Semi-Presidentialism Outside Europe: A Comparative Study (Routledge Research in Comparative Politics)

Semi-presidentialism outside Europe

This is the first academic study of the impact of semi-presidentialism in emerging democracies outside of Europe. Semi-presidentialism is where there is both a directly elected fixed-term president and a prime minister who is responsible to the legislature. For the most part, semi-presidentialism is seen as being a risky choice for new democracies because it can create potentially destabilizing competition between the president and prime minister. Yet there are now more than fifty semi-presidential countries in the world. Moreover, many of these countries are in Africa, the former Soviet Union and Asia, often in places where democracy has yet to establish a firm foundation. The study begins with a chapter that discusses the advantages and disadvantages of semi-presidentialism and provides the theoretical framework for a wideranging series of country chapters presented in the second part of the book. Written by country/area specialists, the case studies highlight the political processes at work in young semi-presidential democracies. This book will appeal to those researching and studying in the fields of comparative politics, development and democracy. Robert Elgie is Professor of Government and International Studies in the School of Law and Government, Dublin City University. Sophia Moestrup is a Senior Program Manager with the National Democratic Institute for International Affairs, Washington, DC.

Routledge research in comparative politics

1 Democracy and Post-communism Political change in the post-communist world Graeme Gill 2 Sub-state Nationalism A comparative analysis of institutional design Edited by Helena Catt and Michael Murphy 3 Reward for High Public Office Asian and Pacific Rim states Edited by Christopher Hood and B. Guy Peters 4 Social Democracy and Labour Market Policy Developments in Britain and Germany Knut Roder 5 Democratic Revolutions Asia and Eastern Europe Mark R. Thompson 6 Democratization A comparative analysis of 170 countries Tatu Vanhanen 7 Determinants of the Death Penalty A comparative study of the world Carsten Anckar 8 How Political Parties Respond to Voters Interest aggregation revisited Edited by Kay Lawson and Thomas Poguntke

9 Women, Quotas and Politics Edited by Drude Dahlerup 10 Citizenship and Ethnic Conflict Challenging the nation-state Haldun Gülalp 11 The Politics of Women’s Interests New comparative and international perspectives Edited by Louise Chappell and Lisa Hill 12 Political Disaffection in Contemporary Democracies Social capital, institutions and politics Edited by Mariano Torcal and José Ramón Montero 13 Representing Women in Parliament A comparative study Edited by Marian Sawer, Manon Tremblay and Linda Trimble 14 Democracy and Political Culture in Eastern Europe Edited by Hans-Dieter Klingemann, Dieter Fuchs and Jan Zielonka 15 Social Capital and Associations in European Democracies A comparative analysis Edited by William A. Maloney and Sigrid Roßteutscher 16 Citizenship and Involvement in European Democracies A comparative analysis Edited by Jan van Deth, José Ramón Montero and Anders Westholm 17 The Politics of Foundations A comparative analysis Edited by Helmut K. Anheier and Siobhan Daly 18 Party Policy in Modern Democracies Kenneth Benoit and Michael Laver 19 Semi-presidentialism outside Europe A comparative study Edited by Robert Elgie and Sophia Moestrup

Semi-presidentialism outside Europe A comparative study

Edited by Robert Elgie and Sophia Moestrup

First published 2007 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10016 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2007. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” © 2007 Robert Elgie and Sophia Moestrup for selection and editorial matter; individual contributors, their contributions All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN 0-203-95429-7 Master e-book ISBN ISBN10: 0-415-38047-2 (hbk) ISBN10: 0-203-95429-7 (ebk) ISBN13: 978-0-415-38047-8 (hbk) ISBN13: 978-0-203-95429-4 (ebk)

Contents

List of illustrations List of contributors

1 What is semi-presidentialism and where is it found?

ix x

1

ROBERT ELGIE

2 The advantages and disadvantages of semipresidentialism: a West European perspective

14

GIANFRANCO PASQUINO

3 Semi-presidentialism in young democracies: help or hindrance?

30

SOPHIA MOESTRUP

4 Semi-presidentialism in a post-communist context

56

FRANÇOIS FRISON-ROCHE

5 Semi-presidentialism in a francophone context

78

GÉRARD CONAC

6 Semi-presidentialism in Madagascar

92

CHARLES CADOUX

7 Semi-presidentialism in Niger: gridlock and democratic breakdown – learning from past mistakes

105

SOPHIA MOESTRUP

8 Semi-presidentialism and the preservation of ambiguity in post-war Mozambique CARRIE MANNING

121

viii

Contents

9 Semi-presidentialism in Guinea-Bissau: the lesser of two evils?

137

ELISABETE AZEVEDO AND LIA NIJZINK

10 Eurasian semi-presidentialism: the development of Kyrgyzstan’s model of government

161

EUGENE HUSKEY

11 Semi-presidentialism in Mongolia: trade-offs between stability and governance

182

SOPHIA MOESTRUP AND GOMBOSURENGIIN GANZORIG

12 Semi-presidentialism – easy to choose, difficult to operate: the case of Taiwan

201

YU-SHAN WU

13 Timor-Leste: semi-presidentialism and the democratic transition in a new, small state

219

DENNIS SHOESMITH

14 The choice of semi-presidentialism and its consequences

237

ROBERT ELGIE AND SOPHIA MOESTRUP

Bibliography Index

249 264

Illustrations

Figure 3.1

Regional distribution of FH scores by type of regime

39

Tables 1.1 3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 4.1 4.2 4.3 6.1 7.1 8.1 9.1 11.1 11.2 12.1 12.2 12.3 14.1

Semi-presidential countries The impact of regime type on Freedom House scores Interaction effect of region and semi-presidentialism Differences in democratic performance between premier– presidential and president–parliamentary systems Differences in impact of divided government between premier–presidential and president–parliamentary regimes The position of the president as a function of his/her relationship with the parliamentary majority Relations between the president and the parliamentary majority in six European post-communist countries, 1990–2003 Variation in the position of presidents in six European postcommunist countries, 1990–2003 Presidents, prime ministers, and their parties in Madagascar, since 1975 Niger: Freedom House scores, 1993–2004 Presidents and prime ministers in Mozambique (1991–2005) Number of seats in the National People’s Assembly Mongolia: Freedom House scores, 1989–2004 Mongolian presidential and legislative election results The ROC’s political development and constitutional regime Presidents, parliaments, and prime ministers in Taiwan Major parties’ seats in the Legislative Yuan Premier–presidential semi-presidential regimes and president–parliamentary semi-presidential regimes

9 38 39 42 43 68 71 74 99 112 131 139 190 192 203 206 210 243

Contributors

Elisabete Azevedo is a Ph.D. student with the University of Cape Town, preparing a thesis on ‘Public Opinion and Representative Democracy: Analyzing Citizen Attitudes toward Elected Legislatures in Eighteen African Countries’. She has an MA in political science from the Portuguese Catholic University and was a visiting scholar at the Political Science Department of Michigan State University, supported with fellowships from the Gulbenkian Foundation and the Luso American Foundation. She has been a European Union Observer of elections in Guinea-Bissau, Burundi and Liberia. Charles Cadoux, Professeur de Droit Public, Université d’Aix–Marseille III, was a dean of the Faculty of Law at the University of Madagascar, and has published widely on constitutionalism in Madagascar. Gerard Conac, Professor Emeritus, University of Paris I–Pantheon Sorbonne. Former visiting scholar at the School of Advanced International Studies, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, MD, and research fellow at the US Institute of Peace, Washington, DC. Conac has published extensively on French and African constitutionalism. Robert Elgie is Professor of Government and International Studies in the School of Law and Government, Dublin City University. He has published extensively on the subject of semi-presidentialism, including an edited volume Semi-presidentialism in Europe (1999). François Frison-Roche, researcher, Centre national de recherche scientifique, Paris, was an adviser to President Jelev in Bulgaria and has completed a Ph.D. on semi-presidentialism in a number of former Soviet Union republics and Eastern European countries. Ganzorig Gombosurengiin is a former Justice of the Supreme Court of Mongolia. He is an adjunct professor at the Texas Wesleyan University Law School, and a Ph.D. candidate at the American University, Washington, DC. He has published extensively on Mongolian constitutional politics and reform. Eugene Huskey, Professor of Political Science, Stetson University, DeLand, FL, holder of the William R. Kenan Chair. Huskey has published many

Contributors

xi

works on post-Soviet politics in general, and on political developments in Kyrgyzstan in particular. Carrie Manning, Associate Professor, Department of National Security Affairs, School of International Graduate Studies, Naval Postgraduate School, Monterey, CA. Manning has published several articles and a book on post-conflict democratization in Mozambique, and worked as senior political adviser on a Mozambique elections project for the Carter Center. Sophia Moestrup is a Senior Program Manager at the National Democratic Institute for International Affairs in Washington, DC. She has completed a Ph.D. on the effects of semi-presidentialism on democratic survival. Moestrup has served as country director in Niger for the Danish international aid agency DANIDA, and published on comparative constitutionalism in francophone Africa. Mongolia was a case study in her dissertation. Lia Nijzink is an associate researcher with the Democratic Governance and Rights Unit of the University of Cape Town. She is also associated with Stellenbosch University. Her research interests concern the comparative study of representative political institutions, democratization and parliamentary politics in Africa. She is the co-editor of Electoral Politics in South Africa: Assessing the First Democratic Decade (2005). Gianfranco Pasquino is Professor of Political Science at the University of Bologna. He also teaches at the Bologna Center of the Johns Hopkins University. His most recent books are Il sistema politico italiano (2002) and Sistemi politici comparati (2004), translated into Spanish and Portuguese. In 2005 he edited La scienza politica di Giovanni Sartori and Capi di governo. Dennis Shoesmith, acting Head of the School of Creative Arts and Humanities, Faculty of Law, Business and Arts, Charles Darwin University, Darwin, Australia. Shoesmith’s research focuses on the comparative government of South East Asia. He has recently published an article dealing explicitly with the workings of semi-presidentialism in Timor Leste. Yu-Shan Wu, Director and Research Fellow, Institute of Political Science, Academia Sinica, Taipei, Taiwan. Wu has published widely on political developments in Taiwan, and specifically on the workings of semipresidentialism there.

1

What is semi-presidentialism and where is it found? Robert Elgie

The aim of this book is to identify the impact of semi-presidentialism on the process of democratization outside Europe. Semi-presidentialism is where there is both a directly elected fixed-term president and a prime minister who is responsible to the legislature. Does this form of government help or hinder democratization in general terms? Do different forms of semi-presidentialism have different effects? Alternatively, does semi-presidentialism have no independent effect on democratization? Or is the effect of semi-presidentialism contingent upon the particular circumstances of the country in which it operates? These questions are important. They are important in a ‘real world’ context. As we shall see, on the basis of the above definition there are fifty-four semipresidential regimes in the world. In other words, just under one-third of all the countries currently in existence have adopted a basic semi-presidential form of government. Moreover, many of these countries are in Africa, the former Soviet Union and Asia, often in places where democracy has yet to establish a firm foundation. So, if we can find some answers to the above questions, then we have the opportunity to shape the political development of some of the most fragile democracies on the planet. These questions are also important in an academic context. They address the general debate about democratic consolidation and institutional choices. We now take it for granted that institutions have some effect on political behaviour and that institutions help to shape the choices of social and political actors. But what effect do they have? How precisely do they shape the choices of political actors? In this context, semi-presidentialism merits particular investigation. For such a widespread form of government, very little work has been conducted on the topic. The concept of semi-presidentialism was first identified by Maurice Duverger in the 1970s (particularly Duverger 1978, 1980). However, for a long time there was very little systematic study of this form of government. There was one edited book in English on semi-presidentialism in Europe (Elgie 1999), another book in Italian (Ceccanti et al., 1996) and one in Spanish (Nogueira Alcalá 1986). Recently, though, perhaps because the number of semi-presidential countries has increased, more attention has been focused on the topic (including Elgie 2005; Frison-Roche 2005; Moestrup 2004; Protsyk 2005; Shugart 2005). This book adds to the now vibrant research agenda on semi-presidentialism by addressing fundamental

2

R. Elgie

issues about the relationship between semi-presidential institutions and democratic performance outside Europe. This chapter introduces the book as a whole. It does so by reviewing the concept of semi-presidentialism and by identifying the set of semi-presidential countries currently in existence on the basis of the definition given above. It then briefly reviews the existing literature on semi-presidentialism and outlines the logic behind the structure of the book, as well as the specific organization of the country case studies.

What is semi-presidentialism and where do we find it? The meaning of semi-presidentialism is, to say the least, highly contested. There are competing definitions of the term. Elsewhere, I have reviewed the development of the concept in some detail (Elgie 1999). I have also defended a particular understanding of semi-presidentialism (ibid.; Elgie 2005). I am aware that this understanding is still contentious and I have been in conversations where even the most mild-mannered of political scientists have become almost apoplectic with rage when I have tried to defend it. Undaunted, in this section I will reiterate my understanding of the concept. I will not go through the origins and history of the concept of semi-presidentialism once again. However, I will outline the basic positions in the debate over the term. I will justify my definition of semi-presidentialism and I will identify the current set of semi-presidential countries on the basis of it. The original definition of semi-presidentialism was provided by Maurice Duverger. As he developed the concept, his definition of the term changed subtly but significantly. All the same, his seemingly final and certainly most well-known definition was provided more than twenty-five years ago (Duverger 1980, 166). According to this definition: [A] political regime is considered as semi-presidential if the constitution which established it combines three elements: (1) the president of the republic is elected by universal suffrage; (2) he possesses quite considerable powers; (3) he has opposite him, however, a prime minister and ministers who possess executive and governmental power and can stay in office only if the parliament does not show its opposition to them. In the years that followed, most people adopted the basics of Duverger’s understanding of semi-presidentialism. However, some writers altered the wording of his definition and/or the application of the concept. For example, Sartori (1997, 131–2) argued that a system was semi-presidential if it had the following five characteristics: 1 2

The head of state (president) is elected by popular vote – either directly or indirectly – for a fixed term of office. The head of state shares the executive power with a prime minister, thus entering a dual authority structure whose three defining criteria are:

What is semi-presidentialism? 3 3

4

5

The president is independent from parliament, but is not entitled to govern alone or directly and therefore his will must be conveyed and processed via his government. Conversely, the prime minister and his cabinet are president-independent in that they are parliament-dependent: they are subject to either parliamentary confidence or no-confidence (or both), and in either case need the support of a parliamentary majority. The dual authority structure of semi-presidentialism allows for different balances and also for shifting prevalences of power within the executive, under the strict condition that the ‘autonomy potential’ of each component unit of the executive does subsist.

This definition is consistent with the one proposed by Duverger. It differs, though, because it specifically requires semi-presidential systems to exhibit some sort of basic balance of power between the president and prime minister. For Sartori, while the balance may shift in favour of the president at one time and in favour of the prime minister at another, overall there must be a system of dual authority if we are to classify a country as semi-presidential. For his part, Lijphart emphasized a particular aspect of Sartori’s definition when applying the concept. He stated that semi-presidentialism ‘does not mean either a synthesis of the parliamentary and presidential types or an intermediate category more or less halfway between them’ (Lijphart 1992, 8). In other words, he suggested that the essence of semi-presidentialism is not that there must be a balance of presidential and prime ministerial powers. Rather, he stated, ‘it entails an alternation of parliamentary and presidential phases, depending on whether or not the president’s party has a majority in the legislature’ (ibid., his emphasis). Even though Sartori acknowledged that there can be different balances of power under semi-presidentialism, Lijphart takes this aspect of Sartori’s definition one stage further. Even though he failed to give a specific definition of semi-presidentialism, he adopted the idea of alternating phases of presidential and parliamentary government as the defining characteristic of semi-presidentialism. Consistent with this approach, in later work Lijphart has argued that semi-presidential systems ‘actually make it possible for the president to be even more powerful than in most pure presidential systems’ (Lijphart 2004, 102). Thus, Lijphart seems to entertain the idea that on occasions there can be hyper-presidentialism in semi-presidential systems, as long as the system also exhibits times when the prime minister is an influential actor – indeed, perhaps the most influential actor within the system. What is common to this work is the importance the writers place on the powers of the president and prime minister in the understanding of the concept. Sartori makes this point very forcefully. He argues that neither Austria, Iceland nor Ireland should be classed as semi-presidential. This is because in all three countries the president is merely a figurehead. Indeed, for Sartori, Austria and Iceland should not be classed as semi-presidential even though on paper their

4

R. Elgie

president would appear to enjoy quite considerable constitutional powers. He argues: the Austrian and Icelandic presidents (not the Irish one) are strong only on paper, that is, are constitutionally given powers that the living constitution relegates to inanation. . . . But when the material constitution deprives a president of powers that remain a dead letter of the formal constitution, then a ‘dead element’ surely cannot establish the nature of a political form and the class to which is belongs. (Ibid.) In other words, for Sartori the powers of the president are integral to the understanding of the term. Moreover, what matters is not the powers that presidents enjoy on paper, but the powers they wield in practice. In order to determine whether or not a country is semi-presidential, he argues, we need to know how power is actually exercised in a country. If we find that there is a basic balance of power between a directly elected president and a prime minister responsible to parliament, then we can class the country as semi-presidential. If not, then we should class the country as either parliamentary if the president is weak or presidential if the president is strong. In other work I have argued that this way of defining semi-presidentialism is problematic. In particular, I have argued that any mention of the respective powers of the president and prime minister should be eliminated from the definition of the term (Elgie 1999, 2005). The reason why is that the inclusion of any mention of powers allows different writers to come up with different lists of semi-presidential countries. For example, writing before the wave of democratization in the early 1990s, Lijphart (1992, 9) implied that France was the only semi-presidential democracy in the world. Writing around the same time, Stepan and Skach (1993, 3), who follow Duverger’s definition, identified two semipresidential countries, France and Portugal. By contrast, writing in the same period, Sartori argued that France and Finland were semi-presidential, that Portugal had been semi-presidential from 1976 to 1982, and that Sri Lanka was at the edge of presidentialism and semi-presidentialism (Sartori 1997, ch. 7).1 When we go beyond this early work the disagreement as to which countries should be classed as semi-presidential only increases. This can be seen very clearly when writers started to examine the process of democratization in Central and Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union. For example, Easter (1997, 190) identified only three mixed systems in all the countries in this region – Lithuania, Moldova and Poland – plus Mongolia. By contrast, focusing only on Central and Eastern Europe and even then excluding a number of potential candidates such as Macedonia and Moldova, von Beyme (2001, 16) identified no fewer than eight semi-presidential countries – Belarus, Croatia, Lithuania, Poland, Romania, Russia, Serbia2 and Ukraine. Indeed, Bahro et al. (1998, 208) went further still, stating that ‘the majority of post-communist states on the territory of the former Soviet Union plus Mongolia, as well as Poland, Romania,

What is semi-presidentialism? 5 Bulgaria and also Slovenia, Croatia, Serbia and Macedonia comply with this scheme’. The list of semi-presidential countries varies so much from one writer to another because each writer has free rein to decide what constitutes the level of ‘quite considerable [presidential] powers’ that are required for semipresidentialism. As a result, some writers interpret semi-presidentialism in a way that excludes countries such as Austria, Bulgaria, Iceland, Ireland and Slovenia, where the president’s powers are deemed to be not considerable enough. This would be consistent with Sartori’s position. Other writers interpret semipresidentialism in a way that excludes those countries as well as other countries, such as Belarus and Russia, where the president’s powers are considered to be too considerable. This would be consistent with the position of Stepan and Skach. Yet other writers are happy to include all these countries, presumably on the assumption that the term ‘quite considerable’ covers a vast range of possible powers. This is the approach taken by Bahro et al. If we gathered together every list of semi-presidential countries in existence, then we might be able to identify a core of apparently ‘uncontroversial’ examples – probably France, Mongolia and Poland and perhaps Lithuania too. However, even if we were able to identify a common set of countries, we would not have a common definition on which to base the list. In sum, including a clause along the lines that presidents must enjoy ‘quite considerable powers’ in the definition of semi-presidentialism means that there is an inherent subjectivity in the way people identify examples of the concept. The fact that there is a basic subjectivity in the way many people define semipresidentialism is of more than just semantic importance. This is because it affects the judgements people make about the respective advantages and disadvantages of this regime type and, indeed, others too. For example, if we define semi-presidentialism so as to include the majority of countries in the former Soviet Union as semi-presidential, including countries such as Azerbaijan, Belarus, Kazakhstan, Russia, Uzbekistan and so on, then the record of this type of government looks poor. However, if we define semi-presidentialism so as to exclude these countries as semi-presidential and include only ‘uncontroversial’ countries such as Lithuania, Poland and Romania, then semi-presidentialism’s record looks much better. Even so, if we do exclude them, then naturally enough the record of presidentialism looks worse because countries such as Azerbaijan, Belarus, Kazakhstan, Russia and Uzbekistan are invariably classed as presidential if they are not classed as semi-presidential. In other words, the fact that the list of semi-presidential countries varies so much from one writer to another means that often like is not being compared with like. This situation compromises the general debate about institututional design. We do not have a sufficiently large n for this sort of definitional problem to wash out in any statistical analysis. Thus, how can we say that presidentialism is worse than semipresidentialism, or vice versa, or that they are equally bad and that parliamentarism is better, when each writer has a different understanding of these concepts and bases his/her conclusions on a different set of examples?

6

R. Elgie

Worse still, by including the criterion of ‘quite considerable powers’, or an equivalent clause, in the definition of semi-presidentialism, writers may unwittingly predetermine their judgements about the concept. For example, a seemingly ‘commonsense’ way of understanding semi-presidentialism is to say that it is a mixed system where there is a basic balance of presidential and prime ministerial powers. I have argued above that this is the sort of logic Sartori adopts. However, if we define semi-presidentialism in this way, then we should not be surprised to find that semi-presidential countries are often associated with intraexecutive conflict. In consolidated democracies, such conflict may lead to political deadlock. In fragile democracies, it may lead to either the president or the prime minister, or both, trying to go beyond the constitution and perhaps seeking the support of the military in order to assert control. Either way, the result may be either inefficient and/or destabilizing decision making and may lead writers to recommend that semi-presidentialism should be avoided. The problem, though, is that this judgement is based on a logic that comes very close to being circular. If we define semi-presidentialism as the situation where there is an actual balance of power between the leading political figures in the system, then we should not be surprised to find that there is in fact a balance of power between them as well as all that goes with it. So, by including reference to powers in the definition of semi-presidentialism, we may end up with a major problem of endogeneity. In other words, we may be putting the methodological cart before the horse. In the introduction to this chapter I made the point that the debate about regime types has important ‘real world’ implications. Given these implications, we need to try to make sure that this debate is conducted as rigorously as possible. I argue that we can do so only if we exclude all reference to the powers of presidents and prime ministers from any definition of semi-presidentialism.3 Therefore, I have proposed the following definition: Semi-presidentialism is where a popularly elected fixed-term president exists alongside a prime minister and cabinet who are responsible to the legislature. On the basis of this definition, we only need to read the constitution of a country in order to determine whether or not it is semi-presidential. We do not need to know how powers are exercised in practice. Moreover, we only need to read very limited aspects of a constitution in order to determine whether or not a country is semi-presidential. Is the president directly elected and is the government responsible to parliament? If so, then the country is semi-presidential. If not, then it belongs to another category. All of this means that it is much easier to establish an ‘uncontroversial’ list of semi-presidential countries than if we include reference to any amount of presidential and prime ministerial powers as a criterion. Moreover, by defining semi-presidentialism in this way, we do not prejudge the way in which semi-presidential countries operate. As we shall see, the list of semi-presidential systems includes countries where the president has

What is semi-presidentialism? 7 great powers, countries where the president has few powers and countries where there is a balance of presidential and prime ministerial powers. Thus, we avoid the potential for endogeneity problems associated with case selection. Overall, we arrive at a much less subjective way of defining semi-presidentialism and one which gives us greater potential to make rigorous judgements about the advantages and disadvantages of this type of regime. That said, we cannot eliminate all subjectivity from the definition of semipresidentialism. The nature of constitutional law is such that some countries do not fall neatly into one category or another. For example, in Slovakia the president can be recalled by a popular referendum. So, strictly speaking, the president does not necessarily serve for a fixed term. In this case, we have to decide whether we continue to classify Slovakia as semi-presidential or whether we create a new category for Slovakia and countries like it. My judgement call is that we should continue to classify Slovakia as semi-presidential. Unlike the direct election of the president and the responsibility of the government to the legislature, a recall vote is intended to be an extraordinary and, hence, arguably non-constitutive political feature. True, another writer may argue that it is constitutive and choose to create a new category for Slovakia and other countries that have this unusual constitutional feature. However, even if s/he did so, at least the guidelines would still be clear as to when a country should be classed as semi-presidential or when it should be placed in the new category alongside Slovakia. Indeed, if we made this choice, then we would place Iceland alongside Slovakia in this separate category. Thus, the classification process would still be reasonably objective. The same is not true if we include powers as part of the definition of semi-presidentialism. In that case, we have no guidelines as to where the thresholds between parliamentarism, semi-presidentialism and presidentialism lie. As a result, individual writers are able to make their own choices and very varied lists of countries appear. So deciding to classify Slovakia as semi-presidential even though its president can be subject to a recall vote is an inherently less subjective exercise than deciding to classify Slovakia as parliamentary, presidential or semi-presidential as a function of how many powers the president has. Even though there is still ambiguity as to how we should classify Slovakia on the basis of my understanding of the term, the ambiguity is of a different nature from definitions that classify countries with reference to the actual powers of political actors. There are other judgement calls to be made when adopting my definition of semi-presidentialism. For example, in Argentina the head of the government is responsible to the legislature, but the cabinet is not. Again, a judgement call must be made. In this case, I exclude Argentina from the list of semi-presidential systems because there is no collective cabinet responsibility. Others, though, may wish to ignore the individual responsibility of the head of government and classify Argentina as presidential or create a new category for countries where there is individual but not collective responsibility. A further case involves a number of countries such as Azerbaijan, Mozambique and South Korea. In these countries the constitution states that the prime minister is appointed with the

8

R. Elgie

consent of parliament, but that parliament may only recommend the removal of the prime minister and the president may decide to ignore the parliamentary vote. Thus, it appears as if the prime minister and cabinet are not really responsible to the legislature at all. However, here I include these countries as semi-presidential because the need for parliamentary consent implies that constitutionally such consent may be withheld. Thus, these countries are very close to the standard requirement for semi-presidentialism whereby the legislature has some say in determining the life of the government. It may well be the case that in some or all of these countries and others like them parliament may be the puppet of the president and may in fact never have even contemplated withholding its consent to a presidential nominee. Even so, in order to be as consistent as possible, I do not classify countries by way of reference to how powers are exercised in practice. As a result, I classify these countries as semipresidential. On the basis of this definition, I calculate that there are currently fifty-five semi-presidential countries in the world. (See Table 1.1 for the list of semi-presidential countries as of 1 January 2006.) Clearly, in some of these countries the democratic system is purely nominal. So I am not implying that there are fiftyfour democratic semi-presidential countries. I am simply saying that according to available constitutional sources, and having made a number of constitutional judgement calls, all of these countries currently have at least a basic form of semi-presidentialism. Other countries have been semi-presidential at one time but have since chosen a different form of government. The most famous example is the Weimar Republic in inter-war Germany. More recently, Moldova was semi-presidential from 1991 to 2000, as were the Comoros from 1978 to 1984 and 1992 to 1999. Other countries have fluctuated between different regime types. For example, Senegal was presidential from 1963 to 1970, semipresidential from 1970 to 1983, presidential from 1983 to 1991 and semipresidential since that time. Other countries may adopt semi-presidentialism at some future point. In December 2005 voters in the Democratic Republic of Congo approved a semi-presidential constitution that took force in late 2006. The draft constitution for a state of Palestine drawn up under the auspices of the Palestinian National Authority in 2003 makes provision for a semi-presidential form of government. Whatever may or may not happen in the future, around 30 per cent of all independent states currently have a semi-presidential form of government. There is a fundamental objection to my approach, namely that the list of countries classed as semi-presidential on the basis of my definition is counterintuitive. There are three versions of this objection. The first version comes from country specialists. These are the people who are sometimes transformed in discussion from being polite and unassuming political scientists into area studies specialists who are red with rage. For specialists on Irish politics, Ireland is parliamentary. It simply cannot be semi-presidential. It goes against everything that for decades everyone has been trained to understand about Irish politics. By the same token, for most Russian experts, Russia is not semi-presidential. It is

What is semi-presidentialism? 9 Table 1.1 Semi-presidential countries Algeria Angola Armenia Austria Azerbaijan Belarus Bulgaria Burkina Faso Cameroon Cape Verde Central African Republic Chad Croatia Egypt Finland France Gabon Georgia Guinea-Bissau

Haiti Iceland Ireland Kazakhstan Kyrgyzstan Lithuania Macedonia Madagascar Mali Mauritania Mongolia Mozambique Namibia Niger Peru Poland Portugal Romania Russia

Rwanda São Tome e Principe Senegal Singapore Slovakia Slovenia South Korea Sri Lanka Taiwan Tajikistan Tanzania Timor-Leste Togo Tunisia Ukraine Uzbekistan Yemen

super-presidential or hyper-presidential. South Korean experts overwhelmingly classify their country as presidential. To class it as semi-presidential is to court academic ostracism. And so on. Indeed, Duverger faced a very similar reaction from the French academic community when he classed France as semi-presidential. To this day, the vast majority of French political scientists (or constitutional lawyers) refuse even to entertain the notion that there is such a category as semipresidentialism, never mind that France should be classed as such. This objection is very difficult to counter because it is often made in irrational terms. The opposition to the classification of particular countries is often kneejerk rather than reasoned. So, the fact that for decades Ireland has been classed as parliamentary is no reason to continue to do so if it is now more logical to class it as semi-presidential. After all, the concept of semi-presidentialism is relatively new, so no country can have been classed as semi-presidential for very long. Undoubtedly, the (re)classification as a country as semi-presidential is sometimes difficult for country experts to accept. However, unless there is a general argument about how regime types should be defined that suggests the (re)classification is incorrect, then the fact that it may just be going against the academic grain to classify a particular country as semi-presidential is simply unconvincing. The second version of this objection is often made by comparativists. The objection here is that my list brings together in one category countries that should be placed in quite separate categories because political practice varies so greatly the one from the other. So politics in Iceland is so different from politics in Chad that it is wrong to call them both semi-presidential. In fact, this criticism is simply another way of saying that we should include reference to powers when we define regime types. The logic of this criticism is that we should put only countries that operate in roughly the same way in the category of

10

R. Elgie

semi-presidentialism. I will not repeat my objection to this way of defining regimes. I will simply add that people who make this argument often include an equally diverse set of countries in their list of parliamentary and presidential regimes. The way presidentialism works in the United States is clearly very different from the way it works in Ecuador, yet everyone classes both as presidential. Equally, the way parliamentarism works in the United Kingdom is very different from the way it works in Denmark, yet everyone classes both as parliamentary. So there is nothing inherently counter-intuitive in having countries with very different forms of political practice placed in the same category. The third type of objection is also made by comparativists and is similar to the previous argument but nonetheless is somewhat different and more challenging. The purpose of defining parliamentarism, presidentialism, semipresidentialism, etc., is to determine the relative performance of each regime type. If we find that one is better than another, then we can recommend that countries should adopt that form of government. If we find that one performs very badly, then we can advise against its adoption. However, comparativists might argue that we can engage in this exercise only if we include similar types of countries in the same category. If not, then we cannot make any sort of recommendation. For example, if we argue in favour of semi-presidentialism, then what exactly are we arguing in favour of, given the list of semi-presidential countries is so broad? Are we arguing in favour of Irish-style semi-presidentialism where the president is a figurehead, French-style semi-presidentialism where the president and prime minister share power, or Namibian-style semi-presidentialism where the president is absolutely dominant? To put this criticism more formally, if the list of semipresidential countries contains such varied forms of political practice, we cannot use semi-presidentialism as an independent variable. This criticism seems powerful. However, I would argue that my approach is perfectly consistent with it. In my view, we should end the debate about whether parliamentarism, presidentialism or semi-presidentialism is best. We should not take any of these categories as our independent variable. This is because all regime types contain a wide variety of political practice. Instead, we should discuss the relative merits of different sub-types within any given regime type and take these sub-types as our independent variables. For example, rather than discussing the merits of semi-presidentialism grosso modo, we might discuss the relative merits of, for example, presidentialized semi-presidential systems, like Namibia, balanced semi-presidential systems, like Poland, and parliamentarized semi-presidential systems, like Ireland (see Elgie 2005). We might hypothesize that the latter systems are likely to perform better than the first two. Obviously, we have the opportunity to interact these independent variables with others, such as the electoral system, and control for yet others, such as GDP and so on. Thus, depending on the findings, we might advise decision makers to adopt a particular form of semi-presidentialism, perhaps an Irish-style or Slovenian-style semipresidentialism rather than a French-style or Polish-style semi-presidentialism. This would be a more useful recommendation than either the adoption or rejection of semi-presidentialism as a whole. And again, any such recommendation

What is semi-presidentialism? 11 could be combined with further recommendations about the inclusion or exclusion of other institutional variables that we have found to be significant, proportional representation, federalism and so on. This way of thinking about comparative politics is very close to the mainstream. For example, in his now classic essay Linz (1994) discusses the varying effects of exactly the same three forms or sub-types of semi-presidentialism that I identified in the previous paragraph. More recently, Matthew Shugart (2005, 327) has outlined a similar understanding of semi-presidentialism. He identifies a set of semi-presidential countries, including Austria, Bulgaria, France and Russia, where political practice varies greatly from one country to another. Within this set of countries, he then distinguishes between premier–presidential systems where the president has no discretion to dismiss the prime minister, including Bulgaria and France, and president–parliamentary regimes where discretion does exist, including Austria and Russia. Having drawn conclusions about how these two (sub)types of semi-presidentialism operate, he states: ‘Developing further the nature of the relationship between presidents, assemblies, and cabinets in both subtypes of semi-presidentialism and under different party-system characteristics should be a high priority in ongoing research on executive–legislative relations’ (ibid., 344). This logic is entirely consistent with the one proposed in this chapter. Indeed, I would argue that my way of understanding semi-presidentialism is consistent with the way Duverger understood the term more than twenty-five years ago. He states the ‘constitutions of Austria, Iceland and Ireland are semi-presidential. Political practice is parliamentary’ (1980, 167). To Sartori (1997, 126), this was evidence that Duverger had classified Ireland as parliamentary. To me, it suggests that Duverger classified Ireland as semi-presidential, but that he was placing it in a sub-type of semi-presidential countries where presidents had very few powers. This interpretation is consistent with the language Duverger used throughout his 1980 English-language article and in his later work on semi-presidentialism (Duverger 1996).4 It is also exactly how I understand the situation in these countries. Overall, while it may appear as if my approach to the study of semi-presidentialism is controversial because of the seemingly counter-intuitive list of semi-presidential countries that it generates, I would argue that it is very much in the mainstream of the study of comparative politics and of semi-presidentialism as well.

The structure of the book This book examines the impact of semi-presidentialism on democratic performance. In particular, we explore the effect of semi-presidentialism in terms of both level of democracy and democratic survival in young democracies outside Europe. We provide an overview of the general performance of semi-presidentialism across the world. We look at the impact of semi-presidential structures in a regional context, thus controlling for specific regional factors that might influence the performance of this form of government. We also look at the impact of semi-presidentialism in individual countries, examining the specific form of

12

R. Elgie

semi-presidentialism in those countries and identifying whether it had any particular impact on the survival and performance of democracy. The next two chapters address the concept of semi-presidentialism generally. In Chapter 2, Gianfranco Pasquino discusses the experience of semi-presidentialism mainly from the perspective of Western Europe. This is the region where semipresidentialism was first introduced and where we have had the greatest opportunity to examine the performance of various different types of semipresidential systems. In his chapter, Professor Pasquino reflects on the performance of West European semi-presidentialism and argues that in this context at least semi-presidentialism, or at least certain forms of it, has performed well. In Chapter 3, Sophia Moestrup widens the perspective. She conducts a large-n study of semi-presidentialism the aim of which is to provide an overall view of the average impact of semi-presidentialism on the democratic performance of young democracies. In particular, she looks at the effects of semi-presidentialism on the level of democracy and on the chances of democratic survival in new democracies. In contrast to the conclusions from the West European experience, where semi-presidentialism has usually operated in the context of consolidated democracies, Sophia Moestrup shows that in general terms semi-presidentialism has not performed very well when it has been introduced in countries where democracy is fragile. The next two chapters focus on two regions of the world where semipresidentialism is particularly prevalent. In Chapter 4, Gérard Conac examines the performance of semi-presidentialism in francophone countries. In Chapter 5, François Frison-Roche identifies the performance of semi-presidentialism in post-communist countries. One of the difficulties in determining the impact of institutions on democratic performance is to separate out the independent effect of institutional structures from the context in which they operate. While large-n comparative studies are useful in providing general findings about regime types, regional studies are also useful because they help to control for socio-cultural factors that may be present in particular areas and not others but that may have a profound impact on the performance of countries in those areas. Chapters 4 and 5 help to throw light on the impact of the ‘regional’ context in which semipresidentialism has operated, drawing attention to salient differences across regions. The next eight chapters are written by country specialists. Each chapter examines a specific instance of semi-presidentialism, identifying the form that semi-presidentialism takes in each case and placing it in its appropriate historical, economic and social context. We include chapters on Guinea-Bissau, Kyrgyzstan, Madagascar, Mongolia, Mozambique, Niger, Taiwan and Timor-Leste. The choice of country cases is guided by two factors. First, we wish to examine examples of successful semi-presidentialism, failed semi-presidentialism and mixed outcomes in terms of democratic survival. This ensures that we have a broad range of performance as regards our dependent variable, namely democratic performance. On this basis, the following countries can be considered successful: Madagascar, Taiwan and Mongolia. The following countries can be

What is semi-presidentialism? 13 considered failed: Niger, Guinea-Bissau and Kyrgyzstan. The mixed cases are Mozambique and Timor-Leste. Second, we focus on the performance of countries in specific regions. This strategy is designed to build on the logic of Chapters 4 and 5 so as to help control for more general contexts within which particular forms of semi-presidentialism operate. Thus, we choose examples from the set of francophone sub-Saharan African countries (Madagascar and Niger), lusophone countries, including two from sub-Saharan Africa (GuineaBissau, Mozambique and Timor-Leste), Eurasian/Asian post-communist countries (Kyrgyzstan and Mongolia) and South East Asian countries (Taiwan and Timor-Leste). This should allow us to consider a broad range of semipresidential experiences, but hopefully protects us from the accusation that we are comparing apples with oranges. A key task of any edited volume is to ensure that as far as possible the contributors speak with one voice. To this end, each of the country case study authors was asked to follow the same basic chapter structure. We asked authors to provide a narrative that outlines why semi-presidentialism was chosen; a description of the constitutional powers of the main actors in the system, thus establishing the form of semi-presidential that can be found in each case; and a further narrative that tries to identify the independent effect of the particular form of semi-presidentialism on the performance of democracy in that country. This organization allows us to extract the relevant information from the country case studies, while maintaining an overall coherence to the context of the book. We now begin by turning to the experience of semi-presidentialism in Western Europe.

Notes 1 Sartori also states that Russia became semi-presidential in 1993, but that, like Sri Lanka, it stands at the ‘extreme edge of the category’ (1997, 138 n. 9). 2 The 1990 constitution of the Republic of Serbia is semi-presidential. However, until 2003 the Republic of Serbia was part of the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia and since 2003 it has been a constituent part of the State Union of Serbia and Montenegro. Neither the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia nor the State Union of Serbia and Montenegro is semi-presidential. 3 Indeed, I argue that the same point applies to the definition of all regime types, including presidentialism and parliamentarism (Elgie 1998). 4 If my interpretation of Duverger is correct, then it implies that he ignored the clause in his definition about presidents needing ‘quite considerable powers’, or that he interpreted the clause very loosely.

2

The advantages and disadvantages of semipresidentialism A West European perspective Gianfranco Pasquino

A new form of government justifies its existence and persistence whether and when its actual functioning proves that it is capable of providing political and institutional advantages clearly outweighing and outnumbering conceivable and practical disadvantages. Though extolled and criticized in a variety of ways, semi-presidentialism in its many different versions has not been subject to such a demanding scrutiny. Within the limits of my knowledge, this is the task I want to fulfil in this chapter. Hence, after a brief excursus on an historic case of semipresidentialism, that is, the Weimar Republic (1919–33), I will first proceed to consider the actual working of semi-presidentialism in three quite different political systems: France, Portugal, Poland. Then, I will identify more precisely which seem to be the theoretical and practical advantages and disadvantages of semi-presidentialism, with specific reference to the overall contribution of its institutional and constitutional features the working of the political system. Finally, I will offer some reflections on why I believe that cohabitation must not necessarily be considered a drawback of semi-presidentialism, but it may entail some positive systemic consequences. There continues to be a lot of confusion surrounding which institutional features more precisely define semi-presidentialism. I defer to the discussion by Elgie in Chapter 1 of this book. For my part, though, I will rely on Sartori’s definition (1994, 132) because it is both precise and parsimonious; it fits nicely in the overall analysis of the different forms of government and it is especially useful in differentiating semi-presidentialism from all versions of parliamentarism and presidentialism. At this point I cannot dodge a preliminary question: advantages and disadvantages of semi-presidentialism with respect to what? There are two possible answers to this important question. Both answers are bound to shape any kind of investigation and to suggest the gathering of different elements of evidence. The first answer will have to be formulated with respect to the previous, if any, existing form of government that has been replaced by a semi-presidential form of government. Of course, and unfortunately, no answer of this kind can be provided for democratizing countries that have chosen one form of semipresidentialism when starting their transition from an authoritarian past to a new regime. This is one of the fundamental reasons why this chapter focuses exclus-

Advantages and disadvantages

15

ively on European experience. The second answer will have to be based on an analysis of the ideal type of semi-presidentialism aiming at the identification of its structural assets and, if any, liabilities. Of course, also the second answer will have to be necessarily constructed by making some, more or less documented, references to at least some really existing semi-presidential forms of government.

The terms of reference It is possible and plausible to argue that the Weimar Republic (1919–33) possessed some of the features usually considered constitutive of a semipresidential form of government or compatible with it: a popularly elected President of the Republic, endowed with considerable executive powers, a Chancellor supported by a majority of the Reichstag and in a position to exercise executive powers of its own, hence the existence of dual executive authority (Skach 2005). Incidentally, this is the position taken by Juan Linz (1994, 48–67), though argued in a manner that does not seem to me entirely convincing: ‘advocates of bipolar regimes should give more serious attention to the complex (and well-studied) Weimar experience’ (p. 51). Unfortunately, the tormented trajectory of the Weimar Republic and its tragic demise have not, to my knowledge, been analysed, not even by Linz, precisely from the perspective of the, presumably structural, ‘disadvantages’ of semi-presidentialism. Perhaps, in this case, one would do well in closely heeding Duverger’s (1951, English translation 1963, p. 353) famous note of caution (that can be read at the same time as a criticism of a large body of juridical literature): knowledge of classic constitutional law combined with ignorance of the part played by parties gives a false view of contemporary political regimes; acquaintance with the part played by parties combined with ignorance of classic constitutional law gives an incomplete but accurate view of contemporary political regimes. Indeed, whatever the ‘advantages and disadvantages of semi-presidentialism’ ante litteram, the problem with the Weimar Republic was constituted by, perhaps above everything else, its type of party system, polarized pluralism in Sartori’s classification, in its turn fundamentally shaped by its variant of a proportional electoral system.1 As a consequence, one must give serious attention to the type of electoral system that accompanies all institutional and constitutional arrangements, not just when dealing with semi-presidentialism, because electoral systems significantly affect the format and the mechanics, to use Sartori’s (1976) terminology, of the party system and its impact on the relationship between the president, the parliamentary majority and the prime minister. However, in no definition of semi-presidentialism do we find mention of the type of electoral system that may seem specifically or more appropriate for a semi-presidential form of government, and rightly so. In practice, different

16

G. Pasquino

electoral systems accompany existing semi-presidential arrangements. They do not contribute to define or to structure those arrangements even though, of course, they may impinge upon the quality of specific semi-presidential arrangements. Hence, at least for the time being, we will put to rest the specific subject of the relationship between semi-presidentialism and electoral systems and will fundamentally focus on the relationship between the president and the prime minister. Elgie (2005) has suggested that there may be three different types of relationship: (1) presidentialized semi-presidentialism characterized by the supremacy of the president; (2) balanced semi-presidentialism; and what I will define as (3) parliamentarized semi-presidentialism characterized by the existence of a ceremonial president who does not challenge the role and powers of a prime minister enjoying the confidence and the support of a parliamentary majority. The case of Weimar Germany can as a consequence be located among presidentialized semipresidentialisms and corroborates Elgie’s evaluation that ‘the experience of highly presidentialized semi-presidential countries has tended to be negative’. However, at least in the European context of semi-presidentialist regimes, the case of Weimar has represented an exception. As we will see in the next paragraph, the three cases that I consider important for several reasons have offered situations more or less close to and identifiable with an acceptable, though changing through time, balance of powers between the president and the prime minister. Curiously, the several scholars who have been highly critical of semipresidentialism have combined together as objects of their criticisms the two instances: presidentialized semi-presidentialism and balanced semi-presidentialism. More precisely, Linz (1994, 54) has written: ‘In the case of Weimar, the possibility of relying on the powers of the president contributed to a disastrous outcome.’ But he has also stressed that in situations that can be defined of ‘balanced semi-presidentialism’: ‘The incompatibility between the president with considerable powers and a parliament in which a party or parties not acceptable to him are in the majority can lead to a serious impasse generating a crisis of the political system’ (ibid.). Indeed, without much institutional imagination, most authors have largely followed in Linz’s footsteps. Moreover, they have often extended their criticism of presidentialism tout court to semi-presidentialism, especially of the presidentialized type (Stepan and Skach 1993). This is largely the position taken by Mainwaring and Shugart (1992, ch. 3) and by Lijphart (1994), the difference being that the first two authors are interested in the functioning, the dynamics, as they put it, above all of presidentialism, in the two varieties of ‘premier– presidential’ and ‘president–parliamentary’ regimes, while Lijphart addresses his attention both to the working of existing democratic regimes and to the design of institutional solutions better capable of crowning the formation of new democratic regimes (see also Lijphart and Waisman 1996). Of course, devising institutional solutions for the successful consolidation of democracy has been and is an appropriate goal for several countries, most of them non-European

Advantages and disadvantages

17

ones. However, looking at the post-authoritarian and post-communist experience of Portugal and several Eastern European countries, it seems fair to state that semi-presidentialism has either contributed to the consolidation of democracy or definitely not prevented it.

Three specific and concrete cases By all accounts, it is, of course, the Fifth French Republic that is almost unanimously taken as the starting point of contemporary semi-presidentialism. In the minds of General de Gaulle and of his constitutional advisers and experts, the Fourth Republic’s political and institutional problems that had to be tackled and solved seemed clear enough. De Gaulle had not minced words in his criticism of the Fourth French Republic, underlining that it was a traditional example of a parliamentary republic, weak and ineffective, leaderless, torn by conflicts, the almost inevitable and unworkable product of the lamentable régime des partis. Hence, he was looking for an overall institutional arrangement capable of providing long-lasting remedies to all the institutional and political diseases of the Fourth Republic. More precisely, specific institutional structures and mechanisms had to be devised through which the role and political space of the parties could be significantly reduced. The powers of a parliament dominated by political parties had also to be consistently curtailed and significantly streamlined. Mechanisms had to be found in order to make the governmental/executive authority not only assured of its stability, but also more effectively in control of the decision-making processes. Finally, executive leadership had to be personalized and put in a more direct relationship with the voters.2 To some extent, one can also make a different case suggesting that the various features of French semi-presidentialism were not created full-blown, but have emerged out of a series of contingent reactions to specific and time-bound challenges. This case seems to me rather less plausible than the interpretations based on a previously devised, though, perhaps, not fully thought through, approach to the full transformation of the French Republic. On one point, though, there remained a fair amount of uncertainty: the procedure through which the President of the Fifth Republic had to acquire office. The President of the Republic, endowed with much executive power, was first elected by a large assembly including parliamentarians and local notables. Only in 1962, and against the advice of some long-time supporters, such as Michel Debré, his first prime minister, did de Gaulle choose to opt for the direct popular election of the President of the Republic and call a referendum for the approval of this important constitutional modification. Few changes in the electoral system concerning the threshold to overcome for candidates to get to the second round have not affected the substance of the electoral formula that was intended, on the one hand, both to discourage reckless candidacies put forward by small parties and to make party fragmentation more unlikely and difficult and, on the other hand, to encourage the formation of encompassing coalitions and to reward candidates having a broad political appeal.

18

G. Pasquino

By now it is well known that because of the deep rifts between the Section Française de l’Internationale Ouvrière (SFIO) and the Parti Communiste Français (PCF) and the overall inability of the left to coalesce, left-wing parties were significantly and, for more than a decade, negatively affected by the new electoral system. Moreover, ideologically, the left had always been opposed to the personalization of political power, the French tradition of bonapartisme or, in a slightly more positive vein, plebiscitary democracy. No wonder, then, that among the most vehement critics of the constitution of the Fifth French Republic one could find François Mitterrand, a Fourth Republic man if ever there was one. The future President of France wrote a vitriolic essay against the whole of de Gaulle’s constitutional vision called Le coup d’Etat permanent (1965). Ironically, less than twenty years later, Mitterrand became the beneficiary of the two major components of semi-présidentialisme à la française. The direct popular election, that already in 1965 had given him a lot of political prominence, allowed him to acquire the top executive office. The majority run-off electoral system, first, encouraged the federation of left-wing non-communist groups and associations and the creation of a truly socialist party; then, it worked to the socialist advantage in constructing the coalition of the gauche with the communists. Finally, it became a facilitating factor in the Union de la Gauche victory in the 1981 parliamentary elections.3 Interestingly, among the early critics of what I will call ‘de Gaulle’s semipresidentialism’ one could also find Maurice Duverger. Close to the positions taken by many radical and socialist intellectuals and clubs, for instance, most prominent among them the Club Jean Moulin, Duverger advocated the strengthening of executive power through the popular election of the prime minister endowed with a parliamentary majority, and, to this effect, published several important articles in the prestigious daily Le Monde. It was only later, after de Gaulle’s death and a couple of presidential elections, that he first acquired the conviction that the constitutional features of the Fifth Republic could in practice achieve the goals he was looking for. At that point, he became an adamant supporter and an aggressive apologist of semi-presidentialism as a ‘new political system model’. At least in France, the model was working to the satisfaction of the majority of scholars, political leaders, voters. In 1981, it even provided the underlying conditions for a highly significant political change, that is, a much needed alternation between two different coalitions – a phenomenon that had practically always eluded the French political system – in both the presidency and the parliamentary majority. In the case of France, the overall political assessment of the working of semipresidentialism seems to be quite positive. Writing before the long Chirac– Jospin cohabitation (1997–2002), Suleiman (1994) stresses repeatedly the contribution by semi-presidentialism to political stability.4 My own evaluation would above all highlight that French voters have acquired and exercised more political power both in the choice of their parliamentary representatives and, above all, in the election of the President of the Republic. Interestingly, there is essentially no voice asking for a return to a

Advantages and disadvantages

19

proportional electoral system and to a parliamentary republic. The party system has been restructured in a manner more corresponding to the voters’ preferences and the welcome formation of pre-electoral coalitions has also encouraged French voters to cast a vote for their favourite governmental team. The overall positive portrait of the contributions of semi-presidentialism to the success of the Fifth Republic is, however, and inevitably, accompanied by some complaints as well as some criticisms.5 The most frequent and fundamental complaint concerns the decline of the role of parliament, of the Assemblée Nationale. When the President of the Republic enjoys a majority in the National Assembly, the decision-making process is understandably largely controlled and even dominated by the chief executive. The parliamentarians belonging to the party/coalition of the president will be asked to behave in a loyal and disciplined way and to implement the presidential programme.6 On the other hand, when it is the prime minister who enjoys a parliamentary majority, it will be even more in the interests of the prime ministerial parliamentary majority to show its discipline and effectiveness. Otherwise, the president might exploit the opportunity to dissolve an unruly and unproductive National Assembly. If one looks at the role played by the French parliaments of the Third Republic (‘la république des députés’) as well as of the Fourth Republic, one may come to the conclusion that the Fifth Republic has produced a compression of the role of parliament, that is, the French parliament seems less visible and less autonomous. To be more convincing, the critics should proceed to an overall reappraisal of the role that contemporary parliaments play and ought to play. In my opinion, there is a serious misconception in the way the role of parliament in contemporary democracies continues to be assessed. Too many scholars and, generally speaking, significant sectors of public opinion still believe that the paramount and qualifying task of parliament consists (or ought to consist) of making the laws. A different interpretation is possible grounded on the assertion that the outstanding role of democratic parliaments consists of a combination of the representation of voters’ preferences with the possibility of monitoring, controlling and sanctioning the behaviour of government. Only in so far as this control is exercised by discussing, criticizing, amending and approving/rejecting the bills drafted and submitted by the government, one may correctly speak of a legislative function. But if by legislative function one means that the bills/laws are initiated and drafted by parliament as a body and by individual parliamentarians, then this interpretation is, in my opinion, not only empirically incorrect but also institutionally and politically misleading and, perhaps, perilous. I would put it as follows. It is the duty of the government that has received a popular mandate to implement its programme. Hence, the political system, for that matter any political system, works in an appropriate way when the parliamentary majority cooperates in supporting and approving the agenda and all the corresponding initiatives of its chief executive. From this point of view, the parliament of the Fifth French Republic is not at all a rubber-stamp institution. On the contrary, it has found its proper positioning in a system characterized by a sufficiently clear

20

G. Pasquino

bipolar competition. The criticism addressed against the French parliament acquires more substance and becomes more convincing when it is shaped in such a way as to suggest that the Fifth Republic has compressed/stymied the role of the parliamentary opposition. The parliamentary instruments available to the opposition are few and have a limited impact. The president has the power to have all the disliked amendments rejected and all his legislation passed, thanks to Article 44. On its part, the opposition has only the right to call into question (Article 61) the Conseil Constitutionnel and to request an evaluation of many controversial laws. This right has been increasingly activated. On the whole, however, the power of the French president over the National Assembly appears significant. However, one should not define this situation simply as the predominance of the executive over the legislative because the most important distinction is not, so to speak, horizontal but vertical. The executive is powerful because it enjoys a majority within the legislative. The same is, of course, true when it is the prime minister who can rely on a majority within the National Assembly that is opposed to the president. To an even greater extent, in this case there manifests itself a fusion between the power of the executive and the power of the parliamentary majority. The two powers reinforce each other and, in case of conflict and crisis would cancel themselves reciprocally.

Cohabitation The other major criticism addressed against semi-presidentialism has to do with cohabitation in theory and in practice. At this point, I set aside the ‘theoretical’ assessment and focus on the practical aspects only. Briefly, what kind of problems have made their appearance in the three quite different phases of cohabitation undergone by the Fifth Republic? Obviously, neither ‘cohabitationist’ President (Mitterrand 1986–88 and 1993–95; Chirac 1997–2002) has been happy to see much of its executive power fall fundamentally in the hands of a prime minister over whose choice the president had no influence. In 1986, Mitterrand tried to soften the impact of cohabitation, possibly even entirely to avoid the phenomenon, by reintroducing proportional representation. To no avail. In 1993, he simply decided to live with it, perhaps content enough with the fact that the prime minister was not going to be his political enemy, Chirac, but Edouard Balladur. In his turn, for five long years Chirac had to live with the institutional consequences of his ill-timed and ill-devised dissolution of parliament in 1997 and did not like the experience as much as he had disliked his role when living as a prime minister in cohabitation with Mitterrand. It is perhaps also in the light of his concrete experiences that Chirac pressed the case for a reduction of the presidential term to five years so as to coincide with the parliamentary term: a reform in absolute violation of the letter and the spirit of the Gaullist constitution. In fact, the septennat was introduced by de Gaulle with the declared aim of putting the president well above parliament and allowing him to stretch his power over different political/parliamentary majorities. The greater length of the presidential tenure was intended to be a guarantee

Advantages and disadvantages

21

that the president could interpret and represent not just the preferences of the voters (as translated into the choice of their parliamentary representatives), but also, especially, the national interest, that ‘certaine idée de la France’ deeply entertained by de Gaulle. Now, Chirac’s not uncontroversial trimming of the presidential term to five years has probably affected the prestige of the president and definitely politicized his office even more. It is not even certain that the quasi-coincidence of the presidential and parliamentary elections will necessarily make impossible the reappearance of cohabitation.7 Scholars more than politicians are divided on the evaluation of cohabitation (Duverger 1986). Understandably, politicians of all persuasions would like to enjoy, when they have acquired it, undivided political power. There is also no doubt that de Gaulle never entertained the possibility of cohabitation. It is highly likely that he would have severely criticized its occurrence as contrary to the spirit of the constitution of the Fifth French Republic. If my interpretation is correct then Chirac’s reform of the septennat has marked the end of a certain vision of the Gaullist constitution. As to French scholars, with the passing of time they have abandoned a negative evaluation of cohabitation and now seem more inclined to see some, if not fully positive, aspects, at least acceptable ones (Grunberg 1999; Massot 2001). French public opinion itself has slowly moved towards a neutral evaluation, if not a significantly positive one, of the phenomenon of cohabitation, obviously, with specific references to its concrete occurrences. This is definitely not to deny that cohabitations have not entailed tensions either between presidents and prime ministers or, more in line with the normal functioning of democratic regimes, between majorities and oppositions. On the whole, however, it appears justified to say that in France, at least for what it is possible to know, there have not been major and devastating conflicts (for reasons I will try to explain later from a ‘theoretical’ perspective) deriving from institutional causes. At this point, it is fair to conclude the analysis of the French type of semipresidentialism by stressing that, from several points of view and specifically in terms of political stability and decision-making efficacy, semi-presidentialism has shown more advantages than disadvantages. Not surprisingly, French politicians and public opinion, in contrast with, for instance, Italian politicians and public opinion, harbour no political nostalgia for the constitution of the Fourth Republic and the performance of the previous regime.

Notes on Portugal and Poland For a variety of reasons (including, of course, my own lack of knowledge), it is much more difficult to carry out the same type of analysis I have offered for France for all the other actually existing types of semi-presidentialism. Therefore, I will confine myself to two cases that, for a number of reasons are, at the same time, of much intrinsic interest and show significant institutional and political differences: Portugal and Poland. Both countries had been authoritarian regimes and both became engaged, in subsequent periods, first in a transition

22

G. Pasquino

and then in a process of democratization. Technically, of course, even the transformation from the Fourth to the Fifth Republic must be considered a transition. But it was a transition from a democratic regime into another, equally, if not more, democratic regime. Moreover, it was an extremely swift transition, fully accomplished, at the most, in a few months. Understandably, both Portugal and Poland had to undergo a longer transition engaging in a more difficult attempt to entrench their respective democratic regimes. The question is: was the choice of a semi-presidential type of government an asset or a liability in the stabilization and in the performance of their democratic regimes? And, subordinately, which features of the chosen semi-presidentialist arrangement proved more positive or more negative? To answer satisfactorily both questions would require an in-depth study of its own, carried along our lines of research, for each individual country and, even better, a comparative study of the political development of the two democratic regimes. Here and there, some authors have provided interesting material, though, unfortunately, not always abundant enough (Magone 2000; Costa Lobo 2005; Passarelli 2005; Van der Meer 1999 and 2001). The starting point of any analysis of the advantages and disadvantages of semi-presidentialism in Portugal and Poland is bound to be the very simple and highly important remark that both political systems have achieved a successful transition to democracy. They have gone through a quick process of democratization and have consolidated a viable democratic regime. Today, it is no exaggeration to stress that the citizens of Portugal and Poland enjoy a democracy of acceptable quality. All these developments can be taken to suggest that semi-presidentialism is likely to have made some/several positive contributions to the overall outcome. Of course, one is also entitled to hypothesize that many other factors could be positively responsible for the inauguration, the stability and the performance of the Portuguese and the Polish democracies, on the condition that those factors be clearly identified and stated. Because of some fortuna (luck), but also of some virtù (in the guise of the virtuous nature of its structural components), semi-presidentialism offered in both countries an interesting formula for power sharing between the popularly elected president and changing parliamentary majorities. In the first stages of the consolidation of democracy, neither the Portuguese President Eanes (1975–85), a political outsider essentially enjoying the indispensable support of many sectors of the armed forces, nor the Polish President Wale˛sa, himself an outsider as well, in spite of the fact that he was the extremely popular leader of the Solidarnosc mass movement, could rely on and were in a position to control a parliamentary majority. Therefore, even though they could and did exercise a lot of political and institutional power, easily available, because of the circumstances, their potential deviations and excesses were tamed by the constraints of cohabitation. Indeed, cohabitation has been almost the dominant rule in the Portuguese political system, with few exceptions of ‘unified government’ but only in favour of the Socialist Party. To be precise, there was cohabitation between a Socialist president and a Social Democratic prime minister from 1985 to 1995 and, again,

Advantages and disadvantages

23

from 2002 until the end of 2004. There has been coincidence between a Socialist president and a Socialist prime minister between October 1995 and April 2002 and, again, after the February 2005 elections. What counts is that in the crucial phase of consolidation of Portuguese democracy following the substantial downsizing of the political role of the military, the two major Portuguese parties and their leaders, occupying the top institutional offices, were obliged to ‘live together’ and, within limits, to collaborate. And this, willy-nilly, they did, in the meantime strengthening their respective democratic regimes. Because of the use of an excessively proportional electoral system, the Polish parliament has always been quite fragmented and all governments and prime ministers have been obliged to rely on multi-party, often unstable, coalitions.8 The first president, Lech Wale˛sa (1990–95) was not well trained or well equipped to deal with a parliament in which he could not rely on a majority of his own. Hence, during his term, not only were there several governments – more precisely, five – but also political tensions were widespread. When the leader of Social Democracy for the Republic of Poland, the former communist Alexander Kwasniewski, who had witnessed the difficulties of cohabitation, became President of the Republic (1995), most political actors had come to understand the constraints of cohabitation and proved able satisfactorily to live with them. Also because of a restriction of proportional representation, the parliamentary situation became more stable and were there only two prime ministers during Kwasniewski’s first term. In both cases, however, there have been periods of cohabitation. Under Wale˛sa’s presidency, cohabitation lasted from September 1993 to November 1995; under Kwasniewski’s presidency, cohabitation took place from September 1997 to October 2000 (Van der Meer 2001). In principle, the critics of semi-presidentialism are inclined to suggest that one would give a very different and probably negative assessment of the overall institutional arrangement had Wale˛sa succeeded in controlling ‘unified power’, institutionally, that is, enjoying a parliamentary majority, and politically, that is, being recognized as the leader of the majority party. Unfortunately, there is no possibility to test this hypothesis. However, one cannot refrain from looking at the periods in which, in France (long periods) and in Portugal (short periods), there have been ‘unified majorities’ to appreciate the important fact that no instances of exaggerated use of presidential power have followed suit. In practice, there have not been phases in which French, Portuguese and Polish types of semi-presidentialism have either degenerated or led to the excesses of much feared hyper-presidentialism. In sum, two general aspects must be underlined. The first one is that both the Portuguese and the Polish democratic regimes appear successfully consolidated9 and that also all the protagonists, institutional (e.g. the presidency, the government, parliament) as well as political (e.g. parties and the party system), have achieved significant political stability. The second aspect is that the electorate appears rather satisfied with the working of semi-presidentialism as a whole, which, as a regime type, does not seem to be the object of either widespread or intense criticism or, as a consequence, of reform proposals.

24

G. Pasquino

It is probably not far-fetched to insert, here, a brief reflection on how to achieve a democratic arrangement offering both decision-making effectiveness and a fair amount of agreement among the political elites, that is, what, in all likelihood, Lijphart (1999) would define ‘consensual democracies’. Though he does not look for an appropriate and specific category where to locate semipresidential regimes in his typology, in the light of what I have said, at least France, Portugal and Poland have successfully managed to reach such a positive outcome and to maintain it, even more so when there is cohabitation. That is, they are democracies where, also thanks to semi-presidentialism, there is no undemocratic challenge by significant political actors against the rules of the game.

Dual authority At this point, having empirically explored three important cases, it is possible to formulate an answer to the second question regarding the advantages and disadvantages of semi-presidentialism, with greater attention to the theory. I will do this keeping in mind Sartori’s definition of semi-presidentialism because it has the significant advantage of being lucid and parsimonious. I will focus especially on the very important constitutive institutional aspect of semi-presidentialism, that is, the existence of a (potential and practical) diarchic leadership: on the one hand, there is a popularly elected President of the Republic; on the other, there is a prime minister whose title to office and the power that comes with it is that he enjoys the implicit or explicit, confidence of parliament, that is, of a parliamentary majority. Most of the critics of semi-presidentialism have maintained that diarchic institutional leadership is almost inevitably conducive to two different and separate disadvantages. On the one hand, when the President of the Republic is also the recognized leader of the parliamentary majority and, therefore, can cumulate executive and legislative power, semi-presidentialism runs the risk of becoming hyper-presidentialism. On the other hand, when the parliamentary majority is made of a coalition of parties that are opposing the president, then the critics intimate that it is very likely that political and institutional clashes between the prime minister and the president will ensue. In these occurrences, the critics argue, at best, decision-making paralysis will materialize; at worst, a constitutional crisis may loom large over the political system. Paralysis is the likely outcome, it is suggested, any time the president will not allow the prime minister and his/her majority to have their way. The constitutional crisis could be the consequence of frequent and constant attempts by the president to interfere with the parliamentary decision-making process and the powers of the prime minister. The likely reaction of the prime minister and his attempt, one way or another, to legislate may also push the situation toward a constitutional crisis. In the end, the president will ignite this type of crisis through frequent and repeated dissolutions of parliament as well as by not appointing to the office of prime minister the more or less officially designated leader of the parliamentary

Advantages and disadvantages

25

majority. Moreover, if parliamentary dissolutions do not return a favourable majority to the president, his political and popular prestige will be seriously tarnished. When the prime minister’s majority remains solid and disciplined, the president’s remaining powers will become almost blunt. However, the overall situation, though it could not last for long, may provoke, again in the critics’ opinion, deep wounds and conspicuous damages to the body politic and, in the end, to the very fabric of the semi-presidential democracy. One could be tempted simply to dispose of all these criticisms by answering that nothing of the sort has taken place so far in the various semi-presidential republics in Europe. Though tensions and conflicts have made their appearance as much as in some parliamentary republics neither presidents nor prime ministers have pushed their, even serious, differences of opinions, to the brink. Indeed, as far as I can tell, there has not been even the threat of constitutional collapse nor of political paralysis in any European semi-presidential republic. For this reason, I think one is entitled to look for a more imaginative, though theoretically well-grounded, explanation. My suggestion is that it is possible to look at both potential outcomes of semi-presidentialism, that is, hyperpresidentialism and cohabitation, with different lenses and drawing different, but convincing, interpretations. In principle, I would not deny that hyper-presidentialism may represent a significant political problem. Too much concentration of power in the hands of one popularly elected office holder entails the likelihood of some political and institutional degeneration. Inevitably, some of the prime ministers, though, not, by any means all of them, who owe their office to the appointment and the continuing support of the president, run the risk of becoming puppets of their political and institutional sponsor(s). Moreover, in cases of differences of opinions and, even more, of outright confrontations, it must not be taken for granted that all prime ministers will passively yield their power and their office and that their parliamentary majorities will meekly comply with the decisions taken by the president. Hence, it is when the president does not have full control of the institutions and the political processes and when he tries to have his way that an institutional and political clash becomes a likely outcome. However, not all presidents will jeopardize their popularity and the support of their party, for instance, by replacing a popular prime minister or by dissolving a still functioning parliament. Thus, the risks of hyper-presidentialism constitute, in fact, a distinct possibility, but they should not be exaggerated. Moreover, I would like to add that any conception of the democratic life which does not make or leave space for collaboration among office holders and institutions, but is premised and grounded exclusively on confrontation, seems to me not only to be quite poor, but also substantially inadequate. Hyper-presidentialism is possible only when there is ‘unified government’, that is, when the president and the parliamentary majority belong or can be referred to the same parties. According to the critics of semi-presidentialism, also the opposite situation, that is, ‘cohabitation’: the president being elected by one popular majority and the prime minister enjoying the parliamentary support

26

G. Pasquino

of a different or even a totally antagonistic majority, is fraught with significant risks. The much-feared prognosis following the occurrence of cohabitation is political and institutional paralysis. My assessment is, in fact, essentially the other way round. Let me start by stressing that the advantage of semipresidentialism vis-à-vis, for instance, US-style presidentialism in situations of divided government10 appears to be clear and visible. When US-style divided government makes its appearance, stalemate on several issues, between the preferences of the president and those of Congress is highly likely. On the one hand, the president cannot have his way because he will be unable, by definition, to find a majority in either branch of Congress. On the other hand, Congress will never be in a position to pass all the legislation its members would like to produce because the president retains his veto power and will resort to it. Only in extremely rare cases will Congress be capable of mustering the necessary two-thirds majority to overcome a presidential veto.11 Often, whichever legislative stalemate has occurred will be broken only through expensive practices of log rolling and pork barrel. In sharp contrast, in all the instances when semipresidentialism is characterized/affected by cohabitation, there will always be someone in a position to govern. On this important point, I am afraid I do not share the view put forward by Shugart and Carey when they write: ‘where the president and the cabinet are of opposing parties or blocs, premier–presidential government faces a challenge somewhat similar to that of presidentialism under divided government’ (1992, 55). Under cohabitation, the office holder capable of governing will always be the prime minister because he enjoys a majority in parliament and can effectively rely on his majority that, for its part, is acutely aware of the institutional and political imperative to support its prime minister. Indeed, all the components of the prime ministerial majority know perfectly well that the alternative to their continued support of the prime minister and his/their effective legislative performance is represented by the dissolution of parliament that can be decided (and, what counts more, publicly justified) by the president with unpredictable consequences for the very parliamentary majority and many of its members. Because of the institutional rigidity of presidential government and the consequent impossibility either to dismiss the president or to dissolve Congress, divided government is always on the verge of political and institutional stalemate. Even the most articulate critic of presidentialism and, by extension, made by himself, of semi-presidentialism, that is, Juan Linz (1994, 64), is, so to speak, obliged to recognize some advantages of this ‘political system model’. Two of them are noteworthy: (1) ‘a bipolar system allows the president to change the prime minister and to change policies without creating a crisis in the system or even within the party that forms the government’; (2) in a bipolar system ‘responsibility for failure can be pushed onto the prime minister leaving the president untouched’. In the end, the only true practical and concrete disadvantage of (French) semi-presidentialism indicated by Linz (p. 56) is that ‘the French experience under Mitterrand shows that the system does not assure maximal efficacy’.12

Advantages and disadvantages

27

Finally, I would like to offer my Madisonian interpretation of the relationship between presidents and prime ministers in semi-presidential systems, especially, though not at all exclusively, in times of cohabitation. In order to check the power of institutions and office holders, Madison’s suggested solution was the apparently simple one consisting in pitting ‘ambition against ambition’. Translated into a semi-presidential context, the ambition of the president can and should be countered by the ambition of the prime minister. In principle, while presidents would like to be re-elected, prime ministers would like to retain their parliamentary majorities. Both know that the electorate may have strong reservations if asked to give its absolute approval and unconditional support either to a president who might negatively interfere with the working of parliament for his own personal and partisan purposes or to a prime minister who attempts to eliminate all the prerogatives and the legitimate powers of the president. On his part, the prime minister will certainly harbour the legitimate and understandable ambition of running for the presidency. Hence, it is not in his personal and partisan interest either to curtail the institutional powers of the presidency or to disrupt the working of the system. The actual examples of prime ministers who have run for the presidency are, indeed, quite numerous. In France, they are: Pompidou 1970 (successful), Chaban-Delmas 1974 (unsuccessful), Chirac 1981 (unsuccessful) and 1995 (successful), Balladur 1995 (unsuccessful), Jospin 2002 (unsuccessful). In Portugal, because of the so far shorter life of semi-presidentialism and the fact that all winning presidents have served two terms, there have been only two cases so far: Soares 1986 (successful), Cavaco Silva 1996 (unsuccessful), 2006 (successful). In Poland, President Wale˛sa has lost his bid for re-election, though not against a former prime minister but against the leader of the largest party, the former communist Aleksander Kwasniewski. There is no example so far of transition from the office of prime minister to the presidency. The reason may be the fragmentation of the Polish party system that has prevented the emergence of a powerful party leader capable of mustering and guiding a parliamentary majority and of winning the office of prime minister.13 Finally, all Presidents of the Republic, especially those who are not allowed, because of term limits, to run again, nourish the ambition of entering into the history (or, at least, winning some footnotes in the history books) of their respective country, and not only. Therefore, they hope that the evaluation they will obtain from public opinion, the mass media, the historians will be positive. Understandably, they will strive to obtain a positive evaluation in two ways: first of all, being more than cautious before in any way tinkering with the functioning of the semi-presidential institutions, and, second, in playing the game by the rules in order to exit from office bequeathing an improved political system. Of course, it is often remarked that cohabitation will make it more difficult for both top office holders to show their statesmanlike qualities. Elsewhere (Pasquino 1996), I have written of the possibility of duels when the president and the prime minister belong to opposite coalition, that is, when there is cohabitation. But it is exactly in these cases that one should expect the Madisonian

28

G. Pasquino

theory of competing ambitions to work effectively. On the contrary, one would expect a duet when the president and the prime minister belong to the same party or the same coalition. At least, in principle we would expect them to perform most of the time in full agreement the same political and programmatic song. Paradoxically, however, these types of duets have not always been successful. Though potentially endowed with the upper hand, the president may be jealous of the success, the popularity, the prestige, even the capability of his prime minister and may fear a challenge to his power coming from him. Perhaps the disagreements between de Gaulle and Pompidou, Pompidou and ChabanDelmas, Giscard d’Estaing and Chirac, Mitterrand and Rocard, and the impending ones between Chirac and Sarkozy may be interpreted in this light. As a consequence, unexpectedly, there is the distinct possibility that even the duets may contain, perhaps create, in some case hide many a tension, an envy, a potential confrontation. But, if not pushed to the limits, this kind of confrontation is often the very stuff of politics and provides a lot of useful political information for the citizens.

Conclusion So far contemporary political science has not devised shared criteria to evaluate the performance of institutional regimes and the quality of democracy. Essentially for this reason, I have decided to focus on a few selected instances of semi-presidentialism in Europe in order to suggest which seem to be the advantages and the disadvantages of the ‘model’. At the end of my exploration, I think I am justified in stating that the advantages of semi-presidentialism seem to be much greater and significant than the disadvantages. Not only semi-presidentialism appears generally more viable, but in several cases, not only in Europe, which has been the central focus of my analysis, is more promising than all the other theoretical and practical alternatives represented by traditional parliamentary and presidential regimes (more on this in Pasquino 2004) both for political systems in transition from authoritarianism to democracy and for the improvement of traditional parliamentary democracies.

Notes 1 I agree with the first part of the comment by Linz (1994, 53): ‘the system does not eliminate the problems of the party system; on the contrary, the party system controls the success of the system’, but not with the suggested implications of the second part, because the party system is itself the product of the institutions and the electoral system. 2 For a reliable narrative by the most important adviser to de Gaulle, see Debré (1981). 3 In an important essay, Reif (1987) analyses and evaluates the reappearance of the power of the, albeit quite transformed, French parties. 4 Curiously, in the same volume, Linz (1994, 55) states that: ‘in view of some of the experiences with this type of system it seems dubious to argue that in and by itself it can generate democratic stability’. 5 Here, I cannot deal with Suleiman’s very serious criticisms that ‘the presidential

Advantages and disadvantages

6 7 8 9

10 11 12

13

29

system has openly polarized and politicized the state administration’ (1994, 152). However, being familiar with the case of the Italian parliamentary republic, I am inclined to think that the path to the politicization of the state administration can be opened and followed under several different constitutional arrangements. More preoccupied with the resurfacing of a strong role for the political parties, Suleiman (1994, 148) rightly suggests that, when the two majorities coincide, the National Assembly becomes a transformative arena. For a more favourable evaluation of the possibility to prevent cohabitation through the manipulation of the electoral timing see Shugart and Carey (1992, 57 and chs 9–12). On this see the thoughtful analysis by Kitschelt et al. (1999). My measure of consolidation being essentially the consideration that, following an initial reform of both constitutions, there is no longer any debate on major institutional revisions to be introduced because all political actors and public opinion agree on the existing rules of the game For three very lucid assessments see Mayhew (1991), Fiorina (1996) and Ware (2001). Representatives and senators belonging to the same party as the president are highly likely to show their voting loyalty and, so far, have always been numerous enough to prevent the reaching of the two-thirds threshold. Leaving aside that it is quite a difficult task to evaluate what is ‘maximal efficacy’, it would be fair to state that the most difficult phases of semi-presidentialism in the Fifth Republic remain far preferable in terms of efficacy to the best phases of the Fourth Republic as well as, for instance, to the overall functioning of a classic parliamentary democracy that appears to be the model cherished by Linz, that is, the one utilized in the Italian Republic. An interesting analysis is provided by Jasiewicz (1997).

3

Semi-presidentialism in young democracies Help or hindrance? Sophia Moestrup

As a general rule, does the adoption of a constitutional framework that divides power between two executives appear to advance or hinder democratization? This is an important question that needs further exploration, particularly given the popularity of semi-presidentialism among young democracies. For a full inventory of countries currently having a semi-presidential regime, see Table 1.1 in Chapter 1. Despite the wide adoption of semi-presidentialism, so far the literature on institutional effects on the prospects for democratic consolidation1 has tended to concentrate on the relative merits of parliamentary regimes vis-à-vis presidential regimes. As indicated in Chapter 1, it is only recently that more works have started to appear focusing on the relative merits of semipresidentialism. Theoretical claims about the advantages or disadvantages of semipresidentialism are highly divergent. While some theorists claim that semipresidentialism ‘combines the best of both worlds [i.e. parliamentary and presidential systems]’ (Lijphart 1994, 104 n. 7), others believe it to be even more gridlock-prone than presidential systems (Linz 1994, 54). Case studies of semipresidential regimes have similarly reached highly divergent conclusions about the impact of this regime form on the survival of democracy. For example, Fish (1998) argues that semi-presidentialism has been a contributing factor to Mongolia’s success with democracy so far, while Gros (1997) blames semi-presidentialism for a large part of the problems democracy has encountered in Haiti. The collection of case studies in this book will help throw light on the specific conditions under which semi-presidentialism may either help or hinder democracy to take root in young democracies, while the purpose of the present chapter is to determine whether there appear to be any general patterns. The following section will provide an overview of conflicting claims, the validity of which will then be tested through a large-n study that provides information on the average impact of semi-presidentialism on young democracies in terms of: average scores on the Freedom House index; and relative democratic breakdown rates. A discussion of the findings will conclude the chapter. It appears from an open-ended testing of the independent impact of semipresidentialism on young democracies that on average this regime type has performed neither better nor worse than presidentialism, though there appear to be

Semi-presidentialism in young democracies

31

regional differences that have to be taken into consideration. Also, though on average the break-down rates of young semi-presidential regimes are higher compared to other young democracies, this difference is not statistically significant. When looking more specifically at differences in democratic performance between different types of semi-presidential regimes, categorized according to authority patterns (the president’s ability single-handed to dismiss the prime minister), it would appear that president–parliamentary systems are less robust in the face of divided government than premier–presidential systems. This is an interesting finding that invites further research into the effects of alternative authority patterns on young semi-presidential democracies.

