Throughout the past year, we have heard paid leave debated in state houses and on the campaign trail. I am all in favor of paid leave. As I have argued elsewhere, it would enable more people, especially those in lower-paid jobs, to take time off to deal with a serious illness or the care of another family member, including a newborn child. But we shouldn’t stop with paid leave. We should also consider shortening the standard work week. Such a step would be gender neutral and would not discriminate between the very different kinds of time pressures faced by adults. It might even help to create more jobs.

The standard work week is 40 hours -- 8 hours a day for five days a week. It’s been that way for a long time. Back in 1900, the typical factory worker spent 53 hours on the job, more than a third more hours than we spend today. The Fair Labor Standards Act was passed in 1938, and set maximum hours at 40 per week. Amazingly, more than three quarters of a century after passage of the FLSA, there has been no further decline in the standard work week. Not only has the legal standard remained unchanged, but 40 hours has become the social and cultural norm.

What’s going on here? Economists predicted that as we became more prosperous we would choose to work fewer hours. That hasn’t happened. Instead we have kept on working at about the same pace as we did earlier in our history, but have poured all of the gains from productivity growth into ever-higher levels of consumption – bigger houses, more electronic gadgets, fancier cars. With increased prosperity, people are buying more and more stuff, but they don’t have any more time to enjoy it. A reduction in the standard work week would improve the quality of life, especially for those in hourly jobs who have benefitted hardly at all from economic growth in recent decades.

Two-earner couples would also benefit. Among couples between the ages of 25 and 54, the number of hours worked increased by 20 percent between 1969 and 2000, from 56 hours to 67 hours (for both husband and wife combined). As Heather Boushey notes in her new book, Finding Time, we no longer live in a world where there is a “the silent partner” in every business enterprise, the iconic “American Wife,” who takes care of the children and the millions of details of daily living. With a shorter work week, both men and women would have more time for everything from cutting the grass to cooking dinner with no presumption about who does what. Although much of the debate this year has been about work-family balance, empty nesters or singles without young children might also welcome a shorter work week. For them it would provide the chance to follow their dream of becoming an artist, a boat builder, or the creator of their own small business.

Shorter hours could have another benefit and that is more jobs for workers who would otherwise be left behind by technological change. Many economists believe that as existing jobs are replaced by machines and artificial intelligence, new jobs will be created in technical, management, and service fields. But will this happen fast enough or at sufficient scale to reemploy all those who now find themselves without decent-paying work? I doubt it. A shorter work week might help to spread the available jobs around. Germany and other European countries, along with a few U.S. states used this strategy during the Great Recession. It kept more people on the job but at shorter hours and reduced unemployment. Using a similar strategy to deal with automation and long-term joblessness, although controversial, should not be dismissed out of hand.

Of course, shorter hours can mean lower total pay. But in one typical survey published in the Monthly Labor Review, 28 percent of the respondents said they would give up a day’s pay for one fewer day of work per week. Any new movement to reduce the work week would need to be phased in slowly, with flexibility for both employers and employees to negotiate adjustments around the standard. Yet if done correctly, the transition could be accomplished with little or no reduction in wages, just smaller raises as a bigger slice of any productivity improvement was invested in more free time. When Henry Ford reduced the work week from 6 to 5 days in 1926, he did not cut wages; he assumed that both productivity and consumption would rise, and his example encouraged other employers to follow suit.

I am not talking about reducing hours for those of us who want to spend long hours at work because we enjoy it. We would still be free to work 24/7, tied to our electronic devices, and no longer knowing exactly when work begins and ends. A new hours standard would primarily affect hourly (nonexempt) employees. These are the people in the less glamourous jobs at the bottom of the ladder, many of them single parents. Right now they finish work exhausted only to come home to a “second shift” that may be equally exhausting. A reduction in the standard workweek would almost certainly improve the quality of life for these hard-pressed and overworked Americans.

By all means, let’s enact a paid leave policy, but let’s also debate some even bigger ideas – ones that could lead to greater work-life balance now, and more job opportunities in the longer run.

Editor's note: This piece originally appeared on The Washington Post's In Theory Blog.

Executive Summary

Two-thirds of Americans have broadband Internet access in their homes.[1] But because of poor infrastructure or high prices, the remaining third of Americans do not. In some areas, broadband Internet is plainly unavailable because of inadequate infrastructure: More than 14 million Americans – approximately 5 percent of the total population – live in areas where terrestrial (as opposed to mobile) fixed broadband connectivity is unavailable.[2] The effects of insufficient infrastructure development have contributed to racial and cultural disparities in broadband access; for example, terrestrial broadband is available to only 10 percent of residents on tribal lands.[3]

Even where terrestrial broadband connectivity is available, however, the high price of broadband service can be prohibitive, especially to lower income Americans. While 93 percent of adults earning more than $75,000 per year are wired for broadband at home, the terrestrial broadband adoption rate is only 40 percent among adults earning less than $20,000 annually.[4] These costs also contribute to racial disparities; almost 70 percent of whites have adopted terrestrial broadband at home,   but only 59 percent of blacks and 49 percent of Hispanics have done the same.[5]

America's wireless infrastructure is better developed, but many Americans still lack wireless broadband coverage. According to a recent study, 3G wireless networks cover a good portion of the country, including 98 percent of the United States population,[6] but certain states have dramatically lower coverage rates than others. For example, only 71 percent of West Virginia's population is covered by a 3G network.[7] Wireless providers will likely use existing 3G infrastructure to enable the impending transition to 4G networks.[8] Unless wireless infrastructure expands quickly, those Americans that remain unconnected may be left behind.

