Democracy From Above?: The Unfulfilled Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms 9781503608955

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Democracy from Above?

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Democracy from Above? THE UNFULFILLED PROMISE OF NATIONALLY MANDATED PARTICIPATORY REFORMS Stephanie L. McNulty

Stanford University Press Stanford, California

Stanford University Press Stanford, California © 2019 by the Board of Trustees of the Leland Stanford Ju­nior University. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system without the prior written permission of Stanford University Press. Printed in the United States of Amer­i­ca on acid-­f ree, archival-­quality paper Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data Names: McNulty, Stephanie L., author. Title: Democracy from above? : the unfulfilled promise of nationally mandated participatory reforms / Stephanie L. McNulty. Description: Stanford, California : Stanford University Press, 2019. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2018040344 (print) | LCCN 2018042579 (ebook) | ISBN 9781503607989 (cloth ; alk. paper) | ISBN 9781503608948 (pbk. ; alk. paper) | ISBN 9781503608955 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Po­liti­cal participation. | Democracy. | Po­liti­cal Participation—­ Latin Amer­i­ca—­Case studies. | Democracy—­Latin Amer­i­ca—­Case studies. Classification: LCC JF799 (ebook) | LCC JF799 .M35 2019 (print) | DDC 323/.042—­dc23 LC rec­ord available at https://­lccn​.­loc​.­gov​/­2018040344 Cover design: Kevin Barrett Kane Cover photograph: Shawn Ang Typeset by Westchester Publishing Ser­v ices in 10/14 Minion

For Maya and Sofia

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CONTENTS

Acknowl­edgments

ix

PART 1 INTRODUCING NATIONALLY MANDATED PARTICIPATORY REFORMS

1 Making the Promise

3

2 Operationalizing the Promise

19

3 The Promise Heard around the World

30

PART 2 EXAMINING THE PROMISE OF NATIONALLY MANDATED PARTICIPATORY REFORMS

4 Guatemala’s War­time Legacy: The Urban and Rural Development Council System

51

5 Bolivia’s Neoliberal Revolution: The Law of Popu­lar Participation

86

6 Peru’s Optimistic Transition: The 2002 Participatory Decentralization Reform

120

PART 3 EVALUATING THE PROMISE

7 Broken Promises?

151

Notes

175

References

187

Index

223

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ACKNOWL­EDGMENTS

this book is the result of my long-­standing interest in participatory governance in the developing world. It builds on my first book, Voice and Vote: Decentralization and Participation in Post-­Fujimori Peru. ­After more than a year of fieldwork in six regions, I left Peru with many more questions about participatory governance than answers. I still yearned to know: what effects are ­these reforms having in the developing world? I realized that a cross-­ national, mixed-­method research proj­ect would be the best way to start to answer this question. Like any book, however, the final result represents the combined efforts of hundreds of p ­ eople. Without their time, patience, and generosity, Democracy from Above? simply would not exist. I would like to recognize as many of them as I can in ­these pages. Of course, it is not pos­si­ble to name them all ­here, especially since I promised many of them that I would not attribute their remarks. And it goes without stating that all errors are mine. First, I am deeply grateful to my loving f­amily. My d ­ aughters, Maya and Sofia Escudero, patiently supported my work on this book over several years, traveling with me around Latin Amer­i­ca as I did fieldwork and giving me time and space to write up the findings. They are truly my inspiration. My loving husband, Ramón, also provided more support than I ever deserved. This book has truly been a team effort. My m ­ other and her husband, Charlotte and Bill Kagey, provided endless assistance, and my ­sister, Claire Drewes, and her ­family have always been incredibly encouraging. Our Peruvian ­family also helped this study become a real­ity by helping me to think through ideas, to get settled in Peru, and by sending information my way. I am especially grateful to ix

x 

Acknowl­edgments

Daniel Escudero, Juan Antonio Escudero, Manuel Escudero, Rosa Maria Escudero, Mariela Morales, Alvaro Priale, Janice Rodriguez, Zoila Torres, and all of our extended ­family. Thank you also to ACEME, especially Maria Nelly Cuculiza, Constanza Evans, and Sidney Evans, for their insight and generosity about all ­t hings Peruvian. I am eternally grateful to my comadres, Maria Fernanda Jaramillo, Carrie McKellogg, Maria Beatriz Orlando, Rebeca Sánchez de Tagle, and Alejandra Vallejo, for their encouragement and love. And without my “­sisters” (you know who you are), I might never have finished. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I would not have been able to concentrate on researching and writing ­t hese chapters without knowing that I was leaving our c­ hildren in the loving care of several caregivers. I am eternally grateful to Ana Calderón, Socorro Gomez, Amelia Gutiérrez, Leonor Huerta, Penny and Dwight Rager, and Zulema Reyes for taking care of our girls over the years. Knowing you has enrichened us in numerous and intangible ways. Countless colleagues and friends have read drafts, edited dif­fer­ent versions, listened to my ideas, provided feedback, helped me do fieldwork, and supported me when I thought this book might never move ahead. I am beyond grateful to all of them. Special thanks go to Cynthia McClintock, who has upheld her promise to be my “mentor for life.” Thank you also to Luis Beccar, Carew Boulding, Sarah Chartock, Dave Ciuk, Kent Eaton, Dick Fluke, Bob Friedrich, Benjamin Goldfrank, Bob Gray, Kathy Hertzler, Maiah Jaskoski, Jennifer Kibbe, Alison Kibler, Biko Koenig, Christian Kolar, Giovanna F. Lerner, Delphine Martin, Lindsay Mayka, Stephen Medvic, Tim McCarty, Libby Modern, Amy Moreno, Amy Mulnix, Maribel Perez, Lisa Peterson, Anita Pilkerton-­Plumb, Amelia Rauser, Tom Reilly, Stephanie Rousseau, Amy Ruffo, Kristen Sample, Ryan Sauder, Matt Schousen, Andrew Selee, Laura Shelton, Scott Smith, Alissandra Stoyan, Michael Touchton, Tamara Walker, Brian Wampler, and Rosa Maria Wantland. Several colleagues helped me better understand some of the cases by providing invaluable feedback, including Susan Dicklitch-­Nelson, Gabriel Hetland, Craig Kauffman, and Alex Nading. My biggest regret is that one of my biggest cheerleaders, Lee Ann Fujii, did not live to see the final product. Rest in power, my dear friend. I am deeply indebted to many research assistants for helping me gather data on the seventeen cases explored in the book. Thanks to Monica Duran for researching Venezuela, Colombia, Chile, and Ec­ua­dor (including fieldwork in 2013); Lila Epstein for her work on Chile, the Dominican Republic,

Acknowl­edgments 

xi

Honduras, Nicaragua, Mozambique, Uganda, South Africa, and Rwanda; Argemira Flórez for her work on Mozambique, Rwanda (including fieldwork in 2012), Uganda, South Africa, and India; Katherine McKiernan for her database work and her research on Colombia, the Philippines, and Honduras; Juan Pablo (J. P.) Pitarque for his in-­depth assistance on Ec­ua­dor, which included fieldwork, as well as research on the Dominican Republic; and Genevieve Spears for her help researching India and the Philippines. Arielle Chapnick and Angelica Silfa also gathered information for me in the Dominican Republic and Nicaragua. Additional assistance was provided by Madeline Cavalier, Kabir Hossain, Abigail Lawlor, and Amy Largacha Cedeño in more recent years. In Guatemala and Bolivia, Ruben Dario Chambi, Stefano Hitzler, and Arecely Lazo provided vital research assistance. Fi­nally, Rubí Arana of the Latin American Public Opinion Proj­ect has always been generous with her time when I send her questions about data. Generous funding from several organ­izations made pos­si­ble the research for and the writing of this book. Thank you to the American Association of University W ­ omen, the American Po­liti­cal Science Association, and Franklin and Marshall College. I am also extremely grateful to my editors at Stanford University Press, Alan Harvey and Leah Pennywark, as well as the anonymous reviewers who gave me excellent advice. I am also indebted to the many p ­ eople with whom I have presented at vari­ous panels and conferences over the years, as they gave me helpful feedback during vari­ous iterations of the proj­ect. Fi­nally, thank you to the hundreds of ­people who gave me their time during our interviews in Guatemala, Bolivia, and Peru. It is not pos­si­ble to express how grateful I am for their insight and inspiration. B ­ ecause of them, I am now able to imagine a better f­ uture for us all. With the exception of the two former presidents, all interviewees agreed to speak to me with the understanding that their comments may be quoted but not attributed.

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Democracy from Above?

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1

MAKING THE PROMISE

can nationally elected officials effectively improve democracy by mandating citizen participation in subnational governments? Citizens in almost e­ very country on the globe are dissatisfied with their parliaments and po­liti­cal parties, and many p ­ eople feel disconnected from the po­liti­cal pro­cess (Cameron, Hershberg, and Sharpe 2012; Desilver 2013; Norris 2011; Seligson, Smith, and Zechmeister 2012). This demo­cratic deficit has delegitimized many governments around the world. As a result, citizens are supporting populist outsiders who promise to fix the system in increasingly larger numbers. This phenomenon exists in countries as diverse as Guatemala, where citizens elected a comedian with no previous po­liti­cal experience to the presidency in 2015, and the United States, where Donald Trump—­a real­ity TV star and businessman who had never held an elected position—­rose to the presidency in 2017. To attack this deficit, some national elected officials have passed reforms that mandate participatory institutions in subnational governments through constitutional reforms and legislative packages.1 In countries as diverse as India, Chile, the Philippines, Uganda, and Venezuela, national elected officials have designed institutions to bring together citizens to make decisions regarding local bud­gets and governmental ser­vices and to oversee their elected officials. These officials purport to provide new venues for average citizens to become part of and oversee government decisions about their well-­being. Advocates of ­t hese reforms argue that they may pave the way for an effective revival of democracy in this age of discontent (de Sousa Santos 2005; Polletta 2013). 3

4  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

For example, in 2002, Guatemala’s Congress passed a law empowering community development councils to engage neighborhood activists in decision making about development policies. This law allows eight campesinos in a semi-­ urban district called San Miguel de Escobar to meet weekly to discuss the infrastructure proj­ects they need in their community. ­A fter a deadly flood in 2010, they began to advocate for a better drainage system and a health clinic. They regularly approached the mayor with a list of proj­ects that needed funding, but he rejected the activists’ requests ­because they ­were not from his po­liti­cal party. Even so, they continued to advocate for improved living conditions during the electoral period by meeting mayoral candidates and making them pledge their support. ­There is a certain promise implicit in t­ hese reforms. National government officials such as Guatemala’s congressmen and -­women embrace ­these reforms as a way to overcome the growing deficits of democracy. Reformers in places like Peru and Bolivia argue that ­these institutions can engage citizens more effectively and lead to more responsive elected officials, improved accountability, and more effective governments. Other reformers, like ­those in Rwanda and Uganda, are less interested in promoting democracy; instead, they want to engage citizens in decisions about their government to improve government effectiveness and efficiency. This par­tic­u­lar kind of reform—­that is, participatory reforms that are mandated from above—is still undertheorized. As of this writing, no global cross-­ national studies that evaluate their origin, nature, and impact exist. B ­ ecause in many countries it is difficult to pass any major reform, this book begins from the premise that when national-­level governmental officials give average citizens and civil society organ­izations (CSOs) power to make decisions about local government priorities, something impor­tant is taking place. A better grasp of the nature and impact of ­t hese efforts is vital to our understanding of democracy around the world. Documenting the effects of ­these institutions gives us insight into w ­ hether or not the demo­cratic deficit can be addressed through ­t hese legislative initiatives. To contribute to our understanding of the potential of nationally mandated participatory reforms in the developing world, this book analyzes the following questions:

1 When and where have elected officials passed nationally mandated participatory reforms?

Making the Promise  5



2 What are the most typical design features? 3 Why do country reformers adopt them? 4 Have the reforms changed aspects of democracy and governance in the developing world? Why or why not?

The most impor­tant question for advocates of participatory governance is the last one: Do t­ hese efforts meet their goals of improving democracy and governance? In other words, are the promises under­lying the reform efforts being met? To fully understand this issue we must first identify and specify the existing population of cases of this par­tic­u­lar reform effort. This book examines t­hese reforms by exploring the macro (global) and meso (state) levels of analy­sis.2 This higher-­order analy­sis represents the first step ­toward pushing ahead our understanding of ­these reforms and their effects. The analy­sis of the macro and meso levels of ­t hese institutional reforms leads to several findings. National officials in seventeen countries in the developing world enacted and implemented nationally mandated participatory reforms between 1985 and 2015. The majority w ­ ere passed by governments in Latin Amer­i­ca, which has clearly emerged as the epicenter of participatory reforms (Fung 2011; Mayka 2019; Peruzzotti 2012; Pogrebinschi 2017). A variety of designs have emerged, but the most prevalent is citizen or civil society councils institutionalized in subnational governments within a par­tic­u ­lar country. Why do elected officials adopt nationally mandated participatory reforms? Hegemonic discourse during a period of time when democracy and neoliberal reforms prevailed led to a consensus around the idea that participatory reforms would strengthen nascent demo­cratic systems and improve government effectiveness in the developing world. L ­ ater, in Latin Amer­i­ca, the “pink tide” (e.g., the revival of leftist national leaders throughout the region) increased ­t hese efforts as ­t he leaders promised to engage citizens more directly in governments. Each of ­these global trends provided impor­tant opportunities (and constraints) that ultimately help explain the varied outcomes that emerged. Of course, ­these international trends alone do not explain the emergence of specific nationally mandated participatory reforms in the par­tic­u ­lar countries ­under study. Domestic f­ actors enabled and s­ haped the reform pro­ cess. The three case studies in part 2 demonstrate that national leaders’ strategic interests often combined with ideological preferences and institutional strategies to propel ­these reform efforts.

6  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

A THEORY OF TOP-­DOWN PARTICIPATORY GOVERNANCE

Have t­ hese reforms changed aspects of democracy and governance over time? The short answer is not yet. Prob­lems with the design and implementation of ­t hese institutions, documented in part 2 of this book, mean that they are unlikely to resolve the demo­cratic deficit facing so many countries. However, nuances in the data also suggest that the longer answer is more complicated than a ­simple no. The analy­sis indicates that citizens and CSOs are certainly more engaged in decisions about subnational public policy as a result of ­t hese reforms. When national governments mandate that subnational governments open their doors and allow citizens and CSOs to get involved in politics in more direct and sustained ways, t­ hese citizens w ­ ill enter. Further, u ­ nder certain circumstances, detailed in l­ ater chapters, nationally mandated participatory reforms can improve government effectiveness and responsiveness. However, the forums do not successfully engage historically marginalized actors, such as ­women or citizens of indigenous descent. Nor do ­these public policy decision-­making pro­cesses reduce corruption. Thus, the evidence clearly suggests that a nationally mandated participatory reform is by itself not able to overcome the deep-­rooted structural prob­lems of corruption, elitism, discrimination, and patriarchy. Like their representative institutional counter­ parts, nationally mandated participatory reforms set up new institutional outlets for hierarchical, corrupt, and authoritarian tendencies that persist in many developing countries. Why are the outcomes so limited? The systematic cross-­national comparison that unfolds in part 2 provides the depth of analy­sis that helps us understand this puzzle. During the design phase, domestic critical junctures define the very nature of the reform, which then can shape and influence the eventual outcomes. Once the design is complete, as subnational governments implement the pro­cess, several ­factors intervene in the pro­cess to ­either improve or reduce changes in aspects of democracy and governance over time: (1) elected officials’ support for the reform effort, often demonstrated through provision of tangible resources for training and technical assistance; (2) a relatively or­ ga­nized civil society sector; and (3) an institutionalized po­liti­cal party system that can curtail clientelism. Contrary to reformers’ promises and expectations, ­t hese reforms have not effectively improved the myriad and deep-­rooted prob­lems with democracy and governance in developing countries. This does not mean that the reforms

Making the Promise  7

are not useful or that the efforts should be scrapped. In fact, given what we know about the durability of institutions, it is extremely unlikely that ­these reforms w ­ ill go away. Rather, the evidence demonstrates that reformers need to understand the ­factors that are limiting more robust outcomes. Only then can they mitigate the severity of ­t hese very real challenges and achieve the original goals and objectives more effectively. NATIONALLY MANDATED PARTICIPATORY REFORMS

The emergence of nationally mandated participatory reforms is best understood in light of the emerging global importance of participatory governance more broadly.3 Participatory governance refers to state-­sanctioned institutional pro­ cesses that allow citizens to exercise voice and vote, which then result in the implementation of public policies that produce some sort of changes in citizens’ lives (see McNulty and Wampler 2015). Participatory institutions represent the formal and codified versions of ­t hese pro­cesses. Thus, new and innovative institutions meant to channel citizens’ or civil society’s preferences and interests provide multiple opportunities for participation in a par­t ic­u ­lar set of decisions. Institutions of participatory governance are not meant to replace existing representative channels; rather, they complement them by expanding the venues for participation for the average citizen (Wampler 2012a). The increased prevalence of participatory governance reforms is inherently interconnected with the waves of democ­ratization and decentralization reforms that have taken place over the past three de­cades, discussed in more detail in chapter 3.4 As it became clear that the representative demo­cratic institutions—­ now commonplace in most countries—­d id not meet citizens’ expectations, national reformers around the world stepped in to mandate participatory institutions in newly empowered subnational governments. ­These officials set lofty goals. For example, Bolivia’s Law of Popu­lar Participation states in its first article: “This law . . . ​strengthens the po­liti­cal and economic instruments needed to perfect representative democracy, facilitating citizen participation and guaranteeing equal opportunities for ­women and men.”5 Peru’s General Decentralization Law (Law 27,783), passed ­a fter amending the constitution, states that the reform “is demo­cratic: It is a form of demo­cratically organ­izing the state through po­liti­cal, social, economic, cultural, administrative, and financial planning. It promotes equal opportunity to access the highest levels of ­human development in each area and state-­society relations based on participation and consensus-­building in government administration.” 6 Interviewees,

8  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

many of them closely involved with the reform efforts, told me that they hoped to hold mayors and governors more accountable while also improving the nature of citizen engagement in t­ hese countries. In some countries reformers sought to improve public administration and strengthen governance as part of their decentralization efforts, meaning that some reforms have been passed u ­ nder authoritarian or semi-­authoritarian regimes, such as t­ hose in Rwanda and Uganda. For example, Rwanda’s government introduced a nationally mandated participatory reform explic­itly to improve government effectiveness and ser­v ice delivery as part of their phased decentralization reform a­ fter their horrific genocide (Commonwealth Local Government Forum 2013; Fujii 2009; Straus and Waldorf 2011). Thus, governance concerns (and not demo­cratic deepening) are driving the reform agenda. Of course, ideas surrounding citizen engagement and participatory practices are not new. The concept of participatory governance harks back to theoretical debates about the nature of democracy that took place in the seventeenth and eigh­teenth centuries. For example, Jean-­Jacques Rousseau and John Stuart Mill argued that direct forms of participation w ­ ere needed in the modern po­liti­cal sphere. However, throughout the first half of the nineteenth ­century dominant theories of democracy and democ­ratization stressed participation through electoral means (e.g., Dahl 1956; Huntington 1991; Shumpeter 1942). In the 1960s and 1970s, as social movements demanded entry into the po­liti­cal system, demo­cratic theorists such as Carol Pateman (1970) and Jane Mansbridge (1983) argued for more participatory forms of democracy. Slowly, more voices spoke to the need for demo­cratic systems that engage their citizens beyond the voting booth (Barber 1984; de Sousa Santos 2005; Elster 1998; Fischer 2003; Fishkin 1993; Habermas 1996; Pateman 2012). As efforts to de­moc­ra­tize swept the globe, especially in the late twentieth ­century, participation and participatory planning also became much more ingrained in the international development lexicon. Donors and nongovernmental organ­izations began promoting direct participation in decision making in almost e­ very policy arena and forum. For example, in the early 1990s, the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) launched its Participation Initiative, and the World Bank began experimenting with Participatory Poverty Assessments, which included stakeholders’ voices in country background papers (Corneille and Shiffman 2004; Salmen 1995). USAID’s Democracy, ­Human Rights, and Governance strategy embraces participation and inclusion as a desired outcome for all programs (United States Agency

Making the Promise  9

for International Development 2013). Participatory practices have become firmly entrenched in almost all aspects of international development.7 Participatory governance reforms represent one par­tic­u ­lar kind of approach. Importantly, the current trend to advocate for participatory governance, embraced by scholars, international donors, nonprofit organ­izations, and local activists, has been taking place in the context of what Gianpaolo Baiocchi and Ernesto Ganuza call the “new spirit of government” (2017, 20). This “spirit” has roots in the emergence of the new public management movement in the Global North during the 1970s and 1980s that slowly spread around the world through structural adjustment programs, promising to bring more efficient states closer to the ­people. As state apparatuses around the world contracted, subnational governments increasingly relied on citizen engagement mechanisms to solve policy prob­lems (Baiocchi and Ganuza 2017; Lee, McQuarrie, and Walker 2015; Polletta 2014). This spirit gave rise to a new conceptualization of governments that are both smaller and citizen-­centric at the same time (Baiocchi and Ganuza 2017). This context is impor­tant to keep in mind when exploring the boom in participatory governance reforms around the world. Nationally Mandated vs. Locally Driven

Scholars typically distinguish between two kinds of participatory reforms: (1) nationally mandated (also called top-­down or induced) and (2) locally driven (also called bottom-up or organic). Nationally mandated reforms, codified by national executives and parliaments, set up participatory institutions in subnational governments around a given country. This kind of reform is the subject of this book. Locally driven pro­cesses are generated primarily by grassroots efforts, often (but not always) exist in relative isolation, and have no national law mandating their implementation in additional localities. CSOs may work with local government officials to design participatory institutions that engage more citizens. ­There is an extensive lit­er­a­ture about the adoption and effects of ­t hese bottom-up institutions around the world;8 however, this book is not about them. Instead, this book focuses on seventeen cases of nationally mandated participatory reforms that emerged in the developing world from 1985 to 2015. This distinction, while analytically useful, is blurred in practice. Brazil’s participatory bud­geting pro­cess, one of the most emblematic bottom-up participatory governance experiences, emerged as part of a series of constitutional reforms passed in 1988 (Avritzer 2009). And former mayors who had

10  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

implemented locally driven pro­cesses in Congress promoted Peru’s top-­down participatory bud­geting law, the subject of chapter 6 (McNulty 2011). While the lines are not clear, it is helpful to distinguish pro­cesses that have been codified at the national level and implemented in all subnational governments, therefore earning the term “nationally mandated.” D ­ oing so permits the identification of ­factors that explain the nature of and outcomes associated with t­ hese wide-­reaching and nationally codified institutions. ­There is an in­ter­est­ing tension at work in nationally mandated participatory reforms. On the one hand, nationally mandated participatory institutions represent the push for more participatory practices at the local levels of politics. For some scholars, participatory practices represent exciting ways to engage p ­ eople who are normally left out of po­liti­cal decision making (e.g., Barber 1984; Escobar 1995; Pateman 1970). On the other hand, the top-­down nature of the reform goes against the ideas espoused by some of ­t hese same scholars about the importance of locally driven, context-­specific, innovative, and flexible policies. This book explores the possibilities for mixing t­ hese two seemingly contradictory concepts: nationally mandated and participatory. De­cades ­after ­t hese efforts have become mainstream in public policy, previous works have not determined w ­ hether t­hese reforms have been able to effectively alter aspects of democracy and governance in the developing world. This book systematically analyzes the nature, origin, and impact of the reforms with data from seventeen countries. Before delving into the analy­sis, however, it is useful to review the findings from existing scholarship that explores ­t hese questions. Why Adopt?

Why do nationally elected officials pass reforms that empower ordinary citizens to take part in subnational public policy decision making? In previous work, I argued that ­t hese efforts are counterintuitive, as they potentially take away decision-­making power from subnational elected officials and transfer that power to unelected citizens (McNulty 2011). ­These reform efforts are also complicated by the fact that local government officials do not always support efforts that reduce their decision-­making power (Andersson and Van Laerhoven 2007). One goal of this book is to look more systematically at why national reformers empower ­these new actors throughout the developing world. ­Because ­there is ­little existing theory to guide this analy­sis, the book borrows from (and

Making the Promise  11

contributes to) the large body of lit­er­a­ture exploring why some institutional choices, codified into law, are made and ­others are not. This existing scholarship can be broadly categorized into two groups: agent-­and structure-­centered. ­Those who prescribe to an agent-­based perspective, often called the rational agent school, focus on individual agency, and argue that politicians design institutions to further their self-­interest.9 An alternative set of scholars, historical institutionalists, argue that an array of structural f­actors affect both institutional design and evolution, such as history, pressure from social movements, and public opinion.10 Stressing the dynamic nature of institutions, this school of thought reminds us that institutional choices are path-­dependent and that new institutions emerge in light of continuous negotiations about the rules of the game. Conflicts, contexts, and structures work together to determine the nature of new and evolving institutional choices. The role of structural ­factors in explaining the emergence of institutional innovation has led historical institutionalists to emphasize the role of “critical junctures”—or a “period of significant change” that produces an institutional legacy—­when explaining institutional change (Collier and Collier 1991, 29). Critical junctures often lead to moments of institutional flux, which open up possibilities for institutional change that other­w ise would have been difficult to achieve (Capoccia and Kelemen 2007). ­There are no global studies of nationally mandated participatory reforms that compare reformers’ motivations across time and space. The scholarship that does exist is based on bottom-up cases or documentation of one or two top-­ down experiences. Th ­ ese authors tend to find that both structures and agents explain the reform pro­cesses that they are documenting. For example, many works document the power­ful role that individual leaders play in creating ­t hese reforms (Grindle 2000; Mayka 2019; McNulty 2011; Wampler 2007c). A variety of ­factors inform their choices, such as ideology and strategic calculations (Cameron and Hershberg 2010; Chavez and Goldfrank 2004; Goldfrank 2011a; Levitsky and Roberts 2011; Peruzzotti and Selee 2009; Schneider and Welp 2015; Wampler 2007c). However, leaders do not make choices in a vacuum. Structural ­factors, specifically “critical economic and social conditions,” explain the trend to widely adopt some participatory institutions, such as referendums (Negretto 2013, 3; see also Grindle 2000; Schneider and Welp 2011). This book builds on this scholarship to systematically analyze the extent to which structures and agents affect the emergence of nationally mandated participatory reforms across the developing world.

12  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

What Results?

This book also represents the first global analy­sis that explores the long-­term effects of nationally mandated participatory reforms on par­tic­u ­lar aspects of democracy and governance. To date, ­t hese effects are not well understood. Scholars have been able to document a wide range of effects of participatory governance reforms in a variety of contexts around the world. In some cases, for example, the reforms have changed individual attitudes about their own personal efficacy and about governments. ­These changes have led supporters to call participatory institutions “schools of democracy” (Cameron, Hershberg, and Sharpe 2012; Nylen 2003; Wampler 2007a, 2015). In Brazil, participatory institutions, specifically participatory bud­gets, have changed community dynamics, such as increasing the number of civic associations and strengthening local civil society sectors (Baiocchi 2005; Baiocchi, Heller, and Silva 2011). Françoise Montambeault (2016) finds that ­u nder certain conditions participatory institutions can change the nature of state-­society relations at the municipal level. We are also starting to understand the impact of participatory institutions on long-­term development goals. For example, Michael Touchton and Brian Wampler (2014) have documented improvements in citizens’ well-­being, as mea­sured by the H ­ uman Development Index, in communities that implement participatory bud­geting in Brazil (see also Boulding and Wampler 2010; Touchton, Borges, and Wampler 2017). At the same time, as Gianpaolo Baiocchi and Ernesto Ganuza (2017) note, much of the scholarship about participatory governance takes for granted the demo­cratizing effect of ­t hese reforms. Advocates of participatory governance reforms often argue that t­ hese efforts can and should effectively deepen democracy and improve governance (Baiocchi, Heller, and Silva 2011; Pateman 2012). Yet, few works systematically analyze if ­these goals—­that is, the promise of nationally mandated participatory reforms—­are being met. One of the reasons that we have a less elaborated understanding of the ways that ­t hese reforms change democracy and governance over time is that it is extremely difficult to document the impact of nationally mandated participatory reforms in the developing world. One challenge lies in mea­sur­ing changes in ­t hese elusive aspects of a po­liti­cal system—­democracy and governance—­ after a legislative body passes a nationally mandated participatory reform. It is nearly impossible to capture the effects in a rapidly changing and complex national po­liti­cal environment (Faguet 2014). Even if the perfect data did exist, it would be very hard to definitively link one reform to changes observed at the

Making the Promise  13

national level over time. Kenneth Newton (2012, 13) argues that it is hard to capture the impact of innovative policies and that “evidence is hard to come by . . . ​partly ­because research trying to sort out cause and effect complexities in the real world is a minefield of prob­lems, and partly b ­ ecause the initial impact may soon wear off, while o ­ thers may take generations or more to take effect.” A second set of challenges lies in data availability. Ideally, we would explore data about democracy, governance, and citizen participation at the level of the subnational government in dif­fer­ent countries before and ­a fter the reform. Given data limitations, however, t­ here is simply no way to explore micro-­level changes at the subnational level in a rigorous way using a comparative framework. For example, comprehensive statistical data about subnational governments in Guatemala, Peru, and Bolivia are not available from the 1980s, the 1990s, or even the early 2000s. Thus, t­ here is simply no way to undertake a large-­N analy­sis of t­ hese changes over time. ­These data shortcomings might lead some to argue that we must abandon the effort to explore the results of ­t hese reforms around the world. I disagree. If we abandon ­t hese efforts b ­ ecause the perfect dataset is not available, then we end up asking narrow questions and avoid the most impor­tant ones, such as: Can reformers create new channels for participation that mitigate or mediate the myriad prob­lems facing the developing world in terms of both democracy and governance? The complications inherent in this task do not render the effort futile. It is pos­si­ble to explore several outcomes ­after national reforms are passed to restructure state-­society relations, and my research proj­ect has embraced this challenge. This analy­sis rests on the premise that reformers design ­t hese institutions with the stated goal of deepening democracy around each country. They hope that by setting up participatory institutions in ­every community around the country, aspects of democracy and governance ­w ill slowly strengthen and improve around the nation. In theory, then, ­after a reform is passed and implemented, changes should eventually be observed at the national level. If not, intervening variables are preventing ­t hese changes from taking place. Thus, it is plausible to expect some sort of positive change in democracy and governance to be observed around the nation over time. Triangulating existing data allows us to address both challenges. Indices, qualitative narratives, and surveys do exist for the three case studies, and they capture effects and causal mechanisms at the national, subnational, and

14  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

individual citizen levels. Further, some within-­case analyses also complement the existing national data. I argue that combining interview data, existing statistics, and case study narratives can tell us something about changes. While more rigorous statistical analy­sis, when (or if) additional data are available, may be able to tell us about statistically significant causal relations, we do not need to wait for ­t hose data to appear or spend de­cades collecting subnational data on our own. We can start to document and analyze the changes that have occurred to date. To undertake this exercise we should first ask: What changes in democracy and governance do we expect to see de­cades a­ fter a nationally mandated participatory reform is passed? Three comparative works start to provide an analytical framework that generates a series of expectations that we can look for when delving into the case studies. First, Jean-­Paul Faguet’s (2014) special issue of World Development discusses a series of dimensions that reformers would expect to see change a­ fter decentralization reforms that purport to deepen democracy, such as Bolivia’s and Peru’s, are implemented (see also Faguet, Fox, and Pöschl 2015). Second, Maxwell Cameron, Eric Hershberg, and Kenneth Sharpe’s edited volume, New Institutions for Participatory Democracy in Latin Amer­i­ca: Voice and Consequence, hypothesizes several potential effects on the “aims and purposes of democracy” (2012, 10). And third, Andrew Selee and Enrique Peruzzotti’s edited volume, Participatory Innovation and Repre­ sentative Democracy in Latin Amer­i­ca (2009), also discusses several potential outcomes. Combined, t­ hese scholars agree that nationally mandated participatory reforms should affect three specific dimensions of democracy and governance:11

•

expanded participation in the public sphere (democracy) increased government responsiveness and effectiveness (governance) • reduced corruption (governance) •

Chapter 2 explicates the exact hypotheses, sources of data, and indicators that ­w ill be used to determine if t­ hese expected outcomes are effectively emerging in the countries u ­ nder study. Which ­Factors Condition Results?

Once the effects are documented, we can also explore the causal mechanisms that underlie the observed outcomes. Although ­t here is no body of work that focuses on nationally mandated participatory reforms, many works have

Making the Promise  15

explored variation of results in cases of similar institutional reforms, especially participatory bud­geting, in Latin Amer­i­ca.12 Five ­factors emerge as particularly impor­tant. Design  One clear finding from the lit­er­a­ture on participatory governance is

that rules and design can affect the nature of the outcomes effected by participatory reforms (Baiocchi, Heller, and Silva 2011; Font et al. 2017; Fung 2006; Goldfrank 2011a; Mayka 2019; McNulty 2011; Montambeault 2016; Wampler 2007c). Two par­tic­u­lar design aspects are held constant in the three in-­depth case studies in part 2: (1) their top-­down nature13 and (2) the stress on engaging CSOs (and not individual citizens14). However, other aspects of the design do vary, such as the kind of institution that is set up. The analy­sis in parts 2 and 3 explores the extent to which dif­fer­ent design decisions and contexts affect the observed outcomes. Support of Po­liti­cal Leaders  The support of leaders, both national and subnational, is often determinate in explaining results. In Brazil, Ec­ua­dor, Mexico, and Peru, elected officials’ support at all levels of government helps explain not only the emergence of the institution but also the variation in outcomes (McNulty 2011; Montambeault 2016; Van Cott 2008; Wampler 2007c, 2008). Resources  Resources might also condition the results of ­these reform efforts.

In Benjamin Goldfrank’s comparison of participatory bud­geting in Peru, Guatemala, Nicaragua, and Bolivia, he argues that when “national or international aid programs provide proj­ect funding, technical assistance, or both,” participatory bud­geting tends to be more successful (Goldfrank 2007a, 116; see also Goldfrank 2011a). Thus, resources dedicated to the implementation of the participatory reform may condition the eventual results. Civil Society Sectors  Another ­factor that explains variation in the outcomes

of some participatory reforms is the nature of civil society, defined as “the social fabric formed by a multiplicity of self-­constituted territorially-­and functionally-­based units which peacefully coexist and collectively resist subordination to the state, at the same time that they demand inclusion into national po­liti­c al structures” (Oxhorn 1995, 251–252). By comparing cases of participatory bud­geting around Brazil, Brian Wampler and Leonardo Avritzer (2004) argue that “empowered civil socie­t ies” further the success of

16  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

participatory institutions (see also Baiocchi, Heller, and Silva 2011; Balderacchi 2016; Mayka 2011; McNulty 2011; Montambeault 2016). Po­liti­cal Party Systems  Fi­nally, the nature of the po­liti­cal party system may

affect the results of participatory reforms. Previous research suggests that institutionalized po­liti­cal parties can help produce strategic leaders and a base of support for reforms (Van Cott 2008). The degree and strength of opposition movements condition results in some circumstances as well (Goldfrank 2007b, 2011a). Specifically, strong opposition movements can force reformers in the governing party to restrict program design, which ultimately restricts the potential for deepening democracy. In sum, we know that t­hese five ­factors have conditioned the results of several other participatory institutions in a variety of contexts, especially participatory bud­geting pro­cesses around the world. This book applies this scholarship to the analy­sis of nationally mandated participatory reforms in the developing world. CONCLUSION

Scholars and policymakers often assume that nationally mandated participatory reforms can help fix the demo­cratic deficit by improving aspects of democracy and governance, yet l­ ittle systematic evidence is available to test this assumption. The analy­sis h ­ ere—­based on seventeen nationally mandated participatory reforms, implemented from 1985 to 2015 in the developing world—­ suggests that more citizens are effectively participating in policy decisions. However, contrary to reformers’ expectations and conventional wisdom, this participation is not effectively leading to improved democracy or governance in most environments. This lack of net improvement does not mean that the reforms are pointless; however, it does mean that advocates of t­ hese reforms need to mitigate the f­ actors that are limiting their effects as they promote t­ hese efforts around the world. Without ­these efforts, the promise ­w ill remain unfulfilled. As the first global study of the effects of top-­down participatory reforms, this book makes several impor­tant contributions to our understanding of citizen participation, local governance, and participatory democracy. ­Because of its emphasis on the effects of participatory reforms, the book contributes to the newest wave of research on participatory governance, which seeks to move beyond documenting design and pro­cess to grapple with the outcomes

Making the Promise  17

that emerge. The book also contributes to the large body of historical institutionalist scholarship when confirming the importance of history and pro­ cess in effecting outcomes that emerge from this institutional reform in three countries. This work also improves our understanding of democracy and governance in the developing world in an age of neoliberal hegemony. It is a timely addition to the growing scholarly interest in the quality of democracy in countries that are struggling to meet their citizens’ demands a­ fter formally adopting demo­cratic procedures and dismantling large state structures. As reformers around the world turn to participatory institutions to deepen their demo­cratic systems and fill the void in governance left in many places, the book provides a clear understanding of their potential and limitations. Although primarily about developing countries, the book is also relevant to ­t hose who are focused on deepening democracy in the United States and Eu­rope. Participatory institutions exist around North Amer­i­ca and Eu­rope as leaders seek new ways to engage disenfranchised citizens (Public Agenda 2016).15 For example, city council members from around the New York City area invite constituents on an annual basis to propose and vote on ways to spend tax dollars in their communities through participatory bud­geting pro­cesses.16 The New York City experience builds on Alderman Joe Moore’s work in Chicago’s 49th Ward. Alderman Moore is the first government official to bring participatory bud­geting to the United States a­ fter learning about the experience in Porto Alegre, Brazil.17 Participatory bud­geting has since spread to dozens of cities around the United States. ­These examples illustrate that the demo­cratic deficit affects almost ­every country around the world. The book offers broadly applicable insight for all advocates and observers of participatory institutions, regardless of who sets them up and where they are. P ­ eople in cities, states, and countries around the world, including the United States and Eu­rope, are struggling to better respond to community needs, hold officials more accountable, and clean up corrupt politics. The analy­sis provides several lessons for citizens, scholars, and activists struggling to improve democracy and government functioning in diverse contexts. The book unfolds in six subsequent chapters. Chapter 2 describes the methodological devices employed throughout the analy­sis, carefully detailing how the in­de­pen­dent and dependent variables are operationalized. Chapter 3 turns to the macro analy­sis, highlighting trends and patterns that emerge when we

18  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

document all cases of nationally mandated participatory reforms around the developing world. With the aim of elucidating causal pro­cesses in more depth, part 2 documents the reform efforts in three countries: Guatemala, Bolivia, and Peru. Chapters 4, 5, and 6 detail the reform adoption pro­cess and the ­legal framework in each country, then explore why national-­level politicians deci­ ded to set up participatory institutions in subnational governments. Each chapter also documents the results of the reform, then explores the ­factors that enhance or limit t­ hese results. Fi­nally, chapter 7 turns to a comparative analy­ sis of the three case studies, returning to the initial questions with which this book grapples.

2

OPERATIONALIZING THE PROMISE

this chapter is most relevant to t­ hose readers who are interested in the methodological choices and tools employed throughout the book. It defines and clarifies the exact nature of a nationally mandated participatory reform as well as the specific outcomes that we expect to emerge. In other words, the discussion explicates the in­de­pen­dent and dependent variables of this analy­sis in much more depth. The discussion below also describes aspects of the research design, such as case se­lection and data sources, to ensure complete methodological transparency. WHAT ARE NATIONALLY MANDATED PARTICIPATORY REFORMS?

The essence of nationally mandated participatory reforms lies in national-­level elected officials’ efforts to design and codify new institutions that channel citizen participation as well as give citizens or civil society organ­izations decision-­making power in subnational governmental pro­cesses. This is a pro­ cess; it begins with constitutional language or a major overhaul of the state structure (e.g., a comprehensive decentralization reform) and evolves slowly over time.1 It is dynamic. Due to space limitations, this analy­sis cannot capture ­every aspect of the dynamic evolution of the reforms; rather, it focuses on the most impor­tant steps in codification and the resultant outcomes. To be included in this study, a nationally mandated participatory reform effort must meet several specific criteria. First, it must be based in the developing world. Second, it must exist in a decentralized state apparatus. And third, ­there must be a national ­legal framework in place mandating participatory 19

20  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

institutions in subnational governments. This section discusses each criterion in more depth. The Developing World

The book focuses on the developing world, admittedly a problematic term, as issues of democracy and governance are extremely urgent in t­ hese countries.2 Many countries in Latin Amer­i­ca, Asia, and Africa are experiencing ongoing democ­ratization pro­cesses, which are complicated and uncertain. The stakes are very high, as the citizen protest movements in Brazil, South Africa, and Venezuela over the past few years demonstrate. Improving democracy and governance is at the top of the list of national priorities in many of t­ hese developing countries. I operationalize this criterion using the World Bank’s system, which classifies all countries according to gross national income per capita. Using this indicator, the World Bank groups countries into the following income categories: low, lower ­middle, upper m ­ iddle, and high.3 When identifying the population of countries to study, I included all countries except ­those that ­were high income at the end of 2014.4 Decentralized State Apparatus

Nationally mandated participatory reforms are also intimately intertwined with decentralized state structures.5 Defined as “a set of policies . . . ​that transfer responsibilities, resources, or authority from higher to lower levels of government” (Falleti 2010, 34), decentralization reforms have been implemented in almost ­every country in the developing world (United Cities and Local Governments 2008, 2010). To be included in the study, a country must have effectively decentralized its state structure by empowering subnational governments with both autonomous powers and financial resources. Subnational Participatory Institutions

Fi­nally, to be included in the analy­sis, the national government must have set up a participatory l­egal framework that is implemented widely in subnational governments. In other words, t­ here has to be a par­tic­u­lar form of what Gianpaolo Baiocchi, Patrick Heller, and Marcelo Silva (2011) call “demo­cratic decentralization,” that is, devolving authority to subnational governments in conjunction with increasing the spaces in which citizens and civil society organ­izations can interact with governments in making public policy decisions. To meet the criterion, a case must meet ­t hese requirements:

Operationalizing the Promise  21





• ­There

is a l­egal framework for participatory institutions as part of a constitution or other national law that regulates subnational governments, and not through decrees or sector-­specific ­legal frameworks, such as a health code. An implementation mechanism must exist as part of this ­legal framework; • The legislation must demand that citizens or civil society organ­ izations participate in t­ hese institutions; and • The design must mandate ongoing interactions—as opposed to one-­time interactions—­and give actors meaningful decision-­making power.

Of course, a l­ egal framework on paper in the developing world does not always mean that effective implementation ensues. However, the ­legal framework of a reform is an impor­tant place to start when exploring the existence and impact of t­ hese efforts over time. If national reforms are passed and “on the books,” so to speak, then policymakers, legislators, and other elected officials have put time and effort into passing ­these complex reforms. It means that a critical mass of supporters came forward to push a participatory reform forward—no small task in any country. Importantly, an implementation mechanism does exist in ­every case that is included in the analy­sis. For example, in many cases a city or state must demonstrate some level of compliance for the most part to get its bud­get passed or its development plans approved. This means that time and effort are being dedicated to implementing t­ hese reforms. Before moving on to elucidate the potential outcomes of ­t hese reforms, it is impor­tant to be clear about what this kind of reform is not. Several kinds of institutions that foster direct citizen participation are not included in this study. For example, scholars have documented “direct democracy,” “accountability,” or “community empowerment” mechanisms, such as open town hall meetings, citizen report cards, recalls, and referendums (Brinkherhoff with Azfar 2010; Geissel and Newton 2012; Lissidini, Welp, and Zovatto 2008; Peruzzotti 2012; Tuesta Soldev­illa 2014). While they do engage citizens and allow them to participate in new ways, t­ hese institutions are not necessarily about sustained and meaningful decision making in subnational governments. Other participatory institutions that are impor­tant but not explored in this book are “prior consent” (or consulta previa in Spanish) pro­cesses. Stemming from the International ­Labour Organ­ization’s Convention 169, this practice has emerged in many nations as a way to consult indigenous communities that are

22  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

affected by natu­ral resource extraction before major contracts are signed. All of the countries discussed in part 2 have prior consent pro­cesses in place; however, they are mostly mandated when indigenous communities (not all communities) are affected by extractive proj­ects. As such, while impor­tant, they are not the subject of this study. Additional participatory institutions, also not included in this study, are codified through one branch of a national government, such as the Ministry of Health or the Ministry of Education. For example, for de­cades many countries have had participatory educational or health councils in place to advise on ­t hese sectors’ policies.6 While also in­ter­est­ing, ­t hese institutions are ultimately restricted in size and scope. Members make decisions about one sector of policy (e.g., health or education) or through one executive branch agency. Fi­nally, in some countries, elected officials pass national legislation that opens the door to or incentivizes subnational governments to choose to develop their own participatory institutions. For example, the amended Mexican Constitution includes language that allows municipalities to create participatory planning councils. However, not all governments have taken advantage of this possibility; therefore, the participatory institutions do not exist in ­every municipal government (Benton 2012, 2016; Fox 2007; Selee 2011). Another trend when implementing participatory bud­get pro­cesses more specifically has been creating national participatory bud­geting pro­cesses based on incentives and not fixed mandates. This currently exists through finance legislation in the Philippines and Colombia. The institutions ­under study in this analy­sis exist across policy sectors and agencies and in ­every subnational government, therefore potentially opening up decision making to a much larger population and addressing a broad range of issues. Using ­t hese criteria, I developed a database of 142 countries in the developing world that had decentralized frameworks to determine which countries had mandated participatory reforms. Based on that analy­sis, I identify seventeen countries that passed nationally mandated participatory reforms, listed ­here in alphabetical order, with the year that nationally elected officials began the reform pro­cess noted in parentheses:7 Bolivia (1994) • Brazil (1988) • Chile (2011) • Colombia (1991) •

Mozambique (2000) • Nicaragua (2003) • Peru (2002) • Philippines (1987) •

Operationalizing the Promise  23

Dominican Republic (2007) Ec­ua­dor (2008) • Guatemala (1985) • Honduras (2006) • India (1992)

Rwanda (2000) South Africa (1996) • Uganda (1995) • Venezuela (1999)

•

•

•

•

Identifying cases of nationally mandated participatory reforms in the developing world is inherently challenging. Leaders change, and reform packages shift or emerge in new ways. Data are not widely available about their implementation. Further, not all cases are clear-­cut. For example, in some developing countries ­t here is a law to decentralize the po­liti­cal system, but local elections are not taking place on a regular basis. In other cases mayors are appointed, not elected. In some countries t­ here are participatory institutions that exist in certain areas of the country but not in all areas. Some participatory programs are mostly the result of international donor support, such as Indonesia’s Kecamatan Development Program and El Salvador’s Participatory Bud­geting program (Bland 2010; Mansuri and Rao 2013; Olken 2010). K ­ enya’s 2010 Constitution includes language about public participation in management of public finances; however, by 2015 the l­egal framework was in too early a state of development to include in this study.8 Fi­nally, some developed countries, such as South ­Korea and Portugal, have passed national participatory bud­geting laws. They are also not included ­here. In sum, this analy­sis includes seventeen cases of nationally mandated participatory reforms that ­were implemented in developing countries between 1985 and 2015. The book explores them at the macro level in chapter 3 (using data that is expanded on in an annex that is available online)9 and at the meso level in part 2. MEA­SUR­ING DIMENSIONS OF DEMOCRACY AND GOVERNANCE

It is impor­tant to be clear about how changes in democracy and governance ­w ill be mea­sured in the three case studies. This book does not delve into discussions about the meaning of the terms “democracy” and “governance,” as ­t here is a large and contentious lit­er­a­ture that does just that.10 I rely on Dahl’s (1971) seminal work on democracy, which conceptualizes two fundamental characteristics of this po­liti­cal system: participation and competitive opposition. Dahl elaborates his work on democracy with a focus on procedural and

24  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

electoral aspects of demo­cratic rule. I transfer his insight into the analy­sis of participation to new venues: participatory institutions. Most, although not all, reformers in the seventeen countries have promised to improve some aspects of democracy by designing and implementing nationally mandated participatory reforms, including ­t hose in Guatemala, Bolivia, and Peru. Reformers in all countries also implement ­t hese efforts to improve governance, specifically stressing goals to improve state efficiencies. The meaning of “governance” is also contested, although in broad strokes it can be thought of as a term that moves beyond ideas about authority and power ­toward a view of institutions (governments and states) and how they work.11 ­Because ­these two concepts are extremely wide-­ranging, this book borrows from the work of Faguet (2014), Cameron, Hershberg, and Sharpe (2012), and Peruzzotti and Selee (2009), introduced in chapter 1, to narrow the analy­sis to three specific dimensions of democracy and governance: participation in the public sphere; government responsiveness and effectiveness; and corruption. This section elucidates the exact indicators and data sources that are used to document changes in ­t hese dimensions over time. Expanded Participation in the Public Sphere

This dimension captures one of the most impor­tant aspects of democracy: Who participates in the public sphere? Advocates of participatory institutions purport to expand the mechanisms for citizen participation by creating nonelectoral institutions that engage more p ­ eople in policy decision making in more sustained ways. Several scholars also argue that participatory institutions potentially open up new venues for historically marginalized populations to increase their voice in po­liti­cal pro­cesses (Cameron, Hershberg, and Sharpe 2012; Fung and Wright 2003; Goldfrank 2011b; Peruzzotti and Selee 2009). Thus, if nationally mandated participatory institutions are living up to their promise, we should expect to see expanded engagement in public life emerge, including increased participation by historically marginalized actors. Three indicators lend themselves to documenting expanded participation:

1 the number of participatory institutions set up in subnational governments over time; 2 the number of citizens or representatives taking part in participatory forums over time; and 3 access of historically marginalized groups to participatory forums over time, including w ­ omen and ­people of indigenous descent.12

Operationalizing the Promise  25

If a nationally mandated participatory institution is effectively expanding participation, we would expect to see an increase in ­t hese three indicators over time. Information on t­ hese indicators for the three case studies is available from the following sources: government data; observations; interviews with experts; primary and secondary documents; and the Variety of Democracy (V-­Dem) Civil Society Participation Index,13 which mea­sures “a robust civil society, understood as one that enjoys autonomy from the state and in which citizens freely and actively pursue their po­liti­cal and civic goals, however conceived” (Coppedge, Gerring, Lindberg, et al. 2017).14 Increased Government Responsiveness and Effectiveness

It is not enough to get new actors engaged in public policy decisions; another test of the impact of t­hese reforms is w ­ hether they generate decisions that reflect citizens’ needs and demands (Cameron, Hershberg, and Sharpe 2012; Faguet 2014; Fung and Wright 2003).15 Or, as Cameron, Hershberg, and Sharpe (2012, 11) ask: Do “po­liti­cal decisions or other outcomes reflect what policymakers hear from citizens who are participating through t­ hese new institutions”? We can also explore w ­ hether t­ hese decisions lead to the equitable distribution of public resources (Cameron, Hershberg, and Sharpe 2012). This dimension reflects an impor­tant aspect of governance—­the ability of state institutions to respond to citizens’ most pressing needs. This dimension can be captured by exploring changes in three indicators:

1 government effectiveness; 2 citizen trust in elected officials; and 3 spending priorities that reflect stated development priorities.