Conflicting theoretical claims Supporters and critics of semi-presidentialism tend to posit quite opposite effects of semi-presidentialism on young democracies. While supporters argue it is a flexible regime type, with an inbuilt premium for co-operation and coalitionbuilding, critics emphasize the risks of rigidity, conflict and instability associated with semi-presidentialism. Sartori and Duverger have been particularly positive in their judgements over this regime form, vaunting its flexibility. Duverger (1997) argues that semipresidentialism has ‘become the most effective means of transition from dictatorship towards democracy in Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union’ (p. 137). The argument is that semi-presidential regimes are better at dealing with situations of divided majorities than presidential regimes that can similarly experience situations where the president is not backed by a majority in parliament. In this view, semi-presidentialism provides a solution to the problem of divided majorities ‘by “head shifting”, by reinforcing the authority of whoever obtains the majority [in parliament]’ (Sartori 1997, 125). If the president is not backed by a majority in parliament, it is the parliamentary majority’s choice of prime minister that prevails over his or her preferences, thereby overcoming the structural rigidities of presidential systems. Holmes (1993) similarly argues that, for young post-communist regimes, the ambiguity and flexibility found in the definition of the distribution of powers between executives are an advantage rather than a liability. Linz (1994, 1997), on the contrary, sees the perils of semi-presidentialism as being as great as, if not greater than, those of presidentialism, particularly because of the possibility of cohabitation between a president and prime minister from opposing parties. He bases his argumentation mainly on the historical case of the Weimar Republic. His worries are echoed by Stepan and Suleiman (1995, 399) who see ‘the possibility of constitutional conflict between two electorally legitimated executives [as] the central problem’. In this view, semipresidentialism is a system that tends to end up as a competitive diarchy, as in Moldova where ‘[t]he president, elected by the whole nation, had no option but to make pledges . . . and become a source of instability’.2 Semi-presidentialism

32

S. Moestrup

can in this view suffer from the same rigidity as presidential systems, given the fixed-term election of the president and competing claims of democratic legitimacy by the president and the legislature. Linz (1990) saw this rigidity as a key weakness of presidential systems, given that it tends to weaken mechanisms for dispute resolution. Supporters of semi-presidentialism argue that it is a system that tends to further co-operation and coalition-building. Where deeply divided societies attempt a transition to democracy, semi-presidentialism may appear as a particularly good choice. Semi-presidentialism in particular, and dual leadership systems in general (including non-democracies and indirectly elected presidents), allow a power sharing between two major societal groups, and could thus contribute ‘to ensuring the loyalty of politically relevant groups’ (Blondel 1992, 167). This system presumably allows a more encompassing representation of the major relevant societal groups at the top of the executive, thereby furthering the legitimacy of the new democracy and ultimately its chances of democratic survival. Moreover, a semi-presidential regime allows for a sharing of posts among coalition partners, thus facilitating coalition-building amongst democratic forces hoping to topple an authoritarian regime. This is advanced as a reason for the adoption of this regime type in Niger (Issa Abdourhamane 1996, 80–1). However, as in parliamentary regimes, coalition governments can be unstable and may be particularly vulnerable to democratic breakdown in semi-presidential regimes where president and prime minister come from different parties: in the case of disagreement between the two executives, the prime minister’s party can create a new majority in parliament, in opposition to the president. This is what happened in Niger in 1995, introducing a period of painful cohabitation which culminated in a military coup in January 1996 (Moestrup 1999). While semi-presidentialism can provide for elements of power-sharing (Sartori 1997, 110–11), it is also a system that can serve to enhance social divisions in the event of institutional conflict. Thus, rather than promoting cooperation in divided polities, semi-presidentialism with its dual executive can serve to institutionalize political divisions, thereby further polarizing political conflict, as has arguably been the case in Timor-Leste. There, the political struggle between President Gusmão and Prime Minister Alkatiri, driven by ideological differences, made the difficult task of establishing an effective and democratic government for the young state even more daunting (see Chapter 13 by Shoesmith). Moreover, power-sharing within the executive is insufficient to allay fears of exclusion when combined with a majoritarian electoral system that gives control of the parliamentary majority to one party, a factor that arguably contributed to the coup in Burundi in 1993 (Sisk 1998). Blondel (1992) makes the case that a particular advantage of dual leadership systems is that they allow ‘the head of state to keep some distance apart from “ordinary” politics’ (p. 166). This can be a distinct advantage when a country has to face a difficult economic transition, as the president may be able to use his prime minister as ‘scapegoat’. The prime minister may be sacrificed to defuse

Semi-presidentialism in young democracies

33

political tensions, thus providing a safety valve to the system. This is, however, an option that is not available to a president faced with a parliament dominated by a majority opposition able to impose its choice of prime minister. Though the president in a semi-presidential regime (and in some presidential regimes) may have the power to dissolve parliament, a new election may return a situation of divided government. This opposition may not be sufficiently strong to impose its choice of prime minister; it can, nevertheless, severely hamper the pursuit of government policies. The result may be a gradual degradation into a situation of ‘superpresidentialism’ (Fish 2000). The jury is still out. It is not clear, from a theoretical perspective, whether semi-presidentialism provides a solution to the rigidity of presidentialism and the possible instability of parliamentary systems by combining elements from the two systems, or whether, on the other hand, it compounds the weaknesses of presidential and parliamentary regimes, while adding the further complication of cohabitation. Therefore, the working hypotheses of the statistical analyses to follow below are open-ended.

Testing the impact of semi-presidentialism on young democracies The intent here is to test whether semi-presidentialism matters for the performance of young democracies, in terms of level of democracy and rate of democratic survival. Institutionalist approaches to democratization focus not only on regime type, but also on the nature of the party system. Multi-partyism has been given a prominent role in explaining the poor performance of presidential regimes and is suspected also to have negative effects on semi-presidential systems.3 Supposedly, party system fragmentation increases the chances of cohabitation, and thus the dangers of political conflict, ultimately culminating in the breakdown of democracy. This variable must therefore also be included in the specification of a statistical model to test for the impact of semipresidentialism on young democracies. In Linz’s words, ‘[a]ny analysis of the functioning of semi-presidential/semi-parliamentary systems has to focus on the party system at least as much or more than in the study of presidential systems’ (1997, 10). In the democratization literature, a prominent competing explanation to institutionalist approaches is found in what is called the modernization approach. The implicit argument advanced here is that democracy is the natural end result of a gradual process of social change, resulting from increasing levels of economic development.4 Economic development is typically measured in terms of GDP per capita and levels of industrialization, urbanization, and education. A related explanation focuses not on economic preconditions for democracy, but on the vulnerability of young democracies in the face of economic crises.5 A test for the impact of semi-presidentialism on democratic performance must thus also take into account the independent effect of economic development variables.

34

S. Moestrup

A t test will serve to compare the levels of democracy between regime types in terms of average Freedom House scores, while regression analyses will help to control for the impact of the other variables discussed above, namely differences in economic development and in party system fragmentation. Finally, I carry out a difference in proportions test to see whether semi-presidentialism is more vulnerable than other regime types to democratic breakdown, measured as a discrete event. Freedom House (FH) produces yearly estimates of civil and political rights scores that are widely used by scholars as a proxy measure for level of democracy. It is reassuring that FH scores appear not to diverge significantly from other indices of democratic performance.6 Democratic survival is defined simply as a dichotomous variable: whether democracy has broken down in the given country at some point. The breakdown may have been caused by a military or a civilian coup, by electoral fraud, or by incremental constitutional changes adopted through dubious means. Country reports from Freedom House and the Polity IV database have served to determine whether a breakdown has taken place.7 Hypotheses Given the contrasting theoretical claims about the effects of semi-presidentialism, the null hypotheses below simply state that this regime type has an independent effect on young democracies, without specifying whether this effect is expected to be positive or negative. If H1 and/or H2 below are rejected, the alternate hypotheses of semi-presidentialism having no impact on democratic performance of young democracies will have to be accepted. The hypotheses to be tested are: H1 Semi-presidentialism has an impact on the Freedom House scores of young democracies. H2 Semi-presidentialism has an impact on the breakdown rates of young democracies. As it will appear from the statistical analyses below, the hypotheses above are largely invalidated by the data. Semi-presidential young democracies on average do score worse on the Freedom House rankings than either presidential or parliamentary systems (3.4 for semi-presidential systems versus 3.1 for presidential and 2.6 for parliamentary systems) on a scale from one to seven, to be discussed in more detail below. However, when the control variables are taken into consideration in a regression analysis, only the difference between semipresidential and parliamentary regimes remains significant. Moreover, semipresidentialism does not seem to have a significant effect on the chances of survival of a young democracy. However, some interesting findings emerge, when looking at differences in performance between semi-presidential regimes with different authority patterns (premier–presidential versus president– parliamentary systems).

Semi-presidentialism in young democracies

35

Dataset The dataset includes young democracies from all regions of the world except Western Europe, Israel and Japan. A ‘young’ democracy is defined primarily as one that has undergone democratization during what Huntington (1991) calls the second (1943–62) and third waves (1974– ) of democratization. Latin America that generally democratized earlier, but where many countries subsequently suffered a breakdown of democracy, is also included. The dataset consists of those Third World, newly industrialized countries, and former communist countries that have had a meaningful experience with electoral democracy since the start of the Third Wave. Some of the countries have undergone a transition only very recently; others have a longer period of democratic experience behind them. Not all of them have seen their democracies survive. Excluding individual countries such as Costa Rica or Botswana that have experienced uninterrupted democracy since their first transition could bias the findings: if such countries were mainly presidential regimes, for example, excluding them could give a false impression of the vulnerability of presidential regimes to democratic breakdown.8 In order to control for the possibility of correlation between length of democratic experience and vulnerability to democratic breakdown, I include a dummy variable for length of democratic experience, where countries that have had uninterrupted democracy since 1974 are coded 1. Though Portugal (semi-presidential), Spain (parliamentary), and Greece (parliamentary) are also young democracies, I exclude them from the dataset given the special conditions that have prevailed due to their inclusion since the 1980s in the European Union (for which democracy is a necessary condition). The three countries gained enormously in economic terms from joining the European Union. The economic incentives to play by the democratic rules of the game were thus so high that they arguably trumped all other possible motivations. The prospect of EU membership can also have influenced the democratic performance of the ten post-communist countries recently included in the EU. I will control for the independent effect of prospective EU membership through the inclusion of a dummy variable, as mentioned below. Other countries that have been excluded are Cyprus and Taiwan because of their contested international status, and Bosnia, due to the continued presence of UN forces in the country. I also exclude countries with less than 500,000 inhabitants thus following the praxis of the Polity IV database.9 The population data are taken from the CIA World Factbook 2005. I furthermore exclude countries that have had a democratic experience, but with a hybrid regime form with an indirectly elected executive president (who may or may not have to share executive power with a prime minister) that cannot be defined as parliamentary, presidential or semipresidential: e.g. Albania till 1998, Moldova since 2001, Indonesia till 2004, and Suriname. The end result is a dataset with eighty-three countries and 1,345 observations. The countries included in the dataset are listed in Appendix 3.1, where the year in parentheses indicates the year of transition to democracy and the starting

36

S. Moestrup

point for data collection for the country in question. Appendix 3.2 shows the distribution by regime type and region of the countries included in the dataset. As indicated, not all of these countries have remained democracies: in about a third democracy has broken down, see Appendix 3.3. Nor have all the countries necessarily achieved a rating of ‘free’ from Freedom House, they may only have achieved a rating of ‘partly free’. All the countries have, however, at some point undergone a meaningful transition to become an electoral democracy.10 For countries that have had two or more transitions to democracy, interrupted by periods of authoritarian reversal, the date in parentheses in Appendix 3.1 indicates the earliest transition since the cut-off date for the data (1974). The cut-off date is 1974, the perceived starting date for the Third Wave. Huntington argues that the causes leading to a democratic transition have varied from wave to wave. Accordingly, the causes underlying the survival or breakdown of democracies could also vary from ‘reverse’ wave to ‘reverse’ wave. By choosing a single cut-off date, problems of non-comparability should be minimized, with the caveat that some regions have had a much longer experience with democracy than others. As indicated, this problem is addressed by including a dummy variable for length of democratic experience. Data are collected up till and including 2003. Countries in Appendix 3.1 marked by an asterisk (*) are countries that were democratic at the beginning of the time period in question, but where democracy subsequently broke down for shorter or longer periods of time. Countries followed by a hash (#) are countries that have had an uninterrupted period of democracy during the period analysed. The dates are based on Freedom House and Polity IV data. Variables The dependent variable in the testing of hypothesis H1 is the combined Freedom House score: the average of the Freedom House civil and political rights scores. Freedom House assigns values of 1–7 for political and civil rights, respectively. Higher scores indicate lower democratic performance. The survey assigns countries ‘the status of Free, Partly Free, or Not Free by averaging their political rights and civil liberties ratings’ (ibid.). Freedom House ranks countries scoring 1–2.5 as ‘free’, 3–5 as ‘partly free’, and 5.5–7 as ‘not free’. Choosing this variable avoids problems of defining whether and when a democracy is consolidated: I limit myself to registering the ups and downs in level of democracy measured in terms of civil and political rights. In the testing of hypothesis H2, the dependent variable is whether the given country has suffered a breakdown of democracy (coded as a dummy variable), independently of whether the country subsequently returned to democracy. The independent variables include variables traditionally used to control for differences in socio-economic development: GDP per capita (in constant US$2,000), illiteracy rate (percentage of population above fifteen years), and urban population (percentage of total population). For all these variables there is expected to be a positive correlation between level of development achieved and

Semi-presidentialism in young democracies

37

level of democracy. To control for the vulnerability of young democracies in face of economic crises, I include a measure of GDP annual percentage growth that is expected to have a positive impact on level of democracy.11 The institutional variables include the nature of the regime (presidential, semi-presidential or parliamentary), and the number of political parties (as measured by the effective number of parties elected to parliament). Regimes are coded as parliamentary, semi-presidential, or presidential, through a series of dummy variables. For countries that have gone through periods of authoritarian reversals, the regime coding (presidential, semi-presidential or parliamentary) follows the one in existence prior to the reversal, except where the constitutional form has been changed by the new regime. The measure for the effective number of parliamentary parties allows weighing the number of parties present in parliament in accordance with their size, thereby reflecting imbalances in power. I use a measure for the effective number of parliamentary parties rather than effective number of electoral parties, because I want to look at the number of relevant parties represented in parliament. When analysing the impact of regime types on democratic performance, it appears more relevant to focus on the relative balance of power of parties within parliament than to look at the total number of parties, including those that do not have political influence through their representation in parliament. The possibility of gridlock within the dual executive and/or between president and parliament is influenced more by the number of parties present in parliament than by the number of parties running for election. See Appendix 3.4 for further details on this variable, including sources for the data. To dampen the effect of outliers, I use the natural log of the party variable. An increasing number of parliamentary parties are expected to have a negative impact on democracy. Additional variables include prospective EU membership, regional variables, and a thirty-year duration measure for democratic experience. As indicated above, prospective EU membership is considered an important independent variable to be controlled for (by a dummy variable).12 It is expected that prospective EU membership is positively correlated with level of democracy. Regional dummy variables serve to control for the regional clustering of regime types that can be observed in Appendix 3.2 (semi-presidentialism particularly prevalent in Africa and post-communist countries; presidentialism dominant in Latin America). Finally, as indicated, a dummy variable for duration of democracy helps control for a possible correlation between length of democratic experience and level of democracy. Results As indicated, a difference in means test (t test) shows that semi-presidential systems appear to have a higher mean FH score (implying a lower level of democracy) than other regime types. The mean FH score for semi-presidential systems is 3.4, while the mean FH score for presidential systems is 3.1 and that for parliamentary systems is 2.6. The lower level of democracy of semi-presidential

38

S. Moestrup

young democracies is statistically significant, also when compared only to presidential systems. To test if semi-presidential systems still score worse on the FH scale when taking other independent variables into account, I run a regression13 of the dependent variable FH scores against the control variables and the presidential and parliamentary regime variables. Semi-presidentialism is used as the base category: the results thus reflect the significance of the presidential and parliamentary variables in explaining divergent FH scores, when compared to semi-presidential regimes. Similarly, Latin America is used as the base category for the regional variables, against which the effects of the other regions are compared. As seen from Table 3.1, parliamentary regimes have a statistically significant positive impact on level of democracy, compared to semi-presidential regimes. (The negative coefficients indicate a positive impact on democracy, given that lower FH scores indicate better democratic performance.) However, the difference in democratic performance between presidential and semi-presidential systems is not statistically significant. An increasing number of electoral parties, as expected, has a negative impact on level of democracy, while increasing levels of GDP per capita, positive economic growth, and prospective EU membership are correlated with higher levels of democracy. Interestingly, length of democracy, illiteracy rates and urban population are statistically insignificant.

Table 3.1 The impact of regime type on Freedom House scores: coefficients resulting from regression analysis, using semi-presidential systems as base category Type of regime

Coefficient

Std error

Statistical significance

Parliamentary Presidential No. of parl. parties EU membership GDP/per capita GDP growth Length of democratic experience Illiteracy Urban population Africa Asia Eastern Europe Former Soviet Union Constant

0.4057856 0.0124777 0.1727042 1.318042 0.0002381 0.0072865 0.3410427 0.0067096 0.0158035 0.9879606 0.8714077 0.915558 0.7368607 2.373515

0.1722029 0.2166854 0.0675575 0.3790853 0.0000371 0.0035208 0.3013673 0.0047887 0.0055029 0.2747883 0.3365754 0.4334511 0.3884443 0.4689426

#

Notes # Probability of less than 0.05 for a two-tailed test. *** Probability of less than 0.001 for a one-tailed test. ** Probability of less than 0.01 for a one-tailed test. * Probability of less than 0.05 for a one-tailed test. Coefficients that do not have any * are not statistically significant.

** *** *** *

*** ** * * ***

Semi-presidentialism in young democracies

39

The lack of statistical significance does not appear to be an artefact of multicollinearity.14 The figure below further explores differences in democratic performance, across regions. As it appears, on average Latin American and Eastern European young democracies have performed better (with an average FH score of 2.6 for both regions, all regimes combined), compared to Africa (average FH score 3.8), the former Soviet Union (average FH score 3.4), and Asia (average FH score 2.9). There are some interesting differences, as to the relative performance of different regime types in terms of FH scores, across regions. As can be seen from Figure 3.1, while semi-presidential regimes on average have performed worse than other regime types in the Americas and Asia, they appear to have performed better than presidentialism in Africa, and better than parliamentary systems in Eastern Europe. In the former Soviet Union, semipresidentialism and presidential systems have performed equally poorly compared to parliamentary systems. When testing for the statistical significance of the interaction effect of region and semi-presidentialism in the regression model presented above, we find that only the interaction effects for Eastern Europe, the Americas and Asia are statistically significant. The interaction effects are summarized in Table 3.2. 5

FH scores

4 P 5

SP PA

3

Average

2 1 Africa

Americas

Asia-Pacific

Eastern Europe

Former USSR

Region

Figure 3.1 Regional distribution of FH scores by type of regime.

Table 3.2 Interaction effect of region and semi-presidentialism: effect on level of democracy Region

Statistically significant

Effect

Eastern Europe Americas Asia Africa Soviet Union

Yes Yes Yes No No

Positive Negative Negative None None

40

S. Moestrup

These regional differences show the importance of adopting a cross-regional comparative perspective when attempting to arrive at general conclusions as to the performance of young democracies. This supports the arguments advanced by Frison-Roche in the present volume that the very distinct differences in democratic performance between semi-presidentialism in Eastern Europe and the ex-Soviet Union is related to the very different circumstances under which this regime form was adopted. This, again, influenced the relative authority patterns between president and prime minister as reflected in the constitutions, a point I will revert to below. In the region with the second poorest average FH scores (the former Soviet Union), presidential and semi-presidential regimes have performed equally poorly, compared to parliamentary regimes. In this region that has generally been inhospitable to democracy (apart from the Baltic states), semi-presidentialism has not helped improve democratic performance. On the other hand, in one of two regions with the best average FH scores (Eastern Europe), semi-presidential young democracies have scored better than parliamentary ones. The poor performance of semi-presidentialism in Latin America is related to the fact that there are only two countries classified as semi-presidential (Haiti and Peru), where the poor performance of democracy in Haiti has a significant negative impact on the average FH scores for this regime type compared to the presidentialism and parliamentary systems. I now proceed to the testing of the second hypothesis, H2, considering democratic breakdown as a discrete event. A difference in proportions test15 shows that the alternate hypothesis of no difference in means cannot be rejected. As can be seen from Appendix 3.4, 27–39 per cent of all young democracies included in the dataset have broken down between 1974 and today, and the differences between presidential systems (27 per cent), parliamentary systems (36 per cent) and semi-presidential ones (39 per cent) is not statistically significant. This implies that semi-presidential regimes are not more or less likely than either presidential or parliamentary regimes to suffer democratic breakdown through coups or otherwise.16 As pointed out by several scholars, including Elgie (2005), Roper (2002) and Shugart and Carey (1992), not all semi-presidential regimes are the same. It therefore makes sense to test for whether differences in institutional set-up somehow influence the democratic performance of different sub-sets within the pool of semi-presidential young democracies. One approach has been to categorize semipresidential regimes based on different measures of presidential powers. A problem with this approach is that measurements of these powers tend to vary from author to author given that constitutional provisions for presidential powers are often ambiguous, as pointed out by Siaroff (2003) – who nevertheless proceeds to devise his own set of measurements. Ironically, after having classified European semi-presidential systems according to their presidential powers, Roper finds that the presidents in countries where the president formally has most powers (Finland, Iceland and Portugal) ‘are considered in practice to be far weaker than presidents’ in the remaining countries (Roper 2002, 262).

Semi-presidentialism in young democracies

41

The approach to compare differences between semi-presidential regimes adopted here is therefore to look at differences in authority patterns as represented by the president’s ability to dismiss the prime minister. Shugart and Carey (1992) first argued for the need to subdivide semi-presidential regimes into two categories, premier–presidential and president–parliamentary regimes, given the distinct differences in authority patterns between the two. Shugart (2005) has further elaborated on this distinction and classifies a number of countries into premier–presidential and president–parliamentary systems, depending on whether the president has discretion to dismiss the prime minister: the president can unilaterally decide to dismiss the prime minister in president–parliamentary systems, but not in premier–presidential systems.17 The risk for democratic breakdown should be larger in president–parliamentary systems, given the more presidential nature of the system (Elgie 2005). The countries included in the present dataset have been grouped according to authority patterns in Table 3.3.18 From the table it would appear that on average, premier–presidential regimes have better FH scores (3.0 versus 3.9)19 and better chances at democratic survival (only 19 per cent broke down versus 60 per cent for president–parliamentary regimes).20 This outcome is influenced by the concentration of president–parliamentary regimes in the ex-Soviet Union and Africa, while premier–presidential systems are predominantly found in Eastern Europe. (All of the semi-presidential systems in the latter region can be classified as premier–presidential.) It is in the former Soviet Union that the difference in democratic breakdown rates is striking between premier–presidential and president–parliamentary systems: four out of five (80 per cent) of president–parliamentary systems have broken down and none of the premier–presidential. In Africa, there is no difference in democratic survival between premier–presidential and president– parliamentary regimes. In Latin America, democracy broke down both in Haiti and Peru, and the average FH scores were worse in Haiti (a premier–presidential system) than in Peru (a president–parliamentary system). In Asia, average FH scores are actually worse for premier–presidential systems (though the numbers are insufficient to ascertain statistical significance), and there is no difference in breakdown rates (none broke down). It is interesting to look more specifically at the relevance of divided government for the performance of young semi-presidential democracies, given the importance assigned to it by detractors of semi-presidentialism. I prefer to look at the effect of divided government21 rather than ‘cohabitation’ (where a president and a prime minister from opposing political parties have to share executive power) for a couple of reasons: breakdown of democracy may occur as the result of actions by a president who has lost majority backing in parliament tries to avoid cohabitation (arguably this was the case in Congo Brazzaville, see Moestrup 2006); and there may be situations where the institutional disincentives against cohabitation are so enormous as to make it an almost impossible occurrence (see Huskey’s chapter on Kyrgyzstan in the present volume). Only eight semi-presidential regimes have not experienced

42

S. Moestrup

Table 3.3 Differences in democratic performance between premier–presidential and president–parliamentary systems FH

b-d a

President–parliamentary country

FH

b-d

Africa Congo Brazzaville Mali Niger

4.5 2.6 4.6

Y N Y

Burundi Central African Republic Comoros Guinea-Bissau Madagascar Mozambique Namibia Senegal

6.8 4 4.2 4 3.1 3.6 2.5 3

Y Y Y Y N N N N

Americas Haiti

5.5

Y

Peru

3.3

Y

Asia/Pacific Mongolia Sri Lanka Timor Leste

2.4 3.8 3

N N N

South Korea

2.4

N

Eastern Europe Bulgaria Croatia Macedonia Poland Romania Slovakia Slovenia

2.3 3.4 3.3 1.7 2.7 1.5 1.5

N N N N N N N

Ex-Soviet Union Lithuania Moldova

1.7 3.4

N N

Armenia Belarus Kyrgyzstan Russia Ukraine

4 5.7 4.5 4.1 3.6

Y Y Y Y N

3.0

19%

3.9

60%

Premier–presidential country

Average Source: Shugart (2005) and constitutions of individual countries (in italics). Note a B-d Breakdown of democracy: Y yes, N no.

divided government, so far. For further details, see Appendix 3.5. Young semi-presidential democracies having experienced divided government have broken down in 43 per cent of the cases, while those that have not had periods of divided government have broken down in 25 per cent of the cases, though this result is not statistically significant. There are striking differences between premier–presidential and presid-

Semi-presidentialism in young democracies

43

Table 3.4 Differences in impact of divided government between premier–presidential and president–parliamentary regimes Regime Premier–presidential Divided government (14) Broke down Survived No divided government (2) Broke down Survived President–parliamentary Divided government (9) Broke down Survived No divided government (6) Broke down Survived

No.

%

3 11

21 79

0 2

0 100

7 2

78 22

2 4

33 67

ent–parliamentary systems with regard to the impact of divided government as seen in Table 3.4. Divided government appears to have a much more deleterious effect on presidential-parliamentary regimes than on premier–presidential ones: only 22 per cent of presidential-parliamentary regimes having experienced divided government survived, in contrast to 79 per cent for premier–presidential regimes.22

Conclusion Sartori has argued that ‘semi-presidentialism largely takes care of the rigidity problem, that it affords the flexibility that presidentialism lacks’ (1997, 94). While it is true that a number of young Eastern European semi-presidential democracies have survived and apparently thrived, the statistical results presented here cast doubt on the general applicability of Sartori’s positive judgement. On average, semi-presidential young democracies have not performed better than presidential regimes, either in terms of average Freedom House scores, or when considering the propensity to democratic breakdown. We have seen that there are important regional differences between the democratic performance of semi-presidential and other young democracies. Thus, while semi-presidential regimes have performed better in terms of average Freedom House scores than parliamentary regimes in Eastern Europe, they have performed worse than other systems in Latin America and Asia and just as poorly as presidential systems in the former Soviet Union and Africa. These regional differences draw our attention to the importance of the circumstances under which semi-presidentialism was introduced, as that may influence the choice of the particular institutional set-up of the semi-presidential regime and the subsequent functioning of the young democracy. In particular, it is striking

44

S. Moestrup

that the authority patterns as represented by the president’s ability to dismiss the prime minister are quite different across regions. We also note important differences in the impact of divided government on the two sub-sets of semi-presidential regimes, classified according to authority patterns (premier–presidential versus president–parliamentary systems): divided government appears to have a much more deleterious effect on president– parliamentary regimes (leading to breakdown in nearly 80 per cent of cases) than on premier–presidential ones (breakdown in only little more than 20 per cent of cases). At first glance this may appear puzzling, given that in president– parliamentary systems the authority patterns are clearer, and thus divided government could be expected to be less challenging than in premier–presidential regimes having a more balanced distribution of powers between the two executives. I would argue that, again, this finding draws our attention to the importance of analysing the circumstances under which one type of semipresidentialism was chosen over another. As Frison-Roche argues in his discussion of semi-presidentialism in the former Soviet Union, the unwillingness of incumbents to allow real power-sharing led to a disequilibrium which became increasingly more unstable as incumbents resisted pressure for change. The country chapters in the present volume help throw light on the political processes behind the statistical correlations discussed here. In particular, they will help to better understand the circumstances under which semi-presidentialism was adopted and how this impacted the functioning of the young regime; they will illustrate the conditions under which semi-presidentialism appears to be working and those under which the particular characteristic of this regime form have contributed to the breakdown of democracy; and they will help to advance our understanding of the functioning of this understudied regime form in young semi-presidential regimes outside Europe. The more general findings from the country chapters are summed up in the Conclusion to the volume.

Appendix 3.1 Countries included in dataset and the dates of their earliest transition to democracy since 1974 Countries followed by an asterisk (*) were democratic at the beginning of the period in question but democracy subsequently broke down. Countries followed by a hash (#) have experienced uninterrupted democracy during the period. The dates are based on Freedom House and Polity IV data. Africa 1 2 3 4 5 6

Benin (1991) Burundi (1993) Botswana (#) Burkina Faso (1978) Central African Republic (1993) Comoros (1990)

Semi-presidentialism in young democracies 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

Congo Brazzaville (1992) Gambia (*) Ghana (1979) Guinea-Bissau (1994) Kenya (2002) Lesotho (1993) Liberia (1997) Madagascar (1992) Malawi (1994) Mali (1992) Mauritius (#) Mozambique (1994) Namibia (1990) Niger (1993) Nigeria (1979) Senegal (2000) Sierra Leone (1996) South Africa (1994) Sudan (1986) Zambia (1991)

Americas 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

Argentina (1983) Bolivia (1982) Brazil (1985) Chile (1990) Colombia (#) Costa Rica (#) Dominican Republic (1978) Ecuador (1978) El Salvador (1984) Guatemala (1986) Guyana (1992) Haiti (1990) Honduras (1981) Jamaica (#) Mexico (2000) Nicaragua (1990) Panama (1990) Paraguay (1992) Peru (1980) Trinidad and Tobago (#) Uruguay (1985) Venezuela (#)

45

46

S. Moestrup

Asia and Pacific 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61

Bangladesh (1991) Fiji (*) India (#) Mongolia (1990) Nepal (1991) Pakistan (1988) Papua New Guinea (1975) Philippines (1987) Solomon Islands (1978) South Korea (1988) Sri Lanka (#) Thailand (1975) Timor Leste (2002)

Europe 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73

Albania (1991) Bulgaria (1990) Croatia (1990) Czech Republic (1993) Hungary (1990) Macedonia (1991) Poland (1990) Romania (1992) Slovakia (1993) Slovenia (1991) Turkey (1974) Yugoslavia/State Union of Serbia and Montenegro (2000)

Former Soviet Union 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83

Armenia (1991) Belarus (1991) Estonia (1991) Georgia (1991) Kyrgyzstan (1991) Latvia (1991) Lithuania (1991) Moldova (1994) Russia (1991) Ukraine (1991) Source: Freedom House (www.freedomhouse.org) and Polity IV country reports (www.cidcm.umd.edu/inscr/polity/report).

Semi-presidentialism in young democracies

47

Appendix 3.2 Countries in dataset by regime type and region Africa

Semi-presidential regimes Burkina Faso23 Burundi24 Central African Republic Congo Brazzaville27 Guinea-Bissau Madagascar Mali Mozambique Namibia Niger Senegal Parliamentary regimes Botswana Lesotho Mauritius South Africa

Presidential regimes Benin Burkina Faso33 Comoros35 Gambia36 Ghana Kenya Liberia Malawi Nigeria Sierra Leone Sudan37 Zambia

Americas

Asia/Pacific

Europe

Former Soviet Union

Haiti Peru

Mongolia South Korea

Bulgaria Croatia

Armenia Belarus

Sri Lanka25 Timor Leste

Macedonia Poland Romania Slovakia29 Slovenia

Georgia26 Kyrgyzstan Lithuania28 Moldova30 Russia Ukraine

Jamaica Bangladesh Albania Trinidad Fiji Czech and Tobago Republic India Hungary Nepal Yugoslavia31 Pakistan Turkey Papua New Guinea Solomon Islands Thailand

Estonia Latvia

Argentina Philippines Bolivia34 Brazil Chile Colombia Costa Rica Dominican Republic Ecuador El Salvador Guatemala Guyana38 Honduras Mexico Nicaragua Panama Paraguay Uruguay Venezuela

Georgia32

Sources: Blaustein and Flanz (1986), which is continuously updated; and the International Constitutional Law project at the University of Würzburg, Germany (www.oefre.unibe.ch/law/icl/home.html).

48

S. Moestrup

Appendix 3.3 Countries in dataset and presence or absence of democratic breakdown since 1974, as of December 2005 P indicates a presidential regime, SP a semi-presidential and PA a parliamentary regime. An * indicates that the country has returned to democracy and can presently be considered an electoral democracy, based on Freedom House reports. Countries with democratic breakdown Burkina Faso39 (P) *Burundi (SP) *Central African Republic (SP) *Comoros (SP) Congo Brazzaville (SP) Gambia (P) *Ghana (P) Guinea-Bissau (SP) *Lesotho (PA) *Liberia (P) *Niger (SP) *Nigeria (P) *Sierra Leone (P) Sudan (PA) Zambia (P) Haiti (SP) *Peru (SP) Fiji (PA) Nepal (PA) Pakistan (PA) *Solomon Islands (PA) *Thailand (PA) *Turkey (PA) Armenia (SP) Belarus (SP) *Georgia (P) Kyrgyzstan (SP) Russia (SP) Total 28: 8 P, 12 SP, 8 PA. Countries without democratic breakdown Benin (P) Botswana (PA) Kenya (P) Madagascar (SP)

Uruguay (P) Venezuela (P) Bangladesh (PA) India (PA)

Semi-presidentialism in young democracies Malawi (P) Mali (SP) Mauritius (PA) Mozambique (SP) Namibia (SP) Senegal (SP) South Africa (PA) Argentina (P) Bolivia (P) Brazil (P) Chile (P) Colombia (P) Costa Rica (P) Dominican Republic (P) Ecuador (P) El Salvador (P) Guatemala (P) Guyana (P) Honduras (P) Jamaica (PA) Mexico (P) Nicaragua (P) Panama (P) Paraguay (P) Trinidad and Tobago (PA) Total 55: 22 P, 19 SP, 14 PA.

49

Mongolia (SP) Papua New Guinea (PA) Philippines (P) South Korea (SP) Sri Lanka (SP) Timor Leste (SP) Albania (PA) Bulgaria (SP) Croatia (SP) Czech Republic (PA) Hungary (PA) Macedonia (SP) Poland (SP) Romania (SP) Slovakia (SP) Slovenia (SP) Yugoslavia (PA) Estonia (PA) Latvia (PA) Lithuania (SP) Moldova (SP) Ukraine (SP)

Breakdown rates Percentage of regimes having suffered democratic breakdown: presidential 27 per cent, parliamentary 36 per cent, semi-presidential 39 per cent. Sources: Country reports from Freedom House (www.freedomhouse.org) and Polity IV (www.cidcm.umd.edu/inscr/polity/report).

Appendix 3.4 Additional explanations and sources of data on effective number of parliamentary parties The measure for the effective number of parliamentary parties is calculated as Ns  1/pi2, where p indicates the percentage of seats won by the ith party.40 To the extent possible, the data used are the effective number of parliamentary parties corrected for the ‘other’ category using the least component method of bounds. An excellent database (Golder 2004)41 provides the bulk of the data up till 2000. These data have been compared with data available from other sources and cross-checked with my own calculations. If discrepancies were noted, I have opted for the source that appeared to be the most accurate.

50

S. Moestrup

The starting year for the collection of data for a given country is the year of the first democratic elections (post-1974) till 2003 inclusive. If elections took place earlier than that, for example in 1972, while the following democratic elections were not until a few years later, for example 1976, the numbers from 1972 are entered for 1974 and 1975. Similarly, if a transition to democracy took place in 1984, but fresh elections were not held till 1985, the electoral data for the previous elections (e.g. 1981) is entered for 1984. The figure for the effective number of parties is entered for the year of the given elections and repeated for each year up till the year of the following elections, except if electoral democracy has been interrupted by a coup that has suspended the functioning of parliament and/or resulted in severe manipulation of subsequent elections. In some cases this may not reflect post-election fragmentation or consolidation of parties in parliament. However, figures reflecting such intra-parliamentary changes are hard to find, and the overall effect of such changes would probably be marginal. Sources Golder (2004): Benin (1991, 1995, 1999), Central African Republic (1993, 1998), Comoros (1992, 1993), Ghana (1979), Madagascar (1993, 1998), Malawi (1994, 1999), Mali (1992, 1997), Mauritius (1976, 1982, 1983, 1987, 1991, 1995, 2000), Namibia (1994, 1999), Niger (1993, 1995), Nigeria (1979, 1999), Sierra Leone (1996), South Africa (1994, 1999), Sudan (1986), Zambia (1991, 1996); Argentina (1983, 1985, 1987, 1989, 1991, 1993, 1995, 1997, 1999), Bolivia (1985, 1989, 1993, 1997), Brazil (1986, 1990, 1994, 1998), Chile (1993, 1997), Colombia (1974, 1978, 1982, 1986, 1990, 1991, 1994, 1998), Costa Rica (1974, 1978, 1982, 1986, 1990, 1994, 1998), Dominican Republic (1978, 1982, 1986, 1990, 1994, 1998), Ecuador (1979, 1984, 1986, 1988, 1990, 1992, 1994, 1996, 1998), El Salvador (1985, 1988, 1991, 1994, 1997, 2000), Guatemala (1990, 1994, 1995, 1999), Haiti (1995, 2000), Honduras (1985, 1989, 1993, 1997), Jamaica (1972, 1976, 1980, 1983, 1989, 1993, 1997), Mexico (2000), Nicaragua (1990, 1996), Panama (1989, 1994, 1999), Peru (1980, 1985, 1990), Trinidad and Tobago (1971, 1976, 1981, 1986, 1991, 1995, 2000), Uruguay (1989, 1994, 1999), Venezuela (1973, 1978, 1983, 1988, 1993, 1998, 2000); Bangladesh (1991, 1996), India (1971, 1977, 1980, 1984, 1989, 1991, 1996, 1999), Mongolia (1992, 1996, 2000), Nepal (1991, 1994, 1999), Pakistan (1997), Papua New Guinea (1977, 1982, 1987, 1992, 1997), Philippines (1987, 1992, 1995, 1998), Solomon Islands (1980, 1984, 1993, 1997), South Korea (1988, 1992, 1996, 2000), Sri Lanka (1970, 1977, 1989, 1994, 2000), Thailand (1975, 1976, 1983, 1986, 1988, 1992, 1995, 1996); Albania (1997), Bulgaria (1990, 1991, 1994, 1997), Croatia (1992, 1995, 2000), Czech Republic (1996, 1998), Hungary (1990, 1994, 1998), Macedonia (1994), Poland (1991, 1993, 1997), Romania (1992, 1996, 2000), Slovakia (1994, 1998), Slovenia (1992, 1996, 2000), Turkey (1973, 1977 1983, 1987, 1991, 1995, 1999); Armenia (1995, 1999), Estonia (1992, 1995, 1999), Latvia (1993, 1995, 1998), Lithuania (1992, 1996, 2000), Russia (1993, 1995, 1999), Ukraine (1994, 1998).

Semi-presidentialism in young democracies

51

Centro de Investigación Económicas (CIDE), Mexico City42 (www.cide. edu/investigadores/jorge_schiavon/parties_in_lower_house.htm): Chile (1990), Guatemala (1986), Guyana (1992, 1997), Haiti (1990), Honduras (1981), Paraguay (1989, 1993, 1998), Uruguay (1984). Adam Carr’s Election Archives (psephos.adam-carr.net/): Bangladesh (2001), Pakistan (2002), Solomon Islands (2001), Croatia (2003). African Elections Database (africanelections.tripod.com): Burundi (1993), Congo Brazzaville (1993, 2002). Elections around the World (www.electionworld.org/election): Gambia (2002), Ghana (2001), Kenya (2003), Lesotho (2002), Mali (2002), Senegal (2001), Zambia (2001), Argentina (2001), Chile (2001), El Salvador (2003), Guyana (2001), Honduras (2001), Nicaragua (2001), Mexico (2003), Paraguay (2003), Peru (2001), Fiji (2001), Philippines (2001), Sri Lanka (2001), Thailand (2001), Timor Leste (2001), Albania (2001), Bulgaria (2001), Czech Republic (2002), Hungary (2002), Poland (2001), Turkey (2002), Russia (2003). IFES (www.electionguide.org): Guatemala (2003), Armenia (2003), Estonia (2003). International Parliamentary Union (www.ipu.org): Benin (2003), Burkina Faso (2002), Madagascar (2002), Nigeria (2003), Sierra Leone (2002), Sudan (2000), Bolivia (2002), Brazil (2002), Colombia (2002), Costa Rica (2002), Dominican Republic (2002), Ecuador (2002), Jamaica (2002), Trinidad and Tobago (2002), Papua New Guinea (2002), Macedonia (2002), Slovakia (2002), Latvia (2002), Ukraine (2002). Political Reference Almanac 2000–01 (www.polisci.com/almanac/almanac. htm): Botswana (1979, 1984, 1989, 1994, 1999), Burkina Faso (1992, 1997), Comoros (1996), Gambia (1982, 1987, 1992), Ghana (1996), Guinea-Bissau (1994, 1999), Lesotho (1993, 1998), Liberia (1997), Mozambique (1994, 1999), Niger (1999), Fiji (1992, 1994, 1999), Macedonia (1998), Yugoslavia (2000), Belarus (1995), Georgia (1995, 1999), Moldova (1994, 1998), Kyrgyzstan (2000).

52

S. Moestrup

Appendix 3.5 The effect of divided government on democratic breakdown rates Not divided

Broke down

Divided

Broke down

Africa Burundi Central African Republic Mali Madagascar Mozambique Namibia Senegal

Yes Yes No No No No No

Comoros Congo Brazzaville Guinea-Bissau Niger

Yes Yes Yes Yes

Haiti Peru

Yes Yes

Mongolia Sri Lanka South Korea Timor Leste

No No No No

Bulgaria Croatia Macedonia Poland Slovakia Slovenia

No No No No No No

Armenia Belarus Kyrgyzstan Lithuania Moldova Russia Ukraine

Yes Yes Yes No No Yes No

Americas

Asia/Pacific

Eastern Europe Romania

No

Former Soviet Union

Average breakdown rate (%) 25

43

Notes This chapter builds on Moestrup (2005) and on chapter 2 in Moestrup (2004). I would like to thank research associates and Ph.D. students affiliated with the Institute of Political Science of Academica Sinica, Taipei, Taiwan, for valuable comments on a draft. 1 Unfortunately, the literature on democratic consolidation suffers from unsatisfactory definitions of consolidation. The definitions are generally either teleological, tautological or both, as pointed out by Guillermo O’Donnell (1996). Young democracies are expected to evolve in the same direction as Western democracies, taking on the same institutional forms and functions. Also, a consolidated democracy is generally simply

Semi-presidentialism in young democracies

2 3 4 5

6

7 8

9

10

11

12

53

conceived as one that has not been overturned yet. In the following I will therefore focus on level of democracy and democratic survival. Former Moldovan President Snegur, quoted in Roper (2002, 268). The Moldovan constitution was subsequently amended to introduce an indirectly elected presidency. E.g. Mainwaring (1993), Mainwaring and Scully (1995), Linz (1997). The seminal article is Lipset (1959). Thus, while questioning the economic determinism of Lipset’s approach, Przeworski and Limongi (1997) find that the chances of survival of a democracy are greater at higher levels of per capita income, and that economic crises tend to have serious negative political effects in young democracies. Though Freedom House scores are highly correlated with Polity and Polyarchy scores, the two other most frequently used democracy measures, they include more substantive measures of democracy than the other two indices: Freedom House scores are based on surveys of the electoral process, political pluralism and participation, functioning of government, and also on surveys of freedom of expression and belief, associational and organizational rights, rule of law, and personal autonomy and individual rights (Freedom House 2005). It thus appears as the most appropriate index to use when attempting to compare levels of democracy across countries. For a critical discussion of the Freedom House and other indices of democracy, see Munck and Verkuilen (2002). In particular, they criticize the Freedom House index for its maximalist definition of democracy, problems of internal consistency of the data series and of aggregation. These are valid concerns. The Freedom House index was nevertheless judged to be the best available dataset for the purposes of this chapter, at this time. Freedom House (www.freedomhouse.org) and Polity IV (www.cidcm.umd.edu/inscr/ polity/report). Thus Power and Gasiorowski (1997) argue that the statistically significant poorer rate of survival of presidential regimes as compared to parliamentary systems found by Stepan and Skach (1993) is due to selection bias – to the fact that the latter study excludes Latin America (while including micro-states). Researchers disagree as to whether small size is an advantage or a disadvantage with regard to the survival of democracy. I would argue that small size is a ‘wanton’ variable that can be used by either determined autocrats or determined democrats to further their goals. Freedom House assigns the designation ‘electoral democracy’ to countries satisfying the following criteria: ‘(1) A competitive, multiparty political system; (2) Universal adult suffrage for all citizens (with exceptions for restrictions that states may legitimately place on citizens as sanctions for criminal offences); (3) Regularly contested elections conducted in conditions of ballot secrecy, reasonable ballot security, and in the absence of massive voter fraud that yields results that are unrepresentative of the public will; (4) Significant public access of major political parties to the electorate through the media and through generally open political campaigning. The electoral democracy designation reflects a judgment about the last major national election or elections. . . . The presence of certain irregularities during the electoral process does not automatically disqualify a country from being designated an electoral democracy’ (Freedom House 2005). Data for GDP per capita, GDP growth, urbanization, and industry value added are taken from World Bank (2005a). Data entries cover 2003 included. UNESCO data for illiteracy are taken from the online Global Education Database, accessible at qesdb. cdie.org/ged/index.html, except for the following countries for which UNESCO does not provide data: Solomon Islands, Timor Leste, Czech Republic, Macedonia, Slovakia, Yugoslavia/Serbia and Montenegro, Georgia and Kyrgyzstan. For these latter countries, UNDP Human Development Report entries for illiteracy rates from 1997 to 2003 were found online at hdr.undp.org/reports/default.cfm. Thirteen countries have applied for EU membership, including Romania, Bulgaria, and Turkey that were not invited to join in the 2004 EU enlargement. The countries

54

13

14

15 16

17 18

19 20 21

22

23 24

25 26 27

S. Moestrup that have applied for EU membership are coded as 1, starting from their transition to democracy, though they applied for membership only a few years later. It is reasoned that formal membership application was preceded by internal political processes aimed at enhancing the chances of the success of the application. I use Stata as the statistical package. Given that I use cross-sectional time-series data with a continuous dependent variable, the Stata command used is xtreg, with the pa option to provide population-averaged estimators. This command allows for the control of both time and country, thus simultaneously controlling for problems of heteroskedasticity (difference in variance for the data collected from country to country) and autocorrelation (serially correlated errors). For a discussion of the appropriateness of using generalized estimating equation models for correlated data, when the objective is to make comparisons across groups, see Zorn (2001). The R2 is below 0.75 for all auxiliary regressions except for the dummy variable for Eastern Europe (which is still below 0.80). This would seem to be caused by a high pair-wise correlation coefficient of 0.73 for EU membership and Eastern Europe, not surprisingly. All other pair-wise correlation coefficients are below 0.70. A difference in proportions test is used rather than a t test because the dependent variable is dichotomous. The somewhat surprisingly low breakdown rate for presidential regimes is related to the fact that most of the presidential regimes in Latin America that reverted to democracy in the 1980s and early 1990s have since remained democratic. Given that the cut-off date for the data is 1974, breakdowns that took place earlier are not included; this is justified by the focus on how democracy has performed since the initiation of the Third Wave, as argued above. An issue here is that it may require an interpretation of the constitutional text to determine whether indeed the president does have discretion to dismiss the prime minister – there is thus still room for ambiguity. Shugart (2005) did not code the countries listed in italics, which I have coded on the basis of their constitutions. I classify Senegal’s (2001) and Madagascar’s (1998) constitutions as president–parliamentary, while Shugart (2005) classifies these countries as premier–presidential. While the 1995 Malagasy constitution was premier– presidential, neither the 1998 revised Malagasy constitution nor the 2001 Senegalese constitution warrant being classified as premier–presidential. Though this difference is not statistically significant. Statistically significant at the 0.1 per cent level. By divided government I refer to situations where the president is not backed by a majority in parliament. This includes situations where the president is elected as an independent, without party affiliation, and situations where the president decides to impose a minority government, in the face of a majority opposition in parliament. A two-way analysis of variance shows the interaction of president–parliamentary systems and cohabitation to have a statistically significant impact on democratic breakdown rates, while the interaction of premier–presidential systems and cohabitation is not significant. Semi-presidential since 1991. Burundi adopted a semi-presidential constitution in 1992 and held its first democratic presidential elections in 1993, only to see its young democracy toppled in a coup before the end of the year. In 2005 Burundi reverted to being an electoral democracy, this time with a hybrid regime with a powerful indirectly elected president. Sri Lanka adopted a semi-presidential regime form in 1982. From 1979 till 1981, the country had a hybrid regime, with an indirectly elected executive president. Before 1978, it had a parliamentary regime. Presidential from 1991 to February 2004. Constitutional changes in 2002 resulted in a change from a semi-presidential to a presidential regime.

Semi-presidentialism in young democracies

55

28 Data are from 1992 onwards, after the adoption of the post-communist semipresidential constitution. From 1991 to 1992 the president of parliament functioned as executive head of state. 29 Parliamentary regime from 1993 to 1998. 30 Constitutional amendments in 2000 introduced a hybrid regime form. 31 Replaced in February 2003 by the State Union of Serbia and Montenegro, which has a hybrid regime form. 32 Data for Georgia are only from 1995 onwards, after the adoption of the first postcommunist constitution which introduced a presidential regime. 33 Presidential from 1978 to 1991. 34 Bolivia has by some been considered a hybrid regime, because if no presidential candidate manages to win an absolute majority in the first round, parliament chooses between the two front-runners. 35 Till the 1999 coup Comoros had a semi-presidential regime. In 2001 a presidential regime was introduced. 36 Only data from 1982 are included. Till then, the Gambia had a hybrid regime with an indirectly elected president. 37 Sudan was a parliamentary regime when the 1989 coup happened. 38 Guyana is by some classified as a parliamentary regime, given that the president is elected via party list elections for concurrent parliamentary elections. 39 Burkina is currently semi-presidential, but suffered a coup in 1980 against its then presidential government. 40 See Taagepera and Shugart (1989), in particular chapter 8. 41 The dataset is called ‘Democratic Electoral Systems around the World, 1946–2000’, and major findings are published in Golder (2005). Golder has graciously shared his data with me. 42 It is not evident that CIDE follows the exact same procedure for calculating the effective number of parliamentary parties as Golder. However, discrepancies have been verified and they appear generally to be minor. On the basis of the raw data from the following six sources, I have calculated the effective number of parliamentary parties following the same procedure as Golder.

4

Semi-presidentialism in a postcommunist context François Frison-Roche

The semi-presidential model has had significant success in what was previously called the ‘Soviet bloc’. In the ex-Soviet Union, as far as constitutional provisions are concerned, the majority of countries have adopted constitutional texts that can be qualified as semi-presidential.1 In the European part of the former Soviet bloc, more than half of the countries adopted this constitutional form following the fall of their communist regimes about fifteen years ago.2 Certain countries have since rejected this regime type, like Moldova in 2000, while others have embraced it, like Slovakia in 1999. At least two other countries, namely the Czech Republic and Estonia, are considering the possibility of constitutional reform towards this model. In Armenia, the 2005 referendum aimed at reducing presidential powers show that semi-presidentialism is a flexible constitutional form that can be adapted as circumstances require. Amongst the countries that have adopted the essential characteristics of a semi-presidential regime form (Duverger 1974, 1978, 1980, 1986b; Elgie 1999), there are nevertheless great variations in the system,3 particularly in postcommunist Europe (Frison-Roche 2005). These variations are explained in part by the different circumstances underlying the adoption of the constitutional framework (discussed in the next section). As discussed in the following section, in all these countries there is still a certain homogeneity in the constitutional mechanisms and their application; this is due to similar motivations of the chief political actors during the transition to keep or share powers, as well as to common heritages from the previous Soviet model. Finally, as discussed in the last section, the political system resulting from a combination of constitutional provisions for the distribution of powers as well as less evident factors such as the personality of the presidents, has evolved over time, following the initial transition.

The choice of the model As soon as the Soviet Union relinquished its totalitarian power over the Soviet bloc, followed shortly by its own implosion, it became evident that the existing regimes in its former sphere of dominance were destined to transform themselves within a relatively short time period. In the context of the uncertain future that was presenting itself at the beginning of the 1990s, this transition was often

The post-communist context

57

to take place following local circumstances and as determined by the actors channelling change. Within the former ‘Soviet empire’ two major institutional evolutionary tendencies quickly stood out: the first characterizing the former Soviet Union, the second what was at the time called Eastern Europe – that is, the countries comprised between Western Europe and the Soviet Union, from the Baltics to the Balkans. In these two distinct geographical zones, the semi-presidential model can be said to have been adopted for somewhat divergent reasons. Within the territory enclosing the former Soviet Union, it appears that semi-presidentialism was preferred as an institutional (juridical) tool that would best ensure the maintenance of prevailing patterns of domination and political power. Within the European zone of Soviet influence, semi-presidentialism was adopted as most apt to ensure a sharing of powers in the context of mutual fear and suspicion between opposing political forces. The continuation of prevailing power distribution in the former Soviet Union In the face of the political decline of the former Soviet Union and to address the difficulties of the political transition in the new Community of Independent States (CIS), the chief political actors there opted for strong presidencies within regimes that can be characterized as semi-presidential.4 In contrast to post-communist Europe, in the Soviet Union at the time there was no sufficiently well-organized opposition to claim power, nor, a fortiori, to negotiate a new power distribution. A certain ‘political pluralism’ was authorized after the elimination of the dominant role of the communist party on 14 March 1990, and a law on political parties was adopted on 9 October the same year; however, the multitude of new political movements created did not present a sufficiently credible structure to be able to negotiate with the power holders. Initially, it is therefore the incumbent authorities who unilaterally managed the evolution of institutional politics. Though M. Gorbachev’s perestroika invited the expression of divergent opinions, the debate stayed predominantly internal to the hegemonic party that had no interest in abandoning power, nor in sharing it, but only in adapting it. There was no alternative because there were no interlocutors able to ‘negotiate’ reforms or to impose change through countervailing political forces. On the contrary, hard-liners within the party initiated a coup on 19–21 August 1991 in order to put a stop to what they considered the negative ‘liberalizing’ experience that imperilled the party’s power monopoly, and revert to the status quo ante. The inertia of the Soviet model and totalitarian habits within the elites, as well as society at large, came to influence subsequent evolutions, notably with regards to the legal and institutional framework. The creation of a presidency transposed a form of governance where, under slightly more democratic cover, one individual can command all other institutions. Mutatis mutandis, the institution of the presidency rapidly becomes the successor to the presidium of the

58

F. Frison-Roche

Supreme Soviet, with the president as the heir-at-law, despite minor adjustments, of the Secretary General of the party.5 The adoption of a new institutional model in the CIS took complex forms during a period of extreme tension and sometimes clashes between the chief actors of the political transition. Despite the political rhetoric, with the glossary of Western democracies masking the real substance of political conflicts, control over the monopoly of ‘state power’6 rapidly became the central piece of contention. Presidential leadership won out over the idea of the separation of powers and parliament had to content itself with a secondary role. Overall, the reasons for the choice of semi-presidentialism in the former Soviet bloc were different from one country to another in the sense that the political balance of power between the actors in the transition process encouraged them to disperse power in order better to have a share in it. The fragmentation of power in post-communist Europe In the context of the political break-up at the end of the 1980s and the beginning of the 1990s, the political actors of the transition in this region were obsessed with two concerns: to install democracy and to get a share of power. These joint obsessions helped to unify the actors and to force them to collaborate despite opposite motivations and different intentions. In this region within the former Soviet bloc, the fall of communism was occasioned by popular pressure for democracy: the force of the people’s movements shook up political habits and toppled existing regimes, either on their own or in support of palace coup staged in anticipation of popular pressure for change. At the time, the Western classical parliamentary model appeared as the ideal alternative to the communist dictatorial model. For people having lived under a totalitarian regime, the parliamentary model appeared as the embodiment of democracy: as the institutional model best apt at guaranteeing the protection of the people’s rights by popularly elected representatives, serving as a bulwark against encroachments by the executive. Incumbents could not ignore this popular pressure for greater democratization. They were ready to respond through democratic reform and the adoption of constitutional models with strong elements of parliamentarianism that formally responded to the request for greater ‘direct democracy’. Though agreement was reached between incumbents and the anti-communist opposition on the desirability of the adoption of some parliamentarian formula, their motivations and intentions were highly divergent. For the now ex-communists the key concern was not to lose power, or at least not to lose all of it; which is why they were ready to disperse it and to introduce a sort of equilibrium of powers, which would guarantee that if they lost some power, they would still maintain the ability to check the actions of their opponents. On the other hand, for the anti-communist opposition the key concern was not so much the conquest of power as the ability to maintain control of the share of power they

The post-communist context

59

might win, in order to keep the momentum for political reform and avoid another ‘Prague Spring’, with or without Soviet tanks. The classic Western parliamentarian model (the Westminster model) has over time, due to the presence of single-party majorities, evolved to a system where the executive and the legislature are controlled by the same party. This has happened without imperilling democracy, thanks to the evolution of a democratic culture over time and with the practice of changing majorities, a democratic culture which is shared at large by political elites as well as voters. However, in the post-communist European context at the end of the 1980s this democratic culture was largely non-existent. And given the mutual fears and distrust characterizing these societies, a pure parliamentarian model could easily have led to majoritarian imperatives that would have imperilled the young democracies. Due to the fear of complete majoritarian control, the pure parliamentarian model was not attractive, either to the incumbents who risked losing all power and feared suffering purges, or to their opponents who risked losing the benefits of the ‘velvet revolution’ and finding themselves repressed again.7 This led to an interesting paradox, of a rare kind in political history: the more political actors called for a parliamentarian model, in unison and with fervour, the more they all unanimously felt obliged to ‘reject’ it in its classical hue. Because of this unanimity, the actors of the transition looked for an institutional and political ‘model’ which in principle and in practice could cater to their conflicting fears. The ‘semi-presidential model’ appeared in a sense as deus ex machina, given that it accommodated both the principles and the concerns of ex-communists as well as anti-communists: it appeared to concomitantly guarantee democracy and political efficacy, while ensuring the political survival of each of the chief actors. The instrumental use of the semi-presidential model during a time of global uncertainties and mutual fear responded to both institutional and political concerns of the actors of the transition. In fact, the incumbents saw in this model the possibility of preserving a share of power, and the anti-communist elite quickly realized the opportunities provided by it for acquiring their part of power, while being protected against a totalitarian reversal (which at the time seemed quite possible, at least until the failed coup in Moscow at the end of August 1991).

The constitutional framework chosen In the former Soviet bloc, the majority of new regimes are semi-presidential, whether of the type found in the CIS countries (where the grip on power of the incumbent elites was perpetuated through the presidency), or of the form found in post-communist Europe (where the strong opposition helped turn the presidency into a power-sharing institution).

60 F. Frison-Roche The presidency and the consolidation of power of incumbents in the CIS The semi-presidential model appeared very attractive in the countries of the former Soviet Union, as its adoption facilitated a recycling of elements from the previous institutional and political model, more so than a pure parliamentarian regime would have done. This is above all true in the case of the CIS countries, where the presidency is particularly powerful and protected. We can here talk about a monopolistic presidency. As the Soviet constitution had previously served as point of reference for ‘brother countries’, the new Russian constitution has often served as reference text for the constitutions of the other CIS countries. The Russian president is popularly elected for four years,8 as are the other presidents in the CIS countries, and is not responsible to parliament, even if the 1993 constitution allows for the possibility of impeachment9 due to ‘high treason’ or ‘serious offences’. So the president enjoys full popular legitimacy and a protected status, enabling him to fully exercise his powers both in domestic and foreign policies. The president has particularly extensive powers in the field of domestic policy. As guarantor of the constitution, the Russian president disposes of important powers vis-à-vis governmental acts, which he can annul when they go against the constitution, federal law, or presidential decrees (Article 115, § 3). He can similarly suspend executive acts at the federal level, if these are in breach of the constitution, federal laws, Russia’s international obligations, or the rights and freedoms of the citizens (Article 85, § 2). The president disposes of numerous prerogatives enabling him to regulate the functioning of state organs. First, he can use reconciliation procedures to solve conflicts between the central and federal powers, and between different members of the federation. In case these procedures are unsuccessful, he can refer the matter to the appropriate court. Moreover, he can dissolve the Duma (Article 111). Finally, he has the right of nomination to the executive and the judicial branch, which he enjoys either alone or jointly with one or the other of the assembly chambers. With regard to foreign policy, in the areas of defence and security, the Russian president is truly predominant. He represents the Russian Federation, heads international negotiations, signs treaties, and gives accreditation to ambassadors. He is the commander-in-chief of the armed forces – in which capacity he masters the ‘nuclear firepower’ – nominates to leading positions within the army, and approves military doctrine. He can declare a state of siege or of emergency on the entire or parts of the territory, on the only condition that the Federal Assembly is informed and the Federal Council approves of the presidential decrees. Notably, the president presides over the Security Council, which gives him direct oversight over the ‘power ministries’ (Silavoyé ministerstvo), that is, the ministries of foreign affairs and of defence, and the security services like the FSB (ex-KGB). Even if the Russian constitution does not qualify the president as the ‘head of the executive’, the government is largely under his control. With regards to parliament, the president disposes of important prerogatives enabling him to impose

The post-communist context

61

as much as possible his pre-eminence, if it isn’t his will. According to the Russian constitution, it is the government that ‘exercises executive power’ (Article 110). But not only does it exercise that power under the direction and control of the president, it is also largely dominated by him. The government’s appointment and composition are largely in the hands of the president; even though the nomination of the ‘president of the government’ (the prime minister) is subject to approval by the Duma, the President of the Republic has numerous means for pressuring parliament to get approval of his choice. It should be added that it is the Russian president that has the authority to appoint and remove cabinet ministers. The president can thus decide to dismiss the entire cabinet or individual members. Following presidential elections, the constitution indicates that the government must present its resignation to the newly elected president; this is not the case following parliamentary elections. The Russian president has the right to preside over cabinet meetings and in actual fact he directs governmental action through presidential decrees. Though the constitution gives the prime minister the responsibility of determining the government’s general policy orientation and managing its work, he must do so not only in conformity with the constitution and federal laws, but in particular in compliance with presidential decrees (Article 115, § 1). As can be seen, the Russian president dominates the government and thus the ministries and different federal executive organs. He exercises his powers through an administrative entity with poorly defined functions, the presidential administration,10 and a specialized organ, the Security Council,11 over which he presides and whose members he nominates. The president has similarly important powers with regards to parliament. Though the constitution gives the president the right to initiate legislation, presidents have often preferred to adopt presidential decrees rather than to submit law proposals to the Duma. Though the constitutional provisions for the priority of law over presidential decrees (Article 90, § 3) are not formally undermined by this practice, the tendency to give priority to presidential decrees was supported by a decision of the Constitutional Court of 30 April 1996, which nevertheless specified that it is only a temporary measure intended to fill a legislative void. The president’s powers are so extensive, anyway, as to suffice to make a recalcitrant parliament comply, or to force a manifest opposition to submit to the president’s will. In particular, the president’s ability to dissolve the Duma is a powerful means of pressure against parliament, even though this power must be exercised within certain restraints (Article 109). The threat of dissolution enabled President Yeltsin to force parliament to approve the candidature of Prime Minister S. Kirienko in April 1998, though parliament had previously rejected it twice. The Duma can topple the government, either on its own initiative through a censure vote, or at the initiative of the government through a no-confidence vote. In both cases, however, the Russian president can under certain circumstances choose to dissolve the Duma (Article 117). Thus, in the summer of 1995, in order to avoid dissolution and after negotiations with the president, the Duma

62

F. Frison-Roche

preferred to give V. Chernomyrdin’s government a confidence vote, though parliament had adopted a censure vote against the same government only a few weeks earlier. The Duma is similarly constrained in its legislative functions by presidential veto power over regular federal legislation (Article 107). Presidential vetoes may be termed suspensive,12 as in the United States, as it requires a two-thirds parliamentary majority to overturn them. In addition, the Russian president disposes of the powers traditionally assigned to a president, such as: the right to pardon, to attribute medals and honourable titles, to approve of citizenship, political asylum, etc. In general terms, presidents from the remaining CIS countries share the power attributions of the Russian president. Before the adoption of the new ‘democratic’ constitutions during the years 1994–96, the constitutional framework in these countries underwent several modifications, including notably the institution of a directly elected president. Presidential elections generally took place after the independence of these countries, from May 1991 to June 1992.13 Buoyed by their new popular legitimacy, the presidents quickly tried to increase the powers they already had. In addition to Russia, the best cases are Ukraine and Belarus. Ukrainian President Kutchma extended his powers first through the constitutional pact of 8 June 1995; then through the constitution of 28 June 1996, despite resistance from parliament; and finally through the referendum of 16 April 2000.14 On the other hand, a constitutional reform was adopted in Ukraine in 2004 just before the ‘Orange Revolution’ to reduce the power of the president, starting from 1 January 2006; this was done in anticipation of the defeat of the pro-Russian candidate in the upcoming presidential elections and the victory of V. Yushchenko. In Belarus, though the constitution of 15 March 1994 was already more presidential than semi-presidential, President Lukashenko decided to organize a referendum only a year later, on 14 May 1995, on amongst other things the president’s rights to dissolve parliament. Even if the country is now governed on the basis of the November 1996 constitution, the situation is very complex given that Western powers still consider the 1994 constitution to be the valid one.15 The re-election of the Belarusian president in 2001 only complicated matters further in that country, which is a sort of pariah of the international community, albeit remaining very close to Russia and its ‘political model’. The constitutional texts of the semi-presidential regimes in the CIS countries thus reserve a central place and crucial role for the president, who in a sense can dominate all other institutions. As a consequence of this presidential supremacy, parliaments are generally weak, though this varies somewhat over time. The presidency and power sharing in post-communist Europe As the presidents in the CIS countries, all the presidents in post-communist Europe are important political actors. Though of course there are variations between countries, and from one sub-region to the other, this principle generally holds true. The experience of the post-communist European countries, which in

The post-communist context

63

a sense is more sophisticated, and much more representative of the functioning of the semi-presidential model, illustrates this principle at work. As indicated above, the institution of the presidency in post-communist Europe is first and foremost the result of negotiations and power sharing between the political actors of the transition. Compared to the CIS countries, the role of the president here is more restricted, not to say limited, even if the president often disposes over substantial sources of power giving considerable direct or indirect political influence. To use one of Duverger’s favourite dichotomies, presidential powers in a semi-presidential model can be subdivided into two groups: ‘decision-making powers’ and ‘powers of obstruction or co-decision’.16 The gamut of presidential decision-making powers is quite large. The right to nominate the prime minister is in general a common trait. This is also the case of the ability to nominate a ‘caretaker government’17 to exercise a suspensive veto, to nominate, or to refer matters to the Constitutional Court. A smaller number of the presidents in post-communist Europe can deliver messages in parliament or to the nation. Fewer still can submit legislation to parliament. It should be noted that some presidents are better equipped than others with regards to decisionmaking powers overall. In Lithuania, Poland (even though there is a difference between the ‘Small Constitution’ and that from 1997) and Romania, presidents appear to have more powers than their colleagues in Bulgaria, Macedonia or Slovenia. The presidents also have important powers of obstruction or co-decision. For example, the Macedonian president nominates the ambassadors, but only on the suggestion of the government. Thus, President Gligorov refused to sign the decree appointing the ambassador to Taipei nominated by the government, because he disapproved of the overly hasty recognition of Taiwan. The Bulgarian president appoints the public prosecutor, but only on the nomination of the Supreme Judicial Council, and he cannot refuse a second proposition. His capacity for obstruction is limited in this specific case, but back-door negotiations generally take place before proposed candidatures are publicly announced.18 Similarly, the Polish president must first obtain the senate’s agreement if he wants to submit a matter to a referendum, and vice versa: the senate must first obtain the president’s agreement if it wants to initiate a referendum. In this case the president thus has real co-decision power. If the presidents’ powers are compared across post-communist Europe, it can be seen that in general they have more decision-making powers than co-decision or obstruction powers. There are of course important variations across regimes, but it is clear that the constitution makers generally appear to have privileged decision-making powers. Commentators often forget one element in their analyses, which is, however, of crucial importance: the existence of what could be called ‘peripheral’ powers given to presidents. That is, control over one or more intelligence agencies and the chairmanship of some sort of National Security Council. These powers, notably the first kind, are not part of the explicit presidential powers listed in the constitution. Nevertheless, they have an important influence over the extent of

64

F. Frison-Roche

what could be called the president’s ‘influence perimeter’. Here there is obviously a parallel to the constitutions of the CIS countries. In the climate of political uncertainty that was prevalent during the initial phases of the transition, in 1989–90, power was not only institutional or legal. The reality and efficiency of power depended on available intelligence and the ability to predict the reactions of opponents, in order to pre-empt or even manipulate them. Under the communist regimes, the intelligence services – in theory – were responsible to the government. With the collapse of communism following the fall of the Berlin Wall, the presidency was often created by communist authorities in order to maintain some political leverage. It was thus the highranking leaders of the communist party who decided to transfer control over these services to the head of state. For example, President Jaruzelski (1989–90) of Poland and President Mladenov (1990) of Bulgaria were able to control these important means of information and action. Despite subsequent political changes it was not possible later to remove this important political tool from the hands of the president. The transfer to the presidents of the control over the intelligence services, even if the transfer was only partial,19 is thus another manifestation of the political will of the actors of the transition: the presidents were initially intended as countervailing powers. They thus needed at least partial control over this means of information and influence. The announcement by Romanian President Basescu in November 2005 of the creation of a new structure that unifies the Romanian intelligence agencies under the authority of the Supreme Defence Council, which the president presides over, is an illustration of the continued relevance of this issue in the countries having adopted a semi-presidential model. Often ignored by political and legal analysts, National Security Councils or similar entities nevertheless play an important political role. Moreover, they are always chaired by the head of state. Bulgaria, Lithuania, Macedonia, Poland and Romania all have such entities. The 1997 Polish constitution, which in other areas served to diminish the president’s powers, did not eliminate the existence of such a security council, a council which serves to ensure not only a certain pre-eminence to the president, but in fact gives visibility to his important internal and external security attributions. Moreover, it is in his position as chairman of such a council that the president can require that the government respect certain obligations, such as keeping him informed of security issues, which these days cover a wide gamut of issues. Even if the councils are not called the same in these countries, they provide the presidents with similar important political leverage. Though they are ‘peripheral’, the derived powers are not less important, and the fact that the president disposes of such powers demonstrates that the president’s role in these semi-presidential regimes is not limited to protocol, as in the classic parliamentary model. An institutional analysis is helpful but insufficient to understand the functioning of young semi-presidential ‘regimes’. It is equally important to focus on the initial balance of powers, the political practice and country-specific constraints underlying the choice by the constitution makers of a model that gives important

The post-communist context

65

powers to presidents. A constitution must be analysed also according to is genesis and practice.

The resulting political system The institutional framework that was introduced with the fall of communism made the president an important political actor. But there are striking differences in the genesis of the presidential institution between CIS countries and postcommunist Europe. While in the former countries the intent was to see the Secretary General of the party clad in new presidential clothes, in the latter countries the president became one and only one of the chief power holders, as a result of the genuine desire to put new democratic mechanisms in place. These divergent initial choices came to determine quite distinct evolutionary patterns for the institutional model adopted, a pattern which over time was influenced more by the intentions of the actors than by institutional specificities. The end result was two very different political systems, within the framework of the same semi-presidential model. Already dominating political life and equipped with inordinate powers, presidents of countries in the CIS have continuously sought to increase these powers in the face of political difficulties. Already affected by the initial institutional disequilibrium, they become more and more vulnerable politically while trying to reinforce their omnipotence. Presidents in post-communist Europe, on the contrary, who were placed at a point of political equilibrium in the new democracies, have been able to adapt themselves incrementally to the process of political stabilization. From the decision-making role played by some of these latter presidents in the initial transition, most of them have come to play a regulating role in response to the gradual consolidation of the democratic process, and some have even come to exercise mainly symbolic functions. The fragility of the omnipotent presidents in the CIS At a first glance, but only at a first glance, the presidency appears as a very powerful institution in the countries of the CIS. In reality, it is an institution that suffers from a fragility induced by the ambiguity of the declared democratic model and by the bias of the adopted institutions. The presidency in the countries can be termed ‘an idol with feet of clay’. The presidency is powerful because it disposes both of the legitimacy derived from direct popular elections and of the powers conferred on it by the constitution. Nevertheless, despite this apparent might, the presidential institution suffers under important weaknesses, notably due to the weak institutionalization of relay powers; by its own hegemony, the presidency often works to maintain this weakness. Paradoxically, its might is thus a cause of its vulnerability. Though the directly elected president has maintained the powers of the Secretary General of the party, he no longer disposes over the former ‘party apparatus’ to relay his decisions at all levels, and have them implemented.

66

F. Frison-Roche

Popular election of the president was chosen as a way of consecrating the power of a man who could no longer be legitimated by being appointed by a hegemonic party claiming to be the sole representative of ‘the people’. Moreover, to replace the communist mode of legitimacy by democratic legitimacy had the advantage of signalling change while maintaining the existing principles of top-down governance largely untouched. The direct election has also given a new basis to the personalization of power that existed even previously with the Secretary General of the party. Suffice to remember the previous position held by some of the new presidents to realize that since the beginning the reality of power has been concentrated in the presidency (and the presidential administration) rather than in the prime minister. From the outside, the true democratic nature of presidential elections in the different countries also seems questionable. The freedom of the media is limited or only poorly respected. Campaign financing is opaque and international observer missions frequently note with a euphemism that ‘the elections did not respect international norms for free and fair elections’. Without going to the extreme of the November 2005 election in Kazakhstan which brought Nazarbayev to the presidency with 91.5 per cent of votes, there are other egregious examples of irregular election practices, such as the third round of presidential elections in Ukraine in 2005, or the political ‘campaigns’ of Presidents Yeltsin and Putin. The upcoming presidential elections of March 2006 in Belarus20 show that it is not only in the Caucasus that the sincerity and democratic nature of presidential elections are dubious, not to speak of the ‘legitimacy’ of the elected presidents. The results of the ‘democratization’ process since the beginning of the political transition in the CIS are a good illustration of the inertia of the past and the perpetuation of old methods. This first democratic weakness is compounded by a second one related to the complex political decision-making process which finally, despite constitutional appearances, makes the president the sole power holder. The president’s monopoly over power is in many respects greater than was the case for the Secretary General of the single party, and this power monopoly is a source of increasing political paralysis, not to say inefficacy. Faced with this threat of paralysis, certain adjustments have been made out of necessity, notably in Russia, such as strengthening the presidential administration (a true ‘presidential government’), or the de facto nomination by President Putin of representatives of the central power to head the regions. These adjustments have not, however, increased the efficacy of the old model, but have rather contributed to the rigidity of a power that is increasingly authoritarian and which acts only through orders and not through initiative, impetus and negotiation. The government, which should be in charge of leading and co-ordinating the executive, has become a simple ‘transmission belt’ for the president’s willpower. Parliament, which should be in charge of negotiating and elaborating the republican pact, it is not seen as a necessary counterweight to the presidency, but as a potentially dangerous countervailing power which seeks to limit presidential hegemony. It has thus often been reduced to a rubber-stamping entity: on the one hand, its legislative powers are largely circumvented through presiden-

The post-communist context

67

tial decrees; on the other, its ability to exercise oversight and take political initiative has been greatly eroded. The establishment of this political guardianship has been facilitated by the gradual coalescence of submissive, not to say servile, pro-presidential parliamentary majorities. The instrumental use of the semi-presidential model is particularly striking when looking at the recent developments of the Ukrainian regime. Seeing political power slip through his hands, President Kutchma had a constitutional reform adopted in 2004 aimed at reducing presidential powers while increasing those of parliament. This was done not out of a desire to recalibrate powers in order to strengthen democracy; rather, it was done in order to maintain a share in government by transferring some powers, or to achieve greater political influence.21 In contrast to post-communist Europe, the semi-presidential model in the CIS has not yet found its equilibrium point, if indeed the regimes and political systems in place in certain of the CIS countries can be classified as semipresidential. Economic and social difficulties aside, the main reason for this state of affairs is to be found in the absence from the very beginning of political will to respect the democratic rules of the game. Despite the institutional trappings of democracy, the same bad habits have continued. In the CIS, constitutional rule has not been introduced as a sacred pact for a society united in its appreciation of democratic and republican values, but as ‘constitutional theatre’ at the service of an oligarchy refusing to share power. Presidencies of ‘varying geometry’ in post-communist Europe Descriptions of the role and function of the presidency in post-communist Europe often lack clarity. This impression of elusiveness, not to say ambiguity, is often explained by the multiplicity of factors that are not taken into consideration and which can nevertheless affect the role of the president; it is also explained by the fact that the president can play a much larger variety of roles than those assigned to him in a classic parliamentary regime. In this latter regime form, as is well known, the political influence of the president is very limited and restricted to certain well-defined areas for the good reason that the executive is essentially embodied in one organ, the government, and one person, the prime minister. Duverger indicates clearly in his writings (Duverger 1978, 120) that the functioning of the semi-presidential model depends on two variables: the composition of the parliamentary majority and the president’s position in relation to this majority. In post-communist European countries having a popularly elected president, the president coexists with a prime minister responsible to parliament. With variations, the head of state thus plays a role which cannot be fully explained either by the modality of his election (legitimacy), or by the greater or lesser extent of his constitutional prerogatives. The magnitude of the variations must be explained by other factors, though several constitutional elements can, of course, explain certain differences. With the help of Duverger’s two variables,

68

F. Frison-Roche

Table 4.1 The position of the president as a function of his/her relationship with the parliamentary majority Type of majority

President Head of the majority

Opposed

Member of the majority

Neutral

Monolithic (true majority)

Absolute ruler

Regulator

Symbolic

Regulator

Dominant-party coalition (true majority)

Limited powers

Regulator

Symbolic

Regulator

Balanced coalition (true majority)

Dyarchy

Regulator

Symbolic

Regulator

Quasi-majority

Limited decider

Regulator

Symbolic

Regulator

No majority

a

a

a

Dyarchy

Source: inspired by M. Duverger, Echec au roi, p. 122. Note a Logically impossible situation.

the different presidents in post-communist Europe can thus be classified in a comparative matrix (see Table 4.1). After only fifteen years since the first transition, it is apparent that presidents play a symbolic or regulating role, rather than being political decision makers22 or even ‘dyarchs’.23 It is similarly very interesting to note that variations over time indicate that, even within a given country, the role of the president can fluctuate in response to the political situation. Certain presidents can be qualified as ‘symbolic’, as they are simply members of the parliamentary majority: whether it is a one-party majority, an equilibrated coalition or a coalition with a dominant party, or a quasi-majority. They play an unobtrusive role, given that it is the prime minister that effectively directs governmental action. In extreme cases, the presidential candidate is supported by the majority party only in order to better neutralize the presidential functions in favour of the real majority leader. The best example of this category is President Stoyanov (Bulgaria, 1997–2001). This situation results in de facto parliamentarism. Other presidents can be categorized as ‘regulators’ (the most frequently found type in post-communist Europe). They find themselves playing this ‘regulating’ role either when they are in opposition to the parliamentary majority, or when they take a position of political neutrality vis-à-vis the majority. Their role is to ensure the smooth functioning of the regime and that the legal framework codified in the constitution is respected. The exact functions associated with this role depend, of course, on the specific institutional limits prescribed by individual constitutions. There can thus be variations from country to country, even

The post-communist context

69

more so as during the transition undergone by these countries, political habits had not yet gelled. When a president faces a parliamentary majority controlled by the opposition, he generally finds himself in what in France is called a situation of ‘cohabitation’; that is, a situation where a president must coexist with a parliamentary majority belonging to the political opposition.24 Depending on the nature of the current majority (single-party majority, or a majority consisting of an equilibrated coalition or a coalition with a dominant party), the president’s room for manoeuvre will vary – from being very limited when opposed by a single-party majority, to much greater when faced by a majority coalition plagued by internal dissent and conflict. When the president’s role is the most restricted, he will only benefit from the powers specifically bestowed upon him by the constitution. President Zhelev of Bulgaria (1992–96), a former dissident, seems like a good example of a head of state finding himself in opposition to a monolithic majority, that is, a majority composed by a single party having managed to win an absolute majority of seats. With the backing of the parliamentary majority, the socialist (ex-communist) government at the time (1995–96) proceeded to carry out an actual ‘recommunization’ of the country; faced with this situation, the presidency became then a bastion of resistance, of course within the limits allowed by the constitution. The president made ample use of his veto rights, or his right to refer matters to the constitutional court. He even exploited hitherto unnoticed constitutional resources by frequently resorting to his right to deliver messages to the people, in order to alert public opinion to governmental excesses. During the first four years of his mandate (2001–05), President Parvanov of Bulgaria illustrates the case of a socialist president who cohabits with a ‘centreright’ parliamentary majority coalition with a dominant party. The National Movement Simeon II (NDSV) that won 120 seats out of 240 in the June 2001 parliamentary elections, made an alliance with the Movement for Rights and Freedoms (DPS), a party determinant for the political tipping point, and went on to form the government. The president then acquitted himself of the role of ‘regulator’ of the political scene, by opposing the ruling coalition with a certain amount of political tact. In Poland, following anticipated legislative elections in September 1993 which gave the majority to the Alliance of the Democratic Left (SLD) and the Peasants’ Party (PSL), President Wale˛sa found himself faced with a balanced coalition formed around those two parties. (W. Pawlak and J. Oleksy went on to succeed each other as prime minister.) Wale˛sa found himself moving from the position of what can be termed the leader of the majority, with the government of H. Suchokcka (1992–93), to being in opposition to the majority, with the government of W. Pawlak (1993–95). President Wale˛sa had great difficulties admitting that his initial position, with all its prerogatives of influence and direct decision making, had escaped him, and that from being a dyarchic president, he would now have to learn to become a regulating president. The conflict-ridden

70

F. Frison-Roche

cohabitation which ensued temporarily emblazoned his image, but contributed, with the help of political fatigue, to his losing his bid for re-election. His successor, President Kwasniewski (1995–2005), a former socialist leader, also had to face a coalition composed of two parties disposing of 261 of 460 seats in parliament, following legislative elections on 21 September 1997. Though he of course appointed the prime minister nominated by the conservative coalition, internal divisions within the majority subsequently allowed him to get involved in government matters. Two Lithuanian presidents of conservative orientation were also confronted with this situation: namely Presidents Adamkus (1998–2003 and 2004– ), at least during his first mandate, and Paksas (2003–04). As mentioned, another category of ‘regulating’ presidents are those who choose to adopt a position of relative political neutrality vis-à-vis the parliamentary majority, whether they belong to the parliamentary majority or oppose it. In Lithuania President Brazauskas (1993–96) under the governments of A. Slezevicius (1993–96) and M. Stankevicius (February–November 1996), is representative of this category of presidents who adopt a position of political neutrality vis-à-vis a monolithic parliamentary majority. Had he wanted to, he could have been the political leader of the socialist majority, and could have become in relative terms what is defined below as ‘absolute decision maker’. For many reasons he did not wish for that. He had opposed the leader of the Sajudis movement, V. Landsbergis’s, attempts at ‘presidentialization’ and he could not give public opinion the impression that he reneged on his parliamentarist convictions. In the context of the times, a different attitude would also have been ill received on the international scene, given that Brazauskas was still catalogued as the last Secretary General of the Lithuanian Communist Party. According to certain eye witnesses, a different role for the president was not in alignment with his personal understanding of the role of the president. President Brazauskas did not become a ‘symbolic’ president, however, given that he often intervened decisively in government matters, notably in foreign affairs, or in the appointment of certain ministers under the two governments. He refused to stand for re-election and, having become the leader of the social democratic party, he became prime minister after having won the legislative elections in 2001. Upon his re-election after a four-year hiatus, President Iliescu of Romania (1992–96 and 2000–04), during his second mandate, came to appear more as a ‘regulating’ president, given that he adopted a position of neutrality vis-à-vis a coalition with a dominant party. Although his intervention on the political scene in December 1989 can always be evaluated with a critical eye, president Iliescu evolved over time, during the transition period, in his conception of the president’s political role. He was also forced into this evolution in the year 2000, as he had to share political leadership of the socialist bloc with his last Prime Minister, Nastase, who left him increasingly little room for manoeuvre. Whether he liked it or not, Iliescu was no longer the uncontested political leader of the parliamentary majority that he was during his first mandate (see Table 4.2). The presidents that can be classified as ‘decision makers’ contribute directly, but in varying degrees, to principal executive decisions. This category can be

Limited powers (M) Gligorov: (Cervenkovski I, II, III) (R) Iliescu: (Stolojan, Vacaroiu II)

Dyarchy (P) Wale˛sa: Suchocka (P) Kwasniewski: (Cimoszewicz, Miller)

Limited decider (R) Iliescu: (Vacaroiu I, III)

a

Dominant-party coalition (true majority)

Balanced coalition (true majority)

Quasi-majority

No majority

a

Regulator (B) Zhelev: (Berov)

Regulator (P) Wale˛sa: (Pawlak II, Oleksi)

Regulator (L) Adamkus: (Brazauskas) (L) Paksas: (Brazauskas) (M) Gligorov: (Gueorgievski) (M) Trajkovski: (Cervenkovski IV) (P) Kwasniewski (Buzek) (B) Parvanov: (Siméon de Saxe-Cobourg)

Regulator (B) Zhelev: (Videnov)

Opposed

a

Symbolic

Symbolic (R) Constantinescu (Ciorbea, Dejeu, Vasile, Isarescu)

Symbolic (M) Trajkovski: (Gueorgievski I, II, III, IV) (S) Kucan: (Drnovsek) (S) Drnovsek: (Rop)

Symbolic (B) Stoyanov: (Kostov)

Member of the majority

Notes a Logically impossible situation. The initials in brackets refer to the country. They are followed by the name of the president and, in brackets, the prime minister.