Though America is responsible for the invention and development of Internet technology, the United States has fallen behind competing nations on a variety of important indicators, including broadband adoption rate and price. According to the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development's survey of 31 developed nations, the United States is ranked fourteenth in broadband penetration rate (i.e. the number of subscribers per 100 inhabitants); only 27.1 percent of Americans have adopted wired broadband subscriptions, compared to 37.8 percent of residents of the Netherlands.[9]

America also trails in ensuring the affordability of broadband service. The average price for a medium-speed (2.5Mbps-10Mbps) Internet plan in America is the seventeenth lowest among its competitor nations. For a medium-speed plan, the average American must pay $38 per month, while an average subscriber in Japan (ranked first) pays only $22 for a connection of the same quality.[10]

The National Broadband Plan (NBP), drafted by the Federal Communication Commission and released in 2010, seeks to provide all Americans with affordable broadband Internet access.[11] Doing so will not be cheap; analysts project that developing the infrastructure necessary for full broadband penetration will require $24 billion in subsidies and spending.[12] President Obama’s stimulus package has already set aside $4.9 billion to develop broadband infrastructure,[13] and some small ongoing federal programs receive an annual appropriation to promote broadband penetration.[14] However, these funding streams will only account for one-third of the $24 billion necessary to achieve the FCC's goal of full broadband penetration.[15] Moreover, developing infrastructure alone is not enough; many low-income Americans are unable to afford Internet access, even if it is offered in their locality.

To close this funding gap and to make broadband more accessible, the National Broadband Plan proposes to transform the Universal Service Fund – a subsidy program that spends $8.7 billion every year to develop infrastructure and improve affordability for telephone service – into a program that would do the same for broadband Internet.

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In an interview on NPR's Fresh Air, Jeffrey Rosen discusses how technological changes are challenging basic Constitutional principles of freedom of speech and our own individual autonomy.

TERRY GROSS, HOST:This is FRESH AIR. I'm Terry Gross. The digital world that we've come to rely on - the Internet, social networks, GPS's, street maps—also creates opportunities to collect information about us, track our movements and invade our privacy. Add to that brain scans that might reveal criminal tendencies and new developments in genetic medicine and biotechnology, and you have a lot of potential challenges to basic Constitutional principles that our founding father couldn't possibly have imagined.

My guest, Jeffrey Rosen has put together a new book that explores those challenges. Along with Benjamin Wittes, he co-edited Constitution 3.0: Freedom and Technological Change. It's a publication of the Brookings Institution's Project on Technology and the Constitution, which Rosen directs. He's also a law professor at George Washington University and legal editor for The New Republic.

His new book is a collection of essays in which a diverse group of legal scholars imagine plausible technological developments in or near the year 2025 that would stress current Constitutional law, and they propose possible solutions.

Jeffrey Rosen, welcome back to FRESH AIR. So what are the particular parts of the Constitution that you think really come into play here with new technologies?

JEFFREY ROSEN: Well, what's so striking is that none of the existing amendments give clear answers to the most basic questions we're having today. So, for example, think about global positioning system technologies, which the Supreme Court is now considering. Can the police, without a warrant, put a secret GPS device on the bottom of someone's car and track him 24/7 for a month?

Well, the relevant constitutional text is the Fourth Amendment which says the right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers and effects against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated. But that doesn't answer the question: Is it an unreasonable search of our persons or effects to be monitored in public spaces?

Some courts have said no. Several lower court judges and the Obama administration argue that we have no expectation of privacy in public, because it's theoretically possible for our neighbors to put a tail on us or for the police to track us for 100 miles, as the court has said. Therefore, we have to assume the risk that we're being monitored, ubiquitously, 24/7 for a month.

But not everyone agrees. In a visionary opinion, Judge Douglas Ginsburg on the U.S. Court of Appeals for the D.C. Circuit said there's a tremendous difference between short-term and long-term surveillance. We may expect that our neighbors are watching when we walk on the street for a few blocks, but no one in practice expects to be tailed or surveilled for a month.

Ginsburg said we do have an expectation of privacy in the whole of our movements, and therefore when the police are going to engage in long-term surveillance, because they can learn so much more about us, they should have a warrant.

There was a remarkable moment in the oral argument for the global positioning system case. Chief Justice John Roberts, who asked the first question, he said: Isn't there a difference between 100-mile search of the kind we've approved in the past and watching someone for a month?