If the reforms are achieving their goals, then we would expect positive changes in the three indicators over time. Data for ­t hese indicators for all three case studies are available from several sources, including the Latin American Public Opinion Proj­ect (LAPOP); V-­Dem; the World Bank Governance Indicators; primary and secondary documents; and interviews with experts. Reduced Corruption

Advocates of participatory reforms also assert that they can or should improve another aspect of governance: reducing levels of corruption. In essence, this often means limiting the ways that constituents can buy access to public works. Advocates would expect nationally mandated participatory reforms to reduce

26  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

­Table 2.1. ​Summary Analy­sis of Dimension Mea­sure­ment

Dimension

Indicator

Data Source

Expanded participation in the public sphere   a) Increased participation

1. Number of participatory institutions set up in subnational governments over time

Interviews, primary and secondary documents

2. Number of citizens or representatives participating in participatory forums over time

Interviews, primary and secondary documents, V-­Dem

  b) Inclusive participation

3. Access of historically marginalized groups to participatory forums over time, including w ­ omen and p ­ eople of indigenous descent

Observations, interviews, primary and secondary documents

Increased government responsiveness and effectiveness

1. Government effectiveness

Interviews, World Bank Governance Indicators, V-­Dem

2. Citizen trust in elected officials

LAPOP survey data

3. Spending priorities that reflect development priorities

Primary and secondary documentation

1. Control of corruption

Interviews, primary and secondary documents, V-­Dem, LAPOP survey data

Reduced corruption

source: Author.

corruption over time. The best way to capture this dimension for the three case studies is to mea­sure improved control of corruption, using data from LAPOP, and V-­Dem’s Public Sector Corruption Index,16 primary and secondary documents, and interview data. ­Table 2.1 summarizes the dimensions, indicators, and data sources employed to explore ­these results using the case of reforms in three countries: Guatemala, Bolivia, and Peru. CASE SE­LECTION

To best document the effects of nationally mandated participatory reforms, the book adopts a comparative method, using a limited number of case studies to test hypotheses and generate theory.17 George and Bennett (2005, 6) define a case study as “the detailed examination of an aspect of a historical episode to develop or test historical explanations that may be generalizable to other

Operationalizing the Promise  27

events.” In this analy­sis the “cases” (what George and Bennett call a “class of events”) are the nationally mandated participatory reforms, not necessarily historical events. As George and Bennett (2005) also remind us, the systematic comparative method is an especially rich one for testing hypotheses and developing theories in situations of causal complexity. When exploring the three cases in more depth, the analy­sis employs the structured, focused, comparative method, which rests on the princi­ple of organ­izing each case study around similar questions. Several aspects of each case are systematically compared: po­liti­cal and social milieu within which the reform emerged; the l­ egal framework of the nationally mandated participatory reform; an analy­sis of why reformers set up the par­tic­u ­lar l­egal package that emerged; the results of the reforms (or­ga­nized around the two dependent variables, democracy and governance); and the ­factors that are both promoting and limiting outcomes. ­Because of the small number of countries that have nationally mandated participatory reforms (relative to the total number of countries in the developing world) and the lack of reliable quantitative data that can be compared across cases, this approach proves more appropriate than a quantitative research design. When exploring cases, the book does, however, rely on both qualitative and quantitative data. This design allows for the triangulation of data and methods, building on the comparative strengths of each. Why does the book focus on participatory institutions in Guatemala, Bolivia, and Peru in part 2? The book adopts the “most similar” case se­lection method, originally elucidated by John Stuart Mill in his 1843 book A System of Logic. Also called “controlled comparison,” this method involves selecting cases that are similar in many ways, but vary in terms of the in­de­pen­dent variable that the researcher plans to explore and the observed outcomes. Several ­factors drove the case se­lection. First, the institutions exist in countries that are part of the same geo­graph­i­cal region, thereby holding some very general patterns (such as predominant language, religion, and historical trends) constant. Further, as chapter 3 w ­ ill make clear, Latin Amer­i­ca is where the bulk of the innovation in terms of participatory governance is taking place. By concentrating the cases in Latin Amer­i­ca, some general policy trends, such as the push to decentralize, de­moc­ra­tize, adopt neoliberal reforms and to embrace participatory innovations, can be held constant. Th ­ ese similarities allow for conclusions that can be generalized across a wider set of cases. At the same time, the cases also vary in impor­tant ways. The participatory institutions themselves have dif­fer­ent design characteristics. And the outcomes that are affected by the reforms vary among the three cases. Thus, the three

28  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

cases vary both in terms of the in­de­pen­dent variable—­t he exact design of the nationally mandated participatory reform—­a nd the dependent variable, or outcomes. This allows us to explore causal mechanisms and then make generalizations about t­ hese ­causes. ­Because it is impossible to completely control for ­every potential intervening and explanatory variable in the real world, I also employ pro­cess tracing as a method. Pro­cess tracing, which has grown in importance in the social sciences in the past few de­cades, “attempts to identify the intervening causal process—­t he causal chain and causal mechanism—­between an in­de­pen­dent variable (or variables) and the outcome of the dependent variable” (George and Bennett 2005, 206).18 Each of the case studies describes the pro­cesses that led to adoption of participatory reforms and the analy­sis of why some effects have emerged and ­others have not. The research pro­cess included a global analy­sis of all seventeen cases and fieldwork in three in-­depth country case studies. To better understand the fourteen global cases in which I did not conduct research, I relied on primary and secondary documentation. It was not pos­si­ble to travel to e­ very country to undertake original data collection; however, I did consult several country experts, often using email and Skype. My research assistants also visited libraries and think tanks to gather documents and interview civil society activists and academics in Ec­ua­dor, the Dominican Republic, Nicaragua, and Rwanda. To gather data for the three in-­depth case studies—on Guatemala, Bolivia, and Peru—­I undertook several research trips between 2011 and 2017. During my visits to each country, I collected data through interviews with key experts—­ scholars, activists, national and local government officials, and public policy specialists—to explore the issues of decentralization, democracy, and citizen participation. When interviewing ­t hese experts, I used the snowball sampling method. I also interviewed government officials and participants in councils and bud­get pro­cesses, and observed meetings in their local setting, specifically: two communities (El Hato and San Miguel Escobar) and one municipality (Antigua) in Guatemala; two municipalities in Bolivia (Calamarca and La Paz); and one province (Chincha) and five municipal districts in Lima, Peru. For a previous research proj­ect I had also interviewed experts and observed meetings in six regions of Peru: Ayacucho, Cajamarca, Cusco, Ilo, Lambayeque, and Loreto (see McNulty 2011). Therefore, in each country I was able to get data about national pro­cesses as well as a sample (although not a representative sample) of subnational experiences. In addition, I consulted hundreds of primary

Operationalizing the Promise  29

and secondary documents about ­t hese cases. Fi­nally, in Washington, DC, I  interviewed two former presidents—­both of whom had presided when the nationally mandated participatory reforms began in their respective countries—­ Alejandro Toledo of Peru and Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada of Bolivia.19 Combined, I conducted more than two hundred in-­person interviews and observed a dozen participatory institutions at work in the three in-­depth case study countries. Two additional caveats are in order. First, the meso analy­sis masks potential variation at the micro (individual subnational government) levels. The analy­sis of local variation is not within the scope of this par­tic­u­lar analy­sis and offers a fruitful agenda for ­future research proj­ects. Second, the data presented in each of the chapters cannot possibly capture the rich detail that is embedded in the experiences described in too few pages. This is one of the inherent trade-­offs of comparing multiple cases with an eye ­toward generating generalizable findings. I refer readers to additional resources that provide more details on a variety of aspects whenever pos­si­ble. CONCLUSION

It is impor­tant to note that this is the beginning, not the end, of our understanding of the potential of t­ hese reforms. Th ­ ere is still much to be explored, especially at the micro level. As the first book to undertake a cross-­national comparison of all cases in the developing world, the remainder of this analy­sis gives us an impor­tant place to start. With ­t hese caveats, it is now time to turn to the macro-­level analy­sis of the seventeen cases of nationally mandated participatory reforms in the developing world.

3

THE PROMISE HEARD AROUND THE WORLD

on any given day, rural Indian villa­gers sit in a circle to discuss local planning priorities as well as who should receive state poverty alleviation assistance. A ­ fter deliberating, the villa­gers make formal recommendations to the elected leaders, the Panchayati. This tradition, called the gram sabha (or the village assembly), has existed for centuries (Nambiar 2001). In 1993, the national government amended the constitution to formally recognize the assembly as part of a village-­level governance system called Panchayati Raj. Continents away, members of neighborhood organ­izations in cities around Peru meet annually to propose infrastructure proj­ects—­new security cameras, better roads, and sidewalk repairs—to their elected municipal officials in participatory bud­get pro­cesses. Th ­ ese meetings are also codified in a 2002 amendment to the 1993 Constitution in an effort to make local government spending decisions more transparent. What do t­ hese experiences have in common? They are both examples of nationally mandated participatory reforms, meant to create ways for average citizens to take part in policy decisions. Experiences like t­ hese have emerged in ­every region of the world. This chapter begins to explore the nature and effects of t­ hese efforts in developing countries. It provides a snapshot of some of ­these efforts at the macro (global) level and analyzes the patterns that have emerged. This analy­sis allows us to explore four questions, using evidence from the seventeen cases of nationally mandated participatory reforms that emerged between 1985 and 2015: 30

1 When have elected officials passed nationally mandated participatory reforms?

The Promise Heard around the World  31



2 Where have the reforms emerged? 3 What are the most typical design features? 4 Why do country reformers adopt them?

This chapter addresses each question in turn, taking care to note where more research is needed. INTERNATIONAL TRENDS AND TIMING

When have ­these reforms been ­adopted? Notably, the majority of the countries a­ dopted the nationally mandated participatory reforms in the late 1980s and the 1990s (see figure 3.1). This is a period of time that coincides with two international trends that provided an environment conducive to ­t hese par­tic­u ­lar reforms—­the third wave of democ­ratization and second-­generation neoliberal reforms, which stressed decentralization and citizen participation. ­Later, a regional trend, the resurgence of the Left in Latin Amer­i­ca, propelled several additional reforms in the late 1990s and into the 2000s. The Third Wave

One of the international pro­cesses that provided the conditions u ­ nder which nationally mandated participatory reforms emerged is what Samuel Huntington (1991) calls the “third wave of democracy.” Beginning with the transition to democracy in Portugal in 1974 and slowly spreading to ­every region of the developing world, authoritarian regimes stepped down and regular elections began to take place throughout the 1980s and early 1990s. During this period of time p ­ eople w ­ ere very optimistic about the potential for democracy to improve citizens’ lives around the world. As noted in chapter 1, however, soon a­ fter demo­cratic elections became much more prevalent, citizens and policymakers began to realize that calling regular elections did not ensure a high-­quality demo­cratic system (Diamond and Morlino 2005). Activists, policymakers, and scholars began to debate the best way to promote and deepen democracy. Many looked to participatory institutions. The timing of the majority of the nationally mandated participatory reforms (1985–2000) demonstrates that several legislative packets emerged in this context. The Brazilian reform is an excellent example of the adoption of nationally mandated participatory reforms as part of a transition to democracy. The military regime that came to power in 1964 restricted civil and po­liti­cal liberties and centralized much of the state apparatus (Eaton 2004; Samuels 2004). The

32  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

4

4

4

3.5 3

3

3

2.5 2

2 1.5

1

1 0.5 0

1985–1990

1991–1995

Figure 3.1. ​Number

source: Author.

1996–2000

2001–2005

2006–2010

2011–2015

of reforms by year.

restrictive nature of the military regime led civil society organ­izations to or­ga­nize and demand social rights reforms that w ­ ere based in the idea of participatory democracy, starting in the 1970s (Mayka 2019). This led to the adoption of what is now called the “citizens’ constitution,” which opened up po­liti­cal space for the participatory institutions that now exist in ­every level of government around several policy areas.1 Baiocchi, Heller, and Silva (2011, 39) argue that “decentralization of government in Brazil, codified in the 1988 Constitution, opened up institutional space for local actors to carry out innovative reforms.” Another in­ter­est­ing example of a country that mandated participatory reforms as part of a democ­ratization pro­cess is the Philippines (Imperial 2001). During his dictatorship, Ferdinand Marcos, who ruled from 1965 to 1986, centralized power and was known for high levels of corruption and for restricting ­ eople’s organ­izations mobilized civil liberties.2 Civil society organ­izations and p for their “­People Power Revolution” (Veloso Abao 2011; Yu Jose 2011). A new generation of civil society activists, deeply involved in Marcos’s fall from power and involved in the demo­cratic transition, worked to pass a new constitution, which reflects the emphasis on increasing popu­lar participation and decentralizing the state. A local government code further codified citizen participation by describing several “local special bodies” that formalize civil society’s par-

The Promise Heard around the World  33

ticipation in governance, including local development councils, prequalification and awards councils (PBACs), school boards, health boards, and peace and order councils. Additional efforts to design and implement a nationally mandated participatory reform took place as part of l­ater transitions to democracy. For example, Peru began a transition ­after years of authoritarian rule ­under Alberto Fujimori (1990–2000). And in South Africa the transition took place as the result of the move away from apartheid (Commonwealth Local Governance Forum 2012; Friedman and Kihato 2004; Hicks and Imraan 2007). Chile’s reform (Law 25,000), which was not codified u ­ ntil 2011, has roots in the transition to democracy in 1990, but ­because ­there ­were so many reforms on the agenda a­ fter Agosto Pinochet’s (1973–1989) rule, it took de­cades to fi­nally pass (Biblioteca del Congreso Nacional de Chile 2011; Delamaza 2014; Montecinos 2011; Pont-­Lezica 1997; Posner 2004). Second-­Generation Neoliberal Reforms

Another impor­tant global pro­cess that helps us understand the timing of t­ hese reforms is the emergence and consolidation of neoliberal policy reforms. Specifically, participatory reforms became part and parcel of what analysts call second-­generation reforms (Naím 1994; Silva 2009). Briefly, first-­generation reforms refer to the macroeconomic stabilization programs that many countries around the world implemented in the late 1980s and early 1990s. ­These reforms w ­ ere embedded in the new policy management movement popu­lar in the late 1970s and early 1980s in E ­ ngland and the United States. Outlined in John Williamson’s (1990) seminal piece titled “What Washington Means by Policy Reform,” t­ hese reforms aimed to halt inflation, stabilize currency values, and cut back on state spending. This led to a general shrinking of the state apparatus in many countries around the world. ­After the initial shock to the economy subsided, development economists began to recommend a series of complementary, or second-­generation, reforms that would rectify some of the imbalances caused by this dramatic reduction in state ser­vices. For example, the World Bank published its 1997 World Development Report, titled The State in a Changing World, signaling recognition that the early reforms had overlooked the impor­tant role that a state has to play in long-­term development. Development efforts turned to improving the state’s capacity to respond to citizens’ needs. Second-­generation reforms,

34  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

then, worked to improve public sector functioning and redefine relations between the national and subnational governments, through initiatives such as decentralization and the push for or­ga­nized citizen participation through new institutional channels. By the early 1990s, international donor agencies such as the World Bank and USAID ­were promoting the idea of good governance, accountability, transparency, and increased participation in development proj­ects in an effort to increase po­liti­cal and economic stability in t­ hese relatively new demo­cratic regimes (Moyo 2010; World Bank 1992, 1994). An example lies in a publication titled Governance: The World Bank Experience, which states: “Participation is intrinsic to good governance. Indeed, participatory development can be thought of as a local-­level reflection of good governance. . . . ​Accountability of government structures and officials to local organ­izations (for example, civil councils and village committees) reinforces macro level accountability” (World Bank 1994, 42). In some countries, such as Bolivia, reformers coupled decentralization and participatory planning pro­cesses as part of an explicit second-­ generation reform package. In ­others, such as Peru, the reforms took part in the context of an ongoing neoliberal proj­ect, but ­were not always explic­itly referred to as second-­generation reforms at the time. In Mozambique, Uganda, and Rwanda, reformers undertook conscious efforts to decentralize the state and to increase citizen participation as part of the neoliberal milieu of their postconflict experiences. All of ­these efforts ­were considered pragmatic means to gain efficiencies in an era of reduced state capacity (Polletta 2014). ­These two major international pro­cesses provided the environment conducive to most nationally mandated participatory reforms. Hegemonic ideas about the importance of democracy and f­ ree markets bolstered by decentralized, citizen-­centric states propelled ­t hese efforts. Inextricably linked to ­t hese two pro­cesses is a l­ ater development that emerged in Latin Amer­i­ca, commonly referred to as the “pink tide.” The Pink Tide

The term “pink tide” denotes a reemergence of leftist leadership in Latin American countries starting in the late 1990s. Several scholars have documented this regional phenomenon, analyzing its roots and effects (see Arnson and Olson 2011; Arnson et al. 2009; Cameron and Hershberg 2010; Casteñeda 2006; Levitsky and Roberts 2011). One of the common po­liti­cal items on ­t hese leaders’ agenda has been to promote direct or participatory demo­cratic institu-

The Promise Heard around the World  35

tions in their countries. Many of the countries included in this analy­sis have ­adopted participatory reforms as part of this trend. The paradigmatic example of a leader mandating widespread participatory institutions as part of the turn to the left is Hugo Chávez in Venezuela. Chávez emerged as an electoral force in 1998 in a context “where representative institutions ­were in crisis and the po­liti­cal establishment was on the verge of collapse” (Levitsky and Roberts 2011, 408).3 Chávez’s leftist agenda demonstrated a commitment to equality, social justice, and popu­lar participation. Chávez’s government first changed the constitution, then formally created many channels of participatory decision making, such as the Bolivarian circles, health committees, cooperatives, urban land committees, community councils, and missions (García-­Guadilla 2007; Hawkins 2010b; López Maya 2012; López Maya and Lander 2011). Hawkins (2010b, 31) has called Venezuela’s attempt to implement a participatory democracy “the most ambitious nationwide effort to date.” Other countries with leftist presidents in Latin Amer­i­ca have followed Venezuela’s lead. The leftist San­d i­nis­tas, led by former guerrilla or­ga­nizer Daniel Ortega, passed Nicaragua’s nationally mandated participatory reform.4 In Honduras, Manuel Zelaya passed a Citizen Participation Law (Ley de Participación Ciudadana),5 which promoted the idea of citizen power (poder ciudadano) and established several participatory institutions due, in part, to his alliance with Chávez and efforts to replicate Chávez’s direct demo­cratic institutions. U ­ nder Rafael Correa’s leadership, Ec­ua­dor a­ dopted a new constitution that aspires to enact a more direct, grassroots form of democracy. What is especially in­ter­est­ing about the pink tide in Latin Amer­i­ca is that most of the leaders, including Correa and Ortega, campaigned as highly critical of neoliberalism, then failed to completely reject its tenets. The resulting participatory reforms, therefore, continued to be ­adopted in the context of neoliberal state systems. ­There are exceptions. Not all reforms u ­ nder study in this analy­sis emerged ­under t­ hese conditions. For example, in the Dominican Republic and India, the nationally mandated participatory reforms w ­ ere explic­itly meant to deepen existing demo­cratic systems (Baud and de Wit 2008; de León 2005; Heller 2000, 2009; Mathew 2003). In Rwanda and Uganda the nationally mandated participatory reforms took place as part of postconflict reconstruction pro­cesses that explic­itly consolidated one-­party rule (Devas and Grant 2003; Morales 2013;

36  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

Oluka 2011). All of t­ hese countries’ leaders clearly a­ dopted the hegemonic neoliberal discourse, however, and used the reforms as part of their attempts to improve state efficiency and effectiveness. GEOGRAPHIC TRENDS

Where are t­ hese reforms being implemented? Latin Amer­i­ca clearly emerges as the birthplace of nationally mandated participatory reforms and the site of the greatest expansion (see figure 3.2). How do location and timing map together? Figure 3.3 shows that, with the exception of Latin Amer­i­ca, which demonstrates continued and stable expansion, other regional cases emerge in close conjunction with each other. For example, we see one case emerge in South Africa (1993), then three additional cases in Africa emerge in the immediately following years. Is ­t here, perhaps a policy diffusion pro­cess taking place? ­There is no scholarship on policy diffusion specific to nationally mandated participatory reforms. However, we can turn to recent work on policy diffusion that focuses on participatory bud­geting to glean insight into the diffusion mechanisms of a dif­fer­ent participatory institution.6 ­There is a small and instructive base of scholarship that explores how participatory bud­geting spread from Porto Alegre, Brazil, to thousands of cities around the world. Researchers find that in the case of participatory bud­geting, individual agents and international institutions worked together to diffuse this innovative bud­geting pro­cess. Osmany Porto de Oliviera (2013, 2017) finds that a group of activists, whom he calls “Ambassadors of Participation,” transported participatory bud­geting to the international policy arena (through conferences and technical assistance), and that once t­ hese ideas became legitimate abroad, they ­were then supported by international agencies such as the World Bank.7 Two studies flesh out the role of international institutions. Yves Sintomer and his coauthors (2010) point to the impor­tant role of program networks and international conferences in promoting participatory bud­ geting in Latin Amer­i­ca (see also Baiocchi and Ganuza 2017). For example, the Urban Management Programme of the United Nations in Latin Amer­i­ca and the Ca­rib­bean (PGU-­A LC) “held conferences and international events, and it helped create networks that facilitate the exchange of good practices, the production of practical tools and materials, the implementation of training programmes, and the diffusion of experiments” (Sintomer et  al. 2010, 25). The annual World Social Forums also promoted the diffusion of participatory

2

Lan America 4

Africa Asia 11

Figure 3.2. ​Number

source: Author.

of reforms by region.

4

4

4

3.5 3

3

3

2.5 2

2 1.5

1

1 0.5 0

1985–1990

1991–1995

1996–2000 Asia

Figure 3.3. ​Regional

source: Author.

Africa

2001–2005

2006–2010

Lan America

and temporal implementation.

2011–2015

38  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

bud­geting, providing a network of “horizontal exchange among po­liti­cal and NGOs activists—in Latin Amer­i­ca but also far beyond” (Sintomer et al. 2010, 26). ­These networks served an impor­tant role in transferring knowledge, technical expertise, and best practices regarding participatory bud­geting. Benjamin Goldfrank’s work further explains the role that the World Bank plays in this pro­cess, noting that this institution “stands out for the number of PB [participatory bud­geting] programs it supports, the number of methods it uses to promote PB, and the amount of resources and research it has dedicated to PB” (2012, 3). Goldfrank (2012) documents the presence of a vocal minority in the bank who promote participatory bud­geting policies ­because they view them as central to the bank’s mission. Many of t­ hese reform agents work in the Social Development Department and are financed by the northern Eu­ro­ pe­ans. They view participatory bud­geting as a way to improve local government per­for­mance and ser­v ice delivery. Thus, this small group in the World Bank with relatively few resources has been able to help spread this policy idea around the developing world. Can ­these same f­ actors help explain the spread of nationally mandated participatory reforms around the world? The issue of diffusion occasionally came up in my interviews with reformers. Most of them stressed that the emergence of their country’s reform resulted from domestic f­ actors specific to the country’s po­liti­cal, social, and economic context. However, in some cases, interviewees mentioned individual agents and organ­izations that had clearly transferred knowledge across borders. For example, in Peru, when asked why the national government had set up local and regional coordination councils, one interviewee noted that the par­tic­u­lar design emerged from civil society proposals that ­were changed during congressional debate (McNulty 2011). Then he reminded me that Bolivia had set up similar oversight councils ten years prior. Several of the experts who worked with Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada on Bolivia’s Law of Popu­lar Participation also worked in Peru as international con­sul­tants and technical experts as the Peruvian participatory decentralization reform unfolded. Peruvian officials then served as con­sul­tants for international organ­ izations working on the national participatory bud­geting law in the Dominican Republic. Mandated participatory bud­geting pro­cesses w ­ ere also promulgated to some extent through international conferences. For example, former elected officials who had set up local participatory bud­geting pro­cesses in cities in Peru in the 1990s noted that they had heard about the participatory bud­geting in

The Promise Heard around the World  39

domestic and international conferences regarding participatory planning practices. It is less clear if international development organ­izations such as the World Bank have played a role in the policy transfer of nationally mandated participatory reforms. Most interviewees vehemently denied the role of international donors in setting up their nationally mandated reform. They argued that international donors stepped in to support the efforts ­after a reform passed. However, in one interview an astute development worker in Guatemala encouraged me to think about the “invisible ways” that donor agencies can promote policy reform. He stated: “You should keep in mind the role that international donors can play. It is hard to prove. Th ­ ere is a subtle, invisible relationship t­ here. Do governments adopt t­ hese reforms ­because they think that the international donor wants them to? This is not promoted, or forced, by the donor per se, but a relationship does still exist.” No study to date has applied the work on participatory bud­geting to other forms of participatory governance, and the issue of diffusion is beyond the scope of this par­t ic­u ­lar analy­sis. The data suggest that some of t­ hese same ­factors may be at work in facilitating the emergence of nationally mandated participatory reforms; however, more research on this topic is needed before conclusive findings about the diffusion of nationally mandated participatory reforms can emerge. VARIATION IN INSTITUTIONAL DESIGNS

What institutional designs do governments adopt when setting up nationally mandated participatory reforms? The cases demonstrate the variation in forms that ­t hese participatory arrangements take around the world, which can be placed in six broad categories. T ­ able 3.1 summarizes the myriad designs that have emerged as the result of national elected officials’ promises to improve dif­ fer­ent aspects of democracy and governance in their countries. National Participatory Planning Pro­cesses in Subnational Governments

One wide-­reaching design is adopting participatory planning pro­cesses in subnational governments. This generally involves strategy and oversight meetings on a regular basis. Bolivia’s Law of Popu­lar Participation, discussed in chapter 5, is the best example of this institutional design. Municipal planning in Bolivia involved widespread participation in a variety of committees and areas of decision making.

40  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

­Table 3.1. ​Summary of Institutional Designs

Institutional Design

Countries

National participatory planning pro­cess in subnational governments

Bolivia, South Africa

Mandated participatory bud­geting law

Dominican Republic, Peru

Village committees

India, Uganda

Citizen or civil society councils

Brazil, Chile, Ec­ua­dor, Honduras, Mozambique, Nicaragua, Peru, Philippines, Rwanda, South Africa, Venezuela

National council system

Brazil, Colombia, Ec­ua­dor, Guatemala

Fourth branch of government

Bolivia, Ec­ua­dor

source: Author.

Mandated Participatory Bud­geting Law

A slightly more narrow institutional design incorporates mandated participatory bud­geting in all subnational governments. Participatory bud­geting is a budget-­making pro­cess that includes citizens’ voice and vote on proposals for infrastructure (or capital) spending (Shah 2007; Wampler 2007b). It spread from Porto Alegre, Brazil, to thousands of localities around the world, including Chicago, New York, Lisbon, Madrid, Mexico City, Caracas, Seoul, and Kerala.8 As of 2015, two countries in the developing world had implemented national mandated participatory bud­geting across the country: Peru (explored in chapter 6) and the Dominican Republic. In the Dominican Republic, international and national actors worked together to advocate for national legislation that sets out a pro­cess for e­ very municipality to undertake participatory bud­geting annually. This led Congress to pass the Law about the Participatory Bud­geting System (Ley sobre el Sistema del Presupuesto Participativo) in 2007 to establish participatory bud­geting in all Dominican municipalities.9 The first article of the law reads: “Through this law, the Municipal System of Participatory Bud­geting [Presupuesto Participativo Municipal, or PPM] is installed, with the objective of establishing mechanisms of citizen participation in the discussion, elaboration, and oversight of the municipal bud­get, especially concerning the 40% transfer that municipalities receive for capital and investment spending.” The law goes on to outline three stages of the pro­cess and establishes several forums for participation, including community assemblies, regional assemblies, and an open town hall (Allegretti 2011). ­These

The Promise Heard around the World  41

regulations ­were ­later written into the new constitution in 2010 (Reyes and González Molina 2011). This par­tic­u­lar institutional design seems to be catching on in international circles, and more countries are considering similar laws. In 2010, ­Kenya began the pro­cess of setting up the ­legal framework for a nationwide participatory bud­geting pro­cess, which as of the close of 2015 (i.e., the end date of the data collection pro­cess for this book) did not have a complete ­legal framework (International Bud­get Proj­ect 2014). Indonesia is also following suit. Portugal and ­Korea, two countries that are outside the scope of this analy­sis, have also set up nationwide participatory bud­geting pro­cesses to allow citizens to vote on infrastructure proj­ects. Village Committees

Another design option is the much more diffuse village committee structure, which has been institutionalized in India and Uganda. In the 1995 Ugandan Constitution, the government set out a comprehensive l­egal framework for decentralization and citizen participation. Chapter 11 reads: The system ­shall be such as to ensure that functions, powers and responsibilities are devolved and transferred from the Government to local government units in a coordinated manner; decentralisation ­shall be a princi­ple applying to all levels of local government and, in par­tic­u ­lar, from higher to lower local government units to ensure p ­ eoples’ participation and demo­cratic control in 10 decision making.

The lowest tier of the system, LC1, includes local councils at the village level. Formally, all adult citizens are members of LC1. Th ­ ese councils are designed to meet monthly to discuss local issues and proj­ects and to “guarantee ­every citizen an opportunity to participate in po­liti­cal decision-­making” (Lambright 2011, 26). A similar village-­level participatory structure exists in India, where the Seventy-­Third Amendment to its constitution sets out the rural government structures with elected officials and participatory bodies. This amendment institutionalized gram sabhas, or village assemblies, which institutionalize broad citizen participation in the rural governments (Isaac and Heller 2003; Nambiar 2001; Rao and Sanyal 2009). Mansuri and Rao (2013, 268) describe the gram sabha as the “largest formal deliberative institution in h ­ uman history, affecting more than 700 million rural Indian residents in the more than a million villages.”

42  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

Citizen or Civil Society Councils

The most widespread type of nationally mandated participatory reforms calls for some sort of citizen or civil society council system that participates in policy discussions and decision making in subnational governments. Eleven of the seventeen cases include community council systems that inform policy decisions at the local level on an ongoing basis. For example, the Chilean Citizen Participation Law sets up civil society councils, called Civil Society Community Councils (Consejos Comunales de Organizaciones de la Sociedad Civil) in all municipal governments. Mozambique and South Africa have also institutionalized community councils as the primary form of mandated citizen participation. Decree No. 15/2000 formally established collaborative channels for local government officials to work with community authorities in Mozambique (AfriMAP 2009; Open Society Institute Network 2009). In South Africa, ward committees are codified in the Municipal Structures Act (No. 117 of 1998) with the purpose of enhancing participatory democracy in local government. In some countries, councils complement other institutional forms, such as in Brazil, where city planning councils are just one of many formal institutions that engage citizens in policy decision making. Public policy planning councils are established in dif­fer­ent issue areas, such as education, health, and social policies (Mayka 2019). As of late 2012, more than twenty thousand public policy management councils existed around the country (American Po­liti­cal Science Association 2012). Members of t­ hese councils come from civil society, ­unions, governments, ser­v ice providers, and universities, and they are tasked with approving programs and bud­gets for the corresponding issue areas (American Po­liti­cal Science Association 2012). While Venezuela has several kinds of participatory institutions, among the most institutionalized are the community councils. Made up of neighbors who meet in an assembly and then select an executive committee, community councils can administer governmental grants as well (Hawkins 2010b).11 The community councils, which number approximately forty thousand around the country, have been widely implemented (García-­Guadilla 2007; McCarthy 2012). The postgenocide national government in Rwanda has institutionalized several channels for citizen participation, including community work days (Umuganda) and open meetings at the village, cell, and sector tiers, as part of its “social reengineering proj­ect” (Straus and Waldorf 2011). One of ­t hese in-

The Promise Heard around the World  43

stitutions is the Community Development Committees, designed to draw from all community actors in the pursuit of ideas, support, technical assistance, feedback, and proj­ect proposals in order to enable citizen participation in t­hese proj­ects (Kauzya 2007). National Council System

Although it is rare, another institutional design lies in a national council system that involves ­every level of government in some form of development policy planning pro­cess. An example is found in Guatemala, discussed in the next chapter, where reformers set up an institutional structure that mirrors a pyramid. Each level corresponds to level of government and is tasked with engaging civil society organ­izations in decision making about development proj­ects. Colombia’s development planning council system can also be considered an example of this national system, as it does exist nationwide and filters development planning priorities up to a national council. Colombia has an extensive participatory framework in place as part of 1991 constitutional reforms passed in response to national turmoil (Hernández Bonivento 2017). The 1994 Planning Statute (Law 152) establishes the National Planning Council (Consejo Nacional de Planeación) to develop planning priorities. The councils’ functions are, in part, to

1 analyze and discuss the National Development Plan; and 2 or­ga­nize and coordinate the broad national discussion about the National Development Plan, through organ­izing national and regional meetings of the Territorial Planning Councils, in which the social, economic, ecological, community, and cultural sectors intervene, and with the goal of effectively guaranteeing citizen participation in accordance with Article 342 of the Constitution.

The National Public Policy Conferences in Brazil are another example (see Pogrebinschi 2012). This institution originally served as a forum to discuss and create national health care policy in the 1930s, but the more recent Workers Party administrations have convened them to discuss a broader array of issues, such as the rights of marginalized communities and the environment (Pogrebinschi 2012). Pogrebinschi and Samuels (2014, 319–320) note that “the goal of the pro­cess is to provide elected officials with information about priorities for amending existing or formulating new national policies.” The conferences, held ­every one or two years, move from the local to the national level, first holding open meetings in cities around the country that produce a

44  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

final report that is presented to state-­level conferences. The authors describe the subsequent pro­cess as follows: Each state meeting produces a final report that lists ­every proposal approved in the meeting’s concluding plenary session, and then elects delegates to the national-­level meeting. Just as with the municipal and state-­level conferences, before the national meeting a mixed state-­society commission systematizes the proposals from all the state reports; the national meeting then deliberates and votes on the set of proposals, resulting in a single, final report containing national-­level policy recommendations. (Pogrebinschi and Samuels 2014, 319)

According to t­ hese same authors, seven million adults participated in a national conference between 2003 and 2011, representing 5 ­percent of the adult population (Pogrebinschi and Samuels 2014). In their evaluation, the authors argue that the councils have led to changes in national-­level policy decisions (Pogrebinschi and Samuels 2014). The “Fourth Branch” of Government

In a very small number of cases, the nationally mandated participatory reforms are so wide-­reaching that they have institutionalized citizen participation as a “fourth branch” of government. One example is Ec­ua­dor. As part of the new constitution passed by Rafael Correa’s government, Article 207 states that a national council, the Council of Citizen Participation and Social Control (Consejo de Participacion Ciudadana y Control Social, or CPCCS), ­w ill serve as a “fourth branch of power” in the Ec­ua­dor­ian state. The 2010 Organic Law of the Council of Citizen Participation (Ley Orgánica del Consejo de Participa­ ción Ciudadana) defines the CPCCS in Ec­ua­dor. The structure of the CPCCS is broken into several offices at dif­fer­ent levels of government. The first level is the national office, with the presidency, the vice presidency, and the plenary. The plenary is composed of seven council members who appoint members to leadership positions such as president and vice president of the CPCCS. The second level is composed of executor offices, which are set up in e­ very region in the country, although this pro­cess has been slow moving. The third level is known as the advisory board, with several special commissions. The CPCCS is also tasked with setting up citizen assemblies and participatory bud­geting and planning committees in all subnational governments. Thus, although it does not work well in practice, the system formally sets up mechanisms for multiple forms of citizen participation at e­ very level of government.

The Promise Heard around the World  45

MOTIVATIONS FOR NATIONALLY MANDATED PARTICIPATORY REFORMS

With a better understanding of the timing, location, and design of ­t hese reforms, we can now ask: Why exactly do national elected officials pass ­these reforms? We know that they mostly respond to par­tic­u­lar international trends and that a diffusion pro­cesses may have propelled them into the international discourse. However, t­ hese ­factors are not explanatory per se. The macro analy­ sis suggests that the reforms are most likely to emerge during times of major po­liti­cal change—­for example, an economic crisis, a transition to democracy, or the election of a person who is more radically leftist—or what social scientists call “critical junctures.” Th ­ ese are moments where major transitions allow new institutions to emerge that have a lasting impact on the po­liti­cal system in a country. In many of t­ hese cases, one legacy is a nationally mandated participatory reform. In many cases, the critical juncture is the domestic manifestation of the international process—­for example, a transition to demo­cratic rule or the adaptation and implementation of a neoliberal reform package. This is true in places like Bolivia, Brazil, Ec­ua­dor, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, Peru, and South Africa. Interestingly, in places like Uganda, another domestic pro­cess was also taking place—­a peace pro­cess. In Rwanda, the “social engineering proj­ect” completely restructured the po­liti­cal system to bring government closer to the p ­ eople a­ fter one hundred days of genocide. Mozambique undertook its nationally mandated participatory reform while emerging from a sixteen-­year civil war that began three years ­after its in­de­pen­dence from Portugal in 1974.12 Decentralization and citizen participation r­ ose to the top of the po­liti­cal agenda during the peace pro­cess. The macro analy­sis of motivations suggests that structural ­factors—­ specifically, critical junctures—­facilitate reform efforts. Importantly, however, ­t hese defining moments are neither necessary nor sufficient explanatory ­factors. Additional ­factors are also at work. Chile, the Dominican Republic, and India passed the reforms ­after long attempts to codify participatory governance, but not in the context of a critical juncture. If they ­were sufficient ­factors, many more countries would have designed reforms of this nature. As noted in chapter 1, in addition to pointing out the importance of structural ­factors, existing scholarship on similar policy reforms also stresses the role of rational agents and their strategic decision making. A closer examination of

46  Introducing Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

the ­i n-­depth case studies in part 2 provides more comprehensive insight into the motivating f­actors, allowing us to understand more fully the dynamics that lead to a reform pro­cess. SUMMING UP GLOBAL PATTERNS

The macro analy­sis of the seventeen cases brings to light several in­ter­est­ing patterns that underlie the emergence of nationally mandated participatory reforms in the developing world. Latin Amer­i­ca emerges as the epicenter of the reform efforts, with the highest number of cases of this par­tic­u ­lar kind of reform. This confirms the scholarship that refers to Latin Amer­i­ca as the laboratory of participatory innovations (Campbell and Fuhr 2004; Fung 2011; Mayka 2019; Peruzzotti 2012; Pogrebinschi 2017). Several international trends provided the facilitating environment for ­these reform efforts. The third wave of democracy and neoliberal reforms that stressed smaller states and citizen input created a pro­cess that provided a conduit for this par­tic­u­lar kind of reform effort to emerge. In Latin Amer­i­ca, the “pink tide” leaders deepened reform efforts post-­democratization. Thus, in most of the cases (but not all), some sort of domestic critical juncture, or a “period of significant change” that produces an institutional legacy, provided the context for ­t hese reforms (Collier and Collier 1991, 29). International and domestic pro­cesses converged to propel this pro­cess. The macro analy­sis also demonstrates the variety of institutional designs a­ dopted by reformers. Th ­ ese designs can be loosely placed in six categories: national participatory planning pro­cesses in subnational governments; mandated participatory bud­geting laws; village committees; citizen or civil society councils; national council systems; and “fourth branches” of power. The macro analy­sis presented in part 1 provides us with a snapshot of the reform efforts from 1985 to 2015. The findings that emerge from the macro analy­sis are suggestive, yet several aspects of nationally mandated participatory reforms remain unanswered. Exploring seventeen cases does not allow for the kind of fine-­grained analy­sis that ­will help develop theoretical insights into the origin and effects of ­t hese efforts. An in-­depth look at fewer case studies allows us to delve into t­ hese results, as well as the causal mechanisms that might explain the variation in results. For this reason part 2 explores the following questions in more depth through three case studies: (1) Why are ­t hese reforms ­adopted? and (2) Are ­t hese reforms leading to changes in dimensions of democracy and governance? Why or why not? As a reminder, the outcomes ex-

The Promise Heard around the World  47

plored in the case studies reflect the original goals set out by national-­level elected officials. In other words, all of the reforms include goals and objectives that highlight aspects of strengthened democracy and improved governance. In some ways, therefore, each chapter explores the extent to which the original reformers’ promises have been fulfilled.

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4

GUATEMALA’S WAR­TIME LEGACY The Urban and Rural Development Council System

“we did every­thing we ­were supposed to do. We called the first assembly and then elected our twelve representatives to form the community council. Then the mayor called another assembly and chose another twelve ­people. That group became the official community council for our town, not ours.” When I asked this owner of a small business in a town near Antigua, Guatemala, why this happened, he responded, “The mayor’s relative lived in our area so he was appointed the head of the official council. This became a way to get funding for the proj­ects that they wanted to do.” He went on to note, “The next year I tried to register our council, but then ­t here w ­ ere two operating at the same time. The third year I did not try again. Why bother?” This conversation highlights several prob­lems with the first nationally mandated participatory governance reform to emerge—­f ully codified and implemented—in the developing world. As Guatemala slowly emerged from its thirty-­six-­year civil war, national reformers created the Urban and Rural Development Council System. Councils exist at the community, municipal, departmental, regional, and national levels of government and are made up of civil society representatives who make decisions about and oversee development proj­ect spending and policies. However, clientelism and manipulation by mayors plague many of t­ hese institutions. This chapter explores the Urban and Rural Development Council System in Guatemala in more depth. It begins with a very brief historical overview of the country’s modern po­liti­cal context, then it moves on to describe the nationally mandated participatory reform. The third section of the chapter asks why reformers designed this par­tic­u­lar council system in the way that they did, 51

52  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

linking this decision to de­cades of military rule. The fourth section documents the results of the council system. The chapter demonstrates that although the reform has increased civil society’s voice in some ways, it has mostly failed to achieve its promise to include historically marginalized actors in decision making and to improve governance over time. The final part of the chapter explores the ­factors that have limited t­ hese results. GUATEMALA’S HISTORY OF VIO­LENCE

Guatemala, the largest country in Central Amer­i­ca, has more than sixteen million inhabitants, the majority of whom are of indigenous descent. ­After Guatemala achieved in­de­pen­dence from Spain in 1821, an oligarchic elite and the military dominated politics for more than one hundred years (Amaro 1992; Jonas 2009). Oligarchic rule was interrupted in the 1940s, as l­abor activists pressured to reform the authoritarian state. In 1944, two soldiers, Francisco Arana and Jacobo Árbenz, undertook a coup d’état to remove General Francisco Ponce and push for more demo­cratic reforms. Elections ­were called, and a young visionary and educator living in exile in Argentina, Juan José Arévalo Bermejo, returned to run for president and won. The resulting “De­cade of the Spring” marked the first demo­cratic period in Guatemala’s history. Arévalo and his successor, Árbenz, implemented a series of reforms to radically alter the nature of land owner­ship, ­labor, and education. Almost immediately, domestic and international opposition to t­ hese reforms emerged. The United States had a very strong economic presence in this mostly rural and very poor country through the United Fruit Com­pany, and when Arévalo ­rose to power, the United Fruit Com­pany lobbied the U.S. government to get involved (Schlesinger and Kinzer 1999). Eventually the CIA funded a small opposition army in neighboring countries (as well as undertaking other destabilization tactics), which eventually forced Árbenz to step down. A military regime took over in 1954 and would not step down for thirty years.1 During military rule, leftist insurgents began to or­ga­nize in the eastern part of the country and ­later moved into the highlands. As the military fought them, a thirty-­six-­year war that killed at least 200,000 p ­ eople, most of indigenous descent, ensued (Commission for Historical Clarification 1999). Guatemala’s Commission for Historical Clarification (1999, 13) reported the following details about this grisly period: “The Commission for Historical Clarification (CEH) registered a total of 42,275 victims, including men, ­women and ­children.

Guatemala’s War­time Legacy  53

Of t­ hese, 23,671 ­were victims of arbitrary execution and 6,159 ­were victims of forced disappearance. Eighty-­three ­percent of fully identified victims ­were Mayan and seventeen p ­ ercent w ­ ere Ladino.” The report goes on in more detail to state: The CEH has noted particularly serious cruelty in many acts committed by agents of the State, especially members of the Army, in their operations against Mayan communities. The counterinsurgency strategy not only led to violations of basic ­human rights, but also to the fact that ­t hese crimes ­were committed with par­t ic­u ­lar cruelty, with massacres representing their archetypal form. (Commission for Historical Clarification 1999, 30)

The 1980s ­were especially brutal as General José Efraín Ríos Montt led a counterinsurgency campaign that included a scorched-­earth strategy in the highlands of the country. Ostensibly to rebuild the massacred highland populations, the military began to implement development proj­ects in ­t hese conflict-­stricken zones. To do this work, the military established an institution called Inter-­institutional Coordinators (IICs). Created in 1983 by Decree 772-83, the IIC system had four levels, each of which corresponds to a level of Guatemala’s subnational governments: (1) Committees of Local Development, with subcommittees that undertook work proj­ects, led by a local military official. Th ­ ese committees w ­ ere then integrated into (2) the Inter-­institutional Municipal Coordinator, led by the municipal military commander, who would approve local work plans. The Municipal Coordinator fed into (3) the Inter-­departmental Coordinator, which corresponded to the military zones around the country and fed into (4) the International Coordinator, with national representatives from state planning agencies (Schirmer 1998). Lower levels then fed into the next-­higher level, leading to a system that allowed for carefully controlled development planning. Of course, ­t hese institutions also served to institutionalize the military’s presence in the highlands and serve as a form of control against the spread of communism. Jennifer Schirmer (1998, 65) writes: With the massacre campaign over, the military’s national strategy was now centered on the reor­ga­ni­za­tion of production and rural life for security-­qua-­ development purposes: in the military’s mind, to promote forms of “modern production” and private owner­ship among the indigenous peasant population was a form of “insurance” against any f­ uture threats of insurgency.