Absolute ruler (M) Gligorov: (Kluchev) (R) Iliescu: (Roman)

Head of the majority

President

Monolithic (true majority)

Type of majority

Dyarchy (P)Wale˛sa: (Bielecki, Olszewski) (B) Zhelev: (Berov)

Regulator (B) Zhelev: (Dimitrov)

Regulator (L) Brazauskas (Vagnorius) (L) Adamkus: (Vagnorius, Degutiene I, Paksas I, Degutiene II, Kubilius, Paksas II, Gentvilas) (S) Kucan: (Bajuk)

Regulator (R) Iliescu: (Nastase)

Regulator (L) Brazauskas: (Lubys, Slezevicius, Stankevicius)

Neutral

Table 4.2 Relations between the president and the parliamentary majority in six European post-communist countries, 1990–2003

72

F. Frison-Roche

subdivided into three distinct sub-categories, going from the weakest role for the president, which can be termed ‘dyarchic’,25 over the position as ‘limited decision maker’ to finally reach the position as ‘absolute decision maker’. Overall, the number of presidents falling into this category is rather limited and tends to be restricted in time to the beginning of the political transition. Clearly, this tendency indicates a characteristic of presidential power, namely that it is always best appreciated in relation to the diversity of constitutional texts and political situations. A president becomes ‘dyarchic’ when he finds himself in a situation where he has to share executive power with the government. This situation can happen in two ways: first, when the president as leader of the political majority is faced with an equilibrated political coalition, or when a politically neutral president is faced with the absence of a majority in parliament. In Poland, President Kwasniewski26 found himself twice in a position of dyarchy: with the government of W. Cimoszewicz (1996–97) and with the government of L. Miller (2001–04). President Zhelev of Bulgaria also found himself in this position under the government of L. Berov (1992–94). During most of this latter government, in the absence of a parliamentary majority, the president played an important role, notably in foreign politics. The presidents who can be categorized as ‘limited decision makers’ are very few. President Gligorov (1991/94–99) of Macedonia and President Iliescu of Romania are the only ones that have been leaders of the majority within the political context of a coalition with a dominant party. The leading role played by Gligorov during the period 1992–96 is explained by the fact that, thanks to his political experience, he was the only one capable of stabilizing the international situation of his newly independent country. His personal charisma also made of him the central political figure of national politics. During the first government of N. Vacaroiu (1992–94), which was a minority government, President Iliescu came to be not only the driving force in politics, but also an essential guarantor of the continuity of power. He was able to impose himself as the principal element of stability in the context of unstable parliamentary majorities, with government action otherwise paralysed by the absence of a clear majority and deprived of leading political personalities. From the ‘absolute decision maker’ he had more or less become since the transition, President Iliescu was then forced to adopt a different attitude when the new constitution gave him better more limited and better defined powers, and as the break-up of his party, the FSN, changed the political equilibrium in the country. Adapting fully to his new role as ‘limited decision maker’, he decided of his own accord to rely on the nationalist formations in parliament to support the second government of N. Vacaroiu in 1994. Real ‘absolute decision-making’ presidents are not actually found in postcommunist Europe – in the sense of presidents being recognized as the undisputed leaders of a monolithic parliamentary majority. The two cases coming closest to this definition should, however, be mentioned, because the two presidents who found themselves in this situation at the beginning of the transition

The post-communist context

73

continued on as directly elected presidents. Again, we are dealing with Presidents Gligorov and Iliescu, mentioned above. In the case of the former, one could exclude his first mandate, as Gligorov was popularly elected only in 1994. The same can be said of Iliescu, elected already in 1990, though the semipresidential constitution dates only from December 1991. These ‘interim’ periods are, however, very interesting, because the two presidents created specific precedents for the exercise of the subsequent presidential functions. The role played by President Gligorov during the years 1989–90 could not be the same after the adoption of the 1991 constitution. Though it is true that the president started a practice of personal involvement in domestic politics under the government of N. Kluchev (1991–92), this involvement was gradually reduced under the three governments of B. Cervenkovski (1992–98). If taking an overview of the role played by Presidents of Macedonia since the beginning of the transition, one can thus see that it has varied (largely due to exogenous factors) from ‘absolute decision maker’ to ‘limited decision maker’, then from ‘regulator’ to ‘symbolic’. This is also true of President Iliescu. His role was necessarily different before and after the adoption of the constitution. Under the two governments of P. Roman (1989–92), he appears as an ‘absolute decisionmaking’ president, given that the parliamentary majority, constituted by the FSN, recognized him as its leader and followed his instructions. He was the one nominating and dismissing governments. To resume our arguments on this point, it can be seen that, globally, ‘absolute decision-making’ presidents are found only during the first two years of the political transition in the two countries most affected by the disruption following the fall of the communist regimes. It can also be noted that, for all the countries in post-communist Europe having adopted a semi-presidential model, there has been a gradual shift towards what could be considered a situation of ‘normality’, given that the presidents over time have evolved in their role first toward the category of ‘limited decision makers’ and then finally into the role of ‘regulators’ or even symbolic presidents (see Table 4.3).

Conclusion After having imported and ‘copied’ constitutional models in the early 1990s that had been applied elsewhere, the countries in post-communist Europe have clearly taken them on as their own; it is evident today that even if these countries are different from one another, the norms they originally chose to follow have proven themselves an extraordinary good ‘fit’ for their political realities. The same cannot be said for the majority of the CIS countries; here, the only element from the semi-presidential model which appears to have been preserved is the possibility to maintain under new cloaks the different principles of the former governance model, working exclusively to the benefit of an oligarchy. The semi-presidential model has nevertheless shown its ability to fit the circumstances, its plasticity in the face of varying geopolitical contexts, and its adaptability to different phases of the political transition. It appears not only as

Limited decider

Kiro Gligorov (1992–96) Ion Iliescu (1992–96)

Absolute ruler

Kiro Gligorov (1991–92) Ion Iliescu (1991–92)

Zheliou Zhelev (1992–94) Lech Wale˛sa (1992–93) Alexander Kwasniewski (1996–97) (2000/03)

Dyarchy Zheliou Zhelev (1995–96) Gueorgui Parvanov (2001/03) Algirdas Brazauskas (1992–96) Valdas Adamkus (1998–2003) Rolandas Paksas (2003–04) Kiro Gligorov (1998–99) Boris Trajkovski (2002/03) Alexander Kwasniewski (1997–2001) Ion Iliescu (2000/03)

Regulator

Table 4.3 Variation in the position of presidents in six European post-communist countries, 1990–2003

Petar Stoyanov (1997–2001) Boris Trajkovski (1999–2001) Emil Constantinescu (1996–2000) Milan Kucan (1992–2002) Janez Drnovsek (2002/03)

Symbolic

The post-communist context

75

the historically and politically appropriate model for the European countries having chosen it, at the time they did; it also seems the model which in both relative and absolute terms best enables a rapid transition between dictatorship and democracy, under the condition that the political actors accept to share power rather than to seek to monopolize it. Finally, it deserves to be underscored that if post-communist Europe has largely succeeded in its institutional transition, it is also because of the rapprochement of these countries to the European Union; in return for large financial contributions to their economic recovery, the European Union insisted on these countries respecting the adopted democratic governance model.

Notes 1 These countries are: Armenia, Belarus (1996), Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Lithuania, Moldova (1991–2000), Mongolia, Russia, Ukraine, Uzbekistan and Tajikistan. 2 These include: Bulgaria, Croatia, Macedonia, Poland, Rumania, Slovakia and Slovenia. 3 The term ‘regime’ is here used to refer to the constitutional provisions that govern political institutions, while the term ‘system’ is used to refer to the political practice. Such a distinction helps to clarify the concept of semi-presidentialism as a ‘model type’, i.e. as a theoretical construct that explains both the structures and the practice of the ‘semi-presidential model’. 4 Some of these countries have authoritarian systems (Kazakhstan), not to say dictatorships (Belarus, Turkmenistan). 5 Suffice to remember the authoritarian proclivities of President Loukachenko (Belarus), and the attitude of presidents like Chevardnadze (Georgia), former highranking official within the Soviet apparatus; Aliev (Azerbaijan), former member of the KGB; Nazarbaev (Kazakhstan), Karimov (Uzbekistan) or Niazov (Turkmenistan), all three former high-ranking leaders of the communist party in their respective countries. 6 The concept of ‘state power’ is an element of legal Soviet doctrine that is difficult to translate or to comprehend outside of the Soviet context. The totalitarian state it refers to has its own interests that are much vaster and less well defined than in Western doctrine. 7 Communist ideology is steeped in a political culture according to which the majority necessarily wipes out the minority. Grasping this intertwining of political and cultural elements – characteristic for the communist world and rarely stressed in Western studies of the political transition – is fundamental to a full understanding of the first months, not to say the first years, of the process of political change. 8 But for five years in the other CIS countries (and for the first mandate of Boris Yeltsin, following the modalities governing the transition, as outlined in the constitution). 9 Impeachment procedures were initiated by the Duma against Yeltsin on 15 May 1999. However, the removal of the president requires the approval by a two-thirds majority of the members of both the Duma and the Federal Council. All accusations must subsequently be approved by the Supreme Court, which itself pronounces on the content of the alleged breaches, and by the Constitutional Court, which examines the legality of the whole procedure. 10 Though the constitution indicates that the president ‘appoints the administration of the president of the Federation’ (Article 83), it does not mention the attributions of this administration. A presidential decree of 2 October 1996 indicates that this

76

11 12

13 14 15

16

17

18 19

F. Frison-Roche administration ‘ensures’ the president’s activities. It can easily be assimilated with a second cabinet. According to the security law adopted on 5 March 1992, this ‘council’ is the ‘constitutional organ which ensures the preparation of the decisions of the president with regards to security maintenance’ (internal and external). Presidential vetoes came close to being absolute under President Yeltsin. In June 1997, for example, the Constitutional Court had to remind him of his obligations to sign and promulgate adopted laws. At the time, the law at issue was on cultural heritage transferred to the Soviet Union following the Second World War or currently found on Russian territory. In Belarus, the presidency was created after the adoption of the 15 March 1994 constitution, and the first president, A. Lukashenko, was elected three months later. The referendum was on: increasing presidential powers to dissolve parliament; parliamentarians’ immunity; the reduction of the number of members of parliament; and the creation of a bi-cameral parliament. As 77.6 per cent of voters responded yes to this question, President Lukashenko tried to change the existing constitution to his benefit. However, parliamentary resistance entailed a confused political and constitutional situation: in August 1996 the President announced a referendum aimed at extending the presidential mandate, at increasing presidential powers, and at creating a bi-cameral parliament. Parliament responded with an alternative text aimed at eliminating the presidency, and initiated procedures for the destitution of Lukashenko. In mid-October 1996 Lukashenko installed a ‘popular assembly’ with 6,000 appointed members in order to approve his revised constitutional text. The Constitutional Court at first declared this assembly illegal, but then allowed an indicative referendum to be held on the two competing texts. The president and parliament reached an agreement on 22 November, according to which the referendum would not be legally binding and a constituent assembly would be put in place in order to adopt a new constitution, within the following three months. However, as the presidential text got an approval rate of 70.5 per cent against only 7.9 per cent for parliament’s suggested revision of the constitution, President Lukashenko quickly proceeded to implement the changes foreseen by his proposal. The European Union, the European Council, the OSCE, and the United States have since refused to recognize the results of the referendum and the validity of the constitution of November 1996. The decision-making powers of the president are those generally called his ‘reserved powers’ (pouvoirs propres). He exercises them alone, without the need for approval or initiative from another state organ. Even if he sometimes may have to consult with others, he remains free to decide as he chooses. Decision-making powers can nevertheless be restricted by the existence of preliminary conditions or by legal obligations. The powers of co-decision or obstruction are those called ‘shared powers’ (pouvoirs partagés). When the president has to accept or sign off on a government Act, he has a certain co-decision power or power to block the decision. This power is particularly important if presidential acts do not require ministerial countersignature. (This is the case in many countries.) In Bulgarian, the translation of the term sloujebno pravitelstvo by ‘caretaker government’ does not indicate the full legal and political dimensions of this type of government, which, although constitutionally limited in time, is still a fully fledged government in terms of decision-making powers (Frison-Roche 2005, 150–5). Thus, according to certain observers, it would appear that the appointment of the legal adviser of President Parvanov to this post in January 2006 was the result of a confidential political ‘deal’ amongst the major parties of the governing coalition. In Macedonia, one of the intelligence agencies (AR) is directly responsible to the president, while the second (DBK) reports to the Minister of the Interior, and the third (BRS) to the Minister of Defence.

The post-communist context

77

20 President Lukashenko will run for a third consecutive term thanks to a constitutional change adopted by referendum in 2004 which eliminated the constitutionally mandated two-terms limit. 21 According to the revised constitution which took effect on 1 January 2006, the new parliament scheduled to be elected on 26 March 2006 will have its mandate extended from four to five years; from then on, parliament will have the right to select the prime minister and other cabinet members, except the ministers of foreign affairs and defence, whose appointment will remain a prerogative of the president (Article 114). This reform which was presented as a concession by the opposition to the proRussian candidate Yanukovitch (a protégé of President Kutchma), will eventually enable the ex-communists to regain political influence, depending on the results of the parliamentary elections. 22 In his book Echec au roi (1978), Duverger uses the terms ‘monarch’ and ‘absolute monarch’, which do not seem appropriate to us – for the purpose of knowledge accumulation – even if this imagery follows the logic of Duverger’s earlier writing (La monarchie républicaine, 1974). The title of the former book makes direct reference to a key chesspiece and to what could be termed a very ‘French’ framework of political analysis (framed by an ancient but still relevant historical heritage, a critical analysis of the exercise of political power by presidents under the Fifth Republic, and the possibility of the left winning the parliamentary elections in 1978). 23 Dyarchy is a type of government where there are two reigning kings, both called ‘dyarchs’. (An example of dyarchy is found in Sparta, in ancient Greece.) 24 For the sake of precision, the hypothesis should be mentioned, though it will not be analysed here, of a president who finds himself in political opposition to the parliamentary majority, though he himself originated from that majority. 25 See note 23 above. 26 President Kwasniewski began his first mandate disposing of the powers conferred upon him by the ‘Small Constitution’ and ended it with the more limited presidential prerogatives included in the 1997 constitution.

5

Semi-presidentialism in a francophone context Gérard Conac

In this chapter, the objective is to present the constitutional evolution of francophone Africa, with an emphasis of the role played by semi-presidentialism in the region’s political development. Francophone Africa is here understood large as including not only the territories of the former administrative federations of French West and Equatorial Africa,1 but also the francophone former Belgian colonies of Congo (later Zaire and now Democratic Republic of Congo, DRC), Rwanda and Burundi. Though not former French colonial territories, the latter three countries developed close links with France following independence. Semi-presidentialism is according to French constitutional doctrine classified as a regime type situated in between presidential and parliamentary systems. It is a hybrid category given that it refers to regimes where the president is elected directly for a fixed term, making them presidential, while the prime minister and the government are responsible to parliament, making them parliamentary. In its French version, this regime type can ‘alternate’ between the prevalence of either its presidential or its parliamentary characteristics. Depending on electoral outcomes, phases of political cohabitation within the dual executive can alternate with phases of political cohesion. In the first case, the government governs in the name of the parliamentary majority, under the oversight of a president who, while remaining the guarantor of national unity, is linked politically to the parliamentary minority. In the second case, the president’s authority is reinforced by the fact that he can claim a double electoral legitimacy: directly through his own election and indirectly through the backing of a parliamentary majority. In other countries, semi-presidentialism functions continuously under the predominance of either the president or parliament. This can occur either because parliamentary election results always bring about a majority of the same political orientation as the president; or because the electorate considers the role of the president to be that of an impartial moderator, not that of a politically engaged governing executive.

The francophone context

79

Semi-presidentialism, a newly coined French term for an innovative constitutional form Maurice Duverger was the first to designate the French political regime of the Fifth Republic as semi-presidential, after having first defined it in 1975 as a ‘republican monarchy’ (Duverger 1975). Characteristic of a semi-presidential regime, argued Duverger, was the presence of a directly elected president (as the French president came to be selected following a constitutional referendum in 1962, replacing the previous indirect election by parliament) who is to share executive power with a prime minister accountable to parliament. Duverger was with this term referring to the in-built possibility of a divided executive in the French constitution, after its 1962 amendment. It appeared to him in fact that after General de Gaulle’s resignation in 1969 it was unlikely that the French constitution of the Fifth Republic could indefinitely avoid the challenge of having divergent parliamentary and presidential majorities. By inventing an attractive label, Duverger’s intention was to show that the French regime was not ‘a French exception’ outside of classical constitutional classifications, but a constitutional variation that had so far remained unnamed, albeit it had already been experimented with in several European countries. Nearly concurrently, I had similarly noted in an article on presidential systems in Latin America (Conac 1977) that precedents to the parliamentarization of presidential systems could be found in the constitutional history of Latin America. Undoubtedly, Maurice Duverger’s development of a theoretical framework for analysing so-called semi-presidential systems in terms of their particular characteristics and their mode of operation helped subsequently to increase the diffusion of this regime model during the democratic transitions that followed in the wake of perestroika in Eastern Europe, and even more so in francophone Africa. It is also certain that in francophone Africa during the period of intense constitutional design that followed the wave of democratic transitions in the early 1990s lawyers having received legal training in French universities contributed to the spread of this new terminology. But even more than legal reference, an imitation effect favoured the spread of semi-presidentialism, as the former colonies continued to copy the constitutional model of the former colonial power. The former French territories in Africa have had a historical tendency to refer to the French constitution as a model for their own constitutional framework. At the time of independence, this was explained not only by legal tradition, but also by political ties, as francophone African politicians had won seats in the French legislature of the Fourth Republic (a parliamentary regime) and some had even served in cabinet posts. Under the brief period of ‘political autonomy’ (1958–60) that followed the adoption of the new constitution of the Fifth Republic by referendum in September 1958 after General de Gaulle’s return to power, all francophone African countries adopted constitutions largely inspired by the new French constitution.

80

G. Conac

All French territories in Africa, except Guinea Conakry, ratified the 1958 French constitution through referendum, at the call of General de Gaulle; this constitution established a federal republic, the ‘Franco-African Community’, with political autonomy in internal matters for francophone Africa. This new Community was governed by an executive council composed of the heads of government of the member states and led by the French president, who thus acted as the overarching head of state for the whole Community. The short-lived Franco-African Community lasted only till 1960, when all francophone African states won full independence (Le Vine 2004, 69–72). Nevertheless, it should be underscored that while the French constitution of 1958 was otherwise to be emulated widely in francophone Africa, paradoxically, its principal characteristic, the existence of a dual executive, was not to be widely found in the post-independence constitutions of the African members of the Franco-African Community. As these countries became independent in 1960, and revised their individual constitutions to reflect their full sovereignty domestically as well as internationally, they all, except Senegal and Congo-Leopoldville (a former Belgian colony) shied away from introducing a dual executive. More often than not, it was the incumbent head of government that came to assume the title of President of the Republic, thereby adding to his existing constitutional attributes the prerogatives and functions of the French head of state. This accumulation of functions gave the new presidents considerable powers. The first African constituent assemblies within the Franco-African Community had made the first African heads of government benefit from the provisions introduced by the 1958 French constitution to strengthen the powers of the executive vis-à-vis the legislature in an effort to introduce a ‘rationalized parliamentary system’. These provisions included: the discretionary power to dissolve the National Assembly; the power to initiate referenda; exceptional powers in the event of severe threats to the integrity of national institutions or territory; limits on the domain of parliamentary legislative initiative; procedures for voting without parliamentary deliberation, if the government found it necessary, and so on. This concentration of powers within a unified executive was in contradiction to the constitutional framework governing liberal democracies, but during the state-building phase these countries were going through it had the advantage of reducing the risks of government instability. As a result, during the first thirty years of independence, the regimes founded by these constitutions where much more ‘presidentialist’ than ‘parliamentarist’. They were not even democratic any more, as the governments very quickly after independence eliminated political pluralism, under the pretext of promoting national unity. The rise of the legal or de facto domination of a single party, or as in Madagascar of a massively dominant presidential party, limited the effectiveness of powers that the constitution may have conferred on the National Assembly. Head of government and administration, the president also dominated law making, and only very rarely were other laws adopted than those he

The francophone context

81

proposed or approved of. In certain countries, presidential despotism was such that the constitutional framework was completely out of line with the actual exercise of hyper-personalized power. Following independence, a dictator like Sekou Touré in Guinea, for example, was not the least bothered by the prevailing constitution. Of the opinion that the supremacy of the single party trumped the rule of law, he did not consider himself constricted by constitutional rules. More cynically, in Zaire General Mobutu did not hesitate to legitimize his absolute power by the introduction of a constitution that gave him sacred status and institutionalized a single party, ‘le Mouvement Populaire de la Révolution’ (the Popular Revolutionary Movement), officially defined as ‘the Zairian nation organized politically’. Though a few francophone African countries did subsequently introduce dual executives, they all came to be characterized by a strict hierarchical organization of power within the executive, and the dominance of the executive over the legislature. Examples of semi-presidential constitutions pre-dating the democratic transition period of the 1990s include: Haute Volta (Burkina Faso) 1970–83, Madagascar 1975 and Gabon 1981. Differences in political practice between political regimes in francophone Africa were at the time explained more by the personality of the head of state than by differences in constitutional façade. Between the paternalist presidentialism of Leopold Senghor in Senegal, Hamani Diori in Niger, Houphouët-Boigny in Côte d’Ivoire and the dictatorial presidentialism of Sekou Touré in Guinea, the forms of government could be very varied and the administrations more or less performing. But what all these ‘elected monarchies’ had in common was the distorted function of the election of the head of state. No longer a true process of selection, it was reduced to a ritual to perpetuate the power of the incumbent president. Thus, the single party system was a guarantor of continuity. But this continuity also bred military coups as the only existing mechanism of political change. Semi-presidentialism can thus be said to have become a largely irrelevant regime form in francophone Africa during this first phase of political development post-independence. Two early democratic experiments with a dual executive (albeit with an indirectly elected president and thus not truly semipresidential regimes) – in Senegal and Congo-Leopoldville – had served to discredit this regime form.

Two unfortunate experiences with dual executives: Senegal and Congo-Leopoldville (the future Zaire) To better understand the general rejection of semi-presidential democracy in francophone Africa in the immediate post-independence period, it is instructive to look at the experience of the two countries whose first constitution did provide for a dual executive,2 Senegal and Congo-Leopoldville (future Zaire and now Democratic Republic of Congo, DRC). Both countries were to experience severe political crises.

82

G. Conac

In Senegal, the constituent assembly had adopted a regime form with a dual executive in an attempt to avoid presidential authoritarian excesses. Leaders such as Lamine Gueye or Leopold Senghor who had been members of the National Assembly of the parliamentary French Fourth Republic were attached to the mechanisms of parliamentary regimes. To separate the functions of the head of state from that of the prime minister also had the advantage, at least in the short term, of avoiding conflict between the two intellectuals who both aspired to governing the new state, the poet Leopold Sedar Senghor and the economist Mamadou Dia. The dual executive was thus the result of a compromise: Mamadou Dia accepted that Leopold Senghor would assume the position of indirectly elected head of state for four years, with presidential powers that were much more limited than those found in the constitution of the Fifth French Republic. On his part, Leopold Senghor let Mamadou Dia take charge of government as prime minister, supported by a National Assembly that also had the power to replace him. But very quickly severe differences between the two executives came to trouble this constitutional couple. Leopold Sedar Senghor, supported by Lamine Gueye, the President of the National Assembly, did not refrain from criticizing the politics of the prime minister that he found too favourably inclined toward the Soviet Union and inspired by a socialist outlook not generally shared by the political elite. This conflict could have been solved constitutionally by the dismissal of the prime minister by parliament. Instead, it was solved by the army. When forty deputies submitted a motion of no confidence in the government on 14 December 1962, Mamadou Dia contested the legality of such a procedure in the name of the pre-eminence of the governing party (UPS). He ordered the police to block the entrance to the Assembly. In a meeting at the residence of the President of the National Assembly, the legislators retorted by dismissing the prime minister. After some hesitation, the chief of staff of the army took sides with the President of the Republic and the legislators. Mamadou Dia was arrested and subsequently sentenced to life in prison by the Supreme Court. This incident was followed almost immediately by a constitutional revision that made the president the sole head of the executive. Then, on 7 March 1963, a new constitution was adopted by referendum, introducing a presidential regime, with a directly elected president, elected for four years without term limits. The same year the UPS became de facto a single party, if not legally so. A few years later, writing on the lessons learned from this crisis, Leopold Senghor said that: ‘Unstable peoples with volcanic emotions and immediate reactions need a strong executive power in order to maintain the authority of the state, not a divided one, though this power must still be democratic.’3 The future would reveal that this unfortunate event had not managed to quell strong political pressures within Senegal for free parliamentary debate. Much more traumatizing was the experience of Congo-Leopoldville (the future Zaire) with the failure of the constitution which had been negotiated in Brussels in January 1960 during a round table uniting the delegates from the nationalist political parties, only a few months prior to the independence of this

The francophone context

83

immense territory. Having been under a Belgian administration that did not provide for the development of any form of local representative institutions, this new state naturally came to suffer from all the growing pains resulting from a rushed independence process. A posteriori, the argument can be made that, whatever the constitutional form adopted, the political elite was so limited in numbers and most of all so inexperienced that it could not by itself establish the institutional bases of an independent state, while simultaneously training administrators and military personnel capable of standing by the population. As in Senegal, the choice of a dual executive (with an indirectly elected president) was the product of compromise. This regime form allowed for the double representation within the executive of the leaders of the two dominant nationalist parties, one as head of state, Joseph Kasavubu (the leader of the Alliance du Bas Congo, ABC), the other as head of government, Patrice Lumumba (the leader of the Mouvement National Congolais, MNC). But this coupling could only pull in opposite directions. Joseph Kasavubu was a federalist, partisan of regional autonomy, while Patrice Lumumba was a young nationalist who wanted to turn Congo into a centralized popular democracy. Unable to pre-empt the secession of the southern region of Katanga, the two initially came together in July 1960 to ask in unison for the deployment of UN forces to the territory now under the control of their common rival, Moise Tshombe, the leader of the Confederation of Tribal Associations. This was only to be a very short-lived entente, however, as Kasavubu in December 1960 proceeded to dismiss Lumumba and to appoint a new prime minister. Lumumba refused to accept his dismissal and went on to declare himself head of state instead. This resulted in his being put under house arrest, and subsequently murdered on 17 January 1961 in circumstances that were never fully clarified. Nevertheless, despite the tragic outcome of this first attempt at a two-headed power structure, the dual executive survived not without troubles with four different prime ministers until 26 October 1966. On that date General Mobutu who the previous year had eliminated Kasavubu to take over the position of head of state, took full control of government power and did away with the position of prime minister. Parliamentary elements of the political regime were eliminated by a complete militarization of the regime to the benefit of a single chief unwilling to accept any questioning of his decisions. In Senegal, the dual executive was without doubt at the origin of a constitutional crisis that demonstrated the in-built risks of regime forms having this characteristic. However, in Congo, where the dual executive regime form survived more or less for six years, it cannot by itself explain the prevailing anarchy in this country following almost immediately after independence. The Congolese executive was certainly weakened by being divided, but its inefficiency was first of all due to its illusory powers. The president and the prime minister found themselves at the head of a state that still was not a state. In the absence of effective administrative structures and a local army able to maintain law and order, the constitutional authorities could not by themselves maintain the unity of the country.

84

G. Conac

The role of semi-presidentialism in the democratization of francophone Africa Due to the diversity of its political and administrative elites, it is not surprising that Senegal was the first francophone African state that attempted a gradual democratization of its constitutional structures, opening up to political pluralism again, starting already in 1970. And quite paradoxically, it was President Senghor who was to appoint a prime minister again, after having determined that this was likely to be the best solution to prepare a gradual return to a multiparty system. As the government was to be accountable both to the president and the National Assembly, the new constitutional regime form could be defined as semi-presidential, though the president continued to determine government policies. There was little risk of the prime minister being dismissed by a parliamentary majority, given that the presidential party maintained a large majority, even after two other parties were allowed to compete. However, by allowing for the proviso that in the case of death or resignation of the president, the prime minister would take over and serve the rest of the presidential mandate, ‘Professor’ Leopold Sedar Senghor showed the educational objectives behind his preference for a dual executive. Apart from allowing a democratic opening, the semi-presidential regime form thus made it possible for Senghor to prepare his own succession. As he admitted subsequently: ‘Since 1960, my primary task has been to make myself superfluous.’4 In 1980, estimating that after ten years as ‘crown prince’ Abdou Diouf was ready to take over, Senghor believed he could retire. The Senegalese experience thus shows that a semi-presidential regime can have the advantage of facilitating peaceful political transitions, under the condition of the presence of a high level of mutual trust between the two executive partners. The Senegalese example did not, however, have immediate followers. The heads of state of the other francophone African countries, who did not intend to risk being destabilized by competitive elections, did what they could to avoid a contagion effect. In the 1990s, the end of the Cold War had a profound effect on the political context in francophone Africa. In an international environment that became increasingly hostile to single-party systems and presidential absolutism it became more and more difficult to dismiss liberal democratic constitutionalism. Apart from external donor pressure for good governance, an increasingly vocal opposition in the countries where elites were most politicized threatened leaders who refused any democratic openings. In order to respond to this pressure, reform of the organization and functioning of political institutions became unavoidable. When it was carried out peacefully, this constitutional reconstruction happened either through the emergence of a new constituent assembly, or, as in Côte d’Ivoire and Cameroon, at the initiative of certain heads of state who, in order to avoid being overtaken by events, took the initiative themselves to initiate constitutional revision. The democratic transition in Benin in 1990 is the most spectacular manifesta-

The francophone context

85

tion of this process of political and constitutional change. Since 1972, this country had been under authoritarian leadership by General Kerekou, with the support of a Marxist–Leninist single party. Weakened by the implosion of the communist regimes in Eastern Europe, General Kerekou accepted to hold a National Conference5 with the representation of a wide spectrum of civil and political society. It was his intention that this temporary institution, the creation of which had been suggested to him by intellectuals in his entourage, was to serve a purely consultative function. However, the participants in the National Conference took matters into their own hands and declared the conference to be autonomous and transformed it into a constituent assembly with all related powers. Proceeding wisely, the participants were careful to avoid humiliating the head of state, while still making him responsible to the National Assembly. It can rightly be said that this mode of constitutional reconstruction, both radical and consensual, was a Beninese invention of great genius. The formula was so successful that it was copied with certain variations in Congo Brazzaville, Niger, Mali, Togo, Madagascar, and even Zaire. The proceedings of the conferences were characterized by greater or lesser degrees of conflict, reflecting the different country contexts: in Mali, where a military coup toppled the head of state in power since 1968 prior to the holding of the National Conference; in Gabon, where President Bongo ably manoeuvred the reform process while remaining in power; in Togo, where President Eyadema reacted with violence when his powers were questioned by a National Conference that tended to elevate itself into a popular tribunal; in the Republic of Congo (Brazzaville), where the National Conference was transformational; and in Zaire, where the National Conference was never able to have its decisions endorsed by President Mobutu. The role of lawyers in the elaboration of constitutional texts should not be underestimated, whether as participants in National Conferences, as experts within a constitutional commission, or as personal advisers to a head of state. In Benin, for example, the only francophone state to have adopted a clear-cut presidential regime with separation of powers, the influence of Maurice Glele and Robert Dossou was determinant. For these two university professors, with a specialization in constitutional law, a presidential regime was more likely to enable the effective consolidation of national unity, given the historical threeway regional partition of the country. They considered a dual executive a risky choice for the Beninese context. The fact that the French model came to be followed by all the other francophone countries in Africa transitioning to democracy is due not only to the fact that it was the constitutional model best known to the francophone elites; it is explained also by the fact that semi-presidentialism appeared as a compromise formula that would facilitate democratic transition. By reasserting the role of the National Assembly, semi-presidentialism could not but attract the opposition, intent on putting an end to the practice of monolithic presidential power. By separating out the functions of the head of state and the head of government, semipresidentialism served to disperse executive power, without unduly dramatizing

86

G. Conac

the democratization process. To the long-serving incumbent heads of state who hoped to be re-elected, semi-presidentialism appeared as a lesser evil. By accepting to liberalize an authoritarian regime with which they had become identified, they improved their image as statesmen in the eyes of the international community. However, it would be incorrect to think that members of African constituent assemblies during the democratic transition period of the 1990s were simply adopting French semi-presidentialism as a ready-made technological transfer. In contrast to the imitation process that took place at independence, as indicated above, constitutional design in francophone Africa during the democratic transitions of the 1990s fused importation and innovation. Constitutions such as the one in Benin or Madagascar, or even the one adopted by the National Conference in Zaire (which unfortunately was never put into practice), reflect an important spirit of inventiveness. Another very positive element in almost all the new constitutions is the provisions guaranteeing the rule of law and the impartial functioning of democratic institutions. The first concern is reflected in the existence of processes to ensure the constitutionality of laws that are even more open than in the French legal tradition. Thus, several African constitutions include provision for the control of the constitutionality of laws, a provision not found in the French constitution.6 The second concern is answered by the establishment of independent institutions with a specific mandate to control the electoral process or the functioning of the media. Other innovations are most often addressed at promoting political stability by ensuring a certain primacy to the president and avoiding conflict-ridden cohabitation. That is why in African constitutions the division of powers within the executive is often defined more precisely than in the French constitution. In fact, the rules of semi-presidentialism can be more or less codified, at the choice of the constituent assembly. For example, in order to avoid conflict over the respective domains of the two executives, the constitution can define with precision the extent of the relative domains of the president and the prime minister and their respective powers. And as conflicts over competences within the executive are not always resolved through unwritten agreements, the constitution can foresee their solution through the intervention of a Constitutional Court. The problem with such an extreme rationalization of the division of powers within the executive is that it can lead to an excessive focus on legal texts at the expense of greater concern with real societal issues on the part of political leaders. Too rigid a division of powers can make semi-presidentialism lose what experience has shown to be one of its advantages – the adaptability to the political context.

Semi-presidentialism in francophone Africa: a risky regime choice or a pedagogical tool for young democracies? Do semi-presidential constitutions in francophone Africa contribute to democratic stabilization, or do they, on the contrary, contribute to political conflict?

The francophone context

87

Based on the political developments of the past fifteen years, following the constitutional reconstruction that took place during the democratic transition period in francophone Africa, these two questions can be answered only selectively and with nuance. Overall, two major developments can be discerned, one of which is definitively positive, the other one much less so. At the positive end of the spectrum, examples from several countries show that a semi-presidential regime can be a viable constitutional solution. In Mali, for example, the constitution of 1992 that provides for a prime minister responsible to parliament has survived thus far unscathed, despite inevitable moments of political tension. This success is largely due to the wise behaviour of the two presidents who succeeded each other democratically, as well as to the moderating effect of the constitutional rule which limits presidential terms to two (Article 30). Semi-presidential regimes have played a pacifying role by contributing to making political competition less passionate. By reasserting the influence of the National Assembly, semi-presidentialism forces the head of state to take into account the different political tendencies represented therein and to play a diplomatic role: if the president wants to avoid a minority position within the executive, he must enable the emergence of a presidential majority or act to ensure the consolidation of such a majority resulting from parliamentary elections. This requires great political abilities as it may involve persuading minority parties that their participation in government is more rewarding than contestation from the margins. Nevertheless, African heads of state are not without means for seducing political opponents. For example, in Gabon the multiplication of cabinet posts has certainly facilitated backing for the presidential majority.7 In Senegal, former President Abdou Diouf was opposed in each presidential election by Professor Abdoulaye Wade as his principal competitor. This personal competition did result in tensions during certain periods of mobilization by students or others. However, the two political leaders each in their own way always avoided their rivalry threatening national unity and the stability of the state. While preserving the right to stand as president at the next elections, Abdoulaye Wade on two occasions accepted President Diouf’s proposal to join his government as minister of state. The two political leaders saw this not as a tactical arrangement but as ‘the meeting of two sages’, in Wade’s words. This symbolic collaboration definitively had a pacifying effect. When Wade ultimately won the 2000 presidential elections, having stepped down from his cabinet post a year before as required by law, Diouf accepted the verdict of the voters gracefully after a frank but loyal presidential campaign. At the opposite end of the spectrum, the political crisis in Niger which in January 1996 culminated with a coup d’état showed that cohabitation can be difficult to manage in countries with insufficient cultural integration and where the tradition of administrative impartiality is not firmly established. When presidential and legislative elections resulted in a president and a parliamentary majority from opposite political camps, the Nigerian president was forced to appoint as prime minister the leader of the new majority. No co-operation was

88

G. Conac

possible between these two political adversaries, who were constitutionally condemned to a political partnership. In the absence of a political compromise, the solution was to appeal to the regulatory legal framework. However, the Supreme Court proved itself incapable of solving the recurrent political tensions and finally the army intervened as ultimate arbiter, resolving through a coup the conflicts over competence that the constitutional framework had been unable to address in a satisfactory manner. It is in fact the risk of conflict-ridden cohabitation that provides the major argument against mechanically transposing the constitutional model of the French Fifth Republic to Africa. This is why more recent constitutions try to avoid it, as is, for example, the case in Senegal, where the dependence of the prime minister on the president is reinforced with regards to his position and his role in the definition of government policies. These are more clearly defined than in the French constitution. Thus, contrary to the French constitutional text that gives policy-making power to the government (Article 20), the Senegalese constitution gives this power to the president, as the cabinet, under the leadership of the prime minister, is charged only with implementing and coordinating national policy as defined by the president.8 This difference between the French and the Senegalese attributions of presidential powers is far from being just formal. In France, as has happened three times, when the president is no longer backed by a parliamentary majority, he can no longer determine government policies outside of his reserved foreign policy competences. In Senegal, in the same situation, the president is politically weakened but not constitutionally diminished in his powers. Though the president in Senegal must certainly take the parliamentary majority into consideration in his policy-making role, he retains a sufficient margin of action allowing him to call the shots. This is related both to institutional and political factors, as very aggressive behaviour on the part of the old opposition/new parliamentary majority would probably not be appreciated by the population.9 However, most coups d’état and civil wars that have taken place in francophone Africa since the first democratic transitions cannot be ascribed to this or that constitutional regime form. Most often, such political crises have been provoked by identity crises or by arbitrary or clientelist politics. In Zaire, for example, now the Democratic Republic of Congo, after the fall of Mobutu, his successor Laurent Kabila was unable to gain control over the whole national territory, despite the full presidential powers he had assumed. Armed rival bands continued to spread terror in many regions of the country. In Côte d’Ivoire, following the long paternalist reign of Felix Houphouët-Boigny, his successor’s invoking the concept of ivoirité made apparent the fragile cohesion of a country composed of a large number of foreign workers, including many from Burkina Faso. Both in the case of Côte d’Ivoire and the DRC it can be noted, however, that political actors have pursued the return to peace through negotiated constitutionalism, leading to the adoption of dual executive structures. In the DRC, after the death of Laurent Kabila, a reconciliation process led to the negotiation of a new

The francophone context

89

provisional constitution, and the transitional government had a new constitution adopted by referendum in December 2005. (The constitution was formally promulgated by the president on 18 February 2006.) This constitution aims to decentralize power and provides for a semi-presidential regime with the prime minister responsible to parliament, while at the same time including precautionary measures aimed at avoiding gridlock in the absence of a coherent majority.10 In Côte d’Ivoire, after a de facto partitioning of the country in two deadly conflicts, it became apparent that the crisis required a negotiated solution, under the patronage of France and with the help of negotiators having the backing of the international community or of the African Union. The existing constitution has been maintained, with the sole exception of the highly contested article on the nationality of candidates for the presidency. On the other hand the incumbent president had to delegate some of this power to a prime minister selected in consensual manner in order to lay the groundwork for the reconstruction of the state in a spirit of reconciliation. These two examples illustrate well the point that even if democratic constitutionalism cannot by itself avoid the political crises that threaten the still fragile states of francophone Africa, it is difficult not to envisage a resolution to these crises without resorting to constitutional solutions. However, post-conflict constitutions must be conceived to ensure both reconciliation and regulation of political life, just as true peace treaties.

Conclusion To conclude, it can be seen that the vast majority of francophone African countries have adopted semi-presidential constitutional forms, including most recently the Democratic Republic of Congo, though not a former French colony. Only the constitution in Benin reflects a clear and deliberate choice in favour of a presidential constitution. Moreover, the Beninese constitution distinguishes itself by being a variant on the American constitutional model. As several constituent assemblies in Europe following the Second World War tried to ‘rationalize’ parliamentarism, so in Benin an ingenious attempt has been made at adopting what could be called a ‘rationalized presidential system’. It should also be noted that all former French colonies have rejected the adoption of a purely parliamentary system. These countries had proceeded to elect their presidents directly in 1960, before the adoption of the reform of the French constitution in this regard in 1962. It would therefore have seemed contradictory to create a president legitimized through direct election by the entire population accountable to parliament; similarly, it would not have been realistic to reduce the role of the president to that of a purely symbolic head of state, like the English monarch. Nevertheless, a partially francophone country, Mauritius, did not insist on the direct election of its president. In order not to break with the practice of parliamentarism inspired by the British system which had formed their political culture, local elites preferred that the Governor General, representing the Queen, should be replaced by a president elected for five years by

90

G. Conac

parliament, based on a single candidacy being submitted by the prime minister after consultation with the different parliamentary groups. This was probably a wise choice, given that direct elections in a country with a true mosaic of ethnic groups could have undermined the basis for a peaceful coexistence. Finally, it should be emphasized that certain political regimes that simply on a reading of their constitutional texts would be classified as semi-presidential in reality function largely outside the norms of democratic constitutionalism due to the autocratic practice of presidential power. Nevertheless, in many francophone countries in Africa, in addition to the frequent presence of international election observers, the control exercised by Constitutional Courts over electoral outcomes certainly contributes to reduce the risk of fraud and manipulation of electoral results. Still, the members of these courts must not be totally dependent on the incumbent president who in many cases has appointed them. The peaceful hand-over of presidential power in Senegal, Mali and three times in Benin demonstrates undeniable progress in democratic culture in subSaharan Africa. However, the practitioner of constitutional law should be aware of the fact that the political stability of a country does not depend solely on the presence of more or less operational constitutional mechanisms, but also on the ability of political leaders to prevent or resolve conflicts through good governance and an efficient and impartial administration.

Notes 1 Afrique Occidentale Française (AOF) and Afrique Equatoriale Française (AEF). 2 While both countries had a prime minister accountable to parliament and a president with executive powers, the latter was not directly elected. The regimes therefore do not qualify as semi-presidential, though they did include the arguably most important element of semi-presidentialism – a dual executive. Dual executive regimes in many ways function like semi-presidential regimes, allowing for dual representation at the top of the executive, while also introducing the possibility of cohabitation between two executives of different political orientations. 3 ‘Chez les peuples fluctuants à l’affectivité volcanique et à la réaction immédiate, il faut un pouvoir c’est-à-dire un exécutif fort et non partagé, encore que démocratique, pour maintenir l’autorité de l’Etat’ (Senghor 1989, 168). 4 ‘Dès 1960, ma principale tâche était de préparer ma succession, de me rendre non indispensable’, statement from 1981, cited by Marc Debene (1989, 27). 5 Conférence nationale des forces vives de la nation. For more on the National Conference phenomenon, see Robinson (1994). 6 For example, the 1998 Senegalese constitution, revised by referendum in 2002, foresees in its Article 90 that the Constitutional Council may address complaints of unconstitutionality that are brought before the Council of State or the Court of Appeal. The Gabonese 1991 constitution gives any citizen charged before a court the right to invoke the unconstitutionality of laws or governmental acts that might infringe his basic rights. 7 The cabinet appointed after Omar Bongo was re-elected president on 21 January 2006 has forty-nine members: the prime minister, four deputy prime ministers, eleven ministers of state, nineteen ministers, and fourteen deputy ministers. 8 It should be noted that there are significant constitutional differences between Senegal and France in presidential authority over the prime minister. According to the Sene-

The francophone context

91

galese constitution, the prime minister is clearly submitted to the hierarchical power of the president, who not only nominates but can also dismiss the prime minister on his own initiative. In France, on the contrary, apart from situations where parliament votes the government out by a vote of censure or by rejecting a vote of confidence requested by the government, the president can dismiss the prime minister only if the latter hands in his resignation. Thus, in situations of cohabitation, the prime minister de facto becomes impossible to remove until the next parliamentary elections. 9 The president is moreover free to step down if he believes no compromise with the parliamentary majority to be possible. In an interview with a journalist (Gri-Gri International, 18 May 2005) which took place one year prior to the legislative elections scheduled for 2006 (subsequently moved to 2007), President Abdoulaye Wade had envisaged this possibility, well knowing that this threat would force the voters to carefully consider the consequences of their choice. 10 Thus in the absence of a coherent parliamentary majority, the president can task a mediator with the mission of identifying within two months a coalition able to support a government.

6

Semi-presidentialism in Madagascar Charles Cadoux

We can gain a proper understanding of the current Malagasy semi-presidential regime only if we take account of the rapid institutional evolution of the system as a whole and the specific socio-political context of the island when compared with other political systems on the African continent. In almost half a century (that is, since independence in June 1960), Madagascar has experienced three Republics punctuated by three transitional regimes. However, the apparent constitutional instability of the system needs to be placed in context. In fact, many of the essential elements of the system have endured over time. The First Republic (1960–72), which was led by President Philibert Tsiranana, can be classified as a ‘neo-colonial’ regime, with an institutional framework that was greatly inspired by the French Fifth Republic, even if the president was not directly elected. The social and political crisis of May 1972 led to the creation of what was officially termed a ‘provisional’ system,1 which, after three years of upheaval, led to the formation of a Second Republic known as the Democratic Republic of Madagascar (DRM) under the leadership of a new head of state, Didier Ratsiraka. Technically, the DRM was semi-presidential with a directly elected president and a prime minister responsible to the legislature. The DRM was a self-styled ‘revolutionary socialist’ regime. In this way, it was very different from the First Republic.2 However, the president was still the key political actor. The Second Republic lasted from 1976 to 1992. Initially, there was great euphoria, to be followed soon, though, by a gradual descent into a deep economic depression. As economic hardship mounted, so did popular pressure for political change. Over the course of 1991 the DRM was swept away following a long period of powerful and peaceful popular resistance (especially in the capital, Antananarivo). President Ratsiraka negotiated an agreement with the opposition called the ‘Panorama Convention’ signed on 31 October 1991. This agreement maintained Ratsiraka as head of state, though he had to relinquish most of his powers to a transition government. The current system, the Third Republic, was created in the context of these very difficult circumstances and is organized very differently from its predecessor. The Third Republic emphasizes the liberal nature of the regime and support for the ‘rule of law’. The early period of the Third Republic was problematic mainly because of

Semi-presidentialism in Madagascar

93

the personal rivalries that existed within the new set of institutions. Following the impeachment of the first president of the Third Republic, Albert Zafy, and an early presidential election in 1996, Didier Ratsiraka was returned to power, this time calling for the creation of a new Republic, a ‘humanist and ecological’ Republic (!). However, President Ratsiraka had to give way to a new challenger, Marc Ravelomanana, following the disputed presidential election in December 2001. This led to a very serious social and political crisis in 2002 that was deeply disturbing for the people of Madagascar, as the country hovered on the edge of civil war. In the end, the peaceful resolution of the crisis was a sign that the Third Republic was finally consolidated. When examining the unique nature of the semi-presidential system in Madagascar, it is important to bear in mind this political context as well as the basic socio-political situation in the country. In this latter regard, four elements should be stressed. First, so far, Madagascar has not experienced a coup d’état or an authoritarian military regime.3 The military has always been subordinate to the civilian power. Second, there has never been a single-party system, even if the temptation in this regard was very strong during the DRM.4 As a result, there has always been a de facto multi-party system, and this was duly confirmed in the constitution of the Third Republic, even if this system has often been characterized by a large (albeit sometimes divided) dominant party.5 Third, the political influence of the Christian churches, Protestant and Catholic,6 has always been exercised in the context of the separation of church and state. (See Article 1 of the 1992 constitution.) Finally, in terms of political economy Madagascar has gone from a social democratic system during the First Republic, to a ‘socialist’ system during the DRM (particularly from 1975 to 1985), to a liberal system now. Overall, Madagascar is still classed a less developed country and is now trying to follow a policy of ‘sustainable development’.7

The choice of the system The introduction of a semi-presidential system in Madagascar was not the result of a deliberate choice. It emerged progressively over the course of a number of constitutional amendments probably because it was seen as being suitable to the political context of the country. Indeed, in Madagascar people talk more of the country’s ‘presidential’ system (or even of a semi-parliamentary and semi-presidential system). That said, the country does not have a US-style presidential system or a UK-style parliamentary system. Instead, the basic model is parliamentary, but it is a specific type of ‘rationalized parliamentarism’ to which the country’s political class became accustomed as a result of the effects of colonization. The First Republic was inspired by the model of the French Fifth Republic. All the same, the head of state was also the head of government and was responsible to parliament. However, the accountability mechanisms were very complex (Articles 42–4 of the constitution) and were never exercised in practice. Given the presence of an ultra-dominant governmental party, the President of the Republic was in a position of great power.

94

C. Cadoux

The First Republic collapsed almost overnight in the face of the social and political crisis of May 1972.8 The Marxist-inspired revolutionary socialist ideology of the Second Republic (the DRM) marked a complete break with the social democratic philosophy of the previous regime. But the December 1975 constitution, which was drawn up by a very small circle of people and which was then ratified in a referendum,9 maintained a basic parliamentary structure with elements of collegial decision making notably in the form of a Supreme Council of the Revolution. In fact, though, the head of state, who was directly elected for a seven-year term with no term limits, still exercised more power than the prime minister. In this system, which technically was semi-presidential, the prime minister was always the president’s faithful political servant. The Third Republic was founded in 1992 following a prolonged period of discussion in the context of a ‘National Forum’. The decision was taken to retain the direct election of the president but to increase the role of parliament, not least as a way of signalling the complete rejection of the previous political regime. At no point was a presidential system considered. However, the sociopolitical context rapidly revealed the limits of this classical form of parliamentarism and the ensuing risk of political instability (see below). In 1995, a constitutional amendment re-established a certain balance of power between the president and the prime minister; a second amendment in 1998 seriously increased the authority of the President of the Republic and in this way significantly changed the distribution of power that had been established in 1992. Thus Madagascar moved from having a premier–presidential system in 1992 to the introduction of a president–parliamentary system in 1998, when applying the classifications of Shugart and Carey (1992). This profoundly revised text could be understood as the constitution of a new Fourth Republic in all but name. Interestingly, though, there were no further amendments even after the political crisis in 2002 when President Ratsiraka lost power. So the revised 1992 constitution is still the Basic Law of Madagascar.

The mechanics of the system The current constitutional system is based on three principal powers – executive, legislative and judicial – with the relations between them being quite clearly defined in terms of law. The bicephalous executive According to the 1992 constitution and following the constitutional reforms of 1995 and 1998 (see below), the President of the Republic is directly elected for a five-year twice-renewable term (Article 45). The president can be removed – or ‘impeached’ according to the constitution – either temporarily (for a six-month period) or definitively on the grounds of mental or physical incapacity (Article 50). In that case, a two-thirds majority is required in both houses of parliament and the decision must be confirmed by the High Constitutional Court (HCC). In

Semi-presidentialism in Madagascar

95

addition to the traditional functions of any head of state, the president of Madagascar enjoys a number of powers that do not require any counter-signature. In particular, these relate to the appointment and dismissal of the prime minister and ministers (Article 53); the dissolution of the National Assembly ‘for good reason’ (Article 95); the issuing of decrees (ordonnances) ‘for a limited period of time and for a specific purpose’ (Article 96);10 the calling of a referendum on any ‘important question with a national dimension’ (Article 54);11 and, finally and above all, in the case of a serious crisis (Article 59) the president may proclaim a ‘state of emergency’ or ‘great need’ during which time he can wield a wide range of ‘special powers’. The prime minister is the head of government and the administration (Article 63). In this regard, he carries out a number of tasks that are exercised in the context of the Council of Government and that normally have to be countersigned by the relevant minister (Articles 64 and 65). Above all, the prime minister is charged with ‘implementing the general policy of the state’ (Article 61) such as it is defined by the President of the Republic in the Council of Ministers (Articles 54, 61 and 64). He shares with parliament the right to initiate legislation (Article 84) and exercises regulatory power (le pouvoir réglementaire) (Article 63), but he does not enjoy any ‘reserved domain’ of policy making. On the contrary, the prime minister is accountable to the National Assembly, which can lodge a motion of no confidence or a question of confidence (Articles 61, 91, 94) and which, if passed, oblige the prime minister to resign. Thus, as in a parliamentary regime, the prime minister is responsible to the Assembly, which, in theory at least, has always been the case since independence. Parliament The Third Republic reinstated a bicameral legislature, comprising the National Assembly, which is directly elected on the basis of universal suffrage for a fiveyear term, and the Senate, which sits for a six-year term and a third of whose members are freely appointed by the President of the Republic. Notwithstanding the presence of a pro-government party that has often dominated the National Assembly, parliament has exercised a degree of autonomy in terms of how it has used its legislative powers and how it has held the government accountable, particularly in the 1992–96 period. Parliamentary debates have certainly become more robust and incisive than under the two previous regimes where, whatever the constitution may have said, parliament was really a ‘rubber-stamp’ legislature. The High Constitutional Court The same goes for the High Constitutional Court, which has ultimate responsibility for assuring the balance of powers and the respect for the rule of law. The court is composed of nine judges who serve for a seven-year term. In essence, the court has two sorts of powers. The HCC has sole responsibility for ensuring

96

C. Cadoux

the legality of national-level elections (presidential elections, and National Assembly elections) and referendums. As the guardian of the constitution, the court also has responsibility for constitutional issues and even for treaties. Under the Third Republic, the HCC was quite active and, as a result, found itself at the centre of political intrigues that led to dissent and criticisms. It is certainly the case that in Madagascar, as in many other nascent democracies, the independence of the judiciary cannot be taken for granted (Article 98 of the constitution states that the President of the Republic is the ‘guardian of judicial independence’). The issue of the independence of the judiciary became particularly salient during the 2002 political crisis (see below).

The functioning of the system The impact of the direct election of the president Since 1962, the president has been elected by universal suffrage. In 1992 the president’s mandate was reduced from a seven-year indefinitely renewable term to a five-year term with a three-term limit. Apart from the fact that candidates must be at least forty years old, the competition for the presidency is open to all citizens. The president is elected on the basis of a French-style two-ballot system. In order to be elected at the first ballot, a candidate must obtain an absolute majority of the votes cast; if a second ballot is required, then only the top two candidates from the first round can go through to the second ballot. The 2002 crisis (see below) was caused by precisely this rule. The direct election of the president has undoubtedly contributed to the personalization of power. That said, it should be noted that Malagasy society has a long tradition of personalized power, enshrined in the practices of traditional society (especially during the Merina monarchy from 1810 to 1896 and the queens of Madagascar) and perpetuated during the French colonial period (1896–1960) with the nineteen Governors or High Commissioners ruling over the island. The effects of the direct election of the president really made themselves felt with the transition to a true multi-party system in 1990. Before that time electoral competition was limited, either because of the exceptionally strong position of President Tsiranana, who was considered to be the ‘father’ of the nation and who was the only president during the First Republic from 1960 to 1972, or because of the nondemocratic nature of the Second Republic’s political system, where in one way or another power was ‘reserved’ for President Didier Ratsiraka. Gradually, direct presidential elections led to a multiplication of candidates as well as to the fragmentation of the party system and the creation of small and ephemeral parties that were often the personal vehicles of presidential candidates and little more. The political crisis of 2002 In 2001 President Ratsiraka was coming towards the end of his term of office. He decided to put himself forward for another term and seemed confident of

Semi-presidentialism in Madagascar

97

another victory thanks to the support of his AREMA party (the Association for the Renewal of Madagascar – Andry sy Riana Enti-Manavotra an’i Madagasikara), which was still very strongly supported even if it had lost power for a short time from 1991 to 1992. None of the president’s opponents, who included the former mayor of Antanarivo and Merina businessman, Marc Ravalomanana, appeared to be well placed to prevent Ratsiraka’s re-election. In this context, the result of the first round of voting on 16 December 2001 was a great shock. According to the official result declared by the High Constitutional Court on 25 January 2002, Ravalomanana topped the poll, winning 46.2 per cent of the votes cast compared with 40.9 per cent for Ratsiraka. However, Ravalomanana believed that he had won an absolute majority of votes cast, claiming 50.49 per cent against 37.61 per cent for Ratsiraka on the basis of the figures provided by the ‘Consortium of Observers’ – a non-governmental organization – and, therefore, that he was duly elected. President Ratsiraka and the AREMA party contested these figures and demanded that a second ballot be held in conformity with the constitution. Ravalomanana claimed that there was electoral fraud and voting irregularities and officially requested that the HCC recount the votes and compare the figures provided by the Ministry of the Interior with those provided by the Consortium of Observers. The HCC refused on the basis of electoral procedures. It might be noted, though, that President Ratsiraka had changed the membership of the HCC just prior to the beginning of the electoral period and that the court had made its decision, under police protection, outside the capital and far from its official buildings. This situation threw doubt on the independence of the court and not least because President Ratsiraka had opposed the presence of international election observers. All of a sudden the electoral dispute was transformed into a political crisis and then into a crisis of the regime as a whole. In February 2002 Ravalomanana proclaimed himself duly elected, while Ratsiraka, who was still officially the president, resisted his opponent’s action and even decided to transfer the capital to Tamatave, which was close to where he was brought up. The situation escalated almost out of control, paralysing the administration and the economy and reigniting the long-standing conflict between the Merina people of the highlands and the population from the rest of the country who are usually referred to as the Côtiers. The province where Ravalomanana was from was blockaded by the five other provinces on the island. The army was divided and there was a threat that the island would be split in two. In an attempt to resolve the situation, various organizations tried to mediate between the two parties: European diplomats based in Madagascar, the Christian churches, the Organization of African Unity (OAU), which became the African Union in May 2002, and a group of French-speaking African heads of state led by President Wade of Senegal meeting in Dakar in April 2002. For his part, Ravalomanana increased his legitimacy by appointing a prime minister, Jacques Sylla, and by progressively taking charge of the administration. At the same time, Ratsiraka vainly declared a state of emergency and even martial law in Imerina (where the Merina people are based) in the province of

98

C. Cadoux

Tananarive. In the discussions, France followed the legalistic line of the OAU, and, therefore, Ratsiraka, arguing in favour of a second ballot as set out in the constitution. By contrast, the United States was much closer to the position of Ravalomanana. In the end, Ravalomanana was formally sworn in as president on 6 May 2002 in the presence of all the organizations of the country and the diplomatic corps (with the notable exception of the French ambassador). This ceremony followed a new ruling by a reformed HCC on 29 April 2002 that confirmed Ravalomanana’s absolute majority at the first ballot (51.46 per cent compared with 35.90 per cent for his opponent, Ratsiraka). AREMA continued to cause trouble for a number of months afterwards and the OAU was reluctant to accept the decision. However, in June 2002 Ratsiraka left Madagascar and was granted voluntary exile in France. But it was only in December 2002 that the crisis really came to an end. On 15 December legislative elections were held ahead of schedule on the basis of a majoritarian system and under the supervision of electoral observers from Madagascar and from the European Union. Both the high level of participation (more than 60 per cent across the country as a whole) and the wide margin of victory for Ravalomanana’s new Tiako I Madagasikara (I Love Madagascar, TIM) party, which won more than 100 of the 160 seats in the National Assembly, confirmed without a shadow of a doubt the legality and the legitimacy of the newly elected president. It is unlikely that a similar sort of crisis will occur again. The crisis was inextricably linked with the personality of Ratsiraka, who was trying to hang on to power by almost any means even though he had been rejected by the vast majority of the population, including the poorest elements of society, for more than a decade because of his disastrous North Korean-inspired revolutionary socialist economic policy. All the same, the crisis did highlight the need to reform the whole of the electoral code so as to reaffirm the democratic foundations of the system and to reinforce the credibility of the electoral authorities by creating an independent electoral commission. Presidential/prime ministerial relations The issue of presidential/prime ministerial relations has only become relevant with the constitution of September 1992 and the creation of the Third Republic. During the First Republic, the head of state also held the position of head of government. During the Second Republic, the offices were separate, but the nature of the regime meant that the prime minister was always totally loyal to the president and implemented the president’s policies without question. During the Third Republic, the situation changed. Here, it is useful to distinguish between the period prior to the implementation of the constitutional referendum in September 1995 and the period after. (For a list of presidents and prime ministers, see Table 6.1.) In 1993 Albert Zafy was elected president. Zafy had been the leader of a coalition of groups called ‘the Forces Vives Rasalama’ that had opposed Ratsir-

Semi-presidentialism in Madagascar

99

Table 6.1 Presidents, prime ministers and their parties in Madagascar since 1975 President The Democratic Republic of Madagascar Didier Ratsiraka (FNDR/AREMA) 15 June 1975–27 March 1993

The Third Republic Albert Zafy (UNDD) 27 March 1993–5 September 1996 Norbert Lala Ratsirahonana (acting) (AVI) 5 September 1996–9 February 1997 Didier Ratsiraka (AREMA) 9 February 1997–5 July 2002 Marc Ravalomanana (TIM) 22 February 2002–

Prime minister Joel Rakotomalala (AREMA) 11 January 1976–30 July 1976 Justin Rakotoniaina (AREMA) 12 August 1976–1 August 1977 Désiré Rakotoarijaona (Military) 1 August 1977–12 February 1988 Victor Ramahatra (Military) 12 February 1988–8 August 1991 Guy Razanamasy (AREMA) 8 August 1991–9 August 1993 Francisque Ravony (CSDDM) 9 August 1993–30 October 1995 Emmanuel Rakotovahiny (UNDD) 30 October 1995–28 May 1996 Norbert Lala Ratsirahonana (AVI) 28 May 1996–21 February 1997 Pascal Rakotomavo (AREMA) 21 February 1997–23 July 1998 René Tantely Andrianarivo (AREMA) 23 July 1998–31 May 2002 Jacques Sylla (non-party) 26 February 2002–

Notes AREMA Andry sy Riana Enti-manavotra an’i Madagasikara (Pillar and Structure for the Salvation of Madagascar), AVI Asa Vita no Ifapitsarana (Judged by your work), CSDDM Support Committee for Democracy and Development in Madagascar, FNDR Vangard of the Malagasy Revolution, TIM Tiako i Madagasikara (I love Madagascar), UNDD National Union for Development and Democracy.

aka and that were active against the socialist regime throughout 1991 and 1992. Indeed, Zafy headed the so-called High Authority of the State that eventually replaced Ratsiraka. In the 1993 presidential election Zafy was elected by a large majority (66.7 per cent compared with 33.3 per cent for Ratsiraka and with a turnout of 65 per cent) and he maintained a fairly high level of public support during his presidency. The problem he faced was that as president he had few powers. Moreover, the 1993 National Assembly elections were held under a system of proportional representation in which no fewer than 131 lists were in competition with each other and where nearly 4,000 candidates were fighting for 138 seats. In this situation, no grouping gained a majority and quickly the Assembly became ungovernable: motions of no confidence were put down; prime ministers were frequently changed; and, to top everything, an impeachment vote was passed against the president. (Indeed, it was this vote that led to the early presidential election in 1997 and the return to power of Ratsiraka who profited from what he called a ‘republican disorder’.)

100

C. Cadoux

During his time in office, President Zafy was constantly at odds with Prime Minister Ravony, who was himself a product of the anti-Ratsiraka coalition and who had no intention of giving up any of his own powers. The president tried to reinforce his authority by visiting the provinces more frequently by adopting a populist and sometimes aggressive discourse and by neglecting his official functions. (In the end, he was impeached because he was accused of failing to act like a head of state.) In 1995, in order to put an end to the constitutional and political problems of the Third Republic, President Zafy sponsored a constitutional amendment that came into effect in 1997 and that re-established a majority electoral system and increased the powers of the president, notably allowing the president to appoint the prime minister and to direct the policy of the nation. This reform led in effect to a dual executive system. A second constitutional reform by President Ratsiraka in 1998 increased the president’s powers even further and led to the current presidentialized system. Interestingly, this system has been maintained by President Ravalomanana. To date, there has been no change of prime minister since his election in 2002 and no motion of no confidence has been lodged in the Assembly, not least because the president’s party enjoys an overwhelming majority there.

Semi-presidentialism and democracy in Madagascar As we have seen, the semi-presidential system only really began with the onset of the Third Republic. However, this system has yet to be truly tested. To date, Madagascar has not experienced a period of cohabitation between a president and prime minister from fundamentally opposing groups. So far, the prime minister has always been drawn from the dominant party or governing coalition, even though there was considerable conflict between Zafy and Ravony. The absence of a strong opposition prevents any likelihood of a real alternation in power in the short term. As one Malagasy political commentator once said to me: ‘We have a lot of opponents in Madagascar but no opposition.’ The experiment with a parliamentarized regime did not last long. The problems between the president and prime minister after 1993 ensured that this was the case, despite the fact that both actors were drawn from the same political group. The 1995 and 1998 constitutional amendments have presidentialized the regime: now, the president is an active political player and the prime minister, while responsible to parliament, is the president’s right-hand man. Internal disputes about policy choices are resolved by way of discussions in the Council of Ministers and, if need be, in the TIM party group in the National Assembly. Over and above the very difficult economic conditions in the country, as well as the ideological and political upheavals of the Ratsiraka era, the Malagasy political system has managed to maintain a degree of democracy that is more than just superficial, as opposition parties sometimes claim. The political culture of Madagascar, which is very open as a result of the sociological diversity of the country, is based on two reinforcing elements: a real sense of ‘legitimism’ at all levels, which explains the moderate attitude taken by opponents of the regime in

Semi-presidentialism in Madagascar

101

place, and a real capacity for criticism and self-criticism that is present in political life and civil society. This is the sense in which semi-presidentialism suits Madagascar, even if sometimes the system encourages certain authoritarian presidential excesses. The crisis in 2002 brought to the forefront two forces that, up to then, had been very much in the background: the army and civil society. Moreover, the recent creation of a system of ‘autonomous provinces’ also needs to be considered. The Malagasy army is very small and it has a tradition of legitimism, subordination to civil authorities and respect for the rule of law. It has never been politically active and there has never been any South American-like temptation to seize power by a ‘golpe’. The President of the Republic has always been the constitutional head of the armed forces. This conformism, in the good sense of the term, explains why the transition regimes from 1972 to 1975 and 1990 to 1992 were not associated with a military coup d’état.12 The fact that the army almost split apart in 2002 but, in the end, managed to remain united is a sign that it remains a pillar of the republican system. For its part, civil society had already benefited from the fall of the DRM and had made its presence known in the political process, particularly in urban areas. A number of groups and non-governmental organizations were already working hard on a range of political and ethical issues. This is particularly true for the groups that mobilize during elections and the ones that are trying to increase levels of participation and civic education. In addition, we have already drawn attention to the very active role (too active according to some people) of the Council of Christian Churches of Madagascar (FFKM), which has assumed the role of the defender of Malagasy religious and cultural values and also, in a certain way, as the guardian of the fundamental principles of the constitution. This is a particularly unique element of the Malagasy political process.13 The final point to note is the creation of the system of autonomous provinces by the way of the 1998 constitutional amendment (Articles 126–40).14 This reform, even though it has been implemented only gradually and not unquestioningly, marked a real transformation of the system of local administration and introduced a new variable into the Malagasy political system. In effect, it marked a complete change from the system established in 1976 during the DRM. The 1976 system was designed to ‘Malagascize’ the local administrative vocabulary, to develop the democratic system and to increase the level of participation at the local level. However, the revolutionary socialist ideology of the regime, which was founded on the principle of democratic centralism and the domination of the AREMA party at the local level, had the opposite effect. As a result, the founders of the Third Republic wanted to change the Malagasy administrative map with the aim of making the democratic system more coherent and effective. In the end, it was decided to split the six traditional provinces into twenty-four regions (and communes) and to give the provinces themselves ‘autonomous’ status. This gave the decentralized local authorities a new authority and greatly increased their powers. This is also a highly politicized aspect of

102

C. Cadoux

the new autonomous status of the provinces, of which two elements will be mentioned here. The concept of autonomous provinces pushes Madagascar in the direction of a federal system, which would mark a real change in the way the country has operated since independence. However, the change is not without risk because in Madagascar the idea of federalism is often associated with the idea of separatism: the historically difficult nature of intercommunity relations, the suspicion during the 1990s that President Ratsiraka was encouraging federalism for purely partisan and personal reasons, and the threat of secession during the 2002 crisis15 all showed that the danger of separatism is real and should not be exaggerated, even though the constitution tries to prevent any such threat by stating ‘Any secession or threat of secession by one or more province is forbidden’ (Article 129-1). That said, the other, positive aspect of the new system may yet reinforce the semi-presidential system as a whole. The prime minister, not the president, is responsible for the system of local administration in his capacity as ‘head of the administration’ (Article 63). As a result, the government’s official representatives in the provinces (the Délégués Généraux), the senior civil servants who oversee the legality of the actions of the elected provincial authorities and the respect for the principles of autonomy in the provinces, are placed ‘under the hierarchical authority of the prime minister, head of government’ (Loi organique 2000-017, 25 August 2000).

Conclusion In Madagascar, a semi-presidential system was not the original choice of regime at the time of independence. Instead, the First Republic adopted a more or less parliamentary-style system. Technically a semi-presidential system was introduced with the creation of the Democratic Republic of Madagascar in 1975. However, during this regime the parliamentary characteristics of the regime remained in place by way of various procedures associated with the socialist system. This was true, even though in practice the system became highly presidentialized. It took a number of extremely serious crises – albeit non-violent ones, especially if we compare the constitutional history of Madagascar with the experience of many other post-colonial developing countries in sub-Saharan Africa – before a system was introduced that could guarantee at least a minimum level of democracy and stability. In this context, the 1992 constitution of the Third Republic consolidated the position of the dual executive, even if the constitutional reforms of 1998 considerably increased the powers of the President of the Republic. The political crisis in 2002, which has now been overcome, showed how a semi-presidential system can help to ensure the existence and sometimes the survival of democracy. And yet Madagascar has not experienced a period of cohabitation and so the jury must remain out as to the impact of semi-presidentialism. If the political and/or economic circumstances are right, there may still be the temptation for presidents to resort to a sort of populist politics, and they may still be able to

Semi-presidentialism in Madagascar

103

shroud themselves in the safety of the constitution if they were to decide to do so. The populist tendencies of President Zafy, who engaged in political competition with a prime minister from his own coalition, is indicative of the incentives provided by the dual executive system in this regard. The absence of a strong, well-organized and responsible opposition is always a handicap for the well-being of any democratic system. This is true for Madagascar. Those who oppose President Ravelomanana and Prime Minister Sylla seem more concerned with promoting their own personal political interests than with setting out a vision of where the country should be heading. The major National Conference that was launched in May 2005 has had little impact.16 In this context, the administration in power still needs to be goaded on.

Notes 1 The provisional system was headed from June 1972 to December 1975 by General Gabriel Ramanantsoa, and then by the High Council of the Revolution headed by Didier Ratsiraka, who was an officer in the marines. 2 The founding text, which had a supra-constitutional authority, was the charter of the Malagasy socialist revolution, known popularly as the ‘Little Red Book’ (Boky Mena). 3 General Ramanantsoa, the head of the armed forces at the time, never seized power but was obliged to assume power because of the circumstances that he faced. He resigned in January 1975. The only time when there has been a real military regime in Madagascar was from February to June 1975 when a Military Directory was established in order to safeguard public security following the assassination of Colonel Ratsimandrava, the officially designated successor to Ramanantsoa. The Military Directory was a collegial organization with nineteen members headed by General Andriamahazo. 4 In 1976 Ratsiraka created the Front for the Defence of the Revolution, which brought together five ‘revolutionary’ groupings, including the president’s AREMA party, and which was designed to act as a single Stalinist-type party. Internal dissent meant that the Front never really got off the ground. 5 During the First Republic, the Social Democratic Party held 104 seats in the National Assembly compared with only three for the Marxist opposition party, the AKFM. During the DRM AREMA was dominant. During the Third Republic, President Ravelomanana’s TIM party enjoys a large majority. 6 The federation of Christian churches, the FFKM, was created in 1982 and is led collectively by leaders from the Lutheran, Reformed and Anglican churches plus the Catholic cardinal. 7 Madagascar has a population of seventeen million people and a land mass of 587,000 km2. In 2005, the country was ranked 146th of 177 countries according to the Human Development Index (United Nations Human Development Report, 2005). It is estimated that 73 per cent of the population live below the poverty line. The country has consistently been classed as Partly Free by Freedom House since 1982. From 1975 to 1990 it scored 6 on the Polity scale where 10 is the maximum score for a democracy and 10 is the maximum score for an autocracy. From 1992 to 1997 inclusive Madagascar scored 8 or 9, meaning that the system was democratic. Since 1998 it has scored 7, which might be considered to be at the upper range of a partial democracy. 8 In October 1972, a constitutional referendum officially established a provisional regime that would last for a maximum of five years. The aim was to create a new

104

9

10 11 12

13

14 15

16

C. Cadoux

democratic parliamentary republic. However, the extremely authoritarian DRM regime was established instead. The referendum on 21 January 1975 posed no fewer than three questions: the approval or rejection of the Charter of the Revolution; the new constitution creating the DRM; and the (single) candidacy of Ratsiraka as president. The referendum was passed (without any difficulty!), with more than 80 per cent of people voting in favour. In 1982 President Ratsiraka was re-elected, although the official results were contested. In 1989, he was re-elected again, but with a much reduced majority in an election that most observers deemed to be fair (Gow 1997, 431). Parliament’s authorization is necessary for the adoption of these decrees as, in effect, they delegate parliament’s law-making power to the executive. This decision must be taken in the Council of Ministers, which, it should be noted, the president chairs. The military representatives in the transitional governments were never in a majority and never had a preponderant position. President Ratsiraka himself, even though he was an officer of the marines and was even promoted to the position of admiral, never tried to rely on his military credentials when he sought to win power legally. Less than 50 per cent of the population are Christian. However, the influence of the Protestant and Catholic missions, which have been present since the middle of the nineteenth century, has been very strong in religious and cultural terms across the island as a whole. The FFKM (see note 7) was a prominent critic of the socialist regime and played an active role in the 1990–91 transition period as well as during the 2002 crisis. President Ravelomanana is very active in the Protestant church. The six provinces created by the French in 1954 were Tananarive (Antananarivo), Fianarantsoa, Tuléar (Toliara), Majunga (Mahajanga), Tamatave (Toamasina) and Diégo Suarez (Antsiranana). Officially, Madagascar has eighteen ethnic groupings of varying size. The distinction between the highland people (the Merina) and the rest of the country (the Côtiers) is the source of conflict and rivalry at the political level. In 2002, three non-Merina provinces that were hostile to President Ravalomanana, who is a Merina, tried unsuccessfully to set up a Confederation of Independent States. The main (and often elderly) leaders of the opposition parties, along with a number of religious leaders, proposed to destabilize the president and – yet again – change the constitution.

7

Semi-presidentialism in Niger Gridlock and democratic breakdown – learning from past mistakes Sophia Moestrup1

Niger exemplifies the classical case of gridlock within the dual executive resulting in the breakdown of democracy, on which critics of semi-presidentialism base their worries with regards to the impact of this regime type on the survival of young democracies. A multi-party coalition having initially backed democratically elected President Ousmane in 1993 fell apart, due to conflict between president and prime minister (from different parties within the coalition). This led to the composition of a new majority, in opposition to the president. A oneyear period of highly conflictual cohabitation followed, between the president and a prime minister imposed by the new majority, providing an opportunity for a military comeback in January 1996. Niger also illustrates the process of democratic learning and adaptation, however, taking place in young democracies. Following the return to democracy in 1999, the semi-presidential constitution has been adjusted to address some of the deficiencies that had contributed to gridlock. The roles and responsibilities of president and prime minister have been spelled out in greater detail, particularly in the event of cohabitation. Though cohabitation has not happened again, the institutional framework would now seem much better apt at coping with such a situation, particularly given a series of newly created institutions aimed at enhancing political dialogue and mitigating conflict. This chapter illustrates the workings of a young semi-presidential democracy in practice, by discussing how political forces and institutional settings interact. To understand the process leading to democratic breakdown in Niger, we have to consider both the opportunities provided by the institutional framework, as well as the presence of an anti-democratic opposition with the means to enforce its preferences (the military). Semi-presidentialism contributed to democratic breakdown in Niger due to an unfortunate combination of circumstances. The electoral system led to a fragmented parliament and an unstable governing coalition. Given the constellation of political forces resulting from the transition to democracy, conflict within the dual executive provided an opportunity for a disloyal military to retake the reins of power. The role played by the military in the political transition process is an important element in explaining democratic outcomes in Niger. This is a conclusion that is applicable more broadly for African and other countries where the

106

S. Moestrup

military has been involved in politics. In a young democracy where the military has previously been politicized and control over coercive force has been an important source of political power, military autonomy is a salient component of the political context in which the governing institutions are set to operate. Since the return of Niger to democracy in 1999, it has been comforting to note that, in the face of continued serious challenges, the democratic institutions in the country appear to be slowly taking root – one major remaining concern being the ability of the government to consolidate civilian supremacy over the armed forces. In the present chapter, I will first elaborate on the dynamics of the democratic transition, notably the role played by the army, and the process of institutional choice. Thereafter follows a more detailed presentation of the institutional framework, focusing on the distribution of powers between president, prime minister and parliament. Finally, I discuss the effects of semi-presidentialism on the young Nigerien democracy, looking not only at how the chief political actors have interacted within the given institutional framework, but also at how this framework has been adapted to better reflect Nigerien political realities.

