Alan Knight - Democratic and Revolutionary Traditions in Latin America

Society for Latin American Studies (SLAS)
Democratic and Revolutionary Traditions in Latin America

Author(s): Alan Knight
Source: Bulletin of Latin American Research, Vol. 20, No. 2 (Apr., 2001), pp. 147-186
Published by: Wiley on behalf of Society for Latin American Studies (SLAS)
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Bulletinof LatinAmericanResearch,Vol. 20, No. 2, pp. 147-186,2001
and
Democratic
in
Traditions
ALAN
Revolutionary
Latin
America*
KNIGHT
St Antony's
College,
Oxford
OX2
6JF
This article seeks to identifyand explain the historical links between

democracy and revolution in Latin America. It first defines and
analyses 'democratic' and 'revolutionary'traditionsin the continent.It
Latin American liberalism
notes the precocity of nineteenth-century
which, stimulated by the independence struggles,carried implications
for the subsequent onset of democracy in the twentiethcentury.It then
presents a typology of five twentieth-centurypolitical permutations
(social democracy, revolutionarypopulism, statist populism, socialist
revolution, and authoritarian reaction), seeking to tease out the
corresponding relationshipsbetween the two 'traditions'. It concludes
(inter alia) that the current triumph of liberal democracy in Latin
America, while in part attributable to historical precedent, is also
significantlycontingent,and dependent on the apparent exhaustion of
the revolutionarytradition.
Keywords: Authoritarianism, Democracy, Liberalism, Populism,
Revolution, Rights, Tradition.
This article tries to unravel two crucial threads in Latin America's political
democracy and revolution, their respective 'traditions' and mutual
history
relationships. It begins with some some conceptual clarification. For, while
starting articles with a pernickety 'naming of parts' is not necessarily good

rhetorical practice, in this case, when we are handling several slippery parts revolution, democracy, tradition - it is probably as well to make the attempt, in
dropping things and generating confusion. Foilowing a brief

clarification, therefore, I offer a broad and schematic analysis of democratic and
revolutionary traditions in Latin America which invites comparison with other
cases.
order to avoid
* This
paper was writtenin response to an invitation to participate in a cross-national
panel on 'Democratic Traditions and Revolutionary Traditions' at the American
Historical Association 114th Annual Meeting, Chicago, January 2000. It has been
rewrittenin light of helpful readers' comments.
Published
? 2001Society
forLatinAmerican
Studies.
Publishers,
byBlackwell
OX4 1JF,UK and350MainStreet,
108CowleyRoad,Oxford
Malden,MA 02148,USA.
147
Alan Knight
1. Democracy,
revolution,
tradition
Of the three constituent concepts, 'democracy' is the most fully theorized and, I
would say, theorizable. That is to say, it is a useful - as well as an actual concept; whereas revolution and, a fortiori, tradition, are less well worked and, I
would suggest, less useful; 'tradition', in fact, is often more trouble than it's
worth. The rough consensus among political scientists today is to take liberal
representative democracy, often defined in Dahlian ('polyarchic') terms, as the
norm: this definition would embrace the twin principles of (i) free association and
expression (civic rights) and (ii) electoral participation (political rights).1 Of

course, this definition is not meant to be normative (we are not saying this is best
system), or exclusive (that it is the only form of democracy, either conceptually or
practically). Indeed, a principal concern of this article is to consider how

alternative forms of 'democracy' ('illiberal', 'non-bourgeois', 'participatory')
have been conceived, not least by regimes of 'revolutionary' provenance and
'tradition'. Thus, critics of bourgeois democracy have touted the claims whether in theory or practice - of popular, participatory, organic, direct, social,
and workers' democracy. They have justified these claims, it seems to me, in
terms of two supposed advantages: first,superior representation (representation

that is more direct, transparent, and inherently democratic); and, second,
superior provision of welfare, of socio-economic benefits (thus,'social rights', the
third of MarshalPs famous triad, are grafted on to civic and political rights)
(Marshall, 1977). Beneficiaries will thereby enjoy the political rights of Athenian
citizens coupled with the welfare provision of, say, the Swedish welfare state in
its heyday. In turn, critics of these critics have in turn called - in Enrique Krauze's
words - for a 'democacy without adjectives', that is, a plain, unadorned,
procedural, Dahlian democracy (Krauze, 1986).

The previous paragraph contained the crucial qualifier 'in theory or practice'.
Throughout the discussion it is clearly necessary to distinguish between, on the
one hand, rhetorical claims made for either greater political representation or
fairer socioeconomic arrangements, and, on the other hand, practical outcomes,

which may be quite different. It may also be interesting (if difficult) to try to
assess whether, when theory and practice diverge, such divergence is the result of:
initial -
or 'structuraP? - hypocrisy: the theory was never seriously

entertained in the first place; the Bolsheviks never contemplated a workers'
democracy; it was merely a rhetorical ploy; or
(b) creeping - or 'contingent'? - hypocrisy, alias 'the revolution betrayed'; an
instance of the old Actonian principle,2 whereby, for example, the
Bolsheviks, Stalin in particular, though initially sincere, succumbed to the
lure of power and the pressures of paranoia; or
(a)
1 See Dahl (1971) and, forglosses and operationalizationsof the definition,Held (1996,
pp. 201-8); Huntington (1991, pp. 6-9); Lopez-Alves (2000, p. 4).
2 'All power corrupts,absolute power corruptsabsolutely'.
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(c)
and Revolutionary Traditions in Latin America
ineluctable circumstances; the iogic of the revolution'; what might be called

the MacMillan principle;4 that is, the revolution blown off course by hostile
storms, whether of domestic or external origin (e.g., the Kornilov rebellion,
the Allied intervention in Russia); all of which oblige initially sincere
revolutionaries to renege on their early promises.
to say, these three interpretations - to which I shall briefly return in

conclusion - are not mutually exclusive; most revolutionary situations embody
aspects of all three.
But there is an important and easily overlooked rider to this (familiar)
Needless
argument. Revolutionary regimes are not the only ones to dispiay a yawning gap
between theory and practice, between the 'public' and 'hidden' transcripts (Scott,
1990). Nor are they the only ones to try to bridge the gap by specious reasoning
and hollow rhetoric. Liberal-bourgeois regimes are also pretty good at claiming a
false fidelity to their self-proclaimed (democratic) principles. Slavery coexisted

for decades with the Bill of Rights; women were denied the vote - even in
'consolidated' democracies - for even longer (Collier, 1999, pp. 26-7; Markoff,
1996, pp. 55-6). Today, as (Dahlian) democracy has again become the norm in
Latin America (only Cuba and, some would say, Venezuela now buck the trend),
it is a democracy of many colours, which, apart from its inherent fragility,
embodies significant failings: less than transparent elections;6 manipulated
media; endemic corruption (Little and Posada-Carbo, 1996, chaps. 3, 9-12); and
recurrent political violence (Koonings and Kruijt, 1999).8 Indeed, it may be true
Knight (1986,1, p. 302) which stressesthe importanceof 'factors' (exigencies,motives,
loyalties) which cannot be explained purely or even primarily in terms of prior
(structural?)'factors' (e.g., class, ideology, geography,ethnicity),but which have to be
seen in terms of the contingentlogic of the Revolution. Indeed, it mightbe roughly
generalized that as revolutionsproceed, so the prior structuralfactorslose importance
relative to the contingent.
What did politicians most fear,BritishPrime Minister Harold MacMillan was asked?
To which he replied: 'events, my dear boy, events'.
It is worth stressingthat the question of fragility,however crucial in practical terms,
has to be analyticallyseparated fromthe question of democratic status: you can have
genuine - but fragile- democracies, just as you can have strongand durable pseudodemocracies: see Huntington (1991, pp. 10-11).
Mexico, whose 'transition'to democracy has been the most haltingand ambiguous of
all the major Latin American countries, has neverthelessadvanced significantlyin
terms of clean, competitiveelections, hence of greater political pluralism, which the
presidentialelection of July2000 seemed to confirm.State elections (e.g., Tabasco in
October 2000) are another matter.As of 1998, 61% of Mexicans expected elections to
be 'dirty' (as against 33% who expected them to be clean); Costa Ricans and Chileans
had quite differentperceptions: Costa Ricans: 28% (dirty)and 63% (clean), Chileans
23% and 68%: see Hewlett/MORI (1998, p. 34).
As elections are cleaned up, so critical focus has switched to the broader context of
political campaigning and electioneering,notably party fundingand media coverage:
for example Orme (1997); Skidmore (1993).
Indeed, there is some suggestiveevidence from Mexico that, as political competition
and pluralism increase, so political violence (e.g., attacks on party activists and
journalists) also increases; thus, civil and political rights do not march ahead in
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that South America's most democratic country (Colombia) is also its most
violent. Hence, students of Latin American politics have resorted to their own
academic qualifiers (counterparts of the politicians' 'workers', 'social', and
'organic' democracy): 'hybrid regimes', 'delegative democracy', 'low-intensity
- all of which seek to
democracy'
convey the outstanding 'democratic deficit'
which Latin America suffers (Von Mettenheim and Malloy, 1998, pp. 4-6, 176).
Thus, the gap between theory and practice, public and hidden transcript, is not
confined to 'progressive', 'socialist' or 'workers' states. (We could debate the
relative size of the gap in different contexts; but this could easily become an
exercise in cheap Cold War point-scoring).

If 'democracy' is complicated but relatively clear, the same cannot be said of
'revolution' and 'tradition'. As regards 'tradition, we need not (fortunately) get
ensnared in the trammels of 'tradition and modernity', those two conceptual
impostors who have for too long conned the public and who, it seems, have
recently enjoyed something of a comeback. For in this context, 'tradition' does
a bundle of all-embracing and supposedly structurally-related

(Parsonian 'pattern variables', if you like) locked in timeless
dichotomous tensions with their 'modern' counterparts (Parsons, Shils, and
Olds, 1962, p. 76ff.). Rather, I take our our ('revolutionary' and 'democratic')
traditions to be living, contingent, idiosyncratic, historical organisms, evolving
not denote
attributes
over time, and shaped by particular spatial and temporal environments. (Given
the Darwinian metaphor, we might even wish to call them 'memes') (Blackmore,
1999). Thus, in Latin America, we might talk of the Mexican and Cuban
revolutionary traditions; or the Uruguayan and Costa Rican democratic
l
traditions; and each would comprise a sui generis (though possibly connected)
lockstep: Foweraker and Landman (1997, pp. 95-7). A more serious and pervasive
factor- in Mexico, Colombia, and Peru in particular- is 'narco-violence'. Of course,
the impact of drugs is an independentvariable which cannot be blamed on demo?
cracy; we are dealing with an unfortunatetemporal coincidence (democratization+
drug boom). However, it could be argued that the political systemsof these countries
have proved deficientin mitigatingthe violence; in some cases, thereis clear evidence
of collusion between ('democratic') politicians and narco interests.
9 Most violent in terms of both outright guerrilla activity and quotidian violence
(murdersand kidnappings). Criticswill point to Colombia's longstandingdemocratic
deficit; but the country has experienced over fiftyyears of civilian rule, regular
competitiveelections, and party alternationin power.
10 I choose these cases because they are familiarstereotypes.The case of Uruguayan
since it figuredas the classic - consolidated?- democracy(the
democracyis interesting,
'Switzerlandof Latin America') in older texts:e.g., Dix (1973, pp. 294-5). Withina few
years it had succumbed to what was, in termsof political prisonersper capita, the
harshestauthoritarianregimein Latin America: Rouquie (1987, pp. 224-5, 248-57).
11 Connected particularlyby virtue of the demonstrationeffectwhich seems to breed
political emulation throughoutLatin America (perhaps the world): an authoritarian
wave in the 1960s and early 1970s; a democratic wave since the 1980s: Huntington,
(1991, pp 31-3, 45); Markoff (1996, pp. 81, 86). For analysis of the recentemulatory
trend,see Whitehead (1996).
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set of principles, experiences, myths, texts, 'transcripts', songs, symbols, heroes,

memories, assumptions, and narratives. In accordance with the trend toward
provincial and local history, we might wish to disaggregate further and refer, for
example, to the revolutionary traditions of Cuba's Sierra Maestra, or of Mexico's
insurgent zones: Chihuahua, Morelos, Juchitan, or the Laguna region (Thomas,
1971, pp. 246-7, 319, 904ff.; Knight, 1986, I, pp. 105-6, 118-27, 280-1, 373-4).
While 'tradition' may be usefully and briefly defined in these terms, the
qualifier 'revolutionary' complicates the matter considerably. Compared to
'democracy', 'revolution' is poorly theorized; partly because less attention has
been lavished upon it (especially in the last twenty years);12 but moreso, I think,
because it is inherently resistant to theorization. Revolutions are, as Eric Wolf
once put it, 'just-so stories', individual, unique, and contingent (Wolf, 1971, p.
12). Just-so stories can, of course, constitute a meaningful category: we can refer
generally to 'revolutions' or more specifically to 'great', 'social', 'peasant',

