used to characterize countries as being stuck somewhere on the assumed democratization sequence, usually at the start of the consolidation phase. The diversity of political patterns within the gray zone is vast. Many possible subtypes or subcategories could potentially be posited, and much work remains to be done to assess the nature of gray-zone politics. As a first analytic step, two broad political syndromes can be seen to be common in the gray zone. They are not rigidly delineated political-system types but rather political patterns that have become regular and somewhat entrenched. Though they have some characteristics in common, they differ in crucial ways and basically are mutually exclusive. The first syndrome is feckless pluralism. Countries whose political life is marked by feckless pluralism tend to have significant amounts of political freedom, regular elections, and alternation of power between genuinely different political groupings. Despite these positive features, however, democracy remains shallow and troubled. Political participation, though broad at election time, extends little beyond voting. Political elites from all the major parties or groupings are widely perceived as corrupt, self-interested, and ineffective. The alternation of power seems only to trade the country’s problems back and forth from one hapless side to the other. Political elites from all the major parties are widely perceived as corrupt, self-interested, dishonest, and not serious about working for their country. The public is seriously disaffected from politics, and while it may still cling to a belief in the ideal of democracy, it is extremely unhappy about the political life of the country. Overall, politics is widely seen as a stale, corrupt, elite-dominated domain that delivers little good to the country and commands equally little respect. And the state remains persistently weak. Economic policy is often poorly Thomas Carothers 11 conceived and executed, and economic performance is frequently bad or even calamitous. Social and political reforms are similarly tenuous, and successive governments are unable to make headway on most of the major problems facing the country, from crime and corruption to health, education, and public welfare generally. Feckless pluralism is most common in Latin America, a region where most countries entered their attempted democratic transitions with diverse political parties already in place yet also with a deep legacy of persistently poor performance of state institutions. Nicaragua, Ecuador, Guatemala, Panama, Honduras, and Bolivia all fall into this category, as did Venezuela in the decade prior to the election of Hugo Chávez. Argentina and Brazil hover uneasily at its edge. In the postcommunist world, Moldova, Bosnia, Albania, and Ukraine have at least some significant signs of the syndrome, with Romania and Bulgaria teetering on its edge. Nepal is a clear example in Asia; Bangladesh, Mongolia, and Thailand may also qualify. In sub-Saharan Africa, a few states, such as Madagascar, Guinea-Bissau, and Sierra Leone, may be cases of feckless pluralism, though alternation of power remains rare generally in that region. There are many variations of feckless pluralism. In some cases, the parties that alternate power between them are divided by paralyzing acrimony and devote their time out of power to preventing the other party from accomplishing anything at all, as in Bangladesh. In other cases, the main competing groups end up colluding, formally or informally, rendering the alternation of power unhelpful in a different manner, as happened in Nicaragua in the late 1990s. In some countries afflicted with feckless pluralism, the political competition is between deeply entrenched parties that essentially operate as patronage networks and seem never to renovate themselves, as in Argentina or Nepal. In others, the alternation of power occurs between constantly shifting political groupings, short-lived parties led by charismatic individuals or temporary alliances in search of a political identity, as in Guatemala or Ukraine. These varied cases nonetheless share a common condition that seems at the root of feckless pluralism—the whole class of political elites, though plural and competitive, are profoundly cut off from the citizenry, rendering political life an ultimately hollow, unproductive exercise. Dominant-Power Politics The most common other political syndrome in the gray zone is dominant-power politics. Countries with this syndrome have limited but still real political space, some political contestation by opposition groups, and at least most of the basic institutional forms of democracy. Yet one political grouping—whether it is a movement, a party, an extended 12 Journal of Democracy family, or a single leader—dominates the system in such a way that there appears to be little prospect of alternation of power in the foreseeable future. Unlike in countries beset with feckless pluralism, a key political problem in dominant-power countries is the blurring of the line between the state and the ruling party (or ruling political forces). The state’s main assets—that is to say, the state as a source of money, jobs, public information (via state media), and police power—are gradually put in the direct service of the ruling party. Whereas in feckless pluralism judiciaries are often somewhat independent, the judiciary in dominantpower countries is typically cowed, as part of the one-sided grip on power. And while elections in feckless-pluralist countries are often quite free and fair, the typical pattern in dominant-power countries is one of dubious but not outright fraudulent elections in which the ruling group tries to put on a good-enough electoral show to gain the approval of the international community while quietly tilting the electoral playing field far enough in its own favor to ensure victory. As in feckless-pluralist systems, the citizens of dominant-power systems tend to be disaffected from politics and cut off from significant political participation beyond voting. Since there is no alternation of power, however, they are less apt to evince the “a pox on all your houses” political outlook pervasive in feckless-pluralist systems. Yet those opposition political parties that do exist generally are hard put to gain much public credibility due to their perennial status as outsiders to the main halls of power. Whatever energies and hopes for effective opposition to the regime remain often reside in civil society groups, usually a loose collection of advocacy NGOs and independent media (often funded by Western donors) that skirmish with the government on human rights, the environment, corruption, and other issues of public interest. The state tends to be as weak and poorly performing in dominantpower countries as in feckless-pluralist countries, though the problem is often a bureaucracy decaying under the stagnancy of de facto oneparty rule rather than the disorganized, unstable nature of state management (such as the constant turnover of ministers) typical of feckless pluralism. The long hold on power by one political group usually produces large-scale corruption and crony capitalism. Due to the existence of some political openness in these systems, the leaders do often feel some pressure from the public about corruption and other abuses of state power. They even may periodically declare their intention to root out corruption and strengthen the rule of law. But their deepseated intolerance for anything more than limited opposition and the basic political configuration over which they preside breed the very problems they publicly commit themselves to tackling. Dominant-power systems are prevalent in three regions. In sub- Thomas Carothers 13 Saharan Africa, the widely hailed wave of democratization that washed over the region in the early 1990s has ended up producing many dominant-power systems. In some cases, one-party states liberalized yet ended up permitting only very limited processes of political opening, as in Cameroon, Burkina Faso, Equatorial Guinea, Tanzania, Gabon, Kenya, and Mauritania. In a few cases, old regimes were defeated or collapsed, yet the new regimes have ended up in dominant-party structures, as in Zambia in the 1990s, or the forces previously shunted aside have reclaimed power, as in Congo (Brazzaville). Dominant-power systems are found in the former Soviet Union as well. Armenia, Azerbaijan, Georgia, Kyrgyzstan, and Kazakhstan fall in this category. The other Central Asian republics and Belarus are better understood as out-and-out authoritarian systems. The liberalization trend that arose in the Middle East in the mid-1980s and has unfolded in fits and starts ever since has moved some countries out of the authoritarian camp into the dominant-power category. These include Morocco, Jordan, Algeria, Egypt, Iran, and Yemen. Dominant-power systems are scarce outside of these three regions. In Asia, Malaysia and Cambodia count as examples. In Latin America, Paraguay may be one case, and Venezuela is likely headed toward becoming a second. Dominant-power systems vary in their degree of freedom and their political direction. Some have very limited political space and are close to being dictatorships. Others allow much more freedom, albeit still with limits. A few “transitional countries,” including the important cases of South Africa and Russia, fall just to the side of this syndrome. They have a fair amount of political freedom and have held competitive elections of some legitimacy (though sharp debate on that issue exists with regard to Russia). Yet they are ruled by political forces that appear to have a long-term hold on power (if one considers the shift from Yeltsin to Putin more as a political transfer than an alternation of power), and it is hard to imagine any of the existing opposition parties coming to power for many years to come. If they maintain real political freedom and open competition for power, they may join the ranks of cases, such as Italy and Japan (prior to the 1990s) and Botswana, of longtime democratic rule by one party. Yet due to the tenuousness of their new democratic institutions, they face the danger of slippage toward the dominant-power syndrome. As political syndromes, both feckless pluralism and dominant-power politics have some stability. Once in them, countries do not move out of them easily. Feckless pluralism achieves its own dysfunctional equilibrium—the passing of power back and forth between