The government's lawyer resisted, and Roberts said: Is it the U.S. government's position that the police could put GPS devices inside the clothes of the members of this court, of these justices, or under our cars and track us for a month? And when the government's lawyer said yes, I think he may have lost the case.

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Event Information

On April 10 and 11, 2015, the Seventh Summit of the Americas will bring together the heads of state and government of every country in the Western Hemisphere for the first time. Recent efforts by the United States to reform immigration policy, re-establish diplomatic relations with Cuba, and reform our approach to drug policies at home and abroad have generated greater optimism about the future of inter-American relations. This Summit provides an opportunity to spark greater collaboration on development, social inclusion, democracy, education, and energy security.

However, this Summit of the Americas is also convening at a time when the hemisphere is characterized by competing visions for economic development, democracy and human rights, and regional cooperation through various institutions such as the Organization of American States, the Union of South American Nations, and the Community of Latin American and Caribbean States.

On Friday, April 3, the Latin America Initiative at Brookings hosted Assistant Secretary of State Roberta S. Jacobson for a discussion on the Seventh Summit of the Americas and what it portends for the future of hemispheric relations.

Join the conversation on Twitter using #VIISummit

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• The Summit of the Americas and prospects for inter-American relations

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At the previous Summit of the Americas in Cartagena, Colombia in April 2012, President Barack Obama was badly roughed up by his Latin American counterparts (and embarrassed by his Secret Service for entertaining sex workers). Happily, the president and his entourage did much better at last week’s Summit in Panama, but the United States still has a way to go before the Summits once again become the productive vehicle for U.S. foreign policy that they once were, at their founding in Miami in 1994.

In Cartagena, leader after leader criticized the United States for allegedly heavy-handed counter-narcotics policies; oppressive treatment of immigrants; a weak response to crime and poverty in Central America; and monetary policies that supposedly harmed their economies. Most pointedly, speakers denounced the decades-old economic sanctions against Cuba. But given the upcoming Congressional elections, Obama and his Secretary of State Hillary Clinton did not want to do anything to endanger their Democratic Party’s chances. Obama was reduced to affirming, uncharacteristically, “I am here to listen, but our policies will not change.”

Once the November 2012 mid-term elections were over, policies did, in fact, change as the United States took a more relaxed approach to counternarcotics; the administration announced immigration policy reforms, including negotiating agreements with Central American nations to reduce the outflow of children and promote economic growth and jobs at home; and Vice President Joseph Biden met repeatedly with Central American leaders, and offered $1 billion in economic and security assistance.

In Cartagena, the Latin Americans threatened to boycott the Panama Summit if Cuba was not invited. But last December 17, President Obama and Cuban President Raúl Castro announced their agreement to negotiate the normalization of diplomatic relations, and in one blow, the United States transformed a thorn in relations with Latin America into a triumph of inter-American diplomacy that significantly enhanced U.S. prestige in the region.

So in Panama, most of the Latin American and Caribbean leaders, rather than berate the U.S. president, praised him for his courage and generally treated him with courtesy and respect. The three leaders of Central America’s Northern Tier (Guatemala, Honduras, and El Salvador—whose president is a former guerrilla commander) were effusive in their praise. The president of Brazil, Dilma Rousseff, who in Cartagena had sharply criticized U.S. monetary policies and had cancelled a visit to the White House to protest NSA spying, was pleased to announce that her visit had been rescheduled for this June. 

Obama’s own performance was more spirited than it had been in Cartagena. In response to a harsh polemic by Ecuadorean President Rafael Correa, Obama shot back: “The U.S. may be a handy excuse for diverting attention from domestic political problems, but it won’t solve those problems.” After listening politely through Raúl Castro’s extended remarks—during which Castro praised him as a man of honesty and authenticity—Obama departed to avoid having to sit through the predictable harangues of Argentine President Cristina Kirchner and Bolivian leader Evo Morales. Few could blame him.

At the parallel CEO Summit of business executives, Obama delivered thoughtful responses to questions posed by several entrepreneurs including Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg, distinguishing himself from the facile rhetorical answers of the other presidents on the panel. At a Civil Society Forum where delegates affiliated with Cuban government organizations engaged in disruptive tactics, Obama lectured firmly on the virtues of civility and tolerance. Together with two other presidents (Tabaré Vasquez of Uruguay and Guillermo Solis of Costa Rica), Obama met privately with a dozen leaders of nongovernmental organizations, took notes, and incorporated at least one of their suggestions into his later public remarks.

But Obama’s Panama experience was marred by an inexplicable misstep by his White House aides a month earlier—the very public sanctioning of seven Venezuelan officials for alleged human rights violation and corruption, and the declaration that Venezuela was a “threat to U.S. national security.” To Latin American ears, that language recalled Cold War-era justifications for CIA plots and military coups. The State Department claims it warned the White House against Latin American blowback, but perhaps not forcefully enough. Once Latin American anger become apparent, the White House tried to walk the “national security” language back, saying it was just a formality required by U.S. legislation, but the damage was done. Speaker after speaker condemned the “unilateral sanctions” and called for their repeal.

