President Barack Obama's April 17 debut before the hemisphere's main gathering of democratically elected leaders offers an important test of his administration's commitment to longstanding bipartisan support for democracy abroad. So far, the signals are not encouraging.

No doubt, the president inherits an unfortunate legacy on this front. President George W. Bush's over-the-top freedom agenda was seen by many as a veiled attempt, by military means or otherwise, to assert U.S. hegemony. At best, it was an overly ambitious and ham-handed effort to boost prospects for political reform in every corner of the world.

The more pragmatic Mr. Obama will take a different, more muted approach, bending U.S. advocacy on human rights to other concerns. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton apparently suggested that in her February visit to Beijing, where she signaled to the Communist Party's leaders that the United States would not let human rights get in the way of other priorities. But how far will this pragmatism go? Are we entering a new era in which the rights of the hundreds of millions of people who still live under authoritarian rule are relegated to third-tier status in the U.S. agenda?

In Latin America and the Caribbean, the good news is that most citizens not only have a secure voice and vote in how they are governed, but live in increasingly free societies. Freedom of the press is robust, civil society is active and independent judiciaries are slowly consolidating. Threats to these critical components of any democratic society emanate less from a restless military and more from heavily armed criminals who create havoc in once safe neighborhoods and target investigative journalists and honest judges with "plata o plomo" - money or lead.

There are, however, a few exceptions to this generally positive trend. Venezuela, under Hugo Chavez's tutelage, has deteriorated badly on several indicators of democratic life and is no longer invited to the Community of Democracies, a global association of governments committed to fundamental practices of democracy and human rights. Not far behind is Nicaragua which, under Sandinista leader Daniel Ortega, is reverting to old-style tactics of repressing the opposition and clamping down on dissent. Other states worth watching closely are Ecuador and Bolivia which, as they undertake dramatic reform to incorporate once marginalized groups, are vulnerable to civil conflict.

And then there is Cuba. Raul Castro will not be at the Summit of the Americas in Trinidad and Tobago because Cuba does not adhere to the inter-American system's fundamental principles of democracy and human rights. That is as it should be. But Mr. Obama will face considerable pressure from his colleagues to fudge this bright line by engaging, rather than isolating Cuba, as they and nearly every other country has done. Indeed, the White House has already begun moving in this direction by easing restrictions on family travel and remittances to the island. Much more can and should be done in the coming months to continue this process of rapprochement between Washington and Havana. But lifting Cuba's suspension as a member of the Organization of American States (OAS), as many are advocating, would be a step too far.

The governments of the region, as they emerged from years of military dictatorship in the 1980s, agreed to lock arms and resist any attempt to overthrow civilian constitutional rule. This joint approach has served the region well when such countries as Peru, Paraguay, Guatemala and Haiti faced political turmoil. The commitment to core democratic standards, expressed through the Inter-American Democratic Charter, is central to the region's identity and compares well to the European model of integration based on common democratic values and forms of government.

All this progress is at risk if the region's governments decide to lift Cuba's suspension as a member of the OAS without preconditions. Unless the Castro regime takes serious steps toward meeting the region's basic human rights standards, including rights to free speech, fair elections and due process for political prisoners, it should not be considered for renewed membership. The Obama Administration, which appears determined to open new paths of dialogue with difficult countries like Cuba, Iran and Syria, must be careful not to lower the bar so far that its own neighborhood loses its distinct identity as a community of democratic states.

President Obama, thus, should walk a fine line at the Summit gathering. He needs to lead by example by implementing human rights reforms at home while reminding his colleagues they share a common responsibility to follow and promote universal democratic standards. This must include encouraging the Castro government to adopt genuine political reforms before it can be welcomed back to the OAS, as well as strengthening the region's collective defense of democracy in backsliding states. Anything less would surely set the human rights cause back for the region, and the world.

The videos showing an unruly scene in and around Brookings last Thursday during the visit of Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan make for distressing viewing. The incongruity of what occurred—think Trump security meets Turkish nationalism—invites introspection about how scholarly institutions manage appearances by controversial leaders.

There are legitimate criticisms to be made of the Turkish government in general and of Thursday’s security detail in particular. But lost in the melee—and in the past year of terrorism, arrests, and media closures—is the message that Erdoğan most needed to convey.

Dramatic changes in the geopolitical neighborhood now present the most serious challenge to Turkish territorial integrity since the founding of the Republic. With the aid of Western intervention, the wars in Iraq and Syria accomplished more for the Kurdish cause than decades of terrorism and negotiation. Since the addition of a second stronghold in Syria to the de facto Kurdish territory in northern Iraq, Turkey is paying a price for conflicts not wholly of its own making.

It is not quite a century since European armies last seized Ottoman territories or supported national Kurdish independence from Istanbul. Whether or not now is the moment an autonomous Kurdish state takes legal form, the model is being proven nearby under Western protection. It does not make things easier that this time it is not Western countries’ intention to hurt Turkey’s national interests. Adding insult to Erdoğan’s injury, in 2015 the Kurdish cause met unprecedented support among urban elites around Turkey—and the United States and Europe—for a political party (HDP) that spoiled Erdoğan’s institutional ambitions by denying him a supermajority in parliament.

The Turkish president is criticized for allowing feelings of personal betrayal to color his strategic relationships—for example with Israel and Syria—yet many in the U.S. foreign policy community also now react to him emotionally. Because their high hopes were dashed after Gezi Park and the Gülen scandals, he can do no good again. This fuels Erdoğan’s outrage: Turkey gets no respect for its current role absorbing waves of refugees or for “taking the fight to terrorists.”

Erdoğan alienated Western allies with a take-no-prisoners approach in domestic politics and bears some responsibility for the government’s disastrous relationship with the country’s two major dissident groups—one ethnic (Kurdish) and one spiritual (Gülenist). But that should not relax similarly robust democratic expectations of these groups’ own political behavior, and the impression of such a double standard is at the root of the Turkish president’s annoyance. The suicide bombs and illegal wiretaps his country endured have failed to capture the American imagination. Instead, he perceives friends who would tie his hands as he defends the rule of law against terror and treason.

The Turkish government should be discouraged from abusing executive power, squelching dissent, or other acts of overzealous majoritarianism and break the cycle of retaliation against political opponents. But it is bizarre to equate the Turkish president with former Venezuelan leader Hugo Chavez or Russian President Vladimir Putin: Turkish democracy is battered but not yet sunk, and its government is still not a strategic opponent—it remains a NATO member in accession talks with the EU.

The Brookings incident is said to have exposed the regime’s true colors and thin skin, and to emblematize how polarized and undemocratic Turkey has become in the last decade. But a lopsided and illiberal democracy also preceded AKP rule: a quarter century of single party rule followed by four military coups in as many decades, with strict limits on free speech and religious exercise. American enthusiasm for democratization in the region must include a commitment to remain constructively engaged when the spring recoils and conservative parties win power—including those who appear to abuse that power—through exactly this kind of visit.

Because last week’s scene unfolded in the same auditorium where a younger Erdoğan appeared as a promising democratic leader years ago, it is fair to ask which was the real one. He who walked down the aisle with files on 57 imprisoned journalists in March 2016? Or the Erdoğan who arrived in government with dossiers on negotiations with PKK leader Abdullah Öcalan, opened talks with the Alevi religious minority, and established a ministry for European Union affairs?

Critics now say that was all just a show and diversionary tactic that have finally given way to his true attitudes towards the proverbial “tram of democracy.” But with friends who are deaf to some of Turkey’s legitimate concerns it is fair to ask what may now be an academic question: Is President Erdoğan an ex-liberal who simply got off the tram, or was he mugged by reality while on board?

Midway through Hong Kong’s second public consultation on the method of electing the next chief executive (CE), both pro-democracy “pan-democrat” legislators and the Hong Kong government and Chinese Central government are still holding their cards close. Following the current public consultation, members of Hong Kong’s Legislative Council (LegCo) will cast an historic vote on political reform. Hong Kong’s mini-constitution, the Basic Law, states that “the ultimate aim is the selection of the CE by universal suffrage upon nomination by a broadly representative nominating committee in accordance with democratic procedures” (Basic Law Art. 45). Pan-democrat LegCo members currently plan to vote against the eventual resolution on political reform, given their dissatisfaction with the reform process to date. Observers predict that passage of a resolution will happen only if the Hong Kong and Central governments can swing a few pan-democrats over to their side in the final hour.

The problem is a prickly one: Is it possible to design an electoral system that is sufficiently open and democratic in the eyes of the Hong Kong people and, at the same time, that guarantees to the Central Government that the elected leader of this special administrative region accepts the supremacy of the Chinese Communist Party? Even as politicians on each side reiterate the near “impossibility” of changing their positions (see e.g., RTHK Backchat discussion with Justice Secretary Rimsky Yuen at 4:25), thought-leaders from Hong Kong’s universities are inventing creative proposals with the potential to break the deadlock.