competing elites who are largely isolated from the citizenry but willing to play by widely accepted rules. Dominant-power politics also often achieves a kind of stasis, with the ruling group able to keep political opposition on the ropes while permitting enough political openness to alleviate pressure Journal of Democracy 14 from the public. They are by no means permanent political configurations; no political configuration lasts forever. Countries can and do move out of them—either from one to the other or out of either toward liberal democracy or dictatorship. For a time in the 1990s, Ukraine seemed stuck in dominant-power politics but may be shifting to something more like feckless pluralism. Senegal was previously a clear case of dominant-power politics but, with the opposition victory in the 2000 elections, may be moving toward either liberal democracy or feckless pluralism. Although many countries in the gray zone have ended up as examples of either feckless pluralism or dominant-power politics, not all have. A small number of “transitional countries” have moved away from authoritarian rule only in the last several years, and their political trajectory is as yet unclear. Indonesia, Nigeria, Serbia, and Croatia are four prominent examples of this type. Some countries that experienced political openings in the 1980s or 1990s have been so wracked by civil conflict that their political systems are too unstable or incoherent to pin down easily, though they are definitely not on a path of democratization. The Democratic Republic of Congo, Liberia, Sierra Leone, and Somalia all represent this situation. The Crash of Assumptions Taken together, the political trajectories of most third-wave countries call into serious doubt the transition paradigm. This is apparent if we revisit the major assumptions underlying the paradigm in light of the above analysis. First, the almost automatic assumption of democracy promoters during the peak years of the third wave that any country moving away from dictatorship was “in transition to democracy” has often been inaccurate and misleading. Some of those countries have hardly democratized at all. Many have taken on a smattering of democratic features but show few signs of democratizing much further and are certainly not following any predictable democratization script. The most common political patterns to date among the “transitional countries”—feckless pluralism and dominant-power politics—include elements of democracy but should be understood as alternative directions, not way stations to liberal democracy. The persistence in official U.S. democracy-promotion circles of using transitional language to characterize countries that in no way conform to any democratization paradigm borders in some case on the surreal—including not just the case of Congo cited above but many others, such as Moldova (“Moldova’s democratic transition continues to progress steadily”), Zambia (“Zambia is . . . moving steadily toward . . . the creation of a viable multiparty democracy”), Cambodia (“policy successes in Cambodia towards democracy and improved governance Thomas Carothers 15 within the past 18 months are numerous”), and Guinea (“Guinea has made significant strides toward building a democratic society”).13 The continued use of the transition paradigm constitutes a dangerous habit of trying to impose a simplistic and often incorrect conceptual order on an empirical tableau of considerable complexity. Second, not only is the general label and concept of “transitional country” unhelpful, but the assumed sequence of stages of democratization is defied by the record of experience. Some of the most encouraging cases of democratization in recent years—such as Taiwan, South Korea, and Mexico—did not go through the paradigmatic process of democratic breakthrough followed rapidly by national elections and a new democratic institutional framework. Their political evolutions were defined by an almost opposite phenomenon—extremely gradual, incremental processes of liberalization with an organized political opposition (not softliners in the regime) pushing for change across successive elections and finally winning. And in many of the countries that did go through some version of what appeared to be a democratic breakthrough, the assumed sequence of changes—first settling constitutive issues then working through second-order reforms—has not held. Constitutive issues have reemerged at unpredictable times, upending what are supposed to be later stages of transition, as in the recent political crises in Ecuador, the Central African Republic, and Chad. Moreover, the various assumed component processes of consolidation—political party development, civil society strengthening, judicial reform, and media development—almost never conform to the technocratic ideal of rational sequences on which the indicator frameworks and strategic objectives of democracy promoters are built. Instead they are chaotic processes of change that go backwards and sideways as much as forward, and do not do so in any regular manner. The third assumption of the transition paradigm—the notion that achieving regular, genuine elections will not only confer democratic legitimacy on new governments but continuously deepen political participation and democratic accountability—has often come up short. In many “transitional countries,” reasonably regular, genuine elections are held but political participation beyond voting remains shallow and governmental accountability is weak. The wide gulf between political elites and citizens in many of these countries turns out to be rooted in structural conditions, such as the concentration of wealth or certain sociocultural traditions, that elections themselves do not overcome. It is also striking how often electoral competition does little to stimulate the renovation or development of political parties in many gray-zone countries. Such profound pathologies as highly personalistic parties, transient and shifting parties, or stagnant patronage-based politics appear to be able to coexist for sustained periods with at least somewhat legitimate processes of political pluralism and competition. 16 Journal of Democracy These disappointments certainly do not mean that elections are pointless in such countries or that the international community should not continue to push for free and fair elections. But greatly reduced expectations are in order as to what elections will accomplish as generators of deep-reaching democratic change. Nepal is a telling example in this regard. Since 1990, Nepal has held many multiparty elections and experienced frequent alternation of power. Yet the Nepalese public remains highly disaffected from the political system and there is little real sense of democratic accountability. Fourth, ever since “preconditions for democracy” were enthusiastically banished in the heady early days of the third wave, a contrary reality—the fact that various structural conditions clearly weigh heavily in shaping political outcomes—has been working its way back in. Looking at the more successful recent cases of democratization, for example, which tend to be found in Central Europe, the Southern Cone, or East Asia, it is clear that relative economic wealth, as well as past experience with political pluralism, contributes to the chances for democratic success. And looking comparatively within regions, whether in the former communist world or sub-Saharan Africa, it is evident that the specific institutional legacies from predecessor regimes strongly affect the outcomes of attempted transitions. During the 1990s, a number of scholars began challenging the “no preconditions” line, with analyses of the roles that economic wealth, institutional legacies, social class, and other structural factors play in attempted democratic transitions.14 Yet it has been hard for the democracypromotion community to take this work on board. Democracy promoters are strongly wedded to their focus on political processes and institutions. They have been concerned that trying to blend that focus with economic or sociocultural perspectives might lead to the dilution or reduction of democracy assistance. And having set up as organizations with an exclusively political perspective, it is hard for democracypromotion groups to include other kinds of expertise or approaches. Fifth, state-building has been a much larger and more problematic issue than originally envisaged in the transition paradigm. Contrary to the early assumptions of democracy-aid practitioners, many third-wave countries have faced fundamental state-building challenges. Approximately 20 countries in the former Soviet Union and former Yugoslavia have had to build national state institutions where none existed before. Throughout much of sub-Saharan Africa, the liberalizing political wave of the 1990s ran squarely into the sobering reality of devastatingly weak states. In many parts of Latin America, the Middle East, and Asia, political change was carried out in the context of stable state structures, but the erratic performance of those states complicated every step. Where state-building from scratch had to be carried out, the core impulses and interests of powerholders—such as locking in access to Thomas Carothers 17 power and resources as quickly as possible—ran directly contrary to what democracy-building would have required. In countries with existing but extremely weak states, the democracy-building efforts funded by donors usually neglected the issue of state-building. With their frequent emphasis on diffusing power and weakening the relative power of the executive branch—by strengthening the legislative and judicial branches of government, encouraging decentralization, and building civil society—they were more about the redistribution of state power than about state-building. The programs that democracy promoters have directed at governance have tended to be minor technocratic efforts, such as training ministerial staff or aiding cabinet offices, rather than major efforts at bolstering state capacity. Letting Go It is time for the democracy-promotion community to discard the transition paradigm. Analyzing the record of experience in the many countries that democracy activists have been labeling “transitional countries,” it is evident that it is no longer appropriate to assume: • that most of these countries are actually in a transition to democracy; • that countries moving away from authoritarianism tend to follow