'bourgeois', or 'socialist' revolutions, and thereby denote a recognisable category,
analogous, say, to 'wars', 'civil wars', or 'total wars'. My own working definition
of a 'great revolution' would involve both process (a substantial, violent, and
voluntaristic struggle for political power) and outcome (a major reordering of

social and political relations) (Knight, 1990, pp. 179-80). But a recognisable - and
therefore useful - description does not add up to a theory (which I take to imply
some sort of causal logic;13 or, if you have a nostalgic taste for old jargon, certain
'laws of motion'). I have yet to encounter any explanatory logic or 'laws of
motion' which illuminate revolutions (the kind of laws or logic which are usually
presented are either plain wrong, utterly trivial, or purely tautological).14
Revolutions, as Alasdair Maclntire once suggested, are like holes in the ground:
we know one when we see one, but a 'theory of holes in the ground' would be a
scholastic chimaera (Maclntire,1971, p. 260).
'Democracy' is, I think, somewhat different. It is not only a recognisable

category; it also more amenable to comparative analysis and theorization. One
- if we
- is that
good reason
compare 'democracies' with 'great revolutions'
democracies have been much more common, hence the sample is bigger. (Latin
America experienced only three, or perhaps four, 'successful' 'great' revolutions
12 Although the books keep coming (recentexamples would include Kimmel [1990] Rice
[1991] and Foran [1997]), it seems to me that both the volume and the originalityof
'theoretical revolutionary studies' have declined since the 1960s and early 1970s,
especially relative to other themes (such as democratization, state-building,nationformation, and political economy); a trend which is hardly surprising in view of
events in the 'real world'.
13 That 'logic' may involve supposed causes (e.g.,'relative deprivation', the 'J-curve') or
stages in the process or 'natural history'- of revolution (e.g., moderate?radicalThermidor): Kimmel (1990, pp. 47-52, 75-82).
14 For a recent list, see Wickham-Crowley (1997, pp. 46-64). It is worth noting that,
despite a generation of revolutionarytheorizing,the fall of the Soviet Union and its
empire was not foreseen (though, of course, it retrospectivelyconfirmed some pet
theories): Runciman (1998, p. 16).
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during the twentieth century). More important, however, 'democracy' denotes
a form of political organization which can be abstracted from the messy 'real
world'; its incidence and viability can then be tested; it can be correlated with,
say, country size, per capita income, or literacy (Dix, 1973, pp. 270, 274-5;
Huntington, 1991, pp. 59-72; Seligson, 1987, pp. 6-10); its longevity can be
measured; and, perhaps most convincingly of all, variant forms of democracy can
be assessed (two-party against multi-party; proportional representation against
'first past the post'; presidential againt parliamentary) (Linz and Valenzuela,
1994). Such inquiries, even if they are not always conclusive, can at least proceed
on the basis of reasonably clear premises, accessible (including quantitative) data,

and broad samples. None of these conditions apply in the case of 'great
revolutions'; and while dropping the qualifier 'great' - thus expanding the field to
include all forms of revolution, coup, insurrection and even civil violence1 - may
boost the sample, it also stretches the category to breaking point. Finally,
'revolution' has an inherently narrative, hence contingent, quality, which
'democracy' does not. A democracy
especially a 'consolidated' democracy
can be analysed in terms of durable structural characteristics (parties, elections,
by definition a
voting patterns, perhaps 'political culture'). A revolution
- embodies
twists
transient phenomenon
and
turns,
accidents, and a
sharp
of
factors
incommensurate
(political, social, economic, military). It
multiplicity
lends itself to - even requires - narrative treatment. We can learn from a static
- a
- of,
say, European or North American democracy; but a
analysis
snapshot
15 Mexico, 1910; Bolivia, 1952; Cuba, 1959; Nicaragua, 1979. These were successfulin
that theytoppled old regimesand transformedsocial and political systems.In Cuba
the revolutionaryregimestillrules; in Mexico it ruled, in highlymutatedform,down
to 2000. In Bolivia it fellafteronly twelveyears; but its revolutionaryeffortscould not
be undone (compare Guatemala, 1954, which experienceda prettythoroughcounterrevolution). The Nicaraguan revolution (1979) perhaps bears comparison to the
Bolivian.
16 For example, Eckstein (1964); Tilly (1991). Crahan and Smith(1992, pp. 79-108) seem
somewhat ambivalent: they define 'revolution' broadly as 'an illegal seizure of
political power, by the use or threat of force, for the purpose of bringingabout a
structuralchange in the distributionof political, social, or economic power' (p. 79): a
definitionwhich would seem to include a range of politicallyambitious militarycoups
(Guatemala, 1954; Peru, 1968; Chile, 1973; Argentina,1976). Yet theyconcur with my
estimate that there have been 'only four genuine revolutions' in Latin America
(Mexico, Bolivia, Cuba, Nicaragua); and coups, such as Pinochet's, are not
'revolutionaryin any strictsense of the term' (p.83). This seems to imply a 'stricter'
definitionthan that originallygiven by the authors themselves.
17 Trotsky gave us the notion of 'permanent revolution'; however, this, insofar as I
understandit, involves (a) an elision of bourgeois,proletarianand peasant revolutions
in one country (e.g., Russia) and (b) a process of world revolution (which in turn
would bolster and justify [a]). 'Permanent revolution' does not thereforemean a
protractedor prolonged revolution;on the contrarythe idea of elision impliesa rapid,
telescoped process, in contrast to the 'vulgar Marxism' of Jaures, Guesde and the
Mensheviks, who (wrongly)envisaged 'democracy and socialism ... as two stages in
the development of society which are not only distinctbut also separated by great
distances of time fromeach other': Trotsky (1969, pp. 125-34; quote on p. 131).
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synchronic 'snapshot' of the Russian or Mexican

sense.18 Again, revolutions are like wars.
Revolutions would make little
Given the contingency and variation of 'revolution', what do we mean by a

'revolutionary tradition'? By definition, it derives from particular circumstances: it
relates to a country, or even a region/group. It also necessarily implies some sort of
longevity, even prescription. Revolutionary (or any other) traditions do not spring
fully-formed like Pallas Athene from the head of Zeus; they are born, they grow
and mature, and they may die (the Mexican 'revolutionary tradition' is, if not
moribund, at least in sad decline; the sesquicentennial of 1848 did not, as far as I
know, stir much popular nostalgia or spontaneous commemoration in Europe).

Even after 'death' occurs at the national level - when regimes decide to to ditch
revolutionary policy, discourse, and myth; when the statues of Lenin are toppled or
Cardenas is excised from Mexican school text books - the 'revolutionary tradition'
may yet linger on in the minds of certain people, in certain regions or sectors of
society. Hence the confident brandishing of revolutionary death certificates should
be avoided: the Chiapas rebellion, with its overt claim to the mantle of Zapatismo,
surprised a Mexico supposedly committed to the new fanti-revolutionary') project
of neo-liberal reform and North American economic
integration (Collier and
Quaratiello, 1994; Harvey, 1998).

Despite their inherent contingency and specificity, 'revolutionary traditions'
are amenable to some kind of rough typological analysis. Indeed, such analysis
may be necessary if we are to grasp the phenomenon and relate it to democracy. I
propose two axes (more could no doubt be introduced). First, a

'revolutionary tradition' can be 'official' or 'unofficial'; that is, it can form part of
an 'official' transcript (in countries where revolutions have succeeded: e.g.,
Mexico or the USSR after 1917, Cuba after 1959); or it can constitute an
'unofficial' or contestatory transcript (in countries where revolutions have not
would
succeeded: the list is long, of course, but classic Latin American cases would be
Colombia, neither of which has experienced a genuine popular
revolution, both of which have produced vigorous and durable revolutionary
in Peru, the FARC
in
Sendero Luminoso
and the ELN
movements:
Peru and
is, too, the complicated case of erstwhile revolutionary regimes

Colombia).There
- for
example, contemporary Russia or, increasingly, contemporary Mexico
which have repudiated their 'revolutionary tradition' in favour of a new 'antirevolutionary' project , thus enabling dissidents (Zhirinovsky, Subcomandante
Marcos) to take up the discarded banner in opposition to the 'new' regime.
Zhirinovsky and Marcos appeal to 'the people' rather than to the incumbent
government: that is, they do not really expect the government to renounce its
current project and return to the old 'revolutionary tradition'; neither do they
appeal to the government in terms of its own, official, 'public transcript'; rather,
18
Of course, 'snapshots' of the old regime - synchronicanalyses of prerevolutionary

structuresof power and production - are entirelyvalid and necessary (consider the
famous firstchapter of Macaulay's History ofEngland - in essence, a preamble to the
revolutionofl688). But such snapshots cannot explain the process and outcome of the
subseqiient revolutions.
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Alan Knight
they seek a popular mandate to transform state policy or, at the very least, to
extract substantial concessions.1 In the old days of revolutionary orthodoxy,
however, when the revolutionary tradition still held official sway (in both Russia
and Mexico, roughly, from 1917 to the 1980s), this discursive tactic could be
employed against the government itself. So long as revolutions failed to live up to
their promises and proclamations, their 'official transcripts' provide a canon
against which judgements and appeals can be made, whether in the name of the
rights of man, tierra y libertad, or the tenets of socialism (Scott, 1990, p. 54;
Przeworski, 1991, pp. 1-3, which includes good examples and jokes).
Secondly, as this brief ideological menu suggests, it is crucial to flag what kind
of revolution we are talking about. Here, two related clarifications are necessary.
First, for several good reasons the 'great' or 'social' revolutions of history - those
which comfortably fit my previous definition - have usually been, broadly
speaking, popular and progressive in their thrust.20However, there is a species of
right-wing, conservative, 'counter-revolution' which may also fit a diluted
version of this definition (voluntaristic violent mass mobilization ?? substantial
social and political reordering): the fascist 'revolutions' of interwar Europe; to a
lesser extent the 'bureacratic authoritarian' coups and regimes of the southern
cone of South America in the 1960s and '70s (Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay,
Chile).
While the 'revolutionary' status of these phenomena will depend on
19 Needless to say, the comparison does not imply any close political kinship between
Marcos and Zhirinosky;nor between PresidentsFox and Putin.
20 I would define 'popular' in terms of the patternsof class support and 'progressive'
(which is a littletrickier)in termsof the revolutionaryprogrammeand its capacity to
benefitand empower popular groups. Note thatformallyrevolutionary(e.g., Marxist)
programmesare not essential;peasant movementscan hitchrevolutionarymovements
to quite moderate, ostensibly'reformist'programmes(see Knight, 1986, I, pp. 30915).
21 As I have noted (fn. 16 above), Crahan and Smith (1992, pp. 79-83) concede that
'right-wingrevolutions' could fit their broad definition;yet when confrontedby
preciselysuch revolutions,in the shape of southerncone militaryregimes- which are
violent enough and which, in the authors' own words, 'substantiallyalter the means
of capital accumulation' and 'bring about profound socioeconomic transformation'
- their nerve fails them and
(p.83)
they depict such regimes as representing'not
revolution but ... right-wingrepression'. The same could, of course, be said of
Nazism. If we wish to reservethe term 'revolution' purely for progressiveor lefist
we eitherhave to built such a criterioninto the initialdefinition
movements/regimes,
(a somewhat arbitraryapproach, which Crahan and Smithdo not adopt), or we have
to infera necessaryleftism/progressivism
fromthe definitionas given: for example,
we could argue that only leftistmovements/regimes
can (a) elicit sufficiently
broad
support and (b) promise and enact sufficiently
deep 'structuralchange' to qualify as
truly revolutionary. Such an argument is not without merit, but, I believe, is
ultimately unconvincing. Ask yourself a simple question: was Hitler more
revolutionarythan, say, Danton, Zapata, or Vctor Paz Estenssoro (leader of the
Bolivian MNR in 1952)? If you have to pause for thought,you at least credit the
possibilityof ugly,repressive,right-wingmovementsbeing 'revolutionary',in respect
of both eliciting broad support and achieving profound sociopolitical
transformations.
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your definition of 'revolution' (as well as your reading of the historical record), it
cannot be doubted that they too embodied the principles, experiences, myths,
and
texts, 'transcripts', songs, symbols, heroes, memories, assumptions,
or
a
set
of
'tradition'
a
narratives which together constitute a
meme,
(or
memes). We may, if we wish, refer to them as 'counter-revolutionary traditions':
been seen, by some, as formative influences in, for example,

Argentina's historical trajectory.22 While I do not intend to dwell on these cases
- their inclusion would burst the already strained seams of this article - their
existence should be recognised: (a) because they are numerous; (b) because they
exist in dialectical relationship with 'revolutionary' traditions, the one defining
they have
and testing the other (I shall return to this point later); and (c) because they may
even derive from previous revolutionary traditions. That is, as history marches
on, yesterday's revolution (and revolutionary tradition) becomes tomorrow's
counter-revolution (and counter-revolutionary tradition).
This leads to the second clarification. Great revolutions assume different
forms, and various typologies have been proposed. Typologies may relate to class
content ('peasant' as against 'workers' revolutions); to questions of agency
(revolutions 'from above' and 'from below') (Moore, 1969, chaps. 7, 8); to broad
objectives (e.g., 'nationalist' revolutions and wars of national liberation); to
patterns of state-building, as stressed by Skocpol (Skocpol, 1979); or to sui

generis categories, such as Huntington's 'eastern' and 'western' revolutions
(Huntington, 1971, p. 266ff.) While I am quite happy to play the field
revolutions may have multiple characteristics, hence may demand multiple
- I would
give chief priority to the conventional class approach,
typologies
which distinguishes, among the 'great revolutions', between 'bourgeois' and

'socialist' versions. Indeed, this distinction is particularly pertinent in the present
context, since the relationship of 'revolutionary' to 'democratic' traditions is
closely associated with the contrasting 'bourgeois' and 'socialist' forms.