54  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

The IICs represented an impor­tant part of the military strategy to monitor and control life in the rural areas of the country. During the 1980s, Guatemalans began to mobilize against the military (Reyes Illescas 1998). Realizing that the international tide was also moving in this direction, in 1984 the regime eventually called for a Constitutional Assembly followed by general elections. The assembly wrote a new constitution in 1985, and the Christian Demo­cratic Party, led by Vinicio Cerezo and closely allied to the military, won the national elections. Thus began a transition to civilian rule.2 The transition was not fully demo­cratic, since the Left could not participate and the military played a very active role in all aspects of the transition. A former government official active in the transition pro­cess recalled that President Cerezo told him privately that a­ fter 1985 “30% of the power lay in the military, 30% in the oligarchy, and 30% in all of the rest.” According to Jennifer Schirmer (1998, 188), the Christian Demo­crats never meant to “send the military to their barracks, but rather was very much committed to making them equal partners in a demo­cratic proj­ect.” ­After the military stepped down, the civil war between the Guatemalan government and the leftist rebels dragged on. Eventually, however, a peace pro­ cess got u ­ nder way in Guatemala, and in 1996 peace accords ­were signed.3 This period represented a hopeful moment in Guatemalan history as the country began to debate the exact reforms needed to implement the accords. An innovative aspect of the accords, in light of Guatemala’s history, lay in the emphasis on participatory governance in a variety of areas, including development planning. The optimism, not surprisingly, did not last. By the time that Alfonso Portillo stepped into the executive office in 2000, a sense of dissatisfaction with the pro­cess had taken hold around the country. When several reform proposals, approved by Congress, w ­ ere put to a popu­lar vote, 55 ­percent of the Guatemalan population voted no. This signaled the failure of the peace pro­cess and dashed hopes for a more participatory public sphere (Arnson and Olson 2011; Holiday 2000; Tran 2011). Guatemala continues to be plagued by its legacy of vio­lence (Espach et al. 2016). As drugs and gangs take over Mexico and Central Amer­i­ca, insecurity and crime have skyrocketed. In 2013, court proceedings found General Ríos Montt guilty of crimes against humanity and genocide and sentenced him to eighty years in prison (Burt and Thale 2013). Victims of the war wept with re-

Guatemala’s War­time Legacy  55

lief publicly as the international h ­ uman rights community celebrated this win. Yet, ten days ­later the country’s Constitutional Court annulled the finding. Former military official Otto Pérez Molina was elected on a firm fist (mano dura) po­liti­cal platform promising to deal with Guatemala’s escalating vio­lence in 2011. In a historic set of events, Perez Molina resigned in September 2015 in the face of a nationwide corruption scandal (Ahmed and Malkin 2015). Following a demo­cratic pro­cess, Guatemalans then elected Jimmy Morales, a former comedian with no po­liti­cal experience. Guatemala’s Urban and Rural Development Council System evolved and endured through this historical context. THE TWO-­PHASE CODIFICATION PRO­CESS

Since the 1985 elections, citizen participation initiatives have developed in what Guatemalan scholar Nelson Amaro (2001, 84) calls “breakthroughs and breakdowns.” As the country emerged from military rule and its violent war, decentralization and citizen participation emerged as impor­tant themes.4 The council system emerged in two phases, representing the two critical junctures in the history of Guatemala that, first, placed the system in the constitutional framework, and second, revived it ­after it was neglected for years. Phase One: The Restricted Transition

The 1985 Constitution clearly sets out the ­legal framework for a decentralized, participatory state. Although municipalities existed previously, they ­were not fully empowered u ­ ntil this transition. The 1985 Constitution (Articles 253 to 262) sets out a “Municipal Regimen,” stating that “municipalities are autonomous, can elect their own authorities, obtain and use resources, and attend to public ser­vices” (Article 253). Most of the details regarding t­ hese functions ­were then elaborated on in the Municipal Code. The 1985 Constitution also lays out the territorial structure, including regions and departments (which are led by an appointed governor). Fi­nally, the 1985 Constitution states that 8 ­percent of the general bud­get of the national government w ­ ill go to the municipalities, and that 90 ­percent of ­t hese funds should be designated for investment proj­ ects. Congress increased the municipalities’ share to 10 ­percent in 1993. The 1985 Constitution also outlines the development council system, stating that “for the organ­ization and coordination of public administration, a National Council for Rural and Urban Development w ­ ill be created. . . . ​­These councils w ­ ill be responsible for formulating urban and rural development policies” (Article

56  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

225). It mentions the need for ­t hese councils at the national, regional, departmental, and municipal levels of government. To clarify and expand on the constitutional language, Congress passed the Law of Urban and Rural Development Councils (Ley de los Consejos de Desarrollo Urbano y Rural, Decree 52-87) in September 1987. Article 1 states that the council system serves to develop policy and “or­ga­nize the participation of the population in the development of the country.” This law moves beyond the constitutional language by formally establishing the Urban and Rural Development Council System, with five levels (in En­g lish followed by the Spanish acronym): national (CONADUR), regional (COREDEs), departmental (CODEDEs), municipal (COMUDEs), and local. From the beginning, the development council system had a pyramidal structure in order to channel policy decisions from the grassroots level to the national level of government and then back (see figure 4.1). The law does not dictate any more details, such as the exact number of organ­izations that can be invited in each level. Membership is left up to the specific officials who convene the council at the municipal, departmental, and regional levels. Each level should include members who represent the following sectors: the national government (e.g., representatives from the development planning agency, Secretaría de Planificación y Programación de la Presidencia, or SEGEPLAN); the elected officials from the par­ tic­ u­ lar level of government (e.g., mayors, governors, and even the president, who should convene national meetings); and civil society organ­izations (CSOs) that are active in development in the geo­graph­i­cal area (e.g., cooperatives; industrial, fishing, commercial, and financial associations; l­ abor; development NGOs; and universities). The local-­level councils (now called community councils) can be formed in communities with at least 250 adults, and are made up of an assembly of neighbors led by an executive committee. Interviewees who ­were involved in this pro­cess reflected about the ­battle to codify the council system during this first phase. One l­awyer noted: “We fought hard with the military about this. They thought that we would empower the guerrillas. International donors also thought we w ­ ere crazy. For example, the French ­were involved with funding the system and told me, ‘This system is too complicated. It is a very long path to get to the municipality.’ ” ­After the law passed, the Ministry of Urban and Rural Development—­t he agency in charge of implementing the council system—­immediately set to work. In less than a year, its team formed 320 municipal councils and 850

Guatemala’s War­time Legacy  57

Figure 4.1. ​Guatemala’s

System.

Urban and Rural Development Council

source: Author.

local councils (Gibson n.d.). Si­mul­ta­neously, opposition to the system emerged. The most vis­i­ble and vocal opposition came from the right wing, led by Jorge Serrano, who had run against Cerezo and lost. Members of the opposition in Congress argued that a municipal council system was illegal ­because it reduced the constitutionally guaranteed municipal autonomy (Amaro 1990). At the same time, Serrano and other members of the opposition filed two complaints about the constitutionality of the local development councils with the Constitutional Court.5 In May 1988, the court agreed and deemed the local tier of the system unconstitutional b ­ ecause it diminished municipal autonomy (Amaro 1990; Ramos Muñez and Sosa Velásquez 2010). The local councils ­were dismantled, and the system stayed in place with no local mechanism for channeling community participation. As one interviewee noted, “It was a doll with no head or feet. The head barely worked and the feet had been cut off by the courts.” Most observers believe that this legalistic argument reflected po­liti­cal concerns about the system. Specifically, the right-­w ing opposition feared that the development council system could be used as a way for the Christian

58  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

Demo­crats to stay in power. Furthermore, ­there w ­ ere other sources of opposition—­the military and the Left.6 Luis Linares López (2009, 12) describes well the varied sources of opposition: The opposition to the development councils was fundamentally due to the connection with the social participation model that the Christian Demo­crats put forward in the 1960s and the assumption that they would be used by this party to stay in power. For the left, the councils w ­ ere a new version of the Inter-­ institutional Coordinators, established by the military government in 1984 to coordinate the public administration for the counterinsurgency effort. For its part, the Army feared that the local councils would be co-­opted by . . . ​t he guerrillas.

­ fter the courts struck down the local level, the other levels did remain in place A on paper. However, in practice, the council system withered b ­ ecause the court decision eliminated the local councils, arguably the most impor­tant level for engaging the average citizen. Therefore, very l­ittle meaningful citizen or civil society participation in development planning ensued. For years the development council system languished. Jorge Serrano, elected president in 1990 and an opponent of the system, did nothing to push it forward. A small step ­toward reviving the system did take place in 1993 when President Ramiro de León Carpio instituted a Solidarity Fund for Community Development (Fondo de Solidaridad para el Desarrollo Comunitario), which provided funds for development proj­ects to the regional and departmental councils. However, only when the peace pro­cess took hold in the 1990s did real movement ­toward revitalizing the development council system take place. Phase Two: The Peace Accords

The 1990s marked a period of time in Guatemala where society mobilized and new actors, such as w ­ omen and citizens of indigenous descent, started to gain a stronger voice in the po­liti­cal sphere (Instituto Interuniversitario de Iberoamérica 2005). Many of the themes of the peace pro­cess and the eventual peace accords, made up of several agreements, included the need to revive participatory institutions.7 For example, the Agreement on Social and Economic Aspects and Agrarian Situation, signed in 1996, stressed the need for greater participation in local development through the development council system. The Agreement on the Identity and Rights of Indigenous ­Peoples called for the reform of the Municipal Code “to promote the participation of the indigenous

Guatemala’s War­time Legacy  59

communities in the decision-­making pro­cess in all ­matters which affect them.” The Agreement on the Strengthening of Civilian Power and on the Role of the Armed Forces in a Demo­cratic Society called for empowering municipal governments and the local development council system to improve social participation. Thus, reformers revived both decentralization and citizen participation in t­ hese agreements, all finalized and signed by the end of 1996. When voters failed to ratify the agreements, the f­ uture of the council system was also in peril. However, at the end of the day, the system remained in the constitution, and national elected officials needed to codify aspects of development planning, such as its funding and management. To fund development proj­ects through the system, the Guatemalan government increased the value-­added tax (VAT) from 7 ­percent to 10 ­percent (see Decree 142-1998). The additional 3 ­percent (called IVA-­PAZ in Spanish), l­ater increased even more,8 would fund reforms related to the peace pro­cess and would also partly fund the infrastructure proj­ ects approved by the development council system (Puente Alcarez and Linares López 2004). Another change that took place lay in the establishment of the Presidential Secretariat of Executive Coordination (Secretaría de Coordinación Ejecutiva de la Presidencia, or SCEP in Spanish), which replaced the original ministry (MINDES in Spanish) in overseeing the development council system.9 Thus, by the end of the 1990s the system had a new mandate, funding, and oversight responsibilities in terms of development proj­ects around the country. At the same time, the l­ egal framework still needed changes. New laws would need to clarify many aspects of the council system and breathe some life back into them. Congress, therefore, reformed the three most impor­tant laws related to decentralized governance in 2002: the Municipal Code (Decree 12-2002),10 the Law of Urban and Rural Development Councils (Decree 11-2002 and its modifications 229-2003 and 241-2003), and the Decentralization Law (Decree 14-2002). As one report states, “With the approval of t­ hese laws, the Guatemalan government formally honored some of the commitments acquired through the peace accords” (International City/County Management Association 2004, 4). The new language in t­ hese reforms suggests that the reformers aspired to improve Guatemala’s democracy and governance through their revived nationally mandated participatory reform. The 2002 Law of Urban and Rural Development Councils clearly outlines several goals in Articles 1 and 2, paraphrased ­here:

60  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

The Development Council System is the princi­ple medium of participation . . . ​ in public management and the demo­cratic development planning system. Its general princi­ples are:



•

Re­spect for the cultures that live together in Guatemala. The promotion of harmonious intercultural relations. • The optimization of effectiveness and efficiency at all levels of public administration. • . . . ​The promotion of participatory democracy, in conditions of equity and equal opportunities for the Maya, Garifuna, and Xinca and nonindigenous populations, without discrimination. . . . • Gender equity, understood as nondiscrimination of w ­ omen and effective participation of both men and w ­ omen. •

Interestingly, the new laws did not engender the kind of backlash that the reformers had experienced in the earlier phase. Many interviewees noted that this law was not controversial b ­ ecause it reinstated almost the exact same system that existed before, which the public now understood.11 To ensure that the new ­legal framework would not be subject to charges of unconstitutionality, the 2002 Law of Urban and Rural Development Councils replaces the term “local” with “community” (which led to the acronym COCODE). To avoid the claim that the COMUDE reduces municipal autonomy, the mayor remains the head of the municipal council. The COMUDE now includes the mayor (who is the coordinator), council members, up to twenty COCODE (community-­level council) representatives, public agency representatives who work in the municipality, and “representatives from local entities that are convened” (Article 11). It also adds representatives from each of the indigenous groups in their par­tic­u­lar region/department/municipality as well as a representative from w ­ omen’s organ­izations. Article 15 also establishes “second-­level” COCODEs in areas that have more than twenty COCODEs (which would be considered “first-­level” COCODEs).12 In theory, all development proj­ects are approved through the system in a participatory way. Development planning should flow up from the community level, where members propose proj­ects to be approved at the municipal level. Representatives from the municipal councils (COMUDEs) pres­ent proj­ects at the department-­level councils (CODEDEs), where proj­ects are formally approved. Then the regional (COREDE) and national (CONADUR) councils sign off on the development proj­ects each year. Th ­ ese proj­ects should then in-

Guatemala’s War­time Legacy  61

form a national development plan, emerging from the top tier of the system, the CONADUR. The remaining part of this chapter explores two questions about the system: (1) Why did reformers decide to develop this par­tic­u­lar institution? and (2) How effective has it been at enhancing citizen engagement, ensuring more responsive and effective development planning, and reducing corruption in Guatemala? IDEOLOGICAL AND STRATEGIC CONSIDERATIONS

To understand the motivations that lie b ­ ehind this par­tic­u ­lar design, we need to explore the two phases that led to codification of the system as it currently stands. The Partial Transition

Why did national actors originally include the development council system in the 1985 Constitution, thereby creating the first nationally mandated participatory reform in the developing world? The ideological foundations of the Christian Demo­cratic Party partly explain the system design. Founded in 1955 ­a fter the CIA-­sponsored coup as an alternative to the extreme Left and Right, the Christian Demo­cratic Party had its ideological basis in a centrist movement that took place in many countries in Latin Amer­i­ca, the Christian Demo­crat International, and was influenced by similar Eu­ro­pean centrist po­liti­cal parties (Schirmer 1998). In princi­ple, the party is committed to state-­led development pro­cesses, demo­cratic institutions, and complementing representative democracy with participatory democracy (Schlotter and Amaro 1970). The party’s intellectual found­ers, René de León Schlotter and Roberto Carpio (both high-­level officials during Cerezo’s administration), strug­g led to think about how exactly to involve citizens in Guatemala’s development pro­ cess. In El reto de desarrollo en Guatemala (The challenge of development in Guatemala), Schlotter and Amaro (1970, 10) write, “Within the sphere of Social Chris­t ian­ity we have been developing our own idea related to the phases of development that we called ‘popu­lar promotion.’ Popu­lar promotion is considered to be the participation of the popu­lar majority in development.” ­Because t­ hese early reformers are still alive, I interviewed many of them in Guatemala City. One of them spoke to me about their ideological commitment: “In the early 1960s, ­there was a movement of social demo­crats in Latin Amer­i­ca.

62  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

It was a movement. We undertook an analy­sis of the prob­lems facing our continent and countries. For us, the princi­ple prob­lem in Latin Amer­i­ca was the marginalization of the masses.” Nelson Amaro, an engaged activist in the Christian Demo­cratic Party, also sums up the party’s thinking in his book Guatemala: Historia despierta (Guatemala: History awakened). He outlines three of the central prob­lems facing Guatemala at the time: (1) economic development, (2) the adequate distribution of resources, and (3) the lack of citizen participation in decision making (Amaro 1992, 37). Thus, a central tenet of the Christian Demo­cratic Party platform included increasing citizens’ influence in the public decision-­making pro­ cess, especially among the rural and indigenous poor.13 They took this idea to the Constitutional Assembly in order to institutionalize mechanisms of citizen participation in the new po­liti­cal regime. The military pushed back when the civilian politicians originally presented this idea. Institutions that allowed rural and indigenous po­liti­cal participation seemed too inviting for the leftist armed opposition. At the same time, the military strug­gled to decide how to hand over the Inter-­institutional Coordinators to civilians. In private discussions an agreement emerged. An army official, quoted by Schirmer (1998, 76), stated: A delegate of Vinicio Cerezo came to speak with me. . . . ​I told him what we [the army] wanted; he told me what Cerezo wanted, and it seemed adequate, so we emitted the Executive Order in early 1986, in which the IICs and Poles of Development w ­ ere to be renamed Councils of Development.

Schirmer (1998) argues that this was acceptable to the military in part b ­ ecause Cerezo’s development vision—­a top-­down, controlled development process—­ was similar to the vision of military leaders who had set up the IIC system in the first place. Thus, the development council system suited the interests of both the military and the Christian Demo­crats. The IICs would ­later be converted to civilian rule and renamed. The resulting system emerged as a controlled means of engaging new actors in a narrow set of development decisions. Due to its roots in the Christian Demo­cratic strategy to increase citizen participation in decision making and the military’s goal to hand off the already existing IICs, the proj­ect was born with relatively narrowly defined goals in terms of its participatory mandate. Th ­ ese limitations w ­ ill become an impor­ tant theme when analyzing the eventual results of the reform. In the immediate term, however, ­t hese efforts ­were cut short ­after the court’s decision. Only ­later did the peace pro­cess revive the system.

Guatemala’s War­time Legacy  63

The Push for Peace

Why did leaders involved in the peace pro­cess revive the original, discredited system and not create a new participatory institution? Part of the answer lies in pragmatic strategizing. Several former national officials noted in interviews that the system already existed in the constitution and that reviving it did not necessitate a major reform. One former government official noted, “We ­were discussing ideas like ‘participation should happen at all levels of government’ and ‘participation should be available to all’ and then we realized that we w ­ ere basically talking about the council system. We asked ourselves, ‘Why change the name?’ ” Another stated, “We recognized that the system was impor­tant for democracy, but now we saw it in a new light. We needed to address indigenous autonomy, for example.” Thus, the decision was made to revive and tweak the existing system instead of creating a new one. Some social groups hesitated to support the system during this heady moment in Guatemala’s history. However, actors involved in the pro­cess did need to decide how they wanted to codify the participatory nature of the pro­cess. Therefore, some interest groups made the practical decision to support the original system instead of creating a new one. For example, while not all indigenous activists supported the council system, some indigenous organ­izations did decide to back it as a way to increase indigenous participation in sub­ national policy planning. One indigenous activist interviewee noted, “Although we could have insisted on relying on traditional indigenous means of participation or creating new institutions, we bet on the council system, which still existed on paper, to increase our participation in politics.” Representatives from the Christian Demo­cratic Party also wanted to keep the council system. During the peace talks, they saw the chance to revive it. One of the key players from the Christian Demo­cratic Party in the 1980s happened to be one of the main governmental representatives in the negotiation pro­cess. He told me in an interview that he had been very involved in the original design and implementation pro­cess in the late 1980s and that he wanted to “make sure that the system was in the peace accords.” He could to do this, he reported, b ­ ecause he was one of the very few governmental representatives who participated in the entire peace pro­cess, over six years and through a change of government. Thus, he made sure that the pro­cess mentioned one of the central ideological tenants of the Christian Demo­cratic Party platform. Ideological commitments and pragmatic strategizing by the military and the dominant po­liti­cal party during the transition to civilian rule and during the peace pro­cess explain why this system emerged and endured. Specifically,

64  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

the origins and revival of the development council system can be traced to the Christian Demo­cratic ideological commitment to increase citizen participation and to the military’s need to hand off the already existing IICs to a civilian government that would not further empower the leftist armed insurgents. LIMITED RESULTS

To what extent has this reform changed or strengthened aspects of democracy and governance in Guatemala? Interviewees and scholars agree that although ­t here is variation in terms of the per­for­mance of each level, especially the municipal and community levels, the system is not achieving its stated goals. Although it is institutionalized and has become stronger over time, the general sense is that the system represents what one public official called in an interview “good intentions that never gained importance in the policy pro­cess.” This section discusses the results in light of the dimensions of democracy and governance introduced in part 1: (1) expanded participation in the public sphere; (2) inclusive participation; (3) increased government responsiveness and effectiveness; and (4) reduced corruption. Expanded Participation in the Public Sphere?

Is civil society effectively participating in public policy and development efforts as a result of Guatemala’s nationally mandated participatory reform? When defined in procedural terms, yes, the system is leading to increased participation in development decision making. The councils exist and hold meetings. The council system is institutionalized in Guatemala’s po­liti­cal system. In other words, the pro­cess for assigning development proj­ects in the communities and cities takes place through the system on a regular and permanent basis. Governmental data demonstrate that the councils meet regularly to achieve the goal of determining development proj­ect spending at the municipal and community levels in Guatemala. Development proj­ects are allocated based on meetings that take place at the community, municipal, departmental, regional, and national levels of the council system. According to state employees who work closely with the system, the bud­get for development proj­ects increased from approximately twenty million Guatemalan quetzales in 1993 to over two billion Guatemalan quetzales projected for 2016 (or approximately US$2.9 million to US$280.5 million). V-­Dem data complement this assessment, albeit barely. The Civil Society Participation Index, which mea­sures the extent to which CSOs are routinely consulted by policymakers, using a scale from 0 (less participation) to 1 (more

Guatemala’s War­time Legacy  65

1 0.8

Rang

0.6 0.4 0.2

01 20 02 20 03 20 04 20 05 20 06 20 07 20 08 20 09 20 10 20 11 20 12 20 13 20 14 20 15

00

20

99

20

98

19

97

19

96

19

19

19

95

0

Civil Society Parcipaon Index Figure 4.2. ​V-­Dem’s

Civil Society Participation Index, Guatemala.

source: Coppedge et al. 2018; https://­w ww​.­v​-­dem​.­net​/­en​/­data​/­data​-­version​-­8​/.

participation), shows that participation has increased slightly over time in Guatemala, from .78 to .80 in the years ­u nder study (see figure 4.2). However, this analy­sis is incomplete and masks variation in each level of the council system. To better understand this aspect of variation, we can review participation patterns in each level of the system, using quantitative and qualitative data. National Council: CONADUR  For many years, observers considered the na-

tional level of the system, the CONADUR, the weakest. Official rec­ords do not exist ­until 2013, but scholars report that the CONADUR only met three times from 1988 to 2001 (Gibson n.d.; Puente Alcarez and Linares López 2004). In 2006 President Óscar José Rafael Berger called three ordinary meetings and one extraordinary one, during which several commissions ­were set up and internal regulations ­were passed. However, ­because it was an election year, it never met in 2007. President Álvaro Colom reactivated the national council in 2009 and held one meeting that year (Ramos Muñez and Sosa Velásquez 2010). Irrespective of the lack of meetings, for many years analysts criticized this level of the council system as lacking vision and failing to generate national debate (Ramos Muñez and Sosa Velásquez 2010). As one government official told me in an interview, “The CONADUR tends to approve national policies, but then ­t here is very ­little follow-up.”

66  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

Figure 4.3. ​Regional

source: Author.

Development Council office.

This subsequently changed, and in 2015 interviewees stressed to me that the council system had begun to meet more regularly. Data are difficult to confirm, but the government’s website has minutes from eight meetings in 2013, four in 2014, and three in 2015.14 Thus, at least as of the end of 2015, the CONADUR had begun to meet more regularly to approve development proj­ ects and think through strategic development strategies. Regional Councils: COREDEs  The regional-­level councils are tasked with formulating development and investment strategies for regional governments and serve as a conduit between the department and national levels (see Article 8, Decree 11-2002). ­These councils also happen to be extremely weak, mostly ­because regions themselves are still not very impor­tant in the po­liti­cal administrative scheme of the Guatemalan state. As one member of the team that originally designed the council system stated, “We ­were always uncomfortable about the regional level ­because it was hard to operationalize. Th ­ ere is no sense of a ‘region’ in Guatemala; we sensed this from the beginning.” Further, this level of council does not have an a­ ctual bud­get to distribute. The disrepair and lack of resources of the office in Sacatepéquez is vis­i­ble in figure 4.3. In their study of the system, Ramos Muñez and Sosa Velásquez (2010, 19) write that “although they exist in all regions, [the regional level councils] do

Guatemala’s War­time Legacy  67

­Table 4.1. ​Number of Department, Municipal, and Community Councils

2009

2011

2013

2014 (May)

2015 (March)

Council Level

2003

2006

2017

CODEDEs (out of 22 departments)

N/A

22

22

22

22

22

22

22

COMUDEs (out of 340 municipalities)

NA

286

296

300

334

126

311

263

First-­level COCODEs (out of approximately 29,000 communities in 2017)

2,802

12,819

14,689

15,181

11,975

N/A

12,429

15,500 (est.)

sources: Author’s elaboration using data from Ramos Muñez and Sosa Velásquez, 2010; personal correspondence with SCEP and SEGEPLAN staff; SCEP’s online information (http://­w ww​.­scep​.­gob​.­g t​/­); and SEGEPLAN’s Development Council Online System, SISCODE (http://­sistemas​.­segeplan​.­gob​.­g t​ /­siscodew​/­ddpgpl$modulo​.­i ndice). Data have become much more easily available to the public through this online system from 2015 to the pres­ent.

not r­ eally function in practice . . . ​t hey do not meet the objectives, functions, and responsibilities that are stipulated in the law.” Thus, while councils exist in most regions and do meet, they are relatively inoperational. The most active levels of the system are the lower levels, including the department, municipal, and community councils.15 ­Table 4.1 provides descriptive statistics regarding the number of councils that have been set up in each level over time since the data have been tracked by the government. Of course, when exploring participation in t­ hese levels, it is also impor­tant to keep in mind that ­t here is variation in terms of how the dif­fer­ent councils perform within each level, the analy­sis of which lies beyond the scope of this chapter. Department Level: CODEDEs  The department-­level development councils, which exist in all departments, have the highest profile, as they are the only level that receives direct funding from the Solidarity Fund for Community Development for municipal development proj­ects.16 The CODEDEs meet regularly, although not necessarily monthly (the l­egal requirement). CSOs are represented; however, most of my interviewees noted that their participation is not very active. A 2009 study of civil society participation at this level found that governmental officials made up 65 ­percent of the members of the CODEDEs around the country (Linares López 2009). Ideally, the community councils (COCODEs) would pres­ent proj­ects to the COMUDE in their city, which would then take the proposals to the CODEDE

68  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

in their department for approval. However, several observers report that proj­ects are handpicked by governors and/or members of Congress from that region. Often, the proj­ects are then contracted out to businesses with ties to the leader’s po­liti­cal allies (Linares López 2009). Mayors often complain about this heavy-­handed role played by departmental elected officials (Gálvez Borrell, Hoffman Bailey, Fernando Mack 1998). For example, in an interview with a sitting mayor, he told me the following: A group of mayors deci­ded that we needed [X proj­ect] so we took a proposal to the CODEDE. It was approved but then Congress changed it. The Deputy himself changed it. None of us can take him on ­because he might then give us less money next year. It is too hard to confront them. No one is that crazy. That would be po­liti­cal suicide.

­ thers noted that the governor or congressperson from a department may O only approve proj­ects in municipalities with mayors who support their po­liti­cal party. My 2015 conversation with a civil society activist illustrates this prob­lem: Q: How would you evaluate the department councils? They have become politicized. This happens when the councils are dealing with proj­ects to fund. Q: How so? When the proj­ect is in the proposal phase, the Deputy often gets involved. He ­w ill try to fund proj­ects where he has the most supporters or where t­ here is a business that he wants to support.

All of t­ hese complaints led many interviewees to describe the CODEDEs as spaces that have been co-­opted by po­liti­cal forces, typified by corruption and po­liti­cal maneuvering. As one observer mentioned to me, “the CODEDEs are where the money is; this is where the real fighting takes place. They kill each other for proj­ect funding.” Municipal Councils: COMUDEs  The municipal level development councils are functioning in more than 90 ­percent of Guatemalan municipalities. Due to the high number of municipalities in Guatemala, their quality varies greatly. In some municipalities, such as Cobán in 2011, interviewees report that COMUDEs have emerged as robust spaces for participation. However, interviewees consistently stated that most COMUDEs suffer from serious prob­lems. Interviewees

Guatemala’s War­time Legacy  69

noted that mayors are most often strongmen (caudillos) and that most use the COMUDE as a source of funding for their pet proj­ects. As one person who helped design the system noted, “Mayors have a lot of power and space to manipulate administrative pro­cesses.” In my interviews, mayors and municipal officials themselves often agreed that this tends to be true. SEGEPLAN, the government agency that is tasked with overseeing all development planning, undertook a “municipal ranking” pro­cess that illustrates this prob­lem. One of the indices in their annual analy­sis of municipal management is citizen participation, which is mea­sured in terms of seven indicators that determine the quality of participation in the COMUDE. In 2013, less than 1 ­percent of the municipalities achieve a “high” ranking (meaning their COMUDE effectively engages diverse organ­izations and functions well). Eighty-­nine ­percent of the municipalities rank as “medium” or “low,” leading the SEGEPLAN analysts to call t­hese findings “disturbing” (Secretaría de Planificación y Programación de la Presidencia 2015, 41). Several interviewees noted that ­because t­ here are no proj­ects being funded at this level, the forum turns into an information session and not a rich space for consultation or deliberation (see also Linares López 2009). Walter Flores and Ismael Gómez-­Sánchez’s (2010) research on six COMUDEs in the northeast delineates several prob­lems with civil society’s participation. ­Because as a rule the government representatives are more educated than the general population (whereas 90 ­percent of the community members had no more than an elementary school education, 47 ­percent of the government representatives had college degrees), civil society representatives do not speak up as often, which leads to asymmetrical power relations. Community Councils: COCODEs ­Because of the sheer number of COCODEs,

it is impossible to evaluate all of them, and, as interviewees stressed, t­ here is a ­great deal of variation in their effectiveness. However, the overwhelming conclusion of almost ­every interviewee is that, in net terms, COCODEs are very problematic. The fact that in most years less than 50 ­percent of the communities that could set up a COCODE had done so is an indicator of their weakness. My 2012 fieldwork in Guatemala highlights both the variation in implementation of the COCODEs around the country and the challenges facing them. In 2011 I observed several COCODE meetings in a community in Ciudad Vieja called San Miguel Escobar, which is a medium-­sized city in the region of

70  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

Sacatepéquez. San Miguel’s COCODE formed in the aftermath of Hurricane Agatha in May 2011. In meetings with community groups and international donors, it became clear that the humanitarian assistance arriving in the city was not distributed adequately. Community residents who had witnessed the creek rise and create a landslide that killed many of their neighbors ­were angry with the municipal government for ignoring infrastructure prob­lems that could have prevented the deaths. Another NGO, based thirty minutes away in Antigua, suggested that they form a COCODE to pressure the mayor for infrastructure changes. This NGO, Fundación Nahual, had worked in other communities to form and train COCODEs in partnership with the municipalities of Antigua. At the time of my visit, this COCODE met once a week and had between six and fifteen members pres­ent. Some meetings took on an educational nature—­ for example, the fire department visited to talk about emergency preparedness. Other meetings w ­ ere more po­liti­cal. ­Because I visited during the electoral season, the COCODE had invited each mayoral candidate to listen to their demands and to pres­ent his (all candidates ­were male) proposals. The COCODE members had written up a list of their own development proj­ect priorities, including a health clinic and an improved draining system for the creek, in a formal letter. They asked each candidate to sign the letter as an indication of his commitment to t­ hese proj­ects, and they would then take this promise back to the members of their respective groups. I was struck as the COCODE president said to one of the candidates, “If you do win, we ­w ill be watching ­because we have the right to oversee your spending.” Thus, the members of this COCODE met regularly, had a list of proj­ects that they w ­ ere fighting for, and knew that they could apply pressure for funding as well as monitor municipal spending. In many ways this would be considered one of the more successful examples of a COCODE. However, even given t­ hese achievements, the council faced challenges—­most involving the existing municipal mayor. Participants told me that the mayor did not support the COCODE, would not attend meetings, and was “not at all interested in the COCODE” despite the ­legal framework. Another complaint involved space prob­lems; the members met at an NGO office, not at the city hall. They even complained that they could not get an official COCODE seal—­which would demonstrate the legality of this par­tic­u ­lar organ­ization—­from the mayor’s office. Even this relatively or­ga­nized and active group faced several challenges in terms of working with the municipal mayor.

Guatemala’s War­time Legacy  71

COCODE members from San Juan del Obispo and San Pedro Las Huertas had worse experiences. In both communities the neighbors formed one COCODE and the mayor formed another, made up of his own supporters. An activist from San Pedro Las Huertas described this predicament in the following passage: The mayor of Antigua did not like our COCODE ­because he wanted to do his own proj­ects. So he created his own COCODE. We had two for some time, one elected by the citizens and another approved by the mayor. Q: How is this pos­si­ble? ­There is no oversight. Also ­t here is a loophole in the law. The mayor could call this a second-­level COCODE and no one would notice.

Community activists strug­gled with mayors who wanted to control their councils. As one scholar confirmed in our interview, “in many COCODEs the mayor calls his ­people to come and support the proj­ect that he wants to fund.” Guatemalan scholars point to several of the same prob­lems. For example, Nelson Amaro’s work on fifty-­eight COCODEs in three municipalities, Retalhuleu, Champerico, and Cuyotenango, documents that most do meet once a month and, like the San Miguel COCODE, usually have anywhere from six to ten community members who participate. He finds that most of the members reported having been elected demo­cratically and that the organ­izations met regularly. Two weaknesses plague ­t hese councils. First, they have weak ties to the COMUDE. Sixty-­eight ­percent of the COCODEs “do not have solid links to the municipality,” nor are they included in public policy debates at the municipal level (Amaro 2008, 198). Second, while the majority (63 ­percent) of the COCODEs had presented and funded a proj­ect, very few had seen the proj­ect through to completion. Even fewer w ­ ere involved in overseeing the proj­ect in their community. Another prob­lem facing the community-­level councils, like their departmental counter­parts, is the lack of education and preparation among community members. Many average Guatemalans do not understand the l­egal framework, bud­gets, or how to put together a proj­ect proposal (Gibson n.d.; Linares López 2009). This lack of understanding and knowledge makes it hard to keep up in technical debates about proj­ect spending and can prevent effective oversight of their elected officials.

72  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

Marcela Gereda, a Guatemalan journalist, published an opinion piece in early 2013 about the development councils that confirms t­ hese accounts. She writes: Over the last months I have been getting to know the logic of the Development Councils in the community atmosphere of the central altiplano. In this po­liti­cal culture that does not understand the functioning of the council law, it is obvious that it ­w ill be difficult to see them become participatory and demo­cratic. . . . ​ Observing ­t hese councils in the central altiplano I saw how the mayors “or­ga­ nize” the communities and invite them to participate to win votes. In this area (and perhaps in the entire country), [with] clientelistic politics based on godfather-­like relationships [compadrazgo] and fear . . . ​many mayors, governors, and congresspeople . . . ​or­ga­nize, for their own con­ve­nience, COCODEs to serve as a po­liti­cal platform and to endorse proj­ects that are mostly executed by businesses linked to po­liti­cal power. . . . ​Meanwhile, ­little by ­little, communities lose autonomy and legitimacy. (Gereda 2013)

Gereda confirms many of the concerns voiced by the interviewees and activists whom I met in a dif­fer­ent region of the country. Although councils do exist around the country and meet regularly, thereby increasing civil society’s participation in development planning over time, the quality of civil society’s participation is often problematic, and the forums are dominated by mayors and other elected officials. Inclusive Participation?

How inclusive is this participation? Are marginalized actors participating in the council system? This section explores this question in light of two historically marginalized actors: p ­ eople of indigenous descent and ­women. Indigenous Communities  Guatemala’s indigenous citizens make up the majority of the population; thus, their incorporation into local politics is integral to meaningful participation in the council system. Additionally, the need to guarantee indigenous po­liti­cal participation emerged as a central theme in the peace pro­cess. Guatemala’s indigenous population represents an extremely heterogeneous group of communities. Generalizing about this diverse population is problematic, as vari­ous parts of the country have dif­fer­ent histories, speak vari­ous languages, and practice dif­fer­ent traditions. Although this analy­ sis explores “indigenous participation” in net terms, I recognize that this is a wide umbrella that encompasses hundreds of diverse communities.

Guatemala’s War­time Legacy  73

Historically indigenous communities in Guatemala have suffered from discrimination and high levels of po­liti­cal exclusion (Brett and Casaús Arzú 2010; Chartock 2008; Instituto Interuniversitario de Iberoamérica 2005). One study conducted by a Spanish think tank explains: The indigenous have historically suffered systematic threats respecting the use of land, territories, and resources, the integrity and dignity of their cultures and habitats, and their form of understanding and relating to their surroundings. In Guatemala the state had formed with systematic policies and acts of discrimination, exploitation, and marginalization t­ owards t­ hese p ­ eople. (Instituto Interuniversitario de Iberoamérica 2005, 47)

One effort to change this lay in the peace accords, as well as subsequent legislation, which began to formally recognize indigenous authorities (see Ochoa 2013). Thus, in many areas, mayors and traditional indigenous authorities legitimately operate in the same municipality. In some places, they work well together in a coordinated fashion, and in o ­ thers they operate separately. In most places with indigenous authorities, however, the council system has contributed to the dilution of indigenous authority over time. In his study of indigenous authorities, Carlos Fredy Ochoa (2013, 27) writes that “indigenous authorities agree that the [2002] law created its own community structures. . . . ​ The law has been criticized for ignoring, dividing, and limiting the authority of vari­ous community institutions.” Part of the prob­lem lies in the fact that the council system’s ­legal framework says nothing about indigenous authorities. The mayor is the head of the municipal councils, for example, and would have to formally invite the indigenous authority to share that power. Additional studies have explored indigenous participation and the council system and confirm this assessment. Sergio Leopoldo Dionisio’s (2011) work on Santa María Visitación, a small indigenous community, argues that the push to modernize and decentralize the state led to the deinstitutionalization of the indigenous forms of organ­ization and communal policymaking. Dionioso finds that the municpalista model, with elected mayors and development proj­ects funded through the council system, led to increased conflict regarding resource management in the forests surrounding this town Ramos Muñez and Sosa Velásquez (2010, 35) agree with this view, writing, “At the local level, the development councils are or­ga­nized in a parallel way, . . . ​in some cases displacing and weakening the orga­nizational pro­cesses of traditional authorities.”

74  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

Several interviewees confirmed this finding. One noted that “the system was supposed to increase indigenous power since we are now members. But in real­ ity, since other groups are also pres­ent at the ­table, it has diluted our power.” A scholar of indigenous communities agreed, noting that “the system brought vices into our traditional spaces. The spirit of the system is to increase participation, but the real impact is negative for indigenous communities.” In the higher levels of the council system, Ramos Muñez and Sosa Velásquez (2010, 36) also document a “lack of effective repre­sen­ta­tion by the indigenous community.” Their interviewees told them that often representatives are handpicked to make it look as though indigenous ­people are represented, but in real­ity the member is not representative of indigenous voices. Thus, by all accounts, the council system is not effectively engaging indigenous citizens or groups in policy decisions. ­Women  Are ­women participating in development policymaking through the

council system? Anecdotally, the absence of w ­ omen at t­ hese meetings is striking. My observations of the COCODE in San Miguel Escobar illustrate this prob­lem. This COCODE had only one female member, and when interviewed she told me that many w ­ omen cannot participate, stating, “You lose a lot of time in ­t hese meetings. The meetings start early and go late. Sometimes they end at ten. And, in the end ­there are few results b ­ ecause the mayor is not working with us.” The only other ­women pres­ent, not including my research assistant and me, ­were the wives of the candidates who visited the meeting and served food. ­There are few available studies about ­women’s participation, but t­ hose that exist confirm that w ­ omen are not effectively represented. Ramos Muñez and Sosa Velásquez’s (2010) study documents low levels of participation in all levels of councils. They write: “­Women’s participation [in the system] has been very limited at the local levels. . . . ​At the national, regional, and departmental levels ­women’s presence is approximately 20%. . . . ​A large part of the w ­ omen in the CODEDE are from the government” (Ramos Muñez and Sosa Velásquez 2010, 33). Claudia Inés Barrientos’s (2007) ethnography of the council system in Chichicastenango confirms this finding; in 2006, only 5 ­percent of the members of the eighty-­four COCODEs ­were female. Maria Dolores Marroquín and Quimy de León (2011), in perhaps the most extensive research on this issue, document spending and participation in 4,754 COCODEs in 110 municipalities spread over six departments. They put forth

Guatemala’s War­time Legacy  75

two main findings. First, w ­ omen are not represented equally. W ­ omen made up 17.65  ­percent of the COMUDE representatives and 10.39  ­percent of the COCODE members (Marroquín and de León 2011, 68–71). Their analy­sis of investment spending finds that only about 1 ­percent of the amount spent during this time period went ­toward proj­ects targeting w ­ omen. Thus, ­women are not participating in or benefiting from the council system. ­These findings lead Marroquín and de León (2011) to argue that the council system reproduces a po­liti­cal system in Guatemala that is exclusive and discriminatory by nature. In sum, the council system has increased participation by civil society, but the quality of civil society’s participation is not strong. In some levels, such as the department level, civil society representatives are underrepresented, which allows for elite capture. The council system is not effectively engaging traditionally marginalized populations such as ­women and ­people of indigenous descent. According to the few studies that exist, ­women are underrepresented in the councils, making up between 5 ­percent and 10 ­percent of the COCODEs members and close to 18 ­percent of the COMUDEs. In some cases, the system may be weakening indigenous authority structures and exacerbating community conflicts. Increased Government Responsiveness and Effectiveness?

Have public officials and governments become more responsive and/or effective since the reform? Are municipalities providing the ser­v ices that citizens need? Are funding decisions responding to citizens’ needs? Th ­ ese issues are explored first through quantitative indicators and then complemented with qualitative data. Two longitudinal data sources can shed light on changes in local government effectiveness since the peace accords w ­ ere written in Guatemala. World Bank Governance Indicators, made up of composite indices, demonstrate decreased government effectiveness over time. As the m ­ iddle line (surrounded by two lines that illustrate the margin of error) demonstrates, government effectiveness decreased from 34.15 in 1996, the first year for which the indices are available, to 24.52 in 2015 (see figure 4.4). The Latin American Public Opinion Proj­ect has asked individual respondents about municipal effectiveness since 1997, right ­after the signing of the peace accords. The data suggest that respondents’ satisfaction with municipal ser­vices has slightly decreased over time. While the percentage of respondents who rate the ser­v ices “excellent” has mostly stayed the same, the percentage

76  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

Figure 4.4. ​World Bank Governance Indicators, Government Effectiveness, Guatemala.

source: http://­info​.­worldbank ​.­org ​/­governance​/­wgi​/­#reports.

who rate the ser­v ices “bad” seems to have increased, albeit only slightly (see ­table 4.2). Do citizens experience increased trust in their municipal government over time as a result of participation? Trust in the municipality has also declined over time when mea­sured through survey responses, as ­table 4.3 illustrates. The data do not tell a story about causation, however. Interview data provide more insight into the relationship between the reform and ­these outcomes. When asked, interviewees confirmed that municipal governments are not effective or responsive, often lamenting the state of municipal finances and ser­v ices. Some noted that the municipalities simply could not afford to provide ser­v ices effectively. For example, when speaking with a representative from the National Association of Municipalities (Asociación Nacional de Muncipalidades), he argued that municipal governments cannot respond to citizens effectively, noting: The mayor is like the “padrino” of the p ­ eople. They ask for help for every­t hing, like when the f­amily is sick and when they need medicine. Prob­lems start ­because the municipalities d ­ on’t have very much money to meet t­ hese demands. They ­don’t have their own way to generate resources, and no mayor is ­going to increase the costs of ser­v ices to make more money.

Another way to understand the effects of the council system is to evaluate development planning. Since 1993, the council system has approved more than

Guatemala’s War­time Legacy  77

­Table 4.2. ​Evaluation of Municipal Ser­vices

Would you say that the ser­v ices provided by the municipality are . . . ? (percentage who responded) Year Excellent

1997

2017

5

5

Good

41

31

Normal

40

40

Bad

10

16

4

8

Horrible

source: http://­lapop​.­ccp​.­ucr​.­ac​.­cr​/­Lapop​_ ­English​.­html. Approximate margin of error ±2.5%.

­Table 4.3. ​Trust in Municipal Ser­vices

How much do you trust your municipal government . . . ? (percentage who responded) Year

1997

2017

Not at all (1–2)

13

33

Somewhat (3–5)

58

38

A lot (6–7)

29

29

source: http://­lapop​.­ccp​.­ucr​.­ac​.­cr​/­Lapop​_ ­English​.­html. Approximate margin of error ±2.5%.

US$31 million worth of development proj­ects. Have ­these proj­ects led to spending that is improving the life of the average Guatemalan? Although many governmental authorities are trying to change this outcome, the short answer to this question is no. This is reflected by a government employee’s comment in our interview: “Sometimes I think, look at all of this spending, all of t­ hese meetings. And I ask myself, where does all of it go?” In their study of spending patterns, Ramos Muñoz and Sosa Velasquez (2010, 31) argue that “in general terms, the pro­cess of assigning, executing and public investing through the development councils lacks systematic criteria for accomplishing development.” The department-­level councils mostly fund isolated proj­ects, and t­ here is no overall sense of long-­term planning in their logic. Instead, they are often chosen based on po­liti­cal criteria. One interviewee, a scholar of municipal governments, told me that he has observed mostly “pork-­ barrel politics.”

78  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

In discussions of the CODEDEs t­ here is a sense that most of the funding goes ­toward infrastructure proj­ects, or what one interviewee called “gray proj­ ects,” such as roads, and that most are urban in nature (Ramos Muñez and Sosa Velásquez 2010). In his comprehensive study of CODEDE spending from 2004 to 2007, Monterroso-­R ivas (2009, 158) finds that departmental investment remained heavi­ly biased ­towards infrastructure (79% of the total) with roads—­construction, maintenance and widening—­absorbing 43% of this total. While the social investment category at this government level does include social proj­ects, it mainly involves infrastructure works, such as school building remodeling (89%), the building and remodeling of health centres (8%), and the construction of sports facilities (2%). . . . ​Departmental governments channeled just 2% of their total resources into productive development. . . . ​ Proj­ects in this sector include forestry, irrigation, and vari­ous production-­ oriented initiatives.

Research by Marroquín and de León (2011) on the list of public works funded through six departments from 2005 to 2010 supports this argument. They find that 52 ­percent of the amount spent by the CODEDEs in t­ hese departments goes ­toward infrastructure proj­ects. Thus, critics charge that spending is too centered on infrastructure and not targeting longer-­term development goals. Importantly, ­t hese are the proj­ects that are often plagued by corruption, as infrastructure proj­ects often involve kickbacks from contractors to mayors or congressional deputies. This allocation of resources could change as the national council has become more involved in strategic planning. In 2012, SEGEPLAN began a nationwide pro­cess to develop strategic plans at the municipal and department levels. In that year, 321 municipalities and nineteen departments completed strategic plans that linked concrete program objectives to the then relevant Millennium Development Goals (Secretaría de Planificación y Programación de la Presidencia 2012).17 SEGEPLAN then analyzed the plans and began a national development strategy. This culminated in the National Development Plan K’atun: Our Guatemala 2032, passed in 2013, which is a twenty-­year development plan to work t­oward improving security, justice, and peace. According to SEGEPLAN, over 18,000 p ­ eople representing COCODEs, COMUDEs, and other CSOs participated in the 2012 pro­cess (Secretaría de Planificación y Programación de la Presidencia 2012). To develop ­t hese plans, SEGEPLAN made the strategic decision to engage COMUDEs and COCODEs in each department. According to an official in-

Guatemala’s War­time Legacy  79

volved in the pro­cess, one of the objectives of the planning pro­cess lay in reviving the council system. She elaborated: One of our goals is to increase citizen participation in decision making. At the same time, we did not want to re-­create an instrument. Tell me, how many countries have the luxury of having the ­legal framework for citizen participation in place? It made sense to use that system to undertake this planning pro­cess.