a three-part process of democratization consisting of opening, breakthrough, and consolidation; • that the establishment of regular, genuine elections will not only give new governments democratic legitimacy but foster a longer term deepening of democratic participation and accountability; • that a country’s chances for successfully democratizing depend primarily on the political intentions and actions of its political elites without significant influence from underlying economic, social, and institutional conditions and legacies; • that state-building is a secondary challenge to democracy-building and largely compatible with it. It is hard to let go of the transitional paradigm, both for the conceptual order and for the hopeful vision it provides. Giving it up constitutes a major break, but not a total one. It does not mean denying that important democratic reforms have occurred in many countries in the past two decades. It does not mean that countries in the gray zone are doomed never to achieve well-functioning liberal democracy. It does not mean that free and fair elections in “transitional countries” are futile or not worth supporting. It does not mean that the United States and other international actors should abandon efforts to promote democracy in the world (if anything, it implies that, given how difficult democratization is, efforts to promote it should be redoubled). It does mean, however, that democracy promoters should approach their work with some very different assumptions. They should start by 18 Journal of Democracy assuming that what is often thought of as an uneasy, precarious middle ground between full-fledged democracy and outright dictatorship is actually the most common political condition today of countries in the developing world and the postcommunist world. It is not an exceptional category to be defined only in terms What is often thought of of its not being one thing or the as an uneasy, precarious other; it is a state of normality for middle ground between many societies, for better or worse. full-fledged democracy The seemingly continual surprise and disappointment that Western political and outright dictatorship analysts express over the very freis actually the most quent falling short of democracy in common political “transitional countries” should be condition today of replaced with realistic expectations countries in the about the likely patterns of political developing world and the life in these countries. postcommunist world. Aid practitioners and policy makers looking at politics in a country that has recently moved away from authoritarianism should not start by asking, “How is its democratic transition going?” They should instead formulate a more open-ended query, “What is happening politically?” Insisting on the former approach leads to optimistic assumptions that often shunt the analysis down a blind alley. To take one example, during the 1990s, Western policy makers habitually analyzed Georgia’s post-1991 political evolution as a democratic transition, highlighting the many formal achievements, and holding up a basically positive image of the country. Then suddenly, at the end of the decade, the essential hollowness of Georgia’s “democratic transition” became too apparent to ignore, and Georgia is now suddenly talked about as a country in serious risk of state failure or deep sociopolitical crisis.15 A whole generation of democracy aid is based on the transition paradigm, above all the typical emphasis on an institutional “checklist” as a basis for creating programs, and the creation of nearly standard portfolios of aid projects consisting of the same diffuse set of efforts all over—some judicial reform, parliamentary strengthening, civil society assistance, media work, political party development, civic education, and electoral programs. Much of the democracy aid based on this paradigm is exhausted. Where the paradigm fits well—in the small number of clearly successful transitions—the aid is not much needed. Where democracy aid is needed most, in many of the gray-zone countries, the paradigm fits poorly. Democracy promoters need to focus in on the key political patterns of each country in which they intervene, rather than trying to do a little Thomas Carothers 19 of everything according to a template of ideal institutional forms. Where feckless pluralism reigns, this means giving concentrated attention to two interrelated issues: how to improve the variety and quality of the main political actors in the society and how to begin to bridge the gulf between the citizenry and the formal political system. Much greater attention to political party development should be a major part of the response, with special attention to encouraging new entrants into the political party scene, changing the rules and incentive systems that shape the current party structures, and fostering strong connections between parties and civil society groups (rather than encouraging civil society groups to stay away from partisan politics). In dominant-power systems, democracy promoters should devote significant attention to the challenge of helping to encourage the growth of alternative centers of power. Merely helping finance the proliferation of nongovernmental organizations is an inadequate approach to this challenge. Again, political party development must be a top agenda item, especially through measures aimed at changing the way political parties are financed. It should include efforts to examine how the overconcentration of economic power (a standard feature of dominant-power systems) can be reduced as well as measures that call attention to and work against the blurring of the line between the ruling party and the state. In other types of gray-zone countries, democracy promoters will need to settle on other approaches. The message for all gray-zone countries, however, is the same—falling back on a smorgasbord of democracy programs based on the vague assumption that they all contribute to some assumed process of consolidation is not good enough. Democracy aid must proceed from a penetrating analysis of the particular core syndrome that defines the political life of the country in question, and how aid interventions can change that syndrome. Moving beyond the transition paradigm also means getting serious about bridging the longstanding divide between aid programs directed at democracy-building and those focused on social and economic development. USAID has initiated some work on this topic but has only scratched the surface of what could become a major synthesis of disparate domains in the aid world. One example of a topic that merits the combined attention of economic aid providers and democracy promoters is privatization programs. These programs have major implications for how power is distributed in a society, how ruling political forces can entrench themselves, and how the public participates in major policy decisions. Democracy promoters need to take a serious interest in these reform efforts and learn to make a credible case to economists that they should have a place at the table when such programs are being planned. The same is true for any number of areas of socioeconomic reform that tend to be a major focus of economic aid providers and that have Journal of Democracy 20 potentially significant effects on the underlying sociopolitical domain, including pension reform, labor law reform, antitrust policy, banking reform, and tax reform. The onus is on democracy-aid providers to develop a broader conception of democracy work and to show that they have something to contribute on the main stage of the developmentassistance world. These are only provisional ideas. Many other “next generation” challenges remain to be identified. The core point, however, is plain: The transition paradigm was a product of a certain time—the heady early days of the third wave—and that time has now passed. It is necessary for democracy activists to move on to new frameworks, new debates, and perhaps eventually a new paradigm of political change—one suited to the landscape of today, not the lingering hopes of an earlier era. NOTES The author would like to thank Jeffrey Krutz for his research assistance relating to this article and Daniel Brumberg, Charles King, Michael McFaul, Marina Ottaway, Chris Sabatini, and Michael Shifter for their comments on the first draft. 1. Samuel P. Huntington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1991). 2. Guillermo O’Donnell and Philippe C. Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Conclusions About Uncertain Democracies (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986). 3. Ruth Collier argues that a similar transition paradigm has prevailed in the scholarly writing on democratization. “The ‘transitions literature,’ as this current work has come to be known, has as its best representative the founding essay by O’Donnell and Schmitter (1986), which established a framework that is implicitly or explicitly followed in most other contributions.” Ruth Berins Collier, Paths Toward Democracy: The Working Class and Elites in Western Europe and South America (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 5. 4. “Building Democracy in the Democratic Republic of Congo,” www.usaid.gov/ democracy/afr/congo.html. Here and elsewhere in this article, I cite USAID documents because they are the most readily available practitioners’ statements of guidelines and political assessments, but I believe that my analysis applies equally well to most other democracy-promotion organizations in the United States and abroad. 5. The conception of democratization as a predictable, sequential process of incremental steps is vividly exemplified in USAID’s “managing for results” assessment system. See Handbook of Democracy and Governance Program Indicators (Washington, D.C.: USAID, August 1998). 6. Guillermo O’Donnell argues that the concept of democratic consolidation has teleological qualities, in “Illusions About Consolidation,” Journal of Democracy 7 (April 1996): 34–51. A response to O’Donnell’s charge is found in Richard Gunther, P. Nikiforos Diamandouros, and Hans-Jürgen Puhle, “O’Donnell’s ‘Illusions’: A Rejoinder,” Journal of Democracy 7 (October 1996): 151–59. 7. See, for example, Giuseppe Di Palma, To Craft Democracies: An Essay on Democratic Transitions (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991). Dankwart Thomas Carothers 21 Rustow’s article “Transitions to Democracy: Toward a Comparative Model,” originally appeared in Comparative Politics 2 (April 1970): 337–63. 