'Bourgeois' revolutions, conventionally and usefully defined, embody (i) the
seizure of power by the bourgeoisie (a somewhat circular argument which begs
22
Shumway (1991) posits a kind of original ideological sin into which Argentina was
born, condemning the countryto recurrentauthoritarian and exclusionary regimes;
experts are not wholly convinced. Rock (1993) offersa less controversialsurveyofthe
nationalist counter-revolutionarytradition.
23 That is not to say that all typologies are equal in explanatory power. Some - even
assuming them to be 'true' (i.e., displaying some reasonable conformityto reality)are largely descriptive and do not therefore shed much light on the why's and
whereforesof revolutions (why they happen, what they accomplish). For example,
Moore's (1969) analysis of the 'three routes' does, I think, embody a series of
reasonably robust and plausible propositions about types of revolution, as does
Goldstone's (1991) demographic model of revolutions in agrarian societies. In
contrast,Skocpol's (1979) assimilation ofthe English,French,and Chinese revolutions
- and their respectivecauses and consequences - under a state-buildingrubric seems
to me to be less helpful, since the common criterion is deficient and to a degree
tautological. It may offera moderatelyconvincingdescriptivetypology,but I am not
sure it explains a great deal.
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the question of who the bourgeoisie are) and (ii) a programme or project which
addresses bourgeois interests and thus promotes a capitalist market economy, the
free movement of factors of production (hence the abolition of serfdom,
corporate land tenure, and ancien regime monopolies), guarantees for property
and contracts, and (probably) the formation of a (liberal, representative?) nationstate capable of protecting and advancing bourgeois interests (Knight, 1990, p.
184). Such a project, traditionally defined in somewhat narrow politico-economic

sometimes
conceived
of both instanteously
and
terms (indeed,
the
on
collective
head, storming
bourgeoisie, Phrygian cap
anthropomorphically:
the Bastille under the leadership of a bare-bosomed Liberty), is better viewed as a
long process, punctuated, perhaps, by dramatic accelerating events, such as the
fall of the Bastille, and embracing not only political and economic but also
cultural transformation. Thus we arrive at the 'Great Arch' of E.P.Thompson,
further glossed by Corrigan, Sayer, and others.
Socialist revolutions, while
involving a comparable transformation in political and economic structures (the

socialization of the means of production, the creation of a command economy, a
supportive cultural project, usually the rule of a single socialist party),25 tend to
be more sudden and purposive, not least because they come equipped with a
revolutionary blueprint.
It is axiomatic - or, at least, common and conventional - to discern a major
difference between the political projects of these two revolutions (and their
ensuing revolutionary traditions), a difference which has to do with democracy.
In simple and familiar terms, the liberal representative (Dahlian) form of
democracy is intimately associated with bourgeois revolutions (which typically

institute such a form); while socialist revolutionaries often repudiate such a form
(as a 'bourgeois sham') and claim sincerely or hypocritically, as we have noted
to offer a superior form of (workers', popular, participatory, or direct)
See Corrigan and Sayer (1985), which serves as a theoretical optic on Mexican
revolutionarystate formationin Joseph and Nugent (1994).
of course, to Marxist/socialistrevolutions,which undertakea decisive
25 I am referring,
transformationof society and economy, not to social democratic reforms,which
usually do not (as Przeworski,1991, p. 7, observes: 'social democracyis a programto
mitigatethe effectsof private ownership and market allocation, not an alternative
project of society'). Of course a social democraticproject mightbe revolutionaryin a
suitablybackward, feudal, clerical, authoritariancontext (e.g., southernSpain in the
1930s?). As it happens, successful(= durable) socialist revolutionshave always been
Marxist/socialistratherthan social-democratic,hence the 'rule of a single socialist
party'has been the norm. However, the shortlivedAllende experimentwas socialist
did
rule.
The
social
but
it
not
it went beyond
democracy
impose one-party
apparent
historicalincompatibilityof (genuine) socialism and electoral democracy is explored
by Przeworksi and Sprague (1986).
26 Here I would agree with Hobsbawm's depiction of bourgeois revolutions as (my
terms)flexibleand fungible,but I would see rathermore purposiveness- and rather
less 'experiment,groping,and changingof courses' - in socialist revolutions/regimes:
Hobsbawm (1986, pp. 26-7, 30-1).
24
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It therefore appears to be a conclusion of almost Euclidean

democracy.
certainty that bourgeois revolutions generate Dahlian democracy, which socialist
revolutions in turn destroy, perhaps in pursuit of a regime that is more genuinely
representative and/or economically equitable.
History, however, does not work like geometry. While there is some truth in
this generalization, at least two sorts of serious deviation from the presumed
norm are apparent. First, even if a liberal democratic order is, as Lenin put it, the
'best political shell' for a bourgeois-capitalist economic order (Barrow, 1993, p.
59), it is not the only one. Early capitalist societies were - for long periods of time
oligarchic rather than democratic (this would apply as well to eighteenthcentury England as to nineteenth-century Latin America);28 some more mature
- witness
European fascism or
capitalist societies have been frankly authoritarian
the 'bureaucratic authoritarianism' of the southern cone. Postcolonial Africa is
broadly capitalist but hardly democratic. Perhaps these are transient aberrations;
perhaps, even if the relationship between capitalism and democracy is far from
certain, it is mutually optimal, such that we can talk of an 'elective affinity'
which, in the right circumstances, is happily achieved; perhaps, as I note in
conclusion, the 'right circumstances' currently pertain in Latin America. But the
exceptions are numerous and, in some instances, quite durable. The essential
point was well made by Barrington Moore some thirty years ago: the capitalist
'route to the modern world' did not necessarily lie among the green fields of
it might also blaze a trail through the deserts of
liberal democracy;
authoritarianism (Moore, 1969, chap. 8) And history has produced plenty of

- even flourished relapses, such as Brazil after 1964, where capitalism endured
while democracy yielded to authoritarianism.
The second deviation is part theoretical, part practical; it also has a particular
relevance for Latin America. Socialist and Marxist atitudes to liberal democracy
have not been uniformly hostile or dismissive. If, for some, it was a bourgeois
sham, for others it offered a means to advance the political and even the
economic interests of the working class. Proponents of the latter course were not
necessarily revisionist disciples of Edouard Bernstein: Marx himself was
ambivalent concerning the potential of 'bourgeois democracy' and plenty of his
followers - 'pluralist Marxists', according to one formulation - have stressed the
potential for exploiting democratic opportunities in the interests of the working
class: 'in countries where the liberal democratic tradition is well established, the
27
28
As Lenin put it: 'the bourgeois parliament, even the most democratic in the most
democratic republic in which the property and the rule of the bourgeoisie are
preserved,is a machine for the suppression of the toiling millions by small groups of
exploiters': quoted in Przeworski (1991, p. 41). On Latin America, see Dix (1973, p.
283, n. 35).
'Oligarchic' is one of several possible labels for nineteenth-and early twentiethcenturies regimes in much of Latin America : Dix (1973, p.268) prefers 'limitedparticipation aristocracies [sicY; Moore (1969, p. 438), in one of his two referencesto
Latin America, suggests 'authoritarian semi-parliamentarygovernment'; which is
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"transition to socialism" must utilize the resources of that tradition - the ballot
box, the competitive party system - firstto win control of the state and second to
use the state to restructure society' (Held, 1996, pp. 147-52). Long before its
to liberalism and corporate capitalism, European social

to (Dahlian) democratic politics, as did many
accommodated
democracy
Communist parties. In Latin America, too, most Communist parties opted for
democratic participation (when it was allowed them); they spurned quixotic
revolutionary adventurism (such as Che's sally into Bolivia) (Gott, 1973, pp. 498514); and Chile witnessed the first election of a democratic Marxist
administration in history. The via chilena therefore offered the possibility of
recent conversion
combining a genuine socialist programme with democratic politics, something

which previous paladins of socialism (Lenin, Stalin, Mao, Castro), victors on the
battlefield rather than at the ballot box, had carefully avoided. The Chilean
experiment, of course, came to a premature and bloody end. However, the
Sandinistas, too, though victors on the battlefield, allowed democratic politics to

proceed, and were in turn voted out of office in 1990.
Hence, the relationship between revolutions and 'revolutionary traditions' on
the one hand, and democratic or authoritarian regimes on the other, is clearly not
invariant; it warrants closer inspection in order to see if recognsable patterns
emerge. In the rest of the paper, therefore, I will address the question in the
context of Latin America, taking a broad perspective in terms of both time
(c.1800 to the present) and space (all Latin America).
2.
Latin
American
liberalism
The Americas in general can be seen, sub specie aeternitatis, as a haven of

liberalism. The principles of 'bourgeois liberalism' - representative government
within the framework of republican nation-states, linked to an economic project
- exerted an
premised on market relations
early appeal; most clearly in the
Thirteen Colonies/United States, but also south of the Rio Grande. There are two
basic and obvious reasons for this. First, the Americas formed part of Europe's
initial imperial expansion, hence they received the imprint of European values
and practices more deeply and durably than either Africa or Asia. Iberian
America experienced over three centuries of formal European empire; in contrast,
India experienced a century of informal hegemony, followed by a century of
(more-or-less) formal rule; Africa experienced less than a century of formal rule;
and China less than a century of informal hegemony. The European imprint was
especially deep in the American 'Neo-Europes'
typically the outer peripheries,
rather than the old Andean and Mesoamerican heartlands - where the Indian
population was largely eliminated and European settler societies developed: in
Canada, the United States, Uruguay, central Chile, southern Brazil, and littoral
Argentina (Crosbie, 1986, p. 2ff).
The American peripheries - as compared to the American heartlands (typically,
Mexico and Peru) - embodied four characteristics: (i) they were, at least by the
15 o
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late eighteenth century, closely linked to world trade, especially the trade in
primary agricultural commodities (as opposed to bullion);29 (ii) their population
of 'prefabricated' Qollaborators not only traded briskly with Europe, they were
also
to European ideas, including liberalism (hence Tulio

Halpern's aphorism: Argentina was 'born liberal') (Halperin Donghi, 1988); (iii)
the relative absence of a dense Indian population diminished caste and ethnic
barriers, thus making the notion of a uniform citizenry both plausible and
unusually
open
attractive; and (iv) the Catholic Church, which had put down deepest roots in
the more densely populated heartlands, was weaker in the peripheries (as a series
of simple dyadic comparisons
City/Veracruz; Bogota/
suggests: Mexico
Involvement in world trade made mercantilist
Barranquilla; Quito/Guayaquil).
restrictions all the more galling; while the absence of caste divisions, coupled with
sentiments of home rule and
the weakness of the Church, encouraged
independence. (Conversely, where the Indian or black population was large and
threatening, colonial rule offered a certain guarantee of white, propertied
interests: as the Cuban elite frankly recognized, contemplating the horrific

example of Haiti, 'Cuba sera espanola o africana') (Martinez Alier, 1977, p. 95). It
is not surprising, therefore, that the cradles of Latin American independence were
to be found in the peripheries - Buenos Aires, Caracas, Santiago - rather than in
the old colonial heartlands (Lima, Mexico City). It was in the periperies, too, that
the example of the United States carried more weight and, indeed, had more
relevance, by virtue of being more directly comparable (Adelman, 1999, p. 87;
Bushnell, 1993, pp. 118-19). Buenos Aires, in particular, displayed a precocious
liberalism, which married free trade, slave emancipation, universal suffrage,
popular patriotism, and notions of republican virtue (Adelman, 1999, p. 90).
What is more, the achievement of independence - a matter of autonomous
heroic action in, for example, the Rio de la Plata and New Granada - generated
29
30
Buenos Aires was, of course, a major entrepotof the colonial bullion trade, especially
foilowing the Bourbon administrativereforms.However, that trade rapidly declined
with the French revolutionary and Napoleonic wars and, after 1810, the porteno
economy came to depend on the export of pastoral products: hides, jerked beef,
tallow, and later wool. Indeed, this 'physiocratic' outcome was the declared
preferenceof independence ideologues like Belgrano: Adelman (1999, pp. 62-3, 69).
There is an obvious snag in this argument:preciselybecause theylacked dense Indian
populations which could be put to profitablework, the American peripheries from
the Old South down to Buenos Aires - came to rely,in several cases, on black slave
labour, which was hardly conducive to the formationof a comprehensivecitizenry,
and which made anti-colonial rebellion downright risky. Indeed, the process of
rebellion - in Venezuela, forexample - was stronglyinfluencedby the fact of slavery.
However, two points should be noted: first,the structuralhypocrisyof 'bourgeois
liberalism' (seen most starkly in the Thirteen Colonies) could allow slavery and
colonial rebellion to co-exist, at least so long as rebellion did not open the door to
slave insurrection(as it did in Haiti); second, the anti-colonial rebels of Buenos Aires
and Caracas were - unlike their counterparts in Havana - ultimatelyprepared to
sacrifice slavery on the altar of rebellion and republicanism; either because their
ideological attachmentto liberal principleswas stronger,or theirmaterial attachment
to slave labour was weaker.
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patriotic myths which wove notions of liberalism into the foundation myths of
the new republics. Despite some initial flirtations with monarchy, the Spanish
American nations emerged firmlyrepublican; monarchical experiments proved to
be costly failures; hence there was no dynastic principle to which conservatives or
clericals could make effective appeal. (Andean Indians might hark back to the
Incas: but such indigenous atavism, briefly and bloodily embodied in the Tupac
Amaru revolt of 1780, and sporadically revived in lesser nineteenth-century
revolts, could not but terrify whites and mestizos).31 Republics born in the
context of anticolonial, often antidynastic, struggle carried the imprimatur of
liberalism from the outset: even conservatives, like Ecuador's Garcia Moreno,
who dedicated the nation to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, preached the sovereignty
of the people as the basis of legitimate government (Maiguashca, 1996, p. 101).

