Bridling Dictators: Rules and Authoritarian Politics 2021937199, 9780192849687, 0192849689

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Bridling Dictators

Bridling Dictators Rules and Authoritarian Politics GR AE M E G I L L

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3 Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP, United Kingdom Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries © Graeme Gill 2021 The moral rights of the author have been asserted All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by licence or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Control Number: 2021937199 ISBN 978–0–19–284968–7 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192849687.001.0001 Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY Links to third party websites are provided by Oxford in good faith and for information only. Oxford disclaims any responsibility for the materials contained in any third party website referenced in this work.

Preface This book is about the way that politics at the apex of authoritarian political systems is structured. This has for long been an area that scholars have been reluctant to explore because of the obvious difficulties of determining what went on within the black box at the top of these political systems. This is difficult enough to penetrate in democratic systems, where transparency is supposed to be a quality of the system, let alone in authoritarian polities where measures are often taken to hide the activities of the rulers. Personal relationships, which constitute a large part of the essence of leadership politics, are also notoriously difficult to understand. Faced with such difficulties, most scholars have eschewed this sort of focus, instead concentrating on other aspects of authoritarian rule. While not gainsaying the widely acknowledged difficulties of this sort of analysis, this book rests on the assumption that in many regimes, the existing sources make it possible to identify recurring patterns of action within the leadership that reflect important aspects of the dynamics of politics at the top of those regimes, and that those patterns are best understood in terms of rules. This clearly runs counter to the main thrust of most of the literature that does exist on authoritarian leadership politics and is therefore unusual in this field. But what also makes it unusual is that it is informed by analysis of cases of the communist single-party system, a type of regime that has often been ignored in the general literature on authoritarian politics. This is somewhat curious because communist regimes were clearly undemocratic and therefore on the face of it qualified as authoritarian in nature. Furthermore, two communist single-party regimes, the USSR and China, were among the longest lasting authoritarian regimes in the twentieth century (and in the latter case extending into the twenty-first century), and provided both inspiration and a model for many other autocrats to follow. Accordingly, this book includes analysis of these two communist single-party states, along with a range of other regime types, to produce a typology of rules that have served to structure politics in these regimes. Whether such rules apply to individual regimes other than those discussed here is a matter for empirical investigation, but the fact that they can be seen to operate across the whole spectrum of regime types suggests that they do. At the very least, it means that the accepted paradigms of authoritarian elite politics do not apply to a significant number of regimes, and therefore require major rethinking. One caveat is in order. It is not unusual for this sort of leadership-focused analysis of authoritarian regimes to be criticized for not emphasizing the terror and repression that undoubtedly occurred in each country, or for ‘normalizing’ these

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regimes and seeming to suggest that they were actually like many other contemporary regimes. Such criticism is ill-judged. If one were seeking to explain an authoritarian system as a whole, the absence of reference to the scale of suffering experienced under each regime would be a serious omission. But it is by no means clear that analysis of that suffering would contribute significantly to our understanding of the politics of leadership. Thus, the fact that that suffering is not analysed here is not to deny the enormity of it; rather, it is recognition that the suffering and its scale is not directly relevant to our understanding of authoritarian leadership as defined in the focus of this book. This book has been a long time in the gestation. I first became interested in comparative leadership in communist systems when I completed a Master’s thesis on the cults of personality of Joseph Stalin and Mao Zedong in the Department of Politics at Monash University in the early 1970s. I returned to it when I began to teach a course in authoritarian politics in the early 1980s in the Department of Government and Public Administration at the University of Sydney. This was a time when the question of leadership was high on the agenda in both communist powers and, being in the early stages of what Samuel Huntington called the ‘third wave’ of democratization, was also a period when the failures of authoritarian leadership were seen to be an important factor in bringing about regime change. But it was not until 2014 when I received an Australian Research Council grant to pursue this project (for which I thank the ARC) that my thoughts were crystallized into the form that is now reflected in this book. Along the way, the Department of Government at Sydney, for many years my professional home, has been a continuing source of stimulus and encouragement. Over the last ten years of my time there, the Department built into one of the leading political science departments in the region and both then and since I retired has been a constant encouragement and source of advice. Particularly important have been Rod Tiffen, whose sober advice has always been spot on (if not always appreciated at the time!) and Fred Teiwes who has for long been the premier international scholar of Chinese elite politics and a trenchant advisor who has set me straight on numerous occasions. The late T.H. Rigby at the Australian National University and Archie Brown at Oxford University have also been important guides in my understanding of leadership, in both the Soviet and more general contexts. My understanding of Latin American military regimes was greatly enhanced by the stimulating semester I spent in the Kellogg Institute for International Studies at Notre Dame University. For that I thank Jim MacAdams who made it possible, the Director Paolo Carozza, the staff, in particular Samuel Valenzuela and Anibal Perez-Linan for their advice, and the fellows who shared the adventure in South Bend. I was able to test out some of my ideas at the Higher School of Economics in Moscow, for which I thank Andrei Melville. The manuscript has also been immensely improved by the comments of anonymous reviewers. My failure to accept all of their points does not detract from the value of their input.

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Most importantly, the rock upon which it all has rested for almost five decades has been Heather, whose love and support has been unstinting and without which whatever I have achieved would have been much the poorer. And finally, it has been Bethany and Audrey who have shown me again what is most important in life, and it is not authoritarian oligarchs!

Contents List of Tables List of Abbreviations

x xi

1. On Authoritarian Leadership Appendix A: List of the Rules

1 30

2. Operational Rules and Communist Single-Party Regimes

36

3. Relational Rules and Communist Single-Party Regimes

90

4. Constitutive Rules and Communist Single-Party Regimes

143

5. Rules and Military Regimes

177

6. Rules and Dominant Party Regimes

217

7. Rules, and Personal and Monarchical Regimes

242

8. Rules and Regime Institutions

273

9. Rules and Power Disposition in the Oligarchy

302

Conclusion: Rules and Autocracy

340

Bibliography Index

357 372

List of Tables 3.1. Politburo meeting data

119

4.1. Date of acquisition of office

158

8.1. Rule compatibility with regime type

275

9.1. Oligarch strategies and tactics

334

9.2. Strategies and rules

334

9.3. Oligarch tactics and rules

335

10.1. Regime longevity (in years)

348

List of Abbreviations AI ARENA ASU C-in-C CAC CAL CC CCC CCP CIEX CMC CNI CRG DICOMCAR DINA EA GKO KGB NEP PLA PRC PRI PSC PSD SNI UDN UMNO

Institutional Act National Renewal Alliance Arab Socialist Union Commander in Chief Central Advisory Committee Legislative Advisory Commission Central Committee Central Control Commission Chinese Communist Party Army Intelligence Service Central Military Commission National Intelligence Centre Cultural Revolution Group Carabineros Communications Directorate National Intelligence Directorate electoral authoritarian State Defence Committee Committee for State Security New Economic Policy People’s Liberation Army People’s Republic of China Institutional Revolutionary Party Politburo Standing Committee Social Democratic Party National Intelligence Service National Democratic Union United Malays National Organization

1 On Authoritarian Leadership Dictatorships have dominated human history. The most common form of political regime historically has been some type of authoritarian rule. The recent dominance of the democratic paradigm is actually quite unusual in historical terms, but it is also only relatively recently that there has been sustained scholarly analysis of non-democratic regimes. There was certainly some attention to non-democratic regimes earlier, but much of this took the form of the study of particular regimes, be it the Roman Empire, European absolutism, Nazi Germany or the Soviet Union. There was little attempt at understanding non-democratic regimes as a type before the post-war development of studies of totalitarianism.1 A few comparative studies did appear around this time,2 especially related to military regimes.3 But it was not until the end of the Cold War and the turn of the millennium that the study of non-democracies expanded, perhaps reflecting widespread recognition that Francis Fukuyama’s claim about the ‘end of history’ marked by the triumph of liberal capitalist democracy was utterly wrong.4 The focus of much of this recent scholarship has been on the relationship between rulers and ruled, reflecting recognition that not only is this the chief dimension upon which non-democratic regimes differ from democratic, but also that this is much more complex than the earlier totalitarian school’s reliance upon coercion as the principal basis for achieving public passivity suggests. Much of this scholarship has laid bare the way in which some of these regimes work in terms of how they maintain their rule over their citizens/subjects. The mechanisms of incorporation and of buying off have been shown to be as important as the fear of coercion as means for such regimes to retain control. This focus on the regime–people relationship is very important and warrants the sort of attention it has received. However, there has been much less of a focus upon the leaderships of such regimes and how they work.5 This is partly because of the difficulty of penetrating the upper reaches of such regimes to see the dynamic whereby the leading decision-makers go about their tasks. This is difficult enough in democratic systems where transparency is supposed to be a central principle, but in non-democratic systems where there is usually not even lip service to transparency, this is all but impossible. In part this relative absence of attention to authoritarian leadership is also explained by the continuing echo of the ‘great man’ theory of history. It has been all too common for observers to conceive of these regimes in terms of the person Bridling Dictators. Graeme Gill, Oxford University Press. © Graeme Gill (2021). DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192849687.003.0001

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of the leader: Stalin’s USSR, Hitler’s Germany, Mussolini’s Italy, Pinochet’s Chile, Gaddhafi’s Libya, Mubarak’s Egypt, Khomeini’s Iran, Saddam’s Iraq, Mugabe’s Zimbabwe and Niyazov’s Turkmenistan are a few examples of the way authoritarian regimes have been personalized. Although this notion of the embodiment of the regime in the person of the leader can occur in democratic systems (e.g. De Gaulle, Thatcher, Trump), it occurs most commonly with regard to authoritarian regimes. There is no problem with this sort of shorthand way of referring to regimes as long as it does not produce what in too many cases it has: the assumption that to understand how the regime works, you simply have to understand the leader. Clearly, the personality of the leader is an important factor in shaping how a regime works, but it is not the only factor. Biography is not the same as analysis of the political system. Central to the current study is something that is all too often forgotten in the focus on the leader: he6 does not rule alone. Even in the most dictatorial of regimes where the leader wields immense power and his word is law, the dictator will be surrounded by some with whom he discusses issues. They may be cronies, or family members, or people in his thrall, and they may only proffer opinions rather than participate in actual decision-making, or they may simply be ‘yes men’, but through their interaction with the leader they can influence decisional outcomes. Furthermore, a single person cannot decide everything, with the result that in effect some decisions will be delegated to others. In this sense, every authoritarian leadership will have a collective dimension. Some recent scholarship has acknowledged this,7 but there remains an absence of empirical analysis of how leaderships operate in contemporary non-democratic systems. However, this has not stopped scholars from theorizing about how such leaderships function. Two of the most important recent works looking at this question8 are in basic agreement about the dynamics of authoritarian leadership. In the initial period of an authoritarian regime, the leader is not in a position to dominate his colleagues, and a process of negotiation occurs whereby a power-sharing agreement is worked out.9 Once this has been done, the dictator will inevitably seek to acquire more power (thereby breaking the deal that had been arrived at) at the expense of his colleagues, and they will seek to resist this. These imperatives of seeking enhanced power are systemic rather than a function of personal choice because of the basic uncertainty of the authoritarian system. This uncertainty stems from two ‘intrinsic features’10 of authoritarian politics: the absence of an independent authority to enforce agreements and resolve disputes, and the everpresence of violence as the ultimate arbiter of conflict. It is the dictator’s drive for increased power that destabilizes the power-sharing arrangement initially agreed, and given the absence of an external arbiter, the only way his colleagues can blunt this is through a credible threat to remove him from office. Barbara Geddes et al. also argue that the other members of the leadership not only want to restrict the dictator, but also to increase their own power at the expense of their colleagues. This means that widespread distrust and ‘intense competition’ is the normal state.

on authoritarian leadership

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Both Milan Svolik and Geddes et al. acknowledge the possibility that ‘procedures may become institutionalized over time’11 or that ‘institutionalized “rules of the game”’12 may develop, but this is not explored systematically or is cursorily dismissed as being possible only when those rules rest on mutual advantage and acknowledgement of the power of key participants or the fear of violence behind them.13 This reflects the assumption that authoritarian leadership is always characterized by a difference between the leader on the one hand and his ‘allies’ or ‘inner circle’ (or leadership colleagues, who may also be divided among themselves) on the other, with each having divergent interests: the dictator to maximize his power to make himself invulnerable to challenge; the ‘allies’ to increase their power in order to enhance their personal positions and to constrain the dictator. Svolik envisages two states. One he calls ‘established autocrats’ where the dictator is so powerful that he is invulnerable to successful challenge, the second is ‘contested autocracy’ where ‘the dictator’s allies are genuine political players who share power with him and constrain his choices’14 and where successful challenge is possible. Svolik also recognizes that institutions can help to stabilize the leader–allies relationship, but only when there is an even balance of power between leader and allies in his ‘contested autocracy’.15 Geddes et al. acknowledge that along with this conflict over divergent interests, there is also cooperation in order to prevent such conflict from destroying the regime. However, in this model the basic dynamic of authoritarian leadership remains competition and conflict which is constrained only by the relative power of the different actors. This question of competition and conflict and how it can be managed has been the focus of a literature emphasizing co-optation as the means of a dictator avoiding conflict and consolidating his position. Central to this explanation is usually said to be political institutions—the political party or legislature16 —which can act as arenas within which negotiations can occur between the dictator and potential opposition groups. In these institutions controlled bargaining can take place, the distribution of rents can be worked out and policy compromises organized. This is seen as a means of guaranteeing potential opposition continuing access to resources and thereby allaying their suspicion that a dictator’s promises could in the future be breached. In exchange for such concessions by the leader, the potential opposition provides support for the dictator and is co-opted into the regime. That opposition thereby gains a stake in the system because it is more advantageous for them to support than to oppose the regime.17 It is argued that by enabling greater transparency and information flow, and by giving potential opposition guaranteed access to some state resources, institutions can alleviate the commitment and monitoring problems that accompany a more secretive process and thereby defuse conflict.18 A more recent study by Anne Meng also has at its heart the idea that the dictator makes some concessions which limit his power but in so doing consolidate his rule.19 In this explanation, personal rule is constrained by a process of

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institutionalization, defined as creating ‘rules and procedures that tie the leader’s hands by empowering other elites’.20 Such rules and procedures are seen as ‘executive constraints’ and consist of constitutional rules specifying the leadership succession process including the identity of the successor, term limits for the leadership post, and the appointment of elites to high-ranking cabinet posts (vicepresident/prime minister and the minister of defence). Specifying the succession process including who was to succeed was said to provide some certainty and thereby depress conflict at these times of potentially high levels of conflict, while appointment to high positions (term limits were seen to be less effective) is seen to be effective because the leader’s delegation of authority to elites guarantees their continuing access to future rents. Elites are given a stake in the system and thereby dissuaded from challenging the dictator. However, Meng argues, not all dictators go down this path. Individual dictators adopt such constraints when they are weak relative to the elites and therefore vulnerable to being deposed, especially at the outset of their rule; strong leaders are less likely to adopt such constraints. There is clearly overlap between the more general co-optation argument and Meng’s argument about rules and procedures: both have at their heart the dictator’s delegation of some power and access to resources to others in exchange for their support. There is also some convergence on the importance of power: for Svolik, institutions can be effective only when there is an even balance of power between dictator and others, while for Meng institutions can only constrain leaders ‘when they change the underlying distribution of power between leaders and elites’.21 More ambiguous is the identity of that group to which the dictator makes concessions. Most of the time Meng seems to be talking about the dictator’s intimates, those referred to in this book as the ‘oligarchs’, while much of the discussion in the other literature refers to strategically placed elites in the society more broadly which can act through such institutions as a legislature or a party,22 similar to that group referred to in this book as the ‘elite’ (definitions are discussed in the following pages). To the extent that the co-optation literature is referring to this wider group, its focus is different from that of this book, although the basic strategy they discuss of rewarding co-operation may be relevant to the narrower group, as shown in Chapter 9. Furthermore, neither the co-optation literature nor Meng seeks to explain the dynamics of how the narrow leadership group (the oligarchs) operates on a day-to-day basis. While, in its focus on rules and procedures and the way they structure action, Meng’s analysis is closer to that of this book than the more general co-optation literature, it has a number of problematic aspects. Some are shared with the wider literature and are discussed below, some are more specific and are discussed here. There are three specific aspects of her argument that are relevant, all relating to her argument about the appointment of elites to responsible positions and the resultant delegation of power and authority.23

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a) Meng argues that institutions are only effective when they change the ‘underlying distribution of power’. However, in the case of the executive constraints she discusses, it is not clear that these alter the underlying distribution of power as opposed to the conditions under which that power is exercised. Furthermore she argues that only a weak leader adopts these measures, but if they actually make him stronger by consolidating his position (and thereby do affect the underlying power distribution), in what sense can these be considered to be constraints? b) Meng argues that strong leaders choose not to adopt these executive constraints while weak leaders make the opposite choice. However, it is not immediately clear that a leader at the outset of his rule actually has much of a choice about whether to delegate or not. No leader can do everything alone, so some form of delegation is inevitable. The question most times is not whether delegation occurs, but the conditions under which this is done and the form it takes. c) Meng’s explanation explicitly applies to the early stages of a regime and it is not clear that it can also apply to changes of leader during a regime’s life. While there may have been a blank sheet of paper at the time the regime was founded (although even this is unlikely), subsequent leadership changes take place within contexts shaped by the regime’s previous experience. Meng accepts this, but this must clearly have implications for the way in which the sort of negotiations she envisages as being conducted are carried out when a change of leadership occurs. The emphasis upon delegation, co-optation and co-operation may appear to be a sharp contrast with the literature emphasizing conflict, but this is more appearance than reality. In both literatures, power disposition within the ruling group remains the key determinant of leadership politics. Meng argues that only weak dictators make the sorts of concessions central to her argument, and although this is not always explicitly discussed in the co-optation literature, it is implicit; it is the relative strength of opposition forces that encourages the dictator to negotiate and reach an agreement. If a strong dictator does not engage in such negotiation, the co-optation literature is not relevant to his regime. Furthermore, most of the co-optation literature focuses purely upon the act of arriving at a pact between leader and opposition rather than at how that arrangement works out over the life of the regime. Those contributions to the literature that do take a longer-term view of how the pact actually works in practice24 tend to concentrate on the relationship between the ruling group and broader social forces. This means that the co-optation literature does not really explain how politics within that ruling group works on a day-to-day basis. And therefore neither does it gainsay the essence of the image of authoritarian leadership politics stemming from the conflict literature.

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This image is well illustrated by the following quotations from two leading representatives of this literature, Geddes and Svolik: • ‘Life in a dictatorial elite is thus insecure, dangerous and frightening.’ • ‘Members of dictatorial elites live in grim, dog-eat-dog worlds.’ • ‘The absence of binding limits and institutional checks on the dictator, however, mean that only credible threats to oust the dictator deter him from reneging on agreements and abusing his supporters.’ • ‘Dictators must fear their closest allies.’ • ‘Conflict over the distribution of power between dictators and their supporters afflicts all new dictatorships … early periods in dictatorships tend to be unstable, conflictual, and sometimes bloody.’ • ‘The central political dynamic of authoritarian politics [is] conflict over the distribution of power within the regime’s leadership group.’25 • ‘Political conflicts may be, and indeed frequently are, resolved by brute force.’ • A dictator has the ‘desire and opportunity to acquire more power at the expense of his allies. Under dictatorship, an effective deterrent against such opportunism must be backed by a credible threat of the dictator’s removal by his inner circle.’26 This is a stark and clear picture of the inherently violent and uncertain nature of life in authoritarian political leaderships, with the relative power disposition of the leader compared with other members of the leadership the defining currency of leadership politics; the basic dynamic is one of continual competition and conflict constrained only by the relative power of the different actors. But is it accurate? Four points can be made at the outset with regard to this. a) The way the central dynamic of authoritarian politics is set up is misleading. It is assumed that while there may be many internal divisions within the leadership, there is a basic binary divide between the leader on the one hand and his leadership colleagues on the other. In practice it is rarely this simple. Within the leadership there will always be some who are closely allied to and support the leader even if the remainder of the leadership is more equivocal or afraid of and set on restraining him. Envisaging the leadership in terms of a binary divide may assist an interpretation based on the continuing clash of two opposed interests, but it does so by oversimplifying what is usually a structurally (and often tactically) more complex and often shifting situation. b) While it is certainly the case that in some regimes some of the time the question of power and who wields it is paramount, is this really the defining or central issue all of the time? In most regimes, some sort of power equilibrium is usually reached, and although this may not be embedded in stone (just as it is not in democratic systems), the nature of the power relationship

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is not always under question or negotiation. Like leaderships everywhere, authoritarian leaderships must come to grips with policy questions, and while many of these will doubtless have a power dimension, this will not inevitably be the defining factor; the leader’s (nor for that matter individual members’ of the leadership) position is not under question on all issues and at all times. c) The focus on continuing conflict obscures or downplays the level of consensus and agreement that must exist for any leadership to function for a length of time. It may be that both the reality and promise of material gain such as that implied in the co-optation literature can be instrumental in maintaining the unity of the leadership,27 but it is debateable whether this alone could sustain a united leadership over an extended period without some other basis of unity being present. The nature of such agreement and unity is discussed below (Rule 8), but simply through its presence, such agreement must modify the Hobbesian state sketched in much of the literature. d) There seems to be an assumption that delegation necessarily weakens and constrains a leader. It certainly could do this in some cases, but it is also possible that through tying others to him and giving them a reason to support him, delegation could consolidate his position, enhance his power and increase his reach, making him stronger rather than weaker. Clearly, some regimes sometimes may be like the model suggested by the quotations on page 6, but not all regimes are like this, nor is it clear that any regime is like this all of the time. It is difficult to see how a regime whose leadership operated in such a fashion could maintain itself in power for any length of time, and while it is true that some authoritarian regimes are of relatively short duration, some demonstrate considerable durability: of 171 ‘countries under dictatorship’ identified by Jennifer Gandhi between 1946 and 2002, 81.3 per cent experienced authoritarian rule for more than 10 years, with most for considerably longer periods.28 Geddes29 has also produced some figures for the average duration of different types of authoritarian regime: military regimes lasted an average of 9.5 years, personalist regimes 15.5 years, and single-party regimes 29 years. While Geddes’ analysis has come under some criticism,30 other analyses have agreed that an average lifespan of over 10 years is common for authoritarian regimes.31 If regimes were continually characterized by relations within the leadership of the sort suggested above, is it likely that so many regimes could survive more than 10 years? A regime where a dictator ruthlessly used the coercive apparatus (secret police or military) to frequently purge the ruling group may be able to remain in power for some time, but it would be more likely to collapse under the weight of the distrust and antagonisms within the ruling group unless something other than common distrust held them together. But in any case, such a continual turnover of leading figures implied in the notion of

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the rolling purge (or at least fear of it) does not seem to have been present in many of the regimes commonly adjudged to be authoritarian. Thus while the accepted view of authoritarian leadership may be true of some regimes at some times, it is certainly not true of all and maybe not even of most. The key question is not one focused purely on power and its disposition, but one that looks more broadly at how authoritarian regime leaderships work. The principal argument of this book is, in short, that rather than being characterized by a Hobbesian state of nature within leadership circles, the leadership of authoritarian regimes is generally structured by a series of rules that govern relations between individuals in the leadership. These are rules that are meant to structure the activity of and relationships within the leading group as a whole, and are therefore broader than principles identified as means for the dictator to consolidate his power.32 Both Svolik and Geddes et al. accept that such rules may exist, but they see them as far less important than the power disposition of the respective actors, and they generally do not examine their nature.33 The relative power of different actors remains important, but this alone cannot explain the dynamics of authoritarian leadership. For this we must turn to the rules of leadership politics. The most important role that these rules play is to organize, coordinate and structure the interactions leading figures have with each other. The following chapters will identify these rules and show how and why they are important. But first we need to be clear what we are talking about.

The authoritarian regime The study of non-democratic politics is bedevilled by a plethora of terms that are used almost interchangeably and without clear definition: ‘authoritarianism’, ‘autocracy’, ‘tyranny’, ‘dictatorship’ and ‘despotism’, to name only the most common. There is no clear and accepted distinction in meaning among these terms, although the last three do seem to have a significantly more pejorative edge to them than the first two. Much of the discussion about the respective merits of these terms amounts to meaningless hair-splitting. In this book, ‘authoritarian regime’ will be used when referring to the regime. When it comes to the leader, the term usually used will be ‘leader’ or ‘dictator’, even though the latter does seem to imply greater power and arbitrariness than is often the case with those thus named. The definition of an authoritarian regime has also been a matter of some debate. Juan Linz defined such a regime in terms of comparison with a totalitarian regime.34 Most scholars have sought to define authoritarian regimes more in terms of the comparison with democratic than totalitarian regimes, and here the essential nub of the definition has been that, unlike democracies, authoritarian regimes are not responsible to the populace over whom they rule. This does not necessarily mean that such regimes are insensitive to their subjects, that they do not care about

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how the populace sees them, or that they do not seek to provide policies that serve some of the interests of their subjects. It means that there is no effective mechanism for the regime to be held accountable by the populace: there is no institutional means for the people to replace its rulers.35 In principle, this clearly distinguishes authoritarian regimes from democracies. In the latter, the people can replace its governors; in the former they cannot. However, in practice, the distinction is not as clear cut, and this is shown by the existence of one particular type of regime, the electoral authoritarian regime (EA), where although such replacement is unlikely, it can happen. This is discussed later in the chapter. There is also contestation about the types of regimes that constitute the authoritarian family and how such regimes should be distinguished. Notwithstanding the argument that formal institutions are of ‘questionable relevance’ in authoritarian systems and therefore should not constitute the basis of a typology,36 as subsequent analysis will show, the way regimes function is shaped in part by their institutional contours. Also it has been on the basis principally of the identification of such institutions that regime types have been distinguished. One of the most popular of such typologies is that of Barbara Geddes, who identified three basic types: military, single party, and personalist.37 This typology is not perfect; it is not all inclusive—contemporary Iran does not fit into any of the categories— and it encounters ambiguities where hybrid regimes are concerned, for example both military and single-party regimes can have a personal dictator (Chile and Pinochet, the USSR and Stalin), and military regimes may also have major parties (Syria under Hafez el-Assad, Egypt under Nasser). Nor is it sensitive to changes within a regime over time. Nevertheless, an expanded version of this typology will be used here. There are two reasons for this. First, this will locate this book and its arguments in the vast bulk of literature in comparative politics that uses this sort of typology. Second, many of the rules upon which this book focuses are related directly to the institutions and how they function. Rather than being of ‘ambiguous relevance’, institutions are therefore much more important. However, using such an institution-based typology must be sensitive to the ambiguity involved in hybridity, to the implications of there also being other institutions potentially significant to the eponymous institution in a particular regime and to possible changes over time. Accordingly, although each regime type will be named in accordance with its leading institution, when it comes to analysis of those regimes the presence of other institutions and changes within the regime will be taken into account in discussion of regime types and their rules. There are five basic regime types: 1) Single-party regime. This is a regime where a political party, defined as an organization whose primary purpose is to seek power and wield it through the occupation of office by its members,38 is the most important institution in the system. Membership of the party vests power in people at all levels,

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2)

3)

4)

5)

and access to power at the top of the political structure is monopolized by the party and its members. Only one party is permitted to play a meaningful role in the system, although satellite parties may be allowed to exist, but with almost no power, as for example in China and the former communist Poland. Electoral authoritarian or dominant party regime. This is a system where regular elections are held, but the electoral arena is weighted so far in favour of the ruling party that it is very difficult, if not almost impossible, for it to be defeated. This is the most common form of authoritarian rule in the postCold War world.39 Some scholars have sought to distinguish between ‘competitive authoritarianism’ and ‘electoral authoritarianism’ or ‘competitive authoritarianism’ and ‘hegemonic authoritarianism’,40 with the former existing when there is a possibility that the ruling party could be defeated at the polls and the latter when it could not. This is in theory a useful distinction, but in practice difficult to operationalize before a regime-changing election actually takes place. Accordingly here, the term ‘electoral authoritarianism’ (EA) will be used for a regime with a party system with a dominant party and a competitive but neither fair nor equal electoral system. Military regime. This is a system in which the main offices invested with power are held by military officers, and it usually comes into existence through a military coup that overthrows a civilian administration. The military regime also has two sub-types: the corporate military regime where the military is institutionally involved in ruling, and a more personalist military regime where the institution as a whole is not directly involved in political life but military officers fill the main political posts. Both sub-types are marked by the fact that while exercising civil power, military officers usually step back from their military responsibilities. Monarchy. This is a system where access to power is determined by personal lineage, with power being dominated (but not always monopolized) by members of a single ruling family. Monarchies have two sub-types: the dynastic monarchy where rule is shared among the members of the ruling family under the headship of the king or queen, and a non-dynastic monarchy where power is concentrated in the hands of the individual monarch alone.41 Personal dictatorship. This is where a single individual has personal discretion over power and its instruments relatively unconstrained by others, and therefore so dominates the system that he is the most important feature of the regime;42 if a party or military exists, it is of a distinctly second-order rank. Many scholars have preferred to see personalism as a quality that can characterize all of the types of regime noted in this chapter. Individual leaders can be the most important actors in regimes where a political party or the military remain the dominant institutional structure, in which case

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the regime appears as a mixed or hybrid type. Furthermore, regimes can go through stages where ‘institutional’ rule is replaced by ‘personal’ rule; these stages (and therefore potentially changes in regime type) can only be distinguished through close empirical analysis. In this book, in order not to exclude those regimes where a dominant leader did not really share power with a party or military institution (such as contemporary Belarus), the personal dictatorial regime will be assumed to be a separate type. The question of stages, of the relationship between a personal dictator and other aspects of the regime, is discussed further below in terms of the distinction between a dominant and a predominant leader.

The authoritarian oligarchy While the dominance of a personal dictator is a central focus in the analysis of authoritarian leadership, scholars also recognize the presence of others than the leader within the leadership: witness references to things like cliques, factions and cronies as well as such institutions as the politburo, junta and cabinet. But such recognition rarely extends to systematic analysis of the role such groups play in decision-making and in the stability of the power structure generally. This is a central focus of this book, but this means that we need to be clear whom we are talking about. There are two groupings of leaders relevant to this discussion: the oligarchs and the elite.43 The oligarchs are those few people who immediately surround the leader. They are his closest colleagues, and usually fill the leading formal positions in the political system; they are the members of the politburo, junta or cabinet. This notion of oligarch emphasizes the political power and position these people enjoy. It is therefore different from the conception of oligarchs defined in terms of their possession of material resources they may use to wield power and protect their personal wealth and social position.44 It is more a positional definition, and closer to that of Aristotle (although he does assume the oligarchy will be composed of the wealthy) but different from that used with regard to, for example, Russia or Indonesia where the term is explicitly related to corrupt wealthy businessmen. The basic meaning of oligarchy in this book is, therefore, that the oligarchs are the close associates of the dictator.45 Compared to those below them, and especially the general populace, they are very powerful. Compared to the leader, the power of the rank-and-file oligarchs may be rather more modest. Relative to one another, individual oligarchs may have more or less power (and this may shift over time) and they may occupy different ranks; the notion of oligarchy does not assume that all oligarchs are equal.46 The dictator is himself an oligarch; he is part of the oligarchy and the leader of it, not separate from it. For the view of the rank-and-file oligarchs as being vulnerable to the leader, at his beck and call and always in danger of being removed or even killed, scholars

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often emphasize the ‘crony’ aspect of the relationship. This implies that they are in leadership posts purely because of their relationship with the leader, and that were that relationship to sour, their continued presence in the leadership would be under threat. There is a sense in which this is true. An oligarch whose position rests only on his personal relationship with the leader is vulnerable to changes in that relationship. But the reverse also applies: personal relationships pre-dating the leader coming to power can provide a basis of trust and continuing mutual support that could offset the presumed vulnerability. Established relationships, even if they undergo change when the leader comes to power, can shape relations between the leader and other oligarchs, including providing a basis for his preference for some over others. For those leaders who seek to create a factional basis for their rule, such relationships can act as a foundation upon which factions can rest. Such established relationships, and the trust that they may involve, can also mean that the oligarch will enjoy greater freedom of movement and individual autonomy from the leader than would otherwise have been the case. It also means that the situation in these leaderships is rarely one of the leader versus the rest: some of the oligarchs will inevitably be supporters of the leader, almost regardless of what happens. Personal relationships can have existed among the rank-and-file oligarchs as well. Where those relations were amicable or cooperative, carried forward into power they can provide a basis for solidarity which can underpin faction-creation, or simply constitute an ideational basis for cooperation. This could be important should the oligarchs (or a section of them) believe that they need to defend themselves against potential attack by a dictator. It could also be important in any conflict that erupts among the oligarchs themselves. When conflict occurs among the rank-and-file oligarchs, perhaps in the competitive quest for the leader’s benevolence or in the struggle for power or resources, organization among them is a logical response, and prior personal relations can help to ease the creation of such organization. Prior hostile relations among individual oligarchs can have the opposite effect, that of providing a basis for the generation of oligarch conflict. When such conflict unrolls, if the dictator stays above it, it may enhance his power over his colleagues. Personal relations are not the only, and perhaps not even the most important, factor in defining the nature of the oligarchs. Central to this is the institutional roles the oligarchs occupy. In most authoritarian systems, the oligarchs are formally members of a leading council, like a politburo, cabinet or junta, with the leader the chief officer of that body. But while this may be the position that signifies membership of the ruling group, it is usually not the only post an oligarch occupies. Usually, they will also head one of the bureaucratic hierarchies of which the system consists. Most common has been oligarchs who are also government ministers, heading government departments whose task it is to administer some sector of national life. Common too have been the heads of the security service and of the military, with the latter sometimes represented by a number of people

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from the different service branches of the military. The head of the ruling political party may also appear in this group. Often this other job is the oligarch’s main one, in the sense that it takes up more time than his involvement in the activities of the narrow ruling oligarchy, but ultimately it is the recognition of him as an oligarch through membership of the oligarchy that is of greater political importance. The elite is a much broader grouping of which the oligarchs are part, with the boundary between narrower oligarchy and broader elite sometimes indistinct and occasionally contested. The non-oligarch part of the elite will comprise different sorts of people depending upon the type of regime, but it will usually include high and middle level political administrators, the military officer corps, and wealthy private economic interests. This group often has its own organizational vessels; leading party institutions, the state legislature and civil service hierarchy, the formal military structures, and private and public corporations often figure in the operations of the elite. This broad group is a central underpinning of the oligarchy, and the need to keep it content and on side is a major continuing task for the oligarchs. The elite also comprises the basic recruiting ground for the oligarchy. The principal focus of this book is on the oligarchy, not the elite, although the relationship between the two is an important consideration. Notwithstanding this collective nature of authoritarian leadership, a preeminent individual leader, commonly called the ‘dictator’, usually emerges. There may be some cases, or maybe individual instances, when the dictator makes a decision totally on his own initiative with no other input, but this is not common. The dictator usually functions in a collective environment in the sense that he will be surrounded by and interact with other oligarchs on a regular basis. The nature of that interaction, and the role played by the other oligarchs, will be influenced by the power possessed by the dictator. Three basic models of authoritarian leadership exist: 1) Real collective leadership where no single person consistently has greater power than the others; all are more or less equal and decisions are subject to brokerage and compromise. Such situations are, in practice, rare. Personal ambition is usually sufficient to drive one or more individuals to attempt to gain primacy, leading to the replacement of such collectivism by a preeminent leader. There are two sorts of pre-eminence: predominance and dominance. 2) Predominant leader, where one person is pre-eminent but does not usually ignore the views and preferences of other oligarchs. The leader may not have sufficient power to ignore the oligarchs collectively, but is more powerful than any of them individually and probably many of them combined. Predominance usually rests upon a stable alliance with some of the oligarchs. The predominant leader can be strong or weak, a distinction reflected in his ability consistently to get his way on issues.

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3) Dominant leader, whereby the leader has sufficient power to be able to ignore the views of the other oligarchs and can decide whatever he wishes. When the leader intervenes, it is decisive. This is the personal dictator. While it may be objected that under the dominant leader all notion of collectivism evaporates, this would be to fail to appreciate the nuances whereby the dominant leader model can operate. In principle there are three variants: a) All decisions are collectively considered by the oligarchs, but only a decision approved by the leader will be acceptable. b) The leader makes any decision he wants, but there will be a range of decisions that are left to other oligarchs to make. These may be considered to be on less important issues, to be related to particular policy areas, to be matters of routine practice rather than principle, or the choice may be purely idiosyncratic. However this distinction is made, some issues are not decided by the dominant leader, although all will likely be subject to his approval. c) The dominant leader makes all decisions. In practice, this situation is impossible for any length of time: no one can make all of the decisions required in any political system. But even assuming that it was possible, it would be unlikely that all decisions were made without advice and input from other oligarchs. While the dictator may make the final decision, that decision is likely to be informed by the views of leadership colleagues and advisers. These three forms of the dominant leader model move through decreasing levels of collectivism towards total personal dictatorship. These three models of leadership—real collectivism, predominant leader, dominant leader47 —are essentially differences of degree, of the balance between real collectivism and single-person dictatorship. It is this balance that is reflected in the different dynamics of these different structures of rule. The dominant leader model prevails in personal dictatorships and when other types of regimes experience periods of greatly enhanced personal leadership, as both the Soviet Union and China did, as discussed in Chapters 2 and 3. The other models of leadership, real collectivism and predominant leader, can occur in any regime type, party, EA, military or monarchy. Distinguishing between the three models of leadership, and especially predominant and dominant leaders, is rarely easy or straightforward. It requires judgement and a recognition of nuance. This is illustrated by acknowledging two complicating factors in determining the actual power of a dictator compared with the other oligarchs. First, as the political science literature on power tells us, it is not always easy to see when power is being exercised. The distinction between predominant and dominant leaders turns on the leader’s ability to make decisions without taking the

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opinions of the other oligarchs into account. However, there may be times when a dictator does not have an opinion on an issue or does not express it. The issue is therefore resolved by the other oligarchs. Does the dictator’s passivity in this instance reflect his refusal to use the power he has, or his recognition that he lacks the ability to get his way on this issue? Second, there is the difficulty of judging the role played by the other oligarchs in reaching decisions. In principle, these oligarchs could play three types of role: affirmatory in which they are simply ‘yes men’ to the dictator, advisory where they only give their opinion to the dictator, or decisional where they actually play an active part in making the decision. Access only to meeting schedules and decision outcomes but without knowing what actually happened in the meetings does not give the necessary information to know what role they actually played. These two factors make the task of distinguishing between leadership models in any particular system very difficult. All one can do is take the long-term perspective and use the available evidence to establish continuing patterns of action among the oligarchs. The path to individual primacy within a leadership group will differ from case to case, but there are a number of bases upon which such pre-eminence can rest. Five potential bases can be identified, with a combination of them usually relevant in each individual case.

1. Foundational legacy This is a form of legitimacy that stems from the role the individual played in bringing the regime to power. This may be in the form of leadership of a revolution, as in the Russian, Chinese and Vietnamese revolutions, or it may be through another violent event that was not accorded revolutionary status, as in the case of Franco in Spain who led the victorious side in the civil war. It may also attach to someone who played a prominent role in bringing the country to independence in a peaceful fashion, like Lee Kwan Yew in Singapore. Revolutionary power is a particularly potent source of legitimation because of the notion of social renewal that it encompasses, and thereby the association of the leader with the creation of the new society. However, the revolutionary legacy, and the legitimacy that flows from it, is usually not confined to a single person. All of those who participated in the revolutionary events may gain personal authority because of the part they played in bringing the regime to power, even if this may be less intense than for the leader. But this means that revolutionary legitimation could apply to a whole segment of the political elite, justifying their domination of the regime and its leading offices. In the Soviet Union, these were the so-called ‘Old Bolsheviks’, and they dominated in the regime’s leading offices until the mid-1930s, when the Terror swept many of

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them from power. In China, the revolutionary legacy was reflected in the division over time of the leadership into notional generations, with a representative of the revolutionary generation remaining as the most important figure in the regime until 1997, although by this time most of that generation had passed from the scene. This collective legitimation did not detract from the personal authority the revolutionary leader enjoyed as a result of his leadership of that struggle. The common revolutionary heritage notwithstanding, the mantle of foundational leader was not one that could easily be passed on to a successor. The acknowledged leadership role in the revolution played by Lenin and Mao could not be replicated by anyone else, although in China the division between the guerrilla war and the covert struggle behind the lines waged by the communists (and represented most prominently in the leadership by Liu Shaoqi) did provide a potential alternative revolutionary pedigree, but this was never going to be so powerful as to overwhelm the myth of the guerrilla war in the regime’s founding mythology. When the initial leader died in the Soviet Union, a struggle for power occurred between a series of regime notables, all of whom had played a part (with varying degrees of distinction and importance) in the revolution. There was no thought of going outside this revolutionary generation, a reflection of the fact that Lenin had died so soon after the revolution that his revolutionary comrades still dominated the upper reaches of the regime. In China, Mao’s death 27 years after the revolution meant that some who lacked distinguished revolutionary records had worked themselves into the higher reaches of the regime, and one (Hua Guofeng) was named as Mao’s successor. In the subsequent struggle with Deng Xiaoping, the latter’s revolutionary lineage gave him a distinct advantage with his colleagues and was instrumental in his emerging victorious. This sort of foundational legitimacy remains important while the foundation generation continues to dominate the regime. When they pass from the scene, this basis of power dissipates. Potentially more durable and foundational in another sense is ideological leadership. This can occur in regimes that officially adhere to an ideology. The most important of these has been the communist regimes characterized by their official adherence to Marxism–Leninism, but it could also occur in those regimes which come to power espousing other sets of theoretical principles. Common in this regard were those countries that gained independence on the back of a nationalist appeal in the post-war period. If a particular leader is viewed as a source of these ideas, as successive Soviet and Chinese leaders were, this could generate genuine authority. Well after the achievement of independence, the propagation of theoretical principles (in a simplified form) could bolster a leader’s standing; the notion of ‘Asian values’ and Lee Kwan Yew in Singapore in the 1990s and Mahathir Mohamad in Malaysia are cases in point of this. Recognition as a source of ideological authority could vest broader authority in the leader.

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2. Perceived personal qualities This is often conceived in terms of charisma, although genuine charisma is rare and ephemeral, while other sorts of qualities (judgement, determination, doggedness) are often seen as qualities relevant to elevating a leader above his peers. But although rare, many leaders seek a charismatic relationship with their followers. Charisma invokes authority because a leader’s followers believe that he is endowed with special gifts or powers.48 This is a form of personalised authority which is vested in the leader alone and exists regardless of whether that leader does actually possess special powers or abilities: what is necessary is that the followers believe that those powers and abilities exist. In its pure form, charisma involves the followers surrendering their power of independent decision to the leader, such that they will follow him without dissent regardless of what he orders them to do. Their dedication to the leader transcends simple obedience as they place their faith totally in that person’s hands. Charisma is really only compatible with the dominant leader model of leadership. This sort of relationship between leader and followers is very rare, at least in its most pure form. It is also unstable in the sense that it is intensely personal and cannot be mediated through institutions. This means that if it is to form the basis of continuing personal rule, it must undergo a form of ‘routinization’. The classic case of this discussed by Weber was the attempt to turn the charismatic authority of Jesus into the institutional authority of the Catholic Church. However, more generally, attempted routinization has taken the form of the generation of a cult of personality.49 Projected principally through the media, the cult is a programme designed to create a charismatic relationship between the leader (the object of the cult) and the populace. By projecting an image of the leader as all-powerful, omniscient, and caring for his people, the cult seeks to engender among the populace a commitment to that leader that is strong, emotional and total. Evidence on the success of this is mixed. The cult is important because it projects the leader’s authority beyond the immediate confines of the oligarchy. Charisma is generally enhanced by distance because this not only embellishes the sense of power and authority possessed by the leader, but it avoids the jarring images that are likely from close personal association with him. The leader’s immediate colleagues are more likely to be aware of his foibles and deficiencies, they are likely to have known about any mistakes or uncertainties, and would have seen that the person was human, with all the limitations that involves. This means that a charismatic relationship is unlikely to exist within the oligarchy. The oligarchs may treat the leader as if they accept that he is charismatic, but in fact they are unlikely to believe this. Even though many members of the elite are unlikely to see the leader as charismatic (although many will), such a view on the part of the populace can help

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sustain that leader’s position. While the essence of authoritarian rule is that the mass of the populace has little direct involvement in politics at the top of the regime, if the leader exercises significant authority among that populace, the remainder of the elite would be likely to see this as a positive and something that buttressed his position. Even when the nature of the link between leader and populace lacks the emotional intensity of a charismatic tie but instead consists of simple support (for example, reflected in electoral results), this can be a factor counselling the elite against any move against that leader.50 In the face of evident popular support, the oligarchs’ aversion to instability means that this could be seen as strengthening the leader’s position. For the elite more broadly, the cult may clearly indicate who is leader, and therefore provide an important signal about power disposition within the oligarchy. Authority based on the perception of the leader as capable rather than charismatic is related to the next potential basis of personal power.

3. Performance It may appear strange to suggest that authoritarian regimes may be concerned about performance because such regimes do not, by definition, govern with the open consent of the governed and would therefore seem not to require such consent. However, those who run such regimes understand that they are unlikely to survive in the long term if they seek to rely purely on coercion and force. They seek support by, or at least lack of opposition from, the populace, and this normally requires meeting at least some of the expectations of that populace. The Roman resort to ‘bread and circuses’ to keep the populace apathetic and out of politics has been a continuing theme for authoritarian regimes, and this means that they usually will seek to implement policies that, at least, can satisfy some of the material desires of the people. In this sense, regime performance is a factor in regime survival, and given the role the personal dictator usually plays, this becomes an important consideration for him too. But more important for the personal dictator because more immediate is the need for him to keep both the oligarchs and the broader elite satisfied. With most cases of the overthrow of authoritarian regimes coming from within the oligarchy rather than through any form of mass mobilization,51 it is imperative for the dictator to keep the oligarchs on side. Continuing support for the dictator may rely upon his pursuit of policies to which the oligarchs are committed. This may involve revolutionary transformation, as in the early Soviet and Chinese cases, or it may simply involve pursuit of the sorts of policies that will bring about popular pacification and therefore regime survival. But while these sorts of policies may be important, also significant can be the way that the dictator seeks to look after the personal interests of the elite. This can be in a negative form, in the sense that

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the dictator does not threaten the survival, perquisites and interests of the elite, or a positive form whereby the dictator actually facilitates the elite’s acquisition of material benefits. This latter is the essence of the idea of the ‘patronal president’ who oversees the satisfaction of the elite’s desires, and is at the heart of claims about the kleptocratic nature of such regimes as that of Zaire under Mobutu.52 We need not go to the extreme of labelling a system ‘kleptocratic’ to recognize that elites set out to feather their own nests and that personal dictators are not immune to this and usually seek to facilitate it in some fashion. In this sense their performance is judged not on the basis of public policy, but on looking after the interests of their colleagues. Nevertheless, it is still a focus on performance and, being central to the elite’s evaluation of the leader, constitutes a basis upon which personal power may rest.

4. Institutional position One of the most common arguments about leadership in authoritarian systems is that political institutions are of little importance. While the system may have formal institutions that purport to structure political life—constitutions, laws, cabinets, politburos, central committees, juntas—these generally possess little normative authority and impose little in the way of constraints upon political actors. Oligarchs collectively, or the strong man individually, are seen as exercising power without any effective institutional restraint, or if such restraints do operate, they are weak and pose little barrier to the exercise of power. This means that, within the oligarchy, institutions provide little protection for the oligarchs against an overbearing leader. Institutions can neither prevent a strong man from getting to the top, nor constrain his actions once he gets there.53 The institutions may be used instrumentally by a leader to establish and consolidate his position, but they possess no independent normative authority; they remain instruments able to be wielded by the person who is in charge. This question is discussed at greater length in subsequent chapters, but even if this image is correct, institutional control can be an important basis upon which a leader seeks to stand. Institutional position may be a strong basis for individual power because of the legitimacy vested in such institutions and because of the power resources that accrue to the post of institutional leadership. One of the most common such posts is that of the presidency, with many personal dictators being the president of their country. Like the prime ministership, this post is often acquired after the individual has achieved a position of personal power; it endows formal legitimacy and a constitutional sheen on the personal exercise of power which may have been gained through other means. But this is not always the case: a person could be elected president and then use that post to expand the powers he can exercise. For example, Hitler became Chancellor through legal means and then used this post

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massively to expand his authority, while many of the leaders of the post-Soviet Central Asian states also achieved the post of president and then consolidated dictatorial control, usually using the formal apparatus of the state to do so; popular referendum or decision of the legislature (whichever was officially required) to remove any constitutional term limits on the presidency was a common way of doing this. But such formal state positions are not the only ones that can be instrumental in personal dictatorship. In party regimes, party office is usually an important basis for personal dictatorship. This was especially the case in communist systems, where the leading position in the party was held by the leading figure in the regime. In noncommunist systems too the position of party leadership could be important because of the resources that institution possesses and the way in which key questions, especially about personnel issues, tend to be resolved within the party. Occupation of the leading position in the party is important because it involves direct control (exercised in part through close associates) over the central machinery of the party, including that of personnel disposition, which is used to consolidate personal power through the promotion of supporters into crucial posts. Control over the means of coercion is usually a sine qua non for the establishment and consolidation of personal rule. The most common form of this is control over the military and is reflected in the ascension to leadership of a military officer. A military regime is often headed by a single person and comes to power through a military coup. In this sense, control over the military is central to the acquisition of power, and the continuing support of the military is crucial to regime (and the dictator’s) survival. While the military’s role can differ from one regime to the next—there is often tension between the desire to retain some distance from civilian affairs in order to maintain the military’s professionalism and the imperative of becoming directly involved in public administration to ensure control and ‘efficiency’—its capacity to suppress opposition is an important guarantee of regime survival. The ability of people like Pinochet in Chile and Suharto in Indonesia to maintain the loyalty of the military even in the face of challenges was important for the maintenance of their rule. Another source of coercion that has been important for stabilizing personal rule has been the security apparatus.54 While few people were head of the security apparatus at the time they became the leader, some former security bosses have achieved that status.55

5. Oligarch agreement Fundamental to personal dictatorship is usually oligarch agreement. Such agreement may rest upon any of the bases of power discussed above, but whatever its basis, it is essential for the stability of any form of rule, including personal

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dictatorship. If the oligarchy agrees that the dictator is the one to exercise power, then while that agreement is sustained, his power is safe. Sustaining that agreement is therefore fundamental to securing the dictator’s continuing power, and therefore will be dependent upon how well the dictator is perceived to be performing. Perceived failures of performance (whatever the agreed criteria are) can erode that agreement and render the dictator vulnerable. Reliance upon oligarch agreement alone can therefore be seen as having a potentially unstable quality. This will be particularly the case if the agreement involves oligarch compromise. This normally comes about when the oligarchy is divided over who should attain the top job. The result may be a compromise candidate, one who nobody really supported but most were willing to accept, and usually means the leader is quite weak, at least initially. Alternatively, it could mean that one of the preferred candidates is elevated, but some measures are put in place to limit what the new leader can do or to provide some compensatory benefit to the other candidate. An example of this was when Konstantin Chernenko became General Secretary in the USSR in February 1984, the unsuccessful candidate Mikhail Gorbachev was made unofficial second secretary and therefore putative successor. This sort of agreement that a particular leader should have primacy may be part of a broader agreement that underpins the regime as a whole. This is an agreement among the oligarchs and elite about the basic rules of the game of politics and can be seen as a foundational pact. The basic consensus and unity important for regime survival rests upon such a pact. That pact may be the result of a meeting or series of meetings where the basic rules structuring political life are explicitly worked out. More usually, those rules emerge out of the early functioning of the regime. As the regime begins to rule, the patterns of action evident in oligarch political life become established and thereby take on normative authority (see page 22). This working out of rules may involve coercion and conflict; the factional conflict in the Soviet Union in the 1920s is a good case of this, as is the consolidation of power by Lukashenka in Belarus in the 1990s. Or it may be more peaceful. When a new leader comes to power, especially if he is a dominant leader, some of the rules may be reworked. The importance of the foundational pact is that it is the basis for unity and consensus for the regime as a whole, and if it includes the sorts of provisions implied in the previous paragraph about the appropriateness of a particular leader, it can also sustain individual pre-eminence. Oligarch agreement is related to the way in which rules shape authoritarian politics.

On rules The essential argument of this book is that oligarch politics at the apex of authoritarian regimes is neither arbitrary nor shaped only by the power disposition within the oligarchy. It is rare that a leader is able to act in whatever way he wishes,

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regardless of all other considerations. At one level, all leaders are restrained by factors outside the control of the oligarchy. International geopolitics, the state of domestic political life, economic performance, natural disasters are simply some of the things that can impose constraints upon an authoritarian leader. But those are not the subject of this book. Oligarchs are also restrained by rules, or principles that structure action. There are two ways of looking at what rules do.56 First, rules constrain oligarchs by placing limits on the power they can wield, on what legitimately they may and therefore may not do. Examples of this include rules on who has (and therefore who does not have) the authority to make decisions, or how many terms a president may serve. Rules stop people from doing things. This sort of negative, constraining function of rules, their denial of the legitimacy of individual actors acting as potentially they may want, is the view that is consistent with the established focus on power as the key characteristic of dictatorial rule; the leader is a dictator because rules do not constrain him. Second is the other side of this negative function of rules, a positive function. Rules enable and structure action; they define what actors may legitimately do and how they may do it. Rules enable people to do things. The rules embody the patterns of action that structure the way members of the leadership interact. They are regularities that generate expectations about how it is appropriate to act, what it is appropriate to do, and maybe even what the consequences of not acting in this way are; their importance is less that they are a negative check and more that they organize behaviour in a certain way. They are central to the coordination of the activity of a political leadership. They may do this in a number of ways: a) Rules define individual official positions, and this normally includes the authority and responsibility that go with them, and perhaps also the resources associated with them. b) Institutional parameters are normally set by the rules. These will include how the institution actually operates (meeting timetables, procedures and powers) and sometimes the resources they possess. c) Rules create the policy space within which disagreement and coordination can occur by specifying what can be discussed by whom. The rules thus create an arena within which individual and joint activity is legitimate. While the ability to utilize the enabling capacity provided by the rules is rarely shared equally among all oligarchs—those in top leadership or coordinating positions possess organizational superiority over the others57 —they all possess some access to this. The rules and the expectations that they generate constitute the means for the coordination of the interactions of the members of the leadership as a whole. The different parts of the regime leadership—dictator, rank-and-file oligarchs, elite and

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their respective institutions—operate in a consistent fashion as a result of the coordinating capacity of these rules. Without the rules, the sort of coordination of dictator, oligarch and elites essential for a regime to maintain itself in power for an extended period of time would not exist. The need for this coordination of the upper levels of a regime means that such regularities are likely to continue to structure behaviour even when there is the sort of powerful dictator and accompanying atmosphere of uncertainty envisaged in the conceptions of authoritarian rule as already noted. This is explained in Chapter 9. The emergence of such regularities and resulting coordination of behaviour is inevitable if the group is to function as a collective entity over an extended period of time. The individuals need to coordinate their activity and accordingly appropriate rules are likely to emerge. Regularity in the patterns of action are fundamental to the maintenance of group cohesion, longevity, and capacity to act in an effective fashion, especially given their position at the apex of the governmentaladministrative machine. Such regularities may come about in a number of ways. They may be the result of a conscious decision by the oligarchs to impose certain principles upon their own actions. This may occur at the beginning of a regime’s life in a foundational pact when the leaders come together to discuss how politics should be constructed. The results of such discussions may be formalized in documents like state constitutions, party rules or official regulations. Conscious decisions to amend those rules may be made from time to time after the establishment of the regime, such as when there is a change in leader; such amendments may be codified in formal documents. Alternatively, rules might arise out of the constant iteration of patterns of action that began as ad hoc responses to the perceived need to act in certain ways. Once operative, such rules may become formalized in official documents, but this is not inevitable. They may remain simply part of the culture of the leadership group without being formally written down. Their presence is reflected in the frequent iteration of their substance. Particular rules will be adopted because they are deemed useful. These two ways in which rules emerge, by conscious decision and by more ad hoc response, is linked to the identification of two types of rule: formal and informal.58 Formal rules are found expressed in the official documents of the regime, the constitution, laws, regulations, and decisions of official bodies. Their expression in official documents is an overt statement of their formal status. They are meant to be normative in nature and apply to all actors. Informal rules, or norms, comprise assumptions about how one should act that are not codified in official documents. They exist through being carried out, and gain authority through repetition; the longer they structure action, potentially the stronger they become. The lack of codification is often a source of significant imprecision and a high level of flexibility in their application and can result in disagreement over what is actually meant. Ultimately, they may even find codification in an official rule, but this does not necessarily make them stronger. While informal norms are often means

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for implementing formal rules, there may also be tension between formal and informal rules; informal rules may facilitate the functioning of institutions, but they can also undermine them.59 Where such tension exists, it is likely that the informal rule is the more important, because if it was not it would in all likelihood disappear. Such informal rules find their analogue in constitutional systems in the form of constitutional conventions. In theory, rules may be either normative or prudential in nature. Normative rules are rules which are deemed to have normative authority, in the sense that actors accept that they should obey the rules because it is the right thing to do. There are two sources of such normative authority: a code of morality, and a formal document that has been accepted as foundational or fundamental for the system. The latter may be an expression of the former, but it is not in all cases. Normative rules are rules people obey because it is the right thing to do, because of a sense that this is the way they ought to act. Prudential rules are rules that people follow because they are unwilling to accept the consequences of not following them. In this case it is not that the rules have normative authority that is important (although they may; normative rules often also have a prudential dimension), but that the consequences of not following the rules are considered such that it is wiser to follow the rules than not. These are rules people follow to avoid punishment. In principle, there is a clear distinction between normative and prudential rules, but in practice the boundaries are blurred. This is often because a rule can change its nature over time, for example prudential rules may develop normative authority as a result of their having been followed for some time. But it can also be because rules, even those possessing normative authority, are not always followed, even in democracies; after all, every political actor has a choice whether to follow a rule or not. Powerful individuals will often get around, bend or break the rules in order to achieve what they want, and in so doing inject an element of flux into the distinction. This means that individual actors may not themselves always be clear about why they are following particular rules or what they are doing in terms of those rules. For example, does the fact that a normative rule is broken mean that it has lost all normative authority, or is it simply a single instance of a normative rule not being obeyed? This can also make it difficult for the observer to be certain about the nature of a particular rule at a particular time and even whether rules exist. When rules are not formally codified in documents, their existence must be inferred from either what political actors say or what they do. If there are patterns of action sustained over time, it is highly likely that rules exist in the minds of the oligarchs. Even if these did not exist before those patterns took hold, simply through iteration of the action expectations about how to behave emerge and become embedded as rules. This means that the best evidence for the existence of rules is the iteration of particular actions by individual and group political actors over time. No threshold can be identified beyond which a rule is sure to exist, but the more

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extensive the iteration of action, the more likely a rule is to be functioning. Review of regimes over the long term is therefore the best approach to this question of establishing whether rules are in effect, even recognizing that over time rules can change. But establishing that a rule exists does not at the same time necessarily make clear what type of rule it is. Codification in a formal document is ipso facto evidence for its normative character (at least in aspiration), but this is not proof that this is the way that individual political actors necessarily see it. And when a rule is not written down, we do not even have that guide. Nevertheless, despite these difficulties, observation of how authoritarian leaderships seem to work confirms consistent patterns of action and therefore that such rules do exist. This book will explore how this works in a number of different authoritarian regimes. In contrast, much of the discussion of authoritarian regimes argues that rules do not exist because of the absence of any external authority to enforce observance of rules on the dictator who is constrained only by credible threat of removal should he seek to expand his power.60 It is true that there is usually no authority outside the oligarchy that can enforce observance of rules, or at least sanction the breaking of those rules. However, it is not clear that people generally obey rules only because of fear of the sanctions they may face by disobeying. Most of the time people follow rules because they accept the legitimacy of those rules, perhaps because they recognize that following the rules is in the common interest. People obey because it is the right thing to do—it is the appropriate way to act. Such common understandings depend for their relevance and power not on external enforcement, but upon general agreement that they constitute guidance to appropriate behaviour. The same logic applies to the oligarchs: general acceptance of the rules and the positive benefits that flow from acting in accord with them encourage observance of those rules despite the absence of an external enforcement authority. Similar considerations can apply to the dictator. Both the coordination needs of the regime and the personal security of all of the oligarchs (including the dictator) can be met through observance of the rules. This common agreement does not have to rest upon a principled acceptance of the rule of law, but can rest on the crude power politics assumption that acceptance of the rules of the game is the best way to avoid the Hobbesian war of all against all. It may also rest on the conviction that the resulting coordination of behaviour can bring more effective rule. So the potency of rules in authoritarian regimes stems from their acceptance by the oligarchs, not from enforcement by an external authority. There are three basic tasks that must be performed for a leadership both to survive in power and to operate effectively. The first is to organize how the oligarchy conducts its business. The essence of this task is the structuring of the relations and interactions among the individual oligarchs. This involves not just how disputes between them are resolved, but how the day-to-day interactions among them are conducted. Are they, as the established view outlined earlier suggests, based on

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fear, antagonism and (suppressed) conflict, or are they more peaceful and consensual? The second task is to organize the relationship between the oligarchs and those outside the oligarchy, especially the broader elite, but also other aspects of the upper reaches of the regime. This includes institutions, and relates directly to the question of how independent the oligarchy is from constraints external to it. The third task relates to how the oligarchy itself is constituted. It includes not just who becomes a member of the oligarchy but how, and includes the question of the succession to the leading post. These three tasks, which clearly overlap, are crucial to regime and oligarch survival; failure, particularly prolonged, could have dire implications for the oligarchy and the regime. Other tasks the regime must perform—for example, policy delivery, dealing with challenges from below—are also crucial to survival, but they are dependent upon stability at the upper levels of the regime, which in turn depends upon the successful resolution of these three tasks. Rules enable the performance of these tasks through the coordination of the leadership. These tasks correspond to three types of rule: • Operational rules, comprising decision rules and comportment rules, govern both the way the regime makes decisions and the interactions among individual oligarchs, including the leader. • Relational rules govern the relationship between the oligarchy and various other forces, including the elite, institutions and policy. • Constitutive rules concern how the oligarchy is constituted, on what basis people enter and leave, and how leadership succession is handled. These types of rules are closely interrelated, may work in cross-cutting ways, and in one form or another are present in all regimes. In seeking to discover how rules work in authoritarian regimes, this study has been structured in the following way. The initial focus of attention is two communist single-party regimes, the Soviet Union (1917–91) and China (1949-). The concentration on Communist Party regimes is unusual in the authoritarian politics literature (although these are foci of attention for Svolik), but it has a number of significant advantages. First, Communist Party regimes are generally acknowledged as at both the narrow and ‘hard’ end of authoritarian regimes: narrow in that their politics was exclusivist in the sense of being highly centralized with a strict limit on who could play a part in political life, hard in that they were believed to be highly coercive and lacking freedom. If the literature discussed above is correct in the way in which it has characterized leadership in authoritarian regimes, these Communist Party regimes would appear to be archetypical, and if rules were found here, there would therefore be a high likelihood that they would also be present in ‘wider’ and ‘softer’ regimes.61 Second, both of these regimes experienced periods of a dominant leader and a predominant leader, so they provide scope for

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a bounded comparison of rules under these different types of leadership. Third, their long duration enables us to see the fate of rules over an extended period of time, something which gives scope for observance of the repeated replication of patterns of action that indicate the operation of rules that have been noted. Fourth, these were two of the longest lasting authoritarian regimes of the twentieth century (only matched by the PRI regime in Mexico), and given that most authoritarian regimes fall as a result of splits within the leadership, their survival provides an opening for us to examine the link between rules and regime longevity. In addition, in both cases there is a substantial secondary literature, some of it based on archival sources, which provides material upon which the analysis can rest. Given the difficulty of penetrating the inner workings of even regimes that profess transparency, this is even more difficult in cases like these where secrecy has been paramount. The elapse of time has enabled more information to come out than is generally the case with more contemporary regimes. Their experience will be examined in Chapters 2, 3 and 4. The focus on looking at rules in relation to Communist Party regimes is also unusual. A significant part of the literature dedicated to such regimes and their leaderships has been to focus upon the role and power of the leader. This has in part been because of the significance individuals have had in shaping these regimes: Vladimir Lenin, Joseph Stalin, Mao Zedong and Deng Xiaoping were all larger than life figures and played major roles in shaping their respective countries’ political trajectories. But as well as these leaders, the dynamic of leadership politics in both countries had other drivers (such as policy and institutional interest), and while some of those have received some attention, there has been little regard given to the role of rules in structuring that politics. By focusing on and elaborating the rules, this study offers a new way of understanding how these two Communist Party regimes operated. In the analysis of the two communist systems 29 rules have been identified: eight operational rules, 11 relational rules, and ten constitutive rules. These rules are listed in the Appendix to this chapter. Chapter 2 will explain the operational rules and outline the way they functioned in the two communist single-party regimes. Chapter 3 will discuss the relational rules and Chapter 4 the constitutive rules and how they operated in the Soviet and Chinese systems. The following three chapters will examine the extent to which these rules emanating from the communist experience operate in other types of political system. Chapter 5 concentrates on military regimes, specifically the corporate military regime. This shares with the communist single-party regime the characteristics of narrowness and hardness, and this provides an excellent basis for comparison between the two. The focus is on corporate military regimes because the non-corporate regimes have tended to have a dominant leader and therefore are subsumed within that regime category in Chapter 7. Three Latin American regimes

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are analysed: Brazil (1964–85), Chile (1973–88) and Argentina (1976–83). The relative longevity of two of these regimes compared with the average duration of this regime type given by Geddes on page 7 provides the long-term opportunity to see the rules operating, while the overlap in time and common geographical location62 facilitates comparison. And these regimes operated in very different ways, again providing a good basis for comparison. Chapter 6 focuses on dominant or EA party regimes. Although they share the political party as an institution with the communist single-party regime type, the EA party form is very different, including in its structure and its relationship with the populace. Nevertheless, the fact that the central institution in both is the party provides a basis for comparison. Accordingly, attention will be given to two EA regimes, to see how the competitive environment and somewhat looser party structure is reflected in the rules that apply. The two regimes upon which the chapter focuses are Mexico under the PRI (1929–2000) and Mahathir’s Malaysia (1981–2003). They were sufficiently long-lasting to provide an opportunity to see the operation of rules over the long run and provide a presidential/prime ministerial contrast. Personal and dynastic monarchical regimes will be the focus of Chapter 7. The two personal regimes upon which there is most emphasis are Belarus under Lukashenka (1993–current) and Russia under Putin (2000–current). While these regimes work in different ways, both have dominant leaders, although Lukashenka seems more dominant domestically than does Putin, and both share a common Soviet background. Dynastic monarchies, principally in the Arabian peninsula, are dealt with more briefly, chiefly because although this has been a particularly longlasting form of government, it is unlikely that this particular form will expand in numbers in the future. Chapters 8 and 9 examine the relationship between rules, institutions and power, and argue that the differences in the way in which the rules function in the different regimes are related to the varying institutional structures of those regime types and the power disposition within the oligarchy. Chapter 8 will examine the effect that institutions have on rules and how they operate. It will explain how different institutional structures, and thereby regime types,63 affect the rules by showing which rules are most compatible with the different regime types. The chapter shows that the institutional structure of the regime can have a direct impact in shaping which rules apply and how they operate. Those regimes with a diarchic structure—military and EA regimes—have more room for the operation of those rules enabling oligarch activism and autonomy, while the nature of the leading institutional structures (hierarchy, discipline and professional ethos of the military, the looser structure and ideological nature of the party) shapes how such activism takes place. In personal dictatorships there is less institutional room for these sorts of rules. Thus despite the claim that institutions are not particularly

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relevant in authoritarian systems, the institutional nature of the leading institution of the regime directly shapes the existence and application of rules in these systems. Chapter 9 looks at the relationship between the rules and patterns of power disposition in the oligarchy, explaining why rules are a more important means of explaining authoritarian leadership politics than a focus purely on power and its disposition. This is done mainly by examining the strategies employed by individual leaders and the strategies and tactics used by oligarchs to both maintain and expand their power, and associates these strategies and tactics with the rules. This highlights the way in which power relations within the oligarchy are mediated in part through the rules and how those rules may themselves be shaped in their operation by the power disposition among the oligarchs. It also shows how, when the constraining effect of rules on a dictator is limited because of his power, the enabling and coordinating function of the rules continues to apply. A Conclusion summarizes the arguments, links the rules with the question of regime duration, and shows how failure to observe the rules led to the collapse of two of the regimes studied in this book. One caveat is in order. This study focuses upon regimes that have been longlived; even in the shortest surviving category, military regimes, two of the three regimes analysed here have remained in power longer than the average military regime (see Conclusion). Given their longevity, these regimes constitute the best possible cases for an argument about the existence of rules. Of course they also provide most scope for the observation of such rules, which is why they have been chosen. It is, in theory, possible that regimes of shorter duration lack such rules; indeed, it may be that the weakness or absence of such rules contributes to the demise of such regimes. However, if the argument about the importance of the coordinating role played by the rules is correct, we would expect that, once established, a regime would be characterized by the emergence of such rules, with the longer the regime lasted, the more likely rules were to become embedded and play the important coordinating role needed for regime functioning. However, this is ultimately a matter for empirical verification. Nevertheless, by showing that the rules exist in these particular cases, this book suggests that the common interpretation of authoritarian leadership politics emphasizing uncertainty, violence and conflict as the key characterizing qualities must be seriously qualified. Uncertainty, violence and conflict can occur in authoritarian polities, but in most cases the day-to-day politics of the leadership is structured rather more by following rules than by a continual concern for a Hobbesian struggle for power.

APPENDIX A

List of the Rules Operational Rules 1. There is a defined official locus of decision-making. 2. One leader will emerge as the most powerful individual in the oligarchy and enjoy personal authority, prerogatives and a degree of autonomy. 3. The collective discussion of issues is acceptable, including challenging the dictator’s views on individual questions, but there should be no challenge to the dictator’s position or authority. 4. The rank-and-file oligarchs enjoy a realm of activity autonomous from the leader. 5. Disagreement among rank-and-file oligarchs is acceptable as long as it is kept within bounds. 6. Factions are acceptable providing they are underpinned by clear understandings about how they can behave. 7. Oligarchs enjoy security of tenure and possessions. 8. Despite the presence of differences within the oligarchy at various times, there is a strong ethos of unity; consensus underpins the stable conduct of oligarch life. Relational Rules 9. The broader elite must have a meaningful role in the system. 10. While there should be no independent intervention into oligarch affairs by the elite, individual oligarchs may mobilize support within the elite on a limited basis. 11. Occupation of a formal leadership office may be an important resource for the dictator in creating, strengthening and exercising his power. 12. Personal authority is a major resource for a leader and can assist him in enhancing his power. 13. While a leader will seek to consolidate his position so he is not vulnerable to removal, this will not necessarily involve an attempt to maximize his power relative to that of his colleagues. 14. Leading formal political institutions may get sidelined, especially when there is a dominant leader, but if so they are likely to be replaced by informal procedures that, over time, gain some regularity. 15. Although some leading oligarch institutions may be sidelined or atrophy, those institutions exercising administrative functions continue to operate in a regular fashion. 16. Elite institutions can constitute a power base for individual oligarchs in the course of oligarch politics. 17. The security services do not play a major independent role in oligarch affairs. 18. Policy is an acceptable cause of oligarch disagreement. 19. Formal legal principles are more likely to have instrumental than normative significance.

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Constitutive Rules 20. Members of the oligarchy are co-opted by that oligarchy rather than being propelled into it from below. 21. Personal support/factional affiliation is a central consideration in shaping membership of the oligarchy. 22. Institutional position is not a major determining factor in gaining membership of the oligarchy. 23. There are usually no explicit fixed terms of office, but where there are, they may be ineffective. 24. The leader will try to transfer power to a personally chosen successor. 25. Institutional position may be an important shaper of succession outcomes. 26. The succession is decided overwhelmingly within the oligarchy, with the elite having a limited role. 27. Factional conflict frequently erupts around the succession issue. 28. Policy is often an important factor structuring the succession process. 29. Succession is not normally a matter of life or death.

Notes 1. The two classic studies are Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism (London, Andre Deutsch, 1986, originally published 1951) and Carl J. Friedrich and Zbigniew K. Brzezinski, Totalitarian Dictatorship and Autocracy (Cambridge [Mass], Harvard University Press, 1956). 2. For example, Raymond Aron, Democracy and Totalitarianism (London, Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1968), Samuel P. Huntington and Clement H. Moore (eds), Authoritarian Politics in Modern Society: The Dynamics of Established One-Party Systems (New York, Basic Books, 1970), and Leonard Schapiro (ed), Political Opposition in One-Party States (London, Macmillan, 1972). 3. For the classic study of military politics, see Samuel Finer, The Man on Horseback: The Role of the Military in Politics (London, Pall Mall, 1962). Also Samuel Decalo, Coups and Army Rule in Africa (New Haven, Yale University Press, 1976); Eric A. Nordlinger, Soldiers in Politics. Military Coups and Governments (Englewood Cliffs, Prentice Hall, 1977); and Alfred Stepan, Rethinking Military Politics: Brazil and the Southern Cone (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1988). Finer actually concentrates on military intervention but has an important discussion of the nature of military organization. 4. Francis Fukuyama, The End of History and the Last Man (London, Penguin, 1992). 5. An exception is the important work of Milan W. Svolik, The Politics of Authoritarian Rule (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2012). 6. The male personal pronoun has been used because historically the overwhelming majority of dictators have been male. 7. For example, Bruce Bueno de Mesquita and Alastair Smith, The Dictator’s Handbook: Why Bad Behavior Is Almost Always Good Politics (New York, Public Affairs, 2011), esp. pp.1–4.

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8. Svolik (2012) and Barbara Geddes, Joseph Wright and Erica Frantz, How Dictatorships Work: Power, Personalization, and Collapse (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2018). 9. This can take the form of a purge of some of the erstwhile supporters. Bueno de Mesquita and Smith (2011), p.59 and Geddes, Wright and Frantz (2018), pp.69–70. 10. Svolik (2012), p.2. 11. Geddes, Wright and Frantz (2018), p.66. 12. Svolik (2012), p.15. 13. Svolik (2012), pp.15 and 16. 14. Svolik (2012), p.78. 15. Svolik (2012), Chapter 4. For an argument about the structuring role of “norms of collective action” in institutions, see Carles Boix and Milan W. Svolik, ‘The Foundations of Limited Authoritarian Government: Institutions, Commitment, and Power-Sharing in Dictatorships’, The Journal of Politics 75, 2, 2013, pp.300–316. 16. For extended discussions of these institutions, see Jennifer Gandhi, Political Institutions under Dictatorship (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2008) and Jason Brownlee, Authoritarianism in an Age of Democratization (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2007). Also Jennifer Gandhi, Ben Noble and Milan Svolik (eds), ‘Authoritarian Legislatures’, Special Issue, Comparative Political Studies 53, 9, 2020. 17. Jennifer Gandhi and Adam Przeworski, ‘Cooperation, Cooptation and Rebellion under Dictatorships’, Economics and Politics 18, 1, 2006, pp.1–26; Jennifer Gandhi and Adam Przeworski, ‘Authoritarian Institutions and the Survival of Autocrats’, Comparative Political Studies 40, 11, 2007, pp.1279–1301; Stephen Haber, ‘Authoritarian Government’, Barry R. Weingast and Donald A. Wittman (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Political Economy (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2006), pp.701–707 and Bruce Bueno de Mesquita, Alastair Smith, Randolph M. Siverson and James D. Morrow, The Logic of Political Survival (Cambridge [Mass], The MIT Press, 2003). 18. Boix and Svolik (2013); and Beatriz Magaloni, ‘Credible Power-Sharing and the Longevity of Authoritarian Rule’, Comparative Political Studies 41, 4/5, 2008, 715–741. Boix and Svolik (2013) also suggest that institutions can maintain norms of collective action which can constrain both the dictator and his allies. 19. Anne Meng, Constraining Dictatorship: From Personalized Rule to Institutionalized Regimes (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2020). 20. Meng (2020), p.3. 21. Meng (2020), p.4. 22. Boix and Svolik (2013) are more ambiguous in this regard because they also refer to bodies like the cabinet or politburo which are essentially oligarch institutions. 23. The argument about the structuring of the succession is not problematic and is consistent with the findings of other scholars. See, for example, Erica Frantz and Elizabeth A. Stein, ‘Countering Coups: Leadership Succession Rules in Dictatorships’, Comparative Political Studies 50, 7, 2017, pp.935–962. 24. Prime examples are Brownlee (2007) and Dan Slater, Ordering Power. Contentious Politics and Authoritarian Leviathans in Southeast Asia (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2010).

on authoritarian leadership 25. 26. 27. 28.

29.

30. 31. 32. 33.

34.

35. 36. 37. 38.

39.

40.

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Geddes, Wright and Frantz (2018), respectively pp.66, 66, (sic) 68, 72, 74 and 92–93. Svolik (2012), pp.15 and 64. Geddes, Wright and Frantz (2018), p.65. Gandhi (2008), pp.13–16. Some qualifications are needed here. First, in some of those periods of dictatorial rule, a country may have had more than one regime. This cannot be identified from the figures. Second, there were four periods that began less than 10 years before 2002 and these may have been extended on to reach 10 years but were cut off by the end of the period of analysis. These have been excluded from my figures. Barbara Geddes, Paradigms and Sand Castles. Theory Building and Research Design in Comparative Politics (Ann Arbor, The University of Michigan Press, 2003), p.78. Her analysis is actually more complex than a crude citing of the figures on page 7 would suggest. For example, see Benjamin Smith, ‘Life of the Party. The Origins of Regime Breakdown and Persistence under Single-Party Rule’, World Politics 57, 3, 2005, p.426. For example, see Axel Hadenius and Jan Teorell, ‘Pathways from Authoritarianism’, Journal of Democracy 18, 1, 2007, p.150. As, for example, in Bueno de Mesquita and Smith (2011). A leader’s strategies are discussed in Chapter 9. Svolik does mention succession rules in China, but only as a means of arguing that the basis upon which these rules rest was relative power disposition. Svolik (2012), pp.91–93. This is discussed in Chapter 9, note 8. Linz defined authoritarian regimes as ‘political systems with limited, not responsible, political pluralism, without elaborate and guiding ideology, but with distinctive mentalities, without extensive nor intensive political mobilization, except at some points in their development, and in which a leader or occasionally a small group exercises power within formally ill-defined limits but actually quite predictable ones’. Juan J. Linz, Totalitarian and Authoritarian Regimes (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 2000), p.159. The definition was originally published in 1975. In contrast, totalitarian regimes had no pluralism, a developed ideology, extensive political mobilization, and a dominant and arbitrary individual leader. This is the basis, for example, for Gandhi’s use of the absence of competitive elections to define dictatorships. Gandhi (2008), pp.7–10. Svolik (2012), p.21. Geddes (2003). The precise definition of a party is a vexed question, although there is common acceptance of what one is. This minimalist definition is based on, but differs from, that of Giovanni Sartori. Giovanni Sartori, Parties and Party Systems. A Framework for Analysis (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1976), pp.58–64. For the classic study, see Steven Levitsky and Lucan A. Way, Competitive Authoritarianism: Hybrid Regimes After the Cold War (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2010). See respectively Levitsky and Way (2010), p.16 and Andreas Schedler, The Politics of Uncertainty. Sustaining and Subverting Electoral Authoritarianism (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2013), pp.105–107.

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41. For the distinction, see Michael Herb, All in the Family. Absolutism, Revolution, and Democracy in the Middle Eastern Monarchies (Albany, State University of New York Press, 1999), pp.8–9, 235–236 and passim. Not all monarchs in the Gulf are actually called kings—some are called emir, or prince—but the term ‘king’ will be used here for simplicity. Herb (1999), p.xvii. The dynastic monarchies of the Gulf are Bahrain, Kuwait, Qatar, Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates. On monarchy, see Francis Oakley, Kingship (Oxford, Blackwell Publishing, 2006). 42. For an interesting checklist of criteria for establishing whether a regime is personalist or not, see Jessica L.P. Weeks, Dictators at War and Peace (Ithaca, Cornell University Press, 2014), p.39. For a set of ‘variables’ of personalism, see Geddes, Wright and Frantz (2018), pp.79–82. 43. Oligarchs and elite are not the only actors who can influence politics at the top of authoritarian regimes. Such actors as civil society organizations, opposition groups, professional groupings (such as economists) and foreign states (through their locally based ambassadors) are examples of groups which may be able to influence domestic politics. However, the main shaper of domestic politics on a continuing basis is the dynamic within and between the oligarchs and the elite, which constitute the focus of this book. 44. Jeffrey A. Winters, Oligarchy (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2011) , p.6 and Chapter 1 more generally. 45. This means that the term ‘oligarchy’ is not used to refer to a particular type of political system. 46. For example, in the Soviet case the highest group were the full members of the Politburo who were also Central Committee (CC) secretaries, followed by full members who were not secretaries, candidate members who were also CC secretaries, candidate members who were not secretaries, and other CC secretaries. 47. The predominant–dominant distinction is similar to Svolik’s ‘contested autocracy’— ‘established autocrat’ distinction. Svolik (2012), p.6. 48. On charisma, see Max Weber, Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology (Berkeley, University of California Press, 1978), vol.1, pp.241–254 and 1157; also the excellent study Ann Ruth Willner, The Spellbinders. Charismatic Political Leadership (New Haven, Yale University Press, 1984). There is an enormous literature on charisma. 49. On the cult of personality, see Balazs Apor, Jan C. Behrends, Polly Jones and E.A. Rees (eds), The Leader Cult in Communist Dictatorships: Stalin and the Eastern Bloc (Basingstoke, Palgrave Macmillan, 2004) ; Klaus Heller and Jan Plamper (eds), Personality Cults in Stalinism (Gottingen, V&R unipress, 2004) ; Frank Dikotter, How to be a Dictator: The Cult of Personality in the Twentieth Century (London, Bloomsbury Publishing, 2019). There are numerous studies of individual cults. For example, Jan Plamper, The Stalin Cult: A Study in the Alchemy of Power (New Haven, Yale University Press, 2012) ; Anita Pisch, The Personality Cult of Stalin in Soviet Posters, 1929–1953: Archetypes, Inventions & Fabrications (Canberra, ANU Press, 2016) ; Geremie R. Barme, Shades of Mao: The Posthumous Cult of the Great Leader (Armonk, M.E. Sharpe, 1996) ; Daniel Leese, Mao Cult: Rhetoric and Ritual in China’s Cultural Revolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011).

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50. On the decline in popular support as a factor encouraging a move against ‘patronal presidents’, see Henry E. Hale, Patronal Politics: Eurasian Regime Dynamics in Comparative Perspective (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2015). 51. For some figures, see Svolik (2012), pp.4–5. 52. It has also been claimed that this type of system has existed under Putin in Russia. See Karen Dawisha, Putin’s Kleptocracy: Who Owns Russia? (New York, Simon & Schuster, 2014). 53. However, note Svolik’s qualification about institutions being important if there is an approximate balance of power within the oligarchy. Svolik (2012), Chapter 4. 54. For one study, see Sheena Chestnut Greitens, Dictators and Their Secret Police: Coercive Institutions and State Violence (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2016). 55. Even in non-dictatorial systems this can occur, e.g. George H. W. Bush was director of the CIA for 12 months from January 1976. 56. This distinction is similar to that between positive and negative liberty. Isiah Berlin, Four Essays on Liberty (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1969). 57. Michael Mann, The Sources of Social Power. Volume 1. A History of Power from the Beginning to A.D. 1760 (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1986), pp.6–7. On the collective and coordinative nature of power, see Mann (1986), Chapter 1. 58. This sort of distinction has been acknowledged by some students of contemporary Russia but without trying to identify particular rules. For example, Anna Arutunyan distinguishes between a legal rational state (‘the rule of law’) and a patrimonial state (the ‘living law’ or the realm of ‘understandings’); Richard Sakwa’s ‘dual state’ consists of the ‘constitutional state’ and the ‘administrative regime’. Respectively, Anna Arutunyan, The Putin Mystique: Inside Russia’s Power Cult (Newbold-on-Stour, Skyscraper Publications, 2014), esp. pp.5 and 207 and ch.17; and Richard Sakwa, The Crisis of Russian Democracy: The Dual State, Factionalism and the Medvedev Succession (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2011). 59. Anna Grzymala-Busse, ‘The Best Laid Plans: The Impact of Informal Rules on Formal Institutions in Transitional Regimes’, Studies in Comparative International Development 45, 3, 2010, p.311. 60. Geddes, Wright and Frantz (2018), p.68 and Svolik (2012), p.100. 61. It may be argued that these regimes were highly bureaucratic and more likely to generate rules than less bureaucratized systems and therefore they would be not a good model for other types of authoritarian regimes. However, for the first three and a half decades of each regime’s life, the principal emphasis in the literature has been much more on the power of the single leader than on the regularity of bureaucratic processes, and as the following analysis will show, rules were present during this initial three and a half decades in both countries. 62. Primary emphasis is given to Latin American regimes because of the prominent place regimes from this region have in analyses of military rule. This reflects the fact that ‘for a variety of geo-political reasons’ military regimes ‘have been most prominent’ in this region. Natasha Ezrow and Erica Frantz, Dictators and Dictatorships: Understanding Authoritarian Regimes and their Leaders (New York, Continuum, 2011), p.174. 63. A regime is defined as that set of rules (formal and informal) and institutions that govern the way a political system works.

2 Operational Rules and Communist Single-Party Regimes Communist single-party systems were characterized by a ruling party that dominated the political system. In most cases this was the only party allowed, although in some countries including China one or more smaller parties were permitted to exist but played a strictly limited role in the political system and did not compete with the ruling Communist Party for power. The Communist Party was strictly hierarchical, highly centralized and tightly disciplined. It extended its tentacles into all aspects of society, such that rather than being an autonomous organization, the state machine was integrated into a single, coordinated structure with the party. Nor was there much room for autonomous civil society organizations, with party-sponsored bodies dominating the public space. Although differences could occur at all levels of the system, the overwhelming emphasis was one of unity and unanimity. The first type of rules to be examined are the ‘operational rules’. These concern the way in which oligarchs interact among themselves, including the making of decisions about policy. Clearly there is significant overlap with the other sorts of rules discussed in subsequent chapters, but these have a particular focus upon oligarch behaviour. Two types of operational rules exist: a decision rule about the formal location of decision-making, and comportment rules that relate to the way that the oligarchs are expected to behave.

a) Decision rule Any regime that seeks to function in an effective fashion must have an understanding of where the ultimate decision-making power lies, who should make those decisions, and how this should be done. State constitutions and the formal rules and regulations of political parties and other sorts of organizations always have an indication of the ultimate source of decision-making, although this is often obscured by the vesting of formal power in an assembly to which the ultimate decision-making centre is said to be responsible. Thus in many democracies, the power which is officially vested in ‘the people’ represented by a popularly Bridling Dictators. Graeme Gill, Oxford University Press. © Graeme Gill (2021). DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192849687.003.0002

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elected assembly in practice resides in an executive body like a cabinet. While the decisions of this body are usually ultimately translated into law through the assembly, the primary locus of decision-making is the cabinet. Identification of a centre of decision-making in this way effectively defines which individuals are eligible to participate in that process of sovereign decision-making. Almost inevitably, it is members of the designated organ who are the prime decision-makers, even if in practice there may be considerable fluidity surrounding the normative authority of the notional decision-making organ.

Rule 1. There is a defined official locus of decision-making All types of regime have an official locus of decision-making, an organ where the most important issues are meant to be resolved and which meets in a regular fashion. The accepted wisdom about authoritarian regimes is that formal, constitutional principles have no real standing in the way these regimes operate. They are purely decorative, lacking substantive importance and imposing no real constraints upon the way in which authoritarian oligarchs act. This was thought to be particularly the case with regard to the institutions of decision-making. While these regimes may have had a formally defined site of central decision-making, this was generally seen to be fictional, with real decisions being made in cliques of the dictator’s cronies or by the dictator himself, with the official body at best simply ratifying the decisions made. While this may sometimes reflect the actual situation, two qualifications are needed. First, this practice is also often evident in democratic systems where individual leaders and/or leading politicians may combine to act in ways that sideline the official institutions, such as coordinating before a cabinet meeting to ensure majority support for a particular point of view thereby circumventing formal cabinet powers, although it is likely that this sort of activity does not become as regularized as in authoritarian regimes. Second, the official institutions are not sidelined in every case, but in some authoritarian regimes continue to play a part in the decision-making process. The replacement of an official organ by more unofficial processes is discussed in relation to Rules 3 and 14 later. In principle, this rule builds in a sense of regularity to oligarch life. It specifies where the most important decisions are to be made and, by including a meeting timetable, when they should be made. This should, in theory, constrain all oligarchs by specifying under what conditions decisions can be made, a crucial part of the coordination of highest-level politics. But it also fulfilled the enabling function of the rules noted in Chapter 1: identification of the body, its membership and timetable legitimated collective discussion and organization on issues on the part of individual oligarchs; a defined membership establishes a right of involvement in key decisions on the part of people other than the dictator. This rule combined with a number of other rules to structure the apex of political power, in particular

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those relating to the emergence of a single leader (Rules 2 and 11), the collectivity of discussion (Rule 3), the role of factions (Rule 6) and those relating to the role of formal institutions and the law (Rules 14, 15 and 19). In the Soviet Union, in formal terms sovereignty lay with governmental/state institutions, but in practice it was, after an initial period, always clear that the party bodies were more important. In the party, the supreme body was said to be the party Congress and, from 1925, between congresses the Central Committee (CC).1 The primary role of the body which was considered to be the principal decision-making forum for the oligarchs, the Politburo (Presidium from 1952–66), was not explicitly stated in the party’s Rules; the formulation used at the time of its first mention in 1919 was, ‘The Central Committee forms [from 1925 ‘organises’ and from 1961 ‘elects’] a Political bureau for political work’; it ‘adopts decisions on questions requiring action’.2 In 1952 its task was said to be ‘leadership of the work of the CC [from 1986 “the party”] between plena’, and although it was effectively sidelined in the 1990 Rules, the Politburo remained formally the chief locus of decision-making throughout most of the life of the Soviet regime. In practice, following the establishment of the Politburo in 1919 and Lenin’s illness in 1922, the Politburo displaced the Council of People’s Commissars (Sovnarkom) as the primary source of central power and authority for the regime.3 The Politburo remained the primary centre of power and authority until the early-mid-1930s when a combination of declining meeting frequency and the convocation of other, less formal types of meeting discussed in Rules 3 and 14 effectively displaced the Politburo as a working decision-making organ. Although formally the newly created State Defence Committee (GKO)4 established in 1941 appeared to be a replacement for the Politburo in the war-time conditions, in fact it rarely met as a collective body and the same sort of informal meetings that had become common before the war remained central both during and after it. The Politburo was restored to primacy following Stalin’s death as his successors sought to entrench a principle of leadership collectivism into the system. While Khrushchev’s personal operating style (including reliance on non-Politburo members for advice) hindered the development of the institutional integrity of the Politburo, under Brezhnev its functioning became more institutionalized and regularized than it had ever been in the past. This trend was continued until Gorbachev’s reforms at the end of the 1980s transformed the whole system, including the Politburo, and effectively dismissed this body as a major decision-making centre. In China, party bodies were clearly dominant from the outset. The Politburo was acknowledged in the 1945 Constitution of the party as the ‘central directing organ of the Party and shall direct all its work’ between CC plena.5 At the Eighth Congress in 1956 this was changed such that between plena, the Politburo and the newly created Politburo Standing Committee (PSC) were to exercise the powers and functions of the CC,6 a formulation that was repeated in successive

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versions of the party Constitution. Because the CC possessed supreme power and authority between congresses, the Politburo and PSC were effectively formally acknowledged as the central decision-making hub of the party. We do not have data about the frequency of meeting of the Politburo prior to the Cultural Revolution (1966–69), but as a body it was partially supplanted by the PSC from 1956. There were also a series of other types of meetings that the oligarchs held that could play an important role in decision-making discussed in relation to Rule 3. The Cultural Revolution, temporarily, destroyed the Politburo. As the central political mechanism collapsed under the weight of Mao’s mobilization of forces from outside both the oligarchy and the formal system, the established decision-making procedures were displaced by a new dynamic centred upon Mao’s exercise of charismatic authority (Rule 2). Along with the newly formed Cultural Revolution Group, Mao sought to wield executive power in the chaos of the revolution he had unleashed and the collapse of the main decision-making organs. Following the Cultural Revolution, the former system was broadly re-established. The Ninth Congress in April 1969 restored the Politburo/PSC as the primary organ (they were to exercise the powers of the CC when this was not in session) and accelerated the process of rebuilding the party structure. The revival of the Politburo and the PSC continued to be hampered by the continuing personal dominance of Mao and, when he died, by Deng Xiaoping, but as procedures settled down into a more stable pattern, it was the PSC that re-emerged as the principal executive organ of the party and system, albeit functioning within the constellation of meeting types that had emerged in the 1950s (see the discussion of Rules 3 and 14). The Politburo and the PSC seem to have become much more central after Deng’s death, but this was more because of the disappearance of the personalized authority of the paramount leader than of any particular institutional imperative. Under the following leaders (Jiang Zemin June 1989–November 2002, Hu Jintao November 2002–November 2012 and Xi Jinping November 2012–), the elite and the leading organs seem to have acted in a more regularized fashion. Under Jiang, the PSC, Central Military Commission (CMC, sometimes called the Military Affairs Commission), Premier’s Office and State Council became more important sites of decision-making than the Politburo and Secretariat; the PSC only met twice monthly.7 The Sixteenth Congress in 2002 ushered in a greater degree of institutionalization of the leading party organs, including the expansion of the Standing Committee. This reflects an enhanced view of the supervisory roles it was to play.8 Such a strengthening of the role of the Standing Committee implies that the full Politburo may have functioned rather more as a ratifying body than a decision-making one. This would be consistent with the Politburo meeting around once a month.9 The publication of reports of Politburo meetings at this time, an innovation that had only occurred earlier for a brief period under General

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Secretary Zhao Ziyang (January 1987–June 1989), seemed to suggest an intention to convey the system as working in a regular and routine fashion.10 Following Hu, the institutional regularity of the Politburo and especially the PSC seems to have increased, although so too has the power of Xi Jinping personally, discussed in the next section. In both Communist Party systems formal decision-making centres existed as provided for in Rule 1, but they functioned within a broader constellation of bodies and processes discussed later (Rules 3 & 14). They did not always operate in a regular fashion; in both countries they had a much lower profile under a dominant leader (Stalin mid-1930s–1953, Mao 1949–76) than predominant leaders. When they functioned, they did constitute an arena within which the oligarchs could meet with the leader and, if they wished, question him and his policies. They could thus act as an enabling mechanism for the oligarchs both to remain abreast of the leader’s thinking and a forum within which they could seek to influence that thinking. Similarly for the leader, these institutions which the oligarchs were effectively compelled to attend—the numbers were so small that absences were bound to be noticed—constituted a means to keep a check on the activities and views of his colleagues. This sort of mutual scrutiny, embedded in the regularity of the institutions, was a potentially stabilizing factor in oligarch relations. Central to an understanding of the way in which the decision rule worked is an appreciation of the comportment rules which structured the way in which the oligarchs interacted and worked together. Like the decision rule, these could comprise a combination of formal rules codified in legal or constitutional documents and norms arising out of patterns of action. And given that the generation of such principles was usually a continuing process, there was not always complete consistency in the way they were applied over time.

b) Comportment rules In 1956 Nikita Khrushchev, who was one of Stalin’s leading colleagues in the postwar period, claimed that the oligarchs were scared of Stalin; he attributed the following comment to another oligarch, Nikolai Bulganin: ‘It has happened sometimes that you go to Stalin at his invitation as a friend. And you sit with Stalin but you do not know where you will be sent next: to home or to prison.’11 This was a manifestly self-serving claim, but that does not mean that it was not true. In most authoritarian systems there is likely to have been at least a wariness among the oligarchs with reference to the dictator, especially if that dictator had been associated with major events which had adversely affected the oligarchy as a collective: the purging of some Soviet Politburo members and the fate of many leaders in the Chinese Cultural Revolution were the types of experiences that would emphasize

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the potential vulnerability of the oligarchs to the whim of the dictator. But even if we allow for a sense of wariness, that does not encompass all possible patterns of oligarch activity. Important in shaping comportment rules is the general attitude of the dictator himself. If the dictator was to believe the sorts of claims for infallibility reflected in the various personality cults that developed around many of them, there would be little room left for the exercise of any individual autonomy by other oligarchs. However, in practice, few leaders appear to have believed the claims made about them, and it is certain that their colleagues knew that such claims were at least exaggerated. Thus, while it was important that everyone paid lip service to the cult and its claims, this need not prevent them from disagreeing with the dictator. The question is, under what circumstances was this acceptable, and how could it be conducted? This is where the enabling function of the comportment rules were important.

Rule 2. One leader will emerge as the most powerful individual in the oligarchy and enjoy personal authority, prerogatives and a degree of autonomy Authoritarian oligarchies almost inevitably have one member who is set apart from the rest and considered the leader of the regime, at the very least, primus inter pares.12 This person enjoys the deference of his colleagues, in the sense that they acknowledge him as leader, possessing certain rights and privileges that they do not share in full; they acknowledge his authority and are recognized as his subordinates. It is the extent of the deference, the rights and privileges that places a leader on the predominant–dominant spectrum; the closer to the dominant end, the greater the deference. Much of the literature sees this deference to the leader in purely prudential terms: the leader is the most powerful individual with the ability to promote, sack or even kill the other oligarchs, therefore they will adopt a loyal, deferential attitude to him purely because of the potential consequences of not doing so. This is the position reflected in Khrushchev’s remarks noted in the previous section. But deference need not stem (at least not alone) from fear: it can stem from recognition of the qualities of a leader, from friendship and admiration, from acceptance of the good job the leader is doing, from acknowledgement of the authority of the position he fills and, especially for later comers, from abiding by the patterns of behaviour within the oligarchy that have become legitimated over time. While distinguishing between these sources of deference is not easy, the operation of such deference is an important coordinating and stabilizing factor for the oligarchy: deferring to the leader can short circuit both political conflict and policy dispute. This sort of deference stemming from acceptance of the leader’s rightful authority reflects the rule’s enabling function for the leader and its constraining

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effect on rank-and-file oligarchs, and therefore its overall coordinating function in both communist regimes. This rule relates closely to those concerning the official leadership position (Rules 1 and 11), the nature of collective discussion and factional activity (Rules 3 and 6), a leader’s personal authority and urge to strengthen his position (Rules 12 and 13), and the circumstances of succession (Rules 24 and 26). In the Soviet Union, the leading position in the regime came to be the General Secretary of the Central Committee of the party. Of the two leading positions in the state, the president13 was largely ceremonial, while the prime minister ran the state machine and was, following Lenin’s incapacity in 1922 (up until which time Lenin was the predominant leader), overshadowed by the party position. The General Secretary position was successively filled by Joseph Stalin (1922–53; he was actually referred to simply as ‘secretary’ from 1934–53), Nikita Khrushchev (1953– 64; the post was called First Secretary between September 1953 and April 1966), Leonid Brezhnev (1964–82), Yuri Andropov (1982–84), Konstantin Chernenko (1984–85) and Mikhail Gorbachev (1985–91). Except for the period from the mid1930s until his death in 1953 when Stalin was a dominant leader, all of the leaders enjoyed predominant power. In China, Mao Zedong was the dominant leader from the establishment of the republic until his death (1949–76). His authority was charismatic rather than stemming from any position he filled. Following his death there was a couple of years where there was no predominant leader until Deng Xiaoping emerged. He exercised predominant leadership, mainly relying on charismatic rather than institutional power. Following his death, the predominant leader occupied a combination of positions, General Secretary of the party, state president, and chair of the Central Military Commission. These leaders were successively Jiang Zemin (1997–2002),14 Hu Jintao (2002–12) and Xi Jinpeng (2012–).15 Turning to the actual power of individual leaders, in the Soviet Union during the Leninist period, the oligarchs did not consider themselves subservient to Lenin. They acknowledged his leading position and his authority based on his role in the pre-revolutionary period and in 1917, but they were always willing to disagree with him when they believed he was wrong. Rather than meekly submitting to his will, they would argue with and criticize him, but when the leading party bodies made a decision, they accepted it, and in the overwhelming majority of cases, it was Lenin’s view that the party body adopted. During the 1920s following Lenin’s death (1924), the oligarchs showed deference to no one; common positions were worked out in factional gatherings and individuals supported those decisions in party bodies, but this was less due to deference than to factional agreement, and such collective rule soon gave way to another predominant leader, Stalin. By the 1930s victory in the factional conflicts of the 1920s meant that the nature of the membership of the oligarchy had changed. Rather than being comprised of party luminaries who had played a prominent part in the anti-tsarist struggle and

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the revolution, most of the members of the Politburo elected in July 1930 were second echelon figures. Most had not been prominent in either pre-revolution party life or in the revolution itself, and their main claim to office was their service to the party after the revolution. Furthermore, given the removal of the leading opposition figures, these had come into office at least with Stalin’s imprimatur and in most cases with his active support; they owed their positions to him. Although some of these were to suffer in the subsequent purges, most remained loyal supporters of Stalin, tied to his side by a combination of policy agreement, personal interest, and acceptance of Stalin’s authority. This means that from the outset there was a different relationship between the oligarchs and the predominant leader, with the former owing their positions to the latter to a much greater extent than had been the case under Lenin and in the 1920s. This does not mean that these people were Stalin’s creatures. They retained a degree of individual autonomy (see Rules 3, 4, 5 and 6) and at least early in this period when collectivization had set off rumbles of concern among the wider elite, Stalin did not completely trust the loyalty of all of his colleagues. They all had party careers behind them, and many of them had personal and friendly relations independent of their appointment to the centre. There were personal networks here that did not include Stalin and that facilitated intra-oligarchy interaction16 and which, potentially, could have provided a basis for concerted action against the leader. Stalin was also involved in personal networks; his personal closeness at this time to leading oligarchs, Molotov and Kaganovich (and until his death, Ordzhonikidze), was an important factor in the relationship between the leader and his oligarch colleagues. And with policy an important element (see Rule 18)—agreement on the broad lines of policy, especially industrialization and collectivization—this was a basis for the general policy consensus that underpinned oligarch unity. That unity, or at least the commitment to support Stalin, was probably strengthened by the suicide of Stalin’s wife Nadezhda Alliluyeva in 1932. This impetus for unity was also fuelled by the perception that any rumblings about collectivization potentially threatened them all because none of them had spoken out either against this as a policy or against Stalin’s attempt in 1930 to shift the blame for the problems encountered with collectivization onto the shoulders of regional officials (who were strongly represented in the CC).17 Also encouraging oligarch unity were the claims about the regime being beset by enemies, reflected in the trials of the Industrial Party (November–December 1930), the Mensheviks (March 1931) and the Metro-Vickers engineers (April 1933), the Ryutin affair of 1932,18 the Smirnov-Eismont-Tolmachev affair of 1932–33, and the 1933–34 party purge. Loyalty to Stalin, an unwillingness openly to criticize his policies and actions prevailed during this first half of the 1930s when he was the predominant leader. While in the 1920s Stalin’s views may have had no intrinsic primacy in oligarch deliberations (he was one of a number of party notables whose views conflicted,

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although as the decade wore on his views clearly became of increased importance), his acquisition of predominant and then dominant leader status in the 1930s made his opinions of much more importance to the other oligarchs. Deference to Stalin, in the sense of giving him the final say on policy, appears to have begun in the early-mid-1930s. Illustrative of the growing tendency to defer to Stalin was the practice adopted while he was away from Moscow. While on holidays, Stalin was kept abreast of what was happening in the capital, principally through letters exchanged, particularly with Kaganovich and Molotov,19 and also through phone calls. Given the tone of many of these letters, this was clearly seen by Stalin as a means for him to keep an eye on what his colleagues were doing in his absence. But those letters also show that his correspondents were intent on ensuring that Stalin did not gain the impression that they were trying to do anything behind his back. They were eager for collective meetings to take place, both because this gave them an opportunity to be involved in decision-making and to ensure a kind of collective responsibility in case Stalin objected to any decisions they made, even though they knew that decisions were ultimately subject to Stalin’s approval. Stalin seems to have approved of most decisions presented to him, but there were cases when he disagreed and overruled his colleagues.20 Generally, the material or decisions they presented to him were framed in terms they believed he would accept. From 1930 Stalin’s view was the one that carried most weight, and once he became dominant leader from the middle of the 1930s, he could basically decide whatever he liked, and the others would ultimately fall in behind him. The other oligarchs were always wary of upsetting Stalin. As will be indicated (Rule 3), many of them were not afraid to express counter opinions, but they sought to ensure that this could never be interpreted as a challenge to Stalin’s position. The problem for the oligarchs is that, especially as Stalin became more capricious and arbitrary from 1944, it was not always easy to tell where the line was between what Stalin would accept and what he would not. Sometimes this may have been determined simply by whether Stalin had read relevant documents or not or who had spoken to him last, something the other oligarchs would not necessarily have known. The result was that the oligarchs had to continue to play their role as leading Soviet politicians while at the same time taking care not to upset the leader. The strategies they could adopt to attempt this are discussed in Chapter 9. There was less oligarch deference to Khrushchev. In part this was because until 1957 a number of other oligarchs believed that they had as good as or better qualifications for leadership than he did, while after that date many of the policies he espoused did not have general oligarch support. But although there was not the level of personal loyalty or commitment that Stalin had enjoyed, Khrushchev was sustained by two immediate factors. First, the view that a first/general secretary was elected to do a job and he should be given some scope to do that. This meant that, almost regardless of his performance (as was to be evident in the late Brezhnev period), there was a reluctance to move against him. There was

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also the fact that this had not been done before, and the collective action problem facing plotters in conjunction with the First/General Secretary’s power seems to have sustained Khrushchev in the absence of the sort of oligarch deference Stalin had enjoyed. But his power to hire and fire, although seemingly restricted by the absence of a firm pro-Khrushchev bloc in oligarch circles, was a precautionary factor in shaping oligarch behaviour. While they frequently expressed differences with some of Khrushchev’s policies, until the successful coup in 1964 the post1957 oligarchs did not directly challenge Khrushchev’s position. Oligarch politics remained muted. In the case of Brezhnev, differences continued to be expressed mainly in an indirect fashion through the regular channels of party discussion (chiefly speeches and newspaper articles), and Brezhnev’s personal views do not appear to have carried decisive weight in all oligarch deliberations. His handling of the Politburo, with issues postponed if there was no consensus, means that he did not impose his views on reluctant colleagues. Acceptance of decisions probably owed much more to the principle of people having to unite behind a decision once it was made than it did to any personal deference to Brezhnev. In the last years of his life when he was medicated and clearly unable to perform his functions, there was no challenge to him, with Gorbachev being told explicitly that it was his responsibility to support the General Secretary, not to create trouble.21 As far as Gorbachev was concerned, it was the authority of his office combined with the perception that the General Secretary had licence to pursue certain policies he favoured that buffered him against the obvious rise of opposition among the oligarchs. One thing that is striking throughout this period is the continuing authority of the office of General Secretary. The broadly accepted principle that the General Secretary had a special responsibility and should be given significant scope to exercise that meant that an activist General Secretary like Gorbachev was given some licence by his fellow oligarchs to pursue what he thought needed to be done. This does not mean that they meekly submitted to his will. Rather they opposed him rhetorically and sometimes organizationally (by seeking to drum up support for their positions among lower-level party officials, especially those in the CC), but ultimately they bowed to his authority. Decisions which a majority on the body might have opposed, were nevertheless adopted. Clear examples of this include the resignation of 110 members of the CC and Central Auditing Commission in April 198922 and the measures to change the nature of the CC and Politburo in 1990. On some occasions Gorbachev was blocked—for example, his initial proposals for multi-candidate elections in the party at the January 1987 plenum23 —but this was usually only temporary. On other occasions, such as the April 1991 joint CC-CCC plenum,24 Gorbachev had to threaten to resign to get his way. Within the Politburo, debate was wide-ranging, and sometimes Gorbachev had to retract proposals he made,25 but on most occasions Gorbachev was able to

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achieve a general consensus, even if this did involve his opponents subordinating their real feelings. In China, the deference to Mao personally seems to have been much stronger than anything similar in the Soviet Union. His acknowledged role in the revolution and recognition of him as initially the most important source of ideological guidance for the regime—reflected in the reference to his ideas as the ‘guiding principles’ in the party Constitutions of 1945 and 1969—while he was alive elevated him and his judgement onto a level far above that of everyone else. From 1949, he was the ultimate authority and dominant leader (on the timing, see the discussion in Rule 3). He was not the source of all policy, but he was the one whose agreement (or at least absence of opposition) was needed for policy decisions to be adopted. The problem for the other oligarchs was that Mao was often prone to change his mind and to express his views in an ambiguous fashion, which made him difficult to read. Nevertheless he was the ultimate authority and in the 1950s was the main architect of broad regime policy. This was often despite policy disagreements with other oligarchs, who would express their views but, ultimately, would bow to Mao’s wishes. Even after he shifted to the ‘second line’ of leadership in 1959, he retained the right to approve policy made by the other oligarchs.26 This position as the ultimate arbiter and the one that everyone needed on side to win the policy debate remained until he died in 1976. All through, it was underpinned by both generalized feelings of deference and more specific high levels of personal loyalty to him on the part of leading oligarchs (who were also revolutionary veterans) including Zhou Enlai, Deng Xiaoping, Ye Jianying and Li Xiannian.27 It was this deference to Mao that sustained central authority as the system collapsed in the Cultural Revolution. Following Mao’s death in 1976 and the return to power of Deng Xiaoping, a predominant leader enjoyed high prestige and significant power. Deng, who died in February 1997, had played the role of ‘paramount’ leader whose authority stemmed from his revolutionary pedigree rather than from any formal office he held. His career had been both blighted and saved by Mao, and it was in part this that gave him a receptive constituency when he returned to political life in 1977. Deng exercised the same sort of personalized authority as Mao, although his power was less expansive. He was, nevertheless, the arbiter of political conflict and the final authority, in that when he chose to exert himself, the other members of the leadership would succumb; even a celebrated revolutionary like Chen Yun (who disagreed with Deng on aspects of economic policy) was willing to accept Deng’s authority,28 even if the veterans of which he was part liked to see themselves collectively as playing the role Deng played. When Deng was not being assertive, other leaders were able to push different agendas and to contradict him. This reflects in part his generally consultative style. But it also reflects the fact that when there were disagreements, they were about policy, not Deng’s position. After 1977, none of his colleagues sought to challenge Deng’s position or remove him. Deng sought

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to balance different groups within the leadership and to allow debate, with the intention of bringing these together in a form of consensus. Deng was thus central to the dynamics of collective leadership during this period. He exercised an effective veto over promotion and the appointment of party and state leaders, he worked to maintain the general unity of the elite, and he gave the sort of guidance that was needed for the system to hang together following the death of Mao. Deng and his personal authority were central to oligarch and to broader systemic stability, for example he supported the “hardliners” reaction to the demonstrations in Tiananmen Square in 1989, but then prevented the conservatives from becoming dominant by supporting those favouring the maintenance of reforms. He was not always consistent in his stated policy preferences, and his changes often created political problems for his supporters. But his authority was such that even this sort of inconsistency did not erode his position. The problem was that Deng’s exercise of personal power, reflected in the replacement of Hu Yaobang and Zhao Ziyang and the choice of Jiang Zemin along with his continued effect on policy, hindered both his designated successor Jiang’s capacity to consolidate his own power and the process of institutional development. Because his authority was personal, it did not rely upon an institutional basis, although his chairmanship of the CMC (and its associated links with the military) remained significant. The appointment of Jiang Zemin as General Secretary in 1989 while Deng continued as paramount leader meant that, although Jiang was the titular head, it was Deng who continued to enjoy effective authority. Jiang did not have either the revolutionary standing or history of party work that Deng had, and therefore lacked the personal authority that stemmed from such a background. Suspected by many of the conservatives, his main basis of power was Deng’s support, and yet Jiang displayed some initial ambivalence about economic reform policies. Nevertheless, following Deng’s demise, Jiang did both consolidate his position of power and continue to support reform. He became sufficiently powerful that he was able to continue to exercise significant influence after he was replaced by Hu Jintao in 2002, and to facilitate the succession to Hu by Xi Jinping in 2012. Thus, the death of the dominant Mao was followed by a series of predominant leaders: Deng Xiaoping, Jiang Zemin, Hu Jintao and Xi Jinping. These can be divided into two periods: Deng 1978–95, and Jiang, Hu and Xi 1995–present. These two periods were differently structured. In the case of Deng, his predominance (like Mao) rested overwhelmingly upon his personal authority rather than any institutional position he may have occupied, an authority that owed much to his revolutionary heritage. His three successors exercised authority chiefly as a result of their having been picked by their predecessors (or in Xi’s case by Jiang, the predecessor once removed) and through their occupation of the leading positions within the system. They did not belong to the revolutionary generation and therefore could not draw upon it for their authority. Indeed, with the death of Deng, the communist veneration of revolutionary participants ceased to be a

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factor in oligarch politics (although the traditional cultural veneration for the aged which had been an important basis upon which this communist variant had been able to stand did continue). Deng was less powerful than Mao had been, and his three successors were all less powerful than Deng, although Xi appears to have become the most powerful of these three. In both countries the leaders were also the object of systematic exaggerated praise, in the form of a cult of the leader. This was most extensive under Stalin and Mao, but also existed in paler form around Khrushchev, Brezhnev and Deng. These cults may have been important in terms of broad personal and regime legitimation, but they are unlikely to have been a major factor contributing to oligarch deference to the leader (although this may have been more important initially for new entrants into the oligarchy). Although they participated, often enthusiastically, in the public praise, they would have been unlikely to have believed the claims being made for the leader because of their knowledge of him personally. Thus although discursively the cult may have enhanced the leader’s power by containing the oligarchs’ rhetoric to formulaic statements, it is unlikely to have enhanced his authority. While it may have been an expression of deference to rightful authority, it probably did not greatly enhance the leader’s actual power among the oligarchs. In both the Soviet Union and China, therefore, notional leaders emerged and enjoyed a level of personal authority not shared by the other oligarchs. It was this that elevated them into the position of primacy they enjoyed.