The ill-timed sanctions announcement provided Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro and his populist allies with a ready stick to beat the United States. For whileObama’s diplomacy had managed to peel off most of the Central Americans and win over or at least diminish the antagonism of other leaders, it had not found a way to tranquilize the rejectionist states (Ecuador, Bolivia, Nicaragua, Argentina) tied to Venezuela in an “anti-imperialist” alliance. Although a relatively small minority, these spoilers seriously disrupt plenary meetings with long and vituperative monologues, and small minorities of “veto” players can block the signing of otherwise consensus documents such that in Panama, as in Cartagena, no consensus declaration was issued; rather the host leader signed brief “mandates for action” that lacked full legitimacy.

The problem of the rejectionist minority will be partially alleviated when Kirchner is shortly replaced, likely by a more moderate government in Argentina, and political turnover will eventually come in Venezuela, but the hemisphere needs new rules that protect majority rights to get things done. Some simple procedural innovations, such as a more forceful chair, or even the simple system of red-yellow-green lights that alert speakers to their time limits, would help.

Notwithstanding the misstep on Venezuela sanctions and the disruptive tactics of the rejectionist minority, the overall mood in Panama was upbeat, even celebratory. Leaders made reference to the xenophobic violence and religious intolerance plaguing other continents, and remarked with some pride that, in comparison, Latin America was a zone of peace that was also making progress, however inadequate, on human rights, poverty alleviation, and clean energy. With some procedural fixes, favorable political winds, and continued progress on concrete issues of mutual interest, inter-American relations could well continue their upward trajectory.

Read more about the Summit with Richard Feinberg's post on Cuba's multi-level strategy at the Seventh Summit of the Americas.

Today’s announcement of the restoration of diplomatic relations between Washington and Havana replaces over five decades of mutual hostility and aggressive name-calling with a new atmosphere of diplomatic civility. The re-opening of embassies in both capitals establishes platforms upon which to build more normal working relations. Now, the hard work begins, as the two nations gradually dismantle the comprehensive wall of restrictions separating them for two generations.

Expectations are running high, especially in Cuba, that diplomatic engagement will catalyze economic betterment on the island. To stimulate more travel and trade, the U.S. government needs to clarify rules for engaging with the emerging Cuban private sector, and make it clear to U.S. banks that they are permitted to support the use of credit cards by U.S. visitors in Cuba. The administration should also begin to consider another round of liberalizing initiatives, some under consideration in the U.S. Congress, to further relax travel restrictions, and to enable more U.S. firms—beyond agriculture and medicines—to assist the Cuban people.

For its part, the Cuban government should open efficient channels to facilitate the commercial exchanges now authorized by the Obama administration. Cuban entrepreneurs should be permitted ready access to U.S. firms wishing to sell building equipment for construction cooperatives, restaurant supplies for private-owned restaurants, and automotive spare parts for private taxis. Micro-enterprise lending should be authorized to support these emerging non-state enterprises.

If both nations build upon today’s welcome announcement by further opening these channels to travel and commerce, Presidents Barack Obama and Raúl Castro can help to safeguard their joint legacy. By fortifying and expanding constituencies on both sides of the Florida Straits, immersed in daily exchanges to mutual benefit, the two governments can render their diplomatic accomplishment politically irreversible in both capitals.

In recent years, relations between the International Criminal Court (ICC) and the African Union have been crumbling. Relations between the two were once solid with strong support from AU member countries.  The ICC has had support from African countries because of the court’s ability to prevent Rwandan genocide-type atrocities and ease power differentials between small and large African nations in international trial situations. 

Brookings nonresident scholar, John Mukum Mbaku, discusses the rising tensions between the ICC and African countries in his contribution to Foresight Africa, a collection of short briefs on the top challenges and opportunities for Africa in 2014.

Read the related paper »

According to John Mbaku, some African countries see the ICC as quite problematic because of the perceived bias that the court brings mostly African criminal cases to trial.  Other countries feel their sovereignty is threatened by the court.  The African Union has gone so far as to ask member countries not to comply or cooperate with the ICC and has attempted (unsuccessfully) to withdraw from The Hague.  A major trigger for these the recent issues with the ICC and African countries was the election of Uhuru Kenyatta as president of Kenya. Kenyatta was indicted by the ICC for crimes against humanity and for allegedly inciting ethnic violence following the highly disputed 2007 elections in Kenya.  

John argues that repairing the ties between African countries and the ICC will be difficult, but might be possible through reforms to the ICC process and commitment to stronger judicial systems in African nations.

Read Foresight Africa 2014, which details the top priorities for Africa in the coming year, to learn more about the prospects for strengthening  international justice in Africa, and other critical issues for the region.

For many years, Africans have complained that the International Criminal Court (ICC) has concentrated its efforts exclusively in Africa, a process that has made a mockery of the court’s claims to bring about an end to global impunity. Some Africans have even argued that the ICC’s claims that it is helping bring about justice in Africa are not unlike those made by proponents of the colonial order established by the Berlin Conference in 1884-1885.

