DRAFT/BORRADOR 2/98

The historic signing of the Guatemalan peace accords on December 29, 1996, ending Latin America's longest and bloodiest Cold War civil war, provides an excellent opportunity to revisit a number of ongoing discussions about democratization in Latin America. Part I of this paper argues that, beyond ending the war, this peace process became the primary path for the democratization of Guatemala; I shall highlight both how the process opened up political space, and what has (and has not) been achieved in the content of the Accords signed. Part II will use the Guatemalan experience as a basis for addressing several broad theoretical debates about democratization in Latin America.

In previous works, I have developed an argument about the role of elections and the peace process in opening up Guatemala's exclusionary political system. (1) My agenda in this paper is broader, i.e., to focus on what the experience of the Guatemalan peace process can add to the ongoing debates between different schools of analysis about democracy and democratic transitions in Latin America. I shall argue here that experiences such as the Guatemalan, involving societal ruptures and decades-long civil wars of epic proportions, cannot be fully understood simply within the context of one (useful but limited) body of literature about "democratic transitions." That perspective -- which was developed to deal with transitions from authoritarian to democratic rule in southern Europe and the Southern Cone of Latin America -- provides partial insights. Nevertheless, for the cases of the Central American countries that underwent revolutionary turmoil during the 1980s, it must be complemented by other bodies of literature on democracy, both classical and contemporary, which capture the many dimensions of democratization. Embedded in this discussion are a number of fundamental epistemological issues; without making any pretense of resolving them, I shall at least point to these issues as part of the agenda for ongoing discussions.

PART I

A) The Guatemalan Peace Process

As recently as 1992-93, particularly after the signing and international verification of the historic peace accords in neighboring El Salvador, the Guatemalan military and civilian elites vowed "never" to permit such an outcome in Guatemala. The extraordinary story of how, by 1996, the Guatemalan army and government found themselves involved in very much the same kind of process as the Salvadoran, with the United Nations as moderator and verifier of the process is chronicled in detail elsewhere (2), but a brief summary is essential to the argument presented here.

Guatemala's civil war began in 1960, shortly after the CIA-orchestrated overthrow of the democratic nationlist government of Jacobo Arbenz in 1954. The leftist insurgency, which developed in several stages and coalesced in the Guatemalan National Revolutionary Unity (URNG) in 1982, was met by brutal counterinsurgency responses from the U.S.-trained army, most particularly during 1966-68 and 1981-83. (3) But even as the low-intensity civil war continued, the late 1980s saw the beginnings of a move toward peace. After the crushing scorched-earth war of the early 1980s, the URNG recognized that a strategy based on military victory or "taking state power" was unthinkable: the cost of pursuing such a strategy made it totally unacceptable to the non-combattant population. Hence, shortly after the return to elected civilian government in 1986, the URNG began to propose dialogue and negotiations for a political settlement to the war. For several years, the army and the government (headed by Christian Democrat Vinicio Cerezo) stubbornly refused to negotiate, insisting that the insurgents had been "defeated" and therefore must disarm unilaterally. By 1990, however, even army and government spokesmen had to acknowledge that the war was continuing. The implicit admission that the war could not be "won" militarily by either side created the conditions, for the first time beginning in the spring of 1990, for the negation of the war, i.e., serious discussions about ending it.

By this time as well, considerable political pressure for peace had built up within Guatemala as well as internationally. During 1989, the Catholic Church sponsored a National Dialogue which, although boycotted by the army, the government and the private sector, expressed a clear national consensus among all other sectors in favor of a substantive political settlement to the war. The dialogue process projected a series of URNG meetings with the political parties and "social sectors" (private enterprise, popular and religious movements), and finally with the government and army. The 1990 sessions included a September meeting between the URNG and the private sector umbrella organization CACIF -- an unthinkable event during the previous 30 years. Beyond the formal meetings, the dialogue process opened up spaces withn a repressive context for public discussion of issues that had been undiscussable for decades; in this sense, it became an important avenue for beginning to democratize Guatemala.

In early 1991 the newly elected government of Jorge Serrano opened direct negotiations with the URNG. For the first time, top army officials agreed to participate in meetings to set the agenda and procedures for peace talks without demanding that the URNG first disarm -- although they still hoped to win URNG demobilization in exchange for minimal, pro-forma concessions. During the next year, there were agreements in principle on democratization and partial agreements on human rights. The precariousness of the process became evident when it stagnated in mid-1992, and moved toward total breakdown during the last months of Serrano's crisis-ridden government (leading up to the May 1993 "Serranazo" or attempted auto-golpe). The Serrano government turned out to be more interested in imposing a cease-fire deadline than in resolving the substantive issues on the 11-point agenda -- a stance unacceptable to the URNG.

The political crisis unleashed by Serrano's attempt to seize absolute control (initially supported by some factions of the army) was resolved through the ascendance of former Human Rights Ombudsman Ramiro de Le¢n Carpio to the Presidency. (4) But the peace process remained at a stand-still during the rest of 1993. The new government, in close alliance with the dominant wing of the army high command ("institutionalist" but recalcitrant) presented unrealistic negotiation proposals which would have discarded previously signed agreements and, in essence, would have required the URNG to disarm without any substantive settlements. Perhaps the army had hoped to use de Le¢n Carpio's legitimacy to achieve unilateral surrender by the URNG. These proposals were rejected almost unanimously throughout Guatemalan society (except by the army and private sector), and were viewed as completely unnviable by the international community.

In January 1994, with these tactics having run their course, the negotiations were resumed, but this time on a significantly different basis. During the 1991-93 rounds, Guatemala's peace talks had been moderated by Msgr. Rodolfo Quezada Toru¤o of the Catholic Bishops' Conference, with the United Nations in an "observer" role. As of January 1994, the U.N. became the moderator, paving the way for significantly increased involvement by the international community, raising the stakes in the negotiations, and giving the entire process a less reversible dynamic. (5)

Furthermore, the January 1994 "Framework Accord" established a clear agenda and timetable. This accord also formalized a role for a broad-based multi-sector Assembly of Civil Society (ASC) which included virtually all organized sectors of civil society (including, for the first time, women's organizations), as well as the major political parties. Only the big business sectors represented in CACIF decided not to participate. Having gained new experience during the Serranazo, these grass-roots organizations had become increasingly vocal in demanding participation in the peace process. The ASC was also striking for the diversity or plurality of political/ideological positions represented within its ranks; unlike the "popular organizations' in El Salvador, the ASC was by no means a simple instrument of the URNG. As the main agreements were being hammered out, the ASC -- after itself engaging in a fascinating process of consensus-building among widely divergent positions --offered proposas to the negotiating parties on each issue. While not binding, their positions had to be taken into account.