8. USAID’s current listing of the types of governance programs in its democracyassistance portfolio, for example, contains no examples of work on fundamental statebuilding. See “Agency Objectives: Governance,” www.usaid.gov/democracy/gov.html. 9. An insightful account of the state of the third wave is found in Larry Diamond, “Is the Third Wave Over?” Journal of Democracy 7 (July 1996): 20–37. 10. Larry Diamond uses the term “twilight zone” to refer to a sizeable but smaller set of countries—electoral democracies that are in a zone of “persistence without legitimation or institutionalization,” in Developing Democracy: Toward Consolidation (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999), 22. 11. David Collier and Steven Levitsky, “Democracy with Adjectives: Conceptual Innovation in Comparative Research,” World Politics 49 (April 1997): 430–51. 12. Guillermo O’Donnell, “Delegative Democracy,” Journal of Democracy 5 (January 1994): 55–69. 13. These quotes are all taken from the country descriptions in the democracybuilding section of the USAID website, www.usaid.gov/democracy.html. 14. See, for example, Michael Bratton and Nicolas van de Walle, Democratic Experiments in Africa: Regime Transitions in Comparative Perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997); Valerie Bunce, Subversive Institutions: The Design and Destruction of Socialism and the State (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); Ruth Collier, Paths Toward Democracy; Dietrich Rueschmeyer, Evelyne Huber Stephens, and John D. Stephens, Capitalist Development and Democracy (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1992); Adam Przeworksi, Democracy and the Market: Political and Economic Reforms in Latin America and Eastern Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991); and Adam Przeworksi and Fernando Limongi, “Political Regimes and Economic Growth,” Journal of Economic Perspectives 7 (Summer 1993): 51–69. 15. See Charles King, “Potemkin Democracy,” The National Interest 64 (Summer 2001): 93–104. Thomas Hobbes The ideas of American democratic citizenship did not evolve entirely on the western side of the Atlantic Ocean. We can see a profound influence from the political discussions taking place in Europe particularly during the 17th and 18th centuries. Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679) has been chosen for inclusion in your reader for his contributions to our understanding of the nature of civil society, natural rights, and natural laws. Hobbes’ greatest work, Leviathan (1651) is a carefully argued defense of the theory of political absolutism. This theory should not be confused with the theory of divine right of kings, which was defended by some of his contemporaries. For divine rights theorists, the sovereign is justified in his rule by reason of his hereditary right of succession to the throne, granted by God. For Hobbes, the “right” to rule reduces simply to the sovereign’s ability to stay in power and this power must come from the governed. Hobbes’ grounds his political philosophy by exploring human nature. He argues that man is essentially motivated by a desire for selfpreservation. Without a powerful sovereign (leviathan) to hold man in awe, we would live in a constant state of war as we each struggle to protect our persons. In essence, life would be “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short.” While absolutism may be contrary to our desire for liberty, it is the only thing that will provide us with security. Absolutism is indeed contrary to the American system of government, but Hobbes’ use of the theory of liberalism launched a tradition of political thought that decisively influenced all future political theory. The fundamental pillar of this philosophy is the primacy of the value of individual liberty. Classic liberals assume that humans are possessed of an innate, naturally bestowed personal freedom, understood as their right to be and remain free from encroachments from external sources. Yet, since governments are necessary to maintain the peace, the liberal must voluntarily choose to part with some individual freedom as the price for enjoying the remainder in greater security. The chief dilemma within classical and modern liberalism alike is to decide just how much liberty one is willing to part with in order to achieve the security which governments alone can provide. As you read the following selections from Leviathan, keep in mind the following questions. What does Hobbes consider to be the natural state of all men? Why do men need to form a civil society? Why do men go to war and how does this shape their societies? What is life like in the state of nature? Where does law come from and what makes it enforceable? What is Hobbes’ definition of the social contract? Why is absolute power critical to a successful civil society? Sources: Perez Zagorin, “Thomas Hobbes” in International Encyclopedia of Social Sciences (New York, 1968); William Ebenstein and Alan O. Ebenstein, “Hobbes,” in Great Political Thinkers: Plato to the Present (Fort Worth, 1991), 397-406; Raymond J. Langley, “Hobbes,” in McGraw-Hill Encyclopedia of World Biography (New York, 1973). Leviathan The Introduction Nature, the art whereby God hath made and governs the world, is by the art of man, as in many other things, so in this also imitated, that it can make an artificial animal. For seeing life is but a motion of limbs, the beginning whereof is in some principal part within; why may we not say, that all automata (engines that move themselves by springs and wheels as doth a watch) have an artificial life? For what is the heart, but a spring; and the nerves, but so many strings; and the joints, but so many wheels, giving motion to the whole body, such as was intended by the artificer? Art goes yet further, imitating that rational and most excellent work of nature, m a n . For by art is created that great LEVIATHAN called a COMMONWEALTH, or STATE, in Latin CIVITAS, which is but an artificial man; though of greater stature and strength than the natural, for whose protection and defence it was intended; and in which the sovereignty is an artificial soul, as giving life and motion to the whole body; the magistrates, and other officers of judicature and execution, artificial j o i n t s ; r e w a r d and punishment, by which fastened to the seat of the sovereignty every joint and member is moved to perform his duty, are the nerves, that do the same in the body natural; the wealth and riches of all the particular members, are the strength; salus p o p u l i , the people’s safety, its b u s i n e s s ; counsellors, by whom all things needful for it to know are suggested unto it, are the memory; equity, and laws, an artificial reason and will; 10 concord, health; sedition, sickness; and civil war, death. Lastly, the pacts and covenants, by which the parts of this body politic were at first made, set together, and united, resemble that fiat, or the let us make man, pronounced by God in the creation. CHAPTER XIII Of the Natural Condition of Mankind as Concerning Their Felicity, and Misery Nature hath made men so equal, in the faculties of the body, and mind; as that though there be found one man sometimes manifestly stronger in body, or of quicker mind than another; yet when all is reckoned together, the differences between man, and man, is not so considerable, as that one man can thereupon claim to himself any benefit, to which another may not pretend, as well as he. For as to the strength of body, the weakest has strength enough to kill the strongest, either by secret machination, or by confederacy with others, that are in the same danger with himself. And as to the faculties of the mind, setting aside the arts grounded upon words, and especially that skill of proceeding upon general, and infallible rules, called science; which very few have, and but in few things; as being not a native faculty, born with us; nor attained, as prudence, while we look after somewhat else, I find yet a greater equality amongst men, than that of strength. For prudence, is but experience; which equal time, equally bestows on all men, in those things they equally apply themselves unto. That which may perhaps make such equality incredible, is but a vain conceit of one’s own wisdom, which almost all men think they have in a greater degree, than the vulgar; that is, than all men but themselves, and a few others, whom by fame, or for concurring with themselves, they approve. For such is the nature of men, and howsoever they may acknowledge many others to be more witty, or more eloquent, or more learned; yet they will hardly believe there be many so wise as themselves; for they see their own wit at hand, and other men’s at a distance. But this proveth rather that men are in that point equal, than unequal. For there is not ordinarily a greater sign of the equal distribution of any thing, than that every man is contented with his share. From this equality of ability, ariseth equality of hope in the attaining of our ends. And 11 therefore if any two men desire the same thing, which nevertheless they cannot both enjoy, they become enemies; and in the way to their end, which is principally their own conservation, and sometimes their delectation only, endeavour to destroy, or subdue one another. And from hence it comes to pass, that where an invader hath no more fear, than another man’s single power; if one plant, sow, build, and possess a convenient seat, others may probably be expected to come prepared with forces united, to dispossess, and deprive him, not only of the fruit of his labour, but also of his life, or liberty. And the invader again is in the like danger of another. And from this diffidence of one another, there is no way for any man to secure himself, so reasonable, as anticipation; that is, by force, or wiles, to master the persons of all men he can, so long, till he see no other power great enough to endanger him: and this is no more than his own conservation requireth, and is generally allowed. Also because there be some, that taking pleasure in contemplating their own power in the acts of conquest, which they pursue farther than their security requires; if others, that otherwise would be glad to be at ease within modest bounds, should not by invasion increase their power, they would not be able, long time, by standing only on their defence, to subsist. And by consequence, such