On Tuesday, March 11, I participated in a panel discussion entitled, “The International Criminal Court in Africa: Bias, Legitimate Objections, or Excuses for Impunity?” co-hosted by New York University’s School of Continuing and Professional Studies (SCPS), Center for Global Affairs and the International Center for Transitional Justice (ICTJ).  The program brought together experts interested in justice and peaceful coexistence in Africa to examine the role that the International Criminal Court (ICC) can play in minimizing impunity in the continent.

I was joined by Ambassador Tiina Intelmann, president of the Assembly of States Parties of the International Criminal Court; Richard Dicker, director of the International Justice Program at Human Rights Watch; and Jennifer Trahan, clinical associate professor at the New York University’s School of Continuing and Professional Studies (SCPS), Center for Global Affairs.  David Tolbert, president of the International Center for Transitional Justice, moderated the discussion.

The most important conclusions from what was a robust dialogue were that (i) it is very important that African countries develop the legal and institutional capacity to deal effectively and fully with impunity and other extra-legal activities that impede human development and peaceful coexistence; (ii) the international community should help African countries develop that capacity; (iii) the ICC should make a concerted effort to open dialogue with the African Union in particular and Africans generally in order for the court to gain a better insight into African problems, while, at the same time, help Africans understand and appreciate the nature of the ICC’s work, how it functions, and why it is a critical international body in the fight against impunity; and (iv) the ICC needs to improve openness and transparency in its activities. To make the ICC a truly international court, important countries such as the United States, India, the People’s Republic of China and the Russian Federation need to be brought aboard. Obviously, more dialogue is needed and it is my hope that soon, we will be able to undertake a discussion of this type somewhere in Africa.

During my presentation, I argued that an important part of improving relations between Africa and the ICC is that Africans must take ownership of their problems and find ways to resolve them themselves. For one thing, justice is most effectively delivered locally. Hence, the first line of business is for each African country to develop the legal and institutional capacity to deal with impunity and other governance problems. External actors, notably the ICC, should only be considered conflict-resolution instruments of last resort.

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On Tuesday, October 28, 2014, tens of thousands of citizens of Burkina Faso gathered in its capital city, Ouagadougou, and its second biggest city, Bobo Dioulasso, to protest proposed changes to its constitution regarding term limits. A vote was planned for Thursday, on whether to extend the current limit of two terms to three. This vote is extremely controversial:  Current President Blaise Compaoré, who came to power in a coup in 1987, has ruled the country for 27 years. Allowing him to run for election in November 2015 could extend his reign for another five years. In Ouagadougou on Wednesday, citizens angry over the possibility that parliament might make it possible for Campaoré to stay in power indefinitely set fire to the parliament and forced legislators to postpone the vote that had been set for Thursday, October 30, 2014 to decide the constitutional issue.

The West African country has been plagued by dictators, autocracies and coups in the past. At independence on August 5, 1960, Maurice Yaméogo, leader of the Voltaic Democratic Union (Union démocratique voltaïque), became the country’s first president. Shortly after assuming power, Yaméogo banned all political opposition, forcing mass riots and demonstrations that only came to an end after the military intervened in 1966. Lt. Col. Sangoulé Lamizana and a collection of military elites took control of the government and subsequently dissolved the National Assembly as well as suspended the constitution. Lamizana stayed in power until November 1980 when the military overthrew the government and installed Col. Saye Zerbo as the new president. Two years later, Col. Zerbo’s government was overthrown by Maj. Dr. Jean-Baptiste Ouédraogo and the Council of Popular Salvation (CSP—Conseil du salut du peuple). Although it promised to transition the country to civilian rule and provide a new constitution, the Ouédraogo regime banned all political organizations, including opposition parties. There soon arose a political struggle within the CSP. The radicals, led by Captain Thomas Sankara, eventually overthrew the government in August 1983, and Capt. Sankara emerged as the country’s new leader. In 1984, the Sankara government changed the country’s name from Upper Volta to Burkina Faso and introduced many institutional reforms that effectively aligned the country with Marxist ideals.

On October 15, 1987, Capt. Blaise Compaoré, a former colleague of Sankara’s, killed Sankara and several of his confidants in a successful coup d’état. In 1991, Campaoré was elected president in an election in which only 25 percent of the electorate participated because of a boycott movement organized and carried out by opposition parties. In 1998, he won reelection for another seven-year term. As president, Campaoré reversed all the progressive policies that Sankara had implemented.

In 2000, the country’s post-Cold War 1991 constitution was amended to impose a limit of two five-year consecutive terms on the presidency. However, Campaoré’s supporters argued that because he was in office when the amendments went into effect, they did not apply to him and, hence, he was qualified to run for re-election in 2005. Despite the fact that the opposition fielded several candidates, Campoaré won 80.35 percent of the votes cast in the 2005 presidential election. And, in the presidential elections held in November 2010, he captured 80.2 percent of votes.