A breakthrough Human Rights Accord was signed in late March 1994, calling for the immediate establishment of international verification mechanisms to monitor human rights. But for months, the government took no steps to comply with its obligations under the Accord, and the mandated U.N. Verification Mission (MINUGUA) did not arrive until November. At the table, two new accords were signed in June 1994 on the Resettling of Displaced Populations and a watered down Truth Commission (empowered to "esclarecer" or shed light on past human rights crimes, but without naming the individuals responsible) -- the latter being completely unacceptable to Guatemalan popular and human rights organizations. On the ground, meanwhile, human rights violations worsened, leaving the definite impression that the government was going through the motions of a peace process without intending to change anything.

For the above reasons as well as the complexity of the issue itself, no agreement was reached on the next theme, Rights and Identity of Indigeneous Peoples, until March 1995. The signing of this Accord was a landmark achievement for a country whose population is 60% indigenous, but was overshadowed by the eruption of the CIA scandal in Washington. Negotiations on the following theme, social-economic issues (directly affecting the interests of the economic elites) continued throughout 1995, making some progress but without a final resolution.

Inside Guatemala, meanwhile, the peace process was directly impacted by the dynamics of the campaign for the November 1995 general election. Early in 1995 the URNG issued an unprecedented call urging people to vote, which was interpreted as signaling an implicit shift toward political means of struggle. Meanwhile, for the first time in 40 years -- in no small measure as a result of the simultaneous peace process, -- a left-of-center front of popular and indigenous organizations (the "left flank" of the ASC), the New Guatemala Democratic Front (FDNG) was formed to participate in the elections -- although at a great disadvantage, and weakened by the lack of resources and prior political experience. Equally significant was the August meeting on the Panamanian island of Contadora, at which the URNG agreed to suspend military actions during the last two weeks of the electoral campaign, in exchange for a commitment by the major political parties to continue the peace negotiations under a new government and honor the accords already signed. For the first time, the political class accepted that the Accords constituted "accords of state" and hence could not be jettisoned by any future government or Congress.

In the November 1995 general elections, marked still by a high level of abstention (though improved over previous elections), no presidential candidate received an absolute majority. The major surprise of the election was the stronger-than-expected showing of the newly formed Frente Democr tico Nueva Guatemala, FDNG, which won six seats in Congress; additionally, alliances between the FDNG and locally based indigenous civic committees won several important mayoralties, including Xelaj£ (Quezaltenango). A January 1996 run-off for President pitted modernizing conservative Alvaro Arz£ against a stand-in for former dictator Efra¡n R¡os Montt.

Arz£, who won by a scant 2%, immediately signaled his intention to bring the ongoing peace talks to a successful conclusion; R¡os Montt's party, by contrast, was openly anti-negotiation. Even before taking office, Arz£ had already held several direct, secret meetings with the URNG in different venues. Shortly after taking office, the new president underscored his intention to establish civilian control over the army by undertaking a series of shake-ups in the army high command and the police. These and other actions created a new political climate and paved the way for an indefinite cease-fire betweeen the rebels and the army in March 1996.

Meanwhile, in the formal peace negotiations, a (relatively weak) accord on social-economic issues was signed in May 1996 -- this time, finally, with CACIF support. Far more significant was the September accord that mandated constitutional reforms subordinating the army to civilian control and restricting the army's role to external defense, while creating a new civilian police force to handle all internal security matters. The army's size and budget was also be reduced (see details below).

A serious crisis (with some lasting effects) was sparked when a top commander of ORPA (one of the URNG constituent organizations) staged a high-level kidnapping in October 1996; the government suspended the peace talks until ORPA's top leader resigned from the negotiating table in November. Several operational accords -- dealing with a definitive cease-fire, constitutional and electoral reforms, the reinsertion of the URNG (entailing a partial amnesty for both parties to the war), and a calendar for fulfilment of the accords were signed in December. Following the dramatic return of the URNG leadership to Guatemala on December 28, the Final Peace Accord was signed amid considerable international fanfare in Guatemala's National Palace on December 29, 1996. Thus ended the first phase of the peace process that the Guatemalan elites had vowed "never" to permit in Guatemala.

How did this "never" turn into acceptance? Slowly but surely, despite fierce resistances and significant delays, the peace process acquired credibility in Guatemala. To be sure, at many times, the volatility and fragility of the Guatemalan process evoked images of the Middle-East negotiations. But with all its difficulties, it created a space for the discussion and negotiation of issues that had been taboo for decades, and that remained taboo in the still- restricted electoral arena until 1995. The logic of the peace process, broadly understood, came to offer Guatemalan civil society its best opportunity (perhaps the last, for the coming decades) to democratize a thoroughly exclusionary system, to make important changes that would be impossible under any other circumstances. Even within the most recalcitrant centers of the private sector, "modernizing" fractions became invested in the peace process; they recognized that it was the only way to avoid being isolated and left behind in the world of the 21st century. Even the seemingly all-powerful army, despite all appearances to the contrary, was increasingly on the defensive, especially after the failed Serranazo, and had decreasing legitimacy and authority within Guatemala. Internationally, given the changes in the world and in Guatemala since 1990, the U.S. no longer had any strategic justification for maintaining its alliance with the Guatemalan counterinsurgency army. In short, none of the major Guatemalan players had anywhere to move but forward.

The road ahead is full of minefields: the struggles for full implementation of the accords are encountering very serious resistances from those who have held power in the old system. But if fully implemented, the Accords open up an opportunity for some significant transformations of Guatemalan society--the only such opportunity in half a century (since the CIA-orchestrated overthrow of the democratic reformist Arbenz government in 1954), and the only such opportunity that Guatemala will have to establish a functioning democracy in another half century.

B) Architecture of the Accords: What was and was not gained

Taken as a whole, the Accords declare an "adios" to 42 years of painful Cold War history. Taken one by one, the Accords are a mix of strong and weak agreements. They are certainly not the product of a revolutionary victory by the URNG, but they do represent a truly negotiated settlement, much like El Salvador's of 1992. Brokered by the UN, they have not been imposed by victors upon vanquished. Rather, they represent a splitting of differences between radically opposed forces, with major concessions from both sides. The obligations they impose on the Guatemalan government, including significant constitutional reforms, are written down in black and white; they are internationally binding and will be verified by the UN.