augmentation of dominion over men being necessary to a man’s conservation, it ought to be allowed him. Again, men have no pleasure, but on the contrary a great deal of grief, in keeping company, where there is no power able to over-awe them all. For every man looketh that his companion should value him, at the same rate he sets upon himself: and upon all signs of contempt, or undervaluing, naturally endeavors, as far as he dares, (which amongst them that have no common power to keep them in quiet, is far enough to make them destroy each other), to extort a greater value from his contemners, by damage: and from others, by example. So that in the nature of man we find three principal causes of quarrel. First, competition; secondly, diffidence; thirdly, glory. The first, maketh men invade for gain; the second for safety; and the third, for reputation. The first use violence, to make themselves masters of other men’s persons, wives, children, and cattle; the second, to defend them; the third, for trifles, as a word, a smile, a different opinion, and any other sign of undervalue, either direct in their persons or by reflection in their kindred, their friends, their nation, their profession, or their name. Hereby it is manifest that during the time men live without a common power to keep them all in awe, they are in that condition which is called war; and such a war as is of every man against every man. For WAR consisteth not in battle only, or the act of fighting, but in a tract of time, wherein the will to contend by battle is sufficiently known: and therefore the notion of time is to be considered in the nature of war, as it is in the nature of weather. For as the nature of foul weather lieth not in a shower or two of rain, but in an inclination thereto of many days together: so the nature of war consisteth not in actual fighting, but in the known disposition thereto during all the time there is no assurance to the contrary. All other time is PEACE. Whatsoever therefore is consequent to a time of war, where every man is enemy to every man; the same is consequent to the time wherein men live without other security than what their own strength and their own invention shall furnish them withal. In such condition there is no place for industry, because the fruit thereof is uncertain: and consequently no culture of the earth; no navigation, nor use of the commodities that may be imported by sea; no commodious building; no instruments of moving and removing such things as require much force; no knowledge of the face of the earth; no account of time; no arts; no letters; no society; and which is worst of all, continual fear, and danger of violent death; and the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short. It may seem strange to some man, that has not well weighed these things; that Nature should thus dissociate and render men apt to invade and destroy one another: and he may therefore, not trusting to this inference, made from the passions, desire perhaps to have the same confirmed by experience. Let him therefore consider with himself: when taking a journey, he arms himself and seeks to go well accompanied; when going to sleep, he locks his doors; when even in his house he locks his chests; and this when he knows there be laws and public officers, armed, to revenge all injuries shall be done him; what opinion he has of his fellow subjects, when he rides armed; of his fellow citizens, when he locks his doors; and of his children, and servants, when he locks his chests. Does he not there as much accuse mankind by his actions as I do by my words? But neither of us accuse man’s nature in it. The desires, and other passions of man, are in themselves no sin. No more are the actions that proceed from those passions till they know a law that forbids them; which till laws be made they cannot know, nor can any law be made till they have agreed upon the person that shall make it. It may peradventure be thought, there was never such a time nor condition of war as this; and I believe it was never generally so, over all the world: but there are many places where they live so now. For the savage people in many places of America, except the government of small families, the concord whereof dependeth on natural lust, have no government at all, and live at this day in that brutish manner, as I said before. Howsoever, it may be perceived what manner of life there would be, where there were no common power to fear, by the manner of life which men that have formerly lived under a peaceful government use to degenerate into a civil war. But though there had never been any time wherein particular men were in a condition of war one against another, yet in all times kings and persons of sovereign authority, because of their independency, are in continual jealousies, and in the state and posture of gladiators, having their weapons pointing, and their eyes fixed on one another; that is, their forts, garrisons, and guns upon the frontiers of their kingdoms, and continual spies upon their neighbours, which is a posture of war. But because they uphold thereby the industry of their subjects, there does not follow from it that misery which accompanies the liberty of particular men. To this war of every man, this also is consequent; that nothing can be unjust. The notions of right and wrong, justice and injustice, have there no place. Where there is no common power, there is no law: where no law, no injustice. Force, and fraud, are in war the two cardinal virtues. Justice, and injustice are none of the faculties neither of the body, or mind. If they were, they might be in a man that were alone in the world, as well as his senses, and passions. They are qualities, that relate to men in society, not in solitude. It is consequent also to the same condition, that there be no propriety, no dominion, no mine and thine distinct; but only that to be every man’s that he can get; and for so long, as he can keep it. And thus much for the ill condition, which man by mere nature is actually placed in; though with a possibility to come out of it, consisting partly in the passions, partly in his reason. The passions that incline men to peace, are fear of death; desire of such things as are necessary to commodious living; and a hope by their industry to obtain them. And reason suggesteth convenient articles of peace, upon 12 which men may be drawn to agreement. These articles, are they, which otherwise are called the Laws of Nature, whereof I shall speak more particularly in the two following chapters. Chapter XIV Of the First and Second Natural Laws, and of Contracts The RIGHT OF NATURE, which writers commonly call jus naturale, is the liberty each man hath, to use his own power, as he will himself, for the preservation of his own nature; that is to say, of his own life; and consequently, of doing any thing, which in his own judgement and reason, he shall conceive to be the aptest means thereunto. By LIBERTY is understood, according to the proper signification of the word, the absence of external impediments; which impediments may oft take away part of a man’s power to do what he would, but cannot hinder him from using the power left him according as his judgement and reason shall dictate to him. A LAW OF NATURE, lex naturalis, is a precept or general rule, found out by reason, by which a man is forbidden to do that, which is destructive of his life, or taketh away the means of preserving the same; and to omit that, by which he thinketh it may be best preserved. For though they that speak of this subject, use to confound jus, and lex, right and law: yet they ought to be distinguished; because RIGHT, consisteth in liberty to do, or to forbear; whereas LAW, determinith, and bindeth to one of them: so that law, and right, differ as much, as obligation and liberty; which in one and the same matter are incosistent. And because the condition of man, as hath been declared in the precedent chapter, is a condition of war of every one against every one: in which case every one is governed by his own reason; and there is nothing he can make use of, that may not be a help unto him, in preserving his life against his enemies; it followeth, that in such a condition, every man has a right to every thing; even to another’s body. And therefore, as long as this natural right of every man to every thing endureth, there can be no security to any man, how strong or wise soever he be, of living out the time, which nature ordinarily alloweth men to live. And consequently it is a precept, or general 13 rule of reason, that every man, ought to endeavour peace, as far as he has hope of obtaining it; and when he cannot obtain it, that he may seek, and use, all helps, and advantages of war. The first branch of which rule, containeth the first and fundamental law of nature; which is, to seek peace, and follow it. The second, the sum of the right of nature; which is, by all means we can , to defend ourselves. From this fundamental law of nature, by which men are commanded to endeavour peace, is derived this second law; that a man be willing, when others are so too, as far forth, as for peace, and defence of himself he shall think it necessary, to lay down this right to all things; and be contented with so much liberty against other men as he would allow other men against himself. For as long as every man holdeth this right, of doing any thing he liketh; so long are all men in the condition of war. But if other men will not lay down their right, as well as he; then there is no reason for any one, to divest himself of his: for that were to expose himself to prey, which no man is bound to, rather than to dispose hiemself to peace. This is that law of the Gospel; whatsoever you require that othesr should do to you, that do ye to them. And that law of all men, quod tibi fieri non vis, alteri ne feceris. To lay down a man’s right to any thing, is to divest himself of the liberty, of hindering another of the benefit of his own right to the same. For he that renounceth, or passeth away his right, giveth not to any other man a right which he had not before; because there is nothing to which every man had not right by nature: but only standeth out of his way, that he may enjoy his own original right, without hindrance from him; not without hindrance from another. So that the effect which redoundeth to one man, by another man’s defect of right, is but so much diminution of impediments to the use of his own right original. Right is laid aside, either