Working through the existing council system, territorial “dialogues” took place at e­ very level of government in ­every region, department, municipality, and community through the council system. Additional dialogues took place with citizens (through open meetings) and in dif­fer­ent sectors with representatives from civil society (e.g., l­ abor, the indigenous population, and w ­ omen). A total of 194 territorial meetings took place with representatives from the regional, departmental, and municipal councils (Secretaría de Planificación y Programación de la Presidencia 2014). However, most interviewees noted that, as of 2015, this pro­cess had not led to major changes in how development spending decisions ­were made. Reduced Corruption?

Another indicator of how well the government is administering public resources can be viewed through the lens of corruption. Of course, corruption is notoriously hard to capture or mea­sure in any country. However, interviewees consistently mentioned high levels of corruption in municipalities and in the negotiations surrounding the funding of proj­ects in CODEDEs. They reiterated that this corruption has existed for centuries and is a deep-­rooted tradition in Guatemala. Some argued that since the reforms, corruption in municipal governments has worsened. For example, one indigenous activist noted that “by bringing money into the municipalities, the local level has become corrupted. Money corrupts.” Scholars and the media also report very high levels of corruption in Guatemala. For example, a recent report titled The Politics of Corruption in Guate­ mala notes that politicians are “extremely susceptible to pressure from the private sector, including criminals, who line the pockets of politicians in exchange for protection, privileges and policies that benefit them” (Logan 2013, 2). What do the quantitative data tell us? Only V-­Dem data for public sector corruption are available for the case of Guatemala, as existing survey data do not go back to the early 1990s. As illustrated in figure 4.5, V-­Dem data suggest

80  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

Figure 4.5. ​V-­Dem

Public Sector Corruption Index, Guatemala.

source: Coppedge et al. 2018; https://­w ww​.­v​-­dem​.­net​/­en​/­data​/­data​-­version​-­8​/.

that the level of public sector corruption has experienced a slight decrease over time, from .88 in 1985 to .70 in 2015. However, qualitative accounts and the continued high levels of corruption suggest that it remains a serious concern in this country, and that the nationally mandated participatory reform has done l­ ittle to curb this prob­lem. Summary Findings

Generally, the councils do exist and meet regularly at all levels of government. The councils are established in all regional and departmental levels, in more than 90 ­percent of the municipalities, and about 40 ­percent of the communities. At most levels of the system, agents from CSOs attend meetings and are consulted about or propose local development proj­ects. The system has also played an impor­tant role in the development of the first national strategic development planning pro­cess. However, in most places, the quality of civil society’s participation is low; council meetings tend to be dominated by government officials. The system is not effectively engaging historically marginalized actors, such as p ­ eople of indigenous descent and w ­ omen. Existing studies document somewhere between 5 ­percent and 20 ­percent female repre­sen­ta­tion in the councils (Barrientos 2007;

Guatemala’s War­time Legacy  81

Ramos Muñez and Sosa Velásquez 2010). Elected officials often use the system to dole out development proj­ects to supporters or businesses with ties to the governing po­liti­cal party. The reform has not been able to improve government responsiveness or effectiveness, nor has it curbed corruption. Scholars and interviewees alike agree that, in terms of results, the council system is not working very well (Amaro 2001; Linares López 2009). This result led one interviewee to tell me that this par­tic­u­lar nationally mandated participatory reform represents “good intentions that failed.” THE LEGACY OF VIO­LENCE AND CON­TEMPORARY SHORTCOMINGS

What ­factors are preventing a more successful experience with citizen and civil society participation in Guatemala’s council system? Interviewees and scholars point to several interrelated prob­lems. First, the nature of the emergence of the system was tied to de­cades of violent and inherently anti-­participatory military rule. In this sense, the critical juncture at which the system was created limited the eventual results that could emerge. The decision of the dominant po­liti­cal party, the Christian Demo­crats, to collude with the military to convert fundamentally repressive institutions—­the IICs—­into purportedly participatory institutions inhibited the potential of the system from the start. As one observer noted to me in an interview, “When you are working within a state that committed genocide, no real citizen participation is ­going to happen.” Further, the Christian Demo­cratic Party’s ideological commitment to participation lay in a concept of citizen participation as part of a controlled, corporatist model (Amaro 2001). The pyramid structure of the system reflects the corporate roots of both the military’s orga­nizational structure and the most prevalent form of organ­izing civil society in Latin American during the period of military rule in the region (Collier 1995; Collier and Collier 1991; Malloy 1977; Schmitter 1974). The military, of course, resisted true participatory emancipation at e­ very step as well. During the transition to civilian rule, neither group ­really wanted to deeply empower poor, rural, indigenous ­people in Guatemala. Due to ­t hese prob­lems, citizens in many areas of Guatemala still distrust the councils. As a 2015 interviewee told me when discussing the system, “­People continue to distrust the government. The council system is viewed as a mechanism of control. ­People ­don’t trust it ­because they ­don’t trust the government in general.”

82  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

Directly related to the historical roots of the design pro­cess, the final design of the council system itself is sometimes confusing. In interviews and scholarship many argue that the constitutional and reformed design is hard for most average citizens to understand (Gibson n.d.). Nelson Amaro (2001, 84–85) describes this prob­lem: In design and in the mind of t­ hose who w ­ ere its supporters, [the council system] resembles a dual pyramid structure of authority. Originally it was conceived of as a two-­way ave­nue. But in real­ity, observers and many actors wrongly regarded it as a ­simple pyramid of authority with the president of the Republic at the top and the local development councils at the base.

The prob­lems with the system’s historical roots and design are exacerbated by a weak civil society sector, also a result of the de­cades of violent military rule. Interviewees insisted that much of the variation in the municipal-­and community-­level councils is due to this weakness. For example, in a conversation with a former government official and l­awyer I asked, “Why are some COMUDEs more effective than ­others?” The interviewee responded that “it depends on what kinds of civil society organ­izations exist. ­These actors have to require the government to call meetings and include them.” This has led some, such as Luis Linares (2009), to argue that only when civil society and citizens start to demand that the system improve w ­ ill it change into a meaningful space for participation. Scholars and data back up claims about the overall weak state of the civil society sector in Guatemala (Booth and Richard 1998; Isaacs 2010; C. Smith 1990). As Anita Isaacs (2010) notes, the organ­izations that make up the sector are generally fragmented and work in isolation. De­cades of conflict, exacerbated by state reforms, reduced international assistance, and narco-­violence has prevented the sector from emerging as a domestic counterbalance to the more or­ga­nized and corrupt state apparatus. Another prob­lem lies in the lack of high-­level po­liti­cal support, especially in the executive branch. As one interviewee noted, “The government is not very interested in the system. Each president creates his own direct way to reach the public.” This changed briefly ­under Perez Molina, but in general, few high-­level officials deci­ded to promote the strengthening of the system. In 2015, interviewees who worked in the system w ­ ere actively trying to improve the development planning pro­cess, but lamented that Congress would never work to reform the system to make it more effective or inclusive. Once the critical

Guatemala’s War­time Legacy  83

juncture passes and new national officials come to power, the national politicians are usually not interested in increasing the power of disenfranchised citizens. This lack of support translates to resource prob­lems. Government officials tasked with ­running the system consistently complained about the lack of resources needed to do their work. One regional official noted that to make sure that the revised technical pro­cess is working, they “need more ­people to oversee the new pro­cess of approving proj­ects.” The absence of funding has affected all levels of the system. I asked one national government official who would normally or­ga­nize national meetings why national councils barely met. She responded that “the meetings are too expensive. We just d ­ on’t have the resources.” Another government official, when discussing COCODEs, confirmed the lack of resources, noting, “We just d ­ on’t have the resources that we need to strengthen t­ hese councils. We need to seek international funds to build their capacity. Our agency simply does not have the needed funds.” The lack of state funding also allows corruption and clientelism to pervade the system. Several interviewees noted that the state does not have the money or person power to send p ­ eople to oversee the thousands of development proj­ ects that are funded through the system. This means that no one is available to verify the existence of and the quality of development proj­ects that are funded. Government officials repeatedly lamented the lack of resources as a barrier to the success of t­ hese changes and to the success of the council system as a w ­ hole. At the same time, as the interviewees made clear, many mayors and regional governors use the system to manipulate, conduct pork-­barrel politics, and hand out ­favors, reinforcing clientelistic relationships. Thus, for subnational elected officials the system has become a new venue for elite capture and clientelism (Asociación de Investigación y Estudios Sociales 2013). For example, one scholar noted in an interview: The COCODE and COMUDE have become a tool to politicize proj­ects, the mayor can call his p ­ eople and decide upon proj­ects based on po­liti­cal goals. It is not a bad idea, it just became too politicized. . . . ​The idea of the system is marvelous, but reformers left some holes that allow for clientelism.

Or as one government official noted, “Guatemala has merely decentralized the traditional logic of caudillismo and clientelism.” Several other interviewees agreed with this assessment. One noted that “the mayors h ­ ere like to be in charge, they are not ­going to let the community decide what to do.”

84  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

An indigenous activist agreed, noting that “it has become an instrument that is manipulated by the mayors.” ­These anecdotes regarding clientelism are backed by data. Surveys clearly document that patronage politics do exist in Guatemala. According to the 2010 Latin American Public Opinion Poll, approximately 17 ­percent of the respondents reported having been offered a material benefit in exchange for a vote in Guatemala, which is a relatively high percentage in Latin Amer­i­ca (see Faughnan and Zechmeister 2011).18 A study conducted by the National Demo­cratic Institute, the University of Notre Dame, and Acción Ciudadana (2012) also estimates that roughly 17 ­percent of the respondents have heard of or had undertaken activities related to vote buying. Elite capture, pork-­barrel spending, and clientelism are enabled by a system of very weak po­liti­cal parties. Guatemala’s party system has long been described as “inchoate” and “dysfunctional” (Isaacs 2010; Sánchez 2008). As Omar Sánchez (2008, 126) writes, “Guatemalan parties tend to be epiphenomena (or instruments) of other actors more central in shaping po­liti­cal outcomes (or­ga­nized business, the military, criminal organ­izations, ‘parallel powers,’ individual leaders, and so on).” Weak po­liti­cal parties open the door for non-­ democratic po­liti­cal manipulation and maneuvering in all public institutions, including the council system. Government officials are currently trying to rectify some of t­ hese prob­lems. By 2015, the national government had started to insist that proj­ects proposed through the system meet a series of criteria, such as contributing to the departmental and national long-­term development strategies, and that the impact of proj­ects should address vulnerable sectors of the population. One regional government official appointed by the national government noted that mayors are very unhappy with this new pro­cess, as it restricts their ability to hand out development proj­ects freely. He noted that the national government is trying to send the message that “public funds are not the mayor’s money, they are for promoting development.” Thus, in the ­future the system may emerge as a more effective tool for participatory development planning; as of this writing, however, success has been marginal. CONCLUSION

As my conversation with the small-­business owner near Antigua highlights, Guatemala’s nationally mandated participatory reform has not lived up to the promises and aspirations of the national officials who designed and passed leg-

Guatemala’s War­time Legacy  85

islation that set up this par­tic­u­lar institution. Several f­actors have prevented the system from achieving its goals, some of which the weary citizen with whom I spoke highlighted, including: the legacies of military rule, that is, the critical juncture from which the system emerged; the lack of high-­level po­liti­cal support; a confusing design; and extremely weak po­liti­cal parties and CSOs, which exacerbate and permit elite capture, clientelism, and pork-­barrel politics. ­Because Guatemala’s urban and rural development system is the first nationally mandated participatory reform in the developing world, the case provides insights based on several de­cades. The experience in Guatemala clearly demonstrates the long-­lasting legacy of military rule and a violent history on participatory institutions. Guatemala’s conflict, especially brutal in rural areas, left a permanent mark on citizen and civil society participation. As one interviewee noted, “It ­w ill take generations to eradicate the culture of fear in Guatemala.” This case also illustrates that, regardless of their limitations, t­ hese institutions are quite “sticky” once put into place. Even as the institution languished during the late 1980s, reformers revived during the peace pro­cess partly ­because it was already in the constitution. Then, when the country undertook a massive participatory development planning pro­cess, SEGEPLAN worked with the system b ­ ecause it already existed—­this was the most efficient option available to development planners. It would have been much more difficult to create an entirely new participatory structure, even though the existing one showed l­ittle promise of achieving its goals. This conundrum can be problematic when results are limited and ­t here is no high-­level po­liti­cal ­w ill to reform the system from within or to more effectively include all p ­ eople in policy decision making.

5

BOLIVIA’S NEOLIBERAL REVOLUTION The Law of Popu­lar Participation

“bolivia ­today would not be the same without popu­lar participation.” This opinion, expressed by one of my interviewees, sums up much of the sentiment surrounding Bolivia’s nationally mandated participatory reforms, which began with the Law of Popu­lar Participation (Ley de Participación Popu­lar), or LPP. Most ­people in Bolivia recognize both the power of this law and its shortcomings. This recognition became clear when I visited the small town of Calamarca, sixty kilo­meters from La Paz in the altiplano highlands. I was walking around town and someone pointed me ­toward the office of a neighborhood organ­ization. I walked over and the president of the organ­ization invited me into the office to look around and meet its members. Several p ­ eople waited to meet with him and ask for assistance. The president had mostly positive ­things to say about the way decisions are made. He told me, “Before the LPP ­people could not participate. The mayor had no funds for the town. He had to pay for ­t hings out of his own pocket. Now we coordinate with the mayor to improve our neighborhood. We get thousands of bolivianos ­every year.” Speaking to me at his desk, flanked by posters of Túpac Katari and Bartolina Sisa—­two Aymara leaders—he also recognized that “the pro­cess is very slow. And it all r­ eally depends on the mayor in power.” The LPP is an example of a reform that has both far-­reaching goals and tangible results linked to its period of implementation. Although not the first nationally mandated participatory reform in Latin Amer­i­ca, the LPP has been in place for twenty-­five years as of this writing. Fortunately, the team that implemented the reform took evaluation very seriously. Thus, the reform pro­cess and its implementation took on a more dynamic nature as further laws w ­ ere 86

Bolivia’s Neoliberal Revolution  87

passed to rectify some of the documented prob­lems. The pro­cess also captured scholars’ attention around the world. For all of ­t hese reasons an extensive amount of data and analy­sis are available about this reform.1 All of ­t hese data, including my own interviews, suggest that the reform contributed to profound po­liti­cal changes in Bolivia. Paradoxically, the reform also led to major reworking of the participatory paradigm in Bolivia, or, as one interviewee dryly noted, to “its own demise.” This chapter explores how and why the LPP changed aspects of democracy and governance, emphasizing the period during which the LPP made up the official participatory governance framework (from 1994 to 2009), with only a brief discussion of the years following. The chapter begins with a brief overview, followed by a discussion of the context in which the reform emerged. The next sections describe the LPP’s ­legal framework and the national officials’ motivations for designing this reform. Next, the chapter analyzes the effects of the reform and provides an analy­sis of the ­factors that both facilitate and constrain the reform’s mea­sured effects. Throughout the chapter it becomes clear that Bolivia has had more robust results related to a nationally mandated participatory reform when compared to Guatemala and Peru. BOLIVIA’S REVOLUTIONARY HISTORY

Like Guatemala and Peru, Bolivia took part in the Latin American in­de­pen­ dence movement in the 1820s, gaining in­de­pen­dence from Spain in 1825. ­After becoming a sovereign nation, the country experienced more than a ­century of oligarchic and military rule. Most of the country’s ruling elite w ­ ere linked to the burgeoning mining industry, which drove economic development well into the twentieth ­century (Klein 2011). Located within a swath of the Andes, Bolivia is a country often described as having a “weak state with a strong society” (Gray Molina 2008). It is divided by the highlands in the northwest, the Amazon in the northeast, and the lowlands in the south, and the national government was historically absent from most corners of the country. The 1952 revolution, led by the “nationalist, corporatist, and socialist” MNR (Movimiento Nacionalista Revolucionario, or Nationalist Revolutionary Movement), was a defining moment in Bolivia’s modern po­liti­cal history (Grindle 2003, 4).2 The MNR gained strength in the 1940s and, a­ fter battling the po­liti­ cal elite who opposed its leftist ideology, it successfully took power by force in 1952 in a three-­day conflict with the military regime. The MNR restructured the po­liti­cal system and promised to open up the state to many more actors.

88  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

The regime declared universal suffrage for all Bolivians of voting age, irrespective of ethnicity, race, or gender. Further, the MNR nationalized the mines, reformed the education system, and restructured land owner­ship by undertaking a comprehensive agrarian reform. The MNR also worked to strengthen the existing system of peasant unions (sindicatos campesinos) in rural areas, which then helped implement the agrarian reform and manage lands (Albó 2009; Yashar 2005).3 The MNR government also allied itself with the Federated Union of Mine Workers of Bolivia (Federación Sindical de Trabajadores Mineros de Bolivia, or FSTMB), which ­became a key player in the po­liti­cal sphere (Klein 2011). The sindicatos (­unions) played a very impor­tant role in mediating state-­society relations during the tenure of the MNR from 1952 to 1964 (Tapia 2008). In addition to fundamentally restructuring the state and its relationship to society, the MNR deci­ded to encourage a class-­based identity in rural areas and to downplay ethnic identity. In an effort to eliminate discrimination against the indigenous p ­ eople, who make up 70 ­percent of the country’s population, leaders advocated for the term campesino (peasant) when referring to this group, instead of indios (Albó 2009; Yashar 2005). For this reason, as Raúl Madrid (2008, 2) notes, ethnic bound­aries in Bolivia became more fluid, and "in fact, most ­people in Bolivia ­w ill identify both as indigenous and mestizo, depending on the circumstances.” Thus, the Bolivian Revolution—­sometimes compared to the Mexican Revolution—­represents an attempt to create a centralized state apparatus that could effectively reform economic, po­liti­cal, and social relations in the country. ­After twelve years, however, the military took back power by force. This led to a series of military regimes that governed for almost twenty years. Eventually, Bolivians began to pressure national leaders for demo­cratic rule, and a formal democ­ratization pro­cess took place in 1982. Around the same time, the indigenous movement started to mobilize and gain force. Starting in the late 1960s, the indigenous ­people (and their organ­izations), facing high levels of discrimination and disproportionate poverty, gained po­liti­c al strength. A small but growing number of young ­people—­eventually becoming what is called the Katarista movement4—­began to reject the purely economic implications of the term “campesino,” and, as Xavier Albó writes (2009, 36), began to “return to their ethnic origins.” For de­cades, the indigenous continued to fight for re­spect for their traditional authorities, for economic well-­being, and for land rights—­issues that continue to resonate t­ oday (Crabtree and Chaplin 2013).

Bolivia’s Neoliberal Revolution  89

Shortly ­after the first demo­cratic elections in 1982, Bolivia experienced an economic crisis. In 1985 “inflation in Bolivia was more than 4,000 ­percent. The government had a fiscal deficit of 23.4 ­percent of GDP, and the country had given up paying interest on its foreign debt” (Lehoucq 2011, 350). In response to the crisis, President Victor Paz Estensorro veered from the traditional MNR position of a stronger state role in economic development and put in place a series of neoliberal reforms that would forever alter Bolivia. The LPP, passed ­under Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada, is one of the many reforms that eventually made up this package. During this period, the traditional po­liti­cal parties managed to hold on to power for most of the de­cade by entering into pacts with smaller parties. However, by the early 2000s, Bolivia entered a period of po­liti­cal crisis. The “pacted democracy” that typified the post-­democratization period crumbled. Traditional po­liti­cal parties lost support. Eduardo Gamarra (2003, 290) describes this period of Bolivian history in the following passage: “In 2002, the multiparty system . . . ​was in serious trou­ble. Accused of corruption, mismanagement of the economy and of failing to establish credible and sustained links to the citizenry, in recent years traditional parties faced declining support and calls for an end to their constitutional mono­poly over po­liti­cal repre­sen­ta­tion.” The po­liti­cal parties that had historically held power had lost touch with the average Bolivian’s real­ity, and they suffered as a result. At the same time, social movements began to gain strength (Kohl and Farthing 2006; Shultz 2008). As an illustration of the power of t­ hese movements, from 2000 to 2005 five heads of state came to power, two of whom w ­ ere pressured to step down by ­these popu­lar mobilizations. In this state of po­liti­cal crisis Evo Morales won the presidency in 2005. Morales—­t he first presidential candidate to win an absolute majority since 1982—­led the Movement toward Socialism (Movimiento al Socialismo, or MAS). MAS’s supporters originally came from organ­izations representing coca plant growers (cocaleros), indigenous communities, trade, and larger umbrella neighborhood groups (Albó 2008b; Crabtree and Chaplin 2013; F. Mayorga 2009, 2011). During the early 2000s, MAS leaders also reached out to the urban ­middle classes and some intellectuals to develop new alliances (Anria 2010). MAS brought together a wide base of support; importantly, many of MAS’s supporters had been very active in the same social movements mentioned earlier that had pushed Sánchez de Lozada and Carlos Mesa out of power.5 Like the wave of leftist leaders that had emerged in Latin Amer­i­ca as part of the so-­called pink tide, Morales also pledged to completely restructure the

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Bolivian state. John Crabtree (2008, 2) writes that Morales “promised a more direct and participatory schema of demo­cratic repre­sen­ta­t ion, with an increased role for popu­lar mobilization.” Morales immediately moved to fulfill his promise by calling elections for a Constituent Assembly in 2006 to rewrite the constitution.6 Calling itself a government of social movements, MAS had emerged as the new hegemonic party in Bolivia by 2010. Like the MNR, that is, the party that had previously dominated the po­liti­cal sphere for so many de­cades, MAS has fundamentally restructured a number of aspects of Bolivian society and politics, including the participatory governance framework (Centellas 2015; Farthing and Kohl 2014). THE EMERGENCE OF PARTICIPATORY PLANNING IN BOLIVIA

Bolivia’s experiment with top-­down participatory planning became internationally recognized with the codification of the Ley de Participación Popu­lar. Participatory pro­cesses have a long history in Bolivia, dating back to indigenous forms of decision making in the traditional ayllus (economic centers based on kinship and reciprocity). The more formal and con­temporary po­liti­cal roots of the LPP, however, can be linked to the 1952 Revolution, which “set the grounds for a long period of corporatist state-­building and po­liti­cal clientelism” (Gray Molina 2003, 350). The series of military dictators who ruled from 1964 to 1982 did not attempt to change the centralized structure of the state or the nature of state-­society relations. Rather, they continued to rely on the campesino groups through a military-­campesino pact (Albó 2008b). This pact became a central focal point for reformers in the 1990s who wanted to break up the strong ties between the state and the power­f ul campesino organ­izations. The LPP itself emerged in the context of neoliberal restructuring that began in the mid-1980s, mentioned above. In 1985 President Paz Estensorro, facing an extreme economic crisis, passed Supreme Degree 21,060, which set the stage for one of the most orthodox neoliberal reform pro­cesses in Latin Amer­ i­ca. In a very short time, the Bolivian economy underwent a complete overhaul. The social costs ­were high, as many of the newly unemployed took to the streets. Most po­liti­cal party elites, however, supported the policies b ­ ecause they had stabilized the economy. In the early 1990s, politicians began to turn to what are now called second-­ generation reforms, and decentralization ­rose to the top of the national agenda.7 Since 1982, the country had been divided into several kinds of administrative

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units, including nine departments, led by appointed prefects (or governors); twelve provinces; provincial sections; and cantones, which are relatively autonomous municipal districts. The 1967 Constitution granted some powers to the municipal level of government, and the 1985 Organic Municipal Law (Ley Orgánica de Municipalidades) set out to clarify them, allowing for directly elected mayors and city council members to hold positions for five-­year terms. However, up to 1994, “81 ­percent of all national resources designated to municipal governments went to La Paz, Cochabamba, and Santa Cruz” (Molina Saucedo 2003, 73). And 42 ­percent of the population lived in cities with no elected officials (Grindle 2000). Thus, most of the smaller towns around the country did not have elected mayors or bud­gets to provide ser­vices to their residents before the implementation of the LPP. During this period, national po­liti­cal elites began to circulate proposals for the further decentralization of the national government. B ­ ecause existing municipalities had some degree of autonomy, most proposals pushed for devolving power and resources to the nine departments, which already had appointed governors.8 Departmental elites pushed for more power a­ fter the military had set up “development corporations” to make decisions and to undertake some programs at the department level. They wanted formal powers to control their own resources and make decisions about subnational issues. Several legislative initiatives to devolve power to elected departmental governments circulated in Congress during this time.9 Supporters argued that empowering the already existing departmental leaders would allow resources to trickle down to the lower levels of government and administrative units (e.g., provinces and cantones), eventually benefiting citizens in rural areas. However, critics of this idea did not think that regional elites would follow through with this devolution of resources once they had more power. In this context, in 1992 Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada, a wealthy businessman turned public servant, ran for president on the MNR ticket and won. He pledged to promote several reforms outlined in the party’s Plan for All (Plan de Todos), including participatory decentralization (Kohl 2003).10 When he took power, he began to work on codifying his campaign promises almost immediately. To put together his decentralization reform, Sánchez de Lozada (called “Goni”) hired a team led by one of the most vocal critics of the existing proposals to devolve power to the department level, Carlos Hugo Molina Saucedo.11 Molina Saucedo and his team ended up crafting a law—­mostly in closed

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meetings—­t hat would empower municipal governments and set up a nationwide participatory planning and oversight pro­cess to govern the subnational levels. It represents a top-­down pro­cess with radical aspirations to completely restructure Bolivian state-­society relations. As the Bolivian scholar José Blanes (2000) argues, the reform surprised both the communities affected by the reform and many of the previously power­f ul organ­izations. According to Albó (2008b, 51), many called the LPP and other neoliberal reforms the leyes maldita [damn laws] of the World Bank. Some suspected that its preference for the neighborhood organ­izations and not functional organ­izations for the diverse sectors (such as miners or teachers) sought to take away power from the top levels of the popu­lar movement. The community members feared that the OTB [territorial base organ­ization] wanted to eliminate their own form of organ­ization . . . ​(like the campesino ­unions of the early MNR).

When the reform originally passed, therefore, a variety of actors, such as po­ liti­cal parties and the u ­ nions, pushed back on the executive. Even given this re­sis­tance, the LPP is widely seen as one of the most impor­tant reform efforts in Bolivia, and arguably in South Amer­i­ca. Writing about the LPP, Klein (2011, 259) notes, “­There is ­little doubt that it started one of the most profound pro­ cesses of po­liti­cal and administrative changes in Bolivian history.” THE L­ EGAL FRAMEWORK

What does the ­legal framework for participatory governance promise to do in Bolivia? The LPP (Law 1551), signed into law on April 20, 1994, has a clear statement of its objectives. Article 1 states: The pres­ent Law recognizes, promotes, and consolidates the pro­cess of Popu­ lar Participation, uniting the indigenous, campesino, and urban communities into the ­legal, po­liti­cal, and economic life of the country. It seeks to improve the quality of life of Bolivian w ­ omen and men, through the fair distribution and better administration of public resources. It strengthens the po­liti­cal and economic instruments needed to perfect representative democracy and facilitate citizen participation and it guarantees equal opportunities in all levels of repre­sen­ta­tion for men and ­women.12

The law transformed the existing provincial sections into municipalities with elected mayors and city council members who have the power and resources

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to oversee infrastructure proj­ects and some public ser­v ices (Articles 13 and 14). As such, the LPP turned many of the 311 provincial sections into municipalities almost overnight.13 As one interviewee noted, for the mayors who had been volunteering for the job and sometimes paying for public works out of their own pocket, “it was a gift from heaven . . . ​one that they had never even asked for.” The fiscal framework for t­hese new governments is bipartite: (1) “co-­ participation” funds, which are resources transferred from the national trea­sury directly to the municipal government based on population; and (2) limited taxing authority, such as property and vehicle taxes. The co-­participation funds make up the majority of the financing, totaling 20 ­percent of national tax revenue. The law originally stated that 90 ­percent of the co-­participation funds should be designated for investment proj­ects and not fixed operating costs.14 This designation helped the national government overcome re­sis­tance to the reform by providing tangible resources for implementing proj­ects (Oxhorn 2011). The decision to allocate t­ hese funds based on population reflected reformers’ commitment to a logic of equality. As a former LPP team member stated in an interview, the decision “meant that each Bolivian is treated equally ­under this law.” Most relevant to this study, the LPP sets out a participatory planning and oversight pro­cess.15 Article 2a formally recognizes “indigenous communities, campesino communities, and neighborhood organ­izations,” respectively, which all fall ­under the larger umbrella of territorial base organizations (organizacio­ nes territorialesde base, or OTBs). OTBs have the right and responsibility to “propose, ask for, control, and supervise the undertaking of public works and public ser­v ice delivery based on the community’s need” (Article 7).16 Within this framework any OTB could register as a ­legal organ­ization in the municipality and participate in decision making about development planning and bud­gets. Specifically, the OTBs would work with the municipal government to develop the Annual Operations Program (programa de operaciones anual, or POA), which lists the proj­ects that ­w ill be financed ­every year, and five-­year municipal development plans. If the municipal governments do not comply with the participatory pro­cess, they are reported and may lose their co-­participation funds (España 2004). The LPP also gives l­ egal status to an oversight committee, or comité de vigi­ lancia.17 This committee, made up of elected representatives from the OTBs, is tasked with overseeing the co-­participation funds and publicly announcing its

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support for the municipal bud­geting of the co-­participation funds (Article 10). The oversight committee can denounce the municipal government to the national executive branch (usually the Trea­sury Department) to begin an investigation regarding any wrongdoing. However, the law did not empower departmental governments. Sánchez de Lozada set out to clarify what role departments would play in the 1995 Administrative Decentralization Law, or Law 1654, which transfers some additional power and resources to the departments, but also states that the prefect is “designated by the President of the Republic” (Article 4). Thus, Law 1654 reinforces the central role of municipal governments in Bolivia’s new governmental structure, and not departments. Several modifications to the legislation went forward before the 2009 Constitution replaced the LPP’s framework. The 1999 Municipal Law (Law 2028) replaced the 1985 municipal legislation and clarified most aspects of municipal power and functions outlined in the LPP. It also gave the oversight committee additional powers in terms of oversight of the annual operations plans and the municipal development plans. Another modification took place as a result of the 2000 National Dialogue Law (Law 2235), which emerged ­a fter Bolivia initiated debt relief as one of the Highly Indebted Poor Countries (HIPCs) to allocate more resources domestically (Toranzo Gutiérrez 2004). This law distributed funds to municipal governments using a new criterion: poverty levels.18 ­After this change, as one interviewee stated, “municipal funds ­were then allocated based on both equality and equity.” In 2005, the national government created an additional fund based on the taxes garnered from the hydrocarbon operators (called Impuesto Directo a los Hidrcarburos or IDH). Thus, municipal governments could now receive money from three separate funds in the national trea­sury: co-­participation, HIPC, and IDH. Fi­nally, the Law of the National Agrarian Reform Ser­v ice (Ley de Instituto Nacional de Reforma Agraria), passed in October 1996, responds to the demands of the indigenous to recuperate their lands and create a way for indigenous communities to formalize collective titles. It created an administrative category called the First Peoples’ Communal Territory (Tierra Comunitaria de Origin).19 This set the l­egal foundation for indigenous communities to form territories and gave them more control over the use of natu­ral resources on t­ hese lands. The implementation of the LPP evolved in three distinct phases. The first phase, from 1995 to 1997, represents an initial, heady surge (Mendoza-­Botelho

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2008). Hundreds of workshops and training sessions, funded by the national government, took place around the country to train communities about the reform and participatory planning pro­cess. In an interview, one person formerly involved with the LPP implementation during this phase stated, “I saw many advances, citizenship was being created. I saw the democ­ratization of the local level.” The second phase lasted from 1997 to 2005 and is best described as a period of neglect. National elites ignored implementation. General Hugo Banzer did ­little to improve the LPP from 1997 to 2002, and when Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada won the presidency again in 2002, the country was embroiled in crisis, and he never pushed for more aggressive implementation (Mendoza-­Botelho 2008). The third and final phase took place from 2005 to 2009, when Bolivians ratified a new constitution. During this period, the LPP fell into formal decline, and eventually was replaced with a new ­legal framework. The New Participatory Regime: Bolivia’s 2009 Constitution

The 2009 Constitution and the concomitant po­liti­cal transition ushered in major changes in the participatory framework. An excerpt from the preamble illustrates the far-­reaching goals of this complex and ambitious document. In ancient times mountains arose, rivers spread out from one place to another, lakes ­were formed. Our Amazonia, our swamps, our highlands and our plains and valleys ­were covered with greenery and flowers. We populated this sacred ­Mother Earth with dif­fer­ent f­ aces, and since that time we have understood the plurality that exists in all ­things and in our diversity as ­human beings and cultures. Thus, our ­peoples ­were formed, and we never knew racism u ­ ntil we ­were subjected to it during the terrible times of colonialism. We, the Bolivian p ­ eople, of plural composition, inspired by the strug­gles of the past since the depth of history, by the anti-­colonial indigenous uprising, and in in­de­pen­dence, by the popu­lar strug­gles of liberation, by the indigenous, social and ­labor marches, by the w ­ ater and October wars, by the strug­gles for land and territory, construct a new State in memory of our martyrs. A state based on re­spect and equality for all, on princi­ples of sovereignty, dignity, interdependence, solidarity, harmony, and equity in the distribution and re­ distribution of the social wealth, where the search for a good life predominates; based on re­spect for the economic, social, juridical, po­liti­cal and cultural pluralism of the inhabitants of this land; and on collective coexistence with

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access to w ­ ater, work, education, health and housing for all. We have left the colonial, republican and neoliberal State in the past.20

The 2009 Constitution makes a radical break from the past. It sets up new levels of autonomous governments and codifies many advances ­toward enhanced rights for the majority indigenous population. The spirit of participatory governance lives on in the document. For example, Articles 241 and 242 in chapter 4’s “Participation and Social Control”21 state: The sovereign ­people ­shall participate, through or­ga­nized civil society, in the design of public policies. Or­ga­nized civil society s­ hall exercise social control of public management at all levels of the state, and of the public enterprises and institutions, mixed and private, that administer public resources. It w ­ ill exercise social control of the quality of public ser­v ices. . . . ​Civil society s­ hall or­ga­ nize itself to define the structure and composition of social control. And the state ­shall create spaces of participation and social control on the part of society.22

However, instead of mandating a pro­cess through the OTBs, the new constitution states that all territories need organic charters (cartas orgánicas) to set up their own participatory governance regimes (Badani 2012; Galindo 2006; Schilling-­Vacaflor 2011). ­Later legislation further clarifies much of the constitutional language. Law 031, the Framework Law for Decentralization and Autonomies (Ley Marco de Autonomías y Descentralización “Andrés Ibañez,” or LMAD) details the idea of “autonomy” as outlined in Articles 269 to 305 of the constitution. Some aspects of participatory planning at the municipal level remain intact, such as the annual operations plan and development plans. However, apart from ­t hese, the law states that territories ­w ill “create participatory planning pro­ cesses with the repre­sen­ta­tion of or­ga­nized civil society and guarantee their functioning” (Article 93). In February 2013 Congress passed Law 341, the Law of Participation and Social Control (Ley de Participación y Control Social)23 to flesh out the constitutional language about a “fourth branch of power,” based on a historic concept called control social. Jorge Komadina Rimassa (2011, 7) defines control social as “a set of initiatives generated by civil society to establish responsibilities and punishments for the management of public goods.” The term is analogous to ideas such as transparency, accountability, and participatory governance in En­glish; however, ­these terms do not capture the

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concept completely in the Bolivian context.24 The LPP did not introduce the term; it existed well before the law went into effect. For example, indigenous communities have always employed similar ideas,25 and the term itself became part of the lexicon of mining u ­ nions in the mid-1900s. Thus, a new, more far-­reaching ­legal framework has replaced the LPP, and each subnational government now decides how to channel participation in policymaking. At the same time, due to what some perceive as a technicality, the oversight committee seems to have retained its l­ egal status. As one educational document states, “Although the LMAD replaces the LPP and some parts of the Municipal Law, it does not repeal Articles 150 and 151 of the Municipal Law which discuss the oversight committee” (Programa de Apoyo de la Democracia Municipal 2012, 50). Thus, many interpret the law as not having eradicated the oversight committee’s role, which implies that this committee should still be functioning. While participatory governance is now embedded in ­every aspect of Bolivia’s current l­ egal framework, t­ here is no “blueprint” for citizen participation in subnational governments. Each administrative unit—­department, province, municipality, and autonomous indigenous communities—­will decide and codify some form of participation in its statute. While giving sweeping powers to or­ga­nized actors, the legislation is vague in terms of how that power ­w ill be implemented. On the one hand, as one supporter of this model stated in an interview, “More direct participation allows for increased attention on the impor­tant prob­lems in Bolivia and moves us away from the obrismo [meaning the tendency to solely fund public works proj­ects] of the previous model.” This may lead to new ideas and innovations. On the other hand, some interviewees pointed to risks in this strategy. Many questions remain: W ­ ill the corporate ­u nions and MAS supporters control or co-­opt ­t hese participatory spaces, effectively excluding other groups, such as the opposition, in the end? One interviewee worried more about the groups that have never had access to power, such as w ­ omen, p ­ eople with disabilities, and ethnic minorities. Th ­ ese risks led one expert to note the following: “In the end, u ­ nder the LPP the rules of the game ­were clear. Is it better to have a game with clear rules, although problematic, or start a new game with no rules?” This may be a moot point ­because many interviewees also told me that in large part the national government is ignoring most of the new ­legal framework regarding decentralization and participation. Most cities use the LPP’s participatory planning pro­cess as their de facto form of control social. Many

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argued that the government has no intention of pushing e­ ither proj­ect forward in practice, as ­doing so could potentially fuel opposition movements. Even given the varied levels of implementation over time, the LPP did promote impor­tant changes in aspects of democracy and governance in Bolivia. Before evaluating ­these results, to contribute to our understanding of the motivations of nationally mandated participatory reforms, the next section briefly discusses why Bolivia’s elected national officials passed the LPP in 1994. IDEAS AND STRATEGIES COALESCE IN LA PAZ

Why did Bolivia undertake this experiment—­a reform that observers have called both audacious and revolutionary? To understand the motivations, one needs to place the reform in the context of the neoliberal reform agenda that swept accross Latin Amer­i­ca in the 1990s. When asked about the origins and motivations of the reform, interviewees noted that decentralization is a central tenet of second-­generation neoliberal reforms that ­were supported by many international institutions at the time (Silva 2009). One interviewee who was close to Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada noted that “the president thought that the country was on the brink. Without deep institutional reforms, the country would fail.” Sánchez de Lozada realized that the state had failed the large number of Bolivians who lived in rural areas with no real state presence. Thus, the president came into power with a clear idea that decentralization was absolutely necessary for Bolivia, especially in light of the reform context during that period of time. Why did the reform team empower municipalities and not departments? Carlos Hugo Molina Saucedo, whom Goni hired to lead the LPP efforts, had clearly stated his views about the need to empower the municipal level. In Molina Saucedo’s book La descentralización imposible y la alternativa municipal (The impossible decentralization and the municipal alternative), he calls the previous proposals to empower departments “impossible,” arguing instead that empowering the municipal level was more realistic ­because the l­egal framework was already in place through the existing constitution and the 1985 Municipal Law. Too many ­legal difficulties plagued the departmental proposal. Further, he argues that the “powers that be” (that is, the po­liti­cal elites in the departments) did not understand Bolivia’s real­ity, and that they had no intention of “modifying their conduct” (Molina Saucedo 1994, 101). Instead Molina Saucedo believed that ­t hese po­liti­cal elites feared opening up the po­ liti­cal system to new actors at the municipal level.

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In her book Decentralizing the State: Elections, Parties, and Local Power in the Andes, Kathleen O’Neill (2005, 152) clarifies Molina Saucedo’s point: Pressure for [departmental] decentralization came principally from the civic committees in each of the departmental capitals. ­These business and elite associations, not internally demo­cratic, seem an unlikely source for pressure to de­moc­ra­t ize. . . . ​However, given their long history of civic organ­i zing, civic committees stood to gain influence over regionally elected departmental governments who would have access to funds and po­liti­cal legitimacy.

In contrast to the dominant proposals, then, a small group of p ­ eople active in the design pro­cess felt that empowering the municipal level of government would bring citizens of the forgotten rural areas of Bolivia more resources and ser­v ices (Molina Monasterios 1997). Did Sánchez de Lozada prefer the municipal option? Most agree that he did for po­liti­cal reasons. Kathleen O’Neill (2005) argues that electoral strategies played the most critical role. She notes that “at the moment of reform, the MNR gripped power weakly, it had widespread support throughout the country at the local level—­particularly in rural areas—­a nd it enjoyed the most stable support across elections of any party in the system” (O’Neill 2005, 126). Specifically, the peasant u ­ nions, which often made decisions in ­t hese rural areas, had “unquestioning loyalty to the MNR” (Albó 2008a, 19). Recognizing this loyalty the president preferred to devolve power to the municipal level, which would prevent his opponents in the departmental civic committees from gaining additional powers. What ­factors explain the design team’s emphasis on such a wide-­reaching participation by or­ga­nized civil society? The decision partly reflects the ideological preferences of the team members. In an interview with one member, he talked about how he had studied and admired dif­fer­ent forms of participatory governance around the world. Another interviewee, also part of the design team, noted that given Bolivia’s cultural heterogeneity, it was impor­tant to design a system that made the po­liti­cal pro­cess available to all. He felt that participatory planning could be the tool to “end Bolivia’s apartheid.” A third design team member noted, “I was a young leftist. I had studied the participatory bud­get pro­cess in Porto Alegre. I wanted to take that pro­cess much farther. This kind of participatory pro­cess would only be pos­si­ble at the local level.” Th ­ ese team members ­were committed to inclusive and participatory ideas about democracy.

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Yet the technical experts needed the president’s support. Why would a centrist businessman support a model of participation that had, ­until then, mostly been implemented by leftist movements, such as the Workers Party in Brazil? To understand Sánchez de Lozada’s support, it is useful to recall that by the mid-1990s, participatory development models had gained support in most development circles. Thus, to some extent, the ideas under­lying the participatory aspects of the reform ­were well entrenched in the development lexicon. Ideological conviction also helped. When asked in an interview why he supported a reform with an unpre­ce­dented emphasis on local participation, the former president responded: When I deci­ded to run for president the second time, I went around the country asking p ­ eople about the prob­lems that they needed solved. I asked p ­ eople what they cared about. I learned that ­people who suffer know their prob­lems best. They know how to solve them, they just need support. . . . ​I have a deep conviction that ­people need to solve their own prob­lems.

­ ese ideas are outlined in the his Plan for All, which includes the following Th passage: “The base for participatory democracy w ­ ill be municipality-­directed— in terms of defining needs, overseeing spending, and obtaining results—by specialized committees or other grass-­roots organ­izations, traditional or not” (cited in Molina Monasterios 1997, 163). Thus, the president also personally supported the idea of empowering “popu­lar” organ­izations through this reform. Strategic ­factors ­were also at work, however. Empowering OTBs could depoliticize the most power­f ul form of organ­ization around the country—­t he same u ­ nions that had brought the MNR to power.26 Since the 1952 Revolution, ­t hese ­unions had become de facto “mini-­states” at the local level. By stressing territorial rather than functional (education, mining, and agrarian) criteria, reformers effectively blocked the u ­ nions from co-­opting local decision-­making pro­cesses. In a volume about the LPP pro­cess, Historia de la participación popu­ lar (The history of popu­lar participation), Fernando Molina Monasterios (1997, 64) writes about Molina Saucedo’s views: In his opinion, the centralization in the country was explained by the dominant classes who lived off of the riches produced by the exploitation of natu­ ral resources, and would not permit citizens to ­really take over the [Bolivian] territory. . . . ​The corporate organisms [e.g., ­unions] that acted as if they ­were

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the Bolivian state w ­ ere favorable to this system. They too prevented average citizens from being in charge of territory and social organ­ization.

In an interview, a decentralization expert called the devolution of power to OTBs and not the unions a “masterful play.” He continued: “The team took power away from the larger social organ­izations that had been calling the shots in government and demobilized them.” REMARKABLE (AND UNINTENDED) RESULTS

The LPP promised to increase citizen participation in policy decision making and to improve oversight in order to check state power and improve public spending. Has it led to concrete changes in dimensions of democracy and governance? Expanded Participation in the Public Sphere?

One impressive result of the LPP is that citizen participation in development planning through OTBs became institutionalized around the country, and it has even continued ­under the new constitutional framework. The extent and nature of citizen participation in local planning pro­cesses vary greatly from one municipality to another. However, case ­after case suggests that more citizens are participating in local planning decisions than before the LPP passed. For example, in a 2011 study undertaken by the Centro de Documentación e Información Bolivia (CEDIB), researchers document high levels of citizen participation through the neighborhood organ­izations in the planning pro­cesses in three of the four municipalities that they analyze. Thousands of t­ hese new organ­izations registered quickly to begin to receive funds for development proj­ects around the country (Oxhorn 2011). The participatory planning pro­cess generally takes place in an annual cycle. One person in Cochabamba described the pro­cess in the following way: The pro­cess starts between September and October so that the POA is ready and approved by December. First, we reconcile the proj­ect bud­get ceilings and the proj­ects that are already being executed. . . . ​Then, the bud­get ceilings are distributed by district, working with the oversight committee. The districts distribute this to their OTBs. Workshops are then held to prioritize neighborhood and district public works. (CEDIB 2011, 104)

Another person from El Alto, interviewed by the CEDIB team, described the pro­cess in this way:

102  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

The oversight committee is the direct link between the demands of or­ga­nized civil society (especially the OTBs) and the municipal government. The planning follows phases. First, at the end of October and the beginning of November, technical experts from the mayor’s office call an informational meeting about the bud­get ceilings and the large proj­ects that w ­ ill be included in the POA. They call: representatives from the oversight committee, district presidents, presidents of neighborhood committees, [the federation of neighborhood groups], council members, the mayor and officials from the mayor’s office. The Planning Division of the mayor’s office distributes resources to districts and macro-­districts based on population. Each president of the neighborhood group takes the information to its bases and prioritizes a proj­ect with the resources that ­were assigned to each OTB. ­Later, each president of an OTB should pres­ ent its proj­ect prioritization, which also has to have a formal proposal signed by the neighbors. . . . ​Summits are held to discuss and define bud­get ceilings . . . ​ and the oversight committee asks for the copy of the proj­ects that ­were prioritized in the POA. The oversight committee makes a pronouncement about the POA and the Municipal Council then approves it. (CEDIB 2011, 103)

Thus, in many municipalities, citizens have achieved greater participation through their OTBs. In his book Mallkus y alcaldes (Supreme leaders and mayors), José Blanes (2000) confirms this view in an extensive study of the effects of the LPP on community organ­izing in three municipalities: Achacachi, Pucarani, and Viacha. When exploring the effects the LPP has had on the relationship between communities and authorities, he states that it has “activated community organ­izations” in local politics (Blanes 2000, 66). Blanes writes, “In the three municipalities ­under study, enthusiasm for discussing needs has increased ­because the ‘bases’ are more interested in actively participating in the projection and execution of public works” (2000, 66). National trends captured in the V-­Dem data confirm that participation has increased in net terms around the country. Scores for the Civil Society Participation Index have steadily increased since the reform passed, from .60 in 1992 to .86 in 2016 (see figure 5.1). Notably, this score experiences a significant bump in 1994 when the reform passes. Thus, it appears that expert analysts tasked with coding this aspect of Bolivia’s democracy recognize that the reform changed the nature of civil society participation in significant ways. Further, for several years the Latin American Public Opinion Proj­ect (LAPOP)

Bolivia’s Neoliberal Revolution  103

Figure 5.1. ​V-­Dem

Civil Society Participation Index, Bolivia.

source: Coppedge et al. 2018; https://­w ww​.­v​-­dem​.­net​/­en​/­data​/­data​-­version​-­8​/.

surveys also asked respondents if they had attended a municipal participatory bud­get or planning meeting. Approximately 11 ­percent of ­t hose surveyed from 1998 to 2006 consistently responded yes. Analysts of participatory governance consider this an impressive percentage of the population (see Goldfrank 2015). ­These national statistics mask the variation inherent in the two kinds of orga­nizational innovations embedded in the LPP—­t he oversight committee and the OTBs. B ­ ecause ­t here is an extensive lit­er­a­ture about the LPP, it is pos­ si­ble to review citizen participation in each organ­ization in order to flesh out ­t hose differences. Oversight Committees  Hundreds of oversight committees have existed over

time around Bolivia, and their implementation has varied in many ways. Scholarly reports and my interviewees’ observations suggest that the results of the combined efforts to oversee the development planning pro­cess have been mixed. Many documents and interviewees point to the positive outcomes that have emerged since the codification of the oversight committees. For example, in his survey of municipal leaders, Ayo (2009) finds that the majority of the local officials approve of the role that the oversight committee plays in the municipalities. Some officials leveraged their experience in the oversight committee to further a po­liti­cal ­career. One interviewee, who is now a high-­level

104  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

official in the Morales government, concurred, noting, “My experience in the oversight committee helped me get elected to city council, and that brought me to the position that I am in t­ oday.” However, the oversight committees also faced several prob­lems. In his evaluation of the LPP ten years a­ fter its creation, Raúl Maydana (2004) documents the very slow implementation and formation of oversight committees in many areas, due in some cases to the lack of familiarity with the term “organizaciones territoriales de base.” Furthermore, the original LPP did not provide resources for the members of this committee to do their work (Ayo 2009). This led to l­ater reforms—­such as Supreme Decree 26,130—­which dictated that municipalities had to provide resources to oversight committee members to undertake their role. Interviewees sometimes noted with sarcasm that the oversight committee became much more popu­lar a­ fter that decree. Furthermore, the oversight committee is designed in a way that can reinforce, not eradicate, co-­optation (Oxhorn 2011). Jean-­Paul Faguet (2012) documents an example of this when describing the oversight committee in Viacha, a city in the highlands. In 1997, when he visited the town, p ­ eople complained to him that two oversight committees actually worked in the city. One already existed when the mayor was elected. When the committee denounced him and caused his resources to be suspended, the mayor handpicked a second committee. Faguet (2012, 64) writes that the second oversight committee was “beholden to the mayor, completely uninformed and operationally inert, not only failing to provide any sort of counterbalance to his power but actively endorsing his manipulations.” For example, the mayor invited this committee to a seminar, fed and paid them, and then asked them to sign his POA.27 Some of the prob­lems with the oversight committee stem from the fact that it demanded a level of expertise that many ­people in rural Bolivia simply did not have. As Blanes (2000, 62; emphasis in original) explains: Local leaders know that now they need “to know” about what the LPP says. . . . ​ It is no longer good enough to speak to the authorities, now it is about “writing down” the requirements of the community or the area in terms of “proj­ect profiles”—­t hings that never happened before—­and this had made evident that “knowledge” is very impor­tant.