The Ground Rules

A 2004 decision of the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress (NPCSC), China’s national legislature, interpreted the Basic Law to require a “Five-Step Process” in order to amend the selection method for the CE. Hong Kong is now between Steps 2 and 3.

• Step 1: The current CE must submit a report to the NPCSC on the need to amend the electoral system. That submission took place on July 15, 2014 after a five-month initial public consultation process. The CE’s report faced heavy criticism in Hong Kong for not accurately reflecting public opinion.
• Step 2: The NPCSC must issue a decision affirming the need for the amendment. The NPCSC announced that decision on August 31, 2014. It endorsed a system by which citizens may directly vote for the CE but imposed restrictive conditions on the nomination procedure of eligible candidates. The decision triggered 79 days of protest and civil disobedience – what activists and the media have referred to as the “Umbrella Movement.”
• Step 3: The Hong Kong government must introduce the political reform bill in LegCo, and two-thirds of legislators must endorse it. The vote in LegCo is scheduled to take place during the first half of 2015, although a precise date has not been set. The purpose of the second-round public consultation is to forge consensus behind political reform within the parameters set out in the August 31 NPCSC decision.
• Steps 4 and 5: In the event that LegCo endorses the bill, the CE must provide his consent and report the amendment to the NPCSC for its final approval.

If the bill does not receive two-thirds endorsement of LegCo (or if it does, but the NPCSC does not approve) then political reform would fail. Hong Kong would be left with the status quo, and Hong Kong people would lose the opportunity to vote for their chief executive for at least the next seven years.

Limited Room for Negotiation

The terms set out by the August 31 NPCSC decision limit the range of possible political reform options. For that reason, one of the core demands of the Umbrella Movement was to scrap the decision and re-start the Five-Step Process; that didn’t happen, however. In January 2015, the Hong Kong government issued a public consultation document framing the discussion in the lead up to the vote in LegCo. The consultation document hews closely to the NPCSC decision:

• The Nominating Committee (NC) will resemble the previous committee that elected the CE with the same number of members (1,200) belonging to the same limited number of subsectors (38). The Wall Street Journal recently described that committee as “a hodgepodge of special interests.” During the consultation, citizens may discuss adding new subsectors to make the committee more inclusive and representative (such as adding new subsectors to represent the interests of women or young voters), but restructuring will necessarily mean disrupting and eliminating the positions of existing subsectors or committee members. Therefore, the consultation document suggests these changes are unlikely to be achieved (Consultation Document, Chapter 3, Sec. 3.08 p. 10).
• The NC will nominate two to three candidates, and each candidate will require endorsement from at least half of the NC membership. (Given the difficulty of restructuring the subsectors or their electoral bases, these terms would effectively exclude any pan-democrats from nomination.) In order to make this more palatable, the consultation document proposes that citizens discuss a two-stage nomination process. In the first stage, a quorum of 100-150 committee members would “recommend” individuals for nomination. The committee would then elect the nominees from this recommended group (Consultation Document, Chapter 4, Sec. 4.09 p. 14). In theory, the meetings when recommendation and nomination votes take place could be staggered in order to allow campaigning and public debate. The idea is that NC members would take public opinion into consideration before casting their second vote.
• On the voting arrangements, citizens may discuss a “first-past-the-post” arrangement with either a single-round, two-round, or instant runoff vote systems (Consultation Document, Chapter 5, Sec. 5.06 p. 17-19).

Both sides in this negotiation have fired shots across the bow. At the launch of the second public consultation on January 7, Chief Secretary Carrie Lam remarked, “there is no room for any concessions or promises to be made in order to win over support from the pan-democratic members.” For their part, the pan-democrats vowed to boycott the public consultation and veto a resolution that conforms to these terms. They argue that the proposed method of electing the chief executive does not improve upon the status quo.

Most pan-democrat legislators are directly elected from geographical constituencies, and public opinion could provide legitimate grounds for shifting their position. According to polling by the Hong Kong University Public Opinion Programme last month, a plurality of respondents view the Hong Kong government’s proposal as neither a step forward nor a step backward for democracy. If the government were to commit to making the electoral system more democratic in the next CE election in 2022, a clear majority of respondents would then support the government’s plan.

Inventing Options and Finding Common Ground

The two-stage nomination mechanism in the government’s proposal is an acknowledgement that the NC ought to be responsive to public opinion. But without additional tinkering, this procedure does not materially change the incentives of NC members. What if the public had the power to reject the slate of candidates nominated by the committee?

Since the first public consultation, a few academics, including Simon Young at Hong Kong University (HKU), have considered at least two ways this could happen. An “active” approach would allow Hong Kong voters to cast blank votes and require a minimum percentage of affirmative votes for the winning candidate. A “passive” approach would require a minimum voter turnout rate for a valid election. NC members might then have to take public opinion into account.

Early last month, Albert Chen, also a professor at HKU and a legal advisor of the NPCSC, began to advocate publicly for a proposal that employs a ballot with a none-of-these-candidates option (see RTHK Jan. 13 edition of The Pulse). Under his proposal, if a majority of people vote for “none-of-these-candidates,” the slate of candidates put forward by the NC will be voided. When the public votes down the candidates, the NC could revert back to an election committee and choose a provisional CE. Alternatively, the Chief Secretary could assume CE duties during a six-month interim period prior to a new election (drawing upon Basic Law Art. 53). Chen argues that his proposal would give the Hong Kong people—not pan-democrat politicians—decision-making power to accept the new NC and its slate of candidates or to revert back to the status quo.

More recently, Johannes Chan, HKU professor and human rights advocate, floated a competing proposal that would provide voters with the option for negative voting. A 20 percent “no” vote for an otherwise leading candidate would trigger a re-vote. Between the first and second elections, the candidates would have additional time to campaign. If after the second election, still 20 percent of voters oppose the leading candidate, the candidate would be disqualified, and the NC would nominate new candidates. Given Hong Kong’s governance problems and increasing public polarization, the 20 percent veto ensures that no CE will be saddled with a substantial block of Hong Kong society affirmatively opposed to him or her from day one.

Albert Chen’s proposal received a tepid if supportive response in pro-Beijing quarters. Jasper Tsang, the Speaker of LegCo and member of the largest pro-establishment political party, and Rita Fan, a member of the NPCSC, affirmed their view that the none-of-these-candidates mechanism does not violate the Basic Law. While the government’s consultation document does not expressly mention the none-of-these-candidates concept, Hong Kong’s Justice Secretary indicated that the proposal should be considered. Starry Lee, another leader of the biggest pro-establishment party in LegCo, countered that technical difficulties and limited time for discussion would pose obstacles to the none-of-these-candidates ballot proposal.

Pan-democrats so far have tended to rebuff government overtures to engage on the topic. A few legislators, such as the Civic Party’s Ronny Tong, have been willing to engage (with Albert Chen on the Jan. 13 edition of The Pulse) but have reservations about what happens after a voided election, and feel that the threshold for public veto is too high. Law Chi-kwong, a founding member of Hong Kong’s Democratic Party and also a member of the HKU faculty, suggested that the winning candidate ought to receive an absolute majority of votes with blank votes counted. (E.g., when one candidate receives 45 percent, another receives 35 percent, and none-of-these-candidates receives 20 percent, that would lead to a void election.) However, other scholars associated with the Democratic Party have distanced themselves from the blank vote debate and Law’s statements.

The Merits of Blank Voting

The debate over blank and negative voting in Hong Kong unfolds in a global context where none-of-these-candidates has become an increasingly common political choice. Several democracies have institutionalized the practice. Proponents cite instrumental rationales, such as improved accountability and transparency. However, these benefits are not necessarily guaranteed. More broadly, people recognize the inherent value of the “no” vote as a form of political expression.

In the U.S. state of Nevada, for example, a none-of-these-candidates option has appeared on the ballot for all statewide and national elections since 1975. During the 2012 presidential cycle, the Secretary of State of Nevada argued that removing a none-of-these-candidates option would harm Nevada voters by taking away a “legitimate and meaningful ballot choice.” There is precedent for none-of-these-candidates winning a plurality of votes in a congressional primary; in that case, Republican Walden Earnhart finished behind the none-of-these-candidates option but still “won” the primary and got the nomination. More typically, the ballot option plays a “spoiler role.” In the 1998 Senate race, for example, 8,125 votes for none-of-these-candidates dwarfed the 395-vote margin between Harry Reid and John Ensign. This allowed Reid, the incumbent, to be re-elected.

It is hard to find examples where none-of-these-candidates has won a majority of the popular vote. Hong Kong’s pan-democrats may be right to question whether this possibility would meaningfully affect the calculus of the NC. Colombia is one of the few jurisdictions where blank votes can have institutional consequences. The right of citizens to cast a blank vote was established by the Colombian Constitution in 1991, and later codified in political reform statutes in 2003 and 2009. Similar to Albert Chen’s proposal in Hong Kong, if the number of blank votes equals a majority of the total number of votes cast, the election must be repeated. The original candidates cannot participate in the second election.