The democratic transition and regime choice From independence from France in 1960 till the 1991 National Conference (Conférence nationale), Niger had been ruled by autocratic civilian or military regimes. Niger’s first president, Hamani Diori, ran the country as an increasingly corrupt one-party regime and was overthrown by a military coup in 1974, in a context of widespread popular discontent over the regime’s handling of a serious famine (Higgott and Fuglestad 1975). For the next fifteen years, the country was ruled by a military regime. In the late 1980s, high levels of corruption and economic difficulties, compounded by austerity measures introduced within the framework of a structural adjustment programme, led to widespread popular pressure on President Saibou’s regime for political liberalization. The organization of a National Conference was the culmination of a period of political unrest, including the organization of a five-day general strike in November 1990 that paralysed the major urban centres. Previously, in February 1990, armed clashes between students and the army in Niamey had resulted in the death of at least three students, while military retaliation against Touareg attacks in the north of the country led to hundreds of deaths (Raynal 1993, 52–4). In April 1991, the national assembly (still controlled by the single party MNSD2 created by President Saibou) adopted important constitutional amendments, introducing a new semi-presidential regime. At this point, however, the opposition, dominated by the labour unions and the students’ organizations, was radicalized to the point where it was unwilling to accept anything short of the organization of a National Conference modelled on the Beninese example (Ibrahim 1994, 29).3 The preparation of the conference was a lengthy and conflict-ridden process, characterized by mutual distrust between the regime and the opposition over

Semi-presidentialism in Niger 107 group representation and the distribution of voting rights. Eventually, President Saibou, cornered by domestic and international pressure,4 gave in, issuing a decree giving the opposition majority representation in the preparatory commission for the National Conference. The military did not take an active part in the preparations, only at the last minute accepting to participate in the conference, where military representatives initially only had the status of observer delegates. Though the army along with other ‘associations’ eventually achieved the right to vote in the plenary meetings of the conference, their voting strength was to be negligible (Robinson 1994, 601, 605). The National Conference was finally convened in the capital Niamey, on 29 July 1991. Planned to last for thirty-eight days, it ended up lasting more than three months. About 1,200 people participated, as representatives of the labour unions, the students, the incumbent power, the political parties and other civil society associations. The conference declared itself autonomous and ruled that its decisions would be sovereign. President Ali Saibou was maintained as figurehead president during the transition, but was not allowed to present himself as a candidate for the upcoming presidential elections (Raynal 1993, 54–67). During the conference, the military was abundantly criticized for its role in politics, including charges of corruption and financial mismanagement, and was asked to account for past political assassinations and recent deaths during the pro-democracy demonstrations (Ibrahim 1994, 30–1).5 Two former colonels were sent to prison for their implication in the execution of a former vicepresident. More generally, there appears to have been an attempt by a majority of the participants in the conference to ‘seek to divide the armed forces’ so that they might ‘never again be able to carry out a coup d’état’ (Djibo 1993, 17).6 The participants at the conference agreed on the basic guiding principles for the elaboration of a new constitution, including the principle of a semipresidential regime form. The French Fifth Republic was an important source of inspiration. Similarly, the already existing amended constitution of April 1991, elaborated under the former military regime, served as an important reference (Raynal 1993, 73). The conference elaborated the terms of reference for a transition government that was to prepare a draft constitution and to organize the first multi-party, democratic elections. The constitutional commission that was put in place by the transition government was composed of representatives from political parties, unions and human rights associations, and presided over by a judge (Issa Abdourhamane 1996, 34). The transition government successfully organized the referendum for the adoption of a new constitution on 26 December 1992. The Nigerien National Conference was genuinely ‘revolutionary’. Opposition participants dominated the preparation and the conduct of the conference procedures, seeing the conference as ‘a strategy of regime change’ (Robinson 1994, 603). This is in stark contrast to the National Conference that took place in neighbouring Mali, starting on the exact same date, but lasting only two weeks, under the supervision of the interim military government that had toppled the authoritarian regime of Moussa Traoré. Interestingly, despite this difference,

108

S. Moestrup

roughly similar constitutional frameworks were adopted in Niger and Mali, due largely to the influence of French tradition.7 Some of the articles in the Nigerien and Malian constitutions are almost identical with the French constitution, word for word. It is remarkable that the new democratic constitutions in Africa in general are more similar to foreign models than were their previous ones, notably in the case of countries having adopted the French model (Kader Mahamadou and Dodo 1995, 145). This can possibly be explained, in the case of the francophone countries, by a desire to avoid the autocratic excesses of variously ‘reinforced’ presidential regimes.8 Given the considerable political and cultural influence France still exercises over its former colonies, the French semi-presidential regime was available as a convenient model providing an element of ‘hedging’ (Johannsen 2000, 60–2) against the uncertain future facing political actors at the moment of the political transition. Moreover, a semi-presidential regime allows for a sharing of posts among coalition partners, thus facilitating coalition building amongst democratic forces hoping to topple an authoritarian regime. This is advanced as a reason for the adoption of this regime type in Niger (Issa Abdourhamane 1996, 80–1). Unfortunately, democracy did not survive at the first attempt. The military came back to power in a coup in January 1996, led by General Ibrahim Mainassara Baré, who was subsequently killed in yet another coup in 1999. After the return to democracy in 1999, there was much debate over which type of constitution to adopt this time, having had poor experiences both with gridlock ensuing from a semi-presidential regime, and with authoritarian excesses under the presidential regime of General Baré (Amnesty International 1999). The CDS,9 the party of former President Mahamane Ousmane, and the RDP10 (a party created by supporters of General Baré) argued in favour of a presidential system, while the MNSD and the PNDS11 (a smaller, leftist-leaning party) favoured a semi-presidential system. The military junta that had replaced Baré’s regime gave the main political parties a three-day ultimatum to reach an agreement in June 1999. The parties finally agreed on suggesting the adoption of a semi-presidential regime, with important amendments compared to the constitution from 1992, as discussed below. The new constitution was adopted by referendum in July 1999 (BBC Monitoring Africa, 21 July, 1999).

Constitutional provisions and electoral law The 1992 constitution was replaced by the 1999 constitution, as Niger returned to democracy following two coups d’état. Though still semi-presidential, the 1999 constitution has attempted to address some of the perceived weaknesses of the 1992 constitution that contributed to political gridlock. Both constitutions will be discussed in the following, as will the effects of the electoral system given its contribution to government instability.

Semi-presidentialism in Niger 109 Constitutional provisions Both the 1992 and the 1999 constitutions provide for a president as head of state and a prime minister as head of government. The president is elected for a fiveyear period and can only be re-elected once. A presidential candidacy had to be supported by a political party according to the electoral law governing the 1993 elections, but now independent candidates are accepted. The president is not required to suspend party membership subsequent to being elected, but in an attempt to make the president more of a head of state and less the leader of a party, the 1999 constitution stipulates that the president may not be the chairman of a party or a member of its bureau (Article 44). Similarly, the 1999 constitution specifies that the president is to be the guarantor of a ‘neutral’ central administration (Article 39), and has in general to be ‘above the political parties’ (Article 35). The president appoints the prime minister. Though the president’s choice of prime minister was not explicitly required to be approved by parliament in the 1992 constitution, in practice parliament’s ability to topple the government through a vote of no confidence implied that the president had to choose a prime minister able to muster the backing of parliament. President Ousmane was to learn this the hard way when parliament voted out the prime minister and cabinet he had appointed in 1995 through a vote of no confidence. The 1999 constitution now stipulates that the president is to appoint the prime minister from a list of three names submitted by the majority in parliament, whether this is a one-party majority or a coalition (Article 45). At the prime minister’s suggestion, the president appoints the other members of cabinet. The 1999 constitution specifies that the president can dismiss the prime minister only upon submission by the prime minister of the resignation of the whole government. The government (prime minister and cabinet) determines national policies and is responsible to parliament. Parliament may topple the government through a no-confidence vote, adopted by simple majority. The president may dissolve parliament after consultation with the prime minister and with the leader of parliament; while the 1992 constitution stipulated that a one-year period had to elapse before parliament could be dissolved again, this provision has now been increased to two years. The president presides over cabinet meetings, where, amongst others, appointments to leading posts in the ministries and in the regional administrations are decided. To address the question of who sets the agenda for cabinet meetings, which became an important issue of contention and conflict between President Ousmane and Prime Minister Hama Amadou, the 1999 constitution stipulates that president and prime minister have to agree on the agenda (Article 46). To further address the disagreements that plagued the cohabitation between Ousmane and Hama Amadou, the 1999 constitution specifies that in the event of cohabitation, defence and foreign policy matters have to be managed jointly by the president and the prime minister; and the two have to agree on the appointment of the ministers of defence and of foreign affairs (Article 65).12

110 S. Moestrup The government (prime minister and cabinet) shares the right to introduce legislation with parliament. The president and the government share the right to initiate judicial review of legislation. The president may veto laws (send them back for a second reading). According to the 1992 constitution, parliament could override a presidential veto only by a two-thirds majority (Article 49); this requirement has now been reduced to an absolute majority of the members of parliament (Article 47). Presidential acts, other than those regarding emergency measures, the calling of national referenda or the dissolution of parliament, have to be countersigned by the prime minister. The president has the right to subject issues to a national referendum, except proposals for constitutional amendments. Parliament and president share the right to propose constitutional amendments that now have to be adopted by a majority of three-quarters of the members of parliament (against a two-thirds majority according to the 1992 constitution); subsequently constitutional amendments must be approved by a national referendum, except if the amendment was approved by a majority of four-fifths of the members of parliament (Article 135). The powers of parliament have been strengthened by the 1999 constitution compared to those of the president. Presidential vetoes can now be overturned by a single majority of the members of parliament, and the president can dissolve parliament only once over a period of two years. The role of the president vis-à-vis the military has also been addressed more specifically in the present constitution. The president is still head of the armed forces, as he was in the 1992 constitution; however, he is to be assisted by a defence council (Conseil Supérieur de la Défense Nationale). Notably, appointments in the army are to be made upon proposals from the defence minister, and after consultation with the defence council, in an attempt to depoliticize military appointments (Article 52). While it would appear that, overall, the president’s powers have been reduced, compared to those of other key political players, this is not necessarily the case in situations of cohabitation. In the event of cohabitation, the new constitution thus ensures the president a minimum of influence over the setting of the political agenda in general, and over defence and foreign policy in particular. This clarification of the respective roles of president and prime minister in the case of cohabitation was clearly necessary, given the political conflict and stalemate that gripped Niger during the cohabitation between President Ousmane and Prime Minister Hama Amadou in 1995. The 1999 constitution also tries to provide mechanisms of conflict resolution, in the case of political stalemate, by providing for the creation of a republican council (Conseil de la République).13 In the case of disagreements over the interpretation of the constitution, another newly created instance is the Constitutional Court. The members of this court are elected by a method aimed at better ensuring their political independence14 than was the case for the previous constitutional chamber of the Supreme Court included in the 1992 constitution. As will be discussed in more detail below, the Supreme Court was amply involved in resolving disputes between the prime minister and president over the extent of their respective powers, during the conflictual cohabitation of 1995. The

Semi-presidentialism in Niger 111 decisions taken by the court appear to have been somewhat biased in favour of the prime minister, whose political standing was close to that of most of the members of the court. Another newly created conflict mitigation institution, outside of the framework of the constitution, is the Conseil National de Dialogue Politique (CNDP), a consultative group for political parties and other social actors providing a venue for dialogue and collaboration. Created in 2004, the membership of the CNDP includes all registered parties as well as representatives of government and civil society. Meeting ahead of ordinary parliamentary sessions, the CNDP is presided over by the prime minister. The CNDP has provided an important framework for the achievement of consensual approaches to sensitive issues such as electoral reform (Baudais and Sborgi 2006, 162). Electoral code and electoral results Legislative and presidential elections took place in February and March 1993 which were deemed free and fair by foreign observers. The level of voter turnout was surprisingly low: it dropped from 57 per cent for the December 1992 referendum on the constitution to between 33 and 35 per cent for the legislative and the presidential elections. The low voter participation is linked to the timing of the elections with regards to the seasonal out-migration prevalent in Niger’s rural areas, to lack of interest on the part of the majority of the population in what appeared to be political debates far removed from their daily realities, and to the on-going Touareg rebellion in the north (Raynal 1993, 72, 89–92). The electoral system adopted by the National Conference was proportional representation with highest remainder, a system that tends to favour smaller parties.15 In the legislative elections, nine parties won representation in the National Assembly, with a six-party coalition forming to obtain a majority. The three major parties in this coalition were the CDS, the PNDS and the ANDP,16 together controlling forty-six of the eighty-three parliamentary seats. The MNSD, the party founded by incumbent President Ali Saibou, dominated the parliamentary opposition with twenty-nine seats (ibid., 283–5). Backed by the six-party coalition, the candidate of the CDS, Mahamane Ousmane, won the second round of the presidential elections with 54 per cent of the votes against Tandja Mamadou, the candidate of the MNSD and a retired colonel. Now, for the first time, Niger had a president belonging to the majority Hausa group, all previous presidents having been Djerma-Songhay, the ethnic group which the French colonial power had promoted to leadership positions in the army and administrative structures (Gervais 1997, 88). The question of ethnic divisions should not be exaggerated, however, given that coalition building among parties took place across ethnic boundaries (Issa Abdourhamane 1996, 43).17 In 1999, in order to avoid the party fragmentation of the previous democratic parliaments,18 the formula for allocating seats within a system of proportional representation was changed from the one used in 1993 and 1995: from using a formula of greatest remainder, which tends to favour smaller parties, to that of

112

S. Moestrup

highest average (the d’Hondt method), which on the contrary tends to favour larger parties (Di Lorenzo and Sborgi 2001, 471). As a result, only five parties won representation in the 2001 parliamentary elections.19 This number increased to six parties and coalition partners plus a small number of independents following the 2004 elections, as the number of seats was increased from eighty-three to 113 (Baudais and Sborgi 2006, 167).

The effects of semi-presidentialism In the present section, I will give an overview of political developments in Niger since the first democratic transition. Emphasis will be on political conflicts and on the effects of the institutional framework. The role of the army will also be discussed. The young Nigerien democracy was faced with many initial difficulties: severe economic problems, social unrest initiated by unions and students, and troubles with the Touaregs in the north. However, two factors combined to condemn the democratic regime that issued from the National Conference: gridlock within the executive and military resentment. Niger suffered a breakdown in democracy in 1996 reflected in the Freedom House (FH) scores20 of the country shown in Table 7.1. With the return to democracy in 1999, FH scores improved again, reaching an average of three in 2004. In 1993, the new government had to deal immediately with severe economic problems, in part attributable to the National Conference and the limits it had Table 7.1 Niger: Freedom House scores, 1993–2004a Year

PR

CL

Status

1993 1994b 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004

3 3 3 7 7 7 5 4 4 4 4 3

4 5 5 5 5 5 5 4 4 4 4 3

PF PF PF NF NF NF PF PF PF PF PF PF

Source: Freedom House (2005). Notes a PR Political rights, CL Civil liberties, Status Overall freedom rating (NF Not free, PF Partly free, F Free). b Both in 1994 and 1995, Niger scored 3 for its political rights and 5 for its civil liberties, on the Freedom House index. The poor performance in terms of civil liberties is related to the excessive use of force by government security forces against Touareg rebels and Arab militias (US Department of State 1995, 1996).

Semi-presidentialism in Niger 113 imposed on the transitional government to undertake economic reform, under the illusion that large sums of money embezzled by the previous regime could be recovered. In 1993, public revenues were only half of government expenditures. The January 1994 devaluation of the CFA franc further aggravated the situation, with labour unions demanding salary increases in the order of 50–70 per cent and initiating a series of strikes that ultimately paralysed the economy. To crown it all, economic and social instability led the World Bank to break off loan negotiations, thus depriving the government of much-needed external financing (Gervais 1997, 97–9, 102–3). Economic difficulties and social discontent put a severe stress on the governing coalition. The PNDS, the party of Prime Minister Mahamadou Issoufou, was the most ideologically committed party, with many of its members having close affiliation to the students’ movement and the teachers’ union (Ibrahim 1994, 33). Disagreements started to emerge between President Ousmane and Prime Minister Issoufou over policy issues as well as over the distribution of prerogatives between the two executives, notably with regards to political nominations. Internal tensions in the government culminated with the prime minister stepping down on 28 September 1994 and withdrawing his party from the coalition. Ideological commitments to socialism aside, the PNDS entered a new majority coalition with the MNSD, shortly thereafter toppling the new prime minister and government nominated by the president through a vote of no confidence (Issa Abdourhamane 1996, 15–17). In response, President Ousmane dissolved parliament and called fresh legislative elections in January 1995 that his coalition, however, lost. While acknowledging that the new prime minister must be drawn from the majority coalition (though the constitution did not specifically state so), the president tried to impose his choice of person. He appointed a prominent member of the MNSD of his own choice, Amadou Cissé, who as a result was excluded from his party within two days. In February 1995, Cissé’s government was toppled by another vote of no confidence, and this time President Ousmane bowed to the pressure and appointed the Secretary General of the MNSD, Hama Amadou, as the new prime minister (Africa Report 1995, 6–7). The scene was now set for a painful period of cohabitation between a president and a prime minister of different political orientations. Conflict centred around control over the political agenda, notably over the procedures for holding cabinet meetings; appointments in the local and central administration, and presidential vetoes (Issa Abdourhamane 1996, 24–30). The constitutional chamber of the Supreme Court was requested to intervene on several occasions to clarify the respective domains of responsibility of the president and the prime minister. Contradictory pronouncements of the court and political nominations of its members contributed, however, to cast doubt on its real autonomy of action. Its pronouncements tended to be couched in political terms, and generally favoured the new majority (ibid., 51–7). The central issue of contention was whether cohabitation meant a shift in power from president to prime minister (as the majority supporting the prime

114

S. Moestrup

minister claimed) or whether it meant the co-management of power between prime minister and president (as the president and his supporters claimed). The president, based on his interpretation of the constitutional text, requested the participation of parties of the presidential coalition in the cabinet. The prime minister refused, however, and formed a cabinet composed only of parties from the new parliamentary majority. When requested by the prime minister to resolve the issue, the Supreme Court ruled in favour of the latter, emphasizing that in a semi-presidential regime, in a situation of cohabitation, power shifts from president to prime minister (Tankoano 1996, 93–6). As pointed out by Tankoano, the court did not take into consideration special presidential prerogatives in foreign and defence policy, which the constitution arguably made provision for (ibid., 97). It is noteworthy that, despite the gridlock and political stalemate affecting the executive, the government of Prime Minister Hama Amadou still managed to negotiate the signing of an agreement with the IMF on an Enhanced Structural Adjustment Facility. An important element facilitating this agreement was the government’s progress in the area of fiscal reform. The official signature should have taken place in February 1996, but was postponed due to a military coup in January (Grégoire and Olivier de Sardan 1996, 188). This points to the fact that although political gridlock did hamper some government actions, such as the appointment of new heads of public enterprises and in the central administration, substantive work still went ahead. Despite disappointing rains in 1995, the government of Hama Amadou largely met its targets in terms of reduction of fiscal and external current account deficits, and of bringing down the inflation rate (World Bank 1996, 23). Moreover, the government managed to conclude negotiations with Touareg rebels and sign a peace accord in April 1995. As the period of twelve months since the last parliamentary elections was coming to an end, in January 1996, Niamey was rife with rumours of a coming dissolution of parliament by the president.21 In anticipation of a possible dissolution, the prime minister asked the Supreme Court to clarify whether the president had the power to appoint a new interim government following a dissolution of the National Assembly. The court ruled in his favour that a dissolution of parliament did not enable the president to replace the government. It would appear that the president of the National Assembly, on his part, had prepared a request to the Supreme Court to impeach the president, in case the latter would go ahead and dissolve parliament (Grégoire and Olivier de Sardan 1996, 118). The stand-off between the president and the prime minister seriously discredited the democratic government and opened an opportunity for an authoritarian reversal.22 The political tensions resulting from the cohabitation finally provided an excuse for the military to intervene on the political scene: the military took power in a coup on 27 January 1996, justifying its action with the supposed threat of a civil war. Some international observers have claimed that, indeed, civil strife could have been feared (ibid.). However, in the donor community, few if any (including French diplomats) believed that a civil war had been in the making.23 Neither the toppled political leaders nor the unions or student organi-

Semi-presidentialism in Niger 115 zations called upon their militants to defend the young democracy, as had been the case during a mutiny in 1992. It is evident that had the regime been a purely presidential regime or a parliamentary one, an important source of political conflict would have been eliminated: the continuous stand-off between president and prime minister over the extent of their respective powers. In a presidential system, there could still have been conflict between a president and a parliament from opposing political sides. Given the sidelining of the military during the transition period, this could similarly have meant a golden opportunity for the armed forces to retake power. Nevertheless, the personal confrontations between president and prime minister and their seemingly lowly bickering over the perquisites of power were a particularly disheartening spectacle. Had Niger had a parliamentary regime (an unlikely choice, given the history of Niger as a French colony), the fragmented parliament resulting from the highly proportional electoral system would still have been conducive to unstable coalitions and frequent changes of government. But at least Niger would not have had to cope with the additional problems of cohabitation. The military government rapidly proceeded to organize a national referendum on a new presidential constitution, elaborated by a constitutional commission put in place by the junta.24 Similarly, a new electoral code was adopted, introducing a majoritarian electoral system. Both institutional changes were made in an attempt to address the institutional deficiencies that had plagued the young Nigerien democracy (Ibrahim 1999). However, it rapidly became abundantly clear that the leader of the military junta, General Ibrahim Mainassara Baré (former army chief of staff), had every intention of remaining in power, getting himself elected president in July 1996 in fraudulent elections where the government impeded the observation of the final vote count.25 Freedom House scores for 1996–98 deteriorated considerably to 7 (the worst possible score) for political rights and 5 for civil liberties. Having reneged on his promise to withdraw from politics, General Baré proceeded to consolidate power. All attempts at public manifestations of dissent were quelled by the military. Not surprisingly, a party created to support Baré, UNIRD,26 won an absolute majority (fifty-two out of eighty-three seats) in the November 1996 parliamentary elections; the remainder of the seats went to members of the ANDP (the only existing party to have agreed to participate in the electoral process), and to independents (FIDH 1997, 21). The three other major political parties, the MNSD, PNDS and CDS, refused, however, to be co-opted by Baré’s government, and continued to denounce the illegitimacy of the government, despite frequent arrests of leaders and supporters. Baré’s government was rapidly weakened by internal dissent in the army. Internal rivalries were fuelled by competition over access to public resources, notably control over former public enterprises in the process of being privatized, following the terms of a structural adjustment programme signed with the Bretton Woods institutions in June 1996 (Issa Abdourhamane 1999, 92). Concomitantly, the government incurred pay arrears due to army soldiers, which resulted in several mutinies (Mwakikagile 2001, 134–7). Aborted local elections

116

S. Moestrup

in February 1999 resulted in steadily mounting political opposition and tensions that coincided with increasing internal opposition against Baré in the army. The double process of political opposition and internal dissent in the army finally culminated on 9 April 1999 with the assassination of Baré by elements of his presidential guard and the overthrow of his government. That day, the minister of the interior had been scheduled to announce further restrictive measures against the leaders of the opposition (Issa Abdourhamane 1999, 88). Instead, Baré was killed at the airport by the leader of the presidential guard unit, Major Dauda Mallam Wanké, and his men.27 Wanké assumed the post as interim head of state, as leader of a junta composed almost exclusively of majors and captains (Africa Confidential 1999). The junta put in place a civilian government with the participation of all the major political parties, and proceeded to set up a commission in charge of elaborating proposals for a new constitution. This time the army stood by its word and let the presidential and parliamentary elections held in October and November 1999 proceed freely. Members of the junta did not compete in the elections. Tandja Mamadou, the leader of the MNSD and a retired army colonel, won the elections. He faced the leader of the PNDS, Mamadou Issoufou, in the second round. Interestingly, the PNDS, the most socialist-leaning party with connections to students’ and workers’ unions, allied with the RDP, the heir to the Baré regime, for the second round of presidential elections, while the CDS allied with the MNSD, its arch-enemy during the difficult period of cohabitation in 1995 (Di Lorenzo and Sborgi 2001, 472). This shows the limits not only of ideological, but also of ethnic28 and historical divisions between parties. The MNSD won a relative majority of seats in the parliamentary elections and gained an absolute majority with its coalition partner, the CDS. The PNDS, RDP and ANDP formed the opposition, till the ANDP later joined the majority. Following pre-election agreements, former President Ousmane, leader of the CDS, became chairman of the National Assembly, while former Prime Minister Hama Amadou (who had been prime minister under the cohabitation) became prime minister again (ibid., 474–6). Since 1999, Niger has been characterized by remarkable political stability. Three attempted votes of no confidence initiated by the PNDS and its allies in parliament have been unsuccessful. The 2004 presidential and legislative elections reconfirmed the tandem Tandja-Hama Amadou as president and prime minister, respectively. Most notably, the 2004 elections were the first since the democratic transition not to have been called early: both the president and parliament served their constitutionally mandated full terms (Baudais and Sborgi 2006, 161). The PNDS is now the only major party remaining in opposition, as its former ally, the RDP, has joined the governing majority coalition. Though invited to join a government of national unity in January 2005, the PNDS refused with the argument that ‘democracy needs opposition’ (ibid., 167). Should cohabitation result again, for example following the next presidential and parliamentary elections scheduled for 2009, the changes made to the constitution, combined with the awareness of the dangers of political gridlock, make it

Semi-presidentialism in Niger 117 likely that cohabitation would be less conflict-ridden. Democratization is a process, and as such it is also a learning process. Through trial and error, the constitutional framework of the young Nigerien democracy has been improved, notably to address the issue of the division of power between president and prime minister in a situation of cohabitation. The chief political actors, who have remained remarkably identical, have hopefully also learned from the 1996 coup. The creation in 2004 of the Conseil National de Dialogue Politique (CNDP), a consultative group for political parties and other social actors, has provided a further venue for dialogue and collaboration that has facilitated the resolution of contentious issues (ibid., 162). Most troublesome for the long-term prospects for democratic survival in Niger is the role of the military. The 1999 constitution (Article 141) and a law adopted by parliament in January 2000 have given amnesty to the coup makers of 1996 and 1999. However, the two coups and the interim period of military government left deep divisions in the military, between pro-Baré and pro-Wanké factions (Davis and Kossomi 2001, 85). Following the 1999 coup, senior officers close to Baré were transferred and refused military command posts. Resentment amongst Baré supporters resulted in June 2000 in the kidnapping of one army officer (former spokesman for the 1999 junta), and the planned kidnapping of several others (BBC Summary of World Broadcasts, 16 June 2000). Attempted mutinies in August 2002 in the far eastern regions of the country and in the capital led the prime minister to talk of a concerted effort at overthrowing the government (AFP, 22 August 2002). Factionalism within the army appears centred around ‘competition for scarce resources and limited senior positions in the military hierarchy’ (Davis and Kossomi 2001, 85), with the political opposition supporting dissatisfied factions within the armed forces, thereby further fuelling the politicization of the military (AFP, 12 August 2002). American military aid to Niger within the framework of first the Pan-Sahel Initiative and now the Trans-Saharan Counter Terrorism Initiative (ICG 2005) has served to give the Nigerien government a welcome breathing space since 2003. US-financed training and equipment, as well as assistance with the deployment of Nigerien troops to Côte d’Ivoire in 2003, provide new avenues for soldiers within an otherwise cash-strapped military. Should these sources of foreign funding dry up, it is not clear, however, that civilian control over the military has been firmly established by a ‘government that has experienced chronic challenges by factions within its own military and secret police’ (Charlick 2004, 102). Charlick (2004) also points to the challenges posed by rising militant Islamism in the border regions with northern Nigeria, though the present government appears determined to control extremist tendencies (ICG 2005, 21). Should the civilian government succeed in reducing instability in the military over the longer term, prospects for democratic survival appear brighter than before the 1996 coup. The constitutional framework has, as mentioned, been improved considerably; similarly, the new electoral law appears to have been a wise choice, allowing the representation of a fair number of parties in parliament, but eliminating the smallest. Political parties weathered the three years of

118

S. Moestrup

military rule under Baré, and the main parties have so far shown resistance in the face of internal personality conflicts. The combined effects of institutional incentives and political learning would hopefully ensure that democratic institutions in Niger, if given the chance, gradually take root. What remains disturbing are the continued high levels of poverty (63 per cent of the population living below the national poverty line), illiteracy (86 per cent) and child mortality (26 per cent of children dying before the age of five), to name but a few of the many development challenges Niger continues to face. These poor development indicators combine with the dependence of Nigerien agriculture on sparse rainfall to render the population chronically vulnerable to food shortages (34 per cent of the population are undernourished).29 This became most painfully evident in 2005, when poor rainfall, locust attacks and reduced employment opportunities for migrant labour due to conflict in Côte d’Ivoire combined to cause famine in the country. The government was moreover widely criticized for its handling of the crisis. President Tandja called reports of famine ‘false propaganda’ and accused the opposition of exploiting the situation for political gain (BBC 2005). Contrary to Hamani Diori’s authoritarian regime in 1974, however, Tandja’s government did survive the crisis.

Conclusion In the early 1990s Niger underwent a political transition driven from below, with the active participation of unions and student organizations. The democratic gains were, however, quickly overturned by a military coup and a return to an authoritarian regime from 1996 to 1999. A conflictual cohabitation between a president and prime minister from opposite political sides provided a perfect excuse for a military come-back by armed forces harbouring resentment over their alienation from the National Conference. The new democratic authorities in Niger had appeared to be under the illusion that a popular ‘revolution’ had forever displaced the military at the helm of the state. It is striking that donors were similarly blind to the necessity of associating the armed forces to the efforts of strengthening the young democracy. For example, a report issued following a democratic governance assessment made at the request of USAID in 1994, while emphasizing the role of civil society and political parties in the furthering of democracy, did not have one entry dealing with the role of the military (Charlick et al. 1994). The case of Niger illustrates the point that free and fair elections obviously do not suffice for democracy to take root if a key player such as the military does not support the new regime form. However, in Niger the vulnerability of the young democracy was increased by the institutional framework adopted: a semipresidential regime in combination with proportional representation. Following the period of authoritarian reversal in 1996–99, Niger has a revised semi-presidential constitution and a modified proportional electoral system. The institutional framework has clearly been improved, notably to explicitly address the distribution of powers between president and prime minis-

Semi-presidentialism in Niger 119 ter in the event of cohabitation. Creative ways have also been found to enhance dialogue between political parties and other actors outside of parliament. Freedom House scores have recently improved to an average of 3 and there has been an upward trend in voter participation in the 2004 elections. A major point of concern remains the ability of the government to firmly establish civilian control over the military. Democratization is a learning process where democratic survival depends more on the willingness of key actors to adapt their behaviour than on external constraints such as high poverty and illiteracy rates. Niger, ranked at the bottom of UNDP’s Human Development index, is a good illustration of this point. Unfortunately, Niger is also proof that not all good things go together, showing persistent and even increasing poverty rates, with GDP per capita 11 per cent lower in 2004 compared to 1991 (World Bank 2005a). Most starkly, the 2005 famine undermines Amartya Sen’s famous dictum that famines don’t happen in democracies (Sen 1999). Sen’s dictum should perhaps be amended to indicate that democratic regimes are more likely to survive famine than authoritarian ones, though that remains to be seen in the long run.

Notes 1 This chapter builds on chapter 3 in Moestrup (2004) and on Moestrup (1999). 2 Mouvement National pour la Société de Développement. 3 For a general discussion of the holding of National Conferences as a distinctive African process of political transition, see Bratton and Van de Walle (1997). Benin held the first of these conferences, in 1990, and the Beninese model was subsequently followed in ten other countries. Some have argued that France played a capital role in the Beninese transition, talking of ‘Paristrojka’ (Raynal 1991, 24). Without doubt, the opinion of France was solicited and played a certain role in the choice and design of a National Conference modelled on the experience of the Convention d’états généraux of the French revolution (Robinson 1994). However, the different conferences resulted in very different outcomes, reflecting differences in local political context. 4 Notably donor reticence in financing government services that stopped functioning due to lack of funds by May 1991 (Robinson 1994, 601). 5 For a military point of view, that the conference should have made a distinction ‘between the military leaders involved in politics (who could be blamed if necessary) and the institution that the armed forces represent that hadn’t benefited from seventeen years of military regimes’, see Djibo (1993, 13). Tahirou Djibo was a lieutenantcolonel in the army of Niger. 6 Emphasis in the original. The author was a participant in the National Conference, responsible for drafting the opening speech for the armed forces at the conference (Djibo 1993, 13). 7 For more on the comparison between Mali and Niger, see Moestrup (1999). 8 In francophone West Africa, constitutional amendments to the post-independence constitutions had contributed to ‘the establishment of a form of presidentialism even more powerful than the original Gaullist model’ (Le Vine 1997, 187). 9 Convention Démocratique et Sociale. 10 Ralliement pour la Démocratie et le Progrès. 11 Parti Nigerien pour la Démocratie et le Socialisme. 12 It is interesting to note the need felt by the constituents to specify this power sharing in the domains of foreign and defence policy, which has been a gentlemen’s

120

13 14 15

16 17 18 19 20 21 22

23 24

25

26 27 28 29

S. Moestrup

ment in France. This points to the fact that the constitutional model imported from France cannot be expected a priori to work the same way in young democracies as it does in France. Mandatory members are, amongst others, the president, the chairman of the National Assembly, the prime minister, the presidents of the Supreme Court and of the Constitutional Court, and the chairman of the national human rights commission. One member is appointed by the president, one by the National Assembly, two by the association of judges, one by the lawyers’ association, one by the faculty of law at the University of Niamey and one by the human rights associations (Article 104). In systems of proportional representation, seats are distributed based on the relative number of votes received by each party. However, there can be important differences as to how this relative number is calculated. In the formula of greatest remainder, seats are allocated based on the average number of votes required to win a seat (a quota); the party with the greatest remainder of votes after the quotas have been filled wins the last seat. In the d’Hondt formula, on the other hand, seats are allocated sequentially to the party that would have the highest average number of votes for each of the seats it receives. Examples of how each method works are found at the web site of the Administration and Cost of Elections Project, www.aceproject.org. Alliance Nigérienne pour la Démocratie et le Progrès. For an overview of the regional and ethnic bases of the main political parties, see Charlick et al. (1994, 105). Nine parties had won representation both in 1993 and 1995. For the distribution of seats following the 1993, 1995 and 1999 elections, see Di Lorenzo and Sborgi (2001, 474). Nine parties would again have been represented, had the formula of the greatest remainder been used (Di Lorenzo and Sborgi 2001, 475). Freedom House assigns values of 1–7 for political and civil rights, respectively. Higher scores indicate lower democratic performance. Personal observations as representative of DANIDA (Danish International Development Agency) in Niamey, Niger (during the period 1994–97). As an eye-witness to the coup (our house was located within half a mile of the barracks of the presidential guards) I was struck by cheers in the street from ordinary citizens that followed immediately after it became apparent that the government had been toppled in a coup. Personal communications in Niamey with donor and diplomatic representatives, January and February 1996. The preparatory commission, staffed primarily by lawyers and judges, had elaborated two constitutional drafts: one semi-presidential, the other presidential. The Constitutional Assembly adopted the presidential proposal. During discussions at the Constitutional Assembly, whose independence of action has been questioned given military intimidation, the larger political parties, the MNSD and the CDS, supported a presidential constitution and a majoritarian electoral code, while the smaller PNDS argued in favour of a semi-presidential constitution and an electoral system of proportional representation (Issa Abdourhamane 1996, 79–80). Personal observations and communications as international observer on the occasion of the presidential elections in Niamey, 7–8 July 1996. See also FIDH (1997, 12–13), the post-election report elaborated by the Federation Internationale des Ligues des Droits de l’Homme. L’Union Nationale des Indépendants pour le Renouveau Démocratique. Conflicting accounts of events surrounding the coup, which was described by the prime minister as an ‘unfortunate accident’, can be found in Amnesty International (2000). The MNSD has traditionally been Djerma dominated, while the CDS has been associated with the Hausa. Figures in this paragraph are from UNDP (2005).

8

Semi-presidentialism and the preservation of ambiguity in post-war Mozambique Carrie Manning

This chapter argues that semi-presidentialism in Mozambique has had minimal independent impact on the nature of politics and governance there. Instead, it mirrors underlying patterns of inter-elite relationships. In particular, it reflects a degree of mistrust and polarization between the two major parties and former belligerents, the ruling Frelimo party and the former armed opposition group Renamo. The semi-presidential arrangement that holds in Mozambique today was a product of a threefold transition from war to peace, from state-centred to market economy, and from single-party rule. It is the product of grudging compromise by both major parties, and is perhaps acceptable to both because it helps to sustain a level of ambiguity regarding at least the perception of executive dominance. The best way to see this is first to set out the context in which today’s constitution, promulgated in 1990, emerged, and then to examine the failure of efforts to reform that constitution, moving it toward a less presidentialist type, in 1998. It should also be understood that the position of prime minister emerged under single-party rule, as part of the first transfer of power in independent Mozambique. After the dominant, charismatic, and popular first president of Mozambique, Samora Machel, was killed in a plane crash, Joaquim Chissano emerged to replace him, and the position of prime minister was created for the first time. The role of the prime minister then was to co-ordinate the activities of government, and perhaps also to help provide balanced representation of different tendencies within the party. There is not space here to provide a detailed treatment of the internal dynamics and divisions of the Frelimo party, and I will not attempt to offer one. The key point is that, given Frelimo’s longtime dominance of Mozambique’s political system, both before and after the transition to multi-party politics, the actions of party decision makers must be understood in large part as a response to internal party dynamics. This includes the choice of political institutions.1 Finally, as I discuss in the second section of the chapter, there is some question as to whether Mozambique really falls within the category of ‘semipresidentialism’.

122

C. Manning

Constitution-writing in independent Mozambique Historical background In this section, we briefly review Mozambique’s constitutional history and consider the political dynamics, strategic calculations, and institutional inheritance that helped to produce the 1990 constitution, which enshrined a strongly presidential form of semi-presidential rule. The Frelimo party had come to power in 1975 having waged an armed struggle against Portuguese colonial rule that had been informed by revolutionary Marxist rhetoric.2 During the independence struggle, competing tendencies already existed within the party. One was inclined toward a Marxist-inspired strategy of total social and economic transformation, in addition to political independence. The other sought the more limited aims of political independence, with the extension to all Mozambicans of the political, social, and economic rights and privilege previously limited to Portuguese settlers and designated assimilados (Cabaço 1995; Manning 2002a). By 1977, the more revolutionary wing had won out within the party. At its Third Party Congress in that year, Frelimo declared itself a Marxist–Leninist vanguard party. Agriculture was proclaimed as the base, and industry the ‘dynamizing factor’, of economic development. Large-scale industry was nationalized beginning in 1977 (Frelimo 1977). As private commercial activity was also outlawed, the government set up a network of ‘people’s shops’, where consumer goods could be purchased at low fixed prices. Organized religion was suppressed, with religious leaders and their followers subject to harassment and imprisonment. All schools, including those run by the religious missions, were taken over by the state. Private law and private medical practices were outlawed, and land and rental property were nationalized. Family or subsistence agriculture was completely neglected by the state until 1984 (and still inadequately addressed for a long time thereafter), and people were encouraged instead to join co-operatives, move to communal villages, or work on state farms. The identification of the party as a ‘Marxist–Leninist vanguard party’ also had implications for the division of authority within the government itself. On paper, the sovereign power of the state rested with the People’s Assembly. In reality, authority was located within the highest structures of Frelimo, its Central Committee and Political Commission, and with the President of the Republic, who was both head of state and chief executive. And as Carrilho notes, since the presidency was the first state organ created, initially the executive assumed powers of administration and legislation – prior to the first elections to the Popular Assembly. Even after the Popular Assembly was formally invested, power remained concentrated in the executive. Thus the locus of political authority was centralized in one person who was head of state, chief executive, and leader of the ruling party. The charismatic, interventionist style of Mozambique’s first president, Samora Machel, only served to reinforce the strength of the presidency vis-à-vis the rest of govern-

Semi-presidentialism in Mozambique

123

ment. The office of prime minister was added in 1986, after President Joaquim Chissano was chosen by the party to replace Samora Machel, following Machel’s untimely death in a plane crash. The office served to co-ordinate the work of the other government ministers, and was wholly subordinated to the office of the president (Carrilho 1992). The basis of national unity was to be class solidarity, embodied in the notion of ‘people’s power’. People’s power, the organized form of administration for the masses, overcomes and destroys regional, racial, and religious divisions and is not divisible by ethnic and racial groups, by regions or provinces. People’s power is unitary and not pluralistic and the power of the working class is directed by its party, Frelimo. (Spectator 1982, 32) The strategy failed. The state proved utterly incapable of replacing the social and economic structures that it had eliminated in its quest to remake Mozambican society and economy. Errors of policy conception were compounded by errors of implementation. Party and state officials, inadequately prepared for both the managerial and ideological demands of Frelimo’s ambitious transformative project, often contributed to discontent with the ruling party’s policies, through clumsy implementation and outright abuses of power. All of this was exacerbated by latent ethno-regional tensions. In particular, many administrative officials from the south were resented in central and northern areas, as the south had long been perceived in these areas as seeking to dominate the rest of the country (Manning 2002b). Over time, the relationship between state and society developed into one of confrontation – between a state that had identified, in its view, the one true path to development and national unity, and society, which the state appeared to regard as a mostly well-meaning and supportive mass, but one sprinkled with would-be saboteurs of the state’s project. Government suspicion and harassment of groups ranging from Portuguese and other small property owners to educated Mozambicans who had not participated in the independence struggle, to religious officials and ordinary citizens who fell foul of local party officials, began to create conditions for a self-fulfilling prophecy. By the end of the 1970s, popular support for Frelimo had dropped off significantly, due to discontent with specific government policies, the collapse of the economy (not linked only to Frelimo policy, as discussed below) and to what often amounted to manifest disrespect for the law on the part of the state (Manning 2002b). The challenges were multiplied by the economic context in which Frelimo came to power. A decision by the South African government to reduce the number of immigrant miners in South Africa reduced the number of Mozambicans working in South African mines by 70 per cent between the end of 1975 and the beginning of 1978. The overwhelming majority of rural households in southern Mozambique were dependent upon wage income earned in the mines.

124

C. Manning

In addition, the reduction in labour emigration dramatically increased unemployment in Mozambique (Manning 2002b). The economic situation took yet another downturn in March 1976, when Mozambique closed its border with Rhodesia in support of the Zimbabwean independence struggle. Mozambique’s ports at Beira and Maputo had handled 80 per cent of Rhodesia’s external trade prior to independence. The loss of income to Mozambique from trade, tariffs, and tourism alone resulting from the border closure was estimated at US$550 million (Manning 2002b, 47–66). Mozambique’s dependence on primary commodity exports also hurt the new regime, as the 1974 worldwide recession brought severely reduced commodity prices. In addition, the country’s agricultural and industrial production plummeted in the wake of the post-independence mass exodus of Portuguese skilled technicians, civil servants, private farmers, and administrators, who often destroyed machinery and supplies as they departed. Rural marketing systems collapsed. From 1974 to 1976, the total value of Mozambique’s agricultural exports fell by almost half. Food shortages became common in urban areas immediately after independence. Between 1981 and 1986, national production fell by 30 per cent, per capita income was cut in half, and exports were reduced by 60 per cent. Thus after a prolonged war for independence that had imposed extreme hardship on the Mozambican population, a victorious Frelimo was forced to ask the people for still more sacrifice. The situation was made even more difficult by the fact that the promise of independence had naturally created popular expectations of improved living conditions, expectations that were not to be met. As a result, Frelimo’s calls for sacrifice and increased productivity were greeted with a wave of urban strikes – a continuation of those launched at the end of the colonial regime – by coal miners, factory workers, and students. Four hundred disgruntled members of the military, disappointed by their post-war lot, marched on Maputo in a short-lived rebellion. On top of all of this, Frelimo faced an insurgency – Renamo – supported first by Rhodesia, and then by South Africa. Economic and social collapse in the countryside helped to fuel support for Renamo, and certainly lowered the opportunity cost of joining the insurgents.3 The 1990 constitution The issue of constitutional reform arose in late 1989, after the ruling party’s Fifth Congress, when two things were becoming painfully clear to the Frelimo government: first, that the dramatic economic recovery many had hoped structural economic reform (under way since 1985) would bring was not forthcoming; and, second, that sweeping changes enacted at the party’s Fifth Congress were too little too late. At that congress, Frelimo sought to broaden its base by inviting businesspeople, religious leaders, and others who had previously been excluded from party membership to join the party. Efforts were also made to bring younger party members into leadership positions, and to seek regional

Semi-presidentialism in Mozambique

125

balance in top leadership positions. In part, the changes made at the Fifth Party Congress can be seen as an attempt to heal the rift created when Frelimo declared itself a Marxist–Leninist party in 1977. The change from a broad front to a vanguard Leninist party had alienated a considerable number of party members and put greater distance between the party leadership and those upon whom it sought to work its transformation (Frelimo 1991; Manning 1997). Frelimo was internally divided over whether to continue to pursue direct talks with Renamo, thereby offering more than simple amnesty, or whether to pursue a military resolution of the conflict, a scenario that looked increasingly unlikely to be successful. By the time the Fifth Congress met in 1989, Frelimo had granted permission for a group of religious leaders to travel to Kenya to talk with Renamo leaders about the possibility of ending the war, and they had come back with the news that Renamo wanted direct talks. Frelimo had formulated its ‘Twelve Principles for Dialogue’ with Renamo, and these were presented to Renamo in August, soon after the Fifth Congress. The war itself was bringing greater pressure to bear on the cities, and strikes and occasional urban unrest due to economic conditions made the government fearful that the cities were becoming ripe for Renamo attack (Vines 1994). In part, the decision to revise the constitution and create a competitive multiparty system was undoubtedly an attempt by Frelimo to call Renamo’s bluff by meeting its demands for a multi-party system and a liberal economy, thereby depriving the rebels of their stated reasons for fighting. It also allowed Frelimo to claim for itself the status of the party that brought democracy to Mozambique. However, Frelimo officials and party documents consistently maintained that the decision to open up the political arena to multi-party competition was a natural evolution for Frelimo, the ‘fruit of the theory and practice of our party’ (Frelimo 1997). In the first draft of the revised constitution, there was no mention of multipartyism, as the drafting committee had not been given a mandate to discuss the issue. When the document was presented at a meeting of the Frelimo Central Committee in December 1989, however, the issue was raised and President Chissano called for a series of public consultations on the question, arguing that the party should let the people decide. Debates were organized throughout the country in workplaces, at state farms and communal villages, in urban neighbourhoods and rural administrative posts. Frelimo found few people outside of the urban areas who were willing to go on record in support of multi-partyism. One Frelimo official involved in the exercise argued that most people equated multi-partyism with coexisting with Renamo, and that was unacceptable. Others said that while people wanted pluralism of ideas, they feared that having more than one party would divide the country (Manning 2002b). Despite the fact that the overwhelming majority of those polled said they did not want a multi-party system, the Central Committee moved ahead with reforms. Party leaders who supported reform argued that those who said they were not in favour of multi-partyism (mostly those living in rural areas) did not truly understand the issues at stake. Others close to the process said that with the

126

C. Manning

manifest desire among educated Mozambicans, including many within the ruling party, for the opportunity to express dissenting opinions, the party leadership feared that Frelimo would split apart if opposition parties were not allowed to form (Manning 2002b). Since the 1990 constitution was written during the era of single-party rule, two years before the conclusion of the General Peace Accords in Rome, Frelimo could presumably have imposed any sort of system it wanted. The fact that it didn’t create a pure presidential system highlights two key points. First, there was not consensus within the party about the desirability of an all-powerful president. Frelimo was born as a front formed out of three separate movements. While the armed independence struggle went a long way toward forging unity with the party, different tendencies remained in 1990. There were, for example, tensions between the younger technocrats who by then were beginning to dominate government ministries and the more ideological old guard that had founded the party and fought the liberation struggle. There were also tensions over regionalism, racial representation, and specific policy issues (Carbone 2005). The prime minister could also serve, at least theoretically, to provide representation for these rival tendencies within the executive at a high level. Second, while a peace agreement was still a long way off in 1990, the government was already engaged in direct talks with Renamo (beginning in July 1990). Renamo’s leadership had made clear its reluctance to enter the political system on terms dictated by the Frelimo government (Hume 1994; Vines 1994; Della Rocca 2003). At the start of peace talks, Renamo expressed a strong desire to get agreement on political reforms first, before moving on to a cease-fire and military issues. Frelimo wanted to do the opposite (Vines 1994). Renamo’s opening position was to insist on a transitional government, administered in part by the United Nations, that would preside until the first multi-party elections. The government flatly rejected the idea, and Renamo eventually abandoned that demand in favour of the creation of a joint commission that would include the United Nations and bilateral donors like Italy and the United States, as well as both combatant parties. It still insisted on including guarantees on constitutional questions within the peace agreement itself, however. In the end, the issue was solved by outlining some basic principles of the agreement and building in guarantees that the principles would be enforced. Specifically, the government agreed not to take any actions – including applying existing laws – that might be inconsistent with the agreement reached in the General Peace Accord. This was to serve as a safety mechanism until any constitutional provisions or statutory laws that Renamo found unacceptable could be addressed through a formal constitutional reform process (Hume 1994; Vines 1994). While Renamo eventually agreed to recognize the legitimacy of the government until elections could be held, the party insisted that the underlying principles of political reform be hammered out as part of the peace negotiations. It also demanded a commitment from the government to organize a constitutional reform process as soon as possible (Hume 1994; Vines 1994). Thus, Frelimo may have sought to lower Renamo’s perceived risks of entering the political

Semi-presidentialism in Mozambique

127

arena, by opting for a semi-presidential system that, at least on paper, did not create an impregnable executive that could ignore parliament at will. Constitutional reform, averted As just noted, one of the demands Renamo had made at the Rome peace talks was for constitutional reform. Since the 1990 constitution had been written in the era of single-party rule, before Renamo was a participant in political life, Renamo insisted that a constitutional review process be among the first items on the agenda of the new government. It took longer than expected, but in 1998 the parliamentary Ad-hoc Committee on Constitutional Reform produced a draft bill, which was then discussed in popular forums and debated by the political parties. The most significant of the proposed changes was a reduction in the powers of the presidency, in favour of a slightly more powerful prime minister who would be responsible to parliament through a confidence vote. Under the proposed new constitution, the president would no longer be both head of state and head of government. Instead, the prime minister would be head of government – still appointed by the president, but now in consultation with the parties in parliament. In addition, the prime minister, not the president, would select the other cabinet ministers, and the prime minister and the government would be formally responsible both to the president and to parliament. This new double subordination would have constituted a significant change. Accountability to the legislative branch would also have become much more direct. Under the proposed new constitution, the government and prime minister could be replaced by the president, but could also fall through a no-confidence vote of parliament. The draft proposal also allowed parliament to pass a motion of censure of government over the execution of the government programme or other issues of public interest (Articles 208–10). And it proposed imposing a single-term limit on the presidency. The 1990 constitution imposed a limit of two consecutive terms (Ad-hoc 1998). Under the proposed new constitution, the president would continue to be the commander-in-chief of the military, would be responsible for foreign policy (as president of the Defence and Security Council) and would preside over a new Council of State, an advisory body that the president would be required to consult in appointing a prime minister, dissolving government or parliament, nominating or dismissing the attorney-general or the chief of staff of the armed forces, or declaring war. The Council of State appeared to be designed to balance the representation of the legislative and executive branches in taking highly consequential decisions. Its membership was to comprise the incumbent and past presidents of the Assembly (speaker of parliament), the leader of the opposition, the prime minister, the Ombudsman, seven nominees selected by the parliament and four chosen by the president (Ad-hoc 1998). The Council of State concept is emblematic of the shift in this proposed constitutional revision toward a more hybrid model, away from the stronger presidentialist system of

128

C. Manning

the 1990 constitution. Similarly, at the same time that the executive is made somewhat more accountable to parliament, the proposed new constitution formalized the notion of law by decree, thereby ceding legislative power to the government under certain circumstances (Ad-hoc 1998). Ultimately, this constitutional reform project was defeated. This was no doubt due in part to the fact that the new constitution would have come into effect just at the time when the new president and parliament, elected in the second general elections (1999), would come into office. While Renamo took the blame for the defeat, the evidence suggests that there were authoritative voices in both parties counselling caution. The spectre of divided government haunted both parties. Many observers believed, on the strength of Renamo’s performance in the 1994 elections, that the party was likely to do even better in parliament this time around, though unlikely to take the presidency. Those in Renamo who believed they could win the presidency were loath to tie their own hands by weakening the presidency and making the government directly accountable to a parliament that might be dominated by the other party. In short, the degree of polarization between the two parties, born of the civil war, prevented a shift away from the presidential and toward the parliamentary end of the semi-presidential spectrum. It is worth looking in detail at the final defeat of the proposal. Having laboured to get constitutional revision on the agenda, Renamo’s parliamentary bench participated fully in the lengthy process of drafting a consensus document within the Ad-hoc Commission for Constitutional Reform, chaired by Hermenegildo Gamito (Frelimo). Over the course of drafting, an increasingly small bipartisan group of deputies emerged as the principal authors of the draft. This method of resorting to a restricted working group was aimed at facilitating agreement on the toughest issues. As in many other instances, the two parties were able to reach consensus in this small group format (Manning 2002a). At the end of 1998, the committee submitted a consensus draft revision to the Assembly. The next step was popular consultations, at national and provincial levels. At Renamo’s insistence, consultations were then extended down to district level. In Frelimo’s view, these consultations were not legally binding and were primarily meant to ‘enrich’ the draft, rather than to influence its substance. Renamo, however, took a different view. Upon hearing the results of these consultations, the party argued that its base did not approve of diminishing the powers of the president, as called for in the shift toward a more parliamentary system. As a result, Renamo submitted a series of amendments that fundamentally altered the sense of the reforms, including the restoration of presidential powers. Frelimo protested that the draft had enjoyed the support of both parties until the popular consultations (and the approach of general elections scheduled for late 1999) prompted Dhlakama to repudiate moves toward a parliamentary system, with a less powerful presidency. The majority bench accused Renamo of using the popular consultations to justify its leader’s change of strategy in the face of impending general elections (Manning 2002a). Raul Domingos, bench leader for Renamo, agreed that the work done by the

Semi-presidentialism in Mozambique

129

Ad-hoc Commission had been ‘90 per cent consensual’ up to that point and asked that the committee withdraw the project and find ways to incorporate the Renamo proposals before putting the draft to a vote. Frelimo rejected this proposal and insisted that two votes be taken: one on the draft as originally submitted by the Ad Hoc Commission, and one on the draft with Renamo amendments. As expected, in the absence of bipartisan co-operation neither draft was able to muster the required two-thirds majority vote (Manning 2002a).4

Technical aspects of the constitution The system that remains in effect in Mozambique today, then, is heavily tilted toward the presidential end of the spectrum, and by some definitions would not be considered a semi-presidential system at all. For Duverger, for example, a semi-presidential system has three characteristics: the president is directed by universal suffrage; the president has ‘quite considerable powers’; and the president shares executive power with ‘a prime minister and ministers who possess executive and governmental power and can stay in office only if the parliament does not show opposition to them’ (Duverger 1980, 166). Elgie simplifies this by designating a semi-presidential regime one which ‘has both a directly elected fixed-term president and a prime minister who is responsible to the legislature’ (Elgie 2005, 100). Similarly, Siaroff notes that ‘what seems central to the spirit of semi-presidentialism is the potential, or at least the possibility, of the prime minister being caught between the president and the parliament’ (Siaroff 2000, 292). There has been considerable debate over how to fine-tune distinctions within the broad semi-presidential category to most effectively capture the degree to which presidential and parliamentary aspects are present. These boil down essentially to trying to specify the balance of power between president and parliament (Sartori 1994, 1997; Siaroff 2003; Elgie 2004, 2005; Shugart 2005). This debate has generated a spectrum ranging from highly presidential (strong presidents and weak heads of government) to more parliamentary semipresidential regimes. Siaroff ultimately dispenses with the ‘semi-presidential’ label in search of a more concise typology based on whether or not there is a dual executive, whether the head of state is popularly elected, and whether or not the prime minister is accountable to the legislature. Siaroff puts Mozambique in category 5, comprised of ‘countries with a popularly elected head of state and a separate head of government (prime minister), with the latter accountable to the legislature’ (Siaroff 2003). In reality, however, Mozambique’s prime minister is only nominally accountable to the legislature, and in a rather circuitous way. The prime minister is responsible for preparing the government’s plan and budget and presenting it to the Assembly, and members of the cabinet are responsible to both the president and the prime minister for the execution of that plan and the budget. The prime minister is also charged with explaining the positions of government to parliament and presenting reports on implementation to the Assembly (Articles

130

C. Manning

204–6, constitution of 1990). The President of the Republic has the power to dissolve parliament if the government’s programme is rejected by the Assembly. If the new parliament also rejects the government’s programme, the president dismisses the government. This is the only sense in which the prime minister is ‘responsible’ to parliament, but even in this the act of dissolving the government falls to the president, not to the legislature (Articles 159, 160). Furthermore, the prime minister is appointed by the president without consultation or confirmation by the Assembly (Article 160). The prime minister functions essentially as the head of the cabinet (known in Mozambique as the Council of Ministers). He or she responds first and foremost to the president, and there is no possibility for ‘involuntary’ cohabitation to arise, because of the absence of any provision calling for consideration of parliament or the representation of parties there (Articles 205, 206, 208). The position of President of the Republic is quite strong. The president is directly elected by popular vote for a term of five years, and is subject to a twoterm limit. The president has the sole power to appoint and dismiss the Prime Minister and other ministers, vice-ministers, and secretaries of state, provincial governors, the attorney-general and his deputy, the governor of the central bank, and the presidents of the Supreme Court, Constitutional Council, and administrative tribunals, among others. The president is the chief of staff of the armed forces and has the power to declare war, sign treaties, decree the general or partial mobilization of the armed forces, and appoint the chief and vice-chief of staff of the armed forces, as well as the head of police and other defence and security officials. With respect to the legislative branch, the president may veto laws passed by the Assembly of the Republic. The president’s veto can be overturned by a twothirds majority in the Assembly. The president is required to address the Assembly once a year and has the power to call referenda on questions of national interest.

The effects of semi-presidentialism in Mozambique At the beginning of the chapter we noted that semi-presidentialism arose in Mozambique as a response to or a reflection of inter-elite relationships. The particular form that semi-presidentialism has taken in Mozambique makes the relationship between president and prime minister look, more than anything else, like the relationship between the president and vice-president in the United States – as a kind of auxiliary to the president, with limited power of his or her own. And as in the United States, the role that the president’s auxiliary in Mozambique plays depends partly upon the personalities and profiles of the president and prime minister, and their relationship with one another. Presidents and prime ministers: the relationship in practice Since its first multiparty constitution came into effect in January 1991, Mozambique has had three executive dyads. In all cases, the president and prime minis-

Semi-presidentialism in Mozambique

131

Table 8.1 Presidents and prime ministers in Mozambique (1991–2005) Tenure

President

Prime Minister

Ruling party seat share in legislature No. (out of 250) %

1991–94 1994–99 1999–2004 February 2004– December 2004 December 2004– present

Joaquim Chissano Frelimo Joaquim Chissano Frelimo Joaquim Chissano Frelimo Joaquim Chissano Frelimo Armando Emilio Guebuza Frelimo

Mario Machungo Frelimo Pascoal Mocumbi Frelimo Pascoal Mocumbi Frelimo Luisa Diogo Frelimo Luisa Diogo Frelimo

100 129 (51.6) 133 (53.2) 133 (53.2) 160 (64.0)

ter have been from the same party. That would change only by the president’s choice, since the president appoints the prime minister entirely at his own discretion, without consulting parliament.5 In any case, Frelimo has always enjoyed a majority in parliament up to now. The country’s first two prime ministers, Mario da Graça Machungo and Pascoal Mocumbi, were both founding members of Frelimo. Both rose through the ranks alongside Chissano, whose administration they served as prime ministers. Machungo had held various posts in the post-independence government, including planning minister and de facto governor of Zambezia province. Mocumbi had been a senior member of two of the students’ associations formed in 1961, which played a key role in the formation of Frelimo.6 He served as Frelimo’s permanent representative in Algeria from 1965 to 1967. A Swisstrained physician, Mocumbi began his political career in government running hospitals for the health ministry and served as minister of health from 1980 to 1987, after which he was named minister of foreign affairs. In 1994 President Chissano appointed Mocumbi prime minister, a post he retained until February 2004, roughly ten months before the third set of general elections. On Mocumbi’s departure, the finance and planning minister, Luisa Diogo, took on the prime minister portfolio. In the 2004 general elections, President Chissano, who had served the maximum two terms, was replaced by Armando Emilio Guebuza, another longtime party stalwart and the government’s chief negotiator at the Rome peace talks. Guebuza appointed Diogo to be prime minister full-time, relieving her of her duties at the finance ministry. At least a decade younger than her predecessors, Diogo is the first prime minister not to have been involved directly in the liberation struggle. Also, unlike her predecessors, she was not a high-level official within Frelimo prior to gaining the post. Diogo was not a member of Frelimo’s political commission (the party’s highest decision-making body) before the 2004 elections. She was elected to the party’s Central Committee in 2002.

132

C. Manning

Diogo began her career right out of university in the finance ministry. She worked at the World Bank in 1992 and 1993, and helped negotiate Mozambique’s relationship with the World Bank and IMF in the late 1980s. She is widely credited with helping to guide Mozambique’s neo-liberal-based economic recovery. Diogo left the World Bank to return to work in the finance ministry in 1994 at Chissano’s request (as deputy finance minister). After the 1999 elections she became minister of finance, and as of February 2004 – upon Mocumbi’s departure to take a post at the head of a Dutch health NGO – she became prime minister and finance minister. During her time as the head of the finance ministry she negotiated major foreign investment deals and presided over the country’s post-war economic boom. Diogo was perceived as being very close to Chissano – many speculated that she would not be retained in the Guebuza government. Instead, he made her prime minister. Some viewed her appointment – as a technocrat with an impressive international reputation and clean hands – as an attempt to restore confidence in the integrity of government. Guebuza himself is popular within the party but has been seen by some as less conciliatory toward the opposition, less ‘statesmanlike’, than Chissano (Msomi 2004). It is clear from a glance at the résumés of the country’s three prime ministers that the post has been filled by those who enjoyed the trust of the president, perhaps also having some characteristic that appeals to either the opposition or a rival wing of the party. And it is clear both from the letter of the law and from practice that the role of prime minister in Mozambique is primarily a co-ordinating role within the government and acts as an auxiliary to the president. We can tentatively conclude, then, that the greatest impact of semipresidentialism has been at the level of symbolism and perception, serving to offer, at least in theory, the promise of a multi-faceted executive that could accommodate ideological, regional, or ethnic diversity. In practice, however, the position has been filled by people with backgrounds and profiles very similar to those of the president, who enjoy the president’s highest confidence. Current prime minister Luisa Diogo is the first departure from the party’s ‘historic generation’, and has played a very active role in interacting with foreign investors and donors. However, there is no evidence at all that prime ministers in the Mozambican system have felt, or been held, accountable to the legislature, or that they have been chosen for their acceptability to the opposition. Indeed, even when there have been clashes between the legislature and the ruling party’s parliamentary bench, it has been the president, not the prime minister, who is called to settle the differences (Manning 2002a). Accounting for Mozambique’s success Mozambique would thus fit into Elgie’s subtype of ‘highly presidentialized semi-presidential regimes’. This is expected to bode ill for the country’s democratic prospects. Elgie argues that with respect to democratic performance, ‘more often than not, highly presidentialized semipresidential countries have

Semi-presidentialism in Mozambique

133

tended to perform badly – with at least collateral ill consequences for democracy . . .’ (Elgie 2005, 103). Mozambique, however, has turned out to be something of a surprise success story. At the time of transition, most signals were pointing in the opposite direction, indicating formidable challenges to successful pacification and democratization. One of the poorest countries in the world, Mozambique lacked nearly all the social, economic, and political factors usually held to be conducive to democracy. In addition to having one of the lowest levels of GNP per capita in the world, lying near the bottom of the human development index and possessing few natural resources, the country had a history of political intolerance, social strife, and regional socio-economic imbalance. Mozambique had spent nearly its entire existence as an independent state embroiled in civil war, one catalysed by apartheid South Africa’s destabilization policy but sustained by deep-seated regional and ethnic grievances. Civil society was weak and heavily dependent on international aid. The party system was marked by stark polarization between Renamo and Frelimo, each of which had well-defined regional bases. A flurry of other, ‘unarmed’ parties had very little impact on political competition (Manning 2002b). Nevertheless, fourteen years after the signing of the peace accord, there has been no return to armed conflict, and only one episode of political violence. Neither of the two major parties has questioned the terms of the settlement, and the country has now held three sets of general elections and two sets of local elections. In the general elections, despite the fact that the incumbent Frelimo party won convincingly each time, the margins were close. Renamo has stayed in the political game, and Frelimo has not attempted to make significant changes in the rules of the game to increase its own advantage. Instead, what we observe is a rather robust give-and-take between the two parties, each behaving as if democratic rules were there to stay. What accounts for this outcome? What has been the impact, if any, of the semi-presidential regime on this positive outcome? Perhaps the most accurate answer to this question is that the ambiguity that exists in principle, coupled with unquestionable dominance by the executive in practice, mirrors the kind of delicate balance which both parties have sought to maintain since the end of the war. For Frelimo, the rule has been to assert its dominance whenever possible by using the rules of the game to best advantage, while leaving open the possibility of negotiation outside the legal framework where necessary to secure Renamo’s co-operation. For Renamo, the strategy has been to press for flexibility and leave open the possibility of negotiation, in the absence of sufficient competence or capacity to use the rules to its own advantage. With Mozambique’s particular brand of semi-presidentialism, the possibility exists that a strong prime minister might temper the excesses of a strong-willed leader, and even though the parliament really has no formal say in the prime minister’s selection, the possibility of using other forms of leverage to press for or against a certain appointment still exists in theory. And while the prime minister and cabinet have never yet been dismissed by the president in response

134

C. Manning

to parliament’s repeated rejection of the government’s programme, again the possibility exists in theory. Given the fact that Mozambique’s particular variety of semi-presidentialism came out of a threefold transition of war termination and political and economic liberalization, the ambiguity of this system has served a positive purpose. The constitution was drafted at a time when there was no consensus on the specifics of any of these transition processes. The General Peace Accord hammered out provisional agreement on the principles underlying political reform and the implementation of the peace accord. But it was the peace accord that was expressly to take preference over the constitution in the event of a contradiction (Protocol I, GPA). The failure of constitutional reform in 1998, six years after the signing of the peace accord and four years after transitional elections, suggests that the political system was still not ready then to support a shift to a less ambiguous political arrangement that would shift power more definitively away from the presidency. Reluctance to undermine the office of the president came in part from the belief on the part of both major parties that they were poised for victory in the next elections. But it also fed on the fear that they might win the presidency without winning a majority in parliament. The possibility of winning the presidency but being hamstrung by the opposition in a highly polarized party system was extremely unappealing. Neither side could envision the possibility of being dependent upon the other after having won a presidential election. Instead both sides withdrew, in favour of discretion by the executive – discretion of the executive to give more or less power to the prime minister, to choose a prime minister that is acceptable or not to the opposition, etc. The opposition continues to count on the tradition of informal negotiation that has so far shaped politics in post-war Mozambique. Much of the literature on democratization and democratic consolidation suggests that the formal institutions of the system are necessarily the glue that holds the system together. In Mozambique, however, major conflicts have rarely been definitively resolved through formal democratic process and institutions alone. Rather, these have been supplemented and sometimes supplanted by parallel processes of sustained elite bargaining, which mirror the institutional framework that guided the formal peace process (1992–94, prior to the transitional elections). Formal electoral processes have been consistently accompanied or followed by parallel, informal processes of elite negotiation, which provide a safety valve for political dissatisfaction and a partial substitute for formal power sharing. These informal actions have consistently served to correct both for weaknesses (real and perceived) in the formal procedures and institutions of the political system, and for outcomes that certain key political actors find unacceptable. The fact that the system has been able to sustain these two contradictory ‘tracks’ for the management of conflict over nearly a decade is the most significant factor accounting for the system’s survival so far. Thus, contrary to the democratic consolidation literature, it is the fact that the formal, majoritarian political institutions are not recognized by all political actors as the ‘only game in town’, but that these can be routinely supplemented by processes that enshrine alternative

Semi-presidentialism in Mozambique

135

notions of democratic and system legitimacy, that has made Mozambique’s post-war political settlement sustainable thus far (Manning 2002b). This dynamic is facilitated by a certain degree of dependence between Mozambique and the international donor community. Mozambique’s dependence on international aid, together with its relatively successful application of Western prescriptions for economic recovery, has translated into unusually sustained donor interest in Mozambique and the success of its transition process. What is important here is not only Mozambique’s high degree of aid dependence (with more than 50 per cent of the budget regularly financed by donors), but also its relative success in the wake of World Bank and International Monetary Fund stabilization and adjustment programmes. As a kind of poster child first for structural adjustment and then for the World Bank’s Heavily Indebted Poor Country debt relief initiative, Mozambique retained its importance and visibility for donors. At a time when transparency, accountability, and the rule of law are widely touted as inseparable from good economic performance, neither Mozambique nor its major donors could afford to let the democratization process there fall by the wayside. For at least a decade after the transition, this interdependence had the effect of tacitly extending the ‘interim’ period, in which institutions remained relatively malleable and domestic political actors were more willing to risk investment in the system, both because of the negative sanctions for defecting and because the international community continued to act as a kind of external constituency, even overarching authority, to which each side could appeal (Alden 2000; Manning 2002a). The continued presence and interest of Mozambique’s international donors have made it possible for the democratization process to withstand repeated strain, because their presence puts Mozambique domestic politics into the context of what Tsebelis calls a higher-order game, so that the actors’ ability to opt out is constrained. This higher-order game reduces the risk and increases the pay-offs for actors willing to invest in changing the rules of the game (Tsebelis 1991). These changes maintain the democratic game but adjust it in ways that make it more acceptable to the major players. Thus, throughout Mozambique’s post-war experience with democratization, neither side has been entirely governed strictly by the formal rules of the game. Instead, each side, but particularly Renamo, has sought to change the rules without opting out. At the same time, the longer each side participates in this ongoing negotiating process, the more likely it is that the process itself will come to exercise independent effects on the actors’ faith in the process and their commitment to it. The international factor helps keep the game going long enough for self-reinforcing factors to kick in, and helps to moderate the undermining influence of negative lessons learned from participation. Interestingly, this triad of Renamo, Frelimo, and international community also permits the continued exclusion of the population from playing a central role in the political process. Renamo has extremely poor institutionalized links to any mass base, and Frelimo’s grass-roots links have suffered as a result of the

136

C. Manning

party’s own transformation within the larger democratization process. While each party’s base is obviously crucial during election periods, in the five years between each election very little organized pressure is felt from either party’s constituency. This only amplifies the international community’s role as a de facto constituency for each party, and makes politics into an even more elite affair. The two-track process of conflict management in post-war Mozambique has also been facilitated by the polarization of the political arena and its dominance by the two former warring parties. The war produced a bipolar division of the political space in Mozambique, which was sustained with remarkably little change during the first post-war decade. There were no significant elite defections from the upper or even middle echelons of either party, and the voter bases of the two parties have remained largely unchanged. Each continued to command overwhelming majorities in its traditional areas of support: Frelimo in the south and far north and Renamo in the five central provinces of Sofala, Manica, Zambezia, Nampula, and Tete (Carbone 2005). These two factors, the involvement of the international community and the polarization of the political space by Frelimo and Renamo, have provided the boundaries within which politics occurs in Mozambique. The pace and agenda of this process are set by the formal structures and processes of democracy. The outcomes, however, are influenced by repeated episodes of elite negotiations prompted by weaknesses in or dissatisfaction with that system.7 The fact that Mozambique adopted a system of governance that just barely fits within most definitions of semi-presidentialism has had little impact on the sustainability of democracy there. To be sure, the strategies of the two major parties, Frelimo and Renamo, are necessarily shaped by the institutional framework of the political system. But the logic of that system is most akin to presidentialism, and the dynamics of the politics in Mozambique, within the given institutional framework, are most strongly shaped by the histories and characters of the two dominant parties.

Notes 1 For discussions of the internal dynamics of Frelimo, see Cabaço (1995), Magode (1996), Carbone (2005) and Manning (2005). 2 As noted above, we cannot hope to do justice to this history here. For a sampling of the literature, see Cabaço (1995), Magode (1996), Hall and Young (1997) and Manning (2002b). 3 This section has drawn extensively from Manning (2002b, 47–63). 4 The National Assembly revised the Constitution at the end of 2004, but none of the changes affected the relationship between the legislature and the executive, or the structure of the executive branch. 5 Theoretically, of course, the ruling party might have some say in the decision, rather than leaving it entirely up to the president. Thus far, however, the decision has rested with the president, with no contest issuing from the rest of the party hierarchy. It may be significant that the party’s presidential candidate is also normally president of the party. 6 Mozambique Secondary Students’ Nucleus and the Mozambique National Students’ Union. 7 This section has drawn extensively on Manning (2002b).

9

Semi-presidentialism in Guinea-Bissau The lesser of two evils? Elisabete Azevedo and Lia Nijzink

In the ongoing debate about the relative merits of different regime types semipresidential systems have been said to have both advantages and disadvantages. On the one hand, the dual leadership that characterizes semi-presidentialism seems to offer opportunities for power sharing, coalition building and dealing with divided majorities as well as a degree of flexibility by keeping the president more or less removed from daily politics. On the other hand, semi-presidentialism is associated with polarization and institutionalization of divisions as well as a risk of conflict between two separately legitimated executives. In the context of young and emerging democracies these benefits and drawbacks can be important contributions or obstacles to further democratization. Whether a country actually experiences these effects first depends on the precise details of the constitutional arrangement that put the semi-presidential system in place. Second, it depends on the historical, cultural-political and partisan context in which the constitutional framework finds its practice. In this chapter we will discuss both the constitutional and contextual aspects of semipresidentialism in the emerging democracy of Guinea-Bissau. After a short introduction of the main features of multi-party politics in this small but heterogeneous West African country,1 we will outline when and why Guinea-Bissau adopted a semi-presidential system and present an overview of the details of its constitutional design. We will then turn to a description of how this design works in practice and identify a number of positive and negative aspects of the current system. Finally, we will discuss what the implications are for the survival and quality of democracy in Guinea-Bissau.

Multi-party politics in Guinea-Bissau Like all former Portuguese colonies on the African continent, Guinea-Bissau had no experience with representation and electoral competition prior to its independence in 1974. Unlike the British and French colonial policies, Portuguese policies did not permit African participation or the representation of African interests in colonial governance. As a result, no representative bodies were established in the lusophone colonies until they gained independence through national liberation struggles in the 1970s. In Guinea-Bissau, the

138

E. Azevedo and L. Nijzink

liberation movement PAIGC fought for the independence of both Cape Verde and Guinea-Bissau and, after the war, established an authoritarian socialist regime that lasted until the first multi-party elections in 1994. Like the other former Portuguese colonies, Guinea-Bissau held its first multiparty elections in the 1990s, when the third wave of democratization swept the African continent. Since then, there have been three presidential elections in which a single round did not produce a candidate with an absolute majority and a second round was needed to elect a president. In the first multi-party presidential elections in July–August 1994, João Bernardo ‘Nino’ Vieira was elected with 52 per cent of the votes, after having received 46 per cent of the votes in the first round. Vieira was the candidate supported by the PAIGC, the party that had been in power since independence, and had served as both ‘premier’ and president under single-party rule. The second presidential elections in November 1999–January 2000 saw the candidate supported by the second largest opposition party, PRS, Kumba Yala, elected with a sizable 72 per cent of the votes, after having received 39 per cent of the votes in the first round. Finally, the June–July 2005 presidential elections returned Vieira back to power but this time as an independent candidate, receiving 29 per cent of the votes in the first round and 52 per cent in the second. It is important to note that the first two democratically elected presidents of Guinea-Bissau were both ousted by force rather than popular vote, which is an indication of the degree of instability from which this emerging democracy suffers. In 1999, Vieira, being the first democratically elected president of Guinea-Bissau, was forced into exile as a result of a military conflict or civil war that lasted eleven months. When peace returned to the country, the presidency was taken by Malan Bacai Sanhá, the former president of the National Assembly, who was appointed as part of the Abuja Peace Agreement to prepare the country for new elections. These were subsequently won by Kumba Yala. But Yala was, in turn, put out of office by way of a coup d’état in 2003. The next president, Henrique Rosa, was appointed by the Military Committee for the Restoration of the Rule of Law and Democracy and stayed in the position until the 2005 presidential elections. In these elections, ex-presidents Vieira, Bacai Sanhá and Yala were presidential candidates, which, together with the legal uncertainty2 that surrounded their candidacies, made the elections particularly tense. Since the first multi-party parliamentary elections in 1994, Guinea-Bissau has held two subsequent elections for the country’s main representative institution, one in 1999 and the other in 2004. The current National People’s Assembly of Guinea-Bissau has a total of 102 seats with members serving a four-year term. One hundred members are elected through a system of proportional representation, based on closed party lists. The remaining two seats are reserved for Guinean citizens living abroad: one for citizens living elsewhere in Africa and the second for citizens living in Europe. These two seats, however, were not filled in the 2004 parliamentary elections. In the first democratically elected parliament, the former liberation movement

Semi-presidentialism in Guinea-Bissau

139

Table 9.1 Number of seats in the National People’s Assembly Party African Party for the Independence of Guinea and Cape Verde (PAIGC) Party for Social Renewal (PRS) Resistance of Guinea-Bissau-Bafatá Movement (RGB-MB) Union for Change (UM) Front for the Liberation and Independence of Guinea (FLING) Democratic Alliance (AD) Social Democratic Party (PSD) Democratic Social Front (FDS) National Union for Democracy and Progress (UNDP) United Social Democratic Party (PUSD) Electoral Union (UE) United People’s Alliance (APU) Total

1994

1999

2004

62 12 19 6 1 – – – – – – –

24 38 29 3 – 1 1 1 1 – – –

45 35 – – – – – – – 17 2 1

100

102

100

Source: Guinea-Bissau Electoral Commission.

PAIGC held the majority, occupying sixty-two of the 100 seats. However, since the 1999 elections no party has had an absolute majority in the National Assembly. Thus, in 1999, the largest party, PRS, was forced to form a coalition government and later governed with a single-party minority government. In 2004, the PAIGC was in a similar position of being the largest party without an absolute majority and also formed a single-party minority government. The two coalition governments that were in power after the two main episodes of unrest in 1999 and 2003 did not have electoral mandates but were the result of powersharing agreements in which the military played an important role in getting the main political parties to accept the arrangements. The current coalition between PAIGC dissidents, PRS, PUSD and a number of independents3 differs from previous coalition experiences in that this coalition came about because of Vieira’s return to power, and much of its success will depend on the dynamics within the PAIGC, or more specifically the relations between the PAIGC in parliament and the PAIGC dissidents in the executive. Before we turn to a more detailed discussion of the origins and workings of semi-presidentialism in Guinea-Bissau, there are two main observations about the country’s experience with multi-party democracy that are important for our analysis. First, democratic experience has been limited. As noted above, there has never been a change of president through the ballot box. The fact that the first two democratically elected presidents were removed from office by force signifies that the survival of democracy in Guinea-Bissau is not a foregone conclusion. It also shows that the role of the military within the political system as well as the ongoing support of the military for a specific president and government has been at least as important if not more important than the partisan dimension of support for the president or his cabinet. Second, after the first

140

E. Azevedo and L. Nijzink

democratic parliamentary election in which the former liberation movement won a majority of the seats in parliament, none of the parties, including the PAIGC, has managed to win an absolute majority. This has, however, not resulted in the dual leadership of the semi-presidential system being used for power-sharing arrangements. In fact, only two of the ten premiers the country has had since the first democratic elections in 1994 did not have the same partisan background as the president who appointed them.4 This points not only to the specific partisan context of semi-presidentialism in Guinea-Bissau but also shows the presidential nature of the country’s semi-presidential system. We will discuss this in more detail in the next two sections of this chapter.