Rule 3. The collective discussion of issues is acceptable, including challenging the dictator’s views on individual questions, but there should be no challenge to the dictator’s position or authority No dictator, regardless of how powerful he is or how hard he works, can make all the decisions necessary nor keep abreast of what is happening in all policy areas. Even a dictator who wanted to do everything himself would be physically unable to do so. Furthermore, disagreement on issues is inevitable. Given that all oligarchs, including the dictator, are likely to be both ambitious and desirous of remaining central to the regime’s functioning, there is a strong imperative providing for the collective discussion of issues. There is a variety of forms in which regimes have structured such discussion: 1) Regular discussion in a formal body that meets according to a set timetable and has established rules of procedure governing the raising of issues and their resolution. The Soviet Politburo in the 1920s and early 1930s and after Stalin’s death, and China’s Politburo Standing Committee are instances of this. 2) Regular discussion on an informal basis. This may also develop rules of procedure and become institutionalized while continuing to lack its own formal identity. A good example of this is the way that the Soviet Politburo was displaced from the

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early-mid 1930s until Stalin’s death by meetings in Stalin’s office. These meetings seem to have been supported organizationally by the CC Secretariat (which had performed the same role for the Politburo), and decisions that were arrived at were generally issued in the name of the Politburo. In China, an example is the frequent summer leadership gatherings at a resort, which could continue over two months. These involved not just the oligarchs, but members of the elite (from the capital, the provinces and the military) more generally and were an important way of thrashing out issues and arriving at decisions. In all systems, leaders utilized ‘kitchen cabinets’, meetings of people they trusted to talk over issues and arrive at solutions, which were often then placed before the formal leadership body. Formal social occasions, like national days or receptions for visiting dignitaries, where the oligarchs were brought together could also be the occasion for brief discussions. So too could serendipitous meetings in the corridors. 3) The dictator could consult his colleagues on an individual basis. One means of doing this formally was through circulation, whereby members of the oligarch executive would individually receive the papers on a particular issue (or perhaps simply a question without any supporting documentation) and be asked their opinion. This involved more the aggregation of individual decisions than a process of collective decision-making, and was common throughout the life of the Soviet regime. Alternatively, the dictator could meet individually with the other oligarchs. Hitler seems to have preferred this modus operandi.

These three formats were not mutually exclusive, with them all being used in combination at various times, especially in regimes of long duration. These ways of organizing oligarch policy discussion can tell us about the frequency with which it was undertaken, but alone they can tell us nothing about the quality of those interactions. Were the oligarchs (or a subset of them) full partners in the actual making of decisions, or did they simply give advice to the dictator who made the actual decision alone? Or were they simply affirmatory, ‘yes men’ who merely endorsed the dictator’s decision? The distinctions are important because they reflect the power relations within the oligarchy, but we must not exaggerate what this means. The affirmatory and advisory roles do not necessarily mean that decision-making did not have a collective dimension. Even when the oligarchs were restricted to one of these roles, they were playing a part in a collective deliberative process. This reflects the way in which this rule was a principal enabler of rank-and-file oligarch power and central to the coordination of the regime’s upper reaches. By emphasizing the importance of collective discussion, it legitimated continued oligarch involvement in central regime functions and created the legitimate space for oligarchs to meet collectively and caucus on issues. This rule thus underpinned the collective life of the rank-and-file oligarchs and thereby the coordination of the regime leadership. This rule was the most important in structuring oligarch life, underpinning all other operational rules (Rules 1 and 2 on the leadership office and person, Rules 4 and 5 on oligarch

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autonomy and disagreement, Rule 6 legitimizing factional activity, and Rule 7 on oligarch security). Those rules on autonomy, disagreement and factional organization really only made sense in the context of the legitimacy of collective discussion. This rule was also important for those rules relating to the role of the elite (Rules 9 and 10) and of formal institutions and policy (Rules 14, 18 and 28), to Rule 13 on power maximization, while Rule 16 on elite institutions as potential oligarch power bases underpinned that on oligarch autonomy and was therefore basic for collective discussion. The position of the leader was central to how the collective discussion of issues took place. This is clear through a comparison of the Communist Party regimes under a dominant leader (Stalin 1935–53 and Mao 1949–76) and predominant leaders.

Under a dominant leader Stalin’s dominance was consolidated with the Terror, such that he became clearly the dominant leader, a position he retained until his death in 1953. During this period, oligarch discussion was concentrated principally in informal fora rather than official party bodies, with the Politburo being effectively displaced as a collective organ by meetings in Stalin’s office (see Rule 14). Although the formal institution atrophied, collective discussion of issues continued. During this period of Stalin’s dominance, there were two times when the levels of potential vulnerability of the oligarchs seem to have risen alarmingly and the propensity to disagree with Stalin might have been expected to have been moderated: first, during the Terror, six oligarchs29 were either arrested or committed suicide, and some who survived came under Stalin’s criticism both before and during the war; second, in the post-war period when Stalin was more capricious, a series of campaigns was launched which placed certain sectors of society under suspicion, including one member of the Politburo who was arrested and killed (Vosnesensky in the anti-cosmopolitan campaign; so too was CC Secretary Kuznetsov),30 long-time oligarchs Molotov and Mikoyan were downgraded and given the cold shoulder by Stalin, a number of the oligarchs were openly criticized by Stalin, and Molotov’s wife was arrested. As already shown, Khrushchev later claimed that the oligarchs were afraid of Stalin. Clearly, at this time the oligarchs tailored many of their communications with Stalin so as not to upset him31 ; according to Mikoyan, whenever Stalin spoke, Malenkov wrote down everything he said, and Molotov always got someone else to countersign documents that were to go to Stalin.32 But even during these periods of heightened threat, individual oligarchs did adopt contrary positions to Stalin and sought, carefully, to defend them; for example, Molotov claims that he argued with Stalin over various questions,33 Mikoyan claims that he disagreed with Stalin on issues,34 as did Voroshilov and, in February 1947 and November 1952, Khrushchev.35 When Stalin criticized one of the oligarchs, others sometimes offered that person their support, and when

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Molotov and Mikoyan were given the cold shoulder by Stalin, other oligarchs worked against Stalin’s apparent wishes to keep them within Stalin’s immediate circle.36 Furthermore, when Stalin was away on holidays, oligarchs tried, at times, to introduce measures with which they knew Stalin would disagree.37 None of this represented either a concerted effort to oppose Stalin nor a consistent thread of opposition within the oligarchy, but a situation in which significant figures in the regime differed over issues, but usually ultimately surrendered their views to those of Stalin. This suggests that even in the times of most apparent danger, at least some of the oligarchs were not always ‘yes men’; individual oligarchs did not always simply accept what Stalin said without question, and sometimes got together the better to press common views upon Stalin.38 The oligarchs were not mere ciphers of Stalin, but prominent politicians in their own right who had their own views and interests to promote (Rule 4). Stalin did not object to this; indeed, it would have been apparent to him that the system, highly centralized as it was, needed the people around him to show some independence of thought and opinion. His way of structuring discussion in the Politburo in the 1920s (speaking only after everyone else had spoken),39 which was presumably carried through into later years, would have encouraged this. Under such circumstances it would have been very difficult for the oligarchs to avoid expressing an opinion. During the war, according to one participant, in most meetings Stalin was understanding, judicious and tolerant of the views of others even when he disagreed with their opinions and was known sometimes to have changed his view in the light of others’ comments.40 This was consistent with seeing their role as one of advising him in the reaching of a correct decision.41 At the height of Stalin’s power and when the official decision-making centre of the party was effectively inoperative as a decision-making organ, the oligarchs were therefore not merely the pawns of the dictator. They could differ from him on issues, but they did not question his continuing occupation of the leading role; they were not merely affirming or giving advice but could be involved in the decision-making process. This was only possible because of Rule 3 on collective decision-making. The Soviet experience thus suggests that, even under a dominant leader like Stalin was from the mid-1930s until his death, the possibility of discussion, dissent and disagreement with the leader continued to exist for the other oligarchs; for much of the time they did not see themselves in a purely advisory or affirmatory capacity. Such dissent had to be expressed through the established channels of political activity, not outside the oligarchy, and, providing it did not involve a challenge to the leader’s position it was accepted as legitimate. In China, Mao’s period of dominant rule lasted from 1949 until his death in September 1976, and may be divided into four sub-periods: 1949–late 1957 when Mao basically operated according to the rules and was happy both to delegate and to accept the consequences of that; late 1957–1966 when Mao was less engaged in practical issues but still generally observed the rules, while sponsoring a series of

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radical policies and becoming increasingly dissatisfied with the performance of the other oligarchs; the Cultural Revolution proper from 1966–69, and the stabilization from 1969–76.42 Throughout, Mao was the dominant figure, able to intervene decisively whenever and on whatever issues he chose, and treated with extreme deference by all of the oligarchs. For much of this time he held two formal positions, chairman of the party and chairman of the CMC, but his authority stemmed from his charismatic appeal rather than official office. From the time the communists achieved power in China, Mao’s position of primacy was not in question. However, this did not mean lack of policy discussion. A number of factors contributed to this. One was that, unlike in the Soviet Union where Stalin’s dominance followed the expulsion from the oligarchy of many of those Old Bolsheviks whose status would have rivalled or exceeded his own, the communist gaining of power in China was spearheaded by a cohort of veteran party members, whose revolutionary standing was comparable to that of Mao but who had already recognized Mao’s primacy. These were people who, like Mao, had suffered for their commitment to the cause, had standing in the movement, and many were possessed of expansive egos. Important too was the fact that during 1949–65, while Mao clearly set the tone and direction of oligarch political life, he was not intimately involved in all areas of policy-making, but when he did decide to become involved, his intervention was decisive. Generally he allowed politics to play itself out without a heavy hand continually guiding it and with minimal change to personnel: all seven members of the inaugural Politburo Standing Committee elected in 1956 were still in office in August 1966,43 nine of the thirteen members of the Politburo in 1949 remained either full or alternate members in mid-1966,44 and nearly all surviving members of the 1945 CC were re-elected in 1956.45 While Mao’s authority was unchallenged and his colleagues ‘consistently regarded him as the ultimate authority’,46 able to intervene whenever he liked, they were not inhibited from engaging in policy debate themselves and advancing their views regardless of the view of Mao. Mao accepted this, drawing the line when he believed that criticism and the expression of views was challenging his position (as opposed to his views). This was the case in the two major outbreaks of factional conflict during the 1950s, the Gao Gang-Rao Shushi affair of 1953–54 (although this was seen as less directed at Mao than at undermining the established system which Mao headed), and Peng Dehuai in 1959.47 In both cases Mao reacted badly to what he interpreted as criticism of his leadership, and as a result his critics were removed.48 However, the criticism and removal of Peng, added to Mao’s blocking of Peng’s subsequent rehabilitation, suggested that Mao was changing the informal rules whereby these sorts of matters were resolved. Mao seemed to be breaching the principle of democratic centralism (which had been reaffirmed in the 1956 party Constitution49 ) whereby individuals were able to express their views freely within party meetings as long as they submitted to the final decision when it was made; now it seemed, criticism was unacceptable and

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rendered one subject to serious penalties. On all of those other issues where there were divergent opinions expressed—including entry into the Korean War, the pace of collectivization, the Hundred Flowers Campaign, the Anti-Rightist Campaign, and the Great Leap Forward—broad-ranging policy debate occurred until Mao decided that debate should end.50 In the 1950s policy discussion was acceptable; anything that could look like an attack on Mao’s position was not. Policy discussion was also encouraged by the fluidity of Chinese institutional arrangements. During this period, there was only one Congress and the CC met on average less than once per annum. The Politburo and after 1956 its Standing Committee do seem to have met more regularly (figures are not available), but one feature of the Chinese system is the frequent use of other fora for policy discussion. As noted in regard to Rule 1, gatherings like the ‘central work conferences’, the summer gatherings of leaders at resorts, ad hoc conferences, and ‘enlarged’ sessions of the Politburo or PSC were common types of gatherings which usually brought together a wider range of both central and provincial leaders than the oligarchy to discuss contemporary issues. In addition, when Mao was out of Beijing, which he was frequently, he often convened ad hoc meetings of regional officials to discuss issues. This pattern of irregular meetings drew a wider range of figures into the policy discussion than occurred in the USSR or than would have been likely had the formal organs been the only site for such discussion. It also opened the oligarchy up to policy influence from below (see Rules 9 and 10). Another thing contributing to broad policy discussion was that initially Mao only took an active interest in those areas of policy-making where he claimed to be competent, principally ideology and the broad aims of the revolution, agriculture, and foreign and defence policy. Until 1957 when he became involved in it with disastrous consequences, Mao exercised only general oversight of economic policy. Certainly at all times, given his position of primacy,51 Mao’s lack of opposition to a particular policy was essential for that policy to go ahead. Given his effective veto power, one problem for the other oligarchs was that Mao was not always clear about his policy preferences or directions, and he frequently changed his mind, meaning that there was always an element of uncertainty in the minds of the other oligarchs. Nevertheless the oligarchs generally did not fear Mao and they got on with their own jobs in the governing of the country, including the discussion of pressing issues. Mao’s attitude changed in the late 1950s–early 1960s. The failure of the Great Leap Forward tarnished Mao’s economic credentials, and in 1959 he moved from the ‘first line’ of leadership to the ‘second line’. This was not a direct result of the failure of the Leap but had been under consideration for some time.52 It meant that Mao was to leave the direct policy-making to the other oligarchs while he exercised general oversight and concentrated on the future of the Chinese revolution, including the relationship with the Soviet Union. From January 1958, Mao stopped attending Politburo meetings.53 However, the years following Mao’s

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withdrawal to the second line saw the growth of dissatisfaction on the part of both Mao and the other oligarchs. The oligarchs believed that they had room to exercise some initiative in policy areas because Mao would not overturn the established rules and procedures by acting harshly against them. But even though the other oligarchs regularly checked their decisions with him and sought his signature on documents (including when he was away from Beijing), came up with collective decisions that they would present to him for approval, and no one sought to challenge his authority, he became dissatisfied with their performance. He believed that they were not only trying to put things over him, but that the course they were following was destined to lead to the corruption of the revolution. He felt that he was becoming isolated, cut off and ignored. The other oligarchs felt frustrated at what may have been seen as Mao’s carping and at the contradictory signals he was sending; he seemed to seek both overall supervision as well as day-to-day control, but he could not have both and seemingly could not decide which he wanted. The result was the radicalization of policy, leading into the Cultural Revolution. Thus, prior to the Cultural Revolution, Mao remained unchallenged even while his policy preferences did at times meet with significant resistance, albeit sometimes in veiled form. Policy discussion was not kept within the bounds of the oligarchy, but instead wider sections of the elite (including the military) were mobilized into it. But even given the wider range of people who could participate in such debate, the prospect of Mao being defeated and removed was remote, both because of his standing in the party and because of his charismatic appeal to those outside the oligarchy. The other oligarchs accepted this. They were operating within a general consensus about both the course of socialist development and the rules of the political game, such that policy differences were not (for the most part) seen as a battle to the death but a search for policy agreement. This too seemed to be Mao’s position. When that consensus was finally broken, it was done so not by the oligarchy in self-defence, but by the leader in order to attack those he believed were opposed to the positions he espoused. In the initial Cultural Revolution period, the formal oligarch party organs, the Politburo and the Politburo Standing Committee, effectively ceased to function, the process of widespread discussion collapsed, the views of the established oligarchs were generally ignored, and many of the oligarchs were removed from office, some dying as a result of their experience of the Cultural Revolution. This represented a dramatic rejection of the rules governing oligarch politics that had applied up until that time. The right to express a dissident opinion and then submit to the official decision without penalty no longer applied. Criticism was no longer acceptable, because it was interpreted as calling Mao’s position into question, and the consequences of it, euphemistically called ‘re-education’, could now be death. Furthermore, cases were no longer handled through the party’s disciplinary procedures but were resolved through public self-criticism sessions run by people who may not even have been party members.

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The newly created Cultural Revolution Group (CRG) was the main institutional focus of decision-making about the Cultural Revolution. This comprised Mao’s closest supporters and radical intellectuals associated with them; of the eight members of the CRG, only Chen Boda and Kang Sheng had been in the Politburo and, prior to August 1966, they had both been only candidate members. This group, aided by the Defence Minister Lin Biao, drove the Cultural Revolution from the centre, although much of the impetus for developments stemmed from actors outside the oligarchy, initially the Red Guards and then the People’s Liberation Army. The rules of oligarch politics that had applied ceased to operate. While the remaining members of the Politburo, the ‘first line’ of leadership (people like Zhou Enlai, Li Xiannian and Chen Yi) continued to try to operate as before—seeking to moderate policy, to act through their ministries and protect their bureaucratic constituencies—they increasingly became sidelined.54 Mao preferred the CRG and the radicalization of policy that was to destroy the political structure that the party had built. By 1968 the effects of Mao’s policies were clear, and the emphasis now shifted towards the restoration of order. This process was strongly supported by the military and by Mao himself. The Ninth Congress in 1969 set about restoring more regularized structures of politics, including a new Constitution for the party, recognition of Mao’s ‘Thought’ as the party’s ‘guide’ and Lin Biao as his successor, and it elected new leading party organs: a new CC, with less than a third of its members having been members of the previous CC, and a new Politburo and Standing Committee.55 The restoration of a semblance of the formal institutional structure that had been destroyed in the Cultural Revolution needed to be accompanied by a restoration of the norms governing oligarch life that had also seemingly been destroyed. Both the institutional context of oligarch politics and the insulation of it from the lower ranks (see Rules 9 and 10) had been destroyed in the Cultural Revolution, and it was these that many of the surviving former oligarchs wished to re-create. But elite politics was anything but stable following the Ninth Congress.56 The members of the former CRG remained around the apex of politics, with Mao’s wife Jiang Qing as their leader and seemingly providing a direct channel to the chairman. The military remained strongly represented and had in Lin Biao Mao’s designated successor. And there was also a significant presence of the veteran revolutionaries, represented by Zhou Enlai, Ye Jianying and Li Xiannian. There was little policy agreement among these groups, and during 1970 they manoeuvred to improve their relative positions. This was done principally through the means that had been common before the Cultural Revolution—debate in the renewed party bodies and appeal to Mao. There was much criticism of Lin (and Chen Boda), with Mao becoming involved, leading to Lin’s death.57 Lin’s military followers,including in the Politburo, were now purged in the classic step in a factional conflict. The death of Lin, and the interpretation of his presumed intentions as a treasonable act, could have cast doubt on Mao’s judgement, given that Mao had chosen him as

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his successor, but there is no evidence that there was any mobilization among the other oligarchs against Mao; indeed, the three veteran revolutionaries who would seemingly have had most reason to resent Mao given that he destroyed the structure they had built, Zhou, Ye and Li, all remained intensely loyal to Mao. But Lin’s seeming treachery appears to have poisoned Mao’s mind and he now became even more suspicious of his colleagues and remote from them. This was a worrying development in light of the predations of the Cultural Revolution. In the face of a more suspicious Mao who was becoming more difficult to read and interpret and increasingly arbitrary in his views and actions, and therefore potentially more dangerous in terms of both the continuing policy debate and individual oligarch survival, the oligarchs faced a problem. How could they cope with a dominant chairman whose changeable disposition created a large measure of uncertainty, and whose basic strategy now seemed to be one of seeking to play off different groups against each other? This was a change from pre-Cultural Revolution times and made oligarch politics and policy discussion even more uncertain. Adding to the uncertainty was the injection into this equation of veteran revolutionaries vs Cultural Revolution radicals of a third grouping, the beneficiaries of the Cultural Revolution, represented most importantly by the man Mao was to name as his new successor, Hua Guofeng.58 The oligarchy was clearly much more fractured than it had been before the Cultural Revolution. Through changes to the party’s leading organs Mao sought to keep a rough balance of forces in the Politburo. In addition, he would come out and criticize leading figures (such as Zhou Enlai), he would promote people and then demote them (most importantly Deng Xiaoping), and generally play a spoiling role. It was very difficult for the oligarchs to generate clear rules of procedure in this situation. Nevertheless, the Politburo seems by at least late 1973 to have resumed a regular pattern of meetings. Mao did not attend these meetings, being represented initially by ‘the two ladies’ (Wang Hairong and Tang Wensheng, who were both Mao’s assistants) and then by his nephew, Mao Yuanxin. Mao Zedong could still resolve whatever he wished, but his participation was becoming both indirect and episodic; he had had congestive heart failure from 1972, cataracts on his eyes prevented him from reading for the eighteen months prior to August 1975, and by late 1975 Parkinsons’ disease had rendered him substantially disabled. But he retained the power to take decisive action, as shown by his appointment of Hua Guofeng to replace Zhou Enlai when the latter died in January 1976 and his sacking of Deng in April 1976. Within this context, the veteran revolutionaries and the Cultural Revolution beneficiaries sought to generate some certainty by fostering the regularity of the party’s formal organs and policy discussion, while the members of the CRG continued to try to use their perceived closeness to Mao59 to advance their fortunes in this conflict at the apex of the party-state. The Politburo and its Standing Committee seem to have met on a regular basis and the restoration of the party’s administrative structure at the centre encouraged the development of bureaucratic procedures of

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administration. This favoured those, especially among the veteran revolutionaries, who retained high status in the organs of the state, especially in the economic and planning sphere. Mao’s authority remained personalized, but the oligarchs sought through the regularization of party procedures to create a buffer against the chairman’s arbitrariness and to sideline the CRG. We have no evidence that at any stage they sought to organize in order to challenge or replace Mao despite his increasing physical infirmity. Instead they sought to work around him, accommodate him, and not upset him. The norms that emerged from this strategy involving the discussion of issues and the regularization of procedure were to become entrenched after Mao died and continue to structure party life into the new century. Thus Mao’s dominance had initially persisted alongside patterns of collective deliberation, but then when he believed it necessary he destroyed both the established structures of collective decision-making and many of the personnel who had peopled those structures. But it was also during this period of dominance that the structures were rebuilt and the collective discussion of issues and involvement in policy-making again emerged as the main mode of functioning for the re-formed oligarchy.

Under a predominant leader More common in both countries than the dominant leader was the predominant leader, and here too collective discussion was the norm, with formal institutions generally playing a prominent role but informal procedures remaining significant. In the early years of Soviet rule, with Lenin as the predominant leader, the open discussion of issues both within the party and outside was common. Over time the arena of such discussion was narrowed as non-party bodies increasingly became excluded from this process as the party itself became more regularized, with the result that by the early 1920s acceptable debate only occurred within party ranks, and as the 1920s progressed it became even more restricted to the party’s upper reaches. During this initial period debate was free and open, with Lenin’s views being challenged on a range of issues, both important and marginal. But what was characteristic about many of these early bouts of conflict was that they pitted the oligarchs against the elite and the lower reaches of the party. Only on the questions of Brest Litovsk and the NEP was there division within the oligarchy, with the different sides trying to mobilize support among lower-level officials, but both issues were resolved relatively quickly (although the question of NEP did recur later in the decade). The opposition was mainly located in the CC and in the regional party apparatus.60 So differences within the oligarchy were muted, and there was little open, continuing dissent from Lenin on the part of the other oligarchs. Nor was there any challenge to his authority or position of leadership.61 Lenin’s illness and then death opened the system up to a period of collective leadership in which no single leader was predominant. People like Stalin, Trotsky, Zinoviev, Kamenev and Bukharin were prominent, but none of them was

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clearly more powerful than all of the others, at least early in the decade. Debate was open within the upper reaches of the party, including the Politburo, and differences were vigorously pursued. Three new developments appeared during this period. First, the emergence of factions, which will be discussed in relation to Rule 6. Second, the way in which the subordinate organs of the party and those who worked within them were mobilized by the oligarchs in the course of their disputes (Rule 10). In the successive bouts of factional conflict between Stalin and the changing group around him on the one hand and successively the Trotskyists, Left Opposition, United Opposition and Right Opposition on the other, each side sought to mobilize support in the regional party apparatus and in the CC with a view to defeating their oligarch opponents. This means that the differences were aired, and the debate conducted through the party press and in party meetings, especially the CC and party Congress; they were not restricted to the oligarchy. In these fora the opposition was generally able to express their views, although this was less so following the XIV Congress in 1925 where for the first time opposition speakers were openly jeered and heckled when they tried to talk. Henceforth the Congress became more monolithic and anti-oppositionist. Similarly, the room for effective opposition articulation of their views through the press and in the CC was closed down, so that by the end of the decade the legitimacy of the practice of the open discussion of issues outside the oligarchy had effectively disappeared. Third, these conflicts over policy involved the questioning of individuals’ fitness to exercise leadership and to occupy leading positions. It was precisely because this clash of personal ambition was at the heart of the differences that these disputes were so hard fought. It is therefore not surprising that these conflicts resulted in the removal of some people from the oligarchy—principally Trotsky, Zinoviev, Kamenev and Bukharin—and the rise to predominance of Stalin, a position he achieved with the defeat of the Right Opposition in 1929–30. In the early 1930s, with Stalin clearly the predominant oligarch, debate and disagreement still occurred within the oligarchy, but the early primacy of formal meetings of the Politburo was gradually displaced by more informal fora (Rule 14). Such debate seems to have been somewhat muted by the concern the oligarchs had arising from the nature of agricultural collectivization. This policy, along with that of forced pace industrialization, had been adopted at the XV Congress in 1927 and subsequently its targets were ratcheted up, with the full approval of Stalin. Then when collectivization ran into problems—armed resistance by the peasants, difficulty in achieving grain quotas and ultimately famine—and Stalin blamed regional party leaders, the oligarchs sought to present a united front to head off any possibility of turning the economic crisis into a regime political crisis. Accordingly, differences were sublimated and questions that might have had the potential to create political problems (such as the Syrtsov-Lominadze, the Ryutin, and the Smirnov-Eismont-Tolmachev oppositions62 ) did not create division among the oligarchs. These opposition groups were important because they were the last

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organized attempts to argue for the removal of Stalin on the basis of the perceived failure of his policies (although there appears to have been a sentiment in favour of his removal among some delegates to the XVII Congress in 193463 ) and because the call for Ryutin to be put to death marked the first time opposition activity was to be greeted with this penalty (although the suggestion was actually rejected); previously such activity had led to either downgrading within or expulsion from the party. There was conflict within the oligarchy and vigorous discussion of policy issues during this period, but there was also a general consensus about the broad course the country was taking. There was also recognition of the primacy of Stalin, reflected in some oligarchs’ role in fostering the personal cult of Stalin64 and in the way in which the oligarchs changed decisions they had made in Stalin’s absence if he objected to the substance of those decisions.65 Nevertheless, the oligarchs do not seem to have been intimidated by the predominant Stalin, opposing his positions on a number of issues.66 In the post-Stalin period, with the emphasis strongly on the notion of collective leadership as an alternative to that of a single leader and the re-emergence of the Politburo as the dominant oligarch council, oligarch relations retained a conflictual element. In the first phase, 1953–64, the oligarchs’ initial consolidation of collective deliberation was facilitated by their experience of meeting without Stalin while he was away from Moscow. In another change to the Stalin-dominant period, the principle that had applied in the 1920s was restored: policy issues were mixed up with questions about the suitability of the First Secretary to occupy that position of leadership. The power struggle between Khrushchev and Malenkov that culminated in the anti-party group affair in June 1957, plus the overthrow of Khrushchev by an internal coup in October 1964, both reflect the way in which the oligarchy was rent by conflict and disagreement rather than the word of the leader being law, and how the questioning of the leader’s policy preferences could have direct implications for the leader’s position. Both rested upon Rule 3 and the acceptance of collective discussion and the associated acceptance of the legitimacy of oligarch differences of opinion (Rule 5). Between 1957 and 1964 oligarch politics retained a conflictual tenor, with individuals critical of Khrushchev and some of the policies he espoused, and although on the individual occasions of such criticism the link may not have been explicitly made with Khrushchev’s suitability for leadership, the accumulation of these issues did raise that broader question. Such criticism was expressed through speeches and articles as well as in the revived leading party fora67 while the CC was again mobilized into oligarch conflict as it had been in the 1920s (see discussion of Rule 10). There seems to have been an at least implicit agreement that, notwithstanding the killing of Beria in December 1953, death would not be the penalty for dissent (Rules 7 and 29). Following Khrushchev’s demise, the consciously collegial nature of Brezhnev’s leadership, including the practice of postponing a decision in the Politburo should consensus not be achieved, is clear evidence of the existence of the right of oligarchs to oppose

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the predominant leader. Following the defeat of potential rivals in the mid-1960s, chiefly Shelepin and Podgorny, the discussion of issues was not seen as having direct implications for Brezhnev’s leadership position; the continuing support for his leadership even when he was manifestly not able to perform his role68 shows how far the situation had moved from the 1920s. This was also clear in the final period of Soviet rule, under Gorbachev, where the clear differences over policy between the General Secretary and some of the other oligarchs was one of the most important dynamics of this period. Yet there was no concerted attempt to remove Gorbachev from within or around the oligarchy before the coup attempt of August 1991, which was basically mounted from within the broader elite rather than the oligarchy. Thus under the post-Stalin predominant leadership, the formal institutions embodying collective discussion re-emerged as significant arenas of oligarch politics, and after an initial period when policy was explicitly linked to judgements about the suitability of individuals for the position of leadership, this link was broken under Brezhnev. In China, Mao’s death left politics at the apex of the Chinese regime fluid. His designated successor (Hua Guofeng) represented the Cultural Revolution beneficiaries, some of the perpetrators were seemingly still in power, and the victims were returning. Importantly, many of this third group were veteran revolutionaries and enjoyed both personal seniority and prestige, and therefore authority, that far exceeded that of the other two groups. With the demise of the so-called ‘Gang of Four’ (which represented the CRG) in October 1976, the subsequent return of Deng Xiaoping, and the sidelining of Hua Guofeng between 1977 and 1980, Deng emerged as predominant leader and the veteran revolutionaries as the decisive force within the oligarchy. Deng retained his position of predominance until he became ill in 1995, but this was a predominance that accepted the right of the other oligarchs (and the veteran revolutionaries more widely) to discuss and disagree on policy. Particularly important here was Deng’s (at times inconsistent) promotion of the policies of economic reform from 1978, policies about which there was considerable scepticism among the veteran revolutionaries.69 The debate continued throughout Deng’s life, and while on occasion he retreated (for example, his attempt to get the veteran revolutionaries to retire in 1982—see Rule 24), his position as paramount leader was never called into question. This was not the case with some of the lesser oligarchs. Hu Yaobang was removed in 1987 and Zhao Ziyang in 1989,70 and an attempt was made to remove Jiang Zemin in 1992.71 All had been appointed by Deng, but he felt he had to abandon Hu and Zhao in the face of widespread opposition to the perceived results of his policies from the broader elite, especially veteran revolutionaries. During this period Deng acted as the court of last appeal rather than being a direct and immediate participant in the course of day-to-day decision-making. But even though there were significant reservations about the policies of economic reform that he had

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championed, and these reservations were openly articulated, his position was not called into question. Under his three successors, Jiang Zemin, Hu Jintao and Xi Jinping, the broadly open process of discussion within the elite was maintained. None of these leaders had the authority enjoyed by Deng, although Xi has become more powerful than his immediate two predecessors, but with the increasing institutionalization of the top position and of the process of succession to it (see Chapters 3 and 4), this has constituted a buffer to protect incumbents against policy-based criticism. So over the course of the life of the Chinese communist regime, regardless of how powerful the individual leader was, members of the oligarchy have been able to disagree with the leader without this inevitably leading to their political, or actual, demise. Policy criticism was acceptable as long as it did not result in criticism of the leader’s authority and his position as leader. A major difference between Mao as dominant leader and the predominant leaders was the greater role of formal institutions under the latter. Thus, collective discussion remained a feature of oligarch life under both dominant and predominant leaders in the Soviet Union and China, albeit with some differences in form under the two leadership types. The main difference in the way in which Rule 3 functioned under these two different leadership types was the greater use of informal procedures (for more on this see the discussion of Rule 14) and perhaps a more muted questioning of the leader’s views under the dominant leader compared with the predominant. Under both types of leadership, the enabling and coordinating function of Rule 3 was clear: acceptance of the principle of collective decision-making, and therefore of diversity of views, was what enabled rank-and-file oligarchs to play the sort of active role they did and which structured broad interactions within the leadership.

Rule 4. The rank-and-file oligarchs enjoy a realm of activity autonomous from the leader A single leader cannot be across all policy areas, with the result that power must, to a degree, be devolved from the leader to his associates. This is reflected in the fact that, formally, all of the members of the oligarchy usually had other jobs; they were not just members of the Politburo but government ministers or party secretaries as well. In the areas of those jobs (which were usually their most time-consuming occupation), they generally enjoyed significant autonomy, even if ultimately any decisions they made were subject to collective oligarch or dictatorial oversight. Their roles as heads of major bureaucratic structures plus the expertise that was embedded in those structures gave them an authority that often enabled them to shape policy within their spheres, providing it remained within the bounds of the generally agreed policy framework. This sort of autonomy was usually reinforced

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by general principles about the division of responsibilities among the oligarchs, so that even when the dictator was the final and supreme authority, under both dominant and predominant leaders the other oligarchs enjoyed a degree of autonomy that is not normally provided for in our understandings of dictatorial rule. This rule constituted a major enabler of Rules 3 on collective discussion, 5 on oligarch disagreement, 6 on factional activity, 7 on oligarch security, and 16 on elite institutions as oligarch power bases. It also conditioned the functioning of Rules 9 and 10 on the role of the elite in the system, Rule 13 on power maximization, and 18 and 28 on policy. The Rule also was relevant to Rules 15 and 22 on the fate of institutions in the system, and Rule 8 on oligarch unity and consensus. Oligarchs usually sought to translate this ministerial autonomy into institutional power bases (Rule 16). There were two aspects of this. First, the expertise they could call on as a result of their position at the top of a bureaucratic hierarchy (be it government ministry or party secretarial) should have invested their views with increased gravity in oligarch councils. This should, in turn, have given them extra authority in oligarch discussions on those particular issues. Second, they gained institutional constituencies.72 They sought to consolidate those constituencies through the nomination of supporters to leading positions in those bureaucracies in an attempt to make them both more loyal and more responsive to their will. In addition, oligarchs sought to have increased resources directed into their constituencies as a means of building up their power, and the loyalty of those institutions to the particular oligarch. In this way this rule enabled oligarchs to accumulate resources that they could use in the course of political life at the top of the regime. The sort of division of responsibility implicit in such autonomy is reflected in the composition of the Communist Party Politburo (and PSC) in the Soviet Union and China. While there was not a standard list of people who were members of the Politburo, over time a pattern developed whereby that body contained people who, as well as being Politburo members, were also CC secretaries, regional party secretaries, government ministers (including the prime minister) and, in the Chinese case, military officers.73 The oligarchs were substantial figures in the regime in their own right, heading major bureaucratic institutions which were repositories of significant resources and expertise. These sorts of institutional bases meant that individual oligarchs not only acted as defenders of their institutions’ interests, but were also the recipients of advice from those institutions on policy issues. They would thereby have gained a certain level of expertise, especially if they were long-serving in that office, and this should have translated into a degree of authority within that policy sphere among the oligarchs. This was acknowledged in the convention that emerged in the Soviet Politburo: ordinary members were generally expected to involve themselves only in the areas for which they had responsibility, with the General Secretary the only one with the right to range broadly across the whole policy spectrum. But given the limitations of what

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one person could do, and particularly following the war when age and ill-health significantly limited Stalin’s work schedule, the oligarchs were able for much of the time to exercise a significant degree of autonomy. This was especially the case when Stalin was away from Moscow on holiday.74 During these times, papers were sent to him on a regular basis and contact was maintained through letters and, from 1933 when a secure telephone line was installed, telephone calls.75 The oligarchs remaining in Moscow made decisions which in many cases were ratified by Stalin, but in many others he paid the decisions no attention; sometimes he signed documents without reading them,76 and in practice accepted most of what they decided.77 Especially after the war when age, fatigue and illness affected Stalin, there were broad policy areas in which he took little interest, which meant that in those areas the other oligarchs were able to exercise significant autonomy. This applied particularly to the economy, with much of the post-war decision-making concentrated in state bodies (such as the Presidium of the Council of Ministers) where Stalin was little involved.78 This situation did create some uncertainty: would Stalin intervene or would he let a decision through? The other oligarchs often sought to tailor their action to what they believed Stalin would accept, although they at times also tried to sneak things past Stalin.79 But in Stalin’s absence they were in a position whereby they had to continue to function as leaders of the country, and thereby to engage in policy discussion and development; Stalin expected this of them. Inevitably this caused them at times to take up positions with which Stalin disagreed. In such cases they would make their arguments and then accept the verdict uttered by Stalin, and as long as they had acted in a way that did not challenge Stalin’s authority, their dissent was generally accepted. This principle of division of responsibility and policy autonomy was maintained by Stalin’s successors, although Khrushchev’s interventionist style both stretched the boundaries of it and was a major factor in his overthrow. This principle of autonomy was particularly powerful under Brezhnev’s collegial style of functioning, especially with regard to the economic sphere, which was left mainly up to others, chiefly Prime Minister Alexei Kosygin. In China, Mao adopted a similar approach. Prior to the Cultural Revolution, with discussion widespread and Mao’s personal interests confined to a few major areas, considerable leeway was left to the other oligarchs. Mao rarely imposed his views at the beginning of a discussion, allowing those oligarchs with expertise in particular areas to take the lead.80 This sort of situation was restored following the Cultural Revolution as Deng worked both to bring greater certainty to institutional processes and to maintain the cohesion of the broad elite. He sought to exercise general oversight rather than close control, intervening only when he believed it was necessary to maintain the course he had charted. Particularly important in this process was Chen Yun, who retained significant influence in the State Council and the ministries under it and was therefore central to the implementation of economic reform, even though he had some reservations about it.81 Under

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the three post-Deng leaders too this sort of oligarch autonomy was maintained, best exemplified by the role played by successive prime ministers in guiding the economy. So, in both regimes, the oligarchs enjoyed an element of autonomy from the dictator. Resulting from both the physical limits and the personal preferences of the dictator, and from the institutional constituencies the oligarchs represented, such autonomy underpinned much of the discussion that occurred at the apex of these regimes. It also created a basis for the next rule.

Rule 5. Disagreement among rank-and-file oligarchs is acceptable as long as it is kept within bounds Disagreements were bound to occur among the oligarchs (Rules 3 and 6). The oligarchs were generally ambitious, because they would not have got there if they were not, and often had inflated egos, it was therefore natural that they would come into conflict at various times. But while such conflict was to be expected, it was important for the continuing stability of the system, including the rule of the oligarchs themselves, that this be kept within bounds. Most times, oligarchs were intent on ensuring that the elite more broadly did not intervene in their affairs, although on occasions individual oligarchs may have sought to mobilize sections of the elite for short-term political gain (see Rule 10); the generation of support in the party central committee is a form of this. But on most occasions, the oligarchs sought to contain their conflicts within the bounds of the oligarchy. Disputes and conflict could take a variety of forms. One particularly common one relates to the institutional constituencies the individual oligarchs had, and took the form of what we would call ‘bureaucratic politics’. The principal currency of this sort of conflict was the battle for resources and budget allocations as oligarchs sought to both prosecute the policies favoured by their institutional homes and further the interests of those institutions. Such battles were rarely over questions of principle; depending upon the issue involved and the circumstances of the time, such debates could indirectly involve questions of principle (in the sense of the main direction of development), but in most cases they were pure struggles over policy and resources. This was accepted as normal. There could also be conflict over questions of power. The established view is that conflict over power, access to it and its accumulation, was a constant feature of authoritarian leaderships, and this clearly was present in most regimes some of the time. However, it was not always the sort of disruptive force many have seen it to be because there was also often a strong sense of consensus and an ethos of unity among the oligarchs (Rule 8). Nevertheless, there were struggles for power. Apart from at times of succession (see Chapter 4), there were three forms of this: manoeuvring to gain the dictator’s favour and therefore personal advancement and

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rewards, struggling to gain increased status and power vis-à-vis the other oligarchs, and positioning for the future succession. Given the nature of the oligarchs, all three types of struggle were natural, while for the leader the first two may have been welcome because they provided the opportunity for him to pursue a divideand-rule strategy should he wish. Many dictators did function in this way, at least some of the time, but this sort of strategy was not always pursued.82 In any event, jockeying for position among the oligarchs was inevitable, just as it is in the governments of liberal democracies. These two potential sources of conflict, policy and position, were not unconnected, but nor were they always linked. Nor were the acceptable limits of such conflict always easily seen. What was important were the principles that governed this process to ensure that it did not destabilize the system. Among those principles, three were of primary importance. First, this struggle should neither countermand nor undermine the constitutive rules that govern the composition of the oligarchy (see Chapter 4). Those rules were fundamental to the oligarchy as a collective body, and any move to alter them could threaten the integrity of the oligarchy. Second, this battle should not lead to the creation of a power centre within the oligarchy separate to that constituted by the dictator and his immediate supporters. Such a development could escalate into uncontrolled conflict if the dictator felt threatened, thereby potentially destabilizing both the oligarchy and the regime. Third, the penalty for defeat in these conflicts should not be physical liquidation (Rules 7 and 29). If death is the penalty for losing, while it might dissuade some from engaging in the struggle, for others it increases the stakes and therefore potentially the lengths to which they will go to be victorious. There have been cases when death was the perceived punishment for disagreement—the Great Terror in the Soviet Union and the Cultural Revolution in China—and the result could be the temporary destruction of the contemporary oligarchic system. If the stakes are so high, restraint on tactics can disappear. This rule underpinned the operation of those rules relating to collective discussion (Rule 3), oligarch autonomy and disagreement (Rules 4), factions (Rule 6), oligarch security (Rule 7) and unity (Rule 8). It also conditioned the operation of Rule 10 on elite involvement in oligarch affairs and Rule 16 on elite institutions as oligarch power bases. The role of policy in oligarch life (Rules 18 and 28) was also reliant on this rule. In the 1920s’ Soviet Union, oligarch conflict concerned both policy and position, with the definition of acceptable leadership seen largely in terms of the policies espoused by the protagonists. In the process of the rolling factional conflict of this decade, the oligarchs engaged in vigorous debate with one another in a fashion that would not be repeated during the Soviet period. But this was an anomaly, not only because of the absence of a recurrence, but also because there was no dominant or predominant leader. With the closing down of open debate at the end of the 1920s, oligarch conflict became less easy to see, but it did not cease.

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During the period of Stalin’s rule, conflicts among the oligarchs were common, mainly over resource and budget allocations. Clashes between representatives of the central state organs (Molotov and Kuibyshev) and those representing various government commissariats (or ministries)—including Voroshilov, Andreev and Mikoyan, all members of the Politburo—were common, as all government commissars sought to maximize the budgetary allocations to their commissariats. The driving force of institutional affiliation is clearly reflected in the fact that when he was chair of Vesenkha (the Supreme Council of National Economy) in 1930–32, Ordzhonikidze argued for smaller budgetary allocations to the commissariats, but when he was People’s Commissar for Heavy Industry 1932–37, he argued for higher allocations to his commissariat.83 In these cases, Stalin often acted as referee or arbiter, and in at least one case, in 1931, he was concerned that such disputes could cause divisions within the ‘ruling group’.84 Personal antagonisms were also present and could be a potent source of tension. For example, in the postwar Stalinist period, Beria and Malenkov were both involved in the Leningrad Affair which was in part directed at Zhdanov, Voznesensky and Kuznetsov, while there was general suspicion of Beria because of his links to the security apparatus. In this sort of oligarch manoeuvring, gaining the support of Stalin (for example, through feeding him false information about one’s competitors, or gaining his prior approval for policy positions) was often a crucial step. This sort of conflictual dynamic continued throughout the entire Soviet period, especially given that Khrushchev, Brezhnev and Gorbachev all failed to attain the sort of dominance Stalin had been able to achieve. Senior oligarchs continued to differ over policy, and while Khrushchev sought to override those differences, both Brezhnev and Gorbachev sought to manage them, with some success. The differences were expressed in the official party fora, but especially in speeches before the Congress and CC, and in the Politburo. Policy differences among oligarchs were evident in China as well. In the initial period up until the Cultural Revolution when it was the revolutionary generation in power, the broad consensus on direction, the acknowledged authority of Mao, and the relative disconnect between him and the immediate policymaking process (including his at times studied ambiguity on issues) created and shaped significant room for the expression of oligarch differences. There were significant differences about economic policy, including things like tax policy and agricultural policy but also programmes like the Hundred Flowers Campaign, the Great Leap Forward and the Socialist Education Campaign.85 In the postMao period under Deng, as the regime moved to broad policies of economic reform in which established patterns of spending were up-ended, the scope for oligarch differences expanded. Not only were there significant reservations among some of the oligarchs about the economic reform policy,86 but the new policy direction raised the more immediate issue of budgetary allocations and spending. And there were significant differences over the appropriate response to the 1989

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Tiananmen demonstration. This whole Dengist period was one of significant restrained conflict among the oligarchs, fuelled by economic policy and its effects and the increased mobilization within society. Under Deng’s successors too this process of oligarch disagreement, within bounds, continued to unroll. So in both regimes, disagreement among the oligarchs was both common and acceptable. It did not always involve the leader, it usually always involved policy, and it could have implications of a power politics sort in the relations among the oligarchs. The differences provided for in Rule 5 were inevitable. Acceptance of such differences could at times be seen as a constraint on the leader, but it was always an illustration of the enabling effect of rules. The policy differences among oligarchs overlap with the next comportment rule concerning factions. So too does the other form of disagreement, that of positioning within the leadership on the succession question (see Chapter 4).

Rule 6. Factions are acceptable providing they are underpinned by clear understandings about how they can behave One of the problems in talking about factions is the difficulty in defining them. Factions may be defined as groupings of people who come together the better to pursue their interests, however defined,87 and they are inevitable in any political setting. People will always combine the better to defend and further their interests. The line between conspiring and consulting is indistinct, so the simple practice of consulting with colleagues about various issues may be interpreted to be, and may in fact be, steps in the development of a factional grouping. Whether this is the case or not turns on two considerations: was the meeting designed to exclude others in reaching a common position, and does the group have a continuing existence past the individual issue? In practice, both criteria can be elusive, but the presence of exclusivity and continuance distinguishes a faction from a more temporary alliance. Some factions may have distinct organizational structures, but this is not necessary for a group to be classed as a faction. Factions are normally considered to be anathema in authoritarian regimes because they are seen to be divisive and potentially destabilizing, but they are inevitable, and in practice accepted. Factions are not the only sort of informal organization that can occur. Other common forms of structures are patron–client groupings whereby the sides exchange support for personal or political advantage, institutional interests comprising individuals who belong to a common institution and seek to advance its interests, and opinion groups united by common outlooks or opinions. Where they exist, these sorts of groupings usually span different levels of the regime— oligarchy, elite, broader political system—and can be politically significant on a continuing basis. Their top levels may be transformed into factions by their undertaking of co-ordinated activity in oligarch or elite spheres. It is this conscious,

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joint action that is the distinguishing hallmark of the faction, although it is true that the dividing line between a faction and these other sorts of groupings is often opaque. Factions can emerge on a range of different bases: policy agreement, institutional affiliation, shared regional origin, common career experience, political support for a particular individual, and perceived need for political support have all been common sources of factional development (see below). People may even come together on a social basis, and out of this can emerge a grouping that develops political interests and aims.88 Factional strength may vary over time and regime, and sometimes it outlasts the original members of the faction to become continuing features of oligarch politics; scholars have pointed to things like the heavy industry lobby, the military faction, or a particular regional grouping. But many of them will last only as long as their members remain in the oligarchy. Factions are usually thought of in terms of conflict,89 and they are often thus involved (Rules 3 and 5). Factional conflict can be potentially destabilizing, not just because of its impact upon the oligarchy directly, but because it can link the oligarchs into elements within the broader elite, thereby potentially opening the door to elite intervention into oligarch affairs (see Rule 10). This is because when oligarchs engage in faction formation, they rarely restrict their activities to the oligarchy; factions usually embrace both oligarchs and members of the elite more broadly. Like Rule 3, this rule was fundamental to the structuring of oligarch life. It was central to all of the operational rules governing oligarch activity except for that on oligarch security (Rule 7), it conditioned Rules 9 and 10 on the role of the elite, and had implications for the power of the leader (Rules 12 and 13) and the role of institutions (Rules 14 and 16). It intersected with the rules on policy (18 and 28) and shaped the way the successions were worked out (Rules 20, 21, 22, 24, 26 and 27). Although factions are endemic to any organized political system,90 this was something that, in the overriding quest for unity, the Soviet Communist Party sought formally to prevent. This was done through the X Congress decision banning factions/fractions in the party.91 The precise meaning of this measure is ambiguous. There is no distinction in the Russian language between ‘faction’ and ‘fraction’, but the former may be seen as a group of people found at the same level of the party (the centre, or region) who come together in an organized fashion in support of particular policies or interests, while the latter denotes such a group spread over a number of party levels. Faction is a horizontal group; fraction a vertical one. This resolution was introduced at the end of a period in which the oligarchs generally had been under attack but had remained united in defeating challenges coming from within the elite, from in the party apparatus. The modus operandi of oligarchs in the pre-revolution party and after 1917 had been to organize factions to pursue their political ends. Given this situation—attacks from below and a modus operandi of combining—it is likely that the main target of the X Congress

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decision was fractions. It was a way for the oligarchs to defend themselves from intervention into their affairs by those outside the oligarchy (Rule 10). But if the intent of the resolution was to protect the oligarchs from below, its terms were such that it could also be turned against those oligarchs who formed factions at the centre; an instrument of oligarch defence could thus be transformed into a weapon in intra-oligarch affairs because of the ambiguity of the term fraktsiya. This is what happened in the 1920s. Throughout the decade, this principle was used by the group around Stalin to attack successive opposition groups and delegitimate their activity. These opposition groups also used such terms to attack the Stalin group, but because the latter was in each case able to emerge victorious, it was better able to use the official party fora to attach this label to the opposition and avoid it themselves. The ban on factions/fractions, by itself, did not prevent organized opposition, but it could be wielded in such a way as to make that opposition illegitimate. Despite the official ban, factions have been active throughout the entire Soviet period. In pure power terms, factions may be of two types. The first is that formed around the leader himself. This was less evident with Lenin than it was with later leaders because the father of the regime had sufficient personal standing in the party that he was in less need of such support, while the egos of many of the other oligarchs stood in the way of them accepting an essentially supportive position. Nevertheless, Lenin did caucus with particular colleagues before meetings in order to establish a common position. So too did Stalin.92 For all subsequent leaders at various times, factions helped to sustain them. For Stalin in the 1930s, the basis of this was Molotov, Kaganovich and Voroshilov; for Khrushchev it was Kirichenko, Brezhnev, Suslov and perhaps Mikoyan, although ultimately all turned against him; Brezhnev’s faction was slow to develop, but by the late 1970s comprised Chernenko, Kirilenko, Shcherbitsky, Kunaev and Ustinov93 ; and for Gorbachev the nub was Shevardnadze, Ryzhkov and Yakovlev, but all also ultimately turned away from him. Factions were not always stable, as shown by the situation in the post-war Stalinist period. Initially, a group of five comprising Stalin, Molotov, Malenkov, Mikoyan and Beria had generally run things, but in Stalin’s last years this was replaced by a ‘seven’ comprising Molotov, Malenkov, Mikoyan, Kaganovich, Beria, Bulganin and Khrushchev.94 Even when Stalin was absent, these met regularly as a collective body with genuine debate and the recording of decisions,95 although everything remained subject to Stalin’s approval. The situations under Khrushchev and Gorbachev were also particularly fluid. The second type of faction was that which did not include the leader. In some cases this may have been antagonistic to the leader—the Soviet anti-party group in 1957 is the best case of this—but in many instances the relationship was businesslike and even cordial. There is no real pattern to factional alignment among the Soviet oligarchs; sometimes there was a leader faction and no other, sometimes a leader faction and one or more other factions, and sometimes there was an

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independent group that belonged to no faction.96 There is no evidence that, outside the 1920s, factional conflict was a major element structuring policy discussion and the oligarchs’ political lives more generally. Certainly at times it could become important, with Khrushchev’s 1957 and 1964 experiences (discussed in Chapter 4) the best instances of this, but generally factional organization does not appear to have been a decisive element in oligarch affairs except when it was mediated through bureaucratic politics. This may reflect the fact that oligarch politics was not a continual struggle for power with the leader seeking to maximize his power and the others to restrict it (see Rule 13). Had such a dynamic been the principal axis of oligarch politics, factions may have been more important, but in its absence, they were not. Factional affiliation in the USSR has often been seen to rest on appointment, with commitment and loyalty seen to flow from the act of appointment/promotion to higher office. This source of commitment was said to be strongest for the General Secretary because of the vast powers over appointment that were vested in the machinery of the party for which he was directly responsible. Through the operation of the nomenklatura system, the General Secretary could appoint supporters/clients to responsible positions97 and when non-clients were appointed, the simple act of appointment (and the promise of more to come) could establish a basis for continuing support and factional affiliation. This is a major reason why leaders usually enjoyed factional support. But appointment was not the only basis of factional affiliation; those potential bases outlined earlier were evident in the USSR. Personal friendship and, especially, common career service could underpin factional development. For example, Stalin’s personal closeness in the early 1930s to Molotov and Kaganovich is reflected in the fact that when he went on annual holidays to the south of the country, these two oversaw the continued operation of the oligarchy and kept him in touch with what was happening. Similarly Brezhnev’s reliance upon Chernenko and Andropov’s upon Gorbachev to look after their interests when they were absent show the potential importance of personal relationships. A history of work in the same area, geographical or functional, has also been a major source of the development of those sorts of feelings of association that feed into factional membership.98 Such common career experience can develop the sort of familiarity and knowledge that encourages common association later, at the centre. Another basis of factional association was common policy views, where agreement on particular policies can be the cement holding a faction together.99 This was clearly a factor not only for some of the factional groups in the 1920s and the 1930s, but also during the Gorbachev period. So despite the formal prohibition, factions were common features of oligarch life throughout the Soviet period. That prohibition was only explicitly invoked on a regular basis during the 1920s, although its echoes were heard in 1957. The relative absence of its use reflects the fact that significant factional conflict which threatened the position of the leader was a rare occurrence. The leadership-focused

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factions were effectively mechanisms used by the leader to manage the oligarchy and its business, including its policy agenda, while those factions that did emerge among the other oligarchs were principally taken up with policy issues that did not threaten the structure of oligarch rule. After the 1920s, only if their activities threatened to overturn the normal dynamic of oligarch politics, as in 1957, were they suppressed. The situation was somewhat different in China for much of the communist period, principally because of the nature of the authority enjoyed by Mao and then Deng. With their authority stemming from their revolutionary lineage plus, in Deng’s case, his survival of the Cultural Revolution, their ability to wield a form of charismatic authority and have it accepted (Rule 12) lessened their need to indulge in organizational manipulation and faction-formation, although this does not mean they totally eschewed such action. Prior to the Cultural Revolution, Mao did not seek to play factional politics but rather to act as balancer of the different groups within the leadership, albeit with the capacity to intervene decisively if he thought this necessary.100 A clear instance of such intervention was the Gao Gang-Rao Shushi affair of 1953–54, when these two people tried to involve regional party and state leaders and the military in a move to unseat some of the oligarchs (but not Mao). It was Mao’s opposition to Gao-Rao that led to the collapse of the conspiracy. Perhaps more illustrative of the oligarch dynamic in the 1950s was the reaction to the Great Leap Forward. When Mao had pressed for this radical initiative, there was a general consensus in favour but there were also clear reservations among two members of the Politburo responsible for economic affairs, Chen Yun and Zhou Enlai, and some military leaders including Defence Minister Peng Dehuai.101 Such reservations were not aired in a public or challenging way, and neither Chen nor Zhou were accused of factional activity. However, at the Lushan conference in July 1959, at which a private letter written by Peng to Mao critical of the policy was made public (probably by Mao), Mao attacked Peng and accused him, inter alia, of creating an ‘anti-party clique’ and engaging in factional activity. All of the rest of the leadership, with the exception of Zhu De and Lin Boqu, supported Mao. There was no evidence of organizational manoeuvring by Peng to build up factional support. This reflects the essentially political nature of the notion of a faction. The sacking of Peng did not affect the way in which the oligarchy and the elite more broadly functioned. With Mao in the ‘second line’ and therefore officially removed from direct involvement in decision-making, the remaining oligarchs dominated the decision-making process. Initially they were trusted by Mao because they all shared the revolutionary heritage, but following the chaos caused by the Leap, their principal priority was to bring about economic recovery. They do not appear to have realized that their commitment to the existing structure was to a structure about which Mao was becoming increasingly critical because he believed it was leading China down the same mistaken path the USSR

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had taken. While the oligarchs continued to function in the collegial fashion of the past, including combining and recombining on specific issues, Mao became increasingly disillusioned. His suspicions were fuelled by a group of ascendant leaders in the 1960s—Jiang Qing (Mao’s wife), Lin Biao, Kang Sheng, Ke Qingshi and Chen Boda—who became close to Mao. They effectively constituted a faction around Mao. It was this group that drove the Cultural Revolution. In this sense, faction was central to the politics of the Cultural Revolution. It was also central to the post-Cultural Revolution rebuilding process. The pro-Mao faction split in 1970–71, with those around Jiang Qing feeding Mao’s suspicions about the continued loyalty of Lin Biao, a process that ultimately led to Lin’s death in a plane crash as he sought to flee in September 1971.102 Nevertheless, this pro-Mao group remained a significant force, although they were not supreme. It was represented in the Politburo (by Jiang Qing, Zhang Chunqiao and Yao Wenyuan), but there were also survivors of the Cultural Revolution (Zhou Enlai, Li Xiannian and Ye Jianying) and some beneficiaries of that Revolution (Xu Shiyou, Chen Xilian, Li Deshing, Wang Dongxing and Ji Dengkui) also in that body. These were groups that clearly had different interests and were actually not the same in nature. The pro-Mao radicals and the survivors (soon strengthened by returned victims) possessed essential qualities that could underpin faction formation: a shared common past (the former in driving the Cultural Revolution, the latter in the revolutionary struggle) and a common orientation toward the Cultural Revolution (respectively pro and critical).The beneficiaries lacked both of these, and given that they did not act in a coherent fashion, cannot be considered a faction. Given the recent past, the two factions were unlikely to be able to get along peacefully for an extended period of time.103 The latent conflict between them was juggled by Mao, who sought to ensure that neither defeated the other. Mao supported both the Cultural Revolution radicals (labelled the Gang of Four) and the veteran revolutionaries (who constituted the survivors and returnees); Mao at times supported the policies espoused by Deng104 and Zhou while also allowing the Gang of Four to criticize them. The factional conflict was essentially mediated through Mao. The conflict continued even when Mao was less involved in political life owing to his increasingly bad health and his seeming depression in the wake of the Lin Biao affair, which led him to become even more suspicious of and remote from the other oligarchs, and therefore more difficult for them to read.105 The factional conflict widened after he had chosen Hua Guofeng (a beneficiary) as his successor. In April 1976, in the wake of student protests on the occasion of Zhou’s death, Mao agreed to the sacking of Deng once again, although he allowed Deng to retain his party membership. At the same time he advanced Hua to the posts of premier and vice-chairman of the party. When Mao died in September 1976, both factions eyed off power, with neither content to see Hua as leader except in the short term. But the survivors were willing temporarily to ally with Hua (and the military, who opposed the Gang) to eliminate the Gang, and

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this is what they did. The Gang’s supposed power base, mainly the Shanghai party apparatus and the party propaganda apparatus, could not be mobilized in the face of the turn to military support by Hua and the leading victims. The fate of the Gang illustrates the basis of factional activity in the Chinese system. The Gang’s power base in the leadership had been much weaker than it had appeared. They had relied overwhelmingly upon the support of Mao, and when he died, they were vulnerable. They lacked a stable majority in both the Politburo and the PSC, and although they had support in Shanghai and in some other regions, this could not be mobilized in Beijing, and their control over the propaganda apparatus proved to be a weak reed.106 They were opposed by many of the veterans of the revolution, especially those like Deng who had suffered in the Cultural Revolution and were now seeking to return to political life. In addition, there were significant internal tensions among the Four (particularly concerning the overbearing and politically inept activities of Jiang Qing) which hindered decisive action. But the crucial factors were the initiative taken by Hua107 and the support, unity and power of the PLA. The formality of party processes was observed, but in reality it was a factional power play within the oligarchy that, with military support, brought the Gang down. Ultimately, Hua was himself displaced by Deng, leading to the dominance of the system once again by veteran revolutionaries, and thereby restoring the link between high office and historical prestige that had been broken by the Cultural Revolution. Between July 1977 and the Third Plenum of the Eleventh CC in December 1978, Hua’s supremacy was undermined108 and during 1979–80 Deng and his supporters sidelined him as a political force.109 Hua’s fate showed the fragility of formal office without personal authority or strong factional support, especially when so many revolutionary veterans remained prominent in the elite and the oligarchy more narrowly. The demise of the Gang and introduction of radical economic reform at the Third Plenum in December 1978 essentially generated two factional tendencies within the oligarchy and the elite more broadly: the supporters of the policy of economic reform (led by Deng and supported by younger members of the leadership and many state and party officials including Hua) and those who had reservations about it and wished to see it moderated and who placed more emphasis upon the state sector of the economy rather than the market, represented most prominently by many leading veteran revolutionaries. Neither of these tendencies was highly organized nor without their own internal tensions and differences, and neither was fully consistent in the positions they took. But the dominant figure was clearly Deng, and he sought to balance between these two groups while ensuring that the policy of economic reform was maintained, and the leadership did not face a major rupture. Deng devolved considerable policy responsibility, was responsive to his colleagues and their views, and demonstrated considerable personal policy flexibility. Those veterans who opposed the economic reform were unable

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consistently to block him, although they could induce swerves in policy at different times. His chief supporters, all promoted by him, were Hu Yaobang, Zhao Ziyang and, initially more ambiguously, Jiang Zemin. But while Deng supported economic reform, like Mao before him he tended to be mercurial. Sometimes he abandoned reform proposals or fostered conservative measures (for example, on price reform in 1988 and the 1989 Tiananmen crackdown110 ), or supported the more conservative side of a debate before switching to the reformist side (for example, in the 1980 ideological debate and 1983 support for the ‘spiritual pollution’ campaign).111 He even abandoned his two designated successors, sacking Hu in 1987 and Zhao in 1989 (see the discussion of Rule 24). Some of his oscillation was due to genuine uncertainty about the parameters and effects of reform and some was a response to the emergence of economic and political difficulties in the 1980s. But the oscillation also reflects pressure from the more conservative tendency and a desire to ensure that the essential unity of the leadership was not compromised. In this sense, it was the relationship between the two factional groupings that shaped both Deng’s actions and oligarch politics in the period as a whole. In June 1989, following the crackdown on the Tiananmen demonstration, Jiang Zemin was elected General Secretary to replace Zhao Ziyang. Deng supported the choice of Jiang, but he was not universally supported by the veterans, and their reservations about the course of reform remained. Deng had maintained his position removed from the day-to-day running of political life, but his support remained crucial for Jiang. Deng had seen his task since the mid-1980s to be to ensure that the course of economic reform was maintained and, in the continuing stand-off between the reformers and the more conservative veterans, to bolster the position of the former by blocking the latter. He sought to do this by seeking the exit of the veterans from oligarch politics (see Rules 9 and 10) and by protecting Jiang and promoting the person who was to be Jiang’s successor, Hu Jintao, and these he was ultimately able to achieve. In the decades following Deng’s death, oligarch politics was structured primarily through the interaction of two broad factional groupings.112 The first was associated with Jiang Zemin and then Xi Jinping, the latter with Hu Jintao and then Li Keqiang. The Jiang-Xi group generally united people who worked with Jiang in Shanghai and many of the so-called ‘princelings’ (sons of the revolutionary veterans). The Hu-Li group consisted mainly of officials, especially those who made their careers in the Chinese Youth League (as Hu did), and they have tended to be of more modest backgrounds. Neither group is highly disciplined, but they do generally support their putative leaders and have different economic orientations: Jiang-Xi is more market-focused, Hu-Li more state enterprise focused, although these are differences of degree, not kind. These two groups balance each other; neither has sought to eliminate the other and rule alone, but rather to cooperate to produce a stable leadership.113 The fact that Li Keqiang is prime minister while

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Xi Jinping is General Secretary reflects this balance, as does the fact that the major purge that Xi pursued upon coming to power struck leading figures in his own faction as well as members of the Hu-Li group. These groups both compete and cooperate. Factions have therefore been crucial in structuring the political life of the Chinese oligarchy. They have not always been the principal actor in oligarch politics— this role has been played by successive predominant and dominant leaders—but they have been important in shaping how that politics has been played out. Until their disappearance from the scene as the dominant tendency in the 1990s, the revolutionary veterans were the chief protagonists in this factional dynamic, except for the period of the Cultural Revolution when they found themselves overwhelmingly victims. Unlike the Cultural Revolution Group, the veteran revolutionaries tended to play politics by the established rules of the game. The authority of the leader was always respected, policy and other differences were never considered to be a zero sum game or a matter of life or death, and there was a general sense of propriety in relations with one another. These were sometimes honoured in the breach, as in the case of Peng Dehuai, but generally they held and provided a basis for stability despite the potentially roiling effect of radical economic change. Even after the leader departed the scene with Deng’s death, factions (now on a different basis) have continued to underpin the stability of oligarch political life.114 This is because they seem to have followed the same rules of the game that had applied earlier. Thus, rather than being the sources of political instability, as has usually been assumed in discussing the role of factions in authoritarian politics, Chinese factions have underpinned continuing oligarch stability. It was only when the established factional structure was pushed aside in the Cultural Revolution and immediate aftermath that the association between stability and factions was disrupted. Factions were ever-present in the communist regimes under both dominant and predominant leaders, and they did not for the most part create instability. Most factional activity was contained within the accepted bounds and in that way acted as a stabilizer for and coordinator of the leadership system. Their legitimacy is a clear reflection of the enabling and coordinating effect of rules.

Rule 7. Oligarchs enjoy security of tenure and possessions The established view of authoritarian leadership is that the oligarchs are continually in fear for their positions or even lives because of the arbitrary power of the dictator. Although this is not an inevitable feature of oligarchy under dictatorial rule, it does occur; oligarchs, or former oligarchs, have lost their lives as a result of political considerations, with the Cultural Revolution and Great Terror, where the restraint broke down in the dictator’s drive to expunge all ‘opposition’, the most climactic instances of this. Furthermore some dictators prefer to maintain a

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level of uncertainty within the oligarchy in the belief that it strengthens their own positions. But throughout most of the lives of these regimes, oligarchs do seem to have enjoyed a modicum of security; many have enjoyed extended periods in office, and when they have lost office they have often been given a soft landing through appointments elsewhere and sometimes even rehabilitated and brought back into political life. This rule (and its counterpart Rule 29 on the consequences of defeat in leadership contests) intersected with some of the operational rules governing oligarch life (Rules 3 on collective discussion, 4 on oligarch autonomy, 5 on disagreement among oligarchs and 8 on unity), as well as with Rule 16 on elite institutions as oligarch power bases, and Rule 17 on the role of the security service. The oligarchs enjoy access to material advantages not available to the populace as a whole, or at least not to the same extent. This has taken the form of the occupation of office which enables the skimming off of money and resources from the state, appointment to leading positions in economically productive enterprises, and in China the granting of licences for economic activity, or the sale of state enterprises at favourable rates. But even when personal gains are not as apparent as in these types of activities, all of which are usually classed by observers as forms of corruption,115 the oligarchs benefit from their positions in terms of lifestyle, access to perks and enhanced payment levels.116 Even though oligarchs probably rarely go into politics purely for personal gain, once they have experience of the sorts of privileges that can come from office, most will want to retain them. It is therefore in the interests of all, the dictator and the rank-and-file oligarchs, to guarantee those privileges and to ensure that there is no challenge to them either on an individual or a corporate basis. There may be informal restrictions on the dimensions of enrichment in which oligarchs can engage and upon their public manifestation. In the communist regimes, the way that privilege seemed to run counter to the basic ideological message ensured that it existed out of public sight (even if it was known about), at least until the Brezhnev era in the Soviet Union and the last two decades in China. But there was also an agreement that these privileges should not come under threat. The wise leader ensured continuing oligarch access to privileges and did not place such access in jeopardy, with such a self-protection pact providing security for the oligarchy as a whole, including himself. This was important not merely for the oligarchs, but also for their individual constituencies within the elite more generally. The economic basis of some of these constituencies meant that they had a direct and immediate interest in the control over economic resources enjoyed by the oligarchs;117 their health and future development depended upon those resources. But even those constituencies not based in the economy had an interest in economic distribution, and looked for their interests to be protected by ‘their’ oligarch. Ensuring the maintenance of access to the means of wealth generation was not only instrumental to the

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continuation of oligarch stability, but to the continued support of that oligarchy by the broader elite. And this was a direct result of the enabling side of this rule.

Rule 8. Despite the presence of differences within the oligarchy at various times, there is a strong ethos of unity; consensus underpins the stable conduct of oligarch life Despite policy conflict, central to the survival of these regimes was the presence of a basic consensus that underpinned the life of the oligarchy. This served to restrict conflict, or at least create an environment within which conflict could be prevented from destabilizing the system. As such, this rule underpinned all of the rules. This consensus, usually embodied in a foundational pact worked out around the time of the regime’s establishment, was not complete and it at times became frayed and perhaps even broken, but generally it held throughout the life of the regime. Consensus existed on three levels. First, there was a consensus on the regime remaining in power. Initially among some of the Bolsheviks there was the belief that they would only need to remain in power until revolution in the West created the conditions for the shift to communism, but they were soon disabused of this. Henceforth the continued existence of the regime was rationalized ideologically, and the commitment to remaining in power was consolidated. Second, there developed the procedural consensus over the mode of functioning of the regime (especially Rules 3, 4, 5 and 6). These procedures of rule were also usually worked out as part of the foundational pact, although this often occurs over the early years of the regime as it settles into power. In the Soviet Union this was worked out over the 1920s through the medium of the factional conflict of that time; in China it had been largely elaborated in the base areas before gaining national power. In practice, over time some of these procedures changed with the rise and then end of a leader’s dominance and the shift in the direction of more routinized procedures, with the other oligarchs generally more favourably disposed to the latter modus operandi. But even when Stalin and Mao were at their most idiosyncratic and difficult to read, their authority was accepted.And therefore the way they had structured decision-making was accepted. Certainly, there was a revolt over this under Khrushchev, but generally there was commitment to the procedural rules of the game in all of the regimes for most of the time. This seems to have been most explicit under Brezhnev where, if there was no consensus on an issue, it was usually postponed for further work.118 Third, there was a general commitment to the basic thrust of policy. While policy disagreements were common (Rules 3 and 5), reflecting both the personal views of the oligarchs and the institutional interests they represented, within the communist regimes there was broad commitment to the task before them, ‘the

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construction of communism’, and a generalized agreement about how to go about this. Following the adoption of the Soviet First Five Year Plan in 1927 and the implementation of agricultural collectivization and industrial development, the agreement over the direction of policy remained unshaken until the Gorbachev reforms. In China, the early agreement about how to proceed collapsed with the Great Leap Forward and the lead in to the Cultural Revolution, but then was reconsolidated on a different basis under Deng, since which time that general consensus has continued to prevail. The presence of such a consensus underpinned the oligarchy, created a common basis upon which their relations could rest, and was a manifestation of the demand for oligarch unity. Differences over particular policies were common, but these generally did not translate into major disputes embracing a significant part of the policy agenda or the oligarchy as a whole, and they did not for the most part call into question the leadership of the dictator. Individual oligarchs may have differed from the leader on particular issues, but except for cases like Khrushchev and Hua, these did not translate into opposition to the leader as such. Both Soviet and Chinese oligarchs accepted that, having acceded to the top job, the leader should be granted a degree of freedom to act as he chose and pursue the policies he wished. This is most clearly reflected in the attitude to Gorbachev and to Deng where, despite their misgivings about various policies, in the end most oligarchs assented to the leader having his way. It may also be evident in the way in which, despite his incapacity from the mid-1970s, no move was made against Brezhnev, and it may be a factor in why it took so long for the oligarchs to move against Khrushchev. In China there was also broad consensus about Mao’s authority and how, while individual policies might be challenged, his authority was not called into question. However, as the outbreak of the Cultural Revolution demonstrated, the consensus on the broad policy front collapsed while that on the question of the rules of the game eroded. Given the authority Mao exercised, he was able to challenge and overturn that consensus, in the process destroying the contours of oligarch politics as it had hitherto been known. Such consensus was restored under Deng. This sort of unity based on consensus means that the picture of such leaderships as continually split by conflict is exaggerated. Although there may be conflict on various grounds, this was underpinned by a basic agreement about regime aims and by acceptance of the sorts of rules outlined in this book. While such unity and consensus may sometimes have been overshadowed by conflict, it was present in most regimes for most of the time, and when it broke down, the other rules came even more into play to prevent the destabilization of the regime as a whole. The operational rules were central to the coordination of authoritarian oligarchies. The rules not only placed constraints upon the oligarchs, including the leader, but they were also enabling and thereby empowering. They created both legitimate

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spaces and mechanisms enabling oligarchs to coordinate their activity and conduct their political lives with a degree of certainty that would have otherwise been lacking. In particular, Rules 3–6 on collective discussion of issues, oligarch autonomy, the legitimacy of disagreement among oligarchs, and acceptance of factions constituted the means whereby rank-and-file oligarchs could organize to protect themselves and their interests at least to some degree, and potentially to impose constraints upon the leader. In contrast, Rule 2 provided the scope for a leader to assert his dominance/predominance. In functioning in this way, the rules created the framework within which the politics of the leadership could be played out in a way that did not destabilize the regime. Their role in this way is discussed in Chapter 9. The operational rules were closely linked to the relational rules.

Notes 1. For all of the editions of the party Rules except those of 1990, see Graeme Gill, The Rules of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (London, Macmillan, 1988). 2. Vos’moi s’ezd RKP(b). Mart 1919 goda. Protokoly (Moscow, Gosudarstvennoe izdatel’stvo politicheskoi literatury, 1959), p.425. 3. The best study of Sovnarkom and its displacement remains T. H. Rigby, Lenin’s Government. Sovnarkom 1917-1922 (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1979). Also see Lara Douds, Inside Lenin’s Government: Ideology, Power and Practice in the Early Soviet State (London, Bloomsbury Academic, 2018). 4. On this body see Oleg Khlevniuk, “Stalin’s War Cabinet: Normalization and Political Dynamics of the Dictatorship”, Europe-Asia Studies 70, 6, 2018, pp.1–17. 5. ‘Constitution of the Chinese Communist Party (11 June 1945)’, Conrad Brandt, Benjamin Schwartz & John K. Fairbank (eds), A Documentary History of Chinese Communism (New York, Atheneum, 1966), p.432. 6. Eighth National Congress of the Communist Party of China. Volume 1. Documents (Peking, Foreign Languages Press, 1956), p.157. 7. David Shambaugh, ‘The Dynamics of Elite Politics During the Jiang Era’, The China Journal 45, January 2001, pp.103–106. Discussion of issues in small groups also became more important under Jiang. 8. Alice Miller, ‘The Politburo Standing Committee under Hu Jintao’, China Leadership Monitor 35, Summer 2011. This reflects an effort to strengthen its decision-making and operational role within the party. Its expanded size, the division of work among its members, and the fact that leadership of the leading small groups was for the first time concentrated in the hands of Standing Committee members reflects the expansion of its role at the expense of the Secretariat. 9. This is not certain because of the paucity of information about meetings of this body in the press. A list of the publicized meetings which accords with this approximate timetable is in Lyman Miller, ‘More Already on Politburo Procedures Under Hu Jintao’, China Leadership Monitor 17, January 2006. However, the same source lists

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10.

11.

12.

13.

14. 15. 16.

17.

18. 19.

bridling dictators PSC meetings on a much less regular basis, so the inference should be treated with care. There were also occasional reports of meetings of the PSC, something that had not occurred before. Miller (2011). Hu also began to provide regular reports to the CC on the Politburo’s activities, action that reaffirmed the principle of the accountability of the latter to the former and also portrayed elite party organs as functioning in a regular fashion. In the Politburo, the General Secretary played the main guiding role, and issues seem to have been decided by consensus, with issues being deferred if such consensus could not be obtained. The Politburo also sometimes held ‘study sessions’, convened to study certain questions in some depth and attended by people with expertise in the field to guide the members in their deliberations, and central smallgroup meetings to oversee the course of policy. On these, see H. Lyman Miller, ‘Party Politburo Processes Under Hu Jintao’, China Leadership Monitor 11, Summer 2004. N.S. Khrushchev, ‘O kul’te lichnosti i ego posledstviyakh. Doklad Pervogo sekretarya TsK KPSS tov. Khrushcheva N.S. XX s’ezdu Kommunisticheskoi partii Sovetskogo Soyuza’, Izvestiya TsK KPSS 3, 1989, p.163. Also see Paul R. Gregory, The Political Economy of Stalinism: Evidence from the Soviet Secret Archives (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2004), p.19. In the words of Geddes et al., the ‘impulse toward personalization seems to be common to all’ authoritarian regimes. Barbara Geddes, Joseph Wright & Erica Frantz, How Dictatorships Work (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2018), p.93. On how it is not always easy to identify who is such a dictator, see Jennifer Gandhi, Political Institutions under Dictatorship (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2008), pp.16–34. This position experienced a number of name changes: from 1918 chairman of the All-Russian Central Executive Committee of Soviets, from 1924 chairman of the Presidium of the Central Executive Committee of the USSR, from 1936 chairman of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet, and from 1990 president. Although Jiang Zemin was General Secretary from 1989, he was not the predominant leader until Deng’s illness and death in 1995 and 1997 respectively. The dates of the occupation of these offices differed, i.e. a leader did not take them up all at the same time. The dates indicated refer to the General Secretary position. On some of these relationships, see Simon Sebag Montefiore, Stalin: The Court of the Red Tsar (London, Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2003), p.41; E.A. Rees, Iron Lazar: A Political Biography of Lazar Kaganovich (London, Anthem Press, 2013), pp.125 & 212; Anastas Ivanovich Mikoyan, Tak bylo. Razmyshleniya i minuvshem (Moscow, Tsentrpoligraf, 2014), p.381; Sheila Fitzpatrick, On Stalin’s Team: The Years of Living Dangerously (Melbourne, Melbourne University Press, 2015), pp.64–67. This refers to Stalin’s ‘Dizzy with Success’ article. I.V. Stalin, ‘Golovokruzhenie ot uspekhov. K voprosam kolkhoznogo dvizheniya’, I.V. Stalin, Sochineniya vol.12 Aprel’ 1929-yuin’ 1930 (Moscow, Gosudarstvennoe izdatel’stvo politicheskoi literatury, 1949), pp.191–199. The article appeared in Pravda 2 March 1930. On this, see Oleg Khlevniuk, Master of the House: Stalin and His Inner Circle (New Haven, Yale University Press, 2009), pp.64–66. O.V. Khlevnyuk, R.U. Devis, L.P. Kosheleva, E.A. Ris & L.A. Rogovaya, Stalin i Kaganovich Perepiska. 1931-1936 gg. (Moscow, ROSSPEN, 2001) and Lars T. Lih, Oleg

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20.

21. 22.

23.

24. 25. 26.

27.

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Naumov & Oleg V. Khlevniuk (eds), Stalin’s Letters to Molotov 1925-1936 (New Haven, Yale University Press, 1995). In many cases, Stalin seems to have approved decisions without even reading them. See F. Chuev, Sto sorok besed s Molotovym. Iz dnevnika F. Chueva (Moscow, Terra, 1991), pp.258–259, and Khlevnyuk, Devis, Kosheleva, Ris & Rogovaya (2001), p.80. One study shows that in 1934 Stalin routinely confirmed 96% of Politburo decisions. J. Arch Getty, ‘Stalin as Prime Minister: Power and Politburo’, Sarah Davies & James Harris (eds), Stalin. A New History (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2005), pp.95–97. But there were occasions in which he overruled them. For some examples, see Yoram Gorlizki, ‘Stalin’s Cabinet: the Politburo and Decision Making in the Post-war Years’, Europe-Asia Studies 53, 2, 2001, pp.294–295. Mikhail Gorbachev, Memoirs (London, Doubleday, 1996), p.114. For the characterization of Gorbachev’s discussions with these people as ‘maximally open and honest’, see Vadim Medvedev, V kommande gorbacheva (Moscow, Algoritm, 2016), p.111. On this see Graeme Gill, The Collapse of a Single-Party System: The Disintegration of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1994), pp.36–39. Medvedev (2016), pp.216–217 and ‘Ob’edinennyi plenum TsK i TsKK KPSS’, Izvestiya TsK KPSS 6, 1991, p.10. Yegor Ligachev, Inside Gorbachev’s Kremlin: The Memoirs of Yegor Ligachev (Boulder, Westview Press, 1996), pp.167–168; Medvedev (2016), p.155. On this shift, see Roderick MacFarquhar, The Origins of the Cultural Revolution. 1. Contradictions Among the People 1956-1957 (New York, Columbia University Press, 1974), pp.152–156. On leaders checking with Mao before committing to positions, see Roderick MacFarquhar, The Origins of the Cultural Revolution. 3. The Coming of the Cataclysm 1961–1966 (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1997), pp.66, 199, 267–268 & 344. This argument emphasizing deference is different from, although not completely inconsistent with, an explanation for pre-Cultural Revolution policy-making given by Avery Goldstein. Goldstein offers a structural argument, arguing that where a hierarchical structure of power exists, the cumulative advantages possessed by those higher in the structure (authority, and the ability to apply sanctions and rewards) encourages others to bandwagon once they know the preferences of the leader; where that structure does not exist, factions will pursue a balance-of-power politics. In Goldstein’s terms, in the former period on contentious matters, ‘Opinions were raised, positions were articulated, and as cues regarding a final resolution were discerned, most competing groups and individuals muted their differences in a rush to become part of an emerging consensus’ (p.82). This analysis of the 1949-65 period requires two qualifications. First, the image of the bandwagon is that former critics or sceptics became enthusiastic supporters of positions they had formerly opposed, and while this did occur, it was also common for such people to become simply ‘fellow travellers’; they complied with the decisions taken, were neither openly critical nor oppositional, and did merely what was necessary to avoid political difficulty. To say that they were supporters of the policy would be to exaggerate their commitment. Second, while a

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29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35.

36. 37. 38.

39. 40.

41.

bridling dictators hierarchical structure may have been instrumental in many instances in producing compliance, it would only have operated in this way if the leader was acknowledged to possess significant authority. In a hierarchical system, that authority could flow from occupation of a formal position in that structure. But in this case, more important was the fact that the chairman possessed substantial personal authority and that in most cases he sought to wield this within the parameters of existing party norms. At their heart, these norms included the right to present opinions along with the obligation to unanimously support a decision once it had been made. When this was combined with acceptance of the personal authority of Mao, the behaviour Goldstein characterizes as bandwagoning was explicable. Avery Goldstein, From Bandwagon to Balance-of-Power Politics: Structural Constraints and Politics in China, 1949-1978 (Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1991). On this, see Frederick C. Teiwes, ‘The Paradoxical Post-Mao Transition: From Obeying the Leader to “Normal Politics” ’, The China Journal 34, July 1995, pp.67–68 & 72–78 and Joseph Fewsmith, Dilemmas of Reform in China: Political Conflict and Economic Debate (Armonk, M.E. Sharpe, 1994), pp.243–244. Kosior, Ordzhonikidze, Petrovsky, Postyshev, Rudzutak and Chubar. Beria was endangered by the Mingrelian affair. On the tenor of Kaganovich’s correspondence with Stalin, see Khlevnyuk, Devis, Kosheleva, Ris & Rogovaya (2001), p.23. Mikoyan (2014), pp.186 & 193. Chuev (1991), pp.297, 298 & 452–453. Mikoyan (2014), pp.562–564 & 597. Werner G. Hahn, Postwar Soviet Politics: The Fall of Zhdanov and the Defeat of Moderation (Ithaca, Cornell University Press, 1982), pp.64–65; and Yoram Gorlizki & Oleg Khlevniuk, Cold Peace. Stalin and the Soviet Ruling Circle, 1945-1953 (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2004), p.135. See Graeme Gill, Collective Leadership in Soviet Politics (Cham, Palgrave Macmillan, 2018), p.139 for full sources. Chuev (1991), pp.271 & 470. For some instances of this, see Stephen Kotkin, Stalin Volume II: Waiting for Hitler, 1928-1941 (London, Allen Lane, 2017), pp.625–626 and E.A. Rees, ‘Stalin as Leader 1924-1937: From Oligarch to Dictator’, E.A. Rees (ed), The Nature of Stalin’s Dictatorship: The Politburo, 1924-1953 (Basingstoke, Palgrave Macmillan, 2004), p.49. Boris Bazhanov, ‘Stalin Closely Observed’, G.R. Urban (ed), Stalinism: Its Impact on Russia and the World (Aldershot, Wildwood House, 1982), p.8; Mikoyan (2014), p.397. Mikoyan (2014), p.500. Initially during the war Stalin was apparently quite headstrong, but in the face of the military setbacks this approach was soon moderated. On General Rokossovsky arguing over military matters with Stalin in May 1944, see Seweryn Bialer, Stalin and His Generals (New York, Pegasus Books, 1969), p.461. On Molotov as the co-drafter of many of the communications Stalin sent to Churchill and Roosevelt, see David Reynolds & Vladimir Pechatnov, The Kremlin Letters: Stalin’s Wartime Correspondence with Churchill and Roosevelt (New Haven, Yale University Press, 2018), p.5.

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42. This basically follows Frederick C. Teiwes, ‘The Study of Elite Political Conflict in the PRC: Politics inside the “Black Box” ’, David S. G. Goodman (ed), Handbook of the Politics of China (Aldershot, Edward Elgar, 2015), pp.27–31. 43. Although the number had been increased to 10. The original seven were Mao Zedong, Liu Shaoqi, Zhou Enlai, Zhu De, Chen Yun, Lin Biao, and Deng Xiaoping. 44. Of the four, Ren Bishi and Lin Boqu died in 1950 and 1960 respectively, and Gao Gang and Peng Dehuai were purged in 1954 and 1959. One carried forward, Peng Chen, was purged in May 1966 and others suffered the same fate during the Cultural Revolution. 45. Teiwes (2011), p.7. 46. Frederick C. Teiwes, ‘Chinese Politics 1949-65: A Changing Mao’, Frederick C. Teiwes, Leadership, Legitimacy and Conflict in China: From a Charismatic Mao to the Politics of Succession (Armonk, M.E. Sharpe Inc., 1984), p.24. This was given a form of official validation by the 1953 decision to grant him the right to sign off on all CC documents, thereby effectively giving him a veto over decisions. Teiwes (2014), p.81. 47. Both cases have been subject to different interpretations, but I am following those of Frederick C. Teiwes, Politics at Mao’s Court: Gao Gang and Party Factionalism in the Early 1950s (Armonk, M.E. Sharpe Inc., 1990) and Frederick C. Teiwes & Warren Sun, China’s Road to Disaster: Mao, Central Politicians, and Provincial Leaders in the Unfolding of the Great Leap Forward 1955-1959 (Armonk, M.E. Sharpe Inc., 1999), pp.202–212. For a different view, see Goldstein (1991), Part II and (on Peng) Roderick MacFarquhar, The Origins of the Cultural Revolution.2: The Great Leap Forward 1958-1960 (New York, Columbia University Press, 1983). 48. This contrasts with the treatment of Deng Zihui in 1955 on the question of agricultural collectivization who was forced to make a self-criticism and suffered a reduction in power but was not removed from his post. Frederick C. Teiwes & Warren Sun, The Politics of Agricultural Cooperativization in China: Mao, Deng Zihui, and the ‘High Tide’ of 1955 (London, Routledge, 2015; originally published 1993) p.17. 49. It was also redefined: ‘centralism on the basis of democracy and democracy under centralized guidance’. Eighth National Congress (1956), p.142. 50. Teiwes (2014), p.80. 51. Despite the removal of the reference to his ‘thought’ in the new party Constitution adopted in 1956. 52. MacFarquhar (1974), pp.152–156; and Teiwes (1990), p.32. 53. Kenneth Lieberthal, ‘The Great Leap Forward and the Split in the Yan’an Leadership 1958-1965’, Roderick MacFarquhar (ed), The Politics of China: Sixty Years of the People’s Republic of China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), p.122. 54. On the dynamics of politics in the Cultural Revolution, see Frank Dikotter, The Cultural Revolution: A People’s History 1962-1976 (London, Bloomsbury Publishing, 2016) and Roderick MacFarquhar & Michael Schoenhals, Mao’s Last Revolution (Cambridge [Mass], The Belknap Press, 2006). 55. The profile of the military in the new organs was very high: some 45% of members of the CC came from the military, compared with 19% in 1956. Harry Harding, ‘The Chinese State in Crisis 1966-1969’, MacFarquhar (2011), pp.226–226.

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56. MacFarquhar & Schoenhals (2006), and Frederick C. Teiwes & Warren Sun, The End of the Maoist Era: Chinese Politics During the Twilight of the Cultural Revolution, 1972–1976 (Armonk, M.E. Sharpe, 2007). 57. On Lin and his fall, see Roderick MacFarquhar, ‘The Succession to Mao and the End of Maoism’, MacFarquhar (2011), pp.254–275; Frederick C. Teiwes & Warren Sun, The Tragedy of Lin Biao: Riding the Tiger during the Cultural Revolution, 1966–1971 (Bathurst, Crawford House Publishing, 1996), ch.4. 58. Teiwes & Sun (2007), ch.6. 59. Although it had been assumed that they had a solid organizational base in the propaganda apparatus in the capital and the urban machine in Shanghai, both of these proved to be quite weak. 60. Bukharin was involved with the Left Communists, but at the time he was not a member of the oligarchy. 61. Reflective of this was the comment by Alexandra Kollontai of the Workers Opposition in 1921: ‘Not in vain will the rank-and-file worker speak with assurance and reconciliation: Ilyich [Lenin] will ponder, he will think it over, he will listen to us. And then he will decide to turn the Party rudder toward the Opposition.’ Alexandra Kollontai, The Workers Opposition (London by, Solidarity London Pamphlet 7, ND, first published 1921), p.48. 62. Khlevniuk (2009), pp.21–29 & 64–66, and Charters Wynn, ‘The ‘Right Opposition’ and the “Smirnov-Eismont-Tolmachev Affair” ’, Paul R. Gregory & Norman Naimark (eds), The Lost Politburo Transcripts: From Collective Rule to Stalin’s Dictatorship (New Haven, Yale University Press, 2008), pp.97–117. 63. On this, see Mikoyan (2014), p.640 cf. Kotkin (2017), p.160. 64. For the role played by Kaganovich in fostering the cult through the way in which he spoke, see Mikoyan (2014), p.344. 65. For an example, see Lih, Naumov & Khlevniuk (1995), pp.233–234. 66. This occurred within the major decision-making fora, with the most celebrated instance being Kirov’s reluctance to move to Moscow to take up the CC Secretary position to which he had been appointed at the XVII Congress in January 1934. 67. For two studies that have focused on the aesopic nature of these disagreements, see Michel Tatu, Power in the Kremlin: From Khrushchev to Kosygin (New York, The Viking Press, 1968) and Carl A. Linden, Khrushchev and the Soviet Leadership 1957–1964 (Baltimore, The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1966). 68. On the Politburo meeting for barely half an hour and resolving nothing, and Gorbachev being told that his job was to support the General Secretary even though he was not performing, see Gorbachev (1996), pp.114 & 134. 69. For example, on the views of Chen Yun, see Fewsmith (1994). It is also important to acknowledge that Deng was not a consistent and unambiguous proponent of reform policies, nor that he was the only leader pushing a reform agenda; Hua Guofeng, who basically agreed with the policy adopted at the Third Plenum which introduced economic reform, was also a proponent of reform.

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70. On their removal, see Richard Baum, Burying Mao: Chinese Politics in the Age of Deng Xiaoping (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1994), pp.397–398 and Fewsmith (1994), pp.194–198. 71. Although Jiang was formally General Secretary, Deng remained the chief figure and overall leader. Jiang survived because Deng ultimately became convinced of the folly of dismissing him. For one discussion, see Joseph Fewsmith, Elite Politics in Contemporary China (Armonk, M.E. Sharpe, 2001), pp.71–72. 72. This could be taken to support the argument that, because of the leader’s worries about treachery from his colleagues, he always put loyalty before competence in his selection of those colleagues. Georgy Egorov & Konstantin Sonin, ‘Dictators and Their Viziers: Endogenizing the Loyalty-Competence Trade-off ’, Journal of the European Economic Association October 2011, pp.903–930. The thrust of the argument in this book disputes that such a fear of treachery is always the driving force behind a dictator’s decision-making. The sort of institutional power bases discussed in the text is also a focus of Anne Meng, Constraining Dictatorship: From Personalized Rule to Institutionalized Regimes (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2020). 73. On patterns of Politburo representation, see John Lowenhardt & Erik van Ree, The Rise and Fall of the Soviet Politburo (New York, St Martins Press, 1992), esp pp.88–102. For some longitudinal data on China, see Cheng Li, Chinese Politics in the Xi Jinping Era: Reassessing Collective Leadership (Washington DC, The Brookings Institution, 2016), pp.108–118. 74. Stalin was on holiday for the following number of days per year: 1945 70; 1946 104; 1947 104; 1948 90; 1949 99; 1950 143; 1951 154; 1952 101. Stephen Wheatcroft, ‘From Team-Stalin to Degenerate Tyranny’, Rees (2004), p.92. 75. Also their deliberations were serviced by the CC secretarial apparatus run by Stalin’s personal assistant, Aleksandr Poskrebyshev. 76. For example, Chuev (1991), pp.258–259 and Khlevnyuk, Devis, Kosheleva, Ris & Rogovaya (2001), p.80. 77. Getty (2005), pp.95–97. 78. Yoram Gorlizki, ‘Ordinary Stalinism: The Council of Ministers and the Soviet Neopatrimonial State’, The Journal of Modern History 74, 4, 2002, pp.705–706, and Oleg V. Khlevniuk, ‘Stalin as Dictator’, Davies &Harris (2005), pp.118–119. 79. For example, Chuev (1991), pp.271 & 470. 80. Teiwes (2014), p.80. 81. On this, see Fewsmith (1994), p.244; You Ji, ‘Jiang Zemin’s Formal and Informal Sources of Power and Chinese Elite Politics After 4 June 1989’, China Information vi, 2, 1991, p.4; and Frederick C. Teiwes & Warren Sun, ‘China’s Economic Reorientation After the Third Plenum: Conflict Surrounding “Chen Yun’s” Readjustment Program, 1979-80’, The China Journal 70, July 2013, pp.163–187. 82. It is often a matter of considerable debate whether a dictator is utilizing such tactics or not. For one discussion of this, see Goldstein (1991). 83. This sort of conflict was clearly evident in the proceedings of the XVII Congress in 1934. 84. On Stalin as arbiter and on being concerned, see respectively Khlevnyuk et al. (2001), pp.21 & 50–51.

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85. For example, see Teiwes & Sun (1993/2015); McFarquhar (1974); Teiwes (2011), pp.6–86; and Lieberthal (2011), pp.87–146. 86. For one discussion of such policy differences, see Kenneth Lieberthal, Governing China: From Revolution Through Reform (New York, W.W. Norton & Co., 2004), p.141 and Fewsmith (1994). 87. The discussion of what is meant by faction has been important in the analysis of Chinese politics. For example, see Andrew J. Nathan, ‘A Factionalism Model for CCP Politics’, China Quarterly 53, January 1973, pp.34–66; Tang Tsou, ‘Prolegomenon to the Study of Informal Groups in CCP Politics”, China Quarterly 65, January 1976, pp.98–116; Lucian W. Pye, The Dynamics of Factions and Consensus in Chinese Politics: A Model and Some Propositions (Santa Monica, Rand Corporation R-2566-AF, July 1980); Lowell Dittmer, ‘Chinese Informal Politics’, The China Journal 34, July 1995, pp.1–34; Tang Tsou, ‘Chinese Politics at the Top: Factionalism or Informal Politics? Balance-of-Power Politics or a Game of to Win All?’, The China Journal 34, July 1995, pp.95–156; Joseph Fewsmith, ‘Institutions, Informal Politics, and Political Transition in China’, Asian Survey xxxvi, 3, 1996, pp.230–245; Alice Miller, ‘The Trouble with Factions’, China Leadership Monitor 46, Winter 2015. For a simpler definition, see Dan Slater, Ordering Power. Contentious Politics and Authoritarian Leviathans in Southeast Asia (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2010), p.11. 88. For an explicit warning against socializing because of the way in which it could be interpreted as plotting, see the report of Yuri Andropov’s comments to Mikhail Gorbachev in 1980. Gorbachev (1996), p.122. 89. Much of the Western scholarship on China in the 1970s used a factional model, the ‘two roads’ model generated by Mao’s supporters, to explain the course of Chinese politics up until the Cultural Revolution. 90. For the view that factional conflict has not been present in the People’s Action Party in Singapore, see Slater (2010), p.230. 91. ‘O edinstve partii’, Desyatyi s’ezd RKP(b). Mart 1921 goda. Stenograficheskii otchet (Moscow, Gosudarstvennoe izdatel’stvo politicheskoi literatury, 1963), pp.571–573. 92. On Lenin, see Chuev (1991), p.181,and Mikoyan (2014), pp.226–227; for Stalin, O.V. Khlevnyuk, A.V. Kvashonkin, L.P. Kosheleva & L.A. Rogovaya, Stalinskoe politbyuro v 30-e gody. Sbornik dokumentov (Moscow, AIRO-XX, 1995), pp.99–100 and L.P. Kosheleva, L.A. Rogovaya & O.V. Khlevnyuk (eds), Stenogrammy zasedanii Politbyuro TsK RKP(b)-VKP(b) 1923-38 gg. Tom 3. 1928-1938 gg (Moscow: ROSSPEN, 2007), p.178. 93. Gill (2018), pp.215–224. 94. The membership question is actually quite complex. According to A.E. Rees, a quintet was established in August 1945 comprising Stalin, Molotov, Mikoyan, Malenkov, and Beria, with Zhdanov added in December 1945, Voznesensky in October 1946, and Bulganin and Kuznetsov in September 1947. Zhdanov died in 1948 and was replaced by Aleksei Kosygin who was replaced by Kaganovich in late 1949, Voznesensky and Kuznetsov were removed (and shot) in 1949, while Mikoyan and Molotov were in disgrace in 1949. When the Presidium Bureau was created in 1952, a group of five met regularly: Stalin, Malenkov, Beria, Bulganin and Khrushchev. E.A. Rees, ‘Stalin

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95.

96. 97. 98.

99.

100. 101.

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as Leader, 1937-1953: From Dictator to Despot’, Rees (The Nature, 2004), pp.213 & 227. Also see Mikoyan (2014), p.424 and Khlevniuk (2009), p.258. Gorlizki & Khlevniuk (2004), pp.105–108. Much of this occurred officially in the Bureau of the Presidium established in April 1950 and initially comprising Bulganin, Beria, Kaganovich, Mikoyan and Molotov, soon joined by Malenkov and Khrushchev. Stalin never attended. The Bureau met 39 times in 1950, 38 times in 1951, and 43 times in 1952. Gorlizki & Khlevniuk (2004), p.106. For example, see Gill (2018), pp.220–221. For an argument that his ability to appoint existing supporters supporters to positions of responsibility in the 1920s is exaggerated, see Gill (2018), pp.11–13. For a strong exposition of this view, see T.H. Rigby, ‘Khrushchev and the Rules of the Game’, R.F. Miller & F. Feher (eds), Khrushchev and the Communist World (London, Croom Helm, 1984), pp.39–81. This was important for the growth of Stalin’s support in the 1920s. Important was the fact that Stalin appeared as the defender of the party secretaries at all levels of the party while his opponents were seen to be attacking those secretaries. A constant theme in the criticism of the Stalin leadership during the 1920s was the way in which it was anti-democratic. Successive opposition groups criticized the decline in democracy in the party, including calling for the free election of all party offices. This constituted both a criticism of and a challenge for party secretaries at all levels, most of whom had gained their positions through the functioning of the central appointment system, with individual appointments then ratified by votes at the relevant level. It was this procedure to which the opposition objected. But in doing so, they were in effect attacking the current office-holders. In such conditions, it is not surprising that those officials should look to Stalin to defend them; after all, not only was he the direct object of the opposition’s attacks, but as General Secretary he was formal head of the secretarial chain that ran through the party. Thus, on the basis of both policy preference and structural location in the party, Stalin and his leadership group were likely to enjoy solid support in the CC. Teiwes (2011), pp.14–15. This refers to the period in power. Mao was involved in factional conflict in the 1930s and 1940s. They were supported by deputy premiers Li Xiannian, Deng Zihui and Bo Yibo. MacFarquhar (1983). For arguments that this was a far more conflictual process, see Parris H. Chang, Power and Policy in China (University Park, Pennsylvania State University Press, 1975); David Bachman, Bureaucracy, Economy, and Leadership in China: The Institutional Origins of the Great Leap Forward (New York, Cambridge University Press, 1991). Chang provides a ‘two line struggle’ interpretation emphasizing continual factional division within the elite, while Bachman focuses on bureaucratic politics. MacFarquhar focuses on leadership conflict, but differs from the two line struggle approach in seeing Mao as much more powerful, although ultimately still dependent upon the support of his leadership colleagues. For Teiwes and Sun (1999), Mao was more powerful again and was not reliant upon the ‘political calculations’ of other members of the elite but upon their ‘instinctive obedience’ (p.8) stemming from recognition of Mao’s personal authority. These interpretations differ on the basis of their understanding of the limitations, if any, on Mao.

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102. See the careful analysis in Teiwes & Sun (1996). This study portrays Lin as reluctant to take personal initiatives, retiring, lacking in ambition, and always following Mao’s lead. 103. The drivers of the Cultural Revolution (the Gang of Four) favoured the continuation of Cultural Revolution-style policies, the victims/survivors opposed the continuation of such policies while differing among themselves about what they wanted (some favoured a return to the 1950s, others economic reform), and the beneficiaries were more ambiguous while opposing a return to Cultural Revolution policies. 104. On Mao’s insistence, Deng was brought back in February-March 1973 as vice-premier, and as a member of the MAC and Politburo in December 1973; in October 1974 Mao proposed that Deng become first vice-premier and take over the sick Zhou Enlai’s role, in October 1974 he was appointed vice-chairman of the MAC and PLA chief-of-staff (ratified in January 1975), and from mid-December 1975 he chaired meetings of the Politburo and PSC. He was in effective charge of the day-to-day activities of party and government. Teiwes & Sun (2007), pp.43–49, 66–74 & 178–185 on the broad question of rehabilitation. Also see MacFarquhar & Schoenhals (2006), p.381. 105. Between July 1974 and April 1975 Mao did not meet with his colleagues. Teiwes & Sun (2007), pp.31–32 & 189–190. 106. On the nature of their power base, see Lowell Dittmer, ‘Bases of Power in Chinese Politics: A Theory and an Analysis of the Fall of the “Gang of Four”’, World Politics 31, 1, 1978, pp.26–60. 107. It was Hua who had, in the words of one scholar, ‘organized’ the arrest of the Gang. Teiwes (2015), p.31. 108. Hua’s position had been problematic from the outset because of his lack of a revolutionary lineage and the consequent lower standing he enjoyed in terms of prestige and deference within the party. This was reinforced by the campaign to ‘seek truth from facts’ which was associated with Deng and which undercut the ‘two whatevers’ campaign that had been linked to Hua. Despite the fact that, except over the Vietnam war, Hua’s policies differed little from those of Deng, the apparent criticism of ‘whateverism’ was used to tarnish his policy credentials. Personnel changes enhancing Deng’s support and undercutting potential support for Hua were also important. As Deng strengthened his position, Hua’s authority ebbed away even though there seemed to be little strong hostility to him on the part of most revolutionary veterans. Status, not policy, was Hua’s Achilles heel. 109. Hu Yaobang took over the party chairmanship and Deng chairmanship of the CMC. At the Fifth Plenum in February 1980, four Hua supporters were removed from their party and state posts. Deng supporters Hu Yaobang and Zhao Ziyang were promoted into the Standing Committee, and Hu became General Secretary, the post that had been vacant since Deng’s removal in 1966. Hu was in charge of the now formally established Secretariat, which was filled with Deng supporters. The plenum also posthumously rehabilitated the chief victim of the Cultural Revolution, Liu Shaoqi. Further erosion of Hua’s position occurred at a Politburo conference in August where Hua was replaced as premier by Zhao Ziyang. From the Twelfth Congress in September 1982, Hua retained only membership of the CC, but in the interim he was a member of the leadership in title only and wielded no power in oligarch councils.

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110. On Tiananmen, Deng initially supported Zhao Ziyang’s efforts to resolve it, when these failed he supported the use of unarmed troops, and when this failed, armed force. 111. On these oscillations, see Fewsmith (1994). 112. This follows Li (2016). For a study of the factional strength of top leaders in the CC, see Victor Shih, Wei Shan & Mingxing Liu, ‘Gauging the Elite Political Equilibrium in the CCP: A Quantitative Approach Using Biographical Data’, The China Quarterly 201, March 2010, pp.79–103. 113. Xi has overseen a major renewal of the leadership. Of the 18 members of the Politburo in mid-2019, 16 assumed office since Xi’s ascension to national leader in autumn 2012, as did all provincial governors and 85% of the standing members of provincial party committees. For an analysis of the nature of the links between Xi and these national level figures, see Guoguang Wu, ‘The King’s Men and Others: Emerging Political Elites under Xi Jinping’, China Leadership Monitor 74, Summer 2019. 114. On factions as major factors shaping CC membership, see Victor Shih, Christopher Adolph & Mingxing Liu, ‘Getting Ahead in the Communist Party: Explaining the Advancement of Central Committee Members in China’, American Political Science Review 106, 1, 2012, pp.166–187. 115. On corruption, see Leslie Holmes, The End of Communist Power: Anti-Corruption Campaigns and Legitimation Crisis (Melbourne, Melbourne University Press, 1993) and Graeme Gill & Roderic Pitty, Power in the Party: The Organization of Power and Central-Republican Relations in the CPSU (Basingstoke, Macmillan, 1997). 116. For some details about this in the Soviet Union and how privilege was related to rank, see Michael Voslensky, Nomenklatura: Anatomy of the Soviet Ruling Class (London, The Bodley Head, 1983). 117. On the role of privatization in the development of business networks and their links with ‘patronal presidents’, see Henry E. Hale, Patronal Presidents: Eurasian Regime Dynamics in Comparative Perspective (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2015), pp.98–110. 118. CC spokesman Valentin Falin, cited in Archie Brown, ‘The Power of the General Secretary of the CPSU’, T.H. Rigby, Archie Brown & Peter Reddaway (eds), Authority, Power and Policy in the USSR: Essays Dedicated to Leonard Schapiro (London, Macmillan, 1980), p.157 fn.54.