The Colombian experience suggests that the blank vote is more consequential in races with fewer candidates. Colombian voters have never nullified a slate of candidates at the national-level, where the field is crowded. In the city of Bello, however, the blank vote won the mayoral election in 2011. In that case, the electoral authority disqualified the one opposition candidate. This led to a one-man race and united all opposition forces around the blank vote in order to reject the establishment Conservative Party candidate. In the second round election, the replacement Conservative Party candidate (Carlos Alirio Muñoz López) won 59 percent of the vote. In the end, his party benefited with a resounding popular mandate. By this logic, the blank vote could matter in the two- to three-candidate race contemplated for Hong Kong.

Empirical evidence also suggests that local conditions in Hong Kong could support a relatively high turnout for none-of-these-candidates. Based on data from Spain and Italy, Chiara Superti at Harvard finds that blank voting is a sophisticated political choice, more likely to take place in municipalities with highly educated and politically engaged electorates. Hong Kong would qualify.

Beyond candidate selection, voting is a highly expressive act. A citizen’s vote is an expression of identity as well as a channel for protest. Echoing this view, the Supreme Court of India recently held that the country’s constitutional guarantees of freedom of speech and expression confer on Indian citizens a right to reject all candidates and to exercise their right to affirmatively vote for none-of-these-candidates in secrecy. As a people who define themselves by “core values,” including freedom of expression, this resonates with Hongkongers. More fundamentally, the ballot serves a powerful safety-valve function. At the time universal suffrage was introduced in England and France, the vote was presented as a way to channel political turmoil into more moderate political expression—and this, too, resonates in Hong Kong today.

Views expressed in the article are the author's personal views.

Event Information

Since the conflicts over Abkhazia and South Ossetia in the early 1990s, violence has erupted several times in Georgia, most notably in August 2008. Large-scale human rights violations characterized the August 2008 war, including the displacement of almost 150,000 people. By the time the fighting ended, Georgia had lost the last areas it controlled in South Ossetia and Abkhazia, and Russia subsequently recognized the independence of both. While most of those displaced in the August 2008 war have returned, over 200,000 people from earlier conflicts remain displaced.

On November 19, the Brookings-Bern Project on Internal Displacement will host a discussion of current issues around human rights, democracy and displacement in Georgia. The event will feature a presentation by Tinatin Khidasheli, international secretary of the Republican Party of Georgia, and Giorgi Chkheidze, executive director of the Georgian Young Lawyers’ Association. Following their remarks, Sam Patten, senior program manager for Eurasia at Freedom House, and Nadine Walicki, country analyst for the Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre, will join the discussion.

Senior Fellow Elizabeth Ferris, co-director of the Brookings-Bern Project, will provide introductory remarks and moderate the discussion. After the program, panelists will take audience questions.

Audio

• Human Rights, Democracy and Displacement in Georgia

Transcript

• Uncorrected Transcript (.pdf)

Event Materials

• 20101119_georgia_human_rights

Campaign finance is a key issue for the quality of democracy. As we noted in a recently-published book of which we are co-authors, and which we had the honor to present in the Hall of Former Presidents of the Legislative Assembly last February 11 (El costo de la Democracia: Ensayos sobre el financiamiento político en América Latina, UNAM, Mexico City, 2015), it is important because of an inescapable fact: While democracy has no price, it does have an operating cost. The use of economic resources is an essential element for democratic competition. More than a pathology of democracy, political financing, when well-regulated, is a normal part of democratic life.

Yet it is undeniable that money is capable of introducing distortions in the democratic process. Its unequal distribution impacts, first, on the real possibilities enjoyed by the parties and the candidates to take their message to the voters. Second, having money gives individuals and social groups a differentiated possibility of participating in elections and exercizing their influence over the candidates through their contributions. This is vital for democracy. When political power is simply a reflection of economic power, the principle of “one person, one vote” loses meaning. Third, fundraising efforts offer obvious opportunities for the articulation of exchanges between donors and those who make decisions on public affairs, or at least for the continual appearance of conflicts of interest. This can be very problematic in the case of Latin America, where there is a risk of money from organized crime penetrating the campaigns.

And so it is not surprising that the issue is on the political agenda in many countries of the region, just as it has been for a long time in Costa Rica. Costa Rica introduced public financing for political parties in 1956, making it the second country in the world to do so, after Uruguay. Nonetheless, the generosity of the government contribution did not avoid a long succession of scandals associated with the issue, a history that includes figures ranging from Robert Vesco and Manuel Antonio Noriega to Carlos Hank González and the illegal donations from the government of Taiwan. 

The wounds left by each of these episodes gave way to worthy yet incomplete regulatory efforts. Most important has been the reform of the Electoral Code approved in 2009, which among many necessary changes prohibited corporate contributions to the political parties. And not only legislative action has made a difference. The Constitutional Chamber of the Supreme Court has also made a difference by lifting bank secrecy on financing, a very important decision that has been pointed to internationally.

Each of these steps has been moving the country in the right direction. This is worth underscoring: At a time when it is so easy to revile the Costa Rican political system, it should be recognized that in terms of political financing the country is, in general, better situated than it was 20 or 30 years ago. All the evidence we have indicates that private contributions today are less important in our campaigns than one generation ago. We can state with great certainty that our parties are financing more than 80% of the cost of their campaigns with the state contribution. That is good news.

However, the current regulatory framework presents problems such as:

a) It continues to be a regulatory system that is somehow upside down: It meticulously keeps tabs on the use of the state contribution by the parties, which does not give rise to conflicts of interest, while it is much less effective when it comes to verifying the truth of the information the parties provide about their private sources of financing, which do have the potential to compromise the autonomy of the political system. Correcting this imbalance, getting the Supreme Electoral Tribunal to prioritize monitoring private financing and to devote more resources to it, would not only be a way to straighten out its priorities, but frankly, all the parties would also breathe a sigh of relief.

b) The system of advances on the state contribution continues to be very limited (only 15% of the subsidy is disbursed before the presidential election and nothing in the case of municipal elections). It is time to admit that eliminating the system whereby the contributions were distributed in advance payments, which existed from 1971 to 1991 (when 50% was disbursed in advances), caused grave prejudice to the political system. The weakness of the advanced disbursement has ended up leaving the parties at the mercy of banks and lenders during the campaigns. Worse still, today the possibility of a party receiving loans during the campaign against its electoral expectations depends entirely on the fickle behavior of the opinion polls. This is unfair and risky, as the OAS electoral observation missions have noted.

c) The legal framework does little to limit parties’ spending on advertising, one of the most effective ways to reduce outlays during campaigns and to bring about fairness in electoral competition, which is one of the most important objectives in improving the current system. One must evaluate the advisability of adopting a system of advertising slots (provided free of charge by those holding concessions for the radio spectrum or purchased by the Supreme Electoral Tribunal and then made available to the parties) as has been done, with a positive outcome, by other democracies in the region such as Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Ecuador, and Mexico.

d) The current regulatory framework has serious vulnerabilities at the local level. Requiring the parties to file a single financial report with the contribution they receive nationwide (the same system that exists for the presidential election) is insufficient when in practice there are 81 local elections in which each candidate raises and spends money autonomously. Let’s be clear: Relatively little is known about who finances the campaigns at the local level in Costa Rica. This would not matter much except that the experience of other countries – from Mexico to Colombia – shows that local campaigns are the preferred point of entry for organized crime to penetrate the electoral structures. Reinforcing the financial controls on municipal elections is one of the country’s most urgent tasks in relation to campaign finance.

Costa Rica has made major strides in regulating political financing. Yet there is an urgent need to address the weaknesses in the current regulatory framework. There are bills in the legislative pipeline, such as No. 18,739, introduced by the Supreme Electoral Tribunal in April 2013, that incorporate almost all the reforms suggested here and that provide an excellent basis for moving this inevitable discussion forward. 

We will have to address the problems in the current regulatory framework sooner or later. The question is whether we will do so before or after the next scandal. Let’s hope that, for once, we act on time.

This piece was originally published by International IDEA. 

Editors’ Note: According to a new Pew poll, half of Israeli Jews have come to seek not only a Jewish majority but even Jewish exclusivity in Israel. That doesn’t bode well for Arab-Jewish coexistence in Israel, writes Shibley Telhami—even aside from what happens in the West Bank and Gaza. This post originally appeared on the Monkey Cage blog.

When U.S. leaders and commentators warn that the absence of a two-state solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict will make it impossible for Israel to be both a Jewish and democratic state, they generally mean that a Jewish democracy requires a Jewish majority; if Israel encompasses the West Bank and Gaza, Arabs will become a majority. What they may not have realized is that, in the meantime, half of Israeli Jews have come to seek not only a Jewish majority but even Jewish exclusivity.

That is one of the most troubling findings of a new Pew poll in Israel. And it doesn’t bode well for Arab-Jewish coexistence in Israel—even aside from what happens in the West Bank and Gaza.