by simply renouncing it, or by transferring it to another. By simply RENOUNCING, when he cares not to whom the benefit thereof redoundeth. By TRANSFERRING, when he intendeth to benefit thereof to some certain person or persons. And when a man hath in either manner abandoned or granted away his right, then is he said to be OBLIGED, or BOUND, not to hinder those to whom such right is granted, or abandoned, from the benefit of it: and that he ought, and it is DUTY, not to make void that voluntary act of his own: and that such hindrance is INJUSTICE, and INJURY, as being sine jure; the right being before renounced or transferred. So that injury or injustice, in the controversies of the world, is somewhat like to that which in the disputations of scholars is called absurdity. For as it is there called an absurdity to contradict what one maintained in the beginning; so in the world it is called injustice, and injury voluntarily to undo that which from the beginning he had voluntarily done. The way by which a man either simply renounceth or transferreth his right is a declaration, or signification, by some voluntary and sufficient sign, or signs, that he doth so reounce or transfer, or hath so renounced or transferred the same, to him that accepteth it. And these signs are either words only, or actions only; or, as it happeneth most often, both words and actions. And the same are the BONDS, by which men are bound and obliged: bonds that have their strength, not from their own nature (for nothing is more easily broken than a man’s word), but from fear of some evil consequence upon the rupture. Whensoever a man transferreth his right, or renounceth it, it is either in consideration of some right reciprocally transferred to himself, or for some other good he hopeth for thereby. For it is a voluntary act: and of voluntary acts of every man, the object is some good to himself. And therefore there be some rights which no man can be understood by any words, or other signs, to have abandoned or transferred. As first a man cannot lay down the right of resisting them that assault him by force to take away his life, because he cannot be understood to aim thereby at any good to himself. The same may be said of wounds, and chains, and imprisonment, both because there is no benefit consequent to such patience, as there is to the patience of suffering another to be wounded or imprisoned, as also because a man cannot tell when he seeth men proceed against him by violence whether they intend his death or not. And lastly the motive and end for which this renouncing and transferring of right is introduced is nothing else but the security of a man’s person, in his life, and in the means of so preserving life as not to be weary of it. And therefore if a man by words, or other signs, seem to despoil himself of the end for which those signs were intended, he is not to be understood as if he meant it, or that it was his will, but that he was ignorant of how such words and actions were to be interpreted. The mutual transferring of right is that which men call CONTRACT. There is difference between transferring of right to the thing, and transferring or tradition, that is, delivery of the thing itself. For the thing may be delivered together with the translation of the right, as in buying and selling with ready money, or exchange of goods or lands, and it may be delivered some time after. Again, one of the contractors may deliver the thing contracted for on his part, and leave the other to perform his part at some determinate time after, and in the meantime be trusted; and then the contract on his part is called PACT, or COVENANT: or both parts may contract now to perform hereafter, in which case he that is to perform in time to come, being trusted, his performance is called keeping of promise, or faith, and the failing of performance, if it be voluntary, violation of faith. When transferring of right is not mutual, but one of the parties transferreth in hope to gain thereby friendship or service from another, or from his friends; or in hope to gain the reputation of charity, or magnanimity; or to deliver his mind from the pain of compassion; or in hope of reward in heaven; this is not contract, but GIFT, FREE GIFT, GRACE: which words signify one and the same thing. . . . If a covenant be made, wherein neither of the parties perform presently, but trust one another; in the condition of mere nature, which is a condition of war of every man against every man, upon any reasonable suspicion, it is void: but if there be a common power set over them both, with right and force sufficient to compel performance, it is not void. For he that performeth first, has no assurance the other will perform after; because the bonds of words are too weak to bridle men’s ambition, avarice, anger, and other passions, without the fear of some coercive power; which in the condition of mere nature, where all men are equal, and judges of the justness of their own fears, cannot possibly be supposed. And therefore he which performeth first, does but betray himself to his enemy; contrary to the right, he can never abandon, of defending his life, and means of living. But in a civil estate, where there is a power set up to constrain those that would otherwise violate their faith, that fear is no more reasonable; and for that cause, he which by the covenant is to perform first, is obliged so to do. . . . The force of words, being, as I have formerly noted, too weak to hold men to the performance of their covenants; there are in man’s nature, but two imaginable helps to strengthen it. And those are either a fear of the consequence of breaking their word; or a glory, or pride in appearing not to need to break it. This latter is a generosity too rarely found to be presumed on, especially in the pursuers of wealth, command, or sensual pleasures, which are the greatest part of mankind. The passion to be reckoned upon, is fear. . . . 14 Chapter XVII Chapter XV Of Other Laws of Nature From that law of nature, by which we are obliged to transfer to another, such rights, as being retained, hinder the peace of mankind, there followeth a third; which is this, that men perform their covenants made: without which, covenants are in vain, and but empty words; and the right of all men to all things remaining, we are still in the condition of war. And in this law of nature, consisteth the fountain and original of JUSTICE. For where no covenant hath preceded, there hath no right been transferred, and every man has right to every thing; and consequently, no action can be unjust. But when a covenant is made, then to break it is unjust: and the definition of INJUSTICE, is no other than the not performance of covenant. And whosoever is not unjust, is just. But because covenants of mutual trust, where there is a fear of not performance on either part, as hath been said in the former chapter, are invalid; though the original of justice be the making of covenants: yet injustice actually there can be none, till the cause of such fear be taken away; which, while men are in the natural condition of war, cannot be done. Therefore before the names of just, and unjust can have place, there must be some coercive power, to compel men equally to the performance of their covenants, by the terror of some punishment, greater than the benefit they expect by the breach of their covenant; and to make good that propriety, which by mutual contract men acquire, in recompense of the universal right they abandon: and such power there is none before the erection of a commonwealth. And this is also to be gathered out of the ordinary definition of justice in the Schools: for they say, that justice is the constant will of giving to every man his own. And therefore where there is no own, that is no propriety, all men having right to all things: therefore where there is no commonwealth, there nothing is unjust. So that the nature of justice, consisteth in keeping of valid covenants: but the validity of covenants begins not but with the constitution of a civil power, sufficient to compel men to keep them: and then it is also that propriety begins. . . 15 Of the Causes, Generation, And Definition of a Commonwealth The final cause, end, or design of men, who naturally love liberty, and dominion over others, in the introduction of that restraint upon themselves, in which we see them live in commonwealths, is the foresight of their own preservation, and of a more contented life thereby; that is to say, of getting themselves out from that miserable condition of war, which is necessarily consequent, as hath been shown in Chapter XIII, to the natural passions of men, when there is no visible power to keep them in awe, and tie them by fear of punishment to the performance of their covenants, and observation of those laws of nature set down in fourteenth and fifteenth chapters. For the laws of nature, as justice, equity, modesty, mercy, and, in sum, doing to others, as we would be done to, of themselves, without the terror of some power, to cause them to be observed, are contrary to our natural passions, that carry us to partiality, pride, revenge, and the like. And covenants, without the sword, are but words, and of no strength to secure a man at all. Therefore notwithstanding the laws of nature, which every one hath then kept, when he has the will to keep them, when he can do it safely, if there be no power erected, or not great enough for our security; every man will, and may lawfully rely on his own strength and art, for caution against all other men. And in all places, where men have lived by small families, to rob and spoil one another, has been a trade, and so far from being reputed against the law of nature, that the greater spoils they gained, the greater was their honour; and men observed no other laws therein, but the laws of honour; that is, to abstain from cruelty, leaving to men their lives, and instruments of husbandry. And as small families did then; so now do cities and kingdoms which are but greater families, for their own security, enlarge their dominions, upon all pretences of danger, and fear of invasion, or assistance that may be given to invaders, and endeavour as much as they can, to subdue, or weaken their neighbours, by open force, and secret arts, for want of other caution, justly; and are remembered for it in after ages with honour. Nor is it the joining together of a small number of men, that gives them this security; because in small numbers, small