Another report, written by a nongovernmental think tank for campesino studies, called the Centro de Investigación y Promoción del Campesinado

Bolivia’s Neoliberal Revolution  105

(2006, 11), notes that the overall lack of administrative experience meant that the oversight committee could be taken advantage of and tricked: The indigenous campesinos are at a disadvantage compared to ­t hose who have more knowledge about laws[;] we are more likely to lose our positions. The principal cause of this is our lack of experience in administrative management. Due to this inexperience, we doubt ourselves, we make m ­ istakes, p ­ eople trick us and some even corrupt us.

Furthermore, not e­ very member always understood the role of the oversight committee (Ayo 2003; Blanes 2000). On the other hand, Blanes argues that the reform also led to “new knowledge” in the three cities he studied, positing that “through the law, a strong impulse, central to local development, has been born—­t he need and desire to understand the law and all that it implies” (Blanes 2000, 64). Although many Bolivians w ­ ere not familiar with the new concepts that the law introduced and did not always understand public administration pro­cesses, it did lead many to gain knowledge about planning pro­cesses. Thus, the oversight committee engaged new actors in local decision making and oversight while also facing several challenges in its implementation. This led one expert on decentralization to comment in an interview that it is a “good idea that did not always work well in practice.” Neighborhood Organ­izations  By 2003, 14,500 OTBs had been formally registered to participate in planning around the country (Molina Saucedo 2003). The sheer number is a clear indicator of increased citizen participation in local planning pro­cesses. Some scholars note that by engaging OTBs in participatory planning, reformers effectively undermined the clientelistic networks that existed before. George Gray Molina (2008, 351) writes:

The emphasis on territorially based grass-­roots organ­izations restructured the rules of the game for po­liti­cal intermediation and policy-­making in rural areas. State patronage and po­liti­cal clientelism, which had relied on national-­to-­ local networks of re­distribution and reciprocity, increasingly competed with newly established local networks—­some building upon the po­liti­cal capabilities of a previous era—­and some newly adapted to the changed rules of po­liti­ cal engagement.

In other words, opening up the po­liti­cal system to new organ­izations effectively destroyed the mono­poly of local power held by the peasant u ­ nions in rural areas.

106  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

However, critics note that empowering OTBs led to new monopolies, equally exclusive, and in the end to a more fragmented civil society. Carla Espósito Guevara and Walter Arteaga Aguilar (2006) argue that the reform caused larger organ­izations with departmental or national presence to break up into smaller ones in order to register. Even though the emphasis on territorial organ­izations excluded the “corporate” groups based on functions like the peasant ­unions that had already existed in many parts of the country, during the 2000s t­ hose same ­labor and peasant ­unions regained power and began to align themselves with MAS. In the end, reformers inadvertently created a dif­fer­ent kind of exclusionary system. A former government official described the unintended consequences when noting, “The reform ignores the existing organ­izations on purpose. However, when po­liti­cal parties stopped working the old groups started using the discourse of popu­lar participation and aligned with MAS. Now they have taken over power.” He went on to state that it “prob­ably would have been better to include them from the beginning.” For authors Goudsmit and Blackburn (2001) the most problematic aspect of giving the OTBs power is that the traditional indigenous forms of participation, centered on the ayllus, w ­ ere left out. Nancy Postero (2006, 158) makes a similar point when arguing that the LPP is not compatible with indigenous ayllus in the highlands and in “large assemblies in which decisions are made by consensus” in Guaraní areas. Some argue that the emphasis on territorial criteria in the participatory framework is partly based on a misinterpretation of the original law. As one expert told me in an interview, OTB was originally meant as an inclusive term. They ­were looking for a generic term to group the diverse organ­izations; they chose OTB ­because all existing groups ­were organ­izations, they worked in territories, and they w ­ ere all linked to bases. This ended up being a ­mistake. The team realized the error and in 1997 put out a decree to clarify, but it was too late. In the end they created a “duality” of organ­izations—­neighborhood organ­izations that became registered OTBs and the “­others.”

It is undeniable that the LPP led to increased citizen participation in development planning at the municipal level of government. Although imperfect, the institutional design allowed new actors to engage in policy decision making and oversight. Further, the LPP helped dismantle, at least temporarily, the clientelist networks of the sindicatos in rural areas. However, this increased participation has been part of a messy and imperfect implementation pro­cess.

Bolivia’s Neoliberal Revolution  107

Inclusive Participation?

Did the LPP open up the po­liti­cal system to historically marginalized actors? This section explores the question in light of indigenous communities and ­women, and then describes how the reform unintentionally empowered another po­liti­cal actor, the coca growers. Indigenous Communities  Several scholars and experts argue that the LPP

has contributed significantly to the po­liti­cal power of indigenous p ­ eople by providing additional elected positions of influence for this impor­tant social group.28 The exact number of officials elected to power in municipal positions who are of indigenous descent is difficult to know b ­ ecause of the prob­lem of determining ethnicity in Bolivia.29 However, one official estimate of the percentage of indigenous officials who held office ­after the first municipal election in 1995 is 62 ­percent, rising to 65 ­percent in 1999 (Albó and Quispe 2004, 140). Of course, the LPP itself is not the sole explanation for this outcome. The indigenous movement had been gaining strength for some time. However, Albó refers to the LPP as very clearly contributing to this outcome. And t­ hese changes are the result of the call for municipal elections in more areas of the country, not the participatory planning pro­cess (Cusicanqui 1990). José Blanes (2000) is more skeptical, however. He argues that the law privileged the municipality for the first time. Therefore all forms of previous organ­izing, including indigenous ayllus, ceased serving as the primary social reference point for communities outside the largest urban areas. Before the reform, communities served more social and cultural functions, and the state apparatus was mostly absent. A ­ fter the reform, a distinctly po­liti­cal dynamic entered ­these spaces, typified by elected officials and the oversight committees, and the more traditional forms of community organ­izing declined as a result. Blanes worries that the LPP might have led to the further erosion of traditional communities in ­t hese areas (see also Arias 2004). Qualitative evidence about the participatory planning pro­cess suggests that indigenous communities w ­ ere not empowered by the participatory aspects of the law. Nancy Postero documents this clearly in her book Now We Are Citi­ zens: Indigenous Politics in Postmulticultural Bolivia (2006). Based on ethnographic research in Guaraní communities near Santa Cruz, Postero describes two examples of Guaraní participation in the planning pro­cess through OTBs and identifies several prob­lems with the pro­cess, such as the fact that the local elite, made up of NGOs and white leaders, dominated the pro­cess. They tried to dictate the kinds of proj­ects the community needed or could ask for. She

108  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

documents racist and infantilizing attitudes in the planning meetings that she attended. Interestingly, when she voiced some of t­ hese concerns to Guaraní leaders, they laughed, “agreeing that the patrones had essentially done what they always do: control the meeting.” However, they “considered it more impor­ tant that they had an opportunity to get some money from the city” (Postero 2006, 146). ­Women  Although the LPP explic­itly purports to promote gender equality (see

Articles 3, 8, and 10), it did not lead to the increased participation of w ­ omen in local po­liti­cal decision making (Oxhorn 2011). Data are scarce, but several studies clearly document this outcome. In an evaluation of the LPP, the Centro de Investigación y Promoción del Campesinado (2006, 4) notes that while ­women’s presence in local politics has improved slightly, “in municipal governments [­women] face difficulty when ­doing their jobs.” In Chapare, where the coca growers’ movement is now dominant, Van Cott (2008, 198) finds that the municipal leaders “effectively exclude ­women . . . ​and [they] harass and intimidate them if they are elected.” In terms of the participatory spaces, w ­ omen are rarely elected to the oversight committees around the country. Romero (2001) finds that in 2000 only about 10 ­percent of the members of the oversight committees ­were female (see also Amelunge Rojas 2006). More data are needed to better document female exclusion, but this finding points to an impor­tant limitation of the reform’s results. Oxhorn (2009, 2011) concurs, arguing that men effectively pushed ­women out of the pro­cess of gaining co-­participation funds. Unintended Empowerment: Cocaleros  One extremely in­ter­est­ing outcome is

the empowerment of a new u ­ nion, the coca growers’ movement—­led by Evo Morales and closely tied to MAS—­t hat began to gain power in the Cochabamba, a lower valley region in central Bolivia. Donna Van Cott describes this rise in her book Radical Democracy in the Andes:30 The coca growers of Cochabamba, in conjunction with segments of the indigenous campesino movement, formed the Assembly for the Sovereignty of ­Peoples . . . ​in March 1995. They did so in order to facilitate their direct participation in the first-­ever municipal elections without having to depend upon po­ liti­cal parties that had deceived and abandoned them in the past. (Van Cott 2008, 51)

MAS emerged slowly as part of the Assembly for the Sovereignty of ­Peoples, which merged with the United Left immediately following the reform. Mu-

Bolivia’s Neoliberal Revolution  109

nicipal elections allowed a new po­liti­cal alliance to eventually become the hegemonic po­liti­cal power in the country.31 For example, in the 1999 municipal elections, led by Morales, the co­a li­tion “elected 80 municipal councilors in six departments . . . ​demonstrating the rapid expansion of the party beyond Chapare. It finished first in eleven municipalities, mostly in Cochabamba” (Van Cott 2008, 53). In the 2004 local elections, MAS won 25.1 ­percent of all municipal elected positions (Van Cott 2008, 54); then, in 2005 Morales won the presidency. By the 2010 municipal elections, MAS had taken over 72.6 ­percent of the mayoral seats in the country (Pedraza Mérida 2011, 169). In 2010, MAS also won six of the nine governor seats in the departments (Eaton 2012). Many of the elected leaders had also been part of the oversight committees, using them as a springboard for their po­liti­cal c­ areers. The rise of MAS took place as part of a series of events not directly related to the LPP. For example, a series of electoral reforms made it easier for new actors to run for elected positions. More importantly, as noted earlier, the traditional po­liti­cal parties had slowly declined, and by 2002 an outright crisis of the po­liti­cal party system existed. Yet by empowering municipalities, the LPP did contribute to the success of MAS. Xavier Albó (2008b, 52) writes that, although “it is an exaggeration to say that Evo is the ‘son’ of the law, it is true that the law gave him an excellent instrument with which to catapult himself” into power. MAS took advantage of the newly empowered municipal spaces and slowly emerged as the leading national party (Finot 2016). Overall, then, it is undeniable that the LPP led to institutionalized participatory development planning in municipal policy making. Although imperfect, the institutional design allowed new actors to engage in policy decision making and oversight. As Xavier Albó (2008a, 27) writes, “Despite inevitable corruption and m ­ istakes made along the way, Popu­lar Participation quickly became an instrument in helping build popu­lar power at the local level.” The electoral mechanisms did empower new actors, specifically cocaleros; however, ­t here is no evidence that the participatory spaces effectively engaged indigenous communities or ­women. Increased Government Responsiveness and Effectiveness?

It is also clear that the LPP did lead to improved government responsiveness and effectiveness. Municipal governments have clearly been empowered by the reform, and citizens now trust their municipal officials more than they did ten years ago. One ­simple but significant outcome has been granting municipalities formal power and bud­gets. For example, the amount transferred to

110  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

municipalities went from $US76.5 million in 1990 to $US200 million in 2000 (Molina Saucedo 2003).32 Citizens also agree that municipalities have become more effective over time. LAPOP has undertaken surveys since 1998 in Bolivia, asking about the quality of municipal ser­v ices and respondents’ trust in their municipal government. ­Table 5.1 demonstrates that when we take into account the margin of error, respondents’ perceptions about municipal effectiveness have changed for the better since 1998.33 This is impressive when we remember how hard it is to mea­sure changes in individual attitudes and beliefs. Trust in municipalities has also changed slightly in a positive direction since the reform (see ­table 5.2). Can t­ hese changes in individual attitudes about municipal effectiveness be linked to the LPP? Several scholars have argued that it is the combination of both decentralization and participatory institutions that led to ­these results. For example, Jean-­Paul Faguet, in Decentralization and Popu­lar Democracy: Gover­ nance from Below in Bolivia (2012), analyzes Bolivia’s national bud­get over time to discern the extent to which government development spending responded to citizens’ needs ­after the passage of the LPP. He finds that over time, public spending witnessed a shift from “production” (meaning agriculture, energy, and mining proj­ects) to proj­ects that stressed ­human capital (education, health, ­water, and sanitation) and infrastructure (Faguet 2012, 20). Faguet argues that municipal “investment decisions ­were far more responsive to local needs than the central government’s before” (Faguet 2012, 45).34 The work of several additional authors supports this finding. Donna Lee Van Cott (2008) agrees with this assessment, emphasizing the improvement in development outcomes particularly in rural areas as a result of the reform. Hiskey and Seligson’s (2003) statistical analy­sis of citizen perceptions complements this positive assessment. They find that by “bringing the po­liti­cal system closer to the p ­ eople, and allowing them to become more involved in the system, the role of local po­liti­cal institutions in a person’s evaluation of the po­liti­ cal system seems to have become greater” (Hiskey and Seligson 2003, 85). Fi­ nally, Diego Ayo (2009, n.d.) agrees that funds are now devolved in a much more systematic way. Although the reform has had notable positive results, it has not led to a longer-­term strategic planning that might have helped eradicate Bolivia’s extreme poverty levels. This could be due to the fact that a national strategic development planning pro­cess did not accompany the reform. Ayo (2009, 149) writes, “Co-­participation developed a fiscal model that was very practical and

Bolivia’s Neoliberal Revolution  111

­Table 5.1. ​Evaluation of Municipal Ser­vices

Would you say that the ser­v ices provided by the municipality are . . . ? (percentage who responded) Year Excellent

1998

2014

1

2

Good

16

30

Regular

60

50

Bad

14

14

9

4

Horrible

source: http://­lapop​.­ccp​.­ucr​.­ac​.­cr​/­Lapop​_ ­English​.­html. Approximate margin of error ±2.5%.

­Table 5.2. ​Trust in Municipal Ser­vices

On a scale from 1 to 7, how much do you trust your municipal government . . . ? (percentage who responded) Year

1998

2017

Not at all (1–2)

21

23

Somewhat (3–5)

68

58

A lot (6–7)

11

19

source: http://­lapop​.­ccp​.­ucr​.­ac​.­cr​/­Lapop​_ ­English​.­html. Approximate margin of error ±2.5%.

efficient due to its simplicity, but it was not preceded by a national planning pro­cess that guided the use of resources or oriented public investment with strategic purposes.” The nature of co-­participation funds, transferred by the national government to the municipality and distributed by neighborhood or district, privileges smaller infrastructure proj­ects, called obras (public works), and not larger-­impact, strategic development proj­ects, leading to what some have called hiper-­obrismo, or the privileging of public works over social programs such as health and educational systems. This finding is backed up by statistics as well. Th ­ ese infrastructure proj­ects, such as roads and parks, make up a substantial percentage of the national bud­get (Faguet 2012). Reduced Corruption?

Corruption is endemic to Bolivia (Gingerich 2010), and its deleterious effects ­were a common theme in most of my interviews. The reform has done very l­ ittle

112  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

to change that. Indeed, citizens’ perceptions about corruption, when mea­sured through LAPOP surveys, are getting worse. LAPOP poll respondents considered corruption to be more generalized in 2014, the last year that LAPOP included this par­tic­u­lar question in the survey, than in 1998 (see ­table 5.3). V-­Dem data suggest a very slight decrease in public sector corruption, from .53 to .49 in the years u ­ nder study (see figure 5.2). Like in Guatemala, t­ here is no evidence to suggest that this small decrease is the direct result of the nationally mandated participatory reform; instead, most interviewees and analysts argued that the effort did nothing to overcome the ubiquitous prob­lem of corruption in Bolivia. At worst, the LPP created new institutional structures within which to channel already prevalent corrupt practices. David Altman and Rickard Lalander (2003) argue that one failing lies in weaknesses in the oversight committee. As noted earlier, the members of ­these committees are often not trained and often lack the information and materials they need to effectively oversee government spending. Like Guatemalan council members, many of them have low levels of education, and some may not even be able to read (Van Cott 2008). If the oversight committee does find evidence of corruption, it is still very hard to freeze co-­participation funds. Part of the prob­lem lies in the fact that if the committee petitions to freeze the funds, the entire year’s package of co-­participation funds are frozen, not just ­t hose related to one proj­ect. Members know that their decision can potentially damage an entire community (Altman and Lalander 2003). Unexpected Result: Scaling Up Citizen Oversight to a Fourth Branch of Government

A final result of this reform that merits discussion is its role in scaling up the concept of control social. When asked about the LPP’s impact, one interviewee stated: “One effect is that a strange technical term emerged—­control social. It was in the [original] framework but now it has come to mean something e­ lse. ­People who had learned the term took it and applied it to a more Bolivarian meaning. The new constitution talks about control social as a fourth power.” The Bolivian social scientist Diego Ayo (n.d.) offers an excellent analy­sis of this result post-­LPP, documenting how the concept evolved over time. At first during a “state-­led” pro­cess, officials applied control social through the oversight committee (Ayo n.d.). ­Later, during a “phase of the ‘other’ society,” the renewal of a corporate model of control social emerged, thereby delegitimizing the oversight committee. The same actors who tended to be excluded by the emphasis

Bolivia’s Neoliberal Revolution  113

­Table 5.3. ​Prevalence of Municipal Corruption

Considering your experience or from what you have heard, would you say that corruption among public functionaries is . . . ? (percentage who responded) Year

1998

2014

Very generalized

22

32

Somewhat generalized

45

44

A l­ ittle bit generalized

30

21

Not at all generalized

3

3

source: http://­lapop​.­ccp​.­ucr​.­ac​.­cr​/­Lapop​_ ­English​.­html, p. 5-32. Approximate margin of error ±2.5%.

Figure 5.2. ​V-­Dem

Public Sector Corruption Index, Bolivia.

source: Coppedge et al. 2018; https://­w ww​.­v​-­dem​.­net​/­en​/­data​/­data​-­version​-­8​/.

on territorial criteria through OTBs demanded to be included in decision making. The third phase, rarely discussed, began during the 2000 national dialogue pro­cess, led by the Catholic Church. The Church emphasized the need for accountability and oversight when distributing funds to relieve poverty in Bolivia. As a result a national social control mechanism was created (Supreme Decree 26,564). Ayo calls this the “International Funders/Church phase.” In the end, this mechanism did not take hold, but this pro­cess raised the idea of control social to the national level and foreshadowed the way the

114  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

term is now conceptualized. A ­ fter the Constituent Assembly finalized the constitution, the concept of control social became deeply embedded in the po­liti­ cal discourse of the current government and the Bolivian p ­ eople. The term is mentioned at least nineteen times in the new constitution, and, as noted earlier, control social is now the “fourth” branch of government. Thus, as one interviewee noted, “The oversight committee failed as an institution but its essence remained in the concept of control social.” Franz Xavier Barrios Suvelza (2008, 137), a Bolivian analyst, agrees, noting that the Morales government’s attempt to institutionalize this “fourth power” represents an effort to “extend the idea” of the oversight committee. Thus, the idea of oversight, codified in the LPP, continues on a much grander scale in the sociopo­liti­cal pro­cesses taking place ­today. In rhe­toric and discourse at least, the LPP contributed to a widespread belief that citizens and civil society should oversee and hold accountable all forms of power. The idea of accountability and citizen oversight is now part of the social fabric of the country. This change signals that the LPP’s spirit has been scaled up far beyond what the original reformers ever intended. Summary Findings

The case of Bolivia demonstrates that several changes have taken place since the government enacted the nationally mandated participatory reform. Participatory planning takes place annually in innovative ways. Neighbors and activists formed thousands of organ­izations, and, over time, development proj­ects began to stress h ­ uman capital over production (Faguet 2012). The participatory development planning pro­cess also contributed to more effective and responsive municipal ser­v ices. Additionally, the nature of local spending has changed, and often proj­ects in the area of health and education are funded. Fi­nally, the participatory oversight committees have been scaled up as a “fourth branch of power” that stresses accountability and oversight in ­every aspect of government and politics. Now concepts such as control social are part of the common lexicon in the country. However, the reform has not been successful in combating the serious prob­lem of corruption. Nor has it been able to chip away at the ethnic and gender inequalities that persist in Bolivia. EXPLAINING THE LIMITED SUCCESS OF A NEOLIBERAL REFORM

Although the results have limits, the reform has improved more dimensions of democracy and governance than the Urban and Rural Development Coun-

Bolivia’s Neoliberal Revolution  115

cil System in Guatemala. What f­ actors explain the fact that in some ways the reform pushed the needle forward with re­spect to at least two indicators of democracy and governance? One f­ actor that facilitated t­ hese results is the fact that when the reform passed, t­ here was a high level of po­liti­cal support by the executive branch, backed up with concrete resources. Aided by international development agencies, the national government set up and funded a team of professionals who could provide technical assistance to municipalities. My interviewees talked about hundreds of p ­ eople ­going around the country holding workshops and training sessions and providing technical assistance. All of this financial and technical assistance also signals relatively high levels of national elites’ support for this reform. Another f­actor that facilitated the positive outcomes in this case is the relative strength of civil society, as the quote by George Gray Molina at the beginning of this chapter and figure 5.3 illustrate. Although in no way would Bolivia’s civil society organ­izations be considered “strong” as a sector, Bolivian organ­izations do have a long history of pressuring and working with the state since the Bolivian Revolution (Tapia 2009). This spirit is especially evident in the u ­ nions and civic committees that had been so prevalent before the passage of the LPP. B ­ ecause of this long history of activism, when the participatory planning pro­cess emerged, some activists quickly switched gears to form OTBs and seek out co-­participation funds (Oxhorn 2011). At the same time, several f­ actors limited the results, including its design. Many observers have noted that the design pro­cess was closed and controlled. The LPP was handed down by the president’s office. Furthermore, confusion about the new kinds of organ­izations, OTBs, existed in many communities. Importantly, ­because the implementation team evaluated its work in the early years, some of the design prob­lems could be changed. The neoliberal critical juncture during which the LPP emerged also limited the results of the reform. Carla Espósito Guevara and Walter Arteaga Aguilar (2006, 24) are critical of the LPP, arguing that it set up instruments for participation that are “artificial” and that “deny the collectivist tradition in the history of social participation in Bolivia.” The neoliberal basis of the reform stresses “competition for the access of portions of the municipal bud­get for small public works, which, beyond fostering participation, generated cleavages in organ­izations” (Espósito Guevara and Arteaga Aguilar 2006, 25). For ­t hese authors, b ­ ecause it was based in a neoliberal model that stresses individuals

116  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

Figure 5.3. ​Teachers’

source: Author.

­union protesting educational reforms, 2012.

and controlled participation, the LPP reinforced the exclusionary nature of Bolivian politics and society. When analyzing indigenous inclusion, Nancy Postero (2006) makes a similar argument, noting that the LPP was developed as part of “neoliberal multiculturalism,” which is the “regime of citizenship” instituted by Sánchez de Lozada and codified in the LPP. Far from empowering indigenous communities, t­ hese reforms sometimes reinforced racist and subjugating views of the indigenous. As such, she writes that “this par­tic­u­lar version of multiculturalism enacted by the neoliberal Bolivian state proved insufficient for real demo­cratic participation in Bolivia” (Postero 2006, 6). Many interviewees stated similar opinions about the neoliberal nature of this par­tic­u­lar reform effort. One noted, “­These ­were not ‘revolutionaries,’ they ­were liberal reformers.” Another argued: “Neoliberalism in effect seeks to contain, not empower voices. By privileging popular participation, it reduces the power of ­labor and organ­izing. It tries to calm, placate, and defuse popu­lar participation. Po­liti­cal participation becomes voting for a public works proj­ ect. This has led to proj­ects and more proj­ects. Not true empowerment.” ­Because of t­ hese initial flaws, and much like the Guatemala case, many argue that in some places elite capture, facilitated by clientelism, typified the local participatory development planning. One local official described partici-

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patory planning in his locality: “It is the mayor’s po­liti­cal campaign where he grants ­favors through obras. Some sectors, like indigenous groups, ­don’t get obras. It is not demo­cratic.” Another interviewee traced this result back to the design, stating, “The government was the principal actor and civil society became a client . . . ​t he government used civil society to manage the country.” Blanes also discusses this prob­lem in light of the role that the mayor and the oversight committees play in the planning pro­cess: “Due to the lack of rational administrative institutional capacity, clientelism, the mayor’s leadership, informality, and ambiguity drive the planning exercises” (2000, 89). In the cities that Blanes researched, the mayor often took advantage of the participatory planning pro­cess to further his own goals. Like in Guatemala, existing research and surveys also confirm the interviewees’ perception that clientelism thrives in Bolivia. For example, the LAPOP public opinion poll in 2010 documents that more than 23  ­percent of t­hose surveyed had been part of vote-­buying activities.35 Sian Lazar’s (2004) work on clientelism in El Alto documents the exchange of gifts and ­favors between potential patrons and clients during the 1999 local elections, noting that citizens in this urban area expect candidates to provide small gifts and ­favors in exchange for their support. Interestingly, the reform design was carefully chosen to eradicate kinds of clientelist relations between the sindicatos and local citizens that existed previous to the passage of the LPP. Although the law did seem to eradicate ­t hose par­tic­u ­lar linkages, it would appear that the nature of clientelism remained, in a changed form. Also similar to Guatemala, weak po­liti­cal parties allow clientelism to flourish in Bolivia. Due to a variety of f­actors mentioned earlier, the stable party system that had dominated Bolivia since 1985 changed drastically around the turn of the twenty-­first ­century (Klein 2011). As Kepa Artaraz (2012, 35) notes, “One of the prob­lems of Bolivian politics that contributes to its instability is the tendency for po­liti­cal parties to appear and dis­appear regularly.” This instability allows elected officials to operate in problematic ways with no accountability to a party organ­ization or platform. Participatory planning is not immune from this prob­lem. SUMMING UP THE LPP

The LPP represents one of the most impor­tant po­liti­cal reforms that Bolivia has undertaken. It is by no means perfect, and several contradictions and prob­ lems exist with its design and implementation. However, when compared to

118  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

Guatemala’s reforms, it has evidenced more robust results in terms of changes in indicators of democracy and governance. The pro­cess has led to increased citizen participation in development planning and some concrete changes in municipal effectiveness. It also helped unleash social forces that have since gained national power and have a much stronger voice in the po­liti­cal arena. Scholars have been able to demonstrate positive effects in the area of social ser­ vices through public works. At the same time, the reform has not made the public sphere in Bolivia more inclusive. Improved government effectiveness has not translated to strategic and coordinated poverty alleviation. This failure may be due to the fact that the LPP, part of a neoliberal proj­ect, privileges the financing of so-­called obras and larger infrastructure proj­ects, not deep social changes. Fi­nally, like most participatory institutions, the decisions can be manipulated and controlled by mayors with specific interests. The president of the neighborhood council in Calamarca alluded to many of ­t hese positive outcomes and constraints in our conversation. The social movements that gained strength, in part due to the reform, then supported an elected government that has since recentralized power and revived the traditional corporate forces (as well as some newer ones) that the LPP sought to disempower. Evo Morales, the leader of this government, has concentrated power in his own hands and recentralized the state, leading to what many see as a decline in the quality of democracy since he took power (Artaraz 2012; Eaton 2013; R. Mayorga 2009; Penaranda 2013). Evo Morales’s centralized and populist rule through MAS is also one of the indirect results of t­ hese efforts. Thus, it is impor­tant to clarify that ­t here is no way to argue that national-­level democracy has been strengthened since or due to the reform. In the end, though, this is a sign that the LPP did exactly what it meant to do—­increase access to the po­liti­cal system. As an original Bolivian reformer stated, “I am not surprised what is happening ­today. The law was written for this kind of outcome.” This is an example of the unintended results from this reform effort. Fi­nally, the experience of the LPP and its legacy in the 2009 Constitution and subsequent laws reinforce the finding that emerged from the Guatemala case study about the “sticky” nature of top-­down participatory governance reforms. Even given the complete restructuring of the state through constitutional reform and legislative follow-up, the oversight committees and OTBs tend to live on. Most municipalities continue to engage t­ hese organ­izations in

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development planning, instead of devising new institutions as part of their organic charters (Badani 2012). The LPP demonstrates that nationally mandated participatory reforms, once crafted, are difficult to remove. Instead, as leadership changes and priorities shift, they are left to languish or become ineffectual. The promise is forgotten.

6

PERU’S OPTIMISTIC TRANSITION The 2002 Participatory Decentralization Reform

when traveling to observe a participatory bud­get meeting in Pueblo Libre, a district in Lima, I felt excited to see the results of Peru’s 2002 participatory decentralization reform in action. The citizen participation team had told me the week before how hard they work to get neighbors to the meeting. One municipal official reported, “We send letters and knock on doors. We do every­ thing we can to get as many ­people as pos­si­ble to the meetings.” Imagine my surprise when I went to a relatively small meeting and listened to a series of pre­sen­ta­tions with no debate. Three municipal officials spoke about infrastructure spending in the past and then projected into the next year. ­After a brief period of questions, the meeting ended. I left assuming that the next meeting would be dif­fer­ent—­more deliberative and participatory. I was wrong. The following meeting had mostly the same format, with a pre­sen­ta­tion of a list of the newly approved infrastructure proj­ects and a brief statement by the head of the citizen oversight committee. The neighbors themselves participated very ­little in the entirety of the pro­cess. This chapter explores ­t hese disappointing outcomes of participatory bud­ geting and a second participatory institution, made up of regional coordination councils (CCRs) and local coordination councils (CCLs). As in Guatemala and Bolivia, t­ hese institutions have increased citizen participation in public policy decision making. However, they have not led to additional results. By explicating the origin and the results of the reform, this chapter provides a framework to better understand the lack of participation and the elite domination in the meetings that I attended. A ­ fter a brief historical overview, this chapter describes Peru’s nationally mandated participatory reform, the legis120

Peru’s Optimistic Transition  121

lative framework, and the reasons that explain its emergence in this par­tic­u­lar country. Next, the chapter discusses the results that have emerged during the decade-­long implementation period as well as some of the limitations of the reform. The last sections analyze the f­ actors that explain both the successes and failures of this par­tic­u­lar experience and put forth general conclusions about the case. CENTURIES OF CENTRALIZATION AND CORRUPTION

­ fter gaining in­de­pen­dence from Spain in 1821, Peru experienced over one A hundred years of centralized and oligarchic rule. The po­liti­cal system slowly opened up to new actors in the early part of the twentieth ­century when students and l­abor began to demand entry. B ­ ecause ­these demands remained mostly unmet, the military, led by Juan Velasco, overthrew Fernando Belaúnde Terry’s demo­cratically elected government in 1968. One of the few leftist military governments in Latin Amer­i­ca, the Velasco regime undertook a comprehensive land reform that restructured peasant-­landowner relations.1 This reform inadvertently served to push former landowners and regional elites to migrate to Lima in search of new economic opportunities, further centralizing the economic and po­liti­cal resources in the capital city (Díez Hurtado 2003). ­After several years of relatively unsuccessful rule, the military began to transfer power back to civilians in 1978.2 An elected Constitutional Assembly rewrote the constitution, and demo­cratic elections in 1980 reelected Fernando Belaúnde Terry. Peru formally transitioned back to demo­cratic rule.3 ­After that transition, Peru’s po­liti­cal party system became “weakly institutionalized,” with the populist American Popular Revolutionary Alliance (Alianza Popular Revolucionaria Americana, or APRA) on the center-Left, Popular Action (Acción Popular) in the center, and the Popular Christian Party (Partido Popular Cristiano) on the Right (Kenney 2004). The Left also grew in numbers and strength, forming a co­a li­t ion called the United Left (Izquierda Unida, or IU), which dissolved in the late 1980s (Roberts 1998). In 1985, Alan García of the APRA became president, and the country spiraled into po­liti­cal and economic crisis.4 The Shining Path, one of the region’s most violent leftist guerrilla organ­izations, posed an increased threat to Peruvians.5 The myriad crises during the 1980s in Peru left the country in disarray. In 1990, Alberto Fujimori—­a po­liti­cal outsider—­ran on an anti-­elite, anti-­ politics platform and won by a landslide.6 ­After campaigning against neoliberal

122  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

reforms, Fujimori immediately implemented one of the most orthodox neoliberal reform packages in Latin Amer­i­ca—­called “Fuji-­shock” (Mauceri 2000; Wise 2003). Since then, Peru has continued to have one of the deepest neoliberal regimes in Latin Amer­i­ca. Fujimori also continued the ongoing efforts to rid the country of terrorism. In 1992, to quiet opposition in Congress, he shut down his own government in what is now referred to as Latin Amer­i­ca’s first auto-­golpe (self-­coup). He sent a clear signal that he privileged centralized rule and stability over democracy (Mauceri 1995; McClintock 1993).7 The Peruvian public supported this move, and Fujimori continued to enjoy high levels of popularity, especially ­a fter the military captured Abimael Guzmán, the leader of the Shining Path, l­ ater that year. ­After his self-­coup, Fujimori’s government wrote a new constitution, which reor­ga­nized Congress, reformed the judiciary, and recentralized the government by institutionalizing a more power­f ul executive, thereby paving the way for authoritarianism (McClintock 1993; Palmer 2000). Lima continued to be the hub of almost all po­liti­cal and economic activity. Winning reelection in 1995, Fujimori immediately deci­ded to run again in 2000, arguing that his 1990–1995 term should not count against the two terms (the ­legal limit) ­under the new constitution. The 2000 elections ­were shrouded in the government’s manipulation of media, public works, and other elected officials (Conaghan 2001, 2002). Although international and domestic election monitors reported irregularities in the electoral pro­cess, Fujimori ultimately claimed victory against Alejandro Toledo, a Stanford-­educated economist. Shortly thereafter, scandal erupted. Allegations of arms trafficking and the release of videos capturing Fujimori’s right-­hand man, Vladimir Montesinos, bribing a congressman came to light.8 Fujimori left the country and faxed his resignation from Japan. Valentín Paniagua, the head of Congress, assumed the presidency for a one-­ year transition post and set out to address pervasive corruption and citizens’ disillusionment with their government. Paniagua quickly assembled a transition government with a diverse group of professionals, many of whom hailed from the civil society organ­izations that had protested against Fujimori. His government began to rebuild democracy by passing reforms that stressed transparency, participation, and accountability. However, the po­liti­cal party system never recovered and continues to be very weak. Alan García, still popu­lar due to his charismatic style, and Alejandro Toledo competed for the presidency in 2001. In a close second-­round race,

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Toledo—­w ith 53 ­percent of the vote—­beat García. He immediately promised to implement several reforms to strengthen Peru’s fragile democracy and to continue to clean up the government. The 2002 participatory decentralization reform represented one of the few major reforms that emerged during the Toledo years. Almost e­ very Peruvian president since the transition to democracy in 2001 has been formally accused of and charged with corruption. In addition, few of them have prioritized decentralization or citizen participation in any way. Alan García stepped up to the presidency in 2006, a­ fter a race against Ollanta Humala, a po­liti­cal outsider and the leader of the Peruvian National Party.9 In 2010, in a race against Fujimori’s ­daughter Keiko, Ollanta Humala made a comeback and won the presidency. Analysts wondered if Humala would join the ranks of radical leftists in the region, such as Hugo Chávez in Venezuela or Rafael Correa in Ec­ua­dor. Instead, Humala moved to the center, adopting moderate policies and overseeing a continued economic boom in the country. Humala’s administration ended when he handed over power to a new president, Pedro Pablo Kuczynski (known as PPK), in July 2016 (Dargent and Muñoz 2016). Humala and his wife w ­ ere l­ater jailed a­ fter accusations of money laundering. Congress impeached PPK in early 2018 in the face of corruption allegations, and Keiko Fujimori, one of the most prominent national politicians, is also ­under continued investigation. Thus, severe prob­lems with demo­cratic institutions persist in this Andean nation. DECENTRALIZATION FI­NALLY MOVES FORWARD

As in Bolivia, the reform that codified Peru’s participatory institutions in 2002 is intimately linked to Peru’s decentralization pro­cess. Decentralization became an urgent policy priority a­ fter Fujimori stepped down. By 2001, Lima’s population made up 31.9 ­percent of the nation’s total population and generated approximately 50 ­percent of the nation’s GNP (Gonzales de Olarte 2004). And while almost ­every Peruvian constitution had made some nod to the importance of a decentralized state, real devolution of power never took place. During Peru’s transition to democracy in 1979, however, the government did attempt to decentralize the state. The 1979 Constitutional Assembly, heavi­ly influenced by the military, formally empowered regional and local governments in the new constitution.10 Local governments, also called districts, had existed prior to this period, but lacked funds (Muñoz 2005).11 The new

124  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

constitution called for the election of mayors and city council members and for autonomous regions with a president, regional council, and regional assembly (see chapter 7 of the 1979 Constitution). Municipal elections began to take place on a regular basis, but regional elections did not. Very l­ittle movement to push regionalization forward took place u ­ ntil the mid-1980s ­under Alan García’s first administration (1985–1990). This push did not occur u ­ ntil late in his tenure as president, and most agree that it represented a last-­ditch effort to recover his po­liti­cal party’s declining support by winning elected positions in places outside of Lima. In 1988, his government passed Law 24,650, which established twelve regions based on economic and geographic criteria. By 1990 all regions had elected governments, most of them led by candidates from the APRA—­García’s po­liti­cal party—­and the Left (Adrianzén 2003; Contreras 2002). This initial effort ended with the auto-­golpe. Fujimori dismissed elected regional governments and replaced them with appointed Transitory Regional Administrative Councils (Consejos Transitorios Administrativos Regionales, or CTARs) that reported directly to the President’s Council of Ministers. Citizens continued to elect municipal governments, but t­hese bodies suffered ­because partisan affiliation determined their funding. Formal innovations to incentivize local citizen participation, on the other hand, expanded during this period. The Citizen Participation Law (Law 26,300), passed in 1993, gives Peruvians the right to initiate referendums and recall local officials.12 Other initiatives, such as community roundtables (mesas de concertación), brought together representatives from the government and civil society in a formal space to discuss community issues. Additionally, means of local participatory planning, such as developing strategic plans and experimenting with participatory bud­geting, became more popu­lar, mostly in cities led by leftist mayors, such as Villa El Salvador and Ilo (Bracamonte, Millán, and Vich 2005; López Follega, Melgar Paz, and Balbín Díaz 1995; Uchuypoma Soria 2013). T ­ oward the end of Fujimori’s regime, given the concentration of power and resources combined with t­hese local initiatives, it is not surprising that social movements around the country began to push for renewed decentralization and increased mechanisms to enhance citizen participation in the public sphere. The real push for Peru’s participatory decentralization reform took place during Alejandro Toledo’s administration.13 Toledo—­who grew up in a coastal

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town called Chimbote and firmly believed in the need to decentralize—­ promised to call regional elections immediately if elected. As a result, a­ fter he won the 2001 election, Congress began debating and passing legislation in 2002 that would decentralize the state. The pro­cess took place quickly, and Congress called regional elections before finalizing the l­egal framework for regional governments. The rushed nature of the pro­cess, that is, the need to quickly define the role of subnational governments before the regional elections, led to some prob­lems with clarity and design (McNulty 2011; Remy 2016). The l­egal framework (described in more depth below) lays out a detailed and phased pro­cess that should have unfolded in relatively neat steps. However, in practice the pro­cess advanced slowly and in a disor­ga­nized way. The Peruvian NGO Proyecto ProDescentralización (ProDescentralización 2011, 2015), an organ­ization that monitored decentralization in Peru for years, notes that the reform unfolded in three phases. The first, the “implementation phase,” began with the 2002 regional government elections. During this period the reform faced many challenges. For example, the pro­cess of transferring powers to regional governments took place in a problematic and slow way, partly due to prob­lems with accrediting the regional governments to receive their new powers. From 2004 to 2006, the national government produced annual “Transfer Plans,” which determined which functions to transfer. In accordance with the 2004 Law of the Accreditation System for Local and Regional Governments (Law 28,273), the National Decentralization Commission (Consejo Nacional de Descentralización, or CND) would accredit a region as ready to receive the functions. The initial phase of the pro­cess has been criticized b ­ ecause it was accompanied by very ­little technical assistance and few additional resources (Controlaría General de la República 2014). The first phase ended in 2005, when the referendum to form macro-­regions failed.14 The second phase began when Alan García took office in 2006. When he came to power, less than 50 ­percent of the new regional powers had been transferred from the national to the regional governments (Controlaría General de la República 2014). He quickly moved to undertake what he called a “decentralization shock” program. The program consisted of twenty steps to push decentralization forward, most of which worked t­ oward speeding up the transfer of powers to subnational governments. Although the program promised to improve citizen participation, in practice his government did very ­little to pro-

126  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

mote this idea. The shock program also made the accrediting pro­cess more flexible, and by December 2012, 92.6 ­percent of the regional government functions had been transferred (Controlaría General de la República 2014). The García government also restructured the national coordination pro­cess by replacing the CND, which had been at the same level as a national ministry, with a new coordinating technical entity, the National Decentralization Secretary (Secretaría Nacional de Descentralización, or SND), which reports to the general secretary of the President’s Council of Ministers. While some politicians argued that this would improve the functioning of the coordinating body, ­others argued that, in effect, the national coordinating office had been demoted within the national government structure. When García left office in 2011, the third phase began, typified by a lack of attention to decentralization. At this point, regional and local governments had consolidated their space in the Peruvian po­liti­cal landscape. However, Ollanta Humala inherited a complex situation in which regional and local governments had taken on many new functions but did not have the institutional capacity, ­human resources, or bud­gets for effective implementation (Asemblea Nacional de Gobiernos Regionales 2014; Controlaría General de la República 2014). Even though he promised to strengthen the pro­cess, Humala did nothing to change or improve the reform in any major way. This relative disinterest led one watchdog group, Grupo Propuesta Ciudadana (2012), to call it the “forgotten reform.” This phase, which can be thought of a “dormant” phase, continues as of this writing. Thus, a­ fter 2005, very l­ittle movement t­ oward the active promotion of the participatory institutions took place. In my interviews, most called García “anti-­participatory” and noted that Ollanta Humala and PPK never prioritized participatory institutions (see also Remy 2011). For example, in the 2012–2016 National Plan for Decentralization and Regionalization, which is over three hundred pages long, “citizen participation in public management” is discussed on just one page (Secretaría de la Descentralización 2012). Even given this neglect, on paper Peru is one of the most participatory places in the world. Ordinary Peruvians and representatives from civil society can exercise their voice through a variety of institutions, including referendums; recalls; town hall meetings (audiencias públicas); participatory development plans; participatory health and education councils; the regional, provincial, and local coordination councils; and a mandated participatory bud­get pro­cess.15 The next section outlines two institutions in more detail.16

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PARTICIPATORY DECENTRALIZATION’S ­LEGAL FRAMEWORK

The first l­ egal move t­ oward Peru’s participatory decentralization reform lay in reforming the 1993 Constitution, which had recentralized power u ­ nder Fujimori.17 The constitutional reform (Law 27,680), ratified in March  2002, creates a regional, unitary state with several levels of subnational government: macro-­regions (which combine several regions to make a larger po­liti­cal unit), regions, provinces, districts, and very small towns (centros poblados).18 The reform grants all of ­these levels new powers and resources and allows for the direct election of subnational authorities. A regional president, a regional council (tasked with legislating and oversight), and a regional coordination council, “made up of provincial mayors and representatives from civil society, as a coordinating and consultative body,” lead regions (Article 191). The reform also empowers provincial and district municipalities, also called local governments, led by a mayor and a city council (Article 194). The constitutional reform states that regional and local governments need to set up mechanisms to increase citizen participation in politics and increase citizen oversight. For example, each region and municipality must develop five-­year development plans (planes concertados de desarrollo). The regional government s­ hall “formulate and approve the regional development plan with municipalities and civil society” (Article 192), and municipal governments ­will “approve a local development plan with civil society” (Article 194).19 Further, local and regional governments need to develop their bud­gets with citizens’ participation and hold public town hall meetings twice a year to provide information about the execution of the bud­get. Specifically, the constitution states in Article 199 that “the aforementioned governments formulate their bud­gets with the participation of the population and publicly disclose their execution annually according to the law.” ­Because the reform failed to include specifics about most of ­t hese aspects, Peru’s Congress passed several laws to clarify the ­legal framework. The 2002 General Decentralization Law (Ley de Bases de la Descentralización, Law 27,783), lays out many more details, including the importance of participation in subnational planning and decision making. Chapter 4 of this law, “Citizen Participation,” states that regional and local governments must promote citizen participation in the formulation, debate, and discussion of the development plans and bud­get and in public management” (Article 17). Chapter 5 (Articles 19 and 20) deals with the annual bud­get, which is meant to be “participatory

128  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

and decentralized,” noting that the annual participatory bud­get should be based on the corresponding development plan. The law states that “the Ministry of Economy and Finance (MEF) w ­ ill publish annual instructions that regulate the participatory bud­get pro­cess, and the bud­gets must meet the requirements of the National Public Investment System. Only public (or capital) investment costs are subject to public debate; operational/fixed costs are not.” The 2002 Organic Regional Government Law (Ley Orgánica de Gobiernos Regionales, or Law 27,867) lays out several princi­ples for regional governments, including “participation,” “transparency,” “modern administration and oversight” (gestión moderna and rendición de cuentas), and “inclusion” (Article 8). During the debate about this law, the issue of the CCRs, mentioned in the constitution, underwent intense debate. Congressmen and -­women, mostly from the APRA and the Right, insisted that instituting “direct” demo­cratic institutions would lead to prob­lems in the regional governments by taking away the power of the elected officials (McNulty 2011; Remy 2011).20 For this reason, the original law passed with no language about the CCRs. However, it was unconstitutional, since the councils are mentioned in the original amendment. Law 27,867, passed in December 2002, modified the Organic Regional Government Law to further define the role of the CCRs, such as providing feedback about annual plans and the annual participatory bud­get. This law mentions the participatory bud­get only briefly, stating that the “regional government’s management is ruled by the development plans and the participatory bud­get” (Article 32). In 2003 Congress passed the Organic Municipality Law (Ley Orgánica de Municipalidades, or Law 27,972), which is much longer and more complex than its regional counterpart. Concepts of citizen and civil society participation and oversight permeate the law. Article 1 states that “local governments are basic entities of the territorial organ­ization of the state and immediate channels for neighborhood participation in public affairs.” Article 9 states that “the pro­cess of local planning is integrated, permanent, and participatory.” To mirror the regional government structure, Article 7 of Title II, Chapter 1 introduces provincial and local coordination councils, also made up of mayors (60 ­percent) and elected civil society representatives (40 ­percent). The law also mentions the participatory bud­get pro­cess at the local level, stating that “muncipalities are governed by annual participatory bud­gets as an instrument of administration and management. . . . ​It forms part of the planning system. Municipalities . . . ​

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regulate the participation of neighbors in the formulation of participatory bud­gets” (Article 53). Peru’s National Participatory Bud­geting Law

An impor­tant step t­ oward setting up Peru’s nationally mandated participatory reform lay in the 2003 Participatory Bud­get Law (Ley Marco del Presupuesto Participativo, or Law 28,056), the first of its kind in the world. The princi­ples of participation, transparency, equality, tolerance, and equality are explicated early. This law dictates that the capital investment costs of each regional, provincial, and local bud­get must be developed with civil society input. Following a series of steps—­developed by the Ministry of Economy and Finance—­ subnational governments must demonstrate that they have complied with this pro­cess in order to receive their annual bud­gets. The original law, further detailed in Supreme Decree 171-2003-­EF, outlined eight phases that occurred over the course of the year. In 2008, the Peruvian government reformed the original Participatory Bud­get Law to reduce t­ hese eight steps to four.21 Law 29,298, paraphrased below, outlines the phases for the regional level; t­ hese phases also take place at the district and provincial levels of government:





1 Preparation. This phase consists of identifying, registering, and training participating agents (PAs). 2 “Concertation.” During this phase the participating agents meet to discuss the region’s development plan and prioritize the kinds of proj­ects that should be funded in the new bud­get, noted as “themes.” This discussion should be based on the development plan. Participants then deliver proj­ect proposals to the government, and a technical team evaluates each proposed proj­ect. The technical team recommends a list of proj­ects that should be funded based on the agreed upon priorities. 3 Coordination among the dif­fer­ent levels of government. This phase consists of meetings between the regional president and the local mayors to make sure that spending is coordinated and sustainable and has regional impact. 4 Formalization of investment proj­ects. This final phase consists of a regional meeting where all participating agents are given a vote in the final proj­ect list. This final list is sent to two regional governmental bodies, the Regional Coordination Council and the Regional Council, for approval.