This major study was conducted from October 14, 2014, to May 21, 2015, among 5,601 Israeli adults ages 18 and older. (Disclosure: I served as an adviser to the project). It found that 48 percent of all Israeli Jews agree with the statement “Arabs should be expelled or transferred from Israel,” while 46 percent disagreed. Even more troubling, the majority of every non-secular Jewish group, including 71 percent of Datim (modern orthodox Jews) agreed with the statement.

While age is not much of a factor when it comes to attitudes toward expelling Arabs from Israel, younger Israelis are slightly more likely to agree with the statement that Arabs should be expelled than older Israelis.

These attitudes are anchored in a broader view of identity and of the nature of the Israeli state. Overall, only about a third of Israeli Jews say their Israeli identity takes precedence over their Jewish identity, with the overwhelming majority of every group, except for secular Jews, saying their Jewishness comes first.

This view has consequences for citizen rights. Not surprisingly, the overwhelming majority of all Jewish Israelis (98 percent) feel that Jews around the world have a birthright to make aliya (immigration to Israel with automatic Israeli citizenship). But what is striking is that 79 percent of all Jews, including 69 percent of Hilonim (secular Jews) say that Jews deserve “preferential treatment” in Israel—so much for the notion of democracy with full equal rights for all citizens.

These attitudes spell trouble for Arab citizens of Israel who constitute 20 percent of Israel’s citizens. It’s true that attitudes are dynamic; they are partly a function of Jewish-Arab relations within Israel itself, but also outside, especially within the broader Palestinian-Israeli conflict. Like their Jewish counterparts, Arab citizens of Israel (mostly Muslim, but also including Christians and Druze), identify themselves with their ethnicity (Palestinian or Arab) or religion above their Israeli citizenship. And these ethnic/religious identities intensify when conflict between Israel and the Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza intensifies. There is no way to fully divorce the broader Palestinian-Israeli conflict from Arab-Jewish relations within Israel.

In recent years, this latter linkage has become central for two reasons: loss of hope for a two-state solution, and the rise of social media that has displayed extremist attitudes that used to be limited to private space. In the era of Facebook and Twitter, Arab and Jewish citizens post attitudes that deeply offend the other: An Arab expresses joy at the death of Israeli soldiers killed by Palestinians, while a Jew posts a sign reading “death to Arabs.” Hardly the stuff of co-existence. Leave it to opportunist politicians, extremists and incitement to do the rest.

But there is also an American responsibility—not so much with regard to failure of diplomatic efforts, but with the very positing of the nature of the conflict itself, and the nature of the state of Israel. As President Obama considers steps he could undertake on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict before leaving office, he may contemplate addressing what has become a distorting and detrimental discourse that serves to give a pass to non-democratic attitudes, and diversion of attention from core problems.

First, there is something wrong with positing the possibility of Arabs as constituting a demographic problem for Israel. It legitimizes the privileging of Jewishness over democracy. It also distorts the reason why Israel is obligated to end occupation of the West Bank and Gaza; it has nothing to do with the character of Israel as such, but with international law and United Nations resolutions.

Second, while states can define themselves as they wish (and are accepted by the international community accordingly), the American embrace of the “Jewishness” of Israel, cannot be decoupled from the Palestinian-Israeli context, or from the overarching American demand that all states must be for all their citizens equally.

In part, this is based on the notion that the UN General Assembly (Resolution 181) recommended in 1947 dividing mandatory Palestine into an “Arab” and a “Jewish” State. In part, it’s based on the notion that the Palestinian-Israeli conflict is a political conflict that can be resolved through two states, one manifesting the self-determination of Jews as a people, and one manifesting the right of self-determination of Palestinians as a people. The two were bound together. An embrace of a Jewish state that excludes a Palestinian state defeats the principle.

If two states become impossible, America chooses democracy over Jewishness. In fact, this has been consistently reflected in American public attitudes across the political spectrum, most recently in this November 2015poll; in the absence of a two-state solution, 72 percent of Americans would want a democratic Israel, even if it meant that Israel ceases to be a Jewish state with a Jewish majority.

More centrally, even with two states—one manifesting Jewish self determination and one Palestinian self-determination—an overarching, principled American position takes precedence: If Israel is a state of the Jewish people, it must also be above all a state of all its citizens equally; (and if Palestine is to be a state of the Palestinian people, it must also be a state of all its citizens equally). This democratic principle, highlighted front and center in a reformulated American position, can help avoid legitimizing undemocratic attitudes in the name of Jewish identity.

Event Information

Myanmar/Burma is in the fourth year of a historic transition out of military rule that began after the junta dissolved itself in March 2011, replaced by an elected parliament and the government led by President Thein Sein. New elections are expected in November for its second government under the 2008 constitution. While expressing commitment to holding a free and fair election, the Thein Sein government has left in place a constitutional obstacle to allowing Aung San Suu Kyi, leader of the opposition National League for Democracy (NLD), from becoming the country’s next president. The NLD seems likely to emerge from the new elections with the most seats in the legislature, but may fall short of its landslide victory in the 1990 election, which was not accepted by the ruling military junta.

On July 14, the Center for East Asia Policy Studies at Brookings hosted a discussion of Myanmar’s progress over the past four years and the prospects for strengthening democratic rule under the next government. Delphine Schrank, a former reporter with The Washington Post, spent four years among dissidents in Myanmar/Burma and has written a narrative nonfiction account about their epic multi-generational fight for democracy. Her book “The Rebel of Rangoon; A Tale of Defiance and Deliverance” (Nation Books, 2015) will set the stage for the discussion. Panelists included Brookings Senior Fellow Ted Piccone, Nonresident Senior Fellow Lex Rieffel, and Priscilla Clapp, former chief-of-mission to the U.S. Embassy in Burma (1999-2002). Richard Bush, senior fellow and director of the Center for East Asia Policy Studies, offered opening remarks and moderated the discussion.

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• The struggle for democracy in Myanmar/Burma

Transcript

• Uncorrected Transcript (.pdf)

Event Materials

• 20150714_democracy_burma_transcript

In the recently-released Democracy Index of the Economist Intelligence Unit (EIU), Latin America’s performance is worrisome. Just one country, Uruguay, is classified as a “full democracy.” Costa Rica falls into the category of “flawed democracy,” which also includes Mexico and Brazil, both of which fell in the ranking. The assessment could be even more discrediting were it not for the good results of several Latin American countries on the indicator for quality of electoral justice. Brazil’s score is auspicious: 9.58. Only five countries in the world score better.

Like other attempts to gauge democracy based on a given set of variables, the EIU’s assessment is susceptible to criticism. Yet it has the merit of reflecting a reading shared by observers of the current moment in Latin American politics. We agree that the region has continued to leave crucial questions regarding the future of its democratic experiences unanswered. How can one update the models of representation, reinforcing their social resonance and the legitimacy of public action? What can be done to ensure that the state is more efficient and responsive to society at large? What are the paths to advancing the democratization of the political parties, recovering their role as mediators between society and government authority, a function they share today with new mechanisms and new collective actors? Is it feasible to bring a halt to the sequestration of politics by economic power, looking out for the preeminence of the public interest?

In some quarters, the discourse of democratic renewal took on a regressive tone in recent years. A supposed antinomy was preached between social change and representative democracy in the name of seeking less oligarchic and more inclusive models. New institutional arrangements were postulated, with a plebiscitary bias, while principles such as the independence of the branches of government and respect for fundamental freedoms and guarantees were neglected.

While the backward-looking discourse appears to be receding with the victory of the opposition in the Venezuelan elections and the fall of like-minded forces such as kirchnerismo, there are problems that are growing more intense that affect the region from the Rio Grande to Tierra del Fuego. They fall into two main groups.

The first has to do with the impact of the economic crisis on patterns of social cohesion. With the end of the expansionist cycle driven by the high commodities prices, the means for sustaining the widely disseminated programs for income transfers and easy credit were becoming scarce. The emerging sectors lost the immediate prospect of their continued social ascent. More than a few analysts considered the dissatisfaction of those groups to be the fuse that led to the multitudinous demonstrations that took place in Brazil and other Latin American countries in 2013.

True, demonstrators in Sao Paulo held up banners that echoed the “networks of indignation and hope” (as put by Manuel Castells) that proliferated after the “occupy” movement with the disenchantment of traditional politics. Yet their main demand, for better living conditions, will continue to go unaddressed in Brazil and elsewhere as long as the state’s fiscal crisis continues.

The agenda of Latin American societies goes beyond vindicating quality infrastructure services. It includes calls for a genuine updating of the institutions. They want public security, repression of organized crime, transparency in the conduct of public affairs, effective oversight mechanisms, careful accountability by public agents, the end of patrimonialism, an end to practices that harm the national treasury, anti-corruption efforts, and an end to impunity – in summary, a series of positions that cannot be addressed without a coordinated action by the state and citizens. It is that institutional deficit that justifies negative assessments such as the EIU’s.