Comparatively speaking, from the early nineteenth century Spanish America
lacked monarchs, tsars, tribal kings, and princely states; the principles of
republican government, grounded in anticolonial rebellions, prevailed; and
President Monroe obligingly committed the United States to defend this
republican status quo against European revanchisme.32

Of course, 'republican' does not mean 'democratic'. But, by virtue of
dissolving dynastic, ascriptive principles, and asserting the notion of republican
government, the founding fathers of the Latin American states made subsequent
liberal democratic practices likely if not inevitable. For if the people were
sovereign, how could their sovereignty be expressed but by means of

representative government? Indeed, at the outset, Latin American government
was not only republican, but also liberal and sometimes even democratic. Early
constitutions embodied male suffrage, sometimes a fairly broad male suffrage
(Posada-Carbo, 1996, pp. 4-6ff.; Lopez Alves, 2000, p. 41). Even when, in the
1830s, a reaction set in, leading to a more exclusionary politics, the result was
rarely a principled repudiation of republican government: rather, franchises were
narrowed, elections were fixed, and conservative caudillos seized the reins of
- Santa Anna, Rosas,
Paez, Portales - remained
power. But the caudillos
republicans, continued to claim popular legitimacy, and never established
enduring dynasties. Furthermore, the inclusionary turn of the 1830s was
followed, around mid-century, by a renewed asssertion of liberal values,
associated with the rise of a new, post-independence generation (Juarez in
Mexico, Mosquera in Colombia, Sarmiento in Argentina) and inspired, in some

measure, by 1848 and the example of European liberalism (Bushnell, 1993, pp.
101-2; Gazmuri, 1992).
31 As a result, the Indian heritage of (Aztec) Mexico and (Inca) Peru had contrasting
consequences; the formercould be safelyappropriated (in suitablysanitized form)by
creole patriots; the latter was too threateningto serve as a common symbol of
nationhood: Brading (1991, pp. 341-2, 386-90, 455-64, 489-91). When Belgrano
proposed an Inca constitutional monarch to the portenos the proposal, not
surprisingly,'went nowhere': Adelman (1999, p. 90).
32 Not that Monroe could in practice do much about it; the Monroe Doctrine remained
a rhetoricalstatementthroughmuch of the nineteenthcentury.
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pattern evident in the first two generations after

(liberal
opening in the 1810s and '20s; conservative closure in the
independence
1830s; liberal re-opening around mid-century) appears to repeat itself in
subsequent generations: a turn towards more authoritarian and positivistic
Indeed,
the dialectical
regimes in the last quarter of the nineteenth century; greater contestation and
political opening in the early twentieth century (now, some Latin American
polities form part of Huntington's 'first wave' of global democratization); a
renewed authoritarianism in the interwar period (especially after 1930); a
opening in the late 1940s (Huntington's 'second short wave')

(Huntington, 1991, p. 16); the 'new authoritarianism' of the 1960s and '70s
(Collier, 1979); and the recent, almost unanimous, turn towards democracy and
neoliberalism in the 1980s and '90s, Huntington's 'third wave' (Huntington, 1991,
- it
glosses over major
pp. 16, 40ff.). Even if this sequence is open to question
regional and national variations and takes 'authoritarianism' and 'democracy'
- it
excessively at face value (Von Mettenheim and Malloy, 1996, pp. 2-3)
nevertheless illustrates the fact that, for something like six generations,
- even when
republican forms of government have remained standard; elections
fixed or postponed
have remained the primary form of legitimation; and, with a
democratic
few minor exceptions,33 no man-on-horseback has claimed an indefinite, still less

4
dynastic, mandate to rule.
However, by the twentieth century the political scenario had substantially
changed. Liberalism had been outflanked by doctrines and movements on the left
(socialism, communism, anarchism); the growth of cities, exports, and industry

focused attention on the new 'social question' (Dix, 1973, p. 285; Bushnell, 1993,
pp. 162-3; Knight, 1986,1, p. 148; Collier and Collier, 1991, p. 59ff.) Crudely, one
say, militant trade unions and incipient radical parties now replaced
belligerent Indians and insurgent peasants as threats to peace and property; and the
traditional promises of liberalism - civil rights, representative government - were
trumped by new socio-economic demands (jobs, wages, land, social insurance). Of
course, demands for material provision or protection were ancient - they went
back at least as far as the land seizures, grain riots, and anti-tax protests of the
- actual or advocated colony. What was new was the
inscription of such
could
33
The Brazilian monarchy, being oligarchic and constitutional, is not really an

exception; and, anyway, it fell in 1889. Mexico's two emperors- Agustin Iturbide in
the early 1820s and Maximilian in the 1860s -were shortlivedfailures who served to
reinforcethe republican norm. Twentieth-centuryexceptions - 'sultanistic' regimes
like those of Stroessnerin Paraguay, Trujillo in the Dominican Republic, the Somozas
in Nicaragua, the Duvaliers in Haiti - are 'minor' in that they misruled small
countries, hence only a tiny minority (perhaps 5%) of Latin America's total
population. That, of course, was no consolation for the Paraguayans, Dominicans,
Nicaraguans and Haitians.
34 Though the Somozas and Duvaliers managed two-generationdynasties.Foilowing on
fromfn.32,it could be added that by the late nineteenthcenturythe Monroe Doctrine
began to count for something in terms of Realpolitik as well as rhetoric; hence the
export of European dynasties- even if the Latin Americans had wanted them- would
have become more difficult.
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socioeconomic claims within the 'public transcript' of the state: for example, with
Batllismo (1902-6, 1911-15), Lopez Pumarejo's revolucion en marcha, or the
Mexican and Cuban Constitutions of 1917 and 1940 respectively (Lopez Alves,
2000, p. 50; Bushnell, 1993, pp. 185-7; Knight, 1986, II, pp. 470-1; Thomas, 1971,
pp. 716-21). Again, in very schematic terms, one could say that Latin America
mirrored Marshall's formulation of entitlement to rights: initially, liberalism
promised certain basic civil rights; subsequently, broader access to representation
was conceded (i.e., political rights); finally, 'social rights' received recognition.
However, in Latin America, as in much of Europe, this sequence proved highly
in practice. The smoother, social-democratic

route (political
liberalism leading to the welfare state), had its rare Latin American counterparts
in Costa Rica and, perhaps, Uruguay (as I mention below). But elsewhere, it
proved difficult to graft social rights on to political and civil rights; indeed, the
demand for social rights - by unions, leftistparties and, later, peasant movements
- often
provoked reaction (in the specific sense), political closure, and an
abrogation of rights previously enjoyed. Alternatively in Mexico (1910), Bolivia
Cuba
and
(1959),
(1979)
(1952),
Nicaragua
popular demands assumed
with
mixed
results
for
Dahlian democracy. Civil,
revolutionary form, again
it
and
social
do
not
rights, seems,
necessarily develop sequentially, nor
political,
contentious
do they co-exist in happy synergy. Their relationship may resemble a zero-sum

game. Thus, to assume, today, that Latin American political democracy is
consolidated and that, according to the logic of Marshallian sequencing, it can
provide the firm foundation for social reform, hence social rights, may be risky.
We need to focus on the relationship between Latin America's longstanding
liberal-democratic tradition(s) and its twentieth-century experience of social
demands, popular mobilization, and outright revolution.
The variants on this relationship are multiple; hence any attempt to synthesize
(rather than to tell a series of detailed but inconclusive 'just-so stories') involves
some ambitious aggregation - or, if you will, some lavish 'lumping' which will
offend single-minded 'splitters'. I shall, furthermore, compound the problem by
straying beyond the 'great' revolutions per se (that is, beyond Mexico, Bolivia,
Cuba and, perhaps, Nicaragua), the rationale for which is that, even if
revolutions are distinctive forms of - rapid, violent, 'bottom-up' - social change,
they nevertheless embody many of the same tensions as non-revolutionary
historical phases; the stage and the dramatis personae may be much the same; it is
the unfolding of the plot that differs. Pursuing the theatrical metaphor, I will
present an initial backdrop, then suggest five major plot-lines, each involving our
chosen themes, revolutionary and democratic 'traditions'.
3.
Challenges
to liberalism
First, the democratic backdrop. By the turn of the twentieth century all Latin
American countries had become independent republics, boasting liberalrepresentative constitutions (the last monarchy, Brazil, had fallen in 1889; and
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the last colony, Cuba, had experienced a flawed independence in 1898).35

However, the degree of genuine democratization varied greatly. In some cases,
notably in Andean America, constitutions embodied property or literacy
qualifications which greatly restricted the electorate; in all cases, women were
denied the vote.36 No less important, constitutions were often honoured in the
breach. Civilian rule was recurrently interrupted by military coup; and elections
were regularly compromised by force and fraud. However, even when generals
seized power they did not usually linger long in office; and when they did, they
did not brazenly dispense with constitutions and elections, but chose instead to
finesse the former and rig the latter. Examples include Porfirio Diaz in Mexico
(1876-1880 and 1884-1911), Juan Vicente Gomez in Venezuela (1909-35), and
Manuel
Estrada Cabrera in Guatemala
These fin-de-siecle
(1898-1920).
authoritarian regimes, it is worth noting, justified their infringement of
democratic practices (though not of democratic principles) in terms of a
positivistic emphasis on material development, which required a strong state,
sound finances, and a disciplined population; democratization had to be
postponed pending the creation of a productive, integrated, modern economy.
Thus, republican, representative government remained the official norm, if not
the actual practice; and, of course, it provided a canon to which liberaldemocratic critics of authoritarian regimes could appeal, with Madero in Mexico
or Rui Barbosa in Brazil (Knight, 1986,1, pp. 56-8, 68-9; Bello, 1966, pp. 211-12).
Where civilian rule and genuine alternation in office occurred, it usually did so
under 'oligarchic' or 'semi-parliamentary' auspices (Mouzelis, 1986, pp. 3-4, 1620, 28-9; Bushnell, 1993, pp. 161-2; Sabato, 1992): that is to say, parties consisted
of narrow coteries of notables and lacked mass membership; elections, though
regular and sometimes quite lively, were usually fought between rival bosses
(caciques, gamonales, coroneles) and their clienteles; the dominant landlord class,
even if it did not provide the bosses,38 could usually rest secure that the political
35
36
37
38
We should note the exceptional case of Puerto Rico, which, following the final
collapse of the last remnantsof the Spanish empire in the Americas in 1898, failed to
achieve independence, but became an American protectorate.
Following the democratic dawn of the 1810 and '20s, the second quarter of the century
saw a shifttowards more restrictivefranchises;and, while this closure was followed
by a renewed opening in some states after 1848, the 'Indoamerican' republics of
Ecuador, Peru and Bolivia resisted the democratizing trend: Posada-Carbo (1996, p.
7); Guerra (1996, pp. 18-19). The Colombian province of Velez, governed by a
'radically doctrinaire' Liberal, marriedto a 'politically forcefulwife', voted to extend
the suffrageto women in 1853 (sixteen years before Wyoming initiated the trend in
the United States); but the national Supreme Court annulled the reformbefore any
Velena could east her vote: Bushnell (1993, pp. 108-9).
Though the goals differed,the parallels with authoritarian socialist regimes are
apparent.
There was often,it seems, a certain division of labour between the economically and
socially dominant landlord class and the political cadres who ran the electoral
machines; this division was particularlymarked when it came to (a) lower-echelon
posts (in Mexico, for example, big landlords more usually occupied governorships
than jefaturas - prefectships) and (b) rich, entrepreneurial landed elites (who
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system would not infringe their basic interests. As a result, oligarchic politics
often allowed genuine scope for debate, a semi-free press and congress, and some
respect for civil rights (notably in Chile, Uruguay, and Argentina). Parallels with
Spanish or Italian 'artificial democracy' are apparent; Mouzelis (1986) draws an

illuminating parallel with Balkan Europe.
The progressive democratization of the early twentieth century - the last
- carried some Latin American states
impulse of Huntington's 'first wave'
beyond
to
narrowly oligarchic politics
something more fully democratic.39 Significantly,
this occurred in the prosperous southern cone (Argentina, Uruguay, Chile), where
living standards and literacy levels were higher, and traditional ethnic tensions
were weaker.4 Conversely, where large Indian populations predominated,
oligarchic politics tended to remain more narrowly exclusionary and harshly
authoritarian; regimes responded to white/mestizo fears of Indian insurgency and

to the perceived need for repressive labour systems (e.g., Peru, Bolivia,
Guatemala, southern Mexico). Apart from the evident correlation between
income and democracy (Seligson, 1987, pp. 7-9; Huntington, 1991, pp. 60-1), we
may also note a tendency for this deepening of democracy to occur in those
peripheral regions (Argentina, Uruguay, Chile) where anti-colonial liberalism had
at the time of independence;

while narrowly oligarchic or
authoritarian politics survived in the old Indian heartlands of Mesoamerica
and the Andes (Mexico, Guatemala, Peru, Bolivia).
Thus far, then, the story is
flourished
disdained the hurly-burlyof electoral politics and did not need the money anyway):
here, Argentinais the classic case. See Halperin Donghi (1995, pp. 39-66).
39 Huntington (1991, pp. 14?15) includes four Latin American cases in his 'firstwave'
(i.e., pre-1920s democratization): Argentina, Uruguay, Colombia, and Chile. The
point at which 'oligarchic' politics becomes 'democratic' is, of course, moot. (I have
already noted that these infantdemocracies were based on universal male suffrage:
none enfranchisedwomen). Huntington,pp. 11-12, opts fora dichotomous approach
to the problem of definition(most states are either democracies or they are not);
however,thereare, he admits, borderlinecases; and the 'sudden' onset of democracy
(e.g., Argentina,where the Saenz Pena law of 1912 reformedthe ballot and made
possible the election of a Radical administrationin 1916) may not be the norm
(compare Chile or Colombia, where the expansion of a mass electorate,based on a
traditionof vigorous but limitedelectioneeringin the nineteenthcentury,was more
gradual and incremental).
40 I stress'traditional',in thatthe Indian population had been reduced and marginalized,
while slavery had been long abolished and the population of black descent was
(relativeto Brazil or Cuba) tiny.European immigrationgeneratednew ethnictensions
(hence the anti-immigrant
pogrom ifthat is not too stronga word in Buenos Aires
in 1919). However, only naturalized Argentineshad the vote; hence mass suffrage
could advance on the basis of a fairlyhomogenous (male) citizenry.Above all, free
wage labour prevailed,hence democratizationwas not barred by systemsof serfdom
or peonage ('extra-economiccoercion').
41 Thus Markoff(1996, p. 44) is probably even closer to the truththan he realizes when
he states that 'the countries bordering on the Atlantic were the places of the
democratic breakthrough' (he is referringto the incipient liberalization of the
eighteenthcentury,as experienced in England, France, Holland, and the United
States).
164
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one of relative continuity, incremental change (progress, perhaps?), and a quasi- i.e.,
European path. A prior tradition of liberal
representative, tolerant, civil
the
foundation
for
and
democratization.
politics lays
subsequent opening
Possibly one could go further (both analytically and chronologically) and suggest
that anti-colonial republicanism, premised on a revolutionary repudiation of
dynastic and ascriptive principles, in turn underwrote that liberal tradition. Saenz
Pena, we might say, owed a good deal to Belgrano and Rivadavia; Argentina's
'guiding fictions' (Shumway, 1991) could promote inclusion as well as exclusion.
Entering the twentieth century, however, the story takes some sharp twists.
(The most obvious twist is that the harshest forms of post-1960 authoritarianism
occur precisely in the previously liberal-democratic trailblazers of the southern
While the story involves a multiplicity of actors and events (some of
cone).
external provenance: the two world wars and the depression), a highly schematic
explanation can be suggested. Foilowing the Marshallian sequence, calls for civil
and political rights were now seconded by social demands: for jobs, collective
contracts (and the closed shop), land reform, protected tenancies, social security,
state planning, and the nationalization of the means of production - many of
which were in foreign hands. In short, free-market property and labour relations
were systematically questioned. Beyond espousing these novel demands, some

leftist spokesmen (socialist, communist, anarchist, populist)43 also declared that
bourgeois democracy was a mere sham and that a superior organic or
participatory democracy could be attained. The full triad of Marshallian rights