Substantively, the resulting Accords are a mix of genuine achievements and serious limitations. The first breakthrough achievement was the Human Rights Accord, signed in March, 1994. It was important not so much for any new concept of human rights--these were already guaranteed on paper in the 1985 Constitution--as for the new mechanism it created for ending their systematic violation in practice: it brought a UN Verification Mission (MINUGUA) into the country. The on-the-ground, in-country UN presence signified the international community's intention to monitor respect for human rights, definitively altering the political context.

Secondly, at the heart of the entire arrangement, is the demilitarization accord (Strengthening of Civilian Power and the Role of the Army in a Democratic Society), signed in September, 1996. This accord requires far-reaching constitutional reforms to limit the functions of the army -- which since the 1960s has considered itself the "spinal column" of the Guatemalan state and has involved itself in everything from internal security to civic action and vaccinating babies. Henceforth, the accord stipulates, the army will have one single function: defense of the borders and of Guatemala's territorial integrity. The Accord also eliminates the dreaded paramilitary "Civilian Self-Defense Patrols" and other counterinsurgency security units, reduces the size and budget of the army by a third, and creates a new civilian police force to guarantee citizen security. Finally, it mandates necessary reforms of the judicial system, to eliminate the pervasive impunity.

Some years ago, Guatemalan writer Carlos Figueroa (1986) gave us the unforgettable image of the "centaurization" of the Guatemalan state, i.e. its domination by a counterinsurgency apparatus that was half-beast, half-human--a mix of civilian and military power, with the prevalence of the military component. The demilitarization accord mandates the "de-centaurization" of the state, as the precondition for strengthening civilian power and genuine democratization. It is also the precondition for Guatemala's governability. As we began to see with the failure of the 1993 "Serranazo" (President Serrano's attempted auto-golpe), the state-as-centaur is no longer viable.

If the battle for full implementation is won and the gains are consolidated -- none of which can be taken for granted in Guatemala, -- this accord will begin a profound change in the rules of Guatemalan politics, possibly even the beginning of a transformation of the state. For those who have lived under Guatemala's thoroughly exclusionary political system all these years, ideological pluralism will be a significant achievement. A fog of fear has permeated virtually all human and social interactions except among the privileged elites. As recently as the early 1990s, an intellectual like Myrna Mack could be brutally assassinated for overstepping unwritten research boundaries, and activists could be assassinated for "paving the way" for the URNG's return (which the army had vowed to prevent). Strange as it sounds, people can celebrate the fact that Guatemala is becoming a "normal" country because they have been living in a virtual state of exception for over 40 years. As Nobel Peace Prize winner Oscar Arias said of Guatemala in 1994, "We'll be secure when we hear that knock at the door at 6:00 a.m. and we know it's only the milkman."

The other significant gain is the 1995 Accord on Identity and Rights of Indigenous Peoples. This accord goes far beyond anti-discrimination protections for Guatemala's indigenous majority--60% of the population--to mandate a constitutional amendment redefining Guatemala as a multiethnic, multicultural and multilingual nation. If fully implemented, this agreement will require profound reforms in the country's educational, judicial and political systems. It lays the formal basis for a new entitlement of Guatemala's indigenous majority, a right to make claims upon the state. As will be seen below, a country such as Guatemala, democracy and genuine pluralism require the construction of a multiethnic, multicultural nation such as that envisioned in the Accord. Overcoming the historic polarization of Guatemalan politics requires recognition of the heterogeneity and diversity that is Guatemala and of the strong indigenous component of Guatemala's identity.

This accord, together with independent initiatives by a variety of indigenous organizations, also creates a new context for social interactions. After its signing, the residents of Solol , a town in the heart of the conflict zone, decided to base the 1996 competition for the "Queen of Solol ," traditionally a beauty contest, on who could best explain the Accord on Indigenous Rights. Together with the recent growth of various indigenous movements -- such as the creation of "civic committees" unaffiliated with the traditional political parties in a number of towns -- the accord was part of the context for the unprecedented 1995 election of an indigenous mayor of Guatemala's second city, Quezaltenango.

Of course, there are very serious limitations and flaws in the Accords. Most prominently featured in the United States has been the failure to provide real justice to victims of the war. To begin with, Guatemala's "Truth Commission" will be empowered neither to take judicial action nor even to name individually those responsible for unspeakable human rights crimes. This accord, which generated howls of protest in Guatemala when it was first signed in 1994, is even worse when combined with the far-reaching (though partial) amnesty negotiated in December 1996. The latter will cover war-related crimes--excluding genocide, torture and forced disappearances, but not extrajudicial killings. Essentially, the Accord kicks the ball back to the courts. But the judicial system, due to be reformed via the Accord on the Strengthening of Civilian Power, still operates within a generalized framework of impunity and threats from the military. The struggle against impunity will undoubtedly be a weathervane of the progress toward change in Guatemala.(6)

Fortunately, many organizations and coalitions of Guatemalan civil society have taken matters into their own hands to compensate for the weaknesses of the Truth Commission and the amnesty law. The Catholic Church has a massive nation-wide project, called "Recovery of Historical Memory," to bring forth testimony from victims and to name names. Several coalitions of popular organizations and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) are challenging the amnesty law in court, and will continue their struggles to hold human rights criminals responsible.

Equally or more serious are the shortcomings in the Accord on Socio-Economic and Agrarian Issues. The accord recognizes poverty as a problem--for Guatemala, a step forward--and it nods in the direction of governmental responsibility for the well-being of the population. It commits the government to increase the ratio of taxes to GDP from under 8% (the lowest in the hemisphere) to 12% within the next four years. However, it sidesteps the ever-present issue of land reform, and it guarantees no reforms to address the alarming rate of un- and under-employment, now 66%.

The compromises on these issues are not surprising, given the need to get the private sector on board, the government's conservative economic agenda, and the rampant neoliberal tendencies in the international community. People's daily lives will not improve directly as a result of the accords. As everywhere else in Latin America, socio-economic policies will be the result of political struggle once all political forces are legalized. The steady deterioration of social conditions in neighboring El Salvador since the signing of peace in 1992 is an ominous precedent. Some high-level UN officials express confidence that the "international community" will heed the lessons of the Salvadoran experience. But if it turns out that the logic of the Guatemalan accords is subordinated to the logic of neoliberal fundamentalism, this could well be the Achilles heel of the whole arrangement, and could eventually undermine democratic gains. To mention only one possibility: an increase in social violence and common crime, driven partly by poverty, could spark calls for reinvolving the army in maintaining internal security.