3 Relational Rules and Communist Single-Party Regimes Relational rules are means of structuring the relationship between the oligarchy and other elements of the regime. There are two such elements: first, the elite, comprising those officials who inhabit the upper reaches of the regime, just below the level of the oligarchs, and second, the leading institutions of the regime, principally below the level of the oligarchy. These two elements clearly intersect; the elite is embedded in those institutions. But they can, analytically, be distinguished, and it is best to do so because the impact they can have on the oligarchy can be quite different.

a) Relations with the elite The oligarchy does not, in an institutional sense, float independently of the structures that make up the machinery of the regime. The leading oligarch council is structurally linked to organizations situated under it in the regime’s organizational chart. In the communist regimes, formally the Politburo was elected by the CC which was elected by the Congress. Oligarchs were members of all three bodies, and many also held positions in the state apparatus. The question is what sort of relationship exists between the oligarchy and the elite present within these institutions. While formally that relationship is cast in terms of accountability—the oligarchs are accountable to the elite acting through these institutions—in practice the exercise of such accountability is often highly problematic, although the intervention of representatives of the elite into oligarch affairs can occur and can be decisive. In principle this could be autonomous action on the part of the elite, but more often it results from active mobilization by a section of the oligarchy (Rule 10). Such intervention could be routinized, as we will see with the attempt by Khrushchev to involve others in oligarch matters in a continuing fashion, or it could be more individualized. The oligarchs cannot ignore those below them. Any revolt from within the elite threatens not simply the modus operandi of the oligarchs, but potentially the continued existence of the system itself. If the elite were to reject the continuing Bridling Dictators. Graeme Gill, Oxford University Press. © Graeme Gill (2021). DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192849687.003.0003

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sovereignty of the oligarchs, the long-term survival of both the oligarchs and the system would be problematic. Furthermore, in all regimes the oligarchs rely upon this stratum of people to implement the decisions they make. These are the people staffing the administrative structures of which the regime consists, and they are in a perfect position to blunt the effect of oligarch decisions should they have a mind to do so. This potential for disruption means that there needs to be a way of regularizing the relationship between the oligarchs and the elite. For the oligarchs, the essence of this was the insulation of the oligarchy from the elite. This was the task of the relational rules.

Rule 9. The broader elite must have a meaningful role in the system Chapter 2 has shown how the location of decision-making is concentrated in oligarch organs, sometimes but not always identified in the formal constitutional documents of the regime. This concentration of decision-making within the oligarchy, maintenance of which is a major continuing aim of the oligarchs, needs to be combined with the creation of a role for the broader elite. This is the substance of this rule, which is an important basis upon which the rules directly governing oligarch activity (Rule 3 on collective discussion, 4 on oligarch autonomy, 6 on factions and 16 on elite institutions as oligarch power bases) and mandating no independent elite intervention into oligarch affairs (Rule 10) rest. It also is relevant for Rule 17 on the role of the security services, and for the structuring of succession (Rules 20, 21, 22, 24, 25, 26 and 27). The elite is essential both as a recruiting ground for future oligarchs and as a stabilizing factor in the system as a whole because of the role its members play in staffing the major administrative posts central to the regime. While the performance of these administrative tasks in the party or state structure may occupy much of their working lives, the elite’s occupation of national-level posts—for example, in the central committee, congress, or legislature—gives them both status and position in leading political organs. If the oligarchs are to stabilize decisionmaking in the oligarchy, these elite national-level figures need to be integrated into the structure in a way that seems to have some purpose. Their commitment to the regime is likely to be enhanced if they feel they have a part to play in its processes, while if they are kept busy they will be less likely to cause problems for the oligarchs. A variety of patterns of achieving this has been evident. In the Soviet Union initially the elite represented in the CC and the Congress was part of the decision-making process. In the early years major questions of policy like the Brest–Litovsk peace treaty, the introduction of NEP and the fate of the opposition were all decided within either the CC or the Congress. Certainly, on all of these questions the oligarchs caucused among themselves and manipulated the discussion in these bodies through organizational means, but ultimately the

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decisions were in their hands. As power became increasingly concentrated in the oligarchy’s hands during the 1920s, this capacity for independent elite discussion and involvement in making the final decision was reduced, first in the Congress and then the CC. The ability of the Congress to act as a vocal critic of the oligarchs was fundamentally undermined by the growth of a system whereby choosing the delegates was taken out of the hands of the rank-and-file and placed in those of party officials, who were themselves subordinate to their superiors in the party, and by the associated growth of the convention that such bodies should be unanimous in their support for party policy. During the early 1930s, the Congress did witness differences of nuance at times between individual oligarchs (Rule 5), but these were not issues of principle that were left up to the Congress to resolve; they were mainly questions of resource allocation and although these could have policy and principle implications, they were not allowed to develop into a discussion of such issues. By the end of the 1930s, the Congress had become a monolithic, united body that stood ostentatiously behind the united party leadership. Only in 1990, when both the institutional structure and the country as a whole were undergoing significant change, did the Congress return to anything like its early profile of a vigorous debating forum. More important than this body linking the oligarchy with the broader elite was the Central Committee, which embedded the oligarchy within the elite as a whole. During the Leninist period the oligarchs accepted that the CC had a key role to play in party life, including the determination of major policy questions. In this arena most of the important issues were aired but, as in the Congress, Lenin generally prevailed. In this he was usually supported by the other oligarchs. Nevertheless, this was an arena which the oligarchs could not ignore. They had to argue their positions before the party and there was at least the theoretical possibility that their views could be overturned. This body, formally elected by the Congress, had at the X Congress in 1921 not been elected by an unstructured vote on the congress floor but as a result of a slate passed down to delegates by the leadership.1 This modus operandi became the norm. But given the dynamics of the factional conflict in the oligarchy, the party standing of some of the leading oppositionists, and the fact that no group at the centre enjoyed control over the party, during the 1920s the CC remained the elite arena within which the opposition was strongest. Meeting much more frequently than the Congress,2 and with most controversial issues transferred from the Politburo to the CC, this was a venue within which open and vigorous debate took place between oppositionists and the leading group. This portrayed the CC as the arbiter of differences within the Politburo, thereby realizing the provisions under which the Politburo was initially established. An important consequence of this was that the disputes within the Politburo between the oligarchs were formally resolved by a larger group than just those oligarchs. A major part of this larger group was regional party bosses.3 Two aspects of this were

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important. First, if the central party apparatus could ensure that people supportive of Stalin filled the leadership posts in the regional party organizations, this would ensure a favourable complexion in the membership of the CC. Second, while these oligarch disputes were in part about power, they were also about policy, and on the main policy question of the time—the fate of NEP—Stalin’s positions at the various times seemed more attractive to those who had to implement that policy than the positions of his opponents. Stalin seemed to favour continued reliance on the market when the economy appeared to be expanding and food production was increasing, but switched to a non-market based solution when NEP seemed to run into problems. The support for Stalin and his group within the CC was not just a function of appointment. By 1930 and the emergence of a predominant Stalin, this situation had been completely changed. No longer was the CC seen as an effective independent body; the factional conflicts of the 1920s allied to the growth in power of the secretarial apparatus had rendered the CC a body largely within the power of the oligarchy. The oligarchs had sought to build up their personal support networks within the CC during the 1920s, and with the emergence of Stalin as the predominant leader at the end of the decade and the removal of the opposition, the CC ceased to act as a court of party opinion. It nevertheless remained something to be taken into account by the oligarchs in the early part of the 1930s; the oligarchs were intent on keeping their differences behind closed doors and not allowing them to seep into the CC, while the reservations many CC members had about the course of agricultural collectivization and the role of Stalin in bringing this on counselled caution in convening the CC.4 Although former oppositionists could still speak up in the CC and plena were sometimes the venue for broad-based discussion and attacks on the opposition, they were no longer venues for resolving oligarch conflict or challenging the leadership. Increasingly the CC became a similar sort of monolithic body to the Congress, effectively a Greek chorus to the oligarchy. The trend of development seen during the 1920s with regard to the CC and Congress—increasing monolithic nature and hostility to opposition—was continued through the rest of the Stalin period. Although there was strong criticism of official policy during some plena at this time,5 these elite fora were mostly staid assemblies subject to the control of the oligarchs. This does not mean that there was no dispute in these bodies. Rather these were the scene of the cautious airing of differences over questions of resource allocation and budgetary dispensation, including by oligarchs. They were arenas where the bureaucratic conflict inevitable in any highly bureaucratized system was played out. This sort of conflict did not threaten the oligarchs, but was considered not only normal but the sort of activity in which members of the elite would have been expected to engage (see Rules 4 and 5). This pattern emerged in the 1930s, although given the irregularity of CC meetings and congresses, there was limited scope for members of the elite to express themselves in open party fora. Nevertheless, the principle was established:

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the elite did not criticize the oligarchy but concerned itself with fulfilling the tasks associated with their primary positions as party or state officials. And this is what is important here. As the elite’s role in political debate at the centre waned, there was increased emphasis upon their more administrative functions. With the drive for industrialization and collectivization, and the subsequent focus on building an effective administrative machine, members of the elite found they were fully occupied fulfilling the tasks demanded of them as party and government officials. The development of an established administrative-based career path provided incentive for the members of the elite to focus on their immediate tasks with the benefits that promised to accrue from that, and thereby gave them a basis for commitment to the system and a full agenda to keep them busy. This was reinforced by the war and the subsequent demands of post-war reconstruction. This pattern of an essentially supine elite vis-à-vis the oligarchy but engaged in bureaucratic politics among its peers was carried through the late Stalin years and into the Khrushchev period. Under Khrushchev, four important changes occurred, all of which escalated elite involvement in oligarch affairs. First, the CC and Congress met more frequently, giving the elite a more viable institutional arena within which to operate. Second, the elite was explicitly mobilized into oligarch affairs on two occasions, discussed in terms of Rule 10. Third, Khrushchev sought to involve CC members more closely in the discussion of issues than had been done in the past, both during the prolonged succession struggle with Malenkov and in the regular course of policy-making. This is discussed with regard to Rule 10. Fourth, and in tension with the previous point, the institutional integrity of the CC, and therefore the prerogatives of its elite members, was called into question by the way in which Khrushchev took to inviting non-member (and sometimes not even party member) experts to attend meetings and participate in the discussion. This development seemed to threaten to sideline the members of the elite even more, and it was this that was instrumental in their adopting the position they did when Khrushchev was overthrown in October 1964 as is discussed later in the chapter. This period also saw the continuation of private caucusing by oligarchs outside the formal meetings.6 Under Brezhnev, the pattern became more regularized, with the party bodies meeting broadly on schedule and the meetings taking the form that had emerged under Stalin: the leaders gave programmatic speeches which the assembled members supported while at the same time often making claims for increased resources. The performative aspect of these meetings was prominent, with members conscious of the fact that they were potentially being judged on the basis of their performance during the meetings.7 Brezhnev’s treatment of the CC added to the institutional presence and coherence of that body. Especially before he became ill, Brezhnev went out of his way to interact with and embrace CC members, seeking to involve them in policy discussion. While it is not clear that CC members ever changed the oligarchs’ view on any issue, this informal incorporation of them into

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the general process of policy discussion gave them a feeling of belonging, and generated support for the figure who was seen to be responsible for this, the General Secretary. The propensity to support Brezhnev would have been reinforced by the policy of ‘stability of cadres’ that Brezhnev implemented, a policy that effectively gave officials security of tenure. This was a stark contrast with their treatment under Khrushchev, and contributed significantly to the generally quiescent nature of the elite under Brezhnev. Thus, by the time Gorbachev came to power in 1985, the acceptable patterns of activity by the elite seemed to have been bedded down. During the Gorbachev period, up until the middle of 1990, the party’s elite organs functioned on a regularized basis. Congresses were held in 1986 and 1990 and a Conference (the first since 1941) in 1988, frequent CC plena were held,8 and the Politburo met about every 10 days. The first (XXVII) congress was in form and generally in substance like its predecessors, with the proceedings following the established track; speeches were listened to without dissent, votes were unanimous, and agreement was the common currency. Both the XIX Conference and the XXVIII Congress were very different, reflecting the revolutionary changes the system was experiencing. Both gatherings saw vigorous debate and exchange of opinion, with even Gorbachev coming under criticism. Critics and opponents of the current course of policy were neither silent nor cowed, and were forthright in expressing their views. Similarly in the CC, over time this too became a venue of real debate and criticism, where the General Secretary was neither immune from criticism nor able simply to get his way by declaring his wishes. Rather than simple affirmatory bodies, these became venues of real debate and disputation, both among the oligarchs and the elite. The Politburo was also a venue in which political conflict was fought out. This had, for most of the life of the regime, been an environment within which oligarchs could express their views freely, but during this period, as opposition mounted to Gorbachev’s plans, the discussions became much more robust. Some Politburo sessions lasted for twelve hours as its members fought over questions of policy. Issues were often passed from Politburo to CC, a necessary step to legitimize many of the changes Gorbachev championed. Unlike in the past, the substance of the disputes often became public, shattering the image of a united consensus within the oligarchy and stimulating the broader elite to become involved in such discussion. So the pattern of elite relations with the oligarchy that had been established previously was overthrown, contributing significantly to the collapse of the system overall. Thus in the Soviet system, as the elite became increasingly excluded from decision-making and the central institutions of which they were members became overwhelmingly formulaic in nature, their administrative responsibilities came into greater focus. Their role as middle- and upper-level managers gave them an important place in the regime’s structure, including constituting a reservoir for promotion into the oligarchy. This pattern was established during the Stalin period but was at its most stable under Brezhnev. It became disrupted through

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the reassertion of a more active role under Khrushchev and Gorbachev, and this contributed in the former case to the toppling of the leader and in the latter to the transformation and ultimate collapse of the system. The place of the elite was somewhat different in China, in part because of the relative scarcity of CC plena noted in Chapter 2 and because of the propensity to draw the elite into discussion in other ways (Rules 3 and 14). Through the scheduling of special conferences and meetings,9 involvement of members of the elite in the oligarchs’ retreats, and the practice of some oligarchs (especially Mao and Deng10 ) of travelling around consulting regional leaders, the elite had more opportunities to interact with oligarchs than those offered by the formal CC plena and party congresses. Expectations about elite members’ conduct during such meetings were clear: while they could express their views, they needed to ensure that they did not challenge the positions of the oligarchs, especially Mao and later Deng. Many of the elite were veteran revolutionaries who accepted the personal authority of Mao and then Deng because of their shared revolutionary heritage, while those who did not share the revolutionary lineage came into positions of responsibility when that personal authority had become entrenched and was a given in the course of elite politics. Accordingly, members of the elite were accustomed to act in the ways that were expected, especially in terms of not challenging the oligarchs and accepting Mao’s and later Deng’s authority; they could proffer views privately but not dispute openly with the oligarchs. And if they were uncertain, they had the example of Peng Dehuai to remind them. In the period between Mao’s and Deng’s deaths (September 1976–February 1997), the elite was very active, discussed in relation to Rule 10. Under Deng’s successors, the pattern of not challenging the oligarchs was confirmed, although now it was expressed more firmly though the regular convening of party assemblies. As the structure became more routinized, with CC plena and congresses called more frequently and according to the official timetable, so the acting out of their role in official proceedings became a more prominent part of the Chinese elite political calendar. Generally, the elite acted in ways expected of it, showing deference to the oligarchs and their views and refraining from public questioning, while at the same time concentrating on the manifold administrative tasks that accompanied the other offices they held.11 So in China the broad decision-making system was structured in such a way as to enable at least some members of the elite to have some involvement in high political affairs. But this sort of involvement was designed not to provide a vehicle for independent intervention into oligarch affairs, but structured participation in oligarch-controlled policy discussion. At the same time for many members of the elite their administrative tasks continued to occupy most of their attention. In both Communist Party states, this process of concentration of decisionmaking in the oligarchy was therefore accompanied by the ritualization of the formal accountability principle embedded in both regimes’ formal lore. As both

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CC and Congress became increasingly formulaic and ritualized in operation, the formal principle of accountability was eviscerated. The myth of accountability was maintained, and with it membership (especially of the CC) continued to invest a status in its non-oligarch members that may have been important in bolstering their local authority. The Chinese situation did differ from the Soviet in that the elite retained greater scope to be involved in the discussion of issues, reflecting the more decentralized nature of this in China than in the USSR, but in both cases their administrative roles were extensive and time consuming. This reflects the acting out of Rule 9 and the way in which it both enabled legitimate activity on the part of the elite and underpinned the coordination of the elite’s role in broader leadership politics. In both Communist Party states, this strategy of keeping the elite busy was complemented by measures to reward them for their loyalty. This took the form of a structure of graduated privileges whereby people at different levels of the various hierarchies of which the regime consisted gained access to privileges not available to the ordinary populace. Select housing, access to goods in special shops, holiday and travel concessions, and the turning of a blind eye to the raking off of funds from the state were all common forms of privilege available to the elite (including the oligarchs). In China, following Deng’s reforms, special access to the developing private sector was another form of this. The importance of this is that it constituted a way of buying off the elite; those who were obedient and did their jobs retained access to this and, by getting promoted, expanded such access. This was an important method of the oligarchy trying to ensure the elite remained content with its lot and did not seek to involve itself in oligarch affairs.

Rule 10. While there should be no independent intervention into oligarch affairs by the elite, individual oligarchs may mobilize support within the elite on a limited basis Within the ranks of the elite were the ambitious who aspired to higher office, including future membership of the oligarchy. These were people who were working their way up the political structure. Many saw their membership of the elite as a temporary stage on the way to higher office, while even those who knew that they were not going to go any further wanted to retain their positions, if for no other reason than the material benefits this brought. For both groups, the aspirational and the place-holders, it was important that the expected modes of operating at this level were clear so that they could pattern their performance to come under the positive gaze, or at least avoid the negative gaze, of those above who could determine their future. After all, it was from within this elite that future oligarchs were expected to come. It was also in the interests of the oligarchs to have accepted patterns of elite activity bedded down. This should not only assist future decisions

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about co-optation, but providing those patterns were appropriately designed, provide a defence for the oligarchs themselves against intervention from below. It was in the interests of the oligarchy as a whole to prevent independent elite intervention into oligarch affairs and thereby insulate themselves from the elite. Nevertheless, sometimes individual oligarchs believed it to be in their personal interests to mobilize support within the elite, something they sought to achieve principally through the operational and constitutive rules, believing that they would not suffer providing they were victorious. This rule intersected with the operational rules governing oligarch activity (Rules 3, 4, 5 and 6), Rule 9 on the elite’s role in the system, Rule 12 on the leader’s personal authority, Rule 17 on the security services, and those rules relating to succession (Rules 20, 21, 22, 24, 25, 26 and 27). In the Soviet Union, the first instance of the mobilization of the elite into oligarch affairs after the 1920s when the oligarchs continually sought to mobilize elite support in the continuing factional conflicts (Rule 6) occurred only three months after Stalin’s death when the military were called upon to arrest one of the oligarchs (Lavrenty Beria) by the other oligarchs.12 This was the first time the military had become so directly involved in oligarch affairs. More important was the intervention of CC members in oligarch politics in 1957 and 1964. The quiescent role of the Soviet CC seemed to be set at the end of the Stalin period, but this was thrown into some doubt by developments following his death. The succession struggle between Khrushchev and Malenkov took place in part through the projection of policies in the CC and to the elite more broadly in the hope of attracting their support (see Rule 25). Khrushchev was more successful in mobilizing elite support for the positions he espoused than Malenkov. This support proved to be decisive in preventing Khrushchev’s overthrow. In 1957 when the oligarch faction labelled the ‘anti-party group’ moved against Khrushchev, a decision of the oligarch’s elite council, the Presidium (formerly called the Politburo), to remove Khrushchev was overturned in a CC plenum. The military was also significant here in a logistical sense, ferrying many of the pro-Khrushchev members to Moscow for the CC meeting that overturned the decision to remove him. Once confirmed in power, Khrushchev sought to expand the involvement of the CC in the discussion of policy questions and thereby involve part of the elite more directly in the discussion of issues, an approach which was not popular with the oligarchs, who now faced the prospect of criticism from within that elite. But Khrushchev also upset the members of the CC in three ways. First, by inviting many non-members of the CC to participate in that body’s deliberations, thereby calling into question the integrity, standing and authority of that body as a collective organ. Second, as policy failures mounted, Khrushchev became increasingly shrill in his criticism of lower-level officials, thereby increasing their sense of vulnerability that already existed from his introduction of mandatory turnover levels (Rule 23). Third, he stopped using the CC as a partner in policy development, as he had done prior to 1957, and sought to use it as a body simply to legitimate decisions he had already

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made. These contributed to the oligarchs’ 1964 removal of Khrushchev. Again they resolved in the Presidium to remove him, and this time that decision was upheld by the CC which had been convened for this purpose. These two cases of CC activism appear to suggest that the oligarchy was actually accountable to this lower body. But this was not really the case. In both of these situations where the CC first overturned and second confirmed a decision made in the Presidium (Politburo), the CC was not acting on its own initiative to interfere in oligarch affairs. On both occasions it was mobilized into an episode of oligarch conflict, and rather than acting independently, it acted at the behest of one group of oligarchs. Just as in the 1920s oligarchs had mobilized supporters in the CC to combat their opponents, so too on these occasions the CC was mobilized from within the oligarchy. But once having done this, the CC relapsed into its earlier role of passive supporter of the oligarchy. Under Gorbachev too the elite in the CC became more interventionist as the oligarchs sought to mobilize support for their policy positions. This was a direct result of the fraying of unity within the oligarchy and Gorbachev’s drive for greater democracy within the party. As divisions within the oligarchy could not be resolved during this period, and Gorbachev opened the system up to greater discussion, some individual oligarchs sought to mobilize support from within the elite; the XIX Conference, XXVIII Congress and CC plena, the expanding independent media and, from 1989, republican governments, were all fora in which the oligarchy and its policies came under question by members of the elite (and many others). However, even though Gorbachev’s oligarch opponents were opposed to much of what he was trying to do, many of them were committed to the old party structure, and therefore to the principle that elements outside the oligarchy were not to be a decisive force in oligarch affairs, with the result that they were reluctant to mobilize the CC in such a way as might overturn the status quo they sought to defend. But it was the development of such forces and their escape from oligarch control that transformed and ultimately destroyed the system. Another form of mobilization of elite actors was also significant in the Soviet Union. This was mobilization of the security forces (Rule 17). The most extreme form of this occurred in the 1930s and to a lesser extent in the late 1940s–early 50s when the Terror unrolling in the Soviet Union enveloped some of the oligarchs, something that was sanctioned by the dominant leader, Stalin. More long-lasting was the relationship that existed between the security apparatus and the party General Secretary. From the time of the 1934 assassination of Sergei Kirov, all of the oligarchs were assigned bodyguards, who reported directly to the head of the security apparatus. This person reported directly to the General Secretary, not to the Politburo collectively.13 This was confirmed when Khrushchev told KGB chief Vladimir Semichastny in the early 1960s that he (Semichastny) should report directly to him and he (Khrushchev) would decide what the other oligarchs should hear.14 Under Stalin Soviet officials routinely had their phones tapped,15

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a situation that continued even on the eve of the Gorbachev era.16 This ongoing surveillance role significantly qualifies the conception of the oligarchs as insulated from those outside the oligarchy, but while the security service remained subordinate to the General Secretary, Rules 10 and 17 remained intact. In China, insulation was more difficult because of the role the elite possessed in decision-making noted in the discussion of Rules 1, 3 and 9. There were three major bouts of the mobilization of elite involvement in the oligarchy apart from the broad decision-making process. The first was during the Cultural Revolution when Mao mobilized the Red Guards, effectively smashing the party structure, destroying the oligarchy, and killing many. The mobilization of these forces threatened to utterly destroy the regime, leading to the intervention of the army, again with Mao’s blessing. With the army in control and the party structure destroyed, a change in regime type was possible. That this did not come about and the former party structure was restored owed much to the loyalty of the army to the party and to Mao. So in this case, an oligarch’s mobilization of external forces had mixed consequences: first the short-term destruction of the regime, then its reconstitution. The second case involved the removal of the ‘Gang of Four’ in 1976. Following Mao’s death, there was considerable concern among other oligarchs about the intentions of the Gang and its leader, Mao’s wife Jiang Qing. Worried that there might be wide support for the Gang in the CC, on 5 October 1976 Hua Guofeng, Marshal Ye Jianying and Li Xiannian convened a Politburo conference at the Headquarters of the PLA General Staff to which the members of the Gang were not invited. It was unanimously agreed that the Gang and their supporters should be arrested, and this was accomplished the following day. This manoeuvre would have been impossible without the involvement of the military, who thereby backed one group of oligarchs against another. The third case concerned Deng’s ability to manage the continuing involvement in oligarch affairs by an elite group whose influence he wished to restrict. Many veteran revolutionaries believed that because of their contribution to the revolution, they deserved to have a continuing decisive say in the policies adopted by the regime. They had done so throughout the regime’s life because of their dominance of its upper levels, but by the end of the 1970s Deng was trying to stabilize the situation in China by, inter alia, introducing a new generation of leaders into leadership positions. In order to do this and enable them to grow with the job, he believed that he had to limit the dominant influence exercised by the veteran revolutionaries. This was in the context of continuing debate over economic reform, something about which many of the veteran revolutionaries had significant reservations. Under Deng’s guidance, the Twelfth Congress in September 1982 created a Central Advisory Committee (CAC), a body subordinate to the CC but open to membership by those veterans of forty years’ service to the revolution. They would retain their salaries, ranks and perks but would lose their membership of

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the party’s leading organs. The idea was to give them an institutional home from which they could be both consulted by the current leadership and also participate in policy discussion. While the creation of the CAC had been anticipated to encourage retirements from the party’s leading organs, in fact very few took up this option. Deng Xiaoping, who was 77, did formally retire from most of his positions, but by becoming the chairman of the CAC, he gained the statutory right to attend the PSC as a voting member. The widespread refusal to retire was clearly motivated by the veterans’ desire to retain the sort of influence they believed they deserved but which they thought could not be exercised from a body subordinate to the CC, while Deng’s retention of a central role in the PSC by virtue of his CAC chairmanship may also have appeared to them to be a cynical and self-serving manoeuvre. The failure of this innovation to encourage many retirements seemed to be legitimized when in January 1987 at the enlarged Politburo meeting that removed Hu Yaobang from his post as General Secretary, according to Baum a document was adopted including the words ‘The comrades who took part in the session all felt that, for the long-term peace and order of our country, it would be a good idea if, while such older generation revolutionaries as Deng Xiaoping, Chen Yun and Li Xiannian are still in good health, a system might be devised to control and supervise the leaders at the highest levels in party and government.’17 The veterans continued to wield significant authority in the ongoing debate about economic reform, but Deng was able to use his personal authority and flexible tactics to ensure that they did not totally blunt the economic reform or achieve the removal of the younger reformers.18 At the Fourteenth Congress in October 1992 ‘the most liberal economic document in CCP history’19 was adopted and a series of personnel changes (including the removal of several veterans) bolstered the side of the reformers. In addition, the CAC was abolished, and the elders were denied the right to attend meetings of the Politburo and CC. This marked the effective end of any possibility of the veterans being able successfully to block the reformers in their policy of economic change. It is not clear that the CAC achieved much in the sense of facilitating the weakening of the party elders and thereby strengthening the reformers, but Deng’s personal authority and his ability in intra-elite infighting was crucial in enabling the reformist oligarchs to proceed with their policies despite the view of sections of the elite. So in the Chinese case there is a mixed record with regard to oligarch mobilization of elite forces. In part this is because of the way in which the oligarchs originally set up the broad decision-making process, the personal authority possessed by the veteran elders, and (unlike the Soviet Union) the fact that the military was usually represented in the oligarchy itself, which gave a greater degree of legitimacy to their involvement than would otherwise have been the case. But ultimately their involvement was able to be managed. This was not the case with the intervention of the Red Guards occasioned by Mao, which for a time destroyed the oligarchic structure, which had to be rebuilt on the guns of the army.

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This rule clearly illustrates the two sides of rules, constraining and enabling. On the one hand, it constrains the elite from independent intervention into oligarch affairs, thereby being a major factor in the insulation of the oligarchy from the elite that was so important in the coordination of the leadership system. On the other hand, it makes provision for the involvement of the elite in oligarch affairs when mobilized from within the oligarchy. Both the Soviet and Chinese cases show the tension between these aspects of the rule: elite intervention could have serious consequences for the capacity of the oligarchy to manage its affairs, for the survival of at least part of the oligarchy, and in the extreme case, the stability and survival of the regime as a whole. Regularization of the relationship with the elite in the form of insulating the oligarchy against independent elite intervention is important for the stabilization of authoritarian rule and the power of the oligarchs. Also important is the relationship with formal institutions.

b) Relations with formal institutions A common view is that authoritarian dictators are able to rule without being under any constraint from the formal institutions of the political system. This image of the dictator sitting alone or with his cronies arbitrarily making decisions may be accurate in some instances, but it does not apply in all cases. And even when it does apply, it does not mean that formal institutions have no role other than one of legitimation (which is not to gainsay the importance of legitimation in such systems). The question is what role they play. While the issue of the extent to which elites are constrained by institutions is an important one, a useful way of approaching this may be to recognize that the presence (or absence) of constraints is but one aspect of the more general question of how the oligarchy interacts with institutions. Rather than it being a zero sum, constrained/not constrained, situation, the relationship between oligarchs and institutions is more nuanced; some parts of the oligarchy may be more constrained than others, constraints may be more significant at some times than at others, different institutions may be more important at some times than at others, and individual institutions may enable as well as constrain. When institutions exist, political actors will react to them and shape their actions accordingly. It is therefore this general relationship that must be the focus of attention, not simply the leader–institution nexus. Institutions are more likely to affect the actions of political actors the more highly institutionalized the system is. A system is highly institutionalized when two conditions are realized: the institutions which constitute that system enjoy a high level of normative authority, and they operate according to the rules and procedures that have been established to structure their functioning.20 The first of

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these, possession of normative authority, means that the rules, rights and prerogatives of the institution are considered mandatory for political actors. Such actors feel compelled to abide by both the procedures governing the institution’s functioning and the decisions emanating from the institution, even if they disagree with them. The second means that the institution functions according to the norms, rules and regulations that exist to govern the way it works. It cannot fall under the control of a dominant leader or faction who then uses it instrumentally at odds with the principles laid down to shape its work. The key to both of these is regularity; an institution that meets with the regularity mandated by the rules and functions broadly according to those rules, is most likely to be highly institutionalized and therefore in a position to exercise a shaping influence on the actions of political actors. This is not inevitable. Regularity of functioning could also be consistent with a body that was completely controlled by a leader who used that body instrumentally for his own purposes but who chose, for example, to have the institution act in accord with the rules for legitimation reasons. However, it is unlikely that an institution could exercise continuing influence if it did not act in a regularized fashion. One key to an institution operating in a regularized fashion is that political actors support this mode of functioning. In a well-functioning and consolidated system, this is rarely an issue: that institutions operate this way is simply a given. But in newly established systems, in those undergoing significant change, or in those in which a dominant leader either exists or is a distinct possibility, widespread acceptance of regularity cannot be assumed. However, for many political actors, including a dominant leader, there are strong reasons why they might welcome regularity in the functioning of political organs. As noted in Chapter 1, it has been argued that in authoritarian systems, bodies like the Politburo or the cabinet can play an important part in providing guarantees to both a leader and his colleagues. Jason Brownlee21 has argued that such bodies can be important for members of the elite to hold the leader to the promises he made in his rise to the top. The meetings are a means of ensuring that the deals made in his rise to power are kept once he is in power. Intrinsic to this is not just the meeting as a forum within which the leader can be confronted about his commitments, but an occasion where information is exchanged, not just about current policy questions, but about each person’s view of the situation and what should be done. This is essential if such a meeting is to in any way be able to be used as a means of enforcing prior commitments. But just as important as the enforcement of such commitments, given that oligarchs usually have specific policy responsibilities, and given that perceived failure to fulfil those responsibilities could have political ramifications, it is in the interests of all oligarchs to know what their colleagues are thinking and doing. This applies as much to the dictator as to the other oligarchs. Knowledge is power, and the lack of knowledge can lead to mistakes that are politically costly. The regular

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convening of an institution in which leading questions are discussed is a potential means of ensuring that individual oligarchs get to know what they need to know, both to fulfil their responsibilities and, hopefully, avoid politically costly mistakes. Such meetings which bring the oligarchs together in a somewhat formalized setting may also be seen as a means to discerning other oligarchs’ intentions. The leader does not want his colleagues conspiring against him; those colleagues want neither the leader to plot against them nor a group of them to plan to act against another group within the leadership. Regular meetings may be seen as a (admittedly not particularly effective) method of keeping an eye on the potential political power plays oligarchs may become involved in. Regularity of functioning may also enhance the standing of the oligarchs because it emphasizes their role as members of a leading organization within the political system, with the associated right to be involved in the key activities of that body. It is a sort of a weak guarantee of their continuing political relevance (they hope) in the eyes of the dictator, while it gives them enhanced authority in their dealings with officials at lower levels. Such enhanced authority (a member of the Politburo or cabinet rather than an emissary of the leader) should improve their capacity to get lower-level officials to do their bidding, and thereby improve the prospects of success in their particular policy arenas. So there are, in principle, real reasons why oligarchs might support the regularity of leading institutions. This may be important for these relational rules.

Rule 11. Occupation of a formal leadership office may be an important resource for the dictator in creating, strengthening and exercising his power Occupation of a formal leadership post can be a significant advantage in a leader’s acquisition and maintenance of power. This rule intersects with those rules relating to the personal power of the leader (Rules 1 on leading office, 2 on a leader’s emergence, 12 on personal authority and 13 on the expansion of a leader’s power) and with those directed at the role of institutions (Rules 14, 15 and 16). It may also be relevant to Rule 19 on legal principles and to succession (Rules 21–28). A formal leadership post can have real power, authority and prestige which can be wielded by the occupant to consolidate and strengthen his position. It could also act as a signal to officials about who they should support, an important element in a dictator’s rise to and consolidation of power.22 But the heart of this is usually the powers a particular office invests in its incumbent. As discussed with regard to Rule 1, the leading post in the Soviet Union was General Secretary of the CC of the party. Initially created in 1922, this was envisaged as a purely administrative position, to lead and coordinate the secretarial apparatus that had been established in 1919 to service the party leadership and act

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as the central staff of the party. The position seemed to disappear in 1934 when Stalin ceased to be referred to as General Secretary, instead being simply a ‘secretary’, and by the end of Stalin’s life there seemed to be a question over whether this position (called First Secretary 1953–66) or the prime ministership would be the leading post. However, this was resolved in favour of the party post in the course of the succession struggle between Khrushchev and Malenkov, and it remained the unchallenged leading position until Gorbachev introduced a new post of Soviet President23 and downgraded the party’s leading institutions in 1990. The post of General Secretary was not mentioned in the party Constitution, the Rules, until an amendment in 1966 declared that the General Secretary was to be elected by the CC (changed in 1990 to election by the Congress). There was never any formal, published, declaration of the powers, responsibilities or term of office for the post, nor of what the qualifications for holding it were. In this sense, the formal position remained highly fluid in its contours.24 The General Secretary usually did take on other positions as well. Stalin became chair of the Council of People’s Commissars (after 1946 Council of Ministers, or prime minister), chair of the State Defence Committee, commander-in-chief of the military, and minister of defence, Khrushchev became prime minister, Brezhnev, Andropov and Chernenko became president (and chairman of the Defence Council), as did Gorbachev of a re-worked office of president. But while these jobs may have added to their formal authority, in practical terms they did little for effective power. The General Secretary position remained the key until 1990. The institutional basis of the power of the General Secretary was that he sat atop the secretarial apparatus that constituted the central bureaucratic machinery of the party. This apparatus underwent significant change over the years, but its essence remained basically unaltered: it was a structure of departments that both managed internal party life and monitored what was happening in the country more broadly. In this latter respect, at its most complex the CC Secretariat25 had departments shadowing many government ministries as well as those specifically concerned with the internal affairs of the party. While these departments were headed by appointed officials, they were responsible to individual CC secretaries (who were part of the oligarchy) headed by the General Secretary. The General Secretary had broad oversight of all the Secretariat’s activities, the other secretaries had narrower departmentally defined responsibilities. There were three basic dimensions of the power vested in the office of the General Secretary. First, the power of appointment. This has been the power most emphasized in the scholarly literature, principally through the notion of the ‘circular flow of power’.26 This posited a process whereby central officials (or the General Secretary) appointed people to fill lower-level posts (mainly regional officials), who then chose delegates to the party Congress, who then chose the CC, which then through the Secretariat appointed the central officials. While this was seen,

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especially initially, in terms of central officials appointing their own supporters to the responsible lower-level posts, at least as important was the fact that the simple act of appointment could generate support; in other words, it was not necessary for existing supporters to be appointed by the General Secretary to build up his support, the simple act of appointment (added to the promise of future promotion) could generate such support. The ‘circular flow of power’ is better seen, therefore, less as a means of the General Secretary gaining his position than as a means of him strengthening it once achieved. The power of appointment vested in the Secretariat and regularized through the nomenklatura system27 was a potent way for a General Secretary to seek to build up his factional support within the oligarchy.28 Second, control over the timetable and agenda of the Politburo. Although before 1954 the General Secretary did not chair Politburo sessions (it was chaired by the prime minister), for most of the Soviet period the agenda and working papers for the Politburo (and for the meetings in Stalin’s office that replaced the Politburo) were prepared in the CC Secretariat. This means they were prepared under the general oversight of the General Secretary. Under Stalin his personal office and the section of the Secretariat dealing with this and personnel matters were effectively combined,29 giving him direct control. This was therefore the power to frame discussion and filter the information meant to inform it. Third, acknowledgement within the oligarchy that the General Secretary was appointed to provide leadership, and that therefore he enjoyed an element of autonomy in his work (Rule 2). Unlike the other oligarchs, his responsibilities were not narrowly circumscribed to particular policy spheres but ranged across the policy spectrum. This did not mean that he was equally active in all policy areas, but he could choose where he wanted to concentrate his efforts and which to leave up to his colleagues. In this sense, he was a policy generalist, but with the right to intervene wherever he liked. With the exception of Andropov and Chernenko, who were in office for too short a time to achieve much, successive general secretaries (Stalin, Khrushchev, Brezhnev and Gorbachev) utilized all of these powers to both develop their positions and to lead the country. To differing degrees they used the appointment power to consolidate their positions in the oligarchy and the secretarial power to drive the agenda. The authority vested in the office may be reflected in three episodes from the post-Stalin period. First, despite the growing opposition to Khrushchev’s policies and operating style, it took seven years from the defeat of the anti-party group before the oligarchs moved against the First Secretary. While this was not solely due to recognition of the office, this was part of it. Second, it could be seen in the refusal of the oligarchs to move against Brezhnev even when he was physically incapable of carrying out his responsibilities. Again this was not solely due to respect for the office (the issue of who was to replace him and how this could be brought about were relevant), but this was part of the equation. Third,

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despite the mounting opposition to Gorbachev and the increasing levels of criticism in official bodies including the CC, ultimately those bodies generally went along with his wishes. This was reflected most starkly at the CC plenum in April 1989 where, at Gorbachev’s urging, 110 members of the CC and Central Auditing Commission submitted requests to retire, with many of them making it clear that they were doing so reluctantly.30 These dimensions of power made the office of Soviet General Secretary very powerful. The incumbent was even more powerful if he was invested with personal authority as well. This is discussed in relation to Rule 12. In China, Mao occupied formal positions: he was chairman of the party, chairman of the state (i.e. head of state or president; officially chairman of the Central People’s Government) until April 1959, and chairman of the Central Military Commission (CMC). This meant that at that time, formally, he headed the three main institutional structures in the country, the party, state and military. There was a change in his position in 1959 when he shifted back to the ‘second line’ of leadership and stepped down from the presidency. This meant that he would have a less hands-on role in the management of day-to-day business, but would focus on the overall direction of the regime and its theoretical guidance. In effect this gave him licence to intervene wherever he thought it necessary, and he retained the right to approve policy made by the other oligarchs. Until he died, Mao retained the chairmanship of the party and the CMC. The former gave him the formal authority to intervene in party policy whenever he liked, the latter established his official leadership of the military, an important consideration given the special standing the military had in communist China stemming from its central role in the revolution and the fact that most of the civilian leaders had been closely associated with it during the struggle for power. Mao’s immediate successor, Hua Guofeng, combined the two positions Mao had held at the time, chairman of the party and of the CMC, with the prime ministership (which had been held by Zhou Enlai). However, his position was fragile because he lacked the personal authority essential for such a combination of roles (Rules 6 and 12), and this was reflected in the array of positions taken up by Deng Xiaoping when he was returned to the leadership formally in July 1977: Deng became vice-chairman of the party and of the CMC, vice-premier, and chief of the General Staff of the PLA. As Hua was eased out of power and Deng strengthened his position, Hua was stripped of his posts. In September1980 he was replaced as premier by Zhao Ziyang. In June 1981 he was replaced as party chairman by Hu Yaobang and CMC chairman by Deng, meaning that Hua was now a member of the leadership in name only, with no executive position of power. In November 1982 at the Twelfth Congress, the positions of chairman and vicechairman of the party were abolished, and the party Constitution now declared that ‘no party member, whatever his position, is allowed to … make decisions on major issues on his own.’31 This was clearly an attempt to strengthen collective

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leadership, and it left the position of General Secretary as the highest one in the party. While Mao lived, the position of General Secretary had been less important. It was occupied by Deng Xiaoping from 1956, although he had been head of the Secretariat before that. Deng was removed from that position in 1966 as part of his purge during the Cultural Revolution. The position was left vacant until it was filled in February 1980 by Deng supporter Hu Yaobang. The Secretariat was formally re-established and beefed up following its demise in the Cultural Revolution, thereby re-establishing the source of organizational power that the General Secretary could wield. Henceforth this post would be a basis of real power within the Chinese system. In January 1987, under conservative pressure as a result of student mobilization, Deng sacked Hu as General Secretary, with Zhao Ziyang appointed acting General Secretary. Following the Tiananmen incident in 1989, Zhao was sacked and replaced as General Secretary by Jiang Zemin. As the process of succession became regularized from the 1990s (see Chapter 4) and Deng’s personal authority ebbed away when he became ill in 1995, so this involved a particular combination of positions occupied by the leading figure. All three post-Deng leaders combined the posts of General Secretary, chairman of the CMC and president of the PRC (state president). This combination of posts seems to have become regularized, and incumbents could use the resources vested in them to enhance and consolidate their power. Thus, in both Communist Party states Rule 11 operated, with formal office being used by its incumbents to strengthen their positions. The power resources those offices possessed assisted in the consolidation of personal power and was an expression of the enabling side of this rule. But personal authority could also be crucial (Rule 12).

Rule 12. Personal authority is a major resource for a leader and can assist him in enhancing his power Personalized authority refers to the way in which certain individuals are invested with authority just because of who they are rather than the positions they hold. As discussed in Chapter 1, this is often conceived in terms of charisma whereby followers sink their capacity for individual, autonomous thought into belief in the message of the leader. When this sort of relationship exists, the followers obey simply because it is the leader who has called upon them to do something. Official position is secondary, personal commitment primary. Where both are combined, the leader is potentially very powerful indeed. This rule intersects with those relating to the leader’s power and its limits: Rules 1 on the locus of decision-making, 2 on the emergence of a leader, 6 on factions, 11 on leadership office as a resource, 13 on the expansion of a leader’s power, 14 on institutions becoming sidelined,

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and 16 elite institutions as oligarch power bases. It could also relate to the rules on the role of the elite (Rule 10), of law (Rule 19), and the conditions under which succession occurs (Rules 20, 21, 22, 24, 25, 26 and 27). In the Soviet Union, the clearest case of this sort of leadership was Lenin. Because of his role in party history and in the revolution, his standing in the party once in power was unassailable. As the quotation from Alexandra Kollontai cited in Chapter 2, note 61 suggests, for rank-and-file party members Lenin possessed the sort of personal authority that they were reluctant to challenge. His authority was a little more problematic with regard to the oligarchs. All of the oligarchs were long-time party members with the exception of Trotsky who had a long pedigree in the revolutionary movement but had not become a Bolshevik until 1917. These party notables were not bowed by the figure of Lenin; they neither accepted his opinion without question nor meekly submitted to his will, but argued the point with him when they felt it necessary. They were all possessed of expansive egos and not used to accepting the dominance of anyone else; but while they might question Lenin on policy, ultimately they all accepted Lenin’s authority.32 His standing in the party, stemming mainly from his role in history and in bringing the party to power in 1917, was too great. In sum, Lenin’s predominance within the oligarchy did not rest on any institutional structure. His personal authority did not rely on institutional considerations, although the institutional fluidity and his role as chair of Sovnarkom and of the Politburo reinforced his position. The personal nature of his authority was central, and the institutions were secondary. Stalin too came to enjoy personal authority. This authority did not stem so much from the leader cult that developed after 1929, because the early Stalinist oligarchs knew the man behind the image. The closeness of their personal association with and knowledge of him were such that they were unlikely to believe the extreme claims made about him even if for the rank-and-file, the cult did present a charismatic leader in whom they could put their faith. Nevertheless, within the oligarchy, Stalin did develop personal authority. In part this may have been through his organizational controls, but it also probably stemmed from the image of him leading the regime against the manifold challenges conjured up in the 1930s: kulaks, white guardists, wreckers, enemies of the people, fascists and many others. He was seen as being associated with successful policies, with leading them through the difficulties towards the promised land. He became a source of commitment in himself, something doubtless strengthened for some of the oligarchs by fear of the consequences of not offering this commitment. The tone of some of the letters from Kaganovich to Stalin in the 1930s and the slavish attitude to him of Malenkov reflect this personal authority.33 From the mid-1930s, while the oligarchs may have expressed their opinions regardless of Stalin’s view, they always accepted his decisions. Stalin could decide what he wanted to decide, and the other oligarchs would submit to his will.

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None of the Soviet leaders following Stalin was able to develop the sort of personal authority that had been enjoyed by Lenin and Stalin. Although both Khrushchev and Brezhnev were both the object of leader cults, neither was as extensive as that of Stalin; indeed, the Brezhnev cult lauded him for the businesslike way in which he worked with his colleagues, one of whom (much later) referred to this as an ‘impersonal’ cult.34 Neither person was as politically powerful as their predecessors had been. Personal authority as a means of structuring elite and oligarch relations has been more important over a longer period in China than it was in the USSR. The basis of Mao’s authority was his revolutionary lineage, ideological leadership and the part he played in leading the communists to power. His pre-eminence had been recognized formally both through the 1943 decision authorizing him alone to make final decisions on matters being considered by the Secretariat,35 and in the party Constitution of 1945 where his ‘ideas’ had been acknowledged ‘as the guiding principles of all [the party’s] work.’36 Although the new party Constitution of 1956 removed explicit reference to Mao,37 his personal primacy was not in question. Throughout the period until the Cultural Revolution, Mao was considered the ultimate authority on all policy matters, with his intervention (or in many cases lack of intervention) central to determining the ultimate outcome of issues. For example, on the Great Leap Forward, he was the one who, over the significant and growing reservations of other oligarchs, pressed for first the radicalization of policy and then, when it began to go wrong, for its winding back.38 It was at this time, at the beginning of 1958, that Mao seems to have reconsidered the rules governing intra-party disputes, suggesting that now he would brook neither discussion nor opposition to his view.39 He used his personal authority to press for other radical measures over the resistance of other oligarchs, including the ‘hundred flowers’ campaign in 1956–57,40 and the early 1960s’ emphasis on class struggle leading into the Socialist Education Campaign and ultimately the Cultural Revolution.41 Mao’s personal authority was central to the outcome in each of these cases, even able to be wielded while he was in the ‘second line’ of leadership; he did not need to be directly involved in the decision-making process to be the most significant actor in it. Mao remained unchallengeable, in the sense that no one sought to openly and directly criticize or oppose him; rather they sought to appease him and even if they were not doing exactly what he wanted, to convey the impression that they were following the lines he had laid out.42 Oligarchs often moderated the public expression of their views at this time in order not to antagonize the Chairman. Mao had ceased regular attendance at Politburo meetings in January 195843 and his stepping back to the ‘second line’ increased the ambiguity. As someone who had always been involved in policy discussion, Mao’s move to a less policy-involved role created a leadership structure that had no clear parameters. It was not clear what level of involvement in policy Mao should take or expected, and as the relationship with the Soviet Union deteriorated and Mao

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increasingly became worried about the possibility of revolutionary erosion and the potential reversal of the socialist revolution—a repeat of the perceived shift of the formerly socialist Soviet Union to a ‘fascist’ or ‘social imperialist’ state—the line between overall guidance and specific policy involvement became more obscure. And at this time, in the first half of the 1960s, Mao became frustrated about his perceived isolation from the decision-making centre of the regime and the apparent waning of his personal authority that this represented. This made the rules of oligarch politics more uncertain. The other leaders regularly checked their decisions with him and sought his signature on documents, even when he was away from the capital for long periods, such as early 1961 and February–August 1962 when he was in central China. In his absence, the other oligarchs do not appear to have sought to compete for his favour, but to collectively come up with decisions that they would present to him for approval.44 Neither his leadership position nor his authority were challenged, and in party meetings there was no open criticism of him. Nevertheless, Mao was dissatisfied with the way things were proceeding and ushered in the Cultural Revolution to reverse these trends. With the destruction of the party in the Cultural Revolution, Mao’s personal authority reigned supreme. His authority remained paramount in the post-Cultural Revolution party rebuilding period. At the Ninth Congress in April 1969, the new party Constitution recognized the guiding role of ‘Mao Zedong Thought’ and formalized the appointment of Lin Biao as ‘Comrade Mao Zedong’s close comrade-in-arms and successor.’45 Lin’s appointment had been unexpected in that other oligarchs would appear to have had more pressing claims to this position, but there seems to have been no major dissent from Mao’s choice. Nevertheless there was conflict within the elite more broadly in 1970–71 as groups positioned themselves in advance of the coming succession, and in this Mao became involved, ultimately attacking Lin, prompting him to flee and die in the process.46 The demise of Lin did not make the factional manoeuvring that was occurring among the oligarchs disappear. However at the time of Lin’s death Mao was 78 and in bad health and he withdrew somewhat from public life; in 1974–75 he did not attend Politburo meetings but was represented by the ‘two ladies’ (Wang Hairong and Tang Wensheng) and from October 1975 his nephew Mao Yuanxin.47 But although he was physically removed from the oligarchy, he remained central to its politics. His personal authority enabled him to play a major part in setting the parameters within which the oligarchs interacted. At this time he adopted a divide and rule strategy, something that had not been evident before, alternately supporting the radicals and the conservatives as they struggled for control of both the policy agenda and future succession process. His personal authority remained unimpaired, reflected in his ability to appoint new successors, first in August 1973 the recently promoted and relatively unknown Wang Hongwen, and then Hua Guofeng in 1976. Mao was also the one who brought back Deng Xiaoping in February-March 1973 and

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then sacked him again in April 1976, both over the opposition of different factions within the broader elite. Thus, throughout the life of the Chinese regime, while Mao was alive, he was the supreme political figure and it was his personal authority that placed him at the centre of the political process. The importance of this sort of personal authority was reflected in the fact that although Mao’s designated successor, Hua Guofeng, held the leading official positions in the regime, he lacked the personal authority to be able to retain his place. He tried to bolster his position by emphasizing his closeness to Mao; he was said to be exercising editorial supervision over the new, fifth, volume of Mao’s Selected Works, the construction of a mausoleum in Tiananmen Square to house Mao’s body was announced, and he attempted to tie himself to Mao by publicly espousing the ‘whateverist’ position (despite this actually conflicting with his policy views), ‘Whatever policy Chairman Mao decided upon, we shall resolutely defend; whatever directives Chairman Mao issued, we shall steadfastly obey.’48 But with Deng’s return and the increasingly dominant place achieved by the veteran revolutionaries, the perceived newcomer Hua was unable to compete. Following Deng’s reappointment in mid-1977, Hua was eased out of his positions; by 1980 Deng had become the most powerful member of the leadership. Although initially Deng occupied a series of official positions, over time he relinquished them all, with the last in November 1989. He did not take on the leading official position that Mao had occupied, instead overseeing the abolition of the post of party chairman at the Twelfth Congress in September 1982. This decision, plus the formal judgement on Mao49 , constituted an implicit guarantee to the oligarchs that Deng would not become a Mao-like figure. Deng was now clearly the predominant leader and even if he did not participate in day-to-day decision-making, he was seen as paramount leader, the court of last appeal. As MacFarquhar argues,50 Deng’s authority stemmed in part from factional links, but its main source was his personal history: he was of the ‘Long March’ generation, one of the elders who held an honourable place in the party’s history. He had also suffered as a result of the Cultural Revolution, a fate which in the eyes of both survivors and victims of that Revolution added lustre to his reputation. Furthermore, since 1949 his working life had been spent principally working through the bureaucratic structures of the regime. In a sense he could be seen as a ‘machine man’ and therefore someone attuned to the interests and needs of officials. Deng came to be referred to as the ‘helmsman’ (a term previously used for Mao), and the ‘core’ of the leadership. When Deng stepped down from his last official post in November 1989, Jiang Zemin whom Deng had appointed General Secretary in June 1989 replaced him as chair of the party CMC. Deng had earlier described Jiang as the ‘core’ of the new party leadership.51 He was not the unanimous choice of the elders but Deng had ultimately pushed through his appointment.52 Jiang lacked an independent power base,53 relied overwhelmingly upon the support of Deng, and did not enjoy the personal authority that stemmed from being

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a revolutionary veteran. Seen as a reformist, Jiang was not trusted by many within the more conservative camp, and in 1992 an attempt was made to remove him, but this was thwarted by Deng.54 Until his death in 1997, Deng remained the most powerful person in the system, and although he protected Jiang (and also chose Jiang’s successor in Hu Jintao), his continued presence prevented Jiang from building up his own independent authority. This seemed to be emphasized by the March 1993 declaration that ‘Comrade Deng Xiaoping’s theory on building socialism with Chinese characteristics’ would be taken as the country’s guide, thereby elevating Deng to the position of ideological mentor previously occupied by Mao.55 Once Deng had died, Jiang did try to develop his own personal authority, but this was hollow because of his lack of a revolutionary heritage. In his last term, reflecting the continuing importance of ideology for personal authority in China, Jiang tried to create an ideological basis for his rule and for posterity. In early 2000, Jiang propounded a new view of the party’s tasks, and through the projection of this through the media it came to be known as the ‘three represents’. In his words the party ‘has always represented the demands of the development of the advanced social forces of production in China, represented the direction of the development of advanced culture in China, and represented the fundamental interests of the broad masses of people in China.’56 Despite some reservations, the ‘three represents’ was presented in a speech vetted by the Politburo and PSC and therefore was a consensual expression meant to guide the party’s and China’s development in the current and future era. This was a clear attempt to elevate Jiang’s authority by endowing him with a similar sort of ideological standing to Mao and Deng. This was achieved at the Sixteenth Congress in November 2002 when the ‘three represents’ was included in the party’s Constitution along with Mao Zedong Thought and Deng Xiaoping Theory as the party’s ‘guiding ideology’. Jiang’s successor, Hu Jintao, suffered from a similar sort of problem to that of Jiang in that Jiang Zemin remained a significant figure even after he had relinquished all of his official positions, and Hu lacked the personal authority that stemmed from revolutionary leadership. His power rested more on clients and supporters than personal authority. Hu was never accorded the status of paramount leader acquired by his two predecessors (Deng and Jiang), he was never referred to as the ‘core’ of the leadership, he was always referred to as being part of the leadership collective, and the ideological innovations with which he sought to associate himself (the ‘socialist harmonious society’ and the ‘scientific development concept’) were not publicly associated with Hu directly but with the leadership collectively.57 This can be seen in the inclusion in the Preamble to the party Constitution (but not at that time recognized as part of the ‘guiding ideology’) of the ‘scientific development concept’, which was declared to be ‘a scientific theory that is in the same line as Marxism–Leninism, Mao Zedong Thought, Deng Xiaoping Theory, and the important thought of Three Represents’, and was an ‘important guiding principle for China’s economic and social development.’58

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While Hu’s successor Xi Jinping has not enjoyed the personal authority of Mao or Deng, he has become the most powerful and prominent figure since Deng. He has also had enhanced recognition for his ideological contributions. From January 2016, he was being referred to as ‘the core’ leader, a designation associated with the attempt to boost his ideological authority through his notion of the ‘three stricts and three honests’,59 and a status Hu Jintao never achieved. This designation was formalized at the Sixth Plenum in October 2016. However, the Nineteenth Congress in October 2017 also followed the precedent of earlier congresses of inserting the former General Secretary’s (i.e. Hu’s) ideological contribution (in this case the ‘scientific development concept’) into the party’s ‘guiding ideology’; like the cases of both Deng and Jiang, Hu had to wait until he stepped down before formal acknowledgement in the party Constitution of his thoughts as being part of the ‘guiding ideology’. However, the new party Constitution declared: ‘The Communist Party of China uses Marxism-Leninism, Mao Zedong Thought, Deng Xiaoping Theory, the Theory of Three Represents, the Scientific Outlook on Development, and Xi Jinping Thought on Socialism with Chinese Characteristics for a New Era as its guides to action.’60 Xi’s ideological authority was thereby catapulted onto the same level as that of Mao61 and much higher than that of any of his other predecessors. But this attempt to invest Xi with personal authority through the characterization of his ideological achievements faces the same barriers that confronted his earlier counterparts who were not from the revolutionary generation: the sort of intangible personal history that fed into the status of Mao and Deng is missing. The dominance that Lenin, Stalin, Mao and Deng exercised was essentially personal. While they all held leading positions in the political structure, by the time they had become the leading figure, those positions reflected their authority rather than being the source of it. All had played roles in their respective revolutions, with that of Mao being unchallenged as the supreme leader, and Deng a significant but less important figure, while Stalin appeared well behind Lenin and a number of the other Bolsheviks as prime movers in the revolutionary cause. However, the defeat of the successive opposition groups in the 1920s followed by the purge of many of the Old Bolsheviks in the 1930s dramatically reduced the competition Stalin had in presenting himself as having had an important revolutionary role, although he still remained behind Lenin in this regard. So Lenin, Stalin, Mao and Deng had the advantage of a revolutionary heritage. They also had the reputation of having been associated with successful policies, although their actual records in this area were not unalloyed: the reality of Soviet agricultural collectivization and, in China, of the Great Leap Forward tarnished the record of successful policy association, but these could be obscured in the presentation. Stalin and Mao were also the subject of major personality cults. These sought to generate a charismatic relationship between the leader and the populace whereby the latter invested their hopes, aspirations

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and commitment in the leader independent of both the party and the system more generally. This combination of real reputation plus created image was at the heart of their personal authority which was a crucial part of their position of dominance. Thus, personalized authority not embedded in institutions was enabled by Rule 12. However, prolonged personal dominance can have an erosive effect on political institutions. This is reflected in Rules 13 and 14.

Rule 13. While a leader will seek to consolidate his position so he is not vulnerable to removal, this will not necessarily involve an attempt to maximize his power relative to that of his colleagues It has often been argued that authoritarian leaders are engaged in a relentless endeavour to maximize their own personal power.62 It is impossible to be sure of intent, of why a particular leader did what he did—was it to maximize his power, or was it, for example, to win a particular policy debate? Even so, while leaders clearly seek to increase their own personal security by making themselves as invulnerable to challenge as they can, and this constitutes strengthening their own power, it is less apparent that they always always seek to maximize their personal power by destroying the other oligarchs’ autonomy. This rule is directly relevant to those other rules relating to the leader’s power and its limits (Rules 2 on the leader’s emergence, 6 on factions, 11 on occupation of a formal office, 12 on personal authority, 14 on institutions getting sidelined, 15 on the continuing role of administrative structures, 16 on elite institutions as oligarch power bases, and 21 on the role of personal support or factional affiliation in determining membership of the oligarchy). It could also have implications for those operational rules affecting the scope of autonomy enjoyed by rank-and-file oligarchs (Rules 3, 4, 5 and 8). Both Stalin and Mao could be seen as seeking to maximize their power at certain times; the Terror and the Cultural Revolution were important in removing from the scene people seen as potential challengers, if not to the leader’s position at least to his perception of his role in the regime. But once this was done, there is no strong evidence for seeing these leaders as continuing to seek to expand their power.63 Indeed, if in Mao’s mind the Cultural Revolution (in part) was about the removal of the veteran revolutionaries who he saw as betraying that for which he stood, in the early 1970s he oversaw their return to political life. Lenin too has been seen as seeking such power maximization, and the argument for this appears quite strong given the closing down of debate that occurred from 1921, but the treatment of opposition throughout should give us pause—for Lenin political debate and difference were not always a zero sum game—and Lenin disappeared from the scene too early for us to be able to judge how he would have acted had he lived longer. But even if we accept that Stalin and Mao may at times have been

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about power maximization,64 this does not seem to have been a feature of the other leaders analysed here.65 Khrushchev was able to build up his position in the leadership so that by the end of the 1950s he was clearly the predominant leader, but he then eschewed some of the tactics that had got him to that position, with the result that his position became weakened and he was vulnerable to the coup which finally brought him down. So either he was not intent on continually consolidating and building up his power base, or the skills that he had demonstrated in the first part of his rule deserted him in the second.66 Brezhnev is a clearer case of someone who, having consolidated himself in power, did not go on to shift his position from one of a predominant leader to a dominant one. Maybe he was too old and sick to do this, at least from the mid-1970s, but his general modus operandi after that date was basically the same as before. His way of dealing with his colleagues on the Politburo67 from the outset suggests that he was comfortable with his position of predominant leadership and not driven to make himself all-powerful. Probably in part a reflection of his personality, this may also have been in part a reaction to the Khrushchev experience. Brezhnev sought to lead from the middle rather than staking out clear positions and calling upon others to follow. The result was a Politburo in which the emphasis was on consensus, on ensuring that all oligarchs were heard on an issue and, if possible, brought around to a single point of view. The Politburo met on a weekly and sometimes twice a week basis68 and most major issues were discussed there. In these meetings Brezhnev tried to construct a consensus.69 If a consensus could not be achieved, Brezhnev would sum up and suggest that the item be postponed for further work.70 Brezhnev also adopted a respectful attitude to his colleagues; even when they were removed from their posts, he did not belittle or stridently criticize them, and they usually were given another, lower-status position. Brezhnev’s handling of his colleagues projected a sense of trust, a feeling that they were engaged in a collective endeavour, and that all of their efforts were valued. This collegiality was strained as Brezhnev’s illness and age made him more remote and he relied increasingly on Konstantin Chernenko to represent him in the Politburo. He also became more reliant on a sort of narrow kitchen cabinet comprising oligarchs and some of the elite,71 but unlike under Khrushchev, these oligarchs were important figures in their own right and do not seem to have raised the ire of those excluded from this. This may be because even when he was talking to the narrower group, the Politburo continued to function and the oligarchs gained a sense of remaining involved in the resolution of important issues, even if on some questions this was more apparent than real.72 Thus, when Brezhnev was ailing, there was no move against him, and when Gorbachev grumbled to his patron Andropov about the sense of drift, Andropov retorted that his job was not to question Brezhnev but to support him.73

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And finally in the Soviet case, the course pursued by Gorbachev was one that was bound to lead to the reduction of his power, not its increase. If his reforms had been successful, the entry of many more political actors into the game would inevitably have meant that his power and position would be relatively reduced, even as the occupant of an enhanced Soviet presidency. In China, Xi Jinping has acted vigorously to consolidate and expand his power, but this is still in train so it is not clear how extensive it will become. For the other leaders, there does not appear compelling evidence that they sought to maximize their power and create a dominant position. Even though Hua Guofeng was faced with the sort of opposition that would have prevented him from following such a course had he chosen to do so, what is clear is that he did not force the issue when challenged. He did not put up the sort of struggle that we would have expected had he been driving to maximize his personal power or even to retain his position; he seems effectively to have acquiesced in his removal from power. Deng Xiaoping was clearly the most powerful post-Mao leader and was best placed to consolidate his power, but he seemed strangely coy about this. He was content to exercise his power essentially from behind the scenes, but in doing so to acknowledge that his colleagues had legitimate aspirations to be fully involved in political life, and he appears to have been happy to accommodate that. Reflecting the shared experience of the Mao period, Deng seems to have eschewed the sort of power consolidation that would have alarmed his colleagues and set him up to rival the historical Mao. Both Jiang Zemin and Hu Jintao were much less powerful and, although at times seeming to strain against the limits of their power imposed by their predecessor (Deng for Jiang and Jiang for Hu), they were not characterized by relentless power accumulation. In both the Soviet Union and China, leaders have sought to expand their power, but it was only the two who achieved dominant leader status, Stalin and Mao, who seem to have sought to maximize it. The other leaders appear to have been content to seek to strengthen their positions without doing so to such an extent that the other oligarchs felt threatened. Their efforts reflect the tension between constraint and enablement inherent in this rule.

Rule 14. Leading formal political institutions may get sidelined, especially when there is a dominant leader, but if so they are likely to be replaced by informal procedures that, over time, gain some regularity While all regimes have a formal, defined locus of decision-making (Rule 1), in practice these can be sidelined by the emergence of more informal venues of leadership discussion. Such venues may be purely ad hoc, convened at the leader’s whim, but they often develop a significant level of regularity and even formality.

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This sort of sidelining of the official institutions is particularly common under a dominant leader but can also occur under other leadership models. This rule intersects with the rules relating to the role of institutions in the system (Rules 1, 11, 15, 16, 22 and 25, the latter two both on institutions and succession), the nature of the leader’s power (Rules 12 on personal authority and 13 on expansion of his power), collective discussion (Rule 3), the role of factions (Rule 6), and the role of law (Rule 19). In the Soviet Union, the formal party organs were from the outset not institutionally robust. Lenin and the other oligarchs were not greatly concerned about institutional boundaries, happily taking issues from one institutional venue in which they may have been defeated to another where they hoped for more success. This sort of fluidity and lack of institutional coherence underpinned the emergence of the Politburo as the dominant organ in place of the larger assemblies. The Politburo operated as a vigorous organ during the 1920s, but then in the 1930s with Stalin’s pre-eminence it declined so precipitously that by the time of the war it was barely meeting; it met twice in 1940 and once in 1945 and not at all in between (see Table 3.1). CC plena were infrequent,74 and the Congress met in 1934 and 1939 (compared with a required regularity of annually from 1925, every two years from 1927, and every three years from 1934). With the decline of the Politburo, a regular process of oligarch decision-making emerged centred principally on meetings in Stalin’s office.75 While these were not formal, in the sense of being embedded in any of the regime’s official documents, their regularity, the significant continuity in membership and the fact that major decisions were made here suggests that this was an effective mechanism of decision-making. It may not have been highly institutionalized, but it continued to function even when Stalin was away on holidays. Such regularized meetings were supplemented by more ad hoc events; caucusing before meetings was a common practice from party history,76 evening meetings at the Kremlin to watch movies followed by eating and drinking at Stalin’s dacha,77 and discussions in the corridors and at official events.78 Khrushchev later referred to ‘episodic gatherings, held literally on the run, before dinner, although the questions decided there included both routine matters and major questions.’79 At one level the atrophy of the official institutions during the period of Stalin’s dominance is easily explicable. With regard to the CC and Congress, the oligarchs’ preference for liberation from accountability to the rank-and-file through their representatives (Rules 9 and 10) meant that the fewer occasions on which they might be called upon to report the better. Of course, given the rules of unanimity that came to apply to such gatherings, any fears that they might face a revolt in such fora were exaggerated. However, with the memory of the restiveness over collectivization in the early 1930s and the February–March 1937 plenum which saw significant criticism of the leadership fresh in their memory, the oligarchs were probably content to let such meetings slide. It is a little more difficult to explain

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Table 3.1 Politburo meeting data

1919 1920 1921 1922 1923 1924 1925 1926 1927 1928 1929 1930 1931 1932 1933 1934 1935 1936 1937 1938 1939 1940 1941 1942 1943 1944 1945 1946 1947 1948 1949 1950 1951 1952

Number of sessions

Questions resolved in session

Questions resolved by circulation

‘Decisions of the Politburo’

Total questions

51 75 94 70 78 76 54 74 66 54 54 38 60 47 24 18 16 9 7 5 2 2 0 0 0 0 1 6 1 0 1 0 0 0

394 1038 1382 1335 1315 1251 859 994 1084 961 1071 1090 1382 1446 443 309 105 88 23 15 6 13 0 0 0 0 6 22 3 0 3 0 0 0

0 0 201 259 210 629 790 686 746 757 654 857 1550 2104 2778 3417 3347 3279 1406 460 34 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 141 536 944 948 156 31 215 15 0 2169 1781 2727 3605 2637 1177 1160 903 959 1105 1020 1141 2403 3012 3265 1786

394 1038 1583 1594 1525 1880 1649 1680 1830 1859 2261 2891 3880 3706 3252 3941 3467 3367 3598 2256 2767 3618 2637 1177 1160 903 965 1127 1023 1141 2406 3012 3265 1786

Gill (2018), pp.116 and 156

the Politburo.80 One potential explanation would be that by replacing formal Politburo sessions with more informal meetings in Stalin’s office, Stalin was creating a forum within which he could decide who to invite. The Politburo had a formal membership, all of whom had the right to attend Politburo meetings,81 so that

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the membership was not officially determinable by Stalin on a daily basis. While Stalin could have acted to prevent particular individuals from attending Politburo meetings had he wished, barring someone could have brought on a political scene of the sort Stalin may have wished to avoid. By transferring meetings to his office and not calling them Politburo sessions, he could determine who attended without complicating the course of whatever issue was under way. Attendance records of these meetings show that not only did all oligarchs not attend, but often people who were not oligarchs were present. These were much smaller gatherings than full Politburo sessions, attendance seems to have been effectively by invitation, and it is not clear that anyone had the sort of right to attend that Politburo members had of the Politburo. There are no published records of what transpired at these meetings, but it is clear from some of the supplementary people who attended—people were called into a meeting to discuss a particular issue and then they left, leaving a core—that policy issues were discussed. Decisions of these meetings were often later issued as ‘decisions of the Politburo’. These meetings were clearly central to the modus operandi of the oligarchy at this time and represent a clear sidelining of the official institutions in favour of an informal, if seemingly regularized, meeting. But if this suited Stalin, it is not clear that this suited the interests of the other oligarchs. In a system where the dictator can exercise significant influence over decisions or even make decisions himself, and where there is a concern not to get on the dictator’s wrong side, knowing what is in his mind is essential for the oligarchs at all times. Regularity and frequency of exposure to the dictator gives one the best hope of being able to remain aware of his thinking, and attendance at meetings where one has a ‘right’ to attend facilitates this. Similarly, if individual oligarchs are concerned about taking responsibility for decisions, the best defence is to ensure that all decisions are obviously collective. Regular meetings is one way of bringing this about.82 Also, if oligarchs hoped to ally with one another in order to present a combined front to the dictator on any particular issue, this was facilitated where there was a certain membership rather than one subject to the vagaries of personal invitation.83 The speed with which the oligarchs reinstituted regular meetings of the Politburo (then called the Presidium) after Stalin’s death shows how important they thought it was. Two further factors were instrumental in the rapid re-appearance of this body. First, the oligarchs were concerned that in the immediate wake of Stalin’s death, any succession struggle should not be conducted by violent means. While the resurrection of the Politburo did not give a guarantee of this, it did represent an institutional mechanism for resolution of the succession question which did not involve forces outside the oligarchy or the use of coercion: selection by the Politburo and ratification by the CC. Restoration of the Politburo thus seemed to promise reversion to ‘normal’ procedures. Second, the oligarchs wanted to avoid another Stalin-like leader, hence their emphasis upon collective leadership. The Politburo was seen as the embodiment of collective

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leadership, so its restoration constituted a guarantee of collective rather than individual rule. At the opening of both the Khrushchev and Brezhnev periods, the oligarchs made an attempt to use the formal institutions as a political buttress against the emergence of a new dictator. The levels of uncertainty within the oligarchy during Stalin’s last years encouraged the oligarchs to attempt to construct a system that would prevent an individual from achieving the sort of power that Stalin had possessed. The answer to this was seen to lie in the strengthening of the principles of collective leadership. But while there was a general consensus surrounding the principle of collectivism, there was little agreement on how this should work in practice or what needed to be done to bring it into effect. They did agree that the security apparatus should be prevented from playing an active role in oligarch affairs, reflected in the arrest and killing of Beria in 1953. Although this did not extend to removal of the security services completely from oligarch affairs (see Rules 10 and 17), it was an implicit guarantee that death would not be the price to be paid for plotting. They also agreed that party bodies should meet with much greater regularity than had been evident in the last years of Stalin’s rule, and this principle was generally observed. These sorts of considerations continued to sustain the Politburo throughout the post-Stalin period, although it came under strain during Khrushchev’s tenure as leader. The Presidium seems to have met on a regular basis84 and many of the most important questions were dealt with.85 But on some issues decisions were made by Khrushchev and some of his closest supporters,86 a trend that became more pronounced the longer his period in office continued. Increasingly he was prone to ignore the Presidium, a body which never had a majority of his clients so that he was always reliant upon allies,87 and to rely upon the advice of acquaintances and relatives. Instead of seeking consensus in the Presidium, he sidelined it, announcing decisions without real consultation, appealing for support over its head to the CC and the populace at large, and engaging in a form of highly personalized populist politics that was very much at odds with the party’s tradition. The bill of particulars against Khrushchev focused upon his overriding of the principles of collective leadership.88 The plotters, led by Leonid Brezhnev, placed great emphasis on the restoration of collective leadership, including outlining a series of principles designed to strengthen it.89 Few of these were actually implemented, although two important ones were: a prohibition on one person simultaneously holding the positions of party First Secretary and chairman of the Council of Ministers (prime minister) as Khrushchev had done, and the setting in place of a process whereby appointments were not used to consolidate one person’s position at the expense of his colleagues. This latter implied a practice of balancing appointments among supporters of different oligarchs. In practice, under Brezhnev the leadership functioned in a more consensual and collective fashion than it had at any time in the past. Major issues were for the most part discussed in the

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Politburo, where the oligarchs had the right of attendance, and decisions relied upon a consensus; if a consensus could not be reached on an issue, it was generally postponed until agreement could be worked out. Certainly, some issues were decided by a small group—the decision to invade Afghanistan in 1979 is a prime example, with the decision later being ratified by the full Politburo90 —but in contrast to similar situations earlier, under Brezhnev the small group was generally a sub-set of the Politburo91 and people who were not clients of Brezhnev but substantial politicians in their own right. This therefore did not involve oligarchs being displaced by non-oligarchs. Party organs met regularly, as specified by the party Rules, and generally the procedures laid down for the structuring of political life at the apex of the Soviet system were followed. The revival of the Politburo reflected the fact that it was in the interests of both the predominant leader and the other oligarchs. For the leader, regular meetings of the Politburo were a way of keeping the other oligarchs in view, of being able to find out how they felt about matters and what they were thinking. This was not a foolproof method of detecting dangerous plotting, but meeting regularly was at least one means of attempting to keep abreast of shifting sentiment within the oligarchy. Similarly the rank-and-file oligarchs could use the institution the same way, to remain aware of how the leader viewed developments, and to use the collective impact of it to press their particular interests. With no one in the sort of dominant position that Stalin had achieved, and therefore a greater equality of power across the oligarchy, and with everyone seeing benefits in the continuation of the Politburo as a deliberative organ, it is little wonder that this body made a vigorous return to oligarch life following Stalin’s demise. In China, the situation was different. We do not know with what regularity the Politburo or its Standing Committee met for much of the period of the People’s Republic. Until the post-Deng period when a greater degree of regularity was introduced to their meetings, the CC and Congress also met rather more haphazardly than they were meant to do.92 But assuming that the Politburo and PSC did meet reasonably regularly (although the Politburo was suspended during the Cultural Revolution when it was replaced by the Cultural Revolution Group93 ), the problem was different: because of the way that decision-making was structured, they were not the site of final decision-making, but only one arena in which the oligarchs interacted to reach decisions. There was a variety of other sorts of meetings that could play a role in decision-making. These sorts of gatherings94 involved a far wider cross section of Chinese officialdom in high-level discussions on a frequent basis than had been the case in the Soviet Union, but they also cast a shadow over the Politburo’s role as supreme decision-maker. Chief among these meetings were gatherings of central and provincial leaders,95 often called ‘central work conferences’, that were usually convened by members of the Politburo or the PSC and were designed to bring about a wide-ranging review of particular issues, to gauge provincial

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leaders’ reactions to questions and to lock all in behind particular policy decisions.96 They were especially important between 1955 and 1966 and could last for up to two months (compared with CC plena which were normally less than 10 days), thereby giving significant opportunity for interaction and discussion within the elite broadly. Sometimes these meetings were invested with increased authority through designation of them as enlarged meetings of the Standing Committee. There were also the summer gatherings of the leaders held at a summer resort—usually either Lushan or Beidaihe—which involved ongoing discussions that reviewed the situation and mapped out the future agenda. Such gatherings occurred every year between 1951 and 1965 except for 1952, 1954 and 1963.97 More limited meetings were also held, usually under the imprimatur of one of the CC Secretariat departments and usually focused specifically on questions of policy implementation or the preparation of materials for other meetings, but at times discussion could range beyond narrow technical issues; the CMC, which was the CC department responsible for party control of the military, was a particularly important forum for such meetings. In addition, there could be ad hoc meetings convened to discuss particular questions; in the 1950s Mao convened a number of meetings of provincial party secretaries (July 1955, April 1956, January 1957 and November 1958) and ad hoc party conferences (Qingdao July 1957, Hangchow and Nanning January 1958, Chengdu March 1958, and Zhengzhou November 1958) at which he sought to mobilize support for the radical policies of the Great Leap Forward. From the late 1950s, enlarged meetings of the Politburo or PSC seem to have been more important for policy deliberation and decision than the simple Politburo or PSC which seem generally to have merely approved such decisions.98 There were also meetings of state bodies, principally the National People’s Congress (the parliament) and State Council. The key here was Mao and the role he played in decision-making, especially after he stopped attending Politburo meetings in 1958. The problem for the Politburo and PSC is not that they ceased to function, but that they were, if not sidelined, reduced in significance in the decision-making process by the way Mao played his role and the mobilization of non-oligarchs into the process.99 Although the precise role played by the different types of meeting cannot be ascertained, some individual meetings clearly played a significant role in the course of oligarch relations. It is probable that the PSC was the principal organizational focus of oligarch deliberations, but much discussion would also have occurred on a more informal basis as individuals discussed issues with friends, associates and colleagues, both in the work and more leisurely environments. This sort of informal politics conducted by people many of whom were long-time close associates occurred within a fluid institutional setting. The convening of the informal meetings already noted could partly compensate for the irregularity of CC plena, but what is striking is that such

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meetings were convened and lower-level officials involved in real policy discussion. This was not a feature of the Soviet case where meetings other than CC plena did not regularly involve the top leadership interacting with lower-level officials in a substantive fashion, and after the defeat of the Right Opposition at the end of the 1920s, plena were generally not characterized by significant differences of opinion. In China, the incorporation of lower-level officials into the policy discussion thereby embedded oligarch politics in a broader context. This does not mean that lower-level officials were either the initiators of policy or exercised a veto, but it does mean that the purely oligarch institutions had to share their decision-making role with more broadly based elite bodies. The vulnerability of the central institutions was evident in their fate during the Cultural Revolution. The institutional effect of the Cultural Revolution was to destroy the leading party bodies, with the central decision-making role being taken by the Cultural Revolution Group. Although it was formally part of the party, its activity simply highlighted the way in which the regular party organs had been displaced. Deng has often been said to have brought about a higher level of institutionalization of the post-Cultural Revolution political system, but this is only partly true.100 The personal role he played as paramount leader, intervening in policy whenever he wished, removing (Hu Yaobang and Zhao Ziyang) and appointing (Jiang Zemin and Hu Jintao) top leaders actually hindered the development of institutional integrity and coherence, despite the greater regularity of functioning of the party’s leading institutions. Deng’s aim was less institutional consolidation than the reestablishment and embedding of the leadership principles evident in the 1950s. Characterized by the acceptance of diverse viewpoints followed by unity once a decision was made, associated with the pre-eminence of a paramount leader, was the sort of model of oligarch politics he seems to have envisaged. This was not a system where the leader rode roughshod over his colleagues, but where that leader worked with his colleagues to bring about decisions to which they would all be committed. It involved the massaging of the formal decision-making institutions, not their abolition. His successors have continued to work with these institutions. In both of the communist single-party states, rules enabled informal procedures of decision-making to be important, albeit at times in different ways. In the Soviet Union, informal procedures did under Stalin displace the formal bodies, while under his successors they supplemented the Politburo. In China, such procedures were an intrinsic part of the decision-making process under Mao, thereby reducing the importance of the formal leadership bodies of the party, the Politburo and PSC. The enabling side of this rule was clearly, in practice, very significant, as was its role in the coordination of the leadership system.

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Rule 15. Although some leading oligarch institutions may be sidelined or atrophy, those institutions exercising administrative functions continue to operate in a regular fashion In authoritarian regimes, it is not unusual for the formal deliberative bodies to be either sidelined or atrophy. The discussion of Rule 14 shows how this has happened in the two Communist Party states. However, when the deliberative bodies are affected in this way, the same does not always happen to those organizations whose essential purpose is administrative. Except in the case of a cataclysm like the Cultural Revolution, those institutions designed to carry out the basic administrative tasks of the regime101 generally continued to function in a regular fashion. There were two types of such institutions, the party administrative structure responsible for keeping the party going, and the state machine which was necessary to ensure that the regime could continue to run the country. In the Soviet Union, the central apparatus of the CC which played this role was regularized from 1919 when the Secretariat and Orgburo were formally established.102 In formal terms, these bodies were headed by the General Secretary, and the factional conflicts of the 1920s and Stalin’s drive for victory in those contests encouraged him to establish tight control over this growing apparatus. The most important department in the Secretariat, which went by a number of names during its life but for most of the Stalin period was called the Special Sector,103 was headed successively by three people closely associated with Stalin, Lev Mekhlis (1924–26), Ivan Tovstukha (1926–30) and Aleksandr Poskrebyshev (1930–52). All were personal assistants of Stalin, and effectively this meant that there was a merging of Stalin’s personal office and the Special Sector.104 This department did all the organizational work for meetings of the oligarchs: it timetabled meetings of the Politburo, prepared the agenda and supporting documents, organized attendance by those required to give reports, registered decisions made and then oversaw the implementation of those decisions. It also seems to have performed these functions for meetings of the oligarchs when Stalin was away, with the added task of being Stalin’s eyes and ears at those meetings. Other departments handled personnel issues and relations with lower-level party bodies, and exercised broad supervision over all aspects of life in the USSR. This administrative structure thereby both supported the work of the oligarchy and mediated its contacts with the elite in lower-level party organs and the government ministries. Throughout the life of the Soviet regime, this central party apparatus continued to function and service the oligarchy. Successive general secretaries sought to ensure that both the secretaries formally in charge of the departments of the Secretariat and the department heads who actually ran those departments were their allies. But the important point is that regardless of the standing of the Politburo, the Secretariat (and until it was abolished in 1952, the Orgburo) continued to operate

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in a businesslike fashion. In part this was because of the importance of this apparatus for the leader’s power. But also important was the fact that this was central to the functioning and survival of the system as a whole. Its part in sustaining the oligarchy and in maintaining links between the oligarchy and other major parts of the system meant that it was crucial for the survival of the regime. Not until 1988, under the impact of the changes introduced by Gorbachev, did this central apparatus cease to function and carry out its basic administrative tasks. In China, the equivalent organization, also called the Secretariat, had a more chequered history, mainly because the greater role played by the leader’s personal authority seemed to imply a weaker imperative for the use of organizational means to ensure appropriate personnel appointments. From the outset the Secretariat, which had both decision-making and executive authority, was in charge of the day-to-day operations of the party,105 although a 1943 decision giving Mao the authority to make final decisions on matters being considered by that body did potentially sideline it.106 It is not clear whether Mao exercised this prerogative, but during the 1950s (with Deng appointed General Secretary in 1956 but heading it before then) the Secretariat seems to have functioned effectively. However, at the Eleventh Plenum of the CC in August 1966, under pressure from the radicals driving the Cultural Revolution, the Secretariat and the post of General Secretary were abolished. The Secretariat was formally re-established at the Fifth Plenum in February 1980 and Hu Yaobang was named General Secretary. After this plenum, the Secretariat began to meet twice weekly, once to discuss major decisions and once to deal with day-to-day matters.107 At this time, the Secretariat became the main locus of decision-making, displacing the Politburo and PSC in this regard.108 Important in this downgrading of the Standing Committee in favour of the Secretariat may have been the fact that the PSC had no formal rules of procedure and had met virtually at the will of the chairman, while the Secretariat had formal and regularized processes which placed potential limits on his ability to manipulate it at will and therefore may have been favoured by the other oligarchs. However, following the removal of Hu Yaobang as General Secretary in January 1987, the Secretariat was downgraded (it was to revert to an administrative and advisory role) and the Politburo and PSC restored to their primacy; Hu was accused of abusing the role of the Secretariat and usurping the decision-making functions of the PSC. At the same time, it was decided that the Secretariat would no longer be presided over by the General Secretary; the new party Constitution declared that he chaired the Politburo. The Secretariat would be chaired by an executive secretary of the Secretariat (Hu Qili), thereby creating a ‘two centres’ arrangement whereby Politburo and Secretariat were chaired by different people. With the regularization of processes surrounding the leadership following Deng’s death, the Secretariat remained a leading body in the party, with the position of General Secretary one of the posts the top leader occupied.

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Another leading body which remained functional in China was the Central Military Commission. This was formally the department of the CC responsible for military affairs, but was actually much more important, usually being chaired by the leading figure in the regime. The body was formally divided into a party Central Military Commission and a state Central Military Commission, but the membership of both was identical and they remained for practical purposes one body.109 The military representation in this body and its strong focus on military affairs (and the opposition of much of the military to the radicals despite the role of Lin Biao) was probably instrumental in this body avoiding the fate of the other leading party bodies during the Cultural Revolution. One other set of institutions bordering the oligarchy remained significant in the Communist Party states. This was the upper reaches of the state. The peak bodies here, the Council of People’s Commissars/Ministers and the State Council, generally did not meet collectively: they were more institutional vehicles where government ministers could officially be placed than actual working bodies.110 More important were the government ministries at the top of which the ministers sat. These were the organizations responsible for the actual implementation of government policy, and were usually immense bureaucratic structures. Generally they continued to function, even during the most difficult periods of the respective regimes, the Terror and the Cultural Revolution; much of their attention was focused on the economy. They had to continue to operate because they were the basic infrastructure of the regime itself. Had they collapsed, the regime would have collapsed. But they could also be important in the conduct of oligarch affairs owing to their role as oligarch power bases (Rules 4 and 16). Thus in both states, the party’s administrative apparatus continued to function even when the Politburo did not. Indeed, when the Politburo did not operate in the Soviet Union, the Secretariat serviced the informal meetings that displaced it. But also important in both states was the role of the state apparatus that continued both to administer the country and provide a ministerial base for individual oligarchs (Rule 16). As well as relating to the rules specifically concerned with institutions (Rules 11, 14 16, 22 and 25), this rule intersected with those on law (Rule 19) and oligarch autonomy (Rule 4).

Rule 16. Elite institutions can constitute a power base for individual oligarchs in the course of oligarch politics Just as the leader may seek to make use of central institutions to consolidate and expand his power (Rules 11–15), so institutions can act as power bases and sources of autonomy for the other oligarchs. This rule underpinned Rule 4 on oligarch autonomy and was a major factor in those rules related to collective discussion and power disposition within the oligarchy (Rules 3, 5, 6, 11, 12 and 13), to oligarch

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security and unity (Rules 7, 8 and 29), and was also relevant to Rules 14 and 15 on institutions and 17 on the security services, and to some of the succession rules (Rules 22, 25 and 26). As noted in the discussion of Rule 4, oligarchs are rarely simply members of the oligarch council; they almost inevitably hold other prominent positions in the political structure: head of government or of government ministries, head of major party organizations, or head of the security apparatus, or in China, chief of the military. Some are effectively representatives of elite constituencies, such as clans or regional political machines. Important here are the government ministries (Rule 4). Individual oligarchs had responsibility for particular policy areas and therefore for particular government departments. An oligarch who retained such responsibility for some time would build up particular expertise in that area, far more than that enjoyed by his colleagues. Accordingly, his opinion on matters in that area would be likely to carry more weight than those of the other oligarchs, even if it was ultimately subject to overrule by the leader. This was clearly the case throughout the Soviet experience, where the General Secretary was the only member of the Politburo to not have a specialized policy focus but was able to range across the whole policy spectrum. This segmented expertise would have been reinforced by the relative standing of the state ministry for which an individual was responsible. Not all ministries were equal—for example, defence and heavy industry were everywhere considered more important than health and culture—and those oligarchs associated with the more important ministries enjoyed a prestige that was generated by those ministries. Being at the head of a government ministry could provide an oligarch with expanded personal autonomy in three ways. First, the central secretarial apparatus that serviced the Politburo had to get the material to support discussion of particular issues from those institutions dealing with those issues, and this was often the government ministries. An oligarch in control of a ministry, through his allies in the ministry, could shape the way the information was presented and thereby potentially frame the discussion and the outcome. Information control was potentially an important tool. Second, in discussions in the oligarch council, as noted, the expertise that accrued to the oligarch through his position at the head of the ministry should weigh more than the views of his colleagues. So again he should have a significant say in shaping the outcome. Third, once a decision had been made, implementation would presumably be in the hands of the ministry, thereby potentially giving him some capacity to shape the outcome on the ground. This position could also be significant in another way. One type of conflict that was endemic to these regimes was bureaucratic conflict over resources (Rule 5). This occurred all the time, both in open meetings and behind closed doors. The outcome of such conflict was important for both the shape of national policy development and the health of the individual ministries, but it was also a reflection of the capacity of the individual oligarchs involved. Success in such struggles not only benefited the ministry, it could burnish the credentials of the oligarch as well.

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This could be important in shaping the pecking order within the oligarchy and in positioning individual oligarchs for future leadership succession. Conflict over resources was one type of clash that regimes generally allowed. In the USSR there were significant differences over resource allocation throughout the entire period. Reflecting their positions as representatives of major bureaucratic hierarchies with their own institutional interests, many of the oligarchs were involved in continuing discussion and debate over economic policy and resource allocation.111 Oligarchs became involved in the dynamics of bureaucratic politics, pushing the policy lines that emanated from their bureaucratic constituencies and seeking to defend and expand the resources available to those constituencies. Working on the maxim of ‘where you stand depends on where you sit’, oligarchs frequently came into conflict with one another on these sorts of issues, guided by their bureaucratic affiliations. In the words of Lazar Kaganovich: ‘When we [Kaganovich and Molotov] worked together in the [Politburo], we worked in a friendly manner, but when he became prime minister and I minister of transport we argued.’112 Sometimes this bureaucratic conflict was reflected in party fora other than the Politburo, such as in speeches to the party Congress where differences over policy could be expressed,113 but this was for the most part played out behind closed doors, including in the Politburo. Alliances could be an essential part of this bureaucratic politics. A common form of this was when the prime minister wanted to cut expenditure to the government ministries and those minister oligarchs objected; they were more likely to experience success if they banded together than if they remained separate. So bureaucratic politics resting on institutional power bases was an important part of the dynamic of oligarch life and could be a factor in the operation of factions (see Rule 6). Institutional power base was particularly important in the succession struggle between Khrushchev and Malenkov following the death of Stalin (this is discussed more fully in Chapter 4). Khrushchev was head of the party and Malenkov of the state,114 and despite the apparent advantages that Malenkov had at the outset, Khrushchev’s control of the party proved decisive in the end. Khrushchev’s subsequent ability to combine the party and state leadership (in the form of the position of prime minister) was seen by the oligarchs as concentrating too much power in his hands, and when he was overthrown one of the principles adopted by the new leadership was that henceforth these posts should be kept separate.115 In China, bureaucratic constituencies functioned in a similar fashion to the Soviet Union, with the Dengist economic reform in particular thrusting the economic ministries to the fore. In addition, the enlarged circle of people engaged in making decisions gave more institutions a direct input into that process. One wrinkle on this compared with the USSR relates to the party elders, the veteran revolutionaries. By the time of the post-Mao period, most of these people were retired from substantive positions in the government ministries or military, yet they retained both the connections they had had with those particular institutions

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and the knowledge, expertise and reputations that they had acquired. Thus, the fact that Chen Yun was critical of the economic reforms was important, not simply because of his status as an elder, but because of his links with the State Council and his post-1949 involvement in running the economy.116 And, of course, the creation of the CAC gave these people an institutional base; even if it rarely met as a collective entity, it institutionally legitimized the role they sought to play and the influence they sought to wield. Elite institutions could thus act as power bases and sources of autonomy for individual oligarchs, a fact clearly illustrating the enabling side of this rule.

Rule 17. The security services do not play a major independent role in oligarch affairs One particular institutional structure could potentially play a significant role in the course of oligarch life and politics, the security services, even though most oligarchs seek to prevent this because of the potential danger it poses for them. In all cases, the leader makes efforts to ensure that the security services serve him. This has been most commonly remarked upon with regard to Stalin, but it in fact has applied to all of the Soviet General Secretaries. Heads of the security services in the Soviet Union after 1934 reported directly and only to the General Secretary, and oligarchs knew that their actions were likely to be reported straight to the General Secretary and that their phones were bugged.117 The importance of the General Secretary keeping the head of the security service onside was highlighted by the fact that KGB head Semichastny actually supported those who overthrew Khrushchev in 1964. In China, the public security apparatus, except for during the Cultural Revolution, did not play a major role in party or oligarch affairs. Following the Cultural Revolution and the re-emergence into power of some of its victims, increased emphasis was given to the principle that the security apparatus should not be involved in party matters, and this has generally been observed, although the use of an anti-corruption campaign to remove perceived potential opponents including Bo Xilai in 2012 did seem to strain this principle. The leader’s position on the CMC also gave him important access to the powers of coercion. The military is also a potential actor, but in the Soviet Union it was established under close party control and it never escaped that control. Accordingly, it did not play an independent part in oligarch politics, and the military chief (as opposed to the civilian defence minister) has rarely been a member of the Politburo. In China, because of the particular relationship that developed between party and military during the revolution, the military has been a significant presence in high-level politics, with military officers often holding office in the party’s leading bodies, but it has not acted in a significant way in the life of the oligarchy. However, during and

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after the Cultural Revolution it played an important role in the reining in of the radicals and then the reconstruction of the system. Thus constraint has been the most important effect of Rule 17, with its exclusion of the coercive arms of the state from leadership politics a crucial aspect of the organization of that politics. In this regard this rule intertwined with those relating to elite involvement in oligarch affairs (Rules 9, 10 and 16), with oligarch security (Rules 7 and 29).

18. Policy is an acceptable cause of oligarch disagreement The conception of oligarch life as a continuing struggle for power underplays the importance of policy. This is reflected in the fact that this rule (along with its counterpart Rule 28) works with those operational rules central to the dynamics of oligarch life (Rules 3 on collective discussion, 4 on rank-and-file oligarch autonomy, 5 on disagreement among oligarchs and 6 on factions plus Rule 16 on elite institutions as power bases) and on the basis of unity (Rule 8). Policy is important because most oligarchs are not there simply to gain and exercise power or to line their own pockets. The communist regimes came to power with the aim of completely restructuring society and building a new form of community. While the early years of the Soviet regime were wracked by major disagreements over policy issues (the peace, the attitude to trade unions, the New Economic Policy), this was most clearly reflected at times of leadership succession, which is discussed in greater detail in Chapter 4. During the 1920s in the prolonged factional struggle in the wake of Lenin’s death, one of the principal themes of the debate was the course of economic policy, essentially the strengthening of the market system or shift to a more centralized and coercive model. Foreign policy too was important. Following Stalin’s death, the Khrushchev–Malenkov struggle featured policy issues at its focus, principally how to meet the population’s consumption needs, international relations and the question of war, administrative decentralization, and the attitude to Stalin. And then when Khrushchev was overthrown, one cause was opposition to a range of his policy initiatives. The process around the death of Brezhnev and the ultimate succession of Gorbachev focused upon what should be done to address the problems the USSR was confronting, with Gorbachev’s victory ultimately representing the choice of reform over further consolidation (although the selectorate did not choose the ultimate nature and direction of the reform they got nor was the succession explicitly discussed in these terms). The importance of policy is also reflected in the dynamic of the Gorbachev period. While Gorbachev was able to appoint a large number of supporters to the Politburo, as his policy became more radical many of those supporters got left behind; their support for change did not extend to the lengths that were embodied in the developing programme of change Gorbachev espoused. This growing

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difference over policy was a key factor in the ultimate collapse of the USSR. Thus, even outside the time of succession, policy was a concern of the oligarchs, and this can be seen in both the Politburo agendas that have become available118 and the range of decisions adopted. In China too, policy was central. Policy differences were at the heart of the two major factional disputes of the 1950s, the Gao Gang-Rao Shushi and the Peng Dehuai affairs, and it was Mao’s disagreement with the policies of the first half of the 1960s that culminated in the Cultural Revolution.119 Initially after Mao’s death, the groupings in the leadership—the radical drivers of the Cultural Revolution and the survivors, beneficiaries and victims of the Cultural Revolution—supported different policy lines. The drivers favoured the continuation of Cultural Revolution style policies, the survivors and victims generally favoured a return to something like the pre-Cultural Revolution system; the beneficiaries were more ambiguous. The importance of policy is reflected in the way in which, when Deng challenged Hua, he did so first by publicly articulating a policy position, thereby signalling that he was not just about the restoration of the veteran revolutionaries but actually stood for something positive. This gave legitimacy to his action, even though in practice there was little difference between the policies he espoused and those of Hua. The immediate post-Cultural Revolution differences eventually became transformed into the key question of economic reform, with the leadership now splitting: Deng (along with his key supporters Hu Yaobang, Zhao Ziyang and later Jiang Zemin) championed economic reform, while many of the party elders either directly opposed it or had significant reservations about it.120 This reform and its consequences have remained central to the dynamic of oligarchic politics throughout the last three decades, and although the general debate over whether such reform should be proceeded with has been settled, dealing with its consequences and the task of running a major state in the twenty-first century have ensured that policy issues remain central to the course of oligarch political life. Policy has therefore been central to much of the dynamic of oligarch life in both countries; conflict is not just over power, policy is also important.

19. Formal legal principles are more likely to have instrumental than normative significance Authoritarian regimes are generally accused of seeing the law only in an instrumental sense, as something that can be used to rule the country but as not being binding on them.121 This is true of the communist regimes which used the law to rule, but they were less willing to accept the constraints that might go with that. The state constitutions set out elaborate institutional structures and time tables whereby bodies were meant to meet and the powers they could exercise, but in reality much of this was fiction, at least insofar as it concerns politics at the

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elite and oligarch levels, especially before the demise of Stalin and Mao. After the disappearance of the two great leaders, there was greater regularity in the meetings of state bodies such as legislatures, but the powers that they were meant to wield were largely fictional. Power remained vested in the party, and this was effectively above the law. This rule had general application and therefore intersected with all of the other rules. The relational rules as a group clearly reflect the identified tension in many rules between constraint and enablement. A basic task of these rules was to insulate the oligarchy from the elite by constraining the activity of the latter. But in doing so, the rules also enabled the elite by providing scope for their involvement in politicoadministrative life below the level of the oligarchy. Through Rule 10, there were even conditions under which members of that elite could intervene in oligarch affairs, albeit at the behest of elements within the oligarchy. The significance of these rules should not be underestimated: their role in insulating the oligarchy from below was central to the coordination of leadership politics.

Notes 1. Graeme Gill, The Origins of the Stalinist Political System (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1990), pp.65 and 345 fn.50. 2. But not as frequently as the Politburo; see Table 3.1. Average intervals between meetings in the periods between congresses were as follows: XI–XII Congresses 2.25 weeks; XII–XIII Congresses 3 weeks; XIII-XIV Congresses 3.75 weeks; XIV–XV Congresses 11 weeks; XV–XVI Congresses 15.5 weeks. 3. As early as 1923, about half the membership of the CC came from the party apparatus, with most of those coming from the regions rather than the centre. Gill (1990), p.148. 4. Graeme Gill, Collective Leadership in Soviet Politics (Cham, Palgrave Macmillan, 2018), p.111. 5. Especially the plena in December 1936 and February–March 1937. 6. For this in the early post-Stalin period, see Anastas Ivanovich Mikoyan, Tak bylo. Razmyshleniya i minuvshem (Moscow, Tsentrpoligraf, 2014), p.628. 7. This is not to imply that important things did not happen at such gatherings. This remained an opportunity for the oligarchs to become acquainted with the members of the elite and for the latter to press their concerns upon their leaders. But this happened behind closed doors, around the formal sessions, which retained their highly ritualized character. 8. There were plena in April, July and October 1985, February and June 1986, January, June and October 1987, February, July, September and November 1988, January, April, September and December (twice) 1989, February, March, October and December 1990, and January, April and July 1991. 9. For example, in the 1950s Mao convened meetings of provincial party secretaries in July 1955, April 1956, January 1957 and November 1958 and ad hoc conferences in July 1957 (Qingdao), January 1958 (Hangchow and Nanning), March 1958 (Chengdu)

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10. 11.

12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

17. 18. 19.

20.

21. 22.

23.

24.

bridling dictators and November 1958 and February 1959 (Zhengzhou). According to Dittmer, these were the ‘sole legitimate means’ for mobilizing constituencies. Lowell Dittmer, ‘Bases of Power in Chinese Politics: A Theory and an Analysis of the Fall of the “Gang of Four” ’, World Politics 31, 1, 1978, pp.36–38. Gao Gang also did this in an endeavour to gather support in his attempt to displace some of the oligarchs in 1953. There was one attempt by a member of the elite to force the hand of the selectorate to promote him into the PSC, the attempt by Chongking party secretary Bo Xilai, but this was vigorously slapped down through the anti-corruption campaign. David M. Lampton, Following the Leader: Ruling China, from Deng Xiaoping to Xi Jinping (Berkeley, University of California Press, 2014), pp.174–175. On the mobilization of the security forces, see discussion of Rule 17. Vladimir Semichastny, Bespokoinoe SERDTsE (Moscow, Vagrius, 2002), p.178. Semichastny (2002), pp.178–179. Boris Bazhanov, Vospominaniya byvshego sekretarya stalina (Paris, Tret’ya volna, 1980), pp.56–57 and 128–130. Mikhail Gorbachev, Memoirs (London, Doubleday, 1996), pp.122 and 165 and Yegor Ligachev, Inside Gorbachev’s Kremlin The Memoirs of Yegor Ligachev (Boulder, Westview Press, 1996), pp.55–56. Richard Baum, Burying Mao: China’s Politics in the Age of Deng Xiaoping (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1994), p.208. On the importance of Deng’s role here, see Joseph Fewsmith, Dilemmas of Reform in China: Political Conflict and Economic Debate (London, Routledge, 1994). Joseph Fewsmith, ‘Reaction, Resurgence, and Succession: Chinese Politics Since Tiananmen’, Roderick MacFarquhar (ed), The Politics of China: Sixty Years of the People’s Republic of China (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2011), p.501. Compare this with the much more restricted definition of institutionalization offered by Meng: ‘the creation of rules and procedures that tie the leader’s hands by empowering other elites’. Anne Meng, Constraining Dictatorship: From Personalized Rule to Institutionalized Regimes (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2020), p.3. By consolidating and formalizing a leader’s position, institutionalization could actually enhance their power. Jason Brownlee, Authoritarianism in an Age of Democratization (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2007). For the argument that the constitutional description of power location can be an important signalling mechanism in informal politics, see Henry E. Hale, Patronal Politics: Eurasian Regime Dynamics in Comparative Perspective (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2015), pp.76–82. Actually, a form of presidency had been in existence virtually from the outset of Soviet rule, but it did not acquire any importance until Brezhnev took on a newly defined post in 1977, but its importance then was overwhelmingly symbolic. Gorbachev’s new position was designed to exercise real power, not be a ceremonial post. For discussion of this institution, see Archie Brown, ‘The Power of the General Secretary of the CPSU’, T.H. Rigby, Archie Brown and Peter Reddaway (eds), Authority, Power and Policy in the USSR: Essays Dedicated to Leonard Schapiro (London,

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25. 26.

27.

28.

29. 30. 31. 32.

33.

34. 35.

36.

37.

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Macmillan, 1980), pp.135–157). and Graeme Gill, ‘The Future of the General Secretary’, Political Studies 34, 2, 1986, pp.223–235. The term is ambiguous, referring both to all of the CC departments and to the body of which all the CC secretaries were members. This concept was introduced in Robert V. Daniels, ‘Stalin’s Rise to Dictatorship’, Alexander Dallin and Alan Westin (eds), Politics in the Soviet Union (New York, Harcourt, Brace & World Inc., 1966), pp.1–38 and was used as a major explanatory tool in Robert Vincent Daniels, The Conscience of the Revolution: Communist Opposition in Soviet Russia (New York, Simon & Schuster, 1969). For an attempt to apply this to Gorbachev, see Thane Gustafson and Dawn Mann, ‘Gorbachev and the Circular Flow of Power’, David Lane (ed), Elites and Political Power in the USSR (Aldershot, Edward Elgar,1988), pp.21–48. On the nomenklatura, see Gill (1990); Bohdan Harasymiw, ‘Nomenklatura: The Soviet Communist Party’s Leadership Recruitment System’, Canadian Journal of Political Science 2, 4, 1969, pp.493–512; T.H. Rigby and Bohdan Harasymiw (eds), Leadership Selection and Patron-Client Relations in the USSR and Yugoslavia (London, George Allen & Unwin, 1983). For one study, see James Harris, ‘Stalin as General Secretary: The Appointments Process and the Nature of Stalin’s Power’, Sarah Davies and James Harris (eds), Stalin. A New History (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2005), pp.63–82. On this, see Gill (2018), p.80. On Gorbachev persuading them to go, see Vadim Medvedev, V kommande Gorbacheva (Moscow, Algoritm, 2016), p.111.) For some of the speeches, Pravda 27 April 1989. Cited in Baum (1994), p.142. The high level of personal antagonism among some of the oligarchs, especially directed towards Trotsky, was also a factor inhibiting any thought of oligarch unity against Lenin. For Kaganovich’s letters, see O.V. Khlevnyuk, R.U. Devis, L.P. Kosheleva, E.A. Ris and L.A. Rogovaya (eds), Stalin i Kaganovich. Peripiska. 1931–1936gg (Moscow, ROSSPEN, 2001). On Malenkov, see Mikoyan (2014), p.186. Pyotr Shelest, ‘So I Said to Brezhnev: “You’ll End up in a Bad Way …” ’, Moscow News 37, 1989, p.16. This was in the decision creating the Secretariat. Frederick C. Teiwes, ‘The Establishment and Consolidation of the New Regime, 1949–1957’, Roderick MacFarquhar (ed), The Politics of China: Sixty Years of the People’s Republic of China (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2011), p.12. ‘Constitution of the Communist Party (June 11, 1945)’, Conrad Brandt, Benjamin Schwartz and John K. Fairbank (eds), A Documentary History of Chinese Communism (New York, Atheneum, 1966), p.422. Although it did say that the party ‘upholds the principle of integrating the universal truth of Marxism-Leninism with the actual practice of China’s revolutionary struggle’, and it was generally accepted that it was Mao who had done this. The Constitution of the Communist Party of China’, Eighth National Congress of the Communist Party of China. Volume 1. Documents (Peking, Foreign Languages Press, 1956), p.137.

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38. On this, see Frederick C. Teiwes with Warren Sun, China’s Road to Disaster: Mao, Central Politicians, and Provincial Leaders in the Unfolding of the Great Leap Forward 1955–1959 (Armonk, M.E. Sharpe, 1999); Kenneth Lieberthal, ‘The Great Leap Forward and the Split in the Yan’an Leadership 1958–1965’, MacFarquhar (2011), pp.99–101. For a more nuanced discussion of the position of Peng Dehuai, see Frederick C. Teiwes, ‘Peng Dehuai and Mao Zedong’, The Australian Journal of Chinese Affairs 16, July 1986, pp.87–89. For the view that this was a more conflictual process, see Roderick MacFarquhar, The Origins of the Cultural Revolution. 2. The Great Leap Forward 1958–1960 (New York, Columbia University Press, 1983); Parris H. Chang, Power and Policy in China (University Park, Pennsylvania State University Press, 1975); and David Bachman, Bureaucracy, Economy, and Leadership in China: The Institutional Origins of the Great Leap Forward (New York, Cambridge University Press, 1991). Chang provides a ‘two line struggle’ interpretation emphasizing continual factional division within the elite, while Bachman focuses on bureaucratic politics. MacFarquhar focuses on leadership conflict, but differs from the two line struggle approach in seeing Mao as much more powerful, although ultimately still dependent upon the support of his leadership colleagues. For Teiwes and Sun (1999), Mao was more powerful again and was not reliant upon the ‘political calculations’ of other members of the elite but upon their ‘instinctive obedience’ (p.8) stemming from recognition of Mao’s personal authority. These interpretations differ on the basis of their understanding of the limitations, if any, on Mao. 39. Teiwes and Sun (1999), p.83. This moved Teiwes and Sun (1999), p.170 to declare ‘the closer to Mao in rank the more wary the leaders seemed to be’. 40. Compare Teiwes (2011), pp.79–80 with Roderick MacFarquhar, The Origins of the Cultural Revolution. 1. Contradictions Among the People 1956–1957 (New York, Columbia University Press, 1974), Part 3. MacFarquhar sees more disagreement within the Chinese elite than Teiwes. 41. Lieberthal (2011), pp.121–124; Roderick MacFarquhar, The Origins of the Cultural Revolution. 3. The Coming of the Cataclysm 1961–1966 (New York, Columbia University Press, 1997), chs15–19; and Frederick C. Teiwes, Politics and Purges in China: Rectification and the Decline of Party Norms, 1950–1965 (Armonk, M.E. Sharpe, 1993, 2nd ed), ch.11. 42. They had a particularly difficult path with the Socialist Education Campaign and its transition into the Cultural Revolution. See the discussion in Lieberthal (2011), pp. 121–124, MacFarquhar (1997), chs15–19, and Teiwes (1993), ch.11. 43. Lieberthal (2011), p.122. 44. Frederick C. Teiwes, ‘Mao Zedong in Power (1949–1976)’, William A. Joseph (ed), Politics in China: An Introduction (New York, Oxford University Press, 2014), p.94. 45. For an argument about why Mao may have chosen Lin, see Teiwes (2014), pp.103–104. Lin’s appointment had actually been announced in August 1966 at the eleventh plenum of the eighth CC, during the height of the Cultural Revolution disruption. Frank Dikotter, The Cultural Revolution: A People’s History 1962–1976 (London, Bloomsbury Publishing, 2016), p.69. 46. There is scholarly disagreement about Lin’s role, including the extent of his ambition. The best study is Frederick C. Teiwes and Warren Sun, The Tragedy of Lin Biao: Riding

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47.