- civil,
- were, for the first
time, on offer. How did this
political, and social
outflanking of the liberal tradition occur in practice? Schematically, we might
identify five principal paths: social democracy; revolutionary populism; statist
populism; socialist revolution; and authoritarian reaction.
3.1.
Social
democracy:
Uruguay
and Costa
Rica
First, foilowing the western European social-democratic pattern, the new social
agenda could be grafted on to the old liberal tradition; liberal democracy would
be supplemented by state benefits; the Marshallian sequence would prevail. For
this to occur there needed to be a functioning liberal tradition, coupled with a
state willing and able to manage the necessary transfer payments. Per capita
42
43
The two countries conventionally thought to have achieved the most 'consolidated'
democracies in South America, as of the 1960s, were Chile and Uruguay (see Dix,
1973, p. 294).
I have real doubts about 'populism' as a robust analytical category,especially when it
is used to describe a specific familyof movements/regimesin Latin America - rather
than simply a political style which manifestsitselfacross a great swathe of time and
space (see Knight, 1998, pp. 223-48). However, it will serve as a loose - and fairly
conventional - label for movements/regimesthat combine (a) mass mobilization; (b)
powerful popular appeal, possibly focused on (c) a charismatic leader; (d) ostensible
(sometimes actual) policies of redistribution;(e) nationalism; but which (f) are not
socialist or communist, nor (usually) impeccably democratic.
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income alone was not a sufficient condition; there had also to be some minimal
prior sociopolitical consensus which would permit such payments. In late
nineteenth-century Uruguay Blancos and Colorados converged around certain
common principles of liberal civilian government, which crystallized in the
'consociational' pact of 1903-33; wool production boosted the economy, but no
'reactionary configuration' of landlords developed; elites roughly agreed on the

distribution of state patronage, both among themselves and for the benefit of the
mass electorate (Lopez Alves, 2000, chap. 2; Gillespie, 1992, pp. 178-80). This
was something of a fair-weather phenomenon, however. Uruguayan democracy
faltered in the 1930s and, following a fragile recovery in the 1940s, entered into
terminal crisis in the 1960s. The 'consolidation' of democracy proved to be
reversible, notwithstanding the added buttress of social welfare.
In Costa Rica, about half a century later, a similar process ensued. Here, too,
the advent of a modest welfare state, linked to a durable democracy, depended on
the outcome of civil war (which in turn hinged on the unexpected death of expresident Leon Cortes in 1946) (Yashar, 1997, pp. 170-90). Coffee production
generated both economic resources and a measure of political consensus: not
because - as the tico myth suggests - coffee spawned an egalitarian yeoman
farmer class or was an essentially 'democratic' crop (compare Guatemala) - but
rather because it generated 'an overwhelming society-wide commitment to export
agriculture and coffee culture' which, furthermore, was premised on free wage
labour rather than extra-economic coercion (Gudmundson, 1995, p. 163).
Favorable - but hardly 'over-determined' - preconditions conspired with fortuna
to produce what, following Uruguay's final fall from grace in 1973, remained
Latin America's sole stable democratic welfare state. Furthermore, over time,
Costa Rican democracy acquired a kind of autonomous moral capital - a
'relative autonomy', we might say, of contingent adverse circumstances. Ticos
came to define themselves in terms of their civilian and democratic culture, a
definition that was all the more salient given Costa Rica's location in the cockpit
of Central America.44
3.2.
Revolutionary
populism:
Mexico
and Bolivia
Costa Rica achieved this unusual, incremental outcome because a prior liberal
tradition proved capable of accommodating democracy and moderate social
reform. In much of Latin America outside the southern cone, however, liberaldemocratic traditions were - in practice - quite weak. Social reform therefore
entered the agenda before any sort of viable liberal democracy had been
established; and the outcome - in Mexico (1910-), Bolivia (1952-) and, more
- was a form of
(1979-)
(1945-) and Nicaragua
tenuously, Guatemala
44
166
See Clark (1999). The 'autonomous moral capital' of Costa Rican democracy is
evidentin surveydata: when given threechoices: (i) democracy is preferableto other
forms of government;(ii) it makes no differenceeither way; and (iii) authoritarian
governmentis preferable,Costa Ricans score: 80%, 9%, 8%; Chileans: 50%, 28%,
17%; and Mexicans: 50%, 26%, 20% (Hewlett/MORI, 1998, p. 4).
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revolutionary populism. I admit to using 'populism' with some disquiet, and in

deference more to common usage than to rigorous analysis.45 By 'populist' I
mean movements and regimes which were progressive, reformist, nationalist, and
(in ways that I will clarify) 'democratic'; but which were neither thoroughly
liberal-democratic, nor thoroughly socialist; hence which avoided
nationalizations and remained locked within a broadly capitalist
system. In each case, revolutionary movements overthrew regimes
highly authoritarian, often personalistic (even 'sultanistic'), and deeply
wholesale
economic
that were
racist (the
Porfiriato, the Bolivian rosca, Ubico, Somoza). Indeed, such regimes, denying
legitimate democratic challenges, could only have been overthrown by forms of
mass mobilization:
prolonged uprisings in Mexico and Nicaragua; a series of

short popular insurrections in Bolivia; a more piecemeal series of protests and
demonstrations in Guatemala. Prior liberal-democratic traditions were relatively
weak and, in consequence, one of the key planks of the revolutionary-populist
platform was the installation of genuinely democratic government. In each case,

too, mass suffrage ensued: in Bolivia, the exiguous pre-1952 electorate was
dramatically expanded; in Mexico and Guatemala, artificial democacy gave way
(temporarily) to free elections; in Nicaragua democracy eventually made possible
the ouster of the revolutionary-populist (Sandinista) government itself.

In addition to such procedural/electoral/Dahlian
advances, these revolutions
also enhanced democracy in a broader, more informal fashion. In Mexico, for
- sindicatos and
example, popular organizations
peasant leagues in particular
took root and acquired genuine power. Parties of notables became mass parties,
susceptible to mass pressure. Education, literacy, and 'cultural democracy'
expanded; populist, nationalist, and indigenous symbols supplanted the elitist
and Europhile symbols of the old regime (Vaughan, 1982, 1997). Old hierarchies
of deference crumbled; landlords and the Church lost influence; and, to their
disgust, upstart peasants and Indians occupied positions of power.46 With this
social bouleversement came a measure of genuine social reform (the provision of
Marshallian social rights): education, labour and land reform, trade union
legislation, some limited social security. The fetters of capitalism were not
broken, but a more open, mobile, egalitarian society emerged. Indeed, if we
adopted conventional {marxisant) terminology, we could well see these as whole or partial - 'bourgeois revolutions', characterised by the break-up of
latifundia, the broad enfranchisement-cum-empowerment of citizens (of all

and the creation of a more integrated, literate, mobile, secular,
productive, and nationalist population (Knight, 1990, pp. 186-9). In other words,
we see, in part, the building of a Mexican - or Bolivian - 'Great Arch' (Knight,
1994, pp. 56-64).
colours),
45
46
'Populism' is used in roughlythis sense (and involvingseveral subcategories) in Collier

and Collier (1991, especially chap. 5). Note my caution, n. 43 above.
Knight (1986, II, p. 517-27) sketches the 'pre-institutional' phase of this social
upheaval, which is not easily captured in national overviews; a graphic, if far from
typical, local example is provided by Henderson (1998). For a Bolivian example
(Coroico), see McEwen (1975, p. 143ff.).
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Three key aspects of this transformation need to be stressed. First, the
'democratic empowerment' associated with these quasi-bourgeois, 'populist'
revolutions did not involve the simple implementation of Dahlian norms. True,
in some cases this occurred: most clearly in Bolivia after 1952. But in Mexico the
formal democratic opening was brief; in Bolivia it was compromised by the
military coup of 1964; in Guatemala it was brutally terminated by the CIAsupported invasion of 1954. In a broader, informal sense, however, these
revolutions did 'empower' subordinate people: more briefly in Guatemala, more
durably in Bolivia and, a fortiori, Mexico, where access to politics expanded and
The Guatemalan counter-revolution partially
old hierarchies were toppled.
turned the clock back; but the Bolivian coup of 1964 was more ambiguous (the
military, for example, continued the agrarian reform); and Mexico experienced
no decisive counter-revolution - indeed, the military regime of Victoriano Huerta
(Mexico's Kornilov?) ended in ignominious defeat in 1914 (Knight, 1986, II, pp.
93-4ff.). These cases confirm that a focus on purely Dahlian democracy is too
narrow and formalistic. Democratic advance - the provision of access,
- need not
depend solely on the institution
representation, and 'empowerment'
of regular, free and fair elections.
However (my second point) democratic advance which depends largely on a
whereby, for example, peasants or workers are
contingent balance of power
- runs the risk of
empowered by virtue of their political and military mobilization
reversal. So it was in Guatemala and Bolivia, where the military seized power in
1954 and 1964 respectively.48 Or, in Mexico, where the balance tipped against
popular interests more gradually, incrementally, and insidiously after 1938. In
none of these cases could the achievements of the revolution be wholly overcome
(though in Guatemala the counter-revolution came close). However, when the
balance tipped, the absence of clear, durable, democratic procedures proved a
major liability: the democratic deficit facilitated military rule in Bolivia and the
A good example of popular empowermentis given by Simpson (1937, chap.17), which

describesthe success storyof the ejido (land reformcommunity)of Octlan. The ejido
of San Juan (chap.7) appears in a less rosy light,but, even here, Simpson notes (p.
108), 'thereis a markeddifferencein the attitudeof the ejidatario in San Juan and the
peon, or day labourer. The former exhibits a sense of pride, and a spirit of
independence,which is marked contrast to the servilityand fatalisticacceptance of
on the part of the peon. These ejidatarios have a stake in the
things-as-they-are
community; they own something about which they can make plans. In a word,
however slow the process, these ejidatarios are on the road to becoming something
new in rural Mexico - citizens'.
48 Which underlinessomethingthe Costa Ricans got right:foilowing the civil war of
1948 theyabolished the regulararmy- and turnedthe chiefbarracksof San Jose into
the national museum. (They did, however, retain the Civil Guard and proscribe the
CommunistParty). Defanging the militaryseems a fairlysimple and straightforward
way of ensuringcivilian and (perhaps) democraticrule. Of course, it impliesa relative
absence of eitherinternalor external 'threats'. Afterthe 1952 revolutionthe Bolivian
governmentcame close to abolishing the army; but, as instabilityand workingclass
militancyincreased,the armywas reconstituted,makingpossible the militarycoup of
1964.
47
168
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of a corrupt, semi-authoritarian, and increasingly conservative

in
Mexico.
Thus, while populist revolutions could informally enhance
regime
and
democracy
empowerment, their failure to implement democratic rules,
- whether
and
structures,
outright or
practices made counter-revolution
feasible.
eminently
piecemeal
Third, just as these revolutions toppled narrow, authoritarian regimes, so they
occurred in relatively poor, ethnically divided societies. This posed the
consolidation
it was not a question

of
regimes formidable problems:
redistributing existing wealth, but of boosting development and, indeed, of
building a state and a nation
forjando patria fforging a fatherland') in the
words of Mexico's
Manuel
Gamio
(Gamio,
1916). Where Marx had
revolutionary
optimistically envisaged revolutionaries seizing advanced states and socializing

advanced means of production, revolutionaries in Mexico, Bolivia and Nicaragua
(less so Cuba) took control of brittle states and backward economies. The
Mexican
revolutionary regime, for all its faults and failings, made substantial
progress: growth was sustained, national integration progressed. Bolivia's MNR
certainly helped forjar patria-, but it found itself caught in the classic dilemma of
reformist governments in poor - and even not-so-poor - countries: rapid
redistribution fuelled inflation and foreign debt; financial orthodoxy betrayed the
revolution and fractured the revolutionary coalition. Hence the 1964 coup
(Mitchell, 1977). The comparison with Costa Rica is apt: the 1948 revolution not
only 'empowered'; it also eliminated the threat of the military and established
durable, democratic rules; democracy became 'the only game in town'
(Przeworski, 1992, p. 28). In addition, as I have suggested, Costa Rica, though
hardly rich, enjoyed a level of income and equality which made the provision of
social benefits feasible, both politically and fiscally. Costa Rica could therefore
accomplish the difficult task of eliding formal democratic consolidation and
genuine social provision; in Mexico and Bolivia, revolutionary empowerment did
not translate into formal democratic consolidation; and genuine social provision
was limited by the relative poverty of the country, especially in the Bolivian case.
3.3.
Statist populism:
Argentina
Many of the changes ushered in by revolution in Mexico and Bolivia