To summarize: on the positive side of the balance sheet, the peace process and the Accords have laid the basis for completing Guatemala's long-interrupted democratic revolution, and have created a new political scenario. If the forces of the Left are coherent and intelligent enough to use it well, they now have the space to fight for many of the goals not achieved in the Accords themselves. In addition, In addition, as I argue elsewhere (7), the Guatemalan peace, if properly implemented, will mark a significant milestone for Latin America.

On the negative side, in addition to the weaker accords, the signing opens up a new round of struggles, in which Guatemala's "peace resisters" and defenders of the old order are sharpening their knives. Just getting the entire complex of constitutional reforms and new laws through the Guatemalan Congress will entail a series of battles. The second-largest party in Congress is the extreme-right party of ex-dictator Efra¡n R¡os Montt, which has stated that it feels no obligation to cooperate. Both in the army and in the private sector, there will be hundreds of ways to sabotage the Accords or to secure only partial compliance-- which, on some points, would be as bad as non-compliance. An early example of just how difficult the struggles will be is the February 1997 Congressional law creating the new civilian police: aside from preempting the procedures envisioned in the final accord (a multi-partite Commission to monitor compliance), it violated the demilitarization accord, both openly and by finding every possible loophole. Concerted international support -- and, above all, a conditioning of international aid on compliance with the accords -- will be a necessary complement to internal struggles to overcome these kinds of resistance.(8)

PART II

DEMOCRACY WITHOUT ADJECTIVES: GUATEMALA AND THE FRENCH REVOLUTION

The remainder of this paper -- premised on the view that total fulfilment of the Accords, most particularly on demilitarization, is the necessary precondition for democratization -- will develop a series of arguments about the implications of the Guatemalan experience for the debates about democracy in Latin America. In synthesis, I shall argue that much of the "transition" literature based on the model of events in the Southern Cone is, by itself, insufficient for the Central American (and specifically Guatemalan) cases. In order to fully comprehend experiences such as the Guatemalan, involving societal ruptures and decades-long civil wars of epic proportions, as well as major ethnic dimensions, our analysis must draw on various schools of interpretation of democracy.

Epistemologically, my argument is that limiting ourselves to one tradition (the Schumpeterian/ representational --from which derives the "minimalist" definition of democracy) is neither theoretically nor empirically sufficient. Its emphasis on formal/institutional democracy is not "wrong;" but for some situations, it includes too much and at the same time, too little. Beyond developing these critiques, I shall attempt to demonstrate what can be gained by complementing it with other frameworks, both classical and contemporary, in order to suggest how much political democratization can mean in its different dimensions when it fully occurs after a long anti-democratic period. Finally, I shall briefly address the recurrent issue of socio-economic equity and its relation to political democracy -- which has been the major battle over interpretations of societal upheavals and transformations (such as the Guatemalan) since the French Revolution. I make no pretense of resolving this monumental issue, but its ongoing relevance should be acknowledged.

(1) 1985-95: Guatemala's "pacted transition" experience

My thesis is that the pacted transition model developed to explain events in the Southern Cone does not capture the essentials of the democratization process as it actually occurred in Guatemala. During the 1985-1995 period, Guatemala did experience precisely such a transition, pacted between civilian and military elites, and did hold elections that could be considered "free and fair" (non-fraudulent). Nevertheless, at the same time a repressive/coercive counterinsurgency apparatus was effectively stifling basic freedoms (of expression, assembly, etc.) and imposing military control on whole sectors of the rural population. Only the Reagan State Department cheerfully proclaimed Guatemala a "consolidated"/"post-transitional" democracy after nothing more than the 1985 election (cited in Jonas, 1989). More sober academic analysts attempting to include Guatemala in the "democratic family" had to resort to inventing new categories of democracy (restricted, pseudo-, "tutelada," "facade," "democradura," etc.). When it becomes necessary to add all those qualifiers, as some self-styled "transitologists" did when they included Guatemala, the definition of democracy is being stretched beyond acceptable limits.

Elsewhere (Jonas 1991, 1995), I have argued that because power was not effectively transferred from the army to civilians, the transition from overt military rule to elected civilian government in Guatemala during the mid-1980s was not so much a democratic transition as the liberalization of an authoritarian regime. (9) Liberalizations can be controlled: openings can be shut at will, as was the case in Guatemala as recently as 1993. More precisely, I have maintained (Jonas 1989, p. 132 and note 4), it was best described as a civilian version of the counterinsurgency state, with its own particularities, but leaving intact the army's power over civilian authorities. (10) Formally, the post-1986 civilian government reestablished the rule of law, but on the ground, Guatemalans did not feel protected by it. On paper, the 1985 constitution contained basic liberal democratic guarantees, but that same constitution codified the counterinsurgency institutions (PACs, army-controlled "model villages," etc.) that violated such guarantees in practice. For the most part from 1986 through 1995, civilian presidents allowed the army to rule from behind the scenes. To be sure, the constitutional framework provided some important spaces from which people could organize to force open broader spaces. Nevertheless, as documented by virtually all human rights reports covering the period from 1986 through the mid-1990s, the levels of repression and the pervasive climate of fear seriously marred the democratic opening. (11) In addition, to the extent that accountability (of government to citizens) is a component of democracy, the levels of impunity and arbitrariness in Guatemala, especially by military authorities, and the absence of due process in the judicial system were striking. Indeed, as late as 1995, MINUGUA reports still identified impunity as the major obstacle to real improvements in the human rights climate.

Elections during this period -- specifically, the 1985 and 1990-91 elections -- were free of fraud, and certainly featured competing political parties (18 or 19 of them). However, they could hardly be called "representative," as many studies have demonstrated (12). Far from being fully pluralistic, they were ideologically restricted, with all forces from the left of center totally excluded until 1995 (13), and many citizens too inhibited by fear to engage in political activity. Many real issues were left undiscussed in the electoral arena. Furthermore, on the dimension of participation, these elections were characterized by ever- increasing levels of abstentionism: participation was down from 45% in 1985 to around 30% in the 1990-91 presidential election, and reached the absurd extreme in the 1994 Congressional elections of less than 20% participation. None of the above should be interpreted as dismissing the critical role of elections as part of any democratic process; in my view, however, these were so exclusionary as to be insufficient grounds by themselves for claiming "democracy."