48.

49.

50. 51. 52. 53.

54. 55.

56. 57. 58. 59.

60. 61. 62.

63.

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the Tiger during the Cultural Revolution, 1966–1971 (Bathurst, Crawford House Publishing, 1996). On the fall of Lin, see Roderick MacFarquhar, ‘The Succession to Mao and the End of Maoism’, MacFarquhar (2011), pp.254–275. On Mao being central to Lin’s fall, see Lowell Dittmer, China’s Continuous Revolution: The Post Liberation Epoch 1949–1981 (Berkeley, University of California Press, 1997), pp.116–121. On the go-betweens, see Frederick C. Teiwes and Warren Sun, The End of the Maoist Era: Chinese Politics During the Twilight of the Cultural Revolution, 1971–1976 (Armonk, M.E. Sharpe, 2007), pp.12–13 and 602–606. In practice, the policies Hua supported differed little from those of Deng. Frederick C. Teiwes and Warren Sun, “China’s New Economic Policy Under Hua Guofeng: Party Consensus and Party Myths”, The China Journal 66, July 2011, pp.1–23. ‘Whateverism’, associated with Hua, was initially more a general statement of loyalty to Mao’s memory than a policy prescription, but this essential meaning was lost as the attack on Hua increased. ‘Resolution on Certain Questions in the History of Our Party since the Founding of the People’s Republic of China’ (27 June 1981), Beijing Review vol. 24, no. 27, 6 July 1981, pp.10–39. MacFarquhar (2011), pp.328–329. Baum (2011), p.461. He was reported to have consulted only Chen Yun and Li Xiannian on this. Joseph Fewsmith, Elite Politics in Contemporary China (Armonk, M.E. Sharpe, 2001), p.55. While his position as General Secretary gave him formal power over the party apparatus, including the Secretariat and the central departments, and as chair of the CMC formal power over the military, to neither sphere did he bring significant personal authority. Fewsmith (2001), pp.71–72. For Jiang’s designation of Deng’s ‘Theory’ as Marxism in China as realized in practice, see Alice Miller, ‘Dilemmas of Globalization and Governance’, MacFarquhar (2011), pp.544–545. Cited in Miller (2011), pp.567–568. Miller (2011), p.594. Cited in Miller (2011), p.594. Alice Miller, ‘ “Core” Leaders, “Authoritative Persons”, and Reform Pushback’, China Leadership Monitor 50, Summer 2016. For changes to party rules strengthening Xi’s position, see Minxin Pei, ‘Rewriting the Rules of the Chinese Party-State: Xi’s Progress in Reinvigorating the CCP’, China Leadership Monitor 60 Summer 2019. Roderick MacFarquhar, ‘The Red Emperor’, The New York Review of Books 18 January 2018, p.3. Like Mao, Xi has ‘Thought’ rather than ‘Theory’ like Deng and the unnamed Jiang, or an ‘Outlook’ like the unnamed Hu. For example, see Erica Frantz, Authoritarianism: What Everyone Needs to Know (New York, Oxford University Press, 2018), p.46 and Milan W. Svolik, The Politics of Authoritarian Rule (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2012 A qualification here with regard to Stalin is how one interprets the post-war period and in particular the vulnerability of the oligarchs at this time.

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64. And this is not to imply that this was the only thing that motivated them. 65. Andropov and Chernenko have been excluded from this analysis because they were in power only fleetingly. 66. On this, see Gill (2018), ch.5. 67. On this, see Susanne Schattenberg, ‘Trust, Care, and Familiarity in the Politburo: Brezhnev’s Scenario of Power’, Kritika: Explorations in Russian and Eurasian History 16, 4, 2015, pp.835–858 and Gill (2018), ch.6. 68. Brown (1980), pp.140–141. 69. For an instance of this, see the discussion of ideological education in the Politburo session of 10 November 1966 in Istochnik. Vestnik Arkhiva Prezidenta RF 2 (21), 1996, pp.111–121. 70. Brown (1980) p.157 fn.54 citing CC spokesman Valentin Falin. 71. For discussion and the identity of these, see Gill (2018). 72. Gorbachev said that when Brezhnev was ill ‘[d]iscussion was excluded, and any kind of self-critical comments on his part were out of the question’. Gorbachev (1996), p.113. 73 Gorbachev (1996), p. 114. 74. From the end of 1930 until the outbreak of the war there were 19 CC plena with no meetings in 1942–43, 1945–46 and 1948–51. It should have met three times per annum. Some of the plena in the 1930s did discuss important questions—in 1935 and 1936 plena discussed questions leading into the Terror, and those in December 1936, February–March 1937 and January 1938 discussed the Terror with clear reservations about it being expressed by some participants. For example, see J. Arch Getty and Oleg V. Naumov, The Road to Terror: Stalin and the Self-Destruction of the Bolsheviks (New Haven, Yale University Press, 1999). 75. We cannot tell how many distinct meetings were held because our primary source for them, Stalin’s visitors’ book, lists only the beginning and end of all of the days’ individual meetings, plus the time of entry and exit of each participant. See A.V Korotkov, A.D. Chernev and A.A. Chernobaev (eds), Na prieme u stalina. Tetradi (zhurnaly) zapisei lits, prinyatikh I.V. Stalinym (1924-1953gg) (Moscow, Novyi Khronograf, 2008). For annual averages, see Gill (2018), p.117. 76. For example, see the comments by respectively Syrtsov and Stalin. O.V. Khlevnyuk, A.V. Kvashonkin, L.P. Kosheleva and L.A. Rogovaya (eds), Stalinskoe politbyuro v 30gody. Sbornik dokumentov (Moscow, AIRO-XX, 1995), pp. 99–100 and Lars T. Lih, O.V. Naumov and O.V. Khlevnyuk (eds), Stalin’s Letters to Molotov (New Haven, Yale University Press, 1995), p.218. 77. Milovan Djilas, Conversations with Stalin (Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1962), pp.63–69. 78. Stephen Kotkin, Stalin. Volume II: Waiting for Hitler 1928-1941 (London, Allen Lane, 2017), pp.551 and 1016 fn.292. 79. Nikita Khrushchev, Memoirs of Nikita Khrushchev. Volume 2. Reformer (1945–1964) (University Park, Pennsylvania State University Press, 2006), p.85. 80. The emergence of the State Defence Committee does not explain it. This body rarely met collectively and has been described by one scholar as a ‘virtual body’. Oleg Khlevniuk, ‘Stalin’s War Cabinet: “Normalisation” and Political Dynamics of the Dictatorship’, Europe-Asia Studies 70, 7, 2018, p.8. Also see Mikoyan (2014), pp.500–502;

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81.

82.

83.

84.

85.

86. 87. 88.

89. 90. 91. 92.

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and Graeme Gill, ‘Stalinism and Executive Power: Formal and Informal Contours of Stalinism’, Europe-Asia Studies 71, 6, 2019, pp.994–1012. Meetings of the Politburo were also attended by a range of non-members, including members of the CC, the Central Auditing Commission (the party’s disciplinary body) and government ministers, many of whom had to present reports. There could be as many as 50 or 60 people present at a meeting, making it an unwieldy body and not particularly suitable for managing oligarch affairs. On the importance of regular institutions as a means for providing information about the views and intentions of both dictator and oligarchs, and thereby a way of enhancing commitment on all sides (by monitoring to ensure there is no breaking of agreements), see Svolik (2012), pp.86–90. There is no evidence that the Politburo functioned as an arena in which oligarchs could ensure that the leader kept promises he had made while rising to power, as argued by Brownlee with regard to some such institutions in authoritarian systems. Brownlee (2007). Unlike in other periods of Soviet rule, the number of times the Presidium met was not reported under Khrushchev. However, he did say at the XX Congress that it ‘regularly’ acted as a collective organ dealing with the most important questions, a comment he did not repeat at the XXII Congress in 1961. Compare XX s’ezd kommunisticheskoi partii sovetskogo soyuza. 14–25 fevralya 1956 goda. Stenograficheskii otchet (Moscow, Gosudarstvennoe izdatel’stvo politicheskoi literatury, 1956), vol.1, p.101 and XXII s’ezd kommunisticheskoi partii sovetskogo soyuza. 17–31 oktyabrya 1961 goda. Stenograficheskii otchet (Moscow, Gosudarstvennoe izdatel’stvo politicheskoi literatury, 1962), vol.1, p.110. This is suggested by the notes taken at some meetings by the head of the General Department, V.N. Malin. A.A. Fursenko, V.Yu. Afyani, V.P. Kozlov, N.N. Pokrovsky, N.G. Tomilina and A.O. Chubar’yan (eds), Prezidium TsK KPSS 1954–1964. Tom 1. Chernovye protokol’nye zapisi zasedanii. Stenogrammy (Moscow, ROSSPEN, 2015). For example, the decision to place rockets in Cuba. See Semichastnyi (2002), p.274. For a discussion of this and its consequences, see Gill (2018), ch.5. There was a range of complaints, but they were all consistent with the basic charge that he had trampled on the principles of collective leadership. ‘Doklad prezidiuma TsK KPSS na oktyabr’skom plenuma TsK KPSS (variant)’, A.N. Artizov, V.P. Naumov, M.Yu. Prozumenshchikov, Yu.V. Sigachev, N.G. Tomilina and I.N. Shevchuk (eds), Nikita Khrushchev 1964. Stenogrammy plenuma TsK KPSS i drugie dokumenty (Moscow, Izdatel’stvo Meterik, 2007), pp.182–267. Gill (2018), pp.214–215. T.H. Rigby, ‘The Soviet Leadership: Towards a Self-Stabilising Oligarchy’, Soviet Studies 22, 2, 1970, pp.167–191. Gill (2018), p.238. Although late in his life Brezhnev did become heavily reliant upon members of his family. Congresses were held in 1956, 1969 and 1973, and the CC met on 53 occasions during 1950–96. For a list of meeting dates 1949–2003, see Kenneth Lieberthal, Governing

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93. 94.

95.

96. 97. 98. 99. 100.

101.

102. 103.

104.

105.

106. 107. 108.

bridling dictators China: From Revolution Through Reform (New York, W.W. Norton & Co., 2004), pp.80–81. This was formally a party body reporting to the PSC. On the different sorts of meetings, see Kenneth G. Lieberthal and Bruce J. Dickson, A Research Guide to Central Party and Government Meetings in China 1949–1986 (Armonk, M.E. Sharpe, 1989).; also Parris H. Chang, ‘Research Notes on the Changing Loci of Decision in the Chinese Communist Party’, China Quarterly 44, 1970, pp.169–194. They could include Politburo members, vice-premiers, CC secretaries, first secretaries of CC bureau and some deputy directors of CC departments, first secretaries of provincial party committees, and figures from the PLA, plus others depending upon who convened the meeting and the main topic for discussion. On membership, see Chang (1970), pp.170–171. For a discussion of informal meetings, see Lieberthal and Dickson (1989), Introduction to the 1976 edition. Lieberthal and Dickson (1989), p.xxxv. Chang (1970), p.180. For example, ad hoc meetings like conferences and the leaders’ retreats. For one view disputing the image of Deng as an institution-builder, see Joseph Torigian, ‘The Shadow of Deng Xiaoping on Chinese Elite Politics’, 30 January 2017, https://warontherocks.com/2017/01/the-shadow-of-deng-xiaoping-on-chineseelite-politics (accessed 27 April 2021). Which is not to say that they did not take decisions that were often of great importance, but their essential task was seen to be to provide advice about and then to implement policy. Prior to this, the secretarial work of the party was conducted by Yakov Sverdlov and a few assistants. Upon his death, it was decided that this needed to be regularized. Initially known as the General Department or Bureau of the Secretariat, this became the Secret Department in the 1920s and the Special Sector from 1934. It was renamed the General Department after Stalin’s death. The most extensive work on this is Niels Erik Rosenfeldt, The ‘Special’ World: Stalin’s Power Apparatus and the Soviet System’s Secret Structures of Communication (Copenhagen, Museum Tusculanum Press, 2009). Ruan Ming, ‘The Evolution of the Central Secretariat and Its Authority’, Carol Lee Hamrin and Suisheng Zhao (eds), Decision-Making in Deng’s China: Perspectives from Insiders (Armonk, M.E. Sharpe, 1995), p.23.) Teiwes (2011), p.12. Ming (1995), p.18. It was dominated by Deng supporters. H. Lyman Miller, ‘Hu Jintao and the Party Politburo’, China Leadership Monitor 9, Winter 2004. Also Lyman Miller, ‘More Already on Politburo Procedures Under Hu Jintao’, China Leadership Monitor 17, 30 January 2006. This also contains a list of known meetings of the Politburo and PSC during the Deng era. Deng and Hu had apparently wanted to abolish the PSC at this time, but they were unable to get oligarch support for this. Baum (1994), p.148. However, the posts of chairman and

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109. 110.

111. 112.

113.

114. 115. 116. 117. 118.

119.

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vice-chairman of the CC (i.e. of the party) were abolished at the November 1982 Twelfth Congress. On the confusing relationship between them, see MacFarquhar in MacFarquhar (2011), pp.330–332. On the post-war activity of the Soviet Council of Ministers, see O.V. Khlevnyuk, I. Gorlitskii, L.P. Kosheleva, A.I. Minyuk, M.Yu. Prozumenshchikov, L.A. Rogovaya and S.V. Somonova, Politbyuro TsK VKP(b) i Sovet Ministrov SSSR 1945-1953 (Moscow, ROSSPEN, 2002). The Chinese State Council does seem in some periods to have met more regularly than its Soviet counterpart, but throughout most of its life it has met infrequently. Gill (2018), pp.106–107. And see pp. 61–64, Rule 4. He is commenting about the period 1935–37, but the principle applied at other times too. Cited in Stephen Fortescue, ‘Institutionalization and Personalism in the Policymaking Process of the Soviet Union and Post-Soviet Russia’, Stephen Fortescue (ed), Russian Politics from Lenin to Putin (Basingstoke, Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), p.30. For example, for policy differences between Brezhnev and Kosygin, see Gill (2018), pp.225–228 and George Breslauer, Khrushchev and Brezhnev as Leaders: Building Authority in Soviet Politics (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1982), Part 3. Formally the president was head of state, but this was an essentially symbolic post. Malenkov was prime minister and headed the government machine. Brezhnev breached the spirit if not the letter of this principle when he combined the post of General Secretary with that of state president in 1977. Fewsmith (1994), p.244. Gorbachev (1996), p.122. Phone tapping by the General Secretary had begun in the 1920s. Bazhanov (1980), p.56. G.M. Adibekov, K.M. Anderson and L.A. Rogovaya (eds), Politbyuro TsK RKP(b) Povestki dnya zasedanii 1919-1952. Katalog (Moscow: ROSSPEN, 2000 and 2001), vols 1–3. Mao’s understanding of the position was clearly shaped by his concern that the Chinese revolution was in danger of decaying in the way that he believed the Russian to have done. This concern was not shared in its detail by the first line. People like Liu, Zhou and Deng had as their principal priority economic recovery from the disaster of the Great Leap Forward and the construction of an effective, productive socialist economy. This aim, they believed, would be advanced through the collective decision-making system that had applied in the 1950s and the expanded control over the economy (and other areas of life) of the state ministerial system that had been being built earlier. They remained committed to a general structure not unlike the one that had brought about rapid economic development in the USSR. They do not appear to have realized that it was precisely this to which Mao was becoming increasingly opposed. And as they continued to function in a collective and collegial fashion, and to further consolidate this system, Mao increasingly felt isolated from it and unable to exercise the sort of influence that he sought. Certainly, they continued to consult him about policy, and on most occasions he did not demur, but their perceived reluctance to respond positively to disquiet only reinforced his suspicions. Such suspicions were reinforced by a group

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of ascendant leaders who in the early 1960s moved much closer to Mao. The most important of these were Mao’s wife Jiang Qing, Lin Biao, Kang Sheng, Ke Qingshi and Chen Boda. Although it was never referred to as such, this group effectively constituted a faction around Mao. They would remain important through the Cultural Revolution. 120. On the ‘conservative group’ led by Chen Yun comprising some party and government officials, PLA officers, central planners, ideologues and party elders, see You Ji, ‘Jiang Zemin’s Formal and Informal Sources of Power and Chinese Elite Politics After 4 June 1989’, China Information vi, 2, 1991, p.4. For earlier, Frederick C. Teiwes and Warren Sun, ‘China’s Economic Reorientation After the Third Plenum: Conflict Surrounding “Chen Yun’s’ Readjustment Program, 1979–80” ’, The China Journal 70, July 2013, pp.163–187. Also see Lieberthal (2004), p.141. 121. For an argument that partly disputes this, see Meng (2020), pp.187–188.

4 Constitutive Rules and Communist Single-Party Regimes Constitutive rules refer to those principles that affect the shape or identity of the oligarchy. This involves entry to and departure from the oligarchy (membership) and succession to the position of leader. These are dealt with by, respectively, composition and succession rules.

a) Composition rules These rules relate to the way in which the oligarchy is constituted and involve three main issues: who makes the decisions about membership of the oligarchy, what criteria are used for determining membership, and under what circumstances do members leave the oligarchy. There is considerable literature seeking to explain the personal contours of both the Soviet and Chinese leaderships,1 but these have not been able to generate principles that have had general applicability as opposed to describing the particular cases upon which they focus.2 Nevertheless, we can identify some rules that seem to have general application to both regimes.

Rule 20. Members of the oligarchy are co-opted by that oligarchy rather than being propelled into it from below The oligarchy is self-selecting, with the dictator often having the major say in who becomes a member of the oligarchy and who is expelled. As well as intersecting with the other rules on succession (Rules 21–29), this is part of the means whereby oligarch insulation from the elite is achieved (Rules 9 and 10); it may also be involved in the playing out of Rule 6 on factions and Rule 12 on the leader’s personal authority. From the outset in both Communist Party regimes, membership of the Politburo (and PSC in China) has been co-opted. Formally, the membership is elected by the CC, but from the beginning the CC was presented with a list which it was

Bridling Dictators. Graeme Gill, Oxford University Press. © Graeme Gill (2021). DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192849687.003.0004

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called on to endorse. That list was voted in as a whole, rather than there being individual votes on each nomination. In the periods between party Congresses (at which time the new Politburo was approved by the CC), changes to the Politburo were also approved by the CC, and this was done at the plena, which simply approved any proposed changes without open discussion. It is unclear who actually decided on the composition of the initial list or on more limited changes, but it is likely to have been a subset of the Politburo comprising the leader and his closest associates, who then informed/consulted the other members of the Politburo before this was presented to the CC. It is also likely that, prior to the presentation of the proposed changes, soundings were taken among the different delegations to the CC meeting or congress to get the feel of the group with regard to what was proposed; this was certainly the case in the Soviet Union in the early 1920s. There is no evidence that any such soundings produced a change in what was being proposed, but seeking such advice would have been prudent, especially in periods when the leader was not dominant. The extent of the consultation probably depended upon how secure the leader and his group were in control, the balance of power in the oligarchy, and the extent of the changes in membership proposed. In China, an attempt was made to formalize this process of consultation. At the Thirteenth Congress in 1987 limited competition in voting for the CC was introduced. This was later supplemented by a form of soliciting advice about who should become members of the Politburo. Prior to the Seventeenth (2007) and Eighteenth Congresses (2012), a process of what was called ‘democratic recommendation’ was conducted whereby a meeting of members of the elite (all CC full and alternate members plus some other officials) was called at which they were to vote on who from a list should be elected to the Politburo. This process, which was criticized for its ‘malpractices’, ‘reckless voting’ and ‘voting based on personal connections and favours’, was replaced before the Nineteenth Congress (2017) by a process of ‘face-to-face’ interviews. Xi Jinping, members of the PSC, and members of the CMC interviewed senior national, provincial and military officials, and on the basis of such interviews the PSC drew up a list of nominations for the Congress and Plenum.3 The ‘democratic recommendation’ process had provided a greater opportunity for members of the elite outside the oligarchy to have input into who could constitute the leadership, but even then they were ultimately voting on a list presented to them by the oligarchs. This channel was closed off in 2017, with the responsibility again restricted to the oligarchs, albeit with a broader field from which the choice was to be made. This method of determining membership of the oligarchy has led some to call those doing the choosing the ‘selectorate’4 and is consistent with the insulation of the oligarchy from the elite (Rules 9 and 10). This rule clearly illustrates both the constraining and enabling sides of rules: excluding the elite from any independent role in shaping the oligarchy and creating the means for the oligarchs to shape their membership. It is, therefore, central to the coordination of leadership affairs.

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Rule 21. Personal support/factional affiliation is a central consideration in shaping membership of the oligarchy At one level, this is the common-sense proposition that critics or opponents would be unlikely to be promoted into the oligarchy. However, the actual practice was more complex than this, reflecting the make-up of the oligarchy at different times and the state of play in a policy and power sense. If the oligarchy was approximately balanced between factions, new appointments or dismissals could disrupt that balance, and therefore were of singular importance to those factions. As a result, new appointments could be a matter of negotiation between the factions, or at least the taking of such considerations into account when a decision was made. Alternatively, if the oligarchy was overwhelmingly composed of supporters of the leader, the likelihood is that any new appointments would be designed to further bolster that support. However, as practice showed, such an aim was not always able to be realized. This was so for two reasons. First, a person’s political views and potential or actual factional affiliation was not always evident to those making the decisions,5 especially early in the life of the regime when it was new to power and had little in the way of established personnel records and procedures. Second, a person’s political views and support for particular individuals could change once they arrived at the centre. Both of these factors could affect the outcome of the selectorate’s choice of new members of the oligarchy. This rule is effectively an application of Rule 6 to the question of how the oligarchy is constituted, and so relates to the same rules to which Rule 6 relates. But more explicitly it relates to the other constitutive rules discussed in this chapter. The practice of seeking to appoint supporters to the oligarchy is clearly shown in the Soviet Union during the 1920s when the ongoing factional conflict placed a premium on consolidating support in the Politburo. This is reflected in the high rate of turnover in the Politburo between April 1922 and December 1930: of the seven full members of the 1922 Politburo, only Stalin was a full member in 1930 (and Lenin was the only original who was no longer there because of non-political factors); of the three candidate members, two were still there in 1930.6 Carryover was higher in the Orgburo and Secretariat, reflecting the fact that Stalin’s supporters were more prominent in these bodies at an earlier stage. Turnover remained significant during the rest of the Stalinist period, fuelled principally by the removal of those who were considered to be opposed to Stalin at some point. Of the 10 full members in December 1930, only four (Stalin, Molotov, Kaganovich and Voroshilov) remained full members in October 1952,7 with the remainder having been promoted in the interim, principally to fill vacancies created by the Terror and by natural attrition. Those promoted in this way proved to be loyal Stalinists; of the nine full members elected in March 1939, seven were still there in 1952, with the other two (Kalinin and Zhdanov) dying of natural causes.

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In the succession struggle following Stalin’s death, there was substantial turnover in the Politburo as Khrushchev gradually asserted his primacy and dominated the appointment process. This seemed to be reflected in the leadership elected in 1961; of the 14 full and candidate members in March 1953, only three remained in 1961. Khrushchev had used the powers vested in his position to promote those he believed would support him and remove those who would not. However, through a combination of the policies he began to advocate and his own personal modus operandi, he proceeded to alienate his fellow oligarchs, leading to their replacement of him in October 1964. Brezhnev heeded this lesson, and while he proceeded to appoint supporters into the Politburo, he was careful to ensure that this did not upset a broad balance between those associated with him and those not thus linked. A different pattern prevailed under Gorbachev. He attempted to appoint people sympathetic to the course of reform he was pursuing, but he had few clients in place when he was elected General Secretary. He therefore had to rely rather more on allies, upon people attracted to his side in support of his policies rather than owing to his historical promotion of them. The problem was that as the policies he pursued became increasingly radical, the alliance with these people became increasingly strained. Many had entered the oligarchy accepting the need for change, but they were for the most part increasingly unwilling to accept the radicalized trajectory of Gorbachev’s policy. Thus, whereas Khrushchev turned his hitherto supporters into opponents through his policies and personal performance, it was the radicalization of Gorbachev’s policies that undercut the support he had been able to build up within the oligarchy.8 In China, the propensity to promote supporters was also evident. This was central to the Cultural Revolution, but was also very important after it. There was little change in the membership of the Politburo from 1949 until the destruction of that body in the Cultural Revolution, reflecting the generally consensual nature of oligarch politics at the time; of the 13 members in 1949, only three left that body before May 1965 (Ren Bishi died in October 1950, and Gao Gang and Peng Dehuai were removed as a result of factional politics). In the Cultural Revolution the rise of the Cultural Revolution Group and the demise of the former oligarchs was a classic case of the operation of the factional principle. When the post-Cultural Revolution rebuilding of the political system began, and following the elimination of the Gang of Four, the weakening and then removal of Hua Guofeng was a direct result of the strengthening of Deng’s position which was in part brought about through personnel appointments (see Rule 6). But this did not ensure all were of a like mind. Following the introduction of economic reform in 1978 and given the reservations about this held by many of the party elders, Deng and the reform faction still had to struggle to ensure that their position prevailed. While Deng was able to manoeuvre supporters of reform into important posts in the oligarchy, his perceived need to keep the elders on side severely limited his freedom of manoeuvre, and when there were setbacks in the form of increased conservative opposition

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to political reform and outbreaks of student activism in 1986 and 1989, he was forced to sack his two principal supporters and intended successors, Hu Yaobang and Zhao Ziyang. He was, however, able to replace them with other supporters of reform, and to outlast the party elders. Deng’s successors also sought to ensure the appointment of supporters into the oligarchy, although Jiang Zemin and Hu Jintao were restricted in their freedom to do this by their own predecessors. Deng continued to play a dominant role while Jiang was the formal leader; Deng oversaw personnel appointments and even chose Hu as Jiang’s successor. Jiang (who retained some positions after stepping down as General Secretary—see Rule 24) played a similar role to Deng, and was instrumental in the choice of Xi Jinping to succeed Hu. Because of Hu’s relatively weak position (compared with his predecessors), he was unable to play the same sort of role to Xi, who has thus been freer to shape the oligarchy he heads. Thus, in both countries the practice of co-optation has ensured that personal or factional support has been central in shaping the membership of the oligarchy.

Rule 22. Institutional position is not a major determining factor in gaining membership of the oligarchy This rule embodies the idea contained in Rule 20, that membership of the oligarchy is co-opted by the oligarchs, and is therefore an important part of the way the composition of the oligarchy is arrived at (Rules 20 and 21). It also intersects with the rules structuring oligarch interactions (especially Rules 4 on oligarch autonomy and 6 on factions), and the relational rules (9–19). In both Communist Party regimes, the oligarchy comprised people who held leading positions in the major institutional structures of which the regime consisted, principally the party and the state, but the occupation of particular positions (except General Secretary) did not automatically entitle anyone to oligarch membership; individuals usually acquired institutional posts because they were oligarchs rather than vice versa. In terms of party representation, in a pattern which may have changed in its details over time but not in its principles, there were essentially three major constituencies. The first was the CC secretaries, headed by the General Secretary. These were the people who ran the central bureaucratic apparatus of the party and were therefore responsible for both the actual operation of the party and for the implementation of central decisions. As a class, these were probably the most powerful and highly ranked of the oligarchs. In both countries the pattern changed over time but usually only some of the CC secretaries were full members of the Politburo (all CC secretaries were never members of the Politburo Standing Committee in China). The power of this group rested not only in their roles within the party, but also in the fact that they were physically located in the capital and therefore always on the scene of oligarch politics.

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The second party constituency was regional party secretaries. These were the key people in the party structure throughout the country, who were in control of the party organization in particular regions. The secretary of the party organization in the capital (Moscow and Beijing) and in the second city (Leningrad and Shanghai) were often members, and there was often one or more of the other regions represented as well; in the USSR, Ukraine was the most common republic to enjoy Politburo representation. The physical location of these people outside the capital was a handicap in their ability to play a full role in the oligarchy; it was not uncommon for regionally based members to attend central meetings only sporadically. The non-party constituency9 was government ministers. The prime minister was the most important of these—until 1954 in the Soviet Union he, rather than the General Secretary, actually chaired sessions of the Politburo—and was often seen as the second most important figure in the regime. There is no clear pattern of representation of the different state ministries, although foreign affairs and defence were often present. In the USSR, military men were not members of the Politburo, unless they happened to be the Minister of Defence and that portfolio was represented (Georgy Zhukov was a candidate member 1956–57 and Andrei Grechko a full member 1973–76), but such figures were much more common in China. They were members not just of the CMC, but often of the Politburo as well. Nor was the head of the security services always a member in either regime. The fact that there were these sorts of general patterns of institutional representation in the oligarchy clearly affected how that body functioned. The presence of bureaucratic conflict over resources has already been noted. But we should not assume that it was necessarily as representatives of those institutions that the individuals were members of the oligarchy. None of the ‘job-slots’, to use the term generated by one scholar with reference to Soviet CC membership,10 except the General Secretary and prime minister (until 1990 in the Soviet Union) were guaranteed membership of the Politburo. Decisions about membership were based on the person (and their factional affiliation), not the office they held. This principle did change in the Soviet Union when Gorbachev reworked the nature of the Politburo in 1990. At the XXVIII Congress in July 1990, a new Politburo and Secretariat were unveiled. The Politburo comprised the General Secretary, a new position of Deputy General Secretary, the first secretaries of the 15 republican parties, and others the CC might appoint; in 1990 it appointed five CC secretaries, the first secretary of the party committee of the capital, and the editor of the party newspaper Pravda. The Secretariat comprised the General Secretary and Deputy General Secretary, 11 other secretaries (including the five in the Politburo), and five rank-and-file members who seemed to have no specifically allocated tasks but were representative of democratic intent.11 This was a major change from what had gone before; not only were there no state representatives, but given the geographically dispersed nature of the membership, it is clear that this would not

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have been a well-functioning organ. In this it was consistent with Gorbachev’s aim to shift power away from the party and into the state. But this occurred when the Soviet system was clearly in transition, and in any case the whole system effectively collapsed within 12 months. Similarly an individual’s technical skills do not appear to have been relevant to whether they became a member of the oligarchy or not. Certainly, their professional background was relevant, in the sense that they could be chosen to join the Politburo only after they had worked their way up the politico-administrative hierarchy of the regime, and some of those structures were more important than others. The secretarial party apparatus (from local through regional to central) was, for example, much more important than the youth league or the trade unions. But the people who reached high office in these institutional structures had often done so on the basis of patron–client relationships rather than their own stellar performance in a politico-administrative sense. It was good if they possessed administrative skills, but this was probably less important overall than the fact that they had performed adequately in the positions they had held and had not made too much of a mess of things. Technical competence was generally much less important than a solid record of administrative performance plus support from above. Thus, in neither country was there a direct link between occupation of a particular position (except for leadership of the party and state) and gaining membership of the oligarchy. The enabling sides of Rules 21 and 22 have therefore fed into the coordination of leadership politics; Rule 21 legitimates the appointment of supporters to the oligarchy while Rule 22 has removed any firm institutional requirement for membership, thereby opening up the potential field from which recruits could be drawn.

Rule 23. There are usually no explicit fixed terms of office, but where there are, they may be ineffective This rule, which reflects the lack of certainty that may exist around leadership posts, is directly relevant for Rule 11 on the power potentiality of office, and on the role of law (Rule 19). It can also be relevant to questions of succession, and therefore to the other constitutive rules. For most of the lives of the two Communist Party regimes, there were no specific term lengths for either membership of the oligarchy or occupation of its major offices. A new Politburo was elected by the CC immediately following a party Congress, and changes to its composition could be made at subsequent CC plena. The notional term of a particularly constituted Politburo (and PSC in China) was therefore the statutory time between congresses. The tenure of a member of the Politburo was therefore also this time between congresses, unless it was decided

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otherwise in the interim, when he could formally be removed by the CC plenum (ratifying a decision already made by his oligarch colleagues). The General Secretary too was elected by the CC,12 but this post also had no specific time limit other than that implicit in its mode of selection. This principle of no term limits was changed in both the Soviet Union and China, with the latter change being of greater significance. In 1961, in the new edition of the Soviet party’s Rules adopted at the XXII Congress in that year, Khrushchev introduced term limits for leading officials throughout the party structure.13 Party officials in leading party bodies, including the Presidium (Politburo), could remain in office for three terms, although those with ‘acknowledged authority, and high political, organizational and other qualities’ could remain in office for longer, providing they received 75 per cent support in the secret ballot for membership. Prescribed turnover levels were also introduced for the various party organs at lower levels.14 These measures were very unpopular and were abandoned at the next party Congress in 1966 before they could have any real effect. In China, in his attempt to stabilize the leadership succession and to forestall the emergence of another leader who might seek to dominate like Mao did, Deng introduced a mandatory retirement age. In 1980 Deng had foreshadowed this, and in 1982 the new state Constitution had prescribed a maximum of two five-year terms for the chairman of the National People’s Congress and the premier. The new party Constitution of the same year did not specify term limits, but endorsed the view that people should not have lifelong tenure. Retirement norms based on term and age limits emerged as a result of this.15 This was first used to retire a rival (Qiao Shi) of the General Secretary (Jiang Zemin) at the CC plenum following the Fifteenth Congress in September 1997.16 It was here too that all members of the Politburo aged 70 or older except for Jiang Zemin were removed from office. In 2006 new regulations governing the tenure of office were issued.17 These established a norm of two five-year terms in office and a maximum of 15 years’ service at that level (for example, if a PSC member changed his non-PSC job after two terms, he could remain on the PSC for another term). This formalized the practice that had been emerging since the 1990s (see Rule 24), including the principle that people could turn 70 during their last term in office but no one would be re-elected once they had reached that age. In March 2018, a retirement age of 68 seems to have been applied to members of the PSC, but in the same month the two-term limit on holding the state presidency was abolished, presumably reflecting the ambitions of the increasingly powerful Xi Jinping. In the party this had been a norm rather than a formal rule, and its status has now become uncertain. So in both communist states a term limit, and in China an age limit, had been applied, although it was soon abandoned in the Soviet Union. It has remained in operation for a significantly longer period in China than it did in the USSR, but its

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continued operation remains problematic given the change made in March 2018. The weakness of the constraint contained in the term limit is evident.

b) Succession rules Succession to the leading position is often seen as one of the principal weak points of authoritarian systems. The main reason for this is that the process of succession is usually seen as being, with some exceptions, not highly institutionalized and often characterized by conflict. Because succession involves a shift of power, including potentially a change in the power enjoyed by significant numbers of the oligarchy, a change in leader can potentially have significant ramifications for the oligarchy more broadly. The potential for destabilizing the regime resulting from any conflict emerging at this time is clear. So there can be high stakes riding on the question of leadership change. Decisions about such changes in authoritarian regimes are usually made only by a relatively narrow group. It is usually the contours of this selectorate and the relationships within it that are the main factors structuring the succession process. However, scholars have pointed to the way in which some authoritarian regimes adopt succession rules,18 or procedures that govern the transition from one leader to another. Such procedures may include when such a transition should occur (for example through term limits) and how it should be implemented, for example under what conditions a leader can be removed and how the successor is to be determined. Regime elites may favour such rules because they can help to remove the uncertainty, and conflict, that can surround these moments in a regime’s life, and thereby assist regime (and oligarch) survival19 ; by establishing guidelines whereby leadership may be changed, such rules may reduce conflict. They can obviate attempts by force to overthrow a leader because they provide a mechanism for such change, and are therefore a potential defence against a coup; if there is a mechanism for bringing about change, it may be more difficult to gather together the support for a violent overthrow of the leader. This is why an incumbent leader might favour succession rules. For other members of the oligarchy, such rules may be seen as guaranteeing them a shot at the top job without the potential dangers involved in mounting an unsuccessful coup and, by defining the conditions under which succession is conducted, may exclude forces from outside the oligarchy from participating, and thereby increase their own chances of succeeding. Succession may involve more than just the supreme leader; it may also involve his supporters and could, for example, lead to a change in the identity of the faction that rules the system. But given the nature of authoritarian systems, the identity of the leader is central. Regardless of whether he dominates his faction or is more an agent of it, his personal fate is central to the fate of all. The following discussion focuses on the fate of the individual leader.

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Rule 24. The leader will try to transfer power to a personally chosen successor This rule builds upon those rules relating to the leader’s power (Rules 2, 11 and 12), factional activity (Rule 6), and to oligarch insulation from the elite (Rules 9 and 10). It is also centrally important to the rules governing leader succession (Rules 25–29). Two aspects of this are relevant: the designation of a future leader by the present one, and the attempt by a leader to appropriate the charismatic legitimation of a forerunner. In the Communist Party regimes there were many instances of a leader attempting to designate his successor. In the Soviet Union,20 Lenin did not designate any one person, instead providing hard-hitting character references for his most important colleagues, but this had no effect on the succession process because the oligarchs agreed to lay these to the side.21 Stalin did not formally designate a successor, but by his actions elevated Malenkov above his colleagues. Similarly, Brezhnev promoted Chernenko and Andropov promoted Gorbachev, but both without any formal designation as successor. In none of these three cases did the proposed successor directly inherit the mantle, although both Chernenko and Gorbachev did ultimately succeed the leader following their patron. Upon Andropov’s death and the appointment of Chernenko as General Secretary, Gorbachev had been installed as the virtual second secretary and therefore putative successor, along with an apparent compromise agreement that no major policy initiatives (and perhaps no appointments into the oligarchy) would be made under Chernenko’s leadership. When Chernenko was absent through illness, which he was quite a lot, Gorbachev chaired the Politburo. The more conservative oligarchs tried to limit Gorbachev’s influence by poisoning Chernenko against him and by limiting his access to information.22 However, when Chernenko died after a prolonged illness (like Andropov, he was clearly sick when he was elected), it was evident to most that they could not afford another short-term, elderly leader, and Gorbachev (who was the youngest in the Politburo23 ) had amassed support from within the CC more broadly, and the opposition to him quickly dissipated. In China, there was an interesting semi-transition from the personal legitimation of succession, which was the norm throughout most of the life of the regime, to a process with a higher degree of routinization and institutionalization. The way the personal transfer was meant to work was that the paramount leader personally designated who should succeed him. Over his life, Mao designated four such people, with each successive person replacing one who had disappointed Mao: Liu Shaoqi, Lin Biao, Wang Hongwen and Hua Guofeng. Deng Xiaoping extended this process even further, designating not only his immediate successor—successively Hu Yaobang, Zhao Ziyang, and Jiang Zemin—but the successor to the successor (Jiang), Hu Jintao. Only Xi Jinping has not had this sort of immediate laying on of

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hands, although his choice was profoundly influenced by Jiang Zemin; a similar point could be made with regard to Deng and his support by Mao, although as shown earlier, such support vacillated over time. It is worth looking at these in more detail because they show the elusive nature of charismatic succession. Liu Shaoqi was recognized as Mao’s successor from 1945,24 although it was not until 1959 following Mao’s announcement that he would relinquish his governmental responsibilities in connection with going to the ‘second line’ that Liu was elected chairman of the PRC (state president); he was also first vice chairman of the party, and therefore the formal deputy to Mao, from September 1956 until August 1966. While his initial authority stemmed from Mao’s support, his personal role in the revolution and the prominent part he played in the leadership in the early 1950s clearly projected him as a leading figure in his own right and one who had the standing to succeed Mao. However, the growth in the first half of the 1960s of Mao’s disillusionment with Liu and his subsequent persecution in the Cultural Revolution meant that a replacement for Liu needed to be found. Mao turned to Lin Biao25 who replaced Liu as vice chairman of the party. This was formalized in a new party Constitution adopted at the Ninth Congress in April 1969 which referred to Lin as the sole vice chairman and ‘Comrade Mao Zedong’s close comrade-in-arms and successor’.26 The choice of Lin was curious. Not only did it seem to run counter to the longheld party tenet that ‘the Party commands the gun, and the gun must never be allowed to command the Party’,27 but Lin was personally diffident and did not appear to be enthusiastic about taking on a leading role. But he was a revolutionary veteran and a strong supporter of Mao and his cult, and given the role the PLA was at that time playing in the Cultural Revolution, his choice may have been designed as much to appeal to military sensibilities as a recognition of his qualities in Mao’s eyes. However, like Liu before him, Lin ran foul of Mao.28 His perceived betrayal and death created a succession problem. He had been formally designated as Mao’s successor in the party Constitution adopted in 1969, and although this could be easily rectified by the adoption of a new Constitution at the Tenth Congress in August 1973 which removed this reference, finding someone to replace him was more difficult. With the leadership riven by differences between members of the Cultural Revolution Group and the survivors and victims of the Cultural Revolution, and with few veteran revolutionaries who had been close to Mao still in good standing with the chairman, and healthy and present in the oligarchy, finding someone who could gain consensus was unlikely to be easy. The only person who possessed the stature to take on this role was Zhou Enlai, but he was ill, had already been passed over on two occasions, and would not have pursued the radical policies Mao still favoured. Accordingly, in May 1973 Mao promoted three new members into the Politburo, Wang Hongwen, Hua Guofeng, and Wu De. At the Tenth Congress in August 1973, Wang29 was named party vice chairman and the third-ranking leader after Mao and Zhou, thereby presenting him as Mao’s putative successor.

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When Zhou Enlai died in January 1976, Mao nominated Hua Guofeng as acting premier, a recommendation endorsed by the Politburo. In this instance, Mao passed over both Deng, who had actually been doing this job while Zhou was ill, and his former putative successor Wang Hongwen, whose performance had disappointed Mao. In April 1976, following the first Tiananmen Square incident, Mao stripped Deng of all his positions (except party membership) and ordered that Hua should immediately become premier and first vice chairman of the party and therefore next in line to Mao. Mao also sought to pass on charismatic authority to his newly anointed successor with the statement ‘With you in charge, I am at ease’, words that were given significant publicity following the arrest of the Gang of Four. Following Mao’s death on 9 September 1976, there was some mobilization around the Gang of Four to promote Jiang Qing as Mao’s successor, although it is not clear how serious such ambitions were. In any event, Hua (along with revolutionary veterans Ye Jianying and Li Xiannian) led the assault on them; on 5 October they convened a Politburo conference at the General Staff Headquarters of the PLA, which unanimously agreed on the arrest of the Gang and their supporters. The following day Wang was removed from his positions and the Gang arrested. On 7 October, Hua was named party chairman and chair of its CMC, and by retaining the position of premier, thereby combined the positions held by Mao and Zhou and clearly appeared as the most important leader. However, he had a fundamental lack of legitimacy in the eyes of those veteran party members who had spent their pre-1949 careers fighting for the party and its correct line. His legitimacy stemmed from Mao, and in the absence of a strong revolutionary heritage and a powerful cohort of support at the top, he was always going to be vulnerable. This was particularly the case when Deng Xiaoping was rehabilitated and brought back into the leadership in July 1977. Henceforth, although Hua continued to occupy high office, increasingly authority came to lie with Deng. Hua’s ideological pretensions were undermined by the effective replacement of his ‘two whatevers’ line by Deng’s ‘seek truth from facts’,30 and his support was undermined (see Rule 6). In September 1980 Hua was replaced as premier by Deng’s choice, Zhao Ziyang, and in December 1980 he surrendered his party chairmanship to Hu Yaobang and chairmanship of the CMC to Deng. He did not lose his Politburo membership until 1982, but he exercised neither power nor authority His removal was the result of an alliance of revolutionary veterans including those who had suffered under the Cultural Revolution, and reflects the authority that they, and most importantly Deng, enjoyed in the party. Deng now sought to structure the future succession. Zhao Ziyang had been appointed premier in September 1980 and Hu Yaobang General Secretary at the Twelfth Congress in September 1982. This also saw the final removal of Hua from the leadership. The Congress abolished the positions of chairman and vice chairman of the party, thereby making the General Secretary the leading official in the

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party.31 Deng was convinced that these new, younger leaders needed to be given the opportunity to actually lead, but unlike Mao’s suggested solution to this (first and second lines of leadership), Deng’s solution was to provide a buttress against what remained of the revolutionary generation (see Rule 10). This elder generation believed that their revolutionary lineage gave them the right to have a decisive say in political affairs. Deng sought to give his younger proteges some protection against this. In the absence of either a rule or a norm establishing a political retiring age, older members had to be persuaded to retire. In an attempt to encourage them to withdraw from active political involvement while at the same time retaining a capacity to exercise influence when necessary, the Twelfth Congress created the Central Advisory Committee (CAC). A move to give this equal status with the CC was defeated, which meant that it became subordinate in status to the established party forum. Membership of the CAC was open to veterans of forty years’ service to the revolution, who were to retain their full salaries, ranks and perks but cease to be members of the party’s decision-making bodies. They would continue to be regularly consulted by party leaders, and throughout the 1980s many of them attended plena and enlarged sessions of the Politburo; the new party Constitution gave CAC members the statutory right to participate in plena in a non-voting capacity, while the chairman and vice-chairmen had the same right in the Politburo. Over the decade the CAC gained what one scholar has termed ‘de facto veto power over important Politburo decisions’.32 The elders seem rarely to have met as a group, their influence being exercised rather more through their personal relations with both Deng (who was chairman of the CAC September 1982–November 1987 and of the CMC June 1981–March 199033 ) and the formal leadership, with many of whom they had long-term patronage links.34 Deng’s choice of Hu Yaobang as a future successor was seen to have failed by late 1986. Hu was blamed for encouraging the student unrest that occurred at this time, and at an enlarged Politburo meeting in January 1987 he was replaced as General Secretary by Zhao Ziyang, again Deng’s choice. Zhao was confirmed as General Secretary (not acting) in November 1987. Zhao lasted only until the Tiananmen incident in mid-1989, when Deng sided with the more conservative oligarchs in deciding that Zhao was too soft in his approach to the student demonstrators.35 In June 1989, Zhao was replaced as General Secretary by Jiang Zemin who had been brought into the Politburo by Deng in November 1987.36 The abolition of the CAC in October 1992 plus the promotion of Deng’s third choice as successor saw Jiang Zemin replace Deng as chair of the CMC in March 1990 (he did not become president of the PRC until March 1993), and Deng’s description of him as the ‘core’ of the party leadership in May 199037 seemed to crystallize the succession process. At the plenum following the Fourteenth Congress in October 1992, Hu Jintao joined the PSC and became executive secretary of the Secretariat, which he was to run for Jiang. This confirmed the ‘two centres’ arrangement that had been established in 1987 (Rule 15) and was the first

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instance of what was to become part of the succession process: the future General Secretary spent a term as executive secretary of the Secretariat. In March 1993, Jiang was appointed president of China, thereby simultaneously occupying the leading positions of party, state and military—General Secretary, state president and chairman of the CMC. It was at this time under Deng that principles that were meant to govern the succession began to come into operation (Rule 23). These involved a notional retirement age and term limits. Oligarchs were to serve a total of two terms in office before retiring, with the term being the five-year period between party congresses. In terms of age, if a leader is 67 at the time of the Congress, he may be re-elected to the Politburo, if he is 68 he retires. However, this formula was not applied to Jiang Zemin. Jiang was 63 when he became General Secretary in 1989 and was re-elected to that post following the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Congresses in 1992 and 1997. When he was elected General Secretary for the third and last time, Jiang was 71. Thus while the principles of two terms and the age limit were applied to the oligarchy generally, Jiang was an exception. When Deng died in February 1997, Jiang sought to enhance Deng’s ideological standing, culminating in the incorporation of a reference to ‘Deng Xiaoping Theory’ in the new party Constitution in September 1997. Jiang had also complimented Deng for bringing about an end to lifetime tenure of office and the precedent he set by retiring from his leadership posts, thereby ‘creating full conditions for and playing a crucial role in the smooth transition from the second generation central collective leadership to the new central collective leadership, ensuring stability in the party and state’.38 This sort of elevation reinforced Deng’s posthumous authority, and thereby his choice of successor, Jiang. Around the Fifteenth Congress in September 1997 a series of other steps were taken to structure the forthcoming succession. At the congress Hu Jintao was re-appointed executive secretary of the Secretariat. In March 1998 Hu was appointed PRC vicepresident, and in March and September 1999 deputy chairman of the state and party CMCs. This suggests Hu was being groomed to replace Jiang at the next congress in 2002. Hu had originally been chosen by Deng when he was elevated into the PSC in 1992, but Jiang clearly did not dissent now at Hu’s continued elevation. The Fifteenth Congress also saw the introduction of some institutionalization into the Chinese leadership. The 1992 state Constitution had specified that the president and premier were to be limited to two five-year terms, but no such formal limits applied to the leading party positions; there was simply a stipulation that they were not entitled to lifelong tenure. In the lead up to the Fifteenth Congress, the Politburo applied the earlier adopted rule that senior leaders should not be re-appointed to another term after they had reached the age of 68, and that a two-term limit should apply. Jiang was at that time 71, but as noted, an exception was made in his case with the understanding that he would retire in 2002. It was also decided that the new group of party veterans who retired could receive party documents and occasionally express their views, but they had no role to play in

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decision-making.39 Thus, not only had the leadership decided to limit tenure and create an age ceiling, but they also sought to restrict the power of the party elders to play an active policy-making role. The Sixteenth Congress in November 2002 and its subsequent First Plenum of the CC brought about, in the words of one scholar, ‘the first orderly, planned transfer of power in PRC history from a retiring top leader to a younger man deliberately prepared to succeed’.40 This also marked the entry of the ‘fourth generation’ into leadership. The membership change in the Politburo and its PSC was substantial. The leadership change was stepped. Jiang retired as General Secretary in favour of Hu Jintao, who had been designated by Deng as Jiang’s successor,41 and Jiang’s notion of ‘three represents’42 was included in the party’s Constitution along with Mao Zedong Thought and Deng Xiaoping Theory as the party’s ‘guiding ideology’, albeit without clear attribution of this to Jiang. In March 2003, Hu succeeded Jiang as state president, in September 2004 he took over as chairman of the party CMC, and in March 2005 of the state CMC. This staged retirement (and the staged promotion of Hu) followed the precedent set by Deng’s retirement and Jiang’s promotion between 1987 and 1990.43 Hu’s succession was not challenged, in part perhaps because as his earlier promotion demonstrated, he was rather more the choice of Deng than of Jiang,44 but it was also reflective of the operation of consensual decision-making at the oligarch level based on factional agreement (see Rule 6). However, Jiang did retain chairmanship of the CMC for two years and had a majority of his protégés elected to the PSC.45 An institutionalized process of succession therefore seemed to be emerging, and it was again in evidence at the time of the Seventeenth Congress in October 2007. The new blood in the Standing Committee and Politburo replaced people who were 68 or older. The promotion of Xi Jinping and Le Keqiang onto the Standing Committee without prior membership of the Politburo, and their rank within the Standing Committee and the responsibilities accorded them—respectively executive secretary of the Secretariat46 and executive vice-premier—suggested that they had been chosen to take over as General Secretary and premier in 2012. Xi’s subsequent appointments generally followed the pattern of Hu’s appointments during his rise in the 1990s. After becoming executive secretary of the Secretariat at the First Plenum following the Congress, in December Xi became president of the Central Party School, in March 2008 vice president of the PRC; he was not, however, appointed vice chairman of the CMC at the Fourth Plenum in 2009 when this would have been expected on the Jiang model. Xi had thus followed recent practice whereby an heir apparent was anointed at the half-way mark of the General Secretary’s two terms and given a number of preparatory positions: a seat on the PSC, executive chair of the Secretariat, vice president of the PRC, and vice chair of the CMC. Such greater institutionalization of the process of succession was seen to be necessary to avoid the flaw that had historically characterized Chinese succession: a putative successor needed to develop his own power base if he was to

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Table 4.1 Date of acquisition of office Jiang

Hu

Xi

General Secretary

June 1989

November 2002

November 2012

Chairman, party CMC

November 1989

September 2004

November 2012

Chairman, state CMC

March 1990

March 2005

March 2013

President, PRC

March 1993

March 2003

March 2013

be successful, but this would be likely to be seen as a challenge by the incumbent leader or other oligarchs, leading to the purge of the would-be successor (Liu, Lin, Hu and Zhao) or if the successor did succeed, he would be weak and vulnerable (Hua). At the Eighteenth Congress in November 2012, the basic succession arrangements engineered five years earlier were implemented: Xi Jinping became General Secretary and Le Keqiang premier. But in contrast to the earlier Jiang-Hu succession, this was less of a staged process, as Table 4.1 shows.47 At the subsequent Nineteenth Congress in 2017, 15 members of the Politburo stepped down and were replaced by a similar number of new people, with all 11 who had reached the age of 68 retiring. The norm of 68 as the trigger for retirement has thus been sustained consistently since 2002.48 So too was the norm for membership of the PSC: the five new members were promoted from among those not retiring from the outgoing Politburo according to age seniority.49 But this new PSC differed from its immediate predecessors in that it did not include younger members as ‘successors-in-training’ in the way that Hu was in 1992 and Xi and Le Keqiang were in 2007, meaning that there is now no ‘logical’ successor in the way that there was in the past when the next congress convenes and Xi steps down (if he does). The removal in March 2018 of the two-term provision for the state presidency seems to leave the way open for a strong Xi to maintain himself in power should he wish to do so longer than the norms provide for. His increased strength is also reflected in the standing given to his ‘Thought’ in the party Constitution in 2017 discussed in Rule 12 (on personal authority). Succession in the Chinese system thus seems to have shifted from a charismatic basis to a more bureaucratic-rational one, although this should not obscure the fact that what we are talking about is a bureaucratic-rational process through which leaders are appointed from above. The introduction of these norms does not open the succession up in a more democratic fashion: it merely creates a set of rules which ensures that the person/s chosen to fill the top job/s will gain some experience of life at the top before they actually move into the leading positions. Who will become the leader is still decided by a small selectorate, and although this is larger than when Mao and Deng exercised this choice, it remains a small self-selected group.

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The second aspect of charismatic succession, the attempted appropriation of the charismatic legitimation of a predecessor, occurred frequently. Stalin, Khrushchev and Brezhnev sought to root their legitimacy in the figure of Lenin through the propagation of leadership cults focused on their persons. These cults, of varying intensity and scope, were projected through the mass media and became prominent tropes of the regime. A counter example was Khrushchev’s rejection of Stalin and his attempt to use this as part of his legitimation strategy. In China, Hua sought to associate himself with Mao (as did Mao’s wife Jiang Qing in the immediate aftermath of his death), but this course of action was not followed by Deng, who possessed his own charismatic authority stemming from his revolutionary past. Jiang Zemin and Hu Jintao did lean on Deng’s image while seeking to create their own personas through the ideological claims made for them. However, while many leaders have recognized the potential value of the leader cult as a mode of legitimation of their personal positions, it is not clear that this has much impact upon the oligarchs. As noted earlier (see Chapter 1), the claims of such cults are strongest when there is distance between the object of the cult and the proposed audience. The intimates of the cult principal are in a position to be able to see that the claims of the cult are, if not false, at least highly exaggerated. As a result, this attempt to develop charismatic legitimation is likely to have had little effect within the oligarchy or in succession situations. Thus in both countries, the attempted personal selection of a successor was common, but only in China has it been very successful, and only then when it was embedded in a new process of institutionalization. The designated successor has, since the early 1990s, made their way to the top job via a series of second-level appointments, but the identity of the putative successor was identified before these positions were filled. This means that personal choice remained the primary factor, with institutional position secondary. The importance of this for the coordination of leadership politics is self evident.

Rule 25. Institutional position may be an important shaper of succession outcomes While institutional position is not a defining quality for membership of the oligarchy,50 it is more important for the position of regime leader. This means that as well as relating to the leader succession process (especially Rules 24, 26 and 27), it also intersects with those rules on institutions and their role (Rules 11, 12, 14, 15 and 16). In the Communist Party regimes, the successor had to be a full (voting) member of the Politburo (in China after Jiang51 of the Politburo Standing Committee) at the time of succession. Occupation of these posts assumed that the person had a long history of working in the political apparatus; they had come up through

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the ranks. In the Soviet Union the successor should also have spent some time as a CC Secretary and hold that post at the time the succession occurs. In the case of Andropov, although he was formally a CC Secretary at the time of the succession in November 1982, he had come to it only in May with his main service in this role in 1961-67, but Khrushchev, Brezhnev, Chernenko and Gorbachev had all held such posts for some years before the actual succession. This is not as clear in China where the Secretariat was not restored until 1980, and then only Hu and Xi were CC secretaries at the time of their ascension to the top job. Service in the regional party apparatus also seems to have been an advantage in both countries, although this was clearly not a definite prerequisite; none of the post-Brezhnev Soviet leaders had extensive service records in the party apparatus outside Moscow. Membership of the Chinese PSC almost invariably came from among the members of the Politburo, although in 2007 Xi Jinping and Li Keqiang were promoted directly into this body from outside the Politburo. In China, membership of the Central Military Commission was an important part of the succession, its chairmanship giving the leader a powerful institutional bastion and the opportunity to ensure that he had military support. This was part of the increased institutionalization of succession noted in Rule 24. Other institutions, mainly the state presidency and the prime ministership, were also part of the leadership package at some times. In both countries, the presidency was rather more a ceremonial post than one that had real power, but at least in China prior to the Cultural Revolution it was important as an indication of a person’s status as the preferred successor to Mao. The prime ministership did carry more potential power, and it is therefore striking that in both countries, steps were taken to keep this separate from the party leadership position (except under Khrushchev in the post-1958 USSR). As indicated in the discussion of Rule 11, control over the central party apparatus, especially its secretarial and personnel functions, was important for the consolidation of the leader’s position. This could be in the context of factional disputes over the leadership (Rules 6 and 27), as in the cases of Stalin vs successive oppositions, Khrushchev vs Malenkov and Deng vs Hua, when the ability to direct the agenda and to appoint sympathizers into important positions helped to tilt the balance in favour of Stalin, Khrushchev and Deng. And once in the office, the appointment of more sympathizers was a way of consolidating the new leader’s position. This is clearly reflected in the cases of Stalin, Khrushchev (although here the tactic was undermined and performed badly) and Brezhnev in the USSR, and in China by Jiang and Xi. The role institutions can play is well illustrated by successive Soviet successions. An extended process of succession was that from Stalin to Khrushchev. The early stage of the succession was facilitated by the oligarchs’ practice of meeting informally when Stalin was away from Moscow to decide on pressing issues. This had in practice maintained the principle embedded in party lore that collective

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leadership was exercised through the operation of the party’s collective deliberative institutions, and if the rebuilding of party institutions was seen as the best way of avoiding personal dominance, the re-formalization of this practice was a logical step. On Stalin’s death, Georgy Malenkov seemed to be the former leader’s preferred successor. Stalin never actually named him as such, but he had been pushed forward in Stalin’s last years and had delivered the political report to the XIX Congress in 1952. The oligarchs acted quickly to formalize the leadership line-up and to consolidate their control of the process: Malenkov was named CC Secretary and prime minister, Khrushchev was CC Secretary, and the third perceived potential leader, Lavrenty Beria, was named minister of internal affairs; and the institutional change made at the XIX Congress of replacing the small Presidium by one numbering 36 members was reversed and the smaller body reinstated. All members of the new Presidium except Khrushchev held a government post, which was seemingly an advantage for Malenkov in any competition for the succession. Although there were other prominent members of the leadership, especially Molotov and Kaganovich, they were not seen as likely successors, both because of their age and close historical association with Stalin. Of the three leading figures, Beria was removed in June 1953 and killed in the December, the only fatality of the succession. His fall was brought about by the agreement of the other members of the Presidium who were concerned about his close links with the security services (which he had headed in the last half of Stalin’s rule) and by his advocacy of quite liberal policies in the months immediately following Stalin’s death. On 14 March, nine days after Stalin’s death, at a CC plenum Malenkov’s request to be released from his duties as a CC Secretary was granted, a development which left Khrushchev as the only member of the Presidium who was also a CC Secretary. It also meant that Malenkov as effective head of government was confronted by Khrushchev who was the leading figure in the party; this latter position was confirmed when Khrushchev was formally named First (General) Secretary at the September 1953 plenum. This stand-off between the chief figures in the government and party was one in which, at the time, the outcome appeared unpredictable. Although Stalin had risen to power in his position as General Secretary, since taking on the prime ministership in 1941 he had seemed to give greater priority to the state than to the party. Combined with the relative atrophy of leading party organs after the war and the obvious role of the state machine in running the country, upon his death the prime ministership may have been seen as the more powerful of the two posts. The splitting of the prime ministership and the position of CC Secretary may have been seen as a means of blunting the possibility of personal dictatorship and strengthening collective rule. But even if this was a joint decision by the oligarchs, Malenkov’s position in the leadership means that he would have had a decisive voice in which position (CC Secretary or prime minister) he would retain, and that choice was the prime ministership.

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In the competition between Khrushchev and Malenkov over the succeeding four years, Khrushchev was able to overcome his opponent through a combination of patronage, policy and institutional design,52 a combination of advantages available to none of the other oligarchs and stemming essentially from his position as party leader. Khrushchev’s advantage with regard to patronage stemmed from his position as First Secretary, which enabled him to appoint supporters and would-be supporters to responsible positions throughout the party apparatus,53 and therefore the CC.54 However, the scope for significant change at the top was limited both by the factional tension between Khrushchev and Malenkov, and by the party standing of the other oligarchs; people like Molotov, Mikoyan, Kaganovich and Voroshilov had been members of the Politburo long before Khrushchev while Malenkov had been working in high posts at the centre since the 1930s. Not only would their party heritage have made it difficult for Khrushchev to dismiss them, but tactically any threat to one could have been seen as a threat to all and thereby have driven them into a firm anti-Khrushchev position. Even following the election of an enlarged Presidium of 17 members at the XX Congress, Khrushchev lacked a majority in that body; although he had strengthened his position in the party’s leading organs, his clients were still outnumbered by the old guard. In terms of policy, Khrushchev and Malenkov advanced different policy programmes over the three years following Stalin’s death. These were not presented explicitly as alternative visions related to the succession, but that is how they were seen by both the oligarchs and the elite more broadly. There were four areas of policy discussion: the best way of satisfying the population’s consumption needs, the international situation and the likelihood of war, administrative decentralization, and the attitude to Stalin. The first three were discussed openly in speeches to party and state bodies in the years leading up to the XX Congress in 1956, and in this discussion, the two leaders appealed to different constituencies. On the first three issues, Malenkov appeared to be arguing for a significant alteration of existing policy—priority of consumer goods over heavy industry, an easing of relations with the West and recognition that war was not inevitable, and a technocratic approach to policy-making in order to escape Stalinist hyper-centralization—while Khrushchev continued to emphasize more traditional themes—the priority of heavy industry (although supplemented by heavy agricultural investment), the continuing international danger and the need for military vigilance, and the importance of ‘Leninist norms’ which was interpreted in terms of reliance on the initiative of local officials as the means of overcoming centralized administrative control. The positions Malenkov espoused appealed to state officials and maybe younger party members; Khrushchev appealed to the conservatives who dominated much of the heavy industry structure and to most party officials. In the traditional Soviet structure, the constituency Khrushchev appealed to was more powerful than that of Malenkov.

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The third leg of Khrushchev’s strategy, institutional design, consisted principally of the consolidation of his control in the party apparatus, and the revival of the party as an institution. The former was achieved when in November 1954 responsibility for the organization and support of the Presidium (calling meetings, preparing the agenda and supporting papers, overseeing implementation of decisions) was transferred from under Malenkov’s control to the General Department of the CC, which was responsible to Khrushchev and run by a long-time associate, Vladimir Malin.55 Khrushchev was now much better able to control the work of the leading party organ, and it was around this time that Khrushchev began to chair sessions of the Presidium in a clear break with the party practice that had seen the prime minister perform this role.56 The main part of the revival of the party as an institution was the way in which the CC became less of a formulaic assembly and more a venue for the discussion of issues. This was achieved because Khrushchev went out of his way to launch major policy initiatives through the CC and to encourage members of the CC to express their views and opinions. This meant that rather than being treated simply as a means of ratifying decisions taken elsewhere, the members of the CC came to feel that they had a part to play in the regular policy process. This promotion of the CC, and thereby of a significant part of the broader elite, was a significant factor in locking in support for Khrushchev against Malenkov, whose emphasis on the state threatened to sideline these people once again. This triple approach adopted by Khrushchev—patronage, policy57 and institutional design—was sufficient to gain him majority support among the oligarchs and the elite more broadly, and Malenkov came under concerted attack at the January 1955 plenum. At the session of the Supreme Soviet the following month, Malenkov was removed as prime minister and replaced by Khrushchev supporter Nikolai Bulganin. Malenkov became deputy prime minister and minister for electrification, but he retained his seat on the party Presidium. Khrushchev may have struck a major blow against his challenger, but he was not in control of the Presidium. This was clearly evident when the fourth policy area, the attitude to Stalin, became salient. When Stalin died, there was general agreement that the heightened centralization that had characterized his rule was inappropriate, reflected in the public emphasis given to the notion of collective leadership at that time. But the more specific question of the attitude to Stalin and his period of rule was not openly addressed. Certainly Stalin’s name dropped from public view, he was no longer cited, and his works disappeared off the shelves, but there was no attempt to evaluate achievements against costs or to make a judgement about his place in Soviet history. This position was unsustainable, and in the lead up to the XX Congress in February 1956, some of the oligarchs pressed for such an evaluation, including particularly of the repression and terror.58 Eventually, over the objections of three of the older oligarchs who had been particularly close to Stalin at different

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times, Molotov, Voroshilov and Kaganovich,59 Khrushchev delivered an address to a closed session of the Congress. Although the speech was not published at the time in the Soviet Union,60 the text was read out to party meetings throughout the country, was sent to fraternal parties, and was leaked to the West where it was published. This stimulated some restiveness in the Soviet Union61 and, more spectacularly, significant unrest in Eastern Europe, including the Hungarian uprising in October 1956. In response, while the Soviet leadership did not repudiate the position Khrushchev had announced at the XX Congress, they seemed to pull back somewhat from some of the claims that he made. Among some of the oligarchs, Khrushchev was blamed for the reactions to the destalinization programme. Many were also alarmed by the way that Khrushchev was seeking to use the CC to overcome the opposition to him in the Presidium on particular issues, including contentious policies on the virgin lands scheme, rapprochement with Yugoslavia and the decentralization measure involved in the creation of the sovnarkhozy. Opposition to these policy measures and to the way in which he was perceived to be seeking to sideline the Presidium coalesced into an anti-Khrushchev majority which came to be known as the ‘anti-party group’. This group constituted a majority of the voting members of the Presidium, Molotov, Kaganovich, Voroshilov, Malenkov, Bulganin, Saburov and Pervukhin, and the candidate member Shepilov. Only Kirichenko seemed solidly in Khrushchev’s camp, with the other full members, Suslov and Mikoyan, vacillating.62 The conspiracy had been quite narrowly cast; no attempt had been made to recruit outside the Presidium, presumably in the belief that what they saw to be the norms of collective leadership would continue to apply, that Khrushchev would accept a majority decision of the Presidium and that body’s recommendation to remove him would be accepted by the CC. Having conspired together, the ‘group’ summoned Khrushchev to a meeting of the Presidium on 18 June 1957.63 The meeting ranged over three days, with Khrushchev vigorously defending himself against the charges laid by his critics. He was supported by full members Suslov, Mikoyan and Kirichenko and the candidates Brezhnev, Zhukov and Furtseva. The anti-Khrushchev majority seem to have got disheartened over this time and on 20 June agreed to demands by Khrushchev supporters in the CC (many of whom had been ferried to Moscow by the military on the instructions of Minister of Defence Zhukov) to convene a meeting of that body. The plenum lasted six days,64 rejected the majority, ‘antiparty group’, position in the Presidium, confirmed Khrushchev as First Secretary and dismissed five members from the Presidium (Molotov, Kaganovich, Malenkov, Saburov and Shepilov; a sixth, Pervukhin was reduced to candidate status) for factional activity. The involvement of Bulganin and Voroshilov was not made public, perhaps to obscure the fact that Khrushchev had been in a minority in the Presidium. This effectively marked the end of the post-Stalin succession: Khrushchev was confirmed as the leader, and the recognized Stalinist core had been displaced.

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Although this succession was significantly more drawn out than the others, it did not constitute a crisis. The political institutions met with much greater regularity than they had during the Stalin years, policy decisions continued to be made (even if some of this was in an unorthodox fashion), and the oligarchs continued to interact in such a way as to show that the relationship between them had not broken down. Individual leaders had been sacked from the central leadership, but (with the exception of Beria) they kept their lives and were mostly shunted into second-level jobs. Once defeated, they were no longer part of the active oligarchy, but nor were they continually being summoned up for public criticism. The dynamics of the Stalin-Khrushchev succession paralleled those of the earlier Lenin-Stalin succession and highlighted the importance of the position of party General Secretary. Khrushchev’s strategy of patronage, policy and institutional design echoed that of Stalin. Both party leaders used the powers of appointment vested in their positions to build up their support within party bodies. Both used policy to appeal to constituencies within the leading party (and state) organs, especially the CC, and both were willing to change some of those policies when they found it expedient.65 And both promoted party organs as the more appropriate venue for the discussion of policy issues than the state. As indicated in the discussion of Rule 24 on the leader seeking personally to transfer power, in China institutional position has been a prominent factor in the rise to the top job since the early 1990s, but this has been rather more as an indication of who was to succeed rather than it having any determinative effect. In neither country has any particular institutional position been an automatic stepping stone to the top job.

Rule 26. The succession is decided overwhelmingly within the oligarchy, with the elite having a limited role This rule embodies the principle at the heart of Rules 9 and 10, that of the insulation of the oligarchs from the elite, applied to the leader succession. Not only does it therefore intertwine with the rules governing that succession (Rules 24, 25, 27, 28 and 29), but it also relates to some of the operational rules governing oligarch affairs, specifically Rules 2 on the emergence of a leader and 6 on factions. In the Communist Party regimes, except for the Cultural Revolution, resolution of the succession issue was generally confined to the upper reaches of the party apparatus. In the USSR, except for the 1920s when the elite through the CC and Congress did play a part, this has been restricted to the oligarchy. There was no popular or elite mobilization on the succession question. The decision was always made in the oligarch council (albeit possibly with advice from outside) and then ratified in the body formally charged with appointing/electing the leader. The dynamic of this in the Soviet Union was laid bare by the two attempts to remove

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Khrushchev; in the first the CC was called into session by the First Secretary’s supporters and sided with him over the Presidium majority, and in the second it supported the majority over the leader. The point is that the CC did not act as an independent player in the succession process but became involved only when summoned to do so from within the Presidium, and then it accepted a recommendation emanating from within that body; it did not act independently. Similarly in the case of factional conflict (see Rules 6 and 27), the losers were always formally removed through the relevant party organs, but this was done at the behest of the oligarchs.66 By projecting the succession through the formal institutions, that decision gains systemic legitimacy. Except in the case of the Malenkov defeat by Khrushchev, the state apparatus did not play a part. But also the military was not a major independent player. In the Soviet Union, the defence minister has not always had Politburo membership (this became regularized only in 1973), and there was no tradition of serving military officers being members of this body. This reflects the fact that the party has always been concerned to ensure civilian control over the military. This translated into very limited military involvement in the succession question. Active involvement in this seems to have occurred only twice. First, the arrest of Beria in June 1953 was carried out by troops commanded by Georgy Zhukov, while two other divisions of military forces (the Kantemirovskaya Tank Division and the Tamanskaya Motor Rifle Division) were mobilized into Moscow to ensure there was no opposition from the security forces. Second, in relation to the anti-party group affair, at the direction of Politburo candidate member and minister of defence Zhukov, military transport was used to ferry CC members to the hastily called plenum which confirmed Khrushchev in power. In all other instances, the military was not an actor, although military views may have been canvassed through the defence minister during the process of succession. Certainly, in the coup against Khrushchev, the plotters sought to ensure that the military would not object.67 Otherwise they played the part of a bureaucratic interest group like all of the other institutional bureaucracies of which the system consisted. In China too decisions about succession were concentrated in the oligarchy, with the leader playing a significant role in this (Rule 24). The military was always a more important part of the political system in China; unlike in the Soviet Union, military officers were regularly members of the Politburo, and through the CMC the leading members of the military establishment had a seat in one of the central institutions of oligarch politics. The head of the military, Lin Biao, was at one stage named as Mao’s successor, and the military had played a major part in the rebuilding of the regime after the Cultural Revolution. But there is no evidence of the military becoming institutionally involved in any of the conflict around succession, except for its support for the move against the Gang of Four immediately after Mao’s death. At other times the Chinese military has acted as a bureaucratic interest group; its potential coercive power may have been in the

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background, but it was never mobilized into factional conflict apart from the Cultural Revolution. The security apparatus has also had a limited role. It was mobilized by Stalin in the 1920s to harass and break up opposition activity and it was a major player in the conduct of the Soviet Terror in the 1930s, but this was not related to the succession. It accepted the removal of Beria in 1953 and although it participated in the move against Khrushchev in 1964 (through its head Vladimir Semichastny), its role was essentially logistical and supportive; it was not an independent actor. In none of the other cases of succession does the security service seem to have been active, although in the November 1982 selection of Yuri Andropov, who was chairman of the KGB from 1967 until May1982, his links with and the potential role of the KGB would be likely to have been a factor for some of the oligarchs. Its more important role in the USSR was in the structural support it gave to the General Secretary through its reporting procedures, which enabled the leader to keep an eye on what his oligarch colleagues were doing. But again, this was an instrumental function, not one in which it was an active and independent player. Similarly in China, the security apparatus has not played a significant role in oligarch conflict. Leadership succession in both the USSR and China has thus been enabled by the rule which vested decision-making in the oligarchy with only limited and usually indirect influence coming from the elite. Once again, the importance of this for the coordination of leadership affairs should not be underestimated.

Rule 27. Factional conflict frequently erupts around the succession issue Given the importance of the central leadership position for the oligarchs’ interests relating to policy, position and perquisites, it is not surprising that factional conflict should frequently occur around the succession issue. As well as intersecting with the constitutive rules on leader succession (Rules 24–29), this is essentially an extension of Rule 6 on factions and Rules 9 and 10 on oligarch insulation. Such conflict, or at least manoeuvring, has been evident in all of the instances of Soviet succession. The Lenin–Stalin succession has significant differences from the other cases. This was conducted through a process of relatively open factional conflict in which both policy issues and considerations of political power (reflected most clearly in the manipulation of personnel to achieve majority support in party fora) were involved. While the broad elite had a part to play in this through formal party meetings (CC plena and party congresses and conferences), the framework for the conflict was set by the oligarchs. They were the ones who took the lead in policy debate, ideologically framed the discussion, and, principally in the Politburo, confronted one another face to face. In this conflict, the group around Stalin

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defeated successive opposition factional groupings, crafting ideological and policy messages that were attractive to wide sections of the elite and using the powers over personnel their strategic location in the party apparatus gave them to engineer increasingly sympathetic audiences at party meetings. Through this combination of ideational and organizational power, the prolonged succession struggle was brought to an end around 1929 when the Right succumbed. Crucial in this process was the mobilization of the members of the elite in the CC so that that body could be the instrument for crushing the successive opposition groups. The ability of the CC to play this role, as effectively a resolver of differences within the oligarchy, was an important characteristic of the system at this stage, but it was not to last. Nevertheless, the essential dynamic was clear: Stalin had been appointed to what was to become the leading position in the system in 1922 before Lenin fell ill, and then through a process of factional conflict conducted in the elite political organs, consolidated his personal control and the primacy of the office he held. In three of the Soviet cases, Khrushchev–Brezhnev, Brezhnev–Andropov and Chernenko–Gorbachev, the succession was very quick: in each case, the name of the new General Secretary was released the same day or within a day or so of his predecessor dying or being removed. In the Khrushchev–Brezhnev case, this is not surprising because Brezhnev led the band of plotters that overthrew Khrushchev, and the CC plenum that voted for the removal of the latter also elected his successor. The lead up to this had been extended, with Khrushchev alienating the other oligarchs through a combination of the policies he espoused and his personal modus operandi. He also alienated his former supporters in the CC through his treatment of them as outlined in discussion of Rule 10. A conspiracy was hatched, centred on Brezhnev but involving the other oligarchs, some members of the CC and the heads of the military and security services.68 Khrushchev was called into a meeting of the Presidium (Politburo) on 13 October 1964 for a meeting that extended over two days at which all of his colleagues criticized him and called upon him to resign.69 He agreed, and his request to retire ‘in connection with his advanced age and deterioration of his health’ was ratified by a CC plenum on the second day. This also elected Brezhnev as his replacement. The fall of Khrushchev was the first time the acknowledged party leader had been removed. For subsequent party leaders, this may have appeared as a chastening event, a warning that, despite the dropping of Khrushchev’s mandatory limits to office-holding, tenure of the top job was now less secure than it had earlier appeared. On one level, it may appear that for the other oligarchs this would seem to be a welcome precedent: they did not have to put up with an overbearing leader who refused to treat them with the respect they believed they deserved. But from their perspective there may also have been another side to this. Party history showed that, by and large, their positions at the top were heavily reliant upon the continued support, or at least lack of opposition, of the party leader. In this sense they were always potentially vulnerable. It may be that the removal of the party

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leader could be seen as increasing that potentiality for vulnerability. If the party leader felt vulnerable, he was likely to look with an increasingly jaundiced eye at his fellow oligarchs, and might be encouraged to strike before they did, thereby making their position potentially even more dangerous. Part of the problem remained the weakness of the institutionalization of the leading institutions. The absence of a clear and unambiguous mechanism of succession, the lack of clarity about which was to be the leading position (party leader or prime minister), and the absence of clear explicit rules regarding tenure of office injected a high degree of uncertainty into the oligarch political structure. The response to this sense of vulnerability on the part of the oligarchs was to re-emphasize the collectivity of leadership, but this time to reinforce the rhetoric through practice. This is what they did during the Brezhnev period (1964–82). In succeeding cases, a continuing factional divide structured succession outcomes. On Brezhnev’s death, many of the older members of the leadership were worried about what the former KGB boss Yuri Andropov might do. This was because of the anti-corruption campaign that Andropov had been sponsoring for some time and that had been edging closer to Brezhnev, his family and allies. In addition, it was assumed that Andropov had chafed under the sense of drift that had accompanied Brezhnev’s illness, and that he saw the age of many of the oligarchs who had been protected by Brezhnev as a barrier to what needed to be done. Accordingly, many of the Brezhnevites favoured Konstantin Chernenko rather than Andropov as the successor. However, this rearguard action was not sufficient to overcome the recognition that change was needed, and Andropov was seen as the only one currently in the Politburo who could bring this about; Gorbachev who was at the time 51 was seen as too young, inexperienced and potentially too disruptive of the established interests of many of the oligarchs. But although the Brezhnevites could not get Chernenko elected, in a compromise decision the oligarchy effectively installed Chernenko as the second secretary, or Andropov’s deputy who chaired meetings of the Politburo in the General Secretary’s absence. All of this was worked out within the Politburo, although the views of others in the broader elite (especially within the CC) would have informed such discussions. This succession was relatively trouble-free. The Andropov–Chernenko succession was a little more difficult; it took four days from the death of Andropov to the ‘unanimous’ nomination of Chernenko. This was because the oligarchs were split, with the pro-Andropov section of the oligarchy supporting Gorbachev as a major change from the two elderly General Secretaries who had died in the preceding two years. But a majority was worried about the appointment of a young reformer, especially in light of some of the measures that Andropov had sought to introduce. Andropov had favoured Gorbachev, who had been the General Secretary’s go-between with the Politburo for the last seven months of his life while he was in hospital, but the supporters of Chernenko blocked Gorbachev wherever they could.70 The deadlock appears to have been

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broken by the compromise of making Gorbachev effective second secretary. This may have been the only way the supporters of Chernenko could get the unanimous agreement they needed. In China the succession to Mao pitted radicals against veteran revolutionaries against his designated successor, Hua Guofeng. The quick elimination of the radicals led to a more drawn-out struggle between the Deng-led veterans and Hua, with the former emerging victorious. But in his struggle to consolidate a reformist leadership, Deng had to conduct a long struggle against many of the party elders, a struggle in which he lost key allies and putative successors and had at times to give significant ground (Rule 24). He was finally victorious with the installation of Jiang, but this in turn gave way to an as yet unfinished dynamic between the Jiang-Xi Jinping and the Hu-Li Keqiang factions (Rule 6). Factional tension and conflict have thereby been a given in the oligarch successions in the Soviet Union and China. But with the exception of the Cultural Revolution (which was not specifically about the succession to Mao but was concerned with the question of generational succession), on no occasion did factional conflict lead to a major regime crisis. In every case of succession the factional conflict was worked out through the institutional structures of the regime such that the normal functioning of the regime was not disrupted in any major way. The only qualification to this was that in the 1920s in the USSR some opposition figures took their opposition outside the party, seeking to mobilize other forces into the struggle. This not only served to undermine their position in the party and in that struggle, but strengthened the sentiment that such activity should be confined to the party. In the long run, it therefore helped to stabilize a situation that limited oligarch conflict and therefore made it easier to contain within manageable bounds. There seems to have been rather more flexibility about this in China, but under the two paramount leaders, their personal authority acted as a moderating and confining force on factional disputation.

Rule 28. Policy is often an important factor structuring the succession process This has been discussed in relation to Rule 18.

Rule 29. Succession is not normally a matter of life or death The consequence of defeat in a battle for succession was normally demotion, job transfer, or retirement. Defeated oligarchs were not generally put to death. In the 1920s Soviet Union, those defeated by Stalin were demoted, transferred or excluded from the party. None were, at that time, arrested and put to death,

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although many succumbed during the 1930s. In the post-Stalin era, with the single exception of Beria in 1953, defeated oligarchs did not lose their lives; they were either pensioned off (e.g. Khrushchev) or transferred to lower status and less powerful jobs (e.g. Kaganovich). Although under Khrushchev their defeat may have been accompanied by sometimes bitter criticism, under Brezhnev and Gorbachev they were generally treated with respect and allowed to retain their dignity. These were not dog-eat-dog conflicts where no rules applied. Similarly in China, with the exception of the period of the Cultural Revolution, oligarchs defeated in succession struggles were not killed. They might be retired (sometimes including being confined to their homes) or transferred to other work, but they did not pay the ultimate penalty for losing. This rule is essentially an extension of Rule 7 on oligarch security. The 29 rules identified above have functioned to coordinate oligarch politics in both countries over the space of 70 years. They have contributed to the longevity of those regimes by providing a framework to keep oligarch inter-relationships operating and not breaking down. The rules generally functioned in a similar way in both countries, reflecting the derivative aspects of the Chinese structure from its Soviet predecessor, but there were differences also and these were related to institutional differences and to the different political traditions of the two revolutionary movements. But even when they functioned slightly differently, they were essentially the same rules. In both countries the rules were two-sided, constraining and enabling, and played a major part in the coordination of leadership politics. The question is whether these rules are unique to communist systems, or whether they have broader relevance.

Notes 1. For example, Grey Hodnett, ‘Succession Contingencies in the Soviet Union’, Problems of Communism 24, 2, 1975, pp.1–21; John Hodgson, ‘The Problem of Succession’, Paul Cocks, Robert V. Daniels and Nancy Whittier Heer (eds), The Dynamics of Soviet Politics (Cambridge [Mass], Harvard University Press, 1976), pp.96–116. 2. For example, see the discussion of Hodnett’s qualities for the General Secretary in Graeme Gill, Collective Leadership in Soviet Politics (Cham, Palgrave Macmillan, 2018), pp.9–11. 3. Alice Miller, ‘The 19th Central Committee Politburo’, China Leadership Monitor 55, Winter, January 2018. 4. On the ‘selectorate’ see Bruce Bueno de Mesquita, Alastair Smith, Randolph M. Siverson and James D. Morrow, The Logic of Political Survival (Cambridge [Mass], The MIT Press, 2003). In China during the Deng period, some changes were made to the procedure for forming the CC, which comprised the reservoir from which oligarchs were selected. The Thirteenth Congress in October–November 1987 introduced a new set

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5.

6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

11. 12.

13.

14.

15.

16. 17. 18.

19. 20.

bridling dictators of electoral procedures for the CC involving an element of competition. There were to be 10 more nominees than seats to be filled, with the 10 receiving the fewest votes being shifted to the alternates list. But this did not affect the process of selection of the Politburo and PSC. This may in part be a function of the fact that often the prospective promotee was a member of one of those other sorts of groups noted in Chapter 1, especially the patron– client networks, that can feed into factions, rather than of the faction itself. Both Kalinin and Molotov were promoted to full membership during this period. For details, see Gill (2018), p.57. Of course, the Presidium elected in 1952 was much larger than the Politburo in 1930 so there was more scope for such continuity. On the Khrushchev, Brezhnev and Gorbachev experiences, see Gill (2018), Chapters 5, 6 and 7. In the sense that the organizations were not part of the formal party structure; the individuals were, of course, party members. It is more applicable to the CC than to the Politburo. For ‘job slots’, see Robert V. Daniels, ‘Office Holding and Elite Status: The Central Committee of the CPSU’, Cocks, Daniels and Heer (1976), pp.77–95. Gill (2018), pp.274–275. In the Soviet Union Gorbachev changed this in 1990 to make the General Secretary elected by the party Congress, but this had no practical effect because of the collapse of the system in 1991. XXII s’ezd kommunisticheskoi partii sovetskogo soyuza. 17–31 oktyabrya 1961 goda. Stenograficheskii otchet (Moscow, Gosudarstvennoe izdatel’stvo politicheskoi literatury, 1962), vol.3, p.344. New turnover levels were as follows: for the CC and Presidium 25%; for CCs of union republics, territories and regions 33%; and for area, city and district committees and PPOs 50%. Alice Miller, ‘Dilemmas of Globalization and Governance’, Roderick MacFarquhar (ed), The Politics of China: Sixty Years of the People’s Republic of China (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2011), p.511. Joseph Fewsmith, Elite Politics in Contemporary China (Armonk, M.E. Sharpe, 2001), p.74. Cheng Li, Chinese Politics in the Xi Jinping Era: Reassessing Collective Leadership (Washington DC, The Brookings Institution, 2016), p.53. See the discussion in Erica Frantz and Elizabeth A. Stein, ‘Countering Coups: Leadership Succession Rules in Dictatorships’, Comparative Political Studies 50, 7, 2017, pp.935–962. This is also a major argument in Anne Meng, Constraining Dictatorship: From Personalized Rule to Institutionalized Regimes (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2020), esp. ch.7. According to Frantz and Stein (2017), p.940, ‘Authoritarian regimes with succession rules last twice as long, on average, compared with those that lack them.’ There has been little scholarly attempt to discuss the process of succession in Soviet politics, apart from looking at individual cases. Partial exceptions include Myron Rush, Political Succession in the USSR (New York, Columbia University Press, 1968),

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21. 22.

23. 24. 25.

26.

27. 28. 29.

30. 31.

32.

33. 34.

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Anthony D’Agostino, Soviet Succession Struggles: Kremlinology and the Russian Question from Lenin to Gorbachev (Boston, Allen & Unwin, 1988), Uri Ra’anan (ed), Flawed Succession: Russia’s Power Transfer Crises (Lanham, Lexington Books, 2006), Martin McCauley and Stephen Carter (eds), Leadership Succession in the Soviet Union, Eastern Europe and China (Armonk, M.E. Sharpe Inc., 1986), and John H. Hodgson, ‘The Problem of Succession’, Cocks, Daniels and Heer (1976), pp.96–116. On Lenin’s last letters and articles and their fate, see Moshe Lewin, Lenin’s Last Struggle (London: Pluto Press, 1975). Zhores Medvedev, Gorbachev (Oxford, Basil Blackwell, 1986), p.9; Mikhail Gorbachev, Memoirs (London, Doubleday, 1996), pp.156–158; Archie Brown, The Gorbachev Factor (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1996), pp.73–74; and Vadim Medvedev, V kommande gorbacheva (Moscow, Algoritm, 2016), pp.25–26. This was the only time in Soviet history that the youngest in the Politburo succeeded to the top job. See the discussion in Lowell Dittmer, Liu Shaoqi and the Chinese Cultural Revolution (London, Routledge, 2015), pp.22–23. On Lin being both unaware that this was coming before the meeting and reluctant to take it on, see Frederick C. Teiwes and Warren Sun, The Tragedy of Lin Biao: Riding the Tiger during the Cultural Revolution, 1966–1971 (Bathurst, Crawford House Publishing, 1996), pp.63–64. This study portrays Lin throughout as being reluctant to take personal initiatives, retiring, lacking in ambition, and always following Mao’s lead. For an argument about why Mao may have chosen Lin, see Frederick C. Teiwes, ‘Mao Zedong in Power (1949–1976)’, William A. Joseph (ed), Politics in China: An Introduction (New York, Oxford University Press, 2014), pp.103–104. Mao Tse-tung, ‘Problems of War and Strategy’, 6 November 1938, Mao Tse-tung, Selected Works of Mao Tse-tung (Peking, Foreign Languages Press, 1967), vol. 2, p.224. On this, see Teiwes and Sun (1996), Chapter 4. On his rise, see Frederick C. Teiwes and Warren Sun, The End of the Maoist Era: Chinese Politics During the Twilight of the Cultural Revolution, 1971–1976 (Armonk, M.E. Sharpe, 2007), pp.93–96. On this delegitimating Hua’s leadership, see Fewsmith (2001), p.39. Although he was given the power to convene central meetings, he was not empowered to preside over them. Deng and Hu also tried to get the Standing Committee downgraded in favour of the Secretariat which Hu controlled and which had fewer party elders, but they were unsuccessful. Richard Baum, Burying Mao: Chinese Politics in the Age of Deng Xiaoping (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1994), p.148. Richard Baum, ‘The Road to Tiananmen: Chinese Politics in the 1980s’, Roderick MacFarquhar, The Politics of China: Sixty Years of the People’s Republic of China (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2011), p.343. Deng ceased to chair the party CMC on 9 November 1989 and the state CMC on 19 March 1990. Frederick C. Teiwes, ‘The Paradoxical Post-Mao Transition: From Obeying the Leader to “Normal Politics”’ , The China Journal 34, July 1995, pp.81.

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35. For meeting transcripts, see Andrew J. Nathan and Perry Link (eds), The Tiananmen Papers: The Chinese Leadership’s Decision to Use Force against Their Own People – in Their Own Words (London, Little, Brown & Co., 2001, compiler Zhang Liang), esp. ch.5. 36. He was not the unanimous choice, but Deng prevailed. He was reported to have consulted only Chen Yun and Li Xiannian about this. Fewsmith (2001), p.55. 37. Baum (2011), p.461. 38. Cited in Alice Miller, ‘Dilemmas of Globalization and Governance’, MacFarquhar (2011), pp.544–545. 39. Andrew J. Nathan, ‘Authoritarian Resilience’, Journal of Democracy 14, 1, 2003, p.9. 40. Alice Miller, ‘Dilemmas of Globalization and Governance’, MacFarquhar (2011), p.572. According to Nathan (2003), p.7, it was ‘orderly, peaceful, deliberate and rule-bound.’ 41. Jiang actually attempted to persuade the other oligarchs to enable him to retain office for one more term, but they refused. However, he was re-elected chairman of the CMC for two years. 42. In Jiang’s words, the party ‘has always represented the demands of the development of the advanced social forces of production in China, represented the direction of the development of advanced culture in China, and represented the fundamental interests of the broad masses of people in China’. Cited in Miller (2011), pp.567–568. 43. The argument that the staged retirement reflects Jiang’s opposition to his departure and his ability to negotiate for the continued presence of various of his supporters in high-level posts is probably wrong. Miller (2011), pp.574–575. 44. Nathan (2003), p.8. 45. Seven of the nine members were linked to Jiang. Kerry Brown, The New Emperors: Power and the Princelings in China (London, I.B. Tauris, 2014), p.24. 46. The scope of the Secretariat Xi inherited seems to have been narrowed from its earlier concern with supervision of the implementation of decisions across the whole range of policy to that of only party matters. Alice Miller, ‘Xi Jinping and the Party Apparatus’, China Leadership Monitor 25, Summer 2008. Members of the Secretariat elected in 2007 were Xi Jinping, Liu Yunshan, Li Yuanchao, He Yong, Ling Jihua and Wang Huning. 47. On this see Jinghan Zeng, ‘Institutionalization of the Authoritarian Leadership in China: A Power Succession System with Chinese Characteristics’, Contemporary Politics 20, 3, 2014, p.295. Another difference from the immediately earlier succession arrangements was the appointment of Li Yuanchao as vice-president of the PRC. Li did not fill the other posts that had formerly been combined with the vice-presidency (Executive secretary of the Secretariat and head of the Central Party School). Alice Miller, ‘The Work System of the Xi Jinping Leadership’, China Leadership Monitor 41, Spring 2013. 48. For the characteristics of the new leadership, see Alice Miller, ‘The 19th Central Committee Politburo’, China Leadership Monitor 55, Winter 2018. 49. On the logic of this, see Miller (2018). 50. Attempts have been made to establish other common factors among the Soviet leaders, including male gender, membership of the dominant ethnic group (although Stalin was an exception), the fact that they were married, and they had greater than

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51. 52. 53.

54.

55.

56. 57.

58.

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primary education (although the quality of this varied significantly), but these were probably not germaine to the succession. Attempts to be more prescriptive than this about the criteria necessary for someone to become Soviet General Secretary have tended to founder. For example, see Hodnett, (1975), pp.1–21, discussed in Gill (2018), pp.10–11. As an example, Hodgson argues that a successor is likely to be within five years of the median age of full Politburo members. Hodgson (1976), pp.97–98. Given generational change, this hardly seems to be saying very much, and certainly would not apply to the 1985 Gorbachev succession. Some have also pointed to the fact that Andropov, Chernenko and Gorbachev were all named to head the funeral commission to organize the burial of their predecessor, but holding this office is more likely to be an indication of the coming promotion to General Secretary than something which was instrumental in bringing this about, i.e. the identity of the General Secretary was probably established before the head of the funeral commission was named, not vice versa. Hua Guofeng and Jiang Zemin were not members of the PSC when they were appointed to leadership posts. This follows the discussion in Gill (2018), pp.173–186. For a discussion of this, see T.H. Rigby, ‘Khrushchev and the Rules of the Soviet Political Game’, R.F. Miller and F. Feher (eds), Khrushchev and the Communist World (London: Croom Helm, 1984), pp.77–81 and Nikolai Mitrokhin, ‘The Rise of Political Clans in the Era of Nikita Khrushchev: The First Phase’, Jeremy Smith and Melanie Ilic (eds), Khrushchev in the Kremlin: Policy and Government in the Soviet Union, 1953–1964 (London: Routledge, 2011), pp.26–40. Also Gill (2018), pp.173–174. Changes he engineered at the regional level meant that almost two-thirds of delegates to the XX Congress in 1956 were seen as Khrushchev supporters. T.H. Rigby, ‘Khrushchov [sic] and the Resuscitation of the Central Committee’, Australian Outlook 13, 3, 1959, pp.174–175. For some details on personnel moves, see Gill (2018), pp.173–174 On this shift of responsibility, see Leonard Schapiro, ‘The General Department of the CC of the CPSU’, Survey 21, 3, (96), 1975, p.65. The department was headed by Vladimir Malin, who had served with Khrushchev in the war council of the South-west army group during the war. Mitrokhin (2011), p.33. Yoram Gorlizki, ‘Party Revivalism and the Death of Stalin’, Slavic Review 54, 1, 1995, p.21. It has been usual for observers of Soviet politics to discount policy as an important element in succession, often describing this simply in power politics terms. What has been adduced in support of this view is the observation that individuals have often changed the positions they adopt at one time to the complete opposite, citing Stalin and Khrushchev as examples of this. But there were reasons other than considerations about a power struggle that were instrumental in such policy changes, and in any event if we are trying to explain succession outcomes, policy is important for the way it attracts support to one side or the other. If this is the case, whether the individual really believes in the policy is less important than that they are willing to articulate it and it strikes a positive resonance among putative supporters. On the lead up, see Anastas Ivanovich Mikoyan, Tak bylo. Razmyshleniya o minuvshem (Moscow, Tsentrpoligraf, 2014), pp.635–641.

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59. See Vasilii Popov, ‘Operatsiya sekretnyi doklad’, Istorik 2 (14), February 2016, p.8.; William Taubman, Khrushchev: The Man and His Era (London, The Free Press, 2003), pp.278–280.; F. Chuev, Sto sorok besed s Molotovym. Iz dnevnika F. Chueva (Moscow, Terra, 1991), pp.350–351.; and Mikoyan (2014), pp.641–642 60. It was finally published in the Soviet Union in 1989. ‘O kul’te lichnosti i ego posledsviyakh. Doklad pervogo sekretarya TsK KPSS tov. Khrushcheva N.S. XX s’ezdu Kommunisticheskoi partii Sovetskogo Soyuza’, Izvestiya TsK KPSS 3, 1989, pp. 128–170. 61. See the discussion in Kathleen E. Smith, Moscow 1956: The Silenced Spring (Cambridge [Mass]: Harvard University Press, 2017). 62. An approach by Khrushchev’s challengers to recruit the candidate members Zhukov and Furtseva failed. 63. For a description of the meeting, see Taubman (2003), pp.317–320. 64. For its proceedings, see ‘Poslednaya “antipartiinaya” gruppa: Stenograficheskii otchet iyun’skogo plenuma (1957g) TsK KPSS’, Istoricheskii arkhiv 3, 1993, pp.4–94; 4, 1993, pp.4–82; 5, 1993, pp.4–78; 6, 1993, pp.4–74; 1, 1994, pp.4077; 2, 1994, pp.4–88. Also Taubman (2003), pp.317–320. 65. This does not mean the policies were chosen for purely strategic effect. Stalin’s policy zig-zags did have a political dimension, but on each occasion of change, it could be argued that the new policy would have appeared to many to be more appropriate to contemporary conditions than the former one had been. 66. This did not apply for some people who were purged in the 1930s in the Soviet Union or for many of those purged during the Cultural Revolution. In the Soviet case, the removal of Eikhe, Rudzutak, Kosior, Kosarev, Krinitsky and Stetsky was not announced. ‘Sostav rukovodyashchikh organov tsentral’nogo komiteta partii – Politbyuro (Prezidiuma), Orgbyuro, Sekretariata TsK (1919–1990)’, Izvestiya TsK KPSS 7, 1990, p.75. 67. On defence minister Malinovsky being sounded out early on in the plotting, see Vladimir Semichastny, Bespokoinoe SERDTsE (Moscow, Vagrius, 2002). 68. On this see William J. Tompson, ‘The Fall of Nikita Khrushchev’, Soviet Studies 43, 6, 1991, pp.1101–1121 and Taubman (2003), Chapter 20. 69. For one account of this, see Taubman (2003), Chapter 1. 70. On Andropov’s call from hospital for Gorbachev to chair sessions of the Politburo having been removed from a speech to be delivered in Andropov’s absence to the CC before the text of that speech was circulated to the Politburo, see Mikhail Gorbachev, Memoirs (London: Doubleday, 1996), p.152.

5 Rules and Military Regimes In its classic form, in terms of hierarchy, ‘narrowness’ and ‘hardness’, the military regime is closest to the communist single-party regime. However, not all of the rules that have applied in the Communist Party states have been observed in military regimes, and some that have operated in both types of regime have functioned in different ways. Like the Communist Party regimes, the corporate military regimes have an emphasis on centralization, hierarchy and discipline, and this creates a common basis for some of the rules in both systems. However, there is a significant difference in the greater normative authority often possessed by formal legal principles in the military regimes compared with the higher level of instrumentality regarding those principles in the communist regimes. Also among the constitutive rules, none of those relating to the composition of the oligarchy in the communist regimes may be said unambiguously to have applied in the military regimes. The principal differences stem from the different type of structure the military regime was, compared with the communist. This will be explained more fully in Chapter 8. This chapter will show how the rules functioned in the corporate military regimes in Argentina (1976–83), Brazil (1964–85), and Chile (1973–88).

Operational rules Of the eight operational rules identified in the communist single-party regimes, only number 8 involving oligarch unity is significantly different in military regimes, not being based on ideational consensus but on commitment to the military institution. The other seven rules are all evident in military regimes, although the way they played out could have different effects in the different regimes. This is shown particularly clearly in a comparison of the long-duration Brazilian regime and the short-duration Argentinian regime, where the way the rules functioned shaped the length of time the respective regimes remained in power (see Conclusion). On coming to power, military regimes created a defined locus of decisionmaking in the form of a junta, a small committee of leading military figures which met frequently and made the most important decisions (Rule 1). All also had an individual leader (Rule 2) who usually filled the position of state president. Bridling Dictators. Graeme Gill, Oxford University Press. © Graeme Gill (2021). DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192849687.003.0005

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However, in none of these Latin American military cases did such a leader become dominant.1 This is shown most clearly by the way in which, in the context of the acceptability of the collective discussion of issues (the enabling side of Rule 3), the president frequently faced opposition by rank-and-file oligarchs. Even the most powerful of these figures, army leader Augusto Pinochet in Chile, was not an allpowerful figure within the oligarchy; neither of the other two leading members of the junta, Admiral Jose Toribio Merino Castro of the navy nor General Gustavo Leigh Guzman of the air force (the other member was the head of the national police, General Cesar Mendoza Duran) deferred to him as a matter of course,2 and he was frequently opposed and forced to retreat on particular issues. Proposals emanating from Pinochet were usually subject to reworking in the junta, and if there were intractable disagreements, the proposals were usually either put aside or withdrawn. Although Pinochet often sought to stampede the junta by presenting proposals late and pressing for their immediate resolution, this was met with junta resistance. There were even differences over the foundational pact: Pinochet had opposed the principle that had initially been agreed that the presidency should rotate among the members of the junta, while Merino and Leigh supported it (Pinochet was ultimately victorious),3 and Pinochet tried to replace the idea of unanimity within the junta with one of majority rule by according to the president a second, tie-breaking, vote.4 He failed in this as a result of the opposition of his fellow junta members, who were supported by civilian technocrats in an alliance bridging the oligarch–elite divide. There was significant continuing conflict between the president and the junta on issues relating to expanding presidential power. Soon after the Statute of the Junta was issued in 1974 (see page 202), air force chief Leigh complained that Pinochet had begun ignoring other members of the junta in the appointment of top officials, the advisory committees for the navy, air force and police were sidelined, and the integrity of the junta was undermined by less frequent meetings and attendance at meetings by outsiders.5 There was continued criticism of Pinochet for the way he made decisions and then referred them to the junta for belated approval. Tensions became particularly serious in late 1977 when, in the face of international condemnation of Chile’s human rights record, Pinochet proposed a plebiscite which would call on citizens to ‘endorse President Pinochet in his defence of the dignity of Chile, and reaffirm the legitimacy of the Government of the Republic to head in a sovereign way the country’s institutional process.’6 Leigh and Merino opposed this proposal, with Leigh describing it as an attempt by Pinochet to get political legitimacy directly from the people, thereby sidelining the junta.7 The unanimity rule enabled them to block the plebiscite. Pinochet then sought to implement the plebiscite through executive order, a move rejected by the comptroller general as unconstitutional. Pinochet then forced the comptroller general to resign, and a slightly revised text was approved by his successor. This was passed overwhelmingly in a public vote in January 1978. Leigh continued to criticize what he saw as

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Pinochet’s growing dictatorial powers, and in a memo of 16 May 1978 he called for an end to military government in five years and major changes in the way the junta functioned. Following his airing of the same views in an Italian newspaper, Pinochet moved against him. After getting Merino and Mendoza on side, Pinochet called Leigh to a meeting with the other junta members and asked him to sign a retirement decree. Leigh refused, so the others signed an order removing him on grounds of impairment. Troops surrounded air force bases, and all cabinet ministers signed a document criticizing Leigh’s judgement. Pinochet also retired eight other air force generals, and another 11 retired in solidarity with Leigh. He was replaced as head of the air force by the more junior General Fernando Matthei Aubel. The removal of Leigh marked the most serious instance of disagreement among the oligarchs during the life of the regime, and it reflected the continuing tensions among members of the junta. It risked armed conflict, had Leigh sought to mobilize the air force in his defence. But importantly it was carried out through the procedures of the junta. Pinochet did not simply try to remove his erstwhile colleague by force or by exceptional means, but sought the agreement of the other two members of the junta as provided for in the Statute of the Junta. It is not clear why Merino and Mendoza agreed to the removal of Leigh, although one source has said that they were sick of Leigh’s constant criticism and his practice (contrary to theirs) of discussing matters with his leading generals.8 But it must mean at least that they were content with the likely outcome of this: Pinochet’s position would be strengthened and he was likely to continue to pursue the aim of expanding his authority, which had to be to their detriment. Or at least that was perceived to be better than an alternative outcome of armed conflict within the military. But ultimately too it is likely that they recognized that if it had come to armed conflict, the military might of the army led by Pinochet was not something that they could easily resist. Disagreement remained common between Pinochet and the junta,9 on both economic policy and on questions related to the course of the regime: how long it should remain in power, and the form the post-military polity should take. These latter questions seemed to be resolved with the adoption of a constitutional document in 1980 discussed on page 203–205. In the years after this, differences between Pinochet and the junta continued to occur,10 with even the army representative in the junta in place of Pinochet (General Cesar Raul Benavides) not always supporting the president.11 These differences were sharpened when the economic downturn of 1982–83 not only raised questions about the economic course upon which the country was embarked (something which had been controversial and had pitted Pinochet and the ‘Chicago boys’ against other sections of the regime), but stimulated significant levels of popular protest. In the face of this, in June 1983 Pinochet pressed for the introduction of a state of siege (a state of emergency) and for the implementation of harsh repressive measures, but the junta resisted his

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proposal; the state of siege was not introduced until May 1984.12 Disagreements over a proposed law on political parties caused this to be bogged down for over two years (1983–85),13 while reform proposals Pinochet brought before the junta in March 1984 were rejected. Tensions also led to the withdrawal of police chief Mendoza in August 1985.14 In early 1985 Mendoza had established his own secret police organization, DICOMCAR, that immediately created tension with the existing security organization CNI, which answered to Pinochet. This fed into an independent judicial enquiry into the deaths of three opposition activists murdered by police agents. Two such agents were indicted (and twelve others prevented from leaving the country) amid a public outcry, in the wake of which Mendoza15 resigned and appointed his replacement, Rodolfo Stange Oelckers. Mendoza’s resignation illustrates two things: a successful attempt to prevent Pinochet from taking over the police by stepping down and naming his successor, and the absence of firm support from the other members of the junta for Mendoza. The final major disagreement occurred in 1988 when, contrary to expectations, the popular plebiscite provided for in the 1980 constitutional document (see page 203–205) did not support Pinochet remaining as president for a further term. Pinochet raised the prospect of fraudulently altering the figures, but he was prevented by Merino and Matthei.16 So in Chile, the oligarchs could openly disagree with the president without calling his position into question, in accord with Rules 2 and 3. This survey shows not only that Pinochet’s authority was not uncontested, at least on individual issues, but also that disagreement among the oligarchs was acceptable (see Rule 5). In Argentina, no oligarch was able to establish a dominant position. The foundational pact had been designed to prevent the leader of the army from becoming a dominant leader, and it did work in this regard. The weakness of the president in relation to the junta is reflected in the December 1981 overthrow of the second president, Roberto Viola, and the June 1982 removal of his successor, Leopoldo Galtieri. The Argentinian junta had always been wracked by difference and disagreement,17 but while Jorge Videla was president (1976–81), these differences were kept within the bounds of the initial foundational pact. One source of tension in the junta was the position of first president, Videla, and the fact that he was an active service officer occupying the presidency when the general preference was strongly for a retired former officer. Both the navy’s Emilio Massera and the air force’s Orlando Agosti had been especially wary of army dominance and Massera had personally had ambitions to be president himself.18 Although they accepted the argument that the conduct of the campaign against subversives and guerrillas made it sensible to have an active army officer in the presidency, this was never seen as anything but a short-term interim measure. By late 1977, Massera believed that the worst of the anti-guerrilla campaign was past, and therefore this interim arrangement should end: either Videla should retain the presidency and

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step down as commander-in-chief of the army, or vice versa, in which case he (Massera) would step down as head of the navy in order to take up the presidency. Although Massera favoured a quick return to civilian rule with the turnover of power to a moderate civilian, he sought the support in this argument over the presidency from such military hard-liners as Generals Carlos Suarez Mason and Luciano Benjamin Menendez who favoured indefinite military rule and sustained war against the opposition.19 Massera hoped in this way to cause a split in the army, and thereby weaken the power base upon which Videla stood. However, the army hardliners, concerned for the continuing unity of the army, worried that the toppling of Videla might weaken the position of the army and, opposed to the seeming ‘liberal’ tendencies of Massera, rebuffed his approach and gave their support to Videla, to whom they stressed the need to give up one position in the near future. So this question of Videla’s position could not be resolved within the junta because unanimity could not be achieved, with the result that leading elite elements from the army were mobilized to support the president. Under a new agreement in August 1978, Videla was designated president until March 1981, but he had to retire from active service in the army in order for this to happen. There were also differences over Videla’s programme of opening room for civil society forces to become more active. As early as 1977, Videla sought to articulate a programme for the regime involving the structured participation of civil society actors in the process of moving ultimately toward civilian authority. This included reaching out to the labour movement, which to many in the military was anathema because of its role as the basis of Peronist politics. This attempt to create a dialogue with social actors caused, in the words of one scholar, the military to be ‘torn between hardline elements, which saw no role for compromise with societal forces, concerning either economic or political matters, and a softline wing, which was responsible for promoting and conducting a dialogue aimed at broadening the support for the military.’20 With people like Mason and Menendez favouring indefinite military rule, significant sections of the army, including Galtieri and Interior Minister General Albano Harguindeguy, and leading elements in the navy and air force opposing this policy of opening, Videla was effectively blocked. Even someone like Massera in the junta, who was in principle in favour of a rapid return to civilian rule and to creating conditions under which the military (and he himself 21 ) could prosper in a period of post-military rule, was outwardly cool to Videla’s policy because of his desire to replace him as president. In the face of seeming deadlock, in June 1979 all active duty generals, vice-admirals and brigadiers were invited to join the debate, but the outcome when it was published in December 1979 resolved nothing; some limited opening occurred, but this only covered over the general dissatisfaction. Thus, the combination of opposition within the junta and among leading ranks of the military was sufficient to hamstring Videla’s policy but not to bring about his removal.