130  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

­ ater, the MEF put out 2010 Instructions (001-2010-­EF-76.010), which provide L a more comprehensive overview of how participatory bud­geting should unfold. For example, it includes templates for proj­ect proposals, which should contain information about how much the proj­ect w ­ ill cost and who w ­ ill benefit. In theory, the proj­ects had to meet the MEF’s National Public Investment System’s (SNIP) requirements, a system installed in 2006 to try to improve spending decisions. To meet SNIP requirements, a proj­ect profile has to include reliable statistics about its impact, have information about cost-­share, and be ready for a feasibility study (if that has not already been done). It also includes criteria about the cost and impact of proj­ects, stating that regional proj­ects should cost at least 3 million nuevos ­soles (approximately $US1 million) and benefit at least two provinces and 5 ­percent of the population. Provincial proj­ects should cost at least 1.2 million nuevos ­soles (approximately $US400,000) and benefit at least two districts and 5 ­percent of the population. Again, all investment proj­ects should be linked to the overall development plans. Fi­nally, in 2007 the government began what it calls “results-­based bud­geting” (Presupuesto por Resultados, or PpR), which links bud­getary resource allocation directly to defined and mea­sur­able results (Ministerio de Economía y Finanzas 2010, n.d.).22 All proj­ects approved in the participatory bud­get pro­cess should contribute to one of the strategic results. Once a list of proj­ects is approved in the final participatory bud­get meeting, the subnational executive (the regional president or local mayor) sends the list of proj­ects to his or her regional (or local) coordination council for approval. The final list is then sent to the Ministry of Economy and Finance, which evaluates technical viability. The MEF sends a final bud­get to Congress to approve as part of the national bud­get pro­cess. Governments are also responsible for posting all information about investment proj­ects on a website as part of additional transparency efforts. While civil society participation is an impor­tant part of the pro­cess, it is only one part of a long and complicated bud­get pro­ cess that involves elected regional authorities and central government officials, all of whom can legally change the list of approved proj­ects that leaves the last participatory bud­get meeting. WHY? INSTITUTIONAL INTERESTS AND THE CRITICAL JUNCTURE

Why would Peruvian reformers design a reform that empowered societal actors to participate in so many venues at the subnational level? To fully under-

Peru’s Optimistic Transition  131

stand the reform, we need look back to Alberto Fujimori’s administration and the crisis facing the country when he left. Fujimori left a highly corrupt, centralized, and inefficient government in his wake. Reformers faced the difficult task of reconstructing a more demo­cratic and transparent state. The public clamored for ways to hold authorities accountable and to increase transparency in public management. Further, many members of Congress had set up participatory institutions in their own district in the 1990s. Many of ­these leftist leaders ran for Congress and won in 2001. They promoted both decentralization and citizen participation in planning through mechanisms like the coordination councils and the participatory bud­get. However, Congress alone could not have passed the most far-­reaching aspect of the nationally mandated participatory reform: the Participatory Bud­get Law. Much of the force b ­ ehind the mandated participatory bud­get came from an unlikely source—­a young ­lawyer in the Ministry of Economy and Finance. As in most developing countries in Latin Amer­i­ca, this ministry is extremely power­f ul and tends to successfully promote its initiatives if they go before congressional committees. At this par­t ic­u ­lar juncture the head of the National Bud­get Office, Nelson Shack, learned about the participatory bud­geting experiences that had taken place in Ilo, Cajamarca, and a few other cities around Peru in the 1990s. Shack’s interest in learning about participatory bud­geting stemmed from his frustration with the national budget-­making pro­cess. He worried that the current legislative body did not represent the ­people’s needs when determining the national bud­get and that its members w ­ ere not being held accountable for their spending decisions. This was especially problematic during the Fujimori era, during a period of politicized municipal bud­gets. In an interview he stated, “Representative channels w ­ ere not working. We needed to look for new ways to encourage participation in the bud­get.” For this reason, he advocated a pi­lot participatory bud­get pro­cess at the regional level in 2002. The pi­lot program involved designing regional development plans in a participatory and consultative manner, which served to guide that year’s budget-­making pro­cess. Twenty-­two regions undertook the first step, designing development plans and bud­gets by convening and consulting civil society actors, and nine regions eventually qualified for development proj­ect funding.23 The pi­lot program was viewed as a success, and Congress’s Bud­get and General Accounts Committee worked closely with the MEF to develop the legislation that would institutionalize the pro­cess at all subnational levels of

132  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

government on an annual basis. The legislation passed easily, mostly due to the power of this national ministry. Also, po­liti­cal elites viewed participatory bud­geting as compatible with the neoliberal platform that continued to dominate the po­liti­cal and economic landscape. In sum, the transition to democracy provided an opportune moment for the restructuring of state-­society relations. Ideological and strategic choices by newly empowered leftists and technocrats fueled the reformers’ efforts, and they promised to engage more groups in public policy decision making. All of ­t hese tenets conformed with the dominant neoliberal normative regime in the country. The support of the MEF secured its success in Congress. Since more than a de­cade has passed since the 2002 reform, we can now ask: Has the reform met its goals? LIMITED OUTCOMES AND PARTICIPATION FATIGUE

Promises to improve democracy and governance at the subnational level are infused throughout the l­ egal framework. Several of the General Decentralization Law’s objectives (outlined in Chapter 3, Article 6) mention the importance of citizen participation. For example, one po­liti­cal objective is “participation and oversight by citizens in the management of public affairs in each region and locality.” A social objective is “citizen participation in all forms of organ­ ization and social control.” The Organic Regional Government Law also states that one princi­ple is that decentralization should be “demo­cratic: It is a form of demo­cratically organ­izing the state based in po­liti­cal, social, economic, cultural, administrative, and financial levels. It promotes equality of opportunities . . . ​based on participation and concertation of the administration of the government” (Chapter 2). And the Participatory Bud­get Law lays out the guiding princi­ples of “participation” and “transparency.” The goals of inclusion, equality, efficiency, and effectiveness are also stressed. For example, the General Decentralization Law mandates the “participation of the campesino and native communities . . . ​to help overcome any form of exclusion or discrimination.” The Organic Regional Government Law also states that one princi­ple is “inclusion,” noting that “the Regional Government develops policies and actions directed ­towards promoting the economic, social, po­ liti­cal and cultural inclusion of . . . ​social groups traditionally excluded from and marginalized by the state.” The General Decentralization Law purports to achieve the “modernization and efficiency of the administrative pro­cesses and systems that ensure the adequate provision of public ser­vices.” Fi­nally, the Par-

Peru’s Optimistic Transition  133

Figure 6.1. ​V-­Dem’s

Civil Society Participation Index, Peru.

source: Coppedge et al. 2018; https://­w ww​.­v​-­dem​.­net​/­en​/­data​/­data​-­version​-­8​/.

ticipatory Bud­get Law states among its guiding princi­ples “effectiveness and efficiency,” outlining that “the regional and local governments should or­ga­nize its management along established objectives and goals . . . ​in order to optimize the utilization of resources.” This section explores the extent to which all of ­t hese goals have been met. Expanded Participation in the Public Sphere?

Have civil society organ­izations become more active in the subnational policymaking pro­cess? The short answer is yes. V-­Dem reports that civil society’s participation has increased nationally since 2000, from 0.6 to 0.78, a 30 ­percent increase (see figure 6.1). This confirms that civil society does seem to be taking advantage of the new forms of participation that have emerged since the reform. However, this national-­level indicator masks variation between the dif­ fer­ent participatory institutions. Therefore, it is also useful to explore the regional and local coordination councils and the participatory bud­get pro­cess separately. Regional and Local Coordination Councils  National officials designed the

CCRs and CCLs to create a po­liti­cal space for civil society organ­izations to become more involved in regional and local policymaking on a regular basis. When Congress debated the idea in 2001, several proposals for citizen councils

134  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

had been discussed, one of which was modeled a­ fter the oversight committees in Bolivia. In the end, the idea of citizen (or civil society) councils was diluted in Congress by several politicians and po­liti­c al parties that feared giving civil society representatives, who are not elected by the general population, too much power (McNulty 2011; Remy 2011). As a result the final design of the CCRs and CCLs included mayors and civil society organ­izations and did not give ­t hese councils binding decision-­making power in the local and regional governments; thus, this design ensured that civil society members made up a minority (40 ­percent) of the governing bodies. Since then, the implementation of the CCRs and CCLs has been uneven around the country, with some working better than ­others.24 In very general terms, most analysts and observers agree that the CCRs and CCLs have failed to effectively channel civil society’s participation in subnational governmental planning pro­cesses ­because of their nonbinding and hybrid (that is, a mix of participatory and representative) character (Calderón and Barea Castro n.d.; Defensoría del Pueblo 2006; López Ricci 2014; McNulty 2011, 2013; ProDescentralización 2010c, 2016; Remy 2005, 2011, 2016). For many years, some municipalities did not even set up CCLs. For example, in 2007 CCLs existed in only 78 ­percent of local governments (ProDescentralización 2010c). Although CCRs do exist in many regions, they are usually very weak. A report on several regions in the Amazonian region finds that in some areas they do not meet, and when they do, they rarely deliberate about substantive issues (ProDescentralización 2016). One indicator of their weakness is that when CCRs and CCLs do exist and meet, mayors and civil society representatives do not always attend. Interviewees often mentioned to me that mayors do not feel it is an impor­tant use of their time. Another prob­lem is that many p ­ eople, both public officials and CSO representatives, understand neither the role nor the function of this par­tic­u ­lar institution (ProDescentralización 2010c). Th ­ ese prob­lems have led the watchdog organ­ization ProDescentralización (2011, 148) to write that “in general, the l­ egal deficits, the absence of incentives for all actors to participate, and the weak link between the institutionalization and functioning of the CCR and CCL . . . ​have led to citizens’ increased disinterest in participating.” Thus, ­there is a consensus among experts that the CCR has failed to give civil society a decisive role in the public sphere (Grupo Propuesta Ciudadana 2005, 2007; López Ricci 2014; ProDescentralización 2011, 2014, 2016; Remy 2005, 2011, 2016; Tanaka 2007).

Peru’s Optimistic Transition  135

Figure 6.2. ​Participatory

source: Author.

bud­geting pro­cess in Lima, Peru.

Participatory Bud­geting  The participatory bud­geting pro­cess has been more

successful at engaging new actors in bud­getary decisions, as figure 6.2 illustrates. Although pro­cesses vary a g­ reat deal around the country, most argue that the participatory bud­get is fully institutionalized in Peru and, as one interviewee noted, “is h ­ ere to stay.” Grupo Propuesta Ciudadana (2009, 5), writes that “the participatory bud­get is the most impor­tant participatory mechanism that has been established since the return of democracy and decentralization in our country.” And a report by the Secretaría de la Descentralización (2012, 135) notes that “the participatory bud­get . . . ​is definitely the most successful and massive mechanism, with a dynamic pro­cess and a pro-­poor focus.” One indicator of w ­ hether participatory bud­geting has expanded participation is the number of participating agents who attend meetings. Do they consider ­these forums worthy of their limited time and resources? Of course, ­there is a ­great deal of variation in the more than 2,000 experiences that unfold annually. In some places, cities are working actively to ensure and improve civil society’s participation in the pro­cess; in o ­ thers, participating agents are barely

136  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

­Table 6.1. ​Regional Data on Participating Agents (PAs)

Bud­get Year Number of PAs (and number of regions that did not report data) Percentage of PAs from civil society

2008

2009

2010

2011

2012

2013

2014

2015

2016

2,592 (3)

3,596

3,129

2,818

3,213

3,088

3,120

2,554 (3)

2,987

59

59

59

57

56

54

63

55

51

source: Author’s elaboration from data from http://­ppto​-­participativo​.­mef​.­gob​.­pe​/­entrada​.­php, updated March 2017.

pres­ent. It is difficult to know exactly how many representatives from civil society have attended meetings around the country since 2004, though estimates exist. Maria Remy (2011) estimates that up to 320,000 participating agents have been involved in some years. The World Bank (2010, 6) estimates that 150,000 participating agents attend participatory bud­get meetings on an annual basis. They find that from 2005 to 2009 the average number of participants in a given municipal, provincial, or regional pro­cess increased. The average number of participants in a given meeting in 2005 was forty-­one; this number grew to eighty-­two in 2009 (World Bank 2010, 42–43). The Ministry of Economy and Finance tracks the number of participants in the meetings in a centralized database. Due to the sheer number of provinces (196) and districts (1,874 as of July 2016), as well as the fact that data are sometimes missing for ­t hese levels of government in the database, exploring the number of PAs over time is most reliable when we look at the regional level. ­Table 6.1 provides disaggregated data on the number of agents who participated in making twenty-­four regional bud­gets for the years 2008 to 2016 and the percentage of t­ hose participants who represented civil society organ­izations and not government officials.25 The data demonstrate that although the pro­ cess is institutionalized, ­t here is a problematic trend in that the percentage of agents who represent civil society organ­izations, and not local and regional governments, is declining over time. Importantly, however, the proportion remains at above 50 ­percent, significant b ­ ecause civil society can potentially override governmental actors’ votes on the floor (Remy 2011). LAPOP has asked respondents if they have participated in a municipal bud­geting pro­cess. From 2008 to 2014, only 3–5 ­percent of the respondents reported that they have. Thus, while representatives from CSOs do regularly attend, and make up at least

Peru’s Optimistic Transition  137

50 ­percent of the participants in meetings, most average citizens do not participate in this pro­cess. Beyond the number of civil society representatives who attend, what do we know about the quality of their participation? This is where many of the prob­ lems become apparent. For example, most complain that the participatory bud­get pro­cess has taken on a formalistic character (López Ricci 2014). Governments comply with the basic requisites, as set out by law, but never go further to improve the nature of participation. For example, in Arequipa, one official, when discussing the participatory bud­get, reported that “the exact steps of the instructions are complied with. . . . ​The law demands it; it is a formal pro­cess. It is not done to make citizen participation effective or efficient” (Controlaría de le República 2014, 298). Some interviewees charged that the prob­lems go deeper and that government officials in the subnational offices manipulate the pro­cess to get the outcomes they want. One interviewee in Ayacucho noted, “With PB ­t here is a lot of room for manipulation. The government is supposed to hold training for three days, for example. In real­ity it only lasts one day.” Another representative of a civil society organ­ization in Pucallpa stated, “The regional or municipal governments manipulate CSOs.” This par­tic­u­lar representative stopped ­going to meetings, stating, “For us, it did not make sense to keep wasting our time.” Additional prob­lems lie in the timing of the pro­cess, which makes it difficult for actors to coordinate between levels of government as well as with the central government’s budget-­making pro­cess. As the Peruvian social scientist Maria Remy (2011, 43) points out, to be “truly participatory,” the pro­cess “takes time.” Each level of government—­district, province, and region—­has to coordinate the pro­cess so participants can ideally move from the smaller po­liti­cal unit to the larger. All decisions need to be made between July and September so that the MEF can analyze the proj­ects and get them into the final national bud­get for Congress’s approval. This demands a level of po­liti­cal w ­ ill—­getting mayors and regional presidents to coordinate—­and a level of information that does not always exist. This challenge has led many to call for multiyear projections and a biannual participatory bud­get pro­cess (Grupo Propuesta Ciudadana 2009; Remy 2011). Further, only about 50 ­percent of the proj­ects that have been approved in participatory forums are executed by the subnational governments (World Bank 2010). One activist in Ayacucho stated, “Sometimes we propose certain

138  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

proj­ects but the regional government changes them.” His perception is that governments do not pay attention to the list; instead, they comply with the law to receive their funds, then spend the funds on proj­ects that the government thinks should be the priority. This reflects a larger prob­lem: subnational governments have a hard time spending their bud­gets e­ very year (ProDescentralización 2014). This lack of spending can be due to po­liti­cal f­ actors, such as when a regional president or city council decides to fund dif­fer­ent proj­ects. However, it is also often due to technical limitations of the proposed proj­ects themselves, such as not meeting the strict criteria of the MEF’s National Public Investment System. The fact that PAs approve certain proj­ects that are never funded exacerbates the danger of “participation fatigue.” Grupo Propuesta Ciudadana’s 2009 report argues that the accumulation of unexecuted proj­ects had made some PAs think that the subnational governments ­were ignoring the approved lists. This led many participants to “lose confidence in the pro­cess” (Grupo Propuesta Ciudadana 2009, 20). An interviewee from an NGO stated, “PB is generating distrust. ­People go, t­ here is strong participation. The prob­lem is that once a proj­ect is chosen it is not executed and ­people get upset.” Susan Vincent’s (2012) in-­depth case study of a small campesino community also shows how participatory bud­geting has led to distrust and suspicion about funding decisions. ­These f­actors could explain why the percentage of civil society as PAs has declined over time in regional pro­cesses. In sum, civil society actors are participating in new ways, especially through regional and local budget-­making pro­cesses. However, ­t here are still many challenges that impede the quality of their participation. ­These prob­lems lead most to declare that the participatory bud­get is institutionalized but largely formalistic. Inclusive Participation?

Are ­t hese participatory institutions engaging diverse actors, especially t­ hose who have historically been less engaged in politics? Most experts, including academics, activists, and government officials, agree that the participatory bud­ get is an elite pro­cess. In other words, the average citizen does not know about or participate in the pro­cess. Not only do few average citizens know about or understand the pro­cess, but the actors who participate in the bud­get decisions at the regional level do not represent the diverse kinds of regional and local CSOs. For example, according to Grupo Propuesta Ciudadana (2009, 14),

Peru’s Optimistic Transition  139

“Within civil society, accredited agents tend to be mostly from social organ­ izations, NGOs, and professional associations.” Further, the majority of t­ hese representatives live in urban areas, giving rise to an urban bias (Grupo Propuesta Ciudadana 2009). At the regional level, several kinds of organ­izations do not tend to participate, such as business organ­izations and universities (Remy 2011). In my interviews with regional experts, many suggested that t­ hese organ­izations have more direct means of negotiating local resources; therefore, they do not find the meetings necessary or useful. The municipal levels, on the other hand, mostly include neighborhood organ­izations, which exist around the cities that are represented. B ­ ecause ­t hese organ­izations are stronger and have existed for de­cades, their participation tends to be more robust. Much more research is needed about inclusion in the municipal bud­get pro­cesses. The best quantitative data regarding inclusion are available for the participatory bud­get through the Peruvian government’s database. Data about participants’ gender are consistently available for the regional-­level pro­cesses. Two indicators of w ­ omen’s participation are available: (1) the number of ­women participating in meetings and committees; and (2) the number of ­women’s organ­ izations represented in regional-­level meetings. ­Table 6.2 provides data on both indicators from twenty-­four of the twenty-­five regions. At the regional level, the percentage of w ­ omen attending meetings has fluctuated between 22 ­percent formulating the 2012 bud­get and 30 ­percent in the 2011 bud­get. The percentage of w ­ omen on the technical teams and oversight committees at the regional level has mostly hovered between 20 ­percent and 25 ­percent over time (see also ProDescentralización 2016). The second indicator, the number of ­women’s organ­izations represented at the meetings, is much lower. Only 2 ­percent to 4 ­percent of the PAs who came to meetings officially represented ­women’s organ­izations. This percentage has remained steady over time. Moving beyond the averages, regional data can shed some light on the variation of the number of w ­ omen’s organ­izations that might attend a meeting. When formulating the 2012, 2013, and 2014 bud­gets, between six and eight regions had no organ­izations in attendance representing ­women. ­Others, such as San Martín, which, according to my interviewees, had made concerted efforts to engage more w ­ omen’s organ­izations, included between 8  ­percent and 13 ­percent of the organ­izations representing w ­ omen’s interests in t­hose same years. Although t­ here is no way to estimate how many regional w ­ omen’s

140  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

­Table 6.2. ​­Women’s Participation in Regional Participatory Bud­gets

Bud­get Year Number of participatory agents (PAs) (and number of regions that did not report data)

2008

2009

2010

2011

2012

2013

2014

2015

2016

2,592 (3)

3,596

3,129

2,818

3,213

3,088

3,120

2,554 (3)

2,987

Percentage of female PAs

27

28

29

30

22

26

24

27

24

Percentage of CSOs that represent ­women’s organ­izations

N/A

3

3

2

3

3

3

2

4

Percentage of females on technical team

N/A

20

20

20

23

24

26

25

25

Percentage of females on oversight committee

N/A

26

18

25

22

24

21

24

24

source: Author’s elaboration from data from http://­ppto​-­participativo​.­mef​.­gob​.­pe​/­entrada​.­php, updated March 2017.

organ­izations exist around the country, it is safe to say that ­there are more organ­izations in the regions than is reflected by the percentage currently attending the participatory bud­get meetings. According to my calculations, if, in any given year, at least three organ­izations participated in ­every regional participatory bud­get pro­cess, the overall percentage of w ­ omen’s organ­izations representing CSOs at the regional level would double. Beyond the regional level it is hard to estimate the percentage of ­women who participate. When documenting ­women’s participation in the 2009 regional, provincial, and district levels, the World Bank (2010, 47) finds that “­women represent only 32% of the participating agents, 26% of the members of the oversight committees, and merely 20% of the technical teams.” Thus, ­women are not participating at any level of government or in any participatory forum in equal numbers with men. Thus, it is clear that the pro­cess is not including w ­ omen effectively, espe26 cially at the regional level of government. Unfortunately, government data and watchdog organ­izations have not been able to track participation by other marginalized actors, such as p ­ eople of indigenous descent or Afro-­Peruvians.

Peru’s Optimistic Transition  141

However, the analy­sis of the five regions with the largest concentration of Amazonian native communities in Peru—­Iquitos, Loreto, Madre de Dios, San Martín, and Ucayali—­suggests that less than 5  ­percent of the PAs are representing indigenous communities.27 Thus, we can easily surmise that the participants do not represent the diversity of Peruvian society, including historically marginalized actors. Increased Government Effectiveness and Responsiveness?

To what extent are governments more effective and responsive since the reform passed? No indicator suggests that government effectiveness and responsiveness has improved substantially since 2002. The Latin American Public Opinion Proj­ect (LAPOP) has been tracking two indicators of municipal government effectiveness since 1998 (the closest available date to the year of Peru’s reform). The survey data show that Peruvians’ perceptions about governmental ser­v ices have changed in a bifurcated way, and we do see a slight decline since the reform (see ­table 6.3). Citizens’ trust in their municipal governments has more clearly declined over time (see ­table 6.4). The World Bank’s Government Effectiveness Index confirms this assessment (see figure  6.3). Over time, government effectiveness has slipped from 55.12 in 1996 to 44.23 in 2015. Further, investment bud­gets are not often spent on proj­ects that have a social impact, such as health or environmental preservation. For example, in 2016, ProDescentralización undertook an analy­sis of the development priorities of the 2015 regional infrastructure bud­gets in nine regions. Regional governments dedicate an average of 14 ­percent of their bud­get to health proj­ects ­Table 6.3. ​Evaluation of Municipal Ser­vices

Would you say that the ser­v ices that the municipality is providing to the ­people are . . . ? (percentage who responded) Year Very good Good

1998

2017

2

2

11

20

Neither good nor bad

64

43

Bad

19

23

4

12

Very bad

source: http://­lapop​.­ccp​.­ucr​.­ac​.­cr​/­cgi​-­bin​/­L apopDummiesFile​.­pl. Margin of error approximately 2.5%.

142  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

­Table 6.4. ​Trust in Municipal Ser­vices

On a scale from 1 to 7, how much do you trust your municipal government . . . ? (percentage who responded) Year

1998

2017

Not at all (1–2)

25

40

Somewhat (3–5)

62

50

A lot (6–7)

13

10

source: http://­lapop​.­ccp​.­ucr​.­ac​.­cr​/­cgi​-­bin​/­L apopDummiesFile​.­pl. Margin of error approximately 2.5%.

Figure 6.3. ​World

Bank Governance Indicators, Government Effectiveness, Peru.

source: http://­info​.­worldbank ​.­org ​/­governance​/­wgi​/­#reports.

and 8.8 ­percent to environmental proj­ects (ProDescentralización 2016, 39). More proj­ects do tackle education issues, although they are prob­ably mostly funding brick-­and-­mortar-­style proj­ects. Lorena Alcázar, Miguel Jaramillo, and Glenn Wright have conducted analyses that tease out the relationship between municipal government effectiveness and participatory bud­geting in Peru. They have explored changes in two policy areas—­water ser­vices and agricultural policies—­since participatory bud­ geting began. When testing the relationship between the participatory bud­get and ­water and sanitation ser­v ice provision, Jaramillo and Alcázar (2013, 2016) find that participatory bud­geting has ­little or no effect on access to or quality of ­water. When studying the effect of participatory bud­geting on agricultural policy, Jaramillo and Wright (2015) come to a similar conclusion. In fact, they

Peru’s Optimistic Transition  143

argue that participatory bud­geting is even leading to less effective local government ser­v ices. They write, “Participatory bud­geting pro­cesses ­were imposed from above by the Peruvian central government, and reforms did not provide sufficient technical aid to municipal governments to carry out the kinds of proj­ ects voters often demand” (Jaramillo and Wright 2015, 291). Nor does the pro­cess benefit ­women. Diana Miloslavich Túpac (2013) undertook a comprehensive gender analy­sis of the participatory bud­get pro­cess, analyzing investment proj­ects from 2008 u ­ ntil 2011. She finds that less than 1 ­percent of proj­ect spending is geared ­toward improving the lives of ­women in the regions and municipalities. She argues that participatory bud­gets “have not been an opportunity for w ­ omen nor have they been a mechanism that helps reduce gender gaps. . . . ​[Instead] they have ended up bringing a discriminatory mechanism” (Miloslavich Túpac 2013, 9). ­These findings suggest that governments are not improving their responsiveness to citizens’ needs as a result of this reform. Reduced Corruption?

Have levels of corruption changed since the reform? This is an especially impor­ tant question in Peru b ­ ecause the reform purports to increase transparency and accountability a­ fter the corruption scandals that brought down Fujimori in 2000. Yet, perceptions about corruption have not changed significantly since 2002. Quantitative data suggest very l­ittle change. V-­Dem data suggest that corruption has decreased very slightly (from .49 to .42) in a fifteen-­year period (see figure 6.4). LAPOP has asked respondents about the prevalence of corruption since 2006. When we take into account the margin of error, it seems that respondents’ opinions have experienced very ­little fluctuation between 2006 and 2014 (see ­table 6.5). Importantly, ­t here is no qualitative evidence linking the reform to reducing the extremely problematic pervasiveness of corruption in Peru. Instead, many argue that the reform has opened up new channels for continued corruption. For example, a 2014 article notes that a­ fter decentralization, local governments w ­ ere deluged with money, especially the 13 regions that receive an earmarked 50% share of the income tax paid by mining and oil companies. The result is that two-­t hirds of public investment is now carried out by sub-­national governments. Some underspend. But this uncontrolled bonanza has stimulated the capture of local governments by organised crime. (Econo­ mist 2014)

144  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

Figure 6.4. ​V-­Dem

Public Sector Corruption Index, Peru.

source: Coppedge et al. 2018; https://­w ww​.­v​-­dem​.­net​/­en​/­data​/­data​-­version​-­8​/.

­Table 6.5. ​Prevalence of Municipal Corruption

Considering your experience or what you have heard, would you say that corruption among public functionaries is . . . ? (percentage who responded) Year

2006

2017

Very generalized

58

57

Somewhat generalized

40

35

Not at all generalized

2

8

source: http://­lapop​.­ccp​.­ucr​.­ac​.­cr​/­L apop​_­English​.­html. Approximate margin of error between ±2.5%.

The 2014 subnational elections also highlighted how prevalent corruption has become among subnational officials. Regarding the 2014 subnational elections, the Economist (2014) notes: Of the 25 out­going regional presidents, 22 are being investigated for embezzlement. Three are in prison awaiting trial; a fourth is a fugitive. One of t­ hose in jail over alleged kickbacks, Gregorio Santos, a far-­left campaigner against mining companies, was re-­elected as president of the northern region of Cajamarca, where he is seen as a po­liti­cal martyr.

Peru’s Optimistic Transition  145

One reason for this failing is the very weak nature of the specific types of institutions that, despite their purpose, do not hold elected officials accountable: (1) the CCLs and CCRs; and (2) the oversight committees of the participatory bud­get pro­cess. The failings of the coordination councils are documented earlier in this chapter, and observers have also found that the oversight committees are often the weakest part of the participatory bud­get pro­cess. For example, in a district participatory bud­get meeting in Lima that I observed, one member of the oversight committee complained that the government did not respond to requests for more information. Further, members of t­ hese committees do not receive funds to offset their travel costs, so it can be expensive for them to travel to proj­ect sites to check on the work (Grupo Propuesta Cuidadana 2009; McNulty 2011). Summary Findings

In Peru, the participatory bud­get pro­cess (but not the coordination councils) are institutionalized in all subnational governments and are increasing civil society participation in policy pro­cesses and decisions, which is an impor­tant outcome. However, the existing data do not suggest that historically marginalized actors are participating at strong rates. Further, t­ here is no evidence that participatory institutions are helping to improve government effectiveness and responsiveness or to reduce corruption. Thus, while the reform has achieved some impor­tant results, the effect on democracy and governance has been limited over time. FALSE PROMISES

Overall, then, Peru's nationally mandated participatory reform has not lived up to its promise. For example, design prob­lems plague the reform effort. The fact that coordination councils do not have binding decision-­making power has limited their effectiveness (Muñoz 2014; ProDescentralización 2015, 2016). Th ­ ere are neither sanctions for noncompliance nor incentives for participation. Bud­ get decisions are binding to some extent; for example, government officials know that they need to hold meetings to receive their bud­get. Yet, t­ here is no guarantee that the meetings are truly participatory or that approved proj­ects are eventually executed. For example, participants in Ayacucho, a rural area of the Andes, told me about a final participatory bud­geting workshop during which the participating agents retired, disgusted by the government, ­after they had signed in to the meeting. In this case, the regional president could still show

146  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

the MEF that he held the meeting and receive his bud­get (McNulty 2011). Further, the 2010 adaptations to the participatory bud­geting law reduced participation by giving more power to the technical team to make decisions (Remy 2016). Advocates in Peru are calling for stronger sanctions against officials who manipulate or restrict participation in the bud­get decision-­making pro­cess as well as enhancing the power of civil society representatives in the meetings. All of ­t hese prob­lems lead to distrust, anger, and fatigue with the pro­cess. Further, like the LPP in Bolivia, the participatory bud­geting law emerged in an intensely neoliberal environment. Reform agents in the MEF, a power­ ful neoliberal institution in Peru, promoted the national law, which passed quickly and with l­ittle re­sis­tance. The pro­cess stresses technical knowledge and efficient planning in highly technocratic language. Similar to the proj­ects that are funded in Bolivia, Peruvians are debating smaller, local infrastructure proj­ects, not long-­term development strategies. This narrow way of defining participation has ultimately restricted the results (Vincent 2012). Additionally, ­t here is very ­little po­liti­cal support for participatory institutions among subnational or national officials. In the two most recent subnational elections, governors and mayors have not made participatory channels part of their platform or priorities (López Ricci 2014). And, the national government is simply not working to improve most aspects of decentralization, including the participatory institutions. As noted above, the presidents who have succeeded Toledo have not prioritized participatory governance in any way. While they are not actively working against the idea of participatory bud­gets, they have done virtually nothing to strengthen the pro­cess at the national level. Participatory aspects are also not widely supported by subnational elected officials, and many of them resist devolving real decision-­making power to non-­elected officials. Interviewees familiar with the MEF clearly stated that improving the participatory bud­get pro­cess is not a priority in the top echelons of this ministry as well. Thus, the participatory institutions that are mandated in the decentralization reform languish in subnational governments, ignored and unimportant. Mayors dominate the meetings and corruption continues to flourish. Two additional f­ actors help explain why the reforms have not led to more robust outcomes. Peru’s weak and fragmented party system perpetuates inefficiencies and corruption in t­ hese institutions. ­Today, most po­liti­cal parties are based on personalities and not programs (Seawright 2012). Martín Tanaka (2011, 76) notes that “Peru’s po­liti­cal parties are extremely weak . . . ​serving as ­little more

Peru’s Optimistic Transition  147

than a candidate’s calling card at election time. They are not tied to any par­tic­ u­lar ideology and do not represent specific segments of the population.” This situation has led several prominent scholars to call Peru a “democracy without parties” (Crabtree 2010; Levitsky 2013; Levitt 2011; Tanaka 2005). Since 2002, national po­liti­cal parties have lost even more strength and regional parties and po­liti­cal movements have gained support (López Ricci 2014). This has led to the increased fragmentation of the party system. Tanaka and Meléndez (2014, 67) argue that traditional party systems have almost dis­ appeared and that po­liti­cal programs have been replaced by “extreme pragmatism” and individualized politics. Officials from weak po­liti­cal parties have no incentive to truly empower civil society agents. Diego Uchuypoma Soria (2013) notes that given this weakness, “the participatory and decentralizing reforms did not complement [existing channels]; rather they deepen the participatory dimension without solving the ­grand prob­lems of po­liti­cal repre­ sen­ta­tion at the national level.” Fi­nally, Peru’s civil society sector is very weak, especially in rural areas. This weakness is well documented (Aragón 2016; Barrig 1998; Boesten 2010; Panfichi and Tussie 2002; Rousseau 2006; Sagasti et al. 1999; Theidon 2013). Jorge Aragón (2016) discusses the rise and fall of what Peruvians call the popu­lar sectors, arguing that since the 1980s the power of most organ­izations has slowly declined. Currently, the civil society sector is “characterized by high levels of dispersion and weakness of the popu­lar sector organ­izations,” and the sector finds itself in a “period of po­liti­cal demobilization” (Aragón 2016, 153). Weak civil society organ­izations limit the effectiveness of Peru’s nationally mandated participatory reform in several ways. They may not be internally or­ ga­nized or financed in ways that allow them to have large membership bases or to develop proposals for infrastructure proj­ects. This lack of organ­ization means that when representatives show up at meetings, they are not necessarily reporting back to a large and or­ga­nized membership base, nor are they proposing proj­ects that have been developed with input from members. It also exacerbates prob­lems with oversight, as mentioned above. Th ­ ese weaknesses can also make it easier for government officials to dominate, at a minimum, or even manipulate the pro­cess. ­These prob­lems led Jose López Ricci (2014, 27) to argue that “the ‘social fabric’ in which the participatory pro­cesses are based stems from deficient levels of institutionalization, repre­sen­ta­tion, and aggregation.”

148  Examining the Promise of Nationally Mandated Participatory Reforms

CONCLUSION

Peru’s nationally mandated participatory reform, especially the participatory bud­get pro­cess, has institutionalized participation by civil society in local and regional policy decisions. However, flaws in the design and the absence of high-­level po­liti­cal support have limited the results. Exacerbating design flaws, weak po­liti­cal parties and civil society organ­izations have complicated the reform efforts from the beginning. The neoliberal context from which the reform emerged ensured that the reform would always have a technical and elite bias as well. Many of ­t hese prob­lems became apparent when I observed the participatory bud­get meetings in Pueblo Libre. This case study echoes the findings in previous chapters. In net terms, the nationally mandated participatory reforms have not improved the indicators of democracy and governance that are explored in each chapter; however, some notable results have emerged. The next chapter compares the three cases in order to extrapolate the reasons t­hese nationally mandated participatory reforms have performed in a lackluster way.

7

BROKEN PROMISES?

de­cades ago, when Francis Fukuyama declared “the end of history” and Samuel Huntington documented the “third wave of democ­ratization,” ­t here was a sense of optimism about the triumph of democracy around the world. Analysts now agree that this sense of triumph was unwarranted. Demo­cratic systems are “backsliding,” and levels of democracy have declined in many areas of the world (Bermeo 2016; Freedom House 2017; Lührmann et al. 2017). Prob­lems with demo­cratic institutions, corruption, rule of law, and citizen disenfranchisement continue to plague most po­liti­cal systems in the developed and developing worlds. To attack ­t hese prob­lems, reformers around the world have created a variety of participatory governance reforms that now exist in almost ­every country, including the United States and most countries in Eu­rope. As part of that trend, the developing world has witnessed an unpre­ce­dented number of initiatives that purport to engage citizens and civil society representatives in public policy decision making. In some places, t­ hese efforts are initiated by grassroots efforts. In the three countries studied (as well as in the fourteen other countries included in the analy­sis), reforms have emerged as part of nationally elected officials’ formal attempts to improve aspects of democracy and governance. To date, ­t hese nationally mandated participatory reforms are not well understood. ­There are no global cross-­national studies of their origins or explanatory frameworks for their effects. This book begins to fill this void. It does so by exploring nationally mandated participatory reforms at the macro (global) and meso (state) levels of analy­sis. Comparing dif­fer­ent institutional efforts 151

152  Evaluating the Promise

across the world allows us to put forth generalizable findings that can guide ­f uture research and policy efforts. This book asks if nationally mandated participatory reforms have been able to address the prob­lems plaguing democracy and governance in the developing world. Specifically, it tackles four questions:

1 When and where have elected officials passed nationally mandated participatory reforms? 2 What are the most typical design features? 3 Why do country reformers adopt them? 4 Have the reforms changed aspects of democracy and governance in the developing world? Why or why not?

The systematic, cross-­national comparative analy­sis of the cases tells us much about reformers’ efforts to impose participatory governance reforms from above. We know that Latin Amer­i­ca is the epicenter of this trend, and we know that the reforms emerged during a very par­tic­u ­lar confluence of international pro­cesses, which include the third wave of democracy, second-­generation neoliberal reforms, and the resultant emergence of a “pink tide” of leftist leaders. ­These international pro­cesses provided the context for the reforms, and domestic ideologues and pragmatic actors who also had deci­ded that nationally mandated participatory reforms would serve their strategic interests pushed them forward. The historical pro­cesses that underlie each of the reforms are also significant. Specifically, the authoritarian and neoliberal roots of the experiences in Guatemala, Bolivia, and Peru ultimately necessitated that the institutions themselves ­were (perhaps counterintuitively) narrowly construed and restrictive in design. Some impor­tant results have emerged. Nationally mandated participatory reforms have been able to increase participation in public policy decisions at the subnational level. The Bolivia case suggests that the reforms can improve government effectiveness and responsiveness if they are implemented in environments with committed leaders and an or­ga­n ized civil society sector. However, all of the cases also demonstrate the limitations of ­t hese reforms as currently designed—­nationally mandated participatory reforms cannot erase centuries of patriarchal and racist norms, nor can they eradicate corruption. ­These findings make several impor­tant contributions to our understanding of democracy, governance, and citizen participation in the developing

Broken Promises?  153

world. The cases clearly demonstrate that citizens and organ­izations ­will show up for participatory institutional efforts. However, without a strong civil society sector, committed leaders, and a working party system, the institutions can exacerbate—­not eradicate—­existing inequalities and hierarchies. The analy­ sis also suggests that ­future efforts by advocates of participatory reforms should move away from neoliberal conceptualizations of participation to engage new actors in decisions that go beyond local infrastructure. All of t­ hese points are elucidated in this chapter. Of course, this analy­sis is not exhaustive, partly b ­ ecause of limitations of data and the breadth and variation within the population of cases. The efforts of this book represent pro­gress ­toward understanding w ­ hether or not t­ hese par­t ic­u ­lar participatory governance reforms in the developing world are meeting their stated goals to improve aspects of democracy and governance over time. Much more research is still needed. MAPPING THE PROMISE

Seventeen cases of institutional innovations meet the strict criteria—­outlined in chapter 2—­for nationally mandated participatory reforms in the developing world. Of course, myriad examples exist around the world of bottom-up reform efforts, sectoral participatory councils, and direct democracy efforts. This analy­sis includes only t­ hose reforms that exist in decentralized states, that are codified by national governments in a national l­ egal framework, that mandate participatory institutions in all levels of subnational governments and across policy sectors, that give citizens or representatives from civil society organ­izations meaningful and ongoing decision-­making power, and that w ­ ere implemented between 1985 and 2015. In terms of geographic scope, nationally mandated participatory reforms exist in ­every region of the developing world. However, Latin Amer­i­ca emerges as the region that hosts the most efforts to mandate citizen engagement from above, further demonstrating that this region is the hub of participatory innovation around the world. The majority of the cases unfolded when the third wave of democracy and second-­generation neoliberal reforms swept across the developing world. Thus, nationally mandated participatory reforms emerged in response to both the perceived failings of demo­cratic reforms focused on representative procedures (such as elections) and in the context of the hegemonic discourse of neoliberalism. The neoliberal under­pinnings of most, though not all, of t­ hese reforms provide an impor­tant context for better understanding the

154  Evaluating the Promise

results (and lack thereof) that have emerged de­cades l­ater. Th ­ ese implications are discussed below. Latin Amer­i­ca experienced an expansion of ­these reforms as part of explicit efforts by leftist leaders who had come to power when the pink tide emerged around the region in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Interestingly, ­t hese leaders emerged in the context of discontent with the restricted nature of the third wave and neoliberalism. Yet, most of t­ hese leaders worked within the confines of neoliberalism and promised participatory institutions to engage citizens in policymaking. The analy­sis suggests that t­ here may be some in­ter­est­ing policy diffusion pro­cesses taking place around the developing world. Existing scholarship on the diffusion of participatory bud­geting specifically points to the role of international organ­izations and agents in diffusing participatory bud­geting around the world (Goldfrank 2012; Porto de Oliviera 2017; Sintomer et al. 2010). The case studies suggest that ­these same ­factors may explain the diffusion pro­cesses of nationally mandated participatory reforms around the developing world; however, more research on this issue is needed before we can fully understand the under­lying mechanisms. WHAT DESIGNS?

The seventeen cases also illustrate variation in design. The analy­sis in chapter 3 provides a typology of the design options a­ dopted by reformers. The most prevalent design is the community or civil society council, such as citizen participation councils in Honduras and city planning councils in Brazil. However, additional designs include: (1) participatory planning pro­cesses in subnational governments, such as the Law of Popu­lar Participation (LPP) in Bolivia; (2) mandated participatory bud­geting laws, such as t­ hose enacted in Peru and the Dominican Republic; (3) village committees, such as t­ hose in India and Uganda; (4) national council systems, such as the Urban and Rural Development Council System in Guatemala; and (5) scaled-up “fourth branches” of government, such as ­those in Bolivia and Ec­ua­dor. Efforts to promote nationally mandated participatory reforms do continue to evolve and emerge, such as the more recent national participatory bud­geting laws in ­Kenya and South ­Korea. To date, most of ­t hese reforms continue to fall into the existing typology. It ­w ill be in­ter­est­ing to follow and document ­f uture efforts to determine if dif­fer­ent design innovations emerge as part of nationally mandated participatory governance reforms.

Broken Promises?  155

WHY? EXPLORING THE REFORMERS’ MOTIVATIONS

Combining findings from the macro-­and meso-­level analyses allows us to understand the reasons reformers opt for this par­tic­u ­lar kind of policy intervention. The macro analy­sis points to the international pro­cesses, described above, that facilitate the reforms in most of the countries. When translated to the domestic level, it becomes clear that, in the majority of cases, a major crisis or transition—­that is, what social scientists call a critical juncture—is taking place domestically when reformers promote this par­tic­u­lar national reform package. The majority of the identified countries undertook ­t hese reform efforts in the context of a transition to democracy, a radical ideological shift to the left in a national election, or a major neoliberal push. This finding confirms scholarship that examines the origin of other kinds of participatory governance reforms. For example, Joan Font and her collaborators (2017) have argued that participatory pro­cesses emerged in the aftermath of Spain’s economic crisis in 2008. Gabriel Negretto (2013) makes similar arguments about the adoption of direct demo­cratic mechanisms in Latin Amer­i­ca. The three in-­depth case studies explored in part 2 provide more insight into domestic ­factors that motivate nationally mandated participatory reforms. Three interdependent and interactive ­factors led national leaders to promote ­t hese reforms. The first, of course, is the critical juncture, mentioned above. In Guatemala, the Urban and Rural Development Council System emerged during the transition to civilian rule and was l­ater revived during a peace pro­cess. In Bolivia, the president and his team designed the LPP as part of a second-­generation neoliberal reform package in response to an economic crisis. And in Peru, Congress established the nation’s participatory decentralization reform ­after ten years of corrupt and authoritarian rule. However, a major domestic crisis or transition is neither necessary (as seen in the cases that ­adopted them in peaceful and demo­cratic times) nor sufficient to explain motivations b ­ ehind t­ hese reforms. The meso analy­sis points to the importance of the second and third f­ actors—­reform agents’ ideological and strategic motivations—as holding a ­great deal of explanatory power regarding motivations surrounding the emergence of nationally mandated participatory reforms. The cases, therefore, confirm insights, outlined in chapter 1, by both agent-­and structure-­centered explanations of institutional change.