The adoption of a semi-presidential system The adoption of semi-presidentialism in Guinea-Bissau can best be understood against the background of both external and internal pressure. On the one hand there clearly was a lusophone and regional influence in the constitutional design Guinea-Bissau adopted at the end of its single party era. On the other hand, the system that was put in place seemed to be as much a product of the internal dynamics of the country, most importantly the powerful position of the former liberation movement, PAIGC. The five lusophone countries in Africa show important similarities in the constitutional designs they adopted when they prepared for their first multi-party elections in the 1990s. The fact that Guinea-Bissau, Cape Verde, Angola, São Tomé and Principe and Mozambique experienced political liberalization around the same time, together with their shared colonial history, promoted a sharing of ideas, experiences and law-making expertise. Especially, the countries that were slightly lagging behind in terms of the liberalization process were able to gain valuable insights from those that had made progress somewhat faster. For example, Guinea-Bissau’s PAIGC closely scrutinized the electoral process undertaken by Cape Verde in 1991 (Koudawo 2001: 168). The defeat of their former allies, the PAICV, in Cape Verde’s first multi-party elections alarmed the PAIGC and not only prompted them to delay the implementation of the necessary steps to hold multi-party elections in Guinea-Bissau. It also made them reluctant to adopt the same constitutional design as Cape Verde. As a result the semi-presidential designs of Guinea-Bissau and Cape Verde are similar but also show important variations, especially with regard to the relative powers of the president and the premier.5 The influence of Portugal as the former colonial power in lusophone Africa is clearly an important factor in the Guinean choice of a semi-presidential system. This is, however, not a clear-cut case of Portugal having a direct say in the constitution that was adopted or serving as the only model of constitutional design. The Portuguese influence on lusophone Africa seems to have been more indirect and diffused. Rather than through bilateral and premeditated pressure from the former colonial power on each one of the five African countries, the influence of the Portuguese semi-presidential example happened naturally through the fact

Semi-presidentialism in Guinea-Bissau

141

that a shared language facilitated the exchange of legal texts amongst the six lusophone countries. In 1994, for example, a meeting in Lisbon of the ministers responsible for electoral administration reinforced a commitment among the six countries to collaborate in the area of elections. Another example of indirect lusophone influence was the marketing team that Vieira hired to design his first presidential campaign in 1994 – the same team was used by Eduardo dos Santos in Angola and Chissano in Mozambique (Nóbrega 2003: 270) The fact that several of the African lawyers involved in drafting the new democratic constitutions were educated at Portuguese universities is also an important factor in this regard. In the case of Guinea-Bissau, not only the lusophone influence but also the regional context plays an important role in the adoption of a semi-presidential system. Guinea-Bissau is surrounded by francophone countries, the most important of which is Senegal, with which Guinea-Bissau has close socioeconomic ties. Thus, Senegalese semi-presidentialism seems to have served as an additional model for the constitutional design of Guinea-Bissau. However, external influences do not fully account for the adoption of a semi-presidential system. The internal dynamics including the role of the PAIGC seems to have been equally if not more important. It would be wrong to suggest that semi-presidentialism was newly introduced to Guinea-Bissau in the 1990s due to external pressures. In fact, there has been a certain continuity in the sense that since its independence in 1974 Guinea-Bissau has known, in addition to the president, the position of a second political figure, generally called ‘premier’, although the official title for this position was ‘Principal Commissioner’.6 In the 1980s, when Vieira was the president in the singleparty socialist regime, there was apparently a debate within the PAIGC about the role of the ‘premier’. The then ‘premier’ Victor Saúde Maria played an important role in this debate. In 1984, Saúde Maria was dismissed as a result of disagreement between him and Vieira. There is a popular belief that the main reason for this disagreement was Maria’s intention of reinforcing the constitutional powers of the premier. Interestingly, at the time, the Revolutionary Council announced in a press statement that because of the resignation of the ‘premier’ it was imperative for the president to assume the position of the head of government, as he was allowed to do under Article 1 of the constitution of 1982.7 This statement indicates that at the time of Maria’s dismissal, long before the 1991 constitutional amendment in which the premiership was officially created, the ‘premier’ was regarded by the party and the press as more than just an assistant to the president. The role of the PAIGC Shortly after the end of colonial rule, the five countries in lusophone Africa established authoritarian socialist regimes in which only a single party was allowed. Guinea-Bissau and Cape Verde were in an unusual situation in the sense that the same political party ruled both countries. The PAIGC was the

142

E. Azevedo and L. Nijzink

ruling party for both nations until a coup d’état in 1980, when Vieira overthrew Guinean president Luis Cabral.8 Thereafter, the PAIGC in Guinea-Bissau kept the same name (Partido Africano Para a Independencia de Cabo Verde e Guinea-Bissau, African Party for the Independence of Guinea-Bissau and Cape Verde) but ended all official links with the Cape Verdean part of the party. The Cape Verdean arm of the PAIGC subsequently changed its name to PAICV (Partido Africano para a Independencia de Cabo Verde) in 1981. The PAIGC governed Guinea-Bissau following a Marxist orientation, which was especially strong in the period immediately after independence until the coup d’état in 1980. In the 1980s, under Vieira’s presidency, the party’s ideology began to change and a gradual process of economic liberalization started. The one-party state was, however, firmly in place until the early 1990s. Like in many other countries on the African continent, elections for a representative body were held regularly during single-party rule but these elections were indirect, via regional councils, and with only very limited competition. From 1974 to 1994 there have been four mandates of the National People’s Assembly. The Assembly, in turn, has four times elected the president of Guinea-Bissau: Luis Cabral in 1972 and 1977, and Vieira in 1984 and 1989. Voting in the Assembly was mostly done through a public show of hands. Only in the early 1990s did the National People’s Assembly start to vote on some issues by secret ballot. Like many other democratic transitions across the African continent, democratization in Guinea-Bissau was clearly a process driven by the incumbent president and his party, the PAIGC. In 1990, President Vieira announced to the Central Committee of the PAIGC that the party should start adopting a multiparty mind set on account of the one-party regime being condemned to come to an end (Nóbrega 2003, 261). And, in February 1991, PAIGC held its Second Extraordinary Congress in which the party expressed a commitment to make changes necessary for the introduction of a multi-party regime in Guinea-Bissau. The Congress also held elections for the party’s Central Committee through a secret ballot, which marked a change from the previous ‘hands up’ voting method. This change was meant to demonstrate the party’s intention of political reform to civil society and the international community (interview with Mário Cabral, see list of interviews).9 The first step in the transition to a multi-party regime was taken on 5 May 1991 when the National People’s Assembly abolished Article 4 of the 1984 constitution. In this article, the PAIGC was entrenched as the solitary body leading Guinean society. On the same occasion, the Assembly passed other constitutional amendments, establishing civil and political rights, such as the right to create and be part of a political party, the right to establish and belong to trade unions, and the right to freedom of expression (Araujo 2001, 139). The PAIGC subsequently decided to create a multi-party commission that was tasked with drafting a constitution that could guide the country under a multi-party regime. Some argue that the commission, created in August 1992, helped the PAIGC to postpone handing over power to a multi-party National Assembly, including an

Semi-presidentialism in Guinea-Bissau

143

emerging opposition (Koudawo 2001, 137). The democratic transition did indeed progress much more slowly than anticipated by part of the political elite, including some PAIGC members. In June 1991, 121 intellectuals and leaders of the PAIGC published a document known as the ‘letter of the 121’ calling for an acceleration of the process of democratic reform. This document was not supported by the PAIGC’s Central Committee, prompting a number of its signatories to defect from the party and join the opposition.10 The PAIGC subsequently signed a letter indicating the party’s commitment to approve, through the one-party National People’s Assembly, the proposal from the multi-party commission. Thus, the PAIGC avoided a situation in which a multi-party National Assembly would have to approve the new constitution. On 21 February, 1993, the one-party Assembly approved the new constitution as proposed by the multi-party commission. There was one very important change in the commission’s proposed design. The Assembly added a section to the article describing the powers of the president – Article 68, section (m) – which states that the president can preside over the Council of Ministers whenever he wants. Within the overall semi-presidential design, this was clearly a move to restrict the power of the premier and the multi-party assembly he or she would be accountable to. This choice of a more presidentialized semi-presidentialism must be understood in the context of the incumbent driven character of the Guinean transition and the fact that Vieira and the PAIGC wanted to avoid a repeat of the Cape Verdean situation in which the PAICV was voted out of office in the first multi-party elections in 1991. The incumbent president and his party were trying to safeguard their interests by retaining elements of the old dispensation in which the president dominated government. As a result GuineaBissau has a highly presidentialized semi-presidential design which we will discuss in more detail below.

The constitutional design of executive–legislative relations The current constitutional design of Guinea-Bissau is considered to be semipresidential but leaning towards presidentialism (Araújo 2000, 139). The constitution clearly establishes a dual executive in that it identifies the popularly elected president as the head of state (Article 69) and the premier as the head of government (Article 97). The constitution also determines that premier and cabinet are responsible to the National Assembly (Articles 85 and 104). Thus, Guinea-Bissau has what is in essence a semi-presidential system. However, several elements in its constitutional design turn it into a highly presidentialized one. Presidential powers in relation to cabinet The constitution gives considerable powers to the president in terms of cabinet formation. Unlike other semi-presidential designs, the Guinean design does not require a formal investiture vote or confirmation by the National Assembly for

144

E. Azevedo and L. Nijzink

the appointment of the premier. Instead, there is a consultative process between the president and the political parties represented in the National Assembly. According to Article 68, the president names the premier after listening to the political parties with representatives in the Assembly and taking the results of the parliamentary elections into account. This provision gives the president considerable power when it comes to cabinet formation. Although he is not completely free in choosing who will head the cabinet, the required consultations are clearly far less restricting than an investiture vote or some other form of confirmation by parliament. The president also appoints other members of the cabinet but he can do so only on the proposal of the premier, in other words, the composition of the cabinet is a joint decision of the president and the premier. Although this suggests a balance of powers between the president and the premier, other provisions cause this balance to tip rather heavily in favour of the president. First, the president has the power to dismiss the premier after listening to the political parties represented in the National Assembly and taking election results into account (Article 68). The constitution also states that the president may dismiss the entire cabinet in case of a serious political crisis that is a threat to the normal functioning of the institutions of the republic after listening to the Council of State and the parties represented in parliament. What exactly constitutes a political crisis is a matter of interpretation but together these provisions give the president rather broad powers when it comes to cabinet dismissal. Second, although Articles 101 and 97 say that the cabinet consists of the premier, who presides, and the ministers and deputy ministers, Article 69 establishes that the president can preside over cabinet meetings ‘whenever he wants’ (quando entender). This means the president does not need to announce when he intends to take over the chair and the premier does not need to give his consent. It gives the president the opportunity for direct involvement in the day-to-day running of the government, thus, effectively sidelining the premier and bringing the cabinet under the president’s control. As with ministerial appointments, the president can dismiss individual members of the cabinet only on the proposal of the premier, suggesting a certain balance of powers. However, the fact that the president can dismiss the premier on the basis of a consultative process and can take over the chair of the cabinet at any moment heavily tips that balance in favour of the president. It basically turns the premier into an assistant to the president tasked with executive– legislative relations rather than a second agent of the executive with whom powers and responsibilities are shared.11 The president’s considerable powers in terms of cabinet dismissal and presiding at cabinet meetings clearly undermine the constitutionally mandated authority that the premier, as the head of government, has to lead and co-ordinate the activities of the cabinet, thus introducing a certain ambiguity in the Guinean constitution.12

Semi-presidentialism in Guinea-Bissau

145

Presidential powers in relation to the National Assembly The president is not only powerful in relation to premier and cabinet but also in relation to the legislature. The Guinean design creates a distance between the legislative and executive branches of government that instead of strengthening the autonomy of the legislature seems to bolster the president’s already strong position. First, the constitution establishes the separation of offices in the sense that a seat in the National Assembly is incompatible with a position as member of the government (Article 84.4). If a member of the Assembly is to be appointed as a minister he or she will have to ask for the suspension of his or her parliamentary seat. This provision physically removes members of the cabinet from the sphere of influence of the National Assembly and places them firmly within the realm of the executive, with in this case a powerful president. Second, although the terms of the National Assembly and the president are concurrent they do not completely overlap. Article 79 of the constitution states that each legislative term has a maximum duration of four years. Article 66 indicates that the term of the president is five years. This means that the president could be faced with a situation of cohabitation that would severely limit his power over and influence in cabinet. However, it also leaves room for the president to assert himself vis-àvis the National Assembly on the basis of his own electoral mandate, which, given the strong presidential powers over cabinet formation and dismissal, seems to be a more likely scenario. There is another element of the Guinean constitutional design that considerably strengthens the position of the president: his power to dissolve the National Assembly. Although the National Assembly has the constitutional power to pass motions of censure or reject motions of confidence (Article 85), the president may respond to such events by dissolving the National Assembly. The constitution clearly establishes that the government is accountable to parliament. Article 104 states that the government will be dismissed in the event of a the start of a new legislative term; b the programme of the government being rejected for the second time; [. . .] d the adoption of a motion of censure or the rejection of a motion of confidence by an absolute majority in the National Assembly; [. . .]. Article 69, on the other hand, lists additional powers of the president, including the power to dissolve the National Assembly in case of a serious political crisis, after listening to the Speaker and the parties represented in the Assembly and respecting the constitution. Again, what exactly constitutes a serious political crisis is a matter of interpretation, leaving room for debate especially in the context of an emerging or fragile democracy like the Guinean. It could mean that the president’s power to dissolve parliament should be used only in

146

E. Azevedo and L. Nijzink

exceptional circumstances but it remains to be seen how often the president deems it necessary to use this provision. The phrasing of the latter part of Article 69 is important in this regard because the constitution does place time restrictions on the president’s dissolution powers. Article 94.1 determines that the National Assembly cannot be dissolved in the first twelve months after parliamentary elections or in the last six months of the president’s term or in the event of a state of emergency. However, the president can decide to dissolve parliament without having to face new elections himself. And the fact that the constitution does not restrict the power to dissolve to situations of censure but uses the rather vague notion of a political crisis means that there is a grey area that allows the president considerable leeway in interpreting political events so as to justify a decision to dissolve parliament. In addition to his power to dissolve the legislature, the president also has considerable legislative powers. He has the unrestricted power to make decrees (Article 70) and has the right to veto legislation within thirty days of receiving the bill from the National Assembly or the government. It, in turn, requires a two-thirds majority in the National Assembly to override a presidential veto. Finally, the president is the commander-in-chief of the army (Article 69). Overall, these constitutional provisions make the Guinean semi-presidential system highly presidentialized. The system is designed in such a way as to create a powerful president and leave the premier and the National Assembly in a weaker position. According to Elgie (2005, 99) this could pose severe obstacles to the survival of democracy. Comparing evidence on fifty-five semipresidential systems across the world, Elgie concludes that ‘democracy can and has survived in highly presidentialized semi-presidential systems but it is not the norm’. He argues that while highly presidentialized semi-presidential regimes do not necessarily prevent the consolidation of democracy they often create obstacles to it by encouraging the personalization of the political system. Because the premier cannot act as any sort of check on the president the system does little to prevent arbitrary presidential rule and alleviate authoritarian tendencies. In the case of Guinea-Bissau, there is some check on the president in the form of the constitution restricting the president to two consecutive terms in office.13 Such a restriction is probably beneficial to Guinean democracy in the longer term. However, it does not make the system any less presidentialized. In order to assess whether the presidentialized nature of the semi-presidential regime is indeed detrimental to the survival of democracy in Guinea-Bissau we will now describe how the system has so far worked in practice.

How has the system worked in practice? Trouble between president and premier In 1994, Guinea-Bissau held its first multi-party elections for the National Assembly as well as the presidency. With the National Assembly having been elected in August, Vieira was officially inaugurated as the first democratically

Semi-presidentialism in Guinea-Bissau

147

elected President of Guinea-Bissau in October 1994. It was up to him to appoint a premier after listening to the political parties with seats in the new multi-party Assembly. Vieira’s own party, the PAIGC, won an absolute majority of sixtytwo of the 100 seats, so at first glance the appointment of a premier seemed to be fairly straightforward. However, the choice of the premier turned out to be a major complication for Vieira. He was facing serious opposition within his own party to the candidate of his choice, Carlos Correia. The alternative candidate for the premiership was Saturnino da Costa, who was known as a rival of Vieira within party structures (Nóbrega 2003, 269).14 The dispute over the premiership was resolved by a vote in the Central Committee of the PAIGC. Da Costa and Correia both presented their candidacies to the main decision-making body of the ruling party and Da Costa won the vote by a large margin, thus leaving Vieira no other option than to appoint his rival as the head of his new government. Four months after electing its first multi-party National Assembly GuineaBissau had its first premier in the new multi-party dispensation. This initial experience of tension within the dual executive indicates the generally troubled relationship between the president and his premier. Another telling incident took place at the beginning of Da Costa’s mandate when he took advantage of Vieira’s absence from the country and dismissed a number of director-generals from state departments and public companies, replacing them with his own preferred appointees. Relations only deteriorated after this, as did the social and economic situation in the country. The Guinean public responded with strikes and demonstrations, especially when civil servants did not receive their salaries for several months (Nóbrega 2003, 273). In 1997, President Vieira decided to take action and, in order to avoid a confrontation with his own party over a dismissal of Da Costa, started to canvass political parties about a dissolution of the National Assembly. The opposition parties, however, had no interest in dissolving the Assembly because parliamentary elections were scheduled to take place in one year’s time and the bad governance of the PAIGC seemed to be to their electoral advantage (Nóbrega 2003, 274). Vieira’s round of consultations did indicate that there was widespread consensus (including PAIGC) about the need to dismiss the cabinet – an option that was promptly carried out by the president, who subsequently appointed his preferred candidate Carlos Correia as the new premier. The civil war of 1998–99 Vieira’s term as the first democratically elected president of Guinea-Bissau was characterized by close relations with Senegal.15 It was therefore in Vieira’s interest to demonstrate to the Senegalese government that the Guinean government was not actively involved in supporting the rebels of Casamanse, a group of Senegalese guerrillas fighting for independence of their region from Senegal. In February 1998, the Guinean National Assembly had initiated a multi-party committee of inquiry chaired by PAIGC member Carlos Gomes junior, to investigate the trafficking of arms from Guinea-Bissau to the Senegalese rebel movement.16

148

E. Azevedo and L. Nijzink

In order to retain good relations with Dakar, Vieira dismissed his army chief and old comrade Ansumane Mané before the committee could complete its investigation. This looked like an attempt by Vieira to prevent Mané’s and perhaps even his own involvement in the arms trafficking from becoming public through the proceedings of the committee or the courts and thus resolve the situation. This move proved to be unsuccessful and also unfounded. On 8 June 1998, the committee of inquiry finalized its report and made it available to all members of the National Assembly. The fifty-three-page document reports on interviews conducted with all individuals arrested on suspicion of involvement in arms trafficking and states that the detainees were tortured and forced to name names, in particular Mané’s name. The committee thus found that Mané was falsely accused and was in fact innocent. The committee report also concluded that the detainees were trafficking arms to the rebels and that there appeared to have been involvement of high-ranking military personnel and politicians, thus pointing an accusing finger to the top. A plenary session of the National Assembly planned to discuss the committee report did not take place because war broke out a day before the scheduled meeting between a military junta supporting the dismissed army chief Mané and troops affiliated with President Vieira. For the subsequent eleven months, Guinea-Bissau was the theatre of a violent conflict that dethroned Vieira and eventually forced him into exile. This civil war caused much social and political upheaval and displaced many Guinean citizens. Six months after their scheduled meeting to discuss the committee report, the National Assembly did in fact hold an extraordinary session on 27 November 1998. Of the 100 members, seventy-eight were present and voted on a resolution of no confidence, which was passed with a majority of sixty-nine in favour and nine abstentions. This resolution united members of the opposition and the ruling PAIGC in their rejection of Vieira’s handling of the Casamanse crisis. Vieira refused to take any consequences and the violent conflict between Mané’s military Junta and Vieira’s troops continued. In November of 1998 a peace agreement was signed in Abuja, Nigeria. As part of the agreement, Malan Bacai Sanhá, the former president of the National Assembly, was appointed as interim president to prepare the country for new elections. His premier was Francisco Fadul, an independent politician who later joined the PUSD, who was chosen to head an interim government that represented the two sides to the conflict. Despite these developments, the combatants did not honour the agreement and fighting did continue. In March of 1999, the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) decided to send a contingent of pan-African soldiers to GuineaBissau in an attempt to mediate. Despite the involvement of ECOWAS, the war did not end until May 1999, when the military junta defeated Vieira’s troops and forced the first democratically elected president of Guinea-Bissau into exile.

Semi-presidentialism in Guinea-Bissau

149

Yala and his four Premiers In 1999, Guinea-Bissau held its second multi-party elections for the National Assembly and the presidency. By that time, the PAIGC and its presidential candidate Bacai Sanhá had clearly lost much of the confidence of the electorate and in the end no party won an absolute majority. The Partido da Renovacao Social (Party for Social Renewal, PRS) became the largest party in the Assembly, with thirty-eight of the 102 seats. Kumba Yala of the PRS won the second round of the presidential elections with the support of his own and other opposition parties. This support was the reason President Yala wanted to appoint a PRS premier agreeable to both his own party and the RGB–MB (Resistance of Guinea-Bissau–Bafata Movement). Thus, Yala called upon Caetano N’Tchama, a magistrate with close ties to both PRS and to Yala personally,17 to lead a coalition government between PRS and RGB–MB. When the coalition crumbled in 2001, Yala replaced N’Tchama with Faustino Imbali, a sociologist from the Instituto Nacional de Estudos e Pesquisas, the National Research and Scientific Institute. In the previous coalition government, Imbali, who was independent and thus not a member of the PRS, was responsible for co-ordinating economic policy. President Yala now called upon him to lead a single-party PRS minority government with enough support in the National Assembly to get the government’s programme accepted. Fairly soon, however, President Yala came under pressure from his own party structures over the appointment of a non-party member as the head of his PRS government and subsequently dismissed Imbali and replaced him with Alamara Nhassé, a high-profile member of the PRS. Nhasse, educated in Cuba as an electro-mechanical engineer and the former mayor of Bissau, was Yala’s pupil and had gained the PRS party presidency under the patronage of Yala. These very close relations, however, would not prevent fierce confrontations between the president and his premier to develop. Conflict within the dual executive eventually escalated to such an extent that in November 2002 Yala felt he had no other choice than to dismiss Nhasse and to dissolve the National Assembly in which his own party was holding a majority, although a majority loyal to the premier rather than himself. Yala accused the Assembly of insurrection and the cabinet of corruption and subsequently decided to appoint a new premier and cabinet but without a parliament in place.18 His final appointment was his former chief of cabinet and one of the cofounders of the PRS, Mário Pires. This raised serious legal issues around the constitutionality of appointing a premier while the National Assembly was dissolved. Yala did promise new elections but repeatedly postponed the parliamentary elections originally scheduled for February 2003. All in all, Yala’s term in office was characterized by a deteriorating economic and political crisis. Opposition parties accused President Yala of a coup d’état through the dissolution of the National Assembly and his imposed control over the judiciary, arbitrary arrests and harassment of the news media.19 David Stephen, Kofi Annan’s representative in Guinea-Bissau, described the unstable situation as follows:

150

E. Azevedo and L. Nijzink Everything happened in the middle of the visit of the principal development partners, specifically the missions from the World Bank, International Monetary Fund, ECOSOC, the ambassadors . . . It was the most difficult moment, we had invited the international community and the donors to discuss forms of support for Guinea Bissau. And then suddenly, in one week there was no government or members of parliament. (‘Guiné-Bissau: Ameaças de instabilidade ainda persistem – ONU’, Lusa 2004)

As a consequence of the absence of a government, the schools did not manage to finish the academic year due to the disruption to the payment of schoolteachers’ salaries. In fact, during Yala’s term the salaries of civil servants remained practically unpaid.20 On the political front, the new constitution was a major source of tension in the relations between Yala and the National Assembly. In early 2001, the Assembly had passed a new draft constitution that limited the president’s powers, such as his power to preside over the council of ministers, but the president refused to promulgate it. Yala did not use his presidential veto, but simply sent the draft back to the Assembly, advocating a stronger role for the president. Relations soured even more when, in the fall of 2001, Yala used his presidential decree powers to remove four judges from the Supreme Court, an act that elicited widespread protests throughout the country. The National Assembly responded by passing a motion with fifty-three votes in favour and thirty-six against declaring the dismissals unconstitutional. Although the motion was introduced by members of the opposition PAIGC, members of the president’s own PRS were among the majority that approved the motion. That same day, President Yala delivered a message to the country confirming his dismissal of the four judges, which led magistrates to declare a month-long strike. On the evening of the same day, the Security Council of the United Nations launched an appeal to the president to respect the constitution, emphasizing the need to reinforce the judicial system. The coup d’état in 2003 On 14 September 2003 the Guinean military took control of the country and removed Yala from power by way of a coup d’état. The Portuguese newspaper Público reported the situation in the capital Bissau as follows: Since the early morning hours there was tension in the streets of Bissau. The capital woke up under the vigilance of a strong military apparatus; all the streets leading to the President’s palace were occupied by soldiers and police. The soldiers stationed on the streets, particularly between the installations of the Navy, closest to the port, and the plaza of the Baiana, right next to the palace, were visibly armed with automatic rifles and lancerrockets.

Semi-presidentialism in Guinea-Bissau

151

The orchestrators of the coup d’état established themselves as the Military Committee for the Restoration of Democracy (Comité Militar para a Restauracao da Democracia). The coup was ‘welcomed’ or at least accepted by most of the political parties and civil society. During the final months of 2003 the military, in consultation with the main parties and civil society organizations, drafted a plan for the return to democratic governance. The document, called the Letter of Transition (Carta de Transicao), established an interim government that would rule the country until new elections and stipulated that new parliamentary elections would have to be held within six months and presidential elections within one year. The only political party that did not sign the agreement was the PUSD, led by Francisco Fadul. The reason given for their refusal was their discord with the general amnesty established in the document for all members of the military involved in any actual or attempted coups d’état in the thirty years since independence. The interim government that subsequently took office was headed by a member of the same party as ex-president Yala, who was just forced out of office. Premier Artur Sanhá was in fact the General Secretary of the PRS but considered to be Yala’s political rival. Sanhá answered to a civilian president, Henrique Rosa, who was a non-partisan, widely respected businessman, acceptable to all political and religious groupings. Both men were appointed by the Military Committee for the Restoration of Democracy for the duration of the transitional period until new elections would be held. New parliamentary elections In March 2004, the country held its third multi-party elections for the National Assembly in an environment of political tension. Due to logistical problems some polling stations held the elections two days after the formal election date. As a result of the delays, the National Electoral Commission was faced with the discontent of people on the streets of Bissau. During the second day of voting, when the proceedings of the previous day indicated a possible victory for the PAIGC, the PRS called a press conference. The polling stations were open from 7.00 a.m. to 5.00 p.m. In an evident attempt to disrupt the remainder of the electoral process, the PRS announced at the press conference, held at 3.00 p.m., that they would not accept the results because the process was fraudulent. Despite the widespread radio broadcasts of the PRS press conference, the population did not stop voting. That same night the international community announced that the elections had been free and fair and appealed to all political parties to accept the result. While interim president, Henrique Rosa, made a similar appeal, the president of the Military Committee, General Verissimo Seabra, gave a press statement with a different tone, ordering the electoral commission not to announce the election result until all complaints of political parties had been resolved. Premier Artur Sanhá simply repeated the PRS position, declaring the electoral process fraudulent and threatening that the PRS would only accept new elections. In

152

E. Azevedo and L. Nijzink

response to the instability of the situation, the ECOWAS sent a delegation, including the ministers of foreign affairs of Ghana and Senegal, to negotiate with the political parties on the acceptance of the election results. After much tension and uncertainty, the election results were finally announced and accepted: the PAIGC, the party that had ruled the country since independence, was returned to a position of being the largest party in parliament. Having failed to win an absolute majority but securing forty-five out of the 100 Assembly seats, the PAIGC subsequently formed a single-party minority government under the leadership of PAIGC premier Carlos Gomes junior. The PRS of former president Yala came in second by winning thirty-five Assembly seats. Although interim president Rosa was still to stay in his position until the new presidential elections, the role of the Military Committee was formally at an end and civilian rule again established. Vieira back in Guinean politics According to the Letter of Transition, the presidential elections were scheduled to happen not more than six months after Guinea-Bissau had elected its new National Assembly.21 However, due to logistical problems the electoral contest for the presidency was only held in June–July 2005. In the meantime, there was much speculation about who would be the presidential candidates. The Letter of Transition did not allow Rosa to present himself as a candidate, although he was widely regarded as a preferred option. In a move that surprised friend and foe, former president Vieira entered the race for the presidency and returned from exile in April 2005. Before his return, Vieira had been living in Portugal with an allowance from the Portuguese government, which was promptly ended upon his re-entry into Guinean politics. Vieira’s return was not welcomed by the leadership of his old party, the PAIGC. Arriving by helicopter, flying in from neighbouring country Guinea-Conakry, Vieira faced the wrath of the government accusing him of a violation of the national air space (Diário de Noticias 2005). The international community regarded the situation with apprehension, since it was not clear to what extent the return of Vieira would be a threat to stability, not just within Guinea-Bissau but also regionally, because of Vieira’s close links with the authoritarian government of Lansana Conté in Guinea-Conakry. Symptomatic of the tension created by Vieira’s return were the demonstrations that followed. According to an article in the newspaper Diário de Noticias with the telling headline ‘Nino Vieira asks forgiveness and prepares campaign’ (8 April 2005), more than 5,000 people went to the national stadium to welcome him and celebrate his re-emergence on the Guinean political scene, while the day before families of victims of Vieira had tried to demonstrate against him. Even before his return on Guinean soil, it was clear that Vieira would not get the support of his old party for his candidacy in the June–July presidential elections. The PAIGC supported former president of the National Assembly and former interim president under the Abuja Peace Agreement, Malan Bacai Sanhá, as its candidate for the presidency. The PRS, in turn, supported their former

Semi-presidentialism in Guinea-Bissau

153

president Yala, who was thus the third former president to take part in the 2005 elections as a candidate. This did nothing to alleviate an already tense political situation. After a period of campaigning in which tensions did in fact run high, none of the presidential candidates managed to receive an absolute majority in the first round of voting. A second round saw Yala and his PRS throwing their weight behind Vieira, who subsequently beat his PAIGC rival Bacai Sanhá by receiving 52 per cent of the vote. With the difference in the absolute number of votes for each candidate being 19,408, the PAIGC appealed to the Supreme Court for a recount. On 24 August, the Supreme Court ruled against the appeal and in its announcement of the ruling rather unnecessarily accused PAIGC Premier Gomes junior of ‘not having the necessary dignity that his post demands’ and of ‘not being capable of exercising state responsibilities’. Although this public lashing seems to have been provoked by comments that Gomes junior had made earlier about judges being too much involved in politics, it does seem to be an unwise reaction, indicating a lack of non-partisanship and impartiality in the highest court in the country (‘Juizes do Supremo guineense criticam primeiro-ministro’, Público 2005) The first situation of cohabitation The third presidential elections under Guinea-Bissau’s new multi-party dispensation had returned Vieira back to power and he was inaugurated on 1 October 2005. Given the fact that the parliamentary elections had been held more than a year earlier, Vieira was, upon his return to the presidency, confronted with a sitting parliament and an incumbent premier. As such, he was the first of the democratically elected presidents of Guinea-Bissau to find himself in this situation. Because the constitutional design ensures that the terms of the National Assembly and the president are not completely overlapping (four and five years respectively) this could be a fairly common occurrence in Guinean politics. However, it had not happened before because of the disruptions caused by the civil war in 1998–99 and the coup d’état in 2003. In other words, because of their premature and forced removal from power the first two democratically elected presidents, being Vieira himself and Yala, did not encounter a sitting parliament and an incumbent premier upon their election as the presidential and legislative terms had, in practice, completely overlapped. In 2005, the newly elected president was the first to encounter a situation of cohabitation: Vieira, elected as an independent candidate without the support of the PAIGC, was facing an existing PAIGC-led cabinet with an incumbent premier, Carlos Gomes junior, who apparently had the confidence of the Assembly. In a way, this situation provided an important test for the functioning of Guinea-Bissau’s semi-presidential design. Would the president accept this situation and respect the fact that the incumbent premier had his own source of legitimacy in the 2004 parliamentary elections? And how would Vieira behave in a working relationship with PAIGC Premier Gomes junior, especially given his constitutional powers over cabinet?

154

E. Azevedo and L. Nijzink

In his first speech as the new president Vieira promised to collaborate with the PAIGC government led by Gomes junior but the situation was particularly tense. The first meeting between president and premier, held on 12 October, lasted all of 25 minutes and took place in Vieira’s residence with a strong presence from the military. The situation was further complicated by the fact that fourteen MPs from PAIGC, including the vice-president of the party, Aristides Gomes, had supported Vieira instead of the PAIGC candidate Bacai Sanhá in the race for the presidency and were subsequently suspended from the party. On 16 October, more than sixty prominent PAIGC party leaders publicly demonstrated their solidarity with the fourteen dissident PAIGC MPs. In a statement to the press they accused Premier Gomes junior of being undemocratic and politically irresponsible because as the president of PAIGC he had not been able to prevent divisions within the party. This was followed by another announcement by independent MP, Helder Proença, who had also supported Vieira’s campaign for the presidential elections (‘Ex-dirigentes do PAIGC cercam primeiro-ministro’, Correio da Manha 2005.) Just days before the start of the next parliamentary session, Proença announced that there was a new majority in the National Assembly, including himself, MPs from PRS (thirty-five), PUSD (seven), UE (two) as well as the fourteen PAIGC dissidents, who intended to introduce a motion of censure in the next sitting, scheduled for 2 November. The PAIGC reacted by announcing that they would be introducing a motion of confidence in their Premier Gomes junior and his cabinet. On 21 October, in a move that already revealed his next step, President Vieira announced that given the serious political and institutional crisis that had developed he would be holding consultations with all parties represented in the Assembly, something that is constitutionally required in order to dismiss the cabinet. On 29 October, just four days before the new parliamentary majority could prove itself by passing a motion of censure in Gomes junior’s cabinet, President Vieira stepped in and dismissed the premier. This was followed by much speculation about the possibility of new elections for the National Assembly. However, on 2 November, after a meeting in which the PAIGC leadership presented Ndafa Cabi, a powerful PAIGC leader, as their new candidate for the premiership, Vieira appointed PAIGC dissident Aristides Gomes as the new premier to lead a coalition government, including other PAIGC dissidents, PRS, PUSD and a number of independent politicians.22 The new cabinet was sworn in on 9 November 2005 Instead of waiting for the new parliamentary majority to prove itself in the 2 November sitting of the National Assembly, Vieira used his dismissal and appointment powers to resolve the situation and assert himself as a president who would make full use of his broad constitutional powers to put his stamp on government. By not allowing the situation to be played out in the parliamentary arena, Vieira showed a certain disregard for the fact that the National Assembly and thus the cabinet that is dependent upon its continued confidence have their own electoral mandate. It also showed that Vieira had no intention of being a president who was slightly removed from or above party politics. In fact, he

Semi-presidentialism in Guinea-Bissau

155

placed himself squarely in the middle of the political conflict within the ranks of his old party, the PAIGC. Thus, the president created a particularly complex situation, with important consequences that are still difficult to oversee. Vieira’s dismissal of Premier Gomes junior and the subsequent end of the PAIGC cabinet raised issues about the constitutionality of the president’s use of his powers. Was it constitutional to dismiss the incumbent premier before the National Assembly could pass a vote of confidence or censure? And was it proper use of presidential powers or presidential discretion not to accept the candidate presented by the largest party in the Assembly but instead appoint a suspended member of that party as the new premier? As we have already mentioned, some MPs elected for the PAIGC in 2004 were now supporting the president and his new Premier Aristides but the majority of the PAIGC MPs refused to accept the president’s decisions. On 14 March 2006 they walked out on a parliamentary sitting because they refused to be part of the debate on the new government’s programme, claiming that Aristides Gomes’s cabinet was unconstitutional. The PAIGC also brought the matter before the Supreme Court but given the court’s earlier criticism of Premier Gomes junior it was not surprising that they considered his dismissal and the subsequent appointment of Aristides Gomes to be constitutional and ruled in the president’s favour. What complicates the situation even further is the fact that the situation of cohabitation and Vieira’s response to it hinged to a large extent on internal PAIGC dynamics. Although Vieira did not get the support of the PAIGC in the presidential elections and has given up his PAIGC membership, the PAIGC dissidents in his current government are, although suspended, still PAIGC members. Aristides Gomes’s coalition was created by way of a forum of the collaborating parties but after the cabinet was appointed the forum did not meet again. The partisan support for the government thus seems to be fairly fluid, as is evident in the most recent developments. Multiple meetings have been held between Vieira and his PAIGC rival in the elections, Malam Bacai Sanhá, in an attempt to bring about reconciliation between the president and his old party. As a result, there seems to be the possibility of a government of national unity, including both the PAIGC and the Vieira-supporting PAIGC dissidents. Such a move would not only solve a problem for the PAIGC but also strengthen Vieira’s position. It remains to be seen whether a government of national unity will in fact be formed and what its effect will be on the political situation in Guinea-Bissau. What is clear, however, is that the situation remains uncertain and that the stability of the current coalition and the way executive–legislature relations will play out under President Vieira are important tests for the semipresidential system and the survival of democracy in Guinea-Bissau.

Implications for the survival of democracy in Guinea-Bissau The Guinean constitution has created a powerful presidency and a weak premiership but how has the system of a presidentialized dual executive functioned in practice? Similarly, on paper the National Assembly does not seem to be a

156

E. Azevedo and L. Nijzink

particularly strong institution of countervailing power but how have executivelegislature relations played out since the first multi-party elections in 1994? The answers to these questions seem to depend to a large extent on the partisan context. We have seen that the Guinean political parties and their internal and inter-party dynamics play an important role in the functioning of the Guinean semi-presidential system. We have also seen that the role of the military is equally if not more important, especially because the highly presidentialized design seems to do little to keep non-democratic tendencies in check. As we have noted above, Elgie (2005, 99) has warned that highly presidentialized semi-presidential systems ‘pose severe obstacles for democracy’s survival’ because they tend to personalize the presidency. The emergence of a highly personalized presidency is a development we certainly see in GuineaBissau. The fact that in the 2005 presidential elections three former presidents participated in the electoral competition is already an important signal. But especially the return of Vieira on the political scene without the support of his former party and his subsequent return to power are clear indications of a growing personalization of the presidency that could be an obstacle to the survival of democracy in Guinea-Bissau. And, in the African context of this small West African country, the still existing pressures of neo-patrimonialism and clientelist relations between ‘big man’ political leaders and their citizens (see Jackson and Rosberg 1984) are likely to exacerbate rather than mitigate the detrimental effects of a personalized presidency. In theory, a semi-presidential design is said to keep the president more or less removed from daily politics, thus providing a degree of institutional flexibility (Elgie 2004). To the extent that this can be regarded as an advantage of semipresidentialism, Guinea-Bissau does not experience this beneficial effect. The broad constitutional powers of the president in terms of appointing and dismissing cabinet, chairing cabinet meetings and dissolving the National Assembly make the Guinean design highly presidentialized and give the president the opportunity to fully engage with party politics and the daily running of the cabinet. And the three democratically elected presidents so far have certainly not kept their distance from partisan affairs. The way both Vieira and Yala choose to use their powers placed them in the middle of the dynamics between and within parties that shaped their terms in office. And again, especially Vieira’s return to Guinean politics and his new term in office have turned the presidency into one of the main players in the divisions within the former ruling party PAIGC. The dual executive and the fact that the cabinet needs the confidence of the legislature make the semi-presidential design conducive to coalition building and, in theory, create incentives for power sharing. In the case of Guinea-Bissau we have seen a number of coalition governments, but these mostly came about without electoral mandates because periods of conflict and disruption called for drastic measures implemented with a strong role for the military. The highly presidentialized nature of the Guinean system seems to have contributed more to these episodes of conflict and military intervention than to finding the inclusive arrangements that perhaps could have prevented the incidences of political

Semi-presidentialism in Guinea-Bissau

157

unrest and instability. We have seen that the dual executive has not been used for power sharing between parties because the presidents tended to use their powers to choose their own preferred candidates, who were mostly members of their own party. We have also seen that the broad powers of the president have limited the role of the multi-party National Assembly as a platform for inclusive political arrangements. It would probably require a constitutional design with a more powerful premier and restricted powers for the president for the multiparty National Assembly to fully develop its potential as the country’s main representative institution. On the other side of the argument, semi-presidentialism is said to institutionalize divisions and increase polarization. This effect seems to have occurred in Guinea-Bissau but not in the way it is usually described. The dual executive seems to have contributed to polarization and institutionalized divisions but within parties rather than between parties. We have seen that the choice of premier has caused much friction both within the PRS when Yala was president and within the PAIGC under Vieira. Currently, these divisions seem to have developed into fully fledged factions, a PAIGC faction opposing and a dissident PAIGC faction supporting the president and his cabinet. The semi-presidential design certainly seems to have institutionalized the divisions that originated from Vieira’s return to Guinean politics. A conflict between separately legitimated parts of the dual executive is another disadvantage of a semi-presidential design. If the president and the premier each have their own mandate a conflict between them is hard to resolve. We have seen this problem arising in Guinea-Bissau with the first instance of cohabitation in 2005, when Vieira was confronted with an incumbent premier and a sitting National Assembly elected more than a year before his own return to power. However, in the highly presidentialized Guinean design, the constitution has provided the president with the powers to resolve such a conflict in his favour. The fact that upon his return to power Vieira did not resist using his constitutional powers to their full extent does not bode well for the future of democracy in Guinea-Bissau. Although it means that the conflict within the dual executive was resolved, this resolution happened at the cost of sidelining the National Assembly and disregarding the separate mandate of the incumbent cabinet. In the very first real test of the semi-presidential design in the form of a situation of cohabitation, the president could have chosen to use his extensive powers sparingly and create a moderating role for himself. The fact that he chose the opposite direction and placed himself squarely within the internal party dynamics of the PAIGC shows us that the incumbent president has no intention of being above party politics or being restrained by a potential countervailing power in the form of a premier with the confidence of the National Assembly. Because of the instability that characterized Guinea-Bissau’s first decade of multi-party politics and the more recent political developments since Vieira’s return to power, the semi-presidential system in Guinea-Bissau has come under fire. There have been calls for a pure presidential system, using the argument

158

E. Azevedo and L. Nijzink

that it would be more efficient because less time would be wasted seeking agreement amongst different parties or factions.23 It has also been argued that the dual leadership of a semi-presidential design is not compatible with Guinean culture, in which people are used to having one chief who does not have to share his power (Medina 2006). However, these arguments seem to disregard not only the benefits power sharing and inclusive arrangements can have for emerging democracies but also the danger a pure presidential system holds in that it encourages winner-takes-all outcomes that tend to be problematic in fragile democracies. In the Guinean situation in which no ethnic group comprises more than 30 per cent of the population a winner-takes-all situation could create unnecessary ethnic divisions. It would also make it harder to prevent the military from too much involvement in political affairs. The proponents of presidentialism in Guinea-Bissau seem to be a little too quick in laying the blame for the political instability and current confusion on the semi-presidential design. Our account of how the system has worked so far suggests that it is the highly presidentialized nature of the system rather than the system itself that is problematic. In fact, semi-presidentialism seems to be the lesser of two evils in this respect. Even the highly presidentialized semipresidentialism we have described above is preferable to a pure presidential system for Guinea-Bissau because it has at least allowed a certain political diversity to come to the surface. And although the National Assembly has been sidelined by Vieira’s recent moves, the semi-presidential design holds more potential for an assertive parliament than a pure presidential system. Elgie (2004) has pointed out that the study of semi-presidentialism has so far focused on a number of dependent variables without having found a common theoretical approach. In the context of our descriptive account of a single case, we will not be able to deal with these theoretical issues. Questions about the effect of semi-presidentialism on the survival of democracy can best be answered by more comparative studies including either a small number of semipresidential systems or many countries with different constitutional designs. Our description of semi-presidentialism in Guinea-Bissau can, however, confirm or infirm our theoretical expectations, as it has done in a number of ways. The Guinean case has also pointed us to a number of important contextual variables that might be operative in other countries and could help us get a better understanding of the workings of a semi-presidential system in emerging democracies, especially variables around intra-party dynamics and colonial and post-colonial legacies. The relationship between these variables, the constitutional design of executive–legislative relations and the survival of democracy is something we will further explore in future work.

Notes The authors wish to express their gratitude to Alvaro Nóbrega, Carlos Cardoso, Eng. Mário Cabral, Helder Vaz, Ismael Medina and Mussá Baldé for their important comments, corrections and information. Any omissions, errors or inaccuracies are solely the authors’ responsibility.

Semi-presidentialism in Guinea-Bissau

159

1 Guinea-Bissau is a small country in the West African sub-region. Portuguese is the official language; Creole the second language. Guinea’s population of 1.5 million people is ethnically and religiously heterogeneous. The estimated distribution of ethnic groups is: Balantas (30 per cent), Fulas (20 per cent), Manjacos (14 per cent), Mandingas (13 per cent), Papéis (7 per cent), with the remaining 16 per cent including Brames, Mancanhas, Beafadas and Bijagós (IPAD on line, May 2006). 2 There were doubts raised about the legality of the candidacies of both Vieira and Yala, based on the fact that they both, when forced to resign, signed a formal document renouncing their positions which would supposedly make it illegal for them to stand again as candidate in a presidential election within a certain time period. 3 ‘Independent’ MPs are elected on party lists and take up seats for a specific party. However, they are not party members. The use of the non-members on party lists has a number of reasons – it can be in the interest of the party to invite a public figure (medical doctor, intellectual, civil society leader) who is already known by the electorate to stand for elections; it can also be a case of the person in question not wanting to be fully incorporated into the party in order to keep some degree of ‘political freedom’; similarly, it can be a strategic choice from the party to show its overtures to civil society. In practice, the majority of the independents do have strong linkages with the parties on whose lists they are fighting the elections. 4 These two, Francisco Fadul and Faustino Imbali, were both independent, i.e. not representing any party. 5 For a full analysis of similarities and differences in the constitutional design of executive–legislative relations in lusophone Africa, see Nijzink and Azevedo 2006. 6 Ministers were also called ‘commissioners’ and one could thus argue that the principal commissioners were in fact premiers. Since independence, Guinea-Bissau has had fifteen premiers. In 2005, the newly elected President Vieira dismissed Gomes junior and appointed a new premier, Aristides Gomes, who was announced in the media as the twelfth Guinean prime minister in the thirty-two years since independence. (‘Guiné-Bissau: doze primeiros-ministros em 32 anos, mais dois em transiçãp’, Lusa 2005.) In fact, the LUSA news agency made a mistake here, as the number of premiers since independence is in fact fifteen. 7 Nô Pintcha, no. 1046, 31 March 1984. Quoting a press release of 27 March 1984: Considerando a necessidade de orientação e coordenação da actividade executiva do Estado, na sequência da exoneração do Primeiro-ministro; – considerando a eminência de eleições legislativas e presidenciais e o consequente imperativo rstabilidade da acção do Governo; no uso da faculdade que lhe é conferida pelo artigo 4.º da lei constitucional, de 15 de Novembro, Conselho da Revolução determina o seguinte: Artigo 1.º) O Presidente do Conselho da revolução, João Bernardo Vieira, assume as funções de Chefe do Governo, previstas no artigo 1.º da\lei constitucional número 1/82, de 11 de Maio [. . .]. 8 After Luis Cabral was overthrown he was held in detention for almost a year. He was then sent to Cuba, where he was received by Fidel Castro. Subsequently, there were diplomatic attempts to allow him to live in Cape Verde but the process was unclear and authorization was never granted. Luis Cabral, in an interview with one of the authors in Lisbon in 2002, indicated that this happened because the PAICV in Cape Verde did not want to have diplomatic problems with its previous partner party in Guinea-Bissau. 9 Ironically, in 1998, during the Sixth Congress of the PAIGC, the new method of secret voting was at the last moment replaced by a public roll call vote in order to ensure another term for Vieira, who felt threatened by his internal opposition. 10 In March 1993, the country faced an attempted coup d’état which resulted in the arrest of fifty people, including military personnel and leaders of the opposition, such as Joao Da Costa, a well-known political adversary of President Vieira. This episode further delayed the holding of the first multi-party elections.

160

E. Azevedo and L. Nijzink

11 This seems to be fairly common amongst the semi-presidential systems on the African continent, see Mozaffar and Nijzink (2006). 12 Article 97 of the constitution states that the government is constituted by the premier, the ministers and the secretaries of state; the premier is the head of the government and has the authority to lead and co-ordinate the actions of this organ of state and ensure the execution of laws; the premier must, as far as it does not limit his other powers, inform the president about issues related to domestic and foreign affairs of Guinea-Bissau. 13 Article 66 states that the president cannot be a candidate for a third consecutive mandate and cannot be a candidate within five years of the end of his second term. 14 In 1991, Da Costa, together with Malam Bacai Sanhá, was very influential in the Second Extraordinary Congress of the PAIGC and managed to get elected as the party’s General Secretary without Vieira’s support. 15 In May 1997, Guinea-Bissau adopted the CFA franc, the common currency of francophone Africa. 16 This committee of inquiry was established by parliamentary Resolution 498 on 27 February 1998. The committee included members from various political parties and was chaired by Carlos Gomes junior from PAIGC. PAIGC was also represented by Mário Soares, Domingos Braima Djaló and Luis Oliveira Sanca. The committee further included Alessandre Bucandil Cabral from RGB/MB, Embunhe Encada from PRS and Agnelo Augusto Regalla from UM. 17 According to popular belief, N’Tchama is in fact Yala’s cousin. 18 There is also a version of events that argues the move to replace three premiers in two years was just a strategy by Yala to eliminate adversaries from within his own Balantas ethnic group, since his first three premiers were all Balantas (interview with Baldé) 19 An example is a delegate of the African Portuguese television who was not allowed to stay in the country after reporting on the death of Ansumane Mané. 20 One of the priorities of the transitional government that came into power after the coup d’état of 2003 was to secure international funds to allow them to pay the salaries of civil servants. 21 The letter seems to have been slightly ambiguous in setting these deadlines. According to the report of the EU observer mission on the 2005 presidential elections in Guinea-Bissau the latest possible date for the elections would have been 8 May 2005 (Declarações e conclusões preliminares: segunda volta das eleicoes presidenciais, Missao de Observacao Eleitoral de Uniao Europeia, Bissua, 25 de Julho de 2005). 22 ‘Independent’ MPs are elected on party lists and take up seats for a specific party. However, they are not party members. The use of the non-members on party lists has a number of reasons – it can be in the interests of the party to invite a public figure medical doctor, intellectual, civil society leader) who is already known by the electorate to stand for elections; it can also be a case of the person in question not wanting to be part of the party in order to keep his or her ‘political freedom’; similarly, it can be a strategic choice from the party to show their overture to the civil society. In practice, the majority of the independents do have strong linkages with the parties on whose lists they are fighting the elections. 23 A statement by the PAIGC caucus from December 2005 accused Bacelar Gouveia, a Portuguese legal expert who argued for a presidential regime in Guinea-Bissau, of insulting the Guinean nation and just doing Vieira’s bidding. Thus, the statement suggests that President Vieira is, if not behind the calls for a presidential system, at least supportive of these proposals to strengthen his position (Agência de Bissau, 4 December 2005, Declaração Política da Bancada Parlamentar do PAIGC).

10 Eurasian semi-presidentialism The development of Kyrgyzstan’s model of government Eugene Huskey

Kyrgyzstan is a legacy of the Soviet Union. It was the Soviet Union that gave Kyrgyzstan a territory, an institutionalized ethnic identity, and the model of government with which it began life as an independent country at the end of 1991.1 We argue below that Kyrgyzstan did not choose its initial semi-presidential arrangements but instead accepted them as part of a usable inheritance from the Soviet order. Political contests did ensue, however, over the precise rules governing relations among president, prime minister, and parliament, and in a series of constitutional reforms that began in 1993, Kyrgyzstan’s founding president, Askar Akaev, concentrated ever greater powers in his hands. By 1996, constitutional revisions had transformed the model of government in Kyrgyzstan into a distinctively Eurasian form of semi-presidentialism, in which the parliament was unable to hold either prime minister or president accountable through traditional parliamentary means, such as a vote of no confidence or a rejection of the president’s nominee as prime minister.2 Found in several other post-communist countries, including Russia and Kazakhstan, the Eurasian model combines the formal rules of semi-presidentialism with the informal practices of a managed democracy, in which electoral competitiveness wanes as presidential prerogatives expand. Unlike Steven Fish’s super-presidentialism, Eurasian semipresidentialism is attentive to the impact of the politics of the dual executive on institutional development and it assumes no ‘bona fide’ national elections (Fish 2000, 23; Huskey 1996, 453–74; Matsuzato 2005). Kyrgyzstan’s slide toward authoritarianism never reached the depths achieved, however, in neighbouring states such as Uzbekistan or Turkmenistan. For all the formal powers accorded to President Akaev, he was still forced to confront parliamentary resistance and to work with prime ministers who did not always share his policy vision. Although by the mid-1990s he was manipulating the vote to guarantee his re-election and to limit the opposition’s presence in parliament, to the surprise of many, President Akaev publicly committed himself to standing down in 2005 when he reached the end of his term of office, a move that led to a schism in the ruling elite and ultimately the unseating of Akaev in the Tulip Revolution of March 2005. This chapter begins by assessing the development of the rules governing semi-presidentialism in Kyrgyzstan and then turns to an examination of the

162

E. Huskey

semi-presidential system in practice. It considers next the effects of Kyrgyzstan’s institutional design on the country’s difficult transition from communism. The penultimate section explores the significance for institutional developments of the March Revolution of 2005, which has already begun to reshape the operation of semi-presidential arrangements in Kyrgyzstan. The chapter argues in conclusion that the Kyrgyz case should force students of comparative politics to recognize that the differences between traditional versions of semi-presidentialism and the Kyrgyz experience are so profound as to warrant the use of a separate label for this model of government, whether Eurasian, monarchical, or neopatrimonial semi-presidentialism.

The choice of the system In their classic work, Two Faces of Power, Bachrach and Baratz argued that certain alternatives to the existing order are never considered because of the ‘mobilization of bias’ (Bachrach and Baratz 1962, 947–52). Designed to explain the powerlessness of the impoverished, this study also applies to the institutional choices made by, or rather for, many new states. For example, countries gaining their independence from European colonial powers in the wake of World War II did not decide to adopt a particular model of government; instead, they inherited a constitution from the colonial authorities. As a result, parliamentarism became the dominant form of government during the second wave of democratization. In similar fashion, Kyrgyzstan and several other post-Soviet states emerged as independent countries with a model of government that had many of the trappings of traditional semi-presidentialism. To be sure, a debate over institutional design changes had taken place within the Soviet leadership two years earlier, when Gorbachev decided to abandon the Communist Party apparatus as the chief instrument of rule. In this debate, which was dominated by a narrow group of politicians and their advisers, two factors appeared to determine the outcome in favour of a Eurasian variant of semi-presidentialism. The first was what economists call path dependence. In terms of government structure, the Soviet Union had long contained the shell of a semi-presidential order. One of the central institutional features of communist rule was a dual executive, with a prime minister governing alongside a general secretary of the Communist Party. Thus, when the general secretary, Gorbachev, assumed the newly created post of president in 1990, he formalized the introduction of a semi-presidential structure in Soviet government.3 It was more than the force of institutional inertia, however, that led Gorbachev and his allies to opt for semi-presidentialism. Compared to the alternatives, presidentialism and parliamentarism, semi-presidentialism presented an important advantage. It allowed the leader, in this case Gorbachev, to replicate in the presidency the benefits of the general secretaryship: one could retain the majesty of office without being directly responsible, politically or practically, for economic policy and performance. That fell to the prime minister, who could be jettisoned as a scapegoat if the government over which he presided failed to achieve the desired results.

Eurasian semi-presidentialism 163 Shortly after its adoption at the all-union level, the Soviet version of semipresidentialism served as the model for follow-on constitutional reforms in the country’s fifteen constituent republics, one of which was the Kirgiz Soviet Socialist Republic, the forerunner to independent Kyrgyzstan. Unlike the president of the Soviet Union, who was chosen by the country’s parliament, the newly created republican presidents eventually stood for direct popular elections, which strengthened their mandate and brought the version of semi-presidentialism in the republics closer to the world standard.4 In the Kirgiz Republic, the new institutional arrangements were introduced into the local constitution without serious debate in early 1991. Thus, when the Soviet Union collapsed at the end of that year, Kyrgyzstan acquired sovereignty with a legacy system of semipresidentialism already in operation. A culture of submission to Moscow explains in part the failure of elites in Kyrgyzstan to seriously consider alternatives to semi-presidentialism at the end of the Soviet era. Although local leaders in the Soviet Union often saluted the centre while carving out pockets of autonomy for themselves – a phenomenon that was notoriously well developed in Central Asia – they were reliable agents of Moscow on highly visible matters such as the institutional design of the political system. The sycophantic leadership of Soviet Kyrgyzstan was reluctant, therefore, to challenge directly the centre’s choice of semi-presidentialism. Traditional deference to directives from Moscow depended, of course, on the assumption that the Soviet Union would remain intact. Had the republic’s elites understood that independence was in the offing, and that the institutional choices recommended by Moscow would establish the rules of the political game for an independent, post-communist Kyrgyzstan, a vigorous debate on alternative institutional arrangements would undoubtedly have ensued. But few in Central Asia predicted, or even desired, the demise of the Soviet Union. Indeed, in a referendum held in early 1991, 94 per cent of voters in Kyrgyzstan cast their ballots for continued membership in a Soviet political community. Thus, unlike in most new states in Asia and Africa, there was no staged transition to independence that would have alerted elites to an impending transfer of sovereignty. It makes little sense, then, to speak of semi-presidentialism as the choice of the Kyrgyzstani political community for its initial model of government. It was, instead, one of the many legacies of Soviet rule. In theory, the collapse of the Soviet Union freed Kyrgyzstan from the institutional arrangements of the old order. But to assume that a newly sovereign Kyrgyzstan would immediately jettison its institutional inheritance is to misunderstand the nature of the transition in Central Asia. At least in the initial phase of the transition, Soviet-era elections and institutions were sources of legitimacy for the political leaders of the region, especially the presidents, whose elections were conducted more recently and under more democratic conditions than those of the legislatures. Moreover, at the break-up of the Soviet Union, political elites in Kyrgyzstan were less concerned with rethinking the model of government than with addressing the country’s immediate economic problems and the rising tensions between the titular nationality, the ethnic

164

E. Huskey

Kyrgyz, and the country’s ethnic minorities, especially the Uzbeks and Russians (Akaev 2002, 139–47). Although the ministry of justice of Kyrgyzstan had begun drafting a new constitution in the spring of 1991, it was only at the end of 1992 that the country’s institutional design moved toward the top of the political agenda (Anderson 1999, 25–6). In Kyrgyzstan, as in the Russian Federation, tensions were increasing at this time between a reform-oriented president and a more conservative parliament. Through the adoption of a new constitution, President Akaev sought to reduce the very considerable constraints on presidential power that carried over from Soviet-era legislation. Many in the parliament, however, insisted on retaining or even expanding the authority of the legislature, and thus the constitutional debates advanced diverse institutional alternatives, though all were within the framework of semi-presidentialism. One of these granted autonomy to the prime minister in the formation of a cabinet, to which President Akaev objected forcefully in an article in the country’s leading newspaper on 4 December 1992. Why did we introduce the institution of the presidency in the first place? So that it would turn the president into a figurehead like the Queen of England? We wanted to have an authoritative executive branch that could serve as a counterweight to the legislature. We see the consequences of such an amorphous, faceless system in neighbouring Tajikistan.5 (Kakoi byt’ vlasti i skol’ko ee dolzhno byt’ v rukakh presidenta’, Slovo Kyrgyzstana, 4 December 1992, p. 2) On this and many other issues, however, President Akaev did not prevail in the constitutional deliberations. The first independence-era constitution of Kyrgyzstan, adopted on 5 May 1993, provided for a semi-presidential system that balanced the powers of president, prime minister, and parliament.6 It did depart in important respects, though, from the legacy constitution of the Soviet era. The new constitution eliminated the office of vice-president, replaced a 350-member legislature with a parliament of only 105 deputies, and reduced the constitutional status of the new legislature, to be known thenceforth by its Kyrgyz name, Jogorku Kenesh. But from Akaev’s perspective these favourable changes to institutional arrangements were offset by provisions that maintained parliament’s ability to limit presidential power. For example, the 1993 constitution required the president to seek the approval of parliament for all nominees to the government, and not just the prime minister. On numerous occasions in the period between 1993 and 1996, deputies rejected presidential nominees for ministerial posts. The constitution of 1993 also required parliamentary approval for any changes in the structure of the government and for the dismissal of the government before the end of a parliamentary term. Moreover, the constitution granted the prime minister the right to recommend members of the government to the president. Looking back in his memoirs on the shortcomings of the 1993 constitution, Akaev wrote that:

Eurasian semi-presidentialism 165 it did not fundamentally resolve the issue of political power [vopros o vlasti]. The result was neither a presidential nor a parliamentary republic. The head of state did not even receive the right to appoint [unilaterally] ambassadors and representatives of Kyrgyzstan in international organizations. And this right is recognized universally as an unquestioned presidential prerogative. (Akaev 2002, 168) Bachrach and Baratz’s second, unseen, face of power was also present in the choice of a model of government for the first constitution of independent Kyrgyzstan. In spite of occasionally vigorous disagreements over the configuration of state power, the constitutional debates assumed semi-presidential arrangements as a starting point. That the concept of a dual executive was not seriously challenged reflected the two factors noted earlier: path dependence and the advantages of semi-presidentialism for the incumbent president, who had an interest in maintaining a prime minister who could buffer him from criticism and relieve him of responsibility for pushing the budget and related legislation through parliament. But a third factor was also at work: the demonstration effect of the Russian Federation, the largest and most influential successor state to the Soviet Union. For Akaev, Russia was not just an example to be emulated but also the source of legal expertise. The key draughtsmen of the 1993 constitution of Kyrgyzstan had been trained by Russian jurists, and when Kyrgyzstan sought an external review of the draft constitution in 1992 it turned to the most prominent Russian legal authority of the period, Sergei Alexeev. Thus, postcommunist Russia’s preference for the maintenance of a semi-presidential structure influenced constitutional developments in other parts of the former Soviet Union, most notably in Central Asia. Less than a year after the enactment of the 1993 constitution, President Akaev faced a major revolt by the parliament, many of whose deputies accused the government of corruption in the transfer of gold to Switzerland. The socalled gold scandal escalated into a constitutional crisis by the end of 1993, when the parliament fell just a few votes shy of voting no confidence in the prime minister. President Akaev responded by replacing the prime minister, who was a reforming economist, with Apas Jumagulov, a petroleum engineer who had been Kyrgyzstan’s premier in the Gorbachev era. Not only was Jumagulov’s background similar to that of Russia’s prime minister, Viktor Chernomyrdin, but like Chernomyrdin, he was selected from among the top vote-getters in a parliamentary preference poll, a concession to the legislature that Akaev made reluctantly. Despite Akaev’s compromise with parliament, the gold scandal continued to escalate, and in the summer of 1994 Akaev tried to turn the crisis to his advantage by dissolving parliament and calling new parliamentary elections. But in a repetition of the Russian script of late 1993, the election that followed the extra-constitutional proroguing of parliament did not return the desired propresidential majority. Having failed to produce a compliant parliament through fresh elections,

166

E. Huskey

Akaev sought to strengthen his own position by seeking an early presidential mandate through a referendum rather than a competitive election.7 The parliament rejected his bid for a new term by referendum, but it did allow him to proceed to an early election, which he won by a large majority in December 1995. Fresh off this victory, he placed a referendum before the nation in February 1996 that included wholesale revisions to the constitution, revisions that granted expansive powers to the presidency at the expense of parliament and prime minister. Eurasian semi-presidentialism had come of age.8 Throughout his rule, Akaev used popular referendums to revise the constitution in ways that shored up presidential authority.9 Although all these constitutional revisions were made within the framework of a semi-presidential model of government, at the turn of the century, as Kyrgyzstan’s founding president faced a constitutional limitation on his term in office, the field of institutional choices under discussion within the elite began to widen to include parliamentary and presidential forms of government. Interviewed in February 2000, after casting his ballot in the country’s parliamentary elections, President Akaev offered the following observations on the prospects of transforming Kyrgyzstan into a parliamentary republic: I don’t support this idea. I remain an advocate of the model of the French Republic: between presidential and legislative authority there should be a balance. Perhaps we will move to a parliamentary republic some day, but it is premature to speak of this at the moment. (A. Lymar’, ‘Askar Akaev: ia ubezhden, chto my poluchim bolee konstruktivnyi Jogorku Kenesh’, Analiticheskie materialy [Bishkek], 22 February 2000) Originally advanced by presidential allies as a way of extending Akaev’s rule, proposals for the introduction of parliamentarism were soon seized upon by Akaev’s growing number of opponents, who were looking for ways to impose greater checks on presidential power in a post-Akaev Kyrgyzstan.10 When the Tulip Revolution of March 2005 unseated Akaev, it unleashed the most open and vigorous debate to date in Kyrgyzstan over the appropriate model of postcommunist government. For the first time since its introduction in 1996, Eurasian semi-presidentialism in Kyrgyzstan is now in doubt.

The mechanics of semi-presidentialism in Akaev’s Kyrgyzstan If the legacies of the Crown continue to shape the powers of the contemporary British prime minister almost two centuries after the marginalization of the monarchy, it should come as no surprise that vestiges of Communist Party rule are still evident in the presidencies of many post-Soviet states. Even though Askar Akaev, unlike other Central Asian leaders, did not accede to the presidency from the first secretaryship of his republican party organization, he did

Eurasian semi-presidentialism 167 bring with him an understanding of the mechanics of governance that he learned in the Soviet era. Among these was the idea of a super-institution, the Communist Party, that was not a branch of government but rather a co-ordinator of the institutions of state. In the last Soviet constitution, enacted in 1978, Article 6 described the Communist Party as the ‘leading and guiding force in society’. Similar language characterizes the post-communist presidencies in numerous Eurasian semi-presidential regimes, including Russia and Kyrgyzstan. According to the constitution of Kyrgyzstan, as amended in 1996, the president not only ‘determines the basic direction of foreign and domestic policy’ but also ‘assures the unity and continuity of the state, coordinates the functioning of state institutions, and holds them responsible before the people’ (Konstitutsiia 1998, Article 42). In constitutional terms, the president is not part of the executive branch – that is headed by the prime minister – but instead stands above all the branches of government.11 Among the many factors facilitating Kyrgyzstan’s slide toward authoritarianism in the second half of the 1990s was the country’s peculiar form of semi-presidentialism, which endowed the presidency with a status closer to that of an enlightened despot, or a Communist Party general secretary, than a chief executive in a modern democratic state. One-man management (edinonachalie) was not, however, the only communistera tradition that shaped institutional development in the transition from Soviet rule. An approach to governance that had an equally long pedigree in Russian history, soviet parliamentarism, was championed in the early 1990s by many members of the legislature who wished to place the Assembly at the heart of the new political system, whether out of opposition to the liberalizing policies of Akaev or a desire to restrain executive power. As distinct from parliamentarism in its contemporary usage in political science, soviet parliamentarism exhibited a utopian belief held by many early Bolsheviks, and some late Soviet romantic democrats, in the ability of an assembly to manage the affairs of state with the assistance of its executive committees. This romanticism was evident in the slogan of the revolutionary era, ‘All power to the soviets!’ In both Russia and Kyrgyzstan, the institutional arrangements of the late Soviet and immediate post-Soviet eras contained elements of soviet parliamentarism, which allowed the legislature to claim that its democratic legitimacy surpassed that of the president. In practical terms, the legacy constitutions from the Soviet era had granted to the legislatures of independent Russia and Kyrgyzstan the power to impeach the president, to call referendums, and to amend the constitution. Moreover, as the primary law-making institution, the parliament was often able to block, postpone, or revise legislative initiatives advanced by president or prime minister, who did not enjoy a stable majority in the legislature. It is true that, in the extraordinary conditions of late 1991 and early 1992, parliaments in Russia and Kyrgyzstan temporarily granted Yeltsin and Akaev the right to legislate directly on matters of economic reform. But when this special dispensation expired, executive–legislative relations quickly deteriorated in both countries. In crafting the 1993 constitution and its subsequent versions, President Akaev

168

E. Huskey

and his political allies sought to overcome this executive–legislative gridlock by expunging the legacies of soviet parliamentarism while preserving for the president many of the powers of one-man management that Communist Party leaders had enjoyed. In part, this effort reflected a Soviet-era distaste for political compromise and power sharing, which is expressed in the Russian phrase kto/kogo (who will devour whom). In describing the conflict between president and parliament in the early post-communist years, the prominent Kyrgyz politician, Jumagul Saadanbekov, noted that ‘each branch of government sought, with a similar single-mindedness, to convince the population of its monopoly of political legitimacy’ (Iskakova 2003, 297). Although the institutional and ideational legacies of the Soviet era gave the struggle over the design of the political system a distinctive flavour, there were clearly universal features in the conflict between executive and legislative authority in Kyrgyzstan. Much like de Gaulle at the beginning of the Fifth French Republic, Akaev and his allies were seeking to invest greater powers in the president as a means of compensating for the absence of a stable party majority. Whereas in France party fragmentation explained the lack of stable majorities, in Kyrgyzstan it was the complete absence of efficient parties, save the unreconstructed Communist Party, which sought to scuttle economic reform as well as competitive politics. Instead of committing himself to the development of a vibrant, pro-presidential party that would take on the communists, Askar Akaev chose instead to overcome the executive–legislative stalemate through institutional rather than political means. By early 1996, as we noted above, President Akaev had succeeded in introducing a semi-presidential mechanism that, he hoped, could substitute for a party majority. The institutional arrangements contained in the current Kyrgyz constitution are in some respects similar to those in traditional semi-presidential regimes. The citizens choose the president and parliament in direct, popular elections. The president, who enjoys broad constitutional powers, then appoints a prime minister, who heads a government that must have the support of the parliament. But because these basic features of semi-presidentialism could not guarantee presidential dominance in the conditions of the transition, semi-presidentialism in Kyrgyzstan after the 1996 referendum contained a number of provisions that strengthened the president’s hand vis-à-vis the parliament. First, the rules on the formation and dismissal of a government create a formidable structure of disincentives for a parliament wishing to deny support for a prime ministerial nominee or to withdraw support from a sitting prime minister. According to Article 71 of the constitution, to reject the president’s nominee for prime minister, the lower house of parliament must cast two-thirds of its votes against him or her on three separate occasions, after which the president dissolves the parliament, calls new elections, and unilaterally installs his nominee as prime minister. Thus, the consequence of a parliament’s failure to confirm the president’s choice for the head of the government is political suicide. Likewise, if a parliament approves two no-confidence votes in a prime minister (since 2003, the entire government) in the span of three months, the president may choose to

Eurasian semi-presidentialism 169 dismiss the government or to dissolve the parliament. Not surprisingly, these ‘poison pen’ provisions in the constitution enabled the Kyrgyz president to form and dismiss governments without serious opposition from the parliament after 1996.12 The rigidity of the fixed presidential term, criticized by Linz and Valenzuela as one of the perils of presidentialism, is even more pronounced in the semipresidentialism of Kyrgyzstan than in presidential systems, where impeachment, in formal terms at least, is usually a viable option (Linz 1994, 8–14). The institutional arrangements in Kyrgyzstan set the hurdles to impeachment so high that the president is all but insulated from a direct assault by the parliament. Article 51 of the constitution requires that before subjecting the president to a vote of impeachment, a majority of the members of the lower house must place the issue on the docket on the basis of a finding by a special parliamentary committee that the president has committed treason or another serious crime. This charge is then reviewed by the Constitutional Court, whose members have been nominated by the president and confirmed by the upper house. If the court rules that the president’s actions do not merit impeachment proceedings, the lower house is dissolved and new elections are called. Once again, challenging presidential authority brings with it the risk of loss of office for members of parliament, many of whom depend on their seat for their livelihood. If the impeachment charge is confirmed by the Constitutional Court, each house of the Jogorku Kenesh must then approve the bill of particulars by a two-thirds vote in order to remove the president. Not surprisingly, no president of Kyrgyzstan has yet been subjected to impeachment proceedings.13 The constitution also grants the president broad legislative powers that enable the chief of state to frustrate, supplement, and circumvent the law-making efforts of the parliament. The president enjoys the right to veto parliamentary legislation, which may only be overridden by a two-thirds vote of the total number of deputies, a tall order given the high absentee rate in the Kyrgyz parliament. The president also has the authority to issue decrees and directives that have the full force of law (Iskakova 2003, 324–33). When the president dissolves parliament for the reasons noted in the previous paragraph, he or she assumes the full legislative authority of parliament.14 Moreover, the constitution allows the parliament to delegate its legislative powers to the president for up to one year. Finally, the president initiates popular referendums, which, as we illustrated earlier, have been used repeatedly as a means of amending the constitution. To distinguish among different versions of semi-presidentialism, political scientists are especially attentive to the relationship between president and prime minister. In Kyrgyzstan, it is the president that dominates this relationship. From 1996 to 2003, the president nominated the prime minister and then formed the government, with the prime minister accorded only a consultative voice in this process. The constitutional revisions of 2003 returned to the prime minister and parliament some of the powers they had exercised in the 1993 constitution, including the right of the prime minister to nominate members of the government, who

170

E. Huskey

are then appointed by the president and confirmed by the parliament. The president remains responsible for appointing the governors of the regions, the head of the Central Electoral Commission, and the head of the country’s Auditing Chamber. The right to dismiss the prime minister and the other presidential appointees belongs to the president alone. Moreover, the president, and not parliament or the prime minister, established the structure of the government from 1996 to 2003, though the constitution in 2003 now allows parliament to confirm this structure. Finally, the president has the power to annul any directive of the prime minister or other member of the government. Despite possessing such broad organizational and patronage powers, the president also insists on maintaining a large presidential bureaucracy, whose departments shadow government ministries in much the same way as the Communist Party apparatus monitored ministries in the Soviet era – another distinctive feature of Eurasian semi-presidentialism. The presidential apparatus exercises so much authority that at times the chief of the presidential staff is considered to be more influential than the prime minister.15 However, because they are non-constitutional officers, the chief of staff and heads of departments in the presidency are not subject to oversight by the parliament. In this respect, as in so many others, semi-presidentialism in Kyrgyzstan and several other postcommunist states departs from world standards. Even in countries with what Shugart and Carey call a presidential–parliamentary form of semi-presidentialism, the president manages to govern with a modest staff, relying on a combination of patronage, party support, and traditional leadership skills as the primary instruments of rule (Shugart and Carey 1992, 24–6). In addition to maintaining a National Security Council within the presidential bureaucracy, the president exercises direct supervision of the so-called ‘power ministries’, such as defence, internal affairs, and foreign affairs. This de facto subordination of a key section of the government to the president leaves the prime minister with responsibility for co-ordinating the portfolios on economic, social, and cultural affairs. It is a division of labour that one finds in traditional semi-presidential regimes such as France, but only during periods of cohabitation. Thus, in Kyrgyzstan, as in Russia and some other post-communist semipresidential regimes, a key segment of the government is composed of ‘presidential ministries’, which creates lines of communication and subordination that undermine the authority of the prime minister.

The operation of semi-presidentialism in Akaev’s Kyrgyzstan With the formidable array of presidential powers described above, one might have expected little effective opposition to Akaev’s rule in Kyrgyzstan after 1996. However, the Kyrgyz president continued to face formidable resistance to his initiatives from parliament, the bureaucracy, and society. In 2000, and again in 2001, a weakened president convened round tables with the opposition as a means of enhancing his legitimacy. Thus, formal powers alone were not enough to assure Akaev’s dominance of the political system. There was simply too

Eurasian semi-presidentialism 171 much at stake in what Steven Solnick called the ‘stealing of the state’ (Solnick, 1998), too little common ideological ground between the traditionalists and reformists in the political elite, and too many regional and clan-based factions in the bureaucracy and society to allow Akaev to govern without engaging in the bargaining and compromise that is the lifeblood of politics. But like the leaders of most Soviet successor states, he preferred, and expected, to govern primarily through administrative rather than political means. Thus, when confronted with what he regarded as the obstructionist tactics of parliament, his response was to employ the full range of his available formal authority, and when that failed, to fine-tune the country’s institutional design in order to grant the president more powers. When even the expanded formal powers did not produce the desired results, he resorted with increasing frequency to the tactics of the authoritarian, intimidating or jailing his critics and rigging elections to guarantee the outcome (Huskey 2001, 74–96). Because politics is a product of context as well as design, the operation of semi-presidentialism in Kyrgyzstan was influenced not only by the formal arrangements of state institutions but also by the configuration of political parties, the role of key personnel, and the pressures of public policy, which were driven in part by critical events. Even with an increase in electoral manipulation and in the president’s ability to co-opt deputies, the parliament in Kyrgyzstan never became the rubber-stamp institution that one found in some countries in the region, such as Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan. Thus, though elections were not ‘bona fide’, they continued to matter, and relations among president, prime minister, and parliament depended in part on the size and solidity of the propresidential factions in the Jogorku Kenesh. Mobilizing and maintaining such factions in the Kyrgyz parliament was a constant challenge for the president and his government because most deputies had no party affiliation, and the small parties that were represented in parliament were often ill disciplined.16 This fragmentation of parliament into a mass of small parties and independent deputies made collective action immensely difficult.17 In some respects, of course, this benefited the president. A fractious parliament was in no position to hold the president and prime minister accountable or to advance the careers of leaders who could challenge the incumbents in the executive.18 Moreover, the absence of party discipline made veto overrides less likely. In the period from 1995 to early 2001, the legislature was able to override less than 7 per cent of the bills vetoed by President Akaev (six of ninety) (Iskakova 2003, 323). However, a disorganized parliament was also a serious impediment to law making, especially on numerous ‘constitutional laws’, such as those affecting the legal system, which required a two-thirds vote for passage. Even though many procedural rules limited parliament’s ability to revise the drafts submitted by the government – for example, the constitution forbade parliament to amend the budget or other money bills without the approval of the government – the president was regularly frustrated by the parliament’s refusal or inability to pass long-sought legislation.19 On some critical issues, such as land reform and language policy, the repeated failure of parliament to accept executive-sponsored

172

E. Huskey

legislation led the president to use his decree-making authority and popular referendums as substitutes for parliamentary statutes. In semi-presidential regimes, one measure of the relationship between president and prime minister is the share of laws that each submits to the legislature. In most cases, the president expects the prime minister and his or her government to serve as the formal initiators of key legislation, even if the president inspires the laws. By contrast, in Kyrgyzstan, the president initially assumed a very active role in the submission of bills to parliament. In 1996 and 1997, President Akaev initiated a third of all bills passed by the Jogorku Kenesh, almost as many as the government itself. However, by the end of the 1990s, the president had transferred most responsibility for the initiation of executive-sponsored legislation to the prime minister’s office. By 2000, well under 10 per cent of the bills passed by the parliament originated in the presidency (Iskakova 2003, 319). Transferring formal responsibility for legislative initiatives from president to prime minister allowed Akaev to enjoy one of the advantages of semipresidential rule, the elevation of the president above the daily political fray.20 Relations between president and prime minister also depend, of course, on the political capital and ambitions of the two politicians. Although only a single president, Askar Akaev, ruled in Kyrgyzstan’s semi-presidential system from 1991 to 2005, his political capital and ambitions were not constant. At the risk of oversimplification, one may posit an inverse relationship between the political capital and ambitions of the president: as the former waned, the latter waxed. For their part, Kyrgyzstan’s prime ministers exhibited widely varying levels of political capital and ambition, which created the conditions for very different models of dual executive relations. At one extreme was the model of relations between Akaev and his young, inexperienced prime minister, Kubanychbek Jumaliev, who served from April to December 1998.21 Asked about his intention to write a book about his former teacher, Jumaliev replied: ‘I consider it my sacred duty to inform readers about the works, life, and activities of my Teacher and Mentor’ (‘Kak pereiti granitsu vekov: interv’iu prem’er-ministra Kyrgyzskoi respubliki K. M. Zhumalieva’, Slovo Kyrgyzstana, 13 October 1998, p. 2). At the other extreme were two prime ministers with broad political experience and independent bases of political support. The first, Apas Jumagulov, was brought in at a moment of political crisis, December 1993, to become the leader of a government of ‘popular confidence’ (narodnoe doverie), having already served as Kyrgyzstan’s prime minister from 1986 to 1991. Although Jumagulov did not openly challenge presidential authority, he was not an unquestioning instrument of presidential rule, as indicated by the president’s severe criticism of the Jumagulov government in its initial months (‘Inogo net u nas puti!’ Slovo Kyrgyzstana, 11 May 1994, p. 1). Indeed, Jumagulov satisfied neither the expectations of the president nor those of the opposition, which had hoped that his Soviet-era pedigree would make him an extremely cautious reformer. When Jumagulov resigned in early 1998, after almost four and a half years in office, observers noted that the reasons for his departure included his status as a political competitor to Akaev (Iskakova 2003, 308).

Eurasian semi-presidentialism 173 The other prime minister with considerable political capital and ambition was Kurmanbek Bakiev, who would become Kyrgyzstan’s president when the Tulip Revolution ousted Akaev in March 2005. The re-election of Akaev as president in December 2000 prompted the constitutionally mandated resignation of the government of Amangel’dy Muraliev. In an unprecedented concession to parliament, which seems to have resulted from rising concern over relations between north and south in Kyrgyzstan, President Akaev presented two candidates for prime minister to the parliament, Muraliev, a northerner, and Bakiev, a southerner. By a wide margin, the parliament selected Bakiev, who had worked in numerous state posts, including as governor of the Chui region. But instead of satisfying the south, which had been consistently passed over for patronage posts and economic opportunities in the post-communist era, Bakiev’s appointment appeared to embolden southerners, who favoured a redistribution of posts and funding. Bakiev’s prime ministership coincided with a marked decline in Akaev’s political capital. Besides Akaev’s vulnerability as a northern politician at a time of rising southern discontent, and as the incumbent during a period of economic decline, he was also a lame duck president who was finishing his last constitutionally permitted term. It was in this environment that two critical events occurred which further weakened presidential authority. First, Akaev’s attempts to gain parliamentary ratification of a 1999 border treaty with China exposed him to blistering criticism from those who believed that he was giving away over 100,000 ha of disputed territory to China. The criticism derived in part from the arguments that he used to justify the transfer, which included thinly veiled references to China’s military might (Zamira Sydykova, ‘Anatomiia predatel’stva’, Res Publica, 14 May 2002, p. 3). Like the gold scandal of 1993–94, the border delimitation controversy united the opposition. When the authorities prosecuted the chief critic of the treaty, the parliamentary deputy, Azimbek Beknazarov, his local supporters in the southern district of Aksy rallied to his defence. At a demonstration in Aksy on 17 March 2002, the police fired shots into the crowd, killing five persons and wounding many others. This second critical event further mobilized the opposition to Akaev and deepened the suspicions between president and prime minister, who many believed was positioning himself to run for the presidency when Akaev’s term expired in 2005. To defuse this crisis, and at the same time to deny Bakiev a springboard from which to seek the presidency, President Akaev accepted the resignation of Bakiev in May 2002 and formed a new government under the leadership of an ethnic Russian technocrat, Nikolai Tanaev. The appointment of a Russian as prime minister had two advantages for Akaev: it did not force the president to choose between a northern and southern Kyrgyz and it guaranteed that the prime minister would not stand for the presidency. Under the Kyrgyz constitution, only those fluent in the state language, Kyrgyz, were eligible to run for president. By appointing Tanaev, Akaev gained a momentary respite from the crisis, but the new prime minister was unable to halt the steady erosion of support for the Akaev regime. Nikolai Tanaev would be the last prime minister of the Akaev era.