Over more than a quarter century in power, Campaoré has used an unusual formula to achieve relative stability in Burkina Faso—authoritarianism mixed with traces of democracy. The complex governance system has relied primarily on Campaoré’s dominant and charismatic political power and has failed to build sustainable institutions—specifically, those capable of maintaining the rule of law and enhancing peaceful coexistence in his absence.

Constitutionally mandated presidential term limits strengthen the rule of law and provide a significant level of stability and predictability to the country’s governance institutions. In response to the efforts by Burkinabé members of parliament to change the constitution to enable Compaoré to secure another term in office, U.S. government officials have recently stated that “democratic institutions are strengthened when established rules are adhered to with consistency.” On his part, Campaoré has proclaimed that his main and immediate concern “is not to build a future for myself—but to see how the future of this country will take shape.” If this is indeed true, then he should exit gracefully from the Burkinabé political scene and henceforth serve as an elder statesman, providing his country’s new leadership with the advice and support that they need to deepen and institutionalize democracy, as well as enhance economic, social, political and human development.

Insisting, as President Campoaré has done, that the constitution be changed so that he can seek an additional term in power not only destroys the country’s fragile stability but also sends the wrong message to citizens about the rule of law—while citizens must be law-abiding, the president does not have to abide by the country’s settled law; if the law stands in the way of the president’s personal ambitions, he can simply change the law to provide him with the wherewithal to achieve those objectives. Such behavior from the country’s chief executive does not augur well for deepening the country’s democracy, an objective that is dear to many Burkinabé. The question to ask President Campoaré is: How do you want history to remember you? As a self-serving political opportunist who used his public position to accumulate personal power and wealth, at the expense of fellow citizens, or as a public servant who led and directed his country’s transformation into a peaceful, safe and productive society?

On Friday, October 31, 2014, President Blaise Campaoré, who had ruled Burkina Faso for the last 27 years, was forced out of office. The resignation and subsequent military takeover of the government has created instability and questions over leadership in the country—especially since the constitutional line of succession has been broken by the insertion of military leaders. The power of the military is clear, especially since it has already influenced a second change in leadership. This interruption, subsequent transition and suspension of the constitution, then, have seriously threatened the strength of the rule of law and the future of the Burkinabé government.

The violent demonstrations that eventually forced President Campaoré to flee with his family into exile in Côte d’Ivoire could have been avoided had he not considered himself above the law. The impetus for the mass demonstrations was his attempt to change the country’s constitution in order to secure for himself another five-year term in office. Campaoré’s initial reaction to the violent demonstrations was to dissolve the government but retain his position as president until new elections were carried out to select a new government. He also agreed not to seek another term in office. The opposition, however, insisted that he resign. Interestingly, in his resignation statement, issued shortly before he fled the country, President Campaoré called for “free and transparent” elections to be held in 90 days to form a new government.

Shortly after the president’s resignation, General Honoré Traoré, Campaoré’s aide de camp, proclaimed himself president of the republic. This immediate military intervention into Burkinabé politics betrays either a lack of appreciation for constitutional democracy or a willful attempt by the military to take advantage of the instability occasioned by the planned constitutional changes to maximize their corporate interests. But, could someone who had risen to the head of the Burkinabé military have such little understanding of and appreciation for the constitutional order? In announcing that he had assumed the office of head of state, Traoré actually stated as follows: “In line with constitutional measures, and given the power vacuum . . . I will assume as of today my responsibilities as head of state.”

Importantly, there is no provision in the constitution of Burkina Faso for the head of the military or some other military officer to assume the powers of the president in case of a vacancy in the office. Succession, in the case of a vacancy in the presidency of the republic, is governed by Article 43 of the Constitution of Burkina Faso, 1991, which states that, in a case like this, the functions of the presidency should be performed by the president of the senate. [1]

After Traoré’s quick takeover, the leaders of the protests rejected the government headed by such a close and trusted advisor of the ousted president, claiming it would not represent a full and effective break with the painful past, especially the attempted constitutional changes. In fact, according to Al Jazeera, many of the protesters proclaimed that “[t]he general is linked to Campoaré, and they don’t want anyone linked to Campaoré to lead the country.”

Thus, early on Saturday, November 1, 2014, Colonel Isaac Zida declared that the army had taken control of the state to prevent further violence and that he had assumed the functions of head of state, leading what he referred to as a “peaceful transition”—one that would guarantee the “continuity of the [Burkinabé] state.” He, however, was extremely vague, providing few details, especially regarding how long this transitional government would stay in power or if the elections planned for 2015 will be held. Again, it is difficult to imagine that Zida, like Traoré, was not aware that the resignation and subsequent exit of the president from the political scene did not call for military intervention in the political system. In fact, a military officer of his standing should have had enough familiarity with the constitution to be aware of Article 43.