actions on the one side or the other, make the advantage of strength so great, as is sufficient to carry the victory; and therefore gives encouragement to an invasion. The multitude sufficient to confide in for our security, is not determined by any certain number, but by comparison with the enemy we fear; and is then sufficient, when the odds of the enemy is not of so visible and conspicuous moment, to determine the event of war, as to move him to attempt. And be there never so great a multitude; yet if their actions be directed according to their particular judgments, and particular appetites, they can expect thereby no defence, nor protection, neither against a common enemy, nor against the injuries of one another. For being distracted in opinions concerning the best use and application of their strength, they do not help but hinder one another; and reduce their strength by mutual opposition to nothing: whereby they are easily, not only subdued by a very few that agree together; but also when there is no common enemy, they make war upon each other, for their particular interests. For if we could suppose a great multitude of men to consent in the observation of justice, and other laws of nature, without a common power to keep them all in awe, we might as well suppose all mankind to do the same; and then there neither would be, nor need to be, any civil government or Commonwealth at all, because there would be peace without subjection. Nor is it enough for the security, which men desire should last all the time of their life, that they be governed and directed by one judgement for a limited time; as in one battle, or one war. For though they obtain a victory by their unanimous endeavour against a foreign enemy, yet afterwards, when either they have no common enemy, or he that by one part is held for an enemy is by another part held for a friend, they must needs by the difference of their interests dissolve, and fall again into a war amongst themselves. It is true that certain living creatures, as bees and ants, live sociably one with another (which are therefore by Aristotle numbered amongst political creatures), and yet have no other direction than their particular judgements and appetites; nor speech, whereby one of them can signify to another what he thinks expedient for the common benefit: and therefore some man may perhaps desire to know why mankind cannot do the same. To which I answer, First, that men are continually in competition for honour and dignity, which these creatures are not; and consequently amongst men there ariseth on that ground, envy, and hatred, and finally war; but amongst these not so. Secondly, that amongst these creatures the common good differeth not from the private; and being by nature inclined to their private, they procure thereby the common benefit. But man, whose joy consisteth in comparing himself with other men, can relish nothing but what is eminent. Thirdly, that these creatures, having not, (as man,) the use of reason, do not see, nor think they see, any fault in the administration of their common business: whereas amongst men there are very many that think themselves wiser and abler to govern the public better than the rest, and these strive to reform and innovate, one this way, another that way; and thereby bring it into distraction and civil war. Fourthly, that these creatures, though they have some use of voice in making known to one another their desires and other affections, yet they want that art of words by which some men can represent to others that which is good in the likeness of evil; and evil, in the likeness of good; and augment or diminish the apparent greatness of good and evil, discontenting men and troubling their peace at their pleasure. Fifthly, irrational creatures cannot distinguish between injury and damage; and therefore as long as they be at ease, they are not offended with their fellows: whereas man is then most troublesome when he is most at ease; for then it is that he loves to show his wisdom, and control the actions of them that govern the Commonwealth. Lastly, the agreement of these creatures is natural; that of men is by covenant only, which is artificial: and therefore it is no wonder if there be somewhat else required, (besides covenant,) to make their agreement constant and lasting; which is a common power to keep them in awe and to direct their actions to the common benefit. The only way to erect such a common power, as may be able to defend them from the invasion of foreigners, and the injuries of one another, and thereby to secure them in such sort as that by their own industry and by the fruits of the earth they may nourish themselves and live contentedly, is to confer all their power and strength upon one man, or upon one assembly of men, that may reduce all their wills by plurality of voices, unto one will; which is as much as to say, to appoint one man, or assembly of men, to bear their person; and every one to own and acknowledge himself to be author of whatsoever he that so beareth their person shall act, or cause to be acted, in those things which concern the common peace and safety; and therein to submit their wills, every one to his will, and 16 their judgements to his judgement. This is more than consent, or concord; it is a real unity of them all in one and the same person, made by covenant of every man with every man, in such manner as if every man should say to every man: I authorise and give up my right of governing myself to this man, or to this assembly of men, on this condition; that thou give up, thy right to him, and authorise all his actions in like man. This done, the multitude so united in one person is called a COMMONWEALTH; in Latin CIVITAS. This is the generation of that great LEVIATHAN, or rather, (to speak more reverently) of that mortal god to which we owe, under the immortal God, our peace and defence. For by this authority, given him by every particular man in the Commonwealth, he hath the use of so much power and strength conferred on him that, by terror thereof, he is enabled to form the wills of them all, to peace at home, and mutual aid against their enemies abroad. And in him consisteth the essence of the Commonwealth; which, (to define it,) is: one person, of whose acts a great multitude, by mutual covenants one with another, have made themselves every one the author, to the end he may use the strength and means of them all as he shall think expedient for their peace and common defence. And he that carryeth this person is called SOVEREIGN, and said to have sovereign power; and every one besides, his SUBJECT. The attaining to this sovereign power is by two ways. One, by natural force: as when a man maketh his children to submit themselves, and their children, to his government, as being able to destroy them if they refuse; or by war subdueth his enemies to his will, giving them their lives on that condition. The other, is when men agree amongst themselves to submit to some man, or assembly of men, voluntarily, on confidence to be protected by him against all others. This latter may be called a political Commonwealth, or Commonwealth by Institution; and the former, a Commonwealth by Acquisition. 17 CHAPTER 1 Redistributive Politics DEMOCRATIC PROCESSES are intended to ensure equal representation. Yet the “one man, one vote” ideal does not mean that everyone benefits equally from political processes. Redistribution is the essence of politics, and electorally motivated politicians have incentives to redistribute resources among voters, privileging some at the expense of others. Who wins and who loses from such redistribution is at the heart of democratic politics and is the subject of this book. Desiring to keep their jobs, politicians are ever willing to give to those who can keep them in power: winners are not chosen randomly. I focus on the winners and losers from trade and industrial policy. Some might argue that trade policy is a fundamentally international issue. Yet despite its consequences for the international flows of goods and services, trade policy is, like industrial policy, highly redistributive. Those people associated with the production of a protected good are privileged, while the population as a whole suffers from higher prices or higher taxes. There is remarkable variance in which industries win and how they are privileged; for instance, imported leather handbags face high tariff barriers in the United States, the Germans heavily subsidize the marine propeller industry, carpet firms are favored with government loans in Belgium, while the Spanish strongly support EU (European Union) quotas for the toy industry.1 Democratic institutions are ostensibly designed to serve the majority. Why then should democratic politicians want to enrich some chosen few and forsake others? The answer is political survival. Leaders assist those who can help them keep their jobs; yet who can most effectively help them keep their jobs depends upon the institutional context in which the politicians serve. As such, who the winners and losers are is shaped by domestic political arrangements. Institutional rules affect which industries legislators wish to protect as well as whether they can achieve protection for these groups. The field of comparative politics seeks to identify the dimensions in which political systems differ and the impact of these differences. Although the myriad of combinations across all of these different dimensions produces a virtually limitless number of possible institutional arrangements, I focus on the impact of two prominent features of democratic institutions: the electoral rule and the strength of political parties. These two features have deservedly received much critical attention as they shape many aspects of political behavior; 2 CHAPTER 1 for instance, the number of parties, parties’ policy positions, the level of political violence, the duration of government, and public policy outcomes.2 My goal, however, is to explain which industrial groups receive preferential treatment through the redistributive effect of trade and industrial policy. The institutional features of the electoral rule and the strength of political parties play a key role in sorting the winners from the losers through two processes. First, the combination of the electoral rule and industry geography affects which industries legislators want to protect. That is to say, they induce preferences over which groups to protect. Second, the electoral rule and the