174

E. Huskey

The effects of the system Assessing the independent effects of semi-presidentialism on economic and political developments under Akaev would require advancing counterfactual versions of the post-communist era, controlling for the model of government. This is, of course, a fools’ errand, not just because of the ‘bounded imagination’ problem but also because the presence of alternative institutional arrangements would have altered political calculations at every stage of development. Let me offer, therefore, only a few modest conclusions about the effects of Eurasian semi-presidentialism on post-communist politics in Kyrgyzstan.22 First, semi-presidentialism helped President Akaev to maintain his almost mythical status among certain segments of the population, especially the less well educated citizens of the north. By ruling from his Olympian perch, and descending only periodically to intervene in the squabbles over public policy, Akaev was able to cultivate an image of the father of the country, which would have been more difficult to sustain as prime minister in a parliamentary regime or even as president in a presidentialist system, where he would have served as head of government as well as head of state. Moreover, as we saw in the dismissal of Bakiev, semi-presidentialism facilitated the transference of popular anger away from the president and toward the prime minister and government at moments of crisis. Second, semi-presidentialism compromised government performance in Kyrgyzstan by introducing institutional redundancy into the executive. The existence of two large, parallel management bureaucracies, one attached to the president and the other to the prime minister’s office, led to duplication of effort as well as Byzantine struggles over policy and personnel between the presidency and government. The inability of the executive to present a united face to parliament and the country reflected in part Akaev’s insistence, following the Russian example, of maintaining his own personal chancellery, which dwarfed the modest staffs maintained by presidents in other semi-presidential systems (Huskey 1999). Third, Kyrgyzstan’s failure to develop effective political parties was due in part to the country’s semi-presidential arrangements, which often allowed the president to rule around, rather than through, the parliament. Like de Gaulle, Akaev was intent on ruling above parties, and because he was usually able to employ other means to achieve parliamentary majorities when needed, such as intimidation or co-optation, he did not need to rely on disciplined pro-presidential parties as instruments of rule. Indeed, well-organized parties with broad social support would have posed a danger for the president by nurturing prominent party leaders who would have been potential competitors to Akaev. In both presidential and semi-presidential systems, presidents seeking to rule with minimal constraints eschew the development of all but ‘pocket parties’. These and related factors suggest that semi-presidentialism impeded Kyrgyzstan’s democratic development. A parliamentary system would almost certainly have imposed more effective limitations on executive power and would

Eurasian semi-presidentialism 175 therefore have discouraged the rise of the neo-patrimonialism that characterized the late Akaev era, when the president and his household began to approach the state as their personal fiefdom. Parliamentarism would also have increased the incentives for party formation, and with it the likelihood that parliamentary debates would have resonated in the country and not just in the halls of the White House. But parliamentarism would have brought its own perils. The most obvious was the possibility of political stalemate among fragmented parties that lacked a consensus on basic political values. A parliamentary system might also have exacerbated relations among the country’s ethnic and regional groups. Although Linz complains that presidentialism suffers from a winner-take-all election for the president, the winner-take-all consequences are potentially more serious in an assembly where important ethnic or regional groups find themselves in a permanent minority (Linz 1994, 14–16). For all the faults of Akaev, he was a moderate on ethnic issues, refusing to be drawn into the radical indigenizing projects of some Kyrgyz nationalists. As a result, Kyrgyzstan avoided a repetition of the ethnic violence that killed hundreds of Kyrgyz and Uzbeks in the country’s southern region at the end of the Soviet era. As a president who stood above the three branches of government Akaev was better positioned to advance the politics of ethnic moderation; a prime minister would have been more vulnerable to outflanking efforts by indigenizing forces in Kyrgyz parties. Indeed, parliamentarism might well have encouraged the formation of a party system based on regionalism and/or ethnicity, a system that, in Donald Horowitz’s words, reduces elections to a census (Horowitz 1987, 319–27). To recognize the role that institutional design has played in the transition from communism is not to deny the potency of other structural factors, whether social, economic, or even international. The impediments to democratic development in Kyrgyzstan were, and are, legion. As noted above, the elite and the citizenry exited the Soviet era deeply divided over their identities and their political values, some of which were not compatible with democracy. As a mountainous, landlocked country with few marketable resources, Kyrgyzstan has limped from one economic crisis to another, with the gap continually widening between rich and poor. Moreover, the external pressures for democratization that come from Western countries – along with some financial support – are balanced by demands from countries in the region, most notably Uzbekistan, which do not wish to see Kyrgyzstan emerge as an efficient, market-oriented economy with open, competitive politics. Whatever the relative weight of institutional, contextual, and leadership influences on Kyrgyzstan’s development, it is clear that the second face of power denied Kyrgyzstan the possibility of choosing a parliamentary or presidential, rather than a semi-presidential, form of government at the beginning of the post-communist era.

The Tulip Revolution and the debate over the way forward After President Akaev declared in 2004 that he would not alter the constitution to make another run for the presidency, many members of the Kyrgyz political

176

E. Huskey

elite began to distance themselves from the increasingly unpopular president in preparation for the next electoral cycle, which was scheduled to bring parliamentary elections in February 2005 and presidential elections in October 2005.23 With prominent ambassadors returning from abroad to re-enter Kyrgyz domestic politics, and former allies of Akaev abandoning their posts in the presidency and government, new electoral blocs formed that sought to challenge the slate of parliamentary candidates associated with, and in several cases related to, the president. Recognizing the threat that a united opposition posed to the dominance of the Akaev family in the economic and political system, the president and his allies used every administrative, judicial, and media resource available to prevent their opponents from gaining parliamentary seats. The result was a delegitimating election, which ignited a coloured revolution similar to those in Georgia and Ukraine. Nowhere was the anti-Akaev sentiment more intense than in the south, where groups of citizens began to seize local government buildings. By 22 March 2005, busloads of southerners began to arrive in the capital of Bishkek, where they surrounded the White House, which was the headquarters of the presidency and government. After a confrontation on 24 March between the authorities and demonstrators, provoked by ‘sportsmen’ called out to defend the regime, the crowd charged the White House, much as demonstrators had done to the Georgian parliament in late 2003. The president and prime minister fled to Russia, and after an abortive attempt by Akaev to reclaim his post, power in Kyrgyzstan passed to two prominent opponents of the president, Kurmanbek Bakiev, the former prime minister, and Felix Kulov, a former vice-president and minister of internal affairs who had served more than four years in prison on politically inspired charges. Where Bakiev, the southerner, assumed the post of acting president, Kulov, the northerner, became the acting prime minister. The Tulip Revolution forced the new political leadership to confront three institutional controversies. The first was whether to annul the results of the February parliamentary balloting and call new elections. Although the authorities’ blatant manipulation of this election led to the popular uprising, Kyrgyzstan’s new leaders chose to allow the parliament to assume its mandate, preferring to govern with a weak and tainted legislature. The political leadership also had to decide whether to respect the provisions of the existing constitution and conduct early presidential elections. In the event, Bakiev and Kulov agreed to adhere to the constitution, and presidential elections took place in July 2005, with the two leaders running as a team. Kulov allowed Bakiev to stand as the presidential candidate in exchange for a guarantee of the prime ministership. After Bakiev won the election with almost 90 per cent of the vote, he appointed Felix Kulov as prime minister. The Tulip Revolution also raised anew the question of whether Kyrgyzstan should revise its constitution to rebalance powers among president, prime minister, and parliament or abandon semi-presidentialism altogether for a presidential or parliamentary model of government. After the Tulip Revolution, there was no shortage of debate about the need for changes to the country’s institutional

Eurasian semi-presidentialism 177 changes. Indeed, by the end of 2005, nine different constitutional drafts were circulating in Bishkek (Orozobekova 2005) most of which advanced a form of semi-presidentialism that achieved a greater balance between presidential and parliamentary powers. Support for alternatives to semi-presidentialism remained limited, however, with parliamentarism as the only serious challenger. For many Kyrgyz, parliamentarism presented two potential disadvantages: it was incompatible with Kyrgyz traditions and it required strong parties, which Kyrgyzstan lacked. In the words of Anarbek Ismailov, the head of the legal department of the presidency, ‘historically and psychologically we are not prepared for a parliamentary form of government’. After repeating this cultural argument, Erkinbek Alymbekov, the deputy Speaker of the Jogorku Kenesh, added that ‘political forces in the form of parties are insufficiently organized, and thus a parliamentary system at the present stage of development would be in permanent crisis’ (‘Konstitutsiia i gosudarstvennoe ustroistvo Kyrgyzstana’, Otkrytyi Kyrgyzstan (Fond Soros-Kyrgyzstan), www.open.kg/ru/thema_discus/ them_all/thema_7). Members of the political elite did not seem to appreciate that parliamentarism would alter the structure of incentives and encourage party development. One noteworthy exception was the prime minister, Felix Kulov. In a thoughtfully worded response to a question about the appropriate model of government for Kyrgyzstan in the wake of the Tulip Revolution, Kulov argued that parliamentarism in its European version normally requires a well-developed civil society to sustain it. He suggested, however, that traditional Kyrgyz cultural capital could substitute for the social capital born of Western-style associational activity. He concluded his answer, which he noted should not be considered his final opinion on the subject, by stating that with a parliamentary model Kyrgyzstan would likely ‘find it easier to reach agreement between various regional and subregional interests’ (Kulov n.d. ‘Aprel’skie tezisy’, web site of the Ar-Namys Party, www.ar-namys.org/view.php?i541).24 Although the Tulip Revolution has not yet produced changes in the formal institutional arrangements of Kyrgyzstan, it has already altered the assumptions about how semi-presidentialism should work in the country. Because the existing model of government is associated with a discredited leader, Askar Akaev, it will be very difficult for current or future presidents to govern indefinitively with the same institutional arrangements in place. Pressures for constitutional reform are coming not only from society but from segments of the international community, who will make the granting of much-needed economic assistance conditional on progress toward democratization. Even without changing the formal rules, the Tulip Revolution brought significant changes to the operation of semi-presidentialism in Kyrgyzstan. First, the presidential mandate of Kurmanbek Bakiev was contingent on the powersharing arrangement that he signed with Felix Kulov after the Tulip Revolution. This pact introduced a form of consociationalism into Kyrgyz politics, with its assumption that the offices of president and prime minister would be divided between politicians from Kyrgyzstan’s two major regional communities, the

178

E. Huskey

north and the south. This agreement, as well as the enormous popularity of Kulov in the north, may serve as a guarantee of job security for the prime minister. Indeed, according to one source, the ‘north–south compromise’ reached during the Tulip Revolution would require the president to resign if he removed the prime minister from office (Aleksei Makarkin, ‘Kirgizia: prezident opredelen’, Novosti, 18 May 2005, www.rian.ru). Complicating the development of a stable relationship and division of labour between President Bakiev and Prime Minister Kulov are their professional backgrounds as well as their political ambitions. As we noted earlier, presidents in post-communist states have traditionally assumed direct responsibility for the security sector while prime ministers have devoted themselves to economic issues. In Kyrgyzstan at the moment, the expertise is reversed: the president has considerable experience in the economy while the prime minister has been the country’s most prominent silovik since the collapse of the Soviet Union. The problem here is not lack of knowledge about public policy but rather the network of allies that the president and prime minister have in each other’s sectors of the bureaucracy. The current arrangements clearly allow Bakiev and Kulov to check each other’s power, but they are also likely to usher in a period of intense struggle over the responsibilities and spoils of office.25 Given this power-sharing arrangement between the country’s two most popular politicians, and by extension the country’s two regions, constitutional reforms will inevitably be perceived as a contest over personal and regional advantage. There is little incentive, therefore, for Bakiev to move quickly to reform institutional arrangements or to consider alternatives to semipresidentialism. With regionalism as the most salient social cleavage at the moment, the current consociational elements of semi-presidentialism in Kyrgyzstan seem to provide an attractive alternative to the winner-take-all consequences of presidentialism or parliamentarism. Moreover, for Bakiev, they have the advantage of keeping him in power. By the end of 2005, however, international and domestic pressures for institutional change had mounted to the point that Bakiev was no longer able to resist the calls for constitutional revisions. His response, in the first week of January 2006, was to issue a presidential decree that envisioned a nationwide debate on institutional arrangements, to be followed by a referendum on revisions to the constitution in the last quarter of 2006. The critical caveat was that any constitutional changes adopted by referendum would only come into effect in 2009, in time for the next electoral cycle. In justifying the delay, Bakiev argued that any abrupt changes to the country’s institutional arrangements threatened to upset the fragile inter-regional coalition that had resulted from the Tulip Revolution (‘Prezident Kyrgyzstana podpisal ukaz o meropriiatiiakh po podgotovke k referendumu po voprosam konstitutsionnoi reformy’, KABAR News Service, 5 January 2006).

Eurasian semi-presidentialism 179

Conclusion All three of the primary forms of modern government, presidentialism, parliamentarism, and semi-presidentialism, assume the existence of a democratic polity whose primary characteristic is what Adam Przeworski called institutionalized uncertainty. This uncertainty creates the possibility for pathologies in each model, whether gridlock (presidentialism), a hung parliament (parliamentarism), or cohabitation (semi-presidentialism). However, in Kyrgyzstan and in other countries with Eurasian semi-presidential systems, cohabitation was not possible because presidents refused to rule in tandem with the assembly. Although the parliament could influence law making and patronage decisions, it did not possess the ability to bring down a government or to force a president to offer up a prime minister to its liking. Standing in the way of the parliament’s ability to tame presidential power were requirements for multiple supermajorities and for falling on one’s sword, formal rules that are not found in other parts of the world. Perhaps as potent as these institutional disincentives to action was the recognition by elites that a Eurasian president would succumb to the authoritarian temptation before allowing his control over the prime minister to pass to parliament. The presidency, after all, had inherited the Communist Party’s guiding role as an institution that stood above the three branches of government. How to categorize, then, the institutional arrangements in Kyrgyzstan and other Eurasian states? To borrow a phrase from the early Soviet era, institutional arrangements in Akaev’s Kyrgyzstan were semi-presidential in form and almost monarchical in content. Indeed, the closest model of government to Eurasian semi-presidentialism may be European monarchies in the period just before democratization. The monarch governed through a prime minister, but there was the assumption that sovereign power resided in the monarch, or king in parliament, and that the king or queen would maintain an extensive household of officers who answered to the monarch alone and not the parliament. The cohabitation between Bakiev and Kulov, brought on by revolution rather than an anti-presidential majority in the parliament, has the potential to end this Eurasian or monarchical form of semi-presidentialism in Kyrgyzstan.

Notes 1 On the paradox of a Soviet state, inspired by the idea of class consciousness, encouraging the development of powerful ethnic loyalties based on territory and national identity, see Brubaker (1996), especially chapter 2. 2 This appears to be a variant of what Robert Elgie (2005, 102–5) has called ‘highly presidentialized’ semi-presidentialism. Other examples of Eurasian semipresidentialism would include Russia, Kazakhstan, and Belarus (Matsuzato 2005; Huskey 1996, 453–74). Eurasian semi-presidentialism would embrace both the ‘divided minority government’ described by Colton and Skach, in which neither the president nor the prime minister enjoys a parliamentary majority, as well as an artificially manufactured electoral majority of the sort one finds in Putin’s Russia (Colton and Skach 2005).

180

E. Huskey

3 In purely formal terms, Gorbachev had been elected head of state earlier, in May 1989, when he was elected chair of the Congress of People’s Deputies, the highestranking formal state position until the creation of a stand-alone presidency in February 1990. This pattern of having the party leader assume the post of head of state was replicated in most of the other republics (Huskey 1999, 12–42). 4 In Kyrgyzstan, the initial changes to the republican constitution provided for the selection of the president by the legislative assembly, the Supreme Soviet of Kyrgyzstan. Under these rules, Askar Akaev became president after a controversial, multiballot election by the Supreme Soviet in October 1990. The country introduced direct elections for the presidency the following year, and Akaev captured the presidency in an uncontested election in October 1991 (Erkebaev 1997). 5 Tajikistan at this time had descended into civil war. 6 The sources used below in the discussion of the constitution of Kyrgyzstan are as follows (1993 and 1996 versions, Slovo Kyrgyzstana, 9–10 January 1996, which contains both the 1993 constitution and the revisions proposed for the February 1996 referendum; 1998 version, Konstitutsiia Kyrgyzskoi Respubliki (Bishkek: Uchkun, 1998); 2003 version, Konstitutsiia Kyrgyzskoi Respubliki (Bishkek: Uchkun, 2003). 7 Akaev was apparently under pressure from neighbouring presidents, who had extended their time in office by referendum, to follow suit. Explaining the move, Akaev’s press secretary, Kamil’ Baialinov, noted that a referendum would prevent the assumption of power by an undesirable person (A. Otorbaeva, ‘Sostoitsia li referendum?’ Slovo Kyrgyzstana, 4 April 1995, p. 1). 8 Justifying the expanded presidential powers that he sought in the 1996 referendum Akaev argued that ‘the country’s president, having received the people’s mandate, must be responsible for the country’s state of affairs and for the results of reforms . . . the one who is responsible must have the corresponding powers’ (‘President Akaev seeks wider powers’, Kyrygz Radio, Bishkek, in Russian, 1650 GMT, 3 January 1996, as translated in BBC Summary of World Broadcasts, 8 January 1996). 9 The one partial exception to this was the referendum of 2003, which offered a small number of concessions to the prime minister and parliament. This referendum was an attempt to restore his popularity, which was fading in the first years of the decade. On the 2003 referendum, see Iskakova (2003, 342–9). Iskakova’s book offers an exhaustive analysis of institutional developments in Kyrgyzstan. 10 Unfortunately, Kyrgyzstan’s political class were not always precise in their use of language, and parliamentarism was used to cover a range of models of government, ranging from British-style parliamentarism to various forms of semi-presidentialism. On this latter usage see the 2000 election manifesto of the pro-presidential party AtaMeken (Fatherland). (Document in possession of the author.) Further evidence of semantic confusion or imprecision may be found in the comments of Topchubek Turgunaliev, a perennial candidate for the presidency, who noted that parliamentarism meant a ‘multipolar, pluralist composition of parliament, which consists of various political currents: right, left, and centrist . . .’ (‘Kirgiziia: neproportsional’nye vybory’, Radio Svoboda, 3 June 2004, www.svoboda.org/programs/rtl/2004/rtl.060304.asp). 11 Because of this status, the Kyrgyz president, like his Russian counterpart, maintains permanent ‘representatives’ in the other branches of government. Thus, each chamber of the parliament, as well as the Constitutional Court, had its own presidential emissary (‘Orientir na konstruktivnyi dialog’, Slovo Kyrgyzstana, 25 March 2005, p. 4). 12 Only in 2003, when a revision to the constitution (Article 46) granted parliament the right to confirm individual members of the government and not just the prime minister, did the deputies acquire the ability to limit the president’s ability to form a Government. 13 Revisions to the constitution that protected the ‘honour and dignity’ of the president also made it more difficult for journalists or ordinary citizens to criticize Akaev. 14 Akaev used this power liberally in the fall of 1994, after the dissolution of parliament.

Eurasian semi-presidentialism 181

15 16

17 18 19

20

21

22

23

24

25

See ‘Garantii prezidenta – osnova stabili’nosti’, Slovo Kyrgyzstana, 6 September 1994, p. 1. See, for example, the comments of Adakham Madumarov in ‘Po Kyrgyzstanu brodit prizrak novogo prezidenta’, Res Publica, 17 May 2002, p. 5. The 1995 parliamentary elections produced a parliament in which sixty-seven of the 105 deputies had no party affiliation. The largest party faction was the Social Democratic Party, with fourteen seats. The next largest faction had four seats (Huskey 1997, 262). In the 2000 elections, there were seventy-three independents, and the largest party faction was the Union of Democratic Forces, with twelve seats. In this parliament, a loose grouping of left-of-centre deputies formed what commentators called a ‘blocking majority’ (S. Lokteva, ‘Parlamentskaia bolezn’ levizny’, Vechernyi Bishkek, 29 May 2000, p. 3). Most of the independent deputies had ties to local networks rather than to the president. It should be noted that membership in parliament was incompatible with a post in the executive. The approval of the government on revisions to money bills was introduced by the constitutional amendments of 1998. Before that time, the parliament was required only to seek a finding from the government, which could be positive or negative (Iskakova 2003, 342). Among the less visible, but more important, functions of the prime minister and his government was the regulation of economic activity. The government’s ability to sell the physical assets and licences of the state and to award state contracts enriched many in the executive branch and helps to explain why, even if the presidency set the contours of state policy, the government was a central institution in Kyrgyz life. Like his young reformist counterpart in Russia, Sergei Kirienko, Jumaliev was relieved from office in the wake of the financial crisis that swept the former Soviet Union in the summer and fall of 1998 (Jyldyz Bubybaeva, ‘Ponedel’nik zhdat’ ne budu’, Slovo Kyrgyzstana, 24 December 1998; ‘Pochemu Prezident otpravil pravitel’stvo v otstavku? Slovo Kyrgyzstana, 25 December 1998, p. 3). Tim Colton and Cindy Skach (2005) may be right to conclude that the choice of parliamentarism has complicated the consolidation of democracy in post-communist states, but it is difficult to separate out the independent variables of culture and history. The issue is not just why did some states choose parliamentarism in the first place but why were others, like Poland, able to revise semi-presidentialism to constrain presidential power? Whether Akaev would have adhered to his promise not to run for another term is not known. There were certainly those in his entourage who were preparing scenarios for constitutional revisions that would have allowed him to remain in office. It is possible that Akaev himself did not know whether he would keep his promise, but what is important is that his declaration had sufficiently weakened his position that it encouraged many members of the establishment to position themselves for a post-Akaev Kyrgyzstan. Kulov’s optimistic view of Kyrgyz culture differed from that of Akaev, who believed that the tribal and clan loyalties of his people did not prepare them for Western forms of democracy (K. Bokonbaev, ‘Pust’ traibalizm posluzhit delu’, Slovo Kyrgyzstana 14, 7 January 1995). That Kulov’s party, Ar-Namys, supports parliamentarism undoubtedly reflects its hope that under parliamentary rules, Kulov and Ar-Namys would emerge as the dominant political forces in the country. In the late fall of 2005, the president and prime minister appeared together at a press conference to try to allay fears that they were unable to work together. For a sense of what can happen in semi-presidential regimes when president and prime minister represent different factions in society, see the study of Timor-Leste (Shoesmith 2003, 231–52).

11 Semi-presidentialism in Mongolia Trade-offs between stability and governance Sophia Moestrup and Gombosurengiin Ganzorig

A red thread running through this chapter is the importance of the interaction between politics and institutional design for democratic outcomes. The continued survival of the young semi-presidential democratic regime in Mongolia is closely linked to the positive role played by the former incumbent authoritarian forces, the former communist party, as well as other new political parties in the democratic transition process. Mongolia has known periods of divided government and of serious disagreements between the president and parliament. So far, however, political leaders have been able to weather these disagreements while remaining within the constitutional rules of the game. This is not to say that all is well in Mongolia, unfortunately. Though the formal trappings of electoral democracy have survived unscathed thus far, government accountability appears to be declining in a context of rising corruption and political co-optation of the former opposition to the ex-communists. Given the importance of the dynamics during the transition period for the subsequent functioning of the new democratic institutions, the following section provides a brief overview of the transition process and the debates surrounding the choice of regime type. The chapter then goes on to outline the institutional framework resulting from the transition process, discussing the relative powers of president, prime minister and parliament. Next, follows a discussion of the effects of the semi-presidential system on the young Mongolian democracy. As will be seen, Mongolia underwent a period of severe gridlock and government instability in 1996–2000, leading to a revision of the constitutional text to reduce the president’s powers. However, the strengthening of parliament at the behest of the president has had the perverse effect in a context of near parity of power between former communists and democratic opposition of eliminating any independent opposition voice, thereby reducing the accountability of government. Mongolia’s experience under semi-presidentialism illustrates the importance of looking closer at the political dynamics driving institutional changes, as these are likely to influence the subsequent democratic outcome. It also shows, however, that semi-presidentialism can present some particular challenges for young democracies in terms of institutionally driven conflict due to alternative presidential and parliamentary readings of the constitutions. Finally, Mongolia is

Semi-presidentialism in Mongolia

183

a case where a change towards a more parliament-dominated semi-presidential regime paradoxically has had negative effects that in the long term may be more pernicious than gridlock between president and parliament – there appears to be a worrisome trade-off between government stability and governance.

The democratic transition and regime choice The democratic transition in Mongolia was characterized by the proactive reforms undertaken by the Mongolian communist party in reaction to the impetus for change coming from Moscow. Ethnic and cultural homogeneity may have facilitated the continued survival of democracy in Mongolia. However, politics played and continue to play a critical role. The Mongols are often referred to as an ethnically homogeneous nation, and this factor is frequently advanced as a partial explanation for the apparent success of democracy in Mongolia (e.g. Fish 1998; Fritz 1999). Apart from ethnic minorities such as the Kazakhs (5 per cent), Mongolia is inhabited by three major Mongol groups (85 per cent of the total population) distinguished by their dialects: the Khalka, the Oirat/Kalmyk and the Buryat Mongols (Gilberg and Svantesson 1996, 15). Despite this relative homogeneity, clan divisions and warfare have played an important role in Mongol history. The actual forging of a sense of national identity was very much a result of the actions of the government that came to power in 1921 with the support of the Soviet Union. By the 1940s, the communists had uprooted the traditional bases of Mongolian society and constructed a national identity through ‘the re-presentation of history’; education and violence were the privileged tools (Kaplonski 1998, 45). The educational system, which had previously largely been controlled by the Buddhist church, was replaced by a system of secular education. In order to break the influence of Buddhism, the government resorted to violence aimed at destroying monasteries and eliminating lamas. In the process, tens of thousands of monks may have been executed.1 Due to extensive Soviet investments and involvement in the government and administration of the country, ‘Mongolia became de facto the sixteenth republic of the Soviet Union, if not de jure, as a few Mongolian leaders hoped’ (Sanders 1999, 143). With Mongolia’s close dependence on the Soviet Union, political developments there during the 1980s naturally greatly affected Mongolian politics. As Gorbachev started his policies of glasnost and perestroika a young generation of the socialist elite in Mongolia also began calling for political and economic reform. Starting in 1988, informal opposition groups formed. The opposition gained momentum in 1990 with the staging of anti-communist party demonstrations, led by the Mongolian Democratic Union (MDU), an organization formed mainly of young intellectuals. Opposition parties formed, animated by academics at the Mongolian State University.2 These parties lacked a following among the herders, and outside of the urban intelligentsia it is not clear how widespread the pressures for reform were (Ginsburg 1995, 463). As the pro-democracy movement gained momentum, some leaders of the Mongolian communist party favoured accommodation, while others supported

184

S. Moestrup and G. Ganzorig

violent suppression of the demonstrators (Fish 1998, 129). The MPRP (Mongolian People’s Revolutionary Party) at first promised gradual reform, over a five-year period, but faced with a hunger strike and several thousands of demonstrators in the street, soft-liners within the party prevailed. The party leadership was acutely aware of the disapproval expressed by Gorbachev of the events at Tiananmen Square the previous year and knew it could not count on Soviet support to suppress the demonstrators by force. The whole Politburo resigned in March 1990 and a new generation of leaders was appointed. Under the new leadership, the party moved quickly in May 1990 to amend the constitution, allowing opposition parties to form and promising elections to parliament, the People’s Great Hural, and to an indirectly elected fifty-member standing legislature called the Small Hural. The post of president was created. The first elections for the Great Hural took place in July 1990. By taking the initiative and organizing elections this fast, the communist party assured itself of an organizational edge in the political competition, as ‘[t]he struggle now shifted from the streets to the election process’ (Heaton 1991, 52). Elections for the 430 seats in parliament were held following a majoritarian electoral system with single-member districts, with members elected in two rounds. The MPRP was favoured by the majoritarian nature of the electoral system and managed to win 85 per cent of the seats with 62 per cent of the votes (Sanders 1996, 100–1). The Great Hural subsequently appointed the members of the Small Hural, following a principle of proportional representation: one seat was allocated to each party for each 2 per cent of the votes the party had received in the election to the Great Hural (Heaton 1992, 50). This entailed a more representative distribution of the seats than in the Great Hural. The chairman of the Great Hural P. Ochirbat was elected president by the assembly on 4 September 1990. Byambasuren, also from the MPRP, became prime minister. A transition coalition government was set up that included members from the opposition in prominent positions, though the MPRP could have formed a single-party majoritarian government if it had wanted to. D. Ganbold, the leader of the MNPP (Mongolian National Progress Party), became deputy prime minister with responsibility for the economy. This was a tactically clever move on the part of the MPRP, as subsequent elections in 1992 would show, making the MPRP able to shift a considerable amount of blame for the hardships of economic reform on to the opposition parties (Fritz 1999, 939). With the initial democratic elections out of the way, parliament now turned its attention towards designing and adopting a new constitution. Sharp debates ensued, between proponents of a presidential system on the one hand, and supporters of a parliamentary regime on the other. While the communist party was pro-presidentialism, the majority of the opposition favoured more extensive powers to parliament. These divergent strategies reflect the fact that the incumbent president was a communist (though, ironically, he was subsequently to be elected as president on the opposition’s ticket) and that he was greatly favoured to win the upcoming presidential elections. A Constitution Drafting Commission was set up under President Ochirbat’s chairmanship. The commission received

Semi-presidentialism in Mongolia

185

the assistance of the International Commission of Jurists and consulted more than a hundred constitutions from around the world. A first draft was published in June 1991. The Small Hural elicited comments on the draft and submitted a revised draft to the Great Hural in December 1991. The debates in the Great Hural were quite heated, and lasted two months instead of the originally scheduled three weeks (Sanders 1992, 511–15). The final version of the constitution ‘was the product of a compromise’ (Hulan 1996, 46)3 reached between the opposition and the MPRP. The constitution finally adopted by the Great Hural in January 1992 gave Mongolia a semi-presidential system, loosely modelled on the French constitution of the Fifth Republic. As a result of the compromise, the constitution makes for a directly elected president faced with a powerful parliament (ibid., 47).4 By some accounts, the choice of a semi-presidential system was a result of ‘avoiding choice’ between a parliamentary and a presidential system. It was not a conscious choice to emulate the French constitution.5 The term ‘semipresidentialism’ is not widely used by Mongolians themselves to refer to their constitutional regime. Contrary to the MPRP’s expectations, the presidency in the first direct presidential elections went to the candidate supported by the opposition. Rising tensions between the reformist President Ochirbat, who had been indirectly elected by parliament in 1990, and the more conservative MPRP majority in parliament led to the rejection of Ochirbat as MPRP candidate for the 1993 presidential elections. The main opposition parties (the MNDP and MSDP) took advantage of this split, nominating the popular president as their candidate, as they lacked charismatic leaders old enough (at least forty-five years) to be candidates (Batbayar 1994, 41).

Constitutional provisions and electoral law The following detailed discussion of the content of the constitution refers to the January 1992 constitution, which was subsequently amended in May 2001. The 2001 amendment is also described. This amendment was adopted in an attempt to avoid the problems of government instability and gridlock that came to plague Mongolia in the second half of the 1990s. The electoral law and its majoritarian effects are also discussed, due to their influence on the relationship between the president and the parliamentary majority (Duverger 1980). The constitution provides for a president as head of state and a prime minister as head of government. The president serves a four-year term and can be reelected only once. Presidential elections are conducted in two rounds if none of the candidates is able to win an absolute majority in the first round; a plurality is thus not sufficient to win. A presidential candidature has to be supported by a political party represented in parliament, but by law the elected president is required to suspend party membership. Supposedly this is to ensure that the president remains aloof from political struggles between parties, a provision of little effect, however, given that a president to be re-elected has to have party

186

S. Moestrup and G. Ganzorig

support. The important role played by political parties in the nomination process of presidential candidates has helped to strengthen political parties in Mongolia, in contrast with other semi-presidential regimes in the region such as Kyrgyzstan, where no party support is necessary (see Huskey’s chapter). As head of state, the president is the ‘embodiment of the unity of the people’ (Article 30, 1). The president represents Mongolia in foreign relations and may conclude international treaties in consultation with parliament. The president is the commander-in-chief of the armed forces, but may only declare war or a state of emergency if parliament is in recess and cannot be summoned at short notice. Parliament must then approve the declaration within seven days, or it becomes void. The president may issue decrees, but they must be countersigned by the prime minister. Despite these limited attributions, the president has emerged as a key political player in foreign policy, notably in the case of President Bagabandi during his conflict-ridden cohabitation with the Democratic Coalition government (1996–2000). Presidential activism in foreign policy is also facilitated by the reigning consensus on the necessity of a ‘multi-pillar’ foreign policy and a ‘balanced relationship’ with Mongolia’s two powerful neighbours, Russia and China (Batbayar 2003). According to the original 1992 constitution, the president appoints the prime minister who, it is explicitly stated, must have the backing of parliament. However, as will be shown below, the exact wording of Article 33, 1 regarding the president’s influence over the appointment of the prime minister became a source of divergent presidential and parliamentary readings, culminating in a constitutional amendment after a protracted period of serious political stalemate. At the prime minister’s suggestion, the president appoints the other members of cabinet, who must be individually approved by parliament. Similarly, the dismissal of the government must also be approved by parliament. The president may suggest the dissolution of parliament, but the dissolution has to be approved by a two-thirds majority of its members (Article 22, 2). Parliament may, on the other hand, topple the government through a no-confidence vote, adopted by simple majority. Given the provision for parliamentary control over the appointment and dismissal of the prime minister and cabinet, Mongolia falls into the category of ‘premier–presidential’ regimes, as defined by Shugart and Carey (1992). The prime minister is accountable to parliament ‘for guiding the work of the government and implementing state laws’ (Article 41, 1). The government (prime minister and cabinet) elaborates guidelines for national policies that have to be approved by parliament and is in general terms accountable for its activities to the National Assembly. The constitution more vaguely mentions that the president has the power to direct ‘the Government on matters within his own powers’ (Article 33, 3). The constitution replaces the bicameral transition parliament by a unicameral body, the State Great Hural, with seventy-six seats. Parliament shares the right to introduce legislation with the president and the government. The president may veto laws (send them back for a second reading). Parliament may override a

Semi-presidentialism in Mongolia

187

presidential veto only by a two-thirds majority. These veto override provisions are considered more likely to facilitate deadlock between president and parliament, compared to provisions that allow presidential vetoes to be overridden by a simple majority (Cheibub 2002). In Mongolia’s case, this was indeed an issue under the Democratic Coalition government (1996–2000), the only time so far a governing majority has not been sufficiently large to overturn presidential vetoes. The constitution establishes a Constitutional Court, with responsibility for judicial review. Judicial power is, however, severely limited by the ability of parliament to reject court decisions by a simple majority. Only if at least twothirds of the court (six out of nine members) decide upon a rehearing of the case that the original decision must stand does the judgment enter into force (Ginsburg 1994, 91). A tug-of-war between the president and the Constitutional Court on the one hand, and parliament on the other, over alternative presidential versus parliamentary readings of the constitution contributed to the political stalemate under the Democratic Coalition government. Following a protracted period of political instability and stalemate, a constitutional amendment was finally approved in 2001, notably reducing the president’s influence over the appointment of the prime minister and cabinet members. According to Article 33.1(2) of the 1992 constitution, the president had the power ‘to propose to the National Parliament the candidature for the appointment to the post of Prime Minister in consultation with the majority party or parties in the National Parliament if none of them has majority of seats’. Emphasizing the requirement for consultation, President Bagabandi refused to approve one of the candidates proposed by the Democratic Coalition government, former deputy prime minister D. Ganbold. The Democratic Coalition ignored the president’s position and submitted Ganbold’s candidacy three times, and three times the president rejected it, with reference to the dubious role played by Ganbold in an internet gambling scandal that had depleted the country’s foreign currency reserves while he was in government. Article 33.1(2) had provided the president with some influence over the appointment of the prime minister that was, however, completely removed following the 2001 amendment: the president must now agree to the prime minister candidate proposed by parliament within five days. Moreover, the prime minister and president must reach an agreement on the composition of the cabinet within a week, or else the prime minister may bypass the president and bring the issue up for parliamentary vote. The 2001 amendment also stipulates that if parliament cannot agree on a candidate for a new prime minister within forty-five days, then parliament should dissolve itself or be dissolved by the president. This latter provision was adopted in response to the internal disagreements that plagued the Democratic Coalition government during its 1996–2000 mandate.6 Another article in the 1992 constitution that was amended in 2001 was Article 29, 1 which stipulated that ‘members of the Mongolian Great Hural may not concurrently engage in other work or occupy another post not related to their duties as defined by law’. Under the Democratic Coalition government

188

S. Moestrup and G. Ganzorig

(1996–2000) this led to a debate about whether members of parliament (MPs) can serve as members of cabinet. At heart, this was a debate about what kind of political regime Mongolia in essence has: a presidential system with separation of powers between government and parliament, or a parliamentary system with fusion of powers, given that the cabinet is formed from the parliamentary majority (Ginzburg and Ganzorig 2001, 312). The issue was brought before the Constitutional Court in 1996. An MPRP lawyer argued in court hearings that the Mongolian system was to be considered presidential because of the directly elected head of state. Contrarily, a leading MSDP member argued that the drafters of the constitution had intended a parliamentary system, with the head of state as a symbolic figurehead. Both had been actively engaged in the drafting and adoption of the 1992 constitution (Ginsburg 2003, 188). The court ruled that Article 29, 1 of the constitution was to be interpreted to mean that members of parliament cannot serve as members of the cabinet. As the 2000 parliamentary elections approached (which the MPRP was favoured to win and indeed won) the MPRP came to adopt the same position as the Democratic Coalition, and to support the constitutional amendment finally passed in May 2001 after much wrangling between parliament, the president, and the constitutional court. The amendment determined that MPs can serve as cabinet members. Finally, the 2001 constitutional amendment lowered the quorum necessary for parliamentary meetings from two-thirds to a majority of members of parliament. This particular provision had been exploited by the MPRP during the Democratic Coalition government to block government action by boycotting the passing of legislation through absenteeism. As it appears, the balance of power between prime minister and president, on the one hand, and between parliament and president on the other, are skewed in favour of prime minister and parliament, particularly following the 2001 amendment. To argue that this specific balance of power has facilitated the survival of democracy in Mongolia would, however, overlook two important facts: (1) Mongolia still suffered under severe government instability and gridlock and (2) government accountability appears to be declining currently, as parliamentary pre-eminence has been increased following the 2001 amendment which has served to further limit the president’s countervailing powers. Electoral codes and electoral results As for the constitution, the debates surrounding which electoral law to adopt were fierce. The debates over the electoral law took place within the standing parliament created in 1990, wherein the MPRP had achieved a comfortable majority. Members of the MPRP preferred to keep the majoritarian singlemember districts system, which had served them well, while the opposition argued for a mixed system, with twenty-six single-member districts and fifty seats allocated through proportional representation (Batbayar 1993, 61). The different strategic preferences of the MPRP and the opposition reflect their mutual understanding of the disproportional benefits the MPRP was likely to reap from

Semi-presidentialism in Mongolia

189

a majoritarian system, given its higher level of organization. The opposition parties were not well represented outside of the capital. The final outcome was the creation of twenty-six multi-member districts using a system of block vote (an application of majoritarian principles in multimember districts), with the number of seats per district ranging from one to four, depending on district size (Sanders 1999, 145). Each elector was given as many votes as there were seats to be filled in the given constituency.7 Candidatures could be presented by parties/coalitions or by independents having mustered the support of at least 801 electors within the constituency concerned.8 Presumably, the choice of a multi-member system was seen as a compromise. While the MPRP had a majority of seats in the law-making Assembly, there were nevertheless considerable tensions between reformists and conservatives within the party. Factionalism resulted in 1991 in a break-away from the MPRP of reformminded members to create the Mongolian Renewal Party that, however, did not manage to win any seats in the subsequent 1992 elections. As a result, the MPRP became dominated by conservative members (Ginsburg 1995, 465–6). The outcome of the elections in June 1992 was ‘surprising not only to the opposition but to the MPRP’ (Batbayar 1993, 62): the MPRP won seventy out of seventy-six seats, or 92 per cent of seats, with 56 per cent of the votes. The disproportionality of seats achieved compared with votes won is linked to the electoral system, whose majoritarian effects9 were strengthened by a fractured opposition that did not agree on systematically proposing coalition candidates. As a result, voters were presented with a choice amongst eight opposition parties/coalitions in most constituencies (Brick et al. 1992). Moreover, the participation of opposition parties in the transition government, notably with responsibility for ministries in charge of economic reform, had made the opposition a convenient scapegoat for the economic hardships resulting from economic reform (Bruun and Odgaard 1996b, 30).

The effects of semi-presidentialism The young Mongolian democracy was from the outset faced with serious economic challenges. The collapse of the Soviet Union and the withdrawal of Russian aid and experts came as a harsh blow: it is estimated that aid from the Soviet Union fell from USD1,233 million in 1989 to zero in 1991 (Bruun et al. 2000, 5). With the collapse of the Soviet Union, suddenly ‘Mongolia was an economic orphan’ (Lake 2001, 6). GDP declined steeply in the early 1990s. By the mid-1990s, the economic situation started to improve, with an average growth in real GDP between 1995 and 1998 of 4.1 per cent. Inflation was brought down from a peak of 325 per cent in 1992 to 6 per cent in 1998. Nevertheless, by 2000, GDP had still not regained its pre-1990 level (UNDP, September 2001). All through its economic difficulties Mongolia has, nevertheless, managed to maintain consistently good democratic scores, according to the Freedom House index, as seen in Table 11.1. The economic decline led to recurrent strikes by public servants, notably

190

S. Moestrup and G. Ganzorig

Table 11.1 Mongolia: Freedom House scores, 1989–2004 Year

PR

CL

Status

1989 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004

7 4 2 3 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2

7 4 3 2 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 2 2 2

NF PF F F F F F F F F F F F F F F

Source: Freedom House (2005). Notes PR Political rights, CL Civil liberties, Status Overall freedom rating (NF Not free, PF Partly free, F Free). Freedom House assigns values of 1–7 for political and civil rights, respectively. Higher scores indicate lower democratic performance.

schoolteachers, demanding higher pay. Concomitantly, the lack of effective opposition representation in parliament, following the 1992 elections, sparked opposition demonstrations and hunger strikes. Opposition parties had again been offered cabinet seats by the MPRP, but had this time declined participating in government, having learned the costs and risks of being used as ‘scapegoat’ for the economic hardships of reform through their participation in the transition government. Political tensions between the government and the opposition peaked in April 1994, with the opposition demanding the resignation of the government and the dissolution of parliament ‘on grounds of bribery, corruption, and general incompetence’ (Severinghaus 1995, 70–1). Tensions were eventually defused through a series of agreements reached between government and opposition to change the electoral code, enhance press freedoms, and fight corruption. President Ochirbat acted as a sort of mediator to facilitate the negotiations (ibid., 71). During the period 1993–96, Mongolia went through a period of cohabitation. President Ochirbat, though originally from the MPRP himself, was more reformoriented than the more conservative MPRP-dominated parliament. The prime minister appointed by parliament, P. Jasrai, was a moderate reformer who favoured a cautious approach to economic reform (Ginsburg 1995, 467). Jasrai was appointed prime minister following the 1992 parliamentary elections, when he and President Ochirbat still represented the same party. He remained in place after the 1993 presidential elections. The economic transition in general and pri-

Semi-presidentialism in Mongolia

191

vatization in particular were slowed. While the government achieved stabilization of the economy, social services suffered (Rossabi 1997, 6). The president criticized the policies of the government, but his room for manoeuvre was extremely limited, faced with a parliament overwhelmingly controlled by the MPRP. His veto powers were without effect, as he acknowledged when refraining from vetoing the new electoral law adopted in view of the 1996 parliamentary elections, though the law was in clear violation of the agreement he had helped broker with the opposition in 1994 to defuse tensions (BBC Summary of World Broadcasts, 25 January 1996). In the 1996 parliamentary elections the parties in the Democratic Coalition10 ousted the MPRP from government by turning the newly adopted singlemember district electoral system to their advantage. The parties had learned from the experience of 1992 and co-operated by dividing up electoral districts and supporting each other’s candidates (Fish 1998, 135).11 The MPRP admitted defeat, but had difficulties accepting the role of opposition party. While the opposition had won a significant majority (62 per cent of seats), this was not enough to ensure the necessary quorum for parliamentary meetings, requiring the presence of two-thirds of members. Again, President Ochirbat served as mediator, as he helped resolve a deadlock provoked by the MPRP boycotting parliament in order to block the election of the leader of the MNDP to the post of deputy chairman of parliament. Ochirbat brokered an agreement that included an MPRP adviser being appointed to the National Security Council (Ginsburg 1997, 61). The new Prime Minister Enkhsaikhan was close to the president, having served as head of the president’s chancery since 1993. The new government swiftly initiated a policy of shock therapy to move the country rapidly ahead towards a market economy. Unwisely, perhaps, the government publicly admitted that the reforms were bound to have social costs. This may have contributed to the MPRP winning the 1997 presidential elections as Ochirbat lost to Bagabandi, who had been Speaker of parliament and leader of the MPRP parliamentary group. During the period 1997–2000, Mongolia again went through a period of cohabitation that proved to be a greater test of the working of the young semipresidential multi-party democracy than the first period of cohabitation under Ochirbat. President Bagabandi showed greater intent and purpose than Ochirbat in using his presidential powers, emphasizing the role of the president as an independent branch of executive power. Moreover, the parliament could not count on a two-thirds majority to overturn presidential vetoes, as has otherwise been the case (see Table 11.2). The president used this situation to block prime ministerial appointments once fissures within the coalition government had shown its inner weaknesses. Conflict between the president and the majority in parliament came to be centred around the influence of the president on cabinet formation, particularly on the appointment of the prime minister, not on economic reform issues. In economic policy matters, pragmatism appears to have prevailed. For example, in 1997 the president did not veto the scrapping of almost all tariffs on trade that resulted in Mongolia acquiring ‘one of the most

192

S. Moestrup and G. Ganzorig

Table 11.2 Mongolian presidential and legislative election results Year

President

Majority in Great Hural (% of seats)

Electoral law

1990 1992

Ochirbat (MPRP)

MPRP (85) MPRP (92)

SMDa 2 rounds Multi-member, majoritarian

1993 1996 1997 2000 2001 2004

Ochirbat (MNDP/MSDP)

Cohabitation 1993–96 Democratic Coalition (62) Cohabitation 1997–2000 MPRP (95)

2005

Enkhbayar (MPRP)

Bagabandi (MPRP)

SMD SMD

Bagabandi (MPRP) Grand coalition MPRP– Motherland Democracy (93)

SMD

Sources: Sanders (1996, 101), Ginsburg (1997, 61), Fish (1998, 129), Severinghaus (2001, 62), IPU parline. Note SMD Single-member districts electoral system. While the 1990 electoral system was a system of SMD in two rounds, from 1996 onwards elections have taken place in one round.

liberal trade regimes in the world’ (Ginsburg 1998, 66). However, in parliament the MPRP minority used its ability to control the achievement of the necessary quorum for parliamentary proceedings to block controversial measures, such as the merger of a private bank and a government-owned bank (Severinghaus 2000, 134). The Democratic Coalition government was considerably weakened in its stance against the president and the opposition due to internal conflict, resulting to a large extent from a decision of the Constitutional Court entailing the separation of government and parliament: as indicated above, the court ruled that Article 29, 1 of the constitution was to be interpreted to mean that members of parliament (MPs) cannot serve as members of cabinet. The ruling was upheld by the court after having been sent back by a majority in parliament, as the Mongolian constitution allows. The coalition ultimately decided to form a government without MPs. If the leaders of the coalition parties were to relinquish their parliamentary seats in order to assume cabinet posts, there was a real risk that the coalition might lose the majority in parliament through by-elections to fill the vacated seats. However, this entailed relegating the top leadership of the two coalition parties to less powerful positions, as members of parliament rather than cabinet members (Ginsburg and Ganzorig 2001, 312–14). The coalition was plagued by internal factionalism. Parliament lacked the means of disciplining the government, and party leaders the means of disciplining backbenchers (through the carrot of a ministerial post). Personal ambitions clashed and overall coalition discipline suffered (Ginsburg 2003, 1992–95). The resulting internal fissures in the coalition were ably exploited by the MPRP. The end result was great cabinet instability, with four different prime ministers over

Semi-presidentialism in Mongolia

193

the four-year period the coalition was in power. Disagreements over policies in the wake of the Asian crisis and personal ambitions resulted in MPs from the majority working to overturn their own government. The first step was the adoption in January 1998 of a law stating that, indeed, MPs can serve as cabinet ministers. The parliamentary caucus leader of the MNDP, who had been a leading figure in ensuring the passage of this law, became the new prime minister in April 1998 (UNDP, May 1998). A few months later, however, a controversial bank merger resulted in the adoption of a no-confidence vote with forty-two against thirty-three votes, as members of the Social Democratic Party, the junior partner in the coalition, voted along with the MPRP against their own government (Sanders 2000, 16). Fractures within the coalition government were compounded by subsequent repeated refusals of President Bagabandi to approve the prime minister candidates presented by the coalition; instead, Bagabandi suggested his own candidates. A compromise candidate was not found until early December 1998 (Sanders 1999, 155–7, 162). The appointment of individual cabinet ministers was similarly a long and conflictual process. The new government that was finally appointed lasted less than a year. In July 1999, it had to step down following a controversy over the privatization of a copper mine, as the Social Democrats again voted with the MPRP against their own government (Sanders 2000, 18). A new prime minister took over until the coalition lost the June 2000 elections overwhelmingly to the MPRP that won seventy-two out of seventy-six seats, though only slightly over 50 per cent of the votes (Severinghaus 2001, 62). In the presidential elections in June 2001, Bagabandi was re-elected. Government instability and political stalemate had their costs in terms of governance. In particular, the government ‘was unable to mount a consistent policy response to the huge 1998–99 terms of trade shocks’ (World Bank 2000, i) resulting from falling world prices for Mongolia’s primary export goods (notably copper and cashmere), in the wake of the Asian financial crisis. Similarly, a full restructuring of the financial sector, hit by severe crisis in 1996, was stalled by political gridlock (Bruun et al. 2000, 22). Political stalemate contributed to ‘donor scepticism and donor fatigue’ (La Porta, cited in Batbayar 2003, 56). It appears less than accurate to describe political gridlock in 1998 as ‘superficial’ (Pomfret 2000, 155).12 In an opinion poll conducted by the wellrespected Sant Maral Foundation in Ulaanbataar in March 2001, respondents were amongst other things asked about which state form they believed suited Mongolia the best: 41 per cent of respondents favoured a presidential republic, 18 per cent a parliamentary one, and 25 per cent the existing semi-presidential regime form (Sant Maral Politbarometer 14, March 2001). In December 1999, all major political parties (including the MPRP) agreed to pass Mongolia’s first constitutional amendment to try to address the issues that had plagued the Democratic Coalition government. It is probable that the MPRP leadership in parliament realized that it would be in its own best interest to have such an amendment passed, given the probability of the MPRP winning the 2000 parliamentary elections. An opinion poll conducted by the well-respected

194

S. Moestrup and G. Ganzorig

Sant Maral Foundation in December 1999 showed that 49 per cent of the voters polled intended to vote for the MPRP, while only 17 per cent intended to vote for the Democratic Coalition (Sant Maral, August 2000). Though the MPRP had backed the amendment, the president chose to veto it, claiming that the appropriate procedures of consultation had not been followed. In particular, he claimed that parliament should have consulted with himself, the Constitutional Court and others beforehand. Parliament overturned the presidential veto, but the Constitutional Court ruled the amendments unconstitutional. Pursuant to law on the Constitutional Court, parliament must discuss the court’s conclusion and render a resolution, which should be sent to the court within fifteen days. But in violation of the law, parliament made a simple note in the parliamentary meeting records without formally reacting to the court’s decision; by not sending back the decision, parliament did not allow the court to pronounce a final judgment. This situation of constitutional uncertainty continued until the parliamentary elections in July 2000, despite widespread public criticism and calls from prominent groups in civil society to follow the law (Ginsburg and Ganzorig 2001, 315–17). The end of divided government in 2000 did not immediately end the constitutional wrangles, due to tensions between two factions within the MPRP, one supporting Enkhbayar, the coming MPRP prime minister, the other the president (Severinghaus 2001, 65). The new MPRP-dominated parliament followed in the steps of its predecessor by initially ignoring the court decision, and then by voting that the court did not have jurisdiction over the constitutionality of constitutional amendments. The Constitutional Court reacted by demanding a formal resolution of the issue and by accusing parliament of illegally taking over the prerogatives of interpreting the constitution. Parliament retorted that agreeing to formally react to an illegal court decision would be an implicit acceptance of the legality of the decision. Members of parliament began to issue more or less overt threats to the court, suggesting its merger with the Supreme Court or the recalling of some of its members (Ginsburg and Ganzorig 2001, 317–19). Ultimately, on 29 October 2000, the constitutional court chose to render its final decision without further awaiting a formal reaction from parliament. Predictably, it upheld its earlier decision, this time, however, invoking procedural (failure to consult with the president and the court) rather than substantive reasons (the separation of government and parliament). The MPRP reacted by resubmitting the original amendment, but this time concurrently to parliament, the court and the president, to avoid procedural charges. The president vetoed the amendment again, and again parliament overrode his veto. This time the constitutional court ultimately agreed on the constitutionality of the amendment, and it was finally formally adopted in May 2001 – almost five years after the issue of the separation of government and parliament was first raised (Ginsburg 2003, 199–200). Though judges with political affinity to the MPRP were dominant in the Constitutional Court (ibid., 173), the court’s judgments at the time cannot be dismissed as politically driven. This is evidenced by judgments rendered against

Semi-presidentialism in Mongolia

195

the MPRP-dominated government before 1996, and by the continued stand-off between the court and the MPRP government in 2000. Rather, the judgments rendered by the court seem inspired by a presidential reading of the constitution, emphasizing the separation of powers (ibid., 200). The actions of parliament and president are comprehensible with reference to their interest in having the powers of their respective institutions strengthened at the behest of the other. Here institutional interests appear to have primed over party interests, as constitutional gridlock did not end with the end of divided government. While the majoritarian electoral system had managed to provide Mongolia with clear majorities between 1990 and 2000, the June 2004 parliamentary elections gave neither the MPRP nor the opposition parties organized in the Motherland Democracy (MD) coalition13 a majority: each won thirty-six seats while the remainder went to independents and a smaller party. Results in two districts won by the MD coalition were subsequently overturned by the General Electoral Committee due to polling irregularities. The MD coalition challenged this decision in court, and in retaliation the MPRP boycotted the parliamentary opening session.14 Eventually compromise prevailed in the form of a powersharing agreement, enabling parliament to convene with more than two weeks’ delay, at the end of July 2004. It took another several weeks, however, before agreement was finally reached on the choice of prime minister (Ts. Elbegdorj of the MD coalition) and other cabinet members, enabling the new government to take office (Tuya 2005, 67–8). The power-sharing agreement reached between the MPRP and the MD coalition was aimed at ensuring government stability by preserving the status quo in the balance of power between the parties in parliament, at the cost of restricting voter influence. According to the terms of the agreement, the prime minister post would go to the MD coalition for the first two years of the electoral cycle (2004–08) and to the MPRP for the last two; the MPRP and the MD coalition would have an equal share of cabinet members, not be changed over the fouryear period; and vacant seats in parliament would be reserved for the party that vacated them without challengers from the other parties standing in the byelections (Gun-Uyanga 2005a). The agreement was not successful in avoiding internal factionalism in the MD coalition: again personal ambitions prevailed over coalition cohesion. In December 2004, the leadership of the Democratic Party (DP, the majority party in the coalition) was replaced while the chairman was out of the country. In retaliation, the former DP leadership allied itself with the leadership of the Mongolian Democratic New Socialist Party (renamed Motherland Party) to declare the dissolution of the MD coalition in January 2005 (Gun-Uyanga 2005b). Despite the breakdown of the MD coalition, the government has so far survived, as neither the MPRP nor a majority faction within the DP has had an interest in seeing it fall and thus lose their cabinet positions. Tensions over the allocation of vacant seats in parliament and over nominations to important administrative posts have, however, plagued the collaboration between the two major parties. These tensions were resolved at least temporarily in August 2005, as the tenets of the original power-sharing

196

S. Moestrup and G. Ganzorig

agreement between the MPRP and the former MD coalition were reconfirmed, in exchange for the approval of a law that would allow the DP to form its own parliamentary group; this gives a party certain privileges, including the right to nominate a deputy Speaker of the parliament (Gun-Uyanga 2005a). A law, however, that was subsequently found to be unconstitutional by the Constitutional Court. To deal with the threat of political instability, the major parties present in parliament have resorted to measures that tend to limit government accountability, both vis-à-vis voters and vis-à-vis parliament. Inter-party agreements have effectively taken away from parliament the possibility of keeping the government accountable through a vote of no confidence. The agreement not to field candidates for seats left vacant by other parties serves to freeze the balance of power at the status quo, until the next parliamentary elections, taking away from voters the possibility of sanctioning a given party. The freeze of the status quo distribution of cabinet posts means that should the preferences of a parliamentary majority change for whatever reason (external shock, pressure of public opinion), parliament has in effect renounced the use of (or the threat of using) the accountability mechanism available in parliamentary systems, the noconfidence vote (Laver and Shepsle 1999). This implies that the government can remain in an out-of-equilibrium, where its composition does not correspond to the wishes of the majority in parliament. Why this has been the case is explained by the fact that the major parties in Mongolia are better characterized as officeseeking than policy-oriented: the pursuit of office would sometimes appear as the primary goal of political activity. The concentration of executive power in the government has served to raise the stakes and turn politics in Mongolia to a ‘winner-take-all’ system, where control of a majority in parliament is key. The stakes are high, given the level of politicization of the civil service and the increasingly worrisome fusion of political and economic elites. According to unofficial estimates, there was a 60 per cent turnover among government staff, including the civil service, after the parliamentary elections of 1996 and 2000, when the government changed hands. This was reduced to about 30–40 per cent after the 2004 elections, when the MPRP maintained its share in power through the power-sharing agreement with the MD coalition. Lack of transparency and a weak regulatory framework have created widespread opportunities for conflict of interest, where public office and private interest overlap. Elite corruption in Mongolia has reached worrisome levels, bringing the country close to a situation of ‘state capture’ by some accounts (USAID 2005, 3–4, 10–16). According to World Bank Institute governance data, Mongolia’s score on Control of Corruption fell from 0.11 to 0.41 between 2002 and 2004, on a scale from 2.5 to 2.5. Though this score is still above the low-income countries median of 0.84, it clearly reflects a worrying trend (WBI data cited in ibid., 8). Instead of pushing for greater transparency and accountability of government, parties in opposition to the MPRP have opted for a power-sharing strategy, guaranteeing them their share in the perks of political power.

Semi-presidentialism in Mongolia

197

The president is left with only a minimal role to play. President Bagabandi voiced concern over the emphasis on ‘political stability’ and the tendency by the parties in power to consolidate their political advantages through legislation (notably controversial provisions in a law on political parties passed in early 2005) and continued government control over the media (The UB Post, 6 April 2005). However, given parliament’s ability to overturn presidential vetoes and the president’s lack of leverage over the government, there is little the president can do at present beyond trying to draw public attention to what he perceives to be worrying trends. Based on the preceding account, a couple of major points can be made with regards to the functioning of semi-presidentialism in Mongolia. First of all, it appears less than accurate to characterize semi-presidentialism as ‘a boon to democratization in Mongolia’ (Fish 2001, 331). Under the Democratic Coalition government, severe political gridlock gripped Mongolia particularly in 1998–99, a period ‘characterized by ineffective governance and government’ (Severinghaus 2000, 132). This situation was a direct result of conflicting presidential and parliamentary readings of the constitution, notably with regards to presidential influence over the appointment of the prime minister. Eventually, a cross-party parliamentary majority succeeded in adopting important constitutional amendments that severely curtailed the president’s influence over the appointment of the prime minister and in other ways contributed to making the constitution more parliamentary in nature. Second, as executive and legislative power have been increasingly fused, the stakes in controlling a parliamentary majority have risen, resulting in attempts at securing government stability at the cost of accountability. Agreements concluded between the major parties in parliament following the 2004 parliamentary elections serve to preserve and attempt to perpetuate the prevailing division of political spoils. Semi-presidentialism per se does not appear to have had a positive influence on the continued survival of democracy in Mongolia. As argued, the fact that the communist party played a crucial role in the democratic transition process and was thereby able to secure itself a continued role within the young democracy has clearly influenced Mongolia’s democratic outcome. In contrast to Kyrgyzstan, where the communist party nearly imploded, leaving room for regional interests to take over the political vacuum, the MPRP in Mongolia has remained a dominant force on the political scene, possibly at the cost of long-term problems of state capture by political and economic elites that appear to be increasingly fused. In contrast to prevailing consensus that parliamentary regimes are good for democracy, developments in Mongolia have shown the inherent weaknesses of this argument in the context of a young democracy where one or a few parties are able to control both executive and legislative power through a parliamentary majority. Though Mongolia formally has a multi-party system, in reality the MPRP has remained the dominant party due to its greater organizational strength in a political system ‘where distribution of state resources is the main basis for political loyalty’ (USAID 2005, 15). In a counterfactual thought

198

S. Moestrup and G. Ganzorig

experiment, had Mongolia adopted a presidential regime, gridlock and political stalemate between president and a parliament dominated by the opposition could still have been an issue. But at least opposition voices would have been more likely to be heard, including in the event of coinciding majorities – as parliament would have had greater incentives to demarcate itself from the executive. The importance of the international context for the continued survival of democracy in Mongolia should not be overlooked. Mongolia’s historically precarious position between its two powerful neighbours, Russia and China, has probably provided incentives for remaining on the democratic path, thereby securing support from both the United States and the European Union. Furthermore, Mongolia’s high dependence on foreign aid (20 per cent of GNI in 2003, World Bank Development Indicators 2005a) has meant that the international donor community is becoming an important factor in domestic politics (Batbayar 2003, 57). These positive influences have not been able to avoid what appears to be a deterioration in governance and accountability, however. Recent positive signs are the ratification of the UN Convention against Corruption and the arrest of several highranking customs officials on charges of corruption in late October 2005. It remains to be seen whether this will be an opportunity for increasing accountability or whether corruption charges will be used to eliminate political opponents.

Conclusion Mongolia illustrates some of the weaknesses of semi-presidential regimes where there is a balance of presidential and prime ministerial powers (Elgie 2005, 107–9). The president’s ability to veto prime minister appointees under the Democratic Coalition government contributed to political stalemate, an example of semi-presidentialism reinforcing instead of alleviating problems of government instability found in parliamentary systems. There have not been attempts at authoritarian reversal so far in Mongolia, nor is any likely to come. The chief political actors in the country all have a stake and an interest in the continued survival of the present democratic institutions. A gradual but equally pernicious undermining of democracy in Mongolia can, however, not be excluded. A constitutional amendment approved by a cross-party parliamentary majority and passed in 2001 has resulted in the diminution of presidential powers, notably with regards to influencing the appointment of the prime minister. Reducing the president’s powers has entailed a fusion of executive and legislative power (a characteristic of parliamentary regimes), thereby raising the stakes of controlling a parliamentary majority while reducing intra-governmental checks and balances. The co-optation of the opposition into a government of national unity has meant the disappearance of a political opposition in parliament. This has entailed a lack of oversight and accountability. Mongolia is an example of how the inherent tensions in semi-presidential regimes over the control of executive power can result in constitutional revisions that ultimately tip the constitutional balance of power decisively in favour of either the president or parliament, thereby reflecting and reinforcing the prevail-

Semi-presidentialism in Mongolia

199

ing balance of political power. The Mongolian case is particularly interesting in that it shows that tipping the balance in favour of parliament is not necessarily helpful in avoiding state capture by economic interests, a recurrent issue in postcommunist countries: the fusion of economic power and political influence can undermine democracy as a system of majority rule while keeping the formal institutional trappings of electoral democracy. In new semi-presidential democracies, where political parties are more officeseeking than policy-oriented, strengthening parliament at the behest of the president can strengthen winner-take-all tendencies of the political system, paradoxically reducing parliament’s ability to keep the executive accountable. This is of course a conclusion that would benefit from further investigation through a comparative analysis of other young semi-presidential regimes having followed the same pattern of parliamentary strengthening.

Notes This chapter builds on Chapter 4 in Moestrup (2004). 1 Estimates of the number of people killed in purges of monks and other actual or potential dissidents range from a conservative 35,800 to over 100,000. These figures do not include the deaths of herdsmen that resisted the forced collectivization (Rossabi 1997, 3). 2 For example, the Mongolian Social Democratic Party (MSDP) with many participants from the physics and mathematics department, and the Mongolian National Progress Party (MNPP) closely associated with academics from the economics department (Ginsburg 1995, 463). 3 Hulan worked in the Little Hural in 1990–91, ‘where she had an opportunity to hear the views of leading politicians on the new constitutional regime’ (Hulan 1996, 45, n. 3). 4 The full text of the constitution can be found in Sanders (1996, 272–92). 5 Interview with Dr Alicia Campi, President, US–Mongolia Advisory Group, 6 May 2002. 6 For a translation of the amendments, see Ginsburg and Ganzorig (2001, 315). 7 For further details on this electoral system, see the entry on ‘Block Vote’ at the Administration and Cost of Elections Project’s web site (www.aceproject.org/main/ english/es/esd02.htm). 8 The 1992 Mongolian election law can be accessed through the Inter-parliamentary Union (IPU), at www.ipu.org. 9 While voters had the option of splitting their votes across parties, the low level of voter education may have led voters to cast all their votes for the same party (Brick et al. 1992). 10 A coalition formed of the Mongolian National Democratic Party (MNDP) and the Mongolian Social Democratic Party (MSDP). The MNDP won thirty-four seats, the MSDP thirteen, and allied independents three seats (Ginsburg 1997, 61). 11 The effect of the majoritarian nature of the electoral system is seen in the fact that the number of votes for the parties in the Democratic Alliance increased by only 7 per cent from 1992 to 1996 (Sanders 1999, 152). 12 On a scale from 1 to 10 (where one is superficial and 10 is complete halt of the policy-making process), Steve Saunders (Executive Director, US–Mongolia Business Council) ranks gridlock in Mongolia in 1998 as a 9 or 10 (e-mail correspondence, 22 March 2002). Kim Hunter (former representative of the Asia Foundation in Mongolia 1998–2001, assistant representative 1996–98) ranks it as an 8 (phone interview, 7

200

S. Moestrup and G. Ganzorig

March 2002). Pomfret tends to gloss over the governance difficulties Mongolia has suffered in his efforts to show that democracy and rapid economic reform can go together. 13 A coalition of three parties: the Democratic Party, the Civil Will Party, and the Mongolian New Democratic Socialist Party. 14 Eventually, of the two disputed seats, one went to the MPRP, the other to the MD coalition.

12 Semi-presidentialism – easy to choose, difficult to operate The case of Taiwan Yu-Shan Wu

Taiwan, the Republic of China, is by and large a successful nascent democracy. Since it embarked on democratization in the late 1980s, the country has successfully conducted regular multi-party elections to choose its representatives and leaders at both the central and local levels. The authoritarian ruling party, the Kuomintang (KMT, the Chinese Nationalist Party) was able to keep its power in the early stage of democratization owing to its organizational strength, astute campaign strategy, and above all, its impressive track record in managing Taiwan’s economy. The gradual but consistent expansion of electoral support for the main opposition, the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP), however, ultimately unseated the KMT in the 2000 presidential election. Power changed hands smoothly. In the society, there was the growth of an independent mass media that was often highly critical of the government, both under the KMT’s and the DPP’s rule. Interest groups and political parties mushroomed on the island. Demonstrations organized by the unions and the environmentalists became commonplace. All these phenomena are worlds apart from the regimentation under the authoritarian regime between 1949 and 1991. Although there remain sticky problems in Taiwan’s nascent democracy, such as the emergence of sub-ethnic strife, the confused national identity, the tense relationship with mainland China, the bitter conflict between the ruling and the opposition parties over the controversial 2004 presidential election, and the dispute over whether to amend or to rewrite the constitution, among others, it is fair to say that in comparative terms Taiwan is a reasonably successful nascent democracy, particularly in view of its difficult international position and the overwhelming military threat from mainland China. The growth of democracy in Taiwan has been accompanied by the development of a semi-presidential system that the island country adopted through a series of constitutional reforms in the 1990s.1 In the following discussion, we will first look into how semi-presidentialism was adopted. The parliamentary tradition in the 1947 constitution and the expansion of presidential powers in the 1990s are identified as the main causes for the system to emerge. Then we will look into the mechanisms of the system, exploring into the triangular relations among the president, the parliament, and the prime minister.2 Particular emphasis will be put on the 1997 amendments that granted the president the

202

Y.S. Wu

power to appoint the prime minister without the consent of the parliament, thus tilting the balance, and turned Taiwan’s semi-presidentialism towards what Shugart and Carey (1992, ch. 4) call a ‘president–parliamentary’ system.3 We will also discuss the Achilles heel of semi-presidentialism – the incongruence between the president and the parliament, and how Taiwan has dealt with that problem since 2000. Finally, we will dwell on the institutional impact of semipresidentialism and the prospects for the future. The difficulties encountered in operating the system, the surge of sub-ethnic tension since the middle of the 1990s, and the drive to redefine the relation between Taiwan and mainland China generate strong momentum towards constitutional restructuring that may ultimately lead to exit from semi-presidentialism.4 That tendency, however, has thus far been resisted by the pro-unification opposition. Today constitutional restructuring remains at the centre of political dispute on the island. The case of Taiwan shows how the building of democracy and the development of semi-presidentialism interact at different stages of political transition. Democratization brought Taiwan into semi-presidentialism, as in many other nascent democracies. The inherent difficulties in the system then led many Taiwanese to think of adopting a new constitutional regime. Again, like in many other nascent democracies, a major proposal is to strengthen the powers of the president and shift to a presidential system. The onset of semi-presidentialism, the operation of the system, and the possible exit from it are intelligible only by looking into Taiwan as a nascent democracy. In the end, semi-presidentialism is a system that is easy to choose but difficult to operate for the country. The system is prone to policy gridlock when the parliament and the president are incongruent, i.e. in the hands of different political parties. However, with social schism running deep and the population polarized around national identity, gridlock may prove a disguised blessing by preventing either camp from taking all political power and implementing its ideological agenda. The system is a bit like the people it serves: internally divided and mutually checked. By declaring neither absolute winners nor absolute losers, the system inadvertently keeps Taiwan’s nascent democracy tolerable to most people, thus contributing to democratic survival. However, great challenges still lie ahead and the institution’s ability to survive remains to be tested. The final verdict is not yet in.

Evolving into semi-presidentialism In historical perspective, there have been four stages of constitutional development in the Republic of China. At the beginning, the constitution adopted by the Constituent National Assembly in December 1946 and implemented the next year on mainland China basically provided for a parliamentary system, with the Executive Yuan (the cabinet) responsible to the Legislative Yuan (the parliament),5 and the president indirectly elected by the National Assembly.6 The second stage set in as the ROC government, faced with the emergency of a civil war, found the new constitution insufficient to cope. In May 1948 the Temporary Provisions Effective during the Period of Communist Rebellion (dongyuan

Semi-presidentialism in Taiwan

203

kanluan shiqi linshi tiaokuan) was enacted and martial law was imposed on Taiwan one year later. From 1948 to 1991, when the Temporary Provisions were annulled, Taiwan was under the KMT’s authoritarian rule with a presidential dictatorship (see Table 12.1). The Temporary Provisions concentrated all powers in the hands of the president. During this period of time, President Chiang Kai-shek and his son Ching-kuo, who succeeded his father after a short interregnum, ruled the country as benign dictators, combining the powers of the president of the ROC and the chairman of the ruling KMT. This period of presidential dictatorship left a strong legacy and made the expansion of presidential powers after democratization so much easier. It also made people in Taiwan used to a system in which the president calls the shots and the premier acts as his chief lieutenant. This bicephalous regime easily lent itself to semi-presidentialism (Blondel 1992). Taiwan’s onset of democratization coincided with the end of Chiang Chingkuo’s rule. Martial law was lifted in 1987 and so were the party ban and the numerous restrictions on mass media shortly after. Ching-kuo died in January 1988 after initiating the reform process. Political liberalization was soon followed by democratization, as the first full elections to the National Assembly and the Legislative Yuan were held in 1991 and 1992 respectively.7 In May 1991 the presidential dictatorship was gone with the annulment of the Temporary Provisions (see Table 12.1). As those articles were only suffixed to the original constitution, their removal was easily done with a single presidential announcement. The action was a reflection of the general move towards democratization in the country, and of President Lee Teng-hui’s desire to build his own legitimacy and political support.8 The third stage of Taiwan’s constitutional development began. This stage can be subdivided into two periods. The first period (1991–97) witnessed the emergence of semi-presidentialism. The

Table 12.1 The ROC’s political development and constitutional regime Stage

Constitutional regime

President

1 1948 2 1948–91

Parliamentarism Presidential dictatorship

3 1991–2000b 4 2000–

Semi-presidentialism (congruent) Semi-presidentialism (incongruent)

Chiang Kai-shek Chiang Kai-shek Yen Chia-kana Chiang Ching-kuo Lee Teng-hui Lee Teng-hui Chen Shui-bian

Notes a The interregnum of Yen Chia-kan was unique in that he assumed the presidency after the death of Chiang Kai-shek in 1975. He served until Chiang Kai-shek’s term ended in 1978. During that period of time, Chiang Ching-kuo was Premier, and the young Chiang wielded the ultimate power. That aberration from presidential dictatorship proved transitory. b The stage can be subdivided into period one (1991–97), which witnessed the emergence of semipresidentialism, and period two (1997–2000), which saw the emergence of full semi-presidentialism with congruent president–parliamentary relations.

204

Y.S. Wu

second period (1997–2000) saw the installation of full semi-presidentialism and its smooth operation with congruent president–parliamentary relations. After the extraordinary Temporary Provisions were annulled, in theory the ROC’s constitutional structure would normalize and revert to its original parliamentary design. That would suggest a transfer of power from the president to the prime minister. However, this did not happen.9 On the first day of the reversion to the 1947 constitution, Lee began remoulding it to suit his needs. Lee’s grand design was to institute the popular election of the president and to expand presidential powers through constitutional reforms, two of the three conditions set by Maurice Duverger to define semi-presidentialism (Duverger 1980).10 As the KMT at the beginning of the 1990s remained the dominant political force and overwhelmed the opposition DPP, Lee did not need to concern himself with the opposition from outside the KMT.11 His main political rivals were within the ruling party. From 1990 to 1993, Lee led the mainstream faction (zhuliupai) to combat the non-mainstreamers (feizhuliupai) led by prime minister Li Huan, economic minister Chen Li-an, and defence minister (later premier) Hau Pei-tsun. The prevalent opinion among Lee’s opponents in the KMT was the country should follow the stipulation of the constitution and the prime minister should take charge of the government and answer to the Legislative Yuan (Wang 1994, 379–81; Chou 1993, 195–6). The president should reign like any president in a typical parliamentary democracy. Lee would not have any of this. Constitutional politics thus got entangled with factional competition in the ruling party. In this power struggle Lee astutely allied himself with the opposition at critical moments (Kuo 1998, 6–9), and openly appealed to the society for support, so as to bring down his intra-party competitors.12 He was so successful in manipulating the DPP and subjugating his KMT rivals that by the time of his re-election in 1996 he had pushed through the National Assembly three sets of Additional Articles suffixed to the constitution (xianfa zengxiu tiaowen).13 He got direct presidential elections, removed the need for the prime minister’s counter-signature for presidential appointments and removals, gained the power to issue emergency decrees, instituted the National Security Council and the National Security Bureau directly under presidential command, and appointed all the members, the president, and the vice-president of the Control Yuan and the Examination Yuan. In a sense, he had regained many powers enjoyed by the ROC president prior to democratization under the Temporary Provisions (Hsu 1995, 265–6). The people were used to a powerful president commanding a premier. The popular election of the president was also in sync with their perception of how democracy should operate. These popular perceptions proved useful when Lee made forceful arguments to expand his powers. When Lee was re-elected in May 1996, Taiwan’s constitutional structure had significantly shifted from its original parliamentary design towards a semipresidential system. The president was directly elected. He wielded considerable power. However, the third leg of Maurice Duverger’s tripartite definition of semi-presidentialism was still not quite there. It has to do with the deficient mechanism that held the government responsible to the Legislative Yuan in the

Semi-presidentialism in Taiwan

205

1947 constitution. According to this design, even though the president’s nomination for prime minister needs to be ratified by the parliament, the legislators lack the power to bring down the government through a vote of no confidence. When there is policy disagreement between the government and the parliament, the prime minister can seek the approval of the president and ask the legislature to reconsider its position. If two-thirds of the legislators present uphold the original parliamentary position, then the prime minister would have to abide by the Legislative Yuan’s resolution or tender his resignation. As such, the parliament does not have the power to bring down either the prime minister or the whole cabinet, even though Article 57 stipulates that the Executive Yuan shall be responsible to the Legislative Yuan. The government was brought fully responsible to the parliament in the fourth constitutional reform in 1997. Interestingly enough, this reform was also initiated by Lee to further expand his presidential powers. Although the 1991, 1992, and 1994 reforms had significantly strengthened Lee’s position as president, he still needed the Legislative Yuan to approve his nominee for prime minister. Although the KMT was able to score one electoral victory after another from 1991 to 1995 and keep a majority position in the parliament, the ruling party’s margin of victory continued to shrink, while the opposition DPP gained an increasingly larger share of the vote (see Table 12.2). In 1996, the opposition directly challenged Lee’s decision to keep Prime Minister Lien Chan in office. Lien was even prevented from entering the Legislative Yuan to submit his report.14 The president keenly felt the need to take away the approval power of the parliament. As amending the constitution required three-quarters of the National Assembly present to vote yes, and the KMT did not hold such a majority there, Lee knew he would have to make a political deal with the DPP. As a result, Lee made a swap with the DPP chairman Hsu Hsin-liang by offering the parliament a vote of no confidence for the presidential prerogative to appoint the prime minister without the parliament’s consent. The deal was sealed between the two party chairmen and pushed through the National Assembly against resistance in both camps.15 The result was a semi-presidential system with a strong tilt toward presidential power, or a ‘president–parliamentary’ system. It was semi-presidential because the president was directly elected, granted considerable powers, while the government led by the prime minister is responsible to the parliament. It was a president–parliamentary system because the president can appoint and remove the prime minister at will. In sum, one finds the origins of Taiwan’s semi-presidential system in the 1947 ROC constitution that stipulates a premier-led government responsible to the parliament, and in the expansion of presidential powers orchestrated by Lee Teng-hui. The prime mover of constitutional restructuring during this period of time was the intra-party power struggle in the KMT.16 This means there could not be a complete break from the parliamentary tradition embodied in the 1947 constitution and the adoption of a presidential system, as advocated by some elements in the DPP. On the other hand, the vested interest of Lee Teng-hui and his mainstream faction agitated for an expansion of presidential powers in the

Vincent C. Siew (KMT, 1997–2000)

Congruent Congruent

Pro-unification (2002–04) (KMT 30.2, PFPa 20.4, DPP 38.7, TSUa 5.8) Incongruent Incongruent Pro-unification (2005–) (KMT 35.1, PFP 15.1, DPP 39.6, TSU 5.3) Incongruent Incongruent

Same bloc Same bloc

Same bloc

President–Premier relation

Same bloc Same bloc Same bloc Same bloc

Yu Shyi-kun (DPP, 2002–05)

Frank Hsieh (DPP, 2005–06) Su Tseng-Chang (DPP, 2006–)c

Same bloc Tang Fei (KMT,b 2000) Same bloc Chang Chun-hsiung (DPP, 2000–02) Same bloc

Lien Chan (KMT, 1993–97)

Congruent

Congruent Incongruent Incongruent

Hau Pei-tsun (KMT, 1990–93)

Yu Kuo-hwa (KMT, 1984–89) Li Huan (KMT, 1989–90)

Prime Minister

Congruent

Congruent Congruent

President–Parliament relation

Notes a The New Party (NP, Xindang) and the People First Party (PFP, Qinmindang) split from the KMT in 1993 and 2000 respectively. The NP was based on the New KMT Alliance linked to Prime Minister Hau Pei-tsun. Hau’s oust in February 1993 prompted the New KMT Alliance to leave the KMT. The PFP was organized by James Soong after he lost his bid for presidency to Chen Shui-bian in March 2000 with a narrow margin. The KMT, the NP, and the PFP constitute the pan-Blue (or pro-unification) camp. The TSU was the creation of the retired president Lee Teng-hui in 2001. It turned out to be more radical than the DPP in advocating Taiwan independence. The DPP and the TSU constitute the pan-Green (or pro-independence) camp. b Although Tang Fei was a leftover from the outgoing KMT cabinet, he joined the new cabinet on an individual basis, which put him in the same bloc with President Chen Shui-bian. c Su Tseng-Chang was appointed Prime Minister to replace Frank Hsieh in January 2006. Su had just resigned as chairman of the DPP after the election fiasco that the party suffered in December 2005 before his appointment.