Yet the exception pointed out by the Democracy Index should be highlighted. After more than 20 years heading up the regional office of the Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance (IDEA), I am happy to confirm that Latin America’s electoral justice system, except for topical cases such as Venezuela, is going against the current. The electoral courts have effectively advocated the adoption of good practices and rules, from the use of new technologies at the service of greater transparency in elections to the endeavor to assure equity in electoral contests. Suffice it to turn to the Brazilian case, which became a reference worldwide in turning to electronic voting. How can one not testify in favor of a model which, in the first round of the 2014 elections, made it possible for 93.9% of the votes to be counted one hour after the polls closed without any evidence of fraud? How can one not welcome the gains in biometric identification, which will eliminate the risk of a repeated vote and make it possible to establish a single national registry? Not to mention the judicious regulation of access by parties and candidates to the media by the Supreme Electoral Tribunal.

Brazil’s electoral justice system has also highlighted the magnitude of the challenge of regulating campaign finance. The figures made available to the Supreme Electoral Tribunal on the weight of financing by companies reveal contributions of more than tens and even hundreds of millions of dollars in a single election campaign. It is an unparalleled phenomenon in the regional context, and perhaps internationally. The anomaly is sufficiently eloquent to justify a correction in direction, such as that adopted by the Federal Supreme Court, at the request of the Brazilian Bar Association (Ordem dos Advogados do Brasil), restricting private financing to natural persons. The adjustment in the party slates for the municipal elections next October will not be simple. Yet what is most important is that an important step was taken to affirm the autonomy of politics. And it happened, as it should, through the joint action of the state and society.

This piece was originally published in Estadão in Portuguese.

Recent political movements within the United States have raised concerns about the health of American democracy. With hyper-partisanship dividing the country and Donald Trump—the most unlikely, unsuitable, and unpopular presidential nominee of a major party in American history—securing the Republican nomination, the question emerges of whether democracy in America has gone awry.  And if so, is it too much or too little democracy that’s to blame?

To help address those questions, in this paper, Thomas E. Mann summarizes and discusses the findings of Christopher Achen and Larry Bartels’ ambitious treatise on American democracy: “Democracy for Realists.” Achen and Bartels contend that the traditional conception of voters as rational, attentive decision-makers does not hold against empirical evidence. Instead, voters are best understood as members of partisan groups, which influence their perception of candidates, issues, and even simple facts. According to Achen and Bartels, perceived social identities drive voting decisions, rather than rationality.

Mann notes that most scholars would agree that voters do not follow the expectations of idealistic models, but draws attention to competing theories that are far less damning to voters’ rationality. In particular, the research of Paul Sniderman and Arthur Lupia suggests that voters are far more capable than Achen and Bartels would assert. In their view, voters have enough rationality and information to ensure a well-functioning democracy.

As Mann summarizes the arguments:  Achen and Bartels believe that citizens and elections are held to impossible, idealistic standards in the folk theory of democracy, which perpetuates myths and works against government responsiveness. Sniderman and Lupia, on the other hand, are offended by those who dismiss citizens as ignorant and incompetent; they seek to defend voters’ dignity and demonstrate the rationality and efficacy of their behavior in American democracy.

What does this scholarship tell us about the coming presidential election, and the future of American democracy?  Ultimately, Mann concludes that Achen and Bartel’s perspective is not anti-democratic, even if it is built on a belief that too much importance is placed on the often random and myopic outcomes of elections.  Instead, Mann believes that “Democracy for Realists” reveals the real democratic deficit facing America is one stemming not from too much democracy, but  from “asymmetry in political resources and representation of different segments of American society.” Truly understanding this problem and its root cause is a step toward strengthening American democracy. 

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Editor’s Note: In the aftermath of the United Kingdom's vote to leave the European Union, we are left with more questions than answers. Dhruva Jaishankar writes that with all the questions about what happens next, there's a bigger question worth asking: What are the implications of Brexit for democracy? Arguably, Brexit represents the first major casualty of the ascent of digital democracy over representative democracy. This piece was originally posted by The Huffington Post.

In the aftermath of the United Kingdom's vote to leave the European Union, we are left with more questions than answers. What kind of relationship will the UK now forge with the EU, and how will that affect economic relations and migration? Will Scotland and Northern Ireland opt to leave? What is the future of British politics, given turbulence within both the Conservative and Labour Parties? Will a successful Brexit set a precedent for other EU members -- perhaps even some eurozone members-- to leave the union? What are the long-term economic consequences of the resulting uncertainty? Will Brexit even happen at all, given the absence of a clear post-referendum plan, the apparent unwillingness of 'Leave' campaign leaders to invoke Article 50 of the Lisbon Treaty, and the fact that the referendum was advisory and non-binding? Answers to these questions will make themselves evident in the coming weeks, months, and years.

[D]igital democracy... has contributed to polarization, gridlock, dissatisfaction and misinformation.

But there's a bigger question worth asking: What are the implications of Brexit for democracy? Arguably, Brexit represents the first major casualty of the ascent of digital democracy over representative democracy. This claim deserves an explanation.

When historians look back at the world of the past 25 years, they will likely associate it not with terrorism or growing inequality but with the twin phenomena of the "rise of the rest" (particularly China and India) and of globalization. Globalization involves the easier, faster and cheaper flow of goods, people, capital and information. One big enabler of globalization is the internet, the global network of networks that allows billions of people to cheaply and easily access enormous amounts of digital information. The rise of service and high-technology industries, trade liberalization, container shipping, and the development of financial markets have also been important enablers, as is the increased ease and lower cost of travel, particularly by air.

Many technology optimists have assumed that globalization would lead to the democratization of information and decision-making, and also greater cosmopolitanism. Citizens would be better informed, less likely to be silenced, and able to communicate their views more effectively to their leaders. They would also have greater empathy and understanding of other peoples the more they lived next to them, visited their countries, read their news, communicated, and did business with them. Or so the thinking went.

[L]eaders only exploit the vulnerabilities of a post-fact world. The conditions have been laid by the digital sphere.

But there has been little to justify such panglossianism. There is some evidence for a correlation between greater information, political democratization and economic progress, in that all three have advanced steadily, if at different paces, over the past two decades. But that correlation is weak. Instead, digital democracy -- the ability to receive information in almost real time through mass media and to make one's voice heard through social media -- has contributed to polarization, gridlock, dissatisfaction and misinformation. This is as equally applicable to the countries in which modern democracy took root -- in the United States and Europe -- as it is to India, the biggest and most complex democracy in the developing world.

The ascent of digital democracy around the world has some shared features. One characteristic is that access to greater information has, rather counterintuitively, contributed to a "post-fact" information environment. Nick Cohen -- speaking of British pro-"Leave" journalists-turned-politicians Boris Johnson and Michael Gove --called out their use of bold claims, their contempt for practical questions, their sneering disregard for expertise, and their transgressions of the bounds of political spin. These tactics are not all that dissimilar to Donald Trump's assertions about Barack Obama's birth certificate or immigration policies, or Subramanian Swamy's insinuations about the nationality of senior Indian policymakers.

But leaders only exploit the vulnerabilities of a post-fact world. The conditions have been laid by the digital sphere. A recent example springs to mind. There is a widespread belief on Indian social media that US presidential candidate Hillary Clinton is somehow anti-India, pro-Pakistan, and/or anti-Modi. I am no supporter of Ms. Clinton, but as someone who worked on foreign affairs in Washington and knows many of her advisors, I found these claims baffling. In fact, Clinton's political opponents (whether Barack Obama in 2008 or Donald Trump in 2016) have accused her of being too close to India, while Pakistanis often view her as critical of their country and Prime Minister Modi appears to enjoy cordial relations with her. After some inquiries, and a few tips, I managed to trace these sentiments to a single publication, a poorly sourced and misleading column that gained widespread circulation upon its release. The article's contents were deemed sufficiently credible to have now become instilled as absolute fact in the minds of many Indians active online. In a digital democracy, a lie or (better yet) a half-lie if told enough times becomes truth.

In a digital democracy, a lie or (better yet) a half-lie if told enough times becomes truth.

Another outcome of digital democracy may be a variation of what the psychologist Barry Schwartz has called the paradox of choice. Quite possibly, the greater abundance of political choice leads to less satisfaction, and the result is citizens increasingly voicing their displeasure with their available political and policy choices. The political platforms of mainstream parties rarely adhere entirely to individual voters' views. That may explain why many voters are gravitating towards parties, factions or leaders who offer the simplest messages, and project themselves as alternatives to the mainstream.

A third result of digital democracy, and one that has been better documented, is the political echo chamber. Social media, rather than creating connections with people who possess differing views and ideologies, tends to reinforce prejudices. As the psychologist Nicholas DiFonzo has noted, "Americans across the political spectrum tend to trust the news media (and 'facts' provided by the media) less than their own social group." This makes it easier for views and rumours to circulate and intensify within like-minded groups. Similar digital gerrymandering was evident in the EU Referendum in Britain and the polarization is palpable in the Indian online political space.