strength of parties affect which industries legislators are able to protect. The legislative incentives created by these features determine how legislators’ induced preferences are aggregated into actual policy. Rogowski (1987, 1998; Rogowski and Kayser 2002) is one of many scholars who consider the mapping from electoral rule to trade policy as a single step.3 As I shall argue, considering only one of these two processes is misguided. While Rogowski’s and Kayser’s work is extremely insightful, particularly in terms of explaining aggregate levels of protection, I believe it fails to account for the pattern of winners and losers under different electoral systems. Desperately wanting to help an industrial group is not the same as being able to help an industrial group. Similarly, simply because politicians are in a position to privilege an industrial group does not mean they will. It has to be in their political interest to do so. The provision of assistance requires both a will and a means. The theory in this book is about redistribution. The logic of the theory tells us which groups of voters politicians will favor with redistributive policies. Trade and industrial policy are one means for targeting benefits to voters (Godeck 1985). Other policies, like public spending programs or welfare transfers, also have a redistributive component. So why would politicians use trade and industrial policy rather than other more “efficient” means to redistribute? Rodrik (1995) has been vocal in his criticisms of the trade literature for precisely this reason. While alternative tax-and-spend redistributive policies might have greater economic efficiencies, the question is, are they politically as effective? Throughout the book I argue that trade and industrial policy can be a politically efficient way to target key voters. Whether or not an industry is a good vehicle through which to redistribute income depends on the industry’s geography and how it maps into electoral jurisdictions. Politicians do not want to protect any industry per se. They want to assist groups with precisely the right size, spread and location, to target benefits to politically important groups of voters. While those wedded to the efficiency of alternative redistribution might remain unconvinced of the superior political efficacy of protection, trade policy has another great advantage over direct redistribution: it is opaque (Magee, Brock, and Young 1989). It is hard to know how much has been redistributed and to whom. If the government raises taxes to hand out additional benefits, such as increased welfare transfers, these acts are readily transparent. Tracing REDISTRIBUTIVE POLITICS 3 the beneficiaries of the U.S. sugar quota is not. Of couse the beneficiaries know who they are, but it is difficult for most voters to figure this out, far less to determine how much extra they themselves are paying for a pound of sugar. It is extremely difficult for voters to judge whether or not the sugar quota is based on sound economic reasoning (to help the beleaguered industry compete with subsidized EU sugar) or political vote-buying (pork for Florida’s voters). Trade and industrial policies are also an indirect method of redistributing between geographic regions. For example, the U.S. sugar quota redistributes resources to Florida, Louisiana, and Hawai from the other forty-seven states. Many countries institute rules preventing direct transfers to regional groups; for example, in the United Kingdom, government spending to different regions is strictly controlled by a set of rules that assess need, based on criteria such as demographics and unemployment. However, the allocation of research-anddevelopment funds cannot so easily be monitored or legislated against. More broadly, there are many different ways that governments can give and take between industries: subsidies, tax exemptions, low-interest loans, debt reduction, tariffs, and quotas. Unfortunately, what makes trade and industrial policy attractive to politicians—its opaqueness—makes it difficult to study analytically. Conceptually straightforward, as a practical matter it is extremely hard to directly assess the level of assistance any particular industry receives. I believe this is why so many of the empirical results in the literature disagree.4 Looking at different measures of protection can lead to very different conclusions about its causes. As a result, comparative trade research has stalled. Rather than contribute another voice arguing for one measure over another, this research focuses on deriving additional consequences of trade and industrial policy. By deriving alternative dependent variables and testing hypotheses that relate to aspects of trade that are not dependent on direct measures of trade assistance, I hope to forward the study of comparative trade and industrial policy. The arguments in this book also contribute to the literature on U.S. government redistribution. Scholars of U.S. politics disagree about which groups of voters are “purchased” with government transfers. For instance, Dixit and Londregan (1986, 1998; see also Lindbeck and Weibull 1987) argue that parties target policy transfers to swing voters. In contrast, Cox and McCubbins (1986) argue that parties are more likely to use transfers to reward loyal voters. Both of these arguments focus on only one step of the two-step mapping I propose. Using a comparative framework to consider both steps, I argue that the Dixit and Londregan (1986, 1998) hypothesis applies to one subset of countries— for example, the United Kingdom, Austalia, and Canada—while the Cox and McCubbins predictions apply to a different subset of countries—for example, Sweden, Germany, and Belgium. The predictions in this book are not unique; however, they are sensitive to comparative political institutions and are testable against other theories of redistribution. 4 CHAPTER 1 Next, and throughout this chapter, I focus on how governments redistribute policy between industries. I use the case of the cutlery industry in the United Kingdom, Germany, and the United States to illustrate how the geographic and structural features of industry and the institutional characteristics of political systems affect how governments distribute trade and industrial assistance. KNIVES AND FORKS AND TARIFFS The focus of this book is to explain cross-country differences in which industries governments choose to assist. Take, for example, the cutlery industry: highly protected in some countries, it had been left to the vagaries of market forces in others. In Germany, Britain, and the United States, the cutlery industry had long been in decline,5 but the recessions of the 1970s threw the industry into crisis.6 Although the cutlery industry lobbied loudly for protection in all three countries, there was considerable variation in each government’s willingness to assist. Successive governments in Britain heavily protected the cutlery industry; its effective tariff rate was as high as 30 percent, far greater than the average level of protection in Britain. By comparison, the German government did much less to support its cutlery industry, giving less than a half of the assistance that the British did, and in the United States, the cutlery industry received only token tariff protection from its government.7 Based on national security legislation, the U.S. Department of Defense was restricted from purchasing foreign stainless-steel flatware. Apparently using German forks undermined national preparedness.8 Why did the British lack the political will to kick out cutlery’s crutch of protection? Industry pressure alone was not responsible; if that had been the case in the United States, Britain, and Germany, we would have seen the highest level of protection in the United States, where the industry was largest, or in Germany, where the industry was well organized. In fact, what we observe is protection directly inverse to the size of the industry and uncorrelated with the level of organization. What is missing is a grasp of the political incentives to supply protection. Later in this chapter, I will argue that British cutlery’s political leverage was, in large part, due to its regional concentration in the type of electoral districts that make or break governments. In Britain, the cutlery industry was small in size, but its firms were regionally clustered in politically important districts. Cutlery’s geography made it an ideal vehicle for the government to redistribute income toward key groups of voters; hence cutlery’s high levels of protection. Under the German and the U.S. electoral systems, however, cutlery’s geography made protecting the industry much less politically profitable. In the latter case, regional concentration became the cutlery industry’s Achilles’ heel, the reason it failed to win REDISTRIBUTIVE POLITICS 5 protection. Throughout the book, I argue that it is the joint effects of an industry’s geography and the electoral system that determine the political opportunities for industries, such as cutlery, to gain industrial assistance. This approach differs from extant explanations in which the industry’s structure and ability to lobby matters most. Rather than focus on the incentives facing industry to organize and demand protection, I focus on the incentives facing governments to reward particular groups of voters. There are many different ways that government can redistribute resources among voters. Trade and industrial policy can be a politically efficient way to target key voters. Whether or not an industry is a good vehicle through which to redistribute income depends on the industry’s geography. The purpose of this book is to show when governments use trade and industrial policy for political goals and to show why aiding an industry can be a politically efficient way for government to redistribute from one group to another. Who the winners are and who the losers are from trade and industrial policy depends on the interaction of industry geography and the electoral system, a two-stage process. In the first stage of the argument, legislators have preferences induced over which industries they want to assist as a function of each industry’s geographic distribution a...
User generated content is uploaded by users for the purposes of learning and should be used following Studypool's honor code & terms of service.

This question has not been answered.

Create a free account to get help with this and any other question!

Related Tags