greater
political access, labour reform, social provision, national integration, the erosion
49
Again, Costa Rica is the contrasting case. In Chile, the existence of established
'democratic rules and structures' could not prevent the 1973 coup. Mexico
experienced a kind of mild Thermidor after1938, as popular reformsand movements
faded and a more conservative,business-friendly,
'institutional-revolutionary'
regime
was consolidated. It did not promote liberal democracy (at least, not until very
recently).However, it did keep the militaryin check (hence, no coup as in Bolivia);
and it retained somethingof its old popular/populist character - evident in sporadic
bouts of land reformand economic nationalism. As late as the 1990s the regime's
reluctance to hurl tanks and helicopter gunships against the EZLN probably had
something to do with its residual popular/populist self-image.
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of deference - had their counterparts in the major countries of South America,
notably Brazil and, a fortiori, Argentina, where they were associated with
Varguismo and Peronism.50 Peronism, in particular, brought the Argentine
working class both material benefits and a sense of political empowerment and
inclusion (James, 1988). Indeed, the material benefits were substantial, given
Argentina's relatively high level of income (compared to Mexico, Bolivia, even
Costa Rica) and the public assets which had accumulated during the second
world war (Ferns, 1973, pp. 147-8). Thus, while it would be stretching the term
to call Peronism 'revolutionary' - Peron's rise to power did not involve a violent
'revolutionary' process, and his regime, for all its populist reform, did not achieve
a major structural transformation of Argentine society - nevertheless, Peronism
shared some of the characteristics of Mexico's or Bolivia's revolution. Thus,
some fiftyyears before Tony Blair, Peronismo claimed to be pioneering a 'third
way' between liberal capitalism and Marxist socialism; and, in its stress on social
rights and popular empowerment, Peronismo went beyond hollow rhetoric. As a
veteran dockworker from Rosario recalled, comparing working-class life before

and after the watershed of 1943-6: 'with Peron we were all machos' (James, 1988,
P- 29).
But, apart from those just mentioned, there is another significant difference
which sets the Mexican or Bolivian 'revolutionary populist' projects apart from
the 'statist populist' project of Peronism. Prerevolutionary Mexico and Bolivia

were oligarchical/authoritarian states, whose demise, at the hands of popular
revolutionaries, opened the way to substantial political mobilization and what I
have termed informal (as well as some formal) democratization. The Mexican
and Bolivian
'political nations' grew substantially post-1910 and post-1952

(respectively). It would be a reasonable, if crude, assessment, therefore, that these
were 'progressive' or 'empowering' revolutions.5 Or, in the terms of our
discussion, these revolutions enhanced both political and social rights. The case
of Peronism - not to mention Varguismo - is much more ambivalent. It is not just
that Peronist democracy was inherently flawed, by virtue of its mounting
corruption, personalism and arbitrary abuse of power (all of which were also
evident in postrevolutionary Mexico and Bolivia); rather, the difference lies in the
status quo ante - the Peronist point of departure, and the yardstick against which
Peronist 'democracy' should be judged. While, it is true, the immediately
- was conservative,
preceding regime which ruled during the 'infamous decade'
a
to
and
and,
Collier, 1991, pp. 154?5;
exclusionary,
degree, oligarchic (Collier
a
consideration
of pre-1930
broader
1988,
1993,
17-17;
Rock,
James,
pp.
p. 88ff),
50
'Numerous and varyingexperimentsin populist and/orcorporativeorganizationhave

sought to achieve the goals of revolution without undergoing the process of
revolution': Crahan and Smith (1992, p. 80).
51 The duration of this empowermentis, of course, important:in Mexico, the process
lasted at least a generation- beginningin the 1910s and culminatingin the mid-1930s.
In Bolivia, the process was relativelyshorter:stirringswere evidentin the 1930s and
'40s; the revolutionoccurred in 1952; but retreat- or 'closure' - were apparent even
before the 1964 coup.
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Argentina reveals a record of democratic inclusion, competitive electoral politics,

free speech and relatively free association. Thus, within the broad sweep of the
twentieth century, Peronism appears as socially progressive, but politically
- and its basic
premise, that social and
ambiguous. Of course, this judgement
are open to question: as one Peronist worker
civil rights can be neatly separated
put it, when asked by a middle-class interlocutor whether the advent of Peron did
not threaten basic liberties: 'freedom of speech is to do with you people. We have
never had it' (James, 1988, p. 17). In simple terms, Peronism represented a tradeoff: a curtailment of Dahlian democracy (at least compared to the pre-1930 status
quo), in return for social benefits and (non-Dahlian) political inclusion. Not
- rather too
glibly drawn a parallel
surprisingly, some critical observers have
with European fascism, which could be seen as embodying a similar trade-off
(Lipset, 1963). (We may note in passing that the workers are not the only parties
to this sort of Faustian bargain: the French and the German liberal bourgeoisies
struck similar deals, with Napoleon III and Bismarck repectively). In Argentina
the long-term price was high: Peronism polarized society, compromised its early
'empowerment' of the working class, yet failed to restore the liberal-democratic
status quo ante (1930). It therefore left a legacy of political tension, institutional
weakness, and military intervention.
3.4.
Socialist
Revolution:
Cuba
It is something of a cliche that Latin America, for all its supposed record of social
inequity, political violence, and outright revolution, has had only one 'successful'
thorough-going socialist revolution (Crahan and Smith, 1992, pp. 78-80; Dix,
1973, p. 287). Both the Mexican and Bolivian revolutions, already mentioned,
embodied some radical (anarchist, socialist and communist) elements; but in both
cases these were subordinate to nationalist and populist reformers who, for all
their radical rhetoric, did not seriously envisage a transition to socialism. Indeed,
as I have argued, given the character of ancien rgime Mexico and Bolivia, a
'bourgeois' (democratic, nationalist, agrarian) revolution was radical enough in
itself. The Mexicans, we might say, were content to remain Mensheviks. As a

result, the ensuing revolutionary regimes faced inevitable constraints: what Nora
Hamilton has referred to as the 'limits of state autonomy', limits set by the
enduring capitalist context (Hamilton, 1982). Both domestic and international
- or, as I would
prefer to put it, in more impersonal terms, the
'bourgeoisies'
seriously inhibited
imperatives of both domestic and international capitalism
the action of these revolutionary states (especially the Bolivian state, which
52
The blame cannot be laid wholly or even primarilyat the door of Peronism. Not only
was Peronism the product of what had gone before (the 'infamous decade' - the work
of conservativeand militaryinterests);it also became the bete noire of those interests,
who resolved firstto oust it and then to bar it from power sine die. After 1955,
therefore,Argentinedemocracy existed on sufferance:in crude terms,the rightwould
tolerate it only so long as the Peronistas were ostracized. Peru faced a similar
obstruction in the antagonistic relationship between the militaryand APRA.
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suffered from a debilitating dependency on tin production and export) (Lehman,
1996).
The Cuban revolution, which in its early days bore comparison (ideologically)
with the Mexican, Bolivian, or Guatemalan, broke from its capitalist moorings
and charted a radical course towards socialism. The reasons for this unusual
outcome, which have been much debated, sometimes in terms of Fidel's inner
cogitations, I shall for the moment leave aside. The immediate task is to locate
the outcome within the terms of our discussion. Clearly, the Cuban revolution
represents a stark trade-off between Dahlian democracy (which was roundly
repudiated) and social rights or benefits (which were significantly advanced). To
a much greater extent than either Peronism or the PRI, Castro's regime crushed
opposition, created a one-party state, socialized the means of production, and
improved health, literacy, and material living standards for the majority of
3
In doing so, the regime eliminated a political system which, though
Cubans.
corrupt and violent, had a genuine record of democratic participation and
pluralism. Indeed, the parallel with Argentina is notable: while the Cuban
Revolution, like Peronism, came in the wake of an authoritarian episode (the
'infamous decade'; the Batista dictatorship of 1952-9), a broader perspective on
Cuba, like Argentina, reveals a more pluralistic, competitive (albeit corrupt)
electoral politics, going back to the early twentieth century.

Material improvement therefore accompanied political closure. Social rights
trumped political rights. Two pertinent questions arise: (i) was political closure a
necessary price to be paid for material improvement? and (ii) was the elimination
of formal, Dahlian democracy offset by a degree of informal popular
empowerment, as I have argued for Mexico, Bolivia, and even Argentina?
The argument that material improvements require a turn towards

authoritarianism or - a less robust argument - that authoritarianism accelerates
material advance is, of course, an old one. Similar questions arise in respect of the
Russian and Chinese Revolutions (not to mention authoritarian regimes of the

right). Any answer should distinguish between (a) material growth per se, i.e., per
capita GDP growth (for which revolutionary Cuba was not notable); and (b)
welfare (for which it was). Absent a revolution, Cuba would probably have
grown at least as fast, but with significantly less welfare provision. The general
proposition that growth requires authoritarian measures (e.g., Stalinist

collectivization and planning) and that democracy inhibits growth (thus in
India, compared to China, 'some sacrifice in speed ... is necessary for the sake of
democracy': Moore, 1969, p. 407) cannot, I think, be elevated to the status of a
universal principle. Outcomes depend on (a) the nature of the model (the USSR
and Taiwan both combined growth and authoritarianism, but the economic
53
172
As Dix notes (1973, p. 283): 'not the least among the unique aspects of the Castro
governmentin Cuba withinthe spectrumof Latin American political behaviour has
been its failure to give at least lip service to elections as the ultimatelegitimatorof
government'. For a careful comparative study of the welfare implications of the
Cuban Revolution (and others), see Eckstein (1983).
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model was radically different); (b) the international context (crucial in the Cuban
case); and (c) the time-frame: authoritarianism may achieve dramatic economic
spurts, but these seem to lead to subsequent longueurs.
As for the second question (did informal empowerment compensate for the
loss of formal Dahlian democracy?), it is a tricky one, best left to experts who can
evaluate the 'informal' - hence, by definition, the elusive and non-quantifiable features of a political system. However, my uneducated guess would be that in
Cuba
very limited compensation occurred. The political organizations of the

Cuban Revolution - the 26th of July Movement, the Cuban Communist Party
(PCC), the Committees for the Defence of the Revolution (CDR), the Organs of
- all have a
Popular Power (OPP)
strongly 'democratic-centralist' quality to them
(Rabkin, 1985; Ritter, 1985; Perez-Stable, 1999). Furthermore, the Cuban
revolution cannot claim to have destroyed a retrograde feudalism, a narrow
racist oligarchy, or an exclusionary politico-clerical hierarchy, for none of these
existed in Cuba in the 1950s. At the very least, any defence of the revolution, and
its repudiation of procedural democracy, must be based primarily on material
betterment (including health and literacy) rather than informal political
empowerment.54 The same would be true, I assume, of the Russian or Chinese
revolutions. The latter, however, took power in (feudal? absolutist?) societies,
ruled by dynastic states, where established 'democratic traditions' were weak;
whereas Cuba was a patria forjada with a long, if chequered, record of electoral
competition and political pluralism. The political price of the trade-off was
correspondingly greater.
A fuller discussion of the trade-off would involve both a normative and a
counter-factual question. The first question - was the price worth it? - is a moral
or philosophical one, which historians (especially historians who do not live in
Cuba) should not try to answer, since any answer would reflect subjective norms.
At best the terms of the trade-off can be clarified. The second - counter-factual question does fall within the historian's remit, but is notoriously difficult to
answer: why was the trade-off made, why were political, material, and welfare
rights apparently locked within a zero-sum game? Paraphrasing Alec Nove: Was
Castro
Really Necessary? (Nove, 1964). As I mentioned at the outset, the

derogation of democratic rights by socialist regimes could, in schematic terms, be
attributed to at least three causes: the hypocrisy of the leaders (whose initial
democratic promises were hollow); the insidious influence of power (which
turned genuine democrats into power-hungry autocrats); and - the biggest catchall of causes and alibis - 'external' forces, that is, forces beyond the control of the
revolutionaries, which drove them - well-meaning democrats though they may
have been - to adopt authoritarian poses.
54
There is a third criterion of government which, perhaps because it is difficultto

measure, usually gets less attention:public probity (or lack of corruption). It may be
damning with faint praise, but Castro's regime, on this criterion,clearly outshines
Batista's.
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Alan Knight
5
In Castro's case all three causes are relevant. Castro's upbringing and pre- son of a
revolutionary career
tough Gallego immigrant, pupil of the Jesuits,
admirer
of
Antonio
Primo de Rivera, student politico-cumJose
supposed
- were
conducive
to
a democratic temper (Thomas, 1971, pp.
hardly
pistolero
803-12). His conquest of power, which seemed to confirm the efficacy of
revolutionary vanguardism and voluntarism, shaped the character of the (early)
regime, which was further reinforced by the Bay of Pigs invasion. Economic
planning was infused with the 'spirit of the Sierra' (Dumont, 1970, pp. 29-30, 75).
Once in power, Castro faced opposition both within and without Cuba: 'counter-
revolution' in Camagiiey, for example (Thomas, 1971, pp. 1238, 1244-5), and the
United States' policy of economic strangulation and political subversion. Given
Castro's character and background, it is not surprising that he reacted to
- both
opposition
foreign and domestic
aggressively and incrementally. His
conduct is therefore explicable; and there is no need to invoke paranoia or