Oddly, the protesters appeared to have accepted the leadership of Zida, who is said to have been the deputy head of Campaoré’s elite presidential guard. It appears that the deciding factor in the struggle between the two men to assume the position of head of state was acceptance by the military: In a statement issued early on Saturday, November 1, 2014, the military indicated that Zida had been unanimously elected by military chiefs to lead the post-Campaoré transitional government. But, again, in making this decision, were these military leaders not aware of Article 43 of the constitution, which sets out the succession procedures in case of a temporary or permanent vacancy in the presidency? If, indeed, they had knowledge of the provisions of Article 43, then why did they interfere with what should have been a constitutionally mandated succession?

The international community has called on all sides in the Burkinabé political crisis to follow “constitutionally mandated” procedures for the transfer of power. The international community (especially the African Union) is asking the Burkina Faso military not to exploit the constitutional crisis for its own benefit but to respect the desire of the majority of Burkinabé for democracy and peaceful coexistence. That, of course, calls for respect by all Burkinabé, including the military, for the constitution.

The president’s resignation in itself did not create a constitutional crisis in Burkina Faso. The Constitution of 1991 specifically anticipates the resignation or incapacitation of the president and prescribes procedures for succession. According to Article 43, if the president is temporarily incapacitated and is incapable of carrying out his or her duties, “his powers shall be provisionally exercised by the Prime Minister.” As noted above, in this particular case, where the president has resigned and created a permanent vacancy in the presidency, the constitution states that the functions of the presidency should be performed by the president of the senate. [2] The military should not have intervened—military intervention in the country’s political system actually created what is fast becoming a major constitutional crisis. The military has suspended the constitution and, without the guidance provided by it, the military is now governing the country extra-constitutionally through decrees. The military can end this unfolding crisis by restoring the constitution and handing power back to a civilian regime, led, as prescribed by their constitution, by the president of the senate. The latter will, of course, serve as a transitional head of state until elections are completed in 2015 to select a permanent president. International organizations, including especially the African Union, support this approach—on November 3, 2014, the AU issued a statement asking the Burkinabé military to exit the political system and hand power to a civilian ruler.

But what about the riots and violence that had enveloped the city of Ouagadougou and were gradually spreading to other cities? Should the army not have been called upon to quell the riots and bring about peace? In virtually all countries, including Burkina Faso, the police—not the army—should be the institution enforcing the law and maintaining order. There is no indication that military intervention was necessary to bring the rioting under control or that it actually did. Most of the people participating in the riots voluntarily stopped their activities after the president resigned and left the country.

However, what the army did was interfere with the constitutional process and in doing so, actually created this constitutional crisis—shortly after declaring himself head of state and leader of the transition, Zida suspended the constitution, as noted above. Although Zida has assured the people that the military will strive to quickly return Burkina Faso to democratic governance, such guarantees appear hollow, especially given the military’s past history of intervention—every time the Burkinabé military has intervened in politics, it has remained in power for a very long time, 27 years in the case of the Campaoré-led intervention of 1987.

Article 43 of the Constitution of Burkina Faso also states that elections should be held between 60 and 90 days after a vacancy has been declared in the presidency. Zida, who is now the de facto head of state in Burkina Faso, has stated that his would be a transitional government and that it would seek input from all stakeholders to organize and undertake democratic elections to choose a new government. However, the constitution, which would have provided the necessary guidelines for carrying out such elections, has been suspended. In addition, he has closed the country’s borders and imposed a general curfew, which severely restricts the right of citizens to live freely. Such restrictions could have a significant impact on economic activities and negatively affect what is already a relatively fragile economy. These initial draconian and extra-constitutional measures do not augur well for an early exit of the military from politics and the return of constitutional rule to the country. If history teaches us anything about the military and Burkinabé politics, it is that this military, like the one that intervened in 1987, is likely to stay in politics much longer than the 90 days needed to elect a new civilian government.

[1], [2] This is in line with the constitutional amendment of June 11, 2012 (Loi No. 033-2012/AN du 1 juin 2012).

Crisis seems to be the byword for Brazil today: political crisis, economic crisis, corruption crisis. Even the 2016 Rio Olympics seem to teeter on the edge of failure, according to the governor of the state of Rio de Janeiro. Yet despite the steady drum beat of grim news, Brazil is more than likely to resume its upward trajectory within a few years. Its present economic and political troubles mask a number of positives: the strength of its democracy and a new found willingness to fight corruption at all costs. With the correct policies in place, its economy will recover in due course. The impeachment process against Dilma Rousseff will soon be over, one way or the other. The present troubles are merely a temporary detour on Brazil’s long quest to achieve major power status and a consequential role in the international system. In a world in turmoil, where geopolitical tensions are on the rise and the fabric of international politics is stressed by events such as Brexit, we should not lose sight of Brazil’s history of and potential for contributing to sustaining the liberal international order.