Finally, instant information has increased the theatricality of politics. With public statements and positions by governments, political parties and individual leaders now broadcast to constituents in real time, compromise, a necessary basis of good governance, has become more difficult. When portrayed as a betrayal of core beliefs, compromise often amounts to political suicide. Political grandstanding also contributes to legislative gridlock, with elected representatives often resorting to walkouts, sit-ins, or insults -- all manufactured for maximum viral effect -- instead of trying to reach solutions behind closed doors. Even as ease of travel allows legislators to spend more time in their constituencies, making them more sensitized to their constituents' concerns, less gets done at the national or supranational level. It is a trend that, once again, applies equally to the United States, Europe, and India.

Social media, rather than creating connections with people who possess differing views and ideologies, tends to reinforce prejudices.

The unintended consequences of digital democracy -- misinformation and discontent, polarization and gridlock -- mean that the boundary between politician and troll is blurring. The tone of democratic politics increasingly reflects that of anonymous online discourse: nasty, brutish, and short. And successful politicians are increasingly those who are able to take advantage of the resulting sentiments. Exploiting divisions, appealing to base instincts, making outlandish claims, resorting to falsehoods, and pooh-poohing details and expertise. All that could just as easily describe the playbooks of populists around the world, on the right and left: Marine Le Pen, Frauke Petry, Donald Trump or Subramanian Swamy as much as Jeremy Corbyn, Beppe Grillo, Bernie Sanders or Arvind Kejriwal.

The unintended consequences of digital democracy -- misinformation and discontent, polarization and gridlock -- mean that the boundary between politician and troll is blurring.

In all these cases, populists are willing to cross the lines that mainstream parties have flirted with, becoming forces that the centre cannot hold. US Republicans fanned the anti-immigration sentiments that first the Tea Party and then Trump are only taking to their natural conclusions, just as mainstream Democrats' economic protectionism has been seized upon by Sanders. Cameron's euroscepticism, explained away initially as constructive criticism, spiralled out of control with Brexit, just as those who pronounced the death of New Labour helped paved the way for Corbyn. Will the same one day apply in India, to the economic populism of the Congress, of which Kejriwal has become a new torchbearer, or to the chauvinism of the right, which Swamy now threatens to run away with?

Brexit is not anti-globalization so much as a product of globalization. It is also a product of democracy rather than an affront to it. But it is a democracy of a different sort, one that many of its ideological forebears anticipated. When James Madison warned of "the superior force of an interested and overbearing majority," or John Stuart Mill cautioned against "a social tyranny more formidable than many kinds of political oppression," or BR Ambedkar argued (in a slightly different context) that "political tyranny is nothing compared to social tyranny," they could just as easily have been speaking in 2016 as in 1787, 1859, or 1936. Democrats around the world may not yet be married to the mob, but plenty have been betrothed.

None of this should be interpreted as some kind of nostalgia for an older, simpler world. That world was not necessarily simpler, but it was more violent and chaotic, prejudiced and unfair, and poor and backward. It may be hard to discern amid the smoke and noise, but there are some benefits to digital democracy. Information is no longer in the hands of the few. It is easier than ever to bring injustices to light. And the same process can throw up mainstream leaders from backgrounds that are far from privileged, such as a Barack Obama, Angela Merkel, or Narendra Modi. Two of the three, Obama and Modi, rose to power on the backs of unprecedented social media movements.

But representative democracy as we have come to know it is under threat, and Brexit represents the first major casualty. Rather than fight the tide, a collective rethink is needed about how to make democracies resilient and productive in the digital age. It won't be easy.

Politics follows geopolitics, or so it has often seemed throughout history. When the Athenian democracy’s empire rose in the fifth century B.C.E., the number of Greek city-states ruled by democrats proliferated; Sparta’s power was reflected in the spread of Spartan-style oligarchies. When the Soviet Union’s power rose in the early Cold War years, communism spread. In the later Cold War years, when the United States and Western Europe gained the advantage and ultimately triumphed, democracies proliferated and communism collapsed. Was this all just the outcome of the battle of ideas, as Francis Fukuyama and others argue, with the better idea of liberal capitalism triumphing over the worse ideas of communism and fascism? Or did liberal ideas triumph in part because of real battles and shifts that occurred less in the realm of thought than in the realm of power?

These are relevant questions again. We live in a time when democratic nations are in retreat in the realm of geopolitics, and when democracy itself is also in retreat. The latter phenomenon has been well documented by Freedom House, which has recorded declines in freedom in the world for nine straight years. At the level of geopolitics, the shifting tectonic plates have yet to produce a seismic rearrangement of power, but rumblings are audible. The United States has been in a state of retrenchment since President Barack Obama took office in 2009. The democratic nations of Europe, which some might have expected to pick up the slack, have instead turned inward and all but abandoned earlier dreams of reshaping the international system in their image. As for such rising democracies as Brazil, India, Turkey, and South Africa, they are neither rising as fast as once anticipated nor yet behaving as democracies in world affairs. Their focus remains narrow and regional. Their national identities remain shaped by postcolonial and nonaligned sensibilities—by old but carefully nursed resentments—which lead them, for instance, to shield rather than condemn autocratic Russia’s invasion of democratic Ukraine, or, in the case of Brazil, to prefer the company of Venezuelan dictators to that of North American democratic presidents.

Meanwhile, insofar as there is energy in the international system, it comes from the great-power autocracies, China and Russia, and from would-be theocrats pursuing their dream of a new caliphate in the Middle East. For all their many problems and weaknesses, it is still these autocracies and these aspiring religious totalitarians that push forward while the democracies draw back, that act while the democracies react, and that seem increasingly unleashed while the democracies feel increasingly constrained.

It should not be surprising that one of the side effects of these circumstances has been the weakening and in some cases collapse of democracy in those places where it was newest and weakest. Geopolitical shifts among the reigning great powers, often but not always the result of wars, can have significant effects on the domestic politics of the smaller and weaker nations of the world. Global democratizing trends have been stopped and reversed before.

Consider the interwar years. In 1920, when the number of democracies in the world had doubled in the aftermath of the First World War, contemporaries such as the British historian James Bryce believed that they were witnessing “a natural trend, due to a general law of social progress.”[1] Yet almost immediately the new democracies in Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, and Poland began to fall. Europe’s democratic great powers, France and Britain, were suffering the effects of the recent devastating war, while the one rich and healthy democratic power, the United States, had retreated to the safety of its distant shores. In the vacuum came Mussolini’s rise to power in Italy in 1922, the crumbling of Germany’s Weimar Republic, and the broader triumph of European fascism. Greek democracy fell in 1936. Spanish democracy fell to Franco that same year. Military coups overthrew democratic governments in Portugal, Brazil, Uruguay, and Argentina. Japan’s shaky democracy succumbed to military rule and then to a form of fascism.

Across three continents, fragile democracies gave way to authoritarian forces exploiting the vulnerabilities of the democratic system, while other democracies fell prey to the worldwide economic depression. There was a ripple effect, too—the success of fascism in one country strengthened similar movements elsewhere, sometimes directly. Spanish fascists received military assistance from the fascist regimes in Germany and Italy. The result was that by 1939 the democratic gains of the previous forty years had been wiped out.

The period after the First World War showed not only that democratic gains could be reversed, but that democracy need not always triumph even in the competition of ideas. For it was not just that democracies had been overthrown. The very idea of democracy had been “discredited,” as John A. Hobson observed.[2] Democracy’s aura of inevitability vanished as great numbers of people rejected the idea that it was a better form of government. Human beings, after all, do not yearn only for freedom, autonomy, individuality, and recognition. Especially in times of difficulty, they yearn also for comfort, security, order, and, importantly, a sense of belonging to something larger than themselves, something that submerges autonomy and individuality—all of which autocracies can sometimes provide, or at least appear to provide, better than democracies. 

In the 1920s and 1930s, the fascist governments looked stronger, more energetic and efficient, and more capable of providing reassurance in troubled times. They appealed effectively to nationalist, ethnic, and tribal sentiments. The many weaknesses of Germany’s Weimar democracy, inadequately supported by the democratic great powers, and of the fragile and short-lived democracies of Italy and Spain made their people susceptible to the appeals of the Nazis, Mussolini, and Franco, just as the weaknesses of Russian democracy in the 1990s made a more authoritarian government under Vladimir Putin attractive to many Russians. People tend to follow winners, and between the wars the democratic-capitalist countries looked weak and in retreat compared with the apparently vigorous fascist regimes and with Stalin’s Soviet Union.

It took a second world war and another military victory by the Allied democracies (plus the Soviet Union) to reverse the trend again. The United States imposed democracy by force and through prolonged occupations in West Germany, Italy, Japan, Austria, and South Korea. With the victory of the democracies and the discrediting of fascism—chiefly on the battlefield—many other countries followed suit. Greece and Turkey both moved in a democratic direction, as did Brazil, Argentina, Peru, Ecuador, Venezuela, and Colombia. Some of the new nations born as Europe shed its colonies also experimented with democratic government, the most prominent example being India. By 1950, the number of democracies had grown to between twenty and thirty, and they governed close to 40 percent of the world’s population.