To the extent that there were real democratic gains during this period, it was not a result of elections by themselves; rather, the begining of the peace negotiations opened up new spaces and eventually a sui generis interaction developed between elections and negotiations. In addition, the formal electoral arena was parallelled by the "informal political arena" that evolved after the Serranazo and coalesced as the ASC (described above) in the context of the peace negotiations. (14) Finally, this same period saw the emergence of autonomous indigenous political movements that eventually took electoral form in "comit‚s c¡vicos." The finally-more-pluralistic election of 1995 was a result of this complex interplay of forces, and would not have grown simply or automatically out of the electoral system itself. Something similar, involving non-electoral as well as electoral forces (although without the indigenous or ASC components) had taken place in El Salvador; hence, the particularity of what I call the "camino centroamericano," the Central American path of democratization. (15)

As this Central American path has unfolded, I would argue, it has revealed the profound difference between a true negotiation between armed leftist insurgents and civilian/ military elites as two semi-equal negotiating parties and a more limited "pact" simply between civilian and military elites, as in Chile. (16) The Central American negotiation processes were more about a form of "power sharing" than about "winners" imposing a settlement on "losers." Rather than simply moving to the right, the Left forces maintained considerable integrity on issues of democracy and social justice (even though they did not win on all issues -- after all, this was a negotiation, not a revolution). For this and other reasons, beyond insisting that the Southern Cone model should not be applied to Central America, one can even argue that the gains made in El Salvador and Guatemala, which are subject to international verification, are in important respects greater than those made in South America's "pacted transitions" (Chile being the main example).(17) Southern Cone critics of the pacted transition experiences have addressed these issues in their countries. (18)

In any case, in Central America, even non-revolutionary demands such as participation in elections had to be won through armed revolutionary insurgencies that took on counterinsurgency armies and exclusionary civilian elites -- followed by negotiated solutions to the civil wars, centered around the dismantling of the counterinsurgency apparatus. There simply were no electoral options for vast numbers of citizens until the revolutionary left and other left forces created them. In El Salvador, the FMLN invented "new political practices" for consensus-building during the course of its negotiations (see Lungo, 1994). In Guatemala, it was the ASC with its plurality of forces (some sympathetic to the URNG, some not, but almost all of them excluded from the electoral arena) that ultimately created a left electoral option, the FDNG, for the 1995 elections -- the first such force since 1954.

The above analysis of the 1985-1995 period should not be construed as suggesting that there is one identifiable moment when Guatemala ceased to be a counterinsurgency state ("estado centaurizado") and became democratic. As I have argued before (Jonas 1995), there was a complex process of change. At some level, even the three civilian presidents who subordinated themselves to the army -- Cerezo, Serrano and de Le¢n Carpio -- were part of a process of liberalization or "political opening" that eventually permitted the formation of important democratic counter-institutions (e.g., Human Rights Ombudsman). The 1993 Serranazo itself was an important moment in mobilizing all of Guatemalan society for a return to the constitutional order, and demonstrated the inviability of the state-as-centaur. Nevertheless, this complex process was not irreversible; and if the (anti-peace) R¡os Montt forces had won the January 1996 runoff election, even without fraud, the victory would have been for a "democracy" of the iron fist.

Theoretically, my point is that political/electoral openings or liberalizations of right-wing authoritarian regimes do not automatically or inevitably lead to full democratization -- Jeane Kirkpatrick (1979) notwithstanding. There was no way to predict in 1985 that a genuine democratization would occur in Guatemala; it is occurring now primarily because the negotiation of internationally binding and verifiable peace accords (and MINUGUA's in-country presence) extracted democratic concessions that no election could guarantee -- above all, and as the precondition for all else, the demilitarization of state and society. Furthermore, only the force of such accords is strong enough to overcome the internal resistances of an exclusionary system and (hopefully) to ensure the irreversibility of the democratic changes. None of this can be taken for granted just yet. But if achieved, these changes could go beyond a "normalization" of Guatemala; in particular, the mandated constitutional changes could initiate a more profound reformulation of the role of the state.

(2) The mid-1990s: The Dimensions of The Democratic Project

It has come to be widely accepted among students of democratic transitions that civilian control over the military is a necessary condition for functional democracy. Hence, unlike the U.S. State Department, they have included this criterion in their "expanded procedural minimum" definition of democracy. But is this a sufficient description? Does it fully capture the richness and complexity of the real experience -- above all, in a country such as Guatemala, where the dimension of cultural pluralism is central? I would suggest that what is happening in Guatemala today, which is a multi-dimensional democratic transformation, requires broader theoretical horizons than are comprehended in the transition literature by itself.

To shift briefly to a theoretical/epistemological level: Much of the literature by U.S. political scientists has taken as its starting-point the Schumpeterian model, refined by Dahl's "polyarchy" model -- from which are derived various "procedural minimum" conceptions, ranging from very minimalist to more "expanded." (19) However, there are other traditions on which to draw for our discussions of democracy: first, the formulations based on classical conceptions of democracy, as laid out by theorists such as Pateman (1970) and Morlino (1985), and applied to Central America by Booth (1989 and 1995), Montobbio (1997), and others; and secondly, a number of contemporary contributions to the democracy literature drawing largely on the experience of social movements (e.g., feminist, indigenous). These traditions, which can be considered "dissidents" from the prevailing norm, at least in the U.S., provide a context for my broader argument about the potential for Guatemala's democratic project.

Taking the broadest of the procedural definitions, the "expanded procedural minimum" goes beyond Dahl's "procedural minimum," by adding two further conditions that are essential in the Latin American cases. The first is civilian control over the military (Karl, 1990:2), or at least the absence of a military veto. (20) Secondly, the polity must be self-governing (sovereign). But even though this formulation adds civilian control over the military, it explicitly excludes extensive "participation" as a requisite, stipulating that "all citizens may not take an active and equal part in politics, although it must be legally possible for them to do so." (Schmitter/Karl, 1991:83) Without begging the question of whether "all citizens" are active participants, there is a real issue of the relative weight given to the participatory element.

Booth (1995:5) spells out an alternative approach to what he calls the "pluralist-elitist conception," based in the classical conception as laid out by Pateman (1970), among others: "participation by the mass of people in a community in its governance (the making and carrying out of decisions)." As Montobbio (1997) put it, the classic tradition is particularly appropriate in cases (such as the Central American) involving ruptures of the social contract -- i.e., civil wars, -- as contrasted with "peaceful transitions." In this tradition, which is based on a broader conception of citizens' rights and goes back to theorists from Aristotle through Mill, beyond not being legally precluded, political participation "lies at the heart of democracy;" and although the degrees of democracy may vary, this depends on "the amount and quality of public participation in decision-making and rule." (Booth, 1995:6). Hence, according to Booth and others (21), electoral participation is one important aspect -- but only one among others. Referring specifically to Guatemala, Poitev¡n (1992:27) speaks of a concept of citizenship in which the population is more than an "occasional legitimator" of the existing power structure, and in which all sectors enjoy true freedom to organize and exercise effective power.