Chen Shui-bian (DPP, 2004–)

Chen Shui-bian (DPP, 2000–04)

Pro-unification (1999–2001) (KMT 54.7, NP 4.9, DPP 31.1)

Pro-unification (1990–92) (KMT 71.3, DPP 20.8) Pro-unification (1993–95) (KMT 63.4, DPP 31.1) Lee Teng-hui (KMT, 1996–2000) Pro-unification (1996–98) (KMT 51.8, NPa 12.8, DPP 32.9)

Pro-unification (1987–89) (KMT 80.8, DPP 16.4)

Lee Teng-hui (KMT, 1988–90)

Lee Teng-hui (KMT, 1990–96)

Majority in Legislative Yuan (%)

President

Table 12.2 Presidents, parliaments, and prime ministers in Taiwan

Semi-presidentialism in Taiwan

207

system. The result is a hybrid, semi-presidential system of the president– parliamentary version.17 A popularly elected president wields great power, and unilaterally appoints a prime minister responsible to the Legislative Yuan.

Operation of semi-presidentialism The operation of the new constitutional regime was quite smooth from 1997 through 2000 (second period of stage 3 in Table 12.1), when the KMT controlled both the presidency and the legislature, and Lee remained the supreme leader in both the government and the ruling party. There was no conflict between the executive and legislative branches of government, for the two were firmly under the president-cum-chairman’s command. Since 2000 the situation has changed completely. With the DPP candidate Chen Shui-bian elected president in 2000 and again in 2004, while the Legislative Yuan remained in the hands of the KMT and its pan-Blue allies, the relation between the president and the parliament became incongruent (stage 4 in Table 12.1). This is an inherently difficult situation to handle, and Taiwan’s politicians handled it badly. The president insisted on appointing his own prime minister, while the pan-Bluedominated parliament boycotted and torpedoed the government’s bills. Unprecedented gridlock developed. The contrast between the congruent period (1997–2000) and the incongruent period (since 2000) is indeed stark (see Table 12.1). Before we move to the operational aspect of the constitution, a look at its basic structure is in order. The framework of Taiwan’s semi-presidential system was laid down in the eleven Additional Articles adopted in July 1997. Although there were three more revisions to those articles in 1999, 2000 and 2005, no fundamental change was made to the 1997 model. It is a typical president–parliamentary type of semi-presidentialism. The president is popularly elected for a four-year term. The incumbent can seek re-election once. The first direct presidential election was held in 1996. The president can issue orders to appoint or dismiss officials without the prime minister’s counter-signature. He can nominate grand justices, members of the Control Yuan and Examination Yuan, subject to approval by the Legislative Yuan. He can issue emergency decrees and take all necessary measures to avert imminent danger to national security, or to deal with economic or financial crisis. Such decree requires a preceding cabinet resolution and subsequent ratification by the Legislative Yuan within ten days of its issuance. The president can establish a national security council and a national security bureau and put them under his direct watch. According to the Referendum Law passed in November 2003, the president can submit for referendum matters concerning national security when the country is facing a security crisis.18 It is quite obvious that the president wields wideranging powers. The president’s greatest authority, however, does not reside in his own powers, but rather in his ability to appoint and dismiss the prime minister at will. This is the case because the prime minister heads the Executive Yuan (the

208

Y.S. Wu

cabinet), which is the highest administrative organ of the state, and directly controls the government. The premier presides over the cabinet meeting that decides policies and prepares bills and budgets. It is fair to say that whoever controls the prime minister controls the state. The 1997 constitutional reform deprived parliament of the power to approve the president’s nominee for prime minister so that the president can unilaterally appoint the prime minister and, upon the recommendation of the prime minister, appoint the vice-premier, ministers, chairmen of commissions, and ministers without portfolio. Although not specified by the constitution or by the Additional Articles, the president can in practice also dismiss the prime minister, as witnessed by the dismissal of Lien Chan in 1997 by President Lee, and the sacking of Tang Fei by President Chen in 2000 (see Table 12.2). By holding the power to appoint and dismiss the prime minister at will, the president gains full control over the government through the prime minister. When the parliament fights with him over control of the government, the president has the upper hand. The 1997 revision grants the president the power to unilaterally appoint the prime minister, but it also grants the parliament the power to vote no confidence in the government. One-third of the Legislative Yuan members may initiate a no-confidence vote against the premier. If approved with a simple majority of the legislators, the premier must resign from office within ten days and at the same time may request that the president dissolve the Legislative Yuan. If the motion fails, another no-confidence motion against the same premier cannot be initiated for one year. A delicate situation is thus created in which the president can unilaterally appoint the prime minister, but the parliament can move a vote of no confidence to bring down that prime minister, and then the president can dissolve the parliament. Who then holds the ultimate power to choose the prime minister and the cabinet, and thus controls the whole state apparatus? Is it the president, or the parliament? This question need not be answered if the president and the parliament are of the same political party, for the internal co-ordination mechanism of the ruling party would solve the issue. However, when the election results mean that the presidential party is in a minority position in the parliament, then the fight over the control of the government is unavoidable. The crux of the matter is whether the relation between the president and the parliament is congruent. After the passage of the fourth constitutional reform in 1997, President Lee’s control over the prime minister was further assured. The new Additional Articles granted him the power to appoint the prime minister without the consent of the Legislative Yuan. He could keep Lien Chan as premier for as long as he wanted. However, because Lien had been elected vice-president in March 1996, the DPP raised the legal question of whether Lien could serve as vice-president and premier concurrently, and submitted the case to the Council of Grand Justices, which later handed down a decision questioning the appropriateness of Lien’s taking the two jobs but did not declare it unconstitutional. Added to this legal complication were a series of hideous crimes that shocked the nation, and several anti-government mass demonstrations in Taipei. On 1 September 1997,

Semi-presidentialism in Taiwan

209

Premier Lien stepped down and President Lee appointed Vincent Siew, a bureaucrat-turned-legislator, as the new premier. This personnel shift testified to the president’s power to appoint and dismiss the premier at will.19 The Legislative Yuan did not challenge the president’s decision at this juncture. During Siew’s tenure, however, the opposition in the parliament did test its new-found power and initiated a vote of no confidence in the government in March 1999. The attempt was merely symbolic and easily defeated, as the KMT still controlled a majority of seats in the parliament (see Table 12.3).20 In essence, the congruent relation between the president and the parliament guaranteed the smooth operation of Taiwan’s nascent semi-presidential system from 1997 to 2000. Chen Shui-bian’s victory in the 2000 presidential election changed the whole picture. Since his inauguration in May 2000, President Chen has without consulting the parliament appointed four prime ministers. All four appointments were made with the opposition holding a majority in the parliament, i.e. with the relation between the president and the parliament incongruent (see Table 12.2) (Wu 2002, 9–33). Chen’s first premier was Tang Fei, an ex-defence minister from the outgoing KMT cabinet. The other three, Chang Chun-hsiung, Yu Shyikun and Frank Hsieh are DPP politicians with extensive legislative and administrative experience. From Tang through to Hsieh, there has been increasing presidential assertiveness in making premier appointments and the opposition from the parliament to those appointments has remained weak. A constitutional practice is gradually taking root that grants the president the power to ignore the balance of power in parliament when appointing the prime minister (Wu 2000).21 Obviously, the ROC’s constitutional practice diverges from the ‘cohabitation’ mode exemplified by the French Fifth Republic (Elgie 2001). President Chen’s choice of Tang as premier was an ingenious solution to the incongruent relation between the president and the parliament that Chen faced right after his election. Lacking the power of a French president to dissolve the parliament almost at will, Chen was stuck with the KMT-dominated Legislative Yuan that had been elected in December 1998. The ‘pan-Blue’ camp (the KMT, the PFP, and the NP) held an absolute majority in parliament, fully capable of blocking any DPP legislative proposal or unseating the prime minister. Faced with such a disadvantage, Chen was nevertheless unwilling to yield, as his French counterpart would under those circumstances, to the pan-Blues. His solution was to invite Tang Fei, the defence minister of the outgoing KMT government, to be the prime minister, but only on an individual, non-party basis. Also on the same basis many KMT cabinet members and close friends and advisers to President Lee Teng-hui were recruited into the Tang Fei government. This is surely not cohabitation, for the KMT as a party was not granted the power to form the new government, and the KMT acting chairman Lien Chan had not been consulted prior to Tang’s appointment. As it turned out, Tang’s administration was a first step towards building a DPP government firmly under Chen’s control. Tang’s government proved short-lived. Poor health and major policy differences with the DPP over the construction of the controversial fourth nuclear power plant prompted Chen to accept Tang’s resignation and replaced him with

59 (80.8) 72 (71.3) 102 (63.4) 94 (58.4) 85 (51.8) 123 (54.7) 114 (50.7) 68 (30.2) 79 (35.1)

Dec. 1986 Dec. 1989 Dec. 1992 Aug. 1993c Dec. 1995 Dec. 1998 May 2000d Dec. 2001 Dec. 2004

n.a. n.a. n.a. n.a. n.a. n.a. 17 (7.5) 46 (20.4) 34 (15.1)

PFP n.a. n.a. n.a. 7 (4.3) 21 (12.8) 11 (4.9) 8 (3.6) 1 (0.4) 1 (0.4)

NP

101 (62.7) 106 (64.6) 134 (59.6) 139 (61.8) 115 (51.1) 114 (50.7)

Pan-Bluea 12 (16.4) 21 (20.8) 50 (31.1) 51 (31.7) 54 (32.9) 70 (31.1) 64 (28.4) 87 (38.7) 89 (39.6)

DPP n.a. n.a. n.a. n.a. n.a. n.a. n.a. 13 (5.8) 12 (5.3)

TSU

100 (44.5) 101 (44.9)

Pan-Greena

2 (2.8) 8 (8.0) 9 (5.6) 9 (5.6) 4 (2.4) 21 (9.3) 17 (7.6) 10 (4.4) 10 (4.4)

Others

73b (100) 101b (100) 161 (100) 161 (100) 164 (100) 225 (100) 225 (100) 225 (100) 225 (100)

Total

Notes a We record pan-Blue and pan-Green seats and shares only when there is more than one party in the camp. b Only elected legislators are counted. c In August 1993 the New KMT Alliance split from the KMT and formed the New Party, thus changing the distribution of seats among political parties in the Legislative Yuan. d Although there were no parliamentary elections held in 2000, the presidential election of that year brought about the People First Party which claimed seventeen converting legislators in the parliament, and changed the political landscape there.

KMT

Date

Table 12.3 Major parties’ seats in the Legislative Yuan (% in brackets)

Semi-presidentialism in Taiwan

211

a DPP stalwart, Chang Chun-hsiung, in October 2000. Chang’s government from the beginning was not welcome to the parliament. The abrupt announcement on 27 October 2000 scrapping the fourth nuclear power plant undermined DPP–KMT relations to such a point that the KMT parliamentarians began collecting signatures to impeach the president (Wu, Yu-Shan 2001b, 46). Although ultimately nothing came of it, as impeaching the president was widely considered a recipe for political disaster and thus highly unpopular, tension remained high throughout 2001. The KMT called for a coalition government that could command majority support from the parliament. The DPP dared the KMT to vote no confidence in the Chang government, which would certainly trigger the parliament’s dissolution by the president. Political stalemate ensued as the KMT feared that direct confrontation with the government would deprive the party of its parliamentary majority in a would-be election, and chose to boycott many of the government’s policies in league with the other two opposition parties, James Soong’s PFP and the New Party. The pan-Blue opposition in the parliament effectively stymied the DPP government’s policies, but it never proceeded with the impeachment drive, nor did it move a vote of no confidence in the premier. This ‘divided government’ situation was unprecedented in the ROC, as the KMT in the past always controlled both the executive and legislative branches of the government. With the two branches in the hands of two opposing parties, conflict and sometimes paralysis ensued. The December 2001 parliamentary elections further tilted the balance in favour of the president. The DPP and Lee Teng-hui’s Taiwan Solidarity Union (TSU, a pro-independence party founded on the mission of helping Chen to consolidate power) won 100 seats in the parliament. The three pan-Blue parties managed to keep a razor-thin majority of two seats (115 of 225, see Table 12.3). Although with a strengthened power base, President Chen still needed to determine how to deal with an opposition-dominated parliament and whether he would insist on forming a DPP government. His task was made simpler when Lien and Soong decided that, with the DPP rising to the largest party in the parliament, it was wise not to challenge the president in appointing the prime minister, or even to take part in a coalition government with the DPP. The two pan-Blue chairmen then made an announcement that they would continue playing their role as opposition leaders and abstain from contesting Chen in the formation of a new government. Thus Lien and Soong accepted defeat right after parliamentary elections gave them the majority status. As a result, President Chen gained a free hand in choosing a new premier. After accepting Chang Chun-hsiung’s resignation, Chen swiftly designated Secretary General of the Presidential Office Yu Shyi-kun prime minister. From 21 to 25 January, Yu announced his cabinet members. Compared with the Chang cabinet, there was an enhanced DPP presence. Yu recruited more DPP politicians and further shed the KMT left-overs. In March 2004 President Chen was re-elected by a narrow margin. The panGreen camp, however, suffered a setback that surprised most political observers in the December parliamentary elections by keeping the pan-Blue camp’s razorthin majority in the parliament (see Table 12.3). Of the 225 seats contested, the

212

Y.S. Wu

KMT, the PFP, and the New Party garnered 114. The DPP and the TSU were able to capture 101 seats, one more than in the old parliament but far short of their expectations. Right before the elections Lien Chan suggested that if the pan-Blue parties captured a majority in the parliament, there should be a panBlue premier. The election result heartened Lien, but only temporarily. Because the 2004 elections were a reversal of the previous elections in 2001, in that this time the KMT gained seats at the expense of the PFP, James Soong acutely sensed the danger of his party being absorbed into the KMT, from which it had split. In an effort to capture a pivot position between the DPP and the KMT and halt the PFP’s downward trend, Soong openly aired his criticism of the KMT and began approaching President Chen after the elections.22 The DPP–PFP rapprochement culminated in a ten-point agreement signed by Chen and Soong on 24 February 2005, in which the president committed himself to the Republic of China and promised not to push for Taiwan’s de jure independence during his tenure. In this political atmosphere the pan-Blue camp could hardly act in unison against President Chen when he appointed Frank Hsieh premier without consulting the parliament. The interaction mode between the president and the parliament remained the same as it had been from 2000. Hsieh’s cabinet proved even ‘greener’ than all its predecessors. Since 2000 Taiwan’s president–parliamentary relation has been incongruent. President Chen was able to take advantage of the weaknesses in the opposition camp and appoint his premiers without consultation with the opposition, despite the latter’s dominance in the parliament. It was made possible by the lack of solidarity among the opposition parties. The KMT and the PFP found their popular support and seat share in the parliament locked in a zero-sum relation because of a fixed share of pan-Blue support in society. The two developed different attitudes towards the ruling DPP. When the PFP was strong (from 2000 to 2004), it wanted to challenge President Chen but found the KMT an unwilling partner, bruised in last election’s defeat and fearful of the result of a showdown with the president. When the KMT and the PFP traded their electoral lots in 2004, the KMT became the hard-liner, while the PFP played a pivot’s role, seeking equidistance between itself and the other two political parties. The zerosum relation between the KMT and the PFP made it possible for President Chen to drive a wedge between them and maintain presidential supremacy by appointing the premier and controlling the government (Wu 2005b). The opposition retaliated by resisting Chen’s policy initiatives, threatening a no-confidence vote and the impeachment of the president. Taiwan faced unprecedented political gridlock and stalemate. Besides pointing a finger at the other camp, many began questioning the wisdom of the semi-presidential system. Constitutional restructuring was again back on the political agenda.

Impact of semi-presidentialism and possible exit Since incongruence, Taiwan’s semi-presidential system has become conflictprone (Lin Jih-wen 2000; Lin Chia-lung 2000; Huang 2000; Sui 2001; Wu

Semi-presidentialism in Taiwan

213

Tung-yeh 2001). The stability and effectiveness of Taiwan’s semi-presidential system have deteriorated following the transfer of power in 2000. Prior to the DPP’s political ascendancy, the average life of a government was thirty-six months for 1991 to 2000 (when the system was semi-presidential in a broad sense) or thirty-four months for 1997 to 2000 (when the system was semipresidential in a Duvergerian sense). Since 2000, however, the average life of a government has declined to 16.2 months. Government bills have also been more difficult to pass. Take for example the fourth Legislative Yuan that straddled the power transfer. Its first and second sessions (pre-transfer period) witnessed the passage of 221 of 304 cabinet bills, or a success rate of 72.7 per cent. During the third through sixth session of the same LY (post-transfer period), only 180 of 470 cabinet bills got through the parliament. The passage rate was down to a mere 38.5 per cent (Sheng 2003, 86). Another telling indicator is the winning rate of the ruling party in the LY’s roll-call votes. While the ruling KMT was able to win 177 of 180 roll-call votes when the party took a clear stance in the fourth LY (pre-transfer), with a success rate of 98.3 per cent, the ruling DPP won a mere thirty-three of ninety-six roll-call votes with a clear party stance in the same LY (post-transfer), or a success rate of only 34.4 per cent (Hawang 2003, 32). A typical case of important cabinet bills failing to pass the parliament since 2000 is the special budget to procure advanced weapons from the United States. The NT$610.8 billion (later shrinking to NT$340 billion) budget was blocked in the parliament by the opposition for what claimed to be unreasonably high prices, outdated and unsuitable models of weapons, and negative impact on cross-Strait relations (Chang et al. 2004). There were also charges of backdoor political deals among the White House, the US arms dealers, and the DPP government in the proposed procurement. The government’s inability to move ahead with this special budget caused great frustration in Washington, DC and proved a serious block in the otherwise greatly improved military-to-military relationship between the United States and Taiwan. Amidst gridlock and stalemate, the DPP government began contemplating an overhaul of the semi-presidential system installed in full in 1997. After all, it was the KMT that had led the multiple restructuring of the constitutional order in the 1990s. The DPP never had its imprint on the basic rules of the political game in Taiwan. Now, with the president and the parliament at loggerheads, and with critical government bills blocked by the opposition parties, the DPP naturally wants to shake off the shackles of the constitution. Besides this practical consideration the DPP has a deeper reason to change the constitutional order. The DPP has long been advocating an independent Taiwan, permanently separated from mainland China. The party detests the symbolism of the 1947 constitution. For a long time the DPP had questioned the very legitimacy not only of the KMT regime, but of the Republic of China, until electoral considerations prompted it to adopt a conciliatory position. In the 1999 Resolution on Taiwan’s Future, the DPP reluctantly acknowledged that the name of Taiwan is the Republic of China. This moderation of its position helped to improve the

214

Y.S. Wu

party’s image among median voters, and contributed to Chen’s victory in 2000. However, it did not bridge the difference between the DPP and the prounification pan-Blue parties. They still adhere to the ‘one China’ principle (China being the ROC) and commit themselves to ultimate unification with mainland China. On the surface all major political parties in Taiwan (with the notable exception of Lee Teng-hui’s Taiwan Solidarity Union) agree that the Republic of China is a political common denominator, but scratch the surface a little bit and one finds quite different definitions of the ROC for the two camps. Lurking in the mind of the DPP elite and their supporters is an impulse for de jure separation of Taiwan from the Chinese mainland, and the establishment of a Republic of Taiwan. Remaking the constitution would cut the legal cord with mainland China and serve a symbolic purpose. Taiwan would prove itself to be an independent nation through constitution-making. Because of the rapidly changing political mood on the island, this impulse erupted in Chen Shui-bian’s 2003–04 presidential campaign.23 He openly advocated the adoption of a new constitution through referendum and profited by gaining greater popularity (Kao 2004). The opposition was abhorred, Beijing was greatly alarmed, and Washington was prompted into harsh warnings against Taipei’s unilateral action to change the status quo. Taiwan’s constitution-making is thus embroiled in cross-Strait and international politics. It is no longer a domestic affair (Wu 2005c). The DPP thus has three reasons to remake Taiwan’s constitution: gaining electoral support, fulfilling an ideological goal, and ridding itself of an ineffective political structure. The three goals are actually directed at different targets. The first two have to do with dismantling a constitution made on the Chinese mainland which basically stipulates a parliamentary system. This is an intrinsic attack on the constitution. The third has to do with removing the semi-presidential structure that emerged in the 1990s. This attack is instrumental in nature. For the intrinsic attackers, what matters is not the specific government structure adopted, but rather a specific mode of constitution restructuring that can cut the legal cord with the Chinese mainland and pronounce the birth of a new Taiwan nation. For the instrumental attackers symbolism is not the primary concern. They are more interested in resolving the deadlock, and moving ahead on the policy agenda. After downplaying the constitutional issue in the aftermath of the presidential election of 2004, the DPP government again trumpeted it and launched a campaign to ‘hasten the birth of Taiwan’s new constitution’ (cuisheng Taiwan xinxian) in 2005. The future of the current semi-presidential system is thus thrown into doubt. In the campaign to restructure the constitution, the DPP has been using both intrinsic and instrumental arguments as if they were the same. Actually the two types of arguments appeal to different people, and arouse different types of resistance. One can imagine the most vehement resistance comes from the panBlue camp that mirrors the intrinsic attack. Sensing the imminent danger of losing their Chinese identity, the pan-Blues defend the constitution with a vengeance. They have greater flexibility on the structure of the government than

Semi-presidentialism in Taiwan

215

on the symbolism of the 1947 constitution. They are the intrinsic defenders. On the other hand, one finds less instrumental defence of the current semipresidential system, restricted mainly to the academic circles. The instrumental defenders are worried that the shift to presidentialism, which is the main direction of the campaign, may serve Taiwan’s nascent democracy badly.24 People in Taiwan mainly think of a shift to presidentialism in terms of fewer parliamentary constraints on the government, and not in terms of the checks and balances of the American presidential system. If Taiwan adopts an American system, with possible deadlock in a divided government, then the current stalemate will persist in the new system. If Taiwan is to adopt a presidential system without US-style checks and balances, then that may be a recipe for a reversion to authoritarianism. In short, to shift to presidentialism in the hope of resolving deadlock is unrealistic at least, and threatens the democratic survival of Taiwan at worst. The current system, although conflict-prone, reflects the very divided nature of the society it serves. Neither the Green nor the Blue camp can command a clear majority from the society. As the issue at stake is national identity and peace or war in the Taiwan Strait, neither side has the right to impose its will on the other half. Stalemate may be the price Taiwan has to pay before its people make up their minds on the identity of the nation. To adopt a system that tilts the balance to either camp disproportionately to its social support may undermine the legitimacy of Taiwan’s nascent democracy.25 In this sense, the current semi-presidential system serves the people well.26 President Chen has made repeated promises that Taiwan will have a new constitution on 20 May 2008, when the next president will be inaugurated. These promises are difficult to fulfil. After the passage of the Referendum Law in 2003 and the seventh constitutional reform in 2005, any change of the constitution requires three-quarters of legislative support, plus a yes vote by more than half of all the eligible voters (Lin 2004). This will be impossible to achieve unless the political landscape is completely transformed. Beijing and Washington also watch warily, and act intrusively, on Taiwan’s moves, adding external hindrance on Chen’s bold promises. One can safely predict great turbulence in Taiwan politics for years to come, as national identity, constitutional restructuring, electoral politics, and cross-Strait and Washington–Beijing–Taipei triangular games are all intertwined. In this context, whether Taiwan’s semipresidential system can survive the current restructuring campaign remains to be seen.

Notes 1 In Taiwan, semi-presidentialism is often called ‘dual leadership system’ (shuang shouzhang zhi). 2 The official title of the ROC’s prime minister is President of the Executive Yuan, where the Executive Yuan refers to the cabinet. The parliament is the Legislative Yuan. 3 The presidential–parliamentary system is considered dangerous to the consolidation of nascent democratic regimes. See Shugart (1996, 6–11).

216

Y.S. Wu

4 Taiwan’s main social schism is around sub-ethnic conflict and division on national identity. In essence it is about whether Taiwan is a Chinese nation and should ultimately be united with the Chinese mainland. There is a Blue–Green divide between those who are for unification (the Blue camp), and those for independence (the Green camp). For a comparison between Taiwan and other nascent democracies where class cleavage is the dominant social schism, see Yu-Shan Wu (2001a). 5 The ROC has a unique five-yuan constitutional system. Besides the Executive Yuan (cabinet), the Legislative Yuan (parliament), and the Judiciary Yuan (Council of Grand Justices), there are the Control Yuan (ombudsman council), and the Examination Yuan (civil servants’ council). All five yuans are equal in status and independent from one another. The five yuans are a reflection of the five-power teachings of Dr Sun Yat-sen, the founding father of the ROC, who insisted that besides the division of power among the legislature, the executive, and the judiciary, there should be separate and independent institutions taking charge of the recruitment and discipline of civil servants, hence the Examination Yuan and the Control Yuan. 6 Following the teaching of Dr Sun Yat-sen, the National Assembly (guomin dahui) is the embodiment of the sovereignty of the nation, and is the organ that elects president and vice-president and amends the constitution. It was abolished in 2000 as a permanent organization, with its constitution-amending function assigned to a mission-oriented ad hoc National Assembly. That ad hoc institution was also abolished in 2005. 7 When the country was governed by the Temporary Provisions (1948–91), all the central representatives (the legislators, the Control Yuan members, and the National Assemblymen) elected on the mainland saw their tenure extended until the nation’s future unification. This amounted to life tenure. Under the Temporary Provisions, the president was authorized to hold elections for the supplementary members of the National Assembly, the Legislative Yuan, and the Control Yuan, i.e. to elect new members into those representative bodies to replace those who died. These supplementary elections were always limited in scope. 8 Lee Teng-hui was the vice-president under Chiang Ching-kuo from 1984 to 1988. When Chiang died in January 1988, he was sworn in as president and served the remaining of Chiang’s term. He was re-elected president by the National Assembly in March 1990. His constituency, however, was 668 National Assemblymen, many of them elected on the Chinese mainland forty years before. Lee’s presidency thus lacked legitimacy, a situation brought home to him by the student demonstration of March 1990. 9 In May 1990 Lee Teng-hui nominated and appointed Hau Pei-tsun to succeed Li Huan as prime minister in an astute move to divide his political opponents in the KMT. The deteriorating relationship between Lee and Hau afterwards testified to the shifting balance of power between the president and the premier, as the system was in the process of evolving from parliamentarism to semi-presidentialism. The Lee–Hau relation turned sour as the president continuously expanded his powers, and conflicted with the premier over major policy issues, including a gradual shift away from the ROC’s one-China policy. Hau was forced to tender his resignation in February 1993, ostensibly because a new parliament had just been elected in December 1992. Hau’s ouster from premiership prompted his supporters organized in the New KMT Alliance to break away from the party and form the New Party (Xindang) in August 1993. See Chou Yu-k’ou (1994, 153–9). 10 See Chapter 1 of this volume for a discussion about the concept of semi-presidentialism. 11 This situation proved critical in determining Taiwan’s constitutional development. Unlike many for the third-wave democracies that made new constitutions in the process of democratization, Taiwan has so far confined itself to amending its constitution. One reason for this gradualist approach is obviously the democratic nature of the 1947 constitution. The other main reason is the great staying power of the KMT, the post-authoritarian party, that has a strong vested interest in maintaining the existing

Semi-presidentialism in Taiwan

12 13

14

15

16

217

constitutional order, and the popular support it maintains, together with other panBlue parties that split from the KMT but maintain political alliance with it. In this sense Taiwan is like Hungary, which is unique among post-communist nascent democracies in Europe in still keeping its old constitution, adopted in the communist era. See Yu-Shan Wu (2005a) and Klaus von Beyme (2003, 191). After Lee Teng-hui assumed the presidency in 1988, he managed to force the resignation of three prime ministers: Yu Kuo-hwa (May 1989), Li Huan (May 1990), and Hau Pei-tsun (February 1993). Those additional articles were suffixed to the constitution just like the Temporary Provisions. The first batch of ten articles was adopted in April 1991. The second set of eight articles was adopted in May 1992. The third batch of ten articles was adopted in July 1994. Each time the new revision replaced the old additional articles, without changing the original constitution. This shows the constitution-amending process was orchestrated by the KMT, which has a vested interest in keeping the original text of the 1947 constitution intact and preserves a legal framework that links Taiwan to a unified China in the future. The December 1995 parliamentary elections gave the KMT a razor-thin three-seat majority in the Legislative Yuan. President Lee then decided to nominate Lien Chan again as premier for the approval of the parliament. Lee gave the impression that this was only a temporary measure, for presidential elections would be held in March 1996, and it was reasonable for the newly elected president to nominate his own premier. In order not to reshuffle the government too frequently, Lien Chan should be kept in office and form a caretaker government. Lien’s nomination was approved in this context. In March 1996 President Lee won a landslide victory, garnering 54 per cent of the popular vote, with Lien Chan as his vice-presidential running mate. After the election, vice-president-elect Lien submitted his resignation as premier. At this moment, Lee made a critical decision: he decided to keep Lien as premier but not to submit him to the consent of the Legislative Yuan, arguing that Lien had already been confirmed as premier by the parliament (zhuowuyongyi). The opposition DPP naturally felt betrayed, and refused to recognize Lien as premier. When Lien tried to go to the Legislative Yuan for an official report, demonstrators outside the parliamentary building stopped him from getting in. On the KMT side, the opposition was mainly from James Soong, the Governor of Taiwan and a rising political star. His opposition to the 1997 constitutional reform had more to do with the abolition of the Taiwan provincial government, which was his power base, than with the emergent constitutional system per se. The opposition in the DPP camp, however, had to do with Taipei mayor Chen Shui-bian’s political calculation that under a presidential system the DPP had a better chance of wining political power, for a DPP presidential candidate (very likely himself) could win the presidential race with a plurality, while in a semi-presidential system the DPP needed to accomplish the impossible mission of securing a majority of seats in the Legislative Yuan. Hsu thought differently, probably because he was less likely to be the DPP’s presidential candidate. For Hsu, the DPP should conquer political power as the German SPD did in the late 1960s. Hsu argued that Taiwan was a crisis society and people in general did not have confidence in the DPP’s ability to govern the nation. The DPP had to work hard to increase its seats in the parliament, gain an opportunity to participate in the government, and finally win political power. Different calculations on the optimal strategy to achieve power disposed Hsu and Chen toward different constitutional designs. It turned out Hsu’s idea was more compatible with Lee’s, and the two party chairmen then joined forces to push the fourth reform package through the National Assembly in July 1997. For Hsu’s endorsement of semipresidentialism see Hsu Hsin-liang (1995, 268–80); for his crisis society theory see Hsia Chen (1998, 223–8). Although writers of the KMT’s constitutional proposal did consult the French case,

218

17

18

19 20 21

22 23 24 25

26

Y.S. Wu

semi-presidentialism was adopted mainly as a result of intra-party competition and compromise, not based on any intellectual blueprint, institutional ideal type, or prominent foreign reference. The concept of ‘semi-presidentialism’ has never been widely used in Taiwan, confined mainly to academic circles. The National Assemblymen who passed the 1997 reform package possessed little if any knowledge of the French experience with semi-presidentialism. Scholars’ role in drafting the fourth reform package was also limited. It is argued by Gerald Easter (1997) and others that the mode of political transition and the ensuing constitutional order are matched. Following this argument, one should expect Taiwan to adopt a presidential system for the post-authoritarian party dominated the transition. However, the Taiwan case shows that if the postauthoritarian party is committed to a pre-existing democratic constitutional order, then that order will set the limits on the subsequent constitutional restructuring. Article 17 of the Referendum Law stipulates that ‘when the nation is threatened by external forces (dan guojia zaoshou waili weixie), so that national sovereignty may be subject to change (zhi guojia zhuquan you gaibian zhi yu), the president may through the resolution of the Executive Yuan (cabinet) submit for referendum matters concerning national security’. It turned out that President Chen Shui-bian decided to interpret the conditions of presidential referendum freely and held the highly controversial referenda on missile procurement and cross-Strait talks on the date of presidential election in 2004. Through this precedent, it has been established that the president has wide referendum authority. After Siew’s appointment, Lee oftentimes reprimanded him for inept economic and financial policies, and demanded Siew to change these policies. See Tzou Ching-wen (2001, 124–8). The no-confidence motion was defeated by a wide margin of 142 to eighty-three, in a parliament dominated by the KMT. The December 1998 parliamentary elections gave the KMT 123 out of 225 seats in the Legislative Yuan. Although this is exactly what the 1997 reform is about, i.e. to grant the president the power to appoint the premier without consulting the parliament, such stipulation in itself does not determine what would be the practice when the president is facing an opposition-dominated parliament. Typically four interaction modes between the president and the parliament are discernible given president–parliamentary incongruence: cohabitation à la French Fifth Republic, presidential supremacy à la postcommunist Russia, conflict à la Weimar Germany, and compromise à la Finland and post-communist Poland. President Chen has unmistakably opted for the presidential supremacy mode. For a definition of the pivot’s role in a strategic triangle, see Lowell Dittmer (1981). There is a growing literature on the changing national identity of Taiwan and its implications on cross-Strait and international relations. See for example T. Y. Wang (2005), T. Y. Wang and I-Chou Liu (2004), Yu-Shan Wu (2004). For the ‘perils of presidentialism’ and the ‘virtues of parliamentarism’ that can be applied to the Taiwan case, see Juan J. Linz (1993a, b). This may be a presidential system with strong executive powers or a parliamentary system with a Westminster electoral regime. Both tend to tilt the balance disproportionately to social support of political parties. If the divisive issues in the country are policy-oriented, then to increase government effectiveness at the expense of representation is justifiable. However, in a society when the main social schism is around sub-ethnic conflict and division on national identity, representation is more important than policy expedience. Of course the current system leaves much to be improved. One possibility is to shift from the presidential supremacy mode of interaction between the president and the parliament when the two are in incongruence to either ‘cohabitation’ or ‘compromise’. See Yu-Shan Wu (2000).

13 Timor-Leste Semi-presidentialism and the democratic transition in a new, small state Dennis Shoesmith On 20 May 2002, the Democratic Republic of Timor-Leste became the newest member of the world’s forty or so semi-presidential systems. It also became the newest member of a special club: SIDS or Small Island Developing States.1 New, small states face particular challenges in establishing viable institutions of government and effective, democratic governance. In common with the governments of the poorest South Pacific and Caribbean states, the Timorese government is required to execute the multitude of domestic and international functions required of states but with critically limited human and institutional resources. Has a semi-presidential system for this small, new state helped or hindered the struggle to achieve democratic and effective government? It should first be recognized in responding to this question that problems of state formation and of a democratic transition are compounded for TimorLeste by the brutal way it gained independence. The Portuguese colony was invaded by its giant neighbour, Indonesia, in December 1975. After twentyfour years of debilitating Indonesian occupation, the Timorese people voted on 30 August 1999 to leave Indonesia. Following that vote, the Indonesian military and the pro-Indonesian militia systematically ruined the province. When the United Nations Transitional Administration in East Timor (UNTAET) was established, around 70 per cent of public infrastructure and private buildings had been destroyed. Up to 75 per cent of the population had become Internally Displaced Persons, over a quarter of the population relocated in tent camps under militia control across the border in Indonesian West Timor. Most middle and senior-level civil servants were Indonesians and were among the 7,000 civil servants who left in 1999. Public administration collapsed. For two and a half years, under Security Council Resolution 1272, UNTAET assumed overall responsibility for the administration of East Timor. This responsibility included the development of the capacity for self-government. The United Nations transitional period was too short to establish a cadre of experienced administrators and working institutions for the new state. From its inception, Timor-Leste was a weak state with the potential to become a failed state. At the same time, the new state did have an astute and determined political leadership with a firm idea of how the new state would be organized.

220

D. Shoesmith

It is in this context that Timor-Leste’s constitutional character as a semipresidential system attempting the transition to democracy should be understood. Gasiorowski has argued that a condition for democracy is the degree to which elected officials have the capacity to govern (1996, quoted in Bowman et al. 2005). A regime that lacks the capacity to govern by definition cannot be democratic. The fundamental challenge facing the political leadership in TimorLeste from 2002, then, was to develop the capacity to effectively govern as a condition for the transition to political democracy. The collapse of state authority from April to May 2006 tragically demonstrated that the leadership has failed to meet that challenge.

The installation of a semi-presidential system The decision to adopt a semi-presidential regime was made by the inner circle of Fretilin (Frente Revolucionária de Timor-Leste Independente, Revolutionary Front for an Independent East Timor). Fretilin adopted a draft constitution in 1998, based upon the 1989 Portuguese constitution and the 1990 Mozambique constitution (Charlesworth 2003). It was this draft that became the basis for the draft formally adopted by the Constituent Assembly in March 2002. Fretilin was the radical nationalist party, founded in 1974 and inspired by Afro-Marxist movements, that unilaterally declared independence from Portugal in November 1975 (Smith 2004). Key Fretilin leaders went into exile in Mozambique, Angola and Portugal when Indonesia invaded East Timor the following month. Led by Party General Secretary, Marí Alkatiri, they returned in 1999 with a blueprint for an independent state. As the party leaders see it, Fretilin established itself as the authentic voice of Timorese national independence in 1975 and is historically entitled to preside over the restored Democratic Republic of Timor-Leste today. It is instructive to examine the constitution-making process in some detail in order to assess the extent to which a semi-presidential system represented the popular will. The adoption of a constitution is the founding moment for a new state. It sets out more than the fundamental laws; it defines the nature of the state itself and its relationship with the people. Benomar (2004, 81) provides a comparative analysis of constitution making in states that have experienced armed conflicts. Societies emerging from conflict face the difficult task of keeping political contestation within the regular channels and peaceful bounds of civil institutions. This arduous work must often go forward, moreover, despite lingering distrust, scant desire for reconciliation, and weak or shattered state institutions. Benomar warns that ‘an ill-conceived or otherwise faulty constitution-making process can harm the prospects for stable democracy even in countries that offer promising protodemocratic conditions’. He identifies the characteristics of a successful constitution-making process. These provide a checklist for assessing the

Semi-presidentialism in Timor-Leste 221 process in Timor-Leste. Included is the need for the process to involve as many stakeholders as possible and to make sure the constitution rests on a substantive consensus regarding fundamental principles. This must involve substantial preparatory work before choosing a Constituent Assembly and not letting one political force dominate the constitution drafting. Consultation must be unhurried and substantial and public consultation should lead to formal mechanisms such as inviting submissions on a draft constitution or a referendum. In the case of Timor-Leste, the need for a thorough civic education campaign was critical if the popular consultation was to be genuine. The Timorese people have had limited experience of elections. The first was the local council elections held in July 1975, when Fretilin won 55 per cent of the vote. During the Indonesian period, elections were stage-managed, including the June 1999 election after President Suharto’s fall (Smith 2004, 147). The first democratic national election was the ‘popular consultation’ referendum on 30 August 1999. An astonishing 98.5 per cent of eligible voters turned out, 78.5 per cent of those rejecting ‘special autonomy’ within Indonesia, thus voting for independence. Responsibility for preparing the population for the election of a Constituent Assembly rested with the United Nations, which exercised final legislative and executive authority. From the beginning the UN Transitional Administration ‘suffered from an underlying tension between its mandate to govern East Timor and a longer-term strategic objective of preparing the East Timorese for democratic self-government’ (King 2003, 745). Increasingly, Sergio Viera de Mello, the Special Representative of the UN Secretary General, acted to delegate part of his executive power to the East Timorese. He created an appointed nine-member cabinet of Timorese leaders and international experts in August 2000, in which half the portfolios were entrusted to East Timorese affiliated with Fretilin. On legislative matters, he also consulted the thirty-three members, all Timorese, of the National Council, a body again composed of a Fretilin majority. De Mello set in motion the formal process of civic education and consultation that was intended to prepare voters for the election for the Constituent Assembly, whose eighty-eight members’ task was to produce a constitution. The East Timor National NGO (Non-government Agencies) Forum lobbied for extensive popular consultation, arguing for nine months’ consultation and then three months’ reporting. The National Council refused to even discuss this. To de Mello’s dismay, the council voted on 27 March 2001, by seven votes to five, with eight abstentions, against a consultative process at all. The next day, Xanana Gusmão, the council president, resigned from the council in protest. In his letter of resignation to the United Nations, he said he made the decision because of the ‘irresponsibility’ of the council, whose members ‘no longer reflected the views of the East Timorese people’. In particular, he was angered by the refusal of Fretilin to canvass the views of the people on their future constitution (BBC 2001). His decision was supported by the NGO Forum, who withdrew from the consultation process. Under UNTAET urgings, the council was persuaded to issue a directive on 31 March providing for approximately one and a half months to carry out

222

D. Shoesmith

education and consultation, with at least one meeting in each district (NGO Forum 2001). In the event, two sets of public constitutional consultations were held. The first, organized by the United Nations, parallel to their civic education programme, was held from 18 June to 14 July 2001 (Lutz 2003). The popular consultation was conducted simultaneously as a consultation and as a civic education campaign. It has been argued that a more effective process is not to conflate the two but to separate them into a public education campaign followed by a popular consultation (United States Institute of Peace 2005). The civic education dimension of the first consultation did not produce an informed electorate with a clear understanding of the election. There was confusion about what the elections were for. An international election monitor, Andrea Molnar (quoted in King 2003, 749), reported one month before the Assembly elections: Many people were still confused as to what elections are about. They lacked an understanding about a Constituent Assembly and many thought that this was an election for a President . . . A random nationwide sample of the electorate conducted at this time found that 61 per cent of eligible voters thought that the Constituent Assembly elections were for the presidency (King 2003, 749). Nevertheless, a remarkable 91.3 per cent of eligible voters did vote. Each of the thirteen districts elected one district candidate to the Assembly. A further seventy-five seats were determined by a nationwide proportional vote for a party list or for independent candidates. Fretilin won twelve of the thirteen district seats (the thirteenth was won by a candidate associated with Fretilin). The party won forty-three of the seventy-five national seats, giving it fifty-six of the eighty-eight seats in the Assembly. The left-of-centre PD (Partido Democrático, Democratic Party) won seven seats and the right-of-centre PSD (Partido Social Democrata, Social Democratic Party) won six. This formed the core of opposition to Fretilin in the Assembly. With 57.4 per cent of the vote, Fretilin’s support fell far short of its predicted result of up to four-fifths or more of the vote. Its fifty-six seats did not deliver the necessary two-thirds or sixty seats required to move a constitution through the Assembly. By forming an alliance with Francisco Xavier do Amaral’s ASDT (Associaçao Social-democrata Timorense, Timor Social Democratic Association) and the support of its six members, Fretilin was nevertheless in a position to comfortably control the constitution-making process. The Constituent Assembly was required to produce a final draft of the constitution within ninety days of its election. This ruled out the use of a broadly representative constitutional commission, as proposed by the NGO Forum, and handed over control of the process to Fretilin and its allies in the Assembly (Garrison 2005, 12). The second set of consultations, from 24 February to 2 March 2002, were organized by the Constituent Assembly after a provisional draft of the constitution, that is, largely the 1998 Fretilin draft, had been completed and accepted by the Assembly (Lutz 2003). On the consultation process,

Semi-presidentialism in Timor-Leste 223 Nancy M. Lutz, who was an observer for the Carter Center in East Timor from May 2001 to March 2002, concluded that ‘in neither the first nor the second set of consultations were the suggestions compiled at the village and sub-district levels ever seriously considered by the Constituent Assembly’. Observers suspected that the Assembly did not intend to make any significant changes to the constitutional draft, and ultimately they did not (Lutz 2003). Lutz argues that, while the East Timorese people were mostly illiterate, they were not politically unsophisticated. The vote in the Constituent Assembly election was a demonstration of this. The people were ‘quite clear on a few of the relevant topics’. A clear majority expressed a preference for either a presidential or a semipresidential system of government: They wanted a strong president who would act as commander-in-chief of the armed forces and direct the country’s foreign policy. They also demonstrated a good understanding of human rights norms and strongly advocated their incorporation in the Constitution, and they insisted that the amendment of the Constitution should require some form of popular consultation, such as a referendum. (Lutz 2003) Despite their recent experience of the authoritarian Indonesian president, Suharto, Lutz concluded that: in general the East Timorese people did not object to a strong President, especially since they expected the popular guerrilla leader, Xanana Gusmao, to be elected into that role. Many people preferred giving him more power, in fact, compared to parliament. It was the near inevitability that Gusmão would gain the presidency that confirmed the Fretilin leadership’s determination to have a semi-presidential system with a president actually removed from the day-to-day government of the country. Gusmão and Alkatiri had been political rivals from the 1980s and their mutual antagonism was quite public. Attempts by women’s groups to influence the constitution-making process were marginal. A Gender and Constitutional Working Group prepared a Charter of Women’s Rights based upon broad community consultation. The charter sought to prohibit all forms of discrimination and to promote equality, the protection of women against public or domestic violence, regulation of the dowry system, and a guarantee of women’s participation in traditional decision-making processes. Some of this appears in the constitution but many women were disappointed with the minimal impact they had on the drafting of the constitution and were critical of the National Council and the Assembly for sidelining their concerns (Charlesworth 2003, 332). The Assembly adopted the constitution on 22 March 2002 and it entered into force on 20 May 2002. It was not unanimously accepted by the Assembly.

224

D. Shoesmith

Social Democrat members claimed the draft did not reflect the will of the people. There was opposition support in the Assembly for a stronger president (Jolliffe 2002a). The opposition PD (Democratic Party), PSD (Social Democratic Party) and UDT (Timorese Democratic Union) abstained, although they said they would respect the majority will. The result was a vote of sixty-five for and thirteen abstentions and another ten deputies absent. The main concern of the opposition was Section 167 that ruled that ‘the Constitutional Assembly shall be transformed into a National Parliament with the entering into force of the Constitution of the Republic’ (Section 167:1). Returning to Benomar’s characteristics of a successful constitution-making process, it is possible to offer an evaluation of the process in East Timor. There was an election for a Constituent Assembly that provided a real opportunity – which they enthusiastically embraced – for the Timorese people to choose their agents to prepare the constitution. Most of the other conditions identified by Benomar for a genuine constitution-making process were not met in TimorLeste. To the extent that the leadership-in-exile had predetermined the nature of the state system, including its semi-presidential regime, using a Portuguese and Mozambique model, the constitution was not designed to respond to specific Timorese conditions. The process of consultation before and during the term of the Assembly was quite brief, and conflated the civic education and consultation phases. The NGO Forum called the process ‘rushed and highly inadequate’ (NGO Forum 2001). In any case, the Fretilin majority in the Assembly did not seriously respond to a popular consultation process that, in the first instance, they did not regard as necessary. The UN Special Representative had to apply pressure for popular consultation to take place at all. The composition of the Assembly gave one political force, Fretilin, the capacity to dominate the constitution drafting and impose its 1998 blueprint. There was no formal mechanism such as a referendum to allow the people to endorse the constitution. The fact that twenty-three of the eighty-eight Assembly members abstained or did not bother to vote inevitably undermined the universality of the constitution. The democratic credentials of the constitution-making process were also compromised in some eyes by the fact the Constituent Assembly automatically became the parliament and its leader the prime minister at the moment of independence. Gusmão urged that fresh elections should be held once the constitution was promulgated. Fretilin insisted this was unnecessary, determined to maintain its lasting majority status (Smith 2004, 153). Opposition appeals to de Mello for a new election were rejected as too ‘difficult’ (Simonsen 2006, 581). By adopting its own constitution Fretilin, in effect, made itself the government in power until May 2007. The opportunities for a more inclusive legitimizing process were lost (Regan 2003, 40). The presidential elections were held on 14 April 2002, after the Assembly had completed its major task. This time, 86 per cent of the electorate turned out to provide Xanana Gusmão with a resounding 82.7 per cent of the vote. His opponent, Francisco Xavier do Amaral, a leader from the early days of Fretilin, stood as a candidate so that the electorate could have the opportunity to express

Semi-presidentialism in Timor-Leste 225 their support for Gusmão. Fretilin actively opposed Gusmão’s candidature, Alkatiri publicly announcing that he would spoil his ballot and urged others to do so. The leader of the EU observer team condemned Fretilin for what he called ‘intimidation’ of the electorate (Smith 2004, 155).

Constitutional powers of president and prime minister That the constitution promulgated on 20 May 2002 is modelled on the Portuguese and Mozambique constitutions reflects the Fretilin leadership’s historical links to lusophone political culture. Portuguese and Tetum were declared the official languages. Section 8, dealing with international relations, states that Timor-Leste shall maintain ‘privileged ties’ with countries whose official language is Portuguese (Section 8:3). The head of state is the president, who is elected by popular vote for a fiveyear term. Following legislative elections, the president appoints as prime minister the leader of the majority party or coalition of parties in the parliament. As head of government, the prime minister selects the ministers in the Council of State or cabinet. The prime minister’s control of cabinet appointments and therefore of the composition of the political executive is the decisive limitation on the president’s influence over government in the Timorese system, producing a negative correlation ‘between the level of presidential powers and the resulting outcome of the government formation process’ (on this see Almeida and Cho 2003, 1). The hostility between President Gusmão and the ruling party meant that the president could not exercise even informal influence on the composition of the cabinet. On at least two occasions President Gusmão demanded the dismissal of a cabinet minister, on both occasions without effect. The republic is defined in the constitution as a ‘democratic, sovereign, independent and unitary State based on the rule of law, the will of the people, and respect for the dignity of the human person’ (Section 1:1). The constitution clearly associates the fundamental law of the state with the ‘historical resistance of the Timorese people’ and the role of Fretilin in the struggle for independence (Preamble by the Constituent Assembly, 22 March 2002). The day Fretilin unilaterally declared independence from Portugal, 28 November 1975, is declared the ‘Day of Proclamation of Independence of the Democratic Republic of East Timor’ (Section 1:2). The national flag follows the design of the original Fretilin flag (Section 15:1). Part III of the constitution sets out the general principles and institutional arrangements for the organization of political power. The four organs of sovereignty, following the Portuguese model, are ‘the President of the Republic, the National Parliament, the Government and the Courts’ (Section 67). The relationships between these institutions are complex, governed by ‘the principle of separation and interdependence of powers’ (Section 69). The National Parliament, or Assembly of the Republic, is a unicameral body composed of 230 deputies. (This will come into effect in 2007.)

226

D. Shoesmith

The president’s office is both symbolic and political: The President of the Republic is the Head of State and the symbol and guarantor of national independence and unity of the State and of the smooth functioning of democratic institutions. (Section 74:1) In Charlesworth’s view, the presidency has considerable power. The president is the Supreme Commander of the Defence Forces (Section 74:2). The president is advised by and chairs a Council of State comprising former presidents, the Speaker of the parliament, the prime minister, and ten citizens, five of whom are chosen by the president and five of whom are elected by the parliament. This follows the Portuguese model. The president is responsible for appointing the highest judicial officer, the President of the Supreme Court of Justice, and the Attorney General. The president has the right of veto regarding any statutes enacted by the parliament (Section 85:c). The veto power lapses, however, if, within ninety days, the parliament, after reconsideration, again confirms the statute by an absolute majority (Section 88:2). The president can refer cases to the Supreme Court of Justice to undertake preventative appraisal and review of ‘the constitutionality of rules’ (Section 85:e). The president can submit relevant issues of national interest to a referendum (Section 85:f) and request the convening of extraordinary sessions of parliament when the national interest justifies it (Section 86:d). The president has the power to dissolve the parliament ‘in a case of serious institutional crisis preventing the formation of a government or the approval of the State Budget . . . after consultation with political parties sitting in the Parliament . . .’ (Section 86:f). The president can dismiss the government and remove the prime minister from office ‘after the National Parliament has rejected his or her programme for two consecutive times’ (Section 86:g). Section 112 sets out the conditions under which the president can dismiss the government. These do not give the president the power to dismiss a prime minister who retains the support of parliament. There is, however, the cryptic statement that ‘the President of the Republic shall only dismiss the Prime Minister in accordance with the cases provided . . . and when it is deemed necessary to ensure the regular functioning of the democratic institutions after consultation with the Council of State’. The timing of elections every five years for both parliament and president follows the Mozambique model and not the Portuguese model (where the president is elected every five years, and the parliament every four years). The five-year term for president and parliament in Timor-Leste provides Fretilin with an extra year’s control of the parliament, from 20 May 2002 to 20 May 2007. It could also be argued that the requirement to hold presidential and parliamentary elections close to each in the same year may compromise the separate political identity of the presidency. Charlesworth (2003), writing at the end of the first year of independence, noted that how well the constitution will serve the new state of East Timor

Semi-presidentialism in Timor-Leste 227 remained to be seen: ‘The complicated relationships among the four branches of government could lead to an impasse if significant political tensions develop between them.’ To function, the constitutional separation of powers between president and prime minister requires a collaborative relationship between the two (Mackie 2001, 193, 200–1). The actual relationship between President Gusmão and Prime Minister Alkatiri was, until Alkatiri’s forced resignation, one of ‘conflictual cohabitation’.

Semi-presidentialism in practice Timor-Leste became, on 20 May 2002, the only semi-presidential democracy in South East Asia. Although Singapore has a president and a prime minister, it fails to qualify as a semi-presidential democracy because it lacks a freely elected president. The constitution provides that the president should be elected by universal suffrage but the Presidential Elections Committee, controlled by the ruling People’s Action Party, ensures that only their approved candidate assumes the position. A dual leadership system is potentially destabilizing for a new state. A presidential system may provide more clarity of political direction, although there is a higher risk of authoritarian rather than democratic leadership. A parliamentary system should be more transparent and accountable if the conditions for democratic practice are operating. A semi-presidential system ideally could promote balanced democratic governance by providing a second locus of power, separate from but complementary to the primary locus of power in the political executive drawn from the parliament. The potential dangers of presidentialism are associated with potential rivalry between the executive and the legislature and the possibility that presidential regimes may be rigid and populist rather than democratic. Linz (1990, in Elgie 2004, 318) concluded that ‘a careful comparison of presidentialism as such with parliamentarianism as such leads to the conclusion that, on balance, the former is more conducive to stable democracy than the latter’. The corollary is that parliamentarianism may lead to unstable democracy. Semi-presidentialism has also been identified as a system that may not produce democratic stability (Roper, in Elgie 2004, 318). As a new state that had experienced major violent conflict in 1999, it was inevitable that the viability of the semi-presidential arrangements would be severely tested. The system establishes two potentially rival institutions: a popularly elected, fixed-term president alongside a prime minister and cabinet responsible to parliament. Duverger (1980, quoted in Elgie 2004, 316) defines semi-presidentialism as a political regime where: the constitution that established it combines three elements: (1) the president of the republic is elected by universal suffrage; (2) he possesses quite considerable powers; (3) he has opposite him, however, a prime minister and ministers who possess executive and governmental power and can stay in office only if the parliament does not show its opposition to them.

228

D. Shoesmith

Timor-Leste clearly fulfils the first and third of these conditions. The question is: how considerable are the presidential powers? The constitution does not establish a semi-presidential regime ‘where the head of state wields real executive power over the prime minister and cabinet’ (O’Neil 1993, in Elgie 2004, 316). It does, as we have seen, nevertheless set out a number of presidential powers. They include the calling of a referendum, a ‘request’ for the convening of extraordinary sessions of parliament ‘when the national interest justifies it’, the veto power and the power to dissolve parliament, but only in the case when parliament cannot form a government or pass a budget, and then only ‘after consultation with political parties sitting in the Parliament’. The power to dismiss the government and remove the prime minister from office can be exercised only after the parliament itself has rejected the government’s programme two consecutive times. Section 25 provides for the declaration of ‘a state of siege or a state of emergency if there is impending foreign aggression or ‘serious disturbance or threat of serious disturbance to the democratic constitutional order’. Duverger (1980) has argued that formal institutions are not the main determinants of presidential influence in semi-presidential systems. There can be important variations between the president’s constitutional role and the actual power a president may exercise. Beyond the institutions of the state, the agenda and capabilities of the individuals who fill them are a significant, and became, in Timor-Leste in 2006, a major issue. As we will see, there were serious issues of contention between the president and the government, but until the crisis of June 2006 the government always had its way. Whatever the limitations on his executive powers, President Gusmão’s moral authority is high, in contrast to the government, whose popular standing sharply declined over the first years of independence. As Supreme Commander of the Defence Forces, President Gusmão exercises more than a symbolic role, given his former position as leader of the guerrilla movement Falintil (Forças Armadas de Libertação Nacional de Timor Leste, Armed Forces for the National Liberation of East Timor). The East Timor Defence Force is effectively officered by Gusmão loyalists, commanded by his former comrade-in-arms Brigadier General Taur Matan Ruak. The Defence Force, from its inception, has insisted on ‘the continuity of the spirit of Falintil, the legacy of its history, its history and its bond with the people of East Timor’ (Ruak, quoted in Shoesmith 2003, 247). From the first day of independence, the two main political players proceeded to test the system and their respective roles in it. Both could claim a strong popular mandate, from their personal histories in the long independence struggle and from their endorsement by the electorate. Although Xanana Gusmão and Marí Alkatiri were both involved as leaders in Fretilin in the 1970s, their ideological differences eventually led Gusmão to repudiate Fretilin and work against it. Alkatiri then belonged to the radical left. Gusmão, in time, worked out that he did not. Exiled in Mozambique, Alkatiri followed the model of Frelimo (the Mozambique Liberation Front). Like Frelimo, Fretilin adopted MarxismLeninism as the party’s ideology in 1977. Gusmão stayed in East Timor, emerging as the leader of the resistance. In 1987 he resigned from Fretilin, publicly

Semi-presidentialism in Timor-Leste 229 declaring his wholehearted rejection of ‘political infantilism’ and ‘doctrinaire Marxism’ (Niner 2000, 131). When both men returned to East Timor, they were political enemies. Knowing Gusmão’s popularity, and the likelihood he would win any presidential election, the Fretilin leaders would not consider a presidential system, or a semi-presidential system that shifted the balance of power to the president. Loyal to the constitutional models of Portugal and Mozambique, they had already determined to adopt a semi-presidential system but with the intention that the governing power would be wholly exercised in the Council of Ministers led by the Prime Minister. The long-standing political enmity between Gusmão and Alkatiri introduced a political fault line into national politics in 2002. The constitution created a system of ‘conflictual cohabitation’ in which the separately elected president and prime minister were divided by ideology and political allegiances and rival understandings of the nature of democracy. Alkatiri publicly committed himself and his government to inclusive, multi-party democracy but his detractors claimed he held to the inflexible and even authoritarian view that Fretilin has an exclusive historic right to exercise power (Shoesmith 2003, 243). Gusmão has made it plain that he sees his role as ‘the leader of the Timorese political community in general’ as a counterbalance to Fretilin, prepared to defend the general interest against the self-interest of the ruling party. During the presidential election, Gusmão told the international media that as president he would not have many responsibilities ‘but I can express the desperation of the people’ (cited in Shoesmith 2003, 244). When he assumed the office of president, Gusmão immediately made it clear that he understood his role as that of mentor, taskmaster and critic of the government and the parliament. In the first weeks he publicly chastised parliament in an address to the nation in which he warned members of parliament that they had six months to prove that they could behave responsibly or he would call them to account before the people. Arguments between the president and government erupted over the president’s right to make diplomatic appointments and grant amnesties. Gusmão criticized the government’s general macroeconomic policy. He held up the budget passed by the parliament in July 2002 for two weeks, accusing what he called ‘the majority parliamentary group’ of passing provisions in the budget that served not the people but those in power. In the same month, he vetoed taxation legislation on the grounds that it would unfairly affect the poor and frighten away foreign investors (Smith 2004, 154). The president initiated a major constitutional review of the government’s powers by referring Articles 11 and 12 in the Immigration and Asylum Law to the Court of Appeal when the law was presented to him for signature on 30 June 2003. Article 11 prevented foreigners from controlling national mass media, from involving themselves in political activities, and from becoming involved with unions and professional organizations. Article 12 empowered the ministry of the interior to prohibit ‘immigrants’ from organizing conferences, congresses, or artistic or cultural demonstrations ‘when these may threaten the national interest’. The court ruled that almost all the sections of Article 11 and Article 12

230

D. Shoesmith

were unconstitutional in restricting the rights of freedom of assembly and association guaranteed in chapter II of the constitution. Despite this, the parliament adopted the draft law a second time in September 2003, under the ninetyday rule after which, under Section 88:2 of the constitution, the presidential veto power expires. By the end of the year, the bill still awaited presidential approval (Amnesty International 2004).

Assessing the democratic transition Having reviewed the way semi-presidentialism was installed in Timor-Leste, the constitutional arrangements that codified the system, and the subsequent development of a political fault line between president and prime minister, we are in a position to assess the influence of these semi-presidential arrangements on the attempted ‘democratic transition’ and the search for ‘effective governance’ in the early years of the new state. In terms of assessing the extent of the democratic transition in Timor-Leste, the recent work of Bowman et al. (2005) offers a definition of political democracy and methods to measure the degree of political democracy that can be used to assess the progress made in Timor-Leste to establish political democracy. Bowman et al. operationalize democracy by identifying two dimensions: political liberties and political rights. Political liberties refer specifically to the extent to which individuals have the freedom to express opinions in any media and the freedom to form and participate in any political group. Political rights refer to the extent to which the national government is accountable to the population and the extent to which each individual is entitled to participation in the government either directly or through representation. Political rights are broken down into access to power and accountability of government. Access to power focuses on the quality of elections and the open recruitment of political elites. They use a democracy index that focuses on five dimensions of political democracy: broad political liberties; competitive elections; inclusive participation; civilian supremacy; and national sovereignty. The last dimension, national sovereignty, refers to the freedom of a regime to govern without external control. In terms of domestic politics, this is of significance in the Timor case in the sense that the collapse of state authority in 2006 required international intervention. In an assessment of the extent of democratization by 2005, I have replaced it with ‘separation of powers’, a measure of political democracy of particular relevance to semi-presidential systems. These five elements each represent a necessary condition of political democracy. The absence of one of them means the political system is at best a semi-democracy. Additionally, some analysts also identify the criterion that ‘elected governments must have effective power to govern’ (Gasiorowski, in Bowman 2005, 942). If the government of the state lacks the capacity to govern, the conditions for democratic governance cannot be maintained. This became a critical issue for the democratic transition in Timor-Leste. What are the results if we apply these dimensions of political democracy to

Semi-presidentialism in Timor-Leste 231 Timor-Leste in the period before the crisis of 2006? In terms of broad political liberties, the extent to which individuals had the freedom to express opinions in any media and the freedom to form and participate in any political group, there was a robustly independent media that provided critiques of government policy, although the government did move to boycott the leading daily newspaper (World Bank 2005b, 6). Citizens were free to join political parties and political interest groups, including student groups and an active NGO community. Political liberties are enshrined in the constitution. Charlesworth (2003, 332) notes, however, that the ‘breadth of rights in the East Timorese Constitution is in contrast to the weakness of the enforcement provisions’. The judicial system itself was struggling to perform with inexperienced staff and a slow and weak court system (World Bank 2005b, 5). This represented a serious limitation for political liberties; constitutional guarantees of liberties and rights are merely formal if they cannot be enforced through the courts. On the first occasion the Court of Appeal ruled on a constitutional question its judgement was considered positive (JSMP 2004) but ignored by the parliament. As noted, some members of the Fretilin cabinet showed signs of wishing to curtail some broad political liberties. Certainly, Fretilin’s opponents among the students and in the church questioned the commitment of the government to open, competitive democracy. Women are represented in the parliament, holding over a quarter of the seats, and women’s issues are part of the political discourse, supported by active human rights and advocacy groups. But the position of women in civil society remains seriously disadvantaged, and in practice the legal system does not offer women effective protection from discrimination. It remains to be seen whether or not the office of Ombudsman, established by parliament in May 2004, with its limited powers, will be able to address this situation in the future (Charlesworth 2003, 333). Freedom House, in its scoring of Civil Liberties and Political Rights, uses a scale of 1 to 7, where 1 is the highest democratic rating and 7 the lowest. On this scale, Freedom House scored Timor-Leste on Civil Liberties in 2004 as 3. On the Political Rights scale, Timor-Leste also scored 3. On these rankings, TimorLeste was listed as a ‘Partly Free’ polity (as distinct from ‘Free’ polities and ‘Not Free’ polities). In comparative terms, on the Freedom House scale, of the eleven states in South East Asia, Timor-Leste ranked third in terms of civil liberties and political rights as the highest partly free polity, behind the two free polities, Thailand and the Philippines (Freedom House 2005). Concerning competitive elections, the voters of Timor-Leste have exercised their voting rights in the 2001 Assembly and the 2002 presidential elections. They were denied the right to elect a parliament to take office on 20 May 2002. There were concerns among the opposition parties and other groups that Fretilin might seek to establish a de facto one-party state (Smith 2004, 157). In the 2002–05 period, the semi-presidential system and President Gusmão’s incumbency provided some degree of security against this. The critical test of free and fair multi-party elections will come with the 2007 parliamentary elections. Fretilin will find itself less popular than in 2001. Opposition parties will

232

D. Shoesmith

probably enjoy the backing of the church. If it appeared that Fretilin risked losing the 2007 elections this could provoke a further political crisis in which the relative political powers of the president and the prime minister would be tested again. Signs of factionalism, and internal rivalry within the Fretilin leadership itself, represent another destabilizing factor (Shoesmith 2003, 249; Smith 2004, 158). In regard to inclusive participation, the civic education and popular consultation campaigns in 2001–02 were not an encouraging start, for the reasons examined above. The most challenging areas for effective political participation are at the highest national level and at the lowest local, suco level. The first local elections since 1975 were held over a series of months from December 2004, to elect 433 chefes de suco (village heads) and some 2,228 chefes aldeia (subvillage heads). The major political parties contested these local elections, with Fretilin making a determined effort to extend its dominance of national politics to the local level. The first local elections were held in the Oecussi and Bobonaro districts with a 92 per cent and 82 per cent turn-out, respectively. Fretilin lost heavily in these two districts, with voters often turning to independent candidates (Smith 2005). This was an indication of both a high level of local participation in the political process and apparent dissatisfaction at the village level with the governing party. Timor-Leste enjoyed a clear civilian supremacy in the political process with the one significant caveat that Falintil–FDTL, the Falintil–Defence Forces of Timor-Leste, are officered and commanded by Gusmão loyalists. When the political crisis of 2006 set the president and the prime minister in a final struggle, the Alkatiri government could not rely on or control its own defence force. Taking advantage of the disorder, elements in the politicized army turned their guns on the politicized police force. The separation of powers is built into the semi-presidential system and provided President Gusmão with an institutional platform to chastise, and sometimes to attempt to discipline the government. To the extent that the president held the government publicly accountable between 2002 and 2005, the semipresidential arrangements contributed to the democratization process. The collapse of order and the crisis of rebellion and ethnic violence in the following year engaged the semi-presidential system in a new and dramatic way.

Gathering crisis On three occasions since independence the Alkatiri government has faced a major crisis, the last and most serious of which removed the prime minister. The first crisis developed in late 2002. After a series of violent incidents in November 2002, in the eastern city of Baucau, there was very serious rioting in Dili over 3–4 December. A week before the Dili riot, President Gusmão publicly attacked the inefficiency and corruption of the Fretilin-dominated government and demanded the resignation of the minister of internal affairs, Rogerio Lobato, for ‘incompetence and neglect’. In a public address he claimed that the govern-

Semi-presidentialism in Timor-Leste 233 ment was infected with a ‘sickness that affects many parties and newly independent countries – of inefficiency, corruption and political instability, where those who govern live well and people live in poverty’ (Jolliffe 2002b). Some 500 students attacked the Dili national police headquarters to protest against the arrest of a student in class. Shots were fired, and the protest moved to the national parliament building, which was damaged. In the course of the day, police fired into the crowds, killing two and injuring others. It was alleged that political agitators took advantage of the rioting to attack the prime minister (Shoesmith 2003, 251). Mobs were responsible for the looting and burning of a foreign-owned supermarket, a hotel and other businesses, and the burning of properties belonging to the prime minister and his family. The president himself was attacked when he tried to calm the demonstrators (Shoesmith 2003, 251). Following the 4 December rioting, in his Christmas address the president returned to his criticism of the Fretilin government, again singling out Minister Lobato for particular criticism, and again demanding his dismissal for announcing that only traditional chiefs who belonged to Fretilin should be eligible for local office. In April 2005 the second crisis involved many thousands of angry protesters who challenged the government for almost three weeks. The issue that triggered the protest was the government’s intention to make religious instruction in the state school curriculum voluntary. The protesters, with church support, called for the prime minister’s resignation and, in Father Domingos Soares’s words, ‘for an end to this extremist government’ (Jolliffe 2005). The protests were provoked by the government’s intention to review religion in the primary school curriculum but it engaged other issues, including the enormously sensitive question of whether the government should negotiate an amnesty against Indonesians who had committed crimes and human rights violations against the East Timorese (Jolliffe 2005). Despite his opposition to the prime minister, President Gusmão attempted to intervene during both the 2002 and the 2005 crises to calm things down, not to make things more difficult for the government.

The crisis of June 2006 This was not the case in June 2006. With the state itself in danger of collapse, Gusmão demanded and eventually received the prime minister’s resignation. Finally, the actual powers of the presidency were tested by a major crisis and, in a context where the authority of the government and, indeed, the state it represented had collapsed, the president prevailed. The crisis was provoked by a strike by almost 600 soldiers in March 2006, their dismissal and a subsequent military rebellion. By June the police force had disintegrated. Rebel soldiers battled loyalists; soldiers pursued and shot police. The capital city, Dili, was engulfed in opportunistic violence and vicious ethnic conflict. By mid-year, East Timor had joined that unfortunate band of post-conflict states that collapse back into anarchy (Collier et al. 2006). As the situation worsened, President Gusmão took a series of actions which,

234

D. Shoesmith

in retrospect, but not at the time, methodically backed Prime Minister Alkatiri into a position where he had no option but to offer his resignation. On 30 May, Gusmão convened the Council of State and then issued a presidential statement invoking emergency powers under the constitution, assuming presidential control of the army and police. On 11 June he and the prime minister and the president of the parliament signed a letter to the UN Secretary General requesting international intervention. On 14 June, in an address to parliament, he presented himself as ‘the guardian of the Constitution’ and the guarantor of a ‘democratic state based on the rule of law’. On 21 June he convened a second meeting of the Council of State and, acting on an allegation that Alkatiri had approved the supply of weapons to a militia-style hit squad, demanded that the Prime Minister step down. On 24 June he threatened to resign the presidency if Fretilin did not remove Alkatiri. As rival demonstrators in the capital threatened to provoke a civil war, Alkatiri finally accepted defeat and resigned, blaming ‘mischievous people who had abused [the constitution]’. In a few days he was replaced as prime minister by José Ramos Horta, an ally of the president who, like the president, had left Fretilin many years before. The president’s target during these manoeuvres was as much the Fretilin Central Committee as its leader. He reportedly told the Council of State on 21 June that he no longer considered Fretilin’s leadership legitimate. In an extraordinary speech on 26 June he accused Fretilin’s leadership of being indifferent to the suffering of the people: ‘to them, their [single] big problem is how to remain in power’. Fretilin was a party that ‘does not desire democracy’ but wants to impose its own will on everyone (Gusmão 2006).

Conclusion The crisis of 2006 finally radically redrew the semi-presidential system. That crisis was provoked not only by the political struggle at the centre of power but by the failure of the new state and its governing institutions to function effectively. The defence ministry could not discipline or even manage its forces; the ministry of the interior created a heavily armed but unprofessional and partisan police force. In the comparative debate on semi-presidential systems, there has been a shift from ‘democratic survival’ to ‘governance’ (Elgie 2004, 320). In fact, Timor-Leste demonstrates vividly that the two are linked. The operation of a semi-presidential system and the democratic transition can be evaluated only in the larger context of overall state capacity. Duverger (1980, 167) very explicitly stressed the variation of political conditions within his set of semipresidential regimes. For Timor-Leste, the defining variable for both semipresidentialism and political democracy is the relative incapacity of the state to adequately perform basic state functions. Timor-Leste began as a weak state with some of the characteristics of a failing state (Shoesmith 2005, 165). The indicators of state failure include a rise in criminal and political violence, rising inter-group hostilities, weak state institutions, high level of corruption, declining living standards and inability to collect taxes (Rotberg 2002). Timor-Leste

Semi-presidentialism in Timor-Leste 235 exhibited almost all of these characteristics after independence. Following the collapse of state authority and the violence of 2006, the conditions for a transition to a viable democratic system are simply not there. The three key factors affecting state capacity are state resources, political leadership and social cohesion. In time, oil and gas revenues will generate the income to resource the state. It is problematic that elections in 2007 will produce an effective and inclusive political leadership. The alarming widespread violence between ‘easterners’ and ‘westerners’ in 2006 and the legacy of the violence not only of that year but of 1999 and even the civil war of 1975 may have seriously broken social cohesion, the necessary basis for a working civil society. It is the issue, then, of state resources, human and material, that is the critical one for good governance and democratic survival. Timor-Leste is among the world’s poorest countries. The World Bank concluded in a 2005 Country Assistance Strategy report, that is, before the collapse of 2006, that Timor-Leste was at a crossroads and progress remained fragile: establishing a well-functioning state will take ‘years, if not decades’ (World Bank 2005b). The report noted that, apart from petroleum production, other production has declined since independence. With a population growth rate among the highest in the world, per capita income had declined and poverty had most likely increased. Unemployment, especially among urban youth, is high. Institutional capacity was very thin. Governance and corruption problems were beginning to emerge. Communication between the Government and the population is inadequate and often ineffective, resulting in limited mutual understanding. (World Bank 2005b, i) New, small states face a major challenge to assemble experienced personnel to perform the multitude of functions required of all states. Scale can have serious consequences for small states in terms of economic and political viability and vulnerability (Baker 1992, 1). In Timor-Leste this problem is acute. The World Bank report notes that the functioning of both the private and public sectors is impeded by the extremely low levels of education and professional experience. Only 50 per cent of adults are literate, and less than two-thirds have some secondary education. Under the Indonesian administration, most mid- and highlevel positions were occupied by Indonesians: Their departure in 1999 left a dearth of teachers, managers, administrators, engineers, accountants, doctors, nurses, plumbers, electricians, and other professionals. Under the UNTAET administration, internationals occupied most key positions and were only slowly replaced by Timorese, ‘often with little skills transfer, training, or even overlap’. Corruption is seen by the Timorese public as a serious and growing problem (World Bank 2005b, 6). The report warned that TimorLeste is at a juncture:

236

D. Shoesmith where it can consolidate gains and create conditions for sustained growth and poverty reduction, or descend down a path of poor governance, continuously increasing poverty and inequality and, possibly, renewed conflict. (2005b, ii)

If its petroleum riches are not well managed, the Bank warned, Timor-Leste will suffer the ‘resource curse’ prevalent in many resource-rich developing countries. In the years ahead, as East Timor struggles to rebuild its political system, will the semi-presidential system provide institutional arrangements that will help or hinder the attempt to enhance the state’s capacity to govern? The reality is that no state system will work for some years to come after the trauma of 2006 unless the government of the state is underwritten by the international community. If that support is provided, and the country is given time to rebuild its political system, the president and the government will have an opportunity to establish, through practice, conventions of political collaboration that flesh out the constitutional arrangements. This must be part of a broader rebuilding of the political system, where political competition is played out according to the agreed democratic rules, where the state administration and particularly its security forces acquire the professional capacity to perform their roles, where the state is enabled to direct its resources to address the basic fact of poverty that underlies the more immediate causes of social disruption and violence.

Note 1 The first Global Conference on Sustainable Development for Small Island Developing States (SIDS) was convened in Barbados in April 1994, and produced the Barbados Programme of Action that was taken up by the United Nations in September 1999 (www.sidsnet.org/2.html). Timor-Leste also became the forty-fifth member of the world’s small developing countries with a population of 1.5 million or less (wb1n0018.worldbank.org/html/smallstates.nsf?OpenDatabase).

14 The choice of semipresidentialism and its consequences Robert Elgie and Sophia Moestrup

Throughout this book the aim has been to determine the independent effect of semi-presidentialism on young democracies outside Europe. In this conclusion, we will attempt to tease out any emerging trends appearing from the collective efforts of the authors of individual chapters. We will look at why this model has become so popular. We will also discuss how powers have been distributed differently between president and prime minister, across our country cases, and how well the system has functioned. To begin, though, we reflect on the study of semi-presidentialism.

The study of semi-presidentialism As noted above, the aim of this book is to isolate the independent effect of semipresidential institutions on the process of democratization in young democracies outside Europe. This aim is consistent with mainstream work in contemporary comparative politics. As Moestrup showed in Chapter 3, there has been an ongoing debate about the effect of institutional structures on the success or otherwise of democracy since the collapse of communism in 1990. Moreover, this work has generated a basic consensus – presidentialism should be avoided. A good illustration of this consensus can be found in the debate about the most appropriate constitutional framework for Afghanistan (Rubin 2004). Any suggestion that Afghanistan should adopt a presidential form of government was dismissed fairly quickly because of the well-known problems associated with this type of system. A similar consensus exists in relation to semi-presidentialism. While semi-presidentialism may seem like a good compromise between presidentialism and parliamentarism, there is a consensus that young democracies should avoid this type of institutional arrangement as the in-built potential for conflict between the president and prime minister may damage the prospects for successful democratization. Indeed, it is interesting that decision makers in Afghanistan originally chose a semi-presidential form of government, but the system was abandoned quite late in the day because of concerns of this sort (ibid., 12). The problem with this debate – and one of the reasons why it is still ongoing – is that the consensus is still a very fragile one and that political practice often

238

R. Elgie and S. Moestrup

contradicts the expert analysis. For example, Power and Gasiorowski (1997) have shown that presidential countries performed no worse than parliamentary countries in young Third World democracies. For their part, Shugart and Carey (1992) – who remain, after Linz, perhaps the most quoted protagonists in the debate – argue very explicitly that presidentialism can be crafted in such a way that the problems associated with this type of regime can be avoided. As regards semi-presidentialism, Moestrup showed in Chapter 3 that semi-presidentialism has its supporters, most notably Giovanni Sartori, and in Chapter 2 Gianfranco Pasquino argued very forcefully that the effect of semi-presidentialism in Western Europe had been positive. Indeed, over and above the sometimes abstract reasoning of some academics, political practice has demonstrated that presidential regimes can survive (the United States), that semi-presidential systems are not inherently prone to collapse (France) and that democracy in parliamentary countries may be problematic (Thailand). This all suggests that the study of the impact of different regime types is both a crowded area and one in which there are contending points of view. In this context, we knew in advance that the aim we had set ourselves in this book was going to be extremely difficult to achieve. Indeed, it could be argued that it is almost impossible to isolate the independent effect of institutions, be they presidential, semi-presidential, parliamentary, or other. The issues in this regard are numerous. For example, in Chapter 1 the problem of defining regime types was noted. It is difficult to compare the work of one writer with another because different writers adopt different definitions concerning the object of study itself. In this regard, the concept of semi-presidentialism has suffered particularly badly. It is a category that seems to encourage definitional hyperinflation. Each person seems to have his or her separate understanding of the term and list of semi-presidential countries. In this situation, the advancement of knowledge faces severe obstacles. Another problem concerns the endogenous selection of institutions. The aim of this book implicitly assumes that institutions can be studied as an exogenous variable, shaping the behaviour of political actors from outside as it were. However, institutions are endogenously selected. Therefore, isolating the independent effect of political institutions is, perhaps, an almost futile task right from the start. Finally, even leaving aside the endogeneity problem, the study of institutions suffers from the standard small-n, many variables problem in political science. There are so many variables that may impact upon the process of democratization that disentangling the effect of semi-presidentialism from all other explanatory factors is extremely problematic. Faced with these problems, we have two choices. We can stop studying political life altogether, or we can try to confront them. Obviously, like many others, we chose the second course of action. In so doing, though, we accept that the conclusions we reach can, necessarily, be only partial and imperfect. We are aware of the limitations of social science and we do not claim to have discovered fundamental laws. In other words, we do not wish to make an argument that semi-presidentialism is either inherently good – and should be chosen in all

The effect of semi-presidentialism 239 cases – or that it is inherently bad – and should always be avoided. By the same token, though, we believe very strongly that we have approached the study of semi-presidentialism in an appropriate way. We have recognized many of the problems associated with the study of institutions and we have adopted strategies that try to minimize these problems. As a result, we argue that the benefit of this book lies as much, if not more, in the blueprint that it provides for the study of semi-presidentialism (and presidentialism and parliamentarism too), as it does in the conclusions that we are able to draw about semi-presidentialsm. In short, we claim that in this book we have made only some perhaps modest advances in the study of semi-presidentalism, but we insist that these advances are more robust than is usually the case in books of this sort. Therefore, when we make the standard point that we have established an agenda for future research, we do so, we hope, with less than the usual level of disingenuity. Having made these claims, we need to recap the research design that was adopted in the book. First, we adopted a mixed methods strategy. We included a statistical analysis of the performance of semi-presidentialism in Chapter 3. We complemented this chapter with two small-n studies of semi-presidentialism in regional contexts, as well as eight in-depth single-country case studies. Second, we examined cases with considerable range on our dependent variable – the success or otherwise of democratization. We examined case studies where semipresidentialism has failed – Kyrgyzstan, Niger, Guinea-Bissau – cases where it has succeeded – Mongolia and Taiwan – and intermediate cases where democracy has remained relatively stable but unconsolidated – Madagascar, Mozambique and Timor-Leste. Third, we addressed the problem of endogeneity by asking all the country experts to reflect on the circumstances in which semipresidentialism was adopted and identify the effect that these circumstances had on the subsequent performance of the regime. Fourth, we examined countries with a range of different semi-presidential structures. In this way, we have a range of values on one of our key independent variables. To adopt Shugart’s (2005) terminology, we examined semi-presidential countries with a premier– presidential system and ones with a president–parliamentary system. To put it another way, we looked at highly presidentialized semi-presidential systems (such as Guinea-Bissau, Mozambique and Taiwan), countries where the balance of power lies more with the prime minister than with the president (Mongolia and Timor-Leste), and countries where the balance of power has changed over time either towards a more presidential interpretation of the system (Kyrgyzstan and Madagascar) or towards a more careful balancing of presidential and prime ministerial powers (Niger). Finally, we tried to control for certain explanatory factors. In particular, we tried to control for cultural factors by including two chapters that focused on semi-presidentialism in specific regions (postcommunist countries in the former Soviet sphere of influence and francophone countries) as well as by examining paired sets of case studies in lusophone countries, francophone countries and Asian/Eurasian countries. We believe very strongly that the study of semi-presidentialism, and the study of regime types generally, need to pay careful attention to research design.