156  Evaluating the Promise

In terms of ideology, in the three case studies some reform agents in the very top echelons of decision making, ­either elected or appointed, professed to have an personal commitment to participatory democracy and the importance of citizen engagement. For example, in interviews it became clear that the high-­ranking Guatemalan party officials who originally inserted language about the council system into legislation ­were influenced by the Christian Demo­crats’ pledge to engage disenfranchised citizens in po­liti­cal structures. In Bolivia, p ­ eople swayed by theories of participatory democracy and who had followed Brazil’s Porto Alegre participatory bud­geting experiment closely led Sánchez de Lozada’s technical team. Fi­nally, in Peru, many members of Congress who advocated for participatory language in the 2002 constitutional amendment, and who l­ ater wrote much of the key legislation for decentralization, had promoted participatory reforms in their communities de­cades before. Thus, some reform agents certainly held a personal and ideological commitment to citizen engagement and pursued this through a nationally mandated participatory reform. ­These reformers also agreed on a certain set of princi­ples, such as smaller governments, ­free markets, and the primacy of representative demo­cratic institutions. Some ­were left-­leaning, but none rejected the under­lying princi­ples of the neoliberal reforms that dominated the 1980s and 1990s. As a result, ­these proj­ects did not include a social justice or radical demo­cratic proj­ect. They never directly challenged the public management model, or “new spirit of government,” that dominated t­ hese circles (Baiocchi and Ganuza 2017). Importantly, in the case of the highest-­level officials overseeing the three cases of nationally mandated participatory reforms, that is, the presidents or their po­liti­cal parties elected to power during the reform period, none would be called extreme or radical leftists. Rather, ­t hese officials are best placed on an ideological spectrum as center-­right or centrist. This is true for the Christian Demo­cratic Party, which took over when the military stepped down in Guatemala; for President Sánchez de Lozada of the then-­centrist MNR from Bolivia; and for Alejandro Toledo and his Perú Posible party in Peru. This demonstrates the growing recognition that leftists are not the only ones promoting participatory governance reforms around the world (Goldfrank 2015; Pogrebinschi 2017). Leaders from a wide range of ideological leanings ­adopted the reforms analyzed in this book. Ideology alone does not explain the efforts that it took to push ­these reforms through legislative pro­cesses. Po­liti­cal strategizing plays an equally impor­tant

Broken Promises?  157

Ideological Commitment to Cizen Engagement

Naonally Mandated Parcipatory Reform Polical Strategies

Figure 7.1. ​Explaining

source: Author.

reform agents’ motivations.

role. In Bolivia, the president empowered neighborhood groups in an explicit attempt to gain more po­liti­cal support by disempowering the “corporate” ­unions and ­labor groups that had become “mini-­states” in many of the remote areas of the country. In Guatemala, the Christian Demo­crats negotiated the transfer of the military’s Inter-­institutional Coordinators to civilian hands. This solved a strategic prob­lem for the military, which did not want to empower local actors ­because they feared that armed insurgents might take them over. ­Because the military leaders believed that the participatory council system would engage new actors in a relatively controlled environment, they signed off on the reform. In Peru, one of the most power­f ul national governmental institutions, the Ministry of Economy and Finance, promoted and backed the Participatory Bud­get Law ­because this sponsorship provided a way to prevent pork-­barrel politics in Peru’s bud­get pro­cess. The reform team hoped that if subnational bud­gets w ­ ere developed with citizen input and oversight, then corruption might be curbed. Figure 7.1 captures the domestic causal pro­cesses that explain why executives, legislators, and their teams promoted ­t hese reforms. Both ideology and po­liti­cal strategizing explain the emergence of ­these experiments. This finding confirms Andrew Selee and Enrique Peruzzotti’s (2009) work, which highlights

158  Evaluating the Promise

the strategic motivations ­behind the development of participatory institutions. In their edited volume Participatory Innovation and Representative Democracy in Latin Amer­i­ca, case studies on participatory bud­geting in Brazil and Argentina, participatory innovation in Mexico, and participatory local governance in Chile also suggest that leaders’ po­liti­cally motivated strategies, and not merely ideology, often lead to the adoption and implementation of participatory institutions. Th ­ ese are not merely leftist proj­ects to implement demo­cratic deepening. They are strategic tools to further po­liti­cal interests. The analy­sis of the motivations ­behind ­t hese reforms is meaningful; however, the motivations do not tell us the ­whole story. The next section explores the question that is at the forefront of t­ hese efforts: Do they work? THE LIMITED RESULTS OF NATIONALLY MANDATED PARTICIPATORY REFORMS

In the simplest terms, the data from the three cases do not confirm the overarching hypothesis explored in this book—­introduced in chapter 1 and supported by policymakers and scholars—that nationally mandated participatory reforms strengthen democracy and improve governance. At the same time, the data do not confirm the null hypothesis, that is, that t­ here is no relationship between the in­de­pen­dent variable (the reform) and the dependent variables (indicators of democracy and governance). Instead, the results that have emerged, documented in t­able  7.1, demonstrate variation that merits further exploration. Expanded Participation?

Citizen and civil society participation has increased in the three countries as a result of the reforms. More Guatemalans, Bolivians, and Peruvians are able to participate in public policy decisions in their cities, counties, and states as a result of the reformers’ decision to set up ­these participatory institutions in subnational governments. This participation is ongoing; it is not a one-­time invitation to sign a petition or a vote in elections that take place ­every few years. This participation is worthy of our attention and recognition. Hundreds of thousands of ­people gather regularly to make po­liti­cal decisions that had previously been taken ­behind closed doors. Thus, at least one aspect of democracy has improved over time as the result of nationally mandated participatory reforms. This finding adds to our collective understanding about the potential of participatory reforms and suggests that, in this par­tic­u­lar case, they are not merely institutional win­dow dressing.

Broken Promises?  159

­Table 7.1. ​Summary Results

Results

Guatemala

Bolivia

Peru

a) Increased participation?   b) Inclusive participation?   • Indigenous   • ­ Women    • Other actors

Yes

Yes

Yes

No

Cocaleros

No

2. I mproved governmental effectiveness and responsiveness?

No

Yes

No

3. I ncreased control of corruption?

No

No

No

1. Expanded participation?  

source: Author.

At the same time, the case studies also recount much about their limits. First, the institutions are not empowering ­women or other historically marginalized actors, such as ­people of indigenous descent. In Guatemala, the very few studies that exist document the lack of female members of the community-­ level councils when compared to male participation. ­Women make up between 5 ­percent and 11 ­percent of the members of the community-­level councils (Barrientos 2007; Marroquín and de León 2011). In Peru, ­women’s organ­izations are woefully underrepresented in many of the regional participatory bud­get forums and make up about 2–3 ­percent of the orga­nizational representatives. ­Women are also underrepresented in the participatory pro­cesses in Bolivia, making up approximately 10  ­percent of the oversight committees (Romero 2001). Further, data about spending priorities suggest that in Guatemala and Peru, only about 1  ­percent of the investment bud­gets are targeted ­toward ­women’s well-­being. The same finding emerges when we explore indigenous communities. In Guatemala and Bolivia, where the indigenous population is a majority, some have even argued that the reforms have served to dilute indigenous authority. Therefore, the data clearly demonstrate that increased participation does not always translate to inclusive participation. It is worth noting that in Bolivia, at least one social group did take advantage of the reform to regroup and gain po­liti­cal power—­t he cocaleros. This ­union of coca growers recognized the opportunities afforded in the oversight committees and elected municipal positions and slowly gained power, first

160  Evaluating the Promise

locally and then nationally. This is an unintended, and undeniable, result of the LPP reform. However, it is impor­tant to keep in mind when thinking about the overall results of ­these reforms that cocaleros do not represent a historically marginalized population in Bolivia. Improved Governmental Effectiveness and Responsiveness?

Bolivia is the only country that increased both governmental effectiveness and responsiveness as the result of a nationally mandated participatory reform, by empowering municipalities and sending teams to help them set up the participatory planning pro­cess. As a result, local spending began to more effectively address citizens’ needs. This is an impor­tant and seemingly rare outcome of this par­tic­u­lar kind of reform. ­There is simply no concrete evidence to suggest that government effectiveness or responsiveness has improved as the result of the reforms in Peru and Guatemala. In both countries, the small development proj­ects that are typically funded do not add up to programs or proj­ects that actually address the most pressing prob­lems facing citizens. In Guatemala, the council system did facilitate the national strategic development planning pro­cess, but this has not translated to more responsive government spending. Increased Control of Corruption?

Fi­nally, none of the cases illustrates that a nationally mandated participatory reform can effectively reduce corruption. Corruption continues to be endemic in all three countries and has become worse in the past de­cade in Bolivia and Peru. In some cases, public sector corruption may have slightly decreased but in no case does any data suggest that this is the result of reform efforts. As such, the reforms have not been able to attack corruption. Instead, as Altman and Lalander (2003) note, the reforms may have “demo­cratized” corruption by opening up new po­liti­cal institutions in subnational governments where it can take place. Clearly, then, the results of ­t hese reforms have been varied and complex. Some results are in­ter­est­ing and even surprising, and ­others are disappointing. The next section explores the f­ actors that have both improved and limited ­t hese results. EXPLAINING OUTCOMES

What ­factors explain the results that have emerged a­ fter the implementation of nationally mandated participatory reforms in the three cases? When seek-

Broken Promises?  161

ing explanatory variables, two aspects of the results must be explored: (1) the lack of results in the areas of inclusion and corruption; and (2) the variation in results in the realm of government effectiveness and responsiveness. Again, triangulating the qualitative and quantitative data allows us to reject the null hypothesis, that is, that ­there is no relationship. However, when seeking explanations, two additional alternative explanations must be assessed. Alternative Explanation 1: Temporal Limitations

One potential explanation for the limited results is temporal. Simply put, perhaps more time is needed to effect the kind of changes that reformers purport to achieve. I reject this argument. A ­simple analy­sis demonstrates that in Guatemala, the case with the most limited results, the reform effort has existed for de­cades, and for several years longer than in Bolivia, the case with the most robust results. Thus, at least some changes in government effectiveness and responsiveness are pos­si­ble in a shorter period of time. For insight into this issue we turn to impor­tant research undertaken by Gurza Lavalle, Voight, and Serafim (2016) that explores the decisions (outputs) that have emerged from the Brazilian public policy council system in more than thirty councils in the municipality of Guarulhos. They find that the councils generally experience a “maturation pro­cess of approximately eight years,” a­ fter which they typically move beyond self-­management decisions ­toward oversight or policy actions (Gurza Lavalle, Voight, and Serafim 2016, 639). Thus, existing research suggests that procedural results, or outputs, should be pos­si­ble ­after eight years. If we apply this insight to this analy­sis of nationally mandated participatory reforms, the cases ­under study in part 2 are well into their “maturation phase,” and we should be able to detect concrete outcomes. A more rigorous quantitative analy­sis would be useful ­here, if and when more data are available. Th ­ ere is very l­ ittle research that explores the temporal aspects of participatory institutions. Gurza Lavalle, Voight, and Serafim (2016) themselves acknowledge that more research on this issue is needed to make more definitive conclusions. Alternative Explanation 2: Masked Effects

Another explanation might be that the reforms are having their intended effect, and that the observed changes would have been worse over time in the absence of the reforms. In other words, a more optimistic analyst might argue that without the reforms, corruption, for example, may have gotten even worse. Maybe the reforms are mitigating even more negative effects that would have emerged in their absence.

162  Evaluating the Promise

It is almost impossible to dispel this hypothesis ­because t­ here is no way to test the counterfactual. However, based on the analy­sis in the previous chapters, I also reject this argument b ­ ecause existing studies and interviewees are able to make causal links between the participatory reforms and the observed outcomes. In other words, when the outcomes are explored, experts, participants, and/or existing analyses can make direct links to the reform and the outcomes. Again, if data become available, f­ uture studies can undertake larger-­N statistical analyses to determine the strength of the relationship between the variables. However, in the absence of ­t hese data, the information that we do have makes clear causal connections between the reforms and the observed outcomes. Decisive ­Factors

Having rejected t­ hese potential explanations, we can now turn to a discussion of f­actors that explain the observed variation in outcomes. Two questions emerge. First, why are results limited in net terms? Second, what f­ actors explain the more robust changes in democracy and governance in Bolivia as compared to Guatemala and Peru? The structured, focused comparative method employed in part 2 allows us to identify several ­factors that explain the variation in outcomes. The case studies provide the richness of detail that allows us to explore the ­causes that explain ­these mixed and perhaps counterintuitive outcomes. As a reminder, the scholarship on participatory governance has found that several ­factors help us understand the outcomes that result from similar institutional efforts: (1) the design of the participatory institutions; (2) support by po­liti­cal leaders; (3) resources for implementation; (4) the civil society sector; and (5) the po­liti­cal party system. When explaining outcomes it is clear that design decisions do ­matter. While the cases hold one aspect of their design constant—­t hey are all top-­down or nationally mandated—­they also vary in some ways. Thus, the comparison does provide insight into the ways that design choices m ­ atter. When asked to discuss the positive and negative aspects of each participatory institution in the three countries, interviewees consistently pointed to design flaws in Bolivia’s LPP, the Peruvian participatory decentralization reform, and the Guatemalan Law of Urban and Rural Development Councils. For example, in Peru, registering a civil society organ­ization is very complicated, which restricts participation. In Guatemala, the council system also carefully controls participation

Broken Promises?  163

in a pyramidal design that slowly sends decisions up to the next level. The new kinds of organ­izations created by the LPP in Bolivia confused ­people. Thus, the kind of institution that exists, who is invited, and how decisions are made and enforced ­matter greatly in determining the outcome of a nationally mandated participatory reform. On the other hand, the Bolivian reform is slightly less restrictive about who can attend, which may have improved outcomes in the end. Neighbors form territorial base organizations (organizaciones territoriales de base, or OTBs), and then they elect oversight committees. OTBs can pres­ent proposals for development proj­ects. Guatemala and Peru, on the other hand, invite formal civil society organ­izations to participate in the meetings. This means that fewer ­people can participate in the pro­cess. To fully understand the designs, though, it is impor­tant to take a step back and ask why officials designed nationally mandated participatory in the par­ tic­u­lar ways that they did. This is where we can apply the insights from historical institutionalists, who emphasize the role of critical junctures when explaining institutional change. Critical junctures often lead to moments of po­liti­cal flux, which open up possibilities for institutional change that other­ wise would have been difficult (Capoccia and Kelemen 2007; Collier and Collier 1991). In the case of Guatemala, the critical juncture, that is, the transition from military to civilian rule, opened up the possibility to include a participatory demo­cratic institution in the 1985 Constitution. However, ultimately the military dominated the transition pro­cess, and military leaders simply agreed to transfer an organ­ization with a corporate and controlled design to civilian leaders. As a result, participation has always been restricted and contained, and historically marginalized actors have never participated fully in the council system. Members of ­t hese communities, scarred from the military presence, have never overcome the legacy of fear and vio­lence that t­ hese institutions represent. In Bolivia, the reform took place during the period of time when a massive neoliberal shock program had been implemented, and the two pillars of the reform—­decentralization and participatory planning—­emerged within this context. Neoliberal reforms stress individual rather than collective rights, open markets and competition, and technical solutions to community prob­lems. The LPP set up a highly technical and competitive pro­cess for determining how to spend development funds in municipalities. Technical experts traveled around

164  Evaluating the Promise

the country to explain the pro­cess and train participants. While the pro­cess did succeed in improving municipal functions, it did not eradicate the deep-­ rooted prob­lems of discrimination, corruption, and elite capture. Interestingly, the cases point not only to the importance of the ­actual design, but also to the design pro­cess. The Bolivia case illustrates how a design pro­cess can mitigate even more positive results. From the beginning, the Bolivian design pro­cess took place ­behind closed doors. This lack of transparency helps explain why aspects of the design, such as the use of organizaciones territoriales de base, a term not familiar to most Bolivians, and the confusion surrounding the role of the oversight committee, emerged in my discussions. The closed nature of the Peru reform pro­cess also led to prob­lems. The reform, mostly developed by po­liti­cal elites, has never been understood by the average citizen or embraced by many of the subnational po­liti­cal elites. Next, po­liti­cal support by elite po­liti­cal actors, such as presidents, does prove determinate. For example, in Guatemala no president embraced the council system as a meaningful mechanism for policymaking. Instead, presidents tend to create parallel consultation mechanisms. National po­liti­cal elites failed to push forward the nationally mandated participatory reforms in Peru as well. At the same time, po­liti­cal support facilitated Bolivia’s results. Specifically, officials dedicated resources for training and staffing during the implementation pro­cess. Unlike some scholars of participatory governance, I argue that resources are impor­tant but not causal. Rather, they are intimately linked to this high-­ level po­liti­cal support, which in the case of Bolivia translated into resources that improved implementation and facilitated long-­term results. Interviewees often mentioned that national and international resources to fund technical assistance in the early phases of the reform helped Bolivia’s LPP achieve some of its objectives. The government set up teams of professionals, supported by international donors, that spread out around the country to provide assistance to municipal officials tasked with implementing the reform. What role do civil society sectors play in explaining the results of nationally mandated participatory reforms? Again, the cases demonstrate that a nationally mandated participatory reform needs a relatively strong civil society sector to achieve its goals of improved democracy and governance outcomes. Bolivia is the country with the longest uninterrupted tradition of an or­ga­nized social sector, and that country is where the most positive results emerged. Civil society actors who are relatively or­ga­nized can pressure government officials

Broken Promises?  165

1 0.8

Rating

0.6 0.4 0.2

Bolivia Figure 7.2. ​V-­Dem

Peru

15

13

20

11

20

20

09

07

20

05

20

03

20

01

20

20

99

97

19

95

19

93

19

91

19

89

19

87

19

19

19

85

0 Guatemala

Party System Institutionalization Index.

source: Coppedge et al. 2018; https://­w ww​.­v​-­dem​.­net​/­en​/­data​/­data​-­version​-­8​/.

to fund proj­ects and keep their promises. Where civil society organ­izations are weak and/or historically oppressed, as in Guatemala and Peru, the organ­ izations cannot provide a counterweight to the more educated and power­f ul government officials. Only targeted training and resources can help overcome this structural prob­lem. Fi­nally, the cases analyzed in this book also suggest that the po­liti­cal party system plays an impor­tant role in explaining the outcomes from ­these reforms. In no country ­under study did the reform achieve all of the intended results, and all of t­ hese countries have weak po­liti­cal party systems that have gotten weaker with time (see figure 7.2).1 For example, many scholars have documented the crisis of po­liti­cal parties in Peru, calling it a “democracy without parties” (Levitsky and Cameron 2003; Tanaka 2005, 2011). Po­liti­cal parties are often driven by personalism and opportunity, not ideology or po­liti­cal programs. The Guatemalan po­liti­cal party system is considered to be weak and “inchoate” (Sánchez 2008), and Bolivia’s party system suffered a serious crisis in the early 2000s and has yet to recover. Thus, all of t­ hese reform efforts took place in the context of weak po­liti­cal party systems, and interviewees pointed to this ­factor as partly explaining prob­lems with the reforms. How exactly does a weak po­liti­cal party system interfere with the effectiveness of t­hese reforms? In previous research, institutionalized party systems

166  Evaluating the Promise

­ ere shown to produce committed leadership and strong opposition movew ments that improve results (Goldfrank 2007b, 2011a; Van Cott 2008). This analy­sis looks at the flip side of the same coin. In the absence of strong party institutions, personalistic politics can take on greater importance. A mayor may be able to dictate development proj­ects or co-­opt a participatory forum. Many experts and activists in Guatemala noted, for example, that mayors manipulate the development council system in many ways to ensure the outcomes that serve them best. For this reason, interviewees stressed that the nationally mandated participatory reforms suffered from clientelism, which is generally understood as the exchange of resources by po­liti­cal actors for support.2 It binds together the power­f ul (principals) and less power­f ul (agents) through exchanges of goods or ser­v ices that are complex and ongoing (Kitschelt and Wilkinson 2007). For example, interviewees and scholars report that, in the department councils (CODEDEs), governors and congressional officials “give” proj­ects to their supporters, that is, the mayors presenting the proj­ects (Gálvez Borrell, Hoffman Bailey, and Mack 1998). Mayors dominate decision making in municipal councils and use them as tools to grant ­favors. Scholars and interviewees also point to clientelism as problematic in Bolivia (Blanes 2000). While contributing to the ruin of some of the historical clientelist networks (the rural sindicatos), this law effectively opened up new channels for clientelist relations to form. Mayors can still hand out “­favors” as public works proj­ects, but the forum and pro­cess to do so have changed. Again, although clientelism has a long and deep history in all of ­these countries, a weak po­liti­cal party system allowed ­these practices to continue in development spending decisions. With stronger party organ­ izations, more accountability would be built into the governing pro­cess. The analy­sis mostly confirms what scholars have documented in their research on participatory reforms in general, outlined in chapter 1. Institutional designs, committed leaders, an or­ga­nized civil society sector, and po­liti­cal party systems all play determinate roles in explaining the outcomes that ­w ill emerge from t­ hese reforms. At the same time, the cases suggest some adaptations to the existing scholarship. First, the critical junctures that allow the reform pro­cess to take place provide a g­ reat deal of insight into the design pro­cess, which ultimately conditions the results. The institutional legacies of ­these major domestic events, for example, major economic reforms and the end of authoritarian rule, emerge with a permanent imprint. This imprint is difficult if not impossible to shake off. Second, resources themselves are impor­tant, but the

Broken Promises?  167

channel for ­t hose resources—­committed leaders—­proves determinate. Without leaders who dedicate state resources and/or allow international donors to fund proj­ects, the resources cannot be effective. Fi­nally, the in-­depth case studies illustrate exactly how weak party systems can prevent more robust results. A THEORY OF NATIONALLY MANDATED PARTICIPATORY REFORMS

The findings allow us to develop a theory about the conditions that facilitate democracy and governance outcomes as the result of a nationally mandated participatory reform. The theory applies the insights from the lit­er­a­ture on participatory governance reforms in general to one par­tic­u ­lar kind of reforms, ­those that are mandated from above. First, moving beyond motivations for the reforms, discussed above, the critical juncture from which the design emerges conditions the exact nature of the reform. In the three cases, the reforms themselves emerged as restricting and highly technical due to the context within which they emerged. Then, once the reform has begun to be implemented, several intervening ­factors can ­either limit or boost the eventual results. High-­ level po­liti­cal support by executives and subnational elected officials is a determining f­ actor in the results. This support can take many forms, but one of the impor­tant aspects of the support in the case of Bolivia lay in dedicated resources to technical assistance and training. Second, in the absence of a relatively strong po­liti­cal party system, results w ­ ill be limited. In the three cases, a weak po­liti­cal party system allowed caudillo-­like officials (strongmen) to manipulate and dominate the “participatory” pro­cesses. They became spaces for pork-­barrel politics and clientelism. Fi­nally, without a relatively or­ga­nized and empowered civil society sector, civil society actors cannot participate actively in meetings and hold their officials accountable. Only Bolivia, which has a history of a strong society, as Gray Molina argues, saw effective and responsive government decisions emerging from its participatory planning pro­cess. Figure 7.3 provides a visual repre­sen­ta­tion of ­t hese causal pro­cesses at work. BROKEN PROMISES

This analy­sis provides insight into several aspects of the origin, forms, implementation, and results of nationally mandated participatory reforms. Importantly, the reforms have increased citizen and civil society participation in subnational decision making in t­ hese seventeen countries. More p ­ eople now

168  Evaluating the Promise

Figure 7.3. ​Theorizing

source: Author.

nationally mandated participatory reforms.

have a voice in po­liti­cal decision making than before ­t hese efforts took place. This finding serves as a reminder that po­liti­cal pro­cesses can be expanded through national reform efforts. It is a significant and impor­tant result of the reformers’ efforts. At the same time, the analy­sis suggests that reformers ­w ill be more likely to achieve their purported goals if the nationally mandated participatory reforms are implemented in an environment where ­there are committed leaders, a relatively or­ga­nized civil society sector, and a po­liti­cal party system that can mitigate the power of individual mayors and prevent proj­ect funding from becoming an exchange of f­ avors. In the absence of ­t hese ­factors, the reforms are unlikely to improve democracy and governance or help improve the demo­cratic deficit facing so many nations around the world. The analy­sis suggests that nationally mandated participatory reforms have not been able to eradicate per­ sis­tent discrimination and corruption, which have deep historical roots in Latin

Broken Promises?  169

Amer­i­ca and many other developing regions. Instead, the institutions have created new venues for exclusion, corruption, and clientelism. In­ter­est­i ng findings about the art of statecrafting also emerge from this analy­sis. The cases of nationally mandated participatory reforms remind us that simply passing a law does not lead to its successful implementation, especially in the developing world, where states are often weak and poor. When a major reform effort is passed, resources and technical expertise must be dedicated to its successful implementation. Elected officials’ support at all levels of government is also necessary. Without this support, t­hese institutions can be manipulated and used in instrumental ways by power­f ul officials. Unfortunately, this seems to be the most common scenario in the developing world. The “sticky” nature of statecrafting is also evident in the cases of nationally mandated participatory reforms. The Guatemalan demo­crats a­ dopted the Inter-­institutional Coordination offices, originally managed by the military regime, and rebranded them as a participatory institution. Even a­ fter the council system did not take off, peace advocates tried to revive the same council system. Reformers told me that working with an existing constitutionally mandated institution was easier than creating a new institution. Creating a participatory initiative from scratch is often too unwieldy, especially if ­there is one codified in the constitution. All of ­t hese findings also reiterate the scholarship put forth by historical institutionalists who stress the defining role that critical junctures have in institutional design and outcomes. The legacy of the transition to civilian rule in Guatemala, for example, is a participatory institution that is controlled and exclusive by nature, due to the fact that it the military originally created it. Further, the analy­sis helps us better understand the tension inherent in the concepts of “top-­down” and “participatory” reforms, discussed in chapter 1. The cases suggest that t­hese two concepts are not inherently contradictory. Importantly, the pro­cess of designing a top-­down reform can resolve t­hese tensions and ensure more meaningful results. This finding harks back to the insights James C. Scott offers in his book Seeing like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the ­Human Condition Have Failed (1998). Although Scott is analyzing a dif­fer­ent kind of institutional reform, his arguments translate to this analy­sis. Scott argues that, to be successful, reformers must take into account the practical and local knowledge of t­ hose directly affected by the reform. Nationally mandated participatory reforms are no exception to this rule. Ironically, national officials often discussed the participatory reforms in

170  Evaluating the Promise

relative isolation. By ­going against the nature and spirit of participatory reforms when coming up with the l­egal framework, the reformers ultimately limited the results. The case study analy­sis of nationally mandated participatory reforms around the developing world, and specifically the three in-­depth cases, also comment on the nature of neoliberalism when applied to the par­tic­u­lar tenet of participatory governance. Specifically, while the third wave of democracy and the pink tide provided an opportunity for reformers to craft ­t hese institutions, the hegemonic neoliberal environment concomitantly reduced their potential. For example, Peruvian reformers designed a participatory bud­get pro­cess that a­ dopted many neoliberal tenets, stressing technical criteria and competition, which then limited the results. In this sense, the analy­sis confirms Gianpaolo Baiocchi and Ernesto Ganuza’s (2017) work on participatory bud­ geting, which suggests that its neoliberal focus has ultimately constrained its emancipatory potential. The same is true for nationally mandated participatory reforms. During t­ hese critical junctures reform-­minded individuals push nationally mandated participatory reforms through the national legislative pro­cess. However, as t­ hese reformers move on and new leaders take power, the institutions remain. This may be b ­ ecause the reforms never challenged power dynamics at the highest levels. In fact, the case studies suggest that participatory institutions can legitimize clientelism and elite capture in new ways. This mirrors similar pro­cesses that Victor Albert (2016) witnessed in Brazil when he observed participatory bud­get meetings. The “participatory” meetings ultimately reproduced state power structures while legitimizing the existing hegemonic order. In this way the analy­sis provides an impor­tant reminder that participatory institutions suffer from many of the same prob­lems as representative institutions. Reformers often create participatory pro­cesses to complement representative institutions in a demo­cratic system. Sometimes, the reformers purport to rectify the prob­lems plaguing ­t hose representative demo­cratic channels. However, instead of helping to solve t­ hese prob­lems, participatory institutions inherit them. For example, we know that historically disadvantaged populations tend to vote in lower numbers. Th ­ ese same actors tend to participate in nationally mandated participatory reforms in lower numbers as well. Further, around the world elections and electoral events suffer from clientelism; so do participatory citizen councils and participatory planning pro­cesses. This suggests that the dynamics that are leading to exclusion and po­liti­cal disempowerment are deep-­rooted; one institutional reform cannot fix them.

Broken Promises?  171

Nor should we expect it to. Instead, efforts need to be directed ­toward eradicating discrimination, promoting education, reducing poverty, and truly empowering disengaged citizens around the world. Th ­ ese prob­lems affect all countries and merit serious attention. It is impor­tant to remind readers that the results of this study do not mean that participatory institutions in ­t hese seventeen countries are mere win­dow dressing. Nor do they suggest that the efforts have been futile. The complexities and imperfections of the reforms should not overshadow the fact that nationally mandated participatory reforms are increasing participation in policymaking around the developing world. Furthermore, t­ hese cases suggest that once t­ hese reforms are created, albeit imperfectly, they do not go away. Improving upon initial efforts is more feasible than starting fresh. Current practice also demonstrates that participatory reforms can be improved upon in several ways to increase their potential for more robust results. Th ­ ere is still much more work to do to. MOVING FORWARD

What can reformers do to strengthen or improve a nationally mandated participatory reform pro­cess? The analy­sis suggests that reform advocates and supporters can promote several concrete actions. First, the design pro­cess should be participatory. Actors from all po­liti­cal, social, and economic groups and geographic locations must be included in discussions about participatory institutions before legislation is passed. Although this is time consuming and expensive, the efforts ­w ill pay off with a more effective design and more committed stakeholders during the implementation phase. Second, participatory institutions should be relatively s­ imple, with easy-­ to-­understand structures that are flexible and can be changed if and when needed. Advocates should also try to gain the endorsement and support of po­ liti­cal elites, such as presidents, regional leaders (for example, governors), and mayors. This is often difficult ­because many officials may not view ­t hese institutions as serving their best interest. Interestingly, Chicago’s Alderman Joe Moore found that implementing a participatory institution led to an increase in his popularity in the 49th Ward, which then translated to more votes. For advocates of participatory institutions, convincing po­liti­cal elites that fully supporting participatory institutions is in their best electoral interests may be one way to ensure sufficient and ongoing support. Third, po­liti­cal elites should provide implementing governments with sufficient resources and technical assistance to ensure that the participatory

172  Evaluating the Promise

institution is set up and runs well. This usually means funding a position or office to oversee the institution. Funding for training is impor­tant as well, as is informing ­people about the events through a variety of media (for example, radio, print, texts, and online). Funding must be provided for effective outreach to ensure that a diverse group of participants is engaged (see below). When guided by local needs and priorities (and not other ­factors), international donors have an impor­tant role to play in providing technical assistance and financial support. Fourth, ­t here are many ways that a diverse group of actors can be incorporated into participatory decision-­making pro­cesses. One way to encourage and facilitate inclusion of historically marginalized po­liti­cal actors is to include quotas in the institutional design. In their evaluation all of the World Bank participatory programs, Mansuri and Rao (2013) make a strong argument for the importance of quotas in overcoming elite capture. Quotas have led to increased po­liti­cal participation of ­women in some participatory forums, such as São Paolo, Brazil, and Villa El Salvador, Peru (Hernández-­Medina 2010; McNulty 2015). Many countries in the developing world have had electoral quotas in place for almost two de­cades. Thus, it is not complicated for participatory institutions in cities, counties, and states around the world to incorporate them. Another proven way to attract a diverse group of participants is to commit time and effort to reaching out to as many p ­ eople as pos­si­ble to persuade them to attend. For example, radio, tele­v i­sion, and social media should be used to engage new participants. Community Voices Heard, an outreach organ­ization in New York City, has found that personally approaching potential participants to tell them about participatory bud­geting ensures a more diverse group of voters. The organ­ization reaches out to ­people in public spots, such as parks, bus stops, and plazas, to inform them about upcoming meetings.3 Further, the logistics of the ­actual meetings can improve the inclusiveness of a participatory forum. For example, when I traveled to Villa El Salvador in Peru, officials reminded me that the a­ ctual time of the meeting is impor­tant. Villa El Salvador’s local government addressed this by surveying participants about the ideal time for meetings. They settled on early eve­ning. It is also impor­tant to keep meetings short. One local government official noted in an interview that w ­ omen often have to leave earlier than male participants, presumably to take care of ­house­hold tasks. As a result they may miss the final vote on which specific proj­ ects to fund. And onsite childcare at meetings helps parents attend. Fifth, reformers can empower civil society organ­izations and citizens to pressure for more demo­cratic outcomes. The case studies demonstrate that in

Broken Promises?  173

the absence of strong po­liti­cal parties, local elites may co-­opt ­t hese participatory spaces. Training civil society organ­izations about their rights and responsibilities in ­t hese institutional settings is impor­tant. Ensuring that oversight committees meet and have the resources to monitor officials is another way to ensure better results. Fi­nally, one way to mitigate some of the limitations, such as the lack of po­ liti­cal support or a weak civil society, is to create national ­legal frameworks for participatory pro­cesses based on incentives rather than fixed mandates. This has started to emerge as countries set up national participatory bud­geting pro­ cesses, such as in South K ­ orea, where the Local Finance Act of 2011 requires local governments to engage the public in the budget-­making pro­cess, but does not mandate participatory bud­geting. Notably, some cities have a­ dopted participatory bud­geting, such as Seoul, but not all. Similar incentive structures exist through national laws in the Philippines and Colombia. This means of incentivizing participatory bud­geting nationally, but not mandating it, seems to solve some of the shortcomings of a mandated pro­cess. We know that po­liti­cal statecrafting is an art, not a science. Undertaking ­these efforts does not guarantee perfect participatory institutions. However, the cases show us that, u ­ nder certain conditions, nationally mandated participatory reforms can and have improved certain aspects of democracy and governance in the long run. This means that democracy can be successfully promoted, if not mandated, from above.

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NOTES

1. Making the Promise 1.  Participatory institutions are ongoing, sustainable, and formal public venues that allow po­liti­cal actors to enjoy voice and vote in public policy decisions (adapted from Wampler 2007c, 1). The term “subnational” refers to all governments that are not part of the national or federal government structure, such as municipal, city, district, provincial, and regional governments. 2.  Data shortcomings do not allow the systematic exploration of ­t hese reforms at the micro level (i.e., individual institutions in e­ very subnational government); however, ­f uture research may undertake that challenge. 3.  I am grateful to Lindsay Mayka for assistance with theorizing this par­tic­u ­lar population of reforms. For more on participatory governance and participatory institutions, see Avritzer 2002; Baiocchi 2003a; Baiocchi and Ganuza 2017; Blair 2000; Fung and Wright 2003; Geissel and Newton 2012; Mayka 2019; G. Smith 2009; and Wright 2010. 4. An extensive lit­ er­ a­ t ure explores the trend to decentralize governments around the world. For just a sample, see Campbell 2003; Connerley, Eaton, and Smoke 2010; Crook and Manor 1998; Dickovick 2011; Eaton 2004; Falleti 2010; Grindle 2000; Montero and Samuels 2004; Oxhorn, Tulchin, and Selee 2004; and Willis, Garman, and Haggard 1999. 5.  All translations in this book are the author’s. For a copy of the law, see http://­ www​.­oas​.­org​/­juridico​/­spanish​/ ­blv​_­res16​.­pdf. 6.  See chapter 2 of the law, which can be accessed at http://­w ww2​.­congreso​.­gob​.­pe​ /­sicr​/­cendocbib​/­con4​_­uibd​.­nsf​/­B24C5FDB311A9EAF05257B8300648EAF​/­$FILE​/­27783​ .­pdf.

175

176  NOTES TO CHAPTER 2

7.  The website Participedia​.­net centralizes information about ­t hese varied experiments around the world. 8.  For just a few examples, see Abers 2000; Baiocchi 2005; Schönwälder 2002; and Selee 2009. 9.  The lit­er­a­ture on rational choice in general and as applied to institutional choices is too large to cite h ­ ere. For three examples of this perspective, see Ames 1987; Geddes 1995; and Shepsle 1989. 10.  Again, historical institutionalism represents a large and diverse body of work. Some of the seminal works in this body of lit­er­a­ture are Hall 1998, 2009; Mahoney and Thelen 2010; and Steinmo, Thelen, and Longstreth 1992. For an overview of this school, see Hall and Taylor 1996. 11.  The authors do discuss additional potential results, such as improved accountability and strengthened representative institutions, but ­there are not enough data to explore them systematically in this analy­sis. 12.  For example, see Avritzer 2002, 2009; Baiocchi, Heller, and Silva 2011; Cabannes 2004; Goldfrank 2007a, 2007b, 2011a, 2011b, 2013; McNulty 2011; Nylen 2003; Shah 2007; Van Cott 2008; and Wampler 2007a, 2007c, 2008. 13.  Two scholars compare top-­down reforms with bottom-up reforms: Benjamin Goldfrank (2011a) and Donna Lee Van Cott (2008). They argue that the top-­down nature of both the design pro­cess and eventual design is problematic—­a point that I address in the concluding chapter. 14.  Some reforms engage individual citizens, called the individual or open model, and ­others encourage or mandate CSOs’ participation, called the corporate model (Goldfrank 2007b; World Bank 2008). 15.  For more on this impor­tant work, see http://­participatorybudgeting​.­org​/­. 16.  See http://­pbnyc​.­org​/­. 17.  See http://­w ww​.­ward49​.­com​/­participatory​-­budgeting​/­. 2. Operationalizing the Promise 1.  For a more in-­depth and comprehensive account of similar reforms in Latin Amer­i­ca, with an emphasis on pro­cess, see Mayka 2019. 2.  For more about the debates regarding the term “developing world,” which are impor­tant but not within the scope of this proj­ect, see Sen 1999 and Todaro and Smith 2011. 3.  See http://­data​.­worldbank​.­org​/­about​/­country​-­classifications. 4.  The database was finalized in 2015, therefore 2014 represents the last year of data availability. 5. ­There is an extensive debate about how to operationalize decentralization (see, for example, Eaton and Schroeder 2010). B ­ ecause I am not exploring the many

Notes to Chapter 2  177

nuances of decentralization in this analy­sis, I employed a ­simple dichotomous mea­ sure­ment to determine if the country w ­ ill be included—­yes or no. 6.  For more on participatory councils in the health sector in Brazil, for example, see Avritzer 2009 and Coehlo 2007. 7.  The year indicates the first moment that the l­ egal codification pro­cess began (as part of the constitutional efforts or a major reform package). The first ­legal move is rarely the last; most pro­cesses unfold over de­cades. I am grateful to Lindsay Mayka for encouraging this clarification. 8. ­Kenya’s 2010 Constitution both decentralizes the country and mandates that citizens participate in key governance pro­cesses, such as policymaking and bud­getary allocation, but the par­tic­u ­lar form of participation is open for government officials to determine. As of this writing, the implementation is still taking place, further codified in legislation such as the County Government Act (2012), the Public Finance Management Act (2012), and the Freedom of Information Bill (2016). 9.  For readers who are interested in more detailed descriptions of the fourteen cases of nationally mandated participatory reforms that are not described in depth in part 2 of this book, please visit https://­stephaniemcnulty​.­net​/­data​-­a nd​-­methods​/­. 10.  For a sample of works debating the meaning of democracy, see Barber 1984; Bollen 1990; Bollen and Paxton 2000; D. Collier and Levitsky 1997; Coppedge and Gerring 2011; Coppedge and Reinicke 1990; Dahl 1971, 1998; Diamond 1992; Huber, Rueschemeyer, and Stephens 1997; Huntington 1991; Karl and Schmitter 1991; Mainwaring and Pérez-­L iñán 2003; Munck and Verkuilen 2002; Przeworski 1995; and Shumpeter 1942. 11. ­There is an extensive lit­er­a­ture on the term “governance” as well, and a thorough review is beyond the scope of this discussion. For more, see Bratton 2013; Fukuyama 2013; Kaufmann, Kraay, and Mastruzzzi 2009; Levi-­Faur 2012; Rothstein 2011; and Rothstein and Teorell 2013. 12.  The data in the three cases allow for a rough understanding of the extent to which both groups (indigenous and ­women) are active in the participatory institutions, but the existing research does not allow for the examination of participation through an intersectional lens. ­Future research might adopt a more comprehensive framework. 13.  V-­Dem reports scores using a relative scale. Coppedge, Gerring, Lindberg, et al. (2017) note that the mea­sure­ment model aggregates the ratings provided by multiple country experts and, taking disagreement and mea­sure­ment error into account, produces a probability distribution over country-­year scores on a standardized interval scale. . . . ​The scale of a mea­sure­ment model variable is similar to a normal (“Z”) score (i.e. typically between –5 and 5, with 0 approximately representing the mean

178  NOTES TO CHAPTER 3

for all country-­years in the sample) though it does not necessarily follow a normal distribution. 14.  This index mea­sures the following more specific aspects: “Are major CSOs routinely consulted by policymaker; how large is the involvement of ­people in CSOs; are ­women prevented from participating; and is legislative candidate nomination within party organ­ization highly decentralized or made through party primaries?” See Coppedge, Gerring, Lindberg, et al. 2017. 15.  Cameron, Hershberg, and Sharpe (2012) and Faguet (2014) all argue that ­these reforms can also improve accountability, or the ability to hold officials accountable for decisions as the result of ­t hese innovative institutional mechanisms (for more on this concept, see O’Donnell 1998; Peruzzotti 2012; Przeworski, Stokes, and Manin 1999; Schedler 1999; Schmitter 2004; and Smulovitz and Peruzzotti 2000. ­Because ­t here is no consensus about how to mea­sure this concept (Schmitter 2004), I collapse it into two aspects: more responsive officials and the reduced ability to buy access (e.g., reduced corruption). 16.  The Public Sector Corruption Index mea­sures the following: “To what extent do employees grant f­ avors in exchange for bribes, kickbacks, or other material inducements, and how often do they steal, embezzle, or misappropriate public funds or other state resources for personal or f­ amily use?” The directionality runs from less corrupt to more corrupt (Coppedge, Gerring, Lindberg, et al. 2017). 17.  See Lijphart 1971 and George and Bennett 2005 for more on the case study methodology. 18.  For more on pro­cess tracing, see Brady and Collier 2004; George and Bennett 2005; and Mahoney 2008. 19.  With the exception of the two former presidents, all interviewees agreed to speak to me with the understanding that their comments may be quoted but not attributed. 3. The Promise Heard around the World 1.  For more on Brazil’s federal system and decentralization, see Baiocchi, Heller, and Silva 2011; Faletti 2010; Melo and Rezende 2004; and Samuels 2004. 2.  For more on Marcos’s rule and the transition to democracy, see Abinales and Amoroso 2005; Angeles and Magno 2004; Hedman 2006; and Thompson 1995. 3.  For more on the rise of Chávez, see Ellner 2004; Hawkins 2010a; and Márquez 2004. See Hellinger 2011 for more on Chávez’s rule in general. 4.  For more on the Nicaraguan experience, see Bay-­Meyer 2013; Chamorro, Jarquín, and Bendaña 2009; and Lobel 1998. 5.  For a copy of this law, see http://­pdba​.­georgetown​.­edu​/­Parties​/­Honduras​ /­Leyes​/­LeyParticipacion​.­pdf.

NOTES TO CHAPTER 4  179

6.  Situated in the area of comparative public policy, the lit­er­a­ture on the idea of policy diffusion (or transfer) is large and growing (see Porto de Oliveira 2017). One example lies in David Dolowitz and David Marsh’s work, which argues that global economic trends, technological advances, and the increasingly impor­tant role of international organ­izations has “meant that policy-­makers increasingly look to other po­liti­c al systems for knowledge and ideas about institutions, programs and policies and about how they work in other jurisdictions” (Dolowitz and Marsh 2000, 7). 7.  For an in­ter­est­ing account of the role that domestic actors play in informing transnational actors and organ­izations, see Kauffman 2016. 8.  For more information about participatory bud­geting in Brazil, see Abers 1998, 2000; Albert 2010; Avritzer 2010, 2009, 2002; Baiocchi 2003b, 2004, 2005; Baiocchi, Heller, and Silva 2011; Coehlo and Nobre 2004; Grazia and Torres Ribeiro 2002; Gret and Sintomer 2005; Nylen 2002, 2003; Wagle and Shah 2003; and Wampler 2007a, 2007c, 2008, 2012a, 2012b, 2015. 9.  For a more in-­depth discussion of this law, see Allegretti 2011; Gutiérrez-­ Barbarrusa 2011; and Hernández-­Medina 2007. For a copy of the law, see http://­w ww​ .­minerd​.­gob​.­do​/­idec​/­Docs4​/­LEY%20170​-­2007​.­pdf. A ­later law, Law of the National District and Municaplities (Ley del Distrito Nacional y los Municipios, 176-07), codifies participatory bud­geting as well (Reyes and González Molina, 2011). 10.  For a copy of the 1995 Constitution, see http://­w ww​.­parliament​.­go​.­ug ​/­new​ /­images​/­stories​/­constitution​/­Constitution​_­of​_­Uganda​_­1995​.­pdf. 11.  See McCarthy 2012 for more on the pro­cess of constituting a community council. 12.  For more information on the civil war in Mozambique, see Andersson 1992; Chan 1998; and Finnegan 1992. 4. Guatemala’s War­time Legacy 1.  For more on the “De­c ade of the Spring” as well as the CIA operation, see Schlesinger and Kinzer 1999. 2.  For more on the nature and pro­cess of this transition from military to civilian rule, see Brett and Delgado 2005; Gálvez Borrell, Hoffman Bailey, and Fernando Mack 1998; Jonas 2000a, 2000b; Painter 1986; and Schirmer 1998. 3.  For more extensive analyses of the peace pro­cess, see Brett and Delgado 2005; Holiday 2000; Jonas 2000a, 2000b; Porras Castejón 1998; and Sieder 1998. 4.  Local governments have a long history in this country, ­going back to Spanish rule. During the “De­cade of the Spring,” Arévalo’s government granted municipalities true autonomy, with popularly elected mayors and council members (International City/County Management Association 2004; Linares López 2002). When the military took over again in 1954, leaders recentralized power, halted municipal elections, and

180  NOTES TO CHAPTER 5

concentrated resources in the capital city (Linares López 2002). For more extensive discussions of the decentralization pro­cess in Guatemala, see Amaro 1990, 2001; International City/County Management Association 2004; Linares López 2002; and Puente Alcarez and Linares López 2004. 5.  One complaint attempted to completely erase the system, and the other argued that only the local development councils w ­ ere unconstitutional. See Amaro 1990, 2001 and Reyes Illescas 1998 for more on this court pro­cess. 6.  For a succinct statement of the leftist position, see Reyes Illescas 1998. 7.  See Jonas 2000a and Ramos Muñoz and Sosa Velásquez 2010 for more on the substance of the accords. For the a­ ctual accords, see http://­w ww​.­g uatemalaun​.­org​ /­paz​.­cfm. 8.  The VAT was raised again in 2002 to 12 ­percent, a portion of which also goes ­toward municipal spending and the CODODEs (Decree 66-2002). 9.  For more on this agency, see http://­w ww​.­scep​.­gob​.­g t​/­. 10.  Congress reformed the Municipal Code again in 2010 (see Decree 22-2010). 11.  See Linares López 2009 for a more detailed analy­sis of the three laws; see Marroquín and de León 2011 for more on the Law of Urban and Rural Development Councils. 12.  See SCEP’s website for a description of the current system at http://­w ww​.­scep​ .­gob​.­g t​/­. 13.  For a leftist critique of this platform, see Reyes Illescas 1998. 14.  See http://­sistemas​.­segeplan​.­gob​.­g t​/­siscodew​/­ddpgpl$nacional​.­comisiones. 15.  It is difficult to know exactly how many communities meet the criteria for setting up a COCODE, as populations shift quickly. According to Ramos Muñez and Sosa Velásquez (2010), in 2009 ­t here ­were 27,356 localities with a large enough population to have a COCODE, and in 2017 the National Statistics Agency in Guatemala reported more than 29,000. 16.  See Ramos Muñez and Sosa Velásquez 2010 for more on the sources of funding for development proj­ects approved by a CODEDE as well as a more detailed analy­ sis of funding patterns. 17.  To review or download the ­actual plans, see http://­w ww​.­segeplan​.­gob​.­g t​/­2​.­0​/ and click on “Planes de Desarrollo.” 18.  See the online database at http://­lapop​.­ccp​.­ucr​.­ac​.­cr​/­cgi​-­bin​/­LapopDummies​ File​.­pl. 5. Bolivia’s Neoliberal Revolution 1.  For example, see Ayo 2003, 2009; Bartholdson et al. 2002; Blanes 2000; Faguet 2012; FES-­ILDES 2004; Grindle 2000; Mendoza-­Botelho 2008, 2011; O’Neill 2005; Postero 2006; and Van Cott 2008.