Why insist on the participatory element? For one thing, even in regard to elections, it implies going beyond the absence-of-fraud measure, to permit a critique of elections with an extremely high rate of abstention and/or elections held in an overall context of a system that excludes certain ideological positions and retains many coercive/repressive elements. Secondly, starting from a broader conception of politics, it permits us to take into account political activity in the "informal" (extra-electoral) political arena, together with formal electoral participation. Thirdly, and perhaps most important, it provides a basis for appreciating the full dimensions of democracy when it finally does come to exist, as expressed in full ideological/cultural diversity, and the growth of civil society (in the Guatemalan case, initially seen most clearly in the formation of the ASC, today seen in a variety of new formsof social organization).

This last point can be developed by referring to several relatively "newer" or more contemporary bodies of literature that deal with non-formal/institutional aspects of democracy; most of these grow out of practical experiences in Latin America and elsewhere. To mention a few examples: citizenship and social citizenship, feminist critiques, civil society, local power, Liberation Theology, environmental/ environmental justice movements and other "new social movements," group rights as opposed to strictly individual rights. (22)

All of the above dimensions have great relevance to Guatemala at this particular moment of its democratization. Rather than spelling out what each of them will mean in Guatemala -- a project for a future article, -- I want to highlight here the dimension that Guatemalan praxis (its realities and, increasingly its theories as well) adds or contributes to the world: the cultural diversity dimension and the emphasis on cultural rights alongside civil and human rights. As seen above, many of these are codified in the Accord on Identity and Rights of Indigenous Peoples, which mandates a constitutional reform redefining Guatemala's identity as a multiethnic, multicultural, multilingual nation.

Other on-the-ground advances by indigenous movements in recent years includea their "invention" of new forms of political organization ("comit‚s c¡vicos," outside the traditional political parties that did not fully represent their interests). In the 1995 election, they were able to win the mayoralty of Guatemala's second largest city, Quezaltenango, creating the previously inconceivable situation of an indigenous mayor in a half-ladino city. A variety of initiatives is profoundly enriching the content of Guatemala's democratic project by incorporating indigenous traditions of community democracy. (23) These advances will doubtless make an impact outside Guatemala (as well as internally) in the years to come.

In sum, minimalist conceptions sell democracy short by not insisting on the full ideological and cultural spectrum being represented, and by not emphasizing (and often entirely missing) some of the most profound transformations in the rules of the political game. (24) In Guatemala, the symbolic "moment" for these transformations will be remembered more clearly in the signing of the Peace Accords than in any previous moment since 1954. To use a crude indicator, on the evening of the signing, a telephone poll by the conservative daily newspaper Prensa Libre elicited a 77% "happiness" response; despite limited expectations, "the prevailing mood was of being at the ushering in of a new historical era." (Hern ndez Pico, 1997) These subjective or experiential indicators of hopefulness and "happiness" (which I shared) can be theorized as the moment of the French Revolution in Guatemala (similar to January 1992 for El Salvador and July 1979 for Nicaragua).

Experiences such as these also signify a transformation in political/ cultural/ social relations. As Carlos Vilas put it in a recent talk, even if a revolution fails, nothing in the country is as it was before, and people do not behave in the old ways. In Guatemala, just the lifting of the blanket of fear that permeated virtually all human interactions since 1954 constitutes, if not a revolution in the old sense, at least a very profound transformation -- and subjectively, a revolution of rising expectations. Guatemalans are beginning to feel entitled to nothing less than what is enjoyed by citizens in the traditional Western democracies (including the U.S.).

To put it into historical context, Guatemala stands today on the threshhold of finally completing its long-interrupted democratic revolution (of 1944-54); but this time, having suffered the interlude of a 42-year nightmare and 36 years of Cold War counterinsurgency war, people are experiencing democracy in a new way. This time, as contrasted with 1954, I believe, they will fight to defend it if anyone tries to take it away again. Today, moreover, the democratic revolution is broader than 50 years ago, as it includes new or newly recognized social protagonists (most notably, indigenous peoples, women -- and increasingly, bi-national Guatemalans). One can begin to gain a glimpse of what -- full democracy -- might mean in the 21st century, in all of its political, ideological and cultural dimensions.

(3) The (unresolved) social question: the battle for the interpretation of the French Revolution

One of the consistently troublesome and unresolved discussions about political democracy is its relation to social justice. While making no pretense at fully addressing the issue here, I shall mention briefly its relevance to the case at hand. We can all agree that social equality is not definitionally part of political democracy; but the issue cannot be dismissed altogether, since it has profoundly affected the fate of "new" democracies (and older ones) in practice -- or, as some analysts have put it, the "quality of democracy." Others, such as Przeworski, have begun to take this up as an issue of "social citizenship" -- and to warn of the dangers of a new "monster:" democracy without citizenship. Montobbio (1997:25) put it in slightly different terms for El Salvador, warning of a "congelaci¢n," in which "authoritarian enclaves" retain considerable power, and the democratic transition never becomes a full democracy or is consolidated, stable or lasting. Consolidation, he continues, citing Samour (1994) implies dealing not only with the elimination of military control, but addressing the historic problems of the country (including the social).

In recent Latin American experience, formal political democracy has generally been a precondition for fighting for more social equality. But beyond that, there are two opinions about whether a fully democratic system can be sustained amidst major social disparities or whether, eventually, the huge socio-economic gaps will (directly or indirectly) undermine democratic gains. The experiences of the past two decades in Latin America are mixed. Some, in the Southern Cone, suggest the difficulties (but not the impossibility) of consolidating political democracy on a lasting and stable basis while simultaneously institutionalizing neoliberal measures that increase social injustice. (25)

But things look different when we turn to cases growing out of longstanding civil wars or national liberation struggles inspired by revolutionary visions, such as those of Central America in recent decades -- and not unlike South Africa's ANC-led struggle (see Wallerstein 1996) The traditional socialist revolutionary visions have clearly been modified; but democratization has brought with it rising expectations about greater social justice. In the Central American cases, the issue has been phrased in terms of whether the "structual causes" that gave rise to the revolutionary movements of the 1960-80s will have been addressed by the peace settlements of the 1990s. (Clearly not, thus far; but the widespread expectation remains very much alive. Social equality is not part of the definition of democracy, but it is part of the panorama of issues opened up by democratization. Indeed, if the rising expectations are frustrated and people lose faith or perceive that "nothing has changed," democracy itself could be destabilized.