psychopathology by way of explanation (as I assume there might be in the case of
Stalin). However, 'explicable' does not mean 'inevitable', in the sense of ruling
out all counter-factual alternatives. Cuba's prerevolutionary social and political
structure, I have suggested, did not mandate an authoritarian revolution:
democratic traditions and mass organizations existed; the economy was well
bourgeois?
developed, by Latin American standards; and much of the basic
been
That
the
Cuban
did
not
of
nation-formation
had
done.
regime
spadework
have to 'forge a fatherland' arguably freed its hands for forging socialism instead.
That it chose an authoritarian version of socialism is not surprising, especially in
view of United States pressure. However, the structural preconditions of a more
democratic socialism were present in Cuba, to a greater extent than in either
In terms of domestic political economy, Stalin was more
'necessary' than Castro. US policy, however, made (and makes) Castro, and
Cuban Communism, 'necessary', in the sense of closing off alternative democratic and social-democratic - options.
Russia
3.5.
or China.
Authoritarian
reaction and its limits
I have left the most common syndrome to last. If socialist revolution is unique in
Latin America - while revolution is rare, and statist populisms are sporadic authoritarian reactions are common. They occur precisely as reactions to the four
forms of reform/mobilization already discussed (hence they are about as common
as all four put together); but they also occur in the absence of such leftist
- Guatemala, 1954; Brazil, 1964; Chile,
provocations. While some military coups
1973 were clearly prompted by the threat of radicalism (suitably exaggerated and
55
174
I am framingthe question in excessively individual terms- was Stalin, or Castro,

really necessary?- when, of course, the options and decisions involve a multitudeof
actors. However, these particular counter-factual considerations, relating to
authoritarianregimes,do place an unusual premium on individual psychologyand
decision-making.It is perhaps ironic that 'great men' count for more than 'general
forces' in Marxist ratherthan bourgeois politics.
? 2001Society
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demonized, no doubt), others could claim no such immediate causal stimulus (e.g.,
Uruguay, 1973) (Rouquie, 1987, p. 249). The military coup which ousted Madero
in Mexico in 1913 responded less to Maderista radicalism than to Maderista
incapacity (Knight, 1986, I, pp. 470-2). And, in Peru and Ecuador, of course,
- rather than resisted - radical nationalist notions.56
military coups embodied
While it may be possible to draw an analytical distinction between
authoritarian 'reactions' that are literally 'reactionary' (i.e., immediate reactions
to 'provocative' progressive change) and those which reveal a more far-sighted,
'constructive', or 'foundational' character (i.e., which go beyond the immediate
elimination of the progressive challenge and look to a more enduring
conservative or counter-revolutionary project), these are chiefly differences of
degree: the more far-sighted, 'foundational' policies may well be means to ensure
the enduring victory of the right and the definitive defeat of the left.57 They
represent authoritarian surgery rather than band-aid. Hence they typically
involve both political padlocks (measures designed to protect the 'reserve
domains' of the right: for example, the Chilean constitutional provisions
protecting Pinochet and the army) and also economic padlocks, designed to lock
in place free market principles and to prevent a return to 'economic populism'
(hence, policies of privatization, free trade agreements, restrictions on trade
Whether shortunion power, the establishment of independent central banks).

or farsightedly
or long-term in conception,
immediately
'reactionary'
'foundational', such authoritarian reactions are premised on the need to roll
back the left. As Fernando Henrique Cardoso, writing in the late 1970s, observed,
'it was the reaction against the possibility of socialism that culminated in the
present "Thermidor" in Latin America' (Cardoso, 1979, p. 44).

However, in Latin America - in contrast, I think, to China, Russia, or much of
Asia - the rolling back of the left usually retains at least some minimal
democratic character. The praetorian gravediggers of democracy do not claim to
be burying democracy for good. Nor do they aspire to establish absolutist
dynasties.59 They may, on the one hand, claim to represent a superior democracy
(Christian, corporatist, purged of Marxist contagion) (Loveman, 1997, p. 427);
56
57
58
59
These examples - of 'praetorian populism?' - would not doubt warrant further

analysis; but, for want of space and expertise, I merelymention them in passing.
As such, theycan be quite far-reaching,even radical: Crahan and Smith (1992, p. 83).
My 'padlocks' (derived fromthe Mexican use of candados) are roughlyequivalent to
J. Samuel Valenzuela's 'reserve domains' (1992, pp. 65-7, where the author discusses
Chilean political padlocks); examples of economic padlocking would include the
measures taken by the Banzer administrationin Bolivia (1971-8) which 'dismantled
the apparatus of protection, pared down state enterprise,scythed through welfare
expenditure,and made a frontalassault on wages': Dunkerley (1997, p. 355). Needless
to say, it does not require an authoritarianregime to impose padlocks; but maybe it
helps. Hence the turn to - laisser-faire,free-market,individualist 'neo-liberalism'
was (paradoxically?) associated with heavy-handedauthoritarianismin much of Latin
America.
The Somozas and Duvaliers may be exceptions, but they did not 'roll back'
functioningliberal democracies in the firstplace.
Studies
forLatinAmerican
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Alan Knight
but even so, they rarely if ever dispense indefinitely with the mechanisms of
procedural democracy. Even the Pinochet regime more authoritarian and even
personalist than most laid down a rough timetable for military disengagement
and progressive liberalization (Collier, 1999, pp. 150-1). The Brazilian military
orchestrated a prolonged, incremental liberalization, as did the Uruguayan
(Stepan, 1971, pp. 217-19; Collier, 1999, pp. 138-9). Latin American military
leaders who have tempted hubris by predicting long tenures of power (for
example, Bolivia's Garcia Meza: 'I will stay in power for twenty years until
Bolivia is reconstructed') have usually been disappointed; Garcia Meza lasted a
year and eighteen days, shortly after which 'the endeavor to impose an organic
dictatorship and eradicate all vestiges of the democratic interlude ... collapsed'
(Dunkerley, 1997, p. 378).
Even when the military dug in its heels, it proved vulnerable to democratic
pushing and shoving; thus, the limited openings allowed by authoritarian regimes
were soon converted into democratic breaches: for example, the Chilean
plebiscite of 1988, which took Pinochet by surprise (Huntington, 1991, pp. 176-8;
Collier, 1999, pp. 151, 155). In the military infighting which characterised
Argentina in the mid-1960s, the 'more democratic, professionalist' faction of the
army (the 'legalists', or 'blues') triumphed over the 'dictatorial gorillas'
(O'Donnell, 1978, pp. 164-70). Pressures of this kind made possible the
turnaround of the last twenty years, whereby authoritarian regimes have
way to democratic in eight out of ten South American republics (Markoff,
(reds)
rapid
given
1996,
pp. 142-5). Significantly, the most durable authoritarian regimes have been
civilian, rather than military, in make-up: the patrimonial, 'sultanistic' regimes of
Stroessner and the Somozas (Chehabi and Linz, 1998); and the peculiar regime of
PRI, which, in its heyday, represented a kind of routinized,
'inclusionary-authoritarian' populism, based on civilian camarillas and clienteles,
Mexico's
invulnerable to military intervention (Purcell and Purcell, 1980). Thus, durable

authoritarian rule is exceptional; and durable raz/itary-authoritarianrule is very
exceptional. Before we get too self-congratulatory, however, we should recall
that democratization processes have typically been 'padlocked', in the ways
already mentioned. Indeed, in recent years the 'padlocks' have tended to get
thicker and more unpickable. That is to say, recent military withdrawals from
rule have been accompanied by policies designed to remove the original reasons
for military intervention (radicalism, Marxism, 'economic populism', militant
unionism, peasant mobilization, threats to the army as an institution). Previous
military withdrawals largely lacked such guarantees; hence, notably in Argentina,
praetorianism tended to become a recurrent feature of political life (Rouquie,
1987, p. 272ff.). Indeed, it has even been suggested that recent scholarship on
democratization (of which there is no shortage) both embodies and endorses this
'padlocking' process.60
60
176
According to Paul Cammack (2000, p. 405), 'O'Donnell and Schmitter... make

perfectlyclear (as do Linz and Stepan) that theychoose to stresselite strategyover
structurebecause democracy will only work if the capacity of the leftand working? 2001Society
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Democratic
There
are four principal reasons why authoritarian rule cannot survive

- demands for the restoration of
indefinitely. First, it faces popular pressure
democracy from citizens groups, trade unions, parties (where permitted),
churches, and the 'new social movements', all of which can appeal to an
established democratic canon. However, the 'received wisdom' suggests that the
role of 'bottom-up' pressure in the restoration of democracy in twentieth-century
Latin America is not equivalent to its role in the introduction of democracy in

nineteenth-century Europe.61 The political hydraulics of the first and third waves
therefore differ; popular and working-class demands - demands for the
concession of new democratic rights, rather than the restoration of old - played
a greater role in the European context. A partial explanation for this (assuming it
to be true) is the relative weakness of the organized working class in late
twentieth-century Latin America, which in turn reflects basic features of
demography and political economy.
Conversely (my second reason), elite politicking appears to figure very

prominently in the recent Latin American experience. While elite motives are no
doubt mixed (I shall adduce three principal 'motives'), there is clearly an
expedient domestic rationale for some elites to favour a return to democracy,
even if they initially supported authoritarian solutions, as they often did. As the
threat of the left fades, the threat of authoritarianism remains, and may grow.
For authoritarian regimes, even if they respond to elite and propertied interests,
do not faithfully represent them; on the contrary, modern - bureaucratic? authoritarian regimes usually enjoy a substantial 'relative autonomy', hence are
quite capable of offending elite interests: by embarking on ill-judged economic
experiments (or, in the case of Argentina, even more ill-judged wars) (Acuna,
1995, p. 43); by arresting and torturing members of elite families; and, in general,
- in
by displaying a hardboiled indifference to elite restraints and preferences
We might
which respect they resemble the fascist regimes of interwar Europe.
call this the 'witch-craze syndrome': elites may be gung-ho for rooting out
deviance while the victims are 'the other'; but when the witchfinders start
knocking on elite doors, the craze loses much of its appeal (Philip, 1985, pp. 1423; cf. Trevor-Roper, 1969, pp. 189-90). Hence elite interests, however gratified by
the elimination of the left, may sooner or later come to see the authoritarian
incumbents as threats in their own right (no pun intended). Conversely, a
61
62
63
class forces to shape it is limited'; hence, Cammack concludes, their 'neutral

contribution to political science' is, in fact, 'a highly ideological interventionin
contemporarypolitics'.
Collier (1999, p. 13); although the author, it should be stressed, questions this
'received wisdom'.
This is particularlytrueof leftistauthoritarianregimes (e.g., Peru, Ecuador); however,
even those on the right (Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Uruguay) do not faithfullyand
consistentlyreflectelite/propertiedinterests.I should preemptivelyconcede that 'elite/
propertied interests' is a form of unsatisfactoryshorthand which demands further
disaggregation and clarification.
Especially the Nazi regime, whose 'relative autonomy' of elite interestswas greater
than that of Italian fascism.
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Alan Knight
democratic regime - especially one that is suitably 'padlocked' - offers protection
and reassurance to elite interests.
However, domestic expedience is not the sole factor at work. External international - opinion and pressure can count. Again, this is no constant: the US
- the
- welcomed the Brazilian and Chilean
primary external actor
coups; but
4
US thinking in this sense
later exerted pressure for a return to democracy.
roughly paralleled that of domestic elites: authoritarian rule was preferable to

supposed chaos or communism; but a moderate padlocked democracy was better
than either, in terms of both normative values and practical politics. And, of
course, domestic elites had a strong interest in aligning with US and international
financial opinion. Democracy meant credit, trade, and investment. NAFTA
cannot be credited with engendering Mexico's democratic transition (whose
origins long antedate NAFTA), but, since 1994, NAFTA has probably nudged the
process along and deterred egregious relapses.
Finally, with the fourth motive, the 'democratic tradition' re-enters the
picture. I would concede a significant measure of non-expedient, noninstrumental motivation - on the part of both domestic and international actors
alike. Democracy, for some, is an end in itself; the best way of doing politics; or,
at any rate, the least bad way. While democracy may - in the right circumstances
- offer elites
greater economic, political and personal security (from which
standpoint it may be usefully analysed in terms of rational expectations, even of

- in the
game theory) (Przeworski, 1992, pp. 105-52), it may also acquire
right
circumstances
an intrinsic value over and above such instrumental
considerations.
In such circumstances, we could speak of the 'relative
autonomy' of democracy with regard to (hostile) contingent circumstances.
Where democracy is strong - or example, in interwar Britain or the US - the
relative autonomy of democacy will see it through hard times; where it is weak
(Weimar Germany, Taisho Japan), it will collapse in the face of crisis, specifically
when elites and propertied classes decide that their interests are better served by
an authoritarian alternative. (It could, of course, be argued that the key variable
in this inter-war comparison was not the autonomous strength or weakness of
64 For an interestingattempt to explain this apparent inconsistency,by invoking a
distinction between (Latin American) states and regimes, and (US) strategy and
tactics,see Petras and Morley (1990, chap. 4).
65 The instrumental-affective
distinction is useful in general terms but on closer
inspection may be problematic: what may look like an affectiveattachment to
democracy- forexample, on the part of elites who, say, toleratean elected reformist
governmentwhich prejudices theirinterests- may embody a good deal of long-term
as against short-terminstrumentality:
that is, by toleratingreformand not upping the
ante, elites may averta worse fate (such as the guillotine),and look to the day when a
differentelected governmentserves theirinterests.In other words, mutual toleration
Cases
may reflectaffective,autonomous values, or calculated long-termself-interest.
would have to be judged on their merits,by suitable experts. However, it could be
hypothesized that, over time, long-terminstrumentalitymay afford the basis for
durable affectivevalues: perhaps such an evolution helps explain Costa Rican
exceptionalism.
178
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democracy, but the strength or weakness of the economic collapse and the related
threat from the left. However, it would be an extreme economism which
conceded no weight to autonomous democratic values).
It is, of course, very difficult to determine the relative autonomy of democracy
with regard to circumstances; it is a way of rephrasing that old but, in my my
view, indifferently answered question: when is democracy 'consolidated', when
does it become the 'only game in town'? Survey data suggest that in much of
('democratic') Latin America, contingency remains strong, hence the relative
autonomy of democracy is limited (Costa Rica appears to be a clear exception:
see n. 44). Brazilian businessmen, it seems, adopt a largely instrumental view of
while minorities prefer (on principle) either democratic or
democracy:
rule, the majority 'is indifferent to political systems' (Payne,