Notes to Chapter 5  181

2.  Only a brief sketch of the way the revolution s­ haped decentralization and participation is offered h ­ ere. For some more recent works on the Bolivian Revolution, see, for example, Albó 2008b; Grindle and Domingo 2003; and Klein 2003, 2011. For more on the MNR, see Gamarra 2003; Klein 2011; and Morales 2003. 3.  This form of organ­ization existed in some parts of Bolivia before the revolution, but it was neither a nationwide nor a power­f ul actor. For a fascinating account of sindicatos campesinos, see Iriarte et al. 1980. 4.  For more on this movement, see Albó 2002b, 2009; Yashar 2005. 5.  See Crabtree and Chaplin 2013 and Kohl and Farthing 2006 for more on ­these protest movements, the po­liti­cal agenda that emerged from the movements, and the history of social protest in Bolivia. 6.  For more details on the Constituent Assembly, which emerged as contentious, see Anria 2010; Ayo n.d.; Cameron and Sharpe 2010; Postero 2017; Rousseau 2011; Stoyan 2014. Fifty-­one p ­ ercent of the elected Constituent Assembly members hailed from the MAS, which is significant, but not a supermajority. This resulted in a deadlock, only broken when both sides agreed to a recall referendum. Once all leaders submitted to a recall election, and Morales survived, Congress took over the constitutional pro­cess, fi­nally approving a version of the constitution that the public ratified in January 2009 with 61.4 ­percent of the vote. 7.  As with all case studies discussed in this book, Bolivia’s decentralization can be linked to a long-­standing historical pro­cess. For example, in 1898 a civil war related to conflicts about power and resources broke out between the two main power centers at the time, La Paz and Sucre. Slowly, however, power and resources became concentrated in La Paz. By the time of the 1952 Revolution, La Paz had become the po­liti­cal and economic center of activity. However, the general population, predominantly rural, mostly engaged in agricultural activities in the countryside (Klein 2011). For more extensive discussions about the decentralization pro­cess, see, for example, Ayo 2010, n.d.; Blanes 1999; Faguet 2012; Klein 2011; Grindle 2000; Mendoza-­Botelho 2008; and Roca 2008. 8.  For more on the debates framing decentralization before Sánchez de Lozada’s term as well as the legislative proj­ects, see Blanes 2000; Finot 1990, 2016; Molina Monasterios 1997; and Molina Saucedo 2003. 9.  For a more detailed description of t­hese proj­ects, see Molina Monasterios 1997. 10.  Sánchez de Lozada passed several other neoliberal reforms, including the Capitalization Law (1994), which privatized several state-­led industries. See Grindle 2003 and Kohl 2003 for a more detailed discussion of the Plan for All and the other reforms that took place from 1985 to 1997. See also Molina Monasterios 1997. Sánchez de Lozada passed additional reforms in his first term as well. In 1994, a constitutional reform passed that amended the first article to include the terms “multiethnic” and

182  Notes to Chapter 5

“pluricultural” in the description of the Bolivian state. He also pushed forward privatization, or what he called “capitalization.” 11.  For an outline of his opinions about the need to decentralize power and resources to the municipal level, see Molina Saucedo 1994. 12.  From http://­bolivia​.­infoleyes​.­com​/­shownorm​.­php​?­id​= ­639. 13.  Soon thereafter, for po­liti­cal and practical purposes, several additional municipalities had been created, and the a­ ctual number has fluctuated over time. According to the Bolivian Statistics Institute, ­there ­were 339 municipalities (https://­w ww​.­ine​.­gob​.­bo​ /­index​.­php​/­bolivia​/­aspectos​-­politicos​-­y​-­administrativos, accessed September 27, 2018). 14.  This went down to 85 ­percent in 1996 (Blanes 1999). 15.  For more on national planning in general in Bolivia, see Ameller Terrazas et al. 2010 and Galindo 2004. 16.  The participatory planning pro­cess is further codified in the 1997 Supreme Resolution 216,961. 17.  For a list of the national laws that deal with the role of the oversight committee from 1994 to 2004, see Maydana 2004. 18.  See Ameller Terrazas 2002 and Velásquez Ramírez 2004 for more on the consultation pro­cess that took place around debt relief. 19.  See Cameron 2010 for a more detailed analy­sis of this law. 20.  Official translation from “Bolivia: Po­liti­cal Constitution of the State, 2009,” translated by the Constitute Proj­ect at https://­w ww​.­constituteproject​.­org​/­constitution​ /­Bolivia​_­2009​.­pdf (accessed September 22, 2018). 21.  See Komadina Rimassa (2011) for a more detailed discussion of control social in the constitution and the LMAD. 22.  Adapted from “Bolivia: Po­liti­cal Constitution of the State, 2009.” 23.  For a copy of the law, see http://­w ww​.­cedib​.­org​/­w p​-­content​/­uploads​/­2013​/­06​ /­ley​_ ­341​.­pdf. 24.  For this reason, I prefer to use the Spanish term in this narrative, although I do translate it in quoted materials. 25.  I am grateful to the participants in the conference De-­decolonization, Indigeneity and De-­patriarchalization: A Bolivian Debate in Pittsburgh, PA, for pointing this out during a discussion of the concept. 26.  It is impor­tant to note that this idea had been debated as part of an effort to empower local communities a few years earlier. George Gray Molina (2003, 356) writes that “the proposal of the Ley de Communidades, forwarded by the Unified [or Sole] Syndical Confederation of Rural Workers of Bolivia (La Confederación Sindical Única de Trabajadores Campesinos de Bolivia, or CSTUCB) . . . ​in the early 1990s, spelled out in basic form many of the articles and clauses included in the Popu­lar Participation legislation.” See also Molina Monasterios 1997. 27.  Faguet (2012) writes that when he visited Viacha in 2009, the oversight committee was functioning very well ­under a new mayor.

NOTES TO CHAPTER 6  183

28.  As in Guatemala and Peru, the indigenous in Bolivia are heterogeneous—­ made up of very diverse communities that hail from around the country, with distinct languages, customs, and traditions. For more on indigenous po­liti­cal power, see Albó 2002a, 2002b, 2009; Postero 2006; and Yashar 2005. 29. ­There is no way to know exactly how many Bolivians are of indigenous descent ­because of the difficulties in capturing ethnicity in surveys and censuses. Self-­ identification has proven fluid and changes as a function of socioeconomic status, for example, or urban-­rural residence. Some Bolivian scholars, such as Xavier Albó and Victor Quispe (2004), argue that surveys should combine several mea­sure­ments, including self-­identification, language skills, and place of birth and residence, to develop what they call a “combined ethnicity index.” ­There is also a prob­lem of terminology. As Albó frequently notes in his writing, in Bolivia, b ­ ecause the term “indigenous” fell out of ­favor ­a fter the 1952 Revolution, the concepts of “indigenous” and “campesino” became intertwined (see Albó 2009). Thus, ­u ntil very recently Albó advocated for using the term “indigenous campesino” in the Bolivian context. In real­ity, most indigenous are campesinos, and many campesinos are of indigenous descent. 30.  See Albó 2009 for a detailed analy­sis of the rise of the MAS as well as the indigenous. 31.  In the 1995 elections, a new co­a li­tion, Assembly for the Sovereignty of the People and the United Left (Asamblea de la Soberanía de los Pueblos–Izquierda Unida, or ASP-IU), which Morales helped lead, “won 3.4% of the national vote, electing ten mayors and 54 municipal councilors” (Van Cott 2008, 52). Morales’s faction left ASP-­IU to form another party, the Po­liti­c al Instrument for the Sovereignty of the ­Peoples (IPSP in Spanish). The IPSP changed its name due to registration prob­lems, and it a­ dopted the name of the already registered MAS. 32.  See FES-­ILDES 2004 for much more detailed analyses of municipal resources over time. 33.  This par­tic­u ­lar question was first asked in Bolivia in 1998, and last asked in 2014. 34.  See also Roberto Laserna’s (2009) work, which documents an increase in social spending over time. 35.  From the online database at http://­lapop​.­ccp​.­ucr​.­ac​.­cr​/­cgi​-­bin​/­LapopDummies​ File​.­pl (see also Faughnan and Zechmeister 2011). 6. Peru’s Optimistic Transition 1.  For more on the agrarian reform, see Contreras and Cueto 2004; McClintock 1981. 2.  See Mauceri 1997 for more on the transition. 3.  For more on this presidency, see Kenney 2004. 4.  As Cynthia McClintock writes, “By the end of the García administration, real per-­capita GDP was estimated to be less than in 1960, and accumulated inflation over

184  Notes to Chapter 6

the five years was more than 2 million ­percent” (1999, 329). See Wise 2003 for a discussion of this period and an overview of Peru’s economic policies in general. 5.  For more comprehensive analyses of the Shining Path, see Burt 2007; Contreras and Cueto 2004; Degregori 1989, 1996; McClintock 1998, 1999; Palmer 1994; and Stern 1998. 6. ­There are several excellent accounts of the Fujimori years in Peru, such as Burt 2007; Conaghan 2005; and Kenney 2004. 7.  See Kenney 2004 for an in-­depth analy­sis of the coup. 8. ­There is extensive lit­er­a­ture on the Montesinos-­Fujimori partnership and their mafia-­l ike hold on the government. See, for example, Bowen 2000; Conaghan 2002; and Dammert 2001. 9.  See McClintock 2006 for an analy­sis of García’s electoral victory. 10.  For more on this constitutional reform, see Zas Friz Burga 2004. For more on decentralization since 1979, see Adrianzén 2003; Ballón 2008; Dammert 2003; Defensoría del Pueblo 2003; Guerrero Figueroa 2002; Planas 1998; and Zas Friz Burga 2001, 2004. 11.  For more on the history of the municipal government in Peru, see Muñoz 2005. 12.  For more on ­these direct demo­cratic mechanisms, see Tuesta Soldev­illa 2014. 13. Although Valentín Paniagua, the transition president (2000–2002), recognized the importance of decentralization, he could not actively promote it ­because of the transitory nature of his administration and the immediate need to clean up the state that Fujimori left ­behind. 14.  For referendum election results, see www​.­onpe​.­gob​.­pe. 15.  See Remy 2005 and 2016 for a cogent discussion of many of t­ hese institutions. 16.  Parts of this section and the following sections are based on McNulty 2012, with permission. 17.  While numerous laws, decrees, and ordinances govern this reform, this section describes the most impor­tant pieces of national legislation. For more on the ­legal framework, see Controlaría General de la República 2014; Defensoría del Pueblo 2003; ProDescentralización 2010b, 2011, 2015; and Zas Friz Burga 2004. 18.  The original intent of the law was to elect regional officials, then or­ga­nize the twenty-­five regions into larger macro-­regions. Decentralization experts felt that having twenty-­five separate po­liti­cal entities would be unduly complicated. The 2005 referendum put forth five proposals to combine regions, but the public rejected them all. Regional presidents then pressured the national government to cancel the planned 2009 referendum. Macro-­regions can now be formed if a group of regions petitions the national government. 19.  To view ­actual plans, go to http://­w ww​.­mesadeconcertacion​.­org​.­pe. 20.  See McNulty 2011 for more on ­t hese debates. 21.  See Ministerio de Economía y Finanzas 2010 for a more detailed explication of the pro­cess as of 2017. Three additional decrees (Supreme Decrees 097-2009-­EF,

NOTES TO CHAPTER 7  185

142-2009-­EF, and 131-2010-­EF) also relate to and clarify aspects of the pro­cess. See also Grupo Propuesta Ciudadana 2011 for an overview of the new pro­cess. 22.  See Chapter  4 of Law 28,411 (Ley General del Sistema Nacional de Presupuesto) for the ­actual text of the reform. See also Ministerio de Economía y Finanzas 2010, n.d.; and Paulini Sánchez 2010. 23.  For more on the pi­lot program, see Ministerio de Economía y Finanzas 2004 and Zas Friz Burga 2004. 24.  For more details about the implementation over time, see Grupo Propuesta Ciudadana 2009; McNulty 2011; and Remy 2011. 25.  One region, Callao, is given special status in the constitution and is not a typical region (rather, it is an urban area that borders the city of Lima). As such, I do not include data from Callao. The pro­cess takes place one year before the bud­get year. Therefore, meetings for the 2016 bud­get year take place in 2015. 26.  See also ProDescentralización 2016 for an analy­sis of gender and participatory bud­geting. 27.  See http://­bdpi​.­cultura​.­gob​.­pe​/­lista​-­de​-­pueblos​-­indigenas for data about native and campesino communities. 7. Broken Promises? 1.  According to V-­Dem, “Party institutionalization refers to vari­ous attributes of the po­liti­cal parties in a country, e.g., level and depth of organ­ization, links to civil society, cadres of party activists, party supporters within the electorate, coherence of party platforms and ideologies, party-­line voting among representatives within the legislature. A high score on ­t hese attributes generally indicates a more institutionalized party system.” Coppedge, Gerring, Lindberg et al. 2017. 2. ­There is a vast lit­er­a­ture on clientelism, which explores many aspects of this exchange, such as how votes are bought, i.e., through party machines, and its effects on demo­cratic politics. See, for example, Auyero, Lapegna, and Page Poma 2009; Boulding and Holzner 2013; Fox 1994; Holzner 2010; Kitschelt and Wilkinson 2007; Lazar 2004; Levitsky 2003; Montero 2010; Stokes 2005; Stokes et al. 2013; and Szwarcberg 2012, 2013. 3.  See http://­c vhaction​.­org​/­pb.

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INDEX

Acción Popular (Peru), 121 accountability, 21; participatory reforms and, 178n15; second-generation neoliberal reforms and, 34 Africa, number of nationally mandated participatory reforms in, 37. See also Mozambique; Rwanda; South Africa; Uganda Agreement on Social and Economic Aspects and Agrarian Situation (Guatemala), 58 Agreement on the Identity and Rights of Indigenous Peoples (Guatemala), 58–59 Agreement on the Strengthening of Civilian Power and on the Role of the Armed Forces in a Democratic Society (Guatemala), 59 Albert, Victor, 170 Albó, Xavier, 88, 92, 109, 183n29 Alcázar, Lorena, 142 Alianza Popular Revolucionara Americana (APRA) (Peru), 121, 124, 128 Altman, David, 112, 160 Amaro, Nelson, 55, 61, 62, 71 Antigua (Guatemala), 28, 51, 70–71 Aragón, Jorge, 147 Arana, Francisco, 52 Árbenz, Jacobo, 52 Arequipa (Peru), 137 Arévalo Bermejo, Juan José, 52 Artaraz, Kepa, 117 Arteaga Aguilar, Walter, 106, 115

Asia, nationally mandated participatory reforms in, 37. See also India; Philippines; South Korea Assembly for the Sovereignty of Peoples (Bolivia), 108–9, 183n31 audiencias públicas (town hall meetings) (Peru), 126 authoritarianism in Peru, 122 auto-golpe (self-coup) (Peru), 122, 124 autonomy, in Bolivian Constitution, 96 Avrtizer, Leonardo, 15–16 Ayachucho (Peru), 28, 137–38; failure of participatory reform in, 145–46 ayllus (economic centers), 90, 106, 107 Ayo, Diego, 103, 110–11, 112–13 Baiocchi, Gianpaolo, 9, 12, 20, 32, 170 Banzar, Hugo, 95 Barrientos, Claudia Inés, 74 Barrios Suvelza, Franz Xavier, 114 Belaúnde Terry, Fernando, 121 Bennett, Andrew, 26 Berger, Óscar Josè Rafael, 65 Blanes, José: effect of LPP on community organizing, 102; on erosion of traditional communities under LPP, 107; on mayors and participatory planning, 117; on oversight committees, 104, 105; on suspicions about LPP, 92 Bolivarian circles, 35 Bolivia: civil society sectors and outcomes of reform in, 164–65; civil war in, 181n7; cocaleros in, 108–9, 159–60; critical 223

224 INDEX

Bolivia (continued) juncture in, 45, 155, 163–64; decentralization and participatory planning in, 34; design process for reform in, 164; emergence of participatory planning in, 90–98; explanations for changes in democracy and governance in, 162–67; goals of mandated citizen participation in, 4; ideology and strategic factors in participatory reform in, 98–101; indigenous communities in, 183nn28–29; limited success of neoliberal reform in, 114–17; motivation for nationally mandated participatory reforms, 156, 157; number of municipalities in, 182n13; participatory budgeting in, 15; participatory reform and corruption in, 111–12, 113; participatory reform and expanded participation in public sphere in, 101–6; participatory reform and government responsiveness and effectiveness in, 109–11, 160; participatory reform and inclusive participation in, 107–9; political party system in, 165; poverty in, 94, 111–12; revolutionary history of, 87–90; scaling up citizen oversight to fourth branch of government in, 112–14; 2009 Constitution, 95–98; underrepresentation of women in participatory processes in, 159. See also Ley de Participación Popular bottom-up participatory reform, 9–10, 11, 153 Brazil: city planning councils in, 42; critical juncture and adoption of participatory reform in, 45; decentralization in, 32; nationally mandated participatory reforms in, 22, 31–32; National Public Policy Conferences in, 43–44; participatory budgeting in, 9, 12, 15–16, 36, 40, 156 Cajamarca (Peru), 28, 131, 144 Calamarca (Bolivia), 28, 86, 118 Cameron, Maxwell, 14, 24, 25 campesino groups (Bolivia), 90 Capitalization Law (Bolivia), 181n10 Carpio, Roberto, 61 cartas orgánicas (organic charters) (Bolivia), 96, 119

case studies: defined, 26–27; selection of, 26–29 Centro de Documentación e Información Bolivia (CEDIB), 101 Centro de Investigación y Promoción del Campesinado, 104–5, 108 Cerezo, Vinicio, 54, 62 Chávez, Hugo, 35, 123 Chicago, participatory budgeting in, 17 Chile: Citizen Participation Law in, 42; motivation for adoption of participatory reform in, 45; nationally mandated participatory reforms in, 22, 33, 42 Chincha (Peru), 28 Christian Democratic Party (Guatemala), 54; Urban and Rural Development Council System and ideology of, 61–62, 63–64, 81, 156, 157 Christian Democrat International, 61 citizen councils, 5, 42–43 citizen participation in participatory budgeting in Peru, 135–38 Citizen Participation Law: in Chile, 42; in Honduras, 35; in Peru, 124 citizen report cards, 21 citizens’ constitutions, 32 citizen well-being, adoption of participatory reform and improvement in, 12 civil society councils, 5, 42–43 civil society organizations (CSOs): assessing involvement of, 25, 178n14; design of participatory reforms and institutions and, 9, 15; empowering, 172–73; nation­ ally mandated participatory reforms and, 4; in Peru, 122, 128, 162; Urban and Rural Development Council System in Guatemala and, 56, 66, 80 Civil Society Participation Index, 25; Bolivia, 102, 103; Guatemala, 64–65; Peru, 133 civil society sectors: Bolivian, 115; defined, 15; outcomes of nationally mandated participatory reforms and, 6, 15–16, 153, 164–65; participatory budgeting and strengthening of, 12; weakness of Guatemalan, 82; weakness of Peruvian, 147 clientelism: in Bolivia, 90, 105–6, 116–17; in Guatemala, 83–84; nationally mandated participatory reforms and, 6, 166, 170 cocaleros (coca plant growers) (Bolivia), 108–9, 159–60

INDEX  225

Cochabamba (Bolivia), 108–9 Colom, Álvaro, 65 Colombia: incentive structures for participatory reforms in, 173; national council system in, 43; nationally mandated participatory reforms in, 22 Commission for Historical Clarification (Guatemala), 52–53 community councils (COCODEs) (Guatemala), 4, 56, 60, 69–72; criteria for, 180n15; female membership in, 74–75; number of, 67; role in development planning, 78–79 community councils, as prevalent participatory design option, 154 community empowerment, 21 community members, lack of education and preparation for community participation, 71–72 community organizing, effect of Bolivia’s LPP on, 102 Community Voices Heard, 172 comparative method, of examining case studies, 26, 27 competitive opposition, democracy and, 23 Consejo de Participación Ciudadana y Control Social (CPCCS) (Ecuador), 44 Consejos Nacional de Descentralización (Peru), 125 Consejos Transitorios Administrativos Regionales (CTARs) (Peru), 124 Constituent Assembly (Bolivia), 90, 114, 181n6 constitutions: citizens’, 32; Kenyan, 177n8; nationally mandated participatory reforms mandated in, 19; participatory budgeting in, 30; participatory reform and Guatemalan, 55; Peruvian, 122, 127; popular participation and decentralization in Philippine, 32; 2009 Bolivian, 95–98 “controlled comparison,” 27 control social: defined, 96–97; as “fourth” branch of government in Bolivia, 112–14 coparticipation funds, for participatory planning in Bolivia, 93, 111 Correa, Rafael, 35, 44, 123 corruption: Bolivia’s LPP and reduced, 111–12, 113; CODEDEs and, 68; participatory decentralization in Peru

and reduced, 143–45, 146; participatory reform and improvement in, 25–26; Peru’s history of, 121–23; public policy decision-making processes and, 6; summary of, 159, 160; Urban and Rural Development Council System in Guatemala and, 78, 79–80, 81, 83 Crabtree, John, 90 critical junctures: adoption of top-down participatory governance and, 6, 11; in Bolivia, 115–16, 163–64; in Guatemala, 163; as motivation for nationally mandated participatory reforms, 45–46, 155; outcomes of nationally mandated participatory reforms and, 163, 166; in Peru, 130–32; statecrafting and, 169 Cusco (Peru), 28 Dahl, Robert, 23–24 “Decade of the Spring” (Guatemala), 52, 179–80n4 decentralization: in Bolivia, 90–91; in Brazil, 32; democratic, 20; participatory governance reforms and, 7, 8; in Peru, 123–26 Decentralization and Popular Democracy (Faguet), 110 Decentralization Law (Guatemala), 59 decentralization shock program (Peru), 125–26 decentralized state structures, nationally mandated participatory reforms and, 20 Decentralizing the State (O’Neill), 99 de León, Quimy, 74–75, 78 democracy: contemporary decline in levels of, 151; direct, 21; expanded participation in public sphere and, 24–25, 26; mandated citizen participation and improvements in, 3–4; measuring dimensions of, 23–26; neoliberal hegemony and quality of, 17; theories of, 8 democratic decentralization, 20 democratic deficit: global significance of, 17; mandated citizen participation and, 3–4 democratization: in Bolivia, 88–89; participatory governance reforms and wave of, 7 department-level councils (CODEDEs) (Guatemala), 56, 60, 67–68

226 INDEX

design of nationally mandated participatory reforms, 6, 15; design process and outcomes of participatory reforms, 164; effect of design decisions on outcomes, 162–63; improving design process, 171; variation in, 154 development planning: in Bolivia, 110–11; in Guatemala, 4, 56, 58, 59–61, 69, 72, 76–79; in Peru, 127 Dionisio, Sergo Leopoldo, 73 direct democracy, 21 Dominican Republic: motivation for adoption of participatory reform in, 45; nationally mandated participatory reforms in, 23, 35; participatory budgeting in, 40–41, 154 Economist, 144 Ecuador: citizen participation as “fourth branch” of government in, 44, 154; critical juncture and adoption of participatory reform in, 45; nationally mandated participatory reforms in, 23, 35 elected officials, reasons for adoption of participatory reforms, 6, 10–11. See also political support electoral means of participation in democracy, 8 El Hato (Guatemala), 28 elite capture: nationally mandated participatory reforms and, 170; Urban and Rural Development Council System in Guatemala and, 83; using quotas to overcome, 172 El reto de desarrollo en Guatemala (Schlotter & Amaro), 61 El Salvador, Participatory Budgeting program in, 23 Espósito Guevara, Carla, 106, 115 expanded participation in the public sphere: Bolivia’s LPP and, 101–6; Guatemala’s Urban and Rural Development Council System and, 64–72; participatory decentralization in Peru and, 133–38; summary of, 158–60 Faguet, Jean-Paul, 14, 24, 104, 110 Federación Sindical de Trabajadores Mineros de Bolivia (FSTMB), 88 Flores, Walter, 69

Font, Joan, 155 “fourth branch” of government, citizen participation as, 44, 154; in Bolivia, 96, 112–14; in Ecuador, 44 Fujimori, Alberto, 33, 121–22; auto-golpe and, 122, 124; critical juncture after departure of, 131 Fujimori, Keiko, 123 “Fuji-shock,” 122 Fukuyama, Francis, 151 Fundación Nahual (Guatemala), 70 Gamarra, Eduardo, 89 Ganuza, Ernesto, 9, 12, 170 García, Alan, 121, 122–23; participatory decentralization under, 124, 125–26 General Decentralization Law (Peru), 7, 127–28, 132 George, Alexander, 26 Goldfrank, Benjamin, 15, 38 Gómez-Sánchez, Ismael, 69 Goudsmit, Into A. A., 106 governance: measuring dimensions of, 23–26, 171n11; World Bank and USAID, and promotion of good, 34 Governance: The World Bank Experience, 34 government responsiveness and effectiveness: LPP in Bolivia and, 109–11; nationally mandated participatory reforms and measures of, 25, 26; nationally mandated participatory reforms to improve, 4, 6, 8; participatory decentralization in Peru and, 141–43; summary of, 159, 160; Urban and Rural Development Council System in Guatemala and, 75–79 gram sabha (village assembly), 30, 41 Gray Molina, George, 105, 115, 167 Grupo Propuesta Ciudadana (Peru), 126, 135, 138–39 Guaraní communities (Bolivia), 107–8 Guatemala: civil war in, 52–54; community councils (see community councils); community development councils and development policies, 4; critical juncture in, 45, 155, 163; department-level councils (CODEDEs), 56, 60, 67–68; design flaws in participatory reforms, 162–63; history of violence in, 52–55; ideological and strategic considerations in adopting reforms, 61–63; indigenous communities’ participation in, 72–74;

INDEX  227

lack of political support for reform in, 164; legacy of violence and contemporary shortcomings of participatory reforms, 81–84; limited results of participatory reforms, 63–81; motivation for nationally mandated participatory reforms, 156, 157; municipal councils (COMUDEs), 56, 60, 68–69, 78–79; national council (CONADUR), 56, 60–61, 65–66; national council system in, 43; participatory reforms and expanded participation in public sphere, 64–72; participatory reforms and inclusive participation, 72–75; participatory reforms and increased government responsiveness and effectiveness, 75–79; participatory reforms and reduced corruption, 79–80; populist outsider as president in, 3; regional councils (COREDEs), 56, 60, 66; two-phase codification process of participatory reforms, 55–61; weak political parties in, 165; women’s participation in, 74–75. See also Urban and Rural Development Council System Guatemala: Historia despierta (Amaro), 62 Guraulhos (Brazil) public policy council system, 161 Gurza Lavalle, Adrian, 161 Guzmán, Abimael, 122 Heller, Patrick, 20, 32 Hershberg, Eric, 14, 24, 25 hiper-obrismo, 111 Hiskey, Jonathan T., 110 Historia de la participación popular (Molina Monasterios), 100–101 historical institutionalists, on adoption of participatory reforms, 11, 169 Honduras: critical juncture and adoption of participatory reform in, 45; nationally mandated participatory reforms in, 23, 35 Humala, Ollanta, 123, 126 Human Development Index, 12 Huntington, Samuel, 31, 151 ideology: adoption of participatory reforms and, 5, 11; development of the Urban and Rural Development Council System in Guatemala and, 61–64, 81; as motivation for nationally mandated participatory

reforms, 155–56, 157–58; passage of Ley de Participación Popular in Bolivia and, 98–101 Ilo (Peru), 28 incentives for participatory processes, 173 inclusive participation: LPP in Bolivia and, 107–9; participatory decentralization in Peru and, 138–41; summary of, 159; Urban and Rural Development Council System in Guatemala and, 72–75 India: motivation for adoption of participatory reforms in, 45; nationally mandated participatory reforms in, 23, 35; village committees in, 41, 154 indigenous communities: Bolivian, 88, 183n28, 183n29; Bolivian Constitution and, 96; effect of LPP in Bolivia on, 107– 8; Guatemalan, 52–53; inclusion in public policy decision-making processes, 6; lack of empowerment of, 159; participation in participatory processes in Peru, 140–41; participatory reform in Guatemala and, 72–74, 75; prior consent and, 21–22; support for Urban and Rural Development Council System in Guatemala, 63 indigenous movement in Bolivia, 88 Indonesia: Kecamatan Development Program in, 23; participatory budgeting in, 41 Inter-institutional Coordinators (IICs) system in Guatemala, 53–54, 157, 169 international development organizations, participatory governance reforms and, 8–9 International Labour Organization, 21 international trends, nationally mandated participatory reforms and, 31–36 interviews, as information source, 25 Isaacs, Anita, 82 Izquierda Unida (IU) (Peru), 121 Jaramillo, Miguel, 142 Katari, Túpac, 86 Katarista movement, 88 Kecamatan Development Program (Indonesia), 23 Kenya: decentralization and participatory governance in Constitution of, 23, 177n8; mandated participatory budgeting in, 41, 154

228 INDEX

Klein, Herbert S., 92 Komadina Rimassa, Jorge, 96 Kuczynski, Pedro Pablo (PPK), 123 La descentralización imposible y la alternativa municipal (Molina Saucedo), 98 Lalander, Rickard, 112, 160 Lambayeque (Peru), 28 land reform in Peru, 121 La Paz (Bolivia), 28, 181n7 Latin America: as epicenter of nationally mandated participatory reforms, 5, 36, 46, 152, 153; number of nationally mandated participatory reforms in, 37; “pink tide” in, 5, 34–36 Latin American Public Opinion Project (LAPOP), 25, 26; on citizen participation in Bolivia, 102–3; on citizen participation in budgeting in Peru, 136; on clientelism in Bolivia, 117; on clientelism in Guatemala, 84; on corruption in Bolivia, 112; on government effectiveness in Guatemala, 75–76; on municipal corruption in Peru, 143; on municipal government effectiveness in Peru, 141; in trust in municipal government in Bolivia, 110, 111 Law about the Participatory Budgeting System (Dominican Republic), 40 Law of Accreditation System for Local and Regional Governments (Peru), 125 Law of Popular Participation (Bolivia), 7, 38, 39. See also Ley de Participación Popular Law of the National Agrarian Reform Service (Bolivia), 94 Law of Urban and Rural Development Councils (Guatemala), 56, 59–60, 162 Lazar, Sian, 117 leftist leaders in Latin America: nationally mandated participatory reforms and, 154; “pink tide” and, 34–36 left-wing opposition to the Urban and Rural Development Council System in Guatemala, 58 legal framework for participatory governance, 21; in Bolivia, 95–98 (see also Ley de Participación Popular); for participatory decentralization in Peru, 125, 127–32; for the Urban and Rural Development Council System in Guatemala, 59–60

León Carpio, Ramiro de, 58 Ley de Communidades (Bolivia), 182n26 Ley de Participación Popular (LPP) (Bolivia), 7, 38, 39, 86–87, 92–98, 154; design flaws in, 162, 163; implementation of, 94–95; mayors and, 93; modifications to, 94; neoliberal restructuring and, 90–92; objectives of, 92–93; planning and oversight process in, 93–94; reasons passed, 98–101; results of, 101–14; revolution and roots of, 90; summing up of, 117–19. See also Bolivia Ley de Participación y Control Social (Bolivia), 96, 98 Ley Marco de Autonomías y Descentraliza­ ción (LMAD) (Bolivia), 96 Ley Orgánica del Consejo de Participación Ciudadana (Ecuador), 44 Lima (Peru), 28 Linares López, Luis, 58, 82 local coordination councils (CCLs) (Peru), 120, 133–34 local governments: empowerment of in Peru, 123–24; increased citizen participation in Peru and, 127. See also municipal governments López Ricci, Jose, 147 Loreto (Peru), 28 macroeconomic stabilization reforms, neoliberalism and, 33 Madrid, Raúl, 88 Mallkus y alcaldes (Supreme leaders and mayors) (Blanes), 102 mandated citizen participation, improvements in democracy and, 3–4 Mansbridge, Jane, 8 Mansuri, Ghazala, 41, 172 Marcos, Ferninand, 32 marginalized populations, participatory reforms and, 24, 26, 172. See also indigenous communities; women Marroquin, María Dolores, 74–75, 78 masked effects, to explain outcomes of nationally mandated participatory reforms, 161–62 Mayan, military operations against in Guatemala, 52–53 Maydana, Raúl, 104 mayors: clientelism and, 117, 166; manipu­ lation of development council system

INDEX  229

in Guatemala by, 166; participatory decentralization in Peru and, 124, 134, 146; participatory governance reforms and, 8; participatory reforms in Bolivia and, 91, 93; Urban and Rural Development Council System in Guatemala and, 68, 69, 70, 72, 76, 83–84 Meléndez, Carlos, 147 Mesa, Carlos, 89 mesas de concertación (community roundtables), 124 military opposition to the Urban and Rural Development Council System in Guatemala, 58, 62 military rule: in Bolivia, 87, 88; in Guatemala, 52–54, 81; in Peru, 121 Mill, John Stuart, 8, 27 Miloslavich Túpac, Diana, 143 Molina, Perez, 82 Molina Monasterios, Fernando, 100–101 Molina Saucedo, Carlos Hugo, 91–92; implementation of Ley de Participación Popular and, 98–99, 100–101 Montambeault, Françoise, 12 Monterroso-Rivas, Ottoniel, 78 Montesinos, Vladimir, 122 Moore, Joe, 17, 171 Morales, Evo, 89–90, 108–9, 118, 181n6, 183n31 Morales, Jimmy, 55 “most similar” case selection method, 27 motivations for nationally mandated participatory reforms, 45–46, 155–58 Movimiento al Socialismo (MAS), 89–90; coca growers’ movement and, 108–9; LPP and, 109, 118 Movimiento Nacionalista Revolucionario (MNR), 87–88, 89, 99 Mozambique: community councils in, 42; critical juncture and adoption of participatory reform in, 45; decentrali­ zation and increasing citizen participation efforts in, 34; nationally mandated participatory reforms in, 22 municipal councils (COMUDEs) (Guatemala), 56, 60, 68–69; number of, 67; role in development planning, 78–79 municipal governments: in Guatemala, 55; participatory budgeting in Peru and effectiveness of, 142–43; resources for in

Bolivia, 109–11. See also local governments Municipal Law (Bolivia), 94, 97 National Council for Rural and Urban Development (CONADUR) (Guatemala), 43, 55–56, 60–61, 65–66 national council systems, 43–44 National Decentralization Secretary (Peru), 126 National Dialogue Law (Bolivia), 94 nationally mandated participatory reform criteria, 19–23; decentralized state apparatus and, 20; in developing world, 20; subnational participatory institutions and, 20–23 nationally mandated participatory reforms, 3–5, 7–16, 30–31; broken promises of, 167–71; citizen or civil society councils, 42–43; explaining outcomes, 160–67; factors conditioning results, 14–16; as “fourth branch” of government, 44; geographic trends, 31–39; international trends and timing, 31–36; limited results of, 158–160; mandated participatory budget processes, 40–41; motivations for, 45–46, 155–58; national council system, 43–44; nationally mandated vs. locally driven, 9–10; national participatory planning processes in subnational governments, 39; number of, by year, 32; number of reforms by region, 37; policy diffusion and, 36–39; reasons for adoption, 5–6, 10–11; recommendations to improve, 171–73; regional and temporal implementation, 37; results of, 12–14, 152, 158–60; “sticky” nature of, 118–19; summary of global patterns, 46–47, 153; tension between “top-down” and “participatory” reforms, 169–70; theory of, 167, 168; top-down participatory governance and, 6–7; variation in institutional designs, 39–44, 154; village committees, 41, 154 National Plan for Decentralization and Regionalization (Peru), 126 National Public Investment System (Peru), 128, 130, 138 National Public Policy Conferences (Brazil), 43–44

230 INDEX

Negretto, Gabriel, 155 neighborhood organizations, increased public participation in Bolivia and, 105–6 neoliberalism: as context for reform program in Peru, 125–26, 163–64; nationally mandated participatory reforms and, 153–54, 156, 170; “pink tide” and, 35–36. See also second-generation neoliberal reforms New Institutions for Participatory Democracy in Latin America (Cameron, Hershberg, & Sharpe), 14 Newton, Kenneth, 13 Nicaragua: critical juncture and adoption of participatory reform in, 45; nationally mandated participatory reforms in, 22, 35; participatory budgeting in, 15 Now We Are Citizens (Posteros), 107 obras (public works), 111, 117, 118 Ochoa, Carlos Fredy, 73 oligarchic rule: in Bolivia, 87; in Guatemala, 52; in Peru, 121 O’Neill, Kathleen, 99 opposition: to CCRs, 128; to participatory planning in Bolivia, 92; to Urban and Rural Development Council System in Guatemala, 57–58, 62 opposition movements, design of participatory reforms and, 16 Organic Municipality Law (Peru), 128–29 Organic Municipal Law (Bolivia), 91 Organic Regional Government Law (Peru), 128, 132 Organizaciones territoriales de base (OTBs) (Bolivia), 93, 163; empowerment of, 100, 101; increased public participation and, 105–6 Ortega, Daniel, 35 outreach, to ensure success of participatory reforms, 172 oversight: councils, 38; of participatory decentralization in Peru, 128 oversight committees in Bolivia, 93–94, 97, 102, 103–5; corruption and, 112–13; lack of administrative experience and, 104–5; women on, 108 Oxhorn, Philip, 108 Panchayati Raj, 30 Paniagua, Valentín, 122, 184n13

Participation Initiative (USAID), 8 participation in the public sphere: democracy and, 23. See also expanded participation in the public sphere participatory budgeting: in Brazil, 9, 12, 15–16; in Chicago, 17; in developed countries, 23; diffusion of policy, 36–39; in Dominican Republic, 40–41; in El Salvador, 23; in India, 30; mandated, 40–41; in New York City, 17; in Peru, 10, 30, 40, 120, 129–30, 135–38, 142–43, 146, 147 participatory budgeting laws, 10, 129–30, 146, 154 Participatory Budget Law (Peru), 129–30, 131–33 participatory governance: assessing democratizing effects of, 12–14; defined, 7; global importance of, 7; theoretical underpinnings of, 8 Participatory Innovation and Representative Democracy in Latin America (Selee & Peruzzotti), 14, 158 participatory institutional design, variation in, 39–44; citizen or civil society councils, 42–43; “fourth branch” of government, 44; mandated participatory budgeting processes, 40–41; national council system, 43–44; national participatory planning processes in subnational governments, 39; summary of, 40, 154; village committees, 41 participatory institutions, 7, 24; defined, 175n1; design of, 171 Participatory Poverty Assessments (World Bank), 8 participatory reforms: international development and, 8–9; nationally mandated vs. locally driven, 9–10; reasons for adoption of, 10–11. See also nationally mandated participatory reforms Partido Popular Cristiano (Peru), 121 party institutionalization, 165, 185n1 Pateman, Carol, 8 Paz Estensorro, Victor, 89, 90 peace accords, participatory reforms in Guatemala and, 54, 58–61, 63–64 People Power Revolution, in Philippines, 32 Pérez Molina, Otto, 55

INDEX  231

Peru: civil society in, 147, 162; corruption reduction in, 143–45; critical juncture in, 45, 130–32, 155; decentralization in, 123–26; design flaws in participatory decentralization reforms, 162; economic crisis in, 121, 183–84n4; expanded participation in the public sphere in, 133–38; General Decentralization Law, 7, 127–28, 132; goals of mandated citizen participation in, 4; government effectiveness and responsiveness in, 141–43; history of centralization and corruption in, 121–23; inclusive participation in, 138–41; lack of support for decentralization reforms, 146; limited outcomes and participation fatigue, 132–45; motivation for nationally mandated participatory reforms, 156, 157; nationally mandated participatory reforms in, 22; neoliberal project in, 34, 146; participatory budgeting in, 15, 30, 38, 40, 120, 129–30, 135–38, 147; participatory budgeting law, 10, 129–30, 146; participatory decentralization reform in, 120–21; participatory decentralization’s legal framework, 125, 127–32; political parties in, 121, 146–47; reform and institutional interests and critical juncture, 130–32; reform design problems, 145–46; representation of women’s organizations in budget forums, 159; Toledo and participatory decentralization reform, 123; transition from authoritarian rule to democracy in, 33; weak political parties in, 165 Perú Possible party, 156 Peruvian National Party, 123 Peruzzotti, Enrique, 14, 24, 157–58 Philippines: incentive structures for participatory reforms in, 173; nationally mandated participatory reforms in, 22, 32–33 “pink tide,” in Latin America, 5, 34–36, 46, 89–90, 154 Pinochet, Agosto, 33 Plan for All (Bolivia), 91–92, 100 Pogrebinschi, Thamy, 43 policy diffusion, 179n6; of nationally mandated participatory reforms, 36–39, 154

policy management movement, 33 Political Instrument for the Sovereignty of the Peoples (IPSP), 183n31 political party system: outcomes of nationally mandated participatory reforms and, 6, 16, 165–66; weakness of in Bolivia, 117; weakness of in Guatemala, 84; weakness of in Peru, 121, 146–47 political support: outcomes of nationally mandated participatory reforms and, 164; for Peruvian participatory budgeting law, 146; of political elites for participatory reforms, 15, 171–72; for public participation reforms in Bolivia, 115; Urban and Rural Development Council System and lack of, 82–83 The Politics of Corruption in Guatemala (report), 79 Ponce, Francisco, 52 Portillo, Alfonso, 54 Porto Alegre (Brazil), participatory budgeting in, 36, 40, 156, 179n8 Porto de Oliviera, Osmany, 36 Portugal, mandated participatory budgeting in, 23, 41 postconflict reconstruction, nationally mandated participatory reform and, 35 Postero, Nancy, 106, 107–8, 116 poverty, in Bolivia, 94, 111–12 Presidential Secretariat of Executive Coor­ dination (SCEP), for the Urban and Rural Development Council System in Guatemala, 59 “prior consent,” 21–22 process tracing, 28 ProDescentralización, 125, 134, 141 Programa de operaciones anual (POA) (Annual Operations Program, Bolivia), 93 public management model, participatory governance reforms and, 9, 156 Public Sector Corruption Index, 26, 178n16; Bolivia, 113; Guatemala, 79–80; Peru, 143 Pucallpa (Peru), 137 Pueblo Libre (Peru), participatory budget meeting in, 120, 147 Quispe, Victor, 183n29 quotas, for marginalized actors in participatory reforms, 172

232 INDEX

Radical Democracy in the Andes (Van Cott), 108 Ramos Muñez, Belinda, 66, 73–74, 77 Rao, Vijayendra, 41, 172 rational agent school on institutional choices, 11, 169 recall, 21, 124, 126 referendums, 11, 21, 124, 126 regional coordination councils (CCRs) (Peru), 120, 128, 133–34 regional councils (COREDEs) (Guatemala), 56, 60, 66 Regional Government Organic Law (Peru), 132 regional governments: citizen participation in Peru and, 127, 139; empowerment of in Peru, 123–24, 125 Remy, María, 136, 137 resources: for municipal governments in Bolivia, 93, 109–11; for public investment projects in Peru, 130, 141–42; to support nationally mandated participatory reforms, 15, 164, 166–67, 171–72; for Urban and Rural Development Council System in Guatemala, 83 revolution, Bolivian, 87–88 right-wing opposition to the Urban and Rural Development Council System in Guatemala, 57–58 Ríos Montt, José Efraín, 53, 54 Romero, Raquel B., 108 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 8 Rwanda: community work days and open meetings in, 42–43; critical juncture and adoption of participatory reform in, 45; decentralization and increasing citizen participation efforts in, 34; nationally mandated participatory reforms in, 4, 8, 23, 35; social reengineering process in, 42–43, 45 Samuels, David, 43 Sánchez de Lozada, Gonzalo, 29, 38, 89; Administrative Decentralization Law and, 94; belief in decentralization and participatory reform, 98, 99, 100; implementation of Ley de Participación Popular and, 95; motivation for nationally mandated participatory reforms, 156; neoliberal reforms of, 181–82n10; Plan for All, 91–92, 100; regime of citizenship and, 116

Sandinistas, nationally mandated participatory reform and, 35 San Juan del Obispo (Guatemala), community council meetings in, 71 San Miguel Escobar (Guatemala), 28; community council meetings in, 4, 69–70, 74 San Pedro Las Huertas (Guatemala), community council meetings in, 71 Santa María Visitación, 73 Santos, Gregorio, 144 Schirmer, Jennifer, 53, 54, 62 Schlotter, René de Léon, 61 Scott, James C., 169 second-generation neoliberal reforms, 46; in Bolivia, 89, 90–92, 98, 114–17; nationally mandated participatory reforms and, 33–34; in Peru, 122 Secretaría de Planificación y Programación de la Presidencia (SEGEPLAN) (Guatemala), 56, 69, 78–79, 85 Seeing like a State (Scott), 169 Selee, Andrew, 14, 24, 157–58 Seligson, Mitchell, 110 Serafim, Lizandra, 161 Serrano, Jorge, 57, 58 Shack, Nelson, 131 Sharpe, Kenneth, 14, 24, 25 Shining Path, 121, 122 Silva, Marcelo, 20, 32 sindicatos campesinos (peasant unions) (Bolivia), 88, 100–101, 105 Sintomer, Yves, 36 Sisa, Bartolina, 86 snowball sampling, 28 social movements in Bolivia, 89, 118 social reengineering project in Rwanda, 42–43, 45 Solidarity Fund for Community Development, 58, 66 Sosa Velásquez, Mario, 66, 73–74, 77 South Africa: community councils in, 42; critical juncture and adoption of participatory reform in, 45; nationally mandated participatory reforms and move away from apartheid, 33; nationally mandated participatory reforms in, 23 South Korea: mandated participatory budgeting in, 23, 41, 154; using incentives to engage in participatory budget process, 173

INDEX  233

The State in a Changing World (World Bank), 33 strategic factors in adoption of participatory reforms, 11; as motivation for nationally mandated participatory reforms, 155, 156–58; passage of Ley de Participación Popular in Bolivia and, 99, 100–101; Urban and Rural Development Council System in Guatemala and, 63–64 subnational, defined, 175n1 subnational governments: incentives to create participatory planning councils, 22; increased public participation in, 152; mandated citizen participation in, 3–4; national participatory planning processes in, 39 subnational participatory institutions, 20–23 subnational public policy, engagement of citizens and CSOs in, 6 Supreme Degree 21,060 (Bolivia), 90 A System of Logic (Mill), 27 Tanaka, Martìn, 146–47 technical assistance to support participatory reforms, 115, 169, 171–72 temporal limitations, to explain outcomes of nationally mandated participatory reforms, 161 third wave of democratization, 46; nationally mandated participatory reforms and, 31–33 Tierra Comunitaria de Origin (First Peoples’ Communal Territory), 94 Toledo, Alejandro, 29, 122–23; motivation for nationally mandated participatory reforms, 156; participatory decentralization under, 124–25, 146 top-down participatory governance: design phase, 6; theory of, 6–7. See also nationally mandated participatory reforms Touchton, Michael, 12 town hall meetings, 21, 126 Trump, Donald, 3 trust in government: in Bolivia, 110, 111; in Guatemala, 76, 77, 81; participatory reform and changes in, 25; in Peru, 141, 142 Uchuypoma Soria, Diego, 147 Uganda: critical juncture and adoption of participatory reform in, 45; decentral-

ization and increasing citizen participation efforts in, 34; nationally mandated participatory reform in, 4, 8, 23, 35; village committees in, 41, 154 Unified Syndical Confederation of Rural Workers of Bolivia (CSTUCB), 182n26 United Fruit Company, 52 United States: opposition to Árbenz in Guatemala, 52; participatory budgeting in, 17 United States Agency for International Development (USAID): Democracy, Human Rights, and Goverance strategy, 8; Participation Initiative, 8; promotion of good governance and, 34 Urban and Rural Development Council System (Guatemala), 51–52, 55, 154, 155; compared to Bolivia’s LPP, 114–15; departmental level (CODEDEs), 56, 60, 67–68; local level (community councils), 56; municipal level (COMUDEs), 56, 60, 67, 68–69, 78–79; national level (CONADUR), 43, 56, 60–61, 65–66; regional level (COREDEs), 56, 60, 66; structure of, 57; two-phase codification process, 55–61. See also community councils; Guatemala Van Cott, Donna Lee, 108, 110 Variety of Democracy (V-Dem): Civil Society Participation Index, 25; Civil Society Participation Index on Bolivia, 102, 103; Civil Society Participation Index on Guatemala, 64–65; Civil Society Participation Index on Peru, 133; on party institutionalization, 185n1; Party System Institutionalization Index, 165; Public Sector Corruption Index, 26, 178n16; Public Sector Corruption Index on Bolivia, 113; Public Sector Corruption Index on Guatemala, 79–80; Public Sector Corruption Index on Peru, 143; score reporting format, 177–78n13 Velasco, Juan, 121 Venezuela: community councils in, 42; nationally mandated participatory reforms in, 23, 35 Viacha (Bolivia), oversight committees in, 104 Villa El Salvador (Peru), 172 village committees, 41, 154

234 INDEX

Vincent, Susan, 138 Voigt, Jessica, 161 vote buying, in Guatemala, 84 Wampler, Brian, 12, 15–16 “What Washington Means by Policy Reform” (Williamson), 33 Williamson, John, 33 women: effect of LPP in Bolivia on public participation of, 108; inclusion in public policy decision-making processes, 6; lack of empowerment of, 159; participation in participatory budgeting in Peru, 139–40, 143; participatory reform in Guatemala and, 74–75 World Bank: on citizen participation in participatory budgeting in Peru, 136;

Government Effectiveness Index on Peru, 141, 142; income classification of countries, 20; participatory governance reforms and, 8; promotion of good governance and, 34; promotion of participatory budgeting by, 36, 38, 39; quotas to overcome elite capture and, 172; on women’s participation in Peru, 140; World Development Report, 33 World Bank Governance Indicators, 25, 75, 76 World Development, 14 World Social Forums, promotion of participatory budgeting and, 36, 38 Wright, Glenn, 142 Zelaya, Manuel, 35