Coming out of a 36-year civil war, Guatemala is certainly experiencing this revolution of rising expectations. Yet the Accord on Social-Economic Issues does not resolve the social issues; and Guatemala is surrounded by chilling realities in El Salvador and, even more, in Nicaragua. As suggested above, there are considerable dangers in these situations, even a possible undermining (rather than consolidation) of democratic gains. The most immediate source of undermining is a rise in common crime (and authoritarian responses to that situation) -- already a serious problem in Guatemala. The Salvadoran example raises the spectre of a peace agenda undermined by a competing neoliberal economic agenda. Hence, the outcome of Guatemala's peace will depend in no small measure on just how neoliberal the implementation of the Accords will be, and whether anything has been learned from the post-war Salvadoran experience. (26)

Few Guatemalans seriously discuss democracy without addressing these issues, because they believe that, so long as nearly three fourths of the population lives in extreme poverty, formal democracy will remain forever fragile. (In the Guatemalan case, the socio-economic structure has been so skewed that even the neoliberal World Bank recommends more state spending.) As Guatemalan analysts Poitev¡n (1992:35-7) and Torres Rivas (1991c) argue, social struggles have become the condition for liberal democracy: "a democratic process is not possible without a minimum basis for developing social relations of equality," without a material basis for the exercise of rights as citizens. (See also the argument on "good governance" in Torres Rivas (1995).) For these reasons, I believe, without substituting it for "political democracy," the Latin American concept of "integral democracy" is quite appropriate for Guatemala today.

At the theoretical level: Wallerstein (1991) has written about the ongoing battle since the time of the French Revolution, over the interpretation of its legacy, in particular between the libertarian and social emphases. Theoretically, there is not one correct answer, but rather, an ambivalent legacy (hence the battle for the interpretation). It is one of the great ironies of history since the French Revolution that struggles for "liberty" (liberal democracy) have been led and won by revolutionaries -- i.e., those who also had the social justice agenda. As Vilas (199_) put it, "...at the root of popular acceptance of calls for revolution is an unavoidable democratic demand." (27) But while successful in winning the former, revolutionaries have frequently not won the struggles for equity. In the cases of Central America during the 1980s-90s, we have seen at least initially a continuation of this historical tendency. The unanswered question for Guatemala now is whether or not the forces that won the Peace Accords will now be able to use the political space they have won to gain significant concessions on social equity in the future. In the answer to this question -- which will have to be revisited many times during the next 10-15 years -- wil lie our long-range assessments of the "camino centroamericano."

NOTE: Beyond the literature on democratization and on the Salvadoran and Guatemalan peace processes, this paper is based primarily on author interviews with virtually all of the key players in the Guatemalan process. The research was supported by the University of Miami's North-South Center and the Stevenson Program on Global Security at the University of California, Santa Cruz. Thanks to Larry Diamond, Paul Sigmund, John Booth, Tom Walker, Ren‚ Poitev¡n, and Edelberto Torres-Rivas, among other colleages, for comments on initial presentations of the arguments developed here.

(1) "Electoral Problems and the Democratic Project in Guatemala" (in Mitchell Seligson and John Booth (eds.), Elections and Democracy in Central America Revisited (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1995)

(2) "Between Two Worlds: The U.N. in Guatemala," in Tommie-Sue Montgomery (ed.), Multilateral Approaches to Peace-Making and Democratization in the Hemisphere (North-South Center, forthcoming 1998)

(3) For details on functioning of the Guatemalan counterinsurgency army and the U.S. relationship to that army, see my article, "Dangerous Liaisons: The U.S. in Guatemala," Foreign Policy, Summer 1996

(4) See my "Text and Subtext of the Guatemalan Political Drama," LASA Forum, Winter 1994

(5) This argument is developed in detail in "The U.N. in Guatemala." See also articles by Stephen Baranyi, Luis Alberto Padilla and Gabriel Aguilera

(6) Given the magnitude of the army's crimes, the weakness of the accords on the issue of justice for victims raises unquestionable moral challenges. Nevertheless, the representation of that weakness in many U.S. media--including some of the pro-human rights left--has vastly oversimplified the issue, arguing that the flawed amnesty law "defined" (i.e., ruined) the Peace Accords as a whole. These kinds of arguments, which implicitly condemn the entire peace process, have been carefully avoided by the majority of human rights activists inside Guatemala, even as they continue to fight for justice. More broadly, the current of nihilism running throughout much of the U.S. reportage and interpretation of Guaemala's peace misses the victory, partial though it may be, finally won by the Guatemalan people. Worse yet, it misses the opportunity to pressure for the government's total compliance with the many positive provisions of the Accords.

(7) "Guatemala's Peace Accords: An End and a Beginning," NACLA Report, May-June 1997

(8) I have developed the argument for "peace conditionality" in Idem. and in an Op-Ed in the Christian Science Monitor ("Guatemala's 'Adios' to War"), 12/26/96.

(9) The general literature refers to this kind of top-down transition as "liberalization" of authoritarian rule without genuine democratization, that is, without "truly adopting lasting participatory norms" (Booth, 1989:15; also Weffort, 1992:46; O'Donnell et.al., 1986; Drake & Silva, 1986:2).

(10) For a fuller discussion of the implications of my argument that Guatemala under civilian rule during the 1980s remained essentially a counterinsurgency state, see pp. 171 ff. in Chapter 11 of The Battle for Guatemala.