Was this the victory of an idea or the victory of arms? Was it the product of an inevitable human evolution or, as Samuel P. Huntington later observed, of “historically discrete events”?[3] We would prefer to believe the former, but evidence suggests the latter, for it turned out that even the great wave of democracy following World War II was not irreversible. Another “reverse wave” hit from the late 1950s through the early 1970s. Peru, Brazil, Argentina, Bolivia, Chile, Uruguay, Ecuador, South Korea, the Philippines, Pakistan, Indonesia, and Greece all fell back under authoritarian rule. In Africa, Nigeria was the most prominent of the newly decolonized nations where democracy failed. By 1975, more than three-dozen governments around the world had been installed by military coups.[4] Few spoke of democracy’s inevitability in the 1970s or even in the early 1980s. As late as 1984, Huntington himself believed that “the limits of democratic development in the world” had been reached, noting the “unreceptivity to democracy of several major cultural traditions,” as well as “the substantial power of antidemocratic governments (particularly the Soviet Union).”[5]

But then, unexpectedly, came the “third wave.” From the mid-1970s through the early 1990s, the number of democracies in the world rose to an astonishing 120, representing well over half the world’s population. What explained the prolonged success of democratization over the last quarter of the twentieth century? It could not have been merely the steady rise of the global economy and the general yearning for freedom, autonomy, and recognition. Neither economic growth nor human yearnings had prevented the democratic reversals of the 1960s and early 1970s. Until the third wave, many nations around the world careened back and forth between democracy and authoritarianism in a cyclical, almost predictable manner. What was most notable about the third wave was that this cyclical alternation between democracy and autocracy was interrupted. Nations moved into a democratic phase and stayed there. But why?

The International Climate Improves

The answer is related to the configuration of power and ideas in the world. The international climate from the mid-1970s onward was simply more hospitable to democracies and more challenging to autocratic governments than had been the case in past eras. In his study, Huntington emphasized the change, following the Second Vatican Council, in the Catholic Church’s doctrine regarding order and revolution, which tended to weaken the legitimacy of authoritarian governments in Catholic countries. The growing success and attractiveness of the European Community (EC), meanwhile, had an impact on the internal policies of nations such as Portugal, Greece, and Spain, which sought the economic benefits of membership in the EC and therefore felt pressure to conform to its democratic norms. These norms increasingly became international norms. But they did not appear out of nowhere or as the result of some natural evolution of the human species. As Huntington noted, “The pervasiveness of democratic norms rested in large part on the commitment to those norms of the most powerful country in the world.[6]

The United States, in fact, played a critical role in making the explosion of democracy possible. This was not because U.S. policy makers consistently promoted democracy around the world. They did not. At various times throughout the Cold War, U.S. policy often supported dictatorships as part of the battle against communism or simply out of indifference. It even permitted or was complicit in the overthrow of democratic regimes deemed unreliable—those of Mohammad Mossadegh in Iran in 1953, Jacobo Arbenz in Guatemala in 1954, and Salvador Allende in Chile in 1973. At times, U.S. foreign policy was almost hostile to democracy. President Richard Nixon regarded it as “not necessarily the best form of government for people in Asia, Africa, and Latin America.”[7] 

Nor, when the United States did support democracy, was it purely out of fealty to principle. Often it was for strategic reasons. Officials in President Ronald Reagan’s administration came to believe that democratic governments might actually be better than autocracies at fending off communist insurgencies, for instance. And often it was popular local demands that compelled the United States to make a choice that it would otherwise have preferred to avoid, between supporting an unpopular and possibly faltering dictatorship and “getting on the side of the people.” Reagan would have preferred to support the dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos in the 1980s had he not been confronted by the moral challenge of Filipino “people power.” Rarely if ever did the United States seek a change of regime primarily out of devotion to democratic principles.

Beginning in the mid-1970s, however, the general inclination of the United States did begin to shift toward a more critical view of dictatorship. The U.S. Congress, led by human-rights advocates, began to condition or cut off U.S. aid to authoritarian allies, which weakened their hold on power. In the Helsinki Accords of 1975, a reference to human-rights issues drew greater attention to the cause of dissidents and other opponents of dictatorship in the Eastern bloc. President Jimmy Carter focused attention on the human-rights abuses of the Soviet Union as well as of right-wing governments in Latin America and elsewhere. The U.S. government’s international information services, including the Voice of America and Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, put greater emphasis on democracy and human rights in their programming. The Reagan administration, after first trying to roll back Carter’s human-rights agenda, eventually embraced it and made the promotion of democracy part of its stated (if not always its actual) policy. Even during this period, U.S. policy was far from consistent. Many allied dictatorships, especially in the Middle East, were not only tolerated but actively supported with U.S. economic and military aid. But the net effect of the shift in U.S. policy, joined with the efforts of Europe, was significant.

The third wave began in 1974 in Portugal, where the Carnation Revolution put an end to a half-century of dictatorship. As Larry Diamond notes, this revolution did not just happen. The United States and the European democracies played a key role, making a “heavy investment . . . in support of the democratic parties.”[8] Over the next decade and a half, the United States used a variety of tools, including direct military intervention, to aid democratic transitions and prevent the undermining of existing fragile democracies all across the globe. In 1978, Carter threatened military action in the Dominican Republic when long-serving president Joaquín Balaguer refused to give up power after losing an election. In 1983, Reagan’s invasion of Grenada restored a democratic government after a military coup. In 1986, the United States threatened military action to prevent Marcos from forcibly annulling an election that he had lost. In 1989, President George H.W. Bush invaded Panama to help install democracy after military strongman Manuel Noriega had annulled his nation’s elections. 

Throughout this period, too, the United States used its influence to block military coups in Honduras, Bolivia, El Salvador, Peru, and South Korea. Elsewhere it urged presidents not to try staying in office beyond constitutional limits. Huntington estimated that over the course of about a decade and a half, U.S. support had been “critical to democratization in the Dominican Republic, Grenada, El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, Uruguay, Peru, Ecuador, Panama, and the Philippines” and was “a contributing factor to democratization in Portugal, Chile, Poland, Korea, Bolivia, and Taiwan.”[9]

Many developments both global and local helped to produce the democratizing trend of the late 1970s and the 1980s, and there might have been a democratic wave even if the United States had not been so influential. The question is whether the wave would have been as large and as lasting. The stable zones of democracy in Europe and Japan proved to be powerful magnets. The liberal free-market and free-trade system increasingly outperformed the stagnating economies of the socialist bloc, especially at the dawn of the information revolution. The greater activism of the United States, together with that of other successful democracies, helped to build a broad, if not universal, consensus that was more sympathetic to democratic forms of government and less sympathetic to authoritarian forms.

Diamond and others have noted how important it was that these “global democratic norms” came to be “reflected in regional and international institutions and agreements as never before.”[10] Those norms had an impact on the internal political processes of countries, making it harder for authoritarians to weather political and economic storms and easier for democratic movements to gain legitimacy. But “norms” are transient as well. In the 1930s, the trendsetting nations were fascist dictatorships. In the 1950s and 1960s, variants of socialism were in vogue. But from the 1970s until recently, the United States and a handful of other democratic powers set the fashion trend. They pushed—some might even say imposed—democratic principles and embedded them in international institutions and agreements.

Equally important was the role that the United States played in preventing backsliding away from democracy where it had barely taken root. Perhaps the most significant U.S. contribution was simply to prevent military coups against fledgling democratic governments. In a sense, the United States was interfering in what might have been a natural cycle, preventing nations that ordinarily would have been “due” for an authoritarian phase from following the usual pattern. It was not that the United States was exporting democracy everywhere. More often, it played the role of “catcher in the rye”—preventing young democracies from falling off the cliff—in places such as the Philippines, Colombia, and Panama. This helped to give the third wave unprecedented breadth and durability.

Finally, there was the collapse of the Soviet Union and with it the fall of Central and Eastern Europe’s communist regimes and their replacement by democracies. What role the United States played in hastening the Soviet downfall may be in dispute, but surely it played some part, both by containing the Soviet empire militarily and by outperforming it economically and technologically. And at the heart of the struggle were the peoples of the former Warsaw Pact countries themselves. They had long yearned to achieve the liberation of their respective nations from the Soviet Union, which also meant liberation from communism. These peoples wanted to join the rest of Europe, which offered an economic and social model that was even more attractive than that of the United States. 

That Central and East Europeans uniformly chose democratic forms of government, however, was not simply the fruit of aspirations for freedom or comfort. It also reflected the desires of these peoples to place themselves under the U.S. security umbrella. The strategic, the economic, the political, and the ideological were thus inseparable. Those nations that wanted to be part of NATO, and later of the European Union, knew that they would stand no chance of admission without democratic credentials. These democratic transitions, which turned the third wave into a democratic tsunami, need not have occurred had the world been configured differently. That a democratic, united, and prosperous Western Europe was even there to exert a powerful magnetic pull on its eastern neighbors was due to U.S. actions after World War II.