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A similar conclusion may be drawn from the opposition by leading elements within the military to the neo-conservative economic policies followed under Videla by Economics Minister Jose Martinez de Hoz. The main push against this came from Planning Minister General Ramon Genaro Diaz Bessone. Bessone was in the hardline military faction, favouring military government for another 10 to 12 years, and he sought to garner support for his position from within the primary producer economy. The continued support by many hardliners for Videla meant that they were able to block the economic policies and also bring about the resignation of Hoz. They were also opposed to the potential splitting of the army that they believed Bessone was in danger of bringing about.22 Videla’s reliance upon the hardliners in the army was placed under considerable strain in late 1977 in relation to the dispute with Chile over the Beagle Channel. This dispute had gone to international arbitration, which had found in favour of Chile. Hardline elements in the Argentinian military were unwilling to accept this, although Videla had. The discontents began to make preparations for war, including by making large arms purchases. Videla continued to press for a negotiated settlement, and when on 24 December Pope John Paul II offered the Vatican’s good offices for mediation, his offer was accepted. The pro-war party in the military now fell into line, preferring not to appear to question the Pope. There were further strains within the junta and the military more generally as the end of Videla’s tenure approached in March 1981.23 Roberto Viola had retired as commander-in-chief of the army and from the junta in December 1979 and was seen by some as the most likely candidate to succeed Videla.24 He was supported by elements within the army and air force, but there was strong opposition to him by the navy and by other elements within the army headed by Galtieri, who had replaced him on the junta and as head of the army. Despite the reservations of the navy and of the Galtieri group in the army, Viola was nominated for the presidency in October 1980 (beating the choice of the army hardliners, General Suarez Mason) and acceded to that post in March 1981; Galtieri had been unable to overcome the wide support Viola enjoyed within the army, and navy head Armando Lambruschini withdrew his opposition in an attempt to avoid continuing disunity.25 The succession had accorded with the rules laid down on assuming power in 1976. However this did not end the tension. The Galtieri forces remained opposed to the policy of opening to society that Viola championed, and Galtieri used his office to block Viola; Galtieri claimed seniority to Viola both because of his membership of the junta and because he was an active rather than a retired officer, and he was less burdened by day-to-day routine administrative responsibilities.26 Crucially, Galtieri was able to shift the balance of forces in the army by using the December 1980 promotion round to promote his own supporters and overlook those of Viola. In April 1981 the tension became open with the junta warning Viola to cease his policy of opening. Viola’s statement of the view that when he stepped down at the end of his term in 1984 another military government might

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follow him27 did not assuage conservative concerns. But Lambruschini, who also differed from Galtieri on a number of policy issues, was reluctant to go along with Galtieri’s plan to remove Viola. However, he retired from the junta in September 1981, and was replaced by Admiral Jorge Isaac Anaya, who was close to Galtieri. With the forces thus aligned, Galtieri moved against Viola, who was removed in December 1981. Galtieri was named president,28 while retaining his seat on the junta, but he was in turn forced to step down from the presidency in June 1982 following defeat in the Falklands/Malvinas war. Personal leadership in Argentina was thus considerably compromised by the terms of the foundational pact mandating equality of service branch participation (including members of the elite) and, effectively, unanimity of decision-making29 which, reinforced by the power of the members of the junta, acted as a clear constraint on the president (Rules 2 and 3).The rule of the acceptability of disagreement as long as it did not affect the leader’s position (Rule 3) did not seem to apply in Argentina after Videla’s presidency because the political differences were too acute. Nor did a dominant leader able to hold sway in policy discussion emerge in Brazil. The Brazilian regime retained the principle embedded in the pre-coup Constitution whereby the president enjoyed a single, fixed term in office, and then retired into obscurity.There were five presidents during this period: Generals Humberto de Alencar Castelo-Branco (April 1964–March 1967), Artur da Costa e Silva (March 1967–August 1969), Emilio Garrastazu Medici (October 1969–March 1974), Ernesto Geisel (March 1974–March 1979) and Joao Baptista de Oliveira Figueiredo (March 1979–March 1985). With the exception of Castelo-Branco and Costa e Silva, all served one complete term. Initially, Castelo-Branco intended to serve only for the remainder of the term of his overthrown civilian predecessor, the ousted Joao Goulart, believing that any extension of his rule past November 1965 when his predecessor’s mandate expired would have violated the principles of legal, constitutional and democratic government. However, in July 1964, realizing that the tasks of the military regime would not yet have been achieved,30 he consented to extend his term to March 1967, with elections the preceding November, when he would not stand for re-election. No other term was extended, although Figueiredo apparently did flirt with this idea.31 Costa e Silva’s term was cut short by illness, at which point a military junta of the three military ministers (one for each of the services) stood in until a replacement was chosen. The Brazilian junta operated through a much more structured and regularized process than others at this time among Latin American regimes: presidents and oligarchs observed the rules relating to tenure, a clear case of rules confining potential ambition. Observance of these rules added to the effect of the factional system (see page 186–191) contributed to the leader remaining predominant rather than dominant. Disagreements between both the Brazilian president and the oligarchs in the junta and among the oligarchs themselves (Rules 3 and 5) were common.

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The ability of the military ministers in particular and the factions more broadly to exercise influence on the president, usually in a more conservative direction, was always present, with presidents at times moderating their behaviour in order not to provoke a backlash. The regime was highly factionalized, and this ensured that there was vigorous discussion of policy within the regime’s upper echelons, especially over the continuing use of coercion to keep civil society forces in check.32 This is discussed more fully in regard to Rule 6 on factions further on. Determining who would be the next president could also be a matter of disagreement,33 but throughout the life of the regime there were no organized attempts to remove a president from office; criticism of policy was acceptable, but not the questioning of the president’s right to rule (Rule 3). This was in part a function of the fact that the regime consciously sought to base itself upon constitutional principles, especially the single-term presidency. The military structure also promoted a situation whereby oligarchs enjoyed a realm of activity autonomous from the leader (the enabling side of Rule 4). The different service branches of the military all enjoyed autonomy in their normal operating conditions, thereby establishing the principle of autonomous action for junta members. While such autonomy could vary over time, its bedrock was the commitment by the leaders of the different service branches to protect the perceived interests of their particular service branch, a perception which usually encompassed a degree of autonomy from the dominant service branch, the army. This branch loyalty (e.g. to the air force or the navy) is strongly held in military regimes because it stems from a career of service in that particular branch. It was not as though the commanders-in-chief had taken on the identity of their particular service branches of the military recently (as was usually the case with government ministers), but they had spent their working lives within that institution and therefore had a strong personal and institutional loyalty to it. This in turn underpinned their personal autonomy, facilitated the use of the institutions they headed as personal power bases (see Rule 16), and constituted an institutional base upon which factional development could occur. In all three countries, the navy and the air force were sensitive about the army’s aspiration to play the leading role, based both upon its conception of itself as the senior service and also the larger part it had to play in the suppression of the ‘internal subversion’ that had been at the heart of the military’s rationale for seizing power. Accordingly, they sought jealously to guard against the dictator’s interference in what they saw to be their own domestic affairs. In Chile, Pinochet remained commander-in-chief of the army, throughout much of the life of the regime, working one day a week on army matters in the building where the army high command was centred rather than in the presidential office.34 He controlled promotion within the army, thereby giving him a potent weapon to reinforce his power base, but he did not exercise similar power in the other service branches represented in the junta. The leaders of the navy, air force and police all controlled promotion within their own forces,

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including their own replacements when necessary (with the partial exception of the replacement of air force leader Leigh in 1978).35 With each commander-inchief in control of their particular branch of the military, a control enforced by their power over promotion and retirement,36 and given the ability of the navy, air force and police chiefs to maintain this power independent of Pinochet’s control, each member of the junta possessed his own bureaucratic power base. These bases were also kept intact because, like Pinochet, Merino and Mendoza (but not Leigh) did not convene councils of the leading generals to discuss political issues. The leading ranks of all branches except the air force were not therefore involved in the political life of the oligarchy. Their responsibility was to follow military discipline and obey the commander-in-chief, not involve themselves in political debate. This consolidation of these branches of the military and police behind their commanders-in-chief on the basis of military discipline gave the members of the junta a firm foundation from which to oppose Pinochet on particular issues. Given their unity, Pinochet could never be certain that if he sought to use the army to get his way, the other branches would not oppose him. This resource, the potential capacity of the navy, air force and police to mobilize against the army (and the catastrophic consequences that this could have) meant that they could act as a deterrent to any attempt at aggrandisement by Pinochet. Essentially the same situation applied in Argentina and Brazil with the lower level of insulation of the oligarchs from the elite in Argentina and the greater regularization of oligarch politics in Brazil (on both, see below) both enhancing the power vested in the service branches as oligarch power bases. In Brazil the institutional autonomy of the service branches of the military was enhanced by the decision of the first president Castelo-Branco to introduce strict rules regarding retirement and turnover within the military that prevented a serving military president from controlling the army and its appointments.37 This means that institutional position as the head of the service branch was a potentially potent power base for individual oligarchs, including in terms of bureaucratic politics (the enabling side of Rule 16 on elite institutions as oligarch power bases). But it was not only in terms of their own service branches that the oligarchs enjoyed some autonomy. In the days following the Chilean coup, responsibility for different sectors of national life was divided among the different service branches of the armed forces. Each member of the junta took responsibility for oversight of different policy areas, with such oversight to be exercised through especially appointed councils: the Economic Council for the navy’s Merino, the Social Council for the air force’s Leigh, and the Agricultural Council for the police’s Mendoza. Although the importance of these diminished over time as the president’s power expanded38 and the cabinet became more directly under presidential control, the division of policy areas among the members of the junta gave them potential power stemming from expertise and bureaucratic heft, and underlines the existence of some oligarch policy autonomy and the legitimacy of differences between them.

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Such a situation was also evident in the military regime in Burma/Myanmar where individual oligarchs were allocated discrete domains of operation in which they enjoyed significant autonomy. This has been seen as a conscious patterning of activity designed to avoid conflict and ensure unity and stability.39 The emphasis upon obedience and discipline plus the existence of the service branches might seem to make the military a hostile environment for factional development (Rule 6) except for those based on the institutional interests of those service branches. Such factions did emerge to engage in the bureaucratic politics whose essence was the competition for resources which was characteristic of such regimes. However, the combination of the regime’s view of itself as only in power temporarily to fulfil certain limited aims, the nature of those aims, plus pronounced concerns about the institution’s professional integrity were the source of a different sort of factional development and conflict, one between so-called hardliners and softliners within the military. The debate focused on the level of force that was acceptable to rid the society of oppositional elements, and when and how to hand power over to civilians. This was the existential question facing military regimes: when and how to manage its exit from power without damaging the institutional interests of the military. Genuine differences on these issues occurred in most military regimes and, resting on the rules mandating collective discussion (Rule 3) and individual oligarchs disagreeing (Rule 5), they led to the growth of factional affiliations that often cut across military service branch boundaries, despite the anti-factional implication of the unitary command military model. Differences on these questions could generate factions, best exemplified by the Brazilian case where factions were more important than in either Chile or Argentina.40 There was little agreement within the Brazilian military on the exact nature of the regime and what it should do.41 While there was general agreement on the need to intervene in 1964 in order to protect the country (and the military as an institution), there was disagreement over how long they should remain in power and on the scale of restructuring of the society that was needed to prevent the cycles of civilian and military rule that had blighted Brazil in recent decades from continuing. These divisions gained expression structurally in the existence of two factions within the military.42 These have been referred to in various ways. The softliners, moderates, ‘castelistas’ or ‘Sorbonne group’, arose out of common service abroad in the Brazilian armed forces during the Second World War and shared participation in the establishment and functioning of the Superior War College. Among the members of this group were presidents Castelo-Branco and Geisel. The other group, the so-called hardliners, came together with the crackdown on opposition immediately after the coup, and from 1967 the members were found principally among officers linked to the intelligence community, regional military commanders, and those directly involved in counter-insurgency action.43 This has also been said to have sought to represent those who had not served abroad during the war.44 They included presidents Costa e Silva and Medici. The groups differed not only

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on this historical/career basis: they also differed on policy outlook. The moderates believed that force and continued military rule would be needed for a short, defined period during which the required changes in society (principally seen in terms of the elimination of oppositionist, especially communist, forces) could be brought about, and they sought economic growth through internationalist development programmes. In contrast, the hardliners believed a more extended period of military rule was necessary, characterized by the vigorous use of widespread coercion, if society was to be freed from the challenges that confronted it. Consistent with this internal orientation, they also favoured a programme of development that was more independent and nationalist in tone. These differing perspectives means that there was no single, coherent, shared outlook on the regime and its tasks.45 This is reflected in the ebbs and flows of the use of coercion in society.46 All agreed on the aim of returning the country to civilian rule, but for much of this period they disagreed on when this should occur. The presence of these factions within the military complicated the task of ruling Brazil. This is not because they were directly involved in the formal processes of decision-making, because they were not. The president appointed a cabinet which was to assist him in ruling. Throughout most of this period, this body was dominated by civilians, mainly non-political technocrats whose policy expertise was valued by the military.47 Some presidents were very active in the policy sphere, others were more detached; Medici was more detached than his predecessors had been, effectively appointing plenipotentiaries in charge of specific policy areas and forcing the administrators to work through them,48 while Geisel was quite interventionist and Figueiredo happy to delegate. In terms of orientation, apart from the technocrats, the cabinet usually contained a predominance of officers from either faction; for example, in numerical terms, under the moderate CasteloBranco the cabinet had an approximately even balance between the two factions, but under the hardline Costa e Silva it was ‘overwhelmingly dominated by the hardliners.’49 Within this cabinet system, most influence belonged to the three military ministers and to the head of the intelligence service, the SNI,50 who usually formed a kind of inner cabinet. They remained closely connected to their service constituencies, and therefore could act as conduits from the military to the president. Factions were central for the consolidation or potentially destabilisation of the position of the Brazilian president who depended upon their support, or at least their lack of opposition, to remain in power. No president was overthrown as a result of factional conflict, although this was partly owing to presidential sensitivity to the effect his actions were likely to have upon factional forces in the military plus observance of the rule relating to single term presidents. The importance the factions could have was illustrated early in the rule of Castelo-Branco.51 As the gubernatorial elections scheduled (in a schedule inherited by the military regime) for November 1965 approached, pressure mounted among military hardliners

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for the elections to be suspended. Castelo-Branco, who believed elections could legitimate military rule, resisted, although he did tighten the electoral rules. When the elections were held, among the victors were two opposition figures from the Social Democratic Party (PSD). When Castelo-Branco declared that the government would accept the results, there was consternation among both hardliners and some moderates. Hardliners now presented Castelo-Branco with an ultimatum: he could remain as president only if he overturned the PSD election victories. With support from moderate officers, the president negotiated with his critics, leading to Castelo-Branco trying to get support within the Congress for a law enabling the government to prevent such reverses in the future, but there was insufficient support within the chamber. Castelo-Branco then introduced these measures through the Second Institutional Act (AI-2) which empowered the government to abolish existing parties, and made the future election of president, vice-president and governors indirect. The act also had a clause making Castelo-Branco ineligible for a second term. This was a compromise decision, and a clear backdown by Castelo-Branco, who had committed himself to respect the existing (i.e. inherited by the military) constitutional order52 and alienated those moderate and conservative civilian politicians upon whom Castelo-Branco had been relying as a civilian power base. The attempt to neutralize hardliner pressure through AI-2 was accompanied by action to remove a major critic in the military, to dissolve a critical officers’ association (the Radical Democratic League), and encouragement of the War Minister Costa e Silva to restrain the hardliners. Factions were important in choosing a new Brazilian president. The system for choosing the next president involved wide consultation within the service branches, which opened the process up to factional competition (Rule 27). The decision was to be made by consensus and behind closed doors. According to one observer discussing the Medici accession,53 the process operated as follows: ‘an unofficial ‘electoral college’, composed of 104 generals, was made responsible for collecting suggestions from armed forces officers. A smaller electoral college, composed of 10 other generals, then examined the names submitted and reduced the list to 3. A group of 7 generals then made the final selection.’ While others have been less definite about the precise form of consultation that was conducted over succession issues,54 all agree that the upper levels of the military exercised preponderant influence. This process, which heavily favoured the army over the other branches of the military, ensured that the choice of candidate for president involved officers, not just at the apex of the military hierarchy, but extending some way down that hierarchy. However, it gave those at the top the final word, with all ranks to fall in behind the decision once it had been made. It also placed a premium on would-be candidates having solid support within broad military ranks. After the single candidate had emerged from this process, he was presented to the Congress for approval, in line with the provisions of the foundational pact. This created a regularized succession procedure whereby the

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military agreed on a candidate who was then placed before the civilian Congress for ratification, and it built in the possibility of factional involvement. This was evident from the first case of succession in 1966 in which the hardliners ensured that Castelo-Branco would support their preferred candidate, General Artur da Costa e Silva. He was the leading contender for the succession, had been the initial public face of the coup and was a prominent hardliner. Castelo-Branco objected to Costa e Silva on a number of grounds,55 including the fear that he would turn policy in a more hardline direction. However, Costa e Silva had significant support from within the military as the hardliners rallied behind him, and he appeared as the candidate best placed to ensure continuing military unity. Castelo-Branco realized that he would not be able to prevent Costa e Silva’s rise, so engaged in negotiations with him to try to preserve the regime’s future policy course. Castelo-Branco finally endorsed Costa e Silva, but two months before Costa e Silva took up office, in January 1967 Castelo-Branco introduced a new Constitution, not only in an attempt to systematize power but to act as a brake on any attempt by his successor to diverge from his policies or to widen state capacity for repression by the hardliners.56 After becoming president, if Costa e Silva thought his membership of the hardline faction would ensure its continued uncritical support, he was wrong. Increasing levels of mobilization of civil society forces was making the hardliners uneasy and more critical of the moderates for underestimating the strength of the opposition. This came to a head in late 1968 when the military took umbrage at a speech given by a vigorous critic of the government, Congressman Marcio Moreita Alves.57 The three military ministers demanded the lifting of Alves’ immunity so he could be prosecuted (the demand to lift the immunity is an illustration of recognition of the normative authority of the law discussed below), seeing this as potentially a means whereby they could obtain the removal of a number of strongly anti-government Congressmen. Costa e Silva prevaricated, but under pressure he tried to engineer a vote in the Congress that would result in the lifting of Alves’ immunity. When the vote was taken, the government lost. There was outrage in the military, and Costa e Silva responded by introducing Institutional Act Number 5 (AI-5), which increased repression in society and, unlike the earlier acts, had no expiry date and therefore no timetable for the return to the rule of law. At this time too the hardline Interior Minister General Alfonso Augusto de Albuquerque Lima declared that Brazil might need 20 more years of authoritarian government before it was ready to return to civilian rule.58 Under pressure from the hardliners, Costa e Silva now sought to introduce a new Constitution, which had been drafted by his civilian vice-president, Pedro Aleixo. The president proposed promulgating the new Constitution on 7 September 1969 and have the Congress re-open the next day. On 27 August, Costa e Silva was told by the three military ministers that a majority of military commanders opposed the reopening of Congress so soon and the loss of any of the powers they

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had gained under the Institutional Acts.59 Two days later, Costa e Silva suffered a stroke. According to the 1967 Constitution, he should have been succeeded on a temporary basis by the civilian vice-president Aleixo, but the military ministers did not trust him and prevented him from taking up the office. Instead, the ministers convened a meeting of the High Command, which comprised the three military ministers, the Chief of the General Staff of the Armed Forces and the head of the Presidential Military Staff. It was decided that a junta of the three ministers would temporarily take over until a new president was elected, action given a legal basis by the introduction on 31 August 1969 of Institutional Act Number 12 (AI-12). Following consultation within the military, the new presidential candidate was hardliner Emilio Garrastazu Medici who was formally elected on 25 October 1969. Under Medici, the repression of civil society reached its apogee, with many of the armed units conducting the repressive acts against ‘subversives’ out of control of the authorities.60 This was a matter of concern within the military, a feeling that strengthened the position of the moderates. Accordingly, as the time for succession approached, they appeared well placed. Although Medici had prohibited public discussion of the succession before mid-1973, the moderates had been organizing to promote their candidate, General Ernesto Geisel. They had an important strength in the support of the War Minister, the putative candidate’s brother General Orlando Geisel, who had been placed in that office at the time of Medici’s accession to ensure that an implicit agreement that the hardliner Medici would be replaced by a moderate was actually kept.61 The War Minister was important because he could both ameliorate dissension within the officer corps and neutralize the head of the SNI (General Carlos Alberto Fontoura) who opposed Ernesto Geisel. Despite the objection of Medici and some of the hardliners, by May 1973 Geisel enjoyed consensus support within the military, and he accordingly went on to be elected president. Geisel had to be wary of the hardliners. His clear preference was to begin the move towards a return to civilian rule, but he had to ensure that those who were opposed to this were not provoked sufficiently to take decisive action. Accordingly, his period in office saw steps toward liberalization accompanied by a continuing crackdown on opposition. A hardline challenge appeared to be mounted against Geisel at the end of 1975. A journalist, Vladimir Herzog, was killed when being held by the Second Army, an event that provoked major civil society mobilization. Geisel ordered an investigation, but the resultant report was widely seen to be a cover-up. Then in January 1976 a further death in custody (of worker activist Manoel Fiel Filho), again by the Second Army, seemed to sharpen the challenge to Geisel. The president responded decisively, removing General Ednardo d’Avila Melo who had been in charge of the Second Army, without consulting the army high command.62 In the past, no such action had been taken without the agreement of the high command, and this sent shock waves through the military. It was

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an assertion of Geisel’s power and authority, and implied that the effective immunity formerly enjoyed by the security forces might no longer apply. Despite this show of strength, Geisel did not vigorously seek to expand the opening toward civil society; he could not appear to be weak on this front given the continuing perceived strength within the military of the hardliners. However, this strength appears to have been ebbing. As the succession was approaching, the hardline army minister General Sylvio Frota was organizing in an attempt to become the army’s candidate for the forthcoming presidential succession. He believed that Brazil continued to be under threat from communists and that Geisel’s policy of liberalization increased that threat. Frota was using the Army Intelligence Service (CIEX) as a weapon to build up his support within the military. By May 1977 Frota was seeking support within Congress, and two months later he was openly criticizing the government. But his efforts through CIEX were known to those around Geisel through the SNI, controlled by Geisel’s preferred successor, General Joao Baptista Figueiredo, which was monitoring all CIEX did.63 In early October 1977, Geisel informed the top regional commanders that he was going to remove Frota, which he then did. Both the High Command and the regional commanders fell in behind Geisel’s action, reflecting the enhanced power that the president enjoyed and their recognition that opposition could have dire career implications. Giesel made it clear that he wanted Figueiredo to succeed him, and the new Army minister Belfont Bethlehem engineered Figueiredo’s promotion to a four-star general over others with greater seniority; all presidents hitherto had been four-star generals. There was some military dissent to Figueiredo’s elevation, leading to the removal of the chief of the Presidential Military Staff (General Hugo de Albreu), but the power of the hardliners seems to have been much reduced. Figueiredo was seen as a bridge between the factions, and he continued the commitment to liberalization, but at the same time many of his appointments seemed to be of people with connections to the hardliners.64 However, the limits of their power may be reflected in the reaction to Figuerido’s illness when, in contrast to what happened when Costa e Silva was ill, it was decided that the presidency would be taken temporarily by the civilian vice-president, Aureliano Chaves. This was the first time there had been a civilian president since 1964. He performed most of the president’s duties, although he was excluded from decision-making on military and security matters. Nevertheless, the situation was a stark contrast with that of 1969. And as if to emphasize the decline of the hardline faction, in late 1982 the High Command had refused to promote to four-star rank the leading hardline General Coelho Neto who, because of the retirement regulations, then had to retire.65 Competitive factional influence, thus, seemed to wane under the last two presidents. Factionalism was common in other military regimes as well. In Indonesia there was a major division between those who sought to uphold the professional standards of the military and those (many close to Suharto) who sought to embed the

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military in the emergent New Order political economy by having military figures play major roles in the economic sphere. This was one way in which Suharto was able to diversify his personal support base away from purely military into that in combination with business interests.66 In Burma/Myanmar and Dahomey factions were also actors that had continually to be managed because of the danger they posed to the regime at various times.67 Military regimes were usually characterized by a general consensus that underpinned the regime (Rule 8), but the basis upon which such consensus rested differs from that in Communist Party systems: the ethos of the military regime dictated unanimity based upon notions of discipline and obedience and the principles of united command. This was less a consensus based upon an ideational foundation or common commitment to particular policies (except for the foundational pact), than a condition of service in the military institution; the terms of service mandated obedience and this imperative is likely to have been stronger than any shared ideational commitment. In Chile there was a shifting consensus over the appropriate length of tenure of the regime and on some policy issues, but there was unanimity on the need to prevent the politicization of the military. In Argentina there was general agreement from the outset that although the regime did not have a fixed term, it would be temporary and would give way to a civilian administration after it had achieved its ‘objectives’. In Brazil there was general agreement among the military that they would be temporary, although there was no agreement on how long they would remain in power, and that they would be guided by the precoup Constitution, especially in terms of single presidential terms.68 All regimes generally accepted Rule 7 granting oligarchs security of tenure and possessions.69 The rules that operated in these regimes and are outlined in this chapter were also a central part of that consensus. Thus, with the exception of the basis upon which the unity of Rule 8 rested, the operational rules found in communist single-party systems are generally also found in military regimes.

Relational rules Of the 11 relational rules from the communist single-party regimes, four are problematic in military regimes. The working of three of these four rules (Rules 10 on oligarch insulation, 12 on personal authority and 14 on the sidelining of institutions) are specifically and directly related to the nature of the military structure, in particular its hierarchy and its division into separate service branches with their own identities. The fourth rule that is problematic may appear surprising for those who view authoritarian regimes as arbitrary: there is significant evidence that the instrumental approach to formal legal principles reflected in Rule 19 often does not apply in military regimes. Why these rules are problematic is explained in Chapter 8.

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The relationship between oligarchs and elites could be difficult in military regimes. It was very important that the elite feel that they had a positive role to play in the system, as reflected in Rule 9, because it was this elite that was in direct charge of the major means of coercion. In principle, generation of a positive role was not difficult. When those beneath the junta did not give up their normal jobs within the military structure to take up administrative positions in the state, the greater definition and formality of those military roles meant that the elite retained its basic soldiering function. If not involved in junta politics, the lesser ranks kept on working as they had before, thus remaining integrated into the military system and confirming the oligarchs’ autonomy from the elite. Even when military figures took up leading positions in the state bureaucracy, this was usually on temporary secondment; they rarely lost their military identity (although this was less so in Argentina and Brazil than it was in Chile). As well as keeping the military section of the elite occupied through their continued exercise of military responsibilities, the oligarchs also needed to ensure the passivity of the economic section of the elite. They sought to do this in all three countries by pursuing economic policies designed to promote the interests of private capital, or at least that part of the sector that supported the military rulers. This often took the form of the introduction of neo-liberal economic policies, with the Chilean case perhaps the best known instance of this. But control over the state’s economic resources also meant that the oligarchs could promote rent-seeking and other sorts of corrupt practices undertaken by members of the elite. This sort of practice may have been more limited in Latin America than it was in other military regimes such as Indonesia.70 Although the relationship between the oligarchs in the junta and the elite officers located in the service branches of the armed forces differed from one regime to the next, in none of them was the junta considered accountable to those officers lower down in the hierarchy; the insulation of the oligarchy from the elite (as provided for in Rule 10) was the preferred option of the oligarchs. In Pinochet’s Chile there were two aspects of the structure created to insulate the oligarchs from intervention from below. First, in a conscious attempt to prevent the politicization of the armed forces, members of the junta generally did not discuss political issues with the leading officers in their respective service branches of the military.71 The only one who did not follow this practice and did consult with his officers was air force chief Leigh, who sought to consolidate his personal support in this way. This general practice meant that the leading ranks of the armed forces did not become politically involved, and therefore the tenets of military discipline and the duty of sustaining the military as an institution could continue to apply without any complications arising from civilian matters. This was also facilitated by the way in which, when officers took over leading politico-administrative positions, they formally took leave from the military and remained in office for only relatively short periods. In all branches of the Chilean armed forces, the internal military

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processes and procedures, including for promotion, were maintained, so that the fear that their professional standards or identity were eroding was not present, in contrast to many other military regimes.72 Second, the regime relied heavily upon civilian administrators and technical experts. The main institutional base of these people was the government departments and the cabinet. The cabinet was appointed by the president with formal junta oversight. During the life of the regime, there were 133 ministers, 67 from the military (37 from the army, 11 the navy, 11 the air force, and eight from the police) and 66 civilians,73 with from 1978 a civilian majority, reflecting the drive by Pinochet’s advisor Jaime Guzman and his supporters to shift the regime in a more civilian direction. It was in the cabinet (and the upper levels of the bureaucracy) that technical experts including the economists known as the ‘Chicago boys’ were most prominent. The cabinet, and feeding into it the government bureaucratic structure and agencies, were the repository of the sort of expertise that the regime needed, and over time these increasingly came to be associated with the presidency, not the junta. Generally Pinochet treated the ministers as individuals rather than as a collective body and they reported directly to him, thereby appearing almost as personal advisers rather than a collective government. Their autonomy was limited by what Pinochet decided to allow them; not only was he able to sack them when he wished,74 but decisions were often made without consulting the relevant minister or even over his opposition.75 But the important point was that they were advising the president, not the junta, which thereby found itself in the position of having to discuss legislation sent to it without the benefit of independent advice. In this sense, the involvement of the technocratic elite was structured to reinforce the power of the presidency, meaning that the junta was more isolated in the policy process than the presidency, and thereby less well equipped to take up critical perspectives on potential legislation coming from the president. But it also meant that the elite’s role was highly structured and constrained, and the oligarchs were relatively insulated from them.76 In Argentina, the junta was less insulated from the lower ranks of the military on whose shoulders it stood, reflecting the desire to avoid the sort of overconcentration of power in one person that was believed to have characterized the last period of military rule. This is shown in the role of the Legislative Advisory Commission (CAL). The CAL was to comprise three active duty officers from each of the service branches, designated by those branches, thereby actively projecting the individual service branches into policy-making in a way at significant variance with the Chilean case. This body was seen explicitly as a means of representation of the armed forces and was a clear attempt to ensure that those forces retained influence. Proposed legislation was initially to be analysed by teams within each of the service branches before that legislation went to the CAL and thence the president. If there was a difference between president and CAL, it would go to the junta for final resolution. The politicization of the military that this involved was also

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evident in the composition of the cabinet and the staffing of government ministries and instrumentalities. The cabinet comprised eight positions, two from each of the branches of the military and two civilians. Apart from the retired air force officer at the Ministry of Defence, all military personnel were on active duty.77 Within the state more broadly, active officers took up many of the main administrative positions, with the state machine effectively being divided up among the military branches; some have referred to this as the ‘colonization’ or ‘feudalization’ of the state by the military.78 This segmentation of the state not only underpinned incoherence in public policy, but exacerbated the politicization of the military and infected the oligarchy. This is reflected in the significant levels of turnover in the junta, in the involvement of leading ranks of the military in the 1979 discussion about the duration of military rule and the possibility of liberalization in society,79 and the internal coup mounted by Galtieri in December 1981. The arrangements made by the Argentinian junta shaped the nature of the relationship between oligarchs and elite. By giving a structural role in the policymaking and administrative process to leading ranks of the military, those arrangements both inserted those ranks into oligarch life and ensured the politicization of the armed forces. Their insertion into oligarch life meant that that oligarchy was not insulated from either inter-service rivalries or factional conflicts within each service branch. At the same time, the politicization created further divisions within the ranks, as many became concerned about the way that military involvement in political life was corroding the professionalism which was at the heart of their conception of the military itself. The defeat in the war with Britain was blamed by many lower ranks on the leadership, who were also perceived not to be doing enough to protect the military against pressures for an investigation into human rights abuses. The splitting of the military in these ways bled into the junta and contributed to the regime’s relatively short life span. Thus Rule 10 did not operate in Argentina to facilitate the insulation of the oligarchs from the elite because of measures taken to allay the aforementioned concern about how dictatorial power had become too concentrated during the previous military regime. In Brazil, the three military ministers in the cabinet and the head of the intelligence service (the SNI) retained close links with both their service constituencies and the president,80 thereby making the barrier between oligarchy and military elite somewhat porous. This was principally due to the strength of factions (see discussion of Rule 6) which meant that the oligarchs were not insulated from sentiment within the elite. This is shown by the way in which the president’s hand was often forced by the strength of hardline sentiment and by the role the factions played in shaping presidential succession previously discussed. The military ministers in particular and the factions more broadly were able to exercise influence on the president, usually in a more conservative direction, with presidents at times moderating their behaviour in order not to provoke a backlash. In addition, the Brazilian practice of having the president formally chosen by the Congress

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injected part of the elite directly into oligarch affairs, even if the choice open to the Congress (the identity of the person elected as president) was one shaped by the oligarchy. Thus while Rule 9 on the elite having a meaningful role to play in the system was facilitated by the nature of military service, the operation of Rule 10 on oligarch insulation from the elite was more ambiguous. Such insulation was relatively successfully achieved in Chile, but in Argentina and Brazil it was substantially weakened by, in the former, established decision-making procedures, and in the latter by the factional system. In structural terms, the president may be a member of the junta (as in Chile 1973–80), but also may remain outside its membership (as in post-March 1981 Chile and in Argentina), and tended to be the head of the army, at least at the time of appointment. Only in the Chilean case did the top office, the presidency, seem unambiguously to enhance the power resources of the incumbent (Rule 11). Pinochet was part of the initial coalition that seized power only because of his role as commander-in-chief of the army, and he had been in that role only three weeks when the coup was mounted, and was initially seen by the other oligarchs as weak and able to be manipulated and controlled, a misperception that was instrumental in them choosing him as the leader. After the coup the powers he exercised were owed to his position as initially president of the junta and ultimately president of the Republic. But it was his role as head of the army that was most important here; in mid-1974 when the original agreement that the position as head of the junta would rotate annually was abandoned by the oligarchs, it was decided that the chief of the army would be the continuing head.81 This reflected the historic primacy of the army within the military as well as the fact that the internal pacification of opposition forces that the junta saw as necessary had to be undertaken primarily by the army. This institutional position was also more important than any personal authority that Pinochet may have had, at least early in the life of the regime (Rule 12). In Brazil, the fixed term was observed and thereby gave the president a degree of security of tenure even if it did not expand his power, but in Argentina this did not apply, reflecting the politically fraught nature of the regime’s last years, and this goes some way to explaining the relatively short duration of that regime compared with the others. But the institutional position that was important in all cases in both defining the succession outcome (Rule 25) and shaping the president’s power was the headship of the army. Occupation of this office was central to the succession in all three countries (Rules 11 on formal office as a resource and 16 on elite institutions as a power base; also see the earlier discussion of Rule 4 on oligarch autonomy), while the president who combined the two posts (presidency and army commander-in-chief) seems to have been more powerful than a president who had retired from his army post. This certainly seems to have been the assumption shared by the oligarchs, reflected in their preference for the president to be retired from active military service. However, even the leader who combined

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these posts and thereby strengthened his position did not generally seek to maximize his power by destroying other bases of power in the system (Rule 13). This is reflected in the continuing strength of the individual service branches. The sort of development whereby the leader’s personal authority expanded over time at the expense of his office but not to the extent of destroying other potential power centres also occurred in other military regimes including the Indonesian and Egyptian regimes.82 The institutional integrity and coherence of the separate service branches of the military tended to ensure that these institutions maintained a key presence in the affairs of the regime, and to the extent that the junta was institutionally linked to the military service branches through the membership of the former as commanders-in-chief of the latter, this posed a constraint upon any propensity for power to shift away from the junta to another body (in contrast to Rule 14 on the sidelining of leading bodies); it was in the institutional interests of the service branches and their leaders in the junta to ensure that this did not occur. No leader could ignore the junta. A leader could seek to get around the junta by mobilizing an informal clique outside the junta, but this could be a dangerous practice given the access to the means of coercion that was vested in junta members.83 In these Latin American cases, the essential institutions at the heart of the dictatorship (essentially the junta and the government) therefore continued to function because there was no dominant leader and the members of the junta were able to maintain their own individual (and institutional) participation in top level decision-making. The institutions established by these regimes, thus, did not suffer the fate of leading organs in the Communist Party regimes and did not experience a process of atrophy in the face of individual rule. The strong desire to prevent the politicization of the military and attendant erosion of its professional ethos (see Chapter 8) contributed to the continued importance of state administrative institutions separate from the military (Rule 15) in all three regimes. This was also fostered by the military’s view of itself as only in power for a limited period of time. The aim of seizing power was usually seen in terms of purging existing administrative institutions of unacceptable elements, neither remaking those institutions entirely nor taking over their functions. Thus, the state administrative machine usually continued to function, albeit with military officers in strategic positions, rather than the military institution itself being called upon directly to shoulder the tasks of administration. This is another reason why the sort of displacement of formal institutions evident in Communist Party states (Rule 14) was less apparent in these military regimes. This has also been apparent in military regimes outside the region, with the response to the 1997 economic crisis in Indonesia highlighting the importance of state organs.84 The security service did sometimes become involved in hardline/softline conflict, but not usually as an independent actor. Rather if it did become involved it

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was usually mobilized by one of the oligarchs, often the president, to act against his perceived enemies (reflecting the enabling side of Rule 17; they could be mobilized under the enabling provision of Rule 10 providing for the possibility of elite mobilization into oligarch affairs). The lack of independence of the security service reflects the suspicion with which this was usually viewed by the military establishment, although this did not stop it being mobilized in cases of internal disagreement. The traditional rivalry between the military and security establishments usually ensured that the security service was kept on a tight rein by the military authorities. In Chile, in mid-1974 a new national security apparatus was established, the National Intelligence Directorate (DINA) headed by Pinochet supporter Colonel Manuel Contreras which, following an international scandal,85 was replaced in August 1977 by the National Intelligence Centre (CNI). The original conception of this body was that it would be staffed from all service branches that made up the junta, but it soon became dominated by people from the army. In light of this growing dominance, Leigh actually withdrew air force personnel from it when he realized that it was not to report to the junta as a whole. Both of these bodies reported directly to Pinochet rather than to the junta, and although their official brief was directed against opposition to the regime, they also conducted surveillance on leading figures in the regime.86 While it is not clear that this was ever used by Pinochet against members of the junta, it did constitute a potential lever for use against them. In Brazil in early 1977 as explained on page 191, Giesel used the security service to outflank a potential hardline successor, and then lined up the support of the military leadership to remove him.87 Reflecting the acceptance of collective discussion (Rule 3) and the development of factions (Rule 6), policy was often a source of oligarch disagreement (Rule 18). But as with collective discussion, which was the vehicle for such disagreement, the development of such differences ran counter to the unitary command model and therefore created a tension within it. Disagreement could range across all policy spheres, but unique to the military regime as a type were the existential questions: how long should the regime remain in power, and how should its exit be managed? This latter question usually took the form of a debate over how an opening to civil society (usually seen in terms of liberalization) could be managed. In Chile, the initial publicly espoused aim of the new regime on coming to power was to restore the status quo ante, the democracy that it claimed had been pushed aside by former president Allende.88 On the face of it this seemed to be a task that might not require an extended period of military rule since it was simply seeking to restore what had been there before Allende’s three-year rule. However, within six months this limited conception of what the regime sought to do had been replaced by a more wide-ranging brief: to rebuild the country morally, institutionally and economically. This was a task that would require ‘prolonged and profound action’ and seemed to imply the reworking of the entire Chilean society, but it still envisaged the ultimate withdrawal of the military from politics, even if it was

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to keep a (possibly expansive) watching brief over subsequent development, and the return of power to authorities elected by universal franchise. From late 1975, the elaboration of this view of the need to restructure Chilean society was cast in terms of rooting out all manifestations of Marxism, but given that the origins of this were external to the country and therefore difficult to extirpate fully, the implication was that a very long period of military rule might be required. This involved radical economic policy which was the focus of considerable disagreement within the upper levels of the regime. With the adoption of the 1980 Constitution, a timetable and mechanism for the military’s withdrawal from politics was finally established after considerable debate at the end of the 1970s (see discussion of Rule 19), although under the terms of that document military influence was to remain extensive for some time. Throughout, the regime demonstrated some ambiguity about both how it saw its role in government and how long it would remain,89 reflecting differences among the different branches of the military and their respective commanders-in-chief. In Argentina the junta announced that it had no fixed term, although it was assumed that it would be temporary before giving way again to a civilian administration, but that it had a series of ‘objectives’90 : improvement of the economy, elimination of subversion, and the creation of a new (unspecified) institutional framework.91 All of these were instrumental in the assault launched on society by the military once in power, activity aimed at destroying the Peronist labour movement and excising all perceived opposition from Argentina. Ultimately, the length of tenure of the regime did become an issue of contention within military circles as did the means of going about organizing the military withdrawal from power, while disagreement also occurred over the course of economic policy. An attempt was made to clarify the regime’s intentions in a December 1979 document entitled ‘Political Foundation of the Armed Forces for the Process of National Reorganization’. This continued to justify military rule and a future return to democracy, but had no indication of the concrete institutional changes envisaged, the timetable whereby this might occur, or the institutional form the new system might take.92 What this means is that the basic rationale of the regime was never clear to those at its head, creating ambiguity, uncertainty and disagreement about what its purpose actually was. There was therefore considerable conflict within military ranks over the question of how long to remain in power and the extent and conduct of what became known as the ‘dirty war’, including concern over the possibility of subsequent punishment for human rights abuses once civilian rule had been restored. In Brazil the military factions differed over a range of policy issues: the strategy for economic growth, the desirable duration of military rule, and the balance between the use of coercion against society and creating room for civil society forces to emerge and act. This was dealt with in the discussion of factions. Thus, in all three regimes, there was extensive discussion of day-to-day policy, including

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the regime’s existential question. Policy differences could have consequences both for individual oligarchs and the oligarchy as a whole, including on the question of succession, as the Argentinian case shows (Rule 28 on policy differences and succession). Policy was a central component of oligarchic life. The history of military regimes shows that an important source of rules for the oligarchs is the foundational pact. This is an agreement, usually formalized in documents, that is designed explicitly to structure the way the top leadership works while in power. In contrast to party regimes, military regimes usually create a new decision-making organization (Rule 1) which, at the time of formation, is not a constituent part of the military structure, the junta. There are no existing rules of procedure to govern how this body works. Accordingly, the oligarchs usually design such rules. These are meant to outline how the junta works and thereby what its members have the power to do. These rules of procedure potentially constitute restraints on both rank-and-file oligarchs and on the dictator. In evaluating whether rules have only an instrumental sense in authoritarian regimes (Rule 19), such foundational pacts are as important as broader state-based legislation. It could be argued that two of the Latin American military regimes, Brazil (1964–85) and Chile (1973–88), did recognize such normative authority, with the obvious qualification that their initial seizure of power was clearly not sanctioned by the law. In Brazil, the foundational pact involved agreement that the regime would adhere to the basic principles of the Constitution that was in force before it took power. This would involve the president serving a single, fixed term in office. Provision was at this time also made for the president to be chosen through election by the existing legislature, which was different from the Constitution which provided for direct election by the people but gave the legislature an important role in formalizing the president’s accession to office. Thus, while the decision to have the president chosen by the legislature (which it was assumed would be controlled by the military) did not strictly adhere to the provisions of the Constitution, it did mobilize some of the symbolism of that document to give a veneer of legality to the coup.93 In an attempt to gain immediate legal cover for the coup, upon the removal of President Joao Goulart the Senate president declared the state presidency vacant. While there was no constitutional basis for the coup, this did seem to invest the action with a legal veneer. The Constitution in force at the time gave scope for a presidential vacancy to be filled temporarily by the president of the Chamber of Deputies; the Congress should then elect a new president. The president of the Chamber, Ranieri Mazzilli, therefore became acting president. The coup plotters created a Supreme Revolutionary Command comprising the leaders of the three armed forces (General Artur Costa e Silva, Admiral Augusto Rademaker Grunewald, and air force Brigadier Francisco de Assis Correio de Melo), each of whom took one of the military ministries in Mazzilli’s cabinet. On 7 April 1964, the military ministers introduced Institutional Act Number 1 (AI-1) which enhanced

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the formal powers of the presidency and required the election of president and vice-president within two days of its publication. It also weakened the powers of the Congress and stated that the president and vice-president would be chosen by the Congress. Accordingly, the Congress duly elected chief of the army general staff, Humberto de Alencar Castelo-Branco, president and a civilian, Jose Maria Alkmin, vice-president. Thus, although the coup was obviously illegal, the new rulers sought to give their actions a cover of legality through following some of the established procedures for appointment of an interim president, through election of the president by the pre-coup Congress, and through the resting of their power on a new Institutional Act.94 Throughout the period of military rule, the concern to maintain a legal basis for that rule continued. Over this period, there were 17 Institutional Acts (which were extra-constitutional decrees designed to structure some aspect/s of political life) and more than 100 Complementary Acts,95 new Constitutions in 1967 (which effectively synthesized all of the Institutional Acts and associated laws and codified the arbitrary measures the regime had been using) and 1969,96 various constitutional amendments, and numerous government decrees. Although some of these measures did have implications for the contours of power inside the regime,97 most concerned relations between the regime and society, and they usually involved an extension of the powers of the former at the expense of the latter. The heavy reliance upon Institutional Acts reflects the absence of a coherent view about the tasks the regime should accomplish. Accordingly, there was always felt to be a need to introduce temporary measures to provide a legal basis and a rationale for regime actions, clearly an instrumental use of law. More importantly, in terms of the normative authority of the law, in the foundational pact the constitutional provision about a single defined-length term for the president was generally observed; the only breach of this was in 1965 when Castelo-Branco was persuaded by the other oligarchs to extend his term in order to consolidate the regime in power. Observance of the single term of defined length suggests adherence to the normative authority of the rule dictating such a provision and constituted a clear constraint on any potential presidential power grab. Also evidence of recognition of the normative authority of law was retention of election of the president by the Congress. Although the Congress was closed by the president on three occasions (October 1966, December 1968 and April 1977), it did constitute an important arena for the regime; legislation was to be passed through it, and it was to choose the presidential successor. By keeping the legislature in existence (unlike Chile and Argentina), the regime needed to have a reliable party to carry its banner. With the abolition of the regular parties, the regime’s need for a party to represent it in the legislature was met through a supplementary act to the second Institutional Act which laid down rules for the establishment of a two-party system. Two parties were formed, a pro-regime party and an ‘opposition’ party, with the former to act as the military’s agent in the legislature. Unfortunately for

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the regime, this was not a foolproof strategy, as the regime party lacked the unity and discipline to carry out the commands it received. This was to prove decisive in 1985 when the party split over the vote for president in the legislature, handing the presidency to the opposition’s Tancredo Neves. The accession of Neves marked the end of the military regime, but it was an end that was only possible because the regime had been guided by the formal rules it had agreed in the foundational pact. Acceptance of this outcome was not unanimous within the regime, but was made possible by the way the softliners98 faced down hardline pressure for action to prevent Neves from taking the presidency.99 Thus, although the regime did use law instrumentally through the use of the institutional acts, ultimately it was adherence to the formal rules that was instrumental in the replacement of the military regime. The fall of the Brazilian regime as a result of its adherence to those rules had an analogue in Chile. In both regimes the rules made regime change possible, but only in Chile was this possibility explicitly provided for. This reflects the fact that in Chile the relevant rules were designed explicitly to structure the military’s return to the barracks. Despite considerable disagreement within the military both before and immediately after the coup over what they should do once in power and what being in power actually involved,100 a foundational pact was reached in Chile by the instigators of the coup. Power was vested in a collegial junta, with Pinochet named president of the junta. In the immediate aftermath of the coup in 1973, the junta met almost daily to resolve questions great and small, but it was clearly operating on an ad hoc basis. It had initially been agreed that the junta would have full constitutional, executive and legislative powers, while the junta presidency would have no formal powers attached to it and would rotate annually among junta members. In June 1974 a Statute of the Junta was introduced to try to bring some regularity to the junta’s operations. It introduced some structure to the way in which the junta was meant to operate. This included, inter alia, provision for the head of the army to always be the head of the junta (and therefore the dropping of the idea of the annual rotation of this position) and to be called ‘president of the Junta’ and ‘Supreme Chief of the Nation’ (but not president of the Republic), and the president was to exercise executive power while the junta enjoyed legislative power, with all of its decisions needing to be unanimous.101 The unanimity rule was important and one that Pinochet at times sought to ignore, usually provoking objection from the other members of the junta. While each of the branches of the military was represented in the junta, there was no sense in which the junta as a body was responsible to the military structures upon which it rested. The provisions of this pact were generally followed and constituted a significant constraint upon Pinochet’s ability to enhance his personal power at the expense of the other oligarchs. The pact was renegotiated at the end of the 1970s, resulting in the establishment of a legal path which, it was believed, would sustain Pinochet in power well into the

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future but which ultimately led to the regime’s demise. At this time there was considerable debate both within the junta and more broadly over the future course of the regime, how long the military should remain in power and the form that a postmilitary government should take. There had, however, been no debate over the continuing leadership of Pinochet.102 In an endeavour to resolve the continuing debate, in April 1978 Pinochet announced that the junta would enact, subject to popular plebiscite, a new Constitution. The constitutional proposal was adopted in a popular plebiscite on 11 September 1980. The proposal, which was a compromise among the leaders of the armed forces and reflected the pressures for the ‘institutionalization’ of the regime coming from softliner and civilian elements associated with Pinochet’s advisor Jaime Guzman, contained provisions meant to apply to the post-military government as well as a series of ‘transitional provisions’ designed to structure the functioning of the regime over the succeeding eight years. There were three major aspects of this. First, a specific timetable and mechanism were established for a return to civilian rule. At least 90 days prior to the end of Pinochet’s mandate (11 March 1989), the president and the junta were to meet to ‘unanimously propose to the country the person to occupy the position of president of the Republic in the next presidential period’,103 with the citizens then to ‘approve’ or ‘disapprove’ of this choice in a popular plebiscite. If the chosen person (who it was envisaged would be Pinochet) was approved, elections would then be held for a new congress; if disapproved, Pinochet’s current term would be extended by a year during which elections would be held for both the presidency and the congress. Second, Pinochet was formally recognized as president of the Republic. Up until this time, Pinochet had been prevented from exercising what he perceived to be appropriate authority—he could not sign measures because the Constitution gave that power to the president of the Republic and up until now he had not constitutionally occupied that role.104 He had in this way been restrained by the provisions of the Constitution his regime had inherited. Along with this went his March 1981 withdrawal from the junta (while remaining commander-in-chief of the army) and his replacement in the junta by the next most senior general, with leadership of the junta being taken by Admiral Merino.105 The effect of this was to affirm Pinochet as president for eight years, with the possibility of his extension, depending upon the result of the 1988 plebiscite, which it was assumed he would have no difficulty in winning. Formal adoption of the title of president was accompanied by the buttressing of the position through the mobilization of the traditional symbolism of the Chilean state and by Pinochet’s movement out of the building where the junta was based and into the presidential palace. This move reduced the scope for the junta to exercise influence on him and increased the scope for that of other actors. There was also some restriction on Pinochet’s discretionary powers through the need to adhere to the constitutional provisions, although his control over the repressive apparatus remained untouched. It was projected that Pinochet would

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take up a lifetime senatorial appointment and remain commander-in-chief of the army for eight years following the return to civilian rule, thereby providing a guarantee of continuing military influence at high levels of the civilian regime.106 Third, a new body, the Constitutional Tribunal was created, whose task was to ensure that decisions made by the government were consistent with the Constitution. This was a form of constitutional court with broad powers of review whose decisions were formally not subject to repeal. For the first time in its life, the military regime was formally subject to an external body in terms of the decisions it made. The Constitution that had been in vogue prior to 1980 had legally constituted little restraint because formally decisions of the junta were from December 1974 declared to take precedence over the Constitution and to have the status of constitutional amendments.107 The members of the Constitutional Tribunal seemed to take their responsibilities very seriously. Various measures passed by the junta were declared to be unconstitutional and had to be withdrawn—in the four years from March 1981, the Tribunal struck down junta decisions on nine occasions108 —while the Tribunal played a major role in shaping the legal framework for the presidential plebiscite in 1988, including the creation of an Election Clarification Tribunal to oversee the actual plebiscite and ensure a free and fair election.109 On the surface, these measures seemed to offer something to everyone. For those who wanted a return to civilian rule, a timetable and a mechanism had been specified, and thereby an undertaking given that military rule would end. For those who might have favoured a continuation of that rule, the existing structure had been broadly confirmed and the end of it remained a considerable time off, during which it might be possible to further consolidate the military’s power. Furthermore, continuing military influence post the military regime seemed guaranteed. For Pinochet, he occupied what appeared to be an enhanced presidency, and the junta appeared to have retained its powers unimpaired. The provision surrounding the nomination of a presidential candidate at the end of Pinochet’s term also gave legitimacy for the first time to discussion about Pinochet’s leadership and whether it should continue. What was significant about the Constitution and the Tribunal was less that they were created than that they actually seem to have acquired normative authority. It has not been uncommon for authoritarian regimes to enact constitutional documents and set up bodies designed to formally oversee their implementation. But usually such documents and their guardians lacked normative authority. With the essence of authoritarian rule the weakness of normative authority on the part of anything that might constrain the government, a case where such a government actually observed the limits imposed by law is unusual. The 1988 plebiscite was held under relatively fair conditions because the Tribunal insisted that it be conducted according to the procedures that were to apply following the return to civilian rule: the balloting was based on voter

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registration lists, political parties were able to participate, and it took place under the eye of the electoral watchdog, all of which limited the room for potential fraud. The common assumption was that Pinochet would be elected. He gained the public support of the military commanders and toured the country in an attempt to drum up support. However, when the votes were in, the result was No 54.7 per cent, Yes 43 per cent and Other 2.3 per cent. Thus, in a direct ballot where there was no opposition candidate, Pinochet failed to achieve the required majority support. Pinochet wanted fraudulently to alter the vote tallies in order to remain in power, but he was prevented from doing so by Merino and air force General Fernando Matthei Aubel who forced him to accept the result of the vote. This was the death knell of the regime, which now set in train the provisions of the 1980 Constitution that was to lead to the restoration of civilian rule. Thus, the leader was blocked and the regime was forced to leave power in accord with the formal rules that it had itself imposed. In Argentina (1976–83), the most relevant rules were those contained in the foundational pact. These were designed in order to prevent the president from becoming too powerful, as he was perceived to have done during the last period of military rule (1966–70). The oligarchs tried to build a system of corporate rule in which all three branches of the military would share equally. This was contained in legal documents signed immediately after the coup.110 The junta could not meet unless all three members were present, which at least formally guaranteed decisions could not be made completely behind the back of one service branch, and it was to work on the basis of majority decisions (except for appointment and removal of the president, which required unanimity); however, in practice it usually sought unanimity. The junta was designated as the ‘supreme organ of the nation’, could appoint and remove the president (and members of the supreme court), could issue general directives for the government, declare war and a state of siege, could arbitrate differences between the president and the CAL, and could exercise legislative power in its own right. In the attempt to prevent the president from becoming too powerful, he was meant to be a retired officer rather than one on active duty, and the broader military establishment was given a part to play in the consideration of legislation through the CAL, thereby opening the formal process up to non-oligarch actors. The first president, General Jorge Videla of the army, held this post while remaining an active officer until 1978, a clear breach of the principles of equal participation of all the service branches and that the president should be a retired military officer, but with his retirement from the army this latter anomaly was resolved. With the president now no longer a member of the junta, another body, the Military Committee (comprising the president and the three commanders-in-chief), was created in an attempt to ensure the junta could maintain practical and continuing oversight of the president. The basic aim of the pact, sharing power in an attempt to prevent the emergence of a dominant leader, was successful, but it did not ensure either the longevity of the regime or

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the security of tenure of the president; two presidents were overthrown within a seven-month period in 1981–82, reflecting the tensions within the oligarchy at this time. The Brazilian and Chilean experiences therefore show that it was possible in military regimes for formal rules and legislation to have a degree of normative authority neither reflected in Rule 19 nor expected in authoritarian regimes. Such rules can function to structure political life, with oligarchs following them even when their best interests in terms of regime survival do not seem to be well served by those rules. However, this did not affect the instrumental use of law in the suppression of perceived opposition, and the Argentinian case suggests that the impact of law can also be more limited. So too does the experience of the Egyptian regime under Mubarak.111

Constitutive rules Four of the 10 constitutive rules evident in the communist single-party regimes are problematic in the military: on co-optation into the oligarchy (Rule 20), on the role of personal support or factional association in shaping oligarch membership (Rule 21), on institutional position being unimportant in determining entry to the oligarchy (Rule 22) and on fixed terms of office (Rule 23). These concern mainly membership of the oligarchy as opposed to the succession of the leader, and they all stem from the nature of the military as an institution. This is explained in Chapter 8. As in other regime types, oligarch unity could be enhanced by its insulation from the elite, but the way other regimes consolidated this through structuring entry into the oligarchy by co-optation (Rule 20) could be more problematic in military regimes because of the nature of those regimes, as discussed in Chapter 8. The initial clique carrying out the coup would have been for the most part self-selected. Upon seizing power, as already noted, military officers usually create a small council or junta comprising representatives of each of the service branches of the military; their positions in the leadership of each service branch were crucial to their membership of the initial oligarchy. They were there explicitly because they were the C-in-Cs of the army, navy or air force (and in Chile’s case, the police), and they remained in the oligarchy while they held those offices; membership was a direct result of their institutional position, in contrast to the provisions of Rule 22 (that institutional position is not a major factor in gaining oligarch membership). Once the military regime was established, membership of the junta remained linked to occupation of the leading service branch positions; the commanders-in-chief of each of the service branches generally comprised the junta. The question is, therefore, how those C-in-C positions were filled. In the corporate military regimes, the service branches usually retained

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the procedures and regulations governing promotion that had applied before power was seized. This meant that promotions, including to the position of Cin-C, were essentially internal matters, in which case if there was a vacancy in the junta, while the person filling it may formally have been co-opted, the decision about that person’s identity was not solely made by the oligarchs. It was made in the service branches, by the elite, something that further qualifies the operation of Rule 10 regarding elite intervention in oligarch affairs and possibly also the ability of a leader to transfer power to a chosen successor (Rule 24). A case showing this occurred in Chile in August 1985 when the police chief Mendoza had to resign, but before doing so he appointed his replacement as head of the police (Stange), who was subsequently appointed to the junta.112 In Argentina, the many changes of membership in the junta were mostly shaped by the service branches.113 However, the autonomy of the service branches was not always absolute. The junta or the president could exercise influence over promotion, with the president being most capable of this in the service branch from which he had come, the army. For example, in Brazil, President Giesel was able to interfere in the promotion procedures in the army to bring about the promotion of the man he wanted to succeed him, Figueiredo. However, despite such cases of intervention, the relative autonomy of the service branches in promotion and thereby shaping the membership of the oligarchy distinguishes military regimes from other regime types. It also means that Rule 21, concerning the role of personal support/factional affiliation in shaping oligarch membership, was usually less in evidence in military regimes, although as the Brazilian case shows, it could come into play if the factions were powerful and there was an institutional means of regular turnover. So, in these Latin American military regimes where a form of corporatist authoritarianism prevailed, decisions about who joined the junta were much more the result of the principles governing the internal life of the constituent parts of the military establishment (including a major role for the existing C-in-C and junta member) than they were of the junta acting collectively. However, this was not the case when it came to decisions about the removal of someone from the oligarchy. In all regimes, decisions about removing someone from the oligarchy were made overwhelmingly within the oligarchy itself. Who was involved in such decisions depended in part on the reason that decision was made. If the cause was ill health (death did not require a decision), factional decisions may have had less import. If the changes were prompted by factional conflict, it is likely that the decision to remove someone would have been a factional (and potentially less a whole oligarchy) decision. Political differences probably constitute the most important cause of the removal of individual oligarchs. In Chile, in line with much of what the regime did, they tried to formalize the mechanism for removal of people from the junta. The Statute of the Junta adopted in June 1974 declared that members of the junta could be replaced only in the event of ‘death, resignation,

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or any type of absolute impairment’, but the decision about when ‘absolute impairment’ existed was vested in the junta itself.114 This was applied to the removal of air force leader Leigh in May 1978, discussed in regard to Rule 3. In these military regimes, the stronger the sense of institutional coherence and integrity maintained by the individual service branches of the military, the less scope there was for considerations of personal support to play a major part in the composition question; the stronger the regularized promotion procedures, the less room there was for personal considerations and unrestricted co-optation (Rule 20). Another aspect of rules and their normative force relates to term limits on leaders. The constraint imposed on leaders by effective term limits have been more common in Latin American military regimes than in the party states (Rule 23). In Chile, the evidence is mixed; the initial sentiment in favour of annual rotation of the presidency of the junta (in effect a one-year term) was soon superseded by recognition that Pinochet would hold this post, presumably for the life of the regime. This reflected the consolidation of Pinochet’s personal power and recognition that stability was more likely without an annual change in leaders. However, the 1980 constitutional arrangements effectively involved a term limit, and this was observed (albeit under sufferance by Pinochet). In Brazil, the commitment to follow the principles of the pre-coup Constitution established that formally there were five-year term limits and a president could serve only one term, a provision reinforced in practice by the strength of the factions and their desire to ensure a regular turnover of power.Each president did serve for only one term, although Castelo-Branco did extend his term. No other term was extended, although Figueiredo did flirt with doing this.115 And once in office, they all completed their terms except for Costa e Silva whose presidency was truncated because of ill health. In Argentina, there was no agreement on term limits. Only the first president, Videla, served out his full term, retiring in 1981. His successor, Viola, was overthrown in a coup by Galtieri in December 1981, who was in turn forced to resign in June 1982. He was succeeded by a brief interim president before his successor Bignone guided the country to civilian rule. Term limits thus seem to have had greater normative power and to have limited the tenure of the leader in the two Latin American polities in which formal legal principles seemed to be more respected from the outset (Rule 19).116 The Brazilian case illustrates how factions could be important in shaping succession outcomes (Rule 27) discussed in relation to Rule 6. The pattern of presidents in Brazil—moderate, hardliner, hardliner, moderate and moderate—reflects this. In Argentina, factions117 were active in both the policy sphere and on leadership questions, as shown in the previous discussion on personal leadership. Factional activity was concentrated in the individual service branches because these could each nominate a candidate for the presidency, from among whom the junta would choose. As noted, the ascendancy of Viola to the presidency had been due to his support by moderates who were able to overcome the opposition of the Galtieri-led

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hardliners in the army and opponents in the navy.118 Nine months after he became president, he was overthrown by Galtieri. In Chile, once the idea of annual rotation of the junta presidency had been abandoned, the question of succession did not arise. In military regimes, the highly structured and disciplined nature of the military institution, reinforced by the sense of professionalism and duty, affected the way the rules functioned. Individual military roles were more clearly defined, and this both served to structure intra-junta interactions and the oligarchs’ relationship with the elite, in both cases to consolidate the junta as a body. Most of the rules evident in the Communist Party states also applied in these military regimes, with the enabling side of those rules in particular playing a major part in structuring oligarch activity and thereby coordinating leadership politics. However, the strength of the military structure and ethos shaped how those rules worked. Most importantly, given the much stronger military adherence to (at least some) formal rules (Rule 19), many of those rules that relate to the primacy of informal practices in the Communist Party states appear to have been less important in these military regimes. This is a significant difference between these military regimes and other regime types. The relationship between rules and longevity suggested by the Communist Party regimes may receive some support here. The collapse of the Argentinian regime was directly related to the absence of agreement on presidential term limits combined with the weakness of oligarch consensus, the lower level of insulation of the oligarchs from the elite, the less restrained activity of factions, the politicization of the military, and the weakness of the position of president. This contrasted sharply with the situation in Brazil—where oligarch insulation was weak but the junta was more united and the factions acted in a restrained, almost institutionalized fashion—and especially in Chile. It also contrasted with the situation in the Communist Party systems. This question of the relative applicability of rules to the different regime types is explained in Chapter 8.

Notes 1. Just as Pinochet was a strong but predominant leader, so too were such military leaders as Suharto in Indonesia and successively Sadat and Mubarak in Egypt. 2. Pablo Policzer, The Rise and Fall of Repression in Chile (Notre Dame, University of Notre Dame Press, 2009), p. 66. 3. Pinochet argued that this should not be formalized in the junta statute but should remain as a ‘gentlemen’s agreement’, a position which was then easier to overturn. Mary Helen Spooner, Soldiers in a Narrow Land: The Pinochet Regime in Chile (Berkeley, University of California Press, 1999), p. 85. On this issue Pinochet was victorious, with the army leader becoming accepted as the president. On the differences, see Policzer (2009), pp. 53–56.

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4. He believed this would give him a majority because he could rely on the support of police chief Mendoza. Robert Barros, Constitutionalism and Dictatorship. Pinochet, the Junta, and the 1980 Constitution (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2002), pp. 56–57. 5. Karen L. Remmer, Military Rule in Latin America (Boston, Unwin Hyman, 1989), p. 128. On the sidelining of the councils, see Arturo Valenzuela, ‘The Military in Power: The Consolidation of One-Man Rule’, Paul W. Drake and Ivan Jaksic (eds), The Struggle for Democracy in Chile (Lincoln, University of Nebraska Press, 1995), p. 37. 6. Valenzuela (1995), p. 38. The description of this episode follows Valenzuela. 7. On their disagreement see Spooner (1999), 135–136. 8. Carlos Huneeus, The Pinochet Regime (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 2007), p. 88. For the argument that Leigh had opposed structural reforms favoured by Merlino, see Barros (2002), p. 186. Karen L. Remmer, ‘Neopatrimonialism: The Politics of Military Rule in Chile, 1973–1987’ , Comparative Politics 21, 2, 1989, p. 159. 9. In the words of Robert Barros, ‘Pinochet faced strong independent positions from both the navy and the air force.’ Barros (2002), p. 191. See the discussion on pp. 185–191 and 196–203. 10. Differences also occurred over details of the actual proposal. For example, when Merino and Matthei differed with Pinochet over how the junta was to be designated in the Constitution. Barros (2002), p. 270. 11. For example, on the proposed state of siege. Barros (2002), p. 280–281. On Benavides seeming to support the position of Matthei that dialogue with the opposition might be useful, and his consequent removal by Pinochet, see Alan Angell, ‘Why is the Transition to Democracy Proving So Difficult in Chile?’, Bulletin of Latin American Research 5, 1, 1986, p. 31. 12. Barros (2002), pp. 279–287. 13. Barros (2002), pp. 288–292. 14. Huneeus (2007), pp. 382–384. 15. On the removal of Leigh as setting a precedent for that of Mendoza, and the threat of similar action being used to pull Matthei into line in 1986, see Remmer (1989; Latin America), p. 131. 16. Huneeus (2007), p.xxiv fn.7. 17. For one characterization of this, see Norman Schofield and Micah Levinson, ‘Modelling Authoritarian Regimes’, Politics, Philosophy and Economy 7, 3, 2008, p. 255. In their view there were three factions. The first was headed by Massera and favoured the suppression of the working class, strong anti-Marxist rhetoric and action, and when the counter-insurgency campaign subsided, irredentist claims. The second headed by Generals Mason and Menendez favoured all-out war against the opposition and market fundamentalism. The third was headed by Videla and Viola and favoured more liberalization. 18. On this ambition, see Paul H. Lewis, Guerrillas and Generals: The Dirty War in Argentina (Westport, Praeger, 2002), p. 163. 19. Menendez unsuccessfully mounted a coup attempt in late 1979 against Videla’s policy of opening to society, but it was easily suppressed.

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20. Gerardo L. Munck, Authoritarianism and Democratization; Soldiers and Workers in Argentina, 1976–1983 (University Park, Pennsylvania State University Press, 1998), p. 94. 21. On his attempts to establish a political machine to support his involvement in politics after the junta, see C.L. Arceneaux, ‘Institutional Design, Military Rule, and Regime Transition in Argentina (1976–1983): An Extension on the Remmer Thesis’, Bulletin of Latin American Research 16, 3, 1997, p. 335 and Lewis (2002), p. 166. 22. Arceneaux (1997), pp. 335–336. 23. On a sense of ennui within the regime because it had achieved only one of its goals (defeat of the guerrillas) but the others remained far off, see Virgilio R. Beltran, ‘Political Transition In Argentina: 1982 to 1985’ , Armed Forces and Society 13, 2, 1982, p. 217. On continuing disagreement over economic policy, see Glen Biglaiser, ‘Military Rule, State Autonomy, and Privatization in the Southern Cone’, Armed Forces and Society 29, 4, 2003, p. 602. 24. Munck (1998), pp. 106–107. 25. Arceneaux (1997), p. 338. 26. Arceneaux (1997), p. 338. 27. He said this in June and September 1981. Munck (1998), pp. 122 and 125. 28. Between the two were two short-term interim figures, Horacio Tomas Liendo and Carlos Lacoste. 29. Potentially this turned all issues into matters of major discord. 30. Thomas E. Skidmore, The Politics of Military Rule in Brazil, 1964–1985 (New York, Oxford University Press, 1988), p. 40. 31. Skidmore (1988), p. 249. 32. For example, see Skidmore (1988), pp. 79–81. 33. The successions of Geisel (1974) and Figueiredo (1979) saw differences of opinion among leading military circles. 34. Huneeus (2007), p. 80. At least until 1980. 35. This refers particularly to the way police chief Mendoza engineered his own replacement when he was forced to resign. Huneeus (2007), pp. 382–384. 36. As C-in-C of the army, Pinochet was able to make use of this to consolidate his position. Upon coming to power, he used this power to remove many officers he did not trust and promote those he did. He also expanded the ranks of the officer corps—from 24 generals in 1974 to 53 in 1986—thereby giving continuing scope for the promotion of loyalists. Valenzuela (1995), p. 32; Huneeus (2007), pp. 80–82. On expanded military expenditure, which enabled improvement of pay and conditions, see Valenzuela (1995), p. 34 and Angell (1986, p. 30). 37. Herbert S. Klein and Francisco Vidal Luna, Brazil, 1964–1985: The Military Regimes of Latin America in the Cold War (New Haven, Yale University Press, 2017), pp. 54–55. 38. On the displacement of the councils and the junta, see Valenzuela (1995), pp. 37–38. On the existence of advisory bodies for each of the services feeding into the junta after 1980, see Huneeus (2007), p. 184. 39. Kyaw Yin Hlaing, ‘Setting the Rules for Survival: Why the Burmese Military Regime Survives in an Age of Democratization’, William Case (ed), Contemporary Authoritarianism in Southeast Asia (London, Routledge, 2010), pp. 16–36.

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40. However, the overthrow of Argentinian president Viola in 1981 was motivated at least in part by hardliners’ opposition to the reanimation of civil society that seemed to result from his policy of opening. Luigi Manzetti, Institutions, Parties and Coalitions in Argentine Politics (Pittsburgh, University of Pittsburgh Press, 1993), p. 54. 41. This has also helped to generate some scholarly discussion about how the regime should be characterized. For example, see the discussion over whether it should be described as military or civilian-military in Marcelo Ridenti, ‘The Debate over Military (or Civilian-Military?) Dictatorship in Brazil in Historiographical Context’, Bulletin of Latin American Research 37, 1, 2018, pp. 33–42. 42. On the factions, see Bruce W. Farcau, The Transition to Democracy in Latin America. The Role of the Military (Westport, Praeger, 1996), p. 88–92; Kees Koonings, ‘Political Orientations and Factionalism in the Brazilian Armed Forces, 1964–1985’, Patricio Silva (ed), The Soldiers and the State in South America: Essays in Civil-Military Relations (Basingstoke, Palgrave, 2001), pp. 127–150; and Wilfred A. Bacchus, ‘Development Under Military Rule: Factionalism in Brazil’, Armed Forces and Society 12, 3, 1986, pp. 401–418. 43. Koonings (2001), p. 136. 44. Farcau (1996), pp. 91–92. 45. For a study of the changing perceptions about what they should be doing, organized in terms of a response to arising challenges, see Stanley E. Hilton, ‘The Brazilian Military: Changing Strategic Perceptions And the Question of Mission’, Armed Forces and Society 13, 3, 1987, pp. 329–351. Also see Robert A. Hayes, The Armed Nation: The Brazilian Corporate Mystique (Tempe, Arizona State University, 1989). 46. For one aspect of this, see Anthony W. Pereira, ‘Persecution and Farce: The Origins and Transformation of Brazil’s Political Trials, 1964–1979’, Latin American Research Review 33, 1, 1998, pp. 43–66. 47. On the role of technocrats in government, see Frances Hagopian, Traditional Politics and Regime Change in Brazil (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1996), pp. 109–111. More specifically on agricultural policy, see Steven M. Helfand, ‘The Political Economy of Agricultural Policy in Brazil: Decision Making and Influence from 1964 to 1992’ , Latin American Research Review 34, 2, 1999, pp. 3–41. For an attempt to chart connections between Brazilian elites, including the military and administrators, see Peter McDonough, ‘Mapping an Authoritarian Power Structure: Brazilian Elites During the Medici Regime’, Latin American Research Review 16, 1, 1981, pp. 79–106. 48. Skidmore (1988), p. 108. 49. Farcau (1996), p. 98. 50. On the latter’s daily access to the president, see Alfred Stepan, Rethinking Military Politics: Brazil and the Southern Cone (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1988), p. 19. 51. This follows Skidmore (1988), pp. 42–47; also Maria Helena Moreira Alves, State and Opposition in Military Brazil (Austin, University of Texas Press, 1985), pp. 62–65. 52. Koonings (2001), p. 139. 53. Alves (1985), p. 106. 54. For example, see Skidmore (1988), p. 97.

rules and military regimes 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60.

61. 62. 63.

64. 65. 66.

67.

68. 69. 70.

71.

72. 73.

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On this, see Skidmore (1988), p. 51. Klein and Luna (2017), p. 57. On this, see Skidmore (1988), pp. 79–81. Skidmore (1988), p. 82. The commanders of the First, Second and Third Armies had already delivered this message to Costa e Silva in May. Skidmore (1988), p. 94. They were operating outside the chain of military command, something that potentially made the military itself vulnerable to challenge. On them being outside the chain of command, see Skidmore (1988), p. 168. Jan Knippers Black, ‘The Military and Political Decompression in Brazil’, Armed Forces and Society 6, 4, 1980, p. 634. He also removed the head of the army intelligence, General Confucio Danton de Paula Avelino. Throughout the regime’s life, the SNI generally remained tightly under the president’s control. Klein and Luna (2017), p. 56. Its importance is also reflected in the fact that two future presidents, Medici and Figueiredo, were formerly in charge of it; Costa e Silva had been War Minister. Skidmore (1988), p. 229. Skidmore (1988), p. 241. On this, see Thomas Pepinsky, Economic Crises and the Breakdown of Authoritarian Regimes: Indonesia and Malaysia in Comparative Perspective (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 50–52 and Dan Slater, Ordering Power: Contentious Politics and Authoritarian Leviathans in Southeast Asia (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2010), pp. 181–196. See respectively Kyaw Yin Hlaing, ‘Factional and Power Struggles in Post-Colonial Myanmar’, Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 31, 1, 2008, pp. 149–77 and Samuel DeCalo, Coups and Army Rule in Africa: Studies in Military Style (New Haven, Yale University Press, 1976), Chapter 2. In Burma/Myanmar, acceptance of the rules of the game have been said to be particularly important. Hlaing (2010), p. 19. On guaranteeing such security in Burma/Myanmar, see Hlaing (2010), pp. 19 and 28–31. On Indonesia, see Jeffrey A. Winters, Oligarchy (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2011), pp. 139–193. On Burma/Myanmar, Hlaing (2010), p. 24. The co-optation literature discussed in Chapter 1 sometimes focuses upon this group. For an instance when a number of generals wrote to Pinochet criticizing economic shock therapy and the role of the security services in politics, and Pinochet’s subsequent forcing of them into early retirement, see Remmer (1989; Latin America), p. 159. Huneeus, (2007), p. 109. Huneeus (2007), p. 116. This reflects not just the dominance of the army as an institution, but the fact that it was much larger than the other forces and therefore could afford to supply more personnel to the government. On the shifting balance of ministers between military and civilian, see Remmer (1989; Chile), p. 158.

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74. They were to keep their posts ‘as long as they enjoy the President’s trust’. Cited in Genaro Arriagada Herrera, ‘The Legal and Institutional Framework of the Armed Forces of Chile’, J. Samuel Valenzuela and Arturo Valenzuela (eds), Military Rule in Chile: Dictatorship and Oppositions (Baltimore, The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), p. 130. Pinochet engineered 49 cabinet reshuffles. Huneeus (2007), p. 92. On the high levels of turnover, reflected in the fact that ministers averaged 10 months in their posts (although some served considerably longer), see Huneeus (2007), pp. 92–93. None of the former ministers turned against Pinochet after being sacked, something which both contributed to continuing elite unity and reflected the generally considerate way in which he treated them, including during their sacking when most were found other good jobs. Huneeus (2007), p. 93. 75. For example, the introduction of shock therapy in 1975 and the 1982 decision to devalue the currency. Remmer (1989, Latin America), p. 139. 76. For an argument that Pinochet built his power by a strategy of divide and rule, see Remmer (1989 Latin America), pp. 137–138. 77. The army controlled the Interior and Labour Ministries, the navy had Foreign Affairs and Social Welfare, the air force Defence and Justice, and the civilians Economics and Culture and Education. 78. Respectively Manzetti (1993), p. 184 and Munck (1998), p. 62. 79. See the discussions in Arceneaux (1997), pp.327–350 and Lewis (2002), p. 166. 80. Stepan (1988), p. 19. 81. Merino and Leigh initially resisted abolition of the rotation principle, but ultimately agreed. Spooner (1999), p. 85. 82. Headship of the army was actually less important in Egypt. Anwar Sadat had been a colonel prior to Gamal Abdel Nasser seizing power, and he succeeded to the presidency on the latter’s death because he had been close to Nasser and because Nasser’s supporters believed he could be manipulated. Sadat proved them wrong. His successor, Hosni Mubarak, had been commander of the air force, not the army. 83. In Chile, the unanimity principle in the junta complicated this sort of development, although it did also encourage Pinochet to look elsewhere for advice. 84. Pepinsky (2009). In contrast, in Burma/Myanmar the military made no attempt to develop effective state institutions (the period being discussed is the 1960s–1980s), leading one scholar to claim that ‘Burma is Southeast Asia’s “broken-backed state” ’. Cited in Slater (2010), p. 271. 85. A former government minister and his assistant were assassinated in Washington DC and DINA officials were publicly implicated. For an analysis of the reasons for the demise of DINA that places less emphasis on international pressure, see Policzer (2009), esp. pp. 103–110. 86. See the discussion in Valenzuela (1995), pp. 47–50. 87. In Egypt in 1971 Anwar Sadat used the security service to remove his opponents from the leadership. Jason Brownlee, Authoritarianism in an Age of Democratization (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2007), p. 90. On suspicion between military and security organs leading to the dismissal of intelligence officers in 2004 in Burma/Myanmar, see Hlaing (2010), pp. 25–27. 88. This discussion is based principally on Herrera (1986), pp. 119–122.

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89. On air force leader Matthei’s view favouring the early return to professional duties, see Angell (1986), p. 30. 90. Ronaldo Munck, ‘Democratization and Demilitarization in Argentina, 1982–1985’, Bulletin of Latin American Research 4, 2, 1985, p. 85. 91. Manzetti (1993), pp. 50–51. 92. Munck (1998), p. 97. 93. For the argument that this was an attempt to give the new regime a veneer of democratic legitimacy, see Alfred Stepan, The Military in Politics: Changing Patterns in Brazil (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1971), pp. 218–219. 94. When the presidency had to be decided again out of the normal round, when Costa e Silva was ill, another Institutional Act (Number 16) was used formally to declare the office vacant, to establish the new term, and set the rules for election. 95. Riordan Roett, ‘The Post-1964 Military Republic in Brazil’, Brian Loveman and Thomas M. Davies Jr, The Politics of Antipolitics (Lincoln, University of Nebraska Press, 1989), pp. 381–406. They are discussed in Alves (1985). 96. This was really more a revision of the Constitution of 1967 than a new document. 97. For example, Institutional Act Number 17 introduced in October 1969 gave the president the power to transfer any officer who threatened unity to the reserve. Skidmore (1988), p. 101. And Castelo-Branco did try to use IA-2 to curb the right wing by placing the enhanced powers in legislation and thereby making it more difficult for dissidents to have their way by increasing army power unilaterally. 98.. The terms usually used in the literature discussing military regimes is ‘hardliners’ and ‘softliners’. Sometimes instead of the latter, ‘moderates’ is used. There is no real difference between the two, and they are considered interchangeable here. 99. Koonings (2001), p. 147. 100. Policzer (2009), pp. 49–56. 101. On this, see Herrera (1986), p. 130. On opposition to the vesting of executive power in the president, see Valenzuela (1995), p. 37. 102. Manuel Antonio Garreton, The Chilean Political Process (Boston, Unwin Hyman, 1989), p. 138. 103. Cited in Huneeus (2007), p. 396. 104. Bureaucratic officials insisted that Pinochet had no power to sign certain legal documents because he was not president of the Republic. Thanks for this information to Samuel Valenzuela, Notre Dame, November 2018. 105. Huneeus (2007), p. 107. 106. Robert Barros, ‘Personalization and Institutional Constraints: Pinochet, the Military Junta and the 1980 Constitution’, Latin American Politics and Society 43, 1, 2001, p. 5. 107. In November 1973 the junta formally assumed constitutional power with no limitations. Herrera (1986), p. 129. On 4 December 1974 a decree declared that the junta’s laws took precedence over the Constitution and automatically amended it. Valenzuela (1995), p. 29. This was in part an attempt to overcome the fact that the Constitution declared that the national president was the only one who could do certain things (like sign legislation), and in the absence of such a position, this was seen as a way of getting round that provision. 108. Barros (2001), pp. 20–21.

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109. Barros (2002), pp. 271–275 and 302–305; and Huneeus (2007), p. 400. 110. This discussion follows Munck (1998), pp. 57–59 and Arceneaux (1997), pp. 329–334. 111. Marina Ottaway, Democracy Challenged: The Rise of Semi-Authoritarianism (Washington DC, Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 2003), pp. 44–45. 112. Huneeus (2007), pp. 382–384. 113. Videla remained Commander-in-Chief of the army until 1978 when he was replaced by Viola, who was in turn replaced by Galtieri in December 1979. He was replaced in this post (at the same time he was removed from the presidency) by Nicolaides. Navy C-in-C Massera was replaced by Admiral Armando Lambruschini in September 1978 who was replaced in September 1981 by Admiral Jorge Isaac Anaya, who was replaced by Vice-Admiral Ruben Franco in September 1982, when the junta was reconstituted. Air Force C-in-C Agosti was replaced by Brigadier Omar Graffigna in January 1979, who in December 1981 was replaced by Brigadier Basilio Lami Dozo, who was in turn replaced by Brigadier Augusto J. Hughes in August 1982. By January 1979 the original composition of the junta had been completely renewed, with the army head replaced once, the navy and air force twice. The initial membership served close to three years; as the regime frayed, the junta became less stable. Only the first presidential transition had been carried out according to the foundational pact; all of the others were forced. 114. On the Statute, see Barros (2002), pp. 56–58. 115. Skidmore (1988), p. 249. 116. This mixed conclusion on fixed terms is consistent with that found by Meng (2020). 117. On military factionalism, see Farcau (1996), Chapter 3. For an interesting discussion of the meaning of what a military generation means, see Silvio Waisbord, ‘Politics and Identity in the Argentine Army: Cleavages and the Generational Factor’, Latin American Research Review 26, 2, 1991, pp. 157–170. For the argument that the history of the Argentine military had promoted strong factional development, see Biglaiser (2003), p. 602. 118. Arceneaux (1997, p. 338. The succession had accorded with the principles laid down on assuming power in 1976 whereby the junta would choose among candidates suggested by the service branches of the armed forces.

6 Rules and Dominant Party Regimes The central institution of the EA regime is the dominant, or regime, party. This performs a number of roles,1 including mobilizing support for the regime, rooting that regime within society and managing the politics of the oligarchy and elite. It is this final role that concerns us here. Having a political party as the principal institution of the system gives EA regimes a commonality with the communist single-party regime and therefore a basis upon which one might expect at least some of the same rules to apply. But the nature of the parties as institutional structures was quite different, and this has implications for the way rules function. This is more clearly reflected in the relational and constitutive rules that relate more directly to regime structure than in the operational rules. Important in the EA regimes is the democratic ethos publicly espoused by these regimes and the existence of a competitive electoral process, even if it is heavily weighted in favour of the ruling party. The primary focus will be on the EA regimes in Malaysia 1981–2003 and Mexico 1929–2000.

Operational rules All eight of the operational rules identified in communist single-party regimes apply in the EA regimes, although there are some differences in how they functioned. This is most clearly shown in the way factional activity is conducted, but it is also evident in the structures of national office. These differences are directly related to the different institutional structures of both regimes. The implications of the EA structure are explained in Chapter 8. In contrast to the military regime, when a dominant party comes to power in an EA regime it will normally already have an established centre of decision-making which will have its own rules of procedure and institutional network (Rule 1). The party bureau, committee or council does not therefore have to be set up from scratch, even if its regulations and procedures may need to be changed once in power. This means that procedural questions of how the oligarch council is to function are less likely to be part of the foundational pact because they will already exist in the pre-power patterns of functioning of the party. This generalization does not apply to those cases where the party did not exist prior to the establishment of the regime. Bridling Dictators. Graeme Gill, Oxford University Press. © Graeme Gill (2021). DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192849687.003.0006

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One such case is Mexico where the creation of the party (the PNR, or National Revolutionary Party, later the PRI, or Institutional Revolutionary Party) effectively marked the consolidation of the new regime almost two decades after the revolution. This came about through what has been called an ‘elite settlement’2 that brought the broader revolutionary movement together to fashion ‘political guidelines which in turn underpinned Mexican political stability for sixty years’.3 Although the idea of an elite settlement is broader than that of the foundational pact, in practice the latter may be at the heart of the former. This was the case in Mexico, where elements of the settlement identified by Alan Knight related directly to the structuring of oligarch interactions: rejection of caudillo politics; acceptance of the rule of law; civilian rather than military rule; and competition for power being peaceful rather than praetorian, occurring within the party, and involving the impersonal institutions of central government rather than the ‘personalist authority of provincial caudillos’.4 Restriction of the president to one term was also part of the pact. Thus, in those cases when a party is established at the same time as or after the regime, like the military on seizing power, it has to generate a basis of agreement governing oligarch relations upon which rule may rest, the foundational pact. In EA regimes, the leading party body is usually less important as a policymaking and deliberative organ than the equivalent state body, usually called the cabinet. Although these are regimes in which parties play a central role, the formal positions of regime leadership are usually embedded in the state rather than the party, in the presidency or prime ministership. Such positions will be filled by a party member who may also occupy a formal leadership position in the party—for example, the Malaysian prime minister was also president of the party. The party will also have a separate chief executive whose job it is to run the party, but unlike in the communist systems that person is not usually the head of the regime. Like the party, the state machine will have the same sort of decision-making institution with its own rules and procedures which the oligarchs normally will simply take over (perhaps with some changes in the procedures). The cabinet in Malaysia and in Mexico5 are examples of this sort of body. The relationship between these two institutions of party and state will need to be worked out, with the state body usually becoming the more important in a policy sense (see page 229–230). Political parties usually have provision for a pre-eminent leader (Rule 2); in UMNO (United Malays National Organization) this was the president of the party who also served as prime minister of the country, in the PRI the leader was the party chairman who was an important figure with whom the national president had to deal on significant matters, including especially the succession. Sometimes the party leadership position will be embedded in the official lore of the party, but sometimes, and particularly in those parties emphasizing their democratic pedigree, this will be more a case of informal norms and practices than of formal rules. The imperatives of a national competitive electoral contest and of governing

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create the perceived need for such a leadership position; leadership of an election campaign (especially a competitive one) is fundamental for a party wishing to gain or hold power, while providing a head of state or head of government is an essential task for any party that seeks to rule. In the EA regimes, the principal leader is usually the head of government or head of state, with that leader often seeking to expand the powers embedded in the office he holds—president or prime minister—to consolidate his primacy.6 The expansion of those formal powers through an activist strategy by the leader, added to the removal or neutering of potential rivals, enabled predominant leaders to emerge. For Mahathir in Malaysia, this involved defeating opposition within the ruling party (UMNO) and bringing both the traditional sultans and the judiciary to heel.7 In Mexico, the predominant leader is the president by virtue of his office, but on some occasions former leaders have sought to continue to exercise such leadership, for example Plutarco Elias Calles continued to exercise oversight as the ‘Maximum Chief ’ (Jefe Maximo) from when he ceased to be president in 1928 until 1935.8 In these sorts of regimes the personal leader is often less secure than in the communist regimes because EA parties tend to be looser in structure and less disciplined. The leader may be more subject to internal challenge and less insulated from the elite than in these other systems, reflecting the higher profile of democratic considerations in EA regimes. Policy is likely to be a more significant and continuing source of oligarch disagreement in a party than in a military regime (see Rule18) because of the central role of policy to the party’s rationale. If the essence of a party is uniting around policy positions, policy can be a significant source of disagreement among the oligarchs, both in the normal course of political life and at times of leadership succession (Rule 28). Recognition of such conflict as inevitable is necessarily underpinned by the enabling face of Rule 3, providing for the collective discussion of issues as an acceptable part of oligarch life. This does not mean that all party members are equal in that discussion, nor that they can all participate all of the time, but the principle itself is embedded in the logic of the party as an institution. In parties facing competitive elections, such discussion makes increased sense because of the need for the party to mobilize its members during the election campaign, and this is easier if they feel they have a stake in what the party stands for. In EA party regimes, cabinet government provided an arena in which struggles over policy, power and resources could ensue. This was particularly the case when crises emerged, such as the appropriate response to economic difficulty or increased popular resistance to government policy.9 In the governing cabinets, ministers were expected to take different positions and to argue for them regardless of the view of the prime minister/president. This is clearly reflected in the political history of policy-making in Mexico and Malaysia;10 this is also related to Rule 4 on oligarch autonomy, which is discussed later in connection with Rule 16. Although reports on how widely discussion was pursued in the cabinet under Mahathir vary,

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many issues do seem to have come before that body and discussion was usually more than simply pro forma. However, Mahathir does at times seem to have sidelined the cabinet by consulting a small number of ministers more frequently, and presumably to greater effect, than the cabinet as a whole (Rule 14 on leading institutions getting sidelined), and some of these (for example, Tun Zainuddin Daim in early 1997) were able to exercise a restraining hand on Mahathir on some issues.11 Policy conflict among oligarchs could also act as a trigger for conflict motivated by more narrowly personal power politics considerations. For example, in Malaysia the 1997–98 Mahathir–Anwar conflict broke out into the open over policy towards the Asian financial crisis, but its genesis lay more in the relationship between the two men (see further on page 222–223 and 226). Although Mahathir had designated Anwar as his successor, he had not only not specified a time when this would take place, but he also showed no signs of approaching retirement. Anwar was ambitious for the job, and Mahathir came to resent what he saw as his putative challenger’s mobilization of support against him both inside and outside the ruling party. Thus, while the conflict was discussed primarily in policy terms (and this came to embrace issues wider than just economic policy), frustrated ambition and the desire to hold onto power were at its root.12 The recognition of the right of collective discussion (Rule 3) and oligarch autonomy (Rule 4) linked with the centrality of policy to the party’s purpose, enables acceptability of limited disagreement among the oligarchs (Rule 5) and of factional operation (Rule 6). Unlike the military where there is a major emphasis upon discipline and obedience to orders from above, political parties, especially those claiming democratic legitimation, intrinsically involve discussion and debate. This assumes the likelihood of differences of opinion among the oligarchs and the elite more broadly, and the acceptability of this situation as part of the normal way of proceeding. This acceptance also underpins the operation of the enabling side of Rule 6 relating to the acceptability of factionalism. Acknowledgement of the right of discussion and of disagreement about policy issues assumes acceptance that people will cooperate to pursue policies they support, which creates the basis for factional development. In EA dominant party regimes, factions play a part in resolving both policy questions and issues over political position. Parties generally have been characterized by factions because they unite people who share a common outlook but may differ over specifics. Organization within the party to press their views is therefore usually an acceptable strategy, with the party actually providing mechanisms whereby the resolution of such questions can be achieved. This may involve intra-party discussion, but it can also entail intra-party elections which show where the balance of opinion lies. However that mechanism for discussion is meant to function, factional activity will be acceptable only when it is conducted in accord with party procedures. This may include the principle that such activity should be confined to the oligarchy or to the elite

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more broadly, but will certainly include the principle that it should be confined to the party and not be spread into society more generally. Although in Mexico factionalism seemed to be built into the party owing to the PRI’s structure of three formal sectors (workers, peasants and ‘popular’ involving professionals; a fourth sector involving the military was dissolved in 1940), these were less important for oligarch factionalism than personality. The principal basis of oligarch factionalism has been said to be loyalty to a leader rather than ideology or policy.13 The Mexican history of factional conflict, which was much more common up until the late 1940s than after, demonstrates an important way in which the difference between EA regimes and other regime types can be reflected in factional conflict. The principal relevant difference is the way in which the presence of a competitive electoral system and opposition parties, and the consequent official acceptability of oppositional politics, provided scope for action on the part of party dissidents; instead of accepting defeat in the expectation of future success or reward as claimed by some scholars (see Chapter 8), they could consider leaving the party and competing with it on the national electoral battlefield. Prior to changes made in the late 1940s (including making the registration of new parties more difficult), it appeared to many that the ruling party was vulnerable at the polls. This, it has been said, encouraged party dissidents to quit the party and try their luck in a national election. When the perceived deficiencies in the management of the electoral system were fixed in the late 1940s, the frequency of factional conflict spilling outside the party crashed; after 1952, no leading PRI politician left the party to challenge it at the election until 1987. The 1987 split shows how policy could be important in factional conflict. President Miguel de la Madrid had pursued pro-market economic policies and proposed anointing another pro-market advocate as his presidential successor. Protectionist elements in the party led by the son of earlier president Lazaro Cardenas worried that such an appointment and another six years of such a policy would restrict their ability to reverse this policy in the future. Accordingly, they mobilized within the party to force the choice of another, less pro-market, candidate. They were unable to force Madrid’s hand and concluded that they had no option but to run a candidate against the official PRI candidate in the national election. Cuauhtenhoc Cardenas ran against the official candidate and lost narrowly, with many believing this was due to electoral fraud. Their action not only breached the understanding about keeping factional conflict contained within the party, but by suggesting that the PRI was electorally vulnerable, it was instrumental in the ultimate defeat of the party a decade later. Malaysia’s history of factional conflict shows the same sort of dynamic between a defeated internal faction and the mounting of external challenge. It also shows how factions may be important around the succession (Rule 27). A major bout of factional conflict broke out in 1987, a conflict which clearly shows the link between

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factional division within the oligarchy and the elite more broadly. Mahathir found himself being challenged by his own deputy prime minister, Tan Sri Musa, and minister of trade and industry, Tengku Hamzah Razaleigh.14 The basis for the conflict was essentially personal relations, but much of the criticism of Mahathir was cast in policy terms. The conflict was played out within UMNO, where each faction mobilized its members and supporters to vote in the regular party elections for party leadership positions. Mahathir and his supporters (known as Team A, compared with his opponents’ Team B) were victorious in the elections, and Mahathir then sacked seven ministers/deputy ministers, while two others (including Razaleigh) resigned; they were replaced by Mahathir loyalists.15 Mahathir’s narrow victory was said to be in part due to his ‘skilfully distributing cabinet and party positions to undecided electors’16 in the party. Ultimately, Mahathir was able to coax Musa and his immediate supporters who had left UMNO in 1988 back into the party, but Razalaigh chose to continue his opposition through the courts (he unsuccessfully sought control of the UMNO name and resources) and in the 1990 national election where his newly formed party Semangat ’46 was soundly defeated.17 This example underlines the danger for dissidents in defecting from the party and taking up an open oppositionist position because there is usually little chance of defeating the dominant party at the ballot box. Most of Semangat’s members now rejoined UMNO. Tensions were again evident in the 1990 intra-party elections when the succession was thought to be looming, at least by some (but crucially not Mahathir). Although the positions of party president and deputy president were to be uncontested, the three vice presidential posts were highly contested because, owing to the age of Mahathir and the deputy president Tun Abdul Ghafer Baba (both were 65), the coming succession was, following party procedure, likely to see the successor to the party deputy president (who was seen as the putative successor to the prime minister) come from among the party vice presidents. In the words of one scholar, this was ‘a preview of the growing factional competition among the possible successors to the Mahathir presidency …’18 Mahathir’s favoured candidate, Anwar Ibrahim, was elected, but his power was checked by the other two successful candidates (Abdullah Ahmad Badawi and Sanusi Junid). Both were considered long-time rivals of Anwar, and Badawi was elected despite Mahathir’s opposition; his factional support (he had been a member of Team B in 1987) was sufficient to overcome Mahathir’s opposition. As the 1993 party elections approached, factional conflict re-emerged with Badawi and Sanusi supporting the existing deputy Ghafar who was being challenged by Anwar. Mahathir strongly supported Anwar, causing Ghafar to withdraw. It had been the overwhelming strength of support mobilized in his own favour by Anwar, plus the crucial support of Mahathir, that brought about this result.19 Factional conflict broke out again in 1997–98, with the split of the pro-Mahathir faction. Tension between Mahathir and Anwar had been growing as Mahathir

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increasingly came to believe that Anwar was intending to challenge him for his position. The supporters of the two men mobilized, principally through seeking to take over leading positions in the party, and when the Asian economic crisis hit in 1997, the two principals supported alternative policy responses. The conflict moved to a new level following the May 1998 fall of Suharto in Indonesia over corruption allegations, with claims that the same charges applied to Mahathir. Mahathir moved initially against some of Anwar’s supporters and then Anwar himself, sacking him from his offices and having him arrested and tried on immorality charges. Mahathir was successful because Anwar’s supporters had been unable to mobilize sufficient support within the party, reflecting both the restrictions Mahathir had placed on competitive politics within UMNO and Mahathir’s greater tactical skill in shaping the conduct and outcome of party meetings. Also many of Anwar’s supporters had sought to mobilize on the streets, thereby taking the conflict outside the party and making themselves vulnerable to police repression and through the ballot box in the 1999 election, where they were decisively defeated. Anwar’s supporters now deserted him, wanting to avoid being seen to oppose the boss (Mahathir), and factional politics thereby collapsed. The party, its rules and procedures, were therefore fundamental to resolution of this factional conflict which was played out mainly through those procedures. These cases illustrate the way that rules enable factions to exist and embody mechanisms for the resolution of factional conflict, and show that if factions breach the rules of factional conflict within the ruling party, their actions may be highly detrimental to the stability and even survival of the regime.20 In these cases they breached the most basic rule: factional conflict should be conducted wholly within the oligarchy and certainly not taken outside the party. In both countries (after the late 1940s in Mexico) this sort of activity taking factional conflict outside was not the norm, but it was able to occur because of a combination of the rules enabling collective discussion and faction operation, and the essential structure of the EA regime (see Chapter 8). Oligarchs in EA systems have usually enjoyed personal security and that of their property in the event of defeat in instances of political conflict (Rule 7). This has also applied to those who lose out in the succession process (Rule 29); defeat rarely means death, although as the case of Anwar shows in Malaysia, serious consequences could follow defeat in a succession battle.21 In cases of the removal of a former leader who had then occupied a position as ‘supreme leader’ exercising general oversight of his successors, leniency is also often applied, for example when President Cardenas moved against former president Calles in 1935, the latter went into exile in the US. The policy-basis of parties also means that they were more likely to be characterized by unity and consensus (Rule 8) based on personal ideological commitment and common agreement than the sorts of unitary, disciplinary and institutional principles characteristic of the military. And with the sense of esprit de corps usually weaker in parties than in the military, where it

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applies to the individual service branches, such unity and consensus is less likely to be weakened by narrowly institutional considerations like loyalty to an individual service branch. In EA regimes there is usually also a general oligarch consensus over the broad policy direction, the structure of the system and the rules of the political game as discussed in this book, and this underpinned both oligarch and regime stability.

Relational rules Of the 11 relational rules identified in communist single-party regimes, three are problematic in EA dominant party regimes: Rule 10 on oligarch insulation from the elite, Rule 15 on the sidelining of oligarch institutions, and Rule 19 on the instrumentality of formal legal principles. The oligarch–elite relationship is often more complex in the competitive EA regimes because of the notion of accountability central to the democratic legitimation claimed by such regimes and the parties that are at the centre of them: the oligarchs are meant to be accountable to the populace via the elite. This has often been manifested in the role of the party, where the oligarchs are in a formal sense chosen by the elite; leading party organs are generally elected by larger party bodies lower in the structure. In addition, government ministers are often chosen from among party members, although technical capacity is also frequently a criterion for office, with the result that formally non-party technocrats frequently take up cabinet positions, as was common in Mexico. The role of the legislature may also be important because of the centrality of the electoral principle to this type of system. The legislature is not only an arena within which members of the elite could compete (for example, for shares of resources, policy positions, personal status),22 but it could also be a potential lever of influence against the oligarchy, which increases the complexity of the management task facing the oligarchs. Management of the oligarch–elite relationship in EA regimes relies, in part, on keeping the elite involved and busy (Rule 9), but this poses a greater problem in an EA party than in military regimes because of the contrasting nature of those types of bodies. In military regimes decision-making could be concentrated in the oligarchy, and generally the military structure and traditions of obedience to orders and rank could be relied upon to keep those outside the oligarchy occupied and quiescent. However, in party regimes, such traditions did not apply. Furthermore, most such parties assumed, at least formally, that the oligarchs were responsible to the broader party membership, and this meant that those members could feel that they had a right to be involved in central decision-making. Concentration of decision-making in the oligarchy, therefore, ran a greater risk of causing demoralization among the elite unless they were given a real stake in the system than existed in military regimes. Parties have sought to provide such a stake in three

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ways. First, by giving the elite the (pro forma) power to validate oligarch decisions. By presenting the oligarchs as responsible to the elite, the appearance of both the worth and the power of the latter was enhanced. Second, by constructing that elite in terms of the filling of job vacancies in the party or state apparatus, party leaders gave individual members of the elite jobs that would keep them busy. Third, by emphasizing the way in which the elite constituted the reservoir for recruitment into the oligarchy, involvement in the regular work of the elite was given a personal career value it might otherwise not have had. The second and third of these were both likely to encourage elite loyalty and docility before the oligarchs. Most such elites were composed of people who filled mid-high level politico-administrative posts, performance in which could feed into judgements about their suitability for recruitment into the oligarchy. EA regimes that distributed politico-administrative jobs among the elite satisfied two demands at once: they ensured that crucial posts in the regime were filled by adherents, and they provided members of the elite with jobs that not only kept them busy but seemed to be of high value. So, the enabling side of Rule 9 on giving the elite a meaningful role was particularly important for EA party regimes because the need to co-opt the broader elite into the structure of oligarch-dominated decision-making was less shaped by the nature of the party’s structure and ethos than was the case in the military regime. One effective strategy in this task of elite management has been the buying off of the elite. In those regimes like that of Mahathir in Malaysia (and also Suharto23 in Indonesia) where the oligarchy relied on a close alliance with wealthy elements in society, the strategy of keeping the latter uninvolved in oligarch affairs while remaining politically supportive of continued rule by the oligarchs usually involved a combination of carrots and sticks. The stick involved the threat to use the coercive arms of the state to act against the wealthy in terms of appropriating their wealth, restricting their access to the means of increasing that wealth or threatening their person with arrest or death.24 The carrot involved measures to protect or enhance these people’s wealth. The distribution of positions in state enterprises, of government contracts or access rights to resources, monopolies in specific economic sectors, the direction of cash flows through particular institutions, and specific government policies25 were the sorts of measures the regime employed to keep its wealthy allies quiescent. This politics of patronage and implicit threat was successful in Indonesia until the wealthy who had been the beneficiaries of this structure began to feel threatened by the increased role being played by Suharto’s family in the division of the country’s wealth. Their subsequent split from Suharto was one factor contributing ultimately to his fall and regime change. More problematic for EA dominant party regimes is the principle that the elite cannot independently intervene in oligarch affairs, but in practice individual oligarchs are able to mobilize elite support on a limited basis (Rule 10). This is problematic, principally because of the way in which, as noted, such parties

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generally have an explicit assumption that the leadership is accountable to the rank-and-file. While this principle does not automatically translate into an elite’s right to intervene in the affairs of the oligarchy, it does provide a basis upon which such a right could be asserted. Furthermore, if the accountability principle had been taken seriously when the formal rules of the party were devised, there might even have been an institutional means established for such intervention to be enacted. Where such a mechanism exists, it usually takes the form of mandatory oversight of oligarch decisions by elite organs and the election of party office bearers. If the oligarchy is to maintain its autonomy and remain insulated from the elite, such mechanisms must have their practical effect blunted, as occurred in the two communist states where such oversight and elections soon took on a purely ritualistic form. In EA regimes this may be more problematic because of the imperatives imposed on the party by the electoral contest, although in practice there can be significant variation among individual regimes. The second part of this rule, individual oligarch mobilization of the elite in a limited way, could be justified on the basis of the accountability principle. The elite had a constant legitimate interest in the affairs of the oligarchs. The electoral imperative encouraged active interest in policy discussion, with the result that party members, including in the legislature, were always potential political actors to be mobilized into oligarch affairs. Times of leadership competition—such as the challenges to Mahathir by Razaleigh in the 1980s and Anwar in the 1990s in Malaysia—are particularly prone to see such mobilization. In both cases, Mahathir and his challengers attempted to stack leading party organs with their supporters in order to win in the intra-party elections to the party’s leading posts.26 Party membership can be significant in the shaping of oligarch politics in another way. It acts as the essential entry point to and a major arena of political activity. A clear example of this is in Mexico where party membership was a necessary qualification for the presidency. Its role as one of the principal institutional arenas of political conflict could also be decisive, with those outside the party sidelined and more vulnerable to attack. A good example of this occurred in Malaysia in mid-1998.27 As shown previously, in the wake of the Asian financial crisis, Prime Minister Mahathir appeared vulnerable owing to his perceived mismanagement of the economy, his authoritarian style, and the recent fall of Indonesia’s President Suharto. Mahathir’s deputy, Anwar Ibrahim, was very critical of Mahathir and split from him. Important in the playing out of this conflict was Anwar’s expulsion from UMNO in September 1998, a result of Mahathir’s ability to use party procedures to build up sufficient strategic support to achieve this outcome. This triggered a surge of support away from Anwar within the party where he had for some years been building up his support, and towards Mahathir, leading to Anwar being vulnerable to attack using the state organs, and his subsequent arrest on charges of homosexuality. Stripped of his party membership, Anwar was rendered vulnerable; no longer an intimate of the leader, members of the elite

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could criticize him in public, and he could be arrested. Thus elite involvement was in principle acceptable in these regimes (even if it might not have been appreciated in individual instances) in contrast to the communist single-party regime, reflecting the strength of the ideas of accountability and democracy in the regime’s ideology. In EA party regimes, occupation of the top office did involve significant enhancement of the individual’s power, as suggested by Rules 11 and 16. The president or prime minister usually exercised decisive influence in forming the oligarchy and he had primary responsibility for the direction of government policy. Significant powers of patronage were usually vested in the position of national leadership in an EA regime, not only through the party but also through the government bureaucracy and, more informally, through control over access to economic resources. Occupation of the position of party leader normally carries with it the support of a significant part of the party membership, high levels of prestige, and access to instruments that can be used to consolidate the leader’s position. With the party the principal ladder to political power, control over it is a very significant resource for the construction of support networks. This may also be more subject to control by a leader than in the military because of the less highly structured nature of advancement in the party than in the military, providing greater scope for the promotion of supporters and the demotion of opponents. In Malaysia, holding the presidency of the party went along with being prime minister, while the party deputy president position was seen as the office to be held by the intended successor to the party presidency/prime ministership. High party office was not simply an honorific but gave the incumbent a real opportunity to build up his support within the party and thereby enable him to further consolidate his position (Rule 11). It could be used as a means for personnel placement, not just inside the party itself (thereby consolidating it as a power base for the leader), but in ensuring that supportive officials filled strategic positions throughout the state administrative structure. This could have the added advantage of placing adherents of the leader in position to further his policies and thereby burnish his leadership credentials. Mahathir’s use of the party to defeat rivals has already been noted, including how in the late 1980s he was able to blunt opposition to him by engineering victory in intra-party elections, supplemented by organizational manoeuvres to remove some opponents.28 The PRI in Mexico was renowned as a political machine through which the leader sought to get things done, including imposing discipline on political actors.29 The Mexican president chose the party’s candidates for governor and senator, vetted candidates for the lower house, and played a major part in choosing his successor as president (see page 235–236, Rule 24). Constitutional provisions in Mexico banning the consecutive re-election of all elective officers meant that local/regional bosses were always in search of positions in the federal government to perpetuate their power and privileges, thereby

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enhancing the established opportunities for use of the president’s power of patronage. The president could distribute such offices, a situation that could promote a servile membership of the dominant party.30 An example of a leader using an official position other than the prime ministership to consolidate his personalization of power occurred in Malaysia. From the time of the split in UMNO in 1987 when Tengku Razaleigh challenged Mahathir until the 1998 sacking of another challenger, Anwar Ibrahim, as well as the prime ministership Mahathir held the home ministry portfolio, which gave him control over the police and thereby a major weapon for preventing these challenges from cascading out of control.31 The strong propensity to try to act in accord with legal and constitutional provisions (see page 232–233; Rule 19) could provide an important buttress to the role of these offices. The potential role of personal authority in enhancing a leader’s power (Rule 12) is greater under a party than under a military regime. Whereas in a military regime the strict hierarchy and formal rules provide a buffer against the expansion of personalized authority, the greater weakness of those things in political parties increases the scope for the construction and wielding of such authority. Furthermore, the way in which parties tend to be ideationally based creates scope for individuals to project themselves as ideological authorities and thereby to enhance their claims to personal legitimacy. Similarly with policy success: if a leader can associate himself with successful policy, his personal authority is likely to be enhanced. And given that, in parties, advancement is determined by the support one receives (from rank-and-file in intra-party votes, from superiors in terms of promotion, or from colleagues in terms of both), the construction and projection of a sense of personal authority is consistent with the ethos of the party as an organizational form. This alignment between the party form and personal projection can facilitate personal dictatorship. Mahathir was for many years able to project an image of himself as personifying the best interests of Malaysia (or perhaps, of Malays) and thereby cloak himself with a potent ideological message that tapped into Malay nationalism. In EA regimes such personal authority usually depends upon the intertwined history of policy development and leadership because these regimes generally lack the revolutionary founding myth that did so much to impart personal authority in the communist single-party regimes. The sort of personal authority that people like Mahathir in Malaysia enjoyed stemmed mainly from their time in office rather than having the sort of transcendent roots that stem from revolutionary experience. A similar situation applied in Mexico where personal involvement in the revolution, initially very important in terms of personal prestige, became less important as a source of personal authority the further into the past the revolution receded and contemporary personal performance came to count for more.32 The drive to power maximization (Rule 13) identified in the established literature on authoritarian leadership would appear to be less constrained in a party

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regime than in a military regime because of the absence of the sorts of internal institutional divisions characteristic of the military (see Chapters 5 and 8). In the military regime there is usually an approximate balance between the different service branches; the air force and navy will seek institutionally to prevent the army from becoming too powerful, and this imposes a barrier on the capacity of the army leader to maximize his power should he choose to do so. Without similar buffering institutions, a party regime is potentially more vulnerable to power expansion by the leader. However, such power maximization is more likely in a single-party system than where there are competitive elections because those elections can have a decentring effect on the party in the sense that electoral competitiveness may require a degree of autonomy of locally powerful party organs across geographical areas. An effective campaign requires both central direction and a degree of local autonomy to meet local conditions. Accordingly, power is usually less centralized in parties facing competitive elections than in singleparty systems, and therefore individual power maximization is more difficult. In EA regimes, the drive for personal power expansion does not, therefore, seem to have involved an attempt at maximization through the destruction of all potential opposition power centres, and therefore reflects the operation of Rule 13. The history of successive Mexican presidents adhering to constitutional term limits is a good illustration of this, and although Mahathir in Malaysia struggled vigorously to strengthen his position against faction-based challengers, he never sought to eliminate the limited pluralism that was inherent in the system.33 An important aspect of the oligarchs’ desire to insulate themselves from the elite concerns control over policy. In dominant party regimes, the administrative structure of the state generally remains central to the running of the country (Rule 15) because the party does not seek to take on the sorts of administrative responsibilities that that would involve. In part this is because the party does not see itself in an administrative guise, but it is also because such parties rarely have the revolutionary transformation of society as their aim. If EA parties do not seek the revolutionary transformation of society, as the communist single-party regimes did, they will see the state structure not as an instrument of transformation (and therefore probably in need of transformation itself) but as purely an administrative tool. Nevertheless, the party needs to control the state administrative machine and it does this by placing its adherents in key strategic positions in the state. This includes at the very top, where leading party members often take over the headship of government departments (Mexico was a partial exception to this). The danger for the party in this is that the oligarchs who take up these roles may come to identify more with their bureaucratic constituencies than with the party. In policy terms this may not matter very much if party policy and the policy positions emanating from the state accord, but it could have significant consequences in power terms for the party as an institution. But as long as it is the party-originated oligarchs who remain in control, the oligarchy’s power may be unimpaired.