Brazil’s aspirations for greatness

Brazil has long aspired to grandeza (greatness) both at home and abroad. As its first ambassador to Washington, Joaquim Nabuco (1905-1910) once said, “Brazil has always been conscious of its size, and it has been governed by a prophetic sense with regard to its future.” As we document in our new book, Brazil has reached for major power status at least four times in the past 100 years: participating as a co-belligerent with the Allies in World War One and seeking a permanent seat on the Council of the League of Nations thereafter; joining the Allies in World War II and aspiring to a permanent seat on the United Nations Security Council (UNSC) in 1945; mastering nuclear technology beginning in the 1970s, including launching a covert military program (now terminated) to build a nuclear explosive device; and most recently, beginning with the presidency of Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva (2003-2011), seeking to become a leader in multilateral institutions, including actively campaigning for a permanent seat on the UNSC.

A decade ago, many Brazilians believed that this time their country was poised to secure its position as a major power. As the seventh largest economy in the world with the 10th largest defense budget and significant soft power, Brazilian leaders such as Lula saw their country as being “in the mix” of major powers who, while not able to make the international order alone, could very well shape its evolution through uncertain times together with other major powers. Certainly, they no longer saw Brazil as one of the middle or small powers, the “order takers” in the international system.

Brazil saw a new opportunity to emerge as a major power in the advent of a relatively stable and peaceful post-Cold War geopolitical order, the decade-long commodity boom that supercharged its economy after 2002, and the rise of the BRICS (Brazil, Russia, India, China, and South Africa). Between 2002 and 2013, Brazil’s virtuous trifecta—democratic consolidation, rapid economic growth, and reduced inequality—was a boon to its soft power. This combination was highly attractive to many in the developing world, contributing to Brazil’s claim to leadership on the international stage as a bridge between the global South and the great powers. International peace and stability particularly favored Brazil’s predilection for deploying soft power rather than hard power. And in the BRICS, Brazil saw an opportunity to work together with other emerging powers critical of the present international order to advance its agenda for reformed global institutions.

Rethinking Brazil’s approach to global influence

Brazil’s bridge-building strategy was effective in advancing its national interests in multilateral forums, most recently on global internet governance and global climate change. But the BRICS dimension of Brazil’s strategy detracted from its ability to influence the world’s great democracies. The BRICS identity associated Brazil with authoritarian powers—China and Russia—that were viewed by the United States and its allies, at best, as unhelpful critics and, at worst, as deliberate saboteurs of the present order. This undermined Brazil’s credibility with Washington and other leading democracies, and hindered its ability to advance its preferred policies on everything from nonproliferation to the reform of global economic institutions to the debate on humanitarian intervention. In retrospect, working more closely with other emerging democracies that seek reform of the international order, such as through the India-Brazil-South Africa association known as IBSA, would have more clearly signaled Brazil’s constructive intentions while still preserving its critical posture.

Today, the opportunities that powered Brazil’s most recent rise—post-Cold War geopolitical stability and a massive commodity boom—are receding, replaced by a more fractious and dangerous international system. Despite troubles at home, it is not too early for Brazil’s leaders to think anew about how to strengthen national capabilities and deploy them strategically to address this new environment. This includes fortifying domestic institutions, both to address the present crisis but also to restore the luster of Brazil’s soft power. It means bolstering Brazil’s hard power capabilities once the economy improves and deploying them in ways that contribute to its soft power, for example by taking on additional responsibility for leading critical international peacekeeping operations as it has in Haiti. It means thinking carefully about how to signal to the democratic great powers Brazil’s commitment to a strengthened liberal international order, even as it holds onto its own principles and works towards reform of multilateral institutions. And eventually, as Brazil completes its recovery, it means contributing more substantially to the costs of maintaining its preferred global order. A Brazil that achieves all this will be well positioned to have a positive global impact, continuing to be a strong (if sometimes critical) partner for the United States in shaping the international order.

A 2010 publication of the U.S. Geological Survey caused major excitement in Cyprus, an island that at the time was suffering from the economic collapse of its neighbor and major trading partner, Greece. According to the publication, the seabed of the Eastern Mediterranean could contain up to 120 trillion cubic feet (tcf) of natural gas.3 Three years later, the Cypriot administration has high hopes that natural gas exports may get Cyprus—the third smallest European Union member state—back on its feet, after its own financial collapse in 2012. Unfortunately for the Cypriots, the reality on the ground is sobering, and it is currently unclear whether Cyprus will become a producer, or an exporter, of natural gas. Around Cyprus, other countries hope to benefit from the energy potential as well, including Israel, Lebanon and the Palestinian Authority. In the Israeli Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ), in particular, substantial reserves of natural gas have been found, though the verdict is out whether these will in fact all be produced.

Exploration of Cyprus’s offshore concessions is at an early stage. Energy majors such as ENI and Total are among the first to explore possible gas (and oil) reserves and they expect results not before 2015. To date, only two test wells have been drilled by Houston-based Noble Energy. Proven reserves have been downgraded since and are currently estimated to be between 3 and 5 tcf. At this level of reserves, investing in a natural gas liquefaction terminal, which the Cypriot administration has supported, is not economically viable. A better alternative would be to construct a pipeline to Turkey, which has a large and rapidly growing market for natural gas.

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• Politics Trump Economics in the Complex Game of Eastern Mediterranean Hydrocarbons