The Lost Future of 1848

Contrast the fate of democratic movements in the late twentieth century with that of the liberal revolutions that swept Europe in 1848. Beginning in France, the “Springtime of the Peoples,” as it was known, included liberal reformers and constitutionalists, nationalists, and representatives of the rising middle class as well as radical workers and socialists. In a matter of weeks, they toppled kings and princes and shook thrones in France, Poland, Austria, and Romania, as well as the Italian peninsula and the German principalities. In the end, however, the liberal movements failed, partly because they lacked cohesion, but also because the autocratic powers forcibly crushed them. The Prussian army helped to defeat liberal movements in the German lands, while the Russian czar sent his troops into Romania and Hungary. Tens of thousands of protesters were killed in the streets of Europe. The sword proved mightier than the pen.

It mattered that the more liberal powers, Britain and France, adopted a neutral posture throughout the liberal ferment, even though France’s own revolution had sparked and inspired the pan-European movement. The British monarchy and aristocracy were afraid of radicalism at home. Both France and Britain were more concerned with preserving peace among the great powers than with providing assistance to fellow liberals. The preservation of the European balance among the five great powers benefited the forces of counterrevolution everywhere, and the Springtime of the Peoples was suppressed.[11] As a result, for several decades the forces of reaction in Europe were strengthened against the forces of liberalism.

Scholars have speculated about how differently Europe and the world might have evolved had the liberal revolutions of 1848 succeeded: How might German history have unfolded had national unification been achieved under a liberal parliamentary system rather than under the leadership of Otto von Bismarck? The “Iron Chancellor” unified the nation not through elections and debates, but through military victories won by the great power of the conservative Prussian army under the Hohenzollern dynasty. As the historian A.J.P. Taylor observed, history reached a turning point in 1848, but Germany “failed to turn.”[12] Might Germans have learned a different lesson from the one that Bismarck taught—namely, that “the great questions of the age are not decided by speeches and majority decisions . . . but by blood and iron”?[13] Yet the international system of the day was not configured in such a way as to encourage liberal and democratic change. The European balance of power in the mid-nineteenth century did not favor democracy, and so it is not surprising that democracy failed to triumph anywhere.[14] 

We can also speculate about how differently today’s world might have evolved without the U.S. role in shaping an international environment favorable to democracy, and how it might evolve should the United States find itself no longer strong enough to play that role. Democratic transitions are not inevitable, even where the conditions may be ripe. Nations may enter a transition zone—economically, socially, and politically—where the probability of moving in a democratic direction increases or decreases. But foreign influences, usually exerted by the reigning great powers, often determine which direction change takes. Strong authoritarian powers willing to support conservative forces against liberal movements can undo what might otherwise have been a “natural” evolution to democracy, just as powerful democratic nations can help liberal forces that, left to their own devices, might otherwise fail. 

In the 1980s as in the 1840s, liberal movements arose for their own reasons in different countries, but their success or failure was influenced by the balance of power at the international level. In the era of U.S. predominance, the balance was generally favorable to democracy, which helps to explain why the liberal revolutions of that later era succeeded. Had the United States not been so powerful, there would have been fewer transitions to democracy, and those that occurred might have been short-lived. It might have meant a shallower and more easily reversed third wave.[15] 

Democracy, Autocracy, and Power

What about today? With the democratic superpower curtailing its global influence, regional powers are setting the tone in their respective regions. Not surprisingly, dictatorships are more common in the environs of Russia, along the borders of China (North Korea, Burma, and Thailand), and in the Middle East, where long dictatorial traditions have so far mostly withstood the challenge of popular uprisings.

But even in regions where democracies remain strong, authoritarians have been able to make a determined stand while their democratic neighbors passively stand by. Thus Hungary’s leaders, in the heart of an indifferent Europe, proclaim their love of illiberalism and crack down on press and political freedoms while the rest of the European Union, supposedly a club for democracies only, looks away. In South America, democracy is engaged in a contest with dictatorship, but an indifferent Brazil looks on, thinking only of trade and of North American imperialism. Meanwhile in Central America, next door to an indifferent Mexico, democracy collapses under the weight of drugs and crime and the resurgence of the caudillos. Yet it may be unfair to blame regional powers for not doing what they have never done. Insofar as the shift in the geopolitical equation has affected the fate of democracies worldwide, it is probably the change in the democratic superpower’s behavior that bears most of the responsibility.

If that superpower does not change its course, we are likely to see democracy around the world rolled back further. There is nothing inevitable about democracy. The liberal world order we have been living in these past decades was not bequeathed by “the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God.” It is not the endpoint of human progress.

There are those who would prefer a world order different from the liberal one. Until now, however, they have not been able to have their way, but not because their ideas of governance are impossible to enact. Who is to say that Putinism in Russia or China’s particular brand of authoritarianism will not survive as far into the future as European democracy, which, after all, is less than a century old on most of the continent? Autocracy in Russia and China has certainly been around longer than any Western democracy. Indeed, it is autocracy, not democracy, that has been the norm in human history—only in recent decades have the democracies, led by the United States, had the power to shape the world.

Skeptics of U.S. “democracy promotion” have long argued that many of the places where the democratic experiment has been tried over the past few decades are not a natural fit for that form of government, and that the United States has tried to plant democracy in some very infertile soils. Given that democratic governments have taken deep root in widely varying circumstances, from impoverished India to “Confucian” East Asia to Islamic Indonesia, we ought to have some modesty about asserting where the soil is right or not right for democracy. Yet it should be clear that the prospects for democracy have been much better under the protection of a liberal world order, supported and defended by a democratic superpower or by a collection of democratic great powers. Today, as always, democracy is a fragile flower. It requires constant support, constant tending, and the plucking of weeds and fencing-off of the jungle that threaten it both from within and without. In the absence of such efforts, the jungle and the weeds may sooner or later come back to reclaim the land.

[1] Quoted in Samuel P. Huntington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1991), 17.

[2] Quoted in John Keane, The Life and Death of Democracy (New York: W.W. Norton, 2009), 573.

[3] Huntington, Third Wave, 40.

[4] Huntington, Third Wave, 21.

[5] Samuel P. Huntington, “Will More Countries Become Democratic?” Political Science Quarterly 99 (Summer 1984): 193–218; quoted in Larry Diamond, The Spirit of Democracy: The Struggle to Build Free Societies Throughout the World (New York: Times Books, 2008), 10.

[6] Huntington, Third Wave, 47.

[7] Odd Arne Westad, The Global Cold War: Third World Interventions and the Making of Our Times (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 196.

[8] Diamond, Spirit of Democracy, 5.

[9] Huntington, Third Wave, 98.

[10] Diamond, Spirit of Democracy, 13.

[11] Mike Rapport, 1848: Year of Revolution (New York: Basic Books, 2009), 409.

[12] A.J.P. Taylor, The Course of German History: A Survey of the Development of German History Since 1815 (London: Routledge, 2001; orig. publ. 1945), 71.

[13] Rapport, 1848, 401–402.

[14] As Huntington paraphrased the findings of Jonathan Sunshine: “External influences in Europe before 1830 were fundamentally antidemocratic and hence held up democratization. Between 1830 and 1930 . . . the external environment was neutral . . . hence democratization proceeded in different countries more or less at the pace set by economic and social development.” Huntington, Third Wave, 86.

[15] As Huntington observed, “The absence of the United States from the process would have meant fewer and later transitions to democracy.” Huntington, Third Wave, 98.

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Despite the attention on the mid-term races, few elections are competitive. Electoral competition, already low at the national level, is in decline in state and primary elections as well. Reformers, who point to gerrymandering and a host of other targets for change, argue that improving competition will produce voters who are more interested in elections, better-informed on issues, and more likely to turn out to the polls.

On October 27, the Brookings Institution—in conjunction with the Cato Institute and The Pew Research Center—presented a discussion and a groundbreaking survey exploring the attitudes and opinions of voters in competitive and noncompetitive congressional districts. The survey, part of Pew's regular polling on voter attitudes, was conducted through the weekend of October 21. A series of questions explored the public's perceptions, knowledge, and opinions about electoral competitiveness.

The discussion also explored a publication that addresses the startling lack of competition in our democratic system. The Marketplace of Democracy: Electoral Competition and American Politics (Brookings, 2006), considers the historical development, legal background, and political aspects of a system that is supposed to be responsive and accountable, yet for many is becoming stagnant, self-perpetuating, and tone-deaf. Michael McDonald, editor and Brookings visiting fellow, moderated a discussion among co-editor John Samples, director of the Center for Representative Government at the Cato Institute, and Andrew Kohut and Scott Keeter from The Pew Research Center, who also discussed the survey.

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