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Despite the concentration of administrative power in the state machine, the party may seek to play a role in policy development. To the extent that the party is not just a machine for patronage but an institution organized around a policy platform, members of the party are likely to take a continuing interest in the government’s policy development and implementation. This is likely to be discussed in regular party fora, such as conferences and meetings, and to be relevant when conflict occurs within the party between its leading members, as between Mahathir and Anwar. Party bosses who are not members of the government are likely to want to have their voices heard in ruling circles, meaning that the party is likely to push against the thrust of Rule 15 whereby leading oligarch organs atrophy while the state machine remains important; in Mexico where the party controlled neither the executive nor the bureaucracy, over time it became less important as a policy-making body.34 This was partly a result of this structural factor, but presidential preference was also involved: because of the one-term limit on the presidency, there was little incentive for a president to seek to strengthen the party; if he was not seeking re-election, he had little personal need for a strong party structure. The party, and the oligarchy, may also find itself sidelined and lose influence if the leader is able to expand his personal power (Rule 14). Relevant here is the tendency, at least in Latin America, for presidents to have weaker ties with the ruling party than prime ministers, and the consequent greater likelihood of the president pursuing policies at odds with party preferences than the prime minister.35 Being institutionally rooted in the state machine through his occupation of the chief office of state exacerbates this possibility. This could lead to the relative neglect of the party. Under these circumstances, the party is more vulnerable to sidelining than its military counterpart. Of course, it could also lead to the leader becoming vulnerable to a rival’s takeover of the party. Factional development may rest on acceptance of autonomous spheres of activity for individual oligarchs based on different institutions (Rules 4 and 16). This usually involved bureaucratic power bases as individual oligarchs took up leading positions within the state structure which in turn fed into the primary formal decision-making arenas of the regime. Occupation of such posts provided their incumbents with administrative resources (through access to the expertise and bureaucratic heft of their particular government department), the policy credibility that could assist in the mobilization and arming of a faction, and a set of issues (departmental priorities and needs) around which to organize. The perceived need for the party to place its members into the leading politico-administrative positions in the system made for easy acceptance of this rule. If the party was to be a true ruling party, it needed to ensure that the main politico/administrative positions were dominated by its adherents, and this implied a potential degree of autonomy from the leader because of the responsibilities such appointments involved. With many of the oligarchs government ministers, the sort of autonomy that stemmed

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from heading such departments plus any electoral mandate that they might have had contributed to their enjoyment of often considerable autonomy. A reflection of the importance government ministries could have in Malaysia was the transfer of significant decision-making power into the Malaysian prime minister’s department as Mahathir consolidated his personal leadership. This was important in the sidelining of the economic ministries controlled in the 1993–98 period by his emergent rival Anwar.36 The oligarchs’ use of their appointments to institutional positions within the politico-administrative structure as personal power bases (Rule 16) may be shaped differently in a party regime than a military regime. Unlike the military where the individuals who become oligarchs (or members of the elite) had clearly defined jobs within the military structure, many party members lack analogous positions in the party and are therefore more readily available to be mobilized into newly available politico-administrative posts without existing institutional ties or loyalties. Once in those positions, for example as government ministers, if they do not hold major office in the party as well, they are both likely to be less torn by conflicting institutional loyalties and more dependent upon their appointed position as a power base than they would have been had they also held a party post. They would, therefore, be more likely to see and use this position in this way. This was particularly the case if, as in Mexico, cabinet members were usually technocrats.37 Just as institutional position in the state machine may act as a power base for individual oligarchs, so can positions in the party. Rank-and-file oligarchs may be able to use the party to advance their own aims, working their way within and through the structure to both enter the oligarchy and wield influence once there, and perhaps even to build up the basis for a challenge to the leader. This was certainly Mahathir’s suspicion about what Anwar was doing through the positions he held and his activity in the party; as well as a series of ministerial posts (including deputy prime minister and finance minister), Anwar was successively the president of UMNO Youth, a vice-president of the party and from 1993 deputy president of the party. These latter positions in particular gave him the potential capacity to consolidate his support within party ranks, which he did sufficiently to be perceived (correctly) by Mahathir as posing a threat to him. Similarly in Mexico,38 differences between the party chief executive and the state president could develop over their respective powers and prerogatives, policies and personnel issues (including the identity of the next president). But such conflicts tended not to call into question the existing president’s own position, reflecting the general commitment to the one-term constitutional limit (Rule 23; see page 232 and 235).39 The party’s leverage stemmed, in part, from the role it played in selection of the president who, usually, lacked a solid alternative power base.40 Thus, the party could constitute a power base from which a challenge to a predominant leader could potentially be mounted.

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Where power struggles do take place within the oligarchy, rarely do the security services play an independent role (Rule 17).41 The role the security services play in political life is usually restricted in party regimes, although the potential may be greater for an enhanced security role under party than military rule. This is because a party tends not to have the same degree of antipathy toward the security apparatus as the military because it does not conceive the security structures as an existential challenger in the way that the military does. Furthermore the party usually does not possess the sort of armed capacity that would enable it to stand up to the security apparatus that is implicit in the military. However, generally a party will not welcome the involvement of the security apparatus in political life because party members are just as likely as members of the military to fear potential police action. Accordingly, party regimes have sought to extend control over the security apparatus by placing party members in strategic positions at the top of the security structure and by ensuring that the bureaucratic controls embedded in the constitutional structure remain unimpaired. As shown in the discussion of Rule 3, conflict at the top of the political system is a common feature of EA regimes. Such conflict may not be characteristic of all stages of a regime’s life, but it certainly occurs at individual points of its tenure. An important reason for this is policy reflecting Rule 18 whereby policy is acceptable grounds for oligarch disagreement. The political party’s essential rationale is different from that of the military. The political party is about gaining power and running the state, and this of necessity means engaging with policy; even when a party may be used primarily as a means of personal enrichment for its members, care has to be taken to ensure it retains control of the state, and this inevitably means engagement with policy if for no other reason than to ensure that the flow of resources into the leaders’ pockets continues. While military regimes are concerned about policy, this is less central to the essence of the military institution than it is to that of the party regime. This means that the organizational ethos of the party regime is intrinsically different from that of the military regime, reflecting the essential nature of the titular institutions of the respective regime types. In EA party regimes, in contrast to the provisions of Rule 19 on the instrumental use of law, there appears to have been qualified acceptance of the normative authority of laws. Certainly, the law was manipulated or massaged in order to gain and retain partisan advantage. This is a defining characteristic of such regimes: law was used instrumentally in EA regimes to ensure that the electoral process was structured to favour the ruling party.42 The electoral arena was tilted to make it very difficult, if not impossible, for the ruling party to be defeated. This did not necessarily involve electoral fraud, although it could. More important were the use of things like rules about the registration of parties, the funding of parties and the election, access to media, the drawing of electoral district boundaries and the actual conduct of the ballot.43 Through the careful design of these sorts of rules, dominant parties could significantly enhance their prospects

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for electoral success. But beside this clear evidence of an instrumental approach to law, there is also a case to be made that these regimes generally obeyed the Constitution. Strong evidence for this comes from Mexico, where the one-term limit for presidents was scrupulously observed with few attempts to get around it (in contrast to Rule 23 on fixed terms). Also relevant is the fact that in many cases, including the two main ones analysed here, both regimes ended when the ruling party accepted the verdict of the ballot box and left power following electoral defeat as provided for in the formal rules. Of course, there may have been times when they avoided defeat by fraudulent means, but ultimately they did leave power.

Constitutive rules Four of the 10 constitutive rules found in communist single-party regimes are problematic in EA dominant party regimes: Rule 20 on co-optation into the oligarchy, Rule 23 on fixed terms of office and Rules 24 and 26 on the role of institutional position and the elite in the process of leader succession. The democratic ethos claimed by these regimes is an important factor complicating oligarch management of the promotion and succession processes. The strength of the idea that the oligarchy is accountable to the elite complicates the oligarchy’s quest to insulate its affairs from the elite, and makes the practice of co-optation as the means of forming that oligarchy (Rule 20) more problematic. The presence of accountability mechanisms in political parties means that if co-optation is to apply, this may have to be conducted through procedures that run counter to the formal rules of the organization. Where the party’s rules mandate the election of oligarch (and elite) councils, oligarchs may seek to structure those elections in such a way as to achieve the oligarchs’ aim of getting those they choose elected. It was not difficult to do this in the Soviet and Chinese communist parties where centralized control was very highly developed, but this could be more problematic in those parties where central control was looser. However, even in these parties, such as UMNO in Malaysia under Mahathir, this could be achieved with the leader being important both in terms of personally attracting party members to his side (perhaps through ideological or policy leadership or the promise of material rewards) and of placing supporters in strategic positions in the party structure, for example Mahathir was able personally to appoint 11 of the 37 members of the party’s Supreme Executive Council which ‘often superseded’ the party’s formally sovereign body, the General Assembly.44 This latter strategy was particularly important where a party had a process of electoral choice that cascaded up the structure whereby lower-level bodies elected higher-level bodies. In such circumstances, the leader’s appointment of supporters to strategic points in the structure (such as governorships in Mexico, regional and central party posts in Malaysia) could provide some prospect

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of control over the process. Given the importance of party elections in Malaysia, this was certainly a strategy Mahathir employed with some success. The successful use of this strategy could effectively turn the party election into an instrument for co-optation. However, in many cases this could be less a crude power play by the leader/oligarchy, and more a process that involved some negotiation with members of the elite. For example, in Mexico it was the incumbent president along with the leadership of the ruling PRI. The important role that the elite plays in sustaining the oligarchy and enabling its electoral victory can mean that when such decisions are made within the oligarchy, the balance of forces and of opinion within the elite may enter into their calculations; consultation may occur, as it usually did in Mexico. Nevertheless, it is usually the incumbent oligarchs who have most say in discussion about membership of the oligarchy (on appointment of the leader, see page 236–237). This is usually a classic case of the informal norms being more important than the formal rules. Thus despite the principle of democratic accountability complicating the oligarchs’ capacity to determine who became one of them, they were usually able to exercise significant influence on this. Reflecting the acceptance of factions (Rule 6) and the role of co-optation, personal support/factional affiliation is often an important factor in shaping oligarch membership in EA party regimes (Rule 21). In those institutions like parties in which there is a unified process of advancement and where power and policy are usually related, a person’s future may be shaped by the personal links s/he has with both individual leaders and collectivities of colleagues. Political parties are such organizations, militaries (where each service branch has its own ladder of promotion) are less so. Therefore, in parties these sorts of connections can play a crucial role in shaping the leading circles. Existing oligarchs look to promote those who think like or support them, while potential recruits may seek to colour their political positions to align with the power wielders as they perceive them. This whole process is intrinsic to parties. In EA party regimes, as in communist single-party regimes, such considerations remained important as leaders and their associates sought to promote supporters into the oligarchy, as reflected in the changing composition of the Malaysian cabinet over time, and highlighted by the changes in leadership as noted subsequent to the Razaleigh challenge. While membership of the oligarchy is strongly shaped by position held in the military, this is less relevant in party regimes (Rule 22 on institutional position not being a major factor in oligarch membership), except that membership of the party is usually a sine qua non for membership of the oligarchy. A qualification is needed here, reflected in the Malaysian experience. The party president was the prime minister and his deputy president was acknowledged as the prime minister in waiting, but their appointments to the party positions were made in full knowledge of the link between the party and state leadership posts. Individuals were not elected to the party leadership positions and then considered

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to be eligible for the other, state, posts. The two were seen as going together. Mahathir became prime minister not because he was party leader: he became both because of the support he had within the party (chiefly in the form of his predecessor, Hussein Onn) to become prime minister. Thus, while the oligarchs held the leading formal posts in the political system, they for the most part got those posts because they were personally important, not vice versa. Prior occupation of a particular post usually did not of itself entitle membership of the oligarchy. While the oligarchy wants to ensure that the key positions in the regime are filled by reliable people, and party membership may be seen as an indication of this, occupation of particular party positions does not always appear to have been relevant for membership of the oligarchy. In the EA regimes party membership was generally essential for membership of the oligarchy, but this was not always the case with the elite. For membership of the elite, for example as a rank-and-file cabinet minister, what was often considered important was a technocratic background, especially if the regime sought to depoliticize public life. Similarly, there is no clear relationship between a party structure and the presence or absence of fixed terms (Rule 23). While all parties will have a mechanism for choosing the leader, not all impose restrictions on how many terms a person may serve. And in any case, given that the rules in parties often lack the weight of formal state laws, ignoring such restrictions is rarely a difficult course of action. In Mexico, however, the strict one-term limit for the president was observed following the constitutional amendment of 1926, with the ex-president usually retiring into obscurity once his term ended. The difference between Malaysia and Mexico with regard to fixed terms is chiefly a function of the difference between parliamentary and presidential systems: fixed terms for prime ministers (as opposed to fixed electoral terms for governments) does not make any sense when the life of the government is dependent upon retaining a majority in the parliament, whereas the president in a presidential system is not embedded in the legislature and is elected separately, so specification of a term is possible. Turning to leader succession, the personal choice of a successor (Rule 24) is frequently attempted in party regimes, but the choice is often constricted. One factor may be the ambition of other leading party members.45 Parties are generally seen, inter alia, as pathways to power in political life, and this means that parties, especially their upper levels, are peopled by those who are politically ambitious. Such ambition may be thwarted if a leader is freely able to choose his successor, and therefore attempts to do this often arouse opposition from other would-be contenders within the party. The constrained choice was evident in Mexico, where the designation of the successor did work reasonably smoothly for much of the life of the PRI regime.46 Under this system, every six years (the length of a presidential term) the president nominated his successor from within the ranks of the cabinet and the PRI, and

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that person then stood in a semi-competitive popular election in which the electoral arena was tilted in favour of the official candidate.47 But in this process, the president was not able to choose whomever he liked.48 He had to consult widely within the party and make sure that all of the factions and groups within it were not opposed to his choice. In the words of one of the presidents, Miguel de la Madrid (1982–88), ‘It is not true that the president could designate a candidate without limitation, according to his own fancy. I think that a president could not impose a candidate against the will of his party or one of its sectors: labor, peasant, or popular. The party would simply rebel.’49 In some instances where presidents sought to impose someone who did not gain general approval, the attempt was unsuccessful.50 This system generally held up. This may in part have been due to strict observance of the one-term limit (and, therefore, ambitious people knew that another opportunity would come up in six years), and by the fact that the president usually sought to achieve some balance between the factions in his cabinet.51 In Malaysia, the outgoing prime minister has effectively chosen his successor, albeit from a restricted field of candidates. Normally, the president of UMNO became the prime minister and the deputy president was the deputy prime minister. The prime minister’s choice of the deputy president of the party, and therefore the notional deputy prime minister, had to be ratified by the party’s General Assembly, and although this was normally a pro forma process, there could be an element of uncertainty. Mahathir’s predecessor Hussein Onn was in bad health when he became prime minister in 1976, and at that time he chose Mahathir (who had been elected vice-president of UMNO in 1975) as his deputy prime minister. In 1981 Hussein resigned for health reasons and Mahathir became prime minister and president of UMNO.52 When Mahathir had consolidated his personal position, he named Anwar Ibrahim as his successor, but without designating a date for the succession (thereby avoiding lame duck status), but as explained, he then fell out with Anwar and had him and his supporters purged from office. When Mahathir resigned in 2003, he was succeeded by his deputy, Badawi. There was, therefore, an element of institutional location being relevant to succession (Rule 25), but that institutional location was more indicative of an earlier decision than determinative in a later one. As in the Mexican case, the choice made by the leader was in no sense a ‘green field’ choice in the way that, for example, Hua Guofeng was in China; the person chosen was already a senior figure in the party and the choice was operationalized through established party procedures. Rule 26 regarding the resolution of the succession within the bounds of the oligarchy may be more problematic in EA parties where the principle of leadership accountability is strongly based. As argued with regard to Rule 20 on co-optation, it may be more difficult for the oligarchs to monopolize this process. Ambitious elites, often working through factions (Rules 6 and 27) are frequently willing to utilize party rules to become involved in the succession process, while oligarchs may

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try to transform such efforts into purely ritualized approval of decisions they have already made. This sort of struggle is particularly characteristic of parties because of the sorts of institutions they are: the focus on policy along with the ambition of members means that they are by nature contentious organizations, and this is likely to affect the succession process and the ability of the oligarchs to monopolize it. Depending upon the nature of the party, that decision may appear as unanimous or subject to debate and question. In the highly centralized communist parties, even when there was some competition for the top job, this generally occurred behind closed doors and the decision was presented as unanimous. In EA parties, where the system tends to be more open, competition is often in the semi-public sphere at least, and it may be acknowledged in the announcement of the winner. The party could therefore play a significant role in structuring the succession. The party usually had procedures, more or less well developed, for filling its leading posts, and these could be applied when the oligarchs may have been uncertain how to proceed. But they also applied in a more routine fashion, as the Mexican and Malaysian experiences show. The party was a means of providing a pool of trusted political successors, in that they would be likely to support the policies of the dictator and the party he headed. Most of the rules found in the communist single-party regimes were therefore also operational in EA regimes. The enabling face of the operational rules in particular, were important in the structuring of what is generally seen as a major characteristic of parties that claim a democratic lineage, conflict over policy. The twin faces of constraint and enablement were evident in the structuring of relations between oligarchy and elite, including succession, with the insulation of the former from the latter much less effective than in the communist single-party and military regimes. Rules were therefore central to the coordination of leadership politics. Some rules from the communist single-party regimes were not as important in EA regimes, primarily because of the basic structure of the regime, something taken up in Chapter 8.

Notes 1. For example, see Steven Levitsky and Lucan A. Way, Competitive Authoritarianism: Hybrid Regimes After the Cold War (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2010), pp.61–64. 2. Alan Knight, ‘Mexico’s Elite Settlement: Conjuncture and Consequences’, John Higley and Richard Gunther (eds), Elites and Democratic Consolidation in Latin America and Southern Europe (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1992), pp.113–145. For the original idea, see Michael J. Burton and John Higley, ‘Elite Settlements’, American Sociological Review 52, 3, 1987, pp.295–307. 3. Knight (1992), p.134.

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4. Knight (1992), pp.123 and 132. These relate respectively to Rules 2; 19; 1 and 10; and 11, 14 and 16. 5. However, in Mexico the cabinet does not have a robust collective profile. It is essentially the collective name for the secretaries of state who are appointed by and report to the president. 6. The ability of the Mexican president to do this was clearly limited by the one-term limit in the Constitution (Rule 23; see page 232 and 235). 7. R.S. Milne and Diane K. Mauzy, Malaysian Politics Under Mahathir (London, Routledge, 1999), Chapter 2. 8. In Singapore, Lee Kwan Yew’s personal authority was an important factor limiting the capacity of subsequent prime ministers to expand their personal positions. On the important part played by the People’s Action Party, see R.S. Milne and Diane K. Mauzy, Singapore Politics Under the People’s Action Party (London, Routledge, 2002), Chapter 4. 9. On Malaysia and economic crisis, see Thomas B. Pepinsky, Economic Crises and the Breakdown of Authoritarian Regimes: Indonesia and Malaysia in Comparative Perspective (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2009). 10. For example, on the differences between Mahathir and Anwar Ibrahim, see Pepinsky (2009), Chapter 5 and pp.202–214. On Anwar standing in for Mahathir while the latter was overseas, see Milne and Mauzy (1999), pp.151–152. 11. Milne and Mauzy (1999), pp.168–169. 12. See Ian Stewart, The Mahathir Legacy: A Nation Divided, a Region at Risk (Crows Nest, Allen & Unwin, 2003). 13. Joy Langston, ‘Elite Ruptures: When Do Ruling Parties Split?’, Andreas Schedler (ed), Electoral Authoritarianism: The Dynamics of Unfree Competition (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 2006), p.65. Also Joy Langston, ‘Breaking Out is Hard to Do: Exit, Voice, and Loyalty in Mexico’s One-Party Hegemonic Regime’, Latin American Politics and Society 44, 3, 2002, pp.61–81. 14. On the circumstances of these two former rivals coming together to oppose Mahathir, see In-Won Hwang, Personalized Politics: The Malaysian State Under Mahathir (Singapore, Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2003), pp.129–131. For a discussion of the conflict, see Jason Brownlee, Authoritarianism in an Age of Democratization (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2007), pp.137–145. 15. Hwang (2003), pp.127–134 and Milne and Mauzy (1999), pp.39–45. Some civic opposition leaders, including some associated with Team B, were arrested, and three Supreme Court justices were sacked. It was the newly stacked Supreme Court that awarded control over UMNO and its resources to Team A in the case brought by Razaleigh. 16. Brownlee (2007), p.139. 17. Brownlee (2007), pp.139–145; Slater (2010), pp.161–162; Milne and Mauzy (1999), pp.39–44; William Case, ‘The 1996 UMNO Party Election: “Two for the Show”’, Pacific Affairs 70, Fall 1997, pp.393–411. 18. Hwang (2003), p.213. 19. Hwang (2003), pp.213–218.

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20. Another example demonstrating this occurred in Taiwan in the 1990s. Two factions, the mainstream faction (MSF) and the non-mainstream faction (NMSF), were at odds over how the 1947 Constitution might be reformed. The leader of the MSF, President Lee Teng-hui, sidelined his party opponents by negotiating with the opposition Democratic Progressive Party, leading many leaders of the NMSF to leave the party and join the New Party. In the subsequent election, this split the Kuomintang’s (KMT) vote. This encouraged another prominent member of the KMT, James Soong, to leave the KMT when he was not allowed to compete for the party’s 2000 presidential nomination. In the presidential election, Soong split the KMT’s vote, enabling the DPP candidate to defeat the KMT for the first time in the history of the regime. Langston (2006), p.61. 21. Arrest and imprisonment of a would-be challenger had occurred before. In May 1976 Datuk Harun Idris was arrested and sentenced to two years in gaol at the behest of Dato Hussein Onn. 22. On the legislature playing this role, see Ellen Lust-Okar, ‘Elections under Authoritarianism: Preliminary Lessons from Jordan’, Democratization 13, 3, 2006, pp.455–470 and Jennifer Gandhi, Political Institutions under Dictatorship (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2008). Also Jennifer Gandhi and Adam Przeworski, ‘Authoritarian Institutions and the Survival of Autocrats’, Comparative Political Studies 40, 11, 2007, pp.1279–1301. Hence the relevance of the co-optation literature discussed in Chapter 1 to this regime type. 23. On different approaches as to whether it should be called a military regime or something else, see Pepinsky (2009), pp.78–80. 24. See the discussion of Indonesia in Jeffrey A. Winters, Oligarchy (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2011), pp.139–193 and Pepinsky (2009), pp.42–61. 25. For example, Pepinsky argues that the different official Indonesian and Malaysian responses to the 1997–98 Asian financial crisis reflected the authorities’ attempts to protect the economic basis of what he calls the coalitional allies of each regime. His notion of coalitional allies overlaps with that of the elite used here. Pepinsky (2009), esp. Chapter 3. 26. Dan Slater, ‘Iron Cage in an Iron Fist: Authoritarian Institutions and the Personalization of Power in Malaysia’, Comparative Politics 36, 1, 2003, pp.81–101; and Stewart (2003). 27. Dan Slater, Ordering Power: Contentious Politics and Authoritarian Leviathans in Southeast Asia (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2010), pp.212–218. On the struggle, see Milne and Mauzy (1999), Chapter 7. For the absence of a robust party being a factor in the fall of Ferdinand Marcos in the Philippines, see Slater (2010), pp.163–180. 28. On Mahathir responding to a challenge to his leadership in 1987–88 by Tengku Razaleigh by purging his cabinet of Razaleigh’s supporters and promoting his own, then stacking the judiciary to ensure a legal challenge to this would fail, see Slater (2003), pp.88–89. 29. For example, by expelling those who disobeyed the president. See the discussion in Beatriz Magaloni, ‘Enforcing the Autocratic Political Order and the Role of Courts: The Case of Mexico’, Tom Ginsburg and Tamir Moustafa (eds), Rule by Law: The Politics

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30.

31. 32.

33. 34. 35.

36. 37.

38.

39. 40.

41.

42.

43. 44. 45.

bridling dictators of Courts in Authoritarian Regimes (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2008), pp.193–197. Another form of this occurred in Egypt in 1967 when defeat in the six-day war threatened the continued dominance of the leader Gamal Abdul Nasser. His supporters used the dominant party, the Arab Socialist Union (ASU) to mobilize popular support and to induce the resignation of his critic, Abd al-Hakim. Brownlee (2007), p.88. Slater (2003), p.89. A contrasting example was Lee Kwan Yew in Singapore whose recognition as the country’s founding father added lustre to his leadership both in office and after he had ceased to be prime minister but acted as senior minister and then minister mentor, until he died. On his battles, see Hwang (2003), Chapters 5 and 6. Langston (2006), p.65. Jean-Louis Thiebault, ‘Presidential Leadership in Latin America’, Manuel Alcantara, Jean Blondel and Jean-Louis Thiebault (eds), Presidents and Democracy in Latin America (New York, Routledge 2018), p.30. Slater (2003), pp.91–93. Marisol Reyes, ‘Mexico: Zedillo and Calderon: The Challenge of Governing Under Adversity’, Alcantara, Blondel and Thiebault (2018), p.107. They were important in linking the president with the bureaucracy. For the argument that ‘the exceptional concentration of powers’ in the hands of the Mexican president is due to ‘(1) a presidentialist system based in the Constitution; (2) unified government, where the ruling party controls the presidency and both houses of Congress; (3) discipline within the ruling party; and (4) a president who is the acknowledged leader of the ruling party’ see Jeffrey Weldon, ‘The Political Sources of Presidencialismo in Mexico’, Scott Mainwaring and Matthew Soberg Shugart (eds), Presidentialism and Democracy in Latin America (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1997), pp.226–227. Thiebault (2018), pp.25–28. Also Reyes (2018), pp.98–101. For the argument that a leader would be able to overcome the limits a party sought to apply if he was a founder of the party and thereby possessed an alternative power base, see Alexander Baturo, Democracy, Dictatorship, and Term Limits (Ann Arbor, The University of Michigan Press, 2014), p.79. On the role of security services in some countries that were for some of the time considered EA regimes, see Sheena Chestnut Greitens, Dictators and Their Secret Police: Coercive Institutions and State Violence (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2016). For example, see the discussion in Levitsky and Way (2010) and Andreas Schedler, The Politics of Uncertainty: Sustaining and Subverting Electoral Authoritarianism (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2013). For a discussion of this that includes Malaysia, see William Case, ‘Manipulative Skills: How Do Rulers Control the Electoral Arena?’, Schedler (2006), pp.95–112. Brownlee (2007), pp.97–98. As the colour revolution of 2004 in Ukraine shows, when Leonid Kuchma was prevented from passing power to his selected successor, Viktor Yanukovich, it can also

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46.

47.

48.

49. 50. 51.

52.

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be thwarted by popular mobilization. But this is not common. On Ukraine, see Henry E. Hale, Patronal Politics: Eurasian Regime Dynamics in Comparative Perspective (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2014), pp.3 and 182–190. On this, see Jonathan Schlefer, Palace Politics: How the Ruling Party Brought Crisis to Mexico (Austin, University of Texas Press, 2008); on what he saw to be nine stages in the presidential succession process, see Frank Brandenburg, The Making of Modern Mexico (Englewood Cliffs, Prentice-Hall Inc., 1964), pp.145–150. For a detailed study of one instance, Echeverria to Lopez Portillo (1976), see Peter H. Smith, Labyrinths of Power: Political Recruitment in Twentieth-Century Mexico (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1979), ch.10. On this see Kenneth F. Greene, Why Dominant Parties Lose: Mexico’s Democratization in Comparative Perspective (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2007) and Beatriz Magaloni, Voting for Autocracy: Hegemonic Party Survival and Its Demise in Mexico (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2006). For a discussion of some of the aspects of presidential choice, see Magaloni (2006), p.48. For what he calls the ‘informal collective process’, see Melvin Croan, ‘Is Mexico the Future of East Europe? Institutional Adaptability and Political Change in Comparative Perspective’, Samuel P. Huntington and Clement H. Moore (eds), Authoritarian Politics in Modern Society: The Dynamics of Established One-Party Systems (New York, Basic Books Inc., 1970), p.461. Cited in Schlefer (2008), p.52. For example, Miguel Aleman (1946–52) initially tried to run again but when that was prevented, to impose his cousin, but this too was blocked. Schlefer (2008), pp.118–123. Also see Langston (2002), pp.72–73 who speaks of four factors in maintaining this system: the president’s greater ability to control choice of candidate by constraining the ability of other parts of the party to promote a candidate; the passing of the revolutionary generation and tightening of control over factions; the expanding opportunities for patronage through the state; and the increased difficulty in founding and registering opposition parties. On the perceived alternatives to Mahathir in 1976 and a discussion of the whole process, see Milne and Mauzy (1999), pp.26–28.

7 Rules, and Personal and Monarchical Regimes A personal regime is one in which the individual leader is not just the most important political actor but a leader who is personally dominant. This means, as defined in Chapter 1, that he has sufficient power to be able to ignore the views of the other oligarchs and to decide whatever he wishes. This is the key defining determinant of personal rule: the leader’s will can prevail regardless of the views of the other oligarchs. This does not mean that he decides everything himself, but he decides whatever he wants to decide. His will can override not only the views of the other oligarchs, but the institutional structures of which the regime consists. The fact that the formal rules and regulations governing these institutions and how they work are, in the most extreme forms of personal rule, subordinate to his will, is reflected most starkly in the fact that the chief currency of leadership politics is the personal relationship with the dictator.1 However, it is important to note that in personal or dominant leader regimes, that leader does not always use the full plenitude of power he possesses. He does not dominate every meeting nor does he always insist on his view regardless of the views of others. He does not have to: other oligarchs and members of the elite are aware that he possesses such power and may act and conduct themselves in that knowledge. Accordingly, much of the day-to-day life of the oligarchy is likely to be conducted in a fashion whereby the leader is not exercising overwhelming power, but could do so if he wished. Personal regimes may differ one from the other much more than is the case with other regime types because of the centrality of the leader and his personality to the regime; the relative weakness of the institutions enhances the importance of the individual dictator himself, and some personal dictators are stronger than others. The regime led by a strong, decisive, interventionist dictator will both appear and function very differently to one led by someone who is indecisive and noninterventionist. Regimes may also differ according to the basis upon which the power of the personal dictator may rest, outlined briefly in Chapter 1: the status that comes from being regime founder, perceived personal qualities, performance, a particular institutional structure, or the agreement of the other oligarchs. In most cases dictators will claim power and authority on the basis of a combination of these, and that combination may shift over time. A further point of difference Bridling Dictators. Graeme Gill, Oxford University Press. © Graeme Gill (2021). DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192849687.003.0007

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is the fact that personal regimes may rest on a variety of institutional structures, including political parties, militaries, security services, informal paramilitary bodies or the state bureaucracy, and the particular institutional form involved is likely to affect the way the regime functions. While institutions may have reduced importance relative to the dictator, it is not true that institutions are always unimportant. This will become apparent in the following discussion which focuses mainly on Belarus under Aleksandr Lukashenka and Russia under Vladimir Putin. One particular form of personal regime is the monarchy, which is where the claim to the right to rule rests upon heredity.2 Although some ambiguity remains with this definition—for example, contemporary North Korea seems to function on this basis (see page 259)—it is sufficient to distinguish this type of regime from most other personal dictatorships. As noted in Chapter 1, there are two types of monarchies, the non-dynastic and the dynastic. In the former, power is concentrated in the hands of the individual monarch alone, in the latter it is shared among the members of the monarch’s family. The overwhelming majority of contemporary authoritarian monarchies3 are of the latter type; Brunei, which is an absolute monarchy under the sultan, is a contemporary example of the former, the non-dynastic monarchy. In the following discussion, non-dynastic monarchy is subsumed within discussion of the non-monarchical personal dictatorship, while the dynastic monarchy is considered separately. The role of rules in personal regimes is much more shaped by the power of the individual leader than it is in any other regime type except where a dominant leader is in power, as occurred during periods in the Soviet Union and China. That effect was felt across all three types of rules, with the way they functioned in Putin’s Russia and Lukashenka’s Belarus different from that in the communist single-party regimes (although it was closer to the situation when Stalin and Mao were dominant). In contrast, in the dynastic monarchy the individual leader’s power was moderated by the effect of the family, which seems to have had a similar sort of constraining effect to that of the Communist Party throughout most of the life of the communist regimes.

Personal dictatorships The essence of personal dictatorship is the acknowledged primacy of one individual (Rule 2), who usually occupies the presidency. Sometimes these presidential positions are labelled ‘super-presidentialist’ because of the preponderance of power vested in them by the Constitution;4 the prominence of such presidential regimes among the post-Soviet dictatorships is marked.5 However, the presidency has not been the only institutional form dictators have occupied; other terms such as fuhrer, supreme leader, emperor or king have been used. But regardless of the institutional form, what was important was that the locus of decision-making

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(Rule 1) was personalized, defined in terms of the individual leader. While there might be official bodies such as councils or cabinets mentioned in formal documents like the Constitution, in these systems there was just as likely to be official (perhaps even constitutional) primacy accorded to the leader personally as the ultimate authority. Even where this was not officially stated, the reality in practice was clear to all.

Operational rules Three of the eight operational rules found in communist single-party regimes were problematic in personal regimes, and all relate to the position or role of the oligarchs: Rule 3 on collective discussion, Rule 7 on oligarch security, and Rule 8 on unity. Their problematic nature stemmed essentially from the dominant position of the leader, explained more fully in Chapter 8. In a personal dictatorship, the key principle is that the dictator is the chief actor in shaping how the regime works at the centre. If he is willing to allow open discussion of issues, including contradicting him personally (as provided by Rule 3), then that will probably happen, but all too often such leaders are not willing to accept diverse viewpoints. This will differ considerably between regimes depending on the power disposition of the dictator. Sometimes (as with the European medieval kings) collective discussion could take the form of a formal advisory council, but it could just as easily be restricted to the dictator’s cronies or members of his family, such as in Haiti under Papa Doc, Iran under the Shah, or the Philippines under Marcos. Aleksandr Lukashenka in Belarus is one example of a leader who seems to have been less accepting of collective discussion and much less willing to accept disagreement and argument, having consistently purged members of the oligarchy and the elite who publicly disagreed with him.6 In Russia, despite Putin’s reluctance to delegate,7 both oligarchs and members of the elite more broadly have publicly pressed their own views on policy questions and, for the most part, not suffered as a result of it.8 Although some have claimed that there is only consultation rather than serious discussion and that people are reluctant to contradict Putin or give him bad news,9 usually people can disagree with him before a decision is made, but once that decision has been made they are to accept and not criticize it.10 Putin consults different groups on different issues, and on some those groups may be very small,11 but he is the central player in a relatively fluid policy arena.12 In contrast, in Nazi Germany Hitler was largely a ‘hands off ’ dictator in matters of domestic policy. Much of the policy debate was conducted by oligarchs and ministers, with Hitler siding with one side or the other, but sometimes only when the issue had been virtually resolved. Hitler preferred to consult with the other oligarchs and ministers individually rather than collectively; the cabinet did not meet after 1938, and many issues were handled by circulation.

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In this sort of system where people were vying for Hitler’s support, and with Hitler often unwilling to commit himself in decisive terms, it was not uncommon for individuals to give voice to views at odds with those of Hitler without serious consequences, especially early in the life of the regime.13 Personal dictatorships have therefore not all been characterized by an absence of the collective discussion of issues, but the scope for this and the range of opinions that can be voiced appears to be more uncertain and potentially restricted than in the other regime types. And in all of these regimes the opportunity for collective discussion, including disagreement with the leader, is unlikely to be taken up by all of the oligarchs. Some may prefer simply to defer to the dictator, acting as ‘yes-men’ rather than independent interlocutors. In part this depends upon the disposition and ruling style of the dictator, but it will also be affected by previous history. Where there is a history of oligarch critics being punished for speaking out in the past, there is less likelihood of this sort of action being common in oligarch circles. Part of the problem for the observer is that in these regimes politics tends to be conducted behind closed doors. There is no equivalent of the sort of party that exists in EA regimes where disagreements are aired in open or semi-open fora, and therefore can more easily be observed. In dominant leader or personal regimes, differences among the oligarchs tend to be handled in a more discreet fashion. The reality is not necessarily that there is no collective discussion, but that the rules governing how it is conducted are much more restrictive and limiting, and these include that it should be contained within oligarch councils rather than be conducted in the public sphere. These dynamics of personal dictatorship also affect how Rule 4, on oligarchs having a realm of action autonomous from the leader,14 functions; how interventionist the dictator wants to be is crucial to this rule. A high level of intervention is consistent with dominant leadership, but even when the dictator is highly interventionist, other oligarchs are likely to have a degree of autonomy because of the physical limits to the dictator’s information and capacity to act. Furthermore, not all issues will come before the leader, and of those that do, there are likely to be some in which he will not take an interest. This means there will be what could be significant room for the exercise of individual autonomy by particular oligarchs, especially those who head major bureaucratic structures like government ministries. The extent to which they are willing to make use of this will depend in part on their recognition that whatever decisions they make could be subject to review by the dictator, and on their estimation of his likely reaction if he disagrees with what they have done. Despite these uncertainties, the reality of ruling a country and the limitations upon the capacity of a single leader to run everything means that the oligarch autonomy enabled by Rule 4 has generally been present in personal dictatorships. In Haiti under the personal dictatorship of ‘Papa Doc’ Francois Duvalier, this sort of division of responsibility enabled individual ministers to become powerful

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figures, including resisting Duvalier on occasions, but generally if they sought to become too independent, they were cut down by the leader.15 In Belarus too bureaucratic location gave oligarchs potential autonomy, but in this case the readiness of the dictator to purge those he believed had crossed him was a powerful constraint upon this. Lukashenka seems to have acted to try to limit such autonomy as far as the elite is concerned while leaving this option relatively open for the oligarchs. According to Henry Hale, ‘in the state sector, Lukashenka frequently purged officials who might be in position to institutionalize and then politicize a source of personal power or income, including ministry officials and state corporation chiefs. Only his own inner circle was allowed such privilege, and this circle was narrow indeed.’16 In Nazi Germany, Hitler’s relative personal neglect of domestic affairs plus a decision-making process in which he was generally content to let subordinates fight over the details before he became involved, and in which he rarely met with his ministers, meant that the other oligarchs enjoyed significant autonomy. Also contributing to this was the organizational complexity (some have called it ‘chaos’) of the German governance system. Instead of a tightly coordinated hierarchical structure, there existed a multiplicity of administrative bodies with vague and overlapping responsibilities; in the words of one scholar, government dissolved into ‘a multiplicity of competing and non-coordinated ministries, party offices, and hybrid agencies.17 In Putin’s Russia, the oligarchs and many of the elite have also enjoyed such spheres of autonomy. This was a result not only of the natural tendency of bureaucracies to develop both their own interests and a capacity to protect those interests from outside, but of Putin’s leadership style. Two aspects of this are relevant. First, the modus operandi he uses whereby he consults those who have expertise in and responsibility for particular policy areas: consultation made little sense in the absence of recognition of at least a degree of autonomy of thought on the part of those consulted. Second, in contrast to his predecessor, Boris Yeltsin, who often appointed people to posts where there was an overlapping of responsibilities, Putin appointed people to positions with discrete areas of responsibility. This meant that ministers in particular were powerful within their portfolio areas and were able to act with a greater degree of freedom than had existed under Yeltsin.18 Limited disagreement among rank-and-file oligarchs (enabled by Rule 5) is consistent with this type of regime and with the limited autonomy that could be enjoyed by the oligarchs. Indeed, the role the oligarchs played as effective representatives of the bureaucratic interests of the politico-administrative machines they headed meant that some disagreement over policy was inevitable. The safest course was to ensure that such disagreement was primarily technical, related to narrow aspects of the policy, rather than general relating to the overall policy menu of the regime. Disputes over the latter could be seen to be calling into question the judgement of the dictator, and this was something that oligarchs generally sought not to do. These sorts of differences are evident in the policy-making processes

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of the regimes under review, where arguments about policy were part of the daily life of the oligarchs.19 From the dictator’s perspective, such differences could be viewed positively, as a means of hindering any prospects of the oligarchs uniting against him in the future; if he pursued divide and rule tactics (see Chapter 9), such differences could play into his hands. The acceptability of Rules 3–5 on collective discussion, rank-and-file oligarch autonomy and disagreement underpinned the existence of factions in personal dictatorships (enabled by Rule 6). As collective discussion was usually hidden in dominant leader personal dictatorships, so too were factions and their operation. This makes it more difficult to point to instances of factional conflict in this type of contemporary system than in the EA regimes. Nevertheless, observers have been able to identify different factions in the regimes under review. Factional organization among the oligarchs may be undertaken both to advance particular policy lines and to provide personal benefits for its members. Individuals may band together in an attempt to overcome other oligarchs or to defend themselves against the possible depredations of the dictator. How successful such a move is would depend upon the power balance within the oligarchy and the disposition of the dictator (see Chapter 9). However, the oligarchs need to ensure that faction formation does not appear to the dictator to be part of a mobilization against him. Faction formation may also have advantages for the dictator, especially if his power rests in part on a strategy of divide and rule or balancing of the oligarchs. Factions are therefore acceptable in these sorts of regimes, although misjudgement may in practice have serious consequences. Factions have been present in Belarus since the time Lukashenka came to power. Originally there was division over the question of economic reform and associated views about the extent of state control over economy and society, and although the personnel have changed and the groupings have been fluid, this fault line has continued to structure politics throughout the regime’s life. Initially, a group favouring marketization and liberalization of the economy supported Lukashenka and his rise to power, but in 1996 as he strengthened his control Lukashenka abandoned this policy in favour of greater state control. This more statist economic policy aligned his views with those of more conservative elements based in the state apparatus, the Presidential Administration and the country’s energy complex and headed by one-time head of the Security Council and the Presidential Administration, Viktar Sheiman. In 2008 Sheiman was replaced as leader of this group by Lukashenka’s eldest son, Viktar.20 Lukashenka had also been supported in the early stages by a ‘Mahileu group’ emanating from the same part of the country as Lukashenka, but it too was pushed aside by the emergence of the state-security group in the second half of the 1990s.21 While the state-security group has been able to retain its dominance, it has not monopolized the space for factional activity: it has had to share that space with an emergent technocratically inclined group, also based within the state apparatus.

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Russia under Putin has also been characterized by factions, sometimes referred to in the literature as ‘clans’. Clear delineation of these groups has not been easy because they operate for the most part behind closed doors.22 When Putin came to power he inherited an inner circle that effectively comprised a Yeltsin faction. Called ‘the family’, it was based around Yeltsin’s daughter, officials of the Presidential Administration, and some major businessmen, colloquially called ‘oligarchs’.23 During his first term, Putin removed these people from the apex of political power and promoted people mainly from two constituencies: the so-called ‘siloviki’, or people who had spent time in the security sector where Putin had also served, and the ‘pitertsy’, or people who came from St Petersburg, which was Putin’s home town. There has been considerable discussion of the prominence of the siloviki, including the view that it is this group that runs Russia,24 but the cohesiveness and ability of both groups to act decisively has been exaggerated. Nevertheless, they are important because they did share certain interests, and as groups, they were interlocked into a policy process that was significantly shaped by the sorts of institutional interests that underpinned rank-and-file oligarch autonomy. Factions have remained important, and the siloviki and pitertsy have been prominent elements of that. What is striking about factions in this type of regime is the dominance of the state machine as the basis for them. In the relative absence of a ruling party (see page 252), the weakness of the legislature, and the limited role of civil society, those members of the oligarchy and of the elite who seek to band together to pursue common aims are bound to turn to the state apparatus. Not only is this the principal institutional structure for government and administration (as it is in other types of regime also), but it is the only one that is legitimately available to be mobilized in intra-regime conflict. In all of these regimes, tight control is exercised over the military, meaning that the only acceptable arena for factional activity is the state apparatus. This is also reflected in Nazi Germany, where the most important statebased factions emerged as a result of the decision-making system and the desire of members of the oligarchy and the elite to strengthen themselves in the continuing struggle to gain the ear and favour of the Fu¨hrer.25 The enjoyment of security of life, tenure and property (Rule 7) is often said to not be a feature of these regimes, especially if part of the dictator’s strategy for maintaining his personal power involves creating a sense of vulnerability among the oligarchs, for example as in the frequent circulation of officials in Belarus under Lukashenka.26 He has been willing to act against oligarchs and elites who have in some way upset him, including turning against many of those who initially were his confidants and ministers; one scholar has referred to the ‘regular purging and shuffling of high-level elites,’27 including Prime Minister Mikhail Chigir, Interior Minister Yury Zacharanka and Viktar Sheiman who had been an intimate and head of the Presidential Administration. Some officials disappeared, presumably murdered. There have therefore been periods in which there have been significant

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levels of uncertainty among the elite and some of the oligarchs in Belarus, although there have also been periods when personnel have remained more stable. This sort of uncertainty has not been seen in Putin’s Russia, at least following the initial removal of the Yeltsin associates Putin inherited. The relative lack of uncertainty reflects the attitude Putin has taken to the other oligarchs and elite more broadly. There are two aspects of this. First, while Putin has clearly been the dominant figure, most decisions have been presented as having emerged from the internal processes of the regime itself. Most did not appear as decisions of the president but as resulting from the corporate endeavour of all officials. Rather than a result of the charismatic authority or individual flair of the president, most decisions have appeared as a result of the consistent application of the rules and principles meant to govern the major institutions of the state. Even when in fact this was not the case, the emphasis on regularity and process implied certainty, and this flowed over to the tenure of leading officials. Second, levels of turnover of officials have been much lower under Putin than under his predecessor, Yeltsin. This reflects the value Putin seems to place on loyalty. Generally, he has shown loyalty to those who have supported him and, when needed, he has protected them. Furthermore, when people have been moved on, for the most part they have been provided with a soft landing; when removed from a leading position, most officials have been found another place in the politico-administrative structure. This has not been the case every time (for example, former prime minister Mikhail Kasyanov or Minister of Economic Development Aleksei Ulyukaev), but in most instances it has. The result is that most officials have not been in continual fear of losing their lives, jobs or perquisites. Thus, oligarch certainty (Rule 7) has existed consistently in Russia but much less so in Belarus. While this sort of certainty is conducive to a strong ethos of unity and consensus among the oligarchs (Rule 8), its weakness does not necessarily mean that such unity is not possible. Dictator and oligarchs are likely to be united on the basis of a foundational pact, even if this may be somewhat amorphous. This could rest on a common commitment to implement a particular policy programme, but usually more important is an agreement negotiated among the oligarchs and perhaps sections of the elite on the way the system should function. This sort of foundational pact may in practice be negotiated through the early actions of the regime’s principals. In Belarus, Lukashenka was elected to the presidency in 1994 but it was not until 1997 that his rule was consolidated. During this time he took steps to strengthen his personal position and in doing so to lay down the principles upon which his regime was to operate. Through a process of direct confrontation with established institutions and the elite, popular referenda, constitutional revision and arbitrary and illegal action,28 he was able to establish a position of personal dominance. Shedding allies along the way (some did actually oppose his grab for power29 ), Lukashenka was left with a core who not only supported him but accepted the terms that essentially flowed from his actions.

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In Russia, Putin went about renegotiating the implicit foundational pact embodied in the power arrangements that he inherited from Yeltsin. As already noted, he removed the Yeltsin associates from the apex of political power, thereby eliminating any residue of the assumptions that had underpinned Yeltsin’s presidency and leaving the way clear for him to put in place a structure with a more powerful presidential office. This was significantly facilitated by the breaking of the power of the major businessmen who had been influential under Yeltsin.30 By removing the Yeltsin hold-overs, introducing his own people, and constructing a powerful presidency, Putin laid out the contours of a new foundational pact to which the oligarchs and elite mostly signed on. This has been understood in a variety of ways. One common approach to understanding Putin is to argue that he is a former member of the security service, that many of those he has promoted come from the security sector, and that it is essentially this group (the siloviki) that rules. The assumption is that this group shares a common outlook or ‘core beliefs and values’.31 Others argue that the structure of power is better seen in terms of a corporation, of which Putin may be either the ‘boss’ or simply the representative and public face, but which rests upon basic agreement.32 Others eschew this sort of conspiratorial approach while recognizing that those surrounding Putin ‘share a common background and worldview’ and that this ‘code’ runs the risk of ‘groupthink’.33 Former Kremlin adviser Gleb Pavlovsky has talked of a ‘collective Putin’ whereby the president gives voice to a consensus.34 While these approaches to understanding Russian politics may differ in their essentials, they all agree on the existence of a basic consensus embracing both the oligarchy and significant sections of the elite. Thus, while many of the operational rules were common to communist and personal regimes, how they applied in the latter was shaped by the power of the individual dictator.

Relational rules Of the 11 relational rules emanating from the communist single-party regimes, three were problematic in one way or another in personal regimes: Rule 13 relating to the leader’s power maximization, Rule 18 on policy as an acceptable cause of disagreement, and Rule 19 on the instrumental nature of law. In all three cases, the rule has been more problematic in Belarus than in Russia, reflecting chiefly the sort of power the respective presidents have sought to wield. To the extent that relational rules bolster the oligarchy’s independence from the elite, they are probably stronger than the operational rules in personal regimes. These regimes did seek to integrate the elite into the regime without involving them in oligarch affairs (Rule 9) through giving them a role filling leading positions in the politico-administrative structure. The most important form of this was to have

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members of the elite take up official positions in the state bureaucracy where they could not only find employment to keep themselves busy but could also act as a check on the loyalty of state bureaucrats. Appointment to the legislature was another means of giving the elite something to do. Such appointments could also be seen as a means of giving these people access to material wealth and benefits that might otherwise not have been available to them. The buying off of the economic segment of the elite has also been common in personal dictatorships. Not only the dictator’s personal cronies but leading figures in the economic sphere could benefit from favourable access to economic resources, including the state’s own funds, in a process that could make them very rich. While Mobutu’s Zaire was probably the most extreme case of this in the recent past, this has been a common feature of personal dictatorships, including those of Saddam Hussein, Moamar Gaddhafi and the Duvaliers. In Belarus, giving access to significant material benefits was made possible by the control Lukashenka wields over the political and economic spheres of state activity. Through his extended control over economic resources (including by reversing some of the privatization undertaken before he came to power), Lukashenka has ensured that the elite has access to material benefits not available to the general population.35 This sort of patronage has also been in evidence elsewhere in the post-Soviet space,36 including in Putin’s Russia. Through the so-called statization of the economy—through things like the nationalization of some companies, the development of state dominance in some economic sectors, the appointment of state representatives to private boards, and the insertion of personal associates into managerial posts in corporations— and by tolerating a level of corruption in economic activity, Putin has created a means whereby officials can gain material rewards through their involvement in political and economic life.37 Similar personal linkages were important for the economic elite in Nazi Germany, especially in the context of the programme of rearmament embarked on in the 1930s and the subsequent war effort,38 while these also served to keep the military elite (for a time) satisfied and occupied. Politico-administrative elites in Germany were kept busy by the regime’s plans for remoulding German society and then prosecuting the war. This sort of combination of economic largesse and enhanced administrative responsibilities was a common strategy in personal regimes for keeping the elite busy and thereby contributing to the dictator’s and the oligarchy’s insulation from their control. This clearly reflects the enabling side of Rule 9. The other side of giving the elite a meaningful role to play in the system is that the elite does not intervene independently in oligarch affairs, although on occasion oligarchs might seek to mobilize support from this direction (Rule 10), although if this is done by a rank-and-file oligarch it risks raising the ire of the dictator. The centralization of power in the personal dictator facilitates this exclusion of the elite from oligarch affairs. Given either the absence or weakness of a party institution linking the dictator with the elite, there is no institutional mechanism providing

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for the easy mobilization of the elite into oligarch affairs except for the state machine (or for the military elite, the military itself), and this lends itself more to the sorts of conflicts characterized as bureaucratic politics than to more direct questions of power in the oligarchy. This generally suits the oligarchs and the dictator because it minimizes the chances of disruption to their affairs, although in the case of conflict at the top, it also reduces the opportunity to build up and mobilize support. This may be one reason why dictators like Lukashenka eschew political parties39 or why, when such parties exist, they tend to be of secondary importance. An example of this latter situation is Putin’s Russia.40 Prior to 2001, the Russian regime had not had a ruling party, although there had been some parties that had been associated with successive prime ministers. However, these parties (Russia’s Choice and Our Home is Russia) had not been able to perform the tasks required of a ruling party. In 2001, United Russia was created under Putin’s personal imprimatur and from 2003 has been the biggest party in the State Duma, never winning less than a third of the votes and usually much more.41 Its role has been chiefly as a control mechanism, over the electoral process, over the legislature, and over the governors. It has never functioned as a decisive arena of policy debate nor has it been an institution in which Putin has personally been very active. Nor have members of the elite seen it as an appropriate vehicle for involvement in oligarch affairs.42 Thus, even when a party has been established, it has not been a major institutional player in the affairs of the oligarchy, nor has it been a channel into that oligarchy for the elite.43 In personal dictatorships formal office can be an important tool in the dictator’s arsenal (Rule 11). Most occupy the position of head of state, usually president, and can use the powers associated with that office to establish and sustain their positions. In Belarus, for example, Lukashenka was elected president in a relatively free election in 1994, and then used the powers vested in the presidency to consolidate his position through mounting referenda to expand his powers, sidelining the legislature, creating a political machine that projected his power across the country and ensured a pliable electoral system, controlling the coercive apparatus to suppress opposition and framing an ideology of national identity to sustain his rule.44 While this was not unopposed at the time, the step-by-step nature of his initial power accretions may have encouraged some potential critics to go along, because early in the process no one step seemed so great as to require significant opposition. And in any case given the high levels of popular support he enjoyed early in the life of his regime, opposition may have appeared fruitless, especially when many of his actions seemed to be carried out through the legally prescribed process. It was his occupation of the presidency that enabled Lukashenka to do this. In Russia, Putin was able to transform the presidential office by realizing the potential the Constitution vested in that position but which had been frittered away by Yeltsin. The Constitution of 1993 had vested significant powers in the presidency, but Yeltsin had been unable to realize these in practice. This was in part

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because of the strength of the opposition he faced, but also important was his own health. Yeltsin was seriously ill for most of his second term (1996–1999), with the result that when faced with serious problems about which he could do nothing, the power of his office drained away. As either an absent or a weak president, he was very limited in what he could do. When Putin took up the presidency, he acted to restore the power of the office as outlined in the Constitution.45 By strengthening the presidency’s institutional position (principally by beefing up the Presidential Administration), by seeking to use the powers of the office in a vigorous and active manner, and by making a series of strong decisions (creation of the ‘power vertical’, restarting the war in Chechnya, pulling business into line, and following a more assertive foreign policy), Putin was able to use the office of the presidency to further strengthen that office compared with what it was when he acceded to it. But he could only do this from within the office itself. The presidency has thus been a potent source of power and legitimacy for personal dictators. However, the importance of office is often overshadowed by the dictator’s personal authority (Rule 12), the expression of which is intrinsic to this type of regime, and which is sometimes reflected in the creation of a special post, such as leader for life, and the generation of a personality cult. In Belarus, Lukashenka’s personal authority has been particularly important. From the outset he has projected a populist image depicting himself as the valiant representative of the ordinary people, battling the elites on their behalf. This has historically been a particularly potent vote winner in elections and has formed the basis of an attempt to generate a charismatic relationship between leader and people in Belarus.46 The sort of cult that rests on such a basis has been a common means personal dictators have sought to use to bolster their authority, with that of Saparmurat Niyazov in Turkmenistan a particularly egregious example of this.47 The quest for charismatic authority through a cult may be seen as axiomatic of rule in personal dictatorships.48 This can be particularly evocative in those cases where the attempt has been made to project the leader as the personal embodiment of the nation, representing all of its best qualities and symbolizing its vigour, wisdom and diligence through his actions. The Nazi Fu¨hrer was presented in this way, as embodying the people and its unity, thereby fusing the position of national leadership with the person of the leader.49 So too were people such as Duvalier in Haiti, Trujillo in the Dominican Republic, and Bokassa in the Central African Republic, who all sought to link their person with a mythological conception of the nation and their part in fulfilling its values and traditions.50 In Russia, Putin’s personal authority stemmed mainly from his early performance in office (and the contrast with his predecessor), but attempts have also been made to associate him with this sort of cultist image through the evocation of him as standing in a line of strong leaders from the past, linking him to the Russian Orthodox Church which is said to represent ‘true’ Russianness, showing him as an active and vigorous leader domestically and as standing up to Russia’s international foes.51 Putin’s personal

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standing has been an important component of his authority, and this stemmed from both real achievement and cultist projection. Although this sort of personalist strategy has been attempted by some leaders in other sorts of systems, it has been particularly common among personal dictators. Such personal authority could be important as the leader seeks to consolidate and strengthen his dictatorship. In so doing, the barriers against the maximization of his power (Rule 13) are usually weaker than in the other regimes; this is one practical effect of the lower level of regularity of the functioning of the rules, and is implicit in the very idea of a dominant leader. However, the search for power maximization is not always evident in personal dictatorships, even though the barriers to this are weaker in this type of regime than in the others; not all dictators seek to destroy centres of power other than their own. Having established themselves firmly in power, a dictator will certainly take all steps to ensure that he is not subject to challenge, but most also realize that he cannot rule alone, so in the interests of survival most will usually pull back from the sort of continuing violence that is probably necessary for real power maximization. This has certainly been the case with Putin. While he did substantially strengthen the presidency and centralize power in Russia, he has not destroyed all other centres of power in the country. The opposition, both ‘systemic’ and ‘non-systemic’ (respectively mainly political parties and public protest), remain in existence although under pressure, regional authorities retain significant power within their regions, the private sector in the economy continues, small sections of the media remain relatively free, and government ministries retain a certain level of autonomy. Many of these have come under pressure and this has caused them to perhaps be less oppositional than they might otherwise have been, but they have not been destroyed. Had Putin wished he could have taken much more stringent measures to bring these under tighter control, but he has not done this. He either does not want to maximize his power, or he is unwilling to take the sorts of measures that would be necessary to achieve this goal. In either event, the attempt at power maximization does not seem to be present. In Belarus, Lukashenko has much more vigorously sought to crush alternative centres of power, and this may be so substantial as to warrant being judged an attempt at power maximization. But even he has drawn back from the sort of measures that would be necessary to institute total personal control, while the popular mobilization of 2020–2021 over claims of a fraudulent election shows the continued existence of opposition to his rule. Thus, although some personal leaders may have sought such maximization, not all have done so. The extensive powers enjoyed personally by dominant leaders, including the potential hypertrophy of the official presidential office, is usually accompanied by the sidelining of some of the formal institutions, which are replaced by informal processes that suit the dictator (per Rule 14). Informal cliques of oligarchs were common as the leader’s cronies or immediate supporters often met as a sort of kitchen cabinet to decide important issues. In some regimes, the resulting camarilla has

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been likened to a medieval royal court, with the king surrounded by his handpicked advisers,52 and there is some credence in this picture. But it can also be seen in terms of the factional politics already noted (Rule 6) whereby the president relies much more heavily upon his faction than upon the other oligarchs. In Russia, and to a lesser extent in Belarus, the scholarly focus has been much more on corruption, but in doing so what this draws out is the closeness between the leader and those associates who benefit from their proximity and access to him. Many important questions are dealt with in such fora, with the result that the formal institutions such as a cabinet or, where it existed, a party, enjoyed little normative authority and often played little immediate part in the working of oligarch politics.53 The ostentatious sidelining of such institutions is a defining characteristic of personal dictatorship where overwhelming power is vested in the leader. Despite the sidelining of some leading formal institutions, the bureaucratic structures of the state generally continue to function in a more or less regular fashion (Rule 15). This is because the state machine and its operation are essential for the regime to survive. It is this body that carries out the essential ruling functions, including decision-making, implementation and administration, and retaining central control over the regions, especially given the absence or weakness of a ruling party. However, there could be significant disruption to the work of the state bureaucracy should the personal dictator unleash a wave of terror without insulating the administrative structures from this, as occurred in Pol Pot’s Kampuchea. Bureaucratic constituencies can constitute a power base for individual oligarchs (Rule 16), but given that the dictator generally eschews a ruling party (because of the possibility that it could challenge his dominance), a party is less likely to be important in this regard than in EA regimes. Whatever institutions exist are likely to be potential instruments for individual oligarchs, and as suggested earlier the most important of these are the state bureaucracies. This has been discussed in slightly different terms in regard to rank-and-file oligarch autonomy (Rule 4), the acceptability of differences among those oligarchs (Rule 5) and the acceptability of factions (Rule 6). This propensity is reinforced in those regimes where the personal leader does not exercise a highly interventionist decision-making style. In Russia, Putin generally left his ministers free to administer their portfolios, albeit under the overall gaze of himself and the prime minister, while in Nazi Germany Hitler’s penchant for encouraging rivalry among the other oligarchs allied to his detached leadership style in domestic affairs created a conflictual situation that enhanced the importance of institutions as bases for oligarch power.54 A similar situation existed in Syria under Hafiz al-Assad and Egypt under Gamal Abdul Nasser.55 The security apparatus sometimes plays an important autonomous role (Rule 17), but a powerful personal dictator is usually intent on keeping this operating exclusively in his service.56 Nevertheless, given that these regimes often rely heavily on coercion and the threat of its use, the security apparatus may have

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a more prominent role than in other regime types. Russia is often presented as a case of this, given that Putin himself spent some time as both a rank-and-file member and later leader of the security service, and he has been intent on ensuring that he remains in control of that service. Despite the claims of some (see earlier discussion of Rule 8), there is no evidence that the security service has played a major autonomous role in Russia.57 Leaders generally put great store in personally (or through their intimates) directly controlling the security service; Lukashenka, who distrusted the security apparatus he inherited, purged the Belarus KGB and established competing bodies (mainly the presidential security service; he also strengthened the military), and then used it to vigorously attack his critics58 in a pattern that has been familiar in other personal dictatorships. In line with the more restricted scope for open discussion in personal dictatorships, policy has rarely been a subject of open open oligarch debate (Rule 18). However, to the extent that the oligarchs do differ over questions, and this is inevitable, individual policies have been a cause of such difference. In Belarus, the conflict over economic policy in the early stages of Lukashenka’s regime has already been noted. Observers of Russia have frequently referred to the clashes behind the scenes between different ‘clans’, and although these are usually presented as conflicts over the distribution of material resources, they often also involved major policy issues, such as the role the state should play in the oil industry.59 Given the dominance of the dictator and his sensitivity to challenge, such disagreements are likely to be restricted and kept purely in house, although in those cases like Nazi Germany, Hafiz al-Assad’s Syria and Nasser’s Egypt where the dictator remained somewhat detached from some policy areas, oligarch policy conflict could be intense. Thus Rule 18 on the acceptability of policy as a source of oligarch disagreement has operated in some regimes but not in others, with the attitude of the dictator being the decisive factor. Formal legal principles often have little normative authority (Rule 19) in these systems where the defining characteristic of the regime is obedience to the dictator’s will. These regimes in particular are seen to have ruled through law rather than being ruled by law.60 The common picture is that ‘democratic leaders comply with their constitutions while dictators do not’,61 that dictatorships generally do not feel themselves bound to obey the laws of the state, even those they themselves introduce, but will use the full force of the law to enforce their rule. Hence, the law has no normative authority for the regime but may be used instrumentally for it to achieve its purposes in society at large. Constitutional norms and legal restraints are ostensibly followed and observed, but in practice are often manipulated for partisan advantage. A clear example of this comes from Belarus where, by late 1996 (the year in which Lukashenka introduced a new strongly presidential Constitution to replace that of 1993), the Belarusian Constitutional Court had ruled 16 of Lukashenka’s executive decrees unconstitutional, but he simply ignored the rulings.62

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Recent developments in some authoritarian states may appear to raise a query about the purely instrumental approach to law. In 2008 in Russia, Vladimir Putin refused to run for a third contiguous term as president, citing the constitutional bar on more than two consecutive terms as his reason for doing so. Unlike the presidents of, for example, Kazakhstan and Belarus, he refused to change the Constitution to permit another run, to extend the presidential term, or to abolish term limits altogether. Both aspects of this are curious: Putin seemed to be declaring that the Constitution had normative authority and this was preventing him from running, while the other presidents seemed to agree that it had normative authority and hence had the Constitution changed to enable them to run again without breaching it. In both cases, action was tailored to not run foul of the Constitution. The reason for Putin’s action is unclear, but it probably stemmed from his concern for the appearance of formal legitimacy, including his desire not to be seen internationally as ‘just another dictator’. By 2020, given the deterioration in relations with the US and Europe, that consideration was less compelling, and he had constitutional amendments adopted which gave him the right to run for two more terms when his current term expires. He thus adopted the strategy he had formerly eschewed. Another aspect of this question of formal rules, already noted in regard to Putin, relates to term limits (Rule 23). Term limits generally seem to have become much more common in authoritarian polities from the 1980s.63 According to Alexander Baturo,64 from 1960–2009, 71 presidents on 94 occasions (some of them did it more than once) extended their stay in office beyond the constitutional limit; of these, only seven did so before the 1990s. The principal means of bringing this about was through amendment (or replacement) of the Constitution, although popular plebiscite or a parliamentary vote were also common. So too was the practice of a leader vacating his post in favour of a place-holder and continuing to exercise power either from a nominally subordinate position (such as Putin in 2008–2012 when he was prime minister to Dmitry Medvedev’s presidency) or a notionally superior but honorific post (such as Nursultan Nazarbaev in Kazakhstan, who since 2019 has been simultaneously ‘Leader of the Nation’ and chairman of the Security Council). This sort of modus operandi involves the use of legal or constitutional mechanisms rather than simply an arbitrary announcement, reflecting a desire to give a sense of formal legitimacy to such actions. In these cases, there appears to have been little objection from within the oligarchy or the elite more broadly. Both parliament and constitutional/supreme court needed to be on side for a leader to achieve such an extension without difficulty. Thus, in terms of adherence to formal rules, including term limits, the record is mixed. While there have been many cases of leaders changing the rules to avoid a constitutional limitation on their term of office, there have also been cases when the formal rules have been followed. This has been discussed here principally in terms of the limits to presidential terms, but it is also reflected in the way that

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in many regimes the provisions regarding the regularity of elections have been observed, as have many of the administrative regulations and procedures involved in the actual administration of state and society. At crucial times, neither dictators nor the oligarchs may feel themselves bound by formal rules, but it is those formal rules that play most part in the structuring of the day-to-day functioning of the regime within society.

Constitutive rules Three of the 10 communist regime constitutive rules are problematic in personal regimes: Rule 23 on fixed terms (discussed already in connection with Rule 19), Rule 25 on institutional position as a possible shaper of leader succession outcomes and Rule 29 on succession not normally being a matter of life and death. As with the earlier rules, the power of the individual leader was the main factor in shaping the way these rules operated. As one would expect in such a leader-centred system, membership of the oligarchy is decided by the dictator and those around him (Rule 20), although factions and the need for factional balance could also play a role (Rule 21). Closeness to the dictator was generally more important than institutional position (Rule 22). In such regimes, personal position was usually a function of an individual’s relationship with the dictator rather than vice versa; those who were close to the dictator were given the most important institutional posts. In the early years of a personal dictatorship, this may have been less the case as the new dictator may have felt compelled to ensure the representation of institutional interests in the ruling council, or he may have had to inherit some existing placeholders. This was clearly the case for Lukashenka who lacked a personal ‘tail’ of followers who followed him to Minsk when he was elected president, and for Putin who inherited Yeltsin’s ‘family’. However, once the dictator becomes dominant, that imperative is likely to have faded and been replaced by personal association as the key factor in appointment. This shift is evident in the cases of both Lukashenka and Putin with, in the case of the latter, much being made of his security connections as a source of Putin-era oligarchs.65 This means that institutional position is likely not to be important as an avenue of entry to the oligarchy (Rule 22), because of the personalized rather than institutionalized nature of political relations that prevail in this sort of regime. Turning to the question of the succession of the leader, the evidence base for these two regimes is scantier than for most other areas of interest: there has been no turnover of the top job in Belarus since Lukashenka came to power, and in Russia there was the complicated ‘castling’ of positions between Putin and Medvedev. However, personal choice and co-optation in the transfer of power (Rule 24) is consistent with personalist regimes, has often been attempted elsewhere and has

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frequently met with success. With the concentration of power in the leader, it is logical for that leader to assume that the perpetuation of this sort of rule is desirable, and that he is best placed to choose who should replace him. The nomination of a successor may be becoming the norm in post-Soviet Russia. The first postSoviet president, Boris Yeltsin, had appointed Vladimir Putin as prime minister in August 1999. Yeltsin had been casting around for a successor for some time, and having settled on Putin, in December he resigned early from the presidency. According to the Constitution, in such an event the prime minister became the acting president and the election was to be held within three months. This manoeuvre gave Putin the inside running, and he was overwhelmingly elected in March 2000. As the end of his second four-year term approached in 2008, with significant debate occurring about whether he might change the Constitution and run for a third consecutive term, Putin announced that he would support a current deputy prime minister, Dmitry Medvedev, for the presidency. Medvedev declared that, if elected, he would like Putin to be his prime minister, and Putin agreed. Medvedev was overwhelmingly elected. Towards the end of Medvedev’s four-year term, Putin announced that he would stand again for the presidency, and Medvedev declared that he would support him in this. In each case, the incumbent publicly anointed his chosen successor (although in the Medvedev–Putin succession, in practical terms Medvedev may have had little alternative given the power relationship between the two). These were clear cases of succession by personal designation, with some echo of the Chinese experience.66 The temporary transfer of position to a place-holder while the leader continues to exercise power himself, as in the case of Putin, has also been quite common. President Rafael Leonidas Trujillo did this twice in the Dominican Republic, in 1938–1942 and in the 1950s, and in Nicaragua in 1947–1950 President Anastasio Garcia Somoza stepped aside, although he did have to intervene and replace his initial choice who had sought to become too independent for Somoza’s liking.67 In some dominant leader regimes/personal dictatorships, there has been a form of the personal choice of successor via dynastic succession, echoing the monarchical solution to the succession problem, inheritance by birth. The most striking example because it has extended over three generations has been North Korea where son has followed father: Kim Il Sung to Kim Jong Il to Kim Jong Un.68 But it has also occurred and been successful (in the sense that the successor did accede to power and was able to hold onto it for some years) elsewhere, including Azerbaijan, Syria and Taiwan among others; there have been rumours that Lukashenka is grooming his eldest son Viktar to take over from him. One potential problem in the dictator naming his successor is timing. If the successor is designated very early, the incumbent runs the risk of being seen as a lame duck,69 with factional groups and individual oligarchs re-orienting themselves in expectation of the succession. Under such circumstances, increased factional conflict is possible and the ebbing away of the incumbent’s power and authority is

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likely. But if the successor is named too late, that person’s ability to consolidate himself as the prospective leader may be impaired. In part the success of either strategy will be dependent upon the power of the incumbent and his ability to continue to exercise his authority once the identity of the proposed successor is known. But in either event, it is a risk. Given the personalist nature of the polity and the associated weakness of institutional structures, institutional location is rarely a factor determining the outcome of a leadership succession (in contrast to Rule 25 which provides for institutional position to potentially be important in this). However, institutions contribute to bringing about a peaceful succession. Three aspects are relevant. First, appointment to a leading position, such as vice-president, under the existing leader could both signal to the other oligarchs that this person was the leader’s preference to follow him and generate increased status and impetus for that person to succeed. In this case, the institutions are important, not because of any power or status that they may possess, but because of the symbolic, signalling, nature of the appointment to them. Second, leadership of one of the coercive hierarchies (military or security apparatus) could be an advantage, either because of the implicit threat that this was seen to pose by other oligarchs or, in the event of a coup, the actual power this vested in that particular oligarch’s hands. Where rules for the peaceful transfer of power are either weak or do not apply, control of the guns is a major weapon, although fear of what an oligarch in charge of the coercive institutions might do can also lead the others collectively to block his ascension. Third, the accession to the top job usually takes place formally through the existing institutions, which thereby lend legitimacy to a succession, but they are rarely important in the actual decision which is made by the dictator/oligarchs. Under these conditions the elite rarely plays much of a role in the choice of the successor (Rule 26). Factional and policy considerations could be important in the succession (Rules 27 and 28). Given that the uncertainty for the other oligarchs flowing from the power of the dictator could encourage faction formation for protection, it was logical that these would play a part if supreme power appeared to be becoming a matter of contention. The faction formed around Lukashenka’s son in Belarus seems designed, in part, with this future in mind. In Russia, factional considerations clearly came into play in the Putin/Medvedev/Putin process, with supporters of the two men mobilizing to the extent they could to seek to make their preference prevail.70 This also had a policy aspect, with Medvedev being seen in some quarters as more ‘liberal’ than Putin, but in practice what appealed to Putin about Medvedev was not only the latter’s apparently very limited personal ambition (and therefore small potential for wanting to seek a second term and thereby block Putin’s return), but that he was considered broadly supportive of the policy lines associated with Putin. The role that may be played by faction and policy is dependent upon who makes the actual decision, the dictator personally or the oligarchy.

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In personal dictatorships, where the succession was less likely to be structured by institutions and more subject to personal whim, the possibility of violence was increased. The consequences of failing in a competition for power could therefore be more dire. However, recognition of the danger of spilling blood, including their own possible fate in the event they are overthrown, often causes contenders to stay their hands (Rule 29). The same considerations relating to oligarch security (Rule 7) as discussed also apply here. This survey of personal regimes suggests that many of the rules we saw in the other regime types are also present in this type of regime enabling patterns of action and thereby coordinating leadership politics. The nature of personal rule, and especially the accompanying weakness of some institutions, of itself means that some of the rules will be less firmly based than in the other regimes. But it also means that the rules operate in a slightly different way in personal from other types of regimes. Chapter 8 explains the institutional reasons for this.

A note on dynastic monarchy Like non-dynastic or absolutist monarchy, dynastic monarchy is a type of government that historically has been very common but in contemporary times has very few exemplars. Those that exist are concentrated in the Gulf area/Arabian peninsula. The dynastic monarchy is like the military regime in terms of its relative rarity, but the difference is that the ubiquity of military establishments in contemporary states gives the real possibility, and perhaps even likelihood, that military regimes will recur in the future. On current trends there is little likelihood of new dynastic monarchical regimes emerging. Accordingly, the treatment of dynastic monarchy will be significantly briefer and more schematic than that of the other regime types. Paradoxically, dynastic monarchies share some of the characteristics of party regimes with the family an analogue of the party, although they clearly differ significantly in terms of formality and membership; family membership is determined by birth compared with the party’s commitment to common beliefs and formal membership. The family constitutes a significant part of the elite. The central feature of the dynastic monarchy is that the king71 is the regime leader (Rules 1 & 2); sovereignty is formally vested in him.72 In formal terms he is usually advised by a cabinet he has appointed (along with the prime minister), which is usually dominated by family members but also contains non-family technocrats.73 Historically, at least in Saudi Arabia, religious leaders have also been a source of policy input,74 while there has been increasing pressure for other groups to be able to participate in a meaningful way in policy discussion.75 The king’s position normally rests on a constitutional foundation, although his exercise of power is informally mediated through the family, principally uncles,

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brothers and sons, and is not restricted by term limits (Rule 23). Rather than absolute power, he must negotiate over many issues with members of the family, but he does so from a position of strength as he is not only the king but also pater familias. The king exercised significant personal authority (Rule 12) and although he owed his position to the family, by virtue of his office he gained substantial institutional authority. Although he ‘cannot dismiss his relatives from their posts at will, he does have the strongest voice in promotions, dismissals, and the selection of the crown prince’.76 He also has broad disciplinary responsibility within the ruling family of which he is the acknowledged head. The concern to maintain family rule that is shared throughout the family underpins familial recognition of his authority. Family membership plus their occupation of leading posts in the administration gives some members of the ruling family a powerful voice in policy-making. While the king may consult non-family advisers, the most important discussions generally occurred within the family, where in some instances the strength of opinion within that group could sway a decision by the king. There was usually an understanding about how differences within the family were to be resolved, with the desire to avoid destabilization of family rule providing an effective frame within which this could occur. Leading family members were rarely afraid of expressing their opinions to the king.77 The sorts of principles, practices and structures that linked the monarch to the family could constitute direct channels of influence to the king. The family provides a natural forum for informal discussion outside the official cabinet and excluding non-family members. While there may be no formal institution within which members of the family meet, periodic conclaves and their regular interactions may involve the collective discussion of issues (Rule 3), albeit consistently in a more informal context than is usual in the other regimes. Policy is frequently a cause of oligarch disagreement (Rule 18). Some decentralization of functions from the king to other members of the family does occur, especially through their occupation of leading positions in the politico-administrative apparatus (often to a relatively low level) and the military. This can create the basis for the exercise of some autonomy on the part of leading oligarchs (Rules 4 and 16), as well as giving them an institutional interest to defend. Disagreement among the oligarchs and factional development is possible and acceptable (Rules 5 and 6), although the exercise of patriarchal power through the family structure is a limiting factor. In dynastic monarchies, a major strategy for consolidating the king’s rule and stabilizing the regime is to distribute key government positions to leading members of the family, who thereby gain control of leading government posts; usually the most important ministerial posts were occupied by leading family members. In conjunction with the key role such figures played in policy-making, they had substantial capacity to play an autonomous role, not only in policy concerning their particular area of responsibility, but across all sectors of the political

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agenda because of the way in which informal family conclaves could range over the whole policy spectrum.78 The importance of collective discussion is evident in the way succession to the throne is usually handled. In most of the Gulf monarchies, the succession was decided by the reigning king with the consent of the ruling family (Rules 24, 25 and 26).79 The succession process will be structured according to the rules and norms attached to the hereditary monarchy. These may allow for the monarch to choose his successor (Rule 24), as Saudi King Salman effectively has done, although this is always subject to broader family consent and usually consistency with established norms. Institutional position may be relevant (Rule 25) once the putative successor has been named as Crown Prince and appointed to an official post (in Saudi Arabia this is usually first deputy prime minister, in Kuwait prime minister), but is less so in the initial nomination by the king. Familial and monarchical institutions are the vehicle for the succession to be conducted and announced (Rule 26). Policy may be relevant in succession (Rule 28), especially in terms of the distinction between conservative and more liberal potential monarchs, although this does not come into play where there is a strict primogeniture principle as in Bahrain. Rules 25 on institutional position as a shaper of succession outcomes and 26 on succession being decided within the oligarchy are therefore less applicable in dynastic monarchies than in the communist regimes. Following from the acceptance of collective discussion, factions have been common in the dynastic monarchies (Rule 6), both within the state bureaucracy and the royal family. Factions may form based on the interests of institutions headed by family members, but they have also been important in structuring the succession process (Rule 27). What is important about the factions active around succession is that their basis is usually more power than policy; factions were usually kin-based, resting on sub-branches or lineages of the ruling family. Where the succession is decided by royal appointment, there is significant scope for factional activity. The existing ruler nominates a successor, usually early in his reign. The choice is usually limited to a male member of the king’s lineage within the ruling family—for example, the descendants of Mubarak in Kuwait or Ibn Saud in Saudi Arabia—but this choice must be agreed to by the family as a whole in a consensual decision.80 Policy preference may come into this decision (Rule 28), especially surrounding the reformist/conservative distinction, but this has not always been a factor. Given this general involvement, plus the fact that a decision once taken was not irrevocable—for example, Saudi King Salman overturned his earlier decision in June 2017 when he replaced as Crown Prince (and therefore heir presumptive) Mohammad Bin Nayef by Mohammad Bin Salman—ambitious princes could see encouragement to organize to press their claims.81 This could lead to faction-based conflict within the family oligarchy, in which the factions might compete by offering members of the family either continued tenure of

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government posts or some modest redistribution from which they could benefit. This did not usually challenge regime stability because the strength of the consensus to maintain the ruling family’s position usually encouraged those participants not to seek success at any cost but rather to bandwagon behind one candidate.82 One instance where this did not occur was in Kuwait in 2006. There had been longstanding restrained competition between two lines of the ruling Al Sabah family, the al-Salim and the al-Jabir. The balance of power between these broke down with the death of the king in 2006. The al-Salim line wanted their candidate to succeed but the leading candidate from the al-Jabir line was the prime minister. He had, during his tenure, cultivated his relationship with many members of parliament, and in the impasse that resulted from the two lines’ inability to agree, the parliament intervened and placed the prime minister on the throne. He then appointed people from his own line to leading positions, shutting the al-Salim out and setting the scene for continued competition.83 In this case, the consensus broke down under the weight of factional competition. In the dynastic monarchies, the guaranteed sharing out and retention of access to power and resources is a central element of the ruling family’s strategy for stabilization of their rule (Rule 7). This means that changes in that distribution have the potential to be destabilizing, reflected in the practice that the removal of an oligarch from his official position generally requires familial consensus.84 It also means that such dismissal usually does not mean the complete casting out of that individual, and that unsuccessful contenders for power often retain their formal positions, high prestige and perquisites, as in Kuwait in 1978 (Rule 29).85 This underpins a strong ethos of unity resulting from the commitment to maintain the position of the ruling family. This focus on maintaining corporate, collective control shapes family dynamics and can place significant limitations on the unrolling of conflict within the oligarchy. It is the basis for a strong sense of consensus and agreement (Rule 8). This familial-based consensus, added to the corporate nature of the ruling family, is central to the oligarchs not feeling vulnerable and under continuing threat, either to their persons or the wealth they are able to accumulate through the positions they acquire (Rule 7). Dynastic monarchies usually have a more complicated task ensuring the broader elite have a meaningful role to play in the political system than is the case in other regime types (Rule 9). The familial nature of the regime means that a significant portion of the elite (i.e. those not family members) will never be able to fully penetrate the oligarchy. They may be able to rise to positions of ministerial power in the government (although probably not in the key ministries), but commonly they concentrate their activities in some aspect of (often private) economic activity, usually liberally assisted by concessions from the regime. The oligarchy’s control of state resources—such as the state monopoly of oil in Kuwait86 —gives the oligarchy a powerful lever to structure its relations with this sort of elite in a way that suits its interests. For members of the family who are outside the oligarchy,

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the same outlet is possible, although for at least some members of this group, the feeling of thwarted ambition is likely to be much stronger since they may meet the basic criterion for membership of the oligarchy (extended family membership) but are not members of the king’s particular lineage and are therefore prevented from ever ascending to the throne and maybe even his inner circle. They may also be restricted in the level of administrative position they can aspire to. Although many of them gain employment in the state bureaucracy, for prominent members who do not hold high government office (for example as a minister) and are therefore not part of the central ruling oligarchy, it has not always been easy to find a productive niche. Often culturally averse to personal involvement in commerce and either unwilling or unable (because of the absence of ‘suitable’ positions) to enter the politico-administrative system, such ‘princes’ and their relatives have often been at a loose end. This is where the king as a strong pater familias must play a role in maintaining discipline within the broad family framework. The problem of rich princes with too much time on their hands has historically been a significant one for these regimes. The oligarchy, and indeed the family more broadly, tend to protect familial power from intervention from outside (Rule 10), although family members in the elite may enjoy avenues of influence into the oligarchy not available to non-family members. The strong sense of safeguarding the family’s hold on power provides a powerful disincentive to members of the oligarchy to seek to mobilize others into political affairs. However, there have been occasions when ambitious oligarchs have sought to mobilize sections of the elite into politics—for example, the parliament in Kuwait in 1985–1986 and 2006 and tribal leaders in Saudi Arabia in 1963,87 but these usually fail; the imperative of the survival of family rule usually leads to a closing of ranks against such attempts. Occupation of the throne endows the incumbent with important powers (Rule 11), but the personalized authority of the king is also very important (Rule 12), A strong personality, buttressed by his position as the pater familias which vests significant authority in his person (at least within the family), have been instrumental in the emergence of powerful kings. King Ibn Saud, the founder of Saudi Arabia, was one such king who benefited greatly from his role as regime founder to make the most of the potential contained in the office. While each king will seek to strengthen his personal position (Rule 13), he may be restrained in what he can achieve by traditions embedded in dynastic rule and family lore. The informal processes whereby the familial network functions have been more important than formal legal principles (Rule 19), although monarchical power may be formally strengthened through specific constitutional provisions. The formal political institutions (Rule 14) such as a cabinet and legislature are also often overshadowed by the informal processes centred in the family, although the state’s bureaucratic machinery continues to operate (Rule 15), and thereby provides a potential base for individual oligarchs (Rule 16). The state machine is essential

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given the absence of any other institutional structure for both administering and holding the country together and for exploiting the economy, so essential for continued peace and stability of the elite. The role of the security apparatus (Rule 17) depends upon the disposition of power within the familial oligarchy, although as in other regimes usually the king and the oligarchy more broadly expend significant efforts to ensure it remains under close control and therefore does not act independently. The constitutive rules seem less applicable in dynastic monarchies because of the role of the family. Membership of the oligarchy (Rule 20) is generally by birth; even men who married female members of the ruling family were not considered part of the ruling family/dynasty. Personal support/factional affiliation may be relevant in shaping membership of the oligarchy (Rule 21), but again this is generally restricted to the family (and preference is given to a particular lineage within the family) as the source of recruits, and this may impose further constraints on choice, for example birth order of the males may be an important consideration. Institutional position is likely to be of little importance in determining membership (Rule 22) in a family-dominated polity although it is relevant for cabinet-based technocrats. Death is rarely the consequence of losing out in the succession (Rule 29); there is usually a reticence to employ such methods against family members. In dynastic monarchies many of the same rules apply as were operative in the communist single-party states. However, those informal principles stemming from the dynamic of the family and its interactions are central to structuring the way such regimes work and the way rules function within them. This will be examined in Chapter 8.

Notes 1. This weakness of institutions is the central axis of the analysis of personal rule in discussions of this type of system. For example, R.H. Jackson and C.G. Rosberg, Personal Rule in Black Africa: Prince, Autocrat, Prophet, Tyrant (Berkeley, University of California Press, 1982). 2. On the definitional question, see Francis Oakley, Kingship (Oxford, Blackwell Publishing, 2006), pp.1–2. For a vivid evocation of royal power in its absolutist sense, that of Haile Selassie in Ethiopia in the early 1970s, see Ryszard Kapuscinski, The Emperor (London, Pan Books, 1984). 3. We are concerned only with monarchies that fit into the authoritarian category. Most contemporary monarchies are constitutional monarchies and democracies and therefore outside our current purview. 4. The 1993 Russian Constitution is often labelled thus, but this is an exaggeration. For a discussion of this question, see M. Steven Fish, Democracy Derailed in Russia: The Failure of Open Politics (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2005), ch.7.

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5. On these, see Henry Hale, Patronal Politics: Eurasian Regime Dynamics in Comparative Perspective (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2015). 6. For example, Kimitaka Matsuzato, ‘A Populist Island in an Ocean of Clan Politics: The Lukashenka Regime as an Exception among CIS Countries’, Europe-Asia Studies 56, 2, 2004, pp.244, 248–250. and Andrew Wilson, Belarus: The Last European Dictatorship (New Haven, Yale University Press, 2011), pp.170 and 224. 7. Brian D. Taylor, The Code of Putinism (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2018), pp.133–134. 8. This seems to have depended on how it was done and the particular issue, for example Putin’s economic adviser Andrei Illarionov was critical of the attack on the Yukos Oil Co in December 2004, and was demoted. Steven Lee Myers, The New Tsar: The Rise and Reign of Vladimir Putin (London, Simon & Schuster, 2015), p.286. 9. Cited in Taylor (2018), respectively pp.133 & 104. 10. Fiona Hill and Clifford G. Gaddy, Mr Putin: Operative in the Kremlin (Washington DC, Brookings Institution Press, 2013), pp.231–232. 11. Myers (2015), pp.301 and 460–461; Taylor (2018), p.184. 12. On his style, see Myers (2015), pp.427–428; Hill and Gaddy (2013), pp.243–249; Bobo Lo, Vladimir Putin and the Evolution of Russian Foreign Policy (London, Blackwell, 2003); Lilia Shevtsova, Putin’s Russia (Washington DC, Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 2005); Richard Sakwa, ‘Political Leadership’, Stephen Wegren and Dale R. Herspring (eds), After Putin’s Russia: Past Imperfect, Future Uncertain (Lanham, Rowman & Littlefield, 2010), pp.28–34; Stephen Fortescue, ‘Russia’s “Turn to the East”: A Study in Policy Making’, Post-Soviet Affairs 32, 5, 2015, pp.423–454. 13. On the nature of Hitler’s power, see Ian Kershaw, The Nazi Dictatorship: Problems and Perspectives of Interpretation (London, Bloomsbury, 2015), ch.4; Martin Broszat, The Hitler State. The foundation and development of the internal structure of the Third Reich (London, Longman, 1981), chs 7–9; Richard J. Evans, The Third Reich in Power 1933–1939 (London, Penguin, 2006), pp.612–615; Karl Dietrich Bracher, The German Dictatorship: The Origins, Structure and Consequences of National Socialism (Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1973), ch.7. 14. On Azerbaijan, see Hale (2015), pp.150–151. 15. David Nicholls, ‘The Duvalier Regime in Haiti’, H.E. Chehabi and Juan J. Linz (eds), Sultanistic Regimes (Baltimore, The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998), p.163. 16. Hale (2015), p.143. 17. Kershaw (2015), p.98; also Bracher (1973), pp.429–432. 18. For a general discussion of Putin’s position, see Graeme Gill, ‘The Basis of Putin’s Power’, Russian Politics 1, 1, 2016, pp.46–69. 19. On the ‘messiness’ of policy-making in Russia, see Fortescue (2015), pp.423–454. On differences between groups in Belarus, see Wilson (2011), pp.208, 223–225 and 235. Such conflict was less dangerous, at least in terms of raising the dictator’s ire, in Nazi Germany because of the way Hitler preferred to see such conflict play itself out in policy discussion before he would become personally involved. Kershaw (2015), pp.98–99.

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20. Matthew Frear, Belarus under Lukashenka: Adaptive Authoritarianism (London, Routledge, 2018), pp.56–57; Wilson (2011), pp.208, 223–225 and 235; Hale (2015), p.144 and 261–262; Matsuzato (2004), pp.237–238 and 248–250. 21. Frear (2018), pp.52–53. 22. For a sophisticated attempt to do this, see Richard Sakwa, The Crisis of Russian Democracy: The Dual State, Factionalism and the Medvedev Succession (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2011), ch.3. Also Graeme Gill, Building an Authoritarian Polity: Russia in Post-Soviet Times (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2015). 23. On ‘the family’, see Vyacheslav Kostikov, Roman s prezidentom. Zapiski press-sekretaria (Moscow, Vagrius, 1997), ch.1 and Aleksandr Korzhakov, Boris Yeltsin: Ot rassveta do zakata (Moscow, Interbuk, 1997). 24. For example: ‘Russia is run by police and security officials.’ Amy Knight, Orders to Kill: The Putin Regime and Political Murder (London, Biteback Publishing, 2018), p.32. For some data about who Putin has promoted that calls this characterization into question, see Oxana Gaman-Golutvina, ‘Changes in Elite Patterns’, Richard Sakwa (ed), Power and Policy in Putin’s Russia (London, Routledge, 2009), pp.160–161. On this question, also see Olga Kryshtanovskaia and Stephen White, ‘Putin’s Militocracy’, Post-Soviet Affairs 19, 4, 2003, pp.289–306; Bettina Renz, ‘Putin’s Militocracy? An Alternative Interpretation of the Role of Siloviki in Contemporary Russian Politics’, Europe-Asia Studies 58, 6, 2006, pp.903–924; Sharon Werning Rivera and David W. Rivera, ‘The Russian Elite Under Putin: Militocratic or Bourgeois?’, Post-Soviet Affairs 22, 2, 2006, pp.125–144; Brian D. Taylor, State Building in Putin’s Russia: Policing and Coercion After Communism (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2011). 25. Germany also shows the danger that a leader could see in a military or paramilitarybased faction, by the purge of Ernst Rohm and the SA in June 1934. 26. Wilson (2011), pp.190–192 and 201. Also Hale (2015), pp.261–262. On corruption and the elite, see Wilson (2011), pp.185–189 and 225; and Lucan Way, Pluralism by Default: Weak Autocrats and the Rise of Competitive Politics (Baltimore, The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2015), p.134. 27. Hale (2015), p.261. 28. For a short summary, see Vitali Silitski, ‘Contagion Deterred: Preemptive Authoritarianism in the Former Soviet Union (the Case of Belarus)’, Valerie Bunce, Michael McFaul and Kathryn Stoner-Weiss (eds), Democracy and Authoritarianism in the Postcommunist World (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2010), pp.282–284. Also Hale (2015), pp.258–266; Way (2015), pp.115–143. 29. Hale (2015), p.144; Way (2015), p.132. 30. For one discussion of the explicit bargain Putin reached with wealthy Russian tycoons, see William Tompson, ‘Putin and the “Oligarchs”: A Two-sided Commitment Problem’, Alex Pravda (ed), Leading Russia: Putin in Perspective. Essays in Honour of Archie Brown (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2005). 31. Knight (2018), pp.32–33. 32. Felshtinsky with Vladimir Pribylovsky, The Putin Corporation: The Story of Russia’s Secret Takeover (London, Gibson Square, 2012). 33. Taylor (2018), p.36.

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34. Cited in Richard Sakwa, The Putin Paradox (London, I.B. Taurus, 2020), p.219. 35. Way (2015), pp.136–137 and 141; Hale (2015), pp.143–144; Matsuzato (2004), p.245; Wilson (2011), pp.225 and 243–244. For the apparatus underpinning Lukashenka’s capacity to control and exploit the economy, see Way (2015), pp.122–123, 134 and 136–137. 36. On the post-Soviet space, see Hale (2015). 37. For a scathing analysis, see Anders Aslund, Russia’s Crony Capitalism: The Path from Market Economy to Kleptocracy (New Haven, Yale University Press, 2019). For an argument about Putin’s personal involvement, see Karen Dawisha, Putin’s Kleptocracy: Who Owns Russia? (New York, Simon & Schuster, 2014). 38. For a study of the German economy at this time, see Adam Tooze, The Wages of Destruction: The Making and Breaking of the Nazi Economy (London, Penguin, 2007). 39. Hale (2015), p.258; Way (2015), p.119. 40. Nazi Germany is another example. 41. The share of votes gained by United Russia in successive Duma elections was: 2003 37.57%; 2007 64.30%; 2011 49.32%; 2016 54.20%. Derek S. Hutcheson, Parliamentary Elections in Russia: A Quarter-Century of Multiparty Politics (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2018), pp.22–25. 42. On United Russia, see Sean P. Roberts, Putin’s United Russia Party (London, Routledge, 2012); Ora John Reuter, The Origins of Dominant Parties: Building Authoritarian Institutions in Post-Soviet Russia (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2017); Vitalii Ivanov, Partiya putina. Istoriya ‘Yedinoi rossii’ (Moscow, OLMA, 2008). 43. One place where a party was important was Nicaragua where, according to one scholar, the party was Somoza’s ‘vehicle for political and bureaucratic control and distribution of patronage. The party was eventually transformed into a tool for Somoza Garcia’s personal control of the state… and came to be run by relatives and cronies of the dictator.’ John A. Booth, ‘The Somoza Regime in Nicaragua’, Chelabi and Linz (1998), p.133. 44. Way (2015), pp.127–139 and Hale (2015), pp.258–266. 45. On the development of the institutional structure including the presidency under Putin from what it had been under Yeltsin, see Gill (2015), ch.4. 46. On his populism, see Matsuzato (2004) and Hale (2015), pp.141–145. 47. On Niyazov, see Hale (2015), p.164; Hale (2015), p.164. Also Yelena Nikolayevna Zabortseva, ‘Niyazov’s Ideology and its Symbolism: The Cult of the Leader, Nationalism and its Suppression of Critical Thinking’, Politics, Religion and Ideology 19, 4, 2018, pp.510–530. 48. H.E. Chelabi and Juan J. Linz, ‘A Theory of Sultanism 1: A Type of Nondemocratic Rule’, Chehabi and Linz (1998), pp.13–14. Also note the following title: Frank Dikotter, How to be a Dictator: The Cult of Personality in the Twentieth Century (London, Bloomsbury Publishing, 2019). 49. Bracher (1973), p.424. For an interesting treatment of the image of Hitler, see Ian Kershaw, The ‘Hitler Myth’: Image and Reality in the Third Reich (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1989).

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50. Daniel Chirot, Modern Tyrants: The Powers and Prevalence of Evil in Our Age (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1994), p.394. 51. On the attempt to generate a cult, see Julia A. Cassidy and Emily D. Johnson, ‘Putin, Putiniana, and the Question of a Post-Soviet Cult of Personality’, Slavonic and East European Review 88, 4, 2010, pp.681–707; Helena Goscilo (ed), Putin as Celebrity and Cultural Icon (London, Routledge, 2013). 52. For an example of the use of the court metaphor, see Mikhail Zygar, All the Kremlin’s Men: Inside the Court of Vladimir Putin (New York, Public Affairs, 2016). 53. On Lukashenka’s sidelining of formal institutions, see Way (2015), pp.120–123 & 129–139. 54. For example, Broszat (1981); Edward N. Peterson, The Limits of Hitler’s Power (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1969). 55. Paul Brooker, Non-Democratic Regimes (Basingstoke, Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), pp.175–176. 56. On Belarus, see Wilson (2011), pp.223–225 and Way (2015), pp.121 and 126; on Turkmenistan, see Hale (2015), p.163. 57. On this see the comments in Sakwa (2020), pp.98–99. For an argument about conflict within the ranks of the siloviki, see Peter Reddaway, Russia’s Domestic Security Wars: Putin’s Use of Divide and Rule Against His Hardline Allies (Cham, Palgrave Macmillan, 2018). 58. Way (2015), pp.121 and 129 and Wilson (2011), pp.208 and 223. Also Hale (2015), pp.261–262 and Silitski (2010), p.283. 59. On clans, see Taylor (2018), ch.3 and Sakwa (2011). For an extended study of the oil industry, see Thane Gustafson, Wheel of Fortune The Battle for Oil and Power in Russia (Cambridge [Mass], The Belknap Press, 2012). 60. This is the title of an interesting set of essays: Tom Ginsburg and Tamir Moustafa (eds), Rule by Law: The Politics of Courts in Authoritarian Regimes (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2008). 61. Alexander Baturo, Democracy, Dictatorship, and Term Limits (Ann Arbor, The University of Michigan Press, 2014), p.3. Also see Levitsky & Way (2010), pp.79–80. 62. Way (2015), p.130. Following the constitutional change, Lukashenka sacked the members of the Constitutional Court and appointed new ones under the power granted to him in the new Constitution. 63. This whole question is discussed in Baturo (2014). 64. Baturo (2014), pp.86–90. For what he calls the ‘menu’ of extending tenure beyond term limits, see pp.53–69. For some interesting comments on the transfer of power in some of the countries of the former Soviet Union, see Kirill Rogov, Tsar gory. Nedemokraticheskii transfer vlasti na postsovetskoi prostranstve (Moscow, Fond ‘ liberal’naya missiya’, 2019). 65. For example, Kryshtanovskaia and White (2003) and Knight (2018). 66. One case where this failed was Ukraine in 2004–05 where Leonid Kuchma tried to pass power to Viktor Yanukovich, but this was thwarted by the Orange Revolution. Another historical failure was Nazi Germany, where Hitler’s initial proposed successor, Rudolf Hess, fled to the UK in 1941, and the regime fell before Hermann Goering could take up the post.

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67. Respectively, Jonathan Hartlyn, ‘The Trujillo Regime in the Dominican Republic’, Chelabi and Linz (1998), pp.94 and 95, and Baturo (2014), pp.50–51. 68. The monarchical solution has usually involved male primogeniture, but this did not operate in the last succession in North Korea, where Kim Jong-il decided that his second son should succeed, not his first. On North Korea, see Bradley K. Martin, Under the Loving Care of the Fatherly Leader: North Korea and the Kim Dynasty (New York, St Martins Press, 2004). On Azerbaijan, Hale (2015), pp.291–302. In Singapore, Lee Kwan Yew’s son Lee Hsiung Loong succeeded his father’s successor Goh Chok Tong, who was prime minister for 14 years. Also see Jason Brownlee, ‘Hereditary Succession in Modern Autocracies’, World Politics 59, 4, 2007, pp.595–628. 69. On the dangers of this, see Hale (2015). 70. Sakwa (2011). 71. The monarchs were not always called ‘king’; in Kuwait, Qatar and Bahrain, he was called ‘emir’ or ‘prince’, but ‘king’ will be used here for simplicity’s sake. 72. Michael Herb, All in the Family: Absolutism, Revolution, and Democracy in the Middle Eastern Monarchies (Albany, State University of New York Press, 1999), p.34. 73. On Saudi Arabia, see Herb (1999), p.60; on Kuwait, Hiba Khodr, ‘A Preliminary Comparative Study of Policy Making in Two GCC Countries—Qatar and Kuwait: Processes, Politics, and Participants’, Politics and Policy 42, 2, 2014, p.286. 74. They have even had effective control over some ministries. Muhammad Al Atawneh, ‘Authority-Holders (wulat al-amur) in Contemporary Islamic Politics and Governance: The Case of Saudi Arabia’, Middle East Critique 26, 2, 2017, pp.123–136. 75. Anoushiravan Ehteshani, ‘Reform from Above: The Politics of Participation in the Oil Monarchies’, International Affairs 79, 1, 2003, pp.53–75. Anoushiravan Ehteshani and Steven Wright, ‘Political Change in the Arab Oil Monarchies: From Liberalization to Enfranchisement’, International Affairs 83, 5, 2007, pp.913–932. Greg Power, ‘The Difficult Development of Parliamentary Politics in the Gulf: Parliaments and the Process of Managed Reform in Kuwait, Bahrein and Oman’, David Held and Kristian Ulrichsen (eds), The Transformation of the Gulf: Politics, Economics and the Global Order (London, Routledge, 2012), pp.29–46. Khodr (2014), pp.271–310. 76. Herb (1999), p.33. 77. Herb (1999), pp.32, 42–43, 46–50, 91–99 and 238. For the suggestion that current Saudi crown prince, Mohammad bin Salman, is in the process of destroying the ‘historical commitment to cohesion and consensus’ within the royal family, see Steven Simon and Daniel Benjamin, ‘Reckless in Riyadh’, The New York Review of Books 27 June 2019, p.70. 78. An example is the role played by Mohammad Bin Salman in Saudi Arabia following his appointment as defence minister in 2015 and second deputy prime minister; in 2017 he became first deputy and thereby putative successor to the throne. For the general point, see the details in Herb (1999). 79. Herb (1999), pp.10. 36–37, 79–82 and 238. 80. On the wisdom of seeking the agreement of leading groups outside the family, see Herb (1999), pp.36–37, 79–82 and 238. 81. On Saudi Arabia, see Herb (1999), pp.91–99. 82. Herb (1999), pp.47–48.

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83. Rivka Azoulay and Claire Beaugrand, ‘Limits of Political Clientelism: Elites’ Struggles in Kuwait Fragmenting Politics’, Arabian Humanities 4, 2015, pp.1–20. 84. Herb (1999), pp.34, 76 and 99. 85. Herb (1999), pp.81–82. 86. Gandhi (2008), pp.44–52. 87. Herb (1999), pp.82–83 and 97 and Azoulay and Beaugrand (2015).

8 Rules and Regime Institutions When assessing the degree to which rules structure political activity it is important to have a realistic understanding of what it means to say that the rules are being observed in a system. In no system are all of the rules observed all of the time. Particular rules may not be followed for a variety of reasons. Political actors may believe it to be in their interests to ignore or act contrary to the rules. Rules may be in tension, or mutually contradictory, or one may be accepted to have primacy over another. Competing rules is a common situation in the relationship between formal written rules and informal norms of behaviour, and frequently occurs with regard to Constitutions which purport to outline the way the system is meant to work but which differ (sometimes substantially) from the way the system actually functions. Communist Constitutions, with their emphasis on democracy, represent a clear instance of this, but similar discrepancies between the provisions of liberal democratic Constitutions and how their systems actually work are common. Rules may also become irrelevant as circumstances change, a fate to which formal written rules are particularly prone. So all rules may not be fully observed at particular times, but individual instances of this do not necessarily mean that the rules are meaningless. If rules are established through regular observance, occasional failure to follow them does not in principle negate those rules; only consistent and prolonged failure to adhere to them would represent such a negation. Not all regime types experience all of the rules identified in Chapters 2–4, not all of the rules operate continuously and not all of the rules are observed in the same way both between and within regimes at all times. This has been illustrated in Chapters 5–7, but the differences between regime types has not been explained. This variety in the observance of rules is related to two things: the different institutional structures of the various types of regime, and the power disposition inside the oligarchy. These will be discussed respectively in this and the following chapter. Although it has been argued that reliance upon institutions to distinguish between authoritarian regime types is misguided because formal institutions are of ‘questionable relevance’ in such regimes,1 different regimes actually operate differently depending, in part, upon the institutional configurations they have; an EA regime operates in different ways from a military regime which functions differently from a personal regime. This is reflected in how the different rules function in these systems and the way in which those rules structure political action. Bridling Dictators. Graeme Gill, Oxford University Press. © Graeme Gill (2021). DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192849687.003.0008

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This chapter will build on the analysis in Chapters 5–7 to explain why particular rules are regularly observed within particular regime types, and the way that the institutions that comprise those regime types affect the working of the rules. Which rules exist in which regime types based on the countries analysed in this study is indicated in Table 8.1. This shows that most of the identified rules are compatible with all regime types. It also shows that across regimes, it is the operational rules governing intraoligarchy life (Rules 1–8) that are most compatible with all regime types (in the sense that fewer operational rules were not compatible than either of the other types of rules), with the relational (Rules 9–19) and constitutive (Rules 20–29) rules following in that order. This may appear surprising given the accepted view in the literature about the nature of authoritarian leadership, but what it reflects is that many of the imperatives of small-group behaviour reflected in the operational rules apply regardless of the institutional vehicles within which that group operates, and that those rules relating specifically to broader regime structure (relational and constitutive) do vary most with the different formal structures. The table also shows that, in terms of the number of rules most compatible, the closest to the communist single-party regime is the dynastic monarchy, followed by EA regimes, personal dictatorships and military regimes. The institutional structure and corresponding regime type are central to shaping both the variable role of some rules in different regimes and how those rules that have been consistently observed function. This will be analysed in terms of five main clusters of related rules that will show this impact: rules on the functioning of the oligarchy, its relationship with the elite, succession to both the oligarchy and the leadership, the basis of oligarch unity and observance of the law. These clusters are based loosely on the way in which the different rules intersect noted in Chapters 2–4.