240

R. Elgie and S. Moestrup

Indeed, we argue that they need to pay more attention to this issue than has usually been the case in the past. Without naming names, we suggest that some of most oft-quoted qualitative work on regime types (presidentialism, parliamentarism and semi-presidentialism) has been based on impressionistic evidence, sometimes extrapolating from individual cases or a very small number of cases to make generalizations about the impact of regime types as a whole. The conclusions of this work may be valid, but they are not necessarily robust. We also suggest that some of the more quantitatively sophisticated work in this domain has paid insufficient attention to the concepts at stake, specifically the definition of regime types. In other words, the findings of this work may be robust, but they are not necessarily valid. We do not claim to have solved many, never mind all, of the methodological issues facing the student of semi-presidentialism, but we hope we have drawn attention to the importance of research design by at least addressing them. To sum up, we do not believe that the advancement of the study of political institutions can occur only in the highest-quality journals where attention to research design is a necessary requirement. We believe that edited volumes can also advance our understanding of the impact of political institutions, but that they can do so only if careful attention is paid to issues of research design. We have tried to address some of these issues in this book. We will now try to summarize some of the main findings of the chapters.

The origins of semi-presidentialism The circumstances in which a regime type is chosen are fundamental to our understanding of how it operates thereafter. In his pioneering work Duverger (1980) argued that one of the factors that explains why in some countries the practice of semi-presidentialism deviates from the constitutional framework in which semi-presidentialism was established is because of the founding context of the regime. For example, the Icelandic constitution appears to make the president an extremely powerful figure. In reality, though, the president is a figurehead and the prime minister governs. In part, this discrepancy can be explained by the fact that at independence Iceland merely adapted the wording of the Danish constitution when drawing up its own basic law. At that time, the Danish monarch was merely a symbolic figure, even though the constitution still appeared to give the monarch considerable power. In other words, the founding context of the Icelandic semi-presidential system was such that there was a strong incentive for prime ministerial government to establish itself at the expense of the president whatever the constitution might say. The founding context of a regime is important for important methodological reasons as well. We know that institutions affect individual and collective political behaviour. However, we often assume that institutions are exogenous to the behaviour we are trying to explain. And yet in many cases this is clearly not so. We know that the very people who choose a particular institutional form are usually the same people who then operate under it. In other words, the study of

The effect of semi-presidentialism 241 institutions suffers from a major problem of endogeneity. Institutions are at once the dependent variable, the outcome of a set of decisions by political actors, and an independent variable, a factor that affects the decisions made by political actors. This is a problem because it makes it difficult for us to isolate the independent impact of institutions. If the people who chose a set of institutions are the people who operate under those institutions, then the institutions are not exogenous to what we are trying to study. To put it another way, we would need to be careful drawing conclusions about the independent effect of semipresidentialism if we tried to extrapolate from the Icelandic example. The endogeneity problem is not confined to the study of semi-presidentialism in Iceland. It dogs the study of institutions generally and yet controlling for its effects is something that scholars have only begun to try to tackle, for example in work on electoral systems (Benoit 2002). There are some more or less complex statistical techniques to deal with the endogeneity problem that can be utilized in large-n studies. However, what about the case studies in this book? When drawing conclusions about the independent impact of semi-presidentialism on political behaviour, which is our aim, how can we minimize the effect of the endogeneity problem such that our findings are as robust as possible? Well, paying attention to the origins of the semi-presidential model in our case studies is one way to try to do so. In short, the greater the degree to which the choice of semi-presidentialism was independent of the subsequent operation of the regime, then the less we have to worry about the endogeneity issue. Under which founding contexts might the endogeneity problem be minimized? The most obvious case is the situation where external actors impose a constitution on a country. In that case, those who operate under the constitution had no say in its choice and so we are better placed to see how institutions affect their behaviour. Another case is the situation where institutional change occurs very quickly and/or where it occurs in a state of near anarchy. In these circumstances, even though the actors who operate under a set of institutions may be the same as the ones who chose the institutions, there is less likelihood that they will have chosen them for self-interested and strategic reasons. Again, this means that we can better observe the subsequent impact of institutions on their behaviour. A further case is the situation where actors are ignorant of the supposed effect of institutions and/or when they do not fully consider the effects of institutions prior to choosing them. For example, there may be cases when constitution builders are concerned with issues other than institutional arrangements, for example the prosecution of a war or the development of the economy, and so pay less heed to the effects of institutional structures. Again, this may help us better to treat institutions as an exogenous variable and determine more clearly their effects. So what do our case studies tell us in this regard? First, while in no case was semi-presidentialism imposed by an external party, it is clear that in some cases there was external influence in the choice of regime type. For example, Huskey notes that the Russian constitution was a model for many post-Soviet countries, including Kyrgyzstan. Similarly, the French and the Portuguese constitutions

242

R. Elgie and S. Moestrup

have been important models for most former French and Portuguese colonies in Africa and elsewhere (including Guinea-Bissau and Timor-Leste). True, as Conac outlines in the chapter on francophone Africa, semi-presidentialism was not just mindlessly introduced as a copy of the French constitution: important institutional variations can be found across countries in the region. Nonetheless, lawyers trained in the French and Portuguese legal traditions and the availability of legal texts in French and Portuguese respectively have contributed to making semi-presidentialism a system that was easy for some countries to choose. If we treat these countries as ones where the independent effect of semipresidentialism may be seen most clearly, then the balance sheet of this regime type does not look very healthy. There has been a great deal of political instability in francophone African countries and in lusophone countries. We saw that some form of electoral democracy in Guinea-Bissau has survived, but the military has been quick to intervene when it has seen the need to do so. Equally, we saw that cohabitation in Niger brought about the collapse of democracy. In Timor-Leste the democratic system seemed to be performing quite well, but the events of early 2006 suggested that the stability of the regime was much more fragile than it appeared. Kyrgyzstan is a particularly interesting example because not only was the Russian constitution taken as a model, but Huskey also notes that semi-presidentialism was adopted with very little debate. This is perhaps the only instance in the cases we examined where one of the other ways of trying to minimize the endogeneity problem was present. However, democracy in Kyrgyzstan did not survive, even though the Tulip Revolution in 2005 suggested that democratic performance may be improving. For their part, of the francophone and lusophone countries in this book, only Mozambique and Madagascar have remained stable since the introduction of semi-presidentialism, but in both cases their democratic performance has not been spectacular, as measured by Freedom House at least. Second, even in the above cases, it is clear that the endogeneity issue still looms large. For example, in many cases there is an element of ‘path dependence’, as Huskey points out in his chapter, where previous institutional arrangements and legal traditions have influenced the choice of semi-presidentialism, making it a more likely or easier model to choose than either presidentialism or a parliamentary system. In Taiwan, the expansion of presidential powers following the transition to multi-party democracy meant that the country evolved away from its parliamentary tradition. Nevertheless, under the previous authoritarian system, real power had been vested in the indirectly elected president. Direct elections of the president helped the new President Lee Teng-Hui legitimate his power and position in the context of intra-party struggles within the KMT, the ruling party, as Wu outlines in his chapter. By contrast, in Mongolia semipresidentialism was chosen at least in part as a way of ensuring that the presidency did not become too powerful by guaranteeing that there was some sort of power sharing within the executive. In Timor-Leste the lusophone model was largely copied, but a weak presidency was created because the ruling party expected Gusmão, a non-party figure, to win the presidential election, which he

The effect of semi-presidentialism 243 did, and they did not want him to have too much influence. In Guinea-Bissau, different pressures were at work. The powers of the president were increased at least in part to counterbalance the role of the previously powerful prime minister. More generally, in the former Soviet bloc Frison-Roche makes the argument that semi-presidentialism was used instrumentally as a convenient institutional arrangement, because it enabled former incumbents to cling to power through a strong presidency while projecting an illusion of democratic change. Overall, it is apparent that semi-presidentialism has often been an easy system to choose for strategic reasons. In some cases it has offered the prospect of a strong president. In other cases, it has contained the promise of power sharing, and has facilitated coalition building. This situation makes the endogeneity problem difficult to avoid. There is some evidence that when we try to isolate the independent effect of semi-presidentialism, the level of democratic performance in semi-presidential countries has not been high, but it is clear that more work is needed in this area. There is a very clear research agenda for the future in this regard. The study of semi-presidentialism, and the effect of regime types generally, need to take the problem of institutional endogeneity seriously and try to control systematically for its effects.

The distribution of presidential and prime ministerial powers Countries discussed in the present volume illustrate quite divergent distributions of powers between president and prime minister/legislature and Table 14.1 categorizes countries according to Shugart’s (2005) classification of premier– presidential semi-presidential regimes and president–parliamentary semipresidential regimes. In Chapter 1 it was assumed that semi-presidential countries do not operate in the same way and that the distribution of power between the president and prime minister/legislature makes a difference to the functioning of the regime and to the prospects for democracy. In short, we would expect that the democratic performance of semi-presidential countries with both a highly personalized presidential-like system and countries where there was a very clear balance of power between the president and prime minister would be worse than that of countries with a system in which the prime minister was the Table 14.1 Premier–presidential semi-presidential regimes and president–parliamentary semi-presidential regimes Premier–presidential

President–parliamentary

Madagascar (1981–95) Mongolia Niger (1999– ) Timor-Leste

Guinea-Bissau Kyrgyzstan Madagascar (1995– ) Mozambique Niger (1991–95) Taiwan

244

R. Elgie and S. Moestrup

main actor. Highly presidentialized semi-presidential systems are likely to encourage political croneyism and arbitrary presidential action. Countries with a balance of presidential and prime ministerial powers may experience gridlock, especially during periods of cohabitation. By contrast, semi-presidential countries in which the prime minister is the dominant actor in the executive might be expected to operate more efficiently, with the president acting as a figurehead and/or as someone who intervenes at times of crisis as a way of trying to stabilize the situation. To what extent did the distribution of powers within the executive and between the executive and the legislature make a difference? Relations between president and prime minister In the case studies, there were several instances of political gridlock and stalemate. In general terms, divided government has often been quite conflictual in these young democracies, whether in the form of cohabitation between a president and a prime minister from opposing political camps (Niger and Mongolia), a minority government appointed by the president (Taiwan and Guinea-Bissau), or a president without political affiliation faced by a majority opposition in parliament (Kyrgyzstan and Timor-Leste). Even when government has not been divided, tensions have developed between a president and a prime minister from the same coalition (Madagascar and Niger) or even the same political party (Guinea-Bissau). In Madagascar, President Zafy initiated two rounds of constitutional amendments, notably to increase presidential powers over the appointment of the prime minister. In Niger, tensions between president and prime minister from different coalition parties led to the coalition breaking apart. In Guinea-Bissau, conflicts between president and prime minister from the same party institutionalized factionalism, ultimately culminating with the dominant party, the PAIGC, excluding a number of its members. Only Mozambique appears so far to have avoided tensions within the dual executive, between presidents and prime ministers who have consistently been from the same party (Frelimo). In Mozambique the prime minister has only limited powers of his own and in practice serves as an auxiliary to the president. In Niger, the conflictual cohabitation between a president and a prime minister from opposing parties contributed directly to the breakdown of democracy, by providing the military with an excuse for re-entering the political scene through a coup. This is the classical case of cohabitation leading to democracy breaking down that critics expound as a key weakness and danger of semipresidentialism, as Moestrup indicates. However, it is interestingly enough the only such case in this book and perhaps in the world. More troublesome appears to have been the tendency for presidential power to become personalized, a point to be discussed in more detail below. Tensions within the dual executive have not been all bad, however. In TimorLeste, President Gusmão has provided an important check on the executive power of the one-party government, and played the role of arbiter on several occasions. President Ochirbat in Mongolia similarly voiced his criticism of the

The effect of semi-presidentialism 245 MPRP government while simultaneously facilitating negotiations with the opposition outside the framework of parliament. These were both presidents with quite limited powers who leveraged their positions to provide a constructive counterbalance to the government, thereby smoothing the functioning of the system. Overall, it would appear there is some evidence to bear out the expectations we had about the differential effect of varying types of semi-presidentialism. The Niger case shows that a system in which the president and prime minister share power can come under severe strain when the positions are held by political enemies. Indeed, the collapse of democracy in Niger in 1999 is a textbook example of the potential problems of semi-presidentialism that its critics have long pointed to. In addition, the experience of countries such as Guinea-Bissau and Madagascar shows that semi-presidentialism can lead to intra-executive problems even outside periods of cohabitation and even when there are strong presidential figures. All the same, in Madagascar democracy survived and in Taiwan it has flourished. By contrast, the Timor-Leste and Mongolian cases show that a president whose role is usually more symbolic than participatory can help to stabilize the political process in times of political crisis. These cases suggest that semi-presidentialism may not be as inherently problematic as its critics suggest and, indeed, that a particular form of semi-presidentialism may even have some conflict-dampening advantages. Personalization of power One worrying trend observed in several of the country cases included in this volume is the personalization of presidential power that the direct election of the president has in part caused. Presidents have often chosen to get directly involved in policy making, rather than taking a step back and ruling through the prime minister. Thus, in Guinea-Bissau, the military overturned the young democracy twice in the context of a highly personalized political system. Personalization of power and zero-sum politics have also become an increasing menace for Madagascar, contributing to the risk of a civil war in 2002. In Kyrgyzstan, President Akaev repeatedly increased his formal powers, ultimately resorting to rigging election results, as his and his family’s political and economic dominance came under threat. In these three cases, semi-presidentialism did not show itself to be a flexible system, capable of enhancing political negotiations and compromise. Rather, zero-sum perceptions of politics and the president’s determination to monopolize and cling on to power have contributed to undermining the stability of the young democracies. Interestingly, in two of the highly presidentialized cases discussed here, Madagascar and Kyrgyzstan, presidential powers were increased over time, as described above. It would thus seem erroneous to infer a direct causation between strong presidential powers and zero-sum politics, in this instance. A president–parliamentary system was itself the product of unwillingness to engage in power sharing on the part of the president. The direct election of the

246

R. Elgie and S. Moestrup

president served to personalize power and provided negative incentives for dialogue and power sharing. That said, even highly presidentialized semi-presidential young democracies have shown their ability to survive, however. Mozambique is a particularly interesting example, as a post-conflict semi-presidential regime where in reality there has been little to no power sharing through formal institutions and where fears of conflictual cohabitation have prevented constitutional adjustments in favour of reducing presidential powers. Here, zero-sum politics have been avoided through non-institutional mechanisms facilitating accommodations within the political elite. All in all, though, Mozambique is perhaps the exception rather than the rule. The chapters in this book suggest that highly personalized semi-presidential regimes should be avoided. This is a worrying finding in the context of other post-conflict countries, some of which have opted for this type of system, notably the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). In the DRC a newly elected president and parliament assumed power at the end of 2006, within the context of a newly adopted semi-presidential constitution. The presidential campaign was highly personalized and armed clashes broke out between supporters of the two front-runners after the proclamation of results from the first round of presidential elections. In a similar context, it is unlikely that constitutional provisions will suffice to defuse tensions and promote power sharing.

Emerging trends From the country cases discussed here, we have seen that the functioning of semi-presidentialism and its effects on young democracies is more nuanced and complex than academic debates would lead us to believe. It is a system that leads to intra-executive conflict even when none would be expected, while sometimes helping to promote the longevity of young democracies precisely because of conflict. Moestrup’s quantitative analysis in Chapter 3 has provided some more general insights in this regard. It indicates that while there appears to be no difference on average between semi-presidential and presidential young democracies, highly presidentialized semi-presidentialism appears to be more vulnerable to democratic breakdown than semi-presidentialism of the premier– presidential kind, in the event of divided government. In addition, the work in this chapter showed that semi-presidential young democracies in Eastern Europe on average have had better Freedom House scores than parliamentary regimes. (There are no presidential regimes in the region.) This is an interesting finding and needs to be explored in more detail in another context. As Wu aptly puts it, semi-presidentialism is easy to choose but difficult to operate. The country cases presented in this volume show that indeed cohabitation is likely to be an issue: power does not change hands seamlessly from president to prime minister as the parliamentary majority changes. Moreover, even when president and prime minister are from the same coalition or even the same party, the dual executive is likely to foster intra-executive tensions, if both

The effect of semi-presidentialism 247 executives have political ambitions. The direct election of the president is likely to contribute to these ambitions. Even difficult cohabitations do not necessarily result in the breakdown of democracy, however. We have seen that tensions between president and prime minister or parliament may provide checks on the executive power of the president (as in Taiwan) or the prime minister (as in Timor-Leste), thereby helping to avoid unilateralism and brightening the prospects for longer-term democratic survival. Paradoxically, semi-presidentialism could thus be said to be helpful to at least some young democracies not because of its flexibility, but precisely because of the in-built rigidities of the system, when president and prime minister or parliamentary majority do not see eye to eye. We cannot conclude that semi-presidentialism is either unequivocally helpful or indisputably harmful for young democracies. Semi-presidentialism can certainly not by itself be counted on to further flexibility and political co-operation. In addition to conflict within the dual executive, semi-presidential young democracies can be plagued by the weaknesses of both presidential systems (rigidity and divided government) and parliamentary systems (unstable coalition governments). When both presidency and parliamentary majority is in the hands of the same party, semi-presidentialism runs the same dangers of corruption and democratic decline as parliamentary and presidential regimes with an overconcentration of power in the hands of one party/coalition of parties. However, it is a system that can provide additional helpful checks and balances compared to pure parliamentary or presidential systems, due to the division of executive power between president and prime minister. Due to the inbuilt potential for conflict within the executive, it is a system that presupposes a certain willingness to abide by the democratic rules of the game, in the event of political conflict. The existence of this willingness can certainly not be taken for granted in many young democracies where there is still a widespread notion of politics as a zero-sum game. The adoption of highly presidentialized systems is often symptomatic of unwillingness to share power in the first place – which is why it is not surprising that such systems on average appear particularly susceptible to democratic breakdown in a situation of divided government. As the case of Mozambique illustrates, a highly presidentialized system or a system where one party/coalition controls both executives can be successfully complemented by structures for elite bargaining outside of the formal institutional framework – where such openness to political accommodation is present. In Niger, having learned from the coup of 1996, the revised semi-presidential constitution following the return to democracy in 1999 has similarly been complemented by creative ways to enhance dialogue between political parties and other actors outside the formal institutional framework. The importance of exogenous factors should not be overlooked. In general terms, external forces placing domestic politics in the context of a ‘higher-order game’, as Manning argues in the case of Mozambique, help keep actors engaged, thereby reducing temptations to opt out and subvert the democratic

248

R. Elgie and S. Moestrup

rules of the game. In Mozambique, the involvement of the international community has constituted a de facto constituency that both Renamo and Frelimo have to take into account. As Frison-Roche mentions in his comparative analysis of countries in the post-Soviet sphere of influence, the European Union similarly provided an important pole of attraction for political actors there, helping to moderate internal conflict. Such exogenous factors are likely to be important for any young democracy, whether semi-presidential or not. To conclude, a particular advantage of semi-presidentialism appears to be the hope if not the reality of power sharing in countries where there are stark ethnic divisions or political polarizations. It appears desirable, however, to complement formal institutions with informal elite arrangements that take the focus away from adjustments of the institutional framework as a means of achieving desired results. Paradoxically, the plasticity of semi-presidentialism can be a distinct disadvantage, as it entails the temptation of tweaking institutional rules rather than relying on political means to reach accommodation and long-term political solutions. Overall, we have observed that semi-presidentialism is clearly not a homogeneous regime type (as is true also of presidential and parliamentary systems). The reasons why one sub-type is adopted rather than another and the subsequent effects that this institutional choice has on young democracies generally as well as the regional distribution of different sub-types of semi-presidentialism are interesting subjects for further research, particularly when controlling for potential endogeneity problems. In addition, we need to assess the impact of semipresidentialism in ways other than its effect on democratic performance. For example, it may be the case that cohabitation is not as fatal for semi-presidential regimes as has sometimes been assumed. However, it is entirely possible that cohabitation leads to less efficient decision making, even if it does not necessarily lead to democratic collapse. At the moment we simply do not know whether or not that is the case. In short, the study of semi-presidentialism has advanced, and we hope this book has made a modest contribution to such an advance. At the same time, the research agenda for semi-presidentialism is extremely vibrant – indeed, with the spread of semi-presidentialism across the world there has never been a more exciting time to study the effects of this type of system.

Bibliography

Ackerman, Peter and Jack DuVall (2000), A Force More Powerful, A Century of Nonviolent Conflict, New York: St Martin’s Press. Ad hoc, Comissão (1998), Guião de apresentação do ante-projecto de revisão da constituição Maputo, Mozambique, Comissão ad hoc para a revisão da constituição, Assembleia da Republica de Moçambique. Africa Confidential (1999), ‘Accidental Coup’, in Africa Confidential, vol. 40, no. 8, www.africa-confidential.com. Africa Report (1995), ‘Niger’s President Forced to Share Power after Holding Elections’, in Africa Report, vol. 40, no. 2, pp. 6–7. Agence France Presse (AFP) (2002a), ‘Niger Mutiny a “Diversion” to Distract Attention to Coup Bid: PM’, in Agence France Presse, 22 August, available through Lexis/Nexis. Agence France Presse (AFP) (2002b), ‘Le Niger toujours à la recherche d’une armée républicaine’, in Agence France Presse, 12 August, available at www.izf.net/izf/Actualite/archives_afp/niger.htm. Akaev, Askar (2002), Trudnaia doroga k demokratii, Moscow: Mezhdunarodnye otnosheniia. Alden, C. (2000), Mozambique and the Construction of the New African State, New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Almeida, Acir and Seok-ju Cho (2003), ‘Presidential Power and Cabinet Membership under Semi-presidentialism’, paper presented at the annual meeting of the Midwest Political Science Association, Chicago, 3–6 April, mpsa.indiana.edu/conf2003papers/ 1032033925.pdf. Amnesty International (1999), Niger, Impunity Enshrined in the Constitution, AFR 43/002/1999, 8 September. Amnesty International (2000), Niger, The Right to Justice, AFR 43/001/2000, 6 April. Amnesty International (2004), Timor-Leste, Report 2004, web.amnesty.org/report2004/ tmp-summary-eng. Anderson, John (1999), Kyrgyzstan: Central Asia’s Island of Democracy? Amsterdam: Harwood Academi. Araujo, R. C. (2000), Os sistemas de governo de transição democrática nos PALOP, Coimbra: Coimbra Editora. Bachrach, Peter and Morton Baratz (1962), ‘Two Faces of Power’, in American Political Science Review, vol. 56, pp. 947–52. Bahro, H., B. H. Bayerlein and E. Vesser (1998), ‘Duverger’s Concept: Semi-presidential Government Revisited’, in European Journal of Political Research, vol. 34, pp. 201–24.

250

Bibliography

Baker, Randall (ed.) (1992), Public Administration in Small and Island States, West Hartford, CT: Kumarian Press. Batbayar, Tsedendambyn (1993), ‘Mongolia in 1992: Back to One-Party Rule’, in Asian Survey, vol. 33, no. 1, pp. 61–6. Batbayar, Tsedendamba (1994), ‘Mongolia in 1993: a Fragile Democracy’, in Asian Survey, vol. 22, no. 1, pp. 45–59. Batbayar, Tsedendamba (2003), ‘Foreign Policy and Domestic Reform in Mongolia’, in Central Asian Survey, vol. 22, no. 1, pp. 45–59. Baudais, Virginie and Enrico Sborgi (2006), ‘The General Elections in Niger, November 2004’, in Electoral Studies, vol. 25, pp. 147–91. BBC (2001), ‘Gusmao resigns as East Timor leader’, 28 March, BBC News, AsiaPacific, 212.58.226.40/1/world/asia-pacific/1247829.stm. BBC Monitoring Africa (1999), ‘Niger Official Announces Referendum Results: Yes Votes win on Low Turnout’, in BBC Worldwide Monitoring, 21 July. BBC News (2005), ‘Niger Leader Denies Hunger Claims’, in BBC News, 2 August. BBC Summary of World Broadcasts (2000), ‘Ten Arrested Following Former Junta Spokesman’s Kidnapping’, in BBC Summary of World Broadcasts, 16 June. Benoit, Kenneth (2002), ‘The Endogeneity Problem in Electoral Studies: A Critical Reexamination of Duverger’s Mechanical Effect’, in Electoral Studies, vol. 21, pp. 35–46. Benomar, Jamal (2004), ‘Constitution-Making after Conflict: Lessons for Iraq’, in Journal of Democracy, vol. 15, no. 2, pp. 81–95. Blaustein, Albert P. and Gisbert H. Flanz (1986), Constitutions of the Countries of the World, Dobbs Ferry, NJ: Oceana Publications. Blondel, Jean (1992), ‘Dual Leadership in the Contemporary World’, in Arend Lijphart (ed.), Parliamentary versus Presidential Government, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 162–72. Bowman, Kirk, Fabrice Lehoucq and James Mahoney (2005), ‘Measuring Political Democracy: Case Expertise, Data Adequacy and Central America’, in Comparative Political Studies, vol. 38, no. 8, pp. 939–70. Bratton, Michael and Nicolas van de Walle (eds) (1997), Democratic Experiments in Africa, Regime Transitions in Comparative Perspective, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brick, Andrew, Raymond Gastil and William Kimberling (1992), ‘An Assessment of the Election to the Great People’s Hural, Mongolia’, June, International Foundation for Election Systems (IFES), available at www.ifes.org/reg_activities/reports/execsum/ mongjun92.htm. Brubaker, Rogers (1996), Nationalism Reframed: Nationhood and the National Question in the New Europe, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bruun, Ole and Ole Odgaard (eds) (1996a), Mongolia in Transition, Old Patterns, New Challenges, Nordic Institute of Asian Studies, Studies in Asian Topics No. 22, Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press. Bruun, Ole and Ole Odgaard (1996b), ‘A Society and Economy in Transition’, in Ole Bruun and Ole Odgaard (eds), Mongolia in Transition, Old Patterns, New Challenges, Nordic Institute of Asian Studies, Studies in Asian Topics No. 22, Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press. Bruun, Ole, Per Ronnås and Li Narangoa (2000), ‘Mongolia: Transition from the Second to the Third World?’ NIAS On-Line Papers, No. 1, Copenhagen: Nordic Institute of Asian Studies. Cabaço, J. L. (1995), ‘A longa estrada da democracia moçambicana’, in B. Mazula (ed.),

Bibliography

251

Moçambique: eleições, democracia e desenvolvimento, Maputo: Inter-Africa Group, pp. 79–114. Campi, Alicia (2002), President US–Mongolia Advising Group, interview, Washington, DC, 6 May. Carbone, G. (2005), ‘Continuidade na renovação? Ten Years of Multiparty Politics in Mozambique: Roots, Evolution, and Stabilisation of the Frelimo–Renamo Party System’, in Journal of Modern African Studies, vol. 43, no. 3, pp. 1–26. Carrilho, J. N. (1992), ‘Moçambique: o nascer da Segunda Republica’, in Jornadas Jurídicas Luso-Guineenses. Ceccanti, Stefano, Oreste Massari and Gianfranco Pasquino (1996), Semipresidenzialismo, analisi delle esperienze europee, Bologna: Il Mulino. Chalus, Delphine (2004), ‘La présidence post-totalitaire: présidence et transition démocratique dans la Communauté des états indépendants’, thèse droit public, Université d’Auvergne–Clermont-Ferrand I, unpublished manuscript (2 vols). Chang, Ya-chung et al. (2004), Fan 6108 jungou (Against NT$610.8 billion military procurement), Taipei: Democracy Action Alliance. Charlesworth, Hilary (2003), ‘The Constitution of East Timor, May 20, 2002’, in International Journal of Constitutional Law, Oxford University Press and New York University School of Law, April, pp. 325–34. Charlick, Robert B. (2004), ‘ASR Focus. Islamism in West Africa: Niger’, in African Studies Review, vol. 47, no. 2, pp. 97–107. Charlick, Robert, Leslie Fox, Sheldon Gellar, Pearl Robinson and Tina West (1994), Improving Governance for Sustainable Development, An Assessment of Change and Continuity in Niger, Final Report, USAID Contract No. AFR-0542-C-00-1109-00, managed by Associates in Rural Development, in association with Management Systems International. Chehabi, H. E. and Alfred Stepan (eds) (1995), Politics, Society, and Democracy, Comparative Studies, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Cheibub, José Antonio (2002), ‘Presidentialism and Democratic Performance’, in Andrew Reynolds (ed.), The Architecture of Democracy, Constitutional Design, Conflict Management, and Democracy, New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 104–40. Chou, Yu-k’ou (1993), Lee Teng-hui de yiqian tian (Lee Teng-hui’s 1,000 days), Taipei County: Maitian. Chou, Yu-k’ou (1994), Lee Teng-hui, 1993 (Lee Teng-hui, 1993), Taipei: Wushi. Clark, John F. and David E. Gardinier (eds) (1997), Political Reform in Francophone Africa, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Collier, Paul, Anke Hoeffler and Måns Söderbom (2006), ‘Post-Conflict Risks’, Centre for the Study of African Economies, Department of Economics, Oxford University, users.ox.ac.uk/%7Econpco/research/pdfs/Post-Conflict-Risks.pdf. Colton, Timothy J. and Cindy Skach (2005), ‘The Russian Predicament’, in Journal of Democracy, vol. 16, no. 3, pp. 113–26. Conac, Gérard (1977), ‘Pour une théorie des présidentialismes: quelques réflexions sur le présidentialisme en Amérique latine’, in Mélanges en l’honneur de Georges Burdeau, Paris: LGDJ. Davis, John Uniack and Aboubacar B. Kossomi (2001), ‘Niger Gets Back on Track’, in Journal of Democracy, vol. 12, no. 3, pp. 80–7. Debene, Marc (1989), ‘La République du Sénegal’, in F. Reynjens, J. Harchard, S. Read, J. Vanderlinden, G. Conac and J. du Bois de Gaudusson (eds), Constitutions africaines, Brussels: Bruylant and Paris: Pedone.

252

Bibliography

Debré, Michel (1981), ‘The Constitution of 1958: its raison d’être and how it evolved’, in William G. Andrews and Stanley Hoffmann (eds), The Fifth Republic at Twenty, Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, pp. 11–24. Declaração Política da Bancada Parlamentar do PAIGC, Agência de Bissau, 4 December 2005. Declarações e conclusões preliminares: segunda volta das eleicoes presidenciais, Missao de Observacao Eleitoral de Uniao Europeia, Bissua, 25 July 2005. Della Rocca, R. M. (2003), Mozambique, Achieving Peace in Africa, Washington, DC: Georgetown University. Di Lorenzo, Amanda and Enrico Sborgi (2001), ‘The 1999 Presidential and Legislative Elections in Niger’, in Electoral Studies, vol. 20, pp. 463–501. Dittmer, Lowell (1981), ‘The Strategic Triangle: An Elementary Game-Theoretical Analysis’, World Politics, vol. 33, no. 4, pp. 485–516. Djibo, Tahirou (1993), African Military in National Conferences, a Challenge to National Security: The Case of Niger, Carlisle Barracks, PA: US Army War College. Duverger, Maurice (1951), Les partis politiques, Paris: Armand Colin. Duverger, Maurice (1974), La monarchie républicaine, Paris: Robert Laffont. Duverger, Maurice (1978), Echec au roi, Paris: Albin Michel. Duverger, Maurice (1980), ‘A New Political System Model: Semi-presidential Government’, in European Journal of Political Research, vol. 8, pp. 165–87. Duverger, Maurice (1986a), Bréviaire de la cohabitation, Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Duverger, Maurice (ed.) (1986b), Les régimes semi-présidentiels, Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Duverger, Maurice (1996), Le système politique français, 21st edn, Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Duverger, Maurice (1997), ‘Reflections: The Political System of the European Union’, in European Journal of Political Research, vol. 31, pp. 137–46. Easter, Gerald M. (1997), ‘Preference for Presidentialism. Postcommunist Regime Change in Russia and the NIS’, in World Politics, vol. 49, pp. 184–211. Elgie, Robert (1998), ‘The Classification of Democratic Regime Types: Conceptual Ambiguity and Contestable Assumptions’, in European Journal of Political Research, vol. 33, pp. 219–38. Elgie, Robert (1999a), ‘The Politics of Semi-presidentialism’, in Robert Elgie (ed.), Semipresidentialism in Europe, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 1–21. Elgie, Robert (ed.) (1999b), Semi-presidentialism in Europe, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Elgie, Robert (2001a), ‘ “Cohabitation”: Divided Government French-style’, in Robert Elgie (ed.), Divided Government in Comparative Perspective, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 106–26. Elgie, Robert (2001b), ‘Cohabitation: Divided Government in Comparative Perspective’, in Robert Elgie (ed.), Divided Government in Comparative Perspective, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 209–25. Elgie, Robert (2004), ‘Semi-presidentialism: Concepts, Consequences and Contesting Explanations’, in Political Studies Review, vol. 2, pp. 314–30. Elgie, Robert (2005), ‘A Fresh Look at Semipresidentialism: Variations on a Theme’, in Journal of Democracy, vol. 16, no. 3, pp. 98–112. Erkebaev, A. (1997), 1990 god: prikhod k vlasti A. Akaeva, Bishkek: Kyrgyzstan. Fédération internationale des ligues des droits de l’homme (FIDH) (1997), ‘La démocra-

Bibliography

253

tie en danger: situation des libertés fondamentales au Niger: des élections présidentielles à nos jours’, in La Lettre Hebdomadaire de la FIDH, no. 231 (hors série), May. Fiorina, Morris (1996) Divided Government, Boston, MA: Allyn and Bacon. Fish, Steven M. (2000a), ‘The Impact of the 1999–2000 Parliamentary and Presidential Elections on Political Party Development’, paper presented at the Midwest Political Science Association, Chicago. Fish, Steven (2000b), ‘The Executive Deception: Superpresidentialism and the Degradation of Russian Politics’, in Valerie Sperling (ed.), Building the Russian State, Institutional Crisis and the Quest for Governance, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, pp. 177–92. Fish, Steven M. (2001), ‘The Inner Asian Anomaly: Mongolia’s Democratization in Comparative Perspective’, in Communist and Post-Communist Studies, vol. 34, no. 3, pp. 323–38. Fish, Steven (1998), ‘Mongolia: Democracy without Prerequisites’, in Journal of Democracy, vol. 9, pp. 127–41. Freedom House (2005), Freedom in the World Survey, 2005, www.freedomhouse.org. Frelimo (1977), Programa da Frelimo, Colecção Terceiro Congresso, Maputo: Frelimo. Frelimo (1991), Relatório do Comité Central, Colecção Sexto Congresso, Maputo: Frelimo. Frelimo (1997), Relatório do Comité Central, Colecção Septimo Congresso, Maputo: Frelimo. Frison-Roche, François (2004), ‘Les chefs d’Etat dans les PECO: Pouvoirs constitutionnels et poids politique’, in Le Courrier des pays de l’Est, pp. 52–66. Frison-Roche, François (2005), Le ‘modèle semi-présidentiel’ comme instrument de la transition en Europe post-communiste, Brussels: Bruylant. Fritz, Verena (1999), ‘Doppelte Transition in der Mongolei. Politischer und wirtschaftlicher Systemwechsel in einem postsozialistischen Entwicklungsland’, in Osteuropa, no. 9, pp. 935–47. Fusaro, C. (1998), Le radici del semi-presidenzialismo, Soveria Mannelli: Rubbettino. Garrison, Randall (2005), ‘The Role of Constitution-Building Processes in Democratization, Case Study: East Timor’, Stockholm: International Idea, Democracy-building and Conflict Management. www.idea.int/conflict/cbp/. Gazier, Anne (2002), ‘Le bouleversement des institutions et de la vie politique’, in Dominique Colas (ed.), L’Europe post-communiste, Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, pp. 113–255. Gervais, Myriam (1997), ‘Niger: Regime Change, Economic Crisis, and Perpetuation of Privilege’, in John F. Clark and David E. Gardinier (eds), Political Reform in Francophone Africa, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, pp. 86–108. Gilberg, Rolf and Jan-Olof Svantesson (1996), ‘The Mongols, Their Land and History’, in Ole Bruun and Ole Odgaard (eds), Mongolia in Transition, Old Patterns, New Challenges, Nordic Institute of Asian Studies, Studies in Asian Topics No. 22, Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, pp. 5–22. Ginsburg, Tom (1994), ‘The Transformation of Legal Institutions in Mongolia, 1990–1993’, in Issues and Studies, vol. 30, no. 6, pp. 77–113. Ginsburg, Tom (1995), ‘Political Reform in Mongolia: Between Russia and China’, in Asian Survey, vol. 35, no. 5, pp. 459–71. Ginsburg, Tom (1997), ‘Mongolia in 1996: Fighting Fire and Ice’, in Asian Survey, vol. 37, no. 1, pp. 60–4. Ginsburg, Tom (1998), ‘Mongolia in 1997: Deepening Democracy’, in Asian Survey, vol. 38, no. 1, pp. 64–8.

254

Bibliography

Ginsburg, Tom (2003), Judicial Review in New Democracies: Constitutional Courts in Asian Cases, New York: Cambridge University Press. Ginsburg, Tom and Gombosurengiin Ganzorig (2001), ‘When Courts and Politics Collide: Mongolia’s Constitutional Crisis’, in Columbia Journal of Asian Law, vol. 14, no. 2, pp. 309–26. Golder, Matt (2004), Dataset ‘Democratic Electoral Systems around the World, 1946–2000’, codebook for the data, dated 19 April 2004, can be found at homepages. nyu.edu/~mrg217/codebook_es1.pdf. Golder, Matt (2005), ‘Democratic Electoral Systems around the World, 1946–2000’, in Electoral Studies, vol. 24, pp. 103–21. Gow, Bonar A. (1997), ‘Admiral Didier Ratsiraka and the Malagasy Socialist Revolution’, in Journal of Modern African Studies, vol. 35, no. 3, pp. 404–39. Grégoire, Emmanuel and Jean-Pierre Olivier de Sardan (1996), ‘Niger: le pire a été évité, mais demain?’, in Politique Africaine, no. 61, March, pp. 117–21. Gros, Jean-Germain (1997), ‘Haiti’s Flagging Transition’, in Journal of Democracy, vol. 8, October, pp. 94–109. Grunberg, Gérard (1999), ‘Du cohabitationnisme de l’opinion’, in Pouvoirs, no. 91, pp. 85–95. Gun-Uyanga, S. (2005a), ‘Elbegdorj backs down to allow Compromise with MPRP’, in The UB Post, 10 August. Gun-Uyanga, S. (2005b), ‘MDC Coalition broken up, claim Mongolian Democratic New Socialist Party’, in The UB Post, 2 January. Gusmão, Xanana (20060 ‘President of the Republic’s Message to Fretilin’, 22 June, www.pcug.org.au/~wildwood/06Jun22xanana.html. Hall, M. and T. Young (1997), Confronting Leviathan, Mozambique since Independence, Athens, OH: Ohio University Press. Hawang, Shiow-Duan (2003), ‘Shaoshu zhengfu zai guohui de kunjing’ (The predicament of minority government in the Legislative Yuan), in Taiwanese Political Science Review, vol. 7, no. 2, pp. 1–46. Heaton, William R. (1991), ‘Mongolia in 1990: Upheaval, Reform, but No Revolution Yet’, in Asian Survey, vol. 31, no. 1, pp. 50–6. Heaton, William R. (1992), ‘Mongolia in 1991: The Uneasy Transition’, in Asian Survey, vol. 32, no. 1, pp. 50–5. Higgott, Richard and Finn Fuglestad (1975), ‘The 1974 Coup d’État in Niger, Towards an Explanation’, in Journal of Modern African Studies, vol. 13, no. 3, pp. 383–98. Holmes, Stephen (1993), ‘The Postcommunist Presidency’, in East European Constitutional Review, vol. 2, pp. 36–9. Horowitz, Donald (1987), Ethnic Groups in Conflict, Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Hsia, Chen (1998), Hsu Hsin-liang de zhengzhi shijie (Hsu Hsin-liang’s political world), Taipei: Commonwealth. Hsu, Hsin-liang (1995), Xinxing minzu (The rising people), Taipei: Yuanliu. Huang, Teh-fu (2000), ‘Shaoshu zhengfu yu zeren zhengzhi: Taiwan ‘banzongtongzhi xia de zhengdang jingzheng’, in Wenti yu yanjiu, vol. 39, no. 12, pp. 1–24. Hulan, H. (1996), ‘Mongolia’s New Constitutional Regime: Institutional Tensions and Political Consequences’, in Mongolian Journal of International Affairs, no. 3, pp. 42–51. Hume, C. (1994), Ending Mozambique’s War, The Role of Mediation and Good Offices, Washington, DC: US Institute of Peace.

Bibliography

255

Hunter, Kim (2002), Former Representative of the Asia Foundation in Mongolia (Assistant Representative 1996–98, Representative 1998–2001), phone interview, 7 March. Huntington, Samuel (1991), The Third Wave, Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century, Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press. Huskey, Eugene (1996), ‘Democracy and Institutional Design in Russia’, in Demokratizatsiya, no. 3, pp. 453–74. Huskey, Eugene (1997), ‘Kyrgyzstan: The Fate of Political Liberalization’, in Karen Dawisha and Bruce Parrott (eds), Conflict, Cleavage, and Change in Central Asia and the Caucasus, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 242–76. Huskey, Eugene (1999), Presidential Power in Russia, Armonk, NY: Sharpe. Huskey, Eugene (2001), ‘An Economy of Authoritarianism? Askar Akaev and Presidential Leadership in Kyrgyzstan’, in Sally Cummings (ed.), Power and Change in Central Asia, London: Routledge, pp. 74–96. Ibrahim, Jibrin (1994), ‘Political Exclusion, Democratization and Dynamics of Ethnicity in Niger’, in Africa Today, vol. 41, no. 3, pp. 15–39. Ibrahim, Jibrin (1999), ‘The Military and Democratization in Niger’, in News from the Nordic Africa Institute, no. 3, October, available at www.nai.uu.se/newsfromnai/arkiv/ 1999/ibrahimeng.html. International Crisis Group (2005), Islamic Terrorism in the Sahel: Fact or Fiction? Africa Report No. 92, 31 March, Dakar and Brussels: ICG. Inter-parliamentary Union (IPU), PARLINE database, www.ipu.org. IPAD – Instituto Português de Apoio ao Desenvolvimento, www.ipad.mne.gov.pt/ index.php?optioncom_content&taskview&id53&Itemid84, on line, May. Iskakova, Gulnara (2003), Vybory i demokratiia v Kyrgyzstane, konstitutionnyi dizain prezidentsko-parlamentskikh otnoshenii, Bishkek: Biiiktik. Issa Abdourhamane, Boubacar (1996), Crise institutionelle et democratisation au Niger, Bordeaux: Centre d’Etude d’Afrique Noire. Issa Abdourhamane, Boubacar (1999), ‘Alternances militaires au Niger’, in Politique Africaine, no. 74, June, pp. 85–94. Jackson, R. H. and Rosberg, K. G. (1984), ‘Personal Rule: Theory and Practice in Africa’, in Comparative Politics, vol. 16, no. 4, pp. 421–42. Jasiewicz, Krzysztof (1997), ‘Poland: Wale˛sa’s Legacy to the Presidency’, in Ray Taras (ed.), Postcommunist Presidents, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 130–67. Johannsen, Lars (2000), The Constitution and Democracy, The Choice and Consequences of the Constitution in Post-Communist Countries, Aarhus: Politica, Aarhus Universitet. Jolliffe, Jill (2002a), ‘East Timor approves Draft Constitution’, in Sydney Morning Herald, 11 February. Jolliffe, Jill (2002b), ‘Gusmao lashes out at politicians’, in Sydney Morning Herald, 29 November. Jolliffe, Jill (2005), ‘Activists call on PM to resign’, in Sydney Morning Herald, 21 April. JSMP (Judicial System Monitoring Programme) (2004), ‘The Constitutionality of East Timor’s Immigration and Asylum Law’, Dili, www.jsmp.minihub.org. Junior, C. G. et al. (1998), Relatório sobre o processo tráfico de armas, Bissau: Comissao Parlamentar de Inquerito sobre Trafico de Armas, Assembleia Nacional Popular da Guiné Bissau. Kader Mahamadou, Laouel and Aïchatou Dodo (1995), ‘Chronique d’un changement intervenu au Niger: la nouvelle constitution de la Troisième République’, in Henry Roussillon (ed.), Les nouvelles constitutions africaines, la transition démocratique, Toulouse: Presses de l’Institut d’études politiques de Toulouse.

256

Bibliography

Kao, Mily Ming-Tzu (2004), ‘The Referendum Phenomenon in Taiwan: Solidification of Taiwan Consciousness?’ in Asian Survey, vol. 44, no. 4, pp. 591–613. Kaplonski, Christopher (1998), ‘Creating National Identity in Socialist Mongolia’, in Central Asian Survey, vol. 17, no. 1, pp. 35–49. King, Dwight Y. (2003), ‘East Timor’s Founding Elections and the Emerging Party System’, in Asian Survey, vol. 43, no. 5, pp. 745–57. Kitschelt, Herbert, Mansfeldová, Zdenka, Markowski, Radoslaw and Tóka, Gábor (1999), Post-communist Party Systems: Competition, Representation and Inter-party Cooperation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Konstitutsiia Kyrgyzskoi Respubliki (1998), Bishkek: Uchkun. Koudawo, F. (2001), Cabo Verde Guiné-Bissau da democracia revolucionária à democracia liberal, Bissau: Instituto Nacional de Estudos e Pesquisa. Kuo, Cheng-liang (1998), Minjindang zhuanxing zhi tong (The DPP’s transition agony), Taipei: Commonwealth. Lake, Joseph E. (2001), ‘Perspectives on Early Political Change’, paper delivered at the conference on Mongolia’s Political and Economic Transition: Challenges and Opportunities, Ulaanbaatar, 11–13 September 2000, organized by the Asia Foundation. Laver, Michael and Kenneth Shepsle (1999) ‘Government Accountability in Parliamentary Democracy’, in Adam Przeworski, Susan Stokes and Bernard Manin (eds), Democracy, Accountability, and Representation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 279–96. Lesage, Michel (2003), ‘De l’autorité de l’Etat en Russie’, in Slobodan Milacic (ed.), La réinvention de l’Etat, démocratie politique et ordre juridique en Europe centrale et orientale, Brussels: Bruylant, pp. 345–54. Le Vine, Victor T. (1997), ‘The Fall and Rise of Constitutionalism in West Africa’, in Journal of Modern African Studies, vol. 35, no. 2, pp. 181–206. Le Vine, Victor T. (2004), Politics in Francophone Africa, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Lijphart, Arend (ed.) (1992a), Parliamentary versus Presidential Government, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lijphart, Arend (1992b), ‘Introduction’, in Arend Lijphart (ed.), Parliamentary versus Presidential Government, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 1–27. Lijphart, Arend (1994), ‘Presidentialism and Majoritarian Democracy: Theoretical Observations’, in Juan J. Linz and Arturo Valenzuela (eds), The Failure of Presidential Democracy, Comparative Perspectives, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, pp. 91–105. Lijphart, Arend (1999), Patterns of Democracy, Government Forms and Performance in Thirty-six Countries, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Lijphart, Arend (2004), ‘Constitutional Design for Divided Societies’, in Journal of Democracy, vol. 15, no. 2, pp. 96–109. Lijphart, Arend and C. H. Waisman (eds) (1996), Institutional Design in New Democracies, Eastern Europe and Latin America, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Lin, Chia-lung (2000), ‘Banzongtongzhi, duodang tixi yu buwending de minzhu: Taiwan xianzheng chongtu de zhidu fenxi’ (Semi-presidentialism, multi-party system and unstable democracy: an institutional analysis of Taiwan’s constitutional conflict), in Lin Jih-wen (ed.), Zhengzhi zhidu (Political institutions), Taipei: Sun Yat-sen Institute of Social Sciences and Philosophy, Academia Sinica, pp. 177–211. Lin, Jih-wen (2000), ‘Banzongtongzhi xia de sanjiao zhengzhi junheng’ (Triangular political balance under semi-presidentialism), in Lin Jih-wen (ed.), Zhengzhi zhidu (Political institutions), Taipei: Sun Yat-sen Institute for Social Sciences and Philosophy, Academia Sinica, pp. 135–75.

Bibliography

257

Lin, Jih-wen (2004), ‘Taiwan’s Referendum Act and the Stability of the Status Quo’, Issues and Studies, vol. 40, no. 2, pp. 119–53. Linz, Juan J. (1990), ‘The Perils of Presidentialism’, in Journal of Democracy, no. 1, pp. 51–69. Linz, Juan J. (1993a), ‘The Perils of Presidentialism’, in Larry Diamond and Marc F. Plattner (eds), The Global Resurgence of Democracy, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, pp. 108–26. Linz, Juan J. (1993b), ‘The Virtues of Parliamentarism’, in Larry Diamond and Marc F. Plattner (eds), The Global Resurgence of Democracy, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, pp. 138–45. Linz, Juan J. (1994), ‘Presidential or Parliamentary Democracy: does it make a Difference’, in Juan J. Linz and Arturo Valenzuela (eds), The Failure of Presidential Democracy, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, pp. 3–87. Linz, Juan J. (1997), ‘Introduction: Some Thoughts on Presidentialism in Postcommunist Europe’, in Ray Taras (ed.), Postcommunist Presidents, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 1–14. Linz, Juan J. and Arturo Valenzuela (eds) (1994), The Failure of Presidential Democracy, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Lipset, Seymour Martin (1959), ‘Some Social Requisites of Democracy: Economic Development and Political Legitimacy’, in American Political Science Review, vol. 53, pp. 69–105. Lopes, J. V. (2002), Cabo Verde, os bastidores da independência, Cidade da Praia: Spleen Edições. Lutz, Nancy M. (2003), ‘Constitutionalism as Public Culture in East Timor’, paper presented at the Law and Society Association meetings, Pittsburgh, 7 June, www.indopubs.com/lutz.txt. Mackie, J. A. C. (2001), ‘Future Political Structures and Institutions in East Timor’, in Hal Hill and João M. Saldanha (eds), East Timor, Development Challenges for the World’s Newest Nation, Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies and Asia Pacific Press, Australian National University, pp. 193–206. Magode, J. (1996), ‘A Formação das élites e do estado e a questão nacional em Moçambique: o contexto social, a legitimidade ou a ilegitimação de uma prática’, Seminário sobre a transição política em Moçambique, Maputo: Instituto Superior de Relações Internacionais e Centro de Estudos Estratégicos. Mainwaring, Scott (1993), ‘Presidentialism, Multipartyism, and Democracy: The Difficult Equation’, in Comparative Political Studies, vol. 26, pp. 198–228. Mainwaring, Scott and Timothy R. Scully (1995), Building Democratic Institutions, Party Systems in Latin America, Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Mainwaring, Scott and Matthew S. Shugart (1997), ‘Juan Linz, Presidentialism and Democracy’, in Comparative Politics, vol. 29, no. 4, pp. 449–71. Manning, Carrie (1997), ‘Democratic Transition in Mozambique, 1992–1995: Beginning at the End?’ Ph.D. thesis, University of California, Berkeley. Manning, Carrie (2002a), ‘Elite Habituation to Democracy in Mozambique: The View from Parliament, 1994–2000’, in Journal of Commonwealth and Comparative Politics, vol. 40, no. 1, pp. 60–81. Manning, Carrie (2002b), The Politics of Peace in Mozambique: Post-Conflict Democratization, 1992–2000, Westport, CT: Praeger. Manning, Carrie (2005), ‘Assessing Adaptation to Democratic Politics in Mozambique: The Case of Frelimo’, in L. A. V. a. P. Von Doepp (ed.), The Fate of Africa’s

258

Bibliography

Democratic Experiments: Elites and Institutions, Bloomington and Indianapolis, IN: Indiana University Press, pp. 221–45. Massias, Jean-Pierre (1999), Droit constitutionnel des Etats d’Europe de l’Est, Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Massot, Jean (2001), ‘La cohabitation: quelles conséquences pour les institutions?’ in Cahiers français, no. 300, January–February, pp. 28–32. Matsuzato, Kimitaka (2005), ‘Semipresidentialism in Ukraine: Institutionalist Centrism in Rampant Clan Politics’, in Demokratizatsiya, no. 1, pp. 453–74. Mayhew, David R. (1991), Divided we Govern: Party Control, Lawmaking, and Investigations, 1946–1990, New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press. Medina, I. (2006), ‘Guine-Bissau: Presidencialismo ou semi-presidencialismo?’ unpublished paper. Milacic, Slobodan (1983), ‘Une constitution spectacle ? Sur l’élaboration de la constitution soviétique du 7 octobre 1977’, in Mélanges Jacques Ellul, Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, pp. 785–96. Milacic, Slobodan (ed.) (1998), La démocratie constitutionnelle en Europe centrale et orientale, bilans et perspectives, Brussels: Bruylant. Moestrup, Sophia (1999), ‘The Role of Actors and Institutions: The Difficulties of Democratic Survival in Mali and Niger’, in Democratization, vol. 6, pp. 171–86. Moestrup, Anna Sophia Nyholm (2004), ‘Semi-presidentialism in Comparative Perspective: Its Effects on Democratic Survival’, Ph.D. dissertation, George Washington University. Moestrup, Sophia (2005), ‘Semi-presidentialism in Young Democracies’, paper presented at the American Political Science Association annual meeting, 1–4 September, Washington, DC. Moestrup, Sophia (2006), ‘Semi-presidentialism in Francophone Africa: Is it Working?’ Paper presented at the Twentieth World Congress of the International Political Science Association (IPSA), Fukuoka, Japan, 9–13 July. Mozaffar, S. and Nijzink, L. (2006), ‘The Relative Powers of Presidents and Assemblies in Africa’s Emerging Democracies’, paper to be presented at the annual meeting of the American Political Science Association, Philadelphia, 31 August–3 September. Msomi, S. t. (2004), ‘The Candidate to Put Money On’, in Sunday Times (Johannesburg). Munck, Gerardo L. and Jay Verkuilen (2002), ‘Conceptualizing and Measuring Democracy: Evaluating Alternative Indices’, in Comparative Political Studies, vol. 35, pp. 5–34. Mwakikagile, Godfrey (2001), Military Coups in Africa since the Sixties, Huntington, NY: Nova Science Publishers. Nelson, Hank (1972), Papua New Guinea, Black Unity or Black Chaos? Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Nijzink, L. and Azevedo, E. (2006), ‘Political Legacies and Constitutional Design: Explaining the Quality of Democracy in Lusophone Africa’, paper to be presented at the annual meeting of the African Studies Association, San Francisco, 16–19 November. Niner, Sarah (ed.) (2000), To Resist is to Win! The Autobiography of Xanana Gusmão, Richmond, Vic.: Aurora Books. Nóbrega, A. (2003), A luta pelo poder na Guine Bissau, Lisbon: ISCSP. Nogueira Alcalá, Humberto (1986), El regimen semipresidencial, una nueva forma de gobierno democrático? Santiago: Andante. Norton, Philip and Nizam Ahmed (eds) (1999), Parliaments in Asia, London: Frank Cass.

Bibliography

259

O’Donnell, Guillermo (1996), ‘Illusions about Consolidation’, in Journal of Democracy, vol. 7, pp. 34–51. Orozobekova, Cholpon (2005), ‘Kyrgyz Constitutional Reform Fades’, Institute for War and Peace Reporting, 23 December. Pasquino, Gianfranco (1996), ‘Duetti e duelli’, in S. Ceccanti, O. Massari and G. Pasquino, Semipresidenzialismo, analisi delle esperienze europee, Bologna: Il Mulino, pp. 99–148. Pasquino, Gianfranco (2004), Sistemi politici comparati, Bologna: Bononia University Press. Passarelli, Gianfranco (2005), ‘Portogallo: la governabilità conseguita’, in Gianfranco Pasquino (ed.), Capi di governo, Bologna: Il Mulino, pp. 183–216. Pegoraro, L. and A. Rinella (eds) (1997), Semipresidenzialismi, Padua: CEDAM. Pomfret, Richard (2000), ‘Transition and Democracy in Mongolia’, in Europe–Asia Studies, vol. 52, no. 1, pp. 149–60. Power, Timothy J. and Mark J. Gasiorowski (1997), ‘Institutional design and democratic consolidation in the Third World’, in Comparative Political Studies, vol. 30, pp. 123–55. Protsyk, Oleh (2005), ‘Prime Ministers’ identity in semi-presidential regimes: constitutional norms and cabinet formation outcomes’, in European Journal of Political Research, vol. 44, pp. 721–48. Przeworski, Adam and Fernando Limongi (1997), ‘Modernization, Theories and Facts’, in World Politics, vol. 49, pp. 155–83. Przeworski, Adam, Susan C. Stokes and Bernard Manin (eds) (1999), Democracy, Accountability, and Representation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pugacˇiauskas, Vykintas (1999), ‘Semi-presidential Institutional Models and Democratic Stability: Comparative Analysis of Lithuania and Poland’, in Politologija, 3, www.tspmi.vu.lt/files/leidpub/str061.pdf. Randrianantoandro, Hiarivelo (2005), ‘Mobilisations civiques à Madagascar’, in Manière de voir 84, Le Monde diplomatique, December. Raynal, Jean-Jacques (1991), ‘Le renouveau démocratique béninois: modèle ou mirage?’ Afrique Contemporaine, no. 160, October–December, pp. 3–25. Raynal, Jean-Jacques (1993), Les institutions politiques du Niger, Saint-Maur: Sépia. Regan, Anthony J. (2003), ‘Constitution Making in East Timor: Missed Opportunities’, in Dionisio da Costa Babo Soares, Michael Maley, James J. Fox and Anthony J. Reagan, Elections and Constitution Making in East Timor, Canberra: Australian National University, pp. 35–42. Reif, Karlheinz (1987), ‘Party Government in the Fifth French Republic’, in Richard S. Katz (ed.), Party Governments: European and American Experiences, Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter, pp. 27–77. Reynolds, Andrew (ed.) (2002), The Architecture of Democracy, Constitutional Design, Conflict Management, and Democracy, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rinella, A. (1997), La forma di governo semi-presidenziale, Turin: Giappichelli. Robinson, Pearl T. (1991), ‘Niger, Anatomy of a Neotraditional Corporatist State’, in Comparative Politics, vol. 24, no. 1, pp. 1–20. Robinson, Pearl T. (1994), ‘The National Conference Phenomenon in Francophone Africa’, in Comparative Studies in Society and History, vol. 36, no. 3, pp. 575–610. Roper, Steven D. (2002), ‘Are all Semipresidential Regimes the Same? A Comparison of Premier–Presidential Regimes’, in Comparative Politics, vol. 34, no. 3, pp. 253–72. Rossabi, Morris (1997), ‘Mongolia in the 1990s: from Commissars to Capitalists?’ in Open Society in Central Eurasia Occasional Paper Series No. 2, August.

260

Bibliography

Rotberg, Robert I. (2002), ‘Failed States in a World of Terror’, in Foreign Affairs, vol. 81, no. 4, July–August, pp. 127–32. Roussillon, Henry (ed.) (1995), Les nouvelles constitutions africaines: la transition démocratique, Toulouse: Presses de l’Institut d’études politiques de Toulouse. Rubin, B. R. (2004), ‘Crafting a Constitution for Afghanistan’, in Journal of Democracy, vol. 15, no. 3, pp. 5–19. Sanders, Alan (1992), ‘Mongolia’s New Constitution: Blueprint for Democracy’, in Asian Survey, vol. 32, no. 6, pp. 506–20. Sanders, Alan (1996), Historical Dictionary of Mongolia, Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press. Sanders, Alan (1999), ‘Parliament in Mongolia’, in Philip Norton and Nizam Ahmed, (eds), Parliaments in Asia, London: Frank Cass, pp. 131–62. Sanders, Alan (2000), ‘Mongolia: Looking Ahead’, paper presented at the conference on Mongolian Political and Economic Development During the Past Ten Years and Future Prospects, organized by the Mongolian and Tibetan Affairs Commission, Taiwan, August. Sant Maral (2000), Politbarometer (Ulaanbaatar), No. 12, August. Sant Maral (2001), Politbarometer (Ulaanbaatar), No. 14, March. Sartori, Giovanni (1976) Parties and Party Systems, A Framework for Analysis, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sartori, Giovanni (1994), ‘Neither presidentialism nor parliamentarism’, in Juan J. Linz and Arturo Valenzuela (eds), The Failure of Presidential Democracy, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, pp. 106–18. Sartori, Giovanni (1997), Comparative Constitutional Engineering, An Inquiry into Structures, Incentives and Outcomes, New York: New York University Press. Saunders, Steve (2002), Executive Director, US–Mongolia Business Council, e-mail correspondence, 22 March. Sen, Amartya (1999), Democracy as Freedom, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Severinghaus, Sheldon R. (2001), ‘Mongolia in 2000: The Pendulum Swings Again’, in Asian Survey, vol. 41, no. 1, pp. 61–70. Severinghaus, Sheldon R. (1995), ‘Mongolia in 1994: Strengthening Democracy’, in Asian Survey, vol. 35, no. 1, pp. 70–5. Severinghaus, Sheldon R. (2000), ‘Mongolia in 1998 and 1999: Past, Present, and Future at the New Millennium’, in Asian Survey, vol. 40, no. 1, pp. 130–9. Sheng, Shing-Yuan (2003), ‘Lifa jiguan yu xingzheng jiguan zai lifa guocheng zhong de yingxiangli: yizhi zhengfu yu fenli zhengfu de bijiao’ (The influence of the legislative branch and the executive branch in the process of lawmaking: a comparison of the united and divided governments), in Taiwanese Political Science Review, vol. 7, no. 2, pp. 51–105. Shoesmith, Dennis (2003), ‘Divided Leadership in a Semi-Presidential System’, in Asian Survey, vol. 43, pp. 231–52. Shoesmith, Dennis (2005), ‘East Timor in an “Arc of Instability” ’, in Tess Lea and Bill Wilson (eds), The State of the North, A Selection of Papers from the 2003 Charles Darwin Symposia, Darwin: Charles Darwin University Press, pp. 155–69. Shugart, Matthew Søberg (1996), ‘Executive–Legislative Relations in Post-Communist Europe’, in Transition, vol. 2, no. 25, pp. 6–11. Shugart, Matthew Søberg (2005), ‘Semi-presidential Systems: Dual Executive and Mixed Authority Patterns’, in French Politics, vol. 3, no. 3, pp. 323–51. Shugart, Mathew S. and John M. Carey (1992), Presidents and Assemblies, Constitutional Design and Electoral Dynamics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Bibliography

261

Siaroff, A. (2000), ‘The Fate of Centrifugal Democracies’, in Comparative Politics, vol. 32, no. 3, p. 317. Siaroff, Alan (2003), ‘Comparative Presidencies: The Inadequacy of the Presidential, Semi-presidential and Parliamentary Distinction’, in European Journal of Political Research, vol. 42, no. 3, pp. 287–312. Silva, D. (2001), ‘A natureza da formação do estado: o caso da Guiné-Bissau’, unpublished paper. Simonsen, Sven Gunnar (2006), ‘The Authoritarian Temptation in East Timor: Nationbuilding and the Need for Inclusive Governance’, in Asian Survey, vol. 46, no. 4, pp. 575–96. Sisk, Timothy D. (1998), ‘Elections and Conflict Management in Africa: Conclusions and Recommendations’, in Timothy D. Sisk and Andrew Reynolds (eds), Elections and Conflict Management in Africa, Washington, DC: US Institute of Peace Press, pp. 148–75. Skach, Cindy (2005), Borrowing Constitutional Designs: Constitutional Law in Weimar Germany and the French Fifth Republic, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Smith, Anthony L. (2004), ‘East Timor: Elections in the World’s Newest Nation’, in Journal of Democracy, vol. 15, no. 2, pp. 145–59. Solnick, Steven (1998), The Stealing of the State: Control and Collapse in Soviet Institutions, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Spectator (1982), ‘The Mozambican Revolution and the National Question: For the Nation to Live the Tribe Must Die’, in The African Communist, no. 89, pp. 31–41. Sperling, Valerie (ed.) (2000), Building the Russian State: Institutional Crisis and the Quest for Governance, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Stepan, Alfred, and Cindy Skach (1993), ‘Constitutional Frameworks and Democratic Consolidation: Parliamentarism versus Presidentialism’, World Politics, vol. 46, pp. 1–22. Stepan, Alfred and Cindy Skach (1994), ‘Presidentialism and Parliamentarism in Comparative Perspective’, in Juan J. Linz and Arturo Valenzuela (eds), The Failure of Presidential Democracy, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, pp. 137–62. Stepan, Alfred and Ezra N. Suleiman (1995), ‘The French Fifth Republic: A Model for Import? Reflections on Poland and Brazil’, in H. E. Chehabi and Alfred Stepan (eds), Politics, Society, and Democracy, Comparative Studies, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, pp. 393–414. Sui, Tu-ch’ing (2001), Zhonghuaminguo de xiangai gongcheng: yi shuang shouzhang zhi wei zhongxin de tantao (Constitutional engineering in the Republic of China: a study focused on the dual leadership system), Taipei: Weber. Suleiman, Ezra N. (1994), ‘Presidentialism and Political Stability in France’, in Juan J. Linz and Arturo Valenzuela (eds), The Failure of Presidential Democracy, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, pp. 137–62. Taagepera, Rein and Matthew Soberg Shugart (1989), Seats and Votes: The Effects and Determinants of Electoral Systems, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Tankoano, Amadou (1996), ‘Conflit autour des règles normatives de la cohabitation au Niger: élements d’analyse juridique d’une crise politique (1995–1996)’, in Polis, Revue camerounaise de science politique, vol. 2, no. 2, pp. 91–106. Taras, Ray (ed.) (1997), Postcommunist Presidents, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tiersonnier Jacques (2005), Madagascar 1947–2002, Paris: Harmattan. Tsebelis, George (1991), Nested Games: Rational Choice in Comparative Politics, Berkeley, CA: University of California.

262

Bibliography

Tuya, Nyamosor (2005), ‘Mongolia in 2005, Testing Politics and Economics’, in Asian Survey, vol. 45, no. 1, pp. 67–70. Tzou, Ching-wen (2001), Lee Teng-hui zhizheng gaobai shilu (A confessional report by Lee Teng-hui on his administration: an exclusive interview), Taipei: INK. UB Post (2005), ‘Bagabandi Calls for Government to Shake up’, in The UB Post, 6 April. UNDP (2005), Human Development Report 2005, New York: Oxford University Press. United Nations Development Program (1998), ‘Mongolia Update’, Ulaanbaatar: UNDP. United Nations Development Program (2001), ‘Mongolia Update’, Ulaanbaatar: UNDP. United States Institute of Peace (2005), ‘Iraq’s Constitutional Process, Shaping a Vision for the Country’s Future’, Special Report 132, February 2005, www.usip.org/pubs/specialreports/sr132.html. USAID (2005), Assessment of Corruption in Mongolia, Final Report, USAID Contract No. DFD-I-00-03-00139-00, delivery order no. 804, Casals & Associates. US Department of State (1996), Niger Human Rights Practices 1995, Washington, DC: US Department of State, Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights, and Labor. US Department of State (1995), Niger Human Rights Practices 1994, Washington, DC: US Department of State, Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights, and Labor. Van der Meer Krok-Paszkowska, Ania (1999), ‘Poland’, in Robert Elgie (ed.), Semi-presidentialism in Europe, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 170–92. Van der Meer Krok-Paszkowska, Ania (2001), ‘Divided Government in Poland’, in Robert Elgie (ed.), Divided Government in Comparative Perspective, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 127–45. Vines, A. (1994), ‘No Democracy Without Money: The Road to Peace in Mozambique, 1982–1992’, CIIR Briefing Paper, London: Catholic Institute for International Relations. von Beyme, Klaus (2001), ‘Institutional Engineering and Transition to Democracy’, in Jan Zielonka (ed.), Democratic Consolidation in Eastern Europe I, Institutional Engineering, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 3–24. von Beyme, Klaus (2003), ‘Constitutional Engineering in Central and Eastern Europe’, in Stephen White, Judy Batt and Paul G. Lewis (eds), Developments in Central and East European Politics III. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, pp. 190–210. Wang, Li-hsing (1994), Wukui: Hau Pei-tsun de zhengzhi zhilu (The righteous: Hau Peitsun’s political journey), Taipei: Commonwealth. Wang, T. Y. (2005), ‘The Perception of Threats and Pragmatic Policy Choice: A Survey of Public Opinion in Taiwan’, in Issues and Studies, vol. 41, no. 1, pp. 87–111. Wang, T. Y. and I-Chou Liu (2004), ‘Contending Identities in Taiwan: Implications for Cross-Strait Relations’, in Asian Survey, vol. 44, no. 4, pp. 568–90. Ware, Alan (2001), ‘Divided Government in the United States’, in Robert Elgie (ed.), Divided Government in Comparative Perspective, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 20–39. World Bank (1996), Niger Poverty Assessment, A Resilient People in a Harsh Environment, report no. 15344-NIR, Washington, DC: World Bank. World Bank (2000), Mongolia: Confronting Twin Challenges, Strategic Options for Rapid Growth and Reducing Poverty, Washington, DC: World Bank. World Bank (2005a), World Development Indicators 2005, Washington, DC: World Bank. World Bank (2005b), International Development Association Country Assistance Strategy for the Democratic Republic of Timor-Leste for the Period FY06–FY08, report no. 32700-TP. Wu, Tung-yeh (2001), ‘Duoshu zhengfu? Shaoshu zhengfu? shuang shouzhang zhi

Bibliography

263

yunzuo de xingsi’ (Majority government? Minority government? A reflection on the working of the dual leadership system), NPF Research Report. Wu, Yu-Shan (2000), ‘The ROC’s Semi-presidentialism at Work: Unstable Compromise, Not Cohabitation’, in Issues and Studies , vol. 36, no. 5, pp. 1–40. Wu, Yu-Shan (2001a), ‘Comparing Third-Wave Democracies: East Central Europe and the ROC’, in Issues and Studies , vol. 37, no. 4, pp. 1–37. Wu, Yu-Shan (2001b), ‘Taiwan in 2000: Managing the Aftershocks from Power Transfer’, in Asian Survey, vol. 41, no. 1, pp. 40–8. Wu, Yu-Shan (2002), ‘Banzongtongzhi duodang tixi xia zongtong zuge jueze zhi yanjiu: minguo jiushi nian guohui daxuan hou Taiwan de xianzheng fazhan’ (A study of the presidential decision to form the cabinet: Taiwan’s constitutional development after the 2001 parliamentary elections), in Hsueh Tien-tung (ed.), Taiwan de weilai (Taiwan’s future), Taipei: Huatai. Wu, Yu-Shan (2004), ‘Taiwanese Nationalism and its Implications: Testing the WorstCase Scenario’, in Asian Survey, vol. 44, no. 4, pp. 614–25. Wu, Yu-Shan (2005a), ‘Regime Legitimacy and Mode of Constitution Restructuring: Comparing Taiwan and Post-communist Nascent Democracies in Europe’, paper presented at the conference on Constitutional Reform in View of Institutional Change: Background, Procedure, and Impact, Taipei: Academia Sinica. Wu, Yu-Shan (2005b), ‘Appointing the Prime Minister under Incongruence: Taiwan in Comparison with France and Russia’, in Taiwan Journal of Democracy, vol. 1, no. 1, pp. 103–32. Wu, Yu-Shan (2005c), ‘Taiwan’s Domestic Politics and Cross-Strait Relations’, in China Journal, vol. 53, pp. 35–60. Zorn, Christopher J. W. (2001), ‘Generalized Estimating Equation Models for Correlated Data: a Review with Applications’, in American Journal of Political Science, vol. 45, no. 2, pp. 470–90.

Index

Afghanistan 237 Albania 35 Angola 140–1, 220 Argentina 7 Armenia 56 Austria 3–5, 11 Azerbaijan 5, 7 Belarus 4–5, 56n1, 57n4, 62, 66, 161n2 Benin 84–5, 90, 106n3 Bulgaria 5, 11, 37n12, 56n2, 63–4, 68–9, 72 Burkina Faso 81, 88 Burundi 32, 78 Cameroon 84 Cape Verde 138, 140–3 Chad 9 China 186, 198, 201–2, 212–14 cohabitation 14, 25–7, 31–3, 41, 78, 244, 246–8 Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) 57–60, 62, 65–7; choice of semipresidentialism 57–8; distribution of powers 60, 62; impact of semipresidentialism 65–7 Comoros 8 Congo Brazzaville 41, 85 Congo Leopoldville see Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) Côte d’Ivoire 81, 84, 88–9 Croatia 4–5, 56n2 Czech Republic 56 Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) 8, 78, 80–3, 85–6, 88–9, 246 Denmark 10 Duverger, Maurice 1–3, 9, 11, 15, 18, 21, 31, 56, 63, 67–8, 79, 129, 185, 204, 227–8, 234, 240

Ecuador 10 electoral system 10, 15–16 Estonia 56 ex-Soviet Union see Soviet Union; Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) Finland 4, 40, 209n21 France 4–5, 9–11, 14, 16–24, 26–7, 78–80, 82, 88–9, 98, 108, 168, 170, 209n21, 238; cohabitation 18, 20–1, 26, 209n21; electoral system 18–20 francophone Africa 78–91, 242; choice of semi-presidentialism 79–80, 85–6; cohabitation 86; distribution of powers 80; impact of semi-presidentialism 80–1, 84–9 Gabon 81, 85, 87 Georgia 176 Guinea-Bissau 12–13, 137–60, 239, 242–5; choice of semi-presidentialism 140–3; cohabitation 145, 153–5, 157; executive–legislative relations 143–6; implications of semipresidentialism for survival of democracy 155–8; multi-party politics 137–40; semi-presidentialism in practice 146–55 Guinea Conakry 80–1 Haiti 30, 40 Hungary 204n11 hyper-presidential regimes see superpresidential regimes Iceland 3, 5, 7, 9, 11, 40, 240–1 Ireland 3, 5, 8–11 Indonesia 35, 219–21 Ivory Coast see Côte d’Ivoire

Index Kazakhstan 5, 56n1, 57n4, 66, 161 Kyrgyzstan 12–13, 41, 56n1, 161–81, 239, 241–5; choice of semi-presidentialism 162–6; cohabitation 179; effects of semi-presidentialism 174–5; mechanics of semi-presidentialism 166–70; operation of semi-presidentialism 170–3; regionalism 173, 175, 177–8; Tulip Revolution 161, 166, 173, 175–8, 242 Lijphart, Arend 3–4, 16, 24, 30 Linz, Juan 11, 15–16, 18n4, 26, 30–3, 169, 175, 215n24, 227, 238 Lithuania 4–5, 56n1, 63–4, 70 Macedonia 4–5, 56n2, 63–4, 72–3 Madagascar 12–13, 41n18, 81, 85–6, 92–104, 239, 242–5; choice of semipresidentialism 93–4; cohabitation 100, 102; functioning of the system 96–100; mechanics of the system 94–6; premier–presidential system 94; president–parliamentary system 94; proportional representation 99; semipresidentialism and democracy 100–2 Mainwaring, Scott and Matthew Shugart 16, 33n3 majoritarian electoral system 32 Mali 85, 87, 90, 107–8 Mauritius 89–90 Moldova 4, 8, 31, 35, 56 Mongolia 4–5, 12–13, 30, 56n1, 182–200, 239, 242–5; choice of semipresidentialism 183–5, 242; cohabitation 186, 190–4, 244; constitutional provisions 185–8; democratic transition 183–5; effects of semi-presidentialism 189–8; electoral system 184, 188–9, 191, 195; premier– presidential system 186 Mozambique 7, 12–13, 121–36, 140–1, 220, 226, 228–9, 239, 242–4, 246–8; choice of semi-presidentialism 124–7; constitutional reform averted 127–9; effects of semi-presidentialism 130–6; historical background 122–4; polarized party system 121, 133–6; technical aspects of constitution 129–30 Namibia 10 Niger 12–13, 32, 81, 85, 87–8, 105–20, 239, 242–5, 247; choice of semipresidentialism 106–8; cohabitation 32,

265

87–8, 89, 105, 109–10, 113–19, 242, 244; constitutional provisions 109–11; democratic transition 106–8; effects of semi-presidentialism 112–18; electoral system 105, 111–12, 115, 117–18 Palestinian National Authority 8 party system 15, 33–4, 37–8 Peru 40 Poland 4–5, 10, 14, 21–4, 27, 56n2, 63–4, 72, 209n21; cohabitation 22–4, 209n21; proportional representation 23 Portugal 4, 14, 17, 21–4, 27, 35, 40, 220, 226, 229; cohabitation 22–4 post-communist Europe 58–9, 62–5, 67–75; choice of semi-presidentialism 58–9; cohabitation 70–3; distribution of powers 62–5; impact of semipresidentialism 65, 67–75 premier–presidential regimes 11, 31, 34, 41, 239, 243 president–parliamentary regimes 11, 31, 34, 41, 170, 239, 243 proportional representation 15 Romania 4–5, 37n12, 56n2, 63–4, 70, 72–3 Russia 4–5, 8, 11, 56n1, 60–2, 161, 164–5, 167, 170, 176, 186, 198, 209n21; distribution of powers 60–2, 167 Rwanda 78 São Tomé and Principe 140 Sartori, Giovanni 2–6, 11, 14, 24, 31–2, 43, 129, 238 semi-presidentialism: cohabitation 14, 25–7, 31–3, 41, 78, 244, 246–8; conflicting theoretical claims 31–3; definition of 2–11, 14, 24, 78–9, 129, 227; distribution of powers 243–6; emerging trends 246–8; impact of 33–44; origins of 240–3; personalization of power 245–6; relations between president and prime minister 244–5; study of 237–40; subtypes 10–11, 16, 31, 34, 40–1, 44, 67–73, 161n2, 239, 243–4, 248; where it is found 8–9 Senegal 8, 41n18, 80–4, 87–8, 90, 97, 141, 147–8 Serbia 4–5 Serbia and Montenegro 4n2 Shugart, Matthew 1, 11, 16, 41, 129, 202n3, 239, 243

266

Index

Shugart, Matthew and John Carey 21n7, 26, 40, 41, 94, 170, 186, 238 Slovenia 5, 56n2, 63 Slovakia 7, 56 South Korea 7, 9 Soviet Union 4, 31, 40, 44, 56–8, 161–5, 183–4, 189, 243, 248; choice of semipresidentialism 56–8, 243 Sri Lanka 4 Stepan, Alfred and Cindy Skach 4–5, 16, 35n8 super-presidential regimes 9, 24–25, 161 Suriname 35 Taiwan 12–13, 35, 63, 201–18, 239, 242–5, 247; evolving into semipresidentialism 202–7, 242; impact of semi-presidentialism 212–15; incongruence between president and parliament 202, 207, 209, 211–13, 215n26; operation of semipresidentialism 207–12; president–parliamentary system 202, 205, 207 Tajikistan 56n1, 164 Thailand 238 Timor-Leste 12–13, 32, 219–36, 239,

242–5, 247; assessing the democratic transition 230–2; choice of semipresidentialism 220–5, 242; cohabitation 227, 229; distribution of powers 225–7; gathering crisis 232–4; semi-presidentialism in practice 227–30 Togo 85 Turkey 37n12 Turkmenistan 57n4, 161, 171 Ukraine 4, 56n1, 62, 66–7, 176 United Kingdom 10 United States 10, 26, 98, 198, 213, 238 Uzbekistan 5, 56n1, 161, 171, 175 Weimar Republic 8, 14–16, 31, 209n21 Yugoslavia 4n2 Zaire see Democratic Republic of Congo