(11) For examples as recent as 1994, see the yearly reports by Americas Watch, Amnesty International, and even the U.S. State Department, as well as my "Text and Subtext of Guatemala's Political Drama," LASA Forum, Winter 1994, and "Guatemala at the Crossroads between War and Peace," Espacios (FLACSO/Costa Rica), Oct.-Dec. 1994

(12) In addition to "Electoral Problems and the Democratic Project," see both Robert Trudeau's article and mine in John Booth & Mitchell Seligson (eds.), Elections and Democracy in Central America (Univ. of North Carolina Press, 1989) and a host of primary sources and election studies cited in all of these articles (e.g., National Democratic Institute (NDI), Washington Office on Latin America (WOLA), Jorge Casta¤eda)

(13) Underneath the surface during those years, there was an intense debate within the Right as to whether to tolerate any autonomous political actor (the URNG, once it has laid down its arms, or any other left force). The Right was obsessed with the problem of the URNG's insertion into civilian political life -- and, more fundamentally, of what forces in civil society would become the social and political bases for parties of the Left. (Their fears are not unfounded: private Presidential polls showed that the URNG came to enjoy a 10 percent "simpat¡a" in the spring of 1992, even while it was illegal. In fact, many observers agreed that any new force untarnished by the existing political crisis had the potential to gain support rapidly, once its participation was permitted.) Because the peace process could potentially open up the heretofore exclusionary system, it became a source of tensions within the army and the private sector. There were constant pressures to end the process, and thus to close the spaces that it began to open. This was the particular logic underlying human rights violations during that period: hardliners in the security forces were striking out against movements that might function autonomously,in order to avoid a truly pluralistic politics.

(14) Other analysts give a somewhat different emphasis -- for example, Luis Padilla (1997) makes the valid point that the peace process could not have progressed outside the framework of elected civilian rule. True enough, but I would add that such rule was a necessary but not sufficient condition. It was precisely the articulation between the peace negotiations and the empowerment, concurrently, of forces in civil society that differentiated Guatemala's situation from inter-elite accords. (See Peeler, 1992)

A further troubling question arises in regard to the Guatemalan Presidential election of 1995-96: the runoff (with __ percent participation, __ percent abstention) came within a hair's breadth of restoring to (indirect but virtual) power an ex-dictator whose policies would have ended the peace process. In such a situation, would it have been possible to argue that an election -- above all, one that was imperfectly representative -- really advanced democracy?

(15) In Nicaragua as well, as we have argued elsewhere (Jonas & Stein, 1990), the positive contribution of the Sandinistas was their deliberate attempt to combine representative with participatory democracy.

(16) As recently as 1994, the Guatemalan army was still trying for a Pinochet-type outcome, maintaining that it had been "victorious," and hence would not negotiate its future with the URNG, but would decide that internally.

(17) Even today, Chile's General Pinochet retains substantial veto power, and in November 1996, a leading politician was jailed for verbally insulting him; the military retains four seats reserved in the Senate, as well as half of the seats on the National Security Council (NYT 11/10/96).

(18) To give a few examples of Southern Cone analysts who have argued that participatory democracy is essential to representative democracy (and have associated participatory democracy with a commitment to reducing socio-economic inequality): Argentine sociologist Jos‚ Nun (1991:26-7) follows up his remarks that participatory democracy is necessary to the consolidation of representative government in "precarious contexts" (such as those of Latin America) by quoting Robert Dahl's 1985 statement: modern capitalism tends "to produce inequalities in social and economic resources so great as to bring about severe violations of political equality and hence of the democratic process." Therefore, Nun continues, "to protect freedom, it is necessary to extend the democratic principles even to the economic enterprise itself." He notes that this is the case not only in advanced capitalist societies, it is all the more "necessary and urgent" in Latin America. Brazilian Francisco Weffort (1992:31-2, 56), adding interpretation to strict definition of political democracy, argues that while democracy is theoretically possible in highly unequal societies such as Guatemala and Brazil (or even those with growing inequality), it will be greatly constrained, permanently unstable, and cannot be consolidated. Argentine Atilio Bor¢n (1993) raises these questions more sharply in his critique of the "minimalist concept" of democracy. According to French sociologist Alain Touraine (1991) "it is difficult to consider a political system democratic when it leads to or does not impede [growing inequality]." To put it another way, "integral democracy" implies a concern with "human development," and is inconsistent with what Peeler (1992, note 20) calls "predatory class relations."

(19) For the most careful constructions of the "expanded procedural minimum," see Karl (1990) and Schmitter/Karl, (1991). For a survey of the literature on this topic, see Collier/Levitsky (1997). Some (e.g. Pateman 1970) have suggested that one factor in the initial antipathy to including participation and mobilization emphases in discussions of democracy in U.S. political science models may have been in part a function of the Cold War ideological bias against "the other model" (the Soviet/Third World socialist). More important, it should be noted that today, a number of the most prominent "transitologists" have been moving back in the direction of discussing the importance of non-formal criteria and even some social issues (while not necessarily including these in the definition of political democracy). This can be seen in recent writings and presentations by O'Donnell, Przeworski, Schmitter, and Karl, among others.

(20) in Schmitter/Karl: "popularly elected officials must be able to exercise their constitutional powers without being subjected to overriding (albeit informal) opposition from unelected officials" -- in Central America, above all, primarily the military.

(21) cf. Booth, Fagen, Vilas (Democ.doc. p. 6)

(22) To specify some key examples: the literature on citizenship and social citizenship -- some, but not all of it developed out of feminist critiques of older models, both left and right (e.g., Dagnino, Jelin, Falk) ((DEMOC.Doc pp.8-9); the literature on civil society (Fox, Foley......); theorizing based on experiences of local power (Sader, Moreira Alves, Lungo -- CK); literature related to the Latin American experiences of Liberation Theology (Boff, .....); those growing out of environmental and environmental justice movements and other "new social movements (Escobar/Alvarez; the literature on group, as opposed to strictly individual, rights (Falk, Felice). Many of the above tendencies are illustrated in Jonas/McCaughan as well as Escobar/Alvarez -- see also DEMOC.DOC

(23) See Cojti 1991, Poitevin 1991 and 1992, Solares 1992, Bastos & Camus 1993; see also Sieder (1996) re. the contributions of "derecho consuetudinario;" see also Esquit/G lvez (1997), Adams (1994 and 1995) and the forthcoming book by Warren (1998)

(24) Immanuel Wallerstein (199_) has theorized it as follows: "A multi-front strategy by a multiplicity of groups, each complex and internally democratic, will have one tactical weapon at its disposal which may be overwhelming for the defenders of the status quo. It is the weapon of taking the old liberal ideology literally and demanding its universal fulfillment.... One can push on every front for the increased democratisation of decision-making as well as the elimination of all the pockets of informal and unacknowledged privilege. What I am talking about here is the tactic of overloading the system by taking its pretensions and its claims more seriously than the dominant forces wish them to be taken."

(25) For references to these broad issues, see works by Stephens and Huber, Przeworski, among others

(26) See de Soto/Castillo (199_), Montobbio (1997)

(27) By contrast, as Samir Amin (19__--NS) points out, the Anglo-American tradition has always denied the role of the revolutionary in establishing the democratic.