Military regimes We are interested here in the military regime in which the military establishment rules directly rather than overseeing a civilian government.2 Most military regimes have been presidential in form, with the military leader (usually leader of the army) becoming president and leading a military junta, or council of leading military officers coming from the individual service branches of the military. The military is usually united by a strong ethos and sense of loyalty to the institution, and the desire to avoid the erosion of that professionalism may be a barrier to the large-scale colonization of the state apparatus by military personnel. However, this does occur in some regimes and when it does it can create significant tension, especially if the officers filling administrative posts in the state remain on active service rather than either retiring from the military or taking up

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Table 8.1 Rule compatibility with regime type Rule number

Communist single-party regime

Military regime

EA regime

Personal dictatorship

Dynastic monarchy

1

X

X

X

X

X

2

X

X

X

X

X

3

X

X

X

#

X

4

X

X

X

X

X

5

X

X

X

X

X

6

X

X

X

X

X

7

X

X

X

#

X

8

X

O

X

#

X

9

X

X

X

X

#

10

X

#

#

X

X

11

X

X

X

X

X

12

X

O

X

X

X

13

X

X

X

#

X

14

X

O

X

X

X

15

X

X

#

X

X

16

X

X

X

X

X

17

X

X

X

X

X

18

X

X

X

#

X

19

X

#

#

#

X

20

X

#

#

X

X

21

X

O

X

X

#

22

X

O

X

X

X

23

X

#

#

#

X

24

X

X

X

X

X

25

X

X

#

#

#

26

X

X

#

X

#

27

X

X

X

X

X

28

X

X

X

X

X

29

X

X

X

#

X

Notes: X denotes fully compatible, meaning the rule is consistently observed; O denotes not compatible, meaning the rule is never or very rarely observed; # denotes where the rule may be observed either in a highly qualified form or in one case study country of this regime type but not another

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reserve status. Even where widespread colonization does not take place, military officers will still usually take leading, responsible posts in the state structure, including as government ministers, and will sit in the cabinet. The limited nature of the personnel overlap (or where it is extensive, the tension it creates) between military and state and the continuing importance of both institutional structures mean that the military regime is a diarchy. Perhaps reflecting their own sense of professionalism, military regimes usually acknowledge the role of independent technical experts, including those located in the state machine.

Oligarch functioning Although military regimes are often associated in the public consciousness with strongmen, this has rarely been the reality, with none of the regimes analysed here having a dominant leader: all of the leading figures were predominant leaders. The military ethos weakened the possibility of a leader’s personal authority enabling him to expand his power (Rule 12) because his leadership has usually been seen in terms of the office he holds and any personal authority he may acquire is attributed more to the uniform than to him personally. The effect of this was strengthened by the diarchic structure of the regime which hindered the emergence of a dominant leader. The relative separation of military and state, the division of control over coercive power within the military among the oligarchs as heads of the respective service branches plus the corporate military ethos all hindered the development of an individual’s personal authority and his concentration of power (Rule 13). Pinochet’s inability to establish a position of dominant leadership shows these constraints. Powers over appointment could be complex in military regimes. To the extent that the power over promotion remained vested in the individual service branches, there was a clear limit on the capacity of the regime leader to use the appointment weapon as widely as his single-party counterpart or to build up his personal support base (Rule 13 on power maximization). The different service branches and their drive to protect their institutional integrity thus posed a considerable constraint upon a regime leader’s capacity to place supporters in important positions within these institutions. The traditional military emphasis upon rank and obedience to office (a person’s authority was seen to flow from the office rather than the person) also posed a limit on the capacity to generate personalized power. The relative resistance to colonizing the state machine at all levels also constituted a restraint upon this ability. In most cases, officers filled responsible positions, thus creating a thin sprinkling of military personnel, while leaving much of the administrative work to civilians. This was not always the case, but the fear that close involvement in administrative work could contribute to the erosion

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277

of the military’s professional ethos was often a barrier to a high level of military saturation of the state administrative machine. Similarly, the military’s propensity to rely upon technocrats for much of the implementation of policy, allied to the desire not to compromise military professionalism, created a sphere of activity relatively autonomous of direct and continuing military control, and this could enable policy perspectives independent of regime leaders to become dominant; this was partly the case in Chile with the relationship between Pinochet and the ‘Chicago boys’. This concern about military professionalism also fuelled the effort to ensure that the military as an institution did not get sidelined as envisaged in Rule 14. This was facilitated by the continuing institutional integrity and coherence of the service branches and their ability through their heads’ participation in the junta to continue to protect their institutional interests. The collective discussion of issues (Rule 3) does not at first sight appear to be consistent with the military ethos of hierarchical command and obedience. However, in opposition to this, in most military establishments there is a practice of the top commanders meeting together to discuss issues of pressing importance, especially in the course of extended military operations. Furthermore, the nature of the corporate military regime, a coalition of the service branches each in control of significant force and protective of its institutional standing, almost by definition turns the junta into a collective deliberative organ. The actual structure of the military regime was thus more favourably disposed to collective discussion than the ideal type of the military establishment might suggest. Like the oligarchs in other systems, the military oligarchs were able to exercise a degree of autonomy based on institutional power bases within the bureaucratic structure (Rules 4 and 16), but many of them were less reliant upon government departments for this than in other regime types. As leaders of the service branches, the members of the junta headed their own military institutions and therefore had an immediate, direct, usually long-lasting (in contrast to oligarchs in other systems except for the Communist Party regimes) and career-shaping connection with a significant institutional structure that could act as a power base. While they also often took up civilian posts as government ministers (especially of defence), their primary loyalty generally lay with their military service branch. The same applied to military members of the elite who took over civilian administrative roles. Government departments, therefore, tended to be less directly important as oligarch power bases than they were in the other regimes, with greater reliance on the service branches. The seeming contradiction between the existence of factions (Rule 6) and the military’s unitary command model characterized by hierarchy and discipline is explained principally in terms of the nature of the military as an institution. There were two aspects of this. First, the role of the separate service branches created a basis for factions rooted in those branches and therefore analogous to institutional

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factions in the other regime types. Second, the military regime was the only one whose perception of itself and what it was doing was one that saw itself as a highly professional organization and its time in power as being strictly limited. Regardless of whether this was perceived to be a long or a short time, its tenure was usually conceived of as not extending unbroken into the future. Concerns about the erosive effects of rule and involvement in ‘civilian’ matters on military professionalism were important in driving this perception. The point about this is that it created an inevitable difference within military ranks over when and how the military should leave power. This in turn usually led into differences about the treatment of civil society groups and the handling of ‘opposition’, and thereby of the use of force against those opposed to military rule. The perceived temporality of military rule thus generated factionalism, usually described in terms of the hardliners versus softliners. None of the other regime types had this intrinsic process of faction generation related to the existential issue of regime survival. Given the factions’ origins and the perception of the military regime as only temporary, their goals and the issues they are interested in may be narrower than other types of factions in the other systems. The diarchic nature of the military regime had implications for factional operation. The resistance to colonizing the state machine to the extent that occurred in the communist regimes meant that the two institutions (state and military) could remain distinct, although as the cases of Argentina and Chile show, levels of colonization could be significant. Even when the level of colonization was significant, the strong continuing loyalty to the military by such seconded officers, plus the view of military rule as temporary, contributed to the creation of the virtual space between the institutions of the military and the state within which factions could operate. In doing so, the factions tended to bridge from one institution to the other, for example in Chile, both support for and opposition to the policies of radical economic reform espoused by the ‘Chicago boys’ and endorsed by Pinochet extended into both state and military structures. This virtual space enabled factional organization to escape the potential constraints posed by the military structure and ethos. So the institutional structure of the regime shaped the contours of the factional landscape of the military regime.

Oligarch–elite relations Turning to oligarch–elite relations, Rule 10 concerning the inadmissibility of elite intervention into oligarch affairs is consistent with the military ethos, hierarchy and order whereby lower ranks obey higher ranks without question. However, in practice the question of the insulation of the oligarchy from the elite is more complex than this might suggest. In some regimes, part of the elite has been involved in

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279

oligarch affairs and this has been acceptable to the oligarchy as a whole. In Brazil, such involvement occurred through the factional structure, and concerned principally the issue of how long the regime was to remain in power, how the return to the barracks was to be engineered (the existential question for the regime) and the identity of the presidential successor. In Argentina, their continuing involvement in the policy process was routinized through CAL. The contrasting case was in Chile where air force leader Leigh’s personal preference for consultation with leading officers of the air force was not acceptable to the other oligarchs, and when he was dismissed this practice ceased. In this case the rule on oligarch insulation was breached by one of the oligarchs but observed by all of the others. Such elite involvement is consistent with an understanding of the junta as representative of the broader military establishment, and in particular its service branches, but this rationale for elite intervention has carried little weight in many military regimes, including among most oligarchs in Chile. Thus, both oligarch insulation and elite intervention could be facilitated by the imperatives of the military institution. Intervention was also possible in two other ways in the military regime. First, and peculiar to the military regime, in those cases where power was seized by middleranking officers and therefore some of those remaining within the service branches actually outranked the junta members (which was not the situation in any of the cases analysed here), insulation was even more problematic. In such cases, military rank and hierarchy could complicate oligarch leadership. Second, approaches by members of the elite to individual oligarchs were also common in the military, often fuelled by sharing a common background in the service branches: members of the elite would have served beside oligarchs in earlier stages of their careers, and such links could potentially be important in facilitating elite input into oligarch affairs. In the diarchic military regime, the two potential sources of elite employment (Rule 9 on the elite’s role in the system) worked differently from how they functioned in party regimes. Military authorities were often reluctant to flood the state machine with military personnel, which meant that the state machine, as a potentially rich source of jobs to keep members of the elite occupied, was a constrained resource. This was not as much of a problem as it may have appeared if the aim was to keep the elite occupied because of the nature of the military as an institution. The military constituted a very extensive organization within which many members of the elite already occupied full-time positions. While they continued to function as military officers they performed duties that were in their own eyes valuable, of high status and intrinsic to their chosen career paths, and they saw themselves as having an important continuing role in the structure. The diarchic nature of the regime and the consequent continued importance of the state machine (Rule 15) was reinforced by the military’s professional ethos and thereby continued to provide a location for the civilian members of the elite.

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Succession On entry to the oligarchy, of the four constitutive rules not fully operative in military regimes—on the co-optation of members of the oligarchy, on the importance of personal support/faction in determining oligarch membership, on institutional position not being a major factor for oligarch membership, and no explicit fixed terms of office (Rules 20–23)—all except the last (which was present in Brazil and ultimately Chile, not present in Argentina and Chile until 1980) were related to the military structure and ethos. The nature of the junta as a body composed of the leaders of the service branches ex officio modified the practice of co-optation (Rule 20). In the corporate military regimes, insofar as promotion procedures within the service branches remained under the control of those branches rather than the regime leader or junta, the identity of the candidates for membership of the junta remained largely in the hands of the officer corps of the individual service branches. The service branch head who was a member of the junta (and possibly also the regime leader) may have had a significant say in this, but even then it was this individual rather than the oligarchy as a whole who exercised primary influence. Co-optation was thus qualified by the determination of the identity of the co-optee by non-oligarchs in the relevant service branch. When this was the situation, the role of faction in shaping oligarch membership (Rule 21) may have been increased. Factions within the particular service branch may have been more important than those operating at the level of the oligarchs. Only in the military regime does institutional position appear essential for gaining entry to the oligarchy (and therefore the reverse of Rule 22), in this case it is leadership of one of the service branches. In the military regimes, only in Brazil, and to a lesser extent Argentina, was the leader a significant actor in defining his successor’s identity (Rule 24). In Brazil, the extent to which the leader could choose his successor differed according to the relative power disposition among leader, oligarchs and elites, although factions could also be significant (Rule 27) during the consultation process.

Basis of oligarch unity The question of the basis of unity of the oligarchs (Rule 8) is the only operational rule that is more weakly applicable in military regimes than in other regime types. This rule is problematic, not because there is no sense of unity, but because of the basis upon which it rests. In the eyes of the military most coups are defensive. They are conducted in order to defend the interests of the military as an institution, although this may be accompanied by concern for the society as a whole and will certainly be justified in those terms. This means that the military does not come to power with a clearly defined programme of change it wants to introduce.

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This, plus the sense of military order and discipline, militates against the generation of consensus based upon common commitment to an extensive policy programme or a set of values except loyalty to the military institution. In military regimes, the unity of the oligarchs rested principally on a commitment to the institution of the military itself and, within that, to their particular service branches; indeed, their loyalty to their service branches was often stronger than to the military as a whole. The concern for the professionalism of the armed services, combined with the view that their proper place was in the barracks and that their role was martial rather than civilian in nature, meant that they generally had a view that they should stay in power for a limited time. There would have been agreement that the pre-coup status quo could not continue and what should be done in the immediate term to rectify this, but it is unlikely that this would have involved an extensive or long-term political programme. Any such programme was generally much more limited than in the party regimes, because in most cases the military saw itself as essentially reactive and its task was often seen to be to restore the status quo ante rather than to build a new society although, as the Chilean case shows, the aim could become more ambitious over time. This aim is usually qualified by an overriding desire to ensure that the professional standing of the military is not impaired by its involvement in civilian affairs, so its time horizon (at least at the outset) is usually relatively short. As has been indicated, over time both this time horizon and the means of extrication from power can become matters of dispute within military ranks. This means that the programmatic commitment in military regimes tends to be weaker than in party regimes, and that unity comes to rest rather more on the military values of order, discipline and obedience than on any ideational commitment to policy, although this martial basis of unity may be weakened by the loyalty military officers have to their own individual service branches rather than to the military as a whole. Thus, unity among military oligarchs rests less on programmatic consensus than upon military loyalty, and this is due to the nature of the military as an institution. Accordingly, the agreement, such as it was, while it may have been based on a foundational pact, was about both how power should be wielded and about protecting the military as an institution. To the extent that there was a consensus about how the regime should function, it was based more on this military ethos, including the imperative to obey commands from above, than it was on programmatic agreement.

Law The nature of the military institution could also underpin the guarantees of oligarch security (Rules 7 and 29). The highly structured and ordered nature of the military institution had embedded within it a sense of predictability, of rules and regulations that needed to be followed; there were strict rules and regulations

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about authority, jurisdiction, promotion and tenure. Guarantees of security, of not being liable to lose everything because of political misjudgement, was part of this predictability and thereby underpinned oligarch life. The greater apparent respect for the normative authority of (at least some of) the laws and the Constitution stems from the nature of the military as an institution. It is heavily dependent upon order, hierarchy, obedience and regularity, which were endemic to it as an organization. Members were expected to carry out orders without question and observe all instructions without exception. Rules and their observance were deemed to be essential to success on the battlefield, and therefore intrinsic to the military as an organization. Observance of the legal order seemed a natural consequence of this military ethos and structure. This may also be related to the military’s law-based nature as an institution rooted in the constitutional structure of the state. The military’s existence is bound up with the state’s legal order, potentially making it more sensitive to the normative authority of the state Constitution and legislation. Many military regimes had a formalistic understanding of the law (Rule 19), but one that accepted that a certain level of normative authority was invested in that law. These regimes too could manipulate the law when they found it necessary, but there is also a sense that they recognized an obligation to obey the law, even when, as in Chile and Brazil, following it would mean the loss of power. However, the Argentinian case shows how even in military regimes, the imperatives of political conflict within the oligarchy could void observance of state law.

Electoral authoritarian regimes The EA regime has been the most common form of authoritarian polity in the post-Cold War world. It has taken both parliamentary and presidential forms and evinces regular elections in which the ruling party competes for the popular vote. However, that competition is not fair in the sense that the electoral arena is substantially tilted in favour of the ruling party and against the opposition. This means that the defeat of the ruling party is unlikely but not impossible, thereby injecting a degree of uncertainty (greater in some cases, less in others) into this process, for example, the PRI in Mexico was defeated in 1997/2000 and UMNO in Malaysia lost office in 2018. This electoral process creates a public sphere, even if constrained. The regime is characterized by two major politically important institutional structures, the ruling party and the state administration. Unlike the communist systems where these two bodies were closely intertwined with leading party members occupying posts at all levels of the state machine, in EA regimes party saturation tends to be lower, with party members occupying mainly the more responsible posts. The party tends to be neither tightly disciplined nor highly ideological like the communist parties, although it will have policies and programmes, and usually

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accepts the place of politically independent technocrats located mainly in the state structure. The diarchic nature of the EA regime has been crucially important in shaping the way the rules operate in this regime type.

Oligarch functioning Starting with the functioning of the oligarchy, the rule seemingly most at odds with the established conception of authoritarian leadership, the acceptability of the collective discussion of issues providing this did not constitute a challenge to the leader (Rule 3), clearly reflects the effect of institutional forms on the way the rule worked. To the extent that parties are machines designed to win power in order to implement programmes, policy discussion is intrinsic to them as institutions. This underpins the acceptability of collective discussion, of policy disagreement, and of the existence of factions (Rules 3, 5 and 6); if it is acceptable to disagree over policy and to push a particular policy line, it is logically also acceptable to organize in order to do so. In both party regime types there was a formal commitment to collective discussion in the oligarchy, but whereas in the communist single-party systems such discussion did not appear to have direct implications for the leader (Khrushchev post about 1960 and China in the years leading up to the Cultural Revolution were exceptions), in the EA systems there was a link between the policies a leader espoused and his perceived fitness for leadership. Although this was more limited in Mexico where term limits were taken seriously, the presence of competitive elections promoted the perceived link between policy position and leadership post; a leader’s support for an unpopular policy was more likely to have negative consequences when there was a competitive (even if unfair) election in the offing than when no such potential electoral challenge existed. This predisposed EA regimes to higher levels of collective discussion of policy among the oligarchs, the greater involvement of the elite in such discussions, and a greater likelihood that such discussions would occur openly in the public arena than in any of the other regime types. This also meant that there was less incentive for oligarchs to keep disputes behind closed doors in EA regimes; the relatively closed (or perhaps aesopic) nature of discussion in communist systems is related to the fact that it was meant to take place only within the party where members were subject to party discipline whereas in EA regimes this provision did not apply. EA oligarchs could carry their disputes out of the state arena into the party (and even the public) arena because this was an accepted modus operandi of this sort of system where there was in principle acceptance of democracy and political competition. Disputes could be open and acknowledged even if in individual cases not welcomed. This is reflected in both the Malaysian and Mexican experiences.

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The acceptability of collective discussion (Rule 3) went along with a degree of rank-and-file oligarch autonomy from the leader (Rules 4 and 16) and the acceptability of oligarch disagreement (Rules 5 and 18). The freedom with which such discussion may be undertaken by the oligarchs, the scope of questions raised, the right to express dissident views, and who can be involved in those discussions will all be subject to both the leader’s disposition and the oligarch culture (Chapter 9). But given these considerations, it is likely that freedom of discussion will be wider in the diarchic systems than in those with a more monolithic (in the sense that there were no independent organizations, not that there was total control and no dissent) structure. Like in the military regimes, the presence of two parallel institutions (party and state) creates a virtual space within which such discussion can occur. As state bodies and party bodies raise and discuss issues, an inter-institutional conversation develops which is likely to be more wide-ranging than when the two institutions overlapped in a much more extensive fashion. This diarchic structure also affected the way factions could operate (Rule 6) by creating a virtual space between the two institutions that factions could bridge. Party-based factions will usually seek to try to bridge into the decision-making organs of the state machine because this is where administrative-based power is seen to lie: the state administrative structure remained the central apparatus for running the country (Rule 15). This is particularly important with regard to the EA regime because the competitive election opens the prospect for factional conflict to be broadened beyond the confines of the oligarchy to embrace the elite and, potentially, introduces the threat of the dispute boiling over into the lower reaches of the party and into the public sphere. This was evident in both Malaysia and Mexico when party dissidents, defeated in party fora, sought to challenge the party in the national election. Examples discussed in Chapter 6 include Razaleigh in 1990 and Anwar in 1999 in Malaysia, and Cardenas in Mexico in 1987. The party could be crucial in the resolution of such conflict because, given its intrinsic acceptance of the possibility of policy disagreement, it usually had formal mechanisms for resolving disputes (and these usually involved recognition of the need to give oligarchs a sense of security [Rule 7], although this did not apply in Anwar’s case), something that contrasts sharply with the other regime types. The most common form this bridging took was the alliance between technocrats in the state machine and supporters of the policy they espoused in the party structure. In Malaysia, the divide over the appropriate response to the Asian financial crisis was an example of a factional dispute spanning state and party bounds. It is not only the diarchic nature of the structure that is important for promoting collective discussion and disagreement in EA regimes, but the nature of the party also. Given that parties are based on policy, they tend to have established institutional procedures for resolving disputes. This is in part related to

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the accountability question discussed in the following section, but it is also about rules concerning debate and discussion and how they must be conducted, including how they are resolved. Scholars have also argued that many parties have the capacity to blunt the severity of conflict. According to one study, ‘By providing institutional mechanisms for rulers to reward loyalists and by lengthening actors’ time horizons through the provision of future opportunities for career advancement, parties encourage elite cooperation over defection.’3 The party is seen as providing a guarantee to political actors that defeat in bouts of conflict need not be politically terminal because future opportunities for success (be it over specific policy issues or leadership positions) will come along. Accordingly, such conflict will be moderated as individuals are encouraged to take a medium-long term approach and not invest everything in immediate victory. Also any tendency to apply significant penalties to those who lose out in the debate, including over succession, would be moderated (Rules 7 and 29). The non-emergence of a dominant leader in EA regimes (Rule 13) may also be related to the diarchic nature of those regimes. The separation between the party and the administrative machinery of state, sometimes along with rivalry between the two (see page 286), created the sort of bifurcation that hindered the concentration of power in one person or office. In EA regimes, the claimed democratic ethos reinforced this barrier posed by the diarchic structure to such power accretion. The different institutional configurations of the leading office (prime minister compared to president) could provide different resources for a leader who sought to gain, exercise or expand his power (Rules 11 on office as a resource and 13 on power maximization). The leading positions in all of the regimes involved powers of appointment and of agenda formulation and setting for meetings, as well as the more generalized power of command. The extent of the power in each of these spheres would differ from case to case and time to time, but in all cases it was extensive. How this worked in practice was subject, not just to the capacities of the leader himself, but also to the institutional context. In communist single-party systems, the power of the General Secretary over personnel disposition was effectively unchallenged. He did not make all appointments himself—many were devolved to supporters—but he had the general oversight and, through those supporters, could appoint throughout the politico-administrative apparatus. This gave him enormous capacity to build up his personal support through the promotion of adherents and the transformation of others (independents, allies or challengers) into adherents through that process of promotion. Furthermore, given the monolithic nature of the institutional structure, he enjoyed relatively clear air in which to articulate the policy agenda.4 On both of these grounds, the EA regime was different. The diarchic nature of the EA regime means that in many cases the regime leader who was institutionally based at the head of the state machine (president or prime minister) was not in direct control of the administrative machinery of the ruling party. The PRI in Mexico is a good case of this. This does not mean that the leader

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could not influence appointments in the party, but he had to share this power with the party (administrative) leader and, where there were party elections as in Malaysia, with party members more generally. The leader’s capacity to appoint could therefore be more restricted than in the communist single-party regimes. Furthermore, the presence of this bifurcated structure along with the party’s drive to ensure that it was not rendered either irrelevant or simply a supportive machine created a situation in which the expression of views on policy was seen as an appropriate type of activity for party leaders to undertake. Accordingly, the capacity of the regime leader to authoritatively articulate the regime’s programme was more constrained than in the communist single-party systems. But the party also gave the sort of opportunity for a leader to establish his personal authority (Rule 12) that did not exist in the military regime. The importance of policy and ideology to the party meant that a leader could develop personal authority by providing policy or ideological leadership, in the way that Stalin and Mao had done in the communist regimes and Mahathir had done in EA Malaysia. In contrast, in the military regime, personal prestige was more likely to flow from military exploits than from ideational leadership. The essential nature of the two institutions, party and military, thus explains the difference between these regimes in relation to Rule 12 concerning the importance of personal authority, greater in EA than in military. The rule regarding the atrophy of formal institutions beside the continued operation of the administrative structure (Rule 15) was less applicable in EA regimes because it was in the party’s interests to ensure that its leading organs continued to function; otherwise, it faced the danger of becoming irrelevant. By consisting of one institution that is bound to continue to function if the regime is to retain power (the state) and another institution which is ostensibly ruling but does not exercise direct administrative control, the diarchy constitutes a situation in which the latter institution (the party) needs to remain pro-active if it is to maintain its relevance and ruling status. This should encourage members of that institution to be actively involved in the discussion of political issues. Where there is no such potential competition between the state and a parallel structure, as in communist single-party, dynastic monarchical and personal dictatorial regimes, there is no such institutional existential imperative underpinning collective discussion. Thus, the ruling party in the EA regime could be a significant locus of policy discussion even while its importance in the policy arena was overshadowed by the state. The danger for the party in this situation is that it would become relatively weak and effectively sidelined beside the state bureaucracy. This tension between leading state and party organs was a continual presence and was not always attenuated by overlapping membership of the leading bodies. There was, therefore. a strong imperative on the part of the party to resist sidelining in favour of the state, although it remained as vulnerable as any other institution to having its power undermined by informal procedures (Rule 14).

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Oligarch–elite relations Turning to the oligarch–elite relationship, the diarchic structure of the regime should have facilitated the implementation of Rule 9 specifying a meaningful role in the system for the elite by providing two major institutional structures within which members of that elite could find employment. Whether this was actually realistic or not depended in part on how important the party remained in the system and on how the perks of office were distributed. If the party was seen as playing a valuable role or was a ladder to power and privilege, as it was in Mexico given the role the party played in central and regional government, it may have been seen by members of the elite as somewhere in which it was useful for them to take a position. On the contrary, if it was seen as a secondary institution, it would appear less attractive. However, the oligarch strategy of offering a combination of jobs and bribes to secure quiescence could be more complicated in EA regimes because of the greater, at least rhetorical, acceptance of transparency, and the often more democratic nature of the party which gave scope both for claims to higher-level accountability to the party ranks, and for lower-level dissident outbursts. The insulation of the oligarchs from the elite (Rule 10) was also more problematic in EA regimes. The party’s acceptance of collective discussion and the notions of oligarch accountability embedded in the democratic claims made by parties in EA regimes made the realization of oligarch insulation more difficult; members of the elite could claim the right to intervene, quoting the party’s ideology and the claim to democratic provenance. The different role and nature of the election in the communist single-party and EA regimes—respectively non-competitive and competitive—is also a reason why the elite was generally able to play a more active and important part in policy discussion (and leadership succession) in the EA than the communist single-party regimes (Rules 10 and 26); competitive election required the mobilization of party members in the election campaign, and this was likely to be easier if they felt involved in their party’s internal affairs. This also reflects the more substantial democratic claims of most EA parties. The partial applicability of Rule 10 on no independent elite intervention reflects the strength of the democratic pretensions of the regime and how this was realized in the different regime structures in Malaysia and Mexico. The oligarchs were in theory responsible to the party since they were effectively the party’s representatives in power. In Malaysia’s prime ministerial system this was reflected in the importance of regular party gatherings to discuss policy and elect party office-holders, who in some cases (including the party president/prime minister) also held national office. In Mexico, the sense of accountability to the party was attenuated by the observance of the one-term presidency rule and thereby comes closer than the Malaysian case to realizing Rule 10 relating to oligarch insulation as enunciated in Chapter 3. Another possible venue for the elite to interact with and seek to influence at least some of the oligarchs in EA regimes was the legislature. This has been seen as a forum

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within which the oligarchs can broker deals, not just with opposition forces, but with members of the regime lower in the hierarchy. Members of the elite also could approach individual oligarchs and the leader in their quest to exercise influence on particular issues.

Succession On succession to the oligarchy and the leadership, the problematic nature of four constitutive rules for EA regimes reflects a combination of the institutional structure and the ideology underpinning the regime. In all cases this is related to the existence of a party separate from the governing apparatus (the diarchic structure) and the regime’s claims to a democratic provenance. These problematic rules relate to the co-optation of the oligarchs, the existence of term limits, institutions as potentially important shapers of succession outcomes, and succession being decided within the oligarchy while the elite plays little part (Rules 20, 23, 25 and 26). In all of these rules, the interests of the party as an institution reinforced those of the elite in seeking to prevent decisions from being resolved in narrow oligarch councils based in the state apparatus. The rejection of the right of the oligarchy alone to co-opt new oligarchs and to decide the leadership succession (Rules 20 and 26), and in Mexico the observance of presidential term limits (Rule 23), were all related to the desire to protect the claimed rights and privileges of the party and the elite embedded within it against the domination of power by the oligarchs. In the EA regime, party institutions could be an important element in the succession process (Rule 25), but their importance and role varied from regime to regime; in Malaysia, an accepted career trajectory through institutional progression from party to national leadership developed, but in Mexico where this was not the case, discussion within the party with the presidential incumbent determined who would succeed (or formally who would stand in the presidential election). This may reflect the parliamentary–presidential distinction. In the former, the prime minister remained reliant on the party to carry out his task of ruling because his power was embedded in his party’s dominance of the legislature. In contrast, the president could operate without such dominance, although his task was easier if his party did control the legislature. The party in the EA regime had its own internal procedures for determining the party leadership, and these were not always under the strict control of the national leader. For example, in Malaysia, elections within UMNO have been more difficult to manage than in the Communist Party regimes, with the result that there has been greater scope for elite involvement in the succession question. The leader played a part in choosing the successor, but this was usually a constrained choice. The leader’s choice was usually negotiated with the party leadership; in Mexico, the presidential choice was sometimes successful but was usually made in conjunction with the party leadership, and in Malaysia, the

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incumbent has played a major part in choosing his successor, but this has been a choice constrained by the nature of the party and its internal dynamics, and in both cases reflected the culture that had developed around the party and its hold on power. The nature of the party and its democratic pretensions, therefore, usually injects the elite into the succession process, although the extent to which they are manipulated or they exercise real influence may differ from case to case both within and between regimes.

Basis of oligarch unity Acceptance of discussion and debate was underpinned by a basic unity and consensus, usually stemming from a foundational pact (Rule 8). The nature of this unity will be affected by the regime’s institutional infrastructure. Unity provided a context of agreement within which oligarch relations could be conducted and managed. It meant that there was basic agreement that not everything was always up for grabs, and therefore that a degree of certainty and predictability could prevail. This was essential for the smooth operation of the oligarchy and a considerable assistance in helping it avoid breakdown, and prevailed for most of the time. In party regimes, this is likely to be based on some sort of programmatic agreement, oligarch buying into a defined set of policy prescriptions designed to achieve certain societal outcomes. The party’s policy programme may be conceived in detailed terms or it could be more vaguely defined, but however it was, it constituted the bedrock of agreement for the oligarchs. In the communist single-party and EA regimes, this involved an ideational commitment to a particular political programme or ideology. In the communist regimes this commitment was at its strongest while the revolutionary generation remained in power; indeed, its fervent pursuit may be seen as one of the reasons behind the collapse induced by the Cultural Revolution in China. Over time, the strength of this ideological commitment weakened, and although the broad elite (including the oligarchs) may have continued to talk in traditional ideological terms, the potency of the ideology paled. In the Soviet Union this resulted in the attempt to reform the system which led to the regime’s collapse, while in China the oligarchy ushered in changes which, while it staved off collapse, has transformed the nature of the regime. This sort of ideological or programmatic commitment was also evident in many EA regimes, but given that this was usually not a revolutionary or transformative ideology or programme, it did not engender the sort of full-bodied enthusiastic commitment characteristic of the first generation of rulers in the communist systems, and did not age in the same way. On top of such ideational consensus was agreement of a more procedural kind about the way in which the regime should function. This agreement was often worked out in practice in the first few years of the new regime’s life, although it could also be reworked if a new leader came to power. The ideational commitment to programme was a function of the role

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of the party in the system and the programmatic nature of its raison d’être as an organization.

Law The commitment to abide by the formal rules of the system is something usually considered to be characteristic of the democracy EA regimes publicly espoused. EA regimes were generally law abiding (Rule 19). Their rule was characterized less by the infringement of laws than by the manipulation of them to achieve their political purposes, with the tilting of the electoral arena the most obvious case of this. When they lost the elections and this was not easily covered by fraud, EA regimes often surrendered power. So there is a sense that while EA parties used the law instrumentally, they often accepted the constitutional framework, reflecting the democratic pretensions to which they aspired.

Personal dictatorships The essence of personal dictatorship is that power is vested overwhelmingly in the person of the dictator, who usually assumes the office of president. The extent of this power can differ considerably between regimes and over time, but its core is that the dictator is the central political actor whose views prevail regardless of those of other leading actors.5 This means that the institutional structure of the regime will normally reflect the dictator’s will. In some personal dictatorships (the dominant leaderships of Stalin and Mao, Putin, Saddam Hussein in Iraq) a party will exist, in others (Lukashenka, Idi Amin in Uganda) it will not. All regimes will have a military, but only in those in which the dictator is a military officer (Amin in Uganda, Zia in Pakistan), might it be a significant actor. In non-dynastic monarchies, the royal family may play a part in ruling, but it depends on the grace of the king to do so. Apart from the personal machine of the dictator, the main institutional structure is the state which is central to the administration of the country, and given the small size of the leader’s close entourage, in the absence of a party is likely only to be weakly colonized. It therefore retains a degree of autonomy, although this will always be limited by concerns about the dictator’s ability to direct forceful or coercive measures against it. There is not normally a highly developed ideology, and the attitude to technocrats will depend upon the leader’s disposition.

Oligarch functioning The key to this regime type is the leader’s attempted expansion of his power (Rule 13); the leader sought to become dominant by maximizing his power and achieved a considerable degree of success in this. If he had not sought power

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maximization or at least to substantially increase it he would not have become dominant, and this would therefore not have been a personal dictatorship. But it is important to recognize that not all dictators have sought power maximization, in the sense of destroying all independent sources of power. The difference between Putin and Lukashenka is relevant here. Lukashenka has tried to maximize his power by removing criticism and dissident opinions (although the extensive popular mobilization of 2020–2021 suggests limits to his success in this regard), while Putin has clearly been able to strengthen his power but not so far as to eliminate all dissident voices. This focus on the individual and the expansion of his power is consistent with Rule 12 about personal authority being a major resource for the dictator. The personalist focus of the regime naturally invested a high level of personal authority in the dictator, which served to further reinforce his dominance and facilitate the operation of Rule 12. In both regards, power maximization and personal authority, contemporary personal dictators could be seen as pale analogues of Stalin and Mao. The personalization of power evident in these regimes facilitates the sidelining of formal institutions (Rule 14) and the growth of informal practices, including factions (Rule 6). The important continuing role of the state added to the personal power of the dictator and the weakness or absence of a party explain the major role played by the state in sustaining factions and their activity. With the modus operandi of the oligarchy determined by the way the dictator chooses to act, observance of the principles associated with regular collective discussion (Rule 3) may be problematic. Collective discussion and disagreement with the dictator may not be acceptable in his eyes because of the challenge to his authority that this may be seen to constitute. Many dictators prefer to treat with the oligarchs on an individual basis rather than as a group, and favour unanimity over disagreement. However, because the dictator cannot decide everything, individual oligarchs will have some degree of autonomy, and therefore the basis for collective discussion and disagreement will exist (Rules 3 and 5). The dictator’s attitude to collective discussion may depend upon his standing and power: the more powerful he is, the greater he is able to demand and receive unanimity; the weaker, he may have to rely on divide-and-rule tactics (see Chapter 9) and therefore may encourage collective discussion and disagreement (Rule 5) as part of this. The level of oligarch disagreement that could occur therefore depends in large measure on the disposition of the dictator, with those pursuing a divide-and-rule strategy probably content to accept a higher level of this as long as it does not pose a challenge to his rule. But it depends upon what the leader wants, for example Putin has been less intent on stifling policy discussion than Lukashenka. This determines whether policy could be a basis for oligarch disagreement (Rule 18) which it has in Russia but less so in Belarus. The commitment to oligarch security (Rule 7) could also be more problematic in these

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regimes because of the dominance of the dictator. If he thinks he does not need the security provided by such a protection pact, the other oligarchs may also not enjoy it either, while some dictators view the insecurity of (some of) their colleagues as a way of consolidating their own power. Lukashenka has been an example of this whereas Putin has emphasized and placed a great value on personal loyalty. Government departments were particularly important as potential bases for the oligarchs in personal dictatorships (Rule 16). This is largely because, in the absence or weakness of a ruling party and the subordination of the military to the leader, there was little alternative bureaucratic base available. The domination of the institutional arena by the state machine also means that there was no rival institution that could encroach upon the leader’s power of appointment (as sometimes in the military) or his capacity to define the agenda (Rule 11), but the absence of a party means that his capacity to extend his authority throughout all parts of the country may be more restricted. There was generally not an organization operating in parallel with the state, so the dictator relied upon his supporters to provide personnel to take over the commanding heights of the state machine. In the early years this may be somewhat problematic because there may not be enough trusted colleagues to fill the positions and he would have to rely on the barely hidden threat of force or promise of benefits to encourage career bureaucrats to obey the regime. Concerns about their livelihood and career usually encouraged many state bureaucrats to throw in their lot with the ruler, perhaps join the ruler’s party if one existed (as for example it did in Nazi Germany), and generally fulfil their administrative tasks without getting involved in politics.

Oligarch–elite relations In terms of the oligarch–elite relationship, the elite could be occupied through employment principally in some arm of state service or in the commercial world where they often ran state or semi-state concerns, especially when there was no party playing a major role in the regime (Rule 9). The absence of a party also meant that there were few institutional vehicles the elite could utilize if it wanted to intervene in oligarch affairs (Rule 10). It could of course work through the state, but given the centralization of power in the dictator such attempts at influence were often better conducted on a personal, individual basis, especially if prior personal or career links existed between the leader and individual members of the elite. The legislature, even though it had little real power, could also be the venue for members of the elite to press their cases on individual oligarchs. But in contrast to other regime types, there tended to be no institutional form for the elite to intervene in the dictator-dominated oligarchy.

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Succession With regard to succession under personal dictatorship, two of the rules that would seem to limit the dictator’s capacity, the fixed term of office and the role of institutions as important shapers of succession outcomes (Rules 23 and 25), are both problematic. Fixed terms have not been applied in Belarus, where the 1996 Constitution specified two-term limits of five-year terms, but in 2004 all term limits were dropped, while in Russia Putin stepped down in 2008 in accord with the constitutional limitation of two consecutive four-year terms but has now abolished the two-term limit for himself; at least up until now Russian presidents have consistently stepped down when their term ended.6 Institutional position as an important shaper of succession outcomes is problematic in this regime type because of the personal power of the dictator. In Russia (there has been no case of succession in Belarus since the establishment of the Lukashenka regime), in each of the three post-Soviet presidential successions the president chose the incumbent prime minister or a deputy prime minister who was then confirmed in popular elections. However, this was probably more a function of political contingency at the time than any sort of institutional determinism. In terms of membership of the oligarchy, definition of the membership of the oligarchy would also have rested overwhelmingly with the oligarchy, with most influence likely to be exercised by the dictator personally (Rules 20, 21 and 22). However given that many personal dictatorships broke down on the passing of the dictator, successful management of this process by the oligarchy has not always been possible. The guarantee of personal security for those who lose out in succession struggles (Rule 29) seems also often to be absent from such regimes, although this has not been the case in Russia, where those defeated at the polls by Putin have generally escaped any retribution.7 So once again the institutional structure of the regime, notably the personal power of the dictator, explains the absence of full compatibility of the succession rules.

Basis of oligarch unity In personal dictatorships there appears to have been little in the way of programmatic unity (Rule 8), with the foundational pact encompassing agreement about how the regime was to function rather than any programmatic ends. This reflects the fact that dictators often come to power without any developed programme of measures for implementation. The agreement that underpins this style of rule has often been brought about partly by force rather than by consensus, as in the cases of Lukashenka and the dominant leaders Stalin and Mao. In the case of the dominant Stalin, the consensus was forged through the factional conflicts of the 1920s and the consolidation of power in the early 1930s culminating in the Terror; for the dominant Mao, the understandings were forged in the factional conflicts in

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the party during the revolution and in the administration of the Yan’an base area; for Lukashenka, during the consolidation of his power and removal of his foes in 1994–1996. In the cases of Stalin and Mao, there clearly was a programmatic commitment stemming respectively from the policies involved in the ‘revolution from above’ beginning at the end of the 1920s in the Soviet Union, and the commitment to the establishment of a socialist China that drove the revolutionary struggle culminating in 1949. This is less clear later in China, where most of the established oligarchy probably opposed the policies of the Cultural Revolution but were reluctant to make such a position overt, while most of those who did support the policies were in power for only a short period. In many other cases, such as that of Putin, rather than being forced, the basis of unity was worked out more peacefully during the initial stages of a leader’s rule and does seem to have included a programmatic component. So the basis upon which oligarch unity rests can differ among personal dictatorial regimes, with a programmatic element in some but not in others.

Law Also problematic has been the rule on the non-normative nature of legal principles (Rule 19) because the power of the dictator seems to deny any normative claims of the legal order. However, dictators across the globe have been intent on clothing their continuance in power in constitutional garb, changing the Constitution to allow retention of power despite established norms. At one level, the changing of the Constitution shows how little authority the documents have if they can be altered at the whim of the dictator, but at another level the fact that the dictator did change the document suggests that he thought there was value in doing so. And we have instances of individual dictators actually refusing to change the formal procedures, instead acting in accord with them even when it meant giving up formal power. However in such cases, as for example that of Putin in 2008 which may have been driven more by political calculation (in terms principally of external legitimacy) than the Constitution’s normative power, they were often able to retain power in other ways, which means that while the formal rules were followed, their essence was undermined. The basis upon which this occurred was the central feature of the regime, the personal power of the dictator.

Dynastic monarchies In the dynastic monarchies, the king’s rule is embedded within a broader family structure. The family’s influence is usually informal, with consensus being the

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outcome and the pater familias/king guiding the discussion to the desired end. Members of the family will usually hold the leading positions in the state as government ministers and in the military, but there is also an acceptance of technocrats who are not members of the family. Any legislature that exists is usually purely advisory. The principal institutions are the state and the family, but it would be inaccurate to say that the latter shadows the former; they are institutions in a different sense, with the family lacking the formal structure evident in the state. Rather, the family exists in a political sense as an accretion on the side of the state. It does not mirror the state machine, but its leading councils meet and discuss political issues. The overlap between the oligarch council and the leading circle of the family should be sufficient to ensure that these do not take widely varying policy lines.

Oligarch functioning Collective discussion (Rule 3), disputes between oligarchs (Rule 5) and policy as a basis for disagreement (Rule 18) were all present in the dynastic monarchy, but they were generally restricted to two organizations, the ruling family council and the state cabinet. The latter was a formal state body and usually included not just family members but technocrats as well, but the important decisions tended to be made in the family consultations. Membership of such family councils could differ from regime to regime, but usually involved senior male members of the family, with the definition of seniority depending upon family lore. The decisive decisions were therefore made in the kin-based assembly at the apex of the hierarchy. The state was really the only institution that could provide the sort of bureaucratic heft that oligarchs might want to mobilize in the course of daily oligarch politics (Rule 16). They, like the oligarchs in other systems, were reluctant to turn to the military, while the structure of the family was not based upon bureaucratic organization, and in any case the authority of the pater familias was probably more strongly rooted in family lore than was that of the king in society at large. Furthermore, there was often reluctance to engage too vigorously in factional activity (Rule 6) within the family because of its possible implications for the family’s hold on power, commitment to which underpinned oligarch unity (Rule 8), although in practice factions did emerge and function. The strength of family traditions and mores hindered the sort of accretion of power that could lead to the emergence of a dominant leader (Rules 12 and 13). Both the king’s power to appoint and to define the agenda were subject to familial agreement, and while this was not usually a problem, this was because the king would take pains to ensure that he had the relevant people onside before making major decisions. It was the strength of the family mores that was important here.

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Oligarch–elite relations Insulation of the oligarchs from the elite (Rule 10) seems to have been more difficult in dynastic monarchies where the nature of family relationships and traditions could mandate that the pater familias should be openly accessible to the leading members of the family, whether or not they were part of his lineage or part of the oligarchy. Personal approaches were a common way in which the elite sought to influence oligarchs in the dynastic monarchies, but here resting more on the family connection than formal career positions. But there was also a mechanism built into the system giving members of the elite access to the decision-making process: the family councils were events where the oligarchs including the king interacted with some members of the elite, thereby giving the latter the sort of institutionalized access absent from most of the other systems. Intervention outside this process was not welcomed but, like there was in party systems, this did constitute a mechanism for family elite members to become involved in oligarch affairs. This generally did not extend to non-family members. Only one relational rule is problematic for the dynastic monarchy, Rule 9 regarding the broader elite being given a meaningful role in the system, and this is only partially the case. Keeping the elite occupied could be a problem in these regimes, both because of the heightened expectations and sense of entitlement that could accompany family membership, and because for many in the royal family, state service was believed to be below them. Some members of the family did go into governmental positions, but many other princes and royal minor personages believed such employment was inappropriate. The nature of family rule and the content of family lore thus meant that many members of the family who were not in the oligarchy eschewed state service and were effectively at a loose end. For such people they were generally restrained from complaining about their situation because of fear of destabilizing the rule of the family or of upsetting the king. Ambitious people outside the ruling family/lineage were often given roles in state service, especially if they possessed technical competence, or through being given access to state resources for their own use.

Succession The institutional structure of this regime type also explains the constitutive rules relating to succession that are problematic for dynastic monarchies. These rules relate to the importance of faction, of institutional position, and of the succession being resolved only by the oligarchy with the elite not playing a role (Rules 21, 25 and 26). The making of the decision about oligarch membership by the king from among family/lineage members with the agreement of a family council renders these rules less applicable in this regime type. In the dynastic monarchies,

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there was co-optation into the oligarchy by the king and his immediate supporters (Rule 20), but membership of the family and lineage, which was the sine qua non for membership of the oligarchy, was not a matter of co-optation it was a function of birth. So, although the king did co-opt the family members, it was from a restricted pool which was not defined by him. The co-optation of non-family members into high office (especially technocrats) was usually the prerogative of the king confirmed by the family council. Generally, the choice of regime successor is also made within the family with the broader non-family elite playing little but a secondary, supportive role (Rule 26), although there has been some variation in the regimes surveyed here; for example in Kuwait, where the regime was already undergoing a process of democratization, the way was opened for the mobilization of some members of the elite into the process by one of the protagonists.

Basis of oligarch unity; law Loyalty is a major basis for unity in dynastic monarchies (Rule 8), but here it is loyalty to the family and the desire to consolidate its position in power. While there may sometimes be a programmatic element to this, for example the drive to shape Saudi Arabia through the development of its oil reserves, the principal fundament upon which unity rests is commitment to family rule. There is little evidence that the dynastic monarchies paid much attention to the provisions in their legal systems (Rule 19), although they did go through some of those constitutional and legal processes to provide a sense of regularity and legitimacy; adhering to the general timetable for elections if held was one common form of this.

Conclusion This analysis has shown that the institutions that constitute regime type are influential in determining which rules are likely not to apply in different regime types and how many of those that did apply actually worked. So, how can we summarize the relationship between the different regime types and rules? The military regime had a diarchic structure, but it lacked the ideological aspect of EA regimes, and the nature of the non-state institution, the military, was very different. Like the EA party, the military as an institution wanted to retain its institutional integrity, coherence and professionalism, but it also needed to colonize the state machine to some degree to try to ensure its continuing control. This means that there is a tension in the diarchic relationship, manifested in the continual concern about how long the military should retain power and what it should do while it holds it. This tension and the existential question with which it is linked facilitates the existence of factions and the conduct of collective discussion,

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despite the apparent contradiction with military norms and ethos. Collective discussion in the oligarchy, and the autonomy of the oligarchs from the leader, are both also strengthened by the way in which the military is divided among the service branches, each with their own interests and ‘representatives’ among the oligarchs. The promotion of factions and the presence of the service branches’ interests at the top of the regime can undercut the operation of measures designed to insulate the oligarchy from the elite despite the seeming consistency of this with the military tradition and ethos. Similar imperatives could help to inject the elite into the questions of oligarch membership and leader succession, in contrast to the rules stemming from the Communist Party states. The nature of the military as an institution, especially its reliance on rules, regulations and order, can hinder the expansion of an individual leader’s personal authority and power; any such authority tends to be associated with the uniform and office rather than the person. The military as an institution also seems to be consistent with a more nuanced, or perhaps ambiguous, approach to formal legal principles than is envisaged in the rules emanating from the Communist Party states. In the same way, the self-image of the military as the professional defender of the homeland facilitates the oligarchs’ desire to keep the elite busy in ways that the latter find fulfilling, or at least sufficiently satisfying to keep it occupied without turning thoughts to intervention in oligarch affairs. There is, therefore, a tension here between the imperative of the elite to become involved in oligarch affairs and that of remaining outside. The nature of the military with its martial focus and the view of itself as in power for a limited period of time makes the development of unity on the basis of policy consensus difficult, with the result that the basis of oligarch unity in military regimes tends to be limited to a foundational pact focused overwhelmingly on procedural principles. The strength of the military as an institution and its view of its tasks as being martial rather than civilian or ‘political’, also militates against the atrophy of that body in the face of the state. Central to an understanding of the role of rules in the EA regime is that regime’s combination of a diarchic institutional structure in which the party seeks to retain a position of influence vis-à-vis the state machine, and a democratic ethos. This combination was important in facilitating collective discussion which flowed over the oligarch–elite boundary and thereby undercut the operation of measures designed to insulate the oligarchy from the broader elite. This structure gave an institutional imperative to collective discussion and factional operation that reinforced the emphasis upon such discussion that flowed from the desire of the individual oligarchs to have a say in decision-making; the party’s desire to play the role of ruling party demands its involvement in collective decision-making, or at least discussion. This imperative, substantially buttressed by the democratic ethos and its principle of oligarch accountability to the elite within the party, also reinforces the drive of the elite to avoid exclusion from the affairs of state. The result is that the discussion of issues outside the oligarchy, including sometimes in the

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public sphere, has tended to be more widespread and common than in the other regime types. This combination of structure and ethos was also instrumental in making those rules designed to restrict selection of membership of the oligarchy and succession to the top job to the oligarchs problematic in these regimes. In some, the elite played a larger part in the selection process than in others, but even in the more restricted cases the involvement of the elite is likely to have been greater in EA than in other regime types. The democratic ethos has also been instrumental in the inconsistent approach to formal legal principles, where there was an acceptance of both the manipulation of the law for partisan advantage and an at times observance of it. The choice between these two at any one time probably owes more to the preferences of individual actors and the power disposition within the regime (see Chapter 9) than to structural factors. The diarchic nature of the EA system and the party’s desire to retain a prominent place strengthen the ability of oligarchs to gain and retain a sense of autonomy from the leader, and they also weaken (but do not eliminate) the propensity of institutions to become sidelined in the face of a leader’s structuring of decisionmaking through informal channels. The party and its attachment to policy can also facilitate the leader being able to expand and project his personal authority by becoming a policy or ideological entrepreneur. This policy focus can also underpin oligarch (and elite) unity by being the focus for commitment on an ideational basis. This enables the foundational pact in EA regimes to be wider and more substantial than simply a commitment to procedural rules about how the regime should function. Thus, the structure and nature of the EA regime facilitates the operation of some of the rules evident in the Communist Party states while qualifying the applicability of others. In contrast to the diarchic regimes, the personal dictatorship was more monolithic in the sense that there was normally not a strong institution existing parallel to the state or, if there was at the outset of the regime’s life, it was usually relegated to a secondary status (the Communist Party in the dominant Stalin and Mao periods, the military where there was a military strongman). This means that the basis for collective discussion, faction formation and oligarch autonomy was much narrower than in the EA and military regimes. While an informal clique could interact regularly with the dictator, that was not usually based in a major institution: its legitimacy and position rested on its proximity to and relationship with the leader. The essence of this regime type is that it is the product of the leader’s ability to expand his personal power, and it is this personal nature of power that strengthens the instrumental approach to legal principles and institutions. This power also underpins those rules maximizing the role of the leader and sometimes the oligarchy in structuring the succession both to the leader and of individual oligarchs. The weakness or absence of a bureaucratic structure independent of the state (except for the military which is kept under close control) means that the state is the dominant institution, subject of course to the dictator’s will, while the usual

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absence of a strong ideological or policy commitment on the part of the dictator means that the foundational pact is likely to be largely procedurally based. The primacy of the leader’s will makes all rules more vulnerable and the certainty they produce more problematic. This does not mean that rules do not apply, as we have seen. But their autonomy and ability to independently structure action are both more weakly based in this regime type than in any of the others. Like the personal dictatorship, the dynastic monarchy is monolithic in that there is usually not a major formal institutional structure parallel to the state. However, there is the ruling family, and it is the norms, mores, traditions and principles that govern that family that shape oligarch politics. The presence of the family and its councils, based strongly in family norms, creates the room for collective discussion, a degree of oligarch autonomy, and also factional development, although concerns about the maintenance of family rule can limit both the operation of factions and any aspirations the monarch may have to expand his personal power. It is the commitment to family rule and the procedural norms that that involves that constitutes the principal basis of unity rather than any policy agreement, although such agreement may be present. The nature of the family and its desire to protect its rule reinforces the insulation of the oligarchy from the non-familial elite, although by its nature the family creates paths of influence into the oligarchy by family members not part of that body. The family’s perceived role may also complicate the task of keeping the elite busy, and also can undercut or at least qualify any king’s aspiration to shape the nature of the oligarchy or to choose the next king unilaterally. This survey of the role of rules in the different regimes suggests that there are differences in the way in which the rules play out in the different regime types and that these differences are related to the institutional structures of the regimes. All of the rules relating to the relationship between oligarchy and elite tend to be weaker in ensuring the oligarchy remains independent of the elite in EA dominant party regimes than in the communist single-party, military, personal dictatorship and dynastic monarchical regime types, while in those latter the basis upon which the boundary between the two is sustained differs. In military regimes, this boundary is embedded deeply in the formal regulations, structure and ethos of the military as an institution, while in the other regimes it is realized much more through informal norms than formal rules. In all regime types, the comportment rules are structured much more through informal norms than formal regulations, but the formal structure does play a more significant part in military than in the other regimes, and among party regimes, in EA than communist regimes. With regard to the constitutive rules too, formal principles and structures are more important in military than in the other regimes. This means that, overall, military regimes are more bound by the formal normative regulations and structures than other regimes, where the role of informal norms is more expansive. The operation of rules in EA regimes was strongly shaped by the nature of the party as an institution

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and the competitive nature of the regime, while this latter factor was not present in any of the other regime types. It is clear from the above that the rules were shaped in their implementation by the institutional structure of the regime and that the coordination of oligarch politics brought about by the rules was similarly affected. However, it is not only the institutional structure that affects how the rules function, but the disposition of power at the apex of the political system as well.

Notes 1. Milan W. Svolik, The Politics of Authoritarian Rule (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2012), p.21. 2. Nor are we concerned with the distinction Ezrow and Frantz (2011, p.169) make between ‘guardian’ and ‘ruler’ types of military dictatorship, which is not relevant to our purpose. They distinguish these types on the basis of goals, length of rule, and level of repression, but it is not clear that such distinctions can easily be operationalized in the analysis of actual regimes. Nor is it clear that they have significant consequences for regime structure. Natasha Ezrow and Erica Frantz, Dictators and Dictatorships: Understanding Authoritarian Regimes and their Leaders (New York, Continuum, 2011), Chapter 9. 3. Steven Levitsky and Lucan A. Way, Competitive Authoritarianism: Hybrid Regimes After the Cold War (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2010), p.61. 4. The emergence of dominant leaders in the communist single-party regimes is testament to the potential power possessed by the position in this regime type. 5. This does not mean they are necessarily implemented; the inability of authoritarian governments to ensure the regular implementation of their decisions throughout the country is a common problem. 6. The term was changed from four to six years beginning with the term that started in 2012. 7. The Stalin case may seem a classic example of this, but those who had opposed Stalin in the 1920s were mainly killed once he became the dominant leader in the mid-1930s.

9 Rules and Power Disposition in the Oligarchy Preceding chapters have shown how the actions of oligarchs in a variety of political systems have for much of the time been consistent with many of the rules identified in communist single-party regimes. But how can we be sure that their actions were actually shaped by the rules?1 The current mainstream literature argues that the most important determinant of action within authoritarian leadership is the power disposition within that leadership: the unbridled power possessed by the dictator generates uncertainty and fear, and the oligarchs are accordingly cowed. Their actions are said to be shaped by that unequal power disposition. The power disposition clearly has a part to play in explaining oligarch behaviour. As the case studies show, where a dominant dictator with overwhelming power exists, oligarchs tended to act more carefully in order not to appear to be challenging the dictator’s position. However, in practice, even while taking elementary precautions, they still observed many of the rules. This is clear in the experience of those two cases in which a dominant leader was present but his overwhelming power was, in the case of Stalin bookended, and of Mao followed by periods of predominant leadership. During the period of Stalin’s dominance, while the oligarchs appeared to be less assertive in their relations with the dictator than they had been before, many of the operational rules developed before this period continued to guide their actions and they continued to be followed after he died. Similarly with Mao, many of the rules that functioned when he was dominant continued to be observed after he died. Oligarchs met collectively (sometimes with the leader, sometimes without), discussed and disagreed over issues, exercised authority within their spheres of responsibility, retained factional affiliations, and even at times ventured to disagree with the leader, all in line with the established rules, even if in practice some of the forms whereby the rules functioned shifted. The tone of oligarch politics changed much more than their patterns. Furthermore, most of the relational rules governing relations with the elite and with institutions and the constitutive rules governing the constitution of the oligarchy, continued to apply throughout periods of both dominant and predominant leadership. The Soviet and Chinese cases, the only ones analysed here that experienced both dominant and

Bridling Dictators. Graeme Gill, Oxford University Press. © Graeme Gill (2021). DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192849687.003.0009

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predominant leadership, show that the rules functioned to structure oligarch politics, both when the dictator was seemingly at his most powerful and arbitrary and when he was less so. Such a situation should not be a surprise. While the overwhelming power of the dictator, even when expressed through the use of enhanced coercion, elevates levels of uncertainty, it neither eliminates the need for the leadership to continue to function nor coordinates all of the interactions that constitute the substance of the leadership system. Individual oligarchs retain their responsibilities; they must interact with other oligarchs, with members of the elite, with whatever institutions they are associated with, and they may need to continue to be active in the policy sphere. The basic coordinating function that rules perform for the leadership must still be carried out even when the dictator is overbearing if the leadership system is to survive. Even if the constraining effect of rules on the dictator is limited, the enabling and coordinating functions of the rules remain. The leader’s dominance may affect the direct relationship between him and the oligarchs, but it usually does not completely encompass all aspects of oligarch life, and does not provide specific guidelines to structure oligarch political life as a whole; for example personal relations between individual rank-and-file oligarchs, policy discussions between those oligarchs, and the exercise of individual oligarch authority within the institutional structures they head may remain largely unaffected by the dictator–oligarch power relationship. Those of the oligarchs’ activities outside their direct relationship with the dictator can remain relatively independent of the dictator’s power. That power does not dominate or guide those aspects of oligarch life. Rules, however, do provide such guidelines. As a result, oligarchs continue to turn to these, both to maintain the coordination of the leadership overall and to give their own actions structure rooted in the patterns embedded in regime lore. This is essential, not only because of this need to maintain the leadership system, but because individual oligarchs are likely to see personal advantages in continuing to follow the rules. Following the rules in their day-to-day functioning can provide an element of certainty for their daily lives in the face of potentially greater unpredictability in their relationship with the dictator. Furthermore, it is possible that, over time, dictatorial unpredictability may become built into the operating procedures of the leadership; this was the experience in post-war Stalin’s USSR and pre-Cultural Revolution China as shown by the way in which decision-making was structured in both countries to enable an absent dictator to have a final say, and it has also been present in Belarus under Lukashenka. Thus, even in the situation envisaged in the mainstream literature where the dictator is much more powerful than his leadership colleagues, those colleagues do not become simply ciphers of the dictator, and where they act autonomously, rules continue to play a part in structuring oligarch activity. In this case, rules may be much less effective in terms of constraining

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the dictator, but their enabling and coordinating functions remain highly salient. Rules may also remain important under a dominant leader because that leader’s actions are likely to rest, at least in part, on those rules. Too often a sharp distinction has been drawn between a leader acting seemingly arbitrarily to exercise power in a personalist way, and a leader acting in a more regularized fashion, or according to the rules as argued in this book. A leader, even when dominant and acting in a seemingly unconstrained fashion, in fact relies upon rules. He benefits from the way in which rules can regularize and constrain the activity of rank-and-file oligarchs. By ensuring regularity and predictability in the behaviour of those oligarchs, rules can sustain the position of the dominant leader. But he also benefits from the enabling functions of the rules. This is shown in the following discussion of Leader Strategies. This means that the personalist power of the leader is itself built upon rules. Thus, while power disposition is important, rules remain central even under an all-powerful, dominant leader. A leader’s exercise of arbitrary power usually does not extend so far as to shape all aspects of oligarch life, and while it may affect the tone of that life, it does not replace the coordinative effect of rules on the conduct of leadership politics. If those rules are called into question by the exercise of dictatorial power, as in the Cultural Revolution, the continued stability, not to mention existence of the leadership system, is under threat. Given this is usually so manifestly at odds with the interests of the oligarchs, including the dictator, it is a relatively rare event. The continued importance of rules to the coordination of leadership politics is shown by the way in which those rules are inherent in the strategies adopted by both leader and oligarchs to consolidate and strengthen their positions. This means that the rules are actually important in shaping the power relationship between dominant dictator and oligarchs. In looking at these strategies, it is useful to distinguish between those adopted by the leader and those by the oligarchs. There are five strategies a leader can employ in an attempt to structure relations within the oligarchy, and each of these strategies involves a combination of rules. With the exception of the first which applies only to a dominant leader,2 these strategies may be pursued by both dominant and predominant leaders. In principle, the strategies are distinct, but in practice they will usually be combined as a leader seeks to use a range of them to manage oligarch affairs. Which strategy or set of strategies is chosen will depend on the leader’s judgement about what best serves his interests and which, given the power disposition in the oligarchy, he is best able to implement. All five strategies are consistent with a leader relying on any of the bases of leadership outlined in Chapter 1, but some of those strategies are more consistent with some bases than others.

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Strategies of the leader Leader strategy 1 Reliance upon fear and the threat of coercion. This strategy is what is presented in much of the literature as the usual form dictatorial rule takes. Usually using control over the security apparatus as a continuing threat (although in some cases paramilitary units may be used, such as the Tonton Macoute in Papa Doc Duvalier’s Haiti), the dictator intimidates the other oligarchs to both maintain his dominance generally and to get his way on daily issues. This strategy involves the enabling side of Rule 17, that the security services do not play an independent role in oligarch affairs unless mobilized into them by an oligarch, but it also subverts the essential purpose behind this rule. The intent of this rule was to ensure the security of the oligarchy by exercising continuing control over the security services. However, the essence of this leadership strategy involves use of the security apparatus in such a way as to call that oligarch security into question; this strategy involves the enabling side of this rule (the security services cannot play an independent role in oligarch affairs but, by implication and in accord with Rule 10 on the possibility of elite mobilization, may be mobilized from within the oligarchy) being used to undercut its constraining side. Thus, while it clearly negates Rule 7 (on oligarch security), in purely formal terms it constitutes a case of the implementation of Rule 17. Application of this strategy also may rely on a number of other rules: Rules 1 and 2 on the leader’s position, 11 and 12 on the leader’s formal office and personal authority, 14 on the sidelining of formal institutions, and 16 on institutions as power bases can all underpin the dictator’s use of threat and coercion. In addition to Rule 7, two other operational rules may be imperilled by the implementation of this strategy: the rule on unity and consensus (Rule 8) could not easily be reconciled with this strategy, while that relating to the collective discussion of issues (Rule 3) could be endangered should the appropriate reaction to this strategy be seen by the oligarchs to be to eschew difference and disagreement with the dictator and simply act as ‘yes-men’. But the other operational rules could continue to function under this strategy. Those rules relating to the oligarchs’ relative autonomy (Rule 4) and the acceptability of disagreement between oligarchs (Rule 5) are not necessarily impinged by this strategy, although any replacement of collective discussion by unanimous agreement with the dictator could flow over and affect these rules also, but they might not. Indeed, the dictator may see the encouragement of such disagreement as positive in the sense of it constituting a barrier to the sort of oligarch unity that could pose a threat to him. Similarly, this strategy may actually strengthen the operation of Rule 6 on the acceptability of factions. If life has become more uncertain for the rank-and-file oligarchs as a result of this strategy, faction formation as a defensive mechanism would appear a sensible response. Of course, the danger is that the dictator might see such factions as

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a threat, but his continued reliance on an informal group around him at this time would actually represent an affirmation of Rule 6, even if his preference was that this did not extend to rank-and-file oligarchs’ independent organization. As the cases of Stalin and Lukashenka show, factions continued to operate while coercion was being wielded on an enhanced scale. This strategy of relying on coercion clearly directly involves Rule 17 on the role of the security services, but the essence of this strategy is a breaking of Rule 7 (and possibly of Rule 29 on the consequences of losing out in succession) relating to the security of the oligarchs. Unlike the other strategies, this does not rely on Rule 3 on collective discussion because the application of coercion is not a response to particular actions or opinions of the oligarchs but is a more generalized process; it is less about explicitly keeping individuals in line than in emphasizing the vulnerability of the whole group. This strategy should not affect the overwhelming majority of relational or constitutive rules. These apply principally to the relations between oligarchs and elite and govern processes that would for the most part be likely to continue regardless of the level of coercion being wielded by the dictator. These rules are part of the basic infrastructure of the regime as a whole, and they are likely to continue to function even under a dominant leader relying upon enhanced coercion. What this means is that even when a dominant leader uses violence, most of the rules will continue to be followed and thereby coordinate the leadership’s functioning. In principle, and by definition, a dominant leader following this strategy could ignore these rules and act in an arbitrary fashion. But a situation in which there was only arbitrary action would not be in his long-term interests. The dictator cannot run the country alone but needs the broader regime structure if he is to maintain control and execute policy, and that structure operates best when the regularity that flows from the rules applies. Furthermore, as noted already, enhanced coercion or its threat from above does not determine all the interactions oligarchs will have among themselves. The patterns of action that characterize their relations and embody their political responsibilities will continue to occur even while such coercive threat from above affects their relations with the dictator; the enabling side of the rules will continue to give power, authority and guidance to the oligarchs, and may even be seen by these people as a potential line of defence against the dictator’s potential predation. The cases of Stalin, Lukashenka and Mao (except during the Cultural Revolution when he temporarily destroyed much of the structure) show the continued functioning of rules in the context of enhanced levels of threat. Thus, even under the dominant leader, when he would seem to be most liberated from the rules through his reliance on high levels of violence, many of the rules will continue to apply and to structure oligarch life. This strategy involves the stereotypical image of the dictator in much of the literature, and although it does occur from time to time—Pol Pot in Kampuchea 1976–79 may be an example—rule purely by intimidation or terror is not common.

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In part this is because such reliance on the security apparatus is potentially unstable and dangerous for the dictator himself; such dependence renders him potentially vulnerable to the security forces. But also a system riven with fear in this way is unlikely to have a long life because the fear and distrust at its heart eats away at the commitment of its members, which significantly hinders its day-to-day functioning. This is reflected in the experience of dominant leaders who have had this strategy attributed to them. Even when levels of coercion have been at their height, the dictator has sought to rely not solely on this. While Lukashenka has been purging his oligarch and elite colleagues, he has continued to promote his populist image and claim the authority of the presidency. Both Stalin and Mao, while the terror of the 1930s and the Cultural Revolution were unrolling, sought authority through their personal image, the office they held, and in Stalin’s case the formal use of institutional processes. And in both these cases the enhanced use of coercion was for a relatively short time: in Stalin’s case from the mid-1930s until 1953, but the period of the war broke this into two shorter sections, and for Mao about three years (1966–69). While fear is rarely the sole strategy, implicit threat often reinforces other strategies, especially when force is used against opponents even in non-dominant leader systems, as for example Mahathir used against Anwar in 1998–99 when he had him arrested and imprisoned on trumped-up charges of immorality.

Leader strategy 2 The projection of personal authority (embodied in Rules 2 and 12). The essence of this strategy is that the rank-and-file oligarchs are persuaded to recognize that the dictator possesses intrinsic authority just because of who he is or what he has done, and the dictator is able to utilize this deference consistently to get his way. There may be a genuine charismatic element here, and this is often reinforced by a leader cult, but even though such an exaggerated image of the leader is rarely accepted by the oligarchs, they may nevertheless accept that the dictator has personal authority. Such enhanced, cultist images of people like Lenin, Stalin, Mao, Deng, and to a lesser extent, Putin, Lukashenka, and even Mahathir and Lee Kwan Yew have been present in many different regime types, but not the corporate military regime. Such authority may stem from or be enhanced by perceived performance. A leader may seek to bolster his personal image by claiming association with successful policies, a tactic all leaders have attempted to follow, and if such a claim is successful the leader’s authority may be enhanced among the oligarchs. A common form of this is provision of material benefits and welfare to the oligarchs themselves. Usually seen in terms of granting them access to the resources of the state, this is effectively a means of buying the support of the oligarchs and sometimes members of the elite; by presiding over the distribution of state spoils, the leader

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seeks to consolidate his position and co-opt oligarchs and members of the elite to his side. Putin has been accused of doing this. However, while this may bolster the leader’s position, it can potentially make it vulnerable to economic downturn, and is therefore unlikely to be the only strategy the leader uses. Unlike the first strategy, this one is compatible with all of the rules. The only place where this strategy might be slightly problematic is, paradoxically, with those rules about authority being vested in institutional office (Rules 1 and 11). This may be problematic in the sense that authority vested in the office appears inconsistent with authority vested specifically in the person who holds the office, but in practice this has rarely been a problem because the personal leader has usually sought not to draw a sharp distinction between the two but to merge them in a composite image of ‘his’ ‘presidential’ authority. The most likely circumstance in which this could become an issue (and Rule 12 on personal authority would clash with Rule 11 which can imply institutional authority) is if the dictator sought personally to exercise powers much greater than those vested in the office, possibly with greater reliance on informal procedures than the formal institutions (Rule 14 on the sidelining of formal institutions by informal processes). The result of any such clash would be determined by which source of authority was held to be paramount, personal or institutional. Rule 3 on collective discussion plays a role in this strategy in the way in which regularized collective discussion inter alia creates opportunities for the dictator to gauge both his standing with and the policy views of his fellow oligarchs. Pinochet was one leader who sought to merge the personal with the institutional, seeking the republican presidency to bolster the personal authority he sought to embody through his own modus operandi, but he had limited success. It was on the basis of this claimed personal authority that he frequently tried to get around the junta by announcing measures and effectively daring them not to agree; generally, he was unsuccessful. In Singapore and Mexico founding leaders Lee and Calles used their personal reputations to continue to play a significant role for some time after they left official office. Both Mahathir and Putin also attempted to project their images as competent leaders in tune with their societies to extend their authority, Lukashenka presented himself as the people’s tribune battling the elites, and in dynastic monarchies the king’s authority as pater familias significantly bolstered his royal authority. Thus, the attempt to rely on personal authority has been common and is not inconsistent with the continued operation of most rules.

Leader strategy 3 A strategy of divide and rule. This involves an attempt to divide and play individuals and groups off against one another in order to prevent them from uniting against the dictator and relies upon the rules relating to collective discussion,

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oligarch autonomy, disagreement among the oligarchs, faction formation and the role of policy (Rules 3, 4, 5, 6, 18 and 28). The classic statement of this assumes the dictator stands alone above the factions and manipulates them to maintain himself in power.3 This strategy usually includes judicious discrimination in appointments to ensure an approximate balance of forces in regime institutions, the use of patronage to provide bribes in exchange for support and of penalties to discourage opposition, and a flexibility in policy positions that will enable tactical decisions to be made by the dictator. Manoeuvrability in the policy sphere is usually central, at least early in the process, because the successful implementation of a divide and rule strategy based solely on appointment could introduce potentially excessive instability in staffing at the top. Such a strategy often involves the dictator tactically not actually stating his view and thereby providing clear leadership on particular issues, either saying nothing about what he thinks should be done or not being specific about what policy position he supports; such studied ambiguity was commonly adopted by Mao and Deng in China. This strategy is compatible with all of the rules and may be linked with leader strategy 4 because, in contrast to the classic statement noted above, in most cases the dictator does not stand alone above a factionalized oligarchy but is supported by his own faction. This support facilitates his capacity to implement a strategy of divide and rule by enhancing the power base from which he can do this, although it can also complicate this if his faction is not completely servile (which it is often not). One case of the use of this divide and rule strategy is by Pinochet in Chile when he ensured that the government ministers reported directly to him, thereby cutting the other members of the junta out of the information loop. In Brazil, President Castelo-Branco’s change to the promotion procedures in the military sought to make more difficult the emergence of factions within the service branches, in Russia, Putin has been widely seen to stand above and act as a mediator between the factions, while Lukashenka has swapped between factions. All of these are actions consistent with such a strategy.

Leader strategy 4 Mobilization of one’s own factional support. The essence of this strategy is to build in continuing dominance by ensuring that one’s supporters are in a dominant position in the oligarchy. This is the strategy that most explicitly relies upon the acceptance of faction and those rules underpinning this (Rules 3, 4, 5, 6, 16 and 21), is compatible with all of the rules, and appears to have been the most commonly used strategy, with leaders across the globe utilizing it to stabilize their leadership. Rules 10 and 21 respectively providing the opportunity for an oligarch to mobilize support among the elite and the role of faction in determining oligarch membership

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could be particularly important in the implementation of this strategy by enabling expansion of factional membership, as Stalin showed in the 1920s, while the consolidation of the dictator’s authority (Rules 11 and 12 on institutional and personal authority) may also be important for the attraction of new adherents and the retention of existing ones in the faction. However, its success does depend upon the dictator being able to maintain the loyalty of his followers, and thereby has at its heart the relationship between leader and (a section of the) oligarchs. This strategy was constantly in play in Brazil where the approximate alternation of hardline and softline factions in power meant that successive presidents relied upon their faction for support while in office. In Malaysia, Mahathir relied on a small number of close associates and was able to stack party bodies with his supporters at crucial times in his battles against the opposition. In Belarus, Lukashenka shifted his basis of factional support with his consolidation of his own position in power and change in economic policy, while in Russia, Putin ousted the people he inherited from his predecessor and brought in many he assumed were closer to his own way of thinking.

Leader strategy 5 Reliance on rules. Both predominant and dominant leaders, irrespective of the power they wield vis-à-vis their oligarch colleagues, may see the value of emphasizing and relying on rules. To the extent that rules structure the behaviour of the oligarchs, they generate predictability and thereby make the oligarchy a potentially less uncertain place for the person who seeks to lead it. While a dictator may seek to retain a capacity for arbitrary action on his own part, he does not want that capacity to exist for the other oligarchs. Certainty and regularity, especially if the dictator is able to ignore this himself, makes the collectivity easier to run and therefore helps consolidate his own position and actually extend his power. Many of the individual rules identified in Chapters 2–4 can be used to strengthen the dictator’s position. Occupation of a formal position of leadership in party, state or military conveys a sense of authority that can act as a signal to officials throughout the political system as to who they should support and whose instructions should be obeyed (Rule 2). Rule 11 regarding the leader’s occupation of a formal office may give impetus to an individual’s rise to supreme power as well as helping to consolidate it once there. A dominant leader who has established himself in power may value those rules that reinforce or buttress his position. Rules like those relating to a supreme office (Rules 2 and 11), those limiting elite involvement in oligarch affairs (Rules 9 and 10), and those elevating the leader’s authority above that of his colleagues (Rules 2, 11, 12 and 13) could all be seen as rules that could enhance the power and authority of a leader, including in relation to the other

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oligarchs. Even the rule that mandates a collective decision-making process (Rule 3) may have value in a dominant leader’s eyes, not only because it could improve the quality of decision-making, but because it could give a sense of structured involvement to the other oligarchs and thereby prevent either the growth of resentment or opposition among those oligarchs or their ambition to expand their own personal roles. It also gives the leader the opportunity regularly to plumb the opinions of his colleagues and thereby create a means of checking their loyalty. Similar considerations may apply to Rule 4 on oligarch autonomy. Especially if the dominant leader is acknowledged as the final arbiter, this may be seen by the dictator as an important means of stabilizing the leadership and thereby consolidating his position because it gives his colleagues some responsibility, keeps them busy and may also keep them divided. Rule 6 enabling factions may also be looked upon favourably by the dictator as a means of dividing his potential challengers, although there is also the danger that inter-factional rivalry will destabilize the oligarchy with potentially serious consequences for the leader and regime. A dictator may also favour succession rules (Rules 24–29) because the existence of such rules may dissuade other oligarchs from mounting coups.4 Rules can thereby help to stabilize and even strengthen a dictator without necessarily unduly restricting his power, by ensuring the continuing coordination of the leadership system under his control. If the dictator could rely on the rules to coordinate the activity of rank-and-file oligarchs, his own position could thereby be stabilized and consolidated. This applies to both predominant and dominant leaders, and is reflected in the way the different regime types analysed in earlier chapters have functioned. It also means that a dominant leader relies upon rules to underpin his personal dominance. Of course, for the leader this reliance on rules could also have its dangers. As has been emphasized throughout this book, the enabling side of the rules actually empowers people. Reliance upon rules could thus strengthen the oligarchs by enabling and potentially expanding their capacity to act, which may effectively constrain the leader; for example, Rule 4 on the rank-and-file oligarchs’ realm of activity autonomous from the leader enables them to act and in theory constrains him from interfering. The leader, therefore, needs to weigh up the benefits from relying on rules—stability, predictability, protection—against the possible danger of enhanced constraints upon his capacity for action. Associated with a reliance on rules is reliance upon institutions and their procedures. If the dictator can establish control over the institutions of oligarch/regime life, he can use this to consolidate his position. This strategy usually relies upon leader strategy 4 and the mobilization of his own faction and maybe supporters at lower levels of the political system (Rule 10 on oligarch–elite relations). Factional domination of deliberative fora in the party was clearly central in the contrasting cases of leadership consolidation by Stalin and Mahathir, enabling both to win important victories of both a policy and personnel appointment nature. Also

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important can be control over the flow of information into such fora. The ability to set the agenda and control the shape of information that informs discussion of agenda items can be a crucial power, as the experience of successive Soviet General Secretaries shows. The exercise of such institutional power relies on the, usually formal, rules whereby these institutions function and is an obvious strategy for leaders to pursue. An example of this reliance on rules occurred in Chile where Pinochet sought to use formal rules to enhance his power. The Statute of the Junta introduced in 1974 consolidated Pinochet’s position as head of the junta by vesting this position permanently in the leader of the army, and in mid-1978 the removal of the air force chief Leigh, who had been a frequent critic of Pinochet, was engineered through the established procedures of the junta. In all of the regimes analysed here, occupation of the leading position brought with it powers which the incumbents could and did use to consolidate their positions and to prosecute their policy agendas, and the use of these powers was mediated through the rules. These strategies constitute the practical implementation of many of the rules identified earlier, especially the operational rules. It is this that makes the strategies legitimate and acceptable in the oligarchs’ eyes. The strategies are seen as appropriate patterns of action, validated by the rules embedded in regime lore. This is less the case with regard to strategy 1, which could be seen as a distortion of the intent of Rule 17 (on the security apparatus) and, in its reliance on violence, actual or potential, undesirable by the rank-and-file oligarchs. But even so, this strategy which might be seen to replace rules as the basis for action, actually left intact many of the rules identified earlier, including some of the operational rules. Now we need to look at the other side of the leadership dynamic, the strategies of the rank-and-file oligarchs.

Strategies of the rank-and-file oligarchs From the perspective of a rank-and-file oligarch, there are four strategic alternatives and nine tactics available for ordering their relations with a leader and avoiding arousing his ire.5 The four strategies rely overwhelmingly for their success on comportment rules providing for collective discussion (Rule 3), for oligarch autonomy (Rule 4), for disagreement among oligarchs (Rule 5), for the development and operation of factions (Rule 6), and for unity and consensus (Rule 8), but they also depend on many of the relational and constitutive rules. These strategies utilize more of the rules than the leader strategies, and those rules are discussed together following the outlines of the particular strategies. The strategies and tactics chosen will depend upon what the oligarchs believe will best serve their interests and can be implemented.

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Oligarch strategy 1 The first strategy involves oligarchs joining the dictator’s (or in the case before someone becomes a dictator, the putative dictator’s) faction (Rules 4, 6, 16 and 18), and thereby is consistent with the fourth leader strategy of reliance upon his own faction. Security and power come from close association with the dictator. Given that factional organizations normally do not have formal membership rolls where someone signs on and joins, this mainly takes the form of supporting the dictator and the policies he favours at the expense of opposing views, possibly with attendance at factional meetings as a form of reinforcing such commitment.6 Consistent policy support, especially in the face of the opposition of other oligarchs, is probably the clearest means of signalling factional membership, and involves the discipline of accepting the factional outlook in preference to one’s individual view (if these differ). This process was clearly evident in the Soviet Union with the accretion of support to Stalin, both during the 1920s when his future rule was not certain and during the 1930s when it was. In China, it is less clear that a Maoist ‘faction’ existed in the 1950s–early 1960s, but the common acceptance of Mao as the final authority effectively amounted to the same thing. The difference between these two cases was that Mao’s authority was established during the pre-power, revolutionary period when such factions were evident, while the same sort of authority was not achieved by Stalin until the mid-1930s. As both the Soviet and Chinese cases showed, this was not a foolproof guarantee against falling foul of the leader, although the survival rates of the oligarchs compared with other groups in the paroxysms of violence in both countries suggests that this may have provided a degree of protection. Adherence to a leader’s faction has also occurred under predominant leaders, with Anwar’s joining of Mahathir’s faction in the early 1990s a clear case of this, while in the Latin American military regimes the rallying of officers around the head of their service branch was a common form in which this strategy was manifested. More generally, all of those individuals who were members of the leader’s faction in every regime surveyed here were following this strategy.

Oligarch strategy 2 The second strategy involves oligarchs joining a faction autonomous from that of the dictator (Rules 4, 6, 16 and 18). This may not be an opposition faction: it is simply a non-leader faction. This strategy, the mirror image of the first in that it seeks security and power not from associating with the dictator but by utilizing the cooperative capacity inherent in the rules to create a grouping sufficiently powerful to be able to share in power, is easier under a predominant than a dominant leader, but it is also possible under the latter. The thinking behind such a strategy is to combine a sufficient number of oligarchs in order to be able to balance against

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the dictator and his group and thereby place limits on what he can do. There is clear danger in such a strategy. Where there is a formal rule against factionalism, as in the Soviet Union, such a strategy renders one vulnerable to the invoking of that rule. This was the fate of the successive Soviet opposition groups during the 1920s. But perhaps of more salience is the danger that the dictator would see such a strategy as a direct challenge to his power and authority and take action against it, as the fate of Gao Gang and Rao Shushi in China and Anwar in Malaysia illustrate. So too does the fate of Cuauhtenhoc Cardenas in Mexico and Leigh in Chile; the former challenged the president’s preference for a successor, the latter sought through consulting the officers in the air force to bind them into a group that would give him powerful support. Such an outcome, the leader’s destruction of another faction, was not inevitable. This depended overwhelmingly upon how this ‘counter’ faction conducted itself and how secure the dictator felt. The situation under Brezhnev in the Soviet Union is a good instance of this. Factional alignments associated with Suslov and Kapitonov remained in place for virtually the life of Brezhnev as General Secretary,7 sometimes differing from him on policy but never calling his position of overall leadership into question (following Rule 3). The crucial point here is that Brezhnev did not feel threatened by these factions which took care to ensure that they could not be accused either of seeking power or of overthrowing the status quo within the oligarchy. A similar situation applied within the post-Deng Chinese oligarchy where factional groupings associated with Jiang Zemin and Xi Jinping on the one hand and Hu Jintao and Li Keqiang on the other have co-existed, perhaps on the basis of an informal power-sharing agreement which included acceptance of the temporary primacy of a member of the other factional grouping.8 This has contributed significantly to stability within the Chinese oligarchy. In Brazil, where a non-leader faction in the leadership was a virtual constant in the discussion of both policy and succession, the observation by both leader and non-leader factions of the principles governing their interaction significantly buttressed the stability of the system and hindered the accretion of personal power by the leader.9 These factions and the dynamic between them were the building blocks of Brazilian power-sharing. A similar situation applied in Mexico. In Russia, Putin too seems to have considered the factional arrangements (including groups who sought some separation from Putin and his supporters) as compatible with his rule.10 In contrast, Mahathir in Malaysia and especially Lukashenka in Belarus seem to have interpreted the other faction as an enemy. Although the existence of a non-leader faction can produce significant stability, the potential exists for this to break down. While neither side conceives policy disagreement as involving a challenge for the leadership, stability is possible. However, should such a shared perception dissipate, or should action be misinterpreted or a misjudgement made, or should leadership paranoia take over, this could be a recipe for conflict. Unless such conflict leads to a quick and decisive victory by one

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side, the stability of the oligarchy and of the regime as a whole could be thrown into question. Neither side would want such an outcome, but individual ambition and the propensity for misjudgement make this strategy one with significant risks that could be best attenuated by generating ground rules for factional activity, as seems to have been done in the Brezhnev and post-Deng cases, during Brazilian military rule and for much of the life of the PRI regime in Mexico.

Oligarch strategy 3 The third strategy involves the attempt to maintain one’s position through the adoption of an independent stance, attached to no faction. The most secure basis for such a stance is the possession of resources that are valuable for the oligarchy yet cannot be suborned by the dictator. There are two types of such resources in principle, organization and expertise, with the strongest practical basis coming from the combination of these. The mobilization of such a basis is facilitated by Rules 4, 5 and 16 involving autonomous spheres for the oligarchs. Recognition of such autonomy reduces the likelihood of clashes between the leader and an autonomous oligarch and thereby potentially bolsters the latter’s autonomy. The essence here is that utilizing the enabling capacity of the rules, the oligarch is able to consolidate his support within the organization/s under his control and use that to ensure both the singularity of the advice coming forward (his view on particular policy questions is not contradicted from within that organization acknowledged as having expertise in that area) and maximize the chances that the implementation of any decision will not be opposed within the organization for political reasons. Both of these enhance the appearance of the oligarch’s performance and may thereby reinforce the sense of his indispensability to the oligarchy. This sort of situation is reflected in the position of some members of the military juntas in Latin America where each member was the acknowledged representative of his service branch, but it was also evident in the role played by some of the communist prime ministers, including Kosygin and Ryzhkov in the USSR and Zhou Enlai in China, and some ministers and former ministers like Chen Yun. It has also been the sort of strategy adopted by some ministers and technocrats in Chile, Brazil and Belarus.

Oligarch strategy 4 This strategy is the counterpart of leader strategy 5, reliance on rules. An emphasis upon rules can continue to provide oligarchs with a rationale for their ongoing involvement in political life and protection of their life, their political role and their possessions. These can be achieved through rules involving an institutional focus of decision-making (Rule 1), collective discussion (Rule 3), individual spheres of autonomy (Rules 4 and 16), the acceptability of inter-oligarch policy difference (Rules 4, 5, 18 and 28) and faction formation (Rule 6), restrictions on non-oligarch

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involvement in oligarch affairs (Rules 9 and 10) and guarantees of oligarch security (Rules 7 and 29). With the atrophy of formal institutions, rules involving the functioning of more informal fora of discussion (Rules 14 and possibly 15) may be welcome to the extent that they provide an opening for the oligarchs to continue to be involved in high-level decision-making. The continued importance of policy (Rules 18 and 28) could also be seen as a positive for the rank-and-file oligarchs: given their own particular individual expertise, a policy focus provides a raison d’être for their continued involvement in top-level decision-making, while at the same time ensuring that oligarch dynamics are not solely fixated upon questions of power. Defeat on a policy issue may be unfortunate, but defeat on an issue of power could be personally catastrophic. Maintenance of consensus (Rule 8) could also be viewed positively, as providing a basis of agreement upon which all could act. The constitutive rules on composition and succession (Rules 20–29) are likely also to be viewed favourably because of the regularity and predictability that they could involve, including restricting the potential competition for entry into the oligarchy.11 This means that the rules governing oligarch affairs could be seen by the rank-and-file oligarchs as a means of them protecting themselves and defending their positions against the possible depredations of a dictator, of bolstering their own positions and defending them against possible attack by the dictator. Particularly important in this regard is the maintenance or restoration of regularity in the functioning of leading decision-making organs. In both the Soviet Union and China, where the formal decision-making organs were sidelined when Stalin and Mao (in the Cultural Revolution) were most dominant, their death saw the restoration of those formal organs to their former positions of primacy.12 In the military regimes in Brazil and Chile, steps were taken to ensure the regular functioning of leading bodies to convey a sense of process and regularity over arbitrariness. In all of the regimes under review, the operation of leading official organs has been at least partially compromised by the activities of more informal groups around the leader. Restoration of regularity to the leading organs was particularly important because by regularizing meeting schedules and procedures, the oligarchs can emphasize a forum within which they (potentially) all had a part to play. When the leading official organ was replaced by other decision-making procedures, there was no guarantee about who should be involved in such processes. But the leading official body generally had a statutory membership, and those members had a right to attend meetings; in theory, they could not be excluded by decision of a dictator or would-be dictator. The strengthening of the leading organ constitutes an attempt to create an arena within which the dictator must interact with his colleagues, listen to their views and take their concerns into account. According to the literature, such increased regularity may also facilitate power-sharing by creating a means whereby a check can be maintained on the dictator’s actions and continuing commitment to collective rule: regularity could increase transparency and prevent the misinterpretation of action.13 It is an

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attempt to ensure the oligarchs’ continuing relevance and potentially to constrain the leader. In practice, a new leader may still have been able to exclude his colleagues as had happened before, but in doing so he had to overcome the moral hurdle that the restoration of the leading organ erected. The regularization of leading political organs imposes a routine and a formal process upon all of the oligarchs. The more routinized the leading organs of the system become, the greater the likelihood that those organs will develop normative authority, and the stronger that authority the greater the constraints they impose on all oligarchs. The generation of normative authority requires, not simply institutional regularization, but also the strengthening of those rules and norms which surround the institutions. This relates principally to decision, comportment and relational rules. A clear instance of this was the unanimity principle adopted by the Chilean junta, which was used on a number of occasions by the navy, air force and police leaders to block attempted decisions by Pinochet. In the communist regimes, the passing of the dominant leaders Stalin and Mao saw a rhetorical reassertion of the principles of collective leadership. In neither case was there a clear statement of what collective leadership actually meant, but it was clear that it did not include the sort of dominance that Stalin and Mao had exercised.14 Formal rules were also central to the ending of two regimes analysed here. The arrangements set in train in 1980 in Chile meant that once Pinochet had lost the 1988 referendum he should step down, and this principle was enforced by the other oligarchs over his objections. And in Brazil, when the Congress elected the opposition candidate president, despite the opposition of the hardline military faction this decision was accepted by the regime. In both cases the formal rule was adhered to despite its effect of leading to the end of the regime. In Mexico, the formal rule about only serving one presidential term was observed, despite some reservations about this by people around some of the presidents; and in Russia, observance of the two consecutive terms rule meant that Putin stepped down in 2008 despite his desire to retain power, reflected in his becoming prime minister. Part of this was emphasis upon the security of all oligarchs. This was not just a matter of self-interest, but was also positive for the regime as a whole and therefore had regime-wide salience. For example, the reticence to exact the ultimate penalty may be said to have had two consequences. First, if death was not a likely outcome of a failed challenge, there was less incentive not to go ahead with such a challenge. If an oligarch knew that an unsuccessful tilt at the top job could result in them losing their life, they would be likely to think twice before undertaking such action. If there was no such penalty, the stakes were lower and therefore may have encouraged people to become engaged when they might not otherwise have done so. Second, if the stakes were not as high and there was less riding on the outcome, participants may not have felt as if they had to pull out all of the stops to win. The absence of death as a likely outcome may thus have contributed to the

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moderation of tactics, which in turn helped to ensure that such conflict did not destabilize the regime. But the regularization of institutions and rules does not mean that all oligarchs are equal. Acceptance of the rule that the leader had particular authority and responsibility incumbent upon him occupying that post (Rule 2) meant that by definition all were not equal. What was demanded was not equality, but recognition of the autonomy of each in their particular spheres of responsibility (Rules 3 and 4) and treatment with the respect, deference and security they believed their posts demanded (Rule 7). The creation of this sort of ethos required the cooperation of all the oligarchs, including the leader and fed into the development of unity and consensus (Rule 8). A more civilized oligarchy was a safer and more peaceful oligarchy. Pursuit of all four of these strategies relied upon the same packet of rules, enhanced in each case by a couple of rules that are not universally shared. Fundamental were those rules relating to collective discussion, oligarch differences and faction formation (Rules 3, 5, 6, 18 and 28). What this combination of rules did was to enable, legitimate and frame oligarch discussion. They created the space within which oligarchs could legitimately meet to discuss policy issues and to build up cooperative relationships which could not only shape policy discussion but facilitate pursuit of any of these strategies. And, of course, the existence of factions was intrinsic to the first two strategies. These rules also legitimated the adoption of positions at odds with those of the dictator. By making policy disagreement and (through the rule on faction organization) the pursuit of those policy differences acceptable, these rules laid the basis upon which it was legitimate to differ from the dictator. So these rules not only provided the space within which collusion could occur, but also in effect legitimated such activity. This is a classic case of the enabling and coordination functions of the rules. Rules 1, 2, 11, 12 and 14 were also central to all of the strategies. These rules involved the definition of the position the dictator occupied, the dimensions of his power (institutional cf personal), and the nature of the decision-making organ. If the rules have an expansive definition of the dictator’s position and powers, the room for opposition without breaching those rules is narrowed, and therefore the pursuit of the strategies is rendered more uncertain. However, if the membership of the decision-making organ (whether it be an official body or a more unofficial organ under Rule 14) is cast broadly, greater scope exists for the sort of discussion noted in the previous paragraph. And, of course, the extent of the dictator’s power and authority (Rules 12 and 13), may have implications for oligarchs’ willingness to pursue any of these strategies. This applies not just to the predominant/dominant distinction, but within both categories as well. Rule 14 could also be crucial because the more informal procedures replaced formal bodies, the greater the uncertainty could be about what was legitimate and what was not. But

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the greater uncertainty could be a two-edged sword: it potentially created greater room for the oligarchs to act without obviously breaching the rules, and it also provided greater scope for suspicion on the part of a nervous or paranoid dictator. The effect of all of these rules could also be shaped by Rule 19 on whether rules possessed normative authority or were simply used instrumentally. If they were vested with normative authority, this could be used to protect collusive activity, although depending upon the content of the rules, it could also justify a dictatorial crack down. All strategies were also underpinned by the rules making provision for oligarchs to exercise autonomy and be able to build up personal power bases in the leading institutions of the regime (Rules 4, 15 and 16). These rules enabled oligarchs to develop policy expertise that could feed into oligarch organization (whereby people agree on policy positions and are thereby encouraged to come together to support them), and provided them with organizational bases that could strengthen their position and lend substance to any challenge. Even for the oligarchs pursuing oligarch strategy 1 of allying with the dictator, notwithstanding the point below regarding Rule 4, these constituted resources that they could bring to the table and which should have made them appear more attractive to the dictator. The constitutive rules were also relevant to all strategies in that they determined the membership of the relevant group within which such strategies were to be mainly pursued. In addition, a number of rules had particular relevance for oligarch strategies 1 and 2 involving factional membership. Rule 10 providing for the possibility of mobilization of members of the elite into oligarch affairs could be important as a means of buttressing one’s factional strength, either by expanding factional membership to the elite or simply garnering the elite’s support on a more individualized basis. Rules 20 and 21 on co-optation into the oligarchy and the role of factions in determination of membership of the oligarchy were also crucial for any strategy involving factions. Similarly for oligarch strategies 2 and 3, a number of other rules were relevant. Rule 4 on oligarch autonomy (in association with Rule 16 on elite institutions as a power base for oligarchs) was important for these strategies because they had at their heart the distancing of the oligarch from the dictator. The capacity to do this was enhanced if the oligarchs as a group were recognized as possessing a degree of autonomy from the leader. Rule 13 on power maximization was also clearly central to these strategies because both strategies, but especially oligarch strategy 2, involved limitation on the dictator’s power. And because both strategies involved the expression of difference with the dictator, Rule 8 on the ethos of unity (which was also relevant for oligarch strategy 1) needed to be a matter of particular emphasis. Colluding oligarchs needed to be able to project an image of themselves as not breaking the unity of the regime but remaining within the constraints imposed by the general agreement in the foundational pact. They were not doing anything

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out of the ordinary, and therefore did not warrant an extraordinary response by the dictator. Leader and oligarch strategies were not independent of each other but were inter-related. The viability of the various strategies was dependent in part on the strategies being followed by the other oligarchs. Oligarch strategy 1, joining the dictator’s faction, was compatible with all of the leader strategies, but this is not surprising because it essentially involves rejection of the idea of bridling, or placing limits on, the dictator. The other three oligarch strategies were all designed either to place constraints on the leader or avoid having to take a position on this question. Oligarch strategies 2 and 3 (joining a faction autonomous from the leader and adopting an independent stance) were both consistent with leader strategy 3 (divide and rule) and strategy 4 (the leader’s mobilization of his own faction) because both of the leader strategies assumed division within the oligarchy between supporters and others; the logic behind leader strategies 3 and 4 was this sort of division within the oligarchy. Oligarch strategy 4 and leader strategy 5 both involved reliance on the rules, and so perfectly intermeshed. Only the first two leader strategies (reliance on coercion and the projection of personal authority) lack counterpart oligarch strategies that intermesh with them, and that is why if they are pursued without any of the other strategies, the likelihood of conflict is increased. What reduces the likelihood of destabilizing conflict in the use of all of the strategies (including these two) is that all of the strategies are embedded within the same set of rules. While different strategies may rely upon and utilize different individual rules, the fact that all of the strategies are embedded within and need the rules is a stabilizing factor in the politics of the oligarchy and the elite. These four broad strategies may be realized through nine tactics that can be pursued in the day-to-day dynamics of oligarch politics. These tactics reflect the way in which rules enable oligarchs and facilitate the coordination of their activity.

Tactic A The first tactic is the propensity of oligarchs to combine on the basis of attitude towards a particular, usually policy, issue, a tactical alliance. Unlike a faction which is continuing, this is a temporary alliance based on common attitudes to questions under review, but it could also be the basis for the creation of a faction (oligarch strategy 2). When it is not part of faction creation but is a single isolated case, this tactic could be part of an attempt to implement oligarch strategy 3, the ‘independent’ stance. The aim is specific and limited and generally not related to the continuing structure of the oligarchy, although this could be a feature of intraoligarch jockeying and conflict. The construction of such issue-based coalitions is designed ultimately to attain a particular policy outcome, but in the more immediate term it could create a critical mass in support of an issue which would persuade the dictator that this is the most efficacious path to take, or to dissuade him from opposing them. Examples include in Malaysia over reaction to the global

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financial crisis, in Argentina over the Falklands/Malvinas conflict, in Russia over the seizure of Yukos, and in Mexico over electoral reform. It is also often adopted by technocrats in the government. One basis for this tactic is overlapping institutional interests, where, for example, all of those oligarchs with interests in a particular sector of the economy (such as heavy industry) come together on a particular policy question related to that sector. This is the basis of the bureaucratic politics common among oligarchs. But also when a dictator is distant, either physically or metaphorically, the oligarchs can band together to present issues to him in the way that they like. They can frame an issue in a particular way, such that it leads to a policy that they favour, and by presenting this to the dictator hopefully achieve the outcome they desire. This is clearly evident in the way that in Stalin’s absence from Moscow, the remaining oligarchs met regularly and made decisions which were sent to Stalin for his approval. Similarly in China, when Mao removed himself from the Politburo and especially after he shifted to the ‘second line’ and after the Cultural Revolution, the decision-making process would proceed with the decision emanating from it then being sent to Mao for approval. Such temporary alliances could also be used in an attempt to block the leader in what he may wish to do, as occurred in Chile on those occasions when Pinochet sought to circumvent the principle of junta unanimity. The creation of these sorts of alliances could thus also seek to generate a consensus on issues as well as providing collective cover for the individual oligarchs. The rules central to this tactic are those dealing with collective discussion and the organization that underpins it (Rules 3, 4, 5 and 6), including Rule 16 on institutions as possible power bases. Also important were Rule 10 providing for the possibility of the mobilization of members of the elite into oligarch affairs, the rules on policy as an acceptable basis for difference (Rules 18 and 28) and more tangentially the rules concerning the possible sidelining of oligarch institutions (Rules 14 and 15). The ability to create a tactical alliance on the part of rank-and-file oligarchs assumed a degree of autonomy from the leader resting on an institutional base, the ability to come together to discuss issues, and the acceptability of disagreement on the basis of policy. If the opportunity for collusion, organization and policy difference were not provided for through these rules, this tactic would not have been legitimate or would have been very risky. The possibility of mobilizing support from within the elite and the strength or weakness of informal procedures of decision-making were also both possible aspects of this tactic, depending upon how the regime actually worked. The danger for the oligarchs is that the dictator could interpret such activity as collusion directed against him despite it being activity that is validated by the rules. There is an unclear line between consultation and plotting, and the suspicious mind of a dictator, especially one physically removed from the other oligarchs, could find difficulty in distinguishing between the two. The likelihood of this may be ameliorated somewhat when the oligarchs are long-time personal associates of

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the dictator, although the experience of the Chinese leadership with the Cultural Revolution and the Mahileu group in Belarus shows that this was not a guarantee that they would not be engulfed by suspicion. The only defence against such suspicion is not to adopt this tactic at all and to minimize both social and professional contacts among the oligarchs, as Gorbachev was advised. However, the minimization of professional contacts could have significantly deleterious consequences for the conduct of government, something which oligarchs are keen to avoid because of the way in which that could both impair the collective endeavour of ruling (with potential consequences for regime survival) and cast a shadow on their personal performances. For government to run with a degree of efficiency, continuing professional interaction is desirable, regardless of the dangers potentially latent in such activity. Rules provide for this.

Tactic B The second tactic is to seek to remain close to the dictator. This could be achieved through factional membership (oligarch strategy 1 and leader strategy 4), but it could also be a more individualised tactic consistent with leader strategy 3. Its chief characteristic is the continued open support an individual gives to the dictator and his policies, buttressing his position and furthering the policies that he favours. This tactic is easier for those who have long personal associations with the leader like Molotov and Kaganovich with Stalin in the early 1930s, Liu Shaoqi with Mao in the 1950s,15 and Medvedev with Putin, although it was not limited to such people, as the cases of Malenkov and Stalin in the late 1940s–early 1950s in the Soviet Union, Anwar and Mahathir in the early 1990s Malaysia, and Sheiman and Lukashenka in Belarus demonstrate.16 While this tactic could manifest itself in excessive sycophancy—the description of Malenkov as writing down everything Stalin said is one case in point, while extreme laudation through the leader cult was also common—it is often one adopted by those seeking to succeed the dictator when he dies. This probably reflects a belief that the metaphorical charismatic laying on of hands represented by closeness to the leader would be an advantage in any future succession. Central to this tactic are the rules on collective discussion, oligarch autonomy and faction formation (Rules 3, 4, 5 and 6), on institutions as a power base for oligarchs (Rule 16), on policy difference (Rules 18 and 28), and possibly on the sidelining of formal institutions (Rule 14). Acceptance of faction is fundamental to this tactic, while the institutional affiliation that often underpins factional membership could be important in terms of bringing to the dictator resources that strengthen his position over and above simply the person. Provision for the collective discussion of policy is important as a signalling mechanism: to the would-be supporter of the dictator in discerning the positions the dictator favours, and to others in the oligarchy as a signal of that person’s adherence. Rule 14 on the sidelining of formal institutions and their displacement by informal procedures

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may also be significant in defining the most important arenas within which a would-be adherent should present his/her views and new affiliation. The essence of the tactic is Rule 6 on factions and the sort of behaviour it sanctions. This sort of tying of one’s fortunes closely to the dictator could create problems, both in terms of the relationship with the other oligarchs and with the dictator. Fears that the close oligarch may be dripping poison in the ear of the dictator, that he may be acting as the dictator’s agent in the oligarchy more broadly, could generate distrust and resentment, while the suspicion that he may be positioning himself advantageously for a coming succession could create strains among his peers. Pursuit of this tactic could therefore produce tensions within the oligarchy. This tactic could also make the oligarch seeking closeness to the dictator vulnerable to danger from above. One is that the dictator will take him for granted. If he is sycophantic, the dictator may consider him so rusted on that he is ultimately expendable and may therefore look at working to keep onside the other members of the oligarchy, with the result that whatever benefits may flow from the dictator, they may go to the other oligarchs rather than his would-be closest supporter. Dictators are also often Delphic in their statements and may change their minds quickly. This means that those seeking to present themselves as the dictator’s closest comrades-in-arms can find themselves out of step with the dictator through no fault of their own. If this is perceived by the dictator as a failing, it could have significant consequences for the oligarch. Furthermore, in light of the autonomous responsibility enjoyed by the oligarchs and the associated bureaucratic obligations they possess (Rules 4 and 16), blind fulfilment of the leader’s wishes may clash with their professional obligations and the interests of their personal power bases. In such a clash, this tactic would seem to require subordination of professional duties to political support, thereby creating an uncertain calculus: will the support of the dictator be sufficiently constant and strong to overcome any perceived deficiencies in performance or erosion of institutional power base? There is also the possibility that the dictator will share in the view of the other oligarchs that his lieutenant is more concerned with positioning in relation to future succession, and that he might be tempted to accelerate that succession, rather than continuing his support for the dictator. If this is the case, as seems to have applied with regard to Mao’s ultimate view of both Liu Shaoqi and Lin Biao, and Mahathir’s view of Anwar, this tactic could have a bad end for the aspirant oligarch.

Tactic C All oligarchs can pursue a third tactic: projecting an image of themselves as loyal but independent political operatives whose actions are designed to further the collective endeavour led by the dictator. This tactic is essential for the realization of oligarch strategy 3. Like the strategy, this generally relies on control over an institutional base and/or the claim to technical expertise, which is why it was often pursued by technocrats in the government in Chile and Brazil; Medvedev in

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Russia and Leigh in Chile are other exponents of this tactic. Pursuit of this tactic would involve avoidance of self-aggrandisement, such as claiming responsibility for collective decisions or fostering their own personality cult, and always publicly acknowledging the leader, his abilities and position. This does not mean that they need to be completely self-effacing, although if they followed one of the tactics I discuss further on they would adopt such a low profile. But often a very public demonstration of loyalty and support for the dictator is considered wise. Ostentatious recognition and praise of the leader at public gatherings, feeding into the growth of the leader cult, was a common form this took.17 But excessive praise is not a reliable indicator of the speaker’s true feelings towards the dictator, and this is generally understood by those leaders, as indicated by the fate of leading oligarchs in the Cultural Revolution. Nevertheless, the public demonstration of independent commitment to the regime and its aims along with loyalty to the leader, while trying to maintain some distance between themselves and the leader, is a tactic that oligarchs can employ in an endeavour to consolidate their positions at the top of the political system and in the dictator’s personal judgement. The image they seek to project is of the autonomous official (neither one of the dictator’s creatures nor critics) carrying out his tasks responsibly and dutifully while acknowledging fully the leadership of the dictator and not presenting a challenge to him. Projection of oneself as a competent independent relies upon those rules relating to collective discussion, autonomy and faction formation (Rules 3, 4, 5 and 6), policy as a basis for difference (Rules 18 and 28), institutions as potential power bases (Rule 16) and possibly that on the sidelining of formal bodies by informal procedures (Rule 14). The ability to pursue this tactic depends on recognition that different policy views are possible and on the possession of a basis upon which that independence may rest, usually expertise and an institutional power base. Without either expertise or power base, justification of an independent stance would be difficult. The rule on faction formation is important, not because the putative independent oligarch is to join a faction, but because acceptance of factions as acceptable features of oligarch life in effect legitimates taking up a position that might be different from that of the dictator. Furthermore, a balance of power between two or more factions creates room within which an independent can function. Rule 14 on informal procedures potentially displacing formal institutions may also be relevant by shaping the practical context within which such independence could be exercised. This tactic can involve significant risks for oligarchs attempting to implement it. If the oligarchy is divided between a pro-leader and a non-leader faction, both may look upon such aspirations to autonomy with suspicion, especially if the oligarchy is characterized by political tension. Both sides might see the transformation of that independence into support as desirable, and therefore maintenance of this tactic could come under considerable pressure.

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Tactic D A fourth tactic that has been used, with indifferent success, to limit the power of a dictator and thereby strengthen the rank-and-file oligarchs, was to share occupation of the regime’s leading offices among different oligarchs or factions, a balance of power tactic. This was a tactic that could be part of any of the oligarchs’ strategies. The sharing of posts could be effective because it involved the splitting of the authority and resources embedded in these institutions and denial of the possibility that they could be accumulated in one set of hands. It relied upon acceptance of the attachment of particular powers and responsibilities to particular offices. A conscious attempt to do this was made in the Soviet Union at the time of the fall of Khrushchev where it was decided that the one person should not simultaneously be leader of the party and prime minister. Khrushchev had combined these two posts, and so for a time had Stalin. The intention was to split control of the two main institutional structures between two people to avoid the monopolization of power that the combination of posts seemed to involve. This was successful in the sense that no subsequent leader combined these posts, but Brezhnev did breach the spirit of the decision by combining party leadership with a new and enhanced state presidency. Gorbachev eventually followed suit, although this was part of an attempt to recast the upper reaches of power by passing power from party to state organs. A contrasting example occurred in China, where personalized charismatic power had been more important than institutionally based power. The post-Deng arrangements have involved a staged take-up by the leader of the combination of leading positions, General Secretary, president of the PRC, and chair of the two Central Military Commissions. The ascension of Xi Jinping in 2012–13 witnessed the shortest period yet (five months) of the gathering together of these posts. The consolidation of institutional power in this way has thus not been seen as a problem by the Chinese oligarchy in the way that it was perceived in the Soviet, although in China the prime ministerial post has always remained separate. The same principle of division of posts was followed in Mexico and, with qualification, in Malaysia. In Mexico, the president was not the formal head of the party, and although relations between the two were usually workmanlike, there was scope for tension that was realized on some occasions. In Malaysia, the president of the party was the state prime minister, so the two positions were joined, but it was the chief executive of the party rather than the president who exercised administrative power within the party. In Brazil, the preference for a retired officer to be president was a way of separating the presidential office from leadership of the army. This tactic was associated with those rules relating to the official position occupied by the dictator (Rules 1 and 11), the normative authority of rules (Rule 19), and the effective displacement of formal institutions (Rules 14 and 15). Successful realization of this tactic involves tight definition of the leadership positions and their powers, and may be reinforced by emphasis upon the normative authority of the rules governing those positions. Greater formality via the refining

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and definition of the leadership positions is usually the key to restraining a dictator through this tactic. It may also require adjustment to the institutional power realities reflected in Rules 14 and 15, and is consistent with and may be pursued as part of oligarch strategy 4 of relying on rules. The tactic of emphasizing formal institutional separation could be undercut by the concentration of power in an informal body (Rule 14) or by an expression of non-institutional authority in the form of the leader’s personalized charismatic authority (Rule 12). This was the form of power that Mao exercised throughout the first two and a half decades of the PRC’s life, Deng from the late-1970s until the mid-1990s, Stalin from the end of the 1930s, and Lee Kwan Yew in Singapore in the 1990s. It is also the sort of authority that Pinochet sought to gain by having himself formally appointed president of the Republic (although this does differ from the other cases in that this was a formal office with powers traditionally attached to it). Although this role was not always officially recognized by its having a particular (albeit sometimes unofficial) title, sometimes it was, for example both Deng and Lee were recognized as the ‘paramount’ leader. This sort of elevation, resting upon Rule 12 about an individual leader’s personal authority, gave an authority that seemed not to be institutionally constrained, and therefore to be at odds with any effort by the oligarchs to restrict an individual leader’s power by separating the formal institutions.