1995, pp. 243-4). To put it differently: the 'democratic tradition' in Latin
America, though rich and enduring in terms of its historical record, remains
somewhat at the mercy of contingent events. At the moment, events favour
democratic survival, maybe consolidation. Strong padlocks help. But events
change (perhaps they are changing in Venezuela), and changing events may test
the 'relative autonomy' of democracy, the strength of the 'democratic tradition',
in the future as in the past. They will reveal whether democracy remains an
authoritarian
instrumental recourse, one of several options within a broader tactical repertoire,

or whether it has indeed become 'the only game in town', whose rules all the
major players respect come what may.
4.
The
limits
of reform
and
revolution
The four factors which, I have suggested, may challenge authoritarian rule popular and elite opposition, external pressure/opinion, and an 'autonomous'
attachment to democratic procedures - also apply in the case of radical regimes
(usually populist, occasionally socialist). It is clearly a naive myth to assume that
the 'popular classes' necessarily support popular, progressive, or radical
governments (that is, governments which are attempting to expand political
representation, or to meddle with the market in the interests of equity and
welfare). Popular opposition may derive from economic upheaval (hence the
housewives of Santiago banging their pots and pans) or from ideological
antipathy (e.g., Mexico's Cristeros and Sinarquistas, who resisted revolutionary
anticlericalism in the 1920s and '30s). Even more clearly, propertied and elite
interests can mobilize mass opposition: what they may lack in sheer numbers they
can (often) make up in terms of financial resources, elite political contacts
(including links to the military and bureaucracy), access to the media (a factor of
growing importance), and useful external liaisons (Payne, 1995, pp. 240-1). Such
liaisons, I have suggested, may be ambivalent and shifting: the US has alternately
and capriciously backed both authoritarian and democratic forces in Latin
America. Finally, the 'relatively autonomous' strength - the intrinsic, affective
- of
appeal
procedural democracy can be marshalled in opposition to progressive
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Alan Knight
as well as to conservative governments: it helped scupper the Sandinistas; it helps
marginalize Cuba; and, given the inherent limitations of procedural democracy
especially, its strict demarcation of public and private, of politics and the market
- it can be
(Wood, 1995, chap. 1)
deployed in order to resist policies of
redistribution, state intervention, and so-called 'economic populism' (Dornbusch
and Edwards, 1991).
Thus, would-be socialist governments have faced a serious dilemma. They can
compromise with capitalism and conservative interests, limiting their role to that
of reformist social democracy, or its anaemic latter-day progeny, the 'Third
Way'. However, even social democratic and reformist/populist governments may
encounter severe resistance and obstruction: consider Weimar, Cardenismo, early
Peronism, the Guatemalan and Nicaraguan revolutions. Such cases illustrate, in
flesh-and-blood terms, the 'structural dependence of the state on capital' or 'the
limits of state autonomy' (Barrow, 1993, pp. 58-63; Hamilton, 1982). Genuinely
reformist regimes - whether of electoral or revolutionary provenance - face the
alternative of (a) moderating their policies and accepting the constraints (and
threats) of conservative interest groups (economic, political and military); or (b)
challenging those constraints (and threats), and striving for greater 'relative state
That, we have seen, is precisely what Castro resolved to do.
Conversely, political and economic padlocks are designed to make such radical
autonomy'.
departures impossible.
Dahlian democracy can therefore serve as a brake on radical, reformist,as well
as authoritarian, conservative governments. As Albert Hirschman pointed out
(long before the latest neo-liberal wave engulfed Latin America), the traditional,
liberal, Tocquevillean argument for protecting society and the economy against
the caprices of a despotic prince could also be used to constrain the whims of an
enfranchised people: 'if it is true that the economy must be deferred to, then there
is a case not only for constraining the imprudent actions of the prince but [also]
for repressing those of the people, for limiting participation, in short, for crushing
anything that could be interpreted by some economist-king as a threat to the
proper functioning of the "delicate watch" [of the economy]' (Hirschman, 1979,
pp. 84?5). And there is no shortage of economist-kings today (Montecinos and
Markoff, 2001).
The democratic 'brake' may derive from a genuine, affective attachment to
democratic norms; but it also - perhaps more often - affords a powerful
instrumental critique, for both domestic and foreign consumption. Hence the
- of democratic discourse,
- and
prolific coining
consequent debasement
of
the
President
Nicaraguan contras with the
Reagan's equation
exemplified by
the
American
fathers
of
founding
Republic. Measuring the relative weight of
affective and instrumental attachments is never easy; the actors themselves may
have no idea of the balance (I doubt that President Reagan did); so a large
measure of structural hypocrisy is normal. As analysts, we have to ask whether a
'democratic tradition' is indeed supported by autonomous values - a democratic
- or rather
by considerations of collective advantage. What
'political culture'
counts: values or interests? Usually, the answer is revealed only in the crucible of
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crisis, when actors are forced to decide, and the mask of structural hypocrisy
slips. Hence the relevant example of interwar Europe. The new democracies of
Latin America (and their foreign admirers) will be really put to the test when
burgeons, or when
major recession strikes, when popular mobilization
authoritarian alternatives (of left or right) beckon.
As for revolutions and 'revolutionary traditions' - it all depends which
revolution. I have suggested that the liberal, anti-colonial origins of the Latin
American republics conferred a certain patriotic and prescriptive right to liberal
republican government, which may help explain the tenacity of that form of
government in the continent (frequent lapses notwithstanding). Twentiethcentury revolutions, premised on the expansion of both political and social rights,
have displayed an ambivalent relationship to (procedural, liberal, Dahlian)
democracy. While they may topple authoritarian regimes, boast democratic

goals, and, in some cases (e.g., Bolivia, 1952) genuinely advance democratic
participation, they also check and challenge (procedural) democracy, in two
principal respects, one economic, the other political.

First, revolutionary regimes may opt for a trade-off between democracy and
material betterment, on the grounds that the latter is more crucial (food is more
important than the franchise), and that, in a supposed zero-sum situation, both
are not possible; procedural democracy would inhibit redistribution; the
genuinely redistributionist state must therefore break free of its 'structural
autonomy,
dependence on capital' and achieve a large measure of autonomy
that is, of both domestic and international capital. The argument suffers from an
inherent paternalism (when the going gets tough, the masses cannot be trusted to
vote for a redistributionist government); but it also displays a degree of realism

(capital is quite capable of destabilising redistributionist governments: witness
the fate of Arbenz or Allende). Cuba has survived destabilisation, but at great
cost, such that the material betterment promised by the revolution - that is, the
- was
implicit quid pro quo for forfeiting a flawed but real democratic 'tradition'
I
limited.
the
was
it
Whether
trade-off
worth
as
have
a
matter
for
is,
said,
quite
Cubans.
revolutionary regimes may shelve procedural democracy on the
(political) grounds that it is a bourgeois sham and that something better
more
and
is
or
direct, popular
organic
something
(implicitly
explicitly) on offer.
This can be a valid argument, but it tends to suffer from diminishing returns.
Second,
66
Mexico weathered the economic crisis of 1994?5 without major political upheaval;
indeed, the legacy of that crisis was probably the principal factor contributingto the
historic defeat of the PRI in the July2000 presidential election, which - at national
level, at least - seemed to complete Mexico's protracted democratic transition.
Brazilian democracy also survivedthe 1998 crisis,which came at a time of significant
popular mobilization (the PT; the Landless Movement). Meanwhile, Colombia suffers
from recession and endemic guerrilla war; democracy in both Peru and Ecuador has
recently teetered on the brink of authoritarian relapse; and Venezuela may be
witnessing the gestation of a new authoritarianism (although apocalyptic visions
would seem, at present,to be both imaginative and premature).
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Alan Knight
Revolutions
have overthrown narrow,

Nicaragua)
oligarchic, pseudo-democratic regimes, and have both expanded procedural
democracy and empowered subaltern groups more broadly (by means of schools,
sindicatos, peasant leagues, political parties). 'Empowerment' and 'informal
democratization' therefore mean something and are not mere alibis of leftist
authoritarianism. However, they are difficult to measure (hence my diffidence in
- or, indeed,
anywhere outside of Mexico); and they tend to fade
respect of Cuba
with time. They are products of revolutionary situations - unusual, sporadic,
- and
time-bound
occurrences
they are not easily institutionalized.
(in Mexico,
Bolivia,
Institutionalization, in fact, can often mean manipulation or regimentation: for

example, in Mexico's ejidos or Cuba's Committees for the Defence of the
Revolution. Whether it is Michels' 'iron law of oligarchy', Acton's corrupting
power, or the insidious effect of capital, markets and foreign enemies, these
agencies of organic or popular democracy do not live up to expectations. In the
medium and long-term, therefore, the claim to a superior organic democracy
starts to ring hollow; and boring old bourgeois democracy begins to exert a fresh
appeal.
In light of these somewhat
sobering thoughts, it is not surprising that

are
revolutionary promises
nowadays rarely heard and even more rarely believed.
This applies to both left and right: revolutionary redistribution has been widely
abandoned in favour of modest incremental reformism (Ellner, 1993, pp. 2-3ff.);
but, at the same time - and quite logically, given their functional interdependence
- radical authoritarian alternatives are also at a discount. No revolution, no
counter-revolution. The epic battles of the twentieth century have, as it were,
been shelved. Today's Latin American leaders, when they seek the imprimatur of
history, prefer to vault over the immediate past into the safer and murkier reaches
of the nineteenth century. President Chavez invokes Bolivar, while President
Salinas concocted a persuasive discourse premised on the notion of 'social
liberalism', which dated back to the 1850s, thereby conveniently by-passing the
armed Revolution and its Cardenista sequel (Knight, 1996, pp. 3-7). However, I
do not believe that discourses determine political outomes. Rather, they reflect
current interests and concerns. And the current conjuncture clearly favours a
market-friendly, 'padlocked' democracy, resistant to popular revolution and

conservative authoritarianism alike. The 'revolutionary tradition' appears
moribund; the democratic 'tradition' commands the field. But in its moment of
greatest triumph, it has a weary and haggard look.
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Barrow, C.W. (1993) Critical Theories of the State. Madison: Universityof Wisconsin.
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Bello, J.M. (1966). A History of Modern Brazil. Stanford: Stanford UP.

Blackmore, S. (1999). The Meme Machine. Oxford: OUP.
Brading, D. A. (1991). The First America. Cambridge: CUP.
Bushnell, D. (1993). The Making of Modern Colombia. Berkeley:Universityof California
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Cammack. P. (2000). Review of Collier, R.B., Paths Towards Democracy. Bulletinof Latin
American Research, 19/3, pp. 403-5.
Cardoso, F.H. (1979). On the Characterizationof AuthoritarianRegimes in Latin America.
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Society for Latin American Studies (SLAS)

Democratic and Revolutionary Traditions in Latin America

Bulletinof LatinAmericanResearch,Vol. 20, No. 2, pp. 147-186,2001

This article seeks to identifyand explain the historical links between

starting articles with a pernickety 'naming of parts' is not necessarily good

dropping things and generating confusion. Foilowing a brief

expression (civic rights) and (ii) electoral participation (political rights).1 Of

practically). Indeed, a principal concern of this article is to consider how

terms of two supposed advantages: first,superior representation (representation

procedural, Dahlian democracy (Krauze, 1986).

fairer socioeconomic arrangements, and, on the other hand, practical outcomes,

or 'structuraP? - hypocrisy: the theory was never seriously

and Revolutionary Traditions in Latin America

ineluctable circumstances; the iogic of the revolution'; what might be called

to say, these three interpretations - to which I shall briefly return in

false fidelity to their self-proclaimed (democratic) principles. Slavery coexisted

exercise in cheap Cold War point-scoring).

a bundle of all-embracing and supposedly structurally-related

and Revolutionary Traditions in Latin America

set of principles, experiences, myths, texts, 'transcripts', songs, symbols, heroes,

generally to 'revolutions' or more specifically to 'great', 'social', 'peasant',

voluntaristic struggle for political power) and outcome (a major reordering of

'Democracy' is, I think, somewhat different. It is not only a recognisable

on the basis of reasonably clear premises, accessible (including quantitative) data,

and Revolutionary Traditions in Latin America

synchronic 'snapshot' of the Russian or Mexican

Revolutions would make little

Given the contingency and variation of 'revolution', what do we mean by a

know, stir much popular nostalgia or spontaneous commemoration in Europe).

integration (Collier and

Quaratiello, 1994; Harvey, 1998).

propose two axes (more could no doubt be introduced). First, a

is, too, the complicated case of erstwhile revolutionary regimes

Of course, 'snapshots' of the old regime - synchronicanalyses of prerevolutionary

While the 'revolutionary' status of these phenomena will depend on

and Revolutionary Traditions in Latin America

been seen, by some, as formative influences in, for example,

patterns of state-building, as stressed by Skocpol (Skocpol, 1979); or to sui

which distinguishes, among the 'great revolutions', between 'bourgeois' and

closely associated with the contrasting 'bourgeois' and 'socialist' forms.

184). Such a project, traditionally defined in somewhat narrow politico-economic

involving a comparable transformation in political and economic structures (the

democracy is intimately associated with bourgeois revolutions (which typically

and Revolutionary Traditions in Latin America

It therefore appears to be a conclusion of almost Euclidean

authoritarianism (Moore, 1969, chap. 8) And history has produced plenty of

to liberalism and corporate capitalism, European social

combining a genuine socialist programme with democratic politics, something

Sandinistas, too, though victors on the battlefield, allowed democratic politics to

The Americas in general can be seen, sub specie aeternitatis, as a haven of

and Revolutionary Traditions in Latin America

to European ideas, including liberalism (hence Tulio

interests: as the Cuban elite frankly recognized, contemplating the horrific

of the people as the basis of legitimate government (Maiguashca, 1996, p. 101).

republican status quo against European revanchisme.32

sovereign, how could their sovereignty be expressed but by means of

Mexico, Mosquera in Colombia, Sarmiento in Argentina) and inspired, in some

and Revolutionary Traditions in Latin America

pattern evident in the first two generations after