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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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-
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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
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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
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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.
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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
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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...