Tactic E A fifth tactic that oligarchs seeking to order their relations with a dictator could adopt is support for elevation of that dictator to an honorific position in the belief that this could isolate him from the policy-making machinery, and therefore such a leader would find himself limited in the power he could wield. This could be part of oligarch strategies 2, 3 and 4. This sense of having one’s power limited seems to have been Mao’s experience of moving to the ‘second line’ of leadership (even though this position was not forced on him), but elevation to a ‘super-leadership’ position does not seem to have produced such a feeling in Lee in Singapore, Deng in China or Nazarbaev in Kazakhstan. Such a calculus on the part of the oligarchs and the dictator involved a judgement about how effective personalized or charismatic authority could be; if officials responded to the personal appeal positively, being cut off from the formal machinery of decision-making might not matter, but if there was a doubt about the potency of such an appeal, elevation to such a post could be a means of boxing in the dictator. Central to this tactic are the same rules involved in Tactic D—on the definition of office (Rules 1 and 11), the normative power of rules (Rule 19) and possibly the displacement of formal institutions (Rules 14 and 15)—plus Rules 2 and 12 on the emergence of a leader and the role of personal authority in leadership. Elevation to an honorific position will normally involve some rethinking of the formal contours of leadership in order to locate the honorific post institutionally, especially if that post is new, and a re-emphasis on formal rules to limit the scope of the new

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position. This may also require an alteration to those matters covered in Rules 14 and 15 on the displacement of formal institutions. In addition, this tactic will need to come to grips with any personal authority vested in the dictator, something that is usually handled not by seeking to reject that authority (because that could have implications for regime stability and legitimation) but to mould and shape it in a form consistent with the new office envisaged for him. The emphasis upon the personal authority of the leader (Rules 2 and 12) potentially was in tension with the principles of collectivism embodied in Rule 3. Paradoxically, the leader cult, which was the highest ideocratic form of personal authority, could be a means of ameliorating such tension. While the cult usually made expansive claims about the responsibility of the leader for all of the regime’s achievements and successes, in practice decisions were often issued not in the name of the leader but of the leading institutions of the system, for example of the CC rather than of Stalin or Mao. Furthermore, despite the focus on the individual leader, collectivism was not always rejected; rather, the collective could be said to gain its authority through its connection to the leader. In this way the cult could have been perceived as a cult of the leadership led by the cult’s principal. But within the oligarchy itself it is doubtful that the cult had any major impact on the oligarchs’ view of the leader. Those who know the leader personally can see behind the mask that is projected through the charismatic appeal. The same applies to the leader cult. This means that it is not clear that the cult actually enhanced the leader’s power within the oligarchy, except insofar as its acceptance by people on lower levels of the political structure may have meant that they constituted a potential reservoir of support for the leader in any clash with his colleagues. And as Mao showed in the Cultural Revolution, this could be an important factor.

Tactic F A sixth tactic involves the development of a personal power base which would render an oligarch less vulnerable. When used in an attempt to restrict the dictator, this could be part of oligarch strategy 2 and would usually be central to oligarch strategy 3. It could also play a part in oligarch strategies 1 and 4. Central to this is the fact that the oligarchs also filled non-oligarch council (politburo, cabinet, junta) jobs which provided them with an institutional power-base and a source of expertise. For those oligarchs who occupied positions that were quite demanding, such as government ministers, most of their time was likely to be spent on ministerial business, rather than narrowly political/oligarch issues. They may have interacted more with their own officials than with the other oligarchs, thereby increasing their sense of autonomy and ownership of the particular policy area. To the extent that issues coming before the oligarchy could be presented as the sort of matters that were regularly handled by the ministry, those issues could potentially be depoliticized and resolved without the involvement of the dictator. While the ultimate decision may have needed the dictator’s assent, such issues

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could often be presented in ways designed by the oligarch-minister so as to achieve the outcome he desired. His ability to be successful in this depended upon both his politico-administrative skill and the management style of the dictator, highly interventionist or relatively ‘hands off ’. But in any case, given the multitude of issues that regularly came before the oligarchy, the dictator’s ability to remain on top of them was restricted, and the scope for oligarchs passing measures autonomously could accordingly be large. The more issues were handled in this way, the greater the day-to-day limitations on the dictator’s scope for personal decision-making. Good examples of this were the way in which economic matters were handled overwhelmingly in the Soviet and Chinese state machines, largely independent of Stalin and Mao respectively. This tactic was essentially the putting into practice of Rule 16 providing for oligarchs to have institutional power bases. Central to this was Rule 4 relating to oligarch autonomy, which was itself underpinned by the rules relating to collective discussion, oligarch disagreement, faction formation and policy disagreement (Rules 3, 5, 6, 18 and 28). The creation of a bureaucratic power base was directly dependent upon oligarch autonomy; if they lacked autonomy, an oligarch could not build up his own individual power base. And such autonomy was itself directly related to collective discussion and the right of oligarchs to disagree, which were in turn dependent in part upon the generation of diverse institutional interests which the oligarch could champion. The displacement of official institutions (Rules 14 and 15) was also potentially important because the contours of this shaped which institutions were most useful for the pursuit of this tactic. The enabling function of rules is clearly reflected here. This tactic had to be pursued carefully so as not to antagonize the leader and other oligarchs, but in all forms of regime this was an accepted mode of operating. In party regimes, such power bases could comprise central institutions like state ministries or CC departments, and central, regional or functional party machines, with Anwar’s actions within UMNO in the early 1990s an instance of this. In military regimes, such power bases were either the different service branches of the military as a whole (army, navy, air force), or sections of it defined vertically (infantry and artillery, submarines and surface vessels, rocket and aeroplane forces) or horizontally (regionally based forces). In Chile, Leigh’s practice of regular consultation with the officers in the air force and Mendoza’s attempt to set up his own security service were both in part attempts to consolidate personal institutional power bases in this way, while the struggle in all three military regimes to maintain control over the promotion procedures within their service branches was aimed partly at consolidating such control. In personal regimes, the state bureaucracy was often the scene of such attempts to exert institutional control over a power base, with Nazi Germany and some of the arguments about clans in Russia illustrating this. Some attempts were made in various regimes to restrict this process, for example, Khrushchev’s practice of frequent re-assignment of leading

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personnel and Pinochet’s (unsuccessful) attempt to take control of the appointment processes in the other branches of the military. While attempts to create such institutional bases sometimes had limited effect, in the long run the creation of such power bases could not be prevented. An oligarchy completely cut off from the broader elite and from the main institutions of the system is likely to be out of touch and increasingly vulnerable. A variant of this in party regimes involves organizing within the ruling party to try to limit the dictator. Although there are limits to how effective this can be, depending in part on the level of the insulation of the oligarchy from the elite, the party could enjoy some leverage in such regimes. Party councils could exercise a sort of moral authority, the party bureaucracy may be able to shape some personnel questions, or the party generally may be able to influence public opinion. In all of these ways, the party could potentially influence oligarch affairs. But the party is likely to be able to act in this way only if it is led by someone other than the dictator. If the leader retains personal control over the party, it could be used as an instrument of his dominance, and thereby a means of consolidating or expanding rather than limiting his power, for example, although he did not closely control the party as a whole; Mahathir’s ability to engineer electoral success in the party and thereby defeat his opponents was instrumental in his retention of power.

Tactic G A seventh tactic involves emphasis upon and strengthening of Rule 3 and the legitimacy of collective discussion within the oligarchy. It is consistent with all oligarch strategies. This gives scope for the oligarchs to both present their own views and to signal differences with the leader. Clearly this has to be handled carefully so as not to provoke the leader’s wrath nor challenge his position, but it does provide some room for the oligarchs to follow their own policy preferences. Policy dissent could be signalled through speeches to major regime fora, many of which were then reprinted in the press (sometimes in edited or altered form) for wider dissemination. While such dissenting views may on occasion have been stated directly and openly, this could also be done through nuance and emphasis, as speakers signalled their views either indirectly or in a sotto voce fashion. A major vehicle for this could be through discussions of budgetary allocations, where individuals could push their own projects through appeals for financial investment that differed from either similar appeals by other oligarchs or that of the main policy direction espoused by the leader. In such cases, as the rule states, the expression of dissenting views must not call into question the position of the leader. In this sense, the oligarchs need to distinguish between policy and a leader’s fitness for office. This distinction appears to have been made with regard to both Stalin (the difficulties of agricultural collectivization, the disaster at the start of the war in June 1941) and Mao (the Great Leap Forward), but not Khrushchev in 1964, where opposition to his policies was a factor in the move against him. This distinction tends not

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to be maintained in the EA regimes where the electoral hurdle remains a stronger presence than in other regimes, while in some military regimes (Argentina, Brazil during the choosing of a new president), differences over the conditions around the opening up of the political system to other actors do seem to have been invested by participants with implications for the continued tenure of office by the leader. Tactic G was the practical realization of Rule 3, which was closely connected to a range of other rules: those relating to oligarch autonomy and disagreement (Rules 4, 5, 18 and 28), faction formation (Rule 6), institutional power bases (Rule 16) and possibly formal institutional displacement (Rules 14 and 15). Oligarch autonomy and the right to disagree were fundamental to the exercise of collective discussion, while the acceptability of factions and of creating one’s own institutional power base gave strong substance to the practice of collective discussion; factional membership and institutional association could help shape the oligarch’s participation in the discussion process. The rules on institutional displacement and on a defined locus of decision-making could also be relevant in terms of defining the appropriate arenas within which such discussion could be pursued, while Rule 1 on the defined locus of decision-making (is it defined broadly or narrowly?) could also be relevant. The expression of dissenting opinions by oligarchs could have a direct antidictator intent, but could also be designed to consolidate the oligarch’s own power base or a coalition with like-minded oligarchs. One aspect of this is that those oligarchs who had a bureaucratic constituency (for example, a state ministry, a service branch of the military, the security apparatus) had to defend that constituency’s interests in elite councils. A failure to do so could result in the erosion of the oligarch’s position and influence within that body, and therefore the loss of a potential instrument to further his personal interests. An oligarch with his department solidly behind him was much better placed to plumb it for expertise and rely on it for implementation of decisions (or blocking such implementation) than one who had lost the support of that department. The expression of dissident views could also be a signal to potential supporters elsewhere in the regime, both among the oligarchs and at lower levels. Among the oligarchs, factional formation and affiliation could be reliant upon commonality of views, and the public expression of these was one way of furthering such association. But the message could also be aimed at the elite more widely, for example in the communist regimes the members of the CC, in military regimes the officer corps of the different service branches, in EA regimes the party, in personal regimes leading bureaucrats or military officers, and in dynastic monarchies the family. The expression of differences through nuance in speeches and writings could also be a way for the oligarchs to signal to the leader that they were not all on board with particular policies without having to directly confront him, with the potential dangers that could involve. Collective discussion could, therefore, be a safety valve for the oligarchy. A leader sensitive

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to the views of his oligarch colleagues and informed of them in this way, could react to them in such a way as to prevent any differences from cascading into major political issues which drew in non-oligarch members of the elite. This sort of signalling within the oligarchy could thus be seen as a defensive mechanism for the oligarchy as a whole, a means of raising (and hopefully resolving) issues without involving the broader elite or destabilizing the oligarchy. Under these conditions, a leader would not necessarily interpret the expression of dissident views as objectionable or dangerous. And the more those views were confined to the narrow areas of responsibility of the particular oligarch (for example, criticism of industrial policy by the minister for industry), the more likely their expression would be considered acceptable. But as already suggested, such expression of views was also a means for the implementation of rank-and-file oligarch strategy 2 and Tactics A and B, but it could also be instrumental for oligarchs seeking to follow oligarch strategy 1 by providing the opportunity to demonstrate their loyalty.

Tactic H An eighth tactic is that of invisibility and makes most sense as part of oligarch strategy 3, although it could also be part of oligarch strategies 2 and 4, and was often used by technocrats in government. This consists in the attempt by individual oligarchs to not draw attention to themselves, in the belief that this would result in, if not a peaceful life, at least one that was not dangerous. The best way of pursuing this tactic is not to challenge the dictator on any issue and to ensure that no major issues in the area for which they are responsible become political questions. The absence of issues cannot be guaranteed because the oligarchs cannot control everything that happens in their areas of responsibility, but when an issue does arise, if an oligarch can handle it effectively and expeditiously, or can successfully present it as a purely administrative question, it might not become a broader political problem. This is the key: presenting the image of a hard-working, competent administrator who does not bring difficult problems before the oligarchy is a means of lowering one’s profile and making oneself less vulnerable. The reverse, being a poor administrator whose problems have to be sorted out by the collective, or being a high profile official who claims credit for successes, is likely to bring an oligarch before the gaze of the leader, with the associated vulnerability that could go with that. This tactic was followed by many who held ministerial positions in all regime types. By presenting issues as non-political, technical in nature, ministers sought to remove issues from the oligarchs’ agenda and relegate them to ‘mere administration’. In so doing they were downplaying their own role and thereby lowering their profile and, they hoped, potential vulnerability. This tactic assumes collective discussion, rank-and-file autonomy, faction formation and the possibility of disagreement (Rules 3, 4, 5, 6, 18 and 28). Also relevant to it are rules on the displacement of institutions and on institutional power bases (Rules 14, 15 and 16). The difficulty with this tactic was to remain

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unobtrusive in the process of collective discussion. Acceptance of autonomy, disagreement and faction formation may have legitimated the practice of not coming out ostentatiously in favour of the dictator on issues, and while the principle of collective discussion may have been seen to work in the opposite direction (providing nowhere for an oligarch to hide), someone seeking to follow this tactic needed to work out a way of handling that. Knowledge of the appropriate arenas of discussion, reflected in the question of institutional displacement, was also important, while possession of an institutional power base was probably essential for the oligarch seeking to pursue this strategy effectively to manage the issues that came up in his area of responsibility. And effective, low-key management was key to this tactic’s success. Although this tactic of seeking invisibility could be followed during humdrum times (and indeed was pursued by many cabinet ministers in all of these regimes during such times), it is likely to have been most important at those times when the oligarchs felt most under threat. There were periods in many regimes’ lives when the oligarchs may have been scared of the dictator and what he might do. But as the Soviet, Chinese and Belarus experiences attest, such feelings of vulnerability did not inevitably translate into a completely subservient or supine attitude to the dictator. Individual oligarchs did not always try to withdraw from oligarch politics or to simply act as a ‘yes-man’. Many continued to express their opinions on current questions, even if these were framed in ways designed not to upset the dictator. In one sense, they had little choice: they had to continue to play their part in the processes of oligarch rule, for if they did not they ran the risk of being seen either as a non-performer or a potential (closet) opponent, and therefore as likely to raise the dictator’s ire. This constituted a significant limitation on the efficacy of this tactic.

Tactic I Associated with the attempt not to be obvious and perceived as either a bungler or a high-flyer (and therefore potential challenger), was the ninth tactic that oligarchs could use, especially when the leader was away from the capital: circumventing the leader. The essence of this was the making of decisions to which the leader did not object, and could be part of oligarch strategies 2, 3 or 4. When Stalin was away from Moscow, the remaining oligarchs sometimes made decisions with which they knew he would disagree, hoping that that decision would get buried in the paperwork sent to Stalin and just passed through on the nod of decisions that they knew he would support. This sometimes did happen, but sometimes Stalin picked up the decision and demanded its reversal. This sort of attempt to get around the leader therefore was not without its dangers: the leader could interpret such measures as attempts to undermine or flout his authority, as has happened in Belarus. Another way of attempting to achieve the same outcome was to present decisions to the leader as the unanimous recommendation of the oligarchs, presenting this not in

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a neutral format but in the form of a compelling argument. This sort of tactic was easier when the leader was away from the capital and the other oligarchs, because when he was present he was likely to have a much closer overview of what was happening in the oligarchy and in the policy sphere; control over the agenda of the oligarch council was likely to give him this. This is why when leaders were absent, they often had a trusted subordinate18 deputize for them in oligarch meetings, both to keep an eye on what was occurring and to report back to them. Important for this tactic were the rules relating to oligarch autonomy, disagreement and faction formation (Rules 3, 4, 5, 6, 18 and 28), institutional power base (Rule 16), formal positions of leadership (Rule 1) and the sidelining of institutions (Rules 14 and 15). Circumventing the leader could involve massaging the formal position that the leader held, creating systems that functioned outside the leader’s immediate field of vision. This could be achieved through changes to Rule 1 or the implementation of the sorts of informal procedures that have been identified as displacing official organs (Rule 14). But this tactic depended for its efficacy on the rank-and-file oligarchs having the room to collude in such a way as to circumvent the dictator, something that was associated with the enabling function of rules, in particular those on collective discussion, oligarch autonomy and the right to disagree. Of all of the rules, those dealing with the central problems for the coordination of the leadership system—collective discussion, oligarch autonomy and the acceptability of oligarch differences—underpinned all tactics that involved cooperation among oligarchs. These rules both legitimated the practice of oligarchs gathering to discuss questions, and therefore colluding, and established the framework within which such cooperation could be worked out. What is more natural than oligarchs meeting to discuss policy questions? By legitimating this activity, the rules created space within which collaboration in the pursuit of these tactics could be organized. This does not mean that the dictator would not object to such things, but the rules did make such meetings a normal part of oligarch life. Had such rules not existed, collusion would have been much more immediately dangerous. As well as the rules indicated in the discussion of individual tactics, a number of rules underpinned all of the tactics: Rule 7 guaranteeing oligarch security and possessions was always emphasized, not least as a backstop if the tactics backfired and the dictator sought to take vengeance upon the oligarchs, and Rule 8 relating to unity, which was something that all emphasized even as they pursued a dissident tack. Also relevant to all were the relational and the constitutive rules, because these determined the population that could be involved in such manoeuvring; some were more directly and immediately relevant, and only these are noted in the following tables. As explained in the discussion of the individual tactics, each could be associated with different strategies. This is illustrated schematically in Table 9.1. It is clear from this table that most tactics form part of oligarch strategies 2, 3 and 4. This is not surprising. These are strategies designed to deal with

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Table 9.1 Oligarch strategies and tactics

Str.1 Str.2 Str.3 Str.4

Tac.A

Tac.B

X X X X

X

X

Tac.C

Tac.D

Tac.E

Tac.F

Tac.G

Tac.H

Tac.I

X X

X X X

X X X

X X X X

X X X X

X X X

X X X

Table 9.2 Strategies and rules 1 L1 L2 L3 L4 L5 O1 O2 O3 O4

2

3

X X X X X X All X X X X X X X X X All

4

5

6

7

8

10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 28 29

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

X X

X

X X

X

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

X X

X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Notes: x axis refers to rule numbers; y axis refers to strategies. L refers to leader; O refers to oligarch

a leader with whom one is not closely tied. For those within the leader’s faction (oligarch strategy 1), the question of dealing with him should be less complicated. The strategies and tactics are also related to individual rules. Tables 9.2 and 9.3 show which rules are central to which strategies and tactics. The rules most central to both the strategies and tactics are the operational rules (Rules 1–8). Table 9.2 shows that the same rules may be used by people wanting to strengthen the leader’s dominance as well as those who want to restrict it, reflecting the capacity of rules to both constrain and enable. This is because many of the rules require substantive content in order to be realized, and the nature of that content will be crucial to the effect the rule can have. For example, Rule 1 states that there is a defined official locus of decision-making. Those seeking to enhance the leader’s power could use this rule to define the powers of that office in an expansive fashion; those seeking to constrain the leader could seek a narrower and more restrictive definition of those powers. Rule 3 on the collective discussion of issues not only provides scope for both leader and oligarchs to recruit adherents to their side, but the form in which such discussion is realized may be relevant to those seeking to expand as well as those seeking to constrict a leader’s power; the former could seek to define collective discussion in a narrow, exclusivist and informal fashion, the latter in a broader, inclusivist, formal way. As these examples suggest, the nature

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Table 9.3 Oligarch tactics and rules 1 A B C D E F G H I

X X X X

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

10

X X X

X X X

X X X

X X X

X X X X X X X X X

X X X X X X X X X

X

X X X X X

X X X X

X X X X

X X X X

11

X X

12

14

15

16

18

X

X X X

X X X

X

X X X X X X X X X

X X X X X X

19

28 X X X

X X X X X X

X X X X

X X X X

x axis refers to rule numbers; y axis refers to tactics

of the rules means that not only might the meaning of the rules be contested, but the specific content may differ from regime to regime and perhaps within the one regime over time.

Conclusion The strategies and tactics that constituted the heart of the leader–oligarch relationship were, therefore, intimately intertwined with the rules, and what this illustrates is how that relationship relied upon the coordinative effect of the rules identified earlier. As regularized patterns of action, the rules gave structure to oligarch politics, including the relationship with the leader. There were reasons for both a predominant and a dominant leader and for the rank-and-file oligarchs to value those rules.19 For both leader and rank-and-file oligarchs, the rules could give a sense of guidance and predictability, and a feeling of some security, as well as formally buttressing the leader’s primacy through the authority vested in the leading position; regularity may constrain other oligarchs without unduly affecting the leader’s power. The rules also legitimated oligarch activity and thereby strengthened their position. By specifying acceptable modes of action, the rules both laid out a plan for the conduct of oligarch politics and a series of red lines to enable oligarchs to determine whether anything out of the usual was under way. By coordinating leadership interactions, rules could thus serve the interests of both dictator and rank-and-file oligarchs, which explains why rules were in play under both dominant and predominant leaders. The assumption that domialways more arbitrary and unconstrained is not borne out, even nant leaders were always though the simple fact that they are dominant means that such leaders are better placed to override or infringe the rules than predominant leaders. Less important than whether dominant leaders can ignore the rules, is whether in practice

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they do. Where dominant leaders recognize the value of rules, they tend to abide by them, as the experiences of the Soviet Union during Stalin’s period and China during Mao’s period of dominant leadership up until 1966 demonstrate. Indeed, that dominance (and if they chose to act in an arbitrary manner, that arbitrariness) will itself rest upon some of the rules. Thus, although rules may appear to be more effective where individual dominance is lacking, ultimately this comes back to the individual oligarchs, the strength of the consensus that underpins oligarch life and the attitude of the dictator. The various strategies and tactics used by the oligarchs including the leader to structure their mutual relations all relied upon the rules. It was the rules that made the strategies possible and legitimate and that thereby regulated the leader– oligarch relationship. Combined with the way that the rules continued to structure those aspects of oligarch life apart from the direct leader–oligarch relationship, it is clear that the rules provided coordination for the overall conduct of the leadership. The fact that the rules played this coordinating role in both of these aspects of leadership politics (leader–oligarch relationship and oligarch activity independent of the leader), including in that form of relationship envisaged in leader strategy 1 where the leader was most reliant on force or the threat of it, suggests that rules generally were more important in structuring leadership politics than the disposition of power within the oligarchy. The functioning of the oligarchy was shaped by rules, which provided the basic coordination of all aspects of oligarch life. Such coordination was rarely perfect. Authoritarian oligarchies were no more smooth running machines without hiccups or interruptions than their democratic counterparts. Coordination could break down during routine functioning simply due to misunderstandings, confusion, or by virtue of the nature of the interactions or task at the time. But the most important source of such breakdown is that which occurs at the time of political conflict or tension. This is when individual oligarchs (including the leader) believe they have more to gain by breaking the rules than adhering to them. Most such breaches affect the operational rules (which govern intra-oligarch relations) often leaving relational and constitutive rules relatively unaffected. The danger posed by conflict consists in the potential consequences of such conflict and because it is at times of such danger that the rules should be most important in constraining and coordinating oligarch actions. The Argentine case is an example where the rules had not been established for very long and where internal conflict, exacerbated by external military defeat, led to the demise of the regime. The military oligarchy was unable to stabilize itself, and although the shifts of power within the regime were essentially peaceful, the differences could not be worked out within the existing framework. In contrast, in Brazil the rules governing factional conflict held and the potential for political conflict around the selection of a new president getting out of hand was blunted; the coordinating capacity of the rules contained the possible conflict. It may be argued that coordination also failed in the USSR and China when the dominant

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leader unleashed a high level of coercion that encompassed some of the oligarchy. The deaths of some of the oligarchs in this process clearly marked a breaking of some of the rules, and thereby a breakdown of coordination. However, what is striking about the Soviet case is that that breakdown was mainly restricted to the realm of the leader–oligarch relationship, with no similar breakdown in the sphere of oligarch life autonomous from the leader. Rules continued to structure the routine, non-leader related aspects of oligarch life, albeit shifting to some degree to accommodate the new power reality. Indeed in both cases, in the face of the use of enhanced violence, the body of rules re-stabilized to take account of the changed circumstances; arbitrariness did not prevail. This meant that when the use of such violence against oligarchs waned, the rules reasserted themselves to exercise their coordinating function. Ultimately, then, the most serious potential danger to the capacity of rules to continue to coordinate oligarch life is the ambitions of oligarchs, including especially the leader. The rules are best placed to survive this if they have been in place for some time (and therefore may have strengthened normative authority), continue to function to coordinate those aspects of oligarch life not directly related to the power struggle, and actually play a role in the resolution of that struggle (for example, they are used to enable or constrain actors in the struggle) and thereby become part of the power political reality. This was the case in all of the regimes analysed here and illustrates the central role rules play in the maintenance of oligarchy and regime.

Notes 1. In the absence of being able to get inside the heads of the oligarchs, the real reason they acted the way they did cannot be conclusively proved. However, this applies just as much to the established argument about the role of power, uncertainty and fear as it does to that about rules. The difference is that the argument about rules explains in specific detail how the regime works, something the argument about fear cannot. It tells us nothing about how the coordination of the leadership actually works. 2. This is because a predominant leader usually lacks the capacity to employ this strategy successfully. When he does have that capacity and uses it, he becomes a dominant leader. 3. Or that there is no difference between a dictator and his faction. On this see Barbara Geddes, Joseph Wright and Erica Frantz, How Dictatorships Work: Power, Personalization and Collapse (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2018), pp. 65 and 77. They argue that factionalism undermines power-sharing and thereby facilitates the emergence of one-man rule because a group that is factionalized and lacks unity cannot mount a credible threat to oust the dictator and therefore cannot constrain him. However, as the discussion of rank-and-file oligarch strategies shows, multiple factions may actually prevent the emergence of a dominant leader.

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4. Erica Frantz and Elizabeth A. Stein, ‘Countering Coups: Leadership Succession Rules in Dictatorships’, Comparative Political Studies 50, 7, 2017, pp. 940–944. 5. This builds on Graeme Gill, Collective Leadership in Soviet Politics (Cham, Palgrave Macmillan, 2018), pp. 311–321. 6. Socializing with the dictator is another means of reinforcing this relationship. 7. See Gill (2018), Chapter 6. 8. For an argument that the acceptance of this power-sharing agreement depended upon the crude reality of balanced coalitions, see Svolik (2012), p. 8. However, the institutional arrangements central to the agreement and to the balance of factions preceded both the agreement and the factions, with the result that the two factions came into this arrangement when it was already established. Furthermore, the factions were not equal; that of Jiang was clearly more powerful than that of Hu. It is therefore not clear that Svolik’s argument is correct: did the power balance create the agreement, or did the institutional structure produce the agreement and the balance? The chronology seems to favour the latter interpretation. While the relative power of the two factional groupings has helped to maintain the arrangement, at least up until Xi’s second term, crucial to the arrangement lasting has been the commitment to the rules governing it. 9. This is in contrast to the Geddes, Wright and Frantz (2018) p.65 argument that the existence of more than one faction facilitates one-man rule. 10. On factions in Russia, see Andrew Monaghan, The New Politics of Russia Today: Interpreting Change (Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2016), pp. 125–126; Yuri Felshtinsky with Vladimir Pribylovsky, The Putin Corporation: The Story of Russia’s Secret Takeover (London, Gibson Square, 2012); Mikhail Zygar, All the Kremlin’s Men: Inside the Court of Vladimir Putin (New York, Public Affairs, 2016), ch. 8; Steven L. Myers, The New Tsar: The Rise and Reign of Vladimir Putin (London, Simon & Schuster, 2015); pp. 328–333 and 419–420. Similar terminology is used in Belarus. Andrew Wilson, Belarus: The Last European Dictatorship (New Haven, Yale University Press, 2011). p.224 and Kimitaka Matsuzato, ‘A Populist Island in an Ocean of Clan Politics: The Lukashenka Regime as an Exception among CIS Countries’, Europe-Asia Studies 56, 2, 2004, pp. 237–238. 11. According to Brownlee, members of an oligarchy will accept hereditary succession even though it means they cannot succeed to power because this will prevent the uncertainty and possibly conflict a non-formalized succession could produce. Jason Brownlee, ‘Hereditary Succession in Modern Autocracies’, World Politics 59, 4, 2007, p. 606. 12. In China, this actually began before Mao died, with the winding down of the Cultural Revolution from 1969. 13. For this argument, see for example, Svolik (2012), pp. 7–8. Such an argument would of course only apply to those actions that the dictator either foreshadowed or took within the context of the leading organ. Actions taken outside it would not necessarily register beforehand inside it. 14. Soviet statements were explicit in excluding the ‘cult of personality’, the euphemism used to refer to Stalin’s dictatorial rule. The term was also used with reference to Khrushchev following his removal.

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15. This is despite the fact that in the 1940s they were separated with Mao in the base area and Liu behind the lines in the ‘white area’. Lowell Dittmer, Liu Shaoqi and the Chinese Cultural Revolution (London, Routledge, 2015), ch. 1. 16. Anwar was a former opposition leader who joined Mahathir before splitting from him later in the 1990s. 17. One consequence of this sort of public display of loyalty is that it can become competitive, with the claims for the leader’s abilities and qualities being raised excessively by the different speakers. Mikoyan has noted how the tone of these claims was set by the early speakers, in this case Kaganovich, and had to be followed by the others. Anastas Ivanovich Mikoyan, Tak bylo. Razmyshleniya i minuvshem (Moscow, Tsentrpoligraf, 2014), p. 344. 18. For example, Kaganovich and Molotov for Stalin, Chernenko for Brezhnev, Gorbachev for Andropov, and the ‘two ladies’ and Mao Yuanxin for Mao. 19. And because the oligarchs see value in the rules, the rules will function under all three models of authoritarian leadership identified in Chapter 1, collective leadership, predominant leadership and dominant leadership.

Conclusion: Rules and Autocracy The preceding analysis has identified 29 rules that operated with a high degree of regularity over the seven decades of the life of the communist regimes in the Soviet Union and China. Such rules stabilized the oligarchy and coordinated the leadership by embodying patterns of acceptable behaviour that would produce both regularity and predictability, and avoid the sort of conflict that could tear the oligarchy apart. Those rules were based upon a general oligarch consensus that had been worked out over time and that could be subject to some reworking in line with the way that the patterns of oligarch activity developed. Rather than being static, there was some flexibility that saw that consensus and rules change as the imperatives of oligarch politics drove renegotiation of parts of the original pact. The clearest instance of this was the way in which decision-making patterns changed with the emergence and disappearance of a dominant leader. The analysis has also shown that a significant number of these rules have also functioned in a range of different regime types; they are not unique to communist single-party states, but have been present in military, EA, personal dictatorial and dynastic monarchical regimes as well. In these regime types, most of the rules present in the Communist Party states have functioned to structure oligarch relations and coordinate the leadership; even in the regime types where the fewest such rules were applied consistently, the military and personal dictatorship, two-thirds of the rules from the single-party communist regimes functioned to structure oligarch life. They often operated differently in the various regime types, reflecting the different institutional structures of which the regimes consisted and the power disposition inside the oligarchy, but they nevertheless were important in the functioning of these regimes. This view of rules and their role in structuring behaviour in authoritarian regimes is at odds with the established view of authoritarian rule, which is generally seen as always uncertain and dangerous, perhaps even a state of nature in the Hobbesian sense characterized by a war of all against all. To recapitulate, this view1 posits a situation in which there are no rules and no external authority to impose order on the leading group. Inevitably, a dictator emerges and is unrestrained. This is seen as the key difference between a democratic and an authoritarian leader, with the former having to operate within a framework of institutional constraints while the latter is free of such limits. The corollary of this view is that the dictator’s will is supreme, unfettered by rules or institutions. He exercises arbitrary control and does what he likes; he is a tyrant.2 As a result, those Bridling Dictators. Graeme Gill, Oxford University Press. © Graeme Gill (2021). DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192849687.003.000

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within the leadership are in continual fear for their positions and lives, especially since the dictator is always seeking to expand his power at their expense because this is the only guarantee of his own security. They have no institutional defence against the leader, a fact which can lead to frequent conflict between them as they struggle to gain the dictator’s favour and to protect themselves, something that the dictator may encourage through a divide and rule strategy. Arbitrariness is the key characteristic of this ‘dog-eat-dog’3 environment where power (which is consolidated in the person of the dictator) is the sole currency. There is no pattern or regularity to the conduct of politics; the will of the leader is the only constant.4 This view of politics in the authoritarian oligarchy as a dog-eat-dog contest5 does appear to fit with some spectacular instances of blood-letting, metaphorical and real, in such regimes. The Soviet purges of the 1930s, the Chinese Cultural Revolution, the vigorous suppression of dissent in Pinochet’s Chile and in Brazil, the case of the ‘disappeared’ in Argentina, the mass terror in Pol Pot’s Kampuchea and Lukashenka’s rule in Belarus are often presented as evidence for this view of the dynamic of authoritarian rule (even if some of these relate to the relationship with the citizenry rather than within the oligarchy). But even if we accept that such instances of bloodshed are consistent with this particular view of authoritarian rule, and it is by no means clear that such an interpretation is particularly useful in helping us understand these particular events,6 they often encompassed a relatively small proportion of the time these regimes held power. While the Chilean, Brazilian, Argentinian and Kampuchean violence extended over most of the lives of the respective regimes, in the Soviet Union the 1930s Terror lasted for around five years while the regime was in power for 74 years, and in China the excessive violence of the Cultural Revolution lasted for about three years in a regime duration of 70 years and continuing. Furthermore, the communist cases did not occur at the beginning of the regime as some theorists argued was characteristic of authoritarian regimes7 but some 20 years after each regime was established. Such overt ‘conflict’ was therefore not continually present in the oligarchy throughout the life of the regime. Perhaps, supporters of the established view might argue, memory of these cataclysmic events continued to ripple through the regime, cowing oligarchs and dissuading them from opposing the dictator, thereby creating a proxy for the fear dynamic identified above. However, this would not explain the period before these cataclysms, nor does it easily sit with the clear explicit guarantees given by subsequent leaders (principally Khrushchev and Deng) that there would be no repeat of such an attack. In any case, as earlier chapters have shown, these regimes were for most of the time not characterized by the sort of dog-eat-dog politics that dominates the literature, nor is it clear that the oligarchs were in a perpetual state of fear. It does not seem very sensible to characterize these regimes predominantly by what was not typical of the way they normally worked. So why has this image become so widely accepted?

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The first point to note is that in some regimes the dog-eat-dog description may be more appropriate than in the regimes surveyed here. While it is not easy to see a regime lasting for any length of time where such an atmosphere always prevailed, many authoritarian regimes have been short-lived and one reason for this has been disunity at the top. In some regimes, fear of the dictator may have pervaded the oligarchy and had an impact on how the other oligarchs interacted with him, but as the analysis in earlier chapters shows, this was not true of all authoritarian regimes all the time, and especially those of lengthy duration. But there is also a sense in which the methodology many scholars have used may have contributed to this conflictual picture. There are two aspects of this. First, the explicit use of game theory as used in many of these studies rests on the assumption that there are inevitably two sides in the oligarchy and that they are always in conflict over the distribution of power. It is assumed that the continual pursuit of power is the rational course that any actor would take in this position within an authoritarian regime. But that assumption is false. It ignores the way in which actors may be affected by other factors, such as ideas, emotions or habits, the reasons for which they may be seeking power, or a basic consensus on the rules of the game; motives are not always a function of instrumental rationality.8 However, once that assumption is built in, in the absence of much of the rest of the intellectual and institutional infrastructure that actually sustains the oligarchy, the finding that these sorts of systems are characterized by continuing conflict is inevitable. Second, it is assumed that because authoritarian regimes do not have rules that can be enforced by an authority located outside the bounds of the elite, everything is reduced to a naked power equation. The absence of an external authority is taken to mean that there can be no rules to structure oligarch politics because nothing is enforceable. Accordingly, what is important is who has the power to enforce their will. The assumptions behind these approaches lead ineluctably to the dog-eat-dog paradigm. However, on the basis of the analysis in this book, this view is mistaken. If this established view was correct, we would expect to see some evidence of the primacy of raw power and the dog-eat-dog nature of politics in those regimes where there was a dominant leader. In the cases examined here (although the evidence is much more compelling for the two Communist Party states than for contemporary personal dictatorships, but this is principally because of the relative difference in available information and data), the day-to-day reality of life under the dictator was not one of a permanent grim struggle for power or survival. Oligarchs continued to follow the rules, although some of those rules underwent change if the leader acquired dominant power and began to exercise it. The result of such a renegotiation is reflected, for example, in the way in which the rule on collective discussion (Rule 3) was reworked to fit in with the leader’s preferences and how he wanted to conduct his rule. In the Soviet Union, the decline of the Politburo and its displacement by meetings in Stalin’s office (and elsewhere) clearly

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changed the dynamics of decision-making, but this occurred through a shift in emphasis between existing rules—a downgrading of Rule 1 and a strengthening of Rule 14 (respectively on a defined locus of decision-making and on the relationship between formal and informal procedures), as well as restructuring of the arenas for collective discussion—rather than the complete replacement of some rules by the leader’s overwhelming power. In China, the freer flowing process of decision-making which could include members of the elite and which made provision for Mao’s absence was designed specifically to accommodate the chairman and his preferences, and changed following his disappearance from the scene. The collective discussion rule applying under the dominant leader was not completely different from what preceded and followed that leader, but a variation on a theme. This reflects how the disposition of power within the oligarchy could affect the way the rules operated. But the power disposition was not all-determining. When there was a dominant dictator, the tone of oligarch life may have changed but the basic patterns whereby the oligarchy as a whole functioned continued to operate. The importance of the co-ordinating role that rules played in the functioning of the leadership meant that although the oligarchs might be more careful and less assertive in their relations with the dictator, their day-to-day life continued to be guided by the rules. The individual oligarch’s relations with the dictator did not determine all aspects of their political lives. They still had to interact with each other, with members of the elite and with formal and informal institutions, and these were the things that remained structured by the rules. As Chapter 9 showed, both the relationship between leader and oligarchs manifested in the strategies each pursued relied upon rules, and so did the leader’s personal enjoyment and use of dominant power so that rather than the exercise of arbitrary power displacing the rules, its continued use was actually reliant upon them, so that for example in Belarus, even when the repression was at its highest level, the leader’s arbitrariness was not the single defining characteristic of oligarch life. The infrastructure of the leadership, the relations between individual oligarchs, and the conduct of political life at the top required some regularity, and it was this that the rules provided even under a dominant leader. The leader could not always operate on a completely arbitrary basis unless he wished to destroy the leadership system as a whole, and although there have been instances of this happening (Mao and the Cultural Revolution, Pol Pot in Kampuchea 1975–78), it has not been the norm. Rules have continually underpinned the structure of authority and the exercise of power. Rules therefore generally continued to be observed by dominant and predominant leaders and oligarchs. In part this was because both leader and rank-and-file oligarchs benefited from the regularity and predictability that following the rules provided. But also many of the relational and constitutive rules were not directly affected by the power disposition in the oligarchy and continued to structure those

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aspects of oligarch life with which they were concerned, regardless of the power balance at the top. At times dictators did breach these rules—the Great Terror and the Cultural Revolution are clear examples from this study although predominant leaders as diverse as Mahathir, Pinochet and Geisel all acted contrary to the rules at times—so the arbitrary (in the sense of not following the rules) exercise of power remained possible and not uncommon. But most of the time individuals acted in accord with the understandings that prevailed in oligarch circles. Even when dictators were breaching rules through the enhanced use of coercion or terror, the whole structure of rules did not dissolve; many aspects of life continued on in accord with established patterns. Similarly, individual rank-and-file oligarchs may have breached some of the rules in their daily lives, but most of the time all of the oligarchs including the leader followed the rules, which means that their actions were shaped by those rules. Even if the constraining effect of rules on the dictator may have been weakened, their enabling and co-ordinating role for the oligarchy as a whole was not. The question concerning the dominant leader was less whether he could break the rules than whether he actually did, and how he could use the rules for his own ends. This means that the potency of rules was less dependent upon a balance of forces within the oligarchy than on recognition by all oligarchs that by following the rules, everyone benefited. This was essentially a form of power-sharing, in that the rules validated patterns of oligarch behaviour and inter-relationships. The difference between them if a dominant or a predominant leader held power simply expresses the different terms of such power-sharing. Shared agreement that this was an appropriate way to structure their relations was the sine qua non for the rules. Such shared agreement was central to the rules’ ability to function and to coordinate the leadership without an external authority to enforce them. This took the form of a consensus which united oligarchs and elite. While fear of the consequences of not obeying a law, chiefly in the form of punishment exacted by an authority for a breach of that law, is widely accepted as one factor why people generally obey laws, the surest basis for legal observance is acceptance of the rightness of obedience to the law by those potentially subject to it. If the law is seen as being legitimate, people will generally see it as their obligation to obey that law. If that sense of legitimacy breeding responsibility is sufficiently strong, the existence of an authority to enforce compliance (or more accurately, to punish non-compliance) becomes a residual. The assumption that because there is no authority to enforce the law the rules cannot have any binding effect on political actors is therefore misplaced. If political actors believe, for whatever reason, that they should follow the rules, then those rules shape action even in the absence of an external authority. It is this sort of common commitment on the part of the oligarchs (the consensus that is part of Rule 8) that underpins the operation of the rules. When the rules are being observed and thereby co-ordinate the behaviour of the leadership, they by definition both structure and limit the freedom of action of

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both the dictator and his oligarch colleagues. Therefore virtually all of the rules can bridle (in the sense of limit) dictators. At the same time the enabling capacity of the rules can also assist the expansion of individual oligarch’s powers. Some, such as Rules 2 on a powerful leader emerging, 12 on the role of personal authority, and 13 on the leader seeking to increase his power, are directly about the enhancement of the leader’s power. Other rules may serve the same purpose, depending upon how the rule is interpreted, for example whether Rule 1 on the locus of decisionmaking is interpreted in an expansive or narrow way, or Rule 3 and the limits of and conditions under which collective discussion can occur, or Rule 6 and the conditions of factional operation. Rules can also enhance the power of individual oligarchs. This may occur, not only through the substantive content of rules, such as embedding authority in particular positions, but in the scope for collective organization that they produce. The rules provide the framework enabling oligarchs to act, and thereby co-ordinate the leadership system, and they can be instrumental in the enhancement of the power possessed by both the leader and rank-and-file oligarchs. In this sense, personalism, or the exercise of personalist power, can be enabled and enhanced by the rules. So if rules can both enhance and constrain an oligarch’s (including the dictator’s) power, what the precise balance between these is in any particular regime will be shaped by the substance of the rules and the content of the consensus underpinning the rules and agreed by the oligarchs. As noted, this consensus is usually sorted out in the foundational pact but can be revised during the life of the regime, such as when a new leader takes power, especially if this involves a shift from dominant to predominant leader or vice versa. Crucial in this ability to shift the terms of the pact and therefore the structure of the rules is the prevailing power disposition within the oligarchy, discussed in Chapter 9. Where a dictator wants to expand his power and possesses the resources to enable him to do so, he will be able to do so; where he lacks those resources, he may be frustrated. Within this context it is important to recognize two crucial aspects of resources. First is the support of (some of) his colleagues. Even when a leader resorts to force or violence—such as Stalin in the mid-1930s and Mao in the mid1960s, or Lukashenka on a lesser scale in the 1990s—he needs support among his colleagues. In all of these cases, the use of force, while it may have been initiated by the putative dictator, was supported by some of those immediately around him. And when the dictator sought to use less violent methods, similarly the support of immediate colleagues was crucial. Second is the capacity to use the enabling provisions of some of the rules to expand his power and consolidate his control, but that capacity too is usually dependent in part on the level of support he is able to generate among other oligarchs. What this means is that the balance between rules enabling and constraining dictatorial power is a function principally of the type of consensus that emerges within the oligarchy and how that consensus changes over time. But regardless of this balance, rules will continue to coordinate much of the life and work of the oligarchy.

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The key to the continued role played by rules despite the power disposition in the oligarchy therefore lies in the dual function of the rules. The combination of enabling and constraining means that the corpus of rules effectively creates a structure that defines acceptable activity and the sorts of actions that are not considered legitimate. Both individual and collective relations could be defined in terms of the way rules place constraints on some actors and empower others. The combined effect of this is that the rules organize behaviour and thereby co-ordinate the oligarchy as a whole. It is appreciation of this rounded effect of the rules, both constraining and enabling, that underpins the rules’ continuing importance and shows how a conception of rules purely in terms of constraints misses the point. Rules are essential to all authoritarian oligarchies that seek to endure because they organize relations at the top of the regime and can thereby prevent the sort of leadership breakdown usually associated with regime change. Institutions are not irrelevant to this process. When institutions exist, both patterns of behaviour and the rules that underpin them must take those institutions into account. The institutions constitute the arenas within which the oligarchs act and they therefore help to shape which rules are followed and how those rules actually function. For example, the variation among regime types in terms of Rule 10 on the insulation of the oligarchy from the elite reflects the importance of institutions; as Chapter 8 shows, the different sorts of diarchic structures in the EA party and military regimes is crucial for the shape of the rules and the patterns of behaviour governing oligarch insulation. The difference in the application of the constitutive rules across regime types also reflects the importance of institutions. Institutions, along with the power configuration within the oligarchy, shape the functioning of the rules. The differential operation of rules across different regime types outlined in Chapter 8 reflects this impact of the institutions. Without denying the importance of the power distribution within the oligarchy, earlier chapters have shown that there are rules that have functioned consistently to structure oligarch politics in authoritarian regimes of all types. What is striking is that so many of the rules identified in the two long-lasting communist single-party regimes have acted to structure politics in such different types of authoritarian polities. There are three implications we can draw from this. First, although there are many differences among the various regime types, communist single-party regimes are not as different from other types of authoritarian regime as many scholars have believed. Those who studied communist regimes tended to consider them sui generis, as a class of regime different to all other types of authoritarian polity, and many scholars of authoritarian politics tended to agree; the totalitarian/authoritarian regime distinction reflects this view. As this study shows, such a view is exaggerated. Communist regimes may be towards one end of the spectrum of authoritarian regimes, but they are not qualitatively off the authoritarian scale. Second, many of the rules that have been identified (especially the operational rules) are essentially rules of small-group behaviour and, although how they

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apply will be shaped by the institutional and power context, that they do apply to these small groups should not be surprising. Third, the fact that so many of the same rules appear across the various regime types suggests that as well as applying to these ideal typical regimes, the identified rules are also likely to apply in more hybrid regimes, such as a personal dictatorship with a ruling party, or a military regime with a dominant party. It is generally in the interests of all of the oligarchs in an authoritarian system (just as it is in a democratic one) to abide by the rules. At the level of providing oligarchic stability, it does not really matter whether the rules are observed for normative or prudential reasons. The simple fact that they are being observed, that most people (both oligarchs and elite) most of the time understand them and act in accord with them is sufficient to ensure their continuing salience. This is why authoritarian regimes are characterized by a consensus at the top about the procedural norms essential to ensure the ongoing nature of the system. Agreement on the operational rules, the relational rules and the constitutive rules is central to the maintenance of oligarch life in both authoritarian and democratic systems. The question remains about the consequences of breaking the rules. Does breach of the rules have implications for both individual oligarch and regime survival? Turning initially to the fate of individual oligarchs, there is no direct, automatic relationship between the breaking of particular rules and the fall of individual oligarchs, including the dictator. In many of those cases where an oligarch was removed from the oligarchy, multiple operational and relational rules were breached; Khrushchev in the Soviet Union and Leigh in Chile are excellent examples discussed in earlier chapters, but the same can apply to those many rankand-file oligarchs who suffered the same fate but are not individually identified in this study. Whether action is taken against an oligarch for breaching a rule/s will be decided on the basis of political considerations within the oligarchy, including the balance of power of factions and the standing of the dictator. The extent to which decisions are taken solely on the basis of such power considerations will be shaped by the level of normative authority vested in the rules; where normative authority is high, action may be taken regardless of power considerations, where it is low, such considerations are likely to be paramount. But just as in democratic systems, there is no necessary or automatic link between breach of the rules and dismissal. Although there is no direct, one-to-one relationship between the breaking of rules and regime change, the two seem to be linked. While it would be naïve to attempt too finely grained an analysis of the data contained in Table 8.1, if we look at the comparative performance of the different regime types with regard to how many of the rules were not fully compatible with the regime type, the general picture is clear: the highest levels of incompatibility are in personal dictatorships and military regimes, with greater compatibility in the party regimes and dynastic

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Table 10.1 Regime longevity (in years)

Geddes* Hadenius & Teorell** Frantz****

Single party

Monarchy

Military

Personal

29 17.8 26

ND 25.4 ND

9.5 11.1 7

15.5 12.9*** 11

ND = no data; meaning that this regime type was not included by the source scholar * Barbara Geddes, Paradigms and Sand Castles: Theory Building and Research Design in Comparative Politics (Ann Arbor, Michigan University Press, 2003), p.78. ** Axel Hadenius and Jan Teorell, “Pathways from Authoritarianism”, Journal of Democracy 18, 1, 2007, p.150. *** They actually refer to this as ‘no party’. **** Frantz (2018), p.127.

monarchies. This result is generally consistent with the comparative lifespans of different regime types arrived at by scholars (see Table 10.1). Despite the varying numbers of years given in the different studies and some argument over the details of the measurement of regime duration, this general rank ordering is accepted by most scholars.9 The implication is that the more the rules are not compatible with the basic regime type, the less likely the regime is to survive. There is no easy formula whereby we can say that the breaking of a certain number of the rules or of particular types of rule will inevitably lead to regime change. This will depend upon various other aspects of the regime, such as how securely it is embedded in the society as a whole, bureaucratic capacity and consequent ability to rule effectively, the political situation in the country or economic crisis. However, given the common finding in the literature about the link between leadership disunity and regime breakdown,10 the more the rules are broken and systematically abused, the more likely is regime change. Alternatively, the greater the adherence to the rules, the greater the likelihood of regime survival.11 This tentative conclusion is consistent with comparison of the data contained in Table 8.1 with the rules identified as intrinsic to the nine tactics oligarchs could use to structure relations within the oligarchy identified in Chapter 9. A larger number of those rules identified in relation to the tactics are fully compatible with party and dynastic monarchies than is the case with personal dictatorships and military regimes.12 This means that those regimes that had the shorter lifespans were those in which there was a slightly narrower range of tactics rendered acceptable by being embedded in the rules that oligarchs could use without seemingly breaching the rules consistent with the regime type. The connection between breaching the rules and regime survival or change can be illustrated by looking briefly at the two cases of unexpected regime change in this book, the Soviet Union and the Argentinian military regime. While all three military regimes ended, in the cases of Brazil and Chile it had always been their intention that they would be temporary and therefore their end was, to differing

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degrees, consensual and expected. This was not the case with either the end of the USSR or of Argentina’s military. Gorbachev did not set out to bring about the collapse of the Soviet system (although his intent did become one of transforming it), while the Argentinian generals accepted that the regime would be temporary, but they did not anticipate that its life would be as short as it was. In 1982 when Leonid Brezhnev died, there was very little expectation that the Soviet Union would end within a decade, but in 1991 the country was dissolved, breaking up into fifteen independent states. The basic crucible whereby this occurred was the reform programme introduced by Mikhail Gorbachev following his elevation to the position of General Secretary in March 1985, and central to this process was the way that that programme either broke or recast many of the rules which up until that time had governed Soviet oligarch politics and are outlined in Chapters 2–4. There are many excellent studies of Gorbachev and this period,13 so rather than attempting to give a rounded explanation of what happened at this time, I will concentrate on showing briefly how his reform programme destroyed the structure of rules that had existed for some seven decades. Most important were the operational and relational rules. While Gorbachev remained General Secretary, using the powers and prestige that office gave him, his introduction of a new state presidency in 1990 and the avowed intention (which was being realized in practice from 1989) to shift administrative power away from the party into the state machine, created significant ambiguity around Rule 1 concerning a defined locus of decision-making. Gorbachev’s changes did not constitute the promotion of more informal means of decision-making, but the formal replacement of the existing fora for decisionmaking by new ones. The essence of Rule 3, the collective discussion of issues, remained intact, but what was changed was the infrastructure that sustained it, while the principle that the leader’s position could not be challenged came under question. Rather than such collective discussion being restricted to the oligarchy, it soon became legitimate for such discussion to be conducted not only within the elite but in the popular press and among the populace as well. This transformed the nature of Rule 3, and also overthrew the strictures on elite involvement in oligarch affairs contained in Rule 10. Politics ceased to be the realm of the oligarchs alone, with not just the elite but the general populace and new actors arising out of that populace becoming active in the political sphere. This not only smashed the established insulation and autonomy of the oligarchs from other political forces, but destroyed the basic principle underpinning authoritarian rule: that independent actors could play no part in politics. A corollary to the entry of new actors into the political arena was that the existing constraints upon oligarch autonomy and on differences between the oligarchs were swept away (Rules 4 and 5). As Gorbachev’s reform policy became increasingly radical, the differences between supporters and opponents widened, and both sides sought to mobilize support within both the elite and emergent

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forces in society. In this process, the limitations on factional activity (Rule 6) that had formerly ensured that such activity did not destabilize the oligarchy also disappeared; political conflict came to be no longer conducted according to the established rules as unity and consensus (Rule 8) collapsed. The guarantee of oligarch (and elite) security of tenure, perquisites and property (Rule 7) also disappeared. With these changes, the heart of the comportment rules dissolved, and with it the principal coordinating elements of the regime at the oligarch and elite levels. Gorbachev’s programme also struck at the heart of the relational rules because it destroyed the self-contained nature of the oligarchy upon which the stability of the system depended. The role of the elite (Rule 9) was redefined, giving it a significant part to play in oligarch affairs, rather than excluding it from oligarch politics, while Rule 10 forbidding independent elite intervention into oligarch affairs was rejected outright. Rule 14 whereby leading formal institutions could get sidelined but would be replaced by informal procedures was transcended in the sense that a major thrust of the programme was to change the function of leading official institutions (especially the leading party organs, the Politburo and Central Committee) but they were to be (and were in fact being) replaced by new official organs: increasingly independent republican legislatures and governments after 1989 and new central government institutions from 1990. Rule 15 on the continuing operation of administrative organs continued to apply with increased strength with regard to the state bureaucracies, but not to the central administrative structures of the party. Instead of being the most important administrative organ of the whole system, the CC Secretariat lost many of its functions and almost ceased to exist at the end of the 1980s; as responsibilities were to shift to state organs, so the party was reduced in status and the overall interventionist role carried out by the Secretariat was abolished. In this sense, one part of the administrative machine was destroyed, with significant implications for the survival of the chief institution of the regime, the Communist Party. The limited role of the security apparatus (Rule 17) seems to have fallen away, given the part played by those with connections to it in the attempted coup of August 1991,14 while Rule 18 on policy as a source of oligarch disagreement was confirmed, but with the restrictions that had formerly applied on how such disagreements were to be pursued absent. And finally in terms of relational rules, a major thrust of Gorbachev’s programme was to enhance the normative authority of the formal rules and thereby transform the instrumental attitude to them that had formerly prevailed (Rule 19). Most of the constitutive rules did not come into play because there was no question of leadership succession until the very end, at which point the attempted coup involved the rejection of the rules that had hitherto applied. However, the attempted democratization of the system (including the change to Rule 10 on independent elite intervention into oligarch affairs) effectively involved rejection of the whole structure of constitutive rules that had served the system for 70 years.

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So the collapse of the Soviet system was directly related to the way in which the politics at the upper levels of that system was transformed through the overturning or substantial qualification of many of the rules that had governed oligarch life for decades. Of the eight operational rules, only Rule 2 on the emergence of a leader was not directly affected; of the eleven relational rules, seven were changed. And for the constitutive rules, the basic heart of them (that the oligarchy was selfselecting) was rejected. This is the essential point about the changes to all of the rules. The changes that Gorbachev brought about (not always consciously) effectively transformed the basic dynamic of oligarch politics at the top of the regime, contributing to the split in the oligarchy which helped drive the fissiparous forces set in motion elsewhere in the Soviet system. The result was the collapse of that system. This process of the collapse of the structure of oligarch rule was central to Soviet regime change and has been recognized as an important factor in regime change elsewhere. Even if this has usually been explained in terms of a split within the ruling elite rather than changes to the rules of oligarch politics, this is effectively what it involves. Paradoxically, this reworking of the corpus of rules governing the apex of Soviet politics was made possible by those rules themselves and the enabling function they performed. There are many reasons why Gorbachev was able to force through the changes he wanted, but a very significant one was the power he possessed as the occupant of the leading position in the political system. Being General Secretary, Gorbachev was able to drive change despite the high levels of opposition he encountered within both oligarchy and elite. Many of Gorbachev’s proposals were contentious within the oligarchy and the elite, and they effectively broke down the co-ordinating capacity of the rules. In the early years, the comportment rules enabled the opposition to coalesce within the bounds of the normal operations of the oligarchy and the elite, while those rules relating to collective discussion (including the fora within which this could occur) and factional development enabled this opposition to remain active. At the same time, the formal constitutional rules created the vehicles whereby republican elites could mobilize against Gorbachev’s centre, and ultimately bring the federation down. Thus, both the opposition to change and Gorbachev’s driving of that change relied upon the rules and their application. This link between agency and the rules to bring about significant change has been very common historically. Among the countries analysed in this book it has been present in Russia and Belarus. At the time Putin and Lukashenka came to power, despite the rhetoric neither country was a functioning democracy, but in both, democratic elements were present alongside elements that were more authoritarian. In the initial periods of their rule as they consolidated their positions, Putin and Lukashenka used those positions and the powers attached to them to change some of the operational and relational rules to strengthen and centralize power in their own person and office. In neither case did this produce a clear change in regime type, but it confirmed both countries on their authoritarian

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trajectories. A similar sort of process whereby a leader and his supporters altered the way the rules operated, potentially bringing about a longer-term change in the nature of the political system, has fuelled the shift toward authoritarianism noted in the last decade in various parts of the world.15 While this is generally seen in terms of the rise of populism,16 the mechanism whereby the potential regime change comes about is through a reworking of the practical application of the corpus of rules governing the oligarchy and its relationship with the elite and the broader populace. This sort of process involving the abridgement of democratic elements in the system and the rise of authoritarian trends has been seen in countries as diverse as Venezuela under Chavez, the Philippines under Duterte, Hungary under Orban and Poland under Kaczynski, and also began in the US under Trump. In all of these cases, driven by ambition or by their perception of principle, leaders and their supporters have sought to change the direction of their countries, and the means of doing this has been through the reworking of the rules which was actually enabled by those rules themselves. If the collapse of the Soviet Union and the rise of governing authoritarian populism could be seen as a result of the way leaders utilized the rules to rework and in some cases overturn many of those same rules, the case of Argentina was more one of the way basic flaws in the implementation of some of the rules heightened by political crisis induced by certain government policies produced the transition away from military rule. Central to this were some of the operational and relational rules. While the regime acknowledged a single leader in the person of the president (Rule 2), in fact his position was quite weak in relation to the other oligarchs, principally the heads of the army, navy and air force. This weakness was in part a reflection of the strength of the commitment shared by the original oligarchs to ensure the absolute equality of the three branches of the armed forces, but it was also related to the absence of agreement about the right of the president to enjoy a full term in office. While this had been an aspiration in Chile too, the growth of Pinochet’s authority had been sufficient to limit this in practice, but in Argentina there was no Pinochet analogue. Accordingly, the continuing struggle to prevent army dominance in the oligarchy undercut unity (Rule 8), gave an institutional edge to the rules relating to collective discussion, oligarch disagreement and autonomy (Rules 3, 4 and 5) and thereby hindered the capacity of the oligarchy to work effectively. The personal ambition of Galtieri exacerbated these tensions. The uncertainty this created in the oligarchy was enhanced by the way in which Rule 10 regarding the insulation of the oligarchy from the elite was structured. As in the case of China, the decision-making system the regime introduced enabled the elite to play a part in the discussion of issues, but in Argentina what this did was to reinforce the institutional divisions between the major elite institutional structures, the military service branches. The role of CAL in discussing policy directly involved the service branches as independent units in central decision-making. Each service branch was equally represented in this body, and the representatives

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of those service branches were informed by the views of teams of people within each branch formed to analyse each piece of draft legislation that came forward. As a result, all policy-making passed through the sieve of the institutional interest of each service branch of the military. In addition, there was significant movement of active military officers into bureaucratic positions in the state machine. This combination of involvement in decision-making and staffing of the bureaucracy resulted in the politicization of the military. Thus, the oligarchs were much more exposed to an increasingly politicized elite than was the case in either Brazil or Chile, and there were significant sections of that elite for whom that politicization was a source of disgruntlement, an undercutting of Rule 9 relating to the elite feeling it has a meaningful role to play in the system. Further potential destabilization of the system stemmed from the way in which the factional system functioned (Rule 6). While factions were powerful in the Brazilian system too, in Argentina they were fuelled by the continuing institutional rivalry of the service branches, powerful personal ambition within the oligarchy, and by the absence of an understanding about how factions could work to stabilize the system. With the first two of these much weaker in Brazil and a consensus about how factions should function within the system, they in fact helped to stabilize the Brazilian military regime. In Argentina, they had the opposite effect, contributing directly to the coup led by Galtieri in December 1981. With the system under strain as a result of the way in which these rules operated, three policy dilemmas generated political crisis for the regime. First, the economic situation had not improved under military rule and was causing extensive hardship for the population, and although Galtieri signalled the adoption of neo-liberal economic policies in an effort to improve the economic situation, it was clear that there would be no improvement in the near future. The result of the economic crisis was widespread popular mobilization in the form of strikes and demonstrations. The popular mobilization was given a particular anti-military edge by the second source of crisis: the results of the ‘dirty war’. This was a major assault on civil society that had aimed to remove all opposition elements from political life in the early years of the regime. Many people simply disappeared, with their relatives and friends being given no information about where they had gone or what had happened to them. In reaction, the so-called ‘Mothers of Plaza de Mayo’ appeared in April 1977, regularly marching and demonstrating against the fate of the ‘disappeared’. Their moral critique of the military stripped away any hope the regime had of legitimating itself and thereby placed increasing pressure on the rulers of the country. Third, defeat in the Falklands/Malvinas war: Galtieri had sought to deflect criticism by taking over the Falklands/Malvinas Islands, held by Britain but claimed by Argentina. Military defeat at the hands of the British precipitated the removal of Galtieri as army commander-in-chief and the appointment of a new president, something done unilaterally by the army leadership. The new administration then proceeded

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to undertake negotiations with elements from civil society to arrange their return to the barracks and the shift to a democratic regime. It was emblematic of the chronic disunity of the regime that it was unilateral action by the army that opened the way up for negotiations for the transfer of power to begin. So essentially, in Argentina, political crisis engendered by policy failures exacerbated the problems inherent in the regime as a result of the deficiencies in the way in which various of the rules relating to oligarch political life were working. In both of these cases, the Soviet and the Argentinian, regime change followed the substantial breaching of the rules designed to structure oligarch life. What was crucial in turning this rejection of the rules into a full-blown regime crisis was personal ambition, in the Argentinian case principally within the oligarchy, in the Soviet similarly, but also importantly in the elite as a whole. In the latter case, the effect of elite ambition was enabled by the breakdown of the rules. So, the rules and how they were treated, and in particular their inability to continue to co-ordinate and organize oligarch and elite political life, were intrinsic to regime breakdown in these two cases. That rules should structure oligarch politics in authoritarian regimes should not surprise. Just as in other sorts of regimes, authoritarian regimes require some means for the organization and co-ordination of their leadership systems, and this is best done through rules that regularize behaviour. This basic co-ordinating function through the constraining and enabling functions of rules makes them central to how authoritarian leaderships (except for the most fleeting) actually work. The rules as enumerated in Chapters 2–4 are essentially rules for governing small-group behaviour. Certainly, they could be affected by the different sorts of institutional structures or power configurations, but the focus of many of the rules remains essentially the same. It is therefore not surprising that such rules play an important part in authoritarian ruling. What would be surprising is if they did not.

Notes 1. This will be found in Milan W. Svolik, The Politics of Authoritarian Rule (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2012) and two more recent theoretical accounts of authoritarian rule, Erica Frantz, Authoritarianism: What Everyone Needs to Know (New York, Oxford University Press, 2018) and Barbara Geddes, Joseph Wright and Erica Frantz, How Dictatorships Work (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2018). 2. This is the term that is frequently used in the literature. For example, Daniel Chirot, Modern Tyrants: The Power and Prevalence of Evil in Our Age (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1984) and Barry Rubin, Modern Dictators: A History of Tyranny in the Third World (London, W.H. Allen, 1987). 3. Geddes, Wright and Frantz (2018), p.68.

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4. While some have seen the co-optation literature discussed in Chapter 1 as qualifying this picture, it does not actually address the nature of ongoing relations within the ruling group and is in any case seen not to apply when there is a powerful individual leader. 5. Sometimes authors argue that, after an initial period of conflict, politics may become more predictable. For example, Geddes, Wright and Frantz (2018), p.66. However, this injunction is never explored and is effectively overwhelmed in a discussion emphasizing power struggle and arbitrariness. 6. For example, to interpret the Soviet Terror of the 1930s or the Chinese Cultural Revolution purely in terms of an oligarch power struggle is to miss major dimensions of both phenomena. 7. Compare with, ‘Conflict over the distribution of power between dictators and their supporters afflicts all new dictatorships … early periods in dictatorships tend to be unstable, conflictual, and sometimes bloody.’ Geddes, Wright and Frantz (2018), p.74. 8. For one discussion of this, see Brian D. Taylor, The Code of Putinism (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2018), pp.10–11. 9. For example, Beatriz Magaloni, ‘Credible Power-Sharing and the Longevity of Authoritarian Rule’, Comparative Political Studies 41, 4/5, 2008, pp.734–736; Jason Brownlee, Authoritarianism in an Age of Democratization (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2007), pp.28–30. 10. See the discussions of democratization which have had as one of their major themes a split in the ruling group (usually called the elite). This split reflects changes in the rules whereby that group had formerly functioned. For example, Stephan Haggard and Robert R. Kaufman, The Political Economy of Democratic Transitions (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1995); and the classic Guillermo O’Donnell, Philippe C. Schmitter and Laurence Whitehead, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Prospects for Democracy (Baltimore, The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986). 11. This is consistent with Erica Frantz and Elizabeth A. Stein, ‘Countering Coups: Leadership Succession Rules in Dictatorships’, Comparative Political Studies 50, 7, 2017, pp.935–962. 12. Of the 17 rules identified as part of the 10 tactics, the numbers compatible with the different regime types were as follows: communist single-party 17; dynastic monarchy 17; EA 14; military 12; personal dictatorship 12. 13. For example, Archie Brown, The Gorbachev Factor (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1996); Gordon M. Hahn, Russia’s Revolution from Above: Reform, Transition, and Revolution in the Fall of the Soviet Communist Regime (New Brunswick, Transaction Publishers, 2002); Jerry F. Hough, Democratization and Revolution in the USSR 1985-1991 (Washington DC, Brookings Institution Press, 1997); Richard Sakwa, Gorbachev and His Reforms 1985-1990 (New York, Philip Allan, 1990); William Taubman, Gorbachev: His Life and Times (London, Simon & Schuster, 2017). 14. Of the eight leaders of the plot, the so-called State Committee for the State of Emergency, four had links to the security establishment: chair of the KGB Vladimir Kryuchkov, deputy chair of the Security Council Oleg Baklanov, Defence Minister Dmitry Yazov and Interior Minister Boris Pugo.

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bridling dictators

15. For example, Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt, How Democracies Die (New York, Crown, 2018) and Pippa Norris and Ronald Inglehart, Cultural Backlash: Trump, Brexit, and Authoritarian Populism (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2019). 16. For example, Norris and Inglehart (2019), p.30.

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Index accountability 8–9, 90, 96–8, 118, 193, 202, 224–6, 233, 236, 287, 298 administration 56–7, 61–4, 90–1, 94, 104, 105, 125–30, 230, 248, 261, 265–6, 286, 290, 296, 331 Agosti, O. 180, 216 Albreu, A. 191 Albuquerque Lima, A. 189 Aleixo, P. 189 Alkmin, J. 201 Allende, S. 198 Alliluyeva, N. 43 Alves, M. 189 Amin, I. 290 Anaya, J. 183, 216 Andreev, A. 66 Andropov, Y. 42, 70, 105, 106, 116, 152, 159, 167–9, 174, 176, 339 anti-party group 59, 69, 98, 106, 164, 166 anti-rightist campaign 53 Anwar, I. 220, 222–3, 226, 228, 230, 231, 236, 284, 307, 313, 314, 322, 323, 328, 339 Arab Socialist Union (ASU) 240 Argentina 28, 177, 180–6, 192–6, 199, 201, 205–9, 216, 278–80, 282, 321, 330, 336, 341, 348–9, 352–4 Aristotle 11 Army Intelligence Service (CIEX) 191 Assad, H. 9, 255, 256 authoritarianism 1–11, 18, 25–7, 33, 37, 40, 75, 102, 132–3, 151, 305–7, 340–54 authority normative 19, 21, 23–4, 102–3, 132–3, 177, 189, 200–6, 232–4, 256–7, 281–2, 294, 317, 319, 337, 347 personal 15–21, 39, 41–8, 71–3, 77, 78, 96, 101, 107–15, 137, 152–9, 196, 197, 218, 228, 253–4, 262, 265, 276, 286, 291, 298, 299, 307–8, 322, 326–7 autonomy, oligarch 12, 41–8, 61–4, 115, 127–30, 184–6, 193, 230, 245–6, 262, 277, 284, 290, 291, 298–300, 303, 311, 315, 318, 319, 321, 323–4, 327–30, 332, 333 Avelino, C. 213 Azerbaijan 259

Baba, A. 222 Badawi, A. 222, 236 Bahrain 34, 271 Baklanov, O. 355 Baturo, A. 257 Baum, R. 101 Belarus 11, 21, 28, 243, 244, 246–51, 253–8, 260, 291, 293, 303, 310, 314, 315, 322, 332, 341, 343, 351–2 Benavides, C. 179 Beria, L. 59, 66, 69, 82, 86, 87, 98, 121, 161, 165–7, 171 Bessone, R. 182 Bethlehem, B. 191 Bignone, R. 208 Bo Xilai 130, 134 Bo Yibo 87 Bokassa, J-B. 253 Brazil 28, 177, 183–92, 193, 195–6, 198–200, 206–8, 279–80, 282, 309, 310, 315–17, 323, 325, 330, 336, 341, 348, 353 Brest-Litovsk 57, 91 Brezhnev, L. 38, 42, 45, 48, 59–60, 63, 66, 69, 70, 76–8, 94–5, 105, 106, 110, 116, 121–2, 131, 134, 146, 152, 159, 164, 168, 169, 171, 314, 315, 325, 339, 349 Brownlee, J. 103 Brunei 243 Bukharin, N. 57, 58, 83 Bulganin, N. 40, 69, 86, 87, 163, 164 Bureau of Presidium 87 bureaucracy 12–13, 61–4, 91, 100, 105, 125–30, 193–5, 197, 218, 227, 229–31, 243, 245–8, 251, 255, 262–7, 274, 276–9, 282, 284–6, 290–2, 295–300, 327–30, 353 bureaucratic politics 55, 61–4, 66, 70, 76, 93, 127–30, 186–92, 246–7, 252, 255, 262, 321 Burma/Myanmar 186, 192, 213–15 businessmen 193, 225, 248, 250, 251, 253, 264–5 cabinet 11, 12, 19, 37, 103, 104, 185, 187, 194, 195, 218, 219, 222, 231, 234–7, 244, 255, 261, 262, 265, 286, 295, 327 Calles, P. 219, 223, 308 Carabineros Communications Directorate (DICOMCAR) 180

index Cardenas, C. 221, 284, 314 Cardenas, L. 221, 223 Castelo-Branco, H. 183, 185–9, 201, 208, 215, 309 Central Advisory Commission (CAC) 100–1, 130, 155 Central African Republic 253 Central Auditing Commission 45, 107, 139 Central Committee Chinese 38–9, 52, 53, 73, 96, 100, 114, 122–3, 126, 127, 139, 143, 155, 157, 171–2 Soviet 38, 42, 43, 45, 57–9, 66, 91–5, 98–9, 104, 105, 107, 118, 120, 121, 124, 125, 133, 138, 143, 148, 152, 161–8, 350 Central Military Commission (CMC) 39, 47, 52, 88, 107, 108, 112, 123, 127, 130, 137, 144, 148, 154–8, 160, 166, 173, 174, 325 chairman (CCP) 52, 107, 112, 154 charisma 17–18, 39, 42, 52, 54, 71, 108–15, 152–9, 249, 253–4, 307–8, 322, 326 Chaves, A. 191 Chavez, H. 352 Chechnya 253 Chen Boda 55, 72, 142 Chen Xilian 72 Chen Yi 55 Chen Yun 46, 63, 71, 83, 101, 130, 137, 315 Chernenko, K. 21, 42, 69, 70, 105, 106, 116, 152, 159, 168–70, 175, 339 Chicago boys 179, 194, 277, 278 Chigir, M. 248 Chile 2, 9, 20, 28, 177–80, 182, 184–6, 192–4, 196, 198–206, 208, 209, 277–82, 309, 312, 314–17, 321, 323–4, 328, 341, 347, 348, 352, 353 China 10, 14–17, 19, 26, 27, 36, 38–40, 46–9, 51–7, 60–1, 65–7, 71–8, 96–7, 100–2, 107–8, 110–15, 117, 122–4, 126–30, 132, 143–4, 146–50, 152–60, 165–7, 170–2, 236, 243, 259, 283, 289, 293–4, 302–3, 309, 313–16, 321, 322, 325, 332, 336, 340, 343, 352 Chinese Youth League 74 Chubar, V. 82 clans 248, 256, 328 collectivism 2, 13–15, 38, 42, 47–61, 64–7, 120–1, 161, 163, 169, 198, 244–7, 277, 283, 286, 302–37, 342–3 collectivization, agricultural 43, 53, 58, 78, 93, 94, 114, 118, 329 colour revolution 240 Committee for State Security (KGB) Belarus 256 Soviet 99–100, 130, 167–9, 355

373

communist single party regimes 20, 26–8, 36–79, 90–133, 143–71, 177, 192, 197, 209, 217, 219, 224, 226–8, 233, 234, 237, 243, 244, 250, 258, 263, 273–5, 277, 278, 282, 283, 285–9, 298, 300–1, 330, 336, 342, 346 conflict 2–7, 42–6, 48–75, 77–8, 95, 97–102, 111, 117–24, 127–30, 151, 163, 167–70, 178–84, 186–92, 198–200, 219–24, 226, 228, 230–2, 244, 246–8, 255, 256, 262–4, 277, 283–7, 289, 291, 295, 297–300, 302, 305, 308–11, 318, 321–3, 328–34, 336, 341–3, 349–51 Congress Brazil 188–9, 191, 195–6, 200, 201, 314, 315, 317 China 39, 53, 55, 96, 100, 101, 107, 111–14, 122, 123, 139, 144, 149, 153–8, 171 Soviet 38, 58, 59, 66, 68, 84, 91–5, 99, 105, 118, 129, 133, 144, 150, 161–5, 167 consensus 7, 21, 43, 47, 54, 59, 64, 71, 77–8, 95, 116, 121–2, 157, 177, 188, 192, 223–4, 249–50, 264, 280–1, 289–90, 293–4, 298, 321, 336, 340, 342, 344, 345, 347, 353 constitution (state) 4, 19, 23–4, 36, 46, 52, 132–3, 150, 179, 183, 184, 188, 189, 192, 199–206, 208, 228, 243, 244, 252–3, 256–59, 261, 273, 281–2, 293, 294, 351 Constitutional Court 256, 270 Constitutional Tribunal 204 Contreras, M. 198 cooperation 3–5, 7, 12 co-optation 3–5, 7, 18–19, 143–4, 206, 233, 258–9, 280, 288, 296–7, 355 coordination 8, 22–9, 49, 302–37, 343, 344, 346, 350, 351, 354 corruption 11, 76, 193, 255 Costa-e-Silva, A. 183, 186–9, 191, 200, 208, 213, 215 Council of People’s Commissars/Ministers 38, 105, 109, 127 coup 10, 20, 45, 59, 60, 116, 151, 166, 185, 189, 196, 200–1, 260, 280, 350 cronies 2, 11, 12, 37, 244, 251, 254–5 Cultural Revolution 39, 40, 46, 54–6, 61, 63, 65, 67, 71–3, 75, 78, 88, 100, 108, 110–12, 115, 122, 124–7, 130–2, 136, 142, 146, 153, 154, 160, 165, 166, 170, 171, 176, 273, 289, 294, 304, 306, 307, 316, 321, 322, 324, 327, 338, 341, 343, 344, 355 Cultural Revolution Group (CRG) 39, 55–7, 61, 75, 122, 124, 146, 153 Dahomey 192 Daim, T. 220 De Gaulle, C. 2

374

index

decision-making 2, 11, 13–14, 26, 36–40, 44, 48–75, 91–2, 110, 117–24, 178–83, 194–5, 200, 218, 224, 243–4, 246, 298, 316–17, 321, 329–33, 340 deference 41, 44–6, 48, 52, 198, 307 Democratic Progressive Party 239 Deng Xiaoping 16, 27, 39, 42, 46–8, 60–1, 63, 66–7, 71–4, 78, 80, 83–5, 88, 89, 96, 100–1, 107–8, 111–14, 117, 124, 126, 132, 141, 146, 150, 152–6, 158–60, 170, 171, 173, 307, 309 Theory 113, 114, 156, 157 Deng Zihui 83, 87 diarchy 276, 278, 279, 283–8, 297–9, 346 discipline 36, 67–75, 177, 185, 186, 192, 193, 220, 276, 277, 281–3 discussion 42–6, 48–75, 77, 117–24, 163, 178–83, 198–200, 219–24, 244, 262–3, 277, 283–7, 289, 291, 295, 297–300, 302, 305, 308, 310–11, 318, 321, 322, 328–34, 342–3, 349–51 divide and rule 56, 65, 111, 247, 291, 308–9, 341 dominant party regimes 9, 10, 14, 20, 28, 217–37, 245, 255, 273–5, 282–90, 297–301, 330, 340, 346 Dominican Republic 253, 254 Dozo, B. 216 duration of regimes 7, 347–8 Duterte, R. 352 Duvalier, Papa Doc 244–6, 251, 253, 305

Figueiredo, J. 183, 187, 191, 207, 208, 213 Filho, M. 190 Fontoura, C. 190 Franco, F. 15 Franco, R. 216 Frota, S. 191 fuhrer 24, 248, 253 Fukuyama, F. 1 Furtseva, Ye. 164

economic reform (China) 46–7, 60, 63, 66, 67, 73–4, 100–1, 129–30, 132, 146 Egypt 2, 9, 197, 206, 209, 214, 240, 255, 256 Eikhe, R. 176 elections 10, 188, 217–19, 221, 222, 224, 226, 229, 232, 235, 252, 258, 259, 282–4, 287, 290 electoral authoritarianism 9, 10, 14, 20, 28, 217–37, 245, 255, 273–5, 282–90, 297–301, 330, 340, 346 elite, definition of 13

Gaddhafi, M. 2, 251 Galtieri, L. 180–3, 195, 208, 216, 352–3 Gandhi, J. 7 Gang of Four 60, 72–3, 88, 100, 146, 154, 166 Gao Gang 52, 71, 83, 132, 134, 146, 314 Geddes, B. 2–3, 6–9, 28 Geisel, E. 183, 186, 187, 190–1, 198, 207, 344 Geisel, O. 190 General Assembly 233 General Secretary Chinese 42, 47, 80, 108, 112, 114, 126, 137, 147, 150, 154, 156–8, 285, 325 Soviet 21, 42, 44–5, 70, 87, 99, 100, 104–7, 121, 125, 128, 130, 147, 148, 150, 161, 162, 165, 167, 168, 172, 175, 285, 312, 351 Germany, Nazi 1, 2, 244, 246, 248, 251, 255, 256, 267, 270, 292, 328 Goering, H. 270 Goh Chok Tong 271 Gorbachev, M. 21, 38, 42, 45–6, 60, 66, 69, 70, 78, 95, 96, 99, 105–7, 116, 117, 126, 131, 134, 146, 148–9, 152, 159, 168–72, 174, 176, 322, 325, 339, 348–51 Goulart, J. 183, 200 Graffigna, O. 216 Great Leap Forward 53, 66, 71, 78, 110, 114, 123, 141, 329 Grechko, A. 148 Grunewald, A. 200 Guzman, J. 194, 203

factions 11, 12, 21, 42, 52, 55, 58, 65, 67–75, 92, 98, 106, 111, 112, 125, 131, 132, 145–7, 151, 157, 160, 164, 166–70, 184, 186–92, 195, 198–200, 207–9, 220–3, 230, 236, 239, 247–8, 255, 258–60, 263–4, 277–8, 280, 283, 284, 291, 293, 295, 297–300, 302, 305–6, 309–11, 313–15, 317–20, 322, 324, 330, 332, 337, 338, 347, 351, 353 Falklands/Malvinas war 183, 195, 321, 353 family 2, 10, 121, 169, 244, 261–6, 294–7, 300, 330 ‘family’, the 248, 258 fear 1, 39–41, 53, 302, 305–7, 332, 340–1

Haiti 244–6, 253, 305 Hakim, A. 239 Hale, H. 246 hardliners 47, 181, 182, 186–92, 195, 197–8, 202, 208–9, 215, 278, 317 Harguindeguy, A. 181 Herzog, V. 190 Hess, R. 270 Hitler, A. 2, 19–20, 49, 244–6, 255, 267, 270 Hoz, J. 182 Hu Jintao 39, 40, 42, 47–8, 61, 74–5, 113, 114, 117, 124, 147, 152, 156–60, 314, 338 Hu Qili 126

index Hu Yaobang 47, 60, 74, 80, 88, 101, 107, 108, 124, 126, 132, 147, 152, 154, 155, 158, 173 Hua Guofeng 16, 56, 60, 72–3, 78, 84, 88, 100, 107, 111–12, 117, 132, 146, 152–4, 158–60, 170, 175, 236 Hughes, A. 216 Hundred Flowers Campaign 66, 110 Hungary 352 Hussein, S. 2, 251, 290 Idris, H. 239 Illarionov, A. 267 Indonesia 11, 20, 191–3, 197, 209, 223, 225, 226 informal processes 38, 50, 53, 94, 96, 106, 117–24, 138, 197, 220, 254–5, 261, 262, 265, 291, 296, 299, 300, 302–37 institutional acts 188–90, 200–1, 215 Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI/PNI) 27, 28, 218, 221, 227, 234, 235, 282, 285–6, 315 institutionalization 3, 4, 38, 48, 61, 102–3, 117–24, 134, 152–7, 169, 203, 208, 316 institutions 3–5, 9, 11–13, 19–20, 22, 26, 28–9, 39, 57, 61–4, 91–7, 102–33, 147–9, 159–65, 177–209, 230–1, 234–5, 243, 248, 249, 252–5, 258, 260, 265, 273–301, 311–12, 316–17, 321, 325–6, 340, 346 Iran 2, 9, 244 Iraq 2 Italy 2 Jabir, al 264 Ji Dengkui 72 Jiang Qing 55, 72–3, 100, 142, 154, 159 Jiang Zemin 39, 42, 47–8, 60–1, 74, 80, 85, 108, 112–14, 117, 124, 132, 147, 150, 152, 153, 155–60, 174, 175, 314, 338 John Paul II 182 Junid, S. 222 junta 11, 12, 19, 177–209, 274–82, 308, 312, 315, 317, 321, 327 Kaczynski, L. 352 Kaganovich, L. 43, 44, 69, 70, 86, 87, 109, 129, 145, 161, 162, 164, 171, 322, 339 Kalinin, M. 145 Kamenev, L. 57, 58 Kampuchea 255, 306, 341, 343 Kang Sheng 55, 72, 142 Kapitonov, I. 314 Kasyanov, M. 249 Kazakhstan 257, 326 Ke Qingshi 72, 142 Khomeini, R. 2

375

Khrushchev, N. 38, 40–2, 44–5, 48, 50, 59, 63, 66, 69, 70, 77, 78, 86, 87, 90, 94–6, 98–9, 105, 110, 116, 118, 121, 129–31, 146, 159–68, 171, 175, 283, 325, 328–9, 338, 341, 347 Kim Il Sung 259 Jong Il 259, 271 Jong Un 259 king 10, 34, 261–6, 271, 294–7, 308 Kirichenko, A. 69, 164 Kirilenko, A. 69 Kirov, S. 84, 99 kitchen cabinet 49, 116, 254–5 Knight, A. 218 Kosarev, A. 176 Kosior, S. 82, 176 Kosygin, A. 63, 86, 315 Krinitsky, A. 176 Kryuchkov, V. 355 Kuchma, L. 240, 270 Kuibyshev, V. 66 Kunaev, D. 69 Kuomintang 239 Kuwait 34, 263–5, 271, 297 Kuznetsov, A. 50, 66, 86 Lambruschini, A. 182, 183, 216 law 19, 23–5, 132–3, 177, 189, 200–6, 232–3, 256–8, 265, 281–2, 290, 294, 297–9 leader core 112–14, 155 dominant 14–15, 17, 21, 27, 28, 40–2, 44, 46, 47, 50–7, 61, 65, 75, 103, 116–24, 178, 183, 242–61, 276, 285, 290–5, 302–37, 340, 342–5 paramount 39, 46, 47, 60, 112, 113, 124, 152, 326 predominant 13–15, 27, 40–4, 46, 47, 50, 57–61, 65, 75, 93, 112, 116, 183, 219, 276, 302–37, 343–5 leader cult 17–18, 41, 48, 59, 109, 110, 114, 153, 159, 253–4, 307–8, 322, 324, 327, 338 Lee Hsiung Loong 271 Lee Kwan Yew 15, 16, 238–40, 271, 307, 308, 326 Lee Teng-hui 239 Legislative Advisory Commission (CAL) 194, 205, 279, 352 legislature 3, 13, 20, 91, 163, 188–9, 191, 195–6, 200, 201, 224, 226, 235, 248, 251, 252, 257, 264, 265, 287–8, 292, 295, 314, 315, 317 legitimacy 15–21, 200–1, 224, 297, 327, 353 Leigh, G. 178–80, 185, 193, 198, 208, 210, 279, 312, 314, 323, 328, 347

376

index

Lenin, V. 16, 27, 38, 42, 57, 69, 84, 92, 109–10, 114, 115, 118, 135, 145, 152, 165, 167, 168, 307 Li Deshing 72 Li Keqiang 74–5, 157, 158, 160, 314 Li Xiannian 46, 55–6, 72, 87, 100, 101, 137, 154 Li Yuanchao 174 liberalization 181, 186–91, 195, 198–200, 210, 247 Libya 2 Lin Biao 55–6, 72, 83, 111, 127, 142, 152, 153, 158, 166, 173, 323 Lin Boqu 71, 83 Linz, J. 8 Liu Shaoqi 16, 83, 88, 141, 152, 153, 158, 322, 323, 339 Lukashenka, A. 21, 28, 243, 244, 246–9, 251–4, 256, 258, 259, 270, 290–4, 303, 306–10, 314, 341, 345, 351–2 Lukashenka, V. 247, 259, 260, 322 MacFarquhar, R. 112 Madrid, M. 221, 235–6 Mahathir, M. 16, 28, 219–20, 222–3, 225–31, 234, 236, 286, 307, 308, 310, 311, 313, 314, 322, 323, 329, 339, 344 Mahileu group 247, 322 Malaysia 17, 28, 217–19, 221–3, 225–37, 282–4, 286, 287, 310, 314, 320–2, 325 Malenkov, G. 50, 59, 66, 69, 86, 87, 98, 105, 109, 129, 131, 141, 152, 160–4, 166 Malin, V. 163 Malinovsky, R. 176 Mao Yuanxin 56, 111, 329 Mao Zedong 16, 27, 39, 40, 42, 46–8, 50–7, 60, 61, 63, 67, 71–4, 77, 78, 82, 83, 87, 88, 96, 100, 101, 107–8, 110–15, 117, 123, 124, 126, 132, 133, 135, 141, 142, 150, 152–4, 158–60, 170, 243, 286, 290, 291, 293–4, 299, 302, 306, 307, 309, 313, 316, 317, 321–3, 326–9, 336, 338, 339, 343, 345 Thought 46, 83, 110, 111, 113, 114, 157 Marcos, F. 244 Marxism-Leninism 16, 113, 114, 135 Mason, S. 181, 182, 210 Massera, E. 180, 181, 210, 216 Matthei, F. 179, 180, 205, 210 Mazzilli, R. 200 Medici, E. 183, 186–8, 190, 213 Medvedev, D. 257–60, 322, 323 Mekhlis, L. 125 Melo, E. 190 Melo, F. 200 Mendoza, C. 178–80, 185, 207, 210, 328

Menendez, L. 181, 210, 211 Meng, A. 3–5 Merino, J. 179–80, 185, 203, 205, 210 Mexico 27, 28, 217–19, 221, 223, 224, 226–38, 240, 282–5, 287–9, 308, 314, 315, 317, 321, 325 Mikoyan, A. 50–1, 66, 69, 86, 87, 162, 164 military 7, 10, 11–13, 20, 47, 49, 98, 101, 130–1, 148, 164, 166, 168, 218, 221, 243, 248, 256, 260, 262, 290, 292, 295, 309 air force 178–82, 184, 185, 194, 195, 198, 205, 206, 208, 210, 229, 279, 312, 317, 328, 352 army 179–82, 184, 188, 194, 196, 198, 202–7, 213, 229, 274, 312, 325, 328, 352, 353 navy 178, 180–2, 184, 185, 194, 206, 209, 210, 229, 317, 328, 352 service branches 183–6, 188, 193–5, 197–9, 205–8, 223–4, 228–9, 274, 276, 277, 279–81, 298, 313, 315, 328, 330, 352–4 Military Committee 205 military regimes 1, 9, 10, 14, 20, 28, 29, 177–209, 218, 220, 223–4, 227–9, 231–2, 234, 261, 273–82, 284, 286, 297–301, 307, 313, 315, 316, 328, 330, 340, 346–8, 352–4 ministries, government 12–13, 61–4, 66, 127–30, 194, 195, 200, 230–1, 245–6, 254, 277, 292, 295, 327–9 Mobutu, S. 19, 251 Molotov, V. 43, 44, 50–1, 66, 69, 70, 86, 87, 129, 145, 161, 162, 164, 322, 339 monarchical regimes 10, 14, 28, 243, 261–6, 274, 275, 286, 294–7, 300, 308, 330, 340, 347–8 Mothers of Plaza de Mayo 353 Mubarak, H. 2, 206, 209, 214 Mubarak lineage 263 Mugabe, R. 2 Musa, H. 222 Mussolini, B. 2 Nasser, G. 9, 214, 240, 255, 256 National Intelligence Centre (CNI) 180, 198 National Intelligence Directorate (DINA) 198 National Intelligence Service (SNI) 187, 190, 191, 195 Nayef, Mohammad bin 263 Nazarbaev, N. 257, 326 neo-liberalism 193, 353 Neto, C. 191 Neves, T. 202 new economic policy (NEP) 57, 91, 93, 131 Nicaragua 259, 269 Nicolaides, C. 216 Niyazov, S. 2, 253

index nomenklatura 70, 106 North Korea 243, 259, 271 Old Bolsheviks 15, 52, 114 oligarchy, definition of 11–13 Onn, H. 235, 236, 239 opposition 3, 43, 45, 58–9, 69, 83, 91–3, 114, 115, 124, 167, 168, 178, 189, 191, 199, 221, 222, 254, 278, 282, 288, 349–51 Orban, V. 352 Ordzhonikidze, S. 43, 66, 82 Our Home is Russia 252 pact, foundational 21, 23, 77–9, 178, 180, 183, 188, 192, 200–2, 205–6, 217–18, 249–50, 281, 289, 293, 298–300, 319, 340, 345 Pakistan 290 Pavlovsky, G. 250 Peng Chen 83 Peng Dehuai 59, 71, 75, 83, 96, 132, 146 People’s Liberation Army 55, 71–3, 83, 88, 100, 107, 123, 127, 137, 153, 154, 156, 166–7 personalist regimes 9–11, 28, 242–61, 273–5, 286, 290–4, 299–301, 330, 340, 342, 347–8 Pervukhin, M. 164 Petrovsky, G. 82 Philippines 244, 352 Pinochet, A. 2, 9, 20, 178–80, 184–5, 193–4, 196, 198, 202–6, 208–11, 215, 276–8, 308, 309, 312, 317, 321, 326, 329, 341, 344, 352 pitertsy 248 plebiscite 178, 203–5, 257 Podgorny, N. 60 Pol Pot 255, 306, 341, 343 Poland 10, 352 police 7, 178, 180, 184, 185, 194, 206, 207, 228, 317 policy 7, 26, 43–65, 67–75, 77–8, 81–2, 91–3, 98, 100–1, 109–11, 114, 120, 123–4, 127–32, 146, 162, 165, 167–8, 170, 175, 176, 181, 184–94, 198–200, 218–21, 226, 228–30, 232, 246–50, 256, 260–3, 267, 277, 281, 283, 286, 289, 291, 293–5, 297, 299, 300, 307–9, 313–16, 319–22, 324, 327–31, 349–51, 353 Politburo 11, 12, 19, 61, 90, 103, 104, 143–4, 149–50, 327 Chinese 38–40, 52–6, 62, 71–3, 80, 88, 89, 100, 101, 110, 113, 122–4, 143–4, 146–50, 154–60, 166, 321 Soviet 38, 40, 43, 45, 48–51, 58, 59, 62, 66, 92, 95, 98–9, 106, 109, 116–22, 125, 128, 129, 131–3, 139, 145–9, 152, 161, 162, 164, 166–9, 172, 176, 342–3, 350

377

Politburo Standing Committee 38–40, 48, 52–6, 62, 73, 79, 80, 88, 101, 113, 122–4, 134, 143–4, 147, 149, 150, 155, 157–60, 173, 175 Poskrebyshev, A. 85, 125 Postyshev, P. 82 power 2–8, 11, 13–15, 18, 22, 28–9, 42, 48, 49, 64–5, 93, 104–17, 152–9, 162–8, 178–80, 219, 220, 228–9, 254, 262, 276, 285, 290–1, 295, 298, 299, 302–38, 340–7 presidency 19–20, 42, 105, 107, 108, 117, 134, 152, 155–8, 160, 172, 178, 180, 181, 183–5, 187–91, 194–6, 198, 200–6, 208, 218, 219, 226, 227, 230, 231, 235, 236, 240, 241, 243, 247, 248, 250, 252–3, 257, 259, 274, 285, 288, 290, 325, 326 prime minister 4, 19–20, 105–7, 121, 129, 141, 148, 154, 156, 157, 160, 161, 163, 169, 218, 219, 227, 230, 234–6, 255, 259, 261, 263, 264, 285, 288, 293, 315, 317, 325 princelings 74 privileges 76, 97, 307–8 Pugo, B. 355 purge 7, 43, 108, 114, 236, 244, 246, 248, 256, 276, 305–7, 341 Putin, V. 28, 243, 244, 246, 248–60, 290–4, 307–10, 314, 317, 322, 351–2 Qatar 34, 271 Qiao Shi 150 Radical Democratic League 188 Rao Shushi 52, 71, 132, 314 Razaleigh, H. 222, 226, 228, 234, 284 Red Guards 55, 100, 101 Ren Bishi 83, 146 rent-seeking 3, 4, 193 revolution 15–17, 42, 43, 46, 109, 110, 114, 218 Rohm, E. 268 Roman Empire 1 Rudzutak, Ya. 82, 176 rules 3–5, 8, 21–9, 54, 55, 75, 77–9, 102–3, 124, 200–6, 273, 298, 302–4, 310–12, 315–18, 321–2, 335–7, 339–54 comportment 36, 40–79, 300, 312, 317, 350, 351 composition 26, 143–51, 316 decision 26, 36–40, 317 formal 23–4, 40, 273 informal 23–4, 40, 273 normative 24, 347, 350 prudential 24, 347 succession 91, 151–71, 311, 316

378

index

rules, constitutive 26, 27, 32, 65, 98, 143–71, 177, 206–9, 233–7, 258–61, 265, 274, 280, 296, 300, 302, 306, 312, 316, 319, 333, 343, 346, 347, 350, 351 Rule 20 32, 68, 91, 98, 108, 143–4, 147, 149, 206, 233, 236, 258, 265, 275, 280, 288, 293, 316, 319, 334 Rule 21 32, 68, 91, 98, 104, 108, 115, 143, 145–7, 149, 206, 207, 234, 258, 265, 275, 280, 293, 296, 309–10, 316, 319, 334 Rule 22 32, 62, 68, 91, 98, 104, 108, 118, 127, 128, 143, 147–9, 206, 234, 258, 265, 275, 280, 293, 316 Rule 23 32, 104, 143, 149–51, 206, 208, 233, 235, 257, 258, 262, 275, 280, 288, 293, 316 Rule 24 32, 42, 68, 91, 98, 104, 108, 143, 149, 152–9, 165, 167, 207, 233, 235, 258, 263, 275, 280, 311, 316 Rule 25 32, 91, 98, 104, 108, 118, 127, 128, 143, 149, 152, 159–65, 167, 196, 236, 258, 260, 263, 275, 288, 293, 296, 311, 316 Rule 26 32, 42, 68, 91, 98, 104, 108, 128, 143, 149, 152, 159, 165–7, 233, 236, 260, 263, 275, 287, 288, 296, 297, 311, 316 Rule 27 32, 68, 91, 98, 104, 108, 143, 149, 152, 159, 165, 167–70, 188, 208–9, 260, 263, 275, 280, 311, 316 Rule 28 32, 50, 62, 68, 104, 143, 149, 152, 165, 167, 170, 200, 219, 260, 263, 275, 308–9, 311, 315, 316, 318, 321, 322, 324, 328, 330, 331, 333–5 Rule 29 32, 59, 65, 76, 128, 143, 149, 152, 165, 167, 170–1, 223, 258, 261, 264, 265, 275, 281, 285, 293, 306, 311, 316, 334 rules, operational 26, 27, 31, 36–79, 98, 177–92, 217–25, 244–50, 274, 280, 302, 334, 346–7, 349, 351, 352 Rule 1 31, 37–40, 42, 49, 104, 108, 117, 118, 177, 200, 217, 261, 275, 305, 308, 315, 318, 325, 326, 330, 333–5, 343, 345, 349 Rule 2 31, 38, 41–9, 104, 106, 108, 115, 152, 165, 177, 180, 183, 218–19, 243, 261, 275, 305, 307, 310, 318, 326, 327, 334, 335, 345, 351, 352 Rule 3 31, 38, 42, 43, 48–62, 65, 68, 76, 91, 98, 115, 118, 127, 131, 138, 180, 183–4, 186, 198, 219–21, 244, 262, 275, 277, 283, 291, 295, 302, 306, 308–12, 314, 315, 318, 321, 322, 324, 327, 328, 330, 331, 333–5, 342, 345, 349, 352 Rule 4 31, 43, 49, 61–5, 76, 91, 98, 115, 127, 131, 147, 184–6, 219–21, 230, 245–6, 262, 275, 284, 302, 308–13, 315, 318, 319, 321–4, 328, 330, 331, 333–5, 349, 352 Rule 5 31, 43, 49, 59, 62, 64–8, 76, 98, 115, 127, 131, 180, 183–4, 186, 220, 246–7,

262, 275, 283, 284, 291, 295, 302, 308–10, 312, 315, 318, 321, 322, 324, 328, 330, 331, 333–5, 349, 352 Rule 6 31, 38, 42, 43, 62, 65, 67–75, 91, 98, 107, 108, 115, 118, 127, 131, 143, 145, 147, 152, 165, 167, 186–92, 198, 220–3, 234, 247–8, 255, 262, 263, 275, 277–8, 283, 291, 295, 305–6, 308–13, 315, 318, 321–4, 328, 330, 331, 333–5, 345, 350, 353 Rule 7 31, 49, 59, 62, 65, 68, 75–7, 128, 192, 223, 244, 248–9, 264, 275, 281, 284, 285, 291–2, 305–6, 316, 318, 333–5, 350 Rule 8 31, 49, 62, 65, 76–8, 115, 128, 131, 177, 192, 223, 244, 249–50, 264, 275, 288–90, 293–5, 297, 302, 312, 316, 318, 319, 333–5, 344, 350, 351 rules, relational 26, 27, 31, 90–133, 192–206, 224–33, 250–8, 274, 300, 302, 306, 312, 317, 333, 343, 347, 349–52 Rule 9 31, 50, 62, 68, 91–8, 143, 147, 152, 165, 167, 193, 196, 224–5, 250–1, 264–5, 275, 279, 287, 292, 296, 310, 316, 350, 353 Rule 10 31, 50, 62, 64, 65, 68, 91, 97–102, 108, 143, 147, 159, 165, 167, 192–6, 207, 224–6, 265, 275, 278, 287, 292, 296, 305, 309–11, 316, 319, 321, 334, 335, 346, 349, 350, 352 Rule 11 31, 38, 42, 104–8, 115, 118, 127, 147, 149, 152, 159, 196, 227, 252–3, 265, 275, 285, 292, 302, 308, 310, 318, 325, 326, 334, 335 Rule 12 31, 42, 68, 98, 104, 107–15, 118, 127, 143, 147, 152, 159, 192, 196, 228, 253–4, 265, 275, 276, 286, 291, 295, 302, 307–8, 310, 318, 326, 327, 334, 335, 345 Rule 13 31, 42, 50, 62, 68, 70, 104, 108, 115–18, 127, 147, 196–7, 228–9, 250, 254, 265, 275, 276, 285, 290–1, 295, 310, 318, 319, 334, 335 Rule 14 31, 38, 50, 68, 104, 108, 115, 117–24, 127, 128, 147, 159, 192, 197, 220, 230, 254–5, 275, 277, 286, 291, 302, 308, 316, 318, 321, 322, 324–8, 330, 331, 333–5, 343, 350 Rule 15 31, 38, 62, 104, 115, 118, 125–8, 147, 159, 197, 224, 229–30, 255, 265, 275, 279, 284, 286, 316, 319, 321, 325–8, 330, 331, 333–5, 350 Rule 16 31, 50, 62, 65, 68, 76, 91, 104, 108, 115, 118, 127–31, 147, 159, 184, 185, 196, 219, 227, 230–1, 255, 262, 265, 275, 284, 292, 295, 302, 309–10, 313, 315, 319, 321–4, 328, 330, 331, 333–5 Rule 17 31, 76, 91, 98, 128, 130–1, 147, 198, 231–2, 255–6, 275, 305–6, 312, 334, 350 Rule 18 31, 50, 62, 65, 68, 131–2, 147, 198, 219, 232, 250, 256, 262, 275, 284, 291, 295,

index 308–9, 313, 315, 316, 318, 321, 322, 324, 328, 330, 331, 333–5, 350 Rule 19 31, 38, 104, 108, 118, 127, 132–3, 147, 149, 192, 200–6, 208, 224, 228, 232–3, 250, 256–8, 265, 275, 297, 319, 325, 326, 334, 335, 350 Russia 11, 28, 243, 244, 246, 248–58, 275, 291, 293, 309, 310, 314, 317, 321, 324, 328, 351–2 Russian Orthodox Church 253 Russia’s Choice 252 Ryutin affair 43, 58, 59 Ryzhkov, N. 69, 315 Sabah, Al 264 Saburov, M. 164 Sadat, A. 209, 214 Salim, al 264 Salman, King 263 Salman, Mohammad bin 263, 271 Saud, Ibn 263, 265 Saudi Arabia 34, 261, 263, 265, 297 ‘scientific development concept’ 113, 114 second line of leadership 46, 53, 71, 107, 152, 321, 326 Secretariat 135, 328 Chinese 39, 79, 108, 123, 126, 137, 155–7, 160, 173 Soviet 49, 85, 93, 104–6, 125–6, 140, 145, 148, 350 secretaries, CC 34, 62, 84, 87, 93, 104–6, 125, 147, 148, 159, 161 Security Council 247, 257, 355 security service 7, 12–13, 20, 66, 99–100, 126, 130–1, 148, 161, 166–9, 180, 187, 190, 191, 195, 197–8, 232, 243, 248, 250, 255–6, 258, 260, 266, 305–7, 328, 355 selectorate 131, 144, 151, 158 Semangat’46 222 Semichastny, V. 99, 130, 167 Shcherbitsky, V. 69 Sheiman, V. 247, 248, 322 Shelepin, A. 60 Shepilov, D. 164 Shevardnadze, E. 69 siloviki 248, 250 Singapore 15, 17, 238–40, 271, 308, 326 Social Democratic Party (PSD) 188 Socialist Education Campaign 67, 110, 136 ‘socialist harmonious society’ 113 soft-liners 181, 186–92, 197–8, 202, 203, 208, 215, 278 Somoza, A. 259, 269 Soong, J. 239

379

Soviet Union 1, 2, 9, 14–17, 19, 21, 26–7, 34, 37–8, 42–6, 48–53, 57–61, 65–6, 68–71, 76–8, 91–102, 104–7, 109–10, 115–22, 124–6, 128, 129, 131–2, 143–50, 152, 159–72, 243, 289, 293–4, 302–3, 313–16, 322, 325, 332, 336, 340–3, 347–52, 354 Spain 15 Stalin, J. 2, 9, 27, 38, 40, 42–4, 48–52, 57–9, 63, 66, 69–70, 72, 81, 82, 85–7, 93, 95, 98, 99, 105, 106, 108–10, 114, 115, 117–21, 124, 125, 129–31, 145, 152, 159–63, 165, 167, 168, 170, 175, 176, 243, 286, 290, 291, 293–4, 299, 301, 302, 306, 307, 310, 311, 313, 316, 317, 321, 322, 325–9, 332, 336–8, 342, 345 Stange, R. 180, 207 State Committee for the State of Emergency 355 State Council 39, 63, 123, 127, 130 State Defence Committee (GKO) 38, 105, 138 State Duma 252 Statute of the Junta 178, 179, 202, 207–8, 312 Stetsky, A. 176 strategies 29, 56, 65, 111, 233, 302–37 succession 4, 26, 59, 61, 64–5, 72–3, 91, 98, 105, 111, 120, 129, 131, 143–71, 182, 188, 190, 196, 216, 219, 221–3, 233–7, 258–61, 263, 280, 288–9, 293, 296–9, 311, 316 Suharto 20, 191–2, 209, 223, 225, 226, 322, 323 Supreme Executive Council 233 Supreme Revolutionary Command 200 Suslov, M. 69, 164, 314 Sverdlov, Ya. 140 Svolik, M. 3, 4, 6, 8, 26, 338 Syria 9, 255, 256, 259 tactics 29, 65, 116, 302–37 Taiwan 239, 259 Tang Wensheng 56, 111 Team A 222, 238 B 222, 238 technocrats 178, 187, 194, 224, 231, 247, 265, 277, 283, 284, 290, 295, 296, 315, 323, 331 term limits 4, 20, 98, 149–51, 156, 158, 183, 184, 187, 196, 200, 201, 208, 218, 227, 230–2, 235–7, 257, 262, 283, 287, 288, 293, 317, 352 terror 15–16, 50, 65, 75, 99, 115, 127, 138, 145, 163, 167, 255, 293, 305–7, 341, 344, 345, 355 Thatcher, M. 2 ‘three represents’ 113, 114, 157 ‘three stricts and three honests’ 114 Tonton Macoute 305 totalitarianism 1, 8, 346 Tovstukha, I. 125

380

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Trotsky, L. 57, 58, 109, 135 Trujillo, R. 253, 259 Trump, D. 2, 352 Turkmenistan 2, 253 ‘two centres’ 126, 155 Uganda 290 Ukraine 240, 270 Ulyukaev, A. 249 United Arab Emirates 34 United Malays National Organization (UMNO) 218, 219, 222, 223, 226, 228, 231, 233, 236, 238, 282, 288, 328 United Russia 252, 269 United States 257, 352 unity 21, 43, 47, 64, 68, 77–8, 177, 206, 223–4, 249–50, 264, 274, 280–1, 289–90, 293–5, 297–300 Ustinov, D. 69 Venezuela 352 Vesenkha 66 veteran revolutionaries 15–16, 46, 47, 52, 55, 56, 60, 72–5, 96, 100–13, 115, 129–30, 132, 153–5 Videla, J. 180–2, 205, 208, 210, 216 Vietnam 15 Viola, R. 180, 182–3, 208, 210, 212, 216 Voroshilov, K. 50, 66, 69, 145, 162, 164 Voznesensky, N. 50, 66, 86 Wang Dongxing 72 Wang Hairong 56, 111

Wang Hongwen 111, 152, 153 Weber, M. 17 ‘whateverism’ 88, 112, 154 Wu De 153 Xi Jinping 39, 40, 42, 47–8, 61, 74–5, 89, 114, 117, 144, 147, 150, 152, 157, 158, 160, 314, 325 Thought 114, 158 Xu Shiyou 72 Yakovlev, A. 69 Yanukovich, V. 240, 270 Yao Wenyuan 72 Yazov, D. 355 Ye Jianying 46, 55–6, 72, 100, 154 Yeltsin, B. 246, 248–50, 252, 258, 259 Yukos Oil Co. 267, 321 Zacharanka, Y. 248 Zaire 19, 251 Zhang Chunqiao 72 Zhao Ziyang 40, 47, 60, 74, 88, 89, 107, 108, 124, 132, 147, 152, 154, 155, 158 Zhdanov, A. 66, 86, 145 Zhou Enlai 46, 55–6, 71, 72, 83, 88, 107, 141, 153, 154, 315 Zhu De 71, 83 Zhukov, G. 148, 164, 166 Zia-ul-Haq, M. 290 Zimbabwe 2 Zinoviev, G. 57, 58